“Interested in the Order, eh? Do you know Gunner Cade?”
“Oh, everybody knows Gunner Cade. There wasn’t a smile in the Glory shop the day the news came of his death. The factory pool drew Cade in the ’stakes and it’s play or pay. Not that I know much about gambling, but I . . . uh . . . happened to have organized the pool. It was so good for the employees’ morale. When I get out of here, though, I think I’ll stick to dog bets. You get nice odds in a play-or-pay deal, but there’s a perfectly human tendency to think you’ve been swindled when your Gunner is . . . so to speak . . . scratched and you don’t get your money back. I’ve always thought—”
“Shut up,” said Cade. You’d think the fools could tell the difference between her and . . . oh, curse her. He had worries of his own. For one thing, he was dead. He grinned without mirth. He had to get to the Chapter House and report on the Cairo Mystery, but he was in effect a Commoner without even a name. A Gunner had no wife or family except his Brothers in the Order—and the Watchmen were not going to bother the Order. They knew Cade was dead.
He wondered if this were happening for the first time in ten thousand years.
Everything was all wrong; he couldn’t think straight. He stretched out on the jail cot and longed for his harder, narrower sleep bag. It is fitting that the Emperor rules—He hoped she wouldn’t antagonize them with her disrespectful way of talking. Curse her! Why hadn’t she stayed in her own district? But that went to prove that she didn’t really know anything about the trade, didn’t it?
“You!” he growled at Fledwick. “Did you ever hear of a prostitute wandering out of her district by mistake?”
“Oh. Oh, no. Certainly not. Everybody knows where to go when he wants one. Or so I’m told.”
A crazy thought came to Cade that if he were dead, he was released from his vows. That was nonsense. He wished he could talk to a real Klin Teacher, not this sniveling thief. A good Klin Teacher could always explain your perplexities, or find you one who could. He wanted to know how it happened that he had done all the right things and everything had turned out all wrong.
“You” he said. “What’s the penalty for impersonating a Gunner?”
Fledwick scratched his nose and mused: “You picked a bad one, sir. It’s twenty years!” He was jolted out of his apathy. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but—”
“Shut up, I’ve got to think.”
He thought—and realized with twisted amusement that One week ago he would have been equally horrified, but for another reason. He would have thought the penalty all too light.
Fledwick turned his face to the wall and sighed comfortably. Going to sleep, was he?
“You,” said Cade. “Do you know who I am?”
“You didn’t say, sir,” yawned the Klin Teacher.
“I’m Gunner Cade, of the Order of Gunmen; my Star is the Star of France.”
“But—” The Teacher sat up on the bed and looked worriedly into Cade’s angry face. “Oh. Of course,” he said. “Of course you are, sir. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.” Thereafter he sat on the edge of his bed, stealing an occasional nervous glance at his cell mate. It made Cade feel a little better, but not much.
It is fitting that the Emperor rules—he hoped that leaving “the district” was not too serious an offense.
VII.
Cade opened his eyes.
Dingy walls, locked door, and the little Klin Teacher still sitting on the side of his bunk across the cage, fast asleep. At the thought of the man’s futile determination to hold an all-night vigil over the maniac who had claimed to be a dead Gunner, Cade grinned—and realized abruptly that a grin was no way for a Gunner of the Order to start his day. He hastily began his Morning Thoughts of the Order, but somewhere, far down inside him, there was a small wish that the Thoughts were not quite so long. He had a plan.
Seconds after completing the familiar meditation he was leaning over the other bunk, shaking the Klin Teacher’s shoulder. Fledwick almost toppled to the floor and then sprang to his feet in a terrified awakening. He was about to shriek when the Gunner’s big hand sealed his mouth.
“No noise,” Cade told him. “Listen to me.” He sat on Fled wick’s bunk and urged the little crook down beside him. “I’m going to get out of here and I’ll need your help to do it. Are you going to make trouble?”
“Oh, no sir,” the Teacher answered too promptly and too heartily. “I’ll be glad to help, sir.”
“Good.” Cade glanced at the lock oil the cage door—an ordinary two-way guarded radionic. “I’ll set the lock to open fifteen seconds after it is next opened from the outside. You’ll have to raise some sort of noise to get a Watchman in here.”
“You can set the lock?” Fledwick broke in. “Where did you learn—?”
“I told you. I am a Gunner of the Order. I expect your full co-operation because of that, I have a message of great importance which must be delivered to the Chapter House at once. Your service to me, by the way, should win you a pardon.”
Cade read on the little man’s face the collapse of a brief hope. Fledwick said brightly: “The pardon is immaterial. Whatever I can do to serve the Realm, I will do.”
“Very well, you don’t believe me. Then I will expect your full co-operation on the grounds that I must be a dangerous maniac who might tear you limb from limb for disobedience. Is that clear—and believable?”
“Yes,” said Fledwick miserably.
“Excellent. Now listen: you will attract a guard’s attention. Say you’re ill or that I’m trying to murder you—anything to get him inside. He will come in, close the door and look at you,. I will overpower him, the door will open and I will leave.”
“May I ask what I am to do then? The City Watch has been known to mistreat prisoners who aided in escapes.”
“Save your wit and call me ‘sir’.”
You may come along if you like. You would be useful because I know nothing of the city, of course.”
He got up and went over to the lock, Fledwick was next to him, peering over his shoulder. “You mean you’re really going to try it? Sir?” There was awe in his voice.
“Of course, fool. That’s what I’ve been saying.”
Under the Teacher’s dubious stare Cade got to work on the lock. The cage-side half of its casing was off in less than a minute. It took no longer for his trained eye to analyze the circuits inside. Fledwick nervously sucked in his breath as the Gunner’s sure fingers probed at tubes, relays and printed “wires.” But it was child’s play to avoid the tamper-triggers that would have set alarms ringing, and the more sinister contacts designed to send lethal charges of electricity through meddlers—child’s play for anybody who could rewire a flier’s control panel in a drizzly dawn.
Cade snapped the cover back on and told Fledwick: “Begin!”
The little man was near tears. “Sir, couldn’t we wait until after breakfast?”
“What would they give us?”
“Bread and fried sausage today,” said the Teacher hopefully.
Cade pretended to consider, and decided: “No. I don’t eat meat until nightfall. Did you forget that I am a Gunner of the Realm?”
The little man pulled himself together and said evenly: “I am beginning to wonder. I had been thinking of warning the Watchman when he came in.”
“Don’t! I can silence both of you, if I must.”
“Yes, of course. But you needn’t worry about me. Your work with the lock. If we get out I know of a clothing warehouse and a certain person who’s interested in its contents—and to be frank, perhaps I was overoptimistic when I said the misunderstanding that brought me here was a minor one. There are certain complications.”
“Such as being guilty?” suggested Cade. “Never mind. You’ll get a pardon from the Gunner Supreme for this morning’s work. Meanwhile, think me burglar, lunatic or what you please, but start howling. It will be daylight soon.”
Fled wick practiced with a couple of embarrassed groan
s and then cut loose with a ten-decibel shriek for help on the grounds that he was dying in agony.
Two Watchmen appeared, looking just-waked-up and annoyed. To Fledwick, writhing on his bunk, one demanded: “What’s wrong with you now?”
“Cramps!” yelled Fled wick. “Unendurable pain! My belly is on fire; my limbs are breaking!”
“Yes, yes,” said the Watchman. He addressed Cade with exquisite politeness, “Oh star-borne one, go sit on your bunk and put your hands on your knees. My mate’s going to be watching you. One move and sleep-gas fills the block. We’ll all have a little nap, but when you wake up the Desk chief will pound you like a Gunner never was pounded before, oh star-borne one.”
He nodded to the other Watchman, who took his stand by a handle that obviously controlled the gas. Cade rejoiced behind an impassive face; the outside Watchman was a slow-moving, doltish-looking fellow.
Fingers played a clicking code on the lock’s outside buttons and the door sprang open in a satisfactorily lively manner. The Watchman bent over Fledwick, now moaning faintly, as Carle counted seconds. As the door sprang open again, Cade was on his feet; before it had completed its arc the Gunner’s fist was tingling and the inside Watchman lay crumpled half on Fledwick and half on the floor. Cade was through the open door and on the too-stolid fellow outside after the man realized there was something badly wrong, but before he could do anything about it.
Fledwick was in the corridor by then. “Follow me,” Cade ordered. It was odd, he fleetingly thought, to have somebody under your command who couldn’t half-read your mind through endless training, somebody whose skills were a guess and whose fighting heart was a gamble. They passed empty cells on their way to the guard room. Its door was stout, equipped with a peephole and firmly locked in case of just such an emergency as this.
Through the peephole Cade saw three drowsy Watchmen. The liveliest was at a facsimile machine reading the early-morning edition of a newssheet as it oozed out.
“Boyer,” called the newshound. “Gray Dasher won the last at Baltimore. That’s one green you owe—where’s Boyer?”
“Cell block. Fledwick was yelling again.”
“How long ago?”
“Keep calm. Just a second before you came in. He went with Marshal; they haven’t been more than a minute.”
Cade ducked as the newshound strode to the door and put his own eye to the peephole. “A minute’s too long,” he heard him say. “Marshal’s the biggest fool in the Klin Service and that big maniac’s in there with Fledwick. Put on your gas guns.”
There were groans of protest. “Ah, can’t we flood the block?”
“If we did, I’d have to fill out fifty pages of reports. Move, curse you!”
“Can you fire a. gas gun?” whispered Cade.
The Klin Teacher, trembling, shook his head.
“Then stay out of the way,” Cade ordered.
He was excited himself, by the novelty and his unarmed state. They say we don’t know fear, Cade thought, but they’re wrong. Arle, Gunner Supreme, safely dwelling in a fearful place, I pledge that you’ll have no shame for me in this action. Tuned to battle pitch he thought of the wonderful old man, the Gunner of Gunners, who would accept even the coming scuffle as another fit deed by another of his fit sons in the Order. Do the right thing at the right time, Cade told himself, and Arle will be glad.
The stout door unlocked and the newshound came through first. Like a machine that couldn’t help itself Cade smashed him paralyzingly with his right arm where the ribs and sternum meet and a great ganglion is unguarded. Cade’s left hand took the Watchman’s gun and fired two gas pellets through the half-opened door.
One of the Watchmen outside had time to shoot before he went down, but his pellet burst harmlessly against a wall.
Fledwick muttered something despairing about “up to our necks,” but Cade waved him into the guard room impatiently. The Gunner reconnoitered the street, found it empty and returned for the Teacher.
“Come along,” he said, pitching the gas gun onto the chest of a prostrate Watchman.
Fledwick promptly picked it up. “What did you do that for?” he demanded. Cade glared at him and he hastily added: “Sir.”
“Put it back,” said Cade. “It’s no fit weapon for a Gunner. I used it only because I had to.”
There was a look on Fledwick’s face that the Gunner had seen before. It was partly puzzled resignation, partly kindliness and affection and—something else that was suspiciously like condescension. Cade had seen it from the star-bornes of the Courts, and especially the ladies. He had seen it often and never understood it.
“Don’t you think, sir,” said the Klin Teacher carefully, “that we might take the gas gun along in case another emergency arises? I can carry it for you if you find it too distasteful.”
“Suit yourself,” said Cade shortly, “but hurry.” Fledwick dropped the weapon inside his blouse, securing it underneath the waistband.
“Sir,” said the Klin Teacher again, “don’t you think we should do something about these Watchmen? Roll them behind a door and lock it?” Cade shrugged irritably. “Nonsense,” he said. “We’ll be at the Chapter House with everything well again before they’re discovered.” Fledwick sighed and followed him down the steps and along the empty streets. There was a light mist and a hint of dawn in the sky; the two green lights of the Watch House cast the shadows of the Gunner and the Klin Teacher before them on the pavement, long and thin.
“How far is the Chapter House?”
“Past the outskirts of Aberdeen, to the north. Five kilometers, say, on the Realm Highway—wide street two blocks west of here.”
“I’ll need a ground car.”
“Car theft, too!”
“Requisition in the Service of the Realm,” said Cade austerely. “You need have no part in it.”
Theft—requisition. Requisition—theft. How odd things were outside the Order! And sometimes how oddly interesting! He felt a little shame at the thought, and hastily reminded himself: Gunners march where the Emperor wills—that is their glory. Yes; march in soft-soled Commoners’ shoes, in a requisitioned ground car.
It would be easy—a pang went through him. How easy had it been for the girl? He Would investigate with the greatest care. She might suffer from her association with him now that he had broken out.
“Here’s a good one,” said Fledwick. “From my own shop.” Cade surveyed a Glory of the Realm ground car, parked and empty. Fledwick was peering through the window and announced with satisfaction: “Gauge says full-charge. It will get us there.”
“Locked?” asked Cade. “I’ll take care of—”
Fledwick waved him back calmly. “I happen to be able to handle this myself, because of my, well, familiarity with the model.” The little man took off his belt, to all appearances a regulation Klin uniform belt—until it turned out to be of very thin leather, folded triple. From within the folds he took a flat metal object and applied it to the Glory car’s Took. There were clicks and the door swung open.
Cade stared at the Klin. teacher as he carefully replaced the object in his belt. Fledwick cleared-his throat and explained: “I was planning to get one of the Glories out of savings from my meager stipend. There’s a clever fellow in the lock shop who makes these, uh, door openers and I thought how convenient it would be” to have one if I should ever mislay my combination.”
“For the car you’ hadn’t bought yet,” said Cade.
“Oh. Oh, yes. Prudence, eh, sir? Prudence.”
“That may be. I shall leave you now; there is no need for you to accompany me further and you know, I suppose, that Gunners may consort with those outside the Order only if it is unavoidable. I thank you for your services. You may find pleasure in the knowledge that you have been of service to the Realm” Cade prepared to enter the car.
“Sir,” said Fledwick urgently; “I’d find more pleasure in accompanying you. That pardon you mentioned—”
“It will be sent
to you.”
“Sir, I ask you to think that it might be a little difficult to find me. All I desire is to see my humble lectory again, to serve fittingly in expounding the truth of Klin to the simple, honest workingfolk of the Glory Shop, but until I get the pardon I’ll be—perforce inaccessible.”
“Get in,” said Cade. “No, I’ll drive. You might absentmindedly pocket the steering panel.” He started the car and-gunned it down the street toward the Realm Highway.
“Hold it at fifteen per,” Fledwick warned. “The radar meters kick up a barrier ahead if you speed.”
Cade kept the car at fifteen with his eyes peeled for trouble—and to inspect the queer shops that lined the broad highway. It seemed such folly! Shops and shops, selling foodstuffs in small quantities to individuals. Shops and shops selling Commoners’ garb, each only slightly different from the next. Shops and shops selling furniture for homes.
Fledwick turned on the ground car’s radio; through the corner of his eye Cade saw him tuning carefully to a particular frequency not automatically served by the tap plates.
Why, Cade wondered, couldn’t they all be sensible like the Order? A single garb—not, he hastily told himself, resembling in any way the uniform of the Armsmen. Why not refectories where a thousand of them at a time could eat simple, standardized foods? His mental stereotype of a Commoner returned to him: lax, flabby, gorging himself morning, noon and night.
Flow good it would be to get into the Chapter House in time for a plain breakfast, and to let the beloved routine flow over him. He knew it would quench the disturbing thoughts he had suffered from during the past day. It was all a wonderful proof that the Rule of the Order was wise. Nor shall any Brother he exposed to the perils of what lies without his Chapter House or the Field of Battle. Let Brothers be transported, by ground if need be, by air if possible, swiftly from Chapter House to Chapter House and swiftly from Chapter House to the Field of Battle.
How right and fitting it was! The perils were many. Uncounted times he had let his mind be swayed from the Order and his duty in it. When he woke today he had almost willfully chafed at the morning meditation. He could feel the warmth of the Order that would soon enfold him—
Collected Short Fiction Page 143