The ion-blast was assembled, mounted on its tripod. Firelight glinted on the smooth metal barrel. The cannoneer swivelled the tube back and forth to test the bearing, rocked it up and down checking the balance. He threw off the safety, set the valve, pulled the trigger. A line of violet light lanced from the nozzle, power cracked down the lane of ionized air, spattered into the turf.
Testing. The weapon was ready for use.
The cannoneer set the safety, went to the line of pack-animals, selected the strongest beast, yanked at the straps holding the pack to his back. The driver came forward angrily and the two fell into dispute.
Glystra moved, hesitated, started up, fell back. He gathered himself angrily. Boldness. Take a chance. He stepped forward, heart in mouth, moved out into the firelight. He swung the weapon around, opened the nozzle into a narrow gape, threw off the safety. It was so simple as to be ridiculous.
One of the soldiers noticed him, uttered a sharp cry, pointed.
“Stand still!” Glystra called out in a loud clear voice. “If anyone moves—I’ll burn him in two.”
5
Capture
Around the clearing shapes froze, startled faces looked in his direction. Yelling in fury, the cannoneer sprang forward. Glystra pulled the trigger; the fan of violet light spread out, power crackled along the conductive air. The cannoneer was shattered and with him five others in the spread of the blaster’s fan.
Glystra lifted his voice. “Pianza! Cloyville!”
No reply.
He called again, as loudly as he could, and waited, watching across the sights of the blaster.
None of the soldiers moved. Abbigens stared with his pasty face flat, his eyes like a pair of olives.
There was a rustle of footsteps behind. “Who is it?” asked Glystra.
“Will Pianza—and the rest of us.”
“Good. Get around to the side, where you’ll be out of range.” He raised his voice. “Now—you Beaujolains. Move to the center, this side of the fire… Quick!” He charged his voice with the push-button crackle of authority.
Glumly the soldiers sidled into the center of the clearing. Abbigens took three quick steps along with them, but Glystra’s voice halted him.
“Abbigens—put your hands on your head, walk backwards toward me. Quick, now”
Glystra said aside to Pianza, “Get his weapon.” He snapped to the officer who was quietly shifting toward the rear of the cluster of men. “You—come forward, hands on your head.” From the corner of his mouth: “One of you—Corbus—search him.”
Corbus stepped forward. Vallusser made as if to follow. Glystra snapped, “You others stand where you are… This is ticklish.”
Abbigens carried an ion-shine, the officer a rocket-pistol.
Glystra said, “Put the guns on the ground, tie ’em up with pack ropes.”
Abbigens and the officer lay helpless. The soldiers stood swaying, muttering in the center of the clearing.
“Nancy,” called Glystra over his shoulder.
“Yes,”—in a tight breathless voice.
“Do exactly as I say. Pick up those two weapons—by their barrels. Bring them to me. Don’t walk between the blaster and the soldiers. I don’t want to kill you.”
Nancy walked across the clearing to where the weapons glittered on the ground, bent.
“By the barrel!” rasped Glystra.
She hesitated, turned him an odd wide-eyed look, the skin below the ridge of her cheek-bones tight and pale. Glystra watched her stonily. Trust no one. She bent, gingerly picked up the guns, brought them to him. He dropped them into his pouch, looked warily into the faces of his companions. Behind one of the faces was furious scheming… Behind which face? Now was a critical moment. Whoever it was would seek to get behind him, pull him away from the blaster…
He gestured. “I want all of you to stand over there, to the side.” He waited till all his companions stood to the side of the clearing. “Now,” he said to the soldiers. “One at a time, cross the clearing…”
Half an hour later the soldiers squatted in a tight circle facing inward, a sullen slack-faced group. Abbigens and the officer lay where they had been tied, Abbigens watching Glystra with expressionless eyes. Glystra watched Abbigens also, watched the direction of his glances. Would they seek out his ally?
Pianza looked doubtfully across the clot of prisoners. “This poses quite a problem… What are you planning to do with them?”
Glystra standing behind the blaster, relaxed a trifle, stretched. “Well—we can’t let them loose. If we can keep the news of this episode away from the Bajarnum, we gain a big head start.” Together they surveyed the prisoners, and above the rumpled blue uniforms eyes fearfully reflected back the firelight. “It becomes a choice of killing them or taking them with us.”
Pianza snapped his head around in alarm. “Take them with us? Is that—feasible?”
“Down the slope a few miles begins the steppe. Nomadland. If there’s any fighting to be done, perhaps we can persuade them to do it for us.”
“But—we have the blaster. We don’t need swords and darts.”
“What good is a blaster if we’re ambushed? Jumped from two or three sides at once? The blaster is a fine weapon when you can see your target.”
Pianza shrugged. “It may be difficult to manage them.”
“I’ve considered that. Through the forest we’ll tie them together. Once out on the steppes they can march ahead of the blaster. Naturally we’ll have to be carefull.”
He set the safety on the blaster, nosed the barrel down into the bracken, then strolled to where Abbigens lay. He looked down. “Think it’s about time to talk?”
Abbigens drew back the corners of his wide flat mouth. “Sure, I’ll talk, What do you want to know?”
Glystra smiled thinly. “Who helped you aboard the Vittorio?”
Abbigens looked down the line of faces: Pianza, placid, attentive; the bristling Darrot; Bishop, solemn, a man ludicrously out of place; Ketch; Corbus; Vallusser; and lastly Nancy, standing wide-eyed by Glystra’s left elbow.
“Pianza,” said Abbigens. “That’s the man.”
Pianza raised his mild white eyebrows in startled protest. Somewhere else along the line of faces there was a change of expression—a flicker so faint as to be gone even as it manifested itself.
Glystra abruptly turned away. From the corner of his eye he sensed dark shapes disappearing into the trees. The Beaujolais soldiers! How many? Two, three, four? Taking advantage of the Earthman’s preoccupation they had slipped across the clearing, disappeared into the woods.
Glystra cursed. If even one got away, the advantage of their head-start was diminished. He snatched the ion-shine from his pouch, slowly replaced it. It would be foolish wasting power on the tree trunks. The footsteps died in the distance, and then there was silence.
Glystra stood still, trying to collect his wits. At the moment there was only one person he was sure of— himself.
He pointed to Darrot and Corbus. “You two man the blaster. Neither of you trust the other. There’s an enemy among us, we don’t know who he is, and we can’t give him the Opportunity to destroy us all.” He took a step backwards, held his ion-shine ready. “I want to locate the weapons in the crowd. Pianza, you have an ion-shine?”
“Yes. One of Cloyville’s.”
“Turn your back on me, lay it on the ground.”
Pianza did so, without remonstrance. Glystra stepped forward, ran his hand over Pianza’s body, into his pouch. He found no other weapon.