"Thank you."

Jan returned the salute in the correct manner that had been drilled into him with great precision duringhis cadet days at school, wheeled smartly about and stamped away.

As soon as he was out of sight of the airlock he turned in the opposite direction, away from the command post, and walked off between the machines and harsh lights and on into the night.

Not that he was free. He knew better than to believe that for an instant. No one was really free on Earth with its ubiquitous webs of surveillance spreading completely about the globe. The lieutenant's body would be found soon, that was certain. The man's uniform would be an a.s.set until that moment-but after it a terrible liability. And he didn't even know where on Earth he was. Probably s.p.a.ceconcent at Mojave, though he could not be sure. The military might very well have their own bases kept secret from the public. But that wasn't important, not now. The first order of business was getting off the base. There was a road of some kind off to his left, well lit with occasional vehicles going by, and he went in that direction.

From the shelter of some large crates he looked out at the brightly-lit gate. It would need more than bluff to get through this one. Perhaps he ought to try the fence, although he kiaew that there was no way through this without setting off a number of alarms. Speed. Whatever he did he had to do it fast.

"Lieutenant Lauca, come in.

He started as the voice sounded loudly inside his head. Transmitted by the bone conduction field inside the helmet. The radio, of course. Now where would the switch be? He fumbled at his belt, finding the radio controls, trying to make them out in the dark.

"Lauca, come in."

Was this the right one? It seemed to be. Only one way to find out. He pressed it and spoke.

"Yes, sir.

"That's enough. We want some remains for the press. Call your men back."

The commander's voice died away and the carrier tone vanished. The ruse worked, he had gained a few minutes-but no more. He switched the radio to broad-channel reception and listened with one ear to the corn-mands pa.s.sing back and forth. He must do something, even something desperate. And fast.

Jan ran forward to the illuminated traffic lane and waited out of sight of the guards at the exit. A car came toward him, there was someone next to the driver though, and Jan faded back out of sight. A motorcycle was close behind the car. Then nothing more. Seconds, then min-utes ticked away. There seemed to be a steady stream of traffic into the base but nothing at all going out. The radio murmured in his ear. Routine commands. No emergen-cies yet. Something, anything!

There! A flatbed truck with a heavy load lashed in back. He couldn't see inside the high cab. It was a chance he had to take.

Jan stepped out in front of the slowly moving truck and raised his hand. Standing, unmoving, as it braked to a stop. The driver leaned out of his window.

"Can I help your honor?"

"Yes. Has this vehicle been searched yet?"

"No, sir.

"Then open the other door. I'm coming up."

Jan climbed the ladder and swung in through the open door. The driver, beefy and middle-aged, roughly dressed and wearing a cloth cap, was all alone. Jan slammed the door shut, turned back to the man and drew the pistol.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Yes your honor, I know, yes I do."

The man was stammering with fear, staring wide-eyed at the muzzle of the pistol. Jan could not afford to feel sorry for him.

"Good. Then do exactly as I say. Drive through the gate as you always do. Say nothing. I shall be on the floor and will kill you if you so much as open your mouth. Do you believe that?"

"Yes, I do'. I certainly do..."

"Start driving."

The turbine whined under the hood as they started forward. They moved for awhile, they must be close, then the driver touched the brakes. Jan pushed the gun up between the driver's legs and hoped that the raw fear in the man's face could not be seen by the guards below. A voice said something indistinct and the driver took a sheaf of papers from the door pocket and pa.s.sed them down. And waited. Jan could see the sweat streaming down his face to drip from his double chin. He did not move the gun.

The papers were handed back and the driver let them drop from his fingers to the floor as he kicked the truck into gear and rolled it forward. They drove for less than a minute before a loud voice sounded in Jan's ears, overrid-mg the murmurs of all the others.

"Emergency. An officer has been killed, a sub-lieutenant. His uniform is missing. All patrols, all units, check in with your commanders. All gates sealed at once."

They were just that little bit too late.

Six.

The truck was out of sight of the gate, but still on the main road, pa.s.sing now through a dark and deserted warehouse area illuminated only by wide-s.p.a.ced street lights.

"Turn at the next corner," Jan ordered. There was a good chance that pursuit might be close behind them. 'And again at the next corner. Stop."

The air brakes hissed and the truck shuddered to a halt. They were in a back street, a hundred meters from the nearest light. Perfect.

"What time is it?" Jan asked.

The driver hesitated, then glanced at his watch. "Three... in the morning He stammered.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Don't worry." He tried to rea.s.sure the frightened man; he also did not lower his gun. What time is dawn?"

'About six."

Three hours of darkness then. Not very much time. But it was all he had. Another, even more important question. "Where are we?"

"d.i.n.kstown. All warehouses. No one lives here."

"Not that. The base back there. What's its name?"

The driver gaped at Jan as though he had lost his mind, but finally answered. "Mojave, your honor. The s.p.a.ce center. In the Moj ave desert..."

"That's enough." Jan had decided on the next step. It was danger6us, but he needed transportation. And every-thing was dangerous now. Take your clothes off."

"Please, no, I don't want to be killed...!"

"Stop it! I said you wouldn't be hurt. What's your name?"

"Millard, your honor. Eddie Millard."

"Here's what I'm going to do, Eddie. I'm going to take your clothes and this truck and tie you up. I'm not going to injure you. When they find you, or you get loose, just tell them everything that happened. You won't get in any trouble..."

"No? I'm in that trouble now." There was despair as well as anger in the man's voice. "Might as well be dead. I'm out of a job, the least of it. On the welfare. Police will talk to me. Might be better off dead!"

He shouted the last words hysterically and reached over to clutch at Jan in the seat next to him. He was very strong. Jan had no recourse. The gun caught the driver in the forehead, then a second time when he still kept struggling. Eddie Millard Sighed deeply and slumped, unconscious. What he had said was true, Jan realized as he struggled to strip off the man's clothes. One more victim. Are we all victims? There wasn't enough time now to think about things like that.

As he pushed the heavy man from the cab, lower'~ing him as best he could to the roadway, Jan began to shake. Too much had happened, too quickly. He had murdered too many men. It was a brutal galaxy and he was turning into another one of the brutes. No! He wouldn't accept that. The means never justified the ends-but he had been fighting solely in self-defense. From the time he had sacrificed his comfortable position here on Earth, there had been no turning back. When he had discovered that he had been one of the captors in a police state he had made a decision. Personally, he had lost a lot. But there were others who believed as he did-and the galaxy-wide rebellion had been the result. It was war now, and he was a soldier. For the moment it had to be just that simple. Recriminations would come after victory. And the revolu-tionaries would triumph, had to triumph. He dared con-sider no other outcome.

Eddie Millard's clothes stank of old sweat, were big as a tent wrapped about him. They would just have to do. The cap would conceal his new-shaven head. And there was no thought of possibly jamming the man into the stolen uniform. His stained underwear would have to suffice. There was some insulated wire behind the seat and he used this to secure the unconscious man's hands. That would do well enough. He would have to abandon the truck very soon in any case. Run, that's all he could do, just run.

The engine ground to life when he turned the key and the truck moved slowly down the narrow street.

Jan was wearing the stolen officer's helmet, there was no other way of hearing the military radio, but after a few minutes he realized that it was a waste of time. There were a few distant signals, and even these died away. The military knew that he had the stolen radio so the communication computer was changing all of the frequencies to cut him off from their radioed commands. He threw the helmet to the floor and stepped on the accelerator, slowing down only when he saw an intersection ahead with a main road.

Computerized traffic control changed the light to green as he approached, letting him merge with the sporadic traf-fic. Most of it large rigs like his. There were signs for a freeway ahead, 395 to Los Angeles, but he went right by the entrance. He would have no chance at all of getting through the police check at the outskirts of the built up area.

There were brighter lights coming up now, and a heavy semi approaching from the opposite direction cut in front of him so that he had to slow down. Good. A fuel area with parking behind it, an all-night restaurant of some kind. He turned in, going slowly, past the group of vehi-des and on toward a darkened building beyond. It was a garage. Locked now, and he could just get his rig behind it. It would do. At least it would be safe there for awhile; with a little luck it might be some hours before it was found.

What next?

Keep moving. He had Eddie Millard's identification, but that would be good only for the most casual inspec-tion. And a purse with some money in. Bank notes and a handful of change. He stuffed them into his pocket, pulling at the clothes so they didn't look obviously ill-fitting. If the proles here were anything like those back in Britain he doubted if this outfit would even be noticed. Fine. But what about the officer's unifor~? Worthless. The alarm would be out for that. But the gun and extra clips of bullets? No, he couldn't part with them. He rooted under the seat and behind it until he found a grimy sack. It would have to do. He stuffed the gun and ammunition into it, then pushed the discarded uniform and helmet out of sight behind the seat. With the gun under his arm he got out, locked the cab, then climbed down. Then threw the keys over the fence. There was little else he could do. Drawing a deep breath he started forward, walking slowly through the warm night air toward the lights of the restaurant.

Jan stood in the concealing darkness, hesitating, unsure of the next step. He was tired and thirsty-no, not tired, completely exhausted now that he thought about it. From the time when he had opened the cell door he had been on the run, in deadly danger most of the time. Adrenaline had kept him going, had m~sked the growing fatigue. He felt it now, staggering at the release of tension, lurching forward to lean against the wall of the restaurant. His eyes were on a level with the bottom of the window and he could look in. A large room, booths and tables, a counter with two men sitting at it; otherwise empty. Should he take a chance and go in? It was a risk, but everything was a risk. Some food, something to eat, a chance to sit for a few moments and get his thoughts together. He needed it. Fatigue was making him fatalistic.

He would be caught in the end-but at least when he was taken he would have a full stomach. Pushing away from the 'wall he walked to the entrance steps, up them and into the building.

During his other visits to the United State~how many years ago?-he had seen nothing like this place. Of course he had been at the best r~staurants in New York City and Detroit, so he had nothing to judge by.

The floor was concrete, stained and ancient. The men at the counter ~id not bother to look up or glance at him when he slipped into the booth nearest the door. The table and seat seemed to be made of aluminium, dented and worn with time. How did one order, by going to the counter? Or was there a selector and delivery mechanism at the table? It had a transparent top, now almost translucent with scratches, with a menu beneath it. Under DRINKS coffee was listed, but no tea. A number of strange items followed the EATS heading. The meaning of the word was obvious, but it seemed an unusual construction. He tried touching the coffee entry but this did not seem to do anything. Looking around he noticed the b.u.t.ton on the wall under a TV screen. It read RING FOR SERVICE. He put out a tentative finger and pressed it.

In the silence of the room a buzzer could be heard sounding somewhere behind the con hter. Neither of the diners moved. But a moment later a girl came arcund the counter and walked toward him. She had a slate in one hand. Personal service in a place like this! Her uniform was faded, and as stained as the ~oor, nor was she as young as she had looked at a distance. Her coa.r.s.e hair was touched with gray and she apparently was toothless; no recommendation for the quality of the food.

"What'll it be?" she asked, looking at Jan with com-plete disinterest.

"Coffee."

'Anything to eat?"

He looked back at the menu and stabbed a finger down.

"Hamburger:'

"With the works?"

He nodded, having not the slightest idea what she meant, which appeared to satisfy her because she scrawled on the slate then went away. He had never had a ham-burger in his life, had not even the slightest idea what it was. But he knew that his accent was English, and dedd-edly public school English at that. So when he read the menu that word had leaped out at him. Hamburger. An old joke when he was a boy, with his mates, a line from a long-lost American film. "Gimme a hamboygah." They said it a lot. Apparently this bit of regional accent still made sense.

One of the men at the counter put some coins down on it, their clinking drawing Jan's attention. He stood and started for the door, glancing at Jan as he went by. Had his eyes widened slightly at the same time? There was no way of telling because he pushed on out into the night. Could he have recognized Jan? How? Or was Jan just being paranoid? He moved the sack closer to him on the seat and shook the mouth open so he could reach his gun easily. Instead of worrying about every stranger he knew that he should be thinking about ways of escape.

When the food arrived some minutes later he had not even the glimmer of a plan. After the waitress had served him she looked pointedly at his clothes.

"That'll be six bucks even."

Cash on the line, dressed as he was. Jan didn't blame her. He dug out the handful of green notes and put them on the table, extracting a five and a one and pa.s.sing them Over to her. She shoved them into the pocket of her ap.r.o.n and left.

The coffee was hot and delicious, burning a wakeful track down his throat. The hamburger a different matter entirely. It appeared to be a bap of some kind with stuffing. There was no knife or fork and Jan had not the slightest idea of how to go about eating it. In the end, sure that no one was watching him, he seized it up and took a bite. It was very different from anything that he had ever tasted before, but interesting nevertheless. Buried in its heart was a layer of barely cooked mince which had a number of sauces and bits of salad spread over it. But it was immensely satisfying too. He wolfed it down. It took him only a few minutes to eat it and he was finishing the coffee when the two men came in.

Without looking around and without hesitation they slid into the booth across the table from him. Jan put the coffee cup slowly down and seized the b.u.t.t of the pistol with his other hand.

They weren't looking at him; appeared not to notice him. One of them took a coin from his pocket and reached over to put it into a slot under the table TV screen. The machine came to life with a blare of music. jan did not look at it; he drew the gun from the bag under the shelter of the table. The thin man who had inserted the coin touched the controls, changing channels until he was satisfied, then sat back. It was a sports broadcast, about a racing match of some kind.

What did it mean? jan thought. Both men were middle-aged, dressed very much the way he was. They appeared to be examining the menu, but did not press the service b.u.t.ton. As yet neither of them had caught his eye. The words of the television announcer cut suddenly through his concentration.

"...further news of the criminal rebels who attempted to seize the Alpharon. The fighting has ended and the murderers have met the fate ~hey wished for others. Quick justice at the hands of the comrades of those brave men who gave their lives for their home world..."

One glimpse of the torn, twisted and blood-drenched bodies of his friends was enough. Jan looked back at the two men. The announcer's next words froze him motionless.

"One criminal escaped. His name is Jan Kulozik and the public is warned that he is dangerous. He is wanted alive for questioning concerning details of this mutinous plot. There is a reward of twenty-five thousand dollars for anyone supplying information that might lead to his re-capture. All citizens of California and Arizona are warned to be on the lookout for this man...

Jan permitted himself one swift look at the screen. There was his face, full front and profile. Taken years ago before he was shipped from Earth, but instantly recogniz-able. When he looked back he found that the two men were now looking straight at him.

They both had their hands on the table so they were either very sure of themselves~or very stupid.

"Is all that true, what he said?" The thin man spoke for the first time. Jan did not answer so after awhile he added, "Why do they want you, Kulozik?"

Jan's answer was to bring the barrel of the gun up over the edge of the table.

"This is a standard issue .65 calibre, rifleless pistol. It fires rocket slugs that can blow a hole through a cow. I want you to stand up and walk out of here ahead of me. Now."

They obeyed instantly, sliding out of the booth and waiting for him, their backs turned. Then they went out the door with Jan following them. As he walked through after them Jan was barely aware of the figure in the darkness to one side, swinging something. He half turned and was just bringing up the gun when he was struck.

Seven.

"I can only repeat what I've told you before," Jan said.

"Then do it."

It was a different voice-but the questions were the same. Jan was bound so tightly to the hard chair that his arms and leg5 were numb; his eyes were bandaged. It seemed that he had been tied there for eternity.

"My name is Jan Kulozik. I arrived on the Alpharon. I didn't know the ship's name until I heard the broadcast. I was with a group of prisoners who escaped. I was the only one that got away. I killed an officer..."

"His name?"

"Lauca, Sub-Lieutenant Lauca. And it was not mur-der but self-defense. I've told you all this already. I took his uniform and gun, commandeered a truck driven by a man named Eddie Millard. I left the truck behind the garage before going into the restaurant where you jumped me. Now you tell me something.

Who are you? You're Security, aren't you?"