“It’s the truth! The late Mrs Montane is locked up inside there at this very minute,” Nicklin said, pointing at Montane’s camper which was parked close to the ship. “Corey sleeps in there at night instead of bunking down in the hotel with the rest of us. And he uses the coffin as a tea table.”
Zindee narrowed her eyes at him. “This is one of your stories—light?”
“Wrong! I quit trying to jolly people along years ago. I give them the facts dead straight, and if they don’t like what they hear that’s their problem, not mine.”
“How’s your popularity rating?”
“Everybody around here adores me,” Nicklin said. “Specially this character.” He nodded towards the lumbering figure of Gerl Kingsley, who was approaching from the direction of the First-looter, probably on one of the obscure errands he was always running for Montane. “Mind you, I did save his life.”
Kingsley slowed down as he came near and gave Nicklin the terrible lopsided grin which was a legacy from the day a bullet had passed through his head. His eyes were firmly fixed on Zindee the whole time he was passing.
“I think he likes you as well,” Nicklin commented. “And I can’t say I blame him.” He tried to slip his arm around Zindee’s waist, but she moved out of his reach.
“How did you save his life?” she said.
“Marksmanship.” He related the episode that had taken place in the quietness of the Altamura countryside one morning, in what now seemed a distant summer. The events had rarely surfaced in his mind during the intervening years, and as he spoke he could iilmost believe they were part of someone else’s life. By the time he had finished describing the grim aftermath—his disposal of the remains—the narrative, even to him, had something of the quality of a fevered dream.
“In case you’re thinking that was another Nicklin special,” he mlded, “I can assure you it all happened.”
“I believe you,” Zindee said. Her eyes were scrutinising his face and her expression was oddly intent, like that of a person searching for a valuable which had been lost or stolen.
Suddenly uncomfortable, he gestured towards the ship. “I wish Hepworth would get his backside out of there.”
“I don’t need to go inside.”
“The old sod is bound to come out soon.”
“Perhaps I’ll walk over to the edge of the portal and…”
Zindee let the sentence go as her attention was drawn to a car which was drifting to a halt close by. It was a convertible with the top folded back. In it could be seen Danea Farthing with a man and woman and two children, obviously new arrivals being given their first look at the ship.
“Zindee’s expression changed. “Isn’t that… ?”
“That’s Danea, all right,” Nicklin said. “Lock up the silver.”
“I didn’t realise she had so much style.” Zindee’s voice was appreciative as she took in Danea’s tight-belted peacock blue silks and stetson-like sun-hat. She impulsively raised her hand and waved as Danea glanced in her direction. Nicklin, remembering the natural antagonism that Zindee had displayed towards the older woman on their first meeting, was surprised by the action.
“She has a style all of her own,” he agreed, giving the words a private bitter connotation, as Danea said something to her charges and came towards Zindee. His reaction to the sight of the sleepy-lidded eyes, bruised-looking mouth and hipless easy-striding figure was the same as ever—a blend of hatred and unadulterated, knee-weakening desire. For three years she had eluded, fended off and frustrated him, displaying an adamantine side to her character which no amount of guile could undermine, and which—though it tortured him to admit it—had brought her total victory in their running battle.
“Hello,” Danea said, her gaze solely on Zindee. “Suddenly I’m persuaded that all little girls should be fed on a diet of ice cream sundaes.”
Zindee smiled. “You’ve got a good memory.”
“For faces—I’m not so good on names.”
“This is Zindee,” Nicklin said, putting an arm around Zindee’s shoulders in a proprietary manner which Danea would not be able to miss. “Zindee White.”
“It’s good to see you again, Zindee,” Danea said. “You’re not joining the ship, are you?”
“No.”
“I thought not. We have one family of Whites, but they don’t have any connections with Orangefield.”
“I’m here on holiday with my parents,” Zindee said.
“I wish you were joining us.” Danea gave her a look of rueful warmth. “Time is running out for Orbitsville, you know. Corey Montane has told us that many times, and we all know in our hearts that he is right.”
Nicklin squeezed Zindee’s shoulder. “Corey Montane is the man who thinks he’s married to a sardine.”
“I have to go now,” Danea said, still without looking in Nicklin’s direction. “I wish you well, Zindee.”
“What did you think of that performance?” Nicklin murmured in Zindee’s ear as he watched Danea walk back to the group by her car. “That woman is, without doubt, the silliest and most—” He broke off, shocked, as Zindee pushed him away from her with surprising force.
“Keep off me,” she snapped, her eyes flaring with white coronas of anger. “You’re not making me part of your pathetic little game.”
“Zindee!” He took a step towards her, but was halted by the look of contempt which was distorting and ageing her features. “Look, there’s been a misunderstanding somewhere. Let’s go back to my hotel room and—”
“Goodbye, Jim!” Zindee snatched the bronze coin from her throat, snapping its chain. “And here’s something to remember me by!” She threw the coin to the ground at his feet, turned on her heel und walked quickly away.
“But—” Stupefied, he looked down at the coin and a dam seemed to burst in his memory. I gave her that- on the day I left Orangefield.
He picked the coin up, with the intention of running in pursuit of Zindee, and had taken a single step forward when silently—and with the abruptness of a door being slammed—the entire world turned black.
Nicklin gave an involuntary cry of fear as for one pounding moment he thought he had been struck blind. The blackness seemed so absolute—there were no street lights, no office lights, no vehicle lights, no floodlights surrounding the ship—that it had to come from within, and he was being punished for his transgressions. Then his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and slowly, like a design emerging on a photographic plate, the delicate ribbed pattern of the night sky unfurled itself above him, spanning the horizons.
Nicklin looked up towards the zenith and saw that the sun was hidden behind one of the opaque bands whose progression across the heavens created day and night on Orbitsville.
His fear returned with renewed force as he realised that somehow—and for the first time in humanity’s experience—Orbitsville had leaped from the brilliance of morning into the blackness of midnight.
Chapter 16
“You can see for yourselves that the trap is closing.” Corey Montane’s face was grey and haggard as he addressed the group of about twenty workers who had assembled in the mission’s third-floor office. To Nicklin he seemed dejected and slightly irresolute, just when he needed to rally and inspire his followers.
“You don’t need me to tell you that the Devil is rubbing his hands tonight,” Montane went on. “We must get away from this cursed place very soon, my friends—otherwise it will be too late.”
Nicklin listened to the message, and for the first time since he had known Montane, felt no urge to scoff. The glowing display of the office holoclock, apparently floating in the air near a wall, showed 12.06—but the windows were jet black. In place of the usual midday panorama of sunlit buildings and distant hills there were the stacked, serried and scattered lights of Beachhead City at night.