“Now that this helo’s here, do we need to go on?” asked Impac vez Potos, the Eye and Ear with Peggol.
“You’d best believe it, freeman.” Radnal recounted the story of the lost tourist who’d stayed lost. “No matter how many helos search, they’ll be covering a big area and trying to find people who don’t want to be found. We stay in the hunt till it’s over. By the way the Krepalgans fooled us all, they won’t make things easy.”
“Shall we keep resting, or head out now?” Peggol asked.
Radnal chewed on that for a few heartbeats. If the helo was here, that meant the people at Tarteshem knew from its radiophone how bad things were. And that meant helos would swarm here as fast as they could take off, which meant his group would probably be able to get supplies. But he didn’t want to lose people to heatstroke, either, a risk that came with exertion in the desert.
“We’ll give it another tenth of a daytenth,” he said at last.
He was first up when the rest ended. The other six rose with enough groans and creaking joints for an army of invalids. “We’ll loosen up as we get going,” Fer vez Canthal said hopefully.
A little later, panic ran through Radnal when he lost the trail. He waved for Peggol and Horken vez Sofana. They scoured the ground on hands and knees, but found nothing. Rock-hard dirt stretched in all directions for a couple of hundred cubits. “If they pulled up a bush and swept away their tracks, we’ll have a night demons’ time picking them up again,” Horken said.
“We won’t try,” Radnal declared. The rest of the searchers looked at him in surprise. He went on, “We’re wasting time here, right?” No one disagreed. “So here is the last place we want to stay. We’ll do a search spiral. Zosel vez, you stand here to mark this spot. Sooner or later, we’ll find the trail again.”
“You hope,” Peggol said quietly.
“Yes, I do. If you have a better plan, I’ll be grateful to hear it.” The Eye and Ear shook his head and, a moment later, dropped his eyes.
While Zosel stood in place, the other searchers tramped in a widening spiral. After a hundred heartbeats, Impac vez Potos shouted: “I’ve found it!”
Radnal and Horken hurried to see what he’d come across. “Where?” Radnal asked. Impac pointed to a patch of ground softer than most in the area. Sure enough, it held marks. The more experienced men squatted to take a better look. They glanced up together; their eyes met. Radnal said, “Freeman vez Potos, those are the tracks of a bladetooth. If you look carefully, you can see where it dragged its tail in the dirt. Donkeys never do that.”
“Oh,” Impac said in a small, sad voice.
Radnal sighed. He hadn’t bothered mentioning that the tracks were too small for donkeys’ and didn’t look like them, either. “Let’s try once more,” he said. The spiral resumed.
When Impac yelled again, Radnal wished he hadn’t tried to salve his feelings. If he stopped them every hundred heartbeats, they’d never find anything. This time, Horken stayed where he was. Radnal stalked over to Impac. “Show me,” he growled.
Impac pointed once more. Radnal filled his lungs to curse him for wasting their time. The curse remained unspoken. There at his feet lay the unmistakable tracks of three donkeys. “By the gods,” he said.
“They are right this time?” Impac asked anxiously.
“Yes. Thank you, freeman.” Radnal shouted to the other searchers. The seven headed southwest, following the recovered trail. Fer vez Canthal went up to Impac and slapped him on the back. Impac beamed as if he’d performed bravely in front of the Hereditary Tyrant. Considering the service he’d just done Tartesh, he’d earned the right.
He was also lucky, Radnal thought. But he’d needed courage to call out a second time after being ignominiously wrong the first, and sharp eyes to spot both sets of tracks, even if he couldn’t tell what they were once he’d found them. So more than luck was involved. Radnal slapped Impac’s back, too.
Sweat poured off Radnal. As it evaporated from his robes, it cooled him a little, but not enough. Like a machine taking on fuel, he drank again and again from the bladder on his back.
Now the sun was in his face. He tugged his cap over his eyes, kept his head down, and tramped on. When the Krepalgans tried doubling back, he spotted the ruse instead of following the wrong trail and wasting hundreds of precious heartbeats.
By then, the western sky was full of helos. They roared about in all directions, sometimes low enough to kick up dust. Radnal wanted to strangle the pilots who flew that way; they might blow away the trail, too. He yelled into the radiophone. The low-flying helos moved higher.
A big transport helo set down a few hundred cubits in front of the walkers. A door in its side slid open. A squadron of soldiers jumped down and hurried west.
“Are they close or desperate?” Radnal wondered.
“Desperate, certainly,” Peggol said. “As for close, we can hope. We haven’t drowned yet. On the other hand”-he always thought of the other hand-“we haven’t caught your two sluts, either.”
“They weren’t mine,” Radnal said feebly. But he remembered their flesh sliding against his, the way their breath had caught, the sweat-salty taste of their skin.
Peggol read his face. “Aye, they used you, Radnal vez, and they fooled you. If it makes you feel better, they fooled me, too; I thought they kept their brains in their twats. They outsmarted me with the fornication books in their gear and the skin they showed. They used our prudishness against us — how could anyone who acts that way be dangerous? It’s a ploy that won’t work again.”
“Once may have been plenty.” Radnal wasn’t ready to stop feeling guilty.
“If it was, you’ll pay full atonement,” Peggol said.
Radnal shook his head. Dying when the Bottomlands flooded wasn’t atonement enough, not when that flood would ruin his nation and might start an exchange of starbombs that would wreck the world.
The ground shivered under his feet. Despite the furnace heat of the desert floor, his sweat went cold. “Please, gods, make it stop,” he said, his first prayer in years.
It stopped. He breathed again. It was just a little quake; he would have laughed at tourists for fretting over it. At any other time, he would have ignored it. Now it nearly scared him to death.
A koprit bird cocked its head, peered down at him from a thornbush that held its larder.
Hig-hig-hig! it said, and fluttered to the ground. Radnal wondered if it could fly fast enough or far enough to escape a flood.
The radiophone let out a burst of static. Radnal thumbed it to let himself transmit: “Vez Krobir here.”
“This is Combat Group Leader Turand vez Nital. I wish to report that we have encountered the Krepalgan spies. Both are deceased.”
“That’s wonderful!” Radnal relayed the news. His companions raised a weary cheer. Then he remembered again his nights with Evillia and Lofosa. And then he realized Combat Group Leader vez Nital hadn’t sounded as overjoyed and relieved as he should have. Slowly, he said, “What’s wrong?”
“When encountered, the Krepalgans were moving eastward.”
“Eastw — Oh!”
“You see the predicament?” Turand said. “They appear to have completed their work and to have been attempting to escape. Now they are beyond questioning. Please keep your transmission active so a helo can home on you and bring you here. You look to be Tartesh’s best hope of locating the bomb before its ignition. I repeat, please maintain transmission.”
Radnal obeyed. He looked at the Barrier Mountains. They seemed taller now than they had when he set out. How long would they keep standing tall? The sun was sliding down toward them, too. How was he supposed to search after dark? He feared tomorrow morning would be too late.
He passed on to his comrades what the officer had said. Horken vez Sofana made swimming motions. Radnal stooped for a pebble, threw it at him.