THE MAGIC LABYRINTH by Philip Jose Farmer

Sam grimaced and went back into the head. As he suspected, the shower pipes contained enough water for several cupfuls. He drank one and filled a second. Returning to the cabin, he put the cup to his captive’s lips and tilted it as the man drank. John smacked his lips and sighed.

“Another, please?”

“Another! Please?” Sam said loudly. “Are you crazy! I just gave you one so you’ll be able to stand up to what I’m going to do to you!”

John smiled briefly. He was as undeceived as his captor.

Knowing that infuriated Sam so much that he almost became capable of doing what he had threatened. The anger ebbed swiftly, leaving him with the pistol upraised to strike.

John’s smile faded, but only because he did not wish to push Sam too far.

“Why are you so sure of yourself, of me?” Sam said. “Do you think I wouldn’t have blasted you out of the water, sunk you to hell, watched you drown, and shoved you away if you had tried to get aboard?”

“Of course,” John said. “But that was in the heat of battle. You won’t torture me, much as you’d like to do so. Nor will you shoot me in cold blood.”

“But you’d do all that to me, wouldn’t you, you heartless bastard?”

John smiled.

Sam started to reply, then closed his mouth. The uproar in the passageway had suddenly stopped. John also started to say something, but at a sign from/’Sam he stopped. Apparently, he knew that if he tried to yell, he would regret it. His enemy was not that soft.

Minutes passed. Sam stood by the door, his ear against it, one eye on John. Now he could hear the faint voices of men. These cabins were soundproofed, so there was no determining how far away the voices were. He went back to John and placed a cloth over his mouth, tying it tightly behind his head.

“Just in case,” he said. “But if you do manage to shout for help, I’ll be forced to shoot you. Remember that.”

And I hope you do cry out, he thought.

He turned off the light, unlocked the door, and pushed it slowly out, holding the pistol in his other hand. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There were more bodies than there had been before. He looked cautiously around the door and down the corridor. Still more bodies. It looked as if the fight had progressed down it to the other side and on out. The handgun firing had ceased sometime during the struggle. It was replaced by the ring of blade on blade. And the distant din was composed only of voices and metal clash. It seemed that both sides had run out of ammunition.

He did not see how the numerically smaller boarders could hold out for long against his own people. He’d wait a little while to make sure that it was safe to emerge with his prisoner.

But, wasn’t he rationalizing? Wasn’t it his duty to get out there and lead his people? Yes, it was. But what about his prisoner?

That was easy. He would lock John in the cabin with the key now hanging by the door. Then he’d look for his crew. It wouldn’t be difficult to find it. A good part would be where the noise was.

He returned to the cabin, shut the door, and turned on the light. John looked curiously at him.

“It’s just about over,” Sam said. “Your crew’s about cleaned out. I’m going now, but I’ll be back soon. And sometime in the future you’ll be on trial.”

He paused. John’s expression did not change. Gurgling sounds came from behind the gag. Evidently, he wanted to speak. But what could he say? Why waste time?

“I don’t want it said that I am not fair or that I am too personally involved to be just,” Sam said. “So, you’ll get a trial. It won’t be by your peers. How many kings are running loose out there or within easy call? But it’ll have a jury of twelve good men and true. That’s only a phrase, since the ladies’ll be represented too.

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