"But there is so little. There's a planet somewhere in the Nebula,
and it has inhabitants with powers I don't begin to understand. But
among other things, they can project themselves hyperwise, just like a
spaceship, without needing engines to do it. And they have a certain
control over matter and energy."
"The fringe stars--these beings in the Nebula really have been their
'gods'?"
"Yes. They've projected themselves, terrorized the natives for
centuries, and carry home the sacrificial materials for their own use.
They're doubtless responsible for all the ships around here that never
came home. They don't like visitors." Donovan saw her smile, and his
own lips twitched. "But they did, I suppose, take some prisoners, to
learn our language and anything else they could about us."
She nodded. "I'd conjectured as much. If you don't accept theories
involving the supernatural, and I don't, it follows almost
necessarily. If a few of them projected themselves aboard and hid
somewhere, they could manipulate air molecules from a distance so as to
produce the whisperings--" She smiled afresh, but the hollowness was
still in her. "When you call it a new sort of ventriloquism, it doesn't
sound nearly so bad, does it?"
Fiercely, the woman turned on him. "And what have you had to do with
them? How are you so sure?"
"I--talked with one of them," he replied slowly. "You might say we
struck up a friendship of sorts. But I learned nothing, and the only
benefit I got was escaping. I've no useful information." His voice
sharpened. "And that's all I have to say."
"Well, we're going on!" Her head lifted pridefully.
Donovan's smile was a crooked grimace. He took her hand, and it lay
unresisting between his fingers. "Helena," he said, "you've been trying
to psychoanalyze me this whole trip. Maybe it's my turn now. You're not
so hard as you tell yourself."
"I am an officer of the Imperial Navy." Her haughtiness didn't quite
come off.
"Sure, sure. A hard-shelled career girl. Only you're also a healthy
human being. Down underneath, you want a home and kids and quiet green
hills. Don't lie to yourself, that wouldn't be fitting to the Lady
Jansky of Torgandale, would it? You went into service because it was
the thing to do. And you're just a scared kid, my dear." Donovan shook
his head. "But a very nice-looking kid."
Tears glimmered on her lashes. "Stop it," she whispered desperately.
"Don't say it."
He kissed her, a long slow kiss with her mouth trembling under his and
her body shivering ever so faintly. The second time she responded, shy
as a child, hardly aware of the sudden hunger.
* * * * *
She pulled free then, sat with eyes wide and wild, one hand lifted to
her mouth. "No," she said, so quietly he could scarce hear. "No, not
now--"
Suddenly she got up and almost fled. Donovan sighed.
_Why did I do that? To stop her inquiring too closely? Or just because
she's honest and human, and Valduma isn't? Or_--
Darkness swirled before his eyes. Wocha came awake and shrank against
the farther wall, terror rattling in his throat. "Boss--boss, she's
here again--"
Donovan sat unstirring, elbows on knees, hands hanging empty, and
looked at the two who had come. "Hello, Valduma," he said.
"Basil--" Her voice sang against him, rippling, lilting, the unending
sharp laughter beneath its surprise. "Basil, you have come back."
"Uh-huh." He nodded at the other. "You're Morzach, aren't you? Sit
down. Have a drink. Old home week."
The creature from Arzun remained erect. He looked human on the outside,
tall and gaunt in a black cape which glistened with tiny points of
starlight, the hood thrown back so that his red hair fell free to
his shoulders. The face was long and thin, chiseled to an ultimate
refinement of classical beauty, white and cold. Cold as space-tempered
steel, in spite of the smile on the pale lips, in spite of the dark
mirth in the slant green eyes. One hand rested on the jeweled hilt of a
sword.
Valduma stood beside Morzach for an instant, and Donovan watched her
with the old sick wildness rising and clamoring in him.
_You are the fairest thing which ever was between the stars, you are
ice and flame and living fury, stronger and weaker than man, cruel and
sweet as a child a thousand years old, and I love you. But you are not
human, Valduma._
She was tall, and her grace was a lithe rippling flow, wind and
fire and music made flesh, a burning glory of hair rushing past
her black-caped shoulders, hands slim and beautiful, the strange
clean-molded face white as polished ivory, the mouth red and laughing,
the eyes long and oblique and gold-flecked green. When she spoke, it
was like singing in Heaven and laughter in Hell. Donovan looked at her,
not moving.
"Basil, you came back to me?"
"He came because he had to." Morzach of Arzun folded his arms, eyes
smoldering in anger. "Best we kill him now."
"Later, perhaps later, but not now." Valduma laughed aloud.
Suddenly she was in Donovan's arms. Her kisses were a rain of fire.
There was thunder and darkness and dancing stars. He was aware of
nothing else, not for a long, long time.
She leaned back in his grasp, smiling up at him, stroking his hair with
one slender hand.
His cheek was bloody where she had scratched him. He looked back into
her eyes--they were cat's eyes, split-pupiled, all gold and emerald
without the human white. She laughed very softly. "Shall I kill you
now?" she whispered. "Or drive you mad first? Or let you go again? What
would be most amusing, Basil?"
"This is no time for your pranks," said Morzach sharply. "We have to
deal with this ship. It's getting dangerously close to Arzun, and we've
been unable yet to break the morale and discipline of the crew. I think
the only way is to wreck the ship."
"Wreck it on Arzun, yes!" Valduma's laughter pulsed and throbbed.
"Bring them to their goal. Help them along, even. Oh, yes, Morzach, it
is a good thought!"
"We'll need your help," said the creature-man to Donovan. "I take
it that you're guiding them. You must encourage them to offer no
resistance when we take over the controls. Our powers won't stand too
long against atomic energy."
"Why should I help you?" Donovan's tones were hoarse. "What can you
give me?"
"If you live," said Valduma, "and can make your way to Drogobych, I
might give you much." She laughed again, maniac laughter which did not
lose its music. "That would be diverting!"
"I don't know," he groaned. "I don't know--I thought a bargain could be
made, but now I wonder."
"I leave him to you," said Morzach sardonically, and vanished.
"Basil," whispered Valduma. "Basil, I have--sometimes--missed you."
"Get out, Wocha," said Donovan.
"Boss--she's toombar--"
"Get out!"
Wocha lumbered slowly from the cabin. There were tears in his eyes.