The Complete Dumarest, page 158
The fruit was round, the size of a clenched hand, the rind easily peeled from the juicy pulp beneath. Dumarest lifted his mask and buried his teeth in the flesh. It held a cool, refreshing tang, tart and yet sweet, devoid of seeds.
He said, “How do the plants propagate?”
“By cuttings. They are all from one original hybrid. Even so, the blooms still need pollinating.” Taykor lifted his hand and rested it on one of the swollen pods. “See?”
As he rapped it, the pod opened in a gush of golden grains, tiny motes rising, to drift high into the air, a smoke-like cloud which hung over the guide as if a mist.
Dumarest snapped, “Be careful!”
“Why?” Taykor frowned. “They’re harmless, Earl. The dust is only pollen. It might sting your eyes if you stood too close, and maybe make you sneeze, but that’s all.” He reached out to gather more fruit. “You’d better let the men eat while they have the chance. From now on the going gets rough.”
Eat and recharge the air tanks and get ready for the next stage of the journey. Dumarest moved softly around the camp, watching the shadows beneath the plants to either side. He saw nothing, but that meant little. Their progress had been not as silent as he wished; a stray Ayutha could have spotted them, be even now keeping watch. But if so, there was nothing he could do.
Two hours later they saw the skull.
It was the fleshless head of some beast mounted on a short stick, facing them with fanged jaws. Ven Taykor looked at it, hand rising to his mask in conditioned reflex as he tried to scratch his jaw.
“Well, now,” he said. “This is something new. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Dumarest looked to either side. The lofios had given way to scrub, matted vegetation covering torn ground. A few of the plants stood in sheltered places, thin and with dulled leaves, ragged beneath the sun, their roots driving deep for the specialized minerals they required. Spined vines pressed against them, yellow flowers bright among the thorns, red berries hanging in clusters beneath orange leaves.
He looked again at the skull. It was old, the bone yellowed, fretted, patches of lichen clinging to the underside of the jaw like scales of dried blood.
A warning. It could be nothing else. Stop! Come no farther! Go back—or else!
To Ven Taykor he said, “How much longer before we reach the settlement?”
“A few hours.” The guide was uneasy. “That’s if they let us get anywhere near it. If they want to stop us, it would be easy. The ground ahead is full of crevasses—a perfect spot for an ambush.”
“Can we bypass it?”
“I’m not sure.” Taykor scratched at his mask. “One man could do it easy, but not if he’s a target. A file of men would be conspicuous every step of the way. If you want my advice, Earl, you’ll call it a day. Radio up a raft and get out of here.”
“I won’t do that.”
“No,” said Taykor. “I didn’t think you would. But if the Ayutha are gunning for us, you’ll wish you had.” He glanced up at the sky, where tiny motes drifted, almost lost in the distance. Watching rafts containing enough power to wash the area with destruction. “Maybe you should bring them in close—just in case.”
“No. Is there any sign of peace the Ayutha recognize? If a stranger comes up to others, what does he do?” He said sharply, as Taykor hesitated, “What did you do when meeting them? Hold out your hands? What?”
“I didn’t do anything special. Just walked in slow and quiet and normal. They didn’t bother me, and I didn’t bother them. They didn’t used to be warlike then, remember. Things have changed.” Taykor shook his head, baffled. “I just don’t know, Earl. From here on, anything can happen.”
A quiet, primitive people suddenly turning to violence, old customs revived, perhaps, memories of other days when life had been hard and only the strong could hope to survive. How would such a people react to the presence of armed men? He could guess, but the chance had to be taken.
“Take the lead,” he said to the guide. “Walk with your hands empty and in full view. If you see anyone watching, do nothing. Captain!” Dumarest turned to Conn. “Single file, rifles slung, hands exposed. You understand?”
The captain was a tough farmer who had lost his family during the first attack. Scowling, he said, “I don’t like it, marshal. You’re turning us into sitting targets. If the Ayutha attack, we’ll all be wiped out.”
“You heard my orders, captain!”
For a moment the man hesitated, on the brink of disobedience; then he shrugged. “Yes, sir, but God help you if you’ve made a mistake.”
“A threat, captain?” Dumarest didn’t pursue the matter. “Never mind. Have the men maintain constant observation. One to look ahead, the two behind him to left and right alternately. Anything seen to be reported immediately. Right, Taykor? On your way!”
The gully narrowed, widened into a shallow valley, the walls lifting, to close again as they climbed upward. The vegetation grew thicker, thorns tearing at clothing, rubble underfoot making progress difficult. Aside from the rasp of boots and the sound of harsh breathing, there was no sound. The column seemed to be moving into an infinity of emptiness, nothing but the hot sun above, the encroaching scrub, the rocks beneath. An hour later they found a second skull, human this time, and the men skirted it, eyes wary, hands gripping their slung rifles. A crest rose, gave way to a narrow declivity, the ground rising beyond to a steeper gradient.
They found a hut, deserted, a small garden unkempt, plants choked with weeds. Another that had been burned, gray ash thick on the stone. Two more, roofs sagging, doors open, to reveal naked interiors. The embers of a fire over which stood a tripod of thin metal struts. Dumarest touched them, felt the dead ashes and found them warm. Word of their coming had preceded them; whoever had lived here had taken their possessions and run.
A man said sharply, “Over there! See?”
His rifle lifted, aiming. Dumarest reached him and slammed down the weapon. “No firing! You heard my order!”
“I was just—”
“You don’t need a gun to point! What did you see?”
“Something over on that ridge. It’s watching us. There!”
Dumarest followed the pointing hand and saw nothing but a tree, stunted, branches like arms, a patch of lighter coloring that, to a nervous man, could have looked like a face.
“There’s nothing there. Don’t be so quick with that gun the next time. Lieutenant!”
“Sir?”
“Any further reports on movement within this area?”
There were three. Heat-radiating masses, which could have been men, moving invisibly in the vegetation, coming from the north and east.
“We could have rafts track them, sir,” suggested the officer. “So that if they start anything they wouldn’t have the chance to get away.”
“If you were of the Ayutha and saw rafts heading in, what would you think? That we were bait to set a trap, maybe?” Dumarest shrugged. “We’re here to contact them, not kill them.” To the guide he said, “All right, Ven, lead on.”
An hour later they were attacked.
It happened as the guide topped a rise, standing for a moment silhouetted against the sky, passing on into the valley beyond. Captain Conn followed him, his rifle, despite orders, clenched in his hands. Dumarest saw him pause, the gun lifting, aiming, firing as he shouted.
“Captain! No!”
The flat report of the shot rolled from the flanking hills, repeated as the captain fired again. Ven Taykor appeared, running back over the rise, hands lifted, face contorted behind his mask.
“Earl! We’re surrounded! That crazy fool—”?
Captain Conn dissolved into a pillar of flame.
It happened almost too fast to see. One moment he was standing firing; the next, something had touched him and turned him into a living torch, Dumarest snatched at his rifle, lifted it, fired, sending a bullet into the shrieking mass. As the captain fell in merciful death, he yelled, “Scatter! Down! Stay under cover! No firing!”
He caught the guide as he passed and threw him down as something cut the air with a vicious hiss. Together they rolled to the side of the boulder, crouching as more arrows splintered against the stone. To one side a man rose, firing, turning, to fall with a shaft of wood penetrating his chest. Shots blasted, hysterical fingers jammed against triggers, firing at the air, the trees, the rocks all around. More flame burst around them, ugly patches edged with smoke, filling the air with tiny motes of swirling soot.
“Flame bombs,” gasped Taykor. “They’ll burn us alive!”
Ten yards behind, broken stone formed a rough circle, slabs and fissures giving protection. Dumarest sprang to his feet and raced toward it, shouting orders over the din.
“Retreat! Form defensive positions. Stop firing. Stop firing, damn you!”
A man snarled as he tumbled over the rocks. “You killed the captain. One of your own men. Whose damn side are you on?”
“Would you have left him to roast?” Taykor tried to spit, remembered his mask, tore it free with a savage gesture. “The fool started all this. If he hadn’t fired, we could have made contact. They were waiting for us.”
“He still killed the captain.”
There had been nothing else to do. Conn had been seared, blinded, already dying; it had been an act of mercy to save him further agony. Dumarest glanced around the crude fort. The stone gave protection only while they hugged the rocks; once they left it, they would be exposed to hidden snipers. Behind them, three men lay where they had fallen. As he watched, another gulped, threw up his hands, and fell backward, a hole between his eyes, blood gushing from the back of his shattered skull.
“They’ve got us,” said Taykor grimly. “All they have to do is wait. Once we start to move, we’ll be helpless.” He lifted his head, squinting. “They must have been following us all along. They’re out there now, hidden, waiting until we show ourselves.”
Lieutenant Paran came crawling toward where they crouched. His face was taut, strained, his eyes a little wild.
“The rafts,” he said. “Let me call them in.”
Dumarest was cold. “To do what?”
“Burn the area. Send those devils running so they can land and take us aloft.”
“Abort the mission, you mean? Lieutenant, we came here to do a job. We’ll leave when it’s done or when I decide that it is impossible to do. Report on the casualties.”
The snap of his tone restored military obedience. The officer blinked, then said flatly, “Five dead, sir, including the captain. Four injured, two seriously.”
It could have been a lot worse, and Dumarest wondered why it hadn’t been. A disciplined force could have almost eliminated them at the first attack, but arrows had been used, not the rifles they must possess, flame bombs instead of the lasers they must have captured.
He said, “Thank you, lieutenant Tell the men to hold their fire. Have some take care of the wounded—all to remain alert and under cover.”
“He’s young,” said Taykor as he inched away. “But he’ll learn—maybe.”
Dumarest ignored the implication. “Those Ayutha you saw waiting for us. Were they in plain sight?”
“A score of them at least!”
“Armed?”
“I didn’t see any weapons, but I didn’t have much time to look.” Taykor raised his mask and spat. “That damned fool cut loose too soon. I guess he was thinking of his family, but he should have waited. They must have had men watching from under cover.”
“Never mind that.” Dumarest had no patience for listening to the obvious. “The Ayutha were in plain sight, you say. No weapons visible that you could see. That means they were ready to meet us.” He frowned. Conn was dead, the damage done. The problem now was to lessen the danger of the situation.
He raised his head over the edge of the rock and looked around. The trail they had followed was deserted aside from the bodies they had left. The ridge ahead was naked against the sky, but the flame bombs must have been fired from launchers, and they could bathe the ring of stone with fire at any moment He wondered why it hadn’t already been done.
“Lieutenant, you have a spare communicator. Let me have it.”
As he handed it over, the officer said, “What do you intend to do, sir?”
“The only thing there is to do. The thing we came here for.” Dumarest rose, standing clear against the sky. “I’m going to talk to the Ayutha.”
Chapter Eleven
It was like walking through a nest of sleeping, venomous serpents, knowing that the slightest touch, the smallest noise, would waken them and cost him his life. Above, the sun beat down with eye-stinging brilliance, the vegetation seeming to rustle from the impact of invisible shapes. Dumarest moved steadily from the circle of stone, the communicator at his belt, both hands raised and empty, in the universal sign of peace.
An arrow splintered on the ground five feet to his left. He ignored it, moving steadily toward the ridge. Another shattered on the rocks to his right, a third stood quivering in the ground directly ahead. A warning not to proceed? A test to see if he would break and run for cover while behind him the men opened fire? Or perhaps it was a simple means to determine his courage; primitive peoples had their own ways of arriving at a decision.
The body of Captain Corm lay a crusted mass of charred flesh. He had thrown away his rifle when the missile hit, and it lay to one side against a bush clear in the sunlight. A tempting object for an unarmed man surrounded by enemies, but Dumarest made no move toward it. To touch it would be to abort his mission, to invite the flame bombs that must be aimed at him to leave their launchers. And there was no one close to give him a merciful death should they strike.
He reached the top of the ridge, halted, hands lifted as he called down to where the Ayutha had been waiting.
“I come in peace. I am Earl Dumarest, marshal of Chard. I come to talk.”
Nothing. Not a leaf stirred, no shape appeared, and yet he sensed the presence of watching eyes.
“I come in peace,” he said again. “I am alone, unarmed, as you can see. If you wish to kill me, do it now.”
On the ridge he had a slender chance of being able to duck, to turn and run back to the circle of stones, the waiting, armed men. A thin chance, but below the crest of the ridge he would have none at all. For a long moment he waited, and then, deliberately, strode on down the slope.
The Ayutha were waiting.
They appeared like silent ghosts, rising from the ground, bushes moving to become men, figures stepping from behind sheltering rocks. Dumarest halted, studying them. They were human, and yet each carried a subtle distortion of a familiar shape. Tall, their shoulders were a little too narrow, the heads elongated, the arms longer than he would have expected, the chests pronounced, as if the lungs within had a greater capacity than his own. The faces, too, carried an alien stamp. The lips were wide, down-curved, the noses beaked, the eyes buried under a ridge of prominent bone. Their hair was long, silver among the black, the tresses braided with colored fibers. They wore pants and an open tunic, sandals, wide belts hung with pouches. All carried weapons—slings, bows, clubs, spears, rifles, and a few lasers. He could see no signs of missile launchers or other more sophisticated devices, and was glad of it. They would be there, but only fools would display their full strength to an enemy they intended to leave alive.
Dumarest said loudly, “I have come to talk and all can hear what I have to say. But is there one among you who can talk for the rest?”
A voice said, “Why did you come among us?”
“I have told you.” Dumarest turned, looking at the speaker. He was old, his face seamed with tiny lines, hair bright with silver. An elder, possibly, or a wise man, a councilor perhaps—he knew too little about their social structure. “I came to meet you. To talk.”
“Yet, when we waited for you, death came to two of our number.”
“Against my order.”
“Do your men not obey you?”
“Do yours?” Dumarest looked at the men pressing all around. “If one of your people does what he should not do, what then? Is he made to leave your company? Is punishment taken? Does he face the penalty of your law?” Words, he thought, and perhaps words without meaning to those who listened. They could have a different code, mores other than what he knew, customs that did not recognize the duties more civilized men placed upon themselves. He said, “The man killed against my order. Because of that, I killed him in turn.”
A voice in the background said, “That is true. I saw it done.”
“The one responsible was dying.” Another voice, doubtful.
“Even so, he was slain.”
A babble arose, soft voices whispering, as if a wind had passed over the assembly, stilling as the elder raised his hand.
“Why did the man fire? What had we done to harm him?”
“His family died in an outbreak of violence. He blamed you. Among my people the desire for revenge is very strong.”
“And would killing us restore his family?”
“No.”
“Did he know that?”
“He knew it.”
“Then why did he seek to kill?”
“Because he was a man,” said Dumarest harshly. “A man suffering pain and hurt from his loss and wanting to give to those he thought responsible the same pain and hurt he had known. You have worked among us, you know how we are. And you too have killed. What drove you to take innocent lives?”
“Innocent?” The elder made a gesture, one hand lifting, fingers extended, thumb pointed downward. “They came against us with fire and steel and killed without warning. And you, you came to talk, you say. Do you need guns to make conversation?”
“For defense… and I have no gun.”
Again the babble rose, men speaking, not raising their voices, arriving at a conclusion by a means Dumarest could guess at but not really know. Telepathy, perhaps, vocalized thoughts resolving, meeting, transmitted to their spokesman. As it died the man said, “According to the habits of your people, you display great courage. Why are you here?”
