Zenya

'I have to find him.'

'I know, but later. You have been away a long time, and I missed you.' She came forward a little, perfume wafting before her, arms lifted in invitation. 'I missed you so very much.'

He said, 'I need to bathe and change.'

* * *

They ate in a place gilded with glowing light, rainbows chasing each other on the walls, the ceiling a mass of drifting smoke shot with glimmers of random brightness. Music came from a living orchestra, martial tunes and exotic rhythms, the throb of drums merging with the wail of pipes, flutes soaring, strings quivering the air. Tall hostesses moved softly on naked feet, their ankles adorned with tiny bells which chimed as they glided between the tables. The food was a succession of dishes, spiced, plain, meats and fish and compotes of fruit, delicacies composed of crushed nuts blended with a dozen different flavors.

Uniforms were everywhere, officers entertaining their women, faces flushed, voices a little too loud, peacocks strutting and enjoying their hour of glory. Volunteers all, paying for their uniforms, their arms, looking on the war as a great adventure.

'Earl,' whispered Zenya, 'I'm so proud of you. You make these others look like inexperienced boys.'

Dumarest made no comment, sipping wine that tasted of honey and mint, icy cold to the mouth, warming as it slid past his throat. He felt tired and wished that he was back in the suite, but it was to be expected that he would entertain his lady.

'Sir?' A middle-aged man stood before him, the insignia of a major bright on his collar. 'With respect, marshal, the captain and I are having a little argument, which perhaps you would be good enough to resolve.' He gestured to the table he had left, the man and the two women watching. 'With your permission?'

He was more than a little drunk; it was easier to agree than argue.

'What is it, major?'

'It has to do with weapons, sir. I advocate lasers, but the captain states that a rifle is as effective, in trained hands. Your opinion?'

'The captain is right.'

'But surely, sir, a laser, especially when set for continuous fire, can be more destructive?'

'True, major, but a man can be killed only once. A bullet will do it as well as anything else. If the object of war was simple destruction, we would all be armed with missile launchers.'

'But, sir, surely-'

'That will be all, major.'

Dumarest sipped again at his wine. The music had fallen to a repetitive beat, bass notes seeming to vibrate the very air, pulsing like the sound of a giant heart. A dancer spun onto the floor, whirling, veils lifting to reveal milky flesh, hair an ebony cloud around the painted face. Another joined her, glistening black, a third as red as flame. Trained litheness merged, parted, met again in a combination of limbs, so that for a moment the three bodies seemed one, to part, to join again in the age-old invitation of all women to all men.

'Beautiful,' whispered Zenya. 'How could any man resist them? Could you, Earl? If I wasn't here? If they came to you?'

They were marionettes, toys, painted dolls dedicated to their art. He turned from them, busy with his wine.

'Have you ever known a woman like that, Earl? An artiste? You must have. Did she love you? Did you love her? Earl, answer me, I want to know.'

He said, 'Zenya, do you know what love really is?'

'Tell me, darling.'

'It isn't the game you play. For you it is all pleasure, fun, excitement. But real love isn't like that. There is pain in it, and sacrifice, and yearning, and something, perhaps, which you have never known. A caring for another person. A tenderness… I can't put it into words. If you feel it, you know it.'

'As you have done, Earl?' She frowned as he made no answer. 'Earl?'

She looked at his hand, tight around his wineglass, the set look on his face, the eyes misted with memories. Jealous, she said, 'Earl, I'm bored. Let's get out of here.'

Branchard was waiting when they returned to the suite. He straightened from where he leaned against a wall, face splitting into a grin as he saw the uniform. Formally he said, 'My lord, may I have the pleasure of a few moments of your time?'

The words were for the benefit of the honor guard standing stiffly beside the door. Maintaining the pretense,

Dumarest snapped, 'This is irregular, but, as you are here…'

Inside, Branchard glanced around, saw the electronic baffle, and relaxed.

'I tried to get word to you, Earl, but you didn't ring back, so I had to take a chance and come myself.' He nodded at Zenya. 'The girl took the message.'

'What message?' She frowned. 'A man rang a few times asking for you to call back. A news service, I understood. Naturally you wouldn't want to be bothered.'

'You should have told me,' said Dumarest mildly. The delay wasn't important. 'Any luck?'

'Some, but you may not like it. The name didn't help, but names can be changed, and the man you're looking for is known here as Amil Kulov.'

'You're sure?'

'There's no doubt about it, Earl. The Lammarre details match to the last decimal point. He had an infection shortly after landing and was treated in the city hospital. He also worked for a time in a chemical factory, doing spot checks on sprays and fungicides, and he's on record in their medical section. The thing is, he isn't in the city.'

Dumarest frowned. 'Where, then? At one of the villages?'

'Not even that. He's one of these crazy guys, you know, always trying to help those who don't really want him to interfere but are too polite to say so. The last known of him was that he was living in the hills among the Ayutha.' Branchard poured himself some wine, emptied half the glass in a single swallow. 'Nice stuff, Earl. They seem to be treating you well.'

'Stick to the point, captain.'

'That is it, Earl. You might as well forget the man. The odds are that he's dead by now. Everyone I spoke to reckons that all the social workers who interested themselves in the primitives got the chop when the trouble started. One thing is for sure-if you go looking for him, you'll head smack into trouble.'

Nothing was simple. Dumarest said, 'Thank you, captain. I'll send money to you at the field.'

Chapter Ten

From the head of the column Ven Taykor said, 'I've never been a gambling man, Earl, but if I were I'd take odds that none of us will get back alive.' His voice was muffled, distorted by the diaphragm of his respirator. 'If I were with the Ayutha, I could pick us off one by one and never need to show myself at all.'

A gamble impossible to avoid. Pausing, Dumarest glanced back at the column of men. They had been marching since dawn from where the rafts had dropped them, following Taykor as he led them toward the hills. They were tired, hot, and irritable, and showed it. Hand-picked, but poorly trained; there had been no time for that.

He said, 'You're a pessimist, Ven. All we want to do is to make contact.'

'Let's hope that we don't do it the hard way.' Taykor reached up to scratch his face, swore as his fingers met the mask. 'Do we have to wear these damn things all the time?'

There was no wind; the leaves of the lofios all around were still, swollen pods taut beneath the sun. They had worn the respirators continuously, field training to get accustomed to the equipment, but the capacity of the tanks was limited.

'We'll take a break,' decided Dumarest. 'Captain Corm, set guards. Respirators to be worn, no firing on any account unless I order. Lieutenant Paran, report.'

He listened as the other relayed details of the situation.

Rafts, heavily armed, riding high at the edge of the hills, men tense to shoot at anything that moved below.