Kerrel's face appeared on the small screen. There was no need now for
the ultra-wave and the ordinary visiphone unit had been cut in. Edri
and Joris confronted him. Trehearne stood in the doorway, listening.
Behind him were the rescued exiles, and black despair was on them all.
Kerrel regarded Edri and Joris with a weary hatred. He seemed to have
learned that being an agent of the Council had its rough side. But
there was no slightest hint of leniency in his tone.
"The gun crew has orders to open fire in exactly fifteen minutes," he
said. "You have that long to clear your ship, bringing with you neither
weapons nor personal gear of any sort." He repeated, "Fifteen minutes
precisely."
Joris looked at him with red and sunken eyes. Twenty years of age had
come upon him in the last few minutes. He could not seem to bring
himself to speak. Edri's hands were clenched so tightly that the
fingers were bone white. They moved back and forth, seeking something
to strike and not finding it. He too had become old.
"Fourteen minutes," said Kerrel, without emotion. "You're wasting time."
Edri turned abruptly and thrust his way blindly past Trehearne, who
caught and held him in the doorway.
"Let go," said Edri viciously and cursed him. "That ravine is deep. I
can step off into it now as well as later. I won't be taken back."
"Hold on," said Trehearne. A sudden wild hope had come to him. He
lifted his voice. "Kerrel! Kerrel, can you hear me?" He was out of
visual range of the screen.
"Yes, Trehearne, I hear you."
"Then listen! Tell your men to hold their fire. We have Shairn aboard!"
Joris' head came up sharply. Edri stopped fighting. And in the screen
Kerrel's mirrored face went through the shadings of surprise, shock,
then understanding and a wry mirth.
"You have a quick mind, Trehearne," he said. "But it won't do. Thirteen
minutes."
"Go and get her, Edri," said Trehearne. His mouth was dry, his body
drenched with cold sweat.
Edri plunged away into the corridor. Trehearne went and stood where
Kerrel could see him. He smiled and wondered if Kerrel could hear
the knocking of his heart against his ribs. Joris stood motionless,
waiting. Kerrel counted off the minutes, and at each count his voice
became more strained, his eyes less certain.
There were six minutes left when Edri came back with Shairn and thrust
her in front of the screen.
"You see?" said Trehearne. "I wasn't lying."
Kerrel forgot to count. He stared at the girl, the strong lines of
his face crumbling into indecision. He said her name once. Suddenly
he turned and was gone from the screen. They could hear him shouting
somewhere beyond, "Hold your fire! Hold your fire! They have a prisoner
aboard."
Trehearne knew then that he had not misjudged the depth of the other's
passion. And strangely that knowledge was bitter to him.
Kerrel came into view again, and Shairn cried out, "Kerrel, they're
after something more than these Orthist exiles! I think they're--"
Trehearne put his hand over her mouth. "It doesn't matter what she
thinks. The important thing is her life. How much is it worth to you,
Kerrel?"
Kerrel ran his hand nervously over his face and did not answer at once.
Trehearne kept his palm firmly on Shairn's mouth.