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Truman nodded tiredly. It had been explained to him, long since, why
Maxwell's map cost so much. Certain parts of the route had to be changed
constantly, to reflect new Invid activities and patrolling patterns. And there
was the need for Maxwell's Lurp teams to set up safe resting places and
resupply caches along the route. The cost of maintaining the teams was high,
not to mention the fact that a cut of all proceeds went to the Resistance
effort against the Invid.
Or so Maxwell insisted. There were rumors to the contrary, but there
were rumors about everything in Deguello. Reliable people swore they had heard
from friends and relatives who had made it to Paradise, and that Maxwell was a
trustworthy man. Truman was too tired to hesitate anymore, too ground down by
the loss of a daughter and the dead-end of life in Deguello. He just wanted to
be on his way, to get his family to the safety of Paradise.
Maxwell handed over a folded, waterproofed bundle. "And here's a current
map showing the safe route through the mountains. It was updated by my Lurps
just this week; you'll be safe with this."
Truman accepted it with a trembling hand. "Thank you, sir."
"In Paradise, you'll live a better life," Maxwell said. "I'm glad you're
the one getting this, Truman. I know what some people think of me, asking all
the market will bear for these maps, but-the traffic along the secret route
has to be kept to a minimum, and there's still the Resistance to finance.
Still, I sleep better when the people I help deserve it."
Carla, on the other side of the ballroom, stared through the big
tropical fishtank there, watching the scene played out as she had watched it
played out dozens of times before. She looked at the map Truman held,
wishing-struggling with herself.
Truman was quickly on his way, eager to get a start in what was left of
the day. Carla sat in a wing chair near a window, looking up at the nearby
mountains.
The team, minus Annie, was making a poor afternoon snack of a few canned
party tidbits-salted nuts and the like-of prewar vintage, at an outdoor table.
Buying local food, even at high prices, seemed wiser than eating current-dated
Mars Division rations out where people might take notice.
All their inquiries had gotten them nowhere. There were other people
with mysterious maps-in fact, it seemed to be one of the town's major
industries. But what little reliable advice they had been able to get said
that none were to be trusted-except, perhaps, the mayor's. And the price of
the mayor's help, payable in gold, was beyond the team's reach.
Lancer had told the team about his contact with Maxwell. But he told
them nothing of his old ties with Carla, and so there seemed to be no avenue
of map-acquisition there; Maxwell was all business.
Scott was seriously considering letting Maxwell know who and what the
team members were, but held off. More than one purported Resistance
sympathizer had turned out to be an Invid stoolie.
Meanwhile, the team was concerned about Annie and her new adopted
family. They couldn't blame her for wanting to restore some kind of stability
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to her life, even though her trip to Paradise did sound like a pipe dream. But
Scott worried that she would inadvertently tell more than she should. However
much she was sworn to silence, there was always the chance that she would
betray the team's secrets.
Rand, chasing one of the few surviving pistachios around the dish, said,
"They'll be serving free buffets in Deguello before we can ever scrape
together the money for Maxwell's map! So what're we gonna do now?"
Scott stared down at his coffee. He had a plan to fall back on, and as
much as he regretted using it, it seemed like the team's only hope now.
Scott's plan was to pay a call on Maxwell, in full armor, with VTs in Battloid
mode, and force the man to hand over the map. Then they would make a break for
the mountains, leaving the mayor incommunicado. Hopefully they would get
through before anybody could alert the Invid.
Scott was about to bring it up, but Rook spoke first. "Hell, it seems
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