High-Opp

Chapter 7

Movius awoke with the sure knowledge that someone was coming along the tunnel, a slow rustle of movement. The luminous dial on his watch showed five minutes to seven. He scooped up the gun from the floor beside his cot, slipped from the cot, tip-toed to the light switch, waited. He heard the curtain open, clicked the switch. The wide, staring eyes of Janus Peterson, the Bu-Trans driver he had met the night before, stared back at him. The big man’s barrel-shaped body just fitted through the narrow doorway.

“Ready for business, ain’t you?” said Peterson, looking at the gun. The man’s eyes began their rapid blinking. “Sure are ready.” In Peterson’s husky voice it was a flat statement, much as a man might say “Not today.”

Movius returned to the cot, tossed the gun onto it while he dressed. “Sorry. I couldn’t know who it was. I just woke up.”

Peterson and another man began bringing in boxes. “Your stuff,” said Peterson. “Had to cart it out through the garbage disposal tube.” He placed a box on the floor. “Great Gallup! What a stench!” His glance went to the gun on the cot. “Guy you took that off of died. Two more of The Coor’s boys in the hospital, a Bu-Con bull’s there, too, with a hole in his side.” He grinned at Movius, the action giving his face a mask-like appearance. “Must’ve been some night!”

The LP grapevine, thought Movius. He said, “Do they know who did it?”

“They didn’t recognize who was with you, but they must’ve spotted you. They’re hopping mad and looking all over for you.”

“What’s the order?”

“I hear it’s shoot on sight,” said Peterson.

That does it, thought Movius. If it’s a war they want, they’ll get one. Damn them! He said, “We’re going to need recruits, Mr. Peterson. Know of any?”

“Might; might not.”

That’s logical, thought Movius. How does he know he can trust me?

“You could try remembering when the time comes,” said Movius.

“Might; might not.”

Movius smiled. “Thanks.”

“I figure you’re welcome.” Peterson turned, slipped out.

A good man, thought Movius. He’s going to come in handy.

Quilliam London brought Movius his breakfast. The old man lowered himself to a box, scratched his chin with a thumb. “They’re already looking for you.”

Movius took his plate, sat on the cot. “Bu-Con?”

“No. Some organization we don’t recognize. Nobody knows who the men are.”

Movius thought about the efficiency of the LP grapevine, put the plate aside. “Nobody?”

London nodded. “We think it’s some special squad The Coor has imported. They’re not hunting for you by name. They’re just around asking if anyone answering your description has been seen. Some of them have pictures.”

“Has my order to the ALP gone out?”

“On the morning round-up. It’ll be in the District Circulars by tonight.”

“If The Coor’s special squad…”

“You’re worried about answering the Bu-Trans order if and when it comes out.” London narrowed his eyes. “If you were married right away…”

Movius had picked up his plate, started to resume eating. He looked up sharply. “How’s that?”

“You come out of hiding with a wife.”

“What good would that do me?”

London bent forward, stood up slowly, stiffly. “You could claim your nuptial off-time. If they dared bring up the ALP thing, you could say you weren’t very attentive right after being married. The worst Bu-Con magistrate in the city wouldn’t dare say anything after that, especially with you reporting for legal orders.”

“I’m not worried about the magistrates.”

“There’s another aspect to it: Glass might pass you by if you were married—out of the running, so to speak.”

“Even after I killed one of his bully boys, maimed two others and shot a Bu-Con operative?” Movius put his plate on a box, got to his feet.

London looked toward the door. “They can’t prove it was you.” He turned back. “We’ll fix you up with an alibi.”

Movius shook his head. “It’s no good. If The Coor wants me badly enough, he’ll go on trying until he gets me… or until I get him.”

“Glass isn’t the only big man in the government,” said London.

“Are you referring to that pipsqueak O’Brien?”

London put a hand over his mouth, removed it. “No, I was referring to Warren Gerard.”

“That CR-14 thing?”

“Yes. Glass is afraid of Gerard. If you can get Gerard to back you, The Coor may call off his dogs.”

Movius looked skeptical. “He may not, too.”

“That’s the chance we take.”

The blood flushed into Movius’ face. “You mean that’s the chance I take!”

“Of course, of course,” said London. “But Gerard does have a big organization.”

“Why would he want to protect me?”

“He needs you.”

Movius’ voice showed scorn. “Like he needs an extra car and driver.”

London ignored the bitter tone. “The Coor and Gerard are about ready for a showdown on the CR-14 issue and The Coor holds the edge right now. Gerard needs help.”

“And you think I fit Gerard’s requirements?”

“I know you do. I’ve seen your Sorter card. There’s a deviation of .00001 from the requirements and they were tough.” London pursed his lips. “High loyalty index, resourcefulness, adaptability, knowledge of the government, no attachments to anyone high in the government…”

“Why couldn’t I stay in hiding, organize from here?” Movius walked to the corner of the room and back. “That seems the most logical…”

“It’s not.” London faced him from the doorway. “If Glass succeeds in taking over Bu-Trans, he’ll have the strength to capture every other department of the government. Our enemy will no longer be divided and they will crack down on the Seps all over the world.”

“So I have to save Gerard’s neck to save our necks, is that it?”

“That’s it. We need a divided government. We need the time to gain strength.”

“Even so…”

“This is the way things are,” said London.

“I meant about the wife,” said Movius. “Is that necessary?”

“I believe so. You have to present a good front to Gerard.”

Movius shrugged. “Well, where do I find a wife?”

“We thought you might have some woman friend.”

Movius thought of his friends. A pack of averted faces! All except Phil Henry. He shook his head. “I know one man I think I could trust. The only woman friend I had is probably sleeping with The Coor right now.” He clenched his fists, thrust them into his pockets.

“Miss Lang?”

Movius stared at the wall. “Yes.”

“No others?”

“None I could trust.”

They were silent while Movius clenched and unclenched his fists until the muscles pained him. “Maybe there’s someone in your classes,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a real marriage.”

“It has to be convincing, though,” said London. He lifted the curtain at the doorway, dropped it. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“We’ve another problem,” said Movius. “You know what Glass will do first. He’ll have my number called on the next minor opp. When I go out to register, his men will bottle off the area and comb it. If I don’t go out, they sentence me to penalty service the minute I show my face.”

“We thought of that,” said London. “One of the things we do this morning is make a rubber stamp of your thumbprint. Somebody we trust will report you in miles from here. We’ll scatter your registrations until they think you have wings.”

Movius paced across the room and back. “That should work.” He stopped, looked up at London. “I want to start organizing. We should put out an appeal for recruits, get cell meetings.”

London pointed to a stack of boxes against the back wall of the room. “There’s a duplicator in there somewhere. Grace knows how to operate it. You start drafting the appeal. I’ll send Grace down with our skunk and EMASI! plate.”

“Every Man A Separate Individual,” said Movius.

“You’ll make a good Separatist yet,” said London.

Movius shook his head. “You have it wrong. I’m already a Sep. I’ll do the making of Seps. Send Grace along.”

London’s eyes held an odd, speculative light. “I wonder if we made the right choice?” he said.

“Choice of what?”

“Nothing,” said London. “I was thinking out loud.”