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Updated: May 31, 2025
Afterwards the L-B and a man with him in it "Simmons Tait!" An officer, badly hurt. He had died when the L-B landed here. Rynch had a clear memory of himself piling rocks over Tait's twisted body. He had been alone then with only the survival manual and some of the L-B supplies. The important thing was that he must never forget he was Rynch Brodie. He licked grease from his fingers.
Rynch slapped out vigorously, stumbled into the water loosening the hold of two vicious scavengers on the torn skin of his ankle when he waded out knee-deep. Already that black tongue of small bodies licked across the red-haired side of the hunter. Within minutes the corpse would be only well-cleaned bones.
No, no evidence at present." "The Largo Drift," Wass repeated slowly, "carrying, among others, Gentlefem Tharlee Kogan Brodie." "And her son Rynch Brodie, who was at the time of the Largo Drift's disappearance a boy of fourteen." "You have indeed made a find." Wass gave that simple statement enough emphasis to assure Hume he had won.
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.
The nose was a black, perfectly rounded tube jutting an inch or so beyond the cheek surface. Grotesque, alien and terrifying, it made no hostile move. And, since it had not turned its head, he could not be sure it had even sighted him. But it knew he was there, he was certain of that. And was waiting for what? As the long seconds crawled by Rynch began to believe that it was not waiting for him.
And he was a prisoner with a very uncertain future, depending upon the will of the Veep and a man named Hume. Hume, the Out-Hunter, had shown no surprise when Wass stood up in the lamplight to greet the rescued. "I see you have been hunting." His eyes had moved from Hume to Rynch and back again. "Yes but that does not matter!" the Hunter had returned impatiently. "No? Then what does?"
Retrieving his spear and net, Rynch immersed both in the water to clean off attackers, and hurried on, splashing through the creek until he was well away from the vicinity of the kill. A little later he flushed a four-footed creature from between two rocks and killed it with one blow from his spear haft. He skinned his kill, feeling the substance of the skill.
Rynch chewed that over, came up with the obvious explanation. "All right so then maybe our blue-backed friends are imported. Suppose someone's running a private business of his own here and wants to get rid of visitors?" Hume looked thoughtful. "No." He did not enlarge upon his negative.
Rynch watched him check the webbing, count the equipment at his belt, settle the needler in the crook of his arm. Then the stranger left the stream, headed towards the woods. Rynch jumped to his feet, a cry of warning shaping, but not to be uttered. He padded after the other. There was plenty of time to stop the man before he reached the danger which might lurk under the trees.
The ache in his head made him drowsy. He curled up on a patch of sun-warmed sand and slept. Or did he? His eyes were open again. Now the sky above him was no longer a bowl of light, but rather a muted halo of evening. Rynch sat up, his heart pounding as if he had been racing to outdistance the rising wind now pushing against his half-naked body. What was he doing here? Where was here?
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