“If he does that you can fix it again.”
“I don’t think it can be fixed again, at least not in the same way with the tools we have on the boat.”
“He works like you and the Tsla or he dies now. I cannot spare the attention to let him sit and watch for a chance to surprise me.”
Etienne limped forward. “I’ll watch myself, Lyra, don’t worry. I can rig a sling and work with my left arm.”
“Our specimens,” she muttered disconsolately. “Everything we’ve worked so hard to assemble, the first pieces of the puzzle that would enable us to start building a picture of this world’s ecology, all thrown away.”
“They won’t do us any good if we don’t live to deliver them.”
“Not so stupid,” Homat said approvingly. “I didn’t think you were that stupid.” He gestured again with the muzzle of the asynapt. “I do not like this place. Let us hurry.”
Though he worked very carefully, the pain in Etienne’s side never let him alone. The internal bleeding didn’t start again, but Lyra ached in her own heart as she watched him struggle to load the heavy alloy.
Homat supervised the loading silently and displayed not a twinge of remorse. The lower hold was filled and they began stacking piles of broken metal on the second deck. Yulour carried twice his share of the load as he toiled quietly next to his human friends.
Several days later an exhausted Lyra, sweating inside her absorptive thermal suit, slumped to the ground and spoke sullenly to Homat.
“That’s all she’ll carry.”
“No, there is yet room,” Homat insisted. “Much more room. You must continue.”
“Listen to me, Homat. The sunit, the metal, is very heavy. If you stack any more on the upper decks you’ll ruin the boat’s stability. All the sunit in the world won’t do you any good if you turn over in the middle of the Skar.” She held her breath as she dropped her gaze to the ground. Actually the hydrofoil could carry another ton or so in comparative safety, but she doubted Etienne would last another day.
Homat looked uncertain. “Very well. That is enough. Enough to buy two cities, and I can always come back for more.”
“Fine,” Etienne commented. “Now let us help you deliver your damned fortune so we can go our separate ways, which won’t happen soon enough for me.”
“Or if you insist on trying to take the hydrofoil back by yourself,” Lyra added, “at least let us go with you as far as Turput. We can find transportation back to Steamer Station from there, and by the time we reached our outpost you could be halfway around the Groalamasan.”
“And then what?” Homat inquired suspiciously, his inherent Mai paranoia surging to the fore. “Then you’ll organize your friends and come looking for poor Homat with more of your strange weapons, to punish him and steal his glory.” His grip on the asynapt tightened.
Slowly Lyra got to her feet. “Homat, don’t be a fool.”
“Truly that is not my intention.”
Etienne was backing toward the silent mass of alien metal. He stumbled and Lyra rushed to help him, her eyes never leaving the pistol.
“There’s no need for you to do this, Homat. We won’t come after you. It’s not worth it to us. It’s not worth the spirit boat. We can always get another.”
“Can you?” She knew enough of Mai psychology to see that he was working himself up good and proper, trying to excite himself to the point of pushing the trigger. Killing Tyl was one thing. Mai and Tsla disliked one another and sometimes fought. But the thought of slaying them was something new. There were powerful spirits involved, strange alien spirits, and he was still unsure of himself.
He was going to do it, though. She could see it in his eyes, read it in the way he stood, hear it in his voice. The scrawny bald little humanoid primitive was going to kill the two of them in cold blood there at the top of his world, beneath a ceiling of ancient ice, their backs to an enigma that would now never be properly studied.
“I will keep the slave,” Homat said solemnly. He gestured toward Yulour, who stood nearby looking worried and confused. “I will make use of his strength on the homeward journey. Him I do not fear, but I do not trust you. I cannot stay awake all the time to watch you. As soon as I slept you would forget all your promises, set aside your assurances, and toss poor Homat into the Skar to take his chances with the fish.
“It is not I who is destined to be food for fishes. Not Homat the brave, Homat the great.” He took aim with the heavy pistol.
“When he settles on me,” Etienne whispered as he took a step forward, “run for it. I’ll take the shot and if you can get beyond the ship’s lights you’ll have a chance.”
“No, I won’t …”
“Don’t be an idiot!” he said huskily, taking another step forward. “Now of all times.” The muzzle was shifting to cover him, Homat’s finger moving toward the trigger. “Use your legs, Lyra. For both of us.”
The tears were coming again, blinding her worse than the glare from the spotlights. She didn’t know what to do and there was no time to make careful decisions. If only Etienne wouldn’t be so damn logical! But he was right. If she could hide in the darkness of the cavern there was an outside chance she could slip aboard the hydrofoil without Homat seeing her. She was bigger and stronger than the Mai.
Homat saw her start to back away and moved the muzzle back to cover her instead of Etienne. It was impossible to outrun the charge, but the heavy weapon was awkward in Homat’s grasp. Etienne saw that he was anticipating Lyra’s flight and steadied himself to leap between them to take the shot.
He didn’t have to. The same thought had occurred to someone else. Certainly no one, least of all Homat, expected Yulour to interpose himself between the pistol and its intended targets.
Etienne didn’t have time to wonder at the Tsla’s unaccustomed assertion. He was shoving at Lyra with his left hand.
“Now, run now.”
Lyra was gaping at the Tsla. “I don’t understand. Yulour doesn’t act on his own.”
“Don’t worry about it now, shut up and run!”
She left him leaning on his crutch as she whirled and bolted for the blackness to their left. Homat turned to aim at her, but once more Yulour made certain his body was between hers and the gun.
“Get out of the way, moron!” Homat shouted. Yulour stood quietly, holding his ground. “I said get out of the way! I need you for the journey Downriver.”
He could hear the gravel flying from beneath the human female’s boots. Of course, he could abandon both of them, leave them to die slowly, but he was furious that his carefully rehearsed triumph might be spoiled by a simpleminded Tsla. He stared over the barrel of the lightning thrower.
“You brought this on yourself, idiot. I’ll just have to get along without you. Downriver I’ll find plenty of willing backs with sensible heads atop them.” He touched the trigger.
There was a bright, crisp flash of light as the asynapt fired, accompanied by a familiar faint crackling sound. Etienne shouted, “No!” and tried to throw himself at Homat. Given the distance that still separated him from the Mai, it was a futile gesture. A sharp pain ran from his side down his left leg and he crumpled despite the support provided by his crutch.
