To The Stars

They agreed on that, but it was a subdued party at best. Alzbeta sat next to Jan and, while no one there envied them, the men looked forward to the next day, and wives of their own who were waiting. They had been in touch with Southtown by radio, so the seven dead men in their metal tomb were known to those who were waiting.

“This is a party, not a wake,” Otakar said. “Drink up your beer and I’ll pour you another.”

Jan drained his glass as instructed and held it out for a refill. “I’m thinking about the arrival,” he said.

“We all are, but more so you and I,” Alzbeta said, moving closer at the thought of separation. “She can’t take you from me.

She did not have to be named. The Hradil, absent so long, was close again, ready to affect their lives.

“We are all with you,” Otakar told them. “We were all witnesses at your wedding and were part of it. The Family Heads may protest but there is nothing they can do. We’ve made them see reason before we can do it again. Semenov will back us up.”

“This is my fight,” Jan said.

“Ours. It has been since we took over the engines and made them knuckle under for the second trip. We can do that again if we have to.”

“No, Otakar, I don’t think so.” Jan looked down the smooth length of the Road that vanished at the horizon. “We had something to fight for then. Something physical that affected all of us. The Hradil will try to cause trouble but Alzbeta and I will handle it.”

“And me,” Semenov said. “I will have to explain my actions, account for them. It is against the law…”

“The law as written here,” Jan said. “A little work of fiction to keep the natives subdued and quiet.”

“Will you tell them that, all the things you told me?”

“I certainly will. I’ll tell the Heads and I’ll tell every one else. The truth has to come out sometime. They probably won’t believe it, but they’ll be told.”

After they slept they went on. Jan and Alzbeta had little rest, nor did they want it. They felt closer than they had ever been and their lovemaking had a frantic passion to it. Neither spoke of it, but they feared for the future.

They had good cause. There was no reception, no crowds to welcome them. The men understood that. They talked a bit, said good-bye to one another, then went to find their families. Jan and Alzbeta stayed on the train, watching the door. They did not have long to wait for the expected knock. There were four armed Proctors there.

“Jan Kulozik, you are under arrest…

“Under whose authority? For what reason?”

“You have been accused of murdering Proctor Captain Ritterspach.”

“That can be explained, witnesses.”

“You will come with us to detention. Those are our orders. This woman is to be returned to her family at once.”

“No!”

It was Alzbeta’s cry of terror that roused Jan. He tried to go to her, protect her, but was shot at once. A weak charge, minimum setting for the energy gun, enough to stop him but not kill him.

He lay on the floor, conscious but unable to move, able only to watch as they dragged her out.

Seventeen

It was obvious to Jan that his homecoming reception had been planned with infinite care and sadistic precision. The Hradil, of course. Once before she had had him arrested, but the job had been bungled. Not this time. She had not revealed herself, but her careful touch was everywhere. No reception for their return, no crowds. No chance to unite his men and the others behind him. Divide and rule, most skillfully done. A murder charge, that was good; a man had been killed so the charge was certainly in order. And he had resisted arrest just to make her job easier, just as she had undoubtedly assumed he would. She had out-thought him and she had won. She was out there drawing the web tight around him, while he sat in the carefully prepared cell. No rude storeroom this time, that might arouse sympathy, but proper quarters in one of the thick-walled permanent buildings. A barred, narrow slit of a window on the outside wall, sink and sanitary facilities, a comfortable bunk, reading matter, television — and a solid steel door with a lock on the other side. Jan lay on the bunk staring unseeingly at the ceiling, looking for a way out. He felt the eyes of the Proctor on him, staring in through the plasteel observation window in the wall, and he rolled to face away.

There would be a trial. If it were at all fair his plea of self-defense would have to be accepted. Five Family Heads would be the judges, that was the law, and all would have to agree on a sentence of guilty. Semenov, one of the oldest Heads, would sit on the bench. There was a chance.

“You have a visitor,” the guard said, his voice rasping from the speaker just below the window. He moved aside and Alzbeta stood in his place.

Happy as he was to see her it was torture to press his hands to the cold plasteel surface, to see her fingers a close centimeter beyond his, yet to be unable to touch them.

“I asked to see you,” she said. “I thought they would say no, but there was no trouble.”