"Over there." Chornoi pointed at the skyline.
Another fortress topped a rise before them.
Gwen shivered, then squared her shoulders. "We do what we must." She stepped onto the slidewalk.
"That was the only tube from Europe?" Rod asked.
They were coming in through another gate in a reddish stone wall, and they found themselves in another courtyard. Gwen gazed about her. "Why, 'tis like to the other, only far smaller."
Chornoi nodded. "Good way to put it. I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? If it worked with El Morro, why not do it again? This is the fortress San Cristobal, Miz Gallowglass—and yes, Major, that El Morro tube is the only one from Europe."
"For the whole Western Hemisphere?"
Chornoi nodded. "Oh, it makes for traffic jams, right enough, but it sure lets PEST control who moves where."
"So why aren't they stopping us?" Yorick muttered.
Chornoi frowned. "I was wondering that, myself. They must have figured out that we're not in the Canaries."
"But they don't know we're wearing gray," Rod reminded her.
Chornoi shook her head. "They've got to have guardsmen out with our pictures by now. All we had was a change of clothes, not plastic surgery."
They rode the slidewalk through the courtyard of San Cristobal slowly, each mulling at the thought. Finally, Yorick said, "You don't suppose the local guardsmen might not be too happy about PEST telling them what to do, do you?"
The slidewalk shot them into another dark tunnel.
This one was low, and not very wide. Discreet, indirect lighting showed them when the slidewalk turned into an escalator.
"They didn't used to have lights in here," Yorick muttered.
Chornoi's gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowed.
"They had charges of gunpowder set at regular intervals. That's what the lines there are for." Yorick pointed at straight cracks, an inch wide, that ran up the walls and across the ceiling. "If they blew up the far end of the tunnel, the near end would still stand. So if any poor bastard of a soldier had to come down here at night, he wasn't allowed to carry a torch."
Rod looked around at the dark close walls, glanced forward and backward, and saw that all the daylight had been blocked off by the curve of the tunnel. He shuddered.
The slidewalk stopped, and they stepped through a low doorway into a small tunnel at right angles to the main one. Rod noticed that they passed another grille of iron bars, blocked open.
He found himself in a very long room, like a section of tunnel that had been closed off. Far away at the end, daylight glared through a small rectangle.
"We wait here," Chornoi explained. "When the next car comes, we'll go down that escalator to board it." She pointed at a plasticrete portal that obtruded in the side of the tunnel, hideous in its smooth blandness.
Rod was looking about him. He noticed a clear panel and stepped over to it. Behind it was a section of tunnel wall with five crudely-drawn ships colored in earth tones, and a scrawled word above them.
Yorick noticed his gaze. "A young officer did that. He led a mutiny, and they locked him in here for sixty days before they took him out to kill him."
Rod darted a quick glance around the chamber. For a moment, he could imagine what it must have been like to be locked up in this small space for so long a time—day after day, never knowing when he'd be taken out to be slain, with nothing to do except rant at his fate and curse himself for a fool. He shook his head, turning away from the thought. "What does the word say?"
"What would you say, if you were locked up in here for sixty days?"
Chornoi frowned up at Yorick. "How come you know so much about this place?"
But Yorick only shook his head, brows drawn so low they hid his eyes, and muttered something under his breath.
A green panel glowed to life by the stairway.
"Loading time," Chornoi said softly.
As they came into the Atlanta interchange, a 3DT tank burst into color with a picture of a group. "These persons are criminals," a resonant voice informed them. "They endanger the state and, therefore, every citizen."
Rod stared, appalled. "Wow! I never looked worse!"
"It's the harried, hunted look," Chomoi assured him, "and they would catch me without makeup."
Yorick nodded. "I look like a thug."
Gwen didn't say anything, but the expression on her face spoke volumes.
"If you see any or all of them," the voice went on, "report them immediately to the nearest Security Service officer."
"See the scoutship in the background?" Yorick pointed. "This must be the picture that the little viper with the loud mouth had his flunky take."
Rod nodded. "Wonder what took 'em so long to get it on the network?"
"Who says it did?" Yorick countered. "We could be looking at the hundredth replay."
"Yeah, we could." Rod frowned. "Either way, we'd better get gone. Gwen, let's go. Chomoi… Chornoi?"
But Chornoi was over against the wall, talking at a blank viewscreen. "Yeah, I just saw them!" She was speaking in a higher, more nasal voice than usual, and fairly danced with excitement. "I mean, I'm right here in Atlanta, human, and I… huh?… No, I don't know why you're not getting any picture. I don't have one of you either, y' know? Hey, what can I tell you? The way you guys keep up these public call booths… Oh, them? Yeah! I just got in on the tube from Florida! And back in Jacksonville, when I was getting on, they were getting off!… No, of course not! How could I call you any sooner? There weren't any call booths on that capsule! Besides, I didn't see your blurb about them until I got off here in Atlanta… What?… Oh, sure, sure! Glad to help! I always wanted to be a good citizen… Yeah, 'bye, now."
"That," Yorick said, leveling a forefinger, "is a damn good idea." He jumped for another call booth, put his palm over the vision pickup, and said, "Security Service. Reporting."
But Rod was already at a booth of his own. "Huh?… Well, yeah, I'm in Atlanta now—but, I mean, I didn't see your blurb about 'em until I was waiting for my tube in Puerto Rico, and my capsule came right after that, and well, hell, you couldn't expect me to… Well, yeah! I saw them, yeah! Sicily, just before I got on the capsule there!… No, now, look, I know that was eight hours ago, but, yeah, I'm sure!… Yeah, I mean, you couldn't miss those clothes anywhere! What happened to that guy's jacket—did he get scrambled eggs on it?"
Gwen had her hand over another vision pickup, and was staring at the microphone inlay. Suddenly she smiled, and said, "Emergency," and began talking in a fast, nasal voice. "Hello?… Yeah, them!… No, no, the four in the tank! The ones with the weird… Yeah, sure I'm sure… Oh! Yeah, right here where I'm talking from… Where? Oh, I don't know. Someplace in Mexico… Whup! There comes my capsule!"
She disconnected and turned, to find Rod standing over her. "What did you do?"
She beamed up at him. "I traced the paths of the 'electrons' with my thoughts, and made each wait one second in an instrument a thousand miles away, then begin its course anew."
Rod stared. "You mean you figured out how to route that call through a terminal that far away in just a few seconds?"
"Nay—I've been learning of these things thou dost term 'electrons' sin that we were kidnapped."
"I noticed." Rod swallowed through a suddenly dry throat. "Uh… where does Security think that call came from?"
"I believe 'tis called 'Acapulco.'"
Rod turned away, just barely managing to restrain a gibber. "You, uh, seem to have developed a feel for the local dialect."
Gwen shrugged impatiently. "Tis naught, for one who reads minds."
Fortunately, right then, Rod bumped into Yorick, who was trying to shoo them all into a tightly-knit group again. "All right, all right! That's enough with the phone calls, already! Let's get under cover, before somebody tracks the origins of these little bulletins of ours, and adds two and two together, and comes up with three! We need a hiding-place, don't we?"