"_The Ram, the Bull, the Heavenly Twins,
And next the Crab the Lion Shine.
The Virgin and the Scales--_"
The old zodiacal rhyme was running through Hyrst's mind, and that was
the only thing that was in his mind.
The Virgin and the Scales.
Yes. And she's very beautiful, too, thought Hyrst. But she shouldn't be
_holding_ the Scales. That's all wrong. The Scales come next, and then
the Scorpion--Scorpio--and the Archer--Sagittarius--
And anyway they aren't scales, they're a pair of big golden stars, and
she's putting them down, and they're melting together. There's only one
of them, and it's not a star at all, really. It's a polished metal jug,
reflecting the light, and--
The Virgin smiled. "The doctor said you were coming around. I brought
you something to drink."
Reality returned to Hyrst with a rush. "You're Christina," he said, and
tried to sit up. He was dizzy, and she helped him, and he said, "I guess
it did fall short."
"What?"
"The grenade. The last thing I remember is Shearing--Wait. Where is
Shearing?"
"Sitting up in the lounge, nursing his bruises. Yes, it fell short, but
I don't think telekinetics had much to do with that. We've never been
able to control matter convincingly. There. All right?"
"Fine. How did you get us out?"
"Of course the grenade had made the entrance impassible--we had to cut
our way in through the outer wall. We had a clear field. Bellaver's men
had all gone back to their ships. They thought you were dead, and to
tell you the truth we thought you must be, too. But you didn't quite
'feel' dead, so we dug you out."
"Thanks," said Hyrst. "I suppose they know different now."
He was in a ship's sick-bay. From the erratic crash and shudder of the
lateral jets, they were beating their way through the Belt, and at a
high rate of speed. Hyrst sent a glance back into space. The tugs and
Bellaver's yacht were following, but this time only the yacht had a
chance. The tugs were dropping hopelessly behind.
"Yes, they soon found out once we got you out, but with any luck we'll
lose them," said Christina. She sat down beside the bunk, where she
could see his face. "Shearing told you about the ship."
"The starship. Yes." He looked at her. Suddenly he laughed. "You're not
a goddess at all."
"Who said I was?"
"Shearing. Or anyway, his mind. Ten feet tall, and crowned with stars--I
was afraid of you." He leaned closer. "Your eyes, though. They are
angry."
"So will yours be," she said, "when you've fought the Bellavers as long
as we have."
"There are still things I don't understand. Why you built the ship, why
you've kept it secret from everyone, not just Bellaver, what you plan to
do with it--how _you_ came to be one of the Brotherhood."
She smiled. "The Seitz method was originated to save wreck-victims
frozen in deep space. Remember? Quite a few of us never went through the
door at all, innocent or guilty. But that makes no difference, once
you've come back from out there." She put her hand on his. "You've
learned fast, but you're only on the threshold. There's no need for
words with us. Open your mind--"
* * * * *
He did so. At first it was no different from the contact he had had with
Shearing's mind, or with Christina's before on the _Happy Dream_.
Thoughts came to him clearly phrased--_You want to know why we built the
ship, what we plan to do with it_--and it was only after some time that
he realized the words had stopped and he was receiving Christina's
emotions, her memories and opinions, her disappointments and her dreams,
as simply and directly as though they were his own.
You haven't had time yet, they told him without words, to realize how
alone you are. You haven't tried, as most of us do at first, to be human
again, to fit yourself into life as though the gap of time was not
there, as though nothing had changed. You haven't watched people getting
old around you while you have hardly added a gray hair. You haven't had
to move from one place to another, one job, one group of friends to
another, because sooner or later they sense something wrong about you.
You haven't had to hide your new powers as you would hide a disease
because people would fear and hate you, perhaps even kill you, if they
knew. That's why there is a brotherhood. And that's why we built the
ship.
Symbol of flight. Symbol of freedom. A universe wide beyond imagining,
thronging with many colored guns, with new worlds where men in a human
society could build a society of their own. _No boundaries beyond which
the mind cannot dare to go. All space, all time, all knowledge--free!_
Once more he saw those wide dark seas between the suns. His mind raced
with hers through the cold-flaming nebulae, wheeled blinded and stunned
past the hiving stars of Hercules, looked in eager fascination at the
splendid spiral of Andromeda--no longer, perhaps, beyond reach, for what
are time and space to the intangible forces of the mind?
Then that wild flight ceased, and instead there was a smaller vision,
misty and only half realized, of houses and streets, a place where they
could live and be what they were, openly and without fear.
_Can you understand now_, she asked him, _what they would think if they
knew about the ship? Can you understand that they would be afraid to
have us colonizing out there, afraid of what we might do?_
He understood. At the very least, if the truth were known, the Lazarites
would never be free again. They would be taken and tested and examined
and lectured about, legislated over, restricted, governed, and used.
They might be fairly paid for their ship and whatever other advancements
they might develop, but they would never be permitted to use them.
With sudden savage eagerness Hyrst said, "But first of all I must know
who killed MacDonald. Shearing explained about the latent impressions.
I'm ready."
She stood up, regarding him with grave eyes. "There's no guarantee it
will work. Sometimes it does. Sometimes not."
Hyrst thought about the tired, gray-haired man who had stood at the foot
of his bed. "It'll work. It's got to."
He added, "If it doesn't, I'll tear the truth out of Bellaver with my
hands."
"It may come to that," she said grimly. "But we'll hope. Lie quiet. I'll
make the arrangements."
An hour later Hyrst lay on the padded table in the middle of the
sick-bay. The ship spun and whirled and leaped in a sort of insane
dance, and Hyrst was strapped to the table to prevent his being thrown
off. He had known that the ship was maneuvering in the thickest swarm
area of the Belt with four pilots mind-linked and flying esper, trying
to out-dare Bellaver. Two others were keeping Vernon blanked, and they
hoped that either Bellaver himself or his radar-deflector system would
give up. Hyrst had known this, but now he was no longer interested. He
was barely conscious of the lurching of the ship. They had given him
some sort of a drug, and he lay relaxed and pliant in a pleasant
suspension of all worries, looking vaguely up at the faces that were
bent over him. Finally he closed his eyes, and even they were gone.
* * * * *
He was crossing the plain of methane snow with MacDonald, under the
glowing Rings. At first it was all a little blurred, but gradually the
memory cleared until he was aware of each tiny detail far more clearly
than he had been at the time--the texture of the material from which
MacDonald's suit was made, the infinitesimal shadow underscoring every
roughness of the snow, the exact sensation of walking in his leaded
boots, the whisper and whistle of his oxygen system. He quarreled again
with MacDonald, not missing a word. He climbed with him into the tower
of Number Three hoist and examined the signal lights, and sat down on
the bench, smiling, to wait.
He sweated inside his suit. He would take a shower when he got back to
quarters. He wished for a smoke. MacDonald's steady grumbling and
cursing filled his helmet. He listened, enjoying it. Hope you bang
yourself with your own clumsy hammer. And I wish you joy of your
fortune. If you have as many friends rich as you had poor you won't have
any. There was an itch under his left arm. He pressed the suit in with
his right and wriggled his body against it. It didn't do any good. Damn
suits. Damn Titan. Lucky Elena, back on Earth with the kids. Making good
money, though. Won't be long before I can go back and live like a human
being. Now his nose itched, and MacDonald was still grumbling. There was
the faintest ghost of a sound and then _crack_, then nothing, dark,
cold, sinking, very weak, gone. Nothing, nothing. I come to in the cold
silence and look down the shaft at MacDonald and he is dead.
_Go back a bit. Slow. That's right. Easy. Back to Elena and the kids._
Lucky Elena, in the sun and the warm sweet air. Lucky kids. But I'm
lucky too. I can go back to them soon. My nose itches. Why does your
nose always itch when you've got a helmet on, or your hands all over
grease? Listen to MacDonald, damning the belt, damning the tools,
damning everything in sight. Is that a footstep? The air is thin and
poisonous, but it carries sound. Somebody coming behind me? Split
second, no time to look or think. _Crack._ Cold. Dark. Nothing.
_Let's go back again. Don't hurry. We've all the time in the world. Go
back to the footsteps you heard behind you._
Almost heard. And then I black and cold. Heavy. Flat. Face heavy against
helmet, cold. Lying down. Must get up, must get up, danger. Far away.
Can't. MacDonald is screaming. Let the lift alone, what are you doing,
Hyrst? Hyrst! Shut up, you greedy little man, and listen. You're not
Hyrst--who are you? That doesn't matter. I know, you're from Bellaver.
Bellaver sent you to steal the Titanite. Well, you won't get it. It's
where nobody will ever get it unless I show them how. Good. That's good,
MacDonald. That's what I wanted to know. You see, _we_ don't need the
Titanite.
MacDonald screams again and the lift goes down with a roar and a rattle
of severed chain.
Heavy footsteps, shaking the floor by my head. Someone turns me over,
speaks to me, bending close. Light is gray and strange. I try to rouse.
I can't. The man is satisfied. He drops me and goes away, but I have
seen his face inside his helmet. I hear him working on some metal thing
with a tool. He is whistling a little under his breath. MacDonald is not
screaming now. From time to time he whimpers. But I have seen the
killer's face.
I have seen his face.
I have seen--
_Take it easy, Hyrst. Take your time._
Elena is dead, and this is Christina bending over me.
I have seen the killer's face.
It is the face of Vernon.