Womar's blazing day--barely half as long as that of Earth--had waned
again before Jarl reached his destination.
Then, at last, he was crawling through the dusk on hands and knees, up
to the shattered hull of the ship from beyond the void. The sun had
burned his face to a tortured mask, and his feet were raw, leaden lumps
of flesh that left a trail of blood behind him.
Breathing hard, staggering weak from hunger and fatigue, he dragged
himself up out of the dirt to the broken port. He did not even wonder
what he would find within. He didn't care. He only knew that whatever
he was to do, he must do quickly, before the last remnants of his
draining strength were spent and he fell, to rise no more.
And what was he to do?
Drunkenly, he laughed. Who was he to say? His world was a blur of
star-splotched black, and sometimes--too often--he saw stars that he
knew weren't there. The time was past for schemes and planning.
At best, below, he'd die tonight.
But perhaps he might take _rey_ Gundre with him.
_rey_ Gundre, Ylana's father.
Her father--! No wonder her golden loveliness was shadowed. The real
wonder was that madness hadn't claimed her.
But at least, this way, her sire's death would not be on her
conscience. No one could claim that hers had been the hand to slay him.
* * * * *
Down in the hold, the Forspark lights were blazing. With a tremendous
effort, Jarl pulled himself through the port. Half-sliding,
half-falling, he skidded down into the dirt and debris; lay there for a
moment, resting, dizzy and straining for breath to fill his lungs.
Then, lurching to his feet, he stared across at the ring of light; the
flagship, ramped amid the forest of towering robots.
What turned a man like _rey_ Gundre from the call of duty? Where did it
start, that insatiate lust for power and booty?
And how, so quickly, had the high commissioner learned the secret of
controlling the metal giants?
Had _Ktar_ Wassreck talked before he died? Could he have sought to buy
his life, at the last, with this final, priceless treasure?
But now, to think took too much effort. Now--Jarl swayed--he only knew
that he must kill ... that such power as this was too great to be
trusted to any man, be he of the Federation or the raiders.
Yet how to reach him, there in the ship, while armed crewmen paced to
and fro in the ring of light, on guard against the primitives?
The primitives....
Jarl leaned against the hull, and laughed his drunken laugh again.
The primitives: they held the answer.
Shuffling and stumbling, he worked his way through the piles of debris
to the charred ruins of the altar platform. On hands and knees, he
searched the trompled sand, probing amid the stinking litter.
Then, at last, his fingers touched the scorched, stiff corpse of a dead
primitive, still sprawled in the dirt where the creature had fallen.
Fumbling, he stripped off his own garments; replaced them with the
corpse's shoulder-plumes and girdle, ankle- and wrist-bands, sandals.
Unclamping the hideous metal mask, he clamped it on his own head ...
smeared his body thick with sand and ashes.
Then it was done and he was ready, save for a weapon.
A weapon.... He frowned. What weapon was there that he could carry past
the guards who paced their posts about _rey_ Gundre's ship?
Wearily, he sagged back on his haunches and let sand trickle through
his fingers while he tried to prod his aching brain to action.
The grit piled up in a little heap between his knees, a dusty cone
symbolic of this whole thrice-cursed desert world of Womar. It was
everywhere, that grit and dust, underfoot and in the air alike. It
rasped and smothered, choked and blinded.
And--it came to him in a sudden flash--it was the weapon he was seeking!
Scooping up the sand, he stuffed it between the girdle and his belly in
sifting handfuls, till he could pack in no more.
And as he did so, his weariness fell away a little. A tiny spark of his
old fire came alive again. A thread of the strength he'd thought was
gone flowed slowly through him.
He found that he could even stand straight without staggering.
Bleakly, he laughed.
Then, breathing deep, throwing back his head, he howled the wild, harsh
howl the charging primitives had uttered--pushed it out with all the
volume he could muster.
He could see the guards jerk, in the light-ring round the ship. A
ray-gun blazed.
* * * * *
Jarl crouched behind a pile of debris. After a moment, when the guards'
first excitement had subsided, he moved in closer; howled again.
This time, the crewmen showed less tension. Grim, purposeful, they
crouched by their weapons, watching and waiting.
Jarl moved still closer. He shouted--a guttural, clacking diatribe that
went on for half a minute.
Two officers came to the nearest point of the defense perimeter.
Uncertainly, they peered out into the echoing sea of darkness.
Again Jarl shouted; kept up the stream of clacking sound still longer.
One of the officers stepped back; gestured. A Forspark light swung
round and focussed on the area where Jarl lay hidden.
Jarl scraped his palms against his legs. Drum-like, his heart pounded.
His belly writhed as he weighed the odds against this madman's gamble.
But there was no other way.
Once more he shouted; kept the clatter running.
And as he did so--slowly; open hands upthrust and empty--he rose to
full height. Still shouting, he moved step by step into the beam of
searching light.
He was close to the perimeter, now--close enough to hear the guards'
excited babble.
Still no shot came; no ray-beam lanced out to burn him down.
Boldly, he strode forward, straight towards the defenses.
Crewmen moved up to meet him--cold-eyed, weapons leveled.
He reached the edge of the perimeter; stood there, waiting.
A _Fantay_ officer came out. Ray-gun in hand, throat-sac aquiver, he
circled Jarl, uncertainty and puzzlement written on his ugly face.
Jarl threw out more of the meaningless, clacking syllables. The mask
distorted them even further. They came out a guttural rattle like
nothing ever heard on any planet.
A _Pervod_ said, "Better take him in to the commissioner. Maybe the
vocodor can make something of his gabble."
The _Fantay_ nodded briefly. His pad-like hands moved over Jarl,
probing the plumes, the wrist-bands, the girdle.
A trickle of sand spilled to the ground.
The _Fantay_ brushed it off, unheeding. He reached up; started to
fumble at the catches of the metal mask.
Jarl's heart leaped. He knocked away the officer's hand and hurled an
angry cascade of gutturals at the creature.
The _Fantay_ fell back a step, startled and even more uncertain; and
an Earthman clipped, "Leave that tin hat alone, Beyno! This thing's a
primitive. Maybe he thinks it's bad luck or something to take off his
mask in front of strangers."
"Yes; that could be it." The officer swung around. "Gundre will be up
in the control section. Let's take this _chitza_ there."
* * * * *
Taking Jarl's arm, he led him forward, centered amid the little knot
of crewmen. Across the spreading ring of light they moved, and up the
ramp into _rey_ Gundre's mighty flagship ... through echoing
corridors ... in and out of a lift that whisked them a dozen levels
higher in as many seconds ... down still another gleaming metal
passage, till at last they faced the door of the craft's control
section.
The officer let go of Jarl and stepped forward; touched the signal
button.
The intercom plate glowed. _rey_ Gundre's voice blared: "Yes! What is
it?" He sounded tense and angry.
The _Fantay_ clipped, "Sir, we've got one of the primitives. He came in
of his own free will, but we can't understand what he's trying to say.
We thought maybe you'd want to put him on the vocodor."
"A primitive--!" There was a moment's hesitation. Then: "All right.
Just a minute."
The intercom plate went blank.
Jarl's knees were suddenly weak again. He swayed a little. Already, so
soon, he was here. It had been incredibly simple.
But the next step--
Abruptly, the door to the control section opened part way. The high
commissioner himself looked out. His lean, handsome face was haggard,
the dark hair so rumpled that the white blaze was almost lost.
His deep-set eyes flicked to Jarl Corvett. Then he snapped, "Two guards
will be enough," and drew back a fraction to let them enter.
They filed in--first the _Fantay_ officer, then Jarl. The guards
brought up the rear.
Behind them, _rey_ Gundre closed and locked the door.
It was a bare, bleak room--the navigation unit, with its globes and
astrocharts and viziscreens. Through a half-open door to the right,
Jarl could see the switches and dial-studded panels of the operating
cubicle; the empty pilot-chair.
Tight-drawn as a _llorin's_ bow-string, he shifted, seeking the spot
best suited to his purpose. Wry, mocking words _Ktar_ Wassreck once had
spoken rang in his brain: "_You'll live longer if you pick a place to
run to before you have to run._"
Even now, as he faced certain death, it was good advice. Disregarding
the others, he moved almost to the cubicle's doorway.
For the first time, then, as he swung round to face his captors, he saw
the plate of the long-range viziscreen.
Saw it ... rocked ... almost cried out.
For there, in stark detail, were the familiar outlines of tiny Ceres:
the bare expanse that was Ceresta's sprawling port ... the geometric
patterns of the town.
And there, too, in the upper scanner, shone clusters of tiny, crawling
pinpoints--the mighty Federation fleet hurtling through the void,
poising in this moment to lance down upon their distant prey.
* * * * *
It dragged through a thousand years, that awful instant; an instant so
terrible that it made the navigation room swim and dissolve before
Jarl Corvett's eyes.
Why had his fate brought him here at this final moment? Why must he
take his stand just in time to see the Federation fleet blast his one
last dream?
Desperately, fists clenched and sweating, he tried to calculate how
long it would take the racing ships to reach a range where they could
use Wassreck's deadly force projectors. Five minutes--? Three?
But what did it matter? Whatever the time, it still would be too short.
Unless fate had brought him here now for a purpose; unless the gods of
the void themselves were riding at his side....
His stomach writhed. With a will born of utter frenzy, he tore his eyes
from the screen.
The guards and the _Fantay_ officer still stood waiting. _rey_ Gundre
was studying him with narrowed eyes.
Cold as death, Jarl made himself stride forward. Thrusting stiff hands
between the girdle and his belly, once again he spat a stream of
crackling gutturals at his foes.
But then, the high commissioner was suddenly tensing, backing. "What is
this?" he cried sharply. "You're no primitive!" His voice went high and
raw. "Guards! Seize him--!"
The _Fantay_ lunged. The guards clawed for their ray-guns.
But already Jarl was pivoting, whipping a fistful of sand into the
officer's eyes. He leaped back as he threw it, so that one guard was
between him and the other. Savagely, he hammered home a blow; crowded
close and caught the ray-gun's barrel as it cleared the holster,
levering it up till it tore free from the creature's tortured grasp.
Then the other guard was upon him, smashing him to his knees.
But the metal mask broke the force of the blow. Jarl triggered the
ray-gun. The beam lanced out, struck home at the base of the bulging
jaw.
The guard fell backward.
Jarl fired again. The _Fantay_ died.
But now _rey_ Gundre's own weapon was out. The remaining guard came
charging in.
Jarl dropped flat as the high commissioner fired. The beam passed over
him; blasted the lunging guard.
Jarl shot for _rey_ Gundre's weapon.
The ray-gun flew out of the high commissioner's hand.
Panting, Jarl lurched to his feet. His whole body trembled. For an
instant he thought he was going to faint.
Then, out of the depths of his will, new strength came. He leveled the
ray-gun; held it steady.
_rey_ Gundre went white to the lips. Unsteadily, he moved backward,
till his body, the palms of his hands, were pressed flat against the
wall. He could not seem to tear his eyes from the hideous metal mask
Jarl wore.
"Is the high commissioner afraid, then--?" Jarl laughed harshly.
"Forget it, Gundre, I've things for you to do before you die."
"Jarl Corvett--!" The commissioner's eyes went wide with shock,
mirror-bright with fear.
Jarl laughed again, a bleak and mirthless sound. With his free hand, he
unclamped the mask; dropped it to the floor.
Tightly, he said: "Get a cross on your fleet, Commissioner. Give them
their true orders--that Ceres is to be spared."
* * * * *
The panic that flared in _rey_ Gundre's eyes was a frightful thing
to see. His face sagged, grey as lead. "No, Corvett--! Not that! I
can't--!"
"Then you can die," Jarl said.
He raised the ray-gun.
The high commissioner's mouth worked. "No, no...." Tottering, he
stumbled towards the viziscreen.
Jarl followed him, grim as death.
The clustered pinpoints were closer to Ceres now, slashing through the
void like streaks of light.
With trembling fingers, _rey_ Gundre fumbled at the dials.
"Faster!" Jarl clipped. "Your life depends on it, Gundre! If they
strike, you die!"
A new voice, behind them, said, "No, Jarl."
By sheer reflex, Jarl whirled.
A man stood in operation unit's doorway ... a tall man with a gaunt,
pain-twisted body, and high-domed head, and burning eyes.
A man Jarl Corvett knew so well--
"_Wassreck--!_"
"Yes, Jarl. Wassreck." The other's voice was almost gentle. The wry
mouth twisted with the thin ghost of a smile.
Jarl's knees went weak as water. His gun-hand sagged. He clutched a
chair to keep from falling.
Still smiling, _Ktar_ Wassreck moved forward, into the navigation room.
"Did I surprise you, Jarl?"
"I--thought you dead."
"And Sais, too--?" The other chuckled softly, and half-turned. "Come,
my dear...."
And of a sudden, there was dark Sais, framed in the open
doorway--radiant, lips half-parted, eyes aglow.
_Ktar_ Wassreck said, "I know how much she means to you, my comrade. I
brought her here, from Karrel's ship, to wait till you should come."
His pain-warped shoulders twisted. "Because I knew you'd come, Jarl,
sometime. Loyalty is a thing you understand."
"I called him on the _Knife's_ screen, Jarl," Sais broke in. Her voice
was warm and eager. "The crew didn't think to guard me. After that, I
ran away, into the desert, and waited till the flagship came."
Jarl swayed. His brain was reeling, and everything had a queer,
distorted look. He wondered if perhaps he'd finally fainted ... if this
were all a dream, somehow, or death.
But he made himself speak, because he had to learn the truth ... find
answers to the questions that kept tumbling and jumbling....
"You ... were aboard the flagship--?"
"Of course, Jarl," Wassreck nodded. "I wasn't captured, nor yet did I
surrender. All this has been a careful plan, worked out between the
high commissioner and me."
"A--plan--?"
"Yes!" _Ktar_ Wassreck's voice rang. With sudden eagerness, he leaned
forward, and his eyes burned with a strange new light. "Jarl, with the
power that's in these robots, the universe is ours to rule! What force
is there that can stand against them? What planet could defy their
might?"
"But the high commissioner...." Jarl gestured, stumbled. "Why would
he aid the outlaw worlds--?" And then, in sudden panic, whirling:
"Quick--! The Federation fleet--it's headed down for Ceres! We've got
to stop them! It may already be too late!"
But Wassreck's voice said, "No, Jarl."
It was flat this time, no longer gentle.
* * * * *
Slowly, slowly Jarl turned from the scanner, with its clustered,
crawling pinpoints. A seeping emptiness was rising in him--an ugly,
hollow feeling he'd never felt before.
Wassreck still stood in the same spot as before. But now, his right
hand was at waist-level.
It held a blaster.
In a voice not even remotely resembling his own, Jarl asked, "What do
you mean?"
Wassreck's eyes were burning coals. His gaunt face seemed even thinner
than before.
He said: "I mean the outlaw worlds must die!"
Jarl nodded slowly. "I guessed that would be it."
"Don't you see, Jarl--?" Sais cried, coming to him. "The raiders will
never lose their idiot dreams of freedom! Always, everywhere, they'll
make trouble! It would be madness to leave them with Ceresta and their
fleet. The Federation planets know what it means to bow before a
ruler--"
Wordless, Jarl looked down at her.
Hand on his arm, she rushed on--glowing, eager: "At first my father
thought of you as dangerous. But always, I've loved you. That's why
I came to you on Ceres, saying he was captured--so that you would
prove your loyalty to him. Now, he knows; and the two of you can rule
together. You and I--we'll have each other...."
She pressed against Jarl--body warm, hair soft and fragrant.
Wassreck broke in: "Jarl, you saw what happened today when I tried out
that robot on Bor Legat's ships! And once the raider fleet is smashed,
there'll be no opposition."
The numb emptiness filled Jarl to overflowing. "And if I say no--?"
He could see the other stiffen.
"Is there a choice?" Wassreck's laugh was suddenly savage. "Your
ray-gun's down, and my blaster's on you. Even if you could kill me, the
crew knows you're here; they'd be waiting for you."
And Sais whispered, "Jarl, why should you die for nothing? What can
it gain you, or anyone else?" Her cool fingers caressed him. "Jarl,
don't you understand? I love you! I want us to be together, now and
forever...."
Jarl stood very still.
* * * * *
How many nights had he lain in a chill, lonely bunk far out in space,
and dreamed of Sais beside him? How many times had he cursed the raider
way, the blood and iron, and longed instead for power and booty?
Now he could have those things. What made him hang back? Why did he
hesitate?
Why indeed, when refusal meant death without gain, without meaning?
Only then he thought of other things, and pain came in a rush to fill
the emptiness.
For he thought of those who lived, and those who'd died, whether they
lived or died for good or evil. Of Bor Legat and Ungo, Tas Karrel and
Ylana, a thousand fallen crewmen.
Of Ceresta's teeming hives, and Pallas, and of the raider fleet.
Of freedom.
Perhaps there was still a place in this mad universe for a man who did
not fear to die.
Again, he looked down into Sais' dark, lovely face. Again, her hair's
fragrance rose like perfume in his nostrils.
But as he stared, somehow, the lines and contours kept shifting,
changing, till it was as if he were gazing at one of the primitives'
hideous, leering masks.
Bleakly, he pushed her away.
Her face sagged, incredulous. But it was _Ktar_ Wassreck himself who
spoke: "You know what this means, Jarl--?"
"I know."
"Then it doesn't count that I came for you on Horla? Loyalty means
nothing...?"
"Loyalty--?" Jarl laughed a bitter laugh. "And what are you loyal to,
then, Wassreck? Your friends who'll die down on Ceresta?"
The gaunt man's face grew cold and bleak. He did not answer.
Jarl turned his head; slashed out at _rey_ Gundre, still standing
by the viziscreen: "You, Commissioner! What are you loyal to? The
Federation, that you betray? Ylana, your own daughter, who'd rather
die in the desert than live here with you?"
A trace of color came to the high commissioner's grey, sagging face.
Unspeaking, he looked away.
"Loyalty--!" Jarl spat. "How can any of you even pretend to know what
it means? Because a man's first loyalty is to his own conscience--and
conscience is a thing you neither have nor understand!"
Wassreck's gaunt face contorted. "A pretty speech--to die with."
His finger went white on the blaster's trigger.
Jarl Corvett whipped up his ray-gun.
* * * * *
Yet even in that moment, Jarl knew the truth: that his strength had
gone; that he was too slow. Before he could even fire himself, Wassreck
would kill him.
But he didn't dare to die--not while _Ktar_ Wassreck still lived and
held the secret of the mighty warrior robots. Too much was at stake.
Too many could suffer.
Only now, there was nothing he could do. At last, the gods of the void
had ridden on their way without him.
But then, incredibly, another figure hurtled across his field of vision.
The figure of High Commissioner _rey_ Gundre.
For a split second, Wassreck's eyes wavered.
Jarl dived to one side as the blaster roared. The bolt seared a
flaming path diagonally along his ribs.
But now, Jarl, too, was firing--lancing a ray-beam into Wassreck's
midriff.
The gaunt body stiffened ... straightened ... fell.
Jarl threw himself round, searching for Sais and _rey_ Gundre.
They lay in a tumbled heap near the farthest wall. The commissioner was
twitching, moaning faintly.
Jarl stumbled across to where he lay, tried to help him to turn over.
A blaster bolt had taken the man high in the chest. Blood already was
trickling from his mouth. "Ylana--!" he gasped, then choked on the
blood.
A moment later, he died.
Jarl turned to Sais.
She, too, was dead. She held a blaster in her hand--and her neck was
broken.
Dully, head throbbing, Jarl remembered _rey_ Gundre's mad, unexplained
rush.
Now it needed no explanation.
Outside, someone was pounding on the door. Dim sounds of tumult sifted
through the portal.
So the guards had come already....
Struggling to his feet again, Jarl made his way to the viziscreen. He
had lost all track of time. He half expected to find Ceres already
blasted, broken.
It still was there. But the clustered pinpoints that were the
Federation fleet had begun converging high above, readying for the
final plunge.
With trembling fingers, Jarl set a cross for the lead ship; switched on
the communicator unit. Harshly, in _rey_ Gundre's name, he rasped out
orders.
The wheeling ships veered; peeled off on a different course.
Ceres was saved.
Jarl sagged against the screen. He felt incredibly old, incredibly
weary.
The pounding on the door grew louder.
Jarl thought: _Another minute and they'll break in_....
And he would die.
* * * * *
Only all at once, he didn't care. His job was done. What difference did
it make, what happened now?
His only regret was that Ylana would never know that at the last, when
the crisis came, her father had broken clean and died to save him.
And Sais.... What things had been in her mind when she raised that
blaster to try to kill the man she claimed to love?
It was strange, though: he felt no hatred towards her.
But, neither did he feel love, or sorrow, or pity. It was as if she
were an utter stranger, some passer-by he'd never known.
So different from Ylana....
Ylana the golden. He spoke her name aloud, and liked its sound.
Ylana the golden. Red lips, grey eyes, and rippling hair.
Such queer things to be thinking about at a time like this. But then,
his whole state of mind just now was somewhat queer.
Out in the hall, some heavy object smashed against the door. Soon, he
knew the panel would crash down.
Why wait for it? Why not go out and meet death as a raider should?
Jarl laughed drunkenly. Reeling, he stumbled to the door; with a clumsy
jerk threw back the bolt and braced himself to take the blasts.
Then the door burst open. Beings of half-a-dozen planets charged in
upon him--and Big Ungo of Jupiter was in their van.
Jarl knew then that this was a nightmare--the delirium of a fevered,
over-weary brain. He closed his eyes and let himself go limp; slumped
to the floor.
But when he looked up again, Ungo was still there, and now Ylana, too,
knelt beside him, whispering, "Jarl--! Jarl Corvett...." while the red
lips quivered and tears spilled from the cool grey eyes.
Ungo said: "She made us come, Jarl--all of us that were left from Bor
Legat's ships. With her to talk for us, we didn't even have to fight to
get in here."
"You're lying!" Jarl accused him, twisting as pain stabbed along his
wounded side. "You're not here. I'm just dreaming. When I wake up, if
I'm not dead, you'll all be gone."
"No, Jarl. This isn't dreaming. This is real." All at once Ylana was
smiling through her tears. "Sleep, now, Jarl. I'll still be here when
you waken--or forever, if you want me...."
As she spoke, she reached out and gently closed his eyes.
He didn't mind. As a matter of fact, of a sudden he wanted to let sleep
come, and quickly.
For now he knew that waking would be better than any dream.