THE RETURN dot-32

by E. C. Tubb

  "She is the Lady Lucia del Vigoda." Zehava read the name from a label on the casket. "Why would she be traveling without maids? A duenna, at least. The person in the next casket is a man. Calton Yemm."

  His face was sharply aquiline, the hair a dark cap over a rounded skull, the closed eyes deeply sunken beneath strong brows. His body was slender, ribs prominent, skin taut over the pelvic area. The joints were delineated as if he were an anatomical specimen. His hands, folded on his chest, gave him the appearance of a corpse laid to rest.

  Dumarest said, "Treibig, return to the ship and have Mauger come over to check the generator. We'll need the physician, too. Lowish, check the hold but watch out for booby traps. Zehava, see what's in the cabins."

  "We'll do it together, Earl."

  "No. I'm going to find the log."

  He found it lying on the seat of the big chair in which the captain would have sat. Dumarest scanned it, frowning, then searched the bridge before checking both the radio-shack and the navigator's office. The steward's cabin was empty and unusually neat. The salon was too small, too bare. The spigots yielded neither water or basic.

  "This is crazy," said Zehava, joining him. "No captain, navigator, steward, handler or engineer. No radio officer. Not even a maid, duenna or bodyguard. A woman like Lucia would never have traveled unaccompanied. What the hell happened?"

  "It's in the log." Dumarest gestured towards it. "I'll explain what happened when we're all together."

  It was a story stranger than most but not unfamiliar to those who spent their lives in the void. A private vessel making a routine journey from one star to another, falling victim to an unexpected disturbance, one which had brought disaster.

  "They ran into a warp," explained Dumarest. "It sucked them in and, later, spat them back into normal space. Here." He gestured towards the hull, the void beyond. "They must have traversed almost half the galaxy. The navigator suspected they must have been held in stasis for a time. He wasn't sure. He was sure that the experience drove them insane. The steward and handler tried to rape Lucia, were beaten off by her duenna who was also her bodyguard and turned on her maids. They were -"

  "The navigator?" Mauger frowned. "He wrote up the log? Why not the captain?"

  "He died with the engineer when the generator blew. The maids were butchered and their killers died in turn."

  "Which leaves just the duenna, Lucia, the navigator and the man in the other casket," said the engineer. "How is he, Chagal?"

  "Fair enough," said the physician. He was a big man, older than most of the others, but sharing, despite his profession, their indifference to the value of life. "He'll make it. The woman too, but he's running out of time."

  Lacking the essential body-fat which alone could maintain life while in the casket. Metabolism, slowed, still demanded energy and many traveling Low starved before or during resurrection.

  Lowish said, "What happened to the others?"

  'There are only two caskets," said Dumarest. "Did you find any food?"

  "No food and no water. The cargo is made up synthetics and manufactured goods. Valuable but inedible."

  "They starved," said Treibig. "But what happened to the bodies? Maybe they -" He broke off, shrugging. "Why guess? The man can give us the answer."

  He sat beside the casket, shivering, the cup of basic trembling in his hands. Food brought from the Geniat together with other items. Patiently Dumarest waited until the container was empty.

  "What happened? Tell me."

  "Later," said Chagal. "He's in no condition yet."

  "Have you ever ridden Low?" Dumarest stared at the physician. "I have. I know what he's capable of. What happened, Yemm? Tell me."

  The story was much the same as he had read from the log. The warp, the strange forces which had seized the vessel. The death and despair. The grim, final decision.

  "With the generator gone we had no hope. Madness had taken too many lives. The food and water were exhausted. There was only one thing to be done. We had to utilize the caskets."

  "Why you?" Dumarest leaned towards the man. His recovery had been fast. Already Yemm had stopped shivering and was in command of himself. "The woman had a duenna. The navigator was still alive. Yet they allowed you to take the one remaining casket. Why?"

  "It was necessary."

  "Why?"

  "The decision was made. It was the only one which could have been made. I had no choice but to abide by it. To have refused would have been illogical."

  "Why you?" Dumarest added, coldly, "I shall not ask again."

  A statement of intention more chilling than any threat. Watching, Zehava saw Yemm look at his hands as if to find comfort and strength in their familiar configurations. A man who must know the position he was in. The ship and all it contained was now the property of those who had found it. His own life had no value. If he was evicted into the void who would complain? Yet he had courage. Not until Dumarest turned, hand lifted to signal, did he speak.

  "The Lady Lucia was bound for Kruge there to marry the younger son of Tyrant Manukian. You will have noticed the color of her hair, the translucent quality of her skin. Her eyes, if open, would be emerald. She is the product of centuries of selective breeding. The son of the Tyrant has similar characteristics. On both their worlds it is the mark of aristocracy. The cargo in the holds constitutes her dowry. The duenna had sworn to defend her charge with her life. She did what needed to be done."

  "She killed the navigator?"

  "It was painless. She evicted his body into space. Then she sealed me into the casket. Afterwards, I assume, she followed the navigator."

  A quick death instead of starvation and the torture of thirst. But why had Yemm received special treatment?

  "The Lady Lucia has a malfunction of her nervous system," he explained. "It became manifest when she reached puberty. A derangement of the synaptic responses caused, it is thought, by a wild mutation which releases hampering elements from the endocrine glands. The condition can be held in balance by the introduction of living cells which act as beneficial antibodies."

  He glanced at the casket holding the woman then back at Dumarest, his eyes darkly enigmatic.

  "My tissue culture matches that of the Lady Lucia. My glands have been adapted to produce the essential antibodies. My life maintains her own. Without me she dies."

  The cabin held traces of her presence; silks and rich brocades, a cabinet which held gowns, a box which held a profusion of jewels. Things which held the ghostly scent of expensive perfume as did the air, the books and covers, the papers scattered on the bunk.

  Dumarest watched as Chagal probed among them. "Is it true?"

  "According to what's here,yes."The physician straightened a computer print-out in his hand. This is a report from the Sung-Hagen laboratories on Kruge. It deals with tissue matching and is a copy of one I found in his cabin. He appears to have spoken the truth."

  "Appears?"

  "Anything can be fed into a computer. What he claims is possible, but hard to prove without tests. I can't run them. I haven't the equipment or the skill. But why should he lie? What would be the point? What could he hope to gain?"

  Questions to add to others. Dumarest moved about the cabin, touching, imagining the woman who had occupied it. One warm with vibrant life instead of lying wrapped in the chill of simulated death.

  "What would happen to her if Yemm died?"

  "She would follow him. The synapses govern the electrical impulses which pass along nerves. Block or distort them and you get paralysis, disorganized muscular responses, failure of the brain to receive and relay vital information. Death would be inevitable and not pretty to watch."

  "Why Yemm? Why not drugs?"

  "Her condition may not respond to synthetics. It is safe to assume they have been tried and failed. Fresh cells given at regular intervals from someone like Yemm could be her only hope." Chagal added, "Think of it as a blood transfusion. A living donor would ensure a continuous supply."

&n
bsp; Neat, logical, all of a piece as was everything else about the Evoy. Too neat. Too logical. Like a puzzle which had been constructed to carry a specific message, to bear an unmistakable pattern. Somehow it didn't ring true. The vessel had known madness, death, violence, murder, sacrifice and suicide. There had been starvation and the horror of thirst. Yet everything was clean, neat, the air sweet with the hint of perfume. Even so there was nothing tangible he could regard as proof as his suspicions. Everything could be explained by madness, habit or blind, unthinking obedience. A discipline which had tried to find security in the continuing of unessential tasks.

  Dumarest returned to the hold where the caskets were housed. Yemm, dressed now in dark fabrics, stood at the head of one holding the woman as if at his station or on guard. His face was impassive.

  Zehava turned as Dumarest closed the distance between them. She too had been looking at the woman in the casket.

  "Well?"

  "There are valuables in the cabins. Collect them and have them ready for transfer."

  "What about the woman?"

  "She can wait."

  "With respect, commander, I must disagree." Yemm laid a hand on the transparent lid. "Even though the metabolism of the Lady Lucia has been slowed the deterioration of her nervous system is progressing. Unless she receives treatment she will wake an imbecile. She might not even wake at all."

  "Chagal?"

  "He could be right." The physician scowled as he studied the figure in the casket. "It would be a damned shame to ruin a body like that. Resurrect her and I'll supervise the transfer of tissue. Yemm will advise me on the correct procedure. He has all the equipment needed in his cabin. Do it," he urged. "What have you to lose?"

  Nothing or perhaps too much. Dumarest looked down at the woman in her frozen sleep, feeling the turmoil of conflicting emotions. Of caution against the urge of old associations. To arouse her could be to wake a demon better left asleep, but to allow her to die could bring eternal regret.

  "Do it," whispered Zehava. "Earl, you must!"

  To press the right controls and to wait, watching, counting as the seconds slipped by. Living again in memory the experience of resurrection. To rise through layers of ebon chill as the eddy currents warmed flesh and bone and interior organs. Sensing the injected drugs which guarded against the agony of returning circulation. Knowing when the electric stimulator ceased and allowed the heart to beat under its own power. The resuscitator yielding to allow the natural function of the lungs. To wake as if reborn, hearing the pneumatic hiss as the casket opened, rearing upright, glowing with the euphoria of resurrection.

  Within minutes he could hold Kalin in his arms and know again the wonderful ecstasy of her love.

  But later – for now it was best she stayed as she was.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapman said, impatiently, "Earl, if there's a chance of salvaging that ship we've got to take it. Do you realize how much it's worth?" He looked at the Evoy where it showed on the screen; an astronomical chance of easy wealth made concrete. "There's more. Yemm has made me a proposition. It makes a lot of sense. Zehava backs him."

  "On what?"

  "Yemm claims that if we return the Lady Lucia to the Tyrant he'll reward us with an amount equal to half the salvage value. He'll also buy the vessel if we want to sell. Either way we make a fortune. But he insists she's to be released from the casket. I can't understand why you haven't done it already. Neither can anyone else. If she dies we lose the reward."

  A disturbing possibility to a greedy man and one no raider would tolerate. Dumarest turned from the screen which dominated the bridge. They were alone in the compartment, the panels facing the big chair winking with intermittent dots of light as instruments monitored their position.

  "It's only been a few hours," said Dumarest. "We had other things to do. Does Mauger think he can repair the generator?"

  "He's confident he can do it in about two days. Basically it's a matter of cleaning and re-adjusting. No vital component was destroyed. It's mostly flare-damage probably caused when a conduit cracked and flashed to another. It could have been metal-fatigue caused by distortion induced by the warp. The surge must have blown the fuses."

  "And killed the captain and engineer."

  "That's right."

  "It's what Yemm said happened. What was written in the log." Dumarest looked again at the drifting vessel, imagining what was said to have happened, trying to picture the events, uneasily aware of the caution which rasped at his nerves. "Don't you think it odd that they were together at that spot at that time? And why wasn't an attempt made to repair the damage?"

  "You just gave the reason. The captain and engineer were dead. The navigator was killed by the duenna. It makes sense, Earl. What would a rich bitch and a walking laboratory know about repairing a generator?"

  "The navigator wasn't killed right away," reminded Dumarest. "The food and water would have lasted for some time. Why didn't he try to repair the generator while he had the chance? Did Mauger report that any work had been done on it at all?"

  "No," admitted Chapman. "But that doesn't mean anything. Not all navigators have engineering skills. Maybe he was killed early in order to conserve the food and water. When it ran out the duenna put the others into the caskets. It's not important. Once we repair the ship we'll have it made. The salvage and an extra bonus for returning the girl."

  "Big money promised but that's all you have as yet. A promise. From someone you know nothing about. We only have his word for who and what he claims to be. How can you trust him?"

  "I can't reject the offer. Yemm swears the money will be handed over. In any case the Tyrant won't get the girl until we get the reward."

  "You're forgetting the warp," said Dumarest. "And the suspected stasis which could have lasted for decades. The Tyrant could be dead by now. His son, too. Whoever now rules may not want the girl. You've a long way to go before you could make radio contact. The journey could be wasted."

  "Someone will want her."

  "You want the reward."

  "As you want to get to Earth," snapped Chapman. "That's why you don't want us to collect the reward and salvage. You don't want to use the time. Admit it."

  "Why can't you see the obvious?" Dumarest paced the bridge, fighting to control his anger at the captain's stubbornness. "Look at what we have. A ship conveniently disabled. A story written in a log and how to tell if it's true? Sweet air in a vessel which has been drifting for years. A casket holding a man thinned almost to a skeleton. Another holding a girl who looks in the prime of health. Why hasn't she lost her fat? How to avoid it if she has been in the box as long as claimed? What really happened to the duenna? Was there ever one at all? Yemm could have waited until the last moment then set the controls and closed the lid on himself. He'd be taking a risk but only a small one."

  "What are you getting at?"

  "It could be a trap."

  "Out here? Using a ship as a decoy? That's ridiculous! Who would want to trap us? How would they know we were close?"

  The Cyclan, predicting their course or learning of it from an agent. A suspicion Dumarest kept to himself.

  "Forget the reward," he urged. 'There's a world of treasure waiting for us. Why risk losing it for the chance some ruler will be generous? Carry out the task you were commissioned to do. Damn it, captain, if you abandon it now you'll be committing a form of mutiny!" Then, before Chapman could answer, he added, "Let's play it safe. Put a spare crew on board the Evoy. They can follow us to Earth."

  "To hell with Earth," snapped Chapman. "It can wait. I want to make sure of what I have. There will be time later to chase a legend."

  Chapman was adamant, blinded by greed. Badwasi lacked imagination. He said, "There's nothing out there, commander. I've maintained a scan and the instruments register nothing out of the ordinary."

  Dumarest said, "What you're really saying is that you can't discern any movement."

  "Well, yes, I guess I am." Badwasi gestured a
t the void. "If a ship was out there I'd have spotted it. The field leaves a trail. Even if drifting the mass would register if it was close. In that case we could even get a visual sighting. There's nothing. Space is clear."

  "What if a vessel was out there? Field down. Drifting. Stationary in relation to us?"

  "It would be invisible," admitted Badwasi. "Especially if it stayed on aline between us and a star. But why would it do that?" He narrowed his eyes with belated suspicion, examining the screens, the instruments. "Is there something out there?"

  "I don't know," admitted Dumarest. "But there could be. Keep watch and if anything should appear make sure you target and track it. Have missiles armed and ready."

  "You expect action?"

  "I just don't want to be taken by surprise."

  Zehava's cabin was empty. As was Yemm's. Niall said, "She went over to the Evoy with the supplies. She must have stayed to make a check. As far as I know she's the only one aboard."

  "What about Yemra?"

  "Talking with the captain. Something to do with that woman in the casket, I guess. Maybe he's increasing the reward."

  The air lock was empty, the drifting shape of the Evoy unchanged, the only addition to the original scene the thin line which traversed the gulf between the two vessels. Suited, sealed, a heavy satchel hanging from his shoulder, Dumarest clicked a sliding ring on the line and kicked himself into space. He landed softly, legs flexing to cushion the impact. Freeing himself from the line he moved to the emergency hatch and cycled through the lock.

  Opening his faceplate he paused, listening, then hearing nothing moved softly through the vessel. Bales and canisters stood in neat array ready for the repair team and crew who would arrive later. The cabins were vacant, the salon deserted, the engine room empty. A tool locker swallowed the satchel. The hold was open, the bales of cargo stacked and held by broad restraints.