THE RETURN dot-32

by E. C. Tubb

  Zehava stood before the casket, hands resting on the controls, body leaning forward. She had removed her suit and was dressed in a blouse and pants of finely decorated fabric. Clothing which enhanced her femininity as did the cosmetics she wore. Her eyes, as she studied the figure the casket contained, were wide, luminous with reflected light.

  A woman entranced. Her expression one he remembered.

  Dumarest said, quietly, "Does she remind you of Nigel's sister?"

  "Earl!" She spun to face him, then mastered her surprise. "No," she said. "Suarra was blonde and human enough to have had her faults. The Lady Lucia is perfect. Like something from an old legend. Beauty epitomized in a form which belongs to the world of dreams. Beautiful," she repeated. Dangerous but fragile. A blow could shatter her and maybe it should. I've seen how you look at her. What she must mean to you. I don't want to lose you, Earl! If I thought she could take you from me I'd kill her now! I'd ruin her beauty! I'd watch her die!"

  She slumped, quivering, as he gripped her arms.

  "Easy, Zehava. Easy."

  "I'm sorry." She straightened, breathing deeply, filling his nostrils with the scent of her perfume. "I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it. I just want you to prove to me that I have nothing to fear. Wake the woman, see her, hold her -then tell me which of us you love. Do it, Earl! For me!"

  "Where's Yemm?"

  "What?" She blinked at the change of subject. "I don't know. I left him in the ship. He wanted to ask Chapman's permission to wake the Lady Lucia. He's been monitoring her progress and is worried about her. What are you doing here?"

  "I came to collect you."

  "Were you worried about me, darling?" She smiled her pleasure. "I must have forgotten the time. After the others left I made another examination of the cabins. We should move over here, Earl. This ship is designed for comfort. We could leave the girl with Chapman and go off to find Earth."

  "You'd like that?"

  "To be alone with you? You know I would." She stepped towards him, arms rising to embrace him, standing close. "Let's do it, Earl. Once the ship is repaired we'll take it and find a new world."

  Dumarest said, dryly, "Don't you think Chapman might object to us stealing his salvage?"

  "Let him. There'll be nothing he can do about it."

  She moved even closer, rising on her toes, lips pursed as she moved her face towards the open faceplate, warm as they touched his own, her arms tensing around him.

  Holding him fast as hands ripped the line and reaction pistol from his belt.

  From where he had retreated Yemm said, "Do nothing foolish, commander. I will not hesitate to cripple you if it becomes necessary."

  He had removed his suit and wore a short, dark robe with wide sleeves bearing scarlet bands. The laser he held lifted as Dumarest broke free of Zehava's grip. His face and eyes were expressionless, his tones devoid of emotion, but there was no doubt he would use the weapon. He had thrown the line and reaction pistol to the deck and, without warning, fired at them both. The line fused into a shapeless lump of plastic. The reaction pistol flared then slumped into ruin.

  "Now remove your suit, commander."

  "Do it, Earl!" urged Zehava as Dumarest made no move to obey. "Just do as he says."

  "And then what? Run away to find that wonderful world you spoke of? Chapman would never let us go."

  "The captain will have no choice." Yemm made a small gesture with the gun. 'This vessel isn't what it seems. It has a hidden method of propulsion and will be out of sight and range before anyone can realize what has happened."

  "A trap," said Dumarest. "This ship, the cargo, the promise of a reward. All designed to appeal to Chapman's greed. You knew how I would react to the woman in the casket. What is she? A clone?"

  "A specimen grown to rigorous definitions. One designed to attract and hold your attention. The prediction that you would have wasted no time in opening the casket was in the order of eighty-three percent. Your failure to do so puzzles me. Why did you hesitate?"

  "I have a high regard for the ability of the Cyclan and had reason to be suspicious."

  Zehava said, "That's nonsense."

  "How would you know? And how could the Cyclan have known just where to place the Evoy unless someone told them which course we were taking? Sent them our coordinates as supplied by our navigator when you stood in for Schell at the radio. When did you become their agent?"

  He shrugged at her silence.

  "My guess is it was on Pangritz. They would have predicted our destination and arrived before us. The traders would have been eager to help. Once in the house it would have been easy to instruct you and pass over the knife you gave Toibin to use during the arranged fight. He was to fire the dart, deliver a minor wound and pretend to have killed me. You would have taken care of the supposed body. Shipped me out with the traders. Gained your reward when you handed me over. But Toibin spoiled it with his anger and Nowka when he hit the wrong target. You'd given him the knife and had to kill him in order to shut his mouth."

  Dumarest moved a little as if easing his weight, edging closer to where the woman stood beside the casket.

  "After that you played for delay. You sabotaged the governor. Naturally you didn't think we'd run into a vortex. You thought we'd just drift long enough for your friends to find us. After we landed on Fionnula you arranged for further delay. The damaged filters. The slowed repairs. The technicians thought the orders came from Cazele and he didn't complain because it suited him." Again he edged towards her. "Why did you do it?"

  "Because I am of the Kaldari!" She blazed with sudden fury. "You shamed me. Beat me into the dirt. Prevented me from leaving with the others. Later, when you found me in the infirmary, you made me beg. Beg! I wanted to kill you then. I wanted to flay you alive when, later, you stripped me of all that I owned. Turned me into a pauper. Made me dependent on your whim. Used me!" Her voice thickened, became ugly. "Can you imagine how I felt? How it hurt to pretend? To lie? To smile? To follow you like a dog when you demanded I take you where you wanted to go? When the Cyclan approached me I welcomed their offer. They promised I should have my revenge."

  Dumarest said, mildly, "My congratulations, Zehava. You're a superb actress. Unfortunately you're also a fool. Do you honestly think the Cyclan will permit you to live?"

  "The Cyclan does not lie. The woman will receive her reward." The laser moved in Yemm's hand. "Remove your suit, commander. I shall tolerate no further delay. Obey or I will ruin your knees, your elbows, your feet, hands and eyes. Hurry. It is time for us to go."

  "Together with this bitch you're in love with!" Zehava spun to face the casket, reaching for the controls. "Take her with you!"

  Yemm fired as Dumarest lunged towards her, aiming for his elbow, hitting the woman instead. A wound masked by a gust of sparkling vapour which fumed from the opening lid to expand in a scintillating cloud. Dumarest slammed shut his helmet, seeing Zehava stagger, a burned hole marring her forehead, twisting as she fell towards him. A numbness touched his face, stung his eyes, caused him to stumble and Yemm, immune to the vapour, to miss as he fired again. Dumarest straightened, lifting the dead woman, using her as a shield. Throwing the body as Yemm burned dead flesh and, too late, tried to jump clear. Dumarest closed the gap between them, hands reaching, striking, feeling the snap of bone as he broke the neck.

  Within the casket, wreathed in sparkling vapour, the woman stirred, rose, smiling as she opened emerald eyes.

  Kalin!

  His love, resurrected and reaching for him with inviting arms.

  An illusion induced by the touch of vapour he had inhaled. One compounded by a dizzy nausea as he ran from the hold, the sparkling vapour, the dream of love which had haunted him for so long. The bait of the trap now about to close around him.

  The opening of the casket would have commenced the cycle activating the drive. The only hope of escape lay in speed.

  Dumarest raced to the emergency hatch, pass through it and stared at the
other ship. The line which had connected the two vessels had vanished. Yemm's work, the reason why he had destroyed the suit-line and reaction pistol. As he had destroyed the radio with his second shot leaving Dumarest with no way to summon help and only one way to reach safety. He crouched, flexing his knees, aiming at the distant bulk of the Geniat, the dark patch of its open port. With all his strength he kicked himself into the void.

  Watching the growing bulk of the vessel he knew he would miss.

  His suit carried nothing he could remove. To flail his limbs would generate axial motion and nothing else. To change direction he needed reaction mass; something to throw so as to move in the opposite direction. Staring at the port he judged space and time, watching as the dark blotch moved relentlessly up and to one side. He would barely miss the hull, but it was enough to send him to drift for eternity.

  He ignored the sick tension of his stomach, the dryness of his mouth, concentrating on the thin hiss of air as it passed from the tanks into his suit. Adjusting the valves he increased the flow and felt the pressure hard against his ears. Twisting he rotated his body and watched a moving vista as he waited for the critical moment.

  The bulk of the ship passed before him, the open port, the emptiness of space. The ship again, the port, again the void.

  Dumarest counted the time of rotation, noting his position in relation to the port, his apparent velocity. Waiting until he dared wait no longer then, with a twisting wrench, unlocked his helmet and tore it free.

  Air gusted past his head to dissipate in the void. Mass which acted as a weak blast to send him towards the ship, the open port. A haven which he approached far too slowly. The helmet was added mass. Dumarest threw it from him, twisting to face the port as it came close, grabbing desperately at the rim. Blood roared in his ears as he pulled himself into the vestibule and twice he missed the handle. At the third attempt he found it, pulled it down, fell to roll in agony as the outer door closed, air blasting from vents to fill the compartment, his starved lungs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The cabin held soft memories, as silken as the flesh he had touched, as sweet as the taste of yielding lips. Lying on the bunk, Nadine at his side, Dumarest looked at the drifting swathes of color from her crystal lamp. Shifting hues designed to induce calmness leading to sleep, but for him they did the reverse, painting images which illuminated the bulkhead as they burned in his memory.

  Chapman's anger at having lost his salvage. The Evoy had vanished before Dumarest had returned to safety and he had said nothing of the bomb he had planted and would have detonated had the captain insisted on pandering to his greed. Zehava's betrayal and he wondered if all her passion had been pretense. It was possible, hate and love were, at times, very close and her final action had revealed a latent jealousy. To destroy someone she could never have and made sure he would never get.

  The cycle moved on, turning the cabin into a place of magic, of untrammeled fantasy. He followed a band of emerald and was reminded of eyes. Of scarlet which was the hue both of hair and blood. Pearl was translucent skin. Blue the color of skies in which fleecy clouds drifted in regal detachment. Green became precious patches of grass. White became silver shining from a swollen moon.

  Images of home, but soon they would be more than that.

  "Earl?" Beside him Nadine whispered his name as she moved to press tighter against him. A woman still almost asleep. One hovering on the edge of nightmare. She reared, gasping, crying his name.

  "Earl! My God! Your face!"

  One carmined with the blood oozing from ears and nose, lips and eyes. Minor wounds from burst capillaries which had quickly healed, but which had given him the mask of a demon. One from which Badwasi had recoiled when warned of potential danger. Which had forced Chapman to accept his version of the truth. Which had enhanced even further his reputation among the Kaldari.

  "Easy." He stroked her hair, soothing her with touch and words as he would calm a frightened animal. "It's all right now. It's all right."

  "I love you, darling. I shall always love you. I know I'm not like that woman in the casket but -"

  "Later." His fingers rested on her lips. "We'll talk later. Go back to sleep now. Sleep…sleep…"

  She sighed, yielding to his voice, the hypnotic compulsion of the swirling colors. A woman in love. One in whom restraints had been shattered by the impact of raw emotion and violent action. Spurs which had driven her from her paranoid fears to gain a new understanding. To reveal an unexpected beauty.

  Why had she mentioned Kalin?

  No, not Kalin, the facsimile in the casket. Only he had melded the two into one, demonstrating his weakness, his need. Things the Cyclan had used with calculated intent.

  Yet was scarlet hair so important? Translucent skin? Emerald eyes? Long ago the woman who had worn that shape had taught him that outer appearance held little value. That the inner self transcended the superficial gloss of outer beauty. Would the facsimile have stood beside him? Worked for him? Saved him as Kalin had done?

  Dumarest knew the answer as he knew it was long past time to bury the ghost which had haunted him for so long. The woman who had been a companion he would never forget had worn a lovely shell. The product of her use of the affinity twin, the secret of which she had passed to him at the end. But no shell could ever restore the woman who had worn it. Nothing ever replace the dust she had become. The dead should be left to rest. Ghosts should not be mourned when the living had so much to give.

  Dumarest looked at Nadine where she lay at his side. Death had come too close and he had turned to her driven by a basic need. She had responded, asking no questions, making no demands. Guessing his trauma. Sensing his pain at rejection. Knowing his need of reassurance, of relief. Calming him when, again in nightmare, he had drifted in the void, stomach knotted with helpless fear, living only because he had reacted without fear or hesitation.

  Subconsciously taking a gamble in which a quick end was balanced against potential survival. A gamble he had won as he had won so many others. Yet the biggest was still to come.

  He watched a swirl of scarlet seeing, not the flame of lustrous hair, but the color of a hated robe. Red, the hue of blood as brown was the color of soil. The Cyclan and the Church. Two great organizations which spanned the galaxy. Both wanting to change human nature, one by appealing to reason the other by appealing to belief. The head against the heart. Logic against emotion. Reason against faith. Two sides of a single coin, each offering their promise of paradise.

  Both determined to deny the existence of Earth.

  Why?

  "Earl?" Nadine sat upright on the bunk, shimmering hues gracing the smooth contours of her naked flesh. "Relax, darling. You need to be calm and rest."

  Good advice he couldn't take. He rose, too restless to linger at her side and she watched as he dressed, uneasily conscious of a subtle alteration in his stance and manner. The blotches on his face would fade, but it was if their creation had given birth to something she found almost frightening.

  "Earl, is something wrong?"

  "No." He added, "We'll be arriving soon. There are things I need to do."

  "Soon?" She thought he was confused. "We won't arrive for days yet. Niall told me when I asked."

  "That was before he had the true coordinates. We'll arrive in a few hours. I didn't trust Chapman," Dumarest explained. "Events proved me right. He would have sold me out for the sake of salvage."

  "So you kept the true coordinates to yourself. How did Chapman take it?"

  "He didn't like it."

  "He wouldn't. He is of the Kaldari," she warned. "He might want to take revenge. You hurt his pride."

  "To hell with his pride. He'll take us to Earth!"

  Always on a raid there was doubt as to the outcome, but this time, if legend held truth, the rewards would be enormous. A heady thought and one Chapman relished as he sat in his chair and watched the glowing lights on his panels. For him the siren lure of space held small danger. Yet some jour
neys could last too long.

  For Dumarest it had lasted most of his life. A long, frustrating search for a world most believed didn't exist. A journey which had taken him too often to the edge of death. One almost ended and he sat in the cabin, facing the screens, conscious of the tension riding within him.

  Nadine sensed it as she sat beside him, near, but not touching. This was a time he needed to be alone.

  "Getting close." The navigator's voice betrayed his tension. "Field ready to collapse. Ready? Now!"

  The blue cocoon surrounding the vessel died. There was a brief flicker as the scanners replaced the computer analogues and relayed the direct image of what lay outside.

  "No!" Nadine drew in her breath. "It can't be!"

  The screens showed nothing, but the vista of space.

  "I knew it!" Chapman snarled his disgust. "It was all a damned lie! Earth doesn't exist and this proves it. We've crossed half the galaxy to find it's only a myth. The salvage lost. The reward. Those abandoned on Fionnula. All for nothing. There's no Earth. No planet of treasure. We've been used. Taken for fools!"

  Dumarest said, sharply, "You can't lose what you never had so stop whining about the salvage. There's nothing out there because you didn't do your job."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You were supposed to take us to the new coordinates I gave you. Obviously you haven't. Why? Taking your revenge because I didn't trust you?" His voice thickened with anger. "If you want revenge you can have it – and so can I!"

  "Earl! Don't!" Nadine added, quickly, "There has to be a mistake of some kind."

  "The mistake was in believing a legend." Chapman had calmed, recognizing the strength of Dumarest's anger. He gestured at the screens. "There's the truth. Take a good look at it." He added, bitterly, "It's cost enough."

  In blood and pain and the threat of extinction. The loss of a fortune. In mockery, hatred, betrayal, and death which had come too close. Dumarest knew too well what the price had been.