A
MATTER
OF
PROPORTION
BY ANNE WALKER
Illustrated by Bernklau
n the dark, our gliderchutes zeroed neatlyon target—only ArtBenjamin missed theedge of the gorge.When we were sure Invader hadn'theard the crashing of bushes, Iclimbed down after him. The climb,and what I found, left me shaken.A Special Corps squad leader is notexpendable—by order. Clyde Esterbrook,my second and ICEG mate,would have to mine the viaductwhile my nerve and glycogen stabilized.
We timed the patrols. Clyde said,"Have to wait till a train's coming.No time otherwise." Well, it washis show. When the next pair ofburly-coated men came over at atrot, he breathed, "Now!" andghosted out almost before they wereclear.
I switched on the ICEG—inter-corticalencephalograph—planted inmy temporal bone. My own sensescould hear young Ferd breathing,feel and smell the mat of pine needlesunder me. Through Clyde's, Icould hear the blind whuffle of windin the girders, feel the crude wood ofties and the iron-cold molding ofrails in the star-dark. I could feel,too, an odd, lilting elation in hismind, as if this savage universe werea good thing to take on—spray guns,cold, and all.
We wanted to set the mine so thewreckage would clobber a trail below,one like they'd built in Burmaand Japan, where you wouldn't thinka monkey could go; but it probablycarried more supplies than the viaductitself. So Clyde made adjustmentsprecisely, just as we'd figuredit with the model back at base. It wasa tricky, slow job in the bitter dark.
I began to figure: If he armed itfor this train, and ran, she'd go offwhile we were on location and we'dbe drenched in searchlights andspray guns. Already, through hisfingers, I felt the hum in the railsthat every tank-town-reared kidknows. I turned up my ICEG. "Allright, Clyde, get back. Arm it whenshe's gone past, for the next one."
I felt him grin, felt his lips formwords: "I'll do better than that,Willie. Look, Daddy-o, no hands!"He slid over the edge and restedelbows and ribs on the raw tie ends.
We're all acrobats in the Corps.But I didn't like this act one littlebit. Even if he could hang by hishands, the heavy train would jolthim off. But I swallowed mythoughts.
He groped with his foot, contacteda sloping beam, and brought hisother foot in. I felt a dull, scrapingslither under his moccasin soles."Frost," he thought calmly, rubbeda clear patch with the edge of hisfoot, put his weight on it, andtransferred his hands to the beamwith a twist we hadn't learned inCorps school. My heart did a double-take;one slip and he'd be off intothe gorge, and the frost stung, meltingunder his bare fingers. He layin the trough of the massive H-beam,slid down about twenty feet to whereit made an angle with an upright,and wedged himself there. It tookall of twenty seconds, really. But Ilet out a breath as if I'd been holdingit for minutes.
As he settled, searchlights beganskimming the bridge. If he'd beenrunning, he'd have been shot to asieve. As it was, they'd never seehim in the mingled glare and black.
His heart hadn't even speeded upbe