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even a whisper would come as a shout. But there was no shout.
No one shouted in his mind.
Perhaps Simon had heard. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with his
transmission, but only with his reception. Simon might be answering, trying to
reach him. The thought gave him a quiet desperation. But if he couldn't hear
Simon, Lora could. Concentrating, he tried again.
"Simon, warn Lora that Wig is after Johnny. Do you hear me, Simon? Warn
Lora..." He repeated the call over and over, pausing now and then to listen.
"Warn Lora..."
"Alek!" The name rang in his brain like a faraway echo, and then there was
nothing.
Only silence.
Ten
AS HE DREW near the meadow, he knew she was there. He'd gotten the feeling of
presence as he'd slipped through the dark forest beyond the perimeter of the
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village. The first inkling that he wasn't alone had brought him to an abrupt
halt, all his senses strained. Johnny? Someone from the SocAd ship? He moved
his head slowly, listening. The mute sigh of the wind in the trees mingled
with the dull roar of the river.
He moved forward cautiously, all his senses attuned to the night. It was then
that he became aware of a change; in some way he couldn't define, the presence
had become identity.
"Lora! Lora!" He called the name soundlessly as he pushed ahead more rapidly.
"Alek, here! The meadow..." The answer came like a silent whisper in his mind,
yet filled with urgency.
"Coming!" He hurried faster, heedless of the low-hanging branches and muddy
pools. As he burst from the trees, she rose like a shadow before him.
"Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.
"I'm all right, Alek, but Johnny's in great danger. So is Mr. Olaf." She came
toward him, dropping her voice. "Wig knows all about them."
"I know. I tried to warn you through Simon." He caught her hands, feeling the
tremble in them.
"He heard you."
"You've been in contact with him?"
"Wig has him under psychic probe," she said faintly.
He recoiled, startled, and searched her face. Suddenly everything was clear.
"So that's how he learned about Olaf...the empty graves."
She nodded. "They've used drugs, hypnosis, lie detectors."
"Then how did he hear me? How did you contact him?"
"Between sessions when they let him sleep," she explained. "The drugs wore off
enough."
"Where is he now?" he asked harshly.
"They still have him. Wig has no intention of releasing him." She lifted her
face worriedly. "They're working on him right now, Alek. He called when he
heard them coming."
"How much has he told them?"
"Probably everything, he doesn't know." She laughed bitterly. "Not much
escapes during a probe like that."
"Probably not." He tried to conceal his worry. "Where's Johnny?"
"Hiding...until Mr. Olaf comes."
"Where? Is he safe?"
"I hope he's safe, Alek, but I can't tell you where he's at." She saw him
stiffen and explained, "They could do to you what they're doing to Simon.
Wig's desperate. He might do almost anything."
"But you trust me?"
"You know that I do."
"Perhaps it's just as well that I don't know," he assented. He searched her
face. "What does this mean, now that Wig knows about Olaf? Can't we warn him?"
"He knows."
"From Simon?" he asked sharply.
She shook her head. "He knew Wig's mission beforehand. That's why he's
coming."
"How could he know?" he demanded. "The underground?"
"I suppose."
"And he's still coming, knowing Wig's here?" He shook his head incredulously.
"They'll track him down from orbit, no matter where he lands."
"I've thought of that," she admitted. "He'd have to land and take off almost
immediately."
"Do you know when he's due?"
"Tomorrow or the next night, unless it's stormy." She wet her lips dubiously.
"That's the bad part. Simon was our contact."
"Suppose he can't reach Simon?"
"He'll come, I know he will."
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"Wishful thinking?" he asked gently.
"No." She denied it with a toss of her head.
"Do you know where he'll land?" he persisted.
"Simon never had a chance to find out."
"It would have to be close by," he conjectured. "That would be dangerous."
She asked wistfully, "Isn't everything dangerous?"
"On this planet, yes," he answered soberly.
"We haven't much choice, Alek."
"I suppose not." He glanced around, feeling helpless. A plan had been put into
motion, now was rolling toward its inevitable end, whatever end that might be.
It could be juggled by circumstances, of course, but that was all;
and circumstances were not foreseeable.
He became conscious that the orange half-moon had risen from behind the
Kavu mountains, casting a reddish-yellow sheen over the meadow. With it the
wind had risen, tossing the branches of the agora trees restlessly against the
sky and the tops of the bulla grass moved in slow motion, giving the
impression of a host of ghosts marching across the clearing.
The ground quivered underfoot but she didn't appear to notice. He thought it
perfectly fitting that this world should be chosen for the drama being enacted
-- a world where graves were empty, where people talked without voices, where
a small boy could stand on a lonely knoll and talk with beings in another
galaxy. Yet he didn't feel a bit strange at being here, nor did
Engo feel alien. Not any longer. A short time ago he would have branded such a
world as utterly fantastic, a contradiction of the basic laws that governed
the universe. He wondered at the quickness with which the human mind accepted
the impossible. Impossible? Nothing was or ever had been impossible, he
reflected. That was the truth that Engo had brought home to him. Everything
was just a matter of knowing, of accepting...
He looked back at her, dreading what he had to say. Her slender face, a blur
in the night, made him think she'd discerned something of the tumult within
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