by E. C. Tubb
From somewhere below came Sardia's voice, high, shrill with shocked disbelief.
"The ship! My God, they've blown up the ship!"
Chapter Nine
The handler was dead, lying like a discarded doll on the ground, the ripped and charred clothing covering pulped bone and flesh. The steward had a broken arm and a cheek blackened by the blast. It had been coated with a soothing transparent film and he nursed the arm as he watched men busy in the light of dawn.
"I don't know," he said. "I was sleeping when I heard something. I moved toward the cargo hold and then it happened. A flash, a noise, and all the rest was confusion. I guess I was knocked out."
He had been found in an upper compartment and the negligence which left the door ajar had saved his life. The rest of the crew were unharmed; like the captain they had been guests.
"There was noise," said Dumarest. "Some firing from lasers. Did you see anything?"
"No. If there was noise I guess that was what woke me. But I didn't see anything. Just the flash as I told you."
Dumarest nodded. "Take care of that arm." He stepped toward the vessel as the engineer appeared at the head of the loading ramp. Like the hull in that section it was buckled but could be straightened with relatively little effort. The internal damage was more serious.
"The generator's damaged." Sharten wiped his hands on the sides of his pants; like his face, his uniform, they were grimed with grease and soot. "The blast originated in the hold and blew the caskets to flinders. Well, we can manage without them, but the rest is another matter. The doors yielded and debris was blasted into the engine room. Some of it hit the generator."
"Can you repair it?"
"Sure, given time." Sharten eased his back. "It means stripping and checking the alignment and maybe a replacement. But it can be done."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes." The engineer scowled. "I'd like to get my hands on the bastards who did this. Eian was a good friend of mine."
"You think it was sabotage?"
"Cargo doesn't blow on its own."
"Cargo?" Dumarest frowned. "Were we carrying explosives?" He saw the shift of the man's eyes and turned to meet Tuvey's glare. "Well, Captain, were we?"
"That's my business." The man was blunt. "You've had the passage you paid for and now have no interest in the Sivas. Why are you standing there, Sharten? Get on with what needs to be done."
"Alone?"
"I'll see what help I can get. Renzi can give a hand."
Renzi was the navigator. Dumarest said quickly, "I'll find him for you, Captain. And you're wrong about my having no interest in the ship. I need passage away from here, remember?" He added, "And maybe I could help if you need it later."
"You worked on engines?" Tuvey grunted as Dumarest nodded. "Good. I'll bear it in mind. Now go and find that lazy bastard and tell him to get here fast."
The man was sitting in a quiet alcove in a house set close to the lake listening to a delicate melody and beating time with his hand. His hostess, a woman of ripe maturity, sat beside him and glared at Dumarest as he joined them.
The navigator said, "Tuvey sent you. He wants me to join him. Correct?"
"Yes."
"And you are wondering why I am not already at the ship. You see, Earl, how well I know your mind. How clear everything is. Lathrynne, my darling, be kind and pass me that little box."
"No, Renzi, you have had enough."
He smiled at the refusal and sat, listening, still beating time with his hand. A tall, thin, cadaverous man with a pronounced bulging of the eyes and hair he had trained to hang in a point over his forehead. One who had kept himself secluded during the voyage. One who now seemed vague and oddly unconcerned at the damage to the Sivas.
Dumarest said abruptly, "Did you know what was going to happen?"
"No. I have clear vision but not clairvoyance. Lathrynne?"
"No." She looked at Dumarest. "The alarm was given too late. Strangers were spotted close to the vessel and the guards were sent in with lasers. They must have startled the robbers or a shot went wild." She shrugged. "A thing to be regretted but accidents happen."
"How many dead were found?"
"Dead?"
"The handler was killed," explained Dumarest patiently. "There must have been others involved. The laser fire may have been poor but the blast must have caught some of those involved. How many?"
She frowned and threw back her head then said, "Three bodies were found. They are in the cold-store at the edge of the field." She blinked, life returning to her eyes. "Is Renzi really needed at the ship?"
"Ask him."
"No," said the navigator. "My task commences when a course is to be plotted from world to world. If the ship is inoperable then I have nothing to do and so can take my ease. So, my sweet, if you will be so kind as to pass me that small box?"
She hesitated, looking uncertainly from one to the other.
Dumarest said, "Unless Renzi obeys his captain's orders there will be trouble. Tuvey is not a man to brook insubordination. The Sivas is crippled and needs to be repaired and it is the custom for all the crew to help at such a time." He added, speaking directly to the navigator, "Why argue about it? Cross the captain and he could abandon you."
"Abandon the navigator while in the Rift?" Renzi was amused. "You know better than that, Earl. And it would be no hardship to be stranded on Ath. All a man needs is an understanding friend and I have that, eh, Lathrynne?"
She said, "You'd better get to the ship, Renzi."
"You, too?"
"Just do as Tuvey orders. If you want to quarrel with him do it at the ship not here in my house." Her tone hardened. "I mean it. If you hope to be guested here again then do as I say."
Her hand fell on Dumarest's arm as the navigator, scowling, obeyed. After he had gone she stared at him, her eyes unabashed in their appraisal.
"So you're Ursula's guest. Does she please you?"
"She is an excellent hostess."
"And?" She smiled as he remained silent. "You don't have to tell me-she eats men alive. But in you, I think, she has found something novel. I've a mind to bid for you once she gets bored. A couple of days should do it. I'll throw in the navigator as a bonus."
Dumarest said dryly, "I'm sure he'd appreciate that."
"Oh, she wouldn't keep him, but there must be someone he could entertain." Her voice lowered a little, gained an added meaning, "And he was right about one thing. It would be no hardship for a man like you to be stranded on this world. I would support you for one."
Sardia called to him as Dumarest skirted the lake on his way back to the field. She came running to join him and fell into step at his side.
"How bad is the damage?"
"Bad. The engineer claims we need a replacement."
"Good." She smiled as he stared at her. "It gives us longer to do what we came for," she explained. "I'm going to meet Cornelius soon and I want him to finish some of the paintings he has. To me they are perfect as they are but you know artists, never satisfied."
"So I noticed."
"You're thinking of the dance?" She shook her head with brusque impatience. "Why bother about it? I won and that's all there is to it. Or do you think Ursula will want her revenge?"
"And if she does?"
"I can take care of myself."
"That makes two of you," said Dumarest. "Both superhuman. Renzi thinks he is indispensable and you think you're invulnerable. I'm hoping that neither of you learns how wrong you are."
"Renzi?"
"Is convinced the captain can't do without him. Tuvey may show him just how wrong he is. I'm hoping Ursula doesn't decide to teach you a similar lesson. It would help if you were to apologize. Tell her that you were drunk at the time."
"Me? Apologize to that spoiled bitch? Earl!"
"You want to make money, don't you?" He was harsh. "If you want that enough then you'll be willing to crawl if necessary. Ursula and Cornelius are close and she could hav
e influence. She must certainly have friends. Think about it. Have you never seen how vicious a woman can be?"
Too often during the long climb up. Girls who had been too brazen, too confident at the wrong time, too spiteful too soon. Little things had happened to them and some not so minor. An accident which had crushed a foot, another which had sent acid from a bursting container into a face and eyes, stomach convulsions at a critical time which had resulted in chances lost. And there had been fires, missed cues, broken promises.
There was no mercy in the jungle of the arts.
"I'm sorry, Earl. I just didn't think. Do you really want me to apologize?"
"Just be discreet. I've told her you weren't sober and more than a little jealous."
"You told her? When?" Her tone held anger. When you were making love to the bitch after you'd left me?"
"You think that?"
"Does it matter to you what I think?" She halted to drag at his arm, to turn him to face her. "Does it?"
"No," he said flatly. "Not when other things are more important."
"Like the feelings of that blue strumpet?" Rage accentuated her beauty with a simmering fire. "Well, to hell with you, you bastard!"
She ran from him down the path, past the misted fountains, the early swimmers who sported in the water. One, a lithe young girl, stared after her and laughed. Another, a man, shrugged and dived as if he had been born into the medium. Dumarest made no effort to follow. Given time she would get over her anger but it would take much longer for the trouble to vanish from the field. Unless the Sivas could be repaired he would be an easy target for those who would come in search.
He passed the vessel on his way across the field. The ramp was still down with men working on it under the navigator's direction, the sound of hammers loud on the air, fading as he reached the blank edifice of the cold-store. The sound died altogether as he passed inside.
The place was bleakly functional, a chilled enclosure in which perishables could be kept, a part of it now converted to a morgue. Dumarest walked toward it, little echoes murmuring from beneath his boots, a faint crunching of broken ice which ceased as he halted at a roped enclosure. Beyond the barrier rested three trestle tables loaded with covered bundles.
Stepping over the rope Dumarest went to the one on his left, jerked back the cover and looked down at a ruined face.
Once it had been young and sleekly handsome but now it was a torn and ravaged travesty of a human visage. One eye was gone, the cheekbone smashed, a mess of pulp where an ear should have been. Dried blood matted the hair and the mouth had been ripped by splintered teeth. The body, carrying fragments of burned and torn clothing, followed the same pattern. The hands had vanished, the forearms, the elbows converted into ugly stumps. The intestines hung like a tangle of soiled rope. Dumarest touched the head before turning to the next.
It was a young woman and a freak of the explosion had left her almost unmarked. Only an edging of blood at the lips, the scarlet suffusion of the eyes and the telltale signs in the ears told of the forces which had taken her life. Her hair was of a reddish gold sheen he had seen before.
As Dumarest went to touch it a voice said, "It's soft, isn't it? And she was beautiful, wasn't she? Too beautiful to be left alone?"
"Too beautiful to be dead." Dumarest gently ran his fingers over the hair and moved a tress from where it hung over the staring eyes. He tried to close them but rigor had set in. Replacing the cover he looked at the woman standing against the wall masked by the shadows. One he had seen before on a path dappled with starlight. It was obvious why she had been standing a lonely vigil. "Your sister?"
"Yes," Pellia stepped forward, small crunching sounds rising from beneath her sandals, ceasing as she halted at Dumarest's side. "I was watching in case-" Breaking off she said bleakly, "A beautiful girl. She was to have been married next month. To Heyne." Her hand made a gesture toward the remaining bundle. "At least they died together."
The boy, also, was relatively unmarked about the face but the lower portion of his body had been wrenched and broken by the impact of the blast and a scrap of metal had almost buried itself in the chest Dumarest jerked it free, looked at it, threw it back as he drew the cover over the body.
"Why?"
"Why was I standing here? Alline is still beautiful even though dead and the Choud are bored. Some of them might want to-"
"Not that. Why did they do it?"
"Do what?" Pellia looked blank. "I don't understand what you mean."
"Don't give me that, girl! She was your sister and you had to be close. Why did she want to rob the ship?"
"She didn't."
"She was there with the others. Why?"
"An accident." Pellia looked from side to side, her eyes those of a trapped animal. "It must have been an accident. She and Heyne had gone out to look at the ship and became involved in what happened."
"And the other one?" Dumarest jerked his head at the first corpse he'd examined. "What about him? Did he accompany them? A spare lover, perhaps? Was your sister hard to satisfy?"
She said furiously, "You filth! Don't defame the dead!"
"Then don't take me for a fool. All three were close, the injuries prove that. Therefore they had to know each other and lovers aren't usually eager for company. The first man was holding whatever it was that exploded. Heyne was close to him and my guess is that your sister was standing behind him. His body protected her from obvious injury but her internal organs were ruined by the shock wave. Three of them, all close, all working in harmony. No accident, Pellia, and you know it." Then as she made no answer he added quietly, "How many were really killed? How many were hurt?"
"Why do you ask these things? You are not of the Choud."
"No."
"Then why be so concerned?"
"My concern is with the ship." Dumarest glanced past the woman to where the doors stood shrouded in gloom then, taking her arm, led her toward them. "But why are you so afraid? An accident, you said, and who can help an accident? It was natural for Alline and Heyne to have wanted to see the ship. Natural also for them to have helped unload if asked. Who could guess at what would happen? Then, after the explosion, those left unhurt ran and took their injured with them. Their other dead, too?"
"No, only those hurt."
"And needing attention. Are they getting it? Do you have drugs?"
She said bitterly, "All drugs are dispensed by the Choud."
"And you daren't go to them for fear of being arrested and interrogated." Dumarest nodded. "I understand. Do you trust me, Pellia?"
"I'm not sure. You kept your word the last time we met but this is different. Why should I trust you?"
"Because I'd like to make another bargain with you." They had reached the doors and Dumarest paused. "I'll get you some drugs and do what I can to help the injured and, in return, they can do something for me. They can give me a name. A single name."
He felt her sudden tension, the abrupt strain of aroused suspicion. "Which name? Whose?"
"The one who allowed them to unload the Sivas."
The ship looked much as he had left it but the ramp was straight now and the buckling of the hull smoothed. The workers had gone and the immediate area around the vessel was deserted. Dumarest paused at the foot of the ramp, looking back toward the cold-store. Pellia was nowhere to be seen but she would be watching him, hiding in the greenery or standing immobile against a mottled patch of stone with, perhaps, her head in shadow. Good places to hide if you knew anything about camouflage and Dumarest guessed she had long since learned that it was movement and not shape which attracted the eye.
Within the ship the air held a peculiar taint of char and burned gases, of seared insulation and the reek of dispersed chemicals. The hold was a mess, the floor littered with the fragments of the caskets used to carry men and animals, coolants evaporated and leaving blotched stains, the mechanism of the apparatus itself a jumbled ruin. Dumarest touched a bulkhead and looked at the grime on his finger. C
hemical explosive would have left such a trace, one of tremendous power and, apparently, poor stability.
He moved and touched another portion of the inner hull this time at a place close to the port. Again he examined the grime and found it apparently identical with the other. Wiping away the dirt he crossed the hold and paused at the door beyond. It led into the engine room and he could hear a succession of small sounds; metallic scrapings, a rustle, a drone of muttered curses, a ringing. Glancing inside he saw the engineer where he crouched before the dismantled bulk of the generator. The man was alone.
Another door led to the passage communicating with the cabins and leading to the salon and then on up to the control room and the normally restricted portions of the vessel. Dumarest glanced into the cabins as he trod softly along the passage. In one of them the steward lay on a bunk, light glistening from the transparent film on his cheek, his arm held awkwardly away from his body. As Dumarest entered the compartment he opened his eyes.
"Earl! What are you doing here?"
"I came to see how you're getting on. How's the arm?"
"It hurts."
"How did they treat it? With Staders?"
"I think so." The fingers flexed as the steward moved; visible proof of the metal splints which had been riveted to the bone on either side of the break to hold it firm. "I was out when they treated me but I guess that's what they must have done. The wound is sore, though, and it aches like hell."
"Let me have a look." Dumarest pursed his lips as he examined the wound. It was a neat gash, the only evidence of the surgery which had opened the flesh to permit the splints to be fitted, now neatly held by sutures which would become absorbed into the body. Gently he touched it to either side, pressing, easing the pressure as the man sucked in his breath. "That hurt?"
"Like fire. You think it's infected?"
The flesh was bruised and would have been rendered tender by the force of impact and the later treatment, but Dumarest didn't mention that. The man had a low pain level and it was easy to enhance his fears.
"It could be. Let me check again." This time he pressed harder and caused the man to grunt. "That's bad. It shouldn't hurt as much as that. Just once more."
