That was the end for them and for her but not for Dumarest. What Rudi had found could be rediscovered. If the chance existed he must take it no matter what the risk. Myra had known him-did she know more?
"Legends," said Dumarest. "Rudi was interested in them. Surely you must have talked about them? Shared his interest?"
"I had other things to think about. We weren't together all that often and when we were, well, other things came first. I'm sorry, Earl, I don't think I can help you. Is it important?"
She could never guess how much. Dumarest forced himself to relax-to reveal his eager impatience now would be to ruin everything.
"Earth," he urged. "Did he ever mention Earth?"
Her laughter was the gushing of fountains, the clash of shattering crystal.
"Earth? My, God, Earl, do you share his lunacy? A mythical world somewhere in space. Find it and all will be yours. Insanity! A game they play in the common rooms when bored of everything else. Intellectual titivation with points scored for the correct progression of logical sequences. Guessing games which start in madness and lead to delirium. You should meet Tomlin, he's an expert. Cucciolla's another." Her laughter rose again, brittle with scorn. "How can anyone even pretend to be serious about such nonsense? Earth! The very name is idiotic!"
This reaction Dumarest had heard often before, but like the others, Myra was wrong. Earth existed. He had been born on the supposedly mythical world. To find it again was the reason for his existence.
He said, "Tomlin? Cucciolla?"
"Members of the Tripart faculty." She sobered at his expression. "Earl?"
"I need to meet them," he said. "Them and any others who were close to Rudi. Could you arrange it?"
"Perhaps." Her eyes grew calculating, studying him as if he were part of an elaborate equation, assessing, evaluating, coming to a decision. "There are various social gatherings and a party will be held soon. I could take you." She paused then added quietly, "In the meanwhile you could be my guest."
Chapter Four
Someone with a taste for the bizarre had decorated the room with skulls and bones, death masks and symbols culled from ancient graves. The music matched the decor: wailing threnodies which stung the ears and sent ants to crawl over the skin; mathematical discords set in jarring sequences which created unease and irritation. A condition aided by the glare of strobotic lighting which threw faces into unreal prominence with various shades of livid color.
"Myra! How good to see you!" A woman called from the door and came thrusting toward them, eyes flashing toward Dumarest before returning to his companion. "So this is your friend. Such a handsome man. Your new protege, I hear. You must introduce me."
Jussara made her usual late entrance, demanding attention. Flaunting her feminity with a sequined gown cut and slashed to display the chocolate expanse of her breasts and thighs. Her teeth were plated with metal cut in a diffraction grating which filled her mouth with rainbows as the lights flashed.
"A professor?" Her eyebrows rose a trifle. "He is to teach?"
"Dumarest holds a doctorate in martial arts," explained Myra. This story, she had insisted, would give him the status necessary to be treated as an equal. "We are investigating the possibility of his joining the faculty."
"And, in the meantime, he shares your home." Jussara's smile held malice. "Such a convenient arrangement and no wonder that you look so well. I'd thought it was because you had resolved your difficulties. Okos, I presume?"
"No."
"Well it doesn't matter as long as things have sorted themselves out. And, as for the new project-well, let's hope you are more successful this time." She looked at Dumarest. "We must talk again. If you can't reach agreement with Myra, I could, perhaps, find a place for you at Higham. I'm certain you'd be happy with us."
Her tone left no doubt as to her meaning. Dumarest smiled and said, "Thank you, my lady."
"So formal!" Her smile was dazzling. "Call me Jussara- who needs more than one name? Until later then, Earl. I shall anticipate our next meeting." Her eyes moved on to search the crowd. "Ceram! How nice to see you, darling! Be an angel and get me a drink. How is Toris this evening?"
She moved off and Myra helped herself to a drink, downing it at a gulp, wondering at her irritation. Jussara was a troublesome bitch who loved to deal in scandal and would throw herself at Dumarest for no other reason than that he was her companion. Would it matter if she did? If his taste was so crude she was welcome to him.
She saw his eyes as she reached for a second drink.
"You object?"
"Have I the right?"
"No man has that!" The sudden blaze of fury startled her and she gulped at the wine, feeling the sweetness of it, the after-sharpness which constricted her throat. An illogical reaction to a harmless question, the question itself a product of her own stupidity. Why ask if none had the right? "I'm sorry. That bitch always manages to upset me. Do you like her?"
"Does it matter?" Dumarest took the empty glass from her hand. "What did she mean about you having resolved your difficulties?"
"An adjustment which needed to be made. University business. A matter of balancing classes and courses and student enrollments. Sometimes it isn't easy but it's all done now." She looked to where couples moved in complex gyrations. "Do you want to dance?"
"No. Where are the people we came to meet?"
"Later, Earl. Let's enjoy the party first."
He had waited long enough, forcing himself to be patient until this time, going through the pretense she had determined, playing things her way for lack of a better alternative. He was learning about the woman who had been so quick with her invitation.
It was a matter of cultural mores, perhaps; she had mentioned that the forming of intimate relationships was a common pastime, but had it been simply because she had been alone and bored and needing physical release?
Dumarest had begun to doubt it. There was a calculated deliberation in everything she did and even her passion was the result more of applied stimulus than released inhibitions. It was as if she followed the dictates of a manual, seeking reaction and not response, assessing instead of experiencing as if she were a programmed robot set to perform a routine task.
Now, again, the talk of delay.
He said flatly, "If you won't introduce me I'll manage on my own."
"A threat, Earl?" Anger blossomed again to burn in her stomach, to drive the nails of her fingers into her palms. "That's all you want, isn't it? Those damned introductions and to get them you'd lie in your teeth. Lie and pretend to love me and to use me as if you were doing me a favor. You bastard! If you were a woman you'd be a whore!"
Her anger shattered to leave a bleak chill as she suddenly became aware of the circle of watching faces, the silence which, too quickly, broke into a jumble of sound. Her coldness emphasized the realization that, to Dumarest, the insult had been devoid of meaning. In the world he knew the main ethic was to survive and to do so at any cost. And all were entitled to their pride; the woman who sold her flesh as much as the man who fought to entertain.
Different worlds, she thought dully, and how could she hope to understand his? Dumarest had killed, she was certain of it as she was in the manner it had been done. How had it felt to stand in a ring facing an armed man, nostrils clogged with the stench of oil and sweat and blood? She would never know, could never know; her knowledge stemmed from books and not from the acid of living experience.
"Myra?" A man was at her side. "Trouble?"
Moultrie, big and tall and comforting in his strength, hovered now beside her in protective concern. They had glided together and he was proud of his physique, the body which gave him the confidence to glare at Dumarest, to attack him if she gave the word.