The Quillian Sector

Dumarest sprang backwards as the man lunged forward, axes gleaming. Dilys screamed as a razor edge touched her hair and sent a golden strand falling to her shoulder, screamed again as blood showed in a thin, red line across her chest; screams intended to distract, to divert, echoing high and shrill as Dumarest backed, dropping the strap from his shoulder, the band weighed at each end with the abrasive pastes. Air whined as he whirled it in a tight circle, released it, sent it wheeling through the air to hit an upraised arm, to wrap around it, to slam against the face behind the fragile protection.

Dilys grabbed one of the axes as the man fell, lifted it, swung it hard against the exposed jaw, the flat side making a dull, liquid sound as it shattered bone.

"Get them!"

Her attack had been a mistake, one she recognized as Felix shouted. She should have moved away and remained mobile, instead she was now stooping over the man she had struck, awkwardly placed, an easy victim for the man who came running toward her with his cutlass lifted high. A matter of moments. Dumarest could handle either, but not both at the same time. But he was on his feet and had the better chance.

As Felix ran toward him, Dumarest dropped his hand, lifted it weighted with the knife he'd snatched from his boot, swung it back and forward to send the blade lancing through the air in a calculated throw. As it landed, the man with the tattooed eyes drove his own knife hard into Dumarest's stomach.

A gamble taken and won-had the man aimed for the throat or face, the steel would have done its work. As it was, the point ripped into the plastic then glanced upwards as it struck the metal buried beneath. A blow which hit like the kick of a horse, but one Dumarest gave the man no chance to repeat. His hand fell, gripped the knife-wrist, squeezed and twisted and his other hand darted forward, the fingers closing around the throat, digging into the tissue to impact against the carotids, stilling the flow of blood to the brain and bringing immediate unconsciousness. A pressure which, if maintained, would bring death. Dropping the limp figure, Dumarest said, "Dilys?" She was standing beside the fallen body of the man who had carried the cutlass, blood making a scarlet swath over her exposed flesh, breasts rising and falling as they betrayed her agitation.

"Animals," she said. "Beasts. They would have killed you and-"

"They could have friends." Dumarest knelt and jerked his knife free from the dead man's spine, wiping the blade before thrusting it back into his boot. Slinging the abrasives over his shoulder, he said, "Cover up and let's get out of here."

The party for Ellge arrived at dusk and with them bales and crates and the artifacts constructed of ironstone and silicates found in the deserts of Vult; things found by the party which consisted of archaeologists delving for evidence of a race which could have preceded the present inhabitants. One which was suspected to be other than human.

"Men, as we know them, must have been a fairly recent development," said Aares Atanya with dry precision. "An influx from some overpopulated world, or a colony choosing Vult on which to establish their own form of society. Such things are common. But I am certain that before they arrived there was another viable culture which had adapted itself to local conditions. A life form which could have evolved here, if not introduced by the same means as the present inhabitants. Some of the items we found could not have been used by mankind. Their shape is unsuited to the human hand, and yet they are undoubtedly tools. The conclusions are interesting, and further evidence could show traces of movements which could upset all our accepted beliefs as to our own origins."

"Because Vult may, at one time, have supported a race of lizards or toads?" One of the others, a young girl with heavily lidded eyes, smiled as she looked at Dumarest. "You mustn't get carried away, Aares."

"And you must learn to have a more open mind, Gliss."

"But not too open." The younger man sitting beside her closed his hand protectively on her own. "We must adhere to the principle of scientific investigation and logical truth. For example, I've heard people say that all life must have originated on one planet. An obvious absurdity-how could one small world have supported all the variegated types we know? If life had evolved on a single planet, then surely all men would look the same? As it is, we have skins ranging in color from alabaster to the deepest ebony, hair from silver to jet, eye color, shape of skulls, subtle differences of limbs-" The man shrugged. "Even to think of all men having a common origin is patently absurd."

Dumarest said, "But isn't there evidence to support such a supposition? We all belong to the same species, surely? If not, how could we interbreed?"