Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1959 (13 page)

 
          
"Special
breed of mosquito," he repeated after her. "Brenda, you know
something? There's an idea there, somewhere . . ."

 
          
"I
have another idea, Mark," she broke in suddenly,

           
"Yes?"

           
"That loafer out yonder on the
other side of the porthole, watching us ..."

 
          
She
rose and stood close to him, smiling. "What about it?"

           
"Nothing, except it isn't there
watching any more."

           
He laughed happily, and his arms
fairly flew out to seize her. And
her own
arms closed
strongly around his neck, and the kiss they gave each other was strong and
thorough and tender and loving.

 
          
"Very pretty."

           
Orrin Lyle stood in the open door.
Darragh spun toward him so swiftly that Brenda almost staggered free.

 
          
"You
don't seem to be much of a man for knocking at doors," said Darragh in
slow, cold fury.

 
          
The
chief of the captive community thrust his hands into his pockets. He looked
from Brenda to Darragh in cold triumph, then back again to Brenda.

 
          
"I
hope you'll learn to thrive without that sort of pastime, Brenda," he
said. "We're not going to have the benefit of Mr. Darragh's company here
much longer."

 
          
"What
have you done?" she asked quickly.

           
"Oh," said Lyle, quite
casually, "I did just about the only practical thing to be done with a
dangerous and violent invader on the place. I turned him in."

 
          
"Turned
me into what?" demanded Darragh. "Tell me that."

 
          
"You're
a disturbing and dangerous element here," Lyle said to him, loftily calm.
"These ideas of yours about a quick, desperate break—they'd ruin forever
our long-range plan of getting away."

 
          
"I
agree that it's a long-range plan," snapped Darragh. "You've not moved
anywhere in fifty years."

 
          
Lyle's
hand came out of a pocket to gesture at the interruption.

 
          
"You
refused to be advised by ime," he went on. "You said you'd go out and
harangue the
people, that
you'd try to influence the
community to follow your notions."

 
          
"That's
what I said," agreed Darragh, "and it so happens that I meant
it"

 
          
"Oh,
I was sure you did," said Lyle. "And so, while you were having tea
here—having a pretty good time here, in fact—I went back to my own quarters.
There's a window to the Owners there, too, you know."

 
          
"And
one of them watching you there, I suppose?" suggested Brenda.

 
          
"It
so happens that there was, my dear," Lyle told her.

           
"And I got him to bring several
of his companions. I passed on some information to them."

 
          
"Orrinl"
cried out Brenda. "You betrayed ..."

           
Smiling, he nodded his head. "I
told them about Darragh, by sign language. They know that he's a spy and an
enemy. They've gone to bring a ship down the shaft from above, and they're
going to take Darragh away in it. What happens to him then I can't say. None of
us will ever be able to say."

 
          
Darragh took
a long, swift step
forward. He felt his muscles bunch to fling a blow. Orrin Lyle did not
retreat, did not even draw himself up as though for defence.

 
          
"Now
you think you'll try violence," he mocked. "All right, Darragh, come
on and hit me; you're bigger than I am. But I happen to be the chief here. My
people are waiting outside. Lay your hand on me, and they'll tear you to
pieces. The Owners will have a disassembled carcass to fly away with."

 
          
Darragh
did not strike. At Lyle's threat, he relaxed and gazed. His face did not show
fear, but a sudden dawning of inspiration.

 
          
"Orrin,"
Brenda was saying, in a voice that trembled, "this is cruel and
cowardly."

 
          
"No,
Brenda. Suppose we just call it practical."

           
"Orrin, I love Mark."

           
"You'll get over that," he
assured her, quite without heat. "Out of sight, out of mind, you know. And
hell
be
out of sight from now on."

 
          
"He
came to us from outside, Orrin ..."

           
"You mean, he blundered in on
us from outside. He's a savage who, by better luck than his audacity deserves,
survived so far. A saner and more cautious individual might have died many
times."

 
          
"That's
what I mean," said Darragh.

           
"And
I
won't argue the point," continued Lyle. "Brenda, this
man announces right off the reel that he
want
to
overthrow a plan that has, in its formation, consumed years of our lives and
the lives of our fathers. He's dangerous. He must be eliminated."

 
          
"But
stop and think," pleaded the girl. "Aren't you losing sight of the
chance that there might be another way than yours, Orrin? That there might even
be a better way?"

 
          
"Since
Mr. Darragh hasn't acquainted us with his alternative plan, I'm unable to
answer that one."

 
          
"You
didn't give him a chance to talk. But he and I have been talking . . ."

 
          
"Oh,
yes indeed," Lyle agreed, smiling. "You've been talking most cozily
and—shall I say cordially?"

 
          
"I
love him," said Brenda again.

           
Lyle looked at her in silence for a
long moment. Finally: "I honestly believe you do love him, Brenda. Well,
now." He drew a long
breath,
cast his eyes upward
as though in search of inspiration. "Suppose" he went on, "I
said that
I
approved of that? That
perhaps I had been wrong to argue with him, about the escape plan or about
which of us was to have you? Suppose I were to give the two of you my blessing?"

 
          
"Oh!"
cried Brenda, her face suddenly glowing. "If ..."

           
"Yes,
if,"
he broke in to repeat. "If
I
took that attitude, Brenda, it would still be too late. Because,
you see, I've already turned him in to the Owners. They're coming for him, and
I couldn't stop them in any way whatever."

 
          
"Never
mind, Brenda," spoke up Darragh suddenly. "Lyle, I'm going to
disagree with you again."

 
          
"I've
already found you disagreeable," said Lyle silkily.

           
"You said that your people
would tear me to pieces at your word. That's a lie, and you know it."

 
          
Orrin
Lyle's close-set eyes grew wide for just a trifle of time. That was his only
change of expression. He did not move otherwise.

 
          
"And
on what line of reasoning do you come to that interesting conclusion?"

 
          
"If
you trusted the people of this community," went on Darragh, "why
didn't you set them on me to tear me to pieces instead of running to the Cold
People—to what you call Owners? It's plain to see that they own
you,
anyway." He moved a step
nearer, his big fists set on his lean hips. "By God, that's the answer.
You don't really want to escape from here. It might upset your snug, smug
little career of subordinate, safe ruling."

 
          
"That's
what you say," jibed Lyle.

           
"You're damned right that's
what I say, and I'm going to say it out there where everybody can hear me. Get
out of my way."

 
          
He
strode toward the door, ready to sweep Lyle aside with a push of his arm, but
Lyle had drawn out of reach. Darragh stepped out upon the porch, the skirts of
the robe slapping about his long legs.

 
          
In
the central open court stood the men anA-women of the captive settlement. They
looked at him questioningly, some of them expectandy.

 
          
"Ladies
and gendemenl" cried out Darragh, loudly enough to seize every attention
within earshot. "Fellow human beings, fellow prisoners of the Cold People,
come close here and let me tell you a few things!"

 
          
They
began to mutter together, but they did as he had commanded. They crowded upon
the lawn-space in front of Brenda Thompson's cottage.

 
          
"Ladies
and gendemenl" he yelled again, to quiet all other voices. "You know
by now that I came here from outside. There are thousands of free men out
there, planning to overthrow these frozen monsters that I hate to hear you
call the Owners. They took our world away from us, but we aren't going to let
them own it any more. We're going to take it back!"

 
          
Someone
actually cheered.

           
"Any of you want to join
us?" called out Darragh.

           
Another excited stir and muttering,
and a woman's voice stammered: "How can we?"

 
          
"That's
what I'm going to manage if you'll go along with me," Darragh replied,
with a confidence that he really felt. "I got in here, and I'm going to
get out again. I'm going to take anybody along who thinks he or she would enjoy
the journey. And I'm going to get out right now—not in fifty years!"

 
          
"I'm
going with him!"
came
Brenda's breathless voice,
and she ran out of the cottage. Her hair and dress were rumpled—apparently
Orrin Lyle had tried to hold her back. Her arms were full of books.

 
          
"We're
traveling light!" she said, as Darragh had said a few moments before.
"Just taking the books!"

 
          
"All
right, Brenda Thompson isn't going to stay in prison," said Darragh.
"Who's next?" His eye caught the gray-stubbled head of the man called
Criddle. "I see you there, Criddle, and earlier today you seemed to think
I had a few talking points. Want to take a chance with me?"

 
          
Criddle
swallowed and bugged out his eyes. "I'm with you, young fellow!" he
shouted. "I'm tired of being a peep show."

 
          
He
moved forward out of the crowd. After him came a middle-aged woman, and he put
his arm around her. "My wife's coming, too!" he cried happily.

 
          
This
time a number of voices cheered.
As Criddle came to the edge
of the porch with his wife, fully a dozen more moved as though to follow.

 
          
Just
then Orrin Lyle came out. He pushed himself between Brenda and Darragh.
"Wait," he said, and his voice, without seeming to lift, yet made
itself heard. Those who had started forward paused where they were.

 
          
"I
must ask you all, my friends and neighbors and followers, to be sensible,"
he said. "Don't let this man stampede you. He's a stranger and an
alien—just half an hour old in our midst—and he's trying to sweep all of you
into a suicidal attempt at escape which cannot succeed."

 
          
"What
sort of attempt?" demanded Criddle, his eyes on Darragh.

 
          
"He's
a spy and an emeny," accused Lyle.

           
"Orrin Lyle is right!"
rose
Brenda's voice.

           
Then everyone turned toward her.
Darragh felt dry-mouthed with utter amazement.

 
          
"He's
right!" Brenda said again. "Mark Darragh certainly is a spy—but he's
a spy on the Cold People, that's what he came here to be! He's an enemy but
he's an enemy to our enemies!"

 
          
"Let
me inform you ..." began Orrin Lyle.

           
"Keep your mouth shut,
Orrin," Brenda broke him off fiercely. "You've already done your
informing. Did you know about that, you others? Orrin did some of his
sign-language talk to the Cold People, and gave Mark Darragh up to them! Told
them to come here and take him away!"

 
          
Everybody
gasped at that, and for the first time Lyle seemed worried and nervous.

 
          
"Is
that the truth, Orrin?" demanded Criddle, boldly and quickly, from where
he stood next to the porch.

 
          
"If
it is the truth, it's a mighty dirty truth," said a younger man in the
crowd.

 
          
"You're
right," agreed the man standing next to him.

           
But Orrin Lyle had ruled for years.
He did not recoil from the hint of menace. He had completely recovered his
studied cold calm.

 
          
"Every
one of you knows," he said, "that our dearest hope is some day to win
free of this cage in which we live." "Right," agreed Criddle.

           
"You all know that we are
looking for a chance, when the time is ripe," elaborated Lyle. "You
all know that we must succeed then—or never. And you also know that I, building
upon the lifelong labors of my father and his colleagues, have found a way to
communicate with the Owners, so that I could gather information."

 
          
"What
information?" Darragh flung at them. "Suppose you fill them in on
that."

 
          
"That,
Mr. Darragh, is precisely what I’ll do if you give me a chance to speak. My
friends, I've been gathering information toward the building of an
aircraft."

 
          
"That's
the first I've heard of it, Orrin," spoke up Criddle.

           
"It wasn't time to tell
you .
.."

           
"Because your associates
wouldn't believe a liel" cut in Darragh. "Lyle, you're a sort of
genius; you'd rather climb a tree than stand on the ground to tell the
truth." He towered above Lyle, laughing down into his face. "Even if
you knew how to build an aircraft, you wouldn't have the materials and you
couldn't fly it if you did build it."

 
          
"That
makes sense," said Criddle's wife.

           
"My friends," said Orrin
Lyle, "you owe me a chance to reply to these charges." He paused, and
saw that he had regained the attention of his people. "Thank you. Now: I
have denounced this stranger Mark Darragh for a two-fold advantage to all of
us. First, his ill-planned escape
attempt .
.

 
          
"How
do you know it's ill-planned?" Darragh challenged. "You never let me
explain it."

 
          
Lyle
looked up at him. "Ill
amend
my language. Ill
say
, your
bluff
about
an escape attempt, because you don't really have one."