by E. C. Tubb
"The error would be spotted. The data revised."
"If it was a genuine error. What if the omission was deliberate?" Dumarest threw down the book before Niall could answer. "I'm talking about a long time in the past. When, maybe, the system of navigation changed so as to use the actual center of the galaxy as the main reference point. New almanacs would have been essential. They would have been more expensive than they are now. If new almanacs had been offered in exchange for the old what would have happened?"
"No old books," said the navigator. "Are you saying that the new issue contained no reference to Earth?"
"Can you think of a better way to lose a world?!"
"It would work," admitted Niall. "Knowledge doesn't last without records. But think of what it would take. The cost. The organization. The planning. Who could have handled it?"
The Church or the Cyclan – but why?
Ulman Tighe was too brash, too aggressive. A defense against inward unease. One echoed in his voice.
"Commander, a word of warning. You were straight with me on Fionnula. You believed me. Many didn't. Even now some think I murdered Nigel and the girl. That doesn't bother them. What does is the way some of their friends were abandoned. They blame you for that. There's talk of revenge."
To the Kaldari that meant death delivered with brutal efficiency. Weapons weren't available in the ship which meant that a group were preparing themselves to beat him to death. Tighe also if they ever discovered he had carried the warning. Something he knew and by speaking he had demonstrated a personal loyalty.
Dumarest said, "Thank you for telling me. Don't be among them."
"He won't," said Nadine when Tighe had gone. "He's got more sense. But he's right about the danger. I've sensed it accumulating for some time now. I'd hoped it would dissipate but it's grown worse. They want to kill you. Earl!" Her hand closed on his arm. "Stay away from them. Keep to the bridge and your cabin. Don't give them the chance to get at you. Damn it," she snapped, reading his rejection of her advice. "At least carry a gun!"
"Where are they?"
"The gun -"
"Forget the gun. Where do I find those who want to kill me?"
In the salon, the natural place, but the compartment was too quiet. It lacked the rattle of dice and slap of cards, the sounds of those playing or gambling on the luck of those who did. A place of recreation which, in some subtle manner, had become something else. A lair. A haven for plotters. A den for predators in human shape.
"Commander?" A man looked up from where he lounged at a table, his use of the title a sneer. "This is an honor."
"Is it?" Dumarest glanced at the others in the salon. Many were women, a division which meant nothing for the women of the Kaldari were as vicious as the men. "This salon is for common use. If you want privacy go somewhere else. If you have a problem let me hear it. In the meantime get on with your duties. You!" His finger stabbed at a man. "Husad. You should be cleaning the filters. You! Fontayne. You've work in the lower hold."
"Who says so?"
"I do. You object?"
"Our work is here, damn you!"
Russo Byrne thrust himself forward from where he had been standing against a bulkhead. He was tall, strong, face proudly scarred. A man confident of his strength and prowess. The heavy rings he wore could pulp flesh and shatter bone.
The man at the table said, 'Take it easy, Russo."
"Why?"
Dumarest said, evenly, "Stefan is right. Use your head instead of your mouth. I give the same advice to all of you. The captain will never tolerate mutiny."
"Is that what you call it?" A man beside Stefan spat his disgust. Lefro Grake who had lost a brother. "I call it exterminating vermin. Getting rid of filth who threatens to destroy us all. You don't give a damn for the Kaldari. All you want is the ship and enough men to take it where you want it to go."
The truth but Dumarest didn't admit it. "It's still mutiny. The captain will have you fed into space."
"For an accident?" Byrne stepped even closer. "A fair fight? How can a man be blamed for hitting just a little too hard?" Light shone from his rings as he lifted hands closed into fists. "All of us here will swear it was your choice."
A man revealing a weakness. Talking instead of acting and so giving his victim a chance. Dumarest backed as he reached for his knife, remembering the ban on weapons as he found only an empty sheath. The door of the salon thudded shut as someone from behind pushed him off balance. He staggered, was pushed again, pretended to almost fall. As yet they were playing with him, enjoying their moment, one he helped by an apparent helplessness.
One which vanished as Byrne attacked, metal-loaded fists reaching to pulp his nose, shatter his jaw, ruin his eyes, send him to the deck in helpless agony. To end the search which had taken so long. To rob him of his chance of reaching Earth. And he was so close. So very close.
Nothing and no one must stop him now!
Byrne shrieked with agony, doubling, falling as a boot smashed with pulping, killing force into his groin. As he fell Dumarest moved, striking out with a flattened hand, the fingers locked to form a blunted spear. One which crushed a larynx and filled the throat with blood. His hand jerked back, the elbow a ram which slammed against the torso of someone behind him, splintering ribs and driving jagged ends into the lungs.
Dumarest continued the attack, moving fast, fast, faster…
The boot again, rising to drive outward, to ruin a knee, the left hand chopping at the neck as the man went down. A woman, screaming her rage, dropped as he slammed his fist against her jaw. Another spat blood and broken teeth from the impact of his elbow as she clawed at his eyes. As she fell away Dumarest twisted towards a snarling face, his open hand rising, the heel catching the nose, crushing it, driving splinters of bone up into the brain.
Something hit his cheek. Something else struck his shoulder, his back, his head. Blows without effect and without pain. Wetness ran from his temple as a man went down before him. Another folded, breath rasping in his throat, blood where an eye had been. He kicked, the boot having a life of its own, as his hands had life, his skull used as a hammer, his elbows, his knees.
A time of madness. Of a blood-red world dominated by violence. One born of the stress, tension and strain of the journey. The hatred for those who would stop him, those who would ruin his dream, exploding into a berserk fury.
One which ended with the stunning scent of flowers.
"Earl!" Nadine was beside him, cradling his head on her breasts, her tears dewing his face. "Earl, for God's sake, come back to me!"
He stirred, fighting nausea, feeling aches and minor pain. He was on his bunk, in his cabin, the woman holding him in her arms.
"Earl?"
"I'm all right." He struggled to sit upright and sat with lowered head until the cabin steadied. On cheek, skull and temple he felt the slickness of transparent dressings. The side of his torso was dark with a patch of bruise. One eye was tender. His hands and fingers were sore as was a knee. "Slave gas?"
"Badwasi released it. They had closed the salon so the effects were confined. We had to wait until it was neutralized. At first I thought you were dead. As for the rest – Earl, it was horrible!"
A carmine shambles of dead and injured. Something she must have seen before, then he remembered that she had never been on a raid. Never known the berserk madness which could turn a human into a killing machine.
Voices murmured from the passage outside the cabin. Men going about their duties, tones muffled by the partitions.
"Did you see the mess? I've been in brawls but this beat them all."
"Crazy. Like a predator at work. One dominated by bloodlust. If he comes from Earth – what the hell are we getting into?"
Nadine rested her hands on his ears. "Don't listen to them, darling. Don't worry about it. It's over."
'The mutiny?"
"We don't call it that. It's logged as a fight. The dead have been evicted. Those who were hurt have been treated. The re
st know how lucky they've been." Pausing she added, "Chagal blames you for causing him work."
"Because he had to care of the injured?"
"Because you didn't kill them all. The dead are easier to dispose of."
The physician had been honest if blunt and she swallowed as if to rid herself of an unpleasant taste. A woman reluctant to accept the grim reality of a universe in which, in order to survive, it was essential to kill.
Dumarest felt her warmth, that of the kitchen, the cradle, the kind which turned a house into a home. One which held care, concern and a genuine tenderness. She smiled as he touched her, turning towards him, softening to his caress. The door slammed open without warning.
"Earl! How are you, lover?" Zehava paused to inflate her lungs, breasts rising above the narrow cincture of her belt. Her hands rose to glide in a narcissic gesture over her hips and thighs. A beautiful woman, dominating the cabin as she displayed her charms. "You look well. I guess you've had excellent nursing."
Nadine said, "I was only trying to help."
"Of course. What else? But I can take care of him now. Why don't you go where you're needed?" As the door closed behind her Zehava said, coldly, "I can understand the appetite for something new, Earl. But I warn you – what is mine I keep."
"So?"
"I won't be mocked. It's obvious how she feels about you and others are talking. Soon they'll be laughing and that I'll not tolerate. You've had your fun. End it." She added, "If you don't I'll end her."
"Is that what you came to tell me?"
"No. The captain wants you. He said it was urgent. There's something odd in space."
Chapter Thirteen
There was nothing unusual on the screen. Stars, thinner now, made brilliant points of light against the dark space beyond the galaxy. Hanging like skeins of jewels other galaxies, incredibly distant, showed as luminous smears.
Patches of dust made enigmatic pools of darkness edged with stars scattered like a profusion of jewels. The normal visual spectrum as relayed by the scanners.
Together with something as yet unseen.
"Someone in trouble." Chapman touched a control. "Listen."
Sound murmured from the speakers. The whispering echo of tremendous forces blended into a susurration which held eerie connotations. The normal background radiation registering as sound, forming the siren-lure which could bring insanity. Over it, loud, harsh, demanding, rode a wailing ululation as if a hurt and wounded creature was crying in the void.
An emergency alarm from a vessel in distress.
"It's lying ahead and getting closer." Chapman studied his panels. "We'll be in contact before long.
Dumarest leaned closer to the screen. A wasted effort; no naked eye could pick a vessel from the immensity around them. Yet one lay out there, damaged, its field down, drifting and helpless, its radio-beacon calling for help. A forlorn hope. Rescue in space was rare. Here, so close to the Rim, those in distress were hoping for a miracle.
"Twenty!" Niall called the warning from his station. "We're almost on target. Nine! Mark!"
As the Erhaft field vanished and the Geniat ceased its hurtling progress a ship sprang into visibility on the screen. One small, battered, scarred, the markings blurred, the name barely discernible.
"The Evoy," mused Niall. "Too small for a regular commercial. It could be a free trader or a private vessel belonging to a wealthy House or ruler. In that case I'd expect it to be in better condition."
"Any communication?"
"No." The captain adjusted the image. "Schell's been trying ever since we heard the beacon. All we get is the alarm."
Which could mean that the ship was nothing but a drifting coffin. Dumarest studied it as it came closer. The hull was apparently intact so the damage had to be internal. A faulty ventilation system could have poisoned the atmosphere but would not have collapsed the field. Had the generator failed? Had there been some other reason? Mutiny? Murder? Madness? The impact of interstellar forces could give birth to bizarre consequences.
"We'll have to investigate," said Chapman. "Send over a team. Badwasi -"
"Have him scan the area," said Dumarest. "Check for another vessel."
"There could be people in there," protested the captain. "Sick, starving, dying."
"A little longer won't make that much difference. We should be prepared in case others have heard the beacon."
And be coming in to claim what was to be found. Salvage was rare in space and ships were valuable. Fights between rescuers were not unknown and only a fool would neglect to take elementary precautions.
"Nothing," said Chapman after Badwasi had reported. "But I'm having him maintain a watch. Now let's see what we've found."
"I'll attend to it," said Dumarest. "Have Zehava pick a few men. I'll meet them at the loading port. Try and get us closer."
Zehava was ready for space when arrived, suited, line and reaction pistol at her belt, helmet open. "I'm coming with you, Earl. Treibig and Lowish will make up the team." She gestured to where two men, suited, stood at her side. "Any objections?"
"Have they had experience? Have you?"
"Yes, to both questions."
"Then let's get going."
Suited, sealed, Dumarest led the way into the vestibule of the air lock. Lights flashed as, the cycle completed, the outer door opened to expose them to the void. Framed in the portal the Evoy, closer than it had been, still seemed very small and distant. A hard target to hit and one easy to miss.
Treibig's voice came over the radio, thin against the wail of the alarm. "What the hell is a ship like that doing out here?"
"That's what we're going to find out. You go first. We'll follow your line. Try not to miss."
"I won't miss."
Confidence matched by action. Snapping the end of his line to a ringbolt on the hull Treibig stepped from the lock. Magnetic boots held him fast as, tensing, he judged angle and distance. Flexing his knees he jumped into space, the line trailing behind him. For a moment it looked as if he would miss the target then, firing his reaction pistol, he made good his boast.
"You next." Dumarest slapped Lowish on the arm. "Wait where you land. Do nothing until I join you. Go!"
Zehava followed. She stepped back as Dumarest landed close. "What now, Earl?"
"We'll check the hull. Everyone spread out and search for damage. It needn't be major. Report anything you find."
He moved to the rear of the vessel as they obeyed, checking entry ports, the loading area, the door through which the ramp would be lowered after landing. All were intact and secure. Kneeling he ran gloved fingers over the plating. The signs of erosion were clear and he could feel a series of irregularities. Flakes of paint rose beneath his touch to dot his faceplate with a scatter of reflective brilliance. Wiping it clean he rejoined the others.
"Anything to report?"
"Nothing," said Treibig. "All seems as it should be aside from the attrition of the hull." His voice struggled against the noise of the alarm. "We'll have to force an entry and turn off the damned beacon!"
"No!" snapped Dumarest. "I don't want it touched!"
"But-"
"That's an order. If you want to argue report back to the ship!" More softly Dumarest added, "Something happened to this ship and we don't yet know what. Treat it as you would a bomb. The emergency hatch should be operational. Find it and get inside. Touch nothing."
As the two men moved away Zehava touched Dumarest's arm and, as he turned to face her, sliced the edge of her hand across her faceplate in an unmistakable signal.
Switching off his mike he touched helmets.
"Something wrong?"
"You tell me, Earl. Why all this fuss over a wreck?"
One traveling in the same direction as themselves. In a region of space where no ship could be expected. A coincidence he found hard to accept.
"We don't know how long it's been drifting. Those inside could have died of disease. They could even have rigged the ship to blow. Some peo
ple don't like to leave anything behind them."
The rich, the selfish, the arrogant. Those who would cling to life until the last then take a belated revenge on rescuers who arrived too late. Something she could understand.
"If this belonged to a wealthy ruler there could be treasure, Earl. The hold stuffed with riches. Valuable cargo. If-"
"Commander!" Treibig's voice cut her short. "Commander? Commander – respond!"
Dumarest activated the mike. "What is it?"
"We've gained entry. The pressure is low but the air is sweet and breathable. From what I can make out the generator failed."
"Don't touch anything! "said Dumarest sharply. "Check for life but do nothing else!"
He followed Zehava through the emergency hatch, Lowish coming towards them as they entered the ship. His helmet was open, his eyes open with excitement. If the air carried lethal bacteria he was already contaminated but the probability was slight and the risk small.
One Dumarest accepted. Treibig had been right about the air. The pressure was about half normal but it held an unexpected freshness.
"I smell something." Zehava sniffed the air as she removed her helmet. "Incense? Perfume? Are there women aboard?" She misunderstood Lowish's hesitation. "Don't be squeamish. I realize they could be dead by now, but did the ship carry women?"
"At least one," he said. "She isn't dead. She's lying in a casket."
Through the transparent lid her hair was a blaze of scarlet glory. Strands of flame wreathing the clear alabaster contours of her face, the long column of her throat. She was nude, the skin of her body almost translucent, unblemished as if she had been a statue carved by a master sculptor from a block of rare and precious marble. A figure he remembered. A face he would never forget.
"Earl!" Zehava was at his side. "What's the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
He had.
Kalin.
Kalin of Solis lying before him as if space and time had no meaning.
"She's beautiful." Zehava drew in her breath as she looked into the casket. "God, but she's lovely!"
With a beauty which had been more than skin and hair and the moulding of flesh and bone. The inner spirit he had known, the person, the wonderful thing which had accentuated the outward form and made her unique among women. But the inner person had died and the shell, through still beautiful, had not been the same. Yet it was hard to remember that. Harder still not to respond in the way his nature demanded. To take her and hold and never, ever let her go.
