Web of Sand

Chapter Twelve

Before them something cluttered to run and crouch with watchful, wary eyes. A rodent, adapted to its environment, ready to defend itself if attacked. Dumarest ignored it as did the others. Vermin were to be expected among the sludge and garbage which was the unavoidable by-product of any city. In Harge it was collected in the Burrows; a multi-layered complex of thick walls, galleries, artificial caverns containing lakes of decaying sewage. Of necessity the city had to recycle its waste.

But there was more in the place than the workers busy in the utilities, the rodents watching to snatch what they could find. Among the ramps and corridors, the junctions lit with cold, blue light were patches of darkness and shadowed enigma; narrow passages leading to empty spaces once used now long neglected. Areas made obsolete by the use of new, compact equipment, by-passed in lateral expansion, discovered bubbles which could not be fitted into the general plan. A world where floors and walls were slimed, thick with encrustations, mottled with pale fungi emitting a ghostly luminescence. Water seeped from spongy rock or lay in dew-like condensation on naked stone.

A maze reflecting echoes. One which held the soft pad of cautious feet.

Santis had caught the sound. He said, softly, "I get the impression we're being followed. An ambush?"

Dumarest had also caught the warning signals. He halted, listening, eyes searching the gloom. To one side a patch of fungi glowed a leprous green. Others shone farther down the gallery, dotted up in irregular patches on the walls, some clustered to the roof high above. A narrow, wedge-shaped crack which twisted as it rose but rose only to descend again.

"The guards?" Kemmer whispered the suggestion. "Could it be a patrol?"

"No."

"But-"

"One pair of feet," said Santis impatiently. "That's all I've heard. No guard would be patrolling alone and whoever made that noise wasn't wearing boots. Quiet, now, and listen!"

As yet they had avoided the guards and workers, not wanting to be checked or having to answer questions. Gaining time so as to move well away from the foot of the shaft down which they had descended. Time in which to rest and sleep and move on and up through the lower regions of the area. Time in which to realize they were completely lost.

Dumarest looked at a patch of distant fungi. It had flickered as if something had passed before it. The occlusion could have been an optical image, the result of tired eyes, but he didn't think so. Someone or something was out there watching their progress.

To Santis he whispered, "Stay here with Maurice. Pretend you are talking to me. I'm going to see what's up ahead."

He moved forward, boots silent on the stone, stepping like a shadow from one patch of gloom to the next, halting often to merge with the stillness. The murmurs behind him faded as he pressed on, a susuration which lost form and meaning and became merely the sign of living presences. As, before him, he sensed another.

Dumarest froze as, again, he saw the patch of fungi blacken to shine again. A guard? It was barely possible and if so the man could guide them but, if they were searched, the tranneks they carried would be confiscated as undeclared imports and they themselves would be fined or imprisoned. And, if a cyber were waiting, it would be to walk straight into his grasp.

Again he saw the flicker of darkness, closer this time as if, whoever it was had grown impatient and was heading to where the men stood talking. Dumarest waited then followed, dodging the giveaway patches of brightness by stooping beneath them, running on his toes, hands extended, touching, folding to clamp around the figure which suddenly loomed before him.

"Steady!" His knife was against the throat, the edge pressing in silent warning. "Don't move. We won't hurt you. Just stand still and let's get a look at you."

He felt skin beneath his hands, the warmth of naked flash, a soft, familiar rotundity. As he backed into the glow of massed fungi Santis released his breath with a whistle.

"Who would have guessed it? A girl!"

She was almost naked, the fabric falling from one shoulder and cinctured at the waist covering little more than breasts and loins. Her hair was long, dark, richly shining. Her feet were bare as were her legs and arms. One hand held a scrap of flaked stone and the other was lifted as if in defense or appeal. Her face had a round, child-like quality. She looked about twelve.

She said, "Don't touch me, mister!"

"I won't." Dumarest lowered his knife. "Who are you?" Then, as she made no answer. "Have you been following us?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You going to hurt me?" She lowered her own crude weapon as he shook his head. "I was curious. You're lost, aren't you? I can tell. You've wandered too far and crossed your tracks too often to be anything else. You've licked water from the stone and haven't eaten at all for days. You hungry? Want a nice bowl of stew? Something good to eat and a soft bed to go with it."

"And?"

"And what?" She looked at Dumarest with childish innocence. "I'm Ania. That's what the others call me. What do they call you?" She nodded as he told her. "Earl. I like that. Do you want to come with me, Earl?"

"My friends?"

"They can come too. It isn't far. But we must hurry. It isn't safe to hang around here. We'll be safer farther along and in the lower galleries. They'll never catch us there. Come on now, Earl. Hurry!"

She took his hand and dragged. Santis said, dubiously. "It could be a trap."

"A trap?" Kemmer echoed his doubts. "She's just a child."

"Big enough to carry a knife and big enough to use it," said the mercenary. "I've met her kind before; bait to lead the unwary into trouble. There could be others waiting ahead of us."

Dumarest said, to the girl, "Is there anyone ahead?"

"Do you want that food or not?" She sounded impatient. "If you do then let's get on with it. We can't afford to be found here." She added, "Either come on or let me go."

Dumarest had his fingers wrapped around her wrist. He kept them there as he followed the girl. She led them through a narrow passage and into an arching gallery filled with minor trickles, murmurs, tappings. An acoustic freak which caught distant sounds and magnified them. Listening, Dumarest recognized the pulse of machines, the sighing gust of ventilators, a peculiar scraping and scratching.

"It's from the reactor," said the girl when he asked. "They're busy adjusting the ratios. Listen again!" She halted then, as she stepped forward again, asked, "Did you hear it?"

"What?"

"This." She imitated the sound, giving a series of deep grunts followed by a hiss then more grunts. "The sewage farm on level 23," she explained. "They're clearing the processed sludge and making ready for a new intake. Careful now!"

A fissure yawned at their feet. She jumped it, waited for them to follow, then headed into a place filled with thickening gloom. As the walls closed around them Dumarest released her arm and drew his knife.

She said, "You won't need that, Earl."

"I hope not."

"No one will hurt you here."

"No," he said, dryly, "but that isn't to say they won't try. Get off now."

"Leave you? But-"

"Go!" His voice carried a snarl. "Move!"

For a moment she stood there, eyes wide, shining in the dimness then, gulping, she turned and ran.

"Earl-"

"After her!" Dumarest followed his own advice, running quietly down the passage which had swallowed her. If she was leading them into a trap her lone arrival would create consternation and give them the element of surprise. It wasn't needed.

Beyond the mouth of the passage, in a chamber bright with clustered fungi, stood a lone man his hand resting on the girl's shoulder. He wore dark clothing touched with somber hues, the interplay breaking line and form; a crude but effective form of camouflage. He was armed with a spear tipped with vicious barbs and a thin knife of bright steel.

He said, Welcome, strangers, and have no fear. My name is Lowbar.

Beneath his hand the girl faced them, smiling.

There was something furtive about the man, a sly movement of the eyes, a wariness to be expected in someone who lived with fear. And there was a tension in the way he hefted the spear, the manner in which he placed his booted feet as he led the way to a cave. The warm glow of a fire dulled the cold radiance of fungi and a clutter of bedding, bowls, small items made it more of a home than a mere hollow gouged in a wall of stone.

And there was food.

It was what Dumarest had expected; a stew containing scraps of unidentifiable meat, vegetables, a sludge-like thickening. Rats, he guessed, and some of the fungi together with the residue of yeast vats and algae tanks and anything else which could be scavenged. He cleaned the bowl and nodded his thanks when offered another. Food was food and he was too hungry to be squeamish.

"You came at a good time," said Lowbar. They sat alone, the girl had vanished on business of her own and Kemmer and Santis lay asleep on heaped bedding. "A worker was careless at one of the utilities and failed to close a valve securely. The sludge attracted rodents. Need I say more?"

Dumarest threw aside a cleaned bone. "Is the girl your daughter?"

"Ania? No. Only by adoption. Her mother Ran when she was little more than a baby. I found her wandering, almost dead from starvation and other things. She died but the child survived and has been with us ever since."

"Us?" Dumarest had only seen the two of them. "There are more?"

"Many more." Lowbar had shrewd eyes. "But you knew that. How?"

"You have a fire burning but it is too big for just the two of you. As is this cave. And you have too much bedding, too many bowls-a dozen?"

Lowbar nodded, lying; there had to be at least double that number but Dumarest knew better than to press the matter. A guest should always defer to the whims of his host. He and the others had been made welcome, given water, food, the assurance they could sleep without fear. An offer Dumarest had accepted with reservations. They would continue as they had since leaving the shaft and he had taken the first watch.

Lowbar said, "Ania is clever and one of the best trackers we have. She has been following you for a long time now. Only when she reported to me that you seemed genuine did I inform her that you would be welcome here. Of course it is possible that she has made a mistake."

"All things are possible," admitted Dumarest. "But if we weren't genuine would we have come unarmed? Without supplies? Without a radio to maintain contact with others? And would we have been at pains to avoid the guards?"

"No," admitted Lowbar. "And the facts tell in your favor. You appeared lost."

"We were lost." Dumarest added, "We still are."

"It often happens. When a person is on the Run they usually get confused. In such a case they are more than willing to side with those who offer their help."

"You, for example?" As Lowbar made no comment Dumarest continued, "Did you get help when you needed it?"

"I didn't need it I knew enough to make out for myself." Lowbar paused, thinking. A pot stood beside the fire and he dipped a bowl into it, handed it to Dumarest and helped himself to another. The liquid was warm, thick, alive with fermenting yeast and strongly alcoholic. "It must be twenty years ago now. I'd got into debt and the sum had climbed. No fault of my own but you know how it is. They sent me to work at the reactors. My last chance; if I refused or slacked the tribunal would order my eviction."

"Your execution?"

"Eviction," corrected Lowbar. "There is no death penalty on Harge. If evicted it is theoretically possible to survive. No one ever has but the possibility remains. A fine point but it soothes the conscience of those tender in such matters." He added, bitterly, "It would be more merciful to kill and have done with it."

Dumarest agreed. "And?"

"I Ran. I'd scouted a little first and learned what I could from others. Some of the workers are sympathetic and will help a little, if it doesn't cost them anything. A form of insurance, I suppose, they like to think they have somewhere to run if things get too bad. Anyway, I had some idea of where to go and what to do. I'd cached what supplies I could and when I left I took all I could carry. I was lucky. Other's weren't. Ania's mother, for example. She was caught by a hunting party looking for a little sport and shot twice before managing to get away. That's how they treat you once you've Run. They no longer regard you as human."

"Shot? With lasers?"

"No. They aren't allowed down here. If we managed to get arms like that the Guard wouldn't be able to touch us. The hunting parties use spears and crossbows-you saw one of their spears. I was carrying it when you arrived. Ania's mother had been hit with bolts in the kidney and lung. She died in my arms. I never even learned her name but the girl takes after her in looks." He paused then, as Dumarest remained silent, said, "And you?"

"On the run too," said Dumarest. "And we ran straight into trouble. Can you guide us back to the upper levels?"

"Back?" Lowbar frowned, not understanding. "You want to go back?"

"That's right."

"But I thought you would join us. Become part of my number."

"We ran from the prospect of getting into debt," explained Dumarest. "And we ran into a storm. We managed to get back into the city through a ventilation shaft-a trick others could try." He was being honest; Lowbar had too many men within call for it to be wise for him to do anything else. And, aside from his group, there could be others. "We wandered until Ania found us."

"A storm?" Lowbar was incredulous. "Man, nothing can live in a storm!"

"We survived and so could others. We had luck and some help and we beat the system in our way as you did in yours."

"Help?"

"Help." Dumarest didn't go into detail, if the man thought they had powerful allies it would do no harm. "But we have a lot in common. Did you wait to be evicted? Did you just give up? Would you be sitting here now if you had? You survived as we did and that's reason enough to help each other. We need to be guided to the upper levels. And you? What do you need? If you had lasers-"

Lowbar snapped at the bait. "We could laugh at the guards," he said excitedly. "At the bastards who come down to hunt us as if we were vermin. At the workers who hate us because they haven't the guts to join us. Can you get me lasers?"

"I'll do my best." Dumarest met the man's eyes. It would be useless to promise more and yet, so far, he'd promised him nothing. "Will you help us?"

"Let's talk about the lasers. How many can you get?"

"It depends on the price. And it depends on what's in it for me. Let me think about it. I'll do what I can, that I promise, but don't press too hard. When can you guide us?"

"Tomorrow," said Lowbar after a moment. "After you've rested. I'll have someone guide you tomorrow."

The storm was over and for two days now rafts had scoured the desert and the Goulten Hills. A vain search, as yet there had been no trace of what he desperately needed to find and, lacking concrete evidence, Tosya was driven back on the cold logic of the situation. One emphasized by Yunus Ambalo as he stood with the cyber in the apartment loaned to him by the Cinque.

"There is no hope," he repeated. "No one could possibly have lived through that storm."

"The Goulten Hills?"

"Rafts searched before the storm broke and again after it subsided and each time with the same result. Nothing. If a party had sheltered within the range they must have left it when the storm ended."

"Must?"

"No water," said Yunus tiredly. "No food."

"A man in good condition can live without food for a month and still maintain his efficiency," reminded the cyber. "And Dumarest is accustomed to traveling Low."

"Maybe, but a man needs his strength on the desert. And what about water?"

"The party carried water."

"The search team discovered the ruin of their tent together with the survival radio and supplies." The cost of the search using highly expensive electronic equipment to track down the permanently active components was something yet to be argued about. "That was prior to the storm breaking. Nothing living was spotted on the desert. The assumption must be the party, if still alive, was within the range. They were not discovered. Therefore they must either have been destroyed by the sannaks or lost in some tunnel. The storm would have trapped them and, if the tunnel had collapsed-" Yunus broke off, shrugging. To him the matter was crystal clear and he couldn't see why Tosya was so insistent. "Nothing could have survived the storm," he said again. "You have seen the attrition of suits exposed to the wind. They could never have made it from the hills to the city. They could never have lasted with the little water they must have had. They must all be dead."

The end!

Tosya closed his eyes and thought of it and came as close as he could ever come to the feeling of despair. To have failed and to be faced with the need for paying the penalty of failure.

And yet where had he gone wrong?

Dumarest had been alive and in the city that he knew for certain. Had he remained in the city he would have been safely held. Even now there was no hard evidence that he had left the confines of Harge but Tosya knew better. The party which had not followed the usual procedure must have had him as one of its number even though the license had been in the name of a resident All others had been accounted for. Of those who had been dumped by Frome from the Urusha two were at hand, one was dead, the others including Dumarest had, apparently, vanished.

Where else but on the desert?

"Cyber Tosya." Yunus made an effort to control his impatience. "The ship which landed this morning will leave before dark. If you intend to travel on it I would advise no further delay."

There was time, not much, but still enough for him to again review the facts of recent events. Dumarest, so close and now so far. Dead, lost beneath the sand, every grain of his body separated and mixed with older, more arid dust. The valuable information contained in his mind lost for what could be millennia.

And he had allowed it to happen.

And yet, could he wholly be at fault? Dumarest must have left the city before he had even landed-would the central intelligence take that into consideration? The one at fault must surely be Frome who had failed to carry out his orders or, more probable, the one to whom he had passed them had been lax.

Was it worth staying?

Again Tosya equated the probabilities and came up with the same bleak answer. If Dumarest had been caught by the storm he would now be dead-the probability was as high as any he had made. He had not entered the city while the storm had been in progress, the guards at the gate were positive as to that. Nothing unusual had been reported and every known fact led to the same conclusion. Dumarest was dead.

Yunus said, "The ship, Tosya. If you intend leaving you must go now."

To report. To serve the rest of his life in minor capacities, never again to be trusted with matters of great importance, never, even, to gain the coveted reward. Yet if he had failed there was no need to compound his failure.

Yunus blinked as the puff of gas assailed his nostrils. A moment then the incident was forgotten-but he was now a man as good as dead. Within a few hours the parasite carried in the vapor would have rooted itself in his brain, there to grow, to distort his cerebral process, to kill as surely as a bullet.

And any curiosity he may have felt about the Cyclan's interest in Dumarest would have died with him.