“We had a close call,” he shouted over his shoulder to Kettoran as he snatched a flight unit from a nearby rack. “Ask Correvalte about it!”
He went over the rail and sprang out into the sunlit air with the unit still in his hand. The twin worlds with all their intricate detail filled most of the sky on each side of him, and the space between was largely occupied by ranks of bulbous ships, plus wreaths of smoke and condensation through which miniature humanoid figures could be seen going about their enigmatic errands. Daytime stars and the brightest of the nebulae and comets effectively completed a full sphere of visual phenomena.
Toller, who had made a point of mastering the standard flight unit, used his drift time to strap the pack securely around his torso. He brought himself into a good alignment and fired a long burst which took him directly towards the bluehorn. The fierce chill of the mid world region, enhanced by slipstream, clawed at his eyes and mouth.
Vantara and her lieutenant were now close to the bluehorn, which was still barking and crowing in terror. They edged nearer to it and were beginning to uncoil the rope they had brought when Toller used his retro jet to bring himself to a halt close by. It was a long time since he had been within speaking distance of Vantara, and—in spite of the bizarre circumstances—he felt a tingling awareness of her physical presence. The very molecules of his body seemed to be reacting to an invisible aura which surrounded her. Her oval face, partially shaded by the cowl of her skysuit, was as lovely as he remembered it—enigmatic, utterly feminine, unnerving in its perfection.
“Why can’t we meet in ordinary places, the way other people do?” Toller said.
The countess eyed him briefly, turned away with no change of expression and spoke to her lieutenant. “We’ll bind the back legs first—it would be easier that way.”
“I would like to try calming the beast down first,” the lieutenant replied. “It’s too risky to go behind it while it’s so fretful.”
“Nonsense!” Vantara spoke with the brisk confidence of one who had had extensive stables at her disposal since childhood. Forming a wide noose with the rope, she sailed closer to the bluehorn on a plume of miglign condensation. Toller was about to call out a warning when the animal, which was continually twisting its head around and had a full view of its surroundings, struck out with both hind legs. One of its enormous hooves grazed Vantara’s hip, catching the material of her suit without impacting on her body. The imparted force put her into a spin which was checked almost at once by the cold-stiffened rope she was still holding. Had the bluehorn’s hoof connected with her pelvis she would have been seriously injured, and it was apparent that she understood the fact because her face was pale when she regained a stable attitude.
“Why did you pull on the line?” she demanded of her lieutenant, her voice stinging with anger. “You drew me in! I could have been killed!”
The lieutenant’s jaw sagged and she shot a scandalized glance at Toller, tacitly enlisting him as a witness. “My lady, I did no such—”
“Don’t argue, lieutenant.”
“I said we should calm the beast down before—”
“Let’s not set up a court of enquiry,” Vantara interrupted, her breath forming white wreaths of condensation in front of her face. “If you have suddenly become expert in animal husbandry you may retrieve this foul-tempered sack of bones. It’s of pretty poor stock, anyway.” She twisted in the air and propelled herself back towards her ship.
The lieutenant watched her depart, then looked at Toller, an unexpected smile plumping her already rounded cheeks. “The theory is that if this poor dumb creature had good breeding it would have known not to kick a member of the royal family.”
Toller felt that the levity was misplaced. “The countess had a narrow escape.”
“The countess brings these things down on herself,” the lieutenant said. “The reason she took it on herself to retrieve the bluehorn—rather than leave the job to common hands—was that she wanted to demonstrate her natural control over bloodstock. She firmly believes in all the aristocracy’s most cherished myths—that their males are born with an instinctive mastery of generalship; that the females are gifted in every branch of the arts and—”
“Lieutenant!” Toller’s annoyance had been growing throughout the discourse and suddenly could no longer be contained. “How dare you speak thuswise to me about a superior officer! Don’t you realize I could have you severely punished for that kind of talk?”
The lieutenant’s eyes widened in surprise, then her expression became one of disappointment and resignation. “Not you, too. Not another one!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Every man who meets her…” The lieutenant paused, shaking her head. “I would have thought that after that business of the collision report … Do you know that the beautiful Countess Vantara did her utmost to have you deprived of your command?”
“Do you know that you are supposed to use the proper form of address when speaking to a senior officer?” Toller was vaguely aware that there was something ludicrous about his manner—especially when the two of them were poised in blue emptiness between the swirled disks of planets—but he was unable to listen passively while Vantara was subjected to such acidulous criticism.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The lieutenant’s face had lost all expression and her voice was neutral. “Do you want me to see what I can do about the bluehorn?”
“What’s your name, anyway?”
“Jerene Pertree, sir.”
Toller now felt pompous, but could see no way out of the web he had woven around himself. “There’s no scarcity of experienced handlers on this flight—are you sure you won’t get yourself sent flying?”
“I grew up on a farm, sir.” Jerene opened the valve of her propulsion unit a short distance, producing just enough thrust to drift her towards the bluehorn’s head. The animal’s bulging eyes rolled as she drew near and shining strands of saliva gathered in the air around its mouth. Toller felt a stab of concern—those massive jaws could easily rend human flesh beneath the stoutest garment—but Jerene was making gentle, wordless sounds which seemed to have an immediate soothing effect on the bluehorn. She slipped one arm around its neck and began stroking the animal’s brow with her free hand. It submitted to her touch, visibly becoming docile, and in a few seconds she was able to slide its eyelids down over the staring amber eyes. Jerene nodded towards Toller, signaling for him to come in with the rope.
He jetted forward, bound the bluehorn’s back feet together, paid out a short length of line and repeated the process with the forelegs. He was not accustomed to that kind of work, and all the while was half-expecting a violent response from the captive animal, but it allowed him to complete the operation without mishap.
By that time the chaos above was being brought under control. The stricken ship was being abandoned. Overland’s surface was almost completely occulted by condensation trails as crewmen from other vessels began the work of salvaging supplies. They were shouting to each other, sounding almost cheerful as they realized how slight was the damage to the fleet as a whole, compared to what it could have been. It occurred to Toller that the expedition had been lucky in another respect—if the encounter with the meteor swarm had not happened so close to the weightless zone recovery from it would have been much more difficult, if not impossible. Every object he could see was falling towards Land, but the rate of descent was so leisurely that in practice it could be disregarded for the time being.