Battlefield Earth

Not "Snit" but "Stni." He checked for the “X.” That was there all right. Well, to crap with it. He'd enter the error on the record. One good false name deserved another. The ex-agent was good and dead. That's all that mattered.

The lifts were dumping the coffins any which way on the platform. Terl watched, a bit apprehensive at the rough handling. But none landed upside-down.

Nine of the coffins were lying out there now. The lift superintendent stopped his machine beside Terl to let him check off number ten, the last one he was carrying.

“These coffins seem awful heavy,” commented the superintendent.

Terl looked up, masking any alarm. They were only about a hundred pounds overweight, not enough to notice and certainly not enough to make much difference to a lift machine. The coffins should weigh about seventeen hundred each, even with those lids.

“Your power cartridge is probably half-discharged," said Terl.

“Maybe,” said the superintendent. The coffins seemed like three thousand pounds. But he rolled the machine and dumped the tenth one on the platform.

The perso

“You'll have to change that list,” said the driver. “Char is supposed to be on it. He was scheduled to go home today and all of us in perso

“Which is his baggage?” asked Terl. The driver pointed to a separate pile and Terl swept it off the truck with one sweep of his arm.

“We looked everywhere,” said the driver. “Shouldn't we hold up the firing?”

“You know you can't do that,” said Terl quickly. “Did you look in the beds of the female admin people?”

The driver let out a guffaw. “I guess we should have done that. That was some party last night.”

“We'll fire him off in six months,” said Terl and wrote, “Fires later,” on the document after Char's name and signed it.

The perso

Terl glanced at his watch. One hour and eleven minutes. Two more minutes to go.

“Coordinates holding on second stage!” came from the bullhorn over the operations dome. The white light was flashing.

Terl walked back closer to the morgue. That blasted horse was poking around the door. Terl made shooing motions with his paws. The horse moved off a few steps and began to graze again.

It was a relief to see those coffins out there. Terl stood gazing upon them fondly. About one minute to go.

Then his hair seemed to stand on end. From within the morgue, the empty deserted morgue, came a voice!

Chapter 3

When the last coffin had gone out the open door, Jo

The recorder started to play. It was a recording of Terl’s own voice. It said, "Jayed, you silly crunch, what a crap lousy I.B.I. agent you were.”

It was playing loudly enough to be heard outside.

The shadow of Terl contracted, turning.

The recorder said, “It ain't smart, Jayed, to come in here worrying your betters....”

Terl lunged through the door, slamming it shut with a frantic hand. He raised his boot to stamp the recorder into oblivion.

Jo

With his other hand, even as Terl fell forward, Jo

A horn was going outside. “Coordinates holding on first stage. Motors off!"

Jo

The bullhorn bawled, “Stand clear!” The wires had begun to hum.

Jo

He flashed out the door and twisted the lock closed behind him. In these two minutes, nobody would fire a gun since it might hit wires or mess up coordinate settings.

He took in the scene. Windsplitter was only three paces away from where he was supposed to be. Jo

In a flying blur they raced to the platform!

The humming was intensifying. Anything that stayed on that platform was going to go to Psychlo where you couldn't even breathe the atmosphere. And a very messy arrival this would be if all went well.

Windsplitter's hoofs hit the metal of the platform and he reared to a stop as Jo

His fingers sought a little round ring that imperceptibly stood out, just under the lid at the top end. He pulled it and a strip came away in his hand. One!

Second coffin. Ring found. Pull. Strip in hand. Two!

The third coffin. Ring. Strip. Three!

A hysterical Psycho voice came on the bullhorn. “Clear the platform! Clear the platform!”

The small group of Psychlos beyond the coffins woke up to something strange going on. They stared. One of the executives, hungover from the party, raised his arm to point.

Fourth, fifth, and sixth rings!

In these coffins were ten “planet buster” nuclear missile bombs, forbidden by treaties because they could crack the planet's crust and spray the world with fallout. Packed around them were the “dirtiest” early, radioactive atomic bombs, outlawed because of their extreme pollution potential.

The seventh ring was bent. Jo

“Grab him!” screamed the executive on the platform.

The five Psychlos moved to attack.

Jo

Jo

He got back to number seven. He untwisted it and got it out.

He grabbed number eight and pulled it.

There was a suicide squad of Scots in the bushes, standing by in case at the last moment Jo

Jo

Nine strips in hand!

The two remaining Psychlos had been further away but they were coming now.

“Strike!” shouted Jo

The horse reared and struck the nearest Psychlo.

The last monster on the platform reached to grab Jo

Ten!

Jo

The reaching talons tore his sleeve. He struck again.