Deathworld Vol2 Part 14

"I am afraid. . ."

"Don't be; no harm will come of this. The people in the ship will help me, and I think they can make me well again."

"Then I go," she said simply, rising and forcing herself, still shaking, out of the door.

Jason watched her leave. 'There are times, Mikah," he said, "when I'm not looking at you, that I can be proud of the human race."

The minutes stretched out and Jason found himself pulling at the blankets, twisting them with his fingers, wondering what was happening outside in the courtyard. He started as there was a sudden clanging on metal, followed immediately by a rapid series of explosions. Were the fools attacking the ship? He writhed and cursed at his own weakness when he tried to get up. All he could do was lie there and wait- while his existence lay in others' hands.

More explosions sounded-inside the building this time-as well as shouts and a loud scream. Running footsteps came down the hail and Ijale hurried in and Meta, gun still smoking in her hand, entered behind her.

"It's a long way from Pyrrus," Jason said, resting his eyes on the troubled beauty of her face, on the familiar woman's body in the harsh metal cloth suit.

"But I can't think of anyone I would rather see come through that door. . . ."

"You're hurt!" She ran swiftly to him, kneeling on the far side of the bed so that she still faced the open door. When she took up his hand her eyes widened at the dry heat of his skin. She said nothing, but unclipped the medikit from her belt and pressed it against the skin of his forearm. The a.n.a.lyzing probe pushed down and it clicked busily, injecting him with one hypodermic needle, then with three more in rapid succession. It buzzed a bit more, then gave him a swift vaccination and switched on the "treatment completed" light.

Meta's face was close above his; she bent a little nearer and kissed him on his cracked lips and a curl of golden hair fell forward onto his cheek. She was a woman, but a Pyrran woman, and she kissed him with her eyes open, and without even pulling away fired a shot that blew out a corner of the door frame and drove back the soldiers in the hall.

"Don't shoot them," Jason said, when she had reluctantly drawn away.

"They're supposed to be friends."

"Not my friends. As soon as I left the lifeboat they fired on me with some sort of primitive projectile weapon, but I took care of that. They even fired at the girl who brought your message, until I blew one of the walls down. Are you feeling better?"

"Neither good nor bad, just dizzy from the shots you gave me. But we had better get to the ship. I'll see if I can walk." He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and collapsed, face down on the floor. Meta dragged him back onto the bed and arranged the blankets over him again.

"You must stay here until you are better. You are too sick to move now."

"I'll be a lot sicker if I stay. As soon as the Hertug-he's the one in charge here-realizes that I may be leaving, he will do anything to keep me here, no matter how many men he loses doing it. We are going to have to move before his evil little mind reaches that conclusion."

Meta was looking around the room, and her glance slid over Ijale- who was crouched down staring at her-as if she were part of the furnishings, then stopped at Mikah. "Is that creature chained to the wall dangerous?" she asked.

"At times he can be; you have to keep a close eye on him. He's the one who seized me on Pyrrus."

Meta's hand flew to a pouch at her waist and she slipped an extra gun into Jason's hand. "Here is a gun-you will want to kill him yourself."

"See, Mikah," Jason said, feeling the familiar weight of the weapon in his palm. "Everyone wants me to kill you. What is there about you that makes everyone loathe you so?"

"I am not afraid to die," Mikah said, raising his head and squaring his shoulders, but not looking very impressive with his scraggly grey beard and the chains he wore.

"Well, you should be." Jason lowered the gun. "It's surprising that someone with your pa.s.sion for doing the wrong thing has lasted this long."

He turned to Meta. "I've had enough of killing for a while," he told her; "this planet is steeped in it. And we'll need him to help carry me downstairs, I don't think I can make it on my own, and he's probably the best stretcher bearer we can find."

Meta turned towards Mikah and her gun shot from its power holster into her hand and fired. He recoiled, raising his arm before his eyes, then seemed shocked to find himself still alive. Meta had freed him by shooting his chains away. She slid over to him with the effortless grace of a stalking tiger and pushed the still smoking muzzle of her gun deep into his midsection.

"Jason doesn't want me to kill you," she purred, and twisted the gun a bit deeper, "but I don't always do what he tells me. If you want to live a while you will do what I say. You will take the top off that table to make a stretcher. You will help carry Jason on it down to the rocket. Cause any kind 0f trouble, and you will be dead. Do you understand?"

Mikah opened his mouth for a protest, or perhaps for one of his speeches, but something in the icy bitterness of the girl stayed him. He merely nodded and turned to the table.

Ijale was crouched next to Jason's bed now, holding tight to his hand. She had not understood a word of any of the off-world languages they had spoken.

'What is happening, Jason?" she pleaded. "What was the shiny thing that bit your arm? This new one kissed you, so she must be your woman, but you are strong and can have two women. Do not leave me."

"Who is the girl?" Meta asked coldly. Her power holster buzzed and the muzzle of her gun slipped in and out.

"One of the locals, a slave who helped me," Jason said with an offhandedness he did not feel. "If we leave her here they will probably kill her.

She'll come with us. . . ."

"I don't think that is wise." Meta's eyes were slitted, and her gun seemed about to leap into her hand. A Pyrran woman in love was still a woman-and still a Pyrran, a terribly dangerous combination. Luckily a stir at the door distracted her and she blasted two shots in that direction before Jason could stop her.

"Hold it-that's the Hertug. I recognized his heels as he dived for safety."

A frightened voice quavered from the hail. "We did not know this one was your friend, Jason. Some soldiers, too enthusiastic, shot too soon. I have had them punished. We are friends, Jason. Tell the one from the ship not to make more of the blowings-up, so that I can enter and talk to you."

"I do not understand his words," Meta said, "but I don't like the sound of his voice."

"Your instincts are perfectly right, darling," Jason told her. "He couldn't be more two-faced if he had eyes, nose, and mouth on the back of his head."

Jason chuckled, and realized he was getting light-headed with all the battling drugs and toxins in his system. Clear thinking was an effort, but it was an effort that had to be made. They still weren't out of trouble and, as good a fighter as Meta was, she couldn't be expected to beat an entire army. And that's what would be called out to stop them if he didn't watch his step.

"Come on in, Hertug," he called out. "No one will hurt you-these mistakes happen." And then to Meta: "Don't shoot-but don't relax either. I'll try to talk him out of causing trouble, but I can't guarantee it, so stand ready for anything."

The Hertug took a quick look in the door and bobbed out of sight again. He finally rallied the remains of his nerve and shuffled in hesitantly.

"That's a nice little weapon your friend has, Jason. Tell him"-he blinked nearsighted eyes at Meta's uniform-"I mean her, that we'll trade some slaves for one. Five slaves, that's a good bargain."

"Say seven."

"Agreed. Hand it over."

"Not this one; it has been in her family for years and she couldn't bear to part with it. But there is another one in the ship she arrived in -we'll go down and get it."

Mikah had finished dismembering the table and he laid the top of it next to Jason's bed; then he and Meta slid Jason carefully onto it. The Hertug wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and his blinking red eyes took everything in.

"In the ship there are things that will make you well," he said, showing more intelligence than Jason had given him credit for. "You will not die, and you will leave in the sky ship?"

Jason groaned and writhed on the stretcher, clutching at his side in agony.

"I'm dying, Hertug! They take my ashes to the ship, a s.p.a.cegoing funeral barge, to scatter them among the stars-"

The Hertug dived for the doorway, but Meta was on him in the same instant, swinging his arm up behind his back until he screamed, and digging her gun into his kidneys.

"What are your plans, Jason?" she asked calmly.

"Let Mikah carry the front of the stretcher, and the Hertug and Ijale can hold up the back Keep the old boy under your gun, and with a little luck we'll get out of here with whole skins."

They went out that way, slowly and carefully. The leaderless Perssonoj could not make up their minds what to do; the pained shouts from the Hertug only rattled them, as did Jason's shots, which blasted chunks of masonry and blew out windows. He enjoyed the trip down the stairs and across the courtyard, and cheered himself by putting a shot near any head that appeared. They reached the rocket without difficulty.

"Now comes the hard part," Jason said, wrapping an arm about Ijale's shoulders and throwing most of his weight on the other arm, clutched tight on Mikah's neck He couldn't walk, but they could hold him up and drag him aboard.

"Stay in the door, Meta, with a firm grip on the old buzzard. Expect anything to happen, because there is no such thing as loyalty here, and if they have to kill the Hertug to get you they won't hesitate for an instant."

"That is logical," Meta agreed. "After all, it is war."

"Yes, I suppose a Pyrran would look at it that way. Stand ready. I'll warm the engines, and when we're ready to take off I'll blow the siren. Drop the Hertug, close the lock, and get to the controls as fast as you can-I don't think I could manage a takeoff. Understand?"

"Perfectly. Go-you are wasting time."

Jason slumped in the co-pilot's seat and ran through the starting cycle as fast as he could. He was just reaching for the siren b.u.t.ton when there was a jarring thump and the whole ship shook, and-for one heartstopping second-it rocked and almost fell over. It slowly righted itself and he hit the alarm. Before it stopped echoing, Meta was in the pilot's seat and the little rocket blasted skywards.

"They are more advanced than I thought they would be on this primitive world," she said, as soon as the first thrust of acceleration eased. "There was a great, ugly machine in one of the buildings that suddenly smoked and threw a rock that took most of our port fin away. I blew it up, but the one you call the Hertug escaped."

"In some ways they are very advanced," Jason said, feeling too weak to admit that they had been almost finished off by his own invention.

17.

With Meta's skillful piloting, they slid easily into the open hold of the Pyrran s.p.a.cer that was...o...b..ting just outside the atmosphere. Being in free fall eased Jason's pain enough for him to make sure that the wide-eyed and terrorized Ijale was strapped into an acceleration couch before he collapsed. After that he floated towards a bunk himself, and before he reached it pa.s.sed out with a happy smile: the slaveholding monomaniacs already seemed far behind.

When he awoke much of the pain and discomfort was gone, as well as the fever; and though he was dreadfully weak he was able to pull himself through the pa.s.sageways to the control room. Meta was plotting a course on the computer.

'Food!" Jason croaked, clutching at his throat. "My tissues exhaust themselves making repairs and I starve."

Meta wordlessly pa.s.sed him a squeeze-flask dinner, managing to do it in such a way that he knew she was angry about something. As he put the tube in his mouth he saw Ijale crouched on the far side of the compartment-at least, crouching as much as she was capable of in free fall.

"My, that was good!" Jason exclaimed with false joviality. "Are you flying this ship alone, Meta?"

"Of course I'm alone." She said it in such a way that it sounded more like: Aren't you a fool? "I was allowed to take the ship, but no one could be spared to go with me."

"How did you find me?" he asked, trying to discover a subject that she might warm to.

"That should be obvious. The operator at the s.p.a.ceport noted the insignia when the s.p.a.cer left with you in it, and when he described it Kerk recognized it as Ca.s.sylian. I went to Ca.s.sylia and investigated; they identified the ship, but there was no record of it having returned. Then I followed a reverse course to Pyrrus and found three possible planets near enough to the course to have registered in the ship during jump-s.p.a.ce flight. Two oc them are centrally organized, with modem s.p.a.ceports and flight controls, and would have known if the ship I was seeking had landed, or even crashed. It hadn't. Therefore the ship must have landed on the third one, the planet we have just left. As soon as I entered the atmosphere I heard the distress signal and came as fast as I could. . . . What are you going to do with that woman?"

These last words were spoken in an icy tone. Ijale crouched lower, not understanding a word of the conversation, but obviously petrified with fear.

"I haven't really thought about it yet. . ."

"There is only room for one woman in your life, Jason. Me. I'll kill anyone who thinks differently."

Without a doubt she meant it; and if Ijale was going to live much longer she had to be separated as quickly as possible from the deadly threat of female- Pyrran jealousy. Jason thought fast.

"We'll stop at the next civilized planet and let her off. I have enough money to leave a deposit in a bank that will last her for years. And I'll make arrangements for it to be paid out only a bit at a time, so no matter how she is cheated she will always have enough. I'm not going to worry about her-if she was able to live in the kreno legion she can get along anywhere on a settled world."

He could already hear the complaints that would come when he broke the news to Ijale, but it was for her own survival.

"I shall care for her and lead her in the paths of righteousness," a remembered voice spoke from the doorway. Mikah stood there, clutching at the jamb, bushy-bearded and bright-eyed.

"That's a wonderful idea!" Jason agreed enthusiastically. He turned to Ijale and spoke to her in her own language. "Did you hear that? Mikah is going to take you home with him and look after you. I'll arrange for some money to be paid to you for all your needs-he'll explain to you all about money. I want you to listen to him carefully, note exactly what he says, then do the exact opposite. You must promise me you will do that, and never break your word. In that way, though you may make some mistakes, and will sometimes be wrong, the rest of the time things will go very smoothly."

"I cannot leave you! Take me with you-I'll be your slave always!" she wailed.

"What did she say?" Meta snapped, catching some of the meaning.

"You are evil, Jason," Mikah declaimed, getting the needle back into the familiar groove. "She will obey you, I know that, so no matter how I labor she will always do as you say."

"I sincerely hope so," Jason said fervently. "One has to be born into your particular brand of illogic to get any pleasure from it. The rest of us are happier bending a bit under the impact of existence, and exacting a mite more pleasure from the physical life around us."

"Evil I say, and you shall not go unpunished." Mikah's hand appeared from behind the door jamb, and it held a pistol that he had found below. "I am taking command of this ship. You will secure the two women so that they can cause no trouble; then we will proceed to Ca.s.sylia for your trial."

Meta had her back turned to Mikah and was sitting in the control chair a good five meters from him, her hands filled with navigational notes. She slowly raised her head and looked at Jason and a smile broke across her face.

"You said you didn't want him killed."

"I still don't want him killed, but I also have no intention of going to Ca.s.sylia." He echoed her smile, and turned away.

He sighed happily, and there was a sudden rush of feet behind his back.

No shots were fired, but a hoa.r.s.e scream, a thud, and a sharp cracking noise told him that Mikah had lost his last argument.