Or was luck another ability-a kind that people didn't usually recognize as one?

That's the kind of thing that went through my mind for a while after I lay down beside the Jav. But in half an hour or so I went to sleep anyway.

We got along through five days and five nights, and it wasn't as bad as I thought it might be-at least not for me. I may have been a little bossy at times-let's face it, I was-but someone had to be in charge, and it was my hat. On the morning of the sixth day, with everyone on board, I powered up and called for a systems check on the computer. Including a check of the fuel slugs.

It could have been worse. Crystallization was greatly reduced, but there was still more than I was willing to live with. I'd have to take her out 700,000 miles and run her in FTL mode for a while-lock her into a loop that would bring her back in-system at the same system coordinates. I told Tarel what I was going to do, and told him to explain as much of it as he could to Moise. They'd gotten to be pretty good friends on the island- buddies you could say. And Moise had learned considerable Evdashian through the learning program, although he didn't understand some of our concepts yet.

So far I'd been impressed with how calmly Moise had reacted to all the strange, and to him far out, things he'd been exposed to since I'd put the spotlight on the pirate ship. I'd wondered a time or two if it was partly because, in his world, they believed in so many supernatural things. Then, when he ran into something real that seemed supernatural, it might not be as big a shock.

Now, of course, he knew we weren't a threat to him. But it must have been really weird and scary when strange people had hauled him inside a sort of giant boat, or big steel flask, and whisked him into the sky.

As Tarel started explaining, I headed us outbound and then called the maintenance manual into memory. The entry on fuel crystallization referred to a number of library entries, and now that I had time, it seemed to me I ought to read them. The third one I came to was the one I needed to see. One sequence of events that could lead to crystallization was rare, but it fitted all too well what had happened to the Jav.

"Prolonged impacts by heavy blaster charges on a ship's energy shield," it said, "can result in weak magnetization of the power transfer system. Subsequent use of the weapons system, with its translation of the gray force into pulse mode, will initiate crystallization in the fuel slugs."

I had no idea what that meant, but for the moment, I kept reading, hopeful that I wasn't getting into mental quicksand.

"Once crystallization is initiated," it went on, "subsequent low-intensity power use, as in mass-proximity mode, and the resulting resistance to normal matrix function, causes feedback to the fuel slugs, extending crystallization rapidly, "When fuel crystallization occurs, do the following: I avoid using the ship's weapons system until the power transfer module has been changed; 2. decrystallize the fuel slugs; and 3. change the power transfer module."

It fitted. The Jav's energy shield had taken a lot of blaster charges before we'd lifted from Evdash. And I'd discovered serious fuel cell crystallization within twenty standard hours of demonstrating the scout's weapons system for Arno.

Well, I told myself, I know what to do about it now. Fingers on the keyboard, I called up parts storage and asked for a new power transfer module. It replied that power transfer modules were not part of standard parts stock on scouts. That was followed by a list of places where I could get one-any of the three Evdashian naval stations.

I muttered an expression that mom and dad wouldn't approve of.

From there I skimmed on through the rest of the articles, looking for information that might be helpful. There wasn't any. But it seemed obvious that I'd better not use the weapons system again, and in trying to establish a political and military power base on Fanglith, that would be a serious disadvantage.

"Tarel!" I called.

"What is it?" he asked, coming over. I brought the third article back to the screen-the article that explained what had happened. He read it over my shoulder.

"And there isn't any replacement module," I told him. "Any suggestions?"

"We've got hand weapons," he said. "Including blast rifles. Maybe they'll be enough, along with our speed and communicators."

"I guess they'll have to be," I answered. But I didn't feel very good about it. We couldn't have too many advantages, and we'd lost a big one. At 700,000 miles I shifted into FTL mode on a ten-hour loop, and before we returned to mass-proximity mode, all residual crystallization was gone. Back at Fanglith I parked above the north shore of Sicily at an altitude of fifty miles. The scanner located the biggest town there, a good-sized city even by Evdashian standards. Palermo was where Larn should be. From where I sat, the moon stood well above the horizon-high enough that its light paled the island. I turned on the radio receiver, checked the communicator channel, and touched the send switch.

"Larn," I said, "this is Rebel Jave-lin. Larn, this is Rebel Javelin. Over,"

He didn't answer. He doesn't have his remote on, I told myself. That's all. It didn't reassure me a bit. Why didn't he have his remote on? It was controlled with a switch on his communicator, and the last I knew, Arno had the communicator. The likeliest explanation I could think of for the remote being off was that Arno had turned it off-whether by accident, or because he'd learned about it.

"Bubba!" I called. He came over to me, meeting my eyes. "I'm going to drop low over Palermo," I told him, speaking out loud. "When we get there, I want you to scan around and find Larn. I can't get him on the radio."

He nodded like a human might, and of course he read the concern in my mind. I already had a scanner view of northern Sicily, and asked the computer for a coordinate overlay, to get the coordinates of Palermo. Then, using voice mode, I ordered the scout to park above Palermo at an elevation of five miles. We headed for it.

TWENTY-FIVE

Larn:

When I started down from the mountaintop, I didn't have any plan, but one started to unfold for me as I went: Backtrack, then ambush the Saracens with my stunner. Not that I could stun many of them; besides its short range, the stunner had a limited charge.

They'd probably send scouts out ahead to find the way, and to draw fire if they got close to any Christian bowmen. I'd ambush them. We'd see what they thought about paralyzed scouts who didn't have an arrow or sword slash on them. If they were superstitious, they might quit till daylight. Maybe they'd even turn around and go home, though that seemed a little much to hope for.

In the dark I couldn't see our tracks, but I didn't need tracks to retrace our route. When Gunnlag had decided to move camp, we'd come down from our initial campsite, crossed a small valley, then climbed along a ravine to its head at a notch in this ridge crest. From there we'd hiked along the crest till it topped off at the knob. Even with the moon not up yet, it would be easy to follow the same route in reverse.

The "notch" was an actual sharp one, with a big rock outcrop on one side. When I turned there to start down the ravine, someone grabbed me from behind, hard, arm around my neck, jerking me back with a rough strength too abrupt to let me use hand-foot art. It took me totally by surprise.

Another man moved in front of me, knife ready, and peered into my face. Recognizing me, he spoke quietly in Norse, and the one who had grabbed me let me go.

Gunnlag had posted lookouts; I should have realized he would. "I'm going down the ravine to set an ambush," I said softly in Norman French. They didn't understand me, of course; it would have sounded crazy to them if they had. But it seemed as if I should say something to them. One of them said something back in Norse. No one had understood anyone, but I guess it made us all feel better somehow. I nodded and left them, starting down the ravine with as little noise as possible.