THE RETURN dot-32

by E. C. Tubb

  "I was there. You know that."

  "In the warehouse? At the ship? Near to it?" The softness of his tone was the warning of a serpent about to strike. "Tell us," he urged, a hand lifting to the crowd pressing close. "Tell us what really happened to you. To you and Dren Ford."

  A trap and she had fallen into it. Now it was his word against hers and the crowd was on his side. Ford's aunt edged forward, steel glimmering as she lifted the dagger from its sheath. Others, seeing the gesture, rumbled their approval.

  "Were you caught?" mused Toibin. "Questioned? Did you buy your life? Have you returned with accusations so as to minimize your guilt? Is there none to challenge your assertions?"

  "I challenge them!" The woman with the dagger lifted it high. "If she's lying I'll cut her guts out! Well, bitch? Shall we put it to the test?"

  The rough justice of the barbarian in which might equaled right. It was a part of Zehava's culture and she was prepared to face it. Dumarest saw the determined set of her jaw, the tension of arms and shoulders, the hand which fell to her belt, the knife it carried. Guns were too impersonal, too dangerous to use in a crowd even if tradition wasn't against them. She would fight and she would die. She had drunk too deeply and lacked the savage hate of the other woman.

  Dumarest said loudly, "Zehava didn't lie. I was there. I know."

  "You were with her?!" Toibin reared back a little as afraid of contamination. A theatrical gesture which caused the yellow light to shimmer on his clothing, the dark mass of his hair. "On the field? In the warehouse?"

  "I was there but she wasn't with me then. A stone damned near smashed her skull. I ran to tell you she was hurt but couldn't get close. By the time I'd made it into the warehouse you were getting ready to leave. God knows why you had nothing to be afraid of."

  Dumarest paused for effect, looking at Toibin, the assembled crowd.

  Deliberately he said, "You had destroyed the towers, killed the guards, blown open the warehouse and hit the town. You had the inhabitants at your mercy and they knew it. Even if they had wanted to resist, it would have taken too long to assemble men and find missiles, get them into place, aim and fire them and do it all without being spotted. You had time to do anything you wanted. Instead you ran like a scared rat. You didn't even check what you'd taken. And you left Dren Ford to die."

  The woman said, quickly, "Did you see it?"

  "No." A necessary lie. Dumarest compounded it with another. "I heard he put up a good fight. Two men died before they shot him down."

  "I knew it had to be like that." The blade she'd drawn vanished into its sheath. "Dren had guts and was no petty thief. His captain should have known that."

  Toibin snapped, harshly, "Watch your mouth, woman!"

  "My nephew -"

  "Is dead. Had he done as he should he would be with us now. But he died bravely – if you choose to believe a stranger." Toibin lifted his hand to point at Dumarest as he raised his voice. "Who is he? What is he doing here? A man who claims to have penetrated my guards, to have remained undetected in the warehouse, to be close enough to the authorities to know what happened to Dren Ford? Can you believe him? Can you trust him? Take his word against mine?"

  A clever man acting a part and doing it well. No man could have achieved Toibin's status by the use of brawn alone. Within the rounded skull rested a shrewd and calculating intelligence. One cunning enough to have picked the time and place for his confrontation with Zehava and her discontent. Now he was appealing to the loyalty of the crowd. A tried and trusted member of the community setting himself against a stranger. There could be no doubt as to the outcome.

  Dumarest said, "Are you calling me a liar?"

  "You?" Toibin shrugged. "I call you nothing for that is what you are. A toy hired to satisfy a harlot's lust."

  "You bastard!" Zehava rose, quivering with anger. Snatching Dumarest's goblet she lifted it to hurl its contents into Toibin's face. "No one calls me that!"

  Dumarest lunged towards her, hands extended, fingers striking her wrist to send a shower of wine spraying to one side. Rage had blinded her to danger. On Kaldar no distinction was made between the sexes.

  "Sit." He felt her tremble beneath his hands as he forced her back into her chair. "Don't play into his hands. He's baiting you. Give him an excuse and he'll kill you."

  "How touching." Toibin rocked back on his heels. "See how he comforts her. He does it well. A pity he is a liar. A betrayer. A coward. Something less than a man."

  Dumarest looked at the tall figure limned in the yellow light, knowing that what was to come, seeing no way to avoid it.

  "Meaning?"

  "A man would fight."

  "On equal terms? As one of the Kaldari?"

  Zehava settled the matter. "He is my man. He fights for me. Who denies my right?"

  Starlight illuminated the plaza, sheening the flags with silver luminescence, frosting the buildings, the trees, the ornamental shrubs. Light augmented by lanterns carried from the tavern and swung aloft to cast their shifting patches of jeweled hues over the scene. One reminiscent of Arpagus, the casino which was its pride, but here the stakes would be the highest a man could wager.

  "Be careful, Earl." Zehava whispered tensely in his ear. 'Toibin is a skilled and dirty fighter. Don't underestimate him. If he wins we lose all we own."

  To the victor the spoils and the penalty she would pay for having equaled his status. Dumarest had expected nothing less but if he was defeated Zehava would only lose her wealth. He would lose his life.

  He inhaled slowly, deeply, forcing himself to relax as he had done so often before. Then there had been a roped ring, brilliant overhead lights, a sea of faces set in rising tiers. The familiar setting of any arena which men fought with naked steel, cutting, stabbing, slicing, maiming. Killing for the sake of money and a transient glory. The memory of it fogged the starlight, turned the glowing lamplight into the semblance of blood, of gold, the febrile gleam of eyes as women bared their breasts and screamed invitations to their bed and body.

  That madness would be absent here as would be those who hung around the preparation rooms; the touts, perverts, gamblers, assessors of odds. The fixers with their drugged wine. The liars with their useless pills and potions. The ghouls who gloated over slashed and maimed bodies. Vampires who thrilled at the sight of blood and necrophiliacs who bribed the attendants to let them have their way with the helpless dead. But the faces would be the same. A ring of them, avid, bestial, hungry for the spectacle to come.

  "Dumarest!" Toibin called from where he stood at the far end of the circle. "Your customs need not be ours. If you feel the want of religious consolation I permit you to send for a monk."

  Mockery which brought a laugh from the crowd, but not all of them. The aunt of Ford remained silent and so did others with her. Not many but enough to form a small knot in the assembly. Dumarest marked its position as he marked the glow of the lanterns, the shadows of the trees. Among them, like ghosts, he saw the dim shape of ganni as they watched events beyond their comprehension.

  "Well?" Toibin flaunted his humor. "Do you wish to take advantage of my offer?"

  "Yes," said Dumarest. "I would like to see a monk." Pausing he added, "A week from today."

  Again came the laughter. True barbarians they could appreciate the jest. They fell silent as the two men closed for combat.

  Both were stripped to the waist and both carried naked steel. The knives were not a match as each favored his own. Dumarest's was nine inches of honed and polished metal, the guard scarred, the hilt worn, the rounded pommel a balance for the edged and pointed blade. A tool designed for survival. The weapon carried by Toibin was one fashioned to kill. A slender triangle, ten inches long, double-edged, viciously pointed. The guard was too big, the pommel too large as if intended for use as a club.

  "Even money on the captain." The voice came from the back of the crowd. "Fives on the stranger. Why hesitate? A gamble adds spice to blood."

  Dumarest slowed as Toib
in came nearer. As their knives were different so was the stance they adopted. Habit guided Dumarest into that used in the arena. He stood with legs slightly parted, toes outward, feet firm on the ground, his body inclined a little towards his opponent. The knife was held like a sword, thumb to the blade, the edge inward and the point raised. A stance which enabled him to move quickly, to cut fore and background, to parry and to stab if desirable.

  Toibin was accustomed to less formal combat. His left arm was folded across his chest to protect his heart, hand guarding the throat, elbow pressed above his spleen. His knife was held like a sword but the point was in line with his forearm and aimed low. The stance of a man willing to take a wound as long as he could deliver a blow.

  One would be enough. The vicious point driving into the intestines, twisting, ripping, the sharp edges severing tendon, muscle, artery and nerve. Releasing a shower of blood and guts as it was drawn upwards and free.

  An obvious danger – were there others?

  Toibin had intended the challenge from the first but why had he been so willing to accept the woman's conditions? Was he confident because he was certain he would win?

  Dumarest stepped aside as the captain attacked, the slender triangle shimmering like ice as it cut the air. A stab which went wide, steel clashing as he parried, testing for strength and agility. The triangle was like a rock, Toibin like a cat as he spun to thrust again, to snarl his anger as Dumarest moved beyond reach.

  "I knew you were a coward. But none can run from death."

  Words intended to irritate but Dumarest ignored the taunt. Ford's aunt and her supporters were to his left and he moved so as to place them at his back. A small defense but if men had been set to help Toibin it would make things harder for them. As for the rest he could only trust their concept of honor.

  "A dancer." Toibin sneered as, after a flurry in which blades had made metallic ringings, Dumarest regained his chosen position. "If you are afraid of combat then yield and I will treat you gently. Admit you lied. Pay for your mistake and live to enjoy the light of another dawn."

  An offer which Dumarest pretended to consider. In any fight the object was to win as fast as possible before luck or accident could bring defeat. Toibin was playing to his audience. His reputation was at stake and he wanted to demean his opponent before butchering his path to victory. A weakness which could be used against him.

  "Money," said Dumarest. "You'll accept money?" He slowed, allowed the other to come closer, the vicious blade within reach. "You'll let me live if I pay?"

  Toibin smiled, nodding then, with sudden ferocity, attacked. He gave no warning, the slender triangle of his blade darting forward to rip into the stomach. A blow Dumarest had anticipated and he twisted from it, feeling the burn as the point ripped at his side. A minor wound risked for the chance to grip the hand holding the knife, halting movement while his own blade slashed upwards to cut the interior of the forearm, severing tendons, veins, grating on bone to release a shower of blood.

  "Bastard!" Toibin bared his teeth in a snarl. "You bastard!"

  His left hand darted forward, fingers stabbing in a vicious attack. Dumarest struck before they could reach his eyes, slashing the edge of his knife hard against the right side of the captain's throat. Sending the blade to shear through skin, fat, muscle, the pulsing arteries beneath. Releasing a fountain of blood to stain them both before the captain slumped lifeless to the ground.

  Chapter Eight

  Ivernal wasted no time in coming to the point.

  "Earth!" His hand slammed on the table, emphasizing both anger and disgust. "Is the man serious? Does he expect us to give him a ship and crew to go hunting a legend?"

  "He isn't asking for charity," said Nadine. "He-"

  "If any want to go with him that is their choice." Ozenne was curt in his interruption as he attacked what he considered to be the heart of the matter. "None has the right to deny them."

  "That is admitted." Musson shifted restlessly on his chair. "What is the problem? Why is the Council in session? It is simply a matter of business. Does Dumarest have money?"

  "His own plus what he gained from Toibin." Nadine added, "Aside from personal jewelry that wasn't much."

  "Is that why he challenged Dumarest?" Jumay was shrewd. "To harvest what he'd gained from the traders? Not that it matters. Toibin was a fool. He could have handled things better. Dumarest is an outsider."

  But could no longer be treated as one.

  Nadine leaned back in her chair pretending an indifference she did not feel. The council chamber, a bare room fitted with a table and chairs, held no dignity as the Council itself held no real power. A body created as a matter of convenience to provide arbitration when needed, to deal with visiting traders, to act as an agent and to provide a degree of administration. Yet they could act as one and had influence by reason of friends and families.

  Musson said, "I still fail to see why we are here. Dumarest wants to charter a ship. If he can pay for it then where is the problem?"

  Dieter was more discerning. "He wants to go hunting a myth. To search for Earth. Never mind what we think – he obviously believes he can find it. But when? Where? How long would he expect the charter to last?"

  "Until he reaches his destination." Nadine looked at those around the table. "He is willing to pay all he has towards the venture. He also has the coordinates."

  "Of Earth?" Calbray spoke for the first time. An old, thin, wizened man who bore facial scars with a stubborn pride. "Woman, do you know what you are saying?"

  To them all Earth was a legend. Any supposed coordinates had to be the product of a mad or cunning mind. The stuff of lying adventure sold in taverns to gullible fools. Such a one, with money, could buy passage to wherever it would take him, but the ships of Kaldar were not ordinary vessels. The caution of those owning and operating them induced a wary suspicion.

  One Nadine shared but Dumarest had won her over.

  Now she dangled a glittering bait.

  Earth was the mythical treasure world of the galaxy. A planet of indescribable wealth. One holding mountains of rare and precious metals, dunes of gems, lakes of perfumes, oceans of wine, forests of trees bearing pods which held the cure for all ills. The inflated promise of legend yet the allure remained. Find Earth and gain the prize of all time. Out there for the talking.

  "Dumarest is convinced he can find it," she said. "He is willing to back himself with a fortune. All he wants is a ship to carry him."

  "Then let him find one elsewhere."

  "And lose all the potential profit?" Dieter scowled at the suggestion. "Don't be a fool, Ivernal. We daren't turn him down. Think how it will look to others. The chance to find the richest prize ever dreamed of thrown away by scared old men? You know what would be said and done. We'll be targets for every frustrated youngster on the planet. We wouldn't last a week."

  Ozenne said, "You say he has the coordinates, Nadine. Have you seen them? Did he give you any proof?"

  "He isn't lying."

  "But the figures?"

  "He didn't give them to me," she admitted. "Would you?"

  "No, I suppose not. But he'll have to give them to the captain. Who will it be?"

  She took her time before answering, knowing she trod on delicate ground. Few ships were owned by an individual. Costs were too high and most were owned by combines with shares sold to those willing to gamble. Crews and captains the same. Dieter''s warning applied to more than frustrated youngsters. Who best to select?

  "Wine?" Brak Sorenson had held himself in reserve. Now he acted to take the pressure off his niece. As he limped around the table filling glasses he said, casually, "While we're on the subject, who will take over the Geniat now that Toibin is dead?"

  "Uncle, that can wait."

  "Of course. It's just that he was readying for action and -" He broke off, shrugging. "I guess it doesn't matter."

  A clever man, one who knew better than to say too much or press too hard, but the seed had been so
wn and Nadine shared his silence as discussion swept the table. All had preferences, Jumay arguing with Ozenne, Dieter with Musson. Calbray with Ivernal. As the noise mounted Nadine rapped on the board.

  "If the proposition is going to create strife among us it had best be abandoned. A pity. The potential is vast but Dumarest will have to try elsewhere."

  As if on cue Musson said, "You've given this some thought, Nadine. What do you advise?"

  "That we forget our differences and waste no time in reaching agreement. Dumarest has much to offer but isn't the most patient of men. Many hold him in high regard since his fight with Toibin and will not take kindly to his rejection. There are those who want to rid themselves of the restrictions we have imposed. There has been talk of changes." She looked at Suke Jumay. "Some of it close to home."

  "Mel is a hothead," he admitted. He rasped his chin, remembering how the youngster had defied him over the damage caused by the fire. Pride had made him meet the cost from his own pocket, but where would the defiance end? "He needs action."

  "He isn't alone," said Nadine. "There aren't enough opportunities to keep he and his kind busy. To raid we need ships. To meet costs we must have profitable targets. Dumarest is offering us a golden opportunity. The accumulated wealth of an entire world!"

  A theme she harped on as she went into detail. With Toibin dead his ship needed a captain and she had just the man in mind. Lief Chapman who belonged to no combine and old enough to be cautious, stubborn enough not to be easily swayed, rich enough to contribute. One with experience now fretting at inactivity and yearning to get back into space. A man they could trust.

  Points they could appreciate.

  She gave them others. An idle vessel made no profits. The Geniat was almost ready to leave. The crew could contain most of the disaffected. A large compliment would offer the chance of many gaining experience and also provide a garrison to establish a claim on Earth. Dumarest would command the expedition.

  "Command?" Jumay shook his head. "No. He'll be a passenger."

  "And a guide."

  "All we need are the coordinates."