That and the creature he had seen in the case, the serrated mandibles, the wings, the needle-like proboscis, the tail-assembly. Many social insects built nests of seeming stone. Others sealed potential dangers beneath layers of extruded material. The towers, the walls, a ship if it should be too tardy in escaping. They would coat the hull, enter the ports, clog the machinery, block vents, ruin the delicate balance essential for flight.
Dumarest wondered what type of vessel lay within the enigmatic cone on the field. How long it had rested there. What had happened to the crew.
'Captain!' His hand slapped the communicator as the cloud came dangerously close. Scarlet flecks which tore savagely at those still in the open and smeared the hull with liquid stone. 'Let's go! Zehava! Close the port!'
'Earl! You can't. There are people out there. Give them a chance!'
They'd had their chance and wasted it.
'Now!' His voice rose above the staccato blast of the siren, the warning to those outside to stay clear. 'Do it or be sucked out! Captain! Save the ship! Hit space! Now, damn you! Now!'
To send it into the relative safety of the void, leaving helpless victims behind. Sacrifices to his overwhelming need to complete his journey to Earth.
Chapter Twelve
The metal of the ship held more than the quiver of the Erhaft field. There was a continual susurration from the bulkheads, the hull, the decks and stanchions. Vibration trapped from a multitude of sources, traveling the confined world of the vessel, using it's structure as diaphragms.
Lying on his bunk, eyes closed in sleep, Dumarest was laved with whispers which held the sound of a woman crying, the deeper tones of a curse, tapping, clicks, rustles, laughter, the echoes of what could have been desperate prayer. Ghost-voices. Phantoms which created dreams to haunt the sleeping confines of his mind.
He stood on an endless plain wreathed in swirling mist facing a soaring range of mountains from which came all the sounds there ever could be. Voices which promised paradise, threatened hell, offered delights beyond imagination, warned of dangers yet to come. Tones voiced by men long dead, women now dust, all long dispersed in space and time. Other sounds; the whimper of a starving baby, the pleading wail of a terrified child, the snarl of hate from a man, the frenzied screaming of a beaten woman.
Echoes of what he had once known as home.
Figures surrounded him, hands extended, voices demanding that he give what he held. The body of a small rodent killed by a stone from his sling. His prey and hope of life, the nourishment which would sustain him through another day.
Running he escaped them to be faced by other shapes. Sombre figures, gaunt, faceless, menacing in scarlet robes. Their hands were concealed within wide sleeves, but their demands were the same. For him to give them the secret he held. One passed to him by a woman who had demonstrated to him the true meaning of love.
Other faces, other hands, the demand always the same. For him to give…give…give…
Still others – those wanting to take his life.
Dumarest jerked, rolling from the bunk, body tensed for combat. But he was alone, the cabin secure, no visible threat evident. A dream. A nightmare. He had known them before but rarely with such intensity. Seated he fought to slow the rapid gusting of his lungs, the tattoo-liked drumming of his heart. His thoughts swirled as if driven by a fountain of bubbles.
Why had the monk warned him against finding Earth?
Why had Cazele?
In imagination Dumarest saw his face limned on the bulkhead, old, hard, the vapour from the tisane giving him the appearance of a brooding idol. A shrewd and cunning man who worked for his own ends. One who could have intended to provide subtle clues.
He knew the creed of the Original People – were they to be found on Fionnula? How had he known that Earth had been proscribed? What had he meant by saying the Church knew more than it told. As did others. Which others?
What other organization matched the Church in its world-spanning influence?
There was only one. Was it possible the Cyclan could be working in unison with the Church? Did they know where Earth was to be found? If so why had they wasted so much time and effort hunting him from world to world?
Logic demanded they would have allowed him easy passage to the planet of his birth – and the trap they would have set to close around him once he had arrived. So they could not know of Earth or, if they did, they wanted to keep him from it.
Why?
A question as yet beyond solution, but another was not. Cazele had been emphatic in his savage condemnation of Earth. Had he been acting or had he been sincere? Nadine would know.
'Earl!' Her eyes widened as she saw him. 'This is a surprise. Is anything wrong?'
'No. May I come in?'
She was dressed for bed, wearing a black chiton which left one shoulder bare, the thin fabric held at her waist by a silver cord, the lower edge falling to just above her knees. Her feet were bare. Her hair unbound, the thick tresses falling over her shoulders to blend with the color of her raiment accentuating the pallor of her skin. Her face looked younger than her years. The cabin held the scent of her perfume.
'I was trying to sleep.' She gestured at the bunk, the rumpled cover. 'I couldn't. You?'
'I had a nightmare.'
'I can guess what about.' Her voice hardened. 'That Cazele! We should have destroyed his town!'
'What good would that have done?'
'None,' she admitted. 'But the Kaldari believe in revenge.'
A bloodbath of the innocent of which he wanted no part nor, he guessed, did she.
Dumarest stepped past her into the cabin, looking around, seeing the small, feminine touches which made the place uniquely hers. A print of a kitten stuck to a bulkhead, a scrap of rich fabric which softened the contours of a stanchion, a tiny doll sitting on the table at the head of the bunk. Next to it a thing of crystal turned and bathed the compartment with swathes of delicate color.
'Brak gave it to me when I was a child,' she said, noting his interest. 'There are chimes, too.' She touched a stud and soft tintinnabulations filled the cabin with the music of elfin bells. 'Pleasant, isn't it? I loved it as a child but now I prefer silence.' The bells died as, again, she touched the stud. 'Why don't you sit?'
She watched as he settled himself close to the pillow then sat on the bunk beside him, tucking her legs beneath her, her shoulder leaning against his arm.
He said, dryly, 'You remember the last time we sat like this? What happened?'
'It won't happen again. Zoll's made sure of that.' She lightened her weight against his arm so as to meet his eyes. 'You want to talk,' she said. 'To ask me something but I'm not sure what. You mask your feelings. Is it something to do with the ship? The journey? Why is it taking so long?'
'We have a long way to go.'
'I know. Niall told me. So what's the problem?'
'Cazele. You heard him talk and you must have read him. You knew he was lying about the alarm. Was he lying when he claimed to know of Earth?'
She frowned, trying to remember, then said, slowly, 'I can't be certain. I wasn't really watching him that closely. Raw lies are obvious but other things aren't. He could have been telling the truth as he knew it.'
'When he spoke of Earth?'
'The legend, yes. He wasn't lying then. Not deliberately. But how could he have been so wrong? Earth is a paradise.'
Not the world Dumarest had known but it hadn't been what Cazele claimed either. He had repeated a distorted variation of the popular legend. One which could have been designed and propagated for a desired purpose. But why should Earth be so reviled?
'Damn!' Nadine voiced her annoyance as the crystal lamp ceased to revolve. 'It's stuck again. I'll have to get it fixed. If you'll just lean back a little.'
He felt the impact of her body as she leaned across him to correct the instrument. The chiton made a soft rustle as it mounted the columns of her thighs, one matched by the sliding contact of her flesh. The mounds of her
