The corporal, looking phlegmatic, almost bored, leveled a small tube at a spot on the wall over Alec’s head. Dave heard a soft pop! and a thin tinkle. Alec stood motionless for a few seconds, his face even more strained, as if he were exerting the limit of his will against some unseen force, then slid quietly to the floor. The tonic spasm in his face relaxed and his features smoothed into those of a tired and petulant, and rather bewildered, little boy.
“Two of you birds carry him,” directed the corporal.
The sergeant was the last to leave. He turned at the door and spoke to Mother Johnston. “Have you seen the Fader lately?”
“The Fader?” She seemed puzzled. “Why, he’s in jail.”
“Ah, yes—so he is.” He went out.
Magee refused the drink Mother Johnston offered him.
Dave was surprised to see that he appeared worried for the first time. “I don’t understand it.” Magee muttered, half to himself, then addressed the one-handed man. “Ed, bring me up to date.”
“Not much news since they tagged you, Fader. The armistice was before that. I thought from the papers that things were going to be straightened out for once.”
“So did I. But the government must expect war if they are going in for general conscription.” He stood up. “I’ve got to have more data. Al!” The kitchen boy stuck his head into the room.
“Whatcha want, Fader?”
“Go out and make palaver with five or six of the beggars. Look up their king. You know where he is?”
“Sure. Over by the auditorium.”
“Find out what’s stirring, but don’t let them know I sent you.”
“Right, Fader. It’s in the bag.” The boy swaggered out.
“Molly.”
“Yes, Fader?”
“Will you go out and do the same thing with some of the business girls? I want to know what they hear from their customers.” She nodded agreement. He went on, “Better look up that little redhead that has her beat up on Union Square. She can get secrets out of a dead man. Here”—he pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and handed her several—”you better take this grease. You might have to pay off a cop to get back out of the district,”
Magee was not disposed to talk and insisted that Dave get some sleep. He was easily persuaded, not having slept since he entered Coventry. That seemed like a lifetime past; he was exhausted. Mother Johnston fixed him a shakedown in a dark, stuffy room on the same underground level. It had none of the hygenic comforts to which he was accustomed—air conditioning, restful music, hydraulic mattress, nor soundproofing—and he missed his usual relaxing soak and auto-massage, but he was too tired to care. He slept in clothing and under covers for the first time in his life.
He woke up with a headache, a taste in his mouth like tired sin, and a sense of impending disaster. At first he could not remember where he was—he thought he was still in detention Outside. His surroundings were inexplicably sordid; he was about to ring for the attendant and complain when his memory pieced in the events of the day before. Then he got up and discovered that his bones and muscles were painfully stiff, and—which was worse—that he was, by his standards, filthy. He itched.
MacKinnon entered the common room and found Magee sitting at the table. He greeted Dave. “Hi, kid. I was about to wake you. You’ve slept almost all day. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“Okay—shortly. Where’s the ‘fresher?”
“Over there.”
It was not Dave’s idea of a refreshing chamber, but he managed to take a sketchy shower in spite of the slimy floor. Then he discovered that there was no air blast installed, and he was forced to dry himself unsatisfactorily with his handkerchief. He had no choice in clothes. He must put back on the ones he had taken off or go naked. He recalled that he had seen no nudity anywhere in Coventry, even at sports—a difference in customs, no doubt. He put his clothes back on, though his skin crawled at the touch of the once-used linen.
Mother Johnston had thrown together an appetizing breakfast for him. He let coffee restore his courage as Magee talked. It was, according to Fader, a serious situation. New America and the Free State had compromised their differences and had formed an alliance. They quite seriously proposed to break out of Coventry and attack the United States.
MacKinnon looked up at this. “That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? They’d be outnumbered enormously. Besides, how about the Barrier?”
“I don’t know—yet. But they have some reason to think that they can break through the Barrier—and there are rumors that whatever it is can be used as a weapon, too, so that a small army might be able to whip the whole United States.”
MacKinnon looked puzzled. “Well,” he observed, “I haven’t any opinion of a weapon I know nothing about, but as to the Barrier—I’m not a mathematical physicist, but I was always told that it was theoretically impossible to break the Barrier—that it was just a nothingness that there was no way to touch. Of course, you can fly over it, but even that is supposed to be deadly to life.”
“Suppose they had found some way to shield from the effects of the Barrier’s field,” suggested Magee. “Anyhow, that’s not the point for us. The point is: they’ve made this combine; the Free State supplies the techniques and most of the officers; and New America, with its bigger population, supplies most of the men. And that means to us that we don’t dare show our faces anyplace, or we are in the army before you can blink.
“Which brings me to what I was going to suggest. I’m going to duck out of here as soon as it gets dark and light out for the gateway before they send somebody after me who is bright enough to look under a table. I thought maybe you might want to come along.”
“Back to the psychologists?” MacKinnon was aghast.
“Sure—why not? What have you got to lose? This whole damn place is going to be just like the Free State in a couple of days—and a Joe of your temperament would be in hot water all the time. What’s so bad about a nice quiet hospital room as a place to hide out until things quiet down? You don’t have to pay any attention to the psychiatrists—just make animal noises at ‘em every time one sticks his nose into your room until they get discouraged.”
Dave shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, “I can’t do that.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I don’t know yet. Take to the hills, I guess. Go live with the Angels if it comes to a showdown. I wouldn’t mind them praying for my soul as long as they left my mind alone.”
They were each silent for a while. Magee was mildly annoyed at MacKinnon’s bullheaded stubbornness in the face of what seemed to him a reasonable offer. Dave continued busily to stow away grilled ham while considering his position. He cut off another bite. “My, but this is good.” he remarked, to break the awkward silence, “I don’t know when I’ve had anything taste so good. Say—”
“What?” inquired Magee. looking up and seeing the concern written on MacKinnon’s face.
“This ham—is it synthetic, or is it real meat?”
“Why, it’s real. What about it?”
Dave did not answer. He managed to reach the refreshing room before that which he had eaten left him.
Before he left, Magee gave Dave some money with which he could have purchased for him things that he would need in order to take to the hills. MacKinnon protested, but the Fader cut him short. “Quit being a damn fool, Dave. I can’t use New American money on the Outside, and you can’t stay alive in the hills without proper equipment. You lie doggo here for a few days while Al or Molly picks up what you need, and you’ll stand a chance—unless you’ll change your mind and come with me?”