"A dangerous question, my dear." The Security chief studied her for a long, long moment. "Now I find myself wondering if I can trust you further—and no matter how I phrase it, the answer comes back, 'No'."
Dane felt Nelva's fingers stiffen on his cheek. A tremor ran through her.
Abruptly, his desire to leave the arena ebbed. He sat up. "What happens when you get no for an answer, Jessup?"
"MisterJessup, you chitza!" Pfaff snarled. But the hairless man himself only smiled faintly.
"A wise man knows when not to talk, Dane," he observed. "For you, this is one of those times. You've done well. I like you. So human or not, I'll look after you so long as you behave."
"And Nelva?"
"She's no concern of yours, Dane. And as I said once, a wise man knows when not to talk." A pause. "I may not repeat that again."
And from Nelva: "Please, Clark. Let it go."
Dane eyed her soberly. "Why?"
The panic flaring in her eyes was more than enough answer.
To no one in particular Dane said, "Everything that can happen to me has already happened. That gives me leeway to take care of a few things."
He started to rise.
Jessup's twisted smile was gone now. All gone. Sharp and hard, he rapped, "Get him, Pfaff!"
The squat Security rep whipped out a pelgun.
Dane went flat on the ground in the same instant. Clawing out, he caught Pfaff's ankle and jerked the leg from under the thick body.
Pfaff crashed to the ground. Twisting, he fired a pellet.
It went wild. Before the Security rep could trigger off a second shot, Dane swung up a ten-pound chunk of broken masonry in both hands and brained him with it.
Jessup's voice echoed, shouting to the guard. The man-creature raced towards Dane and Nelva.
Wrenching the pelgun from Pfaff's dead hand, Dane shot for his new attacker's knees.
The guard spilled headlong; lay moaning.
Pelgun at the ready, Dane swung to Jessup.
But the Security chief's voice stayed calm, even though his hairless skull was glistening. "You can't shoot, Dane. You can't." And then, forceful and vibrant: "Remember? I'm your master. You're my slave!"
Dane stopped in his tracks.
Deftly, while Dane stood as if paralyzed, Jessup took the pelgun. "You see, I'm still master, Dane. I created you. That's why you're going to stay here. You and Nelva Guthrie. Together. Dead."
Sweat came to Dane's forehead. In an agony of desperate tension, he tried to drag up his hand.
But it was like being thrown back through time into a nightmare. Once again, it was as on that other, dark-remembered day. The control, the conditioning—they gripped him in spite of all his efforts; bound him tight.
"Can you guess why you two will die, Dane?" Jessup taunted. "Is there any reason you can see?"
Mumbling, Dane said, "Because ... we know ... too much?"
"That's right. But what about?"
"About the Kalquoi wanting peace? About the way you sent me to activate the shaft, so they'd think men were all against them?"
"Very good, Dane. Now tell me why."
"Because you ... run things ... so long as there's trouble ... with the Kalquoi. But if peace comes ... you'll be just another man."
"Correct." Jessup's hairless face set in a death's-head grin. "And now, to get on to the business at hand...."
He moved towards Nelva. Face chalky with fear, she stumbled backward, behind Dane, out of his view.
Again Dane strained. Again he failed.
Was it true, then? Was he really Jessup's slave?
Numb, aching, he prayed for some power to break the deep-conditioned trance into which Jessup's cue-words had thrown him.
Behind him, then, Jessup said something too low to catch. A blow thudded.
Like an echo, Nelva screamed.
Dane never knew what happened in that moment.
Yet within him, it was as if some tight-confining band had snapped. The new stimulus overrode the old. Whirling, leaping over Nelva's crumpled form, Dane threw himself bodily at Jessup.
The Security chief's voice, half-choked, gasping the cue-words: "Dane! Remember! I'm your mas—"
The voice cut off as Dane wrenched the hairless head back and jammed a hand down the yawning throat.
Jessup, arms flailing. Jessup, eyes bulging. Jessup, face purpling.
A final jerk, with every ounce of strength left in Dane's sagging muscles. Thecrackof bone snapping.
Jessup limp. Jessup dead.
Dane knelt beside Nelva. Hands shaking, he felt for her pulse.
Her eyes opened; grew tender. Slowly, she smiled. Her slim hand clasped his big one.
A shudder ran through him. Face averted, he pulled his hand from hers and drew back.
"Clark—!" She caught at his elbow. "Dane, it's all right. I'm not hurt, not badly...."
Wordless, again he tried to pull away.
Nelva came close now; clung to him. "Clark, what is it? What's wrong? What have I done?"
Dane choked. "It's not you. It's me; what I am."
"What you are—?" She tugged him around and stared at him, grey eyes ever so wide. "What are you, Clark?"
"You heard Jessup say it: I'm ... not human." Miserably, Dane forced himself to meet her gaze. "Don't you understand, Nelva? I don't even dare to think about—you and me. I'm—different. Like no one, not even Jessup's Zombie guards."
A moment of silence. A long, echoing moment, while the girl sat with eyes downcast.
Then, slowly, she looked up at Dane once more. "I know, Clark. Better than you. Because I've had longer to be lonely."
"To be lonely—?"
"Yes, Clark." Nelva's grey eyes suddenly were tear-filled, her voice a whisper. "You see, I was the first—the very first the lab made with a real mind, and free will. That was why I had to find you, even though I didn't dare tell you anything for fear I'd distort your reaction pattern, put you in danger." A smile, slow and shy, tremulous through the tears. "That's over now, Clark. We ... don't have to be lonely any more...."
The pickup ship came much too soon.