They wore colors as bright as their sun; blouses and tunics set and studded with odd shapes of metal, stones, scraps of quartz, minerals which glowed like fireflies-fabrics either dull or shimmering with chemical sheens, winks and glitters and somber patches. They could have been clowns, but no clown came armed with spines and spikes on shoulders and joints, carried knives and clubs at their belts, sported tomahawks, cutlasses, cleavers, helmets set with slitted visors, trailing plumes. A populace armed and armored, touchily aggressive, watchful and radiating a feral zest.
If nothing else those inhabiting Vult were strongly alive.
Dilys sensed the atmosphere and responded to it as she walked close at Dumarest's side. Colors seemed to grow brighter, the pulse of blood through her veins, stronger, the air itself held a sharp and virile fragrance. The scent of violence, she thought, if violence could be said to have an odor of its own. The scent of physical bodies tense and aware of the possibility of combat. The exudation of people who had to be constantly on their guard, constantly alert.
"Earl!" A man had screamed from an adjoining way, and another had cursed as if with anger rather than pain. A flurry, and they were past the opening, Dumarest not altering his stride, doing no more than glancing down the path dimmed and shadowed with dusty purple light. "Earl, someone is-"
"We mind our own business. Is this the place?"
The store had thick windows meshed with strips of metal, doors which were held fast with electronic devices, a floor which glowed with warning light, displays in which goods could be seen but not touched.
Assistants who were armed.
"Madam, sir, it is my pleasure to serve you!" The man wore a quilted jacket and pants puffed and bright with metal. The helmet winked with polished gems and, as Dumarest lifted his hand, the visor fell to mask the face, the eyes.
"My apologies." A hand lifted the metal screen back into place. "A misunderstanding.. The movement of your hand- I'm sure you understand."
A hand which could have been fitted with a container of acid. A movement which could have sent it into the eyes.
"Your needs?"
Dilys produced a list and read off items, frowning at the prices quoted, altering, taking alternatives which, the man assured her, were every bit as good.
"If they aren't, I'll be back," she warned. "And if I find cause for complaint, you'll lose more than our trade."
"If you are dissatisfied, then full compensation will be made. And for you, sir? Is there any item which arouses your interest? You are a visitor, I know, but it would be prudent to display arms. A short sword, or, a small axe balanced for throwing? A club, or at least a whip which can be worn at the wrist?"
And one which would stir the aggressive natures of all who saw it, inviting challenges and combats and bloody meetings.
Dumarest said, "Have you a gun?"
"A gun?" The man blinked. "Certainly, sir, but are you sure of what you are asking? Had you been carrying one, the charges would have detonated as you entered this store. Had it been a laser, the energy cell would have vented its potential in the form of heat. Outside, on the streets, in taverns, well-you understand?"
A temptation to any who saw the weapon. A greater challenge than a whip and a greater prize. One they would not hesitate to kill to obtain, or kill to prevent being used, or use to prevent others similarly armed from killing. To carry a gun openly displayed on Vult was to invite destruction. To use one, the same. Only in houses could such protection be safely owned.
"I take the liberty of mentioning this because you are strangers," said the man. "But should you want a gun, we can supply it. Delivered, of course, and under guard. Now, if you will tell me the type and caliber, any decoration you may desire, any adaptation?"
"Never mind." Dumarest turned to the woman. "Have you finished?"
"Here, yes, but I need some abrasive compounds. From Harfleman?"
"Yes, madam, as you say." The man nodded agreement to the question. "I shall call ahead to warn him of your arrival."
Hartleman was bored, pleased for the company, eager to talk of worlds he had known as a boy, of Vult, to which he had come a scare of years earlier. He served barley water tisane and small cakes, and bemoaned his lot at the same time as he praised his wares and reputation. Trade was good, but trade could be better. Violence was bad, but he had known it worse. The radiation was on the increase, but the scientists said that it could be followed by a period of comparative calm. And, yes, he could deliver the abrasives to the field for a small extra charge, but his son was nursing a wound and his daughter, well, who would allow a girl to wander without an escort on Vult? His eyes studied the woman.
"How large is the parcel?" said Dumarest He nodded at the answer. "We'll carry it."
It was small but heavy, pastes of diamond-hard fragments and others of fine emery, powders which flowed like water and grits, and scored the fingers if touched. Packed in two bundles, connected by a strap, they made a drag on his shoulder.
"Ready?" Dumarest waited as the woman made effusive farewells. Impatience edged his voice. Why was she taking so long? "Come on, now. Let's move!"
She fell into step beside him, containing her own irritation, knowing it, and his impatience, to be the result of the radiation streaming from the setting sun. The light in the promenades had dulled, somber shadows lying where once had blazed lemons and ambers, violets, blues, greens and purples. Dusky areas where gold and silver had cast shimmering pools.
Shadows in which creatures stirred and came to life with fading glimmers from bizarre adornments.
"Earl!"
"Keep walking."
There were five of them, edging close, eyes moving like restless insects beneath the rims of helmets, hands twitching at belts, weapons, clothing. Young men with hard faces, and mouths containing teeth filed and extended to give them the appearance of wolves.
Scavengers.
Hunters with brains tormented by the disturbing radiation.
Madmen after fun.
Two halted down the promenade as two others moved to stand, one at each side, the fifth taking up the rear. Those ahead blocked progress, waiting as Dilys slowed, stepping forward as she halted to run curved hands over the prominences of her breasts,
"Nice," said one. "Good meat, eh, Felix?"
"Good legs." His companion had a cheek ravaged with scars, eyes enhanced with flaring tattoos. "Long and solid and smooth all over. I bet she could crack a man's ribs if she had a mind. Crush him to a pulp-a fine way to go, right, Val?"
"You said it," said the man on the right. "You said it."
"Big," said the man on the left. "Like a mountain. I've never had a woman like that. She's big enough to get lost in. Big enough to handle us all at the same time. Give us a lot of fun. What say, Cia?"
The man at the rear had a voice which dripped like turgid oil.
"I say we waste time. Let's see what's under the wrappings."
Cloth ripped, as the man standing at the woman's side tore , at her blouse. Flesh showed, smooth, golden, the expanse widening as the fabric yielded, the twin mounds of her breasts showing to attract all eyes.
The moment for which Dumarest had been waiting. He spun, hand lifted, fingers stiff, stabbing like blunted spears at the throat of the man behind. A blow which ruptured delicate tissues, numbed vital nerves, sent the man to the ground, twitching, gasping, blood spreading from his mouth. As he dropped, Dumarest continued the turn, foot lifting, boot lashing out to slam against the man at his side, to send him staggering back, doubled, vomiting from the agony of crushed testicles.