"What do you want?" he demanded sharply then, plainly impatient to settle the matter—if he could—as quickly as possible.
"What you spoke of earlier, Commander," Zurzal had adopted the same title, "freedom. We are here against our will—we were kidnapped to order. We want nothing more than to ship out from Tssek and go our own way."
The commander studied the Zacathan, then his attention turned to Jofre, and last of all to the Jewelbright.
"This off-world female was not brought here by force but to play another game of her own. She cannot claim otherwise."
"Any game she was to play," Jofre said, "is now ended. She is off-world—she has not meddled with your ways— can any speak against her?"
"She is what she is," the scorn in the woman's voice was near as hot as blaster breath. "We want none of her—let her return to her own kind and swim in their dregs."
"Let us reach the port," Zurzal said swiftly. "I do not know what ship may be there ready to lift. If there is none then let us enter Patrol custody—do you not agree that that will keep us away from any meddling here?"
"We need give you nothing," the man who had earlier spoken in Tssek to the commander, burst in. "Stass rays—"
Jofre stiffened. It was true, they could be taken again as easily as he and Zurzal had been back on Wayright. As long as he must keep his hold on his prisoner he could do nothing to prevent such an attack.
"You forget, At s'San, we do have something to thank them for. Did they, not show us the true death of Fer s'Rang—though that service was quite unintended." The commander smiled thinly. "No, we shall give them what they wish—the female also since we have no use for her kind—and even that squalling thing," he pointed to the Jat who was crying out in a thin wailing. "Such are not for our world; let them go. Escort them to the port and turn them over to the off-worlders who keep the peace for their own kind. But first—give us—him!"
Could these orders stand? Could he accept the word of this rebel commander? But Zurzal was nodding in agreement and Jofre must accept the bargain as became an oathed.
He loosened his grip on the Holder and at the same time gave the prisoner a push forward. Those two who had closed in from the sides were on him in an instant, and one pointed with a rod straight at the Holder's head. He stiffened with a jerk which nearly raised him from his feet and then toppled forward, caught in stass and so completely helpless.
Three of the squad bore him away but six more fell in around the off-worlders, forming a hollow square, moving forward at a trot which they were forced to equal. The Jewelbright had swept her shimmering robes up with one hand. She had tweaked out of her cloak of hair one of those hidden cords the same color and texture of the tresses in which it had been fastened and thrown that in a noose around the neck of the Jat, so pulling the creature along as one might a hunt-hound.
There was still fighting in progress and twice they had to battle their way past opposition from one of the stubborn pockets of beleaguered guardsmen. There was no flitter waiting for them, rather a ground transport into which they were crowded while their guard took position around them, weapons ready.
They turned abruptly from the main streets where struggles were still in progress, winding a road through lesser ways, some nearly alleys. There were bodies to be seen here and there. Once there came a blaze of blaster fire crisping the side of their vehicle inches away from where the Jewelbright crouched. She winced but made no sound and Jofre was so tightly jammed against her other side that he could not see whether she had been burned by that fire's touch.
The transport skidded around a corner and they could now clearly see the space port. The great gates had been firmly closed and within their perimeter were to be seen the black and silver uniforms of the Patrol as well as the grey worn by the space employees. Also there were weapons very much to the fore.
But there was no warning to stop as they approached. Though neither did anyone move to open the gate. The nose of their vehicle was nearly touching that when they came to a halt.
The Tssekian guards stepped aside and allowed the three off-worlders and the Jat to face the barrier. A man wearing Patrol dress and one in space grey, who had the insignia of Port officer on his right shoulder, moved a little forward.
Zurzal hunched the strap of the scanner higher on his shoulder and raised his good hand in the peace salute.
"We claim refuge under the Code of Harktapha." His frill was high and a deep crimson and his hissing near serpent-strong.
The Patrol officer took a stride which brought him to that section of the larger gate which might be opened separately as a small door.
"Who are the hunters?" the officer asked.
Zurzal's frill fluttered and the hue darkened. "We are not hunted, First Officer. These have brought us out with orders that we reach here. We are from off-world and there is war on Tssek which does not concern us."
"You will drop all weapons and enter singly," came the command. "You will abide by the code, surrendering to judgment concerning that which brought you here."
Zurzal nodded. "Agreed, First Officer." He tossed to one side the blaster he had belted when he had given the peace sign. Jofre wound the Makwire about his hand into a coil and sent it earthward. The Jewelbright produced from somewhere about her person, so swiftly he could not sight where it had been hidden, a slender but, as he knew, most deadly knife and added that to the collection on the ground.
Moving one by one, Zurzal in the lead, then the Jewelbright with the Jat on leash, and finally Jofre, edged through the gate door which was opened only far enough to give them tight passage. Jofre's empty hands stirred in a sign he did not know he was shaping:
"Out of dark, into light."
THOUGH IT WAS WELL PAST THE MID-HOUR OF THE night, there was still a lamp alight in an upper room of the old town house. A shadow swept across the wall in an even pattern as Ras Zarn paced the room. This night he was ridden by the need for physical effort, to somehow expend the tension which crippled him during the day, which made it more and more difficult to make decisions swiftly and correctly.
Might the Night Gnawers of Garn feast upon their lives! He fought to keep control, to not throw back his head and voice the howl of frustration which seemed near to suffocate him. Could any one of them in his position have done better? All well for them to issue orders, but the ability to obey was not in their power to enforce—unless they would decide to make an example of him and set up some other fool who, given the same situation, could certainly do no better.
THEY could hunt across the hills as they had in the past to bring down prey. There was no way any one man could hunt the star lanes. It would require centuries to even sift through a small portion of the star ports. Such a search was madness even to think of!
He had given them one solution but they would not accept it. Secrets—they were not prepared to share their secrets! But there was no other way. If the Guild accepted that they were to hunt for a man, if the matter could be presented to them solely as an act of vengeance—a chance. Though for the most part a Veep of the Guild would not concern himself with such a minor matter, under certain circumstances he or she could be led to give such orders. That was a kernel of understanding on which he, Zarn, could build—though there would be a price.
However, there was the problem of the prey—had he yet learned the value of what he had stolen from the cursed Lair? Supposing during a hunt the Guild would discover what their quarry had in his possession?
Zarn's fist was at his lips and he gnawed on his knuckles. This night he had sent his strongest message. It must be acted upon at once, for the Guild contact was not going to wait on the favor of a priesthood they did not recognize nor consider of any import in their own deliberations.