by E. C. Tubb
And what made them so desperate to find and hold him?
Always it came back to that-the tantalizing promise of fantastic reward. Not just for the sake of material gain but for the other, far more intense pleasure of personal achievement. Of running down the most wily and the most dangerous quarry he had ever known to the final, bitter end. Not just to make a kill-any fool could destroy-but to win on all levels so that when the hunt was ended, the stalk consummated, and he was closing in for the termination, the usual orgasmic pleasure would be multiplied a hundredfold.
To win.
To pit mind against mind, body against body, skill and cunning and intelligence against equal attributes and to win. To be proven the best. To gain in stature by the other's defeat.
To live!
A noise, and he was fully awake, one hand reaching for his knife, the other for his spear. Against the glow of the fire, the bulk of the woman showed monstrous; female flesh rendered even more shapeless by the clothing and padding she wore. For a moment he compared her with Gale Andrei and her slim boyishness, then dismissed them both. Women, never important, were now an unwanted complication.
Dumarest stood beyond her, head tilted, eyes searching the heights. Egulus, lying supine, stirred and coughed-the noise he had heard-and Bochner lifted himself from the loam to rise and flex his muscles. A creature of the wild preparing himself for action.
They had, he thought, been lucky. It was close to dawn and the night had passed without incident. Lying, resting his bones if nothing else, he had waited on the edge of instant alertness, ready for any attack, eyes acting as watchful guardians as, apparently, he dreamed. Now, with the new day, they could move back down the slope, skirt the area, press on up the hill to the peak.
If the area could be skirted.
If there was no attack.
Standing, he felt his mind flash to an alternate possibility. He and Dumarest, wandering this world, two hunters living on the land, knowing and relishing the taste and feel of a primitive existence, sharing and finding joy in their own, personal world.
A moment, then it was gone and only a semiregretful glow remained. The main hunt still remained. The stalk, the challenge, the need to act, to delude, to beat intelligence and caution with the same of his own.
He said, "Earl? Are we ready to move out?"
"Not yet." Dumarest, Bochner noticed, had removed all the padding he'd worn. "Strip. I want everything but your own clothing. You too, Dilys. And you, captain."
"Why?"
"For smoke. Most of the padding is plastic and it'll produce a thick, black cloud when burned."
"Smoke?" Egulus frowned, then thought he had the answer. "To get rid of the spiders? Will it work?"
"It might. At least, it will stop them seeing me."
"Seeing you?" Dilys remembered what he had said. "Earl, you're not going after Threnond!"
"Someone has to."
"But why? He's dead. You said so yourself."
"No, others said that. I'm afraid he could still be alive." Dumarest stooped and lifted burning sticks from the fire, "If he is, then he's in the worst land of hell. We can't leave him in it."
He carried the mass of burning wood to the place where the belt had fallen and she followed him, searching for words, for a reason why he shouldn't do what he obviously intended to do. Only a madman would want to climb the tree to face what could lurk above. Threnond was dead-he had to be dead. How could he possibly be alive?
Bochner knew. He said urgently, "Earl, the risk is too great. Even if they did sting and poison him, there's nothing you can do. We have no cure. You'd be throwing your life away for nothing."
Dumarest said, "If you want to help, stand guard while Dilys feeds the fire. If not, get the hell away from here. Captain?"
"I'm with you, Earl." Egulus came forward, his arms filled with discarded padding, eyes anxious as he stared into the dying night. "I don't understand this, but in space we help each other. Threnond wasn't a spacer, but he'd bought passage and I guess I'm responsible for him, in a way." He added with simple dignity, "Just tell me what you want me to do."
"Stand guard, keep watch, take care of anything which might attack." Dumarest glanced at the bole of the tree, his eyes following it to the summit. "It's light up there. Dilys, start making smoke."
It billowed from the embers as she fed plastic to the embers, thick, black, acrid. Rising in a pillar about the bole of the tree, drawn upwards by the dawn wind blowing over the forest, spreading in odd vagaries of shape, coils hanging as if solid, to writhe, to drift like reluctant phantoms, to stain the greenery with fingers of pollution.
In the midst of it, Dumarest climbed upwards like a mechanical doll. A rope circled the tree, the loop enclosing his body and forming a rest against which he could strain while his boots found holds on the trunk. Hands flapping the rope upwards, body moving in synchronization with feet and support, he was gone before they knew it, a dim shape which vanished into darkness.
"They'll get him," said Egulus. "He won't be able to see them and they'll get him before he knows it."
"No." Bochner released his breath in a long sigh. "He knows what he's doing. The smoke will clear the area."
Of spiders and oxygen, both given time. And the released poisons could be as fatal to man as arachnids. Why was he risking his life? Why?
High above, Dumarest paused, blinking, conscious of the pain in his lungs, the constriction. The cloth he had wrapped around his mouth did little to filter the smoke from the air and it was time to lose even that protection. A quick move and it was around his throat, the blade of his knife clamped in his mouth, and again he was climbing up to where the leaves made an umbrella to trap the smoke as it hid the sky.
The sky and other things.
Something thin and sticky touched his cheek, stinging, as he forged upwards and tore it free. Another traced a silken path over his sleeve, more joined it, formed a mesh which parted as he jerked his arm, lifted to settle on his hair. The smoke protected him, settled vapor preventing the silk from adhering as designed to do, maintaining the freedom of motion he needed. A rustle and his hand lifted, caught the hilt of the knife, slashed as mandibles snapped an inch from his cheek, slashed again to complete the ruin, then again to send the oozing creature from its perch to plummet below.
One taken care of-how many others would be waiting?
The things were the size of a small dog, legs doubling the body area, mandibles capable of closing around a neck. The hooked limbs could rip and tear flesh from bones, but the most dangerous part was the venom which would numb and paralyze with immediate effect. One bite, if it broke the skin, and he would be worse than dead.
A branch interrupted his upward progress and, in a sudden area of clarity in the smoke, he saw a scuttling shape, silk streaming from its spinnerets, limbs rasping as it lunged towards him. Chiton broke beneath the smash of his fist, covering his knuckles with ooze, and a thrust of his knife drove steel into the main ganglion, cutting and twisting and severing the muscles leading to the mandibles. Higher, and the smoke thinned, ebon wreaths tracing smears across the morning, soiling the first pearly light.
Touching the twinkle of diamond dew, which graced the clouds of gossamer hanging in delicate veils.
Laying a patina of darkness on the long shape shrouded and bound with layers of web to branches which crossed and made a platform.
A bier for the, as yet, undead.
Threnond was stung, paralyzed, locked in a mental torment of helpless awareness. Meat processed for later consumption by the newborn spiders which would hatch from the eggs festooning his chest and throat, his stomach, groin and thighs. Doomed to lie immobile while the hungry mandibles gnawed into his flesh. To know the horror of being eaten alive.
His eyes were open, glazed, already seats of torment. Targets for the glare of the rising sun. Blindness would be the first of his many extra hells.
There was no cure and only one mercy.
Dumarest administe
red it, then slid down the bole of the tree to land, coughing, doubled and retching as acrid vapor tore at his lungs. He heard Bochner cry a warning, then the impact of a sudden weight on his back, the snap of mandibles at his shoulders, the touch of chiton against his cheek. A touch which fell away as the hunter smashed the scrabbling spider to the loam, to thrust his wooden spear into its thorax, to crush it with his boot as it fretted the shaft.
Another which, crippled, moved slowly back up a tree. A third, which Egulus killed as Dumarest, fighting for breath, stumbled free of the smoke.
"So, you found him." Bochner glanced at the red smears where Dumarest had wiped his knife against his thigh. "And gave him an easy way out."
"Thank God for that." Egulus glanced uneasily up at the smoke. "I know what it's about now. Some spiders sting and paralyze, and others do not-how did you know which kind these are?"
"I didn't." Dumarest straightened, fighting a sudden giddiness. He had inhaled too much poison. "I just couldn't take the chance."
"He was lucky," said Bochner. "Threnond, I mean. He was damned lucky."
Dilys said, "Lucky? I thought he was dead."
"He is. That's what I mean." The hunter glanced at Dumarest. "Sometimes that's what a friend is for-and he had one of the best."
Chapter Eleven
The fire was small, the animal skinned and suspended over it slowly cooking, the smell tantalizing as it stimulated primitive appetites. Watching it, Dilys remembered her youth. Would the spit have been considered a machine? The means of starting the blaze? Vagrant thoughts, which grew in the dullness of fatigue. Fruits of an undisciplined mind.
Leaning back against a rock, she looked at the vast expanse of the sea far below. Light shimmered from the water in brief splinters of flashing brilliance, sparkles which caught the eye to vanish even as they were born, to flash again in a coruscating pattern of hypnotic attraction. A floor to match the sweeping bowl of the sky in which the sun hung like a watching, malefic eye.
And, suddenly, she was afraid.
All her life she had been confined. The village had been small and always there had been walls. Even later, when she had run away to the town to study, there had been close restraints; the cramped room she shared with others, the lecture halls, the classrooms, the workshops and, later, the interiors of ships, the engine rooms she had made her world. And now, agoraphobia gripped her so that she wanted to cringe and hide from the threat of the vast, open spaces.
"Dilys?" Dumarest was beside her. "Is anything wrong?"
Had she cried out in her sudden terror? Had he sensed her need? No matter, he was close and she felt a warm reassurance. Impulsively, she reached out to take his hand.
"Earl! Earl, I-"
"Should be watching the fire," he said quickly. "If you let the meat burn, I'll beat you."
He was joking, turning the subject from intense emotion, and yet she sensed that it was not wholly a jest. If the need arose he would beat her. Strike her, as he had killed Threnond. From need. From mercy.
Could she have done the same?
Could Egulus?
They came from different worlds, she thought. To them, the hull was the natural boundary, the hum of engines the voice of the wind, the glow of lights the shine of the sun. Planets were places to be visited and left without delay. Worlds were names in an almanac. Here, on the dirt, they were like stranded fish.
And she was tired. Tired!
They had dropped down the slope until clear of the trees, then turned to the left where Dumarest had spotted a long ridge running up the foothills. A relatively safe path a few miles away, the distance trebled by the undulations of the terrain, trebled again by the difficulty of progress. A time of stumbling on, of drinking when they found water, eating when they had food. Days which had passed into nights and nights which had turned pale and become days again. How many? She had forgotten.
"You're tired," said Dumarest, "but it won't be long now. We're almost at the summit of the peak. Tomorrow we'll be able to see what's on the other side." Then, when she made no comment, he added, "Watch the meat, girl. Game is scarce up here."
Game and fruits and even leaves succulent enough to chew. He looked back down the slope as he left the girl, frowning as he judged their progress. It was too slow. Hardship had weakened them but here, facing the sea, was a bad place to linger. Over the crest would be shelter and the possibility of larger game.
Egulus sat with the radio on his lap, Bochner beside him. The captain was busy checking the mechanism, fingers deft as he traced circuits and tested connections.
"It's crude, Earl." He looked up as Dumarest's shadow fell over the mechanism. "Threnond had to use what was available, but he had limited knowledge of electronics. I'm trying to alter the circuits a little to boost the emissions."
"It's still working?"
"Yes. I've tested the energy cell and it's viable. The thing is, I'm not too sure of the emissions. It should be sending on the general planetary band if it's to be any good at all, but there's no way of telling."
"Ships and field installations operate on a wide-band spectrum," said Dumarest. "They might not recognize it as a message at first, but they'll hear and investigate."
"By adjusting the receptors," agreed the captain. "If the operator on duty isn't a fool, or thinking of something else, or is willing to take the time and use the power. On any normal world I wouldn't be so anxious, but this is Hyrcanus."
"What difference does it make?" Bochner scowled. "There's a field, isn't there? A town of sorts? People!"
"Yes, but we have that, too." Egulus jerked his head at the sun. "And we're in the Quillian Sector. Space is full of noise. From here, you send word by courier and get it the same way. Close in, they can hear us but we don't know in which direction the field could be lying. It could even be on the other side of the planet."
"If it is?"
Egulus shrugged. "Luck," he said. "It's a matter of luck. They could pick up our transmission or it need never reach them."
And, even if it was heard, it could be ignored.
Dumarest said, "Can you increase the power? Send out an overall blast?"
"Maybe." The captain frowned, thinking. "If I can rig the circuits, yes. Threnond used the emergency alarm as a base and the capacitors are an integral part. He bypassed them, but they can be reincorporated. But if we do that, Earl, we'll be taking a chance. The power won't last."
"How long?"
Again the captain frowned. "I can't be sure. We've used up a lot during the journey. About three strong emissions, I'd say. Maybe one or two weak ones, then finish."
"A gamble," said Bochner. "If they don't hear us we'll have to make our own way." His teeth flashed in a smile as he thought about it. "Back to the beginnings, Earl. To hunt and trap and make do as best we can. It won't be too bad. We've skill and adaptability and we've a woman."
"Savages." Egulus looked at the radio. "I was on an expedition once. We'd heard about a ship which had been wrecked in the mountains of Glechen. We didn't find it but we found what could have been the survivors. They couldn't read, spoke in grunts, were covered in scabs and practiced cannibalism. Fifty years, maybe less, and they were back in the dirt."
"They were soft." Bochner echoed his contempt. "If a man is anything at all he'll find a way to make out, no matter what his environment. That's what life is all about, isn't it? To take what is and make it what you want it to be. Right, Earl?"
"Save the power." Dumarest ignored the question as he looked at Egulus. "Adjust the radio, but don't use it until we reach the summit." To the hunter, he said, "Well eat and move on. You go ahead and scout If you find anything of interest, just leave it. No private hunts. No risks."
Bochner said flatly, "Are you giving me orders?"
Dumarest caught the tone, saw the sudden tension, the stance which betrayed anger barely controlled. A reaction to fatigue too long denied, of nerves worn, yet masked by a casual facade. Of a maniacal pride which, even now, had to chall
enge the hint of another's authority.
He said mildly, "No, I'm not giving you orders. You stay with the others, if you want I'll go ahead and scout."
"You think I'm tired?"
"I don't know what you are." Dumarest met the eyes, wild, wide, the irises edged with white. "But me, I'm bushed."
The admission brought the reaction he'd expected. Bochner relaxed, smiling, armored in his conviction of superiority.
"Hell, Earl," he said. "I'm bushed, too-a little. You go ahead and rest."
They reached the summit as darkness began to edge the horizon and the light of the dying sun threw streamers of red and gold, orange and amber against the vault of the sky. A spectacle which would have entranced Gale Andrei, but she, dead, had no eyes to see and they were too exhausted to do more than slump and stare at what lay beyond the peaks edging the shore.
A rolling savannah of bush and scrub, interspersed with clumps of trees now touched with the golden promise of the fading light. A stream which meandered toward a river which must wind on a slow and torturous path to the sea some distance to one side. Clouds, like smoke in the far distance, and beyond them, the soaring loom of mountains, their summits touched with perpetual white.
"Nothing!" Dily's voiced her disappointment. "Earl, there's nothing!"
Game trails, which his eye could see even in the dusk. Places which could conceal, timber which could make huts and fires, brush adaptable to protective stockades, and water which could be navigated, given craft which strong hands and sharp stones could build. A world in which men could live given the determination. But she saw nothing.
