"I yield," said Dumarest quickly. "You are correct-I have no choice. There is no need to use the gas. It would be inefficient. I'd have to be carried and the elevator is small. It would be better if I walked. It would give you greater credit; my capture would be yours alone."
The truth and Avro knew it. The reason he had insisted on facing Dumarest leaving lshaq and his men on the surface. A matter of pride if not of perfect judgment but what could go wrong?
His vision blurred as, suddenly, a pain filled his skull. Pain and the realization of the mistake he had made.
Now! He must correct it while there was still time. Now! The gun aimed as he fought a rising nausea, finger tightening on the release. Now!
"No!" The voice filled the chamber as Angado threw himself into the room. "No!"
* * *
He had waited outside, listening, an ally in reserve, now acting with speed which emulated Dumarest's own. A small, round tray left his hand, spinning across the room to strike Avro's wrist and send the vapor-gun to the floor. The cyber followed it, twitching, hands clutching at his head. Then Angado was close to Dumarest, stooping, snatching the knife from his boot, lunging toward Perotto with the blade lifted to strike.
"You lied to me. Cheated me. Wanted me shamed. You filth! You stinking filth! Die, you bastard!"
Words instead of action and time given for Perotto to spring to one side, to lift the hand adorned with the heavy ring, for something to spurt from it and land with a thin, waspish drone against Angado's skull.
As he fell Dumarest was moving.
He dived forward, low, rising as Perotto turned toward him, shoulder catching the underside of the hand aimed at his face and throwing it upward as he struck. One blow smashed into Perotto's stomach and sent him doubling forward. Another dropped him to the ground. A third sent him to sprawl, gasping, face upward as Dumarest fell to his knees beside him. As the ringed hand swung toward him he grabbed it, aimed the ring at the orifice of the gaping mouth, squeezed to release the darts held within the gemmed casing.
Two of them sang as they buried themselves deep into the soft inner tissue of the throat, creating a black crater of destruction, filling the body with toxic poisons as it filled the mouth with blood and pain.
"Earl!"
Angado was dying. The dart which had struck his head was buried deep above the left eye, already into the bone, the brain beneath. Dumarest knelt beside him, reaching for the throat, resting his fingers against the carotids.
"Earl! I-"
"Easy." Dumarest's voice was warmly reassuring. "Just relax, Angado. This is just a dream. A bad dream. When you wake you'll forget all about it. It's just a dream."
"No." Angado swallowed and then, incredibly, managed to smile. "It's real and I know it. As I want you to know something, Earl. I love… I…" He writhed beneath Dumarest's hands, sweat dewing his face, his throat. "You, Earl. I love…"
He stiffened and lost the smile as he lost the power of speech and the one became the rictus of death as the other grew into a silence which filled the world. One broken by the muted drone of the waterfall, the faint, insectlike scrap of a moving hand.
Avro reaching for his gun.
It lay beneath the wide window and his fingers touched it as Dumarest reared upright, closed on it as he moved forward, twisted it to aim as he approached, fired as, holding his breath, he dived toward the door.
Opening it as green vapor closed around him, falling through it into the open air of the balcony, clutching the rail as the wind tore the clinging mist from his face and body and his lungs burned with the need for oxygen.
Seconds dragging into minutes then he breathed and breathed again of the cool, damp, life-giving air.
Avro lay slumped on the floor, his breathing shallow, his gaunt face relaxed in the sleep the gas had created. A man felled in the moment of victory by the pain which had turned his mind and body into a rebellious machine. Dumarest checked he was helpless then snatching up his knife returned to the balcony and hung dangerously over the rail.
Beneath him the rock had been cut away in a smooth concave sweep devoid of any trace of hand or foothold. That above was as formidable; a carved overhang moist with condensation pearling the near-mirror finish. Only the sides were left.
Dumarest moved to the right, stepped up to balance on the rail and, extending his arm, quested along the stone. He found nothing and moved to the other side, this time probing with his knife. The point found a crack, slipped into it, held for a moment then rasped free.
Back in the apartment he went into Angado's bedroom, found sheets, ripped them into strips to form a rope, lashed one end around his waist. On the balcony he tied the free end to the rail and, mounting it, tried again. This time the knife held and he swung from the rail on its support. His left hand found a hold and he heaved, boots scrabbling for purchase. A few inches and he rested before moving again. Farther out this time, a little higher, the knife coming free to find a new hold. Up and along again to halt as the rope tightened at his waist.
The moment of decision as wind tore at his hair and the roar of falling water echoed in his ears.
To free himself from the rope was to risk everything on his ability to climb to the upper edge of the chasm, avoid the men waiting there and make his escape in some way. To return to the apartment was to reenter the trap Avro had constructed; a sealed place from which there was only one exit and that guarded by watchful men.
Taken, he would be held, questioned, his mind probed to the last cell. He would be stripped of all knowledge then discarded as so much useless garbage. To attempt to climb was to risk falling to the rocks below. A quick death against one of long-drawn torment.
A choice made for him as rock crumbled beneath his boot and the knife slipped free to send him falling to halt with a jerk at the end of the rope. Thrusting the blade back into his boot he climbed hand over hand back to the balcony.
On the floor Avro stirred; a crippled spider tormented by savage dreams. From the room of bizarre decorations came the rolling echo of drums as Wynne Tewson pounded feebly at the door.
* * *
She was pale, lips almost bloodless, eyes marred by a yellowish tinge. The silver helmet of her hair was mussed and a bruise showed livid on her left cheek. She fought against Dumarest's arms as he dragged her into the bathroom, stripping her before holding her beneath the stinging shower. As she dried herself, shivering from the icy spray, he searched her clothing, pocketing the keys he found.
"You bastard!" Dressed, she glared at him. "You smart, know-it-all bastard!"
"Shut your mouth."
"Lying to me. Kissing me-then shoving me into that gas. And then what? Woke Angado, I suppose and used him to help you. Now you want me to do the same. Well, you can go to hell!"
"You'll go first." He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the main salon. "Over the edge and down to the rocks." He pointed at the open door of the balcony. "You want that?"
"You wouldn't-"
"What have I to lose?" He was curt in his interruption. "Men are waiting on the surface to take me. If they do it's my life. You tried to trap me-why the hell should I consider you? Make your choice. You help or you go over." He pulled her toward the opening. To where the roar of falling water filled the air. "What's it to be?"
A choice that was no choice at all. She looked at the water, his eyes, the mouth that had grown cruel.
"I'll help, but what can I do? This place is like a prison."
With men waiting outside on guard. By why did they wait? How long had they been ordered to stand by before taking action? Who would give the order for them to move in?
Avro stirred again and Dumarest guessed the answer. One verified as he stripped off the scarlet robe to reveal the mechanism clipped inside. A small transmitter which, when activated, would bring the others crashing in. The gas had worked too quickly for the cyber to have used it-a failure that gave Dumarest a chance.
"It won't work." Wynne stared as Dumarest donned the scarlet robe. "You'll never pass for a cyber."
"Maybe not."
"What happened to him?" She glanced at Perotto lying in a pool of blood that had drained from his mouth. "Did you do that?"
"He killed Angado."
"So you killed him?"
She shivered as he nodded, knowing he would kill her with the same lack of compassion if she thwarted him. As he would kill anyone who presented a threat or who had done him injury. An attribute she had sensed when lying in his arms. Even when sharing a mutual passion and, remembering it, she felt a sudden desire.