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Updated: May 31, 2025
If he could make this man believe he remembered everything clearly, more than just the scattered patches that he did.... "You had me planted here, then came back to hunt me. Why? What makes Rynch Brodie so important?" "Close to a billion credits!" The man from the spacer leaned well back in the hole, his arms spread flat out on either side to keep his body from sinking deeper.
"We'll take watches and rest in turn. No use trying anything until it is dark unless they start to move in. You take the first one?" As Rynch nodded, Hume edged back into a crevice as a shelled creature withdrawing to natural protection, going to sleep as easily as if he could control that state by will.
"Between us and the river now." Rynch saw that glittering swoop through the air, marked the landing of a ball near the water's edge. "Might be trying to box us in. But that's not going to work. See ahead there where that log's caught between two rocks? Run out on that when we reach there and take to the water.
Rynch shook his head, wiped his wet face with his arm. It was all his, that was sure, every bit of it. He'd been lucky, the survival manual on the L-B had furnished him with general directions and this was a world which was not unfriendly not if one was prepared for trouble. He climbed up and loosened the net, coiling its folds into one hand, taking the good spear in his other.
"They or what sent them. They know what they are doing." "You mean they must have done this before?" "I think so. That L-B back there it made a good landing, and there are supplies missing from its lockers." "Which you removed " Rynch countered. "No. There might have been real castaways landed here. Not that we found any trace of them. Now I can guess why "
I don't think those things can float and if they sink to the bottom that ought to fix them as far as we are concerned." Rynch ran, still holding the needler. He balanced along the drift log Hume had pointed out and a jump sent him floundering in the brown stream thigh deep. Hume joined him, his face grim. "Downstream " Rynch looked.
Now the man was already straining forward with both arms, trying to reach a rock just a finger space beyond. Lucky for him the burrow was an old one, uninhabited. In time he should be able to work his way out. Meanwhile there was the whole of a wide countryside in which Rynch could discover a hideout no one would find him now against his will.
However the other was as wary of that dark as if he suspected what might lie in wait there. He angled along northward, avoiding clumps of scattered brush, keeping in the open where Rynch dared not tail him too closely. Their course, parallel to the woods, brought them at last to a second stream, the size of a river, into which the first creek emptied.
A fire burned in their midst and men were moving about it. Now that he was free from the wood and its watchers and had come so near to his goal, Rynch was curiously reluctant to do the sensible thing, to rise out of concealment and walk up to that fire, to claim rescue by his own kind.
Rynch swayed, his wet hands over his eyes, digging fingertips into the skin of his forehead to ease that pain bursting in his skull. Sitting in a room, drinking from a cup it was as if a shadow picture fitted over the reality of the stream, rocks and brush about him. He had sat in a room, had drank from a cup that action had been important!
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