What were they protecting?
To Badwasi he said, "Check the missiles. We'll only have one chance."
If they tried to run, the shimmer of the Erhaft field would betray their intention and they would be fired on before it could be fully established. The other vessel could move faster in normal space. It would be able to dodge or destroy any missile aimed against it. But, if those in control could be distracted they could have a chance.
Thirty seconds left. Dumarest thumbed the intercom.
"Ready to go, Zoll. Pass out the suit."
It emerged looking like a man, one hunched over the jetting flames of twin, side-set reaction pistols. The flames died as, slightly off-course, the figure moved towards the Cyclan vessel.
"Listen." Badwasi increased the gain on a speaker. From it came the rasp of breathing, the pounding of a heart. "That should fool them."
"How did you pick that up?"
"Laser contact. The suit acts as a diaphragm and the beam reflects the deflections. It works both ways."
"Then talk to it," snapped Dumarest. "Pretend it's me in there. Use my name and act natural. Hurry!"
A time of tension in which the orb of the planet seemed to pulse as if a great, watching eye.
"That's it." Badwasi turned from his microphone. 'They're coming out. If they spot the beam they'll be warned."
More waiting, calculating, a gamble with life itself as the stake. The Cyclan would have predicted the possibility of a trap and could have set one of their own. Dumarest frowned, remembering. Why had the surrogate been willing to talk at such length? Why the specific time allowed for him to leave the ship? Seven minutes, barely enough time to don a suit and pass through the lock. No time to spare for thought or action. Why, at the end, nothing had been said as to the safety of the ship and the others.
Abruptly Dumarest knew the answer.
"Badwasi! Open fire!"
Dumarest heard a metallic crack, saw the gunnery officer spin on his feet, a hole in the back of his head, a ghastly pulp where his face had been. Another crack and he felt the impact of something which ripped at the side of his scalp, sending blood to gush down his face, blinding his eyes, smearing his tunic. More cracks echoed with spiteful violence as he lunged towards the panels.
The Cyclan had sent a cloud of non-metallic missiles from a point far to one side of the Geniat. A lethal rain which riddled the hull like a blast from a gigantic shotgun.
Air whined from the vessel, slowing as the inner coating of sealing compound blocked the apertures. An alarm blared as Dumarest clear his eyes. Buttons sank beneath his fingers and he felt the shudder as missiles flared from their housing.
One expanded into a glowing ball of brilliance as it met a blocking missile. Another did no better as the men from the Cyclan vessel thrust the suit they had collected into the port. As a third missile wasted itself the Cyclan struck back.
The Geniat slewed as if kicked by a mighty boot, hull yielding, air gusting into the void together with a cloud of debris; the shattered bones and mangled flesh of those who had taken the brunt of the impact. Doors slammed, sealing compartments, saving the living at the expense of those hurt or already dead. A second hit would create total destruction. It never came.
The screens flared as, within the Cyclan vessel, the suit-bomb vented its energy. Like a stricken beast the ship jerked, darted to one side, turned into incandescent vapour as it ran into the missiles Dumarest blasted towards it.
"It worked!" Chapman had been too close to death and it showed. "Your plan worked, Earl. We got them, but they damned near got us. The hull damaged, equipment ruined, half the crew dead or injured. We've got to land and soon!"
Dumarest didn't hear him. Nor the voice of Nadine as she came to make her report. His whole attention was on the planet swelling before him in the screens. A white-mottled blueness wreathed by a diadem of stars.
Earth!
His search was over. He was home.