Jack of Swords dot-14

by E. C. Tubb

  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.

  Chapter Nine

  He woke to find Usan Labria at his side. She said, "How do you feel, Earl?"

  "Your turn to ask the questions?"

  "That's right. And my turn to look after you. Well?"

  Dumarest stretched. He lay on his cot, nude but for shorts, and beneath the fingers he rested on the bulkhead he could feel the unmistakable vibration of the Erhaft Field. He felt well aside from a ravenous hunger and could guess the reason.

  "Slow-time?"

  "Yes:" The woman held a steaming cup and handed it to him. "I guess you could use this."

  It was the basic food of spacemen, a liquid sickly with glucose, heavy with protein, laced with vitamins. A measure would provide nourishment for a day. A unit in the base of the container kept it warm.

  As he drank she said, "You were lucky. A fraction to the left and the bullet would have spattered your brains. As it was you had a torn scalp and a minor fracture."

  "Then why the slow-time?"

  "Why not? There's no point in suffering if you don't have to. I made Sufan provide it a day after we left You've been under five hours, close to seven days subjective."

  Eight days total in which his body had healed, seven of them due to the acceleration of his metabolism provided by the drug. The reverse of quick-time. Dumarest sat upright, touching his temple, feeling nothing but the scab of the newly healed wound. One eight days old, the injury mending while he had lain in drugged unconsciousness.

  "Still hungry?" Usan Labria had a second cup. She handed it to him, talking while he drank, this time more slowly. "Acilus left as soon as the port was sealed. Sufan insisted and I think he was right. Those men intended to get you."

  "Guards from the Schell-Peng."

  "No." She was positive. "They weren't from the laboratory. Those that came later, maybe, but not the ones waiting at the gate. They didn't try to stop the others and had no interest in the girl. They were after you, Earl, and I think you knew it. The question is, why?"

  She was too shrewd and a woman with her desperation posed a perpetual danger. Once she even guessed he could provide what she needed how could he trust her?

  "You're guessing," he said. "But if you find the answer let me know."

  "So it's none of my business. Is that it?" She shrugged. "Well, have it your own way."

  Setting down the empty cup Dumarest rose, breathing deeply, expanding his chest so that the thin tracery of scars on his torso shone livid in the light. He felt a momentary weakness, the result of days of inactivity as his hunger was the result of days of starvation.

  "I didn't bother to give you intravenous feeding," said Usan. "A man like you can afford to starve for a while." Her eyes roved his body, lingering on the scars. "A fighter," she mused. "I'd guessed as much. Naked blades in the ring to first-blood or death. And you learned the hard way."

  Young, inexperienced, earning money in the only way he could. Saving his life by natural speed, taking wounds, killing to the roar of a mob. Bearing now the signs of his tuition.

  Dressed, he said, "Where is the girl?"

  "In the cabin next to Sufan's. She was in a bad way when Timus carried her in. The shock of revival coupled with exposure-for a while we thought she'd die."

  "And?"

  "She recovered. Sufan worked on her and Pacula acted as nurse. She's all right now." Usan hesitated, "But there's something wrong with her, Earl. She isn't normal."

  "In what way?"

  "She-oh, to hell with it, let Sufan explain."

  He answered the door when Dumarest knocked at the cabin and stepped outside and into the corridor, speaking quickly, his voice low.

  "I'm glad to see you on your feet, Earl. You had me worried for a time, that wound looked nasty and any blow on the head can give rise to complications."

  "The girl?"

  "Inside. You did well getting her out-but don't expect too much. Remember that her talent is extremely rare, and always, there is a price to pay for such an attribute as she possesses. She-" He broke off, his eyes darting, glinting like the scales of fish in a sunlit pool, touching Dumarest, the woman at his side, the light above, the deck, his hands. "When you see her, Earl, be gentle. It is not quite what it seems."

  "What isn't?"

  Then, as the man hesitated, Usan Labria said harshly, "Why don't you tell him, Sufan? Why be so delicate? Earl, the girl is blind!"

  * * *

  She stood against the far Wall of the cabin, tall, dressed in a simple white gown caught at the waist with a cincture of gold. A dress Pacula had provided as she had tended the mane of fine, blonde hair, which gathered, hung in a shimmering tress over the rounded left shoulder. As she had painted the nails of hands and naked feet a warm crimson and bathed and scented the contours of the ripely feminine body.

  A warm and lovely creature-and blind!

  Dumarest saw the eyes, milky orbs of gleaming opalescence, edged with the burnish of lashes, set high and deep above prominent cheekbones. The mouth was full, the lower lip sensuous, the chin delicately pointed.

  A face he had never seen before but one which held haunting traces of familiarity.

  "You noticed it too," said Pacula qu
ietly. She moved to stand beside the girl. "Usan remarked on it. She said we could almost be sisters."

  "A coincidence," said Sufan Noyoka quickly. "It can be nothing else. My dear, this is Earl Dumarest. He brought you to us."

  Dumarest stepped forward and took the lifted hand, holding it cupped in his own as if it were a delicate bird.

  "My lady."

  "She has no name," said Pacula. "Only a number."

  "Then why not give her one? Cul-"

  "No," she interrupted fiercely. "Not Culpea. That belongs to my daughter."

  "I was going to say Culephria," said Dumarest mildly. "After a world similar to Chamelard."

  "No, it is too much the same. And she cannot be Culpea, she is too old. Much too old."

  A fact obvious when looking at her. The missing girl had been twelve, this woman was at least twice that age.

  "We'll call her Embira," said Usan. "I once had-we'll call her Embira. Would you like that, my dear?"

  "It sounds a nice name. Embira. Embira. Yes, I like it."

  Her voice was soft, almost childish in its lack of emotional strength, matching the smooth, unmarked contours of her face. Dumarest watched as Pacula guided her to a chair. She sat as a child would sit, very upright, hands cradled in her lap. Her eyes, like fogged mirrors, stared directly ahead, adding to the masklike quality of her features.

  Dumarest gestured Sufan Noyoka from the cabin. When the door had closed behind them he said flatly, "A blind girl-you expect her to guide us to Balhadorha?"

  "Not blind, Earl, not in the way you mean. I told you she had an attribute. She can see, but not as we can. Her mind can register the presence of matter and energy far better than any instrument. She-"

  "How did you know about her?"

  "I have my ways. And the Schell-Peng laboratories have theirs. They took her when young and trained and developed her talent. A rare mutation or an unusual gene diversion- the results are all that matter. Enough that she is with us and already we are approaching the Hichen Cloud. Soon she will guide us. Soon, Earl, we shall reach our goal."