THE RETURN

'I have a high regard for the ability of the Cyclan and had reason to be suspicious.'

Zehava said, 'That's nonsense.'

'How would you know? And how could the Cyclan have known just where to place the Evoy unless someone told them which course we were taking? Sent them our coordinates as supplied by our navigator when you stood in for Schell at the radio. When did you become their agent?'

He shrugged at her silence.

'My guess is it was on Pangritz. They would have predicted our destination and arrived before us. The traders would have been eager to help. Once in the house it would have been easy to instruct you and pass over the knife you gave Toibin to use during the arranged fight. He was to fire the dart, deliver a minor wound and pretend to have killed me. You would have taken care of the supposed body. Shipped me out with the traders. Gained your reward when you handed me over. But Toibin spoiled it with his anger and Nowka when he hit the wrong target. You'd given him the knife and had to kill him in order to shut his mouth.'

Dumarest moved a little as if easing his weight, edging closer to where the woman stood beside the casket.

'After that you played for delay. You sabotaged the governor. Naturally you didn't think we'd run into a vortex. You thought we'd just drift long enough for your friends to find us. After we landed on Fionnula you arranged for further delay. The damaged filters. The slowed repairs. The technicians thought the orders came from Cazele and he didn't complain because it suited him.' Again he edged towards her. 'Why did you do it?'

'Because I am of the Kaldari!' She blazed with sudden fury. 'You shamed me. Beat me into the dirt. Prevented me from leaving with the others. Later, when you found me in the infirmary, you made me beg. Beg! I wanted to kill you then. I wanted to flay you alive when, later, you stripped me of all that I owned. Turned me into a pauper. Made me dependent on your whim. Used me!' Her voice thickened, became ugly. 'Can you imagine how I felt? How it hurt to pretend? To lie? To smile? To follow you like a dog when you demanded I take you where you wanted to go? When the Cyclan approached me I welcomed their offer. They promised I should have my revenge.'

Dumarest said, mildly, 'My congratulations, Zehava. You're a superb actress. Unfortunately you're also a fool. Do you honestly think the Cyclan will permit you to live?'

'The Cyclan does not lie. The woman will receive her reward.' The laser moved in Yemm's hand. 'Remove your suit, commander. I shall tolerate no further delay. Obey or I will ruin your knees, your elbows, your feet, hands and eyes. Hurry. It is time for us to go.'

'Together with this bitch you're in love with!' Zehava spun to face the casket, reaching for the controls. 'Take her with you!'

Yemm fired as Dumarest lunged towards her, aiming for his elbow, hitting the woman instead. A wound masked by a gust of sparkling vapour which fumed from the opening lid to expand in a scintillating cloud. Dumarest slammed shut his helmet, seeing Zehava stagger, a burned hole marring her forehead, twisting as she fell towards him. A numbness touched his face, stung his eyes, caused him to stumble and Yemm, immune to the vapour, to miss as he fired again. Dumarest straightened, lifting the dead woman, using her as a shield. Throwing the body as Yemm burned dead flesh and, too late, tried to jump clear. Dumarest closed the gap between them, hands reaching, striking, feeling the snap of bone as he broke the neck.

Within the casket, wreathed in sparkling vapour, the woman stirred, rose, smiling as she opened emerald eyes.

Kalin!

His love, resurrected and reaching for him with inviting arms.

An illusion induced by the touch of vapour he had inhaled. One compounded by a dizzy nausea as he ran from the hold, the sparkling vapour, the dream of love which had haunted him for so long. The bait of the trap now about to close around him.

The opening of the casket would have commenced the cycle activating the drive. The only hope of escape lay in speed.

Dumarest raced to the emergency hatch, pass through it and stared at the other ship. The line which had connected the two vessels had vanished. Yemm's work, the reason why he had destroyed the suit-line and reaction pistol. As he had destroyed the radio with his second shot leaving Dumarest with no way to summon help and only one way to reach safety. He crouched, flexing his knees, aiming at the distant bulk of the Geniat, the dark patch of its open port. With all his strength he kicked himself into the void.

Watching the growing bulk of the vessel he knew he would miss.

His suit carried nothing he could remove. To flail his limbs would generate axial motion and nothing else. To change direction he needed reaction mass; something to throw so as to move in the opposite direction. Staring at the port he judged space and time, watching as the dark blotch moved relentlessly up and to one side. He would barely miss the hull, but it was enough to send him to drift for eternity.

He ignored the sick tension of his stomach, the dryness of his mouth, concentrating on the thin hiss of air as it passed from the tanks into his suit. Adjusting the valves he increased the flow and felt the pressure hard against his ears. Twisting he rotated his body and watched a moving vista as he waited for the critical moment.

The bulk of the ship passed before him, the open port, the emptiness of space. The ship again, the port, again the void.

Dumarest counted the time of rotation, noting his position in relation to the port, his apparent velocity. Waiting until he dared wait no longer then, with a twisting wrench, unlocked his helmet and tore it free.

Air gusted past his head to dissipate in the void. Mass which acted as a weak blast to send him towards the ship, the open port. A haven which he approached far too slowly. The helmet was added mass. Dumarest threw it from him, twisting to face the port as it came close, grabbing desperately at the rim. Blood roared in his ears as he pulled himself into the vestibule and twice he missed the handle. At the third attempt he found it, pulled it down, fell to roll in agony as the outer door closed, air blasting from vents to fill the compartment, his starved lungs.

Chapter Fifteen

The cabin held soft memories, as silken as the flesh he had touched, as sweet as the taste of yielding lips. Lying on the bunk, Nadine at his side, Dumarest looked at the drifting swathes of color from her crystal lamp. Shifting hues designed to induce calmness leading to sleep, but for him they did the reverse, painting images which illuminated the bulkhead as they burned in his memory.

Chapman's anger at having lost his salvage. The Evoy had vanished before Dumarest had returned to safety and he had said nothing of the bomb he had planted and would have detonated had the captain insisted on pandering to his greed. Zehava's betrayal and he wondered if all her passion had been pretense. It was possible, hate and love were, at times, very close and her final action had revealed a latent jealousy. To destroy someone she could never have and made sure he would never get.

The cycle moved on, turning the cabin into a place of magic, of untrammeled fantasy. He followed a band of emerald and was reminded of eyes. Of scarlet which was the hue both of hair and blood. Pearl was translucent skin. Blue the color of skies in which fleecy clouds drifted in regal detachment. Green became precious patches of grass. White became silver shining from a swollen moon.

Images of home, but soon they would be more than that.

'Earl?' Beside him Nadine whispered his name as she moved to press tighter against him. A woman still almost asleep. One hovering on the edge of nightmare. She reared, gasping, crying his name.

'Earl! My God! Your face!'

One carmined with the blood oozing from ears and nose, lips and eyes. Minor wounds from burst capillaries which had quickly healed, but which had given him the mask of a demon. One from which Badwasi had recoiled when warned of potential danger. Which had forced Chapman to accept his version of the truth. Which had enhanced even further his reputation among the Kaldari.

'Easy.' He stroked her hair, soothing her with touch and words as he would calm a frightened animal. 'It's all right now. It's all right.'

'I love you, darling. I shall always love you. I know I'm not like that woman in the casket but -'

'Later.' His fingers rested on her lips. 'We'll talk later. Go back to sleep now. Sleep…sleep…'