by E. C. Tubb
"And he told you to be here an hour before sunset?"
"Yes." Cran was defensive. "I know you told us to stay hidden, but Aret came to town and I followed him. It's all right," he added. "A beggar told me what happened. He was shot by a guard."
"Killed?"
"He was dead when they took him to hospital. He didn't talk, Earl. He couldn't."
Or so the man believed. He wanted to believe as he wanted to hope in the chance of a passage, but on this ship, without money, that was impossible. Then why had the officer told him to be at the gate? Him and, perhaps, the others?
Dumarest remembered the handler, the man had seemed honest enough, but so would any actor playing a part. If he had lied-Dumarest's face tightened at the thought of it, but there would be time later for revenge. Now he sensed the closing jaws of a trap.
"Get away from here, Cran. Fast."
"Why?" Suspicion darkened the thin face. "You want to cut down the competition? Earl, I didn't think-"
"Shut up and move! I'm coming with you!"
There were more ways than one of getting on a field and, under cover of darkness, the fence could be scaled and the handler faced. Now he had to obey his instincts, the ingrained caution which had saved him so often before.
Casually he edged from the gate, his eyes searching the area. Men stood in casual attitudes in a wide semicircle all around, leaning on walls, apparently killing time, some talking, all dressed in civilian clothing. To one side a group were having trouble with a chelach, a bull, scraggy, the hide scarred, the tip of one horn broken. It snarled as it was driven with electronic probes, an animal being taken to slaughter-but why was it being driven toward the gate?
The trap closed before he had taken three strides.
Snarling, the animal reared, stung by electronic whips, goaded beyond the endurance of its savage temper. Turning, it was stung again, back hurting still more, only by running could it escape its tormentors. And before it rested the gate and the cluster of men.
They scattered as it came, some desperately trying to climb the fence, falling back from the mesh, which gave no hold for hands and feet. Dumarest dodged, feeling the blow of a horn, the plastic of his tunic slit as by a knife, only the metal mesh embedded with the material saving him from injury. Rolling where he fell he sprang to his feet, seeing Cran running, to be caught, gored, tossed high, to fall with his intestines trailing from his ripped stomach, dead before he hit the ground.
Barely pausing, the bull reared, pawed the ground, and then, like a storm, came directly toward him.
Again he dodged, the knife in his hand darting to draw blood from the scarred hide. A blow meant to hurt, not to kill, to sting and not to maim. He backed, moving away from the gate, the helpless men crouched, watchful.
The eyes were too well protected, the head solid bone. He could slash the throat, but there was no storm to confuse the beast, and too many were watching. The snout, he decided. The muzzle would be tender. Stab it and the beast would flinch. Continue and it would turn and head toward the town.
Like a dancer he faced it, the knife glittering in his hand, darting, withdrawing as he sprang aside from the horns, the tip now stained with blood, more smearing the muzzle, the lips drawn back from the gleaming teeth.
Again, a third time, then he heard the crack of shots, bullets slamming into the beast from the guns of uniformed guards.
Guns which leveled on his body as the animal fell.
* * *
"You betrayed yourself," said Ibius Avorot. "I want you to understand that. I also want you to understand that I am in no doubt that you killed the bull belonging to Owner Harada. It would simplify matters if you were to confess."
Dumarest said nothing, looking at the room to which he had been taken. It was bleak, relieved only by a bowl of flowers, a gentle touch at variance with the stark furnishings, the desk, the men who sat facing him. A man still young but with touches of premature gray showing at his temples. His uniform of ocher and green.
He was not alone. To one side sat a couple, the man older than the woman, Tien Harada and his sister Pacula. At the other sat Usan Labria, who had insisted attending the interrogation as an impartial observer. A demand Avorot could not refuse and to which Harada had been forced to agree. There must be no later suspicion of manipulated evidence-the matter was too important for that.
As the silence lengthened Avorot said, "Your name is Earl Dumarest. You arrived on Teralde on the trader Corade. From where?"
"Laconde."
"And before that?"
"Many worlds," said Dumarest. "I am a traveler."
"A drifter," snapped Tien Harada. "Useless scum causing trouble."
An interruption Averot could have done without. He said firmly, "With respect, Owner Harada, I am conducting this investigation. You are interested, I am sure, in determining the truth."
"The truth," said Harada and added pointedly, "Not your interpretation of it. I am fully aware that it would be most convenient if it was decided an outsider killed my bull."
An implied insult which Avorot chose to ignore. Glancing at the folder lying open before him on the desk he said to Dumarest, "Your planet of origin?"
"Earth."
"Earth?" Averot looked up. "An odd name for a world. I have never heard of it. But no matter. You understand why you are here and the charge made against you? It is that, on the night of the storm, you conspired with others to unlawfully slaughter a beast belonging to Owner Harada. The penalty for that is death."
Dumarest said flatly, "If I am guilty."
"Of course."
"And isn't there a matter of proof?"
"Naturally. Teralde is not a barbaric world and we observe the law. But there is proof. A confession was made before witnesses." Avorot glanced at Usan Labria. "You were named and implicated. Some meat was recovered and the contents of the stomach of the man killed before the gate contained more. He was your associate."
"Was," said Dumarest bitterly. "Did he have to die?"
"That was unfortunate, but it was essential to prove a point. Owner Harada found it hard to believe that a man could kill a chelach with only a knife. You showed him that it could be done."
And had shown his speed, the thing the dying man had mentioned, the incredibly fast reflexes which alone made such a thing possible. Leaning back, Avorot looked at the man before him. A hard man, he decided, one long accustomed to making his own way. Such a man would not willingly have starved.
Pacula said, "Commissioner, what you say is impressive, but surely there is doubt? The witness could have lied. What makes you so certain this is the man?"
"Because he fits the pattern, my lady."
"Pattern?"
"When the crime was reported I was faced with a choice of alternatives," Avorot explained. "An Owner could have been responsible for reasons we all know, but I could find no evidence against any of them. The alternative was that the animal had been killed solely for its meat. In that case a man of a special type had to be responsible. Consider what needed to be done. Men assembled, for he would have needed at least a guide and others to create a distraction. The fence cut, the beast killed and butchered, the meat transported to the Wilderness later to be dried in the sun."
"For what reason?"
"Food, my lady." Avorot masked his irritation. Why couldn't they see what to him was clear?
"But this man has money. He had no reason to steal."
Again she had missed the point and he took a pleasure in explaining how he had arrived at what could only be the true answer.
To Dumarest he said, "You are a clever man, shrewd and with courage, but you were unlucky. Those who deal with others always run the risk of betrayal, but it was one you had to take. Let us review the situation. You landed on Teralde with the price of a Low passage and within a matter of hours you discovered that work was unobtainable. Some men would have gambled and hoped to win, others would have used their money to buy food, but you know better than to do eith
er. Without money you would be stranded and a man who is desperate to win never does. What remained? How to survive with your money intact so as to buy a passage to another world? And how to build up your strength so as to survive a Low passage?"
Pacula said, "Commissioner?"
"A man needs to be strong to ride in a casket, my lady," said Avorot, not looking at her. "He needs fat on which to sustain his metabolism. Chelach meat is the most concentrated form of natural nourishment we know. A half pound can provide energy for a day. The dead beast provided enough to maintain a dozen men for weeks. You took a chance, Dumarest, but a good one. Simply to stay out of sight and save your money for when a ship came. To make those who had worked with you do the same. For you that would not have been difficult. The threat of your knife would have cowed them."
"You spoke of a witness," said Harada sharply.
"A man more greedy than the rest. I knew there would have to be such a one and took steps to take him when he appeared."
A pity. Pecula leaned forward in her chair, looking at the accused. He stood tall and calm, his face impassive, the lines and planes firm and strong. There was a strength about him, a hard determination which appealed to her femininity. Tien was strong also, but his strength was of a different kind. A thing of impatience and bluster, quick action and ruthless drive. Would he have killed a beast, knowing the penalties and the risks of betrayal?
She doubted it. He was not a gambler, his nature unable to calculate odds and chances. For him was the steady building, the setting of stone upon stone, each step taken only after inward searching. Anger, always ready to burst into flame, was his only weakness.
Avorot said, as if reading her mind, "You took a chance, Dumarest. Another day, a week at the most, and you would have been in the clear. A gamble you took and lost."
But one which wasn't yet over. Cran was dead, his body safe from pain, his tongue from betrayal. The other?
Dumarest said, coldly, "You spoke of a witness. As yet he hasn't appeared."
"There is no need. His testimony was given and recorded. Now, why not confess and save us all time? A full admission of your guilt may earn mercy from Owner Harada."
"Mercy? My bull slaughtered and you talk of mercy?" Tien's voice was an angry rumble. "If this man is guilty he will suffer the full penalty."
"If? Owner Harada, there is no doubt."
"And no proof," said Pacula quickly. "Where is the witness?"
Avorot said reluctantly, "He is dead, but-"
"Dead?" Tien rose, massive, his face mottled with rage. "Is this a game you are playing with me, Commissioner? Are you shielding those responsible? Owners who-"
"I represent the law," snapped Avorot sharply. "I do not take bribes or yield to influence. My only concern is in discovering the truth. It may not always be palatable, Owner Harada, but must be accepted. I've told you what happened to your beast. The man taken is dead but, as I was about to add, his testimony was given before a witness. One whose word, surely, you will accept. Owner Labria?"
For the first time Usan spoke. She said slowly, "What do you want me to say, Commissioner?"
"The truth. You were with me when I questioned the man. Tell Owner Harada what he said."
"He mumbled. He said something about killing a beast."
"And?"
"That's all I heard, Commissioner."
"What?" He stared at her, incredulous. "You were there, standing at my side, listening. You must have heard what was said."
"I heard only a mumble," she insisted. "I cannot lie when a man's life is at stake."
A lie in itself, and Avorot knew it, knew also that Harada would never accept his unsupported word. The man suspected that he was shielding others and only irrefutable proof would convince him otherwise. What game was the woman playing? What was Dumarest to her?
He said tightly, "My lady, I will ask you again. When I questioned the dying man what did he say?"
"I've told you."
"He mentioned a name. He spoke of how the beast was killed. You know it. You were there."
"I heard him mention no name," she said. "And I am not accustomed to having my word doubted, Commissioner. I have no doubt the beast was killed for food, as you say, but there is no evidence against this man."
A wall he couldn't break and a failure he was forced to accept-the taste of it was sour in his mouth. He had been made to look inefficient and a fool and Harada would be slow to forgive if he forgave at all. Avorot looked at the man standing beyond his desk.
Dumarest said, "Am I free to leave?"
"No." The case had taken on an added dimension and who could tell what deeper probing might reveal? "You will be held for further investigation."
"But not in jail." Usan Labria rose, her tone commanding.
"Play the inquisitor if you must, Commissioner, but spare the innocent. I will take charge of this man. Release him in my custody."
"Owner Harada, do you object?"
"Why should I? If he is innocent what does it matter? If he is guilty I know where to find him." Tien's voice deepened. "Make sure that I do, Owner Labria."
"You threaten me, Tien?"
"Take it as you will. Pacula, let us go. We have already wasted too much time on this farce."
Dumarest watched them leave, Avorot in attendance, then looked at the painted face of the old woman. Gently she touched a square of fabric to her lips.
"Let us understand each other," she said. "If you want to run there is little I can do to stop you, but you will never leave this world if you do. Any attempt you make to escape will be held as admission of your guilt. If caught you will be flayed and staked out in the sun."
"Do you think I am guilty, my lady?"
"I know you are."
"Then-"
"Why did I lie?" Her shrug was expressive. "What is Harada's bull to me? And I can use you. There is someone I want you to meet. His name is Sufan Noyoka and we dine with him tonight."
Chapter Four
He was a small man with a large, round head and eyes which gleamed beneath arched and bushy brows. His skin was a dull olive, pouched beneath the chin, sagging beneath the eyes. Like the woman he was old, but unlike her, had none of the stolidity of age. His eyes were like those of a bird, forever darting from place to place, he tripped rather than walked, and his words flowed like the dancing droplets of a fountain.
"Earl I am delighted you could accept my humble invitation. Usan, my dear, you look as radiant as ever. An amusing episode?" He grinned as the woman told what had happened. "Tien will not be pleased and, to be honest, I cannot blame him. That bull was dear to his heart. You should have been more selective, Earl. I may call you that?"
"If it pleases you, my lord."
"Such formality! Here we are all friends. Some wine? An aperitif before the meal? You wish to bathe? My house is yours to command."
Ancient hospitality, which Dumarest knew better than to accept at face value as he knew better than to accept the man for what he seemed.
Sufan Noyoka was, in many ways, an actor. A man who scattered conversational gambits as a farmer would scatter seed, watching always for an interesting reaction, ready to dart on it, to elaborate and expound, to probe and question. A man who used words as a mask for his thoughts, his apparent foolishness a defense cultivated over the years. To such a man much would be forgiven and his physical frailty would protect him from a challenge. A dangerous man, decided Dumarest, the more so because of his seeming innocence.
"When strangers meet who should be friends, a toast is appropriate," said Sufan. "Usan, my dear, perform the honors. Earl, when you killed that bull did you rely on luck or base your plan on judgment?"
"My lord?"
"You are cautious-that is wise, and the question was stupid. Luck had nothing to do with it. You have hunted in your time?"
"Yes."
"For food, of course, and for profit also, I imagine." Sufan accepted the glass the woman offered to him. It was small, elaborately engrave
d, filled with a pungent purple fluid. "A liqueur of my own devising, the recipe of which I found in an old book and adapted to local conditions. I had hoped to create a demand, but the essential herbs are scarce and I am too self-indulgent to sell that which I find so appealing. Usan, your health! Earl, to a long and pleasant association!"
The purple liquid held a smoldering fire, which stung the back of the throat and sent warmth from the stomach. Dumarest sipped, watching as the others drank, emptying his glass only when they had finished. An act of caution which Sufan Noyoka noted and admired.
"Earl," he said, "tell me a little about yourself. What brought you to Teralde?"
"The name."
"Of this world?" Sufan frowned. "It is a name, a label as are all names, but what of that? Were you looking for something? A friend? An opportunity to gain wealth? If so, you chose badly, as by now you are aware. There is little wealth on Teralde."
And what there was remained fast in the grip of jealous Owners. Dumarest looked at his empty glass, then at his host. A shrewd man who could have traveled and who must have known others who had. A chance, small but it had to be taken. Who could tell where the answer was to be found?
"I was looking for a place," said Dumarest. "A planet. My home world."
"Earth?" Usan Labria frowned. "Is there such a place? Sufan?"
"If there is I have never heard of it." The man crossed to a cabinet and took a thick almanac from a shelf, Dumarest waited as he studied it, knowing what he would find. "No such world is listed."
"Which means that it doesn't exist." Usan Labria helped herself to more of the pungent liqueur and took a pill from a small box she produced from a pocket. Swallowing it, she sipped and stood for a moment tense with strain. Then, relaxing, she added, "Earth? Why not call it dirt or sand? How can any world have such a name?"
"My world has it, my lady. And it exists, that I can swear. I was born on it." Dumarest looked at his hand. It was tight around the glass, the knuckles white, tendons prominent with strain. Deliberately he relaxed his grip, accepting the disappointment as he had been forced to accept it so often in the past. "It exists," he said again. "And one day I will find it."
