He gathered her back to him. She responded hungrily. He felt so much of himself return to his abused being, that his brain began to spark, throwing up schemes and inspecting them, discarding them and generating new ones, like a pyrotechnic display, like merry hell.
He said at last, while she quivered on his lap: “I think I have a notion. We’ll have to play things as they lie, and prearrange a few signals, but here’s what we’ll try for.” He felt her stiffen in his embrace. “Why, what’s the matter?”
She asked, low and bitter: “Were you thinkin’ o’ your work all the time — just now?”
“Not that alone.” He permitted himself the briefest grin. “Or, rather, I enjoyed my work immensely.”
“But still — Oh, never mind. Go on.” She slumped.
Flandry scowled. But he dared not stop for side issues. He said: “Tell Svantozik, or whoever deals with you, that you played remorseful in my presence, but actually you hate my inwards, and my outwards too, because — uh—”
“Judith!” she snarled.
He had the grace to blush. “I suppose that’s as plausible a reason as any, at least in Ardazirho eyes.”
“Or human. If you knew how close I was to — No. Go on.”
“Well, tell the enemy that you told me you’d betrayed me in a fit of pique, and now you regretted it. And I, being wildly in love with you — which again is highly believable—” She gave his predictable gallantry no response whatsoever. “I told you there was a possible escape for you. I said this: The Ardazirho are under the impression that Ymir is behind them. Actually, Ymir leans toward Terra, since we are more peace-minded and therefore less troublesome. The Ymirites are willing to help us in small ways; we keep this fact secret because now and then it saves us in emergencies. If I could only set a spaceship’s signal to a certain recognition pattern, you could try to steal that ship. The Ardazirho would assume you headed for Walton’s fleet, and line out after you in that direction. So you could give them the slip, reach Ogre, transmit the signal pattern, and request transportation to safety in a force-bubble ship.”
Her eyes stretched wide with terror. “But if Svantozik hears that — an’ ’tisn’t true—”
“He won’t know it’s false till he’s tried, will he?” answered Flandry cheerfully. “If I lied, it isn’t your fault. In fact, since you hastened to tattle, even about what looked like an escape for you, it’ll convince him you’re a firm collaborationist.”
“But — no, Dominic. ’Tis … I don’t dare—”
“Don’t hand me that, Kit. You’re one girl in ten to the tenth, and there’s nothing you won’t dare.”
Then she did begin to sob.
After she had gone, Flandry spent a much less happy time waiting. He could still only guess how his enemy would react: an experienced human would probably not be deceived, and Svantozik’s ignorance of human psychology might not be as deep as hoped. Flandry swore and tried to rest. The weariness of the past days was gray upon him.
When his cell door opened, he sprang up with a jerkiness that told him how thin his nerves were worn.
Svantozik stood there, four guards poised behind. The Ardazirho officer flashed teeth in a grin. “Good hunting, Captain,” he greeted. “Is your den comfortable?”
“It will do,” said Flandry, “until I can get one provided with a box of cigars, a bottle of whisky, and a female.”
“The female, at least, I tried to furnish,” riposted Svantozik.
Flandry added in his suavest tone: “Oh, yes, I should also like a rug of Ardazirho skin.”
One of the guards snarled. Svantozik chuckled. “I too have a favor to ask, Captain,” he said. “My brothers in the engineering division are interested in modifying a few spaceships to make them more readily usable by humans. You understand how such differences as the location of the thumb, or that lumbar conformation which makes it more comfortable for us to lie prone on the elbows than sit, have influenced the design of our control panels. A man would have trouble steering an Ardazirho craft. Yet necessarily, in the course of time, if the Great Hunt succeeds and we acquire human subjects — we will find occasion for some of them to pilot some of our vehicles. The Kittredge female, for example, could profitably have a ship of her own, since we anticipate usefulness in her as a go-between among us and the human colonists here. If you would help her — simply in checking over one of our craft, and drawing up suggestions—”
Flandry grew rigid. “Why should I help you at all?” he said through clenched jaws.
Svantozik shrugged. “It is very minor assistance. We could do it ourselves. But it may pass the time for you.” Wickedly: “I am not at all sure that good treatment, rather than abuse, may not be the way to break down a man. Also, Captain, if you must have a rationalization, think: here is a chance to examine one of our vessels close up. If later, somehow, you escape, your own service would be interested in what you saw.”
Flandry stood a moment, altogether quiet. Thought lanced through him: Kit told. Svantozik naturally prefers me not to know what she did tell. So he makes up this story — offers me what he hopes I’ll think is a God-sent opportunity to arrange for Kit’s escape — He said aloud, urbanely: “You are most kind, my friend of the Janneer Ya. But Miss Kittredge and I could not feel at ease with ugly guards like yours drooling over our shoulders.”
He got growls from two warriors that time. Svantozik hushed them. “That is easily arranged,” he said. “The guards can stay out of the control turret.”
“Excellent. Then, if you have some human-made tools—”
They went down hollow corridors, past emplacements where artillery slept like nested dinosaurs, across the furious arctic day, and so to a spaceship near the outworks. Through goggles, the man studied her fiercely gleaming shape. About equivalent to a Terran Comet class. Fast, lightly armed, a normal complement of fifteen or so, but one could handle her if need be.
The naked hills beyond wavered in heat. When he had stepped through the airlock, he felt dizzy from that brief exposure.
Svantozik stopped at the turret companionway. “Proceed,” he invited cordially. “My warriors will wait here until you wish to return — at which time you and the female will come dine with me and I shall provide Terran delicacies.” Mirth crossed his eyes. “Of course, the engines have been temporarily disconnected.”
“Of course,” bowed Flandry.
Kit met him as he shut the turret door. Her fingers closed cold on his arm. “Now what’ll we do?” she gasped.
“Easy, lass.” He disengaged her. “I don’t see a bugscrambler here.” Remember, Svantozik thinks I think you are still loyal to me. Play it, Kit, don’t forget, or we’re both done! “There are four surly-looking guards slouched below,” he said. “I don’t imagine Svantozik will waste his own valuable time in their company. A direct bug to the office of someone who knows Anglic is more efficient. Consider me making obscene gestures at you, O great unseen audience. But is anyone else aboard, d’you know?”
“N-no—” Her eyes asked him, through fear: Have you forgotten? Are you alerting them to your plan?
Flandry wandered past the navigation table to the main radio transceiver. “I don’t want to risk someone getting officious,” he murmured. “You see, I’d first like to peek at their communication system. It’s the easiest thing to modify, if any alterations are needed. And it could look bad, unseen audience, if we were surprised at what is really a harmless inspection.” I trust, he thought with a devil’s inward laughter, that they don’t know I know they know I’m actually supposed to install a password circuit for Kit.