by E. C. Tubb
The man who held the answer to Kalova's dearest wish; the secret he held would provide the Maximus with a young, virile body. The affinity twin which could make Kalova the dominant part, using the host's body as if it were his own, sensing, feeling, a seeming part of the subject. Active life extended via a line of host-subjects. New bodies for old-a bribe no man could refuse, no aging woman resist.
If the Cyclan regained it a cyber's mind would now be in Kalova's body, dominating his own subdued intelligence, making the Maximus nothing but a puppet of flesh and blood and bone. A fact he dared not reveal; if Kalova even suspected it he would stop at nothing to capture Dumarest for his own ends.
Zao said in his even monotone, "The man is nothing to you, my lord, that is true, but the crime he committed against the Cyclan must not remain unpunished. He must be taken and your help would be more than appreciated."
And the converse would apply. Kalova resumed his pacing, brow creased in thought. To aid the Cyclan would bring rich rewards as had already been promised; a hint of surgical techniques to recapture a new vitality, drugs to combat the advance of age. A bonus to be added to the power which kept him Maximus. To defy them was to invite ruin and death.
What had Dumarest done to arouse such determination?
"I cannot be blamed, Cyber." Kalova paused to touch a hanging chime, small sounds rising to echo his words. "You had rafts and men commanded by an officer of your choice. The permission to search my northern holdings was unnecessary and events proved it. My own guards would have taken the fugitives had yours not argued the matter. A stupidity compounded by your commander."
A fool, who had paid the price of his folly. Kline was better dead but still questions remained.
Kalova shrugged when they were asked. "The officer, driver, marksman and signaler were killed but the observer was found alive. The fugitives did not open fire-they returned it. Hardly a crime. Those in the other rafts obeyed their original instructions and took no potentially harmful action. In any case they had no choice once the chase had left the north and Dumarest was crossing other holdings. Not even I can violate another's rights."
The code would destroy him should he break it, which made it impossible to send a task force to snatch Dumarest from the church; should it be tried, every holder would rise in protest. A hundred and forty-seven of them each with rafts and men and guns. Each determined to protect his rights.
"She'll make the exchange," said Kalova. He touched the chime again, waited for the tinklings to fade. "She's greedy and worried and aware of just how vulnerable she is if I choose to move against her. The last conflict hurt her and she'll be wary of taking risks. Just give her time to think about it. She'll do as we want."
"And if she defies you, my lord?"
A stab at his pride and the result Zao had intended. Those cursed with the burden of emotion could be manipulated like dolls.
"I'll break her!" Kalova slashed his hand at the hanging chimes and left shattered crystal to litter the carpet. The blow lacerated the skin of his hand, minor wounds he did not feel as he remembered her smile, the lilt of her voice, her barely masked contempt. He was the Maximus and should be obeyed! Would be obeyed! "I'll ruin her!"
Bowing, Tobol said, "My lady, it is a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon after your last visit."
His voice held a question she made no attempt to answer. Let him wonder at her interest-knowledge was wealth to those who commanded it. Then, looking into his face, his old, wise eyes, she recognized her childishness.
"Those men? How are they?"
"Well, my lady. As well as can be expected." His arm made an inviting gesture. "Dumarest is on the upper balcony. I will send wine and cakes if you care to join him."
The wind was from the sea and ruffled her hair as Fiona emerged on the long, narrow path flanked by the rising swell of the roof to one side, a crenelated parapet on the other. Dumarest turned as she approached. His clothing had been refurbished and gleamed with a muted sheen. A softness hardened by the knife in his boot, the face above the collar of the tunic.
"My lady." His tone was formal. "May I take this opportunity to extend my gratitude for your forbearance?"
"Accepted, but why be grateful? The monks took care of you, Earl, not I." She smiled and took a step closer. "Yes, I know your name. Do you know mine? Good, then use it. My first name," she added. "I want us to be friends."
"You are kind."
"Curious," she corrected. "Strangers are rare on this world and each holds novelty. What brought you to Sacaweena?"
"A promise, my lady, and a name."
"I asked you not to be formal, Earl. It places a barrier between us. Do you want that or is it that you have reason not to like my name? Carmodyne used to say it sounded like music. Do you agree?"
"Fiona," he said. "Fiona-yes, it holds melody. A charm which matches the one who bears it. Carmodyne?"
"My uncle. He built all this." Her gesture embraced the church. "He's dead now but his memory lives on in stone and decorations. If you are interested I'll show you what he looked like. He left a carving, somewhat distorted, but it holds the essence of the man. I think he would have liked you, Earl. You could have liked him. You could even have taught him a little sense."
He noted the hardening of her tone, the underlying tension. A woman of strong passions, subjected to equally strong impulses. He remembered the way she had looked at him, the expression in her eyes. One he had seen before.
He said, "Carmodyne. A Velen?"
"Of course. The Holder when he died. I inherited. To me came the paper, the profit and the penalties." She drew in her breath at the thought of what they could be, annoyed at herself for having mentioned them, more annoyed at the fear they created. Ghosts which need never materialize. Terrors which could remain unborn. Had Correo consoled himself with such platitudes? Did Bulem?
"So you inherited," said Dumarest. "Were there others of your house? Your father, for instance?"
"He died a year after I was born. That's why my uncle was so close." She shrugged, impatient at the questioning. "Does it matter?"
"Not really."
"Then why mention it?" She turned to look at the sea. The wind had created long, rolling swells which caught the light and reflected it in shimmers of crimson so as to form a lake of fire, broken by something which rose, to hang for a moment in a sparkle of droplets, to dive again to leave widening ripples. "Do you fish, Earl? Not with a line or nets but with a mask and air tanks and a gun. Meeting things ten times your size and challenging them in their own environment. Killing them and bringing back the trophies to awe your friends. Does that appeal to you?" She turned to face him. "Earl?"
He said quietly, "I do not kill for amusement."
"No." Her hand rose to touch his cheek, the fingers to linger on his lips before falling back to her side. "No, I didn't think you did. You aren't like other men. You have no need to prove your masculinity by hounding and destroying creatures from a safe distance. How many hunters, I wonder, would dare to meet an animal on equal terms? Naked, armed only with natural weapons, a knife at the most. Is your friend a hunter?"
"You could call him that."
"And you? What should I call you, Earl?"
"A fool, perhaps? An optimist?" He smiled down at her from his superior height. "Or just a very lucky man."
That, certainly, but there had to be more. She was aware of his eyes searching her face, lingering on the golden mane of her hair. Flattery without the need of words, which alone proved he was a clever man with a strong sense of survival-yet why had he risked so much? And why did Kalova want him so badly? Dumarest had to be the answer-for hours she had checked and assessed each possibility. His companion, hurt, could be of little value, the sector was a liability-so what else was left?
Yet how to be sure?
The scuff of sandals broke her introspection as monks came with the promised refreshment. Impatiently she watched as a small, portable table was loaded with cakes and wine,
the monks bowing as they withdrew. Again alone she looked at Dumarest as he poured them both wine, wondering at his ease, his confidence. Surely he must know how deeply he was in her power?
Abruptly she said, "Who are you, Earl?"
"Your guest," he said. "Your debtor."
"And you pay your debts?"
"When I can." Picking up the glasses he came toward her, halting to extend one, lifting his own as she took it. "But some debts can never be repaid. Your health, my lady!"
He drank with neat fastidiousness-if he had drunk at all. Another item of information to add to the rest but the increase made her all the more irritated. Why couldn't he fit into the normal pattern of masculine behavior? To desire her, yes, that in itself was a compliment, but also to display all the small crudities, the weaknesses and faults which made it so easy for her to be dominant. How should she handle him? How to manipulate his actions, to test and demand-yet how much more pleasant it would be to receive without the necessity of asking?
Dumarest looked at the glass she lowered. "More wine?"
"No." The container was empty. "I mean yes," she amended. "But not here. We'll drink at home."
Chapter Ten
It was a place filled with mirrors, the bedroom itself covered one floor, walls and ceiling with reflective panes, the wide bed reproduced endlessly in every direction. A chamber for exhibitionists and voyeurs. For lovers who needed to see and be seen; adding a new dimension of visual stimulus to an ancient art.
Lying on the bed, Dumarest looked at himself in the ceiling, the woman lying naked at his side. Her hair covered the pillow with a golden sheen, matched by the small glints from the soft down on her limbs and body. Her skin held the rich glow of studied care, the muscles beneath the fat firm with massage and exercise. A creature feline in her grace who now stretched and turned to look at him with warm, satiated eyes.
"Earl?"
"You are beautiful," he said. "Beautiful."
She almost purred. "You really think so?"
"Can there be any doubt?" He turned to meet her eyes, to smile into them, to touch gently the firm contours of her body. "You do me more than honor, my lady."
"You're strange," she said as again he looked at the mirrored ceiling. "Such odd terms of address. Have you known many highborn women? Loved them, even? Held them as you held me? Used them-Earl!"
Passion flowered, to turn into demanding flame, to fill the mirrors with writhing images. A time which was beyond measurement, terminating in a period of relative calm.
"A man," she whispered. "My darling, you are such a man." Her fingers traced the scars on his torso, lingered on the wound above his ear, almost healed now with the aid of chemical magic, dropped again to the pattern on his chest. A woman entranced by the proximity of passion and pain, of death and desire. "My man," she said softly. "All mine and such a wonderful asset. One I have been waiting for. A man I can love."
For the moment, the hour, the day. For as long as the whim would last-but the mirrors had told their story; Dumarest knew she could love none other than herself. Even in the heights of their passion she had sought the mirrors of his eyes.
Now, reaching, she touched a button and as soft melody stirred the air with the throbbing susurration of muted drums she said, "You have nothing to worry about, Earl. I want you to know that. As long as you are mine I will protect you."
He knew she wasn't talking about a shared passion.
"Yours, my lady?"
"Still the caution, Earl?" She smiled then became serious. "Didn't Tobol explain? To safeguard you from certain others you had to be registered as a resident of the sector. That binds you to the holding. I own the sector-you see?"
Facts he knew but it was as well to expose the threat if one existed.
"So you own me."
"Not as a slave, Earl," she said quickly. "Never that. But I am responsible for you as you are to me. A matter of resident fee and other charges and in return you gain my protection and certain amenities-just details, Earl. Don't let them concern you."
"But you can sell me?"
"Sell the holding," she corrected. "I can do that, yes, and you will, naturally, go with it. All residents do. A formality," she added. "A change of holder means almost nothing."
To others, maybe, but they lacked his value. In the overhead mirror Dumarest saw the woman's face, the sudden alertness revealed in the tautness of skin, the tension of the eyes.
He said with deliberate casualness, "Has anyone made you an offer for the holding?"
"The Maximus. A good offer but I refused it." Her face had sharpened even more. "Should I have?"
"Not if it made you a profit." Dumarest reared to sit upright on the bed. "Why did you refuse?"
"A whim." She rose to sit beside him, legs crossed, the mane of her hair hanging like a curtain over her shoulders and breasts. "I have no love for Kalova so why yield to his demands? In any case delay will make him the more eager to close a deal. Who knows? He may offer double again." And then, with transparent motive, she added, "Would it matter to you, Earl?"
"If you sold? No."
A lie she chose not to question. The music died as she again touched the button, warm air wafting, heavy with pungent scents to fill the chamber with exotic perfumes. Leaning back she stared at the mirror, the twin reflections so close above.
"Life," she mused. "Why must it always be struggle? To spend it with someone special, to eat and drink and have a soft bed-how can there be more? Tell me, Earl, have you never wanted to settle down? To marry, rear sons, watch them grow? To belong to a family of note and walk with pride? To know real security. Real happiness?"
"A dream," he said. "Always there is the need to struggle. Always someone hungry for what you have. Willing to kill for it. Or are you saying that Sacaweena is a world different from the rest?"
"You should know, Earl. What brought you here anyway? A promise, you said. A name. The promise of what? Great wealth? The eggs you stole from Kalova?"
"Stole?"
"Of course. You raided his holding." She shook her head in mock reproof at his ignorance. "Did your friend mislead you? Didn't you know you were stealing from the Maximus? Perhaps that's why he's so eager to gain this special sector. You and what you stole and, without doubt, a bloody revenge. You and your friend both, but he looked to be dying, so it all falls on you." Her hand reached up to caress his shoulder, golden hair clothing his arm with a mantle of silk. "You see how much you need me, my darling?"
The threat exposed-if she sold it would cost him his life. Not from the Maximus, though she believed him to be the enemy, but from the cyber at his side, Zao who would stop at nothing to achieve the capture of himself and his secret.
His real worth-if the woman guessed it how safe would he be?
The answer lay in the mirrors all around; for her there could be only one person of any importance. As yet she had tried to manipulate him to learn what she could-the truth would condemn him.
How to escape the trap?
"Earl?" Her hand ceased its movement, hair whispering as she pulled away from his body. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Of course not."
"You sat so still-did my stupid words worry you?"
"I was thinking of what you said. About a wife and family and the security it could bring. Yet you are alone, uncle dead, father dead, mother?"
"Dead too." She. sounded bitter. "Suicide. When I was five. Emil-" Irritation edged her voice. "He-well, never mind. That was twenty-five years ago."
"Emil?"
"My elder brother. He was drowned on an inspection tour of undersea installations. So I'm all alone, Earl. But it isn't so bad-at least I haven't hungry dependents and stupid advisors to contend with and there are no Family Councils." She forced brightness into her voice. "And the rest? The name?"
He smiled to match her own expression. "Name? Oh, what brought me to this world. Erce." He watched her in the mirrors. "I was told that used to be its name. Erce. You've heard of it?"
"Sacaweena was called that a long time ago. Before the Orres took over from the settlers they found here. A problem, Earl, one they solved in their own way. To be known as the Original Residents was a contradiction if they bought the world from others so they changed the name. A new world and so new settlers. No contradiction."
"And the others?"
"Those here before?" She shook her head. "Who knows? They couldn't make a go of it and were happy to sell."
With guns to help them make up their minds, threats added to bribery or it could have been a plain, simple massacre. Such things had been common in the past-had the name been changed to dilute the guilt?
Even if they had been allowed to leave peacefully it didn't help. How to follow them? Where to go? And if they had left anything of value behind them it must have long since been sold or broken for basic worth. And nothing would have been able to exist in the hills.
"So they had an entire world," mused Fiona. "A whole damned planet to call their own. One to hold and share out and play with just as they liked. One to keep all to themselves just as we keep it now. Just as we share it now. Hoarding it, you might say. But what makes you so interested in a name?" She frowned when he told her. "Earth? You're looking for Earth!"
She could have heard something, learned something-the chance had to be taken. A hope which died as she laughed.
"Earl, you're joking or crazy! The place doesn't exist. If it did it would be listed in the almanacs and navigation tables. With enough money you could hire a ship or buy a passage. It's a myth, I tell you. A legend!"
It was real and Dumarest knew it. He had been born on Earth, had left it as a boy, had spent years now searching for the way back. A way lost as he had traveled deeper into the galaxy, the very name a subject for amusement. Yet the planet was there, waiting for him and, one day, he would find it.
The soft voice said, "Maximus, Cyber Zao asks for audience."
The man could wait! Leaning back in his chair Rham Kalova scowled at the dancing lights on the relay and felt anger at the interruption. The plan needed careful preparation; every diversity and potential fluctuation had to be assessed before the first attack was undertaken. A diversion, he'd decided, one to forestall potential defenses, allow him to move in subtle ways and then, at the last, to win him the prize.
