Web of Sand dot-20

by E. C. Tubb

  "Zarl!" Dumarest snarled his anger at the man's stubbornness. "Come on, man! We're running out of time!"

  To drag the man from the heap was to invite a struggle, vibrations which would signal their presence if not create a fall. Dumarest dug at his waist, slipped a thin rod from his belt, thrust it into the side of the tunnel and, jerking open his helmet, gripped the end between his teeth.

  Bone conduction carried the sound of rumbling growing louder. Of vibration getting too close.

  "I'm going!" One hand snatched at the guide's shoulder, jerked, pulled him back and away from the pile. The other slammed the muzzle of the rocket-rifle against the helmet, metal clicking as it touched the transparent plastic. "You hear me! I'm leaving!"

  "No! You can't! There are more-"

  "They can stay. We've got enough. Now move before I blow your damned head off! Move!"

  Dumarest had reseated his helmet but the diaphragm carried his anger and his face his intent. If greed was to kill him then he would be revenged before he died. Hine stared, recognized his danger, shuddered as a shower of sand fell from the roof.

  "I'm sorry! I-let's run!"

  More sand fell as they raced down the tunnel; thin plumes broadening to showers, into avalanches which heaped grit high behind. Scented, they were prey for the sannak burrowing toward them. The drumbeats of their running feet echoed their position.

  "Earl!" Hine staggered, one hand pressed to his side, breath rasping as he fought to inflate his lungs. "Cramp! I can't-"

  "Move!" Dumarest reached the guide and thrust with the heel of his free hand. "Move, damn you! Move!"

  There was no time to be gentle. Unless the man forced his body to respond he would fall and to fall was to die. Sobbing, bent double, he lurched on. Before them glowed a circle of soft green luminescence; the mouth of the tunnel, the cavern beyond.

  A circle suddenly blurred by falling sand.

  Dumarest saw it. Saw too the great snout which thrust from the side of the tunnel a short way ahead. As Hine, in the lead, instinctively slowed he reached the man, clamped his free arm around his waist and, with the fury of desperation, lunged forward with all his strength and speed.

  A race which he almost lost as the thrusting head narrowed the passage, barely won as he darted past, feeling the rasp of scales on the suit at his back. But won only for a moment-the creature was fast.

  It followed in a shower of sand as Dumarest reached the cavern. The head lowered, swung in a vicious arc, a blow which smashed against Hine and sent both men to the floor. Dumarest rolled, half-stunned, stars blurring his vision and the taste of blood strong in his mouth. The rifle lay to one side away from the fallen man and he reached it as the head prodded at the guide. Rising he aimed and fired; a thread of fire reaching from the muzzle to touch the scaled body, to penetrate and explode with a muffled report, to create a gaping wound oozing with green ichor. A hole large enough to take the head of a man but small against the sinuous bulk of the forty-foot beast.

  Yet one which hurt.

  Dust rose as the sannak writhed over the cavern floor toward its tormentor. Dumarest backed, firing, adding more holes to the first. The magazine fell empty and he searched for more charges to reload. Before him the head lifted, jaws gaping, eye-plates glowing with reflected green light. An emerald which suddenly blazed in vivid fluorescence.

  "Earl!" Santis stood close to the fissured rear wall, legs straddled, rifle firm against his shoulder. Beside him Kemmer aimed the blue glow of his lantern at the wounded creature. As it stilled the mercenary called, urgently, "Down, Earl! Down!"

  "No!" Santis had the chance of a clean shot but the sannak was no longer alone, Another had burst through the sand and, even as Dumarest shouted, it was joined by a second. "Cover me!"

  A chance and he took it. The sannak, hurt, dazzled by the projected ultraviolet, was confused and would be slow to react. Hine, lying where he had fallen, stirred as Dumarest reached him.

  "Zarl, can you stand?"

  "I don't know." The guide sweated as he tried. His guts burned and it was agony to breathe. "No! No, for God's sake!"

  He screamed as he was lifted and thrown over Dumarest's shoulder. Through the helmet he had glimpses of nightmare; menacing shapes, threads of fire, the blossoms of explosions and points of blazing green fire. Above all was the pain- dear God, the pain!

  Darkness came as a blessing and he sagged, one hand closing with a grip of steel on the bulging sack slung at his waist.

  Chapter Ten

  The Cinque had been generous. Tosya had been given an apartment as luxurious as any in the city but the elaborate paintings, the vases, statuettes and all the other items of worth which graced the suite meant as little to him as had the food and wines at the dinner. The only thing he found to admire in the entire complex was the acoustic quality of the main room which revealed an unexpected mathematical precision.

  It gave the thin voice of Jen Tinyah a deepened resonance.

  "You are satisfied with the accommodation, Cyber Tosya?"

  "It will serve."

  "We are happy to do our best to accommodate any servant of the Cyclan. I regret the necessity of the ship in which you arrived having had to leave. The captain, well, such men are inclined to be over-anxious."

  "And, on Harge, with reason." Tosya said, "If you were to build an underground installation suitable for the housing of vessels against the storms, your trade would increase by a factor of at least twelve hundred percent. The installation would, naturally, include a warehouse complex and small processing plants. This, together with a higher rate of tourism, would expand your economy and enhance your stability."

  "Stability." Jen Tinyah pulled at his lower lip. "I would like to discuss that matter with you. The question of the social stability of Harge has long been a source of concern to me and to my Family. If there should be a failure to maintain the order of things we would like to ensure our wealth and influence. You understand?"

  Too well and Tosya, if he had owned the ability to enjoy humor, would have smiled. The old pattern, both predictable and inevitable. When the foundations began to crumble each looked after his own.

  He said, "I will bear it in mind, my lord. But if I am to be of real assistance it is essential that I be given full access to all local data. You are computerized?"

  "Not totally. But you can use the phone and I will give instructions to all departments that you are to be given all aid in the name of the Cinque."

  An irritation and yet more proof of the inefficient running of the city. A natural result of the Family's mutual suspicion and desire for individual secrecy. Such an outlook blinded them to the obvious-even the merest acolyte could have told them of the worth of a protective installation. Told them too how easily it could be accomplished with the aid of the debtors to provide labor. Some power, some forming mechanisms, the use of a little machinery and the rest done with the muscle and sweat of those who would work to help clear their burdens of mounting interest.

  Free labor-but they refused to see it. The common fault of capitalistic societies and the more so when they operated on a basis of wild usury. Interest was not actual money but simply a paper figure. It could be cancelled without real loss. And, if replaced by a viable construction, there could only be gain.

  Alone Tosya busied himself with the phone.

  It was work better done by an acolyte and he regretted the absence of his usual aides, but one had fallen sick and the other, newly promoted, had left to take up a post on a minor world. He would be given others but, in the meantime, he must work alone.

  To the face appearing on the screen he said, "Full details of all arrivals on the last three vessels. Names of captains of those vessels, points of departure and intended destinations."

  An elementary check which would be followed by others. The city was relatively small, contained, it would be impossible for anyone to hide in it for long-not when the trained and perceptive mind of a cyber could predict where and when he would be
.

  A simple problem and one hardly worthy of his talents but Tosya knew the importance of his mission. That had been made clear when he had been instructed to order the diversion of the ship in which he was traveling to Harge. An order emphasized by the authority of the Cyclan and the reward the captain would receive for obedience.

  The phone rang; he answered, listened, gave other instructions. Again, as he waited, he reviewed the situation and felt a mounting satisfaction. It was impossible for him to fail or, if not impossible, the probability was so remote as to be negligible. It would be as well, perhaps, to so inform Central Intelligence. And yet he hesitated.

  The possibility of failure always remained.

  Nothing was or could ever be one hundred percent certain. Always there was the possibility of the unknown factor which could upset the most carefully calculated prediction. And Dumarest seemed to have the faculty of attracting such unknown factors. Too often in the past had unforeseen circumstances enabled him to escape from the traps which should have contained him. Too many agents and cybers had died, paying the penalty of failure even in the moment of imagined triumph.

  No, it was better to wait, to be certain.

  And yet the temptation remained-to retire to his couch and activate the band locked around his wrist which created a zone of force to baffle any prying electronic eye or ear. Then to relax and concentrate on the Samatchazi formulae and to lose all sensory perception so that, locked within the prison of his skull, his brain ceased to be irritated by external stimuli. Only then would the grafted Homochon elements become active and rapport be gained.

  And, with it, communication with the central intelligence which rested buried beneath miles of rock which protected the headquarters of the Cyclan. There would be no verbal delays; his information would be sucked from his mind as water was absorbed by a sponge-almost instantaneous transmission against which the speed of light was a crawl.

  And, after, would come the thrilling exuberance of mental stimulation as the Homochon elements sank back into quiescence and the machinery of the body began to realign itself with cerebral control. A brief period in which he would drift in an enveloping darkness sensing strange concepts and novel situations-affected by the scraps of overflow from other intelligences, the residue of other communications. living in the aura surrounding the tremendous cybernetic complex which was the heart of the Cyclan.

  One day he would join it. His body would age and his senses dull but his mind and ego would be saved. They would take him and remove the brain from his skull and immerse it in a vat of nutrient fluids. Attached to a mechanical life-support system he would remain alive and fully aware. He would combine with those other intelligences housed in the multitude of brains forming the complex and share in their potential immortality.

  The reward of every cyber if he did not fail.

  Hine was dead. He lay where Dumarest had placed him, one hand still gripping the bag around his waist, his face beneath the transparency puffed, the eyes staring, blood thick around the mouth.

  "Crushed." Santis looked up from where he knelt beside the body. "He was dying when you lifted him, Earl. Dead before we reached the fissure." He forced the bag from the dead fingers. "At least you were lucky-we found nothing. A wasted journey."

  One not yet over. From where he leaned against the wall Kemmer said, "God, won't they ever stop? The damned things are still after us."

  On the scent and getting close. He could still see the thrusting snouts probing the fissure into which they had run. Remember too the fury of activity as they had fought to get beyond reach of the creatures. His bulk jamming in the narrow opening, Dumarest hauling him clear, Santis standing and firing as they gained distance, Dumarest covering their escape in turn.

  But, even now, they had no time in which to rest. Through the conducting material of his helmet he could hear the loudening grinding which told of advancing destruction.

  "Earl-"

  "Wait!" Dumarest was stooped over the dead man. He handed the trader Hine's belt and lantern. The tent together with the radio and other remains of their supplies had been cached in a small junction. "Carl, take a sounding from that crack." He pointed to a spot facing the trader. "Hear anything?"

  "Yes-and close."

  An attack from two sides, then, and there could be more. Dumarest lay prone, head twisted so as to rest against the floor. The sound almost deafened him.

  "Up!" He rose to his feet. "Take the lead, Carl. Head up that crack and take any tunnel you find heading to the right. We've got to recover the tent. Get after him, Maurice. Move!"

  Kemmer hesitated, looking at Dumarest where he stood beside the dead man.

  "You're not thinking of carrying him with us?"

  "No. Now hurry!"

  Hine was dead but could still help the living. Odors rose as Dumarest ripped open his helmet and suit; the scent of meat and moisture, of minerals and bone, an attraction to the sannaks pressing close and one which could fetch others lying ahead to join the feast.

  One came writhing from a narrow tunnel a few yards beyond where Santis hugged the rock. A small creature which flopped and twisted like a snake to lunge at the body as the floor rose in splintered shards and pluming dust as another grabbed at the prey.

  "Hurry!" Dumarest urged the others on as a mass of scaled and furious shapes began to fight over the dead guide. "Quick-before they scent us!"

  They would follow but first they would feed and precious time would be won. Time in which they crept down narrow tunnels, wider cracks, plunged into a broad passage, listening, pressing on, following discovered signs with mounting relief.

  "Thank God!" Kemmer, sweating in his suit, voiced his worry. "I thought we'd got lost. That we'd never find the tent and radio. That-" He broke off as he followed Santis around a turn. "Hell!"

  They had found the cache but a sannak had found it first. The tent was ripped, the supplies it had contained gone, the apparatus a mass of splintered shards. Some had been devoured, none was usable.

  In the glow of a lantern a trannek glowed in silent mockery.

  "Consolation," said Kemmer bitterly as Dumarest picked it up. "What the hell do we do now?"

  "Climb." Dumarest was curt. "We've got to make our way to the summit."

  "And then what? How do we summon a raft to pick us up without a radio?"

  "Signal." Tired, the mercenary was curt. "Make smoke, a light, anything."

  "Use this, perhaps?" The trader looked at his lantern. "Would it carry? The only use I've found for it so far is to dazzle the sannaks with the ultraviolet. It makes their eye plates glow like a trannek. Why didn't Hine tell us that? Maybe he didn't know. That means we could sell the information-" He was babbling and knew it. With an effort he broke off the monotone and said, "We'll think of something. First we have to reach the open air. Which way, Earl?"

  A tunnel sloping upward which they left to swarm up a snaking vent, leaving it to crawl along a narrowing ledge which fell away to an echoing chasm. Crouched on the lip Dumarest looked upward, seeing in the beam of his helmet light a jagged fissure. A jump and his gloved hands caught the edge, a heave and he was firm and leaning down to grip Kemmer's wrist, hauling as Santis pushed. A struggle, a moment of heart-stopping, tottering imbalance and he was up, safely past as the mercenary rose to take Dumarest's place.

  "Wait!" He sagged, the sound of his breathing loud in the stillness. One hand fumbled at his waist, at the emergency pack each carried. "Your light, Earl. I can't see."

  His hands steadied as Dumarest bathed them and the pack with light. The pouch opened to reveal the few items it contained; concentrated food, some stimulating drugs, some painkillers, salve to ease sores and chafes, capsules of antibiotics. Water was carried in a separate canteen. Santis hesitated as his hand touched his faceplate.

  "Open it," said Dumarest. "But be quick." He watched as the mercenary fed himself three green tablets. "Take a sip of water then reseal." He craned his head to where the trader stood wedged i
n the fissure. "How about you, Maurice? If you need anything take it now."

  "I can manage."

  "It's your decision." Dumarest glanced down again to where the mercenary rested below. "All right now, Carl?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you manage to get above me?" If Kemmer should slip, a hand could manage to block his fall and, drugged, Santis had gained a transient strength. "Up now! Good!" Dumarest stared up at the fissure. It narrowed and rock bulged outward from a point high above. Above the overhang the vent could lead up into the open but passing it could pose a problem. Then, in the light, Dumarest saw a thin streak of darkness wending to one side and back to a higher point. A thin crack which could provide handholds and there could be more. "All right, Maurice. Start moving."

  He waited as Kemmer inched his way upward, helmet pressed hard to the stone, listening to sounds other than those made by the climbers. Above the rasp of boots and gloves he heard the now-familiar grinding; the churn of crumbling rock, the slither of scaled bodies over stone. Twisting he looked back the way they had come. Nothing. Then, as he triggered the lantern, green patches flared in fluorescent brilliance from a point on the ledge.

  A sannak, small, but coming close.

  "Earl!" Kemmer yelled in his terror. "Up above! Quick!"

  From a point above the overhang more green fluorescence and the shift of a pointed snout. Dust rained from beneath the bulk of the waiting creature.

  "Trapped!" Dumarest looked up then down. "One waiting on the ledge and one on the overhang above. We'll have to get the one above."

  "Leave this to me." Santis moved then froze. "No good. I can't aim and hold on at the same time. Prop me, Earl."

  A chance but the only one they had. Against the sannaks they had only one rifle now and less than a full magazine. Four shots and the creature was masked by stone.

  As Dumarest, lifting his free hand to prop the outcurved figure of the mercenary took the strain, he said, "Aim for the overhang itself. Split the rock and send it and the thing down together. Say when you're ready."