Earth is Heaven

'Not all.' Vosper was quick with his interjection. 'Just a full load. This ship's geared for it and you have staples to provide rations. Carry them under quick-time and-' His gesture completed the sentence. Men whom he thought were slavers should have no trouble. 'Just the one run.'

Carrying a proscribed cargo-one slip and they'd be blasted from the sky.

She had been dreaming but now it was over and it was good just to lie and watch the patterns on the ceiling. The mesh of lines which blurred to reform and take the shape of faces and things. Julienne whom she had known as a child and Franz who had been spiteful when he played and old Jehel, faithful old Jehel, who had looked like a tree with her face all wrinkled and dark and a voice which sounded like the rustle of leaves.

These memories yielded to other things, vistas of emptiness, the hurt of knowing her own inadequacy. The sneers of those around her and the gradual retreat into a world of her own, where she had found the secret of power. The ability to command and to be obeyed.

'Eunice?' She blinked at the face above her. 'Eunice darling.' Urich pressed the hand he held between his own. 'Do you feel better now?'

A stupid question-when had she ever been ill?

'Eunice?'

'Go!' She smiled as the face vanished. 'Come back!'

'Here.' He had stooped to pick up a glass of juice, sweet yet with a tang. With, too, a sedative to calm her nerves. 'Drink a little.' His voice hardened as she refused to obey. 'Drink, Eunice! Drink!'

'Go to hell!' Amusement bubbled within her at his shocked expression. 'I don't need you, Urich. Not now. Not ever again. I just don't need you.'

She saw his face crumple, a paper-mask falling to reveal his hurt. A confession of weakness which she found repulsive. One which caused her to rear upright on the bed, to fight a sudden nausea, to feel rage come with its hot and strengthening fire.

'Leave me! Get out!'

'Eunice, please, I-'

'Get out, you fool! Get out… out… out… out…'

'My lady, please rest.' Wilma was all over her, ready with her comfort as she was always ready, smothering her with concern. The scent of her hair was born of soap and brushing. 'Rest, my lady. Please rest.'

'Leave me alone, you cow! You sent him away. He was here and now he's gone.'

'And will return, my lady. When you have rested he will return. Now take a little of this.' The woman lifted the glass she had taken from Urich. 'A little more. That's better. And again. There's a good girl.'

Eunice sagged and fell back, her face smoothing as the drug took effect. At the last, before sleep claimed her, she smiled.

'Urich! It's good to see you. Soon, darling. Soon.'

Drugs could sedate her and surgery could give a forced calm to the tormented brain but nothing could change the heritage bequeathed her by forebears now gone-the taint of madness which possessed her at times to make her alien.

Would their children carry the same taint?

That was a gamble he was prepared to take-one he couldn't avoid. To refuse what had been offered would be to ruin the efforts of a lifetime. And yet, looking at her, he was gripped by the fear that he had no choice. That it was already too late.

'Dumarest.' Wilma didn't look at him as she spoke. 'He was here. Vruya sent him. Eunice was-' Her gesture was expressive-'unwell.'

A friend in a world where friends were few. Urich rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed to relay his thanks. And yet her concern was for Eunice, not for him. Once safely married perhaps the madness would die. Once with child it could vanish-stranger things had been known.

He said, 'If he should call again do your best to send him away. It would be better if they didn't meet.'

Better still if Dumarest should die.

A thought he carried with him as he left the tower and headed toward the field. The plaza was almost deserted, those present aware of the patrolling guards, even the spacers with their propensity for coarse jests and ribald suggestions. One called out a suggestive invitation to a woman passing close. Another echoed it and she broke into a run, halting as he stepped before her.

'My lord.' She looked at Urich and he felt the shock of recognition. Ava Vasudiva whom he'd seen at the Wheel and again in the Mart. He had no doubt as to the first meeting. 'You are leaving early, my lord.'

'Leaving?'

'The tower of your fiance.' She was bold with the explanation. 'I had thought you would have stayed longer. Especially under the circumstances. I intended to wait for you at the door.'

'Why?'

'To talk.' She took his arm and moved toward the edge of the Plaza, forcing him to accompany her if he hoped to avoid undue attention. 'It is late and none who see us will think it strange we are together. They will think we are engaged in a private enterprise.' Her hand lifted in a gesture toward her hair. 'See?'

A broad, red ribbon bound the tresses in an outthrusting mass at the back of her head. The reason, he realized, why the spacers had acted so lewdly. On Krantz harlots advertised their profession with just such a ribbon.

'No.' The sight offended him. Halting he tore the ribbon from her hair and threw it aside to lie like a streak of blood on the stone. 'It makes you cheap.'

'You care?'

'Yes, I care! You're too-' He broke off, seeing her eyes, the amusement he suspected they masked. How to tell her that she was too young, too lovely, too vulnerable to wear such a thing? 'Have you no pride?'

'Can the Ypsheim ever be proud?'

'I'm talking about you. Don't demean yourself.'

'As you did when you refused drink to a dying man?' For a moment he doubted his hearing then, with sudden anger, snapped, 'Watch your tongue, girl! You forget yourself!'

'No,' she said quietly. 'It's you that has done the forgetting. And it's time that you remembered who and what you are.'

By night the field held a certain magic; one born of starlight and shadows, enigmatic shapes and iridescent hues, the whole bound with the circle of blazing illumination tracing the perimeter beyond which lay only the mystery of contrasting darkness. By day the magic had gone, to leave only the battered vessels, the dirt soiled with scattered debris, vomit, urine and, sometimes, blood.

Dumarest studied it from where he stood at the head of the ramp, watching men in drab, shapeless clothing who picked up rubbish. Casual labor hired to load and unload when needed, cleaning up when they were not. Men who had been checked through the gate and who would be counted when they left. Their numbers varied as did the guards but, always, there were guards.

He watched as more came through the gate; a detail led by an officer who marched straight toward the Erce. A path which diverged as Dumarest reached the dirt to end at the Nitscike. A ship captained by a man as rugged and scarred as the vessel itself. His voice rose in anger as Dumarest approached.

'Like hell I'll pay! You think I'm going to be robbed? Everything's settled, all dues paid and I leave when I want. So take your toy soldiers and get off my ramp!'

The officer remained calm. 'You have yet to be granted final clearance.''

'A formality.'

'One yet to be completed. Stand aside.' Guns lifted at the officer's signal. 'Don't be a fool, Captain Chunney. You have been here before. You know the rules-a guard can be placed on a vessel at any time. Now, for the last time, stand aside!'

Glowering the captain obeyed. As the guards mounted the ramp to occupy the area beyond the port he said, 'That charge is against all reason and you know it. I can't be held responsible for my crew.'

'Then who can?' The officer, now that he had been obeyed, made an attempt to be conciliatory. He nodded to Dumarest as he joined the group then spoke again to Chunney. 'There was a fight in a tavern. Damage was done and a girl hurt. Your engineer was responsible. The damages, medical expenses, compensation, court fees and