“The Section had it cached in Jefferson City. I looked, and, sure enough, nobody had found it. Fortunate, wasn’t it?”
There could be a second opinion on that point, I thought, but I did not argue. I was still checking the possibilities—and finding them somewhere between slim and hopeless. My own gun was gone, as I could tell by the pressure. He was probably carrying his on the side away from me; it was not in sight.
“But that was not the best of it,” he went on; “I had the good luck to be captured by what was almost certainly the only healthy master in the whole of Jefferson City—not that I believe in luck. So we win after all.” He chuckled. “It’s like playing both sides of a very difficult chess game.”
“You did not tell me where we are going?” I persisted. I did not know that it would help, but I was getting nowhere fast and talking was the only action open to me.
He considered. “Out of the United States, certainly. My master may be the only one free of nine-day fever in the whole continent and I don’t dare take a chance. I think the Yucatan peninsula would suit us—that’s where I’ve got her pointed. We can hole up there and increase our numbers and work on south. When we do come back—and we will!—we won’t make the same mistakes.”
I said, “Dad, can’t you take these ties off me? I’m losing circulation. You know you can trust me.”
“Presently, presently—all in good time. Wait until we go full automatic.” The car was still climbing; souped up or not, thirty thousand was a long pull for a car that had started out as a family model.
I said, “You seem to forget that I was with the masters a long time. I know the score—and I give you my word of honor.”
He grinned. “Don’t teach grandma how to steal sheep. If I let you loose now, you’ll kill me or I’ll have to kill you. And I want you alive. We’re going places, son—you and me. We’re fast and we’re smart and we are just what the doctor ordered.”
I did not have an answer. He went on, “Just the same—about you knowing the score: why didn’t you tell me the score, son? Why did you hold out on me?”
“Huh?”
“You didn’t tell me how it felt. Son, I had no idea that a man could feel such a sense of peace and contentment and well-being. This is the happiest I’ve been in years, the happiest since—” he suddenly looked puzzled, and then went on, “since your mother died. But never mind that; this is better. You should have told me.”
Disgust suddenly poured over me and I forgot the cautious game I was playing. “Maybe I didn’t see it that way. And neither would you, you crazy old fool, if you didn’t have a filthy slug riding you, talking through your mouth, thinking with your brain!”
“Take it easy, son,” he said gently—and so help me, his voice did soothe me. “You’ll know better in a little while. Believe me, this is what we were intended for, this is our destiny. Mankind has been divided, warring with himself. The masters will make him whole again.”
I thought to myself that there were probably custard heads just screwy enough to fall for such a line—surrender their souls willingly for a promise of security and peace. But I did not say so; I was clamping my jaws to keep from throwing up.
“But you need not wait much longer,” he said suddenly, glancing at the board. “I’ll nail her down in the groove.” He adjusted his dead-reckoner bug, checked his board, and set his controls. “That’s a relief. Next stop: Yucatan. Now to work.” He got out of his chair and knelt beside me in the crowded space. “Got to be safe,” he said, as he strapped the safety belt across my middle.
I brought my knees up in his face.
He reared up and looked at me without anger. “Naughty, naughty. I could resent that—but the masters don’t go in for resentment. Now be good.” He went ahead, checking my wrists and feet. His nose was bleeding but he did not bother to wipe it. “You’ll do,” he said. “Now be patient; it won’t be long.”