Free One and Wonder by Evan Filipek Page A

returned to consult with the watchful two by the ravine. Hudd and Lord conferred by television, Lord's nasal voice rising steadily with ill-concealed anger, Hudd frowning with increasing concern.
    “I'd accept Mr. Hudd's safe-conduct, myself,” Cameron told me. “But the Enlows don't want to trust him. They are willing to talk to Mr. Hudd, but he'll have to come out here.”
    With a surprising boldness, Hudd agreed to do that.
    “But, Mr. Hudd!” Lord protested sharply. “We can't treat with them—two savages and a mutineering feather merchant. Think of your own safety. Why not let us take off, sir, and then wipe them out with a salvo of radio-toxin shells from the cruiser?”
    Hudd shook his head stubbornly.
    “I'm coming over, Victor, to handle this myself.” His red, worried eyes turned to me. “Chad, you go back and tell Jim Cameron to wait till I get there.” Lord's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
    “Don't you give me up, Hudd.” His angry nasal voice was hard and dangerous. “If you do, you're also giving up your New Directorate.”
    “I know that,” Hudd assured him blandly. “You can trust me, Victor.”
    Lord dismissed me, with a curt, sullen nod. I went back across the burned grass to tell Cameron that Hudd was coming.
    “He's smart.” Cameron nodded approvingly. “Maybe he can save his neck.” He took up the white flag again. “Now we had better rejoin the Enlows,” he said. “They might misunderstand.”
    We walked back to the people waiting at the dam. I thought of Lord's gunmen crouching in the lock behind us, and the skin on my back crawled uneasily.
    The two were a man and a young woman. They were both tanned, lean, sturdy; dark hair and gray level eyes showed a family likeness. Tight with the shock of what they had seen under the blanket, their faces were hard with purpose. “Are they coming out?” The man's quiet voice was taut as his gaunt face.
    “Not yet.” Cameron was urgently persuasive. “But please give me a chance to tell Mr. Hudd about the equalizer. I think he's smart enough to listen.”
    The man nodded his weather-beaten head. I saw that he carried what looked like a bulky flare-pistol. His deep-set angry eyes peered up at the enormous flagship, not at all afraid.
    “If he wants to listen,” he agreed. “But we're going to get the killers.”
    “I'll try to get Mr. Hudd to give them up,” Cameron promised, and then he introduced me. “Chad Barstow. A likely candidate for the Brotherhood, as soon as he learns to use the equalizer.”
    The girl wore a radiophone, much like the one we had seen in the house—it must have been such units that made those scrambled signals we had heard. The little plastic case was snapped to her belt, the headset over her lustrous hair. She had been listening to that, but now she looked at me, her eyes widening.
    “Yes, he's Dane Barstow's son.” Seeing her troubled glance toward the gully, Cameron added quickly, “He had nothing to do with that.”
    She gave me a strong handclasp.
    “Jane Enlow,” Cameron said. “Her father, Frank Enlow.”
    The gaunt man gripped my hand silently, but his angry eyes flashed back to the life-craft and the cruiser.
    “Before the equalizer,” Cameron told him, “Mr. Enlow was a janitor in Tyler's Squaredeal Hall. He was just telling me about the Director's last days. After the equalizer, he smuggled Tyler out through the mob that was shouting for him under the balcony. Tyler lived for years in Mr. Enlow's house over the ridge, yonder, writing a history—trying to justify his career.”
    “A nasty old man!” Jane Enlow pouted. “He wouldn't learn the equalizer. Dad had to take care of him.”
    High up on the bright side of the cruiser, blue fire spurted. Frank Enlow crouched toward the ravine, swinging up his pistol-like device. Cameron called out, hastily:
    “Don't shoot—that's probably Mr. Hudd.”
    As the gaunt man relaxed, I studied his weapon with a shocked fascination. It looked like a