"You spoke of love."

"Ah, yes, so I did." Pendance touched a scrap of fabric to his lips. "The love of things, Earl. The love of a woman. But, above all, the love of authority. For such a love a man will forget his pride. He will kill, steal, betray a friend. How much easier, then, it would be for him to rid himself of a rival."

"Me?"

"You are a man of discernment. But can you blame him? You, the victor of the recent unpleasantness, must surely pose a threat. The young love courage and acts of heroism performed under staggering difficulties. We know better but we have had time in which to learn. Time, the enemy of us all." He lifted his free hand as, again, he sipped at his wine. A gesture which seemed to command silence as it drew attention. "A rare moment," he said as he lowered the glass. "Good things should be savored to the full. Wine, a meal, a woman." He laughed with a strange cacophony. "Even a fight. At times I think combat alone can teach what lies within a man. The scent of blood, the touch of pain, the sight of death-and the weaklings run."

They change sides as Medwin had done, persuaded by Volodya's arguments, Thome's hatred of violence and, even, his own fears. The reality of war had changed more than one strutting braggart into a wincing coward.

How many of the Corps had followed his example?

Dumarest turned, fumbling with his sling but keeping his free hand in full view. The guards ringing the area contained faces he recognized but to appeal to them would be a waste of time. They would accept Volodya's authority. Obey his orders. Carry out his commands. Later, as he must have told them, he would lead them to the Event.

Later-a thousand years, perhaps. He would be in no hurry.

"The wine," said Pendance. "I really must insist you take some wine. Bisdon! Give him a glass-and make sure he holds it in his left hand."

Dumarest waited until the man came close then drew back the sling to show his empty fingers. They rested lax in the fabric and the man had to push the glass between them.

"That's better." Pendance smiled his satisfaction. "Who knows what a hidden hand could hold? I have no wish to harm you, Earl, but-"

"I know. Try anything and you'll burn my legs off at the knees. My arms at the elbows. I've heard it all before."

"Yet managed to remain intact. You're a most unusual person and we must talk at length later when on our way."

"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.