Part 40 (1/2)

Don't jump. Come down and let us help you.

DarlingChris ... darlingLeila ... preciousJoel. HEwantskillthembutlknowhowstop. Kill the other minds. Deprive devilangelexecutor of metaconcertcooperators make HIM helpless!

Weak! HUMAN! ... And that's exactly what I have done you know.

This last was delivered in a tone so matter-of fact and complacent that the seven people at the foot of the mast were momentarily taken aback. And then Steve Vanier came pounding up the after companionway ladder and emerged on deck with his brain bursting with horror. He shouted: ”The Keoghs-both of them stabbed to death in sick bay! And she must have gone into the cabins that weren't locked-” Crimson images tumbled from his mind. Helayne's manic laughter pealed in the cloud-wracked sky.

Nanomea Fox kept the spotlight steady on the swaying figure.

Helayne called out in a crooning voice, ”Walter! Come up, dear. Help me. I promise I won't jump if you come.” The force of her coercion was an irresistible siren call. Walter, blank-faced, started for the mast as Fox and Marchand stood helplessly by.

”No, Walter!” Patricia screamed. And then the mental tentacle coiled about her own will, commanding her to climb, and Roy, and ...

Jeff Steinbrenner whipped the carbine from Laroche's paralysed hands and fired without aiming. There was a sizzling report and a bloom of light like St. Elmo's fire. Something seemed to take wing, uttering a final sound like a seabird's cry. Fragments of wood and metal and severed rope rained onto the deck.

They all looked up at the broken, empty crow's nest, and then braced themselves to go below.

As the dark armoured form materialized on its improvised cradle, the docilated man sitting in the dark corner of the hold finally broke his silence. ”Commodore's gig approaching!

Bosun, your pipe! Mister Kramer, hoist the swallowtail of the Rye Harbour Yacht Club!”

”Shut up, Alex,” said Patricia Castellane, ”or I'll phase in the algetics at max, so help me G.o.d.”

Alexis Manion subsided, but a sly smile played over his lips.

He got up from his chair and strolled closer as Gerrit Van Wyk pulled the helmet hoist into position and Jordan Kramer monitored the divestment.

When Marc was free of the armour he said, ”The stasis held perfectly for three hours thirty minutes. I think I've got it licked.

How did it look on this end?”

Kramer said, ”Perfect. No sign of anomalous field-warp of bilocation phenomena. We'll have Manion do an a.n.a.lysis in depth, but it looked mighty good in overview. How far out did you go?”

”Eighteen thousand six hundred and twenty-seven light-years.

To Poltroy. Testing my limits and indulging my curiosity.”

”Was the translation still apparently instantaneous?” Van Wyk asked.

”Yes,” said Marc. ”There doesn't seem to be any equivalent of the subjective hours or day spent in the grey limbo by superluminal stars.h.i.+p riders. I'd estimate I was in the hyperspatial matrix thirty subjective seconds on each of the d-jumps. It takes longer breaking through the superficies at each end, of course.”

He stepped into the miniature shower cabinet and threw out the pressure envelope coverall. The water sprayed hot, sending steam clouds rising among the cable-draped oaken s.h.i.+p timbers.

”So you went to Poltroy, my beamish boy?” Alexis Manion carolled.

”I'd forgotten that the place was mostly glacial during the Pliocene,” Marc said. ”Fortunately, the locals took me for a slumming G.o.d and lent me some furs, or I'd have had to stay in the armour. It would have spoiled the experiment.” Patricia came up with a towel and a dressing gown. ”I think I finally have the d-jump program fully a.s.similated. I expect to work out further refinements, but the technique is quite workable now. I can take the armour with me as a safety precaution against a hostile environment, or leave it suspended in the superficies out of the way, or even send it back home to wait until I whistle, cutting off entirely from the systems at this end of the warp.”

He smiled, tying the belt of the robe. ”It's the d.a.m.nedest feeling, going superluminal without a s.h.i.+p. But it was even spookier actually visiting a world in the flesh that I farsaw on the star-search.”

Kramer asked, ”Is there discomfort pa.s.sing through the hyperspatial boundary, as one experiences on a stars.h.i.+p?”