Catseye (20 page)

“The chase will be up again,” Rerne warned. “You have no chance with the Clans out to quarter the field. Better surrender and let the law decide.”

“The law?” Troy laughed harshly. “Which law, Hunter—Clan right, patrollers' code, or Zul's extermination policy? I know we are fair game. No, give me your promise that we can have a start of at least half a day.”

“That is freely yours, for what you can make of it, which I am afraid will be very little.”

“We shall take our chances.” Troy applied heat to the other's remaining bonds.

“Always
we
. Why, Horan?” Rerne rubbed his wrists.

“Men have used animals as tools,” Troy said slowly, trying to fit into words something he did not wholly understand himself. “Now some men, somewhere, have made better tools, tools so good they can turn and cut the maker. But that is not the fault of the tools—that they are no longer tools but—”

“Perhaps companions?” Rerne ended for him, his fingers still stroking his ridged flesh, but his eyes very intent on Troy.

“How did you know?” the younger man was startled into demanding.

“Let me say that I am also a workman who can admire fine tools, even when they have ceased, as you point out, to be any longer tools.”

Troy grasped at that hint of sympathy. “You understand—”

“Only too well. Most of our breed want tools, not companions. And the age-old fear of man, that he will lose his supremacy, will bring all the hawks and hunters of the galaxy down on your trail, Horan. Do not expect any aid from your own species when it is threatened by powers it cannot and does not want to understand. But you will have your truce—and your head start—and what you do with them is up to you. Now, let us see what we can do about getting a clear road out of here before what prowls over there takes a fancy to come out.” Rerne waved a hand toward the jungle.

He slipped a small object from a loop on his belt. On its surface was a tiny dial he set with care, holding it into the beam of an atom torch. Then he smiled at Troy.

“Broadcaster. It is beamed for a ranger call, and I have alternated that with a warning code, so they will not head blindly into any ambush of Zul's. He may have another man with him, possibly two. We know that he went to the Guild in Tikil before he coasted in here. I think he hired blaster men.”

“Then he must have robbed Kyger's. He would not have credits enough on his own to pay blaster man prices to the Thieves' Guild.”

“Did you ever think that perhaps Kyger was not the top man of his organization on Korwar?” returned Rerne. “If he was not, then it is up to that head to close down the whole enterprise as quickly and with as little fuss as possible. You have already been posted in Tikil as a murderer who has Stolen valuable animals. Someone issued that complaint.”

“I thought that would happen.” Troy governed his dismay speedily. Posted as a murderer! Which meant that even the city patrollers could shoot first and ask troublesome questions after. Only this was the Wild, not Tikil, and he thought he had an advantage over that set of trackers here.

“You say that you did not kill him?”

“I found him dead.” Swiftly Troy outlined the events before his escape from the shop and from Tikil that night.

“That account I can readily believe. Kyger had some odd acquaintances and had stepped hard on the wrong toes,” Rerne commented obscurely, “apart from these other activities. And do you realize that I can supply you with an alibi? At the time Kyger died you were with Rogarkil and me.”

“Did you say that to the patrollers?” Troy's throat felt tight. If that was the truth, why had Rerne not cleared him?

“Not so far—”

“You wanted a bargaining point to use with me?” Troy demanded. That seesaw of belief, then suspicion, within him swung once more to the chilling side.

“Perhaps.”

“I am not interested. I will take what I have.” Troy was cooling rapidly. He was sure Rerne would keep his word to the strict letter of his promise. But why the ranger had revealed this other matter—that he could clear Troy with the law of the city but had not done so—remained a mystery. It smelled of the desire to push Horan into some pattern of Clan devising, just as he and the other had obliquely suggested at that cafe meeting. And having tasted freedom, Troy was not minded to walk again another's road.

“As you wish.” Rerne neither urged nor explained. He raised the miniature com unit to his ear, listened for a moment, and then nodded.

“They are coming, have laid down a haze ahead—as far as the levels. Should not be long before that reaches Zul.”

So the rangers were using that most up-to-date subduing weapon—and one Zul, Troy was certain, was not armored against.

“Will they arrest Zul?”

Rerne glanced at him. “Is that what you wish?”

“Why not?”

“There is no reason to believe that Zul is top man. He was wholly Kyger's subordinate, not the other way around. Zul, left free, could lead someone to his employer.”

“If that trailer had time—and the inclination,” snapped Troy. “Just at present I have more important things—” He paused. Rerne was right in a way. To trace Zul's contacts to their sources. If it were not for the animals, he would like to do just that. But he must make the best use of his truce, and he could not waste time on Zul. “Your move, if you wish,” he suggested.

Rerne was holding the broadcaster to his ear again. “Our move is up.” He gestured to the ramp.

“Zul?”

“No sign of him. But there is a Guildsman sleeping sweetly at the second level. They have collected him for the patrollers. Let Zul believe that he has made a safe escape in his hiding place. He will sleep off the haze and he can be watched later.”

So Rerne was going to investigate Zul? Though what he would make of more exact knowledge, except to use it as a lever for some Clan dispute with the authorities in Tikil, Troy did not see. He gathered up Sahiba, motioned Rerne to precede them.

“I have a blaster. You have granted me a truce. Maybe some of the rest up there will not be so generous.”

Rerne smiled. “It pays to be cautious. But I think you will find I speak for the rangers. Up it is.”

To Troy the climb was as long and exhausting as had been the descent of the winding way in the well. There was no one waiting at the first level of corridors. On and up, Simba and Sargon forging a little ahead, a twin pair of scouts Troy was sure no human being could equal. Shang was on his shoulder, Sheba beside him. None of the animals paid any attention to Rerne outwardly, but Troy knew they kept an expert watch on the ranger.

They passed the second level. Ahead lay the open. Troy pushed his weary brain to plan action beyond that point. He could not hope that he would have any chance at mechanical transport; his bargain did not reach that far. But the barrier about Ruhkarv must have been lowered to let the searchers in, so they could leave this scar on foot. Tired as he was, without supplies, he did not see how they would be able to cover much ground. But even if they could reach the fringe of forest lands, the animals could escape. Then he would take his chances with the men.

“Men waiting,” Simba warned.

Well, that was to be expected—Rerne's men.

“Not enemies,” Troy replied.

“We have you covered! Drop your blaster!”

Troy spun halfway around as he caught a glimpse of a uniformed shoulder, a hand holding a blaster. His arm, still stiff from the cut, went up and his fingers gripped Rerne, pulling the other to him as a shield. He heard a gasp from the ranger and an exclamation of anger.

“So this is the worth of a Clansman's word!” Troy spat. “Would your knife oath have held any better?” Then he raised his voice to reach the others. “We go out—this Hunter lord with us. Any attempted burn-down and he roasts too!”

Rerne offered no resistance as Troy propelled him ahead into the open. There was a muttering behind but no bolt to shatter the gloom.

SIXTEEN

Rerne was oddly silent; he had made no reply to Troy's accusation. That bothered the younger man; he wanted an explanation, to know that the other had not purposely led him into a trap. Now that he had a moment to think, he believed that scrap of uniform so briefly glimpsed had not been ranger dress.

“Men here—” Again that alert from the animals.

Troy, holding the unresisting Rerne to him, stood—back to the dome wall—surveying the scene. He could see those others waiting—and they were unmistakably rangers, the hunting dress blending into the earth color of the ruins. A little beyond was what he had not dared to hope for—a flitter!

“Tell your men,” he said harshly to his prisoner, “to stand away from the flitter—now!”

“Leave the flitter,” Rerne repeated obediently, his voice as toneless as that of a com robot. His features were set and hard, and Troy soused his rage.

The rangers moved. When they were well away from the flyer, Troy began a crablike journey in its direction, keeping Rerne between him and the Clan men, knowing the animals were well ahead of him. Then he was at his goal, his hand on the cabin door.

His anger and fear driving him, Troy swung the blaster, laid the barrel against Rerne's head. The Hunter gasped, his knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground. Troy scrambled into the flyer, knocked down the rise lever. They climbed in a jump, which shook him across the control board and made Sahiba yowl in protest as she was scraped against that obstruction. But they were safe for the moment; he was sure the zoom had lifted them out of range of blaster fire. Free and in a flitter.

He twirled the journey dial to the east, knowing that the flyer, without any tending from him, would keep straight for the heart of the Wild. They would be after him surely. But unless they had another flitter at Ruhkarv, there would be precious time lost until they could summon one, and time was all he dared hope to gain now.

Troy's eyes were fixed unseeingly on the night sky that held them. Food—water—shelter—His mind felt as sapped of energy as his body. He could not think properly. Of only one thing was he sure: a stubborn determination to set down the flyer somewhere in the Wild where the animals could take to the country for their own concealment.

“It is well.” That was Simba. “Good hunting here. Men cannot shake us out of these lands.”

“There is still Zul,” Troy warned sluggishly.

“There is still Zul,” Simba agreed. “But let Zul follow us before we lay a trap for his feet.”

Troy must have slept. He aroused with light in his eyes, sat up groggily, for a moment unable to remember where he was. Then the golden sky of morning, patterned with the clouds of fair weather, recalled the immediate past. Under him the flitter rode steadily on the course he had set—eastward.

He looked down through the bubble, expecting to see the rolling plains he had hoped to find. They spread beneath him right enough, only ahead was a distant smudge of darker vegetation, the sign of a forest or more broken ground. They must have passed over a large section of the open territory during the night and were leagues deep into the reserve, farther than the Tikil hunting parties ever went. Troy rubbed his eyes, began to think again.

The only way they could be traced now was by the flitter. Suppose he were to land by the edge of that distant wood and then send the flyer off on remote control—back to the west? One way of confusing the pursuit.

But, as he reached for the controls, to take the flyer back under manual pilotage again, his time had run out. The flitter plunged crazily, caught in the side sweep of a traction beam. Troy gave one startled look to the rear, saw another flyer boring down his track.

Perhaps a more skilled pilot could have done better. His evasive swings only kept him out of the direct core of the beam the other had trained upon his craft. He set the air speed to the top notch, striving to reach the wood before the other pinned him squarely.

At last Troy set down, felt the wheels of the flitter catch and tear through the long grass. But that grass could cover his passengers' escape. He slewed the flyer about, broadside to the first tongue of woods cover. Opening the door of the cabin before they bumped to a complete halt, he gave his last command to the animals: “Out and hide!”

Sahiba he set down himself, saw her limp into a tangle of grass with her mate, the foxes and the kinkajou already gone. Then Troy sent the flyer on, scuttling along the ground as far and as fast from the point where he had dropped his live cargo as he could get.

The flitter rocked, half lifted from the ground. Now he was pinned to his seat, helpless, unable to raise as much as a finger from the controls. They had a pinner beam on him, and he was a captive forced to wait for the arrival of his pursuer.

Unable to as much as turn his head, Troy sat sweating out the minutes of that wait. At least they wanted to take him prisoner, not just blast him out of the air as they might have done. Whether this was good or bad he had yet to learn. And whether his captors were rangers, patrollers, or Zul's ambiguous force he would know shortly.

The cabin door was pulled open. Though he could not turn his head, Troy rolled his eyes to the right far enough to see that the man who had thrust head and shoulders into that confined space was not wearing the hide forest dress of the Clans, nor the uniform of a patroller. Zul's party—?

Paying little or no attention to the helpless prisoner before the controls, the other searched the floor, squeezed behind the seat to survey the storage space. Undoubtedly he was looking for the animals. And, guessing that, Troy's spirits rose a small fraction. They had either not noted his brief pause by the tongue of woodland, or they had not understood the reason for it. They had expected to find not one but six helpless in the flitter.

The man backed out of the door. “Not here.” Troy heard his call.

Though he knew he could not fight the tension bands of a pinner, Troy strove to move just his hand. The blaster butt was a painful knob against his chest, held upright by his belt. If he could only close his fingers about that, the man by the door and the one he reported to—he could turn tables on both of them. But, though blood throbbed in his temples from his efforts, he was held motionless and unable to resist any attack the others chose to make.