creature
withdrawing to natural protection, going to sleep as easily as if he
could control that state by will. Rynch, watching him curiously for a
second or two before climbing up to a position from which he judged he
could see all sides of their refuge, determined not to be surprised.
The watchers were crouched down, waiting with that patience which had
impressed him from his first sight of the camp sentries back in the
forest. There was no movement, no sound. They were simply there—on
guard. And Rynch did not believe that the darkness of night would
bring any relaxation of that vigilance.
He leaned back, feeling the grit of the rocky surface against his bare
back and shoulders. Under his hand was the most efficient and
formidable weapon known to the frontier worlds, from this post he
could keep the enemy under surveillance and think.
Hume had had him planted here, in the first place, provided with the
memory of Rynch Brodie—the reward for him was to be a billion
credits. Too much staff work had gone into his conditioning for just a
small stake.
So Rynch Brodie was on Jumala, and Hume had come with witnesses to
find him. Another part of his mind stood aloof now, applauding the
clearness of his reasoning. Rynch Brodie was to be discovered a
castaway on Jumala. Only, matters had not worked out according to
Hume's plan. In the first place he was certain he had not been
intended to know that he was not Rynch Brodie. For a fleeting second
he wondered why that conditioning had not completely worked, then went
back to the problem of his relationship with Hume.
No, the Out-Hunter had expected a castaway who would be just what he
ordered. Then this affair of the watchers—creatures the Guild men had
not found here a few months ago—Rynch felt a small cold chill along
his spine. Hume's game was one thing, something he could understand,
but the silent beasts were another and somehow far more disturbing
threat.
Rynch edged forward, watching the mist on the water, his brain
striving to solve this other puzzle as neatly as he thought he had
discovered the reason for his scrambled memories and his being on
Jumala.
The mist was an added danger. Thick enough and those watchers could
move in under its curtain. A needler was efficient, yes, but it could
wipe out only an enemy at which it was aimed. Blind cross sweeping
with its darts would only exhaust the clip without results, save by
lucky chance.
On the other hand, suppose they could turn that same gray haze to
their own advantage—use it to blanket their withdrawal? He was about
to go to Hume with that suggestion when he sighted the new move in
their odd battle with the aliens.
A wink of light—two more—blinking, following the erratic course by
the pull of the stream. All bobbing along toward the rugged coastline
of the islet. Those had appeared out of nothingness as suddenly as the
globes when this chase had begun.
The globes and the winking lights on the water connected in his mind,
argued new danger. Rynch took careful aim, fired a dart at one which
had grounded on the pointed tip of the rocks where the river current
came together after its division about the island. For the first time
Rynch realized those things below were moving
against
the
current—they had come upstream as if propelled.
He had fired and the light was still there, two more coming in behind
it, so that now there was an irregular cluster of them. And there was
activity on the water-washed rocks before them. Just as the scavengers
had moved ahead of the globes on land, so now aquatic creatures had
come out of the river, were flopping higher on the islet. And those
lights were changing color—from white to reddish-yellow.
Rynch scrabbled with one hand in a rock crevice, found a stone he had
noted earlier. He hurled that at the cluster of lights. There was a
puff of brilliant red, one was gone. Something flopping on the rocks
gave a mewling cry and somersaulted back into the water. Then a finger
of
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