The Mines of Kuloghi: 7/11
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
XII
Mark strode past the sentries, raising a casual hand. The men returned the salutation, looking bored and hot. The sun was just past zenith now, and the air was scorching. Mark strode confidently forward into the wonderful coolness of the station.
The doors swung shut behind him and he glanced around. Man, what a maze! Not too many 'trols in sight, though. One sleepy-looking guard, drowsing in a corner, his helmet off -- hardly regulation, but isolated outposts often tended to become somewhat lax regarding discipline. Bare metal floors and a few metal chairs, a panel of electrical equipment with another bored-looking patrolman seated before it.
An alarm went off with a deafening blare. Linley's hair stood on end and he mastered the impulse to retreat precipitously. Patrolmen materialized out of every doorway and charged right past him, sprinting through a door and down a corridor beyond, to vanish around a bend. Mark took a deep breath and followed at a run.
The hallway opened out suddenly and before him was a wall of rock. A pair of sliding metal doors was set in it. They were wide open and patrolmen were boiling through them, falling over one another in their desperate haste. The doors slid shut as he approached, but not before he caught a glimpse of frightened faces and heard screams from the people in the room beyond. Two bedraggled slaves had catapulted through the doors along with the patrolmen and lay gasping beside them.
To the left side of the door was a row of lights. One of them was flashing an alarm and above it were the words: "Atmosphere Contamination". Linley's imagination supplied him with a mental image of Alan gasping his life away beyond the closed doors and he hit the switch.
The alarm continued to blare deafeningly for several more minutes, then was cut off abruptly. The patrolman from the mine were sinking to the floor, removing their helmets and wiping their sweating faces. The two slaves who had made it through the doors after their overseers were crouched on the floor, watching with wide eyes as patrolmen converged on them. One of the men who had come through the doors reached up to pull off his helmet and his elbow caught one of the slaves on the side of the head. The guard cursed and aimed a cuff at the man.
"Somebody take these characters to the pens!"
The two slaves got unsteadily to their feet and a patrolman led them away. Mark managed to get a good look at their faces. They were both Terrans, but neither of them was Alan.
"What the hell happened?" a patrolman beside Mark asked.
The man who had cuffed the slave yanked off his helmet with an exasperated motion and dragged a hand across his dripping forehead. Linley's eyes passed lightly over him and then jerked back. Black rage engulfed him.
The man was speaking disgustedly, his voice heavy with the thick accent of Linley's native world. "Damned if I know. This whole day's been one bloody thing after another. If I believed in ghosts, I'd swear there's been one flittin' around here ever since that first load o' sandcrawlers came in this mornin'."
Mark pricked up his ears. "Why?" he ventured. "What happened?"
The man snorted, pushing blond curls back from his damp forehead. "I thought everybody woulda heard the story by now. I was gettin' ready t'go on duty when the first o' the trucks came in. Like the good-hearted Joe I am, I go out t'help carry the animals in, an' what happens? One of 'em somehow got the ropes off, an' he bashed the lieutenant in the mouth an' broke his tooth. So he's in a foul mood, barkin' at everybody about everythin'. Then the blasted door gets a short in it, an' keeps closin' on my men while they're tryin' t'go after the li'l worm. And, o' course the sentries were sleepin' on the job, an' they let the bloody scum get *away*!"
"Oh, man!"
"Wouldja believe it?" The sergeant cursed fluently. "Then, not fifteen minutes ago, one o' those condemned lanterns comes off the wall an' damned near brains me -- an' now *this*!" More cuss words, followed by a colorful description of the lantern, mine and slaves. "You realize, o' course, that this means *another* damned slave raid, right on top o' everythin' else, an' I have no doubt I'll get stuck with it, since the lieutenant's still nursin' his tooth, not to mention his dignity."
"Sounds like a bad day, all right," Mark admitted thoughtfully.
"It's been hell!"
Linley glanced at the closed doors, trying to quell the urge to open them. "What was the deal with the lantern, anyway?"
"Damned thing practically jumped at me. And -- oh yes, I almost forgot the high point of my day. One o' those idiots in there found the biggest crystal I've ever seen, an' do you know the scum dropped it an' broke it? He couldn't just chip it, mind you! He busted it right in half! I came damn near killin' him, lemme tell you!" The sergeant dug in his pouch. "Now with my luck every crystal we dug up today was smashed to powder when we came through ... no, they all seem to be okay."
Mark stared down at the crystals, recognizing them instantly. "Nice."
"Yeah. Wouldja believe the same sandcrawler found 'em all?"
The sergeant held up the two broken chunks, trying to fit them back together. "Too bad we hadta sacrifice the li'l worm. He was awful good at findin' 'em, even if he managed t'bust the biggest one."
Linley swallowed. Surely he would have known if Alan had been killed. His partner hadn't linked with him since their violent contact back in the Kuloghian desert, nearly two hours ago.
"All right." The sergeant was getting to his feet. "Open her up an' we'll drag out the bodies."
All the patrolmen moved back a step as one of them touched a button on the wall. The doors slid aside.
There was a chorus of surprised exclamations and blasters leaped into hands. "All right, back! Back!"
"I'll be damned!" the sergeant muttered. "They're all alive! Now what the hell --"
Mark craned his neck to see through the doors. All the bigger slaves seemed to be in front. The sergeant strode through the opening, shocker in hand, and the slaves fell back before him. The doors clanged shut.
Linley turned and went back down the corridor. Well, he'd located Alan -- no doubt about that. The door with the short, the gas alarm, the falling lamp, and the little slave with the amazing ability at finding things. It was too much of a coincidence. Linley smiled grimly, wondering why Alan had missed with the lantern. Too bad he hadn't managed to cream the trencher. His partner must have been thinking of something else, or been too tired to aim carefully.
An idea was forming in his mind -- and the good sarge was going to help. Linley's smile became vicious. He could hardly wait.
Two patrolmen passed him, and he heard a fragment of conversation.
"Heard anything from the scouts?"
"Nah. What was all the ruckus about, anyway?"
"There was a blip on the screen this morning, and the Commander's got his hair up about it. Guy's paranoid, I think."
"Yeah, I remember. Probably nothing but a meteor."
Mark began to hurry. Once out of the building, he touched the stud on his chronometer to signal Julia. Then he nodded amiably to the sentries and headed for the rendezvous point.
Linley came over the sand dune and stopped. Julia wasn't there, nor was the scout craft. He stood uncertainly for a moment, looking about. Could he be in the wrong place?
He checked his locator. No, this was the right spot. Then where was Julia? Mark tried to quell the sudden prickling of apprehension. The conversation of the patrolmen came back to him, and he pushed it away. They had seen no sign of scouts on their way in --
Perhaps Julia was simply farther away than she had intended to go and was taking a little longer to return than anticipated. He walked over to an outcropping of rock and sat down, trying hard to believe it.
Five minutes passed. It was still afternoon and the air shimmered with the head. Sweat trickled into his eyes behind the visor.
Something hit him on the back of the neck, just below the helmet, throwing him forward off the rock. He saw stars and instinctively tried to twist about, even as he fell. A weight landed hard on his ribcage, driving the air from his lungs in a strangled grunt. His blaster was jerked from its holster. Linley blinked, and found himself staring down the muzzle of his own weapon.
"Do not move, Peassa Patroller," Dalik said, "or I blows your head off."
Mark opened his mouth but only a croak emerged. Dalik unfastened the chin strap and pulled his helmet away. "Aiyah, Mark!"
"Dalik!" Linley cleared his throat. "What the hell?"
Dalik got up, extending a hand to help him to his feet. "I's sorry, Mark! I could not tell with the helmet!"
"Where's Julia?"
Dalik was tugging at his hand. "You comes with me -- quick, please!"
Mark picked up his helmet and followed the native, his skull throbbing. "What the devil did you hit me with?"
"Issa rock."
"A boulder, more like. What happened?"
"They's Peassa Patrollers, Mark. They's everywhere." Dalik pulled him into a gully and turned to look at him with a tragic expression. "The Peassa Patrollers, they takes Julria with them in their flying ships."
"Damn! I was afraid of that! Is she hurt?"
"They shoots her with the stuns. She's a good girl, Mark. She kills two of them, and she tells me to run, to tell you. I does what she says as quick as I can."
"Damn!" Linley muttered.
Dalik looked unhappy. "I's sorry, Mark."
"Aw, hell, it ain't your fault." Linley rubbed the back of his head. His neck was going to be sore. "They took her to the station, no doubt."
Dalik nodded mutely.
"Oh hell," Mark said tiredly. "Now I've got two rescues to do."
Dalik stood silently beside him. Linley looked down at the native. "Listen, kiddo, you better get outta here while the gettin's good."
Dalik shook his head. "I cannot leave now. You saved my life, and so did Alan and Julria. I must stay. It issa blood debt."
Mark sighed. "You can't help me."
"Maybe not. But still I will stay until they are safe -- or until I know they are dead."
"All right. I don't have time to argue with you. But if you get caught, don't expect me to come after you, too."
"Okay, Mark," Dalik said.
Linley settled the helmet firmly into place, fastened its strap and retrieved his blaster. He glanced once more at Dalik, and then turned and strode back toward the station.
XIII
Julia opened her eyes and a face swam into her range of vision. A man, clad in the black and scarlet of the Viceregal Patrol. Her head ached unbearably, and she felt nauseated. Taking care not to move suddenly, she turned her eyes toward the helmet that lay on the table beside her. Four vivid red slashes were etched in the silver dome. She was in the presence of the Base Commander.
"Well, Miss Austell." His voice was cool, dry and faintly amused. "This is a pleasant surprise."
I'll bet, Julia thought. She said nothing.
"May I ask what you're doing here, Miss Austell?"
Julia closed her eyes, fighting back another wave of nausea. Now she knew how poor Dannar had felt after she had used the stunner on him. If she ever saw him again, she would apologize abjectly to him.
"Miss Austell ..."
She turned her head away. "Oh please, leave me alone!"
He reached down and caught her arm, pulling her into a sitting position. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. There are some things I must know."
"Can't it wait?" she whispered dismally.
"I'm afraid not." His voice was still quite courteous. "I ask you again, what are you doing here?"
"Right now," Julia said, with as much dignity as she could muster, "I'm getting ready to throw up. Please, go away."
The Commander's expression darkened. "What are you doing on Kuloghi, Miss Austell? Why were you sent here?"
Julia sank her face into her hands. "Please, Commander, I feel awfully sick. I'm asking you as a lady to an officer and, I hope, a gentleman, to leave me alone."
"I may be an officer and a gentleman, Miss Austell, but you are not a lady. You are a murderess. You killed two Jilectans fourteen months ago on Riskell.
Julia looked up to meet his eyes and swallowed, making her voice as steady as she could. "Even a lady will kill in self defense. I know it doesn't matter to the Jilectans, but you're a Terran. Can you stand there and tell me honestly that, cornered as I was, fighting for my life, you wouldn't have done the same?"
There was a moment of silence. "You haven't answered me," he said finally. "What are you doing on Kuloghi?"
"Collecting rocks," Julia said. She put her head into her hands.
There was a long pause. "Indeed?" The Commander's voice had grown sharp. "What kind of rocks?"
Julia looked up at him quickly, aware all at once that she had touched a nerve.
"What kind of rocks, Miss Austell?"
Julia was silent.
"I see," the officer said, finally. "You won't talk. You're afraid you've already said too much. Well, we shall soon know. M'lord Ganthzar has been notified of your presence, and will be here within a few hours. I'm sure he'll be able to extract the information he needs without resorting to any of the rather crude methods at present available to me."
The breath caught in Julia's throat, even though she had expected it. Of course they would notify the Jilectans of her capture. Disregarding her connection with the Terran Underground, their honor wouldn't be satisfied until they had executed her for the deaths of their kinsmen, regardless of her reasons for the killings. She knew the Commander was watching her and looked up miserably into his face.
"I might have known you'd notify Big Daddy of the good news as soon as you could," she said. "May I ask how long it will be?"
The Commander looked at her without answering, and then turned to one of the patrolmen guarding the door. "I want the security doubled. She's got a confederate or two around somewhere." He looked back at Julia. "Isn't that right, Miss Austell?"
Julia remained silent.
"My men tell me you were accompanied by a native when they caught you. Is it true?"
"Yes."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know," Julia said. "I told him to run, and he did."
The Commander smiled thinly. "To take the news of your capture to your confederate, no doubt?"
Julia smiled back at him. "The little fellow couldn't speak Basic very well. All I got out of him was that he'd managed to break someone's tooth this morning. I *do* hope it was yours."
"I have two patrolmen missing," the Commander said. "They were chasing the native. Do you know what became of them?"
She shook her head, rubbing a hand across her eyes. The Commander stared at her a moment longer and then turned and went out. The patrolmen at the door followed him and the door clanged shut.
Julia sat still, resting her face in her hands, but her mind was busy. What had she said? Collecting rocks? What *were* they mining here?
After a moment, she lay down on the narrow cot and closed her eyes, hoping the stunner-induced headache would abate soon. Mark would know something was wrong, even if Dalik hadn't made it back to the rendezvous point. He would figure it out, and if anyone could find a way to rescue her, he would.
XIV
Mark Linley entered the station again, hoping that his abrupt comings and goings would remain unnoticed by the bored sentries. He paused inside the doorway and then strolled leisurely toward the mine. Julia had been taken, and it wouldn't be long before some bright boy figured out that she must have a confederate around somewhere and put the station on alert. Therefore, he needed to establish an identity for himself -- and fast. Linley knew just where he could find what he needed.
The sergeant from the mine was of the same general height, build and coloring as Mark and the helmet would cover the discrepancies, as long as he didn't draw attention to himself. The fact that he was the same man who had beaten Alan didn't diminish his appeal, either. Mark grinned savagely and began to consider ways and means of assault.
The slaves were being herded out of the mine, flanked by their overseers, as he approached. Linley stood to one side as they passed him, trying to spot his partner in the emerging throng. There were many slaves that were about Alan's size and build, but he dared not show too much interest. They stumbled along, their gait that of weary, beaten men. Mark sighed.
The sergeant was the last out and, as he closed the mine doors behind him, he pulled off his helmet, wiping sweat from his eyes. He followed the mass of slaves with an air of impatience. Linley fell in behind him, staring at him with undiluted hatred.
One of the slaves stumbled as they proceeded and fell forward. He lay still a moment and Linley saw the sergeant aim a kick at the man. "Get up, scum!"
The slave lurched to his feet and staggered on.
They passed a mass of slaves being driven toward the mine -- evidently the second shift. Mark followed the first group at a discreet distance, eyes on his victim. The patrolmen herded the slaves into the pens. One of them shoved a cart, piled high with dry food concentrates, after the weary prisoners and closed the doors. The guards turned away with the air of men whose work is finished for the day. Linley strolled along behind, knowing where they would head.
He wasn't wrong. They headed directly for the bathrooms, and luck was with him, for his intended victim paused at the entrance of the barracks to engage another man in conversation. His companions continued on without him.
Linley stopped at the water cooler and filled a cup, listening to the dialogue of the men as he did so.
"This has been one helluva day. I swear that damn mine is haunted."
The other man laughed. "The alarm sure scared the pants off everybody in the office. And did you hear? There wasn't any gas in the mine. The analyzers didn't turn up a thing."
"That's about the only thing that hasn't gone wrong today. At least we won't hafta raid for slaves for a while. I'da got picked for the party sure. Damn that lousy mine! It's hotter'n hell in there. I hate the thought o' goin' back tomorrow."
Don't worry about it, friend, Mark thought.
"I'll bet. The other patrolman was speaking. "I heard about the lantern attacking you, by the way. What happened?"
"Yeah." The sergeant wiped his handsome face with the back of his hand. "Had it checked out. It was busted, o' course, but the handle was okay. It couldn'ta just fallen like that, but it did. And the way it came right at me -- kinda flew at me like a bird or somethin'. Gave me the willies."
Mark grinned to himself. Good for Alan, he thought. Don't worry, little pal. I'm gonna fix this trencher for you once and for all.
The sergeant was continuing. "How's the lieutenant, by the way?"
"Mad as hell. He won't let us forget that somebody muffed it last night. By the way, did you hear the big news?"
"Nah. I've been in that damned sauna all day."
"We picked up Julia Austell wandering around outside the station." The man grinned at the sergeant's expression.
"No kiddin'? The Giant Killer, herself?"
"Yep."
"What the devil's she doin' here?"
"That's what the Old Man would like to know. She won't talk, of course." The man grinned again. "I saw her when they brought her in. She'd been stunned and was out cold." He pursed his lips and the sergeant grinned too.
"Nice?"
"*Very* nice." The patrolman made motions with his hands. "Of course, the Commander's got her under hatches now and won't let anyone look at her. He's tickled pink."
"Yeah, an' I know why. She's his ticket off this rock."
"You got it. We've just been put on alert, though. He figures she's got an accomplice around somewhere. Looks like that damned Underground's getting its dander up again."
The sergeant sighed. "It figures. Goes along with the rest o' the day. The way things are goin', we'll probably have an armed revolution by mornin'."
The other patrolman laughed.
The overseer wiped his face. "Man, I've had it. Damn mine's like a steam bath. That shower's gonna feel good. See ya, Fish."
The men parted. Mark finished his cup of water and entered the barracks after the sergeant.
The room was empty, except for two snoring patrolmen and some odd pieces of gear lying around. Linley reflected that if these had been his men and he'd held a flash inspection, the room would never have passed muster. He hoped the men would keep right on sleeping for a while. He didn't want it noticed that two men were going to enter the noncom's bathroom but only one was going to come out.
Mark crossed the room after his victim. He passed the patrolmen's bathroom and could hear the sound of water rushing full blast, the voices of the men barely audible above the noise. He headed down the aisle after the sergeant.
The door to the noncom's bathroom closed after the man, and Linley started to follow him. He had a bad moment when the door opened under his reaching hand and two more men, with towels wrapped around their waists, emerged. Mark went casually by them, feeling the muscles between his shoulders tense involuntarily, but neither glanced at him. The water was running and he went quietly through the bathroom toward the showers.
He entered the small anteroom in time to see his intended victim vanish into the shower room. Water went off as he listened and a moment later a man emerged, taking a towel from a peg and beginning to dry his face. He passed Mark without a second look. Linley glanced around.
The sergeant's uniform lay crumpled on the floor and no other clothing was in sight. Apparently the man was alone in the room. Mark was going to have to move fast, but he wasn't likely to have another chance. With the new shift just started, the traffic through the showers was as sparse as it would ever be and Linley knew he wasn't likely to find a more private spot in the entire station where the sergeant might go. He sat down and started to strip off his uniform, hoping fervently that no one would come in before he finished.
Sneaking a quick look around the door, Mark saw that the sergeant was in a shower in the far corner, his head under the blast of the water. Quietly, he took the blaster from his holster, flipping the weapon to 'stun'. He would have to get fairly close to the man, within five meters at the very least for the stunner beam to be completely effective, but that should be no problem.
He went softly across the wet floor, the blaster gripped in his hand, pausing to turn on a couple of showers full force as he did so. Stunner fire was quiet but not completely silent, and Mark trusted that the running water would cover the soft, reverberating hum from anyone who might be awake in the barracks.
The sergeant wasn't paying attention, and Mark was almost in range. He took a last step forward, beginning to bring up his weapon.
He didn't see the cake of soap lying on the shower room floor. He discovered it quickly, however, when his foot came down on it, and he skidded ungracefully, going painfully to one knee. The blaster was jarred from his grasp and went skittering across the tiles. He had a split second's impression of the man turning around, his mouth open in surprise, before he charged forward, slamming the sergeant against the wall.
The man's exclamation was cut off as Linley's shoulder rammed him in the solar plexus. They went down in a clawing, grasping tangle, and Mark grunted as an elbow caught him in the eye. They rolled across the floor, Linley striving to get a stranglehold on his opponent. The man was strong and apparently well versed in hand-to-hand combat. Mark's head cracked against the tiles, and he saw stars.
He got a knee into the sergeant's stomach and heaved, hoping desperately that no one would hear the muffled crashes and thumps of the battle over the rushing water. The sergeant rolled sideways and they came to their feet simultaneously, a scant meter apart, Mark's back to the door. The man's eyes widened in sudden recognition, and his mouth opened to yell.
Linley lashed out with a foot, catching his opponent in the stomach. As the sergeant doubled forward, Mark caught his head and broke the man's neck with one quick motion. The sergeant crumpled to the tiles at his feet.
Quickly, Linley knelt down and caught him by the shoulders, dragging the slack body into the anteroom. He leaned against the wall for several seconds, gasping for breath. The sergeant had been a tough one, quite as large and strong as Mark, himself. Linley looked down at the handsome face and golden hair of his erstwhile opponent. His eye throbbed, and there was a swelling lump on the back of his head, but he was filled with a deep sense of satisfaction.
He jumped convulsively at the sound of a door opening. Footsteps crossed the bathroom, and there was a click as the latrine door closed. Mark moved.
The sergeant's body was heavy, a flaccid weight, wet and slippery from the showers. Mark got him to his shoulders somehow and peered into the bathroom. No one was in sight. He half ran across the floor, pulled open the laundry chute and heaved the sergeant through, letting his body drop. He was two steps from the chute when the latrine door opened and a patrolman emerged. He surveyed Linley's nude form without surprise.
"Hi," Mark said. "Somebody swiped my towel."
The man casually tossed him his own. "Get me another, will you?"
"Sure." Mark wrapped the towel around his waist. "Thanks."
He retraced his steps to the anteroom to collect his clothing. The accommodating patrolman entered after him, unsealing his uniform as he did so.
"Hope it's good and cold," he remarked conversationally. "I've been looking forward to this for hours."
"Know whatcha mean," Mark agreed. "Made me feel like a new man. Hellish climate."
"You said it." The other patrolman went into the shower room. "Hey, somebody left three showers running in here."
"Oh damn!" Mark was putting on his uniform. "They were runnin' when I came in. I meant to turn 'em off, but I forgot. Sorry."
"I got 'em." The excess showers went off. "What the hell?"
"What?" Mark was putting on his boots.
"There's a blaster lying on the floor in here!"
"No kiddin'? Better get it outta there. The water'll ruin it."
"Here you go." The blaster came sliding across the wet tiles toward the anteroom door. Mark picked it up and placed it on the bench.
"Wonder who the flake was that took his blaster into the shower," he remarked.
"There's a weirdo in every group."
"Yeah." Linley was going through the sergeant's belt pouches, cramming the contents into the pouches of his own belt. He removed the nameplate and cap insignia that identified the man as a crewmaster -- translated, he thought dryly, a slave driver -- from the other helmet and attached it to the front of his own. Then he gathered up belt, uniform and boots, wrapping them in the sergeant's towel, which lay under his helmet. Tucking the bundle beneath his arm, Mark picked up the headgear and retreated to the bathroom. It was still empty, and he pitched the clothing into the laundry chute, following it with the helmet. He paused then, taking a deep, satisfied breath, and went into the barracks. A towel was sticking out of one of the lockers next to a bunk. Unhesitatingly, Linley appropriated it. Going back to the anteroom, he hung it tidily over a peg.
"Thanks," the man in the shower called out.
"Don't mention it." Mark turned and strolled casually out into the barracks, feeling good.
Little had changed. The two men still slumbered peacefully on their bunks, unaware that anything out of the ordinary had occurred. Another was snoring lustily on a bunk in the corner. Mark went past them and out into the main building again, thumbs hooked in his belt and swaggering a little.
Better check the duty roster next, he decided, and find out who he was. His identification card informed him that he was one Sergeant Burl Edgebastion. Mark grimaced at the name, trying to pronounce it in his mind. He hoped he had it right. Just his luck to pick a tongue twister for an alias.
The duty roster was posted on the main bulletin board. Sergeant Edgebastion wasn't scheduled for duty until the following afternoon, although the slaves were apparently alternated between work and sleep every eight hours. Man, what a schedule! Linley grimaced. These guys sure believed in getting the most for the least out of their unhired help.
He hoped Alan wasn't having too hard a time of it. Linley grinned viciously. At least the kid wouldn't have to put up with Edgebastion for an overseer anymore. His blood still boiled when he thought of the brutal beating and Alan's terror. He'd better keep a sharp lookout one he was in the mine, at least until he'd identified himself to his partner. Alan had a temper, as Mark well knew, and he just might try to settle the score further with the bad-tempered sergeant. Linley didn't want any lanterns descending on *his* head!
Well, he couldn't wait until tomorrow, that was for sure. It would put him on an alternate shift with Alan, anyway. Besides, considering the fourteen-hour day of Kuloghi, the next shift would be perfect. What he had in mind was best done in the dark hours when most of the station was asleep ...
The problem was easily solved, however. He borrowed the duty roster, made adjustments, and returned it to its conspicuous place on the bulletin board. He was now scheduled for duty in six-and-a-half hours. Several other people's schedules also had been altered out of necessity. Sergeant Fishbine, for one, was going to have a nice, long break between shifts. Mark didn't worry. He knew such things were done frequently, and it was unlikely that questions would be asked.
As he started to turn away, a "Wanted" poster in one corner of the board caught his eye. His own face stared down at him, and Mark grimaced. He recognized that print. It had been taken for his last Patrol identification card, the year before his defection to the Terran Underground. Linley hated the picture. He'd been about twenty-five, and it made him look, in his own estimation, like a clown. He grinned suddenly and wickedly, drew out his stylus again and went to work. Standing back a moment later, he surveyed the results with artistic appreciation.
The picture was now supplied with a drooping mustache and beard a la Fu Manchu. Heavy, lowering eyebrows gave the forehead a beetling appearance, and the eyes had acquired a definite slant. Two horns adorned the temples and a cigarette, spiraling smoke, dangled from one corner of the mouth. As an afterthought, Linley blackened one of the front teeth, added a wart to the nose, and turned away, grinning. No one was going to identify him from that poster; that was for sure.
Now for something to eat. Mark located the mess, picked up four sandwiches, and departed. His hair stood on end as someone called out, "Hi, Sarge!" from a table a short distance away. He lifted a hand in return and made a hasty exit to avoid any possibility of being snared into a conversation with the man.
He retired to the latrine, removed his helmet, and ate two of the sandwiches. It was, of course, possible to eat with one's helmet on, but Mark had never heard of any patrolman in his right mind actually doing so. Edgebastion obviously didn't like the headgear, considering the way he had pulled it off the moment he'd emerged from the mine. Linley couldn't blame him for that. He had despised the blasted things while in the Patrol. They were hot and heavy, and caused a dull headache. Somehow, he feared that it would be out of character for the good sarge to be seen sitting on his bunk, helmet on, devouring a ham sandwich.
He finished his meal, stuffed the remaining sandwiches into his pouch and glanced at his chronometer. He was on duty in six hours. Where would be a good place to hole up until then? This place wasn't bad, but somebody would be bound to get suspicious if he remained where he was for six hours. And he couldn't circulate around the barracks for very long. The chances of being caught were too high. Besides, he must get some sleep. He was shot. He'd been awake for over forty hours straight. Fatigue was beginning to catch up with him.
Then the solution occurred to him, breathtaking in its simplicity. He located Edgebastion's bunk and sprawled on his stomach across it, a towel draped over his head, ostensibly to shield his eyes from the light. He doubted that anyone would try to disturb the bad tempered sergeant, who had had a rough day and was scheduled for duty in such a short time. If anyone did, he would growl something through the towel calculated to cause the hardiest soul to quail.
The door to the barracks opened and he heard the conversation of several patrolmen. Their voices became hushed as they spied him.
"Sh!" He heard the whisper clearly. "Sergeant Sonofabitch had a real bad day. Don't wake him up, for cat's sake!"
Mark grinned under the concealing towel, and relaxed. It looked like the good sarge was going to be a real help ...
**********
tbc
