"Party spotted, sir. Heading in from the northeast, and close."
"How close?"
"Less than a mile, sir."
Too close; they should have been spotted earlier. Either the men were careless or the Ayutha more cunning than he had guessed. Men, traveling alone, could have used the terrain to baffle the electronic devices.
Captain Hamshard was hooked into the circuit. He said, "About a dozen, sir. I've launchers from posts thirteen and twenty following them."
"Unnecessary, captain. They've come to talk, not fight."
Summoned by repeated commands to explain the violation of the truce, threatened with reprisals if they did not attend with their mysterious teacher. Unfair, perhaps, but when had war ever been fair? War and other things, conflicts between men and women, between an arrogant, insane ruler and the pawn he hoped to command.
Dumarest kicked at the fire.
There had been time to think while waiting. The post-hypnotic command which Lisa had triggered had, in a sense, negated itself. Dead, she could not give the key word. Apart, he wouldn't hear it. As a threat, it was limited, something to be used, perhaps, if all else failed, but her uncontrollable jealousy had caused her to reveal too much. And if she repeated the word, and he could record it, any expert psychologist would be able to wipe the command from his subconscious.
He wondered if Zenya, also, had been entrusted with the key sound. Or if she had been given another. And yet Chan Parect would have trusted neither too much. There must be something else; the man was too devious to have been so obvious.
Dumarest kicked again at the fire.
"How close now, lieutenant?"
"Two hundred yards, sir. Approaching now directly from the north. I can't be too sure about their number, there seem to be more now than before."
"Anything else?"
"Two large groups to either side of the mound and about a quarter of a mile back."
"Thank you, lieutenant. Captain, have launchers zeroed on both groups. Designation alpha and beta. No firing unless I give the order."
"Yes, sir. Should I have rafts standing by?"
From his tone Dumarest guessed that Hamshard had already given the order. "One raft, captain, eight men, armed. Pick steady types." He looked toward the crest of the mound. "Here they come."
They arrived like shadows, feet silent on the ground, tall shapes limned by the firelight, bright points winking from flaked stone, metal, brittle glass. Arrows and spears, crude, but effective at short range. And he guessed there would be other things aimed at him from the shielding darkness.
An old man, the communicator in his hand, lifted it and said, "We heard. We came."
"Your friend?"
"He waits."
Dumarest said harshly, "That isn't good enough. I asked for him to be brought here. Where is he, and where are the others like him? Those of my people who worked and lived among you?"
"They are safe." The old man paused, and then, as Dumarest made no comment, added, "We have kept them so. If you again attack us, they will die."
Hostages. Dumarest had expected it; the Ayutha were learning fast.
"Many have died," he said. "If you dont want to follow them, you will do exactly as I say. That man-where is he?"
"We made no attack."
"Can you prove that? Words aren't enough. If you are sincere in your desire for peace, you will give me the one you call a friend." His voice hardened. "Understand me. Obey or die. I want that man."
"You threaten? You? Alone? One man against many?"
Dumarest said sharply, "Captain! Alpha, aim over, one shot, fire!"
Something rustled through the air, to fall far back in the hills. Flame rose, the roar of the explosion following, echoing, rolling like thunder. The face of the elder convulsed.
"You attack us! You kill us!"
"Not yet-that was a warning."
From where he stood beside the elder a man lifted a spear, drew back his arm, froze as he met Dumarest's eyes.
"You've got sense," said Dumarest. "You might be able to kill me, but if you attack, every man here will die. Those waiting in the hills will die. Every last one of your people will be eliminated. Is one man worth the entire race of the Ayutha?"
"You mean it!" The elders face was bleak. "Your mind is full of hate."
"Not hate-not for you."
"But our friend?"
"Is not of the Ayutha. If I kill him, I will not be breaking the truce. But unless you take me to him now, the truce will be over." Dumarest met the other's eyes. "You have ten seconds to decide."
* * *
Dawn was breaking when they arrived, the raft dropping, to hover over torn ground, a sheer slope marked by a narrow trail leading to the dark mouth of a cave. Captain Hamshard had accompanied the raft. Leaning over the edge, he said, "There could be men posted, sir. I'd best deploy our forces."
The elder who had ridden with them said, "They will not harm you."
Perhaps, but in war men could change loyalties and primitives followed their own inclinations. The man could have dedicated followers, willing to kill for him, to die while doing it. Dumarest waited as the raft lowered, lifted, moved on, to lower again, men jumping out and taking up positions. Their guns could cover the entire area outside the cave. Within, it was another matter.
As they neared the dark opening, the captain said, "Sir, let me go in first. Against the light you'd be a clear target."
"And you wouldn't be?" Dumarest smiled. "Well go in together, captain. Fast, and moving one to either side. I don't have to tell you that we want whoever is in there alive."
Dumarest halted as they reached the opening, looking up at the low ridge of stone above, eyes searching for traps and snares. He saw nothing, and with a quick movement dived inside, resting his back against the wall, eyes narrowed as he stared into the gloom. Facing him, the captain began to edge forward, pistol in hand.
From a niche twenty feet down stepped one of the Ayutha.
He was young, tall, dressed in a shapeless garment of dull gray, a squat tube held in his hands, the butt against his shoulder. Dumarest yelled, fired, moving as he pressed the trigger. The bullet hit one of the arms, spinning the figure, which turned to face him. From the mouth of the tube shot something that smoked.
Dumarest dived, hitting the floor as flame burst behind him, firing as he fell, the roar of his shots blending with those fired by the captain. Rising, he ran forward, past the crumpled figure, shadows reaching ahead from the light of the flame blazing against the wall.
"One!" gasped Hamshard. "There could be more!"
He fired at a shadow, fired again, a scream echoing the shot. Something hummed an inch from his head, to rasp against the stone, not fire this time, but a sliver of steel, a bolt fired from a crossbow. It was followed by the ruby beam of a captured laser. It struck high, lowered, seared the rock where the captain had stood as Dumarest slammed into him and threw him to the floor. Rolling free, he triggered his pistol, sending bullets to whine in savage ricochets. A man screamed, another died as he ran toward him, a third spun, dropping a rifle, blood gushing from an open mouth.
Dumarest dropped the empty pistol, lunged forward, and snatched up the rifle, firing as he rose, sending bullets whining down the cavern to where it turned at the far end.
In the following silence he looked around at the captain, climbing stiffly to his feet, a thread of blood running down one cheek, the dying light of the thrown bomb, the dead sprawled on the floor.
Young, too eager, too quick to shoot, and too impatient to aim. The fault of all green troops if they were not frozen with fear.
He said, "Captain, how badly are you hurt?"
"Just a scratch, sir." Hamshard lifted a hand, dabbed at his temple, wiped away the blood on his cheek. "Do you think there are more of them?"