"No. Get that spare clothing ready."

Naked, the woman would have to be protected against the external cold. As the door jarred to a renewed impact Dumarest stared at the casket, mentally counting seconds. Soon now. It had to be soon.

The lid hissed open as the door bulged inward.

"Get her out, dressed, and up to the roof," snapped Dumarest. "Timus, give me the laser."

He ran back to the door as the others set to work, using the beam to set new welds, fusing metal into a composite whole in a dozen places around the panel. He ducked as heat seared his face, the beam of an external laser turning the metal red, sending molten droplets falling like rain.

Within seconds they would have burned a hole in the panel exposing the chamber to their fire. Stepping back, Dumarest aimed and triggered the laser, sending the beam through the opening, hearing a cry of pain, a man's savage curse.

"My arm!"

"Stand aside, fool!"

A momentary delay during which another would have to pick up the fallen laser and get it into operation. Dumarest turned and ran down the chamber. The others had vanished through the hole in the roof. Reaching the casket, which had been dragged beneath it, he sprang, hit the top, continued the movement upward, his hands catching the edges of the hole, lifted him up and into the space beneath the roof. As he moved on upward the beam of a laser burned the plastic an inch from the heel of his boot.

* * *

"Earl!" Timus called as Dumarest emerged from the roof into the starlight. "Which way?"

They were crouched on the steep pitch of the roof, the woman a shapeless bundle in the engineer's arms. Marek, sprawled to one side, panted like a dog, his head wreathed in pluming vapor.

"Up and over!" Dumarest pointed to the ridge. "Drop on the other side and run. Move!"

"And you?"

"I'll follow."

The guards were too close-already they must have reached the hole and within seconds would have made an appearance. Unless stopped they would have a clear target. As the others scrabbled up the slope Dumarest crouched at the edge of the opening, lying flat, his hands stiffened, the fingers held close, the palms rigid.

Tensely he waited, hearing a man's panting breath, the sound of movement, a rasp as something metallic tore at the insulation beneath the tiles. A hand appeared holding a gun, an arm followed by a head, the face pale in the starlight. As the man turned toward him Dumarest was already in motion, his left hand reaching, chopping at the wrist, the gun falling to slide clattering over the tiles as his right hand stabbed like a blunted spear at the point of the neck beneath the ear.

A blow which numbed and paralyzed, robbing the man of speech and motion so that he hung limp in the opening, blocking it against his companions.

Before they could clear the obstruction Dumarest had reached the ridge, was over it, sliding down the steep slope to the edge of the roof, hurtling over it to land heavily, rolling on the frosty ground. As a siren blasted the air he was up and running.

Ahead he saw the others, Marek running with a lithe grace, the engineer puffing, hampered by his burden.

"Well never make it!" he said as Dumarest reached his side. "There'll be lights, guards-and we've a long way to go."

"Keep moving. Head straight for the ship and get ready to leave. Hurry!"

"But-"

"Move, damn you! Move!"

Alerted, the guards would be streaming from the building to surround the area. Their only hope lay in speed, but speed wasn't enough. Soon there would be lights, and unless they were distracted, the guards would quickly run them down. Dumarest slowed as a blaze of light came from the open door of the building, turning to run toward it, across it, away from the others. He heard a yell, a shouted command, and the ruby guide-beam of a laser reached toward him.

It missed as he dived toward a low mound, dropping behind it to run, to rise and deliberately expose himself against the stars, to drop and run again as men chased after him.

A long chase during which he led them from the others making a wending path back to town, once feeling the burn of a near miss as a laser touched the edge of his clothing, beating out the small fire with his gloved hand.

At the field two men stood at the gate, a third running toward them as Dumarest approached. Too many men to be out in such weather. Beyond them he could see the open port of the Mayna, Marek standing in the entrance.

"Mister?" A man stepped toward him as Dumarest neared the gate. "Just a moment. You from that ship?"

He fell, doubled and retching as Dumarest kicked him in the stomach. His companion, reaching for something in his pocket, followed as a stiffened hand slashed at his throat. The third man, halting, backed, lifting something which gleamed in the starlight.

"You there! Move and I'll burn you!"

He was too far to be reached and to run was to be crippled, at least. Then, from where he stood in the open port, Marek screamed.

It was a sound startling in its sheer unexpectedness. A raw, wordless shriek as if from a stricken beast, and instinctively, the armed man turned toward it, the gun lifting against the threat. A moment of inattention, but it was enough. Before he could realize his error Dumarest was on him, ducking low as the weapon fired, rising to knock it aside with a sweep of his left hand, the clenched fist of the right driving into the fabric covering the mouth, feeling bone yield as the man went down.

"Earl!" shouted Marek. "More are coming. Hurry!"

Dumarest ran toward the ship, hearing shouts from behind, the roar of aimed weapons. Against lasers he would have stood no chance, but they were armed with missile throwers, and dodging, he made a poor target. A bullet kicked dirt close to his foot, another hummed like a bee past his ear, a third slammed against the hull.

Then, as he passed through the port, a bullet struck the edge of the opening, whined with a vicious ricochet to slam against his temple and send him falling into a bottomless pit of darkness.

Chapter Nine

He woke to find Usan Labria at his side. She said, "How do you feel, Earl?"

"Your turn to ask the questions?"

"That's right. And my turn to look after you. Well?"

Dumarest stretched. He lay on his cot, nude but for shorts, and beneath the fingers he rested on the bulkhead he could feel the unmistakable vibration of the Erhaft Field. He felt well aside from a ravenous hunger and could guess the reason.

"Slow-time?"

"Yes:" The woman held a steaming cup and handed it to him. "I guess you could use this."

It was the basic food of spacemen, a liquid sickly with glucose, heavy with protein, laced with vitamins. A measure would provide nourishment for a day. A unit in the base of the container kept it warm.

As he drank she said, "You were lucky. A fraction to the left and the bullet would have spattered your brains. As it was you had a torn scalp and a minor fracture."

"Then why the slow-time?"

"Why not? There's no point in suffering if you don't have to. I made Sufan provide it a day after we left You've been under five hours, close to seven days subjective."

Eight days total in which his body had healed, seven of them due to the acceleration of his metabolism provided by the drug. The reverse of quick-time. Dumarest sat upright, touching his temple, feeling nothing but the scab of the newly healed wound. One eight days old, the injury mending while he had lain in drugged unconsciousness.

"Still hungry?" Usan Labria had a second cup. She handed it to him, talking while he drank, this time more slowly. "Acilus left as soon as the port was sealed. Sufan insisted and I think he was right. Those men intended to get you."