“I didn’t think—” Dard began. Kimber chuckled.
“You didn’t think a man such as Harmon would be one of us? We have some mighty odd contacts here and there. We have men who drove ground trucks and men who were first rank scientists-before the purge. There’s Santee- he was a non-com of the old army-he can read and write his name-and he’s an expert with weapons-to us he’s as important a part of the Cleft as Tas Kordov, who is one of the world’s greatest biologists. We ask only one thing of a man-that he believes in true freedom. And Harmon is going to be more important in the future. We may know how to grow hydro-style-you had a meal or two with us and know that-but an honest dirt farmer will be able to teach us all better tricks. Added to that Harmon’s been our biggest ace in the hole all along. He and his wife, their son, and their twin girls-they’ve been playing a mighty hard role for more than five years-doing it splendidly, too. But I can well believe that he welcomed my news that it is over. Double lives are tough going. Now, back to work.”
The ’copter wheeled and flew due west into a sky now painted with sunset colors. It was warm inside the cabin, and the clothing about his thin body was the finest he had worn in years. Dard relaxed against the padded cushion, but far inside him was a warming spark of excitement, an excitement no longer completely darkened by fear-Kimber’s confidence in himself, in the eventual success of their mission was comforting.
Below ran a ribbon of road, and by the churned snow, it was a well-traveled one. Dard tried to identify landmarks. But, never having seen the country from above, he could only guess that they were now being guided to town by that same artery which had tied Folley’s holding and the tumbledown Nordis place to the overgrown village which was the nearest approach to a pre-Burn city.
Another farm road, rutted and used, cut into the main road and its curve was familiar. It was Folley’s! And it had seen considerable travel since the storm. He thought briefly of Lotta-wondered if she had gone back to the message tree with some food for Dessie as she had promised. Dessie!
Dessie!
Hoping he could keep from revealing to Kimber his own secret problem, the one which had gnawed at him ever since he had seen the star ship, he asked a question:
“I didn’t see any children in the Cleft.”
Kimber was intent upon flying; when he answered it was with a faint touch of absent-mindedness:
“There’re only two. Carlee Skort’s daughter is three and the Winson boy-he’s almost four. The Harmon twins are-ten, I think-but they don’t live in the Cleft.”