A planet strange to Dumarest, but he knew at once it was not one on which to be stranded. And there were other complications: a man who stood watching without apparent reason as he and Sufan Noyoka left the vessel, another who followed, a third who moved quickly from the gate as if to relay a message.
Small things, but his life rested on trifles, the ability to spot as unusual pattern, to sense the presence of danger.
And a cyber had landed on Teralde.
The knowledge was a prickle which stimulated him to continual awareness. Dumarest never made the mistake of underestimating the Cyclan and knew too well the subtle ways in which the organization moved. The cyber could have learned from Avorot of his presence on Teralde. He would have searched, found nothing, used the power of his mind to determine the obvious. Sufan Noyoka had an association with Chamelard, and if the cyber had learned of it, already the Cyclan could be poised ready to strike.
The Schell-Peng Laboratories rested a mile from town, a long, low, rambling structure, the walls unbroken,, the roof steeply pitched. Inside it was warm with generated heat, the receptionist waiting as they opened the thick clothing they had worn for the journey.
'Sufan Noyoka? A moment.' He turned to a file and busied himself with the contents. 'A woman, you say?'
'Number XV2537. There was a special arrangement.'
'Which would place it in the special file.' The man moved to another cabinet. A purposeful delay or merely an accustomed lethargy? Dumarest turned and studied the area with apparent casualness. Aside from the receptionist they were alone in the chamber except for a man engrossed in a book. A strange place in which to read if he were not waiting the result of an inquiry.
'Sir?' The receptionist looked up from the file. 'The subject in question is not available at this time.'
'Why not?'
'A matter of payment. Two installments have been missed and-'
'A lie!'
'Perhaps. An investigation will clear the matter. In the meantime she is being held in storage.' The man came to the counter, smiling. 'A small delay, sir, no more. The records will have to he checked and the discrepancy isolated.'
Dumarest said, 'How much does he owe?'
'The installments came to-'
'The total?'
'The sum for outright purchase is ten thousand elmars. That naturally, includes the installments and full compensation for storage and revival.'
It was too much. Dumarest knew it before Sufan Noyoka protested.
'Our agreement was for five thousand. My cargo has been sold for four and a half and I have the rest in cash. I demand that you hold to our agreement.'
'But of course, sir. The reputation of the Schell-Peng is well-known and all contracts will be honored. It is just a matter of the records. Once we have made an investigation I'm sure that all will be well. A matter of a few days. I will make a special clearance order on the query.'
'I want the woman now!'
'That is impossible. Of course, if you have the full amount? No? Then, reluctantly, I must insist you exercise patience. A few days, sir.'
Dumarest's hand clamped on Sufan's arm as he was about to object. Quietly he said, 'A few days? Well, at least it will give us a chance to see the sights. What do you recommend?'
'The Signal Mount is very good at this time of year. I think you will enjoy it. And if you have a mind to ski the Frendish Slopes are ideal.'
'And a place to stay? Never mind,' said Dumarest before the man could answer. 'We'll find something. In three days, then?'
'Yes, sir. That will be fine. Three days and all will be ready.'
As they left, Dumarest glanced at the man reading the book. He was a slow reader. Not once had he turned a page.
At night Chamelard turned into a frozen hell, the air crackling with cold, the thin wind which blew from the open stretches touching with the burn of knives. Above, the stars burned with a cold ferocity, seeming to suck the warmth from living flesh, the sprawling mass of the Hichen Cloud a malignant eye.
Hunched in his clothing Marek beat his gloved hands together, his voice a husky complaint.
'Earl, this is madness. Why don't we just wait?'
Something Dumarest dared not do. A night had passed, a day, and now on the second night time was running out. Already he had waited too long, but Marek had needed to make inquiries as to the laboratory, assembling the parts of a puzzle which he, with his talent, had built into a whole.
The structure and layout of the buildings. The probable paths any guards would take, the routine followed by the staff, the strength of any opposition.
A gamble on which Dumarest was staking his life.
To wait on Chamelard was to be taken by the Cyclan. The
Behind them Timus Omilcar swore as he slipped to fall heavily, rolling on the frost-hardened ground. The pack of extra clothing on his back gave him the appearance of an ungainly beast. As he rose his voice was an angry mutter.
'How much further? Damn this cold! How can men survive such weather?'
Few did and less tried. The streets were deserted, each house firmly shuttered, the two illuminated only by starlight. Ahead reared the bulk of the laboratories, walls of blank stone rising to the eaves of the pitched roof, the doors sealed. No guards were visible and none were needed. No ordinary thief could use what the laboratory contained.
'Wait!' Marek paused as they reached the nearest corner. 'Let me orient myself.' He turned, a thin plume of vapor streaming from his mask, then grunted and stepped forward. The wall dropped, rose, swung to the right. Beyond a narrow extension which left the main structure like a wing lay a circular expanse. 'Here!'
'Are you sure?' The engineer lurched forward. 'It looks all the same to me.'
Dumarest said nothing. If a mistake had been made then all would be lost, but he had to trust the man's abilities. His neck, also, would be at risk.
'If the woman is in storage she'll be beyond that wall,' insisted Marek. 'And if we don't get on with it and soon we might as well join her. My hands are numb. Earl?'
'Up,' said Dumarest. 'Against the wall, Timus.'
He climbed the man's shoulders, standing facing the wall as Marek swarmed up the living ladder, to grip the eave and to pull himself onto the roof. Dumarest gripped the rope he lowered, climbed it, hauled the engineer up after him. Together, crouching against the wind, they moved over the slabbed tiles, halting at Marek's signal.
'Here,' he muttered. 'And for God's sake hurry. This wind is killing me.'
From a pack Dumarest took a laser and held it close as the beam ate through the stone. Little flecks of molten rock, caught by the wind, rose to burn like dying stars. Wedging his knife into the burned slot Dumarest completed the circle and levered up the freed portion. Below lay thick insulation, beyond it a gap faced with sheets of plastic. Penetrating it they were through and into the building.
The roof was a dozen feet above the floor of a chamber illuminated by a soft, blue light. In it a double row of caskets ran along facing walls. One end of the room was blank, the other pierced by a wide door, now closed. No guards were in attendance.
'Earl?' Timus's voice was a whisper.
'It's safe.'
Dumarest swung himself through the opening and dropped lightly to the floor. As the others joined him he handed the laser to the engineer, gestured, and as the man went to weld fast the door, moved quickly along the rows of caskets. Most were empty, those with occupants sealed, each container emblazoned with a number.
'Here!' called Marek softly. 'XV2537. Right?'
The number Sufan had given and the receptionist had not lied. Through the transparent lid Dumarest could
