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It didn't reassure Corina, and she let that show in her expression. She looked up at the Sanctioner leader, shivering again. "But . . . I don't want to die! I have done nothing to die for!" "Youngling, it is not for me to question Senior Valla's orders, but I admit I do no like this assignment. My own girl-child is about your age." "Then " Sudden hope dawned. "No, youngling."
Is that knife the only weapon you plan to carry? You might want to think about something with a little more range.* "I think not," Corina said aloud. "I am not familiar with distance weapons, since I am not a Sanctioner; my darlas should be adequate for anyone I cannot reach physically after this mission, at least." She indicated the weapon at his belt.
She had been walking for perhaps five minutes when a Sanctioner patrol cruiser sped past her, toward Thark's home. The wind of its passage ruffled her fur as well as her kilt, but they seemed to pay no attention to her, for which she was grateful. Still, it was what she had hoped. If she were obvious enough, the Sanctioners should think she had nothing to hide.
Losinj, who is accused of assaulting a Sanctioner officer. He also demands we release Entos." "Send him in," Medart said, the casualness he'd assumed for Corina's benefit vanishing. "I'll handle this myself." "Yes, sir." The viewscreen went blank. Medart turned to Corina. "Did you assault a Sanctioner officer?" "That is a matter of interpretation," she replied.
Even as regards astronomy, a science so nearly allying itself to religion by the loftiness and by the purity of its contemplations, Scripture is nowhere the parent of any doctrine, nor so much as the silent sanctioner of any doctrine. Scripture cannot become the author of falsehood, though it were as to a trifle, cannot become a party to falsehood.
She straightened and left at a fast walk, was around the corner and out of sight before he spotted Garal's unconscious form. She tightened her shield, feeling probes as the Sanctioner alerted the others. Although she knew it would make her conspicuous, she broke into a run. She had to reach the park that encircled the Planetary Palace before the Sanctioners caught her again.
A Terran in Marine black service dress uniform sat behind a large metal desk, holding a blaster aimed casually in her direction. Her soul-blade lay beside his left hand. She suppressed the rage she dared not show at that sight. It had been bad enough earlier, when the Sanctioner had taken her blade, but at least he had been an Irschchan and understood its significance.
All three waited silently until the door slid open again, to admit the Sanctioner chief. He wasted no time getting to the point. "You have no right to interfere in purely planetary matters," he said. "I must require the return of Losinj and Entos." "You're wrong on two counts," Medart said coldly.
"Greetings, Master Thark," the Sanctioner said. "Greetings, Underofficer Jamar. What is Prowler's status?" "Senior Adepts Valla and Kainor are already on board, as is the rest of my squad. The ship is ready for takeoff." "Excellent," Thark said. "Then we leave immediately. We have no time to waste." He hurried up the ramp into the ship.
She dared not probe at the Sanctioners to see if they believed her; somehow that did not seem to be the sort of thing a frightened prisoner would do. She could only hope her plan was working, but the closer they got to the city and Sanctioner headquarters, the less confidence she had in it. The trip ended in deep silence.
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