E.C Tubb: Web of Sand

Where else but on the desert?

"Cyber Tosya." Yunus made an effort to control his impatience. "The ship which landed this morning will leave before dark. If you intend to travel on it I would advise no further delay."

There was time, not much, but still enough for him to again review the facts of recent events. Dumarest, so close and now so far. Dead, lost beneath the sand, every grain of his body separated and mixed with older, more arid dust. The valuable information contained in his mind lost for what could be millennia.

And he had allowed it to happen.

And yet, could he wholly be at fault? Dumarest must have left the city before he had even landed-would the central intelligence take that into consideration? The one at fault must surely be Frome who had failed to carry out his orders or, more probable, the one to whom he had passed them had been lax.

Was it worth staying?

Again Tosya equated the probabilities and came up with the same bleak answer. If Dumarest had been caught by the storm he would now be dead-the probability was as high as any he had made. He had not entered the city while the storm had been in progress, the guards at the gate were positive as to that. Nothing unusual had been reported and every known fact led to the same conclusion. Dumarest was dead.

Yunus said, "The ship, Tosya. If you intend leaving you must go now."

To report. To serve the rest of his life in minor capacities, never again to be trusted with matters of great importance, never, even, to gain the coveted reward. Yet if he had failed there was no need to compound his failure.

Yunus blinked as the puff of gas assailed his nostrils. A moment then the incident was forgotten-but he was now a man as good as dead. Within a few hours the parasite carried in the vapor would have rooted itself in his brain, there to grow, to distort his cerebral process, to kill as surely as a bullet.

And any curiosity he may have felt about the Cyclan's interest in Dumarest would have died with him.

Chapter Thirteen

The guide was a young man, furtive, taciturn. Santis frowned as, for the third time, he failed to answer. To Dumarest he said, "Why didn't Lowbar let us have the girl? And why keep us waiting so long? I don't like it, Earl. And I don't trust the man he gave us."

Neither did Dumarest. Twice now he had spotted a familiar patch of fungus, the second time he had marked it and now, seeing it again, decided that deceptive tactics had gone too far.

Calling a halt, he said, "All right, that's enough. We'll make our own way."

"You can't!" The guide came back to rejoin them. "You won't be able to find the way."

"And we won't be walking in circles." Dumarest looked at the man, his face hard. "Do you think we're fools not to know what you're doing? Who put you up to it? Lowbar? Doesn't he trust us?"

"You lied. You said you'd lived through a storm. No one can do that."

"So you think we must be spies." The logic made sense. "So you're leading us around to what? A trap? Isn't it ready yet? Or do you just want to confuse us?" Dumarest frowned as he gained no answer. Reaching out he gripped the man by the hair, the knife flashing as he lifted it to rest the needle point against the taut windpipe. "Now listen. You guide us correctly or I'll see to it you never guide anyone again. And if your friends are waiting lead us away from them because if you don't-" The pressure of the blade completed the sentence. "Now let's get moving!"

Shivering, the guide obeyed, leading them up a narrow ramp, through a fissure, along a ledge circling a vent from which foul odors gusted, into a labyrinth of passages, each looking like the other. A maze which confused all sense of direction. Dumarest tightened his grip.

"No tricks, now," he warned. "If anything happens you'll be the first to go."

"Nothing will-we've passed them, all you need to do is to keep going straight to the junction then-" He gasped as sound echoed from ahead. "The guards! Let me gol The guards!"

"No," said Kemmer. "Not guards! They've no uniforms. They must be workers."

They came from a narrow passage as the guide, with a desperate jerk, ripped himself free and raced into the maskings shadows. All were wearing thick coveralls and were armed with long clubs and carrying lanterns. Their leader halted as he saw the three men, club poised, lantern raised to bathe them in its light.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Three fools who got themselves lost." Dumarest threw aside the swath of hair and lifted empty hands, smiling, obviously pleased at the encounter. "We had a guide but he ran off when he heard you."

"A guide?"

"A young man who offered to lead us. We seem to have been walking for hours and getting nowhere. I guess he didn't know the way as well as he claimed."

"And he ran off? Which way?" The leader had a hard, craggy face. It grew ugly as he listened. "Harry! Sheel! Take men and go after him." He scowled as they ran off. "They won't find anything but it's worth the try. Keeps the scum wary if nothing else. You were lucky. He'd have led you into a trap if we hadn't happened along. You'd have been killed, stripped and eaten."

"Eaten?"

"That's right." The man glanced at Kemmer. The trader looked as if he wanted to vomit. "It's happened before which is why we always move around in groups. Lost, you say?"

"That's right." Dumarest shrugged. "We came down with a party but got separated somehow and have been wandering ever since."

"You come down after welchers?" The craggy man seemed to think he had the answer. "It's long past time they were exterminated. They come down here on the run or maybe they've been ordered to work in an installation and won't take the discipline. They lurk and steal anything that's going, attack anyone weaker than themselves and destroy what they can't use. Vermin!" His hand tightened on the club. "Filth!"

"You don't like them," said Kemmer.

"I hate their guts. I've never borrowed anything in my life and never owed a minim. I work hard and live within my means and don't try to get rich quick or crave luxuries I can't afford. If a man's too weak to control his greed then he has no right to whine at the consequences. No one forced them to borrow. They knew the rate. They knew what would happen if they didn't pay. I tell you, mister, the quicker they get rid of the scum the better off we'll all be. Parasites like that are useless to everyone."

Dumarest said, "Get rid of them? How do you suggest it should be done? The Cinque would like to know."

"You from the Cinque?" The man frowned, suspicious. "I thought you said you came with a party."

"We did. One sent by the Cinque. Yunus Ambalo, Jhol Barrocca, Elmay Tinyah-but you know those interested in the problem. They are as concerned as you are. You seem to be a man of firm ideas and I'd like to mention you in my report. If a program is devised we'll need to find a strong man to put in charge. Would you be willing to accept the responsibility? There'll be adequate compensation, of course." Dumarest smiled as the man nodded. "Good. You've an office? I'd like to take your name and maybe we could talk a little. You have a phone? Better still. And, naturally, you can guide us after I make a few calls. I want to let the others know we're safe. Yunus would be amused but others are a little more serious and aware of the problems you people have to face. They would have eaten us, you say?"

He nodded at the affirmation, keeping the man talking, giving him no time to think as they made their way toward the installation, the office, the phone it contained.

Alejandro Jwani said, "Coffee, Earl? Wine? Tisane? Or would you prefer something stronger? We have reason to celebrate!"

"Coffee."

"One of my specials?" Jwani busied himself at the table with his pots and bottles. "You know, Earl, even now I find it incredible that you are still alive. The ventilation shaft, of course. Once we have the facts the answer becomes obvious. I should have guessed when the technician made his report."