Jack of Swords dot-14 Page 9

  A statement of conviction or hope? Dumarest said, "If the girl can't do as you say, we are all heading toward destruction. How can you be certain she has the attribute you claim?"

  "She has it." Sufan made a small gesture of confidence. "I trust the Schell-Peng."

  "I don't." Dumarest jerked open the door of the cabin. "Pacula. Usan, please step outside. I want to talk to the girl alone."

  "What do you intend?" Pacula was suspicious. "If-"

  "Don't be a fool!" snapped Usan impatiently. "Earl has his reasons and he won't hurt her. Let him do as he wants. I trust him if you don't."

  Alone with the girl, Dumarest stood for a moment with his back to the closed door, then stepped to where she sat.

  Abruptly he moved his hand toward her eyes, halting his fingers an inch from the blank orbs.

  "You almost touched me," she said evenly.

  "You felt the wind?"

  "That and more, Earl. I may call you that?"

  "Yes, Embira, but how did you know it was me?"

  His tread, perhaps, sharp ears could have distinguished it. His odor, the normally undetectable exudations from his body, recognized by a dog so why not by a girl trained to use the rest of her senses?

  "Your aura," she said. "I can tell your aura. You carry metal and wear more. The others do not."

  The knife he carried in his boot and the mesh buried in the plastic of his clothing. An electronic instrument could have determined as much-was she no more than that?

  Stepping back from the chair Dumarest said, "I am going to move about the cabin. Tell me where I am and, if possible, what I am doing."

  He moved toward the door, stepped to the right, the left, approached her and retreated and, each time, she correctly gave his movement. A small block of clear plastic stood on a table, an ornament containing an embedded flower. He picked it up, tossed it, threw it suddenly toward her.

  His aim had been good, it missed her face by more than an inch, but she had made no effort to ward off the missile.

  "Did you see that?"

  "See?"

  "Observe, sense, become aware." Baffled he sought for another word to explain sight. "Determine?"

  "Krang," she said. "At the laboratory they called it krang. No, I could not krang it."

  "Why not?"

  "It had no aura."

  Plastic and a dead flower, yet both were mass and a radar installation would have been able to track the path of the object. Too small, perhaps? A matter of density?

  He said, "How many others ride this ship?"

  "Seven." Frowning, she added, "I think, seven. One is hard to determine. His aura is hazed and lost at times."

  The engineer, his aura diffused by the energies emitted by the generator-if she was registering raw energy. If she could see, or krang it.

  Sitting on the cot Dumarest tried to understand. A mind which could determine the presence of energy or mass if it was large or dense enough. Every living thing radiated energy, every machine, every piece of decaying matter. To be blind to the normal spectrum of light, yet to be able to "see" the varying auras of fluctuating fields, to isolate them, to state their movements against the background of other auras.

  What else was normal sight? Only the terminology was different. He saw in shape and form and color, she distinguished patterns. He saw solid objects of isolated mass, she recognized force fields and stress-complexes, "auras" of varying size, hue, and form.

  Sufan's guide to find a dream.

  He said, "Embira, how long were you with the Schell-Peng?"

  "All my life."

  "As far back as you can remember, you mean. They wouldn't have taken you as a baby. Was your past never mentioned?"

  "No, Earl. They trained me. Always they trained me, and sometimes they hurt me. I think they did things-" Her hands lifted toward her face, her eyes. "No. I can't remember."

  It was kinder not to press. Rising, Dumarest said, "I want to examine you, Embira. I may touch you, do you mind?"

  "No."

  Her face turned up toward him as he lifted fingers beneath her chin, the cheeks petal-smooth, the forehead unlined. Her skin was warm with a velvet softness and the perfume Pacula had sprayed onto her hair rose to engulf him in a scented cloud. Carefully he studied her eyes, seeing no sign of scars or adapted tissue. The balls seemed to be covered with an opaque film shot with lambent strands, the irises and pupils invisible.

  "Earl, your hands, they are so firm."

  "I won't hurt you. Can you move your eyes? No? Never mind."

  The gown had long sleeves. He lifted them and looked at the expanse of her arms.

  "Do you want to see the rest of me, Earl?" Her voice was innocent of double meaning. "Shall I undress?"

  "No, that won't be necessary. Do you know why you are here, Embira?"

  "Sufan Noyoka told me. I am to guide you."

  "Can you?"

  "I don't know, Earl, but I will try. I will do anything you want."

  "No, Embira," he said, harshly. "Not what I want. Not what Sufan Noyoka wants or any other person. You're not a slave. You do as you want and nothing else. You understand?"

  "But I was bought-"

  "You were stolen," he interrupted. "You belong to no one but yourself. You owe nothing to anyone."

  A lesson he tried to drive home. The girl was too vulnerable and had yet to be armored against the cruel reality of life.

  For a long moment she sat, silent, then said, slowly, "You mean well, Earl, I know that. But you are wrong. I do owe you something. But only you, Earl. For you I would do anything."

  A child speaking with an unthinking innocence, unaware of the implication, the unspoken invitation. Then, looking at her, he realized how wrong that was. She was not a child but a fully mature woman with all a woman's instincts. His touch had triggered a response to his masculinity; a biochemical reaction as old as time.

  Aware of his scrutiny she said, "At the laboratories they told me I was very beautiful. Am I?"

  "Yes."

  "And you like me?"

  "You're a member of this expedition. I like you no more and no less than the others."

  Outside the cabin Pacula was waiting, Marek at her side. As she brushed past Dumarest and closed the door he smiled.

  "The girl has stimulated her maternal instincts, Earl. Twice I had to stop her from interfering. And, of course, there could be a touch of jealously. The girl is very lovely, don't you agree?"

  Dumarest said, "I owe you thanks."

  "For the scream? It was nothing, a diversion created without personal danger, and it amused me to see you overcome those men." Pausing, Marek added casually, "One other thing, Earl. It might interest you to know we are being followed."

  "A ship?"

  "From Chamelard. It left shortly after we did, but don't worry, we are pulling ahead. And contact is impossible. A small accident to the radio, you understand. I thought it wise."

  How much did the man know or suspect? A lover of puzzles, a man proud of his talent, could he have associations with the Cyclan? And Dumarest could guess what the following ship contained. A cyber who had predicted his movements and had arrived on Chamelard a little too late.

  He said, "The Schell-Peng must be eager for revenge."

  "That's what I thought." Marek's eyes were bland. "And with a captain like ours it would be stupid to take chances. He would think nothing of cooperating if the reward were high enough. Us evicted, the girl handed over, money received, the Mayna his without question-why should he risk his neck searching for a legendary world?"

  A facile explanation and, Dumarest hoped, a true one. But from a man who courted danger?

  A matter of degree, he decided. The risk of betrayal was nothing against the perils that waited for them in the Hichen Cloud.

  Chapter Ten

  The first shock came ten days later, a jerk as if the vessel had been struck by a giant hand, and as the alarms shrilled Dumarest ran to the control room. The girl was already at her sta
tion, sitting in a chair behind the one occupied by Rae Acilus.

  The captain was curt. "There is no place for you here, Earl."

  "I want him to stay." Embira reached out and took his hand, groping until he placed his fingers within her own. "Earl, you stay with me?"

  "I'll stay."

  "Then don't interfere." Acilus's voice was the rap of a martinet. "I've enough to think about as it is. Jarv?"

  The navigator was at his post, Sufan Noyoka at his side. On all sides massed instruments hummed and flashed in quiet efficiency; electronic probes and sensors scanning the void, a computer correlating the assembled information, mechanical brains, eyes and fingers which alone could guide the vessel on its path from star to star.

  Again the ship jerked, warning bells ringing, the alarms dying as the captain hit a switch. An impatient gesture born of necessity-within the Cloud the alarms would be constant.

  Dumarest stared at the picture depicted on the screens.

  He had been in dust clouds before, riding traders risking destruction for the sake of profit, and had no illusions as to the dangers they faced. The space ahead, filled with broken atoms and minute particles of matter was an electronic maelstrom. Opposed charges, building, wrenched the very fabric of the continuum and altered the normal laws of space and time. Only by delicate questing and following relatively safe paths could a vessel hope to survive and always was the danger of shifting nodes of elemental force, which could turn a ship into molten ruin, rip it, turn it inside out, crush it so as to leave the crew little more than crimson smears.

  And the Mayna was going too fast. Sufan had placed too much faith in the girl's ability.

  "Up!" she said. "Quickly!"

  Ahead space looked normal, the instruments registering nothing but a dense magnetic field, but the forces which affected the registers could affect human brains so eyes saw other than reality.

  "Obey!" snapped Sufan as the captain hesitated. "Follow Embira's instructions at all times without hesitation."

  The ship sang as, too late, the captain moved his controls. A thin, high-pitched ringing which climbed to the upper limit of audibility and beyond. Dumarest felt the pain at his ears, saw ruby glitters sparkle from the telltales, then it was over as they brushed the edge of the danger.

  Opposing currents which had vibrated the hull as if it had been a membrane shaken by a wind. Yet, around them, space seemed clear.

  "Left," she said and then quickly, "and down!"

  This time Acilus obeyed without delay.

  Dumarest said, "What route are we following?"

  As yet Sufan had been mysterious, conferring with Jarv Nonach and Marek Cognez alone, making computations and avoiding questions. Hugging the secret of his discovery as if it were a precious gem. But now Dumarest wanted answers.

  "Tell me, Sufan. How do we find Balhadorha?"

  "We must reach the heart of the Cloud," said the man reluctantly. "There are three suns in close proximity and the Ghost World should be at the common point between them."

  "Should be?"

  "Will be?" Sufan blazed his impatience. "For years I have devoted my life to this matter. Trust me, Earl. I know what I'm doing." He stared at the paper in his hand, muttering to the navigator, then said, "Captain, you are off course. The correct path lies fifteen degrees to the left and three upward. There will be a star. Approach it to within fifteen units then take course…"

  Dumarest glanced at the girl as the man rattled a stream of figures. She was sitting, tense, her blind eyes gleaming in the subdued lighting. Her fingers, gripping his own, were tight.

  "Earl?"

  "I'm here, Embira. You know that. You can feel my hand."

  "Your hand!" She lifted it to her cheek and held it hard against the warm velvet of her skin. "It's hard to krang you, Earl. The auras are so bright and there are so many of them. Hold me! Never let me go!"

  A woman afraid and with good reason. For her normal matter did not exist, it was an obstruction, unseen, known only by touch. Instead there was a mass of lambent glows and, perhaps, shifting colors. Now she sat naked among them, conscious of lethal forces all around, denied even the comfort of the solid appearance of the protective hull. The metal, to her, would be a haze shot with streamers of probing energy, startling, hurting, the cause of fear and terror.

  "The left!" she said abruptly. "No, the right, quickly. Quickly. Now up! Up!"

  Her voice held confusion, one which grew as the hours dragged past and, beneath his hand, Dumarest could feel her mounting tension.

  He said, "The girl must have rest."

  Acilus turned, snarling, "Earl, damn you, I warned you not to interfere!"

  "This is madness. The instruments are confused and we're practically traveling blind."

  "The girl-"

  "Is only human and can think only at human speed. She's tired and has no chance to assess what she discovers. We're deep in the Cloud now. Slow down and give her a chance to rest."

  "And if I don't?"

  "It's my life as well as yours, Captain." Dumarest met the hooded eyes, saw the hands clench into fists as they left the controls. "Maintain control!" he rapped. "Acilus, you fool!"

  Embira screamed. "Turn! Turn to the right! Turn!"

  Again no danger was visible or registered in the massed instruments but as the ship obeyed the delayed action of the captain, telltales blazed in a ruby glow, the vessel itself seeming to change, to become a profusion of crystalline facets, familiar objects distorted by the energies affecting the sensory apparatus of the brain. A time in which they had only the guide of the girl's voice calling directions.

  One in which the air shook to the sudden screaming roar from the engine room, Timus's voice yelling over the intercom.

  "The generator! It's going!"

  "Cut it!" shouted Dumarest. "Cut it!"

  The ship jarred as the order was obeyed, the normal appearance returning as the field died. Slumped in her chair the girl shuddered, her free hand groping, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "The pain," she whispered. "Earl, the pain!"

  "It's all right," he soothed. "It's over."

  "Earl!"

  He pressed her hands, soothing with his presence, his face grim as he looked at the screens. The field was down, they were drifting in the Cloud and, if the generator was ruined, they were as good as dead.

  * * *

  Marek sat in the salon, outwardly calm, only the slight tremor of his hands as he toyed with a deck of cards revealing his inner tension.

  "So we gamble, Earl, hoping that we escape danger while we drift." He turned a card and pursed his lips. "The captain is not happy."

  "To hell with him."

  "You abrogated his command. He would not have cut the generator."

  "He forgot what he was doing. He let anger overcome him."

  "True, but Rae Acilus is a hard man, Earl, and he will not forget the slight. You shamed him before others. If the opportunity rises I suggest that you kill him before he kills you." He added meaningfully, "There are others who can run the ship."

  "Such as?"

  "You, perhaps, my friend. And Nonach has some ability." He turned another card. "And I am not without talent."

  A possibility and Dumarest considered it. One successful flight would be enough-and no captain was immortal. Others had taken over command before, need replacing trained skill. As long as they could land and walk away from the wreck it would be enough.

  But first, the ship had to be repaired.

  Pacula looked up from where she sat at the side of the cot as Dumarest looked into Embira's cabin. The girl was asleep, twitching restlessly, one hand clenched, the other groping. He touched it and immediately she quieted.

  "She's overstrained," said Pacula accusingly. "What did you do to her in the control room?"

  "Nothing."

  "But-"

  "She was performing her part," he interrupted curtly. "This isn't a picnic, Pacula. And she isn't made of glass to be protected.
We need her talent if we hope to survive. How is Usan?"

  The woman had suffered another attack and lay now on her cot. Like the girl she was asleep, but her rest was due to drugs and exhaustion. Dumarest stooped over her, touched the prominent veins in her throat, felt the clammy texture of her skin.

  Pacula said, "Is she dying?"

  "We are all dying."

  "Don't play with words, Earl." She was irritable, annoyed at having been taken from her charge. "Will she recover?"

  Already she was living on borrowed time, but her will to live dominated the weakness of her body.

  Dumarest said, "Drug her. Keep her unconscious. Worry will increase the strain she is under and-"

  "If we're all to die she needn't know it." Pacula was blunt. "Is that it, Earl? Your brand of mercy?"

  "You have a better?"

  She looked into his eyes and saw what they held, the acceptance of the harsh universe in which he lived, one against which she had been protected all her life. Who was she to condemn or judge?

  "You think a lot of Usan, Earl. Why? Does she remind you of your grandmother? Your mother?"

  "I remember neither."

  "She saved your life with her lies. Is that it?" And then, as he made no answer, she said bleakly, "Well, now it's up to you to save hers."

  "Not me," he said. "Timus Omilcar."

  The engineer was hard at work. Stripped to the waist he had head and shoulders plunged into the exposed interior of the generator. As Dumarest entered the engine room he straightened, rubbing a hand over his face, his fingers leaving thick, black smears.

  "Well?"

  "It could be worse." Timus stretched, easing his back. "You gave the order just in time. A few more seconds and the entire generator would be rubbish. As it is we're lucky. Two units gone but we saved the rest."

  Good news, but the main question had yet to be answered. Dumarest stepped to where wine rested in a rack on the bench, poured a glass, handed it to the engineer. As the man drank he said, "Can it be repaired?"

  "Given time, yes. We carry spares. Have we time?"

  "We're drifting, but you know that. The girl's asleep, so there could be danger we know nothing about and could do nothing to avoid if we did. As it is space seems clear and we're safe."