No Sons Left to Die!

She thought of binding her dark wavy hair tight against her head. The thought, she knew, was idle. Nowhere on the planet could she pass as a man, dressed as she was in denims and sweater. Young men wore purple uniforms; those in logistics wore brown.

Dismissing caution, she walked rapidly toward the buildings of the Center. And now she became very careful of her thoughts. She knew that youths developed remarkably at the Centers. They had to if they were to survive out among the stars in that long chain of ships stretched across the course of the Zeehites. The boys were said to be telepathic. She didn't know for sure. She knew only that girls had to be careful of their thoughts around boys.

Pausing between two buildings, she glanced apprehensively at the open compound. Nothing stirred there but she had the eerie feeling that eyes were on her. It was too late to turn back. She started across to the main building.

Young men in purple uniforms materialized from every direction. They neither laughed nor talked; moved with hardly a sound. They completely surrounded her, pressed close. They were tall and broad and she could not see beyond them.

Susan trembled. She started to run, to break out of the circle, but powerful and yet gentle hands restrained her.

"It's a girl from the factory," one said. "Make it casual. Don't crowd. We'll have to get her out of here."

A brief order was snapped. The men moved as one. At the center of the group she was carried along. She knew when they entered a building, but uttered no sound. The men fell back. She waited, trembling.

"Girl," said one, "do you know you could be put to death for coming here?"

Susan stopped trembling, held herself rigid. Long ago she had learned not to cry. There was no excuse for breaking a rule. Her mother had once told her that things had not always been this way; that if everyone worked hard enough things would soon be again as they were in that bright and free past. To break a single rule was to commit a crime against everyone on the planet and delay that bright future. She waited.

"You're working dayshift in the factory?"

She nodded.

"How many hours??"

"Twelve."

"If you want to make a complaint you have to take it to the Council."

A man who looked older than the others advanced. On his shoulder was the emblem of the crossed pens, indicating he was an instructor. He glared around at the others. "You know better," he said, "than to sneak a girl in here."

Somebody chuckled. "She was on the compound. Did you want her to be discovered and maybe get permanent restriction? We'll get her out safe somehow."

The instructor turned back to Susan. "You'll have to keep mum at the factory," he warned. "A single word and you'll have the Council on our necks."

"But I have to find someone," she said. "From Firelance."

"Oh!" Glum looks spread.

"His name is Darth Brady," she went on quickly. "He trained here. He went out three years ago."

"Darth Brady!" somebody said. "That gibbering cripple--"

"Quiet!" ordered the instructor. "The next man that mentions a forbidden subject will go before the Council." He turned back to Susan. "We must get you back to your place."

"But I have to find Darth Brady."

The men turned away, shook their heads. Susan felt a cold numbness growing in her body and limbs.

"You, Carson," the instructor ordered, "get passes for yourself, Merritt and Saxon. I'll issue the order via wrist communicator. Get two groundcars. Wait in them outside the compound. You others form a ring about this girl. What's your name, girl?"

"Susan Wildress. My identification number is on the back of my sweater."

"I'm Alfred Wilson. The boys will walk out to the groundcars. You walk in the midst of them and try to look like a boy. Get in the first car and stay out of sight."

On the way Sue had an opportunity to study the boys. Most of them were younger than her seventeen years. For their age they were unusually tall and broad. Few were under six feet. Their purple uniforms were emblazoned with a single splash of white in the center of the back, in the shape of a burning sun.

She slid into the car, remained quiet. Alfred Wilson got in beside her. A moment later the car rose gently, accompanied by another off to port.