World of Promise

Chapter Seven

The sting was minor, a pain which came and vanished in a moment to be followed by a soothing coolness. Reaching up, Dumarest touched his left temple, finding a smoothness covering the area, the torn skin and bruised flesh left by the impact of the club.

"You are fortunate," said Charisse. "A little harder and it would have broken bone. Lower it could have torn out an eye. More to the left and there could have been shock to the interventricular foramen and the temporal lobe."

Dumarest said, "You know your medicine."

"Of course." She moved about the salon as a girl came to clear away the equipment-the same girl Dumarest had seen before or one just like her. As she left Charisse said, "Ascelius-it has a reputation among students for hard teaching, but they don't know what that could really be. At three I slept with a hypnotute which poured data into my brain. At seven I knew every bone in the human frame, every major organ, the disposition of arteries and veins and nerves. And that was only the beginning. After that came the study of cellular structure, tissue classification, glandular excretions-the whole spectrum of living matter."

"Your father?"

"A hard teacher who had no time for anything less than the best." She moved to a table, a shelf, back to the chair at his side. The curve of her thighs tautened the fabric of her gown. At her throat gems winked in flashing scintillations. "And you, Earl? Did you find what you wanted on Ascelius?"

"No. How did you come to be there?"

"Business. A matter of delivering some cultures to the medical institutes." She dismissed further discussion of the matter with a gesture of her hand. "It was the most amazing luck that I should have seen you and recognized you through the snow. What had you done to antagonize those men? Had they been hired by some jealous husband? A thwarted lover or a rejected woman seeking revenge? And why didn't you use your knife?"

He said, "They have a system-trial by lie detector. Intent is all important."

"Of course. Had you drawn your knife and used it and killed you would have been guilty of murder. The intent to kill would have been inherent when you drew the blade. Not consciously, perhaps, but it would have been present and the machines would have revealed it. But why not just wound?" She answered her own question. "A matter of reflexes. Against an opponent the need to survive becomes paramount. Against a crowd that need would trigger the automatic basic levels of reactive response so you would fight at maximum efficiency. A dead opponent is a safe one-wounded he still presents a threat. Well, you are safe from them now."

For he was far from Ascelius and deep in space, wrapped in the cocoon of the Erhaft field and bound for Kuldip. Soon they would utilize the magic of quicktime, the drug slowing the metabolism and turning hours into minutes, weeks into days. A convenience to lessen the tedium of the journey.

He said, "I must pay for my passage."

"Naturally, but later, Earl. Later. For now let us talk. Did you learn nothing on Ascelius? Nothing to help your search?"

Had he told her?

"Legends," she said. "When I was healing you that first time on Podesta you spoke of them. Of your home world and how you had left it. Of how you were trying to find it again. Delirium I thought at first but it made sense of a kind. Yet how can a world be lost? Are you certain you haven't confused the name?"

"There are no listed coordinates," he said. "So no one knows how to reach it. And, no, I haven't confused the name."

"It happens," she said. "My father was interested in old things and he made an attempt once to plot the altering pronunciations of ancient words. Words like 'mother,' for example, and 'father.' They tend to move forward in the mouth. From the back of the throat toward the lips. See?" She pursed her own. "From guttural to sibilant-kiss me, Earl!"

It was as he remembered and yet oddly different. The fire was absent, the thrust of triggered desire, and he wondered at her reason for the caress. A proprietary gesture? A curiosity as to his own reaction?

"Just to remind you that we aren't exactly strangers." Her eyes held his own as she resumed her seat. "Now, to get on with what we were talking about. Take a word and move it forward in the mouth. It grows distorted, changes, becomes easier to pronounce if altered a little. The misplacement of a vowel or the alteration of emphasis on a consonant makes all the difference. In a few years the word becomes unrecognizable. Take Eden, for instance."

"Eden?"

"Another legend," she said, ignoring his interest. "A world, perhaps, like your Earth, but I doubt if it's as real. My father thought-you've heard of it?"

"Vaguely."

"A paradise, Earl. Odd how all these mythical worlds are claimed to be that. Legend has it that Mankind started in Eden. That it was owned by some kind of goddess and that she lost her temper and threw everyone out when they offended her. If anything at all the story has to be allegorical but that isn't the point I'm trying to make. My father thought that Eden had to have been 'Garden.' You see? A simple change and an ordinary word becomes something novel."

He said, "Was your father really interested in old legends?"

"Yes, really. There are old books at home, records and such. He used to value them and spend hours studying them. You can examine them if you like."

"A promise?"

"Of course." Bored with the subject she changed it. "Earl, do you remember how we parted?"

After the frenzy came a period of calm during which he must have slept. The serving girl had ushered him from the vessel.

"I remember," he said dryly. "It was a little abrupt."

"Maybe too abrupt I've thought about it often and wondered if I'd made a mistake. Business," she added bitterly. "I had the beast to deliver and things to take care of. I didn't realize just how unusual you really are. Why are we always in so much of a hurry?"

He shrugged, not answering, looking at the flashing splendor of her necklace. Remembering the other gems she had worn, points of light which had winked in her hair. A trait she seemed to favor and he wondered at the idiosyncrasy. The scintillation drew attention from her face and eyes, her lips and cheeks, an effect most women would regard as detrimental. Jewels were normally used to accentuate, not rival, natural charms.

"You look pensive, Earl." Her hand lifted to touch his cheek. "The wound troubling you?"

"No. It's fine."

"Something else, then?" Her smile encouraged his confidence. "Disappointed, perhaps?"

"A little, yes."

"At the wasted journey, I understand. And you must be tired." The touch of her fingers became a caress. "So very tired. The fight and the shock of your injury and I'll bet you had no sleep-what else can you expect?"

"I'm fine." A lie; the fatigue she had mentioned was gritting his eyes and dulling his vision. He resisted the desire to yawn. "I'll be all right."

"Of course you will." Her hand fell from the nape of his neck. "Natural sleep is the best medicine there is. Your cabin has been made ready." She rose, waited for him to join her, smiled as she led the way to the door. "I'll take you to it and, Earl-you are safe now. There is no need to lock your door."

There had been a face which had smiled at him and touches which had felt like the impact of snow before they turned to flame but he had been too tired to notice and had ignored them to wander like a ghost in a haunted land of dreams. Now, awake, he lay supine and looked at a ceiling decorated with writhing serpents. At walls bearing the snarling faces of assorted beasts. At the bed on which he rested in naked comfort.

Luxury matched by the thick carpet, the glowing plates set to provide a softly warm illumination, the rest of the furnishings.

Visible proof of the wealth of the Chetame Laboratories.

Of Charisse who owned them.

Leaning back, he remembered their conversation. The collection of old books and records her father had studied and of the legends he had wanted to pursue. Eden-he knew of several worlds named that, but had there, at one time, been a single spot as Charisse had said? A garden-if the word had changed that's all Eden could mean. And Earth?

He tried it, mouthing the word, advancing it toward his lips, noting the increasing difficulty in pronouncing it aloud. The hiss which came when trying to push the diphthong too far. The change.

Earth… Earse… Earce… Erce…

Erce?

Erce!

The name Boulaye had gained from an old book or so he had claimed. Another name for Earth? An older one?

Where had the man gone after he'd left Myra Favre on Alba?

Dumarest rose to pace the floor, trying to flog himself into action. A shower stood in a corner of the room and he stepped into it, ice-cold water lashing from jets to wake his flesh from lethargy.

An old book-how long would a book last on Ascelius unless protected from biodegradation? A copy, then, but from where?

The sting of water ceased and he dried himself before looking into a mirror. It was of tinted glass, designed to flatter, lessening the harshness of mouth and eyes. The dressing on his temple had diminished a little; the compound absorbed into his flesh. A mote of darkness rested beneath the transparency at the healing lip of the wound.

Turning, he searched for his clothes, finding them in a cabinet. Dressed, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared thoughtfully at the writhing decorations on a wall. He felt that he trembled on the edge of a discovery but it eluded him as had the identity of the face in his dream. Myra? Charisse? Isobel Boulaye?

Would her husband's ghost never be at rest?

The man had come into possession of a book, common currency among students. Could one of them have given it to him in return for a favor received? Or mentioned something which had aroused his interest? Caused him to send for a copy, but if so, from where? And what had been the trigger to send him on his journeying? Erce? Erce-and something else. What had Myra said before she died? A word her lover had mentioned in laughter.

A clue?

Dumarest rose and stepped toward the door. It opened at his touch and he passed from the cabin into the passage. It was deserted, the air holding a strange, acrid taint at variance with the ornamentation. There should have been perfume, the odor of incense, rich and decadent smells to match the opulence. Beneath his boots the deck was covered with soft fabrics which muffled his tread. As he neared the forepart of the vessel a uniformed man stepped forward to bar his way.

"I'm sorry, sir, but this is a restricted area."

"I'm a guest of Charisse Chetame."

"I know you are, sir." The man was big with the easy confidence of a man who knew his own capabilities. "The restriction remains."

Dumarest said quietly, "I was only identifying myself. I would appreciate the loan of some star charts of this area together with an almanac and measuring devices."

"Sir?"

"A problem I wish to resolve." Dumarest added, "A hobby of mine and it will serve to pass the time. I would appreciate your cooperation."

The guard barely hesitated; a guest of the owner would have influence and his request was harmless enough. "It will be my pleasure to help, sir. This area, you say? I'll have them sent to you in the salon."

Dumarest nodded, turned, walked back down the passage toward where the engine room would be, the cargo holds, the generator. Another guard materialized to stand before him.

"I'm sorry, sir-"

"I know," said Dumarest. "This area is restricted."

"That is correct, sir." The man could have been the twin of the other guard. He added, "Aside from the control section and the private cabins the rest of the vessel is free."

"The salon?"

"Yes, sir, of course."

Like the cabin it was extravagantly decorated with the likeness of beasts, birds, things which crawled. It was deserted, the charts and things Dumarest had asked for lying heaped on the table. Sitting, he adjusted them, unrolling the charts, holding them fast with magnetic clips, checking the almanac, placing the protractors and dividers, the rules and scales close to hand. An astrogator would have done it faster, an engineer as well, but he was capable enough.

And Sheen Agnostino had narrowed the field.

Boulaye had been on Alba with Myra Favre and he knew the time of their official honeymoon. Knew too the time she had returned and so the period the man had available for journeying. Alba was a busy world set close to suns and teeming planets; Tampiase, Cilen, Elgent, Kuldip, Chord, Freemont-all would have been within reach.

Dumarest sat back, looking at his notes, the charts, the almanac which gave stellar positions at definite times. Stars moved and so did their worlds and that movement affected journey times. A thing he'd needed to check as he had others: Boulaye's character, his determination, his resources.

A man basically weak who wanted to gain with the minimum of effort. One easily swayed. One with a twisted sense of humor; a sadistic bent which could have stemmed from a knowledge of his own inadequacy.

Which world had he visited? On which had he learned where Earth was to be found?

Again he felt himself to be on the edge of a discovery and yet lacking the ability to take the one step which would make things clear. Tampiase? A possibility, but if he had visited it Boulaye would have had little time and what was so special about the world? Elgent? A place of sands and winds-eliminate Elgent. Chord? There was a cult of ancestor worship which turned the cities into necropolises. A promising situation for a man who had learned an old and ancient name for the planet Earth. Had he gleaned a clue in some esoteric ritual? Deciphered some fading inscription?

Dumarest closed his eyes, wondering at his bafflement. Not at the inability to solve the problem but at the fog which seemed to cloud his memory. The word Myra had said she had heard while lying at her lover's side. Not Erce-of that he was certain. One which had sounded like it and which he'd taken for a distortion.

Opening his eyes, he looked at the beasts ornamenting the walls, the writhing depictions of life in many forms. Decoration inspired by the legend of Eden? The goddess which had ruled over a multitude of forms? What had Myra said?

Dumarest looked at his hands, the charts, the answer which had stared him in the face all along.

Circe-the woman who had turned men into beasts.

How better to describe a genetic engineer.

Kuldip was a small, dark world warmed by a distant sun; a smoldering furnace blotched with ebon, ringed by a scarlet corona. The mountains had weathered into hills, the seas dried into lakes dotted with islands and scummed with weed. From the hills men wrested ores, gems, precious metals. From the seas the product of massive bivalves. The main industry was the Chetame Laboratories.

"It's big." Dino Sayer lifted a hand, pointing. "The largest installation on the planet."

He was an old man, his body frail beneath his uniform of russet and emerald, his head bald, the skin seeming to bear a high polish. His face was seamed, lined and scored with the clawed feet of time, his eyes a pale azure, the whites flecked with yellow. A technician high in the hierarchy of the laboratory. The guide provided to show Dumarest around.

"It's grown," he said, his hand moving to point. "A century ago we only had that building, that space, those stockades. When Armand took over he engaged on a period of expansion and gained finance to put up the rest."

"Armand Chetame?"

"That's right. Charisse's father. A genius." Sayer shook his head in regret at the man's passing. "I came to him as a boy and he treated me like a son. Taught me, educated me, guided me every step of the way. Others, too, of course, but he was like that. He wanted to build the best team he could get and he set out to do it. I reckon he did it too."

Dumarest recognized the pride in the old man's voice, his proprietary tone. The laboratories had been his life and he would stay with them until he died. Dumarest looked over the edge of the raft at the long, barrack-like buildings, the warehouses, fences, towers, stockades. Animals grazed on lush vegetation, some looking up as the shadow of the raft darkened the ground before them.

"Prototypes?"

"Basic stock," explained his guide. "Ruminants, naturally, providing meat, hides, bone, horn-all the animal can be utilized. We adapt their germ plasm to various requirements as the need arises. Another of Armand's ideas-he figured it was better to have a selected basic than to develop from scratch at each order. For one thing we can fill a small demand and do it without waste of time."

"Yields?"

"That depends on the requirement." Sayer was pleased at the informed interest. "If you own ground on a rough, tough world you aren't interested in milk-yield as much as survival ability. You want your beasts to be able to live on local growths, withstand extremes of temperature, be aggressive enough to defend themselves against predators and breed fast enough to show a profit. From the basic stock we can provide all that. Gestation is four months and a calf is weaned in as many weeks. High metabolic factor for the initial period slows after maturity has been reached. A hide tough enough to withstand fire, thermal fat distribution to withstand cold, coat capable of rapid moult and regrowth and so adapted to short seasons. You can freeze those beasts in solid ice," he boasted. "Keep them frozen for a month and, as long as they can breath, they'll survive. They'll grow fat where other cattle will starve."

Dumarest said, "Adaptive triggers?"

"Naturally. When food is short a sterility factor operates to reduce fertility. Climatic change can slow gestation up to double the normal period or induce abortion if the foetus is newly established-these creatures have been designed to survive. You a stock farmer?"

"I've worked on such farms."

"Hunted, too, I guess." Sayer nodded his satisfaction. "You ask the right questions and I guess you know your business. Over there, now-" He pointed. "Behind that grove of trees. We're trying something new. Armand didn't bother with novelties," he explained. "He went for the basic needs; cattle for sustenance, beasts for riding, birds, fish, snakes, even. A snake can live in places a man can't and they make good, cheap eating. But Charisse wants to open new markets."

Dumarest remembered the creature he had fought. "For guards?"

"That and spectacle and for the hunting preserves. Take us down, Feld."

The driver of the raft turned in his seat. "You want to land?"

"No. Just take us down." Sayer pointed again as the man obeyed. "There! See?"

Beyond the trees rested long grass, an apparently lifeless swathe then, as Dumarest looked, he saw a long, loping shape, another, a dozen which reared to reflect the sunlight from pointed fangs. Dogs the size of ponies, their coats mottled in tawny camouflage.

"Guard dogs," explained Sayer. "A special order but we've found them useful for general patrol duties and are maintaining a stock pack. Their intelligence has been enhanced as has their group response. A pack will take orders and work in unison. Nothing really new in that, of course, dogs have been used to track and defend and hold and kill for millennia now, but we've increased their potential about as far as it will go. Want to take a closer look?"

The raft dropped as Dumarest nodded and he gripped the rail as, below, long bodies lifted to reveal the large, clawed feet, the well-muscled legs. The creatures sat after the initial leap, jaws gaping, eyes brightly watchful.

Dumarest said, "What if there were an accident and we crashed?"

"They won't kill," said the driver. "Not without a direct command. They'd just hold us until ordered to let us go by the captain. After dark it would be different." He lifted the raft a little as he spoke. "Then they have the kill command," he said. "No one can hope to break into the laboratory area."

"We guard our own," said the old man. "Vicious looking things, aren't they? Want to see something really unusual? Feld-take us to the teleths."

Another area, this time one set with circular huts, paths, small patches set with various crops. Dumarest looked for signs of human life and saw small figures standing in the shadow of trees. Pygmies? He narrowed his eyes as the raft dropped, lowering to come to a landing on a patch of grass.

"No dogs," said Sayer. "And don't worry about danger. I'll take care of it if anything should happen."

"With that?"

"A stunner." The guide hefted the thick-barreled weapon. "Throws the nervous system all to hell. They have a receptor engrafted in the skull and attached to the main ganglia. Not that we'll need it. The things are tranked all the time."

"Drugged?"

"An implant which affects the higher nerve centers. We maintain it unless special tests are needed. But for now I want to show you something." Sayer paused and looked toward the small figures. "Now."

For a long moment nothing happened then a group of the shapes came forward to stand at the edge of the patch of grass. Not human though they had a humanoid form-monkey-like things about four feet tall with large, staring eyes, crested skulls, a fine down covering hides of mousey gray. Their hands were slender each bearing three fingers and an opposed thumb. Their feet matched their hands. All appeared neuter.

"Sexual development has been arrested at the prepuberty stage," said the old man. "Physically they are large, undeveloped children, but can be adapted for breeding if the necessity should arise. At the moment we are checking out a new gene pattern aimed at achieving a rudimentary telepathic ability. Now watch. I'm going to have them split into two groups, one will pick up debris from the paths, the other from the grass."

He fell silent and, as far as Dumarest could see, made no signals of any kind. The group moved into two units each doing as he'd predicted.

"Telepathy," said Sayer. "I'm thinking the commands at them and they are responding. We've adapted them from a form of life found in the forests of Chalachia and once we get a few problems sorted out there's a market waiting for all we can produce. Servants," he explained. "Soft, gentle, cheap-they can live on a bowl of mush a day. Life span about a dozen years from gaining optimum physical development. Easily trained and directed-just think at them and they obey."

"Why not just teach them to talk?"

"Impossible-they lack any trace of a speech center in the cortex. In their natural state they are just animals; arboreal types living on fruit and bark and nuts. The telepathic ability is a gene addition which gives them about the only real value they have." Sayer stared at those working and, as one, they ceased their labors and returned to the shadow of the trees. "About the last thing Armand instigated."

Dumarest said. "I thought he was strictly utilitarian in his developments."

"He was but this resulted from an idea he had about the Original Man." The guide smiled at Dumarest's expression. "No, I'm not joking. Armand grew interested in old legends and myths and came up with the notion that, at one time, there would have had to have been a prototype for Mankind. He figured that we had degenerated from the prime stock and that certain organs such as the vermiform appendix, the pineal gland and the dead areas of the brain must once have had a useful function. If that was the case then we must have lost certain abilities and he wanted to restore them. Telepathy was something he thought could have been a lost attribute."

"So he tried to incorporate it into monkeys?"

"He just wanted to see if it could be done. Once the gene had been isolated and stabilized he would have incorporated it into his master chromosome map." Sayer shrugged. "Well, he died before he'd barely started. A pity-he'd deserved the relaxation of a hobby. I guess he just left it too late." He looked at the sky, the sullen ball of the lowering sun. "Like we're doing. We'd best get moving if I'm to get you back to the house before dark."