twice to make the decoy landings. The six following spheres seemed lost in the storm but reappeared in place as the taxi emerged from it.
"That's good, I think," John said. "Means they're locked on the taxi, nothing else." He checked himself over nervously. "I'd better take some spray and paste along, even if it doesn't take well after so many layers. So I can mix in with the natives. The painted ones."
"Better leave your ID," Betsy said. "We can't operate the taxi very long without it—can't even get out of it!—and you won't need it in the enclave."
John turned it over a little sadly. He was no Standard, but he felt a bit naked without it. "Somebody better practice with the manual controls," he said. "It will confuse the Standards about our target area, and it's good stuff to know."
"Yes. Let me try," Betsy said. She switched to manual, and they clung to the rails while the taxi did its dance. John felt simultaneously seasick and hungry, to his surprise.
After that they took turns, swooping the vehicle around with greater enthusiasm, while the six pursuers matched them maneuver for maneuver with dismaying accuracy. But they came nearer to the assigned coordinate, for one of the taxi's registers was evidently a distance-from-target indicator, and the figure was diminishing. Miles, yards—they could not know what units were being shown, but when the number was down to zero, they would be there.
"Funny—they don't seem to use eights or nines," Betsy remarked. But the rest were too busy watching the pursuit to verify that.
"There it is!" Meilan cried suddenly, pointing.
Sure enough, there was a group of white squares that could be buildings.
"But we aren't there yet!" Betsy said. "According to the distance numbers, there's still a way to go."
"Maybe the speedometer is out of whack," John said, his voice sharpened by tension. "That's an African enclave—see, some are round grass huts. So just drop me north of this one, on manual. And make sure you can find this place again!"
Pei took control and guided the taxi down. Trees loomed. "Don't land," John cried. "Just hover a few feet up, as though you're just changing direction; I'll jump. Get ready with that ID, Betsy."
Pei's handling seemed clumsy; then John realized that the wobbles were deliberate, so the Standards would think the near approach to the ground was accidental. "Time!" Pei announced, bringing the taxi to a halt in midair. Betsy poked the ID at the door, dissolving it.
"Come on, Canute!" John cried.
Canute came charging. Meilan happened to be standing between the dog and the door. She stumbled as he banged against her leg. She grabbed automatically at him for support, falling toward the door.
"Look out!" John cried, but the available space was small, and he was already dropping himself. Canute's momentum carried both dog and girl into the door panel and through. All three fell in a rough tangle and struck the ground hard. John spit the dog's soft black ear out of his mouth and lurched to his feet while Meilan rolled lithely aside.
The six craft were too close. There was no chance to put Meilan aboard again. Betsy and Pei must have realized this, for the taxi shot away.
Meilan was along on this mission, perforce. "Hide!" John cried.
The Empty Enclave
John dived under the nearest bush and saw Meilan doing the same. Canute had already disappeared. They waited while the six craft passed. None landed; none hovered.
"It worked!" John said at last. "They think we're all still in the taxi!"
"Um," Meilan murmured from inside the brush.
He got up and dusted off his bruises, then went to help her. "Sorry you got caught in this. Are you hurt?"
"No," she said, looking after the departed spheres.
"Well, you'll have to come with me, I guess. Here—you can use the brown paste if you like."
"I prefer to remain as I am."
He shrugged. "Okay. How are you at walking? We have five miles to go if Pei figured it right. The faster, the better."
"We of the
"That's good, I think," John said. "Means they're locked on the taxi, nothing else." He checked himself over nervously. "I'd better take some spray and paste along, even if it doesn't take well after so many layers. So I can mix in with the natives. The painted ones."
"Better leave your ID," Betsy said. "We can't operate the taxi very long without it—can't even get out of it!—and you won't need it in the enclave."
John turned it over a little sadly. He was no Standard, but he felt a bit naked without it. "Somebody better practice with the manual controls," he said. "It will confuse the Standards about our target area, and it's good stuff to know."
"Yes. Let me try," Betsy said. She switched to manual, and they clung to the rails while the taxi did its dance. John felt simultaneously seasick and hungry, to his surprise.
After that they took turns, swooping the vehicle around with greater enthusiasm, while the six pursuers matched them maneuver for maneuver with dismaying accuracy. But they came nearer to the assigned coordinate, for one of the taxi's registers was evidently a distance-from-target indicator, and the figure was diminishing. Miles, yards—they could not know what units were being shown, but when the number was down to zero, they would be there.
"Funny—they don't seem to use eights or nines," Betsy remarked. But the rest were too busy watching the pursuit to verify that.
"There it is!" Meilan cried suddenly, pointing.
Sure enough, there was a group of white squares that could be buildings.
"But we aren't there yet!" Betsy said. "According to the distance numbers, there's still a way to go."
"Maybe the speedometer is out of whack," John said, his voice sharpened by tension. "That's an African enclave—see, some are round grass huts. So just drop me north of this one, on manual. And make sure you can find this place again!"
Pei took control and guided the taxi down. Trees loomed. "Don't land," John cried. "Just hover a few feet up, as though you're just changing direction; I'll jump. Get ready with that ID, Betsy."
Pei's handling seemed clumsy; then John realized that the wobbles were deliberate, so the Standards would think the near approach to the ground was accidental. "Time!" Pei announced, bringing the taxi to a halt in midair. Betsy poked the ID at the door, dissolving it.
"Come on, Canute!" John cried.
Canute came charging. Meilan happened to be standing between the dog and the door. She stumbled as he banged against her leg. She grabbed automatically at him for support, falling toward the door.
"Look out!" John cried, but the available space was small, and he was already dropping himself. Canute's momentum carried both dog and girl into the door panel and through. All three fell in a rough tangle and struck the ground hard. John spit the dog's soft black ear out of his mouth and lurched to his feet while Meilan rolled lithely aside.
The six craft were too close. There was no chance to put Meilan aboard again. Betsy and Pei must have realized this, for the taxi shot away.
Meilan was along on this mission, perforce. "Hide!" John cried.
The Empty Enclave
John dived under the nearest bush and saw Meilan doing the same. Canute had already disappeared. They waited while the six craft passed. None landed; none hovered.
"It worked!" John said at last. "They think we're all still in the taxi!"
"Um," Meilan murmured from inside the brush.
He got up and dusted off his bruises, then went to help her. "Sorry you got caught in this. Are you hurt?"
"No," she said, looking after the departed spheres.
"Well, you'll have to come with me, I guess. Here—you can use the brown paste if you like."
"I prefer to remain as I am."
He shrugged. "Okay. How are you at walking? We have five miles to go if Pei figured it right. The faster, the better."
"We of the
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