colonist! What do I do with him? .... All right, I'll ask."
The head looked down. "You want to walk or be carried?"
"I'll walk," said Matt.
"He says he'll walk. Why should he get his choice? Oh. I guess it's easier at that. Sorry, Watts, I'm a little shook. This never happened to me before."
The gateman hung up. His head and gun continued to peer down at Matt. After a moment the gate slid back into the wall.
"Come on through," said the gateman. "Fold your hands behind your neck."
Matt did. A gatehouse had been built against the wall on the inside. The gateman came down a short flight of steps. "Stay ahead of me," he ordered. "Start walking. That's the front entrance, where all the lights are. See? Walk toward that."
It would have been hard to miss the front entrance. The great square bronze door topped a flight of broad, shallow steps flanked by Doric pillars. The steps and the pillars were either marble or some plastic substitute.
"Stop looking back at me," snapped the gateman. His voice shook.
When they reached the door, the gateman produced a whistle and blew into it. There was no sound, but the door opened. Matt went through.
Once inside, the gateman seemed to relax. "What were you doing out there?" he asked.
Matt's fear was returning. He was here . These corridors were the Hospital. He hadn't thought past this moment. Deliberately so; for if he had, he would have ran. The walls around him were concrete, with a few metal grilles at floor level and four rows of fluorescent tubing in the ceiling. There were doors, all closed. An unfamiliar odor tinged the air, or a combination of odors.
"I said, "What were — "
"Find out at the trial!"
"Don't bite my head off. What trial? I found you on Alpha Plateau. That makes you guilty. They'll put you in the vivarium till they need you, and then they'll pour antifreeze in you and cart you away. You'll never wake up." It sounded as if the gateman was smacking his lips.
Matt's head jerked around, with the terror showing in his eyes. The gateman jumped back at the sudden move. His gun steadied. It was a mercy-bullet pistol, with a tiny aperture in the nose and a C02 cartridge doubling as a handle. For a frozen moment Matt knew he was about to shoot.
They'd carry his unconscious body to the vivarium, whatever that was. He wouldn't wake up there. They'd take him apart while he was sleeping. His last living moment dragged out and out ....
The gun lowered. Matt shrank back from the gateman's expression. The gateman had gone mad. His wild eyes looked about him in horror, at the walls, at the doors, at the mercy-bullet gun in his hand, at everything but Matt Abruptly he turned and ran.
Matt heard his wail drifting back. "Mist Demons I'm supposed to be on the gate !"
At one-thirty another officer came to relieve Polly's guard.
The newcomer's uniform was not as well pressed, but he himself seemed in better condition. His muscles were gymnasium muscles, and he was casually alert at one-thirty in the morning. He waited until the long-headed man had gone, then moved to inspect the dials along the edge of Polly's coffin.
He was more thorough than the other. He moved methodically down the line, in no hurry, jotting the settings in a notebook. Then he opened two big clamps at two corners of the coffin and swung the lid back, careful not to jar it.
The figure within did not move. She was wrapped like a mummy, a mummy with a snout, in soft swaddling cloth. The snout was a bulge over her mouth and nose, the mouth pads and the arrangements for breathing. There were similar protrusions over her ears. Her arms were crossed at her waist, straitjacket fashion.
The Implementation officer looked down at her for long moments. When he turned, he showed his first signs of furtiveness. But he was alone, and no footsteps sounded in the hall.
From the head end of the coffin protruded a padded tube with a cap even more heavily padded in sponge rubber. The officer opened the cap and spoke
The head looked down. "You want to walk or be carried?"
"I'll walk," said Matt.
"He says he'll walk. Why should he get his choice? Oh. I guess it's easier at that. Sorry, Watts, I'm a little shook. This never happened to me before."
The gateman hung up. His head and gun continued to peer down at Matt. After a moment the gate slid back into the wall.
"Come on through," said the gateman. "Fold your hands behind your neck."
Matt did. A gatehouse had been built against the wall on the inside. The gateman came down a short flight of steps. "Stay ahead of me," he ordered. "Start walking. That's the front entrance, where all the lights are. See? Walk toward that."
It would have been hard to miss the front entrance. The great square bronze door topped a flight of broad, shallow steps flanked by Doric pillars. The steps and the pillars were either marble or some plastic substitute.
"Stop looking back at me," snapped the gateman. His voice shook.
When they reached the door, the gateman produced a whistle and blew into it. There was no sound, but the door opened. Matt went through.
Once inside, the gateman seemed to relax. "What were you doing out there?" he asked.
Matt's fear was returning. He was here . These corridors were the Hospital. He hadn't thought past this moment. Deliberately so; for if he had, he would have ran. The walls around him were concrete, with a few metal grilles at floor level and four rows of fluorescent tubing in the ceiling. There were doors, all closed. An unfamiliar odor tinged the air, or a combination of odors.
"I said, "What were — "
"Find out at the trial!"
"Don't bite my head off. What trial? I found you on Alpha Plateau. That makes you guilty. They'll put you in the vivarium till they need you, and then they'll pour antifreeze in you and cart you away. You'll never wake up." It sounded as if the gateman was smacking his lips.
Matt's head jerked around, with the terror showing in his eyes. The gateman jumped back at the sudden move. His gun steadied. It was a mercy-bullet pistol, with a tiny aperture in the nose and a C02 cartridge doubling as a handle. For a frozen moment Matt knew he was about to shoot.
They'd carry his unconscious body to the vivarium, whatever that was. He wouldn't wake up there. They'd take him apart while he was sleeping. His last living moment dragged out and out ....
The gun lowered. Matt shrank back from the gateman's expression. The gateman had gone mad. His wild eyes looked about him in horror, at the walls, at the doors, at the mercy-bullet gun in his hand, at everything but Matt Abruptly he turned and ran.
Matt heard his wail drifting back. "Mist Demons I'm supposed to be on the gate !"
At one-thirty another officer came to relieve Polly's guard.
The newcomer's uniform was not as well pressed, but he himself seemed in better condition. His muscles were gymnasium muscles, and he was casually alert at one-thirty in the morning. He waited until the long-headed man had gone, then moved to inspect the dials along the edge of Polly's coffin.
He was more thorough than the other. He moved methodically down the line, in no hurry, jotting the settings in a notebook. Then he opened two big clamps at two corners of the coffin and swung the lid back, careful not to jar it.
The figure within did not move. She was wrapped like a mummy, a mummy with a snout, in soft swaddling cloth. The snout was a bulge over her mouth and nose, the mouth pads and the arrangements for breathing. There were similar protrusions over her ears. Her arms were crossed at her waist, straitjacket fashion.
The Implementation officer looked down at her for long moments. When he turned, he showed his first signs of furtiveness. But he was alone, and no footsteps sounded in the hall.
From the head end of the coffin protruded a padded tube with a cap even more heavily padded in sponge rubber. The officer opened the cap and spoke
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