His mind drifted back to the scene in the cave when he had witnessed his father's death. He recalled the words his father had spoken—"You'll never rest until you have found all Seven of the Jewels—or death."
That's the way it had been with Thymar Ormondy. That's the way it had been with Firebird. All they had found was death.
Then, with a shock of horror, Nathan realized that was the way it would be with him, too. His father's words were true. He would never rest until he had found the secret of those evil Jewels or suffered the same fate that had befallen all the other spacemen who'd given their lives in that vain search.
But he'd find those Jewels, he knew. And someday he'd know the secret of the beautiful, the fantastic Firebird.
He wondered if his father's murder had been avenged with the death of Firebird. And he knew that he would never be sure as long as he lived.
Nathan cut the acceleration of the ship, and then bent over to unfasten the straps that held her in the inertia chair. Tenderly he picked up the light body that had held the strong will of Firebird.
He took a step towards the passage leading to the airlocks. And then he stopped in horror. The blackened lips of Firebird moved.
There was no sound. Only the ghostly movement of those lips to show that Firebird lived.
This was worse than death, Nathan thought. But she could not live long. He carried her to her own stateroom and laid her on the bed. He bent down and heard the faint beating of her heart.
From a cabinet he obtained salves and drugs to ease the pain when and if she regained consciousness. Even as he finished she began to stir.