Then, at last, bleakly, they stared down at the sprawling building that had been Wassreck's workshop.
But lights beat on the white walls. Guards paced the parapets. The commissioner's own carrier thrust up in the courtyard.
Frowning, Jarl Corvett crouched deep in the shadows. Tension crawled his spine like a leather-footed palau. His own black thoughts pressed relentlessly in upon him: Is this where it ends, warrior? Is this the place, here under the Federation's dazzling Forspark lights on a tiny astroidal speck that men call Vesta?
Beside him, the darkness rustled. Scales brushed his arm. One-armed Jovian Ungo's hoarse whisper echoed over-loud in his ear: "Give it up, Jarl! Wassreck's gone, and they're ready. It's hopeless!"
"It was hopeless before," Jarl Corvett said tightly. "It was hopeless at Horla. But Wassreck came for me."
The Jovian's scaly hand gripped his shoulder in the darkness. "I know, Jarl. You're loyal. But this time—"
"Could you face Sais without trying? Could you tell her you'd left him?"
Ungo grunted, half-sullen. "Will it help if you're killed, too? Will it make her feel better?" He cursed in his own tongue. "Me, I still like living. I'm not ready to die yet."
Jarl threw off the Jovian's arm. His words slashed, raw and savage, in spite of his efforts: "You can leave if you want to! I ask no man to risk his neck against his will!"
Dimly, against the sky, he could see Ungo's head sink down between the great, horny shoulders. "Don't gall me, you chitza! I go where you go! I always will!"