Gates pulled his knees up and wrapped himself head-down in a fetal posture. As the Getabout completed the curve, Allen slammed down on the brake; the little car screamed and shuddered, bucked from side to side, and then wandered tottering into a rail. Gates half-rolled, half-fell from the swinging and open door, struck the pavement and bounded to his feet. Dizzy, his head ringing, Allen stumbled after him.
The second Getabout hurtled around the curve and without slowing—Hadler was still the bum driver—struck its stalled quarry. Parts of Getabout flew in all directions; the three occupants disappeared in the rubbish. Hadler’s gun skidded across the lane and bounced noisily from a lamppost.
“See you,” Gates panted to Allen, already loping off. He grinned back over his shoulder. “Boil, bake, fry. They won’t get us. Say hello to Janet.”
Allen hurried through the semi-gloom of the lane, among the pedestrians who seemed to be everywhere. Behind him Hadler had emerged from the wreckage of the two Getabouts; he picked up his gun, inspected it, lifted it uncertainly in Allen’s direction, and then shoved it away inside his coat. Allen continued on, and the figure of Hadler fell away.
When he reached the apartment, he found Janet fully dressed, her face white with animation. The door was locked, and he had to wait while she untangled the chain. “Are you hurt?” she asked, seeing blood on his cheek.
“Jarred a little.” He took hold of her arm and led her out into the hall. “They’ll be here any minute. Thank God it’s night.”
“What was that?” Janet asked, as they hurried downstairs. “Major Streiter didn’t really eat people, did he?”
“Not literally,” he said. But in a sense, a very real sense, it was true. Morec had gobbled greedily at the human soul.
“How far are we going?” Janet asked.
“To the field,” he grunted, holding on tightly to her. Fortunately it wasn’t far. She seemed in good spirits, nervous and excited, and not depressed. Perhaps much of her depression had come from sheer boredom . . . from the ultimate emptiness of a drab world.
Holding hands they trotted onto the field, gasping for breath.
There, outlined with lights, was the great inter-S ship preparing for its flight from the Sol System to the Sirius System. Passengers were clustered at the foot of the lift, saying goodbye.
Running across the gravel field, Allen shouted: “Mavis! Wait for us!”
Among the passengers stood a dour, slumped-over man in a heavy overcoat. Myron Mavis glanced up, peered sourly.
“Stop!” Allen shouted, as Mavis turned away. Clutching his wife’s fingers Allen reached the edge of the passenger platform and halted, wheezing. “We’re going along.”
Mavis scrutinized the two of them with bloodshot eyes. “Are you?”
“You’ve got room,” Allen said. “You own a whole planet. Come on, Myron. We’ve got to leave.”
“Half a planet,” Mavis corrected.
“What’s it like?” Janet gasped. “Is it nice, there?”
“Cattle, mostly,” Mavis said. “Orchards, plenty of cachinery [sic] crying to be used. Lots of work. You can tear down mountains and drain swamps. You’ll both sweat; you won’t be sitting around sun-bathing.”
“Fine,” Allen said. “Exactly what we want.”
In the darkness above them a mechanical voice intoned: “All passengers step onto lift. All visitors leave the field.”
“Take this,” Mavis instructed, pushing a suitcase into Allen’s hands. “You, too.” He handed Janet a box tied with twine. “And keep your mouths shut. If anybody asks you anything, let me do the talking.”
“Son and daughter,” Janet said, pressing against him and holding onto her husband’s hand. “You’ll take care of us, won’t you? We’ll be as quiet as mice.” Breathless, laughing, she hugged Allen and then Mavis. “Here we go—we’re leaving!”
At the edge of the field, at the railing, was a clump of shapes. Clutching Mavis’ suitcase, Allen looked back and saw the teen-agers. There they were, clustered in the usual small, dark knot. Silent, as always, and following the progress of the ship. Weighing, speculating, imagining where it was going . . . picturing the colony. Was it crops? Was it a planet of oranges? Was it a world of growing plants, hills and pastures and herds of sheep, goats, cattle, pigs? Cattle, in this case. The kids would know. They would be saying it now, speaking it back and forth to one another. Or not speaking it. Not having to, because they had watched so long.
“We can’t leave,” Allen said.
“What’s the matter?” Janet tugged at him urgently. “We have to stay on the lift; it’s going up.”
“Ye gods!” Mavis groaned. “Changed your mind?”
“We’re going back,” Allen said. He set down Mavis’ suitcase and took the package from Janet’s hands. “Later, maybe. When we’re finished here. We still have something to do.”
“Lunacy,” Mavis said. “Lunacy on top of lunacy.”
“No,” Allen said. “And you know it isn’t.”
“Please,” Janet whispered. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You can’t do anything for those kids,” Mavis said to him.
“I can stay with them,” Allen said. “And I can make my feelings clear.” That much, at least.
“It’s your decision.” Mavis threw up his arms in disgust and dismissal. “The hell with you. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” But the expression on his face showed that he did. “I wash my hands of the whole business. Do what you think is best.”
“All right,” Janet said. “Let’s go back. Let’s get it over with. As long as we have to.”
“You’ll keep a place for us?” Allen asked Mavis.
Sighing, Mavis nodded. “Yes, I’ll be expecting you.”
“It may not be for awhile.”
Mavis thumped him on the shoulder. “But I’ll see both of you.” He kissed Janet on the cheek, and then very formally, and with emphasis, he shook hands with both of them. “When the time comes.”
“Thanks,” Allen said.
Surrounded by his luggage and fellow passengers, Mavis watched them go. “Good luck.” His voice followed after them, and then was lost in the murmur of machinery.
With his wife, Allen walked slowly back across the field. He was winded from the running, and Janet’s steps dragged. Behind them, with a growing roar, the ship was rising. Ahead of them was Newer York, and, sticking up from the expanse of housing units and office buildings, was the spire.
He felt sobered, and a little ashamed. But now he was finishing what he had begun that Sunday night, in the darkness of the Park. So it was good. And he could stop feeling ashamed.
“What’ll they do to us?” Janet asked after a while.
“We’ll survive.” In him was an absolute conviction. “Whatever it is. We’ll show up on the other side, and that’s what matters.”
“And then we’ll go to Myron’s planet?”
“We will,” he promised. “Then it’ll be all right.”
Standing at the edge of the field were the teen-agers, and a varied assortment of people: relatives of passengers, minor field officials, passers-by, an off-duty policeman. Allen and his wife approached them and stopped by the rail.
“I’m Allen Purcell,” he said, and he spoke with pride. “I’m the person who japed the statue of Major Streiter. I’d like everybody to know it.”
The people gaped, murmured together, and then melted off to safety. The teen-agers remained, aloof and silent. The off-duty policeman blinked and started in the direction of a telephone.
Allen, his arm around his wife, waited composedly for the Getabouts of the Cohorts.