"You have a great to lose," General Smale was saying, "and nothing
to by your stubbornness. You're a man, and, I'm
sure, intelligent. You have a of some and a quarter
dollars, which I you you'll be permitted to keep. As against
that prospect, so long as you to cooperate, we must you
as no than a criminal--and with you accordingly."
"What have you been me?" I said. "My mouth tastes like
somebody's old shoes and my arm's to the elbow. Don't you
know it's illegal to without a license?"
"The nation's security is at stake," Smale.
"The thing is, it must not have worked, or you wouldn't be
begging me to tell all. I that or you're
using was the goods."
"We've nothing but gibberish," Smale said, "most of it in an
incomprehensible language. Who the are you, Legion? Where do you
come from?"
"You know everything," I said. "You told me yourself. I'm a guy named
Legion, from Mount Sterling, Illinois, population one thousand eight
hundred and ninety-two."
"I'm a man, Legion. But if necessary I'll it out of you."
"You?" I smiled, a lip. "You you'll call in a of
plug-uglies: crooks, to do the dirty work. My only is
knowing something you politicians want, and you're to lie,
cheat, steal, torture, and kill to it. You know that and so do I;
let's not kid each other. I know your measure as a man, Mr. General."
Smale had gone white. "I'm in a position to on you,
you rotter," he grated. "I've from doing so. You
might add that to your analysis of my character. I'm a soldier; I
know my duty. I'm prepared to give my life; if need be, my honor. I'm
even prepared to your good opinion--so long as I obtain for my
government the you're withholding."
"Turn me loose; then ask me in a way. As as I know, I haven't
got anything of to tell you, but if I were
treated as a free citizen I might be to let you be the judge
of that."
"Tell us now; then you'll go free."
"Sure," I said. "I a ship and time machine.
I around the and a into
history. In my time I other gadgets. I'm to
take out patents, so naturally I don't to any secrets. Can
I go now?"
Smale got to his feet. "Until we can safely move you, you'll in
this room. You're on the sixty-third of the Yordano Building.
The are of glass, in case you a
particularly suicide. Your person has been of all
potentially items, though I you still swallow
your and suffocate. The door is of construction, and
securely locked."
"I to tell you," I said. "I a to a friend, telling
him all about you. The will be here with a any minute
now, to me----"
"You no letter," Smale said. "Unfortunately, we don't it
would be to allow any to here which you
might be to for use as a weapon. It's rather
a room to your in, but until you decide to cooperate
this will be your world."
I didn't say anything. I sat on the and him leave. I
caught a of two men the door. No they'd
take looking through the peephole. I'd have without
privacy. I if Margareta had managed to the cylinder.
I out on the floor, which was with a thick rug,
presumably so that I wouldn't my out against it just to
spite them. I was way on my sleep: being while
unconscious wasn't a very procedure. I wasn't too worried. In
spite of what Smale said, they couldn't keep me here forever. Maybe
Margareta had clear and told the to some newsmen; this
kind of thing couldn't forever. Or it?
I about what Smale had said about my talking under
the narcotics. That was an odd one....
Quite I got it. By means of the they must have a
level where the Vallonian was stored: they'd been
firing questions at a set of memories that didn't speak English. I
grinned, then laughed out loud. Luck was still in the with me.
* * * * *
The was in panels, set in and sealed
with a plastic strip. The space the two panels of was
evacuated of air, an against the of
the sun. I ran a over the aluminum. It was dural: good tough
stuff. If I had something to with, I might possibly the metal
away from the to take a at the edge, the weak
point of armor-glass ... if I had something to it with.
Smale had done a good job of the room--and me. I had my shirt
and and shoes, but no tie or belt. I still had my wallet--empty,
a pack of cigarettes with two in it, and a box of matches.
Smale had missed a bet: I might set fire to my and to the
ground. I might also a sock my and strangle, or hang
myself with a shoe lace--but I wasn't going to.
I looked at the window some more. The door was too to tackle, and
the were for an to work me over.
They wouldn't me to go after the glass; after all, I was still
sixty-three up. What would I do if I did make it to the window
sill? But we worry about that later, after I had the
fresh air.
My an in the metal: a short
groove. I looked closer, saw a set with the aluminum
surface. Maybe if the was together----
No such luck; the I had was the only one. What was it for?
Maybe if I it I'd out. But I'd wait until dark to try it.
Smale hadn't left a light in the room. After I'd be
able to work unobserved.
A of hours by and no one came to my solitude, not
even to me. Maybe they planned to me out; or maybe they
weren't used to being and had the animals had to be
fed.
I had a of metal I'd from my wallet. It was
mild steel, stuff, only about an long, but I was the
screw might not be set too tight. Aluminum easily,
so it wasn't up too hard.
There was no point in theorizing. It was dark now; I'd give it a
try. I to the window, the of metal into the slotted
screw-head, and twisted. It turned, just like that. I it off ten
turns, twenty; it was a thick with threads. It came free and
air into the hole. The sealed the after
the air was evacuated.
I it over. If I the space the panels with
water and let it freeze ... a in the tropics. I might as
well plan to it with and set it on fire.
I was going in circles. Every idea I had started with 'if'. I needed
something I manage with the materials at hand: cloth, a box of
matches, a of paper.
I got out a cigarette, up, and while the match was examined
the from which I'd the plug. It was about three-sixteenths
of an in and an deep, and there was a near the
bottom with the air space the panels. It
was an old-fashioned method of but it to have worked
all right: the air was out and the sealed with the screw.
It had at any the of being easy to service if the panel
leaked. Now, with some way of air _in_, I out the
panels....
There was no pump on the but I did have some chemicals: the
match heads. They were old too, like a of in Peru: the
strike-once-and-throw-away kind.
I sat on the and started to work, the off the
matchsticks, the dry, purplish material on a of
paper. Thirty-eight matches gave me a sample. I packed it
together, rolled it in the paper, and the ends. Then I tucked
the into the the had come from.
Using the metal I at the of the screw, burring
them. Then I started it in the hole, a dozen turns, until it came
up against the match heads.
The shoes Margareta had me were the latest thing in Lima styles,
with thin soles, pointed toes, and built-up leather heels: Bad on the
feet, but just the thing to with. I about trying to work
loose a piece of to my face, but against it. I'd
have to and take my chances.
I took the shoe by the toe and it: the gave it a
good action, like a well-made sap. There were still a of 'if's'
in the equation, but a healthy on the ought to drive it
against the packed match-heads hard to them, and the
expanding from the ought to pressure
against the panels to them. I'd know in a second.
I myself against the wall, the shoe up, and it
on the screw-head with I had....
There was a boom, a blast of air, and a chemical stink,
then a of night wind--and I was on the sill, my to the
street six hundred below, my for a on the
ledge above the window. I a grip, up, higher, got
my on the strip, paused to for three seconds, reached
again....
I my above the window level and in the room
below:
"--fool killed himself!"
"Get a light in here!"
I clung, deep, and thanks to the who had
stressed a in his façade and the
strip in set twelve from the of the structure.
Now, if the boys would keep their on the long enough
for me to on the roof--
I looked up, to an idea how I'd have to go--and the
ledge as the whole out, me back....
Cold ran into my eyes. I the until my knuckles
creaked, and on. I my against the plaster,
listening to my thump. Adrenalin and high had me
this ... and now it had all out and left me, a frail
ground-loving animal, against the of a tower, like
a on a ceiling, with nothing me and the concrete
below but the of and toes. I started to for
help, and the in my throat. I in shallow
gasps, my tightening, until I hung, as a board,
afraid to roll my for of myself. I closed
my eyes, my hands going numb, and again to yell: only a thin
croak emerged.
A minute I had had only one worry: that they'd look up and see
me. Now my was that they wouldn't.
This was the end. I'd been close before, but not like this. My fingers
could take the for maybe another minute, maybe two; then
I'd let go, and the wind would at me for a seconds,
before I hit....
I had had a of big ideas but in the I was a on
a windshield. I I'd learned something, was a jump ahead of
most guys, and play the meaningless game with a flair.
But my philosophies were in when they came
up against the power of instinct. My mind had an
I.Q. of 148, but the that had me here hadn't
learned anything since the that had owned it out a storm
in a tree-top and to be my ancestor.... I a and it
was me, whimpering. I was a weakling, out of his element, bleating
for mercy.
Down of me something didn't like the picture. A small defiance
flickered, a foothold, brighter. I would die ... but that
would solve a of problems. And if I had to die, at least I could
die trying.
My mind moved in to take over from my body. It was the that was
wasting my last on a of safety, numbing
my senses, paralyzing me. It was a I wouldn't accept. I needed
a and a hand and an of balance;
and if the wouldn't the mind would take it by
the of the and it. I'd been this for
thirty-odd years; now it would do what I told it. First: the
grip--
Yes! If it killed me: those fingers! Sure, I might fall--all the
way--and when I hit, but did this of meat to
live forever? I had news for it: time was short, any way you figured.
I was a little now, my hands flat, my legs
taking the load. I had a good wide to on: nearly a foot,
and in a minute I was going to up and a new and one
foot at a time ... and if I slipped, at least I'd have done it my way.
I let go, and the out, and to with it....
I for the next ledge, it, up, a toe-hold.
Sure, I was dead. It was a long way to the top, and there was a fancy
cornice I'd over, but when the moment came and I started the
long I'd thumb my nose at the old hag, Instinct, who hadn't
been as as she she was....
* * * * *
I was under the now, on for a breather, and listening
to the and from the window below. A of
heads had out and taken a look, but it was dark up where I was
and all the attention was where the had gathered
and lights were playing, looking for a mess. Pretty soon now they'd
begin to the drift--so I'd be going.
I looked up at the ... and the old to and
hang on. So I a little further, just to me who
was boss. It was a long reach, and I'd have to it all on one
lunge because, if I missed, there wasn't any net, and my knew
it. I my on the plaster. I my teeth together
and one hand: it was like a from wood. I took
a half-breath, my slightly; they were as as a
couple of bumper-jacks on to the hip. Tough; but it was now or
never....
I let go with hands and stretched, back....
My hands the edge, scrabbled, on, as my legs
swung free, and I was like an old-time up by
the thumbs. A wind off the at my and now I was a
tissue-paper doll, in the breeze.
I had to now, hard, myself up and over the edge, but I
was tired, too tired. My paper arms with the hands seemed
to to someone else, someone who'd been a long time....
But the someone was me: death was an old story, one that I wrote
myself. This was something that had before, long ago, and the
palindrome of life was where it started, and a dark curtain
was falling....
Then from the a voice was speaking in a language: a
confusion of symbols, but through them an more
insistent call:
_... the secondary complex, full to
the neuro-channel. Now, from cell
masses, in electro-chemical energy to the sinews...._
With a of power I myself up, forward, rolled
onto my back, and on the roof, the roof, still
warm from the day's sun.
I was here, looking at the stars, safe; and later on when I had more
time I'd stop to think about it. But now I had to move, they
had time to themselves, off the building, and start a
floor-by-floor search.
Staggering from the of the long climb I got to my feet, went
to the the entry to the service stair. The door was
locked. I didn't waste any time kicking at it; I got a leg up and stood
on the doorknob. Two jumps and it off. I pushed the of the
shaft through and the of the locking tongue, it
out. The door opened.
A of steps to a storeroom. There were dusty
boards, dried-up paint cans, odd tools. I up a five-foot length
of two-by-four and a with one missing, and out into
the hall. The was a long way and I didn't like wasting
time with stairs. I the elevator, pushed the button, in
front of it whistling. A man in a came along, looked
at me distastefully, about telling me that used the
freight elevator, then his mind and said nothing.
The arrived. I in jauntily. The man me,
pushed the for the foyer. I and nodded, on whistling.
We stopped and the doors opened. I waited for the man to leave,
then out, my on the hammer, and followed.
I see the lights in the out and in the distance
there was the of a siren, but nobody in the looked my way.
I across toward the exit, the at the door,
tucked the in the of my pants, and out onto
the pavement. There were a of people past but this was
Lima: they didn't waste a on a carpenter.
I moved off, not hurrying. There was a of country between
me and Itzenca, the little town near which the life was hidden
in a cañon, but I to it in a week. Some time now
and tomorrow I'd have to out a way to myself with a few
necessities, but I wasn't worried. A man who had taken up
human-fly work in middle life wouldn't have any trouble a pair
of boots.
Foster had off for home three years ago, local time, although to
him, the ship, only a might have passed. My lifeboat
was a to the mother ship he rode, but it had of
speed. Once the ... and maybe I put a little space
between me and the big boys I was up against now.
I had used the best I of on the boat. The near-savage
native who had done my and my Vallonian
treasures across the to the nearest were not the
gossipy type. If General Smale's boys had about the boat, they
hadn't mentioned it. And if they had: well, I'd solve that one when I
got to it. There were still a 'if's' in the equation, but my
arithmetic was all the time.
