Lies to soothe the listeners, Vardoon guessed, and he added his own. Not until the canopy had grown dark and the raft filled with an almost solid darkness did his lips find Dumarest's ear.
"Have you been in a situation like this before?"
"Yes."
"I guessed as much. You knew just what to do. Now tell me the truth-can we make it?"
"If you want to--yes."
The will to survive was more important than food or fire-the determination to live which kept a man going long after he thought he would have died. Dumarest stared at the invisible canopy, remembering, knowing what was to come. Life now was measured in calories. Those carrying natural fat would have greater reserves than those who had starved-and too many had starved. The result of being stranded on a hostile world with no chance to build the price of even a Low passage. To ride doped and frozen and ninety percent dead in a casket designed for the transportation of beasts. Risking the fifteen percent death rate for the sake of cheap travel.
He stirred, remembering the waking, the euphoria of resurrection. Remembering, too, the warped handlers who took pleasure in withholding the numbing drugs so as to listen to the raw screams attending the agony of returning circulation. The corpses in caskets at the end of journeys. The thin faces of those who had made it. The faces of those who had taken one gamble too many.
In the darkness a man shifted and cried out, "Lorna! Lorna, my darling!"
One man sleeping and one lost in dreams. Soon they would be nightmares and would come without sleep. A world of ice and freezing chill and barren emptiness-of hunger and growing weakness-but a world which had to wait until the fury of the storm had died.
Vardoon whispered, "When, Earl? How long will the storm last?"
"Go to sleep."
"How long, damn you? How long?"
It lasted eleven days.
The wind had been kind. Toward the end it had blown snow from the wreck, allowing scudding clouds to be seen through the canopy. The snow had heaped high, providing a measure of insulation, but even so the cold had been too intense for some. As starvation had been for others. As injuries for even more.
Of the fifteen passengers only six had survived.
They made a small crowd on the mound at the rear of the raft. Vapor rose from their mouths to hang like thin plumes in the crystal-clear air. One called out as a fleck crossed the sky.
"A raft! By God, they've found us!"
It was a bird, as Dumarest had known. He stood a few yards from the others, examining the sky, the position of the sun. Iced snow made small crunching noises as Vardoon came to join him. The man's face, soiled, twisted, looked like a thing of delirium.
"Crazy," he said, and jerked his head back toward the others. "Two are for heading back to the workings and the others want to stay here and wait for rescue. They figure on lighting a fire and making smoke. Can you talk to them, Earl?"
"Can't you?"
"I've tried but they won't listen. Those wanting to head back think they'll get a welcome if they make it. They won't believe they'll find nothing but barred doors and a bullet if they try to break in. The rest think rescue teams are out looking for them. They want to stay. The others want to go. Crazy, the lot of them."
The result of darkness and cold, hunger and the insidious attack of delusion. The dead had been too many and too close. The dying had been too noisy. The smells, despite the cold, had been too strong. Half-dead to begin with, those who had clung to life were more than a little insane.
One looked at Dumarest as he halted before them. "You with us to return?"
"No! We stay!" A skeleton dressed in a mountain of rags waved a stick-like limb. "Stay and make smoke-the dead will burn. That's what you said, didn't you? Burn the bones."
"Burn the bones and boil the flesh," said Vardoon, harshly. "That way you might just make it. Earl, I'm coming with you."
"Any others?" Dumarest waited. "If you want to come along you're welcome but I warn you now: fall behind and I leave you. Fall down and you get yourself up or stay where you fall. No?" He gave them time to think about it. "Right I'm off."
Vardoon fell into step beside him. He made no comment; the others, given their chance, had rejected it. He didn't even look back; there was no point. The dead would dispose of the dead and, come spring, someone might find the wreck and what was left of their bodies.
"Slow down," said Dumarest. "You're walking too fast," he explained. "You'll sweat and the sweat will freeze and cost you body heat."
Obediently, Vardoon slowed his pace. "Two days, Earl? Three?"
"Why ask? You know the facts as well as I do."
And could use them as well. Dumarest recalled some of their conversations, the hints the man had let fall, the small betrayals he had made. A mercenary, perhaps, but not for long and not where the action was most fierce. A guard at times, a bodyguard at others, an entrepreneur of a kind making a living how and when he could. The scarred face could have been repaired but surgery cost money and, perhaps, he liked to advertise. Or it could be that he just didn't care. The latter was most likely, decided Dumarest. A man too impatient to worry about trifles. One dazzled by some golden dream. If so, he wasn't alone.
"Polis." Vardoon kicked at the snow. "What brought you here, Earl?"
The spin of a coin, but Dumarest didn't say so. The random choice made when it became wise for him to leave a prosperous world. One too heavily populated for his liking. Once on Polis basic caution had dictated he conserve his money. The workings had provided easy anonymity.
"Luck," he said. "All of it bad. A lying handler told me the ship was bound for Terren." Casually he added, "You know it?"
"No. Something special?"
"Just a place." Dumarest halted and studied the sky. "Which way now?"
A test and Vardoon passed it. Without hesitation he lifted a hand, pointing to a low gap between hills, a little to the right of their present line of progress.
"Through there," he said. "Then to the east a little. If we find high ground tomorrow we might be able to spot the town. Before that if a ship arrives."
Or left, the blue shimmer of its Erhaft Field would trace a signpost in the sky.
"And if there is no ship?"
"Heat refraction. The damn place is sealed but no insulation is total and they have to breathe. At the right time of day we should be able to spot the rising currents."
But first they had to get close enough. Darkness touched the sky as they neared the pass, blanked the skies as Dumarest found a declivity and burrowed into the snow. As Vardoon settled beside him, close for the sake of mutual warmth, Dumarest produced the last of the brandy.
"One drink each," he said. "You want it now or save it for later?"
"Now." Vardoon was emphatic. "If the skies clear we can move on. I had enough sleep back in the wreck to last me a month and if we get stiff it'll be hell easing our muscles." He took the bottle, hefted it, drank, passed it back. "I wondered if you'd have sense."
"Equal shares," said Dumarest. He emptied the bottle. The brandy warmed but he knew better than to be hasty. Tired muscles needed time to rest. "We'll take an hour."
Time for the sky to clear and the stars to blaze in swaths of silver glory. Brilliant points framing sheets and curtains of luminescence, the dark patches of dust clouds, the fuzz of distant nebulae. The galaxy as seen from close to the center was an awesome spectacle.