They stood there while the elevator door closed and it started to ascend, with a faint whooshing noise. “Say,” Carl said, approaching the door and staring at it. “How do we call it back?”
“I have no idea,” Chester told him. “Let us hope that some notion presents itself.”
The three of them examined the door minutely, looking for some lever, button, switch, pushplate, or other device for recalling the elevator, but could find nothing. “Very clever,” O’Malley sighed. “I knew in my heart it would end like this.”
“What end?” Chester asked, looking down at his friend.
“We’re stuck here until they come for us,” O’Malley said. “Which will be soon, I have no doubt.”
“Ever the cheery disposition,” Carl said. “Surely there must be stairs.”
Something said merp!
“What was that?” Carl demanded, backing up.
“I have no idea,” Chester said, grabbing the hilt of his borrowed presentation sword and half drawing it from its scabbard.
The elevator door opened.
“Ye worry too much,” O’Malley said, stepping into the empty elevator. “Ye should be like me, and cheerfully trust in the fates to take care of ye. Ever optimistic, that’s what I am.”
Chester and Carl followed him into the elevator, and the door closed behind them. “Hm,” Chester said. “Voice operated, perhaps; or sensitive to body heat; or aware of motion by the door? Fascinating.” He dropped his sword back into the scabbard.
When the elevator opened at the top of its journey, they faced a long corridor which went off in front of them. There was no one in it, and it was bare except for an occasional door that opened to the left, and one great pair of doors that went off to the right.
“I have a feeling,” Chester said as they got off, “that the large doors are where they take the ‘persons,’ so we should pick one of the others.”
“Which one?” Carl asked.
Chester shrugged. “Flip a coin,” he said.
“There are six doors,” Carl said.
“So flip a six-sided coin,” Chester snapped. “Look—” He pulled a copper from his pocket. “First flip, left three or right three.” He flipped it. “Tails: right three. Now, to be perfectly fair, I shall flip it three times, odd door out.” He flipped, and it came down head-tail-head. “Middle door of the right three,” he said.
“If there’s anything I admire,” Carl said, “it’s the way your incisive logic cuts to the heart of any situation.”
Chester paused to glare at him. “Is that any way for a sergeant to speak to his colonel?” he demanded.
“Sir,” Carl amended.
“That’s better. Now, forward! And try to look like we know what we’re doing, whatever we find on the other side of that door.”
The door had a curious square handle, and opened easily at their touch. On the other side was a vast hall with a low ceiling, and many waist-high booths scattered in some haphazard manner throughout its area.
The door closed behind them when they were through, and Carl noticed that there was no handle on the outside. He pointed this out to Chester.
“More interesting than that,” Chester said, “look to your left.”
Carl looked to the left, on the other side of the wall they had just come through, and saw that all four of the other doors also came through to this vast hall. He turned to the right, and saw that the last one also came out here. “Well,” he said. “I wonder why that should be. Our aliens had curious minds.”
“I think this is a human construction,” Chester said. “This whole building was built by the authorities, whether of just this sector, or planetary, I don’t know, to hide the existence of the subway entrance.”
“Then why the six separate doors?” Carl asked.
“To help hide the elevator entrance. It looks like they lead to six separate places. A subtle design.”
The room they had entered was very busy and quite noisy. People clustered about the various booths and ran from booth to booth. There was a lot of arm-signaling going on, and cryptic signs were being wigwagged back and forth at the tips of fingers. The atmosphere was cluttered but very purposeful, and everyone seemed to know why he was there and what he was doing. There were, as far as Carl could tell, no women present anywhere in the room.
Each of the booths had a sign up, and the signs varied greatly in size and construction, but there was a certain sameness in the wording:
ARTHUR SCHULEYER SONS & COMPANY
FIELDHANDS AND DECKHANDS
EXPERIENCED AND NOT
P.E. License # 103
THE GREAT SOUTHERN CORPORATION, LTD.
PERSONS FOR EXPORT
NO PERSON TOO OLD OR TOO WEAK
P.E. License #58
wallace & lee
female persons
gentled
suitable for housework
bonded—the old firm
p.e. License #23
Theos: P. Ragg
Specialist in Trained Clerical Persons
Our word is our guarantee
P.E. License # 202
They walked rapidly through the large hall toward what looked to be exits to the outside world. “Don’t raise your hand in here,” Chester warned, “or you may end up having bought someone.”
“They sell people?” Carl asked, a note of disbelief in his voice.
“That’s what slavery’s all about,” Chester said.
“I thought it was, like, the government,” Carl said. “Not other people. How can one person own another?”
“Be careful how you use the word ‘person’ around here,” Chester advised him. “And who do you think makes up the government, if not people? And what gives them any more right to own other people than anyone else?”
Atlanta was a moderate-sized town of wooden frame houses, except for the large square concrete building out of which they walked. The street was packed dirt, with wooden sidewalks; and elaborate carriages bounced along on high springs raising clouds of dust as they passed.
The sign above the door they left read:
persons exchange
Around the back were high, concrete walled pens, in which were stored the persons until they were sold. The persons wore one-piece coveralls of blue denim, much like prison garb except for the color, and black hands and faces, and leg shackles.
The gentlemen of the sector, ascending and descending carriages and attending to the business of the exchange, were garbed in dark gabardine suits with figured vests and tall stovepipe hats. They looked elegant, almost effete, and untouched by the business in which they were engaged. Many of them wore fancy high boots with designs tooled and stained into the leather.
Chester watched them strut in and out of the Persons Exchange for a long minute with a curious expression on his face. “‘Their uniforms were spick and span,’” he muttered:
“‘And they wore their Sunday suits,
But we knew the work they had been at,
By the quicklime on their boots.’”
“What’s that?” Carl asked.
“A bit of ancient verse,” Chester explained. “No matter.”
“Let us make our way away from here,” O’Malley said. “I don’t fancy the smell.”
“Look!” Carl said, indicating an object high in the sky to his right.
“A flitterboat,” Chester said. “And, if I’m not mistaken— Yes, a Guest flitter, and not an Inspector’s craft.”
“We’re back in civilization, that we are,” O’Malley said. “And back on display.”
“We’d better get away from here,” Chester said, “and get out of these clothes. It’s not going to be too many more hours before the word is out. We’ll probably be hunted by the Inspectors and the local police and the military.”
“You make life sound so interesting,” Carl said.
“Ye’re a delightful man to travel with,” O’Malley agreed. “And if it’s traveling we should be doing, th
en which way should we be doing it?”
“Unless I am mistaken,” Chester said, “that large structure about two blocks down is a train station. The trains won’t be as comfortable or modern as the one we just left, but perhaps we can get one going in the right direction.”
Several more flitterboats came into view, hovering above the city. “Those things make me nervous,” Carl complained.”
“Don’t worry about the Guests,” Chester said. “They’re no more interested in you than you are in them. They just go where the excitement is.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Carl said. “What are they doing here?”
Chester paused to consider. “An interesting thought,” he said. “They get lists each morning, you know, telling what is going to be happening where. And they do seem to be congregating here. Let’s get to the station with reasonable speed, shall we?”
The flitterboats were gathering over Atlanta, but they didn’t seem to favor any one section of the city over any other. “We may be in for an attack,” Chester said. “Listen, if we get separated, we meet in Sanloo at a place called the Fat Black Pussycat. You know how to cross the barrier.”
“Aye,” O’Malley agreed dourly.
“I don’t,” Carl said.
“Ye’d best stick with one of us, then,” O’Malley said. They walked down the street at a brisk pace, but not fast enough to attract undue attention, toward the building Chester thought was a train station.
There was a tremendous crash from somewhere behind them, and then the sound of yelling and running feet. And then the screaming started: shrill, hysterical screams that built in intensity and volume and then suddenly cut off.
“What under the two moons—!” O’Malley said. They turned around, and saw nothing different in the street behind them. The carriages had mostly pulled to a halt, and the drivers and passengers were also looking around, trying to locate the yelling.
Like a flood of water newly released from a broken dam, a horde of black-faced prisoners rounded the building and ran into the street. Most of the prisoners were free of their leg irons, but some were still shackled together in groups of five or six. They held a variety of weapons, from hunks of chain to broken-off sections of pipe, and they threatened or attacked everyone they came in contact with. Most of the gentlemen had walking sticks, but they were alone and the prisoners were all together. Every time one of the gentlemen went down, another black-faced prisoner gained a weapon.
When they reached the street they overthrew the carriages they could get at, and the air was filled with a great crashing noise. Most of the drivers managed to get their horses turned around before the prisoners reached them, and headed away at high speeds. There were several collisions between escaping carriages, which added to the general confusion.
“By the Big Moon,” Chester said, “a slave revolt! I’ll bet it’s happening all over town. That’s the only way it has a chance, so the police can’t concentrate in any one spot.”
“What about the Inspectors?” Carl asked. “Hadn’t we better get away from here?”
“Yes,” Chester agreed. “But not because of the Inspectors; this is merely a local thing, and they won’t interfere. As a matter of fact, it must have been programmed, since it seems to have been on the Guests’ lists.”
“That’s right!” Carl said. He looked around and saw that the sky was now thick with flitterboats, which were staying at a respectful distance above the confusion below. “And you’re right, it must be happening all over the city. At least, the flitters don’t seem to be concentrated in any one area.”
They were retreating at a respectful speed, staying well ahead of the mass of slaves, when a second group of slaves came around a corner and spotted them. “Soldiers!” the cry went up among the slaves. “Get them!”
“I think it’s time for a strategic retreat,” Chester muttered. “Head for the railroad station.”
Carl broke into an easy dogtrot, which changed rapidly to a full run when the slave mob took to its collective heels after them. They had a lead of about ten yards, but didn’t seem to be making any progress. If anything, the mob was gaining.
“Around this corner,” Chester yelled, and the three of them swung around a corner to their left. The mob followed right behind.
Ahead of them, marching out of the dust cloud that was starting to envelope the city, a troop of soldiers marched, their rifles at right shoulder arms, a mounted officer at their head.
“Detachment—halt!” the officer commanded when he saw the slave mob round the corner.
The troop halted and awaited further commands.
“Deploy in two ranks across the street!” the officer commanded, and the troops easily trotted into position.
Chester, Carl, and O’Malley headed straight for the line of troops about thirty yards in front of them, with the mob still on their heels.
“Fix bayonets!” the officer commanded, taking a position on the side of the street from which he could see everything.
Twenty yards now, with the mob only five yards behind and gaining. The sight of the line of riflemen seemed only to enrage them.
“Rifles to the ready!” the officer yelled, and the men put their weapons to their shoulders. There was no question of aiming.
The officer timed it nicely. As the three of them reached the line and entered it, and the nearest of the mob was within five yards of the line, he yelled, “Fire!”
The crash of the rifles deadened all other sound, and their smoke blackened all sight. But as the smoke lifted, the mob reached the line of soldiers, over the bodies of their fallen companions, and attacked in a rage of club and chain against bayonet.
The line broke, and in a second the fight had become a melee, all over the street, man against man in more or less single combat. Chester drew his sword and Carl picked up the rifle of a fallen soldier, and they stood back to back and beat off the black-faced mob. Carl had no experience handling a rifle, but an unloaded rifle with a bayonet on the end is a pike, and he had spent the best years of his life training on the pike.
The smoke and dust were heavy, and they couldn’t see what was happening more than about ten feet away from them, but a continuous supply of black faces came out of the smoke and had to be beaten off.
Then the faces stopped coming out of the smoke, and Carl sat down on the ground and breathed heavily. “Well,” he said when he had enough breath to speak again. “Nothing like a bit of exercise on a Tuesday afternoon.”
“Is it Tuesday?” Chester asked, leaning against a street water fountain and staring down at Carl through reddened eyes. “I had quite lost track.”
“Where’s O’Malley?” Carl asked.
Chester looked around. “I don’t see him,” he said. “Wait till the smoke settles, he’s bound to be around here somewhere.”
The mounted officer was reassembling his troops and surveying his damage. The slaves, those who were not flat on their faces in the street, were gone. Run off singly to reassemble as another mob somewhere else with less professional resistance.
The smoke was clearing, and O’Malley was still nowhere in sight. The officer rode over and saluted Chester. “Captain Duquesne at your service,” he said. “Third Infantry, sir.”
“Colonel Arthur,” Chester said, returning the salute. “And my sergeant and I would like to thank you and your men for your timely assistance.”
“Not at all, sir,” the captain said. “Our pleasure. And if you ever feel like lending us your sergeant for a few weeks, we’d be glad to have him. I’ve never seen bayonet work like that. Could sure use him to teach the men.” He saluted again and rode back to where the wounded were being assembled.
“Let’s head off to the train station,” Chester said. “O’Malley is a sensible man; perhaps he awaits us there.”
Chapter Twelve
They reached the train station without further incident, although parties of troops, civilian vigilantes, and rampaging slaves trotted acro
ss their field of vision in the distance. They did nothing to encourage any of the groups to approach them.
The station was ringed with troops, and very busy inside. O’Malley was nowhere to be seen. There was a train leaving almost immediately for Vicksburg, and the station map showed that to be off to the west, up near the barrier, so they boarded.
“Shouldn’t we wait for O’Malley?” Carl asked Chester as he hurried him onto the train.
“O’Malley is well able to take care of himself,” Chester said, “and he knows where to meet us. When this trouble dies down we’re going to have a lot of people looking for us, and they’re going to be looking here. So we’d better not be here. The slave revolt may turn out to be a very lucky thing for us, as it’s certainly going to delay anything like a search.”
They settled into a pair of wicker seats facing each other, and waited for the train to pull out. “Have they any chance?” Carl asked.
“Who?”
“The prisoners—the slaves.”
“None,” Chester told him. “They have no weapons, no organization, no leaders, and no skill. And, with their faces dyed black, no place to hide.”
The train started, jostling them from side to side as it clicked over points and changed tracks to get on the main line of Atlanta. Then the ride steadied down to a regular, rhythmic bouncing and clicking.
“If the Guests knew about it in advance,” Carl said, “then it must have been instigated from outside.”
“That’s right,” Chester agreed. “It’s authentic history, there were slave revolts; and it’s a good show. The Guests eat things like that up.”
“Hundreds of people will get killed,” Carl said, “on both sides.”
“Probably,” Chester agreed.
“We could have been on either side,” Carl said. “We could just as easily have ended up as slaves as disguised soldiers.”
“Easily,” Chester said.
“The slaves don’t have a chance,” Carl said, “and it’s not even their own revolt. There’s something wrong with that.”
“I’m convinced,” Chester said.
“But what can we do?” Carl asked.
“Get off this planet,” Chester said. “Find Earth—the real Earth. See if they know what’s happening here.”
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