life as he headed towards the door. Illumination flooded into the body of the church as he opened it, revealing the scattered materials, the figure rising from where it had crouched. Nowka, light gleaming from a familiar object in his hand. One he pointed at the monk.
'No!' Weyer lifted a hand as if against the threat of a gun. 'Don't shoot!'
Dumarest rose, lifting his knife as Weyer fell. The blast of a gun froze his hand and he lowered the blade as Zehava moved from the entrance to the building.
'The fool!' She kicked at Nowka's lifeless body. 'Just as well I followed him. I knew he was nursing a grievance, but I didn't think he'd turn into an assassin. He couldn't stand the shame,' she explained. 'You bested him at the range and he resented it. He was close to Toibin and wanted to avenge him. That's why he used the weapon he did. A symbol in a way. A pity about the monk, but better him than you. I guess the light must have dazzled Nowka, or he was just primed to react to any target he saw.'
Dumarest stooped and picked up the knife the dead man had carried. The one Toibin had used. Weyer lay where he had fallen, as he would have fallen had Nowka made sure of his target. But how could a knife, unless thrown, kill at a distance?
'Earl!' Zehava was impatient. 'Let's get away from here. Forget him,' she snapped as Dumarest knelt beside the monk. 'Let his own kind take care of him.'
He made no comment as he examined the limp shape. There was no apparent wound, just a fleck of blood on the right cheek. A tiny puncture which could have been made by a stinging insect – or a tiny missile. One which had induced the simulation of death, but Dumarest could feel the slow, turgid beat of the heart. Crossing to the lantern he examined the knife, seeing the tiny hole in the guard, the stud on the hilt. Pressed it would fire a dart loaded with chemicals. A device common in cheating arenas.
'Earl!'
'There's no need for you to stay, Zehava. Just tell someone to get rid of this filth.' He gestured at the dead man. 'I'll take care of the monk.'
Chapter Nine
Lief Chapman was as hard as a rock, his body angular, his mouth like a trap. A laser had burned out his left eye and half his face during an old raid. Though surgery had replaced the eye and repaired the ravaged cheek and temple a certain oddness remained which gave the impression he stared at things others could not see.
To Dumarest he said, 'Have you any idea where these coordinates will take us?'
'To Earth.'
'Almost to the edge of the galaxy.' Gampu Niall scowled at the almanacs which littered the surface of his desk. The navigator was younger than the captain, but matched him in physical hardness. 'It's a long way.'
'So?' Dumarest looked from one to the other. 'Are you saying you can't handle it?'
'I can guide a ship to anywhere in the universe,' snapped Niall. 'I'm saying it won't be easy. Stars are thin so far out and so are planets. If anything should go wrong we'll have nothing to rely on but ourselves. I'll have to plot a safe course and it'll have to be done in stages. One mistake could be our last.'
The ship burned, seared, twisted by invisible forces created by the death and disintegration of suns. Falling into the maw of a vortex, a warp, a black hole. Caught in local regions of intense strain which could crush a hull or turn a vessel into a ball of incandescent vapour. To freeze it in an eternal stasis or to rotate it into an alien dimension.
Dangers of which Dumarest was aware and he watched as the others frowned over a cluster of charts.
'Once we leave the Drift we'll head to the Solloso,' said the captain. 'Then to Quegan and the Myrm Cluster.'
Niall disagreed. 'Not the Myrm. We can avoid it by first going to Sabela then on to Stark. That area is pretty safe. A longer flight, but in the right direction.'
Dumarest left them to it, moving through the ship on a routine inspection. The vessel was different to others he had known. One built for a specific purpose now adapted for another. The holds had been partitioned into sections holding tiered bunks to accommodate the enlarged compliment. All personal weapons had been locked away. Life would be cramped, restrained, far from comfortable. Only the officers had the privacy of their own cabins.
Zehava was in the communications shack. She turned as Dumarest entered.
'Earl?'
'We'll be off soon. Check the compliment is settled.'
'Nadine -'
'Has her duties. Get on with yours.'
As she left Dumarest looked at the operator busy with his equipment. Sending final messages back to Kaldar and among them would be the coordinates he had given the captain. Figures which would take them into the area he wanted to reach, but not those giving the true position of Earth. An elementary precaution against probable betrayal. Later it wouldn't matter. For all he cared the entire galaxy could know where Earth was to be found. But only after he had reached it. Only when he was home.
The firing control was unique to vessels designed for combat.
'Hi!' The officer in charge lifted a hand in greeting. Isin Badwasi had retained the exuberance of youth though his cropped hair held traces of silver. His face was mobile, eyes dark and holding a gleam of amusement. Gold shone in rich profusion against the rich blackness of his skin. 'Come to look at my toys, commander?'
'They're safe?'
'As a virgin locked behind fifty feet of stone.' He sobered at Dumarest's expression. 'Sorry, I just like to joke. All locks are in place. Firing mechanisms inactive. Heads unarmed. The way things are we couldn't hurt a fly.'
'How long before we could?'
'Too long,' admitted Badwasi. 'If we were attacked now we'd be dead before we knew what hit us. A precaution,' he explained. 'Against a ship failing to clear the gravity well or a generator failing at a critical time. It happened to Domhar three years ago. His vessel didn't make it. Luckily it hit well away from town but it still made a nasty mess.'
'Does that happen often?'
'Once was enough. So we don't arm the missiles until we're in the clear. But the electronics are functioning.'
'Show me.' Dumarest watched as the man sent his hands dancing over his instruments. Screens lit to show the vista of space, the great ball of Kaldar looming close as they circled it in orbit. Lines crossed circles to form impact points, computers maintaining alignment. 'Have you automatic locking?'
'You name it, we have it. Toibin never spared expense when it came to equipment. We can lock on a target, hold, fire by time or remote. This ship can hold its own against anything in space.'
Creatures of the imagination born from the dreams of a violent childhood when the unknown held terrors and to be armed was to be safe. A sense of insecurity carried into adult life. Ships could not fight in space as Badwasi well knew; the Erhaft field made such conflict impossible. The instruments and armament housed in the vessel were for use against helpless towns and the people in them.
Dumarest studied a panel, the board marked as to various rooms and levels. 'Slave gas?'
'The system doesn't work.'
'You've carried slaves?'
'Often. But not for some time now. Toibin didn't like it. He claimed the profit was too small and the trouble too great. I guess he had a point.'
'I guess he had,' said Dumarest. 'Were you a friend of his?'
'We got along.'
'Do you know where he got that knife he used?'
'Against you in the fight?' Badwasi shook his head. 'No. I can't remember seeing it before. He must have picked it up somewhere.'
'Or received it as a gift?'
'It's possible. Toibin had a lot of friends. He was popular. People liked to do things for him. Give him gifts. Do what he wanted. He said people liked him. I guess he was right.'
'Yes,' said Dumarest. 'Dead right.'
