Shrugging, Leoh replied, “According to our informa> tion, Hector was being kept aboard an orbiting star ship. He somehow got off the ship in a shuttle craft, presumably heading for the Kerak dueling machine. The same one you escaped from. That’s all we know.”
That machine is in Kor’s Ministry of Intelligence,” Odal heard himself saying calmly. But his mind was racing: Kor, Hector, Romis, Ceri. “He’s walking straight into the fire.”
“You’re the only one who can help him now,” Leoh said.
Ceri. The look on her face. Her voice: “You wouldn’t know what decency is.”
“Very well,” said Odal. “I’ll try.”
He had expected to feel either an excitement at the thought of pleasing Geri, or a new burden of fear at the prospect of returning to Kor’s hands. Instead he felt neither. Nothing. His emotions seemed turned off—or, perhaps, they were merely waiting for something to happen.
It was late at night when Odal, closely guarded, arrived at the dueling machine. He was wearing black from his throat to his boots, and looked like a grim shadow against the antiseptic white of the chamber.
Leoh met him at the control desk. The Acquatainian guards stood back.
“I’m sony it took so long to get you here. Every minute’s delay could mean Hector’s life. And yours.”
Odal smiled tightly at the afterthought.
The old man continued, “I had to talk to Martine for two whole hours before he’d permit your release. And I roused Sir Harold from his sleep. He was less than happy.”
“If I recall the time differential correctly,” Oda! said, “it’s nearly dawn at Kor’s headquarters. An ideal time to arrive.”