Night shadows were gathering. The sun, so
brazen and naked over this riven land, was gone, though its
brilliant banners still lingered in part of the sky. Ziantha
crouched at the back of the cave. Her body ached from the
unaccustomed exercise, but her mind was alert.
The man Ogan had sent out did not return. Twice click signals
she could not decode came, and with each Ogan grew more restless.
Whatever his plans, they were manifestly being frustrated. At last
he came back to where she sat, hunkered down so that their faces
were on a level.
“You are safe here—”
“Safe from Iuban?” she dared to interrupt.
“Are his men trailing us?
“Iuban!” He gestured as if the Jack captain were a
gaming piece of little value to be swept from the board.
“No—there is a greater complication than that. There is
a Patrol ship down out there!”
“Patrol! But how—” Among all the possible
dangers she had not expected this one.
Ogan shrugged. “How indeed? But there are always ears to
listen, mouths to be bought. Yasa went through Waystar. And Waystar
is not Guild; it can be infiltrated—in fact it has been, at
least once. And there is a chance I may have been followed also.
But how they came does not matter. That they are here
does.”
He was silent for a moment, eyeing her narrowly.
“You know the penalty for using sensitive power for the
Guild—remember it well, girl.”
Her mouth was suddenly dry. Yes, it had been hammered into her
from the earliest days of her training what her fate would be if
the forces of the law caught her during a Guild foray. Not death,
no. In some ways death would be more welcome. But
erasure—brain erasure—so that the person who was
Ziantha would vanish from life, and some dull-witted creature fit
only for a routine task would stand in her place. All memory,
personality, wiped permanently away.
There was a glint of satisfaction in Ogan’s expression; he
must have seen her recoil.
“Yes, remember that and keep remembering it, Ziantha.
Erasure—” Ogan drawled that last word. It became an
obscenity when one knew its meaning. “You stay undercover
exactly as you are bid. Unfortunately the Patrol ship has landed in
just that area where it can cause us the greatest inconvenience,
and we have to remain hidden until they convince themselves that
the Jack ship is the only one here.”
“But your ship—they can locate that.”
He shook his head. “Not a ship, Ziantha. I landed from
space in an L-B. And that is under detect protection. My ship will
return, but it is not in orbit now to be picked up by a Patrol
detect.”
“They have other detects, persona ones, do they not? What
if they use those?” She fought for control, determined not to
let the fear he sparked in her become panic.
“Naturally. And they are out there now, combing with such.
They will pick up the Jacks, unless they are equipped with
distorts. We do have those—”
A distort could throw off a persona, she knew. Just as a visual
distort could throw off sight. There was one other way—if
they had a sensitive—
“They do not!” Ogan might have read her mind.
“Though they might have on such a mission, by so much fortune
we are favored. I have probed for one and there is no trace. So we
are safe as long as we take precautions. But we do not have much
time. The L-B is set on a time return, and unless I can get to it
and reset it, it will take off without us.”
“You are going to try that?”
“I must. Therefore I shall leave you here with Mauth.
There is always the hope that the Patrol and the Jacks will keep
each other busy. But understand—if they find
you”—he again made that sweep-away
gesture—“you are finished. There is no one to lift a
hand to save you. So—you have the focus-stones—give
them to me. I shall put them in the L-B for safety.”
“They will be of no value to you.” Ziantha began her
own game. It all depended on how much she could make Ogan believe.
“They are now mind-linked to me. I have learned their full
secret, and they will answer only to the one who awakened
them.”
Would he accept that? He had no way of testing it one way or the
other since his lab equipment was worlds away.
“What can you do with them?” he asked.
Ziantha thought frantically. She had to provide some major
advantage now for keeping the stones.
“If the Patrol here has no sensitive, I may be able to use
these as a mind distort. They were once used for
controlling—” For controlling the Lurla, animal
things—would they work on men? But she need not explain that
to Ogan.
“You have learned much. When there is time you shall tell
me all of it.”
“All,” she echoed as if she were still under his
domination.
“But perhaps it is best that you do keep the
stones,” Ogan continued to her great relief. “And you
shall stay with Mauth until my return.”
Ziantha knew that he went unwillingly, that above all he was now
intrigued by her disclosures and frustrated that he could not put
her statements to instant testing. Ogan had never been the most
patient of men where his absorption in parapsychology was
concerned.
The girl watched him make a wary exit from the cave. Why she had
not gladly surrendered the stones to him she did not know, only
that she could not. Just as she had brought what had been in
D’Eyree’s hands from one past, and both of them out of
Vintra’s time, so were they joined to her now.
She took them out, holding them in her clenched fist. If she
ever looked into them again where would she be—Singakok?
Nornoch? Neither did she want to see again.
Nor would she use them to serve Ogan. If the need to choose came
she would see that they were lost somewhere in this wilderness of
broken rocks, beyond his reach.
There remained Harath. Ogan must have left him at the L-B,
though she still could not understand his denial that the alien was
on-planet. With Ogan gone she could call—from Harath she
could certainly learn the truth.
With the stones in her hands, Ziantha let down her mind barrier
for the first time since Ogan had found her. She sent out a thought
probe, the image of Harath bright and clear in her mind. Greatly
daring she advanced the call farther and farther.
“Harath?”
His recognition was as sharp as her call. And then, before she
could question him— Warning, denial, a surge of need—do not try to
communicate—use our touch as a guide.
Harath could not then be at the L-B; perhaps he had wandered
away, searching for them. Or had he fled Ogan for some reason? But
he would not answer. The thread between them was very faint and
thin by his will, a guide but not a way of exchanging information.
Save the fact that he held it so conveyed a warning.
She leaned her head forward so her chin rested on her knees as
she thought of Harath, kept that thread intact. He was coming to
her—there was danger—
A sharp clicking interrupted her thoughts. Her head jerked up
and around. It was now dark in the cave. The guard at the mouth was
only a blot against the slightly lighter sky. That must be his com
in action.
“Gentle fem,” his voice out of the gloom, using the
customary address of everyday life, seemed strange here, “a
message from veep Ogan. We are to move out—to the
east.”
“He said—stay here.” Move now when Harath was
on the way? She must not.
“The plans are changed, gentle fem. The Jacks or the
Patrol are closing in with some type of persona detect that is
new.”
Perhaps, she thought anxiously, they have picked up my call to
Harath.
“Come on!” Mauth did not speak with any courtesy
now. He was plainly prepared to carry out his instructions by force
if need be.
Ziantha thought furiously. She had the stones with all the power
they represented. This man was no sensitive, and this was her
chance for escape. She must take it and wait for Harath.
“I am coming.” But she did not stir from her place.
Instead she broke that cord with Harath and bent all the energy she
could summon into a projection aimed at Mauth.
“We go down—” He turned and scrambled out of
the cave. Nor did he look back to see that she was not with him.
Her attempt was successful, and to his mind she was beside him
now.
Ziantha was honestly astounded at her success. Ogan could do
this with those who had no talents. But that she could project a
believable hallucination was new. Her confidence in the might of
the stones grew.
But she could not hold this long. Which meant that with Mauth
away from the cave she must leave also. As soon as her projection
faded he would be back hunting her.
Searching, she found a single ration tube, a small water
container. She burdened herself with nothing more. But at the mouth
of the cave she hesitated. The night was dark and the rocks a maze.
The best she could do was to find another hiding place and await
Harath.
To go higher was best, reach a point from which she could see
more. Thrusting the focus-stones back within her suit, Ziantha
began to scramble from one hold to the next.
She was some distance from the cave when she heard a sound from
below and froze, her body plastered to the cliff wall.
Mauth—he was coming back! She must remain where she was lest
some sound betray her.
The night was very still with no wind to howl mournfully among
the erosion-sculptured stones. She could hear, sharp and clear, his
movements down there, even a muttered curse which must mean he had
found the cave empty. Then a second or so later came the click of
the com. Was he signaling to Ogan, or receiving a message?
If she could only read that code! Dared she try mind-probe? But,
even as she hesitated, Mauth was on the move again, and, by the
sounds issuing from the cave, he was coming in her direction!
Then, out of the night shot a beam of dazzling light. Not to pin
Ziantha to the rock, but to show Mauth.
“Freeze—right where you are!”
He obeyed and there followed sounds of others on the
move—coming up. Patrolmen? They would question Mauth, learn
about her. Ziantha swallowed. She was as helpless here as Mauth
was, even if they had no light on her. For her slightest move would
make a betraying sound.
Someone climbed into the flood of light centered on Mauth. But
that was no Patrol uniform, rather a crewman’s planet
suit—Iuban’s men then. If Yasa had made the deal Ogan
expected— Should Ziantha hail them? But she could not be sure
if Yasa was a free ally or Iuban’s prisoner. No—stay
free if she could—find Harath and learn some truths.
The crewman disarmed Mauth, was shoving him downhill. And they
made no move to climb higher. They did not suspect her to be here
then. But they would learn speedily enough. Ziantha had no illusion
that Mauth would not tell them everything they wanted to know once
they applied Jack methods to the matter. As soon as she had the
chance to move she should get as far away from here as
possible.
They were searching the cave now. But that took no length of
time. Ziantha willed them to go. She was not using the power, but
sometimes even such willing could exert an influence.
Then she drew a deep breath of relief and would have sagged to
the ground had there been anything more than a shallow ledge to
support her. They were leaving, at last. She strained her ears to
follow the sounds of their withdrawal, waiting poised for what
seemed very long moments after the last of those finally died
away.
Now—up and up—on! The girl began the ascent with the
caution dark demanded, feeling ahead with her hands, testing each
step with her foot before she put her full weight upon it. Twice
she huddled, with a wildly beating heart, as dislodged stones made
noises she was sure would bring the hunters straightway back to
track her down.
After what seemed hours of strain, Ziantha reached the top of
the rise and found it relatively smooth with no rocks to offer
shelter. Which meant pushing on, across here and down the other
side. Something in the air—she cringed—and then knew it
for a flying thing. So this world had night life of its own. The
flapping of wings sounded lazy, assured in a way that gave her
courage. At least enough to start on again.
The slope on the other side seemed easier, and she was thankful
for that, moving slowly, listening always for any sound. One of the
stunted bushes caught at her, thorns raking out along the hand she
had flung to the side to steady herself as a foot slipped.
But she lost her footing then, skidded down a slope in a loud
cascade of stones and earth, bringing up against the thorny embrace
of a second growth more stoutly rooted. For a moment she was too
alarmed to try to move on again. Surely anyone within a good
distance had heard that! Without thinking she tried
mind-probe. Harath!
Since she had broken their thread back in the cave she had
longed to find a sanctuary from which she could again link with the
alien. This was no hiding place, but from the very vigor of that
pickup she knew that Harath must be near.
He must be close—very close! Seconds later she heard a
faint noise—Harath on this slope?
Something was indeed moving in her direction, making less noise,
Ziantha was certain, than a man. And Harath had nightsight; to him
this stretch of gravel and small rocks would be much more visible
than to her. She held fast to the bush as an anchor, waiting.
Scuttling—then before her—Harath!
He sprung straight for her, both pairs of his tentacles out to
find holds on her body. There radiated from him a need for contact,
for a meeting of body to body. Ziantha cuddled his small downy
shape against her, though it seemed very odd that the usually
self-sufficient Harath needed comfort.
“You were lost?”
“Not lost! Come with Harath—come!”
His excitement was wild and now he struggled in her grasp.
“Must come—he dies!”
“Who dies?” Ogan? Had the parapsychologist met with
disaster on his attempt to reach the L-B?
“He!” Harath seemed to be utterly unable to
understand that Ziantha did not know. As if the person he meant was
of such importance in the world that there was no question of his
identity.
“Come!”
She had never seen Harath so excited before. The alien would not
answer her questions, but fought for release with the same vigor as
he had greeted her. That he wanted her attention for only one
thing, to obey his command, was plain. And she could not control
him.
He had already struggled out of her hold. Ziantha could not
restrain him without applying force, and that she was not prepared
to do.
“Come!” He scuttled away as swiftly as he had
arrived.
Ziantha got carefully to her feet. That she must not let Harath
escape her again was plain. But also she had not his sight and
could not trust the path ahead.
“Harath!” Had she made that call as emphatic as she
must? “Harath—you must wait—I cannot see
you!”
“Come!” She caught a glimpse of movement at the foot
of the slope, as if Harath lingered there, bobbing about in his
impatience and desire to be gone. Recklessly she half slid, half
jumped down to that level. Now he reached with an upper tentacle,
took hold of her suit, tugged with all his limited strength.
“Come!”
At least Harath offered a guide. As Ziantha obeyed that tug, the
girl discovered she did not have to fear such rough footing, that
her companion was picking the smoothest way. There was light in the
sky now, as a moon rose. A small pale moon whose radiance was
greenish, making her own flesh look strange and unhealthy.
Harath turned east. Ziantha thought she recognized one of the
oddly shaped peaks in that wan moonlight. Surely they were not far
from the Jack ship.
Yasa? But Harath had insisted on “he,” and the alien
had never displayed any great liking for the Salarika in the past.
No—she did not think he led her to the veep. Now he was
showing wariness as he angled back and forth among strange outcrops
of rock which arose in clusters like the petrified trunks of long
dead trees.
“The Jack ship—” Ziantha ventured.
Harath did not reply; only his grasp on her suit tightened, and
he gave a sharp pull as if forbidding communication here. They
wound a way beyond those rocks and came to a place where pinnacles
were joined at the foot to form a wall. Harath loosed his hold on
her, scrambled at a speed wherein his feet were aided by all four
tentacles, climbing the curve of that wall at a space between two
spires.
“Come!”
Where Harath might go she was not sure she could follow. The
space between those prongs of stone looked very narrow. But Ziantha
had to try it or lose him entirely. Dragging herself up, she wedged
between the outcrops, an action which nearly scraped the suit from
her back.
Below was a depression like the one in which Ogan had earlier
camped. And that pocket was full of shadow. But she could make out
dimly that someone lay on the ground here, and Harath was beside
the body.
Harath—and a stranger—the sensitive! But if Harath
wanted her—then that other was not dead after all!
Ziantha’s heart beat so fast that it seemed to shake her. She
went on her knees beside the body she could not see.
Now she explored with her hands. He wore the bulk of a planet
suit, the heavy boots of an explorer. But his head was uncovered
and he lay face up. His skin was very cold, but when she held her
hand palm down over his lips she could feel a breath puff against
her skin. Entranced? It might well be. If so, to bring him out
would be a matter requiring more skill than she possessed. Ogan
should be here.
“No—Ogan kill!”
Harath’s thought was like a blow, sharp enough to make her
start back.
“You—Harath—reach—reach—”
The alien’s communication was in her mind. The emotion of
fear which her suggestion of Ogan had raised in him had upset him
to the point where he could not mind-send coherently. What lay
behind that fear, Ziantha could not guess, but its reality she did
not doubt in the least. If Harath said Ogan was a danger, she was
willing to accept his verdict.
“Harath—” she sent the thought in as calm a
fashion as she could summon. “How do we
reach—?”
He appeared able now to control himself.
“Send—with Harath—send—”
Did he mean reverse the process that one generally used with
Harath—lend her energy to the alien, rather than draw upon
his as she had in the past?
“Yes, yes!” He was eager in affirmation of that.
“I will send,” she agreed without further
question.
With one hand she unsealed her suit, brought out the
focus-stones. Whether those might lend any force to this quest she
could not tell, but that they needed all the energy they could call
upon now she firmly believed.
Then she leaned forward again over the limp body, touched her
fingers to the cold forehead. Around her wrist closed, in a grip as
tight as a punishing bond, one of Harath’s tentacles. They
were now linked physically as they must be linked mentally if this
was to succeed.
There was a dizzy sensation of great speed, as if she—or
that part of Ziantha that was her innermost self—was being
swung out and out and out into a place where all was chaos and
there was no stability except that tie with Harath. Farther and
farther they quested. The focus-stones grew warm in her hand; she
was aware of those and that from them was flowing now a steady push
of energy. It passed through her body, down her arms, to those
fingers, to the tentacle, where their three bodies met in
touch.
Swing, swing, out and out and out—until Ziantha wanted to
cry Enough! That if they ventured farther their tie with
reality would snap and they would be as lost as he whom they sought
and could not find.
Night shadows were gathering. The sun, so
brazen and naked over this riven land, was gone, though its
brilliant banners still lingered in part of the sky. Ziantha
crouched at the back of the cave. Her body ached from the
unaccustomed exercise, but her mind was alert.
The man Ogan had sent out did not return. Twice click signals
she could not decode came, and with each Ogan grew more restless.
Whatever his plans, they were manifestly being frustrated. At last
he came back to where she sat, hunkered down so that their faces
were on a level.
“You are safe here—”
“Safe from Iuban?” she dared to interrupt.
“Are his men trailing us?
“Iuban!” He gestured as if the Jack captain were a
gaming piece of little value to be swept from the board.
“No—there is a greater complication than that. There is
a Patrol ship down out there!”
“Patrol! But how—” Among all the possible
dangers she had not expected this one.
Ogan shrugged. “How indeed? But there are always ears to
listen, mouths to be bought. Yasa went through Waystar. And Waystar
is not Guild; it can be infiltrated—in fact it has been, at
least once. And there is a chance I may have been followed also.
But how they came does not matter. That they are here
does.”
He was silent for a moment, eyeing her narrowly.
“You know the penalty for using sensitive power for the
Guild—remember it well, girl.”
Her mouth was suddenly dry. Yes, it had been hammered into her
from the earliest days of her training what her fate would be if
the forces of the law caught her during a Guild foray. Not death,
no. In some ways death would be more welcome. But
erasure—brain erasure—so that the person who was
Ziantha would vanish from life, and some dull-witted creature fit
only for a routine task would stand in her place. All memory,
personality, wiped permanently away.
There was a glint of satisfaction in Ogan’s expression; he
must have seen her recoil.
“Yes, remember that and keep remembering it, Ziantha.
Erasure—” Ogan drawled that last word. It became an
obscenity when one knew its meaning. “You stay undercover
exactly as you are bid. Unfortunately the Patrol ship has landed in
just that area where it can cause us the greatest inconvenience,
and we have to remain hidden until they convince themselves that
the Jack ship is the only one here.”
“But your ship—they can locate that.”
He shook his head. “Not a ship, Ziantha. I landed from
space in an L-B. And that is under detect protection. My ship will
return, but it is not in orbit now to be picked up by a Patrol
detect.”
“They have other detects, persona ones, do they not? What
if they use those?” She fought for control, determined not to
let the fear he sparked in her become panic.
“Naturally. And they are out there now, combing with such.
They will pick up the Jacks, unless they are equipped with
distorts. We do have those—”
A distort could throw off a persona, she knew. Just as a visual
distort could throw off sight. There was one other way—if
they had a sensitive—
“They do not!” Ogan might have read her mind.
“Though they might have on such a mission, by so much fortune
we are favored. I have probed for one and there is no trace. So we
are safe as long as we take precautions. But we do not have much
time. The L-B is set on a time return, and unless I can get to it
and reset it, it will take off without us.”
“You are going to try that?”
“I must. Therefore I shall leave you here with Mauth.
There is always the hope that the Patrol and the Jacks will keep
each other busy. But understand—if they find
you”—he again made that sweep-away
gesture—“you are finished. There is no one to lift a
hand to save you. So—you have the focus-stones—give
them to me. I shall put them in the L-B for safety.”
“They will be of no value to you.” Ziantha began her
own game. It all depended on how much she could make Ogan believe.
“They are now mind-linked to me. I have learned their full
secret, and they will answer only to the one who awakened
them.”
Would he accept that? He had no way of testing it one way or the
other since his lab equipment was worlds away.
“What can you do with them?” he asked.
Ziantha thought frantically. She had to provide some major
advantage now for keeping the stones.
“If the Patrol here has no sensitive, I may be able to use
these as a mind distort. They were once used for
controlling—” For controlling the Lurla, animal
things—would they work on men? But she need not explain that
to Ogan.
“You have learned much. When there is time you shall tell
me all of it.”
“All,” she echoed as if she were still under his
domination.
“But perhaps it is best that you do keep the
stones,” Ogan continued to her great relief. “And you
shall stay with Mauth until my return.”
Ziantha knew that he went unwillingly, that above all he was now
intrigued by her disclosures and frustrated that he could not put
her statements to instant testing. Ogan had never been the most
patient of men where his absorption in parapsychology was
concerned.
The girl watched him make a wary exit from the cave. Why she had
not gladly surrendered the stones to him she did not know, only
that she could not. Just as she had brought what had been in
D’Eyree’s hands from one past, and both of them out of
Vintra’s time, so were they joined to her now.
She took them out, holding them in her clenched fist. If she
ever looked into them again where would she be—Singakok?
Nornoch? Neither did she want to see again.
Nor would she use them to serve Ogan. If the need to choose came
she would see that they were lost somewhere in this wilderness of
broken rocks, beyond his reach.
There remained Harath. Ogan must have left him at the L-B,
though she still could not understand his denial that the alien was
on-planet. With Ogan gone she could call—from Harath she
could certainly learn the truth.
With the stones in her hands, Ziantha let down her mind barrier
for the first time since Ogan had found her. She sent out a thought
probe, the image of Harath bright and clear in her mind. Greatly
daring she advanced the call farther and farther.
“Harath?”
His recognition was as sharp as her call. And then, before she
could question him— Warning, denial, a surge of need—do not try to
communicate—use our touch as a guide.
Harath could not then be at the L-B; perhaps he had wandered
away, searching for them. Or had he fled Ogan for some reason? But
he would not answer. The thread between them was very faint and
thin by his will, a guide but not a way of exchanging information.
Save the fact that he held it so conveyed a warning.
She leaned her head forward so her chin rested on her knees as
she thought of Harath, kept that thread intact. He was coming to
her—there was danger—
A sharp clicking interrupted her thoughts. Her head jerked up
and around. It was now dark in the cave. The guard at the mouth was
only a blot against the slightly lighter sky. That must be his com
in action.
“Gentle fem,” his voice out of the gloom, using the
customary address of everyday life, seemed strange here, “a
message from veep Ogan. We are to move out—to the
east.”
“He said—stay here.” Move now when Harath was
on the way? She must not.
“The plans are changed, gentle fem. The Jacks or the
Patrol are closing in with some type of persona detect that is
new.”
Perhaps, she thought anxiously, they have picked up my call to
Harath.
“Come on!” Mauth did not speak with any courtesy
now. He was plainly prepared to carry out his instructions by force
if need be.
Ziantha thought furiously. She had the stones with all the power
they represented. This man was no sensitive, and this was her
chance for escape. She must take it and wait for Harath.
“I am coming.” But she did not stir from her place.
Instead she broke that cord with Harath and bent all the energy she
could summon into a projection aimed at Mauth.
“We go down—” He turned and scrambled out of
the cave. Nor did he look back to see that she was not with him.
Her attempt was successful, and to his mind she was beside him
now.
Ziantha was honestly astounded at her success. Ogan could do
this with those who had no talents. But that she could project a
believable hallucination was new. Her confidence in the might of
the stones grew.
But she could not hold this long. Which meant that with Mauth
away from the cave she must leave also. As soon as her projection
faded he would be back hunting her.
Searching, she found a single ration tube, a small water
container. She burdened herself with nothing more. But at the mouth
of the cave she hesitated. The night was dark and the rocks a maze.
The best she could do was to find another hiding place and await
Harath.
To go higher was best, reach a point from which she could see
more. Thrusting the focus-stones back within her suit, Ziantha
began to scramble from one hold to the next.
She was some distance from the cave when she heard a sound from
below and froze, her body plastered to the cliff wall.
Mauth—he was coming back! She must remain where she was lest
some sound betray her.
The night was very still with no wind to howl mournfully among
the erosion-sculptured stones. She could hear, sharp and clear, his
movements down there, even a muttered curse which must mean he had
found the cave empty. Then a second or so later came the click of
the com. Was he signaling to Ogan, or receiving a message?
If she could only read that code! Dared she try mind-probe? But,
even as she hesitated, Mauth was on the move again, and, by the
sounds issuing from the cave, he was coming in her direction!
Then, out of the night shot a beam of dazzling light. Not to pin
Ziantha to the rock, but to show Mauth.
“Freeze—right where you are!”
He obeyed and there followed sounds of others on the
move—coming up. Patrolmen? They would question Mauth, learn
about her. Ziantha swallowed. She was as helpless here as Mauth
was, even if they had no light on her. For her slightest move would
make a betraying sound.
Someone climbed into the flood of light centered on Mauth. But
that was no Patrol uniform, rather a crewman’s planet
suit—Iuban’s men then. If Yasa had made the deal Ogan
expected— Should Ziantha hail them? But she could not be sure
if Yasa was a free ally or Iuban’s prisoner. No—stay
free if she could—find Harath and learn some truths.
The crewman disarmed Mauth, was shoving him downhill. And they
made no move to climb higher. They did not suspect her to be here
then. But they would learn speedily enough. Ziantha had no illusion
that Mauth would not tell them everything they wanted to know once
they applied Jack methods to the matter. As soon as she had the
chance to move she should get as far away from here as
possible.
They were searching the cave now. But that took no length of
time. Ziantha willed them to go. She was not using the power, but
sometimes even such willing could exert an influence.
Then she drew a deep breath of relief and would have sagged to
the ground had there been anything more than a shallow ledge to
support her. They were leaving, at last. She strained her ears to
follow the sounds of their withdrawal, waiting poised for what
seemed very long moments after the last of those finally died
away.
Now—up and up—on! The girl began the ascent with the
caution dark demanded, feeling ahead with her hands, testing each
step with her foot before she put her full weight upon it. Twice
she huddled, with a wildly beating heart, as dislodged stones made
noises she was sure would bring the hunters straightway back to
track her down.
After what seemed hours of strain, Ziantha reached the top of
the rise and found it relatively smooth with no rocks to offer
shelter. Which meant pushing on, across here and down the other
side. Something in the air—she cringed—and then knew it
for a flying thing. So this world had night life of its own. The
flapping of wings sounded lazy, assured in a way that gave her
courage. At least enough to start on again.
The slope on the other side seemed easier, and she was thankful
for that, moving slowly, listening always for any sound. One of the
stunted bushes caught at her, thorns raking out along the hand she
had flung to the side to steady herself as a foot slipped.
But she lost her footing then, skidded down a slope in a loud
cascade of stones and earth, bringing up against the thorny embrace
of a second growth more stoutly rooted. For a moment she was too
alarmed to try to move on again. Surely anyone within a good
distance had heard that! Without thinking she tried
mind-probe. Harath!
Since she had broken their thread back in the cave she had
longed to find a sanctuary from which she could again link with the
alien. This was no hiding place, but from the very vigor of that
pickup she knew that Harath must be near.
He must be close—very close! Seconds later she heard a
faint noise—Harath on this slope?
Something was indeed moving in her direction, making less noise,
Ziantha was certain, than a man. And Harath had nightsight; to him
this stretch of gravel and small rocks would be much more visible
than to her. She held fast to the bush as an anchor, waiting.
Scuttling—then before her—Harath!
He sprung straight for her, both pairs of his tentacles out to
find holds on her body. There radiated from him a need for contact,
for a meeting of body to body. Ziantha cuddled his small downy
shape against her, though it seemed very odd that the usually
self-sufficient Harath needed comfort.
“You were lost?”
“Not lost! Come with Harath—come!”
His excitement was wild and now he struggled in her grasp.
“Must come—he dies!”
“Who dies?” Ogan? Had the parapsychologist met with
disaster on his attempt to reach the L-B?
“He!” Harath seemed to be utterly unable to
understand that Ziantha did not know. As if the person he meant was
of such importance in the world that there was no question of his
identity.
“Come!”
She had never seen Harath so excited before. The alien would not
answer her questions, but fought for release with the same vigor as
he had greeted her. That he wanted her attention for only one
thing, to obey his command, was plain. And she could not control
him.
He had already struggled out of her hold. Ziantha could not
restrain him without applying force, and that she was not prepared
to do.
“Come!” He scuttled away as swiftly as he had
arrived.
Ziantha got carefully to her feet. That she must not let Harath
escape her again was plain. But also she had not his sight and
could not trust the path ahead.
“Harath!” Had she made that call as emphatic as she
must? “Harath—you must wait—I cannot see
you!”
“Come!” She caught a glimpse of movement at the foot
of the slope, as if Harath lingered there, bobbing about in his
impatience and desire to be gone. Recklessly she half slid, half
jumped down to that level. Now he reached with an upper tentacle,
took hold of her suit, tugged with all his limited strength.
“Come!”
At least Harath offered a guide. As Ziantha obeyed that tug, the
girl discovered she did not have to fear such rough footing, that
her companion was picking the smoothest way. There was light in the
sky now, as a moon rose. A small pale moon whose radiance was
greenish, making her own flesh look strange and unhealthy.
Harath turned east. Ziantha thought she recognized one of the
oddly shaped peaks in that wan moonlight. Surely they were not far
from the Jack ship.
Yasa? But Harath had insisted on “he,” and the alien
had never displayed any great liking for the Salarika in the past.
No—she did not think he led her to the veep. Now he was
showing wariness as he angled back and forth among strange outcrops
of rock which arose in clusters like the petrified trunks of long
dead trees.
“The Jack ship—” Ziantha ventured.
Harath did not reply; only his grasp on her suit tightened, and
he gave a sharp pull as if forbidding communication here. They
wound a way beyond those rocks and came to a place where pinnacles
were joined at the foot to form a wall. Harath loosed his hold on
her, scrambled at a speed wherein his feet were aided by all four
tentacles, climbing the curve of that wall at a space between two
spires.
“Come!”
Where Harath might go she was not sure she could follow. The
space between those prongs of stone looked very narrow. But Ziantha
had to try it or lose him entirely. Dragging herself up, she wedged
between the outcrops, an action which nearly scraped the suit from
her back.
Below was a depression like the one in which Ogan had earlier
camped. And that pocket was full of shadow. But she could make out
dimly that someone lay on the ground here, and Harath was beside
the body.
Harath—and a stranger—the sensitive! But if Harath
wanted her—then that other was not dead after all!
Ziantha’s heart beat so fast that it seemed to shake her. She
went on her knees beside the body she could not see.
Now she explored with her hands. He wore the bulk of a planet
suit, the heavy boots of an explorer. But his head was uncovered
and he lay face up. His skin was very cold, but when she held her
hand palm down over his lips she could feel a breath puff against
her skin. Entranced? It might well be. If so, to bring him out
would be a matter requiring more skill than she possessed. Ogan
should be here.
“No—Ogan kill!”
Harath’s thought was like a blow, sharp enough to make her
start back.
“You—Harath—reach—reach—”
The alien’s communication was in her mind. The emotion of
fear which her suggestion of Ogan had raised in him had upset him
to the point where he could not mind-send coherently. What lay
behind that fear, Ziantha could not guess, but its reality she did
not doubt in the least. If Harath said Ogan was a danger, she was
willing to accept his verdict.
“Harath—” she sent the thought in as calm a
fashion as she could summon. “How do we
reach—?”
He appeared able now to control himself.
“Send—with Harath—send—”
Did he mean reverse the process that one generally used with
Harath—lend her energy to the alien, rather than draw upon
his as she had in the past?
“Yes, yes!” He was eager in affirmation of that.
“I will send,” she agreed without further
question.
With one hand she unsealed her suit, brought out the
focus-stones. Whether those might lend any force to this quest she
could not tell, but that they needed all the energy they could call
upon now she firmly believed.
Then she leaned forward again over the limp body, touched her
fingers to the cold forehead. Around her wrist closed, in a grip as
tight as a punishing bond, one of Harath’s tentacles. They
were now linked physically as they must be linked mentally if this
was to succeed.
There was a dizzy sensation of great speed, as if she—or
that part of Ziantha that was her innermost self—was being
swung out and out and out into a place where all was chaos and
there was no stability except that tie with Harath. Farther and
farther they quested. The focus-stones grew warm in her hand; she
was aware of those and that from them was flowing now a steady push
of energy. It passed through her body, down her arms, to those
fingers, to the tentacle, where their three bodies met in
touch.
Swing, swing, out and out and out—until Ziantha wanted to
cry Enough! That if they ventured farther their tie with
reality would snap and they would be as lost as he whom they sought
and could not find.