the girl looked up as Ebert came back into the hold, her eyes wide, filled with fear. He stopped, staring at her, appalled by the likeness, then went across and stood by the open hatchway, looking outward, his neat-cut hair barely moving in the icy wind.
"I'm sorry," he said, against the roar of the wind. "I didn't mean to frighten you." He glanced around, smiling. "Here. . . come across. I want to show you something."
She didn't move; only pressed tighter against the far wall of the cabin.
"Come. . ." he said, as softly as he could against the noise. "You've nothing to be afraid of. I just want to show you, that's all."
He watched her: saw how fear battled in her with a need to obey. Yes, he thought, DeVore would have instilled that in you, wouldn't he? She kept looking down, biting her lip, then glancing up at him again, of two minds.
Yes, and you're like her, he thought. Physically, anyway. But you aren't her. You're just a common peasant girl he's had changed in his labs. And the gods alone know what he's done to you. But the real Jelka wouldn't be cowering there. She would have come across of her own free will. To defy me. Just to prove to me that I didn't frighten her. He smiled and looked down, remembering that moment in the machine when she had glared back at him. It had been then, perhaps, that he had first realized his true feelings for her. Then that he had first articulated it inside his head. I'm in love with you, Jelka Tolonen, he had thought, surprised. In love. So unexpected. So totally unexpected.
And afterward, when she had gone, he had found himself thinking of her. Finding the image of her entangled in his thoughts of other things. How strange that had been. So strange to find himself so vulnerable. And now this ...
He went to her and took her arm, coaxing her gently, almost tenderly, across, then stood there, one arm holding tightly about her slender waist, the other reaching up to hold the strap. The wind whipped her long, golden hair back and chilled her face, but he made her look. "There," he said. "Isn't that magnificent?"
He looked sideways at her; saw how she opened her eyes, fighting against the fear she felt; battling with it; trying to see the beauty there in that desolate place DeVore's thing. His "gift."
For a moment there was nothing. Then the tiniest of smiles came to her lips, th< muscles about her eyes relaxing slightly as she saw.
He shivered, then drew his arm back and up, forcing her head down. He watched the tiny figure fall away from the craft, twisting silently in the air, a tiny star of darkness against the white, growing smaller by the second; then he shuddered again, a strange mixture of pain and incomprehension making him shake his head and moan.
No. There would be no impediments. Not this time. No possessive old women or mad whores with their love children. And certainly no copies.
No. Because he wanted the real Jelka, not some copy. Even if she hated him. Or maybe because she hated him. Yes, perhaps that was it. Because underneath it all she was as strong as he and that strength appealed to him, making her a challenge. A challenge he could not turn his back on. For you will love me, Jelka Tblonen. You will.
He watched the body hit in a spray of snow; then he turned away, the roar of the wind abating as he drew the hatch closed behind him.
emily ASCHER turned from the door, then caught her breath, the pay-lock key falling from her hand, clattering across the bare ice floor.
"You ..."
DeVore looked back at her from where he sat on the edge of her bed and smiled. "Yes, it's me."
He saw her look from him to the key, judging the distance, assessing the possibility of getting out of the room alive, and smiled inwardly.
She looked back at him, her eyes narrowed. "How did you find me?"
He tilted his head, looking her up and down, his keen eyes searching for the telltale bulge of a concealed weapon.
"It wasn't so hard. I've had someone trailing you since that meeting at the meat warehouse. I knew then that you were planning to get out."
"You did?" She laughed, but her face was hard. "That's strange. Because I had no plans to. Not until last night."
He smiled. "Then you got out in good time. They're all dead. Or had you heard?"
He saw the way her breathing changed, how the color drained from her face.
"And Gesell?"
He nodded, watching her. "I made sure of him myself."
Her lips parted slightly, then she looked down. "I guess it was . . . inevitable." But when she looked back at him he saw the hatred in her eyes and knew he had been right. She was still in love with Gesell.
Such a waste, he thought. Had the worm understood how lucky he had been to share his bed with two such strong women?
No. Probably not. Like all his kind he took things without thinking of their worth.
"Mach helped me," he said, watching her closely now, his hand resting loosely on the gun in his pocket. "He arranged it all."
"Why?" she asked. "I don't understand. He wanted it to work more than any of us."
"He still does. But he wants to start again, without the taint of Bremen. New blood, with new ideals, fresh ideas."
She stared back at him a moment, then shook her head. "But still with you, neh?"
"Is that why you got out? Because of my involvement?"
She hesitated, then nodded, meeting the challenge of his eyes. "It changed, after you came. It was different before, sharper, but then . . . well, you saw what happened. It wasn't like that before."
"No . . ." He seemed almost to agree. "Well, that's past, eh?"
"Is it?"
He nodded, sitting back slightly, the gun in his pocket covering her now.
"So what now? What do you want of me?"
His smile broadened. "It's not what I want. It's what Mach wants."
"And?"
"And he wants you dead."
Again that slight tremor of the breasts, that slight change in breathing, quickly controlled. She had guts, that was certain. More, perhaps, than any of them. But he had seen that much at once. Had singled her out because of it.
"I'm unarmed," she said, raising her hands slowly.
"So I see," he said. "So?"
She laughed, almost relaxed. "No ... It wouldn't worry you at all, would it? To kill an unarmed woman."
"No, it wouldn't. But who said I was going to kill you?"
Her eyes narrowed again. "Aren't you, then?"
He shook his head, then reached into his left pocket and pulled out a wallet. It held a pass, a new set of identity documents, two five-hundred yuan credit chips, and a ticket for the intercontinental jet.
"Here," he said, throwing it to her.
She caught it deftly, opened it, then looked up sharply at him. "I don't under-
stand . . ."
"There's a price," he said. "I promised Mach I'd bring something back. To prove I'd dealt with you. A finger."
He saw the small shiver pass through her. "I see."
"It shouldn't hurt. I'll freeze the hand and cauterize the wound. There'll be no pain. Discomfort, yes, but nothing more."
She looked down, a strangely pained expression on her face, then looked up again. "Why? I mean, why are you doing this? What's your motive?"
"Do I have to have one?"
She nodded. "It's how you are."
He shrugged. "So you've told me before. But you're wrong."
"No strings, then?"
"No strings. You give me a finger and I give you your freedom, and a new life in North America."
She laughed, still not trusting him, "It's too easy. Too — " She shook her head.
He stood. "You're wondering why. Why should that cold, calculating bastard DeVore do this for me? What does he want? Well, I'll tell you. It's very simple. I wanted to prove that you were wrong about me."
She studied him a moment, then went across and bent down, recovering the pay-key.