When his arms began to grow tired he lowered Lea gently to the ground; she didn’t wake. Stretching for an instant, before taking up his burden again, Brion was struck by the terrible loneliness of the desert. His breath made a vanishing mist against the stars; all else was darkness and silence. How distant he was from his home, his people, his planet! Even the constellations of the night sky were different. He was used to solitude, but this was a loneliness that touched some deep-buried instinct. A shiver that wasn’t from the desert cold touched lightly along his spine, prickling at the hairs on his neck.
It was time to go on. He shrugged the disquieting sensations off and carefully tied Lea into the jacket he had been wearing. Slung like a pack on his back, it made the walking easier. The gravel gave way to sliding dunes of sand that seemed to continue to infinity. It was a painful, slipping climb to the top of each one, then an equally difficult descent to the black-pooled hollow at the foot of the next.
With the first lightening of the sky in the east he stopped, breath rasping in his chest, to mark his direction before the stars faded. One line scratched in the sand pointed due north, a second pointed out the course they should follow. When they were aligned to his satisfaction he washed his mouth out with a single swallow of water and sat on the sand next to the still form of the girl.
Gold fingers of fire searched across the sky, wiping out the stars. It was magnificent; Brion forgot his fatigue in appreciation. There should be some way of preserving it. A quatrain would be best. Short enough to be remembered, yet requiring attention and skill to compact everything into it. He had scored high with his quatrains in the Twenties. This would be a special one. Taind, his poetry mentor, would have to get a copy.
“What are you mumbling about?” Lea asked, looking up at the craggy blackness of his profile against the reddening sky.
“Poem,” he said. “Shhh. Just a minute.”
It was too much for Lea, coming after the tension and dangers of the night. She began to laugh, laughing even harder when he scowled at her. Only when she heard the tinge of growing hysteria did she make an attempt to break off the laughter. The sun cleared the horizon, washing a sudden warmth over them. Lea gasped.
“Your throat’s been cut! You’re bleeding to death!”
“Not really,” he said, touching his fingertips lightly against the blood-clotted wound that circled his neck. “Just superficial.”
Depression sat on him as he suddenly remembered the battle and death of the previous night. Lea didn’t notice his face; she was busy digging in the pack he had thrown down. He had to use his fingers to massage and force away the grimace of pain that twisted his mouth. Memory was more painful than the wound. How easily he had killed! Three men. How close to the surface of the civilized man the animal dwelled! In countless matches he had used those holds, always drawing back from the exertion of the full killing power. They were part of a game, part of the Twenties. Yet when his friend had been killed he had become a killer himself. He believed in nonviolence and the sanctity of life—until the first test, when he had killed without hesitation. More ironic was the fact he really felt no guilt, even now. Shock at the change, yes. But no more than that.
“Lift your chin,” Lea said, brandishing the antiseptic applicator she had found in the medicine kit. He lifted his chin obligingly and the liquid drew a cool, burning line across his neck. Antibio pills would do a lot more good, since the wound was completely clotted by now, but he didn’t speak his thoughts aloud. For the moment Lea had forgotten herself in taking care of him. He put some of the antiseptic on her scalp bruise and she squeaked, pulling back. They both swallowed the pills.
“That sun is hot already,” Lea said, peeling off her heavy clothing. “Let’s find a nice cool cave or an air-cooled saloon to crawl into for the day.”
“I don’t think there are any here. Just sand. We have to walk—”
“I know we have to walk,” she interrupted. “There’s no need for a lecture about it. You’re as seriously cubical as the Bank of Terra. Relax. Count ten and start again.” Lea was making empty talk while she listened to the memory of hysteria tittering at the fringes of her brain.
“No time for that. We have to keep going.” Brion climbed slowly to his feet after stowing everything in the pack. When he sighted along his marker at the western horizon he saw nothing to mark their course, only the marching dunes. He helped Lea to her feet and began walking slowly towards them.
“Just hold on a second,” Lea called after him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“In that direction,” he said, pointing. “I hoped there would be some landmarks, but there aren’t. We’ll have to keep on by dead reckoning. The sun will keep us pretty well on course. If we aren’t there by night the stars will be a better guide.”
“All this on an empty stomach? How about breakfast? I’m hungry—and thirsty.”
“No food.” He shook the canteen that gurgled emptily. It had been only partly filled when he found it. “The water’s low and we’ll need it later.”
“I need it now,” she said shortly. “My mouth tastes like an unemptied ashtray and I’m dry as paper.”
“Just a single swallow,” he said
