"You have a quick mind, Trehearne," he said. "But it won't do. Thirteen minutes."
"Go and get her, Edri," said Trehearne. His mouth was dry, his body drenched with cold sweat.
Edri plunged away into the corridor. Trehearne went and stood where Kerrel could see him. He smiled and wondered if Kerrel could hear the knocking of his heart against his ribs. Joris stood motionless, waiting. Kerrel counted off the minutes, and at each count his voice became more strained, his eyes less certain.
There were six minutes left when Edri came back with Shairn and thrust her in front of the screen.
"You see?" said Trehearne. "I wasn't lying."
Kerrel forgot to count. He stared at the girl, the strong lines of his face crumbling into indecision. He said her name once. Suddenly he turned and was gone from the screen. They could hear him shouting somewhere beyond, "Hold your fire! Hold your fire! They have a prisoner aboard."
Trehearne knew then that he had not misjudged the depth of the other's passion. And strangely that knowledge was bitter to him.
Kerrel came into view again, and Shairn cried out, "Kerrel, they're after something more than these Orthist exiles! I think they're—"
Trehearne put his hand over her mouth. "It doesn't matter what she thinks. The important thing is her life. How much is it worth to you, Kerrel?"
Kerrel ran his hand nervously over his face and did not answer at once. Trehearne kept his palm firmly on Shairn's mouth.