Haven of Darkness

Chapter Two

The guard was neatly uniformed in scarlet and emerald; bright colors which made him conspicuous but which did nothing to reduce his dignity. A man of middle-age, his face round and unsmiling, his voice was firmly polite.

"All persons arriving on Harald are required to deposit the cost of a High passage with the authorities. Exceptions, of course, are made for residents and for those traveling on inclusive tours arranged by reputable companies. Do you fall into either of the latter categories, sir?"

Dumarest said, flatly, "You know the answer to that. No."

"Then I must ask you for the deposit. A receipt will be issued, naturally, and you can claim repayment on departure."

"And if I haven't got it?"

The guard shrugged. "You could, perhaps, arrange for a passage to another world. If you lack even the money for that then you will be confined to a special area. Those with work to offer will seek you out. In time, with luck, you could gain enough to move on."

A lot of time and even more luck. The stranded would have no chance of breaking free of the trap. Those offering work would pay only minimal rates and what money earned would go on food. It would be impossible ever to gain the price of a High passage. Even if a man managed to get enough to travel Low, riding doped, frozen and ninety per cent dead in a casket designed for the transportation of animals, the odds were against him. Starved, emaciated, such a journey would be certain death. Only the fit could hope to survive and even they ran the risk of the fifteen per cent death rate.

Dumarest said, dryly, "Usually when a man is stranded on a planet he has the chance of making his own way. Why the compound?"

"Desperate men are dangerous. Harald is a civilized world. We want no man-shaped animals hunting in our streets."

"And no paupers, either?"

"And no paupers." The guard looked over his shoulder towards the town. It seemed a nice place, tall buildings of at least a dozen stories rising above the painted roofs of sprawling dwellings. Even the field was well laid out, the perimeter fence tall and ringed with lights, the warehouses set in neat array. The compound, Dumarest guessed, would be placed well away from the public eye.

Lowtowns usually were.

"You have the deposit?" The guard was growing impatient even though his tone remained polite. Old enough to have learned caution he knew that a harsh and brusk manner would gain him nothing except, perhaps, a knife in the throat. And Dumarest looked the type of man who knew how to handle a knife.

"I have it." Dumarest counted out the money, thick coins issued by the Jarmasin-Pontianak Combine and recognized on a hundred worlds. He frowned as the guard held out a pad. "What's this for?"

"Your thumb print. It's for your own protection," the guard explained. "A receipt can get lost or be stolen but no one can steal your thumb print. The right hand and rest the ball within the square. Your name?" He wrote it down, apparently unaware of the momentary hesitation. "Thank you, sir. I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Is there any limit as to duration?"

"None." Now that the formalities had been seen to the guard was willing to talk. "Of course, should you run into debt, become a public charge or show criminal tendencies action will be taken. As I said we have a nicely civilized world here and we want to maintain our standards. If you run into trouble your deposit will be on hand to ship you out if the need arises. We don't believe in hurting ourselves to keep the useless." Deftly he changed the subject. "Are you here for any special purpose?"

"To look around. To work, maybe. There is work?"

"Plenty. You'll find details at the agency. If you want a hotel I'd recommend the Wanderer's Rest. It's a nice place, clean and not too expensive. My wife's sister runs it. Tell her I sent you and she'll do her best."

"I'll think about it," said Dumarest.

"You do that."

"I will."

That and other things. His name and thumb print registered at the gate, both obviously to be fed into a computer, a record impossible for him to erase and a signpost to any who might be looking. And some would be looking, of that he was sure. A mistake to have paid the deposit, perhaps, another way could have been found, but it would have taken time and needless risk. Speed then, he decided. He would do what he had come to do and do it fast.

Dumarest slowed and looked around. A wide road ran from the field now busy with traffic and pedestrians. Men and women, neatly dressed, their faces telling of comfortable living, wandered on either side. Shops with large windows of glass or transparent plastic offered a variety of goods for sale. Taverns echoed soft music and the scents of food.

A nice, warm, comfortable world and Dumarest could understand the desire of the inhabitants to keep it that way.

A car slowed to halt beside him, the driver, a young man with a peaked cap adorned with multi-colored piping smiling from his seat.

"Want to ride, mister?"

"No."

"I'm heading into the city. Half a deci gets you there. A cut-rate, mister, and why hurt yourself for a little money?" His smile widened as Dumarest sat in the passenger compartment. "Anywhere special?"

"You know the Wanderer's Rest?"

"Sure." Eyes too old for the face slid towards him. "It's a home for the senile. You want a little action then leave it to me. Some luxuries, maybe? A girl or two? Some gambling? Name it and it's yours."

"Just take me where I said."

Leaning back Dumarest studied the town. The buildings were all in good repair but with a pool of cheap labor readily available that was to be expected. As was the absence of beggars and the usual touts to be found at any landing field, but the driver had already said enough for him to know that what he saw was a facade over the usual vice.

"Right, mister." The driver held out a hand. "The Wanderer's Rest. Two decis."

"You said a half."

"Man, you're crazy. The fare is two. You want to argue I'll call a guard."

Dumarest looked to either side. Down the street he caught a flash of scarlet and emerald. Opposite a pair of women were gossiping and, lower down, a young couple walked arm in arm.

"Two decis." The driver snapped his fingers. "Come on, man, give. I've no time to haggle with a yokel."

"Two decis," said Dumarest. He fumbled in a pocket, leaning close, hiding the driver from view. The man squealed as fingers closed like steel claws around his arm. "Is a broken arm worth it?"

"You! I-" The man gulped as fingers dug into flesh and grated against bone. "No, mister! No!"

"Two decis?"

Sweat beaded the driver's face as he stared into the hard visage inches from his eyes. The hand gripping his arm was threatening to tear the muscle from the bone, to snap the limb. The pain of impacted nerves was a fire searing naked tissue.

"No! A mistake! For God's sake, mister, let me go!"

"To shout for the guard? To argue about the fare?"

"No!"

"Changed your mind about cheating me?" Dumarest climbed back into the vehicle. "Drop me in the middle of town."

It ringed a plaza set with fountains and flowering shrubs, shaded by graceful trees and dotted with convenient benches. Some children played at the foot of a statue; a cluster of men with their faces turned upwards to face the sky. It had been cast from a reddish metal now bright and smoothly polished. A man stood before it a duster in his hand. He was dressed in grey, wore a round hat and had a wide collar of dull, black metal clamped around his neck.

Dumarest said, "How much do they pay you?"

"Pay me?" The man turned, blinking. "Who are you, mister? Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious. Well?"

"I don't get paid," said the man, dully. "But for each day I work I get five decis knocked off my debt."

And, if he tried to run, the radio-linked collar could be activated to blow the head from his shoulders.

"What about your deposit?"

"What deposit? I was born here." The man turned to wipe his duster over the statue. "At that I'm lucky. They won't let me starve and I'm given shelter. My wife left me, of course, and my kid disowned me but, in seven years, three months and eleven days they'll unlock this collar and set me free."

"And, if someone paid the debt?"

"I'd be freed at once. I only owed money, mister, I didn't hurt anyone. Even if I had I could buy my way out after taking my lashes. You-no."

"Something?"

"You look like a stranger. If you want some good advice get off this world as soon as you can. Without money you'd be better off dead and, if you've got some, they'll be after it. The vultures, I mean. But who the hell ever takes good advice?"

"I do." Dumarest handed the man twenty days of freedom. "This isn't charity-I don't believe in it. I'm buying information. Where can I find the best computer service in town?"

It was housed in an ornate building which reared close to the edge of the city. Glass reflected the light of the setting sun as Dumarest made his way towards it and he paused, looking at the intricate stone-work, wondering who had paid for it and why.

Inside he found out. The receptionist was svelte, young, vaguely interested in his requirements. A woman, he guessed, with more than work on her mind. Patiently he explained his needs.

"Computer time, certainly, that's what we're here to deliver. Now if you will let us have the relevant documents and authorization-"

"What authorization?"

"Why, the permission to use the documents for the purpose your claim." Long eyelashes dropped to cover impatient eyes. "Is it really necessary for me to explain?"

Dumarest said, coldly, "I am a personal friend of the Director. He has asked me to conduct a test of your attitude towards the general public. I find it most interesting. Now, if you please, I would like your name and status." His tone chilled even more. "At once!"

"I- But you can't! I mean-"

"You deny me the information? Am I to assume you lack the right to sit where you do? Inform your superior that I wish to make an immediate appointment. Move, girl. Move!"

Twenty minutes later he was ushered into an office occupying the corner of the fifth floor. A woman rose as he entered, coming forward to meet him, both hands extended. As their palms touched she said, "Earl Dumarest. You have been on this world less than two hours and already I have one slightly hysterical girl on my hands. Are you really a friend of the Director?"

A woman who knew so much would know more. "No."

"I am glad that you didn't lie. It would have been a stupid pretense. My name, incidentally is Hilda Benson. My status, if you are interested, is comptroller of external outlets." She smiled, a dumpy, aging woman who radiated an air of competence. "What made you so annoyed downstairs?"

"Stupidity."

"The girl's or the system's?"

"Perhaps both. She wanted documents-I have none. She demanded an authorization to use the documents I didn't have. We were getting nowhere."

"So you did something about it. Please sit. Now, how can we help you?" She frowned as he told her. "You want to find a world? A planet called Earth? And you come to us for that?"

"Where better?"

"An almanac, surely. One can be found in any library."

"Can you supply the information?"

"Of course. If a library has the information then so do we. An incredible amount of data is stacked in our memory banks and that information naturally includes all known astronomical data, all navigational tables, the most recent listing and-" She broke off, shaking her head. "Well, it's your money and if you want to waste it who am I to object? Earth, you say?" A terminal stood to one side of the office and she crossed to it, her fingers dancing over the keys. "This will only take a moment."

Dumarest leaned back in the chair, waiting. After a while he said, "Is something wrong?"

"No." She looked a little flustered. "It's just that we have to wait our turn. I'll ask again and demand priority."

"The response will be-planet unknown," said Dumarest. "Am I correct?"

"You are." She looked at him from her position by the terminal. "Which means that the world you mention does not exist."

"Because your computer does not hold the information?" He shrugged. "Try again, madam. Ask under 'legends.' Also under the name Terra.' And if you have anything on the Original People it might help."

"Is this a joke?"

"No." He met her eyes. "I came here for help not to make a fool of anyone. I understand that the computers on Harald are the finest in the entire region. I take it they are cross-linked?" He paused, continuing at her nod, "All that remains then is to select the finest service. I was given to understand that this was it. Maybe you're more interested in fancy decoration and prestige-buildings than in actual service."

"You don't have to be insulting."

"I don't have to be anything!" Dumarest surged to his feet. "Certainly I don't have to beg for what I pay for or plead for what you are in business to provide. Now hit those keys and let's find out just how damned good your computers are."

For a long moment she stood, looking at him, her eyes searching his face and then, as if having arrived at a decision, turned to the terminal and sent her blunt fingers over the keys.

He heard the hiss of her indrawn breath as she read the answer flashed on the screen.

"Well?"

"Legend," she said. "It's listed under legend. Earth is a mythical world-"

"Wrong!"

"— one equated with Eden, Avalon, Camelot, El Dorado, Jackpot, Bonanza and many others," she continued, ignoring the interruption. "One of a group of tales possibly devised to entertain children or to point a moral. A fable, a place devoid of hurt, pain or sorrow."

"Wrong again," he said, harshly. "Earth has all of those and more. Try again."

"Terra?"

"Another name for Earth." He waited as she operated the keyboard. "Well?"

"As you say, it is another name for Earth, but I've something from the Original People. You would, no doubt, like to tell me what it is."

He smiled at the acidity of her tone; an expression without genuine humor, but one which helped. There was no point in making her an enemy.

"The Original People are a cult which believe that all men sprang from a single world. I quote-" his voice deepened, held something of the muted thunder of drums, "From terror they fled to find new places on which to expiate their sins. Only when cleansed will the race of Man be again united." As she drew in her breath he said, "End of quote. Good enough?"

"For me, yes. You know what you're talking about and I don't think you are joking. But you realize what you're asking us to do?"

"To find the coordinates of Earth."

"To find a legend. A place which officially doesn't exist. Do you realize what that could mean? Endless checking of cross-references, the hunting down of abstruse notations, the searching of ancient files. Elimination, selection, winnowing, collating, substantiating-it could take years!" She saw his expression. "You disagree?"

"Not with what you say. Such a search would take a long time and there would be no certainty of success. But I don't want you to do that. I merely want to hire the computer to run a comparison check on a stellar spectrogram I have. How much would it cost?"

"We charge by the minute." He pursed his lips as she told him the price. "Are you still interested?"

"How long would it take?"

She said, precisely, "There are over a half billion stars registered in the memory banks. Some elimination is possible, naturally, but even so it will take time. And first the input information must be prepared. You have the data?"

She took the strip of film he handed to her, a copy of the one he had found on Emijar and, holding it, said, "There will be an initial fee of two hundred. This will cover breakdown and isolation of relevant identifying aspects. The material will, naturally, be yours."

"Two hundred decis?"

"Mettres."

Ten times as much-no wonder they had graced the building with expensive carvings. Twice the cost of a Low passage but worth it if he could gain the coordinates.

She said, as if reading his mind, "You realize this is only the initial payment. The fee for computer hire will be extra."

A hundred a minute and he'd thought she'd meant decis.

Now he knew better. Harald, it seemed, was an expensive world in more ways than one.

"Have you any idea how long it could take?"

"The computer can check ten thousand bits every second. Assuming the entire half billion has to be checked it is a matter of simple division. Ten thousand into five hundred million divided by sixty to obtain minutes, multiplied by a hundred comes to-" she paused a moment, frowning, "Say about eighty-three thousand. The average should be half of that, say forty-two thousand. Of course, we could hit the answer within the first second."

"And that would cost only a hundred?"

"No." Gently she shook her head. "For an investigation like this we should require a deposit of ten thousand minimum. That, of course, will buy you a hundred minutes and you could be lucky."

"And if not?"

"Then we'd freeze the program until you had handed us more. It would be best to arrange for a complete run and take a gamble. I could arrange it for forty-five thousand and you would be certain of a complete check. If we run over the half-way mark, of course, we stand to lose."

"How?" He spoke before she could answer. "I know-the extra running time would be for free. Supposing I paid just what would I get?"

"The answer if it is to be found. A complete check of all comparisons made in any case-information which would be valuable in itself. For elimination purposes," she explained. "It is remotely possible that some other computer has information on stars which we lack. The data we would give you could isolate those stars and possibly supply the missing item." For a moment she was silent then, quietly said, "Well?"

If he'd had the money he would have told her to go ahead-what was money when compared to finding Earth? But he didn't have it and nothing like it. The two hundred, yes, but what good would be the initial preparation data?

"Could I leave it for now?"

"Of course." She handed him back the strip of film. Reaching for it their fingers met and she froze at the contact, sensing something of the disappointment which filled him. "Look," she said with sudden generosity. "There is nothing I can do to help you. I work for the company and you must understand why. But there is a man, a hobbyist in a way, and he might be able to do something. I'll give you his name and address." She scribbled on a pad. "Be gentle with him, please. Once we were friends."

Once long ago perhaps, but now he had found another. One which came in convenient containers and held the old, insidious charm. Dumarest stared at the man who opened the door and recognized the traces on face and bearing. Smelt too the sickly odor of the habitual drunk.

"Armand Ramhed?"

"The same. And you?" Armand craned forward, blinking. Tall, his head came level with Dumarest's own but his bulk was only half as much. His skin was creped, mottled, sagging in tiny pouches. His watery eyes were bagged and his throat resembled the scrawny limb of a starved bird. "Who are you, sir?" He blinked again as Dumarest gave his name and that of the woman who had sent him. Now he knew why she had asked him to be gentle.

"Hilda?" Armand smiled with genuine pleasure. "A wonderful woman, sir, and a true friend. Come in. Come in. Anything I can do to help I will do. For her I can do no less."

Inside the house was surprisingly clean though thinly furnished. Some bottles stood against a wall, all empty. Another stood on a table together with a glass. From the rear came the stench of fermenting fluids.

"You will drink with me?" Armand, without waiting for an answer, found a second glass. It was thick, smeared, the edge chipped a little. "It is only home-brew but it has some merit. A good body and the flavor, though I say it myself, is rewarding to those of discernment. A trifle young, of course, but there, we can't have everything can we? To your very good health, sir."

Dumarest watched as he swallowed the contents of his glass then took a sip of his own. He was pleasantly surprised. The wine, though a little rough, did hold the body Armand had claimed and the flavor, while strange, was not repulsive. And it was strong.

"You like it?" Like a child the man was eager for praise but there was no need to lie.

"I've drunk worse on a score of worlds," said Dumarest. "And been on as many more where a bottle of this would fetch a full mettre." Deliberately he emptied his glass.

"Some more?"

"Later." Dumarest produced the strip of film. "Hilda said that perhaps you could help me. If you can it will be worth some money."

"Is friendship to be bought?"

"No, but service is to be paid for." Dumarest explained the problem. "What can you do?"

"Perhaps nothing." Armand squinted at the film. "This needs to be magnified and projected-come into the other room."

It was a crude laboratory, a mess of variegated equipment strewn over a table and the floor, wires running from rough assemblies, hand-made mechanisms to all sides.

"Sit," ordered Armand. "Help yourself to drink if you want, but don't disturb me. This will take some time."

Time to sit and think and plan a little. Time to appreciate the irony of the situation and taste the bitter gall of defeat. He had, Dumarest was certain, the long-sought key to the whereabouts of the world he had searched to find for so long. Over the years he had gathered a handful of clues; a name, a sector, a mnemonic, some distances and names of nearby stars and then, finally, the one sure means to identify the primary from all others. The spectrogram he had found; the lost treasure of a forgotten cult.

It held the answer, he was sure of it. It would tell him what he wanted to know. Information which would yield the essential coordinates and put an end to the bitter search. The answer at last-all he needed was the money to pay for it.