Battlefield Earth Part 82

"Just as soon as he can rebuild the apparatus you feloniously and maliciously destroyed, Tyler!"

"And he's taking the money with him?"

"Of course! He has to turn it in to his company. He is an honest man!"

"Psychlo," corrected Jonnie.

"Psychlo," corrected Brown Limper, and then instantly became furious with himself for permitting this judicial proceeding to a.s.sume other than a judicial tone.

"So therefore," said Brown Limper, reading, "and as stated nothwithstanding, in accordance with the legal tribal rights of the said Jonnie Goodboy Tyler, he is hereby placed under house arrest in his own home in the meadow and is herewith and hereby not to quit said home and said vicinity until hailed before a World Court, duly to be const.i.tuted under the authority of the Council, said Council being duly elected and invested with the total authority of total government of Earth. Hey man!" He had thought the last religious note gave it style and he now sat proudly on the bench. "So unless the prisoner has some last request..."

Jonnie had been thinking hard and quickly. He had never before paid much attention to Brown Limper, and such malice, falsehood, and evil was a little surprising. There was a fueled battle plane in the hangar at the compound.

"Yes," said Jonnie. "There is a request. If I am going to the meadow, I would like to pick up my horses first."

"Those and your house are all the property you own now, so it is only fit that you do so. Out of courtesy and feelings for the rights of the prisoner, and possibly even out of a fatherly feeling for him as his own Mayor, I grant request so long as you go at once from there straight to the village in the meadow and into your house!"

Jonnie looked at him with contempt and strode from the room.

Brown Limper, eyes overbright, watched him go. That would be the end of Tyler! He let out a shuddering sigh. What a relief all this was! And how long sought? Twenty years. No, this was not revenge. He had to do it. Duty demanded it! The peoples of Earth would now be wholly in good hands-his, Brown Limper's. He would do his very best for them, as he was doing now. Despite the toil it cost him.

Chapter 6.

The incident that would later become known as "The Murder of Bittie MacLeod," which would bring the planet toward war, cost many men their lives, and later become the subject of ballads, romances and legend, began at noon that day with Bittie's unfortunate spotting of Jonnie in the capital area of Denver.

When the head of the Russian contingent had been given orders in Africa to close the American underground base, it was very plain to the Russians that neither they nor Jonnie would thereafter be resident in America, which brought up the subject of horses. Horses were wealth to the Russians; they had developed a small herd of their own in America and they were not going to abandon them.

Bittie MacLeod considered himself responsible for Jonnie's horses. He informed Colonel Ivan in no uncertain terms that he must go along with them to bring back Jonnie's horses. When objections were raised, he doggedly countered them: he was with the Russians and he would be safe; the horses knew him; Windsplitter, Dancer, Old Pork, and Blodgett would be frightened on the long plane ride unless they had somebody soothing them they knew they could trust. After hours of this, Colonel Ivan gave in.

The Russians, just before dawn of that day, had thoroughly closed the American underground base as well as the nuclear missile store. If anyone tried to get into them now who didn't know the way or have the keys, they would be blown to bits. Planes had been arranged for the return, any material they were taking back abroad was already loaded, and before dawn that day they had left the base in a small convoy of trucks and cars to do their last job: pick up the horses from the plains.

The way from the base led through the ancient ruins of Denver and few of the Russians had ever been there. Further, recently they had begun to get paid. They were going home and they had sisters and wives and sweethearts, mothers and friends.

A few tiny stores had opened lately in Denver, the proprietors from other places, the customers the people of the world making pilgrimages to the minesite. The goods were salvaged and repaired items from the ruins of sprawling cities and even some new products of native tribes. Dresses, shoes, cloth, jewelry, utensils, souvenirs, and relics were the main stocks in trade. The stores were few and widely scattered.

The Russians decided that since they were many hours early for their departure time that evening from the Academy field, and since they did not favor sitting around in the gra.s.s waiting, they would spend a little shopping time in Denver.

They had parked their vehicles near the capital for there was much s.p.a.ce there, and its dome could be seen from all around as a landmark and gotten back to easily. They had scattered out, each on his own errands.

Bittie had been given a special guard, a strong, tough Russian who was a special friend of Bittie's named Dmitri Tomlov, and Dmitri had been charged by Colonel Ivan to stay close to Bittie and not be careless and to carry his a.s.sault rifle and magazine pouch wherever he went. So it seemed all right.

Bittie and his guardian had found a little jewelry and trinket shop that had been opened by an old Swiss couple and their son. The old Swiss had found and repaired an engraving machine; he was also clever with repairing items found in ancient wrecked stores- where and when they had been overlooked by metal-hungry Psychlos.

The son was in a back room of the shop recovering from trying to defend the store from being robbed by the Brigantes-it seemed the Brigantes would go around telling everyone they were "police" and they carried clubs and would pick up anything that took their fancy and put it in their pockets. The Council, when approached by the few people now in Denver, had admitted that yes, the Brigantes were "police," and that law and order was vital and that it was a felony to resist "police." n.o.body really knew what "police" meant as a word, but they had come to realize it was something very bad. So the old Swiss had decided to move away and a lot of his items were for sale at very low prices.

The wife was waiting on Dmitri. He had lots of relatives. But his first purchase was a little silver-headed riding crop for Bittie. Although Bittie would have been aghast at the idea of hitting a horse, the crop looked very nice. It was about two feet long, about the length of a Brigante bow although no one noticed this at the time.

Despite all these very low prices, Bittie was having a rough time. He wanted something special for Pattie. He thought he would be seeing her shortly. He looked and looked, helped by the old man. Also Bittie did not have very much money with him: his pay was only two credits a week whereas a soldier's was a credit a day. Pay had not been going on very long so Bittie only had four credits and the better items were as much as ten. Bittie's problems were also complicated by the limited command of English on the part of the Swiss people, who spoke a combination of German and French. The Russian was no help- he had practically no English and n.o.body spoke Russian there, including Bittie. But they were making out with signs and count marks on sc.r.a.ps of wrapping paper and raised eyebrows and pointing fingers.

At last Bittie found it! It was a real gold-plated locket in the shape of a heart. It had a red rose, still bright red, inset on it. It opened and you could put pictures inside and it had had its hinge nicely repaired and it had a thin chain. Also it had enough s.p.a.ce on the back to engrave something, and yes, the old Swiss would be happy to engrave it. With one credit for the engraving, it all came to six credits. It was the very thing. But six credits! He only had four.

Well, the old Swiss was selling out, and when he saw the disappointment on Bittie's face, he relented and let him have it, with a box thrown in, all engraved, repolished and ready to go.

When given a card to put the message on so it could be copied, Bittie fell into more difficulty. What was he going to put on the back of the locket? Jonnie and others had told him that he and Pattie were far too young to get married and that was true. So he couldn't put "To my future wife" really, for people might smile and this was no smiling matter. He didn't want to simply put "To Pattie Love Bittie" as the old Swiss seemed to be suggesting. The Russian was no help at all. Then he had it! "To Pattie my ladye faire, Bittie." The old Swiss then said that was too long to fit on the back. So he had to come back, after all, to "To Pattie, my future wife." The old Swiss counted that up and said he could fit that in. It wasn't too satisfactory and people might laugh, but he couldn't do any better and the old Swiss set up his engraving machine and had at it.

All this was taking time and Bittie was getting edgy. He might miss the Russians, and after all Jonnie's horses were his job as squire and that's why he had come over to America. He hopped from one foot to the other and pushed at them all to hurry. The Swiss finally finished and put the locket in a nice box and wrapped it in some old paper, and the Russian finally got all the things he wanted and they paid it all up and went rushing out to get back to the trucks.

It was a cold day. There had been a frost and dead leaves were blowing about. A storm was rumbling over the mountains. It all seemed to tell Bittie to hurry.

But when they got back to the trucks, the position of the sun, seen through scudding cloud, said it was only noon. There were no Russians returned.

The guard got into the driver's seat of their cab and began to sort out the presents he had bought. Bittie, almost engulfed by the huge Psychlo pa.s.senger seat, closed the window against the chill wind and dead flying leaves and sat there impatiently twiddling his new riding crop and looking out the window, his eyes just above the level of the bottom, keeping watch for the rest of the Russians.

From where he sat he could see a side entrance to the capital building. There was a big executive ground car sitting there with blacked-out windows.

Suddenly he saw Sir Jonnie! There he was, dressed as usual in buckskin, unmistakable. He walked out of the side entrance of the capital. The door of the executive ground car was swung open from inside and Jonnie got into it.

Bittie scrambled to get down the window and shout. He got it open partway. He couldn't get it all the way down.

Then somebody else came out of the capital, somebody dressed like a cadet. A plaster cast around his neck. This second person stopped and called back into the capital stairway where somebody must have asked a question.

The man in cadet clothes yelled back, "He's just going down to the compound first to pick up his horses." Then he too got into the ground car and it started up.

Bittie was wild! He hadn't been able to get the window down and call to Sir Jonnie. Get the horses! That was why he was here, what he'd come all the way to America to do!

He tried to get his guard to just start up the truck and follow. But Bittie's command of Russian was not up to it. Gestures and motions and repeating the sense of what he was saying got no place. This Russian was not about to go after that executive ground car. He was here to wait for the rest of the contingent.

But Bittie got him out of the cab and they went sprinting around looking for the rest of the Russians. Minutes went by and they couldn't find them. This ruined city was too big, too spread out, too filled with rubble.

Suddenly they spotted one Russian. He was walking along the edge of a park by himself, eating some nuts he had bought. He was a man named Amir, and he had no reputation for being quick in the wits, although he was a nice fellow.

Bittie reeled off the situation to him, using gestures and a Russian word he did know, "Skahryehyee!" meaning "Hurry up!" and trying to get the man to understand he was to find the others and tell them to come along right away.

He was not at all sure the man got it for he looked blank, but the action was enough to convince Dmitri that it was now all right to follow the ground car so they got back to the truck and the Russian started it up, and they went roaring out of the city to catch up to the vehicle Bittie had seen Jonnie enter.

Chapter 7.

Lars Th.o.r.enson had taken every precaution. He had gone over it very carefully. If there was no public display of arms and guards, while making sure that this Tyler was thoroughly covered at all times by adequate weaponry, then no alert would go out and no misguided friends of this felon would come pouring around to rescue him.

Lars had left guards in the car, had let no other Brigantes appear on the streets or openly in corridors, had sent word to the commando now posted at the compound to keep out of sight but ready and not to shoot unless attacked.

He had a little surprise for this Tyler at the compound, but all should go smoothly and well. He thought even Hitler would have approved of the tactical skills Lars was displaying.

They would pick up the horses, drive up through the pa.s.s to the meadow, order this Tyler to go into his own house, and that would be that. The scourge and menace to the stability of the state would be ended. Thoroughly and with no blame at all to the Council.

The day had gone gray. The sun was more and more overcast. The wind was picking up and billows of dust and clouds of dead gra.s.s were running before the approaching storm.

Lars' driving was not all that good to begin with and gusts were buffeting the ground car, swerving it from already badly chosen courses. He was not driving fast.

Jonnie was considering his chances. He had no idea they intended to let him out of this alive for all their smooth a.s.surances. What point of that plaster cast, if hit, would finished the job of breaking this traitor's neck? How familiar were these two evil-smelling Brigantes with a Thompson submachine gun?

The weapon, deadly though it was, had been obsolete for a century at the time of the Psychlo attack. It fired pistol ammunition that was too heavy for a hand-held automatic weapon and caused it to kick upward furiously so that you had to hold the muzzle down with great force. These weapons they had were not equipped with "Cutts Compensators" that used some of the muzzle blast to help hold down the upward kick. They were loaded with sixty-shot drums and the springs of those drums were often weak and failed to feed. A certain percentage of the very ancient ammunition failed to fire and one had to know the trick of rec.o.c.king rapidly to keep the gun shooting on automatic. Jonnie knew these things for he had fired a lot of practice rounds with them when Angus had first dug them out of the old camion where they had lain through the ages, protected by heavy grease and airtight ammunition packaging. But did the Brigantes? Probably they had fired a few rounds with them, the first firing of powder missile weapons they had ever done in their lives. The improbable and rapidly discarded ploy had occurred to him to talk to them about the weapon and then take one to explain a fine point and blow their foul matted heads off.

Unless he thought of something, this was going to be his last ride. It was in Lars' manner. It was in the looks the Brigantes gave him. They were very, very confident.

The compound appeared in the distance ahead of them. There was some stock scattered about in the plains. Lars narrowly avoided a group of buffalo, dodged a scrub tree, nearly dumped them in a gully, jolted them over some boulders anyone who could drive would have avoided, and finally halted about a hundred feet short of the beginning of the rise that ended in the plateau near the cage.

It was not as close to the compound as Jonnie had expected them to stop. And then he saw the reason for it. The ground, aside from some boulders, was open, and a man trying to run away could be cut down.

There were his horses, three of them standing with their heads away from the wind. Where was Dancer? Then he saw her. She was up on the plateau and she seemed to be wearing a lead rope, not too unusual. She wasn't facing away from the wind. What was that? Ah, her lead rope was caught in some rocks. Just beyond her was a large boulder, and beyond that the compound itself offered numerous points of cover for a marksman as they had learned to their concern in the old battle here. Jonnie looked at it through the windscreen. What was this, some kind of ambush or trap? Where one expected some cadet sentries, there wasn't a soul in sight. Now Lars chose his moment to spring his little compound surprise. He had read in the works of Hitler- or was it Terl?-'If you want someone to remain inactive, crush their hope. Then guide false hope into a new channel where you can finish them off!" It was an extremely wise military maxim.

Lars, lolling easily now over the console, said, "You know that battle plane, the one with the serial ending in ninety-three that was parked and refueled just inside the hangar door? I'm sure you know the one I mean. Well, it isn't there anymore. The fuel was removed from it and it was put way back in the hangar out of sight this morning."

So that was why Angus and Ker didn't stop when they left, thought Jonnie.

They saw no battle plane and thought he had flown safely away. This accounted for no one's showing up to trace him. Well, he hadn't expected any help anyway. And it was a very good thing they had not walked in on these nervous Brigantes and their submachine guns.

The traitor let him digest the surprise and then said, "But we won't be riding horses to the meadow. I will go down to the garage and get a stake truck and we can load the mounts in and I might even be persuaded to let you drive up into the mountains." He had no intention of doing that. But it was a good false hope. In fact, masterful! Hitler- or was it Terl?- would have approved. "You can get out and start collecting the horses. The two Brigantes here will keep you covered."

Lars got out and jogged off in the direction of the garage entrance on the other side of the compound.

Jonnie was pushed out with gun muzzles and he stood on the left side of the car, a Brigante on either side of him with their guns on him and fingers on the trigger. He was studying the apparently unpeopled compound. Was this the a.s.sa.s.sination area?

Chapter 8.

Jonnie heard the rumble of a truck above the wind. He looked to the north. An empty truck was approaching at considerable speed, the occupants of the cab invisible to him in this light. From behind that truck to the horizon in the north it was only empty plain, no other vehicles.

He heard another rumble. A plane? He spotted it in the east, approaching slowly just below the overcast. Only a slow-flying drone scanning for its endless millions of pictures.

Well, no real help was coming from those directions. He was on his own. The truck, now quite near, was probably one of theirs and part of this snare.

Jonnie looked back at the compound. He had a feeling of watchful eyes and danger there.

The two Brigante guards were on either side of him about a pace to the rear. They seemed to be watching this new truck. That they held guns was masked from the truck's view by the ground car's bulk.

The huge vehicle roared on by them on the other side of the ground car. It went a short distance up the rise toward Dancer. It stopped suddenly, banging to earth in a cloud of dust as its suspension drive cut off.

Somebody leaped down through the dust from the eight-foot height of the cab floor and began to run up the slope toward Dancer.

Jonnie couldn't believe his eyes.

It was Bittie MacLeod! He was carrying something in his hand. A crop? A switch?

"Bittie!" shouted Jonnie in alarm.

The boy's voice floated back to him, carried by the wind: "I'll get the horses, Sir Jonnie. It 's my job!" Bittie was racing up on the "Come back!" shouted Jonnie. But the throb of the drone and a rumble of thunder in the mountains drowned his voice.

The Russian had had trouble getting his truck level. It had tilted on a boulder. But now he flung open the door and shouted toward Bittie, "Bitushka! Astanovka!(Halt!)" A sudden spurt of wind and the drone muted his words. "Vazvratnay! (Return!)"

The boy ran on. He was almost to Dancer to free the lead rope.

"Lord G.o.d, Bittie, come back!" screamed Jonnie.

It was too late.

From behind a boulder, just beyond the horse, a Brigante stood up, raised his submachine gun, and fired at full burst directly into the stomach of the running boy.

Bittie was slammed back, pummeled by bullets that drove his body into the air. He crashed to earth.

The Russian was running forward, trying to unsling the a.s.sault rifle from his back, trying to get to Bittie.

Two more Brigantes rose into view in different places and three Thompsons roared. The Russian was cut to pieces.

Jonnie went berserk!

The two Brigante guards stood no chance. With one backward stride, Jonnie was behind them. He sent them slamming together like egg sh.e.l.ls.

He caught the gun of one as that Brigante went down and stamped his heel into the side of the mercenary's skull, crushing it.

He reversed the gun and battered the other Brigante with bullets from a range of three inches.

Jonnie dropped on one knee, turned the Thompson on its side so its kick would fan the bullets, and blew the two last Brigantes who had risen to bits.

He spun to find the one who had shot Bittie. That one was not in sight.