by E. C. Tubb
A clever man as he had proved. A ruthless one also if he had told the truth about his early life. Certainly an ambitious one even if that ambition had made him vulnerable. But what else?
He was of the Ypsheim yet apart from them and they would regard him as a traitor to his own kind. An outcast, and Dumarest knew too well what that could mean.
He said, "Tell me of Earth."
"A world of promise. A paradise. The planet which can provide all things." If the abrupt question had startled him Urich hid it well. "Or so they will tell you in the taverns. Buy more wine and they will go into greater detail." His tone was ironic. "Of course there are other versions."
"The one held by the Ypsheim?" Dumarest snarled as the other remained silent. "I need answers, man!"
"Answers imply questions. What is it you want to know?"
"The scars." Dumarest gestured toward his forehead. "The ones carried by the Ypsheim. A caste mark?"
"A symbol of unity. All the young are marked shortly after birth. It constitutes a bond of recognition." Urich hesitated then added, "And of remembrance."
"Remembrance?" Dumarest frowned, thinking of the paint filling the quarters of the cruciform scar to form a crossed circle. A coincidence, perhaps, but if it was more? "Are you saying the Ypsheim know of Earth?" He closed the distance between them, one hand lifting, gripping, hearing the roar of blood in his ears, the sudden tension of nerves and stomach. "Answer me, damn you! Do they?"
Urich wheezed, his face purpling, and Dumarest saw he had gripped the man's tunic at the throat, had tightened it so as to cut off the air. A betrayal which Urich recognized and, as Dumarest eased his grip, letting his hand fall from the twisted fabric he said, "It means that much to you?"
More than he could realize, but the eyes had told their story, the hand, the face which had become a mask of savage determination. On this subject, at least, there could be no dalliance.
"Earth," said Urich. "Yes, the Ypsheim know of it, but to them it is a place of horror. A world populated with monsters and echoing with endless screams. Mountains of fire and rivers of acid and plains of empty grit and stinging sand. The skies weep venom and things lurk in every shadow. Creatures spawned in damnation and-" Urich broke off, thinking, remembering the whispered tales of his early youth when, as a child, he had squatted in shadowed dimness listening to secrets revealed in intricate patterns of verbosity designed to baffle the uninitiated. "Nightmares," he said, "Deliriums. Nothing you can imagine is too bad to be applied to Earth."
Dumarest said, "Tell me of your history."
"Blood." Urich looked at the bottle of wine and watched as Dumarest poured then took the glass and sat looking at the ruby fluid. "Blood," he said again. "It began with a change in the blood. Those affected were plagued by visions and tormented by dreams. It set them apart in forced isolation. United they found a new strength." His tone changed, took on a ritualistic chant. "And those were the days of tribulation when each man's hand was set against his fellows and only those of the blood found friends in the blood and great was the confusion. And there rose those among the people with the gems of understanding and in the shine they knew of the paths and so guided those of the blood and-"
He broke off and shook his head and gulped at the wine. For a moment he had been a child again listening to the hypnotic cadences, barely understanding, learning by rote and repetition.
"Legends," he said. "Myths. Chains to bind a people together."
Or stories containing the germ of truth. Dumarest refilled the Urich's glass and said patiently, "Just tell me what you know. In your own words. It began with blood, you say?"
A convenient term to describe the unseeable; a genetic mutation which had resulted in a limited psionic ability. The visions and dreams had been distorted glimpses of the future, terrifying to those unaware of clairvoyance. A trait which had earned the fear and hatred of normals; the times of tribulation and confusion. Villagers wrapped in ignorance-they would have had to be villagers; in a town their seed would have been diluted in a greater gene pool, their talent dismissed as mental aberration.
And they had survived.
Seers had risen; heroes of legend. Those with a stronger ability or a better control of the clairvoyant trait. They snatched glimpses of the future, building on the advantage gained, anticipating fashion and demand. Mounting wealth would have given power, security, freedom from enforced isolation. And then?
"The Flight," said Urich. "They ran. They saw something which scared the hell out of them and they got away while they could."
In a fleet of ill-manned ships taking a dozen paths through space. How many had been lost?
"We don't know," said Urich. "The legends are vague and there are contradictions. Maybe there was only the one ship and the talk of a fleet an invention. As could be the detail of the vessels spreading out. But the Ypsheim believe there could be other groups on other worlds." Cynically he added, "Maybe someone wanted to give them a sense of courage- the strength of believing they were not alone."
"And the talent?"
"Gone. Leached out by space-radiation or maybe the gene wasn't truly dominant."
Or those carrying it hadn't bred true-such things happened and the galaxy was littered with various sensitives; most paying for their talent with physical deformities.
Details of small importance beside the main question. Dumarest said, "And they originated on Earth?"
"On a world they call Parth," corrected Urich. "I was young when I heard the legends, but later, after I'd left Krantz, it became obvious the stories couldn't be literally true. Not as they were claimed to be. Natural enough, given the passage of time. Distortions would have crept in, items added to give effect, details forgotten. Maybe the Ypsheim did have a talent and used it to gain control of a world. Then they could have grown too confident and greedy until they had to escape from a killing revolt. Leaving one world to find another, moving again as the pattern repeated itself, losing their ability and finally ending as they did on Krantz. Beggars and servants living on remembered stories of previous greatness. There could even be others-who knows?"
And who cared? But even if the stories had become distorted as Urich claimed, they could still hold fragments of truth. Earth-a world from which they had run to avoid destruction. Would they know it if they saw it again? Had they retained the knowledge of where it could be found?
Urich shook his head when Dumarest put the question.
"No. It all happened a long time ago and no records were kept. The stories are all word-of-mouth; passed down from the old to the young."
"No figures?" A mnemonic, anything which might give a clue or verification. "Try to remember."
"I don't have to try. Not if you're talking about coordinates. That's the last thing they'd want to keep." Urich looked at Dumarest, his eyes widening a little. "You still don't understand. None of the Ypsheim ever want to see Earth again. To them it means death. Can't you guess what they'll do once they realize you've taken them there?"
Beneath the lastorch metal fumed, ran molten, hardened as Talion killed the beam. After a moment he tested the weld. The bar he'd fastened across the edge of the door held fast to both panel and jamb.
"It'll do," he said. "They could break out given time but it'll hold long enough." He glanced at Dumarest. "You want me to do the rest?"
"All the cabins aside from those I've marked. When you've finished go to the engine room and stay there. Don't open up for anyone unless I've given you the word-the code will be Sigma Three. If you don't hear that you don't obey."
A precaution against threat as the welded doors was against concerted action. Talion moved on, the lastorch flaring as he welded another door. Beneath his tunic the bulk of a pistol made a comforting pressure. Another precaution against possible trouble, but the greatest comfort was Dumarest himself-for he knew what he was doing.
Leo Belkner looked up from where he sat at the table as Dumarest entered the salon. Ava Vasudiva was at his side, Ulls Far
nham and another woman with a hard, mannish face, sat opposite. All now rode Middle; the quick-time which slowed their metabolism neutralized.
The woman with Farnham said sharply, "What's happening? Why are you sealing the cabins?"
"To avoid potential trouble, Berthe." Urich spoke from where he stood guard at the door. "I explained all that."
"Trouble?" The woman sneered. "When they're all under quick-time?"
Dumarest said, "Regular doses are necessary to maintain the condition and it takes time to administer them. We haven't the time." Nor the people to do the work. None that he could wholly trust, especially now. Urich had caught whispers transmitted through the structure of the ship and others could have heard him talk of their destination. "They'll be all right. Once we land they'll be released." In small batches, guarded, ushered from the vessel. To Farnham he said, "Have you worked out any plans as to procedure after landing?"
"We want a quiet spot," said Belkner before the other could answer. "Somewhere far from a city. A place with water and land and materials for building."
The leader asserting his authority. Dumarest ignored him. "Ulls?"
Farnham flushed his pleasure at being recognized. "Well, yes, I've thought of a few things. Berthe agrees with me. We've no argument with Leo about staying clear of cities. We want a chance to build our own life and if we are too close to a town there will be drifting as some find jobs and we'll need to be accepted and the rest of it. We don't want to be swamped. It's better to stay isolated."
From Belkner's viewpoint in order to gain strength through self-sufficiency. From Farnham's to gain the opportunity of easier manipulation. Watching them Urich masked a smile, recognizing the wedge Dumarest was driving between them, knowing why he was doing it. A divided enemy was a weakened foe.
"Then you're agreed," Dumarest nodded, his tone casual. "I'll land you in the best place I can find, but the rest is up to you. I guess you'll want to build homes first and-"
"No!" Belkner was sharp in his interruption. "We have seed and must get it planted before anything else."
"So you'll want to be landed in a warm zone." Dumarest looked at Farnham. "How about dividing the land? Equal plots for everyone? Or have you decided to hold a section in communal interest? There's the future to consider, of course, and natural expansion of numbers could lead to trouble later on unless you get it right at the beginning."
"We'll talk about it," said Belkner. "Later, when we can get a proper consensus." Again he was the leader asserting his authority. Ignoring Farnham's scowl he added, "There's still one thing we have to get clear, Earl. How long are you staying after we land?"
"Stay?" Dumarest shook his head. "The deal was to transport you. Nothing was said about staying."
"You intend to dump us and go?"
His fear put into words; the act itself a proof of his innocence. A shrewder man, more ruthless, would have let the subject lie. Urich wondered why Dumarest hadn't anticipated the question and negated it with a facile lie. Then he realized this was the better way, that Dumarest, now frowning, was playing a part.
"Dump you, no," he said. "But I can't spend time waiting to see if you make out. I'll drop you at a city or-"
"No city! That's decided!"
"A decent place, then. What more can I do?"
"Stay until we're settled in," snapped Berthe. "Tell him, Ulls."
Farnham cleared his throat. "We need you to stay, Earl. Just until we're settled in. A few weeks, a month, say. We might need to shelter within the ship." His tone eased as Dumarest nodded agreement to the possibility. "What do you say?"
"I'm willing to cooperate providing you can pay."
"Pay?" Ava sounded incredulous. "You want us to pay?"
"I'm a trader," said Dumarest. "You all know that. Time is money-if I weren't waiting I could run a profitable cargo. Hire me at standard-rate and I'll stay as long as you want. I'll even give you the first five days at reduced charter. Half-rate."
Belkner said, "We haven't got it, but surely what we gave you will cover it?"
"It's been a long voyage," reminded Dumarest. "And a deal is a deal. Can't you raise a little more?" He paused then, as Belkner made no response, shrugged. "Well, there it is. A pity but-"
Urich, meeting his eyes, said quickly, "Think it out, Earl. They'll need things and who better to supply them than us? Give them five days as part of the deal. Another month if they want it against a note on the first harvest. By the time we come to collect, gems could have been found, furs, precious metals. It could be a good investment. Give a little now and make our profits later on."
"Our?" Berthe was suspicious. "Where do you fit in on this?"
"Urich is now my second engineer," said Dumarest. "Working for a share in future profit. Maybe he makes sense. You'd give me a note?"
"Yes," said Farnham quickly. "Half-rate as agreed."
"Half-rate for cash," said Dumarest. "Full rate on a note. Make it out and we have a deal."
"And landing?" Ava Vasudiva's tone was brittle. "When do we land?"
"Soon." Dumarest paused, turning as he reached the door. "In three days."
The control room was a place of shadows, drifts of dimness illuminated by the glow of instruments, the glory of the screens. Standing before them Ysanne resembled some ancient goddess, jewels of brilliance touching her hair, the planes of her face with kaleidoscopic hues. Tiredness had deepened the shadows around her eyes; a weariness born more of the tedious journey than lack of sleep, but now she was vibrant with excitement.
"There!" Her hand lifted to point at the splendor of the universe. "By God, Earl, we did it! We found it! The end of the rainbow! Earth!"
From where he sat in the big pilot's chair Batrun warned, "Not Earth, my dear. You mustn't call it that. We agreed to call it Heaven-our passengers wouldn't like the truth."
"To hell with them!" Her voice rose in triumph. "This is it, I tell you! The big one! The pot of gold! That's Earth, out there! You're looking at Earth!"
Dumarest stepped forward, feeling the pulse of blood in his ears, the tension, the sudden quiver of his hands. A metabolic reaction which constricted his chest and edged his vision with blackness. He fought to conquer it as he moved closer, staring at the screen. At the blaze of stars. At the tiny mote framed among them in the enhancing pattern of the target zone. One which blurred a little as if seen through rain.
Chapter Ten
There were seas and plains and masses of scudding cloud with vast expanses covered with shattered stone as if a giant child had destroyed fabrications in a fit of petulant irritation. Clustered forests drew brown and green patterns and ice caps sprawled in blue-white abandon. Massed blooms made a tapestry edging the silver threads of rivers and peaks stood like gnarled guardians in ranked and somber array.
"Beautiful!" said Ysanne. "Earl, it's beautiful!" She touched a control and an image jumped into amplified details on her screen. "Look at that ravine! And there! See? That canyon! And that lake!" She sucked in her breath at the sight of a waterfall; endless masses of water cascading down from a soaring precipice, the summit and base wreathed in spume which coiled like smoke. A moment and it had gone, replaced by an undulating desert patched with vivid color, scored with riffs, mounded with silken dunes. "No cities," she murmured. "No signs of industry. Earl, it's a virgin world!"
Dumarest said nothing as he stood drinking in the vistas, the scenes.
"Ours," said Ysanne. "All ours! A whole, damned world to call our own."
Batrun said dryly, "Our passengers could argue that."
"Not for long." She was abruptly savage. "They play it our way or they don't play at all. Earl-"
"Forget it!" He was curt. "There's a whole planet down there, why argue over a few square miles? Let's do one thing at a time. Picked your spot yet, Andre?"
"More than one," said Batrun. He was in the big chair, hands poised on the controls, ready to turn the Erce into an extension of his body. To bring the massed tons of inanimate bulk down to
kiss the dirt beneath. But, for now, there was still time to relax. "Near the equator, I think. Not too far from the shore of an ocean. Close to a river would be nice."
"With a supply of ready-broken stone not too far and plenty of growing timber close to hand." Ysanne was sarcastic. "Why not throw in herds of game while you're at it? Obedient creatures which roll over and die at a word of command. It would help if they could skin themselves first, of course."
"You sound bitter, my dear." Batrun adjusted the magnification of a screen. "And a little illogical. If Earth is paradise as the legends claim then all things should be possible." He checked his instruments and shed his bantering tone. "Our orbit is decaying. We must find a landing place. I'd like it to be the best."
"The second best," she said. "Or the third. We want the very best for ourselves." Her eyes moved toward Dumarest. "Right, Earl?"
"Choose," he said. "Choose and land."
Batrun obeyed as he sat in his chair, tense, holding every life in the vessel in the skill of his hands. Nursing them as he sent the Erce falling from the skies, to slow, to drift in the, protective shimmer of its Erhaft field, to finally touch and settle on the dirt.
"Earth!" Ysanne sucked in her breath as the vessel stilled. "We found it, Earl. Now let's go and see what it looks like."
She followed Dumarest as he made for the hold, the hatch, the ramp outside. As it lowered Batrun caught her by the arm, drawing her back from the opening, shaking his head as he turned to glare at him.
"Wait," he whispered. "Let Earl go first."
He was in no hurry. For a long moment Dumarest stood at the head of the ramp, looking down at the dirt, the grass, the soft contours of the clearing. Lifting his eyes to study the ochre stone spread to one side and rising to low hills. Lifting them higher still to look at the clear blueness of a sky fleeced with scudding white clouds and set with the golden ball of a brilliant sun. The air held an encompassing stillness broken by the rasp of his boots as he began to walk down the ramp.