The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford and Other Classic Stories (52 page)

The door did not move. Sweat leaped out on his face. He knocked the key against the door. Why didn’t it open? Surely—He began to shake, panic rising up in him. Down the corridor people were coming, racing after him. Open—

But the door did not open. The key he held in his hand was the wrong key.

He was defeated. The door and the key did not match. Either
he
had been wrong, or the key was to be used someplace else. But where? Jennings looked frantically around. Where? Where could he go?

To one side a door was half open, a regular bolt-lock door. He crossed the corridor, pushing it open. He was in a storeroom of some sort. He slammed the door, throwing the bolt. He could hear them outside, confused, calling for guards. Soon armed guards would be along. Jennings held the Boris gun tightly, gazing around. Was he trapped? Was there a second way out?

He ran through the room, pushing among bales and boxes, towering stacks of silent cartons, end on end. At the rear was an emergency hatch. He opened it immediately. An impulse came to throw the code key away. What good had it been? But surely
he
had known what he was doing.
He
had already seen all this. Like God, it had already happened for
him.
Predetermined.
He
could not err. Or could he?

A chill went through him. Maybe the future was variable. Maybe this had been the right key, once. But not any more!

There were sounds behind him. They were melting the storeroom door. Jennings scrambled through the emergency hatch, into a low concrete passage, damp and ill lit. He ran quickly along it, turning corners. It was like a sewer. Other passages ran into it, from all sides.

He stopped. Which way? Where could he hide? The mouth of a major vent pipe gaped above his head. He caught hold and pulled himself up. Grimly, he eased his body onto it. They’d ignore a pipe, go on past. He crawled cautiously down the pipe. Warm air blew into his face. Why such a big vent? It implied an unusual chamber at the other end. He came to a metal grill and stopped.

And gasped.

He was looking into the great room, the room he had glimpsed beyond the steel door. Only now he was at the other end. There was the time scoop. And far down, beyond the scoop, was Rethrick, conferring at an active vidscreen. An alarm was sounding, whining shrilly, echoing everywhere. Technicians were running in all directions. Guards in uniform poured in and out of doors.

The scoop.
Jennings examined the grill. It was slotted in place. He moved it laterally and it fell into his hands. No one was watching. He slid cautiously out, into the room, the Boris gun ready. He was fairly hidden behind the scoop, and the technicians and guards were all the way down at the other end of the room, where he had first seen them.

And there it was, all around him, the schematics, the mirror, papers, data, blueprints. He flicked his camera on. Against his chest the camera vibrated, film moving through it. He snatched up a handful of schematics. Perhaps
he
had used these very diagrams, a few weeks before!

He stuffed his pockets with papers. The film came to an end. But he was finished. He squeezed back into the vent, pushing through the mouth and down the tube. The sewerlike corridor was still empty, but there was an insistent drumming sound, the noise of voices and footsteps. So many passages—They were looking for him in a maze of escape corridors.

Jennings ran swiftly. He ran on and on, without regard to direction, trying to keep along the main corridor. On all sides passages flocked off, one after another, countless passages. He was dropping down, lower and lower. Running downhill.

Suddenly he stopped, gasping. The sound behind him had died away for a moment. But there was a new sound, ahead. He went along slowly. The corridor twisted, turning to the right. He advanced slowly, the Boris gun ready.

Two guards were standing a little way ahead, lounging and talking together. Beyond them was a heavy code door. And behind him the sound of voices were coming again, growing louder. They had found the same passage he had taken. They were on the way.

Jennings stepped out, the Boris gun raised. “Put up your hands. Let go of your guns.”

The guards gawked at him. Kids, boys with cropped blond hair and shiny uniforms. They moved back, pale and scared.

“The guns. Let them fall.”

The two rifles clattered down. Jennings smiled. Boys. Probably this was their first encounter with trouble. Their leather boots shone, brightly polished.

“Open the door,” Jennings said. “I want through.”

They stared at him. Behind, the noise grew.

“Open it.” He became impatient. “Come on.” He waved the pistol. “Open it, damn it! Do you want me to—”

“We—we can’t.”

“What?”

“We can’t. It’s a code door. We don’t have the key. Honest, mister. They don’t let us have the key.” They were frightened. Jennings felt fear himself now. Behind him the drumming was louder. He was trapped, caught.

Or was he?

Suddenly he laughed. He walked quickly up to the door. “Faith,” he murmured, raising his hand. “That’s something you should never lose.”

“What—what’s that?”

“Faith in yourself. Self-confidence.”

The door slid back as he held the code key against it. Blinding sunlight streamed in, making him blink. He held the gun steady. He was outside, at the gate. Three guards gaped in amazement at the gun. He was at the gate—and beyond lay the woods.

“Get out of the way.” Jennings fired at the metal bars of the gate. The metal burst into flame, melting, a cloud of fire rising.

“Stop him!” From behind, men came pouring, guards, out of the corridor.

Jennings leaped through the smoking gate. The metal tore at him, searing him. He ran through the smoke, rolling and falling. He got to his feet and scurried on, into the trees.

He was outside.
He
had not let him down. The key had worked, all right. He had tried it first on the wrong door.

On and on he ran, sobbing for breath, pushing through the trees. Behind him the Plant and the voices fell away. He had the papers. And he was free.

He found Kelly and gave her the film and everything he had managed to stuff into his pockets. Then he changed back to his regular clothes. Kelly drove him to the edge of Stuartsville and left him off. Jennings watched the cruiser rise up into the air, heading toward New York. Then he went into town and boarded the Intercity rocket.

On the flight he slept, surrounded by dozing businessmen. When he awoke the rocket was settling down, landing at the huge New York spaceport.

Jennings got off, mixing with the flow of people. Now that he was back there was the danger of being picked up by the SP again. Two security officers in their green uniforms watched him impassively as he took a taxi at the field station. The taxi swept him into downtown traffic. Jennings wiped his brow. That was close. Now, to find Kelly.

He ate dinner at a small restaurant, sitting in the back away from the windows. When he emerged the sun was beginning to set. He walked slowly along the sidewalk, deep in thought.

So far so good. He had got the papers and film, and he had got away. The trinkets had worked every step along the way. Without them he would have been helpless. He felt in his pocket. Two left. The serrated half poker chip, and the parcel receipt. He took the receipt out, examining it in the fading evening light.

Suddenly he noticed something. The date on it was today’s date. He had caught up with the slip.

He put it away, going on. What did it mean? What was it for? He shrugged. He would know, in time. And the half poker chip. What the hell was it for? No way to tell. In any case, he was certain to get through.
He
had got him by, up to now. Surely there wasn’t much left.

He came to Kelly’s apartment house and stopped, looking up. Her light was on. She was back; her fast little cruiser had beaten the Intercity rocket. He entered the elevator and rose to her floor.

“Hello,” he said, when she opened the door.

“You’re all right?”

“Sure. Can I come in?”

He went inside. Kelly closed the door behind him. “I’m glad to see you. The city’s swarming with SP men. Almost every block. And the patrols—”

“I know. I saw a couple at the spaceport.” Jennings sat down on the couch. “It’s good to be back, though.”

“I was afraid they might stop all the Intercity flights and check through the passengers.”

“They have no reason to assume I’d be coming into the city.”

“I didn’t think of that.” Kelly sat down across from him. “Now, what comes next? Now that you have got away with the material, what are you going to do?”

“Next I meet Rethrick and spring the news on him. The news that the person who escaped from the Plant was myself. He knows that someone got away, but he doesn’t know who it was. Undoubtedly, he assumes it was an SP man.”

“Couldn’t he use the time mirror to find out?”

A shadow crossed Jennings’ face. “That’s so. I didn’t think of that.” He rubbed his jaw, frowning. “In any case, I have the material. Or, you have the material.”

Kelly nodded.

“All right. We’ll go ahead with our plans. Tomorrow we’ll see Rethrick. We’ll see him here, in New York. Can you get him down to the Office? Will he come if you send for him?”

“Yes. We have a code. If I ask him to come, he’ll come.”

“Fine. I’ll meet him there. When he realizes that we have the picture and schematics he’ll have to agree to my demands. He’ll have to let me into Rethrick Construction, on my own terms. It’s either that, or face the possibility of having the material turned over to the Security Police.”

“And once you’re in? Once Rethrick agrees to your demands?”

“I saw enough at the Plant to convince me that Rethrick is far bigger than I had realized. How big, I don’t know. No wonder
he
was so interested!”

“You’re going to demand equal control of the Company?”

Jennings nodded.

“You would never be satisfied to go back as a mechanic, would you? The way you were before.”

“No. To get booted out again?” Jennings smiled. “Anyhow, I know
he
intended better things than that.
He
laid careful plans. The trinkets. He must have planned everything long in advance. No, I’m not going back as a mechanic. I saw a lot there, level after level of machines and men. They’re doing something. And I want to be in on it.”

Kelly was silent.

“See?” Jennings said.

“I see.”

He left the apartment, hurrying along the dark street. He had stayed there too long. If the SP found the two of them together it would be all up with Rethrick Construction. He could take no chances, with the end almost in sight.

He looked at his watch. It was past midnight. He would meet Rethrick this morning, and present him with the proposition. His spirits rose as he walked. He would be safe. More than safe. Rethrick Construction was aiming at something far larger than mere industrial power. What he had seen had convinced him that a revolution was brewing. Down in the many levels below the ground, down under the fortress of concrete, guarded by guns and armed men, Rethrick was planning a war. Machines were being turned out. The time scoop and the mirror were hard at work, watching, dipping, extracting.

No wonder
he
had worked out such careful plans.
He
had seen all this and understood, begun to ponder. The problem of the mind cleaning. His memory would be gone when he was released. Destruction of all the plans.

Destruction? There was the alternate clause in the contract. Others had seen it, used it. But not the way
he
intended!

He
was after much more than anyone who had come before.
He
was the first to understand, to plan. The seven trinkets were a bridge to something beyond anything that—

At the end of the block an SP cruiser pulled up to the curb. Its doors slid open.

Jennings stopped, his heart constricting. The night patrol, roaming through the city. It was after eleven, after curfew. He looked quickly around. Everything was dark. The stores and houses were shut up tight, locked for the night. Silent apartment houses, buildings. Even the bars were dark.

He looked back the way he had come. Behind him, a second SP cruiser had stopped. Two SP officers had stepped out onto the curb. They had seen him. They were coming toward him. He stood frozen, looking up and down the street.

Across from him was the entrance of a swank hotel, its neon sign glimmering. He began to walk toward it, his heels echoing against the pavement.

“Stop!” one of the SP men called. “Come back here. What are you doing out? What’s your—”

Jennings went up the stairs, into the hotel. He crossed the lobby. The clerk was staring at him. No one else was around. The lobby was deserted. His heart sank. He didn’t have a chance. He began to run aimlessly, past the desk, along a carpeted hall. Maybe it led out some back way. Behind him, the SP men had already entered the lobby.

Jennings turned a corner. Two men stepped out, blocking his way.

“Where are you going?”

He stopped, wary. “Let me by.” He reached into his coat for the Boris gun. At once the men moved.

“Get him.”

His arms were pinned to his sides. Professional hoods. Past them he could see light. Light and sound. Some kind of activity. People.

“All right,” one of the hoods said. They dragged him back along the corridor, toward the lobby. Jennings struggled futilely. He had entered a blind alley. Hoods, a joint. The city was dotted with them, hidden in the darkness. The swank hotel a front. They would toss him out, into the hands of the SP.

Some people came along the halls, a man and a woman. Older people. Well dressed. They gazed curiously at Jennings, suspended between the two men.