We Install (30 page)

Benter vez Maprab tackled Eltsac vez Martois and stretched the bigger, younger man in the dust. Benter sprang to his feet, swatted Evillia on the backside. She spun round in surprise.

“The old fellow has life in him yet,” Peggol said, watching Eltsac rise, one hand pressed to a bloody nose.

“So there is.” Radnal watched Benter. He might be old, but he was spry. Maybe he could have broken Dokhnor of Kellef's neck. Was losing a game of war reason enough? Or was he playing the same deeper game as Dokhnor?

Only when the sun slid behind the Barrier Mountains and dusk enfolded the lodge did the tourists give up their sport. The cones shone with a soft pink phosphorescent glow of their own. Toglo tossed the ball to Evillia, saying, “I'm glad you got this out, freelady. I haven't enjoyed myself so much—and so foolishly—in a long time.”

“I thought it would be a good way for us to unwind after riding and sitting around,” Evillia answered.

She had a point. If Radnal ever led tourists down here again—if the lodge wasn't buried under thousands of cubits of sea—he'd have to remember to bring along a ball himself. He frowned in self-reproach. He should have thought of that on his own instead of stealing the idea from someone in his group.

“If I was thirsty before, I'm drier than the desert now,” Moblay boomed. “Where's that ale?”

“I'll open the refrigerator,” Zosel vez Glesir said. “Who else wants something?” He cringed from the hot, sweaty tourists who dashed his way. “Come, my friends! If you squash me, who will get the drinks?”

“We'll manage somehow,” Eltsac vez Martois said, the first sensible remark he'd made.

Fer vez Canthal had the coals in the firepit glowing red. Zosel fetched a cut-up pig carcass and a slab of beef ribs. Radnal started to warn him about going through the stored food so prodigally, but caught himself. If people fell into the interrogators' hands tomorrow, no need to worry about the rest of the tour.

Radnal ate heartily, and joined in songs after supper. He managed to forget for hundreds of heartbeats what awaited when morning came. But every so often, realization came flooding back. Once his voice faltered so suddenly that Toglo glanced over to see what had happened. He smiled sheepishly and tried to do better.

Then he looked at her. He couldn't imagine her being connected with the plot to flood the Bottomlands. He had trouble imagining Eyes and Ears interrogating her as they would anyone else. But he hadn't thought they would risk international incidents to question foreign tourists, either. Maybe that meant he didn't grasp how big the emergency was. If so, Toglo might be at as much risk as anyone.

Horken vez Sofana, the circumstances man from the Trench Park militia, came up to the tour guide. “I was told you wanted Benter vez Maprab's saddlebags searched, freeman vez Krobir. I found—these.” He held out his hand.

“How interesting. Wait here, Senior Trooper vez Sofana.” Radnal walked over to where Benter was sitting, tapped him on the shoulder. “Would you please join me, freeman?”

“What is it?” Benter growled, but he came back with Radnal.

The tour guide said, “I'd like to hear how these red-veined orchids”—he pointed to the plants in Horken vez Sofana's upturned palm—“appeared in your saddlebags. Removal of any plants or animals, especially rare varieties like these, is punishable by fine, imprisonment, stripes, or all three.”

Benter vez Maprab's mouth opened and closed silently. He tried again: “I—I would have raised them carefully, freeman vez Krobir.” He was so used to complaining himself, he did not know how to react when someone complained of him—and caught him in the wrong.

Triumph turned hollow for Radnal. What were a couple of red-veined orchids when the whole Bottomlands might drown? The tour guide said, “We'll confiscate these, freeman vez Maprab. Your gear will be searched again when you leave Trench Park. If we find no more contraband, we'll let this pass. Otherwise—I'm sure I need not paint you a picture.”

“Thank you—very kind.” Benter fled.

Horken vez Sofana sent Radnal a disapproving look. “You let him off too lightly.”

“Maybe, but the interrogators will take charge of him tomorrow.”

“Hmm. Compared to everything else, stealing plants isn't such a big thing.”

“Just what I was thinking. Maybe we ought to give them back to the old lemonface so they'll be somewhere safe if—well, you know the ifs.”

“Yes.” The circumstances man looked thoughtful. “If we gave them back now, he'd wonder why. We don't want that, either. Too bad, though.”

“Yes.” Discovering he worried about saving tiny pieces of Trench Park made Radnal realize he'd begun to believe in the starbomb.

The tourists began going off to their sleeping cubicles. Radnal envied their ignorance of what lay ahead. He hoped Evillia and Lofosa would visit him in the quiet darkness, and didn't care what the Eyes and Ears and militiamen thought. The body had its own sweet forgetfulness.

But the body had its own problems, too. Both women from Krepalga started trotting back and forth to the privy every quarter of a daytenth, sometimes even more than that. “It must have been something I ate,” Evillia said, leaning wearily against the doorpost after her third trip. “Do you have a constipant?”

“The aid kit should have some.” Radnal rummaged through it, found the orange pills he wanted. He brought them to her with a paper cup of water. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She popped the pills into her mouth, drained the cup, threw back her head to swallow. “I hope they help.”

“So do I.” Radnal had trouble keeping his voice casual. When she'd straightened to take the constipant, her left breast popped out of her tunic. “Freelady, I think you have fewer buttons than you did when the game ended.”

Evillia covered herself again, an effort almost undermined when she shrugged. “I shouldn't be surprised. Most of those that didn't get pulled off took some yanks.” She shrugged again. “It's only skin. Does it bother you?”

“You ought to know better than that,” he said, almost angrily. “If you were feeling well—”

“If I were feeling well, I would enjoy feeling food,” she agreed. “But as it is, Radnal vez—” At last she called him by his name and the polite particle. A grimace crossed her face. “As it is, I hope you will forgive me, but—” She hurried back out into the night.

When Lofosa made her next dash to the privy, Radnal had the pills waiting for her. She gulped them almost on the dead run. She'd lost some new buttons herself. Radnal felt guilty about thinking of such things when she was in distress.

After a game of war with Moblay that was almost as sloppy as their first, Radnal went into his cubicle. He didn't have anything to discuss with Liem or Peggol tonight; he knew what was coming. Somehow, he fell asleep anyway.

“Radnal vez.” A quiet voice jerked him from slumber. It was neither Lofosa nor Evillia bending over him promising sensual delights. Peggol vez Menk stood in the entryway.

Radnal came fully awake. “What's gone wrong?” he demanded.

“Those two Highhead girls who don't believe in wearing clothes,” Peggol answered.

“What about them?” Radnal asked, confused.

“They went off to the privy a while ago, and neither of them came back. My man on watch woke me before he went out to see if they were all right. They weren't there, either.”

“Where could they have gone?” Radnal had had idiot tourists wander on their own, but never in the middle of the night. Then other possible meanings for their disappearance crossed his mind. He jumped up. “And why?”

“This also occurred to me,” Peggol said grimly. “If they don't come back soon, it will have answered itself.”

“They can't go far,” Radnal said. “I doubt they'll have thought to get on donkeys. They could hardly tell one end of the beasts from the—” The tour guide stopped. If Evillia and Lofosa were other than they seemed, who could tell what they knew?

Peggol nodded. “We are thinking along the same lines.” He plucked at the tuft of hair under his mouth. “If this means what we fear, much will depend on you to track them down. You know the Bottomlands, and I do not.”

“Our best tools are the helos,” Radnal said. “When it's light, we'll sweep the desert floor a hundred times faster than we could on donkey­back.”

He kept talking for another few words, but Peggol didn't hear him. He didn't hear himself, either, not over the sudden roar from outside. They dashed for the outer door. They pushed through the Eyes and Ears and militiamen who got there first. Tourists pushed them from behind.

Everyone stared at the blazing helos.

Radnal stood in disbelief and dismay for a couple of heartbeats. Peggol vez Menk's shout brought him to himself: “We have to call Tarteshem
right now
!” Radnal spun round, shoved and elbowed by the tourists in his way, and dashed for the radiophone.

The amber ready light didn't come on when he hit the switch. He ducked under the table to see if any connections were loose. “Hurry up!” Peggol yelled.

“The demon-cursed thing won't come on,” Radnal yelled back. He picked up the radiophone itself. It rattled. It wasn't supposed to. “It's broken.”

“It's
been
broken,” Peggol declared.

“How could it have been broken, with Eyes and Ears and militiamen in the common room all the time?” the tour guide said, not so much disagreeing with Peggol as voicing his bewilderment to the world.

But Peggol had an answer: “If one of those Krepalgan tarts paraded through here without any clothes—and they both ran back and forth all night—we might not have paid attention to what the other one was doing. Bang it … mmm, more likely reach under it with the right little tool … and you wouldn't need more than five heartbeats.”

Radnal would have needed more than five heartbeats, but he wasn't a saboteur. If Evillia and Lofosa were— He couldn't doubt it, but it left him sick inside. They'd used him, used their bodies to lull him into thinking they were the stupid doxies they pretended to be. And it had worked … He wanted to wash himself over and over; he felt he'd never be clean again.

Liem vez Steries said, “We'd better make sure the donkeys are all right.” He trotted out the door, ran around the crackling hulks of the flying machines. The stable door was closed against cave cats. The militiaman pulled it open. Through the crackle of the flames, Radnal heard a sharp report, saw a flash of light. Liem crashed to the ground. He lay there unmoving.

Radnal and Golobol the physician sprinted out to him. The firelight told them all they needed to know. Liem would not get up again, not with those dreadful wounds.

The tour guide went into the stables. He knew something was wrong, but needed a moment to realize what. Then the quiet hit him. The donkeys were not shifting in their stalls, nipping at the straw, or making any of the other small noises.

He looked into the stall by the broken door. The donkey there lay on its side. Its flanks neither rose nor fell. Radnal ran to the next, and the next. All the donkeys were dead—except for three, which were missing. One for Evillia, the tour guide thought, one for Lofosa, and one for their supplies.

No, they weren't fools. “I am,” he said, and ran back to the lodge.

He gave the grim news to Peggol vez Menk. “We're in trouble, sure enough,” Peggol said, shaking his head. “We'd be worse off, though, if the interrogation team weren't coming in under a daytenth. We can go after them in that helo. It has its own cannon, too; if they don't yield, goodbye. By the gods, I hope they don't.”

“So do I.” Radnal cocked his head to one side. A grin split his face. “Isn't that the helo now? Why is it early?”

“I don't know,” Peggol answered. “Wait a heartbeat, maybe I do. If Tarteshem called and got no answer, they might have decided something was wrong and sent the helo straightaway.”

The racket of engine and rotors swelled. The pilot must have spotted the fires and put on full speed. Radnal hurried outside to greet the incoming Eyes and Ears. The helo's black silhouette spread huge across the sky; as Peggol had implied, this was a military machine, not just a utility flier. It made for the glowing cones that marked the landing area.

Radnal watched it settle toward the ground. He remembered Evillia and Lofosa running around in the landing zone, laughing, giggling, and … losing buttons. He waved his arms, dashed toward the cones. “No!” he screamed. “Wait!”

Too late. Dust rose in choking clouds as the helo touched the ground. The tour guide saw the flash under one skid, heard the report. The skid crumpled. The helo heeled over. A rotor blade dug into the ground, snapped, thrummed past Radnal's head. Had it touched him, his head would have gone with it.

The side panel of the helo came down on the Bottomlands floor. Another sharp report—and suddenly flames were everywhere. The Eyes and Ears trapped inside the helo screamed. Radnal tried to help them, but the heat would not let him approach. The screams soon stopped. He smelled the thick odor of charring flesh. The fire burned on.

Peggol vez Menk hurried out to Radnal. “I tried to stop them,” the tour guide said brokenly.

“You came closer than I, a reproach I shall carry to my grave,” Peggol answered. “I did not see that danger, much as I should have. Some of those men were my friends.” He slammed a fist against his thigh. “What now, Radnal vez?”

Die when the waters come
, was the first thought that crossed the tour guide's mind. Mechanically, he went through the obvious: “Wait till dawn. Try to find their trail. Pack as much water on our backs as we can and go after them afoot.”

“On foot?” Peggol said.

Radnal realized he hadn't explained about the donkeys. He did, then went on, “Leave one man here for when another helo comes. Give the tourists as much water as they can carry and send them up the trail. Maybe they'll escape the flood.”