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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..64b430f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53132 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53132) diff --git a/old/53132-h.zip b/old/53132-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1108f6e..0000000 --- a/old/53132-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53132-h/53132-h.htm b/old/53132-h/53132-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 6bcd4ce..0000000 --- a/old/53132-h/53132-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3007 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Night of the Trolls, by Keith Laumer. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Night of the Trolls, by Keith Laumer - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Night of the Trolls - -Author: Keith Laumer - -Illustrator: Virgil Finlay - Nochem Nodel - -Release Date: September 23, 2016 [EBook #53132] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NIGHT OF THE TROLLS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="379" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>THE NIGHT OF THE TROLLS</h1> - -<p>BY KEITH LAUMER</p> - -<p>ILLUSTRATED BY NODEL</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Worlds of Tomorrow October 1963<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">The machine's job was to defend its place against<br /> -enemies—but it had forgotten it had friends!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">I</p> - -<p>It was different this time. There was a dry pain in my lungs, and a -deep ache in my bones, and a fire in my stomach that made me want to -curl into a ball and mew like a kitten. My mouth tasted as though mice -had nested in it, and when I took a deep breath wooden knives twisted -in my chest.</p> - -<p>I made a mental note to tell Mackenzie a few things about his pet -controlled-environment tank—just as soon as I got out of it. I -squinted at the over-face panel: air pressure, temperature, humidity, -O-level, blood sugar, pulse and respiration—all okay. That was -something. I flipped the intercom key and said, "Okay, Mackenzie, let's -have the story. You've got problems...."</p> - -<p>I had to stop to cough. The exertion made my temples pound.</p> - -<p>"How long have you birds run this damned exercise?" I called. "I feel -lousy. What's going on around here?"</p> - -<p>No answer.</p> - -<p>This was supposed to be the terminal test series. They couldn't all be -out having coffee. The equipment had more bugs than a two-dollar hotel -room. I slapped the emergency release lever. Mackenzie wouldn't like -it, but to hell with it! From the way I felt, I'd been in the tank -for a good long stretch this time—maybe a week or two. And I'd told -Ginny it would be a three-dayer at the most. Mackenzie was a great -technician, but he had no more human emotions than a used-car salesman. -This time I'd tell him.</p> - -<p>Relays were clicking, equipment was reacting, the tank cover sliding -back. I sat up and swung my legs aside, shivering suddenly.</p> - -<p>It was cold in the test chamber. I looked around at the dull gray -walls, the data recording cabinets, the wooden desk where Mac sat by -the hour re-running test profiles—</p> - -<p>That was funny. The tape reels were empty and the red equipment light -was off. I stood, feeling dizzy. Where was Mac? Where were Bonner and -Day, and Mallon?</p> - -<p>"Hey!" I called. I didn't even get a good echo.</p> - -<p><i>Someone</i> must have pushed the button to start my recovery cycle; -where were they hiding now? I took a step, tripped over the cables -trailing behind me. I unstrapped and pulled the harness off. The effort -left me breathing hard. I opened one of the wall lockers; Banner's -pressure suit hung limply from the rack beside a rag-festooned coat -hanger. I looked in three more lockers. My clothes were missing—even -my bathrobe. I also missed the usual bowl of hot soup, the happy faces -of the techs, even Mac's sour puss. It was cold and silent and empty -here—more like a morgue than a top priority research center.</p> - -<p>I didn't like it. What the hell was going on?</p> - -<p>There was a weather suit in the last locker. I put it on, set the -temperature control, palmed the door open and stepped out into the -corridor. There were no lights, except for the dim glow of the -emergency route indicators. There was a faint, foul odor in the air.</p> - -<p>I heard a dry scuttling, saw a flick of movement. A rat the size of -a red squirrel sat up on his haunches and looked at me as if I were -something to eat. I made a kicking motion and he ran off, but not very -far.</p> - -<p>My heart was starting to thump a little harder now. The way it does -when you begin to realize that something's wrong—bad wrong.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Upstairs in the Admin Section, I called again. The echo was a little -better here. I went along the corridor strewn with papers, past the -open doors of silent rooms. In the Director's office, a blackened -wastebasket stood in the center of the rug. The air-conditioner intake -above the desk was felted over with matted dust nearly an inch thick. -There was no use shouting again.</p> - -<p>The place was as empty as a robbed grave—except for the rats.</p> - -<p>At the end of the corridor, the inner security door stood open. I went -through it and stumbled over something. In the faint light, it took me -a moment to realize what it was.</p> - -<p>He had been an M. P., in steel helmet and boots. There was nothing left -but crumbled bone and a few scraps of leather and metal. A .38 revolver -lay nearby. I picked it up, checked the cylinder and tucked it in the -thigh pocket of the weather suit. For some reason, it made me feel a -little better.</p> - -<p>I went on along B corridor and found the lift door sealed. The -emergency stairs were nearby. I went to them and started the two -hundred foot climb to the surface.</p> - -<p>The heavy steel doors at the tunnel had been blown clear.</p> - -<p>I stepped past the charred opening, looked out at a low gray sky -burning red in the west. Fifty yards away, the 5000-gallon water tank -lay in a tangle of rusty steel. What had it been? Sabotage, war, -revolution—an accident? And where was everybody?</p> - -<p>I rested for a while, then went across the innocent-looking fields to -the west, dotted with the dummy buildings that were supposed to make -the site look from the air like another stretch of farm land complete -with barns, sheds and fences. Beyond the site, the town seemed intact: -there were lights twinkling here and there, a few smudges of smoke -rising.</p> - -<p>Whatever had happened at the site, at least Ginny would be all -right—Ginny and Tim. Ginny would be worried sick, after—how long? A -month?</p> - -<p>Maybe more. There hadn't been much left of that soldier....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I twisted to get a view to the south, and felt a hollow sensation in -my chest. Four silo doors stood open; the Colossus missiles had hit -back—at something. I pulled myself up a foot or two higher for a -look at the Primary Site. In the twilight, the ground rolled smooth -and unbroken across the spot where <i>Prometheus</i> lay ready in her -underground berth. Down below, she'd be safe and sound maybe. She had -been built to stand up to the stresses of a direct extra-solar orbital -launch; with any luck, a few near-misses wouldn't have damaged her.</p> - -<p>My arms were aching from the strain of holding on. I climbed down and -sat on the ground to get my breath, watching the cold wind worry the -dry stalks of dead brush around the fallen tank.</p> - -<p>At home, Ginny would be alone, scared, maybe even in serious -difficulty. There was no telling how far municipal services had broken -down. But before I headed that way, I had to make a quick check on the -ship. <i>Prometheus</i> was a dream that I—and a lot of others—had lived -with for three years. I had to be sure.</p> - -<p>I headed toward the pillbox that housed the tunnel head on the -off-chance that the car might be there.</p> - -<p>It was almost dark and the going was tough; the concrete slabs under -the sod were tilted and dislocated. Something had sent a ripple across -the ground like a stone tossed into a pond.</p> - -<p>I heard a sound and stopped dead. There was a clank and rumble from -beyond the discolored walls of the blockhouse a hundred yards away. -Rusted metal howled; then something as big as a beached freighter moved -into view.</p> - -<p>Two dull red beams glowing near the top of the high silhouette swung, -flashed crimson and held on me. A siren went off—an ear-splitting -whoop! <i>whoop!</i> WHOOP!</p> - -<p>It was an unmanned Bolo Mark II Combat Unit on automated sentry -duty—and its intruder-sensing circuits were tracking me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Bolo pivoted heavily; the whoop! whoop! sounded again; the robot -watchdog was bellowing the alarm.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="351" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>I felt sweat pop out on my forehead. Standing up to a Mark II Bolo -without an electropass was the rough equivalent of being penned in with -an ill-tempered dinosaur. I looked toward the Primary blockhouse: too -far. The same went for the perimeter fence. My best bet was back to the -tunnel mouth. I turned to sprint for it, hooked a foot on a slab and -went down hard....</p> - -<p>I got up, my head ringing, tasting blood in my mouth. The chipped -pavement seemed to rock under me. The Bolo was coming up fast. Running -was no good, I had to have a better idea.</p> - -<p>I dropped flat and switched my suit control to maximum insulation.</p> - -<p>The silvery surface faded to dull black. A two-foot square of tattered -paper fluttered against a projecting edge of concrete; I reached for -it, peeled it free, then fumbled with a pocket flap, brought out a -permatch, flicked it alight. When the paper was burning well, I tossed -it clear. It whirled away a few feet, then caught in a clump of grass.</p> - -<p>"Keep moving, damn you!" I whispered. The swearing worked. The gusty -wind pushed the paper on. I crawled a few feet and pressed myself into -a shallow depression behind the slab. The Bolo churned closer; a loose -treadplate was slapping the earth with a rhythmic thud. The burning -paper was fifty feet away now, a twinkle of orange light in the deep -twilight.</p> - -<p>At twenty yards, looming up like a pagoda, the Bolo halted, sat -rumbling and swiveling its rust-streaked turret, looking for the -radiating source its IR had first picked up. The flare of the paper -caught its electronic attention. The turret swung, then back. It was -puzzled. It whooped again, then reached a decision.</p> - -<p>Ports snapped open. A volley of anti-personnel slugs whoofed into the -target; the scrap of paper disappeared in a gout of tossed dirt.</p> - -<p>I hugged the ground like gold lame hugs a torch singer's hip and -waited; nothing happened. The Bolo sat, rumbling softly to itself. Then -I heard another sound over the murmur of the idling engine, a distant -roaring, like a flight of low-level bombers. I raised my head half an -inch and took a look. There were lights moving beyond the field—the -paired beams of a convoy approaching from the town.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Bolo stirred, moved heavily forward until it towered over me no -more than twenty feet away. I saw gun ports open high on the armored -facade—the ones that housed the heavy infinite repeaters. Slim black -muzzles slid into view, hunted for an instant, then depressed and -locked.</p> - -<p>They were bearing on the oncoming vehicles that were spreading out now -in a loose skirmish line under a roiling layer of dust. The watchdog -was getting ready to defend its territory—and I was caught in the -middle. A blue-white floodlight lanced out from across the field, -glared against the scaled plating of the Bolo. I heard relays click -inside the monster fighting machine, and braced myself for the thunder -of her battery....</p> - -<p>There was a dry rattle.</p> - -<p>The guns traversed, clattering emptily. Beyond the fence the floodlight -played for a moment longer against the Bolo, then moved on across the -ramp, back, across and back, searching....</p> - -<p>Once more the Bolo fired its empty guns. Its red IR beams swept the -scene again; then relays snicked, the impotent guns retracted, the port -covers closed.</p> - -<p>Satisfied, the Bolo heaved itself around and moved off, trailing a -stink of ozone and ether, the broken tread thumping like a cripple on a -stair.</p> - -<p>I waited until it disappeared in the gloom two hundred yards away, then -cautiously turned my suit control to vent off the heat. Full insulation -could boil a man in his own gravy in less than half an hour.</p> - -<p>The floodlight had blinked off now. I got to my hands and knees and -started toward the perimeter fence. The Bolo's circuits weren't tuned -as fine as they should have been; it let me go.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There were men moving in the glare and dust, beyond the rusty lace-work -that had once been a chain-link fence. They carried guns and stood in -tight little groups, staring across toward the blockhouse.</p> - -<p>I moved closer, keeping flat and avoiding the avenues of yellowish -light thrown by the headlamps of the parked vehicles—halftracks, -armored cars, a few light manned tanks.</p> - -<p>There was nothing about the look of this crowd that impelled me to leap -up and be welcomed. They wore green uniforms, and half of them sported -beards. What the hell: had Castro landed in force?</p> - -<p>I angled off to the right, away from the big main gate that had been -manned day and night by guards with tommyguns. It hung now by one -hinge from a scarred concrete post, under a cluster of dead polyarcs -in corroded brackets. The big sign that had read GLENN AEROSPACE -CENTER—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY lay face down in hip-high underbrush.</p> - -<p>More cars were coming up. There was a lot of talk and shouting; a squad -of men formed and headed my way, keeping to the outside of the fallen -fence.</p> - -<p>I was outside the glare of the lights now. I chanced a run for it, got -over the sagged wire and across a potholed blacktop road before they -reached me. I crouched in the ditch and watched as the detail dropped -men in pairs at fifty-yard intervals.</p> - -<p>Another five minutes and they would have intercepted me—along with -whatever else they were after.</p> - -<p>I worked my way back across an empty lot and found a strip of lesser -underbrush lined with shaggy trees, beneath which a patch of cracked -sidewalk showed here and there.</p> - -<p>Several things were beginning to be a little clearer now: The person -who had pushed the button to bring me out of stasis hadn't been around -to greet me, because no one pushed it. The automatics, triggered by -some malfunction, had initiated the recovery cycle.</p> - -<p>The system's self-contained power unit had been designed to maintain a -star-ship crewman's minimal vital functions indefinitely, at reduced -body temperature and metabolic rate. There was no way to tell exactly -how long I had been in the tank. From the condition of the fence and -the roads, it had been more than a matter of weeks—or even months.</p> - -<p>Had it been a year ... or more? I thought of Ginny and the boy, waiting -at home—thinking the old man was dead, probably. I'd neglected them -before for my work, but not like this....</p> - -<p>Our house was six miles from the base, in the foothills on the other -side of town. It was a long walk, the way I felt—but I had to get -there.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">II</p> - -<p>Two hours later, I was clear of the town, following the river bank west.</p> - -<p>I kept having the idea that someone was following me. But when I -stopped to listen, there was never anything there; just the still, cold -night, and the frogs, singing away patiently in the low ground to the -south.</p> - -<p>When the ground began to rise, I left the road and struck off across -the open field. I reached a wide street, followed it in a curve that -would bring me out at the foot of Ridge Avenue—my street. I could make -out the shapes of low, rambling houses now.</p> - -<p>It had been the kind of residential section the local Junior Chamber -members had hoped to move into some day. Now the starlight that -filtered through the cloud cover showed me broken windows, doors that -sagged open, automobiles that squatted on flat, dead tires under -collapsing car shelters—and here and there a blackened, weed-grown -foundation, like a gap in a row of rotting teeth.</p> - -<p>The neighborhood wasn't what it had been. How long had I been away? How -long...?</p> - -<p>I fell down again, hard this time. It wasn't easy getting up. I seemed -to weigh a hell of a lot for a guy who hadn't been eating regularly. My -breathing was very fast and shallow now, and my skull was getting ready -to split and give birth to a live alligator—the ill-tempered kind. -It was only a few hundred yards more; but why the hell had I picked a -place halfway up a hill?</p> - -<p>I heard the sound again—a crackle of dry grass. I got the pistol out -and stood flatfooted in the middle of the street, listening hard.</p> - -<p>All I heard was my stomach growling. I took the pistol off cock and -started off again, stopped suddenly a couple of times to catch him -off-guard; nothing. I reached the corner of Ridge Avenue, started up -the slope. Behind me, a stick popped loudly.</p> - -<p>I picked that moment to fall down again. Heaped leaves saved me from -another skinned knee. I rolled over against a low fieldstone wall and -propped myself against it. I had to use both hands to cock the pistol. -I stared into the dark, but all I could see were the little lights -whirling again. The pistol got heavy; I put it down, concentrated on -taking deep breaths and blinking away the fireflies.</p> - -<p>I heard footsteps plainly, close by. I shook my head, accidentally -banged it against the stone behind me. That helped. I saw him, not over -twenty feet away, coming up the hill toward me, a black-haired man with -a full beard, dressed in odds and ends of rags and furs, gripping a -polished club with a leather thong.</p> - -<p>I reached for the pistol, found only leaves, tried again, touched the -gun and knocked it away. I was still groping when I heard a scuffle of -feet. I swung around, saw a tall, wide figure with a mane of untrimmed -hair.</p> - -<p>He hit the bearded man like a pro tackle taking out the practice dummy. -They went down together hard and rolled over in a flurry of dry leaves. -The cats were fighting over the mouse; that was my signal to leave -quietly.</p> - -<p>I made one last grab for the gun, found it, got to my feet and -staggered off up the grade that seemed as steep now as penthouse rent. -And from down slope, I heard an engine gunned, the clash of a heavy -transmission that needed adjustment. A spotlight flickered, made -shadows dance.</p> - -<p>I recognized a fancy wrought-iron fence fronting a vacant lot; that -had been the Adams house. Only half a block to go—but I was losing my -grip fast. I went down twice more, then gave up and started crawling. -The lights were all around now, brighter than ever. My head split open, -dropped off and rolled downhill.</p> - -<p>A few more yards and I could let it all go. Ginny would put me in a -warm bed, patch up my scratches, and feed me soup. Ginny would ... -Ginny....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was lying with my mouth full of dead leaves. I heard running feet, -yells. An engine idled noisily down the block.</p> - -<p>I got my head up and found myself looking at chipped brickwork and the -heavy brass hinges from which my front gate had hung. The gate was gone -and there was a large chunk of brick missing. Some delivery truck had -missed his approach.</p> - -<p>I got to my feet, took a couple of steps into deep shadow with feet -that felt as though they'd been amputated and welded back on at the -ankle. I stumbled, fetched up against something scaled over with rust. -I held on, blinked and made out the seeping flank of my brand new -'79 Pontiac. There was a crumbled crust of whitish glass lining the -bright-work strip that had framed the rear window.</p> - -<p>A fire...?</p> - -<p>A footstep sounded behind me, and I suddenly remembered several things, -none of them pleasant. I felt for my gun; it was gone. I moved back -along the side of the car, tried to hold on.</p> - -<p>No use. My arms were like unsuccessful pie crust. I slid down among -dead leaves, sat listening to the steps coming closer. They stopped, -and through a dense fog that had sprung up suddenly I caught a glimpse -of a tall white-haired figure standing over me.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="650" height="243" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Then the fog closed in and swept everything away.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I lay on my back this time, looking across at the smoky yellow light of -a thick brown candle guttering in the draft from a glassless window. -In the center of the room, a few sticks of damp-looking wood heaped -on the cracked asphalt tiles burned with a grayish flame. A thin curl -of acrid smoke rose up to stir cobwebs festooned under ceiling beams -from which wood veneer had peeled away. Light alloy truss-work showed -beneath.</p> - -<p>It was a strange scene, but not so strange that I didn't recognize -it: it was my own living room—looking a little different than when I -had seen it last. The odors were different, too; I picked out mildew, -badly-cured leather, damp wool, tobacco....</p> - -<p>I turned my head. A yard from the rags I lay on, the white-haired man, -looking older than pharaoh, sat sleeping with his back against the wall.</p> - -<p>The shotgun was gripped in one big, gnarled hand. His head was tilted -back, blue-veined eyelids shut. I sat up, and at my movement his eyes -opened.</p> - -<p>He lay relaxed for a moment, as though life had to return from some -place far away. Then he raised his head. His face was hollow and lined. -His white hair was thin. A coarse-woven shirt hung loose across wide -shoulders that had been Herculean once. But now Hercules was old, old. -He looked at me expectantly.</p> - -<p>"Who are you?" I said. "Why did you follow me? What happened to the -house? Where's my family? Who owns the bully-boys in green?" My jaw -hurt when I spoke. I put my hand up and felt it gingerly.</p> - -<p>"You fell," the old man said, in a voice that rumbled like a -subterranean volcano.</p> - -<p>"The understatement of the year, Pop." I tried to get up. Nausea -knotted my stomach.</p> - -<p>"You have to rest," the old man said, looking concerned. "Before the -Baron's men come...." He paused, looking at me as though he expected me -to say something profound.</p> - -<p>"I want to know where the people are that live here!" My yell came out -as weak as church-social punch. "A woman and a boy...."</p> - -<p>He was shaking his head. "You have to do something quick. The soldiers -will come back, search every house—"</p> - -<p>I sat up, ignoring the little men driving spikes into my skull. "I -don't give a damn about soldiers! Where's my family? What's happened?" -I reached out and gripped his arm. "How long was I down there? What -year is this?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He only shook his head. "Come, eat some food. Then I can help you with -your plan."</p> - -<p>It was no use talking to the old man; he was senile.</p> - -<p>I got off the cot. Except for the dizziness and a feeling that my knees -were made of papier-mache, I was all right. I picked up the hand-formed -candle, stumbled into the hall.</p> - -<p>It was a jumble of rubbish. I climbed through, pushed open the door to -my study. There was my desk, the tall bookcase with the glass doors, -the gray rug, the easy chair. Aside from a layer of dust and some -peeling wall paper, it looked normal. I flipped the switch. Nothing -happened.</p> - -<p>"What is that charm?" the old man said behind me. He pointed to the -light switch.</p> - -<p>"The power's off," I said. "Just habit."</p> - -<p>He reached out and flipped the switch up, then down again. "It makes a -pleasing sound."</p> - -<p>"Yeah." I picked up a book from the desk; it fell apart in my hands.</p> - -<p>I went back into the hall, tried the bedroom door, looked in at heaped -leaves, the remains of broken furniture, an empty window frame. I went -on to the end of the hall and opened the door to the bedroom.</p> - -<p>Cold night wind blew through a barricade of broken timbers. The roof -had fallen in, and a sixteen-inch tree trunk slanted through the -wreckage. The old man stood behind me, watching.</p> - -<p>"Where is she, damn you?" I leaned against the door frame to swear and -fight off the faintness. "Where's my wife?"</p> - -<p>The old man looked troubled. "Come, eat now...."</p> - -<p>"Where is she? Where's the woman who lived here?"</p> - -<p>He frowned, shook his head dumbly. I picked my way through the -wreckage, stepped out into knee-high brush. A gust blew my candle out. -In the dark I stared at my back yard, the crumbled pit that had been -the barbecue grill, the tangled thickets that had been rose beds—and a -weathered length of boards upended in the earth.</p> - -<p>"What the hell's this...?" I fumbled out a permatch, lit my candle, -leaned close and read the crude letters cut into the crumbling wood: -VIRGINIA ANNE JACKSON. BORN JAN. 8 1957. KILL BY THE DOGS WINTER 1992.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">III</p> - -<p>The Baron's men came twice in the next three days. Each time the old -man carried me, swearing but too weak to argue, out to a lean-to of -branches and canvas in the woods behind the house. Then he disappeared, -to come back an hour or two later and haul me back to my rag bed by the -fire.</p> - -<p>Three times a day he gave me a tin pan of stew, and I ate it -mechanically. My mind went over and over the picture of Ginny, living -on for twelve years in the slowly decaying house, and then—</p> - -<p>It was too much. There are some shocks the mind refuses.</p> - -<p>I thought of the tree that had fallen and crushed the east wing. An elm -that size was at least fifty to sixty years old—maybe older. And the -only elm on the place had been a two-year sapling. I knew it well; I -had planted it.</p> - -<p>The date carved on the headboard was 1992. As nearly as I could -judge another thirty-five years had passed since then at least. My -shipmates—Banner, Day, Mallon—they were all dead, long ago. How had -they died? The old man was too far gone to tell me anything useful. -Most of my questions produced a shake of the head and a few rumbled -words about charms, demons, spells, and the Baron.</p> - -<p>"I don't believe in spells," I said. "And I'm not too sure I believe in -this Baron. Who is he?"</p> - -<p>"The Baron Trollmaster of Filly. He holds all this country—" the old -man made a sweeping gesture with his arm—"all the way to Jersey."</p> - -<p>"Why was he looking for me? What makes me important?"</p> - -<p>"You came from the Forbidden Place. Everyone heard the cries of the -Lesser Troll that stands guard over the treasure there. If the Baron -can learn your secrets of power—"</p> - -<p>"Troll, hell! That's nothing but a Bolo on automatic!"</p> - -<p>"By any name every man dreads the monster. A man who walks in its -shadow has much <i>mana</i>. But the others—the ones that run in a pack -like dogs—would tear you to pieces for a demon if they could lay hands -on you."</p> - -<p>"You saw me back there. Why didn't you give me away? And why are you -taking care of me now?"</p> - -<p>He shook his head—the all-purpose answer to any question.</p> - -<p>I tried another tack: "Who was the rag man you tackled just outside? -Why was he laying for me?"</p> - -<p>The old man snorted. "Tonight the dogs will eat him. But forget that. -Now we have to talk about your plan—"</p> - -<p>"I've got about as many plans as the senior boarder in Death Row. I -don't know if you know it, Old Timer, but somebody slid the world out -from under me while I wasn't looking."</p> - -<p>The old man frowned. I had the thought that I wouldn't like to have him -mad at me, for all his white hair....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He shook his head. "You must understand what I tell you. The soldiers -of the Baron will find you some day. If you are to break the spell—"</p> - -<p>"Break the spell, eh?" I snorted. "I think I get the idea, Pop. -You've got it in your head that I'm a valuable property of some -kind. You figure I can use my supernatural powers to take over this -menagerie—and you'll be in on the ground floor. Well, listen, you old -idiot! I spent sixty years—maybe more—in a stasis tank two hundred -feet underground. My world died while I was down there. This Baron of -yours seems to own everything now. If you think I'm going to get myself -shot bucking him, forget it!"</p> - -<p>The old man didn't say anything.</p> - -<p>"Things don't seem to be broken up much," I went on. "It must have been -gas, or germ warfare—or fallout. Damn few people around. You're still -able to live on what you can loot from stores; automobiles are still -sitting where they were the day the world ended. How old were you when -it happened, Pop? The war, I mean. Do you remember it?"</p> - -<p>He shook his head. "The world has always been as it is now."</p> - -<p>"What year were you born?"</p> - -<p>He scratched at his white hair. "I knew the number once. But I've -forgotten."</p> - -<p>"I guess the only way I'll find out how long I was gone is to saw that -damned elm in two and count the rings—but even that wouldn't help -much; I don't know when it blew over. Never mind. The important thing -now is to talk to this Baron of yours. Where does he stay?"</p> - -<p>The old man shook his head violently. "If the Baron lays his hands on -you, he'll wring the secrets from you on the rack! I know his ways. For -five years I was a slave in the Palace Stables."</p> - -<p>"If you think I'm going to spend the rest of my days in this rat nest, -you got another guess on the house! This Baron has tanks, an army. He's -kept a little technology alive. That's the outfit for me—not this -garbage detail! Now, where's this place of his located?"</p> - -<p>"The guards will shoot you on sight like a pack-dog!"</p> - -<p>"There has to be a way to get to him, old man! Think!"</p> - -<p>The old head was shaking again. "He fears assassination. You can never -approach him...." He brightened. "Unless you know a spell of power?"</p> - -<p>I chewed my lip. "Maybe I do at that. You wanted me to have a plan. I -think I feel one coming on. Have you got a map?"</p> - -<p>He pointed to the desk beside me. I tried the drawers, found mice, -roaches, moldy money—and a stack of folded maps. I opened one -carefully; faded ink on yellowed paper, falling apart at the creases. -The legend in the corner read: "PENNSYLVANIA 40M:1. Copyright 1970 by -ESSO Corporation."</p> - -<p>"This will do, Pop," I said. "Now, tell me all you can about this Baron -of yours."</p> - -<p>"You'll destroy him?"</p> - -<p>"I haven't even met the man."</p> - -<p>"He is evil."</p> - -<p>"I don't know; he owns an army. That makes up for a lot...."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After three more days of rest and the old man's stew, I was back to -normal—or near enough. I had the old man boil me a tub of water for -a bath and a shave. I found a serviceable pair of synthetic fiber -long-johns in a chest of drawers, pulled them on and zipped the weather -suit over them, then buckled on the holster I had made from a tough -plastic.</p> - -<p>"That completes my preparations, Pop," I said. "It'll be dark in -another half hour. Thanks for everything."</p> - -<p>He got to his feet, a worried look on his lined face, like a father the -first time Junior asks for the car.</p> - -<p>"The Baron's men are everywhere."</p> - -<p>"If you want to help, come along and back me up with that shotgun of -yours." I picked it up. "Have you got any shells for this thing?"</p> - -<p>He smiled, pleased now. "There are shells—but the magic is gone from -many."</p> - -<p>"That's the way magic is, Pop. It goes out of things before you notice."</p> - -<p>"Will you destroy the Great Troll now?"</p> - -<p>"My motto is let sleeping trolls lie. I'm just paying a social call on -the Baron."</p> - -<p>The joy ran out of his face like booze from a dropped jug.</p> - -<p>"Don't take it so hard, Old Timer. I'm not the fairy prince you were -expecting. But I'll take care of you—if I make it."</p> - -<p>I waited while he pulled on a moth-eaten mackinaw. He took the shotgun -and checked the breech, then looked at me.</p> - -<p>"I'm ready," he said.</p> - -<p>"Yeah," I said. "Let's go...."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Baronial palace was a forty-story slab of concrete and glass -that had been known in my days as the Hilton Garden East. We made it -in three hours of groping across country in the dark, at the end of -which I was puffing but still on my feet. We moved out from the cover -of the trees and looked across a dip in the ground at the lights, -incongruously cheerful in the ravaged valley.</p> - -<p>"The gates are there—" the old man pointed—"guarded by the Great -Troll."</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute. I thought the Troll was the Bolo back at the Site."</p> - -<p>"That's the Lesser Troll. This is the Great One."</p> - -<p>I selected a few choice words and muttered them to myself. "It would -have saved us some effort if you'd mentioned this Troll a little -sooner, Old Timer. I'm afraid I don't have any spells that will knock -out a Mark II, once it's got its dander up."</p> - -<p>He shook his head. "It lies under enchantment. I remember the day when -it came, throwing thunderbolts. Many men were killed. Then the Baron -commanded it to stand at his gates to guard him."</p> - -<p>"How long ago was this, Old Timer?"</p> - -<p>He worked his lips over the question. "Long ago," he said finally. -"Many winters."</p> - -<p>"Let's go take a look."</p> - -<p>We picked our way down the slope, came up along a rutted dirt road -to the dark line of trees that rimmed the palace grounds. The old man -touched my arm.</p> - -<p>"Softly here. Maybe the Troll sleeps lightly...."</p> - -<p>I went the last few yards, eased around a brick column with a dead -lantern on top, stared across fifty yards of waist-high brush at a dark -silhouette outlined against the palace lights.</p> - -<p>Cables, stretched from trees outside the circle of weeds, supported -a weathered tarp which drooped over the Bolo. The wreckage of a -helicopter lay like a crumpled dragonfly at the far side of the ring. -Nearer, fragments of a heavy car chassis lay scattered. The old man -hovered at my shoulder.</p> - -<p>"It looks as though the gate is off limits," I hissed. "Let's try -farther along."</p> - -<p>He nodded. "No one passes here. There is a second gate, there." He -pointed. "But there are guards."</p> - -<p>"Let's climb the wall between gates."</p> - -<p>"There are sharp spikes on top the wall. But I know a place, farther -on, where the spikes have been blunted."</p> - -<p>"Lead on, Pop."</p> - -<p>Half an hour of creeping through wet brush brought us to the spot we -were looking for. It looked to me like any other stretch of eight-foot -masonry wall overhung with wet poplar trees.</p> - -<p>"I'll go first," the old man said, "to draw the attention of the guard."</p> - -<p>"Then who's going to boost me up? I'll go first."</p> - -<p>He nodded, cupped his hands and lifted me as easily as a sailor lifting -a beer glass. Pop was old—but he was nobody's softie.</p> - -<p>I looked around, then crawled up, worked my way over the corroded -spikes, dropped down on the lawn.</p> - -<p>Immediately I heard a crackle of brush. A man stood up not ten feet -away. I lay flat in the dark trying to look like something that had -been there a long time....</p> - -<p>I heard another sound, a thump and a crashing of brush. The man before -me turned, disappeared in the darkness. I heard him beating his way -through shrubbery; then he called out, got an answering shout from the -distance.</p> - -<p>I didn't loiter. I got to my feet and made a sprint for the cover of -the trees along the drive.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">IV</p> - -<p>Flat on the wet ground, under the wind-whipped branches of an -ornamental cedar, I blinked the fine misty rain from my eyes, waiting -for the half-hearted alarm behind me to die down.</p> - -<p>There were a few shouts, some sounds of searching among the shrubbery. -It was a bad night to be chasing imaginary intruders in the Baronial -grounds. In five minutes, all was quiet again.</p> - -<p>I studied the view before me. The tree under which I lay was one -of a row lining a drive. It swung in a graceful curve, across a -smooth half-mile of dark lawn, to the tower of light that was the -Palace of the Baron of Filly. The silhouetted figures of guards and -late-arriving guests moved against the gleam from the collonaded -entrance. On a terrace high above, dancers twirled under colored -lights. The faint glow of the repellor field kept the cold rain at a -distance. In a lull in the wind, I heard music, faintly. The Baron's -weekly Grand Ball was in full swing.</p> - -<p>I saw shadows move across the wet gravel before me, then heard the -purr of an engine. I hugged the ground and watched a long svelte -Mercedes—about a '68 model, I estimated—barrel past.</p> - -<p>The mob in the city ran in packs like dogs, but the Baron's friends did -a little better for themselves.</p> - -<p>I got to my feet and moved off toward the palace, keeping well in the -shadows. When the drive swung to the right to curve across in front of -the building, I left it, went to hands and knees and followed a trimmed -privet hedge, past dark rectangles of formal garden to the edge of a -secondary pond of light from the garages. I let myself down on my belly -and watched the shadows that moved on the graveled drive.</p> - -<p>There seemed to be two men on duty—no more. Waiting around wouldn't -improve my chances. I got to my feet, stepped out into the drive and -walked openly around the corner of the gray fieldstone building into -the light.</p> - -<p>A short, thickset man in greasy Baronial green looked at me -incuriously. My weather suit looked enough like ordinary coveralls -to get me by—at least for a few minutes. A second man, tilted back -against the wall in a wooden chair, didn't even turn his head.</p> - -<p>"Hey!" I called. "You birds got a three-ton jack I can borrow?"</p> - -<p>Shorty looked me over sourly. "Who you drive for, Mac?"</p> - -<p>"The High Duke of Jersey. Flat. Left rear. On a night like this. Some -luck."</p> - -<p>"The Jersey can't afford a jack?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I stepped over the short man, prodded him with a forefinger. "He could -buy you and gut you on the altar any Saturday night of the week, -low-pockets. And he'd get a kick out of doing it. He's like that."</p> - -<p>"Can't a guy crack a harmless joke without somebody talks about -altar-bait? You wanna jack, take a jack."</p> - -<p>The man in the chair opened one eye and looked me over. "How long you -on the Jersey payroll?" he growled.</p> - -<p>"Long enough to know who handles the rank between Jersey and Filly." I -yawned, looked around the wide, cement floored garage, glanced over the -four heavy cars with the Filly crest on their sides.</p> - -<p>"Where's the kitchen? I'm putting a couple of hot coffees under my belt -before I go back out into that."</p> - -<p>"Over there. A flight up and to your left. Tell the cook Pintsy invited -you."</p> - -<p>"I tell him Jersey sent me, low-pockets." I moved off in a dead -silence, opened the door and stepped up into spicy-scented warmth.</p> - -<p>A deep carpet—even here—muffled my footsteps. I could hear the clash -of pots and crockery from the kitchen a hundred feet distant along the -hallway. I went along to a deep-set doorway ten feet from the kitchen, -tried the knob and looked into a dark room. I pushed the door shut and -leaned against it, watching the kitchen. Through the woodwork I could -feel the thump of the bass notes from the orchestra blasting away -three flights up. The odors of food—roast fowl, baked ham, grilled -horsemeat—curled under the kitchen door and wafted under my nose. -I pulled my belt up a notch and tried to swallow the dryness in my -throat. The old man had fed me a half a gallon of stew, before we left -home, but I was already working up a fresh appetite.</p> - -<p>Five slow minutes passed. Then the kitchen door swung open and a -tall round-shouldered fellow with a shiny bald scalp stepped into view, -a tray balanced on the spread fingers of one hand. He turned, the black -tails of his cutaway swirling, called something behind him and started -past me. I stepped out, clearing my throat. He shied, whirled to face -me. He was good at his job: The two dozen tiny glasses on the tray -stood fast. He blinked, got an indignant remark ready—</p> - -<p>I showed him the knife the old man had lent me—a bone-handled job with -a six-inch switch-blade. "Make a sound and I'll cut your throat," I -said softly. "Put the tray on the floor."</p> - -<p>He started to back. I brought the knife up. He took a good look, licked -his lips, crouched quickly and put the tray down.</p> - -<p>"Turn around."</p> - -<p>I stepped in and chopped him at the base of the neck with the edge of -my hand. He folded like a two-dollar umbrella.</p> - -<p>I wrestled the door open and dumped him inside, paused a moment to -listen. All quiet. I worked his black coat and trousers off, unhooked -the stiff white dickey and tie. He snored softly. I pulled the clothes -on over the weather suit. They were a fair fit. By the light of my -pencil flash, I cut down a heavy braided cord hanging by a high window, -used it to truss the waiter's hands and feet together behind him. There -was a small closet opening off the room. I put him in it, closed the -door and stepped back into the hall. Still quiet. I tried one of the -drinks. It wasn't bad.</p> - -<p>I took another, then picked up the tray and followed the sounds of -music.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The grand ballroom was a hundred yards long, fifty wide, with walls of -rose, gold and white, banks of high windows hung with crimson velvet, a -vaulted ceiling decorated with cherubs and a polished acre of floor on -which gaudily gowned and uniformed couples moved in time to the heavy -beat of the traditional fox-trot. I moved slowly along the edge of the -crowd, looking for the Baron.</p> - -<p>A hand caught my arm and hauled me around. A glass fell off my tray, -smashed on the floor.</p> - -<p>A dapper little man in black and white headwaiter's uniform glared up -at me.</p> - -<p>"What do you think you're doing, cretin?" he hissed. "That's the -genuine ancient stock you're slopping on the floor." I looked around -quickly; no one else seemed to be paying any attention.</p> - -<p>"Where are you from?" he snapped. I opened my mouth—</p> - -<p>"Never mind, you're all the same." He waggled his hands disgustedly. -"The field-hands they send me—a disgrace to the Black. Now, you! Stand -up! Hold your tray proudly, gracefully! Step along daintily, not like -a knight taking the field! And pause occasionally—just on the chance -that some noble guest might wish to drink."</p> - -<p>"You bet, pal," I said. I moved on, paying a little more attention to -my waiting. I saw plenty of green uniforms; pea green, forest green, -emerald green—but they were all hung with braid and medals. According -to Pop, the Baron affected a spartan simplicity. The diffidence of -absolute power.</p> - -<p>There were high white and gold doors every few yards along the side -of the ballroom. I spotted one standing open and sidled toward it. It -wouldn't hurt to reconnoiter the area.</p> - -<p>Just beyond the door, a very large sentry in a bottle-green uniform -almost buried under gold braid moved in front of me. He was dressed -like a toy soldier, but there was nothing playful about the way he -snapped his power gun to the ready. I winked at him.</p> - -<p>"Thought you boys might want a drink," I hissed. "Good stuff."</p> - -<p>He looked at the tray, licked his lips. "Get back in there, you fool," -he growled. "You'll get us both hung."</p> - -<p>"Suit yourself, pal." I backed out. Just before the door closed between -us, he lifted a glass off the tray.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I turned, almost collided with a long lean cookie in a powder-blue -outfit complete with dress sabre, gold frogs, leopard-skin facings, a -pair of knee-length white gloves looped under an epaulette, a pistol in -a fancy holster and an eighteen-inch swagger stick. He gave me the kind -of look old maids give sin.</p> - -<p>"Look where you're going, swine," he said in a voice like a pine board -splitting.</p> - -<p>"Have a drink, Admiral," I suggested.</p> - -<p>He lifted his upper lip to show me a row of teeth that hadn't had -their annual trip to the dentist lately. The ridges along each side -of his mouth turned greenish white. He snatched for the gloves on his -shoulder, fumbled them; they slapped the floor beside me.</p> - -<p>"I'd pick those up for you, Boss," I said, "But I've got my tray...."</p> - -<p>He drew a breath between his teeth, chewed it into strips and snorted -it back at me, then snapped his fingers and pointed with his stick -toward the door behind me.</p> - -<p>"Through there, instantly!" It didn't seem like the time to argue; I -pulled it open and stepped through.</p> - -<p>The guard in green ducked his glass and snapped to attention when -he saw the baby-blue outfit. My new friend ignored him, made a curt -gesture to me. I got the idea, trailed along the wide, high, gloomy -corridor to a small door, pushed through it into a well-lit tile-walled -latrine. A big-eyed slave in white ducks stared.</p> - -<p>Blue-boy jerked his head. "Get out!" The slave scuttled away. Blue-boy -turned to me.</p> - -<p>"Strip off your jacket, slave! Your owner has neglected to teach you -discipline."</p> - -<p>I looked around quickly, saw that we were alone.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute while I put the tray down, corporal," I said. "We don't -want to waste any of the good stuff." I turned to put the tray on a -soiled linen bin, caught a glimpse of motion in the mirror.</p> - -<p>I ducked, and the nasty-looking little leather quirt whistled past my -ear, slammed against the edge of a marble-topped lavatory with a crack -like a pistol shot. I dropped the tray, stepped in fast and threw a -left to Blue-boy's jaw that bounced his head against the tiled wall. -I followed up with a right to the belt buckle, then held him up as he -bent over, gagging, and hit him hard under the ear.</p> - -<p>I hauled him into a booth, propped him up and started shedding the -waiter's blacks.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">V</p> - -<p>I left him on the floor wearing my old suit, and stepped out into the -hall.</p> - -<p>I liked the feel of his pistol at my hip. It was an old fashioned .38, -the same model I favored. The blue uniform was a good fit, what with -the weight I'd lost. Blue-boy and I had something in common after all.</p> - -<p>The latrine attendant goggled at me. I grimaced like a quadruple -amputee trying to scratch his nose and jerked my head toward the door I -had come out of. I hoped the gesture would look familiar.</p> - -<p>"Truss that mad dog and throw him outside the gates," I snarled. I -stamped off down the corridor, trying to look mad enough to discourage -curiosity.</p> - -<p>Apparently it worked. Nobody yelled for the cops.</p> - -<p>I reentered the ballroom by another door, snagged a drink off a passing -tray, checked over the crowd. I saw two more powder-blue get-ups, so I -wasn't unique enough to draw special attention. I made a mental note to -stay well away from my comrades in blue. I blended with the landscape, -chatting and nodding and not neglecting my drinking, working my way -toward a big arched doorway on the other side of the room that looked -like the kind of entrance the head man might use. I didn't want to -meet him. Not yet. I just wanted to get him located before I went any -further.</p> - -<p>A passing wine slave poured a full inch of the genuine ancient stock -into my glass, ducked his head and moved on. I gulped it like sour bar -whiskey. My attention was elsewhere.</p> - -<p>A flurry of activity near the big door indicated that maybe my guess -had been accurate. Potbellied officials were forming up in a sort -of reception line near the big double door. I started to drift back -into the rear rank, bumped against a fat man in medals and a sash who -glared, fingered a monocle with a plump ring-studded hand and said, -"Suggest you take your place, Colonel," in a suety voice.</p> - -<p>I must have looked doubtful, because he bumped me with his paunch, and -growled, "Foot of the line! Next to the Equerry, you idiot." He elbowed -me aside and waddled past.</p> - -<p>I took a step after him, reached out with my left foot and hooked his -shiny black boot. He leaped forward, off balance, medals jangling. I -did a fast fade while he was still groping for his monocle, eased into -a spot at the end of the line.</p> - -<p>The conversation died away to a nervous murmur. The doors swung -back and a pair of guards with more trimmings than a phoney stock -certificate stamped into view, wheeled to face each other and presented -arms—chrome-plated automatic rifles, in this case. A dark-faced man -with thinning gray hair, a pug nose and a trimmed gray van Dyke came -into view, limping slightly from a stiffish knee.</p> - -<p>His unornamented gray outfit made him as conspicuous in this gathering -as a crane among peacocks. He nodded perfunctorily to left and right, -coming along between the waiting rows of flunkeys, who snapped-to as -he came abreast, wilted and let out sighs behind him. I studied him -closely. He was fifty, give or take the age of a bottle of second-rate -bourbon, with the weather-beaten complexion of a former outdoor man -and the same look of alertness grown bored that a rattlesnake farmer -develops—just before the fatal bite.</p> - -<p>He looked up and caught my eye on him, and for a moment I thought he -was about to speak. Then he went on past.</p> - -<p>At the end of the line, he turned abruptly and spoke to a man who -hurried away. Then he engaged in conversation with a cluster of -head-bobbing guests.</p> - -<p>I spent the next fifteen minutes casually getting closer to the door -nearest the one the Baron had entered by. I looked around; nobody was -paying any attention to me. I stepped past a guard who presented arms. -The door closed softly, cutting off the buzz of talk and the worst of -the music.</p> - -<p>I went along to the end of the corridor. From the transverse hall, -a grand staircase rose in a sweep of bright chrome and pale wood. I -didn't know where it led, but it looked right. I headed for it, moving -along briskly like a man with important business in mind and no time -for light chit-chat.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Two flights up, in a wide corridor of muted lights, deep carpets, -brocaded wall hangings, mirrors, urns, and an odor of expensive tobacco -and <i>coeur de Russe</i> a small man in black bustled from a side corridor. -He saw me. He opened his mouth, closed it, half turned away, then swung -back to face me. I recognized him; he was the head-waiter who had -pointed out the flaws in my waiting style half an hour earlier.</p> - -<p>"Here," he started—</p> - -<p>I chopped him short with a roar of what I hoped was authentic -upper-crust rage.</p> - -<p>"Direct me to his Excellency's apartments, scum! And thank your -guardian imp I'm in too great haste to cane you for the insolent look -about you!"</p> - -<p>He went pale, gulped hard and pointed. I snorted and stamped past him -down the turning he had indicated.</p> - -<p>This was Baronial country, all right. A pair of guards stood at the far -end of the corridor.</p> - -<p>I'd passed half a dozen with no more than a click of heels to indicate -they saw me. These two shouldn't be any different—and it wouldn't look -good if I turned and started back at sight of them. The first rule of -the gate-crasher is to look as if you belong where you are.</p> - -<p>I headed in their direction.</p> - -<p>When I was fifty feet from them, they both shifted rifles—not to -present-arms position, but at the ready. The nickle-plated bayonets -were aimed right at me. It was no time for me to look doubtful; I kept -on coming. At twenty feet, I heard their rifle bolts snick home. I -could see the expressions on their faces now; they looked as nervous as -a couple of teen-age sailors on their first visit to a joy-house.</p> - -<p>"Point those butter knives into the corner, you banana-fingered cotton -choppers!" I said, looking bored and didn't waver. I unlimbered my -swagger stick and slapped my gloved hand with it, letting them think it -over. The gun muzzles dropped—just slightly. I followed up fast.</p> - -<p>"Which is the anteroom to the Baron's apartments?" I demanded.</p> - -<p>"Uh ... this here is his Excellency's apartments, sir, but—"</p> - -<p>"Never mind the lecture, you milk-faced fool," I cut in. "Do you think -I'd be here if it weren't? Which is the anteroom, damn you!"</p> - -<p>"We got orders, sir. Nobody's to come closer than that last door back -there."</p> - -<p>"We got orders to shoot," the other interrupted. He was a little -older—maybe twenty-two. I turned on him.</p> - -<p>"I'm waiting for an answer to a question!"</p> - -<p>"Sir, the Articles—"</p> - -<p>I narrowed my eyes. "I think you'll find paragraph Two B covers Special -Cosmic Top Secret Couriers. When you go off duty, report yourselves on -punishment. Now, the anteroom! And be quick about it!"</p> - -<p>The bayonets were sagging now. The younger of the two licked his lips. -"Sir, we never been inside. We don't know how it's laid out in there. -If the colonel wants to just take a look...."</p> - -<p>The other guard opened his mouth to say something. I didn't wait to -find out what it was. I stepped between them, muttering something about -bloody recruits and important messages, and worked the fancy handle on -the big gold and white door. I paused to give the two sentries a hard -look.</p> - -<p>"I hope I don't have to remind you that any mention of the movements -of a Cosmic Courier is punishable by slow death. Just forget you ever -saw me." I went on in and closed the door without waiting to catch the -reaction to that one.</p> - -<p>The Baron had done well by himself in the matter of decor. The room -I was in—a sort of lounge-cum-bar—was paved in two-inch-deep nylon -fuzz, the color of a fog at sea, that foamed up at the edges against -walls of pale blue brocade with tiny yellow flowers. The bar was a teak -log split down the middle and—polished. The glasses sitting on it were -like tissue paper engraved with patterns of nymphs and satyrs. Subdued -light came from somewhere, along with a faint melody that seemed to -speak of youth, long ago.</p> - -<p>I went on into the next room. I found more soft light, the glow of -hand-rubbed rare woods, rich fabrics and wide windows with a view of -dark night sky. The music was coming from a long, low, built-in speaker -with a lamp, a heavy crystal ashtray and a display of hothouse roses. -There was a scent in the air. Not the <i>coeur de Russe</i> and Havana leaf -I'd smelled in the hall, but a subtler perfume.</p> - -<p>I turned and looked into the eyes of a girl with long black lashes. -Smooth black hair came down to bare shoulders. An arm as smooth and -white as whipped cream was draped over a chair back, the hand holding -an eight-inch cigarette holder and sporting a diamond as inconspicuous -as a chrome-plated hub-cap.</p> - -<p>"You must want something pretty badly," she murmured, batting her -eyelashes at me. I could feel the breeze at ten feet. I nodded. Under -the circumstances, that was about the best I could do.</p> - -<p>"What could it be," she mused, "that's worth being shot for?" Her -voice was like the rest of her: smooth, polished and relaxed—and -with plenty of moxie held in reserve. She smiled casually, drew on her -cigarette, tapped ashes onto the rug.</p> - -<p>"Something bothering you, Colonel?" she inquired. "You don't seem -talkative."</p> - -<p>"I'll do my talking when the Baron arrives," I said.</p> - -<p>"In that case, Jackson," said a husky voice behind me, "you can start -any time you like."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I held my hands clear of my body and turned around slowly—just in case -there was a nervous gun aimed at my spine. The Baron was standing near -the door, unarmed, relaxed. There were no guards in sight. The girl -looked mildly amused. I put my hand on the pistol butt.</p> - -<p>"How do you know my name?" I asked.</p> - -<p>The Baron waved toward a chair. "Sit down, Jackson," he said, almost -gently. "You've had a tough time of it—but you're all right now." He -walked past me to the bar, poured out two glasses, turned and offered -me one. I felt a little silly standing there fingering the gun; I went -over and took the drink.</p> - -<p>"To the old days." The Baron raised his glass.</p> - -<p>I drank. It was the genuine ancient stock, all right. "I asked you how -you knew my name," I said.</p> - -<p>"That's easy. I used to know you."</p> - -<p>He smiled faintly. There was something about his face....</p> - -<p>"You look well in the uniform of the Penn-dragoons," he said. "Better -than you ever did in Aerospace blue."</p> - -<p>"Good God!" I said. "Toby Mallon!"</p> - -<p>He ran a hand over his bald head. "A little less hair on top, plus a -beard as compensation, a few wrinkles, a slight pot. Oh, I've changed, -Jackson."</p> - -<p>"I had it figured as close to eighty years," I said. "The trees, the -condition of the buildings—"</p> - -<p>"Not far off the mark. Seventy-eight years this spring."</p> - -<p>"You're a well-preserved hundred and ten, Toby."</p> - -<p>He shook his head. "You weren't the only one in the tanks. But you had -a better unit than I did. Mine gave out twenty years ago."</p> - -<p>"You mean—you walked into this cold—just like I did?"</p> - -<p>He nodded. "I know how you feel. Rip Van Winkle had nothing on us."</p> - -<p>"Just one question, Toby. The men you sent out to pick me up seemed -more interested in shooting than talking. I'm wondering why."</p> - -<p>Mallon threw out his hands, "A little misunderstanding, Jackson. You -made it; that's all that counts. Now that you're here, we've got some -planning to do together. I've had it tough these last twenty years. -I started off with nothing: a few hundred scavengers living in the -ruins, hiding out every time Jersey or Dee-Cee raided for supplies. I -built an organization, started a systematic salvage operation. I saved -everything the rats and the weather hadn't gotten to, spruced up my -palace here and stocked it. It's a rich province, Jackson—"</p> - -<p>"And now you own it all. Not bad, Toby."</p> - -<p>"They say knowledge is power. I had the knowledge."</p> - -<p>I finished my drink and put the glass on the bar.</p> - -<p>"What's this planning you say we have to do?"</p> - -<p>Mallon leaned back on one elbow.</p> - -<p>"Jackson, it's been a long haul—alone. It's good to see an old -ship-mate. But we'll dine first."</p> - -<p>"I might manage to nibble a little something. Say a horse, roasted -whole. Don't bother to remove the saddle."</p> - -<p>He laughed. "First we eat," he said. "Then we conquer the world."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">VI</p> - -<p>I squeezed the last drop from the Beaujolais bottle and watched the -girl whose name was Renada, hold a light for the cigar Mallon had taken -from a silver box. My blue mess jacket and holster hung over the back -of the chair. Everything was cosy now.</p> - -<p>"Time for business, Jackson," Mallon said. He blew out smoke and looked -at me through it. "How did things look—inside."</p> - -<p>"Dusty. But intact, below ground level. Upstairs, there's blast damage -and weathering. I don't suppose it's changed much since you came out -twenty years ago. As far as I could tell, the Primary Site is okay."</p> - -<p>Mallon leaned forward. "Now, you made it out past the Bolo. How did it -handle itself? Still fully functional?"</p> - -<p>I sipped my wine, thinking over my answer, remembering the Bolo's empty -guns....</p> - -<p>"It damn near gunned me down. It's getting a little old and it can't -see as well as it used to, but it's still a tough baby."</p> - -<p>Mallon swore suddenly. "It was Mackenzie's idea. A last-minute move -when the tech crews had to evacuate. It was a dusting job, you know."</p> - -<p>"I hadn't heard. How did you find out all this?"</p> - -<p>Mallon shot me a sharp look. "There were still a few people around -who'd been in it. But never mind that. What about the Supply Site? -That's what we're interested in. Fuel, guns, even some nuclear -stuff. Heavy equipment; there's a couple more Bolos, moth-balled, I -understand. Maybe we'll even find one or two of the Colossus missiles -still in their silos. I made an air recon a few years back before my -chopper broke down—"</p> - -<p>"I think two silo doors are still in place. But why the interest in -armament?"</p> - -<p>Mallon snorted. "You've got a few things to learn about the setup, -Jackson. I need that stuff. If I hadn't lucked into a stock of weapons -and ammo in the armory cellar, Jersey would be wearing the spurs in my -palace right now!"</p> - -<p>I drew on my cigar and let the silence stretch out.</p> - -<p>"You said something about conquering the world, Toby. I don't suppose -by any chance you meant that literally?"</p> - -<p>Mallon stood up, his closed fists working like a man crumpling unpaid -bills. "They all want what I've got! They're all waiting." He walked -across the room, back. "I'm ready to move against them now! I can put -four thousand trained men in the field—"</p> - -<p>"Let's get a couple of things straight, Mallon," I cut in. "You've got -the natives fooled with this Baron routine. But don't try it on me. -Maybe it was even necessary once; maybe there's an excuse for some of -the stories I've heard. That's over now. I'm not interested in tribal -warfare or gang rumbles. I need—"</p> - -<p>"Better remember who's running things here, Jackson!" Mallon snapped. -"It's not what you need that counts." He took another turn up and down -the room, then stopped, facing me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Look, Jackson. I know how to get around in this jungle; you don't. If -I hadn't spotted you and given some orders, you'd have been gunned down -before you'd gone ten feet past the ballroom door."</p> - -<p>"Why'd you let me in? I might've been gunning for you."</p> - -<p>"You wanted to see the Baron alone. That suited me, too. If word -got out—" He broke off, cleared his throat. "Let's stop wrangling, -Jackson. We can't move until the Bolo guarding the site has been -neutralized. There's only one way to do that: knock it out! And the -only thing that can knock out a Bolo is another Bolo."</p> - -<p>"So?"</p> - -<p>"I've got another Bolo, Jackson. It's been covered, maintained. It can -go up against the Troll—" he broke off, laughed shortly. "That's what -the mob called it."</p> - -<p>"You could have done that years ago. Where do I come in?"</p> - -<p>"You're checked out on a Bolo, Jackson. You know something about this -kind of equipment."</p> - -<p>"Sure. So do you."</p> - -<p>"I never learned," he said shortly.</p> - -<p>"Who's kidding who, Mallon? We all took the same orientation course -less than a month ago—"</p> - -<p>"For me it's been a long month. Let's just say I've forgotten."</p> - -<p>"You parked that Bolo at your front gate and then forgot how you did -it, eh?"</p> - -<p>"Nonsense. It's always been there."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "I know different."</p> - -<p>Mallon looked wary. "Where'd you get that idea?"</p> - -<p>"Somebody told me."</p> - -<p>Mallon ground his cigar out savagely on the damask cloth. "You'll point -the scum out to me!"</p> - -<p>"I don't give a damn whether you moved it or not. Anybody with your -training can figure out the controls of a Bolo in half an hour—"</p> - -<p>"Not well enough to take on the Tr—another Bolo."</p> - -<p>I took a cigar from the silver box, picked up the lighter from the -table, turned the cigar in the flame. Suddenly it was very quiet in the -room.</p> - -<p>I looked across at Mallon. He held out his hand.</p> - -<p>"I'll take that," he said shortly.</p> - -<p>I blew out smoke, squinted through it at Mallon. He sat with his hand -out, waiting. I looked down at the lighter.</p> - -<p>It was a heavy windproof model, with embossed Aerospace wings. I -turned it over. Engraved letters read: <i>Lieut. Commander Don G. Banner, -USAF</i>. I looked up. Renada sat quietly, holding my pistol trained dead -on my belt buckle.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"I'm sorry you saw that," Mallon said. "It could cause -misunderstandings."</p> - -<p>"Where's Banner?"</p> - -<p>"He ... died. I told you—"</p> - -<p>"You told me a lot of things, Toby. Some of them might even be true. -Did you make him the same offer you've made me?"</p> - -<p>Mallon darted a look at Renada. She sat holding the pistol, looking at -me distantly, without expression.</p> - -<p>"You've got the wrong idea, Jackson—" Mallon started.</p> - -<p>"You and he came out about the same time," I said. "Or maybe you got -the jump on him by a few days. It must have been close; otherwise you'd -never have taken him. Don was a sharp boy."</p> - -<p>"You're out of your mind!" Mallon snapped. "Why, Banner was my friend!"</p> - -<p>"Then why do you get nervous when I find his lighter on your table? -There could be ten perfectly harmless explanations."</p> - -<p>"I don't make explanations," Mallon said flatly.</p> - -<p>"That attitude is hardly the basis for a lasting partnership, Toby. I -have an unhappy feeling there's something you're not telling me."</p> - -<p>Mallon pulled himself up in the chair. "Look here, Jackson. We've no -reason to fall out. There's plenty for both of us—and one day I'll be -needing a successor. It was too bad about Banner, but that's ancient -history now. Forget it. I want you with me, Jackson! Together we can -rule the Atlantic seaboard—or even more!"</p> - -<p>I drew on my cigar, looking at the gun in Renada's hand. "You hold the -aces, Toby. Shooting me would be no trick at all."</p> - -<p>"There's no trick involved, Jackson!" Mallon snapped. "After all," he -went on, almost wheedling now, "we're old friends. I want to give you a -break, share with you—"</p> - -<p>"I don't think I'd trust him if I were you, Mr. Jackson," Renada's -quiet voice cut in. I looked at her. She looked back calmly. "You're -more important to him than you think."</p> - -<p>"That's enough, Renada," Mallon barked. "Go to your room at once."</p> - -<p>"Not just yet, Toby," she said. "I'm also curious about how Commander -Banner died." I looked at the gun in her hand.</p> - -<p>It wasn't pointed at me now. It was aimed at Mallon's chest.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mallon sat sunk deep in his chair, looking at me with eyes like a -python with a bellyache. "You're fools, both of you," he grated. "I -gave you everything, Renada. I raised you like my own daughter. And -you, Jackson. You could have shared with me—all of it."</p> - -<p>"I don't need a share of your delusions, Toby. I've got a set of my -own. But before we go any farther, let's clear up a few points. Why -haven't you been getting any mileage out of your tame Bolo? And what -makes me important in the picture?"</p> - -<p>"He's afraid of the Bolo machine," Renada said. "There's a spell on it -which prevents men from approaching—even the Baron."</p> - -<p>"Shut your mouth, you fool!" Mallon choked on his fury. I tossed the -lighter in my hand and felt a smile twitching at my mouth.</p> - -<p>"So Don was too smart for you after all. He must have been the one -who had control of the Bolo. I suppose you called for a truce, and -then shot him out from under the white flag. But he fooled you. He -plugged a command into the Bolo's circuits to fire on anyone who came -close—unless he was Banner."</p> - -<p>"You're crazy!"</p> - -<p>"It's close enough. You can't get near the Bolo. Right? And after -twenty years, the bluff you've been running on the other Barons with -your private troll must be getting a little thin. Any day now, one of -them may decide to try you."</p> - -<p>Mallon twisted his face in what may have been an attempt at a placating -smile. "I won't argue with you, Jackson. You're right about the command -circuit. Banner set it up to fire an anti-personnel blast at anyone -coming within fifty yards. He did it to keep the mob from tampering -with the machine. But there's a loophole. It wasn't only Banner who -could get close. He set it up to accept any of the <i>Prometheus</i> -crew—except me. He hated me. It was a trick to try to get me killed."</p> - -<p>"So you're figuring I'll step in and de-fuse her for you, eh, Toby? -Well, I'm sorry as hell to disappoint you, but somehow in the -confusion I left my electro pass behind."</p> - -<p>Mallon leaned toward me. "I told you we need each other, Jackson: I've -got your pass. Yours and all the others. Renada, hand me my black box." -She rose and moved across to the desk, holding the gun on Mallon—and -on me, too, for that matter.</p> - -<p>"Where'd you get my pass, Mallon?"</p> - -<p>"Where do you think? They're the duplicates from the vault in the old -command block. I knew one day one of you would come out. I'll tell you, -Jackson, it's been hell, waiting all these years—and hoping. I gave -orders that any time the Great Troll bellowed, the mob was to form -up and stop anybody who came out. I don't know how you got through -them...."</p> - -<p>"I was too slippery for them. Besides," I added, "I met a friend."</p> - -<p>"A friend? Who's that?"</p> - -<p>"An old man who thought I was Prince Charming, come to wake everybody -up. He was nuts. But he got me through."</p> - -<p>Renada came back, handed me a square steel box. "Let's have the key, -Mallon," I said. He handed it over. I opened the box, sorted through -half a dozen silver-dollar-sized ovals of clear plastic, lifted one out.</p> - -<p>"Is it a magical charm?" Renada asked, sounding awed. She didn't seem -so sophisticated now—but I liked her better human.</p> - -<p>"Just a synthetic crystalline plastic, designed to resonate to a -pattern peculiar to my E.E.G." I said. "It amplifies the signal and -gives off a characteristic emission that the Psychotronic circuit in -the Bolo picks up."</p> - -<p>"That's what I thought. Magic."</p> - -<p>"Call it magic, then, kid." I dropped the electropass in my pocket, -stood and looked at Renada. "I don't doubt that you know how to use -that gun, honey, but I'm leaving now. Try not to shoot me."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"You're a fool if you try it," Mallon barked. "If Renada doesn't shoot -you, my guards will. And even if you made it, you'd still need me!"</p> - -<p>"I'm touched by your concern, Toby. Just why do I need you?"</p> - -<p>"You wouldn't get past the first sentry post without help, Jackson. -These people know me as the Trollmaster. They're in awe of me—of my -<i>Mana</i>. But together—we can get to the controls of the Bolo, then use -it to knock out the sentry machine at the Site—"</p> - -<p>"Then what? With an operating Bolo I don't need anything else. Better -improve the picture, Toby. I'm not impressed."</p> - -<p>He wet his lips.</p> - -<p>"It's <i>Prometheus</i>, do you understand? She's stocked with everything -from Browning needlers to Norge stunners. Tools, weapons, instruments. -And the power plants alone."</p> - -<p>"I don't need needlers if I own a Bolo, Toby."</p> - -<p>Mallon used some profanity. "You'll leave your liver and lights on the -palace altar, Jackson. I promise you that!"</p> - -<p>"Tell him what he wants to know, Toby." Renada said. Mallon narrowed -his eyes at her. "You'll live to regret this, Renada."</p> - -<p>"Maybe I will, Toby. But you taught me how to handle a gun—and to play -cards for keeps."</p> - -<p>The flush faded out of his face and left it pale. "All right, Jackson," -he said, almost in a whisper. "It's not only the equipment. It's ... -the men."</p> - -<p>I heard a clock ticking somewhere.</p> - -<p>"What men, Toby?" I said softly.</p> - -<p>"The crew. Day, Macy, the others. They're still in there, -Jackson—aboard the ship, in stasis. We were trying to get the ship off -when the attack came. There was forty minutes' warning. Everything was -ready to go. You were on a test run; there wasn't time to cycle you -out...."</p> - -<p>"Keep talking," I rapped.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"You know how the system was set up; it was to be a ten-year run out, -with an automatic turn-around at the end of that time if Alpha Centauri -wasn't within a milli-parsec." He snorted. "It wasn't. After twenty -years, the instruments checked. They were satisfied. There was a -planetary mass within the acceptable range. So they brought me out." He -snorted again. "The longest dry run in history. I unstrapped and came -out to see what was going on. It took me a little while to realize what -had happened. I went back in and cycled Banner and Mackenzie out. We -went into the town; you know what we found. I saw what we had to do, -but Banner and Mac argued. The fools wanted to reseal <i>Prometheus</i> and -proceed with the launch. For what? So we could spend the rest of our -lives squatting in the ruins, when by stripping the ship we could make -ourselves kings?"</p> - -<p>"So there was an argument?" I prompted.</p> - -<p>"I had a gun. I hit Mackenzie in the leg, I think—but they got clear, -found a car and beat me to the Site. There were two Bolos. What chance -did I have against them?" Mallon grinned craftily. "But Banner was a -fool. He died for it." The grin dropped like a stripper's bra. "But -when I went to claim my spoils, I discovered how the jackals had set -the trap for me."</p> - -<p>"That was downright unfriendly of them, Mallon. Oddly enough, it -doesn't make me want to stay and hold your hand."</p> - -<p>"Don't you understand yet!" Mallon's voice was a dry screech. "Even -if you got clear of the Palace, used the Bolo to set yourself up as -Baron—you'd never be safe! Not as long as one man was still alive -aboard the ship. You'd never have a night's rest, wondering when one of -them would walk out to challenge your rule...."</p> - -<p>"Uneasy lies the head, eh, Toby? You remind me of a queen bee. The -first one out of the chrysalis dismembers all her rivals."</p> - -<p>"I don't mean to kill them. That would be a waste. I mean to give them -useful work to do."</p> - -<p>"I don't think they'd like being your slaves, Toby. And neither would -I." I looked at Renada. "I'll be leaving you now," I said. "Whichever -way you decide, good luck."</p> - -<p>"Wait." She stood. "I'm going with you."</p> - -<p>I looked at her. "I'll be traveling fast, honey. And that gun in my -back may throw off my timing."</p> - -<p>She stepped to me, reversed the pistol and laid it in my hand.</p> - -<p>"Don't kill him, Mr. Jackson. He was always kind to me."</p> - -<p>"Why change sides now? According to Toby, my chances look not too good."</p> - -<p>"I never knew before how Commander Banner died," she said. "He was my -great-grandfather."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">VII</p> - -<p>Renada came back bundled in a gray fur as I finished buckling on my -holster.</p> - -<p>"So long, Toby," I said. "I ought to shoot you in the belly just for -Don—but—"</p> - -<p>I saw Renada's eyes widen at the same instant that I heard the click.</p> - -<p>I dropped flat and rolled behind Mallon's chair—and a gout of blue -flame yammered into the spot where I'd been standing. I whipped the gun -up and around into the peach-colored upholstery an inch from Toby's ear.</p> - -<p>"The next one nails you to the chair," I yelled. "Call 'em off!" There -was a moment of dead silence. Toby sat frozen. I couldn't see who'd -been doing the shooting. Then I heard a moan. Renada.</p> - -<p>"Let the girl alone or I'll kill him," I called.</p> - -<p>Toby sat rigid, his eyes rolled toward me.</p> - -<p>"You can't kill me, Jackson! I'm all that's keeping you alive."</p> - -<p>"You can't kill me either, Toby. You need my magic touch, remember? -Maybe you'd better give us a safe-conduct out of here. I'll take the -freeze off your Bolo—after I've seen to my business."</p> - -<p>Toby licked his lips. I heard Renada again. She was trying not to -moan—but moaning anyway.</p> - -<p>"You tried, Jackson. It didn't work out," Toby said through gritted -teeth. "Throw out your gun and stand up. I won't kill you—you know -that. You do as you're told and you may still live to a ripe old -age—and the girl, too."</p> - -<p>She screamed then—a mindless ululation of pure agony.</p> - -<p>"Hurry up, you fool, before they tear her arm off," Mallon grated. "Or -shoot. You'll get to watch her for twenty-four hours under the knife. -Then you'll have your turn."</p> - -<p>I fired again—closer this time. Mallon jerked his head and cursed.</p> - -<p>"If they touch her again, you get it, Toby," I said. "Send her over -here. Move!"</p> - -<p>"Let her go!" Mallon snarled. Renada stumbled into sight, moved around -the chair, then crumpled suddenly to the rug beside me.</p> - -<p>"Stand up, Toby," I ordered. He rose slowly. Sweat glistened on his -face now. "Stand over here." He moved like a sleepwalker. I got to my -feet. There were two men standing across the room beside a small open -door. A sliding panel. Both of them held power rifles leveled—but -aimed offside, away from the Baron.</p> - -<p>"Drop 'em!" I said. They looked at me, then lowered the guns, tossed -them aside.</p> - -<p>I opened my mouth to tell Mallon to move ahead, but my tongue felt -thick and heavy. The room was suddenly full of smoke. In front of me, -Mallon was wavering like a mirage. I started to tell him to stand -still, but with my thick tongue, it was too much trouble. I raised the -gun, but somehow it was falling to the floor,—slowly, like a leaf—and -then I was floating, too, on waves that broke on a dark sea....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Do you think you're the first idiot who thought he could kill me?" -Mallon raised a contemptuous lip. "This room's rigged ten different -ways."</p> - -<p>I shook my head, trying to ignore the film before my eyes and the -nausea in my body. "No, I imagine lots of people would like a crack at -you, Toby. One day one of them's going to make it."</p> - -<p>"Get him on his feet," Mallon snapped. Hard hands clamped on my arms, -hauled me off the cot. I worked my legs, but they were like yesterday's -celery; I sagged against somebody who smelled like uncured hides.</p> - -<p>"You seem drowsy," Mallon said. "We'll see if we can't wake you up."</p> - -<p>A thumb dug into my neck. I jerked away, and a jab under the ribs -doubled me over.</p> - -<p>"I have to keep you alive—for the moment," Mallon said. "But you won't -get a lot of pleasure out of it."</p> - -<p>I blinked hard. It was dark in the room. One of my handlers had a -ring of beard around his mouth—I could see that much. Mallon was -standing before me, hands on hips. I aimed a kick at him, just for fun. -It didn't work out; my foot seemed to be wearing a lead boat. The -unshaven man hit me in the mouth and Toby chuckled.</p> - -<p>"Have your fun, Dunger," he said, "but I'll want him alive and on his -feet for the night's work. Take him out and walk him in the fresh air. -Report to me at the Pavillion of the Troll in an hour." He turned to -something and gave orders about lights and gun emplacements, and I -heard Renada's name mentioned.</p> - -<p>Then he was gone and I was being dragged through the door and along the -corridor.</p> - -<p>The exercise helped. By the time the hour had passed, I was feeling -weak but normal—except for an aching head and a feeling that there was -a strand of spiderweb interfering with my vision. Toby had given me a -good meal. Maybe before the night was over he'd regret that mistake....</p> - -<p>Across the dark grounds, an engine started up, spluttered, then settled -down to a steady hum.</p> - -<p>"It's time," the one with the whiskers said. He had a voice like soft -cheese to match his smell. He took another half-twist in the arm he was -holding.</p> - -<p>"Don't break it," I grunted. "It belongs to the Baron, remember?"</p> - -<p>Whiskers stopped dead. "You talk too much—and too smart." He let my -arm go and stepped back. "Hold him, Pig Eye." The other man whipped -a forearm across my throat and levered my head back; then Whiskers -unlimbered the two-foot club from his belt and hit me hard in the side, -just under the ribs. Pig Eye let go and I folded over and waited while -the pain swelled up and burst inside me.</p> - -<p>Then they hauled me back to my feet. I couldn't feel any bone ends -grating, so there probably weren't any broken ribs—if that was any -consolation.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There were lights glaring now across the lawn. Moving figures cast long -shadows against the trees lining the drive—and on the side of the Bolo -Combat Unit parked under its canopy by the sealed gate.</p> - -<p>A crude breastwork had been thrown up just over fifty yards from it. -A wheel-mounted generator putted noisily in the background, laying a -layer of bluish exhaust in the air.</p> - -<p>Mallon was waiting with a 9 mm power rifle in his hands as we came -up, my two guards gripping me with both hands to demonstrate their -zeal, and me staggering a little more than was necessary. I saw Renada -standing by, wrapped in a gray fur. Her face looked white in the harsh -light. She made a move toward me and a greenback caught her arm.</p> - -<p>"You know what to do, Jackson," Mallon said speaking loudly against -the clatter of the generator. He made a curt gesture and a man stepped -up and buckled a stout chain to my left ankle. Mallon held out my -electropass. "I want you to walk straight to the Bolo. Go in by the -side port. You've got one minute to cancel the instructions punched -into the command circuit and climb back outside. If you don't show, -I close a switch there—" he pointed to a wooden box mounting an -open circuitbreaker, with a tangle of heavy cable leading toward the -Bolo—"and you cook in your shoes. The same thing happens if I see the -guns start to traverse or the anti-personnel ports open." I followed -the coils of armored wire from the chain on my ankle back to the wooden -box—and on to the generator.</p> - -<p>"Crude, maybe, but it will work. And if you get any idea of letting fly -a round or two at random—remember the girl will be right beside me."</p> - -<p>I looked across at the giant machine. "Suppose it doesn't recognize me? -It's been a while. Or what if Don didn't plug my identity pattern in to -the recognition circuit?"</p> - -<p>"In that case, you're no good to me anyway," Mallon said flatly.</p> - -<p>I caught Renada's eye, gave her a wink and a smile I didn't feel, and -climbed up on top of the revetment.</p> - -<p>I looked back at Mallon. He was old and shrunken in the garish light, -his smooth gray suit rumpled, his thin hair mussed, the gun held in a -white-knuckled grip. He looked more like a harrassed shopkeeper than a -would-be world-beater.</p> - -<p>"You must want the Bolo pretty bad to take the chance, Toby," I said. -"I'll think about taking that wild shot. You sweat me out."</p> - -<p>I flipped slack into the wire trailing my ankle, jumped down and -started across the smooth-trimmed grass, a long black shadow stalking -before me. The Bolo sat silent, as big as a bank in the circle of the -spotlight. I could see the flecks of rust now around the port covers, -the small vines that twined up her sides from the ragged stands of -weeds that marked no-man's land.</p> - -<p>There was something white in the brush ahead. Broken human bones.</p> - -<p>I felt my stomach go rigid again. The last man had gotten this far; I -wasn't in the clear yet....</p> - -<p>I passed two more scattered skeletons in the next twenty feet. They -must have come in on the run, guinea pigs to test the alertness of the -Bolo. Or maybe they'd tried creeping up, dead slow, an inch a day; it -hadn't worked....</p> - -<p>Tiny night creatures scuttled ahead. They would be safe here in the -shadow of the troll where no predator bigger than a mouse could move. -I stumbled, diverted my course around a ten-foot hollow, the eroded -crater of a near miss.</p> - -<p>Now I could see the great moss-coated treads, sunk a foot into the -earth, the nests of field mice tucked in the spokes of the yard-high -bogies. The entry hatch was above, a hairline against the great curved -flank. There were rungs set in the flaring tread shield. I reached up, -got a grip and hauled myself up. My chain clanked against the metal. I -found the door lever, held on and pulled.</p> - -<p>It resisted, then turned. There was the hum of a servo motor, a -crackling of dead gaskets. The hairline widened and showed me a narrow -companionway, green-anodized dural with black polymer treads, a -bulkhead with a fire extinguisher, an embossed steel data plate that -said BOLO DIVISION OF GENERAL MOTORS CORPORATION and below, in smaller -type, UNIT, COMBAT, BOLO MARK III.</p> - -<p>I pulled myself inside and went up into the Christmas tree glow of -instrument lights.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The control cockpit was small, utilitarian, with two deep-padded seats -set among screens, dials, levers. I sniffed the odors of oil, paint, -the characteristic ether and ozone of a nuclear generator. There was -a faint hum in the air from idling relay servos. The clock showed ten -past four. Either it was later than I thought, or the chronometer had -lost time in the last eighty years. But I had no time to lose....</p> - -<p>I slid into the seat, flipped back the cover of the command control -console. The Cancel key was the big white one. I pulled it down and let -it snap back, like a clerk ringing up a sale.</p> - -<p>A pattern of dots on the status display screen flicked out of -existence. Mallon was safe from his pet troll now.</p> - -<p>It hadn't taken me long to carry out my orders. I knew what to do next; -I'd planned it all during my walk out. Now I had thirty seconds to -stack the deck in my favor.</p> - -<p>I reached down, hauled the festoon of quarter-inch armored cable up in -front of me. I hit a switch, and the inner conning cover—a disk of -inch-thick armor—slid back. I shoved a loop of the flexible cable up -through the aperture, reversed the switch. The cover slid back—sliced -the armored cable like macaroni.</p> - -<p>I took a deep breath, and my hands went to the combat alert switch, -hovered over it.</p> - -<p>It was the smart thing to do—the easy thing. All I had to do was punch -a key, and the 9 mm's would open up, scythe Mallon and his crew down -like cornstalks.</p> - -<p>But the scything would mow Renada down, along with the rest. And if I -went—even without firing a shot—Mallon would keep his promise to cut -that white throat....</p> - -<p>My head was out of the noose now but I would have to put it back—for a -while.</p> - -<p>I leaned sideways, reached back under the panel, groped for a small -fuse box. My fingers were clumsy. I took a breath, tried again. The -fuse dropped out in my hand. The Bolo's IR circuit was dead now. With a -few more seconds to work, I could have knocked out other circuits—but -the time had run out.</p> - -<p>I grabbed the cut ends of my lead wire, knotted them around the chain -and got out fast.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">VIII</p> - -<p>Mallon waited, crouched behind the revetment.</p> - -<p>"It's safe now, is it?" he grated. I nodded. He stood, gripping his gun.</p> - -<p>"Now we'll try it together."</p> - -<p>I went over the parapet, Mallon following with his gun ready. The -lights followed us to the Bolo. Mallon clambered up to the open port, -looked around inside, then dropped back down beside me. He looked -excited now.</p> - -<p>"That does it, Jackson! I've waited a long time for this. Now I've got -all the <i>Mana</i> there is!"</p> - -<p>"Take a look at the cable on my ankle," I said softly. He narrowed his -eyes, stepped back, gun aimed, darted a glance at the cable looped to -the chain.</p> - -<p>"I cut it, Toby. I was alone in the Bolo with the cable cut—and I -didn't fire. I could have taken your toy and set up in business for -myself, but I didn't."</p> - -<p>"What's that supposed to buy you?" Mallon rasped.</p> - -<p>"As you said—we need each other. That cut cable proves you can trust -me."</p> - -<p>Mallon smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Safe, were you? Come here." I -walked along with him to the back of the Bolo. A heavy copper wire hung -across the rear of the machine, trailing off into the grass in both -directions.</p> - -<p>"I'd have burned you at the first move. Even with the cable cut, the -armored cover would have carried the full load right into the cockpit -with you. But don't be nervous. I've got other jobs for you." He jabbed -the gun muzzle hard into my chest, pushing me back. "Now get moving," -he snarled. "And don't ever threaten the Baron again."</p> - -<p>"The years have done more than shrivel your face, Toby," I said. -"They've cracked your brain."</p> - -<p>He laughed, a short bark. "You could be right. What's sane and what -isn't? I've got a vision in my mind—and I'll make it come true. If -that's insanity, it's better than what the mob has."</p> - -<p>Back at the parapet, Mallon turned to me. "I've had this campaign -planned in detail for years, Jackson. Everything's ready. We move -out in half an hour—before any traitors have time to take word to -my enemies. Pig Eye and Dunger will keep you from being lonely while -I'm away. When I get back—Well, maybe you're right about working -together." He gestured and my whiskery friend and his sidekick loomed -up. "Watch him," he said.</p> - -<p>"Genghis Khan is on the march, eh?" I said, "With nothing between you -and the goodies but a five-hundred ton Bolo...."</p> - -<p>"The Lesser Troll...." He raised his hands and made crushing motions, -like a man crumbling dry earth. "I'll trample it under my treads."</p> - -<p>"You're confused, Toby. The Bolo has treads. You just have a couple of -fallen arches."</p> - -<p>"It's the same. I am the Great Troll." He showed me his teeth and -walked away.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I moved along between Dunger and Pig Eye, towards the lights of the -garage.</p> - -<p>"The back entrance again," I said. "Anyone would think you were ashamed -of me."</p> - -<p>"You need more training, hah?" Dunger rasped. "Hold him, Pig Eye." He -unhooked his club and swung it loosely in his hand, glancing around. We -were near the trees by the drive. There was no one in sight except the -crews near the Bolo and a group by the front of the palace. Pig Eye -gave my arm a twist and shifted his grip to his old favorite strangle -hold. I was hoping he would.</p> - -<p>Dunger whipped the club up, and I grabbed Pig Eye's arm with both hands -and leaned forward like a Japanese admiral reporting to the Emperor. -Pig Eye went up and over just in time to catch Dunger's club across the -back. They went down together. I went for the club, but Whiskers was -faster than he looked. He rolled clear, got to his knees, and laid it -across my left arm, just below the shoulder.</p> - -<p>I heard the bone go....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was back on my feet, somehow. Pig Eye lay sprawled before me. I heard -him whining as though from a great distance. Dunger stood six feet -away, the ring of black beard spread in a grin like a hyena smelling -dead meat.</p> - -<p>"His back's broke," he said. "Hell of a sound he's making. I been -waiting for you; I wanted you to hear it."</p> - -<p>"I've heard it," I managed. My voice seemed to be coming off a worn -sound track. "Surprised ... you didn't work me over ... while I was -busy with the arm."</p> - -<p>"Uh-uh. I like a man to know what's going on when I work him over." He -stepped in, rapped the broken arm lightly with the club. Fiery agony -choked a groan off in my throat. I backed a step, he stalked me.</p> - -<p>"Pig Eye wasn't much, but he was my pal. When I'm through with you, -I'll have to kill him. A man with a broken back's no use to nobody. -His'll be finished pretty soon now, but not with you. You'll be around -a long time yet; but I'll get a lot of fun out of you before the Baron -gets back."</p> - -<p>I was under the trees now. I had some wild thoughts about grabbing up -a club of my own, but they were just thoughts. Dunger set himself and -his eyes dropped to my belly. I didn't wait for it; I lunged at him. He -laughed and stepped back, and the club cracked my head. Not hard; just -enough to send me down. I got my legs under me and started to get up—</p> - -<p>There was a hint of motion from the shadows behind Dunger. I shook my -head to cover any expression that might have showed, let myself drop -back.</p> - -<p>"Get up," Dunger said. The smile was gone now. He aimed a kick. "Get -up—"</p> - -<p>He froze suddenly, then whirled. His hearing must have been as keen as -a jungle cat's; I hadn't heard a sound.</p> - -<p>The old man stepped into view, his white hair plastered wet to his -skull, his big hands spread. Dunger snarled, jumped in and whipped the -club down; I heard it hit. There was flurry of struggle, then Dunger -stumbled back, empty-handed.</p> - -<p>I was on my feet again now. I made a lunge for Dunger as he roared and -charged. The club in the old man's hand rose and fell. Dunger crashed -past and into the brush. The old man sat down suddenly, still holding -the club. Then he let it fall and lay back. I went toward him and -Dunger rushed me from the side. I went down again.</p> - -<p>I was dazed, but not feeling any pain now. Dunger was standing over -the old man. I could see the big lean figure lying limply, arms -outspread—and a white bone handle, incongruously new and neat against -the shabby mackinaw. The club lay on the ground a few feet away. I -started crawling for it. It seemed a long way, and it was hard for me -to move my legs, but I kept at it. The light rain was falling again -now, hardly more than a mist. Far away there were shouts and the sound -of engines starting up. Mallon's convoy was moving out. He had won. -Dunger had won, too. The old man had tried, but it hadn't been enough. -But if I could reach the club, and swing it just once....</p> - -<p>Dunger was looking down at the old man. He leaned, withdrew the knife, -wiped it on his trouser leg, hitching up his pants to tuck it away in -its sheath. The club was smooth and heavy under my hand. I got a good -grip on it, got to my feet. I waited until Dunger turned, and then I -hit him across the top of the skull with everything I had left....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I thought the old man was dead until he blinked suddenly. His features -looked relaxed now, peaceful, the skin like parchment stretched over -bone. I took his gnarled old hand and rubbed it. It was as cold as a -drowned sailor.</p> - -<p>"You waited for me, Old-Timer?" I said inanely. He moved his head -minutely, and looked at me. Then his mouth moved. I leaned close to -catch what he was saying. His voice was fainter than lost lope.</p> - -<p>"Mom ... told me ... wait for you.... She said ... you'd ... come back -some day...."</p> - -<p>I felt my jaw muscles knotting.</p> - -<p>Inside me something broke and flowed away like molten metal. Suddenly -my eyes were blurred—and not only with rain. I looked at the old face -before me, and for a moment, I seemed to see a ghostly glimpse of -another face, a small round face that looked up.</p> - -<p>He was speaking again. I put my head down:</p> - -<p>"Was I ... good ... boy ... Dad?" Then the eyes closed.</p> - -<p>I sat for a long time, looking at the still face. Then I folded the -hands on the chest and stood.</p> - -<p>"You were more than a good boy, Timmy," I said. "You were a good man."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">IX</p> - -<p>My blue suit was soaking wet and splattered with mud, plus a few flecks -of what Dunger had used for brains, but it still carried the gold -eagles on the shoulders.</p> - -<p>The attendant in the garage didn't look at my face. The eagles were -enough for him. I stalked to a vast black Bentley—a '70 model, I -guessed, from the conservative eighteen-inch tail fins—and jerked the -door open. The gauge showed three-quarters full. I opened the glove -compartment, rummaged, found nothing. But then it wouldn't be up front -with the chauffeur....</p> - -<p>I pulled open the back door. There was a crude black leather holster -riveted against the smooth pale-gray leather, with the butt of a 4 mm -showing. There was another one on the opposite door, and a power rifle -slung from straps on the back of the driver's seat.</p> - -<p>Whoever owned the Bentley was overcompensating his insecurity. I took -a pistol, tossed it onto the front seat and slid in beside it. The -attendant gaped at me as I eased my left arm into my lap and twisted to -close the door. I started up. There was a bad knock, but she ran all -right. I flipped a switch and cold lances of light speared out into the -rain.</p> - -<p>At the last instant, the attendant started forward with his mouth open -to say something, but I didn't wait to hear it. I gunned out into the -night, slung into the graveled drive, and headed for the gate. Mallon -had had it all his way so far, but maybe it still wasn't too late....</p> - -<p>Two sentries, looking miserable in shiny black ponchos, stepped out -of the guard hut as I pulled up. One peered in at me, then came to a -sloppy position of attention and presented arms. I reached for the gas -pedal and the second sentry called something. The first man looked -startled, then swung the gun down to cover me. I eased a hand toward -my pistol, brought it up fast and fired through the glass. Then the -Bentley was roaring off into the dark along the potholed road that led -into town. I thought I heard a shot behind me, but I wasn't sure.</p> - -<p>I took the river road south of town, pounding at reckless speed -over the ruined blacktop, gaining on the lights of Mallon's horde -paralleling me a mile to the north. A quarter mile from the perimeter -fence, the Bentley broke a spring and skidded into a ditch.</p> - -<p>I sat for a moment taking deep breaths to drive back the compulsive -drowsiness that was sliding down over my eyes like a visor. My arm -throbbed like a cauterized stump. I needed a few minutes rest....</p> - -<p>A sound brought me awake like an old maid smelling cigar smoke in the -bedroom: the rise and fall of heavy engines in convoy. Mallon was -coming up at flank speed.</p> - -<p>I got out of the car and headed off along the road at a trot, holding -my broken arm with my good one to ease the jarring pain. My chances had -been as slim as a gambler's wallet all along, but if Mallon beat me to -the objective, they dropped to nothing.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The eastern sky had taken on a faint gray tinge, against which I could -make out the silhouetted gate posts and the dead floodlights a hundred -yards ahead.</p> - -<p>The roar of engines was getting louder. There were other sounds, too: -a few shouts, the chatter of a 9 mm, the <i>boom!</i> of something heavier, -and once a long-drawn <i>whoosh!</i> of falling masonry. With his new toy, -Mallon was dozing his way through the men and buildings that got in his -way.</p> - -<p>I reached the gate, picked my way over fallen wire mesh, then headed -for the Primary Site.</p> - -<p>I couldn't run now. The broken slabs tilted crazily, in no pattern. -I slipped, stumbled, but kept my feet. Behind me, headlights threw -shadows across the slabs. It wouldn't be long now before someone in -Mallon's task force spotted me and opened up with the guns—</p> - -<p>The whoop! <i>whoop!</i> WHOOP! of the guardian Bolo cut across the field.</p> - -<p>Across the broken concrete I saw the two red eyes flash, sweeping my -way. I looked toward the gate. A massed rank of vehicles stood in a -battalion front just beyond the old perimeter fence, engines idling, -ranged for a hundred yards on either side of a wide gap at the gate. -I looked for the high silhouette of Mallon's Bolo, and saw it far off -down the avenue, picked out in red, white and green navigation lights, -a jeweled dreadnaught. A glaring cyclopean eye at the top darted a -blue-white cone of light ahead, swept over the waiting escort, outlined -me like a set-shifter caught onstage by the rising curtain.</p> - -<p>The whoop! whoop! sounded again; the automated sentry Bolo was bearing -down on me along the dancing lane of light.</p> - -<p>I grabbed at the plastic disk in my pocket as though holding it in my -hand would somehow heighten its potency. I didn't know if the Lesser -Troll was programmed to exempt me from destruction or not; and there -was only one way to find out.</p> - -<p>It wasn't too late to turn around and run for it. Mallon might -shoot—or he might not. I could convince him that he needed me, that -together we could grab twice as much loot. And then, when he died—</p> - -<p>I wasn't really considering it; it was the kind of thought that flashes -through a man's mind like heat lightning when time slows in the instant -of crisis. It was hard to be brave with broken bone ends grating, -but what I had to do didn't take courage. I was a small, soft, human -grub, stepped on but still moving, caught on the harsh plain of broken -concrete between the clash of chrome-steel titans. But I knew which -direction to take.</p> - -<p>The Lesser Troll rushed toward me in a roll of thunder and I went to -meet it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It stopped twenty yards from me, loomed massive as a cliff. Its heavy -guns were dead. I knew. Without them it was no more dangerous than a -farmer with a shotgun—</p> - -<p>But against me a shotgun was enough.</p> - -<p>The slab under me trembled as if in anticipation. I squinted against -the dull red IR beams that pivoted to hold me, waiting while the -Troll considered. Then the guns elevated, pointed over my head like a -benediction. The Bolo knew me.</p> - -<p>The guns traversed fractionally. I looked back toward the enemy line, -saw the Great Troll coming up now, closing the gap, towering over its -waiting escort like a planet among moons. And the guns of the Lesser -Troll tracked it as it came—the empty guns, that for twenty years had -held Mallon's scavengers at bay.</p> - -<p>The noise of engines was deafening now. The waiting line moved -restlessly, pulverizing old concrete under churning treads. I didn't -realize I was being fired on until I saw chips fly to my left, and -heard the howl of richochets.</p> - -<p>It was time to move. I scrambled for the Bolo, snorted at the stink of -hot oil and ozone, found the rusted handholds, and pulled myself up—</p> - -<p>Bullets spanged off metal above me. Someone was trying for me with a -power rifle.</p> - -<p>The broken arm hung at my side like a fence-post nailed to my shoulder, -but I wasn't aware of the pain now. The hatch stood open half an inch. -I grabbed the lever, strained; it swung wide. No lights came up to meet -me. With the port cracked, they'd burned out long ago. I dropped down -inside, wriggled through the narrow crawl space into the cockpit. It -was smaller than the Mark III—and it was occupied.</p> - -<p>In the faint green light from the panel, the dead man crouched over the -controls, one desiccated hand in a shriveled black glove clutching the -control bar. He wore a GI weather suit and a white crash helmet, and -one foot was twisted nearly backward, caught behind a jack lever.</p> - -<p>The leg had been broken before he died. He must have jammed the foot -and twisted it so that the pain would hold off the sleep that had come -at last. I leaned forward to see the face. The blackened and mummified -features showed only the familiar anonymity of death, but the bushy -reddish mustache was enough.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Mac," I said. "Sorry to keep you waiting; I got held up."</p> - -<p>I wedged myself into the co-pilot's seat, flipped the IR screen -switch. The eight-inch panel glowed, showed me the enemy Bolo -trampling through the fence three hundred yards away, then moving onto -the ramp, dragging a length of rusty chain-link like a bridal train -behind it.</p> - -<p>I put my hand on the control bar. "I'll take it now, Mac." I moved the -bar, and the dead man's hand moved with it.</p> - -<p>"Okay, Mac," I said. "We'll do it together."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I hit the switches, canceling the pre-set response pattern. It had done -its job for eighty years, but now it was time to crank in a little -human strategy.</p> - -<p>My Bolo rocked slightly under a hit and I heard the tread shields drop -down. The chair bucked under me as Mallon moved in, pouring in the fire.</p> - -<p>Beside me, Mac nodded patiently. It was old stuff to him. I watched the -tracers on the screen. Hosing me down with contact exploders probably -gave Mallon a lot of satisfaction, but it couldn't hurt me. It would be -a different story when he tired of the game and tried the heavy stuff.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="650" height="230" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>I threw in the drive, backed rapidly. Mallon's tracers followed for a -few yards, then cut off abruptly. I pivoted, flipped on my polyarcs, -raced for the position I had selected across the field, then swung -to face Mallon as he moved toward me. It had been a long time since -he had handled the controls of a Bolo; he was rusty, relying on his -automatics. I had no heavy rifles, but my pop-guns were okay. I homed -my 4 mm solid-slug cannon on Mallon's polyarc, pressed the FIRE button.</p> - -<p>There was a scream from the high-velocity-feed magazine. The blue-white -light flared and went out. The Bolo's defenses could handle anything -short of an H-bomb, pick a missile out of the stratosphere fifty miles -away, devastate a county with one round from its mortars—but my BB gun -at point-blank range had poked out its eye.</p> - -<p>I switched everything off and sat silent, waiting. Mallon had come to -a dead stop. I could picture him staring at the dark screens, slapping -levers and cursing. He would be confused, wondering what had happened. -With his lights gone, he'd be on radar now—not very sensitive at this -range, not too conscious of detail....</p> - -<p>I watched my panel. An amber warning light winked. Mallon's radar was -locked on me.</p> - -<p>He moved forward again, then stopped; he was having trouble making up -his mind. I flipped a key to drop a padded shock frame in place, and -braced myself. Mallon would be getting mad now.</p> - -<p>Crimson danger lights flared on the board and I rocked under the recoil -as my interceptors flashed out to meet Mallon's C-S C's and detonate -them in incandescent rendezvous over the scarred concrete between us. -My screens went white, then dropped back to secondary brilliance, -flashing stark black-and-white. My ears hummed like trapped hornets.</p> - -<p>The sudden silence was like a vault door closing.</p> - -<p>I sagged back, feeling like Quasimodo after a wild ride on the bells. -The screens blinked bright again, and I watched Mallon, sitting -motionless now in his near blindness. On his radar screen I would show -as a blurred hill; he would be wondering why I hadn't returned his -fire, why I hadn't turned and run, why ... why....</p> - -<p>He lurched and started toward me. I waited, then eased back, slowly. -He accelerated, closing in to come to grips at a range where even the -split micro-second response of my defenses would be too slow to hold -off his fire. And I backed, letting him gain, but not too fast....</p> - -<p>Mallon couldn't wait.</p> - -<p>He opened up, throwing a mixed bombardment from his 9 mm's, his -infinite repeaters, and his C-S C's. I held on, fighting the battering -frame, watching the screens. The gap closed; a hundred yards, ninety, -eighty.</p> - -<p>The open silo yawned in Mallon's path now, but he didn't see it. The -mighty Bolo came on, guns bellowing in the night, closing for the -kill. On the brink of the fifty-foot-wide, hundred-yard-deep pit, it -hesitated as though sensing danger. Then it moved forward.</p> - -<p>I saw it rock, dropping its titanic prow, showing its broad back, -gouging the blasted pavement as its guns bore on the ground. Great -sheets of sparks flew as the treads reversed, too late. The Bolo hung -for a moment longer, then slid down majestically as a sinking liner, -its guns still firing into the pit like a challenge to Hell. And then -it was gone. A dust cloud boiled for a moment, then whipped away as -displaced air tornadoed from the open mouth of the silo.</p> - -<p>And the earth trembled under the impact far below.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">X</p> - -<p>The doors of the Primary Site blockhouse were nine-foot-high, -eight-inch-thick panels of solid chromalloy that even a Bolo would have -slowed down for, but they slid aside for my electropass like a shower -curtain at the YW. I went into a shadowy room where eighty years of -silence hung like black crepe on a coffin. The tiled floor was still -immaculate, the air fresh. Here at the heart of the Aerospace Center, -all systems were still go.</p> - -<p>In the Central Control bunker, nine rows of green lights glowed on -the high panel over red letters that spelled out STAND BY TO FIRE. A -foot to the left, the big white lever stood in the unlocked position, -six inches from the outstretched fingertips of the mummified corpse -strapped into the controller's chair. To the right, a red glow on the -monitor panel indicated the locked doors open.</p> - -<p>I rode the lift down to K level, stepped out onto the steel-railed -platform that hugged the sweep of the starship's hull and stepped -through into the narrow COC.</p> - -<p>On my right, three empty stasis tanks stood open, festooned cabling -draped in disorder. To the left were the four sealed covers under -which Day, Macy, Cruciani and Black waited. I went close, read dials. -Slender needles trembled minutely to the beating of sluggish hearts.</p> - -<p>They were alive.</p> - -<p>I left the ship, sealed the inner and outer ports. Back in the control -bunker, the monitor panel showed ALL CLEAR FOR LAUNCH now. I studied -the timer, set it, turned back to the master panel. The white lever was -smooth and cool under my hand. It seated with a click. The red hand of -the launch clock moved off jerkily, the ticking harsh in the silence.</p> - -<p>Outside, the Bolo waited. I climbed to a perch in the open conning -tower twenty feet above the broken pavement, moved off toward the west -where sunrise colors picked out the high towers of the palace.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I rested the weight of my splinted and wrapped arm on the balcony rail, -looking out across the valley and the town to the misty plain under -which <i>Prometheus</i> waited.</p> - -<p>"There's something happening now," Renada said. I took the binoculars, -watched as the silo doors rolled back.</p> - -<p>"There's smoke," Renada said.</p> - -<p>"Don't worry, just cooling gases being vented off." I looked at my -watch. "Another minute or two and man makes the biggest jump since the -first lungfish crawled out on a mud-flat."</p> - -<p>"What will they find out there?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "<i>Homo Terra Firma</i> can't even conceive of what <i>Homo -Astra</i> has ahead of him."</p> - -<p>"Twenty years they'll be gone. It's a long time to wait."</p> - -<p>"We'll be busy trying to put together a world for them to come back to. -I don't think we'll be bored."</p> - -<p>"Look!" Renada gripped my good arm. A long silvery shape, huge even -at the distance of miles, rose slowly out of the earth, poised on a -brilliant ball of white fire. Then the sound came, a thunder that -penetrated my bones, shook the railing under my hand. The fireball -lengthened into a silver-white column with the ship balanced at its -tip. Then the column broke free, rose up, up....</p> - -<p>I felt Renada's hand touch mine. I gripped it hard. Together we watched -as <i>Prometheus</i> took man's gift of fire back to the heavens.</p> - -<p class="ph4">END</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Night of the Trolls, by Keith Laumer - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NIGHT OF THE TROLLS *** - -***** This file should be named 53132-h.htm or 53132-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/1/3/53132/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Night of the Trolls - -Author: Keith Laumer - -Illustrator: Virgil Finlay - Nochem Nodel - -Release Date: September 23, 2016 [EBook #53132] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NIGHT OF THE TROLLS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - THE NIGHT OF THE TROLLS - - BY KEITH LAUMER - - ILLUSTRATED BY NODEL - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Worlds of Tomorrow October 1963 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - The machine's job was to defend its place against - enemies--but it had forgotten it had friends! - - -I - -It was different this time. There was a dry pain in my lungs, and a -deep ache in my bones, and a fire in my stomach that made me want to -curl into a ball and mew like a kitten. My mouth tasted as though mice -had nested in it, and when I took a deep breath wooden knives twisted -in my chest. - -I made a mental note to tell Mackenzie a few things about his pet -controlled-environment tank--just as soon as I got out of it. I -squinted at the over-face panel: air pressure, temperature, humidity, -O-level, blood sugar, pulse and respiration--all okay. That was -something. I flipped the intercom key and said, "Okay, Mackenzie, let's -have the story. You've got problems...." - -I had to stop to cough. The exertion made my temples pound. - -"How long have you birds run this damned exercise?" I called. "I feel -lousy. What's going on around here?" - -No answer. - -This was supposed to be the terminal test series. They couldn't all be -out having coffee. The equipment had more bugs than a two-dollar hotel -room. I slapped the emergency release lever. Mackenzie wouldn't like -it, but to hell with it! From the way I felt, I'd been in the tank -for a good long stretch this time--maybe a week or two. And I'd told -Ginny it would be a three-dayer at the most. Mackenzie was a great -technician, but he had no more human emotions than a used-car salesman. -This time I'd tell him. - -Relays were clicking, equipment was reacting, the tank cover sliding -back. I sat up and swung my legs aside, shivering suddenly. - -It was cold in the test chamber. I looked around at the dull gray -walls, the data recording cabinets, the wooden desk where Mac sat by -the hour re-running test profiles-- - -That was funny. The tape reels were empty and the red equipment light -was off. I stood, feeling dizzy. Where was Mac? Where were Bonner and -Day, and Mallon? - -"Hey!" I called. I didn't even get a good echo. - -_Someone_ must have pushed the button to start my recovery cycle; -where were they hiding now? I took a step, tripped over the cables -trailing behind me. I unstrapped and pulled the harness off. The effort -left me breathing hard. I opened one of the wall lockers; Banner's -pressure suit hung limply from the rack beside a rag-festooned coat -hanger. I looked in three more lockers. My clothes were missing--even -my bathrobe. I also missed the usual bowl of hot soup, the happy faces -of the techs, even Mac's sour puss. It was cold and silent and empty -here--more like a morgue than a top priority research center. - -I didn't like it. What the hell was going on? - -There was a weather suit in the last locker. I put it on, set the -temperature control, palmed the door open and stepped out into the -corridor. There were no lights, except for the dim glow of the -emergency route indicators. There was a faint, foul odor in the air. - -I heard a dry scuttling, saw a flick of movement. A rat the size of -a red squirrel sat up on his haunches and looked at me as if I were -something to eat. I made a kicking motion and he ran off, but not very -far. - -My heart was starting to thump a little harder now. The way it does -when you begin to realize that something's wrong--bad wrong. - - * * * * * - -Upstairs in the Admin Section, I called again. The echo was a little -better here. I went along the corridor strewn with papers, past the -open doors of silent rooms. In the Director's office, a blackened -wastebasket stood in the center of the rug. The air-conditioner intake -above the desk was felted over with matted dust nearly an inch thick. -There was no use shouting again. - -The place was as empty as a robbed grave--except for the rats. - -At the end of the corridor, the inner security door stood open. I went -through it and stumbled over something. In the faint light, it took me -a moment to realize what it was. - -He had been an M. P., in steel helmet and boots. There was nothing left -but crumbled bone and a few scraps of leather and metal. A .38 revolver -lay nearby. I picked it up, checked the cylinder and tucked it in the -thigh pocket of the weather suit. For some reason, it made me feel a -little better. - -I went on along B corridor and found the lift door sealed. The -emergency stairs were nearby. I went to them and started the two -hundred foot climb to the surface. - -The heavy steel doors at the tunnel had been blown clear. - -I stepped past the charred opening, looked out at a low gray sky -burning red in the west. Fifty yards away, the 5000-gallon water tank -lay in a tangle of rusty steel. What had it been? Sabotage, war, -revolution--an accident? And where was everybody? - -I rested for a while, then went across the innocent-looking fields to -the west, dotted with the dummy buildings that were supposed to make -the site look from the air like another stretch of farm land complete -with barns, sheds and fences. Beyond the site, the town seemed intact: -there were lights twinkling here and there, a few smudges of smoke -rising. - -Whatever had happened at the site, at least Ginny would be all -right--Ginny and Tim. Ginny would be worried sick, after--how long? A -month? - -Maybe more. There hadn't been much left of that soldier.... - - * * * * * - -I twisted to get a view to the south, and felt a hollow sensation in -my chest. Four silo doors stood open; the Colossus missiles had hit -back--at something. I pulled myself up a foot or two higher for a -look at the Primary Site. In the twilight, the ground rolled smooth -and unbroken across the spot where _Prometheus_ lay ready in her -underground berth. Down below, she'd be safe and sound maybe. She had -been built to stand up to the stresses of a direct extra-solar orbital -launch; with any luck, a few near-misses wouldn't have damaged her. - -My arms were aching from the strain of holding on. I climbed down and -sat on the ground to get my breath, watching the cold wind worry the -dry stalks of dead brush around the fallen tank. - -At home, Ginny would be alone, scared, maybe even in serious -difficulty. There was no telling how far municipal services had broken -down. But before I headed that way, I had to make a quick check on the -ship. _Prometheus_ was a dream that I--and a lot of others--had lived -with for three years. I had to be sure. - -I headed toward the pillbox that housed the tunnel head on the -off-chance that the car might be there. - -It was almost dark and the going was tough; the concrete slabs under -the sod were tilted and dislocated. Something had sent a ripple across -the ground like a stone tossed into a pond. - -I heard a sound and stopped dead. There was a clank and rumble from -beyond the discolored walls of the blockhouse a hundred yards away. -Rusted metal howled; then something as big as a beached freighter moved -into view. - -Two dull red beams glowing near the top of the high silhouette swung, -flashed crimson and held on me. A siren went off--an ear-splitting -whoop! _whoop!_ WHOOP! - -It was an unmanned Bolo Mark II Combat Unit on automated sentry -duty--and its intruder-sensing circuits were tracking me. - - * * * * * - -The Bolo pivoted heavily; the whoop! whoop! sounded again; the robot -watchdog was bellowing the alarm. - -I felt sweat pop out on my forehead. Standing up to a Mark II Bolo -without an electropass was the rough equivalent of being penned in with -an ill-tempered dinosaur. I looked toward the Primary blockhouse: too -far. The same went for the perimeter fence. My best bet was back to the -tunnel mouth. I turned to sprint for it, hooked a foot on a slab and -went down hard.... - -I got up, my head ringing, tasting blood in my mouth. The chipped -pavement seemed to rock under me. The Bolo was coming up fast. Running -was no good, I had to have a better idea. - -I dropped flat and switched my suit control to maximum insulation. - -The silvery surface faded to dull black. A two-foot square of tattered -paper fluttered against a projecting edge of concrete; I reached for -it, peeled it free, then fumbled with a pocket flap, brought out a -permatch, flicked it alight. When the paper was burning well, I tossed -it clear. It whirled away a few feet, then caught in a clump of grass. - -"Keep moving, damn you!" I whispered. The swearing worked. The gusty -wind pushed the paper on. I crawled a few feet and pressed myself into -a shallow depression behind the slab. The Bolo churned closer; a loose -treadplate was slapping the earth with a rhythmic thud. The burning -paper was fifty feet away now, a twinkle of orange light in the deep -twilight. - -At twenty yards, looming up like a pagoda, the Bolo halted, sat -rumbling and swiveling its rust-streaked turret, looking for the -radiating source its IR had first picked up. The flare of the paper -caught its electronic attention. The turret swung, then back. It was -puzzled. It whooped again, then reached a decision. - -Ports snapped open. A volley of anti-personnel slugs whoofed into the -target; the scrap of paper disappeared in a gout of tossed dirt. - -I hugged the ground like gold lame hugs a torch singer's hip and -waited; nothing happened. The Bolo sat, rumbling softly to itself. Then -I heard another sound over the murmur of the idling engine, a distant -roaring, like a flight of low-level bombers. I raised my head half an -inch and took a look. There were lights moving beyond the field--the -paired beams of a convoy approaching from the town. - - * * * * * - -The Bolo stirred, moved heavily forward until it towered over me no -more than twenty feet away. I saw gun ports open high on the armored -facade--the ones that housed the heavy infinite repeaters. Slim black -muzzles slid into view, hunted for an instant, then depressed and -locked. - -They were bearing on the oncoming vehicles that were spreading out now -in a loose skirmish line under a roiling layer of dust. The watchdog -was getting ready to defend its territory--and I was caught in the -middle. A blue-white floodlight lanced out from across the field, -glared against the scaled plating of the Bolo. I heard relays click -inside the monster fighting machine, and braced myself for the thunder -of her battery.... - -There was a dry rattle. - -The guns traversed, clattering emptily. Beyond the fence the floodlight -played for a moment longer against the Bolo, then moved on across the -ramp, back, across and back, searching.... - -Once more the Bolo fired its empty guns. Its red IR beams swept the -scene again; then relays snicked, the impotent guns retracted, the port -covers closed. - -Satisfied, the Bolo heaved itself around and moved off, trailing a -stink of ozone and ether, the broken tread thumping like a cripple on a -stair. - -I waited until it disappeared in the gloom two hundred yards away, then -cautiously turned my suit control to vent off the heat. Full insulation -could boil a man in his own gravy in less than half an hour. - -The floodlight had blinked off now. I got to my hands and knees and -started toward the perimeter fence. The Bolo's circuits weren't tuned -as fine as they should have been; it let me go. - - * * * * * - -There were men moving in the glare and dust, beyond the rusty lace-work -that had once been a chain-link fence. They carried guns and stood in -tight little groups, staring across toward the blockhouse. - -I moved closer, keeping flat and avoiding the avenues of yellowish -light thrown by the headlamps of the parked vehicles--halftracks, -armored cars, a few light manned tanks. - -There was nothing about the look of this crowd that impelled me to leap -up and be welcomed. They wore green uniforms, and half of them sported -beards. What the hell: had Castro landed in force? - -I angled off to the right, away from the big main gate that had been -manned day and night by guards with tommyguns. It hung now by one -hinge from a scarred concrete post, under a cluster of dead polyarcs -in corroded brackets. The big sign that had read GLENN AEROSPACE -CENTER--AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY lay face down in hip-high underbrush. - -More cars were coming up. There was a lot of talk and shouting; a squad -of men formed and headed my way, keeping to the outside of the fallen -fence. - -I was outside the glare of the lights now. I chanced a run for it, got -over the sagged wire and across a potholed blacktop road before they -reached me. I crouched in the ditch and watched as the detail dropped -men in pairs at fifty-yard intervals. - -Another five minutes and they would have intercepted me--along with -whatever else they were after. - -I worked my way back across an empty lot and found a strip of lesser -underbrush lined with shaggy trees, beneath which a patch of cracked -sidewalk showed here and there. - -Several things were beginning to be a little clearer now: The person -who had pushed the button to bring me out of stasis hadn't been around -to greet me, because no one pushed it. The automatics, triggered by -some malfunction, had initiated the recovery cycle. - -The system's self-contained power unit had been designed to maintain a -star-ship crewman's minimal vital functions indefinitely, at reduced -body temperature and metabolic rate. There was no way to tell exactly -how long I had been in the tank. From the condition of the fence and -the roads, it had been more than a matter of weeks--or even months. - -Had it been a year ... or more? I thought of Ginny and the boy, waiting -at home--thinking the old man was dead, probably. I'd neglected them -before for my work, but not like this.... - -Our house was six miles from the base, in the foothills on the other -side of town. It was a long walk, the way I felt--but I had to get -there. - - -II - -Two hours later, I was clear of the town, following the river bank west. - -I kept having the idea that someone was following me. But when I -stopped to listen, there was never anything there; just the still, cold -night, and the frogs, singing away patiently in the low ground to the -south. - -When the ground began to rise, I left the road and struck off across -the open field. I reached a wide street, followed it in a curve that -would bring me out at the foot of Ridge Avenue--my street. I could make -out the shapes of low, rambling houses now. - -It had been the kind of residential section the local Junior Chamber -members had hoped to move into some day. Now the starlight that -filtered through the cloud cover showed me broken windows, doors that -sagged open, automobiles that squatted on flat, dead tires under -collapsing car shelters--and here and there a blackened, weed-grown -foundation, like a gap in a row of rotting teeth. - -The neighborhood wasn't what it had been. How long had I been away? How -long...? - -I fell down again, hard this time. It wasn't easy getting up. I seemed -to weigh a hell of a lot for a guy who hadn't been eating regularly. My -breathing was very fast and shallow now, and my skull was getting ready -to split and give birth to a live alligator--the ill-tempered kind. -It was only a few hundred yards more; but why the hell had I picked a -place halfway up a hill? - -I heard the sound again--a crackle of dry grass. I got the pistol out -and stood flatfooted in the middle of the street, listening hard. - -All I heard was my stomach growling. I took the pistol off cock and -started off again, stopped suddenly a couple of times to catch him -off-guard; nothing. I reached the corner of Ridge Avenue, started up -the slope. Behind me, a stick popped loudly. - -I picked that moment to fall down again. Heaped leaves saved me from -another skinned knee. I rolled over against a low fieldstone wall and -propped myself against it. I had to use both hands to cock the pistol. -I stared into the dark, but all I could see were the little lights -whirling again. The pistol got heavy; I put it down, concentrated on -taking deep breaths and blinking away the fireflies. - -I heard footsteps plainly, close by. I shook my head, accidentally -banged it against the stone behind me. That helped. I saw him, not over -twenty feet away, coming up the hill toward me, a black-haired man with -a full beard, dressed in odds and ends of rags and furs, gripping a -polished club with a leather thong. - -I reached for the pistol, found only leaves, tried again, touched the -gun and knocked it away. I was still groping when I heard a scuffle of -feet. I swung around, saw a tall, wide figure with a mane of untrimmed -hair. - -He hit the bearded man like a pro tackle taking out the practice dummy. -They went down together hard and rolled over in a flurry of dry leaves. -The cats were fighting over the mouse; that was my signal to leave -quietly. - -I made one last grab for the gun, found it, got to my feet and -staggered off up the grade that seemed as steep now as penthouse rent. -And from down slope, I heard an engine gunned, the clash of a heavy -transmission that needed adjustment. A spotlight flickered, made -shadows dance. - -I recognized a fancy wrought-iron fence fronting a vacant lot; that -had been the Adams house. Only half a block to go--but I was losing my -grip fast. I went down twice more, then gave up and started crawling. -The lights were all around now, brighter than ever. My head split open, -dropped off and rolled downhill. - -A few more yards and I could let it all go. Ginny would put me in a -warm bed, patch up my scratches, and feed me soup. Ginny would ... -Ginny.... - - * * * * * - -I was lying with my mouth full of dead leaves. I heard running feet, -yells. An engine idled noisily down the block. - -I got my head up and found myself looking at chipped brickwork and the -heavy brass hinges from which my front gate had hung. The gate was gone -and there was a large chunk of brick missing. Some delivery truck had -missed his approach. - -I got to my feet, took a couple of steps into deep shadow with feet -that felt as though they'd been amputated and welded back on at the -ankle. I stumbled, fetched up against something scaled over with rust. -I held on, blinked and made out the seeping flank of my brand new -'79 Pontiac. There was a crumbled crust of whitish glass lining the -bright-work strip that had framed the rear window. - -A fire...? - -A footstep sounded behind me, and I suddenly remembered several things, -none of them pleasant. I felt for my gun; it was gone. I moved back -along the side of the car, tried to hold on. - -No use. My arms were like unsuccessful pie crust. I slid down among -dead leaves, sat listening to the steps coming closer. They stopped, -and through a dense fog that had sprung up suddenly I caught a glimpse -of a tall white-haired figure standing over me. - -Then the fog closed in and swept everything away. - - * * * * * - -I lay on my back this time, looking across at the smoky yellow light of -a thick brown candle guttering in the draft from a glassless window. -In the center of the room, a few sticks of damp-looking wood heaped -on the cracked asphalt tiles burned with a grayish flame. A thin curl -of acrid smoke rose up to stir cobwebs festooned under ceiling beams -from which wood veneer had peeled away. Light alloy truss-work showed -beneath. - -It was a strange scene, but not so strange that I didn't recognize -it: it was my own living room--looking a little different than when I -had seen it last. The odors were different, too; I picked out mildew, -badly-cured leather, damp wool, tobacco.... - -I turned my head. A yard from the rags I lay on, the white-haired man, -looking older than pharaoh, sat sleeping with his back against the wall. - -The shotgun was gripped in one big, gnarled hand. His head was tilted -back, blue-veined eyelids shut. I sat up, and at my movement his eyes -opened. - -He lay relaxed for a moment, as though life had to return from some -place far away. Then he raised his head. His face was hollow and lined. -His white hair was thin. A coarse-woven shirt hung loose across wide -shoulders that had been Herculean once. But now Hercules was old, old. -He looked at me expectantly. - -"Who are you?" I said. "Why did you follow me? What happened to the -house? Where's my family? Who owns the bully-boys in green?" My jaw -hurt when I spoke. I put my hand up and felt it gingerly. - -"You fell," the old man said, in a voice that rumbled like a -subterranean volcano. - -"The understatement of the year, Pop." I tried to get up. Nausea -knotted my stomach. - -"You have to rest," the old man said, looking concerned. "Before the -Baron's men come...." He paused, looking at me as though he expected me -to say something profound. - -"I want to know where the people are that live here!" My yell came out -as weak as church-social punch. "A woman and a boy...." - -He was shaking his head. "You have to do something quick. The soldiers -will come back, search every house--" - -I sat up, ignoring the little men driving spikes into my skull. "I -don't give a damn about soldiers! Where's my family? What's happened?" -I reached out and gripped his arm. "How long was I down there? What -year is this?" - - * * * * * - -He only shook his head. "Come, eat some food. Then I can help you with -your plan." - -It was no use talking to the old man; he was senile. - -I got off the cot. Except for the dizziness and a feeling that my knees -were made of papier-mache, I was all right. I picked up the hand-formed -candle, stumbled into the hall. - -It was a jumble of rubbish. I climbed through, pushed open the door to -my study. There was my desk, the tall bookcase with the glass doors, -the gray rug, the easy chair. Aside from a layer of dust and some -peeling wall paper, it looked normal. I flipped the switch. Nothing -happened. - -"What is that charm?" the old man said behind me. He pointed to the -light switch. - -"The power's off," I said. "Just habit." - -He reached out and flipped the switch up, then down again. "It makes a -pleasing sound." - -"Yeah." I picked up a book from the desk; it fell apart in my hands. - -I went back into the hall, tried the bedroom door, looked in at heaped -leaves, the remains of broken furniture, an empty window frame. I went -on to the end of the hall and opened the door to the bedroom. - -Cold night wind blew through a barricade of broken timbers. The roof -had fallen in, and a sixteen-inch tree trunk slanted through the -wreckage. The old man stood behind me, watching. - -"Where is she, damn you?" I leaned against the door frame to swear and -fight off the faintness. "Where's my wife?" - -The old man looked troubled. "Come, eat now...." - -"Where is she? Where's the woman who lived here?" - -He frowned, shook his head dumbly. I picked my way through the -wreckage, stepped out into knee-high brush. A gust blew my candle out. -In the dark I stared at my back yard, the crumbled pit that had been -the barbecue grill, the tangled thickets that had been rose beds--and a -weathered length of boards upended in the earth. - -"What the hell's this...?" I fumbled out a permatch, lit my candle, -leaned close and read the crude letters cut into the crumbling wood: -VIRGINIA ANNE JACKSON. BORN JAN. 8 1957. KILL BY THE DOGS WINTER 1992. - - -III - -The Baron's men came twice in the next three days. Each time the old -man carried me, swearing but too weak to argue, out to a lean-to of -branches and canvas in the woods behind the house. Then he disappeared, -to come back an hour or two later and haul me back to my rag bed by the -fire. - -Three times a day he gave me a tin pan of stew, and I ate it -mechanically. My mind went over and over the picture of Ginny, living -on for twelve years in the slowly decaying house, and then-- - -It was too much. There are some shocks the mind refuses. - -I thought of the tree that had fallen and crushed the east wing. An elm -that size was at least fifty to sixty years old--maybe older. And the -only elm on the place had been a two-year sapling. I knew it well; I -had planted it. - -The date carved on the headboard was 1992. As nearly as I could -judge another thirty-five years had passed since then at least. My -shipmates--Banner, Day, Mallon--they were all dead, long ago. How had -they died? The old man was too far gone to tell me anything useful. -Most of my questions produced a shake of the head and a few rumbled -words about charms, demons, spells, and the Baron. - -"I don't believe in spells," I said. "And I'm not too sure I believe in -this Baron. Who is he?" - -"The Baron Trollmaster of Filly. He holds all this country--" the old -man made a sweeping gesture with his arm--"all the way to Jersey." - -"Why was he looking for me? What makes me important?" - -"You came from the Forbidden Place. Everyone heard the cries of the -Lesser Troll that stands guard over the treasure there. If the Baron -can learn your secrets of power--" - -"Troll, hell! That's nothing but a Bolo on automatic!" - -"By any name every man dreads the monster. A man who walks in its -shadow has much _mana_. But the others--the ones that run in a pack -like dogs--would tear you to pieces for a demon if they could lay hands -on you." - -"You saw me back there. Why didn't you give me away? And why are you -taking care of me now?" - -He shook his head--the all-purpose answer to any question. - -I tried another tack: "Who was the rag man you tackled just outside? -Why was he laying for me?" - -The old man snorted. "Tonight the dogs will eat him. But forget that. -Now we have to talk about your plan--" - -"I've got about as many plans as the senior boarder in Death Row. I -don't know if you know it, Old Timer, but somebody slid the world out -from under me while I wasn't looking." - -The old man frowned. I had the thought that I wouldn't like to have him -mad at me, for all his white hair.... - - * * * * * - -He shook his head. "You must understand what I tell you. The soldiers -of the Baron will find you some day. If you are to break the spell--" - -"Break the spell, eh?" I snorted. "I think I get the idea, Pop. -You've got it in your head that I'm a valuable property of some -kind. You figure I can use my supernatural powers to take over this -menagerie--and you'll be in on the ground floor. Well, listen, you old -idiot! I spent sixty years--maybe more--in a stasis tank two hundred -feet underground. My world died while I was down there. This Baron of -yours seems to own everything now. If you think I'm going to get myself -shot bucking him, forget it!" - -The old man didn't say anything. - -"Things don't seem to be broken up much," I went on. "It must have been -gas, or germ warfare--or fallout. Damn few people around. You're still -able to live on what you can loot from stores; automobiles are still -sitting where they were the day the world ended. How old were you when -it happened, Pop? The war, I mean. Do you remember it?" - -He shook his head. "The world has always been as it is now." - -"What year were you born?" - -He scratched at his white hair. "I knew the number once. But I've -forgotten." - -"I guess the only way I'll find out how long I was gone is to saw that -damned elm in two and count the rings--but even that wouldn't help -much; I don't know when it blew over. Never mind. The important thing -now is to talk to this Baron of yours. Where does he stay?" - -The old man shook his head violently. "If the Baron lays his hands on -you, he'll wring the secrets from you on the rack! I know his ways. For -five years I was a slave in the Palace Stables." - -"If you think I'm going to spend the rest of my days in this rat nest, -you got another guess on the house! This Baron has tanks, an army. He's -kept a little technology alive. That's the outfit for me--not this -garbage detail! Now, where's this place of his located?" - -"The guards will shoot you on sight like a pack-dog!" - -"There has to be a way to get to him, old man! Think!" - -The old head was shaking again. "He fears assassination. You can never -approach him...." He brightened. "Unless you know a spell of power?" - -I chewed my lip. "Maybe I do at that. You wanted me to have a plan. I -think I feel one coming on. Have you got a map?" - -He pointed to the desk beside me. I tried the drawers, found mice, -roaches, moldy money--and a stack of folded maps. I opened one -carefully; faded ink on yellowed paper, falling apart at the creases. -The legend in the corner read: "PENNSYLVANIA 40M:1. Copyright 1970 by -ESSO Corporation." - -"This will do, Pop," I said. "Now, tell me all you can about this Baron -of yours." - -"You'll destroy him?" - -"I haven't even met the man." - -"He is evil." - -"I don't know; he owns an army. That makes up for a lot...." - - * * * * * - -After three more days of rest and the old man's stew, I was back to -normal--or near enough. I had the old man boil me a tub of water for -a bath and a shave. I found a serviceable pair of synthetic fiber -long-johns in a chest of drawers, pulled them on and zipped the weather -suit over them, then buckled on the holster I had made from a tough -plastic. - -"That completes my preparations, Pop," I said. "It'll be dark in -another half hour. Thanks for everything." - -He got to his feet, a worried look on his lined face, like a father the -first time Junior asks for the car. - -"The Baron's men are everywhere." - -"If you want to help, come along and back me up with that shotgun of -yours." I picked it up. "Have you got any shells for this thing?" - -He smiled, pleased now. "There are shells--but the magic is gone from -many." - -"That's the way magic is, Pop. It goes out of things before you notice." - -"Will you destroy the Great Troll now?" - -"My motto is let sleeping trolls lie. I'm just paying a social call on -the Baron." - -The joy ran out of his face like booze from a dropped jug. - -"Don't take it so hard, Old Timer. I'm not the fairy prince you were -expecting. But I'll take care of you--if I make it." - -I waited while he pulled on a moth-eaten mackinaw. He took the shotgun -and checked the breech, then looked at me. - -"I'm ready," he said. - -"Yeah," I said. "Let's go...." - - * * * * * - -The Baronial palace was a forty-story slab of concrete and glass -that had been known in my days as the Hilton Garden East. We made it -in three hours of groping across country in the dark, at the end of -which I was puffing but still on my feet. We moved out from the cover -of the trees and looked across a dip in the ground at the lights, -incongruously cheerful in the ravaged valley. - -"The gates are there--" the old man pointed--"guarded by the Great -Troll." - -"Wait a minute. I thought the Troll was the Bolo back at the Site." - -"That's the Lesser Troll. This is the Great One." - -I selected a few choice words and muttered them to myself. "It would -have saved us some effort if you'd mentioned this Troll a little -sooner, Old Timer. I'm afraid I don't have any spells that will knock -out a Mark II, once it's got its dander up." - -He shook his head. "It lies under enchantment. I remember the day when -it came, throwing thunderbolts. Many men were killed. Then the Baron -commanded it to stand at his gates to guard him." - -"How long ago was this, Old Timer?" - -He worked his lips over the question. "Long ago," he said finally. -"Many winters." - -"Let's go take a look." - -We picked our way down the slope, came up along a rutted dirt road -to the dark line of trees that rimmed the palace grounds. The old man -touched my arm. - -"Softly here. Maybe the Troll sleeps lightly...." - -I went the last few yards, eased around a brick column with a dead -lantern on top, stared across fifty yards of waist-high brush at a dark -silhouette outlined against the palace lights. - -Cables, stretched from trees outside the circle of weeds, supported -a weathered tarp which drooped over the Bolo. The wreckage of a -helicopter lay like a crumpled dragonfly at the far side of the ring. -Nearer, fragments of a heavy car chassis lay scattered. The old man -hovered at my shoulder. - -"It looks as though the gate is off limits," I hissed. "Let's try -farther along." - -He nodded. "No one passes here. There is a second gate, there." He -pointed. "But there are guards." - -"Let's climb the wall between gates." - -"There are sharp spikes on top the wall. But I know a place, farther -on, where the spikes have been blunted." - -"Lead on, Pop." - -Half an hour of creeping through wet brush brought us to the spot we -were looking for. It looked to me like any other stretch of eight-foot -masonry wall overhung with wet poplar trees. - -"I'll go first," the old man said, "to draw the attention of the guard." - -"Then who's going to boost me up? I'll go first." - -He nodded, cupped his hands and lifted me as easily as a sailor lifting -a beer glass. Pop was old--but he was nobody's softie. - -I looked around, then crawled up, worked my way over the corroded -spikes, dropped down on the lawn. - -Immediately I heard a crackle of brush. A man stood up not ten feet -away. I lay flat in the dark trying to look like something that had -been there a long time.... - -I heard another sound, a thump and a crashing of brush. The man before -me turned, disappeared in the darkness. I heard him beating his way -through shrubbery; then he called out, got an answering shout from the -distance. - -I didn't loiter. I got to my feet and made a sprint for the cover of -the trees along the drive. - - -IV - -Flat on the wet ground, under the wind-whipped branches of an -ornamental cedar, I blinked the fine misty rain from my eyes, waiting -for the half-hearted alarm behind me to die down. - -There were a few shouts, some sounds of searching among the shrubbery. -It was a bad night to be chasing imaginary intruders in the Baronial -grounds. In five minutes, all was quiet again. - -I studied the view before me. The tree under which I lay was one -of a row lining a drive. It swung in a graceful curve, across a -smooth half-mile of dark lawn, to the tower of light that was the -Palace of the Baron of Filly. The silhouetted figures of guards and -late-arriving guests moved against the gleam from the collonaded -entrance. On a terrace high above, dancers twirled under colored -lights. The faint glow of the repellor field kept the cold rain at a -distance. In a lull in the wind, I heard music, faintly. The Baron's -weekly Grand Ball was in full swing. - -I saw shadows move across the wet gravel before me, then heard the -purr of an engine. I hugged the ground and watched a long svelte -Mercedes--about a '68 model, I estimated--barrel past. - -The mob in the city ran in packs like dogs, but the Baron's friends did -a little better for themselves. - -I got to my feet and moved off toward the palace, keeping well in the -shadows. When the drive swung to the right to curve across in front of -the building, I left it, went to hands and knees and followed a trimmed -privet hedge, past dark rectangles of formal garden to the edge of a -secondary pond of light from the garages. I let myself down on my belly -and watched the shadows that moved on the graveled drive. - -There seemed to be two men on duty--no more. Waiting around wouldn't -improve my chances. I got to my feet, stepped out into the drive and -walked openly around the corner of the gray fieldstone building into -the light. - -A short, thickset man in greasy Baronial green looked at me -incuriously. My weather suit looked enough like ordinary coveralls -to get me by--at least for a few minutes. A second man, tilted back -against the wall in a wooden chair, didn't even turn his head. - -"Hey!" I called. "You birds got a three-ton jack I can borrow?" - -Shorty looked me over sourly. "Who you drive for, Mac?" - -"The High Duke of Jersey. Flat. Left rear. On a night like this. Some -luck." - -"The Jersey can't afford a jack?" - - * * * * * - -I stepped over the short man, prodded him with a forefinger. "He could -buy you and gut you on the altar any Saturday night of the week, -low-pockets. And he'd get a kick out of doing it. He's like that." - -"Can't a guy crack a harmless joke without somebody talks about -altar-bait? You wanna jack, take a jack." - -The man in the chair opened one eye and looked me over. "How long you -on the Jersey payroll?" he growled. - -"Long enough to know who handles the rank between Jersey and Filly." I -yawned, looked around the wide, cement floored garage, glanced over the -four heavy cars with the Filly crest on their sides. - -"Where's the kitchen? I'm putting a couple of hot coffees under my belt -before I go back out into that." - -"Over there. A flight up and to your left. Tell the cook Pintsy invited -you." - -"I tell him Jersey sent me, low-pockets." I moved off in a dead -silence, opened the door and stepped up into spicy-scented warmth. - -A deep carpet--even here--muffled my footsteps. I could hear the clash -of pots and crockery from the kitchen a hundred feet distant along the -hallway. I went along to a deep-set doorway ten feet from the kitchen, -tried the knob and looked into a dark room. I pushed the door shut and -leaned against it, watching the kitchen. Through the woodwork I could -feel the thump of the bass notes from the orchestra blasting away -three flights up. The odors of food--roast fowl, baked ham, grilled -horsemeat--curled under the kitchen door and wafted under my nose. -I pulled my belt up a notch and tried to swallow the dryness in my -throat. The old man had fed me a half a gallon of stew, before we left -home, but I was already working up a fresh appetite. - -Five slow minutes passed. Then the kitchen door swung open and a -tall round-shouldered fellow with a shiny bald scalp stepped into view, -a tray balanced on the spread fingers of one hand. He turned, the black -tails of his cutaway swirling, called something behind him and started -past me. I stepped out, clearing my throat. He shied, whirled to face -me. He was good at his job: The two dozen tiny glasses on the tray -stood fast. He blinked, got an indignant remark ready-- - -I showed him the knife the old man had lent me--a bone-handled job with -a six-inch switch-blade. "Make a sound and I'll cut your throat," I -said softly. "Put the tray on the floor." - -He started to back. I brought the knife up. He took a good look, licked -his lips, crouched quickly and put the tray down. - -"Turn around." - -I stepped in and chopped him at the base of the neck with the edge of -my hand. He folded like a two-dollar umbrella. - -I wrestled the door open and dumped him inside, paused a moment to -listen. All quiet. I worked his black coat and trousers off, unhooked -the stiff white dickey and tie. He snored softly. I pulled the clothes -on over the weather suit. They were a fair fit. By the light of my -pencil flash, I cut down a heavy braided cord hanging by a high window, -used it to truss the waiter's hands and feet together behind him. There -was a small closet opening off the room. I put him in it, closed the -door and stepped back into the hall. Still quiet. I tried one of the -drinks. It wasn't bad. - -I took another, then picked up the tray and followed the sounds of -music. - - * * * * * - -The grand ballroom was a hundred yards long, fifty wide, with walls of -rose, gold and white, banks of high windows hung with crimson velvet, a -vaulted ceiling decorated with cherubs and a polished acre of floor on -which gaudily gowned and uniformed couples moved in time to the heavy -beat of the traditional fox-trot. I moved slowly along the edge of the -crowd, looking for the Baron. - -A hand caught my arm and hauled me around. A glass fell off my tray, -smashed on the floor. - -A dapper little man in black and white headwaiter's uniform glared up -at me. - -"What do you think you're doing, cretin?" he hissed. "That's the -genuine ancient stock you're slopping on the floor." I looked around -quickly; no one else seemed to be paying any attention. - -"Where are you from?" he snapped. I opened my mouth-- - -"Never mind, you're all the same." He waggled his hands disgustedly. -"The field-hands they send me--a disgrace to the Black. Now, you! Stand -up! Hold your tray proudly, gracefully! Step along daintily, not like -a knight taking the field! And pause occasionally--just on the chance -that some noble guest might wish to drink." - -"You bet, pal," I said. I moved on, paying a little more attention to -my waiting. I saw plenty of green uniforms; pea green, forest green, -emerald green--but they were all hung with braid and medals. According -to Pop, the Baron affected a spartan simplicity. The diffidence of -absolute power. - -There were high white and gold doors every few yards along the side -of the ballroom. I spotted one standing open and sidled toward it. It -wouldn't hurt to reconnoiter the area. - -Just beyond the door, a very large sentry in a bottle-green uniform -almost buried under gold braid moved in front of me. He was dressed -like a toy soldier, but there was nothing playful about the way he -snapped his power gun to the ready. I winked at him. - -"Thought you boys might want a drink," I hissed. "Good stuff." - -He looked at the tray, licked his lips. "Get back in there, you fool," -he growled. "You'll get us both hung." - -"Suit yourself, pal." I backed out. Just before the door closed between -us, he lifted a glass off the tray. - - * * * * * - -I turned, almost collided with a long lean cookie in a powder-blue -outfit complete with dress sabre, gold frogs, leopard-skin facings, a -pair of knee-length white gloves looped under an epaulette, a pistol in -a fancy holster and an eighteen-inch swagger stick. He gave me the kind -of look old maids give sin. - -"Look where you're going, swine," he said in a voice like a pine board -splitting. - -"Have a drink, Admiral," I suggested. - -He lifted his upper lip to show me a row of teeth that hadn't had -their annual trip to the dentist lately. The ridges along each side -of his mouth turned greenish white. He snatched for the gloves on his -shoulder, fumbled them; they slapped the floor beside me. - -"I'd pick those up for you, Boss," I said, "But I've got my tray...." - -He drew a breath between his teeth, chewed it into strips and snorted -it back at me, then snapped his fingers and pointed with his stick -toward the door behind me. - -"Through there, instantly!" It didn't seem like the time to argue; I -pulled it open and stepped through. - -The guard in green ducked his glass and snapped to attention when -he saw the baby-blue outfit. My new friend ignored him, made a curt -gesture to me. I got the idea, trailed along the wide, high, gloomy -corridor to a small door, pushed through it into a well-lit tile-walled -latrine. A big-eyed slave in white ducks stared. - -Blue-boy jerked his head. "Get out!" The slave scuttled away. Blue-boy -turned to me. - -"Strip off your jacket, slave! Your owner has neglected to teach you -discipline." - -I looked around quickly, saw that we were alone. - -"Wait a minute while I put the tray down, corporal," I said. "We don't -want to waste any of the good stuff." I turned to put the tray on a -soiled linen bin, caught a glimpse of motion in the mirror. - -I ducked, and the nasty-looking little leather quirt whistled past my -ear, slammed against the edge of a marble-topped lavatory with a crack -like a pistol shot. I dropped the tray, stepped in fast and threw a -left to Blue-boy's jaw that bounced his head against the tiled wall. -I followed up with a right to the belt buckle, then held him up as he -bent over, gagging, and hit him hard under the ear. - -I hauled him into a booth, propped him up and started shedding the -waiter's blacks. - - -V - -I left him on the floor wearing my old suit, and stepped out into the -hall. - -I liked the feel of his pistol at my hip. It was an old fashioned .38, -the same model I favored. The blue uniform was a good fit, what with -the weight I'd lost. Blue-boy and I had something in common after all. - -The latrine attendant goggled at me. I grimaced like a quadruple -amputee trying to scratch his nose and jerked my head toward the door I -had come out of. I hoped the gesture would look familiar. - -"Truss that mad dog and throw him outside the gates," I snarled. I -stamped off down the corridor, trying to look mad enough to discourage -curiosity. - -Apparently it worked. Nobody yelled for the cops. - -I reentered the ballroom by another door, snagged a drink off a passing -tray, checked over the crowd. I saw two more powder-blue get-ups, so I -wasn't unique enough to draw special attention. I made a mental note to -stay well away from my comrades in blue. I blended with the landscape, -chatting and nodding and not neglecting my drinking, working my way -toward a big arched doorway on the other side of the room that looked -like the kind of entrance the head man might use. I didn't want to -meet him. Not yet. I just wanted to get him located before I went any -further. - -A passing wine slave poured a full inch of the genuine ancient stock -into my glass, ducked his head and moved on. I gulped it like sour bar -whiskey. My attention was elsewhere. - -A flurry of activity near the big door indicated that maybe my guess -had been accurate. Potbellied officials were forming up in a sort -of reception line near the big double door. I started to drift back -into the rear rank, bumped against a fat man in medals and a sash who -glared, fingered a monocle with a plump ring-studded hand and said, -"Suggest you take your place, Colonel," in a suety voice. - -I must have looked doubtful, because he bumped me with his paunch, and -growled, "Foot of the line! Next to the Equerry, you idiot." He elbowed -me aside and waddled past. - -I took a step after him, reached out with my left foot and hooked his -shiny black boot. He leaped forward, off balance, medals jangling. I -did a fast fade while he was still groping for his monocle, eased into -a spot at the end of the line. - -The conversation died away to a nervous murmur. The doors swung -back and a pair of guards with more trimmings than a phoney stock -certificate stamped into view, wheeled to face each other and presented -arms--chrome-plated automatic rifles, in this case. A dark-faced man -with thinning gray hair, a pug nose and a trimmed gray van Dyke came -into view, limping slightly from a stiffish knee. - -His unornamented gray outfit made him as conspicuous in this gathering -as a crane among peacocks. He nodded perfunctorily to left and right, -coming along between the waiting rows of flunkeys, who snapped-to as -he came abreast, wilted and let out sighs behind him. I studied him -closely. He was fifty, give or take the age of a bottle of second-rate -bourbon, with the weather-beaten complexion of a former outdoor man -and the same look of alertness grown bored that a rattlesnake farmer -develops--just before the fatal bite. - -He looked up and caught my eye on him, and for a moment I thought he -was about to speak. Then he went on past. - -At the end of the line, he turned abruptly and spoke to a man who -hurried away. Then he engaged in conversation with a cluster of -head-bobbing guests. - -I spent the next fifteen minutes casually getting closer to the door -nearest the one the Baron had entered by. I looked around; nobody was -paying any attention to me. I stepped past a guard who presented arms. -The door closed softly, cutting off the buzz of talk and the worst of -the music. - -I went along to the end of the corridor. From the transverse hall, -a grand staircase rose in a sweep of bright chrome and pale wood. I -didn't know where it led, but it looked right. I headed for it, moving -along briskly like a man with important business in mind and no time -for light chit-chat. - - * * * * * - -Two flights up, in a wide corridor of muted lights, deep carpets, -brocaded wall hangings, mirrors, urns, and an odor of expensive tobacco -and _coeur de Russe_ a small man in black bustled from a side corridor. -He saw me. He opened his mouth, closed it, half turned away, then swung -back to face me. I recognized him; he was the head-waiter who had -pointed out the flaws in my waiting style half an hour earlier. - -"Here," he started-- - -I chopped him short with a roar of what I hoped was authentic -upper-crust rage. - -"Direct me to his Excellency's apartments, scum! And thank your -guardian imp I'm in too great haste to cane you for the insolent look -about you!" - -He went pale, gulped hard and pointed. I snorted and stamped past him -down the turning he had indicated. - -This was Baronial country, all right. A pair of guards stood at the far -end of the corridor. - -I'd passed half a dozen with no more than a click of heels to indicate -they saw me. These two shouldn't be any different--and it wouldn't look -good if I turned and started back at sight of them. The first rule of -the gate-crasher is to look as if you belong where you are. - -I headed in their direction. - -When I was fifty feet from them, they both shifted rifles--not to -present-arms position, but at the ready. The nickle-plated bayonets -were aimed right at me. It was no time for me to look doubtful; I kept -on coming. At twenty feet, I heard their rifle bolts snick home. I -could see the expressions on their faces now; they looked as nervous as -a couple of teen-age sailors on their first visit to a joy-house. - -"Point those butter knives into the corner, you banana-fingered cotton -choppers!" I said, looking bored and didn't waver. I unlimbered my -swagger stick and slapped my gloved hand with it, letting them think it -over. The gun muzzles dropped--just slightly. I followed up fast. - -"Which is the anteroom to the Baron's apartments?" I demanded. - -"Uh ... this here is his Excellency's apartments, sir, but--" - -"Never mind the lecture, you milk-faced fool," I cut in. "Do you think -I'd be here if it weren't? Which is the anteroom, damn you!" - -"We got orders, sir. Nobody's to come closer than that last door back -there." - -"We got orders to shoot," the other interrupted. He was a little -older--maybe twenty-two. I turned on him. - -"I'm waiting for an answer to a question!" - -"Sir, the Articles--" - -I narrowed my eyes. "I think you'll find paragraph Two B covers Special -Cosmic Top Secret Couriers. When you go off duty, report yourselves on -punishment. Now, the anteroom! And be quick about it!" - -The bayonets were sagging now. The younger of the two licked his lips. -"Sir, we never been inside. We don't know how it's laid out in there. -If the colonel wants to just take a look...." - -The other guard opened his mouth to say something. I didn't wait to -find out what it was. I stepped between them, muttering something about -bloody recruits and important messages, and worked the fancy handle on -the big gold and white door. I paused to give the two sentries a hard -look. - -"I hope I don't have to remind you that any mention of the movements -of a Cosmic Courier is punishable by slow death. Just forget you ever -saw me." I went on in and closed the door without waiting to catch the -reaction to that one. - -The Baron had done well by himself in the matter of decor. The room -I was in--a sort of lounge-cum-bar--was paved in two-inch-deep nylon -fuzz, the color of a fog at sea, that foamed up at the edges against -walls of pale blue brocade with tiny yellow flowers. The bar was a teak -log split down the middle and--polished. The glasses sitting on it were -like tissue paper engraved with patterns of nymphs and satyrs. Subdued -light came from somewhere, along with a faint melody that seemed to -speak of youth, long ago. - -I went on into the next room. I found more soft light, the glow of -hand-rubbed rare woods, rich fabrics and wide windows with a view of -dark night sky. The music was coming from a long, low, built-in speaker -with a lamp, a heavy crystal ashtray and a display of hothouse roses. -There was a scent in the air. Not the _coeur de Russe_ and Havana leaf -I'd smelled in the hall, but a subtler perfume. - -I turned and looked into the eyes of a girl with long black lashes. -Smooth black hair came down to bare shoulders. An arm as smooth and -white as whipped cream was draped over a chair back, the hand holding -an eight-inch cigarette holder and sporting a diamond as inconspicuous -as a chrome-plated hub-cap. - -"You must want something pretty badly," she murmured, batting her -eyelashes at me. I could feel the breeze at ten feet. I nodded. Under -the circumstances, that was about the best I could do. - -"What could it be," she mused, "that's worth being shot for?" Her -voice was like the rest of her: smooth, polished and relaxed--and -with plenty of moxie held in reserve. She smiled casually, drew on her -cigarette, tapped ashes onto the rug. - -"Something bothering you, Colonel?" she inquired. "You don't seem -talkative." - -"I'll do my talking when the Baron arrives," I said. - -"In that case, Jackson," said a husky voice behind me, "you can start -any time you like." - - * * * * * - -I held my hands clear of my body and turned around slowly--just in case -there was a nervous gun aimed at my spine. The Baron was standing near -the door, unarmed, relaxed. There were no guards in sight. The girl -looked mildly amused. I put my hand on the pistol butt. - -"How do you know my name?" I asked. - -The Baron waved toward a chair. "Sit down, Jackson," he said, almost -gently. "You've had a tough time of it--but you're all right now." He -walked past me to the bar, poured out two glasses, turned and offered -me one. I felt a little silly standing there fingering the gun; I went -over and took the drink. - -"To the old days." The Baron raised his glass. - -I drank. It was the genuine ancient stock, all right. "I asked you how -you knew my name," I said. - -"That's easy. I used to know you." - -He smiled faintly. There was something about his face.... - -"You look well in the uniform of the Penn-dragoons," he said. "Better -than you ever did in Aerospace blue." - -"Good God!" I said. "Toby Mallon!" - -He ran a hand over his bald head. "A little less hair on top, plus a -beard as compensation, a few wrinkles, a slight pot. Oh, I've changed, -Jackson." - -"I had it figured as close to eighty years," I said. "The trees, the -condition of the buildings--" - -"Not far off the mark. Seventy-eight years this spring." - -"You're a well-preserved hundred and ten, Toby." - -He shook his head. "You weren't the only one in the tanks. But you had -a better unit than I did. Mine gave out twenty years ago." - -"You mean--you walked into this cold--just like I did?" - -He nodded. "I know how you feel. Rip Van Winkle had nothing on us." - -"Just one question, Toby. The men you sent out to pick me up seemed -more interested in shooting than talking. I'm wondering why." - -Mallon threw out his hands, "A little misunderstanding, Jackson. You -made it; that's all that counts. Now that you're here, we've got some -planning to do together. I've had it tough these last twenty years. -I started off with nothing: a few hundred scavengers living in the -ruins, hiding out every time Jersey or Dee-Cee raided for supplies. I -built an organization, started a systematic salvage operation. I saved -everything the rats and the weather hadn't gotten to, spruced up my -palace here and stocked it. It's a rich province, Jackson--" - -"And now you own it all. Not bad, Toby." - -"They say knowledge is power. I had the knowledge." - -I finished my drink and put the glass on the bar. - -"What's this planning you say we have to do?" - -Mallon leaned back on one elbow. - -"Jackson, it's been a long haul--alone. It's good to see an old -ship-mate. But we'll dine first." - -"I might manage to nibble a little something. Say a horse, roasted -whole. Don't bother to remove the saddle." - -He laughed. "First we eat," he said. "Then we conquer the world." - - -VI - -I squeezed the last drop from the Beaujolais bottle and watched the -girl whose name was Renada, hold a light for the cigar Mallon had taken -from a silver box. My blue mess jacket and holster hung over the back -of the chair. Everything was cosy now. - -"Time for business, Jackson," Mallon said. He blew out smoke and looked -at me through it. "How did things look--inside." - -"Dusty. But intact, below ground level. Upstairs, there's blast damage -and weathering. I don't suppose it's changed much since you came out -twenty years ago. As far as I could tell, the Primary Site is okay." - -Mallon leaned forward. "Now, you made it out past the Bolo. How did it -handle itself? Still fully functional?" - -I sipped my wine, thinking over my answer, remembering the Bolo's empty -guns.... - -"It damn near gunned me down. It's getting a little old and it can't -see as well as it used to, but it's still a tough baby." - -Mallon swore suddenly. "It was Mackenzie's idea. A last-minute move -when the tech crews had to evacuate. It was a dusting job, you know." - -"I hadn't heard. How did you find out all this?" - -Mallon shot me a sharp look. "There were still a few people around -who'd been in it. But never mind that. What about the Supply Site? -That's what we're interested in. Fuel, guns, even some nuclear -stuff. Heavy equipment; there's a couple more Bolos, moth-balled, I -understand. Maybe we'll even find one or two of the Colossus missiles -still in their silos. I made an air recon a few years back before my -chopper broke down--" - -"I think two silo doors are still in place. But why the interest in -armament?" - -Mallon snorted. "You've got a few things to learn about the setup, -Jackson. I need that stuff. If I hadn't lucked into a stock of weapons -and ammo in the armory cellar, Jersey would be wearing the spurs in my -palace right now!" - -I drew on my cigar and let the silence stretch out. - -"You said something about conquering the world, Toby. I don't suppose -by any chance you meant that literally?" - -Mallon stood up, his closed fists working like a man crumpling unpaid -bills. "They all want what I've got! They're all waiting." He walked -across the room, back. "I'm ready to move against them now! I can put -four thousand trained men in the field--" - -"Let's get a couple of things straight, Mallon," I cut in. "You've got -the natives fooled with this Baron routine. But don't try it on me. -Maybe it was even necessary once; maybe there's an excuse for some of -the stories I've heard. That's over now. I'm not interested in tribal -warfare or gang rumbles. I need--" - -"Better remember who's running things here, Jackson!" Mallon snapped. -"It's not what you need that counts." He took another turn up and down -the room, then stopped, facing me. - - * * * * * - -"Look, Jackson. I know how to get around in this jungle; you don't. If -I hadn't spotted you and given some orders, you'd have been gunned down -before you'd gone ten feet past the ballroom door." - -"Why'd you let me in? I might've been gunning for you." - -"You wanted to see the Baron alone. That suited me, too. If word -got out--" He broke off, cleared his throat. "Let's stop wrangling, -Jackson. We can't move until the Bolo guarding the site has been -neutralized. There's only one way to do that: knock it out! And the -only thing that can knock out a Bolo is another Bolo." - -"So?" - -"I've got another Bolo, Jackson. It's been covered, maintained. It can -go up against the Troll--" he broke off, laughed shortly. "That's what -the mob called it." - -"You could have done that years ago. Where do I come in?" - -"You're checked out on a Bolo, Jackson. You know something about this -kind of equipment." - -"Sure. So do you." - -"I never learned," he said shortly. - -"Who's kidding who, Mallon? We all took the same orientation course -less than a month ago--" - -"For me it's been a long month. Let's just say I've forgotten." - -"You parked that Bolo at your front gate and then forgot how you did -it, eh?" - -"Nonsense. It's always been there." - -I shook my head. "I know different." - -Mallon looked wary. "Where'd you get that idea?" - -"Somebody told me." - -Mallon ground his cigar out savagely on the damask cloth. "You'll point -the scum out to me!" - -"I don't give a damn whether you moved it or not. Anybody with your -training can figure out the controls of a Bolo in half an hour--" - -"Not well enough to take on the Tr--another Bolo." - -I took a cigar from the silver box, picked up the lighter from the -table, turned the cigar in the flame. Suddenly it was very quiet in the -room. - -I looked across at Mallon. He held out his hand. - -"I'll take that," he said shortly. - -I blew out smoke, squinted through it at Mallon. He sat with his hand -out, waiting. I looked down at the lighter. - -It was a heavy windproof model, with embossed Aerospace wings. I -turned it over. Engraved letters read: _Lieut. Commander Don G. Banner, -USAF_. I looked up. Renada sat quietly, holding my pistol trained dead -on my belt buckle. - - * * * * * - -"I'm sorry you saw that," Mallon said. "It could cause -misunderstandings." - -"Where's Banner?" - -"He ... died. I told you--" - -"You told me a lot of things, Toby. Some of them might even be true. -Did you make him the same offer you've made me?" - -Mallon darted a look at Renada. She sat holding the pistol, looking at -me distantly, without expression. - -"You've got the wrong idea, Jackson--" Mallon started. - -"You and he came out about the same time," I said. "Or maybe you got -the jump on him by a few days. It must have been close; otherwise you'd -never have taken him. Don was a sharp boy." - -"You're out of your mind!" Mallon snapped. "Why, Banner was my friend!" - -"Then why do you get nervous when I find his lighter on your table? -There could be ten perfectly harmless explanations." - -"I don't make explanations," Mallon said flatly. - -"That attitude is hardly the basis for a lasting partnership, Toby. I -have an unhappy feeling there's something you're not telling me." - -Mallon pulled himself up in the chair. "Look here, Jackson. We've no -reason to fall out. There's plenty for both of us--and one day I'll be -needing a successor. It was too bad about Banner, but that's ancient -history now. Forget it. I want you with me, Jackson! Together we can -rule the Atlantic seaboard--or even more!" - -I drew on my cigar, looking at the gun in Renada's hand. "You hold the -aces, Toby. Shooting me would be no trick at all." - -"There's no trick involved, Jackson!" Mallon snapped. "After all," he -went on, almost wheedling now, "we're old friends. I want to give you a -break, share with you--" - -"I don't think I'd trust him if I were you, Mr. Jackson," Renada's -quiet voice cut in. I looked at her. She looked back calmly. "You're -more important to him than you think." - -"That's enough, Renada," Mallon barked. "Go to your room at once." - -"Not just yet, Toby," she said. "I'm also curious about how Commander -Banner died." I looked at the gun in her hand. - -It wasn't pointed at me now. It was aimed at Mallon's chest. - - * * * * * - -Mallon sat sunk deep in his chair, looking at me with eyes like a -python with a bellyache. "You're fools, both of you," he grated. "I -gave you everything, Renada. I raised you like my own daughter. And -you, Jackson. You could have shared with me--all of it." - -"I don't need a share of your delusions, Toby. I've got a set of my -own. But before we go any farther, let's clear up a few points. Why -haven't you been getting any mileage out of your tame Bolo? And what -makes me important in the picture?" - -"He's afraid of the Bolo machine," Renada said. "There's a spell on it -which prevents men from approaching--even the Baron." - -"Shut your mouth, you fool!" Mallon choked on his fury. I tossed the -lighter in my hand and felt a smile twitching at my mouth. - -"So Don was too smart for you after all. He must have been the one -who had control of the Bolo. I suppose you called for a truce, and -then shot him out from under the white flag. But he fooled you. He -plugged a command into the Bolo's circuits to fire on anyone who came -close--unless he was Banner." - -"You're crazy!" - -"It's close enough. You can't get near the Bolo. Right? And after -twenty years, the bluff you've been running on the other Barons with -your private troll must be getting a little thin. Any day now, one of -them may decide to try you." - -Mallon twisted his face in what may have been an attempt at a placating -smile. "I won't argue with you, Jackson. You're right about the command -circuit. Banner set it up to fire an anti-personnel blast at anyone -coming within fifty yards. He did it to keep the mob from tampering -with the machine. But there's a loophole. It wasn't only Banner who -could get close. He set it up to accept any of the _Prometheus_ -crew--except me. He hated me. It was a trick to try to get me killed." - -"So you're figuring I'll step in and de-fuse her for you, eh, Toby? -Well, I'm sorry as hell to disappoint you, but somehow in the -confusion I left my electro pass behind." - -Mallon leaned toward me. "I told you we need each other, Jackson: I've -got your pass. Yours and all the others. Renada, hand me my black box." -She rose and moved across to the desk, holding the gun on Mallon--and -on me, too, for that matter. - -"Where'd you get my pass, Mallon?" - -"Where do you think? They're the duplicates from the vault in the old -command block. I knew one day one of you would come out. I'll tell you, -Jackson, it's been hell, waiting all these years--and hoping. I gave -orders that any time the Great Troll bellowed, the mob was to form -up and stop anybody who came out. I don't know how you got through -them...." - -"I was too slippery for them. Besides," I added, "I met a friend." - -"A friend? Who's that?" - -"An old man who thought I was Prince Charming, come to wake everybody -up. He was nuts. But he got me through." - -Renada came back, handed me a square steel box. "Let's have the key, -Mallon," I said. He handed it over. I opened the box, sorted through -half a dozen silver-dollar-sized ovals of clear plastic, lifted one out. - -"Is it a magical charm?" Renada asked, sounding awed. She didn't seem -so sophisticated now--but I liked her better human. - -"Just a synthetic crystalline plastic, designed to resonate to a -pattern peculiar to my E.E.G." I said. "It amplifies the signal and -gives off a characteristic emission that the Psychotronic circuit in -the Bolo picks up." - -"That's what I thought. Magic." - -"Call it magic, then, kid." I dropped the electropass in my pocket, -stood and looked at Renada. "I don't doubt that you know how to use -that gun, honey, but I'm leaving now. Try not to shoot me." - - * * * * * - -"You're a fool if you try it," Mallon barked. "If Renada doesn't shoot -you, my guards will. And even if you made it, you'd still need me!" - -"I'm touched by your concern, Toby. Just why do I need you?" - -"You wouldn't get past the first sentry post without help, Jackson. -These people know me as the Trollmaster. They're in awe of me--of my -_Mana_. But together--we can get to the controls of the Bolo, then use -it to knock out the sentry machine at the Site--" - -"Then what? With an operating Bolo I don't need anything else. Better -improve the picture, Toby. I'm not impressed." - -He wet his lips. - -"It's _Prometheus_, do you understand? She's stocked with everything -from Browning needlers to Norge stunners. Tools, weapons, instruments. -And the power plants alone." - -"I don't need needlers if I own a Bolo, Toby." - -Mallon used some profanity. "You'll leave your liver and lights on the -palace altar, Jackson. I promise you that!" - -"Tell him what he wants to know, Toby." Renada said. Mallon narrowed -his eyes at her. "You'll live to regret this, Renada." - -"Maybe I will, Toby. But you taught me how to handle a gun--and to play -cards for keeps." - -The flush faded out of his face and left it pale. "All right, Jackson," -he said, almost in a whisper. "It's not only the equipment. It's ... -the men." - -I heard a clock ticking somewhere. - -"What men, Toby?" I said softly. - -"The crew. Day, Macy, the others. They're still in there, -Jackson--aboard the ship, in stasis. We were trying to get the ship off -when the attack came. There was forty minutes' warning. Everything was -ready to go. You were on a test run; there wasn't time to cycle you -out...." - -"Keep talking," I rapped. - - * * * * * - -"You know how the system was set up; it was to be a ten-year run out, -with an automatic turn-around at the end of that time if Alpha Centauri -wasn't within a milli-parsec." He snorted. "It wasn't. After twenty -years, the instruments checked. They were satisfied. There was a -planetary mass within the acceptable range. So they brought me out." He -snorted again. "The longest dry run in history. I unstrapped and came -out to see what was going on. It took me a little while to realize what -had happened. I went back in and cycled Banner and Mackenzie out. We -went into the town; you know what we found. I saw what we had to do, -but Banner and Mac argued. The fools wanted to reseal _Prometheus_ and -proceed with the launch. For what? So we could spend the rest of our -lives squatting in the ruins, when by stripping the ship we could make -ourselves kings?" - -"So there was an argument?" I prompted. - -"I had a gun. I hit Mackenzie in the leg, I think--but they got clear, -found a car and beat me to the Site. There were two Bolos. What chance -did I have against them?" Mallon grinned craftily. "But Banner was a -fool. He died for it." The grin dropped like a stripper's bra. "But -when I went to claim my spoils, I discovered how the jackals had set -the trap for me." - -"That was downright unfriendly of them, Mallon. Oddly enough, it -doesn't make me want to stay and hold your hand." - -"Don't you understand yet!" Mallon's voice was a dry screech. "Even -if you got clear of the Palace, used the Bolo to set yourself up as -Baron--you'd never be safe! Not as long as one man was still alive -aboard the ship. You'd never have a night's rest, wondering when one of -them would walk out to challenge your rule...." - -"Uneasy lies the head, eh, Toby? You remind me of a queen bee. The -first one out of the chrysalis dismembers all her rivals." - -"I don't mean to kill them. That would be a waste. I mean to give them -useful work to do." - -"I don't think they'd like being your slaves, Toby. And neither would -I." I looked at Renada. "I'll be leaving you now," I said. "Whichever -way you decide, good luck." - -"Wait." She stood. "I'm going with you." - -I looked at her. "I'll be traveling fast, honey. And that gun in my -back may throw off my timing." - -She stepped to me, reversed the pistol and laid it in my hand. - -"Don't kill him, Mr. Jackson. He was always kind to me." - -"Why change sides now? According to Toby, my chances look not too good." - -"I never knew before how Commander Banner died," she said. "He was my -great-grandfather." - - -VII - -Renada came back bundled in a gray fur as I finished buckling on my -holster. - -"So long, Toby," I said. "I ought to shoot you in the belly just for -Don--but--" - -I saw Renada's eyes widen at the same instant that I heard the click. - -I dropped flat and rolled behind Mallon's chair--and a gout of blue -flame yammered into the spot where I'd been standing. I whipped the gun -up and around into the peach-colored upholstery an inch from Toby's ear. - -"The next one nails you to the chair," I yelled. "Call 'em off!" There -was a moment of dead silence. Toby sat frozen. I couldn't see who'd -been doing the shooting. Then I heard a moan. Renada. - -"Let the girl alone or I'll kill him," I called. - -Toby sat rigid, his eyes rolled toward me. - -"You can't kill me, Jackson! I'm all that's keeping you alive." - -"You can't kill me either, Toby. You need my magic touch, remember? -Maybe you'd better give us a safe-conduct out of here. I'll take the -freeze off your Bolo--after I've seen to my business." - -Toby licked his lips. I heard Renada again. She was trying not to -moan--but moaning anyway. - -"You tried, Jackson. It didn't work out," Toby said through gritted -teeth. "Throw out your gun and stand up. I won't kill you--you know -that. You do as you're told and you may still live to a ripe old -age--and the girl, too." - -She screamed then--a mindless ululation of pure agony. - -"Hurry up, you fool, before they tear her arm off," Mallon grated. "Or -shoot. You'll get to watch her for twenty-four hours under the knife. -Then you'll have your turn." - -I fired again--closer this time. Mallon jerked his head and cursed. - -"If they touch her again, you get it, Toby," I said. "Send her over -here. Move!" - -"Let her go!" Mallon snarled. Renada stumbled into sight, moved around -the chair, then crumpled suddenly to the rug beside me. - -"Stand up, Toby," I ordered. He rose slowly. Sweat glistened on his -face now. "Stand over here." He moved like a sleepwalker. I got to my -feet. There were two men standing across the room beside a small open -door. A sliding panel. Both of them held power rifles leveled--but -aimed offside, away from the Baron. - -"Drop 'em!" I said. They looked at me, then lowered the guns, tossed -them aside. - -I opened my mouth to tell Mallon to move ahead, but my tongue felt -thick and heavy. The room was suddenly full of smoke. In front of me, -Mallon was wavering like a mirage. I started to tell him to stand -still, but with my thick tongue, it was too much trouble. I raised the -gun, but somehow it was falling to the floor,--slowly, like a leaf--and -then I was floating, too, on waves that broke on a dark sea.... - - * * * * * - -"Do you think you're the first idiot who thought he could kill me?" -Mallon raised a contemptuous lip. "This room's rigged ten different -ways." - -I shook my head, trying to ignore the film before my eyes and the -nausea in my body. "No, I imagine lots of people would like a crack at -you, Toby. One day one of them's going to make it." - -"Get him on his feet," Mallon snapped. Hard hands clamped on my arms, -hauled me off the cot. I worked my legs, but they were like yesterday's -celery; I sagged against somebody who smelled like uncured hides. - -"You seem drowsy," Mallon said. "We'll see if we can't wake you up." - -A thumb dug into my neck. I jerked away, and a jab under the ribs -doubled me over. - -"I have to keep you alive--for the moment," Mallon said. "But you won't -get a lot of pleasure out of it." - -I blinked hard. It was dark in the room. One of my handlers had a -ring of beard around his mouth--I could see that much. Mallon was -standing before me, hands on hips. I aimed a kick at him, just for fun. -It didn't work out; my foot seemed to be wearing a lead boat. The -unshaven man hit me in the mouth and Toby chuckled. - -"Have your fun, Dunger," he said, "but I'll want him alive and on his -feet for the night's work. Take him out and walk him in the fresh air. -Report to me at the Pavillion of the Troll in an hour." He turned to -something and gave orders about lights and gun emplacements, and I -heard Renada's name mentioned. - -Then he was gone and I was being dragged through the door and along the -corridor. - -The exercise helped. By the time the hour had passed, I was feeling -weak but normal--except for an aching head and a feeling that there was -a strand of spiderweb interfering with my vision. Toby had given me a -good meal. Maybe before the night was over he'd regret that mistake.... - -Across the dark grounds, an engine started up, spluttered, then settled -down to a steady hum. - -"It's time," the one with the whiskers said. He had a voice like soft -cheese to match his smell. He took another half-twist in the arm he was -holding. - -"Don't break it," I grunted. "It belongs to the Baron, remember?" - -Whiskers stopped dead. "You talk too much--and too smart." He let my -arm go and stepped back. "Hold him, Pig Eye." The other man whipped -a forearm across my throat and levered my head back; then Whiskers -unlimbered the two-foot club from his belt and hit me hard in the side, -just under the ribs. Pig Eye let go and I folded over and waited while -the pain swelled up and burst inside me. - -Then they hauled me back to my feet. I couldn't feel any bone ends -grating, so there probably weren't any broken ribs--if that was any -consolation. - - * * * * * - -There were lights glaring now across the lawn. Moving figures cast long -shadows against the trees lining the drive--and on the side of the Bolo -Combat Unit parked under its canopy by the sealed gate. - -A crude breastwork had been thrown up just over fifty yards from it. -A wheel-mounted generator putted noisily in the background, laying a -layer of bluish exhaust in the air. - -Mallon was waiting with a 9 mm power rifle in his hands as we came -up, my two guards gripping me with both hands to demonstrate their -zeal, and me staggering a little more than was necessary. I saw Renada -standing by, wrapped in a gray fur. Her face looked white in the harsh -light. She made a move toward me and a greenback caught her arm. - -"You know what to do, Jackson," Mallon said speaking loudly against -the clatter of the generator. He made a curt gesture and a man stepped -up and buckled a stout chain to my left ankle. Mallon held out my -electropass. "I want you to walk straight to the Bolo. Go in by the -side port. You've got one minute to cancel the instructions punched -into the command circuit and climb back outside. If you don't show, -I close a switch there--" he pointed to a wooden box mounting an -open circuitbreaker, with a tangle of heavy cable leading toward the -Bolo--"and you cook in your shoes. The same thing happens if I see the -guns start to traverse or the anti-personnel ports open." I followed -the coils of armored wire from the chain on my ankle back to the wooden -box--and on to the generator. - -"Crude, maybe, but it will work. And if you get any idea of letting fly -a round or two at random--remember the girl will be right beside me." - -I looked across at the giant machine. "Suppose it doesn't recognize me? -It's been a while. Or what if Don didn't plug my identity pattern in to -the recognition circuit?" - -"In that case, you're no good to me anyway," Mallon said flatly. - -I caught Renada's eye, gave her a wink and a smile I didn't feel, and -climbed up on top of the revetment. - -I looked back at Mallon. He was old and shrunken in the garish light, -his smooth gray suit rumpled, his thin hair mussed, the gun held in a -white-knuckled grip. He looked more like a harrassed shopkeeper than a -would-be world-beater. - -"You must want the Bolo pretty bad to take the chance, Toby," I said. -"I'll think about taking that wild shot. You sweat me out." - -I flipped slack into the wire trailing my ankle, jumped down and -started across the smooth-trimmed grass, a long black shadow stalking -before me. The Bolo sat silent, as big as a bank in the circle of the -spotlight. I could see the flecks of rust now around the port covers, -the small vines that twined up her sides from the ragged stands of -weeds that marked no-man's land. - -There was something white in the brush ahead. Broken human bones. - -I felt my stomach go rigid again. The last man had gotten this far; I -wasn't in the clear yet.... - -I passed two more scattered skeletons in the next twenty feet. They -must have come in on the run, guinea pigs to test the alertness of the -Bolo. Or maybe they'd tried creeping up, dead slow, an inch a day; it -hadn't worked.... - -Tiny night creatures scuttled ahead. They would be safe here in the -shadow of the troll where no predator bigger than a mouse could move. -I stumbled, diverted my course around a ten-foot hollow, the eroded -crater of a near miss. - -Now I could see the great moss-coated treads, sunk a foot into the -earth, the nests of field mice tucked in the spokes of the yard-high -bogies. The entry hatch was above, a hairline against the great curved -flank. There were rungs set in the flaring tread shield. I reached up, -got a grip and hauled myself up. My chain clanked against the metal. I -found the door lever, held on and pulled. - -It resisted, then turned. There was the hum of a servo motor, a -crackling of dead gaskets. The hairline widened and showed me a narrow -companionway, green-anodized dural with black polymer treads, a -bulkhead with a fire extinguisher, an embossed steel data plate that -said BOLO DIVISION OF GENERAL MOTORS CORPORATION and below, in smaller -type, UNIT, COMBAT, BOLO MARK III. - -I pulled myself inside and went up into the Christmas tree glow of -instrument lights. - - * * * * * - -The control cockpit was small, utilitarian, with two deep-padded seats -set among screens, dials, levers. I sniffed the odors of oil, paint, -the characteristic ether and ozone of a nuclear generator. There was -a faint hum in the air from idling relay servos. The clock showed ten -past four. Either it was later than I thought, or the chronometer had -lost time in the last eighty years. But I had no time to lose.... - -I slid into the seat, flipped back the cover of the command control -console. The Cancel key was the big white one. I pulled it down and let -it snap back, like a clerk ringing up a sale. - -A pattern of dots on the status display screen flicked out of -existence. Mallon was safe from his pet troll now. - -It hadn't taken me long to carry out my orders. I knew what to do next; -I'd planned it all during my walk out. Now I had thirty seconds to -stack the deck in my favor. - -I reached down, hauled the festoon of quarter-inch armored cable up in -front of me. I hit a switch, and the inner conning cover--a disk of -inch-thick armor--slid back. I shoved a loop of the flexible cable up -through the aperture, reversed the switch. The cover slid back--sliced -the armored cable like macaroni. - -I took a deep breath, and my hands went to the combat alert switch, -hovered over it. - -It was the smart thing to do--the easy thing. All I had to do was punch -a key, and the 9 mm's would open up, scythe Mallon and his crew down -like cornstalks. - -But the scything would mow Renada down, along with the rest. And if I -went--even without firing a shot--Mallon would keep his promise to cut -that white throat.... - -My head was out of the noose now but I would have to put it back--for a -while. - -I leaned sideways, reached back under the panel, groped for a small -fuse box. My fingers were clumsy. I took a breath, tried again. The -fuse dropped out in my hand. The Bolo's IR circuit was dead now. With a -few more seconds to work, I could have knocked out other circuits--but -the time had run out. - -I grabbed the cut ends of my lead wire, knotted them around the chain -and got out fast. - - -VIII - -Mallon waited, crouched behind the revetment. - -"It's safe now, is it?" he grated. I nodded. He stood, gripping his gun. - -"Now we'll try it together." - -I went over the parapet, Mallon following with his gun ready. The -lights followed us to the Bolo. Mallon clambered up to the open port, -looked around inside, then dropped back down beside me. He looked -excited now. - -"That does it, Jackson! I've waited a long time for this. Now I've got -all the _Mana_ there is!" - -"Take a look at the cable on my ankle," I said softly. He narrowed his -eyes, stepped back, gun aimed, darted a glance at the cable looped to -the chain. - -"I cut it, Toby. I was alone in the Bolo with the cable cut--and I -didn't fire. I could have taken your toy and set up in business for -myself, but I didn't." - -"What's that supposed to buy you?" Mallon rasped. - -"As you said--we need each other. That cut cable proves you can trust -me." - -Mallon smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Safe, were you? Come here." I -walked along with him to the back of the Bolo. A heavy copper wire hung -across the rear of the machine, trailing off into the grass in both -directions. - -"I'd have burned you at the first move. Even with the cable cut, the -armored cover would have carried the full load right into the cockpit -with you. But don't be nervous. I've got other jobs for you." He jabbed -the gun muzzle hard into my chest, pushing me back. "Now get moving," -he snarled. "And don't ever threaten the Baron again." - -"The years have done more than shrivel your face, Toby," I said. -"They've cracked your brain." - -He laughed, a short bark. "You could be right. What's sane and what -isn't? I've got a vision in my mind--and I'll make it come true. If -that's insanity, it's better than what the mob has." - -Back at the parapet, Mallon turned to me. "I've had this campaign -planned in detail for years, Jackson. Everything's ready. We move -out in half an hour--before any traitors have time to take word to -my enemies. Pig Eye and Dunger will keep you from being lonely while -I'm away. When I get back--Well, maybe you're right about working -together." He gestured and my whiskery friend and his sidekick loomed -up. "Watch him," he said. - -"Genghis Khan is on the march, eh?" I said, "With nothing between you -and the goodies but a five-hundred ton Bolo...." - -"The Lesser Troll...." He raised his hands and made crushing motions, -like a man crumbling dry earth. "I'll trample it under my treads." - -"You're confused, Toby. The Bolo has treads. You just have a couple of -fallen arches." - -"It's the same. I am the Great Troll." He showed me his teeth and -walked away. - - * * * * * - -I moved along between Dunger and Pig Eye, towards the lights of the -garage. - -"The back entrance again," I said. "Anyone would think you were ashamed -of me." - -"You need more training, hah?" Dunger rasped. "Hold him, Pig Eye." He -unhooked his club and swung it loosely in his hand, glancing around. We -were near the trees by the drive. There was no one in sight except the -crews near the Bolo and a group by the front of the palace. Pig Eye -gave my arm a twist and shifted his grip to his old favorite strangle -hold. I was hoping he would. - -Dunger whipped the club up, and I grabbed Pig Eye's arm with both hands -and leaned forward like a Japanese admiral reporting to the Emperor. -Pig Eye went up and over just in time to catch Dunger's club across the -back. They went down together. I went for the club, but Whiskers was -faster than he looked. He rolled clear, got to his knees, and laid it -across my left arm, just below the shoulder. - -I heard the bone go.... - - * * * * * - -I was back on my feet, somehow. Pig Eye lay sprawled before me. I heard -him whining as though from a great distance. Dunger stood six feet -away, the ring of black beard spread in a grin like a hyena smelling -dead meat. - -"His back's broke," he said. "Hell of a sound he's making. I been -waiting for you; I wanted you to hear it." - -"I've heard it," I managed. My voice seemed to be coming off a worn -sound track. "Surprised ... you didn't work me over ... while I was -busy with the arm." - -"Uh-uh. I like a man to know what's going on when I work him over." He -stepped in, rapped the broken arm lightly with the club. Fiery agony -choked a groan off in my throat. I backed a step, he stalked me. - -"Pig Eye wasn't much, but he was my pal. When I'm through with you, -I'll have to kill him. A man with a broken back's no use to nobody. -His'll be finished pretty soon now, but not with you. You'll be around -a long time yet; but I'll get a lot of fun out of you before the Baron -gets back." - -I was under the trees now. I had some wild thoughts about grabbing up -a club of my own, but they were just thoughts. Dunger set himself and -his eyes dropped to my belly. I didn't wait for it; I lunged at him. He -laughed and stepped back, and the club cracked my head. Not hard; just -enough to send me down. I got my legs under me and started to get up-- - -There was a hint of motion from the shadows behind Dunger. I shook my -head to cover any expression that might have showed, let myself drop -back. - -"Get up," Dunger said. The smile was gone now. He aimed a kick. "Get -up--" - -He froze suddenly, then whirled. His hearing must have been as keen as -a jungle cat's; I hadn't heard a sound. - -The old man stepped into view, his white hair plastered wet to his -skull, his big hands spread. Dunger snarled, jumped in and whipped the -club down; I heard it hit. There was flurry of struggle, then Dunger -stumbled back, empty-handed. - -I was on my feet again now. I made a lunge for Dunger as he roared and -charged. The club in the old man's hand rose and fell. Dunger crashed -past and into the brush. The old man sat down suddenly, still holding -the club. Then he let it fall and lay back. I went toward him and -Dunger rushed me from the side. I went down again. - -I was dazed, but not feeling any pain now. Dunger was standing over -the old man. I could see the big lean figure lying limply, arms -outspread--and a white bone handle, incongruously new and neat against -the shabby mackinaw. The club lay on the ground a few feet away. I -started crawling for it. It seemed a long way, and it was hard for me -to move my legs, but I kept at it. The light rain was falling again -now, hardly more than a mist. Far away there were shouts and the sound -of engines starting up. Mallon's convoy was moving out. He had won. -Dunger had won, too. The old man had tried, but it hadn't been enough. -But if I could reach the club, and swing it just once.... - -Dunger was looking down at the old man. He leaned, withdrew the knife, -wiped it on his trouser leg, hitching up his pants to tuck it away in -its sheath. The club was smooth and heavy under my hand. I got a good -grip on it, got to my feet. I waited until Dunger turned, and then I -hit him across the top of the skull with everything I had left.... - - * * * * * - -I thought the old man was dead until he blinked suddenly. His features -looked relaxed now, peaceful, the skin like parchment stretched over -bone. I took his gnarled old hand and rubbed it. It was as cold as a -drowned sailor. - -"You waited for me, Old-Timer?" I said inanely. He moved his head -minutely, and looked at me. Then his mouth moved. I leaned close to -catch what he was saying. His voice was fainter than lost lope. - -"Mom ... told me ... wait for you.... She said ... you'd ... come back -some day...." - -I felt my jaw muscles knotting. - -Inside me something broke and flowed away like molten metal. Suddenly -my eyes were blurred--and not only with rain. I looked at the old face -before me, and for a moment, I seemed to see a ghostly glimpse of -another face, a small round face that looked up. - -He was speaking again. I put my head down: - -"Was I ... good ... boy ... Dad?" Then the eyes closed. - -I sat for a long time, looking at the still face. Then I folded the -hands on the chest and stood. - -"You were more than a good boy, Timmy," I said. "You were a good man." - - -IX - -My blue suit was soaking wet and splattered with mud, plus a few flecks -of what Dunger had used for brains, but it still carried the gold -eagles on the shoulders. - -The attendant in the garage didn't look at my face. The eagles were -enough for him. I stalked to a vast black Bentley--a '70 model, I -guessed, from the conservative eighteen-inch tail fins--and jerked the -door open. The gauge showed three-quarters full. I opened the glove -compartment, rummaged, found nothing. But then it wouldn't be up front -with the chauffeur.... - -I pulled open the back door. There was a crude black leather holster -riveted against the smooth pale-gray leather, with the butt of a 4 mm -showing. There was another one on the opposite door, and a power rifle -slung from straps on the back of the driver's seat. - -Whoever owned the Bentley was overcompensating his insecurity. I took -a pistol, tossed it onto the front seat and slid in beside it. The -attendant gaped at me as I eased my left arm into my lap and twisted to -close the door. I started up. There was a bad knock, but she ran all -right. I flipped a switch and cold lances of light speared out into the -rain. - -At the last instant, the attendant started forward with his mouth open -to say something, but I didn't wait to hear it. I gunned out into the -night, slung into the graveled drive, and headed for the gate. Mallon -had had it all his way so far, but maybe it still wasn't too late.... - -Two sentries, looking miserable in shiny black ponchos, stepped out -of the guard hut as I pulled up. One peered in at me, then came to a -sloppy position of attention and presented arms. I reached for the gas -pedal and the second sentry called something. The first man looked -startled, then swung the gun down to cover me. I eased a hand toward -my pistol, brought it up fast and fired through the glass. Then the -Bentley was roaring off into the dark along the potholed road that led -into town. I thought I heard a shot behind me, but I wasn't sure. - -I took the river road south of town, pounding at reckless speed -over the ruined blacktop, gaining on the lights of Mallon's horde -paralleling me a mile to the north. A quarter mile from the perimeter -fence, the Bentley broke a spring and skidded into a ditch. - -I sat for a moment taking deep breaths to drive back the compulsive -drowsiness that was sliding down over my eyes like a visor. My arm -throbbed like a cauterized stump. I needed a few minutes rest.... - -A sound brought me awake like an old maid smelling cigar smoke in the -bedroom: the rise and fall of heavy engines in convoy. Mallon was -coming up at flank speed. - -I got out of the car and headed off along the road at a trot, holding -my broken arm with my good one to ease the jarring pain. My chances had -been as slim as a gambler's wallet all along, but if Mallon beat me to -the objective, they dropped to nothing. - - * * * * * - -The eastern sky had taken on a faint gray tinge, against which I could -make out the silhouetted gate posts and the dead floodlights a hundred -yards ahead. - -The roar of engines was getting louder. There were other sounds, too: -a few shouts, the chatter of a 9 mm, the _boom!_ of something heavier, -and once a long-drawn _whoosh!_ of falling masonry. With his new toy, -Mallon was dozing his way through the men and buildings that got in his -way. - -I reached the gate, picked my way over fallen wire mesh, then headed -for the Primary Site. - -I couldn't run now. The broken slabs tilted crazily, in no pattern. -I slipped, stumbled, but kept my feet. Behind me, headlights threw -shadows across the slabs. It wouldn't be long now before someone in -Mallon's task force spotted me and opened up with the guns-- - -The whoop! _whoop!_ WHOOP! of the guardian Bolo cut across the field. - -Across the broken concrete I saw the two red eyes flash, sweeping my -way. I looked toward the gate. A massed rank of vehicles stood in a -battalion front just beyond the old perimeter fence, engines idling, -ranged for a hundred yards on either side of a wide gap at the gate. -I looked for the high silhouette of Mallon's Bolo, and saw it far off -down the avenue, picked out in red, white and green navigation lights, -a jeweled dreadnaught. A glaring cyclopean eye at the top darted a -blue-white cone of light ahead, swept over the waiting escort, outlined -me like a set-shifter caught onstage by the rising curtain. - -The whoop! whoop! sounded again; the automated sentry Bolo was bearing -down on me along the dancing lane of light. - -I grabbed at the plastic disk in my pocket as though holding it in my -hand would somehow heighten its potency. I didn't know if the Lesser -Troll was programmed to exempt me from destruction or not; and there -was only one way to find out. - -It wasn't too late to turn around and run for it. Mallon might -shoot--or he might not. I could convince him that he needed me, that -together we could grab twice as much loot. And then, when he died-- - -I wasn't really considering it; it was the kind of thought that flashes -through a man's mind like heat lightning when time slows in the instant -of crisis. It was hard to be brave with broken bone ends grating, -but what I had to do didn't take courage. I was a small, soft, human -grub, stepped on but still moving, caught on the harsh plain of broken -concrete between the clash of chrome-steel titans. But I knew which -direction to take. - -The Lesser Troll rushed toward me in a roll of thunder and I went to -meet it. - - * * * * * - -It stopped twenty yards from me, loomed massive as a cliff. Its heavy -guns were dead. I knew. Without them it was no more dangerous than a -farmer with a shotgun-- - -But against me a shotgun was enough. - -The slab under me trembled as if in anticipation. I squinted against -the dull red IR beams that pivoted to hold me, waiting while the -Troll considered. Then the guns elevated, pointed over my head like a -benediction. The Bolo knew me. - -The guns traversed fractionally. I looked back toward the enemy line, -saw the Great Troll coming up now, closing the gap, towering over its -waiting escort like a planet among moons. And the guns of the Lesser -Troll tracked it as it came--the empty guns, that for twenty years had -held Mallon's scavengers at bay. - -The noise of engines was deafening now. The waiting line moved -restlessly, pulverizing old concrete under churning treads. I didn't -realize I was being fired on until I saw chips fly to my left, and -heard the howl of richochets. - -It was time to move. I scrambled for the Bolo, snorted at the stink of -hot oil and ozone, found the rusted handholds, and pulled myself up-- - -Bullets spanged off metal above me. Someone was trying for me with a -power rifle. - -The broken arm hung at my side like a fence-post nailed to my shoulder, -but I wasn't aware of the pain now. The hatch stood open half an inch. -I grabbed the lever, strained; it swung wide. No lights came up to meet -me. With the port cracked, they'd burned out long ago. I dropped down -inside, wriggled through the narrow crawl space into the cockpit. It -was smaller than the Mark III--and it was occupied. - -In the faint green light from the panel, the dead man crouched over the -controls, one desiccated hand in a shriveled black glove clutching the -control bar. He wore a GI weather suit and a white crash helmet, and -one foot was twisted nearly backward, caught behind a jack lever. - -The leg had been broken before he died. He must have jammed the foot -and twisted it so that the pain would hold off the sleep that had come -at last. I leaned forward to see the face. The blackened and mummified -features showed only the familiar anonymity of death, but the bushy -reddish mustache was enough. - -"Hello, Mac," I said. "Sorry to keep you waiting; I got held up." - -I wedged myself into the co-pilot's seat, flipped the IR screen -switch. The eight-inch panel glowed, showed me the enemy Bolo -trampling through the fence three hundred yards away, then moving onto -the ramp, dragging a length of rusty chain-link like a bridal train -behind it. - -I put my hand on the control bar. "I'll take it now, Mac." I moved the -bar, and the dead man's hand moved with it. - -"Okay, Mac," I said. "We'll do it together." - - * * * * * - -I hit the switches, canceling the pre-set response pattern. It had done -its job for eighty years, but now it was time to crank in a little -human strategy. - -My Bolo rocked slightly under a hit and I heard the tread shields drop -down. The chair bucked under me as Mallon moved in, pouring in the fire. - -Beside me, Mac nodded patiently. It was old stuff to him. I watched the -tracers on the screen. Hosing me down with contact exploders probably -gave Mallon a lot of satisfaction, but it couldn't hurt me. It would be -a different story when he tired of the game and tried the heavy stuff. - -I threw in the drive, backed rapidly. Mallon's tracers followed for a -few yards, then cut off abruptly. I pivoted, flipped on my polyarcs, -raced for the position I had selected across the field, then swung -to face Mallon as he moved toward me. It had been a long time since -he had handled the controls of a Bolo; he was rusty, relying on his -automatics. I had no heavy rifles, but my pop-guns were okay. I homed -my 4 mm solid-slug cannon on Mallon's polyarc, pressed the FIRE button. - -There was a scream from the high-velocity-feed magazine. The blue-white -light flared and went out. The Bolo's defenses could handle anything -short of an H-bomb, pick a missile out of the stratosphere fifty miles -away, devastate a county with one round from its mortars--but my BB gun -at point-blank range had poked out its eye. - -I switched everything off and sat silent, waiting. Mallon had come to -a dead stop. I could picture him staring at the dark screens, slapping -levers and cursing. He would be confused, wondering what had happened. -With his lights gone, he'd be on radar now--not very sensitive at this -range, not too conscious of detail.... - -I watched my panel. An amber warning light winked. Mallon's radar was -locked on me. - -He moved forward again, then stopped; he was having trouble making up -his mind. I flipped a key to drop a padded shock frame in place, and -braced myself. Mallon would be getting mad now. - -Crimson danger lights flared on the board and I rocked under the recoil -as my interceptors flashed out to meet Mallon's C-S C's and detonate -them in incandescent rendezvous over the scarred concrete between us. -My screens went white, then dropped back to secondary brilliance, -flashing stark black-and-white. My ears hummed like trapped hornets. - -The sudden silence was like a vault door closing. - -I sagged back, feeling like Quasimodo after a wild ride on the bells. -The screens blinked bright again, and I watched Mallon, sitting -motionless now in his near blindness. On his radar screen I would show -as a blurred hill; he would be wondering why I hadn't returned his -fire, why I hadn't turned and run, why ... why.... - -He lurched and started toward me. I waited, then eased back, slowly. -He accelerated, closing in to come to grips at a range where even the -split micro-second response of my defenses would be too slow to hold -off his fire. And I backed, letting him gain, but not too fast.... - -Mallon couldn't wait. - -He opened up, throwing a mixed bombardment from his 9 mm's, his -infinite repeaters, and his C-S C's. I held on, fighting the battering -frame, watching the screens. The gap closed; a hundred yards, ninety, -eighty. - -The open silo yawned in Mallon's path now, but he didn't see it. The -mighty Bolo came on, guns bellowing in the night, closing for the -kill. On the brink of the fifty-foot-wide, hundred-yard-deep pit, it -hesitated as though sensing danger. Then it moved forward. - -I saw it rock, dropping its titanic prow, showing its broad back, -gouging the blasted pavement as its guns bore on the ground. Great -sheets of sparks flew as the treads reversed, too late. The Bolo hung -for a moment longer, then slid down majestically as a sinking liner, -its guns still firing into the pit like a challenge to Hell. And then -it was gone. A dust cloud boiled for a moment, then whipped away as -displaced air tornadoed from the open mouth of the silo. - -And the earth trembled under the impact far below. - - -X - -The doors of the Primary Site blockhouse were nine-foot-high, -eight-inch-thick panels of solid chromalloy that even a Bolo would have -slowed down for, but they slid aside for my electropass like a shower -curtain at the YW. I went into a shadowy room where eighty years of -silence hung like black crepe on a coffin. The tiled floor was still -immaculate, the air fresh. Here at the heart of the Aerospace Center, -all systems were still go. - -In the Central Control bunker, nine rows of green lights glowed on -the high panel over red letters that spelled out STAND BY TO FIRE. A -foot to the left, the big white lever stood in the unlocked position, -six inches from the outstretched fingertips of the mummified corpse -strapped into the controller's chair. To the right, a red glow on the -monitor panel indicated the locked doors open. - -I rode the lift down to K level, stepped out onto the steel-railed -platform that hugged the sweep of the starship's hull and stepped -through into the narrow COC. - -On my right, three empty stasis tanks stood open, festooned cabling -draped in disorder. To the left were the four sealed covers under -which Day, Macy, Cruciani and Black waited. I went close, read dials. -Slender needles trembled minutely to the beating of sluggish hearts. - -They were alive. - -I left the ship, sealed the inner and outer ports. Back in the control -bunker, the monitor panel showed ALL CLEAR FOR LAUNCH now. I studied -the timer, set it, turned back to the master panel. The white lever was -smooth and cool under my hand. It seated with a click. The red hand of -the launch clock moved off jerkily, the ticking harsh in the silence. - -Outside, the Bolo waited. I climbed to a perch in the open conning -tower twenty feet above the broken pavement, moved off toward the west -where sunrise colors picked out the high towers of the palace. - - * * * * * - -I rested the weight of my splinted and wrapped arm on the balcony rail, -looking out across the valley and the town to the misty plain under -which _Prometheus_ waited. - -"There's something happening now," Renada said. I took the binoculars, -watched as the silo doors rolled back. - -"There's smoke," Renada said. - -"Don't worry, just cooling gases being vented off." I looked at my -watch. "Another minute or two and man makes the biggest jump since the -first lungfish crawled out on a mud-flat." - -"What will they find out there?" - -I shook my head. "_Homo Terra Firma_ can't even conceive of what _Homo -Astra_ has ahead of him." - -"Twenty years they'll be gone. It's a long time to wait." - -"We'll be busy trying to put together a world for them to come back to. -I don't think we'll be bored." - -"Look!" Renada gripped my good arm. A long silvery shape, huge even -at the distance of miles, rose slowly out of the earth, poised on a -brilliant ball of white fire. Then the sound came, a thunder that -penetrated my bones, shook the railing under my hand. The fireball -lengthened into a silver-white column with the ship balanced at its -tip. Then the column broke free, rose up, up.... - -I felt Renada's hand touch mine. I gripped it hard. Together we watched -as _Prometheus_ took man's gift of fire back to the heavens. - -END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Night of the Trolls, by Keith Laumer - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NIGHT OF THE TROLLS *** - -***** This file should be named 53132.txt or 53132.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/1/3/53132/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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