Then the crack of Cecelia’s rifle and the ugly sound of a round hitting bone came together, and Dussahral was flung away from her. Heris stared. Her employer stared back. “You said to pick the right moment,” Cecelia said. Bright color patched her cheeks. “I think I did.” She held the rifle steady as if she were perfectly calm.
“Damn.” Heris felt her head. It hurt, but she was alive, not a scratch, and Dussahral lay dead, the back of his skull and its contents splattered for a meter or more on the forest floor. “Yes—you did. But I thought for a moment—”
“I wanted him away from you—at least his weapon.” Cecelia shivered suddenly. “I never—did that before. Not a person.”
“You did it perfectly.” Heris picked up her own rifle, and walked back to Cecelia. “You saved my life, is what you did.” It occurred to her now just how stupid it had been to give Dussahral a chance. If she made the same mistake with Lepescu . . . well, she wouldn’t.
“That’s what I meant to do—but he’s so . . . so ugly.”
“They are.” Heris turned Cecelia away from it, but Cecelia twisted back.
“No. If I do it, I should see what I did.” She walked deliberately up to the body; already a few tiny flies buzzed near it. “So little time between life and death. We think we have years . . .” Heris did not tell her how long it often took men to die of wounds. Not now. Now they had other prey.
“It’s amazing,” Cecelia went on, “how young men like this think we old people are frail, emotional, likely to fall apart at any emergency.” When her eyes met Heris’s, it gave Heris a chill; they were the cold gray of frozen oysters. “Because of course,” Cecelia continued, “we’ve done everything they imagine they might do. One time or another.”
“But that’s crazy,” the prince said. He had said it before, and Ronnie thought he would go on saying it until he died. “No one would kill you—not like this. Let me call Admiral Lepescu and get you back to civilization.” After he’d dropped the rifle, the girls had grudgingly lowered theirs, and let him sit down. He had refused to believe they were really in danger, and continued to defend the hunters.
Had he listened at all? Ronnie thought not. “What about the others?” he asked. “Serrano’s crew.”
“There’s some kind of mistake,” the prince said firmly. “Those men are criminals, condemned to life at hard labor; they have this option, risking death against a chance for a lesser sentence on a colony world. This is easier, for some people, than life in prison.”
It occurred to Ronnie that he himself would have made that argument not long before. The topic of life sentences versus the death penalty had been a favorite debate in the mess. Of course, none of those debating ever expected to face either alternative.
“They’re not criminals,” Raffa said hotly. “They’re decent people your admiral has a grudge against.”
“I know it’s fashionable for some people to argue against the justice system,” the prince said. “But these people have all been tried and convicted and sentenced; do you think I’d be here if they weren’t?”
A long silence. Finally Bubbles said, “I am frankly surprised that you’re here even though they are. Does your father condone hunting people for sport? The last time I heard, he was scolding my father for hunting foxes.”
Another long silence. “Well . . . he doesn’t exactly know,” the prince said, staring at his boots. He looked younger than Ronnie remembered, more the schoolboy he had known. “I’m supposed to be at the Royal Aero-Space depot on Naverrn. Admiral Lepescu fixed that for me.”
“Mmm. And do you think he’ll approve, even if they are convicted criminals? Which they aren’t, but just to argue the point.” Bubbles, on the other hand, looked older, tougher. She had laid aside her weapon, as if the prince were no longer a threat. Except for his stubbornness, Ronnie thought, he wasn’t.
The prince scuffed his boot along the wall. “Probably not. But he doesn’t need to know everything I do, and he certainly approved of my association with people like the other men in the club. Men of stature, men with . . . with . . . with . . .”
“Influence,” Bubbles said. She made the word sound like something with little legs scuttling along the floor.
“The thing is,” Ronnie said, “we’ve got to get out of here and rescue George.”
“George? The odious George Starbridge Mahoney is here too? How fitting.” The prince chuckled, leaning back against the stone. “Don’t worry—no one will hurt George once they realize who his father is.”
“They know who my father is, and they’ve tried to shoot me,” Bubbles said. Ronnie glanced at her. She had changed as much as any of them, he realized, and in a way he could not have predicted. She looked like someone it would be dangerous to cross.
“Of course,” the prince went on, ignoring that, “as soon as we do get back to civilization, I’ve a bone to pick with you, Ronnie. We simply can’t ignore it; we must duel.”
Ronnie stared at him. “A duel? You mean—formally?”
“Yes, of course, formally. It wouldn’t have been necessary had we not met, but we did. And I had told them, if I saw you again anytime in the next twelve months, I would insist on it. It’s a matter of honor.” The prince drew himself up, glanced around at the two girls, and posed. Bubbles burst into giggles; Raffa merely looked scornful. Ronnie could not decide whether to laugh or scream.
“Look,” he said, trying for reasonableness, “that whole thing is over. Past. Gone. She’s all yours, and I’m sorry I said anything, and I’ll never bother you again, but—”
“You’re not going to back out of a duel, are you? That’s—”
Ronnie felt anger roll up from his gut to the top of his head in one refreshing wave. “I am not going to pretend to stick holes in you with a holographic sword because of a stupid quarrel over a stupid opera singer who is probably sleeping with both our younger brothers right this moment! Can you get it through your skull that we are being hunted, by people with real weapons who want to kill us really dead? We are—Bubbles and Raffa and George and I—and I am not playing your silly games any more.”
“Honor,” the prince said, “is not a game.”
“No,” said Ronnie more quietly. “You’re right, it’s not a game. But my honor doesn’t depend any more on the kind of things we got into in the regiment. I have other claims on it now.”
“But what will I tell them when I get home?” the prince asked.
“If you get home,” Bubbles said, “tell them you grew up. If you did.”
The prince shook that off and stroked his moustaches. “Well—if we’re to rescue George, we’d better get on our way. If you’re convinced Lepescu is dangerous to you, how do you propose to get to Bandon?”
“Now what?” Cecelia asked. “We don’t know where the captain is, we don’t know where the cave is, and we don’t have a flitter any more.”