The Return

Chapter Twelve

The metal of the ship held more than the quiver of the Erhaft field. There was a continual susurration from the bulkheads, the hull, the decks and stanchions. Vibration trapped from a multitude of sources, traveling the confined world of the vessel, using it's structure as diaphragms.

Lying on his bunk, eyes closed in sleep, Dumarest was laved with whispers which held the sound of a woman crying, the deeper tones of a curse, tapping, clicks, rustles, laughter, the echoes of what could have been desperate prayer. Ghost-voices. Phantoms which created dreams to haunt the sleeping confines of his mind.

He stood on an endless plain wreathed in swirling mist facing a soaring range of mountains from which came all the sounds there ever could be. Voices which promised paradise, threatened hell, offered delights beyond imagination, warned of dangers yet to come. Tones voiced by men long dead, women now dust, all long dispersed in space and time. Other sounds; the whimper of a starving baby, the pleading wail of a terrified child, the snarl of hate from a man, the frenzied screaming of a beaten woman.

Echoes of what he had once known as home.

Figures surrounded him, hands extended, voices demanding that he give what he held. The body of a small rodent killed by a stone from his sling. His prey and hope of life, the nourishment which would sustain him through another day.

Running he escaped them to be faced by other shapes. Sombre figures, gaunt, faceless, menacing in scarlet robes. Their hands were concealed within wide sleeves, but their demands were the same. For him to give them the secret he held. One passed to him by a woman who had demonstrated to him the true meaning of love.

Other faces, other hands, the demand always the same. For him to give…give…give…

Still others — those wanting to take his life.

Dumarest jerked, rolling from the bunk, body tensed for combat. But he was alone, the cabin secure, no visible threat evident. A dream. A nightmare. He had known them before but rarely with such intensity. Seated he fought to slow the rapid gusting of his lungs, the tattoo-liked drumming of his heart. His thoughts swirled as if driven by a fountain of bubbles.

Why had the monk warned him against finding Earth?

Why had Cazele?

In imagination Dumarest saw his face limned on the bulkhead, old, hard, the vapour from the tisane giving him the appearance of a brooding idol. A shrewd and cunning man who worked for his own ends. One who could have intended to provide subtle clues.

He knew the creed of the Original People — were they to be found on Fionnula? How had he known that Earth had been proscribed? What had he meant by saying the Church knew more than it told. As did others. Which others?

What other organization matched the Church in its world-spanning influence?

There was only one. Was it possible the Cyclan could be working in unison with the Church? Did they know where Earth was to be found? If so why had they wasted so much time and effort hunting him from world to world?

Logic demanded they would have allowed him easy passage to the planet of his birth — and the trap they would have set to close around him once he had arrived. So they could not know of Earth or, if they did, they wanted to keep him from it.

Why?

A question as yet beyond solution, but another was not. Cazele had been emphatic in his savage condemnation of Earth. Had he been acting or had he been sincere? Nadine would know.

"Earl!" Her eyes widened as she saw him. "This is a surprise. Is anything wrong?"

"No. May I come in?"

She was dressed for bed, wearing a black chiton which left one shoulder bare, the thin fabric held at her waist by a silver cord, the lower edge falling to just above her knees. Her feet were bare. Her hair unbound, the thick tresses falling over her shoulders to blend with the color of her raiment accentuating the pallor of her skin. Her face looked younger than her years. The cabin held the scent of her perfume.

"I was trying to sleep." She gestured at the bunk, the rumpled cover. "I couldn't. You?"

"I had a nightmare."

"I can guess what about." Her voice hardened. "That Cazele! We should have destroyed his town!"

"What good would that have done?"

"None," she admitted. "But the Kaldari believe in revenge."

A bloodbath of the innocent of which he wanted no part nor, he guessed, did she.

Dumarest stepped past her into the cabin, looking around, seeing the small, feminine touches which made the place uniquely hers. A print of a kitten stuck to a bulkhead, a scrap of rich fabric which softened the contours of a stanchion, a tiny doll sitting on the table at the head of the bunk. Next to it a thing of crystal turned and bathed the compartment with swathes of delicate color.

"Brak gave it to me when I was a child," she said, noting his interest. 'There are chimes, too." She touched a stud and soft tintinnabulations filled the cabin with the music of elfin bells. "Pleasant, isn't it? I loved it as a child but now I prefer silence." The bells died as, again, she touched the stud. "Why don't you sit?"

She watched as he settled himself close to the pillow then sat on the bunk beside him, tucking her legs beneath her, her shoulder leaning against his arm.

He said, dryly, "You remember the last time we sat like this? What happened?"

"It won't happen again. Zoll's made sure of that." She lightened her weight against his arm so as to meet his eyes. "You want to talk," she said. "To ask me something but I'm not sure what. You mask your feelings. Is it something to do with the ship? The journey? Why is it taking so long?"

"We have a long way to go."

"I know. Niall told me. So what's the problem?"

"Cazele. You heard him talk and you must have read him. You knew he was lying about the alarm. Was he lying when he claimed to know of Earth?"

She frowned, trying to remember, then said, slowly, "I can't be certain. I wasn't really watching him that closely. Raw lies are obvious but other things aren't. He could have been telling the truth as he knew it."

"When he spoke of Earth?"

"The legend, yes. He wasn't lying then. Not deliberately. But how could he have been so wrong? Earth is a paradise."

Not the world Dumarest had known but it hadn't been what Cazele claimed either. He had repeated a distorted variation of the popular legend. One which could have been designed and propagated for a desired purpose. But why should Earth be so reviled?

"Damn!" Nadine voiced her annoyance as the crystal lamp ceased to revolve. "It's stuck again. I'll have to get it fixed. If you'll just lean back a little."

He felt the impact of her body as she leaned across him to correct the instrument. The chiton made a soft rustle as it mounted the columns of her thighs, one matched by the sliding contact of her flesh. The mounds of her breasts flattened against his torso.

"There! That's done it!"

She smiled as the lamp began to turn, bands of color touching her face, her hair, the long column of her throat. Turning her eyes into kaleidoscopic gems, her mouth into a demanding rose of passion. One which moved closer to his, to touch, to lock with iron determination.

Fear had ridden with them to Fionnula. Hate had joined it to lurk like an unseen passenger in chambers and compartments, in the salons, the holds, the places where people gathered. Lief Chapman could sense it. Something as real to him as the glowing instruments on his panels. Emotional stress had no meter but it was as detectable as the flow of current through a wire.

"Captain." Niall from the communicator. "Course change in fifteen. Mark!"

"Noted."

The sequence had already been incorporated. An instrument flashed as he pressed a button, electronic relays poised to move the ship from one path to another. Routine. Another bite taken from the journey.

Relaxing Chapman stared at the numbing majesty of the universe. It had, for him, a special attraction. One he had missed when tending his farm but that episode was over and now he was where he belonged. In tune with his command, in harmony with the flow of energies within the hull, at one with the invisible.

Sensing the pulse of electrons, the surge of impatient ions, the thrust and flurry and atomic particles. Forces which created a sub-aural music which could be stronger than any drug.

Entering the bridge Dumarest looked at the lax figure in the big chair and wondered if the captain had fallen victim to the siren lure. Many captains had, using drugs and symbiotes to ease the crushing burden of infinity.

Chapman opened his eyes. "I wasn't asleep, commander."

It wouldn't have mattered if he had been. Stinging electrical impulses would have woken him in case of need. Something they both knew as Dumarest recognized the reason for the use of his title. Formality had virtue when coupled to discipline.

"Where are we now, captain?"

"On the last leg of the journey." Chapman stretched. "I'll be glad when it's over. Some things last too long. I hear that you've tested the slave panel again."

"With perfume. There's some leakage but we can live with it."

"If they guess what's on your mind they won't like it," warned the captain. "I'm not sure I like it myself. You don't gas your crew."

"It isn't for the crew. It's for the others. You'd rather they mutinied?" Dumarest didn't force an answer. The word alone was repugnant to any captain. "I'm simply taking precautions. Zehava tells me that hotheads are stirring up trouble. Nadine reports there have been changes in cabin-partners and group-assemblies. You know what that means."

"Polarization of attitudes. Some want to wait others to act. Most of them lost friends on Fionnula. If they'd had quick action things would be different. They've had too much time to sit and brood."

Niall looked up, nodding a greeting as Dumarest entered his domain. A litter of charts lay on the desk before him together with a scatter of books, and navigational data. A computer screen was blank.

"Another student after knowledge? If you want to know just where we are ask Zehava. For some reason she's become interested in navigation. That and communications or maybe she and Schell have a special affinity for electronics. My guess is that like everyone else their patience is running out."

"And yours?"

"I've a different problem. Earth could be where you say it is but I can't find proof. I've checked the oldest almanacs I can find. It isn't listed. There's no entry for Earth on world listings either." He slapped one of the books. "So I tried a different tack. Stars follow a closely related pattern of distribution. The trouble is that when you get close to the Rim the distribution shows widening variables so we can't be sure a sun is where one could be expected. Or the reverse. There's also the problem of identification. Would you know your sun if you found it?"

"Yes," said Dumarest. "I'd know it."

Niall said, shrewdly, "There's only one way you could be certain. No two stars are the same though some come close. To be absolutely certain you must have a spectrograph. It's like a fingerprint. Once we match the Fraunhofer lines we'll be sure. You know that. Would you also know why Earth isn't listed?"

"That's easy. Someone wanted it lost."

Dumarest watched the navigator's face, saw the stunned look of incredulity, the beginning of a smile then, as Niall met his eyes, the smile vanished.

"You're serious," he said. "By God, you mean it! But why? Why would someone want to lose a world?"

"Someone or something. I don't know why."

"How then? How the hell could it be done?" Niall shook his head. "No! It's crazy! You just can't lose a world! It's impossible!"

"No," said Dumarest. "It would be easy." He picked an almanac from the desk and held it in his hand. "A book which lists all known worlds. If a planet isn't listed then it doesn't exist. Right?"

"It isn't known," corrected the engineer. "But, basically, it's what you say."

"So we take a world." Dumarest flipped through the pages. "Kaldar. We erase the entry. Now the planet no longer exists. Right?"

"Wrong!" Niall was emphatic. "Kaldar exists! I know it!"

"Could you prove it? If it isn't listed in this book or any other almanac? Would you be able to find anyone who would agree with you?"

"Erasing an entry doesn't eliminate a world."

"True, but how could anyone find it? There would be no listed coordinates. How could you convince anyone it was real? Especially if they believed it was only a legend. A myth which no sane man would credit. What then?"

The navigator said, slowly, "You're talking about Earth."

"Yes." Dumarest lifted the almanac in his hand. "To you and to every navigator this is the most important book in the universe. Without it you're lost. Where do you get it from?"

"Shops, repair yards, depots, traders — they're all over the place. Anyone can buy a copy."

"Good business for those who print and distribute them," said Dumarest. "But anyone can do that. The importance lies with those who compile the information. The point I'm making is that it all comes from a single source. Now tell me what would happen if someone at that source failed to include an entry."

"The error would be spotted. The data revised."

"If it was a genuine error. What if the omission was deliberate?" Dumarest threw down the book before Niall could answer. "I'm talking about a long time in the past. When, maybe, the system of navigation changed so as to use the actual center of the galaxy as the main reference point. New almanacs would have been essential. They would have been more expensive than they are now. If new almanacs had been offered in exchange for the old what would have happened?"

"No old books," said the navigator. "Are you saying that the new issue contained no reference to Earth?"

"Can you think of a better way to lose a world?!"

"It would work," admitted Niall. "Knowledge doesn't last without records. But think of what it would take. The cost. The organization. The planning. Who could have handled it?"

The Church or the Cyclan — but why?

Ulman Tighe was too brash, too aggressive. A defense against inward unease. One echoed in his voice.

"Commander, a word of warning. You were straight with me on Fionnula. You believed me. Many didn't. Even now some think I murdered Nigel and the girl. That doesn't bother them. What does is the way some of their friends were abandoned. They blame you for that. There's talk of revenge."

To the Kaldari that meant death delivered with brutal efficiency. Weapons weren't available in the ship which meant that a group were preparing themselves to beat him to death. Tighe also if they ever discovered he had carried the warning. Something he knew and by speaking he had demonstrated a personal loyalty.

Dumarest said, "Thank you for telling me. Don't be among them."

"He won't," said Nadine when Tighe had gone. "He's got more sense. But he's right about the danger. I've sensed it accumulating for some time now. I'd hoped it would dissipate but it's grown worse. They want to kill you. Earl!" Her hand closed on his arm. "Stay away from them. Keep to the bridge and your cabin. Don't give them the chance to get at you. Damn it," she snapped, reading his rejection of her advice. "At least carry a gun!"

"Where are they?"

"The gun — "

"Forget the gun. Where do I find those who want to kill me?"

In the salon, the natural place, but the compartment was too quiet. It lacked the rattle of dice and slap of cards, the sounds of those playing or gambling on the luck of those who did. A place of recreation which, in some subtle manner, had become something else. A lair. A haven for plotters. A den for predators in human shape.

"Commander?" A man looked up from where he lounged at a table, his use of the title a sneer. "This is an honor."

"Is it?" Dumarest glanced at the others in the salon. Many were women, a division which meant nothing for the women of the Kaldari were as vicious as the men. "This salon is for common use. If you want privacy go somewhere else. If you have a problem let me hear it. In the meantime get on with your duties. You!" His finger stabbed at a man. "Husad. You should be cleaning the filters. You! Fontayne. You've work in the lower hold."

"Who says so?"

"I do. You object?"

"Our work is here, damn you!"

Russo Byrne thrust himself forward from where he had been standing against a bulkhead. He was tall, strong, face proudly scarred. A man confident of his strength and prowess. The heavy rings he wore could pulp flesh and shatter bone.

The man at the table said, 'Take it easy, Russo."

"Why?"

Dumarest said, evenly, "Stefan is right. Use your head instead of your mouth. I give the same advice to all of you. The captain will never tolerate mutiny."

"Is that what you call it?" A man beside Stefan spat his disgust. Lefro Grake who had lost a brother. "I call it exterminating vermin. Getting rid of filth who threatens to destroy us all. You don't give a damn for the Kaldari. All you want is the ship and enough men to take it where you want it to go."

The truth but Dumarest didn't admit it. "It's still mutiny. The captain will have you fed into space."

"For an accident?" Byrne stepped even closer. "A fair fight? How can a man be blamed for hitting just a little too hard?" Light shone from his rings as he lifted hands closed into fists. "All of us here will swear it was your choice."

A man revealing a weakness. Talking instead of acting and so giving his victim a chance. Dumarest backed as he reached for his knife, remembering the ban on weapons as he found only an empty sheath. The door of the salon thudded shut as someone from behind pushed him off balance. He staggered, was pushed again, pretended to almost fall. As yet they were playing with him, enjoying their moment, one he helped by an apparent helplessness.

One which vanished as Byrne attacked, metal-loaded fists reaching to pulp his nose, shatter his jaw, ruin his eyes, send him to the deck in helpless agony. To end the search which had taken so long. To rob him of his chance of reaching Earth. And he was so close. So very close.

Nothing and no one must stop him now!

Byrne shrieked with agony, doubling, falling as a boot smashed with pulping, killing force into his groin. As he fell Dumarest moved, striking out with a flattened hand, the fingers locked to form a blunted spear. One which crushed a larynx and filled the throat with blood. His hand jerked back, the elbow a ram which slammed against the torso of someone behind him, splintering ribs and driving jagged ends into the lungs.

Dumarest continued the attack, moving fast, fast, faster…

The boot again, rising to drive outward, to ruin a knee, the left hand chopping at the neck as the man went down. A woman, screaming her rage, dropped as he slammed his fist against her jaw. Another spat blood and broken teeth from the impact of his elbow as she clawed at his eyes. As she fell away Dumarest twisted towards a snarling face, his open hand rising, the heel catching the nose, crushing it, driving splinters of bone up into the brain.

Something hit his cheek. Something else struck his shoulder, his back, his head. Blows without effect and without pain. Wetness ran from his temple as a man went down before him. Another folded, breath rasping in his throat, blood where an eye had been. He kicked, the boot having a life of its own, as his hands had life, his skull used as a hammer, his elbows, his knees.

A time of madness. Of a blood-red world dominated by violence. One born of the stress, tension and strain of the journey. The hatred for those who would stop him, those who would ruin his dream, exploding into a berserk fury.

One which ended with the stunning scent of flowers.

"Earl!" Nadine was beside him, cradling his head on her breasts, her tears dewing his face. "Earl, for God's sake, come back to me!"

He stirred, fighting nausea, feeling aches and minor pain. He was on his bunk, in his cabin, the woman holding him in her arms.

"Earl?"

"I'm all right." He struggled to sit upright and sat with lowered head until the cabin steadied. On cheek, skull and temple he felt the slickness of transparent dressings. The side of his torso was dark with a patch of bruise. One eye was tender. His hands and fingers were sore as was a knee. "Slave gas?"

"Badwasi released it. They had closed the salon so the effects were confined. We had to wait until it was neutralized. At first I thought you were dead. As for the rest — Earl, it was horrible!"

A carmine shambles of dead and injured. Something she must have seen before, then he remembered that she had never been on a raid. Never known the berserk madness which could turn a human into a killing machine.

Voices murmured from the passage outside the cabin. Men going about their duties, tones muffled by the partitions.

"Did you see the mess? I've been in brawls but this beat them all."

"Crazy. Like a predator at work. One dominated by bloodlust. If he comes from Earth — what the hell are we getting into?"

Nadine rested her hands on his ears. "Don't listen to them, darling. Don't worry about it. It's over."

'The mutiny?"

"We don't call it that. It's logged as a fight. The dead have been evicted. Those who were hurt have been treated. The rest know how lucky they've been." Pausing she added, "Chagal blames you for causing him work."

"Because he had to care of the injured?"

"Because you didn't kill them all. The dead are easier to dispose of."

The physician had been honest if blunt and she swallowed as if to rid herself of an unpleasant taste. A woman reluctant to accept the grim reality of a universe in which, in order to survive, it was essential to kill.

Dumarest felt her warmth, that of the kitchen, the cradle, the kind which turned a house into a home. One which held care, concern and a genuine tenderness. She smiled as he touched her, turning towards him, softening to his caress. The door slammed open without warning.

"Earl! How are you, lover?" Zehava paused to inflate her lungs, breasts rising above the narrow cincture of her belt. Her hands rose to glide in a narcissic gesture over her hips and thighs. A beautiful woman, dominating the cabin as she displayed her charms. "You look well. I guess you've had excellent nursing."

Nadine said, "I was only trying to help."

"Of course. What else? But I can take care of him now. Why don't you go where you're needed?" As the door closed behind her Zehava said, coldly, "I can understand the appetite for something new, Earl. But I warn you — what is mine I keep."

"So?"

"I won't be mocked. It's obvious how she feels about you and others are talking. Soon they'll be laughing and that I'll not tolerate. You've had your fun. End it." She added, "If you don't I'll end her."

"Is that what you came to tell me?"

"No. The captain wants you. He said it was urgent. There's something odd in space."