Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

Chapter Two

She was tall with a mane of auburn hair, and seeing her as she stood before the window, Dumarest felt a momentary shock of recognition.

Kalin?

Then she turned and he saw her face and eyes, green as Kalin's had been, but the similarity ended there. The hair lacked the inbred flame of the woman be had once known and the face was not the same. It was older and bore the stamp of a harsh determination, a feral intentness accentuated by the concavity of the cheeks beneath prominent bone. The mouth was wide, the lips full, parted a little now to reveal the predatory curve of sharp, white teeth.

She said, sharply, "You know me?"

"No, my lady."

"Your eyes. I thought-but never mind." To the guard standing behind Dumarest she snapped, "Wait outside."

"Madam, my orders-"

"Were surely not to insult me. Now do as I say." As the door closed behind the man she smiled and extended her hand. "Earl Dumarest. From what I hear you are something unusual. I'm glad of that in a universe of mediocrity how refreshing it is to find the unique. Do you know what all this is about?"

"You are to tell me."

"Yes, of course. Well, sit down and take things easy while you may. Some wine?"

The room was in a hotel close to the field, a place of luxury untouched by the recent conflict. Only the ruins far to one side told of what had happened. As she busied herself with a bottle and glasses, Dumarest, ignoring the invitation to sit, crossed to the window and looked outside. It was close to dusk, the sun touching the horizon, yet activity had not diminished. Uniformed men guided and controlled traffic and pedestrians; gangs of workers cleared rubble and demolished shattered structures. They worked hard; within a few more days the city would be almost back to normal. Within a few months new buildings would have replaced the old, fresh trees taking the place of those now standing like shattered teeth.

"To the victor the spoils," said the woman at his side, where she had come to stand. Her voice was deep, almost masculine, rendered truly feminine by its musical resonance. "Look at them, Earl. Children playing with their toys. Bangs and noises in the night, the sight of flame, the trembling of the ground. Then, when it's all over, they come out of their holes and wave flags and chant songs of triumph. And they call it war."

"And you, my lady?"

"Stupidity." She handed him one of the two glasses she carried. The wine it contained was a lambent green holding the flavor and odor of mint. "Men are such fools. What has the war decided? That taxes shall be paid to one faction instead of another and to gain this so-called victory, what has it cost? A year's revenue at least to pay for the mercenaries. Two more to repair the damage. Wanton extravagance when the whole matter could have been settled by cutting a deck of cards."

Dumarest said, "An easy solution, my lady."

"Too easy, which is why they never take it. Always they need to strut and adopt their postures, make the same old threats and the same old appeals. Always they need sacrifice and blood. And always, they prate of their pride. Why are men such fools?"

"To have pride?" Dumarest sipped his wine. "Some men have little else."

"And so, because of that, it becomes more important to them than life itself. Is that what you are telling me, Earl? That a man is nothing without his pride? That rules dictated by others should determine how he should live and die? That tradition has the right to eliminate self-determination?"

Her voice had deepened, holding the raw edge of anger and acid contempt. Dumarest wondered why… not because of what she saw through the window. Earthquakes could ruin houses, and many cultures adopted a common garb, so destruction and soldiers were not unique to war. There were no dead lying in the streets, no blood staining the walls, no fragments of limbs and shattered tissue to tell of recent events. Like all mercenary-fought wars the engagement had been conducted with due consideration to those who footed the bill.

He said, casually, "If you had your way, my lady, some of us would find it hard to find employment."

"I was forgetting." Light flashed as she lifted her hand, each nail a silver mirror. "Yet how many soldiers actually kill? And what, to them, does killing mean? The touch of a finger can launch a missile to destroy a city a hundred miles distant. A child could do it, and children do. Children in uniform. Soldiers."

Dumarest watched as she poured herself more wine. Beneath the shimmering fabric of her high-necked gown her figure held the lithe grace of a feline. Her breasts, high and firm, were taut beneath the fabric above a cinctured waist, the long skirt falling over neatly rounded hips and thighs. A woman who carried little excessive fat, one whose metabolism would burn up energy as fast as it was ingested. One of indeterminate age, not young, but far from old. One, he guessed, who had lived hard and fast-as if to crowd two lifetimes into one. And she had the ingrained arrogance of a person born to the power and privilege of wealth.

Lowering the glass she met his eyes. Bluntly she said, "Well, Earl, do you like what you see?"

"Is that important, my lady?"

"No, but something else is. When you first entered this room I was watching your reflection in the window. You thought you recognised me. Correct?"

"You reminded me of someone."

"A woman?" She didn't wait for an answer. "It would have to be a woman. One with red hair, obviously, but redder than mine?" Her hand lifted to touch it and again light threw brilliance from her nails. Splintered reflections from metal inserts each honed to a razor edge and needle point. Talons Dumarest had seen before tipping the fingers of harlots plying an ancient trade. "Earl?" She was insistent. "What was her name? The woman I reminded you of, what was her name?"

"I've forgotten." A lie-he would never forget; but the subject was a dangerous one. Quickly he changed it. "I was told that you could ransom me if I agreed to help you. The guard is waiting."

"Let him wait."

"For how long, my lady?"

"Until I have decided. Until you have agreed."

"Agreed to what?"

She smiled and shook her head, a tress of hair falling to veil one eye, a strand which she lifted and replaced among the rest.

"My lady!"

"Why be so impatient, Earl? What waits for you if you leave this room? Do you prefer a cell? And afterwards the auction block and a life of contract-slavery? Or to be taken and hidden away and used by those who are not known to be gentle?"

The Cyclan? But if she knew of their interest in him then why not mention the name? A guess, he decided. Neither she nor the major was sure. The display of their seal had been a goad or a calculated stimulus to gauge his reaction. An old trick of any interrogator. Let slip a hint and then follow up; probing, using the information the victim lets fall to gain more. But what was the real connection between them? Why had he been sent to the woman?

"To help me," she said, when bluntly he asked the question. "And to help yourself at the same time."

"How?"

She stepped towards him, arms lifting to embrace him, her lips settling close to his ear. Her voice was low, a bare murmur, impossible to hear from outside or to be caught by any electronic device.

"To steal, Earl. To snatch the loot of a world."

From high to one side a man yelled. His shout drowned in the rasp and rumble of falling rubble, the pound of a pneumatic hammer thudding like a monstrous heart accompanying the snarling whine of a saw. Noise which filled the air with blurring distortions as dust veiled sharp detail.

The day had died and night reigned but still work continued under the glow of floodlights. A uniformed figure snarled a curse, then stiffened to salute as an officer barked his displeasure.

"Sorry sir, but these civilians-"

"Are our employers." The officer, young, a neat dressing on his forehead covering a minor wound, smiled at the woman at Dumarest's side. "Your forgiveness, my lady, but the man is fatigued. Battle tires a man and the war was a hard one." His hand rose to touch the dressing. "Even so he should have remembered his manners."

"You are forgiven, Captain." Her smile was radiant. "Your wound is not too serious, I hope?"

"I was lucky," he said modestly. "And medical aid was at hand."

"I'm glad of that. Well, goodnight, Captain. Perhaps we shall meet again. You are on duty here at night? I shall remember it."

"Captain Pring, my lady." His salute was from the parade ground. "If you need help be free to ask."

"A fool," she said as they moved on. "A typical soldier, Earl. A manikin to be manipulated as if it were a stuffed toy."

Dumarest stepped over a low pile of rubble. "Why don't you like mercenaries?"

"Isn't it obvious? They come and fight their stupid war and then make out they have done their employers a favor."

"And haven't they?" He smiled as he halted and turned to face her; a man taking a walk with an attractive woman, a couple engaged in idle conversation. In the darkness eyes could be anywhere. "Think of the alternative. Without mercenaries you'd need to train and equip your own forces with all the expense that entails. Those who died would be close; sons, fathers, brothers, sisters even. And those engaged in civil war tend to ignore restraints and so increase the destruction. All the employers of mercenary bands really lose is money. It is strangers who do the dying."

"Not strangers to each other, Earl," she said pointedly, "Comrades. Is it easy to kill a friend?"

He said harshly, "We came out here to talk. Two men have been following us but they are well out of earshot. You know them?"

"No, but they are probably watching to make sure you do not escape." Her hand rested lightly on his arm. "You were clever to spot them, Earl. Now, shall we talk?"

They found a tavern, a small place busy with uniformed men, off-duty mercenaries returning to the economy some of the money they had been paid. The sound of their voices and laughter was a susurrating din against which no eavesdropper would stand a chance. A female dancer writhed to the music of drums and pipes, cymbals clashing on fingers, knees, wrists and ankles. An indifferent performer, but she was scantily clad and that alone was enough to please the watchers.

"Flesh," said Dephine. Her voice held disdain. "Why do men hold it in such high regard? A body, a few wisps of fabric, a little movement and they roar their pleasure. Well, that is one harlot who will do well tonight."

"You condemn her?"

"No, but the men who will pay for her dubious pleasures -surely they must know how she regards them?"

"They have fought," said Dumarest. "Some of them have killed and all have risked their lives. Every coin has two faces, my lady. And death must be matched with life."

"So the urge to destroy is accompanied by the urge to create?" She nodded, thoughtfully. "You are a philosopher, Earl. And I will admit that, even to a woman, the pressure of danger is accompanied by the desire to be loved. A risk taken, life and wealth won and then-" Her hand closed on his fingers. "The need, Earl. The overwhelming need to be taken and to share in the euphoria of love. And you, after you have fought in the arena, do you feel the same?"

"The arena?"

"You're a fighter. Don't bother to deny it. I've seen them before. Men who set their lives against their skill with a blade, who fight, hurt, kill and risk being killed for the pleasure of those who watch. And afterwards, Earl, when it's over and you walk victorious from the ring, what then?"

A table stood to one side, away from the entertainment and so unoccupied. Dumarest led the way towards it, sat, ordered wine, and looked at Dephine as a serving girl set it down.

"I have no money."

"Here." She flung coins at the girl, and as she left, said, "You haven't answered my question, Earl."

"There are more important ones. Now what is this about robbing a world?"

"An exaggeration," she admitted. "Even though the prospect is a tempting one I must admit it is impracticable. But what I propose is not. The time is ripe, the situation ideal, circumstances ensuring our success. Soldiers are everywhere and the normal police have restricted authority. In a day or so the situation will have changed which is why we must act quickly."

"We?"

She ignored the question. "A ship is on the field with clearance from the military to leave at will. A cargo is waiting and all that remains is for it to be placed aboard. Everything has been arranged and the whole thing should go without a hitch. A neat plan, Earl, there won't even be suspicion. It's simply a matter of moving goods from one place to another; from a warehouse to a ship."

"And?"

She frowned. "What do you mean, Earl? That's all there is to it. We load up and are away."

"To where?"

"Does it matter?" Her eyes were mocking. "Away from Hoghan-surely that is good enough."

A precaution and an elementary one. Kan Lofoten had to be involved but, if questioned, Dumarest couldn't implicate him. All blame must rest on the woman but, if there was trouble, she at least would have a powerful friend. And, if taken, he would be interrogated by the very man with most to hide. Dumarest could appreciate the irony of the situation even while trying to think of a way out.

"There is no way," she said, almost as if she had read his mind. "You help or you go back to your cell. You know what will happen then." Death, quickly administered to shut his mouth. "But why hesitate, Earl? The thing is foolproof."

"Then why do you need me?"

"To take care of the unknown." She was frank. "A man could be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's a remote possibility but it exists. If so and killing has to be done then you will do it. It's your life at stake," she reminded. "Think of it."

Dumarest looked past her, at the pedestrians and soldiers moving along the street; at the men he had noticed before who moved only to return to their original positions. Men dressed as civilians but who carried themselves with a military bearing.

"Earl?" She was impatient. "You will help?"

He said, quietly, "You realize that the penalty for looting is a particularly unpleasant form of death?"

"So?"

"One applied to both men and women without distinction?"

"That bothers you?"

"Not unless I am among those sentenced."

"You won't be," she assured. "No one will. As I told you everything has been arranged and nothing can go wrong. Earl, this is the chance of a lifetime. You will help?"

"Yes." The bottle stood between them and he poured, handing her a glass and lifting his own as if in a toast, looking past it into the green reflection of her eyes. "It seems, my lady, that I have little choice."

The room was as he had left it, the open window now framing a sleeping city. Even the noise of construction was eased except in those areas of greatest damage which, naturally, were those of greatest poverty. Dumarest thrust his head and shoulders through the opening, looked up then down, seeing nothing but sheer walls.

From where she stood in the room behind him the woman said, "Searching for enemies, Earl? Are you always so cautious?"

"It pays, my lady."

"Dephine. Call me by my name. The use of titles stultifies me." Restlessly she paced the floor; touching a vase of lambent crystal, an ornate chime from which came musical tinklings, a carved and smiling idol which nodded beneath her hand. Her feet, graced with flimsy sandals, were silent on the thick carpet. "Tell me about yourself, Earl. How did you come to be a mercenary? How often have you killed? Whom did I remind you of?"

"It would be better for you to get some sleep, my lady."

"Dephine. I can't sleep. In a few hours it will be over. Where do you come from, Earl?"

"Earth." Pausing for a moment he added, hopefully, "Have you ever heard of it?"

A hope crushed as it had been so often before by the vehemence of her reply.

"Yes, I've heard of it, and if you don't want to tell me then don't bother to lie. Earth! It's ridiculous! You might as well claim to originate on Bonanza or Avalon or El Dorado. All are worlds of legend." Annoyed, she struck at the chimes with her metallic nails. As the burst of tinkling died she snapped, "Earth! No such world exists!"

"It exists," he said. "I know. I was born on it."

"On a planet where the streams run with wine and the trees bear fruits to satisfy every need?" She made no attempt to mask her contempt. "Where no one ever grows old and there is no pain or hurt or sorrow and where everything is eternally wonderful? You were born there-and you left?"

"Earth isn't like that, Dephine. It is old and scarred with ancient wars. And yes, I left." He told her how. Stowing away as a mere boy who had more luck than he deserved. A captain who, instead of evicting him, had allowed him to work his passage and had kept him with him until he died. When, alone, the boy had moved on, ship after ship, world after world, always deeper and deeper towards the heart of the galaxy. To regions where even the very name of Earth had become a legend.

"You mean it," she said. "You really believe that you come from Earth. But, Earl, if you did you must know how to get back if that's what you want. Is it?"

"Yes."

"Then all you have to do is to find a ship going that way. You-" She broke off seeing his expression. "No?"

"No."

"But why not? Surely-"

"No one knows the coordinates," he said. "No one I have ever met knows where Earth is to be found. It lies towards the edge of the galaxy, that I know, but exactly where is something else."

"The almanacs?"

"Don't list it," he said bitterly. "You called it a world of legend and. that's what most people think it is. The rest haven't even heard the name and smile when they do." He looked down at his hands, they were clenched, the knuckles white beneath the taut skin. "Smile or think they are being taken for fools."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't know. But what is so important about one planet? Space is full of worlds, why yearn for one?"

"I was born on it."

"And so, to you, it is home." She looked at him, her eyes gentle. "Home," she whispered. "Where else can anyone ever be happy? The fools who travel are only running from what they hope to find and, by the time they realize it, it is too late. I hope you find your world, Earl. Your world and your happiness and, perhaps, your woman. There is a woman?"

"No."

"Not one with red hair?" She touched her own. "You like this color, Earl?"

"Should I?"

"Mercenaries like the color of blood. But, I forget, you are a mercenary only by accident. Odd to think how chance has thrown us together. Chance or fate, Earl? Were we destined to meet before each of us even first saw the light of day? Some would have us think so. To them everything is foreordained and nothing we can do or attempt can alter our destiny one iota."

"A comforting philosophy," he said.

"Comforting?" She looked at him, frowning, then smiled. "Of course, to believe that is to absolve oneself from all blame. A failure cannot be blamed for his failure-it is his fate to be so. A cruel man or a weak one are not responsible for their actions. A wanton woman simply follows her destiny. A harlot obeys the dictates of something she cannot avoid. All of us are pawns moved on a cosmic board by some unknown player. You believe that?"

"No."

"Nor I. Life is a struggle and the rewards go to those with the strength to take them." She moved to where the decanter stood on a low table and poured wine into goblets. "Let us drink to that, Earl. Let us drink to success and to happiness."

He barely touched the glass to his lips, watching as she drank. Impatiently she set down her empty glass and stepped towards the window. A cool breeze blew through the opening, catching her hair and sending it to stream over her shoulders. Her profile, etched by the light, was finely chiseled as if carved from stone.

Dumarest studied it; a face which bore the marks of breeding as his own body bore the scars of a hard-learned profession. One now masked with cosmetics, the hair a flaunted challenge, the nails at variance with the hard, clean pattern of bone, the lithe shape of the body. A woman who for some reason had acted the harlot and could have played the part in full. A weakness or a deliberate intent?

She said, without turning, "Why do you look at me like that?"

"I was thinking. You spoke of rewards. Just how large will my share be?"

"You are getting your life-isn't that reward enough?"

"Is it?"

"No." She turned to face him, hands lifted as if in appeal or in the opening gesture of a caress. "No! Life alone is never enough. Always there is more, for unless there is, we are no better than beasts in a field. Our senses were given us to use; our ambitions to be fulfilled. How well you understand, Earl."

"My share?"

"You will have no cause to complain, that I promise." Then, as he made no comment, she added, "I am the Lady Dephine de Monterale Keturah. My family has a reputation. Never have we broken our given word. With us it is an article of faith. I-" She broke off and shrugged. "How can I convince you? If you knew of us, Earl, you would have no doubts. And, if you want proof, then it can be given." She stepped towards him, her hands lifting to fall to his shoulders, her body coming close to press against his own. "Proof that I care for you, Earl. That I would never let you down."

Dumarest said, "It's getting late, Dephine."

"So?"

"We have other things to do."