“Come here.” Dane made a swift decision. “Watch—if this rope loosens, call!”
He scrambled past the brach, who obediently came to the hoist. The belt spun just below the hatch, the man in it limp and still, having been trussed inside the lift by a patchwork of tatters knotted together. With infinite care Dane got him in, bathed in sweat that was not induced by heat when he laid him on the floor. He tried to take care in loosening those fastenings. Then once more he kicked out the belt and let it fall on the line.
There was no time to examine the first arrival. Meshler did not even look around, his concentration on the controls was such that now he seemed a part of the craft he fought to master.
Once more that jerk on the line, the arrival of another injured man, but this time conscious, able to help himself.
As Dane uncoiled the lashing that held him in the belt, he said, “How many more of you?”
“Ten,” the settler replied.
Ten! They could not pack that many in here, not with the hoist taking up so much room. It would mean two trips—and did they have time for that? He threw out the belt again, asked the settler to watch the hoist, and then edged up to Meshler.
“There are twelve. We can’t take them all.”
Meshler did not turn from the controls as he answered, “We’re on borrowed time. We may not be able to make a second trip.”
That was obvious. But it was also plain that they could not hope to overload the flitter and get away. So far all they had seen of the enemy were the patrolling monsters outside the robo ring and that one blaster shot from the vehicle park. But that did not mean there had been any retreat.
Suddenly the flitter gave a lurch, just as if they had been jerked ahead on an invisible line. Their hover had been broken. They were moving from the rocks.
“Control beam!” the ranger cried. “It’s weak, but with this craft I can’t break it.”
Control beam! They were being reeled in again, just as they had been in the other flitter. Another crash? “What the—” He heard the second wounded man in the back cry out, “We’re going past the rocks!”
Dane got back to the hatch. Below them dangled the belt. They were already past the rocks, and it was a mercy no one had been in it.
“Look!”
He saw the belt settle as the beam brought them lower and suddenly hook over the up-thrust arm of a robo that had run down. To be so forceably anchored in an instant was the final mishap. In spite of Meshler’s skill, the nose of the flitter went sharply up, and they headed tailward to the earth.
16.BAIT FOR A TRAP
Dane was thrown back by the sudden tilt of the deck. He slammed into the framework of the hoist, his head meeting one of the beams with a sickening crack. Perhaps the padding of the thermo hood saved his life, but from that second he lost all interest in the proceedings.
He awoke with pain filling his head, sending torturing fingers exploring down his neck and shoulders. So did that fill his world that he was only vaguely aware of sound—loud and intermittent—which arose beyond the red haze clouding his vision.
Then he was lifted, and the pain hit with acute force so that he cried out to be left alone. The impatient handling, for he was being pulled along roughly, made it worse, though he did not sink back into full unconsciousness.
He was dropped, rather than laid down, his head a little elevated. Then they did leave him alone. Slowly, blinking, he managed to see a little about him. A mass of wreckage pointed skyward, past his range of sight, for he could not raise his head higher. After slow minutes of capturing memory, he knew that for the flitter, which had apparently struck full on its tail. Scuttling back and forth across his line of sight between him and the stones was a robo waving flailing arms.
“Meshler?” The ranger’s name came out as harsh, croaking sound, but the face of the man leaning over him was that of a total stranger. He glanced at Dane casually but made no attempt to examine the Terran’s hurts.
“This one’s still alive,” he reported to someone.
“All the better. If he threshes around a little, it will make it more convincing. What about the others?”
“One dead, one still breathing. And the pilot?”
“He’s safe enough. With his feet in a tangle, he can flop to impress, too. Push him halfway under the wreck, and it will be all set. Now, give those dust grubbers the message—loud and clear—”
The words seemed to float in and out of Dane’s hearing. Some were sharp and clear and made sense.
Others were so faint that he could not be sure of them.
“You—up in the rocks !”
That was certainly loud enough to re-echo inside his skull as a frightening din.
“Listen,” shouted the same voice again.
Fainter—”We’re listening.” “We can make you an offer.”
“We’re listening—” Almost an echo of the first reply.
“Send a couple of your men out for a talk.”
“Send yours here—unarmed,” countered the other.
“Give them what they want.” Another voice, impatient, cut in. “We haven’t much time now. This has fouled up everything.”
“We come, no blasters, to that rock—”
“Agreed.”
The man who had stood by Dane moved away. As he passed the robo, the machine swung away from him, its persona detection device steering it from attacking a human. Another man came to join him. They stood with their backs to Dane, but he could see them. The haze was clearing more from his vision, and he could watch in a detached way, as if this had no meaning, for the only reality was his pain.
From behind the stones came two men in settlers’ shaggy outdoor clothing. They moved warily, and they did not come far, standing well away from the enemy.
“What do you want?” demanded one of them.
“Just out—off-world. We have a spacer we can lift in, but we need time to reach her—and we need transportation—a flitter.”
“So? Well, we don’t have one,” countered the settler. “And we can’t make one out of stones—”
“Give us a truce,” returned the other. “We call off the beasts, send them in another direction. There’s a broadcaster to the north they’ll drift to if we switch off ours. And we’ll send in a com for help. Whoever comes will see this wreck and set down by it. We’ll take over. Oh, not with blasters—with tanglers. Then once we’re out of here, you’re free. All we need is that flitter. We would have taken this one if it hadn’t fouled that blasted robo. You stay where you are, quiet and peaceful. Don’t try any tricks until we get the flitter. Then we’ll go—”
The settler turned his head to his companion. Dane saw their lips move but could not hear even a whisper of speech from where he lay.
“What about them?” The settler pointed to the wreck and Dane.
“They stay here until the flitter comes. After that you can have them. And to show you we mean what we say, we’ll call off the beasts, hold them back. If you agree, that is.”
“We’ll talk it over—” The settlers’ spokesmen withdrew, not turning their backs on the enemy, but edging along until they disappeared behind boulders large enough to give them cover.
The others tramped back, though they took no precautions against fire from the stones. Something beside the fury of pain moved in Dane. He understood the terms of the truce, but it did not mean much to him personally. Only a dim sense of alarm awakened. It was clear that the settlers did not trust these men, but would they agree? And if they did—
Bait! The explanation rang in Dane’s mind as if it were an alarm to awaken him to what this might mean in terms of his own survival. The fragments of talk he had heard on his first regaining consciousness made sense. He—the others who survived the crash—were to be left here as bait!