He began to talk slowly, painfully, and then with a spate of words which seemed to release some healing in their flow. The fight for the sled, the escape, his awaking in the wilderness, he told it all.
“But—that’s perfectly crazy! He didn’t do that at all!” someone protested. “I saw him—so did you, and you! He walked right through the whole fight as if he didn’t see any of us—took the sled and went. Maybe he did pick up Cummi as he said—but the rest—it’s crazy!”
“False memories,” stated the authoritative voice. “Cummi supplied them—guilty ones so that he would want to keep away from us even if Cummi couldn’t control him fully. Simple—”
“Simple! But Kartr’s a sensitive—he does that sort of thing himself. How could he be taken in—?”
“Just because he is a sensitive he could be that much more vulnerable. Anyway—now that we know what is wrong—”
“You can cure him?”
“We shall try. It may leave some scars. And it will depend upon how adept Cummi has been.”
“Cummi!” That was spat out as if the name were an obscene oath.
“Yes, Cummi. If we can turn Kartr’s will to meeting— Well, we shall see.”
Again a hand was laid on his forehead, soothingly.
“Sleep—you are asleep—sleep—”
And he was drowsily content now—it was as if some weight had been shrugged away. He slept.
Waking was as sudden. He was staring up at a sloping roof of entwined branches and leaves—he must be lying in a lean-to such as the rangers built when in temporary camp. There was a cover over his body, one of the blankets of Uzakian spider silk from their packs. He turned his head to see a fire. There was a dankness in the air, a mist or fog dulled the outlines of the trees that ringed in the clearing.
Someone came out of the mist and flung down an armload of wood.
“Zinga!”
“In the flesh and snapping!” returned the Zacathan genially, bringing his jaws together smartly to prove it.
“Then it was a false memory—” Kartr drew a deep breath of wonder and infinite relief.
“That was the biggest lie you ever dreamed, my friend. And how do you feel now?”
Kartr stretched luxuriously. “Wonderful. But I have a lot of questions to ask—”
“Which can all be answered later.” Zinga went back to the fire and picked up a cup which had been resting on a stone close to the flames. “Suppose you get this inside you first.”
Kartr drank. It was hot broth and well flavored. He glanced up with a smile which seemed to stretch muscles that had not been used for a long, long time. “Good. I think I detect Fylh’s delicate talent in cooking—”
“Oh, he stirred it up now and then right enough, and added some of his messy leaves. Down every drop of it now—”
But Kartr was still holding the cup and sipping at intervals when another stepped out into the firelight. And the sergeant stopped in mid-gulp to stare. But Zinga was right here, beside him. Then who, in the name of Tarnusian devils, was that?
Zinga followed Kartr’s eyes and then grinned. “No. I haven’t twinned,” he assured the sergeant. “This is Zicti—of Zacan to be sure—but a Hist-techneer, not a ranger.”
The other reptile man strolled up to the lean-to. “You are awake then, my young friend?”
“Awake and”—Kartr smiled at them both—“in my right mind again—I think. But it may take some time for me to sort them out—the real and fake memories, I mean—they are rather mixed—”
Zinga shook his head. “Do not work too hard at that sorting until you are stronger. Weak as you are it might set you twirling about like a Tlalt dust demon.”
“But where—?”
“Oh, I was a passenger on the X451, along with my family. We joined your force yesterday—or rather the rangers found us in the early morning—”
“What happened in the city after I—er—left?”
Zinga’s taloned finger moved with a faint scraping sound along his jaw. “We decided to come away—after the fight was over.”
“Hunting for me?”
“Hunting for you, yes, and for a couple of other reasons. Smitt and Dalgre came across a ship the city people built. It brought us this far before it gave out. They are still working on it under the delusion that they may be able to put it back together again if they can just solve a few of its internal mysteries.”
“Smitt and Dalgre?”
“Yes, the Patrol withdrew as a unit. It seemed best at the time.”
“Hmm.” Kartr considered all that statement might imply. There had been changes. He was suddenly eager to know how many.
12 — KARTR TAKES THE TRAIL
Three in the uniform of the Patrol squatted on their heels by the fire. Kartr sat up, his back braced against bedrolls, watching them.
“You never said”—he broke the silence at last—“why you left the city—”
None of the three seemed to wish to meet his gaze. Finally it was Smitt who answered, an almost defiant ring in his tired voice.
“They were grateful to have Cummi and his men removed—”
Kartr continued to wait but that appeared to be all the answer the com-techneer was going to give.
“Big of them,” Dalgre added after a long pause, a dry rasp under-running his words.
“They decided,” Zinga took up the explanation, “that they did not want to exchange one official ruler out of the past for another—at least the impression they conveyed was that the Patrol had better not plan to take over in Cummi’s place. So we weren’t welcome—especially the rangers.”
“Yes, they made it clear.” Smitt was bleakly cold. “ ‘Now that the war is over, let the troops depart’—the usual civilian attitude. We tended to be a disturbing element as far as they were concerned. So we took one of the city aircraft and left—”
“Jaksan?”
“He went after the jetman who had burned down the Commander. When we found them later they were both dead. We’re the last of the Patrol—except for Rolth and Fylh—they’re out scouting—”
The three did not enlarge on that story and Kartr accepted their reticence. Perhaps to the city castaways who had tasted Cummi’s grab for power the Patrol had become too much a symbol of the old way of things. And so the Patrol had to go, after the ruler had been deposed. But one thing had come of that—there were no longer crewmen or rangers—there was only Patrol—their second exile had cemented tight the bonds of the survivors.
“Ah, our fishing party returns!” Zicti, who had been napping in the warmth of the flames, rolled over and got to his feet to greet the three coming through the screen of the trees. “And what luck did you have, my dears?”
“We put Rolth’s blue torch down at the water’s edge and the creatures were attracted by its light, so we return heavily laden,” the thinner voice of a Zacathan female answered. “This is indeed a very rich world. Zor, show your father the armored creature you found under the rock—”
The shortest of the three ran into the firelight, holding in one hand a kicking thing of many legs and thick claws. Zicti accepted the captive, being careful not to encounter the claws, and examined it critically.
“But how strange! This might almost be a distant cousin of a Poltorian. But it is not intelligent—”
“None of the water dwellers appear to be,” agreed his wife. “However, we should be glad of that, for they are excellent eating!”
Kartr had seen few Zacathan women, but his long companionship with Zinga had accustomed him to the difference between human and Zacathan features and he could understand that both Zacita and her young daughter, Zora, would be considered attractive by others of their race. As for young Zor—like an impish young male of any species, he was enjoying every minute of this wilderness life.
Zacita made a graceful gesture to suggest that the company seat themselves again. Kartr noted that Smitt and Dalgre had been as quick to rise to greet the Zacathan ladies as the others. Their feelings concerning Bemmys had certainly undergone a change.
Kartr awoke early the next morning and lay still for a long moment frowning up at the slant roof of the lean-to. There was something— Then his mouth straightened into a thin hard line. He knew now what it was he had to do and soon. Meanwhile, he crawled out of his bedroll. Above the drowsy quiet of the sleeping camp he could hear the murmur of the river not too far away.
A little unsteadily at first and then firmly as he gained balance he made his way down to its edge. The water was chill enough to bring a gasp out of him as he waded in. Then he lost touch with the sands of its bed and began to swim.