“I am not evil!” the other cried. “It is you who…”
He struggled with himself, then got the words out.
“There is no use arguing.”
The man by the railing said, “Is it too late even now for you to change your mind? You would be forgiven, you would be sent to the Gardenplanet for therapy. You could join me and the agents and work with us to get to the tower…”
“No,” the first man said. “Don’t be stupid.”
He lifted his cutlass and advanced on the other, who assumed the onguard position. The duel was short and savage and ended when the unarmored man, bleeding from a dozen slashes, fell with the other’s point in his throat.
The killer dragged the body to the railing, lifted it up in his arms, kissed the mouth of the corpse, and dropped it into the water. Tears streamed down his cheeks; he shook with sobs.
SECTION 11
The Final Duel: Burton vs. Bergerac
38
THE EVENTS IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THE EXPLOSION IN THE boiler deck set off by Burton’s group were swift, confusing, and blurred. For some time, Burton was either chasing or being chased, attacking or retreating. Mostly, he was retreating, since the enemy usually outnumbered them. By the time that Burton’s group was forced into the great room of an armory, it was larger than when it had started. Though it had lost eight, it had picked up enough so that it now counted thirteen men and ten women. For all he knew, these were the only survivors of the Rex.
Neither side had any ammunition left for their firearms. From now on it would be cold steel only. The enemy withdrew to rest and to get their wind back. They also had to confer. The entrance to the armory was two and a half men wide, and storming it would be very difficult.
Burton looked over the array of arms and decided to discard his cutlass for an e’pee. This was a sword with a triangular edgeless blade three feet long. Its guard was bell-shaped; from the slightly curving handle protruded two wooden stops for better gripping. Burton tried the temper of the blade by placing its point against a beam of wood and bending it. The blade formed an arc to within a foot of the shell and sprang back to a straight line when the pressure was released.
The armory stank much of sweat and blood and not a little of urine and feces. It was also surprisingly hot. He removed his armor except for his helmet, and he urged the others to emulate him, though he wouldn’t order them to do it.
“When we get to the deck, we won’t have time to shuck off our iron,” he said. “We’ll have to dive into The River the moment we get to the open deck. It’ll be much easier taking off the armor now than when you’re in The River.”
One of the women was the lovely Aphra Behn, no longer so lovely. Gunpowder smoke grimed her face; sweat and blood had made streaks and splashes on the blackened skin; her eyes were red with powder and fatigue; one eye was twitching. She said, “The boat must be sinking. If we don’t get out soon, we’ll drown.”
Though she looked hysterical, her voice was calm enough, considering the circumstances.
“Yaas, I know,” Burton drawled. He considered for a minute. They were on the B deck, and the A deck was probably filled with water by now. It wouldn’t be long before this deck would be awash.
He strode to the hatch and stuck his head around its corner. The lights were still on in the corridor. There was no reason why they should go out since they were being fed from the batacitor. This would operate even if it was under water.
There was no one alive in the corridor. The enemy must be hiding in the rooms nearby, waiting until the Rexites tried to sally out.
“I’m Captain Gwalchgwynn of the marines of the Rex\” he said loudly. “I’d like to talk to your commander!”
No one answered. He shouted his request again, then stepped out into the passageway. If anyone was just inside the open doors near the armory, he couldn’t see them.