“Lie,” Wadie said softly, shook his head again. “He's stalling; Central Harmony keeps plenty of naval units in this volume, and he's hopin' some of 'em will get here in time.”
Nodding, she repeated flatly, “You have twenty-five kiloseconds. I know you have a high-performance linear accelerator down there. Use it. I don't want any manned vehicles to approach us. Copy coordinates …” She spoke the numbers carefully.
As she finished speaking Nakamore looked past her, angry and beaten, but little of it showing on his face. “Are you there givin' her the answers, Wadie?”
Wadie hung motionless … speechless. He pushed away from the panel at last, out into Nakamore's view. “Yeah, Djem, it's me.”
“We picked up the broadcast debates from the Demarchy—how they've outlawed you. I figured maybe you'd—” Nakamore's face set, with the righteous anger of a man to whom loyalty was everything; with the pain of a man betrayed by a friend. “We were fools not to see what you and your … starship aliens would try. Why stop with a thousand tons of hydrogen? Why not take it all?”
“One thousand tons of hydrogen is all we need, Djem. And we need it bad, or I wouldn't put you through this.” Without fuel, the starship was trapped, prey to the first group quick enough to take it. And then the Grand Harmony, the Demarchy, and everyone else would be the prey. Then the threats would be no bluff. This was for the best; this was the only choice he could possibly make, the only sane choice. If he could only … He started, “Djem, I—” But no words would come.
Nakamore waited, his black eyes pitiless. At last he leaned forward, reaching for the unseen panel. “Traitor.” His face disappeared; and with it the last chance of asylum for a banished man. Discus alone lay on the screen.
The captain sat gazing fixedly at the screen, her mouth pressed together, a brittle golden figurine. Welkin glanced at Wadie, apologetic but saying nothing, saving him from the embarrassment of a witty response that wouldn't come.
“… think they'll do it?” Bird Alyn pulled at the flapping end of her belt. “What if they don't?”
“They will.” He found his voice, and his composure. “In fifty million seconds, Djem Nakamore never won a game of chess from me.”
“You were perfect, Betha.” Welkin turned back, his faded eyes searching the captain's downturned face. “Eric couldn't have put it more convincingly.”
“If Eric were alive, we wouldn't be doing this.”
Wadie nodded, relieved. “I almost believed you meant every word of that myself.”
She struck a match. “What makes you think I didn't, Abdhiamal?” She lit her pipe, facing him with the same hardness that had faced down Snows-of-Salvation. “What have the Ringers down for us lately?”
“Indeed.” He bowed grimly, looked back at Welkin. “I've learned my lesson—I'll never insult another engineer.” He pushed off toward the door.
Betha watched him disappear down the stairwell, shaken with the coldness that left her words of apology stillborn.
“Betha … would you … are you really goin' to … destroy the distillery?” Bird Alyn whispered unhappily.
Betha met the frightened face. “No, of course not, Bird Alyn, I wouldn't do that. I'm not really a—a butcher.”
Bird Alyn nodded, blinking, maneuvered backward and started for the door.
Clewell rubbed his beard. “Then why act like one, Betha? That was a little too convincing for me, too. Or isn't it an act anymore?”
Shame warmed her face, drove the coldness from her. “You know it is, Pappy! But that damned Abdhiamal —”
Clewell lifted his head slightly, unfastened his seatbelt. “He's not such a bad sort … for a ‘damned fop.’ He's held up pretty well under one gee … under everything he's been through.” Meaning that she hadn't made things any easier.
“He's a phony; he's lucky he didn't cripple himself.” She looked away irritably.
“He's a proud man, Betha. He might not call it that … but anybody who can stand straight and smile while gravity's pulling him apart—or loyalty is—has my admiration. In a way, he reminds me of—”
“He's not at all like Eric.”
His eyebrows rose. “That wasn't what I was going to say. He reminds me of you.” He held up a hand, cutting off her indignation. “But now that you mention it, there is something about him … a manner, maybe; even a physical resemblance. Maybe it's why I like him in spite of myself; maybe it's what bothers you. Something does.”
“Oh, Pappy …” She lifted her hand, pressing her rings against her mouth. “It is true. Every time I look at him, anything he does, he reminds me—But he's
He smoothed her drifting hair. “I don't know. I don't know the answer, Betha.” He sighed. “I don't know why they claim age is wisdom. Age is just getting old.”
Shadow Jack moved restlessly, trapped in the too-empty box of the room where he slept, haunted by the ghost of a stranger: manuals on economics, a nonsense song lyric, a hand-knit sweater suspended in midair—a dead man's presence scattered through drawers and cupboards in the clutter of a life's detritus. Rusty clung to his shoulders, her mute acceptance easing the shame of his exile. He stroked her mindlessly, hearing only the ticking of the clock; meaningless divisions marking the endless seconds. He wondered whether they would get what they wanted from the Ringers, wondered how he could face Betha Torgussen again … wondered how he would face the rest of his life.
Rusty's small, inhuman face rose from his shoulder, her ears flicking. “Bird Alyn?” He pushed to the doorway, saw Wadie Abdhiamal disappear into another room. He heard Abdhiamal's voice, almost inaudible: “Damn that woman! She'd spit in the eye of God.”
Shadow Jack moved along the hall, stopped at Abdhiamal's doorway, staring. “What's the matter, she spit in your eye?”
Abdhiamal twisted, a split-second's exasperation on his face. He smoothed his work shirt absently, smoothed his expression. “Yeah … somethin' like that.”
“What happened up there? Did we get the hydrogen?”
“Probably …. Why weren't you in the control room?”
He grimaced. “I couldn't do it. I—I called the captain a pervert.”
“You what?” Abdhiamal frowned in disbelief.
Shadow Jack caught the doorway to move on; desperation turned him back. “Can … I talk to you … man to man?”
Abdhiamal gestured him into the room, no trace of amusement on his face. “Probably. What about?”
Shadow Jack cleared his throat; Rusty pushed off from his shoulder, rose like a lifting ship, and swam toward Abdhiamal. “How come you never married?”
Abdhiamal laughed, startled. “I don't know.” He watched the cat, reached out to pull her down to his chest. “Maybe because I never met a woman who'd spit in the eye of God.”
Shadow Jack's eyes widened; and looking at Abdhiamal, he wondered who was more surprised.
Abdhiamal laughed again, shrugged. “But somehow I doubt it.”
“I mean … you said before, that now you never would get married. I thought there was—some other reason.” He reached for the doorframe.
“There was.”
He stopped, holding on.
“I've traveled a lot. That means I've been exposed to high radiation levels and potential genetic damage. We have ways of preservin' sperm so men at least can travel and still raise healthy children. But with the bill of attainder, I'm legally dead now. They'll destroy my account.” Abdhiamal took a deep breath. “And I've been sterilized.”
Shadow Jack looked back, letting the words come, “I'd be happy if I was sterile!” He shook his head. “I didn't
