Earth

Dumpit, Roland cursed. He was bent over the trolley in an awkward position, much too far away to attack Chang with any chance of success. In addition, his hands were laden with bags. If only he were carrying jars, that could be thrown…

“Senterius? What are you doing, asshole? Smoking? Kleinerman’ll roast all of us if they catch you!”

Roland suddenly realized why Chang was watching him so intently. Chang’s following my eyes!

Roland’s gaze could not help widening when one booted foot appeared on the topmost visible step. Chang was using him to gauge where the other recruits were, to tell when the moment was just right for killing all three of them! In holding onto seconds of life, Roland knew suddenly, horribly, he was murdering Kanakoa and Schmidt.

Still, even knowing that, he remained statuelike. In Chang’s eyes he saw understanding and the glitter of contemptuous victory. How did he know? Roland railed inside. How did he know I was a coward?

The admission belied every one of his dreams. It betrayed what Roland had thought were his reasons for living. The realization seared so hot it tore through his rigor and burst forth in a sudden scream.

“Cover!” he cried, and threw himself onto the pallet, slamming home the trolley’s single lever. Almost simultaneously a series of rapid bangs rattled the narrow chamber and Roland’s leg erupted in sudden agony. Then there was blackness and the swift whistle of wind as the little car sped into a gloom darker than any he had ever known.

Seconds ticked while he battled fiery pain. Clenching his jaw to keep from moaning, Roland desperately hauled back on the lever, bringing the trolley to a jerky halt in the middle of the arrow-straight shaft. Waves of dizziness almost overwhelmed him as he rolled over onto his back and clutched his thigh, feeling a sickening, sticky wetness there.

One thing for certain, he couldn’t afford the luxury of fainting here. Fu

“There are two types of simple thigh wounds,” memorized words droned as he wrestled the belt from his waist. “One, a straight puncture of muscle fiber, is quite manageable. Treat it quickly and move on. Your comrade should be able to offer covering fire, even if he can no longer move.

“The other kind is much more dangerous …”

Roland fought shivers as he looped the belt above the wound. He had no idea which type it was. If Chang had hit the femoral artery, this makeshift tourniquet wasn’t going to do much good.

He grunted and yanked hard, cinching the belt as tight as he could, and then slumped back in reaction and exhaustion.

You did it! He told himself. You beat the bastard!

Roland tried to feel elated. Even if he was now bleeding to death, he’d certainly won more minutes than Chang had intended giving him. More important still, Chang was brought down! In stealing the smuggling lord’s only means of escape, Roland had ensured his capture!

Then why do I feel so rotten?

In fantasy Roland had often visualized being wounded, even dying in battle. Always though, he had imagined there’d be some solace, if only a soldier’s final condolence of victory.

So why did he feel so dirty now? So ashamed?

He was alive now because he’d done the unexpected. Chang had been looking for heroism or cowardice — a berserk attack or animal rigor. But in that moment of impulse Roland had remembered the words of the old vet in Bloomington. “A fool who wants to live will do anything his captor tells him. He’ll stand perfectly still just to win a few more heartbeats. Or he may burst into a useless charge.

“That’s when, sometimes, it takes the most guts to retreat in good order, to fight another day.”

Yeah, Joseph, sure. Roland thought. Tell me about it.

As his heart rate eased and the panting subsided, he now heard what sounded like moans coming down the tu

What good would I have done by staying? Instead of a leg wound, he’d have gone down with several bullets in the heart or face, and Chang would have gotten away.

True enough, but that didn’t seem to help. Nor did reminding himself that neither of those guys back there were really his friends, anyway.

“Soldier boy!” The shout echoed down the narrow passage. “Bring the trolley back or I’ll shoot you now!”

“Fat chance,” Roland muttered. And even Chang’s voice carried little conviction. Straight as the tu

It wasn’t repeated. For all the millionaire knew Roland was already at the other end.

“Why did I stop?” Roland asked aloud, softly. At the terminus he might find a telephone to call an ambulance, instead of lying here possibly bleeding to death.

A wave of agony throbbed up his leg. “And I thought I was so smart, not becomin’ a dazer.”

If he’d ever slipped over that line — using biofeedback to trip-off on self-stimulated endorphins — he’d certainly have a skill appropriate for here and now! What would have been self-abuse in Indiana would be right-on first aid at a time like this.

But then again, if he’d ever been a dazer, he wouldn’t even be here right now. The corps didn’t accept addicts.

Suddenly the cavern erupted in thunder, shaking the very walls. Roland covered his ears, recognizing pulse-rifle fire. No doubt about it, the real soldiers had arrived at last.

The gunshots ended almost immediately. Could it be over already? he wondered.

But no. As the ringing echoes subsided, he heard voices. One of them Chang’s.

“… if you throw down grenades. So if you want your wounded soldiers to live, negotiate with me!”

So Chang claimed two captives. Roland realized gloomily that both Schmidt and Kanakoa must have been caught, despite his shouted warning.

Or maybe not! After all, would Chang admit to having let one recruit escape down the tu

It took a while for someone in authority to begin negotiations. The officer’s voice was too muffled for Roland to make out, but he could hear Chang’s side of the exchange.

“Not good enough! Prison would be the same as death for me! I accept nothing more rigorous than house arrest on my Pingtung estate…

“Yes, naturally I will turn state’s evidence. I owe my associates nothing. But I must have the deal sealed by a magistrate, at once!”

Again, the officials’ words were indistinct. Roland caught tones of prevarication.

“Stop delaying! The alternative is death for these young soldiers!” Chang shouted back.

“Yes, yes, of course they can have medical attention… after I get my plea bargain! Properly sealed! Meanwhile, any sign of a stun or concussion grenade and I shoot them in the head, then myself!”

Roland could tell the marshals were weakening, probably under pressure from the peacekeeper CO. Dammit! he thought. The good guys’ victory would be compromised. Worse, Chang surely had means at his estate for another escape, even from state detention.

Don’t give in, he mentally urged the officers, though he felt pangs thinking of Kanakoa, or even Schmidt, lying there dying. If you plea bargain, the bastard’ll just start all over again.

But Chang’s next shout carried tones of satisfaction. “That’s better! I can accept that. You better hurry with the document though. These men do not look well.”

Roland cursed. “No!”