by E. C. Tubb
"Here!" She handed him a hypogun. "Neutralize while I put the Moira into a course away from Zabul."
"Heading toward the other ship," Dumarest added, as she stared at him. "And radio to let them know you have me safe. Arrange a rendezvous for the exchange."
"I thought you wanted to escape."
"That's the idea."
He lifted the hypogun as she left the salon and aimed it at his throat before pulling the trigger. Air blasted a charge of drugs into his bloodstream and he felt a momentary vertigo as his metabolism slowed back to normal. He was on his third cup of basic when Ysanne returned. He handed her one as she, suddenly, stood before him.
"Here! You must be hungry."
"I can go without food for a week at a time."
"So can anyone if they have to." Dumarest swallowed more of the liquid. It was loaded with protein, sickly with glucose, tart with added vitamins. A cup provided a spaceman with enough energy for a day. "Who is that in the control room?"
"Maynard. The second in command. He won't bother us." Ysanne lifted the hypogun in explanation. "I gave him a shot to put him out so we can talk. And I told Craig to stay where he is."
"The engineer?"
"That's right. Did you see his face?"
"No."
"It's burned," she said. "Pendance's work. A dose of acid when the generator went on the blink. If he weren't so good he'd be dead by now. Persuade me and he'll ride along."
"Persuade?"
"The money. The adventure. You think I'm doing this just because I like your face? You're valuable property, I know that, but just how damned valuable? And why? Did I tell you I was curious?"
More than curious and with a feline grace which emphasized the contours of her face, the dark glitter of her eyes. They were ebon pools which widened as he talked then narrowed with sudden speculation, calmed as she made her evaluation.
"You're mad," she said. "But it's the kind of craziness I go for. To hunt down a legend! Well, there are worse things."
"Like slaving?"
"That depends on which side you're on. Pendance made it pay."
"So you went along with it?"
"Sure. Why not? There are worse things."
"Not if you've ever worn a collar." Dumarest changed the subject, like the cat she seemed she was amoral. For her the concepts of good and evil did not exist. A fact he recognized but one overlaid by the necessity to win her cooperation. "Work," he said. "Ship after ship, world after world. After a dozen they all seem the same. I'm giving you a chance to break free."
"To find Earth," she said. "Crazy, but I like the idea. I told you that. Just put up the money and I'm with you." She sobered as he remained silent. "You've got the money? No? Then how the hell do you expect to get where you want to go?"
"In the Moira."
"And how do you expect to pay for fuel? Supplies? A crew?"
Dumarest said, "I'm valuable, you know that, and you know who is willing to pay. So I'm your insurance. Trust me a little and, if I don't deliver, then you collect from those who paid Pendance to get me." He added casually, "How far is the other ship?"
"Not far."
"You know who is in it?"
"A cyber. I heard him on the radio." She frowned as she considered his suggestion but he had narrowed her field of choice. To return now to Pendance would be to invite acid in the face. To sell Dumarest would be to lose the chance of an intriguing adventure. To do nothing would be to go against her restless nature. "You bastard," she said. "You cunning bastard. You tricked Pendance and stole his ship and now you want to use it for free. Well, why not?"
"A crew. We've got an engineer if you can talk Craig into it as you promised. Maynard might act as our captain but what about a navigator?"
"You've got one. Me. The finest in space." She smiled at his expression. "I mean that-or haven't you ever met a woman who's good at anything outside of a bed?"
"Words aren't deeds. How soon do we reach that other ship?"
"Why? What's the interest? We're not going to hit it."
"Wrong. That's just what I want to do." Dumarest forced himself to be patient as he explained. To emphasize the danger was to sow the seeds of potential panic, to minimize it would breed carelessness. "Pendance is back in Zabul. I tried to gain time so as to get clear but he'll want to radio the other ship. You got in first so they may suspect a trap or decide to play both sides. We are closest so it will be logical for them to keep the rendezvous and jump us as soon as they get the chance. We have to prevent them from doing that."
"Or?" She answered her own question. "They'll pick up Pendance and his men and come after us. With a faster ship and a full crew they'll trail and catch us for sure. When they do-" She broke off, thinking of the engineer and his ruined face. "What do you want to do, Earl?"
Smash the other ship from space, destroy the poison it contained, wipe the threat from the universe as he would rid his body of a venomous insect. Instead he had to compromise. To make do with what he had.
She nodded when he explained. "We'll need Maynard. I'll talk him into it while you take care of Craig. He'll help you get things ready if you handle him right. But hurry, man, we've got less than an hour!"
Craig was thick-set, stocky, a man who carried his brains in his hands and the marks of Pendance's anger on his face. The skin was blotched, oozing with sores, tissue stretched like thin red paper over the bone, a clownlike mask from which blue eyes gleamed beneath shaggy brows. His hair was rust-colored, short, bristling in angry spikes.
Looking around the hold he said, "That's about the best we can do, Earl. To gather more will take time we haven't got."
"You've done well, Jed."
"Maybe." Craig lifted a hand as if to rub his chin then, remembering, lowered it to his side. A thwarted gesture he felt he should explain. "It's the sores. Touching them makes it worse."
"They can be treated. The rest too."
"Sure." Craig looked at his hands. They were broad, scarred, the tips of his fingers spatulate. "I guess you wonder how I let them get away with it. Pendance, I mean and the acid. Did Ysanne tell you about it?"
"Briefly. Not the details."
"He was in a rage and when he's in that state he'll kill as soon as breathe. The generator-well, never mind that now. I'd done my best but it wasn't good enough and he threw the acid. I'd been cleaning a component and it was standing on the bench. Maybe he didn't know what was in the beaker."
"Maybe."
"Or maybe I'm just trying to fool myself. Is that what you think?"
"It's none of my business," said Dumarest. "We all do odd things at times-act the fool, the idiot, the amateur."
"The coward?"
"That too at times if there's no other choice. Or to seem to act that way to those with no right to judge. At times to be brave is to be dead. A smart man recognizes the situation, waits his chance then, when it comes, takes his revenge."
"Like now." Craig straightened his shoulders, his pride restored. "Maybe he'll remember what he did after we're through."
The captain and the cyber now waited in the ship ahead. Dumarest wondered if even now he was assessing the situation, extrapolating the probabilities and arriving at a prediction of what could happen. He hoped not; the chances were small enough without a trained and calculating mind making them less.
He looked at what had been gathered in the hold; the piles of scrap, the supplies left by the mercenaries, old tools, sections of metal cut and fashioned into jagged scraps. Items small enough to be handled and heavy enough to contain a respectable mass.
From a speaker Ysanne said, "We're getting close, Earl. You'd better get ready."
"Is everything under control?"
"Of course." Her voice held amusement and something else; an emotion close to euphoria, the intoxication of the senses now sharpened to a fine pitch. One he recognized. "Don't worry about this end, just concentrate on your own. I'll give you the timing."
To Craig Dumarest said, "We'll sui
t up now and loosen the hatches. Make certain your line is secure."
They both checked and then there was nothing to do but wait. Dumarest could hear the sound of the engineer's breathing in his speakers, a soft susurration which could have been static or the rustle of a woman's clothing. Ysanne? She was with Maynard and he wondered how she had gained the man's cooperation. With lies, he guessed, a tale acceptable to a drugged mind. With smiles and promises and the warm allure of her body. Such a woman would stop at nothing to get her own way.
"We're in contact," she said from the radio. "They want to talk to Pendance."
"Tell them we left him back in Zabul."
"Why?"
"We want to make a special deal. Use your imagination but don't lie unless you have to."
Lies would warn without need and the cyber would be wary as it was. He must know where Pendance was but would also be aware of the greed which drove men into strange paths.
"I don't think they're buying it, Earl."
"Be open. We'll come to a halt and they can check. What can they lose?" He added, "Don't be too polite. You have what they want and let them know it. How much longer?"
"Minutes now. Stand by."
"Stand by the hatches, Jed." Dumarest took up his position, conscious of the prickling of his back, the tension which always warned of danger. Automatically he checked his line, the instruments within his helmet, the position of the assembled debris. The enemy lay outside. "Ysanne?"
"Seconds now before we drop the field." A pause, then, "On three, Earl. One! Two! Three! Now!"
The hatches swung open beneath the engineer's hands, space filling the frame of the structure, the bulk of the other ship almost dead center. Good aiming and even better navigation but there was no time to assess the skills of the pilot and the girl.
"Now!" snapped Dumarest. "Now!"
He threw his weight against a heap of scraps and thrust them into the void. More followed, sacks which broke to spill their contents, containers tipped to spread their loads, all the items collected, the rubbish and pieces and unessential furnishings of the hold and workroom. The mass spread into space, carrying with it the momentum of the ship-which was aimed at the vessel lying dead ahead.
Surprise was their only asset. Given time the ship would move, run from the hail, find safety in its Erhaft field, but Dumarest had given them no time. The ship they were expecting had arrived, killed its field to coast to the rendezvous. The mass of debris was masked by its bulk, the scanners of the other vessel unable to isolate the fragments.
"Up!" snapped Dumarest. "Up and away!"
The picture framed in the open hatch changed as he was obeyed. Stars replacing the ship, the widening hail heading toward it. A rain which hit the vessel, tearing into the hull, perforating it, ruining the scanners and creating internal chaos.
"We did it!" yelled Craig. "By God, we did it!" He laughed as he closed the hatches, slipping, saved from falling into space by the line at his waist. Dumarest crossed to it and hauled the man to safety before sealing the hatches. "Ysanne!"
"I know, Jed." Her voice was as light as the engineer's. "A crazy scheme but it worked. That ship won't move in a hurry. Where to now?"
"Anywhere." Dumarest cracked his suit as the external pressure reached normal. "Just get moving. We can change course later."
Change it again and yet again in a random pattern to throw off pursuit. He would decide that later but, for now, the euphoria was enough, and was shared by Ysanne, as he could see when she came to join him in the salon.
"Earl!" She stood close before him. "By, God-Earl!"
She was like a gambler lost in the intoxication of success, exaggerated by the tensions which had preceded it, now blazing from every atom of her being. This was a feeling he knew and had seen too often-the reward of all who deliberately risked their lives and so played with the highest stake of all.
He felt her nearness, the warm exudations of her body, and felt himself respond to her need. The light caught the heavy braids of her hair, creating a small aura of haze touched with color. The oil which gave it added sheen carried a heavy, pungent scent.
"You bitch! You dirty, lying bitch!"
Maynard had entered the salon and now stood to one side of the door. His face was tense, his eyes rimmed with red, angry, bloodshot. The collar of his tunic was open and Dumarest could see the thick veins pulsing in his neck beneath the mottled skin. He had arisen from a drugged acquiescence to vent a killing rage.
"Don't move!" he said. "Just don't either of you move!"
The gun he carried was the one Ysanne had used and Dumarest knew the fan would cover the entire area of the salon where they stood. A device used by slavers to control their victims, burning with savage intensity even if it did not kill.
Dumarest said, "What's the matter? Why the gun?"
"Stay out of this. Move over to one side. Move, damn you!" The jerk of the gun emphasized the command. "Get away from her!"
"Do it, Earl." Then, as he obeyed, she said, "I had to do it, Evan. It was for the best."
"Your best or mine?" His hand shook with renewed anger. "Using me. Lying. Promising-and for what? You know who that ship carried? You know what the Cyclan do to those who work against them? We had a fortune in our hand and you threw it away. I ought to burn your eyes out."
"You wouldn't like me if you did." Her eyes were direct, her tone loaded with hidden meaning. "You're upset and you've a right to be annoyed, but if you'll just let me explain. There wasn't time before. Now, if you'd just listen we can straighten all this out." She stepped toward him, one hand extended. "Give me the gun and let's forget this nonsense."
Dumarest watched, admiring her calm, yet aware of the tension Maynard was under. Jealousy compounded with fear, the two creating a suicidal rage. Death would offer him an escape from his problems and, killing her, would insure his possession. Soon now he would act-if she took a few steps closer he would explode or collapse. Kill or cry.
Only then would he have a chance.
As Ysanne moved closer, talking as if to a child, Dumarest studied the man, the gun he held. It was a fan-beam, which meant the energy would be dispersed. The induction button gave no delay but his finger still had to touch it. A tiny movement compared to that he would have to take but if the woman was out of the field of fire it would ease the problem.
He said, "Drop, girl! Drop!"
"What?" Maynard turned toward him. "What's that you say?"
Ysanne tried to take advantage of this distraction. Her long legs moved, her hand reaching out for the gun, missing as Maynard jerked it back, lifting his free hand to send it slashing across her face. The blow sent her staggering back, to trip, to fall sprawling on the floor.
"You bastard! You-no, Earl! Earl!"
He had stooped, right knee lifting, hand rising weighted with his knife. Steel flashed as the knife spun across the salon when Maynard fired. One shot which died as metal touched his throat, drove deep into skin and fat and muscle, cutting the great arteries and the flow of blood to the brain.
"Earl!" Ysanne rose, ignoring the blood, the dead man on the floor. "He shot you!"
The heat had missed his face, his hands, burning instead a narrow swath across his tunic, searing the plastic and revealing the metal mesh buried within the material. This protection had absorbed the energy and saved him from injury.
"No harm," she said. "Thank God for that." Then, looking at the dead man, she added, "But what do we do now for a captain?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Every ship carried ghosts and a slaver more than most; whispers, sighs, cries of pain and grief, the slurry of restless movement. Vibrations caught and transmitted through the structure to fade and die in murmuring susurations. But, in the Moira, the ghosts Dumarest heard were things of silence.
The ship was too quiet. In the engine room Jed Craig tended the humming generators and in the control room watchful mechanisms studied the space through which they drove but here, in the cabin, he hear
d nothing but the small sounds created by the woman at his side.
She moved as he glanced at her, one hand lifting to touch his arm, her lips smiling as her fingers met his flesh. She was newly awake as he could tell from the altered tempo of her breathing yet remembered a recent passion which, slaked, had left them satiated.
A single point of light illuminated the cabin with a soft, pink glow and he remembered another room, another woman revealed in a similar illumination.
As if reading his mind Ysanne said, "Regrets, Earl?"
"No."
"Memories, then? Of someone you left behind in Zabul?" Her hand moved over his naked torso. "Someone who loved you?"
A question he left unanswered even as he wondered why he found it so hard to remember Althea's face. Copper hair and emerald eyes-familiar coloration, but she had lacked the raw energy which filled Ysanne. The same burning individuality which had made Kalin so precious.
"Earl?"
"Nothing." The past was dead and ghosts should be left in peace. Now, at this moment, only Ysanne was real. The woman and the ship and the dangers they faced.
"I was thinking," she said. "About you and Maynard. I thought you'd relied on luck to avoid getting hurt but now I know better. You planned the whole thing from the very beginning. Watched and waited and moved when the time was right. And, by God, how you moved! I've never seen anyone so fast."
"It's over. Forget it."
"Aren't you curious? About him and me?"
"No."
Her hand tensed on his chest then relaxed. In the light she looked wild, barbaric. An animal yet to be tamed, broken, fitted with a yoke. She had come to him with an unabashed directness and his response had matched her own.
"You're different," she mused. "From the very first moment we met I recognized that. We're two of a kind. What you want you take. What you need you go after. Like me. You can understand how it is; to see something and know you must have it. Must have it. Once, when I was very young, I saw a kalifox. It had fur which changed color in different lights and I wanted it. I wanted it so bad I hunted it for seven weeks. I chased it over the plains and into the hills and up into the snow and never gave it rest. I caught it in the end."