Star Hunter by Andre Norton (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

“I find this enlightening indeed. If you are not Brodie⁠—then who are you?”

That had been it. At that moment he couldn’t have told Wass who he was, explain that his patchwork of memories had gaping holes.

“And you, Out-Hunter,” Wass’ reptilian regard had moved again to Hume, “perhaps you have an adequate explanation for this discovery.”

“None of his doing,” he burst out, “I remembered⁠—”

Some inexplicable emotion made Rynch defend Hume then.

Hume laughed, and there was a reckless edge to that sound. “Yes, Wass, your techs are not as good as they pretend to be. He didn’t follow the pattern of action they set for him.”

“A pity. But there are always errors when one deals with the human factor. Peake!” One of the other three men moved towards them. “You will escort this young man to the spacer, see him safely stowed for the present. Yes, a pity. Now we must see just how much can be salvaged.”

Then Vye had been brought into the shop, supplied with a ration container, and left to himself within this bare-walled cabin to meditate upon the folly of talking too freely. Why had he been so utterly stupid? Veeps of Wass’ calibre did not swim through the murky channels of the Starfall, but their general breed had smaller but just as vicious representatives there, and he knew the man for what he was, ruthless, powerful and thorough.

A sound, slight, but easily heard in the silent vacuum of the storage cabin, alerted him. The crack of the sliding panel door opened and Vye crouched, his hand cupping the only possible weapon, the ration container. Hume edged through, shut the door behind him. He stood there, his head turned so his ear rested against the wall; obviously he was listening.

“You brain-smoothed idiot!” The Hunter’s voice was a thread of whisper. “Why couldn’t you have kept that swinging jaw of yours closed last night? Now listen and listen good. This is a slim try, but it’s one we have to take.”

“We?” Vye was startled into asking.

“Yes, we! By rights I ought to leave you right here to do the rest of your big, brave speechmaking for Wass’ benefit. If I didn’t need you, that’s just what I would do! If it weren’t for those civs⁠—” His head snapped back, cheek to panel, he was listening again. After a long moment his whisper came once more. “I don’t have time to repeat this. In about five minutes Peake’ll be here with rations. I’ll leave this door unlatched. There’s another storage cabin across the corridor⁠—see if you can hide there, then trick him into getting in here and lock him in. Got it?”

Vye nodded.

“Then⁠—make for the exit port. Here.” He snapped a packet loose from his belt. “This is a flare pak, you saw how they worked on the island. When you get on the ramp beyond the atom lamp, throw this. It should hit the camp force barrier. And the result ought to hold their attention. Then you head for the flitter. Understand?”

“Yes.”

The flitter, yes, that was the perfect escape. With a camp force barrier on, any fugitive could only break out by going straight up.

Hume gazed at him soberly, listened once more, and then went. Vye counted a slow five before he followed. The cabin across the corridor was open, just as Hume had promised. He slipped inside, waited.

Peake was coming now, the metallic plates on his spaceboots clicking in regular pattern of sound. He earned another ration container and crooked it in his arm as he snapped up the lock bar on the other cabin.

There was an exclamation of surprise. Vye went into action. His hand, backed by all the strength of his thrusting arm, thumped between Peake’s shoulders, sending him staggering into the prison compartment. Before the other could recover either his balance or his wits, Vye had the panel shut, the bar locked into place.

He ran down the corridor to the well ladder, swung down its rungs with an agility born of necessity. Then he was in the air lock, getting his bearings. The flitter stood to his left, the flashing atom lamp, where the men were gathered, to his right.

Vye stepped out on the ramp. He wiped his sweating hand across his thigh. There had to be no failures in the tossing of the flare pak.

Choosing a spot, not directly in line with the lamp but near enough to dazzle the men, he hurled it with all the force he could muster. Then he was running down the ramp, forward to the area of the ship.

There was a flash⁠—shouting⁠—Vye curbed the impulse to look back, darted for the flitter. He jerked open the cabin compartment, scrambled into the cramped space behind the pilot’s seat, leaving that free for Hume’s quick entrance. More shouting⁠—now he saw the lines of fire wavering from earth to sky along the barrier.

A black shape put on a burst of speed, was silhouetted against that flaming wall, then passed the spacer, grabbed at the open cockpit, and slid in behind the controls. Hume pulled the levers with flying fingers. They arose vertically at a pace which practically slapped Vye’s stomach up into the lower regions of his throat.

The searing line of at least one blaster reached after them⁠—too slowly, too low. He heard Hume grunt, and they again leaped higher. Then the Hunter spoke:

“Half an hour at the most⁠—”

“The safari camp?”

“Yes.”

They no longer climbed. The flitter was boring forwards on a projectile flight, into the dark of the night.

“What’re those?” Vye suddenly leaned forward.

Had some of the stars across the space void broken free from their fixed orbits? Flecks of light, moving in an arc, headed towards the speeding flitter.

Hume hit a button. Again they arose in a violent leap above those wandering lights. But ahead on this new level more such dots flocked, moving fast to close in on the flyer.

“A straight ram course,” Hume muttered, more to himself than Vye.

Again the flyer drove