There was a click. A square space in the wall before him gaped like an opening mouth. Within rested a uniform case. For a moment Kana froze. Then his hands shot out and he snatched the case in desperate fear that it was there only to tantalize him and would disappear.
A uniform case, containing the complete new uniform of a Swordsman Third Class! His hands were still shaking as he began to dress. This must mean release, at least release from the cell. Was he on his way to trial — or to return to duty — or — ? He was clumsy over buckles, awkward with the fastenings. But at last he was clothed. Only the sword was missing, the sheath at his new waist belt hung empty. And he had no Grace Knife.
He was latching the chin strap of his helmet when a second opening in the wall confronted him and he stepped through into a corridor. Base guards closed in, two before, two behind him. He wondered if he should be flattered by the size of that escort. But he fell into step with their pace, knowing it useless to ask any questions.
A lift took them up in a dizzy rise past level after level of headquarters' Administrative core. When they disembarked they were in a wide hallway on one of the staff floors. Murals of other world scenes where Hordes and Legions had made or unmade history alternated with windows which gave Kana his first sight of Terra since he had gone underground. It was mid-morning as far as he could judge, and below, the bay gave on the sea. Tradition said that the ancient ruins which were the base of Prime were merely the outer fringes of a once great city which had covered an island in that bay, a city which the sea had licked over during the nuclear wars. 'Copters swung in heavy traffic between the buildings standing now along the shore. It was just the same sort of day on which he had first entered Prime to accept enlistment in Yorke's Horde —
But the guard allowed him no time to stare through windows or think philosophically of the past. He was speedily ushered into an audience chamber. There he found himself facing a Tribunal. High Brass — just about the highest! Three of Combat's four Councilors sat there and the fourth and fifth members of the court were a C.C. Agent and an officer of the Galactic Patrol, a sub-sector commander by his badges. Kana stiffened. What right had those aliens to be his judges? He was sure that he could protest that, and be backed by the Combat Code. But, biding his time until he was more certain, he came to attention and made the formal announcement expected of him.
"Kana Karr, Swordsman Third Class, under enlistment in Yorke's Horde, place of service, Fronn."
Hansu — where was Hansu? Why were they to be tried separately? More than anything else at that moment Kana wished that he could have a moment's conversation with the Blademaster. For he had just made another and more upsetting discovery — one of the Combat officers facing him was Matthias — the same Matthias that Hansu had been so sure would stand their protector, fight on their side if they could only reach him.
The faces of the combat officers were impassive, but the C.C. Agent, an Ageratan — the brilliant scarlet and gold of his cloak somewhat garish against the green-gray of the Terrans — shifted impatiently in his chair as if he wished to speed up the proceedings and did not quite dare, while his alien companion, the Patrol officer, affected in contrast a vast boredom.
Then Kana saw what lay before the senior of the Combat officers — an Arch sword. That answered one of his questions. He had been brought here for sentencing. They had condemned him without allowing him a chance to speak in his own defense. But — how could they? The interrogators had the exact truth out of him. These men must know of the massacre on Fronn, of that strange scene by the plundered Patrol ship, of everything else which had happened, know it as if they had witnessed the events in his place. How could they then — ?
"For unauthorized dealings with an X-Tee race against all regulations," began the Combat senior, "for desertion of your comrades on another world, for the theft of a cruiser belonging to the Galactic Patrol, you, Kana Karr, Swordsman Third Class, Arch rating, are hereby declared unfit for off-world service. You shall be stripped of all Combat rating and privileges and sent to the labor gangs for the rest of your natural life."
Long discipline kept him at attention. Labor gangs for the rest of his life — the closest thing to slavery. But — a fierce, blinding anger uncoiled within him — he was going to answer those frozen-faced devils with a few home truths before they shipped him off. And he was not in the gangs — not yet!
When he spoke it was not to his superior officers but directly to the C.C. Agent.
"I've learned to know you for what you are — you and your kind," he said slowly between set teeth. The ancient blood lust which had once sent his Malay ancestors into battle swinging a bolo might have been thinned by interbreeding with other and more peaceful races but it was still there and rising in him now. "You may be able now to force Terrans to obey your will. But someday you'll pay in kind — "
The Ageratan's white face did not change expression, only now he sat very quiet, his long eyes narrowed into slits, a bird of prey preparing to swoop.
"How long" — Kana's attention was now on his fellow Terrans — "do you think you can cover up such messes? You know from my testimony — whether I gave it drugged or not — what they are doing to us out there. I" — he paused until he was sure his voice was once more under full control — "I gave Grace to Deke Mills after I heard his story. You know — all of you — what he had to tell. We are supposed to be fighting men — if only mercenaries selling our skill to others. Isn't it time we began to fight — against murderers!" He hurled that charge straight at the Ageratan, at the Patrol officer.
Kana was trying hard to pick and choose the proper words, to keep his red rage battened down. Then his mood changed. Why should he stand there mouthing statements which made no impression on their impassivity when he wanted to leap that table between them, to feel the Ageratan's flesh pulp beneath his fist? What was the use in talking — nothing he said — could say — would break through to them — would ruffle the composure of that traitor Matthias.
He brought his hand up in salute and wheeled to fall in with his waiting guard. Would they take him back to the underground cell? Or try to — for it would be a case of trying. He was determined to escape somehow, somewhere along the route.
Hansu If they had given him life in the labor gangs, they must have executed the Blademaster! How wrong Hansu had been in his belief in Matthias and the new day about to dawn. With Matthias ready to betray them the rebels had never had a ghost of a chance.
They marched back to the lift and whisked down, not to the cells. Instead Kana was escorted to a small room just off the main corridor near some entrance to the building — he was sure of that as he watched the constant stream of Combatants passing in the hall. Except for a sentry left at the door he was alone — to wait To wait? No, to act!
18. No Guard On The Stars!
Kana's mind raced as he assessed the situation. He was in full uniform, except that he lacked arms. If it weren't for the sentry he could simply walk out of this room, join the crowd in the hall, and leave the building, before the alarm was given. Once free in Prime he could find a way out of the city itself. There remained the problem of the sentry.