He said flatly, "Just what instructions did Chan Parect give you before we left Paiyar?"
"Earl?" She stared at him, eyes wide. "Earl, you told me not to mention things like that."
"You can talk now. This will baffle any listening ears." He gestured at the mechanism softly humming on the table. "Did he tell you why we came here?"
"Of course. To find his son, Salek."
"And what else?" He resisted the impulse to reach out and shake her. "What would you have done, for example, had I shipped out?"
"I'd have gone with you."
"And if I'd left you behind?"
A veil seemed to fall over the amber of her eyes, making her suddenly appear older, more subtle, a little evil. A mask to hide nothing, perhaps, or to hide a secret she had no intention of telling. And yet, it was something he had to know.
"Earl!" She recoiled as she saw his face, the cruel set of his mouth. "Earl, don't look at me like that!"
"You were given orders," he said tightly. "I want to know what they were."
"Why bother, darling?" Her smile was soft, wanton. "You'll find Salek, and we'll all go home, and then we'll live happily until we die. You see, it's all so simple. There is no need for you to worry at all."
A man to find, who could be anywhere; a threat hanging over him, should he fail; a war to win before his pretense was discovered. And she said that he had nothing to worry about.
A child would have spoken like that, but Zenya was no child. With savage answer he threw the flat of his hand against her cheek.
"Damn you, woman! Tell me!"
"Earl!" She recoiled, eyes wide with shock, one hand lifted to the red welts on the bronze of her skin. "You hit me! You hit me!"
"I'll kill you if you don't answer!"
He meant it; the need of survival overrode all gentler instincts, and his determination showed on his face, in his eyes, his voice. She recognized it, accepted it, found a warped pleasure in surrendering to his mastery.
"I was to send a message to the Cyclan telling them where you had been and where you were going if possible. And I was to send another to grandfather telling him that you had failed. That I had failed."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, Earl. That is all."
It was too simple, too open for the devious mind of Aihult Chan Parect, and yet he had no evidence that she spoke other than the truth. Had the old man gambled on the bait of her body and the promise of later fortune being enough to hold him? Thinking it enough when coupled with a bluff?
Wine stood on a table, and he helped himself, ignoring the girl, standing with eyes narrowed before the window. Rafts passed in the night outside, lights brilliant against the stars, each vehicle loaded with uniformed men. Fresh detachments for the field, forces accumulating for the inevitable attack, should all else fail. And other rafts, big cargo carriers, grim as they transported their loads of dead.
From behind him Zenya said softly, "Earl?"
She had dressed in a gown of clinging golden fabric, gems bright in the mane of her hair, head held high, the marks of his fingers carried proudly like a badge.
He said, "Tell me about Salek Parect."
"You should bathe, Earl, and change. It will refresh you, and I want to see you in uniform."
"Tell me about the man I'm looking for."
"I never saw him, Earl. He left Paiyar before I was born. From what others have told me, he was a dreamer, always reading old books and studying ancient scrolls. He had a theory that men had left the right way-whatever that is supposed to mean. Cant we forget him, Earl?"
"I have to find him."
"I know, but later. You have been away a long time, and I missed you." She came forward a little, perfume wafting before her, arms lifted in invitation. "I missed you so very much."
He said, "I need to bathe and change."
* * *
They ate in a place gilded with glowing light, rainbows chasing each other on the walls, the ceiling a mass of drifting smoke shot with glimmers of random brightness. Music came from a living orchestra, martial tunes and exotic rhythms, the throb of drums merging with the wail of pipes, flutes soaring, strings quivering the air. Tall hostesses moved softly on naked feet, their ankles adorned with tiny bells which chimed as they glided between the tables. The food was a succession of dishes, spiced, plain, meats and fish and compotes of fruit, delicacies composed of crushed nuts blended with a dozen different flavors.
Uniforms were everywhere, officers entertaining their women, faces flushed, voices a little too loud, peacocks strutting and enjoying their hour of glory. Volunteers all, paying for their uniforms, their arms, looking on the war as a great adventure.
"Earl," whispered Zenya, "I'm so proud of you. You make these others look like inexperienced boys."
Dumarest made no comment, sipping wine that tasted of honey and mint, icy cold to the mouth, warming as it slid past his throat. He felt tired and wished that he was back in the suite, but it was to be expected that he would entertain his lady.
"Sir?" A middle-aged man stood before him, the insignia of a major bright on his collar. "With respect, marshal, the captain and I are having a little argument, which perhaps you would be good enough to resolve." He gestured to the table he had left, the man and the two women watching. "With your permission?"
He was more than a little drunk; it was easier to agree than argue.
"What is it, major?"
"It has to do with weapons, sir. I advocate lasers, but the captain states that a rifle is as effective, in trained hands. Your opinion?"
"The captain is right."
"But surely, sir, a laser, especially when set for continuous fire, can be more destructive?"
"True, major, but a man can be killed only once. A bullet will do it as well as anything else. If the object of war was simple destruction, we would all be armed with missile launchers."
"But, sir, surely-"
"That will be all, major."
Dumarest sipped again at his wine. The music had fallen to a repetitive beat, bass notes seeming to vibrate the very air, pulsing like the sound of a giant heart. A dancer spun onto the floor, whirling, veils lifting to reveal milky flesh, hair an ebony cloud around the painted face. Another joined her, glistening black, a third as red as flame. Trained litheness merged, parted, met again in a combination of limbs, so that for a moment the three bodies seemed one, to part, to join again in the age-old invitation of all women to all men.
"Beautiful," whispered Zenya. "How could any man resist them? Could you, Earl? If I wasn't here? If they came to you?"
They were marionettes, toys, painted dolls dedicated to their art. He turned from them, busy with his wine.
"Have you ever known a woman like that, Earl? An artiste? You must have. Did she love you? Did you love her? Earl, answer me, I want to know."
He said, "Zenya, do you know what love really is?"
"Tell me, darling."
"It isn't the game you play. For you it is all pleasure, fun, excitement. But real love isn't like that. There is pain in it, and sacrifice, and yearning, and something, perhaps, which you have never known. A caring for another person. A tenderness… I can't put it into words. If you feel it, you know it."
"As you have done, Earl?" She frowned as he made no answer. "Earl?"
She looked at his hand, tight around his wineglass, the set look on his face, the eyes misted with memories. Jealous, she said, "Earl, I'm bored. Let's get out of here."
Branchard was waiting when they returned to the suite. He straightened from where he leaned against a wall, face splitting into a grin as he saw the uniform. Formally he said, "My lord, may I have the pleasure of a few moments of your time?"
The words were for the benefit of the honor guard standing stiffly beside the door. Maintaining the pretense,
Dumarest snapped, "This is irregular, but, as you are here…"
Inside, Branchard glanced around, saw the electronic baffle, and relaxed.