Web of Sand

Chapter Eight

The raft was twenty feet long, seven wide, four deep, the body covered with a transparent canopy which swept up and over the occupants and driver. An unnecessary protection; the air was still, no trace of a breeze stirring the sand below, but Dumarest said nothing. The driver, an old man, must know what he was doing.

He leaned back in the long seat. Facing him Kemmer sat, shoulders rounded, face brooding. Santis was at his side. Accustomed to uniform and the weight of accountrements the mercenary was at home in the thick coverall, the helmet and gear which was standard equipment for any venturing far from the city. Through the open face of the helmet he looked ageless, like a bird of prey patiently waiting to sight its quarry before making the strike.

"Calm," said a man lower down the raft. He was one of another party. "Too damned calm for my liking. It was like this last year the time Loffrey got himself flayed. So calm he was fool enough to leave off his suit and climb a crag. Then the wind and-" His hand made an expressive gesture.

"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."

There would be a storm, Ellain was sure of it. All afternoon she had sat at the window looking toward the distant loom of the Goulten Hills, feeling the constriction of her stomach as the tension mounted. And yet the day had remained calm, the surface of the desert undisturbed aside from the thin, whipping lines which broke the surface far away lines which her imagination multiplied with dire foreboding.

The hum of the phone caused her heart to pound.

"Yes?" It was Yunus, smiling, smoothly bland. "I thought you had died," she snapped at the screen. "How long has it been?"

"Too long, my dear, and I am touched that you have missed me. But surely you did not lack companionship?" His smile was the bared snarl of a feline. "Am I to believe that you have waited patiently for me to call?"

He knew, she could sense it, and cursed the spying maid and her love of money. She must have informed him of all that had happened. Well, what of it? He didn't own her and had only himself to blame for having neglected her. If he had been at her side would she have found Dumarest so attractive? She knew the answer-always she would sense his appeal.

She said, harshly, feigning anger, "Are you questioning me?"

"My dear, I am merely calling to ask if you will accommodate me. A small favor I am sure you will not begrudge. I want you to appear at a dinner I am giving this evening for a very special guest. Later, naturally, we can talk."

A threat? It was like him and she was uneasily aware of how vulnerable she was. More now than before and if he should turn vindictive-

"A guest? One just arrived?"

"Yes, my dear. Cyber Tosya."

He was tall, thin to the point of emaciation, his shaven head giving his face a taut, skull-like appearance. He wore a robe of shimmering scarlet the great seal of the Cyclan glowing on its breast. His sleeves were wide, his hands long-fingered, smooth, the ends rounded, the nails filed to slender points. His eyes were large and held the glow of trained intelligence. His voice was a clear modulation carefully enunciated and eliminate all irritant factors.

Meeting him, Ellain shivered.

There was something inhuman about the man, a cold, hard, inflexible core which she with her woman's intuition both resented and feared. A creature of emotion herself she lacked any empathy with another to whom emotion was an aberration. Tosya could never feel as she did. Never know hate and love and anger and joy. Training and an operation at puberty had divorced reason from glandular influence.

Food, to him, was fuel and a body overburdened with unessential tissue was an inefficient machine. Pain was foreign to him as was desire. His only pleasure lay in intellectual achievement.

Tosya, like all cybers, was a living robot of flesh and blood.

Now he sat in the place of honor at the table and listened to the ebb and flow of conversation. The heaped dishes and various wines left him unmoved as had the entertainment provided. If anything they proved the inadequacy of those who were slaves to emotion. But the conversation held interest; much could be learned from a few idly related facts.

"The reason for my visit?" He gestured with one delicate hand. "Harge has always interested me and when the opportunity arose I was eager to learn certain facts at first hand. Your culture is most intriguing. A rigid capitalistic hierarchy with a few owning all."

"The first came, built, why shouldn't they reap what they have sown?" Old Keith Ambalo was quick to defend the order of things. "The Cinque have a right to rule."

"But for how long?" Jen Tinyah, old, twisted, his eyes like splintered glass peering from a tangle of hair, fired the question as if from a gun. "Cyber, can you tell us that?"

Tosya could but such information was not freely given. He said, "If you are interested in obtaining the services of the Cyclan I am sure the matter can be arranged."

"For money, of course." Romi Barrocca made no effort to hide his sneer. "Always it is for money."

"As it should be!" The slam of Mangit Yagnik's hand on the table echoed from the groined roof and sent glasses shivering. "You sneer, Romi, but how are you different? What do you give away? The price your family demands for water is monstrous!"

"As is yours for power!"

"Gentlemen!" Yunus Ambalo rose, hands lifted for attention. "This altercation is unseemly and an insult to our guest Cyber Tosya, I appreciate your position and am aware of your difficulty, but, as a favor to us of the Cinque, could you not, in general terms, naturally, give us your opinion as to our culture?"

Smooth, thought Ellain as he sat. As subtle as a serpent and as ready to strike. And yet she knew that in the cyber he had met his match. Tosya could not be flattered, bribed or intimidated. What he did he would do for the Cyclan and for no other reason.

"The culture here is brittle," said Toysa. "An uneasy balance which contains the seeds of its own destruction. This is true of all static societies, of course, but here on Harge you have an artificial environment which will accelerate the decay. Unless steps are taken it will occur in about thirty years." He added, "To be more precise I would need more accurate data than I have available."

Facts from which his trained mind could extrapolate the logical sequence of events. The attribute of every cyber; all could make predictions as to what must occur from any event or course of action.

As a storm of protest rose from those of the Cinque gathered at the table Toysa said, "The obvious is often difficult to recognize, but the problem here is one of simple mathematical extrapolation. You have a ratio of rulers to workers which is veering to a dangerous level. To live in comfortable idleness those not of the Cinque must acquire the debts of those less fortunate and so live off the interest. This system of debt-dependency, however, is virtual suicide for any enclosed community."

Yunus, lifting a hand for silence, said, "Would you care to explain? Credit, surely, is beneficial to trade."

"Normal credit, yes, but your interest rate is far too high. Unless the interest is paid each month the total mounts until the figures become meaningless. True wealth is based on actual production-interest rates create an unreal situation and, when too high, must result in inflation and depreciation of the currency. The danger of high rates is that the debtor loses all hope and becomes resigned to the situation of his inability to pay. The owner of the debt tries to sell it but cannot because there is no hope of regaining the money. Once a man is in debt he cannot borrow and so trade stagnates and workers become listless."

"We have ways of curing that," said Keith Ambalo. "Methods of encouraging them to meet their obligations."

Forced labor and ceremonial eviction if all else failed. Ellain shuddered at the thought of it, again, in imagination, feeling the sand-blast of the storm rip at her skin, her flesh. Remembering the sullen creatures she had once seen on a trip down in the Burrows; workers toiling in the stench and filth, crushed down to a level below that of slaves.

"I am aware of your methods," said Toysa. "But they are inefficient. Already you must be conscious of the soaring cost of basic essentials. Even with free labor, food, water and certain standards must be met and when the output per head falls expenses must rise." Something the argument at the table had affirmed as Jen Tinyah's comment had revealed the innate fear of the Cinque. A fear Toysa deliberately exacerbated. "Men are not animals. They can think and reason and it takes little for them to realize how simple it would be to end the system which penalizes them. Listlessness turns into resentment, leaders rise and, once that point is reached, rebellion is inevitable. As I said it will happen here in something like thirty years unless steps are taken to prevent it."

They wanted more but he refused to give it. The seed had been sown and the rest would follow. Anxious, afraid, they would be willing to pay the Cyclan for the services of a cyber. He would solve the immediate problems, demonstrate his value by the correctness of his predictions and make himself indispensable to the rulers of Harge. Desperate to retain power, they would become mere extensions of his will-and yet another world would have fallen beneath the domination of the Cyclan.

Cold came with the night, the sudden, harsh chill of the desert, rime glistening on the cavern mouth as the sun plunged below the horizon. A change at first welcome then one resented as trapped body heat dissipated and the cold drained energy.

"We need shelter," said Zarl Hine. "We need to go deep."

His voice was flat, devoid of accusation, but Dumarest knew what he must be thinking. The original cave had been nothing but a hollow in a wall of rock. Lower they had found others, one which led downward only to narrow into an impassable shaft. Later still they had neared the foot of the range and found a cavern which led back and down the roof crusted with pendulous spines, the floor a litter of fallen rubble. Night had caught them in mid-exploration.

"This could lead down," said Kemmer. "There's a continuation in the rear which slopes to a lower level. I shone a light down it and could see no end. A pebble-"

"You threw down a stone!" The guide was savage. "You damned, stupid fool! Didn't I warn you about making noise?"

"Up here? I thought-"

"Here, down deep, anywhere!" Hine snarled his anger. "For God's sake, man, realize where you are! What you could bring down on us!"

Dumarest said, "Calm down, Zarl. No harm has been done. What happened when you dropped the stone, Maurice?"

"Nothing. It just fell. I didn't hear it land."

A long fall, then, one which could lead to the subterranean caverns Jwani had told him to find. Dumarest followed the trader back into the cave, the beam of his helmet light shining, flashing as it hit reflective motes in the rock. Kneeling, he leaned over the lip of the slope. It ran like a slide for a hundred yards then dropped into blackness. The far side loomed ghostly in the lights, too distant to show clear detail.

"A vent of some kind," said the mercenary from where he stood at the rear. "Maybe it goes all the way up to the summit."

"We need to go down, not up." The guide's voice echoed from his diaphragm. He had mastered his recent anger. "Ropes, Earl?"

Ropes and pitons and lamps flashing as they crawled down the slope to rest on the edge. Dumarest lowered a lamp and saw a ledge far down. The bottom, despite the lamp, was shrouded in darkness.

"A long way down." Kemmer was dubious. "How are we to make it?"

"Simple." Dumarest hauled up the lamp. "We'll aim for that ledge and drop down by rope. "You first, Zarl, then I'll lower the packs and the others will follow. I'll come last." He was working as he spoke, splicing the thin, strong rope into a double line. "Lets go!"

Zarl dropped like a wingless bat, lights gleaming, coming to rest as he dropped to the ledge, waving as he released the rope. The packs followed, then Santis. Kemmer hesitated.

"How do we get back, Earl?"

"Climb if we have to. The rock's soft enough to take steps but I'm hoping we'll find another way out. Come on now, move!"

The rope followed him down as Dumarest twitched it from the holding pitons. Another long drop and they stood at the bottom of the shaft. Grit covered it and dust rose to hang suspended in the air, shimmering in the lights as they moved down toward a peaked opening.

They were still within the mountain range and the guide relaxed as the peaked opening narrowed until they had to push the packs ahead of them and turn sideways in order to pass through. A space which would prevent the passage of any large sannak. He grew tense again as it widened into a vaulted chamber clogged with sand.

"Any openings?" Dumarest swung the beam of his light around. "All of you check for openings."

Zarl found them. The guide, knowing what to look for, waved his lamp in a signal. The mouth of the tunnel at which he stood was fretted, sand fallen inside to destroy the neat circle.

"Old," he said as the others joined him. "The others are more recent but none are fresh." They lay to one side, overlapping, gaping mouths filled with dancing shadows, becoming invisible as the lights moved away. "There could be others on the far side."

Dumarest examined the walls of the cavern as he went to check. The stone was rasped smooth and bore a faint polish. He moved closer, focusing his lamp, looking up to follow the trace of a shimmering blue mineral. It faded a few feet above where he stood. Other traces, all faint, blocked the extent of the chamber.

"Malabar," said Hine. "Too scarce to attract. They've eaten this place out."

A disappointment but proof of Jwani's theory. Dumarest swung his light to the floor and began to search the fine detritus.

"No." The guide was emphatic. "They don't void where they eat. There'll be no tranneks here."

"Where, then?"

"Out in the runs. Maybe in a lair, certainly in a hatchery, but to find one of those is rare and to live to talk about it rarer still." Hine examined the wall. "Malabar but no chinteny. No elmish, either. This place was eaten out long ago. Those tunnels came from questers-young sannaks on the browse. They like to stay away from the big ones."

Santis said, "A bust. What now, Earl?"

"We camp."

"Here?" Kemmer's face through his helmet was startled. "What if we get visited? Other sannaks could want to have a look around."

"We need to rest," said Dumarest. "And here is as good a place as any. You pair with Zarl, Maurice, and I'll take first watch with Carl. Let's get the tent up."

It was small, inflatable, designed to muffle vibration and retain heat and moisture. Inside it they could strip off the suits, cool down, apply salve to chafed and itching flesh, void wastes, eat and sleep in relative comfort-relative only when compared to remaining cooped up in the confines of the suits. With the tent they had carried cans of water, packs of food, lamps, electronic apparatus and weapons.

Dumarest checked his as Santis busied himself with a sonarscope, crouching, leads plugged into his helmet, ears alert for the telltale vibration which would herald the approach of a sannak. The weapon was a large-calibre rocket projector firing a shell an inch in diameter at a velocity which would penetrate a sannak's hide. The missile was soundless aside from a spiteful hum, the explosion of the warhead, muffled by surrounding tissue would, hopefully, be insufficient to bring down the walls of a tunnel. The magazine held five rounds and Dumarest checked them all.

From where he sat Santis said, "You've been in combat, Earl. A mercenary?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. You can always tell a professional by the way he handles arms. Never to take anything on trust, to check and recheck, to examine each load and to test the action. I've known raw recruits go into firing position with stuck safeties and damaged blocks. They last about as long as those who try to fire unloaded guns. Well, those who survive don't make that mistake." He adjusted a dial on the sonarscope. "Something-no, it must be the blood in my ears."

"Take a rest." Dumarest knelt beside him. "Check your piece while I take over."

"Check it and hope to God we never have to use it." Santis chuckled. "The prayer of every soldier working for pay."

"A long, quiet war," said Dumarest. "No fighting and regular pay."

"Good food and restful nights." Santis smiled, remembering traditional toasts, hopes rarely fulfilled. "It can be a good life if you've a decent commander. Let me take over now."

He settled as Dumarest rose, stretching, picking up his rocket-rifle before moving softly toward the tent. Only a soft susuration reached his ears as he rested his helmet against the rigidly inflated dome; Kemmer snoring or the guide muttering in a dream of vast riches. Lower down in the cavern he paused to study the drift of sand which half filled the cavern, tunnels gaping like fretted lace where the wall swept in a dully polished curve. The beam of his lantern turned blue as Dumarest triggered the ultraviolet and swept it over the grit before him. Tranneks fluoresced in such light but he saw no answering glow. As Hine had said the area was barren.

The tunnels?

Dumarest approached them, halted as he reached the rim of the nearest. The roof curved a clear two feet above his helmet, it and the sides formed of compacted sand forced into a transient solidity by the pressure of the body of the creature which had made it. A large one; the sannak must have been over thirty feet long with a body swelling almost half as high again as a man.

Stepping forward Dumarest touched the side of the tunnel with a gloved hand. The floor, beneath his lantern, was clean of tranneks but there could be some farther down. He shone the beam of his helmet light down the tube, seeing its gentle curve which masked the lower reaches. It was tempting to walk toward it, to search for the precious stones but he resisted the impulse.

Turning, he again studied the wall, shining his beam higher to where a dark opening gaped, one a little smaller than the tunnel behind him but just as neatly formed. Above showed another, more, small in the dim glow, high, obviously old. The marks of sanneks who had come to feed in years long past, clearing the cavern of its mineral attraction, moving on to fresh deposits.

Thoughtfully Dumarest again looked at the tunnels. The curve he had noticed was to his left, away from the cavern. He took two steps into it then halted, feeling a sudden tension, the old, familiar warning of impending danger. As he backed, the roof ahead, without warning, silently collapsed.

It was almost in slow-motion, sand falling, pluming, filling the air with dust, a mound growing with incredible rapidity to block the tunnel, to surge toward him with a low, rasping whisper as if a thousand sheets of sandpaper were being rubbed together, a thousand files at work on steel.

A sound followed by another, a deep tremulation felt rather than heard. A murmur of rushing water blending with the churn of great stones rubbing one against the other. A grind of blunted drills against adamantine stone. The regular throb and pulse of a rotating mechanism which rose from the floor to penetrate boots and tent and skin and air in an awful announcement of the destruction at hand.