Back in his quarters, while Caddas slurped at his breakfast and expressed himself thankful to be safe, Barclay tried to raise the HQ ship in the hope of averting Willerby’s arrangements, but he was too late. The shuttle ship was already manned and slipping into her ejection lock. He swore at that. Willerby must have made his cry an urgent one. He put through a discreet call to the Medical Centre again and managed to raise Major Dannard. On the screen Dannard looked little the worse apart from ointment stains and a raw patch on one cheek-bone. Barclay masked his icy fury under a chill smile.
“Glad to see you looking fit again, Major. I hear you’ve been busy?”
“Sir?” Dannard blinked, then made an apologetic shrug. “About the ship you mean, sir ? Yes, I did make a signal for it to come ahead of schedule.”,
“Mind telling me why?”
“Well, sir, after talking to General Powley and Citizen Wake, and them agreeing there was no point in being a hindrance—I mean, they’re hardly in shape for any further inspections, and they’ve seen enough to be very highly impressed. Very impressed,” Dannard repeated, savouring the words. “So far as they are concerned, it’s another ‘red’ for us. And they are keen to get out of the way and let us get on. And our facilities are limited, as yet. And you were asleep, sir!”
“I see! And the third member of the team? Miss Honey?”
“I consulted her, sir. She didn’t raise any objection. Said she’d seen all that was necessary. And once we can get them away out of it, we can go full speed ahead again. I know that’s what you want, sir.”
Barclay wanted to rage at him, to shout, “What about you and Willerby, and your damned plot to get rid of Rikki, too? You snivelling half-wit, what about that?” But he swallowed the words, kept his frozen smile.
“Very well, Major. It all seems to have turned out very well. I’ll want to see you, later. Advise General Powley and Citizen Wake that I shall be at the field to see them off.” He cancelled the picture and sat a while, breathing hard. Then he spun to see that Caddas had heard every word.
“Learn a lesson, lad,” he said harshly. “You can’t get it any more clearly than that. Bear it in mind. When we go to see that shuttle off, remember that if it wasn’t for me, you’d be on it, under observation. You’re safe this time. I can deal with Dannard, and Willerby, never fear. But I can’t deal with outsiders, with people like Dahlia Honey. I can only warn you not to trust her, or anyone like her.”
Caddas was sullen, almost defiant. “I like her. She’s kind. She seemed to understand me.”
“That’s her job. You’re just one of a crowd to her. Inside a week she will be turning her professional charms on someone else, leading him to talk about himself. And when she’s got as much as she wants, she’ll drop him, just as she’s dropping you. You heard Dannard. The shuttle will be grounded in an hour, and the observers will be leaving. They’ve got all they want. They are done with us. And she’s included. Don’t forget that. She’s just an observer.” Caddas screwed up his face as if he was about to cry, and Barclay had to turn away from the sight. He levered up his read-out screen, and stared at it. “You’ll forget about her,” he said. “You’ll see.”
“I can’t!” Caddas wailed. “Every time you say bad things about her my head hurts and I feel sick all over. But when you stop it, and I think of her smiling, I feel all right again.”
“You’re still a bit upset,” Barclay soothed mechanically “You’d better go and lie down for a bit. I shan’t be making my rounds for half-an-hour yet. I’ll call you.” Alone, he glared at the blank read-out screen and struggled to deny the hideous thought that tried to insert itself into his mind. Damn that woman! Then, getting a grip on himself, he buttoned for data, and the screen came alive with glowing green figures and diagrams. This much, at least, was solid comfort. All the other Units were virtually at a standstill, showing only minimum gains over yesterday, but Unit Three ran up a steady advance on all sectors. Even that disastrous pipe burst had done nothing more than to dent the curve a trifle. “A bit of bad luck,” he mused, “but promptly and efficiently dealt with.” But then the train of thought ran away by itself and tangled into an ugly knot.
He, the super-efficient Jack Barclay, had made a flat-footed blunder there, saved only by the instinctive know-how of the man on the job. He had given a wrong order. And he hadn’t known what to do about the trapped men, either. In the pinch he had been saved by Dannard’s wit. Without that there might have been a real disaster. Two men dead, possibly. Had it not been for Dannard...! And Willerby, with professional skill and wit, had taken the sting out of the situation even further, had turned it to an advantage. Yet Barclay had committed himself to breaking those two men. Sweat broke out on him as he was driven to realize, to admit to himself that he wasn’t even of average competence, alone. Take away Rikki Caddas and his freakish gifts, and what was left? He flung the idea away savagely. He had Rikki, still, and he was going to keep him. Had to keep him!
The routine morning round had to be a short one, so he chose to devote most of it to the two sprawling manufactor-centres, as they were located handily near the landing-field. The immensely complex and massive converters, capable of synthesizing almost any material in bulk quantities, given the raw resources, had been standing patiently in moth-ball shrouds for just this moment. Now, uncovered and bright, they were to be hauled into the buildings designed to take them, and there linked stage by stage into production lines. Barclay toured at a respectful distance, with Caddas lolling by his side, showing no signs of distress whatever. The task appeared to be going along smoothly. Barclay’s “doom” feeling was on the retreat as a distant drumming overhead warned him of the approaching shuttle. Not wishing to appear too free, he waited until the stammer had grown to a roar and then choked off as the ship drifted down to a landing. Then he leaned forward and programmed the car to take him to the field. “That’s it,” he thought. “End of an incident.” On manual control he tooled the car close in to the foot of the gangway and climbed out, just in time to catch the hobbling observers dismounting from the medical car.
“Citizen Wake, General Powley, please accept my profound apologies that such a thing should have happened to mar your visit, and my sincere gratitude that you appear to have escaped so lightly.”
“Quite all right, Colonel. Quite all right.” Powley spoke from a cross-mask of bandages, but sounded cheerful. “Accidents will happen to the best of us. Have to thank you and your staff for being so efficient. Could have been a lot worse. Won’t forget it, I assure you.” He hobbled on to let Wake add a word.
“Most impressed, Colonel. We owe you our lives!”
Barclay was gratified, and a trifle bewildered, until Dannard moved close to his side and murmured, “Signal just through from Unit One. Observer badly mangled. Got involved with a road-maker. Condition critical. I let our guests see it, by accident.” Barclay grinned, then cut it off abruptly.
“Where’s the third, Miss Honey?”
“She’s aboard long ago. Couldn’t wait.”
Barclay turned away to hide his satisfaction, and saw Caddas getting out of the car. The lieutenant was shivering, his face chalk-white, and he was barely able to stand.
“Rikki!” Barclay was at his side in a single step. “What’s the matter, lad? What is it?”
“I feel awful. All empty and cold, and I want to be sick.” This did not fit any crisis Barclay could think of, so he pressed into the next stage immediately, urgently.
“Can you give me a name, Rikki? A name?’’
“Honey. Lovely sweet honey ...”
Barclay cursed under his breath. His communicator bleated, on his wrist, but he ignored it, reaching to take Caddas by a shoulder and shaking him roughly.
“Get her out of your mind, you fool!”
“I can’t!” Caddas wrenched away with surprising strength, throwing off the grip and glaring his defiance. “I can’t forget her. She’s going away and leaving me behind!”
Barclay choked on un
speakable words. The bleat came again from his wrist, insistently. He snatched it to his mouth.
“Barclay here. What?”
“Number Two manufactor-centre. Haulage breakdown. Two men trapped. The condition is black, repeat black.” Even as the miniature voice said it, he heard the “disaster” siren begin to wail, thinly, in the distance, the first time it had sounded on this project. Quite suddenly his rage went away, leaving him dulled and impassive. He stared at Caddas, who was still casting pathetic eyes up the gangway. There was no doubting the awful truth, now. The goose would lay no more golden eggs.
“Go on,” he muttered, his voice empty of feeling. “Go on up there to her. There’s a berth for you.” Caddas shambled away and up the gangway without a word or a backward glance. Under his breath Barclay said, “You’re no good to me any more, Rikki. She’s welcome to you.”
The gangway began to rumble and lift up and away. The distant siren wailed again. Dannard shifted uneasily, touched Barclay’s arm.
“You’ve done the best thing, sir, in my opinion. Now we can really get on with the job, and no hindrances at all. Shall I drive, sir?”
Barclay turned on him, too empty even to be angry. “You bloody fool!” he said, very quietly. “You bloody fool!”
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New Writings in SF 6 - [Anthology] Page 19