And ... would Wassreck die?
Writhing, fists clenched, he tried to drive the vision of the burning eyes, the pain-racked body, from his brain.
But the image, the dark thoughts, would not go away.
Because Wassreck was on Venus already. Wassreck had no hope, save in him, Jarl Corvett....
An incoherent, protestful sound rose in his throat. Spasmodically, he gripped the bunk's chill metal frame; twisted as if to rend it, tear it apart.
The effort made his tortured muscles shriek with pain. His ears rang. The room rocked wildly. He gasped and sagged forward, plunging down through green-and-purple depths of icy fire into a bottomless, slowly-eddying pool.
Then the pool resolved. Of a sudden he was looking into Sais' dark eyes. She was smiling at him, a tender smile, and her fingers were cool against his cheek, her soft lips welcoming his.
But a misty barrier rose between them ... a barrier of heart and mind that seared like a white-hot iron: How can I face her? What can I say, if her father dies?
He cried aloud, a hoarse, choked cry, and Sais' face vanished. Once more, the room closed in upon him. Again he lay straining on the bunk—tasting the blood, drinking in the stink of doloid dust and jeol.
Sais, and Wassreck. Wassreck, and Sais.