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I could see that there were all sorts of things there that I thought the
Bureau's techs would have liked to play with. More immediately important, I
saw a sort of chisel, a pink ceramic blade with a handle shaped for Beert's
grip, not mine. But I thought I could hold it well enough in a pinch.
What's more, I was pretty sure that the blade could cut right through that
sinewy neck of his.
Well, let me make that clear. I certainly wasn't intending to kill Beert. I
was merely hoping that he would believe I would, once I put the knife to his
throat. The real question was whether threatening his life would force him to
help me.
I wasn't proud of myself for thinking of taking a knife to a being who had
befriended me. I wasn't even sure that I could bring myself to do it. But then
I thought of what awaited my whole world-
including Pat-and I inched a bit closer to the workbench.
Finally Beert gave one of his whispery sighs. "I do not see that this would
directly threaten the interests of the cousins," he said reluctantly, "though
perhaps it is better if they are not consulted. But even if I were willing to
do what you wish, I do not know how to do it."
Well, I did. Or hoped I did, anyway. "When you transmit the Wet One to this
nexus, transmit me too." I had been thinking it all out, as far as I could,
and I laid it all out for Beert. The
Horch in this nexus probably could find a channel to the scout ship for me. If
not, at least to whatever Beloved Leaders relay station was passing on the
data from the bugged humans. If they could find the channel, presumably they
could use it to send me there. And then I would take my chances.
Beert listened in brooding silence, then finally raised his serpentine arms to
stop me. He said somberly, "Do you know, Dan, I was sure that, if I helped you
at all, sooner or later you would ask me to do something that the cousins had
not approved."
"Then why did you help me?"
Reflectively he rubbed his chin against the edge of the workbench. "I am not
sure. Probably because I had seen so many of you die. Perhaps because you and
I had both been captives of the
Others. In any case, I thought it harmless to keep you alive, even to let you
learn all you wished of our ways, since there was no possibility you could use
that knowledge against us."
"I haven't really learned very much," I said, wheedling.
He lifted his head to gaze closely at me again. "You have learned enough to
lie to me, haven't
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file:///F|/rah/Frederik%20Pohl/Pohl,%20Freder...n%203%20-%20The%20Far%20Shore%
20Of%20Time.txt (44 of 101) [1/15/03 6:29:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Frederik%20Pohl/Pohl,%20Frederik%20-%20Eschaton%203%20-%20The%2
0Far%20Shore%20Of%20Time.txt you? But very well. If I were you, I would fear
the cousin Horch as much as I did the Others.
Perhaps I do already. Let me find Mrrranthoghrow and tell him what he is to
do."
PART SEVEN
The Nexus
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The air-cushion van that took us to the old Beloved Leader base was big, but
the eleven or twelve hundred kilograms of us, of one species or another,
crowded it pretty tight. Beert's Christmas tree stood at the central control
pedestal. Pirraghiz and Mrrranthoghrow sat one on each side of the vehicle, I
guess for balance. The Wet One had the rear seat all to himself, while Beert
and I
were in front. Beert wasn't talking, his neck glumly waving from side to side,
and I didn't press him. I took a piece of the stuff Pirraghiz had given me out
of my pocket and began to eat it-it looked like a carrot, and crunched like
one, but it had a sort of lemonade flavor.
Beert suddenly darted his head toward the copper-mesh bag between my feet and
then up to confront me in my face. "What have you got there?" he asked
suspiciously.
"Extra food," I said-untruthfully. I don't think I convinced him. To take his
mind off it I jerked a thumb at the Christmas tree. "Do we have to have that
thing with us?" I asked.
"It will carry the gear for the Wet One," he said grumpily, "and it will go
with him to the nexus in case there are any problems." But he let it go at
that, and then we were arriving.
We climbed a rise in that rust-red rock desert that seemed to be the prison
planet's natural state, and the dilapidated buildings of the base were right
in front of us. They looked naked. The
Horch hadn't bothered to replace the silvery energy dome of the Beloved
Leaders. The place looked like, and was, not much more than a junkyard of
damaged Beloved Leaders machines.
As soon as we stopped, the Christmas tree silently gathered all the Wet One's
possessions, guns and scrambler and ammunition boxes, and led the way outside.
"Pick him up," Beert ordered, and
Mrrranthoghrow obeyed. The Wet One was a lot of mass, and ungainly to handle,
but the Doc lifted him and carried him out of the car, puffing slightly with
the effort as Pirraghiz followed. Beert and I got out just behind them. Then,
as the two Docs moved out of the way, I saw what was standing just inside the
building line.
I froze. A silvery Horch fighting machine was poised there between a wrecked,
man-high purple cylinder and a heap of coppery junk that might once have been
anything at all. I knew all about those fighting machines. Two of them had
done their best to kill me and all the others as we tried to escape the first
time, and they had come pretty close. The good part was that they had turned
out very vulnerable to a gunshot, having been designed to expect more
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sophisticated weapons, but that was not of immediate importance since I didn't
have a gun. My adrenaline surged.
But the machine wasn't paying any attention to us. It stood like a statue on
its spidery, wheeled legs, evidently abandoned there when the fighting was
over. I breathed again, but I kept my eye on it as I sidled past, and that was
what kept me from seeing the other Christmas tree, the one that was barring
our path.
The first I knew of it was the sound of its little roller-skate wheels, but as
I looked around it spoke. "Stop there," it ordered.
It didn't look hostile. Its needles were mostly retracted, but it didn't look
as though it wanted to get out of our way, either. Beert shouldered his way
past our own Christmas tree to confront it. "This Wet One is to be transmitted [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]