'No,' snapped Nadine. 'You see to it. Why tell me?'
'You put us together. I've never liked the woman since the Escum raid. Move her or there'll be blood – and it won't be mine!'
Another threat and more trouble to add to the rest. The threat meant little; a part of the general atmosphere of violence she had known all her life, but trouble was something she was supposed to avoid, to negate before it grew unto ugly dimensions. A job she'd been good at but that had been on a different world. In the regimented constriction of the ship small things took on a new importance and could lead to quarrels and bloody violence.
Zehava didn't help.
'Let them sort it out between themselves. If they want action put them in a ring with clubs. Naked,' she added. 'And spike the clubs with nails. They'll cool down when it comes to risking their beauty.'
She sat with others at a table in the salon playing dice, the cubes landing hard against the baffle.
'Seventeen!' Zehava picked up one of the four cubes. 'Now sixteen. Watch me hit twenty-one!' She threw and cursed as the die came to rest showing a six. 'Over! I' in busted and out!' She glared at Nadine. 'You brought me bad luck! Take your stupid problems somewhere else!'
An insult, one she could take up, but Zehava wouldn't shrink from combat and she lacked the other's skill. A gust of laughter followed her from the salon and she halted to lean against the bulkhead feeling the endless vibration of the drive against her forehead and cheek. She had known those at the table all her life, but now they were strangers. As were too many others. In the entire ship she had only one friend.
Dumarest was in his cabin. He opened the door to her knock and stepped aside to allow her entrance. He had been resting, the imprint of his body clear on the bunk. The cubicle was dimly lit but bright enough for her to see the scars which marred his naked torso and read his welcome and, thankfully, his concern.
It gave her courage. She said, 'I have to talk to you. The others don't take me seriously. The officers look on me as a nuisance. I've no experience of raiding. I don't belong. Even the work I do is a joke.'
'You're wrong.' He gestured, inviting her to sit on the bunk. 'Would you like a drink? Some wine? Here, try some of this.'
It was peedham and he served it in a small glass engraved with erotic figures. Zehava's gift, she guessed, and felt a sharp jealousy.
'You must think me a fool.'
'No.'
'A coward then.'
Something of both but she was not to blame for either. Only a fool attempted the impossible and a coward was merely a human who feared the unknown. He sat beside her, smiling comfort over his glass, letting the magic of its contents warm his stomach as he hoped it was dissolving her terror. A paranoid, suspicious of everyone and everything, convinced she was surrounded by enemies. Able to read their secret thoughts, their amusement, scorn, contempt. On Kaldar the boaster, the braggart and swaggerer were held in esteem and then only as long as they lived up to their image. A harsh society in which to be gentle was to be weak and to be weak was to be despised.
Nadine had been born on the wrong world.
He said, gently, 'You're not a fool and you certainly aren't a coward. You're just someone who is learning a hard lesson. You are discovering there is no escape. No matter how far or how fast we run the bars we carry with us will always cage us in. You, me, everyone. We are all prisoners of our mind.'
'Not you, Earl!'
'Everyone.' He sipped at his glass. She saw the light reflected from his eyes, the strong lines of his mouth and jaw. 'Don't try to find happiness, Nadine. Be satisfied with contentment.'
Good advice but he would never take it. For him there could be alternative to the path he had chosen and she wondered how a world could hold such allure. What had he lost that he should miss it so much?
'Drink,' he urged. 'You need to relax. What have you to report?'
Nothing but a host of small details, but she sensed his interest was deeper than it seemed. What, to her, were trivial scraps of information was, to him, items which could threaten the success of his enterprise.
Watching him, reading him, she felt a disturbing flood of emotion. One stemming from the safety of the cabin, his strength, the protection he could give. A partner who could offer happiness. One who could give her love.
'Earl!' The peedham had dissolved her reticence. The light held a new softness and his closeness created an urgent demand. 'Tell me,' she whispered, her hand rising to caress his cheek. 'Tell me -' but even as she framed the question she knew it would be futile. What he had lost would be a secret he would keep. Instead she said, fighting for control, 'How much longer will the journey last?'
'Does it matter?'
'It could. There are too many disputes, threats, actual fights. The compliment is restless. They resent discipline and are bored. Some even talk of breaking the journey to make a raid.'
'No!' He was emphatic. 'They mustn't be allowed to do that. We have to keep going. Talk to them. Remind them of what they stand to gain. The treasure, gems, precious metals, all the other things. The entire wealth of a world. The planet itself. Play on their greed. If they insist on arguing threaten to evict them.'
'And when they object? Am I supposed to fight?'
'If you have to, yes.' He strove to be patient. 'I'm not talking about physical combat. Fight with your brains and talent. Read them. Use lies, gossip, rumor, anything which works. You've done it before.'
'On Kaldar. This is a new world.'
'It's still a world. The same rules apply. Another drink?' He set aside the bottle when she shook her head. 'Then get some rest. Stay here if you want. I'll make sure no one bothers you.'
She wanted more than the security of his cabin.
'Earl!'
She reached for him, yielding to the thrust of emotion, her demanding need. Within the circle of her arms she felt the firm strength of his body, responding to its warm impact, feeling the burning heat of desire, knowing it was shared. Then, abruptly, he pushed her away.
'Earl'.'She felt the pain of rejection. 'What's wrong?'
His hand was pressed against the bulkhead and she read the answer. Her own hand confirmed it. The metal was free of vibration. The Erhaft field had collapsed.
Dumarest ran through a ship filled with apparent corpses. An illusion created by the drug which had neutralized the quicktime in his blood and restored his normal metabolism. In the engine room others, also on normal time, wrestled with the bulk of the generator.
Zoll Mauger snarled his impatience at a stubborn panel.
'Give me a hand, here! Move!'
Simi Kent, the second engineer, ran forward with an oddly shaped lever. One he slipped into an orifice, heaved, grunted as the casing remained intact.
'What's the problem?' Dumarest rested a hand on the metal. 'Warped?'
'Maybe fused. I hope to hell it isn't. Cutting it free could do damage.' Simi heaved again on the lever, Dumarest adding his strength. Together they forced it free. 'Zoll!'
The engineer pushed them aside as he crouched to examine the exposed interior of the generator. When he straightened black smears streaked the contours of his face.
Simi was impatient. 'Bad?'
'Bad enough. The governor blew. The safety fuses took the brunt, but they went in turn and the coils are grimed.' Irritably he shook his head. 'I don't understand it. There was no reason for the damn thing to blow. We were running even, no surges, no drain, nothing to cause damage. It just happened.'
Dumarest said, 'How long to repair it?'
'As long as it takes.' Mauger was curt. 'The governor will have to be replaced. We carry a spare so that's no problem. But the generator need to be cleaned, the safeties renewed and the coils needs to be polished and realigned.'
'For the text-book repair,' agreed Dumarest. 'I'm talking about something good enough to establish the field and get us to a planet.'
'You an engineer?'
'I've handled machines and seen damaged generators.' Dumarest stared at the other man. 'From what you
