Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

"The local police?" Dumarest thinned his lips as the man nodded. "Do you know why? Well, never mind, I can find out later. So that leaves you in charge. What instructions have you had for the shipping of cargo?"

"None."

"How long have you been on duty?" Dumarest saw the sudden narrowing of the eyes, the dawning suspicion. "Well, answer me, man! How long?"

"Two hours. Lieutenant Frieze collapsed from some internal complaint."

"I see." Dumarest masked his face and eyes. The unexpected had happened and the plan had failed. Swedel already suspicious, couldn't be deluded and Frieze, obviously the officer primed, was out of action. Risey? What would the police want with him?

Swedel said, "I can't understand your interest, Colonel. What has Security to do with this warehouse? And why should you think I've had instructions to ship cargo?"

"Did I say you've had?"

"No, but you inferred it. Something is wrong here." His hand dropped to his belt and the pistol holstered there. "Your identification, Colonel. I think I'd better take a closer look."

"Of course." Dumarest lifted his hand to his pocket as he looked over the other's shoulder. A group of soldiers stood before the wide doors, chatting, at ease. To one side rested a small office, the door open, a single light burning inside. "Let us go into your office."

"Your papers, Colonel!"

"In the office. You have a phone there? Good, you will be able to verify my documents-or do you trust scraps of paper more than an authorized identification?"

Dumarest headed towards it without waiting for an answer, turning as he passed through the door, the papers falling from his hand as he pulled them from his pocket. Immediately he stooped to recover them, moving as he rose to stand between the officer and the door, his bulk masking the smaller man. As Swedel reached for the useless papers Dumarest sent the stiffened fingers of his right hand stabbing at the unprotected throat. A blow designed to stun, not kill, and as the man slumped Dumarest caught him, supporting him in his arms.

"Sir?" One of the soldiers, attracted by the hint of movement, was looking towards the office. "Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing." Dumarest turned towards him, one arm behind Swedel's back, his hand gripping the belt to hold the man upright. "Get those doors open! You have a loading platform? Good. Have it prepared. Move!"

As they sprang to obey, Dumarest eased his limp burden into the only chair the office contained, turned it to face the phone, propping the head on the folded arms. To a casual glance he was a man engrossed in making a call.

"Sir?" A soldier called to Dumarest as he left the office. "What shall we load?"

* * * * *

The platform was pulled by a mechanical horse, a small, whining vehicle which dragged it across the field through veils of mist. It held a dozen crates, boxes chosen from a pile standing beside the doors and which Dumarest could only hope held things of value. There had been no time to make sure.

The soldiers who had loaded them walked at the rear of the platform. The driver, squinting ahead, cursed the mist as he strained to see his destination.

"The Varden, sir?"

"To the east of the field." The mist was both a help and a hindrance-and why hadn't Dephine placed the guide beacon? Dumarest pushed ahead, almost running, seeing it after he had covered a hundred yards, a winking, yellow glow. Dephine stood beneath it.

"Earl?"

"Is everything arranged?"

"Yes. Where is the loot?"

"Coming-what I could get of it." Dumarest turned as the thin whine of the vehicle grew louder. "Something went wrong. Get inside and out of that uniform. Have the captain ready to leave when I give the word. Hurry!"

"He won't be rushed, Earl. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He-"

"Will do as I tell him!" Dumarest snarled his impatience. "Don't stand there arguing, woman. We're racing against time. Now get in the ship and have the handler standing by. The loading ramp should be moving and the ports open. I-" He broke off as a dull report echoed through the air. "Guns."

"A diversion," she explained. "I arranged it. It should distract the guards."

Men bribed to fire into the air at a certain time, but they were late, a thing she hadn't yet realised.

"Earl?"

"The plan failed," he said, quickly. "The officer who was supposed to have taken care of the loading fell ill and his replacement knew nothing about it. The police are involved somehow and they could be moving in. Now get busy. If this ship leaves without us we're as good as dead. If it doesn't leave at all, the same. You take care of the captain while I see the handler. Are you armed?" He grunted as she showed him a compact laser. "Don't use it unless you have to, but don't hesitate to burn a hole if you must."

He ran into the ship as she vanished through the port. The handler, a sallow-faced man, straightened from where he leaned against a bulkhead. He scowled as Dumarest snapped orders.