Outside the mess hall, Tallon stood undecidedly for a moment. There was almost an hour to go before it was rendezvous time. The only thing his stomach would have accepted at that moment was coffee, but Winfield had warned him not to eat or drink anything, because they were going to be sealed up in their plastic envelopes for at least two days. He touched the eyeset controls, and using proximity selection, got behind the eyes of a guard who was standing near the entrance. The guard was smoking, so Tallon lit a cigarette, and by raising it to his lips every time he saw the guard do likewise, he was able to achieve a startlingly realistic simulation of normal vision for a few minutes. He enjoyed re-creating a fragment of the warm, secure past. But gathering shadows behind the buildings around the plaza reminded him that night was falling over the swamp, and that he, Sam Tallon, would spend that night squirming through its stinking blackness toward the robot rifles.
Leaving the sounds of mealtime conversation and horseplay behind him, Tallon struck off across the square toward the cell blocks. The guard’s eyes must have followed him idly, for Tallon had a perfect view of himself walking toward the blocks silhouetted on the western horizon. Self-consciously he squared his shoulders, but the action did nothing to make the receding figure seem any bigger, tougher, or less lonely.
He wanted to collect Ariadne from the large wire-mesh aviary, which the board had granted for the use of prisoners who wanted to keep bird pets, but decided to go to his cell first and clear out his possessions, such as they were. By the time Tallon reached his own section he was near the extreme range of the eyeset, and his view of himself was little more than of a brown speck approaching the entrance to the cell block. He thought he detected two other specks, wearing the dark green of the prison guards, detach themselves from the portico. The distance vision of the guard still smoking outside the mess hall was not very good, so Tallon decided to switch to a pair of eyes nearer to him.
As he raised his hands to the eyeset controls there was an impact of bodies, and his arms were pinned to his sides. Tallon saw that the green specks had attached themselves to the brown speck that was himself.
With his heart jolting violently, Tallon said, “If I’ve been reported for stealing cutlery from the mess hall, it’s a lie.”
“Don’t try to be funny, Tallon,” a voice crackled in his ear. “We want Winfield as well. Where is he?”
Tallon guessed that if they had not been able to find the doctor in the main buildings he must have already left for the rendezvous point. That meant Winfield might be able to get out of the Pavilion, if he didn’t wait too long for Tallon to show up. But who had tipped off the guards? Not Hogarth, surely. Even if the little man had guessed what they were up to, he would hardly have …
“Do you not hear so good, Tallon? I asked you where Winfield was.”
“I don’t know.” Tallon tried to think up a convincing stall to give the doctor more time, but his mind had gone numb. To his surprise, the guards did not seem to be particularly alarmed.
“What’s the difference?” The man on his right spoke casually. “We’ll collect this one now, and get Winfield’s as soon as we see him.”
“I guess that’s all we can do.”
As Tallon tried to make sense of their comments, he felt a hand brush his temple and, instantly, he was blind. They had taken his eyeset!
“What the hell!” He shouted angrily, wrenching his arms from their grasp and staggering slightly as the guards let go, leaving him free but helplessly blind.
“Give me that back. That’s my own property, you thieving bastards. I’ll report you to … Miss Juste for this.”
One of the guards laughed. “That’s a good one. You and Winfield made these crazy glasses with stolen government materials, Tallon. And you can report us to Miss Juste any time you want. She’s the one who’s confiscating them.”
nine
For a second the blunted needle refused to penetrate; then it punctured the skin and slid deep into Tallon’s arm.
“Sorry, son,” Winfield said. “I’m out of practice.”
“Look, Doc, are you quite sure about all this? You made up a second escape kit so you could bring along somebody who could help you — not a blind man.” Tallon rolled his sleeve down over his faintly throbbing arm.
“Sure I’m sure. Besides, I’m giving you this eyeset as soon as we’re ready to move off.”
“Nothing doing, Doc. You keep the eyeset and I’ll stick with the sonar. I’m lucky to have that much, I suppose.” Tallon had fallen several times during the nightmarish journey from the cell block to the meeting place, but had hardly felt the pain. His brain was trying to find the reason why Helen Juste had confiscated his eyeset. Why had she encouraged them to complete the eyesets before she cracked down? Had she got wind of their escape plan and chosen this way of slamming the door?
“Well, that’s that,” Winfield announced. “I wanted us to have the general-purpose shots before we started walking. Even the woodworms can have a nasty bite in this part of the world.”
He pushed a bulky package into Tallon’s arms, and they made their way cautiously down the slope toward the palisade. The bird on Winfield’s shoulder clucked apprehensively as the doctor slid once on a patch of rank grass. Tallon kept the sonar torch aimed straight ahead and listened to the steadily rising tone caused by the beam hitting the palisade.
“Here we are,” the doctor grunted. His voice was followed by dull crunching sounds as he kicked out the rotten wood inhabited by his carefully nurtured colony of worms. Tallon followed him through the hole, grimacing as an accidental contact with the edge showered him with thousands of tiny writhing creatures. They traveled a short distance toward the swamp until they ran out of hard ground.
“Suits now,” Winfield said brusquely. “Did you remember not to eat or drink?”
“Yes.”
“Good, but you’d better have this anyway.”
“What is it?”
“Diaper.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You’ll thank me for it later.”
With Winfield doing most of the work, they draped the plastic sheets around their necks and sealed the edges. It was difficult to handle anything properly through the plastic, but Winfield produced a roll of adhesive tape and bound it at their necks, wrists and ankles. The binding made it possible for them to walk and move their arms with comparative freedom. To complete the grotesque outfits, they wrapped more plastic around their heads, finished it with cement and tape, then jammed on their prison caps.
“I’ll carry the pack and the bird,” Winfield said. “Stay as close to me as you can.”
“You can count on that, Doc.”
Moving toward the swamp in blackness, Tallon was aghast at the thought of what he was going to do. Although blind, he knew when he had reached the edge of the swamp by the feel of the clammy mist closing round him, as well as by the stench, which made every breath something to be planned in advance and forced through with determination. Unidentifiable night noises drifted through the swirling vapor, reminding him that, although the robot rifles had finished off only the swamp’s warm-blooded inhabitants, there were others to share the darkness. And yet, Tallon was aware of feeling something approaching peace. He had finally become tired of drifting with the current, of compromising, of feeling afraid. The fat old doctor, with his head full of ridiculous dreams, was leading him to almost certain death; but he had taught Tallon one great truth: Walking toward death is not pleasant, but it’s better than having it come up fast behind you.