Eloise Page 8

  He woke with a hand clamped hard over his mouth, his nose.

  "Earl!" Arbush's voice was a strained whisper. "Earl! Wake up! There's something watching us!"

  Chapter Seven

  It was past dawn, the sky a blanket of nacreous cloud, the sun a glowing patch of milky brightness. The cloud had robbed the ice of color; now it stretched in a mass of tormented white and grey, blurring as it met the cloud so that it was hard to see the horizon.

  Dumarest said, "Where?"

  "Over there." Arbush pointed to where a ridge stood, about a hundred yards to the east of the crevasse in which they had slept. "I woke and it was light. You seemed to be resting, so I thought I'd light a fire and warm some food before waking you. I'd stood up to stretch and I turned and saw it."

  "Saw what?"

  "I don't know. It was white, roundish, about as tall as a man, maybe a little taller. It moved, which was what caught my eye; had it remained still it would have been invisible."

  Whatever it had been, it wasn't visible now. Which meant nothing. The area was laced with fissures, mounds to provide cover, a thousand places in which to hide. Even now, it could be moving closer. If so the blind-end, shallow crevasse in which they stood could turn into a trap.

  Dumarest said, "We'd better get moving."

  "Now? Without anything to eat?"

  "We'll stop later. If something's watching us it may follow. If it does, we could spot it. You only saw the one?"

  "Yes."

  "And you're sure it was something which moved?"

  "I'm sure." Arbush was defensive. "I know what you're thinking, Earl. A man freshly awake, turning; seeing a patch of moving shadow and mistaking it for something else. But it was there and it was real enough. If I'd been holding the laser I'd have taken a shot at it."

  The blind, thoughtless reaction of a man faced with the unknown.

  Dumarest turned, wincing as he headed towards the mouth of the crevasse. The sleep had done little good and the drugs he had taken earlier had lost their effect. Now his body was a mass of pain, the taste of blood raw in his throat, hands and legs numbed by the cold. He stamped, beating his hands to restore the circulation. Arbush watched as he fumbled for ampules and the hypogun from his pack.

  "Let me do that, Earl." His gloved hands were clumsy and he cursed as the tiny vials fell to the ice. Stripping off the coverings, he thrust his bare hands beneath his clothing, holding them close to his loins. Warmed the fingers were more flexible and he loaded the instrument, firing it as his hands turned blue.

  Dumarest caught the hypogun as it fell.

  "How about yourself?"

  "I ache," admitted the minstrel. "That beam must have damaged my kidneys." He blinked as Dumarest fixed painkillers into his blood. "I thought you wanted to conserve that stuff?"

  "I did," said Dumarest. "Until we needed it. That is now."

  "Because of what I saw?" Arbush frowned, thinking. "It looked like a man," he said slowly. "But if it had been a man, surely he would have come closer? Joined us. A beast then, but here, in this wilderness?"

  It was possible, a wanderer from some other region, a creature obeying instinctive promptings. Scenting food, perhaps; attracted by the fire, the music, the song. If so, and if it came close enough to be killed, it would be an asset. The meat for food, the bones for fuel, the stomach a container in which to boil a stew.

  Unless it reached them first in which case it, not they, would eat.

  Laser in hand Dumarest led the way from the crevasse, climbing up to the far edge, taking a sight on the peak which rose like a rotten tooth and heading towards it; his eyes moving from side to side, every sense alert.

  The caution slowed them down. Each crack had to be checked, every mound carefully circumnavigated. Behind him Arbush glanced constantly over his shoulder, several times stumbling to fall, jerking at the rope which joined them.

  At noon they stopped to eat; firing scraps of fuel with a laser, warming cans of meat, a measure of basic, following it with a gulp of brandy.

  Dumarest had chosen a sheltered spot against a crusted hummock; a shallow indentation providing some protection against the wind which now gusted with irregular force. A chance which had to be taken: but the hummock was high, the sides sleek, the area before them relatively flat and affording good visibility.

  The meal finished he opened three cans of meat and tipped out the contents, to lie in a small heap next to the dead ashes of the fire.

  "Bait." said Arbush, understanding. "Are you going to kill it. Earl?"

  "Maybe, but first I want to see what it is."

  "An animal, following us; what else is there to know?"

  What it was, what it fed on, whether or not it was alone. Answers which Dumarest kept to himself. He said, "We'll back away from the hummock. You look left, I'll look right. If anything's waiting out there, don't fire until you have to."

  Nothing was waiting. Well away from where he had placed the food Dumarest found a mound and dropped behind it, looking back the way they had come. Minutes passed, the wind blowing, carrying a wisp of snow: frozen particles which stung the exposed areas of his face. Beside him Arbush moved restlessly, lacking the trained patience of a hunter: the stolid indifference to hardship which Dumarest had learned when barely old enough to walk.

  And, finally, they came.

  Arbush sucked in his breath. "God, Earl they're-"

  "Be quiet!"

  Dumarest had seen them before the other: roundish shapes, dingily white, moving to freeze into invisibility before moving again. Five of them, which could have been animals shaped something like bears.

  But animals would never have moved with such calculated deliberation, would never have merged to break into positions of advantage; to have stood watch while some of their number scooped up the discarded food, to place it in what could only be pouches.

  "Men!" breathed Arbush. "Earl! They're men!"

  Dumarest caught him as he was about to rise, to shout and reveal their position.

  "Keep down! Keep quiet!"

  "But-"

  "They're men," agreed Dumarest. "But what kind? Scavengers? Thieves? Cannibals?"

  In this frozen hell anything was possible, and there were many cultures which regarded a stranger as a source of food. Conveniently packaged protein-the need to survive made its own rules.

  "They must have seen us crash," whispered Arbush. "Stumbled upon us while they were searching for the ship. But they must have a place to live. Earl. Caves, maybe, anything. We've got money and could bribe them to help us, to guide us to a city."

  Hia yearning was an echo. In his tones. Dumarest heard it, recognised it; yet recognised too the danger Arbush had overlooked. A bargain needed two to make it; what was to stop the strangers from taking all they owned and giving nothing in return?

  Yet, without them, what chance did they have to survive?

  Dumarest said, "This is what well do. You stand and wave. Don't move; wait for them to come towards you. When they are fairly close, step out to confront them. I'll cover you. If they make any attempt to attack we'll shoot them down."

  "Kill them, Earl!"

  "Kill all but one. We'll need information." Harshly he added, "And we could use their clothes."

  Crouched on the ice, hands extended, hands tight around the laser, finger clamped on the trigger, Dumarest stared over the barrel at the distant shapes. Beside him Arbush rose, shouting, waving.

  "Hi, there! I'm here! Over here!"

  The little group froze, then scattered; running, dispersing, blending into the ice. For long minutes there was nothing and then they reappeared, closer now, tiny plumes of vapor streaming from their muffling cowls.

  Again Arbush shouted. "Please help me. I need help. My friend is badly hurt."

  Not a lie, and they would know that he wasn't alone. Dumarest fought the desire to cough, feeling the warm liquid in his throat, the taste of blood in his mouth. He felt a growing lassitude, the edges of his vision becoming rim
med with black. He had lain immobile for too long. Internal blood loss and the cold was taking its effect; the hypothermia could be as fatal as a knife in the heart.

  Determinedly he blinked, shaking his head, narrowing his eyes as he stared over the barrel of the laser at the advancing group. They were cautious, as wary as beasts as they approached; looking to either side and up towards the sky.

  Up?

  He turned as the group dissolved, racing back and away; he saw the nacreous glare of the sky, the man-like things silhouetted against it, one of which was diving like an arrow towards where he lay.

  "Earl!" Arbush yelled as Dumarest rolled, slamming the weight of his body against the minstrel's legs, knocking him down and to one side, to sprawl against the ice. "Earl, what-"

  Steam exploded from where he had stood, a gushing spout of scalding water mixed with fragments of shattered ice; the heat and noise of the explosion added to the concussion of the shock-wave.

  Vapor wreathed them, settled, froze in a disguising blanket of frost. Through it Dumarest saw the thing which had attacked them and its two companions pass on; more explosions rising above the ice from the missiles they fired as, wheeling, they turned to vanish into the sky towards the south.

  "Armored men," said Arbush wonderingly. "Fitted with flying packs and carrying guns. A hunting party Earl? Mistaking us for those others we saw? But they were men. Who would hunt down men from the sky?"

  "I don't know." Dumarest rose, conscious of his fatigue, his weakness. "But they've stopped our chances of getting help from those we saw. They must think we lured them into a snare."

  "Some could be dead," said Arbush. "Shall we look?"

  "No. There could be others. The way they must be feeling, they'll kill us on sight and I wouldn't blame them." Dumarest looked toward the south. "Those flyers were dropping, maybe heading towards a landing place. There must be a city there, somewhere. A camp at least. We have to find it."

  "And soon." Arbush began to shiver, his face blotched, unhealthy; the tip of his nose deathly white. Frostbite which would spread to his toes, his hands. "Earl, it will have to be soon."

  * * * * *

  Adara said, patiently, "Eloise, why be so stubborn? Why can't you be reasonable?"

  "Which means what?" she flared. "Be reasonable-do it my way. At times, Adara, you make me sick!"

  "That isn't fair!"

  "But true. You saw the ship. You said yourself that it would land close, and what have you done about it? Nothing. What has anyone else done? The same. Well, I've waited long enough."

  Too long, she thought. Years too long; but up until now there had been no chance, and she'd had no choice but to wait. Now things were different. A ship had landed and it was close-and no one seemed to care!

  "Eloise!" He stepped towards her, his hands rising to grip her shoulders; the action betraying his concern, his need. "You can't go out there, you know that. Even if you could, what do you hope to find? Don't you remember how it was before? You were lucky then. It was only by an accident that you were found. I-"

  "You had guts then," she said coldly. "You saw what happened and did something about it. Well, now it's my turn."

  Defeated, he let his hands fall from her furred shoulders. She was wearing thick garments of synthetic material, a cap of fur on her head, thick boots on her legs. Outdoor garb for those who chose to indulge in long walks outside the city. Beyond the transparent doors of the vestibule in which they stood, he could see others similarly dressed. Not many, for few chose to expose themselves to the rigors of the cold; but enough to make touches of color against the starkness of the ringing hills, the paths crisp with frost.

  He said, "You don't even know which way to go. You don't know how far. It will be dark before you reach the hills, and then what? You couldn't go on even if the Monitors would let you."

  "But you-"

  "That was different You were close-and I had permission."

  "Of course." She was acid. "You would have had to have that."

  "Naturally." He was unaffected by her gibe, not recognizing the insult. "How else to gain the aid of the Monitors? You don't think for a moment you could scale the hills alone, do you? Eloise why can't you be willing to-"

  "Be reasonable?"

  "-face the facts. At least check with Camolsaer."

  The obvious which she had forgotten or, if not forgotten, had not yet done; perhaps reluctant to face the truth. She looked at Adara with sudden suspicion. He, knowing of her interest, must have already checked. Why hadn't he told her what he had learned? And then, looking into his face, his eyes, she guessed the answer. He, least of all, would want to be the bringer of bad news.

  With abrupt decision she walked to the nearest terminal.

  "Eloise. What news about the ship?"

  "Which ship?"

  "The one which crashed." With an effort she mastered her impatience; with Camolsaer it was essential to be precise. "Two days ago, at evening, an object which could have been a vessel crossed the sky close to Instone. It seemed to be in trouble. Did it land?"

  "An impact was noted."

  "Where?"

  "At a point about fifty miles to the north and east. The exact location is-"

  "Never mind." The figures would mean nothing to her. "Tell me what was found."

  "No investigation has been made."

  "What? A ship crashed and you didn't even make an investigation?"

  "The object could have been a vessel in distress, or it could not. No signals were received, therefore the conclusion is that it was not a vessel. In any case, it is not within the boundaries of Instone."

  "Just like that," she said bitterly. "It doesn't fall into your nice, neat pattern and so it doesn't concern you. What about the crew?"

  "If the object was not a vessel there would have been no crew."

  The thing was playing with her, she was certain of it. Nothing could be that stupid. Furiously she glared at the facing of the terminal, the plate beneath her hand, the scanners which looked too much like eyes. Blank, empty eyes in a blank, emotionless face. The visage of a Monitor. A machine.

  Tightly she said, "Assume that the object noted was a vessel in distress. Assume that it carried a crew, that it crashed, that it was unable to radio for help. What would be the chances of survival?"

  "For the crew, none."

  "Elucidate."

  "The impact noted was of a high order of magnitude. The chance that any living thing survived is remote. If they had, the hostile environment would have precluded extended survival. Also, there have been signs of Krim activity. Monitor patrols have dispersed several groups and destroyed several individuals. If nothing else, they would have terminated the existence of any who may have survived the crash."

  And there it was, she thought bleakly. The answer which Adara had been reluctant to give. All neatly wrapped up, tied with a red ribbon and dropped on her plate like an unwelcome gift. One he could accept, but she could not.

  As she turned from the terminal he said, "You see, Eloise? There is no hope."

  "Because Camolsaer says so?" She stared at him, skin, bone, flesh and blood; something on which to vent her anger, the rage born of frustration, of disappointment. "It could be wrong."

  "No! Camolsaer is never wrong!"

  "How can you be sure? It has taken a handful of data and from it drawn a conclusion. Something, it could have been a ship, landed hard on the ice. Therefore, nothing in it could have lived. Therefore, if anything had lived, the cold would kill it. Therefore, if it had lived and the cold didn't kill it, the Krim would. Is that what you call being right?"

  "Facts, Eloise."

  "We don't know the facts," she stormed. "Why haven't Monitors gone to investigate? All right, so it's beyond the city; but men could be out there, still living, waiting, hoping, fighting to stay alive."

  "If so, they will find us."

  "More logic?" She was wasting her time and knew it.

  Neither Adara, nor any of them, would
think of doubting Camolsaer. God had spoken-so let it be. A comforting, safe and convenient philosophy. Flatly she said, "I spoke of men, Adara. I dont think you know what a man is. I don't think anyone here does. Men don't give up. They fight to the last. Injuries, cold, enemies; they face and beat them all. If they didn't they wouldn't be men."

  "Supermen, surely?"

  "Men!" she said savagely. "Dear God-send me a man!"

  "Eloise!"

  She turned from him, ignoring his hurt, the bruised look in his eyes. Once a woman had warned her against doing what she had just done. Never to throw doubt on a man's masculinity. Never to demean him, to hurt his pride. Her face had carried scars to emphasize the lesson.

  "Eloise!"

  "Leave me for now, Adara. Please."

  Later, perhaps, she would make amends; but now, alone, she stepped towards the doors, the cold air outside, the scatter of people, the tall figures of Monitors shining in the fading light.

  Soon it would be dark. Another night of cold and wind, the stars hidden by clouds, the air heavy with the threat of snow; a blizzard which would sweep across the ice. Camolsaer had been right. Nothing human could live in such conditions. She had been a fool to hope.

  Chapter Eight

  The cave was little more than a shallow fissure in a wall of ice, the sides closing to meet above, the walls and floor rough with jagged projections. A small space into which they could barely squeeze, could only crouch. But it had saved their lives.

  The cave and the wind which carried the snow away from the opening; the blinding mass of whiteness filled the air, accentuating the darkness of the night. The wind which caught at the crude wick thrust into a can of nutrient paste and sent shadows dancing from the guttering flame.

  Dumarest shielded it with his hands.

  Facing him Arbush stirred, wincing, forcing himself to stay awake. His face was blotched with white patches, feet and hands devoid of feeling. Ice rimmed the edge of his hood and his eyes were bloodshot.