The Complete Dumarest, page 118
Would a Ghenka normally be carrying a high-powered ultra-radio of expensive make? A gift, she had said, but from whom? And why?
“You are troubled, Earl,” she whispered. “Let me sing to you. Not all my songs are sad. I can create joy and passion and even forgetfulness. Listen!”
She began to hum, the soft tone rising, breaking into a ripple of cadences, words beginning to emerge, honeyed as they spoke of love and the satiation of desire. She caught his frown and, without breaking the song, immediately altered the pitch and rhythm, the words still soft and honeyed but now whispering of other things. Of home and a fire and the laughter of children. Of winds across an empty space and the triumph of growth. Another slight adjustment and he felt himself begin to sink into a reverie shot with mental images of an endless quest, of endless stars, of hardship and fulfillment to be achieved. And, always, beneath the words, the song, was the recognition of aching loneliness and the promise that it would be eased.
Unsteadily he said, “Enough, Mayenne.”
Her hand touched his cheek, soft, gentle, the fingers trailing in a lingering caress.
“Earl, my darling. So long have I sought you. So much have I needed you. Do not leave me now.”
He sank beneath the weight of her body and felt her warmth, her sudden hunger and consuming need. The scent of her perfume was a cloud accentuating his induced desire and his hands rose and touched the line of her back and shoulders, the helmet of her hair.
“Mayenne!”
The light died as she touched a switch and then there was only darkness, the lilting, singing whisper of her voice, the soft, demanding pressure of her silken flesh.
* * *
The bodies were gone, the mess, the smashed lights and crystal of the caskets. Even the floor had been cleaned of blood and ichor so that the hold seemed as if it had never witnessed pain and death and violent struggle. Dumarest raised a lid of one of the cabinets, sheet metal instead of the normal transparency, and felt the gush of frigid air rise from the interior. He closed the lid and switched on the mechanism, watching the temperature gauge as it fell. Satisfied, he moved to the others, testing each in turn. Again he moved down the line, this time checking to make sure the warming eddy currents were working at optimum efficiency. Finally he accepted the fact that the caskets, at least, were fully operational.
The generator was something else.
He paused in the engine room and glanced at the dismantled parts lying in neat array on the bench. Kara looked up from a sheaf of blueprints and nodded a welcome.
“Earl, satisfied with the hold?”
“It’s as good as it will ever be.”
“I wish I could say the same about this damned engine.” The officer sounded as tired as he looked. Lines were graven on his normally smooth face and his eyes were sore, bloodshot.
Dumarest said, “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“Later.”
“There’s nothing that can’t wait a while. Anyway, the Qualish brothers can handle things while you rest.”
“They get on my nerves,” said Kara. “They might be good engineers, but when it comes to repairing a machine all they can think of is replacements. Hell, to listen to them you’d think we had a factory just around the corner. They can’t seem to get it into their thick heads that we have to make do with what we have.”
“You’re tired,” said Dumarest.
“Sure I’m tired, but what has that got to do with it?” Kara shrugged as he met Dumarest’s eyes. “So I’m being unfair,” he admitted. “They aren’t ship engineers and they can’t help the way they think. And, from their point of view, they are right. The parts do need replacing. In fact we need a whole new generator and we’ll get one as soon as we can—if we can.”
Dumarest caught the note in the officer’s voice.
“If?”
“It’s bad, Earl. You’re an officer now, so I’ll give it to you straight. I think the Qualish brothers may have guessed, but they haven’t said anything. If we get that generator going it will be a miracle.”
“As bad as that?”
“I think so. Do you know anything about an Erhaft generator? They’re factory-assembled and turned and they aren’t meant to be torn apart The worst that usually happens to them is that they get out of phase, but always there’s a warning. Sometimes a ship is lucky to make a landing, but that’s because some greedy captain pushes it hard and takes one chance too many. But that’s about all.”
Dumarest said, “Not quite. Sometimes an engine will fail.”
“That’s true,” said Kara grimly. “But when it does no one knows anything about it. The ship just vanishes. Sometimes the collapsing field volatilizes the structure; if it doesn’t the ship just drifts until the end of time. We didn’t volatilize. One day, maybe, we’ll form the part of another legend, a ghost ship which carries a crew of skeletons on a trip from nowhere to the same place. Something for people to talk about when they’ve nothing better to do. Hell, man, you’ve heard a dozen similar yarns in your time.”
“Often,” said Dumarest. “But we’re not going to become one.”
Kara made a sound deep in his throat. Fatigue and despondency had colored his mood. He gestured to the dismantled generator.
“Look at it,” he said flatly. “When that damned beast hit it was like shooting a bullet into a chronometer. The impact damage was bad enough, but when the energy went it really messed things up. We’ve stripped the whole thing and checked each part against the specifications. Most can be used, a few can be salvaged, but some will have to be replaced. Our spares are limited and will have to be adapted. The wiring is no problem and we can do something about the wave-guides, but the crystals are something else. From what I can see we are going to need three of them. They have to be the exact size, shape and structure. Tell me how to get them and I’ll tell you when we can reach Selegal.”
“Grow them?” suggested Dumarest. “Possible?”
“It’s how they are made,” admitted Kara. “But that would take equipment and measuring devices we haven’t got. Try again.”
“Is it possible to adapt or improvise?” Dumarest frowned, thinking, conscious of his lack of specialized knowledge. “An ultra-radio contains the same type of crystal, doesn’t it? Would it be possible to assemble them in some way so as to regenerate the Erhaft field?”
He shrugged as he saw Kara’s expression.
“I’m not an engineer and I’m shooting in the dark. I don’t know what to suggest; all I am certain about is that, if you admit defeat, none of us has a chance. Now why don’t you get some sleep? A tired mind is useless when it comes to solving a tough problem. You could make a mistake, overlook something, do irreparable damage.” His tone hardened a little. “You put me in charge of the passengers, but you’re as human as they are. Are you going to walk to your cabin or do I have to carry you?”
“Insubordination, Earl?”
“No, Kara, good sense and you know it. Now tell me what has to be done and then get some rest.”
Kara sighed, admitting defeat. “All right, Earl, I’ll do as you say. But if you can’t find me those crystals there is only one thing to be done.” He paused, then added softly, “You can pray. I can’t think of anything else.”
Chapter Five
Lolis smiled and looked at the men gathered around the table in the salon, Harg, Chom, the silent Gorlyk. She breathed deeply, inflating her chest, conscious of their eyes. Chom purred as he gestured to a place at his side.
“Be seated, my lady.”
Like the others he looked tired, worried, his eyes sunken in the puffiness of his cheeks. Against them Lolis was newly-risen, the effects of quick-time barely worn off, her eyes fresh and body relaxed from sleep and rest.
She said, “Where is Dumarest?”
“At his duties.” Harg riffled his cards for want of something better to do.
“Do we need him, my lady?” Again Chom gestured his invitation. “I would offer you wine but things are not as they should be. Daroca has become morose and our new steward, or should I say stewardess, is careful of the supplies. But we have cards and conversation and they are enough to while away the tedious hours. Come, sit beside me and I will tell you of an adventure I had on a planet circling a triple sun. The girls held the power on that world and followed a strange courtship. I was younger then, and handsome in my fashion. I also owned jewels of rare value. Had I not been careless I might have ruled there yet.”
He paused, waiting for her invitation to continue, but she had no time for boring reminiscences.
Harg said, “Your guard is dead, did you know?”
“And Bitola also.” She was casual. “Yes, the old hag told me.”
“And four other men,” continued the gambler. “The ship damaged and others hurt. Was it worth it to see the beast?”
He was being unfair but her casualness annoyed him. That and her arrogance. The incident was an unpleasant memory, for her to be swiftly forgotten; her only regret was at the loss of a servant and amusing companion. The cards made an angry rasp in his hands. Perhaps, if he could persuade her to play, some of the gems of which she was so enamored would fall his way.
The prospect entranced him: to be rich, with money enough to take up Mari’s proposal, a half-share in a profitable enterprise. He could forget the acid taste of fear in his mouth. He had been on spaceships too long not to have recognized the danger of their position. The rest might believe that all would be well, but he had seen the captain and could read Kara’s expression. A little more luck, he prayed. One last safe planetfall, a little money to see him through and he would be content.
He looked up as Mari entered the salon. She was bedraggled, her hands showing marks of labor, and she stood glaring at the girl.
“So you’ve finally decided to join us,” she snapped. “Didn’t I tell you to start work in the kitchen?”
Lolis shrugged. “I am not a servant.”
“And you think I am?” Mari fumed her temper. “Listen, girl; this is one time you have to earn your keep. Things need to be done. The men want a soft bed when they have finished their labors and they can’t be expected to prepare their own food and take care of their cabins. So get to it.”
“I am not a servant,” repeated Lolis stubbornly. “And how long does it take to prepare basic? How long to make a bed?”
“Try it and find out.”
“Not long,” said the girl. “I have been trained in order to maintain a palace. In my father’s house the servants were never idle. You are quite capable of doing what needs to be done. And,” she added with a sneer, “you should be used to making beds.”
“Bitch!”
“Hag!”
“By God,” said Mari, shaking with rage. “If I had you in one of my houses I’d take the skin from your back. I’d teach you manners, you chit. I’d have you crawl and beg forgiveness. I’d break your spirit.”
“Mari!” Harg was concerned. Selegal was far from Ayette, but assassins could be hired and the girl was of the type to bear a grudge. “She is tired,” he said to Lolis. “She doesn’t mean what she says. You must forgive her, forgive us all. This has been a time of great strain.”
“She is old,” whispered Chom. “And jealous. You understand?”
It pleased her to be gracious. Smiling, Lolis said, “You have good friends, old woman. On Ayette I would have my husband teach you a lesson you would never forget. Now bring me food, quickly.”
“When it is time.”
“I said immediately.”
She had gone too far. Lolis knew it as Mari advanced toward her, hands lifted, fingers hooked to rip at mouth and eyes. Her face had hardened into an animal-mask of sheer, vicious ferocity and the girl looked at death and worse than death, the ruining of the beauty of which she was so proud.
“No!” she said, backing away. “Touch me and I’ll tell Dumarest.”
“You think he’d care?”
“He loves me!”
The effrontery of it stopped Mari as nothing else could, turning her sudden anger into ribald amusement.
“You? A man like that in love with you? Girl, you dream.”
“I saw him,” said Lolis. “He looked into my cabin and I could read his eyes. Had I been fully awake he would not have left me.”
She meant it, decided Mari. A twist of the imagination, a wish-image born of half sleep and boredom and perhaps a little more. He had rejected her, and such an unpleasant memory could not be tolerated. And so she had built a fantasy which fear and terror had brought into the open. That and perhaps something more. She wanted Dumarest to be in love with her so that, perhaps, she could take revenge for the imagined slight.
A child, Mari thought, and I was going to treat her as I would a woman. But even children had to learn.
Aloud she said, “Girl, you forget something. Days have passed while you were dreaming under quick-time. Earl is with the Ghenka.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Why not? Because you are a woman and you are here and, to you, no other woman could beat you at your own game? Earl is a man, child; what would he want with a stupid girl? The Ghenka wanted him and I think she is in love with him. He could be in love with her. Why not? They make a good pair.”
There was a note of wistfulness in her voice, caught by Harg if no one else; then he saw the look in Chom’s eyes and knew he wasn’t alone. But the entrepreneur was subtle. Instead of the anticipated jest, cruel because of its truth, he said, “Mari, you are overtired… My lady, the journey is not yet over and who can tell what tomorrow may bring? As every gambler knows, the one who wins today can lose all in a matter of hours. And,” he added meaningfully, “few men enjoy the fruit which falls too easily into the hand.”
The message was plain enough for even Lolis to understand. She was young, nubile, fresh, rich and lovely. Earl had taken what was at hand. Now, when he had a choice, he would be hers for the asking. And why not? With Hera safely out of the way, who was to bear tales? The entrepreneur could be bought, Harg threatened, Mari accused of spite and Gorlyk…?
Deliberately she sat beside him and rested her hand on his arm.
“We have been strangers for too long,” she murmured. “Tell me about yourself.”
* * *
In the control room Seleem was dying. He sat slumped in his chair, face waxen, breathing shallowly, the air rasping in his chest and throat. Sweat dewed his features and Mayenne wiped it away with a scrap of scented fabric. He smiled his thanks weakly.
Dumarest stared bleakly at him, knowing there was nothing he could do. The internal injuries he had suffered had been more serious than they had imagined. Splintered ribs, perhaps, lacerating the lungs. Or a ruptured spleen—he had no way of telling. Slow-time had cleared his mind, but it would take more than rest to mend his body.
“You must eat,” said Mayenne to the captain. “Please try to take something. Daroca has some food of his own which could tempt your appetite.”
“Later.”
Helplessly, she looked at Dumarest The subdued light caught the bronze of her hair, filling it with little splinters of brilliance so that she seemed to be wearing a helmet of burnished metal. She had changed her dress, sensing, with her womanly intuition, that scarlet disturbed him. Now she wore a gown which matched the color of her hair. It too caught the light, the glow and the starshine from the screens, adding to the illusion that she was a warrior dressed in glinting mail.
Dumarest said, “Captain, we need you and your skill. You must take food.”
“The philosophy of a traveler,” Seleem said softly. “Eat while you are able because you can never be sure when the opportunity will arise again.” He coughed with a liquid gurgling and blood showed at his lips. “Later.”
“Earl,” whispered Mayenne. “Is there nothing we can do?”
A doctor could have operated, repaired the broken body and used the magic of slow-time to accelerate healing, keeping the captain unconscious and artificially fed. But Dumarest lacked the necessary skill and the ship was not equipped for such treatment. The only thing he could do, the normal practice in such cases, was to freeze the captain in one of the caskets until they could reach proper facilities.
But Seleem was needed at the controls. And the captain refused to abandon his command. He said weakly, “Report on the condition of the generator.”
“Kara has reassembled what he could. Now he and the Qualish brothers are trying to find some way to replace the ruined crystals.”
“Kara is a good man,” said Seleem. “Not as good an engineer as Grog, but he will do his best.”
“I know that,” said Dumarest.
“A good man,” repeated Seleem.
He fell silent, brooding, regretting past mistakes. He should have killed the beast instead of trying to recapture it. He should not have used so many of his crew. He should have run from the door or closed it earlier. He had been greedy and now he was dying and the ship was dying with him. They would all die.
Dumarest said, “Mayenne?”
“Yes, Earl?” She followed him as he moved toward the door of the control room. “Is there something you want me to do?”
“Stay with him.” He glanced to where the captain sat facing his instruments, the screens. “Get him to eat. Keep him alive and, more important, keep him from dying before his time. We need his skills. If Kara ever gets that generator working he will have to stay by it Seleem is the only navigator we have.”
“I understand.”
“Daroca has done his best, but Seleem seems easier with you. Perhaps you could sing to him.” He paused and added, “Happy songs. He must be kept cheerful.”
“All my songs are happy ones now, my darling.” Her arms lifted, closed around his neck and pulled his face closer to her own. Her lips were soft and gentle, then firmed with rising passion. “I love you, Earl. I love you. My life is yours. Remember that.”
Her life, her love—for what little time remained.
Dumarest closed the door behind him, his face bleak as he heard the wash of static from the radio, the empty, eerie sound. And then came the notes of her song, soft, warmly human, a mother crooning to her child, a woman to her lover. Comfort for the dying captain, his tormented mind eased with induced imagery.
