expected it would be.
There should have been soft breezes scented with entrancing perfumes, the soothing warmth of a golden sun, lakes of wine and mountains of grain, trees adorned with fruit and bud and flower, shrubs bearing a profusion of glittering gems. Herbs and spices to provide freedom from pain, a return to youthful zest, an end of aging and decay. Salves and ointments and natural fungi to cure all physical ills. For this was Earth, the planet of legend, the paradise for which all yearned and hungered to find. The world of joy and beauty and riches beyond the wildest dreams.
Instead there was nothing but a barren waste of sterile whiteness formed of ice and snow and stinging motes drifting in the freezing winds. Ghost-shapes that reared to fall, to stream over the endless plain, to rear again, to adopt new configurations of unremitting hostility. A hell that had its full share of anguish, pain, despair and death.
Yet, even so, there was beauty. Ice had crusted to form filigrees of crystalline splendor to mask the shattered metal and distorted lines of the wreck with an elfin grace. Beauty which Dumarest ignored as he stared down into a shallow dell, at the figures it contained, the body sprawled before them.
“Tazima Osborn,” said Chagal as they neared the group. “She was on watch last night. She was found like this shortly after dawn.”
Dumarest dropped to his knees beside the dead woman.
Alive she had been hard, arrogant, a typical product of the Kaldari. Now she was nothing but an empty shell. The doctor had loosened her clothing but there were no signs of injury. She could have been asleep, her eyes closed, a faint smile on her lips. A gust of wind brought a numbing chill and he rose, turning as a man standing to one side screamed in sudden, demented rage.
“Easy, Earl.” Chagal touched his arm before Dumarest could respond. “That’s Hiam Zack. He and Tazima were close. They were on watch together. I think he blames himself.”
And now voiced his anger at the lack of a target for his hate. He spun as Dumarest stepped close, his eyes wild, foam on his lips, one hand snatching at the weapon in his belt.
“She’s dead! You killed her!”
“No, Hiam,” snapped Chagal. “You know that isn’t true! Earl isn’t to blame!”
“Like hell he isn’t! He bought us here, didn’t he? Fed us promises and lies. Caused us to be attacked and wrecked. Killed most of us-why is he still alive?”
“Calm down,” said the doctor. “You can’t blame anyone for Tazima’s death. Tell us what happened.” His voice rose in sudden warning as the man snatched the weapon from his belt. “No! Earl-”
Dumarest had anticipated the attack. Even as the gun lifted he had closed the distance between them, had seized the barrel and had twisted the weapon from Hiam’s grasp. He struck with his open hand, knocking the man down and bruising his cheek with the mark of his palm. An insulting blow, one normally used to chastise an annoying youngster or an irritating servant. One now used to show contempt.
He said, coldly, “If you want to challenge me we’ll do it in the Kaldari fashion. Or do you only have the guts to shoot an unarmed man in the back?” He paused, waiting, seeing the change in the other’s eyes, the subtle shift of lessening rage. “Tell me what happened. You’re armed in case an animal should attack. Did you see an animal?”
Hiam shook his head.
“It was a clear night. You should have been able to see anything around. Are you certain there was no threat? Why should Tazima have moved so far from the vessel?” Dumarest waited then snapped, “Damn you man! Answer me!”
“She heard something.” Hiam was sullen, reluctant to shame the dead. “Sounds coming from this way. Voices, she said. I listened but all I could hear was a faint rustling. It must have been the wind driving the snow but she wouldn’t accept that. She was convinced she heard voices. That someone was out there. We argued about it then I took a wide turn around the wreck in case it was an animal. I couldn’t find her when I returned. Later, when it grew light, I went looking. There she was.” He glanced at the sprawled figure. “What killed her?”
“The cold,” said Chagal. “Hypothermia. That and delusion. She probably walked out here and sat and listened to those voices she mentioned. Waited for whatever she thought was making them to come to her.
“The Shining Ones,” said Hiam. “She talked about them. Some of the others believe they’re out there. The Guardians of Earth who will rescue us.” His laugh held bitterness. “Earth! We were fools! There’s no truth in the legends. The whole damned thing was lies. Soon we’ll all be dead!”
Chagal stumbled on the way back to the wreck. He caught Dumarest’s arm to steady himself then stood and watched as the others passed bearing the woman’s body for burial. His eyes were bleak as he looked over the landscape, at the bulk of the wreck. From a point behind it a missile lanced into the sky to explode creating noise and smoke in an effort to attract attention.
“We landed badly,” he said. “The captain chose the wrong place.”
“He had little choice,” reminded Dumarest. “He did his best and died trying.” As too many others had died. Others hadn’t been as lucky. He looked at the doctor. “You’ve had time to make up your mind. Have you decided?”
“Have I a choice?”
“Not if you hope to survive.”
“Pass out the injured.” Chagal had no illusions about what had to be done. “I know you’re right and I admit there is no other choice. But how do you think the rest will take it?”
“Need they know?”
“You’re talking about murder.”
“I’m talking about survival.” Dumarest was blunt. “We’ve already waited too long, We’re low on provisions, missiles, everything. The weather could worsen. If we stay cooped up there will be fights, duels, murder and suicide. There is the possibility of disease. We can’t count on rescue. We’ve got to pick a direction and get going. Carry what we can and move as fast as we can. That cuts out litters and bearers and slow progress. We can’t afford to waste strength and resources on those as good as dead. And we can’t waste any more time.”
“Logic,” said Chagal bleakly. “Damn it, Earl, I know you’re right but I wish to hell you weren’t.”
He swore as they entered the shelter. Someone had daubed crude designs on a bulkhead; a skull, an hourglass, a wrecked vessel, the figure of a man wearing grey. Symbols Dumarest found easy to understand. The wreck was the shelter, the man himself, the hourglass and skull a clear warning that, for him, time was running out.
“This is wrong!” Chagal voiced his anger. “What’s the matter with the fools? Are they all as bad as Hiam? You didn’t cause the crash. It wasn’t your fault. All you did was to guide us to Earth as you promised.”
To where the Cyclan had been waiting, their vessel, their missiles, the death which had decimated the compliment and wrecked the ship. The landing had taken further toll.
“I’ll take care of this,” said Chagal. “It’s time this stupidity was put to rest.”
“No.” Dumarest caught the doctor’s arm. His only ally and one he couldn’t afford to lose and those inside had to be faced on their own terms. Persuaded in their own language. The only one they understood. “Leave this to me.”
Deliberately he kicked open the door and stepped into the compartment. The air was in sharp contrast to that outside bearing the stench of sweat, urine, feces, blood, pus from suppurating wounds, dirt from unwashed flesh and clothing. To one side figures lay on trestles. Others sat at crude tables, some mending their garments, others playing dice or cards. The glowing grill of a heater provided warmth.
A haven fashioned from the wreck of the ship that had once traversed the void between the stars. Now the home of those who had hoped for so much and ended with so little.
Dumarest stared at them, conscious of watching eyes, the hostility that added to the taint of the air as did hate and fear. They were of the Kaldari. He was with them but not of them. An outsider. Alone. An easy target on which to vent their frustration.
He said, “In case you are interested Tazima Osborn died in the night. Her friends are burying her.”
A man shrugged from where he sat at a table. “So?”
“I understood the Kaldari honored their dead. I thought you’d like to salute her passing.” Dumarest paused. “One other thing. Someone’s decorated the bulkhead. I’d like to know who is responsible?”
“Does it matter?” The same man sneered. Losh Gorin, a troublemaker. A flamboyant bully with a hard face
