Part 92 (1/2)

The firing stopped.

The sigma-field fizzled and died as its battery was exhausted.

A tall human being came strolling into the open, carrying his weapon jauntily over his shoulder and waving in an encouraging fas.h.i.+on. Tony and Alice and Kalipin stepped off their wooden island and ran to meet the rescuer, emanating farspoken cries of relief and thanks.

”Think nothing of it,” the man said. He raised a protective visor from his deepset eyes and perched it on top of curly grey hair. He wore a tight-fitting black coverall studded with metal receptacles. ”It was nervy of the creatures to antic.i.p.ate me. I should have kept a closer eye on things up here.”

”Mother o' pearl!” Alice said softly. ”It's Remillard himself!”

She and Tony made simultaneous attempts to farscream.

When that failed, they tried vainly to run. Only little Kalipin confronted the challenger of the galaxy with resolution. ”So. Do you save us from the Foe only to destroy our minds, human?”

Marc laughed. Then his tone became adamantine. ”I have no time to waste. Your King will be making his regularly scheduled evening call shortly. Where is the dysprosium?”

Tony was helpless under coercion. ”Five rods, all we managed to refine today, in Kalipin's pouch.”

The Howler handed over the bottles without a word.

”And the concentrate?” Marc demanded. ”And the ion extractor?”

”There's one can of DyCl3 back where we were hiding under the sigma. The rest in that undamaged building over in the trees.

The extractor's there, too.”

Marc said to Alice and Kalipin, ”Get the machine and the salts and bring them here.” Deprived of volition, they rushed off. Marc asked Tony, ”Are there any other high-tech extraction devices available to the Guderian Project workers?”

”Not as far as I know,” the metallurgist said listlessly. ”You scarper with that one, the project's had it. I couldn't care less.”

Marc lifted a surprised eyebrow.

Tony licked his lips, looked about to be sure the others were well out of earshot, then said, ”Listen! I'm no ally of the King or his bunch of North American fanatics. I was dragooned into working on the project. Check my mind and you'll see I'm telling the truth! All I want to do is get back to my wife in Nionel. I-I don't suppose you'd consider letting me live?”

Marc said, ”It seems the better part of prudence to deprive Aiken of your unique talents. There are other ways of processing lanthanons.”

Tony's eyes misted over. ”B-but it'll take months to sift out the Dy by ordinary chemical techniques, and the King wouldn't need me for that. All you have to do is destroy the ion extractor and the acc.u.mulated concentrate, and the project is hopelessly stalled-”

”I would rather keep my options on the matter open.” Marc smiled in satisfaction as he saw Alice and Kalipin emerge from the building back in the trees. The Howler was trundling a loaded wheelbarrow and the woman had her arms full of canisters. ”However, you needn't worry about me slaughtering you out of hand. The dysprosium and its manufacturing equipment will go back to my s.h.i.+p with me, via d-jump. And so will you.”

Tony's world reeled. An enormous dark-coloured ma.s.s reminiscent of a deep-sea diving rig was materializing behind the rebel leader. As if in a dream, Tony heard Kalipin and Alice being ordered to stack the materials close to the suit of armour.

Then a voice in his own brain said: Stand very still. It would be best if you held your breath and closed your eyes although our translation through the grey limbo will occupy only the merest fraction of a second.

Tony screamed: Don't! Don't take me! I don't want to die in hypers.p.a.ce! JesushelpmeOG.o.dRowane ...

Zang Tony felt the appalling pain attending penetration of the superficies, familiar from many a superluminal voyage between Milieu worlds. For the merest instant he felt frozen, suffocated, on the verge of having every body cell explode.

Zung.

He sprawled on hands and knees, opened his eyes, and saw Alice and Kalipin goggling in astonishment. A smoky Fennoscandian landscape. Scattered bones. Charred rubble. A towering suit of black armour with a Bosch blaster leaning against it.