“Send us home on the Sepelora,” Derek suggested.
“The affairs of the rest of the universe are not ours, Derek,” the old man answered, and he seemed genuinely sorry. “We can’t risk having them brought to us by returning you. The decision of the majority went against me. Now all I can do is make you welcome here on Vanir.”
Derek stared up at the sky where the Sepelora lay out of reach but ready to carry them home. He let his eyes fall again to the planet that was to be their prison. He had come to like the people and to feel more at ease among them in many ways than among his own race. But there had been hope, until now.
“All right,” he said at last. “Keep your world, Skora, Live on it comfortably while the rest of the human race nearly kill themselves in another war. You’ll be safe. Dredge up a few more tricks from Aevan’s notes. You like being alone—most provincials do. And it won’t matter in your time. But when the children of my people find mechanical ways of doing what you do with your minds—when they sweep in here with ten battleships for each that your people can handle—remember that you could have joined us and saved us from the enemy that burned this planet once already. When that happens, cry for the brotherhood of men. See what they think of a single planet that kept its secrets to itself. Oh, damn it, send us back to Lari’s and let us alone!”
Skora reached for the amulet. Then he threw it away and stared at them, frowning in concentration without the help of tools. His hands clenched at his side.
They stood in Derek’s bedroom.
Derek lay wearily on the bed while Kayel’s low voice went on explaining things to Siryl. The woman had resented their going off without her, even though she had wanted no part of the trip. But now her hurt scorn had cooled down to an unbelieving interest. In a way, the captain thought, she had been right all along. But she didn’t seem to be enjoying it. He started to turn over.
Siryl screamed thinly. By the time he could look, she was throwing Aevan’s notebook away and whimpering. “No!” Her voice was low now, but rising slowly toward hysteria as Derek got off the bed. “No. No! It can’t be telepathy!”
“It is,” Derek assured her. “I tested it. So did Kayel.”
Her face contorted, and she swung toward him, groping for support. She found his shoulder and buried her face in it, clinging to him, her nails digging into his back as she strained closer. “Take me away! Derek, take me away. I can’t stand having them read my mind—every thought I ever had, every wish…. Derek!”
He reached up to disentangle the hands that were trying to dig through his backbone. “Siryl—” he began.
She flung herself from him and groped toward the door. But Kayel was there, his tortured face sympathetic. The little man caught her, and she dragged herself against him. He drew her closer while she sobbed, standing the pain of her hysteria as if he were being -knighted.
“I’ll protect you, Siryl. Some way I’ll protect you. They aren’t going to read your mind. I won’t let them.” He was scowling furiously with some effort as he tried to comfort her. His eyes turned toward Derek. “Maybe if they know about their god now, they’re upset! Maybe they won’t think too well. Get Lari, Derek—she’s not very suspicious, I hope. And don’t think about anything except that Siryl’s sick.”
The woman had whimpered at the mention of Lari’s name. Kayel drew her down beside him, rubbing her hair gently. “There, there, baby. Nobody is going to read your mind now.”
Derek found Lari in the kitchen, naturally, and brought her back with him. She was wearing her big apron with the amulet pockets, and moved ahead of him with the bowl in her hands clattering against one of them while she went on stirring—the picture of a quiet housewife, Derek thought bitterly. With the power of a god!
“Lari,” Kayel told her, “Siryl’s sick. We’re not just like you. We’re neurotics—we have been since the Collapse. We need things you don’t have which are on the Sepelora—Ferad will need them, too. Can you send Siryl and Derek up for them? They’ll know where to find the drugs.”
Derek started to protest. But this was more important to the physicist than escape. He was being the space knight who could slay monsters for his lady. The captain glanced at Lari, trying to keep his thoughts down. She puzzled over it, but seemed completely unsuspicious. It must have been a hard day for her already, and her mind wasn’t on the request.
“I guess so,” she answered. “If I sort of pretend god is still there and use the amulet. I’ll have to concentrate. You stir this till I work it.” She handed the bowl to Kayel, who took it quickly, keeping the swirling bubbles in the mixture going.
Lari pulled out the amulet and clutched it firmly. She bent over it, hesitated, and looked up. “No sense in two of you going for a few drugs,” she commented, and clenched her hand.
Derek found himself in the control room of the Sepelora, beside a new bank of instruments. He let out a yell of protests at the miscarriage of Kayel’s plans, but his finger hit the red button that was still marked firing pin. There was no way he could go back for them, nothing he could do to help. And he was still captain of the ship, in the service of the Federation, with a job to do.
The Sepelora came to life. There was no blanking out of the ports, but the stars began rushing by at an incredible rate, while the radar checked them and threw the ship about to :av6id a direct hit. They were making better than a thousand light-years an hour!
Derek found the instructions beside the new panel and began setting their course for Sirius. He had no idea of how the machines worked, but that would be for experts if he got back; and it was something to aid the Federation, at least.
He could feel the breath of fear blowing down his neck as he worked frantically. Lari might not be able to handle a time-negation field. She might have to waste tune in hunting for Skora. Or perhaps none of them could work through this. Perhaps there was no way to locate him. He could be sure of nothing, except that each thousand light-years gave him a slight added reason for hope—but sure that it wasn’t enough reason, even so.
He wondered about Siryl and Kayel. She might be sick at their failure, but she was probably female enough to appreciate the attempt Kayel had made more than the fact that he hadn’t delivered. And she’d been rocked by telepathy enough to seek comfort where she could find it and in the strongest manner.
Then he went back to worrying, staring back in the direction of Vanir. He had no idea of how far they could reach. Maybe they could throw things farther than they could suck them in. The Waraok had been tossed two hundred thousand light-years. But the people of Vanir had gone out only a few light-years to bring supplies. Maybe he was already safe.
He began to think so as the hours drifted by. And he began to appreciate the time-negation field more as he saw the simplicity of the generators. He could already construct another set from memory, if he had to. With this, the Federation still might win.
Worry over pursuit kept him from sleeping until fatigue finally took over. That day and the next went by. Then the next.
He went to bed with more confidence. He’d underestimated the speed of the new drive and was already half the distance back to Sirius—they should have stopped him before that, since he was now near some of the outer fringes of the Federation. He considered landing on one, but decided against it. The farther he went, the better. And the new drive should be taken directly to headquarters.