Galactic Dreams

“Don’t take me for a fool,” Mortimer said curtly, then pointed into the suitcase. “I want one of those concussion grenades.”

“You cannot have it,” the bailiff told him in a cutting voice, injured by the other’s manner. There was a correct way to do these things. “Those are only for use in open districts where the innocent cannot be injured. Not in an apartment building. You have your choice of all the short-range weapons, however.”

Mortimer laced his fingers together and stood with his head bowed, almost in an attitude of prayer, as he examined the contents. Machine pistols, grenades, automatics, knives, knuckle dusters, vials of acid, whips, straight razors, broken glass, poison darts, morning stars, maces, gas bombs, and teargas pens.

“Is there any limit?” he asked.

“Take what you feel you will need. Just remember that it must all be accounted for and returned.”

“I want the Uzi machine pistol with five of the twenty cartridge magazines, and the commando knife with the spikes on the hand guard and a fountain-pen teargas gun.”

The bailiff was making quick check marks on a mimeographed form attached to his clipboard while Mortimer spoke.

“Is that all?” he asked.

Mortimer nodded and took the extended board and scrawled his name on the bottom of the sheet without examining it, then began at once to fill his pockets with the weapons and ammunition.

“Twenty-four hours,” the bailiff said, looking at his watch and filling in one more space in the form. “You have until 1745 hours tomorrow.”

“Get away from the door, please, Ben,” Maria begged.

“Quiet,” Benedict whispered, his ear pressed to the panel. “I want to hear what they are saying.”

His face screwed up as he struggled to understand the muffled voices. “It’s no good,” he said, turning away. “I can’t make it out. Not that it makes any difference. I know what’s happening ….”

“There’s a man coming to kill you,” Maria said in her delicate, little girl’s voice. The baby started to whimper and she hugged him to her.

“Please, Maria, go back into the bathroom like we agreed. You have the bed in there, and the food, and there aren’t any windows. As long as you stay along the wall away from the door nothing can possibly happen to you. Do that for me, darling, so I won’t have to worry about either of you.”

“Then you will be out here alone.”

Benedict squared his narrow shoulders and clutched the pistol firmly. “That is where I belong, out in front, defending my family. That is as old as the history of man.”

“Family,” she said and looked around worriedly. “What about Matthew and Agnes?”

“They’ll be all right with your mother. She promised to look after them until we got in touch with her again. You can still be there with them; I wish you would.”

“No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear being anywhere else now. And I couldn’t leave the baby there; he would be so hungry.”

She looked down at the infant, who was still whimpering, then began to unbutton the top of her dress.

“Please, darling,” Benedict said, edging back from the door. “I want you to go into the bathroom with baby and stay there. You must. He could be coming at any time now.”

She reluctantly obeyed him; he stood and waited until the door had closed and he heard the lock being turned. Then he tried to force their presence from his mind because they were only a distraction that could interfere with what must be done. He had worked out the details of his plan of defense long before and he went slowly around the apartment making sure that everything was as it should be. First the front door, the only door into the apartment. It was locked and bolted and the night chain was attached. All that remained was to push the big wardrobe up against it. The killer could not enter now without a noisy struggle and if he tried Benedict would be there waiting with his gun. That took care of the door.

There were no windows in either the kitchen or the bathroom, so he could forget about these rooms. The bedroom was a possibility since its window looked out onto the fire escape, but he had a plan for this too. The window was locked and the only way it could be opened from the outside was by breaking the glass. He would hear that and would have time to push the couch in the hall up against the bedroom door. He didn’t want to block it now in case he had to retreat into the bedroom himself.

Only one room remained, the living room, and this was where he was going to make his stand. There were two windows in the living room and the far one could be entered from the fire escape, as could the bedroom window. The killer might come this way. The other window could not be reached from the fire escape, though shots could still be fired through it from the windows across the court. But the corner was out of the line of fire, and this was where he would be. He had pushed the big armchair right up against the wall and, after checking once more that both windows were locked, he dropped into it.