Keith Laumer - Zone Yellow

“They might if they’re the Imperial Guard, after a princessnapper,” I offered.

“He lied to you before,” Helm reminded himself. “All about how the invasion was his idea and all.”

“Sure, but I didn’t believe that,” I said. “The Supreme Commander wouldn’t be hanging around on his own, outside the main battle area.”

“We could go and take a look,” Helm offered.

“He didn’t even know his precious stolen baby was a female,” I thought aloud. “Don’t you think a loyal general officer of the Empress would know that?”

“Not if it was an official secret,” Andy countered.

“Why would that be a state secret?” I demanded.

“Because,” Swft spoke up from his position on the deck, “the birth of a legitimate heiress apparent would be a big boost to the Loyalist cause, and the baby would be an obvious target. So the Palace announced the birth of a son instead, to minimize the reaction.”

“Useless; the word was bound to leak pretty soon,” Andy hazarded. “They could pretty well dictate terms.”

“Precisely,” Swft agreed. “Indeed, if her existence was known, it would be seen as a threat by Grgsdn’s faction. But the ruse at least ensured Her Highness’s safety, insofar as the plotters are concerned.”

“But why did you abandon her in the Zone?” I asked him.

He looked at me blankly. “Very well,” he conceded. “I did spirit Her Highness away, to save her life. Somehow they followed me; I was forced to leave the coach in half-phase, and resort to the station, in order―” He interrupted himself. “I detected your presence here,” he grumped. “This locus is a state secret.” He gave me a “this is between us” look. “Experimental, you know.”

I nodded as if I knew what that meant.

Swft looked out at the bleak landscape. “Temporarily they are thwarted,” he continued, “but I see no basis for optimism inherent in our present situation. This is a very inhospitable phase,” he went on. “It taxed our resources even to erect the modest installation you see there. There is no indigenous life, there’s nothing to eat. All supplies must be transferred in, and all waste hauled out, in accordance with Governance policy.”

“Ours, too,” I told him. “What about the close adjacent lines?”

“No better,” the alien general said. “We are, after all, in the Desolation.”

“We call it Zone Yellow,” I said, “and our tentative explorations here were no more encouraging.”

“Our location is compromised. They will strike again,” Swft stated, with a faint revival of enthusiasm. “We must depart here as soon as possible.” He paused to look dubious. I was getting better at reading his limited expressions. “Right, Colonel?” he said like a fellow expecting prompt agreement.

“I don’t know that that’s possible. We had a breakdown of some sort. I hadn’t planned on stopping here.”

“You may blame or credit me with that, Colonel,” he said. “It was I who erected the barrier field to halt you. I regret the necessity, but of course, it was necessary.”

“How did you know we were coming this way?” was my next query.

He made a sort of shrugging motion, something else he’d picked up from the humongs; but his physique wasn’t built for it. “We have rather sophisticated tracking devices,” he stated. “I knew that someone, probably yourself, Colonel, would follow me home, so I focused a device on the first traveler to set out on my trail, and stopped you here, at my out-station.”

“I guess it was pretty dumb to follow your tracks directly,” I conceded.

He waved that away. “Hardly, sir. You had no choice. Here in the Desolation one may circle for eternity, without a path to follow.” He did a passable shudder. “A fate too dismal to contemplate,” he added.

“Our present situation doesn’t seem much different,” I commented, “except that we’re stationary for eternity.”

“By no means, Colonel,” Swft objected. “You forget my station there.” He waved toward the view-panel. “If you will maneuver your vehicle into position at the entropic lock, around to the side there…” I looked and saw what appeared to be a cellar door set at a slant against the wall.

“Simply tuck in there, and match entropic energies, and we’ll be safely inside in a moment,” Swft said confidently.

“Colonel!” Helm blurted. “If we didn’t match frequencies perfectly when we tried to cross, wouldn’t that blow us to―?” He trailed off as he realized he didn’t know, and couldn’t even imagine where it would blow us.

“It would, Andy,” I continued. “If we didn’t match frequencies, problyon flux, and a few other variables. I don’t propose to be so careless.” I didn’t even consider refusing to try; the prospect of escape from this dead-end was attractive enough to overcome any amount of caution.

So for the second time, I ground-maneuvered the shuttle, something regulations say not to do except in case of “ultimate necessity”; I figured this qualified. This time I had a road to follow; Swft’s out-station was apparently set up to receive lots of traffic. Up close the cottage appeared to be made of concrete, carefully textured and weathered to present the appearance of a primitive clapboard structure. The small door, seemingly of dead-nailed, rough-sawn planks, was set above grade; I had to levitate the shuttle a few inches on its air-cushion gear. Once in alignment, I locked in to the local gradient. Looking at Swft, I asked him:

“Any special maneuvers at this point?”

“Allow me, Colonel,” he said, and went to the panel and made a couple of adjustments with practical ease. The pink aureole sprang up and faded to lavender, then a cold blue. Swft called, “Ready, sir. Permission to open up.”

“It’s your neck, too,” I replied. “And Her Highness’s.”

“Wait a minute!” Smovia spoke up. He was holding the baby again. Someday the young fellow would make a good father. “Do you propose to risk harm to this infant, Colonel?”

“We’re all in this together, Doctor,” I reminded him. “It’s the only way to get her―and us―out of limbo.”

“Sorry, sir. Of course,” he apologized. I gave Swft the nod.

The lights went out. Helm yelped, “Colonel! It’s dark!”

“An acute observation, Lieutenant,” I said, sounding a little more sarcastic than I had intended. “Relax,” I added, trying to sound less harsh. After all, this was the boy’s first trip out-line, and he hadn’t had the normal six-weeks’ indoctrination.

“It’s just a momentary stasis, while our entropic potential matches up that last fraction of a problyon,” I explained, feeling a need to explain the explanation.

Swft adjusted controls and the light returned. He asked permission to debark; I nodded and he stepped through. I followed, experiencing no unusual sensation as I crossed over. Helm came behind me. We were in a neglected-looking storeroom, with shelving sagging under a few hefty cartons and some plastic-wrapped electronic subassemblies, all under a layer of gray dust.

Swft led the way through a door, this one a seamless composite panel, into a laboratory-like space with lots of unfamiliar apparatus and a few recognizable items, very high-tech. There was less dust here, and better light. Swft went directly to a section of workbench with a well-used look, flipped a switch, and began studying instrument readings intently. He didn’t sit down, just sort of curled over the bench. It looked awkward to me, but then I wasn’t six-four and twelve inches in diameter.

“Good,” he said cheerfully, and uncoiled. We waited for more.

“Potential is at operational level, coherence is uncompromised,” he stated comfortably. “I was a bit worried, actually, with those fellows interfering, laying noncomputed trails, but the basic field is undisturbed. Are you ready to depart at once, gentlemen?”