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“... thousands of light-years from the nearest friendly planet. Four lost souls against an entire world. Four friendless people pitted against the might of a planet-wide dictatorship. I feel sorry for them...” “Do you mean the dictatorship, not us?” Angelina asked.
“Of course! The wine then. We drink to their downfall and the beei
Chapter 7
Even I, hardened by a thousand battles and even more close calls, had to admit that I experienced a sudden stab of the old angst when I watched the Corps battle cruiser lift up silently into the night. It is one thing to sit in your own home, glass in hand, and brag about how great you are. It is quite another thing altogether to be dumped on an inhospitable planet with all your loved ones and every man’s hand turned against you. Were we doomed? If so I was responsible. “Well Dad...” Bolivar said.
“... the fun’s about to begin!” James added, finishing his twin’s sentence for him. They laughed together and slapped me on the back, which staggered me a bit and also dragged me out of my fit of depression. We could do it! We would do it!
“You’re absolutely right, boys. Here we go!” James opened the rear door of the touring car for his mother, while Bolivar, decked out in chauffeur’s uniform, climbed into the front seat and started the engine. It was a cloudless night and the starlight was bright enough for us to see our way. I joined Angelina while James climbed into the front seat beside his brother. He wore the white suit and black string tie of a minor functionary. While Angelina and I were dressed in the finery of the wealthy, copied faithfully from photographs taken from the guide books. Bolivar put on dark glasses, kicked the car into gear, and we shot off into the darkness.
Of course his glasses were sensitive to ultraviolet. And the headlights, while apparently turned off, were nevertheless radiating great beams of ultraviolet light. It was disconcerting, yet strangely exciting, to hurtle through the night like this.
“The ground here is hard stone all the way. Dad,” Bolivar said. “Just the way you pla
“Turn on the lights after we get around the next bend,” I said. “We will then become legitimate citizenry out for a spin.” “How far do you want us to spin?” he asked.
“As far as the coast. If we get there early we’ll rest a bit, then go on after dawn. I don’t want to reach the resort until after daylight. Once there we’ll find some place for breakfast before we proceed with the next step of the plan.” We had the road to ourselves for the most part. An occasional car passed in the opposite direction, but there were no signs of any alarm. I took a bottle of champagne from the cooler and Angelina and I drank a toast to success. I then switched the television on to a recorded symphony and we zoomed on through the night, if not in the lap of luxury at least in the car of content. By maintaining a stately and steady speed we reached the coast just as day was breaking, then turned onto the road to the resort. They were early risers here and already the peasantry were on their way to the fields. They drew aside at our approach, bowing and saluting, which attentions we ignored in the proper ma
“There,” Angelina said. “The outdoor restaurant right on the shore. The waiters are setting the tables. It looks perfect.” “As indeed it is. Bolivar, let us off there, park the car where we can keep an eye on it, then take a table at an appropriate distance.” There is nothing like being rich in a place where everyone else is poor. It helps the service no end. Our arrival was noted and the restaurant manager himself hurried out, “Welcome, welcome Your Honor and Lady!” he said, opening the car door himself. “A table, yes, this one, at your service. Your slightest wish is my command.” “A light for my cigar,” I sneered, taking a long black cheroot from my case. Three waiters fought for the privilege of lighting it; tiny flames flared. I puffed smoke, dropped into a chair, and pushed my wide-brimmed hat back on my head. Angelina sat down demurely opposite me. “This is the life,” I sighed.
“You’re a born fascist,” Angelina said under her breath. “We are here to save these people from being trampled under, not to glory in the trampling ourselves.” “I know. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves before the trampling has to stop. Just because we’re on a sinking ship it doesn’t mean we have to travel in steerage. First class all the way! And about time too,” I added, taking the menu from the trembling waiter.
Some while later, stomach happily full, I was enjoying a cigar with my third cup of Jich black coffee, looking out casually at the passing parade. Then I dropped my cigar onto the ground and snapped my fingers in James’s direction. As he came hurrying over, radiating fearful employee in a satisfactory ma
“Light this!” I ordered, then spoke in a quieter voice when he bent over. “When you turn around take a look at the man in the green shirt talking to the three fat tourists. Our luck is holding because that is Jorge, our contact. Follow him. Find out where he goes.” “No trouble. Papa. He’ll never know he’s being tailed. “ As he turned away, Angelina leaned close and said, “Dear one, if you now will glance to your right you will see that trouble is on the way.” I glanced-and indeed it was on the way. Two sordid types, dressed in plain clothes but radiating authority, had stopped to talk to the young couple sitting at the first table. The diners produced papers which the thugs looked through carefully. They were obviously checking for identification. Which posed an interesting problem for us since we didn’t have any.
“Angelina,” I said as I snapped my fingers for the waiter, “you are most observant. Get Bolivar and go to the car while I pay up here. Pick me up at the curb.” The waiters were fast but the police thugs were even faster. They went by the next two tables, obviously occupied by off-planet tourists, and approached me just as I was throwing handfuls of money onto the bill.
“If you please, your honor, you have identification papers?” the smaller and slimmer one said.
I looked him up and down in slow and arrogant silence, waiting until he broke into a cold sweat before I spoke.
“Of course I have identification papers.” I turned away and stepped to the curb as the touring car rolled ponderously up. It might have worked. It didn’t this time. His voice quavered tremulously behind me.
“Would you be so kind as to show them to me, if you please.” The car was close-but not close enough. I turned back and fixed him with a basilisk gaze. “What is your name?” I growled.
“Viladelmas Pujol, your eminence...” “I’ll say this just once, Pujol. I do not talk to policemen on the street. Nor do I show them papers. Leave me.” He turned away instantly, but his large partner was made of sterner-or stupider-stuff.
“We will be pleased to accompany you to the Commissioner of Police, your excellency. He will be most happy to welcome you to our city.” It was time to think fast. This repulsive little scene had been going on for far too long and would draw attention soon. There was no point in attempting to flee in the car; they could see its registration number and could identity us. So I thought fast and, within a split second, devised a highly satisfactory plan just as the car pulled up and stopped beside us.