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Aware now, Brion saw a native move away from the edge of the crowd and turn to look in their direction. It was Ulv. "Turn the car that way!" He punched Telt's arm and pointed. "Do it slowly and don't draw any attention to us." For a moment there was hope, which he kept himself from considering. The building was gone, and the people in it all dead. That fact had to be faced. "What's going on?"
"What Brion wants are facts, Grandpa, not speeches," Hys said. The bent form of the leader of the rebel Nyjord army pushed through the crowd of taller men until he stood next to Krafft. "Simply stated, Brion, your plan succeeded. Krafft relayed your message to me and as soon as I heard it I turned back and met him on his ship. I'm sorry that Telt's dead but he found what we were looking for.
Is't true 'at he made a fortune in thae far-awa countries? Eppie 'll be blawin' aboot him richt?" "There's nae doubt aboot the siller," said Hendry, "for he drove in a carriage frae Tilliedrum, an' they say he needs a closet to hing his claes in, there's sic a heap o' them. Ay, but that's no a' he's brocht, na, far frae a'." "Dinna gang awa till ye've telt's a' aboot 'im. What mair has he brocht?"
Put granddaddy Krafft in charge instead." "But Hys is in charge of an army now?" "All volunteers, too few of them and too little money. Too little and too damned late to do any good. I'll tell you we did our best, but it could never be good enough. And for this we get called butchers." There was a catch in Telt's voice now, an undercurrent of emotion he couldn't suppress.
He was weighted and slung about with packs and electronic instruments. His pockets bulged with small tools and spare parts. "This is Telt," Hys said to Brion. "He'll take care of you. Telt's my personal technical squad. He goes along on all my operations with his meters to test the interiors of the Disan forts.
"Sure there's nothing we can do for you?" Sorrow would accomplish nothing. Brion fought to sweep the dregs of emotion from his mind and to think clearly. "You can help me," he said. "I could use a scalpel or any other surgical instrument you might have." Lea would need those. Then he remembered Telt's undelivered message. "Do you have a portable radio transceiver? I can pay you for it."
A tiny, tufted dart of wood stuck in the brown flesh on the side of his neck. Brion hurled himself backward and sprawled flat in the dust and filth of the road. No poison dart sought him out; the empty silence still reigned. Telt's murderers had come and gone. Moving quickly, using the bulk of the car as a shield, he opened the door and slipped inside. They had done a thorough job of destruction.
With this thought came the guilty realization that he had forgotten completely about Telt's death. Even before he contacted the Nyjord fleet he must tell Hys and his rebel army what had happened to Telt and his sand car. Also about the radioactive traces.
Leaving a crimson track, it hunched closer, lifting its knife to Brion. He didn't move. How many times must you murder a man? Or was it a man? His mind and body rebelled against the killing, and he was almost ready to accept death himself, rather than kill again. Telt's bullets tore through the body and it dropped with grim finality. "There's your corpse now get it out of here!" Telt screeched.
If Telt's lead to the bombs proved to be false, there would be no hope left at all. Lea was still unconscious when he looked at her again. There was no way of telling how long the coma would last. He would probably have to waken her out of it, but he didn't want to do it too early. It took an effort to control his impatience, even though he knew the drug needed time in which to work.
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