The hounds’ voices became louder, closer, then suddenly broke into a quandary of baying. Magnus knew they had found the end of the trail, and that their masters would realize the fugitive lord had fled into the stream. They would be fanning out to either side, searching both upstream and downstream…
He began to hear voices calling, excited, hoarse. The excitement of the hunt was catching up even the serfs who had revered Lord Aran from the tales of his kindness and justice. Where, where could they hide?
A huge branch overhung the river. Magnus was tempted, and would have tried it if he’d been alone, but he knew he couldn’t haul the old lord up there. He kept wading, his legs growing more and more weary, and voices began to echo from the other bank of the stream, coming closer. They would be on him in a minute! Good or bad, they must find a hiding place, now!
“Go to … ground,” the old lord wheezed. Magnus nodded; like a fox, they had to hide, and soon. “I’m looking for … a bolt-hole … my lord.” For the first time, he began to think seriously of calling for his spaceship, and to hell with what it did to the mission by letting the lords know that someone else who knew about modern technology was active on the planet.
Then, suddenly, the trees on the left bank fell away into a small meadow. Magnus looked up in a panic—the first forester who came into that clearing would see them! He definitely had to call for Herkimer, now…
Then he saw the ovoid shape in the middle of the meadow.
A stone egg! He remembered the one Ian had come out of, remembered what Allouene had told him about the Safety Bases. He waded out of the river, hauling Lord Aran. “We have found it, my lord!”
The old man looked up, blinking. “What …?”
“A Safety Base!” Magnus knelt slowly, lowering Lord Aran with him.
“But how … why …?” Panic tinged the old lord’s voice. Could it be, Magnus wondered, that he didn’t know about these stations?
He remembered what Ian had told him of his fall into the egg, and pressed along the edge, trying to find the hidden hatch.
“We are lost,” Lord Aran moaned, and slumped against the side of the rock. Then his moan turned into a cry of alarm as the surface gave way beneath him, and he fell into the hole.
Magnus leaped in after him, not giving the hatch time to close. Maybe it was keyed only for people of the right genetic makeup, maybe Lord Aran had just been lucky—but Magnus wasn’t questioning good fortune.
The hatch closed above him, lights sprang to life, and Magnus, in a panic, called out, “No beacon! We need only rest, not rescue! Don’t send for help!”
“As you wish, sir,” a cultured voice replied. “Welcome to Safety Base 07734. What services will you require?”
“Only rest, food, and drink!” Magnus panted. “Thank you, Safety Base.”
“We exist to serve,” the computer’s voice answered, then was silent.
Lord Aran looked about him, wide-eyed. “A Safety Base! Praise heaven!”
Then he collapsed into unconsciousness. Magnus was very glad—he was quite willing to wait, before Lord Aran started thinking of the inconvenient questions. He stooped to catch the old nobleman in a fireman’s carry again, bore him down the spiral stairs to the nearest couch, then pulled off his boots, stripped off his wet clothes, wrapped him in a blanket, and propped his head on a pillow. That done, he straightened up with a sigh of relief, gazed a moment at his charge, then began to strip his own clothes off as he went into the bedroom, and just managed to aim himself toward a bed before fatigue took him and he fell.
Magnus awoke, bleary-eyed and aching. Looked around him and saw carpet, plasticrete walls, and viewscreens; he felt the smoothness of synthetics beneath his cheek—then suddenly remembered that he was on a medieval planet. Alarm sent him bolt upright—had they been captured, or…?
Then he remembered the end of the chase, the stone egg, the Safety Base, and went limp with relief. He hauled himself to his feet, stepped out of the bedroom, and saw the old lord still asleep on the couch.
Magnus nodded and went softly past him, knelt to pick up his clothes, and found them almost dry. How long had he slept?
He carried the clothes into the plush parlor and pulled on doublet and hose. Then he went up the winding stairs, stepped over to the control console, and asked, “How much time has elapsed since our entrance?”
“Ten hours, sir,” the dulcet tones answered him. Ten hours! Magnus wondered what Siflot and the children had been doing in that time. Were they still free? “You did not activate the beacon.”
“No, sir. You had commanded otherwise.”
Well, that was a mercy. “News scan, please. Have there been any broadcasts?”
“A constant exchange of information, sir. Lord Aran’s castle has fallen, his estates and serfs are being divided up between his neighbors, and the search for him continues.”
“To no avail?”
“No, sir. His trail ended not far from this station.” Magnus stiffened. “Where are they searching now?”
“In a spiral, sir, its center the point at which the trail ceased. The spiral has expanded to a diameter of five miles.”
That was quick progress; they couldn’t have been searching too thoroughly. Still, it gave Magnus a pang of anxiety for Siflot and the two children, if they had come as far as the forest. “Have they discovered any fugitives?”
“No, sir.”
That was a relief, but it wasn’t conclusive—if they’d caught the vagabond and the children, they might or might not have reported in by radio. On the other hand, who would think anything of a vagabond with two peasant children? Surely Siflot would think to disguise Heloise. Magnus relaxed, enough to realize how hungry he was. “Menu, please. Breakfast.”
“Yes, sir. Our resources are limited; we can only provide steak and eggs, ham and eggs, several cereals, and rolls.”
“Steak and eggs, please. And coffee.” Magnus had learned to drink that beverage on Maxima, though he still wasn’t certain he was happy about it.
A chime sounded below him. Going back down the stairs, he saw a steaming platter of eggs and brown meat on a small table, flanked by silverware. He crossed to it in two strides and sat down in one movement. The aroma was heavenly. He picked up a fork and started work.
Twenty minutes later, he decided it was time for a reconnaissance. With a sigh, he went up the stairs, pulled on his boots—and winced; they were still damp—then asked softly, so as not to wake Lord Aran, “Are there any enemies in the vicinity?”
“Define ‘enemies.’ ”
Magnus bit his tongue; he didn’t doubt that the computer knew what the word meant. It just wanted to know which side was which. Under the circumstances, since the lords were always the home team, he decided to drop the issue. “Are there any other human beings nearby?”
“Yes, sir. There is a woman twenty meters from this station.”
Magnus froze. A woman? Who …? Somehow, he thought he knew.
Magnus stepped out of the hatch; it remained slightly ajar behind him, as he had told it to—not that he really thought he would need a quick escape route, but he was growing very cautious. He stepped forward, hands on hips, feet wide apart, and looked about him, upward, breathing deeply of the fragrances of the forest, like a man enjoying a beautiful morning—and it wasn’t terribly hard to pretend just that, though it was mid-afternoon.
She stepped forward from a screen of brush, lissome and lithe, as beautiful in a medieval gown and bodice as she had been in tights and jacket. But her face wasn’t anywhere nearly as attractive when it was set in such stony anger.