The Universe Maker (15 page)

"Get away from him," she yelled at Cargill. "I'll spit him."

The stranger was also yelling. ."Help!" he called. "
Manot
! Gregory!"

There was a sound. "All right," said a cold voice from the door. "Ann, put down that gun. Cargill, get up."

Cargill hesitated and then, tense with the new danger, climbed to his feet. He was puzzled. The situation somehow seemed wrong. He turned slowly and saw the two men in the uniforms of volor pilots. The man who had spoken returned his gaze steadily.

"Just testing, Captain, just testing," he said. "We've had reports about some kind of underground scheme and so we decided to try to get a reaction."

Even as the man spoke, Cargill's mind darted over the events but found nothing out of the way. Ann ha d cted in character—why not? It was her character—and he himself had done only what could have been expected. He said slowly, "I hope you learned what you wanted."

The pilot said with apparent frankness, "Exactly what we wanted." He bowed to Ann Reece, who was unusually pale. "I want to congratulate you, Miss Reece, on your courage. And don't blame us. Grannis suggested this test."

To the big man, who was just getting up from the floor, he said curtly, "You put on a good act. But now come along."

When they had gone Cargill walked over to the young woman and said, "That was very unkind of them. Here, you'd better sit down. They don't seem to realize what a shock a thing like this can be to the system."

He was thinking, "Grannis again—what could the Shadow be up to?"

Ann Reece allowed herself to be led to a chair. She looked up at him, her face still very white. She said in a low voice, "Thank you for saving my life, Captain."

"I didn't actually save it," said Cargill. "After all, it was a fake menace."

She said stiffly, "You didn't know that when you made the attack. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Forget it. I thought I was saving my own as well."

She seemed not to hear. "They were testing me," she said. "Me!" She seemed overwhelmed.

Cargill started to say something but stopped 
himself
. For the first tune he realized that this girl was undergoing a profound emotional experience. He watched her sharply for a few moments, then reached down and took her hand. "I think you'd better go to your room and lie down," he said.

She let him lead her. At the door of her bedroom, she stopped. A touch of color came into her cheeks. She didn't look at him. "Captain," she said, "tonight I realized what you meant about war being different from any idea that I had of it. And I'm sorry for my share in bringing you into this desperate danger. Can you ever forgive me?"

Cargill thought of the imminent rebellion and said coolly, "I'm in. I've accepted the idea. I'll fight with everything I've got to make sure that I survive." He added, "You'd better lie down."

He opened the door for her. She stepped through and there was more color in her face as she gave him a quick glance. She said breathlessly, "Captain, you said something once about a reward for a soldier . . . Tonight, when you try the knob of this 
door,
 you'll find that it ... turns."

She slipped all the way in. The door closed gently. The faint perfume of her presence lingered. Cargill walked slowly on to his own room. He was more touched than he cared to admit. The only annoyance was, when he tried the door an hour later it was locked.

Cargill stood with one hand on the knob, baffled, a little irritated, 
not
 quite ready to give up. Most of the girls he had gone after in his career did not fall easily into a man's arms. Affinity had to be established; and apparently in Ann's case, the rescue hadn't been enough. He was still standing, undecided, when he heard a sound inside. The next instant the door 
opened,
 and the girl's strangely pale face peered through a crack about three inches wide. Cargill could see that she wore a blue negligee with not much else on underneath.

She whispered, "I just can't go through with what I said. I'm sorry."

Cargill sighed as many a man had before him in a similar situation. But now that he had a conversation started, he was not prepared to let go. "May I come in and talk to you? I swear you don't have to be afraid of me."

She hesitated, and he seized the opportunity to push gently at the door. At that, she yielded, and retreating into the bedroom, turned on a bedside light, and crept into the bed. Protectively, she drew a soft pink quilt about her. It failed to hide the tanned skin that was visible through her negligee above the waist. Cargill took one of the pillows, placed it against the headboard. Seating himself on the bed, he relaxed back against the pillow.

"How old are you, Ann?" he asked gently.

"Twenty-four'." She looked at him questioningly.

"If you hadn't backed out of this promise tonight," Cargill asked frankly, "would I have been your first lover?"

She hesitated, 
then
 shrugged. Something of her 
blase
 manner came back. She laughed curtly. "No, I tried sex once when I was seventeen. Something must have 
been ,
 wrong because all I can remember is pain, pain, pain. I've got to admit that scared me." She laughed again, tensely. "I've heard good reports about it since then."

"Where I come from," said Cargill, "seventy per cent of women are frigid because their husbands never learned the first simple principles of lovemaking. They're not really frigid, you understand, as many a soldier can tell you about many a so-called frigid wife of another man." He broke off. "Is it that seventeen year old memory that holds you back now?"

She was silent. "I did think of it." she admitted. She began to laugh suddenly, hysterically. "My dear," she said, when she could control herself, "I'm sure this is really the funniest conversation I've had in a long time. Come on over here before I trap myself with words. I'm very skillful at talking myself into emotional corners."

From that moment, Ann Reece was his girl.

She didn't realize how completely she was his at first. She had no idea how much emotion went along with a physical commitment. If she had been experienced it might have been different. She might have been able to divide herself, figuratively, into two individuals, on the one hand the patriot, on the other the mistress of the prisoner.

The patriot, in spite of the rude shock of the test, remained fairly intact for five days. At that point she had her first breakdown. Thereafter, she cried easily in Cargill's presence. On the eighth day she came out openly with the suggestion that they find some method of escape. Her plans were vague, curiously impractical for someone who had been so hard-headed. She had a fine contempt for Cargill's objections. Half a dozen tunes within the space of a few days she lost her temper with him.

She put a pressure on him which added to his own anxiety. On the twelfth day he visited the airport and angrily drew Withrow aside. "I have a feeling," he said,

"
that
your group is stalling. There's a weakness here somewhere, an unwillingness to burn your bridges."

Withrow looked unhappy. "There's something to that," he admitted. "All I hear is excuses."

Cargill could understand that. Thinking of these leaders who had never before seen action, he was reminded of the eve of battle. As one stormy dawn broke he had thought and hoped that surely the attack would be called off. And, curiously, he had thought simultaneously, "Thank heaven, the issue is being forced at last."

This issue also had to be forced. And there was only one man who had the motivation, the will and the experience to force it. He said in measured tone, "Withrow, the attack must be made not later than tomorrow morning. If it isn't made I will inform Commander Greer who the ringleaders are."

Withrow turned pale. "You wouldn't dare."

Cargill said quietly, "Perhaps you'd better let the others think that I would dare."

He returned the pilot's gaze steadily. At last Withrow sighed. He held out his hand. "You've named the day," he said. "Thank you."

They shook hands silently and separated.

Cargill had his first premonition of disaster as he entered the house shortly after dark. Ann, her face gray, met him at the door. "They've posted guards around the house," she whispered. "They're sending you to Shadow City tonight."

Cargill stood stock still, dimly aware of her fluttering hands stroking his arm.

She whispered, "I'm sorry."

He patted her hand absently. He was thinking, "Is this tuned? Do they know or suspect?" Aloud he said, "Why did they select tonight?"

"Grannis—" she began.

That shocked him. With an astounded fury he cut
her off, gripped her shoulders cruelly. "But I thought you were his contact!"

"I used to be," she said miserably. "I don't know what's happened. Please, you're hurting me."

He let her go with a mumbled apology. His sense of imminent catastrophe was greater. The incredible, fantastic, mysterious Grannis had taken one more step in his inexplicable scheme. But this time he had moved in a direct and deadly fashion. Whatever else Grannis had in mind it was clear that he intended Captain Morton Cargill to experience the terrible risk of going to Shadow City.

Finally, he patted her gently and stroked her hands. He could feel her trembling. He stepped away from her and said: "Has any date been set?"

She shook her head. "I'm out of this picture. They're telling me nothing."

He said softly, "Go and see about dinner, Ann. I'll investigate the situation."

He headed for the terrace, crossed the garden in the dark, climbed over the fence—he was stopped by a guard.

"Get back!" The command was curtly spoken. A spitter glinted hi the man's hand.

Cargill obeyed readily and headed immediately for the gate that led to the front of the house. It was unlocked. But as he stepped through, a soldier came from behind a tree and angrily motioned him to return.

Altogether in the course of a few minutes he counted nine guards, all armed, all aware of his identity. When he re-entered the house Commander Greer was there with Ann.

"Sorry, Captain," he said, "but we just couldn't take any chances. Grannis advised us that there was going to be a rebellion and so we've ordered all officers to
report to their units. Just in case there is a disturbance you leave right after dinner for Shadow City."

Greer remained for dinner. When the meal was over, as Cargill and Ann followed the officer to the outer hall, she whispered, "Find some way of kissing me good-by. I'll pretend to resist."

A volor-powered floaterlike craft waited for them on the lawn. Cargill turned to Ann and, mustering all his sardonicism, said, "Miss Reece, once it amused you to say that you would kiss me good-by when I left like this. I demand that kiss."

He didn't wait for assent. Firmly he stepped to her, put his finger under her chin, lifted her head and bent his own. The kiss he gave her was outrageously bold, and the only trouble was that she didn't resist very hard. Fortunately, the guards thought his move an attack and pulled him away from her.

"Good-by, darling," said Cargill cheerfully. "I'll be back."

He was surprised to realize that he meant it. He was tremendously drawn to Ann Reece. "I thought I loved them all," he told himself in almost drunken confusion. "Lela and—" He remembered some of the wonderfully personable girls who had been milestones in his life up until 1954—but Ann was different.

"Well, I'll be damned," he thought. "I've fallen for the girl."

The metal door clanged shut behind him. The ship lifted violently. As he sank into a seat the black reality of his position crushed down upon his spirits.

He braced himself finally and thought: "I've still got to decide what I'm going to do."

Hopefully, he looked at the crew that was taking him to his destination. He recognized none of the five volor-men aboard, but they must have been among those to whom he had lectured. Although he doubted that he
could subvert them, he thought there was no "harm in trying.

He waited till the co-pilot looked back from the cockpit, and then he beckoned him. The man spoke to his commander, apparently received permission, and came striding back.

"Captain?" he said politely.

For some reason the remark struck Cargill as excruciatingly funny. He began to laugh. "Captain!" he repeated aloud, and the word again set him into a gale of laughter.

Tears streaming down his eyes, Cargill looked up at the other. "Lieutenant—" he began. He stopped.
"Lieutenant!"
"Lieutenant" was even funnier than "Captain." After a time, he controlled the new, greater burst of laughter and managed to say: "Lieutenant, have you made your will?"

"No, sir." The man was stiff.

Cargill laughed that one off, resigned now to his hysteria; he'd seen men in this state before. The best way to handle it was to give it full release. "Better make your will, Lieutenant. Men die in war, you know. Or are you a behind-the-lines man?"

"No, sir, I volunteered."

"Volunteered!" 
roared Cargill, and this time he laughed for minutes. He said finally, between gasps: "That's the spirit, boy. What we need in this army are volunteers, ready to die for dear old Alma Mater— pardon me, I'm getting my places mixed up, or is it my spaces?"

That was a special joke, out of his wild dreams; and he nearly cracked a rib before that laughter subsided.

"You've got to face reality, sir," said the co-pilot, evidently a serious young man.

It was almost too much. When he finally stopped laughing, Cargill said, "Young
man, keep
right on facing reality, and be sure to keep an eye on the facts, and report to me every day. That's the important thing. Keep in touch."

"I'm sorry that you're taking this so hard," said the young man.

"It's not the initial cost," roared Cargill. "It's the upkeep. Young love cannot live on bread and cheese alone, you know. They also need a Cadillac—pardon me, a floater.
Pardon me!"
His attention was momentarily caught by the phrase. Several times he fumbled it with his tongue, savoring the thousands of times he had used it. "Be sure to pardon me," he said at last, soberly. "Yes, sir, I've got to be pardoned."