Free John Racham by Dark Planet Page B

a firm palm jabbed under her chin,
and she flew through the air to land in a heap. And bounced
up readily in a way that made Query shake his
head. Christine had the reach, the weight, maybe the skill too, but this
woman was fit. And cautious now, coming forward, poking out an arm, and as
Christine elbowed it aside those crooking fingers achieved a hold and clung, and
the pair of them went down in a mad scramble of arms and legs. Evans roared and
charged forward, and stopped with a jerk as a lash took him around the throat
and yanked him off his feet, so that he fell back with a thud that knocked the
wind out of him.
    Query
watched the scramble, saw that Christine was still holding her own, and his
mind spun away to that hair. He touched his own, and it too was flaky,
crumbling away, all except about an inch or so close to the scalp. He
    55 scowled at it, sent his eyes back to the
battle, but the idea took shape in his mind. Perhaps the old man was right.
Perhaps living stuff was immune. That would make sense. Hair wasn't
alive past the first inch or so. But now Christine was on her back, flat, with
the native woman straddling her, choking her into hopeful submission. Until,
desperately, she drew her legs up close to her chest and kicked, shooting her
opponent away over her head. Christine scrambled up, heaving for breath but
ready in that karate stance. The native woman came back, also blowing hard, ran
full into a chopping left, a right, an elbow to the jaw, another chop, a savage
kick to the groin that folded her up, right into a knee in the face; and she
was out on her feet, staggering and falling back. Christine moved in for the
kill . . . and a half a dozen snaking black lines hissed through the air to
hold her.
    Query
flashed a look at the head man and knew in- standy . He
went forward, caught Christine by the arm as she struggled against the bonds.
    "Hold
it," he said. "That's good enough. You won, fair and square." He
wrapped his arms about her firmly, felt the lashes slip away. "Keep still,
honey. Hear me now. These people understand fighting. That part's all right.
But they don't kill each other. Hear me?" She struggled against his arms,
her face turned to his, her eyes wide, teeth bared in a snarl. "You wonl It is all over! You don't have to kill her!"
    Slowly the crazy fires died in her eyes and
she softened, turned all the way to him and clung tight, panting, clutching
him strongly. He stroked the short crispness that was all there was left of her
hair and murmured, "You won't want a haircut for sure, so long as you stay
here. Come on now, no need to take on. That was a good fight. You've had
lessons!"
    "Oh Stephen! I was going
to kill her. I was! And Father called them savages! Forgive me?"
    "That's
not for me. What about the lady you just flattened? Let's take a look at her,
shall we?"
    But
there was no need. The woman was getting up, painfully and with much flexing
of her arms and neck, but without any resentment that he could feel, just
uncertainty and curiosity. "What shall I do?" Christine asked.
    56
    "Give her a smile. It can't hurt. Feel
friendly to her."
    The response was instant and dramatic. The
native woman beamed and came forward, obviously taking the smile as an
invitation. She put out her hand again, and this time Christine held still,
permitting herself to be touched and felt. It was so obviously admiration,
curiosity and friendliness that Christine laughed as the delicate hands
explored her curves.
    "Oh, Stephen. I think she likes me. And I think she's cute, too. They're all nice
people. So neat. They make me feel big and clumsy!"
    "Hardly that." Query denied, as the old man was released from restraint and came
plunging forward to halt and stare around at the silent ring of faces that surrounded
him.
    "Not
a stitch among ' em !" he growled, and Query
thought he knew why that was so persistendy offensive
to the old man.
    "Right!"
he said. "That's the only kind of uniform that's worth anything, when