Gwen smiled, her lids drooping. "Doth the object, then, not also draw the planet?"
"You do learn fast, don't you? Yes, the object pulls, too, but its pull is very weak, because it's so small. You and I, now, aren't all that much different in size."
"Nay," she murmured, "we are well matched."
Rod was definitely losing interest in the lecture, but there were people watching. "Now. Your original question was, why is it so hard for the object to get away from the planet?"
She smiled up at him. "Wherefore should it wish to?"
"Can't think of a good reason, myself," Rod admitted,
"but just for the sake of argument, let's assume it does. Go ahead and try."
"An thou dost wish it," she sighed, and pushed against him.
He loosened his arms a little, letting her move away a few inches. "See—you have to be able to push really hard to get away from me. And that's how people leave planets— in flying ships that can push really hard against the planet."
"They're called 'spaceships,' by the way," Yorick put in. "Don't let him baby-talk you, milady."
"I would not consider it," Gwen said, with some asperity.
"And the ship," Rod said, "has to push hard enough to go fast enough—that's called 'escape velocity.' And when you're up to escape velocity…" He let go, and she stumbled back. "… you escape. And that's how you get off the surface of a planet. See?"
"Indeed." She came back, straightening her hair, the gleam of battle in her eye. "Yet could we not build such 'velocity,' my lord? Thou and I, together?"
In spite of himself, Rod took a step back. It took him a second to realize she was talking about telekinesis. "Well…"
But Yorick was watching them with growing apprehension. "Uh, Major—milady—don't do anything rash!"
"It would be," Rod admitted. "We might be able to do it if we pooled our forces, darling—but there's another little problem." He coughed delicately and looked up at the stars. "You see, we're not the only thing that the planet's holding to itself. It's also holding the air that we breathe."
She stared, at a loss.
"About twenty miles up…" Rod pointed. "… you run out of atmosphere. It's just empty space, without any wind, not even a breath of fresh air—or a breath of anything, for that matter. That's why Chornoi said she'd seen a planet from space—because there wasn't any air there. Just empty space."
Slowly, Gwen lifted her eyes to the stars again. "So much blackness between them… Yet how can there be 'space,' as thou dost call it, without air to breathe? Is that not the 'space?'"
Rod shook his head. "Air is a substance, too, just like water—only lighter, not as dense. It covers the planet's whole surface, but only because gravity holds it there. The farther you are from a planet, the weaker the pull feels, until it can't even hold air anymore. And when that happens, when you've got space with nothing in it, we call that 'vacuum.' That means there's nothing to breathe, too, of course—so even if we could get out there, honey, we wouldn't last long."
Slowly, Gwen lowered her gaze to him again, but the stars stayed in her eyes. "'Tis wondrous," she breathed. "Nay, I shall trust thee in this, my lord. But I shall trust, also, that together, we may find a way."
Chornoi shook her head in exasperation. "Don't you know better than to put that much trust in a man?"
"Nay." Gwen turned to her with a smile, catching Rod's hand behind her back. "And I trust that I never shall."
It was nice to know that she felt so warm about it, especially since Rod was feeling a chill run down his back and spread out to envelop his rib cage. She had learned it all so quickly! Everything she'd heard, she'd understood instantly, or almost. And every single one of those concepts was totally alien to her culture. He was beginning to dread that she might be smarter than he was. It was one thing for him to understand her culture, but it was entirely another for her to understand his.
"Well, be that all as it may—space, vacuum, and escape," Chornoi grumbled, "but the here-and-now is that we need to look at this place by daylight, and you two have to be back in town before morning."
"I'd say that's pretty clear. It comes down to you or me," Yorick said. "And, if you'll pardon my male chauvinism…"
"I won't," Chornoi snapped. "I told you I've spent time among the Wolmen. I'll be safe, believe me, especially since I never made any bones about how much I didn't like the way the colonists did things. The Wolmen heard about it and began to chum up to me—oh, not making passes or anything, don't worry about that; they've got their own ideals of beauty, and I'm not up to their standards."
Rod bit his tongue.
"But they did cultivate me as a possible ally within Shacklar's camp. Not that I ever would've betrayed the soldiers…" A shadow crossed Chornoi's face. "…I hope. Hope even more that I never have to find out the hard way… Anyhow!" She straightened, eyes flashing. "It's enough to guarantee that I'll be safe, till I see you back in town."
"That's kind of odd, as diplomacy goes," Rod said, frowning. "On their part, I mean. That kind of wily statecraft doesn't quite square with the usual concept of the unsophisticated aborigine."
"Shacklar and Cholly have been trying very hard to sophisticate them, thank you," Chornoi snorted. "Cholly's traders are really teachers in disguise."
"Oh!" Rod lifted his head, a few facts suddenly colliding and yielding solutions. "So that's why he doesn't make much money off his Pharmaceuticals trade."
Chornoi nodded. "Something like that. His traders keep the prices low and the payments high, so that the Wolmen will keep coming back to talk to them. They've been doing a very good job of giving the Wolmen a modern education— including political science. And they begin it with Machiavelli."
Rod saw Yorick open his mouth, and said quickly, "So they know the realities of technological culture—including back-stabbing."
Chornoi nodded. "And a lot of other things you wouldn't expect them to know. But it has the advantage of letting them take the long view."
"Including being careful to protect a potential ally."
"Yes, as long as the truce holds, and it'll hold at least until your trial is over."
"And thou wilt return ere then?"
Chornoi nodded. "I'll check out this area as soon as it's light. I should be back on the civilized side shortly after dawn. If I'm too late to catch you before the courtroom, I'll drop in there." Her smile hardened. "I'll be back, don't worry. I'll be back. You folks go on now… What are you waiting for? Go on, now! Go!"
Slowly, they turned, and began to go down the hillside.
"Dosta truly believe she will be secure?" Gwen asked.
Yorick shrugged. "I dunno—these boys are savages, even though they're synthetic ones. What do you think, Major?"
"I think they're male," Rod answered, "and I think Chornoi knows just how much of a woman she is, regardless of what she said about their standards of beauty."
"There's truth in that," Gwen agreed, "and I doubt not she could lay low any warrior who sought to best her."
"Well, it'd be an even match, at least."
"No, not really," Yorick disagreed. "After all, she is a professional."
Gwen turned back for a last look, concern furrowing her brow—and froze, with a gasp.
Yorick and Rod turned back to look.
Chornoi stood at the top of the rise, stripped naked and glowing in the moonlight. As they watched, she scooped her fingers into a flat roundel and rubbed them over her arm. The skin darkened.
"Body-paint," Yorick murmured. "Betcha it's purple, Major."
"And I'll bet we'll find out tomorrow." Rod turned away, shaking his head. "Come on, troops. Somehow, I just became sure she'll be safe."
"As the mercury said to the water, 'Pardon my density.'" Yorick's gaze swiveled from Rod to Gwen and back. "But if we can do it this way, why that charade with the sentry on the way out?"
"Why, for that Chornoi did not know we were witch-folk." Gwen tucked her arm more tightly into Yori
ck's.
"Yeah—you know what we are," Rod reminded him, "but Chornoi probably doesn't even believe in ESP, let alone know we've got it."
"I see." Yorick nodded. "Mustn't shock the poor thing, must we? After all, she might decide she's on the other side."
"Well, her volunteering was an enormous stroke of luck…"
"Sure. Now I get it. Oh, I'm quick."
"Indeed thou art, in regard to most matters," Gwen assured him.
"Yeah, we all have our blind spots," Rod agreed. "Now, as one agent to another—do you really think Chornoi will learn anything more than we already found out?"
Yorick shrugged. "Hard to say. I don't really think there was any more evidence up there at the murder site, but you never know, do you?"
"True, true." Rod gazed steadily at the top of the wall. "On the other hand, she was pretty obviously planning to interrogate some Wolmen."
"Well, at least Hwun," Yorick qualified. "I mean, he does have to come up to greet the sun tomorrow morning, doesn't he?"
Rod shuddered. "That guy gives me the creeping chillies."
"In truth, he is cold," Gwen agreed.
"Not what you'd expect, in a Gestalt culture," Yorick agreed. "Not quite human, y'know?"
"Look who's talking," Rod grunted.
"Could we hold down on the racial slurs, here?" Yorick had the rare case of using the term correctly. "Besides, even if he is Mr. Fishface, I'll bet Chornoi will get every ounce of information that he's got. I mean, male is male."
"I know what you mean," Rod agreed, "and I don't doubt it for a second. It's just that I don't expect there to be a hell of a lot of information for her to get."
"True, true." Yorick looked towards the Wall. "The really important information is likely to be in there—if we can just figure out where to look for it. Now, let us think, Major, milady—who, besides you two, might have reason to want a Wolman dead?"
"Well, we don't have any reason to," Rod snorted. "But the obvious answer is VETO… or SPITE."
"Or both of them," Yorick grunted.
"Futurians of some kind. They tried to assassinate Gwen and me and, when we turned out to be a little too lethal, kidnapped us back in time as a second choice."
"Not too bad, either. I mean, without help, your chances of getting back to the future are very slender."
"Nay! Rather, we would surely have returned, sooner or later, to the year from which we left," Gwen objected. " 'Tis simply that, when we did, we'd have been five hundred years dead…"
"That is a problem, I think you'll admit. There's a definite limit on how much fun you can have in that condition. But it does bring up the question of why they sent you to this particular here and now."
"Wolmar." Rod frowned. "Right after the PEST coup d'etat." His eyes lost focus as he gazed off into space. "Nice question…"
"And, sin that thou didst ask it, I doubt me not an thou hast an answer."
Yorick glanced sideways at Gwen. "Where'd you get her, Major?"
"Just lucky, I guess… What was your answer?"
"To make it easy to try another assassination attempt." Yorick grinned. "The early PEST years are ideal for the purpose. The interstellar totalitarian government is brand-new, at its brightest strength, with plenty of agents left over from its coup, but not yet tied down to the central planets as secret police."
Rod nodded, feeling numbed. "Yeah… that does kinda stack the odds in their favor… But why one of the frontier planets? Why not Terra?"
"Too hard to cover up a murder attempt." Yorick shook his head. "Too many people."
"Yeah, but would they really care?"
"There is that," Yorick said judiciously. "But a much more practical point is that, with all those people to hide among, it'd be too easy for you to get away. And they know the two of you well enough to realize that you could be very hard to hold on to."
"A point," Rod admitted, "and it is hard for us to just disappear here in the grassland, isn't it?"
"Or even in the town," Yorick agreed, "what there is of it."
"Yet they have already attempted murder," Gwen pointed out, "and failed. Would they not essay summat more subtle?"
"Such as trying to frame us for murder?" Rod nodded. "Yes, I think you've summed it up nicely, dear."
"A nice little death sentence would suit them just fine," Yorick mused, "especially with a bunch of savages to insist on it not being commuted to something humane, such as life imprisonment."
Rod snorted.
"If you say so," Yorick said affably. "But it's the best theory I can come up with. Got any other candidates in mind, Major? Who else might want to create a handy little murder incident?"
Rod glowered, staring at the top of the Wall, thinking it over. Finally he said, "Shacklar."
A sentry paced by, dark against the stars.
They fell silent, staring, eyes locked onto him until he passed, and the curve of the wall hid him from sight.
Rod hissed, "Now!" and closed his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of lightness. He began to drift upward out of the shadow. Gwen matched his pace, rising on her broomstick. They accelerated, moving faster and faster. Yorick swallowed heavily and clamped his jaws shut.
Up, over the wall, and down the other side they glided, Yorick slung between them. His feet jarred against earth, and he let go of them as though their arms were hot metal. He gave himself a shake, heaved a deep breath, and turned to Rod with a bright smile. "Now! Just why did you suspect General Shacklar?"
"Let's talk about it when we're a little further from the Wall." Rod darted an uneasy glance toward the walkway at the top. "Come on, let's go!"
They dashed across fifty yards of open ground, into the shadow of an outbuilding, plowed to a halt, and propped themselves against the shack, chests heaving. "After all," Yorick panted, "this little murder just might bring all Shacklar's last ten years of work crashing down. He's managed to get the two sides almost to the point of joining in a single government. Why would he take a chance on busting it up?"
"To finish the job." Rod grinned.
Yorick and Gwen stared.
"Think it over." Rod felt quite pleased with himself. "Gwen and I have given him the perfect opportunity to hatch his united government. We're totally new, so no one's going to gripe much if we're just handed over to the Wolmen. That would give our friendly natives a heck of a lot more confidence in Shacklar, with the added advantage of having made the Wolmen negotiate with Shacklar as a nation, all banded together. So all the General has to do is make it clear that the Wolmen are just as much involved in deciding this case as the colonists are, and it could be the first action of that unified government he's been trying to develop."
"Very good, so far as it goes." Yorick nodded, lips pursed. "But what if the gamble fails? What happens if you manage to disappear, or if you're so inconsiderate as to prove yourselves innocent, or something? Then he's got a civil war on his hands."
"Not all that civil," Rod said, scowling. "I think he could smooth over a 'Not guilty' verdict, if he had to. He's got the two sides getting along well enough right now. They even need each other a little. Both sides sure want what the other has to offer. All he has to do is find them a convenient excuse for forgetting the whole thing."
"Just a face-saver." Yorick said thoughtfully. "Ever consider diplomacy as a career, Major?"
Rod opened his mouth, but Gwen spoke first. "He hath, and he doth." She looked from Rod to Yorick. "Yet neither of thee doth explain why no Wolman is missing."
Both men stood stock-still."
"Shall I tell thee?" Gwen said, smiling. "It may hap that Shacklar hath had his assassin disguise himself as a Wolman."
"Yeah, it's possible." Rod kept his eyes on Yorick as he nodded. "And, of course, the Futurians could have done that, too."
Yorick returned the nod. "Very possible, Major."
"So, then." Gwen set her fists on her hips and looked from the one to the other. "We have two schemes, either of which may serve. H
ow are we to find out which is true, gentlemen?"
"Or if neither is." Rod shrugged. "We've got to find more information."
"Yeah, we keep coming back to that, don't we?" Yorick rubbed his temple with a forefinger.
"And how wilt thou accomplish this finding, my lord?"
"Go to the place where people talk, of course." Yorick grinned. "Feel like a drink, Major?"
"Very much, but…" Rod exchanged glances with Gwen. "I don't know if it'd be too healthy for us to show up in Cholly's."
Yorick spread his hands. "So it's my job. So what? Do I care? Do I worry about those bloodthirsty soldiers mistaking me for a spy? No! Do I ask for honor? Do I ask for praise?"
"You're asking for it, period! Okay, we're thankful, we're grateful! We'll praise you to the skies! We'll even give you a good reference! What do you think you might hear that's worth repeating?"
Yorick elaborated a shrug. "If I knew, I wouldn't have to socialize. Y' never know—maybe somebody's doing an awful lot of sudden spending. If he is, three guesses where he got the funds? Oh, you can find out all sorts of stuff you weren't expecting!"
Rod pondered. "Might be. But remember, this is all just a guess. For all we know, the Wolman could have committed suicide. Our hypothetical assassin isn't even a rumor."
"Don't worry, I won't give the rumor currency—not so much as a farthing." Yorick flashed him a grin. "I'm off to the pub with the public, Major. See you in the false dawn." He tugged his forelock in Gwen's direction, and turned away to disappear into the night.
"I trust the dawn will be all that is false," Gwen murmured.
"A point," Rod admitted. "What do you say we follow him? Discreetly, of course."
"Assuredly," Gwen agreed. "Who can be so discreet as ourselves?"
Rod proffered his arm. She hooked her hand over his elbow, and they wandered off into the night, following Yorick's mental trail.
The Warlock Wandering Page 8
