and they were flown north to be deposited, for death, on the hot yellow sprawl of the Serengeti.
As they watched, the police paravane lifted free of the plain, angled south, whirred to a tiny glinting dot in the cloudless bowl of sky, then vanished completely.
Leaving them alone.
They had been given a meager ration of water, just enough to keep them alive until the hunters picked up their trail. They wore the basic garb of the condemned: heavy shoes, thin cotton trousers, a sleeved bodyshirt, and a long-billed cap to help fend off the murderous sun. The latter was a necessity, since many bare-headed prisoners had died of sunstroke in earlier days, cheating the Masai of their kill.
There were no lions left to slay. Thus, the pride of a Masai depended on how swiftly and efficiently he could hunt down and execute a condemned man or woman.
Logan and Jessica were, of course, weaponless.
“What do they kill with?” asked Logan.
“Spears,” said Jessica. “Tribal tradition. No honor for them in anything else.” “On foot?”
“No, they ride some kind of animal.”
“Couldn’t,” said Logan. “No animals left here.” He kicked idly at a bleached buffalo bone half-buried in scrub grass.
“What difference does it make?” asked Jessica tensely. “They’re coming for us. That’s the only fact that matters.”
Logan narrowed his eyes, peering through the heat haze toward a pale blue range of mountainous hills riding the plain’s edge.
“If we can make it to those hills, we’ll have a better chance.get into the rocks and high grass.”
“Chance?” She smiled wanly. “We’ve no chance, Logan. No matter where we go they’ll find us and they’ll kill us. That’s their job and they’re very good at it.”
“Well, our job is to stay alive,” said Logan. “So let’s get moving.”
Before sentence had been passed, Logan had attempted to reach Francis, but no outside contacts were allowed prime citystate violators. He had been stripped of his DS rating and, with it, his potential admission to Godbirth. Which meant he had failed totally in his mission. Once his time had run out here, the aliens would abandon him—whether he lived or died on the Serengeti.
Logan refused to think about this. He had locked his mind on a single goal: survival. Somehow, he would outwit the hunters who stalked him. He and Jessica would survive.
With canteens slung over their shoulders, they set out across the softly rolling grassland toward the range of northern hills.
The African sun was fierce, an unwinking yellow-white eye of fire, brimming the noon sky, heat-blasting the land. To Logan and Jessica, laboring toward the dim blue hills, it was as if the door of an immense sky-furnace had been opened upon them.
Within a single mile their clothing was sweat-soaked, their ears ringing from the heat.
Logan stopped to look back, shading his eyes.
Jessica stood, head down, gasping from the fiery assault.
“They’re coming,” said Logan softly.
She blinked tears of salt from her eyes. “How many?”
“I make it…three.”
Jess nodded. “They usually hunt in a trio.”
“And you were right,” said Logan. “They are mounted. Horses, I think. Probably flown in for them.”
Logan estimated the distance left to the edge of the plain. “Cuts our time down, them having horses,” he said. “We’ll have to run. That’s the only way we’ll make it.”
“In this heat?” She stared at him. “Under this sun?”
He took a quick swallow from his canteen and capped it again. She followed his example.
“It’s the only sun we’ve got,” he said.
“I can’t see how you expect to—”
“Don’t talk. Waste of energy.”
And he broke into a jogging trot, Jessica beside him.
On and on…across the great plain, moving around the heaped bones of elephant and oryx, using ancient trails trod by beasts a century dead, over patches of sandy loam, past solitary clumps of wind-shaped trees.
On and on.
The
As they watched, the police paravane lifted free of the plain, angled south, whirred to a tiny glinting dot in the cloudless bowl of sky, then vanished completely.
Leaving them alone.
They had been given a meager ration of water, just enough to keep them alive until the hunters picked up their trail. They wore the basic garb of the condemned: heavy shoes, thin cotton trousers, a sleeved bodyshirt, and a long-billed cap to help fend off the murderous sun. The latter was a necessity, since many bare-headed prisoners had died of sunstroke in earlier days, cheating the Masai of their kill.
There were no lions left to slay. Thus, the pride of a Masai depended on how swiftly and efficiently he could hunt down and execute a condemned man or woman.
Logan and Jessica were, of course, weaponless.
“What do they kill with?” asked Logan.
“Spears,” said Jessica. “Tribal tradition. No honor for them in anything else.” “On foot?”
“No, they ride some kind of animal.”
“Couldn’t,” said Logan. “No animals left here.” He kicked idly at a bleached buffalo bone half-buried in scrub grass.
“What difference does it make?” asked Jessica tensely. “They’re coming for us. That’s the only fact that matters.”
Logan narrowed his eyes, peering through the heat haze toward a pale blue range of mountainous hills riding the plain’s edge.
“If we can make it to those hills, we’ll have a better chance.get into the rocks and high grass.”
“Chance?” She smiled wanly. “We’ve no chance, Logan. No matter where we go they’ll find us and they’ll kill us. That’s their job and they’re very good at it.”
“Well, our job is to stay alive,” said Logan. “So let’s get moving.”
Before sentence had been passed, Logan had attempted to reach Francis, but no outside contacts were allowed prime citystate violators. He had been stripped of his DS rating and, with it, his potential admission to Godbirth. Which meant he had failed totally in his mission. Once his time had run out here, the aliens would abandon him—whether he lived or died on the Serengeti.
Logan refused to think about this. He had locked his mind on a single goal: survival. Somehow, he would outwit the hunters who stalked him. He and Jessica would survive.
With canteens slung over their shoulders, they set out across the softly rolling grassland toward the range of northern hills.
The African sun was fierce, an unwinking yellow-white eye of fire, brimming the noon sky, heat-blasting the land. To Logan and Jessica, laboring toward the dim blue hills, it was as if the door of an immense sky-furnace had been opened upon them.
Within a single mile their clothing was sweat-soaked, their ears ringing from the heat.
Logan stopped to look back, shading his eyes.
Jessica stood, head down, gasping from the fiery assault.
“They’re coming,” said Logan softly.
She blinked tears of salt from her eyes. “How many?”
“I make it…three.”
Jess nodded. “They usually hunt in a trio.”
“And you were right,” said Logan. “They are mounted. Horses, I think. Probably flown in for them.”
Logan estimated the distance left to the edge of the plain. “Cuts our time down, them having horses,” he said. “We’ll have to run. That’s the only way we’ll make it.”
“In this heat?” She stared at him. “Under this sun?”
He took a quick swallow from his canteen and capped it again. She followed his example.
“It’s the only sun we’ve got,” he said.
“I can’t see how you expect to—”
“Don’t talk. Waste of energy.”
And he broke into a jogging trot, Jessica beside him.
On and on…across the great plain, moving around the heaped bones of elephant and oryx, using ancient trails trod by beasts a century dead, over patches of sandy loam, past solitary clumps of wind-shaped trees.
On and on.
The
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