Earth is Heaven dot-27

by E. C. Tubb

  A man going home.

  Ysanne watched him as he walked slowly down the slope of the ramp, a frown puckering her brows. Some, she knew, would have walked tall and proud, arrogantly flaunting their wealth or position. Others would have crept in the shadow of darkness, failures returning to the haven of familiar things. Dumarest did neither and for a moment she was puzzled and then, with a sudden flash of insight, she understood.

  Dumarest walked down the ramp as if he were approaching a woman.

  She sensed it as he began to move faster down the slope, his body leaning forward, hands lifted, head tilted downward to the ground below. A lover rushing to the beloved mistress lying in wait before him. One for whom he had yearned for too long so that now, as they neared, the barrier which had held emotion in check began to crumple to reveal the torment within; the agony of parting, the need, the crying emptiness, the ceaseless ache of being incomplete, alone.

  "No!" She felt Batrun's hand on her wrist the thin fingers gripping with an unexpected strength. As he pulled her back he whispered again, "No-let him be alone!"

  She moved forward with instinctive jealousy, now she watched as Dumarest reached the end of the ramp, taking three long strides before dropping to his knees, to dig his hands deep in the loam, to freeze, stooped, shoulders quivering as if he were a lover locked in the release of orgasm.

  "No," said Batrun again and she turned, snarling, fighting the restraint of his hand, her own darting to her belt, the buckle, the knife it contained. "Give him time, my dear." His voice was soothing. "This is his home. Don't you understand? His home."

  Earth. Mother Earth-she remembered the name of the ship and what it meant. Erce-Mother Earth. Mother!

  She sagged, sucking in her breath, looking at the wrist Batrun released, the bruises dark beneath the skin. There was a moment in which she was shaken by the depth of her passion and then, with a subtle shift, the picture changed. He had run not to the warm embrace of a loved mistress but to the comfort of a more basic need. A child running to the warmth and security of its mother. To touch and feel the haven of what it had left, the womb from which it had been rejected.

  "Strange," murmured Batrun, "how people have an affinity with their world. Like some animals who are driven to return to the place of their birth in order to breed. Some make a religion of it." He fumbled for his snuff box, took a pinch, and said, as he snapped shut the lid, "I confess it has never bothered me to any degree-but I was not born on Earth."

  A world which clung to its offspring with a jealous tenacity. An electro-chemical affinity which bonded one to the other with a unique strength. One to which Dumarest could not help but respond.

  Ysanne watched as, slowly, he straightened to stand upright, dirt cascading from his hands which, empty, he lifted before his eyes. Looking at them as he looked at the sun from beneath their shadow, the sky, the scudding cloud.

  A man in love with a dream-and, suddenly, she was jealous of a world.

  Farnham was stubborn. "Earl, we need arms. Guns to protect ourselves. You can't leave us helpless like this."

  "You're protected." Dumarest gestured toward the Erce, empty now of the Ypsheim and their supplies. The ramp was lowered and the hatch open but behind it Talion stood on guard. "The area is constantly being monitored. If anything is spotted we'll sound the alarm and you can run for cover. If it's dangerous we'll take care of it."

  "But-"

  "If you want weapons then cut some stakes. Branches with points make effective spears. Lash a stone to a short one and you've a club. Good enough against anything you're liable to run up against. You don't need guns."

  "And you do?" Farnham was bitter; a man denied the power to force his will on others. "You and that renegade."

  Dumarest lifted the weapon he carried, one taken from the guards on Krantz. Urich carried another. He said, mildly, "We're going exploring and don't know what we may find. Now why don't you get on with your own job and leave me mine?"

  Belkner frowned as Dumarest joined him where he stood beside a raft. It was small; one of two broken down and smuggled aboard together with agricultural implements and other goods before they had left Krantz. The driver was a young man with a mouth marred by an old injury so that he bore a permanent sneer.

  "Ulls needs to watch his tongue." Belkner looked at Urich. "I heard what he said. It was uncalled for. I'll speak to him about it."

  "Why bother?" Urich climbed into the open body of the vehicle. "We leaving or what?"

  "We're leaving." Belkner was the last aboard. "Right, Nyne, take us up."

  The raft lifted as the driver fed power to the antigrav units, the engine humming, fading to a soft and feral purr. Below the ground fell away, taking on the semblance of a toy montage, and Dumarest studied it as he leaned over the edge of the raft.

  Belkner had organized well. A short distance from the Erce the main building had been made of sod cut from the sward, ringed with a moat for drainage, roofed with struts supporting tautly drawn plastic sheeting. Windows blocked with mesh provided light, air and protection. Other constructions held the kitchen, the latrines, a workshop, a supply warehouse, baths fed with water from an artesian well. Cables snaking from the ship provided power for machines and lights suspended from high-slung cables. Scattered on the surrounding terrain small figures moved in calculated patterns as they sowed the precious seed.

  "Selected grains," explained Belkner. "Tough and vigorous enough to avoid the need of ploughing. The yield is small but they require no attention. Later, when we've settled, we'll break new ground and diversify the crops."

  Dumarest nodded, looking at the scattered figures. All carried blisters, all were stamped with the marks of fatigue, but the spur of necessity had driven them hard. Work and sleep, work and sleep, their only recreation the time spent in eating. If nothing else the Ypsheim were not lazy-but how long would it be before they'd had enough?

  "North?" The driver twisted in his seat. "Do we head north?"

  "North," said Dumarest. "To the hills."

  A range which swung in a curve around the valley in which they had landed to fret and fall into massed detritus toward the south. So much had been noticed when they had dropped from the skies; now a closer investigation was to be made. Not for Belkner's benefit but for his own.

  Dumarest looked at the skies, the blue dome traced with cloud, the golden ball of the sun, dazzling, painful to his eyes. A warm and comforting sun which touched the sward, the patches of massed blooms, the distant sheen of sparkling water.

  At his side Urich whispered, "No terrors, Earl. No monsters or creatures of nightmare. No acid rain or drifting motes of searing fire. No burning mountains. No strangling mists. Well, so much for legend."

  And so much for the talk of trees loaded with a variety of jewels, the rivers of wine, the hills of precious metals, the fruits which restored youth. The balms and salves to ease all pain. The juices to cure all ills. The things which made Earth the paradise it was supposed to be.

  But, if they were absent; the crystal palaces were not.

  "There!" Belkner rose in the body of the raft, pointing, his free hand shading his eyes. "Did you see it? There!"

  A flash of sudden brilliance, eye-bright, burning with a diamond glitter. It vanished to be repeated to one side. A bright mote which winked and was replaced by another, still brighter, spread along the line of the distant hills.

  "Silica," said Urich. "Exposed veins catching and reflecting the sun. Like mirrors," he explained. "I've seen it before. On Ventle and Anchor the veins are tainted with minerals so they hold a variety of colors. Tourists come to see them."

  Dazzling displays of natural beauty to be seen at their best when the sun was right and the weather. Dumarest had seen such things but he doubted if this was the same. The raft rose higher at his order, the speed increasing, the soft breeze created by their passage ruffling his hair.

  "There!" said Belkner again. "To the left of that peak. See? It looks like-" He broke off as the r
aft carried them closer then ended, incredulously, "A castle! It's a castle!"

  But one never built by men.

  It clung to the side of a crag, sheer rock falling below, seams and cracks to either side. A mass of glistening substance which could have been glass or hardened foam laced with silica. A shapeless form yet one bearing the suggestion of spires and turrets and soaring buttresses. Of pointed arches and enigmatic windows and the vague hint of massive doors. An edifice of diamond, blazing when reflecting the sun, nacreous when it did not.

  And, from it, rising like a stream of dispersing smoke, a cloud of glittering shapes spun and wheeled and soared in winged abandon.

  "Angels!" Nyne ignored the raft which shuddered beneath his hands. "By God-they're angels!"

  Dumarest lunged forward, knocking Nyne from his seat, snatching at the controls as again the raft shuddered, tilting as it hit the turbulence rising from the heated stone of the hills. There was a moment in which earth and sky spun in wild confusion then the vehicle had leveled and was lifting.

  Rising into a swarm of wheeling shapes.

  Figures which swept close to avoid contact at the last second, the wind of their passing merging with the rustle of shimmering wings. Man-sized, slim, gracefully contoured, beautifully marked.

  As Sheiner lifted his gun, Belkner said sharply, "No! You can't fire! You can't hurt them! They're… they're…"

  Images born in wistful dreams when land bound men had yearned for the ability to fly. Concepts of perfection, of life untrammeled with mud and cold and baking heat. The ideal of freedom personified in wings, the empty expanses of the air, the liberty to go over mountains and across seas.

  "Please," said Belkner. "They are too lovely to destroy."

  Urich shrugged, not lowering the weapon, waiting for Dumarest to give the word. But there was no need to blast the wheeling shapes from the sky, no threat to be met with a hail of hammering missiles. Dumarest leaned back, relaxed, watching. A man at ease though one hand remained on the gun at his side; hard experience had taught him that to be careless was to invite destruction.

  "Birds," whispered Belkner. "But so large!"

  "Not birds." Nyne spoke through his twisted mouth. "No beaks, see? And their eyes-" He drew in his breath. "Angels," he said. "They're angels."

  Things he had never seen. Creatures of legend, elements of myth, belonging only to tales of ancient glories. Winged beings with godlike attributes and beautiful beyond comprehension. Tales born, perhaps, of vaguely remembered races now dead and gone, but here a fragment could have remained.

  "Nests," mused Urich Sheiner. "Those crystal palaces must be their nests. Insects, Earl? It would fit the pattern."

  Perhaps giant moths or radiant butterflies, though the things he saw didn't fit their likeness. Dumarest narrowed his eyes, searching for detail, for clues. No spindle-legs, no faceted eyes, no fuzz, claws, sharply defined thorax or abdomen. Instead he saw what could have been naked adolescents, devoid of strong sexual variation, their faces smooth, bland with thin, delicate nostrils, high-arched brows, elongated eyes which held amber pupils slitted like those of a feline. The mouths were soft, full-lipped, the chins round. The bodies were blotched with variegated color, the hair rising in a crest on the peaked skulls looked like close-set bristles.

  The wings were magnificent.

  Shimmering expanses which reflected the light in metallic hues of kaleidoscopic glory.

  Vanes which spread to catch the air and lift the bodies to send them wheeling and darting in a pattern so complex as to baffle the eye. Couples met, to clasp each other in slender arms, to fall, to break and rise again.

  The raft tilted as one landed on the rail. Tilted still more as others joined the first. A row of enigmatic faces stared into the body of the vehicle, prehensile toes gripping as shimmering wings maintained their balance. Too much weight wrongly distributed and Dumarest swore as he fought the controls.

  "Clear them! Now!"

  Death came to join the beauty, rising on gusts of turbulent air, catching the frail craft and accentuating the tilt, adding spin so that their lives hung on a razor's edge. Only Dumarest's skill kept them from overturning, from spinning like a broken leaf to smash into the jagged stone below.

  "Clear them!" he shouted again. "Blast them loose!"

  "No!" Nyne lunged forward as Urich lifted his gun. The tilt of the raft caused him to lose his balance and, to save it, he snatched at the barrel as Urich opened fire. The stream of bullets intended to rip the air high above the enigmatic faces tore into his own, smashing bone, teeth, skull and jaw. Blood sprayed in a fountain mixed with the greyish pulp of brain.

  The impact sent him falling, headless, to the edge of the raft; to topple over the rim and to fall, spinning to the ground below.

  He was not alone.

  Three other shapes, wings trailing shimmering glory, fell after him, the broken bodies they supported blotched now with unnatural stains. The raft leveled as the rest rose in a thunder of wings, one twisting, trying to climb, jerking in midair before falling back into the body of the raft.

  "God!" Belkner looked sick. "Dear God-did you have to do that?"

  "Hold on!" The danger wasn't yet over and Dumarest had no time to answer stupid questions. Air whined as he sent the raft plunging toward the ground, gaining speed to level and soar up and away from the hills, the shimmering castles, the winged shapes now milling in furious activity behind. "Urich?"

  "None close." Sheiner hefted his gun. "You think they'll attack?"

  "Want to risk your neck on it?"

  "No." The action made small metallic noises as Urich checked his weapon. "Angels," he said. "Some angels."

  "You didn't have to open fire," said Belkner. He was bitter. "There were other ways."

  Dumarest said, "We were in danger. There was no time to be gentle."

  "But to kill them? Beautiful things like that?"

  Urich said patiently, "You saw what happened. I was aiming high to frighten them off with a burst when that fool Nyne grabbed the gun. Well, he paid for his mistake and it's no use crying over the rest. It happened and we have to live with it." He looked down at the dead creature sprawled in the body of the raft and said, in a changed tone, "Earl, come and look at this."

  Dumarest checked the controls, locked them, came to stand at his side.

  "There!" Sheiner pointed. "See?"

  "See what?" Belkner frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  "The blood," said Dumarest. "Look at the blood."

  That which marred the body of the creature, oozing from neat holes and jagged exit-points. Dulling the natural hues and spattering the broken wings. Blood which ran over the body of the raft to mingle with that left by Nyne. Red blood-just like the man's.

  Chapter Eleven

  "They're human." Ava Vasudiva straightened and looked down at the dissected body of the creature lying on the table before her. Blood stained her gloved hands, the apron she wore, murky smears touching her hair, her cheek. "At least they were once-I don't know what you could call them now."

  Angels-the name had caught on and, Ysanne thought, it was fitting. Angels belonged in Heaven, or so Andre had told her, and the captain could be right. It was ironic that the name they had chosen to give this world fitted its inhabitants so well.

  Dumarest said, "Human? Are you sure?"

  Ysanne caught the note of strain in his voice, the puzzlement. Had those of his home world changed so much during his absence? How long had he been gone? Riding Low, traveling High, years compressed into fragments of time. Decades, certainly, centuries even-but would the familiar have changed so much in so relatively short a time?

  Ava had not caught the tone or chose to ignore it if she had. Shrugging, she said, "The similarities are too many for coincidence. The skeletal structure is the same even though the bones are hollow. The lungs are larger as is the heart; to be expected in a creature needing a high metabolic rate. The inner organs follow the usual pattern." The knife in her hand
moved with small glints from the overhead light as she illustrated her points. The hands, feet and joints are familiar. "Added muscle on shoulders and back support the wings which are anchored to an extended breastbone. The eyes have been modified and-"

  "Modified?"

  "Yes." Ava looked at Dumarest. "I would say these creatures are the result of genetic engineering. They are mammalian-this is a female-and follow the regular human pattern. The brain is highly developed in the frontal lobes and thalmus which means they must be a highly emotive race. The hair, at a guess, is some form of sensory antenna. Perhaps it gives a rudimentary telepathic ability or an emotional affinity. I would think the latter; telepaths would have no need of vocal chords. A means to trigger a responsive emotion," she explained. "Love stimulates love, desire the same, fear, hate-" She broke off and stared at the ruined body of the broken angel. "Hate," she mused. "Perhaps that is something they have never known."

  Or fear-but they would learn it or perish. Outside the damp shelter Ysanne stood and sucked the clean night air into her lungs. Above, the stars blazed in scintillant glory, the bright points occluded by the passage of soaring wings. More of the angels come to circle the camp; driven by curiosity or concern. Death had come to them with fire and thunder but death, in one form or another, could not be a stranger. The Ypsheim were, they and their camp and the rearing bulk of the Erce. Strange, wingless things with familiar bodies and unfamiliar furnishings. Creatures who had already displayed the animal ferocity which was the heritage of their kind.

  "A fortune," said a dim shape standing to one side with others equally undistinguishable. "Those wings will fetch a high price in any civilized market. Ulls was talking about it; cloaks for women, curtains, bedspreads, gowns, even. Like soft leather, he said. They can be cured and still retain their color."

  "Ulls is smart." One of the others made his comment. "Take their wings then put them to work in the fields. Pay them off with grain and sugar-that's how he caught the others."