The Jester at Scar

Chapter Six

Jocelyn lifted his glass. He said, "A toast, to all who love justice!"

Dumarest touched his lips to the blue wine. Across the table Del Meoud suddenly spluttered, dabbing hastily at his beard. Dumarest caught Adrienne's look of displeasure and her husband's wry grimace. Jellag Haig laughed with amused condescension.

"The factor finds such a toast hard to swallow," he said. "There is little justice on Scar."

"And less mercy!" The factor was sharp. "And who makes it so? There are traders who care nothing how they make their profit, nor how men are turned into beasts in the scrabble for wealth."

Jocelyn waited as a servant refilled the glasses. "You are too hard on Baron Haig," he said quietly. "Is a man to blame for the system? If he is wise, he uses it. If he is foolish, he allows it to use him." He looked at Dumarest. "You fought well," he said. "Would I be wrong if I said that you are no stranger to the arena?"

"I have fought before," said Dumarest.

"Often?" Adrienne leaned forward across the table; her eyes were bright with anticipation. "Tell us about it."

"I fight only when necessary, my lady, when there is food to be earned, my life to protect or a friend to avenge. There is no pleasure in blood for those who fight."

She frowned, disappointed. On Eldfane man fought as a profession, and most of them seemed to enjoy the activity and the rewards. She said so. Dumarest met her eyes.

"You are speaking of entertainment, my lady. Some men may enjoy killing and may even wish to die, but I am not one of them. A fight, to me, is something to be ended quickly. You cannot afford to play with a man who seeks your life."

"But Heldar-"

"Was a fool," he said brusquely. "He depended on tricks to win. When a trick fails there is no defense. He should have relied on skill and speed."

"As you did. You were fast," she admitted. "We could see it all on the scanners. But if you find no pleasure in battle, why seek it? What was Heldar to you?"

"He had murdered a friend," said Dumarest tightly. "He killed for money; but, with respect, my lady, he was not wholly to blame."

She looked at him, waiting.

"He was dying," explained Dumarest. "He knew it. A dying man has nothing to lose. Had he not lost the spin of a coin he would be alive, the woman would be alive and we should not be sitting here drinking to a thing called justice."

"You do not like the word?"

"My lady, I do not. I would prefer to drink to a thing called mercy."

He had gone too far. He could tell it from the tension which had closed around the table, the way Haig refused to meet his eyes, the way the factor fumbled at his beard. A guest should never insult his host. The more so when that host is the ruler of a world. But they were not on Jest. They were sitting in Jocelyn's ship on a free planet and Dumarest had too recent memories: a cropped head turning to hide a scar, staring eyes which could not see, the pressure of a hand, a man made desperate because of a ruler's whim.

There had been blood on the dust and a body lying sprawled in the sun.

Meoud coughed and glanced at his timepiece. "My lord, I crave your indulgence and permission to depart; there are matters to which I should attend without delay."

"You may leave," said Jocelyn. "You also, Baron. We shall talk again later."

"My lord." Jellag Haig rose. "My lady." He bowed to them both. "My thanks for a wonderful meal." He bowed again and followed the factor from the cabin. The sound or their footsteps died as the door closed behind them.

"Wine," ordered Jocelyn. The gush of liquid from the bottle sounded unnaturally loud. He waited until all three glasses had been refilled, then picked up his own. He said, "A toast, to justice!"

Dumarest set down his empty glass.

"Tell me about yourself," said Jocelyn abruptly. "The factor tells me that you search for a dream, a legendary planet. Is that true?"

"Earth is no legend, my lord. I was born there, I know."

Adrienne frowned. "But in that case, surely you would know where it is. Could you not find it by merely retracing your journey?"

"No, my lady. I left when I was very young," he explained. "Ten years of age. I stowed away on a ship. The captain was kinder than I deserved; he should have evicted me but he was old and had no son. Instead, he kept me with him. From then on, it was a matter of traveling from world to world."

"Always deeper into the heart of the galaxy," mused Jocelyn, "where the worlds are close and journeys short. Until perhaps, you probed into the far side from the center. He nodded. I can appreciate the problem. Can you, my dear?"

Adrienne sipped her wine, her eyes on Dumarest as she tasted the blue stimulant. He was tall and hard with a face of planes and hollows, a firm mouth and strong jaw. His was the face of a man who had learned to live without the protection of house or guild, a man who had learned to rely on none but himself.

She looked at her husband. He was not as tall, not as broad; he had russet hair, a sensitive face, delicate hands and an old-young look around the eyes. But he too, she realized with sudden insight, had learned to rely on none but himself. But, where Dumarest had an impassive strength, Jocelyn used the mask of ironic humor.

"Adrienne?"

She started, aware that Tocelyn waited for an answer. "I can appreciate many things," she said ambiguously. "But does not each man have his own problem?"

"Philosophy?" Jocelyn looked at his wife with wondering eyes. "You betray hidden depths, my dear."

"Only to those with the wit to plumb them, my lord." The wine, she realized, was affecting her senses. The recent fight too had stimulated her, so that she was uneasily conscious of the proximity of men. Firmly she set down her glass. "Shall we move into the lounge, my husband? The remains of a meal is not the most attractive of sights."

* * *

Yeon rose as they entered the lounge, a flash of scarlet against the lined walls and worn furnishings. He looked at Dumarest as if sensing his dislike, then looked at Jocelyn. "Do you wish me to depart, my lord?"

"Stay," said Jocelyn carelessly. "You may be able to help us with a problem."

The cyber bowed and resumed his chair. A viewer stood on a small table before him, a rack of tapes to one side. While the others had eaten, he had studied. Food, to Yeon, was a matter of fuel for his body. He could neither taste nor enjoy the varied flavors savored by normal men.

"You spoke of a problem, my lord?"

"A matter of extrapolation," said Jocelyn. He smiled as Adrienne passed a tray loaded with delicacies. Deliberately, he chose and ate a compote of crushed nuts blended with wild honey. "How long would it take a man to visit each world?"

"Each habitable world, my lord?"

"Yes."

"It would depend on the route," said Yeon carefully. "If the journey was that of a spiral starting from the outer edge of the galaxy and winding in towards the center it would take many lifetimes. If the journey was done in reverse it would take almost as long, but not exactly because of the galactic drift which could be turned to some slight advantage. It-"

"Would take longer than a man has reason to think he will live," interrupted Jocelyn. He helped himself to another sweetmeat. "That does not aid us, cyber. If you were to seek a planet, the coordinates of which you neither knew nor could discover, how would you go about it?"

"I would accumulate all available information and from that extrapolate a probable locality." The cyber maintained his even modulation despite the apparent pointlessness of the question. "The mathematics of random selection could, perhaps, be used to advantage; but I must inform you, my lord, the problem verges on the paradoxical. To find a place the location of which is unknown is surely an impossibility."

"Improbability," corrected Jocelyn. "In this universe nothing is impossible."

"As you say, my lord." Yeon looked sharply at Dumarest. "May I ask if the problem has some personal significance?"

"Yes," said Jocelyn. "Earl," he looked at his guest. "I may call you that? Thank you. Earl is looking for his home world, a planet called Earth. Of your skill and knowledge, cyber, can you aid us in the matter?"

"The name means nothing to me, my lord. Would there be a description?"

Dumarest said, "A scarred place, a large, single moon in the sky. The terrain is torn as if by ancient wars. Life is scarce, but still ships call and leave again. They serve those who reside deep in caverns. The sun is yellow. In winter there is cold and snow."

Yeon shook his head. "It means nothing."

Adrienne carried the tray to Dumarest and offered it for his selection. "Try one of the fruits," she suggested, "The texture is of meat laced with wine, blue wine. I think you will appreciate the combination."

"Thank you, my lady." His insult, apparently, had been wholly forgiven, but still he did not completely relax. There were undercurrents of which he was uneasily aware. But the sweets seemed harmless enough. He chose and ate. As she had promised, the combination was pleasing.

"Take another," she urged. "Several. I weary of acting the servant." Putting down the tray she sat down, her long legs somehow ungraceful, her hair an ashen cascade. "Tell me," she demanded. "What do you think of our vessel?"

Dumarest leaned back, glad of the opportunity to be openly curious. To one side, Jocelyn and the cyber conversed in low tones. Beyond them, lining the walls, ancient books rested in sealed frames. The carpet and chairs were old and the small tables scattered about bore an elaborate inlay which could only have been done by hand.

He looked up at the ceiling. It was vaulted and groined in an archaic style which belonged more to a edifice of stone than to a vessel designed to traverse space. It was a clue which had eluded him and made everything fall into place.

"Well?" Adrienne was watching him with her bright eyes, her cheeks flushed a little as if from inner excitement.

"It is strange, my lady," said Dumarest slowly. "I have never seen such decoration before in a space ship. It is as if someone had recreated the interior of a study belonging, perhaps, to some old stronghold."

"A museum," she said, suddenly bitter. "A collection of worthless rubbish."

"Far from worthless, my lady," corrected Dumarest. "There are those who would pay highly for such items."

"Lovers of the past," she said. "But what is the use of that? The past is dead, only the future remains of importance."

My future, she thought. With my son heir to both worlds, myself as his regent. Jocelyn's child. Or was that so essential?

She looked at Dumarest, conscious of his strength and determination. He had courage, and that was a quality admired on Eldfane. Her father would have lifted him high-or broken him on the wheel for having dared to say what he had. Jocelyn? Only he knew what thoughts coiled in his brain. Did he consider it a jest? Would his peculiarities descend to his child?

Dumarest met her eyes. "The future, my lady, is the result of the past. As the child is the fruit of the father, so today is the child of yesterday. Actions done today have their effect tomorrow. That is why there are many who respect what has gone before."

"Pour me wine," she demanded. Had he been able to read her thoughts? "The green wine, not the blue. Join me if you will."

He leaned across the small table and lifted the decanter. Red fire shone from his ring as he passed her a glass. "That ring," she said abruptly. "A gift?"

Dumarest nodded.

"From someone special? A woman?"

He looked down at it, rubbing his thumb over the stone. "Yes, my lady," he said quietly, "from someone very special."

A mane of lustrous red hair, eyes like sparkling emeralds, skin as soft and white as translucent snow.

Kalin!

"Rings?" Jocelyn turned from the cyber. "Is there a mystery about them? The man you killed, Heldar, had rings also. Where did he get them?"

"From the woman he killed, my lord." Dumarest was curt.

"And she?"

Dumarest shook his head. "I do not know. Gifts, perhaps; who can tell?"

"They had red stones," said Jocelyn thoughtfully. "I saw them after you had given them to the monk. Is there something special about such rings? If so, then be wary, my friend." He rose from where he sat. "You are excused, cyber. Adrienne, I think it time you retired."

Dumarest rose together with the scarlet figure.

"Not you, Earl," said Jocelyn. "We yet have unfinished business."

* * *

It was going to happen now, thought Dumarest. The talk and preliminaries were over. Soon the guards would come, the crewmen and Ilgash, the bodyguard who had brought him the invitation to the meal. It had been out of curiosity, Dumarest suspected. It seemed to be something new to relieve the monotony of bored and jaded aristocrats, condescending to eat with a traveler, but not an ordinary man, someone who had recently killed and who might be expected to talk about what he had done. But who had, instead, insulted his host.

Dumarest tensed in his chair. Anger warmed his blood, already tender with memory. If they thought he would be easy to take, they were due for a surprise. This was Scar, not Jest. Once out of the ship, he could laugh at them all and kill them if they came for him. He could kill those who might be eager for a possible bribe. Kill all the smug, gloating, self-satisfied fools who regarded those less fortunate than themselves as animals, beasts without feeling or emotion. Kill!

He caught himself, trembling, wondering at his rage. The wine? Has something been slipped into the wine? The sweetmeats? He thought of the woman, of the thing he had seen in her eyes, the interplay he had sensed. Had she primed him with some drug to explode into a mindless fury, to kill her husband?

"Drink this," said Jocelyn. He stood beside Dumarest, a glass of foaming effervescence in his hand. "Drink," he said sharply. "You ate and drank an unusual combination; the effects can sometimes be peculiar." Dumarest gulped the foaming liquid. "Adrienne has a peculiar sense of the ridiculous," said Jocelyn conversationally. "I think she must have acquired it on her home world; Eldfane is a barbarous place. Have you been there?"

"No, my lord." Dumarest rose. "With your permission, I think I should go now."

"And, if I refuse?" Jocelyn smiled. "But why should I refuse? If you wish to leave, none will prevent you. But I should regard it as a favor if you stay." He poured two glasses full of sparkling red wine. Here." He held them both at arms length. "Take your choice." Their eyes met. "You are well to be cautious," said Jocelyn. "But I give you my word as the ruler of a planet that you have nothing to fear, from me, at least." I cannot speak for others."

Dumarest took one of the glasses. "From the Lady Adrienne, my lord?"

"I was thinking of the cyber," said Jocelyn. "You don't like him, do you?"

"I have reason to detest his breed."

"So we have at least one thing in common." Jocelyn sipped, his wine. "Yeon is a gift, a part of Adrienne's dowry. Often I wonder as to the generosity of my father-in-law. The services of the Cyclan do not come cheap."

"There is a saying, Beware of those bearing gifts!"

"A wise adage." Jocelyn put down his empty glass. "Tell me, Earl, do you believe in destiny?"

"Fate? The belief that a thing must happen, no matter what a man does to prevent it? No."

"Luck then, surely you must believe in that."

"Yes, my lord."

"Forget titles. If you believe in luck, then why not in fate?"

"Are they the same?" Dumarest paused, looking at his host. The man was serious. "Luck is the fortuitous combination of favorable circumstances," said Dumarest slowly. "Some men have it more than others. From what I know of fate, it is evenly spread. A man has his destiny; all men have theirs. What will be will be. But if that is so, why should anyone strive? Where is the point of a man trying to better himself, to gain more comfort for his family, perhaps, or build a fortune to safeguard against bad times?"

"Let us talk of Heldar," said Jocelyn. "You blame me for what happened, but be just. It was his fate to die as he did."

"And the woman he killed?"

"That also."

Dumarest was bitter. "Justification, my lord?"

"Fact." Jocelyn took a coin from his pocket, spun it and caught it without looking. "Heldar's fate rested on sheer chance. Had his luck been good, I would have healed him. It was bad. He could not escape his fate." He added, "Because of that, both he and the woman met their destiny."

"Why?" Dumarest put aside his wine. "I do not think you are a cruel man; why play such games?"

Jocelyn turned and strode to the far side of the room; then he turned again to face his guest.

"A man must believe in something," he said. "He must have some sure guide in a world of insane confusion. Jest is such a world. There are three suns, overlapping magnetic fields, cosmic flux in a constantly changing set of variables. We are poor because we are cursed. Astrological influences are strong: men forget, women forget, children die of starvation because they are not remembered, things are left half-built, roads lead to nowhere, diseases change, no two harvests are alike, and everywhere grows a power with a narcotic scent, nepenthe weed. Inhale the fumes and reason takes wing-madness, Earl, madness!"

"Imagine if you can a world on which little can be predicted with any degree of certainty. You sow your seed and wait and forget how long you've waited so you plow and sow again-and ruin the sprouting crops. You keep records and forget what they are for, make notations and find that, today, you cannot read and go for a walk and sit and stay there for days and rise and forget that you sat at all. We live in caverns, Earl. We have to seal ourselves in a miniature world of our own devising because we cannot trust our senses unless we do. And we are poor. Poor!"

His hand smashed down on one of the tables with force enough to shatter the thin legs. Jocelyn looked down at the ruin.

"Poor," he said. "Can you imagine what that means to the ruler of a world? I married Adrienne for her dowry and for the son I hope she will give me. I came to Scar because of accident and because I must follow every chance guide, hoping that fate is leading me to prosperity. I made Jellag Haig a baron because I have nothing but titles to bestow. I need him and his knowledge. He knows his trade. Perhaps he can evolve a strain of fungi to kill the nepenthe weed. If he does, I shall make him a duke. I forced Heldar to test his luck because, on Jest, an unlucky man does not live long. I do what I must, Earl, because I have no choice. And I make a jest of life because, if I did not, I would spend my life in tears!"

* * *

Yeon paused, stepping back to allow Adrienne entrance to her cabin. She opened the door, saw the compartment was empty and gestured for the cyber to follow her inside. A drifting red shadow, he obeyed her command. Patiently he waited for her to speak.

"Have you fully assimilated the tapes on Jest, yet, Yeon?"

"There is much to be learned, my lady."

"Answer the question! Have you?"

He guessed what was on her mind. "There are no laws preventing your claiming the throne should the present ruler die." he said deliberately. "But there is a provision as to the nearest relative. If you had no issue, your right could be challenged. It would mean an inquiry as to who could provide the greatest good. As a stranger, you would have little chance of winning the majority vote of the Council."

"And if I had a child?"

"In that case, there would be no argument. The child would inherit and you would be regent."

She nodded, almost satisfied, but there was one other matter. "If I should be pregnant?"

"Again, an inquiry to determine the ancestry of the child. Tests would be made. It would be far better for the present ruler to recognize his heir. No inquiry, then, would be made." He anticipated her next question. "In the case of you having a proven heir and your husband dying, you would become regent. If you should marry again your new husband would become your consort with no actual power other than a seat on the Council."

She inhaled, expanding her chest. "So I am stuck with the fool until he fathers a child. Is that what you are saying?"

"I am advising you, my lady. I can do no more."

"A pity." But she had her answer. First the child and then, with my position secure, a man to keep me company, a real man. Dumarest? She smiled. Anything was possible. "Very well," she said to the cyber. "That will be all."

Quietly he left the room. His own cabin was on an upper level, a small cubicle containing little more than a cot. Carefully he locked the door and touched the wide bracelet about his left wrist. The device ensured that he would remain safe from spying eyes; no electronic scanner could focus on his vicinity. It was an added precaution, nothing more.

Lying supine, he relaxed, closing his eyes and concentrating on the Samatchazi formulae. Gradually he lost the senses of taste, touch, smell and hearing. Had he opened his eyes he would have been blind. Locked in the prison of his skull, his brain ceased to be irritated by external stimuli; it became a thing of pure intellect, its knowledge of self its only thread of individual life. Only then did the grafted Homochon elements become active. Full rapport followed.

Yeon expanded with added dimensions.

Each cyber had a different experience. For him it was as if he were a crystal multiplying in geometric progression, doubling himself with every flicker of time, the countless facets opening paths in darkness so as to let in the shining light of truth. He was a living part of an organism which stretched across space in innumerable facets each glowing with intelligence. Crystals connected one to the other in an incredibly complex mesh of lines and planes stretching to infinity. He was a part of it and all of it at the same time, the lesser merging with the greater to form a tremendous gestalt of minds.

At the heart of the multiple crystal was the headquarters of the Cyclan. Buried beneath miles of rock, deep in the heart of a lonely planet, the central intelligence absorbed his knowledge as a sponge sucks up water. There was nothing as slow as verbal communication, just a mental communion in the form of words: quick, almost instantaneous, organic transmission against which even the multiple-light speed of supra-radio was the merest crawl.

"Verification of anticipated movement of quarry received. Obtain ring and destroy Dumarest."

There was nothing else aside from sheer, mental intoxication.

There was always a period after rapport during which the Homochon elements sank back into quiescence and the machinery of the body began to realign itself with mental control. Yeon floated in a dark nothingness while he sensed strange memories and associations, unlived situations and exotic scenes, the scraps of overflow from other intelligences, the waste of other minds. They were of the central intelligence of the tremendous cybernetic complex which was the heart of the Cyclan.

One day he too would be a part of that gigantic intelligence. His body would be discarded and his mind incorporated with others, similarly rid of hampering flesh, hooked in series, immersed in nutrient fluids and fed by ceaseless mechanisms.

There were more than a million of them, brains without number, freed intelligences, potentially immortal, working in harmony to solve all the problems of the universe. The reward for which every cyber longed was the time when he could take his place in the gestalt of minds to which there could be no imaginable resistance or end.