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no clouds, but it was briskly cold.
The Autarch was at the main lock of theRemorseless. His overcoat was of thin foamite that
weighed a fraction of an ounce, yet did a nearly perfect job of insulation. A small carbon-dioxide cylinder
was strapped to his chest, adjusted to a slow leak that would maintain a perceptible CO2vapor tension in
his immediate vicinity.
He said,  Would you care to search me, Farrill? He raised his hands and waited, his lean face
quietly amused.
 No, said Biron.  Do you want to checkme for weapons?
 I wouldn t think of it.
The courtesies were as frigid as the weather.
Biron stepped out into the hard sunlight and tugged at the handle of the two-handled suitcase in
which the radio equipment was stowed. The Autarch caught the other.
 Not too heavy, said Biron. He turned, and Artemisia was standing just within the ship, silent.
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Her dress was a smooth, unfigured white which folded in a smooth drape that fled before the
wind. The semitransparent sleeves whipped back against her arms, turning them to silver.
For a moment Biron melted dangerously. He wanted to return quickly; to run, leap into the ship,
grasp her so that his fingers would leave bruises on her shoulders, feel his lips meet hers--
But he nodded briefly instead, and her returning smile, the light flutter of her fingers was for the
Autarch.
Five minutes later he turned and there was still that glimmer of white at the open door, and then
the rise in the ground cut off the view of the ship. The horizon was free of everything but broken and bare
rock now.
Biron thought of what lay ahead, and wondered if he would ever see Artemisia again--and if she
would care if he never returned.
EIGHTEEN:
Out of the Jaws of Defeat!
Artemesia watched them as they became tiny figures, trudging up the bare granite, then dipping below
and out of sight. For a moment, just before they disappeared, one of them had turned. She couldn t be
sure which one, and, for a moment, her heart hardened.
He had not said a word on parting. Not one word. She turned away from the sun and rock
toward the confined metal interior of the ship. She felt alone, terribly alone; she had never felt so alone in
her life.
It was that, perhaps, that made her shiver, but it would have been an intolerable confession of
weakness to admit that it wasn t simply the cold.
She said peevishly,  Uncle Gil! Why don t you close the ports? It s enough to freeze a person to
death. The thermometer dial read plus seven centigrade with the ship s heaters on high.
 My dear Arta, said Gillbret mildly,  if you will persist in your ridiculous habit of wearing nothing
but a little fog here and there, you must expect to be cold. But he closed certain contacts, and, with little
clicks, the air lock slid shut, the ports sunk inward and molded themselves into the smooth, gleaming hull.
As they did so, the thick glass polarized and became nontransparent. The lights of the ship went on and
the shadows disappeared.
Artemisia sat down in the heavily padded pilot s seat and fingered the arms aimlessly.His hands
had often rested there, and the slight warmth that flooded her as she thought that (she told herself) was
only the result of the heaters making themselves felt decently, now that the outer winds were excluded.
The long minutes passed, and it became impossible to sit quietly. She might have gone with him!
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She corrected the rebellious thought instantly as it passed through her mind, and changed the singular
 him to the plural  them.
She said,  Why do they have to set up a radio transmitter anyway, Uncle Gil?
He looked up from the visiplate, the controls of which he was fingering delicately, and said,  Eh?
 We ve been trying to contact them from out in space, she said,  and we haven t reached
anyone. What special good would a transmitter on the planet s surface do?
Gillbret was troubled.  Why, we must keep trying, my dear. We must find the rebellion world.
And, between his teeth, he added to himself,  We must!
A moment passed, and he said,  I can t find them.
 Find whom?
 Biron and the Autarch. The ridge cuts me off no matter how I arrange the external mirrors.
See?
She saw nothing but the sunny rock flashing past. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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