by E. C. Tubb
"If you remember, my lady," he said dryly, "I had little choice."
"True, but even so you will share in what we find. An equal share, I shall insist on it." For a moment she fell silent then said, "Earth. I keep remembering the name. Your world, you say, but if you want to return then why not simply book a passage?"
"Because no one seems to know where it lies."
"Then-"
"It exists," he said. "I was born on the planet and I know. I left when a boy, stowing away on a ship, not knowing the risk I ran. The captain was more than kind. He could have evicted me, instead he allowed me to work my passage. And, when he died, I moved on. World after world, each closer toward the Center, where worlds were thick and commerce heavy. Traveling deeper and deeper into space until even the very name of Earth was unknown. And then the desire to return, to find it again, to search and probe and, always, meeting with the blank wall of failure.
"A quest," she said. "An obsession perhaps, and now your reason for living. But why, Earl? What does it matter if you never find it? Surely there are other worlds on which you can settle? You could marry, have children, build a family. Has there never been one woman who could have won you from your dream?"
More than one, but never had more than the temptation lasted. Looking down at her he thought of Lallia, of Derai, of Kalin with the flame-colored hair. Kalin who had loved him and who had given him more than life itself.
The secret for which the Cyclan had hunted him from world to world. Would still be hunting him. Would never cease until they had regained the secret stolen from their laboratory on some isolated world.
The secret which would give the old woman the thing she yearned to possess.
Only he knew the sequence in which the molecular units had to be arranged to form the affinity-twin. Fifteen units, the last reversed to determine dominant or submissive characteristics. A combination which could be found by trial and error, but the possible number of arrangements ran into millions and it would take millennia to make and try them all. Too much time for the Cyclan to contemplate when, once in their hands, the answer could be found.
And, once found, it would give them power incredible in its scope.
The artificial symbiote injected into the bloodstream would nestle in the base of the cortex and take over control of the entire nervous and sensory system. The brain holding the dominant half would mesh with and take over that of the host. The effect, to the dominant mind, would be that it had acquired a new body. Used by the Cyclan the brain of a cyber would reside in each and every person of influence and power. They would be puppets moving to the dictates of the Master Plan.
Power-a bribe no old man would refuse, no old woman could resist. He had it-if Usan Labria knew, would she hesitate to betray him for such a reward?
"Earl?" She frowned as she watched his face. "Your eyes-have I offended you?"
"No. I was thinking of something else."
"A woman?" Her smile was grotesque. "If I were younger I could be jealous. Many women must have envied the one close to your side. Perhaps one day-" She broke off, then ended, "It was good of you to visit me, but I must not take all of your time. Pacula could need attention. You know why she is with us?"
"No. Why?"
"That she will tell you if she wants. Ask her, Earl. Talk to her. She needs someone she can trust."
* * *
Sufan Noyoka had done well. Dumarest had expected the ship to be old, scarred, the hull patched, the decks scuffed and the bulkheads grimed, a hulk little better than scrap. Instead, while small, the Mayna was clean and in good condition. A vessel a Mangate could have owned or one used by a wealthy family for private transportation. Its cost must have been high-proof of Noyoka's dedication to his ideal as the crew was visible evidence of his power of persuasion.
A small crew, a captain, a navigator and an engineer. They together with the two women and Noyoka himself formed the complement together with Dumarest and a man who liked to play with cards.
Marek Cognez was a slender man with a spurious appearance of youth, his features finely pointed, the lips full and sensuous. A man almost womanish in the soft richness of his clothing, the delicate bone structure of his face and hands. His fingers were long, tapered, the nails trimmed and polished. A heavy ring glowed on the index finger of each hand, the stones elaborately carved, the bands wide.
He sat at the table in the salon, Pacula at his side, the cards in his hands making a soft rustling noise as he shuffled.
"Come and join us, Earl. A diversion to pass the time."
Pacula said, "How is Usan?"
"Awake. With food and rest she will be on her feet soon."
"Another female to grace the company. Well, any amusement would be welcome. Our captain is engrossed with his instruments and Noyoka keeps our navigator busy with plans and suggestions. A union I find suspicious. If two heads are better than one then should not three be better than two?"
"Your time will come later, Marek," said Pacula. "It doesn't take your genius to cross empty space."
"But to find the answer to a puzzle?" Marek smiled as she made no answer. It held a little genuine amusement. "Well, each to his own. Some to provide money in order to obtain the ship, others to run it, one to discover how time and opportunity can be merged to achieve the desired result. And you, Earl? What is your purpose?"
"Does he need one?" Pacula was sharp and Dumarest sensed she had no liking for the man. "You ask too many questions, Marek."
"How else to gain answers? For all things there is a reason and, knowing them, a pattern can be formed. You, for example, my dear. Why should your brother have thought you bound for Heidah? A lie compounded by Noyoka's hints and agreement. And why should a vessel have landed just before we left carrying a cyber?"
Dumarest said, "Are you sure of that?"
"Can anyone mistake the scarlet robe?" Marek was bland. "A routine visit perhaps, who can tell? The pieces of a puzzle or elements unessential to the pattern? Perhaps the cards will tell."
They made a sharp rapping as he tapped them on the table, shuffled, cut and slowly dealt. Pursing his lips he looked at the exposed card.
"The Lord of Fools. Symbolic, don't you think? On this ship all are fools. But who is the Lord, Earl? Who is the biggest? Can you tell me that?"
His voice was soft yet holding a note of irony as if he expected to be challenged. As if he hoped to be challenged.
Dumarest said, "If you think we are fools then why join us?"
"Because life itself is a game for fools. You doubt it? Consider, my friend, what is the essence of being? We are born, we live for a while, and then, inevitably, we die. Which means, surely, that the object of existence is to reach an end. Does it matter how soon that end is reached? If the object of a journey is to arrive at a destination then why linger on the way?"
Philosophical musings with which Dumarest had little patience. As he made no answer Pacula said, "Tell us."
"Students kneeling at the feet of a master-my friends, you surprise me. Is it so hard to venture an answer? For the fun of it, try."
"To enjoy the scenery," said Dumarest shortly. "To ease the path for those who follow."
"Which assumes that those who went before cared about us who come after. The facts are against you, my friend." Marek turned another card. "The Queen of Desire. A fit mate for the Lord of Fools. But to which of the women we carry does the card apply? You, Pacula? Or to the one who lies in her cabin engrossed in erotic dreams?"
"How can you say that!" Pacula radiated her anger. "Usan is old and-"
"Have the old no desires?" Marek, unruffled, fired the question. "Why else is she with us? But it seems I tread on delicate ground. Even so, let us ponder the matter. Usan Labria is, as you say, old, but I have seen older toss away their pride and dignity when the demands of the flesh grow too strong. Is she such a one? What do you say, Earl?"
"You had better change the subject."
"And if I do not?" For a moment their e
yes met and Pacula felt a sudden tension, broken when, smiling, Marek shrugged and said, "Well, no matter. Earl, shall we play?"
"Later, perhaps."
"A diplomatic reply. Not a refusal, not a promise, simply meaningless words. Do I offend you?"
"No."
"And if I did, would you fight?"
Dumarest said coldly, "Such talk is stupid and you are not a stupid man. Why did you join us?"
"Because life is a game and it is my pleasure to win at games. Balhadorha is a puzzle, a challenge to be solved, and I mean to solve it. Are you answered?"
"For now, yes."
"And our captain. You have met Rae Acilus, what do you think about him? Is he the Lord of Fools?"
The captain, like his ship, was small, compact, neatly clean. A man with hooded eyes and thin lips, his hands alone instruments of emotion; the fingers twitching sometimes at rest, more often curled as if to make a fist. A taciturn man who had said little, accepting Dumarest after a searching glance of the eyes, having him fill the vacant place of steward.
"A case could be made for it," continued Marek, touching the card with a slender finger, light glowing from his ring. "Greed makes fools of us all and Acilus is no exception. He was ambitious and hoped for rapid gain. He took command of a ship carrying contract workers to a mining world. A slave ship in all but name and he saved on essential supplies. There was an accident, the hull was torn and-can you guess the rest?"
"Tell me."
Marek shrugged. "Not all could hope to survive. Our captain, faced with a decision, evicted seventy-three men and women. Naturally they had no suits. Sometimes, when asleep, he cries out about their eyes."
Truth or a facile lie? Dumarest remembered the man, his masked face, the way he had held himself, the hands. The story could be true, such things happened, but true or not it made little difference. The journey had started, they were on their way.
He said, "So he hopes to get rich and regain his self-respect. Is that what you are telling me?"
"You are not concerned? Our ship captained by a killer?"
"Is he a good captain?"
"One of the best, but is that your only interest?" Marek looked thoughtful. "It seems that you have something in common. Let us see what it could be." He touched the cards and held one poised in his fingers. "Your card, my friend. Which will it be?"
It fell to lie face upward, the design clear in the light That of the Knave of Swords.
* * *
Dumarest heard the knock and rose to open the door of his cabin, stepping back as Pacula Harada stepped inside. She was pale, her eyes huge in the oval of her face, the small lines of age making a barely perceptible mesh at their corners. Beneath the gown she wore her figure was smoothly lush, the breasts high, the hips wide. A mature woman less young than she looked, but now one distraught.
"Earl, I must talk to you."
"About what?"
"You. Marek. That card."
"It meant nothing."
"So you say, but how can I be sure? And to whom else can I turn? Sufan is busy and Usan asleep. I feel alone on this ship and vulnerable. I thought I could trust you, now I'm not so sure. Marek-"
"Can you trust him?"
"I don't know. He is brilliantly clever and, I think; a little insane. Perhaps we are all insane. My brother would have no hesitation in saying so. He thinks I am mad. That's why he gave me money to go to Heidah and have my mind treated to remove painful memories. He meant to be kind, but how can he understand? How can anyone?"
"Pacula, be calm."
"I can't. I've been sitting, alone in the dark, thinking, remembering. Culpea, my child! Culpea!"
He caught her as she collapsed in a storm of weeping, guiding her to the cot, forcing her to sit on the edge, dropping beside her with his arm around her shoulders, holding her tight until the emotion climax had passed.
Then, as she dabbed at her eyes, he said quietly, "Culpea?"
"My child. My daughter."
"And?" He gripped her shoulders as she remained silent and turned her to look at him. "Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me."
For her good, not his, a catharsis to ease her inner torment. Hurtful memories, nursed, could fester and gain a false eminence. It was better she should speak and, until she did, he was powerless to say or do anything which could help.
"It was eight years ago," she said dully. "Culpea was four. Tien had brought us both to Teralde after Elim had died. He had never really forgiven my having married a stranger and was glad to get us back where he said we belonged. Perhaps he was right, on Lemach there was little to hold us, just the house, some memories, a grave. Oh, Elim, why did you die?"
A question asked by women since the dawn of time and for which there was no answer. Dumarest waited, patient, silent, his strength not his words giving her the courage to continue.
"Tien was ambitious," she continued, her voice calm now, as dull as before. "He wanted to extend his holdings and we went with him to examine some land to the east. He wanted my opinion and we flew on to the foot of the mountains. We left the others in a second raft, Culpea, her nurse, some guards. It seemed safe enough, the air was still, and who would want to injure a child?"
"And?"
"Our examination took longer than expected. The others must have tried to follow us. We-" She broke off, swallowing. "We found their raft. The nurse was dead, the guards also, but there was no sign of the child. I searched-God, how I searched-but found nothing. Eight years," she ended. "An eternity."
And one on which it would be unwise to brood, the long, empty years, the hope which never died, the forlorn conviction that, somewhere, somehow, the girl continued to exist. Dumarest sensed her pain.
He said, "What happened? Did the raft crash?"
"Who knows? We found it broken and wrecked. The nurse was in a crevass, the guards scattered. None were missing but all were dead. Tien went to summon help and he and others combed the area. Nothing was found, but he insisted that Culpea must have fallen into a crevass. Some of them are very deep and impossible to investigate."
"But you didn't believe that?"
"No." She straightened, turned, defiant as she met his eyes. "I think that she still lives. Someone must have taken her. Sufan-"
"He was there?"
"It was his land we were examining. Later he sold it to Tien. His raft landed as we searched and he joined us. It was he who found the nurse."
"And nothing else?" Dumarest explained as she stared blankly. "Did he spot another raft? Men on foot who could have had the child with them? No? Was a demand ever made for ransom?"
A stupid question-if it had, it would have been proof the girl lived-but he asked it with deliberate intent.
"No," she said reluctantly. "None. Not then or since."
"Which eliminates kidnappers. Did your husband have enemies?"
"No. He was a quiet man. I met him when he came to Teralde and we left together. Tien was surprised, he had thought me too old to attract a man, but he made no objection."
"What was his name? What did he do?"
"Elim? He was of the Shalada and worked in the biological institute on Lemach. He came to Teralde with a cargo of genetically mutated chelach. We met at a reception and later in the dark." Her laughter was strained. "It was odd, I couldn't see a thing, but to him the night was as clear as day. He teased me a little, describing how I looked and the movements I made. He was gentle and I was flattered and I loved him. Five years," she said bleakly. "Such a short time for happiness."
"Many have less," said Dumarest. "How did he die?"
"A rumor. He woke crying from the pains in his head and was dead before morning. The doctors said it was a virulent growth of exceptional malignancy. For a while I worried about Culpea, but there was no need. The condition was not hereditary." She inhaled, her chest swelling, her breasts rising beneath her gown. "An old story and one which must bore you. What interest can you have in a lost child?"
He dodged the question. "Is that w
hy you are with us?"
"If Sufan is right Balhadorha will provide all the money I need to continue the search. And I must continue it, Earl. I must know what happened to my child. If she is dead I must find what remains of her body. If alive I must discover where she is. I must!"
"And you will."
"Do you humor me?" She looked at him, face hard, eyes reflecting her anger. "Many have done that. Some men wonder why I did not marry again and have another child. The answer is simple-I cannot. It happens to some women. Earl. One child is all they can bear. That is why Culpea is so important to me-she is the only child I will ever have."
And then, suddenly, her anger broke to leave nothing but a distraught woman blindly reaching for the comfort he could give.
"Earl, help me! For the love of God, help me!"
Chapter Seven
Timus Omilcar bent over the exposed interior of the generator and made a minor adjustment. Without looking up he said, "Earl?"
Dumarest called out the readings on the dials set in the console, adding, "That's optimum, Timus."
"And as good as we can get." The engineer straightened, satisfied. Closing and sealing the dust cover of the unit he wiped his hands on a cloth and reached for a bottle. "Join me?"
"Just a little."
"Why be so cautious?" Wine gurgled as the man poured a generous measure into each of two glasses. "On the Mayna each man is as good as the next. We're all partners. To success, Earl-by God, it's time some came my way."
He was a big man, thick-set, hair growing in thick profusion on his body and arms, more resting in a tangled mat on his head. Red hair, curled, reflecting the light in russet shimmers. His face was a combination of disaster, the nose squashed, eyebrows scarred, the lobe of one ear missing. An ugly man with the appearance of a brutal clown but whose hands held magic when it came to dealing with machines.
"A half percent added efficiency," he said, lowering his half-empty glass. "So much for those who swore the generator couldn't be improved."
"Who?"
"The engineers on Perilan." He squinted at Dumarest. "You don't know the history of this ship, eh? Interested?"
