Cantwell. Oh,no. Had to go off to Earth to get himself educated. What are you doinghere now on that fancy aircraft of yours, coming to crow at our wake?"
The bitterness surprised Steve. He recognized the man now as TobiasWhiting, who had been the Colony's most successful man when Steve was aboy. Except for his bitterness and for the bleak self-pity and defeat inhis eyes, the years had been good to Tobias Whiting. He was probably inhis mid-forties now, twenty years Steve's senior, but he waswell-muscled, his flesh was solid, his step bold and strong. He was abig muscular man with a craggy, handsome face. In ten years he hadhardly changed at all, while Steve Cantwell, the boy, had become SteveCantwell the man. He had been the Colony's official trader with theKumajis, and had grown rich--by colony standards--at his business. Now,Steve realized, all that was behind him, and he could only flee with theothers--either back to the terribly crowded Earth or on in search of anew colony on some other outworld, if they could get the transportation.Perhaps that explained his bitterness.
"So you've come back, eh? You sure picked a time, Cantwell."
The refugees were still about a quarter of a mile off, coming up slowly.They hardly seemed to be moving at all. "Is my aunt all right?" Stevesaid. She was the only family he remembered.
Tobias Whiting shook his head slowly. "I hate to be the one to tell youthis. Brace yourself for a shock. Your aunt was one of those who diedfrom the poisoned water last night."
For a long moment, Steve said nothing. The only emotion he felt waspity--pity for the hard life his aunt had lived, and the hard death.Sadness would come later, if there was to be a time for sadness.
* * * * *
The caravan reached them then. The first person Steve saw was a girl.She wore the shroud-like desert garment and her face--it would be apretty face under other circumstances, Steve realized--was etched withlines of fatigue. Steve did not recognize her. "Who is he, Dad?" thegirl said.
"Young Cantwell. Remember?"
So this was Mary Whiting, Steve thought. Why, she'd been a moppet tenyears ago! How old? Ten years old maybe. The years crowded him suddenly.She was a woman now....
"Steve Cantwell?" Mary said. "Of course I remember. Hello, Steve. I--I'msorry you had to come back at a time like this. I'm sorry about youraunt. If there's anything I can do...."
Steve shook his head, then shook the hand she offered him. She was aslim, strong girl with a firm handshake. Her concern for him at a timelike this was little short of amazing, especially since it wascompletely genuine.
He appreciated it.
Tobias Whiting said: "Shame of it is, Cantwell, some of us could getalong with the Kumaji. I had a pretty good business here, you knowthat." He looked with bitterness at the dusty file of refugees. "But Inever got a credit out of it. Wherever we wind up, my girl and I will bepoor again. We could have been rich."
Steve asked, "What happened to all your profits?"
"Tied up with a Kumaji moneylender, but thanks to what happened I'llnever see it again."
Mary winced, as if her father's words and his self-pity were painful toher. Then others came up and a few minutes were spent in back-poundingand hand-shaking as some of the men who had been boys with Steve came upto recognize and be recognized. Their greeting was warm, as TobiasWhiting's had been cool. Despite the knowledge of what lay behind all ofthem, and what still lay ahead, it was a little like homecoming.
But Steve liked Mary Whiting's warm, friendly smile best of all. It wascomforting and reassuring.
* * * * *
Three days later, Tobias Whiting disappeared.
The caravan had been making no more than ten or fifteen miles a day.Their water supply was almost gone but on the fourth day they hoped toreach an oasis in the desert. Two of the older folks had died offatigue. A third was critically ill and there was little that could bedone for him. The food supply was running short, but they could alwaysslaughter their camels for food and make their way to Oasis City, stillfour hundred and some miles away, with nothing but the clothes on theirbacks.
And then, during the fourth night, Tobias Whiting disappeared, takingSteve's unicopter. A sentry had heard the low muffled whine of theturbojets during the night and had seen the small craft take off, buthad assumed Steve had taken it up for some reason. Each day Steve haddone so, reconnoitering for signs of the Kumaji.
"But why?" someone asked. "Why?"
At first there was no answer. Then a woman whose husband had died theday before said: "It's no secret Whiting has plenty of money--with theKumaji."
None of them looked at Mary. She stood there defiantly, not sayinganything, and Steve squeezed her hand.
"Now, wait a minute," one of Whiting's friends said.
"Wait, nothing." This was Jeremy Gort, who twice had been mayor of thecolony. "I know how Whiting's mind works. He slaved all his life forthat money, that's the way he'll see it. Cantwell, didn't you say theKumaji were looking for us, to kill us?"
"That's what I was told," Steve said.
"All right," Gort went on relentlessly. "Then this is what I figure musthave happened. Whiting got to brooding over his lost fortune and finallydecided he had to have it. So, he went off at night in Cantwell's'copter, determined to get it. Only catch is, folks, if I know theKumaji, they won't just give it to him--not by a long sight."
"No?" someone asked.
"No sir. They'll trade. For our location. And if Whiting went off likethat without even saying good-bye to his girl here, my guess is he'llmake the trade." His voice reflected some bitterness.
* * * * *
Mary went to Gort and slapped his face. The elderly man did not evenblink. "Well," he asked her gently, "did your pa tell you he was going?"
"N-no," Mary said. There were tears in her eyes, but she did not cry.
Gort turned to Steve. "Cantwell, can he get far in that 'copter?"
Steve shook his head. "Ten or fifteen miles is all. Almost out of fuel,Mr. Gort. You saw how I took her up for only a quick mile swing eachday. He won't get far."
"He'll crash in the desert?"
"Crash or crash-land," Steve said.
Mary sobbed, and bit her lip, and was silent.
"We've got to stop him," Gort said. "And fast. If he gets to the Kumaji,they'll send down a raiding party and we'll be finished. We could neverfight them off without the protection of our village. Near as I canfigure, there's a Kumaji base fifty miles due north of here. Whitingknows it too, so that's where he'll be going, I figure. Can't spare morethan a couple of men to look for him, though, in case the Kumaji findus--or are led to us--and attack."
Steve said, "I should have taken something out of the 'copter everynight, so it couldn't start. I'll go."
Mary came forward boldly. "I have to go. He's my father. If he crashedout there, he may be hurt. He may be--dying."
Gort looked at her. "And if he's trying to sell us out to the Kumajis?"
"Then--then I'll do whatever Steve asks me to. I promise."
"That's good enough for me," Steve said.
A few minutes later, armed with atorifles and their share of the foodand water that was left, Steve and Mary set out northward across thesand while the caravan continued east. Fear of what they might findmounted.
* * * * *
The first night, they camped in the lee of low sandhills. The secondnight they found a small spring with brackish but drinkable water. Onthe third day, having covered half the distance to the Kumajisettlement, they began to encounter Kumaji patrols, on foot or_thlotback_, the six-legged desert animals running so swiftly over thesands and so low to the ground that they almost seemed to be gliding.Steve and Mary hardly spoke. Talk was unnecessary. But slowly a bondgrew between them. Steve liked this slim silent girl who had come outhere with him risking her life although she must have known deep in herheart that her father had almost certainly decided to turn traitor inorder to regain his fortune.
&
nbsp; On the fourth day, they spotted the unicopter from a long way off andmade their way toward it. It had come much further than Steve hadexpected. With sinking heart he realized that Tobias Whiting, if heescaped the crash-landing without injury, must surely have reached theKumaji encampment by now.
"It doesn't seem badly damaged," Mary said.
The platform had buckled slightly, the 'copter was tilted over, one ofthe rotors twisted, its end buried in sand. Tobias Whiting wasn't there.
"No," Steve said. "It's hardly damaged at all. Your father got out of itall right."
"To go--to them?"
"I think so, Mary. I don't want to pass judgment until we're sure. I'msorry."
"Oh, Steve! Steve! What will we do? What _can_ we do?"
"Find him, if it isn't too late. Come on."
"North?"
"North."
"And if by some miracle we find him?"
Steve said nothing. The answer--capture or death--was obvious. But youcouldn't tell that to a traitor's daughter, could you?
As it turned out, they did not find Tobias Whiting through their ownefforts. Half an hour after setting out from the unicopter, they werespotted by a roving band of Kumajis, who came streaking toward them ontheir _thlots_. Mary raised her atorifle, but Steve struck the barrelaside. "They'd kill us," he said. "We can only surrender."
They were hobbled and led painfully across the sand. They were takenthat way to a small Kumaji encampment, and thrust within a circulartent.
Tobias Whiting was in there.
* * * * *
"Mary!" he cried. "My God! Mary...."
"We came for you, Dad," she said coldly. "To stop you. To ... to killyou if necessary."
"Mary...."
"Oh, Dad, why did you do it? Why?"
"We couldn't start all over again, could we? You have a right to livethe sort of life I planned for you. You...."
"Whiting," Steve said, "did you tell them yet?"
"No. No, I haven't. I have information to trade, sure. But I want tomake sure it's going to the right people. I want to get our...."
"Dad! Our money, and all those deaths?"
"It doesn't matter now. I--I had changed my mind, Mary. Truly. But now,now that you're a prisoner, what if I don't talk? Don't you see, they'lltorture you. They'll make you talk. And that way--we get nothing. Icouldn't stand to see them hurt you."
"They can do--what they think they have to do. I'll tell them nothing."
"You won't have to," Whiting said. "I'll tell them when we reach thelarger settlement. They're taking us there tomorrow, they told me."
"Then we've got to get out of here tonight," Steve said.
The low sun cast the shadow of their guard against the _thlot_skin wallof their tent. He was a single man, armed with a long, pike-like weapon.When darkness came, if the guard were not increased....
They were brought a pasty gruel for their supper, and ate in silence anddistaste, ate because they needed the strength. Mary said, "Dad, I don'twant you to tell them anything. Dad, please. If you thought you weredoing it for me...."
"I've made up my mind," Tobias Whiting said.
Mary turned to Steve, in despair. "Steve," she said. "Steve.Do--whatever you have to do. I--I'll understand."
Steve didn't answer her. Wasn't Whiting right now? he thought. If Stevesilenced him, wouldn't the Kumaji torture them for the information?Steve could stand up to it perhaps--but he couldn't stand to see themhurt Mary. He'd talk if they did that....
Then silencing Whiting wasn't the answer. But the Kumajis had onewilling prisoner and two unwilling ones. They knew that. If the willingone yelled for help but the yelling was kept to a minimum so only oneguard, the man outside, came....
* * * * *
Darkness in the Kumaji encampment.
Far off, a lone tribesman singing a chant old as the desert.
"Are you asleep?" Mary asked.
"No," Steve said.
"Dad is. Listen to the way he's breathing--like a baby. As if--as if hewasn't going to betray all our people. Oh, I hate him, I hate him!"
Steve crawled to where the older man was sleeping. Tobias Whiting'svoice surprised him. "I'm not asleep. I was thinking. I--"
"I'm going to kill you," Steve said very softly, and sprang at Whiting.He paused, though. It was a calculated pause, and Whiting cried out asSteve had hoped he would. Then his hands found the older man's throatand closed there--not to kill him but to keep him from crying out again.
Sand stirred, the tentflap lifted, and a bulky figure rushed inside.Steve got up, met him halfway, felt the jarring contact of their bodies.The pike came up dimly in the darkness, the point scraping againstSteve's ribs as the guard lunged awkwardly. Steve's fingers sought thethick-muscled neck, clamped there--squeezing.
The guard writhed. His feet drummed the sand. With one hand he stabbedout wildly with the unwieldy pike. There was a cry from Mary and theguard managed a low squawking noise. Outside, the rest of the campseemed undisturbed. There was death in Steve's strong tighteningfingers. There had to be death there. Death for the Kumaji guard--ordeath for the fleeing Earthmen, who had lost one colony and must seekanother.
* * * * *
They fell together on the sand, the guard still struggling. Stevecouldn't release his throat to grab the pike. The guard stabbed outawkwardly, blindly with it, kicking up sand. Then Tobias Whiting moaned,but Steve hardly heard him.
When the guard's legs stopped drumming, Steve released him. The man waseither dead or so close to death that he would be out for hours. Stevehad never killed a man before, had never in violence and with intent tokill attacked a man....
"Steve!"
It was Mary, calling his name and crying.
"It's Dad. Dad was--hit. The pike, a wild stab. He's hit bad--"
Steve crawled over to them. It was very dark. He could barely make outTobias Whiting's pain-contorted face.
"My stomach," Whiting said, gasping for breath. "The pain...."
Steve probed with his hands, found the wound. Blood was rushing out. Hecouldn't stop it and he knew it and he thought Whiting knew it too. Hetouched Mary's hand, and held it. Mary sobbed against him, cryingsoftly.
"You two ..." Whiting gasped. "You two ... Mary, Mary girl. Is--he--whatyou want?"
"Yes, Dad. Oh, yes!"
"You can get her out of here, Cantwell?"
"I think so," Steve said.
"Then go. Go while you can. I'll tell them--due south. The Earthmen areheading due south. They'll go--south. They won't find the caravan.You'll--all--get away. If it's--what you want, Mary."
She leaned away from Steve, kissing her father. She asked Steve: "Isn'tthere anything we can do for him?"
Steve shook his head. "But he's got to live long enough to tell them, todeceive them."
"I'll live long enough," Whiting said, and Steve knew then that hewould. "Luck to--all of you. From a--very foolish--man...."
* * * * *
Steve took Mary's hand and pulled her out into the hot, dark, wind-blownnight. He carried the dead Kumaji's pike and they slipped across thesand to where the _thlots_ were hobbled for the night. He hardlyremembered the rest of it. There was violence and death, but necessarydeath. He killed a man with the pike, and unhobbled one of the _thlots_.The animal screamed and two more Kumajis came sleepily through the nightto see what was the matter. With the long edge of the pike's blade hedecapitated one of them. He slammed the shaft of the weapon across theother's face, probably breaking his jaw. The camp was in a turmoil. Inthe darkness he flung Mary on the _thlot's_ bare back in front of him,and they glided off across the sand.
Pursuit was disorganized--and unsuccessful. It was too dark foreffective pursuit, as Steve had hoped it would be. They rode swiftly allnight and continued riding with the dawn. They could have gone in anydirection. The wind-driven sand would obliterate their trail.
&nb
sp; Two days later they reached the caravan. As they rode up, Mary said,"Steve, do you have to tell them?"
"We can tell them this," Steve said. "Your father died a hero's death,sending the Kumajis off in the wrong direction."
"And not--not what he'd planned to do at first."
"No. We'll tell them that was his intention all the while. A man canmake a mistake, can't he?"
"I love you, Steve. I love you."
Then they rode down on the caravan. Somehow Steve knew they would allreach Oasis City in safety.
With Mary he would find a new world out in the vastness of space.
Home is Where You Left It Page 2
