Snook was appalled by the new information. “And you’re still going to try it?”
“I thought you would understand, Gil,” Ambrose said. “Felleth has to take this one ideal chance to prove that transfers are possible. His people need a ray of hope, and they need it fast. That’s why we’re committed.”
“Then…you think that if you get proof the system works Earth will let them in later on?”
Ambrose grinned handsomely, tilting his cigarette with his lips like a matinee idol. “Learn to think big, Gil. Times change—and there’s almost a century to play with. Fifty years from now we might be ferrying Avernians down out of the sky in spaceships.”
“Well, I’ll be…” Snook was impelled to grip the other man’s hand. “You know, I had you down as a self-centred bastard.”
“I am,” Ambrose assured him. “It’s just pure luck that this time I get a chance to disguise the fact.”
At that moment they were joined by George Murphy, who was nursing his bandaged right hand. “I’m going over to the medical building to get myself a shot of something for this hand. I think I’ve toted too many bales with it, whatever that means.”
“I’ll drive you there,” Ambrose said.
“No. I can do it on foot in a couple of minutes, and the rain has almost stopped.” Murphy set off into the blackness.
“I’ll go with you,” Snook called after him, running to catch up. When they passed out of range of Ambrose’s portable lights the going became treacherous and both men had to walk carefully, even with their Amplites on, until they reached the misty green radiance which surrounded the mine buildings. The medical building was as dark and lifeless as all the others in the vicinity.
“Here’s the keys.” Murphy handed Snook a jingling cluster. “Can you pick out number eight for me?”
“I expect so. If I can rebuild an aero engine I ought to be able…” Snook held still for a second, his senses probing the shadowed environment, then he lowered his voice. “Don’t look round, George—there’s somebody behind you.”
“That’s funny,” Murphy whispered, his left hand fumbling with the fastenings of his raincoat. “I was going to say the same thing to you.”
“Don’t move /’ The command came from a tall young man who had stepped into view around a corner of the low building. He was wearing army slickers and a helmet with a lieutenant’s bars on it, and there was a patch of white gauze over his right eye. A deep sadness welled up in Snook as he recognised Curt Freeborn. He glanced around him, assessing the chances of getting away, and saw three soldiers with drawn bush knives hemming them in. They were the same men he had encountered at the Cullinan, and they gave the impression of being determined that things would work out differently this time.
“What a stroke of luck!” Freeborn said. “My two favourite people—the funny white man, and his Uncle Tom.”
Snook and Murphy looked at each other without speaking. “No funny remarks, Mister Snook?” Freeborn began to smile. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“What I’d like to know,” Murphy said, his left hand still working with the stiff, slippery plastic fastenings of his coat, “is why four so-called Leopards are crawling around in the dark like rats.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you, trash.”
“Take it easy, George,” Snook said anxiously.
“But this is an interesting point,” Murphy pressed on. “The Colonel, for instance, would have come in with lights blazing. It seems to me that…”
Freeborn gave a slight nod of his head, and almost immediately something struck Murphy in the back. The blow was so noisy, accompanied by a flapping crack of plastic, that Snook thought the corporal had slapped the big man down with the flat of his bush knife. Then he saw Murphy going down on his knees and, from a corner of his eye, the corporal pulling the blade back with difficulty. He caught hold of Murphy and felt the dreadful looseness of muscle and limb, a dead weight which pulled him inexorably downwards. Snook knelt, cradling Murphy in his left arm, and ripped open his coat. He slid his hand inside, feeling for a heartbeat, and was horrified to discover—even though the thrust had been at the back—that the whole chest region was bathed in a hot wetness. Murphy’s mouth sagged open and, even in death, he smelled of mint.
“That was too quick,” Freeborn said to the corporal, his voice mildly reproachful, face impassive behind his Amplites. “You let the Uncle Tom out too soon.”
“You…” Snook tried to speak, but his throat closed on the words, the words which in any case would have failed to express his grief and hatred. He hugged Murphy’s body to him and his right hand, sliding in blood, encountered a hard-edged, familiar shape. At that moment it was the most beautiful shape in the world, with a metallic perfection far beyond that of a priceless sculpture. Keeping his head lowered. Snook looked around him. He could see four pairs of legs, and—as he had prayed for them to be—they were all in the one quadrant of his vision. In one movement, he released Murphy’s body and stood up with the automatic in his hand.
There was a long moment of throbbing, ringing silence as he faced the four men.
“We can come to an arrangement,” Lieutenant Freeborn said calmly. “I know you’re not going to pull that trigger, because you’ve waited too long. Your type needs to act on the spur of the moment, What happened just now was unfortunate, I’ll admit, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t fix up…”
Snook shot him through the stomach, sending the doubled-up body hurtling against the wall, then wheeled on the three soldiers who had already begun to flee. Holding the automatic steady in a two-handed grip, he ranged on the corporal and squeezed the trigger again. The shot went through the corporal’s shoulder, freakishly spinning him round so that he was facing the way he had come. Snook fired two more shots, each time seeing the plastic of the corporal’s coat flap like a storm-caught sail, and he held the firing stance until his man had fallen, until he was certain that no further action was required of him. The two remaining soldiers disappeared from view.
All sound and movement ceased.
When humanity eventually returned to Snook, he took a deep quavering breath and dropped the automatic into his pocket. Without looking at Murphy again, he walked back to the area where he had left the group. When he got close they came forward to meet him, their faces watchful.
“What happened?” Ambrose said. “Where’s George?”
Snook kept walking until he was near enough to Quig to take the brandy bottle from his unresisting fingers. “George is dead. We ran into Freeborn Junior and three of his men, and they killed George.”
“Oh, no,” Prudence murmured, and Snook wondered if she had guessed it had been the same group she had met.
“But this can’t be.” Ambrose’s face was grim and pale. “Why should they shoot George?”
Snook took a drink from the bottle before he shook his head. “They used a panga on George. I did the shooting -with this.” He took the automatic from his pocket and held it in the light where it could be seen. His hand was dark with blood.
“Did you hit anybody?” Helig said in a businesslike voice.
Prudence looked at Snook’s face. “You did, didn’t you?”