"I doubt it's quiet anymore," Neq said. "But it does differ from my--my philosophy." He put his hand on the hilt of his sword. "By this I live."
"Doctor."
Both men glanced over to see the blonde girl in the doorway. "Yes, Miss Smith?" Dr. Jones said in his question-statement tone.
"I listened over the intercom," she said, looking rebelliously guilty. "I overheard Mr. Neg's offer--"
"Neq," Neq said, pronouncing it carefully. "Neq the Sword."
"With a Q, I'm sure," Jones said, smiling. "One of the most skilled of the nomad swordsmen today."
Neq was startled, for Dr. Jones had given no hint of his information before. But of course an ex-sworder would keep track of such things, and Neq was in the crazy records.
"I could go with him," Miss Smith said, and a flush came to her rather pretty features. "I haven't entirely forgotten the wild life--and I could make the report."
Jones looked pained. He had an excellent face for it. "My dear, this is not the type of enterprise--"
"Doctor, you know our whole structure will collapse if we don't do somethingi" she cried. "We can't go on much longer."
Neq stayed out of this debate, watching the girl. She was young but quite attractive in her animation. Her two breasts were conical under her light crazy sweater and her skirted legs were well proportioned. She was worth a man's contemplation despite her outlandish attire. He had heard that "Miss" applied to a crazy woman signified her eligibility for marriage; they used words instead of bracelets.
Jones faced Neq. "This is somewhat awkward--but she is technically correct. Our need is imperative, and she would seem to be equipped to do the job. Of course it is not incumbent on you to--"
"I can guard a woman as easily as a crazy man," Neq said. "If she'll do what I say. I can't have her standing on 'principle' when a warrior's charging us."
"I'll do what you say," she said quickly.
"My mind is not easy," Jones said. "But we do require the information. Even a negative report--which I very much fear is to be anticipated--would enable us to make positive plans to salvage a very limited sphere. If both of you are amenable--"
Neq considered more carefully. How far would he travel in a day, fettered to this doll-pretty crazy woman? She would faint at the sight of blood, surely, and collapse before they had walked sixty miles. And the ridicule he would evoke, marching with a crazy companion, any crazy, but particularly a female crazy--
"It wouldn't work," he said. And felt a certain familiar frustration, knowing that his shyness with women had as much to do with it as logic.
"It has to work," she said. "Dr. Jones can do amazing things, but only if he has exact information. If you're worried about my keeping up--we'll take a truck. And I don't have to look this way. I'm aware of your contempt. I can dress like a nomad. I'll even put on some dirt--"
Jones almost smiled, but Neq shrugged as though it wasn't that important to him. If they didn't get there, they didn't get there. The notion of traveling with a handsome woman, even a crazy, had its subtle but developing appeal. This was business, after all; his private problem could not be permitted to interfere. "All right."
"All right?" She looked surprised.
"Put on some dirt and get your truck and we'll go."
She looked dazedly at Jones. "All right?"
Dr. Jones sighed. "This is against my better judgment. But if both of you are willing--"
CHAPTER THREE
The change in blonde Miss Smith was amazing. She had unbound her hair to wear it loose and long in nomad fashion, and she had the one-piece wraparound of the available. Gone was the crisp office manner: she spoke only when addressed, knowing her place in the presence of a warrior. Had Neq not known her origin, he would have been fooled. Of course his close experience with women was meager.
She, however, had to drive the truck. Neq had seen the crazy vehicles on occasion, but had never actually been inside one before. The handling of such machinery was not his forte, obviously. So he rode beside her in the cab, sword clasped between his knees, and clung to the seat as the wheels bumped over the ruts. The velocity of the thing was appalling. He kept expecting it to start panting and slow to a walk, for no one could run indefinitely! He had been told a truck could cover in one hour a distance equivalent to a full day's march, if it had a good track, and now he believed it.
The road was no pleasure. What suited for foot traveling became hazardous for wheels, particularly at this speed, and he was privately terrified. Now he understood why the crazies had always been so fussy about the maintenance of their trails, cutting back the brush and removing boulders. Such natural obstacles were like swinging clubs to the zooming vehicle. Neq refused to show it, of course, but his hands were clammy on the sword and his muscles stiff from tension.
But in time he became acclimatized, and watched Miss Smith's motions. She controlled the truck by turning a wheel around: when she pushed the top of it north, the truck swung north. When she wanted to stop she pushed a metal pedal into the floor. Driving was not so difficult after all!
All day they drove, stopping only to let Neq be sick from the unaccustomed motion, and to refuel. The first was mortifying, but Miss Smith pretended not to notice and in time his gut became resigned. The second was just a matter of pouring funny smelling liquid she called gasoline into the motortank from one of the large metal drums carried in the back. "Why don't you just pipe it in from the drums?" he asked, and she admitted she didn't know.
"These trucks were designed and probably built by the Ancients," she said. "They did a number of inexplicable things--like making a gas tank far too small for a day's driving. Maybe they liked pouring gas from cans."
Neq laughed. "That's something! To the crazies, the Ancients are crazy!"
She smiled, not taking offense. "Sanity seems to be inversely proportional to civilization."
Inverse proportion: he knew what that meant, for he had been drilled like the others in the empire training camp. They had used numbers to assess combat ranking:
the smaller the number, the higher the warrior stood.
They drove on, until they had to stop to do patchwork on the road. A gully had formed, the result of some cloudburst, and made a tumble of boulders of the roadbed. Here Neq felt useful, for Miss Smith could not have budged all those rocks or shoveled enough sand into place to make the passage.
Despite these delays, Neq estimated that they had come a good five days march by dusk.
"How much do you normally march?" she inquired in response to his remark.
"Thirty miles, alone. More if I'm in a hurry. Twenty, with a tribe."
"So you make it a hundred and fifty miles today."
He worked it out, counting off fingers. He knew how to count and calculate, but this was a different problem than the type he normally encountered. "Yes."
"Speedometer says ninety-four," she said. "It must have seemed faster than it was. On a paved road it would have been double that."
"The truck keeps track of its own travels?" he asked, amazed. "Maybe it forgot to count the section between the tank-filling and the roadwork."
She laughed again. "Maybe! Machines aren't bright."
He had neither worked with nor talked with a woman this way before, and was surprised to realize that it wasn't difficult. "How far is this supplier?"
"About a thousand miles from the school, direct. Somewhat farther by these backwoods trails."
He figured again. "So we have about ten days of travel."
"Less than that. Some areas are better than others. Let me show you our route on the map. I think we've been through the worst already."