Subway to the Stars

by Raymond F. Jones

  That was all.

  Harry saw a few people waiting as if to receive them at the small airstrip building. When the plane came to rest, there was a moment of complete silence. The passengers looked at one another. Then the pilot appeared and opened the door.

  "End of the line. Everybody out," he called.

  Harry slowly followed the others down the short flight of steps to the ground. He stood a moment by the plane, feeling the dense African heat press upon him. Dark green vegetation beyond the clearing seemed like an impenetrable wall. The distant screams of animals pierced the air.

  The others were ahead now. He gripped his briefcase and followed. Twelve thousand a year for whatever Smith wanted done in this jungle hole!

  From the shade of the broad overhang on the nearest building a girl watched him, but he did not see her until he had almost reached the shadow. After the blinding sunlight, he could scarcely see anything.

  She extended a hand and said, "I'm Nancy Harris. You must be Mr. Wiseman. Welcome to Africa Prime." She wore a white dress that contrasted with her sun-browned skin. He had the impression she was young and very lovely. His eyesight, growing accustomed to the shadow, confirmed the impression. He forgot to wonder what was happening to his fellow passengers. "I'll show you to your quarters," the girl said. "I hope you had a nice trip."

  "Very nice," said Harry. And he refrained from asking aloud, what in Heaven's name a nice girl like her was doing here -- in a steaming jungle targeted by Russian missiles. But then, she didn't know about the missiles. Collins had warned him not to tell them. Harry had agreed -- he was agreeable to anything ten thousand miles away.

  Now, Smith Industries was not ten thousand miles away and totally impersonal. Smith Industries was the ground he walked on, it was the scattering of workmen he watched moving to and fro at a distance.

  Smith Industries was suddenly Nancy Harris.

  Africa Prime, she had said.

  She watched his face as he looked over the compound. She smiled. "It's not as serious as all that, Mr. Wiseman. We do have fun here. We really do."

  He brought his eyes back to her and returned her smile. "Harry is the name," he said. "And I'm sure you do have all kinds of fun here -- but I'm just not used to being dropped in the middle of Africa's thickest jungle, and being escorted by a pretty girl guide."

  "I'm a nurse," Nancy Harris said. "We all function as guides and escorts when new employees come in. But that really doesn't happen very often. When I learned an American engineer was coming, I asked if I might meet him."

  "My pleasure," said Harry. "I hope it's not your disappointment. Do you ever get away to see the outside world?"

  "I go every month to Cape Town, at least. I've been to Naples and Paris twice this year. We are not prisoners, you know."

  "I really don't know -- for sure. I'm still waiting to find out why I'm here."

  "Dr. Ames will explain that detail to you."

  Nancy Harris led him through the building, which seemed to be nothing more than a passenger and air freight receiving center. On the other side was parked a Jeep with canvas top. Harry got in beside her.

  Nancy drove quickly a quarter mile down the narrow lane that paralleled the fence which held back the jungle. At the end she stopped beside a group of prefab buildings that were the quarters of the station's personnel. "This is home," Nancy said, with a flourish of her hand.

  It looked better than Harry had expected.

  "Your luggage will be brought up in a little while. I'll show you your apartment, and you can relax until dinner. I'll call for you then and show you our dining hall and other buildings. In the morning, Dr. Ames will want to see you."

  She left him at the door of his quarters. Harry entered and shut the door behind him. He flopped on the bed and gave way to the fatigue that had overshadowed him on the flight from another time zone. He lay staring at the ceiling and wondering, what next?

  As soon as he could find out the nature of the work at the station, he was prepared to mail a coded message to Collins. Mail was flown to Cape Town weekly on the orange and black jet. After that, he'd be ready to get out himself at the first opportunity. But what of the station personnel? Would Collins warn Smith about the Russian missiles? Should Harry tell them -- or would they by that time find out for themselves? And suppose the Addabas let their itchy fingers fire the missiles first?

  Harry found himself thinking of Nancy Harris and what do do about her. He didn't want Nancy Harris incinerated in a Russian fireball.

  He speculated on the nature of the work going on here. He could not imagine anything that was of any consequence. It was probably some trivial activity that had no impact on the commerce or destiny of nations. Its only importance was that the Addabas wanted to wipe it out, and Collins' agency wanted to know what they were wiping out. The Russian help was probably just a courtesy, payable in kind at some unknown future date.

  He fell asleep from exhaustion and aroused only in time to shave and shower and put on a change of clothes before Nancy showed up to escort him to dinner.

  "Some of the families eat at their apartments, for the sake of privacy," said Nancy. "But many of us, both families and single people, eat most of the time in the dining hall. It's free, and wonderfully good."

  Harry glanced at here speculatively. "You are a single people?" he said.

  "For now," said Nancy soberly. "I wasn't always -- but it didn't work out. I came here a couple of years ago just after -- it didn't work out."

  "There ought to be a passwrod," said Harry. "I'm a member of the club, myself."

  Harry agreed with Nancy about the food. It was the best meal he'd eaten in a long time. Nancy introduced him to numerous engineers and technicians, and to those wives who were present.

  They greeted him warmly, but there was a jolly cliquishness that failed to appeal to him. He had never been a joiner, and he didn't appreciate the atmosphere of health groups and hobby clubs.

  He spoke of it to Nancy afterwards.

  "They're not all like that," she said.

  "There are even some real loners here. If that's the kind you are, nobody'll bother you. We've room for all kinds -- and, believe me, we've got all kinds!"

  "I'd like to meet some of them."

  "You definitely will -- in the morning."

  He doubted his ability to sleep that night, but he was mistaken. Just before dropping off to sleep, however, he saw -- or later imagined he saw -- a faint blaze of blue, like some corona discharge, hovering over the distant black space of the compound. He slept, wondering what he had seen.

  IV

  The station was managed by a Director. His name was Dr. Howard Ames, and he was never called Howard. He was the king of loners, Nancy said.

  The phone rang before Harry was out of bed. It was Howard Ames's secretary, and she said Dr. Ames would see Harry in fifteen minutes.

  He began an irritated protest and gave it up. "I'll be there," he said. A quick shave and a quicker shower left him six minutes to dress and reach Ames's office. Nancy had pointed it out to him the evening before, and he was counting on the Jeep, which she had said he could use, to get him there.

  He made it thirty seconds late.

  Howard Ames was a man in his late fifties, who looked as if he'd lived in the tropics all his life. He was standing at the window of the dark-panelled office when his secretary ushered Harry in. He wore the same informal garb of open-necked white shirt and cotton trousers that Harry had seen on most of the men he had met. On Ames, however, it seemed like a uniform.

  His white hair was short and ruffled. The skin of his neck was sun-wrinkled. He turned slowly to view Harry as if he were some unfamiliar specimen.

  "I'm familiar with your file," he said finally. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

  "I think Mr. Smith obtained all the pertinent data about me," said Harry.

  "He usually does. You should know that you were hired more for personal characteristics than for your technical capabil
ities, although these are essential."

  "Mr. Smith thought my personal qualities were rather deficient."

  "For some occupations. Not this." Ames topped the desk. "It takes a certain kind of man -- or woman -- to support the occupations here."

  "And may I ask, finally, what that occupation is?" said Harry.

  "You may. but you won't get the answer now. Some preliminary assignments will be required. Then we'll determine what you need to know."

  Harry kept his temper.

  "First of all," said Ames, "Mr. Smith probably told you we exist in a somewhat hostile environment."

  "He mentioned the Gambuans and the Addabas don't get along."

  "Unfortunately, we are right on the border. Forays from one side to the other are conducted constantly past our site. It is necessary to be prepared. All of us are well qualified in various areas of defense. You will report this morning to the rifle range."

  "I have a Sharpshooter's Medal -- "

  "Good. But acquired in some former war, no doubt. Still, perhaps you will need only a relatively brief refresher to maintain your skill. You will report to the practice range."

  Harry felt his control slipping. "I didn't come here as a mercenary guerilla. I was hired for engineering!"

  "You came here for whatever purpose we wish to assign you. Let that be abundantly clear. We are not a military organization, but we maintain discipline. Orders are executed without debate."

  His eyes challenged Harry to dispute his authority. Harry forced down the tension of muscles that wanted to respond with a hard left to that arrogant jaw. He had a feeling that those muscles would have their way befor his stay at Africa Prime ended.

  "Of course," he said quietly. "Is that all?"

  "If your marksmanship is as adequate as you think, you will be assigned to helicopter patrol as gunner and observer. We find it necessary to mount a constant air patrol of the border for our own protection. The Gambuans reciprocate for the intelligence information we are able to supply them."

  Harry wondered if Ames had any knowledge of the Russian missiles Collins had mentioned. He debated mentioning them, and decided against it. He'd like to spot them himself -- if they existed. There was no proof yet of Collins' story.

  "I'll do the best I can," said Harry smugly.

  Ames's glance hardened at the time of Harry's response. "If you do well," he said evenly, "you will shortly be assigned to important engineering duties. Report to the practice range. My secretary will instruct you."

  Harry was not surprised to find his three companions of the flight from Cape Town also at the range. They appeared a little later, apparently having been interviewed by Ames after he was. They all knew how to handle guns reasonably well, Harry observed. Most men of their age had had the experience somewhere in the world.

  Harry was the best.

  The instructor was evidently an old drill sergeant from some army and some war. He grunted with reluctant satisfaction at Harry's scores. He snapped orders as if he'd never left the service. But his grunts were unintelligible when Harry tried to find out who he was and where he came from. Even his nationality was doubtful to Harry. He had the accent of a Belgian and the complexion of some Mediterranean national. He released Harry from further routine training and gave him a slip of paper.

  "Report for border patrol. Frank Declaux's section. He eats smart boys for lunch."

  "Some day," Harry reflected, he was going to have to come back and take on this whole crew.

  That night, he saw Nancy Harris again and told her of his adventures of the day. She laughed at his grim description. "That's just part of the preliminaries -- a necessary one, however." Her humor disappeared. "You'll realize in time that this is one of the most important projects in the world, but it's in terrible danger. This conflict between the Gambuans and the Addabas could overrun us at any time. We're attempting to assure our own survival, but we're not at all certain it's enough."

  "Tell me something about the project, Nancy. It's all so mysterious and hush-hush. Yet I get the feeling everybody knows all about it but me."

  "Don't ask me to tell you. I can't. Dr. Ames will give you the information when he wants you to have it. And then you'll see why he has to be so careful of new employees."

  Declaux was an Algerian. At least he boasted as much as he showed his contempt for Harry's naive skills.

  "It's an honor to be assigned with so experienced a flyer," said Harry. "I'll be way ahead with you showing me the ropes."

  He was Harry's man then. He smiled expansively. "You stick with Frank Declaux; you'll know more than any ten men here about helicopter observation."

  Equipment was newer and better than any Harry had seen in Vietnam. Direct-view infra-red cameras permitted constant scanning of the jungle, with picture taking as simple as snapping the shutter of an ancient Brownie.

  The jungle-covered trails crossing the border below them stood out on the screen like narrow highways. Motorized escorts were picked up a time or two on the Gambuan side.

  Harry eyed a distant Addaban valley. "Do you ever fly over those hills?" he asked.

  The pilot shook his head. "We have orders to stay on this side. Sometimes snipers shoot at us even then. They brought down one of our 'copters last week. Keep the camera down!"

  Harry had raised the mirror viewer to scan briefly the distant hills and valley. But nothing could be seen across the ridges.

  "How do you know there aren't mortars or guns across those hills?" said Harry. "How do you know the Addabas haven't got something even bigger?"

  "Like what?" said Declaux.

  "Like missiles, maybe."

  The pilot scoffed. "Those dumb natives don't have anything like that!"

  "Little missiles. Mortars, at least."

  Declaux looked worried. "Mortars they could have. Who knows where they'd get them? But they could have mortars, all right. Almost anybody can get mortars nowadays."

  "We ought to know," said Harry.

  Declaux agreed silently. "But we have orders not to cross the border," he said.

  A week later they crossed.

  Harry played upon the pilot's desire to excel, until at last Frank Declaux recognized what a coup it would be to be the first to detect the presence of enemy heavy armament. If it existed.

  They flew north, crossing the invisible boundary in the mat of jungle below. "But if they start shooting, we go back -- quick!" said Frank Declaux. He looked over the side in uneasy anticipation of a crash landing.

  "Those hills to the left," said Harry. "Twenty degrees. If there's anything to be found I think it will be over there."

  He pressed his face to the camera viewer, watching the ghostlike spectacle of the jungle. Its bones stood revealed in stark fluorescent glow, the trails and roadways etched out of the growth in twisting lines. He spotted a camp site ahead and steered Declaux away from it. A tiny burst of light off to the left revealed a sniper's pot shots. He steered away from that area, too.

  If missile launchers were actually hidden in the jungle, however, the enemy would probably depend on camouflage and jungle cover to keep the position hidden, rather than reveal it now with anti-aircraft fire.

  But he had to agree with Declaux. If they ran into any heavy fire they'd have to retreat -- if they were able!

  For more than half an hour he guided the pilot in a zig-zag sweep of the approach to the valley beyond the low ridge of hills. Once or twice more, sniper fire burst harmlessly below them, and they swung away. Then they were over the ridge and looking into the valley. Harry swept the camera back and forth. The jungle here was even heavier than around the compound of Africa Prime. The image on the IR screen was almost featureless.

  Then he saw it. A faint glow of angular lines, distorted and melting into one another.

  "Northeast, sixty-five degrees," he said to Declaux. "Take it easy." If they're going to clobber us, it will be here."

  He had no intention of flying directly over the hidden mobile launcher. And
it wasn't necessary. In another two minutes the telescopic sight of the IR viewer had picked up a sufficiently discernible outline of the same kind Harry had seen a hundred times in Vietnam.

  He turned the film feed and snapped the shutter a dozen times.

  Included in the view as an anti-aircraft battery that had them dead targeted.

  "Let's get the hell out of here," said Harry.