time the essential qualification became forgotten and now men actually believe such worlds exist and are waiting to be rediscovered together with others, El Dorado, Jackpot, Bonanza -a dozen others including Earth.'
'Which is no legend.'
'Pearse says otherwise. Have you read him? And the study by Mikhailovik on the subject? The work of Dazym Negaso?' Chenault rose and moved to a shelf to return with a thick volume. 'The third edition,' he said, 'Completely revised. Listen.' He turned pages then, in a flat voice, read, 'Earth, the name of a mythical planet held in veneration by the Original People, a backward sect found on various planets scattered throughout the galaxy. The sect is a secret one and neither seeks nor welcomes converts, fresh adherents being obtained from natural increase. The main tenet of their belief is that Mankind originated on a single world, the mythical planet Earth, and after cleansing by tribulation, Mankind will return to the supposed world of origin.' Chenault closed the book. 'Well?'
'There is more,' said Dumarest. 'He talks of the Original People and their esoteric rites. He also mentions the inconsistency of a variety of human types developing on one world beneath one sun.'
'The main argument of those eager to discount the theory,' said Chenault. 'But all using it overlook the obvious. We have varied types of human now, yes, those with black skins and with brown, with yellow and white together with a range of hair colors and consistencies; curled, lank, oval, round, kinked-and even divergences in physical shape; long-armed, broad-shouldered, round-headed and peaked. But all can interbreed. All belong to the same species. To any ethnologist the answer is obvious.' Chenault set down the book and leaned forward over the table at which he sat. 'One race, Earl. One type-the changes took place after leaving the Mother Planet. After!'
Born of wild radiations found in space and on worlds close to violent suns. Genes altered to form new patterns. Mutations many of which must have died as unviable but some had survived to pass on their altered characteristics. Dumarest had seen them; catlike men, wolflike, women who had the markings of serpents, haired like goats, some with skin thickened in places into scales. And Chenault must have seen more; things of nightmare, creatures distorted beyond easy recognition, shaped in mockeries of birds, beasts, spiders, fish.
Freaks to stock sideshows.
'It fits, Earl,' he said. 'If Mankind originated on one world they couldn't be as they are now. The changes must have come after they had left. Perhaps they had to leave because of the changes.' He paused. Then, in a voice which held the roll of drums, he intoned, 'From terror they fled to find new places on which to expiate their sins. Only when cleansed will the race of Man be again united.'
The creed of the Original People-was Chenault one of them? But if he was why had he revealed himself? Or was he throwing out bait to win support and, maybe, more information?
Dumarest said, 'You are confusing legends. As I understand it Earth is supposed to be a world loaded with riches. Rivers of medicinal wine, trees heavy with fruit, hills studded with gems. Find it and you find the wealth of the galaxy.'
'The things left behind,' said Chenault. 'The goods which had to be left, the installations, the buildings, the facilities, the treasure of knowledge, Earl. Of knowledge. Can you imagine what secrets they must have known? No, there is no conflict. Not when you study it with an open mind. Not when you delve a little beneath the surface. Did you know that Earth has another name?'
Dumarest nodded. 'Terra.'
'Exactly. Now it begins to make sense.' Again Chenault intoned the creed. 'From terror they fled… Not 'terror,' Earl, but Terra. Terra! They ran from Earth!'
* * *
It made sense but words, like figures, could be made to supply a variety of truths. Chenault had chosen his some time ago; despite the timbre of his voice, the deduction wasn't new, and Dumarest remembered the ritual of the blessing, the symbolic gesture and the words intoned, the response.
He said, 'Tayu, Tama, Toetzer, Toyanna, Tyner-how many of you have names beginning with T?'
'Why?'
'It's a mistake unless you want to advertise yourselves. Coincidence can be stretched too far. And if you're using it as a means of identification there are better ways.'
'Such as this?' Chenault made the gesture he had made at the table, hands forming a T. 'How many would know what it means? Would you? But if I did this?' He drew a T on the table with a finger dipped in ink. At the upper junction he added a circle then, deliberately, quartered it with a cross.
'The symbol of Earth,' said Dumarest. 'Of Terra. But I'm not interested in legends. All I want is to get back home.'
'We share the same ambition.'
'You act like a secret society. Why? There is no need.'
'No?' Chenault leaned across the table. 'I don't agree. Think about it, Earl. How long have you searched for the coordinates of Earth? How often have you been frustrated? If the planet exists, and you know that it does, why can't it be found?'
A question Dumarest had pondered too often and still the answers remained the same. It wasn't listed in the almanac and, as all planets were listed, it couldn't exist. The logical answer which refused to recognize its absence of logic. Another, equally vapid: Earth was a legend and who could believe a legendary world was real? And how could an actual world have such a stupid name? Earth was dirt, soil, the stuff you grew crops in. Worlds had proper names or they weren't worlds at all.
Words to deny the obvious, but men believed in them and not his living, breathing assertion of the truth. To state it was to invite mockery, contempt, arrant disbelief. A weaker man would have been made the butt of cruel jests, one less controlled would have wasted strength in angry combat.
'A lost world,' mused Chenault. 'Your world, I mean. You left it, wandered on the ship which carried you and, when you tried to return home you found no one believed it to be real. Well, stranger things have happened. I remember one time when-' He broke off, one hand lifting to his chest.
'Something wrong?'
'No. Give me a moment.' Chenault lowered his head as if to hide his face and eyes. Time during which Dumarest sat listening, his face impassive, his eyes half-closed. 'Forgive me.'
Chenault straightened in his chair. 'The penalty of age.'
'You want me to get something? Water? Wine? Some brandy?'
'No.'
'A doctor?'
'No. I'll be-' Again the hand lifted as Chenault almost slumped to the table. Dumarest rose, touched his shoulder, the exposed column of the throat. 'No!' Chenault twisted. 'Leave me. Get-' His voice faded. 'Tell her I need her. Hurry!'
'Who?'
'Pia. Pia. Tell her.'
Dumarest left the room, almost running, reaching the dining room, a chamber holding musical instruments, another set with gaming tables. Vosper sat dealing himself a hand.
'Chenault's ill. He wants the woman, Toyanna. Where can I find her?'
'The laboratory or in her room on the first floor but-' He shrugged as Dumarest moved away, concentrating on his cards.
Pia Toyanna was halfway down the stairs when Dumarest found her. She wore a simple gown, green edged with black, belted snug to her slender waist. She carried no satchel and her hands were empty. She listened to Dumarest with an air of impatience.
'Yes. Yes, I understand.' She nodded dismissal. 'Just leave this to me.'
'Do you need help?' Chenault was a big man. 'If he needs to be moved you could have trouble.'
'I can manage.' She faced him, eyes and voice determined. 'You've done all you can do. Now please leave things to me.'
Dumarest watched her go, following her as she headed to where he had left Chenault, frowning when she moved on to a door lower down the passage. As he made to follow a figure stepped before him. Baglioni, small
