E.C Tubb - Eye of the Zodiac

• Название: Eye of the Zodiac
• Автор: E.C Tubb
• Жанр: Боевая фантастика

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The man was being unfair and must know it, yet Kinabalu had to admit that he had a point. But what man in his right mind would agree to join such a crazy expedition? They knew of the dangers if Moore did not. A thing he had already explained a dozen times, to no avail.

"The Hausi have a reputation," said Moore bitterly. "I placed all arrangements in your hands with the promise that I would receive satisfaction. I do not think your guild would be happy to learn of my disappointment."

A threat, a minor one, but a threat all the same. The guild would not take kindly to any complaint of such a nature. The failure of one reflected on the abilities of all. Even though Shajok was a relatively unimportant world, any complaint would create an unpleasant situation.

Kinabalu said, soothingly, "My lord, be assured that I am doing my best. I personally guarantee that you will be able to leave very soon now."

"Soon? Just what the hell does that mean?"

"Soon, my lord."

"A day?" Moore was insistent. "Two? Give me a time, man. I have to know."

"Two."

A gamble, but one which had to be taken. Two days to find the right kind of man, one who would satisfy Jalch Moore. If necessary he would offer a bonus-a lost profit, but a maintained reputation. But it need not come to that. The Zandel was due in at noon.

* * * * *

It was a small ship operating a regular route, embracing a handful of worlds. Small cargoes and few passengers, but it contacted Vonstate where other ships landed. Aside from occasional free traders, it and one other were the only vessels touching Shajok.

Kinabalu was at the field when it landed, hearing the crack of displaced air from above, watching as it settled in a haze of blue luminescence from its Erhaft field. From force of habit he studied the others waiting. Wen Larz eager for tourists, Zorya hovering in the hope of making a private deal with the crew for anything they may have carried, Frend who needed cheap labor for his mine, Chaque who had nothing better to do.

He nodded to Kinabalu. "How's the new acquisition making out, Bhol?"

An indiscreet question and one in the worst possible taste. The Hausi ignored it.

"Why are you here, Agus?"

"Looking." The man turned towards the vessel, the opening port. "Have you managed to satisfy Moore yet?"

He knew too much, his questions were too pointed, but that was to be expected. A dilettante with time to kill and curiosity to be satisfied. Kinabalu looked at him, studying his reached hair, the face which seemed to be prematurely old, the lines too deep for the youthful skin and eyes.

"I'm working on it."

"And with success?" Chaque parted his lips in silent laughter as the other made no comment. "You'll have to work harder, my friend. Sirey has taken a job with a harvester. I thought that you would like to know."

The guide! Kinabalu thinned his lips. The man had promised, but had obviously broken his word. That, or he had been bribed away. Two men to find now instead of one-and guides were scarce.

"Of course," said Chaque casually, "a replacement could always be found if the price was right. The price or the prospect of satisfaction."

"You?"

"Perhaps."

"What do you know of the mountains? Moore wants good men. He'd discover you for what you are in a matter of minutes."

"And what am I, Bhol?" Turning, Chaque looked the other man in the eyes, his own surprisingly direct. "I've hunted and I know the area. I've spent as much time in the foothills as any of your vaunted guides. Just because I can't see the sense in making more money than I need doesn't make me a fool. There are other values. And I'll be frank, the adventure appeals to me. At least it will break the monotony."

The adventure and other things, Iduna Moore for one. A beautiful woman despite her mannish ways. A challenge to anyone like Chaque, with his enhanced self-esteem. He would fail, of course, and failing perhaps turn ugly, but that would be Moore's problem, not his.

"You know, Bhol, you don't really have much choice. Sirey probably recognized his folly and who else could you find? I think you should consider my offer."

"The decision is Moore's."

"True, but he has less choice than yourself." Chaque smiled, confident of his position. "Of course you could wash your hands of the deal, but I don't think you'd like to do that. Right?"

Kinabalu said, "The pay is-"

"I know what the pay is. I want an increase of fifty percent."

"You'll take what's offered." The Hausi was firm. "And you'll have to talk Moore into accepting you. That's the best I can offer, Agus. Personally I don't think you stand a chance, but I won't speak against you."

A problem solved if the man agreed. Kinabalu felt an inward relaxation as Chaque nodded. The guide was replaced at least, which left the situation as before. He glanced at the ship. Two women were moving down the ramp, sisters he guessed, come to see the harvest. Wen Larz moved quickly toward them, smiling. The smile grew wider as others appeared, a couple with a small boy, a matron who sniffed disdainfully as she saw the town.

"So this is Shajok. I don't think much of it."

"You haven't seen the best yet, my lady." Larz bustled about as he collected his party. "That is yet to come. A vista of unequaled splendor which will stun the eye and fill the nostrils with almost unbearable delight. You have arrived at the best time. The fields are superb. Is there anyone else to take the tour? No? Then if you will all follow me, I will guide you to your accommodation."

To the rooms in the hotel of which he was the part owner. Later, they would take rafts and head towards the plains to camp and inspect the crop. Mile upon mile of ulumen, the plants all in full bloom, pods swollen with volatile oils. They would see a blaze of color stretching as far as the eye could reach. They would live, breathe, almost bathe in the perfume which hung over the area like a cloud.

Kinabalu ignored them, now looking at the ramp leading down from the open port. Zorya was talking to the handler, haggling over something he held in his hands, probably narcotics or a few semi-precious stones. Frend walked past, scowling, barely nodding a greeting. No one, obviously, had ridden Low. His mine would lack the cheap labor he'd hoped to obtain.

There seemed no reason to wait, and yet the Hausi lingered. Hoping.

* * * * *

Dumarest was late in leaving the ship. Shajok was a bad world. He could tell, almost smell it as he descended the ramp. A planet which had little in the way of industry, a backward world on which it would be hard to find work, to earn enough to build a stake. It was too easy to become stranded in such a place, waiting, working for food if work could be found at all.

A road led from the field towards the town, a cluster of beggars at its side. Crippled men and a few crones, their eyes dull, waiting, hoping for charity which would never come. Winter would kill them off like flies, but more would take their place in the spring.

The town itself had the grim appearance of having once been a fortress. The houses were fashioned of solid stone, the roofs sharply pitched, the windows narrow and barred. Only the pennons gave a touch of gaiety, long streamers of brilliant color, all pointing towards the distant loom of the mountains. Dumarest studied them, looking for emblems or symbols, seeing nothing but a jumble of hues.

The square was fringed with open-fronted shops selling a variety of local produce; dried meats on skewers, woven carpets, basket work. There were masses of fruit dried and pounded, then compressed into blocks, things of stone and wood and metal to be used in any household. A smith was busy at a forge, the sound of his hammer strident over the hum and bustle of the crowd. In a corner of the square a woman fashioned pottery.

She was old, stooped, hair a wispy tangle over small, bright eyes. Her arms were bare to the elbows, hands grimed with a grayish clay. Dumarest paused, picking up a bowl, looking at the material of which it had been made. A gray, stone-like substance which he had seen before.

As he set the bowl down the woman said, "Anything special you're after, mister?"

"A few words."

"For free?"

"For pay." He dropped a few coins into the bowl. "Do you fire this stuff?"

"No." She came towards him, wiping her hands. "It's ground levallite mixed with a polymer resin. Leave it stand and it sets as hard as a rock. Why?"

Dumarest said, "Did you have a boy working for you once?"

"I've had a lot of people working for me. They come and they go. Why should I remember?"

More coins made metallic sounds as they joined the rest in the bowl.

"His name was Leon Harvey. Young, slightly built, probably came from a village somewhere. His face was a little peaked, if you know what I mean. He wanted to move on and see the galaxy."

"I remember." Wispy hair straggled as she nodded. "He came to me starving and I gave him a bowl of stew. Made him work for it, though. He hung on and I fed him, gave him a little money from time to time. Then he upped and vanished."

"Just like that?"

"They come and they go," she said. "I guess he found his way around, then made his move. It happens."

"Did anyone come looking for him?"

"No-are you?"

"He's dead," said Dumarest flatly. "I was hoping to take word to his folks. He left a little something I thought they might like to have. Where can I find them?"

Her shrug was expressive. "Why ask me?"

"He worked for you. He must have talked, mentioned his home, his family. No?" Dumarest deliberately scooped the coins from the bowl. "Too bad-I guess we both wasted our time."

"Now wait a minute!" Her hand gripped his arm with surprising strength. "We made a deal."

"Sure, I pay and you talk, but so far you've done no real talking."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"No?" Dumarest's voice lowered, became savage. "A youngster, tired, hungry, working for barely nothing. A stranger, and you say he didn't talk? Hell, woman, he'd have to say something. You were the only one he knew."

"He was on the run," she admitted. "I guessed that, and was sure of it when he ducked under the counter one day. A group was passing, some men from the mountains, I think. He took one look, then ducked."

"Nerth," said Dumarest. "He told me he came from there. Where is it?"

"I don't know."

"A commune." Dumarest jingled the coins. "A village, maybe." He saw the blank look in her eyes. "The Original People then? Damn it, woman, don't you know your own world?"

For answer she took a mass of clay, slammed it on the counter, gouged it with her thumbs.

"Shajok," she snapped. "At least a part of it. Here are the plains, here the field, here the town. And here," her fingers mounded the gray substance into a range of peaks, "here are the mountains. And in the mountains-" Her hand slammed down, fingers clawing, digging, leaving deep indentations. "-valleys. Places where God alone knows what is to be found. Maybe people calling themselves by a fancy name. Maybe communes of one kind or another. I don't know. I'm no hunter and I've more sense than to stick my head into a noose. And, mister, if you'll take my advice, neither will you. See those flags? When they fall, get under cover and fast. Get into shelter and stay there until the wind blows again."

"Why?"

"Because, mister," she said grimly, "if you don't, you'll stop being human, that's why."

* * * * *

The interior of the tavern was dark, a place of brooding shadows in which men sat and talked quietly over their wine. Too quietly, but much about Shajok was less than normal. The flags, the town itself, the odd atmosphere of the field. A place besieged, thought Dumarest. Or, a place which had known siege. No wonder that Leon, after a taste of normal worlds, had sworn that he would never return.

Leon, whom the old woman had known in more ways than she had admitted. The boy must have turned thief to gain the price of his passage. But the money couldn't have come from her. Somewhere else then, that was certain, but from where? Home, perhaps. It would be logical for him to have stolen before running away, but in that case why work for the woman at all? And who were the men who had frightened him?

Questions which waited for answers, but at least one problem could be solved now.

Kinabalu grunted as Dumarest dropped on the bench at his side. "My arm!"

"Will be released as soon as I know why you have been following me."

"You noticed? Good. Is that why you came into this place?"

"It serves." Dumarest tightened his grip. "The answer. Why are you interested in me?"

"Please!" Sweat shone on the Hausi's face. "The bone-you will break it! All I wanted was to offer you employment."

"Your name?"

Kanabalu rubbed his wrist as he gave it. Beneath the fabric of his blouse he knew that welts would be forming bruises which would make his flesh tender.

"Earl Dumarest," he said. "The handler gave me your name. I took the liberty of following you. That woman-why do you wish to find this place you call Nerth?"

"If she told you that, she must have told you the rest."

"And why not?" Kinabalu shrugged, fully at ease. "She knows me and knows of my discretion. Also, I was able to buy a few things for later delivery. Money, as you must know, has many uses."

"And?"

"I offer you the chance to earn some money. More, the chance to find what you are seeking. A fortuitous meeting, my friend. We must celebrate it in wine."

He ordered, waited as a girl poured, followed the movements of her hips with his eyes. A sensualist-or so a less observant man would have believed. Dumarest knew better. Knew also that a Hausi did not lie. He might not tell all of the truth, but his word was to be trusted.

"You followed me from the ship," Dumarest said. "Were you waiting for me?"

"No, not you, not as an individual. I hoped that someone would land who would fill a need. I think you are such a man. Some wine?"

Dumarest accepted the goblet. He said, dryly, "What's so special about this need of yours?"

"The need? Nothing. A job which any of a hundred men could do. To act as a guard and protector, to take care of a camp, to be able to survive in a hostile environment and, above all, not to be afraid. But the man who offers the employment is another matter. A man almost impossible to satisfy. On the face of it the commission was simple, to equip a small expedition into the mountains. To provide a raft, supplies, a guide, and a man. All is ready and waiting, only the man needs to be found. It could be that I have found him. You are open to a proposition?"

"I could be."

"That depends."

"On the pay, certainly, that is understood. But Jalch Moore will be generous."

"Moore," said Dumarest. "From where?"

"Does it matter?" Kinabalu sipped at his wine. "His money is good even if his temper is short. But, if you are interested, he once mentioned Usterlan. I have never been to that world. Have you?"

"No."

"He is, I think, a little mad. The mountains are best left alone. You see, I am honest with you. I will add to my honesty-there is even a chance that you may be killed."

"By whom?"

"The wind, my friend, a fall in temperature, a vagary of heat. The mountains are dangerous for any raft. Thermals are unpredictable. A drop in the wind can create vortexes, a rise the same. And the local conditions are much of a mystery. Few venture deeply into the hills; some hunters, a scattering of prospectors, some seekers of gems. They leave, sometimes they return, sometimes they do not."