“It’s so small. I’d need to take it back to the
CAT
to have a proper look at it. I didn’t bring all my tools with me." He made a tutting noise. “It
looks
all right; I can’t see any obvious damage. Maybe the reactors are putting it off."
“Damn. We’ll have to search, then," Horza said. He let Wubslin close the small inspection panel on the suit front.
The engineer leaned back and shoved his visor up. “Only trouble is," he said glumly, “if the reactors are interfering, there
isn’t much point in
taking the train to look for the Mind. We’ll have to use the transit tube."
“We’ll search the station first," Horza said. He stood up. Through the window, across the station platform, he could see Yalson
standing
watching Balveda as the Culture woman paced slowly up and down the smooth rock floor. Aviger still sat on the pallet.
Xoxarle stood strapped
to the girders of the access ways.
“OK if I go up to the control deck." Wubslin said. Horza looked into the engineer’s broad, open face.
“Yeah, why not. Don’t try to get it to move just yet, though."
“OK," Wubslin said, looking happy.
“Changer." said Xoxarle, as Horza walked down the access ramp.
“What."
“These wires: they are too tight. They are cutting into me."
Horza looked carefully at the wires round the Idiran’s arms. “Too bad," he said.
“They cut into my shoulders, my legs and my wrists. If the pressure goes on they will cut through to my blood vessels; I should
hate to die in
such an inelegant manner. By all means blow my head off, but this slow slicing is undignified. I only tell
you because I am starting to believe you
do intend to take me back to the fleet."
Horza went behind the Idiran to look at where the wires crossed over Xoxarle’s wrists. He was telling the truth; the wires
had cut into him like
fence wire into tree bark. The Changer frowned. “I’ve never seen that happen," he said to the motionless
rear of the Idiran’s head. “What are you
up to. Your skin’s harder than that."
“I am up to nothing, human," Xoxarle said wearily, sighing heavily. “My body is injured; it tries to rebuild itself. Of necessity
it becomes more
pliable, less hardy, as it tries to rebuild the damaged parts. Oh, if you don’t believe me, never mind. But
don’t forget that I did warn you."
“I’ll think about it," Horza said. “If it gets too bad, shout out." He stepped out through the girders back onto the station
floor, and walked
toward the others.
“
I
shall have to think about
that,
" Xoxarle said quietly. “Warriors are not given to ‘shouting out’ because they are in pain."
“So," Yalson said to the Changer, “is Wubslin happy."
“Worried he won’t get to drive the train," Horza told her. “What’s the drone doing."
“Taking its time looking through the other train."
“Well, we’ll leave it there," Horza said. “You and I can search the station. Aviger." He looked at the old man, who was using
a small piece of
plastic to prize bits of food from between his teeth.
“What." Aviger said, looking up suspiciously at the Changer.
“Watch the Idiran. We’re going to take a look around the station."
Aviger shrugged. “All right. I suppose so. Not too many places I can go for the moment." He inspected the end of the piece
of plastic.
He reached out, took hold of the end of the ramp, and pulled. He moved forward on a wave of pain. He gripped the edge of the
train door, and
hauled again. He slid and scraped from the ramp and onto the interior floor of the train itself.
When he was fully inside, he rested.
Blood made a steady roar inside his head.
His hand was becoming tired now and sore. It was not the aching, grinding pain from his wounds, but it worried him more. He
was afraid
that his hand would soon seize up, that it would grow too weak to grip, and he would be unable to haul himself
along.
At least now the way was level. He had a carriage and a half to drag himself, but there was no slope. He tried to look back,
behind and
down to the place he had lain, but could manage only a brief glimpse before he had to let his head fall back. There
was a scraped and bloody
trail on the ramp, as though a broom laced with purple paint had been dragged through the dust and
debris of the metal surface.
There was no point in looking back. His only way was forward; he had only a little while left. In a half hour or less he would
be dead. He
would have had longer just lying on the ramp, but moving had shortened his life, quickened the sapping forces
steadily draining him of strength
and vitality.
He hauled himself toward the longitudinal corridor.
His two useless, shattered legs slithered after him, on a thin slick of blood.
“Changer!"
Horza frowned. He and Yalson were setting out to look over the station. The Idiran called Horza when he was only a few steps
away from the
pallet where Aviger now sat, looking fed up and pointing his gun in roughly the same direction as Balveda while
the Culture agent continued
pacing up and down.
“Yes, Xoxarle." Horza said.
“These wires. They will slice me up soon. I only mention it because you have so studiously avoided destroying me so far; it
would be a pity
to die accidentally, due to an oversight. Please—go on your way if you cannot be bothered."
“You want the wires loosened."
“The merest fraction. They have no give in them, you see, and it would be nice to breathe without dissecting myself."
“If you try anything this time," Horza told the Idiran, coming close to him, gun pointed at his face, “I’ll blow both your
arms and all three legs off
and slide you home on the pallet."
“Your threatened cruelty has convinced me, human. You obviously know the shame we attach to prosthetics, even if they are
the result of
battle wounds. I shall behave. Just loosen the wires a little, like a good ally."
Horza loosened the wires slightly where they were cutting into Xoxarle’s body. The section leader flexed and made a loud sighing
sound
with his mouth.
“Much better, little one. Much better. Now I shall live to face whatever retribution you may imagine is mine."
“Depend on it," Horza said. “If he
breathes
belligerently," he told Aviger, “shoot his legs off."
“Oh yes, sir," Aviger said, saluting.
“Hoping to trip over the Mind, Horza." Balveda asked him. She had stopped pacing and stood facing him and Yalson, her hands
in her
pockets.
“One never knows, Balveda," Horza said.
“Tomb robber," Balveda said through a lazy smile.
Horza turned to Yalson. “Tell Wubslin we’re leaving. Ask him to keep an eye on the platform; make sure Aviger doesn’t fall
asleep."