Earth was the paradise they dreamed of, the world of eternal peace and happiness where all things would be given for the asking, the place of floating cities and soaring towers of crystal and benign Shining Ones, of pools into which the old and ugly could bathe to become young and beautiful. A planet of fantasy, fabricated by dreams, composed of eternal longings; it had never existed but they would never believe that. They, all of the Terridae, longed for the Event-the time when they would find Earth, the imagined heaven.
And they were convinced Dumarest could take them to it.
A conviction he'd helped to foster, for here, in the Archives and in the minds of those now dreaming in their caskets, must surely lie the clues he needed to find the planet of his birth.
There was no day in Zabul, no night; the collection of empty hulls and constructed spaces all united into an airtight whole circled no sun. Illumination came from artificial sources; a blue-white glow rich in ultraviolet coupled with warm reds and oranges which gave the illusion of sunrises and sunsets. Only in private chambers was it ever wholly dark. And, everywhere, on walls and ceilings and inset into floors, was the depiction of life in all its forms.
Those in the council chamber were of fish; the denizens of watery deeps together with rocks and weed and convoluted shells. The walls themselves, carefully shaped and painted, resembled an undersea dome. Those sitting at the table seemed as cold as the water itself; old, sere, bitter with eyes like fragments of yellowed ice. These were the Elders of the Terridae, the Council of Zabul, and studying them, Dumarest was aware of a change. The last time he had stood before them they had been his judges-now they had been judged, weighed in the balance and found wanting.
Urich Volodya had held the scales.
He stepped forward as Dumarest glanced toward him, tall, conscious of his power but knowing better than to display it. Volodya had recognized his opportunity and seized it, using Dumarest and his claim to gain the support of the young. He now made his position clear.
"Earl Dumarest, given the opportunity will you guide the Terridae to Earth?"
"The opportunity and the means-yes."
"Your needs?"
"Access to all records. The power to question all of the Terridae. The right to requisition all necessary labor and material."
Volodya said dryly, "Is that all? It seems you ask to become a dictator."
"If you want a man to do a task it is pointless to deny him the means to do it. I suggest you make that clear to the Council."
"There is no longer a Council of Zabul. Those forming it have agreed to retire to their caskets. Instead there will be a committee of seven with myself at the head. These changes have been forced on us by various pressures," he explained. "To resist them would have been to invite disaster. In their wisdom the retiring Council recognized that."
Aided by the persuasion of the guards under Volodya's command. As the only organized force in Zabul their arguments would have been irresistible.
Dumarest said, "A wise move. I commend it. The committee, naturally, will be formed to represent the whole. Two of the young, two of the old and two from the middle-age group. The sexes equally divided. Is Althea Hesford one of the committee?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
"She's deserved the appointment." Dumarest met Volodya's eyes. "Do you agree to my conditions?"
"As long as you do not endanger Zabul or the Terridae you will have a free hand. Althea Hesford will provide liaison." Volodya added, "I suggest you avoid all unnecessary delay."
Do it quickly-it would have to be that.
Like a city, Zabul had grown. The original concept bore additions which had overlaid the smooth ovoid dotted with spires into the bizarre assembly it now was: a compilation which held elements of lunacy.
Why did this passage turn to twist in on itself like a corkscrew? What had dictated the placement of this chamber? From where did this installation draw its power? How did this compartment harmonize with its twin?
Such details filled endless charts, maps, intricate schematics over which Dumarest pored for hours on end.
Althea grew impatient.
"Why do it. Earl?" she demanded. "What is the point? All you need do is issue orders and others will see they are carried out. There's no need for you to know every detail of Zabul."
She stood against one wall of the chamber he had made his office, the copper sheen of her hair bright against a scene of muted storm. The emerald of her gown matched the hue of her eyes.
Dumarest said, "How long have you waited for the Event?"
"All my life. Why?"
"And others?"
"As long-longer." She frowned, understanding his meaning. "You're telling me not to be impatient, is that it?"
"Yes."
"All right, I'll be patient, but I still can't see the need for all this." Her gesture embraced the papers lying thick on the long table at which he sat. "What are you looking for?"
The answers to questions she hadn't even imagined and Dumarest was cautious in his explanations. To tell her he was familiarizing himself with a potential battleground would be to strain her new-formed loyalty, and even if she said nothing Volodya was too shrewd not to scent a mystery. Once alerted he would move to safeguard his position and, from then, it would be a logical step to remove the source of potential danger.
That confrontation Dumarest hoped to avoid but he wanted to be ready to meet it if it came.
Now he said, "I was hoping to find an easy way to reach Earth. In the old days Zabul could be moved as an entire unit." He reached for a schematic and tapped various points with a finger. "See? These are the generators and this was the original navigation room and here would have been the computer installation. The captain would have operated from here. You see?"
"I think so." She bit her lip as she tried to visualize familiar installations with their prime intention. "Could it still be done?"
"I don't think so. Who should I ask to be certain?"
His name was Ivan Quiley; he was no longer young but was too interested in machines to idle away his life in casket-given dreams. He shook his head as Dumarest asked the question.
"No, Earl, it can't be done."
"Too many extensions?"
"You've hit it. The scope of the Erhaft field will no longer embrace all of Zabul. Even if we adjusted the conduits to feed maximum power into the generators the damage would be too great."
"And if the generators should be resited?"
"In theory almost anything will work," said Quiley dryly. "Move the generators, establish coordinated control systems and boost the power. Yes, it could be done, but it would need time and labor and material. Say the full efforts of all technicians for a couple of years at the very least."
Time he didn't have. Dumarest said, "Would it be possible to reach a compromise? I'm thinking of a field-jump effect."
Althea said, "What's that? I don't understand."
"A temporary application of the Erhaft field." Quiley didn't look at her. "Use it and you can move a short distance in space before the synchronization fails. It's possible, yes. As I said, most things are possible."
"I'm talking of days," said Dumarest. "A few weeks at the most. Supposing Zabul ran into danger-what then?"
"We're in a selected drift node," explained Quiley. "There's no gravitation drag to draw us to any world or sun. We could stay in this position until the universe ran down. Once it was established and proved there was no need for us to move." He added, almost as an afterthought, "Of course we have defenses."
Installations which could send missiles to vaporize any threatening scrap of debris. Men trained to working in void conditions. Teams which could disperse to defend Zabul from unwanted visitors.
That was the best Dumarest could hope for. Rising, he said, "Check on all equipment and keep it on operational alert. Double the observers and arrange for alternative sources of power to all essential installations."