Planet in Peril by John Christopher Page B

the immediate objective to, possibly, Quebec, perhaps because their escape had gone so well so far. Quebec would give more scope for losing traces.
    Montpelier was three or four miles behind them when the gyro started to come down. The country was bleak and empty here, and Charles' first thought was that the gyro might have developed a fault. But Dinkuhl was directing the descent. They landed in one of Agriculture's vast potato fields. At Dinkuhl's gesture, Charles jumped clear; his feet sank into the moist crumbling earth.
    Dinkuhl came out on to the gyro's running-board, but did not immediately drop from it. He was apparently adjusting the controls. The gyro began to rise again, and Dinkuhl fell, landing on hands and feet. The gyro's door was still open as it disappeared on a continuation of its northerly line of flight.
    Dinkuhl wiped his hands on the back of his trousers. He looked after the retreating gyro, and said happily:
    “They gave us too much time. I don’t mind confessing a certain relief.”
    “We were clear, anyway, weren’t we?”
    “That was Telecom we left. They have resources some other managerials don’t. Their gyros can all be tracked from their control points.” He laughed. “They can follow that now. Maybe they’ll bring it down before it reaches the Hudson. But they will. They’ll intercept from Montreal and Quebec/ He looked around expansively. “Were clear, Charlie boy. I never really thought we’d make it.”
    Charles looked around himself. It was a field of a hundred acres or bigger. Beyond the distant wire fences there seemed to be other similar fields. The sky was low and trailing strands of dark cloud. It was the first time in his life he had been isolated in the country without a gyro or some similar form of transport, and the experience was a depressing one.
    “Clear,” he echoed. “Clear to do what?”
    “To walk back to Montpelier.” Dinkuhl grinned. “A healthy and invigorating exercise.”
    “And after that?”
    “Gyro-taxi to Detroit. Then we’ll see. Meanwhile, the invigorating walk.”
    Taking a southerly line, they trudged painfully across the ploughed field. They were nearing the first fence when Dinkuhl pointed to the sky. Two gyros were flying north. They stood and watched them until they were out of sight again. Then they climbed through the fence; another fence, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, gave onto a road. They headed for it with renewed energy.
    In Detroit, Dinkuhl got in touch with Awkright of Genetics Div. Over Dinkuhl’s shoulder, Charles saw the interior of the office to which he had been taken by Dinkuhl as the first step in his private commitment. Awkright’s broad freckled face came into focus as Dinkuhl adjusted the controls.
    Awkright said: “Hiram! So they let you loose ?”
    “Call me Houdini,” Dinkuhl said. “Can you pick us up—Fourth and Eisenhower? We don’t want to stay on public view any longer than we have to.”
    “Be right around.” Awkright grinned. “Someone’s been looking for you. For Charlie, anyway.”
    Awkright appeared in a few minutes in Dinkuhl’s ramshackle auto; the smell of petrol went ahead of it as well as behind. Dinkuhl and Charles climbed in. Charles said: “A good way of traveling incognito, this.” Awkright laughed. “I borrowed this while you were away, Hiram. Hope you didn’t mind. You mean someone’s still after you? I thought you were with UC.” “That was Telecom we just got away from,” Dinkuhl remarked. “Where are you heading—not my place? They’re likely to be dropping in again with false beards and astarate phials.”
    “My place,” Awkright said. “I told you—Charlie already has a visitor.”
    Charles said: “Look, you mean there’s someone out there waiting to see me? Anything but that.”
    The auto drew up before a big apartment block fronting the lake. The three of them went inside and took a lift to the top floor. Awkright whistled sharply at the door. He grinned at