Earth is Heaven

Chapter Seven

For a man of imagination it was easy to think of the installation as a living thing; a monster buried deep with a computer for a brain, scanners for eyes, the guns and launchers fists to batter and destroy. One attended by hired men, well-paid, outwardly respectful. All of whom seemed to be taking a sharp interest in his face and forehead.

Nonsense, of course, a product of his secret fears, as Urich was aware. And the fears were triggered by Ava Vasudiva who had spoken for the Ypsheim.

But how had they known?

The question was academic-the fact remained. They knew and, knowing, held his future in their hands.

"Sir!" The technician's salute was crisp. "Your orders?"

"None-I am making a casual inspection."

One conducted with seeming idleness as Urich moved through the control center. Everything was as it should be, the crew alert, the entire installation a smoothly functioning machine. He checked the power sources, the monitors, pausing at the board showing details of ship-conditions; those with clearance, those still under interdict. Soon it would be time for another demonstration; a dummy lifted to be blasted from the sky as a warning to those who doubted the destructive power of Krantz. But later. Now he had other things to worry about.

Eunice, Vruya, Dumarest, the Ypsheim, the Erce.

He looked at it in a screen and felt a sudden flush of anger. Why had it come at the time it had? A ship bearing unwanted complications. To destroy it would be simple; a command and it would be done, the act justified on the grounds of suspicion and expediency. Vruya would understand and could even applaud the action-a man should protect his own.

But there was another way.

The guard at the gate saluted as he reached the field. Within the enclosure small groups of laborers moved in aimless directions as they performed their tasks. Too many for the work at hand but he was too distracted to notice. The Erce lay to one side and he made his way directly toward it. To the ramp and the open port where Dumarest was waiting.

Urich said, bluntly, "We must talk."

"As you wish." Dumarest stepped to one side. "But we'll be more comfortable in the salon."

The table had been set with glasses and a decanter of wine. A thing of cut crystal set beside a tray bearing small, assorted cakes. Cheap things bought from the market but evidence that he had been expected.

"A custom," said Dumarest. "Those who eat and drink together have no cause to be enemies." He poured wine and lifted his own glass. "To health!"

A law of hospitality common on many worlds and one with which Urich was familiar. He sipped and ate a cake and drank a little more wine.

Dumarest said casually, "How is Eunice? The last time I saw her she was-"

"Ill," snapped Urich. "The victim of a delusion."

"— convinced that I had come in answer to her summons." Dumarest ignored the interruption. "Yet it was at Vruya's suggestion that I went to pay my respects. A coincidence, naturally, but I doubt it she would believe that." He added, flatly, "Was it you who taught her to practice witchcraft?"

"No! I-"

"A lonely girl," said Dumarest. "Derided, ignored, wanting love and affection and respect and denied them all because of an accident of birth. It happens. The old, the ugly, the deformed and those who have no talent to back their ambition. Magic provides an easy solution. Incantations, spells and mystic charms. The summoning of invisible powers and the obedience of mighty forces. The conviction of power is the fruit of inadequacy." He poured them both more wine. "But dangerous both to themselves and others."

"How?"

"The delusion must be maintained by success. A summons must be obeyed-no matter what the true reason the person called came because they were called. And a person cursed must suffer and even die. It could be by accident or natural causes or-"

"The curse could be given a helping hand." Urich nodded, understanding. "Poison, a paid assassin, a devoted friend."

"One willing to help maintain the delusion," said Dumarest. "What do you know of Earth?"

He watched the fingers holding the glass, their betraying tension, noted the hesitation before Urich said, "Earth?"

"Eunice told me you knew about it."

"As a world of legend, perhaps. No more."

The home of witchcraft. Of warlocks and sorcerers and strange, magical powers. Of knights and crystal palaces and bizarre monsters. The breeding ground of demons which came to rot flesh and dissolve bone. Of mists which destroyed. Of light brighter than any sun.

The bad side which enhanced the good-had Urich fed a weak brain with such terrors?

"She had a nurse," said Urich abruptly. "An old woman who spun fanciful tales. Stories in which witches cast spells and took on other shapes. And there were other things; creatures trapped that promised endless obedience if released, entities capable of performing miracles. Stories to amuse a child and-" His shrug expressed it all. "She stayed a child too long."

"Was the nurse of the Ypsheim?"

Again the hesitation then, "Yes. I think so."

"Would you have heard such tales yourself?"

Urich said, deliberately, "How could I have done? The Ypsheim are of Krantz. I was born on Kamaswam."

"The Ypsheim aren't the only ones who talk of Earth," said Dumarest, smiling. "But you must forgive me. It is a special interest of mine. Unlike others I believe the world is far from being a legend and so, naturally, I am eager to gain all the information I can. That's why Eunice interested me when she knew what Erce meant. And why I thought you might be able to help when she told me you had given her the information. Some more wine?" He poured without waiting for an answer. "Try another of the cakes."

He was striving hard to please and Urich felt himself relax. But what if it had been Vruya who had put the questions? Urich could imagine him, the seamed, crafty face, the hard, watchful eyes. A man close to insanity in his pride. One accustomed to violence, who would send to the Wheel any who crossed him. Any who was not of the Quelen-only they could be safe.

"What?" He jerked aware, realizing that Dumarest had been speaking. "What did you say?"

"I was asking about your work. You are in charge of the field?"

"Yes."

"And the installation guarding it?"

"That is so."

"Total command?" Dumarest spoke without waiting for an answer. "Not that it matters. Your word is law and that is enough. Another cake? No? Then let us finish this wine." He drained the bottle into the glasses and lifted his own. "A toast. To your future happiness with Eunice!"

To the point, thought Urich. An example for him to follow.

He said, "I love her. We are to be married. Plans have been made and I will allow nothing to stand in their way. You understand? Nothing. Not her whims, her sickness, her romantic notion that she is in love with you. That madness will pass once you have gone." He delved into a pocket and placed a wad of notes on the table. "This will help you on your way."

A thousand engels-more than enough to buy Talion.

Dumarest looked at the money, recognizing the bribe, the threat behind it. "You are more than generous, my lord. I take it there will be no difficulty as to clearance?"

"None." Urich visibly relaxed.

"And loading?" Their eyes met, held for a long moment of silence, broken when Dumarest added. "No trader can afford to leave with empty holds."

"No, of course not. There will be no trouble. You will be gone by dark?"

"By dawn," said Dumarest. He added, "The engineer will need time to check the generator."

Lyle Talion pursed his lips and made an adjustment to the console. A needle kicked on a dial, steadied as he compensated, kicked again as he activated a new circuit.

"Not too bad," he commented. "The unit needs to be calibrated and cleared of accumulated garbage. Loss of similarity," he explained. "Some of the relays have had a hard time. The Chandorah?" He grunted at Dumarest's nod. "I thought so. You can take chances in most of space but not in areas like that. Errors mount, calibration suffers and, when you need power the most, you find you haven't got it. Well, it won't take me long to put things right."

"How long?"

"By dark." Talion added, "I guess you want to leave this madhouse, right? Me too. That jail was no picnic."

He bustled at his task, a lean man with a wry expression and a face seamed beyond his years. His hair was dark, streaked with grey, his eyes a startling blue edged with a mesh of lines. His smile was easy, the mark of tolerance humor, and he had proved his skill to Batrun's satisfaction.

"A good man," said the captain when Dumarest joined him in the hold. "We were lucky to get him."

Dumarest said, "Don't you think it odd how he became available? A fight he denies, accusations he claims are false, witnesses he swears were coerced or bribed. And a captain willing to abandon him and who just happened to have an officer capable enough to take his place."

"Chimney explained that. He didn't have the money and refused to sell cargo to get it. And I'm not sure but I think there was an element of jealousy. His handler was a woman."

And the man could have lied as to the facts of his arrest. Dumarest stepped back as men came up the ramp carrying long, oblong boxes. Fiber cartons marked and sealed with Krantz clearance containing, so the labels claimed, treated fish skins, bulk protein and bulky artifacts. Cheap products but, to a trader, any cargo was better than none.

"Watch that!" He snapped at a man who had been careless, his end of a box falling to jar heavily on the deck. "If you can't handle the job then beat it-I'm not paying for damaged cargo."

The man was sullen, "What the hell's to hurt?"

A laborer-or something else? Krantz was used to captains willing to smuggle and the man could be an agent of the Quelen. Dumarest glanced at the markings and stormed forward.

"I'll show you what's to hurt! Open it! Come on, move!" The lid rose to reveal wrapped carvings made of local woods. "Now get out of here!" He followed the man to the ramp and called down to a lounging guard. "This man's fired! I don't want to see him again!"

Harsh punishment if the man was genuine but the example spurred the others to greater care. Dumarest began to sweat as he stacked the boxes and fastened restraints. The hold became cramped, men edging past each other; a tide of drably dressed figures milling in baffling confusion.

As the day moved toward dusk Batrun began to get worried.

"Earl, what about Ysanne? She should be here by now."

"She'll be here. We don't leave without her."

"She shouldn't have been held," said Batrun. "We shouldn't have allowed it."

A matter over which there had been no choice. As security for the money paid for the repairs Belkner had insisted on a safeguard. Ysanne had provided it. She would join the ship when everything was ready to leave.

"Captain?" An officer, a stranger, stood at the foot of the ramp. "Are you ready for clearance inspection?"

Batrun looked at Dumarest, who shook his head.

"Not yet."

"What's the delay? Surely you are loaded by now?"

"The restraints have slipped," said Dumarest. He thrust his way forward to face the man. "I'll have to change the stacking."

The officer made no comment but his face showed what he thought of a handler who couldn't stack a cargo.

"I'll have to clear a part of the hold," added Dumarest. "Shift some of the cargo outside so as to get room to repair the linkages. It'll take time."

"How long?"

"Does it matter?" Dumarest let irritation edge his voice. "We're not on piece work. Anyway, we aren't scheduled to leave until dawn."

"You don't leave at all until you've been checked," snapped the officer. "Remember that."

The threat hung in the air as he moved away and Dumarest watched him go with thoughtful eyes. The man was nothing, a junior officer, who would take Urich's orders without question unless, like the laborer, he was more than he seemed. A risk to add to the rest but one which tipped the scale an uncomfortable degree into the region of danger.

He remembered Urich, the way the man had sat, his eyes, the tension revealed in the movement of his fingers on the glass. A clever and ruthless man who worked in devious ways-one who had too much at stake to make a willing pawn.

Belkner had sworn otherwise-but Belkner could have been wrong.

To Batrun he said, "Andre, find Vosper and have him tell Belkner to be here an hour after dusk with Ysanne. He shows or the deal is off."

"Trouble?"

"Maybe. After you've seen Vesper go to Eunice of the Yekatania. Get her to come to the ship. Use me as an excuse. And make sure everyone knows she's aboard."

Batrun said dryly, "Everyone? Including Urich Sheiner?"

"Especially him. Vruya too." Dumarest added, "Remember she's interested in witchcraft-that should make it easy."

The guard at the gate stepped forward, gun rising, the weapon lowering as he recognized Urich. "Sir!" His free hand snapped a salute. "I didn't-"

"Report on the field!"

"As normal, sir. Intense activity around the Erce but they've had trouble loading and-"

"A woman!" Urich swallowed, fighting for calm. "Has a woman arrived for the Erce?" He knew he was being imprecise. More calmly he said, "Did you see my fiancee enter the field? A lady of the Quelen? She could have been with a captain."

"Captain Batrun, sir. Yes. About an hour ago."

Long enough for who knew what damage to be done? Lies and promises, tales she yearned to hear, romance which would further corrode his influence. Dumarest! Anger flooded him as he ran across the field. An adventurer-why had he been such a fool to trust the man?

The ramp was down, the area heaped with a litter of boxes, laborers milling in undirected motion. One bumped into him, falling at his shove, turning as he hit the dirt to curse, breaking off the words as he recognised the uniform. Within the port was more apparent chaos.

"Dumarest!" A tall figure turned from a stack of boxes. "Dumarest, damn you! Where is she?"

"Resting." Dumarest came toward Urich, smiling, casual. "She was upset and I thought it best to sedate her. Don't worry," he soothed. "She is perfectly all right."

She lay on a bunk in a cabin, her eyes closed, face smoothed into the likeness of a doll. The heavy lashes rested on rounded cheeks and golden hair made an aureole on the pillow. She wore scarlet touched with gold.

"She came because I was ill," said Dumarest. "Needing her. I tried to get to her but was unable to move. Some evil spell had me in its power. One strong enough to resist her command. Her summons."

"You mock!"

"I guessed," corrected Dumarest. "The trick had worked once so why not again? And how best to reinforce the conviction of her own power? Even if she hadn't been summoning me the concept of a binding spell was valid enough for her to come and break it. A further demonstration of her own ability." Shrugging he ended, "She came-does it matter why?"

"To me, yes!" Urich glanced at the woman then back at Dumarest. He was armed. To snatch the gun from his belt and fire would be to end the threat of losing her. One move and… He looked down, saw the fingers gripping the hand resting on the butt, felt the pain. "Why?" he demanded. "Why did you bring her here?"

"Because I wanted you to come after her." Dumarest moved his grip, lifted the gun from the holster and stepped back with it hanging at his side. "Shall we go?"

Belkner was in the salon, Ysanne at his side. He drew in his breath as Urich entered and glared at Dumarest.

"You fool! You-"

"Shut up and listen!" Dumarest glanced at Ysanne. "Go and help Andre in the hold. Keep things moving." He handed her the gun. "Any trouble let me know."

As she left, he stood listening, one hand resting on a bulkhead, sensing the activity within the vessel, the interplay of vibrations. A man in command of his environment, thought Urich. He was so confident he needed no weapons. Then he saw the hilt of the knife riding above the right boot, remembered the speed he had seen it used and knew that Dumarest was far from vulnerable. Even if the room had been filled with enemies he could still have been in command.

Turning from the bulkhead Dumarest said, "You made a mistake, Leo. The worst mistake possible to make. You underestimated your enemy. I almost did the same."

"An enemy?" Belkner was incredulous. "Urich? But he's a friend."

"Because he was bora to the Ypsheim?" Dumarest heard Urich's indrawn breath, a harsh, ugly sound. "What a person learns in their youth stays with them; the way they talk, walk, act and react. Give a beggar a fortune and you don't have a prince. Strip a rich man and he still has the arrogance of wealth bred into his bone. Those born to servitude may escape and change their lives but, always, something remains. The movement of the eyes, the hands, even the tilt of the head. And the Ypsheim have served the Quelen for centuries."

"So?"

"Krantz isn't escape-proof." Dumarest kept his eyes on Urich. "If a man has drive enough and money enough and is willing to take a chance he can get away. In a box of cargo, for example, with the handler bribed and money enough to pay for passage once in space. On another world he can learn and improve his position and pay for a minor operation." His hand lifted to touch his forehead. "A scar can easily be removed and, once gone, who is to tell if it was ever there?"

Urich said, "If a man went to all that trouble to escape why should he come back?"

A question Dumarest had heard in a different context-why look for Earth when other worlds had so much to offer? But a man had only one home planet and Urich could only have one people.

A thing Belkner recognized. He said, "Perhaps because he couldn't help himself. Or, maybe, he thought he could do something to help those he's left behind."

By marrying into the Quelen and then finding, when the dream approached reality, that the marriage itself offered all he could ever hope to achieve.

"The weakness," said Dumarest. "The mistake you made, Leo. Somehow you discovered Urich's secret and held it to use against him when the time was ripe. The ace up your sleeve-and you never imagined the ace could turn into a deuce."

"What?"

"You misjudged your man. Urich broke the pattern. He escaped and that took guts. He still has them. Guts enough to fight for what he wants." Something he had discovered almost too late. Dumarest remembered the interview, the talk, the messages broadcast by the set of the lips, the hands, the eyes, the very odor of Urich's body. Signals he had learned to read in the arena when facing a man intent on taking his life. Recognizing the change from desperation to determination. The fatalistic acceptance of no alternative but to fight and kill or die. "A ship loaded with a proscribed cargo," he said. "One lifting to be blasted from the sky. Who would blame him? And who would believe that one of the Ypsheim had destroyed his own?"

And who would dare to make the accusation? Dumarest saw realization dawn in Belkner's eyes. A man fighting to survive and with the added bonus of ridding himself of a rival. Even if Vruya guessed the truth he could do nothing. Or perhaps he knew it already and, with cynical detachment, was waiting for the chosen mate to prove himself.

"A trap," said Belkner. "We walked into it-God, what can we do?"

"It's done," said Dumarest. "That's why-" He broke off as Ysanne's voice came over the intercom.

"Earl, there's trouble. You'd better get down here!"