Earth is Heaven dot-27

by E. C. Tubb

  "No," she said quietly. "It's you that has done the forgetting. And it's time that you remembered who and what you are."

  By night the field held a certain magic; one born of starlight and shadows, enigmatic shapes and iridescent hues, the whole bound with the circle of blazing illumination tracing the perimeter beyond which lay only the mystery of contrasting darkness. By day the magic had gone, to leave only the battered vessels, the dirt soiled with scattered debris, vomit, urine and, sometimes, blood.

  Dumarest studied it from where he stood at the head of the ramp, watching men in drab, shapeless clothing who picked up rubbish. Casual labor hired to load and unload when needed, cleaning up when they were not. Men who had been checked through the gate and who would be counted when they left. Their numbers varied as did the guards but, always, there were guards.

  He watched as more came through the gate; a detail led by an officer who marched straight toward the Erce. A path which diverged as Dumarest reached the dirt to end at the Nitscike. A ship captained by a man as rugged and scarred as the vessel itself. His voice rose in anger as Dumarest approached.

  "Like hell I'll pay! You think I'm going to be robbed? Everything's settled, all dues paid and I leave when I want. So take your toy soldiers and get off my ramp!"

  The officer remained calm. "You have yet to be granted final clearance.'"

  "A formality."

  "One yet to be completed. Stand aside." Guns lifted at the officer's signal. "Don't be a fool, Captain Chunney. You have been here before. You know the rules-a guard can be placed on a vessel at any time. Now, for the last time, stand aside!"

  Glowering the captain obeyed. As the guards mounted the ramp to occupy the area beyond the port he said, "That charge is against all reason and you know it. I can't be held responsible for my crew."

  "Then who can?" The officer, now that he had been obeyed, made an attempt to be conciliatory. He nodded to Dumarest as he joined the group then spoke again to Chunney. "There was a fight in a tavern. Damage was done and a girl hurt. Your engineer was responsible. The damages, medical expenses, compensation, court fees and collecting charges come to a total of seven hundred and eighty-three engels. Not too much for a skilled man, surely? And you can dock his pay or cut his share so as to get it back."

  "To hell with him! He can go to the block!"

  Dumarest said, "Your engineer?"

  "I can manage until we reach Bergerac. Talion can be sold."

  The officer shrugged. "That is your right, Captain, but the full sum will have to be paid before you can leave. Putting the man up for auction will cause delay. Due process," he explained. "A matter of establishing title and just cause. There will be no difficulty, of course, but the formalities must be observed." He, added, apologetically, "Naturally the charge will increase the longer the guards remain."

  "I have to pay for them?"

  "And your engineer's keep in jail. After the second day. It is the law."

  And one which would be kept. Batrun shrugged when he heard the news. "Tough, Earl, but it happens. Too bad the charges are so high-we need an engineer."

  "An engineer and everything else," said Ysanne bitterly. "Don't waste time feeling sorry for Chunney. If he wants he can sell part of his cargo to get back his man. We have no choice. Tomorrow we lose the ship." She looked at Dumarest. "Unless we take Belkner's offer."

  That decision was yet to be made and Batrun voiced the reason as he helped himself to snuff. "The odds are too high against us. How can we load, seal, leave without being spotted? Before we'd got half the cargo on board guards would be all over us. Armed men ready to use their guns. Chunney knows how they operate. That's why he backed down." He closed the lid of the box and looked down at the elaborate decoration. "Odd," he mused. "An engineer going when we need one so badly."

  "And money at hand to pay the bills." Ysanne looked from one to the other. "Why not take it, get clearance, grab the engineer and run?"

  Dumarest said, "And leave the Ypsheim behind?"

  "Why not? We won't be coming back." She frowned as he made no comment. "For God's sake, Earl, we can't afford to be squeamish!"

  Not now or ever when survival was at stake, but Belkner was no fool and to take him for one would be to make a mistake. As it would be to keep him waiting for an answer too long. Determined men, spurred by fear, could be dangerous and Belkner had hinted at power-enough to keep the guns from firing at the Erce when she left.

  A promise to add to that of more money when they were safely in space and on their way to a new world. One as yet unspecified.

  "Earl?" Ysanne, eager for action, was impatient. "Can't we at least figure a way to get the engineer? Maybe then we could make a run for it."

  Batrun said, "How?"

  "Do we get him? How the hell do I know? Borrow, beg, gamble, lie, steal-all we need is eight hundred engels."

  "And to dodge the guns?"

  She frowned, thinking, then slapped one hand on her thigh. "Easy. We get the engineer, put the Erce in condition for immediate flight and wait. If asked we can say we're testing the engines. If guards come aboard we'll overpower them and lock them away."

  "And when a ship takes off we ride up with it," said Dumarest. "Right?"

  "You've thought about it." For a moment she looked like a child robbed of a sweet. "Or maybe you're just damned clever at guessing answers. But it'll work, Earl. Those guns must be radar-controlled and hooked up to a computer guidance system. It'll expect a ship to leave and, by the time it's sorted out the fact that two ships are heading upward, it'll be too late to shoot us down."

  A plan born of desperation; one requiring split-second timing, containing too many variables, needing too much cooperation.

  "No," said Dumarest. "The odds are too high against us."

  "You want to live forever?" She looked at Batrun. "Andre?"

  He said, quietly, "We'd need to know the exact time another ship is due to leave. That means getting the help of the captain. How are we to pay for it or trust him if we could? On Krantz betrayal brings reward. And the guards will be cautious. Then, when we seal, the monitors will get suspicious and-"

  "It could be done!"

  "With time to prepare, maybe." Batrun was diplomatic. "But we don't have the time."

  And had less with the passing of each minute. Dumarest took five steps across the salon, turned, walked back to his previous position. Action repeated so as to stimulate the flow of blood through his brain. The pad of his boots created small whispering echoes which seemed to blend with the atmosphere in the compartment; the tension Belkner had left behind. The disappointment Vosper had masked at the loss of a commission.

  Time-the essence of a trap now complicated by coincidence. A fortunate chance if it was what it appeared to be. An engineer available, one abandoned by his captain who, luckily for him, could manage without. An unusual circumstance as had been the actual arrest. Taverns frequented by spacers were reluctant to call in the law preferring to handle their own problems. Could the Ypsheim be involved? But even if they had stage-managed the fight could they have handled the courts and the rest of it? The charges and the scene at the Nitscike?

  Halting, Dumarest looked at Batrun, waited until the captain had finished taking a pinch of snuff.

  "Andre, go into town and find out what you can about Talion. Talk to Chunney. He must know we need an engineer so your interest will be natural. Find out why he's willing to let the man go."

  To Ysanne he said, "Go to Vosper. Tell him to get the money from Belkner."

  "The deal's on?"

  "Yes," said Dumarest. "The deal's on."

  Chapter Seven

  For a man of imagination it was easy to think of the installation as a living thing; a monster buried deep with a computer for a brain, scanners for eyes, the guns and launchers fists to batter and destroy. One attended by hired men, well-paid, outwardly respectful. All of whom seemed to be taking a sharp interest in his face and forehead.

  Nonsense, of c
ourse, a product of his secret fears, as Urich was aware. And the fears were triggered by Ava Vasudiva who had spoken for the Ypsheim.

  But how had they known?

  The question was academic-the fact remained. They knew and, knowing, held his future in their hands.

  "Sir!" The technician's salute was crisp. "Your orders?"

  "None-I am making a casual inspection."

  One conducted with seeming idleness as Urich moved through the control center. Everything was as it should be, the crew alert, the entire installation a smoothly functioning machine. He checked the power sources, the monitors, pausing at the board showing details of ship-conditions; those with clearance, those still under interdict. Soon it would be time for another demonstration; a dummy lifted to be blasted from the sky as a warning to those who doubted the destructive power of Krantz. But later. Now he had other things to worry about.

  Eunice, Vruya, Dumarest, the Ypsheim, the Erce.

  He looked at it in a screen and felt a sudden flush of anger. Why had it come at the time it had? A ship bearing unwanted complications. To destroy it would be simple; a command and it would be done, the act justified on the grounds of suspicion and expediency. Vruya would understand and could even applaud the action-a man should protect his own.

  But there was another way.

  The guard at the gate saluted as he reached the field. Within the enclosure small groups of laborers moved in aimless directions as they performed their tasks. Too many for the work at hand but he was too distracted to notice. The Erce lay to one side and he made his way directly toward it. To the ramp and the open port where Dumarest was waiting.

  Urich said, bluntly, "We must talk."

  "As you wish." Dumarest stepped to one side. "But we'll be more comfortable in the salon."

  The table had been set with glasses and a decanter of wine. A thing of cut crystal set beside a tray bearing small, assorted cakes. Cheap things bought from the market but evidence that he had been expected.

  "A custom," said Dumarest. "Those who eat and drink together have no cause to be enemies." He poured wine and lifted his own glass. "To health!"

  A law of hospitality common on many worlds and one with which Urich was familiar. He sipped and ate a cake and drank a little more wine.

  Dumarest said casually, "How is Eunice? The last time I saw her she was-"

  "Ill," snapped Urich. "The victim of a delusion."

  "-convinced that I had come in answer to her summons." Dumarest ignored the interruption. "Yet it was at Vruya's suggestion that I went to pay my respects. A coincidence, naturally, but I doubt it she would believe that." He added, flatly, "Was it you who taught her to practice witchcraft?"

  "No! I-"

  "A lonely girl," said Dumarest. "Derided, ignored, wanting love and affection and respect and denied them all because of an accident of birth. It happens. The old, the ugly, the deformed and those who have no talent to back their ambition. Magic provides an easy solution. Incantations, spells and mystic charms. The summoning of invisible powers and the obedience of mighty forces. The conviction of power is the fruit of inadequacy." He poured them both more wine. "But dangerous both to themselves and others."

  "How?"

  "The delusion must be maintained by success. A summons must be obeyed-no matter what the true reason the person called came because they were called. And a person cursed must suffer and even die. It could be by accident or natural causes or-"

  "The curse could be given a helping hand." Urich nodded, understanding. "Poison, a paid assassin, a devoted friend."

  "One willing to help maintain the delusion," said Dumarest. "What do you know of Earth?"

  He watched the fingers holding the glass, their betraying tension, noted the hesitation before Urich said, "Earth?"

  "Eunice told me you knew about it."

  "As a world of legend, perhaps. No more."

  The home of witchcraft. Of warlocks and sorcerers and strange, magical powers. Of knights and crystal palaces and bizarre monsters. The breeding ground of demons which came to rot flesh and dissolve bone. Of mists which destroyed. Of light brighter than any sun.

  The bad side which enhanced the good-had Urich fed a weak brain with such terrors?

  "She had a nurse," said Urich abruptly. "An old woman who spun fanciful tales. Stories in which witches cast spells and took on other shapes. And there were other things; creatures trapped that promised endless obedience if released, entities capable of performing miracles. Stories to amuse a child and-" His shrug expressed it all. "She stayed a child too long."

  "Was the nurse of the Ypsheim?"

  Again the hesitation then, "Yes. I think so."

  "Would you have heard such tales yourself?"

  Urich said, deliberately, "How could I have done? The Ypsheim are of Krantz. I was born on Kamaswam."

  "The Ypsheim aren't the only ones who talk of Earth," said Dumarest, smiling. "But you must forgive me. It is a special interest of mine. Unlike others I believe the world is far from being a legend and so, naturally, I am eager to gain all the information I can. That's why Eunice interested me when she knew what Erce meant. And why I thought you might be able to help when she told me you had given her the information. Some more wine?" He poured without waiting for an answer. "Try another of the cakes."

  He was striving hard to please and Urich felt himself relax. But what if it had been Vruya who had put the questions? Urich could imagine him, the seamed, crafty face, the hard, watchful eyes. A man close to insanity in his pride. One accustomed to violence, who would send to the Wheel any who crossed him. Any who was not of the Quelen-only they could be safe.

  "What?" He jerked aware, realizing that Dumarest had been speaking. "What did you say?"

  "I was asking about your work. You are in charge of the field?"

  "Yes."

  "And the installation guarding it?"

  "That is so."

  "Total command?" Dumarest spoke without waiting for an answer. "Not that it matters. Your word is law and that is enough. Another cake? No? Then let us finish this wine." He drained the bottle into the glasses and lifted his own. "A toast. To your future happiness with Eunice!"

  To the point, thought Urich. An example for him to follow.

  He said, "I love her. We are to be married. Plans have been made and I will allow nothing to stand in their way. You understand? Nothing. Not her whims, her sickness, her romantic notion that she is in love with you. That madness will pass once you have gone." He delved into a pocket and placed a wad of notes on the table. "This will help you on your way."

  A thousand engels-more than enough to buy Talion.

  Dumarest looked at the money, recognizing the bribe, the threat behind it. "You are more than generous, my lord. I take it there will be no difficulty as to clearance?"

  "None." Urich visibly relaxed.

  "And loading?" Their eyes met, held for a long moment of silence, broken when Dumarest added. "No trader can afford to leave with empty holds."

  "No, of course not. There will be no trouble. You will be gone by dark?"

  "By dawn," said Dumarest. He added, "The engineer will need time to check the generator."

  Lyle Talion pursed his lips and made an adjustment to the console. A needle kicked on a dial, steadied as he compensated, kicked again as he activated a new circuit.

  "Not too bad," he commented. "The unit needs to be calibrated and cleared of accumulated garbage. Loss of similarity," he explained. "Some of the relays have had a hard time. The Chandorah?" He grunted at Dumarest's nod. "I thought so. You can take chances in most of space but not in areas like that. Errors mount, calibration suffers and, when you need power the most, you find you haven't got it. Well, it won't take me long to put things right."

  "How long?"

  "By dark." Talion added, "I guess you want to leave this madhouse, right? Me too. That jail was no picnic."

  He bustled at his task, a lean man with a wry expression and a face seamed beyond his
years. His hair was dark, streaked with grey, his eyes a startling blue edged with a mesh of lines. His smile was easy, the mark of tolerance humor, and he had proved his skill to Batrun's satisfaction.

  "A good man," said the captain when Dumarest joined him in the hold. "We were lucky to get him."

  Dumarest said, "Don't you think it odd how he became available? A fight he denies, accusations he claims are false, witnesses he swears were coerced or bribed. And a captain willing to abandon him and who just happened to have an officer capable enough to take his place."

  "Chimney explained that. He didn't have the money and refused to sell cargo to get it. And I'm not sure but I think there was an element of jealousy. His handler was a woman."

  And the man could have lied as to the facts of his arrest. Dumarest stepped back as men came up the ramp carrying long, oblong boxes. Fiber cartons marked and sealed with Krantz clearance containing, so the labels claimed, treated fish skins, bulk protein and bulky artifacts. Cheap products but, to a trader, any cargo was better than none.

  "Watch that!" He snapped at a man who had been careless, his end of a box falling to jar heavily on the deck. "If you can't handle the job then beat it-I'm not paying for damaged cargo."

  The man was sullen, "What the hell's to hurt?"

  A laborer-or something else? Krantz was used to captains willing to smuggle and the man could be an agent of the Quelen. Dumarest glanced at the markings and stormed forward.

  "I'll show you what's to hurt! Open it! Come on, move!" The lid rose to reveal wrapped carvings made of local woods. "Now get out of here!" He followed the man to the ramp and called down to a lounging guard. "This man's fired! I don't want to see him again!"

  Harsh punishment if the man was genuine but the example spurred the others to greater care. Dumarest began to sweat as he stacked the boxes and fastened restraints. The hold became cramped, men edging past each other; a tide of drably dressed figures milling in baffling confusion.

  As the day moved toward dusk Batrun began to get worried.

  "Earl, what about Ysanne? She should be here by now."