The Stones of Nomuru

"Flattery will get you everywhere. So?"

"At last I brought the subject around to music. He confessed that he plays an instrument, one where you hit strings with little hammers. He sent his guards away—I suppose he didn't want to lose face before them—and gave me a demonstration. Then I sang some Terran songs. I worked around to lullabies, and presently I had him sleeping soundly. So I picked up your rifle—at least, I hope it's yours—and this bandoleer or whatever you call it."

"Did you think of shooting him?" asked Salazar.

"Yes; but if I had, they'd have been all over me. Even if I'd spoiled his plans of conquest, it wouldn't have gotten you out; and I don't think our heads would have profited from the view atop that pole.

"So I walked out of the tent, as bold as brass. I told the sentries it was Kampai's orders. They couldn't understand the English, but they got the drift and didn't stop me. The rest you know."

"You're simply incredible!" said Salazar. "And now that it's fight enough to go on, which way?"

An hour of wading along the stream bed, squelching through mud banks and hopping from one rounded boulder to another, brought them to Kara's cache in the guDy. This consisted of a bag of native meal, an iron pot, and a folding tripod to hang it from.

The light was now strong enough to give the fugitives a chance to survey each other. Kara suppressed a giggle at Salazar's appearance, and he smiled wryly at hers. Both were covered with dirt and had twigs in their hair. The knee of Salazar's right trouser leg gaped to show a barely-scabbed wound from his recent fall. The legs of both were mud-caked to the calf. Kara still had the well-filled cartridge belt slung over one shoulder. She said:

"Remember that camping trip on Mount Nezumi, when the storm blew our tent away?"

"Shall I ever forget! You were an absolute brick." Salazar hefted the rifle. "This looks like my gun, or at least it's one of the same model."

"I hoped so." Kara collected twigs and sticks and laid a fire on a patch of dry sand beside the stream. Salazar helped, cutting some larger pieces with the Chosha knife.

"How do we start it? Rubbing sticks?" he asked.

"No; I stole a box of matches."

Presently she had a brisk fire going. She scooped stream water into the pot and hung it from the tripod. Salazar asked:

"Did you leave any of this porridge for them?"

"No; why should I? It won't kill them to ride a few days on empty stomachs; it'll serve them right. What'll happen to poor Ragnarsen?"

Salazar shrugged. "Probably have his head dangled from the pole. It was bad enough on Terra, when preachers and politicians went around trying to impose their customs and ideals on peoples of different cultures. Attempting that with another species is a sure way to disaster."

As a ruddy sun peered between the trees on the far side of the stream, Salazar ventured: "Kara darling, you've been an angel and, I admit, I've been an utter louse. But in spite of all, could we ever get together again?"

She poured a handful of meal into the boiling water and stirred. "No, Keith. I admit a lingering fondness for you, like the feeling one has for an old coat. But as for anything closer, forget it. This is either a friendly, businesslike relationship or nothing."

"Then why did you take such a hideous risk?"

"I couldn't let Conrad get away with that monstrous double cross at the expense of someone I'd known so w-well ..." She angrily wiped an eye.

Salazar sighed. "If you ever feel like changing your mind ..."

"I think this mush is about ready," she said. "There's only one spoon; so we'll have to take turns."