Child of Earth d-33

by E. C. Tubb

  The sharp slap of his palms ended the session.

  “Dwell on what I have told you until we meet again.”

  Then, to Dumarest, “Please wait. I have a matter to discuss which you may find of interest.”

  Dumarest obeyed, remaining silent as a flask was produced and glasses set on a small table together with a tray of small cakes. Incense smoldered to fill the air with a sweet and pleasing odor. The wine held a trace of astringency. Dumarest sipped then gulped the contents of the goblet. Reaching for a cake he devoured it with avid hunger.

  The thin lips of Hsi Wei pursed with annoyance.

  “You disappoint me. Have I taught you so little?”

  “Master?”

  “You drank without hesitation and ate without thought. The wine and cakes could have been drugged. Now you could be unconscious or dead. To say you trust me is no excuse for your carelessness. To survive you must trust nothing and no one. Appearances can be deceptive. Tell me what you should have done?” Hsi Wei listened as Dumarest obeyed. “To sip, better still just to lift the wine to your lips and pretend to swallow. Not to drink until your companion has done so before you. Even that entails a risk-the drug could have been placed in your goblet so change it for another if you can. Do not eat until your host has eaten. Caution that can be manipulated to appear as deference. Understand?”

  The sharp voice softening a little as Dumarest nodded.

  “Good. Now give me your hand.” Hsi Wei brooded over the proffered palm. “Much travelled,” he murmured. “The product of hardship. No stranger to blood.” His thin fingers tightened.

  “No stranger at all.” Then, without change of tone, “You know why the others come to be taught by me. What they hope to gain. What the majority of them never will. You are not as they, which is why you have aroused my interest. But is your motivation the same? Are you willing to place yourself in my hands and allow me to guide your fate? How much are you prepared to sacrifice in order to survive? How much? How much? How much…”

  The old face swirled, the almond eyes turning into fading stars, the thin figure vanishing as did the chamber. But memories remained; the tuition paid for by arduous labor, the lessons, the anguish, the advice.

  Then the time of parting. The moving on. The beginning of a life based on violence, blood, pain and death.

  “Earl!” Beside him Nada stirred, the touch of her fingers warm against his flesh. The scent of her perfume banishing the memory of fuming incense, of oil and sweat, blood and fear. “Come back to me, darling.”

  “Sorry.” He turned to face her. “I was drifting, remembering a time long ago when I had to learn a new trade.”

  “I thought so.” She traced the scars. “Earl! How-”

  “The past wasn’t gentle.”

  “But these scars are from wounds. Why don’t you heal yourself?”

  “Kiss them and make them go away?” He gently shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Do you think I am foolish?”

  “For suggesting I cure myself? No. Why should I? It worked on you. I don’t know why but it did.” Dumarest moved from her embrace and raised himself in order to look down at her. Some memories still lingered. Some advice remained strong. Never to trust. Never to be weakened by the temptation of beauty. Had the time of memory been a subconscious warning?

  His hand lifted to caress her hair.

  “Do you remember when I told you that, when I looked at you, I saw something other than an ordinary woman.”

  “You said I was a beautiful one.”

  “You are, but you are not an ordinary woman. You are a mystery. I tried an experiment. I was lost in a realm of mists and shadows where nothing made sense. I remembered a room I had known. This room.” He gestured at the chamber. “You entered it as if you belonged, yet it must be strange to you. Any ordinary woman would have been curious. Asked questions. Demanded an explanation. You merely accepted things as you found them. Why?”

  “I came for you, darling.”

  “And found me. But there has to be more. Who and what are you? Where do you live? Where is your family? How did I manage to create this chamber?” Frustration hardened his tone.

  “Damn it, girl, help me! I need answers!”

  “Shandaha-”

  “Forget Shandaha! I’m asking you! Where did you come from before you opened that door? How did you know what I had done? Did I really hurt you with the knife or did you just pretend?”

  “Earl! Never that!”

  “Then be honest with me! We have made love. We are lovers. We should be close. If we are to stay together we need to trust each other. As things are I can’t trust anything. Not this chamber, the window, Shandaha, you!”

  “Why are you hurting me?” She reached towards him.

  “Things were so wonderful until you spoiled them. Hold me. Touch me. Kiss me. Earl!”

  Her voice rose in empty command as Dumarest slipped from the bed and stepped towards the washbasin. He needed a shower or bath but the faucet would have to do. He operated it, filling the basin and laving his face and torso, careless of the droplets he cast on the wall and floor. More followed as he washed away the residue of passion. Ignoring her as again Nada called his name.

  “Earl!”

  The choice would be hers. She would either help him or ignore his request but she would have made the decision and have no cause for grievance. He heard the soft pad of her feet, the slight rustle as she donned her robe and waited, expecting to feel her touch, the impact of her body.

  “Earl,” she whispered, “I don’t know what is wrong. Help me to understand. Why are you so disturbed? So restless? So reluctant to accept things as they are? Here you have all any man could want. You are safe, snug, secure. You have comfort and time in which to indulge your pleasures. If you want you could have me. What more could you hope to gain.”

  “A home.”

  “Here you have that.”

  “No.” He didn’t turn to look at her. “Here I have a gilded cage. A prison. A world which is nothing more than a trap. You say I could have you if I want. What as? A pleasing companion? As the mother of my children? A friend? As something more than a toy?”

  “Is that how you see me?”

  “You are what you are. As we are all what we are. You seem to be happy here. I am not. I want more than you offer. More than Shandaha seems willing to provide.”

  He paused, waiting for her reply, and when none came turned and found he was alone.

  Nada had vanished like a puff of wind, as she had when first they had met, gone as if she had never existed. The door had made no sound. He had heard no footsteps. But memories remained together with the hint of perfume in the air.

  Sweet memories of warm and yielding flesh, of a mutual melding, a union that had made two people one. Of passion mounting to climax in gushing release. Of the calmness that had followed, the satisfaction, the joy of pleasure shared and consummated. Ghosts that need never return.

  A sheet from the bed served as a towel and he dressed, slipping the knife from beneath the pillow and sheathing the sharp steel in his boot, remembering the wound the point had made, how that same wound had vanished.

  A memory that was a weakness. Nada a woman to be forgotten. Outside Chagal could be found and plans made. If the doctor refused to cooperate Dumarest would go his own way. Demanding the release Shandaha had promised, and if his freedom threatened his life then it would be in a world he understood and from an enemy he could recognize.

  Three paces and he was at the door. It opened at a touch and he stared at the swirling bank of mist outside. He stepped into it-and abruptly was young again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The captain was dying. He had been dying all during their recent voyage growing skeletal thin, coughing clots of stained mucus and gobbets of ravaged tissue from decaying lungs. Spending the last of his strength to land safely then to slump in the big chair in the control cabin to stare with glassy eyes at the screens, dials, glowing
signals from the assembled panels. Standing beside him Dumarest heard the liquid rasping, the soft rustle of clothing against plastic, saw the twist of the lips, the movements of the hands and eyes, the ghastly sagging of a face now more than old.

  “Steady,” he soothed. “Just rest easy.”

  “Rest?” Bazan Deralta heaved in his chair. Coughing he fought the phlegm which clogged his throat. “Earl!”

  He positioned the bowl, waited as the captain hawked and spat, clearing his throat, breathing with a harsh, ragged sound. He lifted a protesting hand as Dumarest wiped his lips as he slumped back into his chair.

  “No, Earl! That’s enough!”

  Ignoring him he dipped the cloth into scented water and laved the captain’s forehead, throat and cheeks. The flesh burned as if with inner fire.

  “How is he?” Entering the control room the navigator stared at the slumped figure. “Bad as ever. The poor devil. He hasn’t a hope of making it.”

  “We could take him to the infirmary.”

  “Sure,” agreed Raistar. He was a tall, aging man with a harassed expression and a curt, blunt manner. “They could take him and check his insides and take samples so as to grow new tissue. When ready they could slice him open and replace his diseased organs and dump him into an amniotic tank. Slowtime would speed the healing. They could fix him up as good as new. It could all be done in a few weeks.” Bitterly he added, “All it takes is money.”

  “He has money. He has the ship.”

  “And when that’s gone, what then?” The navigator shook his head. “And you’re wrong, Earl. The captain doesn’t own the ship. We all have a share. So we sell it and pay for the treatment. If it works the captain will be alive-but there will be no ship. At his age he hasn’t a chance of getting another command. Not even a berth. He’d be stranded.”

  “But alive.”

  “Or he doesn’t make it.” Raistar ignored the comment. “And we still have no ship.”

  “He’s the captain! You just can’t let him die!”

  “We can’t ruin ourselves to give him a chance.” Anger tinged the navigator’s voice. “You think we don’t give a damn? You think we don’t care? But the facts are what they are. Either way we’d be stranded. Can you even begin to imagine what that would be like? No berth, no cash, no future. No escape from this hell-hole of a world. It’s a gamble we can’t win. One we aren’t going to take.”

  “But-”

  “He’s right, Earl.” Zander had joined them in the control room. “We’ll do the best we can but we can’t take the captain to the infirmary. The authorities will be notified in case of contamination. The ship will be impounded and there will be heavy fees mounting day by day.”

  “We can work to pay them.”

  “It isn’t as simple as that” said the engineer. “We can’t afford to linger. As soon as Jesso has got us a cargo we’re off.”

  “Without a captain?”

  “Raistar can handle the ship. He can take care of the formalities. No one will know about the captain. Once in space we’ll do the best we can.”

  A best that needn’t be good enough. None of the drugs they had carried had helped and Dumarest felt a chill of foreboding as he again bathed the burning flesh of the emaciated face. One he had come to know and like too well. A face of a man he had come to think of as a father, someone who had helped, who seemed to understand, to be concerned. One who was going to die.

  “We all have to go, Earl.” The engineer, watching, had sensed his thoughts, guessed his emotions. His voice was unusually gentle. “Today, tomorrow, someday-it all has to end. Bazan has done more than most. Seen more than most. Now, maybe, it’s time for him to move on.”

  “But there must be something we can do.”

  “There is and we will. Dorph is arranging it.” Zander turned to lead the way from the control room, the big chair, the wasted figure it contained. “You’re to go with him to collect some medications. Hurry, Earl. He’s waiting for you outside.”

  Figona was a harsh world, one of clouded sunlight, tainted air and winds carrying the acrid stench of chemicals. From where he stood at the head of the ramp Dumarest could see ugly glows on the horizon from the smelters turning ore into ingots. Wisps of vapor streamed over the field, catching at his lungs, stinging his eyes. The reason why the port had slammed close behind him. Such an atmosphere had no place within the vessel. Especially when the captain was lying ill and coughing blood.

  “Coming?”

  Dorph, at the foot of the ramp, was impatient.

  Dumarest ignored him, years of association had lessened his importance. Now the steward was just another person in a tiny world. As the engineer was another, the handler a third. Both now busy on their own tasks.

  “Earl! Damn it, boy, do you have to stand like some star-struck idiot? You’ve seen ships and landing fields before. They’re all the same. Let’s get on with it.”

  Reluctantly he obeyed. It was true he had seen ships and fields before but, always, they held a special magic. The attraction of the unknown. The hint of exotic adventure and unexpected possibilities. The ships scattered around him had roamed the void and touched the planets of stars far distant.

  The crews that manned them had trodden on worlds he had yet to see. Many of which he would never have the time to see.

  Three years of travel had barely allowed him to touch the fringe of the universe.

  “Hurry!” Dorph looked from side to side as Dumarest descended the ramp. A nervous gesture with no apparent cause.

  “We haven’t much time,” he said as he led the way to the gate. “The captain needs a special drug. Only a few sell it. The man we need won’t entertain visitors after dark.”

  Too many words and, like the furtive looks, foreign to his nature. Dorph never volunteered explanations. He liked to remain enigmatic and, in his mind, mysterious. Now he wore a peaked cap fitted with an eye-screen that masked his face. He had insisted that Dumarest wore one like it. An odd request but there was no point in arguing about it.

  “Keep moving!” Dorph grunted as a guard blocked their passage. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Just take it easy.”

  The guard was a big man, armed and irritable. “Just give it a minute. Someone special wants some room.”

  Dumarest looked to where the guard was facing. The crowd of men was parting, yielding to clear a passage down which came a tall, thin figure. One seeming to glide over the tamped dirt, resplendent in a robe of vivid scarlet, the breast adorned with a gleaming sigil. Beneath the raised cowl he caught a glimpse of a taut, skull-like visage, the glow of sunken eyes.

  “Who-”

  “Quiet, boy!” snapped Dorph. “Don’t be curious!” The guard wasn’t so reticent.

  “You’ve never seen one before?” His eyes roved over Dumarest. “Well, maybe not, you’re young and there aren’t many in this area. You’re looking at a cyber. An associate of the Cyclan. Closer to the Centre they can be found on every thriving world.” He spat on the dirt. “Scum, the lot of them! They should be burned!”

  “Why?”

  “Forget it, Earl!”

  Like Dumarest the guard ignored the steward.

  “You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. I was born on Helgar, a warm and easy world a long way from here. My family shared and farmed a valley for five generations. We all lived well. Then the new Magnate wanted to increase his revenue. He hired the Cyclan to advise him how best to do it. Their advice turned the valley into a reservoir. We lost our home, land, everything. For compensation we were given a tract of desert. My father cut his throat. My mother starved, my sisters and other brothers-” He broke off, quivering with rage. “All thanks to the Cyclan. Damn the red swine!”

  Dumarest looked at the tall figure with fresh interest. He had passed deeper into the field but now it was obvious he was not alone. Two others accompanied him; acolytes wearing simple robes. The ship to which they headed stood in isolation at the far edge of the field.


  “What are they doing here?”

  “Who knows? Who cares?” As the guard lowered his arm Dorph headed towards the gate. “Hurry! Let’s get moving!”

  Through the gate, past the guards, the cluster of loungers, the curious, the hopeful, the desperate.

  “Mister!” One grabbed at the steward. “You from a ship? I need passage. I can work, do anything, I just have to get away.”

  Dorph was curt. “Forget it.”

  “I don’t want much. Just a passage.”

  “You willing to ride Low?”

  “Anything, mister. Anything!”

  “Got cash?”

  “Some. Look.”

  “Not enough.” Dorph waved aside the handful of coins. “It’s no deal.”

  “Mister! I’m begging you!”

  As they left him behind Dumarest said, “Shouldn’t Jesso have made the decision?”

  “Why waste his time? You know the rules-no cash no ride. Anyway, he would never have made it.”

  “Jesso-”

  “Damn it, Earl, forget Jesso. He would have done the same. Now let’s get on with what we came to do.”

  The apothecary was housed in a building adorned with the depiction of great flasks of varied colors. Lamps hung between them, now lit against the growing darkness, casting swathes of cerise, orange, lavender, ruby, golden yellow, lambent emerald. The man himself was small with darting eyes in a creased and puckered face. Around him reared shelves bearing an assortment of containers. Dumarest stared with interest at glowing heaps of crystalline dusts, mounds of elaborately convoluted seeds, phials of enigmatic fluids, the mummified corpses of insects and fish, worms, things like spiders and tadpoles, others like the substance of nightmares.

  “Ears,” said the apothecary. “Culled from those executed at dawn, steeped in bile and blood and dried in the heat of a noonday sun. And these-” his finger rapped against another container-“eyes. Plucked from the living sockets of those condemned to end their days in torment. Basted in the effluvium of seared and living fat, chilled, left to shrink in the glow of a gibbous moon. Are you interested, young sir? Have you a problem? Here, within these walls, all can be solved. A subtle poison. A strong aphrodisiac. A rival disposed of and a woman eager to fall into your arms. Could paradise offer more?”