Fugitive (27 page)

   He sniffed the air again, trying to convince himself that the scent was getting weaker, but cast that notion aside as wishful thinking. As long as it didn't get stronger, he was probably safe, but he kept moving anyway.

   Further from Drusilla. He'd had to leave other women in the past, but none that he felt as bonded to as she. She was his mate, and it was ripping him apart.

   He kept on, pausing only briefly to rest or when he spotted an unwary animal in range of his bow. He knew his best bet was to find another spaceport, if there was one, and stow away on an outbound ship. Perhaps he could even find one bound for Earth if he was lucky. At least he had a destination in mind this time; before, his goal had always been simply to go as far and as fast as he could. Unfortunately, what little he'd learned from Zef led him to believe there was only the one port, but living as isolated as he did, even Zef didn't know every thing. He considered checking out other lakes for eltrans to obtain more information, but not knowing if he could trust them kept him wary.

   It rained in the night, waking him from a light slumber. Manx caught water by funneling it from leaf to leaf and into the small bottle he carried in the pouch with his flute. Together with his knife and bow, these items had kept him going for a very long time and would do so again. He tried to convince himself that it was no different than it had ever been, but he knew he was lying to himself. It
was
different, and it took every scrap of his will to keep going with the image of Drusilla etched in his mind. Would he still remember her years from now, or would she fade from his memory as so many others had done? The sad truth was that he'd have to forget her if he intended to remain alive. Thinking about her would make him weak and distracted, and weak, distracted prey usually got caught. Gritting his teeth, he went on, passing through the jungle as silently as a shade.

   Morning came and with it, Manx discovered that he was nearing a village. Even knowing it was unlikely, he kept to the outskirts as he circled it to see if there might be a port of some kind. A small Baradan boy ventured into the jungle just as Manx was passing, but he never saw the Zetithian. It was rare that anyone did, as prac ticed as he was at stealth and concealment. Drusilla had seen him, but only because he had been so fascinated by her that he forgot to be wary.

   Drusilla. She kept running in and out of his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to banish her. Someday he could afford the luxury of setting his mind adrift on his memories of her, but not yet. Not while he could still smell Nedwuts.

   Days passed and still he moved on, hunting for food and catching snatches of sleep whenever he could. Manx had a good sense of direction, but deep in the jungle it wasn't always clear where he was headed. The scent was very faint now, which either meant that he was further from its source, or that the Nedwuts truly were gone and he was only catching lingering traces of them.

   That being the case, Manx allowed himself one full night's sleep and with the dawn, he discovered a lake nearby. After scouting the area and deciding it was safe to approach, he drank his fill quickly, refilled his bottle, and then left as swiftly and silently as he had come. He hadn't gone far when his head went up in alarm—not for Nedwuts, but for something else. Something he'd never dreamed he would ever experience again.

   Somewhere on this jungle planet was another Zetithian.

   It was a trap set by the Nedwuts, Manx decided. It had to be. As determined as those hunters were, it was unlikely that there could be any of his kind left. He raised his head to inhale deeply and held it for a long moment, letting the pheromones sift through his senses until he was certain. Males. Two of them. Perhaps the Nedwuts had other captives and were using them as bait. Then he realized something else. The odor of Nedwuts was missing entirely.

   He had a choice to make. Should he continue onward, or circle back around to investigate the source of the scent? He had aimed toward the east when he left, enabling the prevailing winds to blow the Nedwut scent his way and to allow his own to pass on ahead of him. But what if the Nedwuts had somehow gotten upwind of him? He could be headed right into a trap.

   He did have one other option, and that was to remain where he was, but the scent was persistent and compel ling, and suddenly, it seemed he had no choice but to follow his nose.

***

The comlink shattered the silence, screeching its summons with a relentless clamor.

   "Dwell!" Drusilla called out from her easel. "Shut that thing off, will you?"

   "I think you should answer it," Dwell advised. "It is a deep space link, not Lester."

   "Ralph, then," she sighed. "He must have gotten those paintings. He's probably calling to yell at me."

   Getting up stiffly from her stool in front of yet another portrait of Manx, she went to the comstation and activated the link. "Hey, Ralph," she said. "What's the matter? Not enough birds for you?"

   "Drusilla, darling," Ralph began. "Who
is
this
dreamy
creature you've painted? I've never seen a more
virile male in my life!"

   "Getting you hot and bothered, is he?" Drusilla said, unable to suppress her first smile since Manx's disappearance.

   "Oh, absolutely!" Ralph replied. He peered at her through the viewscreen. "Could it be that you have found love at long last?"

   "More like
lost love," Drusilla said grimly. "It's
a long story. I'll tell you more when I get home."

   "You
are
coming back, aren't you?" Ralph said, sounding a bit worried. "When these paintings arrived without you, I began to have serious doubts. Not that I'd ever want to leave him myself, but—"

   "Don't worry, I'll be home just as we planned," Drusilla said. "He's—" Not wanting to hear herself say it aloud, she hesitated for a moment, biting her lip before adding, "Already gone."

   "Oh, my dear, dear girl!" Ralph said sadly. "How perfectly awful for you!"

   "Yes, it was," Drusilla replied. "But I'll get over it." She was lying through her teeth, of course, but refused to explain to Ralph that Manx would not only never be hers, but had also ruined her for anyone else. Ralph would continue to introduce her to men she would never love and life would go on as it had always done.

   "How are the other natives, then?" Ralph prompted. "Friendly?"

   Drusilla had to smile again, thinking of Zef. "They're all very nice," she said. "There were some disreputable sorts here briefly, but they're gone now." At least she hoped they were. She hadn't gone out since that last visit and had no desire to. Still, Zef would want news of Manx. Then it dawned on her. If Manx had left a message for her with
anyone before
he left, it would have been Zef.

   "Well, I don't have to tell you this," Ralph said candidly, "but the paintings are priceless—even the ones of the birds." This last comment was completely unnec essary; Drusilla knew a good painting when she saw one, and the wildfowl studies were nothing in comparison to those she'd done of Manx. "We're all just dying to have you back so we can have a showing at the gallery! Gerard is already experimenting with the lighting and the frames will cost an absolute
fortune
, but these will go for the highest prices of anything you've ever done." Ralph beamed at her warmly. "Well
done,
my dear! You've got several weeks left before you come home, and I'm sure anything you bring back with you will be equally fabulous—or feel free to ship them on ahead so we can drool over them," he added with a titter.

   "Yeah, I'll do that," Drusilla said, suddenly uninter ested in anything to do with gallery events or the mind less drivel of people with far more money than anyone needed. Manx, who had nothing but a few meager possessions, had meant so much more to her than any of the rich and famous she'd ever met. Terminating the link, she took one last, longing look at her most recent painting of Manx and headed out to the lake.

   The sky was a brilliant purple and the sparkling water looked just as it had on the day he left, but there weren't even any footprints in the sand to prove Manx had ever been there. Klog had gone on with his beach cleaning duties and it looked as pristine as ever. A flock of birds flew overhead, babbling to themselves like wild geese before settling in the treetops beyond the shore. As Drusilla gazed out across the lake, she was struck by a sudden fear that the old eltran might have died of starvation without Manx to feed him fish bones.

   Calling out for him, she tossed several stones into the depths and waited anxiously for Zef to surface. Several butterflies landed on her shoulders, but she ignored them completely.

   "About time you came out of your little love nest," Zef grumbled from further down the shore. "Where the devil is Manx? I haven't had any fish for days and days! He comes out here one morning, catches a few fish, and then goes off into the jungle. I should have known I wouldn't be seeing him again anytime soon—though after that last bit on the beach, I'm surprised I've seen him at all."

   "Yeah, well, me too," Drusilla said morosely, choosing to ignore the fact that Zef had obviously been spying.

   "D'you mean to say he didn't come back?" Zef said, apparently very much surprised. "I just thought he was off to catch more birds for you. Where d'you suppose he went?"

   Drusilla winced. So, Manx hadn't told Zef anything either. "I was hoping you knew," she said, plopping down in the sand. The startled butterflies fluttered briefly about her head before resuming their positions. "You were my last hope. Just wish I'd thought of it sooner." Peering at the eltran, she thought he looked the same, but he was so ragged it was hard to tell. "Are you okay—getting enough to eat, I mean?"

   "I eat the stinkin' plants when I can't get fish," Zef said gruffly. "I'm doing just fine—but you look like fuckin' shit."

   "Gee, thanks, Zef," Drusilla said with an involuntary giggle. "That makes me feel
so
much better."

   "So he's run off, has he?" Zef said. "Wouldn't have thought it of him. Seemed pretty well taken with you."

   "I don't think it had anything to do with me," she said quietly. "Some Nedwuts showed up the day he disappeared. I'm pretty sure they didn't catch him, but I haven't seen him since."

   Zef made an odd, grunting sound which Drusilla took to mean he understood. "Been in there moping all this time?"

   Drusilla shook her head and began drawing idly in the sand. "Painting, actually," she replied. "I can't seem to stop. Every time I think I can paint birds again, I wind up painting another portrait of Manx."

   "You should come out here to paint," Zef said kindly. "It might help."

   There were some stunning swan-like birds gliding across the water near the opposite shore, their iridescent feathers an eye-catching blend of chartreuse and lemon, but Drusilla barely took note of them, shrugging indifferently. "I don't really care anymore, Zef. It might run its course eventually, and then I'll be able to paint birds again, but even if it doesn't, Ralph assures me that I'll make enough money on Manx's portraits to last the rest of my life. But, like I said, it really doesn't matter."

   "Trust me, I know how you feel," Zef said. "It's the way I felt before I met Manx." Letting out a weary sigh, he added, "Don't suppose you're any good at fishing, are you?"

   "Never tried it," she replied. "I don't think I could spear them like Manx does—did—can." With that, Drusilla's tears began to fall. "Zef, I miss him so much! I—I know why he left, but couldn't he have taken me with him?"

   "Now, if he was in danger, he couldn't very well take you with him," Zef said reasonably. "You might get your self killed. Think how he would feel if that happened!"

   "I don't really care," Drusilla said frankly. "At least I would have been with him until the end."

   "Yes, but having you along might have gotten him killed," Zef pointed out. "Ever think of that?"

   Wiping away her tears, Drusilla shot Zef a with ering look. "How come you're so damned sensible?" she grumbled. "Of course I wouldn't want him to get killed, but Lester gave me a perfectly good pulse pistol. Couldn't he at least have taken it with him?"

   "Must've thought you needed it more," Zef said promptly.

   "You men!" Drusilla growled. "You're all the same. You think nothing of dying to protect women who would rather die themselves if it means living without you. You think the only real hero is a dead hero, and that's a bunch of bunk!"

   "Must not be the same with eltrans," Zef disagreed. "I don't think dying is very heroic. Damned silly if you ask me—but I know Manx, and that's probably exactly what he was thinking."

   Eyeing Zef curiously, Drusilla had to wonder if Zef knew more than he was telling her. "If you know so much, do you think he'll ever come back? I've still got a few weeks left here. That's plenty of time for him to decide it's safe and come back, but what if he shows up after I'm gone? Will you tell him where to find me?"

   Not answering right away, Zef scratched the sand with his worn pectoral fins. "Yes, I'd tell him," he said at last, though he sounded a bit grudging about it. "Where will you be?"

   "Earth," Drusilla replied sadly. "Too far away—no, wait. He could use the comlink in the house! It must be a darn good one if Ralph can call me here. I'll get the code and tell you before I leave." Gazing doubtfully at the old eltran, Drusilla was quite certain he could remember every curse word he'd ever heard, but a link number? Calling home from Barada must require a dozen different codes. "Think you could remember it?"

   "Might ought to write it down," Zef said. "Somewhere Manx would find it if he came back and I was gone."

   "Gone?" Drusilla echoed. "Where would you—"

   "If I was dead, I mean," Zef said gruffly. "I'm old. I won't live forever, you know."

   "Leaving the code wouldn't make any difference anyway," Drusilla sighed. "He's probably on another planet by now." Dropping her head, she added, "And I never even got to fool around in the hot tub with him—or feed him strawberry cheesecake. Rats!"