Web of Sand dot-20

by E. C. Tubb

  "No!" Ellain felt the constriction of her stomach, her heart. "Dear God, no!"

  The Interlude had never been like this. Ecuilton's despair had never touched such depths. Even Schiller in the madness which had created the Tubero had failed to induce such hopeless resignation. She felt smothered by it. Condemned and yet accepting the condemnation. Dying and resigned to death. Seeing the approaching termination of her entire existence and, singing, accepting it. Dying as she sang. Singing as she died.

  No, not her-it!

  The thing cradled in the thin, bony fingers. Or was it the fingers which sang and the glowing jewel only amplified? Or the woman whose hands they were? Or the brain behind the skull-like face? Or the mind within the brain? The soul? The intangible something which could never be seen, touched, measured, felt. The ego. The individual.

  Not her-it!

  An enemy, robbing her of life, of hope, of love. Taking all she held of value. A thing of crystal, glowing, singing, singing-and if she could do nothing else she too could sing.

  Sing as the jewel sang, her voice rising, keening, the tone modulated to near-perfection, stomach and lungs, throat and larynx, mouth and teeth and lips and tongue all amplifying and directing and harmonizing the throbbing of the column of air she had created.

  The note.

  The rising, singing, vibrating note which rose to shrill, to merge with the song of the jewel, to blend with it, to resonate with it, to find the key, the harmonic of the stone itself.

  Unseen, unheard, glass shattered on the tables and a woman screamed as she clutched her ears. A scream repeated as another fell, followed by a youth, a man, another girl. Dumarest felt the pain stab his eardrums and lifted his hands, palms cupped to give protection. Muffled as it was, the sound still penetrated and he saw Malta's face, the blood seeping from her nostrils, the lobes of her ears.

  And still Ellain, mouth wide, throat corded with effort, sent the magic of her voice to challenge that of the jewel.

  She had broken glass as a girl, won bets on her ability to do so, even ruined a crystal chandelier in the auditorium on Weem-an accident and one never repeated but she still had the power. And now, more than ever before, she used it. Seeking, altering her tone a fraction at a time, the harmonics, building resonance until the blood thundered in her veins and she felt the capillaries begin to yield in throat and mouth, in lips and tongue. Singing, aping the jewel, mastering it.

  Killing it.

  And killing Marta Caine.

  Dumarest saw her stagger as the jewel exploded in her hands. A puff of brilliance which accompanied a sudden, crystalline, shatter. A rain of fragments fell from the opening fingers, the falling hands. A glittering rain which sprayed to a widening shower as the thin body wafted the air in its fall.

  "Marta!" Santis was at her side, cradling her sagging head as he expertly checked for signs of life. As Dumarest knelt at his side he said, "She's gone, Earl. Dead."

  "Dead?" Kemmer looked stunned. "But how? Who did it? That woman?" He glared at Ellain where she stood, face buried in her arms. "That red-haired bitch? Was she responsible?"

  "Steady!" Dumarest reached out and touched the thin face. Glitter stained his fingers as he lifted them from the flaccid skin. "Her heart went or her nerves gave out or something yielded in her brain. How did she get so thin? Wasn't she eating?"

  "The jewel, Earl." Santis closed the staring eyes. "It sucked her life."

  "Didn't she know? Didn't she care?" Dumarest remembered the casino. "The fool. I tried to help her. There was no need for this."

  "Perhaps she'd given up." Gently the mercenary rested her head on the glittering floor. A rasp of his hand and shards of the broken jewel rested against her cheek. "I've been watching her. Half the time she only pretended to eat and when you're old you lose energy fast. She was older than we guessed. And, maybe, she was happy to go."

  To die with her jewel: the toy which had graced her life. To end in song and a bright, wonderful, glittering rain. She could have done a lot worse.

  Chapter Seven

  "Earth?" Alejandro Jwani pursed his lips and frowned. "Was it mentioned?"

  "We spoke of it," said Dumarest. "At the party."

  "Tariq's affair? I heard about what happened. A damned shame. Tariq got more than he bargained for. I suppose it put an end to the festivities?" Jwani sighed as Dumarest nodded. "To be expected. A pity I missed it but, as you know, I had to leave early."

  "You were ill."

  "I was drunk." Jwani smiled. "You don't have to be polite with me, Earl. I'm not such a fool as not to know my own failings. Wine is one of them. I have others." He gestured at the room. "The evidence is all about you."

  The chamber was long, wide, the roof a semi-circular vault The walls were hung with maps, diagrams, schematics. Models stood on low stands, some working with a silent efficiency, others immobile. Benches held a litter of tools and apparatus. The roof was studded with lights; some of changing hue and brilliance, others with a baleful glare. A study and workroom into which Dumarest had been shown by an attendant. Jwani had joined him from his own personal quarters beyond a narrow door.

  Now, pausing by a table, he said, "I am forgetting to be hospitable. Something to drink? I've wine and spirits and coffee if you prefer something innocuous. Or would you care to join me in a rather excellent tisane?" He beamed as Dumarest nodded. "Good. It will only take a few moments."

  It took three minutes during which time Dumarest examined some of the furnishings, turning to accept a steaming cup from his host. It was of delicate porcelain ornamented with sinuous shapes holding orbs in their gaping jaws. The vapor rising from it held the scent of pine. The tisane itself was refreshingly tart.

  "That's better!" Jwani helped himself to more. "Drugs have their uses but nothing can beat a good cup of tisane to settle the stomach. Earth, eh? Did we really talk about it?"

  "Briefly, yes. Then you went on to discuss semantics and philosophy." Dumarest added, "We also drank a toast."

  "To my health." Jwani looked at his tisane. "It seems I needed it. But what about Earth?"

  "I heard that you had been there."

  "Ridiculous! Did Ellain give you that impression? She can sing like an angel but at times she doesn't seem to listen. I may have spoken about Earth but only as a world I've heard about. I certainly have never been there. Has anyone?"

  "I should think so."

  "Visit a place which doesn't exist?" Jwani shook his head. "I hardly think it possible. The world is a legend; one among many. I checked after I heard about it and couldn't find it listed in any almanac. That settles it, surely? If it existed it would be listed."

  All known worlds were but that meant nothing and a man of Jwani's intelligence must know it. Dumarest said, quietly, "On Harge they claim that nothing can survive a storm. The sannak survive. Obviously they must be an illusion."

  "Because, if real, they couldnt survive." Jwani clapped his hands in appreciation. "A syllogism! Earl, you are a man after my own heart. Have you heard the one about the woman?" Smiling he told it. "No woman has three heads. A woman has one head more than no woman. A woman, therefore, has four heads. Ridiculous, isn't it? Yet I won two thousand from Elmay Taiyah on that only a couple of weeks ago. He had to agree my logic was impeccable because he was unable to show me the flaw."

  "Did you tell him?"

  "Of course not. Could you?"

  "The term 'no woman' is being used in a double-sense," said Dumarest. "So, while each of the two premises is correct when regarded apart they can only give a false conclusion when taken as equal." He added, wryly, "But your friend shouldn't feel too bad. While it is true that no woman has four heads many have two faces."

  "Brilliant!" Jwani beamed his pleasure. "Earl, you deserve an apology. When Ellain mentioned you I'd expected to meet some traveler with a short temper and a way with women. I was too drunk last night to recognize your talents. Two faces!" The beam turned into a chuckle. "I must tell Elmay that. He will appreciate it and
if you knew his wife you'd understand why. If ever a woman had two faces it is she-and both are sour." Sobering, he said, thoughtfully, "I get your point, Earl. The fact that Earth isn't listed is no real proof that it doesn't exist. But it poses a problem if ever you'd want to find it."

  One which had come to dominate his life; to find Earth and return to the planet of his birth. He had gathered clues; an alternative name, Terra, the position of the planet in the galaxy; somewhere toward the rim where stars were few and journeys long. And it had a single, silver moon.

  He said, "Assuming Earth exists why would it not be listed?"

  "Who knows?" Jwani shrugged. "Lost, perhaps? Forgotten? Or if it is a world of legend such as Jackpot or Bonanza then there was nothing to list. But that isn't answering your question. The assumption is that the planet is real but, for some reason, uncharted. Frankly, Earl, I don't know."

  A wall, one he had bumped into so many times before, and Dumarest felt again the quenching of hope. But still there could be information to be gained.

  "This person from whom you heard the name-did he say more?"

  "Vy Wene? No."

  "Does he live on Harge?"

  "No. He came with a party to buy tranneks and, naturally, came to see me. I hosted him and we had long talks. He also was fond of wine and shared my pleasure in logic games. It was he who told me of the woman with the multiple heads. There were others-so many I've forgotten-but once we got onto the subject of legendary worlds and Earth was mentioned. He said that some believed all humanity had originated on one planet and that world was Earth. They had spread to other systems and settled to grow and move on. And ingenious theory but obviously illogical. How could one world have supported all the diverse races we know? All stemming from one world would surely look and be alike; the same conditions must produce the same shape, form and color. I pointed this out to him and he agreed with the basic idiocy of the belief."

  "The Original People," said Dumarest.

  "What?"

  "Nothing." The man had given no response and it was highly improbable that he was one of them. "Just a sect which holds the beliefs you mentioned. They are very secretive. Did your friend speak of them?"

  "No. Vy Wene had other things on his mind. The price of tranneks for one." Jwani smiled at pleasant memories. Storms had been many, ships few and the price was high. "Earl, I am remiss! Some coffee now, laced with some rare brandy and topped with a rich cream. I have a knack with it."

  It was hot, sweet and surprisingly pleasant Dumarest sipped, watching Jwani as he lifted his face from his cup, lips wreathed with cream. For a moment he resembled a clown, then, as he wiped away the whiteness, he was himself again; a man who masked his inner self and was more cunning than he appeared.

  The lie he must have spread about his pre-collapse amnesia-a man, drunk and by his own admission unable to remember, could pick up useful information from those too trusting to guard their tongues. And none but the wealthy could afford to live in the style he enjoyed. Dumarest had no illusions about the rich. To be that way and stay that way they needed to be far from stupid.

  He said, "A personal question, Alejandro, you will not take offense?"

  "Can any be taken when none is intended? What is it, Earl?"

  "I had the impression you were a hunter. But on Harge? And you mentioned selling and-" His hand moved to take in the room. "A hobby?"

  "What do you do, Earl? Travel and fight and do what? Look for Earth?" Jwani smiled as Dumarest nodded. "I like a man who is honest and I will respond in kind. I am, in a way, a hunter. Not to kill beasts and collect their heads as trophies but for something else. And, yes, much in this room constitutes a hobby. Look!" He led the way to where a complex machine stood beneath a transparent dome. Within it a disc spun and a lamp winked intermittently from a point at the summit. "Perpetual motion, Earl. Or as near to it as we could ever come. The disc is supported and held by a magnetic field induced in near-absolute temperature. The cold has turned the metal into a super-conductor in which all resistance has been abolished. That is perpetual motion; an impulse received will circulate without loss until heat is applied or the model collapses. Of course a machine built on these principles could only operate on frozen worlds or in space itself."

  "The energy output must be small," said Dumarest. "What use would it be?"

  "The energy output would be almost negligible," corrected Jwani. "You can't get out what you don't put in. But there is a slight imbalance in our favor; enough for the thing to be useful as a low-power radio beacon or something like that. And this." He moved on. "A set of perfect bearings, Earl. They will last until the steel they support has worn away and still be perfect."

  Dumarest leaned forward to look at the ball-race, the odd color of the bearings it contained. "They look like stones."

  "They are stones; tranneks. I hunt for them and I sell them." Jwani added after a pause, "I also deal in them."

  Dumarest looked closer at the bearings. They held shimmers as of trapped light and their surfaces were polished to the smoothness of oil. Each was about an inch in diameter.

  "Tranneks," said Jawanl. "I have better ones over here."

  They rested in a safe which he opened to display them on a nest of wadding. Black softness which accentuated their shimmering beauty, colors flowing over their surfaces as he moved them beneath the light.

  "The hardest things known, Earl. Harder by far than diamond. They make wonderful bearings but to use them so is to waste their potential. They have the ability to take all energy directed against one hemisphere and render it into a coherent beam. You know about lasers? The jewel they contain does the same. But these are far more efficient and far more versatile. They can take any energy; light, sound, vibration, and turn it into a shaft of compact power. They are used a lot in mining and construction; tunneling, bores and the like. The very noise of the drills can be recycled into a cutting beam." He replaced them in the safe. "Naturally they are extremely valuable."

  "And you mine them?"

  "No, Earl, hunt for them. Here, mostly." He rested his hand on a map hanging beside the safe. "In the Goulten Hills. With a little luck a man could pick up a fortune."

  Kemmer said, "No! For God's sake, man, are you out of your mind? If you want to die why not open a vein and have done with it?" He paced the floor to the far wall, turned, paced back again. Five steps-Marta's room was small. "Earl, you're crazy!"

  From where he sat on the edge of the narrow bed Santis rumbled, "Slow down, Maurice. No one's twisting your arm. You don't have to join in."

  "Have I a choice?" The trader was bitter. "I'm stuck, caught in this damned trap like a fly on glue. If Marta hadn't died-" He looked at the room, the bare walls, the naked floor. The place was like a cell-only the fact that he could open the door and walk out saved it from being a jail. "But to hunt sannaks! Haven't you had enough of them? The one you faced was big enough but outside they grow ten times as large."

  "We're not hunting them," explained Dumarest patiently. "We need to find out where they have their lairs. We don't have to kill them or even see them. All we want is to collect their droppings."

  Waste and regurgitations contained the cleaned and polished nodules they ate with other stone from desert and mountain; the trannaks which rested in the vicinity and could buy freedom. Santis nodded as, again, Dumarest relayed what he had learned from Jwani.

  "I get it, Earl. The sannaks live on crushed and pulverized rock. They need the minerals, I guess. The trannaks must rest in other material which they swallow, use, then void or spew out the residue. And this character deals in them?"

  "Hunts, trades, deals, yes."

  Kemmer said, "But why us?"

  "Does it matter?" Santis was curt. "Earl's won us a chance. Why look a gift in the mouth?"

  Dumarest said, "Jwani is wealthy but does not belong to the Cinque. That means he must pay over a part of every transaction to the Families for the use of the land. From what he told me they take first-cut so
unless he's lucky he could end by working for nothing. He has to meet all expenses. It would be natural for him to want to get away with undeclared stones but unless he does his own collecting he lays himself open to blackmail. So he hinted, delicately, that if I were to come to him with some stones he wouldn't ask questions."

  "Just buy and forget it, eh?" Santis nodded. "That seems fair enough."

  "Like hell it is!" Kemmer halted, glaring. "We'd need a license to prospect, right? And how about protective clothing? Weapons? Supplies?"

  "All to be paid for." Dumarest looked from one to the other. "It's a chance but it could pay off."

  "Or land us in jail for life." The trader was dubious. "They'll search us when we return and what if they catch us cheating? And, if we don't cheat, where's the point? I'm against it. All the way."

  "That's your privilege. Carl?"

  "I'm with you, Earl. Maurice is talking like a fool. There are ways to hide a few stones. I've smuggled stuff before and got away with it. And, as you say, it's a chance. Maybe the only one we've got."

  "You're too old," said Kemmer. "We're both too old. Out there we'd slow Earl down and be a problem. And what the hell do we know about conditions here? I'm a trader not a hunter. You fight men not beasts. Earl-" He broke off, shrugging. "What's the use. As I said before, I've no choice. And I guess one way is as good as another to die. But can we manage it?"

  Dumarest said, "How much did Marta leave?"

  "This room to the end of the month. A little food. Some clothes. Some trinkets. A little money." Kemmer was bleak. "Nothing else."

  "How about her fees?"

  "It costs to die on Harge," explained the mercenary. "The bastards charge for collection and disposal."

  There should be compensation," said Kemmer. That red-haired woman broke the jewel and caused Malta's death. Can't we demand something as damages? Take her to court, maybe?"

  "She sang," said Dumarest. "And that's all she did. She sang and the jewel broke. All right, we know she did it by inducing a resonance in the gem and we can guess it was deliberate but how to prove it? And Marta was old and hadn't been taking care of herself-no, we'd run into debt for no purpose."