THIRTEEN

In the small, private room which the press personnel had given them, Nick Appleton and Charley sat rigidly, neither speaking; mute, they listened to the sounds of fighting, and to himself Nick thought, No seventy-two hour sanctuary after all. Not for us, not one bit. It’s all over now.

Charley rubbed her sensual lips, then, abruptly, bit the back of her hand. ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘Jesus!’ she shouted, on her feet in an animal-like stance. ‘We don’t have a chance!’

Nick said nothing.

‘Speak!’ Charley snarled, her face ugly with impotent rage. ‘Say something! Blame me because I brought you here, say anything – don’t just sit there staring at the frigging floor.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ he said, lying. But there was no point in blaming her; she had no way of knowing that the police would all at once attack the printing plant. After all, it had never happened before. She had merely extrapolated from known facts. The printing plant was a refuge; many people had come here and gone.

The authorities knew all the time, Nick thought. They’re doing this now because of the news about Provoni’s return. Cordon. God, he thought, God in heaven, they probably killed him right away. The signal of Provoni’s return has set off a carefully planned, complex blitz, planet-wide, by the establishment. They’re probably rounding up every New Man they’ve got a file on. And it all has to be done – the printing plants bombed, the Under Men rounded up, Eric Cordon killed – before Provoni gets here. It forced their hand; it brought out their actual physical heavy cannon.

‘Listen,’ he said, getting up to stand beside Charley; he put his arm around her and hugged her spare, hard body against him. ‘We’ll be in a relocation camp for a time but eventually, when this is resolved one way or another—’

The door of the room flew open. A cop, his uniform covered with gray particles like dust – which were incinerated human bone – stood there, aiming a B-14 Hopp’s rifle at them. Nick at once raised his hands, then grabbed Charley’s hands and lifted them up and out, opening her fingers to show that she had no weapon.

The cop fired his B-14 at Charley; she slumped, inert, against Nick. ‘Unconscious,’ the cop said. ‘Tranquiler depth.’ And fired his B-14 at Nick.