Pounded mercilessly by the jarring litter, Jason fell wearily into a light sleep. It was shot through with dreams of the rushing animals, hurrying on forever in silence. With his eyes open or shut, he saw the same endless stream of beasts.
It all meant something and he frowned as he tried to think what. Animals running, Pyrran animals.
He sat bolt upright suddenly, twisting in his litter, wide awake and staring down in comprehension.
“What is it?” Plies asked, swinging his dorym in close.
“Go on,” Jason said. “Get us out of this, and get us out safely. I know how your people can get what they want, end the war now. There is a way, and I know how it can be done.”
25
There were few coherent memories of the ride. Some things stood out sharply like the spaceship-sized lump of burning scoria that had plunged into a lake near them, showering the line with hot drops of water. But mostly it was just a seemingly endless ride, with Jason still too weak to care much about it. By dawn the danger area was behind them and the march had slowed to a walk. The animals had vanished as the quake was left behind, going their own ways, still in silent armistice.
The peace of mutually shared danger was over; Jason found that out when they stopped to rest and eat. He and Plies went to sit on the soft grass, near a fallen tree. A wild dog had arrived there first. It lay under the log, muscles tensed, the ruddy morning light striking a red glint from its eyes. Plies faced it, not three meters away, without moving a muscle. He made no attempt to reach one of his weapons or to call for help. Jason stood still as well, hoping the Pyrran knew what he was doing.
With no warning at all the dog sprang straight at them. Jason fell backward as Plies pushed him aside. The Pyrran dropped at the same time-only now his hand held the long knife, yanked from the sheath strapped to his thigh. With unseen speed the knife came up, the dog twisted in midair, trying to bite it. Instead it sank in behind the dog’s forelegs, the beast’s own weight tearing a deadly gaping wound the length of its body. It was still alive when it hit the ground, but Plies was astraddle it, pulling back the bony-plated head to cut the soft throat underneath.
The Pyrran carefully cleaned his knife on the dead animal’s fur, then returned it to the sheath. “They’re usually no trouble,” he said quietly, “but it was excited. Probably lost the rest of the pack in the quake.” His actions were the direct opposite of the city Pyrrans. He had not looked for trouble nor started the fight. Instead he had avoided it as long as he could. But when the beast charged, it had been neatly and efficiently dispatched. Now, instead of gloating over his victory, he seemed troubled over an unnecessary death.
It made sense. Everything on Pyrrus made sense. Now he knew how the deadly planetary battle had started-and he knew how it could be ended. All the deaths had not been in vain. Each one had helped him along the road a little more toward the final destination. There was just one final thing to be done.
Plies was watching him now and he knew they shared the same thoughts. “Explain yourself,” Plies said. “What did you mean when you said we could wipe out the junkmen and get our freedom?”
Jason didn’t bother to correct the misquote; it was best they consider him a hundred percent on their side.
“Get the others together and I’ll tell you. I particularly want to see Naxa and any other talkers who are here.”
They gathered quickly when the word was passed. All of them knew that the junkman had been killed to save this off-wonder, that their hope of salvation lay with him. Jason looked at the crowd of faces turned toward him and reached for the right words to tell them what had to be done. It didn’t help to know that many of them would be killed doing