Cities in Flight

Hazleton shrugged. “No, of course not. To be on the safe side, they made up an escape fleet of twenty-five ships—reconverted light cruisers—and sent them out on this mission. They’re upstairs now.”

“Over the city?”

“Yes. I heard the hijacking of the city—I gather you had the radio on for the benefit of the cops, but it came through pretty clearly on Utopia, too. So I sold them on combining their escape project with a sneak raid to escort the city out. It took some selling, but I convinced them that they’d get out of this system easier if the cops had two things to think about at once. And so here we are, right on the timetable.” Hazleton grinned again. “The cops had no notion that there were any Utopian ships anywhere near this planet, and they keep a sloppy watch. They know now, of course, but it’ll take them a little while to mass here—and by that time, well be gone.”

“Mark, you’re a romantic ass,” Amalfi said. “Twenty-five light cruisers—archaic ones at that, spindizzies or not!”

“There’s nothing archaic about Savage’s plans,” Hazleton said. “He hates my guts for swiping Dee from him, but he knows space combat. This is a survival fleet, for Hamiltonianism, not just people. As soon as we’re attacked, all twenty-five of them are going to take off in different directions, putting up a stiff battle and doing their best to turn the affair into a series of individual dogfights. That insures the survival of some of them, of their ideology—and of the city.”

“I expected something more from you than a gesture out of a bad stereo,” Amalfi said. “Napoleonism! Heedless of danger, young hero leads devoted band into enemy stronghold, snatching beloved sovereign from enraged infidel! Pah! The city’s staying where it is. If you want to go off with this suicide squadron, go ahead.”

“Amalfi, you don’t understand—”

“You underestimate me,” Amalfi said harshly. He strode across the room to the balcony, Hazleton at his heels. “Sensible Hamiltonians stayed home, that’s a cinch. Giving them the spindizzy was a smart idea—it made them fight longer and kept the cops busy when we needed the time. But these people who are trying to escape toward the edge of the galaxy—they’re the incurables, the fanatics. Do you know how they’ll wind up? You should, and you would if there wasn’t a woman in your head addling your brains with a long-handled spoon. After a few generations on the rim, none of ’em will remember Hamiltonianism. Making a new planet livable is a job for a carefully prepared, fully manned expedition. These people are the tatters of a military debacle—and you want us to help set up the debacle! No thanks.”

He threw the door to the balcony open so hard that Hazleton had to jump to avoid being hit, and went out. It was a clear night, bitterly cold as always on Gort, and hundreds of stars glared through the glow the city cast upon the sky. The Utopian ships, of course, could not be seen: they were too high, and probably were as well near to invisible and undetectable, even close up, as Utopian science could make them.

“I’ll have a job explaining this to the Hruntans,” he said, his voice charged with suppressed rage. “The best I’ll be able to do is to claim the Hamiltonians were trying to destroy us before we could finish giving away the friction-field plans. And to do that, I’ll have to yell to the Hruntans for help right away.”

“You gave the Hruntans—”

“Certainly!” Amalfi said. “It was the only weapon we had left after we had to sign a contract with them. The possibility of a Utopian landing in force here vanished the moment the police beat us to the punch. And here you are still trying to use the blunted tool!”

“Mark!” the girl’s voice drifted out from the room, frantic with anxiety. “Mark! Where are you?”

“Go along,” Amalfi said, without turning his head. “After a while they’ll have no time to cherish their ritual beliefs, and you can have a nice frontier home, on the ox-bone plow level. The city is staying here. By noon tomorrow, the Utopians who stayed will be put in an excellent position to bargain with Earth for rights, the Hruntans will be horn-swoggled, and we’ll be on our way.”

The girl, evidently having noticed the open door, came through it in time to hear the last two sentences. “Mark!” she cried. “What does he mean? Savage says—”

Hazleton sighed. “Savage is an idiot and so am I. Amalfi’s right; I’ve been acting like a child. You’d better get aloft while you have the chance, Dee.”

She came forward to the railing and took his arm, looking up at him. Her face was so full of puzzlement and hurt that Amalfi had to look away; that look reminded him of too many things best forgotten—some of them not exactly remote. He heard her say, “Do you—do you want me to go, Mark? You’re staying with the city?”

“Yes,” Hazleton muttered. “I mean, no. I’ve made a terrific mess of things, it appears. Maybe I can help now—maybe not. But I’ve got to stay. You’d be better off with your own people—”