"I remember." Another hawked and spat, not looking at the rear of the raft where Dumarest sat. "And Chine? Remember him? We found his helmet after the winds died. His head was still in it. Odd that, when you think about it No body but his head locked in the helmet like a fruit in a can."
Dumarest had saved money by agreeing to share the raft with others setting out to hunt. Spent it by hiring a guide. Zarl Hine was worn, tough, seamed like dried and ancient leather. One who had spent most of his life in the Goulten Hills. His luck had turned bad and Dumarest had found him hanging around the equipment rooms. He had come cheap because none were willing to take him on.
Sitting next to Dumarest he said, "Take no notice. They're trying to scare you. It's always calm before a storm but a storm doesn't always come because it's calm, if you get my meaning. You've got to do more than watch the sand. You need to look at the sky, check the clouds, watch for color. The winds can start high and pick up dust from the Allepcian Mountains. They lie far to the north and grow a mauve lichen on the peaks. If the sky turns mauve start heading for shelter."
The same if it showed green from the level plateau to the south on which crystals of emerald budded to break and turn into dust. Or red from the iron-deposits to the east. Things Dumarest had learned with others but nothing could really take the place of an experienced guide.
Hine said, "You won't regret taking me on, Earl, that I promise. But I can't guarantee a find. If I could I wouldn't have been waiting for a chance. My luck-" He spread his hands. "I guess you know about that."
"I was warned."
"That on each of the last three times I went out I lost companions? That I'm in debt? That where I go storms follow?"
"Is there more?"
"Luck," said Hine. "You have it or you don't. Once I had it and made the mistake of thinking it would last. I knew how to find trannaks and would always be able to find them. Then things started to go wrong. My wife left me. My son fell ill. My daughter wanted to live high. My brother-hell, Earl, you know the story."
"Yes," said Dumarest. "I know it."
"I can't blame Myrna, not really. A wife needs a man at her side and I was always in the hills. And Frank couldn't help falling sick and needing expensive treatment. Lorna wasn't really bad, just young and impatient, and Sakam, my brother-well, you can't let your own go down, can you?" He made an impatient sound. "Why am I telling you all this?"
Dumarest said, "Talking can help and I like to know the kind of man I'm relying on. But why blame your luck for what happened? You were worried, maybe a little careless because of that, taking chances you shouldn't and not spotting what was there to be seen. You made mistakes and blamed yourself and, once your confidence goes, what's left?"
"You think it was that?" Hine sounded relieved. "Just worry working at me all the time? You know, no one ever suggested that. They all put it down to bad luck and said I had a jinx and turned me into an outcast. I've had to sweat just to keep level and it's getting harder every month." Pausing he said, "Mister, one thing I promise-if there are trannaks to be found then, by God, I'll find them!"
He fell silent as the raft began to drop, the antigrav units humming as the driver manipulated the controls.
Without turning he said, "Phindarl get your team and gear ready. You're first to go."
"This the right place?" A man at the front of the raft sounded suspicious. "I want to be set down right."
"At the foot of Peak 17. Right?"
"That's about it." The man rose, sealing his helmet, his voice booming from the diaphragm. "Come on, boys, we can't afford to waste time."
The raft settled, the canopy opening, the men jumping out after their packs. Without looking back they trudged toward the foot of the hills, sand pluming from beneath their boots. Dumarest knew that, as soon as the raft was out of sight, they would change direction. Favored spots and entries into the hills were closely guarded secrets.
As they rose from dropping the other team, Hine pointed at the desert. "There! See?"
A ripple ran over the sand. A line which wavered, lengthened as they watched, then abruptly curved to vanish.
"A big one," said the guide. "And close to the surface. One scouting for a mate like as not and all the more dangerous because of it."
"Not a female, then."
"No." Hine looked at Dumarest. "You know as much as most. A female would be looking for a cavern to lay her eggs. They run at times but not as often and usually go much deeper than the males. The bulls run wild when they're in heat or affected in some way and then the entire surface gets covered with trails. When that happens a storm is certain." He glanced at the range passing to one side. "Much farther to go?"
"Worried?"
"No, Earl, but the main finds are made back there." He jerked his head toward the rear. "Closer to the city."
And so all the more searched. Dumarest said nothing as the raft moved on, only speaking when it began to drop.
"Not there! Drop us on the summit!"
"You said to drop you at the foot of Peak 86."
"I've changed my mind. Take us lower down and set us on a flat space close to the upper peaks. There! See? Drop us there!"
"It's your funeral." Shrugging, the driver obeyed. "But if you find anything here I'll eat it. Got all your gear? Right. Be seeing you-maybe."
He hadn't wished them luck as he'd done the others and Hine stared after the retreating raft. "The bastard! Earl, you upset him."
"Too bad." Dumarest stood, waiting. Only when the raft was a tiny mote lancing toward the city did he move. "Right, get the gear. We'll rope together and head down that ledge. I spotted a cave down there and it could lead into others. What do you think, Zarl?"
The guide hesitated, pleased that his opinion should be asked but doubtful as to what his answer should be. He decided to be honest.
"I think we could be wasting our time. The sannaks dont run up into the hills. They burrow deep and feed on outcroppings below the surface. That's why the others asked to be dropped where they did. They walk a way then find a mouth and enter to search. This way-" He broke off, shaking his head. "I don't know, Earl, and that's the truth of it. This is new to me."
And to most as Jwani had explained. Those who searched for trannaks followed a predictable pattern but he had worked out new methods based on the habits of the beasts. Dumarest was basing his actions on what he had learned.
He explained, "If we do what the others are doing well have no better chance than they have. Less as only one of us is experienced. This way, if I'm right we can move fast and cut down the risks. If I'm wrong we can go back to the old way. Now, Zarl, it's up to you."
Only a fool would hire an expert and then ignore his advice. Dumarest had deliberately placed the man in charge and would obey him unless and until he made obvious mistakes or showed too much reluctance.
The guide said, "Right The first thing we do is to seal up and stay sealed until we tent. Out here a sudden flurry of wind can drive grit into your eyes and before you could get it out you could be dead. Down under you'll be sending out signals all the time and it's suicide to amplify them."
"Signals?"
"Vibrations." Zarl looked at the mercenary. "Each time you take a step you send out vibrations. Each time you move or talk. Old hunters use sign language but we haven't time for that. And there's body heat and humidity. Even with the suits tight-sealed some gets through. To stay alive you must never forget what it is we're up against." He turned, looking at the desert rolling away from the foot of the range, the sky resting like a clear bowl of tinted azure above. A mote showed, falling in a shimmer of blue from its Erhaft Field, sound echoing as sonic waves signaled its descent. "Hell," he said. "It's a ship."