E.C Tubb: Earth is Heaven

Too easily?

On the face of it nothing seemed wrong; Dumarest's thwarted escape attempt, the woman an opportunist eager for reward, the old captain forced to accompany her in case it became necessary to shoot Dumarest in the legs. Fear of the Ypsheim had gained them entry to the vessel; angered at Farnham's death they could have attacked and smashed Dumarest's skull with a stone. But such an accident would have lost the precious secret his mind contained. A logical assessment of events followed by appropriate action and yet, he sensed, something was wrong.

If all had been planned, how better to gain entry to the Seldah ?

And none of them had been searched!

A cyber's face portrayed no emotion, being unable to mirror what the man did not feel. Always it was a bland mask shielding inner thoughts, but Dumarest saw the sudden, reactive twitch of the hands, sensed the radiated tension as Avro realized his mistake. One born of the rush of events but, even so, inexcusable.

"Weitz." Avro lifted his hand to point at Dumarest. "Cripple him."

A command Dumarest had anticipated and his hand was reaching for the knife in his boot as Avro spoke. To snatch it out, throw it, kill the acolyte and lunge to grip the cyber and use him as a hostage against further attack. A plan depending entirely on his speed-one he knew had failed as his fingers touched the hilt.

Weitz was more than ready. Fawning, eager to please, to regain his lost station, he had held the laser aimed and ready. A man needing to prove his efficiency, the gun needing only the pressure of his finger to release a shaft of burning energy.

"No!" Ysanne screamed as he saw the hand, the closing finger. "Dear God-no!"

She ran forward to shield Dumarest-and screamed again as Weitz fired.

The beam caught her in the stomach just above the buckle of her wide belt then slashed an opening over her lower torso, parted the mound of her left breast, caught a thick braid as she went down and turned it into a flaring torch to sear the flesh of her cheek.

Then Dumarest was on him, diving low, rising to lift the gun-arm on his left shoulder, his knife poised to slash at the elbow, to cut at the throat, to slice the joint again and to send the severed forearm and laser to the deck. As Weitz staggered back, blood spouting from the stump to join the fountain gushing from his throat, Dumarest turned, the knife a crimson-dappled blur as it left his hand to bury itself to the hilt in the breast of a crewman about to fire.

And fell as Amrik shot at his knee.

"Hold!" Batrun shouted before the acolyte could fire again. "Hold or we all die!" He stood backed against the bulkhead, right hand lifted, a bright gleam showing through his fingers. "A bomb," he said. "One with a pressure-fuse. If I release my grip it will blow and kill us all."

Words which washed over Dumarest like a sea as he rolled on the deck to come to a halt beside Ysanne. She lay on her back, blood dappling the bright metal of the buckle holding her belt, a redness he touched as he dragged his right leg beneath him. The left was useless; the knee numbed from the blast of the laser, the bone seared, tissue charred, the limb intact only because of his protective clothing.

In the silence following Batrun's warning he moved, balancing his weight on his good leg, looking up to judge position and distance. Amrik stood before the cyber, his laser leveled at the old captain. Avro was motionless and, against the far bulkhead, the captain of the Seldah with the rest of his crew had leveled their guns.

After a moment Avro assessed the situation and ordered them to fire. To char Batrun's hand, the box it held. To sear the container and fuse it solid.

A moment in which to act.

Dumarest reared, standing balanced on his right leg, his right arm a blur as he threw the short, broad-bladed dagger Ysanne had carried in the buckle of her belt. As it tore into Amrik's chest he threw himself forward, hopping, reaching the cyber just as he was about to fall. To grip the scarlet-robed figure, to wrap his arms around the skull, to press with the flat of his left hand.

"Freeze!" He snarled the command as he applied pressure to the side of the shaven head. "Move and I'll break his neck!" Bone creaked as he emphasized the warning. "Drop those guns! Andre!"

Batrun lowered his hand, the snuff box vanishing into a pocket, stopping to pick up Ysanne's discarded gun. As it leveled he said, "Got it, Earl!"

"Good." Dumarest eased the pressure a little. Amrik was dead, steel buried in his heart, the others helpless beneath the threat of Batrun's weapon. In his arms the cyber stirred, muscle bunching beneath the fatless layer of skin.

"Kill me and you die. You must know that."

"I know it." Dumarest stooped, the fingers of his left hand delving into his hair, to reappear holding a green ampule tipped with an injection needle. "You won't die, cyber. On the contrary-you will experience life in a manner you never imagined possible. You know what this is?" He held the green ampule before Avro's eyes. "The affinity twin," he whispered. "The dominant half. The secret you came so far to get. How far, cyber?" His grip tightened. "How far, damn you? How far?"

A question Avro would never answer and he had wasted time in asking. Dumarest looked at the Seldah's captain, his crew.

"He will collapse," he said. "Drugged but not dead. Take care of him-take him home." The green ampule poised above the cyber's throat. "The secret, Avro-I give it to you."

The green ampule plunged home. As Avro slumped Dumarest threw him toward the captain of the Seldah and turned to the woman on the deck.

Ysanne was dying.

She tried to smile as he knelt beside her, ignoring the pain of his injured knee, a trace of blood edging the corners of her mouth, more welling from the deep wound in her stomach, the slash across her torso. Heat from the charred braid had seared her cheek as heat from the laser had cauterized the wounds, but they had been too deep for total stanching.

"Earl!" Pain made the smile a grimace. "Did we-"

"It's over. We won."

"I'm glad." She coughed and carmine accentuated the paling hue of her lips. Color Dumarest wiped away with reddened fingers. "I interfered," she said. "Blocked your aim. If I hadn't moved-"

"I'd be dead. You saved my life."

"Good." Her eyes, in their smudged sockets, held a liquid tenderness. "Then it wasn't a waste. Earl!"

"Easy!" His hand moved to her throat, fingers finding the pulse of the carotid arteries beneath the skin. A pressure and she would be free of pain. "Easy, now."

"It's gone. The pain, I mean." Her eyes were suddenly clear, sharply direct. "I love you, darling. I love you."

"And I you, Ysanne."

"Kiss me, darling." She sighed as he lifted his stained mouth. "I wanted to give you so much; sons, daughters, children of your body. Too late now, but at least I gave you what you wanted most of all. I found Earth, darling. I gave you that."

"Yes, Ysanne, you gave me that."

He stooped to kiss her again and, when he straightened, she was dead.

The day was ending with swaths of red and orange, gold and amber, dusty yellow and pale lavender streaming from the western horizon. A display which painted the sky with glory; banners to herald the coming splendor of the night.

Dumarest watched it as he stood beside the mound, the board at its head bearing a seared and stained tunic, one of leather ornamented with beads and symbols and patches of once-bright ornamentation. The rustle of grass lowered his head and he saw Belkner and Ava Vasudiva walking toward him.

"Earl!" She came on ahead, eyes moist with a woman's understanding. "Earl-I'm sorry." The hand she'd dropped on his arm tightened with sympathy. "You must have loved her very much."