Tubb, E.C. - Dumarest 08 - Veruchia

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Veruchia

#8 in the Dumarest series

E.C. Tubb

Chapter One

There was something cathedral-like about the museum so that visitors walked softly

and spoke in little more than whispers, awed by the nobility of the building. It was of

natural stone, the high, vaulted roofs murmuring with distant echoes, the vast

chambers flanked with galleries and long windows of brightly stained glass. Even the

attendants standing unobtrusively beside carved pillars seemed more like exhibits

than men: creatures subjected to the taxidermist's art, uniformed simulacra set to

guard fabulous treasures. It would have been easy to have forgotten their presence.

Dumarest did not forget. From the moment he had entered the museum he had been

conscious of their watchful eyes. They followed him now as he walked with a dozen

others, his neutral gray in strong contrast to their city finery, a stranger and therefore

an object of interest. Even guards grew bored.

"A phendrat." The voice of the guide rose above the sussuration of halting feet. He

pointed upwards to where a winged and spined creature hung suspended on invisible

wires. Even in death it radiated a vicious ferocity.

The treatment which had preserved it had not detracted from the glitter of its scales.

"The last of its species was destroyed over three centuries ago in the Tamar Hills. It

was a carnivore and the largest insect ever known on this world: the result,

apparently, of wild mutation. Its life cycle followed a standard pattern, the female

sought but a suitable host and buried her eggs in the living flesh. See the sting? The

venom paralyzed the selected creature which could do nothing as it was eaten alive

by the hatching young. Note the long proboscis, the mandibles and the hooked legs.

This is the sound of a phendrat in flight."

The guide touched a button set in a pillar and a thin, spiteful drone filled the air. A

matron cleared her throat as it died away.

"Are you certain there are none left?"

"Positive, madam."

"I've a farm in the Tamar Hills. If I thought those things were still around I'd sell it

tomorrow."

"You have nothing to fear, madam, I assure you." The guide moved on. "A krish,"

he said, halting beside a ten-foot display case filled with a mass of convoluted

spines. "This one was found at the bottom of the Ashurian Sea. If you will study it

you will see that the body-shell is almost covered with bright stones. Sometimes they

are found so thickly laden that true mobility is lost. The stones are not natural to the

creature and, as yet, we cannot determine whether or not the adornment is deliberate

or accidental. By that I mean there is a possibility that the creature actually chooses

to adorn its shell in the manner you see. If so the purpose could either be for

camouflage, which seems unlikely, or as a means of attracting a mate."

"Like a girl dressing up?" The man was young and inclined to be frivolous.

The guide was curt. "Something like that, sir. But this is a male."

"But wouldn't that mean it is intelligent?" The girl had a thin, intent face with thick

brows over eyes set a little too close for beauty. She glanced up at Dumarest and he

noted, among other things, that she had stayed close to his side all through the tour.

"Wouldn't you say that? I mean, if a creature exercises free choice doesn't that imply

it has a thinking brain? And, if it can think, then it must be intelligent."

The guide moved on and saved him from the necessity of a reply. This time the man

halted before a pedestal bearing a peculiar fabrication of metal.

"A mystery," he said. "The alloy is of a nature unused and contains traces of

elements which are not native to this world. It was obviously part of a fabrication, a

machine, possibly, but what the machine was or the part this played in its

construction is unknown. It was found buried in alluvium and was discovered during

the mining operations at Green. Aside from the fact that it is very old and of an

artificial nature nothing is known about it." He paused. "Of course there are rumors:

an earlier native civilization which developed a high technology and then completely

vanished without leaving any other trace; the discarded part of a spaceship of

unknown manufacture; an art form of a culture unknown— the choice is limited only

by the imagination. Personally I believe the explanation to be less bizarre." The girl

said, "And that is?"

"My own belief?" The guide shrugged. "The part of a machine which proved

unsatisfactory and was reclaimed for salvage. The alien elements could have been

imported and the alloy was probably one of a series tested for greater efficiency.

Economic pressure or the discovery of a cheaper substitute would account for it no

longer being in use. It most likely fell from a raft during transport to a smelter."

A safe, mundane explanation, thought Dumarest, and one calculated to reduce

interest in the strange fabrication. Who would be intrigued by junk? Yet he did not

turn away, stepping closer to the pedestal instead and studying the near-shapeless

mass with narrowed eyes. It was hopeless. The thing defied any attempt to determine

its original function, the attrition of time marring its delicate construction. And it was

delicate, that much was obvious despite the damage it had sustained: metal-like lace

interspersed with solid elements and weaving conduits. If they were conduits. If the

metal had originally been like lace.

"Old," said a voice quietly. The girl was still at his side. "So very old. Did you notice

how the guide paid no attention to that in his explanation?"

"He probably didn't think it important."

"Do you?" Her voice held interrogation. "Are you interested in ancient things? Is that

why you are visiting the museum?"

Dumarest wondered at her interest. Was it an attempt to make casual conversation or

was it something deeper? She looked harmless enough, a young girl, a student

perhaps, busy widening her education, but appearances could be deceptive..

"It was raining," he said. "The museum offered shelter. And you?"

"I've nothing better to do." Her voice fell a little, gained a slight huskiness. "And you

can meet such interesting people in a museum." Her hand slipped through his arm

and held it close. Through her clothing he could feel the cage of her ribs, the feverish

heat of her body. "Shall we catch up with the others or have you had enough?"

"And if I have?"

"There are more things to do on a rainy evening than look at the past." She paused

and added, meaningfully, "More pleasant and just as educational. Well?"

"The guide is waiting," he said, and pulling his arm free strode down the chamber.

The man had halted before a cleared space ringed with a barrier of soft ropes curling

from stanchions. One hand rested on a buttoned pedestal, the other was raised in a

theatrical gesture.

"Your attention," he said as Dumarest, followed by the girl, joined the party. "What

you are about to see is a true mystery for which even I have no explanation. First I

will permit you to feast your eyes and then I will tell you what it is you see." He

paused, a showman captivating his audience, then firmly pressed the button.

"Behold!"

Later the balm of time and weather would soften the bleakness, rounding edges and

blurring harsh contours, casting a net of vegetation over the place so that the ragged

outlines would merge into the landscape and the ruins be transformed into an

intriguing irregularity. But now the rawness was like a blow: a jumbled pile of

desolation naked to the lavender sky, the tortuous striations of savage color stark

against a somber background; the exposed entrails of a beast stricken with the blind

fury of relentless destruction.

A city, thought Dumarest, like a machine, like a man, showed the agony of its death.

He stepped forward and felt the soft impact of the barrier against his thighs, blinking

as he remembered that this was illusion, but the hologram was so lifelike that it

deluded even as to scale. It was hard to remember that these were not real ruins a

short distance away, that they need not even look exactly as they seemed.

Thickly he said, "Korotya?"

"The same." The guide sounded surprised. "An unusual sight as I think you will all

agree, and one of the mysteries of Selend. No one knows how destruction came to

this place. Even the existence of the city was unsuspected though there had been

rumors. The site is unfit for husbandry and so attracted no settlers. Hunters must

have stumbled on it from time to time but, if so, they never reported having found it.

The assumption is that the inhabitants made sure they could not."

A woman said, sharply, "Killed them, you mean?"

"Possibly, but there is no proof."

To one side a girl whispered, "It's horrible. Such destruction! And yet, in a way, it's

also magnificent. Those colors, those shapes, but how… ?"

"Atomics." Her companion was emphatic. "What else could have generated such

heat? See how the stone has fretted into outflung traceries? Internal pressures must

have done that, the superheated air on the interior gusting out to blast the molten

walls. The varied colors must be due to internal structures, pipes, wires,

reinforcements of diverse nature. The whole thing must have happened almost

instantaneously. A tremendous blast of heat which reduced the entire area into what

we see."

"But an entire city!" The girl echoed her disbelief. "And no one knew it was there?"

"No one," said the guide, then amended his flat statement. "Aside from the

inhabitants, of course, assuming that there were any inhabitants. All we know is that

fifty-eight years ago seismological instruments registered a shock of great

proportions. Almost at the same time reports were received of a column of flame,

oddly brief, which came from the point of disturbance. The two were obviously

connected. Later investigation discovered what you see before you. The area was

intensely radioactive and still precludes personal investigation. It will be another

century before we dare move in to commence excavations but there is little doubt as

to what we shall find."

Nothing. Circling the barrier Dumarest had no hope of anything else. The entire place

must be fused solid—the buildings and the ground for miles around. There was no

hope that records would remain, not even a carving on stone, a metal block engraved

with the data he had hoped to find, certainly not a man who could tell him what he

wanted to know.

A man's voice rose, puzzled. "I still can't understand how the place could have

remained undiscovered. Surely there were flights over the area?"

"The entire area was mapped by aerial photography three times during the past two

centuries."

"And nothing was seen?"

"Nothing." The guide was emphatic. "The terrain showed only an unbroken expanse

of forest. As I said Korotya is a mystery. If there were answers to the questions

which fill your minds it would be a mystery no longer. Those ruins are fifty-eight

years old and that is the only thing we can be sure about, the only real fact we have.

All the rest is surmise. How long the city existed, who built it, who lived in it, how it

was destroyed, these are things we do not know."

Dumarest had circled the area. As he approached the rest of the party the image

flickered and abruptly vanished. Reaching forward he pressed the button on the

pedestal and restored the illusion.

To the guide he said, "Some things can surely be determined. The destruction was

atomic in nature—you mentioned residual radioactivity."

"That is so."

"I assume this world is monitored. Was any record made at the time of atmospheric

flights or spatial approaches?"

The guide frowned. "I fail to understand you, sir."

"Could the area have been bombed?"

"Selend was not at war. The destruction was an isolated act and, in any case, how

could anyone attack a city unless they knew exactly where it was? And what reason

could there be for such willful destruction?"

Dumarest pressed the point. "You haven't answered my question. Would you agree

that the city could have been destroyed by external forces?"

"It could have been," admitted the guide reluctantly. "But, equally so, it could have

been destroyed in other ways. An internal explosion, for example. An experiment

which went wrong—there are a multitude of possible explanations, but all of them

must remain pure surmise. As I said, Korotya is a mystery." He looked at Dumarest.

"You have other questions?"

Dumarest made his decision. He had come too far not to ask even though he could

guess the answer. But he had nothing to lose.

"One," he said. "You mentioned that there were many rumors—did one of them

have anything to do with the Original People?"

"Sir?"

"A religious sect maintaining a strict seclusion. Could Korotya have been their

home?"

Blandly the guide said, "Anything is possible, sir, but I have never heard of the sect

you mention." He raised his voice. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will

please follow me into the other chamber I will show you the original coronation

garments of the first ruler of Selend. We no longer have a monarchy, of course but

Elhnan Conde was a very unusual man and insisted on wearing a very unusual robe."

His voice faded to a murmur as he led the way, the others or the party following, the

girl with the thin face hesitating and then, shrugging, following the rest. Alone

Dumarest stared at the enigmatic ruins.

He had arrived sixty years too late.

A rumor picked up on a distant world had brought him to Selend and it had been a

wasted journey. Once again as the image died he restored the illusion, looking

intently at the harsh destruction. It had been too big for a monastery and there was

too much stone for it to have been a simple village tucked beneath sheltering trees.

Those trees and the topsoil would have been burned away, vaporized, exposing

what lay beneath. Much of what he saw would have lain underground but it was still

too large for primitive commune. Art, skill and technology had gone into its

construction and now it was dead and those who had lived and worked in it must be

dead also. And with them the knowledge he had hoped to obtain.

He turned from the display as a fresh party led by a vociferous guide came towards

him. It had stopped raining and he hesitated at the doors of the museum, looking at

the gleaming streets, slickly wet beneath the lights. It was still early, people crowding

the sidewalk, traffic thick on the pavements: a normal city on a normal, highly

developed world. A place in which he felt restless and had no real part. His skin

crawled to the imagined touch of invisible chains.

Casually he looked around. A cluster of young girls, their voices like the twitter of

birds as they chatted, waiting for friends. A tall, slim young man with a tuft of beard

wearing orange and purple. A fat man arguing with his wife. An oldster, stooped,

coughing and spitting phlegm. Two thick-set types, artisans probably, standing side

by side silent and watchful.

A Hausi came running up the stairs, his face marked with tribal scars. He hesitated as

he saw Dumarest as if about to speak, his eyes curious, then he passed on into the

museum. Dumarest turned, watching him through the glass as he moved quickly

towards the offices, wondering what such a man was doing on so remote a world.

Hausia rarely strayed far from the center of the galaxy where worlds were thick and

their skills appreciated.

He moved as a crowd of adolescents thronged towards the doors, running lightly

down the stairs and across the street. He kept to the busy ways heading towards the

edge of the city and his hotel. A tout called softly as he neared a lighted doorway.

"Lonely, mister? There's plenty of fun inside. Genuine feelies of a thousand kinds.

Full sensory participation and satisfaction guaranteed. Why live it when you can feel

it? All the thrills and none of the dangers. No?" He shrugged philosophically as

Dumarest passed, raising his voice again a moment later, falling silent almost

immediately.

Dumarest frowned. A tout would not break his spiel without reason; win or lose he

would try every prospect, picking them out with the skill of long training, the lonely,

the strangers away from home, those who looked as if they could be lured into his

parlor. Someone must be close behind, a person intent on business, not pleasure.

Deliberately he slowed, ears strained, listening for the scuff of feet. There was too

much noise and he heard nothing definite. He slowed even more; if the man were

genuine he would maintain his pace and pass. He did neither.

Dumarest halted, tense, belated caution pricking its warning.

He felt the sting of something against the back of his head, the impact, and spun, left

arm outstretched, the fingers extended and clamped so as to form a rigid whole.

Light from an overhead standard turned the stone of his ring into a streak of ruby

fire. He saw the man standing behind him, the face pale and startled over the tuft of

beard, then his fingers hit, catching the eye, ripping and tearing at yielding flesh. The

man shrieked and fell away as, carried by his own momentum, Dumarest continued

to turn, his neck already stiff, his legs unresponsive.

The screams of the injured man followed him as he fell to the concrete an infinite

distance below.

* * *

He awoke to a glare of light.

"All right, nurse," said a heavy voice. "The primary was successful." The light

moved aside and was replaced by a broad, dark face topped with a green cap

bearing a medical insignia. "You've nothing to worry about," soothed the doctor.

"The danger is past and you're going to be perfectly well. Now I want you to

cooperate. Please blink your eyes, left first then right. That's it. Again, please. Once

more. Good. Now follow the movements of my finger." He made satisfied noises as

Dumarest obeyed. "Now move your head. Excellent. You may give him the

secondary now, nurse."

Dumarest felt something touch the side of his neck and he heard the sharp hiss as air

blasted drugs into his bloodstream. The reaction was immediate. Life and feeling

returned to his limbs, his lungs heaved beneath his aching ribs. He sat upright,

fighting a sudden wave of nausea, resting his head in his hands until it had passed.

"To ask how you feel would be a stupid question," said the doctor conversationally.

"You have been under artificial stimulation for almost two weeks and the machines

are not always gentle. But you are alive and the discomfort will pass."

"Thank you," said Dumarest. "For saving my life."

"You were fortunate in more ways than one. The screams of the man you injured

attracted the police. They immediately summoned an ambulance. The medical

orderly gave you quick-time to slow your metabolism and put you in freeze." The

doctor paused as if wondering whether to say more. "I found a dart buried in your

scalp. It bore traces of a substance which took our medical computer some time to

isolate and more to determine a neutralizing compound. The difficulty was in

maintaining life while it took effect; hence the use of the machines."

"I understand," said Dumarest. "And the man?"

"The one you injured?" The doctor shrugged. "Dead. Not from his injury, you

merely tore his eye, but from other causes."

"Such as?"

"Cardiac failure." The doctor became brusque. "We have talked long enough. Now

you had better rest for a while in order to recover your strength. But do not be

concerned. You have nothing to worry about."

Nothing, thought Dumarest as the man left followed by the nurse. Nothing aside

from the fact that someone had tried to kill him and would probably try again.

Rising from the bed he crossed to where curtains hid a window. It was no surprise

to find it barred. He stood looking out at the night, the reflection of his face limned

against the clouded sky. It had been raining again and tiny droplets made miniature

rainbows against the panes. He touched the back of his head. The wound had

healed; aside from that he had no proof that time had passed at all.

He lowered his eyes. The room was set high in the building and the view stretched

across an ugly cluster of roads, stores and huddled buildings to where the

space-field glowed beneath its circle of lights. As he watched a ship lifted upwards,

bright in the glowing field of its Erhaft drive as it reached towards the stars. Again he

looked at the city. Limitless space and worlds without number spread across the

galaxy. Why did men insist on building their habitations so close?

Turning from the window he studied the room. A bed, an empty cabinet, toilet

facilities and nothing else. He wore nothing but a loose hospital robe, his only

personal possession the ring on his left hand. At least they had left him that. The

door was unlocked. He opened it and met the flat stare of an armed guard seated in

the passage outside. Slowly the man shook his head.

Closing the door Dumarest returned to the bed and eased the aching muscles of his

body. He was a prisoner. There was nothing to do now but wait.

They kept him waiting for two days and then returned his clothes and took him to

the place of interrogation. It could be no other than that, a room in which someone

would ask questions and demand answers and, if there were no instruments of

persuasion to be seen, it was no proof that they did not exist or would not be used.

Most probably they had been used; a drugged man could retain few secrets.

"Dumarest." The man sitting at the wide desk was of indeterminate age, his face

smooth, bland, his body almost as slight as that of a boy. He picked up a card lying

before him. "Earl Dumarest, traveler, arrived on Selend seventeen days ago from…

?" He paused, looking up. His eyes were gray flecked with motes of blue.

"Onsul."

"And before that?"

"Vington."

"Which you reached from Technos." The examiner smiled, his teeth very white and

very pointed. "I am glad that you are being sensible, Earl. I may call you that? My

name is Cluj. Please be seated." He waited as Dumarest took a chair. "What is your

planet of origin?"

"Earth."

"A strange name for a world. There is no record of it in our files, but no matter,

there are so many worlds." Without change of tone or expression he said, "Why did

you come to Selend?"

"To visit Korotya." If he had been questioned under drugs there was no point in

lying and it was obvious now that he had. Else why should Cluj have checked on

Earth? "I had heard of the place, a rumor, and I wanted to see it."

"Why?"

"I was curious."

"About the Original People?" The examiner leaned back in his chair, smiling. "I

know all that you have done since your arrival. The guide at the museum remembers

you well. A great pity that you traveled so far to learn so little. You saw the ruins."

"I saw a hologram of ruins," corrected Dumarest.

"You are precise and wise to be so, but I assure you the depiction was genuine.

Korotya, unfortunately, is lost to us forever." Cluj picked up the card and began to

rap the edge softly on his desk. "The Original People," he mused. "A minor religious

sect holding strange beliefs and conducting esoteric ceremonies. They claim that we

all originated on one planet." He looked at Dumarest. "Earth. Are you one of them?"

"No."

"And yet you seek to find them, is that it? If you thought they were here you were

mistaken. We do not tolerate such misguided fanatics on Selend. And the city, the

ruins of Korotya, can you honestly believe that such people could have built it and

kept it hidden for so long? The thing is against reason."

Cluj threw down the card. "Now let us deal with a more important matter. The attack

on your person is something which disturbs me. It is a puzzle and I do not like

puzzles. It was not a simple attempt at robbery and neither was it a thwarted

assassination. Later analysis has shown that the poison fed into your blood was not

intended to kill but to paralyze. A most sophisticated compound and one beyond the

reach of any ordinary criminal. Its effect is to render a person immediately helpless

with all the apparent symptoms of death. Now why should you be attacked in such a

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Veruchia#8intheDumarestseriesE.C.TubbChapterOne Therewassomethingcathedral-likeaboutthemuseumsothatvisitorswalkedsoftlyandspokeinlittlemorethanwhispers,awedbythenobilityofthebuilding.Itwasofnaturalstone,thehigh,vaultedroofsmurmuringwithdistantechoes,thevastchambersflankedwithgalleriesandlongwindowso...

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