* * * * *
Kendricks stared pop-eyed. My own eyes could have popped, but I decided
it was time for me to take charge, if I were ever going to. I rapped,
"All right, this is my show. Buck, give me the gun."
He looked wrathfully at me for a space of seconds, while I wondered what
I'd do if he didn't. Then, slowly, he unbuckled the straps and handed it
to me, butt first.
I'd never realized quite how undressed a Spaceforce man looked without
his blaster. I balanced it on my palm for a minute while Regis Hastur
came out of the shadows. He was tall, and had the reddish hair and fair
skin of Darkovan aristocracy, and on his face was some indefinable
stamp--arrogance, perhaps, or the consciousness that the Hasturs had
ruled this world for centuries long before the Terrans brought ships and
trade and the universe to their doors. He was looking at me as if he
approved of me, and that was one step worse than the former situation.
So, using the respectful Darkovan idiom of speaking to a superior (which
he was) but keeping my voice hard, I said, "There's just one leader on
any trek, Lord Hastur. On this one, I'm it. If you want to discuss
whether or not we carry guns, I suggest you discuss it with me in
private--and let me give the orders."
One of the Darkovans gasped. I knew I could have been mobbed. But with a
mixed bag of men, I had to grab leadership quick or be relegated to
nowhere. I didn't give Regis Hastur a chance to answer that, either; I
said, "Come back here. I want to talk to you anyway."
He came, and I remembered to breathe. I led the way to a fairly deserted
corner of the immense place, faced him and demanded, "As for you--what
are you doing here? You're not intending to cross the mountains with
us?"