up on one knee, reaching for the chain as a weapon. It was a
seven-foot chain with a handle at each end. A heavy chain is a terrible weapon
in the hands of a strong man. If it had been behind him at the moment of
impulse, he would have swept it around and forward and cut them down like
grass. He gathered it looped into his hands, eyeing the crowd of oddly dressed
teeners that was his target. His speed was too fast to intercept, his motions
too smooth to look fast. lie threw the chain up into the air behind him, then
arched back with every muscle tight and bent forward with a grunt of effort,
ignoring two clubs that bounced off his shoulders, bringing the chain forward
with a tremendous released surge of force that was rage. The teen gang
scattered and fled and the chain swung its cutting circle through the air where
they had been.
“Dumb punks.” George breathed noisily
with the effort. “Whyncha act like brothers? Can’t let anybody be your
friend. Trying to be smart, not knowing …”
He stopped and let the swinging chain drag along
the ground, slowing. He rippled it in and let it wrap around his arm, with a
short murderous loop of it in his hand. The sun had set and it was growing
darker in the corners and harder to see. George fended off a flung stick by
deflecting it with the chain, then grabbed a club for his other hand. Something
whistled by and clanged against a wall. Probably a knife. The teener leader
would see that George knew too much, and instruct the gang to kill him. The boy
was logical and ruthless and would decide a stranger’s life was less important
to him than the million he hoped to gain from selling the computerman’s
answers.
“Carl Hodges,” George bellowed.
“Ally ally infree. I need help. Computerman Carl Hodges, come out.”
The police riot control man in the circling copter would at last hear a request
for help, and bring his plane in fast. The teeners would only hear him yelling
Carl Hodges’ name and still not be sure the police were near.
The cellar door gave two thumps and a crash and
fell forward off its rusty hinges across the steps. A man fell out on top of it
and scrambled across the door and up the steps without bothering to straighten
from all fours.
At the top he stood up. He was thin and balding,
wiry and a little under average in size, totally unlike George in either shape
or face, but the impression of lifetime familiarity was overwhelming. His own
eyes looked out of the strange face.
George handed him a club from the ground.
“Guard my back. They are going to try to take you alive, I think, but not
me.” He spun slowly, looking and listening, but all was quiet. Teeners
lurked in a distance along the routes George would use if he tried to escape.
George looked back at Carl Hodges and saw the
thin computerman inspecting George’s appearance with a knot of puzzlement
between his brows. Looking at him was like looking into a mirror.
“Hello, me over there,” George said.
“Hello, me over there,” the man said.
“Are you a computerman? When I get back on the job do you want to come
play City Chess with me? Maybe you could get a job in my department.”
“No, buddy, we are us, but I don’t play
City Chess. I’m not like you.”
“Then why—“Carl Hodges ducked a flung
club and it clattered against the cement. Then why do I have this impression of
two people being the same person? he thought.
“We have an empathy link in our guts,”
George said. “I don’t think like you. I just feel what you feel.”
“God help anyone who feels the way I
feel,” Hodges said. “I see some kids advancing on my side.”
“Hold them off. Back to back. All we need
is a little time.” George turned away from him again, and searched the
corners with his eyes, ready for a rush. “About the way you feel. It’s not
all that bad. I’ll get over it.”
“I did it,” Carl Hodges said.
“How do I get over it? I feel … I mean, I have a reason for feeling… I got
seven-foot chain with a handle at each end. A heavy chain is a terrible weapon
in the hands of a strong man. If it had been behind him at the moment of
impulse, he would have swept it around and forward and cut them down like
grass. He gathered it looped into his hands, eyeing the crowd of oddly dressed
teeners that was his target. His speed was too fast to intercept, his motions
too smooth to look fast. lie threw the chain up into the air behind him, then
arched back with every muscle tight and bent forward with a grunt of effort,
ignoring two clubs that bounced off his shoulders, bringing the chain forward
with a tremendous released surge of force that was rage. The teen gang
scattered and fled and the chain swung its cutting circle through the air where
they had been.
“Dumb punks.” George breathed noisily
with the effort. “Whyncha act like brothers? Can’t let anybody be your
friend. Trying to be smart, not knowing …”
He stopped and let the swinging chain drag along
the ground, slowing. He rippled it in and let it wrap around his arm, with a
short murderous loop of it in his hand. The sun had set and it was growing
darker in the corners and harder to see. George fended off a flung stick by
deflecting it with the chain, then grabbed a club for his other hand. Something
whistled by and clanged against a wall. Probably a knife. The teener leader
would see that George knew too much, and instruct the gang to kill him. The boy
was logical and ruthless and would decide a stranger’s life was less important
to him than the million he hoped to gain from selling the computerman’s
answers.
“Carl Hodges,” George bellowed.
“Ally ally infree. I need help. Computerman Carl Hodges, come out.”
The police riot control man in the circling copter would at last hear a request
for help, and bring his plane in fast. The teeners would only hear him yelling
Carl Hodges’ name and still not be sure the police were near.
The cellar door gave two thumps and a crash and
fell forward off its rusty hinges across the steps. A man fell out on top of it
and scrambled across the door and up the steps without bothering to straighten
from all fours.
At the top he stood up. He was thin and balding,
wiry and a little under average in size, totally unlike George in either shape
or face, but the impression of lifetime familiarity was overwhelming. His own
eyes looked out of the strange face.
George handed him a club from the ground.
“Guard my back. They are going to try to take you alive, I think, but not
me.” He spun slowly, looking and listening, but all was quiet. Teeners
lurked in a distance along the routes George would use if he tried to escape.
George looked back at Carl Hodges and saw the
thin computerman inspecting George’s appearance with a knot of puzzlement
between his brows. Looking at him was like looking into a mirror.
“Hello, me over there,” George said.
“Hello, me over there,” the man said.
“Are you a computerman? When I get back on the job do you want to come
play City Chess with me? Maybe you could get a job in my department.”
“No, buddy, we are us, but I don’t play
City Chess. I’m not like you.”
“Then why—“Carl Hodges ducked a flung
club and it clattered against the cement. Then why do I have this impression of
two people being the same person? he thought.
“We have an empathy link in our guts,”
George said. “I don’t think like you. I just feel what you feel.”
“God help anyone who feels the way I
feel,” Hodges said. “I see some kids advancing on my side.”
“Hold them off. Back to back. All we need
is a little time.” George turned away from him again, and searched the
corners with his eyes, ready for a rush. “About the way you feel. It’s not
all that bad. I’ll get over it.”
“I did it,” Carl Hodges said.
“How do I get over it? I feel … I mean, I have a reason for feeling… I got
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