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by himself, in the control room."
"Good," husked Miles. He continued to totter on down the corridor, with Eff
helping to balance him. But his strength was coming back rapidly with that
near-magic return of health that was part of the Center Alien science built
into the ship. By the time he was halfway across the lounge he was able to
shake himself free of Eff's sustaining grip and walk alone.
When he entered the forward corridor leading to the control room, he was
striding a little in advance of Eff. The pain was still in his neck and head,
but he could bear it. And the action of his muscles was coming more easily to
him which was important.
Eff caught up with him.
"What're you going to do?" asked Eff.
"Wait and see," answered Miles.
He went on, Eff beside him, until he reached the entrance to the control
room. There, as usual, sat Luhon at the controls. But for once his fingers
were not playing with them. Instead, his gaze was lifted above them to the
control room's main vision screen, which was set now on a view of
intergalactic space looking in that direction from which Miles' implanted
inner knowledge told him the Silver Horde was expected to come.
There was something lonely about the way the still, slim, gray-skinned figure
sat, with its gaze fixed unmovingly on empty intergalactic space. But Miles
had no time for empathy now.
Putting out a hand to stop Eff from following him beyond the open doorway, he
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walked forward without pausing and, when he was within range, launched himself
without any attempt at trickery at the back of Luhon's neck.
This time, when he awoke, he remembered nothing beyond that single jump
forward. His neck, surprisingly, was not so painful now. But his head was one
single, solid ache, as if Luhon's retaliation this time had been all in that
area. He lay awhile, waiting and hoping for the ache to diminish. But if it
did so, it did so only slightly.
He turned his head and saw Chak'ha and Eff watching him. Painfully, once more
he struggled to sit up on the edge of the bed. Neither of the others came
forward to help him.
Rage suddenly flooded through him not rage at Luhon, but rage at the two who
stood watching.
"Come here!" he croaked hoarsely. "Help me!"
It was not a request he was making of them. It was an order. And there was
enough of the old pecking order pattern left in them that both came to him and
helped him to his feet. For a moment his head reeled, and the room seemed to
spin and sway around him. Then his gaze and sense of balance settled.
He turned toward the doorway of the room.
"To Luhon," he said hoarsely. There was a moment's hesitation on the part of
the other two aliens. Then, silently, they each took an elbow and guided him
out into the corridor and once more toward the front of the vessel.
This time, as he walked through the lounge which now was filled with silent,
watching crewmen in all their various alien shapes and expressions of
feature recovery was slow in coming to him. But come it did. By the time he
was halfway down the corridor toward the control room he was once more walking
without assistance.
He made it to the entrance of the control room and there paused. Because this
time, evidently alerted by the sound of footsteps approaching, Luhon had
turned about in his chair and was facing the doorway. His eyes met the eyes of
Miles plainly this time, and for the first time without any pretense of
avoidance.
Luhon's face, insofar as six weeks had taught Miles to interpret the
gray-skinned alien's features, wore a look of puzzlement. He stared
searchingly at Miles in the doorway.
Miles launched himself forward in a tottering rush, his hands outstretched to
grab the throat of the other.
But before his hands closed around the gray throat, Luhon was no longer
before him. Miles found himself seized and swung about. He was pinned, with
his back against the slanting face of one of the control consoles. With ease,
Luhon held him helpless there, and the gray-skinned face looked down into
Miles' from a distance of a few inches.
"What do you want?" asked Luhon.
It was the first time that Miles had heard the voice of the other. It was a
soft, low-pitched voice, a strange voice to belong to someone who had
outfought everyone else aboard this vessel. And it, together with the emotions
that Miles felt emanating from Luhon, was deep-stained with puzzlement
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"I want" Miles' voice was almost too husky to be understandable "to fight the
Silver Horde."
For a long moment Luhon's gray features continued to look down into Miles'
face. Then Miles felt the grip that was holding him pinioned against the
console released. Luhon stood back from him, a slight, slim figure not only in
contrast with Miles, but also with Eff and Chak'ha, who now filled the control
room doorway behind the ship's champion.
"You want to fight the Silver Horde?" echoed Luhon in his soft voice. His
eyes traveled up and down Miles. "So do I. But, a great deal better than you,
I know how impossible a hope that is."
10
Miles slowly straightened up. He rubbed his aching head with a forefinger and
tried to clear the hoarse vocal cords of his painful throat.
"You're wrong," he answered Luhon.
"No," said Luhon evenly.
"Yes," said Miles. His weary legs began to tremble, and he sat down in the
control seat Luhon had just vacated. "Do you know what I did the first day I
was here? I looked around the ship, and then I looked around the platform. And
then I took that small courier ship from its cradle on the platform and went
in it up the line toward the big ships where the Center Aliens are."
Luhon's pointed ears suddenly pricked and turned forward toward Miles.
"You went in and saw the Center Aliens?" he asked.
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