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"Your home world," said Dumarest slowly. "What made you say it was Nerth?"
"Because it is."
"You know how to get back there?"
"I don't want to go back." Leon eased himself on the bed. "I never want to see it again. I managed to get away and I'm staying away."
"Tell me," said Dumarest. "Does it have a large, silver moon? Is the sky blue at day and thin with stars at night?"
"It's got a moon," admitted the boy. "And, yes, a blue sky. The stars are thin too, but that's because it's a long way from the Center. Just like they are here. Why, Earl? What's your interest?"
Dumarest said, "Lean back. Make yourself comfortable. Close your eyes, that's it. Now breathe deeply, deeply, good." Lifting the pod he squeezed it, gusting a fine spray at the boy's mouth, seeing the minute spores enter the nostrils to be absorbed by the inner membranes.
Within seconds he was asleep.
"Leon, listen to me." Dumarest dropped to his knees beside the narrow bed. "Answer me truthfully-have you ever heard of the Cyclan?"
"No."
"Did anyone tell you to speak to me, to mention Nerth?"
"No."
"Is there such a place, or did you make up the name because you were afraid of something?"
"Nerth," murmured the boy. "No! I won't!"
"Steady!" He quieted beneath Dumarest's hand. "What made you run?"
"I-they, no! No, I won't do it!"
"Do what? Answer me, Leon, do what?"
The boy shifted on the bed, sweat shining on his face, his voice deepening, taking on the pulse of drums.
"From terror they fled to find new places on which to expiate their sins. Only when cleansed will the race of Man be united again."
The creed of the Original People. Dumarest rose, staring down at the bed, the figure it contained. A boy, too young to know what he was saying, or someone primed for just such an eventuality. The drug he'd used was primitive-any biological technician could have provided conditioning against it, primed the youngster with intriguing answers to appropriate questions.
Any information he could give would be valueless, and already he was convinced the boy had lied.
A knock and he spun as the door swung open.
"What-?" The woman was middle-aged, dowdy, her face seamed, relieved only by the luminosity of her eyes. Wide now as they stared at Dumarest's face, the glitter of the naked blade in his hand.
He spoke before she could scream. "What do you want?"
"The boy-I heard that he was ill. I wondered if I could help?"
"Are you a nurse?" Dumarest sheathed the knife.
"Yes, in a way. I work at the hospital and try to help others in my spare time. Chell Arlept, you know of him?"
"The dying man? Yes."
"I call sometimes. There's not much I can do, but at least I can help him to sleep. I wondered-"
"What I was doing with a knife in my hand?" Dumarest smiled, casually at ease. "You startled me, that's all."
"The boy?"
"Has been taken care of. All he needs now is to rest. Perhaps you could look in tomorrow?"
"I'm in no hurry." She moved towards the bed, smoothed back the hair from the pale face. "I could sit with him for a while." She added meaningfully, "I'm sure that you have other things to do."
To go downstairs, to find the woman who ran the hotel, to give her money for Leon's keep, more money to be given him when he woke. The cost of a Low passage which he would be a fool to use too soon, but Dumarest couldn't leave him stranded.
* * * * *
There was trouble at the field. Dumarest sensed it as he approached the gate, slowing as he studied the men standing around. Too many men and too many of them without apparent duties. Hard men with blank faces who needed no uniforms to betray their profession. Guards and agents, watchful and alert.
They stood in patches of shadow, scarcely moving, rigid with the patience which was part of their trade. A pair of them stepped forward as a man neared the gate, a tall figure wearing gray, the material scuffed, his feet unsteady.
"You there!" One of the guards shone a flashlight into a flushed and blinking face. "Name?"
"Connors. Why?"
"Just answer. You from the workings?"
"Say, what the hell is this all about?"
"Just answer. Rawf?"
"It could be," said his companion. "He fits the rough description. Mister, you'd better come with us."
"Me? What for? Like hell I will!"
"Suit yourself," said the first man. "You want it hard, you get it hard. Rawf!"
The sap made a flat, dull sound as it landed against the man's temple, knocking him into an unconscious heap.
Thoughtfully Dumarest turned away. The field sealed, a cyber landed-he felt the closing jaws of a trap. Soon the hospitals would be checked, the doctors, it wouldn't take long for Hsi to connect isolated incidents. Connect them and extrapolate and predict exactly where he was to be found. And, on Tradum, places were few in which he could hide. The city, the workings, the areas beyond the mountains impossible to reach on foot. Even the Hyead couldn't live off the land here, between the mountains and the sea. And any attempt to hire transport would leave a trail.
The field-it had to be the field and the first ship to leave. But, already, he had left it too late.
"Man Dumarest!"