Thou dost prate like an ass,

face afire with agony, his vision blurred and unfocused. "We fight a clean war!" The officer was breathing heavily, in barely controlled fury. "We fight by the Geneva Conventions. But these are for soldiers, not for murdering spies" "We are no spies!" Mallory interrupted. He felt as if his head was coming apart. "Then where are your uniforms?" the officer demanded. "Spies, I saymurdering spies who stab in the back and cut men's throats!" The voice was trembling with anger. Mallory was at a lossnothing spurious about this indignation. "Cut men's throats?" He shook his head in bewilderment. "What the heli are you talking about?" "My own batman. A harmless messenger, a boy onlyand he wasn't even armed. We found him only an hour ago. Ach, I waste my time!" He broke off as he turned to watch two men coming up the gully. Mallory stood motionless for a moment, cursing the ifi luck that had led the dead man across the path of Panayisit could have been no one elsethen turned to see what had caught the officer's attention. He focused his aching eyes with difficulty, looked at the bent figure struggling up the slope, urged on by the ungentle prodding of a bayoneted rifle. Mallory let go a long, silent breath of relief. The left side of Brown's face was caked with blood from a gash above the temple, but he was otherwise unharmed. "Right! Sit down in the snow, all of you!" He gestured to several of his men. "Bind their hands!" "You are going to shoot us now, perhaps?" Mallory asked quietly. It was suddenly, desperately urgent that he should know: there was nothing they could do but die, but at least they could die on their feet, fighting; but if they weren't to die just yet, almost any later opportunity for resistance would be less suicidal than this. "Not yet, unfortunately. My section commander in Margaritha, Hauptmann Skoda, wishes to see you firstmaybe it would be better for you if I did shoot you now. Then the Herr Kommandant in NavaroneOfficer Commanding of the whole island." The German smiled thinly. "But only a postponement, Englishman. You will be kicking your heels, before the sun sets. We have a short way with spies in Navarone." "But, sir! Captain!" Hands raised in appeal, Andrea took a step forward, brought up short as two rifle muzzles ground into his chest. "Not CaptainLieutenant," the officer corrected him. "Oberleutnant Turzig, at your service. What is it you want, fat one?" he asked contemptuously. "Spies! You said spies! I am no spy!" The words rushed and tumbled over one another, as if he could digital camera web site not get them out fast enough. "Before God, I am no spy! I am not one of them." The eyes were wide and staring, the mouth working soundlessly between the gasped-out sentences. "I am only a Greek, a poor Greek. They forced me to come along as an interpreter. I swear it, Lieutenant Turzig, I swear it!" "You yellow bastard!" Miller ground out viciously, then grunted in agony as a rifie butt drove into the small of his back, just above the kidney. He stumbled, fell forward on his hands and knees, realised even as he fell that Andrea was only playing a part, that Mallory had only to speak half a dozen words in Greek to expose Andrea's lie. Miller twisted on his side in the snow, shook his fist weakly and hoped that the contorted pain on his face might be mistaken for fury. "You two-faced, double-crossing dago! You gawddamned swine, I'll get you . . ." There was a hollow, sickening thud and Miller collapsed in the snow: the heavy ski-boot had caught him just behind the ear. Mallory said nothing. He did not even glance at Miller. Fists balled helplessly at his sides and mouth compressed, he glared steadily at Andrea through narrowed slits of eyes. He knew the lieutenant was watching him, felt he must back Andrea up all the way. What Andrea intended he could not even begin to guessbut he would back him to the end of the world. "So!" Turzig murmured thoughtfully. "Thieves fall out, eh?" Mallory thought he detected the faintest overtones of doubt, of hesitancy, in his voice. But the lieutenant was taking no chances. "No matter, fat one. You have cast your lot with these assassins. What is it the English say? 'You have made your bed, you must lie on it.'" He looked at Andrea's vast bulk dispassionately. "We may need to strengthen a special gallows for you." "No, no, no!" Andrea's voice rose sharply, fearfully, on the last word. "It is true what I tell you! I am not one of them, Lieutenant Turzig, before God I am not one of them!" He swung his hands in distress, his great moon-face contorted in anguish. "Why must I die for no fault of my own? I didn't want to come. I am no fighting man, Lieutenant Turzig!" "I can see that," Turzig said dryly. "A monstrous deal of skin to cover a quivering jelly-bag your size and every inch of it precious to you." He looked at Mallory, and at Miller, still lying face down in the snow. "I cannot congratulate your friends on their choice of companion." "I can tell you everything, Lieutenant, I can tell you

"Some suits, some suits," the sheriff he said,

vintages, he assured her promptly and with some pride, and some rather potent spirituous drinks manufactured in the mountains and the islands but that sort of stuff isnt permitted in the Conservatory. The lifts doors slid open, and the Optherian bustled out. Mores the pity. Killashandra strode on down the hallway after her guide. What do you drink? No, abort the question, and she grinned at his startled glance. What is the most popular drink? The most popular one on this continent is a brew called Bascum. Is Bascum a plant or a person? Person. Her guide was warming to his subject. He indicated they take the left-hand corridor at the junction. One of the Founding Fathers. So his brewery is allowed to function in the face of the Medical Supervisors displeasure? Killashandra grinned as he nodded. I infer from your remarks that there are other popular drinks? Any wines? Oh, yes, the western continent produces some very fine vintages, both white and red, and some doubly distilled liqueurs. Im not familiar with the wines at all. And those islands you mentioned, they go for the spirituous liquors? The polly tree. The polly tree? Its fermented fruit makes a brandy which, Im told, is more potent than anything else in the universe. The polly tree provides foliage for shelter, a fine-grained wood for building, its roots burn for a long time, its bark can be pounded into a fiber which the islanders use for weaving cloth, its pith is extremely nutritious, and its large fruit is delicious as well as nutritious When it isnt fermented Exactly. And the polly tree only grows on the islands? Thats right, and here is your apartment. Guildmember. He opened the door. Theres no privacy lock on this? Killashandra had not noticed the lack in her first hurried inspection. There is no need for such in the Complex. Her guide appeared surprised at her reaction . No one would presume to enter without your express permission. There are no thieves on Optheria? Not in the sony digital camera 20 megapixel Conservatory! She thanked him for his escort and entered her sacrosanct apartment, closing the door behind her with a sigh of relief. Only then did her eye fall on the table. She exclaimed aloud at the display of bottles of all sizes and shapes, at the beakers, goblets, wine glasses that waited in pristine array on the white cloth. A separate tray offered an assortment of tidbits, nuts, and small wafers. A small chest opened to exhibit chilled bottles and two pottery amphoras. There was no way the collection could have been assembled and spirited into her apartment in the time elapsed since she stormed out of the dining room. Then she remembered her remarks on the trip from the spaceport. Well, Elder Pentrom might be a prissy, dogmatic, abstemious man, but obviously her every whim was someones command. Because her guide had mentioned Bascum, her choice among so many finally settled on the neat brown bottle in the cold chest. She flipped the top off and let the midbrown brew slowly descend into an appropriate beaker. The malty scent that rose to her nostrils suggested good things to come. And about time, too, she said, scooping up a random selection of nibbles and sinking into the nearest comfortable seat. To absent friends! She lifted her beaker high then took her first sip. She regarded the brew with respect and delight. Could Bascum possibly have come from Yarra? she asked herself. This might not be so bad an assignment after all! Chapter 6 By the time the quick Optherian sunset had finished its evening display, Killashandra had sampled nine beverages, wishing she had someone with whom to share the largesse, especially since there was a prohibition against it. Which brought Corish to mind, and that mythical uncle of his. Unless she could discover how much surveillance she would be having from her discreet quartette and how easy it would be to outwit it she didnt want to risk meeting him. Would they think it odd if she left a message in at the Piper Facility? Corish had considerably piqued her curiosity and she was somewhat motivated by a desire to show him that two could play the exploitation gambit. Someone tapped on her apartment door and, when Mirbethan entered on her permission, Killashandra caught the shade of uncertainty in the Optherians manner. Since youre not accompanied by any priss-mouthed ancients, you are welcome. And if that excuse for a meal is a state dinner here, no wonder youre a lean bunch.