Dumarest - The Terridae Part 11

She came to him while he sat on a bench studying a mural depicting a wooded glade, halting to one side as her eyes searched his face. A scrutiny he ignored as she slowly came close, rising when her hand touched his shoulder to turn and look down into the wide-s.p.a.ced green eyes inches below his own.

"Althea?"

Her name and a question which she chose to leave unanswered."You knew I was there," she accused. "How?"

"I smelled your perfume."

"I don't wear any."

"The scent of your hair," he said, and touched it with a gentle hand. "The Council?"

"Have made their decision." He was in no mood for games and she had been at fault to tease him. "You are to be given a choice, Earl, but I know which you will take. To stay here and work with us. To mingle with us and to join us in every way."

"As an equal?"

"In time, yes." Then as she saw his expression she added quickly, "You must be fair. You came here as an uninvited stranger. An interloper. The trespa.s.s alone merited death. You are still an unknown quality. After a few years in which to prove your loyalty you will become truly one of the Terridae."

And, until then, to do what? Dumarest could guess the answer. No establishment such as he had seen could operate without those to tend the machines, clean the halls, dust, sweep, clean. He would live as a menial.

"And the alternative?"

"One you would not accept. Death, Earl." Her hand rested on his own, her fingers warm, groping with a sudden intimacy.

"Don't let's talk about it."

"Why not? Are you afraid of death?" She and all the rest of the Terridae, and he saw the movement of her eyes, the small signs which betrayed her fear of personal termination. More gently he said, "All things die in their season, Althea. It is the way of life-as you must know to have depicted it so well."

He turned her to face the mural, pointing out the drift of gaudy-winged insects, the birds waiting to feed on the bright allure, the faint mesh of a spider's web, the furry creaturewatching the bird as it was watched in turn by a lithe animal larger than itself.

A lesson in paint wrought with artistic genius like those he had seen repeated over and over in the corridors and chambers of galleries: adornment enamored of life, each wall a canvas for its depiction.

She said, "Earl! You're hurting me!"

"Sorry."

He released his grip but the pressure of his fingers remained on her arm to stir her senses with ghostly dominance. An unconscious display of his strength and she felt the reaction of her body in a flood of raw and primitive demand, which she resisted with the aid of ba.n.a.l conversation.

"We love life," she explained, looking at the mural and feeling it necessary to explain. "Death is so final. A total erasure. A waste." Pausing, she added, "That's why some of us wanted our caskets decorated. A fashion I think will be discontinued. At least the habit of using outside artists. The pursuit of perfection can be carried too far."

"Is your casket decorated?"

"Of course. Would you like to see it?" She stepped from him to turn, smiling, waiting for him to follow. "It isn't far."

She led him to an elevator which dropped them to lower depths where the air held a chill crispness and thick padding m.u.f.fled their footsteps as it absorbed echoes, turning her words into a flat monotone. Chatter to which he paid little attention, concentrating instead on the chambers with their low roofs and thick dividing walls, the caskets set out in neat array.

"Here!" She halted beside one, turning to look at him with a smile. "What do you think of it?"

She raised the lid, a portion of the side swinging down to allow easy examination and entry. Within, the padding was ofpale green, the carvings the deeper hue of natural jade. Again they depicted life but were subtly different from those he had seen in the other box. The figures were less polished, less discreet in shape and form and action. As she grew older they would probably be changed but now, in her, the tide of life and creation ran strong.

"It's snug," she said from where she stood at his side. "Warm and cozy. Once the lid is down nothing else matters, nothing else exists."

And nothing would be lacking except the one thing she now needed. Dumarest could sense it; the femininity she radiated, which carried her s.e.xual invitation and desire. A message of which she was consciously unaware but which betrayed her inner yearnings.

"Earl!" Her hand was warm against his own. "Would you like to try it? With me, I mean? There is room for us both."

To lie and yield to the pleasure of the moment, to feel the softness of her, to respond to her pa.s.sion. Time extended by the magic contained in the casket, minutes turned into hours, hours into days. A time to dream and sleep, to dream and wake to dream again. Time flowing past like a streaming river. Time he did not have.

"Earl?" Her hand closed in antic.i.p.ation of his answer. "Will you go first?"

"No." He softened his refusal. "This isn't the time, Althea."

She misunderstood, the false explanation saving her from the hurt of rejection.

"Of course! You're worried about the verdict. But, Earl, you have no choice. To die or to work with us-how can you hesitate?"

The logic of a child; she hadn't even considered the other alternative. To die or to stay, she had said-what if he chose to leave?A question he almost asked, then changed his mind as caution p.r.i.c.kled its warning. As yet she was friendly, almost an ally; it would be madness to make her an enemy. And he could guess the answer: if he tried to leave they would kill him. At least they would try.

He stepped back, looking at her casket, memorizing the decorations, the small differences which distinguished it from the others. So many others. He counted them, added the number of rooms he had seen, guessed at others which must exist. When had it begun?

"A long time ago, Earl," she said when, later, he put the question. "A thousand years at least. Maybe two-I'm not sure."

"Who would know?"

"The Elders, perhaps. The Archives. Does it matter?"

She had taken him to a small park which rested beneath a domed roof flushed with the gold and amber of a summer's day.

The place held the soft music of running water, the air heavy with the scent of flowers. Listening, Dumarest could hear the faint susurration of voices as some of the Terridae sat and conversed in private conference.

Men and women renewing their contact with reality, Althea had said, but for them this reality was no more substantial than a dream.

"So many questions, Earl," she whispered. "So many thoughts.

I can see them crossing your mind. But why bother? Given time all will be clear. Why not just enjoy the moment? Don't you like it here?"

He said, "Do you like the shape of mountains? To climb up high among the snow and ice? To swim in tepid seas and to run in one straight line as if you were an arrow aimed at the horizon?"

"Of course! In dreams-""In reality," he interrupted. "To do these things not dream about them. To scratch a foot and feel the pain as you see the blood. To stand and fill your lungs with air so cold it hurts. To dive so deep your ears feel as if they must burst, then to rise and break surface and to see the sun gilding the waves. To feel. To know hate and love and fear. To know pain. To know happiness, to laugh and, yes, to cry also. Life, girl! I'm talking about life!"

Real life, not the stuff of dreams, the kind she had never experienced and so could never fully understand. But that, at least, she could change.

Chapter Ten.

The room was a place of scents and dusty shadows; a pale illumination from concealed lights threw bizarre silhouettes against walls and ceiling-the shapes of monsters and beasts and watchful birds of prey all born from small ornaments and crumpled fabrics; the slender grace of a statuette, the squat form of a beaming idol. The things belonged to the woman as did most of the odors, and Dumarest caught the scent of the perfume of her body and hair. Caught too the natural exudations of consummated pa.s.sion common to them both.

Beside him on the wide bed Althea stirred and moved to place a hand on his naked torso, her own resting with febrile softness against his arm. In the pale illumination she seemed fashioned of marble, the contours of her face veiled by the profusion of her hair.

A woman in love or one who had claimed to be. Certainly one of pa.s.sion and savage demand. Now, satiated, she snuggled against him lost in a natural sleep.

Dumarest wondered if she dreamed.

For him there had been no dreams, no sleep either, though he had forced himself to rest. Now he glanced again at the roomand its furnishings, a.s.sessing them, setting them against their owner. Althea's things, each a reflection of her personality. The statuette was that of a woman, arms uplifted, face upturned, her entire body shaped in an att.i.tude of desperate yearning. The idol squatted and smiled. A flask held a temporary forgetfulness, and a transparent box held a dried flower together with a scatter of seeds.

Wanting, patience, the belief in resurrection. Death followed by rebirth-the symbolism of the flower and seeds was obvious.

As was the wine-blood of the fruits of the earth.

Earth!

Rising from sleep, Althea felt the tension of his body. "Earl,"

she murmured. "Earl."

"It's all right." His hand touched her hair. "Go back to sleep."

She sighed, trying to obey, and his hand lingered on the thick, copper tresses. Her hair was like that of Earth or as close to the planet as anyone he had ever met and at least they had that in common. Yet the Earth she dreamed of was not the world he knew. The Terridae imagined a planet of endless splendors: or, a virtual paradise which would be theirs to enjoy once found. The Event which would terminate their present mode of existence.

"Earl?" She moved again, her hand sliding over his chest, the fingers following the tracery of thin scars which marred his torso, scars which were the medals won in early combats when, to survive, he had to deal death or be killed. "Earl?"

She snuggled closer as he caressed her hair, almost fully awake now, but content just to lie and remember the pa.s.sion which had dominated her, the fury of biological need which had held them in an old and pleasant madness.

"What are you thinking of, darling?"

"You." A lie but not wholly so. "Earth."

"Not these?" Her fingers moved over the pattern of cicatrices."How did you get them, darling? Some wild beast?"

More than one and they had been the most savage form of life ever created. Predators on two legs armed with razor-edged steel. Men determined to kill. He had been one of them, faster than the others, more intent on survival, just that little extra lucky. Facts proved by his continued existence.

"Earl?"

"Go to sleep."

She wouldn't obey but lay quietly as he stroked her hair, and against the ceiling he could see the reflected images her words had aroused. Memories which filled the chamber with the sight and sound of beasts; the stinks, the remembered tensions. Even as he watched, the bizarre shadows became a ring of staring faces blotched with avid eyes. Men and women, the rich and supposedly cultured, screaming as they demanded blood and pain. Taking a vicarious pleasure from the spectacle of two men fighting to the death with naked blades. Betting, cursing, touching hysteria as the madness gripped them.

The arena!

The means by which he had kept himself alive, and he thought again of the burning wounds, the blood, the fear, the pain of his younger days. The school in which he had refined hard-won skills and learned that to hesitate was to die. Learned too the necessity of relying on no one but himself.

The images dissolved and turned back into bizarre shadows and Dumarest realized he had slipped over the edge into sleep.

The woman had gone but from the adjoining bathroom came the sound of gushing water. Althea entered the bedroom as he rose, smiling her pleasure at seeing him awake.

"You looked so peaceful, darling. I hadn't the heart to wake you."

"A kindness to match your beauty.""Flatterer!" She turned from him, swirling her robe and the mane of fresh-washed copper hair, but the compliment had pleased her. "Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

"Ask your mirror."

"I don't care what my mirror thinks." She faced him, smiling, her eyes luminous. "But you, Earl, that's different. What you think matters."

"I think you are beautiful."

"Darling!"

He touched the hands she extended toward him and stood for a moment meeting the direct stare of her eyes. Then, without comment, he turned and headed toward the shower and the artificial rain which thundered down with heat and cold to lave the residue of pa.s.sion from his body and the drifting vestiges of sleep from his mind.

Hot air dried him and a rough towel provided a stimulating friction. With it wrapped around his waist he returned to the bedroom, where Althea leaned supine on the wide couch, her robe parted to display the long smooth curve of her thigh. An invitation he ignored.

"Earl?" She frowned as he began to dress. "What are you doing, darling?"

"I'm going to find a window."

"A what!" Astonishment brought her up from the bed. "Earl, are you serious?"

"Very." His tone left her in no doubt. "I want to see the sun, the land, the sky." The field if there was one and the ships on it.

The way of escape, if escape was possible, which he doubted.

Things he didn't mention as, again, he said, "I just want to find a window. You could save me time by taking me to one."

"I can't!" She slumped to sit on the edge of the bed. "It isn'tpossible. Earl-please!"

He looked at her, seeing her pleading expression, lifting his eyes to look around the chamber, at the solid walls decorated with the usual theme. As all walls were solid. In all he had seen of Zabul there had been no trace of a window and he could guess the reason.

The girl would help him verify it.

Althea said dully, "This is the best I can do, Earl, and I've done too much. No Outsider should learn what you have or see what you are to see now. I must be mad to cooperate."

But he had encouraged this madness, turning her pa.s.sion against her conditioning and making her his ally as she had made him her lover. Now he watched as she manipulated dials and paused with her hand on a contact. A moment and it was done.

Dumarest stared at the naked glory of s.p.a.ce. He had seen it before yet, always, it thrilled. The countless stars with their hosts of worlds, the blotches of darkness, the blurred patches which were other galaxies, the whole, incredible vastness of the universe. Then the scene changed as the scanner turned to portray Zabul. A ship, as he had suspected, but gigantic in size.

Yet-was it a ship?

The form was wrong, the shape and balance, the beauty of functional design. There were too many towers, too many vanes and bulbous swellings and shadowed declivities. It was as if a giant had a.s.sembled scores of vessels and welded them into a shape dictated by whimsical chance, joining the hulls with sheets of curved metal, extra bubbles, sc.r.a.ps which had been ready at hand, expanding the original concept in dimensions determined by need and available material. Dumarest said, "How long?"

"I don't know, Earl. I told you that. I was born on Zabul and to me it has always been home. My world. One I have betrayed."

"No.""Because you guessed? How?"

"Vibration," he said. "And other things." His instinct mostly; he had traveled on too many ships not to be sensitive to s.p.a.ce.