Ian was aware that a puddle was forming around his shoes. "I don't know how it works."
"Then tell me which of you knows how it does."
"No, I'll not betray a friend."
Gregor looked him in the eye and held his gaze.
"You have more courage than it appears," Gregor snapped. "The mystery of your coming requires more examination, for I see the dream of our jihad come to fruition at last with such a device that you now possess. This requires far more decision than I am capable of. You shall live, for the moment."
Gregor turned away.
There was a murmur of angry voices in the room.
"Silence. I like it not, but the Father is already awak ening. I cannot exceed my mandate, even if I wish it. He must be awakened."
"But, Gregor," came a voice from the back of the room, "take the burden yourself this time and let him return to sleep."
"Speak not or I shall force upon you what Nara has earned."
Suddenly the two men who had followed Nara returned to the room and walked to his side.
"Did Nara keep his honor?" Gregor asked.
One of the two held up his blade for all to see-a dark substance dripped from the tip of the weapon. The others murmured their approval.
"He had already cut himself open by the time we arrived. I ended for him as second, so he would not cry out and thus be shamed. Nara's honor was preserved."
The others expressed their approval and, to lan's ears, sounded happy.
"Then it is time to take communion with Nara's honor," Gregor intoned ceremonially. "Let these others be taken to a place of waiting, for the Father must be prayed to: A decision must be made."
They were led away by their female interrogator, and as he watched them while leaving the room, Ian had a bad feeling about what a "communion with Nara's honor" really meant.
Ian looked over to Elijah and saw that he was smiling hungrily.
"Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into, Ian," Ellen said wearily.
Ian looked up at Ellen and smiled weakly.
"Can't you lay off him for a little while?" Stasz inter jected.
"Why are you defending him all of a sudden?"
"Because I have a feeling all our butts are going to be fried in this one, and in spite of his screw-up in bringing us here, I have to say he really hasn't done all that bad."
Ian looked up at Stasz and nodded his thanks.
Richard and Shelley were asleep on a low cot set into the far corner of the room. His heavy arm was draped protectively over Shelley's shoulder, but she didn't seem to mind and had drifted off to sleep hours ago.
How long they had been in the holding cell was only a guess. It had already been indicated to them that their respective roles had easily been ascertained by a search of the Discovery, and after that one bit of communication, not another word of information had been exchanged.
Much to lan's surprise, they had been allowed their personal possessions, so he had his pocket computer and the alien artifact, which he had quickly explained as a religious medallion.
Only Elijah seemed unperturbed by the situation. He was explaining that "to be locked up with even one other person is my idea of paradise," when the door to their cell opened noiselessly. Only a single guard stood there- the white-robed one they had called Gregor. He pointed to Ian then beckoned for him to follow.
Ian suddenly felt as if the decision over their fate had been made. They must have discovered by now the op erational and repair manuals stored in the ship's com puters. With just a little research work they should be able to replicate the Discovery; therefore there was no need any longer for the Earthmen's "unclean" bodies to be kept alive.
Ian stood up and attempted to maintain his dignity. He gently shook hands with Stasz and Elijah and lightly touched Ellen on the shoulder.
"Should I wake up Richard and Shelley?" Ellen asked. There was a choke in her voice.
He shook his head. "I don't think I could handle the upset; you better not. If I don't come back, tell Shelley I really regret not sleeping with her. It's been hard not to, but tell her I fought down the nearly overwhelming desire because I didn't want to create any friction aboard ship." He tried to chuckle.
Ian looked at Ellen and smiled. "Maybe I should have made a pass at you, as well."
"Go on, get out of here." She turned away.
Ian walked out of the room and Gregor beckoned for him to proceed down the corridor.
"Are you going to kill me?" Ian suddenly asked.
"We all die. Death is an illusion, only honor and name remain. When you die, Ian Lacklin, try to leave more behind than a puddle on the floor."
Suspecting that Gregor was laughing, Ian looked back over his shoulder, but his features were solemn and Ian realized that he had been perfectly serious.
"I do not hate you, Ian Lacklin, but I would not gain honor by slaying thee. I know that there is honor in you, in spite of what your outward appearance might tell. Gain honor and then the slaying of you would be worthy for one such as myself."
What the hell is this guy talking about? Ian wondered. If gaining honor is the ticket to this man's sword, then forget it.
"I know what you are thinking, Ian Lacklin, but I believe that you will understand, as well, and will in the end embrace your honor and die for it."
Gregor touched Ian on the shoulder and motioned for him to stop.
The chimelike sound that Ian had heard in the audience hall was drifting on the edge of hearing, but his attention was diverted by the procession coming his way from the other end of the corridor. Gregor backed to the wall and Ian followed his example to let the procession pass. They numbered nearly a hundred, each of them robed. Some were dark as ebony, others paler, a few had Gregor's Asiatic features. It seemed as if half a dozen races had been blended together during the millennium and a com posite of all had been melded into one, with the black having a slight dominance. They walked with a certain assured grace, male and female alike. Not one looked sidelong at him, so perfect was their discipline.
After the procession's passage Gregor again pointed forward, and Ian tried to somehow emulate those who had just passed by-walking to his death without a whine.
Finally they stopped at the audience chamber where Ian had been received earlier. He looked at Gregor ques-tioningly. Was his death then to be a spectacle before an audience?
Gregor pointed to the door, which slid open as if guided by unseen hands.
"Is this to be my end?"
Like an angel of death, Gregor silently pointed, his robed and hooded figure surreal and nightmarish.
"Answer me, at least let me know. Am I to die in there?"
Still there was no response.
"Well, then I have one thing to say if that's the case."
Again Gregor beckoned for him to go.
Ian screwed up his courage, trying to remember his best Old English, hoping that the words still meant the same even in this culture.
"Well then, if that's the case, then fuck you!"
Turning on his heels, he strode through the doorway.
"Marvelous, absolutely marvelous." The voice was deep and melodious.
The door slid closed behind Ian, and in the semidark — ness he could make out but one figure on the dais. Ian strode closer, and the figure stood up as if in greeting.
"I haven't heard it said that way in nearly a thousand years. And with just the right inflection!"
Ian stopped in front of the dais and looked up.
"Yes, Ian Lacklin. My name is Dr. Franklin Smith."
Chapter 13
Nearly six and a half feet tall, he towered over Ian and beneath his simple robe was a powerful build. His chocolate features were wreathed in a salt-and-pepper beard that matched his bushy hair.