“Most wanted,
maybe,”—Troy’s voice was soft, cold, one he had
never used before to any man outside the Dipple—“but
not criminals, Rerne.” No more subservient
“Hunter” or “Gentle Homo.” This was not
Tikil but a place into which the men of Tikil feared to go, and he
was no longer a weaponless city laborer but one of a company who
were ready to fight for what the Dipple had never
held—freedom.
“You know how they served Kyger?” Rerne asked almost
casually.
“I know.”
“But you could not have been a part of that—or could
you?” That last portion of the question might be one Rerne
was asking himself—had been asking himself—for some
time. He was studying Troy with a stare almost as unblinking as
that Simba could turn upon one.
“No, I was not a part of Kyger’s schemes, whatever
those were. And I did not kill him—if you have any doubts
about that. But neither are we criminals.”
“We?”
Troy took a step backward to join the half circle of animals.
They stood together now, presenting a united front to the ranger.
Rerne nodded.
“I see, it is indeed ‘we’.”
“And what do you propose to do about it?” Troy
challenged.
“It is not what I propose to do, Horan. We shall all
probably die unless we can work together to find a safe way out of
here.” But he sounded calm enough. “You are being
hunted by more than just Clan rangers—in fact, the rangers
could be the least of your worries. And it seems that the
order is out to blast before asking questions—blast on
sight.”
“Your orders?” Troy brought up his own weapon.
“Hardly. And when they hear about it, the Clan shall take
steps. That I promise you.” There was ice in that, and Troy,
noting the narrowing of the other’s eyes, the slight twist of
his lips, estimated the quality of the anger this man held under
rigid control. “It is easy to eliminate a fugitive and
afterwards swear that his death was all an unfortunate
mistake—the game our friend over there was trying to
play.” He jerked his head toward the body at the foot of the
ramp. “You have one chance in a thousand of escaping one or
another of the packs after you now or—” He was
summarily interrupted.
“One comes.” Simba padded to the foot of the ramp
again.
Troy hesitated. He could leave Rerne where he was, neatly
packaged, for either the ranger’s own men or someone else to
discover—and melt back into the jungle, eventually seeking
the yet lower level of the fungoid cavern, retracing their whole
journey through Ruhkarv. Or he could make a stand here and
fight.
Rerne’s eyes traveled from cat to man and back again.
“We are about to entertain another visitor?”
“We?” This time it was Troy who accented the
pronoun.
“It could not be my men coming now.”
And Troy believed him. That meant it was truly the enemy.
“You have a choice,” Rerne pointed out. “Take
to the bush over there and they will have a difficult time beating
you out of it—”
“And you?”
“Since you can name me one of your pursuers, should that
matter?” There was a grim lightness in that.
“The other one tried to burn you.”
“As I said, they are working on the principle that
accidents will happen and a dead man one has to explain is better
than a live witness who can explain for himself.”
Troy made the only possible choice. Hooking his fingers in the
nearest loop of the cords about the ranger, he jerked the man under
the overhang of the ramp. There was no time now to try to free
Rerne, even if he were yet sure he wanted to. But he knew he could
not leave the other helpless to take a blasting from Zul or one of
Zul’s crowd.
“Zul?” he asked Simba.
“Zul,” the cat replied with sure authority.
There was no time either in which to rig another trap, and Troy
was sure the other came armed. Nor could he count on another shot
as lucky as the one that had brought down the earlier assailant.
Now he squatted beside Rerne, hoping for a workable ambush.
“Get me loose!” The ranger’s shoulders heaved
as he worked his muscles against the cords of the webbing.
“Nothing will cut those except heat,” Troy told him
absently, most of his attention on what might be happening up
ramp.
“What is this stuff?” Rerne demanded, his voice a
whisper.
“Part of a web—taken from the wall over
there.” Troy nodded to the stretch of rock where strips of
cord and thread still hung in tatters. Rerne gave a small gasp and
was silent.
The light was fading steadily into a dark that had none of the
quality of the upper-surface night. Troy remembered his first stay
in this place, his belief that the jungle had its own brand of very
dangerous life. There was one place free of that growth—the
section of pavement where the recaller stood. And as long as that
machine was deadened—
If Zul did not come soon, should they try to reach that? Troy
seesawed between one plan and the other. Wait here for Zul and try
to shoot as soon as he appeared on the ramp, when he could not be
too sure of his aim in the failing light? Or free Rerne’s
legs and bundle the ranger along to that haunted spot beside the
recaller with the warning of that shriveled, long-dead thing set up
to stare at them through the night hours?
“Zul?” Again he asked that of those who were quicker
than he to know whether danger ran or crept toward them now.
Simba again answered, but this time with a puzzled shading to
his mind speech. “Zul begins to fear—”
“Us?” Troy could hardly believe that. He knew well
that Zul had had no fear when they had fought above, that Zul
looked upon the animals as creatures he could control, could entice
helpless to their deaths. What and why did he fear now? Or was it
the presence of Rerne that was a restraining factor? Could Troy
somehow use the Hunter to bargain with?
“Zul fears what he cannot see,” Simba reported,
still that puzzlement coloring his reply.
For a moment Simba’s report fed Troy’s own latent
uneasiness. With the dusk closing in about them and the only too
clearly remembered picture of the captive in the web at the back of
his mind, he thought he knew what could plague a man, eating at his
nerves until he had to get out of this hidden pocket within
Ruhkarv. But Zul had not been here; he could not know of the web,
or the recaller, or guess at what might have been summoned and now,
according to the animals, still hovered just beyond the bonds of
living consciousness. Why did Zul fear?
“He does not see,” Sahiba cut in, “not with
his eyes—only with his far thoughts. But he is a kind who
feels trouble before him.”
“He is able to speak to you then?”
“No.” That was Sargon. “Not without the aid of
the thing-which-calls. But Zul sees many shadows now and each holds
an enemy.” The fox trotted out of hiding, made a detour about
the body of the dead man, and advanced a foot or so up the ramp,
surveying the gloom above. “He wishes to come, yet his fears
hold him back.”
And did Zul have a right to fear? Troy watched the now
night-disguised splotch of the jungle. And he knew that he could no
longer plan to pass through even a fringe of it, much less intrude
upon that open space about the recaller. It was as if that thing,
which lurked—not alive, yet not wholly in the dead past
either—sucked vitality from the dark, made itself substance
that could not be seen with the eyes, but which could be sensed by
that other thing inside one, the thing that allowed him to
communicate with the animals.
“What is it?” Rerne, too, his shoulders braced
against the rock wall, was staring into that mass of vegetation.
“What walks there?”
“Nothing alive—I hope.” Troy went down on one
knee, sparked his blaster on low power, and touched lightly the
coils of webbing still encircling the other’s legs. The
strands shriveled and were gone.
“Nothing alive?” Rerne repeated questioningly.
“The recaller Fauklow brought is out there. Your machine
muted it, but the power is still on—blanketed. They tell me
that what it summoned is still partly in this dimension.”
“What! And I take it that our friend above is reluctant to
descend into what may prove to be a dragon’s jaws?”
Troy sat back on his heels. Had Rerne been able to tune in on
that conversation between Troy and the animals? But he was certain
that the animals would have known of such eavesdropping and would
have warned him.
“You communicate with the animals somehow,” Rerne
continued. “And now you suspect that I can also.”
Troy nodded.
“Mental contact.” That was a stated fact, not a
question. “No, I have been guessing only. And this I do know,
Zul is of unusual stock. Most of us now are a mingling of many
races, the result of centuries of stellar colonization. He is a
primitive out of Terra—pure Bushman—a race of hunters
and desert dwellers with an inborn instinct for the Wild such as
few others have today. And such primitives keep senses we have
lost. If he sniffs your demon, then I do not think that mere duty
will drive him down. Rather he will comfort his conscience with the
belief that the demon will account for us—if he sits over the
exit and so locks us in. And at that, I can almost find myself
agreeing with such reasoning.”
Rerne moved his shoulders again, straining at the remaining
cords. “This is not a place in which I would choose to spend
the night,” he confessed, and there was no light touch to
those words.
“You were here when Fauklow was found?”
“Not here. We did not know this particular beauty spot
existed. After what we saw aloft there was no nonsense about
exploring below ground. We thought we had accounted for the
recaller, though. That must be seen to. That is, if I ever get out
of here to report it.”
“He can wait up there a long time—pick us off easily
if we try to pass.” Troy wondered if now was the time to
reveal the alternate route to the surface. Without food and
water—no, he was not sure they could make it back the longer
way around.
“Yes, any one of those level corridors would make him a
good cover for ambush. But if we cannot get up, we can bring help
from the surface to take him in the rear.” Again Rerne tried
to flex his upper arms. “If you will just loose me the rest
of the way, Horan, I can bring in reinforcements.”
“No.” Troy’s dissent was flat and quick.
“Why?” Rerne did not sound angry, merely
interested.
“We are criminals—remember?”
“Where there is a common enemy there can be a truce. In
the Wild I do have some small authority.”
Troy considered that. Trust was a rare commodity in the Dipple.
If he gave his now to this man, as he was so greatly tempted to do,
he would be putting a weapon in Rerne’s hands just as surely
as if he were to hand over the blaster. And again his suspicion
warred with his desire to believe in the other.
“A truce, until we are out of here,” Rerne
suggested. “I am willing to swear knife oath if you
wish.”
Troy shook his head. “Your word, no oaths—if I
accept.” He paid that much tribute openly to the ranger.
“Truce and a head start for me, with them.”
“The chase will be up again,” Rerne warned.
“You have no chance with the Clans out to quarter the field.
Better surrender and let the law decide.”
“The law?” Troy laughed harshly. “Which law,
Hunter—Clan right, patrollers’ code, or Zul’s
extermination policy? I know we are fair game. No, give me your
promise that we can have a start of at least half a day.”
“That is freely yours, for what you can make of it, which
I am afraid will be very little.”
“We shall take our chances.” Troy applied heat to
the other’s remaining bonds.
“Always we. Why, Horan?” Rerne rubbed his
wrists.
“Men have used animals as tools,” Troy said slowly,
trying to fit into words something he did not wholly understand
himself. “Now some men, somewhere, have made better tools,
tools so good they can turn and cut the maker. But that is not the
fault of the tools—that they are no longer tools
but—”
“Perhaps companions?” Rerne ended for him, his
fingers still stroking his ridged flesh, but his eyes very intent
on Troy.
“How did you know?” the younger man was startled
into demanding.
“Let us say that I am also a workman who can admire fine
tools, even when they have ceased, as you point out, to be any
longer tools.”
Troy grasped at that hint of sympathy. “You
understand—”
“Only too well. Most of our breed want tools, not
companions. And the age-old fear of man, that he will lose his
supremacy, will bring all the hawks and hunters of the galaxy down
on your trail, Horan. Do not expect any aid from your own species
when it is threatened by powers it cannot and does not want to
understand. But you will have your truce—and your head
start—and what you do with them is up to you. Now, let us see
what we can do about getting a clear road out of here before what
prowls over there takes a fancy to come out.” Rerne waved a
hand toward the jungle.
He slipped a small object from a loop on his belt. On its
surface was a tiny dial he set with care, holding it into the beam
of an atom torch. Then he smiled at Troy.
“Broadcaster. It is beamed for a ranger aid call, and I
have alternated that with a warning code, so they will not head
blindly into any ambush of Zul’s. He may have another man
with him, possibly two. We know that he went to the Guild in Tikil
before he coasted in here. I think he hired blaster men.”
“Then he must have robbed Kyger’s. He would not have
credits enough on his own to pay blaster man prices to the
Thieves’ Guild.”
“Did you ever think that perhaps Kyger was not the top man
of his organization on Korwar?” returned Rerne. “If he
was not, then it is up to that head to close down the whole
enterprise as quickly and with as little fuss as possible. You have
already been posted in Tikil as a murderer who has stolen valuable
animals. Someone issued that complaint.”
“I thought that would happen.” Troy governed his
dismay speedily. Posted as a murderer! Which meant that even the
city patrollers could shoot first and ask troublesome questions
after. Only this was the Wild, not Tikil, and he thought he had an
advantage over that set of trackers here.
“You say that you did not kill him?”
“I found him dead.” Swiftly Troy outlined the events
before his escape from the shop and from Tikil that night.
“That account I can readily believe. Kyger had some odd
acquaintances and had stepped hard on the wrong toes,” Rerne
commented obscurely, “apart from these other activities. And
do you realize that I can supply you with an alibi? At the time
Kyger died you were with Rogarkil and me.”
“Did you say that to the patrollers?” Troy’s
throat felt tight. If that was the truth, why had Rerne not cleared
him?
“Not so far—”
“You wanted a bargaining point to use with me?” Troy
demanded. That seesaw of belief, then suspicion, within him swung
once more to the chilling side.
“Perhaps.”
“I am not interested. I will take what I have.” Troy
was cooling rapidly. He was sure Rerne would keep his word to the
strict letter of his promise. But why the ranger had revealed this
other matter—that he could clear Troy with the law of the
city but had not done so—remained a mystery. It smelled of
the desire to push Horan into some pattern of Clan devising, just
as he and the other had obliquely suggested at that cafe meeting.
And having tasted freedom, Troy was not minded to walk again
another’s road.
“As you wish.” Rerne neither urged nor explained. He
raised the miniature com unit to his ear, listened for a moment,
and then nodded.
“They are coming, have laid down a haze ahead—as far
as the levels. Should not be long before that reaches
Zul.”
So the rangers were using that most up-to-date subduing
weapon—and one Zul, Troy was certain, was not armored
against.
“Will they arrest Zul?”
Rerne glanced at him. “Is that what you wish?”
“Why not?”
“There is no reason to believe that Zul is top man. He was
wholly Kyger’s subordinate, not the other way around. Zul,
left free, could lead someone to his employer.”
“If that trailer had time—and the
inclination,” snapped Troy. “Just at present I have more
important things—” He paused. Rerne was right in a way.
To trace Zul’s contacts to their sources. If it were not for
the animals, he would like to do just that. But he must make the
best use of his truce, and he could not waste time on Zul.
“Your move, if you wish,” he suggested.
Rerne was holding the broadcaster to his ear again. “Our
move is up.” He gestured to the ramp.
“Zul?”
“No sign of him. But there is a Guildsman sleeping sweetly
at the second level. They have collected him for the patrollers.
Let Zul believe that he has made a safe escape in his hiding place.
He will sleep off the haze and he can be watched later.”
So Rerne was going to investigate Zul? Though what he would make
of more exact knowledge, except to use it as a lever for some Clan
dispute with the authorities in Tikil, Troy did not see. He
gathered up Sahiba, motioned Rerne to precede them.
“I have a blaster. You have granted me a truce. Maybe some
of the rest up there will not be so generous.”
Rerene smiled. “It pays to be cautious. But I think you
will find I speak for the rangers. Up it is.”
To Troy the climb was as long and exhausting as had been the
descent of the winding way in the well. There was no one waiting at
the first level of corridors. On and up, Simba and Sargon forging a
little ahead, a twin pair of scouts Troy was sure no human being
could equal. Shang was on his shoulder, Sheba beside him. None of
the animals paid any attention to Rerne outwardly, but Troy knew
they kept an expert watch on the ranger.
They passed the second level. Ahead lay the open. Troy pushed
his weary brain to plan action beyond that point. He could not hope
that he would have any chance at mechanical transport; his bargain
did not reach that far. But the barrier about Ruhkarv must have
been lowered to let the searchers in, so they could leave this scar
on foot. Tired as he was, without supplies, he did not see how they
would be able to cover much ground. But even if they could reach
the fringe of forest lands, the animals could escape. Then he would
take his chances with the men.
“Men waiting,” Simba warned.
Well, that was to be expected—Rerne’s men.
“Not enemies,” Troy replied.
“We have you covered! Drop your blaster!”
Troy spun halfway around as he caught a glimpse of a uniformed
shoulder, a hand holding a blaster. His arm, still stiff from the
cut, went up and his fingers gripped Rerne, pulling the other to
him as a shield. He heard a gasp from the ranger and an exclamation
of anger.
“So this is the worth of a Clansman’s word!”
Troy spat. “Would your knife oath have held any
better?” Then he raised his voice to reach the others.
“We got out—this Hunter lord with us. Any attempted
burndown and he roasts too!”
Rerne offered no resistance as Troy propelled him ahead into the
open. There was a muttering behind but no bolt to shatter the
gloom.
“Most wanted,
maybe,”—Troy’s voice was soft, cold, one he had
never used before to any man outside the Dipple—“but
not criminals, Rerne.” No more subservient
“Hunter” or “Gentle Homo.” This was not
Tikil but a place into which the men of Tikil feared to go, and he
was no longer a weaponless city laborer but one of a company who
were ready to fight for what the Dipple had never
held—freedom.
“You know how they served Kyger?” Rerne asked almost
casually.
“I know.”
“But you could not have been a part of that—or could
you?” That last portion of the question might be one Rerne
was asking himself—had been asking himself—for some
time. He was studying Troy with a stare almost as unblinking as
that Simba could turn upon one.
“No, I was not a part of Kyger’s schemes, whatever
those were. And I did not kill him—if you have any doubts
about that. But neither are we criminals.”
“We?”
Troy took a step backward to join the half circle of animals.
They stood together now, presenting a united front to the ranger.
Rerne nodded.
“I see, it is indeed ‘we’.”
“And what do you propose to do about it?” Troy
challenged.
“It is not what I propose to do, Horan. We shall all
probably die unless we can work together to find a safe way out of
here.” But he sounded calm enough. “You are being
hunted by more than just Clan rangers—in fact, the rangers
could be the least of your worries. And it seems that the
order is out to blast before asking questions—blast on
sight.”
“Your orders?” Troy brought up his own weapon.
“Hardly. And when they hear about it, the Clan shall take
steps. That I promise you.” There was ice in that, and Troy,
noting the narrowing of the other’s eyes, the slight twist of
his lips, estimated the quality of the anger this man held under
rigid control. “It is easy to eliminate a fugitive and
afterwards swear that his death was all an unfortunate
mistake—the game our friend over there was trying to
play.” He jerked his head toward the body at the foot of the
ramp. “You have one chance in a thousand of escaping one or
another of the packs after you now or—” He was
summarily interrupted.
“One comes.” Simba padded to the foot of the ramp
again.
Troy hesitated. He could leave Rerne where he was, neatly
packaged, for either the ranger’s own men or someone else to
discover—and melt back into the jungle, eventually seeking
the yet lower level of the fungoid cavern, retracing their whole
journey through Ruhkarv. Or he could make a stand here and
fight.
Rerne’s eyes traveled from cat to man and back again.
“We are about to entertain another visitor?”
“We?” This time it was Troy who accented the
pronoun.
“It could not be my men coming now.”
And Troy believed him. That meant it was truly the enemy.
“You have a choice,” Rerne pointed out. “Take
to the bush over there and they will have a difficult time beating
you out of it—”
“And you?”
“Since you can name me one of your pursuers, should that
matter?” There was a grim lightness in that.
“The other one tried to burn you.”
“As I said, they are working on the principle that
accidents will happen and a dead man one has to explain is better
than a live witness who can explain for himself.”
Troy made the only possible choice. Hooking his fingers in the
nearest loop of the cords about the ranger, he jerked the man under
the overhang of the ramp. There was no time now to try to free
Rerne, even if he were yet sure he wanted to. But he knew he could
not leave the other helpless to take a blasting from Zul or one of
Zul’s crowd.
“Zul?” he asked Simba.
“Zul,” the cat replied with sure authority.
There was no time either in which to rig another trap, and Troy
was sure the other came armed. Nor could he count on another shot
as lucky as the one that had brought down the earlier assailant.
Now he squatted beside Rerne, hoping for a workable ambush.
“Get me loose!” The ranger’s shoulders heaved
as he worked his muscles against the cords of the webbing.
“Nothing will cut those except heat,” Troy told him
absently, most of his attention on what might be happening up
ramp.
“What is this stuff?” Rerne demanded, his voice a
whisper.
“Part of a web—taken from the wall over
there.” Troy nodded to the stretch of rock where strips of
cord and thread still hung in tatters. Rerne gave a small gasp and
was silent.
The light was fading steadily into a dark that had none of the
quality of the upper-surface night. Troy remembered his first stay
in this place, his belief that the jungle had its own brand of very
dangerous life. There was one place free of that growth—the
section of pavement where the recaller stood. And as long as that
machine was deadened—
If Zul did not come soon, should they try to reach that? Troy
seesawed between one plan and the other. Wait here for Zul and try
to shoot as soon as he appeared on the ramp, when he could not be
too sure of his aim in the failing light? Or free Rerne’s
legs and bundle the ranger along to that haunted spot beside the
recaller with the warning of that shriveled, long-dead thing set up
to stare at them through the night hours?
“Zul?” Again he asked that of those who were quicker
than he to know whether danger ran or crept toward them now.
Simba again answered, but this time with a puzzled shading to
his mind speech. “Zul begins to fear—”
“Us?” Troy could hardly believe that. He knew well
that Zul had had no fear when they had fought above, that Zul
looked upon the animals as creatures he could control, could entice
helpless to their deaths. What and why did he fear now? Or was it
the presence of Rerne that was a restraining factor? Could Troy
somehow use the Hunter to bargain with?
“Zul fears what he cannot see,” Simba reported,
still that puzzlement coloring his reply.
For a moment Simba’s report fed Troy’s own latent
uneasiness. With the dusk closing in about them and the only too
clearly remembered picture of the captive in the web at the back of
his mind, he thought he knew what could plague a man, eating at his
nerves until he had to get out of this hidden pocket within
Ruhkarv. But Zul had not been here; he could not know of the web,
or the recaller, or guess at what might have been summoned and now,
according to the animals, still hovered just beyond the bonds of
living consciousness. Why did Zul fear?
“He does not see,” Sahiba cut in, “not with
his eyes—only with his far thoughts. But he is a kind who
feels trouble before him.”
“He is able to speak to you then?”
“No.” That was Sargon. “Not without the aid of
the thing-which-calls. But Zul sees many shadows now and each holds
an enemy.” The fox trotted out of hiding, made a detour about
the body of the dead man, and advanced a foot or so up the ramp,
surveying the gloom above. “He wishes to come, yet his fears
hold him back.”
And did Zul have a right to fear? Troy watched the now
night-disguised splotch of the jungle. And he knew that he could no
longer plan to pass through even a fringe of it, much less intrude
upon that open space about the recaller. It was as if that thing,
which lurked—not alive, yet not wholly in the dead past
either—sucked vitality from the dark, made itself substance
that could not be seen with the eyes, but which could be sensed by
that other thing inside one, the thing that allowed him to
communicate with the animals.
“What is it?” Rerne, too, his shoulders braced
against the rock wall, was staring into that mass of vegetation.
“What walks there?”
“Nothing alive—I hope.” Troy went down on one
knee, sparked his blaster on low power, and touched lightly the
coils of webbing still encircling the other’s legs. The
strands shriveled and were gone.
“Nothing alive?” Rerne repeated questioningly.
“The recaller Fauklow brought is out there. Your machine
muted it, but the power is still on—blanketed. They tell me
that what it summoned is still partly in this dimension.”
“What! And I take it that our friend above is reluctant to
descend into what may prove to be a dragon’s jaws?”
Troy sat back on his heels. Had Rerne been able to tune in on
that conversation between Troy and the animals? But he was certain
that the animals would have known of such eavesdropping and would
have warned him.
“You communicate with the animals somehow,” Rerne
continued. “And now you suspect that I can also.”
Troy nodded.
“Mental contact.” That was a stated fact, not a
question. “No, I have been guessing only. And this I do know,
Zul is of unusual stock. Most of us now are a mingling of many
races, the result of centuries of stellar colonization. He is a
primitive out of Terra—pure Bushman—a race of hunters
and desert dwellers with an inborn instinct for the Wild such as
few others have today. And such primitives keep senses we have
lost. If he sniffs your demon, then I do not think that mere duty
will drive him down. Rather he will comfort his conscience with the
belief that the demon will account for us—if he sits over the
exit and so locks us in. And at that, I can almost find myself
agreeing with such reasoning.”
Rerne moved his shoulders again, straining at the remaining
cords. “This is not a place in which I would choose to spend
the night,” he confessed, and there was no light touch to
those words.
“You were here when Fauklow was found?”
“Not here. We did not know this particular beauty spot
existed. After what we saw aloft there was no nonsense about
exploring below ground. We thought we had accounted for the
recaller, though. That must be seen to. That is, if I ever get out
of here to report it.”
“He can wait up there a long time—pick us off easily
if we try to pass.” Troy wondered if now was the time to
reveal the alternate route to the surface. Without food and
water—no, he was not sure they could make it back the longer
way around.
“Yes, any one of those level corridors would make him a
good cover for ambush. But if we cannot get up, we can bring help
from the surface to take him in the rear.” Again Rerne tried
to flex his upper arms. “If you will just loose me the rest
of the way, Horan, I can bring in reinforcements.”
“No.” Troy’s dissent was flat and quick.
“Why?” Rerne did not sound angry, merely
interested.
“We are criminals—remember?”
“Where there is a common enemy there can be a truce. In
the Wild I do have some small authority.”
Troy considered that. Trust was a rare commodity in the Dipple.
If he gave his now to this man, as he was so greatly tempted to do,
he would be putting a weapon in Rerne’s hands just as surely
as if he were to hand over the blaster. And again his suspicion
warred with his desire to believe in the other.
“A truce, until we are out of here,” Rerne
suggested. “I am willing to swear knife oath if you
wish.”
Troy shook his head. “Your word, no oaths—if I
accept.” He paid that much tribute openly to the ranger.
“Truce and a head start for me, with them.”
“The chase will be up again,” Rerne warned.
“You have no chance with the Clans out to quarter the field.
Better surrender and let the law decide.”
“The law?” Troy laughed harshly. “Which law,
Hunter—Clan right, patrollers’ code, or Zul’s
extermination policy? I know we are fair game. No, give me your
promise that we can have a start of at least half a day.”
“That is freely yours, for what you can make of it, which
I am afraid will be very little.”
“We shall take our chances.” Troy applied heat to
the other’s remaining bonds.
“Always we. Why, Horan?” Rerne rubbed his
wrists.
“Men have used animals as tools,” Troy said slowly,
trying to fit into words something he did not wholly understand
himself. “Now some men, somewhere, have made better tools,
tools so good they can turn and cut the maker. But that is not the
fault of the tools—that they are no longer tools
but—”
“Perhaps companions?” Rerne ended for him, his
fingers still stroking his ridged flesh, but his eyes very intent
on Troy.
“How did you know?” the younger man was startled
into demanding.
“Let us say that I am also a workman who can admire fine
tools, even when they have ceased, as you point out, to be any
longer tools.”
Troy grasped at that hint of sympathy. “You
understand—”
“Only too well. Most of our breed want tools, not
companions. And the age-old fear of man, that he will lose his
supremacy, will bring all the hawks and hunters of the galaxy down
on your trail, Horan. Do not expect any aid from your own species
when it is threatened by powers it cannot and does not want to
understand. But you will have your truce—and your head
start—and what you do with them is up to you. Now, let us see
what we can do about getting a clear road out of here before what
prowls over there takes a fancy to come out.” Rerne waved a
hand toward the jungle.
He slipped a small object from a loop on his belt. On its
surface was a tiny dial he set with care, holding it into the beam
of an atom torch. Then he smiled at Troy.
“Broadcaster. It is beamed for a ranger aid call, and I
have alternated that with a warning code, so they will not head
blindly into any ambush of Zul’s. He may have another man
with him, possibly two. We know that he went to the Guild in Tikil
before he coasted in here. I think he hired blaster men.”
“Then he must have robbed Kyger’s. He would not have
credits enough on his own to pay blaster man prices to the
Thieves’ Guild.”
“Did you ever think that perhaps Kyger was not the top man
of his organization on Korwar?” returned Rerne. “If he
was not, then it is up to that head to close down the whole
enterprise as quickly and with as little fuss as possible. You have
already been posted in Tikil as a murderer who has stolen valuable
animals. Someone issued that complaint.”
“I thought that would happen.” Troy governed his
dismay speedily. Posted as a murderer! Which meant that even the
city patrollers could shoot first and ask troublesome questions
after. Only this was the Wild, not Tikil, and he thought he had an
advantage over that set of trackers here.
“You say that you did not kill him?”
“I found him dead.” Swiftly Troy outlined the events
before his escape from the shop and from Tikil that night.
“That account I can readily believe. Kyger had some odd
acquaintances and had stepped hard on the wrong toes,” Rerne
commented obscurely, “apart from these other activities. And
do you realize that I can supply you with an alibi? At the time
Kyger died you were with Rogarkil and me.”
“Did you say that to the patrollers?” Troy’s
throat felt tight. If that was the truth, why had Rerne not cleared
him?
“Not so far—”
“You wanted a bargaining point to use with me?” Troy
demanded. That seesaw of belief, then suspicion, within him swung
once more to the chilling side.
“Perhaps.”
“I am not interested. I will take what I have.” Troy
was cooling rapidly. He was sure Rerne would keep his word to the
strict letter of his promise. But why the ranger had revealed this
other matter—that he could clear Troy with the law of the
city but had not done so—remained a mystery. It smelled of
the desire to push Horan into some pattern of Clan devising, just
as he and the other had obliquely suggested at that cafe meeting.
And having tasted freedom, Troy was not minded to walk again
another’s road.
“As you wish.” Rerne neither urged nor explained. He
raised the miniature com unit to his ear, listened for a moment,
and then nodded.
“They are coming, have laid down a haze ahead—as far
as the levels. Should not be long before that reaches
Zul.”
So the rangers were using that most up-to-date subduing
weapon—and one Zul, Troy was certain, was not armored
against.
“Will they arrest Zul?”
Rerne glanced at him. “Is that what you wish?”
“Why not?”
“There is no reason to believe that Zul is top man. He was
wholly Kyger’s subordinate, not the other way around. Zul,
left free, could lead someone to his employer.”
“If that trailer had time—and the
inclination,” snapped Troy. “Just at present I have more
important things—” He paused. Rerne was right in a way.
To trace Zul’s contacts to their sources. If it were not for
the animals, he would like to do just that. But he must make the
best use of his truce, and he could not waste time on Zul.
“Your move, if you wish,” he suggested.
Rerne was holding the broadcaster to his ear again. “Our
move is up.” He gestured to the ramp.
“Zul?”
“No sign of him. But there is a Guildsman sleeping sweetly
at the second level. They have collected him for the patrollers.
Let Zul believe that he has made a safe escape in his hiding place.
He will sleep off the haze and he can be watched later.”
So Rerne was going to investigate Zul? Though what he would make
of more exact knowledge, except to use it as a lever for some Clan
dispute with the authorities in Tikil, Troy did not see. He
gathered up Sahiba, motioned Rerne to precede them.
“I have a blaster. You have granted me a truce. Maybe some
of the rest up there will not be so generous.”
Rerene smiled. “It pays to be cautious. But I think you
will find I speak for the rangers. Up it is.”
To Troy the climb was as long and exhausting as had been the
descent of the winding way in the well. There was no one waiting at
the first level of corridors. On and up, Simba and Sargon forging a
little ahead, a twin pair of scouts Troy was sure no human being
could equal. Shang was on his shoulder, Sheba beside him. None of
the animals paid any attention to Rerne outwardly, but Troy knew
they kept an expert watch on the ranger.
They passed the second level. Ahead lay the open. Troy pushed
his weary brain to plan action beyond that point. He could not hope
that he would have any chance at mechanical transport; his bargain
did not reach that far. But the barrier about Ruhkarv must have
been lowered to let the searchers in, so they could leave this scar
on foot. Tired as he was, without supplies, he did not see how they
would be able to cover much ground. But even if they could reach
the fringe of forest lands, the animals could escape. Then he would
take his chances with the men.
“Men waiting,” Simba warned.
Well, that was to be expected—Rerne’s men.
“Not enemies,” Troy replied.
“We have you covered! Drop your blaster!”
Troy spun halfway around as he caught a glimpse of a uniformed
shoulder, a hand holding a blaster. His arm, still stiff from the
cut, went up and his fingers gripped Rerne, pulling the other to
him as a shield. He heard a gasp from the ranger and an exclamation
of anger.
“So this is the worth of a Clansman’s word!”
Troy spat. “Would your knife oath have held any
better?” Then he raised his voice to reach the others.
“We got out—this Hunter lord with us. Any attempted
burndown and he roasts too!”
Rerne offered no resistance as Troy propelled him ahead into the
open. There was a muttering behind but no bolt to shatter the
gloom.