But she shook her head violently, so that her hair tumbled about and hid her eyes. It hid the tears a bit too.
Gillbret watched a moment, then spread his hands helplessly and left.
The trailer was joined to the Remorseless by a waspwaist corridor attached to the emergency air lock in the rear of the ship. It was several dozen times larger than the Tyranni vessel in capacity, almost humorously outsized.
The Autarch joined Biron in a last inspection. He said, "Do you find anything lacking?"
Biron said, "No. I think we'll be quite comfortable."
"Good. And by the way, Rizzett tells me the Lady Artemisia is not well, or at least that she looks unwell. If she requires medical attention, it might be wise to send her to my ship."
"She is quite well," said Biron curtly.
"If you say so. Would you be ready to leave in twelve hours?"
"In two hours, if you wish."
Biron passed through the connecting corridor (he had to stoop a little) into the Remorseless proper.
He said with a careful evenness of tone, "You've got a private suite back there, Artemisia. I won't bother you. I'll stay here most of the time."
And she replied coldly, "You don't bother me, Rancher. It doesn't matter to me where you are."
And then the ships blasted off, and after a single Jump they found themselves at the edge of the Nebula. They waited for a few hours while the final calculations were made on Jonti's ship. Inside the Nebula it would be almost blind navigation.
Biron stared glumly at the visiplate. There was nothing there! One entire half of the celestial sphere was taken up with blackness, unrelieved by a spark of light. For the first time, Biron realized how warm and friendly the stars were, how they filled space.
"It's like dropping through a hole in space," he muttered to Gillbret.
And then they Jumped again, into the Nebula.
Almost simultaneously Simok Aratap, Commissioner of the Great Khan, at the head of ten armed cruisers, listened to his navigator and said, "That doesn't matter. Follow them anyway."
And not one light-year from the point at which the Remorseless entered the Nebula, ten Tyranni vessels did likewise.
16. Hounds!
Simok Aratap was a little uncomfortable in his uniform. Tyrannian uniforms were made of moderately coarse materials and fit only indifferently well. It was not soldier-like to complain of such inconveniences. In fact, it was part of the Tyrannian military tradition that a little discomfort on the part of the soldier was good for discipline.
But still Aratap could bring himself to rebel against that tradition to the extent of saying, ruefully, "The tight collar irritates my neck."
Major Andros, whose collar was as tight, and who had been seen in no other than military dress in the memory of man, said, "When alone, it would be quite within regulations to open it. Before any of the officers or men, any deviation from regulation dress would be disturbing influence."
Aratap sniffed. It was the second change induced by the quasi-military nature of the expedition. In addition to being forced into uniform, he had to listen to an increasingly self-assertive military aide. That had begun even before they left Rhodia.
Andros had put it to him baldly.
He had said, "Commissioner, we will need ten ships."
Aratap had looked up, definitely annoyed. At the moment he was getting ready to follow the young Widemos in a single vessel. He laid aside the capsules in which he was preparing his report for the Khan's Colonial Bureau, to be forwarded in the unhappy case that he did not return from the expedition.
"Ten ships, Major?"
"Yes, sir. Less will not do."
"Why not?"
"I intend to maintain a reasonable security. The young man is going somewhere. You say there is a well-developed conspiracy in existence. Presumably, the two fit together."
"And therefore?"
"And therefore we must be prepared for a possibly well-developed conspiracy. One that might be able to handle a single ship."
"Or ten. Or a hundred. Where does security cease?"
"One must make a decision. In cases of military action, it is my responsibility. I suggest ten."
Aratap's contact lenses gleamed unnaturally in the wall light as he raised his eyebrows. The military carried weight. Theoretically, in times of peace, the civilian made the decisions, but here again, military tradition was a difficult thing to set aside.
He said cautiously, "I will consider the matter."
"Thank you. If you do not choose to accept my recommendations, and my suggestions have only been advanced as such, I assure you"-the major's heels clicked sharply, but the ceremonial deference was rather empty, and Aratap knew it-"that would be your privilege. You would leave me, however, no choice but to resign my commission."
It was up to Aratap to retrieve what he could from that position. He said, "It is not my intention to hamper you in any decision you may make on a purely military question, Major. I wonder if you might be as amenable to my decisions in matters of purely political importance."
"What matters are these?"
"There is the problem of Hinrik. You objected yesterday to my suggestion that he accompany us."
The major said dryly, "I consider it unnecessary. With our forces in action, the presence of outlanders would be bad for morale."
Aratap sighed softly, just below the limits of hearing. Yet Andros was a competent man in his way. There would be no use in displaying impatience.
He said, "Again, I agree with you. I merely ask you to consider the political aspects of the situation. As you know, the execution of the old Rancher of Widemos was politically uncomfortable. It stirred up the Kingdoms unnecessarily. However necessary the execution was, it makes it desirable to refrain from having the death of the son attributed to us. As far as the people of Rhodia know, the young Widemos has kidnapped the daughter of the Director, the girl, by the way, being a popular and much publicized member of the Hinriads. It would be quite fitting, quite understandable, to have the Director head the punitive expedition.