And the cyber would check again. He didn't have to be a navigator, Erylin would take care of that, every captain had schooling in the basics if nothing else. Chagney, as the man dimly realized, had been declared incompetent.
An ally, perhaps? Aggrieved he might be willing to help.
Dumarest said, "These manacles are tearing my arms off. Can you ease them a little?"
"No." The navigator shook his head. "No key," he explained. "The acolyte has that and he's riding Middle."
Space terminology for anyone traveling under normal time. For him the journey would be a grinding tedium but, living at a normal rate while the others were slowed by quick-time, he would make a perfect guard. Even if Dumarest managed to escape he would stand no chance. And he was being watched, the puff of air proved that; the acolyte had looked into the cabin, seen all was well and had left again before Dumarest could react.
An invisible guardian added to the rest-the cyber was taking no chances.
Dumarest eased himself up in order to lean his back against the bulkhead. He winced, muttered, swore as he moved again. Chagney watched with dull interest; unaware of the hidden fingers which tore at the buckle of the belt now resting against Dumarest's kidneys.
"What they want you for? The Cyclan, I mean, you're valuable to them, right?"
The voice was still slurred but the eyes had lost some of their glaze. Somehow his pride had been stung or his greed wakened and he was trying to learn what he could. A mistake on the cyber's part, another to add to the rest and Dumarest's only chance. He took it, quickly, before the door could be sealed and he was isolated.
"I've got something they want," he said quickly. "The coordinates where it is buried. A smart man could make himself a fortune, but I wasn't smart enough. Listen, you help me and I'll tell you where it is."
He paused, waiting as moments dragged, fighting the tension which mounted within him. The seed had been sown but it was slow to take root. The diseased brain could only ponder what had been said.
And, to say more at this time, would be a mistake.
Chagney sucked at his lips. '"What is it? This stuff you buried?"
"I didn't bury it. It's a ship which crashed on Heida. You know it? The hold was stuffed with equipment for the mines but there was something else carried in the captain's cabin. A strongbox filled with gems. They were meant as a bribe to the Magnate from the Cyclan. He didn't get them and they had to pay twice. Now they want the gems."
"And you know where they are?"
Dumarest said, "Help me ease these damned cuffs. They're tearing the skin."
"The gems-"
"To hell with the gems. Help ease these cuffs."
The navigator took one step forward then paused. He blinked and ran the tip of his tongue over cracked and scaled lips. He said, slowly, "These gems-are you conning me?"
"How much is the cyber paying as recompense? How large a bonus are you getting? Sure, I'm conning you. Forget it."
Dumarest turned, scowling, the nail of his thumb probing at metal. The buckle was in reverse, unseen, he could only operate by touch and, for safety, the thing wasn't easy to open. It yielded as Chagney took another step towards him.
"The gems? How much?"
"If you know Heida then you know the Magnate. He lives high. A man like that can't be bought cheap. There's enough to keep the both of us in luxury for life." Dumarest hardened his voice. "The both of us, understand?"
"But-"
"I'll delay the Cyclan. You get there first and find the stuff. Hide it and wait. I'll join you as soon as I can. On- where? Where shall we meet?" Dumarest didn't have to pretend urgency. Beneath his fingers the buckle had parted and the small, metal tube it had contained now was in his hands. It contained two syringes one colored red, the other green. They contained the affinity twin, the subjective with a reversed last component But how to tell which from which?
"Koyan," said Chagney. "I like Koyan. I've got friends there. I'll wait for you on Koyan."
"Where? How will I locate you?"
"I'll be at the best hotel. Now how do I find the gems?"
If they existed he would take them all, but his greed had served its purpose. Now, quickly, before the chance was lost. The only chance he would get. But which was the red syringe?
As he struggled to remember their original location in the tube, the shift of position of both buckle and container, and which now occupied what position, Dumarest said, "We had a deal. Come closer. Ease these damned cuffs."
"The coordinates-"
"You want everyone to hear. Bend down your ear to my mouth. Hurry, damn you. Hurry!"
He caught the stench of foul breath in his nostrils as the navigator obeyed. Heard the rasp of air in wheezing lungs and heard, too, the pad of feet down the corridor outside. The cyber returning?
A scaled cheek touched his own, an ear moving to halt opposite his mouth, haired, grimed with dirt and wax. Dumarest muttered words, figures, giving an imagined position, instructions, lies. Holding the other's attention as he strained against his bonds, fingers slimed with sweat, muscles burning as he fought to hold the syringe. Fingers touched his arms, moved down to his wrists, hesitated.
"Lower," said Dumarest. "Lower, grab those manacles and pull. Move, damn you! Hurry!"
"Someone's coming."
Had arrived, the footsteps halting beyond the cabin opening, moving forward as, with a lunge, Dumarest reared, stabbing upwards with the syringe, feeling the point strike against a boney wrist, slip, drive home as he reared again, pain lancing from torn ligaments in back and shoulders.
"What the hell!" Chagney swore and tried to jerk free his arms. Dumarest threw back his weight, imprisoning them between his shoulders and the bulkhead, releasing his grip on the syringe and turning the other so that the needle rested against the artery on the inside of his wrist. A moment he paused-if he had guessed wrong this would be the last action he would ever take and then, as Broge crossed the cabin towards the bunk, he drove the instrument into his flesh.
Chapter Nine
There was a blur, a timeless moment as if the very universe had stopped, then came light and sound and a voice.
"What are you doing here? My orders were plain. This man is to remain in isolation."
The cyber, his tones even, only the words holding an implicit threat. But the words were fuzzed, harmonics lost, the drone of a robot rather than the trained modulation of his class.
"Did you hear me? Step back away from the prisoner. Leave this cabin and do not return. There will be penalties if you do not obey."
Dumarest sucked in his breath and felt a liquid gurgling in his chest. Before him he could see the metal of the cabin; the join where bulkhead met hull. Lower a shape sat slumped in the corner, arms behind the chest, chin pressed against his own torso.
With a jerk he freed the wrists which were trapped between the figure and the metal. A spot of red caught his eye, a small tube hanging from a needle buried in his wrist and he snatched it, pulling it free, coughing, lifting a hand to his mouth and hiding the thing beneath his tongue.
One found and hidden but the other?
He heard the soggy rasp as of clothing; bare flesh sliding over the metal bulkhead as the figure on the bed toppled to one side. He caught it, found the other syringe, coughed again and finally turned to face the cyber.
"I'll," he said. "I heard him cry out and looked inside and he was ill. I think he's fainted or something."
"Please leave immediately."
"I could help, maybe?"
"That will not be necessary." Broge's hand lifted towards his sleeve, the laser clipped to his wrist. "I shall not ask you again."
The man should die, had to die, executed if for no other reason than that he had ordered the death of an old and harmless man, but not yet. The acolyte had to be taken care of first and there were other things which needed to be done.