“And why am I in a plane?” whispered Jonnie.
That was the question they didn't want to answer. The doctor had told them not to worry this young man. They had him in a plane and were rushing him to the huge underground defense base in the mountains. There was some chance of a Psychlo counterattack. They had no idea at all whether the bombs sent to Psychlo had succeeded or failed. The Chamco brothers had told them about the force screen on Psychlo's transshipment area and that the early recoil had shown evidence of the screen's closing. The Chamcos had also told them that common salt neutralized the kill-gas completely. Angus had gotten mine ventilation fans into the old base and they'd found salt for filters of air. A group of excited, imported, awed Russians were at that very moment cleaning up the old base and the parson was burying the dead there. And they were not about to leave Jonnie MacTyler anywhere but safe in that base!
Dunneldeen answered, “What? Why not in the plane? You want to miss the victory celebration? We can't have that!”
A Scot helping Dwight up in the cockpit area came back and whispered in Dunneldeen's ear. He was dragging a mike on a long cord. They had it on the planetary band.
Dunneldeen turned to Jonnie. “They want to hear your voice so they can believe you're alive.”
“Who?” said Jonnie.
“The compound, the people. Just say something about how you are.”
Dunneldeen put the mike very close to Jonnie's mouth.
"I’m fine,” Jonnie whispered. Then something told him he should try harder. He tried to speak louder. “I’m just fine.”
Dunneldeen gave the mike back to the Scot who hesitated, not sure the message had gone out. Dunneldeen waved him away.
“I hear other planes,” whispered Jonnie.
With a glance at the doctor for permission, Dunneldeen helped him turn his head. Jonnie looked through the plane ports.
There were five planes out there, stacked in a long echelon. He turned his eyes and looked out the other port. There were five planes out there in another echelon.
“It’s your escort,” said Dunneldeen.
“My escort?” whispered Jonnie. “But why? Everybody helped.”
“Aye, laddie,” said the Chief of Clanfearghus. “But you were the one. You were the bonnie one!”
The doctor disconnected the tube. He felt Jonnie's pulse. He nodded and motioned the others to silence. He had let this go on too long. The plane was not vibrating; the flight was very smooth. He had his patient out of shock. He wished he were in his own operating cave. But the others would not leave this young man there. And he himself, having heard but a small part of it, could share their awe and respect for what he had done.
"If you'll just drink this,” said the doctor, “it will make things easier.”
They held the cup to Jonnie's mouth.
It was whiskey and it had heavy herbs in it. He managed to drink it. Shortly the pain grew less and he seemed to be floating.
The doctor signaled them all to be quiet. He had a trephine in his hand. The brain was being pressed upon in three places, not two, and the pressure must be relieved.
Dunneldeen went up to the cockpit to help Dwight. He glanced at their escort. Most of them were flying with one pilot. They had each smashed their minesites and come hammering back here when he put out the call for a massive patrol to the north of Scotland. They all should have gone home, but they wouldn't hear of it when they knew about Jonnie. They'd gone down with a Scot war party and gotten more planes from the Cornwall minesite after shooting the few Psychlos staggering around, and those not ordered back for urgent duty had been sitting, waiting for news about Jonnie. Now they were escorting him home.
“You better tell them he's all right,” said Dwight. “They keep calling in every two or three minutes for news. And so does Robert the Fox. Takes one man just to handle the radio!”
“He's not all right,” said Dunneldeen. And he looked down the long corridor to where the doctor had begun the operation.
Dwight glanced at Dunneldeen. Was the young prince crying? He felt like it himself.
Chapter 2
Jonnie had been in a coma for three days.
They had brought him to the ancient underground military base in the Rocky Mountains where salt filters could be dropped into place at once if a counterattack materialized from the planet Psychlo.
The hospital complex was very extensive. It was all white tile, hardly any of it cracked. The Russians had cleaned it all up and the parson had buried the crumbling dead.
Fifteen of the wounded Scots were there, including Thor and Glencannon. They were in a separate series of rooms from Jonnie's, but one could hear them now and then, especially when the pipe major gave them an afternoon concert. Dr. Allen and Dr. MacKendrick had already discharged five of them as reasonably well and certainly too restless and impatient to keep idle when so many things were going on elsewhere.
Chrissie had been in constant attendance at Jonnie's bedside and she rose when Dr. MacKendrick and Angus MacTavish came in. They seemed angry with one another and Chrissie hoped they would go soon. MacKendrick put a hand on Jonnie's forehead and stood there for a moment looking at the ashen pallor. Then he turned to Angus with an expressive hand that seemed to say, “See?” Jonnie's breathing was shallow.
Three days before Jonnie had awakened and whispered to her to send for somebody. There was always a Scot guard at the door, his assault rifle blocking out would-be visitors, of which there were too many. Chrissie had brought him in and watched worriedly while Jonnie whispered a long message to Robert the Fox, and the guard got it on a picto-recorder mike held close to Jonnie's lips. The message had been to the effect that if another gas drone appeared in the sky they could probably stop it by landing thirty recon drones on it with magnetic skids and racing their engines on reverse coordinates so the gas drone's motors would burn out. Chrissie didn't understand the message but she did understand that it was too tiring to Jonnie. He had relapsed back into a coma, and when the guard came back to say Sir Robert sent his thanks and would do that, Chrissie was quite cross with him.
The same guard was on again when Dr. MacKendrick and Angus were let in, and Chrissie vowed she would reason with him. MacKendrick, yes. Angus, definitely no!
MacKendrick and Angus went out and the guard closed the door behind them.
“Look,” said MacKendrick, dragging Angus into one side room after another. “Machines, machines, machines. This was once a very well appointed and outfitted hospital.
Those big things over there– I have seen them in an ancient book– were called 'X-ray machines.' It was a subject called radiology.”
“Radiation?” said Angus. “No, man, not on Jonnie! Radiation is for killing Psychlos. You're daft!”
“Those machines let you look inside the body and find out what is wrong. They were invaluable.”
“Those machines,” said Angus, angrily, “were run by electricity! Why do you think we light this place with mine lamps?”
“You must get them running!” said
MacKendrick.
“Even if I did, I see by that one they have tubes. The gas in those tubes is over a thousand years old. We can't get any more of it and couldn't get it into the tubes if we had any! You're daft, man.”
MacKendrick glared at him. “There is something pressing on his brain! I can't just go plunging into it with a scalpel. I can't guess. Not with Jonnie MacTyler!