An order couched in politeness but one Dumarest knew his host expected to be obeyed. Would the commands increase until he would be forced to make a choice? Another facet of the complex game in which he seemed to be a part.
He studied Shandaha as he poured the wine. He looked as he had before but now they sat alone in a chamber resembling the interior of a bubble. The walls were smooth, unbroken, shimmering with a soft golden luminescence. Aside from their chairs the room was empty but for a low table bearing goblets and wine. Emerald wine holding within its sparkling depths the taste of mint, the warmth of summer, the freshness of glacial ice.
Dumarest sipped then leaned back and closed his eyes, seeing again the red and grey pulp of the shattered skull. Feeling again the emotions he had experienced and which Shandaha had mentioned. Fear and hate, yes, with fear predominant, but pleasure? Had he felt pleasure?
If so had he been no different from the man he had killed? The woman he had robbed?
“Dreaming, Earl?”
“No, just thinking.” Dumarest opened his eyes. “You’ve made me curious. You mentioned a puzzle. Is it about my childhood?”
“You should never have had it.”
“I agree. No one should. But I did.”
“Here on Earth?”
“Yes.”
“That is the puzzle.” Shandaha sipped at his wine. Green fire shone from the elaborate pattern engraved in the crystal. “No such band of barbaric savages would have been permitted to exist. From what we both experienced you were in a harsh and barren area. One warm during the day but bitterly cold at night. Such conditions would match those to be found in a desert set on a high plateau. You and your people would have had to hide your existence. Remain secret. I know of no domain where that would be possible.”
“You were with me in my mind,” said Dumarest. “You experienced all that had happened to me at that particular time. I was a child on Earth. You know that.”
For answer Shandaha dipped his finger into his goblet and scrawled a series of patches on the table.
“Areas,” he said. “Once they would have been called villages, parishes, sees, counties, states, nations, empires. Now they are domains. Each has its owner. None would allow those you claim to be your people to exist.”
“I know what a domain is,” snapped Dumarest. “Are you saying I lied?”
“No. You could not have lied. That is what makes the puzzle so intriguing. Your people could not have existed yet, for you, obviously, they did. You have memories of them.”
“So do you,” reminded Dumarest. “I think you place too great a trust in the capabilities of those owning the domains. The one responsible could simply have ignored those people. Or be conducting an experiment. Or simply be unaware they existed at all.”
“That is not possible.”
“Why not?” said Dumarest. “We waited a long time for you to find us after we’d crashed and we did our best to attract attention. Did you know we were there? Making us wait? Denying us rescue? If we had landed in a different place, suffered less damage, we would have moved from the site. You need never have discovered us.” He added, bitterly, “If we’d known you intended to eliminate us we’d have made damned sure of it.”
“I did what I did because it had to be done. Chagal has given you the explanation.”
“He told me what you had instructed him to tell me. I’ve no proof. Is there any? Bodies I could examine?” Dumarest paused, waiting, examining the design engraved on the surface of his goblet. One of complex, interwoven circles, creating the illusion of movement and depth. “No,” he continued as Shandaha remained silent. “There are no bodies. There wouldn’t be. The explanations are too neatly convincing. Those you found were diseased and had to be incinerated. They could not be tolerated. Cured. Given care and the opportunity to survive. As you say those I knew as a child would never have been tolerated. They were certainly never fed, clothed, housed or given any medical attention.”
“Nor destroyed,” reminded Shandaha. “Perhaps because they never existed.”
“That’s nonsense!”
“Perhaps. I suggest you think about it.” Shandaha sipped at his wine. “Earl, let us not argue. There is another matter I wish to clarify. I think you will agree that Nada and Delise are both desirable women yet neither seems to attract you. Do you pine for another? Nadine, perhaps?”
“Did Chagal tell you of her?” Dumarest was bitter. “Did he also mention that she is dead?”
“Dead and preserved in the ice. But her basic cellular matter is available. I could create an identical copy of the woman you lost. If you wish it will be done.”
Dumarest remembered Nadine’s softness, her warmth, the comfort she had given him, the companionship. It would be good to hold her again, to listen to her voice, her arguments, her laughter. To ease her fears and give her comfort. To have her at his side. To be as one. Things that could never be.
He said. “You promise what you cannot deliver. A body, yes, but not a mind fashioned and molded by years of experience, hurt, hope, distrust, fear. It would be nothing but a shell. A toy that would only remind me of her loss. What you can do is resolve the puzzle of my childhood. Another incident?”
“If that is what you want.”
“I need to know.”
“I understand, but repetition will serve no useful purpose. It is best to move on. To the time when you left the planet. Recall the incident.” Shandaha reached out and touched Dumarest’s hand. “Now!”
It was something he had never seen before. A slim, rounded construction pointed at the sky. One bearing symbols equally strange to which he gave no more than a glance his attention concentrated on the ramp leading from the ground to an open port. Nowhere could he see or hear signs of life.
For a long moment he hesitated then, as the wind stung his flesh with the chill of approaching night, he darted forward, mounted the ramp and dived into the chamber beyond. A compartment filled with bales and boxes, containers like coffins resting in the centre. Odd things to find in an odd building but he had no time to examine them. The sound of footsteps and coughing warned of the approach of others and he hid, watching, as they entered the compartment.
Two men, wearing clothing almost identical in color and style, neither bearing weapons. One older, larger than the other, dark stains marring his hands and cheeks who coughed and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and swore as he saw the trace of blood.
“That damned stuff Dorph’s been feeding me isn’t working. I’ve still got something eating at my lungs.”
“Drugs take time to work,” said the other. “You’re loaded with antibiotics, there’s nothing more Dorph can do. But you engineers are all the same. You have no patience. No toleration. You want things to work and work at once. Here.” He produced a bottle from behind a heap of bales. “Take a slug of this then we’ll get to work. I checked the cargo earlier so all we have to do is raise the ramp and seal the hold.”
“You don’t need me, Jesso. That’s handler’s work.”
“You got something else to do?” The smaller man snatched back the bottle and took a gulp. He spat, cursing.
“This is too raw. It will taste better with some basic. I’ll get us some from the dispenser while you wind up the ramp.”
“After we’ve wound up the ramp,” corrected the big man. “I’m only here to help, remember?”
He moved towards the port and stood looking outside as the other crossed to where a spigot sprouted from the wall. A thick liquid streamed from it as he pressed a control and half-filled a container. He topped it with what was in the bottle, stirred it, sipped, nodded, tipped half into a second cup that he handed to the big man.
“This will hit the spot. Better than Dorph’s tablets.” He glanced at the open port. “What’s it like out there?”
“The same as it’s been all along. Cold, deserted, a barren waste. Now it’s growing dark.” The engineer gulped at his cup. “Let’s seal up and get the hell out of here.”