Space Station 1

Had Helen Ramsey been attacked by lamprenes too? No, no, she was all right; she had to be. Everything confirmed it, her quietness, her steady breathing, the simple fact J:hat her eyes had been closed and not opened wide in torment.

He descended the dune like a man ploughing in frantic haste through a snowdrift, sinking to his knees and floundering free again, lurching backward and sideways, sliding a third of the way. - -

She was all right when he got to her. He dropped down beside her and lifted her into his arms, and for an instant there was complete silence between them. She just looked at him, looked up into his face steadily and calmly, as if she could read his mind and had the good sense to realize there could be no more certain way of reassuring him. Then her arms tightened about him. "Darling,” she whispered. “Darling, darling . .

Corriston started fumbling with his oxygen mask and

suddenly he had it off. He held his breath and more slowly

helped her free her lips so that he could kiss her. Their

lips met and the kiss was longer and more intense than

any they had ever before shared.

A half hour later the tractors were in rumbling motion again, their destination Ramsey's Citadel. And Corriston had a plan. He knew that it was riddled with risks and that he was perhaps quite mad to think that it might succeed. But the fact that Helen Ramsey was now completely safe and had dropped off into a brief, outwardly untroubled sleep at his side made him feel reckless to the point where a cautious, level-headed man like Drever could only stare at him and shake his head.

There was a swaying and a creaking all about them, the slow, steady rumble of caterpillar treads, and Drever had almost to shout to make himself heard. He stood directly opposite Corriston, supporting himself by a guard rail, and watching the desert through the weather-shield change color in the wake of the heavy vehicles heaving, churning, torpedo-shaped rear-end.

"Stone’s been unconscious now for an hour,” Drever said, dividing his gaze between Corriston, and the loosely strapped- in, sleeping girl at his side, both swaying with the swaying tractor. “We can’t count on getting any more information out of him. I can’t wake him up. Drugs would be dangerous. I don’t think he’ll live, but we can’t deliberately kill him to get him to talk.”

"I know that,” Corriston said.

“But he’s the only one who knows why Henley is staying so long at the Citadel. He should have been back hours ago. He left before you escaped from the ship. For all we know, he may be dead. Ramsey may have lost his head and had him shot, although that seems unlikely. Ramsey would go to any length to save his daughter. But we’ve no way of knowing whether he believed Henley’s story or not. Anything could have happened. Henley may have attacked Ramsey.”

“I’ve a feeling that he’s still at the Citadel,” Corriston said. “I’ll have to gamble on that — the one-in-five chance that for some reason the negotiations have been prolonged. He may be lying dead in the desert somewhere. He may have been attacked by lamprenes. As you say, anything could have happened. But when I make up my mind to do something I usually go through with it. It’s just a matter of plain common sense. You don’t toss aside a decision you’ve given a great deal of thought to just because the arguments against it are weighty, too.”

“I see. So you’re still determined to walk right up to the gate and tell them you’re Stone.”

“Why not? They’ve never laid eyes on Stone and they don’t know me from Adam. I won’t be wearing this uniform. I’ll tell them that Henley’s expecting me, that he left orders for me to join him if he failed to come back at a specified time. I’ll watch the guard’s face and change my story a little — if I have to — as I go along.”

“It’s a very long gamble. I hope you realize that.”

“It’s either that or no gamble at all. And we’ve got to gamble. We’re holding at least two high cards and a joker. Henley has had the ground shot right out from under him. He’s completely alone, and the only thing he has left to gamble with is his nearness to Ramsey, his ability to terrify Ramsey by making him believe that his daughter’s life is still in danger. Ramsey has to be told that Helen has been freed, has to be warned in time, before he does anything foolish.

“Don’t you see? With that threat hanging over him, Ramsey would never let us get within fifty yards of the Citadel, let alone walk through the gates. And if Henley finds out that we’ve got Helen, he’ll know that he has nothing left to gamble with except that desperate bluff. And he may

doubt his ability to win with a bluff. That would be the worst tragedy of all. He may turn on Ramsey in blind rage, and kill him. He gets a horrible, pathological pleasure out of killing. I’ve told you how he went berserk on the Station.”

Drever nodded, and, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, the look of stubborn opposition was gone from his eyes.