The Quillian Sector

Chapter Eight

The historian was dead-torn from his restraints to be flung against the hull, to roast, to die screaming in his pain. The dancer was dead, lying wrapped in her cocoon, hands lifted, the ugly blotches of disintegration marring throat and torso. Craters made by the darts from the ring she had carelessly continued to wear, fired by the involuntary contractions of her finger. An irony she seemed to appreciate as she stared upwards with blind eyes, her mouth twisted in the rictus of a smile. The steward was dead, lying in a crumpled heap, a bottle miraculously unbroken in his hand. The special bottle, which was to have been saved to the very last. One he had taken by mistake, perhaps, but his lips bore no smile. Unlike the dancer, he failed to appreciate the jest.

The rest were alive, bruised but otherwise unhurt aside from Charl Zeda. He sucked in his breath, sweat breaking out in globules on his seamed face, as Dumarest used leverage to ease the mercenary's badly dislocated shoulder back into position.

"That's better." Gently he tested the joint. "I was a fool, moved at the wrong time and got caught by one of the decelerations. How's the ship?" He frowned at the answer. "Under the surface, no generator, no power to lift-how the hell are we to get out?"

A question repeated by Gale Andrei when, later, they had gathered in the salon.

"We can get out," said Dumarest. "All we need to do is to cycle through the airlock in the cargo hold. But there are other considerations."

"Such as?"

"What to do once we are on the surface," said Leo Bochner quickly. He sat at the girl's side, his hand touching her own. "We could be a long way from shore and, without navigation aids, may not be able to tell in which direction it lies. Can you swim?"

"A little. Why?"

"A little, you say. How far is that? A mile? Ten? A score? Fifty?" Bochner shook his head. "A little isn't enough. We could be more than a hundred miles from land. Captain?"

"I don't know," admitted Egulus. "We came down fast and had other things to think about. Earl saw mountains ahead, but we were high at the time and they would be below the horizon now. In any case, they were far from close."

"And we must have traveled after we hit the ocean." Fele Roster pursed his lips, his eyes thoughtful. "How deep are we?"

"We hit bottom." Egulus shrugged at the other's expression. "I'm not sure how deep, the external gauge was burned, but from the time we took to descend, I'd say about four or five hundred feet."

"Deep," said Bochner. "Too deep for us to rise to the surface without difficulty."

"It would be impossible without protection," said Gale Andrei. "If we tried it we'd litter the surface with our bodies."

"Or provide food for the fish." Shan Threnond looked at his hands, the rings he had replaced gleaming in the light. "The fish and other things. Are you sure this world is Hyrcanus, Captain?"

"As near as I can figure, yes. You know it?"

"I've heard rumors." The dealer in death sucked at his lips, splinters of light darting from his rings to be reflected in little gleams from his eyes. "If they are to be believed, a wise man would do well to avoid this place."

"I've heard about it, too," rumbled Charl Zeda. He moved carefully in his chair, easing his sore shoulder. "A strange and savage world filled with unexpected perils. The mountains hold a peculiar form of life, and the seas are not as peaceful as they could be. The air, too-but every tavern is full of such whispers. If a man believed them all, he would never find the courage to travel."

"But if we are on Hyrcanus," said Threnond, "we had better think twice before trusting ourselves to the water. Even with what protection we can arrange, we'd stand small chance against what it could contain."

"If the rumors are true." Bochner shook his head. "Tales to frighten children. Stories spun by men while sitting half-drunk, in firelight. Yarns to interest women and to earn the price of another bottle. Stories about mythical worlds and beasts and treasures waiting to be found. You must have heard them, Earl?"

"Yes," said Dumarest. "Often."

"And never been tempted to investigate? To try and find Jackpot, say, with its fields of precious gems. Or Avalon with its scented breezes and singing flowers, with its food trees and wine streams and youth-restoring berries. Or Bonanza, with its veins of rich ores running like rainbows through the mountains. Never even tried to find Earth?"

Earth-the only world he had mentioned which he hadn't given a tinsel shine. And had his voice changed a little as he spoke the name? A coincidence? Perhaps, but Dumarest mistrusted coincidences.

"Earth," he said. "You know it?"

"Only as a legend, my friend. A name. One among a dozen. Shall I tell you of others? Of-"

"For God's sake!" Gale Andrei snapped her irritation. "To talk such rubbish at a time like this! What are we going to do? Are we to just sit here and wait? Will rescue come? Can it? Can we leave the ship? Can we reach land if we do?"

"Steady," said Bochner. "Steady."

"You-"

Her hand lifted, swung at his face, halted as he blocked it, the sound of slapped flesh sounding loud as his own fingers left red welts on her cheek. As she recoiled, eyes wide with shocked disbelief, he said, "I suggest you control yourself, my dear. And never attempt to strike me again."

"Was that necessary?" Dilys Edhessa glared her anger. "You spoke of terrors to be found on this world-must we add to them? Or do you consider it the height of courage to strike a defenseless woman?"

"A reaction. I-"

"Forgot yourself? Would you like to strike me?" She came toward him, overwhelming, eyes cold with her rage. "Try it," she invited. "Just try it-and I'll break your arm."

"You think you could do that?" He rose to face her, body tense, poised, hands lifted as if to strike or parry as the need arose. The stance of a man accustomed to facing danger. That of the hunter he professed to be-or that of the fighter he had taken pains to hide.

Dumarest said, "Haven't we enough trouble as it is? Sit down, man. Dilys, what have you to report?"

For a moment she hesitated, then, as Bochner sat, she said, "The generator's out, as you know, and can't be repaired. We have power enough to run the life support systems until we starve. We can recycle air and get water enough, but food is limited. Why, Earl? You knew all this."

"The others didn't, or may have forgotten."

"So?" The last of her anger vanished with her shrug. "All right, I'm sorry. I should have managed to control myself. But I can't stand a man who hits women."

"Or a woman who kills men?" Dumarest met her eyes. "She could have a poisoned needle attached to her finger," he explained. "Or a lethal paste set beneath a sharpened nail. Like Bochner, I, too would have taken precautions had she slapped at my face."

"And slapped her back?"

"It's one way to teach a lesson." He changed the subject. "Have you anything which could be adapted to give underwater protection? Masks, air tanks, suits?"

"Tanks, yes," she said. "Masks could be made and we could use padding to protect bodies. And, of course, we have the emergency sacs."

The last resort, should a vessel be destroyed while in space, but only the insanely optimistic would ever use them. Transparent membranes containing air and other supplies which could maintain life for awhile; bubbles drifting in the void with those inside them, hoping against hope that some nearby vessel would hear their radio beacon and come to the rescue. The wise chose to die with their ship.

"The sacs!" The mercenary lifted his head like a dog smelling food. "The beacon-don't you have one fitted to the Entil?"

"Or a radio?" Roster added his suggestion. "We are on a listed world and it must have a field and people of some kind. We could contact them. Ask for rescue."

At a price which would leave them stripped of all assets but, dead, they would have lost everything anyway.

Zeda mistook Egulus's hesitation. "The radio, man! Are you afraid of losing your vessel as salvage?"

"It's lost anyway," said the captain. "But the radio's useless."

"And the beacon?"

Jumoke had overlooked it, as had Dumarest and the captain, both assuming the navigator had done his worst. Dilys sucked in her breath as she drew it from its housing; a small, compact piece of electronic wizardry which operated only when the generator failed and the field collapsed, sending a coded electronic "shout" which, even in the Rift, could be heard by a ship which was close, or by a nearby world. Even in the Quillian Sector.

And the thing had operated twice.

"A line," said Dilys. "If anyone heard both signals they could draw a line, extend it, and know just where we are."

"They won't be able to see us," said Egulus. "They could come looking and pass right over us."

But they would keep looking. A ship in distress was a fortune in salvage. Add to that the price of cargo, rescue fees and rewards, and no captain of a hungry trader would give up too soon.

And neither, Dumarest knew, would others who must be searching for him.

He said, "What now?"

"We wait." Bochner joined the discussion. "We sit and wait until someone comes to help us. Why not? We have air and food and water. We have wine and certain other comforts." He glanced at Gale Andrei. "So why risk death outside?"

"Perhaps we could rig up a new radio?" suggested Charl Zeda. "I've some experience in electronics and, with the emergency beacon intact, we have a viable base on which to build. And it doesn't have to be an ultra-radio-all we want is something which can contact someone locally and serve to guide them to us. You'll help me, Shan?"

"You need help?"

"For the assembly, yes." The mercenary gestured at his damaged shoulder. "I'm not too good at fine work at the best of times, and you're accustomed to handling delicate fabrications. If we could use the facilities in the engine room?"

"Sure," said Dilys. "Why not? I'll even-" She broke off with a catch of breath. "What-what's that? What the hell's happening?"

The ship had moved.

It rolled a little, lifting to settle again, bumping to rest, to roll once more as, from the hull, came an ugly grating. A sound as if something hard had dragged over the metal. As the sound faded into silence, Gale said, "God, what's that?"

The screens answered her. In them loomed the shape of madness, scaled, tentacular, spines tipped with barbs, mouths lined with rows of savage teeth. A monstrous creature of the depths attracted by the shock of their landing, now busy investigating the intruder into its realm. And it was big. Big.

"It's like a mountain," whispered Fele Roster. With the others, he stood crammed into the control room and his whisper was an automatic defense mechanism; what the thing couldn't hear it couldn't be aware of. "A living mountain."

One which spread in formless confusion, fogging at the edge of visibility, coils writhing in seemingly endless profusion, tentacles filing its watery world. The Entil rolled like an egg in its grip, its bottom lifting to bang against the rocky bottom, to send metallic verberations echoing from the stricken metal, gongs to herald doom.

"The hull." Threnond's voice, while controlled, betrayed his strain. "How thick is it?"

"God knows." Egulus was somber. "We lost a lot of metal by vaporization as we came down. Half the thickness, and maybe more." He remembered the streaming incandescence which had accompanied them during their desperate journey through the atmosphere. Glowing gases born of disrupted molecules, the metal of the hull converted to light and heat by the friction of their descent. "But it'll hold."

A conviction Dumarest didn't share. He examined the screens and the thing they revealed, following lines, guessing as to size and mass. The ship, engulfed, would be small in comparison. The thing could lift it and slam it down until it broke. Or it could wait, maintaining the pressure of its grip until the hull yielded.

"We could seal the various compartments," said Gale Andrei. "But no, we have no way of telling which will go first."

"We could."-Dilys broke off, then appealed to the one man she felt confident had the answer which could save their lives. "Earl-what should we do?"

Dumarest made no comment, looking at the ulterior of the vessel, moving from the control room to the greater spaciousness of the salon. Space ships were not built to operate as submarines. Strength of hull was not as important in the void as it would have been at great depths, but the fabric itself was strong to endure the strains and stresses of electronic storms and the warping effect of the Erhaft field. Strength, which meant weight. Struts and stanchions fitted on a geometric pattern so as to make the entire vessel an integrated unit. The immediate danger wasn't in crushing, but in the weakened hull plates yielding to admit the rush of water. A flood which would drown them like rats in a trap.

"Earl?"

"We can wait," he said. "Hope that the thing will tire and leave us before it manages to crack us open. But that's a gamble I prefer not to take."

"Why not?"

"Sound." Dumarest looked at Bochner, wondering why he had asked the question. Surely a hunter would know? "We move and hit things and talk. Vibrations transmitted through the fabric to the hull where that thing can sense them. It must know we aren't inanimate and, if it follows the usual pattern, it will be unwilling to give up its search for food."

"True." Bochner nodded. "What then?"

"We can try to sneak out and hope it won't follow us because we're so relatively small. You recommend that?"

"No. A thing that size will have attendant predators; scavengers living on its discards. They'd take care of us if the big beast didn't."

Gale Andrei said bitterly, "So that's it. We can't wait and we can't leave. Brilliant!"

"And defeatist." Bochner didnt look at her as he spoke. "There is an alternative."

"What?"

"We lighten the ship," said Dumarest. "We cut free and dump everything we can. The more we feed through the locks the greater our buoyancy will be. Once that thing out there releases its grip, we'll shoot up to the surface like a bubble."

"Simple," she said bitterly. "You make it sound all so damned simple. But how are you going to make that thing out there let us go?"

The air stank of burning, of hot metal which had vented acrid vapors and coated the ulterior of the ship with noxious patinas. Bright stubs showed where lastorches had burned away installations, their energy adding to the trapped heat so that a coating of moisture dewed the hull. An omen Dumarest chose to ignore.

He stood in the control room, now such by courtesy only, the chairs gone, the instruments, the delicate components which had cost high but which had been discarded as so much unwanted scrap. Only the screens remained alive, and the communication link to the engine room.

"Now?" Egulus eased the collar of his uniform. His hands were burned, sore, grimed, as was his face and hair, but despite the heat, he clung to the symbols of his rank. He was a captain and intended to remain one. "Earl?"

"A moment." Dumarest spoke into the intercom. "Dilys, have Bochner vent the last of the material through port four." He waited then, "Good. It's still clear. Now have Allain's body out in the final load and stand by for release."

The final load and a hell of a way to treat the dead, thought Egulus. To use them as bait. As a diversion. As a bribe to the thing out there which still held them fast. The dancer and historian didn't matter-those who hugged dirt belong to it, but Allain had spent too many years in space to be denied the clean expanse of the universe for his final resting place.

Well-such things happened. "You think it will work?"

"On its own? Probably not." Dumarest didn't take his eyes from the screen. "I noticed a reaction when we dumped out the stores. A tentacle went to investigate. It didn't return to take up its old position. I think we've confused it a little, but not enough to frighten it."

"Can such a thing feel fear?"

"Concern as to its survival, certainly. All living things must feel that." Dumarest spoke into the intercom. "Dilys, how is the potential? Optimum? Good. Maintain and stand by to discharge." To the captain, he said, "Check that everyone is insulated. No contact with metal of any kind."

Checking took less than a minute. With the interior of the ship now an almost empty shell, it was easy to spot those who waited.

"All clear and set, Earl."

Dumarest nodded, checked that he stood on a thick pad of wadded insulation, and said, "Right, Dilys. Give the word to Bochner. As soon as he's cycled out the load, hit the switches."

He stood, waiting, feeling the slight vibration of the cycling port, seeing the creature outside shift a little, a coil rippling as it moved, a gaping mouth snapping, a tentacle reaching to where the dead were floating up towards the surface.

Meat and blood and bone. Protein for the beast and for its attendant scavengers. Food they couldn't resist.

The coils moved faster then. As Dilys hit the switches, they jerked as if touched by redhot steel.

Current fed from the engines turned the hull into a searing, charring inferno. Tough skin and gristle burned, crisped, shed a sickly green ooze. Sparks flashed, as steam bubbled from the points of contact, lighting the screen with transient glimmers. More sparks flashed from within the ship itself. Streamers of manmade lightning, which added to the stench with its reek of ozone, sent tingles to jerk at nerve and muscle even through the wadded insulation.

The Entil lifted.

It rose, tilted, moved to halt again as, in a savage paroxysm, the tentacles gripped in self destructive fury.

"Dilys!"

The power flow was at optimum, higher and it would threaten the source of its own creation, but as metal yielded, Dumarest knew the risk had to be taken.

"Maximum, Dilys! Feed every erg you can raise into the hull!"

A plate had bulged inward, another followed, water edging a crack, turning into a fine jet which sent spray lifting, to fall like rain. Rain which acted as a conductor for the electronic power so that arcs flashed and metal turned molten at the points of impact.

"Earl, for God's sake!" Egulus caught at his arm. "We're not going to make it!"

A statement punctuated by Gale Andrei's scream as Fele Roster, staggering, fell to touch the bare metal of the hull- to turn into a pillar of smoking flesh, blood and charred bone.

A sacrifice which toppled to fall and lie sprawled on the floor as the ship lanced upwards.

To reach the surface and to rise above it. To hang suspended for a brief moment before crashing down. To sink and rise again and to roll sickeningly in the grip of cross currents and a screaming wind.

"We've got to get out!" Charl Zeda, his face gray with pain, stood in the opening of the control room. "Water's coming in."

Not enough to provide an immediate threat, but enough to send a shallow lake surging over the deck. Dilys came wading through it. Power was cut, the ship dark except for the pale glow of emergencies, shadows which held both real and imagined terrors.

"Earl?"

"We've got to abandon the ship." He staggered as the vessel rolled, landing hard against the hull, hearing the others shout and thresh in the water. "Get the emergency supplies and what extra clothing you reserved. The caskets-" He grunted as the ship rolled again. "I'll handle those with Bochner. Take care of the others, Captain. Keep them together."

Bochner was waiting at the main lock. Like Dumarest, be had changed into more serviceable clothing, thick materials, quilted and set with metal protection. He smiled at the tall figure in gray, his eyes flashing, noting the boots, the knife.

"A chance, Earl. The creature could be down there waiting for us."

"We've no choice."

"True, and if we stay too long we'll sink for the last time. But, honestly now, did you anticipate the need to abandon the ship?"

Dumarest said, "On the way down I noticed the wind. Without a keel, we were bound to roll with the impact. We have no rudder, no sails, nothing to enable us to steer a course. We could drift for months if we hadn't been broached."

"And now we have no choice at all." The hunter shrugged. "Well, so often it happens in life. The path one must follow is seldom the one offering the greatest delights. The caskets first?"

They slid from the port into the waves, the boxes sealed, bobbing, parting to the thrust of the wind. It droned over the sea, catching the leaden water, dashing waves against the wallowing hull. Bundles followed, all tightly wrapped and fitted with empty containers to ensure they would float. Then the survivors, Yarn Egulus first.

He dived, surfaced, climbed on one of the caskets. Ropes had been attached and he gathered others to draw the containers close together.

Then Threnond, together with the mercenary, the latter sinking, to rise blowing and puffing, to sink again as his sore shoulder hampered his progress.

Beside him, something broke the water.

"Earl!" Dilys was beside him, her fingers digging into his arm. "That thing!"

A long, narrow shape, which glided like an oiled dart toward the struggling man. One with a long, needlelike jaw which gaped to reveal the flash of pointed teeth. The mercenary saw it, threshed, yelled as it swung in and away. Blood rose to stain the water with a carmine flood.

"Charl!" Threnond yelled from the safety of a casket. "Charl!"

He shouted at the wind.

"My God!" Gale lifted a trembling hand to her lips as she stared at where the mercenary had vanished. "What happened to him?"

"He's dead." Bochner was coldly dispassionate. "That predator must have got his leg. Those jaws could have severed the limb, and if they did, it would account for the amount of blood. Only ripped arteries could have produced so much so fast."

Dilys shuddered.

"But we are left with a problem," continued the hunter. "The blood will have attracted others and we have still to leave the ship." He glanced to where the caskets bobbed, together now in the form of a crude raft. "And our means of escape is moving further away."

Too far. Driven by the wind, the distance was increasing and those aboard had no way to return.

"We need a line." Dumarest turned, found an end of wire hanging from a conduit and ripped it from its housing. Lashing one end around his waist, he threw the other at Bochner. "Hold this. Give me slack. When it's fast to the raft, pull!"

"Earl!" Dilys stepped toward him, hands outstretched to hold him back. "No! You can't!"

She was too late. Even as she spoke he dived, hitting the water cleanly, vanishing to reappear swimming strongly through the waves. He had covered half the distance to the raft when the shape appeared.

The predator returned, or another just like it. A creature hungry for the kill.

Dumarest heard Bochner's warning shout and dived as it closed in, reaching for his boot, his knife. Steel glimmered in the water as he turned, eyes searching the gloom, seeing the long, slender body lance toward him, the jaws gaping, the expanse of the mottled belly as the creature closed in. A kick, and he moved aside just in time, the lower jaw rasping against his hip as, twisting, he plunged the blade into the exposed stomach, dragging back the steel in a long, deep cut which spilled blood and intestines in a fuming cloud.

The blade clamped between his teeth, Dumarest kicked himself to the surface and covered the rest of the distance to the caskets. Egulus reached down and hauled him to safety as water threshed and jaws snapped at the water where he had been.

"The line." Dumarest handed it to the captain. "Fasten it and pull. Hurry!"

It tightened, humming like a bowstring as the distance lessened between the ship and the crude raft. They touched as the Entil rolled, settled deeper as they watched, rolled again with a slow, deliberate movement.

"Jump!" Dumarest reached out to the open port as it swung down toward the waves. "Jump, damn you!"

Gale landed beside him, slipped and almost fell back into the water, steadied as his hands closed about her arms. Bochner thrust Dilys forward and she landed with surprising lightness for her size. The hunter followed, standing poised as the wind carried them away from the foundering vessel, watching as it tilted, the nose lifting, lowering, bubbles rising around it as, with sudden abruptness, it sank beneath the surface.

"Close." Egulus looked at the ring of spreading froth. "The hull must have given way after I'd left."

"It did." Bochner drew air deep into his lungs. His face was wet with spray and the wind turned his hair into a living crest. "Another few minutes and we'd have been food for the fish. Well, Earl, what now?"

"We lash everything tight, set up a sail and run before the wind. Dumarest looked at the sky, the seething spume rising from the waves, the clouds massed low on the horizon. The sun was a smeared copper ball, ringed with a lambent corona and blotched with ebon markings. The air held an acrid metallic taint and, low on the horizon, he could see the dancing flicker of lightning. "And we'd better do it before the storm breaks.