THE MAGIC LABYRINTH

The big dark man with the lugubrious features had departed, though not before blessing Sam. Sam felt ashamed.

Now Sam walked the length of every deck on both sides to test the alertness of the sentries. He was happy with the results, and he decided it was foolish to spend any more time prowling the boat. Besides, Gwenafra would be expecting him to come to bed. She'd probably want to make love, too, because one or both of them might not be alive after tomorrow. He didn't feel like it at the moment, but she had some irresistible ways of arousing his spirits, among other things.

He was right. She did insist on it, but when his lack of enthusiasm became obvious, and she couldn't generate any, she quit. Nor did she reproach him. She only asked that he hold her tight and that he talk to her. It was seldom that Sam didn't have time to talk, so they spent at least two hours in conversation.

Shortly before they drifted into sleep, Gwenafra said, "I wonder if Burton could be on the Rex! Wouldn't that be fu

"You've never gotten over your little-girl crush on him, have you?" Sam said. "He must have been something. To you, anyway."

"No, I haven't," she said, "though I couldn't be sure, of course, that I'd like him now. Still, what if he were one of King John's men, and we killed him? I'd feel terrible. Or what if someone you loved were on the Rex?"

"It's just not very probable," he said. "I'm not going to worry about it."

But he did. Long after Gwenafra was breathing the easy breath of the deep sleeper, he lay awake. What if Livy were on the Rex! No, she wouldn't be. After all, it was one of John's men who'd killed her in Parolando. She'd never come aboard his boat. Not, that is, unless she wanted to kill him for revenge. No, she wouldn't do that. She was too gentle for that, even though she'd fight fiercely in defense of her loved ones. But revenge? No.

Clara? Jean? Susy? Could one of them be on the Rex! The chances were very very low that they could be. Yet... the mathematically improbable sometimes happened. And a missile fired from his boat might kill her. And she'd be lost forever to him since there were no more resurrections.

Almost, almost, he rose from bed and went to the pilothouse and had the radio operator send a message to the Rex. A message that he would like to make peace, to call off the battle and the hatred and lust for revenge.

Almost.

John would never agree anyway.

How did he, Sam, know that he wouldn't unless he tested him?

No. John was incorrigible. As stubborn as his enemy, Sam Clemens.

"I'm sick," Sam said.

After a while, he slid into sleep.

Erik Bloodaxe pursued him with his double-headed axe. Sam ran as he had run in so many nightmares about this terrible Norseman. Behind him, Erik screamed, "Bikkja! Droppings of Ratatosk! I told you I'd wait for you near the headwaters of The River! Die, you rotten backstabber! Die!"

Sam awoke moaning, sweating, his heart pounding.

What irony, what poetic justice, what retribution if Erik should happen to be on the Rex.

Gwenafra murmured something. Sam patted her bare back and said, softly, "Sleep, little i

But, in a way, wasn't she being called on to commit murder tomorrow?

"This is too much," he said. "I must sleep. I must be in top physical and mental condition tomorrow. Otherwise... an error on my part... fatigue... who knows?"

But the Not For Hire was too much larger than the Rex, too much more heavily armored and armed, not to win.

He must sleep.

He sat up suddenly, staring. Sirens were wailing. And from the intercom on the wall, Third Mate Cregar shouted, "Captain! Captain! Wake up! Wake up!"

Clemens rolled out of bed and crossed to the intercom. He said, "Yes, what is it?"

John was making a sneak attack? The rotten son of a bitch!

"The infrared operators report that seven people have gone overboard, Captain! Deserters, it looks like!"

So... his little speech about everybody having passed the test, about their proven courage, had been wrong. Some men and women had lost their bravery. Or, he thought, had come to their senses. And they'd taken off. Just as he had when the War Between the States had started. After two weeks in the Confederate volunteer irregulars in Missouri, after that i

He didn't really blame the seven. He couldn't allow anyone to know that he felt that way, of course. He'd have to put on a stern face, rave and rant a little, curse the rats and so on. For the sake of discipline and morale, he must.

He had no sooner stepped into the elevator to go up to the pilothouse than the revelation came.

The seven were not cowards. They were agents.

They had no reason to stay aboard and perhaps be killed. They had a higher duty than to Clemens and the Not For Hire.

He walked into the pilothouse. The lights were on all over the vessel. Several searchlights showed some men and women carrying grails on the bank. They were ru

"Shall we fire on them?" Cregar said.

"No," Sam said. "We might hit some of the locals. Let them go. We can always pick them up after the battle."

The seven would undoubtedly take sanctuary in the temple. La Viro wouldn't turn them over to Clemens.

Sam ordered Cregar to make a roll call. When the missing seven were identified, Sam looked at the list of names on the message screen. Four men and three women. All had claimed to have lived after 1983. His suspicions about this claim were valid. But it was too late to do anything about it.

No. Just now he couldn't act. But after the battle he would find some way to abduct the seven and to question them. They knew enough to clear up at least half of the mysteries that perplexed him. Perhaps they knew enough to clear up all.

He spoke to Cregar.

"Turn off the sirens. Tell the crew that it's a false alarm, to go back to sleep. Good night."

It wasn't a good night, though. He woke up many times, and he had some frightening nightmares.

SECTION 9

The First and Last Dogfight on the Riverworld

28

HIGH NOON IN THE VALLEY OF VlROLANDO.

For thirty years, the sky beneath the zenith sun had been a kaleidoscope of multicolored gliders and balloons. Today, the blue was as unflecked as a baby's eye. The River, which was always streaked with boats, with white, red, black, green, violet, purple, orange, and yellow sails, was today a solid green-blue.

The drums beat along both banks. Stay away from the air and the water and keep away from the banks.

Despite this, multitudes crowded the left bank. The majority, however, were on the spires or the bridges among the spires. They were eager to see the battle, their curiosity overriding their fear. No amount of exhortations by La Viro to stay on the hills could keep them away from this spectacle. They ignored-the wardens who tried to press them back to a safe distance. Not having experienced anything like twentieth-century weapons, or, indeed, any weapons more advanced than those of 1 A.D., they had no idea of what would happen. Few of them had seen violence on even a small scale. And so the i

La Viro, on his knees in the temple, prayed.

Herma