Psychological fiction; Sabotage -- Fiction; Science fiction; Short stories; War stories
Warnings would be going out across the decentralized populations of the
nation. Terror would be creeping over the land as the G-Agent would
creep over it soon, very soon now.
One thing she was still sure of--no one knew, or could even suspect,
the identity of the saboteur they were searching for.
She heard the gasp, then a sort of whimpering moan, and that changed
even as she turned with tense sharpness, to hoarse and spasmodic
laughter.
She seemed geared to any emergency, so that nothing, such as this,
could be a surprise. A surprise would mean temporary indecision. She
could not afford that. She turned, keeping the controls level, and
raised the gun.
A man was on his knees, his hands gripping one another. His eyes
and teeth protruded, and saliva ran out of the corner of his mouth.
Evidently he was a civilian employee, a clerk with his anonymous brown
suit and his shaven head. Someone who had felt no strong identification
with the plant except that it was a job, it was security. So now that
it had turned into a giant gas capsule, he had only wanted to get away
from it. His eyes kept bulging as they stared at Mary. They didn't
believe in Mary. He was trying to laugh away what wasn't logical. But
he couldn't laugh it away.
"I was told to lay off the neuro-tabs," he whispered. "The medic
told me I'd start flipping--flip, flip--he said--if I took too many
neuro-tabs. He was right. I've flipped. I'm gone." Then the laughter
that was not laughter really broke out all over him like a rash, and
it filled the interior of the helio. "I've run away from my job when
the alarm sounded!" He started screaming. "I can't go back anyway. No
job--hell--I'm finished no matter what!"
He bent forward and groped for the button that would open the rear
helio door. Mary lowered the gun, hoping this man's own madness would
make it easier for her. Adjusting the blast so that it would kill him
without releasing too much deadly kinetic energy within so small a
space would be a delicate thing. It was highly dangerous.
He turned while the wind sucked at him and flapped his brown suit
around his bony legs. He blinked slowly at Mary and tears ran down his
cheeks. "Even if you're not real, you're the last I'll see, the last
thing. So good-bye!"
The air pulled him abruptly out into its deceptive nowhere. For an
instant, she felt drawn to his lonely pathway of escape. She wanted to
say after him, "Good-bye," but she couldn't.
As the helio swung to the left, the rocket lifted with strange
slowness, heavy and steady, on its column of fire. Reality compressed
to only the helio and a narrowly restricted line between the gun and
the lifting rocket.
A few other helios moved in the area, but none nearly this close to the
rocket. Observers would know. Once the thing was done, she wondered if
she could possibly escape. They would know that the destructive blast
came from this helio.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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