"What are you getting at?"
"It could be a trap."
"Out here? Using a ship as a decoy? That's ridiculous! Who would want to trap us? How would they know we were close?"
The Cyclan, predicting their course or learning of it from an agent. A suspicion Dumarest kept to himself.
"Forget the reward," he urged. 'There's a world of treasure waiting for us. Why risk losing it for the chance some ruler will be generous? Carry out the task you were commissioned to do. Damn it, captain, if you abandon it now you'll be committing a form of mutiny!" Then, before Chapman could answer, he added, "Let's play it safe. Put a spare crew on board the Evoy. They can follow us to Earth."
"To hell with Earth," snapped Chapman. "It can wait. I want to make sure of what I have. There will be time later to chase a legend."
Chapman was adamant, blinded by greed. Badwasi lacked imagination. He said, "There's nothing out there, commander. I've maintained a scan and the instruments register nothing out of the ordinary."
Dumarest said, "What you're really saying is that you can't discern any movement."
"Well, yes, I guess I am." Badwasi gestured at the void. "If a ship was out there I'd have spotted it. The field leaves a trail. Even if drifting the mass would register if it was close. In that case we could even get a visual sighting. There's nothing. Space is clear."
"What if a vessel was out there? Field down. Drifting. Stationary in relation to us?"
"It would be invisible," admitted Badwasi. "Especially if it stayed on aline between us and a star. But why would it do that?" He narrowed his eyes with belated suspicion, examining the screens, the instruments. "Is there something out there?"
"I don't know," admitted Dumarest. "But there could be. Keep watch and if anything should appear make sure you target and track it. Have missiles armed and ready."
"You expect action?"
"I just don't want to be taken by surprise."
Zehava's cabin was empty. As was Yemm's. Niall said, "She went over to the Evoy with the supplies. She must have stayed to make a check. As far as I know she's the only one aboard."
"What about Yemra?"
"Talking with the captain. Something to do with that woman in the casket, I guess. Maybe he's increasing the reward."
The air lock was empty, the drifting shape of the Evoy unchanged, the only addition to the original scene the thin line which traversed the gulf between the two vessels. Suited, sealed, a heavy satchel hanging from his shoulder, Dumarest clicked a sliding ring on the line and kicked himself into space. He landed softly, legs flexing to cushion the impact. Freeing himself from the line he moved to the emergency hatch and cycled through the lock.
Opening his faceplate he paused, listening, then hearing nothing moved softly through the vessel. Bales and canisters stood in neat array ready for the repair team and crew who would arrive later. The cabins were vacant, the salon deserted, the engine room empty. A tool locker swallowed the satchel. The hold was open, the bales of cargo stacked and held by broad restraints.
Zehava stood before the casket, hands resting on the controls, body leaning forward. She had removed her suit and was dressed in a blouse and pants of finely decorated fabric. Clothing which enhanced her femininity as did the cosmetics she wore. Her eyes, as she studied the figure the casket contained, were wide, luminous with reflected light.
A woman entranced. Her expression one he remembered.
Dumarest said, quietly, "Does she remind you of Nigel's sister?"
"Earl!" She spun to face him, then mastered her surprise. "No," she said. "Suarra was blonde and human enough to have had her faults. The Lady Lucia is perfect. Like something from an old legend. Beauty epitomized in a form which belongs to the world of dreams. Beautiful," she repeated. Dangerous but fragile. A blow could shatter her and maybe it should. I've seen how you look at her. What she must mean to you. I don't want to lose you, Earl! If I thought she could take you from me I'd kill her now! I'd ruin her beauty! I'd watch her die!"
She slumped, quivering, as he gripped her arms.
"Easy, Zehava. Easy."
"I'm sorry." She straightened, breathing deeply, filling his nostrils with the scent of her perfume. "I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it. I just want you to prove to me that I have nothing to fear. Wake the woman, see her, hold her -then tell me which of us you love. Do it, Earl! For me!"
"Where's Yemm?"
"What?" She blinked at the change of subject. "I don't know. I left him in the ship. He wanted to ask Chapman's permission to wake the Lady Lucia. He's been monitoring her progress and is worried about her. What are you doing here?"
"I came to collect you."
"Were you worried about me, darling?" She smiled her pleasure. "I must have forgotten the time. After the others left I made another examination of the cabins. We should move over here, Earl. This ship is designed for comfort. We could leave the girl with Chapman and go off to find Earth."
"You'd like that?"
"To be alone with you? You know I would." She stepped towards him, arms rising to embrace him, standing close. "Let's do it, Earl. Once the ship is repaired we'll take it and find a new world."
Dumarest said, dryly, "Don't you think Chapman might object to us stealing his salvage?"
"Let him. There'll be nothing he can do about it."
She moved even closer, rising on her toes, lips pursed as she moved her face towards the open faceplate, warm as they touched his own, her arms tensing around him.
Holding him fast as hands ripped the line and reaction pistol from his belt.
From where he had retreated Yemm said, "Do nothing foolish, commander. I will not hesitate to cripple you if it becomes necessary."
He had removed his suit and wore a short, dark robe with wide sleeves bearing scarlet bands. The laser he held lifted as Dumarest broke free of Zehava's grip. His face and eyes were expressionless, his tones devoid of emotion, but there was no doubt he would use the weapon. He had thrown the line and reaction pistol to the deck and, without warning, fired at them both. The line fused into a shapeless lump of plastic. The reaction pistol flared then slumped into ruin.
"Now remove your suit, commander."
"Do it, Earl!" urged Zehava as Dumarest made no move to obey. "Just do as he says."
"And then what? Run away to find that wonderful world you spoke of? Chapman would never let us go."
"The captain will have no choice." Yemm made a small gesture with the gun. 'This vessel isn't what it seems. It has a hidden method of propulsion and will be out of sight and range before anyone can realize what has happened."
"A trap," said Dumarest. "This ship, the cargo, the promise of a reward. All designed to appeal to Chapman's greed. You knew how I would react to the woman in the casket. What is she? A clone?"
"A specimen grown to rigorous definitions. One designed to attract and hold your attention. The prediction that you would have wasted no time in opening the casket was in the order of eighty-three percent. Your failure to do so puzzles me. Why did you hesitate?"
"I have a high regard for the ability of the Cyclan and had reason to be suspicious."
Zehava said, "That's nonsense."
"How would you know? And how could the Cyclan have known just where to place the Evoy unless someone told them which course we were taking? Sent them our coordinates as supplied by our navigator when you stood in for Schell at the radio. When did you become their agent?"
He shrugged at her silence.
"My guess is it was on Pangritz. They would have predicted our destination and arrived before us. The traders would have been eager to help. Once in the house it would have been easy to instruct you and pass over the knife you gave Toibin to use during the arranged fight. He was to fire the dart, deliver a minor wound and pretend to have killed me. You would have taken care of the supposed body. Shipped me out with the traders. Gained your reward when you handed me over. But Toibin spoiled it with his anger and Nowka when he hit the wrong target. You'd given him the knife and had to kill him in order to shut his mouth."
Dumarest moved a little as if easing his weight, edging closer to where the woman stood beside the casket.
"After that you played for delay. You sabotaged the governor. Naturally you didn't think we'd run into a vortex. You thought we'd just drift long enough for your friends to find us. After we landed on Fionnula you arranged for further delay. The damaged filters. The slowed repairs. The technicians thought the orders came from Cazele and he didn't complain because it suited him." Again he edged towards her. "Why did you do it?"
"Because I am of the Kaldari!" She blazed with sudden fury. "You shamed me. Beat me into the dirt. Prevented me from leaving with the others. Later, when you found me in the infirmary, you made me beg. Beg! I wanted to kill you then. I wanted to flay you alive when, later, you stripped me of all that I owned. Turned me into a pauper. Made me dependent on your whim. Used me!" Her voice thickened, became ugly. "Can you imagine how I felt? How it hurt to pretend? To lie? To smile? To follow you like a dog when you demanded I take you where you wanted to go? When the Cyclan approached me I welcomed their offer. They promised I should have my revenge."
Dumarest said, mildly, "My congratulations, Zehava. You're a superb actress. Unfortunately you're also a fool. Do you honestly think the Cyclan will permit you to live?"
"The Cyclan does not lie. The woman will receive her reward." The laser moved in Yemm's hand. "Remove your suit, commander. I shall tolerate no further delay. Obey or I will ruin your knees, your elbows, your feet, hands and eyes. Hurry. It is time for us to go."
"Together with this bitch you're in love with!" Zehava spun to face the casket, reaching for the controls. "Take her with you!"
Yemm fired as Dumarest lunged towards her, aiming for his elbow, hitting the woman instead. A wound masked by a gust of sparkling vapour which fumed from the opening lid to expand in a scintillating cloud. Dumarest slammed shut his helmet, seeing Zehava stagger, a burned hole marring her forehead, twisting as she fell towards him. A numbness touched his face, stung his eyes, caused him to stumble and Yemm, immune to the vapour, to miss as he fired again. Dumarest straightened, lifting the dead woman, using her as a shield. Throwing the body as Yemm burned dead flesh and, too late, tried to jump clear. Dumarest closed the gap between them, hands reaching, striking, feeling the snap of bone as he broke the neck.
Within the casket, wreathed in sparkling vapour, the woman stirred, rose, smiling as she opened emerald eyes.
Kalin!
His love, resurrected and reaching for him with inviting arms.
An illusion induced by the touch of vapour he had inhaled. One compounded by a dizzy nausea as he ran from the hold, the sparkling vapour, the dream of love which had haunted him for so long. The bait of the trap now about to close around him.
The opening of the casket would have commenced the cycle activating the drive. The only hope of escape lay in speed.
Dumarest raced to the emergency hatch, pass through it and stared at the other ship. The line which had connected the two vessels had vanished. Yemm's work, the reason why he had destroyed the suit-line and reaction pistol. As he had destroyed the radio with his second shot leaving Dumarest with no way to summon help and only one way to reach safety. He crouched, flexing his knees, aiming at the distant bulk of the Geniat, the dark patch of its open port. With all his strength he kicked himself into the void.
Watching the growing bulk of the vessel he knew he would miss.
His suit carried nothing he could remove. To flail his limbs would generate axial motion and nothing else. To change direction he needed reaction mass; something to throw so as to move in the opposite direction. Staring at the port he judged space and time, watching as the dark blotch moved relentlessly up and to one side. He would barely miss the hull, but it was enough to send him to drift for eternity.
He ignored the sick tension of his stomach, the dryness of his mouth, concentrating on the thin hiss of air as it passed from the tanks into his suit. Adjusting the valves he increased the flow and felt the pressure hard against his ears. Twisting he rotated his body and watched a moving vista as he waited for the critical moment.
The bulk of the ship passed before him, the open port, the emptiness of space. The ship again, the port, again the void.
Dumarest counted the time of rotation, noting his position in relation to the port, his apparent velocity. Waiting until he dared wait no longer then, with a twisting wrench, unlocked his helmet and tore it free.
Air gusted past his head to dissipate in the void. Mass which acted as a weak blast to send him towards the ship, the open port. A haven which he approached far too slowly. The helmet was added mass. Dumarest threw it from him, twisting to face the port as it came close, grabbing desperately at the rim. Blood roared in his ears as he pulled himself into the vestibule and twice he missed the handle. At the third attempt he found it, pulled it down, fell to roll in agony as the outer door closed, air blasting from vents to fill the compartment, his starved lungs.