Dumarest - The Terridae Part 16

"Yes, Master."

The screen died and Lin made a mental note to recommend Hulse's elevation. The acolyte had showed his ability and demonstrated his efficiency. No wasted words. No repet.i.tion of the obvious. If he had arranged for the transfer to be handled correctly he would be ready for the final tests.

Lim checked the last of the papers and set them in their file.

Now he had nothing to do but wait and yet not even a moment should be wasted. Dumarest was in custody; soon he would be on his way to the vessel and, once inside, his journeying would be over. Drugged, bound, locked in a cell, he would be helpless to escape. Not even his clothes had been left to him and, almost naked, what could he do?

Rising, the cyber crossed the salon and made his way to his cabin. Here, on the s.h.i.+p, there was no need for an acolyte tostand guard but even so he locked the door before activating the broad band he wore on his left wrist. Mechanisms within the wide bracelet created a zone of electronic privacy which no prying eye or ear could penetrate. Lying on the narrow cot, Lim stared at the ceiling. To wait or to report?

The temptation to wait was strong but even stronger was the experience he knew awaited him. He had cause-it was his duty to report, and the charge of inefficiency could be laid against him if he did not. To wait was to seek personal aggrandizement.

Relaxing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the Samatchazi formulae. Gradually he lost the power of his senses; had he opened his eyes he would have been blind. Locked in the confines of his skull, his brain ceased to be irritated by external stimuli. It became a thing of pure intellect, its reasoning awareness its only thread of life. Only then did the engrafted h.o.m.ochon elements become active. Rapport quickly followed.

Lim became vibratingly alive.

He felt himself expand to fill the universe while remaining a part of it. s.p.a.ce was filled with light: sparkles which spun and created abstract designs and yet had a common center. One to which he was drawn, to be engulfed in the tremendous gestalt of minds which rested at the heart of the headquarters of the Cyclan. There, buried beneath miles of rock, set deep in the heart of a lonely planet, the Central Intelligence absorbed his knowledge like a sponge sucking up water. There was no verbal communication, only a mental communion in the form of words: quick, almost instantaneous, organic transmission against which the speed of light was the merest crawl.

The rest was sheer intoxication.

There was always this moment during which the h.o.m.ochon elements sank back into quiescence and the machinery of the body began to realign itself to the dictates of the mind. Lim drifted in an ebon nothingness, a limbo in which he sensed strange memories and unlived situations-sc.r.a.ps of overflow from other intelligences, the discarded waste of other minds.A taste of the heaven he hoped to achieve.

Volodya said, "This is it. Go through that door and wait." He hesitated then held out his right hand, palm upward. "If we don't meet again-"

"You did your duty." Dumarest touched the proffered palm with his own. "Have no regrets."

The man had done what he could and more than what he had needed to have done. Dumarest stepped from him toward the door, hearing a shout from down the pa.s.sage where a small group stood blocked by guards.

"Give the word, Earl, and we won't let you go!"

Medwin? The face was lost as others surged forward and Dumarest sensed the rising hysteria. A moment and they would break through the cordon. A word of encouragement and they would defend him with their lives.

And Zabul would be destroyed.

"Hold it!" Dumarest faced them, both hands upraised.

"Everything's under control," he said. "Just relax and stop worrying. I'll be fine. Just break up and get back to work." He added, to give greater rea.s.surance, "I'll be back."

"You promise?"

Medwin again? Dumarest couldn't be certain but he felt the impact of Volodya's eyes.

"You want me to sign it in blood?" Dumarest smiled as he asked the question. "Just break it up now. Trust Volodya."

As he had trusted Althea-had she let him down?

The room was what he had expected: a chamber with a door at the far end, a table in the center now bearing a tray of wine and cakes with matching goblets. Dumarest looked at them, then at the empty chamber. Empty but, he guessed, not un.o.bserved.Someone, somewhere, would be checking his every move and he would be making a fatal mistake to forget it.

The far door, as he'd expected, was locked and he returned to the table to pour himself a little wine and to pick up one of the cakes. He was clumsy and it fell from his hand to land on the floor. Stopping, he picked it up, throwing a quick glance at the underside of the table, feeling relief as he saw a familiar object held by a wad of gekko-plastic at the far end.

His knife-Althea had not let him down.

Dumarest rose and sat at the table, sipping his wine and slowly eating the cake. Casually he lowered his hands beneath the table, found the knife, pulled it free and let his fingers drift over the comforting metal. The blade with its curves, razor-sharp edges, the needle point, the scarred guard, the worn hilt which ended in a pommel held by a narrow line of weld. Holding the hilt in one hand, Dumarest twisted the pommel with the other, a surge of energy carefully masked, and the pommel spun free to expose the hollowed interior of the hilt to his questing fingers.

The two halves of the affinity twin fell into his palm.

He held them beneath his thumb while he replaced the pommel and thrust the knife back against the clinging plastic. It was hard to hide his relief. He had hidden the weapon in the one place Althea would be certain to know, throwing the gun he had s.n.a.t.c.hed from the guard into the reclamation plant as a decoy.

That seemed to have worked-Volodya hadn't mentioned the missing knife.

Why was he being left alone so long?

The cyber would be eager to have him safe and he had delayed as long as he could, telling Volodya it would make things easier for Althea to quiet the crowd but in reality to gain her time to recover the knife and plant it beneath the table. To get her to do other things, too, but they were of less importance.

"Earl!" Nubar Kusche entered the room through the door which had been locked. "I heard-man, why do it?""I've no choice."

"We could fight-no." Kusche scowled, deep lines marring the round plumpness of his face, the s.p.a.ce between his eyes. "They'd wreck Zabul and you'd still be taken. But there must be something we can do. That bomb?"

"Isn't going to work." Beneath the edge of the table Dumarest fingered the two ampules. Each was tipped with a hollow needle and one was red while the other was green. Colors he couldn't see but the red had a ridged surface while the green was smooth.

"But you know that already."

"I know-what the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"I checked the detonator," said Dumarest. "Is that enough?"

"You should have died," said Kusche bitterly. "Gone out in a puff of glory and taken that d.a.m.ned s.h.i.+p with you. As soon as you primed the bomb it should have been over." He frowned, realizing the significance of what he was saying. "You checked,"

he said slowly. "That means you didn't trust me."

"No."

"But-"

"You put on a good act," said Dumarest. "But as I told you you're an entrepreneur, not a gambler, and following that casket was nothing but a gamble. And you were too vague about having been knocked out with gas while in your bunk-why should the Huag-Chi-Tsacowa have gone to that trouble? They have ethics.

They would never have betrayed their client like that."

"The Cyclan-"

"Yes," said Dumarest. "The Cyclan." The green ampule was against his wrist and he pressed, feeling the needle bury itself into his flesh. A tiny spark of pain which told of the dominant half of the affinity twin entering his body to move through it and settle at the base of his cortex. "A chance," he said. "One you took for pay and the prospect of high reward. But if the Cyclanhad been on Caval and known I was in that casket it would never have been s.h.i.+pped out."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You smart, cunning b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Kusche paused, fighting his anger. "I could have sold you," he said. "I would have sold you but you took care of that. The Cyclan will never believe I don't know the secret and they'll kill me for a reason I'll never know. So you have to die, you can see that, can't you? The bomb would have done it clean but there are other ways. No!" He stepped back, his right hand lifting as Dumarest reached for the decanter. "Back off-I mean it! Touch that wine and I'll burn you! I know how d.a.m.ned fast you are!"

Dumarest halted the movement of his hand, lifted the other to scratch idly at his scalp-thrusting the red ampule deep into his hair. How to reach Kusche without inviting death from the laser in his hand?

Dumarest looked at it, small but lethal at short range, a sleeve-gun favored by gamblers and women of a certain kind.

But Kusche had owned no such weapon. Where had he got it?

"Does it matter?" The man shrugged when Dumarest asked.

"Zabul is a world full of odd things. Now stand up. Up, d.a.m.n you! Step from that table! Move!"

He made the mistake of gesturing with the weapon and Dumarest s.n.a.t.c.hed his chance. The wine spilled in a golden stream from the decanter as it spun whirling through the air. A missile Kusche dodged, firing as he sprang to one side, the sear of the laser leaving a scorched patch on a wall. He fired again as a goblet smashed against his forehead, small shards creating minor lacerations. A third time as, ducking, Dumarest s.n.a.t.c.hed at his arm.

It was like grabbing a rod of steel.

The plumpness held muscle, as he had guessed, and Kusche was fighting for his life. Dumarest had no chance to s.n.a.t.c.h the red ampule from his hair, to use it, to take over Kusche as he'd intended. He ducked again as fingers stabbed at his eyes, struckback in turn, twisted to avoid the knee which smashed upward toward his groin, feeling the impact against his thigh.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Kusche had forgotten the laser in his anger. "You dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Again his knee stabbed upward, this time missing completely.

Dumarest turned, caught Kusche by the arm, slammed his stiffened palm against the bicep and heard the dull thud as the laser hit the floor. Releasing the arm, he jammed his palm up beneath the other man's chin, felt the jar and shock of a returned blow, and weaved to avoid another.

As the fist pa.s.sed above his shoulder Dumarest moved in, smashed aside the defense and sank his fingers into Kusche's throat. For a moment they strained face to face, Kusche stiffening his neck and tensing the muscles as his hands rose to tear free the clamping fingers, Dumarest searching for the carotids so as to apply the pressure which would render the other man unconscious.

"No!" Kusche's eyes matched the plea of his voice. "Earl-no!"

He stiffened, then suddenly went limp, his glazed eyes rolling up, mouth curved in the empty grin which was the rictus of death. From his side rose a thread of smoke accompanied by the stench of burned tissue. Dumarest released him and, as he fell, turned to face the door at the end of the chamber and the woman standing before it.

"Well, Earl," said Carina Davaranch, "it seems we meet again."

Chapter Fourteen.

She was as he remembered with the neat helmet of golden hair set close to the rounded skull, the thick brows framing the eyes of vivid blue. A woman who could have been a man with thestrong bones of her face, the firm line of her jaw. Her face was now marred by a purple bruise which blotched a cheek and temple.

"Stand away from that filth." The laser in her hand jerked to emphasize the command, fired as he obeyed. Beside the body of Kusche the weapon he had used flared to molten ruin.

"Yours?"

"I had two." She reached for a chair and sat down, her face ghastly beneath the bruise. "The fool never thought of that. He struck me down and found what he wanted and hurried to do what he thought had to be done. I heard him but it took time to recover. Are you hurt?"

"No." Dumarest stepped toward her. "But you are. Let me get you something for that bruise."

"It can wait." The laser in her hand moved only a fraction but it was enough. "Please don't make me use this, Earl. I won't kill you but I'll ruin your knees and elbows if I have to. Believe me, I can do it."

"And after?"

"There are two acolytes waiting outside to carry you to the s.h.i.+p."

Dumarest said nothing, looking at the woman, studying what he saw. She had changed in a way so subtle that he hardly noticed it, then, as he looked, little things became clear. The clothing helped; she wore masculine-type pants and boots with a tunic fastened in the same manner as his robe. The face, too, had changed, losing some of its feminine softness, so that ever more than before she resembled a delicately fas.h.i.+oned boy.

"Men," she said. "The s.h.i.+p holds only men."

"So?"

"It's catching." She closed her eyes for a moment then openedthem with a start as if she had expected him to have moved. She relaxed a little when she found he hadn't. "You don't understand, do you? No more than you understand what it is to be born a woman in a male-oriented society. For the boys everything. For the girls nothing. They are just the bearers of new life, breeders to replenish the race, drudges, chattels, beasts to be used! My father was a fool and a vicious one at that. The least he could have done for me was to see I was born a male. For that alone I hated him."

"And killed him?"

"No, that pleasure was denied me. Do I shock you?"

Dumarest shook his head and reached for the other chair and sat with the table between them.

"Keep your hands in full view, Earl. Just in case." Her tone and laser made her meaning clear. "As I said, my father was a fool. He failed to realize that intelligence is always accompanied by imagination and there is more than one path to any objective."

"The Cyclan?"

"You guessed." Her shrug did no more than stir her shoulders.

"A matter of injections and glandular adjustment together with selective manipulation of certain tissues. They made me androgynous. In time I will become a true hermaphrodite. The best of both worlds," she added bitterly. "While belonging to none."

A victim of another's ambition, now changed, warped, twisted. But the fault had always been present: the curse which made it impossible for her ever to know true happiness or contentment. How soon had she known? When had she first tried to run and hide herself among the stars? After the fertility rite beneath a scarlet moon?

A guess but a good one and Dumarest watched as, again, her eyes closed to snap open with the same start. A creature in fear, two tense and too much on edge to be trusted. A false move andshe would fire blasts which would leave him a cripple. Yet to leave it too long would be to leave it too late.

"The plan," he said. "Yours?"

"A simple problem-how to find a needle in a haystack. One which moves in a random pattern. That's what the Zaragoza Cl.u.s.ter is, Earl. A haystack, and you were the needle. So I provided the magnet."

"Caval?"

"Yes. A thousand paintings were produced and spread among a hundred worlds to be hung in agents' offices near fields where they would be seen. I went to planets where the probability of your being present was highest. Shard was the third and I was lucky. The boy was set as bait and his companions should have taken you. They failed but it didn't matter-we had made contact. Even when you killed Ca Lee it didn't matter-the painting remained as bait. The only problem was that you moved too fast. That and the accidental burn-damage of a generator which made Cyber Lim arrive on Caval after you had gone."

"With Kusche in attendance."

"A precaution, and the fool was too greedy to recognize his potential danger. Too stupid to spot the flaw in his story which made you suspicious. The Cyclan contacted the Huag-Chi-Tsacowa and made sure he was included in the transfer. By the time you discovered the detector it was too late-we had located Zabul."

And now Kusche was dead. Dumarest looked at him where he lay, mouth open as if smiling at some secret jest, eyes blank, a pool of blood now providing a scarlet mirror at his side.

"I tried, Earl," said Carina as if in justification. "I begged you to stay at the Hurich Complex so as to give Lim time to arrive. I wanted you to stay with me in town, but then you said you were leaving and, well, there was nothing else to do." She frowned as if puzzled. "Who would have guessed you would have had such luck?"The chance of seeing a reflection in the mirror of a window.

Of dodging the searching guards. Of picking the one warehouse to hide in which held the casket for s.h.i.+pping. Of the Huag-Chi-Tsacowa insisting on delivering it And the greatest luck of all-to have found the Terridae.

She almost seemed to be reading his thoughts. "Luck, Earl, but for you it's over. From now on it's my turn. The treatment finished and I'll be what I want. No more veering from one polarity to another. The way of the universe," she added. "Of sc.u.m like Kusche. Your loss my gain-well, that's the way it goes."

He noticed the gesture of her hand toward her bruised face and guessed at her pain. Kusche had not been gentle and the bone could have been fractured: small cracks in temple and cheek.

He said, "Remember back on Shard when you dressed my scalp? Let me return the favor. At least let me get you something to ease the pain."

"Shard," she said. "For a moment there I was happy. Maybe had I met a man like you earlier I could have accepted being a woman." Her tone took on a new bitterness. "Too late, Earl. The story of my life. Everything's always come too d.a.m.ned late." Her voice rose as someone tapped on the door through which Dumarest had entered. "What is it?"