Dirk came out, wearing shirt and breeches of soft, shimmering, synthetic cloth. He tapped another glassful and took the lounger next to Gar’s, watching the planet turn from a huge presence above them into a swirling disk in front of them. “Strange to think it’s over.”
“Over for us,” Gar returned. “Just begun, for Coll and Ciare.”
“Think we might come back to see them again someday?”
“Not really,” Gar said regretfully. “It’s a big galaxy, after all—a very big galaxy. But I think the Wizard might look in on him from time to time.”
“He might, at that.” Dirk took a sip, then said, “Do you think he’ll ever figure out that the Wizard was you?”
“Only if he suspects I’m a mind reader,” Gar replied, “and since he’s probably never even heard the word ‘telepath,’ I doubt he’ll ever suspect anything.”
“And since he doesn’t know what a telekinetic is, he’ll never figure out that there was anything to that prison window coming loose other than old mortar…”
“It wasn’t,” Gar told him. “It was only ten years old, and hard as the holes in Hell!”
“…or why a handful of men were able to start the player’s cart moving, or why it rolled so easily, or how you knew where an enemy was going to swing next, or…”
“Spare me the catalog,” Gar groaned. “Remember, you yourself said I would be silly not to use the advantage I had.”
“And I’ll say it again, anytime you start developing scruples.” Dirk fell silent again, sipping his drink, watching the screen, and feeling the tension roll off him. Maltroit grew smaller and smaller until it occupied only about a third of the screen’s area. There, it stabilized.
“We have achieved orbit,” Herkimer told them.
“So.” Dirk rolled his glass between his palms, then looked up at Gar. “Whose world shall we save next?”