“Forgive me, Excellency, but I am afraid that is simply not possible. I have explicit instructions from Shih Culver ...” He expected outrage, at best a mild protest; instead, Henderson turned and called to someone off screen. A moment later Henderson moved back and DeVore’s face filled the screen.
“It’s okay, Captain Brookes. You can let the Tai Feng go. I’ll send my written confirmation of that at once.”
Brookes bowed smartly. “Sir!”
The screen went blank. Brookes sat, letting out a huge sigh of relief, then put out his foot, letting his orderly pull on his boot. As the man was tugging the other boot on, the printer beneath the screen chimed. Brookes stood, pushing his feet down into the tight-fitting boots, then went across and took the paper from the tray. He studied it a moment, then, nodding to himself, went through into the outer office, calling for his lieutenant.
“i don’t understand,” Ikuro said, strapping himself tightly into the takeoff couch. “One minute they’re saying we have to stay here indefinitely, the next they’re letting us go. What happened?” Kano leaned forward, punching buttons on the panel in front of him, then turned and laughed. “I don’t know and I don’t care, little brother. All I know is that we’d better get out of here, before they change their minds again. These Martians!” He snorted. “Give me my family any day, neh?” “It’s family that got us into this mess,” Tomoko said pointedly, speaking from his seat up front of the craft. “Now is everyone ready?” “Ready!” called Shukaku from the rear.
“Ready!” called Kano and Ikuro as one, smiling at each other across the cramped cabin.
“Then let’s go!”
They entered orbit twenty minutes later and were about to set course for Diomedes when their screens came alive again: a face staring down at them. A face Ikuro recognized at once.
“Shen Li... Listen. It’s me, Hans Ebert. I need your help. ...”
“well? what are you waiting for?”
Hans Ebert turned, looking back at her. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Stronger. More herself. He had expected never to see her again, or if he did, to see her on a screen, at a distance, as mortals were said to see the gods.
“It’s not right,” he said, partly to her, partly to Echewa. “I can’t do it.”
“There’s no choice,” Echewa said, touching his arm. “You have to do this.”
“But she doesn’t want me.”
“Does that matter?” Echewa stared back at him, his face suddenly intent.
“Think it through, Hans. If you don’t do this, he’ll have you killed.”
“And if I were to escape?”
Echewa smiled. “Into the desert? No. Besides, we’d have to stop you. Because if we didn’t, he’d blame us. And that might bring us a lot of grief.”
Hans turned his head, looking across at Jelka. It was as if she had spent her anger earlier. Now she simply watched him silently, trying to make him out.
“No,” he said, determined. “I don’t care what he says. I won’t do it. It isn’t right.”
Echewa shrugged. “Okay. I understand. But let me tell you this. If he tells me to chain you up, I’ll do it. Not because I want to, but because we gave him our word. You understand me, Hans Ebert? I like you, but I have no choice.”
Ebert stared at him, surprised. “What did he do, Aluko Echewa? Save your life? Pull a thorn from your foot?”
Echewa smiled, saddened, it seemed, that he had been forced into this. “He did more than that. He saved us all. Schenck was planning a campaign against us. He wanted to destroy us. But DeVore interceded. He talked Schenck out of it.”
“You know this for a certainty?”
“We have friends. Reliable, honest friends. It was through them that we learned of it.”
Ebert laughed. “And you believe that?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s DeVore, that’s why. The man’s a liar. A devious schemer. A shit. He buys friends by the dozen. That’s his style. As for interceding on your behalf, well, maybe he did, but then again, how do you know that Schenck had any such plan?”
“Oh, I know.” Echewa grinned broadly. “You talk of thorns, Hans Ebert. Well, we’ve been a thorn in Schenck’s side for a long time now. But that’s not why he wanted to eradicate us. You see, three years back, we took one of his aides captive—a favorite of his. We plucked him from a cruiser and stripped him bare. Down to the bone, if you know what I mean. Then we returned the grinning fellow to Kang Kua. We strung him up on a frame outside the main air lock and let the wind dance through his bones.” “1 see. . . .”
“Yes. Schenck was livid. He swore publicly to avenge the man, to bomb our settlements flat and stain the sands black with our blood. But DeVore flew north to speak to him. To plead our case. And it worked. Schenck calmed down. The attack never came.” Aluko sighed. “1 never understood why he did it, but when the call came, 1 had to do what he said. It is our way, you see. I consulted the ndichie, the elders, but they agreed. To say no was unthinkable.”
“Then maybe that’s why,” Ebert said. “Maybe he knew your ways. Knew that you would have to return the favor. That you wouldn’t refuse, whatever the circumstances. He plays long, that man. Thinks far ahead.” “Maybe so,” Echewa answered soberly. “Yet here we are, my friend. I must either many you to the girl or take you prisoner. Now, which is it to be?” There was a moment’s hesitation, a final moment’s doubt, and then Ebert lifted his hands, offering them to Echewa. “Do what you must,” he said, not looking at the girl, but conscious all the while of her blue eyes watching him. “Chain me up, if you have to. But I’ll not marry her. Not unless she wants me to.”
the roar of the wind was like the constant hiss of static from a broken transmitter. From where it was anchored on the rocks above the settlement, the insect looked out into the dust storm, its powerful lenses trying to make out the shape of the incoming ship.
It had been sending out its signal for more than an hour, directing the Tai Feng down from its high orbit and across the wastes of Noachis to Hellespont, but now the ship was here, less than a hundred ch’i away, settling slowly, carefully, onto the sands between the rocks. What was happening in the cell it did not know—nor did it care. It was an eye, a simple window on events. The mind that controlled it lay elsewhere—a thousand li across the southern desert. As the ship set down it flashed a brief verification signal, then, following new instructions, it loosened its grip on the rock and launched itself but into the dust-filled air, struggling against the powerful winds, making its way down toward the air lock, eighty ch’i below. In the shelter of the stairway it waited, watching as the four men came along the path between the rocks and down, facing the door. “What do we do now?” one of them asked over his suit mike, turning to face the others.
“I guess we knock,” another, deeper voice answered.
“And what if we’re not welcome?”
“Then we go away. But he said he’d be waiting for us, Tomoko. Besides, he sent the signal, didn’t he? He got us here.” “Yes, but what if it’s a trap?”
“Why should it be?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?”
The first one hesitated, then turned and banged a gloved fist against the iron door. He waited, then banged again.
There was movement inside. A moment later the wheel began to spin. The men stepped back, watching it turn, looking to each other, an uncertainty in their faces.
A man stepped out, bigger than any of the four. “Shen Li?”
One of the four—the first to have spoken—stepped forward. “You only,” the big man said, then turned, stepping back inside the air lock.