"I'm from the palace," said Joel. He was careful not to look at the
scalp. "I've news!"
"Palace!" echoed the serf. "Has it fallen?"
"No. Quick, man, where's a Ganelon. I have to make my report."
The rebel gave Joel a sharp suspicious glance. Then he lowered his
eyes. "There's one below stairs. Come on." He began to crawl across
the roof, hitching his projector after him. Joel followed on hands and
knees.
A stairwell gaped ahead. As soon as the walls shielded them, the serf
stood up. "Hurry it up," he growled. "I'm in charge. I'm not supposed
to leave the roof."
Joel rose.
"You go first," said the serf. "You may be all right, but I don't want
you breathing down the back of my neck."
Joel started down the steps in the lead. He heard a whisper. Then the
roof caved in!
Something seemed to burst inside his skull. He pitched forward, rolled
down the stair, brought up in a limp unconscious heap at the foot.
Above him, the serf frowned at the shattered barrel of his projector.
"Must have a skull like a meteor shield," he muttered. He threw the
projector over the railing.
* * * * *
Joel opened his eyes. Pain wrenched at his skull. There was noise and
dust.
At first he thought he was back on Terra in the cattle sheds. Then the
scene jarred into focus. He remembered the serf with the woman's scalp
at his belt.
He was lying on the ground, he realized, in the midst of a hideous
tangle of shouting men and half-tracks. Dust sifted into his nostrils.
The furious orange rays of Alpha Centauri B cast an ominous glow over
the endless line of vehicles moving into the gutted city.
He sat up. It was a clearing in the jungle. It must have covered
hundreds of acres. Prisoners were being held in herds like cattle. Loot
was stacked everywhere.