His child.
Born on this strange and alien world. To grow in comfort and security as all children should. To be happy as was their right. The son or daughter he would never see.
A siren wailed from the field and Dumarest held out his hands. Gartok touched them with his own, palm to palm, the mercenary salute of friendship showing the lack of weapons.
"Good luck, Earl."
"Goodbye."
Gartok watched as Dumarest headed toward the gate, passed through it, moved across the field to the waiting ship. A man escaping from a world which had become a trap-but one still locked in the prison of his dream.