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X For a long while Abbott cringed on the floor, with the noise of a city in panic all around him. Plaster showered onto his back in a snowstorm; a crack had appeared in one wall. But all he could think of was the radiation. "They've done it now," he mumbled. "They've blown up the Power Station. The radiation'll kill everyone in the city." The thought shocked some semblance of action back into him. Sue Vickers had been hurled in one corner by the shock. She didn't move as he called her name. A small cut in her forehead had sent a trickle of blood rolling down one cheek. Abbott staggered back to his feet and picked up the vidphone. It was dead. Cursing, he lifted Sue Vickers and staggered towards the door, dodging as a chunk of the ceiling plummeted down, shaken loose by the blast, dislodged by his movement. He emerged from his house into a city torn with fear. All along the road cars had stopped, many were piled up in multiple crashes, their drivers blinded by the flash. Some had twisted bodies beneath their wheels. All around was the cacophonous sound of agony and death. Behind the buildings a crimson cloud hung in the air, evil and malignant, glowing hot in the night air. Small pieces of ash had begun to drift down from the sky. Abbott vaguely realised that they were probably highly radioactive. A tattered policeman, dusty and bedraggled, came dazedly up to Abbott. Recognising the Co- ordinator, he saluted briefly. Abbott laid Sue Vickers down. "Get this woman to a hospital," he ordered. "Priority. Do you know where there's an operational 'phone?" The policeman shook his head. "Lights are still on further down," he said. "Phones may still be working too. My communicator's dead." Abbott nodded and raced off down the street, forcing himself to ignore the cries of the injured. He could serve them better, he told himself, if he could get to a 'phone and organise swift relief. At length he arrived at a section of the street where the lights were still burning. Casting a last glance at the crimson afterglow that still hung towards the mountains, Abbott stumbled up to a dazed-looking householder who stood at his door, an expression of bemused incomprehension on his face. "I'm the Co-ordinator," Abbot rapped. "Is your 'phone in working order?" "Don't know," the man mumbled. He clawed at Abbott's shoulder as the executive pushed his way into the house. "Whatinhell is going on. I demand..." Abbott ignored him, striding across to the small table where the man's communicator lay. He glanced into a room as he punched in the number, seeing a woman huddled on the floor in one corner, sobbing. She had a long gash on her forehead. "My God, Vickers, you've got a lot to answer for," the Co-ordinator muttered as there was a click at the other end of the phone. "Who's there?" a voice asked gruffly. Abbott recognised it as Bill French, Chief Security Officer. "Bill, it's Frank Abbott," he said. "Listen; if you don't already know the power station on the hill was the cause of that explosion. It could be dangerous - much more so than the shock of the blast. There was uranium and thorium stored there. You'd better get a radioactivity reading right away." "Working on it right now," French replied. "I guessed what the cause of it was. Luckily the power's still on here, or we'd be sunk. Relief teams are at work already, trying to dig people out of the debris." "Have you got an assessment of the overall damage?" "It's worst up your end of the town; being nearer the blast area. Down there, power's out altogether, and we have widespread shock-wave damage reported. There must be fatalities, but we've obviously got no reliable figures as yet. Hold on, I'm getting info on the radiation intensity..." Abbott hung on, panic welling up inside him as the silence at the other end continued. "We might already be dead men," he thought to himself. If the radiation from the blast had passed a certain level, he might just as well sit back and wait. He realised that the householder whose home he was in was standing right behind him, breathing heavily. "Better go to the door and watch out for the relief teams," he told the man. "Looks like your wife could use some first-aid." As the man scuttled off, seemingly anxious to have the responsibility for the situation lifted from his hands, French came back on the 'phone. His tone was perplexed. "I can't understand this, Frank," he muttered, "but the radiation intensity is no higher than normal for this area." "But that's hardly possible," Abbott protested. "Even if the wind was blowing the radiation directly away from us, which it's not, there would be some sort of an increase." "Nevertheless, it's so," French said. "I'll check with other monitoring points if you wish." Abbott nibbled at his lower lip thoughtfully. "Yes, do that," he said. "I'm coming over as soon as I can commandeer a car. Let me know the result when I get there." French murmured agreement and logged off. Abbott walked from the house to find a relief truck in the street outside. They came in the house as he left, presumably heading for the injured woman. But to Abbott the arrival of the relief team was a different sort of blessing. He hastily crossed the street to where the team leader was distributing medicaments and bandages. The man recognised the Co-ordinator through the grime and dust that streaked his face. "Can you get hold of some sort of transport for me?" Abbott enquired. "I must get to HQ." The man nodded to the truck. "Our driver's just going to the depot for a fresh load of supplies. He'll drop you off. As you can guess, sir, there's not much moving traffic about." Abbott glanced at the dazed crowd, milling in the streets and around the relief lorry. "No, I don't suppose there is," he muttered, and strolled off towards the truck, glancing once towards the ragged crimson glow that still shone in the sky. XI Abbott gazed at the two sets of data on the screen puzzledly. "I still don't understand it," he said. "The radioactivity must be increasing. But it's not, according to your information." French looked sympathetic. "It's got us baffled, too," he admitted. "But we're working on it. I've sent a volunteer team out into the hills to get as near the site of the blast as they can. They're keeping a constant radiation check." Abbott nodded. "Are we in touch with them?" "Yes," the other confirmed, switching them on screen. "That's them now." The picture was blurred and the audio fighting against the crackle of static that presumably came from the ionization effects of the explosion. "We've hit a snag." Abbott thought of radioactivity. "What's that?" French asked. "There seems to be a kind of barrier around the area of the old power station; it's surrounding a cratered area, and that crimson ball of fire's in the middle, It's over one hundred degrees at the barrier, but radiation's negligible." "That accounts for something we've noticed here," French put in. "There's been a slow but steady rise in temperature here in the city since the blast. Only about two degrees at the moment, but there's no sign of it levelling off at the moment." Abbott's mind flickered back abruptly to the problem of radiation. "Why isn't there any increase in radioactivity?" he muttered. "That station's blown up, no doubt of that. There must be radiation." "Unless that barrier that Dan mentioned is keeping it in the vicinity of the station," French guessed. "Yes, that strange barrier is the mystery at the moment," the Co-ordinator mused. "I wonder what caused it?" "I suppose," French muttered, "that it might be part of the operation off the power station; you know, a sort of defensive barrier to prevent radiation leakage." "There's no mention of any such protective device in the power station manuals," Abbott said. "I know, because I looked at them when Tom Vickers first brought up his proposal of using the power stations to ward off The Ice. That was what persuaded me it wasn't feasible to operate them with our lack off technical know how." He lapsed into silence. "Anyway," he concluded, "if that barrier is part of the power station's system, it should have ceased to function when the station blew up." "Do you want us to make more investigations?" the man at the barrier enquired. "Please," French confirmed. "Give us another call when you've had a better look at the barrier - whatever it is." He turned back to Abbott. "Well, Frank, it looks as though we've got a reprieve of sorts, from the radiation at least," he said. "Though I'm dammed if I know what-" A flashing blue light on the communications console made him break off abruptly. "That's Akklin calling," he murmured. Abbott frowned. "I wonder what HE wants. Called to commiserate over our 'disaster', I suppose. Dare say he's laughing behind his back now that Tom's blown himself up, and taken the power station with him. Leaves us no alternative to the emissary's plan, does it?" "Vickers was a fool," French said. "Lots of people have died through his folly." "I know," Abbott said. "But I was thinking of his wife." French nodded sombrely. The voice of emissary Akklin cut through the room. "Is Co-ordinator Abbott there?" he asked. "Yes, this is he. What do you want, ambassador?" "I think it would be to our mutual advantage if a meeting could be arranged," Akklin said. "To discuss the unfortunate disaster that threatens your city." "The disaster's been and gone," Abbott muttered. "There's not much you can do about it now, surely, apart from helping us to mop up." "It's what we ARE doing at the moment that I want to discuss with you," Akklin's voice came back. Abbott gazed at French, who replied with a puzzled shrug. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand you, ambassador," the Co-ordinator replied. "Surely you are aware that Vickers' foolhardy action in attempting to restart the power station has placed your entire city in danger of radiation poisoning?" "Our teams at the site of the disaster report no noticeable increase in radiation," Abbott said. Then a sudden thought struck him. "Unless-" "Yes, I think you see it now," Akklin interrupted. "It is only our barrier of force that is holding back the tremendous wave of radioactivity. Were we to release the barrier your city would be overwhelmed within the hour. Fatalities would be enormous. You are fortunate that our sensors aboard ship detected the explosion in good time for us to be able to throw the screen around the area before a noticeable amount of radiation had been loosed." "You said we would be overwhelmed if you were to release the barrier," Abbott muttered, white- faced. "Surely you wouldn't do such a thing." "We wouldn't want to, of course," Akklin replied, "but to maintain the barrier necessitates a constant flow of power from the seetee generators aboard our starship. If you were to turn down the offer I made - if your council were to change it's mind regarding our agreements - then our ship would, naturally, have to report back to Procyon, and we would be unable to continue to protect your city." "Our council has already voted on the deal,'' Abbott responded with quiet anger, "why should we go back on our word?" "There were dissenters," Akklin pointed out. "It might be that they would be able to gather increasing support. We would like the consequences of any such actions as Vickers proposed made clear to the population." "Blackmail," Abbott said, but under his breath. He restrained himself from the response that he would have liked to spat, and replied instead: "The population have, of course, the final word in any decision taking. They will not make any decision lightly. Either way," he added significantly. "I still would like an early meeting," Akklin insisted. "I wonder if you could come up to the ship. My ferry craft will collect you." Before Abbott could reply, French had spoken into the communicator. "What is that red ball of fire that still hangs at the site where the power station was?" he asked. "It's throwing out a fairish amount of heat. It doesn't seem to be decreasing in intensity, either." There was a brief pause before Akklin replied. "It's purely temporary," he said. "A residue of the blast." his voice seemed hesitant, somehow, and French detected it. "That fireball, or whatever it is, isn't decreasing in intensity as it should if it were a by-product of the explosion," he said. "The fact that it's maintaining it's output means that energy is flowing in somehow to replenish the expenditure of it's heat and light. Considerable energy, too." When Akklin replied, after a long pause his tone was blustery. "You Earth scientists don't know it all," he cursed. "There are reactions you've never heard of." Ignoring French's protest, he spoke to Abbott again: "I'll expect to be seeing you, Co-ordinator. Soon." He broke the connection. French turned to Abbott. "That guy's trying to cover something up," he announced. "There's something fishy behind that blast. Still, in the short term at least, that fireball is doing us a favour. The outside temperature's up by four degrees now." Abbott smiled wryly. "The question is whether the long term effect of it will be so beneficial. If Akklin is trying to hide something, it must be bad indeed." The other shrugged. "Or else something that interferes with his plans for Earth, maybe." The Co-ordinator looked perplexed. "Well, whatever it is, it doesn't alter the fact that he's got us by the throat. If the starship drops it's protective screen the radiation will overwhelm the city and we'll all be dead fish. I'll have to go up and see him like he says. But I've got an even more painful interview to get behind me first." French raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" "Sue Vickers." The other man nodded. "Oh, yes." XII Sue Vickers sat up in bed, her head swathed in bandages, her eyes earnest as she gazed at Frank Abbott. "Why did he have to go and do it?" she muttered, "kill himself and almost blow up the town." "And give Akklin the perfect hold over us, too," Abbott thought to himself, but he said: "I guess he thought he was right, Sue. Oh, it was partly my fault. I should have listened more to him earlier on, then this might not have happened. He was right about Akklin and the Procyonites; they're only interested in themselves." The woman gave a little laugh. "What a mess. What are you going to do, Frank?" Abbott shrugged. "I don't know, really, I'll have to listen to what Akklin has to say first, I suppose, and play it to our best advantage from there on in." "If I'd've come to see you earlier, you could have stopped Tom," Sue continued. "But I thought I was betraying him. I couldn't make up my mind. It wasn't easy." The Co-ordinator stood up. "I know. But you must try and forget about it, Sue. Nothing you can say now can alter the situation. We're not really any of us to blame - or maybe all of us are, a little bit. It's the way things are." "If only Tom hadn't been so bigoted," Sue mumbled. "If' you two could've got on better together - listened to each other a little more, all this would have been prevented. All this suffering.." She seemed perilously close to tears. "I think I'd better be going, Sue," Abbott decided. "Come over and see me when they discharge you. You'll need help to get settled in again." She nodded wordlessly, and the Co-ordinator walked slowly from the hospital room, a grim expression on his face. "She blames me for it," he thought. "Partly, at least." Then a dark cloud settled over his mind. Perhaps she was right, at that. XIII The squad probed around the perimeter of the invisible barrier surrounding the site of the power station blast, their instruments measuring and detecting. Data flowed from their probing back to the city, where French and his team co-ordinated the efforts of relief and investigation of the blast. The initial assessment of damage ran to 235 houses made uninhabitable, and several hundred more damaged. Just on forty people had lost their lives, and three hundred had been injured fairly seriously. Tom Vickers and Gary Thure were included in the list of fatalities. French sat at his communications console, talking to Dan Redder, in charge of the investigations at the barrier. "I think we'd better give up here," Redder said, as French chewed hurriedly at a sandwich, the only food he had had time to eat. "There's nothing more to be learnt from on-the-spot investigations, and the temperature is still increasing, It's just on one hundred and ten now here now." "Yes, temperatures up six degrees in the area around the city, too," French said through a mouthful of sandwich. "It's getting up towards freezing for the first time in ages." "Hmm, it's an ill wind, as they say," Redder muttered, his voice marred by the static from the fireball inside the barrier. "Roughly put, the position regarding this force-shield, or whatever you call it, is that it's invisible to light-waves, and also, presumably heat, seeing the temperature's up so drastically, it's invulnerable to all the physical pressure we've been able to exert, and it seems, apart from that, to have no other notable properties at all." "You think that Akklin is telling the truth, then, when he says it's maintained by the starship?" "Sure, he might well be. It has to be maintained by someone, and we sure aren't doing it. What puzzles me is that fireball. I'm sure it's that that's responsible for the rise in temperature we're experiencing. But it's not decreasing it's energy output, so it must be receiving a compensatory input of power from somewhere. Thing is, if Akklin denies responsibility, what's the answer?" French seemed doubtful. "He was cagey about it. I'm sure he knows what it is, even if he's not responsible for it. But he's not letting on to us." "Well," Redder said, "we might find out a little more by further analysis of all the data collected. It might come up with some sort of correlation we've missed, though I doubt lt. I think Akklin is the only hope we have. Let's hope Frank Abbott can get through to him." French shook his head. "Akklin's a cold fish. I'm beginning to think Tom Vickers was right about him all along. He's playing this game for his own ends." The conversation was put to an end by the insistent bleep of the communicator. Redder logged in. His expressionless face took on a nuance of puzzlement, then incredulity. French sensed his astonishment as he broke the link. "What's up, Dan?" he asked urgently. Redder shook his head. "I just don't understand it," he muttered. "It can't be true." "What?" French asked again. "That was Ralph McBurney - he's a good man - in charge of one of our patrols. He was out with three men, on the outskirts of the city, when they saw a movement behind a cluster of rocks. They challenged the intruder, but there was no reply. They went to investigate, and found an injured man, lying in the shade of the boulders, McBurney says he's sure that the man was Gary Thure." French started. "Thure! Impossible! He was blown up along with Tom in the blast that destroyed the power station." Redder nodded. "That was my first reaction, but McBurney was positive. Anyway, we shall soon know - you've seen tridees of Thure, I suppose?" "Sure, I'd recognise him." "Well, the squad are bringing in the man they've found. He ought to be at the hospital in the next few minutes." French reached for his coat. "Let's be getting over there, then, Dan." XIV Dan Redder and Bill French stood in the antiseptic looking room in the City Hospital, gazing down in astonishment at the pale, bandaged figure lying in the bed before them. French shook his head in amazement. "That's Thure, all right,'' he muttered, "but I still don't see how he survived." "The point is," Redder put in, "that if Thure managed to survive the blast, then Tom Vickers may also be alive somewhere." "Thure may know where, too," French added. He paused as there came a low moan from the figure in the bed. Thure's eyes flickered open as they watched. He didn't seem to recognise them. "Where is Abbott," he mumbled vaguely. "I must see him." "The Co-ordinator is up on the starship, meeting with emissary Akklin," French said. "I'm one of his deputies. You can speak to me." Thure seemed agitated. "Up on the starship," he choked. "But he mustn't. It's imperative..." His voice trailed off in a cough of pain as he tried to sit up. Redder gently pushed him back on to the pillow. "You must rest," he said gently. "I can't rest," Thure muttered. "You must get Abbott back. If he's on the starship he'll die." French's eyes slitted. "You mean Akklin would murder the Co-ordinator? I grant that he seems like a pretty cold fish, but I can't believe he'd sink that low." Thure shook his head, pain in his eyes, not all of it from his wound. "No, not Akklin," he said tightly. "Listen to me, then you'll understand. I went to Tom Vickers because I believed that between us we could start the power station up again. Once it was working - producing energy - we believed it would have been enough of a sign to persuade Abbott and the other administrators to hook the city's power supplies up to the station. Atomic energy from that plant could drive the ice back from this whole area." "A fine mess you make of doing it, too," Redder said, his expression grim. "Forty people were killed in that blast." Thure's expression was pathetic. "But that wasn't us," he said, his voice pained. "We never got to activate the station." French gasped. "What! Then who caused that blow-up?" "It was Akklin's men, from the ship. It must have been my fault; they must have known I was opposed to their ideas and played me along. By giving me enough rope they hoped to be able to blame their evil onto Vickers and myself. We were in the final stages of studying the plans to reactivate the station, when Akklin's men burst in and overpowered us. They took us aboard the ferry ship that plies between here and the starship, up in orbit. We felt the shock of the explosion, and I guessed what Akklin had done." "What?" Redder urged him on. "Why did he do it?" "Don't you see? If Vickers and I had succeeded, the people of the city would have turned away from Akklin's seetee energy, and the Procyonites plan for domination of Earth would have been lost. It would be impossible for them to conquer Earth by force; their lines of communication are too long to fight a war, so they had to win by trickery. Akklin started up the power station at full blast, instead of building up the power gently. He knew the first stage systems would overload and blow. That was the explosion." "And now he's got us where he wants us," French said grimly. "That barrier he's put up is the only thing that's holding the radiation back from the city. If he goes, we die." Thure shook his head. "No, no, he's not maintaining that barrier - don't forget I had a chance to study the plans - it's part of the second-stage defences of the station. The main part of the plant is underground, and that's what is producing the artificial sun that's warming this area up. The barrier is merely a protective device the station automatically throws up around the area to make sure nobody strays too near and gets burnt alive." French was thunderstruck. "But - that means we've got our power! Akklin's just trying to railroad us into entering into an agreement before we realise the facts." Thure nodded. "Yes and time's against him. He knows it, too. He'll be trying to bluff Abbott into signing that treaty as fast as he possibly can. But you've got to stop him - get him back somehow. Death's all that's waiting for him up there." "Death?" French looked perplexed. "What do you mean? If it's not Akklin that's going to hurt Abbott, who is?" Thure grimaced. "Tom Vickers. He'll kill Abbott without even knowing it." Redder frowned. "You mean Vickers is alive, too?" "Yes, yes. After the colonists blew up the power station we made a break for it. I was wounded in the chase that followed, but Tom was recaptured. Not before he'd achieved what he wanted to, though." "And what was that?" French demanded. "He knew an old blasting site on the outskirts of the city. We made for that when we escaped, and that's where I was shot and Tom was captured. I got away by hiding in the undergrowth; when Tom and the Procyonites were gone I tried to make it back to the city, where your patrol found me. But Akklin's men didn't know that Tom had a purpose for going to the site, other than just to find a secure hiding place." He paused. "You are familiar with HX explosive?" French frowned. Something was pulling uneasily at the back of his mind. "Yes, we use it for all our quarrying and excavation. It's a very effective plastic explosive. You only need a small amount to..." He stopped. "Did Vickers take some off this stuff?" Thure nodded. "Yes. He moulded it into shape and stuffed a wad of it under the heel of his shoe. There's enough of it to blow Akklin's ship apart." "Is that what he has in mind?" Redder asked, astonished. "Yes. His idea is that if Akklin's ship never reports back to Procyon it'll take them considerable time to get another ship ready for the journey, even if they decide it's worth it. With the power that's flowing from the station now that it's operational again Earth would have ample opportunity to become fully self sufficient before any colony ships could arrive. So he decided that his own life should be sacrificed for the good of Earth." "Damned fool!" Redder burst out. "If he blows that ship up he'll take the Co-ordinator with him." "He doesn't know that," Thure said. "I doubt if he'd be allowed free access to all the main parts of the ship. They've probably got him locked up somewhere." "We've got to stop this," Redder muttered. "If necessary we'll have to tell the crew of the ferry ship to warn Akklin." "Think before you do anything," Thure advised. "Tom may be a fanatic but he's doing what he thinks is best. It wasn't an easy decision for him. If Akklin survives he's got us right where he wants us." French nibbled at his lip. "So it's a choice between the lives of Vickers and the Co-ordinator and freedom for the city." Thure nodded. "And, later on, for Earth." French shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I just don't know. It's not a decision anyone should be asked to make." Redder looked horrified. "We'll have to warn them," he gasped. "We can't just let them all be blown up." "I know it's hard," French said savagely. "It's them or us. The question is, is it worth sacrificing the future hope of thousands for the lives of a few. Vickers asked himself that and he found his answer." "He's mad," Redder protested. "He must be." "Either mad, or else the sanest person I've ever known," Thure put in quietly. French began to pace nervously up and down the room. "How much time do we have?" he asked. Thure shrugged. "Who knows. Not much, I'd guess if I know Tom Vickers. You'll have to decide soon." XV Abbott extended his hand to take the clammy grip of emissary Akklin. He sensed a faint smile of satisfaction behind the ambassador's complacent gaze. "Welcome, Co-ordinator," Akklin greeted him smoothly. "This promises to be a historic meeting for both our peoples." "Yes, one way or another," Abbott thought to himself, but he merely said: "l hope so, emissary Akklin. I hope so." Akklin gestured with a limp arm. "The conference room is this way," he said. "The relevant documents are ready for our mutual signatures." "I shall have to read them carefully, first, of course," the Co-ordinator said, frowning slightly. "Naturally," Akklin agreed smoothly, his tone indicating that he knew it would just be a formality. They passed into a large, well-lit room and Akklin motioned Abbott to a seat at the head of the table. The Co-ordinator seated himself at the head of the long table and riffled through the thin sheaf of papers before him. He picked up the draft treaty and began to read. At length he laid the paper on the table before him and stared up at Akklin. "This treaty would tie the hands of Earth's people for centuries," he said. "I cannot commit our population to such an agreement without a city-wide ballot first, outlining the proposals in detail." Akklin frowned. "I am afraid there is not time for that," he said. "The treaty must be signed now, or not at all." Abbott smiled slowly, and his hand moved into his briefcase. "That being the case," he said, "I have an alternative here that may interest you." The Procyonite scowled. "There are no alternatives. It is a case of..." He broke off abruptly as he saw the tiny power-gun that Abbott held, pointed straight at him. Akklin licked his lips nervously. "What's the meaning of this?" he blustered. "You can't hope to get away with anything here. I have only to call out and a dozen guards will come rushing in." "That won't do you any good, though," Abbott said softly. "I see now that Vickers was right all along - I should never have played up to you like I did. I thought you were our only hope of salvation; now I know that it would be better for us to die in the freezing cold than to lose our freedom to your colonists." "We don't want all your planet," Akklin said, "just the continents you're not using." "Yes, so you say now," Abbott muttered bitterly, "but I wonder how long it would be before the rest of the world wasn't big enough for you, and you decided to move in on North America as well, exiling us to the planets." "It's not true," Akklin blustered. "You wouldn't be molested." Abbott chuckled dryly. "A day or two ago, I'd've believed you. I'd've wanted to believe you then, but Tom Vickers gave his life to try and save Earth for it's own people. He did it foolishly, and caused death and suffering, but he did it just the same. I'm prepared to do no less." "Listen, Abbott," Akklin said tensely. "Vickers isn't dead. He never died in that explosion. He's a prisoner aboard this ship. I swear it..." Abbott looked doubtful. "You're lying, Akklin. Trying to save your own skin." "No, it's true, I tell you. I can have him brought up here, if you want it." His hand moved towards the intercom. Abbott waved his gun at Akklin's midriff. "Careful what you say, emissary. If it's the wrong thing you'll be the first to die. That much I promise you." Perspiring freely, Akklin flipped the intercom on. "Bring Vickers up here," he croaked. "Immediately." A voice murmured an answer from the other end, and Akklin switched the communicator off. Shortly, footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the conference room and there was a sharp knock at the door. Akklin called out for the party outside to enter, and a pair of guards came through the door, Tom Vickers between them. His face fell as he saw Abbott. "What are you doing here, Frank?" he blurted out, then his voice trailed off as he saw that the Co- ordinator had a gun trained on Akklin. The guards gaped in bemusement, as they saw it too. Abbott smiled at them as their hands moved slowly towards their gunbelts. "Be careful," he advised. "One false move and your precious emissary Akklin will be the first to get it." The guards looked uneasily towards Akklin. "It's just as he says," the Procyonite mumbled. He seemed to be wringing his hands in dismay as he spoke. Vickers suddenly leapt forward, wild-eyed. "Careful, Frank," he shouted. "The swine's got a gun up his sleeve'" Akklin pulled a snub-nosed weapon from a sleeve holster even as Vickers shouted. He had obviously been waiting for a distraction to get it out. As Abbott ran towards him he fired, and the Earthman fell to the floor of the conference room, a red stain spreading over his chest. Seeing the guards leap for their guns, Vickers grabbed the gun from Abbott's inert hand, turned the table over and ducked behind it. This exposed Akklin, who had dropped to his knees after firing his shot, and Vickers loosed off a bolt at him as the table crashed over. Akklin toppled sideways, half his throat burnt away, gurgling horribly, choking in his own blood. Captain Tymball appeared at the door, accompanied by a squad of heavily armed crewmen. "I suggest you put the gun down, Vickers," he ordered. "Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, emissary Akklin was here with the full authority of our people's ruling bodies. As Captain of this ship, I must uphold the law of Proycon. You can't fight your way out of here alive, so do the sensible thing." Vickers carefully laid the blaster down. "Yes," he agreed quietly. "I must do the sensible thing." He pressed his left elbow against his side, activating the minute firing mechanism of his tiny, but deadly bomb. For everyone aboard the Procyon ship the world ended suddenly in a blaze of light and terrible heat. XVI "So it's all over at last," Sue Vickers said, as she walked from the memorial service by French's side, The new Co-ordinator nodded. "Yes. The crew of the ferry surrendered at once when they saw they had no chance of getting back to Procyon with the starship blown up." Sue stared towards the hills where the crimson ball of fire still burnt. "It's warmer," she said quietly. "Yes," said French. "Our scientists have estimated that in a few more days the temperature will be up to seventy. It ought to level off then. It's a good job the city's on the side of a hill, rather than in the valley itself, or we'd be flooded out with all this ice melting." "Even so," she said, staring down at the wet streets, "is it - was it - worth it." The Co-ordinator looked unsure. "I don't know, Sue. I had decided to warn Akklin that Tom was aboard with the HX. I was just going to call him when the ship blew up." "Perhaps," Sue murmured, "it was fate that it happened that way." "Maybe. One thing's for sure now. Your husband has made it possible for our city's children to grow up in comfort and freedom, without the fear of death by freezing, or enslavement by Procyonite colonists. I think that makes it worth his sacrifice, his and Frank Abbott's both. I think he'd agree with me if he was here." Sue nodded. "He would." French stared up at the sky. "He was a fanatic, Sue, but..." "..But a good fanatic. He believed in freedom." French nodded. "Yes, a good fanatic, it'll be a long time before they call him a hero, though. They may never." "He wouldn't have wanted that," Sue said, and they trudged on up the street, towards her renovated home, splashing through the water that ran gurgling in the gutters, the last reminder of an Ice Age that was retreating from one area of Earth, at least. |