"Well," said Vannevan. "We'll see." He motioned to one of his men. "Cut him loose. Did you find anything?"
The Irrian who had been searching shook his head, and Thile said, "I could have told you. We don't keep written records."
Vannevan shrugged and said, "Let's go."
They floated gracefully through the ship, with Birrel lumbering and floundering in their midst. They passed through the airless lock and into the life-craft. In a short time they were being taken up into the belly-pod of the Irrian ship, and a little while after that Birrel found himself a prisoner with Thile and Kara in a locked cabin.
The ship paused only long enough to finish the destruction of the derelict. Then it went into overdrive, on its way to Ir.
During the rest of the voyage, knowing full well that they were being watched, the three kept up their pretense of hostility. But Birrel came more and more to admire Thile and Kara. They were personally defeated and in a desperate situation. Their mission was a failure. Their world and way of life, which had hung on that mission, were threatened with destruction. But they clung quietly to their hope and courage and never whined—in striking contrast to Birrel himself, whose part called for constant complaint.
Birrel thought he was establishing himself sufficiently well as a frightened man who might be talked into doing almost anything for the right reward. He hoped so. Because not only his own life but the lives of Thile and Kara depended upon that, not to speak of the safety of several worlds, including his own. He was a little upset to discover that Kara's safety loomed larger in importance than anything else. He decided then that he was in love with her.
There came finally a time when the warning rang, and the lights burned blue and the ship shuddered, and then the port unmasked.
"We're out of overdrive," said Thile. "We're there."