E.C Tubb: Earth is Heaven

Had Elge really gone insane?

The possibility was a blaze of light paling the transient gleams. The body was nothing; merely a receptacle for the brain which in turn existed to accommodate the mind. If the brain could exist without the body, and that had been proved, could the mind exist without the brain?

And if the ego, the individual awareness, should leave the brain-what would be left?

Had Elge been eliminated too soon?

If so it had been an error and so was to be deplored but Avro had no regrets. His mind recalled the picture of what he had seen; a vegetablelike mass, gibbering, the eyes vacuous, empty of the least shred of awareness. And he had been treated, with drugs and electronic probes and all the skills the Cyclan possessed. Treated and found wanting and disposed of like so much garbage.

An empty container thrown into the reclamation unit, but what had happened to the contents?

The vista in Avro's mind changed, turning from the dark emptiness illuminated by transient flickers to something vast and subtle in shape and form. A tremendous structure which held the attributes of a cathedral and yet was to that as a cathedral was to a mud hut. A riot of swirling color, mist which formed walls and columns and spires, vaulted arches and towering peaks and endless promenades. A building fashioned by the power of mind and filled with a multitude of presences.

Its shapes came close and teetered and moved away to be replaced by others as, in the air, invisible hands wrote involved equations which dissolved to form basic symbols.

Universes were built on the premise that gravitation was a negative force. That matter was emptiness and space a solid. That reason fashioned shape and shape determined function. That time was reversed.

A universe in which all were the parts of a single machine.

One in which…

Avro jerked, stung by a sudden jolt of electronic force. Stimulus to wake his body to normal function.

The vista in his mind dissolved. The forms and colors and soaring fabrications. An enticing dream which shredded to leave nothing by greyness, the growing impact of the tank, the ship in which it rested, the pulse of the engines which hurled it between the stars.

The town was slashed by a wide boulevard running from the plaza to the field. One edged with a maze of narrow streets holding a variety of establishments. In one of them a thing danced to the sonorous beat of a drum.

"A yevna," said Vosper. "They are plentiful on a certain world in the Chandorah. A man could get rich dealing in them."

Dumarest said nothing, ignoring the man sharing his table, concentrating instead on the creature weaving on the floor of the tavern. It was almost as tall as himself, stick-thin, articulated limbs wreathed in diaphanous membranes which caught and enhanced the light in shimmering rainbows.

"You feed them sugar," said Vosper. "Sweetness such as honey and syrup. For that they will sell their own kind. But there is no need to buy. Land, set the bait; use the nets when they come-and you have a fortune ready to be loaded into your hold." He added, casually, "Of course they don't live long."

"An advantage," said Dumarest dryly. "Quick turnover and repeat orders."

"You are quick to grasp the essentials." Vosper reached for a bottle. "More wine?"

It was thick, purple, cloying in its sweetness. Dumarest sipped as he watched the yevna finish its dance. A girl replaced it, strumming a harp, her voice as sweet as the wine.

"She could be yours, Earl." Vosper was blunt. "There are few things on Krantz that couldn't be yours. A man with a ship and the universe to rove in-need I say more?" He leaned back, toying with his goblet, a short man, round, no longer young. His clothing was good but showing signs of wear and the rings on his hands were gilded pretensions. As was the chain around his neck, the jewel in the lobe of his left ear. An entrepreneur advertising the wealth he did not possess, but scenting an opportunity. "Of course," he mused. "The ship should be able to leave."

"Meaning?"

"No harm, my friend. No harm." The flash of white teeth illuminated his smile. "But you have been on Krantz two days now. Your ship needs repair and your crew-" He broke off, shrugging. "We are men of the world, you and I. Between us there need be no pretense. A ship, a depleted crew, no cargo aside from some basic foodstuffs and not much even of that-Earl, it is obvious."

Dumarest sipped at his wine.

"A raid," said Vosper. "But it went wrong. Well, such things happen. A remote village, eh? A quick landing, gas, men to pick up the victims and stuff them into the hold. Food to maintain life while they transported to another world. One with a need for contract-labor. Cash down and no questions asked." The neck of the bottle made a small clicking sound against his glass as he poured more wine. "A simple, routine matter. One done often enough but which can still go wrong. The gas not working, say, men waiting on guard, masked, armed. Your crew shot down and the ship leaving those not dead as it runs to safety." Vosper lifted his glass. "To the Chandorah," he said. "To Krantz."

Where slavers landed to auction their loads. The Erce had been just such a vessel once, working as Vosper had said, it was natural for him to have jumped to a wrong conclusion.

"You're not drinking," said Vosper. "The wine too sweet? Girl!" He gestured at a waitress. "A new bottle. Something light and dry." He watched the movement of her hips as she moved from the table, and the sway of her breasts as she returned. "Thank you, my dear. Here." He dropped coins on the table. "Did you know the man on the Wheel?"

"No." She scooped up the coins. Her face was a mask, the cruciform cicatrice on her forehead between her eyes matching the one carried by the harpist. "Is that all?"

"For now, yes." Vosper shook his head as she left. "Stubborn," he said. "Proud and, some would say, arrogant. A liar too, most of the Ypsheim are related, in any case she would know the victim. Or know of him." Pausing, he said, "Did you bet?"

"No."

"I won fifty. Short odds but it's a waste of money to go for a tight bracket. Stupid to go for a long forecast. The bookies aren't in business for fun. Watch the betting and ride with the house; that way you can pick up a little now and then." Vosper tasted the new wine, pursed his lips, filled a glass for Dumarest. "Did you see him?"

"No. What had he done?"

"Tried to ship out without permission. The guard caught him climbing the fence. He must have hoped to get on a ship somehow. Stowaway."

To be evicted into the void when caught. Dumarest remembered the perimeter fence, close-meshed, high, cruelly barbed. There were ways to get on a field other than through the gate, but climbing such a fence wasn't one of them.

"He was executed for that?"

"There's a law against it. Gupen knew it and knew what would happen to him if he was caught." Vosper shrugged. "A gambler-who lost. I hope, my friend, you play a better game."

Dumarest said bluntly, "I don't play at all. Not at those odds."

"Gupen was a fool. There are easier ways to commit suicide. But you are a man of sense. For you the odds must be favorable and the reward worth the risk. A high profit and a quick return. Right, my friend?"

This was creed of any free-trader and Dumarest sensed the man was edging close to his real business. One not to be hurried and yet one which could not be held in suspension too long. A clever man with experience in negotiating deals; milking the opportunity for all it was worth.

His face went blank as Dumarest said, "Thanks for the wine."

"You're leaving?"

"On business, yes."

"We shall meet again?"

"Maybe." Dumarest rose, turning to add, "When you've something solid to offer."