turn off radar and motor and start crawling. Eternal slowreach out, grab, shove, haul, with my heart in my mouth; then suddenlythe nose breaks water and I am hauling myself out with a last wavedoing its best to overbalance me.
I am halfway out of the boat when the Andite blows behind me. There isa flat slapping sound; then an instant roar of wind as the airreceives the binding energies of several tons of matter; then a longwave comes pelting up the beach and snatches at the boat.
I huddle into the shingle and hold the boat; I have just got theantigrav turned off, otherwise I think it would have been carriedaway. There are two or three more big waves and a patter of spray;then it is over.
The outlet valve of the helmet is working, so M'Clare is stillbreathing; very deep, very slow.
I unfasten the belt of the antigrav, having turned it on again, andpull the belt through the buckle. No time to take it off and rearrangeit; anyway it will work as well under the stretcher as on top of it. Idrag the boat down to the water, put in an Andite cartridge with thelongest fuse I have, set the controls to take it straight out to seaat maximum depth the radar control will allow--six feet abovebottom--and push it off. The other Andite cartridge starts burning ahole in my pocket; I would have liked to put that in too, but I mustkeep it, in case.
I look at my chrono and see that in five minutes the hopper will come.
Five minutes.
I am halfway back to the stretcher when I hear a noise further up thebeach. Unmistakable. Shingle under a booted foot.
I stand frozen in mid-stride. I turned the light out after launchingthe boat but my eyes have not recovered yet; it is murkily black. Evenmy white suit is only the faintest degree paler than my surroundings.
Silence for a couple of minutes. I stand still. But it can't have goneaway. What happens when the hopper comes? They will see whoever it ison the infrared vision screen. They won't come--
Footsteps again. Several.
Then the clouds part and one of those superfluous little moons shinesstraight through the gap.
The bay is not like the stereo the colonel showed because that wastaken in winter; now the snow is melted, leaving bare shingle and mudand a tumble of rocks; more desolate than the snow. Fifty feet off isa man.
He is huddled up in a mass of garments but his head is bare, risingout of a hood which he has pushed back, maybe so as to listen better;he looks young, hardly older than me. He is holding a long thin objectwhich I never saw before, but it must be a weapon of some sort.
This is the end of it. All the evidence of faking is destroyed; exceptM'Clare and me. Even if I use the Andite he has seen me--and thatleaves M'Clare.
I am standing here on one foot like a dancer in a jammed movie,waiting for Time to start again or the world to end--
Like the little figure in the dance-instruction kit Dad got when I wasseven, when you switched her off in the middle.
* * * * *
Like a dancer--
My weight shifts on to the forward foot. My arms swing up, forwards,back. I take one step, another.
Swing. Turn. Kick. Sideways.
Like the silly little dancer who could not get out of the plasticblock; but I am moving forward little by little, even if I have totake three steps roundabout for every one in advance.
Arms, up. Turn, round. Leg, up. Straighten, out. Step.
Called the Dance of the Little Robot, for about three months Dadthought it was no end cute, till he caught on I was thinking so, too.
It is just about the only kind of dance you could do on shingle, Iguess.
When this started I thought I might be going crazy, but I just had nothad time to work it out. In terms of Psychology it goes like this; toshoot off a weapon a man needs a certain type of Stimulus like thesight of an enemy over the end of it. So if I do my best not to looklike an enemy he will not get that Stimulus. Or put it another waymost men think twice before shooting a girl in the middle of a dance.If I should happen to get away with this, nobody will believe hisstory, he won't believe it himself.
As for the chance of getting away with it, i.e., getting close enoughto grab the gun or hit him with a rock or something, I know I wouldbecome a Stimulus to shooting before I did that but there are alwaysthe clouds, if one will only come back over the moon again.
I have covered half the distance.
Twenty feet from him, and he takes a quick step back.
Turn, kick, out, step. I am swinging round away from him, let's hopehe finds it reassuring. I dare not look up but I think the light isdimming. Turn, kick, out, step. Boxing the compass. Coming roundagain.
And the cloud is coming over the moon, out of the corner of my eye Isee darkness sweeping towards us--and I see his face of sheer horroras he sees it, too; he jumps back, swings up the weapon, and firesstraight in my face.
And it is dark. So much for Psychology.
There is a clatter and other sounds--
Well, quite a lot for Psychology maybe, because at twenty feet heseems to have missed me.
* * * * *
I pick myself up and touch something which apparently is his weapon,gun or whatever. I leave it and hare back to the stretcher, next-tofall over it but stop just in time, and switch on the antigrav. Up;level it; now where to? The cliffs enclosing the bay are about thirtyyards off to my left and they offer the only cover.
The shingle is relatively level; I make good time till I stumbleagainst a rock and nearly lose the stretcher. I step up on to the rockand see the cliff as a blacker mass in the general darkness, only ayard away. I edge the stretcher round it.
It is almost snatched out of my hand by a gust of wind. I pull it backand realize that in the bay I have been sheltered; there is prettynear half a gale blowing across the face of the cliff.
Voices and footsteps, away back among the rocks where the man camefrom.
If the clouds part again they will see me, sure as shooting.
I take a hard grip on the stretcher and scramble round the edge of thecliff.
After the first gust the wind is not so bad; for the most part it istrying to press me back into the cliff. The trouble is that I can'tsee. I have to shuffle my foot forward, rubbing one shoulder againstthe cliff to feel where it is because I have no hand free.
After a few yards I come to an impasse; something more than knee high;boulder, ridge, I can't tell.
I weigh on the edge of the stretcher and tilt it up to get it over theobstacle. With the antigrav full on it keeps its momentum and goes onmoving up. I try to check it, but the wind gets underneath.
It is tugging to get away; I step blindly upwards in the effort tokeep up with it. One foot goes on a narrow ledge, barely a toe hold. Iam being hauled upwards. I bring the other foot up and find the top ofa boulder, just within reach. Now the first foot--
And now I am on top of the boulder, but I have lost touch with thecliff and the full force of the wind is pulling the stretcher upwards.I get one arm over it and fumble underneath for the control of theantigrav; I must give it weight and put it down on this boulder andwait for the wind to drop.
Suddenly I realize that my weight is going; bending over the stretcherputs me in the field of the antigrav. A moment later another gustcomes, and I realize I am rising into the air.
Gripping the edge of the stretcher with one hand I reach out theother, trying to grasp some projection on the face of the cliff. Notbeing able to see I simply push farther away till it is out of reach.
We are still rising.
I pull myself up on the stretcher; there is just room for my toes oneither side of M'Clare's legs. The wind roaring in my ears makes itdifficult to think.
Rods of light slash down at me from the edge of the cliff. For amoment all I can do is duck; then I realize we are still well belowthem, but rising every moment. The cliff-face is about six feet away;the wind reflecting from it keeps us from being blown closer.
I must get the antigrav off. I let myself over the side of
thestretcher, hanging by one hand, and fumble for the controls. I canjust reach. Then I realize this is no use. Antigrav controls are notmeant to go off with a click of the finger; they might get switchedoff accidentally. To work the switch and the safety you must have twohands, or one hand in the optimum position. My position is about asbad as it could be. I can stroke the switch with one finger; no more.
I haul myself back on to the stretcher and realize we are only aboutsix feet under the beam of light. Only one thing left. I feel in mypocket for the Andite. Stupidly, I am still also bending over theoutlet valve of the helmet, trying to see whether M'Clare is stillbreathing or not.
The little white cigar is not fused. I have to hold on with one hand.In the end I manage to stick the Andite between thumb and finger-rootsof that hand while I use the other to find the fuse and stick it overthe Andite. The shortest; three minutes.
I think the valve is still moving--
Then something drops round me; I am hauled tight against thestretcher; we are pulled strongly downwards with the wind buffetingand snatching, banged against the edge of something, and pulledthrough