World of Promise

Chapter Eight

It was a place of peaked roofs set with spires around which twisted serpents carved from emerald stone. Decoration repeated in the gargoyles which guarded the corners, the felines set between soaring pillars, the array of birds which perched in frozen immobility on the walls. A motif reflected in the interior with vaulted chambers and echoing galleries, wide stairways and floors graced with elaborate mosiacs.

In his room Dumarest stared through a narrow, pointed window at the last glare of the dying sun, seeing the scud of low cloud burning crimson, the ground itself bearing the stain of spilled and drying blood. From somewhere came a distant howling and he remembered the dogs, the warning he had been given. It had been a warning, of that he had no doubt, one clumsily delivered but unmistakable all the same. To leave the house and to wander unescorted through the grounds meant death.

This was an odd way to treat a guest but everything had been odd since he had joined the ship on Ascelius. The turgid nature of his thoughts, the journey which had seemed too short even allowing for the convenience of quicktime. And after the landing when he had been given into the charge of Dino Sayer and taken on a tour of the establishment which had lasted until now. A means of keeping him from the house? Of keeping him under guard?

"My lord?" The girl was the one he had seen before or her twin. "Your bath is ready, my lord."

"Thank you." He spoke without turning.

"Do you wish my assistance?"

"No." He turned, his smile softening the refusal. "But I thank you for the offer. Were you on Podesta?" He saw the frown, the sudden bewilderment in the wide, vacuous eyes. "Never mind."

The bath matched his room, the tub made from a solid block of marble, smoothed and contoured to cradle the back and thighs. Water fumed from twin faucets adding to that drawn by the girl, perfume rising to thicken the air with pungent smells. From the molding running below the high groined roof carved beasts watched as he pulled the plug, flushed out the water and what it contained, refilled the tub with steaming, uncontaminated liquid. Immersed he relaxed.

Had the girl been the same?

Had the perfume been other than what it seemed?

Had he been kept from the house to avoid seeing who else enjoyed the hospitality of Charisse Chetame?

The questions increased the burden of the rest and he mulled them over in his mind as the hot water eased his body and tensions. It was good just to lie and relax. Good to refrain from worry, to drift, to dream, to let events take their course.

Why had the journey seemed so short?

Dumarest rolled and felt the water rise over him as he engulfed his head to hold it below the surface as a fire grew in his lungs. This grew into an overriding need for air to burst as water showered and he rose, gasping, chest heaving, steam rising from his body as he stepped from the tub to stand before a mirror. Vapor misted it and he cleared it with the edge of his palm.

Intently he examined his temple.

The wound had healed, the transparent covering replaced by a smooth expanse of skin marred only by an ebon fleck. A point of blackness he had seen before, but then it had rested close to the edge of damaged tissue. Tissue which had healed too fast. A clock which proved the journey had taken longer than it had seemed.

Drugs?

They would account for it; inducing long periods of sleep which he would imagine to be times of normal rest. But he had eaten little and that only the usual basic drawn from a communal spigot. Charisse had remained absent after their first meeting when she had dressed his wound. Water, like food, had come from a communal faucet. The air had been shared. What else remained?

Lifting his hands, he touched the point of darkness on his temple and felt something hard. Setting the nails of his thumbs to either side of the mote, he pressed as he squeezed them together. A touch of pain then the ebon fleck lifted to be caught on a thumbnail and carried to the level of his eyes. A small cylinder of something hard and gritty which had rested in his flesh like a splinter of wood.

He dropped it into the bowl and flushed it with a stream of water. The pressure of his nails had left small, angry indents to either side of a spot of crimson. More water washed away the blood and he massaged the flesh to remove the indents. Some redness remained as did the tiny wound and he stooped to search the side of the bath where it joined with the floor finding, as he'd expected, traces of dirt. A touch and the wound was sealed with dirt, fresh blackness simulating the implant. As he turned from the mirror he heard the scuff of sandals from the room outside and cried out as he hit the side of the tub with the heel of his hand.

"My lord?" The girl came running, eyes searching the bathroom. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"I heard-"

"I slipped." Dumarest lifted the hand he'd held to his temple. "Banged my head a little. It's nothing serious."

She examined him, "Just a little red, my lord. You were fortunate. Should I summon medical aid? Bring you astringents and ice? Cosmetics?"

Dumarest shook his head, wondering why the girl seemed incapable of making individual assessments. A woman would have demanded cosmetics, a man also if he belonged to a culture in which he would normally use them, but surely she must have noticed he wore no paint or powder?

"Are you sure, my lord?" She was eager to please.

"I'm sure." Dumarest added casually, "Are there many guests in the house?"

"My lord?"

"It's possible I know one of them." The hint was too vague and she made no response. "A friend of mine," he explained. "A tall man wearing a scarlet robe." Description enough for a cyber and to be too detailed would be to indulge in guesswork. Even as it was not all cybers were tall. "Well?"

"I'm not sure, my lord." Recollection was beyond her, and yesterday was an eternity away. Or else she had been ordered to act the simpleton. "But you'll see them all soon," she said brightly. "At the banquet. My lady sent me to warn you it commences in an hour's time."

Charisse sat at the head of the board, regal in her splendor, hair and throat alive with scintillant gems, a queen dispensing hospitality, the guests her devoted subjects, but Dumarest knew there was method in her generosity. The others at the table were buyers from various worlds come to purchase stock or place their needs for specialized forms. Agents of both sexes acted for wealthy consortiums or enlightened rulers, for supply houses or communities wanting to ease life on hostile planets.

Charisse had introduced them with a casual gesture.

"Earl, meet some friends of mine. Enrice, Cleo, Krantz- all of you, meet Earl Dumarest."

That had been before they had taken their places, time for casual drinks and conversation and less casual study. All seemed to be what they claimed; buyers who had waited patiently to get down to business and who now were about to relax over good food and wine.

"Your health, Charisse!" Enrice Helva, old, fat, a little ridiculous with his blouse of puffed and ornamented lace, his trousers of slashed and frilled satin, lifted his glass as he called the toast. "May your genius never wither!"

The wish was shared and for a moment there was silence.

"Charisse may-"

"No, Lunerach." She was firm. "Too many toasts will ruin appetites though I thank you for your good wishes. Now let us eat before we annoy the cook-a good chef is hard to find."

She had found one of the best and Dumarest watched as servants carried in a succession of dishes, each a minor work of art. The tastes matched the display and he helped to ruin castles, farms, boats, ranked armies, birds dressed in golden plumage, beasts formed of sugar and pastry and spices to form perfect miniature zoos. Over fruit and jellies and cakes made of pungent herbs and various flours the talk shifted and swung like a ship in a tormented sea.

"Eighteen," said Ienda Chao. "That's all they could afford, but I ask you! Eighteen when I knew the minimum had to be at least double that. With forty, I told them, you have a chance. With fewer none at all."

"So what happened?" Her neighbor cracked a nut and gnawed at the meat with strong, white teeth. "A wipeout?"

"What else? Every last beast was dead within a matter of weeks. They tried to blame me, said I'd bought bad stock, but that was ridiculous and they knew it. They paid the price of greed and ignorance. More stock would have been able to suffer the anticipated losses and left a residue for successful breeding."

"It happens." A woman dressed in somber black reached for a fruit and shredded the peel with glinting nails. "The expert is the last to be listened to. I sometimes wonder if greed robs the intelligence. What do you think, Earl?" Her eyes, darkly ringed with cosmetics, searched his face. "You've sat very quietly-nothing to say?"

"I prefer to listen."

"How nice for your companion-if she too is a good listener." She chuckled at her own jest. "Have you no opinions?"

"None of importance." Dumarest picked up a shard of cake and crumbled it between his fingers. "For one man greed is the desire to obtain more-for another it can be economic necessity."

A man facing him lifted his eyebrows. "Meaning?"

"Nothing, but what you may call greed could be simple lack of funds."

"Farmers!" A woman lower down the table shook her head. "You can't know them as I do, Earl. Always pleading poverty. Offer them good stock and they whine they can't afford the price. Warn them of potential risks and they'll swear you're trying to cheat them. Like Astin I know them too well."

"Especially the male ones, eh, Glenda?" Laughter followed the speaker's comment. "How many deals have you sealed in a barn?"

"As many as you, Corm, but at least I draw the line at cows."

More laughter and Dumarest guessed she had touched on a sore subject-the meat of an old joke. He sat back as the talk continued, uninterested in financial deals, stories of profits earned, of dangers avoided. Charisse noted his detachment.

"We are being discourteous," she said. "What has Dumarest to do with farms and stock? Has none of you any ideas of how to entertain him?"

"I could think of something." The woman in black smiled from where she sat. "Have we anything in common, Earl? Worlds we both know, for example? Pleasures we have both shared?"

"I doubt the first," he said dryly. "I'm not so sure about the second."

"Thank God for a man with a sense of humor," she said. "Charisse, where did you find him? If you ever get around to producing copies of him in your laboratory I'll be your first customer."

"Earl is unique, Linda. I'd like to keep him that way."

"I can't blame you." Her nails glinted as she reached for another fruit, a gleam which attracted his attention, focused his eyes. "You like them?" She extended her hands to show the metal implants. "I've found them useful at times."

"A harlot's trick," sneered Glenda. "You advertise yourself, my dear."

"You have no need, Glenda." The sneer was returned. "Everyone knows your weakness-or is it your depravity?"

"Bitch!"

Dumarest said, loudly, "I was interested in what Armand was trying to achieve. Sayer told me about it."

"The teleths?"

"No, why he developed them."

"The Original Man." Charisse held up a hand and a servant came to fill her glass with wine. A gesture and others attended to the guests. "Armand was certain we had devolved from a higher life form," she explained. "He worked on the theory that nature does not produce organs just to let them wither. The vermiform appendix, the pineal gland-are you with me?"

"If the appendix were functional we could live on cellulose," said Dumarest. He added, "There have been times when I would have found that most convenient."

"To live on grass?" Lina Ynya was quick with her comment. "Earl, you surprise me. Do you really mean that?"

"If you'd ever gone hungry on a world covered with bushes and grass you'd know I mean it. But the pineal gland?"

"Something left over like the appendix," said Charisse. "Some say it's the vestigial remains of a third eye. Can you imagine what it would be like to have three eyes? Think of the advantage you'd have over binocular vision."

"Would there be any?" Corm burped and hastily drank some wine. "The spice," he complained. "Your chef is too heavy with the spice. But to get back to eyes, Charisse, what advantage would a third one give?"

"Maybe it enabled its owner to see into the ultraviolet," suggested Krantz. He was big, solid, his head matted with a grizzle of hair. He added, frowning, "But would that really be an advantage? Of course, if the lens could be adjusted we'd have telescopic vision. That would be an aid to anyone."

"Couldn't you develop something like that yourself, Charisse?" said Vayne. "Build a superbeing. It could be fun?"

"Now you're talking about genetic manipulation," protested Glenda. "Armand was concerned with natural devolution. If we have devolved then from what?"

"Speculation." Astin signaled for more wine. "I've heard such fantasies before. The proposition that we are the products of a genetic engineer-a creature who took beasts and fashioned them into men. In the light of Charisse's achievements is that such an impossible conception? Of course it gives rise to further speculation-who and what was this supposed manipulator? Where did it come from and what happened to it? Did we, Mankind, get out of hand and turn against our creator?" He drank and chuckled at the conception. "Now where have I heard that before?"

In legends, the stuff in which Boulaye had delved, in which Armand Chetame had dealt. A myth Charisse had casually mentioned-or had it been casual? Dumarest glanced at her where she sat, face misted with winking gleams, hair a mass of supporting stars. If bored she gave no sign of it but he had the impression that, like a puppet master, she was manipulating them all.

Now she said, "We have talked enough about my specialty for a while. Let us change the subject. As I recall, Ienda, you mentioned a game before dinner."

"I did?" Ienda had a smooth, pleasant face which now crinkled in thought. "Was it something to do with testing mental ability?"

"Logic. You said it was an exercise in logic which showed how wrong logic can be."

"I remember! It's a game I used to play as a child. No matter what was proposed the answer was always the same. One arrived at by logical deduction."

Lunerarch spoke for the first time since his attempt to propose a toast. "An example, my dear? Can you give us an example?"

"Let me think." She did so, frowning. "Take a beehive. A hive is a dwelling for a number of separate units. In order to live in close proximity units must live in a building. Therefore a hive is a building. A building is a house. You see?" Her triumph was short-lived. "Oh! I didn't give the key word. It was 'house,' of course."

"And everything comes back to house?" Astin was dubious. "Let me see, now. No matter what I say, what word I give you, it all comes to the same, right?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll give you a word. Fish."

"Fish?"

"That's right." He beamed his victory. "You want to back out?"

"No, but I'll take a wager. Even money I don't fail?" She smiled as he nodded. "Three hundred?" Her smile grew wider as, again, he agreed. "Fish? Let me think for a moment. Yes, I have it. A fish has silver scales. A silver-scaled fish is a silverfish. A silverfish lives in a house. Anything which lives in a house is a part of that house. Therefore a fish is a house."

"That's cheating." Enrice Heva shook his head in mock disapproval. "Ienda, you disappoint me."

"It isn't cheating, it's logic," she said. "Can I help it if logic itself is a cheat?"

"A cheat?" The woman in black gave a throaty chuckle. "Not a house?"

"Linda, be charitable, it's only a game."

"So you won't expect to be paid," said Astin. "The bet was a part of the game too."

"Everything is a game. Life, the universe, all a game." Vayne blinked as he reached for his goblet and it toppled beneath his hand. Ruby wine stained the cloth, sent little runnels between the scattered dishes. "How did that happen?"

"Bad coordination," said Charisse. A servant came to swab up the spilled wine at her signal. "You misjudged time, distance and application."

Which, thought Dumarest, was a neat way of telling a man he was drunk.

Time passed, servants coming to clear the table of all but the decanters, the glasses, the bowls of nuts and tiny biscuits, the morsels which cleansed the mouth of present flavors with a diversity of their own. Things to punctuate the conversation as the entertainment divided the topics.

"Clever!" Linda clapped with languid enjoyment as a trio of jugglers made their exit from the hall. "But I think I liked the singer more."

He had been tall and darkly handsome with a voice as clear as a bell and a tonal range which caused it to throb like an organ to rise shrilling as a bird. A virtuoso followed by a dancer with a body of lithe grace, a teller of yarns of questionable taste, a harpist, a girl who played a flute.

Items forgotten as soon as enjoyed as were the wine, the morsels. Dumarest selected one, crushed it between his teeth and felt his mouth fill with a blend of flowers and bees. Another yielded the fragrance of the sea. A third burned with searing spice.

A gamble taken and lost, the forfeit a gulp of cooling wine.

Others paid the price without having lost the game but, he noted, Charisse remained in icy aloofness, her seat at the head of the table the position of control. Even as he watched he saw her signal to one of the servants, a gesture which resulted in the girl moving from one to the other with a tray of small glasses each filled with a lambent fluid.

Taking one Astin lifted it with a mocking smile.

"To the death of pleasure," he said carefully. "To the magic of science!"

Linda, her words more slurred, echoed the sentiment. Drinking, she sat, eyes closed, the empty glass in her hand; then, shuddering, she smiled.

"You bitch," she said clearly. "You laced the medicine with something horrible. If it weren't too late I'd rather have stayed tipsy."

"Instead of which you are sober, my dear," leered fat old Enrice Heva. "And forgetful too, I hope?"

"My door will be unlocked," she retorted. "But if the wrong man comes through he'll regret it."

"And the right one, my dear?"

"Hell know." Her eyes rested on Dumarest. "If he doesn't he will before long."

An invitation openly and unmistakably extended-was she as sober as she seemed? Was any of them? Drunkenness could stem from other sources than alcohol and what had been added to the morsels, dusted on the nuts and biscuits?

"Earl?" Charisse leaned forward in her chair. "You haven't drunk the restorative."

He didn't need it and didn't intend drinking it but it was better to pretend than refuse. He masked the glass in his hand, setting it untouched down among others still full. If the girl holding the tray noticed the deception she made no sign.

"Now," said Charisse. "Let us play another game, a serious one this time. I want you to specify the perfect man."

"Armand's ideal," said Astin. "Well, why not? Do you want me to begin? We need strength, stamina, an efficient energy to food ratio, good sensory apparatus, deft manipulative ability, a wide temperature tolerance, protection and offensive weaponry and-" He frowned. "Have I left anything out?"

"I don't think so but I may remember something."

"A man," said Krantz. "We are talking about a man."

"Novaman," said Astin. "The new man. How should he be designed? For strength we need powerful muscles which in turn calls for massive bones for anchorage. But heavy bones show a diminishing return in relation to agility and massive bulk needs a higher intake of food to maintain efficiency. There has to be an optimum balance."

"No flying," said Vayne. "A strong bone structure rules that out-the weight factor is against it. Swimming, climbing, easy mobility can all be gained by using accepted patterns. But there has to be something more than an extra efficient man. A new method of energy intake, for example. And, now that I think about it, I'm not too sure about the wings. Flying men are common in legend." He appealed to his hostess. "Charisse-can it be done?"

"Efficiently? No."

"The bone weight?"

"Is, as you say, against it. In any case it would restrict our creature to a limited environment. Earl?"

He said, "I'm not a genetic engineer."

"Neither are your companions but they do not hesitate to give their views. Surely you, with your knowledge and experience of various worlds, have some ideas of your own?"

"I mentioned one."

"An active appendix. Nothing else?"

"A fighter would naturally think of a better fighter as superior," said Linda. "A lover someone with better abilities than his own." She ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. Pouting, it glistened with the applied moisture. "Which are you, Earl? A fighter? A lover? A blend of both?"

"He'd need to be a hero to take on a strumpet like you." Enrice Heva, smarting at her rejection, took a belated revenge. "Do what you like with your door, Linda, I'll gamble a thousand to one he'll not try to open it."

"Shut your mouth," she said with cold venom. "Insult me again and you'll regret it."

"Enough!" Charisse slammed her hand down hard on the table. "This bickering gains nothing. Now, Earl, give us your idea of the perfect being."

"For the answer to that all you need to do is talk to a monk."

"The Church?" He had surprised her. "What could those beggars know of life? They skulk and preach the doctrine of Universal Brotherhood and enjoy their privation. What do they know of life?"

"The bad side."

"Earl?"

"They've seen it all." Dumarest picked up his glass and tilted it so the ruby wine it contained trembled on the verge of spilling. "The pain and hunger and sacrifice," he said. "The frustration and thwarted desires and the desperation." A drop of wine fell from the glass to splash on the table. "And, the most terrible of all, the death of hope."

"And?"

"They would tell you to create a being who is kind. One who is gentle. A creature who has thought and concern for others. Something which has the imagination to realize the results of its actions. The shape is unimportant. The agility, the strength of body and bone, the stamina, the ability to run or swim or fly. All it would need is tolerance. It's most important organ a heart."

The woman in black said gently, "But Earl, how long would such a creature last?"

"In the jungles we have created? Not long." Dumarest sent more wine to follow the initial drop, a thin stream of metaphorical blood which splashed to run writhing streams. A theatrical gesture which held their attention, their eyes. "If we were created by some alien genetic engineer as you have speculated then, if it intended to fashion monsters, it has done well." The rest of the wine gushed to be spread by the falling glass. "Think of what you do," he said. "Of what you permit others to do. Then look into a mirror and see the shape of a beast."

You'll see intelligence and understanding take the essence of life and create monsters and freaks and cripples doomed to misery, they and their children after them in an endless dynasty of pain. In the wine he could see the dim shapes of the teleths-pathetic beings made for use as toys. The dogs, the thing he had fought, the things he had seen. Wine and shattered glass spattered from beneath the hand he slammed on the table.

"Earl!" Charisse had risen, was leaning toward him, one hand lifted to signal. "Earl-are you ill?"

"No." He took a deep, shuddering breath, followed it with another. The sudden rage subsided, the blackness edging his vision receding so he could see the startled faces of his fellow guests. "A momentary indisposition," he said, and twisted his lips into a smile. "If any are offended I apologize." He lightened his tone. "The wine is stronger than I thought."

A weak excuse but one they accepted. It had been a mistake not to have drunk the restorative. Whatever was in it must have neutralized the compounds they had been fed. Drugs to induce hostility, overt sexuality, vulgar humor. A game, he realized. Charisse was triggering emotions to the surface for her inspection. Why had she guided the talk to a superior man?

Linda said, "You've answered my question, Earl. A fighter without a doubt. I saw murder in your face just then."

"Does not every lover kill a little?" Astin was cynical. "Charisse, your entertainment grows stronger each time we meet. One day, perhaps, it will get too strong."

But not while she had guards at her call. Dumarest looked at his palm, the wine staining it, the shallow gash at the base of one finger. Small payment for a stupid act-he'd been luckier than he deserved.

Charisse said, "We have talked about a superior being and yet never have we mentioned how such a creature is to be tested. Do we all agree that, in the final essence, the ability to survive is all-important?"

Vayne said, "Can there be any doubt?"

"None, but I wanted you to admit it. As I want you now to know that I have created just such a creature." She stilled the storm of comment. "No, later you may see it, but not now. But I am in the mood for a wager. You will agree that I know my trade? That if I say the thing I have fashioned is as good as can be devised I can be trusted to know what I'm talking about?"

Astin said, "Your point, Charisse?"

"If you so agree you will not hesitate to back it to win. Agreed?"

"The terms?"

"If it wins I will supply copies at basic cost. If it fails I will take your cash. Two thousand each, I think, would be fair. Earl-"

He said flatly, "No."

"You refuse?"

"To fight, yes."

"A pity. Must I remind you that you are in my debt?"

"For the cost of a passage. I admit it."

"For your life, Earl." She paused then repeated. "For your life. A debt now to be cleared. Fight my creature and, if you win, you owe me nothing."

And he would gain no more than he had. If he was forced to entertain then he would demand his fee. She frowned as he told her what it was.

"The library? You want access to the library?"

"To that and to Armand's personal files. The material he collected in his investigation into the old legends." As she nodded he said sharply, "You agree?"

"Of course."

He felt himself relax, tension leaving him as if it were water pouring from an open faucet. All that remained now was to fight, to win, to gain the secret he had come to find and to be on his way.