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among his fellows for his own satisfaction, but with the same combination of
hunger, fury, and creative desire with which he had attacked his paintings,
back on Earth. It was a method of attack that would not consider any result
short of success.
Physically, Miles told himself, each of the others aboard must have some
point or points at which he was vulnerable. Weak spots. What were the weak
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spots of Vouhroi?
The one he studied was a lean but powerful-looking, catlike alien. Not
heavily catlike as was the tigerish Chak'ha, but with the long-legged,
high-haunched feline grace of a Canadian lynx. Vouhroi's chair in the lounge
was almost directly opposite that of Miles, and while he had never overtly
acknowledged Miles' existence, Miles had come to be expert at reading the
small signs in the other aliens that warned him that they were aware of his
presence and braced against any sudden unexpected attack by him.
Clearly, of all the others, Vouhroi, who was next in line above Miles, was
not about to be taken by surprise by any unexpected attack by Miles. His back
was always to the wall, and his eyes though apparently focused generally on
the room always included Miles within their range of vision. Though apparently
relaxed, when Miles was present the lynxlike alien was always in a position
from which he could get to his feet in an instant.
Nor was this treatment just for Miles. Everyone in the pecking order, Miles
noticed, watched the individual just below him in the same way.
A surprise attack, the jumping of your opponent from behind or in a second of
disadvantage, was only one more tactic in the ruleless battles that were
fought between members of the crew. No advantage was unfair if it led to
winning. Cold-bloodedly Miles made plans to make use of the unfair advantages
at his disposal. He gave Chak'ha instructions.
The end result of those instructions was the conversation that they were
having now as they sat in the lounge looking across at Vouhroi. The timbre of
Miles' voice and that of Chak'ha's were very close close enough so that
practice could make them almost identical. For more than a week now, Miles had
been secretly practicing with Chak'ha to imitate the pronunciation Chak'ha
gave to Vouhroi's name.
Now he repeated the name after Chak'ha. The tigerfaced alien nodded.
"Right," he said at last. "It sounds right the way you say it now."
"Good," answered Miles. He glanced across at Vouhroi, apparently dozing, with
half-closed eyelids, across the lounge. "I'll go forward now. You wait a few
minutes and then stroll aft."
Miles got up from his chair in the lounge and wandered toward the front end
of the lounge and from there into the corridor leading to the control room in
front. He went halfway up the corridor, turned, put his shoulders against the
wall, and waited.
With his mind he measured the slow seconds as they flowed by. Ever since the
Center Aliens had changed him physically, he had been aware of differences in
mind and mental skills as well. One of these was this ability to keep time in
his head as well as any watch. So he waited while the minutes passed, and
after perhaps three and a half minutes Eff came down the corridor from the
control room, gave him the barest glance, and passed on without pausing, his
rotund figure disappearing into the lounge. Miles waited another minute and a
half. Then, quietly, he walked down the corridor until he was just out of
sight of the lounge and the position of Vouhroi's chair in the lounge.
From where he stood flattened against the inside wall of the corridor, he
could just see the entrance to the farther corridor leading back to the crew
quarters and could see against the inner wall there the blocky outline of
Chak'ha waiting.
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Then he shouted, in the closest imitation of Chak'ha's voice and accent he
could manage.
"Vouhroi!"
"Vouhroi!" It was a shout in Chak'ha's voice from the other corridor. Chak'ha
was now running into the lounge, continuing to shout as he came."Vouhroi!
Vouhroi! Vouhroi . . ."
Miles launched himself toward the lounge, running at top speed and as
noiselessly as he could. He had a moment's glimpse of Chak'ha rushing in from
the opposite direction of Vouhroi with his back turned, staring at Chak'ha.
Then Miles hit the lynxlike alien with a hard tackle at waist level.
He slammed the unprepared Vouhroi down against the deck of the lounge hard
enough, Miles would have thought, to knock out a human being. But even as he
was thrown to the deck, Vouhroi was attempting to twist around in Miles'
grasp, and though his head slammed hard on the uncarpeted surface beneath
them, he did not appear to be stunned.
Miles already had Vouhroi in the same full nelson which had worked so well
with Chak'ha. At the same time that Miles began to exert pressure against the
other's neck, he clamped his own human legs around the legs of Vouhroi and
tried to hold them as Vouhroi attempted to kick and scramble loose. But the
alien's legs were too powerful. They broke free, and Miles shifted his leg
grip to a scissors hold around Vouhroi's narrow waist.
Vouhroi surged about and for one furious moment succeeded in rising to his
feet, with Miles riding on his back. Then Miles' weight overbalanced him and
he fell backward. Lying underneath the alien, Miles continued to apply
pressure to Vouhroi's neck. He half expected the overdrive strength to come to
his aid, as it had with Chak'ha. But it did not come, and it was not needed.
Already Vouhroi's neck was starting to give. It did not, indeed, have as much
inner stiffness and strength as had Chak'ha's. Miles felt it bend and almost
at once the tranquilizing gray fog, the feeling of weakness and indifference, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]