Earth is Heaven dot-27

by E. C. Tubb

  "She'll be here. We don't leave without her."

  "She shouldn't have been held," said Batrun. "We shouldn't have allowed it."

  A matter over which there had been no choice. As security for the money paid for the repairs Belkner had insisted on a safeguard. Ysanne had provided it. She would join the ship when everything was ready to leave.

  "Captain?" An officer, a stranger, stood at the foot of the ramp. "Are you ready for clearance inspection?"

  Batrun looked at Dumarest, who shook his head.

  "Not yet."

  "What's the delay? Surely you are loaded by now?"

  "The restraints have slipped," said Dumarest. He thrust his way forward to face the man. "I'll have to change the stacking."

  The officer made no comment but his face showed what he thought of a handler who couldn't stack a cargo.

  "I'll have to clear a part of the hold," added Dumarest. "Shift some of the cargo outside so as to get room to repair the linkages. It'll take time."

  "How long?"

  "Does it matter?" Dumarest let irritation edge his voice. "We're not on piece work. Anyway, we aren't scheduled to leave until dawn."

  "You don't leave at all until you've been checked," snapped the officer. "Remember that."

  The threat hung in the air as he moved away and Dumarest watched him go with thoughtful eyes. The man was nothing, a junior officer, who would take Urich's orders without question unless, like the laborer, he was more than he seemed. A risk to add to the rest but one which tipped the scale an uncomfortable degree into the region of danger.

  He remembered Urich, the way the man had sat, his eyes, the tension revealed in the movement of his fingers on the glass. A clever and ruthless man who worked in devious ways-one who had too much at stake to make a willing pawn.

  Belkner had sworn otherwise-but Belkner could have been wrong.

  To Batrun he said, "Andre, find Vosper and have him tell Belkner to be here an hour after dusk with Ysanne. He shows or the deal is off."

  "Trouble?"

  "Maybe. After you've seen Vesper go to Eunice of the Yekatania. Get her to come to the ship. Use me as an excuse. And make sure everyone knows she's aboard."

  Batrun said dryly, "Everyone? Including Urich Sheiner?"

  "Especially him. Vruya too." Dumarest added, "Remember she's interested in witchcraft-that should make it easy."

  The guard at the gate stepped forward, gun rising, the weapon lowering as he recognized Urich. "Sir!" His free hand snapped a salute. "I didn't-"

  "Report on the field!"

  "As normal, sir. Intense activity around the Erce but they've had trouble loading and-"

  "A woman!" Urich swallowed, fighting for calm. "Has a woman arrived for the Erce?" He knew he was being imprecise. More calmly he said, "Did you see my fiancee enter the field? A lady of the Quelen? She could have been with a captain."

  "Captain Batrun, sir. Yes. About an hour ago."

  Long enough for who knew what damage to be done? Lies and promises, tales she yearned to hear, romance which would further corrode his influence. Dumarest! Anger flooded him as he ran across the field. An adventurer-why had he been such a fool to trust the man?

  The ramp was down, the area heaped with a litter of boxes, laborers milling in undirected motion. One bumped into him, falling at his shove, turning as he hit the dirt to curse, breaking off the words as he recognised the uniform. Within the port was more apparent chaos.

  "Dumarest!" A tall figure turned from a stack of boxes. "Dumarest, damn you! Where is she?"

  "Resting." Dumarest came toward Urich, smiling, casual. "She was upset and I thought it best to sedate her. Don't worry," he soothed. "She is perfectly all right."

  She lay on a bunk in a cabin, her eyes closed, face smoothed into the likeness of a doll. The heavy lashes rested on rounded cheeks and golden hair made an aureole on the pillow. She wore scarlet touched with gold.

  "She came because I was ill," said Dumarest. "Needing her. I tried to get to her but was unable to move. Some evil spell had me in its power. One strong enough to resist her command. Her summons."

  "You mock!"

  "I guessed," corrected Dumarest. "The trick had worked once so why not again? And how best to reinforce the conviction of her own power? Even if she hadn't been summoning me the concept of a binding spell was valid enough for her to come and break it. A further demonstration of her own ability." Shrugging he ended, "She came-does it matter why?"

  "To me, yes!" Urich glanced at the woman then back at Dumarest. He was armed. To snatch the gun from his belt and fire would be to end the threat of losing her. One move and… He looked down, saw the fingers gripping the hand resting on the butt, felt the pain. "Why?" he demanded. "Why did you bring her here?"

  "Because I wanted you to come after her." Dumarest moved his grip, lifted the gun from the holster and stepped back with it hanging at his side. "Shall we go?"

  Belkner was in the salon, Ysanne at his side. He drew in his breath as Urich entered and glared at Dumarest.

  "You fool! You-"

  "Shut up and listen!" Dumarest glanced at Ysanne. "Go and help Andre in the hold. Keep things moving." He handed her the gun. "Any trouble let me know."

  As she left, he stood listening, one hand resting on a bulkhead, sensing the activity within the vessel, the interplay of vibrations. A man in command of his environment, thought Urich. He was so confident he needed no weapons. Then he saw the hilt of the knife riding above the right boot, remembered the speed he had seen it used and knew that Dumarest was far from vulnerable. Even if the room had been filled with enemies he could still have been in command.

  Turning from the bulkhead Dumarest said, "You made a mistake, Leo. The worst mistake possible to make. You underestimated your enemy. I almost did the same."

  "An enemy?" Belkner was incredulous. "Urich? But he's a friend."

  "Because he was bora to the Ypsheim?" Dumarest heard Urich's indrawn breath, a harsh, ugly sound. "What a person learns in their youth stays with them; the way they talk, walk, act and react. Give a beggar a fortune and you don't have a prince. Strip a rich man and he still has the arrogance of wealth bred into his bone. Those born to servitude may escape and change their lives but, always, something remains. The movement of the eyes, the hands, even the tilt of the head. And the Ypsheim have served the Quelen for centuries."

  "So?"

  "Krantz isn't escape-proof." Dumarest kept his eyes on Urich. "If a man has drive enough and money enough and is willing to take a chance he can get away. In a box of cargo, for example, with the handler bribed and money enough to pay for passage once in space. On another world he can learn and improve his position and pay for a minor operation." His hand lifted to touch his forehead. "A scar can easily be removed and, once gone, who is to tell if it was ever there?"

  Urich said, "If a man went to all that trouble to escape why should he come back?"

  A question Dumarest had heard in a different context-why look for Earth when other worlds had so much to offer? But a man had only one home planet and Urich could only have one people.

  A thing Belkner recognized. He said, "Perhaps because he couldn't help himself. Or, maybe, he thought he could do something to help those he's left behind."

  By marrying into the Quelen and then finding, when the dream approached reality, that the marriage itself offered all he could ever hope to achieve.

  "The weakness," said Dumarest. "The mistake you made, Leo. Somehow you discovered Urich's secret and held it to use against him when the time was ripe. The ace up your sleeve-and you never imagined the ace could turn into a deuce."

  "What?"

  "You misjudged your man. Urich broke the pattern. He escaped and that took guts. He still has them. Guts enough to fight for what he wants." Something he had discovered almost too late. Dumarest remembered the interview, the talk, the messages broadcast by the set of the lips, the hands, the eyes, the very odor of Urich's body. Signals he had learned to read in the
arena when facing a man intent on taking his life. Recognizing the change from desperation to determination. The fatalistic acceptance of no alternative but to fight and kill or die. "A ship loaded with a proscribed cargo," he said. "One lifting to be blasted from the sky. Who would blame him? And who would believe that one of the Ypsheim had destroyed his own?"

  And who would dare to make the accusation? Dumarest saw realization dawn in Belkner's eyes. A man fighting to survive and with the added bonus of ridding himself of a rival. Even if Vruya guessed the truth he could do nothing. Or perhaps he knew it already and, with cynical detachment, was waiting for the chosen mate to prove himself.

  "A trap," said Belkner. "We walked into it-God, what can we do?"

  "It's done," said Dumarest. "That's why-" He broke off as Ysanne's voice came over the intercom.

  "Earl, there's trouble. You'd better get down here!"

  Chapter Eight

  The officer was the one who had come to check before, but now he was not alone. A half-dozen guards stood at his back, armed, spread in a familiar pattern, Dumarest glanced at them, at the boxes lying around, the laborers who had been ordered away from the port and the line of fire.

  To Urich he said, "Make no mistakes. You know what needs to be done."

  These instructions were given on the way to the port and Urich had no doubt as to what would happen unless he cooperated. He stiffened as the officer approached and returned the man's sharp salute.

  "What is this? Why are you here? Who ordered it?"

  "Sir!" The officer looked at Urich, at Dumarest standing easily close. "A routine check, sir. This loading is taking far too long."

  "And you suspect something detrimental to Krantz?" Urich nodded as if pleased at the subordinates attention to duty. "Your name? Well, Lieutenant Noventes, I shall make a point of mentioning your zeal. But there is nothing to worry about. The restraints-but you know about that, I assume? Good. Then what more is there to say?"

  Noventes was stubborn. "With respect, sir, I must check the vessel."

  "Why?" Steel replaced the casualness in Urich's tone. "You question my capability?"

  "Of course not, sir, but-"

  "I am the officer in charge of the field. I give the orders. I make the decisions."

  "Normally, sir, yes, but-"

  "You question my authority!"

  Dumarest saw the tightening of the officer's jaw and knew the bluff wasn't going to work. Noventes had to be acting under direct orders from the Quelen and wasn't going to be put off.

  He said casually, "There's no need for an argument, Captain. I've no objection if the lieutenant wants to check the ship. The quicker he's satisfied the sooner I can get this stuff loaded." His gesture embraced the litter of boxes. "But I would ask him not to disturb the Lady Eunice."

  Urich knew better than to yield too easily. "I will give the order when to check this vessel. In fact I will deal with it myself."

  "Sir, I-"

  "And spoil the lady's pleasure?" Dumarest shook his head. "Surely not." He glanced at Noventes. "She is of the Quelen," he explained. "The captain's fiancee-you probably know of the forthcoming marriage. I was fortunate enough to have done her a small service and she has been kind enough to inspect the ship. A small party, you understand? With her affianced, naturally. I'm surprised you weren't informed."

  He saw the doubt grow in Noventes's eyes, the indecision, but the most he could hope to gain was time. The man would head for the gate, make his report, be given fresh instruction and enhanced authority. If he was to act it must be now when suspicion had been lulled.

  Dumarest said, with mock irritation, "This is getting us nowhere. Captain, if I may make a suggestion? It is obvious the lieutenant has doubts as to your lady's presence. Perhaps he thinks it a fabrication and I am holding you prisoner and making you lie under threat of death." He laughed at the ridiculous concept. "Well, he can't be blamed for that; a good officer should always be suspicious."

  Urich said coldly, "Your suggestion?"

  "Let your officer go to the gate and check on the Lady Eunice's presence. And, to satisfy his cautious nature, let his guards come aboard so as to make sure I don't run away with a load of proscribed cargo." Dumarest laughed again. "I'm sure he thinks the boxes are filled with contraband."

  Irony which offended. Noventes looked at Urich. "Your orders, sir?"

  "Summon your guards."

  They came filing up the ramp, relaxing as they saw Urich, confident that nothing could be wrong. A normal holding operation, one they had done often before, the only difference being in the confused state of the hold. Boxes lay scattered and laborers strained to heave them into position. An unusual scene but the captain was present and Noventes had ordered them aboard.

  As the officer headed across the field Dumarest said, "Now!"

  A guard slumped to the impact of the stiffened edge of his palm. Another before the first had reached the floor. As he reached the third the laborers came to life. A flurry of sharp and sudden action and the entire detachment of guards were unconscious.

  "Quick! The boxes!"

  Briefed, the men needed little urging. Within seconds the guards had been stripped of their weapons, loaded into the boxes, the lids sealed and the weapons spirited away into cabins already filled with escaping Ypsheim.

  "Out!"

  Men stooped, gripped, lifted the boxes and carried them through the port and down the ramp to be dropped well away from the vessel.

  As they ran back Urich said, "Clever. You had them in the boxes and kept moving them around after they had been unloaded. Dressed as laborers who would notice? And you confused any watchers by having the initial boxes filled with genuine cargo. And now-but what about us? Eunice-"

  He slumped as Dumarest closed his hand on his throat, fingers finding the carotids, digging deep to cut the blood supply from the brain. The pressure caused immediate unconsciousness.

  "Here!" Dumarest thrust the man toward Belkner as he appeared. "Lock him in a cabin. Get your people settled."

  "But there are more to come! You can't-"

  "There isn't time. Move!"

  Dumarest slammed his hand on the ramp-control. As the metal strip began to withdraw into the ship some of the figures outside raced forward to dive through the closing panel. The last of the Ypsheim in the vicinity quick enough to take their chance.

  "Andre!" Dumarest shouted into the intercom. "Go! Lyle! Give us full power!"

  It took time for a ship to ready itself for flight. Time for the engine to reach optimum output, for the generator to build the field, for the whole massed bulk of the vessel to break the chains of gravity. This period of vulnerability gave time for Dumarest to reach the control room to stand behind the big chair in which Batrun sat with his hands on the controls.

  From her post Ysanne said, "If Urich did his job we've nothing to worry about."

  If he had done it and if no one had overridden any command he may have given. A chance Dumarest had been reluctant to take and now he had no choice. All he could do was to leave and go fast-and hope his insurance would hold.

  "Nearly set." As lights flared on the console Batrun relayed their message. "Power steady and field almost established." He granted. "Now?"

  "Wait!"

  The Erce had been too long without an engineer. Talion had done his best but it needn't have been good enough. A hitch in the flow of power, a compensator out of tune, similarity not as fine as it could be and the ship would lack efficiency. To apply too great a strain too soon was to invite disaster.

  "Earl?" Ysanne was sweating, hands clenched, knuckles prominent. "For God's sake-let's go!"

  He said nothing, standing with his fingers touching Batrun's shoulder, judging, balancing time and action. Noventes would be at the gate busy with his report. He could have noticed the withdrawl of the ramp but it was dark and unless he was looking the litter of boxes would have disguised the motion. The boxes themselves would induce a false impression; no trader was willing to
abandon cargo.

  But the field would be visible; the blue shimmer of the Erhaft drive growing into an unmistakable luminescence. An advertisement to the monitors.

  More lights flashed on the console. "Earl?"

  "Now!" Dumarest's fingers pressed on Bartrun's shoulder. "Take us up, Andre!"

  Rising as the lasers surrounding the field began to track the Erce and the monitors checked the vessel's status. As the order to fire was suspended when it was realized Eunice was within the ship. The confusion caused precious moments of delay.

  Time won in a calculated gamble in which the Erce rose higher… higher… higher…

  "Now!" Again Dumarest pressed his fingers against the captain's shoulders. "Now, Andre! Now!"

  Vruya, touched in his pride, would have reached his decision and given the order. To fire. To bring down the ship and hope that Eunice could be rescued alive from the wreckage. One life against the reputation of Krantz.

  Insurance that had run out.

  The screens flared as livid streaks burned a path where the ship would have been. Missed again as Batrun veered the ship from its upward path. An insane maneuver successful only because of the height and speed they had gained. The time.

  "Made it!" Ysanne yelled her triumph. "By God, Earl, we've-"

  The ship jerked as if kicked, cutting off her words, sending her hard against her panel. In the screens the stars wheeled in sudden gyration, the bulk of Krantz a mottled ball-shrinking with each appearance, diminishing as the sun it circled flared in growing prominence.

  Rising from where he had been thrown, Dumarest said, "Andre! The sun! We-"

  "I'm trying!"

  With touches and adjustments, the balancing of forces, the skill hard-learned over the years, they steadied the wheeling stars and straightened the axis of the ship.

  "Earl!" Ysanne was on her feet and looking at the panel, the lights and telltales, the message they relayed. Blood streamed from her nose and masked her mouth and chin, smears she ignored as she stared at the screens. "God! The field's down-and we're heading toward the sun!"

  The screaming had died, the shouts-Belkner knew how to control his people. Now, in the engine room, he looked at the humped bulk of the generator, listened to the soft hum of the engine.