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mutie was a dead mutie. You do much to confirm my opinion. It will interest you to know that, by this
time, your gang is already disarmed, and dead in the bargain. That's why I sent for you!"
The guards piled in, whether by signal or previous arrangement it was impossible to say. Caught
flatfooted, naked, weaponless, the five found themselves each with an armed man at his back before they
could rally. "Take them away," ordered Narby.
Bobo whined and looked to Joe-Jim for guidance. Joe caught his eye. "Up, Bobo!"
The dwarf jumped straight for Joe-Jim's captor, careless of the knife at his back. Forced to split his
attention, the man lost a vital half second. Joe-Jim kicked him in the stomach, and appropriated his blade.
Hugh was on the deck, deadlocked with his man, his fist clutched around the knife wrist. Joe-Jim
thrust and the struggle ceased. The two-headed man looked around, saw a mixed pile-up of four bodies,
Ertz, Alan, two others. Joe-Jim used his knife judiciously, being careful to match the faces with the
bodies. Presently his men emerged. "Get their knives," he ordered superfluously.
His words were drowned by a high, agonized scream. Bobo, still without a knife, had resorted to his
primal weapons. His late captor's face was a bloody mess, half bitten away.
"Get his knife," said Joe.
"Can't reach it," Bobo admitted guiltily. The reason was evident: the hilt protruded from Bobo's ribs,
just below his right shoulder blade.
Joe-Jim examined it, touched it gently. It was stuck. "Can you walk?"
"Sure," grunted Bobo, and grimaced.
"Let it stay where it is. Alan! With me. Hugh and Bill, cover rear. Bobo In the middle."
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"Where's Narby?" demanded Ertz, dabbing at a round on his cheekbone.
But Narby was gone, ducked out through the rear door behind his desk. And it was locked.
Clerks scattered before them in the outer office; Joe-Jim knifed the guard at the outer door while he
was still raising his whistle. Hastily they retrieved their own weapons and added them to those they had
seized. They fled upward.
Two decks above inhabited levels Bobo stumbled and fell. Joe-Jim picked him up. "Can you make
it?" The dwarf nodded dumbly, blood on his lips. They climbed. Twenty decks or so higher it became
evident that Bobo could no longer climb, though they had taken turns in boosting him from the rear. But
weight was lessened appreciably at that level; Alan braced himself and picked up the solid form as if it
were a child. They climbed. Joe-Jim relieved Alan. They climbed.
Ertz relieved Joe-Jim. Hugh relieved Ertz.
They reached the level on which they lived forward of their group apartments. Hugh turned in that
direction. "Put him down," commanded Joe. "Where do you think you are going?"
Hugh settled the wounded man to the deck. "Homes. Where else?"
"Fool! That's where they will look for us first."
"Where do we go?"
"Nowhere, in the Ship. We go out of the Ship!"
"Huh?"
"The Ship's boat."
"He's right," agreed Ertz. "The whole Ship's against us, now."
"But . . . but--" Hugh surrendered. "It's a long chance -- but we'll try it." He started again in the
direction of their homes.
"Hey!" shouted Jim. "Not that way."
"We have to get our women."
"To Huff with the women! You'll get caught. There's no time." But Ertz and Alan started off without
question. "Oh, all right!" Jim snorted. "But hurry! I'll stay with Bobo" Joe-Jim turned his attention to the
dwarf, gently rolled him to his side and made a careful examination. His skin was gray and damp; a long
red stain ran down from his right shoulder. Bobo sighed bubblingly and rubbed his head against Joe-Jim's
thigh. "Bobo tired, Boss."
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Joe-Jim patted his head. "Easy," said Jim, "this is going to hurt." Lifting the wounded man slightly, he
cautiously worked the blade loose and withdrew it from the wound. Blood poured out freely.
Joe-Jim examined the knife, noted the deadly length of steel, and measured it against the wound.
"He'll never make it," whispered Joe.
Jim caught his eye. "Well?"
Joe nodded slowly. Joe-Jim tried the blade he had just extracted from the wound against his own
thigh, and discarded it in favor of one of his own razor-edged tools. He took the dwarf's chin in his left
hand and Joe commanded, "Look at me, Bobo!"
Bobo looked up, answered inaudibly. Joe held his eye. "Good Bobo! Strong Bobo!" The dwarf
grinned as if he heard and understood, but made no attempt to reply. His master pulled his head a little to
one side; the blade bit deep, snicking the jugular vein without touching the windpipe. "Good Bobo!" Joe
repeated. Bobo grinned again.
When the eyes were glassy and breathing had unquestionably stopped, Joe-Jim stood up, letting the
head and shoulders roll from him. He shoved the body with his foot to the side of the passage, and stared
down the direction in which the others had gone. They should be back by now.
He stuck the salvaged blade in his belt and made sure that all his weapons were loose and ready.
They arrived on a dead run. "A little trouble," Hugh explained breathlessly. "Squatty's dead. No more
of your men around. Dead maybe. Narby probably meant it. Here." He handed him a long knife and the
body armor that had been built for Joe-Jim, with its great wide cage of steel, fit to cover two heads.
Ertz and Alan wore armor, as did Hugh. The women did not; none had been built for them. Joe-Jim
noted that Hugh's younger wife bore a fresh swelling on her lip, as if someone had persuaded her with a
heavy hand. Her eyes were stormy though her manner was docile. The older wife, Chloe, seemed to take
the events in her stride. Ertz's was crying softly; Alan's wench reflected the bewilderment of her master.
"How's Bobo?" Hugh inquired, as he settled Joe-Jim's armor in place.
"Made the Trip," Joe informed him.
"So? Well, that's that; let's go."
They stopped short of the level of no-weight and worked forward, because the women were not
adept at weightless flying. When they reached the bulkhead which separated the Control Room and boat
pockets from the body of the Ship, they went up. There was neither alarm nor ambush, although Joe [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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