“Back in five minutes,” he said, ignoring the questioning looks of his crew. He climbed down from tank six, he would lead the tanks himself on the return trip, and walked back along the trains. This was the spot — but no one was here. It had been a risk to send the first message, madness to follow it up with a second. But he had had to do it. The Central Way was silent, it was the middle of the sleep period.
“Jan. Are you there?”
He spun about and there she was, by the warehouse. He ran to her.
“I didn’t know if you were coming.”
“I had the message, but I couldn’t leave until now, when they were all asleep. She has them watching me.
“Come with me.”
He had meant to build his argument logically and rationally, explaining how important it was she keep the bit of independence gained. To perfect her technical skills. It was a good argument. He wasn’t going to mention how he loved her and needed her. Yet at the sight of her he had forgotten it all and just blurted out the words. Alzbeta recoiled, shocked.
“I couldn’t do that. There are only men.”
“We’re not animals. You won’t be hurt, touched. It is important for you, for both of us.”
“The Hradil would never permit it.”
“Of course. That is why you must leave without permission. Everything is changing and we must make it change faster. If the ships don’t come all of us have only a few more years to live. When summer comes and we can’t make the trip — we burn. I want those years with you, I can’t bear losing one day of them.”
“Of course, I know.”
She was in his arms, and he was holding her tightly, hard to his body, and she was not resisting or pulling away. Over her shoulder he saw Ritterspach and two Proctors running toward them. All the men carried clubs.
A trap, that’s why Alzbeta had been late. They had intercepted his message, planned to catch them together. The Hradil must have arranged it all, was gloating now at her success.
“No!” Jan shouted, pushing Alzbeta away from him, crouching in defense, hands extended. The clubs were to beat him with, not kill him, bring him back for her justice. “No!” shouted even louder still as he dived under the swing of the first Proctor’s club.
The swing missed and he hit the Proctor hard, hearing the air rush from his chest, slapping his forearm hard against the man’s throat as he whirled to face the others.
A club caught him on the side of his head, slammed down onto his shoulder. Jan shouted aloud with pain and grabbed the man, caught his neck in an armlock, pulled him about as a shield between himself and Ritterspach. Luckily the big man was still coward enough to hesitate, to let the other two take the punishment. Now he could wait no longer. He swung wildly, afraid to close, striking the Proctor Jan held so that the man cried out, swung again.
“Don’t, please stop,” Alzbeta cried, trying to separate the struggling men. The first Proctor shoved her aside rudely and circled to take Jan from the rear. Alzbeta, crying, came forward again, just in time to step in front of Ritterspach’s wildly swinging club.
Jan could hear the sharp, mallet-like crack as it caught her full on the side of her head. She dropped without a sound.
He wanted to help her, but this must be finished first. In his anger he could not be stopped, tightening his arm hard so that the man he held tore at the pain in his throat, then went limp. Jan seized his club and spun the man’s body about, ignorant of the club that struck him once, twice. Throwing the limp attacker into the moving one, following up with his own club, battering until both were still, turning about and going for Ritterspach.
“Don’t,” Ritterspach said, striking out wildly in defense. Jan did not answer, his club speaking for him, thudding into the other’s arm so the fingers went limp and the club fell. Hitting again, catching the back of the Proctor Captain’s head when he turned to flee.
“What is it?” a voice shouted. One of the mechanics running down the train.
“They attacked me, hit her, get the doctor, Assistant Tsiturides. Quickly.”
Jan bent and picked up Alzbeta gently, bending his face to hers, afraid of what he would find. More afraid not to know. There was blood, dark on her pale skin. Her breath slow, but regular.
He carried her carefully to the nearest car and took her inside, putting her down gently on the filthy rug.
“Where are you?” a voice called out. “What has happened.”
It was Tsiturides, bent over the men on the ground. He straightened up from Ritterspach, his face shocked. “That other one is unconscious. This one’s dead.”
“All right then, there’s nothing you can do for him. Alzbeta is in here, struck by that pig. Take care of her.”
The doctor pushed by and Jan watched while he opened his bag at her side. There were more running footsteps. Jan closed the door and looked at it, then took the keys from his belt and locked it.
“The fun’s over,” he said, turning to the men as they came up. “They jumped me and I took care of them. Now let us roll these trains before there are any more difficulties.”
It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do. But it was done. He had tried to do it by law, by asking The Hradil, by suffering the indignities of her rejection. Now he would do it his own way. There would be no going back from this either.
Buffers clanked together, the cars moved slowly at first, then faster and faster. Jan turned and ran toward his tank, waiting impatiently until the train had rumbled by, then hurrying over almost under the wheels of the next engine.
“Let’s go,” he said, closing the hatch behind him. “Move out ahead of the trains.”
“And about time,” Otakar said, gunning the engine.
Jan did not relax until the Central Way changed into the rock surface of the Road, until the warehouses had grown small and vanished behind the last car of the train. Then the fence posts were gone as well and the last of the farms and he still kept watching the monitor screen. They could not be followed — so what was he watching for? The one engine left behind was immobilized as a power station. Who was he running from?
Fourteen
Jan decided that they would have to travel for at least four hours before they could make a stop. But he could not force himself to wait that long. Even three hours was too much; he had to know how Alzbeta was. It hadn’t seemed too hard a blow, but she had been unconscious when he left. She might still be unconscious — or dead. The thought was unbearable; he had to find out. At the end of the second hour of driving he admitted defeat.
“All units,” he ordered. ” A short rest stop. Change drivers if you want to. Begin your slowdown now.”
Even as he issued the command he pulled the tank out of line, spun it 180 degrees on its treads and went thundering back along the line of still moving trains. He found the car in which he had left Alzbeta and the doctor, reversed, and swung alongside it, slowing when it slowed, jumping down the instant they had stopped. The right key was ready in his hand and he unlocked the door and threw it open to face an angry Doctor Tsiturides.
“This is an insult, locking me in the way you did.”
“How is she?”
“This car is dusty, uncleaned, with no proper facilities.”
“I said — how is she?”
The cold anger in his voice penetrated the doctor’s complaints and he took a step backward. “She is doing well, as well as can be expected under the conditions. She is asleep now. Mild concussion, no more than that I am sure. It is safe to leave her alone and that is what I am doing.”