Lallia dot-6

by E. C. Tubb

  "I was a cook once," she said. "There's no need for basic to taste like wet mud. A few drops of flavoring can make all the difference."

  He smiled. "And the flavor?"

  "A few drops of the captain's precious oil. I raided the hold," she admitted. "That was after I'd fixed my passage with the navigator. He said that he could talk for the big boss. Can he?"

  Dumarest nodded, Nimino handled details while the cap shy;tain dreamed under the influence of his symbiote. "You didn't have to pay for passage," he commented. "That was a part of the deal."

  "I know that, Earl." She sat beside him, serious, her eyes soft with emotion. "But that was only to the next planet of call. I want to stay with the ship, with you, so I arranged to ride all the way." She leaned towards him, the perfume of her body a clean scent of femininity. "We're married, Earl. A ship-marriage but married just the same." Her hand found his own, tightened. "You object?"

  "No," said Dumarest. "I don't object."

  "It will last as long as you stay on the Moray" she said. "As long as you want it to. A month, a year, ten years, a week, even; it doesn't matter. A marriage is good only as long as both partners want it to last. And I want it to last, Earl. I want it to last a long, long time."

  She meant it, he decided, and found nothing objectionable about her or the idea. Lallia was all woman, a soft, yielding assembly of curves and tender flesh; but she was more than a sensuous animal designed to give pleasure. She was a crea shy;ture who had learned to survive, a fit mate for a lonely traveler, a woman who could tend a wound and live on scraps as well as wear fine gowns and dine with nobility.

  Someone, perhaps, with whom to make a home.

  He looked at her, reluctant to give up his dream of finding Earth, yet knowing that reality was preferable to a romantic quest. And yet need the dream be wholly discarded? Two could search as easily as one and it would be good not to have to travel alone.

  "Earth?" She pondered the question, white teeth biting at her lower lip. "No, Earl, I've never heard of it. A planet, you say?"

  "An old world, the surface scarred and torn by ancient wars, yet the interior holds a strange life. I was born there. I'm trying to get back."

  he frowned. "But if you left the place you must know where it is. How to get back. Surely you have the coordi shy;nates?"

  "No, Lallia, I haven't."

  "But-"

  "I was very young when I left," he interrupted. "I stowed away on a ship, frightened and desperate and knowing no better. The captain was an old man and treated me better than I deserved. He could have evicted me into space; in shy;stead he allowed me to join his crew under an oath of secrecy. That was a long time ago now and he is safely dead. I moved on, always heading deeper into the galaxy, moving from world to world towards the Center. And Earth has become less than a legend. The charts do not show it. No one has ever heard of it. The very name has become mean shy;ingless."

  "It must be a very long way away," she said quietly. "You must have traveled for a long time, Earl, my darling. So long that your home planet has become lost among the stars. And you want to find it again. But why? What is so special about the place you ran away from that you must find it again?"

  Dumarest looked down at his hands and then back to meet the level gaze of the woman. "A man must have some reason for living," he said. "And Earth is my home."

  "Home is where you make it, the place where you want to be." Her hand fell to his arm, pressed. "Mine is with you, Earl. It would be nice if you felt the same way about me."

  He said, quietly, "Perhaps I do."

  "Darling!"

  He felt the soft touch of her hair as she pressed against him, the smooth roundness of her cheek, the warmth of her full, red lips. Her hand rose, caressing his hair, his face, running over his shoulder and down his left arm, the fingers pressing, moving on. He heard the sharp intake of her breath as she touched his ring.

  "Lallia?"

  "I'm all right, Earl." She kissed him again then moved away, eyes curious as she looked at the gem on his hand. "When I touched that ring I felt the strangest sensation. It was as if I heard someone crying, sobbing as if their heart would break. Where did you get it, Earl?"

  "It was a gift."

  "From a woman?"

  He smiled at the sharpness of her voice. "It came from a woman," he admitted. "She is gone now."

  "Dead?"

  He nodded and she smiled, coming close to him again, a female animal purring her satisfaction.

  "I'm glad she's dead, Earl. I don't want to share you with anyone. I think I'd kill any woman who tried to take you from me. I know I'd kill anyone who hurt you. I love you, my darling, always remember that."

  Dumarest closed his arms around her as she again pressed close. She was a creature of emotion, as honest as her tem shy;perament allowed, with the fiercely possessive nature of a primitive. But was that so very bad? She would be true to him according to her fashion and who could do more than that? And she was his wife, married to him according to Web trader custom, jealous of her rights.

  "Earl?" Lallia stirred within the circle of his arms.

  "What is it?"

  "Nimino said that we're calling at Tyrann next Have you

  ever been there?"

  "No."

  "That's good." She purred, moving even closer, snuggling against him. "Neither have I. We can explore it together."

  Tyrann was a world of wind and scouring dust, of heat and eroded soil, a dying planet exploited for rare metals by men who looked with envious eyes at the beauty of the girl. A merchant, bolder than the rest, offered to buy her for the price of five High passages, doubling the offer when Dumarest refused.

  Lallia was thoughtful as he escorted her back to the Mo shy;ray. "You should have sold me, Earl. I could have sneaked out later and left the fool with nothing."

  "A man like that is no fool," said Dumarest curtly. "And I am not a seller of women."

  For the rest of their stay he kept Lallia within the con shy;fines of the ship while Sheyan negotiated a load of freight and Claude, happy in a tavern, stocked up on supplies.

  From Tyrann they went to Dreen, where they delivered their freight and sold the fish skins. From Dreen to Ophan, where they left the oil and singing crystals, buying manu shy;factured electronic components, capsules of medicine, and gaining three passengers: dour, silent men who refused to gamble despite Lallia's blandishments.

  The passengers and medicine were left behind on Frone as they plunged deeper into the Web. With them rode a dozen passengers bound for Joy.

  "I will take," said Yalung slowly, "one card."

  Dumarest dealt him the required card, relaxing a little as he threw in his own hand. The game was poker, the stakes running high, and they had been playing for twelve hours straight. He watched as Yalung bet, raised, was called, and raked in another pot. The dealer in precious stones had been a steady winner throughout the session.

  One of the players rose, shaking his head.

  "That's enough for me," he said. "Deal me out. I know when I'm outclassed."

  Dumarest scooped up the cards and shuffled, his eyes searching the faces of those who remained at the table. A miner, an engineer, a raddled woman who smelled of acrid spice, a seller of chemical dreams, and Yalung, who sat to his right. In the light their faces were taut masks of inner concentration.

  "The pot is ten," said Dumarest and, as chips were thrust forward, began to deal. "Openers are a pair of jesters or better."

  The miner passed, the engineer also, the woman opened for ten. The seller of dreams stayed and Yalung raised the bet to twenty. Dumarest took a quick look at his cards. A lord, a lady, two eights and a three.

  "Dealer stays."

  The miner dropped out and the engineer stayed, which meant that he had either passed on an opening hand or hoped to improve. The woman stayed as did the seller of dreams.

  "Discards."

  Dumarest watched the players as he poised the deck, not their faces, they w
ere schooled to display only desired emo shy;tion, but their hands which told more than their owners guessed. The engineer flipped his cards, moving one from one end of the fan to the others. Adding it to others of the same value? Arranging a sequence?

  "I'll take three."

  He held a pair then, probably of low value because he hadn't opened. Dumarest dealt and turned to the woman.

  "Two," she said.

  She had opened and must have at least a pair of jesters. A two-card draw meant that she might have three of a kind or was holding onto an odd card, hoping to make two pairs or more, or, more likely, in order to bluff. She hadn't raised Yalung's increase-unlikely if her hand had been strong.

  Beside her sat the seller of dreams. Envir had a thin, in shy;tent face, which told nothing, and hands which told little more. He moved a pair of cards, hesitated, then threw out his discards.

  "I'll take two," he said.

  Like the woman he could have either a pair or three of a kind. He could also be hoping to complete a flush or a straight, in which case he was fighting high odds.

  "One," said Yalung.

  He had not fiddled with his cards, his hands, like his face, unrevealing. He could have four to a flush or a straight, two pairs, three of a kind and an odd card, or even four of a kind.

  Dumarest threw out his own discards. "Dealer takes three."

  He let them lie, watching the hands of the others, the tiny, betraying tensions of their knuckles as they saw what they had drawn.

  "Twenty," said the woman. It was a safe, normal opening bet. Envir raised it.

  "Make that fifty."

  Yalung pushed chips into the pot. "I'll raise that fifty more."

  Dumarest looked at his cards. He had drawn another eight and a pair of ladies. A full house.

  "Dealer raises that by fifty."

  The engineer hesitated, scowling, then threw in his hand. The woman stayed. Envir cleared his throat.

  "Well, now, this promises to be fun. I'll just meet that last raise-and lift it another two hundred."

  "That's two hundred and fifty to stay," mused Yalung. "I'll raise by another hundred."

  Dumarest looked at the pot. It held over a thousand. If he raised it would give him a chance to raise again later- but both Envir and Yalung had seemed confident. The woman, he guessed, would drop out. Envir might stay, in which case the pot would go to the one with the best hand.

  "Dealer stays," said Dumarest.

  He thought he saw a shadow of disappointment cross Yalung's face, then turned his attention to the others. The woman, as he had guessed, threw in her cards, displaying the pair of jesters on which she had opened. Envir hesitated then made his decision.

  "I'll raise a hundred."

  "One hundred?" Yalung leaned forward, counting the chips in the pot. "There is just over seventeen hundred there," he mused. "According to the rules I am allowed to raise to the full extent of the pot. So I will do that. I meet your raise, my friend, and add another fifteen hundred." He smiled at Dumarest. "It will now cost the dealer sixteen hundred to stay. An interesting situation, is it not?"

  "No," said Dumarest flatly. "I cannot stay. I haven't the money."

  "But surely you have items of worth?" Yalung looked at Dumarest's hand. "That ring, for example. Shall we say a thousand?"

  It was a tempting proposition. Envir had drawn two cards and could be pushing his luck with a straight or flush, both of which he could beat. Yalung could be bluffing, using his money to buy the pot, also maybe holding a flush or straight. But, against that, Dumarest could only gain to one for his money if Envir dropped out and, if he raised, he would be unable to stay.

  "Dealer drops out," said Dumarest, and threw in his cards.

  He heard the quick intake of breath from those who stood around the table, Lallia among the watchers, Lin at her side.

  Envir sucked in his cheeks and slowly counted his chips. "Damn it," he said. "Damn all the luck. Well, to hell with it. I think you're bluffing." He pushed forward a pile of chips. "I'll see you!"

  Yalung slowly put three tens on the table. "Is that enough?"

  "Like hell it is!" The seller of dreams glowed his excite shy;ment. "I've got a flush. That means I win."

  "Not quite." Yalung put down the rest of his cards. An ace and another ten. "Four tens. The pot is mine, I think?"

  Envir cursed in his disappointment.

  VII

  joy was at carnival.

  Streamers of colored smoke hung in the air, luminous in the dying light, and from all sides rose the sound of music and gaiety. Tents, booths, collapsible shops, the open rings of combat and the closed enclaves of sensory titivation, jug shy;glers, tumblers, contortionists, men who promised eternal hap shy;piness, and harpies who roved, hard-eyed and falsely charm shy;ing, offering pleasure to those who had come to join in the fun.

  "We could do well here," said Lallia as she stood beside Dumarest at the head of the ramp. "When it gets really dark I could get to work. Drunken fools won't object to a

  woman's caress and they'll be too bemused to guard their pockets. With you to take care of any trouble we could clean up."

  "No," said Dumarest.

  "Why not?" Her tone was mocking. "Morals, lover?"

  "Sense. The risk is too great for the reward."

  "We need money," she insisted. "Your share is hardly enough to buy me some new clothes. Can you think of a better way to get it, Earl?"

  He ignored the question, looking instead at the ships lit shy;tering the field. Mostly they were old, battered, traders like the Moray, but a few were new and one was big. A vessel strange to the Web and one which could be heading Out shy;side. The woman at his side he walked towards it, climbing the ramp to the open port. Shadows moved within the dim interior and a man, neat in his uniform, eyes and face hard, stepped before him.

  "You want something?"

  "A berth if it's going."

  "You from the Moray?"

  "Yes," said Dumarest.

  "Then forget it," said the man. "There's no berth going especially to anyone from that hulk." He glanced at Lallia. "Your woman?"

  "His wife," said Lallia. "What have you got against the Moray?"

  "Personally, nothing," admitted the man. "But her reputa shy;tion stinks. If you'll take my advice you'll forget to mention her. Say you're from the Argos or the Deltara-both of those left just before the carnival."

  "I'll remember that," said Dumarest. "If you haven't got a berth then how about traveling Low?"

  "That might be possible." The man hesitated. "Look, I can't give you a definite answer until the captain tells me what space we'll have available. You'd better come back later-we're not due out for a couple of days yet but as far as I know if you can pay you'll get passage. Fair enough?"

  "Thanks," said Dumarest. "I'll be seeing you."

  He was thoughtful as he walked towards the edge of the field. The other ships would be similar, with only a single man in charge or locked while their crews went about their business or pleasure. Lallia touched his arm.

  "Did you mean that, Earl? About leaving, I mean?"

  "Yes."

  "And me?"

  She was worried, he could tell it by the way she clung to his arm, the expression in her eyes. "You'll come with me," he promised. "The Web is no place for a woman to be stranded."

  Her smile was his reward. "Thank you, lover. Now let's go and get ourselves some fun."

  They passed from the field into a welter of noise, con shy;fusion, and frantic activity punctuated by shouts, shrieks, and bellowing laughter. A procession weaved down the street, monstrous heads bobbing in fabricated distortion, voices echoing from the diminutive bodies.

  A troupe of zingart dancers spun and stamped, froth bubbling their lips, naked bodies scarred with symbolic designs. Their hair was fuzzed into gigantic balls, nose and ears pierced with skewers, bells around wrists, neck, and ankles. Two dwarfs scuttled beside them, collecting boxes rattling as they thrust them before the wat
chers.

  The zingart dancers were followed by a dozen flagellants, chanting as they each lashed the other with spiked whips. The flagellants passed and a host of women rotated bellies and breasts as they clustered around a tall, bearded an shy;chorite. After them came a cluster of masked and decorated figures, some with whips hanging from their wrists, others with tufts of spiked fur.

  Something exploded high above and the darkening sky shone brilliant with a gush of luminous stars.

  Dumarest followed Lallia as she pushed her way through the crowd. The lustrous mane of her hair reflected the color shy;ful embers above, their dying light illuminating her long legs as they flashed beneath the hem of her iridescent dress. A masked reveler, one of a group of the local nobility, caught her arm as she passed.

  "Come, my sweeting," he purred. "Such tender flesh should not pass uncaressed." He dropped both hands to her shoulders, forcing the material from her rounded breasts, his head dipping as he pressed his lips against her body.

  Dumarest paused, watching, his muscles tense. Lallia did not seem to object to the rough treatment. She laughed and pressed herself closer to the gaudy finery the man wore. And then suddenly he cried out and thrust her away.

  "Bitch! You she-devil! I'll teach you to hurt your betters!"

  His hand bent, caught the whip dangling from his wrist, raised it high to slash across her face. He cried out again as Dumarest caught the raised hand, his fingers closing hard against yielding bone.

  "You are excited, my lord," said Dumarest coldly. "I think it best that you take a little rest."

  Abruptly he pushed, catching the man off-balance, thrust shy;ing him to sprawl in the road among the feet of dancing monstrosities. He rolled, trying to avoid the kicks of en shy;larged feet, soiling his finery with dirt and liquid filth.

  Dumarest caught Lallia by the arm and urged her from the scene of the incident.

  Laughing she held up a purse. "You see, lover, how easy it is? That fool was too intent on what he wanted to miss this. When I had it I hit him where it hurts. Shall we do it again?"

  "No."

  "But, lover, we need the stake. Why miss the chance?" "He wasn't alone," said Dumarest. "And you are rather unmistakable. When he misses his money he will come look shy;ing and his friends with him. I don't think they will be very gentle if they find you."