CHAPTER XIII
Herb had regained consciousness.
Herb shot, and flame leaped toward the Oligarch. The room roared with the explosion.
George jerked back, and in mid-motion, something caught him low in his chest, on the left side of his body and slapped him savagely off his feet.
Incredibly, he had been hit!
He shook his head and got one knee under him. His left side was numb. He looked down and saw blood start to color his shirt.
He got to his feet and backed along the corridor. His knees were weak. He covered the door with a trembling hand and prayed for Herb to show himself.
The ship was silent.
He had to sit down. He wanted to be sick.
Perhaps Herb had taken the other door out!
He whirled.
No movement.
He had to have a place to hide. He had to hide, and wait, and when Herb came searching for him—
He staggered back. His side began to throb dully.
The ship was very quiet.
"He's out there," Herb said, knowing that his words would carry over the hidden microphones. "I will manage to kill him before we reach the big ship."
Norma was breathing shallowly, not yet fully recovered from the wreck. "What about Earth?"
"It's too late."
"If we could—if we could destroy the ... that ship ... if we could ram it: prevent it from setting off the charge...."
"It's too late," Herb said doggedly. But even with the words, he felt the first hesitant flicker of hope. If he could take over this ship, and with it assault the great ship in space, there capture the remote-control mechanism by which the charge would be detonated then perhaps Earth could really be saved. First kill the Oligarch. Then....
Norma whimpered to herself.
"You stay here," he hissed, too softly, he hoped for the microphones to pick up his voice.
Her eyes widened in protest. "Don't go. He'll...."
"Shhhhhh," he silenced her. Bending, he whispered, "I'll find him first. You'll be all right."
He left her. At the doorway, he looked back. She seemed crumpled and lifeless and defeated.
The Oligarch was somewhere to his left. In the corridor, waiting? Herb could not know. There was only one way to find out. He stepped from the room, gun ready to fire.
The corridor was empty.
Where? In the control room? In the office? In the kitchen? The messhall?
Herb moved forward silently.
The Oligarch had backed across the messhall. One hand clutched at his left side. His breathing was too loud. Herb would surely hear it.
He stood in the far doorway that opened into the short corridor leading to his office and that extended beyond his office to open into the main corridor. Herb would have to cross before its open face should he come forward. From the doorway, the Oligarch also commanded a view of the main messhall entrance, should Herb stop to inspect that room first. By ducking either in or out, he could place a protecting wall between himself and his pursuer. The Oligarch knew that Herb would come. His left side was terrifying testimony that the lifetime of conditioning had been stripped away.
It would be so easy to dart to his own office; but the unprotected space between him and it was a barrier more solid than a rock cliff. If Herb should emerge as he was making the exposed crossing, he would be a perfect target. His movements were sluggish. He had to locate Herb in order to know in which direction safety lay. But to be safe in the office, with the door barricaded....
Herb saw the drops of blood drying slowly along the floor of the corridor.
The Oligarch had entered the messhall. Herb approached cautiously.
Standing just outside, not exposing himself, he could see a clot of blood beyond the main door. Probably the Oligarch had hesitated there, undecided—or resting.
He held the gun more tightly. His heart beat rapidly, and his mouth was dry. But he was not afraid. There was an iciness far down inside of him.
He stepped across the threshold, and just as suddenly, leaped back.
He heard the stumble of the Oligarch's fleeing feet, heard the office door open and slam.
Herb waited, listening: a feint?
No. There was no sound.
Again he stepped into the messhall. It was empty.
"Herb!" Norma called. "Herb! Are you all right?" She was running down the corridor toward him.
"Get back!" Herb called, but she came on, and then she was beside him.
"He's in the office. I'm going after him. You stay here."
"No. Leave him there. Prop the door. Keep him in. Take the ship...."
"I'm going in after him," Herb said. "I've got to. It's more than him, more than killing or getting killed. I've got to."
"It's so senseless," she said. "If we could get control of the ship...."
He shook his head. "You stay here!"
He walked across the messhall. He stepped out into the narrow corridor.
"Get away!" the Oligarch cried frantically. His voice was no longer vigorous, and it sounded pathetic and child-like through the door.
Herb, going toward it, said, "I'm coming in!" He tried the door. Locked.
He fired twice at the lock. He stepped back and kicked. The door swung inward.
The Oligarch did not fire. Herb, pressed against the wall, could not see into the room.
"I'm coming in, damn you!"
"Don't," the Oligarch cried weakly. "Please, don't. Don't now!"
Herb heard a gun clatter to the floor.
"Don't," the Oligarch moaned. "I've thrown it away. I'm helpless."
Herb balanced on the balls of his feet. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped into the doorway, his body framed beautifully between the two jambs. He held his gun at ready and then lowered it.
The Oligarch was slumped over his desk.
Herb heard Norma come up behind him.
"He's dying," she said.
Reaction set in, and Herb's knees almost collapsed. His body was trembling and drenched with perspiration.
The Oligarch coughed.
The Oligarch said something in his own language.
"What?" Herb asked.
"Make him tell us. How we can keep them from setting off the explosion!" Norma said.
The Oligarch wanted to talk, and he made a motion—a feeble one—to silence them both. The girl's pathetic conviction that the explosion could be prevented infuriated the Oligarch. There was nothing she could do. The cleverness with which he had executed his mission defied time and eternity.
"It won't be set off in the big ship," the Oligarch said. "I had intended to leave you at the site, Herb, to trigger it personally." He spoke English and was disappointed to see that his vision began to mist. He would have liked to watch the girl's face. "But your later dream forms made me deny you martyrdom. I think I might have done it any way, if you hadn't left. You have the idealism. You were the one I had counted on. And after you, of course, there was only Bud."
Norma choked weakly and her knees half gave way. The sound was satisfying to the Oligarch.
"I told Bud the explosion was planted," the Oligarch said. "Then I ... I told him...." He coughed again. "I told him that I had mailed his brother's head along with his confession to ... to.... Then I gave him a telephone number. He phones long distance, gives the number. At the bomb site, the receiver ... lifts automatically.... He says, 'Frank Council' ... his brother's name ... the key.... The trigger falls." The Oligarch's hands scrabbled on the desk. "Don't you think he'll do it, in the knowledge of his own personal destruction?... Oh, he will, yes.... And this is the final...." Blood dribbled from the Oligarch's mouth. "I didn't mail his brother's head.... I lied to him. Don't you see what a beautiful ... what a satisfying lie that was?" He laughed, coughed again, and slumped forward. And the chase ended.
And Herb, looking at death, grabbed Norma by the arm and ran toward the control room.
... And back on Earth, Bud Council sat sick and trembling, his eyes fastened on the telephone beside him....
