Dark Benediction

Braxton swore softly in a honeysuckle drawl. It never sounded like cursing, which it wasn’t, but like a man marveling at the variety of vicissitudes invented by an ingenious universe for the bedevilment of men. “I sweah, when the angels ahn’t shootin’ at us from up in Perseus, it’s the demol boys. Demol says froggie, and eve’body jumps. It gives ‘em that suhtain feelin’ of impohtance. Y’all know what I think? I got a thee-orry. I think weah all really dead, and they don’ tell us it’s hell weah in, because not tellin’ us is paht of the tohture.”

“Get off the damn frequency, Brax, and stay off!” Novotny snapped when the Alabaman released his mic button. “I’ve told you and Henderson before—either learn to talk fast, or don’t talk on the job. If somebody had a slow leak, he’d be boiling blood before he could scream—with you using the frequency for five minutes to say ‘yeah.’”

“Mistuh Novotny! My mothuh always taught me to speak slowly and de-stinct-ly. If you think that yo’ Yankee upbringin’…”

Joe rapped on his helmet until he shut up, then beck-oned to Henderson. “Lije, we got twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, Joe, want to go see a couple of guys now?” He flashed white teeth and stared back toward the barrack train.

“Think we can handle it in twenty minutes?”

“I don’ know. It seem like a short time to do a real good job of it, but maybe if we don’t waste any on preliminary fisticuffin’…”

“Hell, they didn’t waste any ceremony on Relke.”

“Less go, then!” He grinned at Relke and held out his fist. “Spit on it?”

Relke shook his head. Henderson laughed. “Wanted to see if you’d go ptooey in your helmet.”

“Come on, Lije. The rest of you guys find cover.”

Relke watched the two of them lope off toward the rolling barracks. “Hey, Joe,” he called after a few seconds.

The lopers stopped to look back. “Relke?”

“Yeah. Don’t lose.”

“What?”

“They’ll say I sicced you. Don’t lose.”

“Don’t worry.” They loped again. The longer Relke watched them, the less he liked the idea. If they didn’t do a pretty thorough job on Kunz and Larkin, things would be worse for Relke than if they did nothing at all. Then there was the movement to think about; he didn’t know to what extent they looked out for their own.

Relke walked out of the danger zone and hiked across the hill where he could get a clear view of the rocket. He stopped for a while on the slope and watched four distant figures moving around on the ground beneath the towering ship. For a moment, he thought they were women, but then he saw that one of them was coiling mooring cable, and he knew they were ship’s crew. What sort of men had the d’Annecy women been able to hire for such a job? he wondered.

He saw that they were getting ready to lift ship. Lift ship!

Relke was suddenly running toward them without knowing why. Whenever he topped a rise of ground and could see them, he tried calling them, but they were not using the project’s suit frequency. Finally he found their voices on the seldom used private charter band, but they were speaking French.

One of the men looped a coil of cable over his shoulder and started up the ladder toward the lock. Relke stopped atop an outcropping. He was still two or three miles from the ship. The “isobar” valve system for the left knee of his suit had jammed, and it refused to take up the increased pressure caused by flexure. It was like trying to bend a fully inflated rubber tire, and he hobbled about for a moment with one leg stiff as a crutch.

“Listen!” he called on the p.c. frequency. “You guys at the ship. Can you hear me?” He was panting, and he felt a little panicky. The man on the ladder stopped climbing and looked around.

There was a staccato exchange in French.

“No, no! Over here. On the rock.” He waved at them and jumped a few times. “Look toward the camp. On the rock.”

They conversed heatedly among themselves for a time. “Don’t any of you speak English?” he begged.

They were silent for a moment. “Whoevair ees?” one of them ventured. “You conversation with wrong radio, M’sieur. Switch a button.”

“No, no. I’m trying to call you…”

A carrier drowned him out.

“We close for business,” the man said. “We go now.” He started climbing again.

“Listen!” Relke yelled. “Ten thousand dollars. Everything.”

“You crazy man.”

“Look, it won’t get you in any trouble. I’ve got plenty in the bank. I’ll pay—”

The carrier cut him off again.

“You crazy. Get off the air. We do not go to Earth now.”

“Wait! Listen! Tell Giselle… No, let me talk to her. Get her to use the radio. It’s important.”

“I tell you, we close for business now.” The man climbed in the airlock. The others climbed up behind. They were, jeering at him. This time it sounded like Arabic. He watched until they were all inside.