Mack Reynolds - Amazon Planet

Ronny came to a halt, staring. He motioned with his head. “But that’ll be the Hippolyte’s police.”

Zeke was at the back door through which Teucer had disappeared some ten minutes before. They could hear a splintering sound from the front.

Zeke’s gun came up slowly, his teeth were still bared. He said, snarl in his voice, “That’s right. We couldn’t let you fall into their hands again, could we, fella?”

Ronny spun in desperation, the charge from the other’s gun missing him infinitesimally, crumbling the stone of the doorway in which he had been standing.

He was out of range of the other’s fire, back again in the room where he had found Teucer. Zeke was going to have to come and get him if he wanted another shot, and Zeke didn’t have the time. The front door came down with a crash.

In fact, Zeke was already most likely gone. If he wasn’t then Ronny’s next move was sudden death.

Because he came charging out again, into the patio from which he had just stepped in retreat, ten seconds earlier.

His gamble had paid off. Zeke and Tanais were gone.

Ronny sped for the door through which the two Sons of Liberty had just passed. He had danger before and danger behind, and why he chose the first he had no idea.

Had it not been for the sounds of Zeke and his young companion before him, he probably would never have found the way of retreat. The building was a meandering one, something in the nature of a Spanish or Mexican habitation of early times. The wall on Heliopolis Street had been blank, save for the door. From the outside, there was little to indicate what lay within.

Within was surprisingly extensive. There were three small patios in all, with numerous rooms of varying size leading off. It had been a sumptuous house, in its time; now it was run down.

In a way, it was a labyrinth and a person unfamiliar with the windings of its halls and walks could have become temporarily lost.

Ronny pounded after the faint sounds of Zeke and Tanais, running as softly, himself, as he could. He didn’t know whether the girl warriors behind him had actually seen him or not. But in any case they would spread through this building in brief moments. He had to get out.

Suddenly he could hear Zeke no longer.

The other had either paused, waiting for Ronny and for another shot at him, or he had passed out of the house and made his escape.

The only alternative Ronny could accept was the latter. He continued to run in the direction he had last heard the Sons of Liberty head who had so strangely and murderously turned on him. He came abruptly to a narrow door and instinctively knew that beyond lay the street. In fact, he could hear the sounds of a hovercar lifting and then zooming ahead. Ronny prayed to whatever gods might be listening that it was Zeke making his getaway. He grabbed the door latch and flung it open, half expecting a blast from the big man’s shooter.

There was no blast. There was no sign of Zeke or Tanais in the alleyway beyond. They had already made good their escape.

He wished that he had time to think about Teucer and Minythyia, and about Zeke, for that matter. Why in the name of the Holy Ultimate had the man tried to finish Ronny off?

He sped down the alley, hoping he was taking a direction that would place him as far as possible from the Amazons behind in as short a period of time.

He came out on a side-street, puffing, and brought on himself the stares of various pedestrians in the vicinity.

He slowed down to a walk, grinning inanely, as though ashamed of being caught running.

“Beautiful day, eh?” he said to the world in general.

Somebody snorted. All turned to look away from him.

He walked as rapidly as was compatible with his desire to remain inconspicuous. His sickness had given way now to more simple symptoms of hangover. He had a crushing headache and was still up to less than his full strength, but at least he felt his mind was clear.

As he walked, he tried to think it out.

Most things he could think of added up to very little sense. First, why wasn’t this whole” area saturated with Hippolyte’s police, warriors, guards—call them what you would? He had been on various police-state planets during his years with Section G. If there was one thing they had in common, it was a plentitude of armed, competent secret police. He couldn’t imagine that house on Heliopolis Street not having been overrun with Hippolyte’s people within a matter of a quarter hour after he had revealed the situation of the underground hideaway.

And Zeke! Why had the revolutionary attempted to kill him? Was Zeke, rather than Teucer, the traitor to the Sons of Liberty? Had Teucer found out something about the big man? Why had Zeke been, well, indignant, at the suggestion that the Hippolyte’s people had never heard of the underground?

And Minythyia! How could it possibly make sense that the daughter of the Hippolyte was serving as an ordinary police private, or whatever she was? How could such people as the major and Clete treat her, address her, as though she was a nobody? The splendor of the throne room of Hippolyte’s palace gave lie to any theory that there was a comradeship between these women warriors that would allow the daughter of the supreme ruler to be treated as an equal by low ranking officials.

And Teucer! How did Teucer fit into it all? What was it the other was so anxious to talk over with him! And if he wasn’t a refugee from Lybia, what was he?

He called it all quits for the time and looked about. He was at a large square. Before him was a park with four colossal statues dominating its center. He concentrated, in spite of the headache, recalling the maps supplied by Sarpedon in the Octagon. The maps of Themiscyra.

Yes, he thought he knew where he was. The river, the Thermodon, would be over that way about four blocks. In that direction, to his right, was the sanctuary. Perhaps a mile away. He dare not go there. If anything seemed likely at all, it was that the Amazon police were going through his things with fine-toothed combs. He wondered with wry humor what poor Podner Bates was making of it all. He hoped the little man wasn’t in trouble for befriending Ronny Bronston.

The police were after him, his only contact with the Sons of Liberty, Zeke, had tried to kill him. He had no way of communicating with his superiors, nowhere to go and no funds…

Wait a minute. There were no funds, here on Amazonia.

He stuck a hand into the belt pouch of his outfit and fished forth the plastic card he had taken from Tanais when he had searched the boy there on the floor.

He stopped long enough to scrutinize the thing more carefully than he had before. It revealed little. His name and genos name. His address and, yes, the fact that he was a student. Thank the Holy Ultimate that students were paid to attend school in this fantastic economy. Tanais would have a supply of hours to his credit. The card, without doubt was valid.

If it wasn’t, he, Ronny Bronston, would soon find out.

In his walking, he had passed several of what he assumed were taxi. stands. Empty hovercars waiting for fares. There was a stand located alongside the park.

Taking his chances, he opened the door of a cab and slid inside, behind the driver’s joystick. He looked over the controls, noted the fare box screen and figured out its workings. He had driven twice with the major in limousines, once with Minythyia in a sports vehicle. Beyond that, he had driven hovercars, of slightly different design, on a dozen different worlds. On most, the wheel was used, but he had operated cars directed by sticks before. If anything, they provided a more delicate control.

He began experimenting. You dropped this lever. No, first you dropped the brake. Then you lifted clear of the street with this.