Lallia

II

He was a round, sleek, yellow-skinned man of indeterminate age, who smiled often and spoke at length. Gems glittered on his pudged hands and soft fabric of price clothed his rotund body. His hair was a cropped stubble on the ball of his skull and his eyes, slanted like almonds, were as watchful as a cat's. His name was Yalung and he claimed to be a dealer in precious stones.

Dumarest thought about him as he worked on the caskets. Carefully he checked each connection and tested each seal, measuring the degree of chill established by the refrigera shy;tion, counting the seconds as the eddy currents warmed the interior of the coffin-like boxes. Several times he made adjustments, knowing that a human life could depend on his skill. Animals had a wider tolerance than men, but animals did not always fill the caskets.

Claude entered the region as Dumarest straightened from the last of the caskets.

"All finished?"

"Yes." Dumarest handed the engineer the meters he had borrowed. "I'll check the rest of the equipment later. Can you make some more restraints for the cargo?"

"Why bother? We don't carry much and what we do won't come to any hurt."

"Can you make them?"

"Later." The engineer leaned against the curved metal of the wall and blinked his bloodshot eyes. He had been drink shy;ing and his broad, mottled face was heavy with the red mesh of burst capillaries. "You worry too much, Earl. Elgart never used to worry like you do."

"Maybe that's why he's dead," said Dumarest dryly.

"He died because he was a perverted swine," said Claude dispassionately. "I've no objection to a man being a lecher, but he was worse than that. Once when we carried some animals he-well, never mind. He's dead and good rid shy;dance. Like a drink?"

It was wine: thin, sharp with too much acid, the flavor indistinguishable. Dumarest sipped and watched as the en shy;gineer gulped. Behind him, squatting on thick bed-plates, the generators emitted a quivering ultrasonic song of power, the inaudible sound transmuted by the metal of the hull in shy;to a barely noticed vibration.

"Swill," said Claude as he lowered his empty glass. "Some cheap muck I bought on Aarn. They don't know how to make wine. Now on Vine they make a wine which would wake the dead. Thick and rich and with the color of blood. A man could live on the wine of Vine. Live and die on it and never regret wasted opportunities."

Dumarest said softly, "As you do?"

"I was there once," said the engineer as if he had not heard the interjection. "At harvest time. The girls carried in the grapes and trod them beneath their bare feet. The juice stained their legs and thighs, red on white and olive, thick juice on soft and tender flesh. As the day grew warmer they threw off all their clothes and rolled naked among the fruit. It was a time of love and passion, kissing and copulating in great vats of succulent grapes, the juice spurt shy;ing and staining everyone so that all looked like creatures of nature."

Dumarest took a little more wine, waiting for the engineer to extinguish his dream.

"There was a girl," whispered Claude. "Soft and young and as white as the snows found on the hills of Candaris. We trod the grapes together and joined bodies as we mated in the juice. For a week we loved beneath the sun and the stars with wine flowing like water and others all around laughing and singing and laving their bodies with the juice. The harvest on the following season must have been excep shy;tional if what they believed was true."

"Fertility rites," said Dumarest. "I understand."

"You understand." The engineer poured himself more of the thin wine. "I did not. I thought she loved me for myself alone, not because she thought that a stranger would bring fresh seed to the mating, new energy to the fields. For a week she was mine and then it was over." He gulped the wine and stared broodingly into the glass. "Often I wonder if my grandsons tread the grapes as I did, if my grand shy;daughters yield themselves as did she."

"You could find out," suggested Dumarest. "You could go back."

"No. That is a thing no man should ever do. The past is dead, forget it, let us instead drink to the future."

"To the future," said Dumarest, and sipped a little more wine. "Tell me about our passenger."

"Yalung?" Claude blinked as he strove to focus his atten shy;tion. "He is just a man."

"How did you meet?"

"In a tavern. I was looking for business and he approached me. He had money and wanted a High passage to the Web."

"It's just as well he didn't want to travel Low," said Dumarest. "He would never have made it."

"The caskets?" Claude shrugged. "We rarely use them; the journey between planets is too short. Even on the longer trips Sheyan usually adjusts the price and lets any passengers ride under quicktime. The Web is compact," he explained. "Stars are relatively close. Anyway, we don't often cany passengers."

"Let's talk about the one we have now."

"What is there to talk about? He wanted a passage and could pay for it. He approached me. What else is there to know?"

"He approached you." Dumarest was thoughtful. "Didn't you think it strange? A man with money for a High passage wanting to travel on a ship like this?"

Claude frowned, thinking. "No," he said after a while. "It isn't strange. Not many ships head for the Web and those that do only go to established planets, the big worlds with money, trade, and commerce. From there shuttle ves shy;sels take freight and passengers to the other planets. Yalung wants to roam the Web and this is the best way for him to do it."

"So he intends to stay with us?"

"That's what he said." Claude chuckled as he looked at Dumarest. "He hasn't really any choice. I told you that ships are few in the Web. You could be stranded on a planet for months waiting for a vessel, and then you'd have to go where it took you. That's where we come in. Charter, special freight, speculative trading, things like that. We could may shy;be touch a score of worlds before landing at one of the big termini." His smile grew wider as he saw the other's expres shy;sion. "Didn't Sheyan tell you?"

"The details? No."

"He wouldn't. He needed a handler more than he needed to teach the innocent. But it isn't so bad. We'll get along and could even have a little fun. You'll get used to it, Earl. You might even get to like the life."

"Like you?"

Claude lost his smile as he groped for the bottle. "No, Earl, not like me. But then you don't have to be like me. No one does."

No one, thought Dumarest as he left the engineer to his anodyne. Not Nimino who found his refuge in religion, or Sheyan who had his command if nothing else. Not Lin who carried a headful of stars and who looked on danger as a spice to living instead of the constant threat to existence it really was. No one needed to hit the bottle-but some shy;times it could help.

Dumarest washed and changed from the protective cloth shy;ing he had worn while working on the caskets, changing into his uniform and the cap with the cracked visor. His soft shoes were soundless on the worn flooring as he made his way towards the bridge. At the salon he halted and looked inside. Yalung, the sole occupant, sat before a table on which were spread a handful of variously colored crystals. He held a pair of tweezers in one pudgy hand and his eyes were narrowed as if to increase his vision.

He didn't move. Not even when Dumarest entered the compartment and stood at his side. Still he sat like a man of stone, not even his eyelids flickering, unconscious of the man at his side. He looked dead but he was far from that. He was living at a reduced tempo, the magic of quicktime slowing his metabolism and time-awareness to a fraction of normal. They had left Aarn two days ago, but to the passen shy;ger it was less than an hour.

Gently Dumarest reached out and touched the pudgy hand, gently, for the relative speed of his hand could deal a savage blow. The skin was firm, more youthful than it seemed, the small indent vanishing as soon as he removed the pressure.

Stooping he examined the scattered gems, noting the trapped fire smoldering within their crystalline depths, the perfection of facets and polish. They, at least, were genuine — as was probably everything else about the passenger. Yalung could be exactly what he claimed and his presence on the ship due to nothing more than sheer coincidence.

Dumarest straightened and left the salon, making his way to the bridge. He knocked and entered when Sheyan growled a summons. The captain was alone, sitting in the big control chair, surrounded by instruments which did what no ordinary man could ever do. He looked very small in the confines of the chair, the box on his lap somehow seem shy;ing to accentuate his diminution. It was of metal, strongly chased and fitted with a combination lock. It could, prob shy;ably, be smashed open but never rifled without leaving trace. He clung to it as if finding warmth and comfort from the decorated metal.

"You want something?"

"The caskets are now fully operational," said Dumarest. "Some minor work remains to be done on the cargo re shy;straints, but that is all. Aside from a complete cleaning," he added. "I can't say anything about the rest of the ship."

"That's right." Sheyan twisted his head so as to stare at his handler. "Your job is to look after the cargo, not to tell me what needs to be done. And a little grime never killed anyone yet."

"That depends," said Dumarest, "on just where the grime is. I wouldn't care for it in an open wound, for example."

"The Moray is not an open wound."

"It isn't a very efficient ship either," said Dumarest blunt shy;ly. He looked about the control room. "Shouldn't the naviga shy;tor be on duty?"

Sheyan reared up in his chair. "I decide who shall be on duty!" he snapped. "I am the captain. If you choose to for shy;get it just remember what will happen if I decide you are insubordinate." He sank down again, his anger dissolving as rapidly as it had come. "You don't understand," he said. "You're thinking of the big ships with their big crews and the spit and polish they use to run them. The Moray isn't like that. A little dirt doesn't matter as long as the generators aren't affected. More crew means smaller shares and they are small enough as it is. Just ride along with us as we are and you'll be all right. Try fighting and it will get you nowhere."

Dumarest frowned, thinking of the man he had first met in the captain's office, comparing him with the man who now sat in the control chair. Physically they were the same, but somehow there was a difference. He had deliberately tried to ignite anger and had received, instead, a near apology. It was as if Sheyan had been cowed by something, his spirit crushed so that he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Looking at the vision screens Dumarest could guess what it was.

Space was immense-the distances between the stars im shy;possible to conceive by a human brain. The figures could be learned but they meant nothing; they were so vast as to be totally outside the limits of human comprehension. Light took years to travel between the stars; ships could do it faster but the distances remained the same. If anything could reduce a man's arrogance it was the cold indifference of the galaxy, the knowledge that in the universe he was less than a minute bacteria crawling on the face of creation.

Quietly he said, "Permission to use quicktime, captain?"

"What?" Sheyan jerked, his hands convulsive as they gripped the box. "Quicktime? Yes. Yes, by all means."

"A general issue?"

"Nimino has his own. I trust him to use it with discretion. You may give it to the rest."

"As you order, captain," said Dumarest. "And yourself?"

"No. I don't need it. That is, I don't want it." Again Sheyan's hands closed on the edges of his box. "That will be all, handler."

Alone, the captain relaxed in his chair, trying not to grip the box, to think of what it contained. Dumarest had an shy;noyed him, upset him rather, but how could the man even begin to guess? Like the rest he was closed in by walls of metal, protected, shielded from what lay without. Only Nimino could really begin to understand because, like him shy;self, the navigator stared with electronic eyes at the naked menace of the stars.

And they were menacing. They waited, confident in the knowledge that they must win, that they were greater than man and anything he could do. Let his ships probe among them, land on their worlds, diminish space by the magic of the Erhaft field, they would still conquer. They would always conquer because men were mortal and they were not. They could afford to wait and watch and, perhaps, glow a little brighter whenever a ship died.

As the Moray would die-and he with it.

He closed his eyes, trying to find in darkness the courage he seemed to lose each time they left a world. It was the in shy;action which caused it, he told himself. The necessity to do nothing but sit and wait for the one day that must surely come. A minor flaw in one of the instruments. A break in a component. A trifling error which would be magnified with distance until it became overwhelming. A little thing, any little thing, and he would be totally erased, killed, wiped out-his personal universe destroyed.

Extinction.

He gasped, shuddering, jerking open his eyes to look again at the shimmering splendor of the stars which hung in scattered profusion. Shining points, sheets, curtains and ha shy;loes of magnificent luminescence dulled, directly ahead, by the somber black cloud which held the Web. He stared at it, hating the darkness, knowing it to be a waiting trap for the unwary. Perhaps this time?

"No!" Sheyan reared up in his chair, sweat beading his face as he fought his own imagination. "No!"

The sound of his own voice was a comfort and he looked around, forcing himself to check the silent machines which filled the control room, the computers and sensors, the mechanical pilots with their programmed navigational tapes, the telltales which gave him information about the ship itself.

Tiny lights winked back at him, red and green, blue and yellow, dull orange and flaring white. A ripple of color and movement as vectors were checked, slight adjustments made, the currents of space ridden as a ship would ride a turbulent sea. And space was a sea, a three-dimensional ocean of electronic wind and magnetic storm, the dead residue of solar flares and vanished novae sweeping endless shy;ly through the gulf like wreckage and flotsam, antimatter and vicious gusts of killing radiation.

All met and neutralized by the silent efficiency of the machines among which he sat.

Ships don't need captains, he thought. Navigators, per shy;haps, and even engineers-but not captains. What could I do if something went wrong? What could anyone do? But ships were not always in space and someone had to be in command, to make the decisions and to give the orders and see they were carried out. A ship was more than just a hull and engines and a mass of complex equipment. A ship was all that and more. Men still had to serve and a man still had to be in charge.

But men were weak. Sometimes too weak and then, when alone, they began to break. Slowly, at first, but always in one direction. And once they cracked, they could never be repaired.

Sheyan straightened, grabbing the box as it threatened to fall from his lap, snatching a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the sweat from his face. Two days, he thought. Only two days and already you're going under. Make it three at least, four even, five if you can. Use quicktime like the others do and shorten the journey to a fraction of its real time. No man should be expected to stare needlessly at the stars.

Not unless he had aid.

His fingers trembled as he turned the dial of the combina shy;tion. It was a simple setting, three numbers only, and within seconds the lid rose with a soft click. Inside the box some shy;thing moved, sluggishly, then quickened to pulsing life as it felt the warmth of his hand.

The box, empty, fell to one side as Sheyan relaxed, breath shy;ing easily, lost in a cloud of euphoric dreams.

"The Web," said Yalung, smiling. "A fascinating place. You must know it well."

"No," said Dumarest. "I have never been there."

"Then you are new on this ship?"

"Yes." Dumarest was telling the man nothing he probably didn't already know or could easily find out. And he would find out. Yalung was a curious man. "Have you?"

"Once, many years ago; but it was a brief visit only and there was much that I did not see."

"In the Web," said Nimino, "there is much that no man has seen. Not even those who have lived their lives on one of its worlds. Am I not right, Lin?"

The steward nodded, pleased at having been brought in shy;to the conversation. The four were seated at the table in the salon, keeping the trader company as was the custom when passengers were few. All held cups of basic and a deck of cards lay between them. Idly, Dumarest stirred them with the tip of a finger.

"Tell me about it," he said. "There seems to be much that I should know."

"About the Web?" Lin shrugged, acting older than his years. "It's just a place like any other. Stars and planets and people who live on them. It seemed normal enough to me."

"You come from Laconis, which is near the edge," said Nimino. "And you joined us on our way out. Wait until we get deep into the system before you talk about it being normal. The Web is a cloud of primeval dust," he explained to Dumarest. "Within it, the stars are very close and each star has many worlds. For trading it is ideal for the journeys are short and the needs of the people great. At least it would be ideal if conditions were as they are in normal space. But the area within the cloud is not normal. The stars are too close. There are vicious gravitational crosscurrents, mag shy;netic storms of incredible violence, ionic displays, and other unpleasant phenomena. You have dealt with our caskets and you know what eddy currents can do. Imagine them on an interstellar scale. Imagine also, the sleeting radiation, the very warping of space which occurs in areas close to double stars and you will have some idea as to conditions facing ships which probe too deeply into the Web."

"They are bad," said Yalung softly. "Very bad. On my last trip I heard news of two vessels which had failed to complete their journeys. One, it was said, fell into a star. The other had been found, a mass of twisted wreckage, the fabric having been apparently turned inside out. No one chose to guess what had really happened."

"And yet you return," said Dumarest quietly. "Why do that if the area is so dangerous?"

"For the same reason this ship returns." Yalung's smile was bland. "For profit. I am a dealer in precious stones and my trade is not without competition. In the Web are many worlds and on them could be gems of price. With conditions being what they are, it should be simple for a man to buy low and later sell high."

"There are gems on Laconis," said Lin quickly. "I could introduce you to my uncle. He would give you a fair bar shy;gain."

Again Yalung gave his bland smile. "I shall remember your offer if ever we land on the planet," he said. "But, meaning no disrespect, your knowledge of gems can hardly be large."

"It's larger than you think. Earl, show him your ring." Lin frowned as Dumarest made no move to obey. "Please, Earl. Show him your ring."

Slowly Dumarest lifted his left hand and rested it on the pack of cards. The overhead light caught the stone and turned it into the likeness of an oval of freshly spilled blood. His eyes were watchful as the boy touched the ring, fas shy;tened on the trader's face, alert to catch the slightest change of expression. Lin's foolish boasting might have an unexpected bonus.

"A fine stone," said Yalung casually. "Fine but hardly rare. Together with the mount it would be worth, perhaps, the cost of a short High passage."

"Think again," said Lin. "I know stones. This is worth double what you say."

"Perhaps." Yellow silk moved as the trader lifted his shoul shy;ders, the black glyphs with which it was decorated moving like slumbering serpents. "But you forget, my young friend, I am a trader and never enhance the price."

"But I am right?"

"You are right. The ring is worth what you say, and I must congratulate you on your knowledge. And now, per shy;haps, someone would care to indulge my pleasure in a game of cards?" Yalung looked from one to the other. "No? You are tired, perhaps? I hardly think that the crew of a ship like this would have moral objections to gambling."

"No," said Lin quickly. "I-"

"Will go to bed." Dumarest was curt in his interruption. "Take a cup of basic to the engineer, another to the captain, and then retire."

"But, Earl-"

"Do as I say." Dumarest watched as the boy drew a single cup of liquid from the spigot. "What about the cap shy;tain?"

"He doesn't need any. Am I right, Nimino?"

"That is correct." The navigator looked at Dumarest. "Sheyan takes care of himself during a flight and brooks no interruption. Take the cup to the engineer, Lin, and then retire." He watched as the steward left the salon. "You were hard on the boy," he said quietly. "He is young."

Dumarest agreed. "Too young to ape the man and far too young to gamble with those who would take all he owns."

"And too young, perhaps, to call attention to a ring?" Yalung's voice was a purr. "It was bad manners, I grant, and bad manners must be punished. But to shame the lad? It would not have hurt him to play a little. The stakes need not have been high,"

"If the stakes are low then it is not a gamble," said Nimino. "A man cannot lose what he doesn't care to keep. And you are mistaken as to Earl's motives. Why should he object to Lin showing you his ring?"

"Did I give that impression?" Yalung spread his hands, his smile deprecating. "My apologies if I did; it was uncon shy;scious, I assure you. But on Aarn there was talk about a man wearing a ring and another man found dead in a closet in his room. The dead man was a known thief and the assumption is that he died in pursuit of his trade. It is a rumor, you understand, a whisper in the taverns. You may have heard it?"

"No," said Dumarest tightly. "I did not."

"Then again I am mistaken. I thought that you were a little tender on the subject-no man likes to be associated with murder. But, of course, the association can be nothing but coincidence. Many men wear rings."

"I wear one myself," said Nimino thrusting forward his hand. The light shone from a golden snake coiled around his finger. "Would you care to value it, trader?"

"In terms of its true worth or its sentimental attachment?"

"Neither. In terms of its protective power." The navigator smiled as he lowered his hand. "You hesitate. Well, that is to be expected from one who deals in money, what could you know of the value of spiritual things? Yet you haven't the price of this ring should you want to buy it from me. It was given me by the Decal Ghengian himself and all he touched was holy."

Yalung's eyes held a gleam of amusement as he glanced at Dumarest. "Then the ring must be very valuable," he said gently. "For the Decal Ghengian will touch things no more."

"He has found the Way?" Nimino was excited. "He has found the realm beyond?"

"As well as any man can find it. He is dead. Killed by a fall from the roof of his hotel in Nagash on Jacellon. Some say that he was drunk and attempted to fly. Others that he was summoned. A few whisper that he was assassi shy;nated, but that is rumor and rumor always lies."

"Dead." Nimino looked down at his ring and touched it with loving fingers. "Had he lived what might not that man have accomplished. He could even have found the holy world from which all men originated."

"Now that, at least, you cannot believe," said Yalung. "It is the stuff of legend and as frail as gossamer. Forgive me if I lose patience but I have heard such legends too often to be tolerant. The mystery planets found and lost again: Jackpot, Bonanza, El Dorado, a dozen others. Worlds of dreams and imagination born of longing and dying hope. I have traveled the galaxy and have never heard more than a rumor of any of them."

Dumarest looked down at his hands, then at those of the trader. Quietly he said, "Have you ever heard of Earth?"

"Earth?" Yalung's hands remained immobile. His eyes were enigmatic as Dumarest raised his head to stare into the yellow face. "A strange name for a world. I know of Sand, an odd place of almost total desert. A species of insect lives beneath the surface and constructs balls of natural secre shy;tions which have a slight value when ground and polished. But Earth? No."

"And you, Nimino?"

The navigator hesitated. "There are so many worlds- how can one man know them all? The name is strange to me, Earl, yet I cannot say there is no such place."

"How about Terra? Is that name familiar?" Dumarest shrugged as both men shook their heads. "Well, never mind. It isn't important."

Not if a life had no value and years of searching were of no account. Not if home meant nothing to a man or a quest had no substance. The questions had been automatic, born of the hope that someone, somewhere, would be able to give a positive answer. It was a slim chance, but one which had to be tried. Their response was another disappointment to add to the rest.

Dumarest picked up the deck of cards. "Well, gentlemen," he said. "Shall we play?"