Eye of the Zodiac - E.C Tubb

"There is no question about that," said Moore coldly. "We go on."

"To where?"

"Here!" Moore unfolded a map and tapped it with his finger. "Towards the east and upwards to this plateau. There is mention of it in the Eldrain Saga. There could be signs, symbols, evidence of the Kheld. The Candarish could have helped us-but it's too late for that now."

And perhaps too late for many things. Thwarted, Jalch Moore could turn vicious. Dumarest had noted the bulge under his blouse, the weight of a laser. Defied he would use it, killing without consideration, damaging the raft beyond repair, stranding them all. And Earl still had to find the object of his own search.

"If the Kheld exist we'll find them," he promised. "Now, Iduna, how about that food? Chaque, you'd better check the raft while I look around."

The dell was set on the summit of a pinnacle of stone, a dead vent which had become blocked and filled with wind-blown soil. The vegetation was springy, tough fibers matted into a compact whole. A place safe from any but airborne attack-one during which they would starve if anything happened to the raft.

Later, as he sat watching the wheel of the stars, Iduna came to sit beside him.

"Earl, it was my fault, wasn't it."

"The attack? No."

"I've been thinking. If I hadn't rejected that young buck-but I couldn't bear that he touch me."

"He was anticipating," said Dumarest. "If you hadn't fought he would have taken you, hidden you safely away somewhere."

"For later use," she said bitterly. "For him and his friends, and any other man who chose to use me. Animals!"

"You were strange. A female who dressed like a man. He'd probably never seen a woman's naked face before."

"Savages! Beasts!"

"Primitives," he corrected. "With a rigid culture and elaborate customs. You were outside the framework of his experience. Dress like a man-be treated like a man. Had we been killed and you kept alive, the women would have stoned you to death. To them you would have been unnatural. Dangerous. A thing to be destroyed."

She said, oddly, "Do you think I'm unnatural, Earl?"

"No."

"Some men do. They wonder what I look like when naked and hint that my interest lies only with other women. They don't understand."

A lonely child, perhaps. A father who had wanted only sons, an elder brother to emulate. And, if she had worked in the field as she had claimed, then the clothes would have been an elementary precaution to have diminished her attraction.

"It's late," he said. "You should get some rest."

"Sleep while you stand guard?"

"It's what I'm paid to do." He wished that she would leave him, sensing her feminine curiosity, the desire to probe. From behind the raft Chaque coughed, a harsh rasping sound in the stillness. Within the vehicle itself Jalch Moore turned, restless in his sleep.

"Earl!"

He turned as she came towards him, her arms lifted, embracing his neck, her hands pulling him close to press her lips against his own. For a moment he felt the demanding heat of her body. Then, as Jalch turned again, muttering, she drew slowly away.

"My brother-he needs me."

"Yes."

"Goodnight, Earl."

"Goodnight."

The night grew old. Dumarest woke Chaque to stand his turn at watch, then settled down to sleep. He woke with the sudden alertness of an animal, one hand reaching up to the shadow looming above, the other lifting the knife.

"Earl!" Chaque clawed at the hand which gripped his throat, recoiling from the knife which pricked his skin. "Don't! It's me!"

"What's wrong?"

"Something. I don't know what. Listen."

It came from above. A thin, eerie chittering, a peculiar stridation, like the rasp of chitinous wings. Dumarest rose, the rifle in his hands, eyes narrowed as he searched the sky. He could see nothing but the glitter of distant stars, the band of the galactic lens a pale swath low on the horizon. There was no wind, the air like glass.

"I was sitting, dozing I guess, then I heard it," whispered Chaque. "It swept over me and seemed to rise. But I could see nothing. Nothing!"

It came again, apparently nearer. A thin, nerve-scratching sound which filled the night with a peculiar menace. And then, as Jalch screamed in his nightmare, it was gone.

"Earl?" Chaque was shaken, his face ghastly in the starlight. "Was that one of the things we're looking for? One of the Kheld?"

"I don't know."

"If so, I hope we never find them." The guide glanced to where Iduna was soothing her brother. "We remain silent, right? We tell him nothing."

A sound in the darkness, an impression-what was there to report? Yet, to Jalch Moore it would be proof of the existence of what he sought. He would insist on remaining in the dell, setting up his traps, waiting, risking all their lives. And Dumarest had no interest in finding the Kheld.

* * * * *

The days became routine. Waking to eat, to drift deeper into the mountains, to camp at night, to eat again. Twice more they found isolated communities, trading, listening to vague rumors. A mass of conflicting and contradictory stories which sent them on a random pattern of search. And daily, Jalch became more deranged.

"Well find them," he muttered, crouching over his maps. "Here, perhaps? Or here? We must head for the higher peaks." He snarled like an animal as Chaque protested. "You claim to be a guide-why are you so irresolute?"

"Because I have a regard for my skin. The higher we go, the greater the danger. The winds-"

"Do you suggest we return?"

"No." Dumarest leaned over the map. It was rough, inaccurate, the product of speculation and surmise, but some things he recognized. "Here." He rested his ringer on a valley, one to the east. "We could try there."

"A valley, we need the heights!" Jalch Moore was impatient. "The fools know nothing. We must climb high and search the peaks."

They lifted too soon in the day, thermals catching the raft, sending it spinning dangerously close to an overhang.

"He'll kill us," said Chaque as he clutched at the raft's edge. "Earl, can't you take over? Stop him?"

"He's a good pilot." That, at least, was true. Jalch could handle a raft, and to argue now was to invite disaster. Dumarest leaned over the edge, looking below, seeing a snarled jumble of crevasses, ridges, naked stone wreathed with massed thorn. He felt the presence of the woman at his side, the warmly soft impact of her arm against his own.

"What are you looking for, Earl? What do you hope to find?"

"Here?"

"Anywhere. You're a traveler, always moving, always looking. Why?"

"Why do you hunt specimens in the field?"

"A job."

"Which could be done as well by others." He turned to face her, catching the speculation in her eyes. "To each their own, Iduna. You have your ways, I have mine."

"You're hard," she said. "Hard and cold. While I wish I didn't, I do admire you. Envy you a little, perhaps. Has any woman ever owned your heart?"

She frowned as he made no answer, recognizing his silence for the barrier it was. Since the night on the dell, she had made no further advances and he had invited none. A thing which perturbed her, offended her femininity.

"You have loved," she decided. "And you have been loved in turn. What happened, Earl? Did she die? Did you leave her? Does some lonely woman sit on some world, waiting for you to return?"

"Does some man wait for you?"

"No, or if they do they are fools. But no man has ever been really close to me. Always there is something, a barrier, between those who want me and those whom I want." She leaned a little further over the edge of the raft. "What was that? An animal?"

There was nothing, or if there had been it had vanished. A diversion, Dumarest guessed. Something to break the trend of the conversation, to shift it from what she could have considered dangerous ground. He felt the raft shift a little as Chaque came towards them.

"Iduna, you've got to stop him." His head jerked to where Jalch sat at the controls. "He wants to climb to the summit of the range, then quest along the entire area. He's mad."

"He is in charge of this expedition," she said coldly.

"Even so, he is mad. The winds-it has never been done before. He doesn't understand and won't listen. Please, you must make him be more cautious. I-" Chaque broke off, cursing as the raft veered. "The fool! Why won't he listen?"

Dumarest moved back from the edge.

"You're the fool," he said sharply. "You're unbalancing us. Get up to the front, quickly!"

It was too late. As the guide moved an updraft, combined with eddys thrown from the flank of the mountain, cojoined to create a turbulence which spun the raft and sent it crashing against a ridge. A near miss, only the bottom was affected, but it was enough.

"Quickly!" Dumarest gripped a bale, threw it over the edge, snatched at another. "Lighten the raft before we drop too low."

Drop into a natural chimney, the mouth of a natural funnel, the vortexes it would contain. The crash had ripped some of the anti-gravity conductors from their housings. Overloaded, most of its lift gone, the raft tilted as it dropped, spinning hopelessly out of control.

"Move!" Dumarest flung another bale over the side, followed it with some of the large metal boxes, a crate of instruments.

"No!" Jalch abandoned the controls, lunging from his seat into the body of the raft, hands clawing at the cargo. "You can't! I need these things! I need them!"

Dumarest struck him once, a hard blow to the jaw which sent the man sprawling and stunned. As Jalch fell Dumarest lunged for the controls, gripped them, fought to steady the raft which was now pitching and tilting. He heard Chaque cry out, saw the side of the chimney coming close. Then, they had hit with a grinding impact.

"The load-dump it!"

Chaque obeyed as the raft veered from the rock, lifting a little, dropping as it hit a mass of cold air, again hitting the slope of the mountain. It turned almost on edge, skidded down a mass of rock, hurtled into space to slam against a boulder lower down. Metal ripped with a thin squeal, and a gush of acrid smoke rose from the controls. Bared wires touching, energy short-circuited, the engine itself falling silent as they fell.

Fell to land in a shallow ravine, the impact cushioned by matted vegetation, which lay in and around the wreckage of the raft.

Chapter Ten

Chaque groaned, rising to nurse his arm, his head. The skin had broken over one temple, blood smearing his cheek. His hair was filled with torn leaves and his blouse was torn at the back and side.

"Earl? Earl, where are you?"

"Here." Dumarest stepped towards the guide. Bright flecks showed on the scratched plastic of his tunic and his hands were grimed. "How are you?"

"My head!" Chaque felt it, wincing as he probed his temple. "Nothing broken, I think, but it aches like hell."

"Can you move?" Dumarest watched as the man took a few steps. "Good. Let's find the others."

Iduna lay to one side, her face pale, a cheek stained green and brown from dirt and leaves. She stirred as Dumarest touched her, his hands searching for broken bones. One leg of her pants had split, the cream of a thigh showing through the vent. As his hands moved over her waist she sighed and opened her eyes.

"Earl. What happened?"

"We crashed." His fingers ran through her cropped hair, finding a bump, but nothing more serious. "We were lucky."

"And Jalch?"

Jalch Moore was dead. He rested high on a slope, cradled in the twisted branches of a thorn, ruby leaves framing his face, silver spines imbedded in his cheek, his neck. His eyes were open, glazed, his hands raised, the fingers curved as if, at the last, he had tried to clutch something and hold it close.

A dream, perhaps, a forgotten happiness. At least his nightmares were ended.

"Jalch!" Iduna strained against Chaque's holding arm. "I must go to him."

"Be careful, girl," snapped the guide. "Touch those spines and you'll regret it."

"But my brother-"

"Is dead. His neck is broken." Dumarest looked back towards the ruin of the raft. "He must have been thrown out before we crashed. We'd better look around and see what we can find."

"But, Jalch? You're not leaving him like that?"

"Why not? I told you, he's dead. What does it matter to him where he lies?" Dumarest stepped before her as she tore herself away from Chaque's hand. "You want to rip yourself to shreds trying to get him down? And then what? Can we bring him back to life? Have some sense, woman! We have more to worry about than Jalch."

She said, unsteadily, "I suppose you're right, Earl. It's just that, well, we were so close."

And now she was alone. Dumarest watched her as they moved down the slope. There were no tears, but her face was hard, a firmly held mask. Inside she could be weeping, but if she was, nothing showed.

"Here!" Chaque had found a metal box.

"Leave it. We need food and the medical cabinet. Some fabric too, if you can find any. And the rifles." Dumarest looked back at the dead man, at the laser he carried beneath his arm, but the risk was too great. "Look for the rifles. Spread out and carry what you find back to the raft."

It wasn't much; a bolt of fabric, some compressed fruits, a crate of broken instruments, a canteen. Dumarest lifted it and found it to be half-full.

"We could look again," suggested Chaque. "Spend the rest of the day searching."

"No." The area was too wide, the vegetation too thick. The bales and other things had been scattered when the raft had almost overturned.

Iduna said, "Can't we repair the raft?"

"Impossible." Dumarest had examined it. The engine was ruined, the conductors ripped and useless. "And we can't hope for rescue. Chaque, have you any idea of how to get out of these mountains?"

"Without flying, no," admitted the guide. "But I can tell you what to expect; crevasses we won't be able to cross, walls we won't be able to climb. Predators and thorns and blind canyons. Earl, we need those rifles!"

"Look for them if you like, I'm moving on."

"Moving on?" The woman was incredulous. "But we need rest and-"

"We're bruised," he said shortly. "Later, we'll be stiff. The longer we wait around here the harder it will become." Dumarest unrolled the bolt of fabric and cut off a length with his knife. "Wrap this around your leg-it will protect your thigh. You too, Chaque, cover those rents."

As they worked, Dumarest went to the raft. With his knife he levered off a distorted panel, reached inside and ripped loose a handful of wires. The control chair was covered in thick plastic. He cut it free, trimmed a small oblong piece and punched holes in either end. Using some of the wire for thongs, he made a sling shot.

He tested it with a stone, sending the missile to land high on a slope.

"Here." He handed the woman his knife and the rest of the plastic. "Make a pouch and some gloves. Nothing fancy, just to protect our hands from thorns."

She looked blankly at the articles. "How-"

"Cut thin strips from the plastic to use as thread. Use the point to make holes. The fabric will make a pouch and strap to support it. Chaque, help me get some metal off the raft."

They managed to get three strips, each about a yard long, an inch wide, a quarter thick. Crude swords without point or edge, but having mass which could be used as a club. The thorn trees were too spined, the branches too twisted, the wood too hard to be of use.