Twin blue-and-silver Federation banners marked the place of the high
commissioner of all the asteroids.
His table stood at the far end of the vast room that had been _Ktar_
Wassreck's workshop. Other tables radiated out in a great arc from
it--tables crowded with officers of the Federation fleet. Heavy-thewed
Uranian _daus_ sat side by side with slim reptilian _Pervods_.
Transmi of Venus, all ear-stalks and sucking tubes, faced rubbery,
flat-featured Europans. Creatures of half-a-hundred divergent races,
hybrids and mutants, they gathered here from all the far-flung planets
of the Federation. Their rising voices clashed in strange cacophony
through the tinkle of cutlery and crystal, thrown back in a din of
ringing echoes from the giant metal robots that still lined the walls.
Straightening in spite of the weight of his shackles, shrugging off
the hands of the guards who flanked him, Jarl Corvett met the seething
hostility of their glances with stiff-necked defiance. But underneath,
questions nagged him: _Why am I here? Who ordered me brought to this
banquet?_
But here he stood. That was what counted. Boldly, he surveyed the
room ... stared unflinching across at the commissioner.
A handsome man, Commissioner _rey_ Gundre. Heavy-bodied and aging, in
these later days. But still personable, still a figure to catch the
eye, even slack-faced and slouched in his seat as now.
He was a man of Earth, plainly, with all the strengths and weaknesses
and surging conflicts that went with that heritage. The sunburst
insignia of his rank stood out against the deep blue of his impeccably
tailored uniform. The white blaze that accented the darkness of his
hair only made him the more striking.
His aide sat at his left hand, Ylana at his right.
Ylana the golden, daughter of the high commissioner himself.
And Jarl Corvett's nemesis.
Even looking at her here, Jarl could feel the muscles at the hinges of
his jaws draw tight.
Tonight she sat slim and graceful at the banquet table in a scarlet
stylon gown. Her blonde hair swept up in a soft golden nimbus like that
of Tal Neeni, sea goddess of Callisto. The red lips were smiling, the
grey eyes asparkle.
Yet even when she laughed, some dark inner mood seemed to shadow her
beauty, even as it had last night while she lay asleep.
That shadow.... Was it alien blood, or a secret? Again Jarl caught
himself wondering. He thought: _I should hate her!_ And in the same
moment: _Even Sais is no lovelier_....
Cursing himself for a fool and a weakling, he tore his eyes from her
and studied the aide.
He was _Malya_, this officer; _Malya_ and warrior. His dark rough-hewn
face stayed emotionless, immobile. But the black _Malya_ eyes ranged
ceaselessly--bleak and watchful, never still. Ruthlessness was in them,
and recklessness ... a spirit that seemed to mock Jarl Corvett and deny
the blue Federation tunic that the dark aide wore.
* * * * *
Bitterly, Jarl looked down at his shackles. He thought of the _Malyas_
among his own crewmen; the wild, free-born raiders.
How long would it be before they, too, wore the blue of the Federation?
Or before they died....
Now the commissioner stirred. Chin sunk on chest, he mumbled something
to his rock-faced lieutenant.
The lean aide nodded briefly. Twisting in his seat, he pounded on
the banquet table--first with his fist; then the butt of his heavy
Talistan ray-gun.
The sound rose even above the tumult and raucous voices, echoing and
re-echoing through the great room that till short days before had been
Wassreck's clandestine robotics laboratory.
Slowly, the noise and voices died away. Chairs scraped. Heads turned.
Eyes of _Fantay_ and of _fala_, Mercurian and Martian, _Chonya_,
Thorian, _Pervod_, searched out the table where the aide and the high
commissioner sat.
Not quite steadily, then, the commissioner rose, a brimming _kabat_
goblet in his hand. His eyes had the glassy shine of bright new
mirrors, and his tunic was rumpled, twisted awry.
Swaying a little, the commissioner slapped loose-fingered at the
blouse, as if to brush away the wrinkles. _Kabat_ slopped from the
goblet and spilled over his hand. Blinking, he looked down at the
spreading green stain. A foolish grin flickered fleetingly on his face.
Ylana leaned towards him; spoke sharply.
The commissioner's head twitched. He straightened, and his shoulders
snapped back to a too-stiff 'attention'. Jerkily, he raised his glass.
"A toast to our host, officers!" he cried in a drink-thickened voice.
"A toast to _Ktar_ Wassreck--may he rot in hell!"
Leaden silence came down on the room like a curtain. Furtive glances
flicked out to the towering robots, shoulder to shoulder, that lined
the walls.
It made Jarl Corvett smile a little, the way the officers hung back.
Did some recall H'sana? Were others on Pallas? Free or captive, _Ktar_
Wassreck still put cold fear in them!
_Ktar_ Wassreck: Outlaw, scientist, scholar. Wassreck at Horla--gnome
head tilted, eyes burning, laughing in the face of death. Wassreck ...
and Sais....
Spasmodically, Jarl's fists clenched. His bruised head throbbed dully.
"To our host!" the commissioner cried again, lurching forward. "To
Wassreck--"
The spell broke. The officers surged to their feet. Their shouts rang
through the clamor: "To Wassreck--"
"--May he rot in hell!"
They drank it down.
Fury swirled up in Jarl Corvett, hot and all consuming.
Swaying, face flushed, the commissioner clutched a decanter. He spilled
more _kabat_ into his goblet. "Now--one for Corvett! A toast to Jarl
Corvett--"
* * * * *
He broke off as Ylana tugged at his tunic. Lines of angry tension
slashed the smooth loveliness of her face. Her lips moved, wrapping
round curt syllables.
Her father laughed drunkenly. He turned towards the doorway where
guards and raider stood, and his hand swept up in a clumsy broadside
gesture. "Drag him out!" he shouted. "Flush the _chitza_ out of his
hole!"
The two Mercurians who flanked Jarl closed in. One clutched his arm.
Jarl's fury seethed higher. In spite of his shackles, he jerked free of
the Mercurian's taloned hand. He felt cold arrogance ring in his voice:
"No one drags Jarl Corvett! I'll walk alone!"
For the fraction of a second the guards stood hesitant, lobed eyes
clouded beneath their nictitating lids.
Jarl swung his arms back sharply. The chains of his shackles whispered,
link on link, like a flexing metal knout.
The Mercurians' eyes fell. Contemptuous, ignoring them, Jarl turned
away. Head high, back unbending, he strode towards the table of the
high commissioner.
The Earthman smirked at him, still swaying.
Recklessness sang a death-song in Jarl Corvett's veins.
"Hail, coward!" he cried fiercely, and swept the crowd with a scathing
glance. "Is this the best your Federation fleet can offer--scum so low
that they draw their sport from taunting prisoners? _Huroks_ so green
with fear that you must bring me here in bonds?"
An angry babble rose from the tables, and the commissioner's
_kabat_-heavy lids drooped lower. But his lips twisted in the mirthless
semblance of a smile.
"Do you rate yourself so high that you think I'd waste time on you,
_starbo_?" He laughed, deep in his throat. "No, brigand! You're here
against my will!"
"Against your will--?"
"Yes. You're here to face another--one whom even I cannot deny, after
what you've done."
Wordless, narrow-eyed, Jarl studied him for a moment. "Then who--?"
"Who would it be?" This time the commissioner's laugh was sour and
savage. "Can you not guess, _yanat_?" And then: "My daughter, Ylana."
"Your daughter--!" Jarl pivoted to Ylana.
"Yes!" The girl came to her feet as he turned, grey eyes blazing. Her
words burst forth in a scalding flood. "Did you think I spoke empty
words when I swore last night that you'd live to curse the day you
tried to seize me? Did you take my promise for a hollow threat--?"
She broke off; swept round the table, a furious vision in gold and
scarlet. Her hand flicked up in a tight, peremptory gesture. "Atak!
Seize him--!"
The commissioner's rock-faced _Malya_ aide closed in on Jarl, moving
round behind him.
Ylana raised a shaking fist. "On your knees, _stabat_!"
* * * * *
A numb incredulousness crept through Jarl Corvett. But he stood the
straighter. "I kneel for no man--nor for woman!"
A savage kick in the back of the knees caught him from behind in the
same instant. His legs buckled. He spilled forward, asprawl on the
floor.
"A whip--!" cried Ylana, face white with passion. "A whip for this
raider dog they call Jarl Corvett!"
One of the Mercurian guards sprang forward, jerking off his heavy,
_stanal_-buckled belt. "Here, _Shi_ Ylana! The plate will cut deep!"
The girl snatched it from him. Her face contorted.
"No, Ylana--!" It was her father, the _kabat_-haze fading from his
eyes. "Would you drag yourself down to the level of this _chitza_, here
before officers of the fleet--?"
The girl turned on him as a _quirst_ turns on its pursuers. "Who talks
of dragging down, and of the fleet?" she lashed fiercely. "Do you dare
to speak--you, with your plots and schemes, your secret meetings--?"
The high commissioner flushed to the hair. "Ylana! Silence!"
"Was it you this _starbo_ and his scum dragged out of bed last night?
Was it you who screamed and called the guard when they sought to flee
in your own carrier?"
Her father's jaws went stiff and set. His clenched fists bore down upon
the table. But he broke before Ylana's eyes; said nothing more.
The girl turned her back on him. Furiously, she challenged Jarl: "You
were brave enough last night, when you dealt only with a helpless
woman! But how is your courage now, bold raider? How does force taste,
when another hand holds the lash?"
Her shoulders twisted. Gripping the Mercurian's belt by the tongue, she
slashed out with the heavy _stanal_ clasp.
Jarl rocked back. The buckle sang past his face, so close he could feel
its breath.
But now, again, the _Malya's_ foot caught him from behind. It knocked
him forward on his shackled hands, off balance.
Before he could recover, the belt whipped down again. The buckle tore
at his cheek. He rocked with pain.
"Is it different, this time, raider?" Ylana shrieked. "Are you ready to
sing another song?"
Tight-jawed, stiff-backed, Jarl met her gaze. He did not speak.
The girl's red lips peeled back. "I asked you a question, dog!" she
cried. "I want an answer!"
She slashed out with the belt again. The buckle seared his jaw and neck.
"Answer me!"
Wordless, Jarl swayed.
The buckle ripped at his forehead. Blood gushed down into his eyes.
"Answer me--!"
Jarl lurched forward, clutching for her. But she darted back, out of
his reach. The stylon gown rustled. The buckle tore a path along his
scalp. The room blurred and swam before his eyes. Desperately, he tried
to cover his face with his shackled hands. But the tangled chains were
too short. He could only double forward, face to the floor.
* * * * *
The buckle struck behind his right ear with stunning force, a fiery
knife stabbing through a red haze of pain.
"Wait, Ylana--!" It was Atak the _Malya's_ voice, drifting dimly to
Jarl as from afar. "Those blows to the head--he cannot last--"
"Then drag him up! Tear off his tunic! Bear his back, so that I can see
the red blood run!"
Hands clawed at Jarl's clothes. He felt his tunic rip away. The aide
dragged him up; twisted him about.
"Hold him there, Atak! Hold him tight!" came Ylana's cry.
The buckle seared Jarl's back--once, twice, a dozen times.
"Speak, _starbo_! Beg for mercy as you made me beg--!"
[Illustration: Jarl fought against showing pain as the girl brought the
belt down on his back.]
Jarl cursed her with a raw, pain-surging hate; cursed her with all the
black epithets of a raider and the warrior worlds.
"Still stubborn, _chitza_--?" Wild hysteria was in Ylana's voice. The
buckle bit in again.
Atak's hoarse whisper rasped in his ear: "You fool, give up! The
woman's mad! Even a raider should know that there's a time to crawl!"
Jarl clenched his teeth.
The girl cried, "You see, Atak? He loves the lash--!"
She struck again.
The commissioner's voice slashed harshly, the fog of drink long gone:
"Ylana! You'll kill him--!"
"You--!" The girl's contempt was a writhing, burning thing. "Where were
you last night, you _kabat_-soaked sot? You, with your talk of duty,
your fat-puffed pomp--"
Her father's voice went clipped and tight. "Enough, woman! Raider or
not, this man's my prisoner. Tomorrow I'll ship him on to the Venus
headquarters. He'll die in the _slan_-chambers there; not by your
hand." The room echoed with the flat slap of his palm cracking down on
the banquet table. "Atak! Get his tunic! Send him to his cell."
"Yes, Excellency...." The _Malya_ let go Jarl Corvett's arms.
Blinking the blood from his eyes, the raider stood swaying. Still numb,
still not quite believing, he stared at golden Ylana, in her scarlet
stylon gown.
Now, her hair hung down, no longer nimbus. Her lips were pale, and her
breasts rose and fell too fast. Madness gleamed in her dark-circled
eyes.
She snatched the tunic from Atak. "Here! Let me...." Whirling, she ran
to Jarl and thrust the wadded garment into his shackled hands. "Brave
raider--!"
She spat full in his face.
The _Malya_ aide caught her arm and jerked her back. "If you were not
_rey_ Gundre's daughter--" He cursed under his breath. "Get out! You
disgrace us!"
Gripping Jarl's arm, he led him from the hall. "I cannot expect your
pardon, Jarl Corvett. It would be too much to ask from any raider, any
man. But in their day, my ancestors roved the void...."
His voice trailed off. Turning to the guards, he said, "Take him to
his cell. I'll see that one of the fleet _ktars_ comes on down."
* * * * *
Weak, tottering, Jarl let them lead him back to the old, thick-walled
wing they had given over to the prisoners. He had not even the strength
to curse when the guard, a Martian _fala_ with all his race's fiendish
love of cruelty, tripped him skillfully, so that he sprawled on his
face as he crossed the threshold to the room that was his cell.
The door clanged shut on the Martian's ghoulish laugh. Sick with pain,
Jarl dragged himself up and crawled to the bunk. Belly-down, he sagged
onto the springless frame.
How long he lay there he never knew. It was all he could do to breathe,
to be. The room about him was a reeling, distorted world of mists and
feverish dreams.
Then, at last, that, too, passed. Wearily, he pulled himself upright
and shook out his wadded tunic.
Metal clanged on the floor.
Jarl stiffened in spite of his wounds. Swiftly, he bent and felt
beneath the bunk.
His hand touched metal. It was a knife ... a keen, long-bladed telonium
fighting _skrii_.
For a long, long moment he sat in silence, gripping its heavy haft.
Then, in the darkness, he slowly smiled.
A _Malya_ was still a _Malya_, whether he wore the Federation's
uniform or not.
Tomorrow they'd ship him to the Venus headquarters, the
_slan_-chambers, death.
But this was tonight, the darkest hour, and he had a knife, and the
high commissioner's carrier still stood in the court outside....