Haven of Darkness by E. C. Tubb

Author:E. C. Tubb
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 1977-05-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

There was a blur, a timeless moment as if the very universe had stopped, then came light and sound and a voice.

"What are you doing here? My orders were plain. This man is to remain in isolation."

The cyber, his tones even, only the words holding an implicit threat. But the words were fuzzed, harmonics lost, the drone of a robot rather than the trained modulation of his class.

"Did you hear me? Step back away from the prisoner. Leave this cabin and do not return. There will be penalties if you do not obey."

Dumarest sucked in his breath and felt a liquid gurgling in his chest. Before him he could see the metal of the cabin; the join where bulkhead met hull. Lower a shape sat slumped in the corner, arms behind the chest, chin pressed against his own torso.

With a jerk he freed the wrists which were trapped between the figure and the metal. A spot of red caught his eye, a small tube hanging from a needle buried in his wrist and he snatched it, pulling it free, coughing, lifting a hand to his mouth and hiding the thing beneath his tongue.

One found and hidden but the other?

He heard the soggy rasp as of clothing; bare flesh sliding over the metal bulkhead as the figure on the bed toppled to one side. He caught it, found the other syringe, coughed again and finally turned to face the cyber.

"I'll," he said. "I heard him cry out and looked inside and he was ill. I think he's fainted or something."

"Please leave immediately."

"I could help, maybe?"

"That will not be necessary." Broge's hand lifted towards his sleeve, the laser clipped to his wrist. "I shall not ask you again."

The man should die, had to die, executed if for no other reason than that he had ordered the death of an old and harmless man, but not yet. The acolyte had to be taken care of first and there were other things which needed to be done.

How to use this new body for one.

Dumarest sagged as he stepped into the corridor, not acting, unable to master the reluctance of the flesh he now wore. The wall was cool against his fevered skin and he leaned against it, feeling the painful pulsation of his lungs, the liquid gurgling, the rasp of breath, the aches and torments, the agony of rotting tissue.

Chagney was dying.

That he had known, but had been unable to guess just how bad the man had been. The disease had progressed too far, alcohol alone had helped to numb the pain and provide the energy for motivation. Bleakly Dumarest looked at the lights, frowning as his eyes refused to focus. His hearing was impaired, his sight, in his mouth rested foulness, his skin felt like abrasive paper and, like little pits of fire, various glands signaled breakdown and inner decay.

"Chagney!" A man came into sight following his voice. Fatshan, the engineer, a steaming cup of basic in one hand, a bottle in the other.

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