War of two Worlds by Anderson Poul

Author:Anderson, Poul [Anderson, Poul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1959-11-04T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Duluth had been a busy port, but with Chicago in ruins the upper midwest cities could be left without bombardment to die on the vine. We circled it and began hiking across country, traveling by night along empty roads, under heartlessly brilliant stars. By day we hid ourselves in copses, haystacks, grain fields. The farmers here had not suffered as much from city mobs as in the east, and I had little trouble begging enough food for my party—our own supplies had been consumed in the boat.

Minneapolis-St. Paul had been fairly important for a while after World War III, as a terminal for the rapidly expanding air-freight lines; but technology made such pivots unnecessary within a decade, and the double city had been left to dignified obsolescence, a minor airport and manufacturing center, rather quaint and old-fashioned. Its undamaged buildings and central location made it a natural choice for Martian continental headquarters. Neither Kit nor I had ever been here, but Regelin knew the place well; there was a sad humor in our being guided by him.

A week’s hiking from Lake Superior brought us to the outskirts. We stopped in a wooded tract to clean up, washing ourselves and our nylon clothes in the river until Kit and I looked like any civilian couple. Regelin’s uniform came out of his bundle, to be scrubbed and dried; its plastic fabric snapped to a crisp military neatness and the silver glistened on its black.

“And now,” he said, “we break up the group temporarily. If either division fails to make the rendezvous, the other must go ahead as best it can.” His words rang with decision, and his six-fingered handclasp was firm. I had to admire him; for myself, I felt only a dull hopeless dread, a slogging sort of courage which went on because there was nothing else to do.

Kit and I crouched in the long grass and watched him stride confidently out on the highway. It wasn’t long before a Martian truck came from the north; he flagged it down and stepped coolly inside. He needn’t even bother explaining himself unless there was another officer around. “Lucky devil,” I muttered.

“Till someone recognizes him,” said Kit.

We began trudging at sunset, a man and woman and child. By midnight we were well into the neat northern residential section, walking down the dark length of Lyndale Avenue. There was a stirring of life at the corner of Broadway: a few bars open, a thin flow of traffic. My heart sprang when I saw a Martian standing on the corner with a notebook. Kit drew me back into the gloom and her hand was cold in mine. “Let’s go around the block,” she whispered.

“No,” I said, forcing it out between my teeth. “We can’t afford to act furtive. He’s observing everything, but it must only be routine. Traffic analysis, maybe. Come on.”

We went right past him. His incurious yellow eyes brushed us and wandered away again. To the untrained Martian, humans of a particular race look very much alike.

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