Fugitive (26 page)

   "But only to ensure your safety," Lester hastened to explain. "We normally would have no need, knowing you would be quite safe, but this cat has caused a great deal of unrest."

   "Well, the cat is dead, so you will have no further need to visit." Drusilla's voice was taut with barely suppressed disgust for these horrid Nedwuts, especially knowing what she did about their role in the pursuit of surviving Zetithians. One of the beasts toward the rear of the pack was drooling and licking his chops as though he'd like to eat her. If Lester hadn't been there to witness it, she would have been tempted to shoot them down where they stood.

   The Nedwut's eyes narrowed as he gazed past her. "We will not trouble you any further, then," he said.

   Drusilla hoped that seeing the well-armed Klog behind her had made them think twice about doing anything to harm her, but Drusilla didn't believe she'd seen the last of them—especially when she turned around once the door was closed. Her masterful painting of Manx was sitting across the room on her easel in plain sight.

   "Oh, my God," she whispered.

   Drusilla sat down heavily on the sofa, still holding the pistol in her trembling fingers. What hope did she have of ever seeing Manx again? These evil monsters would hunt him down and kill him—possibly kill or take her too—and there was no one on Barada Seven capable of stopping them unless there were more of those confis cated pistols lying about. She had Klog as an ally, but he was all she had.

   Manx must have known they were coming—had smelled their scent or something. There was no other explanation for his disappearance. "You could have at least said good-bye," she whispered, dissolving into tears.

   Klog handed her a tissue and made an odd, whirring sound that Drusilla had never heard from him before. Perhaps he was crying too.

   Drusilla had no illusions that the Nedwuts would leave Barada and never return. They might seem to do so, but she was certain they would land somewhere in the wilderness and then hunt Manx down without mercy. She wished with all her heart that he had taken the pistol with him; at least then he would have had a chance. As matters stood, all he had were his knife and his bow, which were no match for the Nedwut weapons.

   Still, he had eluded them for this long, perhaps he would come back to her. A little voice inside her head warned her that this was only wishful thinking. He wouldn't risk his life to come back. He would, hope fully, elude his hunters, but he would never risk coming back to the lake house. Zef would miss him too.

   She sighed, wondering if it wouldn't be best for her to return to Earth as soon as possible. The Nedwuts had seemed pleased enough with her to want to capture her as well. She was in as much danger as Manx, and perhaps it was only her show of force that had prevented it. Lester's presence she discounted. These creeps would have no qualms about killing Lester and taking her. It was a wonder they had bothered to bring Lester with them at all. The house would have been easy enough to find if one only followed the track through the jungle, or, since they'd obviously come on a spaceship of some kind, it was possible that they would have all manner of sensors to scan the area looking for a likely spot for tourists.

   Drusilla knew that searching for Manx would only lead the Nedwuts to him—if she ever found him, that is. She wanted to leave but at the same time thought she should stay right where she was forever, just in case he decided it was safe to come back. Not knowing which path she should follow, she did what she always did when confronted by an untenable situation; she painted.

   First one canvas, and then another, on into the night and until the glimmer of lavender dawn the next morning. Klog brought her food that went largely untouched, she slept for brief periods only to awaken and pick up her brushes again.

   In the lake, on the beach, in her bed, in her arms, and in the jungle surrounded by birds, she painted Manx in every pose she could imagine, desperate in her attempt to capture his image before she forgot it. Crying when she realized how little she knew about him, how she would never learn anything more. Never feel his touch or hear his voice again. She painted for an entire week, never once leaving the house even to talk to Zef. She wasn't ready for that yet. Perhaps in time she could, but the fact that Manx had not come knocking on her door made her all the more certain that she had seen the last of him. Her dear, sweet Manx might even be dead by now.

   The idea horrified her and she knew she had to do something to get it all out of her mind. She finally decided to send her finished paintings to Ralph. She felt the need for his input, but was quite sure he would recognize them for what they were. Reluctantly, she called Lester on the comlink.

   "I need to ship some paintings back to Earth," she said. "Have those awful
things
gone?"

   Lester didn't need to ask who she was talking about. "You had killed the cat," he said. "There was no reason for them to stay any longer, so their landing rights were revoked."

   "You kicked them off the planet?" Drusilla said with surprise. Somehow she couldn't see the timid little Lester standing up to anyone.

   "Force was not necessary," Lester said. "I am very sorry they frightened you."

   "Yeah, well, I'm not so sure they won't be back," she said. "Mind if I hang onto the pistol until I leave?"

   Lester's hands flew in all directions in a frank display of his distress. "No one here would want it," he assured her. "It is an abomination to even have it on our world."

   "How do you manage to keep creeps like that from landing if you don't have any weapons?"

   Lester seemed completely taken aback by this ques tion. "If anyone lands without permission, we tell them to go and they go."

   Drusilla snickered her skepticism. "You guys are so naïve," she remarked. "Those thugs don't look like the types to do anything they don't want to do unless you threaten to blast them into space dust."

   "Most others respect our customs," Lester insisted. "You did not bring any weapons with you, and though it is rare among our other visitors, some do land who seem bent on wrongdoing, but they are easily disarmed."

   "Lester," she said gently, "that's because the only thing you have to offer here is peace, quiet, scenery, and a little fuuslak juice. If you had something they valued, they would take it, whether you liked it or not."

   Lester's wide grin seemed a bit forced to Drusilla. "How fortunate that we have nothing here of any value."

   "Klog's probably worth a bundle," she said, remem bering that he had been standing behind her when she was facing down the Nedwuts. Perhaps they hadn't seen Manx's portrait after all. It was further away, and that side of the room had been fairly dark; Klog might have been all they were looking at.

   "Yes, he is," Lester agreed. "But those droids can't function much beyond the house they are designed to serve. They self-destruct if they are forcibly removed."

   "I wonder if they know that," she muttered.

   "Who?"

   "Those creeps who were here last week." Deciding to feign ignorance to gain more information, she added, "What were they, anyway? I've never seen their kind before."

   "I have," Lester said grimly. "They are called Nedwuts. We found several of them on Barada illegally a few years ago. That pistol you have was taken from one of them."

   "I still don't understand how you get them to coop erate," Drusilla said with a wag of her head. "They don't strike me as the type to follow anyone's rules."

   Lester hands looked like someone twiddling his thumbs, albeit very quickly. "They have always followed our laws once they have been explained," he said stiffly. "Everyone does."

   "Well, I'm glad to hear that," she said wearily, even though she didn't believe it. "But would you come out and get some paintings and ship them back to Earth for me? I'd really like to get some feedback from Ralph on them. I mean, if he doesn't like them, I'll need to work on some more."

   "That will be no problem," Lester said. "I will come for them tomorrow." He eyed her hesitantly. "You do not mind if I come there?"

   "No, I don't," Drusilla said. "Come anytime you like—just don't bring any more Nedwuts!" This direc tive was more automatic than heartfelt; if truth be told, she didn't think she would mind if the Nedwuts showed up and killed her on the spot. There was a sense of hope lessness without Manx, one she'd tried to keep at bay by painting, but now that she had stopped, she realized that it was the only reason for her to go on living. Painting Manx would be her life's work—she could see that now. It would be the one thing that kept her alive. It would keep her love for him alive too. Possibly inflated out of all recognition, but alive, nonetheless. Aside from that, she felt like an empty shell. There was a void in her that no other man could ever fill. She knew that now. No matter where she looked, she would never find a cure for the loss of him.

   It didn't matter, she told herself as she drifted away from the comlink, leaving a rather befuddled Lester to wonder why she was behaving so peculiarly. Perhaps he would chalk it up to the visit from the Nedwuts, which was undoubtedly the reason Manx had left so uncer emoniously. Manx had taken everything but her creative drive with him when he disappeared, leaving her heart and soul as barren as a desert. She would survive, but she would never again feel truly alive.

***

Lester came the next day in his old rattletrap of a truck and hauled away her paintings. She had crated them up before he arrived, not wanting him or anyone else within a score of light years to see what they were. Ralph would know what to do with them. She'd put a note inside, warning him never to divulge what planet they originated from. If Manx was still free, she wouldn't endanger him in that manner. His whereabouts would go with her to her grave.

Chapter 15

ARRIVING AT BARADA SEVEN IN GOOD TIME, THE JOLLY ROGER was given permission to land in a large, grassy area near the village. As always, the ship was greeted by a contingent of Baradans to confiscate any weapons. Even knowing that it would be returned prior to their depar ture, it killed Jack's soul to hand over her favorite pistol, "Tex," but she did it in spite of her best intentions.

   As before, Lester was part of the welcoming party. "You will not require weapons during your stay," he said to Jack, who appeared to need consoling. "Barada is, as you know, a very peaceful world."

   "Hmph," Jack snorted. "Tell that to the Nedwuts. Haven't seen any of them lately, have you?"

   "As it happens, there was a group here not long ago hunting for a wildcat," Lester reported. "However, the cat had already been killed by an offworlder, and they departed peacefully."

   Upon hearing this news, each one of the Jolly Roger's crew exchanged horrified glances.

   "Tell me more about this cat," Jack said. "What did it look like?"

   "It was a vicious predator with sharp teeth and claws," he replied. "It attacked another visitor—it was very dangerous! It was later killed by the Terran female who is staying at the lake house. She is a painter, here to paint pictures of our birds."

   "Let me get this straight," Jack said. "She's an artist? And she killed a wildcat?" Jack paused, shaking her head. "Doesn't that sound a little
unlikely
to you?"

   Lester took a deep breath, his hands waving gently and his expression of regret clearly displayed in his bulbous eyes. "She was given a weapon," he said, his musical voice suddenly sounding coarse and strained. "It was deemed necessary for her safety."

   "Then this world is not as safe as you would have us believe," said Cat. "Perhaps you should return our weapons."

   "Oh, no," said Lester. "The beast has been killed. The threat no longer exists."

   "Did you take back the weapon you gave her?" Cat went on.

   "No," Lester replied. "She was afraid that the Nedwuts might come back for her. It seemed best to let her keep it for the duration of her stay."

   "Well, that was wise," Jack said dryly. "Did you know that Nedwuts have been known to kidnap Terran women and sell them as slaves?"

   "No, I did not." Lester was clearly becoming more agitated by the moment.

   "Well, they do," Jack said firmly. "Trust me on that one." Pausing for a moment, she added, "Maybe we should go talk to her—just to make sure she's all right."

   "I do not think she likes visitors," Lester said. "She was very angry when the Nedwuts came looking for the cat."

   "I'll just bet she was," Jack said shrewdly. "Don't think I'd appreciate a visit from a pack of them either." Choosing her words with care, she went on, "Tell me something else, Lester. Did you actually see the body of this cat?"

   Lester blinked rapidly. "No, I did not," he replied.

   "Then how do you know it's dead?"

   "Drusilla said she killed it," Lester said firmly. "I have no reason not to believe her."

   "Yeah, well, I've got a bridge in Brooklyn you might be interested in too," Jack said with a chuckle. "Do me a favor, Lester. If any Nedwuts ask permission to land, would you let me know?"

   Lester nodded in reply and departed.

   "Bet he's wishing they'd never opened this planet to offworlders," Jack commented after he left. "Don't blame him for that, either. A few Nedwuts are enough to have anybody putting up force fields."

   As it happened, Jack was right about that. Lester would be very glad when these strange offworlders left Barada completely. If it had been left up to him, he doubted they would be there at all.

***

Manx had gathered up what little he possessed and disappeared into the jungle. He had always feared the Nedwuts would find him eventually, but he was hoping that just this once they would lose his trail and never find it again. There might have been other options, but endangering Drusilla was not worth any of them. He could elude the Nedwuts—he had a much better sense of smell than they did and the stench they gave off ran on ahead of them for a long ways, but even after three days he could still smell them and knew they were there somewhere.