He said, “What in the world are you doing in that get-up, and what’s wrong with your teeth?”
She pursed her lips, and there was a mischievous quality in the look she shot him from the side of her eyes.
“Life-long ambition,” she said. “Archery.”
“But… but what are you doing in that outfit? And what’s wrong with your teeth? You look like a buck-toothed juvenile delinquent.”
She said, “Suppose I make it all very simple, Rossie. Let’s say the only archery club worthwhile in this town is for boys only. No curves allowed. So, what could be simpler? I pretend I’m a teen-age boy. The teeth? Oh, it’s an added disguise. Otherwise, somebody might recognize me.”
In a way, he was hearing the truth—stretched a bit—but he brushed it aside impatiently. “You’ve got to get out of here, Till. Fielder had me followed the other day when I came to see you. Something happened to the two Surety men, but I’ve got no way of knowing whether they reported back or not—or if he knows I’ve been coming here. Till, you’ve got to go back to Betastan.”
She laughed at him. “For a member of the Central Comita, you’re certainly weak on developments, Rossie. The border’s been closed for a week.”
“But surely you must have some secret way of getting your agents in and out. Don’t tell me there are no Betastan agents in this country besides yourself. From what Fielder and Croft-Gordon report, Alphaland must be swarming with them.”
“Yes, but I’m a cloddy when it comes to swimming.” she said. “Even with flippers and snorkel.”
“Swimming?”
“My sweet Rossie, in this day of radar and warning systems of a double-dozen types, do you think a Betastan agent could sneak across your borders, laden down with cloak and dagger espionage devices? Do you think he could cross the borders in a hopper, or parachute down, even though he started as high up as an artificial satellite? Perish the thought, lover-mine. That military machine Number One and Marshal Croft-Gordon have bled Alphaland white by building, has every last gismo known to the shoot-’em-up boys throughout United Planets. I don’t think we could get a carrier pigeon with a metal capsule on his leg across the Marshal’s warning system.”
He shook his head, scowling. “I suppose you’re right, but how do your agents get in, then? I know perfectly well they’re increasing in number.”
She laughed at him again and took up her quiver to sling it over her shoulder. “They swim in from specially designed, wooden, foot-powered, submarines, laddy-buck. Nude. And if the good Coaid Marshal can figure out some way of telling the difference between a man and one of the numerous sea-going mammals of this planet, he’s welcome to intercept them.”
Suddenly she dropped her bantering tone and stood before him. Her small hands went up to rest on his shoulders.
“Thanks for the warning, Rossie. However, I have reason to believe that Mark Fielder’s Surety people still don’t know of this place. I’ll stick it out for awhile. I’ve got work to do.”
Till, look. Why don’t you marry me? You’ve spent too many years at this sort of thing, instead of looking into a woman’s real place in life. What you need is love, Till. A home, children, a… a husband to look after. You’ve kept your nose to this espionage grindstone too long. You’ve had no experience in… well, in romance, in love. It’s time you learned…”
She put a finger to his lips.
“When this is over, Rossie, perhaps things will be different.” Her face went Chaplinesque. “I’m glad to know you’re so up on such matters. Because you’re quite right, I’ve never had much time for such things as romance, Rossie. Someday I’ll be glad to have you give me the benefit of your long, hard experience.”
Chapter V
Tilly Trice, bow slung over her shoulder, marched smartly up the thirty and more stone steps toward the impressive edifice ahead. Behind her, two by two and in moderately good order, came a full score of similarly garbed, similarly armed seeming youngsters. Surely, the oldest appeared to be no more than eighteen; some, such as Tilly herself, a mere fifteen.
Each carried a quiver of arrows in such a manner that the feathered ends projected over the left shoulder for a quick draw. The bow was slung, almost as though it were a rifle, over the right shoulder. On each head was worn a natty cap, somewhat reminiscent of Robin Hood.
Tilly marched briskly at the fore, a brassard of the Alphaland national colors around her right upper arm, a proud tilt to her head.
The four guards who stood at the top went bug-eyed at the approaching troop—which didn’t hesitate for a moment, keeping correct cadence all the way.
At the top, Tilly saluted the Lance Corporal smartly. “Honorary Ensign Lee, reporting for the audience with Deputy Matheison.”
He goggled at her blankly.
“Who?” he said. “Now, wait a minute. Who in Zen are you kids? What’re you doing here?”
His fellow guards stood in their assigned positions, matching him gape for gape.
Tilly saluted again. “Yes, sir,” she said snappily. Bridgetown’s Own, First Troop of the Alpha Scouts, reporting for the audience with Deputy Matheison of the Commissariat of Finance.”
The Lance Corporal shook his head. “Listen, boy, I never even heard of Bridgetown, let alone the Alpha Scouts. “What’re you selling?”
Tilly looked at him reproachfully.
“We’re supposed to have an interview and get some sort of engraved plaque for our headquarters.”
The corporal looked over his shoulder. “You fellas heard anything about this?”
Two of them shook their heads in utter denial. The other was the type who had to insert himself, whatever.
He said, “Well, Corporal, it seems to me I saw something on the Tri-Di news. Something about the Deputy being going to give some kinds an award, like. Yeah. It seems to me I saw something like that. I could be wrong.”
The corporal looked at Tilly in doubt.
“What’re those things you got over your backs?”
“We’re Alpha Scouts” she said, as though that explained everything.
“Alpha Scouts?” he said dimly.
Tilly said: “Come wend the wild wi’ me, “Venture shall ever be.”
The lance corporal blinked. He bit his under lip.
“We ain’t never had no delegates of Alpha Scouts before,” he admitted.
Tilly said, “I’ll come inside and show you my things, and you can phone the Deputy’s office and they’ll tell you all about it, I guess.” Her mouth trembled infinitesimally. “They couldn’t have forgot about the award,” she said miserably. “Not after we came all the way from Bridgetown.”
“Okay, kid,” the guard said hurriedly. “Come on in.”
He had meant only Tilly, but the others filed along behind.
One of the three remaining guards shook his head. “Sooner or later,” he said, “you see everything. Hey, you know what those things they was carrying over their backs was? Bows and arrows.”
“What’s a bows’n’arrows?” one of the others said disinterestedly.
“Don’t you ever watch the historic shows on Tri-Di?”
“Naw. I like those burlesque revivals with all the mopsies taking their clothes off all the time.”
“Bows and arrows are like the cowboys used to shoot at the Indians. Fella, those were the times. Burning down the wagon trains and rustling the buffalo.”
“Wrestling the buffalo?”
An Alpha Scout stuck his head outside the entry and called, “The corporal says for one of you to come in.”
One of the guards shrugged and went through the tall opaque door. On the other side, Centurion Combs slapped him behind the ear efficiently with a sap.