Free S.T.A.R. FLIGHT by E.C. Tubb

fancy dress — but, he reminded himself, this is no party you’re going to. This is serious. He thought of Lassiter and his severed hands. What, he wondered, would happen to him should his disguise be penetrated?
    Unconsciously he slowed, falling back from the others towards the crowd following close behind. The perimeter guards were lost in the organized chaos. A strategic fire blazed to one side, a leaping column of dancing colours. Overhead helicopters whirled their belly-floods showering swathes of light. The voice of the mob was a hungry roar.
    STAR, thought Preston, had done a good job. Good for him, if for no one else. Certainly not good for the old people who had been attracted to the Gate by lying propaganda, nor for those who must have been injured or killed. Did it always take the magic of blood, he wondered, to ensure the success of a plan?
    He stumbled and almost fell. The delta just ahead of him turned, his face ashen. “Keep up, man,” he rapped. “Those people are animals.”
    The man wore a flash of red which made him Preston’ssuperior. He was glad of it. His own badge of yellow put him above the other three but the other man would give the orders. In a situation like this it was always easier to follow than to lead.
    He stumbled again as they reached the building. The side doors were sealed, only the central opening with its ramp and unloading bays gave access to the Gate. A cluster of men in white, epsilons, worked stolidly at a pile of crates. Before them stood a null. He carried a squat-barrelled weapon and made an urgent gesture.
    “This way, sirs. Hurry!”
    Other nulls, similarly armed, appeared behind the first. Deploying, they dropped to one knee and aimed their weapons. From the rear of the crowd a magnesium flare climbed into the sky to hang a man-made star.
    “Hold your fire!” The delta-alpha stared at the crowd. The front ranks were slowing, veering to either side, turning back so as to avoid the menace of the nulls.
    “Shoot them!” One of the others, a delta-gamma, glared at the milling mass outside the opening. “They would have killed us,” he said. “Torn us to pieces. Kill them like the animals they are!”
    “Hold your tongue, Egart!”
    “Yes, sir, but —”
    “They’re going,” said the delta-alpha. And then, to the null, “Is everyone inside?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Seal the Gate.” A slab of reinforced concrete fell from the roof and sealed the opening. “All right,” said the officer. “Report for interrogation.”
    Preston followed the others calmly. His brain seemed to be alight with odd, seemingly unrelated scraps of information. Those epsilons, for example. They were loading crates onto a conveyor belt. The belt would carry them through the Gate but, before they reached it, they would pass through an electronic death trap which would take care of any bug, insect, vermin or unwanted stranger. Therewould be no risk of tarantulas among the bananas, no snakes among the fruit. No insidious germ. And no men. Nothing living could resist the barrier.
    Write off one method of crashing the Gates.
    Preston kept moving, following the rest, knowing where they were going and gaining confidence from the knowledge. Gamma Eldon was at his desk as they entered his office. He leaned back, looking at the first man. “Well?”
    “We were on vacation, sir. There was trouble, a riot of some kind, and we were advised to stay in our hotel.”
    “Advised? By whom?”
    “UNO men, sir,” he said, and Preston felt a perverse satisfaction. The men had been operatives of STAR but UNO would get the credit — as they would have got the blame.
    “I see. Continue.”
    “After a while we were advised to make a run for the Gate. We did so.” He turned and gestured to Preston. “He joined us on the way.”
    Eldon nodded. “Very good. Go and report in.” He lifted a hand as Preston made to follow the others. “Not you. Name?”
    “Leon Tonoch, sir. I’m from the Washington