The vessel did. Sparling’s heart banged. Was the officer indeed aboard alone, as he had mentioned he would be? Sensors, computers, effectors, and whatnot, that was nevertheless a lot of machine to single-hand. Part of me wishes he’s got companions or—or anything… It halted. They jogged toward it.
A lock opened and extruded a gangway. Dejerine appeared at the top, a slim figure in a trim field uniform. He waved. Jill waved back. Metal thudded beneath hastening boots.
Dejerine shook their hands. His clasp was enthusiastic. But did he seem tired, nervous, even suspicious? Well, after what he’s been through— He bears no side arm. No side arm.
“Welcome,” he greeted. “I can’t tell how happy I am to see you again.” His attention was directed at Jill. Where else? She told me he acted fond of her. Who couldn’t?
“Did you truly come by yourself?” she asked.
“Yes,” Dejerine said.
Sparling knew both glee and grief.
“We may as well start right home,” Dejerine said. “It’s a glorious flight. This planet has more beauty than my mind can take in.”
Then why won’t you let us save it, you—no, not you son of a bitch—you military robot?… Hold on there, Sparling. You’re too damn near hysteria.
They entered. The lock closed behind them. Conditioned air shocked with mildness and moisture. The main body of the craft extended ranks of instruments and equipment on either side of a passageway.
Dejerine wiped a forefinger across his sweaty mustache. “I can’t imagine how you two stood that furnace this long,” he said.
Jill sang sotto voce, “Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego—”
“I brought food, drink, medicine, fresh clothes,” Dejerine continued. “When we’re up, I’ll put us on automatic; but can I do anything for you before we take off?”
Now! And there was no more time for doubt or regret.
Sparling drew his knife, gripped underhanded. “Yes,” His voice resonated through his skull. “You can make ready to deliver the legion. Don’t move! This is a hijack.”
Jill gasped, Dejerine’s olive complexion paled a trifle, though he stood oddly steady and his features merely went expressionless apart from the luminous dark eyes.
“My private idea,” Sparling said. “Never a hint to Jill. But when I knew the circumstances—when I thought how our weak, clumsy effort from Primavera might not work, and at best could only give temporary help—while this monster can cow any warriors who escape it for the rest of their lives—Do you see? I’m prepared to surrender to you afterward, and stand trial and serve sentence. But please believe, Captain, I’m just as prepared to secure you and try being my own pilot if you don’t obey my orders.”
“Ian—” Her voice broke like glass.
Dejerine sprang. The distance was short, he was young and supple, trained in personal combat. Yet Sparting swayed aside and delivered a kick and a left-handed chop which laid him asprawl.
“Don’t try that again, son,” the engineer advised: “You’re good, but I spent years in sections where I’d better know infighting… against Ishtarians. This knife is more emphasis than threat.”
Dejerine climbed to his feet, gingerly touched the places where he had been struck, wet his lips, and spoke slowly: “If I refuse—and I’m sworn to the service of the Federation—you’re practically sure to crash. They don’t let anyone rated less than Master Pilot near the controls of a thing like this. What then about Jill?”
“I’ll send her back to Ulu with a story that accounts for my absence,” Sparling said.
She stepped forward. “Like hell you will, mister,” she stated.
“Like hell I won’t,” Sparling answered; and to Dejerine:
“I repeat, she’s been in no conspiracy, she was unaware of my plan, her behavior has been correct throughout.”
Jill clenched fists and stamped a foot. “You idiot!” she yelled. “Why do you suppose I snaked that promise out of you, not to block me, whatever I did? I intended the same piracy myself!”
He couldn’t gape at her, for he must watch Dejerine and she must keep beyond the latter’s reach. He could only glimpse her in a comer of his sight, flushed, breath quick, fire-blue eyes and teeth agleam. You would, he knew. Aloud. “You’re raving.”
“That she is,” Dejerine said in a hurry. “A touch of sun. I didn’t follow her, she was so incoherent. Sparling, I will assume you’re an honest man, however misguided. If I do your will, under duress, and you surrender to me later—we’ll return here and fetch Jill. We’ll have left her behind, you see, in safety.”
The girl drew blade. “No.” Her tone became one of the grimmest either man had ever heard. “I’m dealing myself in whether you want me or not. I hold you to your oath, Ian. Break it, and you’ll have to fight me. Is that your wish?
“Listen. If you’re alone with him, Yuri has a chance of taking you. He can pull a stunt—he’s a spaceman and he’s younger; he can take more gee force. He can black you out with a dive or a swerve and grab that shiv of yours, and there goes the game. But two of us—two of us’ll be too many; too risky. Right, Yuri? Against two, you’ll have no choice. Your duty’ll be to stay at the helm—if only because you doubt a pair of klutzes like us can return the Federation’s big expensive death machine undamaged.”
I can’t dismiss her now, whatever I do. She’s torched her last line of retreat. The knowledge was like a blow to Sparling’s throat.
Dejerine—Dejerine looked as badly shocked. His shoulders slumped, he gnawed his lip, in a muteness which went on. Finally, his stare never leaving the girl, he said rasp-voiced:
“Yes. Your analysis is correct. I will fly for you.” Turning, he led the way toward the command cabin. His back had straightened but his gait was stiff. And Sparling thought: He guessed I might do what I did. Not Jill. that was a foul surprise, but me. He came here open to me.
A glance at her showed pity on her face. She sees this, too.
TWENTY-THREE
Arnanak drew sword. Light flamed off the blade. “Forward!” he shouted.
A mighty sound arose as two dozen strong warriors strained against pushbars. Slowly, creaking, groaning, the bridge rocked into motion. Dust and cinders smoked from its wheels, sought eyes, ears, noses, mouths, plants. Sun and Marauder blazed ruthless in a glaring sky above a sere land. To the right, the river shone like brass. The earthworks and walls ahead loomed unreal through haze and heat-shimmer.
Yet the bridge toiled onward. Arnanak paced it at a distance. Its crew needed what heartening he could give. He and his big legionary shield would take their chances when he came within bowshot.
Pride swelled in him afresh whenever he glanced at the crude, ugly contraption. This was his thought, his doing. The engineers of the Gathering had never made anything like it; their foes had never built towns as well fortified as Port Rua. The beds of three wagons in a row carried massive timbers which jutted far enough ahead to cross the ditch. A load of stones at the rear balanced them. Behind, a bulkhead and roof warded those who shoved the huge weight along. Hardly a thing could stop it save the heaviest boulder a trebuchet might throw; and he had spent lives and his remaining captured huriers to wreck every northside bastion.
Arrows whistled from the stockade. Many bore fire, and several struck home. But it was hard to kindle balks this big, which had furthermore gotten well wetted while being rafted down from Tarhanna and afterward by bucket brigades. Arnanak dodged to and fro. Regardless of weather, the surge of muscles felt good as he played tag with the shafts.
He still failed to see Larreka’s banner. It had been gone for days, ever since the Zera inflicted that disaster at the riverside which made Arnanak order suspension of attacks other than bombardment and completion of his unfinished, untried device, no matter how much the warriors griped. Had the commandant fallen? If so, sleep well, Brother Among the Three. Yet Larreka was canny, and—