To Die In Italbar

CHAPTER 3

It was late on a rainy night when she first saw him in the flesh.

Having no customers that evening, she had descended and visited the small newsstand off the lobby. She knew that the front door of the establishment had been opened because of the sudden draft and the amplification of noises from the street and the storm. Selecting her reading materials and depositing her coins, she took her papers and turned to cross the lobby.

That was when she saw him, and the papers fell from her hand. She took a step backward, confused. It was impossible that they should ever be this near to one another. She felt dizzy, and her face began to burn.

He was big, bigger even than she had imagined. His hair was mainly black--just a few light touches of gray at the temples--she noted; but then, of course, he would have had the S-S treatments and aged more slowly than other men. This pleased her, for she would have hated to see him in his decline. And those hawklike features and those blazing eyes! He was more impressive in person than on record or in tridee. He wore a black rain garment and bore two huge pieces of luggage--one a clothing case of sorts and the other a perforated box with a handle. The rain sparkled in his hair and eyebrows, glistened on his forehead and cheeks. She felt like running forward and offering her blouse as a facecloth.

She stooped and gathered the papers. Rising, she lowered her head and raised them before her, so that her face was partly hidden. Then she moved into the lobby, as though reading, and found a chair near to the main desk.

"Room and girl, sir?" she heard Horace saying.

"That will be fine," he said, lowering his luggage to the floor.

"There are many vacancies," said Horace, "because of the weather," as he pushed the album across the counter. "Let me know what strikes your fancy."

She heard him turning the pages of the big book and she counted, because she knew them by heart: ... _Four, five_. A pause... . _Six_.

He had stopped.

Oh no! she thought. That would be Jeanne or Synthe. Not either one of them, not for him! Meg, perhaps, or Kyla. But not that cow-eyed Jeanne, or Synthe, who was twenty pounds heavier than her photo indicated.

She ventured a glance and saw that Horace had moved away and was reading a paper.

Deciding quickly, she rose to her feet and approached him.

"Commander Malacar ..."

She tried to say it boldly, but her voice dropped to a whisper because of the dryness of her throat.

He turned and stared down at her. Glancing at Horace from the corner of his eye, he raised his right forefinger and crossed his lips with it.

"Hello. What is your name?"

"Jackara."

Her voice was better this time.

"You work here?"

She nodded.

"Occupied this evening?"

She shook her head.

"Clerk!" He turned.

Horace lowered the paper.

"Yes, Sir?"

He jerked a thumb at Jackara.

"Her," he said.

Horace swallowed and looked uncomfortable.

"Sir, there is something I had better tell you--" he began.

"Her," Malacar repeated. "Sign me in."

"Just as you say, sir," said Horace, producing a blank card and a writing stylus. "But--"

"The name is Rory Jimson, and I am from Miadod, on Camphor. Pay now, or pay later?"

"Pay now, sir. Eighteen units."

"How much is that in DYNAB dollars?"

"Fourteen and a half."

Malacar produced a roll of bills and paid him.

Horace opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "If everything is not satisfactory, please let me know immediately."

Malacar nodded and stooped for his bags.

"If you'll wait here, I'll ring you a rob."

"That won't be necessary."

"Very well. In that case, Jackara can show you to the room."

The clerk picked up the stylus, fidgeted with it, replaced it. Finally, he returned to his paper.

Malacar followed her toward the lift shaft, studying her form, her hair, trying to recall her face.

_Shind, prepare to transmit and relay_, he said, as they entered the shaft.

_Ready_.

--_Do not look startled, Jackara, or give any out-ward sign of hearing me. Tell me how it is that you know me_.

--_You are a telepath!_

--_Just answer the question, bearing in mind that I can destroy half this building by waving my arm in the proper way_.

"This is where we get off," she said aloud, and they left the lift and she turned to the right, leading him along a tigerstriped corridor where lights glowed only in the baseboards. The effect was tantalizing as well as stark. It gave a somewhat animal-like aura to the girl moving before him. He sniffed and detected faint narcotic fumes in the air. They were stronger near the ventilators.

--_I have seen your picture many times. I have read much about you. That is how I knew you. As a matter of fact, I have all your biographies--even the two CL ones_.

He laughed aloud and gave Shind the shorthand signal for "End transmission. Continue to receive," then, _Is she telling the truth, Shind?_ he inquired.

_Yes. She admires you considerably. She is quite excited and extremely nervous_.

_No trap, then?_

_No_.

She halted before a door, fumbled with her key for a time, unlocked it.

She pushed it open and instead of entering or stepping aside, moved to bar it, facing him. Her face twisted and untwisted and she looked as if she were about to cry.

"Do not laugh when you go in," she said. "Please. No matter what you see."

"I won't," he said.

Then she stepped aside.

He entered the room and looked about. His eyes fell first upon the whips, then moved to the picture above the bed. He lowered his luggage to the floor and continued to stare. He heard the door close. The room was a study in asceticism. Gray walls and gleaming fixtures. The one window was shuttered tight.

He began to understand.

_Yes_, said Shind.

_Prepare to transmit and receive_.

_Ready_.

--_Is this room monitored in any way?_ he inquired.

--_Not exactly. That would be illegal. There are ways that I can request assistance or activate monitors, though_.

--_Are any of them activated right now?_

--_No_.

--_Then no one will hear us if we speak_.

"No," she said aloud; and he turned to look at her where she stood with her back and palms pressed against the door, eyes wide, lips dry.

"Don't be afraid of me," he said. "You sleep with me every night, don't you?"

Feeling awkward when she did not reply, he removed his coat and looked around.

"Is there a place where I can hang this to dry out?"

She moved forward and seized the garment.

"I'll take it. I'll hang it in my shower."

She jerked it from his hands, passed quickly through a narrow door and closed it behind her. He heard its lock click. After a time he heard sounds of retching.

He took a step in that direction, about to rap and ask if she were all right.

_Do not_, said Shind. _Let her be_.

_All right. --Do you want to be let out?_

_No. I would only upset her further. I am quite corn fortable_.

After a time, he heard a flushing sound, and a little later the door opened and she emerged. He noted that her eyelashes were wet. He also noted the bright blue of her eyes within them.

"It will be dry before too long," she said, "Commander."

"Thank you. Please call me Malacar, Jackara. Or better yet, Rory."

He rounded the bed to study the picture more closely.

"That's a good likeness. Where's it from?"

She brightened, followed to stand beside him.

"It was a plate, from your biography by that man Gillian. I had it enlarged and tridized. It is the best picture I have of you."

"I never read the book," he said. "I am trying to remember where the picture was taken, but I can't."

"That was right before the Parameter Eight Maneuver," she said, "when you were preparing the Fourth Fleet to rendezvous with Conlil. It was taken about an hour prior to your departure, according to the book."

He turned and looked down at her, smiling.

"I believe you're correct," he said, and she smiled at this.

"Cigarette?" he offered.

"No, thank you."

He took one himself, lit it.

How the hell did I walk into this? he asked himself. A real patho case of hero worship--with me as its object. If I say the wrong thing, she'll probably go to pieces. What is the best tack to take with her? Perhaps if I let her think I am nervous, then ask for her confidence on something unimportant .

"Listen," he said, "you startled me downstairs because nobody knew I was coming to Deiba, and I did not think too many people remembered my face. I came to this place rather than one of the hotels because nobody here cares about faces or names. You surprised me, though. I wanted to keep my presence a secret, and I thought I'd been uncovered."

"But you're immune to the laws, aren't you?"

"I'm not here to break them. Not this time, anyhow. I came to obtain some information--quietly, confidentially."

He stared directly into her eyes.

"Can I trust you to keep my presence a secret?"

"Of course," she said. "What else would I do? I was born in the DYNAB. May I assist you with whatever you are doing?"

"Perhaps," he said, seating himself on the edge of her bed. "If the DYNAB means something to you, what are you doing here?"

She laughed as she moved to seat herself in a chair across from him.

"Tell me how to get back. Look at the only job I can have in this town. How long do you think it will take me to save the price of a ticket?"

"Are you indentured, or under any sort of contract?"

"No. Why?"

"I don't know much about the local laws. I was just considering whether I would have to get you out of here the hard way.

"Get me out of here? Back to the DYNAB?"

"Of course. That's what you want, isn't it?"

She turned away from him then and began to cry, silently. He did not move to interfere.

"Excuse me," she said, "I never-- I never expected anything like this to happen to me. Malacar to walk into my room and offer to take me away. It is something I have dreamed of ..."

"Then I take it your answer is 'yes'?"

"Thank you," she said. "Yes, yes it is! But there is something else ..."

He smiled.

"What? Perhaps a boy friend you want to take along? That can be arranged too."

She raised her head and her eyes flashed.

"No!" she said. "It is nothing like that! I would not have one of these men!"

"Sorry," he said.

She stared down at her sandals, her silvered toenails. He flicked his cigarette above a black metal ashtray on the table beside the bed.

When she spoke again, she spoke very slowly and did not look at him.

"I would like to do something for the DYNAB. I would like to help you with whatever you are about in Capeville."

He was silent for a time. Then, "How old are you, Jackara?" he asked.

"I am not certain. Around twenty-six, I think. At least, that is what I tell people. Perhaps twenty-eight. Maybe twenty-five. But just because I'm young--"

He raised a hand and silenced her.

"I am not trying to talk you out of anything. In fact, it is possible that you could be of some assistance to me. I asked your age for a reason. What do you know of _mwalakharan khurr_, which is generally called Deiban fever?"

She shifted her gaze to the ceiling.

"I know that it is not too common," she said. "I know that when it does hit you, there is a high fever and a darkening of the complexion. It is supposed to attack the central nervous system. After that, the breathing and the heartbeat are affected. And there is something about the liquids. The body does not exactly lose them, but cellular fluids go extracellular. That's right. And the cells do not reabsorb. That is why you get so thirsty but liquids do not help. You're a doctor, though. You know all that."

"What else do you know about the condition?"

"Well, there is no cure and it always kills you, if that is what you mean."

"Are you certain?" he asked. "Have you never heard of anyone living through it?"

She looked at him, puzzled.

"Nobody?" he said. "Nobody has ever lived through it?"

"Well, they said there was one man. But I was very young then, and it was right after the conflict. I do not remember very much."

"Tell me what you do remember. There must have been some talk about it later on."

"He was just a man who lived through it. They never even gave his name."

"Why not?"

"After he had been pronounced cured, they were afraid that he would still panic people if they knew who he was. So they withheld his name."

"H," he said. "Later on, they referred to him as H."

"Maybe," she said. "I do not know. That's about it, I guess."

"Where did they treat him? What hospital?"

"Here in town. But the place is gone now."

"Where did he come from?"

"The Mound. Everybody called him 'the man from the Mound' for a while."

"Was he a local man?"

"I do not know."

"What is the Mound?"

"It is sort of a plateau. You leave the peninsula and go about thirty miles inland, to the northwest. There is a ruined city there--Pei'an. Deiba used to be a part of the old Pei'an Empire. The city is all fallen down, and about the only people interested in it are archaeologists, geologists and visiting Pei'ans. They found him up there while they were deactivating part of the early warning equipment from the war, I guess. Anyhow, there was some sort of military installation set up there then, and when they went up to do something to it, they found this man. They brought him back in an isolation boat and he recovered."

"Thank you. You've been helpful."

She smiled, and he returned it.

"I have a gun," she said, "and I practice with it. I am very accurate, and fast."

"That is excellent."

"If there is anything dangerous that you want done--"

"Perhaps," he said. "You speak of this Mound as if you are familiar with the area. Can you get me a map, or draw me one?"

"There are no good maps," she said. "But I have been up there many times. I ride a lot too--the _kooryab_--and sometimes I ride inland. The Mound is a very good place for target practice. Nobody bothers you there."

"It is completely deserted?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then you will be able to show it to me."

"Yes, if you wish. There is not much to see, though. I had thought ..."

He mashed out his cigarette.

_She is clean, Shind?_

_Yes_.

"I am _really_ interested," he said, "and I know what you thought. You thought that I had come here for purposes of sabotage or revolution. This is more important, however. While a small act of violence may annoy the CL, they can live with it. But if the Mound can furnish me with the information that I want, I will have a clue as to the nature of the greatest terror weapon in the galaxy."

"What is it?"

"The identity of H."

"How could that help you?"

"I am keeping that to myself for now. I had better start by looking up there, though. If my man had a camp up there on the Mound, some traces might still remain, Of what sort, I do not know. But I'm sure that whoever brought him back would have left his gear alone or destroyed it--if they found it at all, that is. If it is still there, I want it."

"I will help," she said. "I want to help. But I do not get time off until--" and he rose to his feet, towered above her, leaned down, touched her shoulder.

She shuddered at the contact.

"You don't understand," he said. "This is your last day in this place. You're your own person now. In the morning I would like you to make arrangements for the purchase or rental of a couple or three of those _kooryabs_, and all the gear we will need to ride to the Mound and spend some time there--maybe a week or so. I don't want to lift ship and have any curious young port controllers track me. When we do ride out of here tomorrow, though, that will be the end of the story so far as you and this place are concerned. You do not have to concern yourself over 'time off' or 'time on.' You are quitting with minimum notice. That's legal here, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said, sitting straight-backed and gripping the arms of the chair.

I did not want to, he thought. But she can help me in this respect. And she is a DYNAB girl the damned CL has driven half-nuts. She comes along.

"Then that is settled," he said, moving back to the bed and lighting another cigarette.

She seemed to relax.

"I believe that I will take a cigarette now--Malacar."

"Rory," he corrected.

"Rory," she agreed.

He rose again, gave her one, lit it for her, returned.

"I never heard anywhere about you being a telepath," she said, after a time.

"I'm not. It's sort of a trick. Tomorrow I might show you how I do it."

But not tonight, he thought. Gods! If it's taken this long to get you half-relaxed, I am not going to introduce you to a hairy Darvenian with eyes big as teacups. You would probably scream and they would bring on the bouncers.

"Mind if I open those shutters for a minute?" he asked.

"Let me do it."

"No, that's all right."

But she was already on her feet and halfway across the room.

She located a control beneath the sill and they slid back into the wall.

"Would you like the window opened too?"

"A little," he said, coming up and standing beside her.

The window responded to another control, and he inhaled the moist night air.

"Still raining," he observed, and he extended his hand and flicked an ash outside.

"Yes."

Looking out over a low rooftop, they watched the quiet city through the drops and rivulets on the half-raised pane. The lights below were fractured, shifted slightly. With the mild draft that entered, there came the faint salt odor of the sea. "Why do you keep it closed?" he asked her; and, "I hate the sight of that city," she replied, without emotion. "It is not too bad at night, though, when you can't see anything." A faint thunder-rumble rolled down from the hills. He rested his elbows on the sill and leaned forward. After a moment's hesitation, she did too. She was quite close to him then, but he knew that if he touched her the moment would be shattered.

"Does it rain often here?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "Especially at this time of year."

"Do you do any sailing, or swimming?"

"I swim, to keep in practice, and I know how to handle small vessels. But I do not especially like the sea."

"Why not?"

"My father was drowned. This was after my mother died and they had put me in with the children. He tried to swim around Point Murphy one night. I guess that he was attempting to escape from the Relocation Center. --At least, they told me he had drowned. --It might be that one of those damned guards shot him."

"Sorry."

"I was just a child. I didn't know enough to hate them until later."

He flicked more ashes through the window.

"What will it be like after you win?" she asked.

He threw away the cigarette.

Staring, he saw it become an instant's comet.

"Win?" he said, turning his head and looking at her. "I am going to fight until I die, but I will never break the CL. I will never win, in that sense. My objective is the preservation of the DYNAB, not the destruction of the CL. I want to keep thirty-four little worlds from becoming subservient to the whims of fourteen leagues. I can't hope to beat them, but maybe I can teach them some respect for the DYNAB-- enough so that the DYNAB might have a chance to grow and expand to the point where it can achieve League status itself one day, rather than being reapportioned and absorbed by the others. If we had a chance to colonize a few dozen more worlds, if we were unhampered by the Leagues instead of being boycotted and cut out every time we tried our hand at something new, then we'd have a chance. I want us to join the CL--not break it--but on our terms. Sure, I hate them, for what they did to us. But they're the best civilization we've got. I want to be in on it--but as an equal."

"... And the thing on the Mound? The identity of H?"

He smiled crookedly.

"If I can get control of H's secret, I'll go down in history as one of the blackest villains who ever lived. But, by the gods! I'll scare the holy hell out of the CL! They'll leave the DYNAB alone for a long time afterward."

She tossed her cigarette after his and he lit them two more.

They listened to the voice of a faraway storm-buoy and saw into the distance whenever the lightning flickered. When it flashed far ahead, the skyline was silhouetted dark and gap-toothed before them; when it came from behind, the windows of Capeville each seemed to catch some of its burning and spill it in a different way. Mainly, though, there were only the fractured lights of the city.

I haven't talked like this in ages, he thought. I don't always have Shind sitting there to tell me who I can trust, though. She's a likable child. Certainly pretty. But those whips, and that funny way the desk clerk acted ... She hates everybody here. I didn't think they went in for the fancier stuff in government-run places. Maybe I'm old-fashioned ... Of course I am. Too bad about her. Perhaps one day she will find somebody, back in the DYNAB, who will be kind to her in just the right ways ... Hell! I _am_ getting old! That air feels good. Nice view.

A low-flying aircraft passed slowly, circling like a luminous insect. He watched it mdve off in the direction of the field where he had landed.

Could be a jump-buggy, he decided. About the right size. Who would come down on a night like this when he could stay in a nice, warm, dry orbit until things blow over? --Not counting me, of course.

The vessel swung through a slow, circular pattern, then hovered as though awaiting landing clearance.

"Jackara, would you turn the light out?" he asked, and she stiffened beside him. "... And if you have binoculars, or a telescope of some kind," he continued quickly, "please get it for me. I'm curious about that vessel."

She moved away and he heard a closet opening. After perhaps ten heartbeats, the room grew dark.

"Here," she said, coming up beside him again.

He raised the glass to his eye, swung it, adjusted it.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's the matter?"

He did not reply immediately, but continued to sharpen the focus.

There was another flash, from behind them.

"That vessel is a jump-buggy," he stated. "How many come to Capeville?"

"Quite a few, of the commercial kind."

"This one's too small. How many private ones?"

"Tourists, mainly," she said. "A few every month."

He collapsed the tube and returned it to her.

"Maybe I'm overly suspicious," he said. "I'm always afraid they will find a way to keep track of me--"

"I'd better get the light again," and she retreated through the darkness, then made it go away.

After he heard the closet closed, he continued to watch the city for a long while.

At his back, he heard a muffled sob and he turned slowly.

She was lying on her side on the bed, her legs scissored out behind her, hair hiding her face. She had unbuttoned her blouse and he saw that she had on black underwear.

He stared for a long moment, then went and sat beside her. He brushed her hair aside and pushed it back over her shoulder, letting his hand rest between her shoulder blades. She continued to cry.

"I'm sorry," she said, not looking at him. "You wanted a room and a girl, and I can't. I wanted to, but I can't. Not with you. Not so that you would enjoy it. There is a very nice girl named Lorraine and another named Kyla. They are quite popular. I will get one of them to come and be with you tonight."

She began to rise, and he reached out with his other hand and touched her cheek.

"Whichever one you bring, she'll get a good night's sleep," he said, "because that's about all I'm fit for right now."

She looked at him then.

"You wouldn't lie to me?"

"Not about that. I'm very sleepy. If you'll just turn back the covers, you can tell me in the morning if I snore."

She swallowed, nodded vigorously and moved to obey him. Later, he heard her emerge from the bathroom and felt her enter the bed. She had forgotten to close the window. As he liked fresh air, he did not remind her. He lay there, breathing the ocean and listening to the rain.

"Malacar," he heard her whisper, "are you asleep?"

"No."

"What about my things?"

"What things?"

"I've got some nice dresses and some books and--well-- just things."

"We can pack them in the morning and have them shipped to the port and held there until we're ready to leave Deiba. I'll help you."

"Thanks."

She turned and twisted some, then lay still. The stormbuoy sounded. He wondered about the jump-buggy that had passed. If the Service had somehow tracked him from the Sol-System, there was nothing they could do to him. On the other hand, he never wanted them to connect him with Deiba or H. If it was indeed a Service ship that had passed, how had they done it? Morwin? He had mentioned a friend in the Service. Could he have notified him or hung some sort of tracer on _The Perseus?_ But Shind had said that he was clean ...

I must be getting paranoid, he decided. Forget it.

But he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The girl moved again, slightly. He moved his eyes about, and through the darkness he could make out the darker outline of her whips on the wall. He winced. Him staring down on all that from the wall. A fake holy picture in a brothel. It amused him and hurt him at the same time. Again the buoy, and the night air coming more chill. A flash, a bit of thunder, the rain. Again. The play of brass butterflies upon the ceiling, the walls ...

He must have dozed, for he was aware of coming awake once more, with the touch of her hand upon his shoulder.

"Malacar?"

"Yes?"

"I'm cold. May I come closer?"

"Sure."

He moved his arm and she was beside him. She clung to him as though he were floating and she were not. He put his arm about her shoulders, drew her head onto his chest and returned to sleep.

In the morning, they breakfasted at a place several doors up the street from the brothel. Malacar noticed a group of women at a far table who kept darting glances in his direction.

"Why do those women keep looking at me?" he asked softly.

"They work where I do," she told him. "They are wondering about the fact that you spent the entire night with me."

"This doesn't happen very often?"

"No."

Returning, they obtained cartons and Malacar helped her fill them with her belongings. She was silent as they packed, as silent as she had been most of the morning.

"You are afraid," he said.

"Yes."

"This will pass."

"I know," she said. "I thought that I would feel many things if this day ever came, but not afraid."

"You are leaving something that you know for something unknown. It is understandable."

"I do not want to be weak."

"Fear is not a sign of weakness." He patted her shoulder. "You finish packing now. I'll call the port and arrange for them to pick up your stuff and hold it."

She drew away.

"Thanks," she said, returning to her packing.

I hope she leaves the picture and those damned whips, he thought.

After he had made arrangements for a messenger pickup, he had his call transferred to the flights controller's office. He kept the screen blanked.

"Can you tell me," he inquired, "whether the jump-buggy which landed last night during the storm was a Service ship?"

"It was not," came the reply. "It was a privately owned vessel."

Which means nothing, he told himself. If the Service asks for secrecy, they get cooperation. I might as well push this as far as I can, though.

"Would you identify the vessel for me?"

"Surely. It is the _Model T_, out of Liman, Bogotelles. Signor Enrico Caruso is logged here as master and owner."

"Thank you."

He broke the connection.

It still proves nothing, he decided. Except, there is the fact that the Service has always been quite open when it comes to following me about. A warning, actually, when they do it. I must be getting paranoid. No sense checking on this Caruso. If he is real, nothing. If he is not, it will take too long to pierce his disguise. Furthermore, I should not really care. Unless he is an assassin. But even then ...

"I'm ready," she said.

"Good. Here is some money. Count it and tell me if there is enough. I'll wait here for the messenger while you get us mounts and equipment."

"There is more than enough," she said. "Malacar ..."

"Yes?"

"When should I tell them that I am quitting?"

"Right now, if you want. Or write them a note if you don't want to talk with them."

She brightened.

"I'll write them a note."

That afternoon, they moved into the hills, pack animal trailing behind, tethered to Jackara's saddle. She drew rein and turned to regard the city below them. Malacar halted his mount also, but he watched her rather than Capeville. She said nothing. It was as if he were not present.

Her eyes were narrow and her lips pressed so tightly together as to be all but invisible. Her hair was bound with a ribbon and he watched the wind play with its ends. She sat so for perhaps half a minute. He felt as if a wave of pure hate were passing, flowing down the slopes, breaking upon the city. Then it was gone, and she turned and her mount moved forward once again.

I see the dream, Jackara, he said to himself. The one that Morwin would do you ...

All that afternoon they rode, and he saw the opposite shore of the peninsula where the waters were lighter in color and there was no city. He made out a few shacks on the distant shore, but between their beach and the hills rose a tangle of green, where runners like grapevines crossed from tree to tree and dark birds fluttered and lit, fluttered and lit, among the leaves. The sky was half overcast, but the sun occupied the other half and the day was still bright. The trail remained damp, tacky from the previous night's rain, and they muddied clear puddles as they passed. He noted that his mount's hoofprints were triangular in shape, and it occurred to him that the beast he rode could be a vicious fighter. Far below, there were some whitecaps on the water, and he saw that the trees were moving.

The wind has not hit this high yet, he thought. But it will probably rain again tonight, judging from those clouds. Tarps might have been better than those flimsies she bought if the winds get bad up here ...

They halted before dusk and took a meal. By then, Capeyule was out of sight. Shind sprang down from the pack mount he had been riding and sat with them. Jackara smiled. She seemed to have taken a liking to the Darvenian. This pleased Malacar, who decided, She hates all the people she has known so much that it is probably easier for her to be friends with an alien.

He ate his food while the sky darkened. It was now completely overcast, and the night was near. Occasional gusts of wind struck them.

"Where should we camp, Jackara? And how soon?"

She raised a finger, swallowed, then said, "About six more miles and we will come to a place sheltered on two sides. We can pitch our flimsy there."

By the time they reached the site it was already raining.

Lying there, still wet, listening to the movements of the _kooryabs_, feeling the wind and sometimes the rain, hearing both, holding her, looking up the walls of gray stone at their bridge, night, he planned ahead, selecting worlds for death. He conceived a master plan then, turned it over in his mind, decided it would work, filed it for future implementation. He was ready. Two more days and they would reach the Mound. Beside him, Jackara made small noises in her chest.

_Good night, Shind_.

_Good night, Commander_.

_Is she having a nightmare?_

_No. Her dream is pleasant_.

_Then I shan't awaken her. Sleep well_.

_And yourself_.

He lay there for a long while listening to the night, and then he joined it.

They departed the peninsula late the following morning, turned to the northwest, headed inland. Their way continued as a gradual ascent until they reached a tableland which they crossed that afternoon. This brought them to the foot of another line of hills. Within these lay the Mound, Jackara told him. They would sight it before nightfall.

Nor was she incorrect. They topped a rise, she gestured, he nodded. A gigantic, flat-topped mass of rock lay a few miles away. Between themselves and the mesa was a wide canyon through which they must pass to achieve it. The kooryabs picked their way almost casually among the boulders.

By nightfall, they had crossed and were ascending an easy trail that began at the southern foot of the Mound and worked its way westward and up. By then, Malacar had grown at ease with his mount, and trusting its hoofs beneath stars was not difficult.

It was not until morning, when he could properly survey the ruin, that he began to realize the scope of the task which lay before him. True to Pei'an architectural precedent, none of the buildings had been especially close together. They were spread over an area approximately two miles in length and a quarter mile across. The remains were mainly foundations. Here and there, a wall still stood. There was much debris on the ground and grasses and vines grew among it, covering or partly covering some of the rubble. The place was virtually devoid of trees. Outside the general lines of what had once been the town stood a small, square structure, sunbleached, and weather-worn.

"Is that the war installation?" he asked, gesturing.

"Yes. I've been inside it. The roof is partly fallen in and it is full of insects and smells had. They took everything with them when they abandoned it."

He nodded.

"Then to start, let's just walk a bit and you can give me a rough idea of what's what."

Shind accompanied them, a small shadow passing among stones.

For several hours they walked, and she told him what she knew of the place. After this, he selected the most prominent of the ruins for close scrutiny, hoping it would be one of these which would have attracted H. But when lunchtime arrived, he was no nearer satisfaction than he had been at sunrise.

After lunch, he climbed the highest accessible point (a wall) and from there sketched the best map he could of the entire area. Then, point by point, he marked it off in his mind and gridded the map to follow. That afternoon, he placed a marker at each spot where the lines crossed.

"We are going to explore it section by section?" she asked.

"That's right."

"Where will we begin?"

"Choose one," he said, proffering the map.

She gave him a quick glance, saw that he meant it.

"All right. Here--in the middle."

That day they searched two of the squares he had drawn, going through them foot by paced foot, crawling through cellars and subcellars, turning blocks, tramping down or separating long weeds or grasses. They worked until they could see no longer, then returned to the camp they had made and kindled a fire.

Later that night as they stared at stars, she broke a long silence by saying, "We're off to a good start."

He did not reply, but lay there smoking. After a while, she found his hand with both of hers and squeezed it so tightly that it almost hurt.

_What's wrong with her now, Shind?_

_She is trying to comfort you. She feels that you are unhappy that you did not locate what you sought today_.

_Well, she is correct, of course. But then, I did not really expect to come across anything the first day_.

_Perhaps you ought to tell her that. Her mind is a strange place. She is unhappy because she thinks that you are_.

_Oh, hell!_

_Commander_ ...

_Yes?_

_I wish I had never told you about that dream_.

_I already know that_.

_It is still not too late_.

_Go to sleep, Shind_.

_Yes, sir_.

"Hey, Jack?"

"Yes?"

He reached over with his free hand, placed it on the back of her head and turned her toward him. He leaned and kissed her forehead, then released her.

"You're a good guide and today was a good start," he said.

Then he turned away and went to sleep.

Star light, star bright, she thought over and again--because there were so many of them--give him his wish.

In the morning they began again, and by noon they had worked their way through three more of the squares. They located a hopeful sign--old cooking utensils of a local make and a dirt-covered flimsy--in the day's fourth square. But although they excavated for yards about the area, they uncovered nothing else.

"This might have been his camp," she said.

"Or anyone else's. There is nothing here of value."

"If this is the place, though, it could mean that he was working nearby."

"Perhaps. Let's finish this square and take the one below afterward."

They continued, completing eight squares. There were no more finds that day.

_Shind?_

_Yes, Jackara?_

_Is he asleep?_

_Yes. But even if he were not, he would not hear us if I did not choose. What do you wish?_

_Is he distraught?_

_Not especially. He is always very quiet when he works. He is--occupied. You have done nothing to disturb him_.

_You have known him for a long while?_

_Over twenty Earth years. I was his personal translator during the war_.

_And you fight with him still, for the DYNAB. From among all his command, you stayed with him to continue the battle_.

_I am sometimes helpful to him_.

_It is good to hear of such loyalty to the cause_.

_One cannot long share thoughts as we have done without either going insane or coming to love. Mine is a personal feeling toward Malacar. The DYNAB is only incidental. I serve it because it still means something to him_.

_You love him? You are a female?_

_As a matter of fact, I am a female of my kind. But this, too, is only incidental. It would take months to teach a human the way a Darvenian thinks... and feels. And it would serve no useful purpose. Call it love_.

_I did not realize this, Shind_.

The mental equivalent of a shrug followed.

_You say that you are good with a gun_.

_Yes_, she replied.

_Then keep it ready whenever you are near him and be prepared to use it instantly, should he be threatened_.

_Threatened?_

_I have had many misgivings concerning this expedition. I feel that there is danger, though I do not know how or why it will arrive_.

_I will be ready_.

_Then I shall rest more easily. Good night, Jackara_.

_Good night, Shind_.

She moved her pistol to a position from which it could be fired quickly, and she slept with her hand upon it.

As they worked their way through the third day, Malacar heard a faint sound from above and scanned the sky. A jumpbuggy was moving from the south toward the northwest. Jackara stopped her work and stared at it also.

It seemed to grow as they watched it.

"It's coming this way. It may pass overhead."

"Yes."

_Shind. Can you--?_

_No, the distance is too great for me to read anything_.

_If it goes overhead ... ?_

_I will see what I can do_.

Within a matter of minutes it had reached the mesa. It cruised slowly, several hundred feet above the ground, and began to pass over the ruins. When it reached a position where the pilot could not but have seen them--looking groundward as he must have been--it came to sudden life and sped on to the northwest, gaining altitude as it went. Soon it was gone from sight.

_It contains one occupant, a man_, Shind said to both of them. _He was curious about the ruins. This is all that I was able to read_.

"Sight-seeing, perhaps."

"Then why did he run when he saw us?"

"No way of telling."

Malacar returned to the camp and unpacked a laser subgun, which he strapped to his shoulder. Jackara checked her own weapon when she saw what he was doing.

They moved back to the square they had been working.

"I have an idea," she said.

"Tell me about it."

"The Pei'ans are Strantrians, and Strantrian shrines are nearly always underground. We have not come across one yet. If, as you guess, your H was an amateur archaeologist--"

He nodded vigorously and studied the map again.

"I'm going to climb that wall once more," he said, looking over his shoulder. "An underground chamber the size of a Strantrian shrine might be partly caved in after all these years. I'll look for sinkholes."

He mounted the wall and turned his head slowly, from left to right. Then he withdrew the map, marked it, checked it against his observations once more.

He climbed down and moved to Jackara's side.

"I saw six dark places," he said, exhibiting the map. "We will probably come across more holes, but those six were the only ones I could make out from up there. So we will start with them. Pick one."

She did, and they moved off in that direction.

The fourth cavity they investigated was a Strantrian shrine.

Lying spread-eagled, he flashed his light downward through the gloom. It had once been a five-sided chamber, he saw. Below, ahead and to his left lay the remains of what must have been the central altar. An enormous mound of rubble blocked his view to the front and the far left. Edging forward and turning to his right, he saw the low archway and a portion of the foyer that lay beyond it. From there, a flight of steps normally led upward to ...

He estimated the approximate aboveground position, crept back from the hole and went to the shattered building. He pulled on his gloves, stooped and began throwing pieces of masonry aside.

"This is the way," he said. "It shouldn't be too difficult to clear. This stuff is fairly loose."

"What about lowering ourselves through the hole?"

"It collapsed there once. It's weak. We'll go the safe way."

She nodded, donned her own gloves and joined him.

By nightfall, they had cleared the surrounding area and, he estimated, about two thirds of the stairwell.

"Sit on the top step and hold the light for me," he ordered; and he worked for another two hours.

"You must be getting tired," she said.

"A bit. But I've only a few more feet to go."

He passed her with a melon-sized stone in his arms.

_There is somebody else on this plateau with us_, said Shind.

_Where?_ asked Malacar, dropping the stone onto a heap.

_I cannot say for certain. It seems to be to the northeast of here. It is a general sense of presence that I have. Nothing specific_.

_Could it be some animal?_ asked Jackara.

_This is an intelligence of a higher sort_.

_Try to read it_.

_I am trying, but it is too distant_.

_Well, keep on with it and let us know when you succeed_.

Malacar moved near to Jackara.

"Turn off the light," he said.

She did, and he unslung his weapon and held it in one hand.

"Let's wait here awhile," he said, seating himself beside her.

_There is only one_, said Shind.

_Could it be the same one who passed us in the jumpbuggy this afternoon?_ asked Jackara.

_I cannot tell_.

"The jump-buggy could have returned at a low altitude," she said, "and landed in one of the canyons near here."

_Is it moving in this direction?_ he asked.

_It seems to be stationary_.

They waited.

After a quarter of an hour, Shind said, _It still has not moved. It may have made camp_.

"What are we going to do, Malacar?"

"I am deciding whether I should go have a look, or try to break through here tonight."

"He has no way of knowing where we are. If it is the jumpbuggy man, we are nowhere near the place we were when it passed. Why go looking for trouble?"

"I'm curious."

"Shind can tell you if he moves. If I go farther down the stairway, the light will not be visible above the ground. We could probably be inside in an hour or so. If we locate what you are looking for, we can move out tonight and let him camp here as long as he wants."

"You are right, of course--tactically."

He rose.

"Careful on those steps."

_Shind, tell us immediately if he moves. Have you any idea how far away he is?_

_I would judge about two miles. If I were to advance a few hundred yards, I might be able to obtain stronger impressions_.

_Go ahead_.

Malacar stood ten feet beneath the ground and Jackara was to his left and above him. He reslung his subgun and renewed his assault on the rubble. Perhaps ten minutes passed before a gap appeared near the top of the archway.

_Commander, I am still advancing. The impressions are stronger. It is a masculine mind. It seems to be about the business of bedding down for the night_.

_Good. Continue to monitor_.

He enlarged the opening he had made. He cast the stones beside him on the stair. Jackara leaned her back against the wall, holding the light in her left hand. Her right hand rested upon the butt of her pistol.

"Pretty soon," said Malacar, drawing three large stones from the heap before him. Smaller ones rattled to the ground as he did so.

He twisted aside a metal strut which had bent downward. Taking a step back, he drove his heavy right boot forward into the top of the heap. Stones rattled to the floor inside, and dust rose about them. Jackara coughed and the light wavered.

"Sorry," he said. "I wanted to get the small stuff out of the way in a hurry. We should be able to get in in a few more minutes."

She nodded and the light nodded with her. Malacar tore into the heap.

_Commander!_

_What?_

_I made contact with his mind, to probe it. He went away_.

_What do you mean, he went away?_

_I can no longer read anything, even the fact of his existence. He detected my presence when I made the attempt. Now he is shielding. He is a tele path himself--a skillful one. What should I do?_

_Come back. We are about to go in. --Of what race is this creature?_

_Your own, I think_.

_Humans aren't telepaths_.

_There are some, you know. It seemed like the mind of a man_.

Malacar moved more masonry and twisted another strut out of the way.

"Our visitor is a telepath," he said. "He has blocked Shind. Shind is on her way back now. --There. I think we can get through that opening."

"Do you think we should? It might find us here."

"'It' is apparently a human being," he said. "If he can read us anywhere, he can find us anywhere--back in camp, say. We might as well continue."

He leaned forward and crawled across the heap, passing beneath the archway and into the foyer. He regained his footing and stood.

"Come on in," he said.

He directed the beam ahead of her and she followed. She took his hand and came to her feet in the small room.

"This way."

They moved into the pentagonal chamber, and small things rushed away from his light and vanished into the shadows. He flicked the light beam about the room. There were overturned pews, dusty pews, pews which had sagged and broken. He turned to the altar--a green stone containing many fracture lines. Then he stared at the rows of glassite plates which surrounded them, depicting the Pei'an deities. There were hundreds of them upon the walls, some shattered, some hanging loosely. A few had fallen to the floor. Turning, he raked his light across them all.

"Pretty well preserved," he said. "How old is this place supposed to be?"

"Nobody knows for certain," she told him. "This city was here and in ruins when Deiba was discovered, about nine hundred Earth years ago."

_I am here_, said Shind, and a dark form entered through the passage they had cleared.

_Good. What more of our visitor?_

_Nothing. I am going to attempt to shield us from him while you search this place_.

_Capital_.

He began to scan the floors, moving among the remains of the pews. After an hour and a half, he had covered this area and located nothing. He moved to the altar and began sifting through the pieces of ceiling that lay about it.

"I think I've found something," he heard her say, from far ahead and to his left, where she was seeking along the walls with a small light of her own.

He went to her immediately.

"What is it?"

She pointed with her weak light toward a spot on the floor. He moved his own light to cover it.

A damp-looking notebook, covered with dust, lay at their feet.

Stooping, he touched it carefully. Then he lifted it and dusted its covers. It was a cheap, plasticovered tablet, bearing only its manufacturer's name. Removing his gloves and tucking them behind his belt, he opened it. The pages were damp, the lines blurred or blotted out entirely. One by one, he turned the leaves.

"Sketches," he said, "of this place. Nothing but sketches," as he closed the tablet.

"It means that _someone_ was here," she said. "Why throw away a book you've spent so much time drawing in? Maybe this is where H was stricken."

She drew back suddenly.

"Could we catch anything from that book?"

"Not after all these years."

He shone his light about the area.

"If he left that, he may have--"

He held the beam steady. Within its spot lay something that was partly metal. Rotted cloth hung in strips and patches and there was a small container beneath it.

"Some sort of carrying case," he said, bending forward and touching it lightly.

Then he froze, seeing through the dust to the markings on the case.

Carefully, he raised it and blew upon it. Then the old visions of chaos and death swam through his mind once more, for it bore the initials _HvH_.

"This is it," he said softly. "I know who he is."

_I feel him!_ said Shind. _Your find excited him and he gave himself away!_

Malacar whirled, dropping the case and extinguishing the light. He whipped the subgun from his shoulder.

"Peace!" cried a voice from above him. "I'm not pointing anything at you!"

Jackara's light went out at that moment, and he heard the safety catch _snick_ on her pistol.

Through the hole in the ceiling, suddenly silhouetted against stars, he saw the form of a man.

"You make a good target," Malacar said.

"I exposed myself to show good faith, when I saw that you would hold your fire. I want to talk."

"Who are you?"

"What difference does it make? I know what you know now. Heidel von Hymack is the name I came here to verify."

While the man was speaking, a faint illumination appeared on the wall to the right. Malacar glanced at it. It was one of the glassite plates. It had begun glowing, giving off a faint green light. It bore the picture of a naked man, holding a thundercloud in one hand and a bow in the other. The face was partly hidden by the raised arm. At his hip hung a quiver of thunderbolts that matched the yellow sky above him.

"So you know his name," said Malacar. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Find the man it fits."

"Why?"

"He represents a very great danger to a large number of people."

"I know that. That is why I want him."

"And I know you, Malacar. You are a man I once admired very much--still admire. You are making a mistake in this matter, though. Heidel cannot be used the way you want to use him. If you try it, he will become uncontrollable. The DYNAB itself will be in danger, not just the CL."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Enrico Caruso," he replied.

_He is lying_, said Shind. _His name is Francis Sandow_.

"You are Francis Sandow," Malacar said aloud, "and I can see why you want to stop me. You are one of the wealthiest men in the galaxy. If I were to hurt the CL badly, I would be stepping on a lot of your interests, wouldn't I?"

"That is correct," said Sandow. "But that is not why I am here. I generally deal through representatives on all matters. This is an exception because of the nature of the case. You are a doctor of medicine. You are aware that there are many conditions which are not purely physical in origin."

"So?"

"You have been exploring down there for a long while. Did you find any indication that anyone else has been inside recently?"

"No, I didn't."

"All right, then. Without being able to see it, I will tell you something that I could not know by any ordinary means. --You are standing near to the place where you made your discovery, next to a wall. Have your woman keep me covered and turn your light onto that wall, up rather high. Above, or very near to the place where you located the thing, you will see a glassite plate. I will describe it: You will see the head and shoulders of a blue-skinned woman. She has two faces, one looking in either direction. The one to the left is attractive and there are flowers on that side of the picture--blue flowers. The gal on the right has pointed teeth and a sinister expression. Near to her there is a framework of blue snakes. Directly above, there will be a blue circle."

Malacar switched on the light.

"You're right," he said. "How did you know?"

"It is a representation of the goddess Mar'i-ram, the queen of healing and of disease. It was doubtless beneath her picture that von Hymack lay, somewhere between life and death. He bears, in a strange way, the blessing and the curse of that entity."

"You've lost me. Are you trying to say that the goddess is real?"

"In a sense, yes. There is a complex of energies which somehow possesses the attributes ascribed to that Strantrian deity. Call it what you would. It now inhabits the man we seek. I have been presented with satisfactory evidence that this is true. Now that I am aware of the identity of the individual involved, I must seek him."

"What will you do if you find him?"

"Cure him--or failing that, kill him."

"No!" said Malacar. "I need him alive."

"Don't be a fool," Sandow cried, as Malacar swung the light and it fell upon him.

Hand raised to shield his eyes, Sandow threw himself backward as Malacar fired--not at him, but through the ceiling.

With a rattling and a crash, a section of roofing gave way. It seemed that a body fell.

"Hit it!" cried Malacar, falling flat and dragging Jackara with him.

He crawled forward and lay behind a low hedge of stone, subgun at ready.

_He's alive! He's conscious! He's got a gun!_

Malacar embraced the floor as a laser beam melted a stone near his left shoulder.

"Let a man finish talking, will you?"

"We've nothing to say to each other."

"Judge it after you hear it! I'll hold fire if you will!"

"Don't shoot," he said to Jackara. "We'll hear him out."

He drew a bead, then said, "All right, Sandow. What is it?"

"You know what I want. I want von Hymack. I will not argue the morality of what you are planning, since you have already made up your mind. I read it there. I would like to offer you a deal, however. --Damn it! Stop sighting in on me! No tricks involved here! You live on a dead, stinking, radioactive cinder--the Earth, the home planet of our species. How would you like to see it clean and green again? All those volcanoes dampened, the radioactives neutralized, dark soil, trees, fish in the oceans, the original continental configurations? I can do it, you know."

"That would cost a fortune."

"So? Is it a deal, then? The Earth the way that it was before the war, in return for you forgetting about von Hymack?"

"You're lying!"

_He is not lying_, said Shind.

"It would be another habitable world for the DYNAB," he was saying, "which you claim means so much to you."

All the while Sandow was speaking, Malacar attempted to control his thoughts--to operate automatically, as under battle conditions--and not to let any intention or desire pass through his consciousness. Carefully, soundlessly, he inched his way to the right, fixing on the voice. Now almost touching the wall, he could see the dim outline of the man's head and left shoulder. Gently, he squeezed the trigger.

His arm was numbed to the elbow with the force of the blow that struck him; and he saw his shot go wild, scoring the masonry high on the far wall.

With his left hand, he protected his eyes against the flying shards. Almost instantly he lowered it, however, to seize the gun and continue its upward arc.

The fires fell upon the ceiling and the ceiling upon the man.

Sandow was finally silent.

They lay there for a long while, listening to their breathing, their heartbeats.

_Shind?_

_Nothing. You have killed him_.

Malacar rose to his feet.

"Come on, Jackara. We had better be going," he said.

Later, before they broke camp, when she looked at him in the light, she said, "You are bleeding, Malacar," and she touched his cheek with her fingertips.

He jerked his head away.

"I know. I got cut when that damned picture of the green man fell on me."

He tightened his saddle cinch.

"Could he really have restored the Earth, Malacar?"

"Probably, but that would not have solved anything."

"You said you need more worlds for League status. Earth could have counted for one."

"To gain it, I would have had to surrender my weapon."

"How did he know about that picture of the goddess-- Mar'i-ram?"

"All Strantrian shrines are laid out alike. He knew approximately where we were standing. Anyone who knows how their stations are set up could have said what was on the wall."

"Then he was making all that part up?"

"Of course. It was a ridiculous story. His interest in the matter was purely economic."

"Then why did he come in person?"

"I don't know. --There, I'm ready. Let's go."

"Aren't you going to put anything on it?"

"What?"

"The cut."

"Later."

Mounting, they hurried through the night toward Capeyule and its rain.