Stooping, he lifted the knife from his boot and thrust it up and under the upper rim of the casket to the right of the opened expanse. It lanced into the padding and stayed there invisible to a casual eye. Closing the lid he ran on.
"Halt!" The voice roared flatly before him. "You cannot escape!"
A fact Dumarest knew but the guard went down as a fist slammed into his stomach and Dumarest snatched his club and gun before racing on. Time won to put distance between himself and the casket. Time to head toward the reclamation plant where more guards were waiting. One lifted his gun and fired and Dumarest felt his senses swim as green vapor wreathed his face and head in a stifling cloud. Through it the guards were indistinguishable blurs that ducked as he lifted his hand and arm to send the gun flying to ring on a metal stanchion.
They ducked again as he ran at them with the club and fired as he staggered, shrouding him in emerald mist, watching as, already unconscious, he sank to sprawl helplessly on the floor.
Chapter Thirteen
Dumarest woke to find himself lying naked on a narrow cot in a small room with a barred grill for a door. A cell which could not be mistaken for what it was. The cot lay in a corner and he touched the wall at his side, feeling the faint tingle of transmitted vibration. The quiver grew louder as he rested his ear against the metal: words, the sound of movement, the dull impact of masses colliding, but all merged into a susurration which robbed each of individual clarity.
Against it the clang of the opening door rang like bells.
Urich Volodya said, "It is useless to pretend you are unconscious. I know you are awake."
He stood beside the cot, haloed in a nimbus of light, seeming taller because of his position. One not so close as to be careless but close enough to display his confidence. A guard stood at the opened door, armed, alert, and Dumarest guessed others would be outside.
"Are you ill?" Volodya frowned as Dumarest rolled his head, gasping, pretending a weakness he did not feel. "The gas is harmless but you had a heavy dose." And it could affect those with unsuspected allergies in unusual ways. As Dumarest raised himself, slowly and with obvious effort, Volodya called, "A stimulant! Quickly!"
It came in a container of thin plastic material which would not shatter or hold an edge. A precaution Dumarest could appreciate even as he regretted the lost opportunity. Volodya, with death at his throat, could have provided a valuable hostage.
"Drink," he ordered. "Immediately!"
Dumarest obeyed, sipping the pale azure fluid, feeling strength well from his stomach as the drugs gave him chemical energy. As he finished the drink Volodya threw him a robe of pale amber material.
"Wear this."
Rising, Dumarest slipped on the robe. The fabric was thin, moulding itself to his body and reaching barely to mid-thigh. It was held by an adhesive band on the edge. As Volodya stepped toward the door Dumarest sat on the edge of the cot.
"You are to come with me," said Volodya. "To defy me would be futile and childish."
"I'm not defying you," said Dumarest. "But those who gave you your orders."
"The Council-"
"Are dancing to an alien tune. They obey the cyber and you know it. Which means you have become his willing servant. So much for the Guardian of Zabul."
"You have a choice," said Volodya coldly. "You can walk with dignity and pride or you can be dragged struggling every step of the way. Which is it to be?"
A hard man, thought Dumarest, leaning back to rest his shoulders against the wall. One who couldn't be pushed and who justified everything he did. To arrest a prisoner-a matter of obeying an order. To take him where directed-another order to be obeyed. But such a man would never have gained his position if he had been nothing more than an obedient machine. How to stimulate his ambition? His curiosity?
At his back the wall murmured with vibration, sounds rising like rocks in an ocean, a shout, a thudding, the rasp of what could have been metal.
Dumarest said quietly, "I will not make your task harder. You already have enough on your hands as it is."
"You know?" Volodya stared his incredulity. "But you have been unconscious and no one has visited you. How did you know those young fools were demanding your release?"
Kusche's work? A possibility but, Dumarest knew the strength and speed of rumor. A technician or a guard who had passed the word and one would have been enough to arouse the predicted reaction. To the young he was their hope of witnessing the Event. Volodya was the instrument of those robbing them of their dream.
And what could he or the Council know of rebellion?
What could these of Zabul?
Lim would ignore them as troublesome vermin. If they defied him he would threaten to destroy their world and would do it without compunction. To rely on popular support was to invite destruction.
Dumarest said, "You are too intelligent to resist advice when your survival is at stake. It is true that one man cannot be set against the value of a world, but do not make the mistake of underestimating the Cyclan. Against a cyber the Council are like ignorant children. He will use and manipulate them all along the line. You must have sensed this."
"So?"
"The Council are wrong and you know it. They are old and clinging to power. They don't want to find Earth-do you?"
Volodya said, stiffly, "We all long for the Event."
"You, Althea, some others. You could name them better than I. And the young, of course. The young are always impatient." Casually Dumarest added, "What are they doing? Demonstrating? Shouting and making a noise? Clogging the passages? Neglecting their duties? What happens if they refuse to obey orders? You need them to maintain the system. What happens if they demand to retire to their caskets?"
He gave Volodya time to ponder the question as, again, he leaned his shoulders against the wall. His initial reaction had been wrong; Zabul had no separate working class. The young of the Terridae maintained the artificial world, not being entitled to a casket unit they had reached full maturity. Even then custom dictated they use them rarely until advancing years gave them the right to extend their lives to the full.
A nice, neat, well-organized culture but brittle as such cultures always had to be. His arrival had cracked it and now Lim threatened to shatter it with his demands. A fact Volodya recognized.
He said, "What can I do? Cyber Lim has warned he will destroy Zabul unless you are handed over to him. He could be bluffing but I dare not take the chance."
"The Cyclan does not bluff."
"So I gathered. It helps that you understand. For you, as a person, I have only respect. If circumstances were different I would like to be your friend. As it is-" Volodya broke off, shrugging. "Now you must come with me."
"Of course," said Dumarest. "But hadn't we better work out how to get things back to normal first?"
Volodya hesitated, looking at his prisoner. A man almost naked, certainly unarmed, knowing what his fate would be yet sitting with a relaxed ease he found hard to understand. As he found it impossible to know how Dumarest could quell the unrest his arrest had created.
"What can I do?"
"You alone? Nothing." Dumarest was blunt. "You stand for the Council and the power of the Cyclan. They have no reason to trust you. But there are others, Demich, Althea Hesford. Althea," he decided. "We were close and they would know it. They will trust what she has to say. What I will tell her to say. Send for her and let us be alone."
A trick? What could Dumarest do? Volodya hesitated, then, knowing he had no alternative, nodded his agreement.
"I'll give you ten minutes-Lim will be getting impatient. But can you guarantee to restore peace and order?"
"How can I? I'm in no position to guarantee anything." Dumarest hardened his tone. "But one thing is certain- unless I try, Zabul will tear itself apart Now hurry and get Althea!"
They were taking too long; the prediction he had made as to when Dumarest would be in his hands had turned out to be at fault. An error Lim found unpleasing and he quested for reasons to account for it. Had he underestimated his adversary? Judged the capabilities of the Council too highly? Forgotten some small but significant factor which should have been included in his assessment of the situation?
If the last, it was proof of his failing capabilities but, with cold detachment, he examined the possibility. An exercise conducted with the speed and skill of long training and longer experience and the summation was satisfactory. The reason had to lie elsewhere. Dumarest was clever and resourceful but limited by his situation, and his capture was inevitable. Those responsible for taking him, then, were to blame for the delay.
Leaning forward, he touched a communicator and, as it flashed into life, said, "Contact Zabul and find why the delivery of Dumarest is taking so long."
"Yes, Master."