The Return

Chapter Six

There should have been castles, strongholds, towers flaunting banners filled with armed and armored men jealous of their pride. Products of a world devoted to the pursuit of adventure, battle, violence and sudden death. One governed by the worship of personal bravery, courage and respect. The stuff of romance Zehava had learned as a child. A dream which Kaldar had never fulfilled.

Pausing on the ramp Dumarest recognized a dead-end world. One of a type on which travelers feared to be stranded. A planet with few opportunities to earn money for food, shelter, a passage to freedom. One which held odd inconsistencies. The field was uneven, the buildings edging it dilapidated, the ships standing to one side rested in a litter of debris. Yet the guard pylons were thick and widely scattered. The lack of a fence was unusual but no surprise; raiders would have no patience with irksome restrictions.

A scatter of men stood on the road leading to town, mostly young, all wearing leather bright with protective metal, the plates shaped and gemmed to individual taste. Martial garb accentuated by the weapons belted to their waists. Loungers killing time, curious as to what the ship had carried. One stepped forward to bar his path.

"You a trader?"

"Of a kind." Dumarest was patient. The man was young, bored, certainly a fool, but the gun he wore made him dangerous. "Could you direct me to the hotel?"

"What are you carrying?"

"Personal baggage." Dumarest eased the strap of the satchel and slipped it from his shoulder. "It's heavy and I'd appreciate a hand. Is it far to the hotel?"

'The Kaldari aren't servants," snapped the youngster. "What are you hiding?" He glanced at his companions as if to make certain he had an audience then, as Dumarest ignored the question, said, "There's something wrong here. That satchel looks too heavy. A genuine trader would have got a ganni to carry it. Or it could have been delivered to the warehouse. Open it up. I want to check what's inside."

Dumarest said, "You want to check it? Go ahead."

He stepped forward, the satchel swinging in his hand, flying free to thud on the dirt where the other had been standing. As he sprang aside, cursing, snatching at his gun, Dumarest closed the distance between them, the fingers of his left hand clamping on flesh, the weapon it held, pressing it deep into its ornate holster. His right hand rose between them to lock fingers on the other's throat, the tips of fingers and thumb digging into the tender places beneath the ears to rest on the carotid arteries. An action masked by their bodies from those watching.

One of them called, "Hey, Nigel, you getting set to dance?"

Another, more shrewd, said, "I think he's bitten off more than he can chew."

And was stuck with it. To struggle was to be rendered senseless, disarmed, left sprawled on the dirt. To back down would brand him a coward. The only real choice was to fight and, if he lost, at least it would be with honor.

Dumarest said, "We can end this. Just back away and leave me your gun."

"I can't. The shame — "

"You'd rather be dead?" His fingers tightened, applying pressure which, if increased, would cause unconsciousness and, if maintained, death. "Just give me your word. We break, then laugh and talk a little. You pickup the satchel and carry it to the hotel."

A way out for the young man but he hesitated too long. Those watching, sensing something more serious than they had thought, moved closer, eager to settle the dispute. They would form a ring, insist on physical combat, watch the bloody outcome. Dumarest would have no choice but to kill.

"Earl!" Zehava broke the impasse. "What are you doing?" Her tone changed. "Nigel? What's going on?"

"Zehava!" Relief gusted from his throat as Dumarest lowered his hand. "We heard you were dead. How — "

"Never mind that now. I see you've met my friend. Earl, meet Nigel Myer. I knew his sister. Nigel, this is Earl Dumarest." Dryly, she added, "I'm sure you'll get along. Why don't you guide him to the hotel?"

It was large, clean, luxurious. The bath, made of striated marble, was ringed with ornate decoration and held him like a cupped hand. Relaxing in steaming water Dumarest closed his eyes and let the warm comfort ease him into a state of drifting introspection as he assessed what he had learned. Nigel had been eager to volunteer information in order to make amends. A young man who had tried to gain a cheap reputation and had almost lost his life. The hand at his throat, the face close to his own, had left him in no doubt as to that.

He would talk and to save his own reputation would enhance Dumarest's prowess. A beginning — on Kaldar a man made his mark or was held in small regard. A world of too many rulers and headed to a predictable end. Kings, princes, politicians, those who demanded taxes or tributes of any kind and by any name were parasites living on the effort of others. When their greed and numbers grew too large they would ruin the host which supported them.

"Earl!" Dumarest woke to a pounding at the door, Zehava fuming at her failure to open it. "Earl, let me in!"

"A moment!"

He rose from the water, taking his time drying and dressing himself. The bedroom was large as was the bed with its ornate decoration and richly embroidered cover. Tall windows gave a view of the plaza below and filled the chamber with mellow light. Zehava came to a halt before them.

"There was no need for you to have bolted the door. You're safe here."

"As I was when leaving the field?"

"Nigel's a fool." Irritably she shook her head. "Forget him. Pour me a drink."

She had brought a bottle with her and he opened it and poured lambent fluid into small glasses engraved with intricate decoration. Handing her one he lifted the other in the gesture of a toast.

"To luck, Zehava! All of it good!"

The pungent spirit filled his mouth with smoke and fire, turning into a sweet tartness as it slid down his throat to blossom into a flower of comfort as it reached his stomach.

"Peedham," she said, watching his reaction. "It's made from peedham. A herb which grows in the hills. You like it?"

"It's unusual." Dumarest took another sip, wondering why she had brought it, guessing at its probable effect. An aphrodisiac, perhaps, certainly a strong neural depressant. One which would erode caution, bring euphoria, and make the drinker less than wise. "Did you enjoy your reunion?"

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you head for the ship. The one which raided Arpagus. I recognized it. Toibin's vessel. Nigel told me his name." He added, "He also told me about his sister."

"She died." Zehava helped herself to more from the bottle. "Eight years ago now. On a raid she shouldn't have touched. She was my idol. I worshipped her. Loved her. Well, never mind, she's gone now." She emptied the glass at a swallow as if in salute to a tender ghost. Coughing, she dragged air into her lungs. "To hell with it. The past is dead. What made you tangle with Nigel, anyway?"

"He wanted to demonstrate how tough he is. To get himself known so as to gain a place with your friend. I promised to speak to you about it. Get you to use your influence."

"What influence?" She was bitter. "Lesse Toibin goes his own way and takes only the best. With his reputation he can pick and choose."

"So your visit was just a matter of business." Her glass was empty and Dumarest refilled it, watching as, more cautiously, she drank. 'To talk over what happened and to get his explanation as to why he abandoned you. Was it a good one?"

"I didn't see him," she admitted. "He's visiting a friend in the hills. He'll be back after the auction. We came in with the last of the dealers," she explained. "After the viewing we'll get down to business and sell the loot."

"What about Toibin?"

"Damn Toibin. Why keep talking about him?"

"Everyone thinks he's a hero. He made a successful raid and only lost two people. One now that you're returned to take the blame."

"Blame?"

"You selected the cargo," reminded Dumarest. "You assessed its value. If it brings a small return you won't be popular. You, not Toibin, he's the kind of hero you people love. He's done nothing wrong. He only abandoned you. Snatched what was to hand and ran like a scared rat. He didn't even check on his own men. All he wanted was to save his own skin."

"You can't say that!"

"Why not?" Dumarest shrugged. "I was there. I saw it. He had time and enough to spare. He could have waited for you. He could have sent out a search party. He must have known you'd be close to the towers. He could have guessed that you might be hurt. Comrades are supposed to look after each other. Did he you? My guess he wanted to dump you. Even if we hadn't met I doubt if you would have reached the ship. Maybe he wanted to save your share. Or maybe he's just grown tired of you." A shrewd guess and he saw the sudden tightening of her jaw. "You see what I'm getting at?"

"I see what you're trying to do." Zehava lifted her glass then paused with it barely touching her lips. Over the rim she said, "You're smart, Earl. Maybe too damned smart. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm a fool."

"Like Toibin?" Dumarest met her eyes. "Or does he think you a coward? A woman who hasn't the guts to want revenge?"

Sunken in his chair Sung Pember looked half-asleep; an old man taking his rest, barely aware of what was going on around him. Casually he touched his nose.

"Five." Catching the signal the auctioneer voiced the bid. "I have five. Who offers six? I must ask you not to waste time. Who offers six?"

Reluctantly a man touched his ear.

The ring at work, bidding slow, bidding low and keeping down prices. Cameron had seen it too often before and fumed with inward rage at the prospect of seeing it again.

"Six. I have six. Who offers seven? The lot is five vats of rare perfume in high demand on a host of worlds. Who offers seven?"

Zinny Monteil lifted a finger.

"I have seven. I'm looking for eight. Who will offer eight?" An empty plea and the auctioneer knew it. Another victory for the ring. The lot would be almost given away but those who had won it were eager for their reward, meager though it would be. "The bid is seven. I have seven. Seven once. Seven twice." He lifted his gavel. "Sev — "

"Eight!" called Dumarest.

He sat to the rear, back to the wall, his voice deliberately loud, sending echoes through the warehouse in which the auction was being held. At his side Zehava drew in her breath.

"Careful, Earl. You could get stuck." She sighed her relief as someone raised the bid, frowned as Dumarest topped it. "Ten thousand! Do you know what happens to those who can't pay?"

"I know what I'm doing." Dumarest nodded, smiling, as Molo Bain twisted in his seats to stare at him. "The ring will buy or I'll split the lot among the independents. It's a safe gamble."

One he pursued as the bids mounted, raising his voice, making himself known to the auctioneer, the assistants, others in the warehouse. At twenty thousand he withdrew from the bidding but others, stimulated by the contest, ran the final price up another three.

Zehava said, "I' in going, Earl. This kind of excitement I can do without. Just remember the penalty if you buy what you can't pay for."

Stripped, flayed, impaled on a stake; Kaldar was not kind to outsiders who broke the rules. Dumarest took no further part in the bidding, once had been enough for his purpose. Only when a familiar carton was lifted on the display platform did he lean forward.

"Lot thirty-two. Two hundred units including the one on display." Cameron waited as assistants opened the carton and erected what it contained. Light glowed from the petals forming a mirror, creating a shimmering haze of rainbow brilliance. "A product of the Matsuki-Taru. Solar power units worth a fortune on any harsh world. The bidding will be in steps of five thousand. We start at thirty."

Low but a flurry of early bids would stimulate the sale and small units were more tempting than large. As the bidding commenced Dumarest rose, seated himself behind Sung Pember, leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"Everything arranged?"

Pember nodded. "We'll get them dirt cheap."

"Don't be too greedy. Remember where you are."

"They need us."

"They need money," corrected Dumarest. "There are a dozen other dealers eager to take your place. Just remember how they got this stuff."

"Seventy," said Cameron. "And five. And five. Eighty thousand. Eighty. Eighty-five. Ninety. I have ninety." He frowned as the bidding slowed. It was too soon, the lot too valuable and he sensed the influence of the ring. "I have ninety thousand. And five." He caught the signal from a woman seated to one side. One topped by Molo Bain. "One hundred thousand." He glanced at the woman who could have been fronting for a rival group but she made no sign. "And five." Cameron invented a bid. "I have one hundred and five thousand."

Time slowed as he waited for a response. His action had been calculated but he was facing experts in their field who knew all the tricks. Again he felt the stir of anger. Those facing him were parasites feeding on the efforts of their betters. Those who had risked death and injury to obtain what they held in so low regard. If they wouldn't bid then he would take.

"I have one hundred and five. I am waiting for your bids." He lifted his gavel then, deliberately put it down. "I'll give you time to remember what is on offer. Goods worth far in excess of what has been bid. A lot holding the potential of vast profit. I open the bidding for the last time."

Dumarest said, "Is he talking of a reserve?"

"No." Pember's voice held a dry amusement. "He made a false bid to up the amount. Now he's stuck with it. Let him sweat for a while."

"Let him sweat too long and you could wind up on a stake." Dumarest recognized the obvious anger. "He's of the Kaldari. Think he'll be gentle? Bid, damn you! Now!"

Before rage overtook the auctioneer and he threw aside civilized restraint. Bids were mostly by signal and he could swear such signals had been made, running up an enormous sum, forcing a hapless victim to pay or face the penalty.

Quickly Pember touched his nose.

"One ten." Cameron relaxed. "I have one hundred and ten thousand. It isn't enough. Unless there is realistic appreciation of what is on offer I shall cancel the auction."

Montiel said, "I protest! You can't do that!"

"Are you telling me what I can't do?" Raw anger edged the auctioneer's voice. "Do you think you have the right to rob the Kaldari?"

"Of course not! But traditions should be kept. We have an understanding and-"

"No one is robbing you." Dumarest rose to his feet and moved towards the platform. A man who had demonstrated he was not of the ring. "The bidding is fair for the product offered. Look." He touched the unit on display, opening a panel to show the empty interior. "It's incomplete," he explained. "It lacks a vital component. They all do. Without them the units are valueless."

At times it seemed the walls were closing in to crush her as if she had been an insect caught between a finger and a thumb. Then she would leave the office to walk in the open air but even then there were restraints. The hills, the buildings, even the bowl of the sky were components of the prison which held her. Symbols of earlier times when, always, there had been those to tell her what to do, how to act, how to think, how to live the life which should have been hers.

Only work provided an anodyne and even that was not always efficacious.

Nadine sighed, leaning back in her chair, palming her eyes. In the darkness she could see Pember's face, old, ugly in its anger as he complained of unfair treatment.

"I was cheated." Rage made him offensive. "The goods in lot thirty-two were rubbish."

"They were offered as seen. The standard procedure. You know that."

"I had no way of telling. The — "

"Didn't you call on the services of an engineer?"

"There was no need. We — I was given to understand the units were perfect." His face darkened. "Damn him!"

"Who?"

"Dumarest!"

"Then blame him, not us. You bought as seen. The lot is yours. The money is ours."

Verified credit and he had left in a storm. As had Zehava Postel.

"Is this all?" She had stared incredulously at the figure on the slip handed her. A woman Nadine envied if she did not like. "Are you sure?"

"You have the figures; cost of missiles fired, fuel, equipment used, other expenses." Nadine tried to be patient. "You have the sum gained from the sale of the loot. Set one against the other and you have the profit or loss. In your case a profit. You know the size of your share."

"And yours."

"Administration has to be paid for. If you want to handle everything yourself, nothing is stopping you. But you'll find it doesn't pay."

As the raid hadn't been as profitable as hoped and, in the darkness of her palms, Nadine could see the cold anger in the woman's face. The determination in her eyes.

"Nadine." Jessie on the communicator. "Earl Dumarest to see you."

He came with the calm assurance of a man who needed no one but himself. An attribute which warmed her to him as, with quick intuition, she sensed the loneliness she knew too well.

"Dumarest." She rose and smiled a welcome as she gestured him to a chair. "Or may I call you Earl?" Her smile widened as he nodded. "I've been hearing things about you. Someone said you cheated him."

"Pember."

"Yes. Did you?"

"I sold him an idea. Buy lot thirty-two. Take the units to a harsh world, lease them to those who needed them most. I know where they would be welcome. I told him the units were far better than anyone here could guess. Having them examined by an engineer would reveal their true value. I didn't lie and I didn't cheat. I simply didn't tell the entire truth."

"I still don't understand. If you had revealed the truth the units would have attracted no bids. You could have bought them for practically nothing."

Dumarest said, "Do you gamble? There is a point in any game when a player has invested too much to throw in his hand. His loss would be too great for him not to risk more. Pember offered me a partnership. He thought I had a vested influence on the world I mentioned. I let him think that. I persuaded him to buy the units. Until he owned them I had nothing to bargain with."

"If he'd bought them too cheaply he would be willing to cut his losses." She nodded, appreciating the irony of one man thinking to cheat another and being cheated in turn. For Pember it was a case of poetic justice. "But what do you get out of it?" She answered her own question. "Of course! You have the missing components!"

Dumarest said nothing, watching her face, the movement of her eyes. She lacked the vibrant femininity of Zehava which flaunted itself like a challenge, instead she had a poised calmness which told of iron control. That and something else, a mannerism, a thing he had seen before. As if she had to make a conscious effort not to speak but wait until a question was asked before answering it.

He said, bluntly, "Are you a reader?"

"I'm not a telepath if that's what you mean. I just guessed you had the components. I must warn you that I'm in no position to make a deal."

Something he hadn't asked, but she had known it was on his mind. As she read now of his suspicions. Damn the man! Why did he have to be so shrewd?

"I knew a man once," said Dumarest quietly. "In a way he was a friend. He had a peculiar talent. He could read people. Not their minds but their actions. Small things which betrayed what they were thinking. He found it embarrassing at times. People tended to avoid him. They were afraid of what they might reveal."

Something she knew too well. "What happened to him?"

"Balman? He died."

As her father had died. Her mother. As, she sensed, had all those close to Dumarest. Did he too feel the restraints which tormented her?

Dumarest said, "If you were in my position, what would you do?"

"With the components? Offer them to Pember. He will have to give you a good price. Those units are worth far more than he paid for them." She added, shrewdly, "You don't trust him."

"There is a lot of money involved."

"Safeguards can be utilized. You must have thought of them. No!"

Dumarest said, "You're doing it again. Rejecting an offer before it's made. At least listen to what I have to say."

"You're wasting your time."

"That is hardly the response of someone who should be interested in survival. Who is trusted by the Council to do the best for Kaldar. Should I go over your head? Make my offer to someone less intransigent?"

"You would do that?"

"It is your decision." Dumarest moved his chair closer to the desk, placed an arm on the surface, leaned forward to put his face inches from her own. "I'll deal with Pember if I have to but I'd rather not. He would complicate things. He might even try to kill me. He could succeed."

Nadine doubted it. "Why would he want to do that?"

Because of what he was; scum battening on filth. A parasite living on property stolen from others. Trading in goods stained with blood, pain, death and tears. A thing worse than any raider for without his kind to provide a market none could prosper. Things Dumarest didn't mention. Facts she read as if he had.

"Earl! We are what we are!"

"Then be what you are!" He leaned even closer, his face hard with the ferocity of a predator. "What do you owe to Pember and his kind? Why show them concern? Act for me. For yourself. Sell him the components."

"No."

"Two hundred units." Dumarest ignored the protest. "Charge what you like and keep a tenth of what you get. An eighth. A fair commission."

"You don't understand. We don't operate that way. Toibin-"

"Has nothing to do with this. He's made his sale but the components are mine. Money," he urged. "Think of what you could do with it!"

How had he known? Had he read her as she had read him? Sensing her need and playing on it? Offering the one lure she couldn't resist. The chance of freedom. Of independence. Of escape.

Looking up she saw the smiling face of her father. A smile of love or derision?

Dumarest said, quietly, "The components are legally mine. Bought in normal trade."

"That makes a difference?"

"To you, perhaps." He smiled as her eyes dropped to meet his own. "We are what we are. But what we are isn't always what we seem to be. Please, Nadine. I need your help."

"To make a fortune?"

"No," he said. 'To get transport to Earth."