by E. C. Tubb
Dumarest said, "Adaptive triggers?"
"Naturally. When food is short a sterility factor operates to reduce fertility. Climatic change can slow gestation up to double the normal period or induce abortion if the foetus is newly established-these creatures have been designed to survive. You a stock farmer?"
"I've worked on such farms."
"Hunted, too, I guess." Sayer nodded his satisfaction. "You ask the right questions and I guess you know your business. Over there, now-" He pointed. "Behind that grove of trees. We're trying something new. Armand didn't bother with novelties," he explained. "He went for the basic needs; cattle for sustenance, beasts for riding, birds, fish, snakes, even. A snake can live in places a man can't and they make good, cheap eating. But Charisse wants to open new markets."
Dumarest remembered the creature he had fought. "For guards?"
"That and spectacle and for the hunting preserves. Take us down, Feld."
The driver of the raft turned in his seat. "You want to land?"
"No. Just take us down." Sayer pointed again as the man obeyed. "There! See?"
Beyond the trees rested long grass, an apparently lifeless swathe then, as Dumarest looked, he saw a long, loping shape, another, a dozen which reared to reflect the sunlight from pointed fangs. Dogs the size of ponies, their coats mottled in tawny camouflage.
"Guard dogs," explained Sayer. "A special order but we've found them useful for general patrol duties and are maintaining a stock pack. Their intelligence has been enhanced as has their group response. A pack will take orders and work in unison. Nothing really new in that, of course, dogs have been used to track and defend and hold and kill for millennia now, but we've increased their potential about as far as it will go. Want to take a closer look?"
The raft dropped as Dumarest nodded and he gripped the rail as, below, long bodies lifted to reveal the large, clawed feet, the well-muscled legs. The creatures sat after the initial leap, jaws gaping, eyes brightly watchful.
Dumarest said, "What if there were an accident and we crashed?"
"They won't kill," said the driver. "Not without a direct command. They'd just hold us until ordered to let us go by the captain. After dark it would be different." He lifted the raft a little as he spoke. "Then they have the kill command," he said. "No one can hope to break into the laboratory area."
"We guard our own," said the old man. "Vicious looking things, aren't they? Want to see something really unusual? Feld-take us to the teleths."
Another area, this time one set with circular huts, paths, small patches set with various crops. Dumarest looked for signs of human life and saw small figures standing in the shadow of trees. Pygmies? He narrowed his eyes as the raft dropped, lowering to come to a landing on a patch of grass.
"No dogs," said Sayer. "And don't worry about danger. I'll take care of it if anything should happen."
"With that?"
"A stunner." The guide hefted the thick-barreled weapon. "Throws the nervous system all to hell. They have a receptor engrafted in the skull and attached to the main ganglia. Not that we'll need it. The things are tranked all the time."
"Drugged?"
"An implant which affects the higher nerve centers. We maintain it unless special tests are needed. But for now I want to show you something." Sayer paused and looked toward the small figures. "Now."
For a long moment nothing happened then a group of the shapes came forward to stand at the edge of the patch of grass. Not human though they had a humanoid form-monkey-like things about four feet tall with large, staring eyes, crested skulls, a fine down covering hides of mousey gray. Their hands were slender each bearing three fingers and an opposed thumb. Their feet matched their hands. All appeared neuter.
"Sexual development has been arrested at the prepuberty stage," said the old man. "Physically they are large, undeveloped children, but can be adapted for breeding if the necessity should arise. At the moment we are checking out a new gene pattern aimed at achieving a rudimentary telepathic ability. Now watch. I'm going to have them split into two groups, one will pick up debris from the paths, the other from the grass."
He fell silent and, as far as Dumarest could see, made no signals of any kind. The group moved into two units each doing as he'd predicted.
"Telepathy," said Sayer. "I'm thinking the commands at them and they are responding. We've adapted them from a form of life found in the forests of Chalachia and once we get a few problems sorted out there's a market waiting for all we can produce. Servants," he explained. "Soft, gentle, cheap-they can live on a bowl of mush a day. Life span about a dozen years from gaining optimum physical development. Easily trained and directed-just think at them and they obey."
"Why not just teach them to talk?"
"Impossible-they lack any trace of a speech center in the cortex. In their natural state they are just animals; arboreal types living on fruit and bark and nuts. The telepathic ability is a gene addition which gives them about the only real value they have." Sayer stared at those working and, as one, they ceased their labors and returned to the shadow of the trees. "About the last thing Armand instigated."
Dumarest said. "I thought he was strictly utilitarian in his developments."
"He was but this resulted from an idea he had about the Original Man." The guide smiled at Dumarest's expression. "No, I'm not joking. Armand grew interested in old legends and myths and came up with the notion that, at one time, there would have had to have been a prototype for Mankind. He figured that we had degenerated from the prime stock and that certain organs such as the vermiform appendix, the pineal gland and the dead areas of the brain must once have had a useful function. If that was the case then we must have lost certain abilities and he wanted to restore them. Telepathy was something he thought could have been a lost attribute."
"So he tried to incorporate it into monkeys?"
"He just wanted to see if it could be done. Once the gene had been isolated and stabilized he would have incorporated it into his master chromosome map." Sayer shrugged. "Well, he died before he'd barely started. A pity-he'd deserved the relaxation of a hobby. I guess he just left it too late." He looked at the sky, the sullen ball of the lowering sun. "Like we're doing. We'd best get moving if I'm to get you back to the house before dark."
Chapter Eight
It was a place of peaked roofs set with spires around which twisted serpents carved from emerald stone. Decoration repeated in the gargoyles which guarded the corners, the felines set between soaring pillars, the array of birds which perched in frozen immobility on the walls. A motif reflected in the interior with vaulted chambers and echoing galleries, wide stairways and floors graced with elaborate mosiacs.
In his room Dumarest stared through a narrow, pointed window at the last glare of the dying sun, seeing the scud of low cloud burning crimson, the ground itself bearing the stain of spilled and drying blood. From somewhere came a distant howling and he remembered the dogs, the warning he had been given. It had been a warning, of that he had no doubt, one clumsily delivered but unmistakable all the same. To leave the house and to wander unescorted through the grounds meant death.
This was an odd way to treat a guest but everything had been odd since he had joined the ship on Ascelius. The turgid nature of his thoughts, the journey which had seemed too short even allowing for the convenience of quicktime. And after the landing when he had been given into the charge of Dino Sayer and taken on a tour of the establishment which had lasted until now. A means of keeping him from the house? Of keeping him under guard?
"My lord?" The girl was the one he had seen before or her twin. "Your bath is ready, my lord."
"Thank you." He spoke without turning.
"Do you wish my assistance?"
"No." He turned, his smile softening the refusal. "But I thank you for the offer. Were you on Podesta?" He saw the frown, the sudden bewilderment in the wide, vacuous eyes. "Never mind."
The bath matched his room, the tub made from a solid bl
ock of marble, smoothed and contoured to cradle the back and thighs. Water fumed from twin faucets adding to that drawn by the girl, perfume rising to thicken the air with pungent smells. From the molding running below the high groined roof carved beasts watched as he pulled the plug, flushed out the water and what it contained, refilled the tub with steaming, uncontaminated liquid. Immersed he relaxed.
Had the girl been the same?
Had the perfume been other than what it seemed?
Had he been kept from the house to avoid seeing who else enjoyed the hospitality of Charisse Chetame?
The questions increased the burden of the rest and he mulled them over in his mind as the hot water eased his body and tensions. It was good just to lie and relax. Good to refrain from worry, to drift, to dream, to let events take their course.
Why had the journey seemed so short?
Dumarest rolled and felt the water rise over him as he engulfed his head to hold it below the surface as a fire grew in his lungs. This grew into an overriding need for air to burst as water showered and he rose, gasping, chest heaving, steam rising from his body as he stepped from the tub to stand before a mirror. Vapor misted it and he cleared it with the edge of his palm.
Intently he examined his temple.
The wound had healed, the transparent covering replaced by a smooth expanse of skin marred only by an ebon fleck. A point of blackness he had seen before, but then it had rested close to the edge of damaged tissue. Tissue which had healed too fast. A clock which proved the journey had taken longer than it had seemed.
Drugs?
They would account for it; inducing long periods of sleep which he would imagine to be times of normal rest. But he had eaten little and that only the usual basic drawn from a communal spigot. Charisse had remained absent after their first meeting when she had dressed his wound. Water, like food, had come from a communal faucet. The air had been shared. What else remained?
Lifting his hands, he touched the point of darkness on his temple and felt something hard. Setting the nails of his thumbs to either side of the mote, he pressed as he squeezed them together. A touch of pain then the ebon fleck lifted to be caught on a thumbnail and carried to the level of his eyes. A small cylinder of something hard and gritty which had rested in his flesh like a splinter of wood.
He dropped it into the bowl and flushed it with a stream of water. The pressure of his nails had left small, angry indents to either side of a spot of crimson. More water washed away the blood and he massaged the flesh to remove the indents. Some redness remained as did the tiny wound and he stooped to search the side of the bath where it joined with the floor finding, as he'd expected, traces of dirt. A touch and the wound was sealed with dirt, fresh blackness simulating the implant. As he turned from the mirror he heard the scuff of sandals from the room outside and cried out as he hit the side of the tub with the heel of his hand.
"My lord?" The girl came running, eyes searching the bathroom. "Are you hurt?"
"No."
"I heard-"
"I slipped." Dumarest lifted the hand he'd held to his temple. "Banged my head a little. It's nothing serious."
She examined him, "Just a little red, my lord. You were fortunate. Should I summon medical aid? Bring you astringents and ice? Cosmetics?"
Dumarest shook his head, wondering why the girl seemed incapable of making individual assessments. A woman would have demanded cosmetics, a man also if he belonged to a culture in which he would normally use them, but surely she must have noticed he wore no paint or powder?
"Are you sure, my lord?" She was eager to please.
"I'm sure." Dumarest added casually, "Are there many guests in the house?"
"My lord?"
"It's possible I know one of them." The hint was too vague and she made no response. "A friend of mine," he explained. "A tall man wearing a scarlet robe." Description enough for a cyber and to be too detailed would be to indulge in guesswork. Even as it was not all cybers were tall. "Well?"
"I'm not sure, my lord." Recollection was beyond her, and yesterday was an eternity away. Or else she had been ordered to act the simpleton. "But you'll see them all soon," she said brightly. "At the banquet. My lady sent me to warn you it commences in an hour's time."
Charisse sat at the head of the board, regal in her splendor, hair and throat alive with scintillant gems, a queen dispensing hospitality, the guests her devoted subjects, but Dumarest knew there was method in her generosity. The others at the table were buyers from various worlds come to purchase stock or place their needs for specialized forms. Agents of both sexes acted for wealthy consortiums or enlightened rulers, for supply houses or communities wanting to ease life on hostile planets.
Charisse had introduced them with a casual gesture.
"Earl, meet some friends of mine. Enrice, Cleo, Krantz- all of you, meet Earl Dumarest."
That had been before they had taken their places, time for casual drinks and conversation and less casual study. All seemed to be what they claimed; buyers who had waited patiently to get down to business and who now were about to relax over good food and wine.
"Your health, Charisse!" Enrice Helva, old, fat, a little ridiculous with his blouse of puffed and ornamented lace, his trousers of slashed and frilled satin, lifted his glass as he called the toast. "May your genius never wither!"
The wish was shared and for a moment there was silence.
"Charisse may-"
"No, Lunerach." She was firm. "Too many toasts will ruin appetites though I thank you for your good wishes. Now let us eat before we annoy the cook-a good chef is hard to find."
She had found one of the best and Dumarest watched as servants carried in a succession of dishes, each a minor work of art. The tastes matched the display and he helped to ruin castles, farms, boats, ranked armies, birds dressed in golden plumage, beasts formed of sugar and pastry and spices to form perfect miniature zoos. Over fruit and jellies and cakes made of pungent herbs and various flours the talk shifted and swung like a ship in a tormented sea.
"Eighteen," said Ienda Chao. "That's all they could afford, but I ask you! Eighteen when I knew the minimum had to be at least double that. With forty, I told them, you have a chance. With fewer none at all."
"So what happened?" Her neighbor cracked a nut and gnawed at the meat with strong, white teeth. "A wipeout?"
"What else? Every last beast was dead within a matter of weeks. They tried to blame me, said I'd bought bad stock, but that was ridiculous and they knew it. They paid the price of greed and ignorance. More stock would have been able to suffer the anticipated losses and left a residue for successful breeding."
"It happens." A woman dressed in somber black reached for a fruit and shredded the peel with glinting nails. "The expert is the last to be listened to. I sometimes wonder if greed robs the intelligence. What do you think, Earl?" Her eyes, darkly ringed with cosmetics, searched his face. "You've sat very quietly-nothing to say?"
"I prefer to listen."
"How nice for your companion-if she too is a good listener." She chuckled at her own jest. "Have you no opinions?"
"None of importance." Dumarest picked up a shard of cake and crumbled it between his fingers. "For one man greed is the desire to obtain more-for another it can be economic necessity."
A man facing him lifted his eyebrows. "Meaning?"
"Nothing, but what you may call greed could be simple lack of funds."
"Farmers!" A woman lower down the table shook her head. "You can't know them as I do, Earl. Always pleading poverty. Offer them good stock and they whine they can't afford the price. Warn them of potential risks and they'll swear you're trying to cheat them. Like Astin I know them too well."
"Especially the male ones, eh, Glenda?" Laughter followed the speaker's comment. "How many deals have you sealed in a barn?"
"As many as you, Corm, but at least I draw the line at cows."
More laughter and Dumarest guessed she had touched on a sore subject-the meat of
an old joke. He sat back as the talk continued, uninterested in financial deals, stories of profits earned, of dangers avoided. Charisse noted his detachment.
"We are being discourteous," she said. "What has Dumarest to do with farms and stock? Has none of you any ideas of how to entertain him?"
"I could think of something." The woman in black smiled from where she sat. "Have we anything in common, Earl? Worlds we both know, for example? Pleasures we have both shared?"
"I doubt the first," he said dryly. "I'm not so sure about the second."
"Thank God for a man with a sense of humor," she said. "Charisse, where did you find him? If you ever get around to producing copies of him in your laboratory I'll be your first customer."
"Earl is unique, Linda. I'd like to keep him that way."
"I can't blame you." Her nails glinted as she reached for another fruit, a gleam which attracted his attention, focused his eyes. "You like them?" She extended her hands to show the metal implants. "I've found them useful at times."
"A harlot's trick," sneered Glenda. "You advertise yourself, my dear."
"You have no need, Glenda." The sneer was returned. "Everyone knows your weakness-or is it your depravity?"
"Bitch!"
Dumarest said, loudly, "I was interested in what Armand was trying to achieve. Sayer told me about it."
"The teleths?"
"No, why he developed them."
"The Original Man." Charisse held up a hand and a servant came to fill her glass with wine. A gesture and others attended to the guests. "Armand was certain we had devolved from a higher life form," she explained. "He worked on the theory that nature does not produce organs just to let them wither. The vermiform appendix, the pineal gland-are you with me?"