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Updated: May 3, 2025
She imagined that lovely body down in the muck of the canal, crawled over by slimy things, and she was sick with horror. Mellie lived with her brother, Wasil Hopspur, and her aged mother. Wasil was an accomplished technician in the service of the Interplanetary Radio and Television Co., and his income was ample to provide a better than average home on the desert margin of South Tarog.
Tolto was a little slower to fall, but he only lasted a second longer. They knew that someone was taking the weapons out of their helpless hands. Then life returned. "Get up," said a languid voice back of them, "and let's have a look at the looks of ye." The Flight of a Princess The province of Hanlon, Prince Joro's hereditary domain, began about fifty miles west of South Tarog.
Wilcox, or Scar Balta, would come straight for this prison, neuro-pistol or needle-ray in hand! Even if he should fail, death would be his portion for the attempt. So thinking, Wasil sat down and carefully re-checked the circuits. The filler broadcast from central office must be sent to the twin cities of Tarog.
"Listen, big one," he said placatingly. "Have an orange?" Tolto refused the gift, although he knew this rare and luscious importation from the Earth and was very fond of it. "Once more I ask you, bug, where is she?" "Aw, now, listen!" the cook whined. "Don't blame me! I'm only a servant around here. How can I help what they do? Don't glare at me so. Well, she's at Tarog."
Well, she can trust in me." "They say," the deacon hinted, "that if one went to Tarog, and inquired at the proper place, there would be a reward." The little old woman chilled him, she looked so deadly. "Deacon Homms!" she hissed. "If you sell this poor little girl to Scar Balta, your hypocritical white eyes will never roll again, because I'll tear them out and feed them to the fish. Understand?"
After a few minutes Sira discarded her clothing, and so settled down to a long swim. Ten miles out she struck a brisk easterly current, flowing toward Tarog, and she gave herself up to it. Floating on her back she saw the lights of the prince's ships flying back and forth over the water in search of her or her body. But none came near her, and she was content.
There was a considerable swell, for there was a slight breeze blowing from the north across twenty miles of water, but this did not distress Sira at all. She undulated through the waves with perfect comfort. Phobos was just rising in the west, and orientating herself by this tiny moon she struck out in a north-easterly direction, seeking a favorable current to carry her toward Tarog.
Homms and Sira were rapidly striking up a friendship. A shrewd judge, of character herself, Sira did not hesitate to admit her identity, and without any prying questioning the old woman soon had the whole story. It thrilled her, this review of the life she had once seen as a servant. "I wonder if I will ever see Tarog again!" she sighed wistfully. "You shall!" Sira promised, "if you help me."
"I will do what I can gladly." "I need a workingman's trousers and blouse, and a sun-hat that will shade my face. I have a plan, but I must get to Tarog. Can you get me these things?" "I have no money, but wait!" She rummaged with gnarled fingers in a chink in the wall, withdrew a small brooch-pin of gold, with a pink terrestrial pearl in its center.
Their momentum, under the destructive rate of speed they had been making, was great, and as the levitators, with independent power supply, still held them up, Sime continued to steer a course for the twin cities of Tarog. He was aided by a light breeze, and the Sun was nearing the western horizon by the time their rate of motion had become negligible. "Might at well land," Sime decided.
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