by E. C. Tubb
"Why the lie?"
"Why not?" Branchard was cynical. "You didn't want me to tell the truth, and anyway, it could come in useful. I've been through this before. A small war starts, and uniforms rule the roost, young fools like that lieutenant strutting like cockerels and ruining trade. It would be a help to have a friend in a high place. A lord of Samalle, for example. That officer will talk and word will get around. Men trained on the Warrior Worlds are in demand at a time like this, and if you can keep the woman quiet, you could ride the crest. If you want to, that is. If you intend to stay."
"I'm staying."
"Well, that's your business." Branchard hesitated, then said bluntly, "I'm not a fool, Earl, and I can smell when something isn't right I got paid for carrying the pair of you, and no questions asked or answered, but we get on, and I'll put it plain. You and the girl aren't close. If you want to cut free, nows your chance. Ride along with us. An equal share in all we make-you know the system."
"Do I?"
"You know it. You've ridden ships before, and not as just a passenger. A free trader once, am I right? This isn't charity; you would be useful, and you can stay as long as you wish. A month, a year, quit anytime you like."
Dumarest said, "Thank you." And meant it.
"Think it over. The offers open until we leave."
A perfect escape, and one which Dumarest would have taken, had things been normal. The random movements of a free trader negated even the predictive skill of the Cyclan. He had dodged them by such a method before, and would again if it hadn't been for the machinations of Aihult Chan Parect. There could be no thought of escape until he had rid himself of the thing which had been planted within his body.
* * *
Zenya had dressed with care, a clinging gown of scarlet edged with gold, the sleeves long, the skirt full. Gems winked in her hair, and precious metal made a delicate filigree around her throat. Against his somber grayness the colors were accentuated in brilliant contrast. She blinked as he told her of the captain's lie,
"A lady of Samalle? I've never heard of the place, Earl."
"Then don't talk about it. Just remember that it is one of the Warrior Worlds, dedicated to military training, a supplier of mercenaries. If you are questioned, be vague. If they insist on answers, mention security and refer them to me. On no account go into detail. You follow me, you do as I order, that is all you need to say."
She looked down at her gown. "Should I change?"
"No."
"This is hardly a uniform, Earl. Would your lady be so feminine?"
Patiently he said, "You are not a member of any armed force or service. Your prime function is to amuse and entertain."
"You, Earl? As if I were a courtesan?"
"As if you were the selected lady of a high-ranking military officer. A noble of a military caste. You have pride, discretion, and are faithful to your position. Try any games, and you could ruin us both. Smile at no one but me. Talk to no one if you can avoid it. Go nowhere unattended and never be alone with a man other than myself."
Smiling, she said, "That means we have to act as if we are married, Earl. Really married. I'm going to like that."
"I have a job to do, Zenya."
"But do you have to be so remote? All during the voyage you've avoided me. At times you treated me as if I were your enemy. Why, Earl? What have I done?"
Was she innocent, or ingenious? It was impossible to tell. He said emotionlessly, "I've had a lot on my mind, Zenya. If you are ready, let us go."
A car waited at the foot of the ramp. As they descended, Lieutenant Hein snapped to attention, his men following suit. His salute was crisp.
"My lord, I have been in contact with my superiors. They ask you and your lady to be their guests. The car will take you to the Kesh Tower." He added self-consciously, "It is the finest hotel in the city."
Zenya said, "That is most kind."
"It is a pleasure, my lady." Hein's eyes searched her face, dropped to the contours of her body, rose again as he became aware of Dumarest's attention. "You have baggage, my lord?"
"We are traveling light," said Dumarest dryly. "A force moves faster when it lives off the land. Who is your ranking officer?"
"Major Leem, sir."
"Of the field operations, yes. And his?"
"Colonel Paran."
"I hope to have the pleasure of meeting him," said Dumarest. "When I do, I shall commend your courtesy. Now, if you will take my lady's bag?"
It was small, holding only her gowns, jewelry, and cosmetics. The lieutenant placed it in the car, ushered them into the rear compartment, saluted again as it drove away.
At his side Zenya said, "That was a nice man, Earl."
His hand dropped to her knee, squeezed it in warning. "A potentially fine officer," he said curtly. "He needs polishing, but the material is there. Be silent now and allow me to examine the city."
It was as he had expected, a sprawl of low houses dominated by a few high towers, laced with streets and avenues. Zenya was entranced; she clung to his arm as they glided onward, her eyes wide at each new sight, the lines of marching men, the banners, the throng of pedestrians wearing a variety of clothing. Uniforms were everywhere, young men flushed with martial fever strutting along the sidewalks, girls at their sides, reveling in newfound importance.
Photographers waited outside the hotel, lenses aimed, shutters snapping, a portable TV camera following them as they left the car and entered the foyer. Publicity Dumarest could have done without, but dared not avoid. The lie invented by Branchard had spread faster than he had expected, yet the arrival of a reputed master of military prowess would be a thing to catch the interest of a world at war.
Within the foyer, others waited. A man came forward, recorder in hand. "My lord, have you come to Chard to aid our war effort?"
"How soon do you think victory will be ours, sir?"
"Are you here as a participant or as an observer?"
"My lady, if you will smile, please?"
A deep voice rose above the babble. "Gentlemen! This is no way to treat our guest. You will all be given the opportunity of asking your questions at a later date. In the meantime, military necessity must take precedence over your desire for news."
A tall man moved forward, grizzled hair short beneath a uniform cap, the insignia of high command bright on the collar of his tunic. The hand he extended was broad, backed with a fine down of russet hair.
"I am Colonel Paran. Welcome to Chard, sir. We are pleased to meet you and your lady."
His grip was firm. As Dumarest released the hand he said, "You are efficient, colonel. We have barely left the field."
"We do our best, sir. And it would be impolite not to extend a personal welcome to a master of military acumen. Professional courtesy, in these times more than any other, must be observed." He glanced to where aides had ushered the newsmen to the sides of the foyer. "Now, of course, you wish to refresh yourselves. All has been arranged. A suite to accommodate you, food if you are hungry." He paused, then added, "I understand the ship on which you arrived was not of the best."
"It served."
"To bring you to Chard?"
"It landed here." Dumarest met the shrewd eyes. "Another vessel could take me to where I have a commission waiting."
"You are engaged?"
"A preliminary survey… but that would not interest you."
"I understand." Paran hesitated. "I would appreciate the opportunity of a conference. A casual discussion with myself and a few others. If that would be possible… "
"Certainly." Dumarest glanced to where Zenya stood preening herself. "Shall we say in an hour?"
* * *
The suite was luxurious, broad windows giving a clear view of the city, the furnishings all of white and amber. Zenya roved through it, her musical voice rising, fading as she passed from room to room.
"Earl, this is delightful. Scented waters in the shower, a sunken tub, carpets everywhere. Such a change after that dre
adful ship."
He stood looking at the walls, the ceiling, making no comment.
"Earl?" She came toward him, painted nails glistening beneath the hem of her skirt, the long, supple lines of her thighs prominent at every step. "My dear aunt should be with us. She would be green with envy. We have nothing like this on-"
Her voice broke as he pressed his lips to her own.
"Earl?" Her voice was muffled. She pushed against him, and then her arms rose to tighten about his neck. Beneath the fabric of her gown her body was a soft and living flame. "Earl! Oh, my darling! My darling!"
He buried his face in the mane of her hair, found her ear, and whispered harshly, "Watch what you say, you fool! This place is full of electronic devices."
He felt her stiffen, the warmth of her sudden anger. As her hands fell from his neck, to press against his chest, he added, "We are being watched. Every word we say is being recorded. Why else do you think they gave us this suite?"
In return she whispered, "Is that why you kissed me? Just to stop my mouth?"
A woman scorned was a dangerous adversary. Outraged pride would blind her to the peril of released emotion.
"No," he said. "That wasn't the entire reason. You are a beautiful woman, and you know it."
"Just as long as you know it, Earl." Her voice was a purr. "And there can be no harm in this, can there? This and other things. After all, I am supposed to be your wife."
A position she wanted to take and one he could not safely deny. Another trap, but one into which any man would be eager to enter. The bait of her softness, her beauty, the promise Chan Parect had made. A fair exchange, perhaps, for the endless search for a forgotten world.
"Earl?"
Releasing her, he stepped back, his voice casual. "Later, my dear. First we must bathe and refresh ourselves. Our guests will be here shortly."
Like a born actress she fitted into her assumed part.
"You must not forget the commission, darling."
"True, but there is no hurry. We could spend a few days here, and possibly learn something of interest. The war cannot be old, or we would have heard about it." Dumarest moved to a window and stood looking down at the city. "No antiaerial defenses," he mused. "Of course, there could be lasers on the roof, but if so, they would be vulnerable to attack. Well, it is no problem of ours."
"True." She stretched, lifting her arms, throwing back her head, so that the coils of her hair hung loosely down her back. "I must see about replenishing my wardrobe. We left in such a hurry that I had hardly time to pack a thing. I wonder if they have new fashions here? Military worlds produce some odd combinations. Will it be possible to go shopping, do you think?"
"I imagine so."
"Later, after your conference?"
"We'll see."
"And will you help me pick some gowns, darling? You have such good taste when it comes to fashion. I am sure my aunt would think so. Of course, I had better not buy too many."
"At one time, no," he agreed. The conversation was banal, but safe. They would hardly be expected to wait in silence, and after a hard journey, a release of passion would be normal.
But Zenya was not satisfied with a kiss.
"We had better bathe now, Earl. Will you help me, please?"
"I'll just take a shower."
"We'll both take one." She looked at him, her eyes alight, lips swollen with anticipation, and he remembered the archives on Paiyar, the expression he had recognized. Desire, yes, but more than that. A touch of cruelty, of innate sadism, his inability to refuse accentuating her enjoyment. "Now, Earl."
"A moment. I will join you."
"We have little time."
"I know, so don't waste any."
She was naked when he reached the bathroom, the gown a pool of scarlet on the decorated tiles, jewelry thrown aside in careless haste. Stripping, he followed her into the shower, turned the water on full, the blasting roar from the high-intensity spray drowning his words from any listening ear.
"Don't forget that we are being watched."
"Does it matter, darling?" The wetness of her body was like oiled silk as she pressed against him. "We are married, remember?"
"Married, but not a show."
"You are too delicate." Her arms wound around him. "I don't care if an entire world is watching. I love you, Earl. I want you. Damn you, can't you see that? I want you!"
And then there was only the water, the pungent scent of perfume, the impact of her body, and an infinity of expanding softness.
Chapter Six
Seated at the head of the table, Colonel Paran said with military punctiliousness, "The situation facing us is one peculiar to this planet. Unless it is resolved, it will destroy our financial structure; therefore it is imperative that all operations be conducted on a basis of minimum destruction. It would be interesting, Earl, to learn if you have come across a similar situation, and the means you devised to conclude it."
Dumarest leaned back in his chair, not answering, studying instead the others at the board. Colonel Paran had not come alone. With him were two others, both men of middle age, uncomfortable in their uniforms of maroon and gray. Colonel Oaken was plump, with a worried frown ingrained between his eyes. Colonel Stone was thin, harassed.
He said, "You don't answer. May I ask why?"
"Before I could even begin to answer, I would need far more information. There is no one sure formula for winning a war. If there was, the worlds I represent would have no purposeful existence."
Paran caught the hint. "Of course, as a mercenary you cannot be expected to give advice without recompense. That has been considered. You will not find us ungenerous." His eyes drifted to his companions. "That is agreed, gentlemen?"
"Well, I'm not too sure about that." Oaken was cautious. '"It depends on the value of the advice. Words come cheap when that is all that is supplied."
"Then it seems that this conference is at an end." Dumarest rose. "Thank you, gentlemen. There is no point in wasting further time."
"A moment." Paran waited until he regained his seat. "Earl, I will be frank with you. Chard is unused to war. We have uniforms, bands, some weapons, and eager volunteers, but that is about all. The thing came on us so quickly that we had little warning, and less time to prepare. Let me put you into the picture. Our main crop, the one on which our economy depends, is lofios-a plant which provides fruit, fiber, and rare oils for the making of perfumes and unguents. We also have a native form of life, manlike and, as some suggest, the descendants of an early wave of settlement."
"The Ayutha," rumbled Oaken. "Savages."
"Not exactly," protested Stone. "Primitive, perhaps, or so we always thought. Barbaric, even, but not savage."
"After what they've done?"
"Gentlemen!" Paran slammed his hand on the table. "This is no time for personal opinions. We are faced with facts. Let us deal with them."
"Homand," rumbled Oaken. "Maysown. They are facts enough."
"Villages which have been destroyed," explained Paran. Of the three, he was the only one with pretense to the rank he bore; the others, Dumarest guessed, were merchants, given high rank to win their support and salve their pride. "Let me illustrate."
He unrolled a map that he had brought with him, spreading it on the table as his finger tapped at a variety of places.
"Our main planting area stretched from here, about twenty miles from the city, up to the hills and beyond. There are essential minerals in the soil which promote rapid growth, and though we are planting to the south and closer to the town, so far we have had little success. The first attack was here." His finger moved, halted, tapping. "A small community, which was utterly destroyed."
"How?"
"What?"
"How was it destroyed?" repeated Dumarest. "With lasers, gas, what?"
"We think with a form of nerve gas coupled with impact weapons. The bodies bore wounds consistent with those caused by clubs and edged steel. To continue, an expedition was sent to retal
iate, and a village of the Ayutha destroyed. Some crops were fired, and other attacks made. They are escalating-the details are unimportant at this time. The point is that if the destruction continues, Chard faces ruin."
"Which is exactly what those savages want," stormed Oaken. "They know we depend on the crop-how best to hurt us than by destroying it!"
Dumarest said, "Don't they need it too?"
"They did," admitted Paran. "A lot of them are employed on the farms. They work, send money back to their villages, that sort of thing. In fact, we had a perfect working relationship with them. If it hadn't been for the evidence, I would never have thought them responsible."
"Who else could it be?" snapped Oaken. "I tell you, the only way we're going to solve this problem is by wiping them out. Every last damn one of them!"
"Then who will work the fields?" Stone was practical. "Their labor comes cheap; use other, and we'll price ourselves out of business."
"They want our world," insisted Oaken. "They think they own it. They're trying to kick us off the planet." He scowled. "We've got to kill them, clear them out."
"How? Arm every man and turn him loose to hunt them down? You know what the hills are like. Can you imagine what it would cost in money and lives? Just remember what happened to the last volunteer force we sent in."
"They destroyed a village."
"The first one, yes, but the second?" Stone shrugged. "They got themselves wiped out to a man."
Colonel Paran sighed. "That is old history, gentlemen. We have to think of the future." To Dumarest he said, "You realize the complexity of the situation?"
Greed coupled with hate and fear, an old, familiar combination. The human desire to have the cake and eat it at the same time. As yet, this war seemed to be no more than a few raiding parties driven by some unguessed motive. No wonder he had seen no antiaerial defenses-savages would hardly own aircraft.
But then, savages wouldn't use nerve gas, either-if it had really been used.
He said, "What is their political organization?"
"A loose federation of tribes governed by elders," said Paran. "We have tried to aid them, of course. Social workers have lived among them." He added bitterly, "I assume they are all dead now."