Angado

Chapter Three

Alive!

Avro leaned back in his chair, feeling his mind expand with the euphoria of relief. On the desk before him rested the reports and findings on which he had based his conclusions. They were not certain-nothing could ever be that-but the probability that Dumarest was alive was above ninety percent. And, for him, that was good enough.

The eye-witness reports had given him the initial clue- Cardor had been thorough on that if nothing else. The stories were too similar, not exact, for that would have been obvious, but certain facets had left unanswered doubts. The viewpoints seemed to be roughly the same and that was wrong. The relation placed the same importance on the series of events and that too hadn't quite fit. Yet all was explained if the speakers had, somehow, been influenced by one other. Told the story and been made to believe it to be true. And for them it had been true.

But none had remembered what had happened to the klachen that had run berserk in a killing frenzy.

A mistake and he wondered who had made it. The owner? It was possible but even if true it no longer mattered. Punishment needed to be extracted for Tron's death though it could have been accidental. The animal could have broken free. Could have killed the cyber and the agent, and Dumarest, recognizing his chance, had taken it.

Speculation of no value and Avro dismissed it. The proof was enough and he leaned forward to examine it. The correlated reports, the scraps regained from the lagoon; bones, fragments of clothing, the remains of four bodies, one of them a woman.

The report of a man who had been found drinking in a tavern and telling of a vicious fight in the ring of the circus. A combat Dumarest had won.

The dead man had aided the deception.

Avro picked up a fragment of clothing, gray plastic covering a hidden metal mesh-protection favored by travelers and known to be worn by Dumarest. But such clothing was common, especially among those visiting hostile worlds. Dumarest could already have replaced it if he was alive.

Avro was convinced he was.

His luck would have seen to that. The peculiar ability Dumarest seemed to possess which yielded favorable circumstances when they were most needed. A survival trait Avro had recognized and which must govern his every step in the pursuit of the quarry.

But, if Dumarest was alive, where was he to be found?

The answer lay in the mass of data resting on the desk; the ship movements, cargo manifests, destinations, reports culled from a thousand sources. Most was unrelated trivia but from the rest Avro had selected items which could form a pattern. One which would carry the image of truth.

Baatz was a busy world with traders and merchants coming from all parts to buy and sell in the market. But such could be eliminated; creatures of habit, they were known, their movements predictable. Others posed harder problems, gamblers, harlots, pimps, entrepreneurs together with free-traders and other vessels following no regular routes. Yet the apparent randomness took on a different aspect when the whole was considered. Transient though the population of Baatz might be, yet it followed certain laws similar to those dictating the migrations of birds and wild animals. The need of being at the feeding ground at the right time, the combination of holiday and carnival and the flux of tourists.

Few, like Dumarest, were unattached wanderers drifting from world to world without apparent reason. And those working on the field had grown to recognize the regular visitors.

Avro studied a thin sheaf of reports. A man resembling Dumarest had taken passage on the Sinden a day after Tron had landed. Too soon-eliminate him. Another had left on the Harrif a day after the cyber had died. A gambler known to the field agent and expected back soon. Two men who had looked furtive, one who had hidden his face, another traveling with a giggling harlot, a somber individual who wore gray along with the mask of a clown.

A possibility Avro considered then discarded; even if Dumarest had chosen to hide behind conspicuousness the ship had been bound for Zshen. A long flight. Too long for a man needing to lose himself.

And there were other factors to be taken into account. Central Intelligence absorbed an astronomical amount of information from a host of cybers. Data of no obvious value but all taken and sifted through the organic computer to be correlated, aligned, evaluated and all possible connections checked and determined.

Information passed to Avro at his request.

He stared at the papers before him, remembering, wondering why, the last time he had established rapport, it had been as normal. There had been no bizarre landscape, no figure to greet him and exchange words as if face to face. No enclosed universe in which he had been thrust as if by a whim. Would it ever happen again?

He set aside that question as he returned to his task. With a handful of facts he could predict the logical outcome of any event. Training and talent which could not only show where Dumarest had been but predict where he would be and when.

On Nyne a warehouse had been damaged. Broken out of by someone locked within. An item of local news coupled with that of a broken crate. And crates of just that size had been shipped from Baatz after Tron had died. Dumarest could have traveled in one. And after?

The Burdinnion was close and a good place for a man to hide. Easy traveling, with journeys too short to do other than ride Middle. Natural time spent in a variety of ways all designed to eliminate boredom-and Dumarest had skill as a gambler.

Which ship and where headed?

Three had left Nyne at the relevant time. One, a private charter, could be eliminated; such craft didn't cater to the casual trade. Another, heading toward Baatz, the same. The third, the Solinoy, had been bound for Tysa.

Tysa?

It held nothing but a farming complex fueling a stringent economy based on the export of medicinal drugs. A small, harsh, bleak world lashed by radiation and populated mostly by contract workers who had no choice but to stay where fate had dumped them. The last place a man would hide.

And yet?

Avro checked the data; the mechanism of his mind evaluated probabilities. Then he judged time and distance. A button sank beneath a finger as he reached a decision.

"Master!" Tupou answered the command. "Your orders?"

"Go to the field. Have my ship readied for immediate flight. I shall require full velocity. Have Byrne clear the suite."

"Yes, Master. The destination?"

"Anfisa."

It had to be Anfisa. The Thorn had left soon after the Solinoy had landed and the ship was bound for that world.

Avro intended to meet it.

Angado Nossak sucked at a bone and said, "Earl, I've never felt better in my life."

He looked it. The lumpy protrusions had gone as had a slight plumpness at the waist and jowls. The skin and eyes were clear. Sitting cross-legged before the fire he was the picture of health.

Dumarest said, "You were lucky."

"Sure I was lucky-I had you to look after me." Nossak sobered as he reached for another meaty bone from the heap stacked before the fire. "Though I had a bad dream, once. A nightmare, I guess. I seemed to hear you saying you were going to desert me."

"It was no dream!"

"It had to be!"

"Is that what you always say when you bump up against something you don't like?" Dumarest lowered the tunic he was working on with plastic and a hot iron; the knife included in the supplies which he'd heated in the fire. "Pretend it doesn't exist? Call it a dream? Keep that up and you won't have to worry about growing old."

"I almost didn't." Nossak looked at his arms and frowned. "You gave me slow time, right?"

"That and other things."

"Drugs, sure, but what about the rest? I'm in too good a shape to have starved for over a month. We've no equipment or supplies for intravenous feeding so how did you manage?"

With blood mixed with water and fed into his stomach through a pipe made from the intestines of the predator. Fluids followed by raw, pulped liver and other soft meats.

Nossak gulped as he listened.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked."

"Squeamish?"

"Let's just say I was never used to things like that."

"What were you used to?" Dumarest thrust the knife back into the fire. Stripped to shorts his body showed a pattern of bruises, marks left by the blow and rake of claws, the snap of teeth. Only the metal protection of his clothing had saved him from fatal lacerations. Now, slowly, he was doing his best to refurbish the garments. "Servants? Money? Adulation?"

"Let's forget it."

"No." Dumarest's tone brooked no argument. "I want to know. Someone tried to kill you and I got mixed up in it. They could try again. It would help to know why."

"Kill me? But I was sick, ill-"

"Poisoned." Smoke rose as Dumarest applied the hot metal, forcing molten plastic into the rents left by claws. "Nothing crude and it couldn't be detected but it exploded allergic reactions once triggered. Anything could have done it, the cards, the basic, the woman's perfume. What do you know about Cranmer?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"He yelled plague and scared the hell out of everyone. Stopped them thinking, too. A smart assassin would have thought of that. One way or another he wanted you dead. Why?"

"It doesn't matter." Nossak gnawed at the bone. "It happened. It's over. Forget it."

"You said that before."

"Then why not do it?"

Dumarest rose, standing upright, the early sun touching his skin and accentuating the bruises. He dressed, adjusting tunic and pants, slipping his knife into his right boot. The other, the one he had used to melt the plastic, he threw into the dirt at Nossak's feet.

"You'd better have that. The axe, I'll take with a canteen, one of the sacs and half the snares. The compass too and some of the concentrates." Stooping, Dumarest lifted a joint of meat from where it had been set to cure in the smoke from the fire. "You can have the rest."

"You're going?"

"Yes."

"But-" Nossak rose to his feet, the bone falling from his hand. "You're leaving me? Earl, you can't do that!"

"Watch me."

"But why? What the hell have I done?"

"Nothing, You're a full-grown man now and can stand on your own. If you can't then too bad-I'm no nursemaid."

Nossak said, slowly, "It's because I won't talk, is that it? But what difference does it make? A man's business is his own affair."

"Not when it involves others. I'm here because of you, remember. I'd like to know why." Dumarest paused then said, flatly, "It's up to you, Angado. Or should it be Hedren? Or Karroum?"

"You know?"

"You babbled. Big promises, long names, great rewards. What's so special about being Hedren Angado Nossak Karroum?"

"The seventh," said Nossak bitterly. "Don't forget the number. And if you want you can stick a title in front. Lord Hedren-" He broke off and spat. "To hell with it. Why can't I have one name like you, Earl?"

"You can. Pick one. Angado. From now on that's it." Dumarest sat and picked up the bone the other had dropped. Handing it back he said. "Eat. We can't afford to waste a thing. Now why would anyone want to see you dead?"

"I don't know."

Dumarest sighed. "Just talk," he suggested. "Fill me in on your background."

It was much what he'd expected, an old and established family suffering from inbreeding and decay. The sharp edge which had originally lifted them to power and carved a position of authority weakened by petty rivalries and jealousy. Angado, the seventh to hold the name and title, had an ambitious cousin. One who had made him a tempting offer.

"Just to travel," said Angado. "A regular income paid as long as I stayed away from home. I could go where I liked, do as I liked, but only on that condition. So you see why the very thought of anyone wanting to kill me is ridiculous."

A fool-as he had shown at the card table; any child could have computed the logical outcome of such an arrangement. One fee paid to a skilled assassin and no more payments. No threat of the wanderer's return. No focus for any dissatisfied associates to use as the basis of a rebellion.

"Perotto is hard but fair," said Angado. "He made a bargain and will stick to it. I'd stake my life on that."

He had and almost lost. Dumarest said, casually, "Is Lychen your home world?"

"Yes, do you know it?"

"I've heard of it."

From Shakira of the circus of Chen Wei. The name of the planet on which he could find someone able and willing to help him to find Earth.

They headed out at noon, moving toward the north where Dumarest had seen the lavender flash. Behind them the fire sent up a thin column of smoke which he used to check their direction.

As it finally fell below the horizon Angado said, "Well, if they ever come looking for us, they'll never find us now."

"No one will come looking."

"I suppose not. Krogstad didn't strike me as the sort of captain who'd burn atoms unless he was paid." Angado shrugged and looked around. "A hell of a place."

The plain stretched around them on all sides. Flat, gently undulating, covered with thick grass, featureless.

Dumarest halted to sniff at the wind. It came from the east, a soft breeze which barely moved the tufted tips of the grass, and the odors it carried were the same as those all around. At a distance birds rose, wheeling, settling as he watched.

"Too far." Angado had misread his interest. "We'd never be able to bring them down." He grunted as Dumarest made no comment. "You ever hunted?"

"At times."

"Big game hunting?"

"Not if I could avoid it."

"There's a thrill to it," said Angado. "Pitting your wits and skill against something which could tread you into the ground if given the chance. Standing, waiting, finger on the trigger. Holding your aim and watching for that one moment to fire. It gets you, Earl. Like a fire in the blood." He frowned as Dumarest remained silent. "If you've hunted you must know what I'm talking about."

Dumarest said, "Did you hunt for food?"

"Of course not. It was for sport."

"Butchery, you mean. Killing for the pleasure of it. Standing in a hide and waiting for the beaters to drive the creature toward you. Waiting for it with a gun. What chance did it have?" Dumarest looked at his companion. "I've seen it. Spoiled bastards, rich, pampered, having fun. They don't see what they leave behind. The hurt beasts, wounded by too hasty a shot, dragging themselves away with their guts trailing after them. Some with broken legs or no leg at all. Animals blinded and left to starve. Hunting! Don't boast to me about hunting!"

"It wasn't like that."

"How do you know? You hired men to clean up the mess but did they do it? Did you check or were you too busy showing off your trophy?"

Angado said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way about it. I guessed you were a hunter and you killed that beast-"

"For food and because it threatened us." Dumarest added, "There's a difference. By the time this trip is over you may recognize it."

They moved on over the plain, which was as featureless as a sea. Only the compass kept them on a straight line; without it they would have wandered in circles despite the guiding light of the sun. As it swung toward the horizon Dumarest looked for somewhere to camp. It had to be soon; Angado was showing signs of distress but refused to give in to his weakness. A stubborn man who insisted on gathering fuel for the fire and was reluctant to take his share of water.

"We ought to save it, Earl. Ration it."

"Ration it, yes, but not save it," Dumarest tried to explain. "It's best to store it in our bodies not in a canteen. The same with food. We need all the energy we can get and all the strength. If a chance comes we must be strong enough to take it."

"A chance?"

"For food, water, anything which could help us to survive. This plain can't go on forever. Drink up, now."

Later, when the stars glowed above, he studied the sleeping figure of the younger man. One maybe a decade younger than himself but centuries his junior in experience. A man cosseted when young, spoiled by fawning servants, convinced by his peers that he was not like the majority. The product of wealth and influence who had much to learn. With luck he would learn it before he died.

Dumarest wished they had never met.

Rising he looked toward the north hoping for more of the reports, the lavender flash. He saw nothing but the stars and a rising mist which blurred their light. One which thickened into a fog which closed around like a wall of growing darkness. From it, to the west, he heard a shrill screaming and he added more fuel to the fire.

"Earl?" The screaming had awakened Angado and he reared, voice anxious. "What's that?"

"A hunter at work."

"A predator? Like the one you killed?"

"Maybe."

"Do you think it will attack us?"

"It might."

Angado rose and came to sit with Dumarest at the fire. As he settled he said, "You don't like me, do you? On the ship it didn't matter, we were just passing strangers, but here it's different. You told me about the hunting but what else is wrong? My title?"

"You were born to it."

"And so can't be blamed. Right? Any more than a slave can be blamed for being a slave. We don't use them on Lychen, you know. Contract workers, yes, but not slaves. In the old days we had them but not for a long time now." Angado held out his hands to the fire. "I guess that's what you'd call progress."

"Would you?"

"What else? There's a difference between being a slave and being a contract worker. Workers are in it from choice."

"Unless they owe money," reminded Dumarest. "Or were sold under sentence."

"Sure-but you aren't saying a man should get away with crime? And even they get treated well; food, shelter, clothing, some amusements. It can't be such a bad life."

"Would you want it?" Then, as Angado made no answer Dumarest said, "For most it's a life sentence. The food, the shelter, the clothing, all has to be paid for and the company sets the price. A few amusements and the worker is back where he started and often worse than before. It takes a rare type to buy himself free."

"Maybe, but it's still better than slavery. That's why I said we'd progressed on Lychen. We gave that up a long time ago."

"Most civilized worlds are against the use of slaves," said Dumarest. "Especially those with a high technology. But it isn't because of a liberal attitude toward freedom. That's just the reason they like to give to cover the real motivations."

"Which are?"

"Two. The first is fashion. Once it becomes unfashionable then a slave owner is at a disadvantage. He will be ostracized, derided, made to feel socially inferior. His business will suffer and he'll be hit where it hurts. Once he feels the pain in his wallet he'll join the rest as a matter of survival. He'll free his slaves and begin charging them for what he'd been supplying for nothing. An advantage he'll be quick to recognize."

Angado nodded. "That's one reason. The other?"

"A matter of economics. Slaves make bad workers and who can blame them? The higher the technology the less productive they are and the greater the risk of damage to expensive equipment. In the end, to be efficient, you'd need an overseer for each worker. If the overseer can do the job why go to the expense of keeping a slave?"

"Because you can-"

"What? Beat them? Force them to work? Make them obedient? That may be true but you can't force anyone to be clever or loyal or even trustworthy. And what incentive can you give a slave? Freedom? Do that and you lose valuable property. You can kill them, sure, but you'd be hurting yourself in the long run. So it comes back to economics. The only real-" Dumarest broke off, listening, as another thin screaming echoed through the night. "It's made another kill. Good."

"Because now it won't be hungry and so will leave us alone?"

"You're learning."

"More than you think. What were you going to say just then? About slaves. The only real reason anyone would want to own them."

Dumarest hadn't said that but he answered the question.

"Power. Real power. Wealth and influence doesn't make you strong, it only shows how weak others can be. You can bribe them to obey but, if they've any guts, they can always tell you to go to hell. But a slave has no choice. He jumps when you give the word or you have him flogged, burned, tortured, maimed. Power like that can be a drug. Some can't live without it."

Perotto for one as Angado knew. Larsen for another and he saw their faces painted against the mist. Both of equal age, his cousin old enough to be his father. Older than his years, his face seamed with lines of determination, eyes hard beneath thick brows. Had he gone back on his word? Larsen might have dropped the hint with his cunning serpent's tongue, but surely Perotto would never have agreed. Had Larsen acted on his own? If…

"Angado, you'd better finish your sleep."

"What?" He blinked at Dumarest. "Sorry, but I was thinking," he said. "Family business."

Of which Dumarest could have no part and yet if it hadn't been for his companion he would be dead by now. Could still die-how long could they hope to survive in this wilderness?