by E. C. Tubb
To Kusche he said, "How long has it been since you saw Volodya?"
"Not long. He took me to the casket to wait until it opened-that was about fifteen minutes. Then you had that bath and we talked."
"And before that?"
"When he asked me the question? About five hours."
"Was he serious?"
"Yes." Kusche was emphatic. "I know it sounds crazy but it's the truth. One question-and I couldn't think of a single answer!"
But he had talked his way out of the necessity of answering, or Volodya had spared him to cushion his own shock of waking. To be what he had claimed, a mentor, friend and guide. But why?
Dumarest shook his head, irritated by the music, the whispering chords with their associations. A danger he recognized, and he forced himself to relax. Uncontrolled anger could lead to fatal errors, and if Kusche was telling the truth he would need all his wits. But there was no reason to play the game according to an opponent's rules.
He said, "We're supposed to sit and wait and sweat. Well, to hell with them. Got a deck?" He took the cards Kusche produced. "What shall it be?"
"Man-in-between."
Dumarest dealt: a ten to his left, a four to his right, a lady between the two. "High wins." A lord to his left, a trey to his right, a seven last. "Man-in-between." A jester and two eights. "High wins." A pair of nines and a deuce. "Low wins."
An easy, monotonous, boring game. Before he had dealt the pack three times the door opened and Urich Volodya entered the room.
He was tall with a slender grace and a carriage dictated by position and breeding. A man with the long, flat muscles of a runner and the sharp features of a questing idol. The nose was thin, beaked, the eyes hooded beneath jutting brows. The chin was strong as was the mouth, the line of the jaw. A high forehead was made higher by a mane of fine dark hair which rested in neat curls on a peaked skull. His clothing was somber but rich. He radiated an almost tangible sense of power and authority.
Ignoring him, Dumarest turned over another card.
"Ace," he said. "High wins."
Kusche was uneasy. "Earl, we're not alone."
"I know that. You want to make your bet or answer a stupid question?" Dumarest finished the deal. "Low wins."
"Earl Dumarest," said Volodya. "So you think my question was stupid?"
"It is always stupid to threaten a man's life." Dumarest dropped the cards and rose to face the visitor. "He could take offense," he explained mildly. "He could even decide to do something about it."
"Such as getting in first?"
"It could happen."
"But not here and not to me. Surely it isn't necessary for me to point out that I am not unprotected? Lift a hand against me and those watching will burn it from your arm. Need I say more?"
A possible bluff but the man could be speaking the truth; his arrogance indicated he was. He seemed to have the conviction, too, that all men held life above all other considerations-a fault which had caused many rulers to run blindly to their destruction.
"Before we continue our discussion let me point out certain facts," continued Volodya. "For one, you are guilty of trespass in that you used a casket not your own without permission. For another, you are here without invitation. For a third, you are both an inconvenience. Zabul is a private place and we do not welcome visitors. Still less do we relish gossip and idle conversation which could lead to unwanted curiosity. However, we try to be just. We could have destroyed you without hesitation-instead we offer a chance for survival. Do you still consider the question to be stupid?"
Dumarest said, "You want me to give you one good reason why I should be allowed to stay alive. Is that it?"
"Why you should both be allowed to stay alive," corrected Volodya. "Your friend has abrogated his right of reply to you. A heavy burden, but a fair one. If a man cannot justify his existence then why should he demand the right to continue it?"
"Demand of whom? God?"
"Here, in this place, as Guardian of the Terridae, I have the power of life and death over all in the domain of Zabul. You would do well to believe that. To believe also in the seriousness of your situation." Volodya paused. "You have three minutes in which to think of your answer."
Three minutes in which to prepare for death and Dumarest knew it. The answer wanted was one not even a trained philosopher could supply. Volodya was playing a game to ease his conscience or to enhance his standing in his own eyes. To act the god. To cater to a sadistic trait even though he would be the first to deny it.
From behind him Kusche whispered, "Think of something, Earl. For God's sake-he means it!"
Dumarest sagged a little, his right hand lowering, fingers nearing the hilt of the knife carried in his boot. A forlorn defense but if he was to die then he would do his best to take Volodya with him. To kill the Proud Guardian of the Terridae despite-
The Terridae?
Dumarest felt the cold shock of belated recognition. The ending implied resemblance. An affinity with what went before. Terr. Terra?
The Terra was another name for Earth!
"Two minutes," said Volodya.
Dumarest ignored him as he considered the implications. The caskets decorated with their symbols; the signs of the zodiac which signposted Earth. Caskets used by the Terridae? Guarded by others of the same conviction?
Would Volodya willingly destroy his own?
"One minute," he said and Dumarest heard the sharp intake of Kusche's breath. The mutter of his barely vocalized prayer. "Fifty-five seconds." An eternity, and then, "I must insist on your answer."
Dumarest had to be correct or die. Killing as he died but tasting the bitter irony of losing what he had searched for so long to find in the final moment of success.
He said, "I do not beg for life-I demand you give it. Demand, too, your hospitality and protection-things it is your duty to provide. For I am of Earth." A pause then, in a tone which held the rolling pulses of drums, Dumarest continued, "From terror they fled to find new places on which to expiate their sins. Only when cleansed will the race of Man be again united."
The creed of the Original People-and his hope of life!
At his side Marya Seipolda said, "Earl, I'm the most fortunate girl here to have won you in the draw. I hope you don't mind."
A compliment which Dumarest returned, to be rewarded with a smile.
"Do you mind if I hold your arm? You're so tall, so hard and strong!" Her fingers rested like delicate petals on his sleeve. "Once, when I was very young, I knew a man like you. I forget his name but he was a technician. He died, I think. He must have died."
As she had lived, to walk now at his side, looking young and fragile, seeming almost to float as they walked down a corridor carpeted with soft green, the walls adorned with the depiction of shrubs and flowers and brightly winged butterflies. A scene in which she belonged; her face held the planes and lines of an elfin beauty, the lips small yet full, the jaw barely defined, the eyes too large beneath brows too high. Her hair was a skein of fine gold which rested like a delicate mist on her neatly rounded skull. An unformed face, as she had an unformed body. One looking as if fresh-made and waiting for the stamp of experience. It was hard to realize that she was three times his age.
"I hate the times of Waking," she said. "It's such a waste but the Elders insist on it. They say we have to exercise at times and renew our contact with reality. Such nonsense! Who wants reality when it is so much more fun to lie and dream? When the Event happens, of course, things will be different." A shadow marred the soft beauty of her face. "Will it happen soon, Earl? I've waited so long! Will it happen soon?"
The Event. The time when Earth would be discovered. The moment the Terridae waited for locked in the safe comfort of their caskets. A thing Volodya had explained as he had issued a warning.
"I must accept your claim but the final decision must rest with the Council. A keen mind, a lucky guess, a scrap of accidentally acquired knowledge-these things could mean little. But, in the mea
ntime, you are free to enjoy Zabul."
A freedom curtailed by invisible bars; watchers who blocked passages, who steered him from one point to another with casual deftness. Jailers who, while always polite, were always at hand. Others had not been so reticent and Marya had been among them. Now, happy with her prize, she guided him to the great hall.
It held an assembly of ghosts.
They sat in a pale, blue light at long tables heaped with a variety of delicacies placed on salvers between flasks of scented wine. Their clothing was simple, lacking hard, strong colors: loose robes which masked their bodies and gave them a common appearance, enhanced by the impression of fragility, of age arrested, of life spent in small and measured doses. A blend of men and women covering a wide span of apparent age: dotards sitting with nymphs, striplings with crones. Their conversation rustled as if the words were brittle leaves stirred by the wind. Among them the Guardians looked like creatures of steel, men and women filled with the pulse of life, their eyes lacking the general vagueness, set on the present and not on some far distant future.
As Dumarest entered the hall one came toward him. She was tall, with a mane of burnished hair, the bright copper in strong contrast to the gossamer gray and silver white, the pale gold and amber, the delicate strands of black and brown borne by the Terridae.
"Earl Dumarest!" She held out her right hand, palm upward, smiling her pleasure as he touched it with his own. "The old greeting, I'm glad you know it. I'm Althea Hesford. What do you think of our world?"
He said dryly, "From the little I've seen of it, it seems an interesting place."
"A diplomat. You know how to be tactful. Urich said as much." She glanced at Marya. "Fydor has been looking for you, my dear. Why don't you join him?"
"I'm with Earl."
"You can see him later."
"But I won him!"
"He knows that. Do you want Fydor to be unhappy?" She smiled as the girl hurried away, losing the smile as she looked at Dumarest. "What do you think of our charges?"
"Entrancing."
"Unusual would be a better word." Her eyes hardened a little. "Why don't you say it?"
"Say it for me."
"They are too ignorant, too childish, too damned stupid and too damned weak. Right?"
Dumarest said mildly, "I would have called them innocent. Is that such a bad thing?"
"No, I guess not." Her eyes softened as again she smiled. "I think I like you, Earl Dumarest."
"And I you, Althea Hesford. Are you my new jailer?"
"Let's just say that I'm your companion. Have you eaten? Taken wine? Is there anything you would like to know that I can tell you? Above all I'd like for you to be comfortable and at ease."
"The condemned man was given a hearty breakfast," he said and explained as he saw the puzzlement in her eyes. "A custom on many worlds. A man due to be executed is given a final meal."
She thought about it for a moment then said, "A stupid custom. Why waste food on a man when it can do him no good?"
"Why be polite to someone you intend to kill?"
This time she needed no time for thought. "Earl, is that what you think? That we are going to destroy you? Surely Urich explained. You are to be tested, that is all. A formality to ensure you are what you claim to be. You can appreciate the reason. No Outsider can be tolerated here. Zabul is for the Terridae."
"And those who look after them?"
"Naturally. How could they survive without our protection?" She reached for a flask of wine, lifting it, setting it down as he shook his head. A salver of cakes followed as he again rejected the offering. "It's a question of finance," she continued. "Of maintenance and supply. Of increase, too, that it's impossible to breed while lying locked in boxes. We serve and we guard."
"From choice?" Dumarest saw the faint pucker between her brows. "Could you lie in a casket if you wanted?"
"Oh, I see what you mean." Her laughter held the amused innocence of a child. "Of course I could. In fact I have my own box and use it at times when in danger of getting bored. It's pleasant to lie and sleep and dream and wake feeling young and refreshed. One day I'll be like the others and stay longer in the casket. When I'm getting old and frightened of death. And it would be nice to witness the Event."
Nice?
To witness her millennium-nice?
A word she could have used because there was none to describe what the Terridae yearned to happen-or had the understatement been deliberate? Dumarest reached for a spiced morsel and turned to catch the emerald glint of her eyes beneath the arched copper of her brows, a shrewdness which dissolved into casual interest as he bit into the fragment.
"Nice? Try this, Earl." She lifted a decorated pot containing an aspic tinted a delicate pink and filled with segments of some sea creature. "Mordon," she explained. "An eel which lurks in deep water among fissured rocks. Its bite can kill."
"So you have oceans on Zabul?"
"We have everything the universe can provide on Zabul." Again he caught her watchful, calculating glance. "Everything but the most important. That can only come from one place."
"Earth."
"Of course." She ate a portion of eel with the neat fastidiousness of a feline and waited until he had finished his own. "More? No? You are wise. To gain maximum enjoyment it is best to sample as wide a variety as possible and not to become replete on a single item." She moved down the table, looking, touching, finally selecting a small cone which, when broken, emitted an acrid perfume. "Ghanga buds," she explained. "Their perfume cleans the palate and sharpens the appetite." She proffered the bowl and set it down as Dumarest shook his head. "Do I bore you?"
"No."
"You mean that?"
He said, "Novelty is never boring and, to me, you are novel."
"As you are to me, Earl. There is so much I want to ask you. So many things I want to talk about. Later perhaps?"
"Why not now?"
"There isn't time." She echoed a genuine regret. "I have to take you before the Council."
Chapter Nine
They sat around a table in a long, low chamber decorated with a frieze of running animals, all in softly glowing colors. Diffused lighting softened their faces, blurring the sharply etched lines of age, the sunken eyes, the mouths grown taut with the passing of years. Among them Urich Volodya looked young, Althea little more than a child. Dumarest could almost smell the dust of antiquity.
Vole opened the proceedings. He sat hunched in his chair, the plate resting before him bearing his name. One name, and the plate was matched by others, each before a figure in a chair. Dumarest wondered at the need-had their memories grown so unreliable? Or did they, as did so many others exercising authority, believe that to be harsh and Spartan was to be efficient?
"We the Council of Zabul and the Guardians of the Terridae are assembled to determine the truth of your claim to be of Earth." Vole had a voice which matched his face: thin, dry, the words sharply delineated. "Althea Hesford will act as your adviser and explain any points of which you may be in doubt. You know the penalty should we not be satisfied."
Dumarest said flatly, "Why do you think I am lying?"
"That charge has not been made."
"Yet it is implied. This assembly is proof of that." Dumarest glanced from one to the other. "You believe in the existence of Earth but I have no need of belief. I know it is no legend. I know it is real. I know-you understand? I know!"
Gouzh said dryly, "We of the Guardians are not as inexperienced as our charges. We know that attack is often the best form of defense."
"I was not making an attack but stating my position."
"Even so, flat statements mean little. It is best to examine the evidence piece by piece. Tell us of the Original People."
A test-they must know the answer; Volodya's forbearance was proof of that.
Without hesitation Dumarest said, "They are a sect of minor importance to be found on various planets. They cultivate secrecy and neither seek nor welcome converts.
The main tenet of their belief is that Mankind originated on a single world, Earth, and that after cleansing by tribulation the race will return to the world of its origin." He added, "I could give you greater detail but would prefer not to."
"Why? Are you of them?"
"I was accepted by them."
"And wish to respect their confidence." A woman, Logan, spoke from where she sat. "Do you follow their belief?" Her voice sharpened as he made no answer. "Do you?"
A trap? Did they adhere to the same faith? On the face of it, even to surmise that all the widespread branches of the human race could have originated on one, single world was ridiculous. Environment governed appearance, together with genetic mutation, and how could black and brown, yellow and copper and white, all have shared the same air, the same sun?
Althea came to his rescue. She said, "Earl Dumarest is not being tested as to his beliefs but for the truth of his claim regarding his planet of origin."
"A good point." Haren backed her objection. "We must be fair." To Dumarest he said, "What proof have you that you were born on Earth, as you claim?"
"What proof will you accept? The verdict of a lie-detector? If so I am willing to cooperate in such interrogation."
Logan said quietly, "The results may not be conclusive. A man convinced he is telling the truth will register as truthful. That is not to say the truth is what he claims."
"Conditioning? Delusion?" Haren frowned and glanced at Volodya. "Is it possible?"
Gouzh spoke before Volodya could reply. "Of course it is! Logan is right-and remember it was Dumarest himself who suggested the test. To me this is indicative of the fact he knows he must pass it. In turn this could mean he has been prepared for such an examination. My vote is-"
"There will be no vote!" Volodya spoke for the first time. "This assembly will be conducted according to established precedent. Only after a full investigation has been made will a decision be reached." He added coldly, "I suggest that certain members of the Council should strive for greater objectivity."