"To where?"
"Does it matter? Let us just say that certain mutual acquaintances are eager for your company and are willing to pay highly for the privilege."
"And if I offered more?"
Regretfully Pendance shook his head. "You would only waste time. There are certain ethical considerations, you understand. And our mutual friends are not to be trifled with. I suggest you drink your wine and put an end to what could become an awkward situation. No guest should outstay his welcome and I'm sure your host would be reluctant to use force."
A reluctance he would overcome. Dumarest glanced to where Volodya now stood, flanked by his guards. Men he recognized who had no cause to be gentle. They would use clubs or gas and no matter how hard he fought the end would be the same.
"No," said Pendance softly. "Don't try it. You are a hawk among pigeons but, my friend, even the strongest and most courageous of beasts can be pulled down by a pack of snapping curs. You have done what you could for these people and in return they have sold you out. Why give them the satisfaction of adding injury to insult?" Without moving his eyes he snapped, "Bisdon! Pack up the wine. Be careful when you collect the glass from our new companion."
The wine he hadn't tasted. Dumarest held it out as the man came close, using his right hand to lift the arm in the sling. A natural gesture followed by another as he felt it plucked from his fingers. A step followed by a stumble which threw him against the man and knocked him off-balance.
"The glass!" Pendance shouted the warning. "Be careful, you fool!"
A moment when his attention was distracted. When every eye was on Bisdon and his frantic attempts to save the crystal from ruin.
Dumarest thrust his right hand into the sling, found the ampule of slow time he had hidden there and thrust the needle into his arm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The lights flickered and the room became full of statues. Dumarest slowly withdrew the ampule from his arm and threw it to one side where it burst like a miniature bomb against a wall. Before him Bisdon seemed to hang suspended in mid-air, eyes wide, mouth gaping, one hand clutching the precious glass. Beyond him Pendance had one foot lifted, his body leaning forward, frozen in mid-stride.
Volodya, the guards, the rest of Pendance's crew-all were frozen in various attitudes.
An illusion; they hadn't changed but Dumarest's metabolism had speeded to forty times normal. He could see and move and act at the accelerated speed but there were dangers. He could move forty times as fast but he wasn't forty times as strong. If he punched a man he would shatter bone and pulp flesh-his own as well as the victim's. A knock was a blow which could break bones in his hands and leave bruised flesh. To move at all was to create a hampering wind and to shift objects was to fight against their increased inertia which showed itself as a massive gain in weight.
But there had been no other way to escape from the jaws of the trap Volodya had sprung.
Dumarest stepped toward the door leading to Command and halted as he saw it was closed and blocked by a heavyset guard. To shift both would take too much time and too much energy. Turning he studied the compartment. The lock itself was unguarded and various items of equipment stood or were racked against the walls. In the screen the ship hung connected to the outer door by a flexible communication tube.
Wind droned past his ears as Dumarest stepped toward equipment standing ready for use when vessels had to be loaded or compartments freed of their cargo. Wrecking bars, snips, extinguishers which could spout a mass of fire-dampening foam. Suits hung on a rack together with sacs for personal transportation through space for short distances. Next to a compressor stood ranked tanks of air.
Dumarest reached down and gripped one, straining as he lifted, remembering to take his time and not to grip too hard. Slowly it rose and he gripped it in both hands, ignoring the ache from the newly healed bone in his left arm. With it poised above his head he launched it with all his strength at a point above and to one side of the lock. As it left his hands he turned and picked up a slender bar.
It lifted more easily and he thrust it at the bulk of an alarm, shattering the case and shorting inner connections. Havoc repeated in three other places before he threw the bar like a spear at the deep indentation left by the tank of air.
As he saw it penetrate he moved quickly into the lock.
It rotated with dragging slowness finally to give access to the connecting tube. Three steps and he was at the ship. The lock was open and he stepped inside to pause for a moment as he assessed the situation.
A gamble, but if he had guessed right the vessel must be near-deserted. Vellani and his men must have come from the Moira and they, together with Pendance and his men, would almost have emptied the ship. He based this calculation on the reluctance of mercenaries and free-traders to split profits more than they had to; the pod and decoys must have taken a lot of space.
Dumarest swayed as the outer port swung closed. He was burning fuel at an enormous rate and had only recently used slow time before. His body tissue, wasted then, was being used now to his detriment. Unless he neutralized the drug and ate, he could, literally, starve to death or collapse from dehydration.
Within the ship he paused then headed for the engine room where the engineer was usually to be found. He was sitting at his console, head slumped on his arms, apparently asleep. The hold was empty as were the cabins and salon. No handler, then, and no steward or they had accompanied Pendance. But surely he must have left more than one man to guard the vessel?
He was in the control room, a stylishly dressed man of late middle age who sat in the pilot's chair with one hand supporting his chin while his eyes remained fastened on a screen. It pictured Zabul and the lock to which the ship was connected and, already, Dumarest could see the expanding plume of escaping air from the hole he had made.
This was a minor emergency which could easily be handled by the technicians, but he had aggravated it by smashing the alarms and so helped to create a greater degree of confusion.
A device to gain time; by the time things had settled he hoped to be well away.
Lights flickered on the control panels, moving even to his accelerated sense of vision, and he guessed the Moira was monitoring the environment for a wide area around. Each drifting mote of debris or movement of the structure would be sensed, checked, assessed and registered.
Leaning forward Dumarest checked the controls. A switch would break the connection with the tube in case of emergency and he threw it, seeing the flexible connection draw back to Zabul as the ship began gently to drift away impelled by the gust of expelled air. The gap widened but too slowly for his liking and Dumarest frowned as he studied the controls. They were unfamiliar, more complex than those of normal free-traders, proof as to his earlier suspicions.
Then, as he straightened, something ground into the base of his neck.
"Don't move your hands," said a voice. "Just hold them from your sides. Good. Now lift them and lock fingers on the top of your head. That's right. Now back out and keep backing until you're in the salon." A sigh as he obeyed. "Now you can turn."
He faced a woman.
She was tall and lithe with a copper-hued skin and long hair black as night which hung in thick braids over her shoulders and the high promontories of her breasts. A creature of the wild with high cheekbones and flared nostrils and eyes of liquid ebon deep-set beneath thick brows. Her mouth was full, the lower lip pouting with betraying sensuosity, the chin rounded and with a dimpled cleft. Facts he noted as he assessed the broad shoulders and narrow waist, the rounded hips and long, swelling curves of her thighs and calves.
Details lost in the forceful blaze of her personality as she stood, staring at him, the peculiar gun she carried pointed at
"You're fast," she said. "So am I with this dope but in case you think you've an edge you'd better think again. I'm using a laser, wide-spread beam like a fan. No trigger that takes time to operate but an induction button instead. Move and I'll touch it and unless you can jump ten feet to one side you'll be burned. Ten feet at a speed as fast as light," she added. "Can you do it?"
"No."
"Just that? Nothing else?"
Dumarest said dryly, "I'm in no position to argue. Can I lower my hands?" He did so as she nodded. "How did I miss you?"
"I should be asking the questions."
"And why the slow time?"
"A precaution," she said. "I was checking and noticed signals which shouldn't have been so I took a shot of slow time just in case. When you searched I just moved from one cabin to another while out of your sight. You're Dumarest, right?"
"Earl Dumarest, yes. And you?"
"Ysanne."
"Ysanne who?"
"Just that. Ysanne. Where I come from we only use one name. Why were you stealing the Moira?"
He said bluntly, "In order to save my life. Can you think of a better reason?"
"If I were in your position, probably not," she agreed. "But I haven't your problem and don't want to share it." She frowned as he swayed. "Don't try it if you're thinking of jumping me. And don't think I won't use this if I have to." She gestured with the gun. "I had it specially made to take care of characters who think a woman's easy prey." Her tone changed a little. "Are you ill?"
"Weak. I've been in slow time too long. Can we get away from here so I can neutralize?"
For a moment she stared at him then, throwing back her head, filled the salon with genuine laughter.