Captain Leicester came up slowly to consciousness in the deserted computer dome, hearing the sounds of rain beating in the clearing outside. His jaw ached; he struggled up to his feet, feeling his face ruefully, fighting for memory out of the strange confused thoughts of the past thirty-six hours or so. His face was furred with stubble, unshaven; his uniform filthy and mussed. Memory? He shook his head, confused; it hurt, and he put his hands to his throbbing temples.
Fragments spun in his mind, half real like a long dream. Gunfire, and a fight of some sort; the sweet face of a red-headed girl, and a sharp unmistakable memory of her body, naked and welcoming–had that been real or a wild fantasy? An explosion that had rocked the clearing–the ship? His mind was still too fuzzed with dream and nightmare to know what he had done or where he had gone after that, but he remembered coming back here to find Camilla alone, of course she would protect the computer, like a mother hen her one chick, and a vague memory of a long time with Camilla, holding her hand while some curious, deep-rooted communion went on, intense and complete, achingly close, yet somehow not sexual, although there had been that too–or was that illusion, confused memory of the redheaded girl whose name he did not know–the strange songs she had sung–and another surge of fear and protectiveness, an explosion in his mind, and then black darkness and sleep.
Sanity returned, a slow rise, a receding of the nightmare. What had been happening to the ship, to the crew, to the others, in this time of madness? He didn’t know. He’d better find out. He vaguely remembered that someone had been shot, before he freaked out–or was that, too, part of the long madness? He pressed the button by which he summoned the ship’s Security men, but there was no response and then he realized that the lights were not working, either. So someone had gotten to the power sources, in madness. What other damage? He’d better go and find out. Meanwhile, where was Camilla?
(At this moment she slipped reluctantly away from Rafe, saying gently, “I must go and see what damage has been done in the ship, querido. The Captain, too; remember I am still part of the crew. Our time is over–at least for now. There’s going to be plenty for all of us to do. I must go to him–yes, I know, but I love him too, not as I do you, but I’m learning a lot about love, my darling, and he may have been hurt.”)
She walked across the clearing, through the blowing rain which was beginning to be mixed with heavy wet snow. I hope someone finds some kind of fur-bearing animals, she thought, the clothes made for Earth won’t face a winter here. It was a quite routine thought at the back of her mind as she went into the darkened dome.
“Where have you been, Lieutenant?” the Captain said thickly. “I have a queer feeling I owe you some kind of apology, but I can’t remember much.”
She looked around the dome, quickly assessing damage. “It’s foolish to call me Lieutenant here, you’ve called me Camilla before this–before we ever landed here.”
“Where is everybody, Camilla? I suppose it’s the same thing that hit you in the mountains?”
“I suppose so. I imagine before long we’ll be up to our ears in the aftermath,” she said with a sharp shudder. “I’m frightened, Captain–” she broke off with an odd little smile. “I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Harry,” Captain Leicester said absent-mindedly, but his eyes were fixed on the computer and with a sudden, sharp exclamation Camilla went toward it. She found one of the resin-candles issued for lights and lit it, holding it up to examine the console.
The main banks of storage information were protected by plates from dust, damage, accidental erasure or tampering. She caught up a tool and began to unfasten the plates, working with feverish haste. The Captain came, caught up by her sir of urgency, and said, “I’ll hold the light.” Once he had taken it, she moved faster, saying between her teeth, “Someone’s been at the plates, Captain, I don’t like this–“