“Let’s go, big man.” Simm squeezed past Jerome and preceded him down a metal stair which someone on the ground had wheeled into place beside the shuttle’s fuselage. Jerome glanced wordlessly around the group who were waiting for him to leave, then ventured uncertainly on to the stair. The afternoon sky was a leaden grey, much darker than the snow covered ground, and only a few specks of amber lights close to the horizon indicated the existence of airfield buildings. The shuttle had come to rest in a lonely avenue of runway marker beacons, and was surrounded by an entourage made up of fire tenders, rescue vehicles and two dark-windowed black limousines.
Jerome had barely taken in the scene when the cold closed in on him like an assassin pouncing from ambush. He gasped with shock, unable to recall such savagery in even the hardest winter, then came the realization that physically he had never experienced any real coldness. As well as being pitiably frail, his inherited Dorrinian body was adapted to the unvarying warmth of Cuthtranel. Already shivering violently, Jerome groped his way down the stair and almost cried aloud when his stockinged feet touched the thin coating of snow on the runway. The crews of the encircling vehicles had remained in their cabs, probably under orders, but Jerome knew they were watching him and some remnant of pride forced him to stand upright and conceal his distress.
This is going to kill me, he thought Belzor doesn’t need to get involved.
“Okay, here’s what we do,” Simm said, addressing the two agents who had descended the stair behind Jerome. “I’ll go with my new pal here in my car, and you follow us to the Boeing in the second. Stay on the ground and keep everything under surveillance while we’re getting ready for take-off, then join us on board. And for God’s sake don’t look so miserable, Dougan.” He paused to slap the coatless agent on the shoulder. “I’ll see to it that you get your Abercrombie and Fitch back in good shape. Okay? Now let’s go!”
Simm grabbed Jerome by the upper arm and urged him towards the nearer of the two limousines. Jerome was resentful of the casual manhandling, but was totally unable to offer any resistance. Chilled and barely able to stand, he was swept along by Simm’s bulk as though he had been caught up in some irresistible machine. As they reached the limousine someone inside opened a rear door, facilitating Simm in the task of guiding Jerome’s helpless body into the back seat. Simm came in after him, closed the door and sat opposite on an aft-facing fold-down.
The limousine moved off immediately, its driver invisible behind a smoked glass partition. Simm’s companion, who had moved on to the other fold-down, was a lean, blade-nosed man of about forty, dressed in the bland suiting of his trade. He was staring solemnly at Jerome’s left hand. After a few seconds he slid down on to his knees and Simm did likewise, also gazing at the opal ring, his face rapt. A new uneasiness penetrated Jerome’s physical discomfort.
“Rayner Jerome,” Simm said, “we honour you as the Bearer of the Thabbren.”
His companion nodded. “We honour you.”
“I…” Jerome exhaled shakily. “I ought to know what’s going on here…but it’s all so…”
“You’ve been through a long ordeal and naturally you’re confused,” Simm said. “I didn’t help matters with the way I treated you on the shuttle, but I had to put on a good show for the benefit of Dougan and McAllister and the crew. They are all Terrans.”
Jerome had to utter the redundant words. “But you’re a Dorrinian.”
“Yes,” Simm said. “I am a Guardian, as is Peter Voegle here, and Cy Rickell, who is driving the car. We will continue to use our Terran names for the present. The last-minute switching of your landing from the Cape caused some difficulties, but we still have the situation under control.”
“That’s true, but we have to act quickly now,” Voegle added, beginning to remove his jacket. “I’m going to put on your clothes, Rayner. Then I will go on the plane to Washington with Dexter in your place.”
Floundering, still numb with the cold, Jerome could only assimilate one new idea at a time. “You’re going to pretend to be me?”
“That’s correct.”
’But if Dougan and McWhatever are Terrans…I mean, they’ll remember my face.”
“No, they won’t,” Simm said, almost smiling. “They’ll remember what we want them to remember. All the others who saw you will be outside our control, of course, so we won’t be able to maintain the deception for more than a day or two…but that should be long enough. Now, let me help you out of that overcoat.”
“Hold on,” Jerome pleaded. “What about me? What’s going to happen to me?”
“We’ve brought a complete set of clothing which should fit someone your height. Cy Rickell will drive you to a private airfield near Grand Forks. It’s only about an hour from here. An aircraft belonging to CryoCare will be waiting to fly you to Amity. It will have to follow an overland route the whole way down the two American continents, because we can’t risk an accident in which the plane comes down at sea, but the journey won’t take more than…”
“Stop!” Desperation prompted Jerome to raise his left hand, knuckles outwards, borrowing the talismanic power of the jewel. “I’ve gone far enough…done enough…I’m not going to the Antarctic. Somebody else can take the ring—I’m finished with the bloody thing.”
“Please don’t speak that way, Rayner.” Simm glanced unhappily at Voegle, who had frozen in the act of peeling off his shirt. “Don’t speak about the Thabbren in that way.”
“I’m sorry,” Jerome replied. “But I meant what I said. Somebody else has to take it.”
“But you are the Bearer of the Thabbren. It has accepted you and now you are a direct instrument of the Four Thousand. Have you ever tried taking the ring off?”
“No.” It suddenly struck Jerome as odd that he had never removed the jewel from his finger.
“Try it now.”
“Fine!” Jerome calmly gripped the opal ring between his right thumb and forefinger, and then—just as calmly—let go of it and allowed his hand to fall to his side. There had been no neural shock, no telepathic thunder, but he understood that the ring had to stay on his finger. It was something he knew with the clean, uncomplicated certainty of a small child—the ring had to stay on his finger.
“This isn’t fair,” he said. “Why do you people have to work this way? If you want me to take the Thabbren down to Amity, why don’t you blank me out and make me a zombie, or make me think I’m going somewhere on vacation? Why do I have to go scared?”
“We are a very ethical people,” Simm said, his voice persuasively gentle. “We don’t want to rob you of your free will or turn you into a biological machine. It would be much more in keeping with our ethic if you made a free choice to do what is right.”
“That’s beautiful,” Jerome said bitterly. “While you sit back and congratulate yourself on your wonderful ethics, I have to go up against Belzor.”
“Belzor!” Simm exclaimed, his expression a blend of surprise and pleasure. “I’m so sorry, Rayner. It was criminal of me not to have told you at the start, but we have all been under a lot of pressure.”
Jerome looked from one man to the other. “What about Belzor?”
“He’s dead,” Simm said peacefully. “The Prince is dead.”
CHAPTER 13
Jerome slept during most of the flight to the Antarctic, but—although he was no longer afraid for his life—his sleep was troubled by strangely pessimistic dreams.
He had listened to accounts of how a team of some twenty Dorrinians, forsaking their code of non-violence, had armed themselves and hunted down Prince Belzor. They had found him in a well-equipped bivouac near the southern tip of the Amity condominium. Although three days had passed since the death of Marmorc on Mercury, the Prince had still been in a state approaching catalepsy, so drained of vital energies that he had been unable to move or put up any kind of telepathic defence. A Dorrinian had promptly injected air into Belzor’s blood-stream, producing a complete cessation of the already feeble heart activity within thirty seconds. The body, apparently dead from natural causes, had then been placed in a snowdrift more than a kilometre from the tent. Although it had been the beginning of Spring in the Antarctic, there had been a blizzard in progress in that part of Graham Land and the temperature had been -18°C. The body had quickly been lost to view under a layer of powdery snow, and the Dorrinian execution squad had returned to the CryoCare headquarters and had been dispersed.