Exile | Page 5

he is only one and injured."
Klaft hesitated.
"Well, couldn't they?"
The aide looked away, out one of the windows at some sun-dyed clouds ranging from pink to orange. He grimaced and clicked his showy teeth uncomfortably.
"Perhaps they thought you might be offended, George," he answered at last.
Kinton settled back in the seat especially padded to fit the contours of his Terran body, and stared silently at the partition behind the pilot.
In other words, he thought, he was responsible for Birken, who was a Terran, one of his own kind. Maybe they really didn't want to risk hurting his feelings, but that was only part of it. They were leaving it up to him to handle what they considered his private affair.
He wondered what to do. He had no actual faith in the idea that Birken was delirious, or acting under any influence but that of a criminally self-centered nature.
"I shouldn't have told him about the ship!" Kinton muttered, gnawing the knuckle of his left thumb. "He's on the run, all right. Probably scared the colonial authorities will trail him right down through the Dome of Eyes. Wonder what he did?"
He caught himself and looked around to see if he had been overheard. Klaft and the police officers peered from their respective windows, in calculated withdrawal. Kinton, disturbed, tried to remember whether he had spoken in Terran or Tepoktan.
Would Birken listen if he tried reasoning, he asked himself. Maybe if he showed the man how they had proved the unpredictability of openings through the shifting Dome of Eyes--
An exclamation from the constable drew his attention. He rose, and room was made for him at the opposite window.
* * * * *
In the distance, beyond the town landing field they were now approaching, Kinton saw a halted ground car. Across the plain which was colored a yellowish tan by a short, grass-like growth, a lone figure plodded toward the upthrust bulk of the spaceship that had never flown.
"Never mind landing at the town!" snapped Kinton. "Go directly out to the ship!"
Klaft relayed the command to the pilot. The helicopter swept in a descending curve across the plain toward the gleaming hull.
As they passed the man below, Birken looked up. He continued to limp along at a brisk pace with the aid of what looked like a short spear.
"Go down!" Kinton ordered.
The pilot landed about a hundred yards from the spaceship. By the time his passengers had alighted, however, Birken had drawn level with them, about fifty feet away.
"Birken!" shouted Kinton. "Where do you think you're going?"
Seeing that no one ran after him, Birken slowed his pace, but kept walking toward the ship. He watched them over his shoulder.
"Sorry, Kinton," he shouted with no noticeable tone of regret. "I figure I better travel on for my health."
"It's not so damn healthy up there!" called Kinton. "I told you how there's no clear path--"
"Yeah, yeah, you told me. That don't mean I gotta believe it."
"Wait! Don't you think they tried sending unmanned rockets up? Every one was struck and exploded."
Birken showed no more change of expression than if the other had commented on the weather.
Kinton had stepped forward six or eight paces, irritated despite his anxiety at the way Birken persisted in drifting before him.
Kinton couldn't just grab him--bad leg or not, he could probably break the older man in two.
He glanced back at the Tepoktans beside the helicopter, Klaft, the pilot, the officer, the constable with the rocket weapon.
They stood quietly, looking back at him.
The call for help that had risen to his lips died there.
"Not their party," he muttered. He turned again to Birken, who still retreated toward the ship. "But he'll only get himself killed and destroy the ship! Or if some miracle gets him through, that's worse! He's nothing to turn loose on a civilized colony again."
* * * * *
A twinge of shame tugged down the corners of his mouth as he realized that keeping Birken here would also expose a highly cultured people to an unscrupulous criminal who had already committed murder the very first time he had been crossed.
"Birken!" he shouted. "For the last time! Do you want me to send them to drag you back here?"
Birken stopped at that. He regarded the motionless Tepoktans with a derisive sneer.
"They don't look too eager to me," he taunted.
Kinton growled a Tepoktan expression the meaning of which he had deduced after hearing it used by the dam workers.
He whirled to run toward the helicopter. Hardly had he taken two steps, however, when he saw startled changes in the carefully blank looks of his escort. The constable half raised his heavy weapon, and Klaft sprang forward with a hissing cry.
By the time Kinton's aging muscles obeyed his impulse to sidestep, the spear had already hurtled past. It had missed him by an