What chance indeed, when even his own kind turned against him!
His own kind, the raiders. He knew them so well—how they felt, the twist of their reckless, ice-edged thinking. And because he knew, it was not in him to hate them or betray them. No; at worst, he could only strive and fail.
And if he failed—? He cursed and twisted. rey Gundre would surely blast the raider fleet. The outlaw worlds would die.
Freedom would die with them.
Wassreck, too.
Three days only ... for freedom, and for Wassreck....
Perhaps he slept, then. Or perhaps it was only delirium's distorted screen that drew the twisting patterns across his mind.
Whatever it was, it lifted brain from body ... moved him up from Tas Karrel's couch—out of the room, the ship itself ... across the void, through space and time. The hideous, shining masks of Womar's primitives hurtled down upon him out of swirling mists. Madly, he battled strange life-forms in a world he'd never seen.
But he was not alone, for now other faces revolved past him slowly, crying fearful words he could not hear ... Ungo's face; Ylana's....
Ylana—! The red lips smiled and mocked him as she beckoned, and her hair was a rippling pool of purest gold. There was the softness of her body pressed against him; the grey eyes, shadowy as silver pools.