Jack of Swords

Chapter Nine

He woke to find Usan Labria at his side. She said, "How do you feel, Earl?"

"Your turn to ask the questions?"

"That's right. And my turn to look after you. Well?"

Dumarest stretched. He lay on his cot, nude but for shorts, and beneath the fingers he rested on the bulkhead he could feel the unmistakable vibration of the Erhaft Field. He felt well aside from a ravenous hunger and could guess the reason.

"Slow-time?"

"Yes: " The woman held a steaming cup and handed it to him. "I guess you could use this."

It was the basic food of spacemen, a liquid sickly with glucose, heavy with protein, laced with vitamins. A measure would provide nourishment for a day. A unit in the base of the container kept it warm.

As he drank she said, "You were lucky. A fraction to the left and the bullet would have spattered your brains. As it was you had a torn scalp and a minor fracture."

"Then why the slow-time?"

"Why not? There's no point in suffering if you don't have to. I made Sufan provide it a day after we left You've been under five hours, close to seven days subjective."

Eight days total in which his body had healed, seven of them due to the acceleration of his metabolism provided by the drug. The reverse of quick-time. Dumarest sat upright, touching his temple, feeling nothing but the scab of the newly healed wound. One eight days old, the injury mending while he had lain in drugged unconsciousness.

"Still hungry?" Usan Labria had a second cup. She handed it to him, talking while he drank, this time more slowly. "Acilus left as soon as the port was sealed. Sufan insisted and I think he was right. Those men intended to get you."

"Guards from the Schell-Peng."

"No." She was positive. "They weren't from the laboratory. Those that came later, maybe, but not the ones waiting at the gate. They didn't try to stop the others and had no interest in the girl. They were after you, Earl, and I think you knew it. The question is, why?"

She was too shrewd and a woman with her desperation posed a perpetual danger. Once she even guessed he could provide what she needed how could he trust her?

"You're guessing," he said. "But if you find the answer let me know."

"So it's none of my business. Is that it?" She shrugged. "Well, have it your own way."

Setting down the empty cup Dumarest rose, breathing deeply, expanding his chest so that the thin tracery of scars on his torso shone livid in the light. He felt a momentary weakness, the result of days of inactivity as his hunger was the result of days of starvation.

"I didn't bother to give you intravenous feeding," said Usan. "A man like you can afford to starve for a while." Her eyes roved his body, lingering on the scars. "A fighter," she mused. "I'd guessed as much. Naked blades in the ring to first-blood or death. And you learned the hard way."

Young, inexperienced, earning money in the only way he could. Saving his life by natural speed, taking wounds, killing to the roar of a mob. Bearing now the signs of his tuition.

Dressed, he said, "Where is the girl?"

"In the cabin next to Sufan's. She was in a bad way when Timus carried her in. The shock of revival coupled with exposure-for a while we thought she'd die."

"And?"

"She recovered. Sufan worked on her and Pacula acted as nurse. She's all right now." Usan hesitated, "But there's something wrong with her, Earl. She isn't normal."

"In what way?"

"She-oh, to hell with it, let Sufan explain."

He answered the door when Dumarest knocked at the cabin and stepped outside and into the corridor, speaking quickly, his voice low.

"I'm glad to see you on your feet, Earl. You had me worried for a time, that wound looked nasty and any blow on the head can give rise to complications."

"The girl?"

"Inside. You did well getting her out-but don't expect too much. Remember that her talent is extremely rare, and always, there is a price to pay for such an attribute as she possesses. She-" He broke off, his eyes darting, glinting like the scales of fish in a sunlit pool, touching Dumarest, the woman at his side, the light above, the deck, his hands. "When you see her, Earl, be gentle. It is not quite what it seems."

"What isn't?"

Then, as the man hesitated, Usan Labria said harshly, "Why don't you tell him, Sufan? Why be so delicate? Earl, the girl is blind!"

She stood against the far Wall of the cabin, tall, dressed in a simple white gown caught at the waist with a cincture of gold. A dress Pacula had provided as she had tended the mane of fine, blonde hair, which gathered, hung in a shimmering tress over the rounded left shoulder. As she had painted the nails of hands and naked feet a warm crimson and bathed and scented the contours of the ripely feminine body.

A warm and lovely creature-and blind!

Dumarest saw the eyes, milky orbs of gleaming opalescence, edged with the burnish of lashes, set high and deep above prominent cheekbones. The mouth was full, the lower lip sensuous, the chin delicately pointed.

A face he had never seen before but one which held haunting traces of familiarity.

"You noticed it too," said Pacula quietly. She moved to stand beside the girl. "Usan remarked on it. She said we could almost be sisters."

"A coincidence," said Sufan Noyoka quickly. "It can be nothing else. My dear, this is Earl Dumarest. He brought you to us."

Dumarest stepped forward and took the lifted hand, holding it cupped in his own as if it were a delicate bird.

"My lady."

"She has no name," said Pacula. "Only a number."

"Then why not give her one? Cul-"

"No," she interrupted fiercely. "Not Culpea. That belongs to my daughter."

"I was going to say Culephria," said Dumarest mildly. "After a world similar to Chamelard."

"No, it is too much the same. And she cannot be Culpea, she is too old. Much too old."

A fact obvious when looking at her. The missing girl had been twelve, this woman was at least twice that age.

"We'll call her Embira," said Usan. "I once had-we'll call her Embira. Would you like that, my dear?"

"It sounds a nice name. Embira. Embira. Yes, I like it."

Her voice was soft, almost childish in its lack of emotional strength, matching the smooth, unmarked contours of her face. Dumarest watched as Pacula guided her to a chair. She sat as a child would sit, very upright, hands cradled in her lap. Her eyes, like fogged mirrors, stared directly ahead, adding to the masklike quality of her features.

Dumarest gestured Sufan Noyoka from the cabin. When the door had closed behind them he said flatly, "A blind girl-you expect her to guide us to Balhadorha?"

"Not blind, Earl, not in the way you mean. I told you she had an attribute. She can see, but not as we can. Her mind can register the presence of matter and energy far better than any instrument. She-"

"How did you know about her?"

"I have my ways. And the Schell-Peng laboratories have theirs. They took her when young and trained and developed her talent. A rare mutation or an unusual gene diversion- the results are all that matter. Enough that she is with us and already we are approaching the Hichen Cloud. Soon she will guide us. Soon, Earl, we shall reach our goal."

A statement of conviction or hope? Dumarest said, "If the girl can't do as you say, we are all heading toward destruction. How can you be certain she has the attribute you claim?"

"She has it." Sufan made a small gesture of confidence. "I trust the Schell-Peng."

"I don't." Dumarest jerked open the door of the cabin. "Pacula. Usan, please step outside. I want to talk to the girl alone."

"What do you intend?" Pacula was suspicious. "If-"

"Don't be a fool!" snapped Usan impatiently. "Earl has his reasons and he won't hurt her. Let him do as he wants. I trust him if you don't."

Alone with the girl, Dumarest stood for a moment with his back to the closed door, then stepped to where she sat.

Abruptly he moved his hand toward her eyes, halting his fingers an inch from the blank orbs.

"You almost touched me," she said evenly.

"You felt the wind?"

"That and more, Earl. I may call you that?"

"Yes, Embira, but how did you know it was me?"

His tread, perhaps, sharp ears could have distinguished it. His odor, the normally undetectable exudations from his body, recognized by a dog so why not by a girl trained to use the rest of her senses?

"Your aura," she said. "I can tell your aura. You carry metal and wear more. The others do not."

The knife he carried in his boot and the mesh buried in the plastic of his clothing. An electronic instrument could have determined as much-was she no more than that?

Stepping back from the chair Dumarest said, "I am going to move about the cabin. Tell me where I am and, if possible, what I am doing."

He moved toward the door, stepped to the right, the left, approached her and retreated and, each time, she correctly gave his movement. A small block of clear plastic stood on a table, an ornament containing an embedded flower. He picked it up, tossed it, threw it suddenly toward her.

His aim had been good, it missed her face by more than an inch, but she had made no effort to ward off the missile.

"Did you see that?"

"See?"

"Observe, sense, become aware." Baffled he sought for another word to explain sight. "Determine?"

"Krang," she said. "At the laboratory they called it krang. No, I could not krang it."

"Why not?"

"It had no aura."

Plastic and a dead flower, yet both were mass and a radar installation would have been able to track the path of the object. Too small, perhaps? A matter of density?

He said, "How many others ride this ship?"

"Seven." Frowning, she added, "I think, seven. One is hard to determine. His aura is hazed and lost at times."

The engineer, his aura diffused by the energies emitted by the generator-if she was registering raw energy. If she could see, or krang it.

Sitting on the cot Dumarest tried to understand. A mind which could determine the presence of energy or mass if it was large or dense enough. Every living thing radiated energy, every machine, every piece of decaying matter. To be blind to the normal spectrum of light, yet to be able to "see" the varying auras of fluctuating fields, to isolate them, to state their movements against the background of other auras.

What else was normal sight? Only the terminology was different. He saw in shape and form and color, she distinguished patterns. He saw solid objects of isolated mass, she recognized force fields and stress-complexes, "auras" of varying size, hue, and form.

Sufan's guide to find a dream.

He said, "Embira, how long were you with the Schell-Peng?"

"All my life."

"As far back as you can remember, you mean. They wouldn't have taken you as a baby. Was your past never mentioned?"

"No, Earl. They trained me. Always they trained me, and sometimes they hurt me. I think they did things-" Her hands lifted toward her face, her eyes. "No. I can't remember."

It was kinder not to press. Rising, Dumarest said, "I want to examine you, Embira. I may touch you, do you mind?"

"No."

Her face turned up toward him as he lifted fingers beneath her chin, the cheeks petal-smooth, the forehead unlined. Her skin was warm with a velvet softness and the perfume Pacula had sprayed onto her hair rose to engulf him in a scented cloud. Carefully he studied her eyes, seeing no sign of scars or adapted tissue. The balls seemed to be covered with an opaque film shot with lambent strands, the irises and pupils invisible.

"Earl, your hands, they are so firm."

"I won't hurt you. Can you move your eyes? No? Never mind."

The gown had long sleeves. He lifted them and looked at the expanse of her arms.

"Do you want to see the rest of me, Earl?" Her voice was innocent of double meaning. "Shall I undress?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Do you know why you are here, Embira?"

"Sufan Noyoka told me. I am to guide you."

"Can you?"

"I don't know, Earl, but I will try. I will do anything you want."

"No, Embira," he said, harshly. "Not what I want. Not what Sufan Noyoka wants or any other person. You're not a slave. You do as you want and nothing else. You understand?"

"But I was bought-"

"You were stolen," he interrupted. "You belong to no one but yourself. You owe nothing to anyone."

A lesson he tried to drive home. The girl was too vulnerable and had yet to be armored against the cruel reality of life.

For a long moment she sat, silent, then said, slowly, "You mean well, Earl, I know that. But you are wrong. I do owe you something. But only you, Earl. For you I would do anything."

A child speaking with an unthinking innocence, unaware of the implication, the unspoken invitation. Then, looking at her, he realized how wrong that was. She was not a child but a fully mature woman with all a woman's instincts. His touch had triggered a response to his masculinity; a biochemical reaction as old as time.

Aware of his scrutiny she said, "At the laboratories they told me I was very beautiful. Am I?"

"Yes."

"And you like me?"

"You're a member of this expedition. I like you no more and no less than the others."

Outside the cabin Pacula was waiting, Marek at her side. As she brushed past Dumarest and closed the door he smiled.

"The girl has stimulated her maternal instincts, Earl. Twice I had to stop her from interfering. And, of course, there could be a touch of jealously. The girl is very lovely, don't you agree?"

Dumarest said, "I owe you thanks."

"For the scream? It was nothing, a diversion created without personal danger, and it amused me to see you overcome those men." Pausing, Marek added casually, "One other thing, Earl. It might interest you to know we are being followed."

"A ship?"

"From Chamelard. It left shortly after we did, but don't worry, we are pulling ahead. And contact is impossible. A small accident to the radio, you understand. I thought it wise."

How much did the man know or suspect? A lover of puzzles, a man proud of his talent, could he have associations with the Cyclan? And Dumarest could guess what the following ship contained. A cyber who had predicted his movements and had arrived on Chamelard a little too late.

He said, "The Schell-Peng must be eager for revenge."

"That's what I thought." Marek's eyes were bland. "And with a captain like ours it would be stupid to take chances. He would think nothing of cooperating if the reward were high enough. Us evicted, the girl handed over, money received, the Mayna his without question-why should he risk his neck searching for a legendary world?"

A facile explanation and, Dumarest hoped, a true one. But from a man who courted danger?

A matter of degree, he decided. The risk of betrayal was nothing against the perils that waited for them in the Hichen Cloud.