The Last Place on Earth | Page 8

"Come on along," Collins urged. "They'll probably shoot us on sight as
trespassers."
She looked around herself without comprehension.
"Which way?"
"This way."
Collins did not say those words.
They were said by the man with the gun in the uniform like the one
worn by Elston. He motioned impatiently.
"This way, this way."
* * * * *

"No priority," Colonel Smith-Boerke said as he paced back and forth,
gun in hand.
From time to time he waved it threateningly at Collins and Nancy who
sat on the couch in Smith-Boerke's office. They had been sitting for
close to two hours. Collins now knew the Colonel did not intend to turn
him over to the authorities. They were being held for reasons of
Smith-Boerke's own.
"They sneak the ship in here, plan for an unscheduled hop from an
uncompleted base--the strictest security we've used in ten or fifteen
years--and now they cancel it. This is bound to get leaked by somebody!
They'll call it off. It'll never fly now."
Collins sat quietly. He had been listening to this all evening.
Smith-Boerke had been drinking, although it wasn't very obvious.
Smith-Boerke turned to Collins.
"I've been waiting for somebody like you. Just waiting for you to come
along. And here you are, a wanted fugitive, completely in my power!
Perfect, perfect."
Collins nodded to himself. Of course, Colonel Smith-Boerke had been
waiting for him. And Doc Candle had driven him right to him. It was
inescapable. He had been intended to escape and turn up right here all
along.
"What do you want with me?"
Smith-Boerke's flushed face brightened. "You want to become a hero?
A hero so big that all these trumped-up charges against you will be
dropped? It'll be romantic. Back to Lindbergh-to-Paris. Tell me, Collins,
how would you like to be the first man to travel faster than light?"
Collins knew there was no way out.
"All right," he said.

Smith-Boerke wiped a hand across his dry mouth.
"Project Silver has to come off. My whole career depends on it. You
don't have anything to do. Everything's cybernetic. Just ride along and
prove a human being can survive. Nothing to it. No hyperdrives, none
of that kind of stuff. We had an engine that could go half lightspeed
and now we've made it twice as efficient and more. No superstitions
about Einstein, I hope? No? Good."
"I'll go," Collins said. "But what if I had said 'no'."
Smith-Boerke put the gun away in a desk drawer.
"Then you could have walked out of here, straight into the MP's."
"Why didn't they come in here after me?"
"They don't have security clearance for this building."
"Don't leave me alone," Nancy said urgently. "I don't understand what's
happening. I feel so helpless. I need help."
"You're asking the wrong man," Collins said briefly.
* * * * *
Collins felt safe when the airlock kissed shut its metal lips.
It was not like the house, but yet he felt safe, surrounded by all the
complicated, expensive electronic equipment. It was big, solid, sterilely
gleaming.
Another thing--he had reason to believe that Doc Candle's power could
not reach him through metal.
"But I'm not outside," Doc Candle said, "I'm in here, with you."
Collins yelled and cursed, he tried to pull off the acceleration webbing
and claw through the airlock. Nobody paid any attention to him. Count

downs had been automated. Smith-Boerke was handling this one
himself, and he cut off the Audio-In switch from the spaceship. Doc
Candle said nothing else for a moment, and the spaceship, almost an
entity itself, went on with its work.
The faster-than-light spaceship took off.
At first it was like any other rocket takeoff.
The glow of its exhaust spread over the field of the spaceport, then over
the hills and valleys, and then the town of Waraxe, spreading
illumination even as far as Sam Collins' silent house.
After a time of being sick, Collins lay back and accepted this too.
"That's right, that's it," Doc Candle said. "Take it and die with it. That's
the ticket."
Collins' eyes settled on a gauge. Three quarters lightspeed. Climbing.
Nothing strange, nothing untoward happened when you reached
lightspeed. It was only an arbitrary number. All else was superstition.
Forget it, forget it, forget it.
Something was telling him that. At first he thought it was Doc Candle
but then he knew it was the ship.
Collins sat back and took it, and what he was taking was death. It was
creeping over him, seeping into his feet, filling him like liquid does a
sponge.
Not will, but curiosity, caused him to turn his head.
He saw Doc Candle.
The old body was dying. He was in the emergency seat, broken, a
ribbon of blood lacing his chin. But