"Well never make it!" he said as Dumarest reached his side. "There'll be lights, guards-and we've a long way to go."
"Keep moving. Head straight for the ship and get ready to leave. Hurry!"
"But-"
"Move, damn you! Move!"
Alerted, the guards would be streaming from the building to surround the area. Their only hope lay in speed, but speed wasn't enough. Soon there would be lights, and unless they were distracted, the guards would quickly run them down. Dumarest slowed as a blaze of light came from the open door of the building, turning to run toward it, across it, away from the others. He heard a yell, a shouted command, and the ruby guide-beam of a laser reached toward him.
It missed as he dived toward a low mound, dropping behind it to run, to rise and deliberately expose himself against the stars, to drop and run again as men chased after him.
A long chase during which he led them from the others making a wending path back to town, once feeling the burn of a near miss as a laser touched the edge of his clothing, beating out the small fire with his gloved hand.
At the field two men stood at the gate, a third running toward them as Dumarest approached. Too many men to be out in such weather. Beyond them he could see the open port of the Mayna, Marek standing in the entrance.
"Mister?" A man stepped toward him as Dumarest neared the gate. "Just a moment. You from that ship?"
He fell, doubled and retching as Dumarest kicked him in the stomach. His companion, reaching for something in his pocket, followed as a stiffened hand slashed at his throat. The third man, halting, backed, lifting something which gleamed in the starlight.
"You there! Move and I'll burn you!"
He was too far to be reached and to run was to be crippled, at least. Then, from where he stood in the open port, Marek screamed.
It was a sound startling in its sheer unexpectedness. A raw, wordless shriek as if from a stricken beast, and instinctively, the armed man turned toward it, the gun lifting against the threat. A moment of inattention, but it was enough. Before he could realize his error Dumarest was on him, ducking low as the weapon fired, rising to knock it aside with a sweep of his left hand, the clenched fist of the right driving into the fabric covering the mouth, feeling bone yield as the man went down.
"Earl!" shouted Marek. "More are coming. Hurry!"
Dumarest ran toward the ship, hearing shouts from behind, the roar of aimed weapons. Against lasers he would have stood no chance, but they were armed with missile throwers, and dodging, he made a poor target. A bullet kicked dirt close to his foot, another hummed like a bee past his ear, a third slammed against the hull.
Then, as he passed through the port, a bullet struck the edge of the opening, whined with a vicious ricochet to slam against his temple and send him falling into a bottomless pit of darkness.
Chapter Nine
He woke to find Usan Labria at his side. She said, "How do you feel, Earl?"
"Your turn to ask the questions?"
"That's right. And my turn to look after you. Well?"
Dumarest stretched. He lay on his cot, nude but for shorts, and beneath the fingers he rested on the bulkhead he could feel the unmistakable vibration of the Erhaft Field. He felt well aside from a ravenous hunger and could guess the reason.
"Slow-time?"
"Yes:" The woman held a steaming cup and handed it to him. "I guess you could use this."
It was the basic food of spacemen, a liquid sickly with glucose, heavy with protein, laced with vitamins. A measure would provide nourishment for a day. A unit in the base of the container kept it warm.
As he drank she said, "You were lucky. A fraction to the left and the bullet would have spattered your brains. As it was you had a torn scalp and a minor fracture."
"Then why the slow-time?"
"Why not? There's no point in suffering if you don't have to. I made Sufan provide it a day after we left You've been under five hours, close to seven days subjective."
Eight days total in which his body had healed, seven of them due to the acceleration of his metabolism provided by the drug. The reverse of quick-time. Dumarest sat upright, touching his temple, feeling nothing but the scab of the newly healed wound. One eight days old, the injury mending while he had lain in drugged unconsciousness.
"Still hungry?" Usan Labria had a second cup. She handed it to him, talking while he drank, this time more slowly. "Acilus left as soon as the port was sealed. Sufan insisted and I think he was right. Those men intended to get you."
"Guards from the Schell-Peng."
"No." She was positive. "They weren't from the laboratory. Those that came later, maybe, but not the ones waiting at the gate. They didn't try to stop the others and had no interest in the girl. They were after you, Earl, and I think you knew it. The question is, why?"
She was too shrewd and a woman with her desperation posed a perpetual danger. Once she even guessed he could provide what she needed how could he trust her?
"You're guessing," he said. "But if you find the answer let me know."
"So it's none of my business. Is that it?" She shrugged. "Well, have it your own way."
Setting down the empty cup Dumarest rose, breathing deeply, expanding his chest so that the thin tracery of scars on his torso shone livid in the light. He felt a momentary weakness, the result of days of inactivity as his hunger was the result of days of starvation.
"I didn't bother to give you intravenous feeding," said Usan. "A man like you can afford to starve for a while." Her eyes roved his body, lingering on the scars. "A fighter," she mused. "I'd guessed as much. Naked blades in the ring to first-blood or death. And you learned the hard way."
Young, inexperienced, earning money in the only way he could. Saving his life by natural speed, taking wounds, killing to the roar of a mob. Bearing now the signs of his tuition.
Dressed, he said, "Where is the girl?"
"In the cabin next to Sufan's. She was in a bad way when Timus carried her in. The shock of revival coupled with exposure-for a while we thought she'd die."
"And?"
"She recovered. Sufan worked on her and Pacula acted as nurse. She's all right now." Usan hesitated, "But there's something wrong with her, Earl. She isn't normal."
"In what way?"
"She-oh, to hell with it, let Sufan explain."
He answered the door when Dumarest knocked at the cabin and stepped outside and into the corridor, speaking quickly, his voice low.
"I'm glad to see you on your feet, Earl. You had me worried for a time, that wound looked nasty and any blow on the head can give rise to complications."
"The girl?"
"Inside. You did well getting her out-but don't expect too much. Remember that her talent is extremely rare, and always, there is a price to pay for such an attribute as she possesses. She-" He broke off, his eyes darting, glinting like the scales of fish in a sunlit pool, touching Dumarest, the woman at his side, the light above, the deck, his hands. "When you see her, Earl, be gentle. It is not quite what it seems."
"What isn't?"
Then, as the man hesitated, Usan Labria said harshly, "Why don't you tell him, Sufan? Why be so delicate? Earl, the girl is blind!"