Chapter 29

Entering the Charnel Pit, Ram scanned the tavern. An empty table beckoned, and he folded his long frame onto its stool and delicately leaned an elbow on the least filthy spot of the scarred surface. Shifting his body slightly, he observed the milling crowd with frequent glances toward the entry.

Garbed in earth-toned street clothes, he had just left his room at the Condor, his mind on Drummer. Their meeting at the landing pad had been proper and courteous, with no attempts at prying, either way. Confining themselves to amenities, they spoke of tedious space jumps, the quality of accommodations in various parts of the system, and generalities on a better life for humankind from a benevolent Slingshot.

Drummer had taken leave following Ram’s inspecting his lodgings at the Condor and shrugging them acceptable under the circumstances. Departing, Drummer informed Ram that he would call for him or send an escort as soon as a suitable time for his meeting could be arranged with President Narval. Ram expressed his trust that the meeting would be soon and productive.

As his eyes accustomed to the bar-room’s smoke-diffused lighting the harsh faces of the jostling crowd emerged. A frontier, indeed, he mused. Satisfied that he drew no untoward attention, he glanced once more toward the door and signaled a robo-dispenser.

A face drifted past, paused for the briefest moment, and moved on. It was enough. Ram gave no outward sign, but felt less alone. Hodak ambled to the bar, where the drinkers greeted him and jovially made room. An hour and several drinks slipped by. Hodak and Ram ignored each other.

A small man in a nondescript tunic sidled up Ram’s table.

“Xindral?” He wheezed.

Ram glanced at him and away. He remained silent.

“I have a message for Ram Xindral.”

“Give it.”

“If you’re Xindral, the person you’re here to see prefers to meet with you away from his normal place of business. I am to guide you to the meeting. Follow me.”

“Name the man who sent you?”

“Drummer.”

“Why didn’t he come himself?”

“He is with his superior at the meeting place.”

Ram was suspicious. It could be a trap. On the other hand, it was not unreasonable that Narval might want to meet away from the formal seat of government. His options were limited. If Drummer had really sent the message, and he refused the escort, the meeting with Narval would be off to a bad start, perhaps canceled.

The messenger stood by, subservient, waiting. Ram brought his hands to his forehead as if deliberating a decision, and gently rubbed his temple to cover a flashing glance at Hodak. Hodak subtly acknowledged the sign.

“Be with you as soon as I finish my drink,” Ram said.

Taking a sip, he placed the goblet on the table and began to fish about in his tunic pockets, clumsy and time-consuming. Finally, he rose slowly, towering over the small man.

“Lead on,” he said.

Alarms shrilled in Hodak’s mind as he recognized the person speaking with Ram. What were Scarf’s stooge and Ram discussing? Ram’s mission to Planet Pluto was clearly diplomatic and entirely Drummer’s show. Drummer would not have knowingly accepted Scarf’s involvement in the proceedings.

Ram’s surreptitious glance in his direction and deliberate clumsy hesitation imparted doubts concerning his predicament. Hodak stretched, quickly finished his drink, paid his tab, and slapped drinking partners’ shoulders good-bye. He sauntered toward the door, left the bar-room and, outside, turned away as Ram and his escort emerged and moved off. Hodak turned casually to observe.

A man in a dark tunic slipped out from a shadow along the wall and followed behind Ram. Another trailed further behind. As Hodak watched, two more moved out of an alley and took positions ahead of Ram and his escort. Ram was boxed.

Hodak followed, barely close enough to distinguish Ram’s swaying form in the street crowds.

Ram’s guide moved toward a break in the wall and motioned Ram to follow. Hodak saw Ram hesitate, speak harshly, and draw back. He was too late. The others closed in and pushed him forward. Ram stumbled, tripped, fell, tried to rise. Arms whipped about and he stayed down. The four lifted and dragged him through the breach. The fifth waited until they disappeared and darted away. It had happened fast.

Direct intervention on his part, Hodak realized, would be extremely hazardous. Recognition would instantly compromise the Sentinel mission. He had to help Ram in a way that would not disclose his own identity.

He slipped silently into the alley.

From up ahead came rumbled curses and harsh laughter; they were sure of themselves.

Hodak’s eyes searched the shadows without success except for the grind of boots on stony detritus and the scrape of a weight being dragged. He closed the gap, counting on the procession ignoring their rear.

The sounds muted and stopped. Peering from a recessed slot along the wall he saw Ram’s abductors crowd around the entry to an open utility. One of them crawled in and Ram’s unconscious form passed to him. The remaining three followed and the cover drawn into place.

Hodak moved swiftly to the entry and pressed his ear against its thick cover. Shifting position and scooping aside loose dirt and pebbles, he pressed his ear first against the ground then back to the cover. Scraping noises from the other side were audible, but diminishing.

The odds were not with him but timing and surprise might even them a bit. Lifting the cover slowly, he felt the texture of the surface and slipped into the dimness beyond. He crouched in the rubble, the faint sounds giving him direction.

The tunnel lights were low and flickering, their sconces widely spaced. It was enough.

Working his way forward along the tunnel, short dashes from one bend to the next, Hodak closed on the laughing, cursing pack. They were close beyond the next bend.

Feeling along the waistband of his tunic, Hodak drew a thin, flat metal strip from the weave. Holding the strip gingerly, he jerked their ends in opposite directions and sensed the sharpness of the blades that instantly snapped outward along both edges. Twisting and turning formed a half-meter long scimitar and bending it slightly along its length added a curve comparable to the ancient Australian boomerang. It was both silent and deadly.