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Updated: June 4, 2025
The officer glanced at his watch. "We dock at Commercial Center in twenty minutes; we'll be passing the Solar Hotel in ten." They all rose, and Verkan Vall hooked fingers and clapped shoulders with Zortan Brend. "Good luck, Lord Virzal," the latter said. "I hope you find the Lady Dallona safe and carnate.
Knowing that he would be shooting over a two hundred percent negative gravitation-field, Verkan Vall aimed for the Assassin's belt-buckle and squeezed. The bullet caught him in the throat. Evidently the bullet had not only been lifted in the negative gravitation, but lifted point-first and deflected upward. He held his front sight just above the other man's knee, and hit him in the chest.
Verkan Vall thumbed on his safety and stood motionless, while the servants advanced, took Sirzob's body by the heels, and dragged it over beside Marnark's. "All right; Honorable Yirzol, you're next," Verkan Vall called out. "The Lord Virzal has fired one shot," one of the opposing seconds objected, "and Honorable Yirzol has a full magazine. The Lord Virzal should put in another magazine."
"Who did it?" she asked, the Stone Age savage who had been her ancestor not ten generations ago peeping out of her eyes. "The men who actually used the needlers are dead," Vall told her. "I killed a couple of them myself. We still have to find the men who planned it. I'd hoped you'd want to help us do that, Zinganna." He side-glanced to Dalla again; she nodded.
"Right; we'll be on the top south-west landing stage in a few minutes." Dalla was still heatedly repudiating any resemblance between the normal First Level methods of labor-recruitment and the activities of the Wizard Traders; she had just finished the story of the woman whose child had been brained when Vall rejoined the group. "Dras, I'm awfully sorry," he said.
There seems to be a break in the number sequence in here; that would be the time line Skordran Kirv found those slaves on." He reached for the pipe he had left on the desk when he had gone to Police Terminal and began filling it. A little later, a buzzer sounded and a light came on on one of the communication boxes. He flipped the switch and said, "Verkan Vall here."
Dirzed and Olirzon and the others aren't dead; they're just waiting, discarnate, between physical lives. You know, in the sacred writings of one of the Fourth Level peoples it is stated: 'Death is the last enemy. By proving that death is just a cyclic condition of continued individual existence, these people have conquered their last enemy." "Last enemy but one," Verkan Vall corrected.
"So he ordered himself back on duty, had the slaves isolated and the slave dealers arrested, and then transposed to Police Terminal to report. The SecReg Subchief, old Vulthor Tharn, confirmed him in charge at this Esaron Sector plantation, and assigned him a couple of detectives and a psychist." "When was this?" Vall asked. "Yesterday. One-Five-Nine Day. About 1500 local time."
She pointed an accusing finger. "This murder of the beautiful Lady Dallona of Hadron!" Verkan Vall stopped short, considering the possibility of something having been discovered lately of which he was ignorant. Olirzon must have guessed his thought; he grinned reassuringly. "Think nothing of it, Lord Virzal," he said, waving his knife at the visiplate.
Recocking the revolver, Verkan Vall waited for an instant, then nodded in satisfaction. The beast's spine had been smashed, and its hind quarters, and even its intermediary fighting limbs had been paralyzed. He aimed carefully for a second shot and fired into the base of the thing's skull. It quivered and died.
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