And milling among them a lot of Qasamans.
The bus came to a halt among the cluster of vehicles. It had barely stopped before a burly Qasaman had the door open and had bounded inside. He exchanged a half-dozen rapid-fire sentences with Moff, then looked at the Aventinians.
"Bachuts!" he snapped, hand jabbing emphatically toward the door.
"Yuri?" Rynstadt murmured.
"Of course," Cerenkov said bitterly. "What choice do we have?"
Leaving York propped up against the seat, they stepped past the newcomer and out the door. Joshua followed, his stomach a churning cauldron of painful emotions.
Four more heavily armed men were waiting in a semicircle around the bus door.
With them was a wizened old man with stooped shoulders and the last remnants of white hair plastered down over his balding head. But his eyes were bright-disturbingly bright-and it was he who addressed the three prisoners. "You are accused of spying on the world Qasama," he said, his words heavily accented but clear enough. "Your companion York is also accused of killing a Qasaman and a mojo. Any further attempts at violence will be punished by immediate death.
You will now come with your escort to a place for questions."
"What about our friend?" Cerenkov nodded back toward the bus. "He needs medical attention immediately if he's to live."
The old man spoke to the apparent leader of the new escort, was answered in biting tones. "He will be treated here," the old man told Cerenkov. "If he dies, that is merely his just punishment for his crime. You will come now."
Joshua took a deep breath. "No," he said firmly. "Our friend will be taken back to our ship. Now. Otherwise we will all die without answering a single question."
The old man translated, and the escort leader's brow darkened as he spat a reply. "You are not in a position to make any demands," the old man said.
"You are wrong," Joshua said as calmly as his tongue could manage, the vision of
York's flaying superimposed on the scene around him. If his bluff was called... and even as he slowly raised his left fist he knew he was indeed a coward. The thought of such a fate made his stomach violently ill... but this had to be tried. "This device on my wrist is a self-destruct-a one-man bomb," he told the old man. "If I unclench my fist without turning it off I will be blown to dust.
Along with all of you. I will give you the device only when I have personally escorted Decker into our ship."
A long, brittle silence followed the translation. "You continue to think us fools," the leader said at last through the old man. "You enter the ship and you will not return."
Joshua shook his head minutely. "No. I will return."
The leader spat; but before he could speak again Moff stepped to his side and whispered into his ear. The leader frowned at him for a moment; then, pursing his lips, he gave a brisk nod and spoke to one of his men. The other disappeared into the darkness, and Moff turned to the old man, again speaking too quietly for Joshua to hear. The other nodded. "Moff has agreed to your request, as a gesture of goodwill, on one condition: you will wear an explosive device around your neck until you emerge from the ship. Should you remain inside for more than three minutes it will be allowed to explode."
Joshua's throat tightened involuntarily, and for a handful of heartbeats thoughts of betrayal and treachery swirled like a dark liquid through the cautious hope rising in his brain. Surely there were simpler ways of killing him if the Qasamans so chose... but if they wanted to make sure the Dewdrop never lifted again, there would be no easier way to penetrate the outer hull. But that might lose them the secret of the stardrive-but they might not care-but if he didn't take the risk York was dead-but why would they have any interest in a good-faith gesture when they held all the cards-
He focused at last on Cerenkov and Rynstadt, who were watching him in turn.
"What do I do?" he whispered from amid the turmoil.
Cerenkov shrugged fractionally. "It's your life that's at stake. You'll have to use your own best judgment."
His life... except that it wasn't, Joshua suddenly realized. Together, the three of them had no chance at all of being rescued... but Cerenkov and Rynstadt plus
Justin might just be able to break the odds.
It was all of their lives at stake here. Corwin's plan-the reason the Moreaus were here at all-and the whole thing was in Joshua's trembling hands. "All right," he said to the old man. "It's a deal."
The old man translated; and the leader began to give orders.
The next few minutes went quickly. Cerenkov and Rynstadt were taken to another, obviously armored, bus and were driven off into the darkness along their original southwest road. York, still unconscious, was transferred by hand stretcher to a second armored vehicle. Joshua, Moff, and the translator joined him. As they rumbled northward toward Sollas and the Dewdrop one of the escort carefully fitted Joshua with his explosive collar.
It was a simple device, consisting of two squat cylinders at the sides of his neck fastened together by a soft but tough-feeling plastic band about three centimeters wide and a couple of millimeters thick. It seemed to make breathing difficult... but perhaps that was just his imagination. Licking his lips frequently, he tried not to swallow too often and forced his mind to concentrate instead on York's condition and chances.
All too soon, they had arrived.
The bus coasted to a halt some fifty or sixty meters from the Dewdrop's main hatch. Two Qasamans unloaded a rolling table and placed York's stretcher on top of it, returning then to the vehicle. Moff motioned Joshua to stand and held a small box up to each of the cylinders around the Aventinian's neck. Joshua heard two faint clicks; felt, rather than heard, the faint vibration from within.
"Three minutes only-remember," Moff said in passable Anglic, looking the younger man in the eye.
Joshua licked his lips and nodded. "I'll be back."
The trip to the ship seemed to take a lifetime, torn as he was between the need for haste and the opposite need to give York as smooth a ride as possible. He settled for a slow jog, praying fervently that someone would be watching and be ready to pop the hatch for him... and that he could explain all of this fast enough... and that they'd be able to switch the collar in the time allotted....
He was two steps from the hatch when it opened, one of F'ahl's crewers stepping out to grip the front stretcher handles. Seconds later they were inside, with
Christopher, Winward, and Link waiting for them in the ready room.
"Sit down," Christopher snapped tightly as someone took Joshua's half of the stretcher.
Joshua's knees needed no urging, dropping him like a lump of clay into the indicated chair. "This thing on my neck-"
"Is a bomb," Christopher finished for him. Already the other was tracing the strap with a small sensor, his forehead shiny with perspiration. "We know-they weren't able to jam your signal. Now sit tight and we'll see if we can get the damn thing off without triggering it."
Joshua gritted his teeth and fell silent; and as he did so Justin entered the room, clad only in his underwear. For a moment the twins gazed at each other... and the expression on Justin's face sent half the weight resting on Joshua's shoulders spinning away into oblivion. They weren't in the clear yet-not by a long shot-but there was a satisfaction in Justin's eyes that said Joshua had done his job well, had made the decisions that gave them all a chance.
Justin was proud of him... and, ultimately, that was what really mattered.
The moment passed; and, kneeling before his brother, Justin began to remove
Joshua's boots. Joshua unfastened his own belt and slid off his pants, and he was beginning to work on his tunic when Christopher gave a little snort. "All right, here it is. Let's see... bypass here and here. Dorjay?"