crossed circle. A coincidence, perhaps, but if it was more? 'Are you saying the Ypsheim know of Earth?' He closed the distance between them, one hand lifting, gripping, hearing the roar of blood in his ears, the sudden tension of nerves and stomach. 'Answer me, damn you! Do they?'
Urich wheezed, his face purpling, and Dumarest saw he had gripped the man's tunic at the throat, had tightened it so as to cut off the air. A betrayal which Urich recognized and, as Dumarest eased his grip, letting his hand fall from the twisted fabric he said, 'It means that much to you?'
More than he could realize, but the eyes had told their story, the hand, the face which had become a mask of savage determination. On this subject, at least, there could be no dalliance.
'Earth,' said Urich. 'Yes, the Ypsheim know of it, but to them it is a place of horror. A world populated with monsters and echoing with endless screams. Mountains of fire and rivers of acid and plains of empty grit and stinging sand. The skies weep venom and things lurk in every shadow. Creatures spawned in damnation and-' Urich broke off, thinking, remembering the whispered tales of his early youth when, as a child, he had squatted in shadowed dimness listening to secrets revealed in intricate patterns of verbosity designed to baffle the uninitiated. 'Nightmares,' he said, 'Deliriums. Nothing you can imagine is too bad to be applied to Earth.'
Dumarest said, 'Tell me of your history.'
'Blood.' Urich looked at the bottle of wine and watched as Dumarest poured then took the glass and sat looking at the ruby fluid. 'Blood,' he said again. 'It began with a change in the blood. Those affected were plagued by visions and tormented by dreams. It set them apart in forced isolation. United they found a new strength.' His tone changed, took on a ritualistic chant. 'And those were the days of tribulation when each man's hand was set against his fellows and only those of the blood found friends in the blood and great was the confusion. And there rose those among the people with the gems of understanding and in the shine they knew of the paths and so guided those of the blood and-'
He broke off and shook his head and gulped at the wine. For a moment he had been a child again listening to the hypnotic cadences, barely understanding, learning by rote and repetition.
'Legends,' he said. 'Myths. Chains to bind a people together.'
Or stories containing the germ of truth. Dumarest refilled the Urich's glass and said patiently, 'Just tell me what you know. In your own words. It began with blood, you say?'
A convenient term to describe the unseeable; a genetic mutation which had resulted in a limited psionic ability. The visions and dreams had been distorted glimpses of the future, terrifying to those unaware of clairvoyance. A trait which had earned the fear and hatred of normals; the times of tribulation and confusion. Villagers wrapped in ignorance-they would have had to be villagers; in a town their seed would have been diluted in a greater gene pool, their talent dismissed as mental aberration.
And they had survived.
Seers had risen; heroes of legend. Those with a stronger ability or a better control of the clairvoyant trait. They snatched glimpses of the future, building on the advantage gained, anticipating fashion and demand. Mounting wealth would have given power, security, freedom from enforced isolation. And then?
'The Flight,' said Urich. 'They ran. They saw something which scared the hell out of them and they got away while they could.'
In a fleet of ill-manned ships taking a dozen paths through space. How many had been lost?
'We don't know,' said Urich. 'The legends are vague and there are contradictions. Maybe there was only the one ship and the talk of a fleet an invention. As could be the detail of the vessels spreading out. But the Ypsheim believe there could be other groups on other worlds.' Cynically he added, 'Maybe someone wanted to give them a sense of courage- the strength of believing they were not alone.'
'And the talent?'
'Gone. Leached out by space-radiation or maybe the gene wasn't truly dominant.'
Or those carrying it hadn't bred true-such things happened and the galaxy was littered with various sensitives; most paying for their talent with physical deformities.
Details of small importance beside the main question. Dumarest said, 'And they originated on Earth?'
'On a world they call Parth,' corrected Urich. 'I was young when I heard the legends, but later, after I'd left Krantz, it became obvious the stories couldn't be literally true. Not as they were claimed to be. Natural enough, given the passage of time. Distortions would have crept in, items added to give effect, details forgotten. Maybe the Ypsheim did have a talent and used it to gain control of a world. Then they could have grown too confident and greedy until they had to escape from a killing revolt. Leaving one world to find another, moving again as the pattern repeated itself, losing their ability and finally ending as they did on Krantz. Beggars and servants living on remembered stories of previous greatness. There could even be others-who knows?'
And who cared? But even if the stories had become distorted as Urich claimed, they could still hold fragments of truth. Earth-a world from which they had run to avoid destruction. Would they know it if they saw it again? Had they retained the knowledge of where it could be found?
Urich shook his head when Dumarest put the question.
'No. It all happened a long time ago and no records were kept. The stories are all word-of-mouth; passed down from the old to the young.'
'No figures?' A mnemonic, anything which might give a clue or verification. 'Try to remember.'
'I don't have to try. Not if you're talking about coordinates. That's the last thing they'd want to keep.' Urich looked at Dumarest, his eyes widening a little. 'You still don't understand. None of the Ypsheim ever want to see Earth again. To them it means death. Can't you guess what they'll do once they realize you've taken them there?'
Beneath the lastorch metal fumed, ran molten, hardened as Talion killed the beam. After a moment he tested the weld. The bar he'd fastened across the edge of the door held fast to both panel and jamb.
'It'll do,' he said. 'They could break out given time but it'll hold long enough.' He glanced at Dumarest. 'You want me to do the rest?'
'All the cabins aside from those I've marked. When you've finished go to the engine room and stay there. Don't open up for anyone unless I've given you the word-the code will be Sigma Three. If you don't hear that you don't obey.'
A precaution against threat as the welded doors was against concerted action. Talion moved on, the lastorch flaring as he welded another door. Beneath his tunic the bulk of a pistol made a comforting pressure. Another precaution against possible trouble, but the greatest comfort was Dumarest himself-for he knew what he was doing.
Leo Belkner looked up from where he sat at the table as Dumarest entered the salon. Ava Vasudiva was at his side, Ulls Farnham and another woman with a hard, mannish face, sat opposite. All now rode Middle; the quick- time which slowed their metabolism neutralized.
The woman with Farnham said sharply, 'What's happening? Why are you sealing the cabins?'
'To avoid potential trouble, Berthe.' Urich spoke from where he stood guard at the door. 'I explained all that.'
'Trouble?' The woman sneered. 'When they're all under quick-time?'
Dumarest said, 'Regular doses are necessary to maintain the condition and it takes time to administer them. We haven't the time.' Nor the people to do the work. None that he could wholly trust, especially now. Urich had caught whispers transmitted through the structure of the ship and others could have heard him talk of their destination. 'They'll be all right. Once we land they'll be released.' In small batches, guarded, ushered from the vessel. To Farnham he said, 'Have you worked out any plans as to procedure after landing?'
'We want a quiet spot,' said Belkner before the other could answer. 'Somewhere far from a city. A place with water and land and materials for building.'
The leader asserting his authority. Dumarest ignored him. 'Ulls?'
Farnham flushed his pleasure at being recognized. 'Well, yes, I've thought of a few things. Berthe agrees with me. We've no argument with Leo about staying clear of cities. We want a chance to build our own life and if we are too close to a town there will be drifting as some find jobs and we'll need to be accepted and the rest of it. We don't want to be swamped. It's better to stay isolated.'
From Belkner's viewpoint in order to gain strength through self-sufficiency. From Farnham's to gain the opportunity of easier manipulation. Watching them Urich masked a smile, recognizing the wedge Dumarest was driving between them, knowing why he was doing it. A divided enemy was a weakened foe.
