Heimat studied him, scratching his chin with his thumbnail. He didn’t speak.
“Also,” said Basingstoke, “there is something else to think of. No sensible person leaves a loaded gun in a drawer when he goes away. Do you think the owner of this house was so careless? How sure are you? You haven’t checked to see if it was empty, or I would have seen you do it.”
Heimat gave him a respectful nod. He put his hands in his lap for a moment, looking down at the gun. What he saw was concealed from the others by the desk; there was a snick of metal opening and a snap as it closed. Heimat’s expression didn’t change as he looked up. “Now I know whether it is loaded or not,” he observed. “But you don’t.”
“Is it, then?” Basingstoke inquired politely. He didn’t wait for an answer. “In any case, let us stop this nonsensical debate. We will both go and get rid of the boat; the children will be safe enough here. Then we will come back and see about finding a way off this island. Then, Beaupre, while we wait until it is time for our plane, you may entertain yourself in any fashion you like.”
It had been General Beaupre Heimat who tied them up, and Sneezy acknowledged that the old man knew what he was doing. In the few minutes they were out of the house he strained against the ropes uselessly. He was not helped by Harold’s complaining whine: “What the dickens is the matter with you, Dopey? You’re so skinny, you should be able to slide right out of those things! Then you could untie us and then—”
Harold stopped there, because not even he could visualize a good “and then.” In any case, the old men were back almost at once, hovering over the PV commset.
They accessed the reservations clerk at Faa-Faa-Faa Airport at once. It was-or looked to be-a pretty Polynesian girl in a sarong, with flowers in her hair. She appeared both friendly and real as she gazed out of the PV tank. For a moment Sneezy thought of crying out for help, but the hope did not justify the risk. She was undoubtedly only a simulation, and probably a very rudimentary one.
“Display all flights nonstop for more than two thousand kilometers departing between now and noon,” Heimat ordered.
“Oui, m’sieur.” The girl smiled and disappeared. The PV showed a list:
UA495Honolulu06:40
JA350Tokyo08:00
AF781Los Angeles09:30
NZ263Auckland11:10
QU819Sydney11:40
UT311San Francisco12:00
Heimat said at once, “I want the Los Angeles flight.” Basingstoke sighed. “Yes, Beaupre, I suppose you do. So do I.”
Heimat looked displeased. “You could take San Francisco,” he argued. “It’s only a couple hours later, and it’s better if we’re not on the same flight, isn’t it? Or you could go to Honolulu, or Tokyo—”
“I do not want to be on another island, or in a place where I will not speak the language, and I don’t want to wait a couple of hours. I will be on that plane to Los Angeles.”
Heimat sighed and gave in. “Very well. We can be quit of each other there. Reservations!”
The girl reappeared, politely inquiring. ‘M’sieur?”
“We want space for two on Air France 781 this morning. Mr. J. Smith and Mr. R. Jones,” Heimat improvised.
“First class or coach, sir?”
“Oh, by all means first class.” Heimat smiled. “Our dear little niece has been good enough to fly us here for a little vacation and she is very generous. One moment,” he said, signaling to Basingstoke to bring the little girl forward. Out of range of the PV pickup the old black man swiftly untied the girl’s hands. Then he nodded to Heimat and lifted her to the commset. “Oniko, my dear,” Heimat went on, “kindly give this nice young computer program your credit ID.”
Sneezy held his breath. Would Oniko try to call for help? She did not. In a clear voice she gave the program her credit data and submitted her thumb to the pickup for verification. Sneezy felt a moment’s disappointment. Where was this vaunted human courage when it was needed? And then he was ashamed of himself; certainly if Oniko had said the wrong word, it would have been very unpleasant for her as soon as the old terrorist could get her out of range of the PV.
That was all there was to it. There were no questions. The Polynesian-looking program verified the account in a second and announced, “You have confirmed space for two, Mr. J. Smith and Mr. R. Jones, nonstop from Faa-Faa-Faa Airport, departing at nine-thirty for Los Angeles Intercontinental. Will there be any continuing or return flights from there?”
“Not just now,” Basingstoke said, and snapped off the commset.
“Wait a minute,” Heimat protested. “What’s the hurry? We will want to move on from Los Angeles, you know!”
“But not on her credit, man, It’s too risky. You’ll have to find your own way from there.”
Heimat’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You take a lot on yourself, Cyril,” he said softly. “Have you forgotten that I still have the gun?” And then, suddenly, he yelped, “What is she doing? Stop her, Cyril!” For Oniko, with Basingstoke’s hand still on her, had reached out doggedly to the cominset once more.
Basingstoke jerked her away. “Now, now,” he chided. “This can get quite tiresome, child!” Oniko didn’t respond. She only gazed at the commset, now out of reach.
“Tie her,” Heimat ordered. Sneezy watched anxiously as Basingstoke did, setting her down again in the row of captives along the wall. As soon as Oniko was bound, she relaxed again, her body leaning against Sneezy’s for comfort.
“I had to,” she whispered to him, and he hissed agreement. She had to, just as he, too, had had to try to reach the commset as soon as they got into the house. Sneezy puzzled over that compulsive attempt; he could not remember just why it had seemed to be so important, only that it had. In the same way, he thought, he had wanted to find and record every bit of data he could get on Heechee history and activities for his diary. It seemed likely to him that the urges were related, but he could not understand them.
“They will be gone soon,” he whispered to Oniko, offering the only reassurance he could find.
She looked at him without speaking. She didn’t have to speak; what she would have said would have been only, “Not soon enough.”
The old men were doing what they were always doing. They were arguing.
How strange humans were, to decide even the simplest questions only by fierce dispute. This time the argument was over whether or not they should sleep, and which should do it first. Heimat was saying, “We might as well rest, Cyril. An hour or two each, so we’ll be alert when we go to the airport. Why don’t you go first? I’ll stay awake to entertain our young guests.”
“If you entertain that little one the way you want,” snapped Basing-stoke, “she will probably die of it.”
Heimat shook his head sadly. “Old age has weakened you. What do you care what happens to the little charmer?”
“Old age has made you a fool! There is a whole world of little girls out there. Once we are off this island, you can do what you like with all of them, for all I care, but this one has credit we can use. Can she pay our bills dead?”
“What bills? We’ve already got plane tickets.”
“And how do we get to the airport?” Basingstoke inquired. “Shall we walk?”
Heimat looked thoughtful, then glum. “Perhaps you are right this time,” he conceded grudgingly. Then he brightened. “So let us order a limousine now, and there will be time for other things while we are waiting for it to come!”