Earth is Heaven

Chapter Six

"Nothing," said Ysanne. "You went crawling and got nothing but the promise to see you later-three days after we've got to meet the repair bills." Her hand rose to touch his mouth. "The gratitude of princes," she said. "Well, at least you got a kiss."

And perhaps more; Dumarest remembered the way Vruya had acted, the way he had spoken. A message without words built of silences, allusions, innuendos. A promise hinted at and probabilities displayed. And then, at the last, the unmistakable direction to visit Eunice.

Did he know she practiced witchcraft?

Did he care?

"A fool," said Ysanne. "He's an old fool. I've been asking around and learning a few things. And he made you a bigger one."

Wrong-Vruya was no fool. Old, yes, a little afraid of what he knew was to come, but far from stupid. And he had made it plain what he hoped for. Good blood-that proved by combat. Fresh seed to revitalize the Quelen using Eunice as a beginning. A woman rejected by others of her kind, willing to marry an outsider for the respect children would give her. The power and prestige she hoped to gain by the practice of esoteric arts.

Urich was a good choice. Old enough to present no problems should he sire sons; he would be past all dynastic ambitions, eager to gain the security Vruya had mentioned, the rewards he had emphasized again and again.

A bribe dangled before a second possible choice?

Gain to be won in blood?

Dumarest said, "We've wasted enough time. The ship has got to be made ready to leave."

"We?" Ysanne pursed her lips. "I'm not so sure about-" She saw his expression and broke off to add, "Andre's working at it. He's trying to find an engineer."

In a tavern shrouded in gloom at a table now used as a desk. The man facing him was small, thin, with furtive eyes. The hand which held his beaker was stained, one finger missing from the second joint.

"I can handle an engine," he insisted. "I rode with Captain Breece and he used to operate near the Rift. An old ship which needed nursing every inch of the way."

Batrun said, "The Brannhan Rift?"

"That's right. I quit maybe a year ago. Fell sick and tried my hand at fishing for a while. The Shendorh left without me and I haven't seen her since. If you know the Rift you can guess why."

"But you know your trade. Papers?"

The man shook his head. "Lost when I fell into the water. That's when I got this." He held up his damaged hand. "But I can do the job."

"If you don't you'll breathe vacuum." In the dim light of the tavern Batrun's hair shone with a soft, silver luminosity, but there was no mistaking the harsh determination of his face. He looked up to where Ysanne and Dumarest stood behind him. "What do you think?"

"It's up to you, Andre." Batrun was the captain and needed to maintain his pride. "Right, Earl?"

"No question as to that," said Dumarest. "But the Erce's a free trader and we all have a stake in what's decided." To the man he said, "Can you handle a Belmonte gauge?"

"Sure."

"And a Vicks-Conway vernier?" As the man hesitated Dumarest said, "Lie again and that's the last drink you'll ever taste. There's no such thing as a Belmonte gauge. Beat it!"

Batrun sighed as the man obeyed. "He was the last of the bunch, Earl. As useless as the rest of them but he helped to advertise our interest."

And had been desperate enough to take a chance on a bluff. One which could have killed them all had he got away with it. Dumarest took a seat and looked up as a girl set down a flagon and thin glasses.

"A gift, sir," she said before he could question. "From the gentleman over there."

It was Vosper and he came toward them, smiling.

"Drink," he said. "Celebrate. I bring good news."

"Such as?"

"A proposition." The entrepreneur lowered his bulk into a chair and busied himself with the flagon. "To you, my dear. And you, Captain. Earl!" He lifted his own glass. "To health!"

Dumarest said, "What is the proposition?"

"Money in hand to pay the cost of repairs. Good, eh?"

"So far. And?"

Vosper drank some of his wine, turning the glass so as to study the color, pursing his lips as if to savor the taste. He was taking his time, enjoying the moment.

Dumarest said patiently, "You were saying?"

"Nothing, but I was thinking of how appreciative you might be. Unless the repairs are paid you will lose your vessel, right?"

"So?"

"It seems you are in my debt, Earl. And you must acknowledge that."

"Yesterday that would have been true," admitted Dumarest. "Today it is not This afternoon I took wine with the head of the Yekatania. Vruya-you may have heard of him." He set down his untouched wine. "I am also friendly with Eunice-again she is of the Yekatania. I was able to do her a small service. You may have heard of it." Rising he said, "A pity you came too late."

"Wait!" Vosper caught Dumarest by the arm. "I-damn it, man, you can't blame me for trying! At least hear what I have to offer."

"You mentioned money."

"Enough to pay all repair bills. The pressure will be off and you-" Vosper broke off, shaking his head. "An opportunity," he mourned. "A golden opportunity. One lost because we can't agree on a trifle of commission. Did I mention the repair money was just an advance?"

"In return for what?"

"I can't tell you that. Not here. But you're interested? I'm not wasting my time?"

Dumarest said, "Come to the Erce in an hour-and bring who you're working for with you."

He came cloaked and muffled to stand in the vestibule beyond the lock as Dumarest made it fast. Vosper, looking anxious, said, "I don't think we were seen, Earl, but if we were?"

"You came with Ysanne and stayed to talk. Your friend can be hidden." Dumarest looked at the cloaked figure. "Do I know you?"

"No. We are strangers."

"But we've met before. When the Nairn left-you were at the edge of the field. Am I to know your name?" Then, as the man hesitated, he added, "I told you before-the next time we spoke I would see your face. Now be open or leave!"

"I am Leo Belkner." The cloak opened and swung back over the man's shoulders. "As you see I am of the Ypsheim."

"So?"

"It seems I must tell you exactly what that means."

He explained in the salon, seated at the table, Vosper at his side. The entrepreneur, uneasy, gave added emphasis to his words.

"We are captives," he said. "I use the word in its truest sense. Not slaves or victims of war but a people held in bondage, who now have a special place in the social structure of Krantz. You may already have gained some idea as to what that place is."

Servants-Dumarest remembered Vruya's casual dismissal of the deaths of two of them. And yet they seemed to have freedom of movement. The underprivileged? The despised?

Belkner said, "It happened a long time ago. When the Ypsheim came to Krantz they came as beggars, bringing nothing and needing all. In return for aid, succor and sanctuary they promised servitude. The Quelen, too occupied with their feuds and strife, were glad to be freed of the bulk of essential labor. So the bargain, was agreed and sealed by both parties of that time. In return for labor the Quelen gave food, homes, care, the protection of law and the benefit of an established society. As payment the Ypsheim made a contract of debt. Until that debt has been paid we cannot leave this planet."

"So pay it," said Ysanne. "And be free."

"It isn't as simple as that." Vosper cleared his throat. "Accumulated interest has made the total debt astronomical. Even split it's far too much for any individual to pay."

"So leave anyway." Ysanne added, meaningfully, "There's more than one way to settle a debt."

As the Quelen must know. Dumarest leaned back, thinking, remembering the faces of the Ypsheim. Placid for the most part. Calm. For generations they had been trained to serve-what chance would they have against those steeled in conflict?

To Belkner he said, "You can't get permission to leave and you'd be slaughtered if you tried to rebel. So you are willing to meet our repair bill in return for giving you transportation away from Krantz. Correct?"

"Yes."

Batrun said, "It can't be done. There are too many of you."

"Not all." Vosper was quick with his interjection. "Just a full load. This ship's geared for it and you have staples to provide rations. Carry them under quick-time and-" His gesture completed the sentence. Men whom he thought were slavers should have no trouble. "Just the one run."

Carrying a proscribed cargo-one slip and they'd be blasted from the sky.

She had been dreaming but now it was over and it was good just to lie and watch the patterns on the ceiling. The mesh of lines which blurred to reform and take the shape of faces and things. Julienne whom she had known as a child and Franz who had been spiteful when he played and old Jehel, faithful old Jehel, who had looked like a tree with her face all wrinkled and dark and a voice which sounded like the rustle of leaves.

These memories yielded to other things, vistas of emptiness, the hurt of knowing her own inadequacy. The sneers of those around her and the gradual retreat into a world of her own, where she had found the secret of power. The ability to command and to be obeyed.

"Eunice?" She blinked at the face above her. "Eunice darling." Urich pressed the hand he held between his own. "Do you feel better now?"

A stupid question-when had she ever been ill?

"Eunice?"

"Go!" She smiled as the face vanished. "Come back!"

"Here." He had stooped to pick up a glass of juice, sweet yet with a tang. With, too, a sedative to calm her nerves. "Drink a little." His voice hardened as she refused to obey. "Drink, Eunice! Drink!"

"Go to hell!" Amusement bubbled within her at his shocked expression. "I don't need you, Urich. Not now. Not ever again. I just don't need you."

She saw his face crumple, a paper-mask falling to reveal his hurt. A confession of weakness which she found repulsive. One which caused her to rear upright on the bed, to fight a sudden nausea, to feel rage come with its hot and strengthening fire.

"Leave me! Get out!"

"Eunice, please, I-"

"Get out, you fool! Get out… out… out… out…"

"My lady, please rest." Wilma was all over her, ready with her comfort as she was always ready, smothering her with concern. The scent of her hair was born of soap and brushing. "Rest, my lady. Please rest."

"Leave me alone, you cow! You sent him away. He was here and now he's gone."

"And will return, my lady. When you have rested he will return. Now take a little of this." The woman lifted the glass she had taken from Urich. "A little more. That's better. And again. There's a good girl."

Eunice sagged and fell back, her face smoothing as the drug took effect. At the last, before sleep claimed her, she smiled.

"Urich! It's good to see you. Soon, darling. Soon."

Drugs could sedate her and surgery could give a forced calm to the tormented brain but nothing could change the heritage bequeathed her by forebears now gone-the taint of madness which possessed her at times to make her alien.

Would their children carry the same taint?

That was a gamble he was prepared to take-one he couldn't avoid. To refuse what had been offered would be to ruin the efforts of a lifetime. And yet, looking at her, he was gripped by the fear that he had no choice. That it was already too late.

"Dumarest." Wilma didn't look at him as she spoke. "He was here. Vruya sent him. Eunice was-" Her gesture was expressive-"unwell."

A friend in a world where friends were few. Urich rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed to relay his thanks. And yet her concern was for Eunice, not for him. Once safely married perhaps the madness would die. Once with child it could vanish-stranger things had been known.

He said, "If he should call again do your best to send him away. It would be better if they didn't meet."

Better still if Dumarest should die.

A thought he carried with him as he left the tower and headed toward the field. The plaza was almost deserted, those present aware of the patrolling guards, even the spacers with their propensity for coarse jests and ribald suggestions. One called out a suggestive invitation to a woman passing close. Another echoed it and she broke into a run, halting as he stepped before her.

"My lord." She looked at Urich and he felt the shock of recognition. Ava Vasudiva whom he'd seen at the Wheel and again in the Mart. He had no doubt as to the first meeting. "You are leaving early, my lord."

"Leaving?"

"The tower of your fiance." She was bold with the explanation. "I had thought you would have stayed longer. Especially under the circumstances. I intended to wait for you at the door."

"Why?"

"To talk." She took his arm and moved toward the edge of the Plaza, forcing him to accompany her if he hoped to avoid undue attention. "It is late and none who see us will think it strange we are together. They will think we are engaged in a private enterprise." Her hand lifted in a gesture toward her hair. "See?"

A broad, red ribbon bound the tresses in an outthrusting mass at the back of her head. The reason, he realized, why the spacers had acted so lewdly. On Krantz harlots advertised their profession with just such a ribbon.

"No." The sight offended him. Halting he tore the ribbon from her hair and threw it aside to lie like a streak of blood on the stone. "It makes you cheap."

"You care?"

"Yes, I care! You're too-" He broke off, seeing her eyes, the amusement he suspected they masked. How to tell her that she was too young, too lovely, too vulnerable to wear such a thing? "Have you no pride?"

"Can the Ypsheim ever be proud?"

"I'm talking about you. Don't demean yourself."

"As you did when you refused drink to a dying man?" For a moment he doubted his hearing then, with sudden anger, snapped, "Watch your tongue, girl! You forget yourself!"

"No," she said quietly. "It's you that has done the forgetting. And it's time that you remembered who and what you are."

By night the field held a certain magic; one born of starlight and shadows, enigmatic shapes and iridescent hues, the whole bound with the circle of blazing illumination tracing the perimeter beyond which lay only the mystery of contrasting darkness. By day the magic had gone, to leave only the battered vessels, the dirt soiled with scattered debris, vomit, urine and, sometimes, blood.

Dumarest studied it from where he stood at the head of the ramp, watching men in drab, shapeless clothing who picked up rubbish. Casual labor hired to load and unload when needed, cleaning up when they were not. Men who had been checked through the gate and who would be counted when they left. Their numbers varied as did the guards but, always, there were guards.

He watched as more came through the gate; a detail led by an officer who marched straight toward the Erce. A path which diverged as Dumarest reached the dirt to end at the Nitscike. A ship captained by a man as rugged and scarred as the vessel itself. His voice rose in anger as Dumarest approached.

"Like hell I'll pay! You think I'm going to be robbed? Everything's settled, all dues paid and I leave when I want. So take your toy soldiers and get off my ramp!"

The officer remained calm. "You have yet to be granted final clearance.'"

"A formality."

"One yet to be completed. Stand aside." Guns lifted at the officer's signal. "Don't be a fool, Captain Chunney. You have been here before. You know the rules-a guard can be placed on a vessel at any time. Now, for the last time, stand aside!"

Glowering the captain obeyed. As the guards mounted the ramp to occupy the area beyond the port he said, "That charge is against all reason and you know it. I can't be held responsible for my crew."

"Then who can?" The officer, now that he had been obeyed, made an attempt to be conciliatory. He nodded to Dumarest as he joined the group then spoke again to Chunney. "There was a fight in a tavern. Damage was done and a girl hurt. Your engineer was responsible. The damages, medical expenses, compensation, court fees and collecting charges come to a total of seven hundred and eighty-three engels. Not too much for a skilled man, surely? And you can dock his pay or cut his share so as to get it back."

"To hell with him! He can go to the block!"

Dumarest said, "Your engineer?"

"I can manage until we reach Bergerac. Talion can be sold."

The officer shrugged. "That is your right, Captain, but the full sum will have to be paid before you can leave. Putting the man up for auction will cause delay. Due process," he explained. "A matter of establishing title and just cause. There will be no difficulty, of course, but the formalities must be observed." He, added, apologetically, "Naturally the charge will increase the longer the guards remain."

"I have to pay for them?"

"And your engineer's keep in jail. After the second day. It is the law."

And one which would be kept. Batrun shrugged when he heard the news. "Tough, Earl, but it happens. Too bad the charges are so high-we need an engineer."

"An engineer and everything else," said Ysanne bitterly. "Don't waste time feeling sorry for Chunney. If he wants he can sell part of his cargo to get back his man. We have no choice. Tomorrow we lose the ship." She looked at Dumarest. "Unless we take Belkner's offer."

That decision was yet to be made and Batrun voiced the reason as he helped himself to snuff. "The odds are too high against us. How can we load, seal, leave without being spotted? Before we'd got half the cargo on board guards would be all over us. Armed men ready to use their guns. Chunney knows how they operate. That's why he backed down." He closed the lid of the box and looked down at the elaborate decoration. "Odd," he mused. "An engineer going when we need one so badly."

"And money at hand to pay the bills." Ysanne looked from one to the other. "Why not take it, get clearance, grab the engineer and run?"

Dumarest said, "And leave the Ypsheim behind?"

"Why not? We won't be coming back." She frowned as he made no comment. "For God's sake, Earl, we can't afford to be squeamish!"

Not now or ever when survival was at stake, but Belkner was no fool and to take him for one would be to make a mistake. As it would be to keep him waiting for an answer too long. Determined men, spurred by fear, could be dangerous and Belkner had hinted at power-enough to keep the guns from firing at the Erce when she left.

A promise to add to that of more money when they were safely in space and on their way to a new world. One as yet unspecified.

"Earl?" Ysanne, eager for action, was impatient. "Can't we at least figure a way to get the engineer? Maybe then we could make a run for it."

Batrun said, "How?"

"Do we get him? How the hell do I know? Borrow, beg, gamble, lie, steal-all we need is eight hundred engels."

"And to dodge the guns?"

She frowned, thinking, then slapped one hand on her thigh. "Easy. We get the engineer, put the Erce in condition for immediate flight and wait. If asked we can say we're testing the engines. If guards come aboard we'll overpower them and lock them away."

"And when a ship takes off we ride up with it," said Dumarest. "Right?"

"You've thought about it." For a moment she looked like a child robbed of a sweet. "Or maybe you're just damned clever at guessing answers. But it'll work, Earl. Those guns must be radar-controlled and hooked up to a computer guidance system. It'll expect a ship to leave and, by the time it's sorted out the fact that two ships are heading upward, it'll be too late to shoot us down."

A plan born of desperation; one requiring split-second timing, containing too many variables, needing too much cooperation.

"No," said Dumarest. "The odds are too high against us."

"You want to live forever?" She looked at Batrun. "Andre?"

He said, quietly, "We'd need to know the exact time another ship is due to leave. That means getting the help of the captain. How are we to pay for it or trust him if we could? On Krantz betrayal brings reward. And the guards will be cautious. Then, when we seal, the monitors will get suspicious and-"

"It could be done!"

"With time to prepare, maybe." Batrun was diplomatic. "But we don't have the time."

And had less with the passing of each minute. Dumarest took five steps across the salon, turned, walked back to his previous position. Action repeated so as to stimulate the flow of blood through his brain. The pad of his boots created small whispering echoes which seemed to blend with the atmosphere in the compartment; the tension Belkner had left behind. The disappointment Vosper had masked at the loss of a commission.

Time-the essence of a trap now complicated by coincidence. A fortunate chance if it was what it appeared to be. An engineer available, one abandoned by his captain who, luckily for him, could manage without. An unusual circumstance as had been the actual arrest. Taverns frequented by spacers were reluctant to call in the law preferring to handle their own problems. Could the Ypsheim be involved? But even if they had stage-managed the fight could they have handled the courts and the rest of it? The charges and the scene at the Nitscike?

Halting, Dumarest looked at Batrun, waited until the captain had finished taking a pinch of snuff.

"Andre, go into town and find out what you can about Talion. Talk to Chunney. He must know we need an engineer so your interest will be natural. Find out why he's willing to let the man go."

To Ysanne he said, "Go to Vosper. Tell him to get the money from Belkner."

"The deal's on?"

"Yes," said Dumarest. "The deal's on."