Jack of Swords

Chapter Eight

It was a cold world, a frigid ball of ice circling a dying sun, the ruby light from the primary doing little more than to paint the snow and frost with deceptively warm radiance. The town was small, the houses huddled close, the field deserted aside from the Mayna. The few men in attendance were shapeless in thick garments, a rime of frost over the fabric covering their mouths.

A planet strange to Dumarest, but he knew at once it was not one on which to be stranded. And there were other complications: a man who stood watching without apparent reason as he and Sufan Noyoka left the vessel, another who followed, a third who moved quickly from the gate as if to relay a message.

Small things, but his life rested on trifles, the ability to spot as unusual pattern, to sense the presence of danger.

And a cyber had landed on Teralde.

The knowledge was a prickle which stimulated him to continual awareness. Dumarest never made the mistake of underestimating the Cyclan and knew too well the subtle ways in which the organization moved. The cyber could have learned from Avorot of his presence on Teralde. He would have searched, found nothing, used the power of his mind to determine the obvious. Sufan Noyoka had an association with Chamelard, and if the cyber had learned of it, already the Cyclan could be poised ready to strike.

The Schell-Peng Laboratories rested a mile from town, a long, low, rambling structure, the walls unbroken, the roof steeply pitched. Inside it was warm with generated heat, the receptionist waiting as they opened the thick clothing they had worn for the journey.

"Sufan Noyoka? A moment." He turned to a file and busied himself with the contents. "A woman, you say?"

"Number XV2537. There was a special arrangement."

"Which would place it in the special file." The man moved to another cabinet. A purposeful delay or merely an accustomed lethargy? Dumarest turned and studied the area with apparent casualness. Aside from the receptionist they were alone in the chamber except for a man engrossed in a book. A strange place in which to read if he were not waiting the result of an inquiry.

"Sir?" The receptionist looked up from the file. "The subject in question is not available at this time."

"Why not?"

"A matter of payment. Two installments have been missed and-"

"A lie!"

"Perhaps. An investigation will clear the matter. In the meantime she is being held in storage." The man came to the counter, smiling. "A small delay, sir, no more. The records will have to he checked and the discrepancy isolated."

Dumarest said, "How much does he owe?"

"The installments came to-"

"The total?"

"The sum for outright purchase is ten thousand elmars. That naturally, includes the installments and full compensation for storage and revival."

It was too much. Dumarest knew it before Sufan Noyoka protested.

"Our agreement was for five thousand. My cargo has been sold for four and a half and I have the rest in cash. I demand that you hold to our agreement."

"But of course, sir. The reputation of the Schell-Peng is well-known and all contracts will be honored. It is just a matter of the records. Once we have made an investigation I'm sure that all will be well. A matter of a few days. I will make a special clearance order on the query."

"I want the woman now!"

"That is impossible. Of course, if you have the full amount? No? Then, reluctantly, I must insist you exercise patience. A few days, sir."

Dumarest's hand clamped on Sufan's arm as he was about to object. Quietly he said, "A few days? Well, at least it will give us a chance to see the sights. What do you recommend?"

"The Signal Mount is very good at this time of year. I think you will enjoy it. And if you have a mind to ski the Frendish Slopes are ideal."

"And a place to stay? Never mind," said Dumarest before the man could answer. "We'll find something. In three days, then?"

"Yes, sir. That will be fine. Three days and all will be ready."

As they left, Dumarest glanced at the man reading the book. He was a slow reader. Not once had he turned a page.

At night Chamelard turned into a frozen hell, the air crackling with cold, the thin wind which blew from the open stretches touching with the burn of knives. Above, the stars burned with a cold ferocity, seeming to suck the warmth from living flesh, the sprawling mass of the Hichen Cloud a malignant eye.

Hunched in his clothing Marek beat his gloved hands together, his voice a husky complaint.

"Earl, this is madness. Why don't we just wait?"

Something Dumarest dared not do. A night had passed, a day, and now on the second night time was running out. Already he had waited too long, but Marek had needed to make inquiries as to the laboratory, assembling the parts of a puzzle which he, with his talent, had built into a whole.

The structure and layout of the buildings. The probable paths any guards would take, the routine followed by the staff, the strength of any opposition.

A gamble on which Dumarest was staking his life.

To wait on Chamelard was to be taken by the Cyclan. The Mayna was the only means by which he could leave-and Sufan would not go without the mysterious woman. To steal her was the only answer.

Behind them Timus Omilcar swore as he slipped to fall heavily, rolling on the frost-hardened ground. The pack of extra clothing on his back gave him the appearance of an ungainly beast. As he rose his voice was an angry mutter.

"How much further? Damn this cold! How can men survive such weather?"

Few did and less tried. The streets were deserted, each house firmly shuttered, the two illuminated only by starlight. Ahead reared the bulk of the laboratories, walls of blank stone rising to the eaves of the pitched roof, the doors sealed. No guards were visible and none were needed. No ordinary thief could use what the laboratory contained.

"Wait!" Marek paused as they reached the nearest corner. "Let me orient myself." He turned, a thin plume of vapor streaming from his mask, then grunted and stepped forward. The wall dropped, rose, swung to the right. Beyond a narrow extension which left the main structure like a wing lay a circular expanse. "Here!"

"Are you sure?" The engineer lurched forward. "It looks all the same to me."

Dumarest said nothing. If a mistake had been made then all would be lost, but he had to trust the man's abilities. His neck, also, would be at risk.

"If the woman is in storage she'll be beyond that wall," insisted Marek. "And if we don't get on with it and soon we might as well join her. My hands are numb. Earl?"

"Up," said Dumarest. "Against the wall, Timus."

He climbed the man's shoulders, standing facing the wall as Marek swarmed up the living ladder, to grip the eave and to pull himself onto the roof. Dumarest gripped the rope he lowered, climbed it, hauled the engineer up after him. Together, crouching against the wind, they moved over the slabbed tiles, halting at Marek's signal.

"Here," he muttered. "And for God's sake hurry. This wind is killing me."

From a pack Dumarest took a laser and held it close as the beam ate through the stone. Little flecks of molten rock, caught by the wind, rose to burn like dying stars. Wedging his knife into the burned slot Dumarest completed the circle and levered up the freed portion. Below lay thick insulation, beyond it a gap faced with sheets of plastic. Penetrating it they were through and into the building.

The roof was a dozen feet above the floor of a chamber illuminated by a soft, blue light. In it a double row of caskets ran along facing walls. One end of the room was blank, the other pierced by a wide door, now closed. No guards were in attendance.

"Earl?" Timus's voice was a whisper.

"It's safe."

Dumarest swung himself through the opening and dropped lightly to the floor. As the others joined him he handed the laser to the engineer, gestured, and as the man went to weld fast the door, moved quickly along the rows of caskets. Most were empty, those with occupants sealed, each container emblazoned with a number.

"Here!" called Marek softly. "XV2537. Right?"

The number Sufan had given and the receptionist had not lied. Through the transparent lid Dumarest could see a female shape, details blurred by a film of frost. Carefully he checked the installation, taking the time despite the need for haste. The chamber could be monitored and, at any moment a guard could check the scanner. Even their own body heat, raising the temperature in the vicinity of the casket, could trigger an alarm.

"Can you manage it, Earl?" The door welded, the engineer had come to stand at his side.

"Yes." The equipment was sophisticated and better than that found on ships, but that was to be expected. It was meant to handle men, not beasts, and valuable property needed to be treated with care. "Drag some of those empty caskets under the hole so we can climb to the roof. Marek, stand by the door and signal if you hear anyone approach."

As they ran to obey Dumarest activated the mechanism and set the reviving cycle into motion.

At first nothing could be seen aside from the flash of a signal lamp telling of invisible energies at work. Within the casket eddy currents warmed the frigid body, penetrating skin and flesh and bone to heat it uniformly throughout. Then the heart stimulator, the pulmotor to activate the lungs, the drugs to numb the pain of returning circulation. Without them she would scream her lungs raw with agony.

Minutes which dragged but could not be hastened.

"Earl!" Marek called from his position at the door. "Someone's coming."

A routine check or a guard investigating an alarm? Either made no difference, when the door refused to open he would summon others. It jarred as if to a blow, jarred again, the metallic clanging sounding oddly loud in the silence of the chamber.

"That's it!" Timus sucked in his breath and looked at the hole in the roof. "They've found us. Do we make a run for it, Earl?"

"No. Get that spare clothing ready."

Naked, the woman would have to be protected against the external cold. As the door jarred to a renewed impact Dumarest stared at the casket, mentally counting seconds. Soon now. It had to be soon.

The lid hissed open as the door bulged inward.

"Get her out, dressed, and up to the roof," snapped Dumarest. "Timus, give me the laser."

He ran back to the door as the others set to work, using the beam to set new welds, fusing metal into a composite whole in a dozen places around the panel. He ducked as heat seared his face, the beam of an external laser turning the metal red, sending molten droplets falling like rain.

Within seconds they would have burned a hole in the panel exposing the chamber to their fire. Stepping back, Dumarest aimed and triggered the laser, sending the beam through the opening, hearing a cry of pain, a man's savage curse.

"My arm!"

"Stand aside, fool!"

A momentary delay during which another would have to pick up the fallen laser and get it into operation. Dumarest turned and ran down the chamber. The others had vanished through the hole in the roof. Reaching the casket, which had been dragged beneath it, he sprang, hit the top, continued the movement upward, his hands catching the edges of the hole, lifted him up and into the space beneath the roof. As he moved on upward the beam of a laser burned the plastic an inch from the heel of his boot.

"Earl!" Timus called as Dumarest emerged from the roof into the starlight. "Which way?"

They were crouched on the steep pitch of the roof, the woman a shapeless bundle in the engineer's arms. Marek, sprawled to one side, panted like a dog, his head wreathed in pluming vapor.

"Up and over!" Dumarest pointed to the ridge. "Drop on the other side and run. Move!"

"And you?"

"I'll follow."

The guards were too close-already they must have reached the hole and within seconds would have made an appearance. Unless stopped they would have a clear target. As the others scrabbled up the slope Dumarest crouched at the edge of the opening, lying flat, his hands stiffened, the fingers held close, the palms rigid.

Tensely he waited, hearing a man's panting breath, the sound of movement, a rasp as something metallic tore at the insulation beneath the tiles. A hand appeared holding a gun, an arm followed by a head, the face pale in the starlight. As the man turned toward him Dumarest was already in motion, his left hand reaching, chopping at the wrist, the gun falling to slide clattering over the tiles as his right hand stabbed like a blunted spear at the point of the neck beneath the ear.

A blow which numbed and paralyzed, robbing the man of speech and motion so that he hung limp in the opening, blocking it against his companions.

Before they could clear the obstruction Dumarest had reached the ridge, was over it, sliding down the steep slope to the edge of the roof, hurtling over it to land heavily, rolling on the frosty ground. As a siren blasted the air he was up and running.

Ahead he saw the others, Marek running with a lithe grace, the engineer puffing, hampered by his burden.

"Well never make it!" he said as Dumarest reached his side. "There'll be lights, guards-and we've a long way to go."

"Keep moving. Head straight for the ship and get ready to leave. Hurry!"

"But-"

"Move, damn you! Move!"

Alerted, the guards would be streaming from the building to surround the area. Their only hope lay in speed, but speed wasn't enough. Soon there would be lights, and unless they were distracted, the guards would quickly run them down. Dumarest slowed as a blaze of light came from the open door of the building, turning to run toward it, across it, away from the others. He heard a yell, a shouted command, and the ruby guide-beam of a laser reached toward him.

It missed as he dived toward a low mound, dropping behind it to run, to rise and deliberately expose himself against the stars, to drop and run again as men chased after him.

A long chase during which he led them from the others making a wending path back to town, once feeling the burn of a near miss as a laser touched the edge of his clothing, beating out the small fire with his gloved hand.

At the field two men stood at the gate, a third running toward them as Dumarest approached. Too many men to be out in such weather. Beyond them he could see the open port of the Mayna, Marek standing in the entrance.

"Mister?" A man stepped toward him as Dumarest neared the gate. "Just a moment. You from that ship?"

He fell, doubled and retching as Dumarest kicked him in the stomach. His companion, reaching for something in his pocket, followed as a stiffened hand slashed at his throat. The third man, halting, backed, lifting something which gleamed in the starlight.

"You there! Move and I'll burn you!"

He was too far to be reached and to run was to be crippled, at least. Then, from where he stood in the open port, Marek screamed.

It was a sound startling in its sheer unexpectedness. A raw, wordless shriek as if from a stricken beast, and instinctively, the armed man turned toward it, the gun lifting against the threat. A moment of inattention, but it was enough. Before he could realize his error Dumarest was on him, ducking low as the weapon fired, rising to knock it aside with a sweep of his left hand, the clenched fist of the right driving into the fabric covering the mouth, feeling bone yield as the man went down.

"Earl!" shouted Marek. "More are coming. Hurry!"

Dumarest ran toward the ship, hearing shouts from behind, the roar of aimed weapons. Against lasers he would have stood no chance, but they were armed with missile throwers, and dodging, he made a poor target. A bullet kicked dirt close to his foot, another hummed like a bee past his ear, a third slammed against the hull.

Then, as he passed through the port, a bullet struck the edge of the opening, whined with a vicious ricochet to slam against his temple and send him falling into a bottomless pit of darkness.