Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

Chapter Twelve

A century earlier and there would have been armed men standing in honor, a guard carefully chosen and each man jealous of the privilege. A generation ago and older men would have tended the sacred place, sitting and dreaming of past glories, of the strength and vitality of their youth. Now there was only a crippled boy to tend the lights and to sweep the dust and venerate the past.

He said, "Earl, this is where the trophies are thrown when the hunters return after having made their kills."

Dumarest looked down at the floor, the place at which he pointed. It lay before the opening of the Shrine, the stone slightly concave with repeated washings. In imagination he tried to visualize the severed heads and the crowd who had watched the ancient heroes. Now there would be no crowd, only an official of some kind to record the achievement. Alorcene, perhaps, or an assistant. And even he would probably have to be summoned.

"Word is sent from the Watcher," explained Navalok when he mentioned it. "Always there are men stationed in the highest tower. They see the immediate surroundings and, of course, word would also be sent from the raft-enclosure."

"And?"

"Men will come to witness the trophy. The notation is made in the records and, later at dinner, the gun is given in ceremony."

A standard weapon each identical aside from personal adornment to the one he had taken from Lekhard. Dumarest examined it, a primitive thing with a revolving chamber holding five cartridges. The calibre was large, the charge, he guessed, small. The bullet would have high impact-shock but low penetration-to be expected in a weapon intended for use in a crowd.

"Earl, would-" Navalok broke off as Dumarest met his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing." The boy gestured towards the opening. "You wanted to inspect the Shrine."

Not the Shrine but the items it held. Dumarest strode to the slab of polished stone and looked at them. Rubbish for the most part, bits and pieces, some seeming to belong to other, larger artifacts, all showing signs of the ravages of time. Of use and time, the leaves of the plastic file were scuffed a little as well as faded and the metal of the chronometer held a dull patina which covered a worn inscription.

Dumarest rubbed at it with his thumb and held it closer to the light. Narrowing his eyes he read…OTA.F TE..A. The few discernible letters were followed by a disc surrounded with tapering spines-the symbolic image of a sun.

Dumarest lowered the instrument. The words could spell out the name of the ship and place of origin, the symbol would be a general identification device such as even now was used on the multiple commercial space lines. The Songkia-Kwei used the symbol of an open flower-the lotus. The Aihun Line a twisted helix.

Something, a name of-where?

He examined the instrument again, tilting it so as to throw the letters into prominence.

TE. .A

TELLA-No, TERRA?

TERRA!

An alternative name for Earth.

Navalok had been watching. He said, anxiously, "Earl, is anything wrong?"

"No." Dumarest took a deep breath and set down the chronometer. He could be reading too much into too little. The almost obliterated words could have meant something entirely different and, even assuming the last would have been the planet of origin, it need not have been Terra. And yet the chance existed and could not be ignored. "Do you have any more items like these?"

"Not here, Earl. There are Shrines in other Houses as I told you, but they are much the same."

And impossible to visit or examine. Dumarest knew of the jealous pride each Family maintained, the almost fanatical isolation they kept from each other. With time and money, perhaps, it could be done, but he had neither. And it might not be necessary. He remembered the boy's previous hesitation, his obvious reluctance to reveal information. A secret he could be hiding and one Dumarest had to know.

"A pity," he said, casually. "I'm interested in old things. It would be nice to find more of them somewhere. Are you interested in the past?"

Navalok blinked at the suddenness of the question.

"I-yes, Earl. I am."

"The old days," mused Dumarest. "When men landed to settle new worlds. Think of the challenges they had to face. The dangers they had to overcome. Each item of their equipment is a thing of veneration. Every scrap could tell us something new. If you knew where there were more of these things you could become an authority, Navalok. Your fame would spread and learned men come to consult you on their problems."

The wrong approach, the boy was not interested in academic distinction. Dumarest recognised it and said, "The House would be proud of you and you would earn the respect of the entire Family. Women would beg you to father their sons as they did the heroes of old." A shrewd guess but, Dumarest felt, a right one. He ended with a shrug. "Well, it would be nice, but unless such things can be found it must remain only a dream."

To press more would be to press too much, to arouse an antagonism or to wither their new-found friendship. For too long the boy had been rejected, used with cynical contempt, ignored. He had built up a layer of defense and, to threaten it, would be to turn trust into suspicion.

And the information, if he had it, would be a closely held secret.

Dumarest strolled from the opening, his face bland, a man who had seen all there was to see of any interest. As if by accident the gun fell from his pocket to clatter on the floor. He picked it up, turning it, bouncing it on his palm, conscious of the boy watching, the hunger in his eyes.

As he put the weapon out of sight Navalok blurted, "Earl, there is such a place. I know where more of these things are to be found."

Dumarest was deliberately obtuse. "A museum?"

"No. It's in the hills. I found it one day when my father took me out in a raft. I think he was looking for game. We landed and later I went exploring on the slope. I found a cave. The light was bad but I saw things like those." He gestured towards the objects littering the polished slab of the Shrine.

"And?"

"My father said it was an important discovery. He was going to report it but on the way back something went wrong. The raft crashed and he was killed and I-" He looked at his twisted foot. "I didn't say anything."

A child, hurt, bewildered, keeping the discovery to himself for reasons he couldn't have consciously known.

And now?

"I'll guide you if you promise to help me, Earl," he said in a rush. "If you'll teach me how to kill an olcept. If you'll help me to gain my trophy."

Dephine said, her voice edged with anger, "Earl, you're mad! Insane! The thing is ridiculous!"

He said nothing, watching as she paced the room with long strides, her hair a tumbled mane, her skin glistening with a moist warmth. She had just bathed and, as she walked, each step revealed the long, flowing line of her thighs through the slits in her robe.

"You can't do it, Earl!" She halted before him and he could smell the perfume she wore, the slightly sweet odor of decaying blooms. "You can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's dangerous, you fool, that's why. Men get killed hunting an olcept, women too, my own sister-well, never mind. But I don't want you hurt or killed, Earl. You mean too much to me for that."

He said, dryly, "Is that why you killed Galbrene?"

"Killed Galbrene?" She frowned. "I didn't kill him, Earl. He fell beneath your hands. Everyone saw it."

"They saw him fall," he corrected. "But I didn't kill him and we both know it. He was dazed when I made the final attack, dying where he stood. Didn't you think I could manage him?"

"Earl, you're wrong. I didn't touch him."

"Why bother to lie?"

"I'm not, Earl. I swear it!"

For a moment he held her eyes then his hands reached out, caught her own, lifted them so the gleaming nails pointed towards the ceiling. Beneath the curve of sharp metal on her right index finger he could see the tiny hole of a surgical implant; a narrow tube which had been buried in the flesh. The finger of her left hand held another. It spat a minute cloud of vapor as he squeezed the first joint, the nodule he discovered beneath the skin. On the ceiling a tiny dart hummed to vanish into the plaster.

An effective range of about ten feet, he decided, more if the target were unclothed. The dart would bury itself within the tissue by ultra-sonic vibration and be coated with a blood-soluble poison.

"An assassin's weapon," he said. "It goes well with the nails."

"One never used before, Earl. You can believe that."

"What difference if it has?"

"None." She rubbed at her hands then stared her defiance. "And what business of yours is it if I did? What I've done before we met is no concern of yours. As what you've done is no concern of mine. For me, Earl, life began when I met you. Real life, I mean, not the shallow searching for adventure that had gone before. I love you, Earl. Don't you understand that? I love you!"

"And you killed Galbrene to prove it?"

"I killed to save you and would do it again if I had to." Turning she swept across the room, knocking against a small table in her agitation, sending a delicate vase to shatter on the floor. "Galbrene had you. I thought he would break your back. The man was like an animal in his strength. Can you honestly say that you could have beaten him on level terms?" She didn't wait for an answer. "It was a chance I daren't take. You had moved close, were within range, all that remained was to make sure I hit the right one. Your attack covered his fall."

And protected her position. If nothing else Dumarest could appreciate the desire to survive which consumed her.

She shrugged as, dryly, he mentioned it.

"So I was thinking of myself a little too, Earl. Can I be blamed for that? You know what would have happened to me had you fallen. But you didn't fall and everything is fine now. So why are we arguing?" Her smile held invitation. "Surely there is something more entertaining we could do?"

The nails, the secret weapons, the smile, the turn of her hips and the sidelong glance, the allure she knew so well how to project. All the hallmarks of the accomplished courtesan and yet, as she had reminded him, what had her past to do with the present?

And, as she had also pointed out, who was he to judge? "Earl!"

She was close to him, the robe open now, the parting revealing the long, lissom lines of her body, the contours of which he knew so well. Why not just accept her as she was, to ride the tide of seductive passion to whatever shore might be waiting? "Earl?"

He smiled at her frown and gently reached up to touch the crease between her eyes, smoothing it away with the tips of his fingers.

"Are you going to help me get a raft, Dephine?"

"No! Ask Hendaza."

"I have. He referred me to Kanjuk who, quite politely, referred me to you." Dumarest kept his voice casual. "A matter of traditional privilege, I understand. When I return with a trophy things will be different."

"Earl! No!"

"A small one." His smile widened a little. "The size won't matter. But once I have it I won't have to beg for favors. And," he added, "I won't have to risk being shot for insulting a superior."

"Lekhard?" She glanced to where the man's gun lay on a table. "He never gave you that to simply look at, Earl. There's been trouble between you, hasn't there?" She frowned again as he remained silent. "I don't trust that man. He's dangerous."

"Jealous would be a better word. Is he in love with you?"

"Love?" Her shrug was expressive. "Call it greed, the desire to possess, to own. He wants to prove himself a better man than you are by taking something you own. A fool, but others share his folly. Too many of them are eager to best you in the arena and in bed." She looked thoughtfully at the gun. "Maybe if you carried one of those they would think twice. You're right, Earl, you need a trophy. But you don't have to get it the hard way."

"No," he said. "That's why I need to go into town."

"To buy a gun?" She smiled with quick understanding. "Get it from the trading store run by the Hausi. It's close to the field." Slipping a ring from her finger she handed it to him. "This should fetch enough to buy what you need. I'll authorize the raft, but what of the driver?"

"I can handle it."

"But you'll have to take someone with you."

"I will," he said. "Navalok."

The town was small, a collection of low buildings, a tavern, a hotel for those held on business, the usual warehouses holding goods waiting shipment. The trading store was a large building containing an open room backed by a counter. Leaving the boy in charge of the raft Dumarest went inside.

"Welcome." Telk Yamamaten came forward from an inner room, his eyes shrewd beneath heavy brows. His skin, a dark chocolate, was scarred with the markings of his Guild. "How may I help you?"

Dumarest placed the jewelry he had won on the counter.

"You wish to sell?" The Hausi grunted as he stirred the heap with the tip of a finger. "This is cheap stuff. Flawed gems and coated base-metal. From Galbrene?"

"You know?"

"There isn't much happens on this world that I don't get to hear about, Earl. I may call you that?" He continued as Dumarest nodded. "I knew your name an hour after you'd landed. The fight before the body was cold. Why didn't you take the gun and badges?"

"Would they have been worth anything?"

"The badges, no, but the gun would have brought a little. But you were wise to refuse it. A thing like that can have a big effect on the way they regard you." He added, dryly, "Am I telling you something you hadn't thought of yourself?"

"I'm always willing to learn."

"Now you're being polite. That helps too when it comes to dealing with the Families. They're on the way out, you know. Dying."

"Decadent?"

"Decadent and dying." The agent held up a hand, the fingers splayed. "A Family," he explained. "The Keturah, for example. The name covers the entire genus, the fingers are branches, the Allivarre, the Caldillo, the Pulcher and so on; but all stem from the same root. They won't marry outside their Houses and so they're all inbred to a high degree. The others Families are the same. The only way they can survive is to break the pattern, marry outside their Houses and revitalize the gene pool. It won't happen, of course. Tradition is against it."

Dumarest said, "How much for the jewelry?" It lay between them, a few rings, a bracelet, a torus of interwoven strands studded with minute gems, a brooch. He added the ring Dephine had given him.

Yamamaten examined it, dropped it on the heap of other items.

"Five fifty rendhals," he said. "That's a little more than the cost of a short High passage."

"Cash?"

"Yes-I can do a little better for trade."

"I want the passage," said Dumarest. "I'll take the rest in kind. On hire if that's possible. You've a ship due soon?"

"The Ahdil if it's on schedule. Captain Ying is a friend of mine and I'll arrange a passage. You object to working if necessary? No? Well, maybe I can work something out. Leave it to me." A casual arrangement but a Hausi did not lie and the word of the agent was his bond. "Now, about the other things?" He stared his surprise as Dumarest told him what he wanted. "You going on an expedition or something?"

"I want to explore a cave."

"And camp out?"

"For a few days, yes."

"It's your business, but be careful. The olcept move around quite a bit in the hills and they could be attracted to where you are. I'd advise a heavy-duty laser, expensive, but worth it. No? A gun then, at least. Why beg for trouble?"

"Let me see the gun." It was similar to the one Lekhard had worn. Dumarest spun the chamber and snapped the trigger a few times. Yamamaten shrugged at his expression.

"It's standard to the Families and there's no point in stocking anything else. A holster? Ammunition?" He pursed his lips at the amount. "That's enough to start a war."

"No, just enough to teach someone how to shoot."

"The Lady Dephine? She doesn't need to be taught. She might be out of practice but, at one time, she could hit a mark with the best of them."

"You knew her?"

"She left shortly after I came to Emijar. That was years ago and I never thought she'd return. Once they get away they stay away-those with the courage to make the break. But she was unusual, full of fire and ready to challenge at the drop of a word. Fast too, so I've heard, and a little vicious. She'd aim to maim rather than to kill."

"Perhaps she was giving the fallen a chance?"

"Maybe, but they didn't look at it like that. Anyway, she's back now so what does it matter? A local girl who made good." The agent smiled and added, dryly, "But you'd know about that."

Dumarest said, "Has she been enquiring about ship-arrivals?"

"No. Is there anything else?"

"One thing-how do I kill an olcept?"

"Kill an olcept?" The agent narrowed his eyes, suspecting a joke and ready to be annoyed at the affront to his dignity. Then he said, slowly, "You mean it. Hell, man, you just take a gun and shoot it."

"And without a gun?"

"Of course! You want a trophy! Sorry, Earl, I didn't catch on. Well, the best thing to use is a spear. One with a long blade and checks at its root. You ever seen an olcept? No? Know what they look like? Good. Well, the gripping appendages aren't too serious, they use them to grip at food. In fact-here, let me show you."

He led the way to the back of the store, through a door and into a walled courtyard. Doors lined it behind which rested goods for barter, shipment and trade. In the open compound rested a creature about a foot long.

"That's a young one hatched just a week ago. It'll do nothing but eat and it'll grow while you watch it. In about a month it'll be a yard long and then I'll cut its rations."

Dumarest squatted better to study the olcept. Even though small it looked vicious. The snout turned towards him, deep-set eyes burning, the tail lashing and sending dirt leaping from the ground.

"They eat all the time," said Yamamaten. "And they never stop growing. The rate is constant but, of course, the larger they get the slower they grow. A matter of mass-intake and metabolic conversion, but you aren't interested in the biological data."

"Why do you keep it?"

"As a watch-dog. If anything comes over that wall it won't get away alive. They can be trained given patience and will follow a few simple orders. Just like a dog, in fact. When it gets too big I'll have it shipped to a zoo or set it free in the hills." The agent picked a long, thin wooden rod from a bundle which stood beside the door. "Now remember this. The brain is here." He tapped the creature on the reverse of the sloping skull. "It's small and well protected by thick bone. It can't easily be reached from above but if you can get the thing to rear you'll be able to reach it from beneath. Strike up and towards the tail from just behind the hinge of the lower jaw. For a big one you'll need a blade at least two feet long, plenty of thrust and a liking for having the flesh stripped from your bones by the front claws."

"The heart?"

"In the center just behind the front legs." Again the tip of the rod marked the point. "If you want to hit the spine aim here." The agent moved the rod. "The bone is thin and flexible. You can reach the gut from either side just before the back legs. Be careful of the stomach-plates, though, and watch the tail." He grunted as the creature snapped off the end of the rod with a flash of gleaming white teeth. "I don't have to warn you about the jaws."

"Any peculiarities?"

"You've hunted," said Yamamaten. "Not many would think to ask that. Well, they don't like to face the sun so it helps to keep it at your back. They can smell better than they can see so keep to windward. And they can hear better than any other animal I know. Move and they'll hear you, spot your position and move in before you know it. And don't try to run. They can catch a running man before he's covered a score of yards." Smiling he added, with grim humor, "Aside from that they're easy enough to kill."