But Gillbret went on, "But I've done it, Biron. Aratap may be smart, but I'm smarter. Isn't that amusing? You don't have to worry, Biron. Biron, don't worry. I've fixed it." He was shaking Biron again, feverishly.
Biron sat up. "What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing. Nothing. It's all right. But I fixed it." Gillbret was smiling. It was a sly smile, the smile of a little boy who has done something clever.
"What have you fixed?" Biron was on his feet. He seized the other by the shoulders and dragged him upright as well. "Answer me."
'They found me in the engine room." The words were jerked out. "They thought I was hiding. I wasn't. I sounded the general alarm for the storage room because I had to be alone for just a few minutes-a very few minutes. Biron, I shorted the hyperatomics."
"What?"
"It was easy. It took a minute. And they won't know. I did it cleverly. They won't know until they try to Jump, and then all the fuel will be energy in one chain reaction and the ship and us and Aratap and all knowledge of the rebellion world will be a thin expansion of iron vapor."
Biron was backing away, eyes wide. "You did that?"
"Yes." Gillbret buried his head in his hands and rocked to and fro. "We'll be dead. Biron, I'm not afraid to die, but not alone. Not alone. I had to be with someone. I'm glad I'm with you. I want to be with someone when I die. But it won't hurt; it will be so quick. It won't hurt. It won't hurt."
Biron said, "Fool! Madman! We might still have won out but for this."
Gillbret didn't hear him. His ears were filled with his own moans. Biron could only dash to the door.
"Guard," he yelled. "Guard!" Were there hours or merely minutes left?
Twenty-One: Here?
The soldier came clattering down the corridor. "Get back in there." His voice was sour and sharp.
They stood facing one another. There were no doors to the small bottom-level rooms which doubled as prison cells, but a force field stretched from side to side, top to bottom. Biron could feel it with his hand. There was a tiny resilience to it, like rubber stretched nearly to its extreme, and then it stopped giving, as though the first initial pressure turned it to steel.
It tingled Biron's hand, and he knew that though it would stop matter completely, it would be as transparent as space to the energy beam of a neuronic whip. And there was a whip in the guard's hand.
Biron said, "I've got to see Commissioner Aratap."
"Is that what you're making a noise about?" The guard was not in the best of humors. The night watch was unpopular and he was losing at cards. "I'll mention it after lights-on."
"It won't wait." Biron felt desperate. "It's important. "
"It will have to wait. Will you get back, or do you want a bit of the whip?"
"Look," said Biron, "the man with me is Gillbret oth Hinriad. He is sick. He may be dying. If a Hinriad dies on a Tyrannian ship because you will not let me speak to the man in authority, you will not have a good time of it."
"What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know. Will you be quick or are you tired of life?"
The guard mumbled something and was off.
Biron watched him as far as he could see in the dim purple. He strained his ears in an attempt to catch the heightened throbbing of the engines as energy concentration climbed to a pre-Jump peak, but he heard nothing at all.
He strode to Gillbret, seized the man's hair, and pulled his head back gently. Eyes stared into his out of a contorted face. There was no recognition in them, only fear.
"Who are you?"
"It's only me-Biron. How do you feel?"
It took time for the words to penetrate. Gillbret said, blankly, "Biron?" Then, with a quiver of life, "Biron! Are they Jumping? Death won't hurt, Biron."
Biron let the head drop. No point in anger against Gillbret. On the information he had, or thought he had, it was a great gesture. All the more so, since it was breaking him.
But he was writhing in frustration. Why wouldn't they let him speak to Aratap? Why wouldn't they let him out? He found himself at a wall and beat upon it with his fists. If there were a door, he could break it down; if there were bars, he could pull them apart or drag them out of their sockets, by the Galaxy.
But there was a force field, which nothing could damage. He yelled again.
There were footsteps once more. He rushed to the open-yet-not-open door. He could not look out to see who was coming down the corridor. He could only wait.
It was the guard again. "Get back from the field," he barked. "Step back with your hands in front of you." There was an officer with him.
Biron retreated. The other's neuronic whip was on him, unwaveringly. Biron said, "The man with you is not Aratap. I want to speak to the Commissioner."
The officer said, "If Gillbret oth Hinriad is ill, you don't want to see the Commissioner. You want to see a doctor."
The force field was down, with a dim blue spark showing as contact broke. The officer entered, and Biron could see the Medical Group insignia on his uniform.
Biron stepped in front of him. "All right. Now listen to me. This ship mustn't Jump. The Commissioner is the only one who can see to that, and I must see him. Do you understand that? You're an officer. You can have him awakened."
The doctor put out an arm to brush Biron aside, and Biron batted it away. The doctor cried out sharply and called, "Guard, get this man out of here."
The guard stepped forward and Biron dived. They went thumping down together, and Biron clawed up along the guard's body, hand over hand, seizing first the shoulder and then the wrist of the arm that was trying to bring its whip down upon him.
For a moment they remained frozen, straining against one another, and then Biron caught motion at the corner of his eye. The medical officer was rushing past them to sound the alarm.
Biron's hand, the one not holding the other's whip wrist, shot out and seized the officer's ankle. The guard writhed nearly free, and the officer kicked out wildly at him, but, with the veins standing out on his neck and temples, Biron pulled desperately with each hand.
The officer went down; shouting hoarsely. The guard's whip clattered to the floor with a harsh sound.
Biron fell upon it, rolled with it, and came up on his knees and one hand. In his other was the whip.
"Not a sound," he gasped. "Not one sound. Drop anything else you've got."
The guard, staggering to his feet, his tunic ripped, glared hatred and tossed a short, metal-weighted, plastic club away from himself. The doctor was unarmed.
Biron picked up the club. He said, "Sorry. I have nothing to tie and gag you with and no time anyway."
The whip flashed dimly once, twice. First the guard and then the doctor stiffened in agonized immobility and dropped solidly, in one piece, legs and arms bent grotesquely out from their bodies as they lay, in the attitude they had last assumed before the whip struck.
Biron turned to Gillbret, who was watching with dull, soundless vacuity.
"Sorry," said Biron, "but you, too, Gillbret," and the whip flashed a third time.
The vacuous expression was frozen solid as Gillbret lay there on his side.
The force field was still down and Biron stepped out into the corridor. It was empty. This was space-ship "night" and only the watch and the night details would be up.
There would be no time to try to locate Aratap. It would have to be straight for the engine room. He set off. It would be toward the bow, of course.
A man in engineer's work clothes hurried past him.
"When's the next Jump?" called out Biron.
"About half an hour," the engineer returned over his shoulder.
"Engine room straight ahead?"
"And up the ramp." The man turned suddenly. "Who are you?"
Biron did not answer. The whip flared a fourth time. He stepped over the body and went on. Half an hour left.
He heard the noise of men as he sped up the ramp. The light ahead was white, not purple. He hesitated. Then he put the whip into his pocket. They would be busy. There would be no reason for them to suspect him.