The Quillian Sector

Chapter Twelve

Dilys watched as it came towards them, conscious of a tremendous relief. Soon, now, she would be on her way to houses and people. To the field and ships and the warm comfort and security of familiar things.

"They've come!" Her voice carried gladness. "They've come to rescue us!"

Egulus said, "They must have picked up our signals and come to investigate."

He was more cautious than the girl, and with reason. Investigation did not assume rescue; that implied payment and they had little to offer. A caution Dumarest shared.

"Spread out," he said. "Bochner, you take the left and I'll take the right. If they move against us, don't hesitate to act."

Orders which, for once, the hunter didn't object to obeying. He took up his position, looking at the advancing raft, head tilted, eyes narrowed.

"Small," he commented. "It could belong to a lone prospector or hunter."

"It's seen us," said Dilys. "It's heading directly toward the smoke."

Words spoken for reassurance-it had been obvious from the first that the raft was making for the peak on which they stood. Dumarest watched as it lowered its line of flight. Small, as Bochner had said, a hollow shell fitted with controls at one end, a rail around the body which would hold a padded seat. If there was a protective canopy, it was folded back. The body holding the antigrav units was equipped with landing skids, and the sound of the engine powering the units was a soft humming purr.

It would be holding one man at least, the driver. Then, as he caught a blur of movement, Dumarest revised his figures. Two men, including the driver. The head he had seen toward the rear of the craft could not have belonged to the man at the controls.

"Two men." Bochner had also spotted the movement. "Either that's all there are or the rest are lying low. In which case, we could have a problem."

"Earl?" Dilys had heard and looked questioningly at Dumarest. "What does he mean?"

"Nothing. Just wave and call out."

To act the person in distress and to reveal the fact that she was a woman. Bait, if those who could be lurking inside the raft were scavengers; men who would kill for the sake of what they could steal. A good reason for landing if those within the vehicle were not the honest rescuers she thought.

The craft dropped lower, slowed, passed over them to swing in a wide circle over the sea before returning to settle gently on the edge of the summit.

Two men only, one at the controls, the other sitting in the body of the raft. A tall man, wearing dull fabrics and a peaked cap. One Bochner recognized. Caradoc, in disguise.

Oddly, he wasn't surprised.

The cyber glanced at him, then at the others. "Trouble?"

"Yes." Dumarest stepped toward the raft. "Our ship crashed and we're lucky to be alive. Can you take us to safety?"

"Of course." The smooth, even modulation held no hesitation. "Are there others besides yourselves?"

"No." Dumarest glanced at the man seated at the controls. Young, his face devoid of expression, hands resting on his knees. They were slim, with delicate fingers, the nails neatly rounded. He wore a loose robe of coarse brown material, the sleeves wide, the garment held by a cincture at the waist. "How did you know we were here? Did you pick up our signal?"

"Yes," said Caradoc.

"So we were lucky. A gamble which paid off." Dumarest added casually, "Did you have to travel far?"

"Twelve hours."

A thousand miles, at the usual touring speed of a raft and the rotation of Hyrcanus, was fast. They must have started out before the signal had been sent from the peak.

"A long time," said Dumarest. "It was good of you to take the trouble. Do you have any other business this way?"

"No."

"So you just picked up our signal and came straight to the rescue?" Dumarest glanced at the bundle within the raft. "Carrying survival gear, too, I see."

"An elementary precaution," said Caradoc. "Our action seems to disturb you. Why?"

Bochner could have told him and he stood, fuming, at the idiocy of the man. Even a young and inexperienced cyber should be aware that men did nothing without hope of reward. Certainly not the men living on worlds such as this. Fuel had to be paid for. The expense of the raft met. Time and energy expended in another's behalf had to be compensated for. At the very least, Caradoc should have asked what the party was prepared to pay for transportation. And Dumarest had been shrewd-that question as to the signal!

The answer had been as good as a confession.

"Disturb me?" Dumarest smiled and shook his head, lifting his hands as if to display their emptiness. Neither of the men in the raft were armed, as far as he could see. Another anomaly-but the wide sleeves of the robe the driver wore could cover more than wrists and arms. "Just the reverse. I am more pleased to see you than you can imagine. We are all pleased to see you. The alternative-" He broke off with a shrug. "Can you take us all aboard?"

"Unfortunately, that is not possible," said Caradoc. "The distance to be covered is long and we developed a fault which has lessened our load capacity. I can take one now, and make arrangements for the rest to be picked up later. You." He pointed at Dumarest. "I shall take you."

"No!" Bochner stepped forward, fighting to control his anger. The quarry was his and, he realized, now his only assurance of safety. Once the cyber had Dumarest, he would have no further use for the hunter. "Take me with you," he urged. "You can dump the survival gear, if you have to lighten the raft. Take me, too!"

A message made as plain as he dared if he hoped to maintain his pretense. And if Caradoc should betray him- what? To face Dumarest with naked blades? To attack and beat the cyber and his acolyte and, somehow, hold the quarry for later delivery?

Thoughts which spun and stilled as the cyber said, "That would be illogical. True, the possibility of an accident is small but, nevertheless, it exists. Without the survival gear we should be taking an unnecessary risk."

Dumarest said quickly, "Bochner! Hit them! Now!"

He was at the raft before the hunter had moved, reaching for the cyber, freezing as the driver whipped his hand into his sleeve and sent a beam of searing heat to pass a foot before his eyes. Another shot from the laser fused stone at Bochner's foot, a third sent smoke rising from crisped and incinerated hair.

"Yvan! Up!"

A touch and the raft had lifted, to hang poised in the air four feet from the edge of the summit and three above the uppermost level. From his vantage point Caradoc looked down at the group below.

Dumarest-the man the Cyclan had hunted for so long, now within his grasp. If Bochner had not spoken he would have been helpless now, drugged into unconsciousness by the hypogun clipped beneath the rail. And yet, would he have walked into the trap? Caradoc remembered the questions, the looks, the final command.

How had he known?

Bochner could have told him, but the hunter was at Dumarest's side, beating the last of the embers from his hair.

"They shot at us, Earl. Why, for God's sake?"

"The tall man's a cyber. The other is his acolyte. He didn't shoot to kill."

"I could argue that." Bochner touched his seared hair. "Are you sure that man's a cyber?"

"I'm sure." The tone, the lack of human curiosity, the failure to act as normal men would have acted. And the last, cold calculation which, coupled with his instinctive reaction, left no doubt.

"So, where does that leave us?" Bochner stared at the raft. A jump and he could reach it, but if the acolyte fired he would be dead when he did. And the man would fire, and had already shown his skill with the weapon now carried openly in his hand. "He could kill us, Earl. Burn us down."

All, but not Dumarest. He could be crippled, laser fire directed against his knees and elbows to leave him helpless. Injuries which would leave his brain and the secret it held intact.

Caradoc said, "A bargain, Dumarest I guarantee the safety of the rest if you will agree to accompany us."

A bargain from which he would gain nothing. Dumarest looked at the raft, the acolyte standing at the controls, the tall figure of the cyber at the rear of the vehicle. They were too tense, too alert, for any plan he might make to have any chance of success.

"I don't know you," he said. "Your name?" He nodded when Caradoc gave it. "You are young but are obviously clever. You should rise high and become a power in the Cyclan. My capture alone will assure that."

"You admit defeat?"

"Can I admit anything else?" Dumarest's shrug was visible evidence of his acceptance of the situation. "But I'm curious as to how you managed to trace me. It couldn't have been easy."

"A matter of simple application."

"For you, perhaps, but far from simple to anyone else. And after the Entil was wrecked? How could you have possibly known we would have reached this planet?" No cyber could be flattered, but Dumarest knew of the single pleasure they could experience, that of mental achievement. Caradoc was young, and had already shown a certain carelessness. If he could be persuaded to talk, to relax a little, and the acolyte with him-it would be the only chance he would get.

He nodded as the cyber explained; the emergency signals received, plotted, a line traced to Hyrcanus-work requiring the application of a dedicated genius made ordinary in the even modulation.

"And then, of course, you picked up our transmission." Dumarest pursed his lips, a man obviously facing the inevitable, one willing to end a futile struggle. "Well, I guess that's about it. If you'll bring the raft in closer, I'll jump aboard."

"No!" Bochner's voice was a snarl of anger. The knife he lifted an edged splinter of brilliance as he lifted it to rest against Dumarest's throat. "You take him then you take me, or I'll kill him before your eyes!"

"Yvan!"

Dumarest spun as the acolyte lifted his laser, turning away from the threatening steel, his hand dropping to his lifted boot, his own blade rising, flashing as it lanced through the air, the winking brilliance of reflected light vanishing as the blade hit and plunged into living flesh.

As the acolyte fell, screaming, Dumarest sprang forward, throwing himself into the air as the raft lifted, the tall figure of the cyber falling, to hang half-suspended over the edge, blood welling from the charred hole burned in his side.

Dead or injured from the accidental shot, he was powerless to help or interfere. Dumarest caught at the rail, felt one hand slip, hung by the other as the vehicle rose into the air. Falling, the acolyte had hit the controls.

Dumarest glanced down, saw the land now far below, the faces of the others on the summit small blobs which shrank even as he looked. Wind from the sea caught his hair and chilled his face, pressing against his body with invisible hands, adding to the strain on his hand and arm. Heaving his body upward, he managed to send his free hand to grip the rail and hung, panting from the effort, his weakened body radiating messages of exhaustion. He wanted to rest, yet to wait too long was to invite disaster. Already his muscles ached from the strain of supporting his weight, the tissues of shoulders and arms a burning pain.

Waiting, he felt the raft tilt to the impact of the wind and heaved, one leg rising, foot and knee striving to reach and pass over the rail. An attempt which failed, and fresh pain flooded his arms and back as they took the strain of his falling weight. Sucking air into his lungs so as to hyperventilate his blood, he waited, then as the raft tilted, tried again. Blood roared in his ears and he felt the pounding of his heart as he heaved once more, the rail slowly coming closer to his chin, to pass beneath it, to press like a rod of heated iron against the soft flesh of his throat as he worked to get an elbow over the rail.

When he finally managed to flop into the open body of the raft, he was trembling and drenched with sweat. Able to do nothing but lie and breathe and wait for the strength to move. When finally he sat upright, the peak was a blur on the horizon, the plume of smoke from the fire a wavering thread against the sky.

The acolyte was dead, lying in a puddle of his own blood, one hand gripping the blade buried in his chest, sightless eyes staring at the sun. Dumarest recovered his knife and threw the body over the side. As it fell, the raft lifted and he adjusted the controls, killing the lift and sending the vehicle back towards the peak.

Incredibly, Caradoc was still alive.

He breathed in shallow gasps, small bubbles breaking at his lips to form carmine circles, unconscious from shock and the loss of blood. Dumarest lifted him from the rail and lay him down beside the bundle in the body of the raft. The wound was deep, the edges charred and blackened, but the very fury of the blast had cauterized the flesh, staunching the wound and sealing it against further loss of blood.

Dumarest looked at the hypogun where it rested against the side just below the rail. He could guess what it contained. Lifting it, he aimed at the cyber's flaccid throat and triggered it twice. A double dose of drugs to send Caradoc into a deeper oblivion.

"Earl!" Dilys came running as he grounded the raft. "Thank God, you're safe! I saw something fall-I thought it could be you!" She came to him, face wet with tears. "Oh, Earl!"

Egulus said, "The way you moved! The speed! But what happened? The cyber-"

"Is dead, I hope." Bochner thrust the captain to one side and snarled as he saw the limp figure. "Kill him, Earl! Get rid of the cold-blooded bastard!"

"Why?"

"He was after you, wasn't he? Chased you across space from Ealius? Wanted to take you and hold you, right?"

"Right," said Dumarest. "But how did you know?"

"What? I-"

"Never mind." Dumarest stooped and lifted the limp body of the cyber. "Here, take him. Set him down beside the fire. You'd better cover him up with something. You could find blankets in here." He lifted the survival kit and threw it after the hunter.

Bochner looked at it. "Am I a nurse?"

"You're the fittest man here, aren't you? The best? You've wanted to prove it often enough, so prove it now. You can stay behind to look after the cyber. To take care of your friend."

"You're mad." Bochner took a step toward where Dumarest stood beside the raft. "Insane. What the hell do you mean-my friend? Do you think I'm working with Caradoc?"

"Are you?"

"No! And if you want to call me a liar, go ahead!" Bochner crouched, hands spread, an animal poised to spring. "Talk," he said. "It's just talk. You've no proof. I've been expecting something like this. An excuse for you to turn against me. To take the woman for yourself. If the raft hadn't come, you'd have tried to put your knife in my back. Now you want to dump me. Leave me on this peak. Well, I've a better idea. You stay while I take the raft. You act as a nurse to the cyber while-"

He moved even as he spoke, the words serving as a distraction, one which Dumarest had recognized. The hunter snarled, his hands slicing through empty air as Dumarest moved, anticipating the attack. Bochner turned, snatching at the knife he carried in his belt, grunting as Dumarest closed in, hand gripping his wrist, his own blade lifted to catch the sun.

For a long, dragging moment they stood, muscle set against muscle, bodies locked, poised in a composition which held the somber elements of death.

Too late, Bochner recognized the trap into which he had been lured. The weakness Dumarest had admitted, the fatigue, the earlier withdrawals from confrontation-all designed to deceive. Now he had met his match. Now he would die.

It waited in the glimmer of the blade, in the edge, the needle point in the cold stare of the eyes so close to his own. In the bleak ferocity of those eyes which he had never seen before. In the strength against which he was helpless. In the determination which closed the space between the threatening point and his throat.

Closed it until no gap remained.

Pressed until the prick of metal bit into his skin.

"Go ahead," Bochner whispered. "Do it! Do it!"

Death, the supreme hunter, the thing which stalked a man all his life and, no matter how he should turn or twist, hide or run, was always victorious in the end. And what matter when the end came? Now, or in a year, made no difference. A dozen years, even, a score. What was a lifetime against eternity?

"Now," he breathed again. "Now!"

Strike and have done. To the victor, the spoils. To the winner, the loot and the fame and the glory. To the loser, only the restfulness of oblivion.

"No!" Dilys ran forward to catch at Dumarest's arm. "No, Earl! No! He saved your life!"

Once certainly, perhaps even twice. Dumarest felt again the cold rasp of chiton against his cheek and remembered how Threnond had died. Bochner had saved him then-and Caradoc needed a nurse.

"You bastard!" The hunter cried out in his rage as Dumarest shoved him back off balance. Recovering, he touched his throat and looked at the blood on his hand. "You cowardly bastard! You lack the guts to kill me!"

"The Cyclan will do that if you let him die." Dumarest gestured towards Caradoc. "You wanted a challenge? You've got one."

"To keep him alive up here while you take the raft? And then what? To carry him on my back over a thousand miles of wilderness?"

"I'll send back help."

"Maybe." Bochner looked at his hands. They were trembling. To be mocked, and before a woman. To be fooled. To be made to feel stupid-Dumarest should have killed while he had the chance. "All right, Earl. This round goes to you. But I won't forget. Damn you, I won't forget!"

Hyrcanus was small, the town named after the planet, the only town the world contained. The field was a patch of dirt seared and torn and dotted with discarded rubbish. The fence was a ring of scrub delineating the area, but there were ships waiting to leave and cargo needing to be loaded. From the window of his room in the tavern, Dumarest could see it all.

As could Dilys, at his side.

"That's the Shalarius," she said, pointing. "It's bound for Mucianus. And that's the Zloth. It's bound for Egremond."

"And that?"

"A private charter I think. Sealed hull, no contact, handler like a zombie."

Caradoc's vessel, and Dumarest wondered how long it would wait before sending out a rescue party. Not too long, he guessed, and it would be well to be far away when the cyber was found.

The woman seemed to be following his thoughts. "Did you mean it, Earl? About sending back help?"

"Yes."

"But you didn't specify just when." She frowned, thinking, trying to fill out gaps. "Why did you save him?"

"Bochner?"

"No. The cyber. You could have killed him. Thrown him after the acolyte. Why didn't you, Earl? He was after you, wasn't he? Chasing you, as Bochner said. Why leave him alive?"

Dumarest said, dryly, "A thousand miles, Dilys. A long way over unknown ground, and we weren't fit to begin with. How long do you think it would have taken?"

"Too long, if we could have made it at all. But what's that lot to do with it?" She blinked, understanding. "The raft. Caradoc brought us the raft."

"Yes."

"And saved us from having to walk. Perhaps he even saved our lives. And you spared his because of that?"

Because of that, and because the man had been hurt, helpless and dying, perhaps already dead if Bochner had failed to administer aid, or the wound had proved beyond treatment.

"You're a strange man, Earl." Dilys reached out to touch his hair, her fingers traveling down over his cheek to linger on his lips. "So hard and strong, at times, and so gentle at others. I think I sensed it from the first. It was something I needed. Something I shall always need. Earl-must it end?"

She read the answer in his eyes.

"Yes, I suppose it must, something else I've known from the beginning. But it hurts. Poor Jumoke-how it hurts!"

But not for long, and not as badly as she chose to think, at the moment. A quick, clean cut, with a minimum of pain, leaving a wound which quickly healed. She would not be left alone.

Dumarest turned from the window as Egulus entered the room. "And luck?"

"Some." The captain sat down, lifted the bottle standing on the table and poured himself a glass of wine. Lifting it, he looked at the murky amber of the local produce and said,

"The Shalarius can give us all passage if we can pay. High only, no Low-the journey is too short for that. On Mucianus, I've word of a friend who has a ship undergoing repair. I think he could use an ex-captain."

"And an engineer?"

"I guess so." Egulus looked at the woman then at Dumarest. "But I thought-"

"I belong with you, Yarn. We share the same world." Her hand fell to his shoulder to squeeze with a warm intimacy which squared his shoulders and took years from his face. "We'll get along."

"Without money?"

"We have money." Dumarest reached into his pocket and spread the table with sparkling glitters. The stones he had taken from Threnond's belt which the man had used as a repository for his wealth. "These can be sold to gain enough for our passages."

"Ours?" Egulus looked the question. "Are you coming with us?"

Dumarest shook his head. "No. I'll make my own way."

"On the Zloth? It's heading back into the Rift."

Back into the region where suns were close and space was a maze of conflicting energies. Where a ship could hide and a man get lost. To where once again he could take up his search for Earth.