THE RETURN dot-32 Page 7

  "I have one hundred and five. I am waiting for your bids." He lifted his gavel then, deliberately put it down. "I'll give you time to remember what is on offer. Goods worth far in excess of what has been bid. A lot holding the potential of vast profit. I open the bidding for the last time."

  Dumarest said, "Is he talking of a reserve?"

  "No." Pember's voice held a dry amusement. "He made a false bid to up the amount. Now he's stuck with it. Let him sweat for a while."

  "Let him sweat too long and you could wind up on a stake." Dumarest recognized the obvious anger. "He's of the Kaldari. Think he'll be gentle? Bid, damn you! Now!"

  Before rage overtook the auctioneer and he threw aside civilized restraint. Bids were mostly by signal and he could swear such signals had been made, running up an enormous sum, forcing a hapless victim to pay or face the penalty.

  Quickly Pember touched his nose.

  "One ten." Cameron relaxed. "I have one hundred and ten thousand. It isn't enough. Unless there is realistic appreciation of what is on offer I shall cancel the auction."

  Montiel said, "I protest! You can't do that!"

  "Are you telling me what I can't do?" Raw anger edged the auctioneer's voice. "Do you think you have the right to rob the Kaldari?"

  "Of course not! But traditions should be kept. We have an understanding and-"

  "No one is robbing you." Dumarest rose to his feet and moved towards the platform. A man who had demonstrated he was not of the ring. "The bidding is fair for the product offered. Look." He touched the unit on display, opening a panel to show the empty interior. "It's incomplete," he explained. "It lacks a vital component. They all do. Without them the units are valueless."

  At times it seemed the walls were closing in to crush her as if she had been an insect caught between a finger and a thumb. Then she would leave the office to walk in the open air but even then there were restraints. The hills, the buildings, even the bowl of the sky were components of the prison which held her. Symbols of earlier times when, always, there had been those to tell her what to do, how to act, how to think, how to live the life which should have been hers.

  Only work provided an anodyne and even that was not always efficacious.

  Nadine sighed, leaning back in her chair, palming her eyes. In the darkness she could see Pember's face, old, ugly in its anger as he complained of unfair treatment.

  "I was cheated." Rage made him offensive. "The goods in lot thirty-two were rubbish."

  "They were offered as seen. The standard procedure. You know that."

  "I had no way of telling. The -"

  "Didn't you call on the services of an engineer?"

  "There was no need. We -I was given to understand the units were perfect." His face darkened. "Damn him!"

  "Who?"

  "Dumarest!"

  "Then blame him, not us. You bought as seen. The lot is yours. The money is ours."

  Verified credit and he had left in a storm. As had Zehava Postel.

  "Is this all?" She had stared incredulously at the figure on the slip handed her. A woman Nadine envied if she did not like. "Are you sure?"

  "You have the figures; cost of missiles fired, fuel, equipment used, other expenses." Nadine tried to be patient. "You have the sum gained from the sale of the loot. Set one against the other and you have the profit or loss. In your case a profit. You know the size of your share."

  "And yours."

  "Administration has to be paid for. If you want to handle everything yourself, nothing is stopping you. But you'll find it doesn't pay."

  As the raid hadn't been as profitable as hoped and, in the darkness of her palms, Nadine could see the cold anger in the woman's face. The determination in her eyes.

  "Nadine." Jessie on the communicator. "Earl Dumarest to see you."

  He came with the calm assurance of a man who needed no one but himself. An attribute which warmed her to him as, with quick intuition, she sensed the loneliness she knew too well.

  "Dumarest." She rose and smiled a welcome as she gestured him to a chair. "Or may I call you Earl?" Her smile widened as he nodded. "I've been hearing things about you. Someone said you cheated him."

  "Pember."

  "Yes. Did you?"

  "I sold him an idea. Buy lot thirty-two. Take the units to a harsh world, lease them to those who needed them most. I know where they would be welcome. I told him the units were far better than anyone here could guess. Having them examined by an engineer would reveal their true value. I didn't lie and I didn't cheat. I simply didn't tell the entire truth."

  "I still don't understand. If you had revealed the truth the units would have attracted no bids. You could have bought them for practically nothing."

  Dumarest said, "Do you gamble? There is a point in any game when a player has invested too much to throw in his hand. His loss would be too great for him not to risk more. Pember offered me a partnership. He thought I had a vested influence on the world I mentioned. I let him think that. I persuaded him to buy the units. Until he owned them I had nothing to bargain with."

  "If he'd bought them too cheaply he would be willing to cut his losses." She nodded, appreciating the irony of one man thinking to cheat another and being cheated in turn. For Pember it was a case of poetic justice. "But what do you get out of it?" She answered her own question. "Of course! You have the missing components!"

  Dumarest said nothing, watching her face, the movement of her eyes. She lacked the vibrant femininity of Zehava which flaunted itself like a challenge, instead she had a poised calmness which told of iron control. That and something else, a mannerism, a thing he had seen before. As if she had to make a conscious effort not to speak but wait until a question was asked before answering it.

  He said, bluntly, "Are you a reader?"

  "I'm not a telepath if that's what you mean. I just guessed you had the components. I must warn you that I'm in no position to make a deal."

  Something he hadn't asked, but she had known it was on his mind. As she read now of his suspicions. Damn the man! Why did he have to be so shrewd?

  "I knew a man once," said Dumarest quietly. "In a way he was a friend. He had a peculiar talent. He could read people. Not their minds but their actions. Small things which betrayed what they were thinking. He found it embarrassing at times. People tended to avoid him. They were afraid of what they might reveal."

  Something she knew too well. "What happened to him?"

  "Balman? He died."

  As her father had died. Her mother. As, she sensed, had all those close to Dumarest. Did he too feel the restraints which tormented her?

  Dumarest said, "If you were in my position, what would you do?"

  "With the components? Offer them to Pember. He will have to give you a good price. Those units are worth far more than he paid for them." She added, shrewdly, "You don't trust him."

  "There is a lot of money involved."

  "Safeguards can be utilized. You must have thought of them. No!"

  Dumarest said, "You're doing it again. Rejecting an offer before it's made. At least listen to what I have to say."

  "You're wasting your time."

  "That is hardly the response of someone who should be interested in survival. Who is trusted by the Council to do the best for Kaldar. Should I go over your head? Make my offer to someone less intransigent?"

  "You would do that?"

  "It is your decision." Dumarest moved his chair closer to the desk, placed an arm on the surface, leaned forward to put his face inches from her own. "I'll deal with Pember if I have to but I'd rather not. He would complicate things. He might even try to kill me. He could succeed."

  Nadine doubted it. "Why would he want to do that?"

  Because of what he was; scum battening on filth. A parasite living on property stolen from others. Trading in goods stained with blood, pain, death and tears. A thing worse than any raider for without his kind to provide a market none could prosper. Things Dumarest didn't mention. Facts she r
ead as if he had.

  "Earl! We are what we are!"

  "Then be what you are!" He leaned even closer, his face hard with the ferocity of a predator. "What do you owe to Pember and his kind? Why show them concern? Act for me. For yourself. Sell him the components."

  "No."

  "Two hundred units." Dumarest ignored the protest. "Charge what you like and keep a tenth of what you get. An eighth. A fair commission."

  "You don't understand. We don't operate that way. Toibin-"

  "Has nothing to do with this. He's made his sale but the components are mine. Money," he urged. "Think of what you could do with it!"

  How had he known? Had he read her as she had read him? Sensing her need and playing on it? Offering the one lure she couldn't resist. The chance of freedom. Of independence. Of escape.

  Looking up she saw the smiling face of her father. A smile of love or derision?

  Dumarest said, quietly, "The components are legally mine. Bought in normal trade."

  "That makes a difference?"

  "To you, perhaps." He smiled as her eyes dropped to meet his own. "We are what we are. But what we are isn't always what we seem to be. Please, Nadine. I need your help."

  "To make a fortune?"

  "No," he said. 'To get transport to Earth."

  Chapter Seven

  In the shadows a woman was chanting a saga composed to laud the prowess of the raiders, their bravery, their courage, their fierce independence. Verses which dealt with blood and conquest, each followed by a roar from the crowd. Sound augmented by fists drumming on tables and the clash of beakers. Barbaric melody laced with wild ululations and animal bellowing.

  The Kaldari at play.

  The auction was over, the dealers gone, the warehouse now empty. It was a time to relax, to celebrate and make plans for future enterprises. Time, also, for tempers to flare and imagined grievances to be revenged. For romance to flower and assignations to be made. For the true nature of the Kaldari to show itself in strutting, unthinking, barbaric arrogance.

  Dumarest sat with Zehava at a corner table. An overhead lantern cast a soft, yellow light and others of varying hues filled the tavern with blotches of ruby and emerald, of sapphire, agate, amethyst. Doors and windows were illuminated with the nacreous sheen of pearl. Colors which accentuated the gleam of polished leather and metal, of bracelets, armbands, chains and heavy rings. Portable wealth advertising the prowess of the wearer.

  "Drink!"

  A man lurched to a halt before the table. He swayed a little, spilled wine shining wetly on his clothing. His belt was of wide golden links, the sheathed knife bright with jewels and ornate engraving.

  "Drink," he said again. "Drink with Odumi."

  Dumarest rose without hesitation, his goblet lifted high. "I drink," he said loudly. "To Odumi and to all his friends."

  "The toast?"

  "To travel far. To live well. To die bravely."

  A sentiment which appealed and a roar of approbation echoed from the rafters. Odumi, satisfied, moved away to join a knot of cronies. The woman, her chant ended, stepped forward into brighter light to reveal herself as a crone painted and adorned to resemble a warrior queen. As she scrabbled for the coins flung as a reward other women, far younger, moved purposefully among the men.

  Zehava snorted her contempt as someone began another chant.

  "Look at the fools. Strutting, drinking, dreaming of past glories when they taste nothing but failure. Do you know how much Toibin made from that raid? Can you guess?"

  "Not enough."

  "Nowhere near enough." She scowled into her empty goblet, watched as a girl, responding to Dumarest's signal, refilled it. "Tonight will see the back of most of the gain. I had a double share but even that barely paid expenses. Glowering, she added, "I heard he blamed me. Said my selection was poor."

  "As you expected."

  "As you warned me he would but I still don't like it." The wine lowered as she drank. "What do you think of our administrator?"

  "Nadine?"

  "That's the one. Nadine Cavallo. Sorenson's niece. Her mother married his brother." Patiently she explained, "Women retain their own names on Kaldar. If I had a daughter she would be named after me. Sons take their father's name."

  "Tell me about her."

  He leaned back, remembering the face which was a mask for the unhappiness within. A lonely child who had grown into a lonely woman. One alien to her place and time, unable to accept the mores of the society into which she had been born and yearning to escape to a more gentle culture.

  "She's weak." Zehava dismissed the woman with a shrug. "Her mother should have taken her into the dark. Brak should have made her go roving to harden her spirit. Instead he let her skulk in an office. I tried to befriend her once. Fetched her a necklace from a raid but she wouldn't touch it. The fool. There wasn't even blood on it." She laughed at the memory. "That raid was something! We hit a vacation resort and stripped it clean. Neat work and good profit. Urstyn was clever."

  "Why don't you still ride with him?"

  "He's dead. Took a nasty wound in the gut on Asque. The pain was too much so he ended it." She lifted her goblet. "A good man. I drink to his memory."

  As others were now drinking to old comrades and departed friends. In a far corner a drum throbbed and a pipe wailed a mournful tune. Money rattled on the tables as serving girls scurried with fresh jugs of wine for the toasting. A custom it would be unwise to ignore. Dumarest bought wine, refilled their goblets, pretended to drink to every shouted name.

  To Zehava he said, "Who was the man who died on Arpagus?"

  "Did anyone die?"

  "A loader. Toibin left him behind. Find out who it was. Quickly!" He watched as she slipped away to mingle with others. Shouting rose as she returned and men milled about the door. The beat of the drum quickened as if the celebrations were reaching a climax. "Well?"

  "Dren Ford. He wasn't missed until after they'd left." Slowly she added, "If you know he's dead you must have killed him."

  "So?"

  "For God's sake don't admit it. He has kin. There are at least five here who would avenge him."

  "They'd fight?"

  "They'd butcher. You wouldn't stand a chance. They'd cut you down like a beast and none would object. You're an outsider. They don't owe you anything. You aren't of the Kaldari."

  But she was. Dumarest said, quietly, "He should be remembered."

  "Yes." She looked at the crowd, a sudden anger thinning her lips. "The bastard! Toibin might have some excuse for having abandoned me but not the loader. His people should know what happened." Abruptly she rose to her feet, her voice clear against the wail of the pipe, the pulse of the drum. "A toast! To one who was forgotten. I drink to Dren Ford!"

  As the music died a man called, "We drink to the dead,

  Zehava."

  "I know that."

  "Are you saying my nephew is dead?" A woman thrust herself through the crowd, a hand resting on the dagger at her waist. Ruby light shone from polished steel as she twitched at the blade. "Abandoned?"

  "Is he here? Have you his body? Did any see him die?"

  "But-"

  "I was there. On Arpagus after the raid. Abandoned by a man I thought I could trust. I know how they felt about us and what they wanted to do. If Dren died quickly he was lucky." Zehava lifted her goblet. "I drink to a comrade. He was forgotten by his captain – let us not forget him now. To Dren Ford!"

  Glass shattered as she flung the empty goblet to the floor. Destruction compounded as others followed her example. As the crystalline tinkling died a man walked from the crowd gathered at the door.

  As he halted before the table Zehava said, "So you've shown yourself at last. Earl – meet Captain Leese Toibin."

  He was tall, lithe, a man at the end of his fourth decade. The black leather which clothed his body bore plates and jewels of price. His belt was wide, set with gems, hung with a knife in a gleaming scabbard. More jewels glowed from his rings, bracelets,
the thick chain about his neck. His face was a contradiction to the barbaric garb, long, smooth, the eyes enigmatic pools of darkness beneath arching brows. The visage of an artist who delighted in creating images of pain. An actor who had timed his entry for maximum impact.

  "Earl Dumarest," he said. "I have heard much about you."

  The voice, like the face, held an unexpected gentility. The tones of an aristocrat who could afford to be bland, but Dumarest sensed the force within him, the arrogance of a man accustomed to being obeyed.

  "Zehava." He turned to the woman. "How nice to see you again. You were talking, my dear. What were you saying?"

  "You heard me."

  "Some of it, yes, but had another told me of your tirade I would have doubted his sanity. Do you honestly believe that I deliberately abandoned you?"

  "I was left." Anger flared in her voice and eyes. "Damn you! Can you guess what would have happened to me had I been taken?"

  "A risk you willingly accepted for double a captain's share. You failed to make the rendezvous. Blame yourself, not me."

  "You were the captain. I risked my life on that raid and deserved better consideration. And what about Ford?"

  The woman who had claimed to be his aunt called out from where she stood. "Tell us about Dren, captain. What happened to him?"

  "It was time to leave. I sounded the recall. Later we found he had missed the ship."

  "How? Why?"

  "I questioned the others of his team. They said he was more interested in delving into bales than getting on with the job. He could have lingered after private loot."

  "Dren wouldn't have done that!"

  "He missed the ship." The softness held the touch of an impatient snarl. "He knew what he had to do and failed to do it. Was I to sit and wait for him? Risk everything because he was tardy?"

  Zehava said, "You could have waited. There was no risk."

  "No?" Toibin gave her his attention. "How can you be sure of that?"