Earth is Heaven dot-27

by E. C. Tubb

  The half-dozen now hunched in an enclosure formed of struts and mesh. Angels lured by sticky sweetness, netted as they landed, now caged beneath the glare of lights. Prisoners held as hostages, or so Farnham claimed, but his real motive was plain.

  "Ysanne?" Dumarest came to join her, led the way from the cage, the watching men. "What did you think?"

  "About that?" She jerked her head toward the angels.

  "About what Ava told us." He was patient, but she could sense his inner turmoil.

  She said, soothingly, "This is a big world, Earl. From what you've told me you must have come from somewhere nearer to a pole. These things could have been here all the time and you'd never have known it."

  The truth, and he remembered the bitter nights and stinging days when ice had rimmed the ponds and the wind had cut to the bone. And other times when to own a fire was to possess the greatest wealth of all-the means to survive.

  "You were a boy when you left," she said. "Little more than a child. How could you have guessed what lay over the ocean? The next range of mountains? And Ava could be wrong. She's a nurse not a biotechnician and it'd take specialized equipment to check the gene structure. Those things could be natural."

  As she wanted them to be-the alternative was too uncomfortable. Scientists playing at God and altering the germ plasm to create new types of life. Taking ordinary human beings and moulding them as a child fashioned clay. And, if they had constructed men with wings, then why not just ordinary men?

  Looking up at the stars, the dark patches created by soaring wings, she felt a sudden chill. The spaces between the worlds were too dark, too empty and far too enigmatic. What manner of things could lurk in forgotten places? Lord it over hidden worlds?

  She said abruptly, "Hold me, Earl. Hold me!"

  He obeyed without question, wrapping her in the protection of his arms, easing her chill with the warmth of his body. Sensing her need, her sudden fear. In the starshine, in the glare of distant lights, her eyes were shadowed pools touched with motes of brilliance. Mirrors which reflected more than they saw.

  "Easy," he soothed. "There's nothing to be afraid of." His hand rose to caress the rich mane of her hair. "You're tired and need some rest. Let me take you back to the ship."

  She sighed and stirred, reluctant to leave the comfort of his arms. Walking beside him, one arm around his waist as Dumarest led the way toward the soaring bulk of the Erce. Stiffening to a halt as the blast of a gun stabbed fire from the open hatch.

  Talion stood in the opening, a gun nestled in his arms, the muzzle aimed casually at the knot of men clustered at the foot of the ramp. Bright metal on the slope showed where his bullet had struck. Blood marred the cleated surface lower down and one of the clustered men had a hand clamped to his left upper arm. The fingers were stained with smeared darkness.

  "Lyle?"

  "No trouble, Earl." The engineer hefted the gun. "None that I can't handle. A few of our friends decided to raid the ship. I showed them we didn't like the idea."

  "And shot Yukana!" Berthe, quivering with rage, was among the group. "It could have been any of us."

  "I hit the ramp," said Talion. "The bullet flew wild. A ricochet. He was hit by accident."

  "And could have been killed!"

  "He wasn't." Dumarest was curt. "Now get him to medical help before he bleeds to death. The rest of you clear the area."

  The woman stood her ground. "We want guns," she snapped. "Protection from what's in the sky. If those things attack we'll be helpless."

  "Then don't provoke them. Release the ones you've caged."

  "We keep them. That has been decided." Belkner had been outvoted on the matter and Farnham's victory had given her reflected authority. "What about those guns? Do you hand them over or do we take them."

  "Try it and you'll be shot."

  "Bluff," sneered the woman, her mouth ugly. "You wouldn't dare."

  "No?" Dumarest thrust past her and mounted the ramp, Ysanne close behind. Halfway to the hatch he turned to add, coldly, "If you haven't cleared this area within ten seconds we open fire. Lyle, that's an order!"

  In the control room Batrun leaned back in his chair taking snuff as he stared at the screens. Now they showed the blips of small figures weaving in an intricate pattern above and around the settlement area. From the direction of the hills came more in a steady stream.

  "Trouble," he said as Dumarest entered to stand at his side. "I sense it, Earl. Why don't those fools let the others go?"

  "Greed." Ysanne was bitter. "The Ypsheim learn fast."

  They were about to receive another lesson if the signs were what he thought. Dumarest studied the wheeling pattern, the incoming flow; an assembly and gathering of forces as any hunter would know.

  He said, "Those captives must be released. Ysanne, get Urich and stand guard at the hatch. I'll take Lyle with me. Is Eunice safe?"

  "In her cabin-where else?"

  The place she had made her own, but it was out of the way and Urich wouldn't have to worry about her. He nodded as Dumarest explained the position. "I understand. Covering fire and no unnecessary deaths. But the Ypsheim are to be kept out of the ship no matter what. All of them?"

  Dumarest said dryly, "One will be one too many if he gets behind you. Ysanne?"

  "I know what to do. Take care, Earl. You too, Lyle. I'd be happier if you had guns."

  "No guns," said Dumarest. "They could be taken. And we don't want to shoot anyone, just open a cage."

  Above it the air shrilled to the passage of wings the creatures inside staring upward with elongated eyes. Like youngsters wearing bizarre fancy dress, frightened, huddling together for mutual comfort. Their wings made swaths of glory.

  "Females," said Talion. "All of them." He grunted as they neared the cage. "Well, look at that."

  A dozen men stood guard in groups of three at each side of the compound. They were armed with staves and already had adopted a familiar stance.

  "Police," said Talion. "Bully boys enjoying their work. Give a man a club and a badge and authority and you've created a monster." He spat on the ground. "I guess we'll have to take them."

  Three against two with reserves for the guards. Dumarest slowed, studying the groups. Around them thronged others of the Ypsheim, a mixed crowd, some arguing as to the wisdom of keeping the creatures confined. One, a woman past middle age, illustrated her points with a series of expressive gestures.

  "The Council," she stormed. "An order of the Council, they say-did we run from Krantz to make our own Quelen? Haven't we had enough of people telling us what to do? I say those things should be let loose. Why invite trouble?"

  "They are our future," said a man. "Ulls Farnham has explained it all a dozen times."

  "Sure, sell their wings and use what's left as slave labor in the fields. Turn them into what we were back on Krantz but worse."

  "They're animals."

  "With friends." The woman gestured to the fields now shrouded in darkness. "They're lifting the seed from the ground-all that work gone to waste. Next they'll rip down the lights and break the wires. Will the Council replace them?"

  "Open the cage!" yelled a man.

  "Keep them tight!"

  "Let them go!"

  "You want to sweat like a peon? Keep them!"

  A babble Dumarest ignored as he eased his way around the cage to halt at the side farthest from the argument. The three men in that position were a little less assured than the others, distracted by the rising voices, less alert than they should have been. Dumarest was almost at the mesh before one faced him.

  "Orders of the Council-none to approach the cage." The man lifted his stave to rest it against his right shoulder. "That applies to everyone."

  "Especially you from the ship." A second man faced Talion, his stave leveled at waist height.

  The third man said, "What do you want here anyway?"

  He held his stave as if it had been a cane, one end touching the dirt, the palm of his hand on the othe
r. A bad position if he needed to get the weapon into action.

  Dumarest said, "I was curious. I wanted a closer look at what you've got in there."

  "Didn't you bring in the dead one?"

  "That's right." Dumarest moved forward and to one side. "It was a female. Like you have in the cage. Right, Lyle?"

  "That's what I heard." Talion stepped a little away from Dumarest, the guard facing him turning to follow his movement. "But I've not had a chance to study them close. They say anything? Make noises, I mean?"

  "Once," said the eldest of the guards. "A kind of whistling. I guess you could call that a noise."

  Keening or a cry for help. Had it been answered from above? Dumarest looked upward and saw the dark patches of wings against the stars. More crossed the newly risen moon, too large and too close for comfort. Above the swoosh of riven air came a thin, high-pitched ululation.

  "Now!" Dumarest closed the space between himself and the guard, his hand rising, fingers bent backwards, the heel of his palm slamming against the unprotected jaw. "Lyle!"

  The man he had hit collapsed without a sound, unconscious, hitting the mesh before slumping to the dirt. Another joined him as Talion drove a fist into his stomach, following it with a cross to the jaw. The third guard opened his mouth to shout a warning; it was never uttered as Dumarest sent him to join the others.

  "Cover me!"

  As the engineer snatched up a stave Dumarest sprang to the top of the cage, knife gleaming as he whipped it from his boot, the sharp edge slashing at the tough strands of the net. A race against time; to release the captives before the other guards could overpower them or the angels wheeling above attacked.

  One lost as the creatures below milled in panic, shrilling, looking upward.

  At Dumarest and the thing which smashed at him from the sky.

  It was an angel but while the captives were from Heaven it had surely come from Hell. A thing twice as large as the captives with wings of vermilion and ebon and a face which held a demonic majesty. The body was a mass of roped and corded muscle, the hands tipped with retractable claws which shredded the net as if they had been sickles. The long-toed feet were backed with pointed spurs of adamantine bone, the knees faced with calloused armor.

  "A male!" Talion stared at it as he reached Dumarest. "God-it's a male!"

  And there would be others coming from the hives to avenge their dead.

  Dumarest heard screams and shouting, the yammer of panic rising above the pound of feet as the Ypsheim ran from the area. The sounds came to him through a fog and he shook his head to clear it, feeling the warm stickiness of blood running from the back of his head where he- had been struck. A blow which would have killed had instinct not saved him; the subconscious recognition of imminent danger which had sent him down and away as the angel drove in to knock him from the cage to the ground.

  Instinct and luck-but he was alive when another would have been dead.

  "Earl!" Talion lifted his stave and lashed the air as something swopped above. "We've got to get away from here!"

  "Wait!" Dumarest caught the engineer's arm as he made to run. "Run and you'll be an easy target."

  He stooped and found his knife and slipped it back into his boot before straightening with a stave in his hand. The angel had finished with the cage now, rising with shreds of net hanging from its claws, waiting as those within rose with a shimmer of wings. If they were animals they would leave now without further delay, but if Ava was right and they were adapted from human stock…

  A woman screamed from far to one side as the cluster of late captives vanished into the night. A man yelled, choked, yelled again with a voice fading in a gurgle of blood.

  From the ship came the strident blast of the alarm.

  It came late but only by seconds and Dumarest knew the time-dilation effect of action. He shook his head again as the air jarred with the raucous sound and savagely drove his teeth into the inner lining of his cheek. The fresh pain cleared his senses, the alarm seeming to become suddenly louder. As it died Batrun's voice blared from the speakers.

  "Get under cover! Take cover! If you can't make it drop to the ground and freeze."

  The instructions were repeated but the latter part would be ignored. The Ypsheim would run and so draw attention to themselves. Some would try to fight and if inflicting injuries, further enrage the angels.

  "God!" Talion looked sick as more screams rent the air. "Those damned things are ripping their throats out. Tearing their faces and spilling their guts. Why the hell doesn't Andre turn off the lights?"

  The captain was wiser than the engineer; darkness would further handicap the people but the lights could dazzle creatures coming in from the dark. And, with their elongated eyes, the angels would have superior vision.

  Dumarest ducked as wings cut the air close above. A male, looking like Lucifer in his pride, turned to hang poised for a moment then launched to the attack. Talion darted to one side, stave lifted, the end thrusting at the muscled body. The flap of a wing sent him to roll on the dirt, blood streaming from his nose. Another buffeted Dumarest and he ran within its sweep, lunging forward to slam the end of his stave at the creature's groin. Missing, he continued the motion, swinging up the end to crack against an armored knee.

  A minor injury that served only to infuriate the angel. It hissed and came forward, hands outstretched, claws gleaming with a metallic brilliance. Dumarest backed, felt his boot bit against something soft, and went sprawling backward over the limp body of one of the guards.

  A man unconscious, dying, as a spurred foot ripped at his stomach. Blood fountained over the creature's legs, the ground, spattering Dumarest with a carmine film. As the angel lunged toward him he swung the stave in a vicious arc, felt the jar as it hit the creature's shin, rolled free as claws ripped at the spot where he had lain.

  Rising, he struck out again, the wooden stave slamming against the bristle of hair, the skull beneath. A second blow stung his hands. A third and the stave snapped in splintered ruin. Dropping it, he snatched out his knife, lifted the blade, drew back his arm for a killing thrust. Even as it lanced toward one of the amber eyes he checked the blow. It was unnecessary. The angel, staggering, eyes filmed with a glassy sheen, slumped to the dirt before bin.

  "Kill it!" Talion came toward him, stave lifted. "Kill the damned thing!"

  "No." Dumarest glanced at the ruined cage. "I'll bind it with some of that mesh. Keep watch while I do it."

  For moments he worked with a desperate urgency, cutting, tying, wrapping net around the folded wings. As he finished the ugly sound of shots came from the vessel, a yammer which rose above the screams and shouting.

  "Hurry, Earl!" Talion swore as a string of lights was torn free to smash against the ground. "If they decide to land we'll be wiped out!"

  Easy victims in the darkness and only cover could give protection. Dumarest stooped and with an effort heaved the bound angel to his shoulder. Though large the hollow bones reduced its weight but even so it was as heavy as a fully grown man.

  "A prisoner?" Talion was impatient. "Kill it and let's run."

  "It'll give protection." Dumarest headed toward the ship. "They won't want to attack their own."

  That gamble paid off. Three times the air above them drummed with the passage of wings and twice shapes came at them from the shadows to fall back leaving them untouched. At the foot of the ramp a crowd of Ypsheim milled, Farnham among them.

  He said, "Earl! You've got to let us aboard. We're helpless!"

  "Get under the ramp. Get under the ship. You've staves and spears-defend yourself."

  "Let us aboard." Farnham snarled his anger. "Give us protection or you'll die out here with the rest of us."

  A threat though empty. A scatter of Ypsheim lay huddled in death but more angels lay still than men. Fire from the hatch had swept the air above and the creatures had learned to keep away. As more shots blasted from the opening Dumarest headed toward the ramp, Farnham staggering backwards
as the engineer thrust him aside.

  Ysanne smiled her relief as she saw Dumarest then frowned at what he was carrying.

  "We don't need that, Earl. Dump it outside and we'll seal the hull."

  "Later." Dumarest set down his burden and reached for the intercom. "How's the situation, Andre?"

  "Not good." Batrun was precise. "Most of the Ypsheim managed to get to cover but there are a lot of bodies lying around. Some dead or injured angels too, but others are carrying them away. Now they seem intent on wrecking what was built." He grunted. "More lights just hit the dirt. The roof of the main building is in tatters and the kitchens are a mess."

  "Sound the alarm again," said Dumarest. "Tell everyone to freeze. Action invites retaliation. Make them understand that."

  To Urich he said, "Take that angel I brought in to a cabin. Make sure it can't get free. Help him, Lyle."

  The engineer nodded. "And then?"

  "Check all doors leading from the hold. I want this place tight. Stand guard in the corridor. Ysanne, back off and cover me."

  She said, with sudden understanding, "You're letting them into the ship, Earl-why be such a fool?"

  "You heard what Andre said. The angels are collecting their dead and they won't leave without them." Dumarest gestured toward the hatch, the ramp, the bodies lying on the dirt. "It's easier to give them what they want than argue about it."

  "So we give shelter to that bunch of cowards down there. Hell, Earl, it's all their fault to begin with." Then, as he made no answer, she sighed and added, "So much for plans. I figured that we-well, it's going to be a long night."

  Chapter Twelve

  Dawn came with a scud of rain, misting the ground and beading the structures, accentuating the desolation of the area. The roofs were nothing more than shredded plastic, the windows ripped into jagged openings, wires down, lights smashed, equipment and supplies scattered all over. Among them, moving in vague indecision, the Ypsheim seemed stunned.

  "Eighteen dead," said Belkner. "As many injured; most seriously. I didn't bother to count superficial wounds."