"Match these with the suspects we've already collected," he told an aide. The man saluted, picked up the stack and left the flying office, moving toward the patrol wagons. Jesus Pietro followed him out.
Almost half of Harry Kane's guests were now in patrol wagons. The photographs had been taken as they entered the front door earlier tonight. Jesus Pietro, with his phenomenal memory, had identified a good number of them.
The night was cool and dark. A stiff breeze blew across the Plateau, carrying a smell of rain.
Rain.
Jesus Pietro looked up to see that half the sky was raggedly blotted out. He could imagine trying to conduct a raid in a pouring rainstorm. He didn't like the idea.
Back in his office, he turned the intercom to all-channel. "Now hear this," he said conversationally. "Phase two is on. Now."
"Is everyone that nervous?"
Laney chuckled softly. Now she could laugh all she wanted, if she wanted. "Not that nervous. I think everyone must be a little afraid the first time."
"You?"
"Sure. But Ben handled it right. Good man, Ben."
"Where is he now?" Matt felt a mild gratitude toward Ben.
"He's--he's gone." Her tone told him to drop it. Matt, guessed he'd been caught wearing a hearing aid or something.
"Mind if I turn on a light?"
"If you can find a switch," said Laney, "you can turn it on." She didn't expect him to, not in pitch blackness in a strange room, but he did. He felt incredibly sober, and incredibly peaceful. He ran his eyes over her lying next to him, seeing the tangled ruin of her sculptured hairdo, remembering the touch of smooth warm skin, knowing he could touch her again at will. It was a power he'd never felt before. He said, "Very nice."
"Makeup smeared over forgettable face."
"Unforgettable face." It was true, now. "No makeup over unforgettable body." A body with an infinite capacity for love, a body he'd thought almost too big to be sexy.
"I should wear a mask, no clothes."
"You'd get more attention than you'd like." She laughed hugely, and he rested his ear over her navel to enjoy the earthquake ripple of abdominal muscles. The rain came suddenly, beating against the thick coral walls. They stopped talking to listen. Suddenly Laney dug her fingers into his arm and whispered, "Raid." She means Rain, Matt thought, turning to look at her. She was terrified, her eyes and nostrils and mouth all distended. She meant Raid!
"You've got a way out, don't you?" Laney shook her head. She was listening to unheard voices through the hearing aid.
"But you must have a way out. Don't worry, I don't want to know about it. I'm in no danger." Laney looked startled, and he said, "Sure, I noticed the hearing aids-But it's none of my business."
"Yes it is, Matt. You were invited here so we could get a look at you. All of us bring outsiders occasionally. Some get invited to join."
"0h."
"I told the truth. There's no way out. Implementation has ways of finding tunnels. But there is a hiding place."
"Good."
"We can't reach it. Implementation is already in the house. They've filled it with sleepy gas. It should be seeping around the doors any minute."
"The windows?"
"They'll be waiting for us."
"We can try"
"Okay." She was on her feet and getting into her dress. Nothing else. Matt wasted not even that much time. He swung a great marble ashtray against a window and followed it through, thanking the Mist Demons that Mount Lookitthat couldn't make unbreakable glass.
Two pairs of hands closed on his arms before his feet cleared the window. Matt kicked out and heard somebody' say Whuff! In the corner of his eye Laney cleared the window and was running. Good, he'd hold their attention for her. He jerked at the grip on his arms. A meaty hand weighing a full ton smashed across his jaw. His knees buckled. A light shone in his eyes, and he shrank back.
The light passed. Matt made one last frantic attempt to jerk loose, and felt one arm come free. He swung it full around. The elbow smacked solidly into yielding meat and bone: an unmistakable, unforgettable sensation. And he was free, running.
Just once in his life he had hit someone like that. From the feel of it he must have smashed the man's nose all over his face. If Implementation caught him now .... !
Wet, slippery, treacherous grass underfoot. Once he stepped on a smooth wet rock and went skidding across the grass on cheek and shoulder. Twice a spotlight found him, and each time he hit the grass and lay where he was, looking back to see where the light went. When it pointed elsewhere, he ran again. The rain must have bluffed the lights and the eyes behind him; the rain and the luck of Matt Keller. Lightning flickered about him, but whether it helped or hurt him he couldn't say. Even when he was sure he was free, he continued to run.
CHAPTER 3
THE CAR
--FINISHED.
Millard Parlette pushed his chair back and viewed the typewriter with satisfaction. His speech lay on his desk, last page on top, back-to-front. He picked up the stack of paper with long, knobby fingers and quickly shuffled it into correct order.
--Record it now?
--No. Tomorrow morning. Sleep on it tonight, see if I've left anything out. I don't have to deliver it until day after tomorrow. Plenty of time to record the speech in his own voice, then play it over and over until he'd learned it by heart.
But it had to go over. The crew had to be made to understand the issues. For too long they had lived the lives of a divinely ordained ruling class. If they couldn't adapt--
Even his own, descendants ... they didn't talk politics often, and when they did, Millard Parlette noticed that they talked in terms not of power but of rights. And the Parlettes were not typical. By now Millard Parlette could claim a veritable army of children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and so forth; yet he made every effort to see them all as often as possible. Those who had succumbed to the prevalent crewish tastes--eldritch styles of dress, elegantly worded slander, and all the other games the crew used to cloak their humdrum reality--had done so in spite of Millard Parlette. The average crew was utterly dependent on the fact that he was a crew.
And if the power balance should shift?
They'd be lost. For a time they'd be living in a false universe, under wrong assumptions; and in that time they would be destroyed.
What chance ... What chance that they would listen to an old man from a dead generation?
No. He was just tired. Millard Parlette dropped the speech on his desk, stood up, and left the study; At least he would force them to listen. By order of the Council, at two o'clock Sunday every pure-blooded crew on the planet would be in front of his teedee set. If he could put it across ... he must.
They had to understand the mixed blessing of Ramrobot #143.
Rain filled the coral house with an incessant drumming. Only Implementation police moved within and without. The last unconscious colonist was on his way out the door on a stretcher as Major Jansen entered.
He found Jesus Pietro lounging in an easy chair in the living room. He put the handful of photos beside him.