Star Hunter (13 page)

Hume made no comment. "That does it," he told his companion. "Still
want to go?"

"If you do—and you can't do it alone." No man could take on the
valley and Wass and his men.

Hume made no comment. They had rested briefly after their return to
the safari camp, and Vye had been supplied with clothing from Hume's
bags, so that now he wore the uniform of the Guild. He went armed,
too, with the equipment belt taken from Rovald and that other's
weapons, needler and tube. At least they started on their dubious
rescue mission with every aid the safari camp could muster.

It was mid-afternoon when the flitter took to the air once again,
scattering the hovering globes. There was no alteration in the ranks
of the blue watchers waiting—for the barrier to go down, or someone
in the camp to step beyond that protection?

"They're stupid," Vye said.

"Not stupid, just geared to one set of actions," Hume returned.

"Which could mean that what sends them here can't change its orders."

"Good guess. I'd say that they were governed by something akin to our
tapes. No provision made for any innovations."

"So the guiding intelligence could be long gone."

"I think it has been." Hume then changed the subject sharply.

"How did you get into service at the Starfall?"

It was hard now to think back to Nahuatl—as if the Vye Lansor who had
been swamper in that den of the port town was a different person
altogether. In that patch of memories into which Rynch Brodie still
intruded he hunted for the proper answer.

"I couldn't hold the state jobs. And once you get the habit of eating,
you don't starve willingly."

"Why not the state jobs?"

"Without premium they're all low-rung tenders' places. I tried hard
enough. But to sit pressing buttons when a light flashed, hour after
hour—" Vye shook his head. "They said I was too erratic and gave me
the shove. One more move on and it would have been compulsive
conditioning. I turned port-drift instead."

"Ever thought of trying for a loan premium?"

Vye laughed shortly. "Loan premium? That's a true fantasy if you've
been job hopping. None of the companies will take a chance on a man
with an in and out record. Oh, I tried...." That memory arose to the
surface, clear and very chilling. Yes, he had tried to break out of
the net the law and custom had put around him from the day he had
been made a state child. "No—it was conditioning, or port-drift."

"And you chose port-drift?"

"I was still me—as long as I stayed away from conditioning."

"Then you became Rynch Brodie in spite of your flight."

"No—well, maybe, for a while. But I'm still Vye Lansor here."

"Yes, here. And I don't think you'll have to worry about raising a
premium to get a new start. You can claim victim compensation, you
know."

Vye was silent, but Hume did not let him remain so.

"When the Patrol arrives, you put in your claim. I'll back you."

"You can't."

"That's where you're mistaken," Hume told him crisply. "I've already
taped a full story back at the spacer—it's on record now."

Vye frowned. The Hunter seemed determined to ask for the worst the
Patrol—or the planet police back on Nahuatl—could deal out. A case
of illegal conditioning was about as serious as you could get.

They shot along the diagonal of the triangle made by three points, the
mountain valley, Wass' camp, and the safari headquarters, heading to
the slopes up which the men must be herded if the beasts were
shepherding them to the mountain valley. Vye, surveying the forest
thick below, began to doubt they would ever be able to pick them up
before they reached the valley gate.

Hume took a weaving course, zigzagging back and forth, while they both
watched intently for a glint from one of the globes, any movement
which would betray that trail. And it was on one of the upper slopes
that the flitter passed over two of the blue beasts lumbering along.
Neither of the creatures paid any attention to the flyer, they moved
with purpose on some mission of their own.

"Maybe the tail end of the hunting pack," Hume commented.

He sent the flyer hovering over a stunted line of trees and brush.
Beyond that was bare rock. But though they hung for moments, nothing
moved into that open.

"Wrong scent somehow." Hume brought the flitter around. He had it on
manual control now, keeping it answering to the quick changes of his
will.

A longer sweep supplied the answer—a vegetation roofed slit running
back into the uplands, in a way resembling the crevice through which
they had originally found their way into this country. Hume brought
the flyer along that. But if the men they sought were pushing their
way through below they could not be sighted from the air. At last,
with evening drawing in, Hume was forced to admit failure.

"Wait by the gap?" Vye asked.

"Have to now." Hume glanced about. "I'd say maybe
tomorrow—mid-morning before they make it that far—
if
they are
here. We'll have plenty of time."

Time for what? To make ready for a pitched battle with Wass—or with
the beasts herding him? To try in the space of hours to solve the
mystery of the lake?

"Do you think we could blast that thing in the lake?" Vye asked.

"We might be able to, just might. But that must be the last resort. We
want that in working order for the X-Tee men to study. No, we'd better
plan to hold Wass at the gate, wait for the Patrol to come in."

Less than an hour later after a soaring approach, Hume brought the
flitter down with neat skill on the top of one of the cliffs which
helped to form the portal of the gap. There was no difference in the
scene below, save that where the two bodies of the blue beasts had
lain there were now only clean and shining bones.

Darkness spread out from the lake woods like a growing stain of evil
promise as the sun fell behind the peaks. Night came earlier here than
in the plains.

"Watch!" Vye had been gazing down the gap; he was the first to note
that movement in the cloaking bush.

Out of the cover trotted a four-footed, antlered animal he had not
seen before.

"Syken deer," Hume identified. "But why in the mountains? It's a long
way from its home range."

The deer did not pause, but headed directly for the gap and, as it
neared, Vye saw that its brown coat was roughed with patches of white
froth, while more dripped from the pale pink tongue protruding from
its open jaws, and its shrunken sides heaved.

"Driven!" Hume picked up a stone, hurled it to strike the ground ahead
of the deer.

The creature did not start, nor show any sign of seeing the rock fall.
It trotted on at the same wearied pace, passed the portal rocks into
the valley. Then it stood still, wedge-shaped head up, black horns
displayed, while the nose flaps expanded, testing the air, until it
bounded toward the lake, disappearing in the woods.

Though they shared watches during the night there were no other signs
of life, nor did the deer reappear from the woods. With the
mid-morning there was a sudden sound to warn them—a wild cry which
must have come from a human throat. Hume tossed one of the needlers to
Vye, took the other, and they scrambled down to the floor of the gap
passage.

Wass did not lead his men, he came behind the reeling trio as if he
had joined the blasts as driver. And while his men wavered, staggered,
gave the appearance of nearly complete exhaustion, he still walked
with a steady tread, in command of his wits, his fears, and the
company.

As the first of the men blundered on, a fresh trickle of red running
down his bruised face, Hume called:

"Wass!"

The Veep stopped short. He made no move to unsling the needler he
carried, its barrel pointing skyward over his shoulder, but his round
head with its upstanding comb of hair swung slightly from side to
side.

"Stop—Wass—this is a trap!"

His three men kept on. Vye moved, for Peake leading that wavering
group, stumbled, would have fallen had not the younger man advanced
from the shadows to steady him.

"Vye!" Hume made his name a warning.

He had only time to glance around. Wass, his broad face impassive
except for the eyes—those burning madman's eyes—was aiming a ray
tube.

Broken free of his hold, Peake fell to the right, came up against
Hume. As Vye went down he saw Wass dart forward at a speed he wouldn't
have believed a driven man could summon. The Veep lunged, escaping the
shot the Hunter had no time to aim, rolled, and came up with the
needler Vye had dropped.

Then Hume, hampered by Peake's feeble clawing, met head on the
swinging barrel of that weapon. He gave a startled grunt and smashed
back against the cliff, a wave of scarlet blood streaming down the
side of his head.

The momentum of Wass' charge carried him on. He collided with his men,
and the last thing Vye saw, was the huddle of all four of them,
flailing arms and legs, spinning on through the gate into the valley
with Wass' hoarse, wordless shouting, bringing echoes from the cliffs.

He lay against a rock, and it was quiet again, except for a small
whimpering sound which hurt, joined with the eating pain in his side.
Vye turned his head, smelled burned cloth and flesh. Cautiously he
tried to move, bring his hand across his body to the belt at his
waist. One small part of his mind was very clear—if he could get his
fingers to the packet there, and the contents of that packet to his
mouth, the pain would go away, and maybe he could slip back into the
darkness again.

Somehow he did it, pulled the packet out of its container pouch,
worked the fingers of his one usable hand until he shredded open the
end of the covering. The tablets inside, spilled out. But he had three
or four of them in his grasp. Laboriously he brought his hand up,
mouthed them all together, chewing their bitterness, swallowing them
as best he could without water.

Water—the lake! For a moment he was back in time, feeling for the
water bulbs he should be carrying. Then the incautious movement of his
questing fingers brought a sudden stab of raw, red agony and he
moaned.

The tablets worked. But he did not slide back into unconsciousness
again as the throbbing torture became something remote and
untroubling. With his good arm he braced himself against the cliff,
managed to sit up.

Sun flashed on the metal barrel of a needler which lay in the trampled
dust between him and another figure, still very still, with a pool of
blood about the head. Vye waited for a steadying breath or two, then
started the infinitely long journey of several feet which separated
him from Hume.

He was panting heavily when he crawled close enough to touch the
Hunter. Hume's face, cheek down in the now sodden dust, was dabbled
with congealing blood. As Vye turned the hunter's head, it rolled
limply. The other side was a mass of blood and dust, too thick to
afford Vye any idea of how serious a hurt Hume had taken. But he was
still alive.

With his good hand Vye thrust his numb and useless left one into the
front of his belt. Then, awkwardly he tried to tend Hume. After a
close inspection he thought that the mass of blood had come from a
ragged tear in the scalp above the temple and the bone beneath had
escaped damage. From Hume's own first-aid pack he crushed tablets into
the other's slack mouth, hoping they would dissolve if the Hunter
could not swallow. Then he relaxed against the cliff to wait—for what
he could not have said.

Wass' party had gone on into the valley. When Vye turned his head to
look down the slope he could see nothing of them. They must have tried
to push on to the lake. The flitter was at the top of the cliff, as
far out of his reach now as if it were in planetary orbit. There was
only the hope that a rescue party from the safari camp might come.
Hume had set the directional beam on the flyer, when he had brought
her down, to serve as a beacon for the Patrol, if and when Starns was
lucky enough to contact a cruiser.

"Hmmm...." Hume's mouth moved, cracked the drying bloody mask on his
lips and chin. His eyes blinked open and he lay staring up at the sky.

"Hume—" Vye was startled at the sound of his own voice, so thready
and weak, and by the fact that he found it difficult to speak at all.

The other's head turned; now the eyes were on him and there was a
spark of awareness in them.

"Wass?" The whisper was as strained as his own had been.

"In there." Vye's hand lifted from Hume's chest indicating the
valley.

"Not good." Hume blinked again. "How bad?" His attention was not for
his own hurt; his eyes searched Vye. And the latter glanced down at
his side.

By some chance, perhaps because of his struggle with Peake, Wass' beam
had not struck true, the main core of the bolt passing between his arm
and his side, burning both. How deeply he could not tell, in fact he
did not want to find out. It was enough that the tablets had banished
the pain now.

"Seared a little," he said. "You've a bad cut on your head."

Hume frowned. "Can we make the flitter?"

Vye moved, then relaxed quickly into his former position. "Not now,"
he evaded, knowing that neither of them would be able to take that
climb.

"Beam on?" Hume repeated Vye's thoughts of moments before. "Patrol
coming?"

Yes, eventually the Patrol would come—but when? Hours—days? Time was
their enemy now. He did not have to say any of that, they both knew.

"Needler—" Hume's head had turned in the other direction; now his
hand pointed waveringly to the weapon in the dust.

"They won't be back," Vye stated the obvious. Those others had been
caught in the trap, the odds on their return without aid were very
high.

"Needler!" Hume repeated more firmly, and tried to sit up, falling
back with a sharp intake of breath.