«Where did you get that sausage?»

The man pointed down the street to a shop with an open window in front. A line was forming at the window, to buy sausages, loaves of hot bread, and mugs of beer and wine.

It would not be as good as a regular meal at a table, but Baliza wanted to stay out of taverns and eating houses. In a room with only one or two doors, it was too easy to be trapped. In the streets she could run, or fight, with less risk of slaughtering half a dozen innocent Doimari.

That was something else she'd learned from her father's example and her mother's teachings-although the Lords of the Law knew Kareena had no reason to call any Doimari «innocent.» Still, she'd been strict in what she demanded of herself and the fighters under her, as well as what she taught her daughter.

When you must kill, kill swiftly. But do not kill at all, if there is any other way of winning.

Detcharn watched the lamps coming on all over the rocket base. He went on watching until the last light was gone from the sky. He didn't need either the sun or the lamps to know where everything was. The base was his creation-a creation devoted wholly to the destruction of Kaldak and every other enemy of Doimar.

The Day of that destruction was coming fast. Most of the rockets for the first attack were ready in their launching tubes. All they needed was their fuel and their load of fever germs. The last rockets would be in place tomorrow. The reserve rockets were all finished and waiting in the storehouse.

The pressurized cylinders of liquid germ culture had been moved to the main guardhouse. That way there were armed men around them every minute of the day and night. The huge fuel tanks were full, ready to feed the rockets through carefully tested pipelines.

In short, everything had been done or was going to be done in time without much trouble. Detcharn could breathe easy-and also amuse himself. He rang for his servant and told the man to have the guards bring up Arsha. She was the assistant to the scientist who'd mistreated Voros's pet Cheeky. A pity Voros hadn't shot her, in addition to the scientist, although then Detcharn wouldn't be having this opportunity to punish her himself.

When the guards brought Arsha in, she had a black eye and a bleeding lip, and one shoulder of her gown was torn. Detcharn raised his eyebrows, and the guards turned pale.

«I presume she struggled?» His voice was a smooth purr.

One of the guards gave a jerky nod. «Yes. Du-Shro. She gave one of us a knee in the belly. A little lower, and he'd 'ave really been 'urtin. So we gave her something to remind her, not to be doin' it again.»

«Very well,» said Detcharn. «You were within your rights. You will hear no more of this.» He looked at Arsha. «She will, however.» He was glad to see her shudder in spite of the men holding her. «Now leave us.»

Once he was alone with Arsha, Detcharn threw off his robe. He stood naked while the woman slowly undressed. He noted that the bruises and cuts from her last visit were healing nicely; she would have her strength back.

When she was naked, Detcharn pointed at the floor in front of him. «Kneel,» he said. She did not dare disobey or even be slow, but her face was twisted in shame and disgust.

Good. Serving him like this was still unpleasant for her. If she ever came to enjoy it, he would have to find some other method of continuing her punishment. Arsha hadn't yet paid in full for her stupidity over Voros and Cheeky.

As the woman's lips closed on him, Detcharn once again regretted that Voros had been killed in that lifter crash. He'd deserved a chance to help punish Arsha, too. And if Moshra hadn't died, too, maybe they'd have learned a little more about telepathy from Voros and Cheeky. Oh, well, one Kaldakan deserter more or less could hardly make that much difference.

Then Detcharn gave himself up entirely to pleasure.

Blade saw the last campfires of the Red Cats fade into the darkness behind the lifter. He saw that the other pilot had the controls, got up, and went aft. He moved cautiously, so as not to affect the machine's balance. With twenty men and all their weapons and equipment aboard, the lifter was loaded to capacity.

The cabin was dark, but the air was thick with the smells of gun oil and unwashed Tribesmen. Near the open rear hatch, the air was fresher. Blade stuck his head out briefly, saw the other two lifters were following steadily a hundred yards behind, and relaxed. It was a clear night, and if it stayed that way there would be no problem with the lifters losing each other. In fact, there wasn't a bloody thing for him to do for about the next four hours! He might as well try to get some sleep.

Normally Blade would have found it easy to do this. Once a military operation passed the point of no-return, he usually found it easy to relax. Not this time. Was it the stakes being so much higher than usual-life or death for a whole Dimension-a Dimension that he himself had shaped? Was it the Dimension X secret being at stake? Or what?

A soft yeeep sounded at his feet. Then Cheeky hopped up on the edge of the hatch. Gently Blade took him by the scruff of the neck and put him back inside. Cheeky had insisted on coming along, the moment he knew that his master was going to war. Blade let him come, because if Blade didn't come back Cheeky wasn't likely to survive very long among the Red Cats or even on Bekror's estate. However, Blade also hoped he could be persuaded to stay inside the lifters when they reached the base. Blade would have too much else to do to spend time keeping Cheeky out of trouble.

Blade couldn't sleep, he couldn't smoke, he couldn't drink, and he couldn't pace up and down without disturbing the balance of the lifter and showing the Tribesmen that he was nervous. He couldn't talk to anyone because Ezarn was asleep and everyone else he knew was in one of the other lifters. In fact, there really wasn't a bloody thing he could do!

So he propped himself against the rear wall of the cabin, his rifle across his knees and his belt of power cells draped over it. He leaned back and tried to relax, even if he wasn't going to get to sleep ….

Half an hour later, a change of course woke Ezarn. He splashed his face with water from his canteen, then crawled off on hands and knees. He'd never liked to stand up in an airborne lifter. When he reached the rear of the cabin, he found Voros sound asleep, head sunk on his chest. Carefully Ezarn shifted him so that his neck wouldn't get twisted. You can't expect a man to lead in battle with a stiff neck!

Chapter 24

Detcharn greeted the dawn on his private balcony. He wished it was the dawn of the Day; he was getting impatient. Also, he was short of sleep. To reduce Arsha to proper submission took a while. However, he'd finally succeeded. In fact, she was now so submissive that his pleasure was shrinking. Should he declare that her punishment was over, let her return to her work, and look about for a new woman?

Perhaps. But he would do better to decide this after breakfast. He stretched, letting the dawn breeze blow across his bare chest. He wore only trousers and his weapons belt, and he wore the belt only because it would set a bad example for the guards if he didn't. Arsha was so cowed that she would hardly have dared touch his pistol or one of his knives if he'd handed it to her!

The rocket base was beginning to wake up. Tiny figures scurried along paths, and steam tractors trailed dust and smoke. Three lifters slid in over the rocket pits, heading for the main guardhouse. Detcharn saw they wore regular military markings. Probably some company out on night exercises, hoping to negotiate a free breakfast and hot showers from him. They should have given him more warning, but they'd get what they came for anyway. It never did any harm, to make the regular soldiers more grateful to the Seekers.