The two men came to a hesitant looking halt about twenty meters from the hatch.
"Governor? What's wrong?" Cerenkov called.
"I want you both to strip to your underwear," she told them. "Safety precaution."
Rynstadt glanced back over his shoulder at the silent Qasamans. "Can't we skip that?" he called, his voice almost breaking with strain. "They didn't put anything in our clothes-I'm sure of that. Please-let us get aboard."
"Something's wrong," Christopher muttered. Grabbing the mike from Telek, he punched a new button. "Dorjay, signal them to tell you-quietly-what's going on."
Without waiting for an acknowledgment he switched back to the outside speaker.
"Come on, guys-you heard the governor. Strip."
Flicking off the speaker, he handed the mike silently back to Telek, who accepted it the same way. On the screen, the two men were pulling off their tunics; and because he knew to watch for it, Justin could see Rynstadt's lips moving. They were working on their boots when Link's voice came quietly into the circuit. "Marck says they've both been poisoned-some sort of toxin on a meal tray that the server wore gloves to avoid touching."
"No wonder they were so willing to let them go," Nnamdi growled. "We've got to get them aboard right away and into the analyzer, Governor."
But Telek was staring through the screen, her face frozen into a mask of horror,
"They're not poisoned," she whispered. "They're infected. They've dosed them with something to kill all of us."
For a long moment shock hung thickly in the air. Telek recovered first. "Almo, get back in here-use the cargo hatch you went out by. Dorjay... come inside and seal the outer door. Now."
"What?" Christopher and Joshua yelped in unison.
"No choice," Telek snapped back. Her hand was white-knuckled where she clutched the mike, and her face looked very old. "We haven't got isolation facilities aboard-you all know that."
"The medical analyzer-"
"Has an even chance of not even figuring out what they've been given," she cut
Christopher off, "let alone knowing how to cure it."
Beneath his feet, Justin felt the deck vibrate slightly as Pyre closed the cargo hatch; an instant later it was echoed as Link sealed the main hatchway.
And on the outer display, Rynstadt and Cerenkov froze in horrified disbelief.
"Hey!" Cerenkov yelled.
"I'm sorry," Telek said, the words almost a sigh. She seemed to remember the mike, lifted it to her lips. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "You've been infected.
We can't risk taking you aboard."
"Guns being drawn!" Nnamdi said abruptly. "They know we've figured it out."
"Captain-comm laser on the Qasamans," Telek snapped toward the intercom. "Dazzle them. Then... then prepare to lift."
"You can't leave them here."
Justin hadn't even noticed Pyre's entry into the lounge, but his voice made it clear he'd been there long enough to know what was happening.
And that he wasn't going to accept it.
Telek turned to face him, but there was no fight in her eyes. "Give me an alternative," she said quietly. "Put them in spacesuits for two weeks?-and watch them die there because we can't get to them to even attempt treatment?"
"The rest of us could stay in suits," Pyre said.
"Oxygen wouldn't last long enough," F'ahl said from the bridge. "And recharging in a contaminated atmosphere would be damned risky."
The display screens lit up briefly as comm laser fire swept the Qasamans.
Rynstadt and Cerenkov broke their paralysis as the sound of gunshots and mojo screams became audible, the two men dashing for the Dewdrop's tail. Heading for what cover the ship would provide, Justin guessed... until it lifted into space away from them.
And suddenly he had it.
"Almo!" he shouted, interrupting Telek but not caring. "Two spacesuits-out the cargo hatch. Hurry."
"Justin, I just got done saying-" Telek began.
"We can lift with them in the hold," Justin continued, the words tripping over each other as he tried to get them out as fast as possible. "The hold's got an airseal-we can evacuate it and set up UVs to sterilize the outsides of the suits."
"And watch them die in there?" Telek snarled. "The hold hasn't even got a true airlock, and we haven't got the facilities-"
"But the Troft ships out there do!" Justin shouted back.
And the lounge was abruptly quiet, save for the deep hum of the idling gravity lifts and the fading sounds of Pyre's running footsteps down the hall.
Three minutes later, in a highly inaccurate rain of bullets from the Qasamans, the Dewdrop lifted and made for the starry sky. An hour after that, Cerenkov and
Rynstadt were inside a Troft warship's isolation facility, prognosis uncertain.
An hour after that, the Dewdrop was in hyperspace, heading for home.
Chapter 23
The Menssana had returned from its survey mission to Aventine to the sort of welcome explorers throughout the ages must have received. Its personnel were received with an official vote of congratulations by the Council, its magdisks of data copied and disseminated to hundreds of eager scientists around the planet.
The Dewdrop's reception, two days later, was considerably more subdued.
The last page of Telek's preliminary report vanished from the comboard screen, and Corwin put the instrument aside with a sigh.
"Reaction?"
Corwin looked up to meet his father's eyes. "They were lucky," he said bluntly.
"They should all have been killed out there."
Jonny nodded. "Yes. The Qasamans' only error was that they wanted as much information as they could get before destroying the mission. If they hadn't cared they could have blown up the Dewdrop any of a dozen different times."
Corwin grimaced. York's arm gone, Winward's eyes only slowly coming back,
Cerenkov and Rynstadt still in critical condition aboard an orbiting Troft ship-and with all of that, he could still consider the mission lucky. "What in heaven's name have we gotten ourselves into?" he muttered.
"A real mess." Jonny sighed. "How long before Sun and company finish with their debriefing? Any idea?"
"Uh..." Corwin retrieved his comboard, punched up a request. "Not before this evening. And they're not releasing anyone to the public until morning."
"That's okay; we're not public." The elder Moreau stared into space a moment. "I want you to call your mother and arrange with her to go to the Cobra Academy tonight-use my name to get in, and if they give you any interference quote 'em some next-of-kin prerogatives-I'm sure you can find something applicable on the books. Don't talk politics with your brothers, and don't keep them up too late; life'll get hectic again for them when the Council gets its turn tomorrow."
Corwin nodded. "Will you be there, too?"
"Yes, but don't wait for me. I've got a couple of errands to do first."
"Alone?"
Jonny gave his eldest a lopsided smile. "My joints just had a nice vacation on sunny worlds. I can face Aventine's winter on my own for a few hours, thank you."
Corwin shrugged. "Just asking."
But he lingered in the outer office long enough to hear Yutu make arrangements with the starfield for a ground-to-orbit shuttle. His father, it appeared, would not have to worry much about Aventine's winter tonight.
Winter, as such, didn't exist aboard Troft warships.
For the fourth time in almost that many minutes the comboard screen seemed to blur in front of Telek's eyes; and for the fourth time she shook her head stubbornly and swallowed a mouthful of cahve. It was late, she was tired, and she would need to be at least marginally coherent for the Council meeting in the morning. But this was the first chance she'd had to see the Menssana's report, and she was determined to have at least a passing acquaintance with what they'd found before she checked out for the night.