_Valduma, come back to me!_
Jansky's gaze on him narrowed, but her voice was suddenly low and
puzzled. "You're smiling," she whispered.
He turned from the viewscreen and his laugh was ragged. "Maybe I'm
looking forward to this visit, Helena."
"My name," she said stiffly, "is Commander Jansky."
"Out there, maybe. But in here there is no rank, no Empire, no mission.
We're all humans, frightened little humans huddling together against
the dark." Donovan's smile softened. "You know, Helena, you have very
beautiful eyes."
The slow flush crept up her high smooth cheeks. "I want a full report
of what happened to you last time," she said. "Now. Or you go under the
probe."
_Wanderer, it is a long way home. Spaceman, spaceman, your sun is very
far away._
"Why, certainly." Donovan leaned against the wall and grinned at her.
"Glad to. Only you won't believe me."
She made no reply, but folded her arms and waited. The ship trembled
with its forward thrust. Sweat beaded the forehead of the watch officer
and he glared around him.
"We're entering the home of all lawlessness," said Donovan. "The realm
of magic, the outlaw world of werebeasts and nightgangers. Can't you
hear the wings outside? These ghosts are only the first sign. We'll
have a plague of witches soon."
"Get out!" she said.
He shrugged. "All right, Helena. I told you you wouldn't believe me."
He turned and walked slowly from the bridge.
* * * * *
Outside was starless, lightless, infinite black. The ship crept
forward, straining her detectors, groping into the blind dark while her
crew went mad.
_Spaceman, it is too late. You will never find your way home again. You
are dead men on a ghost ship, and you will fall forever into the Night._
"I saw him, Wong, I saw him down in Section Three, tall and thin and
black. He laughed at me, and then there wasn't anything there."
Sound of great wings beating somewhere outside the hull.
_Mother, can I have him? Can I have his skull to play with?_
_Not yet, child. Soon. Soon._
Wicked rain of laughter and the sound of clawed feet running.
No one went alone. Spacemen First Class Gottfried and Martinez went
down a starboard companionway and saw the hooded black form waiting for
them. Gottfried pulled out his blaster and fired. The ravening beam
sprang backward and consumed him. Martinez lay mumbling in psychobay.
The lights went out. After an hour they flickered back on again, but
men had rioted and killed each other in the dark.
Commander Jansky recalled all personal weapons on the grounds that the
crew could no longer be trusted with them. The men drew up a petition
to get them back. When it was refused, there was muttering of revolt.
_Spacemen, you have wandered too far. You have wandered beyond the edge
of creation, and now there is only death._
The hours dragged into days. When the ship's timepieces started
disagreeing, time ceased to have meaning.
Basil Donovan sat in his cabin. There was a bottle in his hand, but he
tried to go slow. He was waiting.
When the knock came, he leaped from his seat and every nerve tightened
up and screamed. He swore at himself. They wouldn't knock when they
came for him. "Go on, enter--" His voice wavered.
Helena Jansky stepped inside, closing the door after her. She had
thinned, and there was darkness in her eyes, but she still bore herself
erect. Donovan had to salute the stubborn courage that was in her. The
unimaginative peasant blood--no, it was more than that, she was as
intelligent as he, but there was a deep strength in that tall form, a
quiet vitality which had perhaps been bred out of the Families of Ansa.
"Sit down," he invited.