leaned against the wall.
The diner was not cold, but Clemmie found herself shivering. She was afraid suddenly of what she was feeling. She was afraid that, for the first time, the History was going out of her.
And that she wasn’t going to get it back.
Outside, Urbans crowded the street corners, blocked the intersections, filled the barren parks and reservoirs.
And they looked up, up at the holoscreens, up at thegripping images being transmitted simultaneously to every corner, to every Urban in the city.
They saw the ruins, the death, the bodies of men and women and children.
And the Urbans knew this to be a challenge to Chicago, to their city, to their very lives.
And they were ready.
Deep within the labyrinth of Chicago, Government had convened a second emergency session. There had been little alternative.
The call for war would not be long in coming.
7
Estelle Gilcrest lay alone in her bed. Her wheelchair stood in a near corner. A soft dimness had settled like a downy covering over every article in the spacious room.
It was quiet, almost silent, except for the faint hiss of the environmental unit. The walls glowed dully, giving off the fine Tranquilium mist.
The mist enveloped her, lulled her, was drawn thirstily into her skin.
Estelle closed her eyes, sleep poised above her painted lids.
The sound was a sharp snap: the breaking of a lock, the pulling away of a hinge.
The mist was everywhere.
Estelle tried to get up on her elbows, tried to raise her head.
The lunks were through the door in seconds, and then upon her, dragging her from the bed.
Perhaps she screamed. She couldn’t remember. The Tranquilium …
If she had screamed, if she had made any sound, it was heard by no one.
There were two lunks, dressed in the uniforms of Government laborers. One held her in his thick arms while the other tore open a closet door. He grunted something and reached inside.
Quickly, the two lunks wrapped Estelle Gilcrest in her own blankets and carried her out.
Just beyond the door to her private room ran a small corridor. At the end of this corridor stood another lunk, dressed as were his confederates.
“Well done, brothers,” said Giles, motioning with his left hand. In his right was a snub-rifle.
The lunks followed Giles down another short run of corridor, their burden by this time as though lifeless within the heavy blankets.
Giles led them to a service pneumatic, whose sliding doors stood open and unguarded.
“Quickly, brothers,” Giles whispered, indicating for them to step inside before him. Then, looking about one last time, Giles joined them in the pneumatic. He touched the control rod.
“You see?” Giles leaned back against the cushioned interior, held the snub-rifle close to his chest. “You see? Our friend has come through for us, just as I promised. The woman’s private room, this fine conveyance … both unguarded.”
The lunks nodded.
Giles stepped forward, drew aside one of the blanket folds. Estelle Gilcrest’s face was ashen, her lips slack from fear and the remaining effects of the Tranquilium.
He prodded her with the nose of his rifle. She stirred in the blankets, and her small eyes held him.
“Don’t be afraid, Mrs. Gilcrest,” he said, smiling. “Think of this as an adventure.” He looked from the faces of his confederates back to hers. “An historic adventure …”
The pneumatic reached the streets of the city in moments, and the lunks bore their hostage away.
The Tactics Room was a swell of voices. The ministers and their associates and assistants crowded the table, or else stood in small groups in different corners of the room. A thick haze floated above the activity, the product of synthetic tobacco. A communications module had been erected at one section of the chamber, by which various Government members could relay and receive messages from outside the labyrinth.
Gilcrest surveyed the room in thoughtful silence for a few minutes, then turned to
The diner was not cold, but Clemmie found herself shivering. She was afraid suddenly of what she was feeling. She was afraid that, for the first time, the History was going out of her.
And that she wasn’t going to get it back.
Outside, Urbans crowded the street corners, blocked the intersections, filled the barren parks and reservoirs.
And they looked up, up at the holoscreens, up at thegripping images being transmitted simultaneously to every corner, to every Urban in the city.
They saw the ruins, the death, the bodies of men and women and children.
And the Urbans knew this to be a challenge to Chicago, to their city, to their very lives.
And they were ready.
Deep within the labyrinth of Chicago, Government had convened a second emergency session. There had been little alternative.
The call for war would not be long in coming.
7
Estelle Gilcrest lay alone in her bed. Her wheelchair stood in a near corner. A soft dimness had settled like a downy covering over every article in the spacious room.
It was quiet, almost silent, except for the faint hiss of the environmental unit. The walls glowed dully, giving off the fine Tranquilium mist.
The mist enveloped her, lulled her, was drawn thirstily into her skin.
Estelle closed her eyes, sleep poised above her painted lids.
The sound was a sharp snap: the breaking of a lock, the pulling away of a hinge.
The mist was everywhere.
Estelle tried to get up on her elbows, tried to raise her head.
The lunks were through the door in seconds, and then upon her, dragging her from the bed.
Perhaps she screamed. She couldn’t remember. The Tranquilium …
If she had screamed, if she had made any sound, it was heard by no one.
There were two lunks, dressed in the uniforms of Government laborers. One held her in his thick arms while the other tore open a closet door. He grunted something and reached inside.
Quickly, the two lunks wrapped Estelle Gilcrest in her own blankets and carried her out.
Just beyond the door to her private room ran a small corridor. At the end of this corridor stood another lunk, dressed as were his confederates.
“Well done, brothers,” said Giles, motioning with his left hand. In his right was a snub-rifle.
The lunks followed Giles down another short run of corridor, their burden by this time as though lifeless within the heavy blankets.
Giles led them to a service pneumatic, whose sliding doors stood open and unguarded.
“Quickly, brothers,” Giles whispered, indicating for them to step inside before him. Then, looking about one last time, Giles joined them in the pneumatic. He touched the control rod.
“You see?” Giles leaned back against the cushioned interior, held the snub-rifle close to his chest. “You see? Our friend has come through for us, just as I promised. The woman’s private room, this fine conveyance … both unguarded.”
The lunks nodded.
Giles stepped forward, drew aside one of the blanket folds. Estelle Gilcrest’s face was ashen, her lips slack from fear and the remaining effects of the Tranquilium.
He prodded her with the nose of his rifle. She stirred in the blankets, and her small eyes held him.
“Don’t be afraid, Mrs. Gilcrest,” he said, smiling. “Think of this as an adventure.” He looked from the faces of his confederates back to hers. “An historic adventure …”
The pneumatic reached the streets of the city in moments, and the lunks bore their hostage away.
The Tactics Room was a swell of voices. The ministers and their associates and assistants crowded the table, or else stood in small groups in different corners of the room. A thick haze floated above the activity, the product of synthetic tobacco. A communications module had been erected at one section of the chamber, by which various Government members could relay and receive messages from outside the labyrinth.
Gilcrest surveyed the room in thoughtful silence for a few minutes, then turned to
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