Gordon R. Dickson by Mankind on the Run Read Free Book Online

speaking softly. "Take him out.
Teach him to hit mel "
    The two men dragged Kil away.
    They
went back out the route by which Kil had entered, and emerged into the alley.
The sudden dimness, after the bright lights of the office and the corridors,
was startling. At the far end of the alley the sunbeam-illuminated street was a
distant rectangle of white light with black patches of shadow that were
doorways pacing off the distance down the side of the building toward it.
    "Hold him, Ono,"
said Birb.
    There
was a subtle shifting of hands and Kil found himself held in a full nelson by
Ono, while the cadaverous man moved around to face him.
    "All right, Stab," said Birb.
    It
was like the tail end of a bucking log in the rapids of a mountain stream
catching him in the stomach. Kil doubled over, gasped
for air and began to struggle. Other blows came switfly and heavily. Body, head, neck, face, groin. There was a drumming in his
ears and a haze of pain rose to blind him.
    "Drop
him." It was the voice of Birb again; and, although he had not been
conscious of falling, Kil felt the hardness of the alley pavement rough against
his cheek.
    "Boots, Ono, and I'll—"
    Suddenly,
from nowhere, the universe rocked to a soundless flash of light and one of the
two men above Kil screamed like a wounded horse. There was a scrambling sound
in the alley and a series of long, hoarse gasps. Kil felt arms pulling him to
his feet. Blindly he groped, his eyes still seared and
sightless from the flash. Hands took his arm and pulled 'him, staggering,
along.
    "Can
you run, Chief?" asked a voice. "Come on, hang onto me. We got to go
fast."
    It was the voice of Dekko.
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
    The apartment was just like any apartment in the
class of buildings which could be registered in with three weeks or more time
to go on your Key; by which piece of evidence, coupled with the fact that by
manners and language he was obviously Unstab, Kil came early to the conclusion
that Dekko was Class One; by title, at least, the equal of the little man known
as the Ace King. The apartment itself consisted of a sleeping room and lounge
with lavatory off to one side and a small dining area, furnished with delivery
slots, leading from the building's automatic kitchen. There was the usual furniture
in the form of tables, beds, chairs, a vision box in
each room and a large, wall-sized one-way window in the lounge. The first two
days, when it was all Kil could do to drag his aching body on occasional trips
between the bed and the lavatory, Kil had spent most of his waking hours lying
on one of the beds and watching the bedroom screen. He occupied himself with
news broadcasts, mainly, except for the occasions when the discomfort of his
battered frame became too insistent a drag on his attention. Then he would
switch over to one of the pain-relieving hypnotic patterns and give himself ten
minutes of conditioning. The patterns were not too successful. He was a bad hypnotic
subject and had known it since grade school. But at the same time he had a
slight block against chemical palliatives, hating to surrender any level of his
awareness to a drug; and he had turned down Dekko's offer of barbiturates.
    The news broadcasts were the best
distraction. He had never really listened to them before, and would not have
listened to them now except that music or the regular light entertainment of
the boxes left his mind to free to wander— and it wandered in only one
direction. Ellen. Her going and her reasons for it had worn a deep, circular
rut in his mind, around which he endlessly chased a question mark. The very
instinct for self preservation steered him away from it now. And the news
broadcasts helped. He was astonished, now that he listened, to discover that
there was so much amiss in the world. While there were no big disasters—for
which, of course, everyone could thank science—the number of small turbulences
and revolts and accidents was so great that they were totalled up in kind