by E. C. Tubb
A warning for him to get the gun into action, something Dumarest wanted to avoid. He steadied the raft as it bucked beneath him, felt it drop to touch stone, bouncing as it lifted to ride evenly down the pass. Mounded rock lay ahead, a thermal catching the vehicle as it swung past the heap and lifting it high. Too high, another updraft of heated air caught it, lifted it like a scrap of thistledown to reveal a glimpse of the sun, a dark fleck uncomfortably close.
It vanished as he sent the raft diving into the shelter of a pass, solid rock blocking it from sight as it shielded them from any observer. But if they had been spotted the raft would follow and it had the advantage of height.
Behind him Dumarest heard scrapings, a grunt of satisfaction as Vardoon ripped away panels to expose leads and conduits. Within minutes he was ready.
"When you give the word, Earl."
They had time to spare and the longer they could stay hidden the better their chances. Dumarest swung to the left, glided along a defile, turned to the right and into a narrow gap masked from above by jutting outcrops of stone. One path wended, dipped, rose to reveal open sky at the far end, deceptive in its apparent innocence.
"Earl!"
Dumarest saw the thing as Vardoon yelled a warning. It dropped from where it had clung to the underside of the rock, a flattened disc two feet in diameter, fringed with tendrils, more rising in a spined frond from its center. Sparks flashed from it, numbing Dumarest's arm as he knocked it to one side. Another burst as he kicked at it, a third hit the side of the raft as it scraped against stone. From it, from the rock itself, the very air, came a sudden, acrid vapor.
"Hart! Hold your breath!"
Dumarest felt the sting of acrid gases catch at eyes and throat as he voided his lungs. Behind him, slower, Vardoon retched from the invisible fumes. Exudations from the creatures or a part of their environment-unless they could win free they would die.
The raft scraped against more stone, veered as Dumarest adjusted their flight, hit again as tears fogged his vision. Ahead the clear expanse of sky seemed to shimmer, to become ringed with a contracting ring of darkness. Within his chest his empty lungs demanded air.
A pain he ignored as, blinking, he sent the raft arrowing along the narrow passage to the clear air ahead. Reaching it, he aimed for height, blasting the craft with manufactured winds before gulping air into his starved lungs. The inhalations cleared his head. Behind him Vardoon retched again, coughed, drew in air with a moist rattling.
"Hart?"
"I'm all right." Vardoon coughed again. "That damned stink got at me. Burned my throat a little, I guess, but I'll manage. How are we?"
Up and riding away from the hills. Ahead lay the rugged wilderness leading toward the south, the sea and the town. The sun was halfway toward the horizon; a ruby ball ahead and to the west. The sky was touched with puffs of white and flecks of darkness. Cloud-and the rafts hanging like vultures ready to strike.
As they closed in Dumarest said, "Now, Hart! Now!"
He felt the raft surge beneath him, the rush of air a whip lashing at his eyes, his face. Below, the ground blurred, fell away as they climbed, the hills diminishing behind them, the dark flecks of the rafts lost in the distance. Power-robbed from the whining engine-fed to the propulsion units as Vardoon boosted the transmission.
He swore as the raft faltered.
"My knife-the damned thing's burned out! Earl, pass me yours!"
The raft slowed as Dumarest reached for his boot, dropped, sluggishly rose again as he manipulated the controls. Turning he saw Vardoon's back, the hand he lifted, the haft of his knife with the blade reduced to a nub of fused metal.
Saw too the raft which lanced at them from the eye of the ruby sun.
It had been a textbook maneuver and Kline had cause to congratulate himself. To calculate they would head for the south required little intelligence; without protective clothing the men had been left with no other choice. To guess, too, they would seek the protection of narrow passes was equally simple. The hard part in being able to determine where they would emerge and what path they would take. Possibilities countered by having his rafts sweep the hills and form station at the edge of the wilderness. Faster, able to move directly through unhampered air, they had been certain to beat the fugitives. But, as an insurance, he had gone on ahead to wait.
Now he headed in for the kill.
"Halt!" His voice echoed from the loud-hailer. "Halt and hover! Obey or I'll blast you from the sky!"
An empty threat but they wouldn't know that and this time there were no stubborn fools to interfere. No chance of another abortive escape.
His observer said, "They are continuing as before, sir."
Slow, juddering, the raft lifted to drop to lift again as if it had been a crippled moth riding on torn and tattered wings.
Burned out, thought Kline. Power gone, a crash inevitable unless the vehicle grounded soon. Why didn't the fools yield?
"Land! I order you to land immediately! Land or I fire." To the marksman Kline said, "Show yourself. Let them see you taking aim. If I order you to fire make certain you miss." The threat should be enough. As the man took up his position he lifted the loud-hailer. "You in the raft! Land or I'll shoot you down! You have five seconds in which to head downward!"
From the body of the raft Vardoon said, "Give me your knife, Earl. I might be able to get us away."
A surge of power could fail, to leave them wrecked in the wilderness. A gamble with the cards stacked against them- but what else to do?
Dumarest looked back at the flecks of the other rafts, closer now, streaming wide in order to encircle and enclose. Kline was riding high and to one side; a position from which he commanded the immediate area.
Vardoon said impatiently, "Earl, your knife!" He lunged forward to snatch up the gun. "Never mind-this will do it!"
The movement sent the raft veering, which caused the marksman to close his finger in automatic reaction.
Flame jetted from the muzzle of his weapon, bullets whining to hit the raft, the rail, to cut the air with a lethal hail. Dumarest felt the shock as one glanced from his shoulder, the vivid flash as another gouged a bloody path over his left ear. The blow sent him doubled, almost unconscious over the controls as, snarling, Vardoon returned the fire.
A short burst sent the marksman back from the rail. Kline took his place, shouting, face contorted with rage and anxiety as he saw the figure slumped over the controls, but the emotions vanished as bullets churned his face to a pulp of blood and bone.
"Earl!" Vardoon lifted his voice over the snarl of gunfire. "Earl!"
Dumarest stirred as again the gun yammered, lacing shots into the raft, hitting the driver and sending the vehicle spinning toward the ground far below.
"For God's sake! Earl! Get with it, man!"
They were falling, air droning past with feral anticipation. A drone which faded as, sluggishly, the vehicle came under control and headed again toward the south.
Dumarest rose from the seat, swaying, fighting a sudden vertigo. The left side of his face was sticky with blood oozing from the throbbing ache of his wounded temple; one to match the minor hurt of his shoulder. Near misses, but Vardoon hadn't been so lucky.
He groaned as Dumarest knelt beside him to move his bulk, easing limbs, propping his head on a pouch of eggs. Blood ringed his mouth and made dark stains on his tunic; some old, others with a scarlet wetness. The first from lungs seared with corrosive vapors, the other from the damage done by the bullets which had pierced his stomach and chest.
"They down, Earl?" His lips twisted at Dumarest's nod. "I thought we were going to follow the swine. Crazy them opening fire like that. What harm could we do? I didn't intend-" He coughed, lifting a hand to wipe his lips clear of bloody froth. "Bad, Earl?"
"Bad enough."
"Then give me an egg." His mouth tried to smile as Dumarest shook his head. "Greedy?"
"You're lying on a pouch of them-help yourself if you want. I'm getting back to
the controls."
"Wait! I-" Vardoon broke off, sweating. "The pain! God, the pain!"
Raw agony from broken ribs, their jagged ends tearing at delicate tissue like saw-edged knives. From punctured intestines and mangled bowels. Pain which distorted the universe and made extinction a welcome blessing.
Dumarest leaned forward, fingers hard as he rested them on Vardoon's throat, finding the pulsing carotid arteries and pressing so as to cut off the blood supply to the brain. The reaction was immediate. Vardoon sighed, relaxing as his eyes closed and he embraced the mercy of unconsciousness. Dumarest waited, counting seconds, releasing the pressure before the induced oblivion edged into the final tranquility of death.
Back at the controls he fought a mounting vertigo. Ahead the sky shimmered with lambent emerald laced with streaks and swaths of carmine; colors reflected from the mirror of the ocean to form an all-encompassing swirl of engulfing deception, which he fought with a barrage of pertinent questions. How high was he? How far did he have to go? Where was his target?
Where were the other rafts?
Behind him the sky was clear and, dully, he wondered why. The sudden engagement which had sent their commander down? An order from some higher authority? A trap lying ahead from which they wanted to keep clear? Or were they playing cat and mouse, riding high, waiting and watching in detached comfort? Studying the veering progress of his raft, the path it took, the meandering passage. Gambling that he wouldn't make it. That he would crash before reaching the coast, the spired building resting on the fringe of hills encircling the town.
A gamble lost as he hit dirt, sending the raft to plow to a halt before the church, the startled monks, the woman with golden hair.
Chapter Nine
It had been something from the ancient tales of high romance, of fantasy and adventure, of the sagas once sung around leaping fires after the labor of the day was done. A thing Carmodyne would have appreciated and, cosseted in the womb of her bed, Fiona Velen savored every remembered moment.
Chance had taken her to the church at just that time; the sudden decision to see if there was any way to increase revenues from the sector. Tobol had met her, courteous as always, echoing a genuine concern at the problem which was as much his as hers. Even if rents were tripled they would show no increase; Carmodyne had given the monks free use of the church and surrounding land. A contract binding while he had lived and she was reluctant to spit on his grave.
But there had been more cakes, more wine and, as she was about to make her departure, Dumarest had arrived.
Landing like a hero of old, crashing the raft into the dirt, lifting free the limp form of his companion and carrying it to where they stood.
"Brother, I ask your aid."
"It shall be given, brother." Tobol hadn't hesitated. "What do you need?"
"Nothing for myself but my friend is dying." He had added flatly, "I do not ask for charity."
Pride, she thought, a man with pride.
Stretching she felt the soft caress of silken sheets against her naked flesh. A caress accentuated by the touch of her hands as they moved over the contours of her body. Would his hands be as gentle? Would he be patient and understanding or would he take with a selfish disregard of her own needs?
Against the closed lids of her eyes she saw him again, tall, strong, his face savage with its mask of blood. Had he seen her? A glance, perhaps, but his attention had been on the monks, the help they could give. Yet some things she had learned; his name for one, his needs-information conveyed by Tobol as he had made his excuses. Replies to her direct questions.
Earl Dumarest-a man she found it hard to forget.
Her hands moved, settled, explored another region of her body in narcissistic appreciation. Would he look at her as Lynne had looked when they had shared a common bath? The woman had insisted on giving her a massage, leaning over her supine body, her own, untrammeled breasts hanging like pendulous fruit, nipples prominent, blue veins making a delicate tracery beneath the skin. Her hands had been hungry as they applied oil, had quested too urgently. Her eyes, when Fiona had turned and then risen, had held an expression not pleasant to see.
But she had been subtle, hinting at another time, another occasion. Hinting too of the help she could give and the kind of enemy she could make. A frustrated and selfish bitch who would do better with a man.
Dumarest?
Fiona stirred, seeing again the bloodstained face with the hard, searching eyes. The mouth which matched the chin in determination, the body beneath the soiled gray of his clothing. A hard, firm, well-muscled body, well-suited to the giving of strong sons.
The hum of her phone interrupted an intriguing vein of speculation. Rham Kalova stared at her from the screen.
"Fiona, my dear! Not yet up?"
"It's early, Maximus."
"True, but you know the proverb-first to the feast gets the finest choice. Well, never mind that. You are well, I hope?" He beamed as she nodded. "That is good to hear. We haven't been as close as I would have wished of late. A woman of your attainments should be seated at the top table during assembly. Perhaps something could be done about it. I may not be as young as I was but I can still appreciate the presence of a beautiful woman."
A fool, she thought, and worse, a senile one. Or a man acting the part and Kalova was a poor actor. He wanted something-but what?
She said, smiling, "You are most kind, Maximus. And I am most fortunate that you think of me at times. To sit beside you at table would be to gain my highest ambition. Of course, before that could happen my holdings would have to increase, and-"
"Yes, yes," he said shortly, then resumed his smile. "Even that could be arranged. You are a shrewd woman and could gain as long as pressures were not directed against you. If the opportunity should arise I am certain you would recognize it and take full advantage of the situation. High gain, my dear, and it could begin now. Which is why I am calling. A small matter of a transfer of holdings; your sector D 18 for sector K 29. I take it you agree?"
D 18-what could Kalova want with the church?
She said, a little blurredly, "I don't quite understand what you want, Maximus. Something about being seated at your side during the next assembly, wasn't it?" Inwardly she smiled as his face changed, became old and ugly and, somehow, womanish in its spite. A moment only, then again he was smiling, gently shaking his head, little crinkles at the corners of eyes and mouth.
"You're still half-asleep, my dear. I'm merely offering you an exchange of holdings. Of course, should you agree, there, could be other benefits."
Things he had spelled out had she the wit to understand. Pressures not applied so as to give her a measure of safety over and above her own skill and ability. Opportunities made should she become his willing tool in whatever plan he had in mind. But why the church?
"K 29 for D 18," she mused. "Carmodyne's monument. That's what I call it, Maximus, and I am a very sentimental person. I think I owe it to his memory to maintain his bequest. My personal charity, you understand."
"Charity begins at home."
"Of course-and K 29 is what?" Her relay lights confirmed the promptings of her memory. "A section of undersea development situated at the edge of the continental shelf. Hardly a prize, Maximus."
"But one with a high potential, my dear. Also the revenue is good."
"Perhaps." She yawned, slender fingers rising to cover her mouth. "Your pardon, Maximus, but I had a rather late night. Was there anything else?"
"No. I am glad you agree, my dear. The record can be made immediately if you will take care of your end."
"But we haven't agreed," she said firmly. "One sector for another-where's the profit? And I like to look at the church and think of Carmodyne. Somehow it brings him closer to me. Did you know there's a carving of him inside the building? At times I sit before it and it's almost as if he were speaking to me. I'd hate to lose that small pleasure."
He said tightly, "Sectors K 29 and M 15-I'll double the bid!"
Again she checked the dancing lights. M 15-a stretch of barren land adjoining the Quale Consortium. Yet its very position gave it a certain value. Arment was eager to break the Consortium and could be interested. Helm too-the possibilities were intriguing. But why did Kalova want the church? If it was important to him it could be equally so to others.
"You are generous, Maximus, but I hate to be rushed into anything. Could I call you back on the matter? I'm sure there can't be any hurry. In any case I must arrange for a new gown to wear at the next assembly." Her smile held a cloying sweetness, "You know-when I sit next to you at table."
As Rham Kalova turned from the phone Zao said, "She refused."
"You heard."
"The probability was in the order of sixty-four percent. Less when you doubled your offer. Obviously there is a factor yet to be taken into account."
"The man," said Kalova. "Dumarest and his friend. Had I made the offer a week ago she would have jumped at it." His sneer was obvious. "Even I can determine what lies under my feet, Cyber. I don't need the Cyclan for that."
A man wounded in his pride and striking out without thought for the consequences. One looking for a convenient excuse.
Zao said, "The men are a factor, that is apparent, but what are they to her?"
"They are men-that's good enough. The woman is a nymphomaniac!"
A false judgment; narcissism was not nymphomania as Kalova should know. Yet further proof that his faculties were not what they should be. Left to his own devices he would have been beaten long ago, toppled from his high position to make way for another, more capable Maximus. As he would be toppled if the need arose.
"If you had issued the directives as I asked, my lord, this situation would not exist." Zao followed the restless pacing of the other with his deep-set eyes. "I would suggest that it is futile to employ experts if you have no intention of following their advice."
"Advice?" Kalova halted, spun so as to face the figure in scarlet. "Orders, you mean. Permission for the guard to search my holdings! To fly over them! To abrogate my rights! And for what? So a couple of poachers could be apprehended. Some trespassers taught a lesson. Dumarest-what is he to me?"
