E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 04 - Kalin

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Kalin
#4 in the Dumarest series
E.C. Tubb
Chapter One
IT WAS BLOODTIME on Logis and the captain was firm. "I
am sorry," he said, "but I will take no chances. As passengers you
are free to go or stay as you desire, but I must tell you this: if the
perimeter fence should be penetrated I will seal the ship. And,"
he added significantly, "it will remain sealed until all danger is
safely past."
"You would leave us outside?" The woman wore clothes too
young for her raddled features, her cracked and aging voice.
"Leave us to be killed?"
"If necessary, madam, yes."
"Incredible!" Gem-fire flashed from her hands as they moved
in the cone of light streaming from above the open lock. "To
treat your passengers so!"
Her companion, a scarred mercenary, growled deep in his
throat. "The captain has no choice, my dear. His first duty must
be for his ship." He looked at the officer. "Am I not right?"
"You are a man of understanding, sir," said the captain. "As
you say, I would have no choice. Bloodtime on Logis is not a
gentle period. Usually the field suffers no depredation, but
beyond the fence anything can happen." His eyes, flat, dull,
indifferent, glanced from one to the other. "Those who venture
into town do so at their own risk. I would advise you all to
restrain your curiosity."
A thin-faced vendor of symbiotes stared thoughtfully after the
retreating figure. "He's exaggerating," he said. "Inflating the
potential danger in order to keep us all nicely to heel."
"Maybe he is, but he wasn't joking about sealing the vessel." A
plump trader fingered the charm hanging about his neck, a good
luck symbol from one of the Magic worlds. He looked shrewdly at
Dumarest. "You've traveled, Earl. You've seen a lot of the galaxy.
What do you advise?"
Dumarest looked at the trader. "About what?"
"You heard what the captain said. Do you think he was
exaggerating? Would it be safe for us to go and see the fun?"
Dumarest made no comment. From the vantage point at the
head of the ramp on which they stood he had a good view of the
city. It sprawled, an ill-lit shapeless conglomeration of buildings
beyond the high wire mesh of the fence. It was barely night but
already the red glow of fire painted the lowering clouds. The soft
breeze carried the echoes of screams, shouts, the savage baying
of a mob.
The woman shivered. "Horrible! Like animals. Dogs worrying
a bone. Why?" she demanded. "Why in a so-called civilized
community do they do it?"
Her companion shrugged. "It is their custom."
"Custom!" She wasn't satisfied. Her eyes met those of
Dumarest, held, with dawning interest. "A word which explains
nothing. Why do they throw aside all law, all restraint?"
"To cleanse themselves, my lady," said Dumarest. "At least,
that is what they claim. Once, perhaps, the thing had purpose
but now it has become a vicious habit. For three days the
population of Logis will hunt and kill, hide and die." He looked at
the flames. "Burn and be burned."
But not all of them. Only the weak and helpless, those without
friends willing to lend their protection. The old days when
harmful mutations, the insane, the crippled, the physically weak
and morally vicious were culled from society were over. Now old
scores would be settled, debts and grudges paid, revenge taken.
A few politicians would be hunted down for their lying promises.
Some cheating traders, businessmen, company heads would be
sacrificed to appease the mob. But, when it was all over, those in
power would still remain.
The woman shivered again at the echo of a scream. Her hand
glittered as she touched the arm of her companion. "Let's go
inside," she said.
"We can sit and talk and play cards, maybe. Listen to music,
even. Anything but this. I have no love for the sounds of
violence."
And, thought Dumarest watching, neither had the man. Not
now. The mercenary was old and afraid of what the future could
bring. A man who had too often seen the amniotic tanks,
suffered the pain of wounds. Now he searched for a haven and
the woman could provide it. She too had lived a hard life but,
unlike the man, she had something to show for it. Jewels instead
of scars. Together they could find comfort if not happiness.
Dumarest turned, breathing deep of the night air, suddenly
conscious of his isolation and a little envious of those who did
not travel alone. Behind him the trader shuffled, restless, his eyes
reflecting the glow of mounting fires.
"Let's go down to the gate and take a closer look," he
suggested. "That should be safe enough. We could take care and
might see something interesting."
"We might," agreed the thin-faced vendor. He sucked in his
cheeks. "It seems a pity to come all this way and see nothing. It
won't happen again for another year and who knows where I'll be
then?" He nodded, deciding. "All right. I'll come with you. How
about you, Earl?"
Dumarest hesitated and then, slowly, followed the others
down the ramp.
* * *
Guards stood by the gate, armed, armored and sullen. They
were field personnel selected to remain stable during the three
day period. They were carrying weapons which were rare on
Logis— automatic rifles. These could fire a spray of shot as
effective if not as lethal as lasers at short range. One of them
glared as the three men approached.
"You going out or staying in?"
"Staying in," said the trader promptly. He squinted past the
guards into the town. A wide road, apparently deserted, ran
directly from the gate. "How bad is it?"
"Not bad at all," said the man. His face was hard, brutal
beneath his helmet. "Those who asked for it are getting it." His
face convulsed in sudden rage. "Damn it! I shouldn't be here at
this lousy gate. I should be out there hunting down the bastard
who stole my wife!"
"Take it easy," said one of his companions. He wore the
insignia of an officer. "That's no way to talk. You got divorced,
didn't you?"
"What's that got to do with it?"
"She got married again, didn't she?"
"So?"
"Forget it," said the officer. "I'm not looking for a quarrel. But
you volunteered for gate-duty. You swore that you had no
grudges to settle and that you could use the extra pay. So you're
here and you're going to stay here for the duration. Get it?"
"Go to hell!"
"This is your last chance, Brad."
"—you!"
The officer reached out and snatched the rifle from the
guard's hands. "All right," he said coldly. "That's enough. Now
beat it."
"What?" The man blinked. "Now wait a minute!" he stormed.
"I've got a right to—"
"You're relieved," snapped the officer. "I don't want you on
this gate. Now get to hell out of here while you've still got the
chance."
Dumarest looked at the officer as the man walked away
mouthing threats. "He'll get you for this."
"No he won't," said the officer. "Brad's a coward and a bully
and that's a poor survival combination. He's made too many
enemies and won't last until dawn." He sucked thoughtfully at
his teeth. "A little insurance wouldn't hurt though," he mused. "I
know his ex-wife. She's a decent woman married to a trained
fighter. I'll tip them off about what has happened. Just in case,"
he explained. "Some rats have a lot of luck and Brad might just
about make it to their apartment."
"But that's as far as he'll get," said Dumarest.
"Sure," agreed the officer. "That's the whole idea." He walked
to where a booth stood beside the gate, to a phone and his
warning call.
Dumarest joined his companions where they stood looking
down the road. There was little to see. Fires sent drifts of smoke
billowing across the street. The sound of breaking glass came
from the business section where shops which had economized on
shutters were providing meat for the looters. A band of men
appeared, lurched toward the gate and then disappeared into a
tavern. Light shone from the open door but quickly vanished as
the panel slammed. The trader licked his lips.
"A drink," he said. "I could do with something to wet the
gullet." He licked his lips again. "How about it, Earl? Shall we
walk down to that tavern and order a bottle? Hell," he added,
"why not? No one can possibly have cause to hate us on this
planet, so where's the danger?"
It was there: Dumarest could smell it, sense it riding like
smoke on the air. The blood-craze of normally decent people
suddenly relieved of all restraint. More. Proving themselves by
being the first to accuse, the loudest to complain, the quickest to
act.
Among such people, how long would a stranger last?
The thin-faced vendor moved restlessly. He was getting cold
and bored and thought longingly of the comfort waiting in the
ship. Also he should attend to his samples. That symbiote from
Een: it was time he wore it. If he put it off too long the thing
would encyst to sporofulate which, if not tragic, would be an
inconvenient nuisance.
A shout came from down the road. A man lurched from
between two buildings, a bottle in one hand, a long knife in the
other. He crossed the street, stood swaying, then vanished down
an alley. Another followed him, a woman with long, unkempt
hair. She carried a crude club made of a stone lashed to a stick.
Crude, but effective enough if swung against a skull. On Logis
revenge wasn't forestalled by poverty.
"She's after him," said the trader. "Did you see that, Earl?
She's tracking him down as if he were a beast. Waiting until she
can sneak up on him and smash in his head." He chuckled.
"Unless he sees her first." he qualified. "He wasn't carrying that
knife for fun."
"Murderers," said the vendor. He sounded disgusted. "Let's
get back to the ship and breathe some clean air."
The trader bristled. "Now wait a minute—"
"Murderers," repeated the vendor. "Not you, them. I enjoy a
little excitement as much as the next man but what are we
seeing? An even match? A regulated bout with ten-inch knives,
first-blood winner or to the death? An even melee? Listen," he
emphasized. "I've got a couple of symbiotes in the ship which will
give you all you could hope for. You ever seen leucocytes chase
malignant bacteria? With one of my pets you can really join in.
Mental affinity achieved on a sensory plane and, what's more,
the thing takes care of you while you feed it. Really takes care."
He winked. "Guess what I mean?"
"I can imagine." The trader hesitated. "These symbiotes come
expensive, right?"
The vendor nodded. "Tell you what," he suggested. "I'll rent
you one. I've got a thing from Een which would suit you right
down to the ground." He read the other's expression. "You're
wondering if they're safe. Would I be selling them if they
weren't? They're symbiotes, man, not parasites. They give you
something in return for what they take. Look," he urged. "Ask
anyone. The captain, the medic, anyone. They'll tell you the
same."
"All right," said the trader. "I'm convinced. Let's get back to
the ship." He looked at Dumarest. "Coming, Earl?"
Dumarest didn't answer. He was staring down the wide street.
A flicker of gold showed in the distance. It vanished, reappeared
with a sudden burst of resplendency, vanished again as a leaping
flame died. It shone again with reflected brilliance, coming
nearer, closer, with the sound of racing feet. Beside him the
trader sucked in his breath.
"By God," he whispered. "It's a girl!"
She came running down the road, long legs flashing beneath
the hem of a golden tunic. It was cut away from her arms, her
throat, falling to mid-thigh and cinctured with a crimson belt.
Flame red hair was bound with a fillet of gold. Sandals of gold
hugged her feet showing the scarlet of painted nails. Her face
was deathly pale, the eyes enormous, the red lips parted as she
fought for breath.
Behind her seethed a yammering, screaming mob.
"They'll get her," breathed the seller of symbiotes. He looked
pale, sick. "They'll run her down for sure."
"Run her down and tear her apart," agreed the trader. He
narrowed his eyes. "She's trying to reach the gate," he
murmured. "With luck she might make it. Not that it'll do her
any good but—" He broke off as she tripped and fell, naked flesh
white against the gold, white and gold stark against the
flame-bright cobbles of the street. "She's down!" he groaned.
"They'll get her now for sure." He sensed movement, the shifting
of the guards, the stir of displaced air. "Earl!" he yelled.
"Earl, you crazy fool! Come back here!"
Dumarest paid no attention. He ran, face hard as he
estimated time and distance. He could reach the girl before the
mob. He might just be able to reach her and return to the gate
before they covered the distance. It was a thing he had to try.
She looked up at him, eyes pools of green fire in the
translucent pallor of her face. Her hands lifted, white butterflies
of defense. "No!" she said. "No!"
His words were quick, harsh. "I mean you no harm. Can you
stand? Run?"
She moved, winced. "My ankle—"
There was no time for more. He stooped, gripped her wrist
and hauled upward. The impact of her body was light on his
shoulder. He felt the smoothness of her naked thigh against the
palm of his left hand, the warmth of her body against his cheek.
He ran toward the gate, seeing the faces of the assembled
guards, their lifted weapons, the watchful eyes of his two
companions.
"Earl!" called the trader. "Behind you!"
Something struck his leg. Something else clawed at his arm.
He spun, lashing out with his free hand, saw a snarling face fall
away. A man, quicker than the rest, had reached him and had
tried to tear the girl from his shoulder. Dumarest set her on her
feet and thrust her toward the gate.
"Move!" he ordered. "Hop if you have to, but move!"
"But you—"
"Damn it, girl, don't argue!"
He turned just in time to avoid an ax swinging at his skull. He
stepped backward, caught the haft, tore it free and slammed the
side of the blade into the wielder's mouth. He fell, spitting teeth
and blood, screaming as feet trod him to the stone. A knife
flashed in the firelight. Dumarest lifted an arm and blocked the
blade. It slashed his tunic; the edge sliced through plastic and
grated on the metal weave below. He struck out with the ax, felt
it stick, released the haft as a thumb gouged at his eyes. He
kicked and felt bone snap beneath his boot. With both hands
stiffened he moved slowly back toward the gate: chopping,
stabbing with his fingers, kicking, using elbows and head as a
weapon. Lashing out, always on the move, always on the attack.
Abruptly he was standing alone, ringed by savage faces, the
moans and whimpers of the injured rising above the soft rustle
of advancing flames, the ragged sounds of breathing.
A man spat a mouthful of blood. "Listen," he said. "I don't
know who you are but we want that girl. Do we have to kill you to
get her?"
"You could try," said Dumarest.
"We can do more than that," said the man. "You're one
against the lot of us. You're quick and you're fast but how long
do you think you can hold out?"
"Be sensible," urged someone from the rear of the crowd.
"What's the girl to you? Hell, man, why lose your life trying to
protect someone you don't even know?"
"You've done enough," said a third. "Maybe you don't
understand, so we'll let it go. But try to stop us again and you'll
get taken apart."
Dumarest edged a little further from the ring of faces. They
were talking, normally a good sign: men who talk rarely act. But
these people were degenerate rabble taking advantage of the
Bloodtime to slake their lust for violence. They were talking to
summon up their courage, not to arrive at a compromise.
Dumarest glanced over his shoulder. The girl stood before the
assembled guards, her eyes wide as she watched the mob. Why
didn't she pass through the gate into the field?
The first speaker wiped blood from his mouth. "She can't
escape," he said. "The guards won't let her through the gate.
Only those with booked passage are permitted on the field at
Bloodtime. There's no sanctuary in there."
Dumarest raised his voice and called to the trader. "Seegihm."
"Earl?"
"Get a message to the captain. Have him book a passage for
the girl at my expense. Use the phone and pass her through when
it's done."
A woman screamed from the rear of the mob. "Mister, you're
crazy! You don't know what you're doing. That girl's a witch!"
"That's right!" roared a man. "A dirty, filthy, stinking witch!
She hexed my daughter so that she aborted!"
Others took up the chorus. "She called up a wind to rip the
roof off my barn!"
"I had a whole brewing ruined through her!"
"My boy lost an eye!"
"She dug a hole and my wife fell in it and broke a leg!"
"I bought stock and went broke. She did it!"
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ScannedbyHighroller.ProofedbythebestELFproofer.MadeprettierbyuseofEBookDesignGroupStylesheet.Kalin#4intheDumarestseriesE.C.TubbChapterOneITWASBLOODTIMEonLogisandthecaptainwasfirm."Iamsorry,"hesaid,"butIwilltakenochances.Aspassengersyouarefreetogoorstayasyoudesire,butImusttellyouthis:iftheperimeterfe...

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