Patriots

"The Pool's south of here, isn't it?" he asked sharply.

"South-southwest of the Spiker, south from the house," Yerby said. "What's wrong, lad?"

"Nothing," Mark lied. He could almost hear his father's voice saying, "Generally, almost always, there's a better way than charging straight in."

"Yerby," he said, facing the big frontiersman again, "I've got to pick up some tools at the compound right now. It's important to get this system working so that we at least know who's landing here before they arrive. I'm sure you can take care of any little problem the blimp has by yourself."

Yerby's head jerked back in surprise. "Sure, I see that, Mr. Maxwell," he said. "Well, I'll leave you to your business, then."

Yerby ducked out of the hut and jogged toward the compound where he must have left his flyer the day before. His arms pumped more vigorously than his pace seemed to justify.

Mark got into his own flyer beside the hut. His guts felt heavy and frozen by Yerby's shocked disapproval; but Mark knew that if he'd told Yerby the truth, the result would have been as violent and certain as pulling the trigger of a gun.

Yerby's compound lay at the northern edge of the circle the system's plotting lidar swept. The dirigible's track from the compound at 6:47 in the morning was clearly marked, and as the vehicle rose to a thousand feet it stayed on the screen for another twenty miles.

Dr. Jesilind was headed northwest, not south toward the Bottomless Pool. There were a number of reasons Jesilind might have gone off with Amy in a direction nobody would think to search for them.

But all of them added up to Mark wanting very much to join the pair as fast as he could.

20. An Afternoon in the Country

Mark's holoviewer rested on his lap, projecting a holographic terrain map in the air before him. He kept the flyer a thousand feet high, so he didn't need to worry about what was directly in front of him unless a bird got very unlucky.

Or, come to think, unless he managed to collide with the dirigible itself. Mark assumed his quarry would be below him, probably on the ground; but he could imagine his first gymnastics coach shouting, "Always check the fastenings of equipment before you trust your weight to it! Assume makes an ass of U and me, boy!"

Dutifully, Mark raised himself in the saddle to peer over the top of the opaque hologram. The sky was as empty as a politician's promise.

He didn't know where Jesilind had gone, but the dirigible had flown straight from the point it lifted from Yerby's compound until the track vanished at the limit of the lidar's range. A one-hundred-foot cigar of royal blue fabric ought to show up pretty well. By keeping high and swiveling his eyes constantly, Mark figured he'd find the dirigible sooner or later.

It had better be sooner, though, or he was going to run out of daylight.

The flyer overflew another wooded ridge. It might be the one where Yerby took me and Amy to picnic when we fast arrived on Greenwood.

As the thought struck him, Mark saw the waterfall. It was richly golden in the low sunlight, so lovely that Mark flew for some moments further before he noticed the dirigible nestled near the cliff face at the bottom of the falls. He banked and brought the flyer down like a brick, a risk he'd never have taken if he'd been thinking about it.

Dr. Jesilind stood on the gondola's open deck. There was no sign of Amy. The howl of air past the flyer's frame tubes drew the doctor's attention.

Jesilind grabbed the door of the closed cabin, but it wouldn't open for him. He fumbled an object from his pocket, dropped it on the deck, and finally used both hands to pick it up again.

"Mark!" Amy screamed from a side window of the dirigible's cabin. "Stay back! He's got a gun!"

Jesilind leaned over to grab the window. Amy slid it shut, barely in time.

Mark's landing strained the flyer's framework but halted him within ten feet of his touchdown. His holoviewer flew onto the pebbly ground.

He remembered how he'd worried about the viewer when the thugs surrounded him in the caravansary. Not now. He wasn't worried about anything. That utterly amazed the part of Mark's mind that viewed the situation from a cool distance.

Mark clambered out of his flyer. Dr. Jesilind remained on the dirigible's deck, clamping the gate of the railing closed with one hand. He'd thrust the other into the pocket of his jacket again.

"Hello, Doctor," Mark said. He walked toward the dirigible.

Jesilind took his hand from his pocket with a gun. It had a wide, slightly flared muzzle. Mark supposed it was lethal.

"Stop where you are or I'll shoot!" Jesilind said. His voice was as high as if he'd gotten his balls caught in a car door.

Mark took another step forward. Close up he could see where Amy's fingernails had raked three long gouges down Jesilind's cheek.

"Well, Doctor," Mark said, "you've got two choices. You can shoot or you can give me the gun. If you give me the gun, I'll see to it that you get off Greenwood before Yerby learns what's happened here."

Mark stopped just out of arm's reach of Jesilind. He put his hands on his hips, unconsciously mimicking the stance Yerby used to face down opposition. He continued, "If you shoot, well, I don't give long odds that I'll survive. But I've got a lot better chance than you do."

Jesilind swallowed. His face was blotchy white except for the scratches. He sidled against the far railing and put the pistol in his pocket. Mark stepped onto the deck, walked to Jesilind, and took the weapon from the pocket. Jesilind didn't resist.

Amy opened the cabin door. "Stay clear, Amy!" Mark warned.

Instead of speaking, Amy went to the junction box on the outer bulkhead. She began to reco

"This is all a mistake," Jesilind said. His voice quavered. He was sweating furiously.

"Yes, I rather think it was," Mark said. His whole body trembled with reaction. More hormones were racing in his bloodstream than even after the fight in the caravansary.

He cleared his throat. "Doctor," he said, "you'll take my flyer to Wanker's Doodle and board whichever ship there is going to take off soonest."

Mark looked up at the sky. "I doubt you'll be able to make it tonight," he continued, "but I strongly advise you to get as far as you can. I'll have your goods shipped after you if you're willing to leave a destination. I doubt Yerby will come searching for you when you've left Greenwood, but that's a decision you're going to have to make for yourself."

Amy walked to Mark's side. She stepped very carefully around the edge of the deck so that she wouldn't come between the two men.

"That gun doesn't really work," Jesilind said. He tried to wipe his face with a handkerchief. He dropped the square of cloth but didn't notice it. He mopped his forehead with his bare hand.

"Doesn't it?" Mark said. He looked at the weapon, wondering if Jesilind had threatened Amy with it also. "Well, that doesn't matter."

He turned and hurled the pistol as hard as he could into the waterfall's spray. It clinked on the rocks somewhere beyond.

"I fear that you've both misunderstood me," Jesilind said, desperately trying to smile.

"Well, that's a pity, Doctor," Mark said as he stepped forward. "But I really wouldn't want you to misunderstand me."

He punched Jesilind in the pit of the stomach. Jesilind doubled up. He must not have had anything to eat that day, because all that sprayed from his mouth was a little bile.

"Amy," whispered Mark. He sagged against the railing. "Would you mind dragging this fellow onto the ground so that we can get out of here? I don't feel strong enough just now."