‘Given up, have you – already?’

  ‘N-n-no-o-o. Just tryin’ to use my head a little.’ Collie wondered if he really meant it.

  ‘You wouldn’t mind sleeping with a hundred women assigned to you,’ said O’Neill harshly. ‘But Lois—’

  The girl looked away. ‘Don’t, Tom,’ she said.

  Collie bit his lip. He hadn’t thought of that angle. Yeah – it would be different for a woman. Unless— ‘Mebbe they can grow kids in tanks,’ he ventured. I’ve heard talk about that.’

  ‘Ectogenesis … yes, I suppose it could be developed.’ O’Neill threw himself into a chair. ‘What of it? Don’t you care who you work for?’

  Collie paused, feeling for an answer. He wondered if he did. Sure, the Siberian society was not very attractive, but it would have its privileged members, especially in the first few generations, and he could probably be one of them. And he would be on Earth, Earth the green, Earth of the fair, Earth of tall skies and summer nights and autumn leaves and the small sweet rain. He would be home.

  The girl shook her head, light sliding along the bronze of her hair. Looking over to her, he saw in her eyes the struggle with horror.

  Collie opened his mouth. ‘Tom—’

  ‘Yes?’ O’Neill leaped nervously up. ‘What is it?’

  Collie brought himself up hard and sat for a moment shaking. How could they have forgotten? It would be strange if their prison didn’t hold some microphonic listener.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. Then, after a moment: ‘No, it won’t work, Tom. This is one jail that’s too good to break out of.’ Don’t overdo it, he cautioned himself. ‘Mebbe back on Earth we’ll have our chance, but not here.’

  ‘But here will be our last chance!’

  Collie got up and walked over to him. ‘All right, think up some bright scheme,’ he said irritably, ‘but don’t bother me with it till you’ve got one.’ He rummaged through the desk. ‘I’d like to play some bridge, if we can wake Misha up. Got anything to keep score on?’

  ‘No,’ said Lois. She was watching him with sudden intentness. ‘No writing materials. I checked that.’

  ‘Too bad. How ‘bout some checkers, then, Tom?’ Collie took the Irishman’s hand. For a moment O’Neill looked as if he were going to snatch it back. Collie’s finger traced in the palm: W. O’Neill stared. ‘Collie made an A. Suddenly O’Neill nodded.

  Collie went on: T-C-H (pause) O-U-T (pause) T-H-E-Y (pause) M-A-Y (pause) B-E (pause) L-I-S-T-E-N-I-N-G.

  ‘Sure,’ said O’Neill. His voice wobbled, just a bit. ‘Sure, I’ll take you on.’

  ‘I’ll kibitz, if you don’t mind.’ Lois strolled over to them. Collie thought how graceful she was.

  ‘No talkin’, then,’ he said. This is serious business.’

  He got out the board and set it up like a half-played game, just in case. Then the three of them sat down to writing. The table top made a fair surface, and speed grew with practice. Now and then Collie missed a letter, but he found that on the whole he could follow the successive shapes if they were large enough.

  Collie: Okay. I’m on your side. But just how do we get loose?

  O’Neill: You’re right about our having to have our own suits. Let’s plan on that basis.

  Lois: If we could overpower a guard and make him take us to the airlock.

  O’Neill: No. They need only use tear gas on us.

  They worried the problem for slow hours. Now and then they talked aloud, just to prevent suspicion. The scheme was not born in a flash, it was hammered out with trouble and argument, and in the end there were many misgivings about it. Informing Ivanovitch was a hurdle in itself, he was hardly able to follow the invisible writing and Collie felt wet and weak by the time the giant understood.

  Then it was but to await the chance.

  Lunch was over and they were dealing out a half-hearted game of rummy when there was a knock on the door. O’Neill sprang up, spilling the cards, and his voice was high and strained: ‘Come in.’

  ‘Easy, Tom,’ whispered Lois, pulling him down. ‘Keep your mouth shut. You’ll give the show away.’

  The lock clicked and the door opened. Byelinsky stood there in front of an armed guard, smiling. ‘I wondered how you were,’ he said. ‘Is there anything you need?’

  ‘Um-m-m – Well—’ Collie rubbed his chin, not daring to look into the crinkled blue eyes. ‘No, I reckon not. We’re fairly well off.’

  ‘You could—’ Lois moistened her lips. ‘You could tell us about – the whole situation. Our friends, for instance, what you plan to do with them.’

  ‘I told you, we desire to capture them alive, though not with any further loss to ourselves.’ The colonel sat down on a bunk, crossing thick-muscled legs. ‘An expedition is being readied. Unless they are fools, they will yield without anyone’s being hurt.’

  ‘An’ what then?’ asked Collie. ‘Where do we go from here?’

  ‘Well, some further developmental work must be done on your camp,’ said the Siberian. ‘We plan to leave a few men here, to continue the job until our next ship arrives. But you personally can expect to leave for Earth within two months.’

  ‘So you put us in a cell there,’ blurted O’Neill. ‘What have we to look forward to?’

  ‘Oh, be reasonable,’ snapped Byelinsky. ‘There is a gigantic work to be done. You, as favorable mutants, can pick your own jobs, within broad limits. If you keep yourselves politically clean, you can expect to prosper.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Collie. ‘Ain’t no arguin’ with you, like the sheep said to the catamount.’

  Byelinsky chuckled. ‘I would like to see you as content as possible,’ he said after a moment. ‘If you wish anything we can safely give you, just tell us.’

  ‘Well—’ Inside, Collie’s muscles tautened. He felt that it must blaze from him, that the enemy could not help but see. The thoughts that roared in his head, they must hear them, how could he ever— His voice sounded very remote, the voice of someone else: ‘Well, come to think of it, there is one little thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Let us outside for a bit, just to walk around, huh? We’re all used to exercisin’ a lot, every day. It ain’t easy just to sit here in a narrow space like this.’

  ‘Please, Mr. Collingwood.’ Byelinsky raised his hand. ‘I wish you wouldn’t take me for such a complete fool.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Collie shrugged. ‘If you’re that scared of us, I s’pose we’d better stay in here.’

  ‘It is a matter of assigning guards,’ said Byelinsky defensively. ‘Our men have their own work to do, you know.’

  It was no part of the plan, but: ‘Oh, hell,’ said Collie, ‘hobble us, put us on ropes, do whatever you want, but let us stretch our legs a little.’

  ‘Hm. Very well, then.’ Byelinsky gave an order in Russian. Turning back to his prisoners: ‘I think we can let you have about an hour a day outside.’

  ‘Okay.’ The effort of keeping his voice casual seemed to drain Collie. He didn’t dare look at the others. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Have a good time,’ said Byelinsky mildly. He got up and went out again. The door closed behind him.

  O’Neill bent over the table and began tracing letters: What do you think we will do?

  Collie: Don’t know. But maybe we’ll be able to make a break.

  Lois: It will have to be you. You are the only one who would stand a chance.

  Collie: Yes. Don’t risk your own life, Lois. I want to come back to you.

  She looked away. Shyly, he bent over and kissed her. She sighed and walked over to her bunk and sat down.

  The door opened again. Four guards in airsuits stood there. One laid down their own Mars-equipment.

  As he changed into his reeking undergarment, Collie glanced at his airsuit. Only one oxy tank. Byelinsky wasn’t taking any chances. No man could get within range of the American power-beam on one tank if he had to move fast. Even on two.

  No man.

  Collie shivered as he dragged the heavy fabric over his body. With the casual care of long practice, he checked the units: pump, batteries, heating coils. Yes, it was all there, all working, though he couldn’t be sure if the batteries were fully charged. But no water, no sun-cell, no compass, no—

  They shuffled slowly down the metal ways. The dark Martian sky yawned before them when the ‘outer airlock door opened. Descending the ladder, Collie studied the layout. Men were working over in one end of the camp, setting up a light mobile cannon. That must be for the attack. A group of soldiers could haul the gun, as well as a wagon full of ammunition and supplies. One well-placed shell would break the rocket motor of the ship, and after that its crew would be helpless.

  He felt hard gritty earth under his feet, and stood waiting for the others. A rifle pointed unmovingly at his midriff. His eyes shifted, considering the terrain. To the north, the scored hills fell sharply into the ravine. That was the way he’d have to go.

  ‘Come on,’ said O’Neill. The thin vicious sun-blaze hid his face behind the helmet, and the sound-amplifiers strained expression from his voice. Thanks be for that. The Irishman was no actor. ‘Round and round and round we go.’

  They strode in a circle about the ships, once, twice, three times, with the guards accompanying them a few yards off. Imperceptibly, Collie widened the radius as much as he dared. Sweat was cold along his spine, under his arms, on his palms. Three minutes from now, he thought, he might be a sprawled corpse.

  There had been no way of knowing what arrangement would be made for guarding. They had to improvise. But Ivanovitch’s strength would be necessary. The Russian edged around until he was on Collie’s right, between his comrades and the ship.

  Around and around and around.

  Now the north end of the camp swinging back, the ships behind him, the working party on their far side, the guards – perhaps – just a trifle relaxed … Desperately, Collie wished he could wait, go through this routine every day for a week until suspicion was eased. But there wasn’t time, there wasn’t time. In a week, the Americans would be overwhelmed. He gathered himself.

  ‘Go!’

  No time for fear, then. He made one giant bound that brought him against the guard on his left. One hand batted the rifle aside, the other grabbed and tried to wrest it loose. His foot slammed a mule-kick to the belly.

  The man went down, choking. Collie fell on top of him as the bullets spanged overhead. Then O’Neill was on one guard and Ivanovitch was tangling with the other two.

  The man under Collie struggled, nearly throwing him off. Collie got an armlock and heaved. He felt bone snap. Then he had the rifle. He twisted it around and shot point-blank into the Siberian’s helmet.

  He could hear slugs whining, he seemed to be in a rain of them. It was no time to help the others. He turned the body around on its back. Blood was running through the smashed helmet, steaming as it hit the ground. Collie wrenched the man’s oxygen tank out of its clamps. It took both his arms to carry it, he couldn’t have the rifle. He got up and ran.

  Now if Misha could hold them off long enough – and not get himself killed doing it, the big brave fool—

  O’Neill was still down, wrestling with his guard, but held where he was. Lois huddled into the sand, there was nothing she could do but hide from the bullets. Ivanovitch had gotten a tommy-gun away from one man and turned it on him.

  The Russian felt a blow that brought whirling darkness. He lurched in his tracks, dropped to one knee, and gave the remaining guard a burst. The working party was coming around the ships. Ivanovitch crouched where he was and fired at them.

  There was no pain. There was a huge numbness where he had been hit, and he seemed strangely light. Like being drunk, he thought. The approaching soldiers seemed to double themselves and become one again, they seemed to waver and ripple. It was like looking at them through water, through the cool green water of Earth.

  He saw himself. Blood and smoking air, his suit was torn open by the gunfire burst and so was he. Nobody else could have kept going this long. His heart clamored in his breast, but he still felt as if he himself were very far away, happily drunk back on Earth. He knelt in the Martian sand and fired.

  Got to hold them off, got to let Collie get away, can’t remember why butitdoesntmatterwhygottodoit

  There is a giant buzzing now, as of many bees, there are bees humming drowsily through a wild field of clover, all the world is drunk with summer. Lie down in the clover, under a tree that is full of wind and sunlight, lie down and drink the smell of clover through your nostrils, and a million million honeybees zum zum zum. Oh, there are horses running in the field, sunlight flows like cool water off their flanks, there is the good clean smell of horses. Let me rest my head in thy lap, O woman, let thy hair flow over me, it is a tent of summer, I can see Earth’s sky through the strands of thy hair, let me sleep for a little while, for I have drunk deep and now it is growing dark. Soon there will be stars.

  XV

  Behind an ocherous bluff, Collie stopped and fumbled awkwardly till he felt the stolen oxy tank slip into its rack. Now he had two of them. He turned down the valve of the one he was using, letting his pump suck in Martian air as a supplement. And the heating coils could also be kept low, because he’d be working up a sweat.

  He turned then, and began to run. The crack and stutter of gunfire faded swiftly behind him, but he couldn’t tell if the fight was over yet. As long as Misha could keep shooting, there would be no pursuit, but that battle wouldn’t last much longer. Christ, I hope he comes through. I told him again and again not to take risks but—

  He forgot Ivanovitch and O’Neill in the rising worry about Lois. What if a bullet caught her, opened her suit and threw her down into the sand coughing blood? If she died, if they had to close her eyes, there would be no reason to keep going, no reason why he should not sink into Martian dust himself. I love that girl, he thought. It was the first time he had fully acknowledged the fact.

  He dismissed his own personality. Now he was just a running machine.

  He burst from a long pebbly draw and came out on the high, rolling desert. Stealing a glance behind, he could not see the ships in the valley, but he was still less than a mile from them. Bullets would carry far on Mars. He wanted to make a wild dash, but that was no way to cover long distances. Easy does it, long loping strides, feel the yards and the miles slip away underfoot.

  He’d have to circle around. There was at least one runner his equal among the Siberians, who could hound him down on the straightaway. He had to shake their pursuit first, and then come back to his goal, and hope he didn’t get lost in the process. It would be a dreadful thing to get lost on Mars.

  The pounding jar of his footfalls shocked into him. His heart was already beginning to beat heavily, his lungs felt dry, he wasn’t getting enough air. Reluctantly, he turned up his oxygen valve a little.

  His air pump whined to a halt. He drew a deep breath to hold him while he opened the oxy valve fully. Someone had finally thought to turn off the power-beam to his suit. He wondered how long a tank would last.

  Well, he thought grimly. I’ll soon find out.

  Another look behind – yes, he could see small figures climbing over the valley ridge. They could see him, too, and his trail in the sand. He forced himself to continue at a steady pace.

  But he had to break the trail. Up ahead there, a jumbled mass of boulders. They looked closer than they were, in this clear air. He swore to himself, damn it, were they running from him as he neared? His feet thudded softly over the ground, kicking up little spurts of dust that were slow to settle.

  The rocks seemed to rise above him all at once. He sprang up on the nearest. Another glance behind – the Siberians had lost ground, they couldn’t keep up with him, but with their extra air supplies they could run him down over a long stretch.

  If they can find me! He went soaring from boulder to boulder. Dropping into a gash between two of them, he wormed rapidly to one side, slithered across another rock, and ran low-crouching at an angle down the stony ridge. His overtaxed heart seemed to shake his whole boody.

  The heap of boulders came to an abrupt end, and the revealing sand stretched beyond them to the horizon. He paused, gasping. Yes, over that way, a little patch of woods. He jumped from the last rock into the growth and went carefully through it for a mile or so, trying not to leave marks of his passage. At its end he stopped for a breather and a look behind. Nothing else, no movement, only the sand and the quietness. It seemed to shimmer and wobble around him. A trick of his eyes?

  Well, he thought, he must have come a good two or three miles all told without leaving any traces – he hoped. Now he could bend down to some straightforward running. He got his direction from the sun and began his trek.

  The sand rolled away under his feet. He ran for the horizon, but it was always just as far. There was a dreadful sameness to this part of the desert, it would be all too easy to get lost. If he did, they might dig him up a thousand years from now and wonder who he had been.

  Thirst began to nag him. He tried to ignore the need. There was no water. There was only the sand, and the sky, and the running.

  Nobody else, he thought, could even have attempted this marathon. He was relying on his own mutant strengths, the powerful legs and the deep lungs and the air-hoarding blood. But he wondered if they would be enough.

  In and out, in and out, in and out. He grew aware of the stiffness of his suit. It resisted his movements, not much, but enough so he could notice it. The joints must need oiling. It might be the one small factor which would kill him.

  Something skittered from his path, a tiny animal, desert-colored. It was scared and he was scared and his enemies were scared – a whole cosmos full of fear. He ran on.

  The sun slipped westward. He had to stop for a while, his spleen was beginning to hurt him too much. Twisting his neck, he got a look at the gauge on the oxy tank he was using. Pretty near empty. He didn’t sit down, but walked slowly ahead, trying to keep stiffness from his muscles.