accumulated knowledge of those years.
'Chenault didn't recognize me,' said Dumarest. 'He didn't know me because, to him, we'd never met. I had to explain to him where we were and what we were doing. Luckily he was a quick learner.'
Lauter said, looking at his glass, 'Are you going back, Earl? Govinda-'
'No. It would be of no use. The pool doesn't cure and it can't help her. It can only restore you to what your blueprint tells it you should be. It can't take Baglioni and make him a normal-sized man. And the column can only make you young.'
'Only? Men would give a fortune for that alone.'
'Would they? Would you? Think about it. To be a boy again as you were before. A young man with it all to do again. The growing, the learning, the pain and frustration. The fear and hate and-' Dumarest broke off; not all had had a childhood like his. In a quieter tone he said, 'It's a form of death, Captain. You retain nothing of what you know now. Nothing!'
'So much for legend.' Lauter drank and reached for the decanter. 'Join me, Earl, I insist.' He waited until Dumarest set down his empty glass, then, pouring, said, 'The treasure of Ryzam and it's something no one in their right mind would ever want to use. The pool, maybe, but any good hospital could do as much. And there's the danger- what was the shining thing?'
'Another guess,' said Dumarest. 'But I think it was a parasite of some kind. Vermin which managed to escape the destruction. Or it may even have been a cleaning device.' He looked at his wine, red as the blood which had been shed in the pursuit of the unknown. Was Massak laughing at the joke? Vosper? The artist who had contained so much genius? The others? But they were dead and only the living held promise. 'To the living,' he said, and drank.
A toast in which Lauter joined. 'So we face the future, Earl. Mirza and Chenault I can take care of but what about you?' He added, without waiting for an answer, 'Mirza told me a little on the journey here. I'm not fond of the Cyclan and I'd like to help. I can take you to where you'd like to go. There are some nice worlds close to the Burdinnion; good climates, cheap land, plenty of space and no one asks too many questions. You could pick one. There's money; Mirza signed a note before she left the ship. Your reward for having helped her and I guess there's no doubt you've earned it.' Lauter drained his glass and rose from the table. 'Think about it,' he urged. 'Let me know what you decide.'
* * *
Alone Dumarest drank his wine, then, refilled, lifted the glass and stared at the mirror surface. It seemed to hold more than the reflection of the salon and his own face. The dream was there and the disappointment. Chenault had reverted back to before he became interested in Earth and had learned the coordinates only when he was too weak to utilize them. Now the knowledge he'd held was lost as if it had never been.
Dumarest drank, the wine stinging with a bitter-sweetness, sliding like water down his throat to rest in his stomach.
A search of Chenault's study might reveal clues; but on Lychen the Cyclan would be waiting and would capture him within hours. A gamble with the odds set too high and the possible reward too vague. Another world then? A new place with new faces where, perhaps, he could find new clues? The search to continue until, like Chenault, he became too old to profit by anything he might find?
Had the dream been just a wishful longing instead of the certainty he had felt could materialize?
Need it be?
Govinda was real and here and she loved him as he loved her. Worlds, as Lauter had said, were plentiful and Mirza's gift would make life easy. There would be no children of her body but, given time, something could be arranged. A surrogate mother; his sperm and what could be salvaged from her genes. Not what she yearned for, nothing could ever be that, but as good as he could provide. And, if there were no children, no daughter who carried her mother's scarlet hair, no boy who wanted to model himself on his father, at least there would be peace.
Peace and love and an end to the obsession which had dominated his life. The search which had cost him so much and had yielded so little.
Earth!
In the mirrored glass he saw it, distorted as he was distorted, twisted, ravaged, suddenly hateful. An image which shattered beneath the closing pressure of his hand to leave the ruby of wine and scratches which yielded the carmine of blood.
A sacrifice to seal a bargain. One conducted by himself for himself with himself as the victim. Blood and wine and shattered crystal to seal his new resolve.
Outside the air was warm, perfumed from small tufts of flowers growing thickly around the ship. In the distance the spires of Ryzam loomed with somber menace, a picture in sharp contrast to that at the other side of the ship where the ground sloped to a stretch of sward soft beneath the foot and gentle to the eye.
'Earl!' Baglioni came running from the ship, his short legs pumping. 'I wanted to talk to you,' he said as he halted before Dumarest. 'I had no chance before. You were all beat up and-' His hand made a vague gesture.
'I wanted to thank you for saving my life.'
Dumarest said, dryly, 'It's the other way around. If you hadn't waited we'd never have made it.'
'And if I'd gone with Tama I'd be dead by now. Like the rest. A pity about Pia, I liked her.'
'I know.'
'And Lopakhin. Tyner was a genius.'
'And Vosper was a good engineer.' Dumarest, impatient to find Govinda, sensed the man was keeping him for some reason of his own. 'But they're all dead now. Memories. Like Chenault.'
'He's still alive.'
'Not the man you knew.' Dumarest hesitated, the midget and Chenault had been close. 'Did he give you anything before we left? A paper? An envelope?'
'No.'
'Are you sure?'
'He didn't leave the coordinates with me, Earl, if that's what you're asking. Maybe Lauter?'
Dumarest shook his head. Nothing had been left by Chenault with the captain. Nor with Baglioni-a hope that died like the rest and he wondered why he had asked the question. The search was over. He had made up his mind. Now and for always his future lay with the woman he had lost and found again.
'Govinda!' He waved as he saw her coming over the sward, Chenault following her, the baby in his arms. 'Here! Govinda! Over here!'
The sun was in his eyes and she looked blurred as she came toward him, the glow subduing her hair a little, making subtle alterations to her shape. She seemed less mature than he remembered.
'Govinda!' He held out his hands to grasp her own, his fingers remaining empty as she ignored the gesture. 'You remember that question you asked me once? Back in the valley? The one about would I ever leave you? Now I know the answer. I'll never leave you. We'll be together for always. Govinda?'
She wasn't looking at him, turning to face Chenault and the baby, her face no longer resembling the woman he had loved.
'Be careful, Tama! Don't hurt her!'
'Please!' Dumarest reached out to catch her arm. 'We must talk. About the future. Our future. We'll find a nice place on a good world and… and…'
She wasn't listening. She hadn't listened to a word. For her he had ceased to exist and now she had eyes only for Chenault and the baby in his arms. One she reached for to hold to her breast, crooning, her face radiant with an expression Dumarest had never seen her wear before.
'I'm sorry.' Baglioni said softly at his side. 'I wanted to tell you. It happened almost from the first-when you were being treated. She's found what she has always wanted.'
A baby she could call her own. The oddity spawned by the power of Ryzam and which her mind could accept. The baby and the man who had shared its experience and so, to her, had become its father. The man who would now share her life.
Dumarest turned and walked back to the ship and the endless stars, the search which he would follow, for
