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Updated: May 19, 2025
They came to a place where the river made a wide bend and they cut across it, clear of the trees. Paula touched Kieran's arm and pointed. "Look." Kieran looked, and then he stopped still. The light was not moonlight, and its source was not a moon.
It was on Good Friday that the buried head was carried away, and on Easter Sunday, it was tremblingly restored again, with two rings of gold as a peace offering to the Church. Thus were God and Saint Kieran vindicated.
A regurgitating and ruminating little animal was the third officer, who always after a meal came up on deck to lean over the after-rail, and spend a few enjoyable minutes in picking his teeth, and rechewing the lumps of food as they welled regularly into his throat; but otherwise a polite little man, plainly waiting for a chance to say a word to Kieran, but too well-bred to break in on any intimate conversation.
He opened his mouth to protest, and all of a sudden he was sitting normally in the chair in the normal cabin and screaming at the top of his lungs. He shut up. Paula said, "I told you it would be unpleasant." "So you did," said Kieran. He sat, sweating. His hands and feet were cold. Now for the first time he became aware of motion. The flitter seemed to hurtle forward at comet-like speed.
Kieran's left went into the ribs crack! and Kieran's right caught him on the cheek-bone and laid it open as if hit with a cleaver. "Devil take it!" exploded Kieran, "I meant that for your jaw. It's this slippery tarpaulin." He slid his foot back and forth on the black-tarred canvas. "The cook's been dropping some of his slush on it, and you, bosun, didn't see to it that it was cleaned.
The lights suddenly went dim, and a bull-throated roar sounded from somewhere, an appalling sound of raw power. The slight tingling that Kieran had felt in the metal fabric around him abruptly became a vibration so deep and powerful that it dizzied him and he had to grab the stanchion of the bunk to keep from falling. Alarm had flashed into the woman's face.
"You had no right to wake me up," she said. Then, before Kieran could retort, she seemed to realize the monumental irony of what she had just said, and she burst into laughter. "I'm sorry," she said. "Go ahead and say it. I had no right to wake you up." "Let's come back to that," said Kieran after a moment. "Why did you?" Paula looked at him ruefully.
"I've seen 'em just as big, hulks of full your length and beam and draught, and in a breeze I've seen vessels of less tonnage make 'em shorten sail." "And so yer've been in the wind-jammin' line, huh?" "That and a few others," answered Kieran tranquilly. "Yer'll understand a talk then. An' here's a craft won't take any sail in before you.
Neither did his three passengers, a young French astrophysicist, an East Indian expert on magnetic fields, and a forty-year-old man from Philadelphia who was coming out to replace a pump technician. Someone else who did not survive was Reed Kieran, the only man in Wheel Five itself to lose his life.
And you know what use an engine is without a boiler, don't you? Well, that's you, son your steam's gone." The swimming head kept falling backward toward the ground. And for Kieran, as he felt his enemy weaken, the purple lights were flashing again. The call of battle was ringing in his ears; came back to him the memory of more careless days, when he lived for this kind of thing.
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