the chamber. “You entered it as if you belonged, yet it must be strange to you. Any ordinary woman would have been curious. Asked questions. Demanded an explanation. You merely accepted things as you found them. Why?”
“I came for you, darling.”
“And found me. But there has to be more. Who and what are you? Where do you live? Where is your family? How did I manage to create this chamber?” Frustration hardened his tone.
“Damn it, girl, help me! I need answers!”
“Shandaha-”
“Forget Shandaha! I’m asking you! Where did you come from before you opened that door? How did you know what I had done? Did I really hurt you with the knife or did you just pretend?”
“Earl! Never that!”
“Then be honest with me! We have made love. We are lovers. We should be close. If we are to stay together we need to trust each other. As things are I can’t trust anything. Not this chamber, the window, Shandaha, you!”
“Why are you hurting me?” She reached towards him.
“Things were so wonderful until you spoiled them. Hold me. Touch me. Kiss me. Earl!”
Her voice rose in empty command as Dumarest slipped from the bed and stepped towards the washbasin. He needed a shower or bath but the faucet would have to do. He operated it, filling the basin and laving his face and torso, careless of the droplets he cast on the wall and floor. More followed as he washed away the residue of passion. Ignoring her as again Nada called his name.
“Earl!”
The choice would be hers. She would either help him or ignore his request but she would have made the decision and have no cause for grievance. He heard the soft pad of her feet, the slight rustle as she donned her robe and waited, expecting to feel her touch, the impact of her body.
“Earl,” she whispered, “I don’t know what is wrong. Help me to understand. Why are you so disturbed? So restless? So reluctant to accept things as they are? Here you have all any man could want. You are safe, snug, secure. You have comfort and time in which to indulge your pleasures. If you want you could have me. What more could you hope to gain.”
“A home.”
“Here you have that.”
“No.” He didn’t turn to look at her. “Here I have a gilded cage. A prison. A world which is nothing more than a trap. You say I could have you if I want. What as? A pleasing companion? As the mother of my children? A friend? As something more than a toy?”
“Is that how you see me?”
“You are what you are. As we are all what we are. You seem to be happy here. I am not. I want more than you offer. More than Shandaha seems willing to provide.”
He paused, waiting for her reply, and when none came turned and found he was alone.
Nada had vanished like a puff of wind, as she had when first they had met, gone as if she had never existed. The door had made no sound. He had heard no footsteps. But memories remained together with the hint of perfume in the air.
Sweet memories of warm and yielding flesh, of a mutual melding, a union that had made two people one. Of passion mounting to climax in gushing release. Of the calmness that had followed, the satisfaction, the joy of pleasure shared and consummated. Ghosts that need never return.
A sheet from the bed served as a towel and he dressed, slipping the knife from beneath the pillow and sheathing the sharp steel in his boot, remembering the wound the point had made, how that same wound had vanished.
A memory that was a weakness. Nada a woman to be forgotten. Outside Chagal could be found and plans made. If the doctor refused to cooperate Dumarest would go his own way. Demanding the release Shandaha had promised, and if his freedom threatened his life then it would be in a world he understood and from an enemy he could recognize.
Three paces and he was at the door. It opened at a touch and he stared at the swirling bank of mist outside. He stepped into it-and abruptly was young again.
CHAPTER FIVE
The captain was dying. He had been dying all during their recent voyage growing skeletal thin, coughing clots of stained mucus and gobbets of ravaged tissue from decaying lungs. Spending the last of his strength to land safely then to slump in the big chair in the control cabin to stare with glassy eyes at the screens, dials, glowing signals from the assembled panels. Standing beside him Dumarest heard the liquid rasping, the soft rustle of clothing against plastic, saw the twist of the lips, the movements of the hands and eyes, the ghastly sagging of a face now more than old.
“Steady,” he soothed. “Just rest easy.”
“Rest?” Bazan Deralta heaved in his chair. Coughing he fought the phlegm which clogged his throat. “Earl!”
He positioned the bowl, waited as the captain hawked and spat, clearing his throat, breathing with a harsh, ragged sound. He lifted a protesting hand as Dumarest wiped his lips as he slumped back into his chair.
“No, Earl! That’s enough!”
Ignoring him he dipped the cloth into scented water and laved the captain’s forehead, throat and cheeks. The flesh burned as if with inner fire.
“How is he?” Entering the control room the navigator stared at the slumped figure. “Bad as ever. The poor devil. He hasn’t a hope of making it.”
“We could take him to the infirmary.”
“Sure,” agreed Raistar. He was a tall, aging man with a harassed expression and a curt, blunt manner. “They could take him and check his insides and take samples so as to grow new tissue. When ready they could slice him open and replace his diseased organs and dump him into an amniotic tank. Slowtime would speed the healing. They could fix him up as good as new. It could all be done in a few weeks.” Bitterly he added, “All it takes is money.”
“He has money. He has the ship.”
“And when that’s gone, what then?” The navigator shook his head. “And you’re wrong, Earl. The captain doesn’t own the ship. We all have a share. So we sell it and pay for the treatment. If it works the captain will be alive-but there will be no ship. At his age he hasn’t a chance of getting another command. Not even a berth. He’d be stranded.”
“But alive.”
“Or he doesn’t make it.” Raistar ignored the comment. “And we still have no ship.”
“He’s the captain! You just can’t let him die!”
“We can’t ruin ourselves to give him a chance.” Anger tinged the navigator’s voice. “You think we don’t give a damn? You think we don’t care? But the facts are what they are. Either way we’d be stranded. Can you even begin to imagine what that would be like? No berth, no cash, no future. No escape from this hell-hole of a world. It’s a gamble we can’t win. One we aren’t going to take.”
“But-”
“He’s right, Earl.” Zander had joined them in the control room. “We’ll do the best we can but we can’t take the captain to the infirmary. The authorities will be notified in case of contamination. The ship will be impounded and there will be heavy fees mounting day by day.”
“We can work to pay them.”
“It isn’t as simple as that” said the engineer. “We can’t afford to linger. As soon as Jesso has got us a cargo we’re off.”
“Without a captain?”
