by Algis Budrys
far hewas obligated for a bandaged chest and half a pint of water. But a man'sduty to his rescuer was plain enough, and, besides, just what else wasthere to do?
The blame for it all went squarely back to Dugald, and Geoffrey did notlove him for it. He slipped through the bushes until he was only a fewyards from the man who had the wineskin, and waited for The Barbarian toappear at the opposite end of the trailer.
When it happened, it happened quite suddenly, as these things will. Onemoment the other sentry was craning his neck for another look at whatwas going on elsewhere. The next he was down on his knees, croakingthrough a compressed throat, with The Barbarian's arm under his chin anda driving knee ready to smash at the back of his neck again.
Geoffrey jumped forward, toward his own man. The man-at-arms had droppedhis wineskin in surprise and was staring at what was happening to hiscomrade. When he heard Geoffrey come out of the underbrush, the face heturned was white and oddly distended with shock, as though all the boneshad drained out of it. He might have appeared fierce enough, ordinarily.But things were happening too fast for him.
Geoffrey had never killed anyone but a noble in his life. Notintentionally and at close range, in any case. The completely baffledand helpless look of this one somehow found time to remind him that thiswas not, after all, one of his peers--that the man was hopelesslyoutclassed in fair combat--or in anything else, for that matter.Geoffrey did _not_ stop to weigh the probity of this idea. It was thecentral tenet of his education and environment. Furthermore, there wassome truth in it.
He couldn't kill the man. He swept up his arm and struck the flat of TheBarbarian's broad knife against the side of the guard's head, and bowledthe man over with his rush. But the guard had a hard skull. He stared upwith glazed but conscious eyes, and squalled: "Lord Geoffrey!" Geoffreyhit him again, and this time the guard stayed down, but the damage wasdone. Scrambling to his feet, Geoffrey ran over to The Barbarian, whowas letting the other guard ooze to the ground.
"We'll have to hurry!" Geoffrey panted. "Before that man comes back tohis senses."
The Barbarian gave him a disgusted look, but nodded. "Hurry we shall."He lurched to the trailer door and slapped it with the flat of his hand."Let's go, Myka."
There was a scrambling sound inside the trailer, and the light went out.The door slid open, and Geoffrey found himself staring at the mostbeautiful woman he had ever seen.
She was lithe almost to the point of boyishness, even though she wasclearly some years older than Geoffrey. She had short hair the color ofhammered copper, high cheekbones, and tawny eyes. She was wearing atunic and short trousers, and there was an empty pistol holster strappedaround her waist. Obviously, she was not a lady. But it was much toolate for Geoffrey to care about that. She stopped in the doorway,shaking her head slowly at The Barbarian. "I swear, Hodd," she said in alow, laughing voice, "one of these days you _won't_ come back from thedead, and I'll be surprised."
"It was close enough, this time," The Barbarian growled. He jerked hishead toward Geoffrey. "That young buck over there knows how to handlehis enemies. Once he learns what to do about his friends, I may have toretire."
Myka arched her burning eyebrows. "Oh? What's the story behind that, I'dlike to know."
"We can always talk," Geoffrey said a little edgily. "But we can'talways find an empty tankette."
"Quite right, lad," The Barbarian said. "I saw some vehicles parked overthat way."
"Those belong to the nobles. There ought to be some captured ones ofyours somewhere around here."
"With plenty of guards on them. No, thanks."
"That didn't trouble you earlier."
"Myka, as you may have noticed, is more than a tank. This time the prizeisn't worth it. I'd rather just slip over to where I can gettransportation for the choosing."
"Not with my help."
The Barbarian looked at him and grunted. He seemed oddly disappointed."I would have bet the other way," he muttered. Then the shaggy headrose, and he circled Myka's waist with one arm. "All right, I'll do itwithout your help."
"Is Myka trained to drive a tankette and fight at the same time?"
"No."
"Then you'd better do it my way. You'd make a poor showing, kickingdrive levers with a broken leg." Geoffrey nodded toward The Barbarian'sright shin. "It's been that way since before you picked me up, hasn'tit? I saw it wobble when you kneed that man-at-arms."
Myka looked at The Barbarian sharply, worry on her face, but the man waschuckling. "All right, bucko, we'll do it your way."
"Fine." Geoffrey wasn't so sure it was. Suddenly he was committed notonly to helping The Barbarian escape, but also to escape with him. Hewas faintly surprised at himself. But there was something about the man.Something worth saving, no matter what. And there was the business nowof having been recognized. Once Dugald learned he was still alive, therewould be a considerable amount of danger in staying in the vicinity. Ofcourse, he had only to stoop over the unconscious guard with TheBarbarian's knife....
With a quick motion, he tossed the weapon back to its owner.
_That_ one was an easy choice, Geoffrey thought. Simply stealing--or wasit recapturing?--a tankette and using it to drive away with Myka and TheBarbarian didn't mean he had to go all the way to the barbarian landswith them. Let the guard revive and run to Dugald with the news. AllGeoffrey had to do was to remove himself a few miles, find shelter, andbide his time.
One recaptured barbarian tankette might not even be missed. And theguard might not be believed--well, that was a thin hope--but, in anycase, no one had any reason to suspect The Barbarian was still alive.There'd be no general pursuit.
Well ... maybe not. There was a man-at-arms choked to death, by astronger arm than Geoffrey's, and it was The Barbarian's woman who wouldbe missing. There might be quite a buzz about that.
Geoffrey shook his head in impatient annoyance. This kind of lifedemanded a great deal more thinking than he was accustomed to. All theseunpredictable factors made a man's head spin.
And then again, maybe they didn't. The thing to do was to act, to dowhat would get him out of here now, and leave him free tomorrow to dowhatever thinking tomorrow demanded. With a little practice, too,thinking would undoubtedly come more easily.
"All right," he said decisively, "let's get moving over in thatdirection, and see if the guards haven't gotten a little careless." Hemotioned to Myka and The Barbarian, and began to lead the way into theunderbrush. He thrust out a hand to pull a sapling aside, and almost ranfull-tilt into Harolde Dugald.
* * *
Dugald was almost exactly Geoffrey's age and size, but he had somethingGeoffrey lacked--a thin-lipped look of wolfish wisdom. His dark eyeswere habitually slitted, and his mouth oddly off-center, always poisedbetween a mirthless grin and a snarl. His long black hair curled underat the base of his skull, and his hands were covered with heavy gold andsilver rings. There was one for each finger and thumb, and all of themwere set with knobby precious stones.
His lips parted now, and his long white teeth showed plainly in thesemi-darkness. "I was coming back to inspect my prizes," he said in avoice like a fine-bladed saw chuckling through soft metal. "And lookwhat I've found." The open mouth of his heavy, handmade side pistolpointed steadily between Geoffrey's eyes. "I find my erstwhile neighborrisen from the dead, and in the company of a crippled enemy and hisleman. Indeed, my day is complete."
The one thing Geoffrey was not feeling was fear. The wire-thin strand ofhis accumulated rage was stretched to breaking. Somewhere, far from theforefront of his mind, he was feeling surprise and disappointment. Hewas perfectly aware of Dugald's weapon, and of what it would do to hishead at this range. But Geoffrey was not stopping to think. And Dugaldwas a bit closer to him than he ought to have been.
Geoffrey's hands seemed to leap out. One tore the pistol out of Dugald'shand and knocked it spinning. The other cracked, open-palmed, againstthe other man's face, hard enough to split flesh and start the bloodtrickling down Dugald's
cheek. The force of the combined blows sentDugald staggering. He fell back, crashing into a bush, and hung againstit. Stark fear shone in his eyes. He screamed: "Dugald! _Dugald!_ To me!To me!"
For a second, everything went silent; nobles quarreling, guardsroistering among the captures--suddenly the battlefield was still. Thenthe reaction to the rallying cry set off an entirely different kind ofhubbub. The sound now was that of an alerted pack of dogs.
Once more, Geoffrey swept his hand across Dugald's face, feeling his ownskin break over the knuckles. But there was no time for anything else.Now they had to run, and not in silence. Now