Earth is Heaven

Chapter One

With a jerk he was awake, sweating from dreams of blood and death and remembered pain. The walls of the cabin seemed to swirl in the faint glow of artificial dawn, then it was over and Dumarest sat on the edge.of his bunk, sucking air into his lungs, conscious of the sweat dewing face and naked torso. The product of nightmare born of fatigue induced by too many watches maintained too long.

And yet?

He leaned back to rest his shoulders against the bulkhead, aware of the metal, the bunk on which he sat, the ship in which they were contained. It enclosed him like a thing alive, the pulse of the engine transmitted by hull and stanchions emitting a whispering susurration which hung like a fading ghost echo in the air. Beneath his questing fingers he felt the reassuring tingle which told of the Erhaft field in being. The ship, wrapped in its cocoon, was still hurtling between the stars. It made a sealed world of warmth and security against the hostile environment of the void.

Yet something was wrong.

Dumarest sensed it as he looked around the cabin; the familiar tension which warned of impending danger. A prickling of the skin and an unease which he had learned never to ignore. He rose, reaching for his clothing, donning pants, boots and tunic to stand tall in neutral grey. From beneath his pillow he lifted his knife, steel flashing as he thrust the nine inches of curved and pointed steel into his right boot. Here, in his cabin on his own ship, he should be safe, but old habits died hard.

Ysanne reared upright as he opened her door, arms lifting, lips parted in a smile.

"Earl! How nice of you to come. How did you guess I'd been hoping you'd join me?" Her smiled changed into a frown as she saw his expression. "Trouble?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"The field?" She touched the bulkhead, repeating his earlier test, registering her relief at what she found. "It's still active. We aren't drifting, thank God. So what's the matter?"

"I can't tell. It's just a feeling I have." Dumarest looked at the woman, at her hair, her face, the smooth contours of her body bared by the fallen cover. Looked and saw nothing but the specialist she was. "Join Andre and make a check. I'll be with Jed."

Craig didn't move as Dumarest entered the engine room. The engineer sat slumped before his console, a bottle standing to one side, a vial containing tablets close to his hand. A broad man, no longer young, rust-colored hair cropped to form a helmet over his skull. The scar tissue ruining his face gleamed with reflected light. "Jed?"

"I wasn't asleep!" Craig reared as Dumarest touched his shoulder. "I was just easing my head-the damn thing aches like fury."

Dumarest said nothing, noting the sweat dewing the man's face, the rapidity of his breathing. Lifting the bottle he tasted the contents, finding water sweetened and laced with citrus. The tablets were to ease pain.

He said, "I want a complete check of all installations. Start with the generator."

"It's sweet." Craig gestured at the panel. "See? Every light in the green. No variation to speak of. Which is just as it should be. It's a new unit, Earl. And I supervised the installation myself."

The truth and checks proved its efficiency. As they did the power supply, the monitors, the governors and relays, the servo-mechanisms.

Batrun called from the control room. "Ysanne told me of your fears, Earl. Have you found anything wrong?"

"Not as yet, Andre. You?"

"All is functioning as it should be. Maybe you had a nightmare. Ysanne-" Her voice took over from the captain's. "All clear as far as I can make out, Earl. But we're getting close to the Chandorah. We'll have to change course if we hope to avoid it." She added, musingly, "Maybe that's what your hunch is all about. The Chandorah's trouble enough for any ship. You knew it was close and it could have played on your mind."

Maybe, but Dumarest didn't think so. He said, "How's your head?"

"It feels heavy. Why?"

"Andre?"

"A slight ache. Pills will cure it."

The pills should have cured the engineer's, but even as Dumarest turned from the intercom he saw the man help himself to more. Headaches-his own temples had begun to throb, lassitude, excessive warmth-why had he been so blind?

"The air," he said. "Something's wrong with the air. Let's check the plant."

Access lay behind a panel lying in a compartment thick with crude adornment. Graffiti showed in a profusion of images, hieroglyphs, names. Scratches incised by a variety of hands; bored mercenaries, passengers, crewmen, poor wretches held captive before being sold into slavery. In its time the Erce had carried them all.

The panel itself was five feet high, three broad, edged with hexagonal bolts. On it some unknown artist had drawn a picture of grotesque obscenity. It blurred as Dumarest heaved on his wrench, sweat stinging his eyes, the picture taking on a new and different form. The writhing limbs became a surround for the central figure, the wantonly cruel face altering to adopt the stark outlines of a skull. An optical illusion reminding the viewer that things are not always what they seem.

Craig grunted as the panel swung open. "I'll make the check. There isn't room for two and I know what I'm doing." He fumbled at the edge of the opening and light flared to illuminate cleats and grills bearing small strands of colored material which fluttered in the wind created by the passage of air. "We've circulation at least. Give me time and I'll make a full report."

Dumarest said, "Just find out what's wrong."

He waited as the engineer delved into the plant, hearing scrapes and metallic sounds, a muffled cursing. When he returned he was blunt.

"It's dead, Earl. The fans are working but the exchangers are useless. We're down to negative efficiency. It's the catalysts," he explained. "You know how they work. Air is circulated through the exchangers and wastes are removed; dust, foul odors, all the rest of it. The catalysts take care of the oxygen content. Ours don't."

"Repairs?"

"Sure-as soon as I get replacements."

No solution in the present circumstances. Dumarest said, "Can't something be done with what we have? The units rebuilt or reconditioned?"

For answer Craig held out a thing of plastic and metal; it was shaped, fitted with vanes, set with holes, rimmed with frets now pitted and scarred. A catalyst unit now almost unrecognizable as such.

"The rest are about the same."

Useless even for scrap. "How long, Jed?"

"Can we last?" Craig frowned, thinking, one hand rising to touch the scar along his face. "Not long," he decided. "Call it a matter of days-a week at the most. That's using all resources. We'll have to land, Earl. And soon."

That decision was backed by Ysanne when she joined Dumarest in the salon with her charts and almanacs. "With only a week's air we've little choice. We can reach Aschem or Trube. Aschem is the closest. We can make it in good time."

He said, "If we hadn't discovered the breakdown for, say, a couple more days where would we have had to land?"

"Aschem." She didn't hesitate. "It's on our line of flight."

And, on Aschem, the Cyclan would be waiting.

Dumarest was certain of it. The stale air would have left them no choice as to destination and, but for his instinct, the breakdown wouldn't have been discovered. The headaches would have been put down to excessive fatigue; the lassitude the same; the sweating an added inconvenience. The build-up of carbon dioxide would have been an insidious poison dulling the very intelligence needed to discover it.

Sabotage-the incident reeked of it, but he said nothing.

"Earl?" Ysanne stared at him, frowning. "We have to pick one or the other," she reminded. "Do I change course for Trabe?"

"No."

"But-"

"We maintain our present course." He wanted to do the unexpected. To avoid the waiting trap. He said, "Jed was too pessimistic, we can make the air last longer than a week. And we can do without replacement parts for a while. All we need is a world with breathable air. It's up to you to find us one."

"I'm a navigator," she said tightly. "Not a miracle worker. And, in case you've forgotten, we're heading into the Chandorah."

The region was rife with danger for any vessel venturing too close. The very radiance which gave the stars their splendor rilled space with roiling forces; surging waves of radiation when caught and guided by etheric currents cojoined to form nodes of gravitational flux and areas of violent destruction. These vortexes could take a ship and twist it into a parody of its original shape. The energies would turn metal into incandescent vapor, flesh and bone into a fuming gas.

She said, when he made no comment, "Do we have any choice?"

"No."

"I'm remembering it's your neck too," she said. "And I can guess why you don't want to land on Aschem. The Cyclan. I know they're after you and, one day, I might be told why." She looked at her hand, clenched to form a fist as it rested on a chart. "One day-when you trust me enough."

That knowledge she was better without. Dumarest said, quietly, "Can you do it? Find us a world with air we can tank?"

"In the Chandorah? In a week?" Her shrug was expressive. "I hope to God it's enough!"

There had been no obsequies. The incident had been handled by the Cyclan with the cold efficiency which was its pride and power. Elge was dead, his body and brain reduced to a pinch of ash, and the only regret possible was that the once-keen intelligence which had lifted him so high was irrevocably lost. Now he was nothing but a notation in the data banks and a new Cyber prime would take his place.

Himself? Avro considered it as he left the chamber where he had supervised the disposal. He was suited for the position; a judgment based on intellectual assessment and not on pride. He had all the needed attributes and his record was free of taint. From a young child, as a new inductee, later as an acolyte then as a cyber, he had worked hard and well and achieved maximum rating. Now he calculated his chances, using his trained skill to evaluate the facts and to extrapolate the most probable sequence of events.

He would be among those selected for consideration by the Council to fill the vacant office-the probability was as close to certainty as anything could be. He would be chosen above all others aside from one-and Marie would be the other prospect. The probability of his being chosen over the other was in the order of…

"Master!" The figure in the scarlet robe broke into his introspection as the cyber claimed his attention. "The Council summons you to appear before them. You will follow me into their presence."

The ritual was loaded with ancient associations. It was born of the need of the Council to remind any future cyber prime that it and not he was the true power of the Cyclan. This check would hold wild ambition in rein or prevent deviation from the master plan, a proven necessity, as so recently demonstrated. If Elge had not been eliminated, if the madness which had afflicted his mind had been allowed to flower unchecked, the result would have been chaos.

But, while remaining sane and efficient, the cyber prime was the most powerful man the galaxy had ever known.

And the Cyclan was the most powerful organization.

"Report!" Dekel headed the Council, sitting at the head of the long table, his thin face shrouded by the cowl of his scarlet robe. He was an old man, as they all were old, for it took time to gain high position and the experience needed to temper judgment. More time to set the need of efficiency above all else. This trait was now demonstrated by Dekel-there was no reason why Avro should waste time when he could give his report while waiting for the final decision of the Council.

He said, "Elge has been disposed of. The erasure is complete and the ash disseminated."

A life ending in failure was the most heinous crime of all as far as the Cyclan was concerned. To be punished with total erasure. Not for the late cyber prime the reward of having his brain incorporated with others, forming the massive complex of Central Intelligence. There, sealed, fed with nutrients, tended and protected he would have resided, alive and aware, a mind released from the hampering confines of the body. The goal for which every cyber strove. One Elge had lost.

"He was mad," said Thern from where he sat close to Dekel. "Insane. We can but hope his investigations did nothing to aggravate the deterioration of the units under study."

Boule said, "Should we countermand the order not to destroy them?"

Avro realized the question was aimed at himself. Without hesitation, for to hesitate was to admit indecision, he said, "No. Elge's reasoning at the time the decision was made remains sound. Isolated as they are, the units are as safe as they can be made. Much can be learned from them. Destroyed, they are valueless."

"Yet the problem remains."

And would always remain until the cause of the affliction which turned some of the massed brains insane had been discovered and eliminated.

Icelus, recently elevated to the Council, said, "Your conclusions?"

Was that a test? Every move he had made, every word he had spoken since Elge had been deposed had been a test. Now, to repeat the obvious would be to prove himself inefficient. To ensure that not now or later would he ever gain higher authority than he held at this moment.

Had Marie been examined?

How to best demonstrate his better suitability?

After a moment personal ambition was lost in the greater need. A cyber served the Cyclan not self. Pride, greed, anger, hate, love-all were emotions which had been eradicated by training and surgery to leave a living robot of flesh and blood. Efficiency, reason, logic-the base of every cyber's thinking and the root of his being. To be otherwise was to be insane.

Avro said, "The continued efficiency of Central Intelligence is of paramount importance. To maintain that efficiency is of prime concern."

"We know this." A reproof? Icelus's voice was its usual even monotone but the words themselves carried a warning. "Is your conclusion merely to state the obvious?"

"To recapitulate the position."

"Of which we are all aware." Dekel shifted a little in his chair. Without the facility provided by the massed brains the Cyclan would be crippled. The cybernetic complex was the heart and brain of the organization. "You have more?"

"A proposal." Avro looked from one to the other anticipating their reaction. Boule and Alder would be slow to respond; both were old, both hovered on the edge of diminished intellectual ability. If they were wise, neither would be at the next meeting of the Council. They would yield their position and accept their reward. Glot could vote either way. Icelus? He, like the others, would surely recognize the merit of the plan. He continued, "As the continued function of Central Intelligence is of prime importance, I suggest that all efforts be directed toward that end."

"All?" Boule voiced the objection. "The entire resources of the Cyclan? And what of the master plan?"

Dekel said, "To use excessive effort to achieve a desired effect is contra-efficient. But your proposal merits examination. Elaborate."

"From a study of all available data I have reached the conclusion that the key to the problem lies with the man Dumarest. Find him and we regain the secret of the affinity twin. With it we can cure the malady afflicting the units."

"There is no proof of that." Thern was quick with his comment.

"True, but the probability is in the order of eighty-three per cent." A prediction based on negative findings but valid just the same. When all else had failed what remained must contain a potentially higher value. A fact they all knew and Avro did not make the mistake of adding explanation. He said, "We must find Dumarest."

"Another obvious comment to add to the rest." Alder's tone was as smooth as the others' but his words held a bite. "We have been searching for Dumarest since it was known he possessed the secret. We are still working to capture him."

"And will fail as before." Avro voiced his certainty. "Fail and perhaps leave more dead cybers as proof of our inefficiency. How often must we repeat an experiment before we are willing to accept the results? Dumarest is no ordinary man. The record makes that clear."

"You suggest?"

"He be hunted by a team dedicated to his capture."

"Hunted? It has been tried."

"By a man trained to hunt beasts." Avro looked from Alder's face, his eyes meeting those of the others in turn. "Dumarest is not a beast but a clever, cunning, resourceful and ruthless man as the record shows. He is also, I suspect, gifted with a certain paranormal attribute. It can be called luck or the favorable combination of fortuitous circumstances but, always, it works in his favor. How else to explain how he has managed to elude us for so long? And he will continue to elude us unless a different attitude is taken to his capture."

Thern said, "He will be caught. Plans have been made. This time he cannot escape the trap."

"And if he does?" Avro threw his bombshell. "I ask the Council to place me in charge of the task of capturing Dumarest. Full authority to direct all resources as needed. Men, machines, money-I ask for total discretion."

"And-" Dekel broke off, continuing, "You have been chosen as a possible successor to Elge. As cyber prime-"

"I would be bound to remain at the desk of office. To capture Dumarest I must be in the field. Therefore I must forgo the possible elevation."

"Yet as cyber prime you could order the disposition of all forces as you wished." Icelus clarified the situation. "Are you telling us that you regard Marie as more suited to the position than yourself?"

"No." Avro refused to admit the other was more capable than himself. "The difference between us is negligible. But I am the most suited to capture Dumarest."

Glot said, "Your gesture is to be commended but it is unnecessary. Soon now Dumarest will be taken and held."

"And if not?"

"You will be given the powers you ask." Dekel ended the discussion. "And Marie will be the new cyber prime."

Salvation came on the thirteenth day in the shape of a tiny mote blurred with refracted light. Closer and details became plain: hills, plains, fuming volcanoes. A crusted shore edged a leaden ocean. Blotched vegetation slashed by rivers and pocked with clearings. The surface held the brooding stillness of a graveyard.

Ysanne woke, struggling to breathe, clawing at the hand clamped over her nose and mouth as she snatched at the laser holstered at her waist. Fingers of steel trapped her wrist and she heaved in a sudden mindless terror.

"Easy," soothed Dumarest. "Easy."

"Earl!" She gasped as his hand fell from her mouth. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You were crying out," he said. "Screaming."

She was lost in nightmare and the prey of ghosts and horrors rooted in the past. Sitting upright she felt sweat dry on her face beneath the caress of a cool breeze.

"A dream," she said. "I was dreaming."

And making noise, which he had stopped with a grim efficiency in order to block the air and prevent any possible outcry. An assassin's trick-had he maintained the pressure she would have died.

Dumarest said, "Are you all right now?"

"Yes."

"Then get back to sleep."

She was too wide-awake to drift again into dreams. Instead she watched as Dumarest returned to the fire, squatting to feed the embers with scraps of fuel, flames rising to scorch the carcass spitted over the hearth. The dancing light illuminated his face, accentuating the planes and hollows, the hard line of the jaw, the somber pits of his eyes. A barbaric face; it belonged to worlds untouched by civilization. And this was just such a world; small, harsh, circling a violent sun. The sky lavender by day and now a mass of blazing stars. Against them the bulk of the Erce reared in mechanical symmetry. From within the ship came the monotonous beat of pumps.

She inhaled, fringed leather tightening over the prominences of her breasts, savoring the sweetness of the natural air, remembering the last few days of their journey, the mounting desperation, the knowledge that the lives of them all depended on her skill. To find a haven and guide the Erce to it-a harsh test for any navigator in the Chandorah. The more so when cooped up in the prison of a suit, skin chafed raw by fabric and metal, lungs starved, nostrils clogged with the stench of accumulated wastes.

A bad time but they had been able to survive. There was an added zest to the air and she inhaled again, relishing the taste of it, the flavor. Air even now was being forced into the tanks aboard the ship but it would never taste the same once they were back in space.

Rising, she stepped toward the fire on silent feet. A tall woman, the thick braids of her hair matched the ebon of her eyes. The wide belt encircling her waist emphasized the swell of her hips. Her face held the sheen of copper and, in repose, held the broad impassivity of a primitive idol.

"I'm not tired," she said.

Silent as she had been, Dumarest had sensed her coming, looking up from where he tended the fire. "If you want to bed down I'll take over the watch."

He shook his head, turning the carcass on its spit; a rodentlike thing as large as a small dog, which sent droplets of juice to hiss on the coals.

"I suppose I could help the others," she mused. "But there's no hurry. Anyway I want to enjoy the night."

She meant the darkness and his presence in the close intimacy of firelight. Turning, she searched the area beyond the glow seeing nothing but formless shadows; fronds tipped with star-silvered tufts, irregular lines framed against the nighted sky, thin spinelike leaves stirring to the soft breeze in a barely audible susurration. Listening, she heard only that and the beat of the pumps and the soft rustle of falling embers.

"So peaceful," she said. "A paradise. We've been here for days now and seen nothing to threaten us."

"As yet."

"It's a deserted world, Earl," she insisted. "No people. Not even a name. Just a place with a number. We were damned lucky to find it." With a rush she added, "Do we have to move on? This is a good world. We could stay here. Build a house. Farm. Hunt. Found a Tribe. We-" She broke off as he shook his head. "No?"

"No."

"But why not, Earl?" She knew the reason and gave it before he could answer. "Earth!" She spat the word as if it were a curse. Sparks rose as she kicked at the fire, filling the air with twinkling points, falling to rest in grey ash on her boot. "What can you find there you couldn't find here? And we know this world exists."

"As does Earth."

"So you say, but ask anyone and they will tell you it's a legend. A myth. This world is neither. It's here and we're on it and we could make it ours. Ours, Earl! Ours!"

That dream was held by every adventurer who headed into space. To find a virgin planet, to settle, to own and to rule. It could still be done and once it had been common but, always, there were snags. Things Dumarest pointed out even as his eyes searched the shadows, the ragged line of vegetation limned against the stars.

Ysanne was stubborn. "You don't understand, Earl. You don't want to understand. A survey could have checked the area and listed all local worlds. They need never have landed. Or a mining company could have found nothing in the way of valuable minerals. Or-"

"It was listed."

"By number, not by name."

"Which means it was discovered some time ago."

"Yes, but-"

"They could have found acid rains," he interrupted. "Lethal climatic changes. Destructive radiation from solar flares-a hundred things. And we are four people in a crippled ship. Assuming the others were willing, what could we do? Farm? Without machines, seed, local knowledge? Build? Hunt?"

"Live," she said. "Make this place our own. A world to pass on to our children."

Her yearning was born of longing and basic need but her early culture had blinded her to harsh reality. This world was no paradise with food growing on every tree and useful materials on every bush-free of disease and harmful life. To survive at all would take every scrap of effort they could muster and any children would need to become as savage as the environment if they hoped to exist. But it was a yearning he could understand.

"I'm sorry." Ysanne sensed his mood. "I'm being foolish, I guess, but, well, it seemed a good idea. It still seems one." She filled her lungs with the fragrant air. "It's crazy to live in a metal can when you could live in the open like this. To feel the sun and rain and touch of the wind. To be able to walk in a straight line until you can't take another step. To run and jump and go hunting for dinner." She shook her head, the thick braids framing her face making silken rustlings as they caressed the leather of her tunic. "I had it all once-why did I leave it?"

For excitement. For adventure and romance and curiosity. For change and novelty and, most of all, for escape. That was the reason most star-crazed youngsters headed into space, only to find there an environment more restrictive than any they had ever known.

To one side silvered fronds danced in sudden movement against the sky.

"Keep alert," said Dumarest. "I'm going to check the area."

"There's no need," she said quickly. "It was just the wind."

He ignored the comment as he ignored the sudden gust which stirred the flames and she watched as he picked up a rifle from where it had rested close to the fire. The action made small, metallic noises as he checked the action, the weapon itself seeming to become an extension of his body as he moved into the encircling darkness. To him suspicion had become a natural trait, a continual mistrust of things being wholly what they seemed.

A stranger, she thought, and felt a sudden chill. Still a stranger despite the hours they had spent in each other's arms, the passion they had shared. He would go his own way despite all logic and against all odds. Yet know that she could respect him the more because of it. Love him the deeper for his ruthless determination. Such a man would father strong children-when they found Earth she would make him her own.