THE RETURN dot-32

by E. C. Tubb

Simi Kent, the second engineer, ran forward with an oddly shaped lever. One he slipped into an orifice, heaved, grunted as the casing remained intact.

  "What's the problem?" Dumarest rested a hand on the metal. "Warped?"

  "Maybe fused. I hope to hell it isn't. Cutting it free could do damage." Simi heaved again on the lever, Dumarest adding his strength. Together they forced it free. "Zoll!"

  The engineer pushed them aside as he crouched to examine the exposed interior of the generator. When he straightened black smears streaked the contours of his face.

  Simi was impatient. "Bad?"

  "Bad enough. The governor blew. The safety fuses took the brunt, but they went in turn and the coils are grimed." Irritably he shook his head. "I don't understand it. There was no reason for the damn thing to blow. We were running even, no surges, no drain, nothing to cause damage. It just happened."

  Dumarest said, "How long to repair it?"

  "As long as it takes." Mauger was curt. "The governor will have to be replaced. We carry a spare so that's no problem. But the generator need to be cleaned, the safeties renewed and the coils needs to be polished and realigned."

  "For the text-book repair," agreed Dumarest. "I'm talking about something good enough to establish the field and get us to a planet."

  "You an engineer?"

  "I've handled machines and seen damaged generators." Dumarest stared at the other man. "From what you say most of what needs doing is basic. Maybe I can help. It's my neck too," he reminded. "Don't blame me for taking care of it."

  "I don't." Mauger looked at Nadine. She had entered the engine room as they had talked. "What is it?"

  "The captain wants a full report." She looked at the dismantled generator and added, "I heard what you said about replacing the governor. I suggest you check the spare before you do."

  "Why?" Mauger scowled when she told him. "Some worker on Kaldar committing sabotage? Are you serious?"

  "Vargas was complaining about sloppy work. There could be a connection. How often do governors blow?"

  "Rarely," admitted the engineer. "What's your point?"

  Dumarest said, before Nadine could answer, "It could be simple chance or it could be sabotage. If it happens again we could lose the generator. Are you willing to take that kind of chance?"

  "Not if I can help it," said Mauger. "I'll check it out. You can report to the captain when I've finished."

  Cradled by his chair in the control room Lief Chapman was a part of his domain. A meld of machine and mind, of science and art; apparent magic which had given Mankind the universe to rove in. All useless now. The vessel had turned into a coffin.

  With the Erhaft field down it was traveling below the speed of light and long before it could reach a habitable world everyone aboard would be dead. Starvation would see to it, and thirst, and inevitable madness. Not even the magic of drugs would stave off the inevitable. But that would not happen to his command. The vagaries of chance had seen to that.

  "Captain?" Niall was at his side, eyes on the main screen. "You've checked it out?"

  Chapman nodded, eyes drifting over the panels, the ranked instruments. Space was far from empty and nothing in it was safe.

  "As yet we're lucky," said the navigator. "This area is relatively clear. It all depends on how long it takes to affect repairs."

  Dumarest provided the answer. Chapman scowled as he finished his report.

  "How long?"

  "A day, maybe less." Dumarest noticed the captain's expression. "I'm quoting the engineer. The original governor is useless. If it hadn't been for Mauger I'd be saying the same about the generator, but we had luck and he was quick to act. He needs to calibrate the spare governor, replace the safeties and do what he can to clean the coils."

  "Why waste time messing with the spare?"

  "It can't be relied on."

  "We can't use it?"

  "I didn't say that. The tolerances are way out. It has to be stripped and recalibrated to accepted standard. If that isn't done it will blow. When it does it could take the generator with it. We don't carry a spare generator. We won't have a spare governor either." Dumarest added, grimly, "It's a gamble I'd rather not take."

  Chapman was equally grim. "We have no choice."

  He pointed at the screen before him, the stars it portrayed. Cross-hairs quartered a glowing point. As they watched the star moved to one side. An illusion; it was the ship which had moved.

  "We're caught in a Blakstaad vortex," explained the navigator. "Spiraling into the center. There's a black hole there. When we get too close we'll be sucked in."

  Dumarest said, "How long do we have?"

  "An hour. Seventy five minutes at the most. The speed of approach increases the closer we get." Chapman reached for his panel, punched a button. "Mauger?"

  "With you, captain."

  "Make an immediate start on the repairs. Use all the help you need."

  The engineer snapped, "Haven't you been told what happened? The situation we're in?"

  "It makes no difference. Just do as I order. You've an hour to get this ship out of trouble. Understood?"

  "It can't be done."

  "Do it!"

  Mauger snarled his anger. "To hell with that. We haven't the time and no stupid order is going to change things. Get that into your skull. We haven't the time!"

  "Damn you! We're heading into a black hole!"

  "You want me to put things back together again?" snapped the engineer. "Just put them back? Right, I'll do it, but it'll make no difference. Unless it's done right it'll be a waste of time. The generator won't work or, if it does, it'll blow in seconds and leave only scrap. You know that."

  Dumarest said, quickly, "There's a way out. We can use slowtime."

  Speeding their metabolism so that minutes turned into hours. But using it was dangerous. The mere act of living burning energy, created hunger, searing thirst and numbing fatigue. Water became a thick, cloying syrup. Food was inedible. Objects gained apparent weight because of massive inertia. Muscles were strained, sinews torn, any normal impact resulting in pulped flesh and shattered bone.

  "You've used it?" Chapman sighed his relief as Dumarest nodded. 'Teach the others how to adapt. I'll have Chagal deliver it to the engine room. He'll stay to help."

  "With booster shots, ice, cold water and glucose," said Dumarest. To the navigator he added, "Find us a world to run to. Pick one which is close."

  Chapter Ten

  Fionnulawas a world redolent of decay. A dull ball of brown and grey circling a scarlet sun blotched and marred by scabrous patches of sooty blackness. The sky was umber traced with drifting clouds of dusty brown. The soil was harsh, gritty, bearing vegetation the color of dust. Walls and houses were of rock, fretted and pocked as if made by the fumbling hands of children. On the field itself a truncated cone stood like a monument in an ancient graveyard.

  "A dump!" Zehava voiced her contempt. "It's spooked. Even the air stinks."

  "We didn't come for the air." Dumarest had noticed the acrid taint as he had noticed the oddity of the field. No loungers, touts, the usual entrepreneurs. None eager to talk to the crew, to obtain passage, to offer cargo. Not even the expected guards. A world seeming to be devoid of curiosity. One apparently free of greed. "They have what we need."

  "Taverns, I hope. Recreation of a kind – the compliment is getting stale."

  "Keep them busy. I want the ship cleaned and aired. Have them settle any personal disputes then put them to drill. Badwasi will help. Turn them into a disciplined force." Pausing he added, "Make the show impressive."

  "To awe the natives?" She smiled her understanding. "A show of muscle to instill respect and to ease the negotiations. And we don't have to hurry them." Her fingers closed on his arm. "It's time we got close, Earl. Really close. Let's find a hotel. We need comfort and privacy." Her tone sharpened as he shook his head. "Why not?"

  "We haven't the time. You're needed here. I'm due to meet Nadine to arrange the repairs."
/>   The town was reminiscent of Kaldar with its narrow streets and winding ways, but the people were different. Small, subdued, faces bland and bearing a common likeness. The obvious result of intensive inbreeding. Their clothing followed natural colors brightened with stylized designs which, he guessed, denoted status and skills. He saw no sign of weapons.

  Nadine was waiting before the repair sheds. As they met she said, "This is an odd place, Earl. Almost like something from a dream. But it seems peaceful and the people are polite."

  "A cultural trait."

  "You've met similar before?"

  "All worlds have their own ways. Some are stranger than others. Did you discover who can best help us?"

  "Aslam Cazele. He's waiting for us in his tower."

  He sat in a chamber ornamented with relics of former days; banners, weapons, scrolls illuminated with elaborate designs. An old man, puffed beneath his clothing, his face strongly boned, eyes hard, bright with a watchful sheen.

  "You are welcome." His gesture invited them to sit. "You will join me in cakes and wine, I insist. Strangers are rare on Fionnula."

  Traditional hospitality displaying peaceful intent. A custom familiar to Dumarest. The cakes were small, the wine perfumed. Cazele drained his glass and wiped his lips on a scrap of fabric. Leaning back in his chair he smiled as he noticed Nadine's interest in the furnishings of the room.

  "My adornments interest you? That banner was carried by an ancestor in a bloody war. That scroll lists those who first settled here. That is a graph of population trends. With that gun I brought down a gravid ulharge in the Moreau Pass. An ugly thing. I was in my late teens at the time. But enough of an old man's memories. More wine?"

  Dumarest said, "What is that?"

  He pointed to a glass case set against a wall. The yellow light shone in ruby reflections from a creature mounted beneath the transparent pane. A scaled and spined thing half the length of his forearm, winged, the mandibles lined with cruel serrations. The proboscis was like a needle. Compound eyes shone like jewels. The tail held a cluster of vents which could have housed stings.

  "That?" Cazele was casual. "A pylas. They breed in the hills. Now tell me about yourselves. Have you come to trade? We have a fine stock of dried loosh in the warehouse and I can talk Sinclair into letting it go for a reasonable price. If you want to settle there is land to the north. Good soil and plenty of water."

  "We have landed to effect minor repairs. We need parts and facilities. It seems your authority is needed before they can be provided."

  "That is correct. The field and the repair sheds are in my domain. Just what do you need?"

  "My engineer could tell you that better than I. If you give me the necessary authority he and your technicians can get together."

  "Agreed. I also assume you would be interested in recreational facilities." Cazele poured more wine. "Fionnula may look bleak but things are not always what they seem. There is good hunting if you care to indulge in the sport. We have underground lakes and gardens. Soon it will be the time of the Carriere. The time of rain," he explained. 'The sky will be thick with cloud and the air alive with waterfalls. Three days and the sun shines again and the crops grow before your eyes. The fields will be rich with glorious color yielding a heady perfume. It is a time of festival. You will enjoy it."

  "If we are here."

  "It would be a pity if you were not." Cazele smiled and sipped at his wine. Shaking his head he set down the glass and rose to his feet. "I am being inhospitable. The wine is not of the best. Please excuse me while I fetch a fresh bottle."

  An obvious excuse to leave them alone. Electronic eyes and ears could hear every word, see every movement and give Cazele an advantage if they were careless. Such a man would not miss the opportunity of learning what he could. Dumarest rose as Nadine leaned towards him and moved to where the pylas rested in its case. As she joined him he rested a finger on the pane.

  Quietly, as if discussing the creature, he said, "What do you read?"

  "He wants the business but he wants us to settle even more. From what I've seen this planet needs new blood. He could hope we will provide it."

  By revitalizing the population with new children, the vitality of new minds, new energies. An influx gained by the promise of land, titles, the hint of given authority. An offer which held appeal and those so tempted would be reluctant to leave.

  "Look around," said Dumarest. "See what you can learn. In a way you are looking at the history of a world."

  One barely investigated before Cazele returned. The wine he had selected was darkly red, flecked with tiny motes of gold, the taste giving rise to thoughts of firelight and clustered shadows.

  "A wine for romance," he said, lifting his glass. "In it one can see pleasant memories and the hint of joys to come. A rare vintage. If the weather is kind we shall be able to repeat it. Your health!"

  Dutifully Dumarest drank the toast. As he lowered his glass he said, "Now to business. We have yet to come to an arrangement."

  "We will, but after a journey it is good to rest for a while. To enjoy what a new world has to offer. Good food and wine. Pleasant company." Cazele lifted the bottle. "Enjoy your stay. Why be in so much of a hurry?"

  "A matter of finance," said Dumarest. "We are mercenaries and have a contract. It would be poor business for us to break it or to arrive late. Which is why we can tolerate no unnecessary delay." Smiling he reached for the bottle. "Now let us enjoy the rest of this wine."

  Dumarest stood on the field before the enigmatic cone, one hand resting on the surface, head tilted as he looked up at its height.

  As Zehava joined him he said, "What do you make of this?"

  "Nothing. It's a freak of some kind. Maybe a monument of sorts. It could even be old garbage. Who the hell cares? Just relax, Earl. Why make problems? We've enough as it is."

  "The compliment," he agreed. "They're turning into a rabble."

  "That's your opinion. They aren't toy soldiers. The Kaldari don't take orders. They won't obey unless they want to and there's no reason they should. Anyway, where's the harm? What's wrong with a little recreation?"

  Days and nights spent on their concept of fun, the natives eager for the money they squandered in taverns, casinos, and houses of pleasure. The normal pastimes of those to whom the future was always in doubt. For whom old age was an abstraction. Too many days and now parties were rafting into the hills to find what sport they could.

  Zehava said, "How can you blame them, Earl? They're bored. The repairs are taking too long. So they' re having some fun. Why don't we?"

  An invitation he ignored. Mauger grunted as he entered the engine room. The basic work had been done, a new governor replacing the original spare, but the coils had needed more work than he had guessed and now there was a fresh problem.

  "The air recyclers will have to be checked. We found one with damaged components which could have poisoned the air. Once the ionic exchanger breaks down there's a danger it can produce too much ozone or -"

  "Sabotage?"

  Mauger shrugged. "How to tell? Filters break down like everything else."

  But not in a vessel correctly maintained. Not in a ship which dared not take the chance of malfunction. What else could he suspect? How much longer the delay?

  Again the engineer shrugged. "I can't tell you that. The generator took longer than I thought and now we have to take care of this. I won't be happy until I've checked every essential component. It'll take time but it's better to be sure. Anyway, this seems a comfortable world."

  Too comfortable, at least for the visitors, Dumarest wasn't so sure about the natives. Yet they seemed amiable enough if a little odd. Too detached, too prone to lose attention, sometimes seeming to shrink in abject terror and, at others, to be riding an euphoric high. All giving the impression of holding a common secret, one they were determined not to share.

  Nadine was no help.

  "I can't read them, Earl," she confessed. "I don't know their language. W
hat would normally signal fear and terror comes out as joy and anticipation. There are places I can't enter. Closed houses. There are trips out to the hills in sealed rafts."

  "Hunters?"

  "I'm not sure. They could be but where are the trophies? The skins and tails and heads. Cazele has things like that in his office. You'd expect to find them on sale." Pausing she added, "Land has been offered to some of the compliment. Land, servants, and titles if they will stay. Women, too, a lot of women. To revitalize the population, I suppose. Only the men have so far been approached."

  "Do any show interest?"

  "Some of them. They talk of setting up here. Of turning this world into an extension of Kaldar. They will rule and the natives will do the work." She shook her head, smiling. "It's just talk, Earl. A dream. When the ship's ready to leave they'll forget it."

  Something he doubted. Cazele was offering a golden bribe and the promise was too enticing, the temptation too great. All they had ever hoped to attain delivered on a plate. The expedition would be abandoned. The ship retained to take the news back to Kaldar. He would be forgotten or conveniently disposed of.

  Thoughts which sent him to pace the empty salon.

  "Earl?"

  "Go to Cazele," he said. "Apply pressure. I want everything we need delivered without delay. Hint that we could come to an agreement if he wants some of us to settle."

  "You'd give them permission to stay?"

  "Can I prevent them?" His smile was that of a man accepting the inevitable. "Just do your best to persuade him. Take your time and find out what you can. From him and any others of the Cabal." He added, "Make the most of what will happen at dusk."

  Zehava was in town, seated at a table with others, throwing dice for wine. She rose as she saw Dumarest.

  "Earl, what a pleasant surprise. Say you missed me and decided to have some fun." Abruptly she changed the subject. "Zoll tells me the repairs aren't coming as well as they should. Something about delays. Wasn't Nadine supposed to be taking care of that?"

  "She is."

  "Good." Her hand rose to touch his cheek, the fingers trailing in a caress. "You're worried, darling. Worried and tired. You're trying to carry everything on your back. Let others do some of the work." Her hand moved, slipped within his arm, her body moving to press against his own. "Let's see what this place has to offer."