Tubb, E.C. - Dumarest 02 - Derai

VIP免费

2024-12-20 0 0 329.84KB 151 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

Scanned by Highroller.

Proofed by the best ELF proofer.

Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.

Derai

#2 in the Dumarest series

E.C. Tubb

Chapter One

DUMAREST WAS at practice when the skybeast came. He

stood poised on the balls of his feet, a short bar of lead in his

hand, parrying and dodging the vicious slashes and thrusts of a

yard of steel. Sweat dripped from his face and naked torso; Nada

wasn't playing and she was strong enough to send the steel rod

whining through the turgid air. She was also sadist enough to

enjoy it.

"All right," she said finally. "That's enough." She stepped back

and threw aside the rod. Her blouse, taut over her breasts, was

dark with perspiration. Her long, dark hair clung to her neck and

cheeks. Her skin, in the dull lighting of the tent, was faintly olive.

"You're fast," she said admiringly. "Fast."

"I am?" He looked down at his body. A ragged, shallow gash

ran over his ribs. A deeper cut marked his left side, two others

his left forearm. The wounds were almost healed beneath a layer

of transparent plastic.

"You were green then," she said. "Still groggy from traveling

Low. And they were lucky," she added. "Those who managed to

hit you, I mean. Lucky enough to make a score but not lucky

enough to win." She stepped close and stood before him. Her

head came just below the level of his own. "You're good, Earl,"

she said. "Real good."

"I'm hot."

"Then wash." She didn't mistake his meaning. "I've put a

bucket outside."

It was a five gallon drum, the top removed, almost full of tepid

water. He plunged in his arms, laving his torso, then ducked his

head. When he stood up he heard the mournful booming. High

above, drifting among the scattered clouds, a beast was dying.

Already most of the auxiliary pods had been punctured and

hung like ragged ribbons of mist at the edge of the great,

hemispherical body. Even as he watched, a swarm of the local

skylife darted from the clouds to tear at the intruder: rats

worrying a dog. It fought back with the fringe of tentacles

hanging from beneath its body, seizing its tormentors, sending

them plummeting with ruptured gas-sacs. Others of their own

kind ate them before they could hit the ground. Still others

continued the attack.

"It hasn't got a chance," said Nada. "Not one." Her voice was

thick with anticipation.

Abruptly the creature vomited in a desperate effort to gain

height. A cloud of water vapor and ingested food sprayed in a

kaleidoscope of colored smoke. It rose a little, booming with

terror and alarm, almost helpless here over flat country away

from the strong thermals of its mountainous browsing grounds.

High and to one side the keepers who had driven it to the city

with air-blast and electric probe watched from the safety of their

floating platforms.

"Soon," gloated Nada. "Soon!"

The attackers darted in for the kill. They tore at the lashing

tentacles, at the soft underparts, at the tough skin of the main

gas-sac. The creature vomited again and then, as natural

hydrogen spurted from its punctured hide, spored.

Its death-scream echoed over the city as a cloud of glittering

fragments sparkled in the air.

"Nice." Nada stared thoughtfully at the falling remnants of

the creature. Around it the attackers were busy feeding. Little if

any of it would reach the ground. "They're bringing in another

for the finale," she said. "I was talking to the keepers. It's a real

big one. They're going to burn it," she added. "At night."

Dumarest plunged his head again into the water. He rose,

squeezing his hair. Droplets clung to his naked flesh like colored

dew. "Do they always do that?"

"Burn one? Sure. It makes a good spectacle," she explained.

"Something to give the tourists a big charge. A highlight, sort

of." She smiled at her own joke. "This your first time on Kyle?"

Dumarest nodded.

"Well be moving on soon," said the girl. "The Festival's almost

over. Elgar's the next stop. Know it?"

"No."

"A lousy dump," she said dispassionately. "Then Gerath, then

Segelt, then Folgone. That's a weird one," she mused. "Real

weird. You coming with us?"

"No." Dumarest reached for a towel. She handed it to him.

"You could do worse," she suggested. "Aiken likes you. And,"

she added meaningfully, "so do I."

Dumarest busied himself with the towel.

"We'd make a fine couple," she said. "I'm all the woman you

could ever use and you're all the man I'll ever want. We'd get

along fine." She caught the towel he threw toward her and

watched him dress. "What do you say, Earl?"

"It wouldn't work," he said. "I like to keep moving."

"Why?" she demanded. "You're looking for something," she

decided. "That or you're running away from something. Which is

it, Earl?"

"Neither," he said.

"Then—?"

"No," he said. And left her standing alone.

* * *

Aiken lived in a blocked-off portion at the rear of the tent,

living, eating and sleeping on the premises of his concession. The

proprietor was a small, round, pudgy man with a tendency to

sweat. He looked up from the upended crate he used as a desk

and hastily slammed the lid of a cash box. "Earl!" He twisted his

face into a smile. "It's good to see you, boy. Something on your

mind?"

"My share," said Dumarest. "I want it."

"Sure." Aiken began to sweat. "Your share."

"That's right." Dumarest stood to one side of the rough desk

looking down at the little man. "You've had time to count it out,"

he said. "If you haven't I know just how much it should be. Want

me to tell you?"

"No need for that," said Aiken. "I didn't think you'd be in so

much of a hurry," he explained. "We've got a few days yet before

the end of the Festival. How about settling up then?"

Dumarest shook his head. "Look," he said gently, "I want that

money. I fought for it. I earned it. Now I want it."

"That's natural." Aiken produced a handkerchief and mopped

his face and neck. "A man likes to handle the money he's earned,

spend a little of it maybe. A man that's a fool, that is. But, Earl,

you're no fool."

Dumarest stood, waiting.

"That money," said Aiken. "It's yours—that I'm not arguing

about—but why not invest it while you've got the chance?

Listen," he urged. "This is a nice little setup. We've got Nada as a

flash to con in the goops. A couple of steadies who bleed fast and

a comic who's good for a laugh. With you in the ring we can't

lose. We can offer odds of ten-to-one on first blood and still clean

up. Better yet, we can take on the private fights. You know, ten

inch knives and no quarter. Big money, Earl. Big money."

"No," said Dumarest.

"You're letting slip the chance of a lifetime."

"Maybe. Where's my share?"

"You seen Nada? She wants to talk to you."

"I've seen her." Dumarest leaned forward, his face hard.

"What's the matter, Aiken? Don't you want to pay me?"

"Sure I do," said the proprietor. His eyes were darting, furtive.

"Sure I do," he repeated, "only—" He broke off, swallowing.

"Look, Earl," he said desperately. "I'll give it to you straight.

Things haven't been going so good. The concession cost more

than I figured and the goops have been staying away. What I'm

trying to say is that I'm practically broke. I owe the others. I've

got to find freight and passage money to the next stop on the

circuit. There are bills due in town. With your share I can just

about make it."

"And without?"

"I'm beaten," admitted Aiken. "I'll be stranded. Finished."

"Too bad," said Dumarest. "Pay me."

"But—"

Dumarest reached out and caught the other man by the

shoulder. Gently he tightened his fingers. "I worked for that

money," he said quietly. "I chanced getting myself killed to earn

it. Now do you give it to me or do I help myself?"

Outside the tent he counted the money. It was barely enough

for a single High passage on a ship that wasn't traveling too far.

Thoughtfully he walked down the midway section of the carnival.

Concessions stood to either side, some open, most waiting for

night, when the square mile set aside for the Festival games

really came to life. An amplified voice yelled to him from a tent:

"Hey, you there! Want to know what it's like to be burned to

death? Full-sense feelies give you the thrill of a lifetime! Genuine

recordings of impalement, live-burial, flaying, dismemberment

and many more. Sixteen different types of torture! You feel it,

sense it, know what it's like. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

The male voice fell silent A female voice whispered from lower

down the line:

"Hello, handsome! Want to share my wedding night? Find out

just how the little woman feels. Adapt your technique. Get the

reputation of a man who knows what it's all about. Please the

ladies. Step right up for a new experience!"

A third voice, quieter, without amplification: "Alms,

brother?"

A monk of the Universal Brotherhood stood by the gate in the

perimeter fence. He had a pale, thin face framed by the cowl of

his homespun robe. He held out his chipped plastic begging bowl

as Dumarest halted. "Of your charity, brother," he said.

"Remember the poor."

"How could I forget them?" Dumarest threw coins into the

bowl. "How could anyone? You have much work on Kyle,

Brother."

"You speak truth," said the monk. He looked at the coins in

his bowl. Dumarest had been generous. "Your name, brother?"

"So that I shall be mentioned in your prayers?" Dumarest

smiled but gave the information. The monk stepped closer.

"There is a man who seeks you," he said quietly. "A man of

influence and power. It would be to your advantage to attend

him."

"Thank you, Brother." The monks, Dumarest knew, had

friends in high places and an information network that spread

across the galaxy. The Universal Brotherhood, for all the

humbleness, was a very real power. "His name?"

"Moto Shamaski. A factor in the city. You will attend?"

"Yes," said Dumarest. "Keep well, Brother."

"Keep well."

* * *

The factor had gray hair, gray eyes, a gray beard shaved in the

pattern of his Guild. His skin was a faded saffron, creped with

wrinkles, pouched beneath slanting eyes. He rose as Dumarest

entered the office and inclined his head in greeting. "You have

not kept me waiting," he said. His voice was thin, precise. "It is

appreciated. You will accept refreshment?"

"Thank you, no." Dumarest glanced around the office before

taking the proffered chair. It was a soft, luxurious place, the

carpet thick underfoot, the ceiling a mesh of sound-trapping

fiber. A few simple designs ornamented the paneled walls,

delicate embroideries of intricate construction, rare and valuable

examples of Sha' Tung art. Moto Shamaski was a rich and

cultured man.

"It is good of you to attend me," he said. "I trust that you have

suffered no inconvenience?"

"None." Dumarest wasn't deluded as to his own importance:

men such as the factor were always polite. "I received word that

you wanted to see me," he said. "Apparently you do. May I ask

why?"

The factor smiled with his lips, not his eyes—they were busy

searching the visitor. Dumarest recognized the ritual: let the

silence grow and it would, perhaps, reveal something of interest,

impatience, arrogance, servility or simply an overriding need to

talk.

Impassively he leaned back, letting his eyes drift from the

factor to where a sheet of unbroken crystal occupied the major

part of one wall. It gave a clear view of the sky and the famous

Clouds of Kyle.

"Beautiful, are they not?" The factor leaned forward, looking

at the colored shadows brushing the face of his visitor. It was a

strong face, hard, determined. The face of a man who learned to

live without the protection of Guild, House or Organization. "I

have been thirty years on Kyle," he said quietly. "Never do I tire

of watching the sky."

Dumarest made no comment.

"Such tiny organisms to create such splendor," mused the

factor. "Living, breeding, dying in their great swarms high above

the ground. Food for others who share their aerial environment.

A thing unique to Kyle and for which the planet has cause to be

grateful."

"The Festival," said Dumarest. He turned from the window to

face the man across the desk. "The time when the skybeasts turn

from their browsing to fight in the fury of mating. That," he said

dryly, "and other things."

It was the factor's turn to make no comment. Shamaski was

an old man, a lover of beauty who preferred not to dwell on the

other aspects of the Festival, the games and wild lusts, the

perversions and pandering to bestiality which wiled away the

long nights for the impatient tourists who brought their wealth

to Kyle. Instead he gestured toward a tray standing on a small

table to one side of the room. "Are you sure that you require

nothing? Some tea, perhaps?"

Dumarest shook his head, his eyes thoughtful. The man had

sent for him; why did he delay?

"You are impatient," said the factor shrewdly. "And, no doubt,

a little curious. They are natural attributes but you mask them

well." He pressed a button at the edge of his desk. A panel glowed

on the flat surface, the brightness marked with lines of script,

"Earl Dumarest," read Shamaski. "A traveler. You arrived here

from Gleece traveling Low. Before Gleece you were on Pren,

before that on Exon, Aime, Stulgar. Before Stulgar you were the

guest of the Matriarch of Kund. You traveled with her retinue

from Gath where, I assume, you were able to be of some service."

He looked up from the desk. "Is the information correct?"

"It is," said Dumarest. He wondered at the factor's resources

to have been able to learn so much in so short a time. The

monks, perhaps? Or could he be the subject of disseminated

news? The thought was disturbing. "On arrival here," continued

the factor, "you entered into an arrangement with a

concessionaire specializing in the staging of hand-combats. You

have had moderate success. However, the Festival is almost over

and further opportunities for making money are limited. Again,

do you agree?" he darkened the panel at Dumarest's nod. "You

are shrewd, capable and experienced," summed up the factor.

"Young enough to be resourceful and old enough to be discreet.

A happy combination."

"You want to employ me," said Dumarest abruptly. The factor

agreed. "Would you accept a commission from my hands?"

"It depends," said Dumarest, "on just what it is." The factor

rose, crossed to the tray, returned bearing cups of scented tea.

"It is really quite simple," he explained. "I want you to escort a

young person to Hive. You know it?"

Dumarest was cautious. "No."

"A remote world some distance from here and relatively

unimportant. The planet is managed by a syndicate of Houses

and the person you are to escort is a member of one of them."

The factor sipped, savoring his tea. "Such houses," he hinted,

"are not ungenerous."

"Perhaps not," said Dumarest. "But is it ever wise to trust to

the gratitude of princes?"

"No," admitted Shamaski. He sipped more tea. "I will give you

the cost of three High passages. You accept?"

Dumarest hesitated. "You say that Hive is a remote world," he

pointed out. "I will probably have to wait for a ship and then I

will have to pay my passage. How am I expected to make a

profit?"

"You did not intend going to Hive?"

"No," lied Dumarest.

"Very well," decided the factor. "I will give you the cost of two

High passages. Clear," he added. "I shall pay the expenses of the

outward journey. Is that satisfactory?"

Dumarest slowly finished his tea and set down the cup. The

factor had been a little too eager to raise his offer. Idly he dipped

a finger in the dregs and ran it around the edge. A thin, high

ringing filled the office, a note of absolute purity. "A question,"

he said, lifting his finger. "You say that this person is a member

of an established House. Why do they not send an escort of their

own?"

The factor was patient. "It is a question of time. It is quicker

to send the person concerned than to send a message and wait

for an escort."

It was true enough but the answer was revealing. The person,

then, was of some importance. Dumarest probed a little deeper.

"There is need for haste?"

"There is no reason for delay," said the factor. He was,

Dumarest guessed, becoming a little irritated. 'Soon the ships

will be leaving Kyle. Delay now may necessitate special charter.

Will you take the commission? Subject, of course, to your being

accepted by the person concerned. "That," he added, "is an

essential part of the contract."

"Naturally." Dumarest made up his mind. He had pressed the

factor as far as he would go—more and he would lose the

opportunity. "I accept," he said. "When do I meet my charge?"

"At once." Shamaski pressed a button and a panel slid open in

the wall. "Permit me to introduce the Lady Derai of the House of

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

ScannedbyHighroller.ProofedbythebestELFproofer.MadeprettierbyuseofEBookDesignGroupStylesheet.Derai#2intheDumarestseriesE.C.TubbChapterOneDUMARESTWASatpracticewhentheskybeastcame.Hestoodpoisedontheballsofhisfeet,ashortbarofleadinhishand,parryinganddodgingtheviciousslashesandthrustsofayardofsteel.Swea...

展开>> 收起<<

Tubb, E.C. - Dumarest 02 - Derai.pdf

共151页,预览31页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Tubb, E.C. - Dumarest 02 - Derai

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: