"For nearly half a year the Tyranni waited for a betraying gesture. They are patient, the Tyranni. None came, so that when they could wait no longer, they found nothing in their net but him."
"It's a lie," cried Artemisia. "It's all a lie. It's a smug, sanctimonious, lying story with no truth in it. If all you said were true, they would be watching you too. You would be in danger yourself. You wouldn't be sitting here, smiling and wasting time."
"My lady, I do not waste my time. I have already tried to do what I could toward discrediting your father as a source of information. I think I have succeeded somewhat. The Tyranni will wonder if they ought to listen further to a man whose daughter and cousin are obvious traitors. And then again, if they are still disposed to believe him, why, I am on the point of vanishing into the Nebula where they will not find me. I should think my actions tend to prove my story rather than otherwise."
Biron drew a deep breath and said, "Let us consider the interview at an end, Jonti. We have agreed to the extent that we will accompany you and that you will grant us needed supplies. That is enough. Granting that all you have just said is truth, it is still beside the point. The crimes of the Director of Rhodia are not inherited by his daughter. Artemisia oth Hinriad stays here with me, provided she herself agrees."
"I do," said Artemisia.
"Good. I think that covers everything. I warn you, by the way. You are armed; so am I. Your ships are fighters, perhaps; mine is a Tyrannian cruiser."
"Don't be silly, Farrill. My intentions are quite friendly. You wish to keep the girl here? So be it. May I leave by contact air lock?"
Biron nodded. "We will trust you so far."
The two ships maneuvered ever closer, until the flexible airlock extensions pouted outward toward one another. Carefully, they edged about, trying for the perfect fit. Gillbret hung upon the radio.
"They'll be trying for contact again in two minutes," he said.
Three times already the magnetic field had been triggered, and each time the extending tubes had stretched toward one another and met off-center, gaping crescents of space between them.
"Two minutes," repeated Biron, and waited tensely.
The second hand moved and the magnetic field clicked into existence a fourth time, the lights dimming as the motors adjusted to the sudden drain of power. Again the airlock extensions reached out, hovered on the brink of instability, and then, with a noiseless jar, the vibration of which hummed its way into the pilot room, settled into place properly, clamps automatically locking in position. An air-tight seal had been formed.
Biron drew the back of his hand slowly across his forehead and some of the tension oozed out of him.
"There it is," he said.
The Autarch lifted his space suit. There was still a thin film of moisture under it.
"Thanks," he said pleasantly. "An officer of mine will be right back. You will arrange the details of the supplies necessary with him."
The Autarch left.
Biron said, "Take care of Jonti's officer for me for a while, will you, Oil. When he comes in, break the air-lock contact. All you'll have to do is remove the magnetic field. This is the photonic switch you'll flash."
He turned and stepped out of the pilot room. Right now he needed time for himself. Time to think, mostly.
But there was the hurried footstep behind him, and the soft voice. He stopped.
"Biron," said Artemisia, "I want to speak to you. " He faced her. "Later, if you don't mind, Arta."
She was looking up at him intently. "No, now."
Her arms were poised as though she would have liked to embrace him but was not sure of her reception. She said, "You didn't believe what he said about my father?"
"It has no bearing," said Biron. "Biron," she began, and stopped. It was hard for her to say it. She tried again, "Biron, I know that part of what has been going on between us has been because we've been alone and together and in danger, but-" She stopped again.
Biron said, "If you're trying to say you're a Hinriad, Arta, there's no need. I know it. I won't hold you to anything afterward."
"No. Oh no." She caught his arm and placed her cheek against his hard shoulder. She was speaking rapidly. "That's not it at all. It doesn't matter about Hinriad and Widemos at all. I-I love you, Biron."
Her eyes went up, meeting his. "I think you love me too. I think you would admit it if you could forget that I am a Hinriad. Maybe you will now that I've said it first. You told the Autarch you would not hold my father's deeds against me. Don't hold his rank against me, either."
Her arms were around his neck now. Biron could feel the softness of her breasts against him and the warmth of her breath on his lips. Slowly his own hands went upward and gently grasped her forearms. As gently, he disengaged her arms and, still as gently, stepped back from her.
He said, "I am not quits with the Hinriads, my lady."
She was startled. "You told the Autarch that-"
He looked away. "Sorry, Arta. Don't go by what I told the Autarch."
She wanted to cry out that it wasn't true, that her father had not done this thing, that in any case-
But he turned into the cabin and left her standing in the corridor, her eyes filling with hurt and shame.
Fifteen: The Hole in Space
Tedor Rizzett turned as Biron entered the pilot room again. His hair was gray, but his body was still vigorous and his face was broad, red, and smiling.
He covered the distance between himself and Biron in a stride and seized the young man's hand heartily.
"By the stars," he said, "I'd need no word from you to tell me that you are your father's son. It is the old Rancher alive again."
"I wish it were," said Biron, somberly.
Rizzett's smile faltered. "So do we all. Every one of us. I'm Tedor Rizzett, by the way. I'm a colonel in the regular Linganian forces, but we don't use titles in our own little game. We even say 'sir' to the Autarch. That reminds me!" He looked grave. "We don't have lords and ladies or even Ranchers on Lingane. I hope I won't offend if I forget to throw in the proper title sometimes."
Biron shrugged." As you said, no titles in our little game. But what about the trailer? I'm to make arrangements with you, I take it."
For a flickering moment he looked across the room. Gillbret was seated, quietly listening. Artemisia had her back to him. Her slim, pale fingers wove an abstracted pattern on the photocontacts of the computer. Rizzett's voice brought him back.
The Linganian had cast an all-inclusive glance about the room. "First time I've ever seen a Tyrannian vessel from the inside. Don't care much for it. Now you've got the emergency air lock due stern, haven't you? It seems to me the power thrusters girdle the midsection."
"That's right."
"Good. Then there won't be any trouble. Some of the old model ships had power thrusters due stern, so that trailers had to be set off at an angle. This makes the gravity adjustment difficult and the maneuverability in atmospheres just about nil."
"How long will it take, Rizzett?"
"Not long. How big would you want it?"
"How big could you get it?"
"Super deluxe? Sure. If the Autarch says so, there's no higher priority. We can get one that's practically a space ship in itself. It would even have auxiliary motors."
"It would have living quarters, I suppose."
"For Miss Hinriad? It would be considerably better than you have here-" He stopped abruptly.
At the mention of her name, Artemisia had drifted past coldly and slowly, moving out of the pilot room. Biron's eyes followed her.
Rizzett said, "I shouldn't have said Miss Hinriad, I suppose."
"No, no. It's nothing. Pay no attention. You were saying?"
"Oh, about the rooms. At least two sizable ones, with a communicating shower. It's got the usual closet room and plumbing arrangements of the big liners. She would be comfortable."
"Good. We'll need food and water."
"Sure. Water tank will hold a two months' supply; a little less if you want to arrange for a swimming pool aboard ship. And you would have frozen whole meats. You're eating Tyrannian concentrate now, aren't you?"