THE RETURN dot-32

by E. C. Tubb

  They found a tavern which offered food and drink and women who danced in erotic postures to the beat of drums. A passage led to an underground lake where they swam among fish with crimson scales and eyes of pearl. Strands of silver weed embraced them and strange blooms of living petals emulated the seasons as they watched.

  As dusk neared Dumarest led the way outside to where rafts drifted from the hills to settle on roofs and clear spaces. Wealthy landowners, he guessed, returning from their holdings to the comfort and security of their towers. An evening ritual.

  Zehava ignored them. "Where next, Earl?"

  "Wait." He looked at the sky, the peak of a distant promontory. "We're about to see a show."

  One which blazed into life without warning. Fire streamed from a scintillating point in savage brightness. A glare which created thunder. A blast which shook the air and rattled windows and caused dust to rise from houses and streets. Twice more missiles hurtled from the ship to repeat the display of the first, the last leaving an ugly patch of widening darkness. Soot which rose to form a new cloud in the sky. Badwasi had done well.

  His work created chaos.

  Zehava winced as a shrieking woman ran past her down the narrow street, eyes wild, hands tearing at her hair. A man, hysterical with fear, followed her, others joining in to form a sudden flood of demented humanity. One which vanished as quickly as it had appeared, bodies diving through every opening, doors closing, shutters slamming across windows. Almost at once the town was deserted.

  "God!" Zehava clutched at Dumarest's arm. "What's the matter with them? Some noise. A few bangs in the sky and they go crazy."

  "Let's get back to the ship."

  "Why? I want to see what happens. How long is everyone going to stay locked away?"

  Long enough for the day to die and the stars to appear. Nadine was waiting when they returned to the ship. She had a message from Cazele.

  "You are not to fire missiles again. If you do all cooperation will cease."

  Dumarest looked at Mauger. "Do we need it?"

  "Technical help, no, but we could still use some parts and facilities. Nadine was going to arrange it."

  "I have. Cazele gave me his promise of assistance in return for my assurance that there will not be another accident. That's what I told him," she explained. "The missiles were fired in error. He didn't believe me."

  "He wasn't supposed to," said Dumarest. "Just as long as he gives us what we need. That isn't a complete overhaul," he said to the engineer. "I want the ship ready to leave. Don't rip apart things for the sake of it."

  "I want us to be safe."

  "Just make sure we can leave." To Nadine he said, "What else did you pick up?"

  "At the time of the blast? Cazele was terrified. So were the others with him."

  "Terrified," mused Zehava. "Like the people in town, Earl. I wonder why?"

  Chapter Eleven

  From the body of the raft the hills were a series of irregular peaks scored with shallow ravines and dotted with level patches bearing stunted trees and bushes. Rough ground providing thick cover for predators and other creatures. But Dumarest had seen no sign of life.

  "There!" Zehava pointed to where a regular shape stood to one side. "See it?" To the driver she snapped, "Turn left and down. Between those mounds. Land close to the cabin."

  It was small, a mere box with sealed windows, a roof, a door. Ventilation was provided by spinning fans set in meshed tubes. Like the building in town it had been constructed of worn and fretted stone.

  Inside rested a wide bed, a table and chairs, a compact cooking unit, some odd items of clothing and sporting gear, a dead man.

  Nigel Myer who had chased adventure and had found something which had killed him.

  He lay on the bed, legs sprawled, hands empty, the slash across his throat the grisly parody of a smile. He was naked, scratches on arms and torso, more on one cheek. Blood had dried to provide a brownish smear on flesh and the cover on which he lay. More smears made a patch from the bed to the door. Others spattered the walls.

  Dumarest touched his arm, moved his fingers to the region of the heart as he felt the temperature of the flesh.

  "His companion?"

  "Ulman Tighe. He's outside."

  He sat on the ground, well away from the cabin, the radio with which he had summoned help hanging from a strap around his neck. A man of Nigel's age, dressed in rough clothing, a holstered weapon at his belt.

  "What happened?"

  "I don't know. That is I'm not sure. It -" He broke off, swallowing rising vomit. More lay to one side where he had vented the contents of his stomach. "We came out here to hunt. Nigel, me and Wanda. She was our guide. More than that, really, she seemed to like us and we all got along. Nigel wanted to be alone with her so I took a walk. When I returned I found them lying together in a puddle of blood. God – what a mess!"

  Dumarest said, sharply, "What about the girl?"

  "I dragged her from him. She didn't belong. He was of the Kaldari and -"

  "Where is she now?"

  Lying in a shallow gully to one side of the cabin. A small, forlorn, naked creature who had once been beautiful but now was a thing of horror. Something had ripped open her stomach from crotch to navel, leaving her intestines to hang like tangled ribbons.

  Zehava said, "Nigel couldn't have done this. Tighe must be responsible. He killed them both then realized he was stranded unless he sent for help."

  "Why did he kill them?'

  "Jealously, perhaps? She must have played one against the other and he lost his temper."

  Slashing a throat and ripping open a stomach in a frenzy of rage. A possibility but Dumarest doubted if it was the answer. Tighe had been armed, his gun to hand, an easy method of dealing death. Back in the cabin he studied the man, his clothing, the smears it bore, the smudges. Some were on his face, more on his hands. But the thick spatters which marred the walls were absent. How could he have stood in the sudden spraying of blood and avoided the betraying shower?

  How had he caused the wounds?

  The dead man moved beneath his hands as Dumarest examined the slashed throat. A knife would have left a clean gash. A claw a rip as neat if not as deep. The wound on Nigel's throat had been made with something jagged like a saw.

  Thoughtfully he examined the interior of the cabin. A sealed box once the door was closed and it was so arranged that it could not be left open by accident. It had been closed when Tighe had returned from his walk. If he wasn't the murderer, then someone else had to be.

  "No." Tighe was positive. "I saw no one leave. I wasn't gone all that long," he explained. "Just wandered in a circle. Wanda warned us about straying too far from the cabin. She thought of it as protection."

  "From what?"

  "I don't know. She didn't say. When I questioned her she changed the subject. They all do that."

  Becoming vague if asked to give specific information. Switching to something else when asked to talk about their personal lives. Reluctant to go into detail and pretending ignorance when asked about facts they had to know but didn't want to admit.

  "Did you really come out here to hunt or were you interested in something else? Cazele's offer," Dumarest suggested. "The land he promised if you would stay."

  Zehava slapped her hand against the gun she carried as the young man nodded.

  "There's your motive, Earl! He wanted to stay but Nigel wasn't interested so he killed him to shut his mouth."

  "The girl, too? Why would he do that?"

  "To stop her talking. He wouldn't want it to get around. Chapman would call it mutiny."

  Dumarest said, dryly, "Aren't the Kaldari supposed to be independent? Why should Tighe care what the captain thought? If he wants to stay he will. I can't see him committing a double murder to keep a secret which doesn't need keeping."

  "If he didn't kill them who did?"

  Dumarest said to the young man, "You took a short walk and they were alive and well when you left. How long
were they alone? Ten minutes? Thirty?"

  "About that. Yes."

  "Thirty minutes. You returned, saw them and then what did you do? Use the radio to summon help?"

  "Yes."

  "Right away?"

  "I was sick first," admitted Tighe. "All that blood. I staggered outside and threw up. Then I called for help."

  A call relayed to Dumarest as he traversed the hills with Zehava and the native driver. They had reached the cabin within minutes. Barely time for Tighe to have shifted the body of the girl. They had seen no raft and Dumarest had seen no sign of movement. The cabin had been empty when Tighe had found the bodies and Nigel's flesh was still warm. If Tighe was innocent how had the couple died?

  "Let's finish this." Zehava was impatient. "Wrap up the body and take it back with us. Nigel can be evicted in space – he deserves better than this lousy world. Tighe, give me a hand."

  The cover rustled as they moved it to cover the body. A rustle echoed by another as Dumarest propped open the door. It slammed as he ducked, throwing himself forward, steel flashing as he jerked the knife from his boot. Something hit the panel, scrabbled, rose with a flash of scarlet wings to fall, spraying blood, the head severed from the body. A pylas which had lurked unseen beneath the bed.

  One with mandibles strong enough and jagged enough to have slashed a throat and ripped open a stomach.

  "Filth!" Zehava pulped it beneath her foot. "It must have sneaked in when you went for your walk, Tighe. You were lucky. Nigel wasn't. Let's get back to town."

  There had been music, dancers, acrobats who defied gravity. A woman who sang with the trilling cadences of birds. A juggler, a contortionist, a girl who ate fire. There had been meats served in a dozen ways, vegetables graced with a variety of sauces, cakes, pastries, nuts, confections in stunning profusion. Wine had been served from crystal flagons accompanied by a choice of spirits and liqueurs with surprising flavors.

  The ingredients of a feast provided by Cazele as a gesture of hospitality and farewell.

  Now, the meal and entertainment over, most of the company helped from their places to the privacy of rooms, talk hung like drifting smoke over the table.

  "We shall be sorry to see you leave," said Cazele from his place at the head of the board. "I regret that you could not all respond to my invitation."

  "A matter of necessity," said Dumarest.

  "One I understand. But I would have liked to thank them all for having enlivened the town."

  "Good profit for the taverns." Lebor Aethy smiled at remembered gain.

  "There will be broken hearts when you go." A woman, old beneath her paint, reached for a comfit. "Your men have an enviable virility." She chewed, swallowed, added, "If you wish to sell your seed before you depart -"

  "Enough, Indira!" Cazele was sharp. To Dumarest he said, "I must apologize. She has imbibed too deeply."

  "No." She refuted the suggestion. "I'm no drunker than you, Aslam. There's nothing objectionable in offering to buy viable sperm. If Earl agrees -"

  "He doesn't," snapped Zehava.

  "You speak for him?" The woman's voice held acid. "Give the orders? But I forget – you have the gun."

  "Is that what you think?" Cazele laughed with genuine amusement. "You really must be drunk, my dear, to be so blind. A gun doesn't give authority, it only provides a threat. Those who rely on such a weapon are helpless should it be lost or cease to function. A wise man knows that. Knows too the mental attitude of those accustomed to rely on guns. They tend to underestimate those who do not. They forget there are other weapons."

  He paused and picked a knife from the table. Light shone from its polished blade and turned it into a thing of functional beauty.

  "A knife can be more than it seems," he mused. "Correctly designed it can cut and stab and slice with equal efficiency. It can be thrown. It can be used as a hammer, a lever, a probe, a surgical instrument. It can kill a beast, skin it, scrape the hide, butcher the carcass. With a flint it can make fire. It can be sharpened on a stone. Polished it acts as a mirror. It needs no charges, no cartridges. It is silent in operation. It is cheap. It will last for years. It will provide the means to survive." Metal clashed as the knife fell from his hand to hit another. "All a gun can do is wound and kill."

  Zehava said, "You are wrong. A gun gives power. It makes you equal."

  "Why this talk of killing?" Indira rose from her seat. "I'm interested only in life. It is late, Aslam. You will excuse me? Lebor. Peoro. Be so kind as to escort me home."

  They rose, Peoro staggering a little as he climbed to his feet. A dour man who had nodded a greeting but said nothing. Cazele sighed as he departed.

  "When a boy he tried to kill himself by swallowing acid. He was saved but for a long time it was agony for him to speak. The habit of silence remains. An asset at times and he controls the processing plants so he could not be ignored. More wine?" He froze the motion of his hands as Dumarest shook his head.

  Zehava said, "I'd like some more wine. I've a toast to make. One to the dead."

  "Your companion. A tragic loss." Cazele filled her glass. "You have my sympathy. A pylas, I understand. They can be vicious."

  Dumarest said, "Why do you tolerate them?"

  "We have little choice. They breed deep in the hills. Finding their nests is not easy. Destroying them is almost impossible."

  "Use radioactive dusts." Zehava swallowed the remainder of her wine. "They wouldn't stand a chance."

  "Perhaps not, but we lack the skills and experience. If you were to consider accepting the commission?" Cazele paused, waiting for an answer. When none came he added, "A fee could be arranged. Some of your party could remain to be picked up later. An ideal arrangement."

  Dumarest said, "First we'd have to know more about the pylas. No one seems to want to talk about them. Do they often kill without reason?"

  "No."

  "Swarm?"

  "No." Cazele reached for the flagon. "More wine? Some tisane, then. I have a special compound. But not here. Let us go into my private room."

  He led the way, ignoring those left at the board. Zehava trailed after him, Nadine moving quickly to Dumarest's side. The fingers she rested on his arm, tightened, eased, closed again.

  "What is it?"

  She returned his whisper. "He's lying. There's something on his mind. I've read it for days. There could be danger."

  The tisane fumed in an ornamented pot; a sweetish concoction which held a tart freshness and an enticing aroma. They sat in soft chairs, Dumarest between the two women, Cazele facing all three.

  Without preamble he said, "I've heard talk as to your destination. Is it true that you are heading for Earth?"

  "If we are?"

  "Earth! "Cazele shook his head. "That vile place. I beg you to reconsider. You are welcome to stay here. We need you. Our gene pool is too small. After we settled this world too many left and only the weak remained. Our numbers have grown but we need new blood. Provide it and I'll double our previous offer as to land and position."

  Nadine said, "You could buy sperm. Traders -"

  "Are rare. There is little to attract them. Fionnula is not what it was.Thelooshis not in high demand and we have little else to offer. I am being honest with you." Pausing he added, "I offer a bargain. Remain here another week. Permit Indira to collect what she is willing to buy – sperm can be frozen against future need. In return load your vessel with all the loosh you can carry."

  "I'll think about it," said Dumarest. "I guess Earth can wait."

  "It should be destroyed!" Cazele leaned back in his chair, calmer now, confident he had made a deal. "Earth! The vilest world in the galaxy!"

  "You know it?"

  "I know of it," corrected Cazele. He poured himself more tisane and sat, cup in hand, vapour rising to veil his face. "A world from which men ran to find other places on which to expiate their sins. A world proscribed. Has none ever warned you not to find it?"

  "Yes," said Dumarest. "A monk."

&nb
sp; "The Church knows more than it tells. And so do others. You would be wise to heed the warning."

  Zehava said, with explosive impatience, "This talk is crazy! Earth is just another planet. Most don't even believe it exists. Earl knows where to find it. We go there, get the treasure, leave. That's all there is to it."

  "Treasure? You hope to find treasure?"

  "What else?"

  "Death," said Cazele. "Plague, disease, madness. Horror beyond imagination. Vileness beyond belief."

  Nadine said, "The legends say otherwise."

  "They are legends. Tales for fools. Who really believes Earth has rivers of gold, roads of precious metals, mountains of grain, lakes of wine? The concept is ridiculous. No sane man would risk his life and fortune searching for such a world. But the converse?" Cazele sipped his tisane. "There is a morbid streak in us which finds a fascination in things of horror. Ghouls, ghosts, goblins, things which lurk in darkness. Every circus has its freaks. Every carnival its share of grotesque monstrosities. The truth about Earth would be a magnet attracting every diseased mind in the galaxy."

  "The truth?" said Dumarest. "How can it be determined? How -" He broke off as a dull report echoed in the chamber. "What is that?"

  "Nothing." Cazele was on his feet, smiling, hands extended in a soothing gesture. "Some fireworks. A small celebration. You were about to ask a question?"

  One forgotten as Dumarest looked at Nadine. "We're leaving," he snapped. "Now!"

  Outside it was dark, starlight illuminating the low towers, the shuttered windows. A bright point rose to expand in a glare of light and the rolling thunder of an explosion. Dumarest remembered the missiles from the ship and the panic they had caused. Beneath his hand he felt the structure of the tower, the fretted stone a match for the enigmatic cone on the field.

  "Earl! Look!" Zehava pointed at the sky. "There! On the horizon!"

  A patch of cloud or something which could have been smoke. It expanded as he watched, dark against the stars, grim, menacing.