To The Stars

“Seize him now and kill him,” Taekeng screamed.

“You can — but someone else will destroy the cables.”

“It is Ryzo,” Ledon said. “He defied me like this one.”

“We will issue the orders,” The Hradil said. “Go at once and do it.”

Thirteen

The trains were ready to go, had been for almost two hours, standing quiet in the darkness. The drivers were in their seats waiting for orders. Food and supplies for the trip were in the house car, along with an unhappy doctor-in-training, Savas Tsiturides. Doctor Rosbagh said that his assistant was not completely trained, not able to be on his own. Tsiturides had fervently agreed. He had come anyway. Jan could not risk his men on this trip without some kind of medical aid. The last details had been seen to, the off-duty drivers were already asleep, and he could not make excuses much longer.

“Back in five minutes,” he said, ignoring the questioning looks of his crew. He climbed down from tank six, he would lead the tanks himself on the return trip, and walked back along the trains. This was the spot — but no one was here. It had been a risk to send the first message, madness to follow it up with a second. But he had had to do it. The Central Way was silent, it was the middle of the sleep period.

“Jan. Are you there?”

He spun about and there she was, by the warehouse. He ran to her.

“I didn’t know if you were coming.”

“I had the message, but I couldn’t leave until now, when they were all asleep. She has them watching me.

“Come with me.”

He had meant to build his argument logically and rationally, explaining how important it was she keep the bit of independence gained. To perfect her technical skills. It was a good argument. He wasn’t going to mention how he loved her and needed her. Yet at the sight of her he had forgotten it all and just blurted out the words. Alzbeta recoiled, shocked.

“I couldn’t do that. There are only men.”

“We’re not animals. You won’t be hurt, touched. It is important for you, for both of us.”

“The Hradil would never permit it.”

“Of course. That is why you must leave without permission. Everything is changing and we must make it change faster. If the ships don’t come all of us have only a few more years to live. When summer comes and we can’t make the trip — we burn. I want those years with you, I can’t bear losing one day of them.”

“Of course, I know.”

She was in his arms, and he was holding her tightly, hard to his body, and she was not resisting or pulling away. Over her shoulder he saw Ritterspach and two Proctors running toward them. All the men carried clubs.

A trap, that’s why Alzbeta had been late. They had intercepted his message, planned to catch them together. The Hradil must have arranged it all, was gloating now at her success.

“No!” Jan shouted, pushing Alzbeta away from him, crouching in defense, hands extended. The clubs were to beat him with, not kill him, bring him back for her justice. “No!” shouted even louder still as he dived under the swing of the first Proctor’s club.

The swing missed and he hit the Proctor hard, hearing the air rush from his chest, slapping his forearm hard against the man’s throat as he whirled to face the others.

A club caught him on the side of his head, slammed down onto his shoulder. Jan shouted aloud with pain and grabbed the man, caught his neck in an armlock, pulled him about as a shield between himself and Ritterspach. Luckily the big man was still coward enough to hesitate, to let the other two take the punishment. Now he could wait no longer. He swung wildly, afraid to close, striking the Proctor Jan held so that the man cried out, swung again.

“Don’t, please stop,” Alzbeta cried, trying to separate the struggling men. The first Proctor shoved her aside rudely and circled to take Jan from the rear. Alzbeta, crying, came forward again, just in time to step in front of Ritterspach’s wildly swinging club.

Jan could hear the sharp, mallet-like crack as it caught her full on the side of her head. She dropped without a sound.

He wanted to help her, but this must be finished first. In his anger he could not be stopped, tightening his arm hard so that the man he held tore at the pain in his throat, then went limp. Jan seized his club and spun the man’s body about, ignorant of the club that struck him once, twice. Throwing the limp attacker into the moving one, following up with his own club, battering until both were still, turning about and going for Ritterspach.

“Don’t,” Ritterspach said, striking out wildly in defense. Jan did not answer, his club speaking for him, thudding into the other’s arm so the fingers went limp and the club fell. Hitting again, catching the back of the Proctor Captain’s head when he turned to flee.

“What is it?” a voice shouted. One of the mechanics running down the train.

“They attacked me, hit her, get the doctor, Assistant Tsiturides. Quickly.”