Earth is Heaven

Chapter Four

Ysanne said, "Earl, they're thieves! On any other world those repairs would have cost only half as much. And the extras! They-"

"The work had to be done." Dumarest looked back at the Erce where Batrun was checking the new installation. "And they did it fast."

He handed over the account which was to be settled within five days or before they left. Lasers mounted in emplacements around the field would blast them from the sky if they tried to run. On Krantz you paid. Always, one way or another, you paid.

"Less than a week," said Ysanne bitterly. "Then they move in. Confiscate the ship, maybe, force a sale. We'll be lucky to be left with the cost of High passages. Earl, what can we do?"

Nothing without an engineer; the journey to Krantz had taught him that. Luck had ridden with them every inch of the way but such luck couldn't last.

Dumarest headed into the town, to the plaza and the building flanking the far side. The Wheel was empty, the open space filled with a drift of pedestrians and idlers. Among them the spacers from the vessels on the field made nodes of alien impact. Strangers, casual in their approach to the locals, careless and a little boisterous as such men always were when newly released from the confines of their ships.

One swore as he tasted a cup of tisane, another laughed as he slapped the burned man on the back, a third picked delicately at a skewer of gilded meat.

His eyes narrowed as he saw Dumarest, widened as he stared at the woman.

"A prize," he said. "A real prize. To ride with you I'd take half pay."

"And wouldn't be worth a quarter." Ysanne smiled at his banter, catching it, throwing it back. "Just landed?"

"At dawn. The Frencat. Loaded with staples from Venn." His wink told of the true nature of the cargo. "And you?"

"The Erce. I'm the navigator."

"And it's a bet you know your way around. How about giving me a guided tour?"

"You an engineer?"

"No, but-"

"Sorry." Her tone held genuine regret. "I'm only interested in engineers."

As she followed Dumarest across the plaza Ysanne said, thoughtfully, "Maybe I should be serious about that. At least if I found someone he'd settle for promises until it was too late for him to change his mind."

"No."

"Jealous?"

"Call it that."

"You're lying," she said flatly. "You'd use me or anyone else as bait if it would get you what you wanted. Damn you, Earl! Damn you!"

He said harshly, "Act the harlot if you want but not when you're with me. And any man fool enough to switch his loyalty for a chance at your body is too big a fool for me to want."

"Bastard! You dirty-" She gasped as he caught the hand she lifted to slap his face. The pressure of his fingers threatened to crush bone, pain squelching her anger, rage dying as quickly as it had flowered. "My hand! You're hurting my hand!"

Releasing her, Dumarest said, "We've trouble enough without you making more. Demean me and you demean the ship. Who will trust us with a commission? And if you try to seduce an engineer from his duty you could wind up with your throat cut. No captain can afford to be gentle in the Chandorah."

Something she had forgotten as he had not, but, womanlike, she took advantage of the moment.

"You, Earl?" Her eyes searched his face. "Would you kill anyone who tried to steal your navigator?"

"I might."

"Because you need someone to guide you or because I'm your woman? Earl, I want to know!"

She was on the verge of making another scene. Dumarest was aware of the stares; the half-amused glances and the more avid eyes of those who hoped for physical violence.

He said, "You'd best go back to the ship. Andre could use some help. I want everything ready for us to leave at short notice."

"What you're really saying is that you don't want me around." Ysanne drew in her breath, beautiful in her mounting irritation. "Why not have the guts to say it? So I made a mistake and I admit it. So-oh, what the hell!"

She turned and was gone with glints shimmering from her dark hair and small flashes of sunlight blazing from the adornments of her tunic. Dumarest watched until she had vanished from sight then turned and headed toward the Mart.

The interior was cool, soft with diffused sunlight, soaring columns supporting a peaked and gilded roof. The floor was of polished stone inset with writhing patterns in red and amber. One end was open, bare save for the black obsidian of the block. Among the columns, gathered in small clusters, some picking at viands offered for sale on stalls, others sniffing at scented handkerchiefs, were the elite of Krantz.

The Quelen. The four families who had made the planet their own.

Among them were a scatter of traders, merchants, bland-faced men without breeding but who managed the stuff without which the Quelen could not survive-the money which kept them in power and luxury.

Dumarest moved toward the block, pausing to buy a fruit from a stall, chewing the pulp as he surveyed the crowd. Most were dilettantes, using the Mart as a common meeting place, intent on exchanging gossip and watching the fun. Some were buyers; hard-eyed overseers looking for labor.

Few were spacers. One, a swarthy man wearing the tarnished insignia of a captain, nodded as Dumarest came close.

"I'm Tolen from the Amytor." he said. "I've seen you around. Dumarest, right? Earl Dumarest from the Erce?"

"That's right."

"An odd name for a ship."

"It means Earth," said Dumarest. "Mother Earth."

"Is that right?" Tolen shrugged. "Well, ships get all sorts of names. I rode in one once named the Polly. Short for Polipolodes, I think, but it was a hell of a name to live with. That was twenty years ago." He looked around, gestured to a man standing close, who was one of the Ypsheim by his scar. "Get us something to drink. Here." He handed the man a coin. "Don't take all day."

Dumarest said, "Here on business?"

"Not exactly. I took care of that the day I landed. This is in the nature of a commission I'm doing for a friend. His son vanished about five years ago; ran off with a girl to a settlement on Xandus. Kalken traced him and sent after him but all his men found was a ruined village and a few corpses. The girl was one of them."

"Slavers?"

"It fit the pattern. So when I'm in a place like this I keep my eye on the block. It's a long chance but, maybe, the boy will come up for sale." Tolen looked around, scowling. "Where the hell are those drinks?"

Eunice was bored. The party last night had been as she'd expected; full of spite and innuendo, with Myrna, the smug, simpering bitch, holding court to her sycophantic admirers. Well, to hell with her, soon now she would show them all. In the meantime the auction was as good a way as any to pass the time.

She pressed closer to the block, feeling Urich's hand on her arm, pulling it free against his restraint. There was no fun if she couldn't see. No triumph if she wasn't seen. If nothing else Urich made a distinguished escort with his height and thin, sensitive features. But he must not, now or ever, imagine that he would be permitted to dictate to her. Even in marriage those born to the Quelen took precedence over those less fortunate.

"My lords! My ladies! The auction commences!"

Travante was old but knew his profession. He stood beside the block, grave in his robes, conscious of the dignity of his office. Attendants stood to hand, guards standing ready, the crowd easing forward as the first man mounted the block. A disappointment; he was an agent selling the harvest from a small seafarm hugging the Purple Sea. Dried fish, scales, oils-she turned away as the bidding commenced.

"Urich, I'm thirsty. Get me a drink."

"Now?"

"Why not." She looked over the crowd and saw two spacers standing with heavy beakers in their hands. "If they can drink then so can I."

And so could anyone but it was a bad time to choose. Urich backed from the front of the crowd, looking for a servant, making his own way to a stall as he failed to find one.

"Sir?" He looked at the woman standing behind a counter, urns to either side, beakers set on the board. A young, well-rounded women with a lustrous mane of hair. One of the Ypsheim and, somehow, familiar. "May I be of service, sir?"

Frowning, he said, "Do I know you?"

"I have not the honor."

"But we've met before. I'm certain of it. You-" He broke off, remembering. "At the Wheel! You had a canteen!"

And grime on her face and dust in her hair, with soiled garments hiding her figure. Even so she had looked young- young enough to be the daughter of the man who had died.

"You are mistaken, sir."

"No! You were there! I know it!"

"Something wrong, Ava?" The man had appeared from nowhere to stand beside the woman. To Urich he said, "You seem upset, Captain."

"You know me?"

"I have seen you at the field. May I extend my congratulations on your coming nuptials?"

He had heard, as all the Ypsheim had heard, all the Quelen. On Krantz such news could not be kept secret. Urich looked at the man, sensing a subtle air of disrespect, even of mockery, but nothing showed on the smooth face. Even so he was convinced they both shared a common knowledge.

"Your name?"

"Leo, sir. Leo Belkner." The man anticipated the next question. "And this is Ava Vasudiva. We are betrothed."

"What was Gupen to you?"

"Nothing, sir. He was no more to us than he was to you."

Again the subtle inflection and again there was nothing tangible in the reply to which he could take objection. Urich looked at the girl, saw the shift of her eyes, felt a sudden itching on his forehead where they were focused.

Irritably he said, "Give me a drink. Something mild and sweet in a glass." Eunice would not thank him for a beaker. "Hurry!"

The auction had progressed by the time he returned; the basic trade finished and more exciting items now on sale. He heard the comments, the innuendos, heard the laughter and the coarse jests. He shared nothing of the amusement, seeing instead a pathetic line of debtors and contract-breakers together with minor criminals sentenced to the block.

Travante wasted no time.

"Jarl Lebshene, trained in the art of working leather, in debt to the extent of five hundred and thirty engels. Your offers?"

A woman bought him for two hundred and he was led away, a virtual slave until he had cleared his debt. As the interest and charges would mount faster than his basic wage he would die in servitude.

A girl was more fortunate; a convicted thief she had been sentenced to five years slavery and was bought for use as a maid by a painted harridan wearing the barred triangle insignia of the Marechal.

The usual dregs followed, most to be snapped up cheap by the overseers. An assistant pounded the floor with his staff in a demand for silence.

"A mixed group offered by Captain Weston, to be sold as a batch. Your offers?"

A dozen men and women were assembled before the block; dull, drugged creatures snatched from some isolated village and barely aware of what was happening to them. A trader bought them all; later he would sell them as individual items and make a handsome profit. Another batch followed in a similar condition. Others were not so ignorant as to what was happening.

"A third officer with some navigational experience," announced the auctioneer. "Tried and condemned by ship-law for rape and murder. Offered for sale by the Achtun."

The man had run out of luck, abandoned by his captain, his price to be shared among the crew. He glowered and spat and screamed curses as he listened to the bids. None came from spacers.

"He's dangerous," said Tolen. "Dragged and crazy. I heard about him-killed the female steward and put the second officer in hospital. Crews'll stand so much but he went over the line."

And was dragged away, still screaming, to spend the rest of his life rotting in the galleries of the northern mines.

Followed by a man who stood wrapped in mystic introspection, dreaming of the blood he had shed in order to assuage a depraved thirst.

"The tail end," said Tolen. "No point in my staying. From now on it'll be-" He broke off, staring, "What the hell is that?"

A thing more beast than man, hulking in chains, glowering from beneath tufted brows. Matted hair fell from the rounded head to hang in greasy strands over the shoulders. His wrists were thick, making the manacles which bound them look like bracelets. His fingers, short, curved, looked like claws.

"Your attention!" Travante cleared his throat as he gestured to his assistant to call for silence. "A novelty. A mutant found in the Chandorah, close to the Zengarth suns. It was found living in the wild but is capable of communication. Trained, it would make a guard to keep workers in line. Those among you who are interested in sport will have recognized its value as a fighter. Your bids?"

"It stinks," said a woman with dark hair piled high over a thin face with hollowed cheeks and feverish eyes. "Why hasn't it been washed?"

"The scent is natural, my lady. The product of fear." Travante masked his annoyance. To sell was his trade but he could have wished for better wares. And the lewd comments, now rising from the crowd, assailed his personal dignity. "Am I offered a thousand? One thousand to start the bidding."

"A hundred," said a man. "I can always use it for meat."

"Two hundred." A blonde matron ran the tip of her tongue over a full bottom lip. "Jalash! We can share it!"

As the participant in depraved spectacles. A victim to be whipped, tortured, burned.

Dumarest said, "What can he do?"

"Nothing of a technical nature." The auctioneer, recognizing a spacer, wasted no politeness. "You bid?"

Dumarest shook his head, studying the creature. A parody of a man, the product of genes warped by wild radiation, the human pattern distorted almost beyond recognition. Yet some things remained; hate, fear, the desire to survive.

Anger which drove it to kill.

Eunice screamed as it reared, snarling. A scream echoed by others as the chain fastening the hands snapped, the ends lashing as it sprang from the block. Travante, trying to run, was smashed to one side, his head a bloody ruin. His assistant, stupidly brave, lost his eyes as the chain tore at his face. Then Eunice was in its grasp.

She arched, fighting the hands at her throat, trying to scream, failing to pull air into her constricted lungs. Stench filled her nostrils; the rank odor from the thing which hung about it like a cloud. The hands closing around her throat felt like iron.

A grip which would kill within seconds. Dumarest looked at the guards, helpless to fire because of the crowd, at the girl, the creature which held her.

Moving as he looked, his hand dropping to his boot, lifting with the knife as he closed the distance between himself and the mutant, steel flashing as he aimed the blade.

Dulling as he drove it just below the round of the skull. Sending the point to shear through the matted hair, the skin, the fat, the spine. To break through the windpipe and spray the girl with a fountain of blood.

"It was vile," she said. "Vile. That smell-" She shuddered and stepped to where incense rose from the brazen holder. Inhaling to free her nostrils of remembered stench. "It was good of you to wait, Earl."

Dumarest said dryly, "I had little choice."

"Urich?" She smiled through the smoke. "He is a little overbearing at times."

And had been more than a little afraid. Dumarest remembered the man's anxiety as he had paced the room in which he had been invited to wait. A comfortable chamber and the invitation had been polite enough-but guards had stood by leaving no doubt as to his freedom to leave.

"Concerned," said Dumarest. "I would have said he was concerned. You are to be married, I understand."

"It's no secret." She stepped from the wreath of pungent vapor. "I'm glad you waited. It gives me the chance to thank you."

She had bathed and changed and appeared untouched by her experience. The magic of slowtime had accelerated her metabolism and turned minutes into days; subjective time during which her throat had lost its soreness, her skin its weals. Now, hungry, she reached for a fruit and Dumarest watched as she tore at the pulp, juice running to moisten her chin.

"A mess!" She threw the fruit into a basket and dabbed at her face. "Why are nice things so troublesome? And this afternoon-why did that thing attack me?"

Because she had been there. Young and golden and laughing. A spoiled product of the Quelen and as good a target as any.

Dumarest said, "It was frightened."

"And so tried to kill?"

"A human trait which it shared. The best thing you can do now is to forget the incident. If you will summon the captain he will escort me from your home."

"Urich? Let him wait. They say it does a man good to be jealous a little. And he is lucky I'm still alive. If you hadn't acted, that thing would have broken my neck."

"I happened to be the nearest."

"No. Urich was at my side." She added, "But there are enough eager to pass comment on that. What do you think of him? Urich, I mean. What impression did you get?"

That of a man worried to distraction, unsure of himself, tormented with doubt. Dumarest remembered the man's eyes, the hurt they had contained.

"That of a good man worried about his future bride. You mean a lot to him."

"More than you suspect." Abruptly she turned to stare through the window. It was dark, the sky a shimmering glitter of stars. "You don't think he's too old for me?"

"What has age to do with love?"

"But do you?" Then, as he remained silent, she said, "He is fifty-two years old. I am thirty. Does that surprise you?"

She looked barely out of her teens. A child with a woman's body, who had dressed herself in adult clothes to impress a visitor. Dumarest looked around the room, at the mirror, the dolls, the skull resting on the open book. An odd thing to be found in a playroom but the dolls were to be expected.

As were the bones, the bowl of jet, the ornate symbols.

Dumarest wondered why the window had been left unbarred.

She said, as if reading his mind, "You think I'm deranged. Mad. Some deluded fool playing with bizarre toys." Her laughter held the clear note of childish innocence. "And you? What else are you with your clothes and your knife and the ship you ride in? What are those things other than toys?" Without waiting for an answer she said, "The Erce, isn't it? Your ship-the Erce?"

"Yes, it means-"

"Earth. Mother Earth. You don't have to explain."

Tolen had known better than to laugh but others hadn't been so restrained. To them Earth had been a joke but to Eunice the name had meaning.

Dumarest said tightly, "You know. You know of Earth. How?"

"Books." Her gesture embraced the tomes. "Talk. Stories."

"From?" He restrained his impatience. A wrong word and she would become annoyed as, if he pressed too hard, she could become bored and change the subject. "From whom did you hear the stories?"

"From my nurse when a child, I think." Her hand lifted to her parted lips as if she was about to suck her thumb. "And from Urich, of course."

"The nurse?"

"Rachel. One of the Ypsheim." Her shrug was casual. "She died years ago."

But Urich was alive. Dumarest forced himself to sound indifferent. "What made him talk about it? Earth, I mean. What did he say?"

She touched a book without answering, moved to look at the dolls, turned to stare out of the window.

"My lady?"

"Isn't it a beautiful night." She spoke as if she hadn't heard. "All those stars. So many stars. How I envy you being able to travel among them."

He moved to stand beside her. "One of them could be the sun which warms Earth," he said. "One day we could even find it."

"I don't think so." Her tone was detached. "Earth isn't real. Not as Krantz is real. It is an abstract conception. Or an analogy. You know what an analogy is?" She moved a little closer to him, the touch of her hair soft against his cheek, the scent of her perfume heavy in his nostrils. "Earl?"

"It's a resemblance in essentials between things otherwise different."

"Yes." She was pleased. "That's what Urich said. How he explained it. The concept of a perfect place. A perfection for which we must all strive." She swayed so as to lean against him. "You are as clever as he is, Earl. And you saved me while he didn't. That makes you the better man, doesn't it?"

And to the victor the spoils. Dumarest felt the radiated heat of her body, sensed the vibrant femininity, the waking passion. She was a woman with the attributes of a child but still very much a woman, with a Family quick to avenge supposed insult.

He said, "It was luck. I just happened to be there at the right time."

"No. Not luck. You were sent to protect me. To be a guardian. To anoint me with the sacrifice of blood. And now, Earl-"

She closed the space between them, hands rising to his hair, his face. Fingers which raked like the sheathed claws of a kitten as they traced the lineaments of his eyes, his cheeks, his lips.

The touch of her own held the warm softness of flame.

A moment then he felt the pain and she was retreating, smiling, blood staining her mouth.

"Here!" The handkerchief she handed to him was of silk, edged with lace and embroidered with elaborate designs. "Wipe away the blood, my darling."

The carmine oozing from where she had bitten his lip. A harlot's trick-but she was no harlot and Dumarest wondered at her motivation. A sudden whim, a childish prank-but it had saved him from the task of refusing while not rejecting.

Handing back the handkerchief he said, "A game, my lady?"

"In the old days when the Quelen first came to Krantz things were hard. Men had to fight for the right to mate. The best blood won. Your blood is good, Earl. Full and rich and strong." Her tongue cleansed the stains from her mouth. "Vruya will like you."

"Vruya?"

"The head of the Yekatania. Here." She led him to where the dolls sat in line and picked up the one in the place of honor. Hugging it, she said, "This is Vruya. He is my special friend. And that is Maya and that Sybil and that Dallo and-"

Dumarest looked at the small, painted faces. All of her Family and all related. But Urich, the man she was to marry, wasn't among them.