E.C Tubb - Eye of the Zodiac Страница 2

Dumarest had no intention of getting himself killed. He had chosen a better way.

Awhile and he moved again, standing before the light, returning to his former position. To one side, something moved.

"Man Dumarest?" The voice was thin, a bare whisper, the tones slurred, the words more a recognition signal than a question. The Hyead had good night-vision.

"Here." Dumarest took a candy bar from his pocket. "Emazet?"

"Abanact. The other could not come."

"He is well?"

"The other is dead. Hunters in the mountains-he will be mourned."

Trigger-happy fools who had blasted at a barely seen shape and who would now be boasting of their kill. Dumarest threw the candy bar at the dim figure which rose from the ground to catch it, to chew eagerly at the luxury. The rare but essential sugars the Hyead metabolism craved.

"News?"

"A whisper. Men will come to take what is not theirs."

"When?"

"Midway through the night. At a point where lights are few and the stores are high. Three hundred paces from where the other met you the last time you spoke."

The lower dump. Dumarest took out more candy bars, the reward for the information. He lifted the remainder up in his hand.

"Anything else? News from the city? Were men dressed in scarlet seen leaving the field?"

"By us, no."

"By any?"

"Not that we have heard."

The Hyead moved like ghosts through the town, worked at the field and in the taverns, listened to gossip casually spoken by men who considered them less than beasts. If a cyber had landed they would have known of it. Dumarest passed over the rest of the candy.

"If you hear of such men pass word to me at the canteen. The reward will be high."

"It is understood."

And then there was nothing but the darkness, the shadows, a thin wind which ruffled the tips of dry vegetation. A ghostly sound like the keen of mourning women.

Chapter Two

Down by the lower dump the shadows were thick, the glow from the floodlights doing little to augment the ghostly starlight. The patches of darkness could already hide danger-on Tradum as on any world predators came in many guises, the most dangerous of which were men.

Dumarest slowed, his left hand reaching for the flashlight clipped to his belt, his right tensing on the club he had been issued. It was a yard of loaded wood, the end lashed to provide a grip, the tip rounded. Hard, strong, it could smash bones and pulp flesh.

Twice he had checked the area and now, if the information had been good, the thieves would be busy. Halting, his eyes searched the spaces between the stacked crates, their upper edges barely visible against the sky. Pilfering was rife, hungry men snatching at castings and components, desperate for the money they would bring, the food it would provide. Buyers were always to be found, taking no risks but making high profits.

"Brad!" The voice was an urgent whisper. "Which crate?"

"Any of them."

"This covering's tough. We should have brought a saw."

"Quit talking and get on with it."

Two men at least, and there could be more. One set high to act as a lookout, perhaps, an elementary precaution. Maybe another crouched and watchful to spot a figure moving against the glow from the workings. Dumarest had swung in a wide circle to approach the spot from the darkness. He looked again at the upper edges of the stacked crates but saw nothing. But if he used the flashlight and someone was up there, he would be an easy target.

"Shen?"

"Nothing. All's clear."

Dumarest moved as he heard the rasp of metal on wood, a sudden splintering, the snap of a parting binding. The third voice had come from close to one side and he stepped towards it. A dark patch rested on the ground, a man who jerked as Dumarest dropped at his side, one hand clamping over his mouth, the fingers of the other digging into the throat, finding the carotid arteries, pressing and cutting off the blood supply to the brain. A pressure which brought swift unconsciousness.

"Shen?" The first man who had spoken grunted as he heaved something from the opened crate. "Give me a hand with this."

Dumarest rose and moved softly towards him. The other man, the one called Brad, must be facing the site. Three men working together to make a strike and a swift withdrawal. Dawn would find them well on their way to the city, too far for pursuit, their loot hidden at the first sign of a raft or hunters.

"Shen?" Dumarest saw the blur of a face. "What-"

The man was fast He backed, one hand lifting with a hooked bar, his mouth opening to yell. Dumarest dived towards him, the club extended, the tip aimed at the throat, hitting, sending the man to double up, retching. A sudden flurry and Brad was facing him, a gun in his hand.

"Drop it!" he snapped. "The club, drop it!" He sucked in his breath as the wood hit the dirt. "Make a sound and you're dead. Elvach! Get down here. Fast!"

Four men, a big team, and at least one armed with a gun. A primitive weapon which would make a lot of noise, but would kill while doing it. The man would hesitate to use it, not wanting to give the alarm. Therefore, the other man would be coming in from behind with a more silent means of dealing death. A club or knife or strangler's cord.

Dumarest knew they didn't intend to leave him alive.

"Elvach! Hurry, damn you!"

From above came a scrape and a slither as the lookout dropped from his perch.

"What's happening? Where's Shen? What's the matter with Sley?" Elvach was small, lithe, anxious. His face was screwed up and his eyes barely visible in the puffiness of his cheeks.

"Never mind them," snapped Brad. "Take care of this guard. Move!"

"Kill him?"

"You want to be lasered down at dawn?" Brad lifted his pistol. "Having this gun will kill us all, if we're caught. Now get on with it."

"Wait a minute," said Dumarest. "We could make a deal. I've got money."

He dropped his hand to his boot, touched the hilt of the knife, lifted it, threw it underhand toward the face behind the gun. The point hit, plunged into an eye, the brain beneath. As Brad fell Dumarest turned, the stiffened edge of his hand slamming against the side of Elvach's neck, sending him helplessly to the dirt.

"Fast!" Sley, gasping for breath, stared his amazement. "He had a gun on you, finger on the trigger, and you killed him before he could pull it. You killed him."

"Do you want to follow him?"

"No, mister, I don't."

"Then stay here. Move and I'll cut you down." Dumarest jerked his knife free, wiped it clean on the dead man's clothing and tucked it back into his boot. He picked up the gun and went in search of Shen. Elvach looked up as Dumarest dumped the man at his side.

"Dead?"

"Unconscious. Are there any more of you?"

"No."

"I want the truth," said Dumarest harshly. "Who set this up?"

"Brad." Elvach sat upright, rubbing the side of his neck. "It was going to be easy, he said. Move in, a quick snatch and away. One to work and three to watch, we couldn't go wrong." He sounded bitter, "like hell we couldn't."

"Who would buy?"

"I don't know. Brad had it fixed. Him and that damned gun." His voice changed, became a whine. "Look, mister, how about letting us go? You've gotten Brad. I've a woman lying sick, and a couple of kids close to starving. I made a mistake, sure, but I didn't know about the gun."

"You'd have killed me," said Dumarest flatly.

"No. Knocked you out, maybe, but not killed. What would be the point?"

To gain time, to avoid later recognition, to ensure their escape. They would have killed him.

Sley said, dully, "What now, mister? I suppose you're going to turn us in."

"That's right."

"Turn us in and collect the bonus, then see us lasered down at dawn. The gun'll take care of that. A smart trick which let us down. Brad should have fired and to hell with losing the loot. He was greedy. I guess we all were."

Greedy and stupid. Caught without the gun they would have been knocked around a little, interrogated, fined and set to work. A heavy fine which would hold them fast until the project had been completed, working for small wages, little better than slaves. But they would have stayed alive.

Dumarest lifted his whistle and blew three short blasts.

"So that's it," said Sley bleakly. "The end of the line. I hope you sleep well, mister. I hope you never have hunger tearing at your guts."

"Work won't kill you."

"Work? With that gun?"

"Gun?" Dumarest looked at it and, with a sudden movement, hurled it far into the surrounding darkness.

"What gun?"

* * * * *

For once Nyther was pleased. "Good work, Earl. A fine job. Four of the scum caught at once. A pity you had to kill one, but he'll serve as an example. Did you have to do it?"

"There were four of them," said Dumarest. "I didn't feel like taking chances."

"You had a club. You should have broken his skull and maybe smashed a knee."

"He had something, a bar. It could have been a gun."

"A natural mistake," admitted Nyther. "The light was bad and you couldn't have known. Hell, man, I'm not blaming you. It's just that a man like that could have friends. They might want to avenge him-you understand?"

Dumarest nodded, leaning back in his chair, conscious of his fatigue. It was dawn, the interior of the guard hut thick with stale air, a litter of returned equipment lying on the tables. The structure quivered to the endless roar from the workings.

"Did you get anything from the others?"

"No." Nyther opened a drawer in his desk and produced a bottle and glasses. Pouring, he handed one to Dumarest. "Any ideas?"

"Four men with a plan. And they knew just where to hit."

"You can say that again." Nyther scowled as he sipped at his whiskey. "Those crates held crystalloy components. Sold in the right place they would fetch a high price. Even if torn apart, the shammatite would be more than worth the trouble." A man grown old in security, he guessed what Dumarest was hinting. "An arrangement. Those men were working to a plan set out by a big operator. Right?"

"Maybe."

"Then why no guns?" Nyther answered his own question. "They shouldn't have needed them. Three men watching could have handled any normal guard. And once the scum start using guns I'll have a case in order to increase the guard allocation. You were lucky, Earl, in more ways than one."

Dumarest drank, slowly, saying nothing.

"Four bonuses-you can collect the cash immediately. No guns and the chance of a promotion. Interested?"

"I might be."

"I've been watching you, Earl. You're wasted at the workings. Any foot can handle a machine, but it takes a special kind of man to make a good security officer. He has to have a feel for the job, an instinct. You have it. It sent you to the right place at the right time. I need all the men I can get like you."

"So?"

"How about becoming a full-time guard? I'll make you the head of a sector. Twice as much as you're getting now with free board and lodging. A deal?"

It was tempting, and it would be a mistake to refuse too quickly. A sign of guilt, perhaps. At the workings men did not hesitate at the chance of extra pay.

"Of course, I'll have to check you out with Head Office," continued Nyther. "But that's just a formality. All they want is that you be registered in the computer. The doc can take your physical characteristics and do the rest of it. A blast in the shoulder-nothing to worry about."

Dumarest set down his empty glass, watched as it was refilled.

"A radioactive trace?"

"Sure, just a precaution and, as I said, nothing to worry about. If you take off without warning, we'll know where to look for you."

The Zur-Sekulich and others who might be interested. Once branded he would stand out in any crowd, electronic tracing gear picking up the implanted pattern.

Nyther said, "I'll fix it for noon. I'll send word to your foreman to release you. By dusk you'll be ready for full-time duty. Health, Earl!"

Dumarest responded to the toast. Without knowing it, the guard chief had forced his decision. By noon he would have to be on his way.

Casually he said, "I'm grateful, Chief. Maybe I could do something for you. Are you willing to gamble an extra bonus?"

"A deal? Hell, Earl, once you start working for me-"

"I'm not working for you, Chief. Not yet, and a man has to get what he can, right?" Dumarest didn't wait for an answer. "For an extra bonus I'll tell you how to seal this place so no scavenger will have a chance. And all it will cost you is a few boxes of candy a day."

Nyther was shrewd. "The Hyead?"

"The bonus?"

"Yours, damn it. Take me for an idiot and you'll return it double." Nyther frowned as Dumarest explained. "Have they the brains for the job? Are they reliable?"

"They don't need brains just to watch and listen and the candy will keep them on the job. Arrange a meeting with one called Abanact-better still I'll do it for you. Put off the doc until tomorrow."

A day gained if the other agreed. As Nyther nodded Dumarest continued, "I'll need some candy, you can give me a chit for that, and some supersonic whistles. We can work out a simple code so they can give you the warning without alarming the thieves. Once arranged, you can cut down on the extra guards and use regular mobile patrols."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"You get the bonus back-double."

Nyther reached for the bottle. "Now why the hell couldn't I have thought of that? The Hyead-cheap and the damned things go everywhere. You've got a point, Earl."

One he had overlooked, familiarity breeding contempt.

"The bonus," reminded Dumarest. "I'll take it now."

He collected it all in cash, thick coins which weighted down his pocket, his eyes thoughtful as he walked from the cashier's office. It was time to disappear, to vanish like a stone thrown into water, to move on before it was too late.

He could catch a lift into the city, hope for a quick passage, hide if he had to wait. For a lone man it would be simple. Nyther would be annoyed, but he had received value for his money and would quickly forget. A casual worker who had turned down the offer of a good job-why be concerned when there were so many others to take his place? And, if he had the sense to contact the Hyead, his worries would be over.

The problem was the boy. Dumarest thought about him as he moved towards his hut. Caution dictated that he keep going, head for the road and flag a truck, bribe the driver if he had to, but in any case to keep moving. No one would bother him and no one would argue. Leon, Nyther, the whole mess and approaching danger of the works could be forgotten.

But the boy had not lied? Nerth-the name was a bait. A chance he could not afford to miss. Even if the planet offered but a single clue he had to find it. Find the location of the planet of his birth. His home world. Earth!

And, to find Nerth, he needed the boy. The name was too similar. Someone, somewhere would have heard of it, and yet it appeared in none of the almanacs he had studied. A mystery which had to be resolved.

He sensed the tension as soon as he entered the hut. A crowd was clustered around the table, men who should have been sleeping remaining awake, responding to the excitement, the mounting desperation. A sure sign that big stakes were being wagered, that someone had lost all restraint.