Tayne drew the sword slowly. "I shall kill you now. You see, you hated me so much that I am afraid your hatred broke its bounds. And you not only attacked me but—but I'm afraid you also attempted to take over manual control of the ship in your madness. And for that of course—"
The sword was descending even as Doug launched his body from the hammock.
They went down then, and the sword clattered from Tayne's grasp. The blade-edge was speckled with red, and there was a searing pain across Doug's back. But his hands were on Tayne's throat, and they were closing.
And then they opened. The whistle of air into Tayne's lungs as he fought for breath and for consciousness told Doug he had only seconds before there was full life in the Quadrate's body again.
But the seconds were enough, for within them, he had the sword's hilt firmly in his own hand. And then he had its tip at the Quadrate's swollen, pulsing throat.
"You damn near threw me off schedule, Grand Imperial Wizard. Come on get up."
Doug felt little rivulets of blood trickle down his spine. The wound still stung, but it was not deep.
Slowly, Tayne rose, the sword-point beneath his chin.
"Don't make me nervous," Doug said. "Sudden moves get me all jittery, and sometimes when I'm jittery I kill stuffed shirts just to ease the tension. Back up. Now around—slow, Noble Grand Knight, or you'll fall down without your head." The sword-point traced a thin line of red half-way around Tayne's neck as the man turned. "Now we're going to have some fun—only wish you were a tax-writer and I'd get a bigger kick out of this. Venus, James. And at the first peculiar maneuver—such as maybe cutting out the pseudograv or dumping us on the carpet without enough back-blast and your nice uniform will get all gooked up. Blood, you know." He dug the point deeper into Tayne's flesh until some of it was red, the rest white with pain.
And again, there was nothing to do but play the gamble out. How brave, Doug wondered, was a creature of pattern?