The sentry turned, and now Dane could see nothing at all. When the man came back to the lamp, Dane was not quite sure he had ever seen anything.
Yet he kept stealing glances in that direction, being careful not to turn his head, to attract in any way the attention of the sentry. And he was rewarded seconds later by the sign of another flitting, this time from the protection of brush to a second cover behind a couple of supply boxes. There was no mistaking that silhouette—the long horned snout of the brach.
What the alien proposed to do (unless he had merely followed to cling to the proximity of the three from the flitter because their familiarity was a forlorn feeling of security), Dane could not guess. He had seen the brach use a stunner. But those who had stripped them out of the safe-foam had disarmed them. And, unless there had been some weapons in the flitter that the brach had located, he had no chance if discovered.
There was no way of communication possible, yet Dane found himself thinking a warning over and over— not that that would carry.
The sentry got up for another of those periodic prowls, and as he turned his back, the brach scuttled out into the open, as soundless in his passing as if he were a shadow. Making a quick dash, the alien was now crouched beside Tau, his head stretched at an uncomfortable angle. The horn—he was using his horn on the cords of the tangle!
Being what they were, those spun restrainers could not be easily cut or broken. They were ultra elastic on the surface, yielding under pressure of knife blade but not allowing their thick surfaces to be cut.
Yet Dane could see the small movements of the brach’s head. He must be tearing at those ties. Tau winced as if those efforts were painful, but he did not move and held steady.
Then Tau’s arms flexed a fraction, and Dane knew a spurt of excitement. Somehow the brach had broken the tangle strand. Tau was free, though he made no move to act upon that freedom.
However, the medic leaned forward slowly, holding his body as far as he could away from the wall, and Dane knew that the brach was wriggling through to come to Dane’s own assistance. He was right, for shortly thereafter he felt the fluffy warmth of the creature pressed tightly to him, the jerk and tug on the tangle as the alien sawed away with the horn. Then, too, he was freed, edging away from the wall, in turn, to give the brach a chance to reach Meshler.
The guard had completed his sentry beat and settled down again by the lamp, though he continued to divide his watch between the prisoners and the outer dark. He was too alert for unarmed men to make any plan not well thought out.
At last he got to his feet and went to one of his sleeping comrades to shake him awake. Oddly enough the roughly aroused man said nothing, only accepted the tangler and the post by the lamp, while the first rolled up in the same coverings from which the other had just crawled. Their silence struck an odd note—it was almost as if they could not talk.
The brach had wriggled from behind Meshler, and Dane knew that the ranger must also be free. The alien worked his way along, using the men and shadows for cover, finally hunkering down behind the pile of boxes that had been his first goal upon entering the camp. The guard by the lamp was on sentry go now. Just as he reached the most outward point of his beat, the brach moved. Dane could not quite make out
what the creature had loosened and pushed, but it rolled with a clatter for the lamp. In the last few seconds before it struck, Dane made ready.
It had impact enough to overbalance the lamp, and the light went out. Dane and the others threw themselves forward, out of range, or so they hoped, of any tangle discharge. Nor did Dane try to get to his feet, but scuttled, keeping as belly-down as he could, heading for the open. Sounds told him that his companions must be following the same tactics.
He expected to hear a shout from the sentry, some outcry to awaken the sleepers. There was a scuffling, and he heard the hiss of what could only be a tangler discharged. But if that touched anyone, it was not him.
Then he was out, getting to his feet. He brushed against another body, flailed out with his arm, and felt the slick surface of a thermo jacket. A hand caught his, linked fingers, and together they made what speed they could into the thick brush lying to the right of the ledge. That vegetation would deflect any tangler. But surely their captors had more dangerous weapons—
“Tau?”
“Yes!” The whisper was from his side.
“Meshler?”
“I don’t know,” the medic whispered.
They had no way of keeping their forced entry into the brush silent. The crackle of their passing must be a loud announcement of their path to their late captors. Then Dane was brought up short as a pair of hands seized him, and he swung about, aiming a blind blow at his assailant.
“Quiet!” There was no mistaking the ranger’s voice. “Take it smooth—easy!”
He tugged Dane along, and Dane’s own hold on the medic drew him in turn. The ranger certainly had, Dane decided, an extraordinary degree of night sight, for they were no longer threshing about in brush, though that did beat at them as they threaded a way along, either following a winding path or going through a thinner area of growth.
Their best pace was not a good one. Dane still wondered why there had been no sounds of alarm from the camp. Then came a sudden spring of light. The diffuse lamp must not only be working again but also turned higher. Only the fugitives were screened by the growth in between.
The plates in their space boots clicked on a more solid surface, and the brush was gone. Walls of some kind rose dark and solid on either hand. Dane looked up. He could see a narrow strip with a star or two emblazoned in it.
Something brushed his knee. He broke his hold on his two companions and stooped to feel the brach. The alien was shivering, and Dane held him close while he unsealed the seal of his thermo jacket and pulled it around them both.
“What is it?” whispered Meshler.
“The brach—he’s cold.” Dane wondered how long the creature had suffered the cruel night air.
“Does it—he—know where the flitter is?” Meshler’s whisper was urgent.
In handling the brach, Dane had discovered the alien still wore the translator. Now he pulled at his hood and whispered into the mike, “The flying thing—where is it?”
“In a hole—in the ground.” To his relief the alien answered promptly. Dane had thought that he might be half conscious from cold.
“Where?”
The brach wriggled in his hold and Dane felt his head bump against his chin as it turned, pointing left. “Left—in a hole, he says,” Dane reported to the ranger.
Meshler started so confidently in that direction that it was as if he could see clearly. But when the Terrans stumbled and lagged, he came back.
“Hurry!”
“Do us no good to hurry if we get broken bones for it,” Tau returned reasonably.
“But,” Meshler began, “this is open ground.”
“In the dark,” countered Tau, “it could be anything.”
“Dark? You mean you can’t see?” Meshler sounded honestly surprised, almost shocked.
“Not at night, not well enough to go charging along through this,” Tau answered.
“I did not know. Wait then!” Meshler’s indistinct figure twisted about. Then the end of a belt flapped into Dane’s reach. “Link together—I’ll lead.”
As soon as Dane caught the belt and Tau’s hand was set on his shoulder, the ranger stepped out as confidently as if he held a beamer focused on the path ahead.