“You will not! This is an unexplored world, a whole new balance of nature. You are doing too much damage already, smashing a way through the plants.”
I admired Walter Hamilton’s courage in taking on Sean Wilgus, even if the balance of nature on Paddy’s Fortune didn’t seem like a big deal to me. But I don’t know if Wilgus was even listening. He certainly took no notice. As we watched he crouched lower, sighted along his gun, and fired twice. There was a high-pitched sound, somewhere between a bark and a scream of pain, from farther along the tunnel.
“Got it!” Wilgus shouted.
Walter Hamilton produced his own high-pitched sound, a cry of outrage and disbelief. He reached down with one hand, grabbed the shoulder of Sean Wilgus, and lifted. In the low gravity of Paddy’s Fortune, Wilgus came easily up into the air, still in his crouched position.
“You will stop that!” Hamilton was stammering in his fury. “There will be no more killing of native life. Do you hear me? None! Or I will—I will report you to Erin’s central council.”
If Hamilton had left his threat at that, Sean Wilgus might have been too busy laughing to do anything else. Threatening a spacer with a pack of Erin bureaucrats was no way to command respect.
But Walter Hamilton did something much more provoking. He released his hold on Sean Wilgus’s shoulder, and reached for the white-handled gun at his own belt.
He wanted to threaten, that was all. I feel sure he wouldn’t have fired—I bet Walter Hamilton had never fired anything in the whole of his life. But I saw the look on the face of Sean Wilgus as Hamilton’s hand closed around the pistol butt. It was a moment of surprise, followed by an expression of anger and pure, vicious hatred. And his own weapon began to lift.
“Dr. Hamilton!” I cried. “Let go of it.”
I was too late. Wilgus aimed his own weapon and fired three times, so quickly it all sounded like one shot. Walter Hamilton, his hand still on his gun, fell backward into the bushes.
For a moment Sean Wilgus and I both stared at Hamilton’s body, as blood spouted from great wounds in its chest and neck. Then we turned to look at each other.
I could hear Wilgus’s panting breath. I fancied that I could hear his mind working, too. He was in deep trouble. He could tell Danny Shaker that the murder was self-defense from Walter Hamilton’s armed attack, and the pistol in the other man’s hand would support his statement.
But not with Jay Hara as a witness to the whole thing.
Wilgus’s gun started to lift again—toward me. I cried out in fear, and threw myself sideways into the bushes. The gun fired again before I had gone half a dozen steps. But already the dense vegetation hid me from view. I heard a strange hissing, as bullets swept through tough leaves, but I was left untouched. I ran blindly on—and almost went smack into the grasp of Joe Munroe.
Like all the crewmen, he must have been heading for Sean Wilgus to find out what was happening. I couldn’t expect any help from him. He had been a big supporter of the idea of throwing me into space without a suit. I ducked, wriggled away from his grabbing hand, and plunged deeper into the jungle of plants.
The first two minutes were pure panic, when all I wanted was to put distance between me and the crewmen. After that came more rational worry. I could run, but I couldn’t hide. Every step that I took left its mark, in the form of flattened or broken plants. The others were a lot slower than me, but all they had to do was follow. They had plenty of time, and they outnumbered me. They could work as a team, following me one after another until I was forced to stop for rest and sleep.
I moved as gently as possible, trying to repair damage by lifting twigs and blades back into position after I passed through. It didn’t work. There were still signs, and it would surely be days before they faded. Even if the plants did not show where I had been, I was leaving footsteps in the soft earth.
I crouched down, head bowed and ready to cry. Paddy’s Fortune had seemed like a big enough place when I was walking around it with Walter Hamilton. Now it had become tiny, offering no possible hiding place.
The shadow of my own head on the floor in front of me finally told me what I had to do. As I sat despairing, it had crept slowly across the ground. The world was rotating, and Maveen moved across the sky. In another half hour it would be dark. Tracking me through the plants would be impossible. But less than an hour after that, the sun would rise again. I would again be in danger.
Unless…
I stood up, took my bearings, and started north. That was a move with its own dangers, because it took me back toward Walter Hamilton and possibly to my pursuers.
I stared in all directions at every step and crept along as quietly as possible. The only time that I stopped was to lean down and drink from one of the deep little ponds. The water tasted fine, cool and clear as Lake Sheelin. I would have drunk anyway, even if it had been warm and muddy. I was parched.
I was also absolutely starving. How long since my last meal? Only eight hours or so, but it felt like days.
I crept on. There was a terrible moment when I heard a nearby shout that sounded like Joe Munroe, and an answering call from the other side. It sent chills through me, and I froze. But there was no safety in that. I started moving again, through growing twilight. I was following my own tracks but I could hardly see them. Then came another awful moment, when I almost tripped over the body of Walter Hamilton.
He was dead and lying face-up, eyes open and staring. I huddled down at his side. I could hardly bear to touch him, but I had to. I wanted his gun.
It was gone. Either he had dropped it, or one of the others had already taken it. I groped around on the floor in increasing gloom, until my fingers located something hard. Not the gun. The electronic notebook that he had been holding. I took that and put it in my own pocket, along with Paddy Enderton’s tiny computer and display unit. I felt again for the gun, all around the body. Maybe it was there, somewhere among the flattened plants, but I could not find it.
At last I gave up the search. I moved on, always north. Half an hour later I was easing forward into noiseless twilight.
If I had my directions right, in front of me lay not the short-lived darkness of nighttime on Paddy’s Fortune; I was approaching the months-long night of the region around the worldlet’s north pole.
Ten minutes more, and I could barely see where I was going. I sank to the ground and stretched out on soft, damp earth. For the first time in hours, I was free to relax. If I could not see where I was, no one else would be able to track me here without hand-held lights. Even then it would be difficult.
I said I was free to relax, but of course I couldn’t. I was too wired up. There’s a big difference between seeing a dead man, like Paddy Enderton, and seeing a man die. The image of Walter Hamilton’s throat and chest kept coming into my mind, the bright blood gouting out. I had never realized before that blood could run like water. I hadn’t liked Hamilton much. Now I felt guilty about that.
The ground beneath me was unnaturally warm, but I was shivering. I told myself, over and over, that I was safe, except that a part of my mind kept asking if that word included a situation where a person was without food, drink, light, or shelter, and had absolutely no idea what was going to happen next.
What actually happened next was ridiculous. Although I would have sworn that it could never happen, I fell asleep.
When I opened my eyes, it was raining. That was impossible. How could a tiny world like Paddy’s Fortune support a layer of cloud? But certainly those were cool raindrops falling on my face.