This might be true. However, he was sure that the Perkunishans would have no compunctions in killing the two other-worlders if they saw they could not be taken alive.
It was also probable that the Blodlandish were thinking along the same lines. Rather than allow the Perkunishans to capture the aliens and use their knowledge, the Blodlandish would kill the two.
Nobody loves us, Two Hawks thought. He laughed then. It was two against a hostile world. So be it. Whatever happened to him and O’Brien, the others would have to pay a price.
Two Hawks, grinning, turned away from the window to face the Lady Thorrsstein. He said, “So why doesn’t your government tell the Hotinohsonih what they know? The Hotinohsonih could throw up a guard around the asylum or else hustle us off to a safe place.”
He was surprised to see her blush. Evidently, she was not a professional agent. She had some sense of honor and was only being used because she had a legitimate reason to visit him.
“I don’t know,” she said. She hesitated, then blurted, “Yes, I do! I was told that the Hotinohsonih wouldn’t let you go. They’d keep you for themselves, and that’d be stupid! They don’t have time to develop anything you might give them. They’ll be too busy fighting for their land, which they’re going to lose in any case. Telling them about you would be throwing you away.
“You must get to Blodland. We have the brains and the materials and the engineers and the time to use them. The Hotinohsonih can’t hold out for long.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “They have lots of country to go yet. Losing ‘Estokwa doesn’t mean they’re licked.”
He thought of the great sectors of territory gobbled up by the Germans in Russia, the staggering losses of men and material suffered by the Russians. Yet, they were not only still fighting; they were driving the Germans back. Of course, the Russians could not have done this without American supplies, and this world had no America.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll go to England.”
“Where?”
“Pardon me. Blodland. The question is, how do we get there?”
“You be ready,” she said. “Tonight at midnight.”
“You can’t get me out of here without force,” he said. “Are your men going to shoot their way in? Maybe kill citizens of your allies? Couldn’t that create a serious diplomatic situation? And if it’s unsuccessful, wouldn’t the Hotinohsonih catch onto the fact that they might have something very valuable in their possession?”
“Never mind that. We know what might happen.”
She rose to her feet. “This man O’Brien. Is he well enough to get out under his own power?”
“He isn’t up to running very far or very fast,” Two Hawks said. He frowned. It was obvious that the Blodlandish would not leave O’Brien behind to be used by Hotinohsonih or Perkunishans. Not alive anyway.
“If you kill him,” he said, “the deal’s off. You’ll have to kill me, too.”
She looked shocked. He wondered if she were acting or if she really had not considered such a possibility.
“I... I’m sure my people wouldn’t do such a thing. You don’t know us. We’re not savages. We are Blodlandish.”
He grinned and said, “Secret agents are alike—German, Yankee, Russian, Perkunishan, Hotinohsonih, Blodlandish, you name them. National security is at stake, and murder means nothing to preserve it.
“All right. Come for us. But you damn well be sure to tell your people that I don’t go unless O’Brien goes.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” she cried. Her face was red, and her eyes were narrowed. “You... you...”
“Commoner. Savage,” he said. “Where I come from, we don’t have royalty or nobility or any such parasitical and oppressive classes. It’s true we have our parasites and oppressors, but they’re not usually born to that condition. They achieve it through hard work or connivery. Everybody is born equal—in theory, anyway. The practice isn’t perfect, but it’s better than none.
“And don’t forget I’m from a world more advanced than yours. There you’d be the barbarian, the ignorant and not-too-clean savage, not me. And the fact that here you’re a direct descendant of the great Dane Thorrsstein Blothaxe and of King Hrothgar doesn’t mean an ox-turd to me. I’d tell you to put that in your pipe and smoke it, except it wouldn’t mean anything to you.”
Her face twisted and turned red; she spun on her high heels so violently that she almost fell. He was still chuckling after the door slammed behind her. A moment later, he did not think things so funny. O’Brien could not go far before needing a rest. Then what?
He returned to his room. The sergeant was in bed, on his back and one arm over his face. Hearing Two Hawks enter, he lifted his arm and turned his head. “One of the attendants told me you had a visitor. The Ilmika broad. How come you rate?”
In a low voice, Two Hawks described his conversation. O’Brien whistled and said, “I sure hope they got a car. I just ain’t up to much exertion. And how the hell they going to get us out of the country?”
“Probably through the Black Sea and the Dardanelles. The Perkunishan fleet is operating in the Iginth, but a small boat could get through them. After that, I don’t know.”
“I’m going to need all the strength I can get. Tell you what. The food isn’t bad here, though it tastes kind of funny, the way they cook it. But I been hungry for a big thick bowl of potato soup. My mother used to make it for me all the time. Hot, thick, creamy, with onions. Mmmmm. Do you suppose you could talk the cook into putting it on the menu?”
Two Hawks sighed and looked sad. O’Brien’s look of expectancy and rapture died. He groaned and said, “Oh no. Go on now. Don’t tell me the good Irish potato...”
Two Hawks nodded. “It originated in the Andes of South America.”
O’Brien cursed. “What a hell of a world! No tobacco. No turkey for Thanksgiving. And, oh, God, no potatoes!”
Two Hawks said, “Well, you can be thankful for one thing. There’s no syphilis. But, knowing your recklessness and horniness, you better watch out for gonorrhea.”
“In my condition, that’s the least of my worries.”
O’Brien closed his eyes and in a minute was snoring. Two Hawks wanted to discuss a plan for that night, but he decided it could wait. O’Brien needed all the sleep he could get. Besides, what could the two of them do but roll the dice and see how they came up?
8
Midnight arrived with agonizing slowness. It was silent in the asylum except for a rumble of thunder from west and north. The room had only a small window placed two feet above his head. The door was thick oak, ribbed with iron, and locked on the outside. Although Doctor Tarhe gave his better patients plenty of freedom during the day, he made sure they were secure at night.
Faintly, the clang of the big clock down the hall came through the door. Two Hawks counted the strokes. Twenty-four. Midnight.
A panel in the door opened and made him start. Through half-closed eyes, he could see the light of a kerosene lamp shining through the narrow panel. He could also make out the broad-faced, big- nosed visage of Kaisehta’, an attendant, making his rounds. The panel closed; Two Hawks got out of bed. He shook O’Brien, who sat up, saying, “You don’t think I’d be sleeping at a time like this?”
Both were already fully dressed. They had nothing to do now but wait for developments. Two Hawks wished he had his weapons, the derringer and the automatic. Tarhe had told him that the secret police had kept the guns for a while, studying them, then had given them to Tarhe. The doctor kept them locked up in a big wall-safe in his study. At the time he was told about them, Two Hawks had wondered why the police did not consider the automatic as an evidence of the truth of his story. Nothing like it existed in this world. But the guns had been returned without comment to Tarhe, and Two Hawks could only deduce that the police considered the automatic to be one more testimonial to his madness. If so, they must be a singularly unimaginative group.