Herb had regained consciousness.
Herb shot, and flame leaped toward the Oligarch. The room roared with
the explosion.
George jerked back, and in mid-motion, something caught him low in his
chest, on the left side of his body and slapped him savagely off his
feet.
Incredibly, he had been hit!
He shook his head and got one knee under him. His left side was numb.
He looked down and saw blood start to color his shirt.
He got to his feet and backed along the corridor. His knees were weak.
He covered the door with a trembling hand and prayed for Herb to show
himself.
The ship was silent.
He had to sit down. He wanted to be sick.
Perhaps Herb had taken the other door out!
He whirled.
No movement.
He had to have a place to hide. He had to hide, and wait, and when Herb
came searching for him--
He staggered back. His side began to throb dully.
The ship was very quiet.
"He's out there," Herb said, knowing that his words would carry over
the hidden microphones. "I will manage to kill him before we reach the
big ship."
Norma was breathing shallowly, not yet fully recovered from the wreck.
"What about Earth?"
"It's too late."
"If we could--if we could destroy the ... that ship ... if we could ram
it: prevent it from setting off the charge...."
"It's too late," Herb said doggedly. But even with the words, he
felt the first hesitant flicker of hope. If he could take over this
ship, and with it assault the great ship in space, there capture the
remote-control mechanism by which the charge would be detonated then
perhaps Earth could really be saved. First kill the Oligarch. Then....
Norma whimpered to herself.
"You stay here," he hissed, too softly, he hoped for the microphones to
pick up his voice.
Her eyes widened in protest. "Don't go. He'll...."
"Shhhhhh," he silenced her. Bending, he whispered, "I'll find him
first. You'll be all right."
He left her. At the doorway, he looked back. She seemed crumpled and
lifeless and defeated.
The Oligarch was somewhere to his left. In the corridor, waiting? Herb
could not know. There was only one way to find out. He stepped from the
room, gun ready to fire.
The corridor was empty.
Where? In the control room? In the office? In the kitchen? The messhall?
Herb moved forward silently.
* * * * *
The Oligarch had backed across the messhall. One hand clutched at his
left side. His breathing was too loud. Herb would surely hear it.
He stood in the far doorway that opened into the short corridor leading
to his office and that extended beyond his office to open into the main
corridor. Herb would have to cross before its open face should he come
forward. From the doorway, the Oligarch also commanded a view of the
main messhall entrance, should Herb stop to inspect that room first.
By ducking either in or out, he could place a protecting wall between
himself and his pursuer. The Oligarch knew that Herb would come. His
left side was terrifying testimony that the lifetime of conditioning
had been stripped away.
It would be so easy to dart to his own office; but the unprotected
space between him and it was a barrier more solid than a rock cliff. If
Herb should emerge as he was making the exposed crossing, he would be
a perfect target. His movements were sluggish. He had to locate Herb
in order to know in which direction safety lay. But to be safe in the
office, with the door barricaded....
* * * * *
Herb saw the drops of blood drying slowly along the floor of the
corridor.
The Oligarch had entered the messhall. Herb approached cautiously.
Standing just outside, not exposing himself, he could see a clot of
blood beyond the main door. Probably the Oligarch had hesitated there,
undecided--or resting.
He held the gun more tightly. His heart beat rapidly, and his mouth was
dry. But he was not afraid. There was an iciness far down inside of him.
He stepped across the threshold, and just as suddenly, leaped back.
He heard the stumble of the Oligarch's fleeing feet, heard the office
door open and slam.
Herb waited, listening: a feint?
No. There was no sound.
Again he stepped into the messhall. It was empty.
"Herb!" Norma called. "Herb! Are you all right?" She was running down
the corridor toward him.
"Get back!" Herb called, but she came on, and then she was beside him.
"He's in the office. I'm going after him. You stay here."
"No. Leave him there. Prop the door. Keep him in. Take the ship...."
"I'm going in after him," Herb said. "I've got to. It's more than him,
more than killing or getting killed. I've got to."
"It's so senseless," she said. "If we could get control of the ship...."
He shook his head. "You stay here!"
He walked across the messhall. He stepped out into the narrow corridor.
"Get away!" the Oligarch cried frantically. His voice was no longer
vigorous, and it sounded pathetic and child-like through the door.
Herb, going toward it, said, "I'm coming in!" He tried the door. Locked.
He fired twice at the lock. He stepped back and kicked. The door swung
inward.
The Oligarch did not fire. Herb, pressed against the wall, could not
see into the room.
"I'm coming in, damn you!"
"Don't," the Oligarch cried weakly. "Please, don't. Don't _now_!"
Herb heard a gun clatter to the floor.
"Don't," the Oligarch moaned. "I've thrown it away. I'm helpless."
Herb balanced on the balls of his feet. Then, taking a deep breath, he
stepped into the doorway, his body framed beautifully between the two
jambs. He held his gun at ready and then lowered it.
The Oligarch was slumped over his desk.
Herb heard Norma come up behind him.
"He's dying," she said.
Reaction set in, and Herb's knees almost collapsed. His body was
trembling and drenched with perspiration.
The Oligarch coughed.
* * * * *
The Oligarch said something in his own language.
"What?" Herb asked.
"Make him tell us. How we can keep them from setting off the
explosion!" Norma said.
The Oligarch wanted to talk, and he made a motion--a feeble one--to
silence them both. The girl's pathetic conviction that the explosion
could be prevented infuriated the Oligarch. There was nothing she could
do. The cleverness with which he had executed his mission defied time
and eternity.
"It won't be set off in the big ship," the Oligarch said. "I had
intended to leave you at the site, Herb, to trigger it personally."
He spoke English and was disappointed to see that his vision began to
mist. He would have liked to watch the girl's face. "But your later
dream forms made me deny you martyrdom. I think I might have done it
any way, if you hadn't left. You have the idealism. You were the one I
had counted on. And after you, of course, there was only Bud."
Norma choked weakly and her knees half gave way. The sound was
satisfying to the Oligarch.
"I told Bud the explosion was planted," the Oligarch said. "Then I ...
I told him...." He coughed again. "I told him that I had mailed his
brother's head along with his confession to ... to.... Then I gave him
a telephone number. He phones long distance, gives the number. At the
bomb site, the receiver ... lifts automatically.... He says, 'Frank
Council' ... his brother's name ... the key.... The trigger falls."
The Oligarch's hands scrabbled on the desk. "Don't you think he'll do
it, in the knowledge of his own personal destruction?... Oh, he will,
yes.... And this is the final...." Blood dribbled from the Oligarch's
mouth. "I didn't mail his brother's head.... I lied to him. Don't you
see what a beautiful ... what a satisfying lie that was?" He laughed,
coughed again, and slumped forward. And the chase ended.
And Herb, looking at death, grabbed Norma by the arm and ran toward
the control room.
... And back on Earth, Bud Council sat sick and trembling, his eyes
fastened on the telephone beside him....