At that moment, the screaming warnings in Limbeck’s brain became so insistent that he was forced—reluctantly—to pay attention to them.
He looked up through the crack in the ship’s structure and found himself staring into the wide-open maw of a dig-claw, directly above him, and descending rapidly. If Limbeck hurried, he could just manage to escape the ship before the claw smashed into it.
The god-who-wasn’t groaned again.
“I’ve got to get you out of here!” Limbeck said to him. The Gegs are a softhearted race and there is no doubt that Limbeck was moved by unselfish considerations in determining to risk his own life to save that of the god. But it must also be admitted that the Geg was moved by the thought that if he took back a live god-who-wasn’t, Jarre would have to believe his story!
Grasping the god by the wrists, Limbeck started to pull him across the debris-strewn floor of the shattered ship, when he felt—with a shiver—hands grasp him back. Startled, he looked down at the god. The eyes, almost covered in a mask of blood, were wide open and staring at him. The lips moved.
“What?” With the claw’s creaking, Limbeck couldn’t hear. “No time!” He jerked his head upward.
The god’s eyes glanced up. His face was twisted in pain, and it was obvious to Limbeck that the god was holding on to consciousness by a supreme effort. It seemed he recognized the danger, but it only made him more frantic. He squeezed Limbeck’s wrists hard; the Geg would have bruise marks for weeks.
“My...dog!”
Limbeck stared down at the god. Had he heard right? The Geg glanced hastily around the wreckage and suddenly saw, right at the god’s feet, an animal pinned beneath twisted metal. Limbeck blinked at it, wondering why he hadn’t seen it before.
The dog was panting and squirming. It was stuck and couldn’t free itself, but it didn’t appear to be hurt and it was obviously trying, in its struggles, to reach its master, for it paid no attention to Limbeck.
The Geg looked upward. The claw was coming down with a rapidity that Limbeck found quite annoying—considering how slowly they had descended the last time he’d seen them. He looked from the claw to the god to the dog.
“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly. “There just isn’t time!” The god—eyes on the dog—tried to wrench his hands from the Geg’s grip. But the effort apparently taxed the god’s remaining strength, for suddenly the arms went limp and the god’s head lolled back. The dog, looking at its master, whimpered and increased its efforts to free itself.
“I’m sorry,” Limbeck repeated to the dog, who paid no attention to him. Gritting his teeth, hearing the sound of the claw coming closer and closer, the Geg pulled the body of the god across the debris-strewn floor. The dog’s struggles became frantic, its whimperings changed to yelps, but that was only—Limbeck saw—because it was watching its master being taken away and it couldn’t get to him.
A lump in his throat that was both pity for the trapped animal and fear for himself, Limbeck heaved and pulled and strained and finally reached the crack. With a great effort he dragged the god through. Depositing the limp body on the floor of the crater, Limbeck threw himself down beside the god just as the dig-claw smashed into the metal ship.
There was a shattering explosion. The concussion lifted Limbeck off the ground and slammed him back into it, driving the breath from his stout body. Small bits of shattered coralite fell down around him like rain, the sharp edges biting painfully into his skin. When that ceased, all was quiet. Slowly, dazedly, Limbeck lifted his head. The dig-claw was hanging motionless, probably injured in the explosion. The Geg looked around to discover what had happened to the ship, expecting to see it a mass of twisted wreckage. Instead, he didn’t see it at all. The explosion had destroyed it. No, that wasn’t quite right. There were no pieces of metal lying about; no remnant of the ship remained. It wasn’t only destroyed, it had vanished as though it had never been!
But there was the god to prove that Limbeck hadn’t lost his mind. The god stirred and opened his eyes. Gasping in pain, he turned his head, staring about.
“Dog,” he called feebly. “Dog! Here, boy!” Limbeck, glancing at the coralite that had been blown to smithereens in the blast, shook his head. He felt unaccountably guilty, though he knew there’d been no way he could have saved the dog and themselves.
“Dog!” called the god, and there was a panicked crack in the voice that made Limbeck’s heart ache. Reaching out his hand, he started to try to soothe the god, fearful that he would do himself further injury.
“Ah, dog,” said the god with a deep, relieved sigh, his gaze fixed on the place where the ship had been. “There you are! Come here. Come here. That was quite a ride, wasn’t it, boy?”
Limbeck stared. There was the dog! Dragging itself out of the broken rock, it hobbled, limping on three paws, to its master. Its eyes shining brightly, its mouth open in what Limbeck could have sworn was a pleased grin, the dog gave its master’s hand a lick. The god-who-wasn’t relapsed into unconsciousness. The dog, with a sigh and a wriggle, sank down beside its master, laid its head on its paws, and fixed its intelligent eyes on Limbeck.
18
“I’ve come this far. What do I do now?”
Limbeck wiped his hand over his sweating forehead, rubbed his fingers under the wire rims of the spectacles that kept slipping down his nose. The god was in pretty bad shape, or so Limbeck thought, being uncertain as to the physical properties of gods. That deep gash on the head would have been critical in a Geg, and Limbeck had no choice but to assume it was critical in a god.
“The help-hand!”
Limbeck jumped up and, with a backward glance at the comatose god and his very remarkable dog, the Geg scrambled up the side of the crater. Reaching the edge, he saw all the dig-claws hard at work. The noise was ear-splitting—gouging and scraping, creaking and screeching: all very comforting to the Geg. Looking up quickly, ascertaining that there were no more dig-claws coming down, Limbeck crawled out of the crater and ran back to his own pit.
It was logical to assume that whatever WUPP Geg found the L mark on the dig-claw would send down the help-hand to the same location or as near as he or she could get. Of course, there was every possibility that no one had seen the L, or that they couldn’t get the help-hand ready in time, or countless other dire Occurrences. Running along, tripping and stumbling over the heaps of broken coralite, Limbeck tried to prepare himself to accept without disappointment the fact that no help-hand would be there.
But it was.
The wave of relief that broke over Limbeck when he saw the help-hand sitting on the ground right near his pit nearly drowned the Geg. His knees went weak; he grew light-headed and had to sit down a moment to recover. His first thought was to hurry, for the dig-claws were about to rise again. Staggering to his feet, he headed back for the crater at a run. His legs informed him in no uncertain terms that they were on the verge of rebellion against this unusual amount of exercise. Pausing a moment for the pain to subside, Limbeck reflected that he probably didn’t have to hurry after all. Surely they wouldn’t bring up the help-hand until they were certain he was in it.