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viii

 

 

And, oh! my Mary, oh Mary, my May,

Blest was the hope and accursed the day,

Curst was the day when I brought you away,

Away from the grazing isles.

 

New Zealand was not an idle choice. It had three things going for it. First, it was lightly populated and far from rest of the miserable landlocked world. Second, their geothermal springs made them poor customers for the Fleet, and so less likely to want to keep in Betsy's good graces. Third, I had a friend there.

Betsy's eyes did not stop at the hull of the oaty-boat. So on the first day in Auckland I visited six different banks to talk about investing my nine million dollars. On the second day I toured the sheeplands by air, on the pretext of buying a ranch, and that night I allowed myself to have two or three more drinks than usual in the guests' lounge at the little hotel. To anyone who would listen I explained what a vindictive bitch Betsy Zoll was, and how I had at last given up hope that my sweet May would ever be free again. I did not know which of the ranchers or barmen or guests would be passing the word on to Betsy, but I had no doubt she would know everything I said.

And on the third day I went to visit an offshore oatie and there, in the low-pressure turbine room, I met Sam Abramowitz, as we had arranged on the first. "No one can hear us here," he said over the hiss and groan of the generators. "What do you want me to do?" And then, when I told him, "You're insane!"

I agreed that it was an insane world all over. "Still," I said, "what I need is a scout vessel with a pilot, and an aircraft willing to take the chance of being fired on, for a million dollars."

He pursed his lips. He didn't answer at first, but turned and gazed around the booming, gasping turbine room as though he were suddenly less sure that we couldn't be spied on. Then he said, "I couldn't set it up overnight, you know."

"I don't want it overnight, Sam. I want some time to pass, so Betsy will relax a little. At least a month. Six would be better. Just send me a message when you've got it set up—something about investing in a new sheep-shearing machine, maybe—and the pilot must wear something I'll recognize, so I'll know he's there."

He shook his head slowly, not to refuse, only to say it was an outlandish idea. "A million dollars, did you say? It may cost more."

"I've got more," I said. He sighed. It meant yes. I reached out and grasped his hand in both of mine. "You're a good friend, Sam. It's not just for me, you know. It's for the finest lady who ever drew breath."

He looked away and didn't answer. There was a strain in the set of his jaw that I didn't understand and didn't much like. But the important thing was that he had agreed. Then and there I wrote a power of attorney for him, to draw what he liked and spend as he chose. If there was nothing left of the nine million when he was done, well, then I would be a penniless old man. But I would be free, and so would May.

And so should May have been, for it was a good plan and Sam Abramowitz a better friend than I deserved. He was also careful and cunning. When at last the signal came and the scoutship showed up, it was from one of the new Argentinian boats, and the pilot came to Betsy with a fine, false tale of locating unsuspected patches of deep cold that he was willing to sell for a price. And the pilot wore the green scarf that identified him. I could not talk to him, for he was closeted with Betsy, driving his bargain and delivering his goods, but I went down to the stern ways and studied the vessel with care. A scoutship has no more beauty of line than an egg. Speed is not important, nor looks. What is important is the strength of hull to withstand whatever pressures it may encounter as it dives deep and sends its probes deeper still to measure the bottom water. It looked solid. Once in it and well away, we had our chance. It would be a run for the bottom to hide under the thermoclines and the scattering layers, and then away, well out of reach of any of Betsy's eyes or guns. We had range enough to make it to Australia or Hawaii or Japan, or anywhere between. I had settled on Manila. Of all destinations that was the most dangerous for us, since the islands were small and sea visitors frequent, but therefore the one where Betsy would be least likely to look while we did what we had to do to change our appearance and find our way to a new home. All that was needed was the aircraft. And so, as soon as it was dark, I went down to May's room. She was sewing as interminably she did, pausing to read for a while and then to return to the needle. "It's a hot night," I said, stepping to the port and gazing at the warm sea, twenty meters below. By leaning out and craning my neck I could see the scoutboat moored to the sternways, just past the gate in the mesh. There was a man in a long green scarf where he was supposed to be. He was paying for the fuel he had bought, and his orders were to stall until the aircraft arrived. Which would not be long.

I said, "I wish we could go for a swim." May gave me a sharp glance. "Look," I said, catching her hand and drawing her to the port. "It's not much of a dive. And on a night like this we could swim to Hawaii if we chose, and see the palms and the black beaches again." It was foolish talk, and I was grinning foolishly as I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it. When I let her hand go, it was curled around the scrap of paper I'd written out before. It said:

"When I say jump we both jump, and there will be a boat to take us free."

"Have a drink, dear Jay," May said gently, nodding me to the bar. And a while later she excused herself to the bathroom, and when she came out she went back to her sewing, only looking up to gossip about the fine fresh pineapple they'd served her for dinner and the strange dream she'd awakened with that morning.

Half an hour later we were still chattering away, when the first-level aircraft-warning bells began to ring. I assumed an expression of surprise and curiosity, and pulled May toward the port to look out.

And May's door opened, and little Jimmy Rex walked in.

 

He was eight years old then, spoiled rotten by Betsy for the past three, and for that matter born with his father's family's rotten blood in him. You must know that in three years the boy had visited his mother just twice. It was Betsy who had sent him, of course. His eyes were bright with an eight-year-old's deviltry. "Are you going to do something foolish, mother May?" he asked, the voice clear, the face pure, the heart made up of equal parts brat and bully. I stood between them.

"What makes you ask a question like that?" I demanded.

He pouted up at me. "Betsy says it's very strange," he complained, "that you've become a drunk, and sold your stock, and stopped asking me to visit here. And there's a plane from the Soviet fleet that showed up on our screens a few minutes ago, claiming that they've lost their electronics and don't know if we're their home boat or not."

I had not expected Betsy to make so quick a connection. But outside the door the guard was paying no attention to us. He was listening to the ship's intercom, his scarred, mean face envious as he heard the challenges to the Russian VTOL. The Russian was earning his pay, for he knew as well as I that the boat's surface-to-air missiles were homing in on him at that very second. I opened my mouth to answer Jimmy Rex, but May caught my arm.

"Can't we take him, Jason?" she begged.

"We can not," I cried. "And we have no time to argue!" For if Betsy was suspicious enough to send him here, we had minutes, maybe seconds, and the diversion of the aircraft would not puzzle her for long.

There was no weakness in May's brain. She understood me well. She knew I spoke truth. But she was also a mother, whose only child had been lost to her. She gazed on him one moment more before she sobbed and turned to the port.

That was one moment too many. "No!" shrilled little Jimmy Rex, and did the only thing he could do to stop her. He darted out into the corridor and jerked the handle that would seal May's cabins off and keep her from getting through.

He did not keep all of her inside.

The door slammed . . . and the terrible strong shutters slashed closed upon my May.

There I was, alone with what was left of May. And minutes later the steel outer door grudgingly slid open again, and there was Betsy storming in, with Jimmy Rex crowding behind her. Betsy looked furious and triumphant and outraged all at once . . . and then, when she saw that it was only May's headless body that lay bleeding in my arms, more than anything else, relieved.

For Jimmy Rex I will say this much. He wept beside his mother's decapitated corpse. He screamed and sorrowed, and I believe he truly grieved—for ten minutes or so.

Even Betsy was shaken, though not as long as that, for he was still shrieking when she turned to me with an expression of awe and delight. "You old fool," she said admiringly, "I knew you'd do something dashing and stupid to solve all my problems. I ought to thank you."

"If you do," I said as steadily as I could, "there'll be two dead women in this room." And there would have, though by then her goons were holding me fast.

The room was mad, with medics covering May's poor body and a guard leading Jimmy Rex away and blood everywhere—everywhere! But Betsy looked only at me, and this time I could not read her expression at all. If I had not known her so well, I would have thought there was pity in it.

At last she sighed and shook her head. "Old man," she said roughly, "keep your loony illusions. Get off my boat." She nodded to the guards, and twenty minutes later the great OT was disappearing behind me as the scoutship that should have carried May to freedom instead carried only me to—I am not sure what.

 

 

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