E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 03 - Toyman

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Toyman

#3 in the Dumarest series

E.C Tubb

Chapter One

FOR THIRTY HOURS the sun had arched across the sky,

baking the desert with its oven-heat, but now that it was night

the temperature had already fallen to the point where water

turns to ice. It would, Dumarest knew, fall even lower during the

twenty-hour period of darkness. Toy was a world of violent

extremes.

He crouched closer to the fire, watching as Legrain fed it with

thorned scrub and shards of bleached and weathered bone.

Around them a circle of rock both shielded the fire from casual

view and reflected the heat. Above the piled stones the wind

gusted with freezing chill, heavy with the odor of weed and brine,

the sullen roar of crashing waves.

"A bad night," said Legrain. "But all nights are bad for the

defeated."

He carefully fed a fragment of bone to the flames. Like

Dumarest, he wore a sleeved tunic of vivid scarlet reaching to his

knees. A metal helmet and breastplate shone with the color of

gold. A belt at his waist supported a bag and scabbarded sword.

Earlier in the day he had also carried a shield and spear, but

both had been discarded in the conflict. Helmet, breastplate and

tunic showed dents and slashes. Blood from a minor wound had

dried on one cheek. Lit by the fire, his big-nosed face gave him

the appearance of a disheveled eagle.

"Warmth and rest," he said. "At night, in the arena, the lack

of either can kill as surely as sword and spear." He delved into

his bag and produced a scrap of meat. He speared it on the tip of

his sword and held it to the flames. "A bargain," he suggested. "A

share of my meat for a share of your water. You have water?"

Dumarest shook his canteen. It made a liquid sound.

"Good. It is agreed?"

"Yes," said Dumarest. "But how about Sachen?"

"The boy?" Legrain shrugged. "Earl, my friend, you must

accept what is to be. The lad is as good as dead. We did him no

favor carrying him as we did. It would be better to ease his

passage. A pressure on the carotids—it would be a kindness."

Dumarest made no comment, looking instead to where a third

man lay against the shelter of the rock. He too wore a slashed

tunic and golden helmet but had no breastplate. His breathing

was stentorian and, though he shivered, his ebony skin shone

with a dew of sweat. "Water," he gasped. "Water."

Dumarest rose, crossed toward him, touched his forehead.

The skin burned like fire. He gently lifted the tunic and

examined the blood-soaked rag tied and belted about the hips.

The material of the tunic was thin plastic, useless to keep out the

cold.

"Water," croaked the wounded man. "Please give me some

water."

"No," said Legrain.

"Shut up," said Dumarest. He uncorked his canteen and,

supporting Sachen's head, poured a thin trickle between the

parched lips. "Steady," he urged as the man tried to snatch the

canteen. "Too much will be bad for you." He set aside the

canteen. "How do you feel now, Jack?"

"Terrible." The boy's eyes held a momentary clarity. "Am I

dying. Earl?"

"You're in a bad way," said Dumarest. "But you're not dead

yet. Hang on, lad. You can get over this if you try." He found the

boy's hand, squeezed it, held it until his eyes clouded in fevered

delirium.

"Mother," muttered the boy. "Mother, I'm cold, help me."

"A spear in the guts," said Legrain as Dumarest returned to

his place by the fire. "Without antibiotics or medical aid the end

is a foregone conclusion. Pain, fever, delirium and death." He

turned his scrap of meat, sniffing at the odor. "He should have

made better use of his shield," he commented. "His shield and

his legs. To stand and fight the way he did was foolish. He didn't

stand a chance."

"He did his best," said Dumarest.

Legrain shrugged. "It obviously wasn't good enough. You now,

you fought well. I watched you often."

"I fought to stay alive," said Dumarest coldly. "But we both

had an advantage over the boy. He wears nothing but fabric

beneath his tunic."

"While you and I wear metal-mesh buried in the plastic of our

clothing." Legrain nodded. "Yes, Earl, I noticed that. I noticed

too that you did your best to protect Sachen. Are you so close?"

Dumarest was curt. "We traveled together."

"On Low passage?" Legrain turned his meat. "It would be

Low," he mused. "You, an experienced traveler, and he, a novice

perhaps on his first journey. A bad end to a short life, Earl," he

said seriously. "But it happens, my friend. It happens."

Yes, thought Dumarest bleakly. It happens all too often.

Youngsters with adventure in their hearts and the galaxy to

roam. A million worlds and adventure waiting at the end of each

journey. Cheap travel if you were willing to accept riding doped,

frozen and ninety percent dead. Willing also to accept the fifteen

percent death rate. One journey, he thought, and Sachen had

used up his life. Not in the ship but on this insane world where

men were set to fight each other for the entertainment of those

who ruled. Fight and die and rot in the sand and scrub of the

arena.

He rose and stared into the darkness, narrowing his eyes

against the impact of the wind. How many other fires burned on

the desert? he wondered. The victors had gone, airlifted away,

now feasting and enjoying the fruits of success. The losers? Those

who had survived had the battle still to finish: the struggle

against the dark and cold, their wounds, fatigue, the voracious

nocturnal life lurking in the sand. Unless they won that battle

only their accouterments and bones would greet the new day.

* * *

The meat was hard, seared, tasteless, but it was hot and

provided sustenance. Dumarest chewed, passed Legrain his

canteen, felt himself begin to relax from the fatigue of the day.

But relaxing brought its own problems. His uniform and clothing

had protected him against penetration but not against bruising.

He ached from head to foot.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why this nonsense?"

"The battle?" Legrain swallowed and took a drink of water.

"You should know, my friend. You wore the red and gold against

the green and silver."

"But not from choice," said Dumarest bitterly. He glanced to

where Sachen lay whimpering against the rock. "We landed

yesterday at dusk. Guards were waiting as we left the field. The

choice was simple: show the cost of a double High passage or

stand trial, be convicted and sentenced to a year of forced labor

as a vagrant. That or agree to enlist for one engagement. A day,"

he said, "against a year. What choice is that?"

"For the boy the difference between life and death," pointed

out Legrain. "But I see your point. One engagement and then

money and the freedom of Toy. An attractive offer, especially to

someone traveling Low." He bit at the last of his meat. "You were

unfortunate, my friend. You arrived at a bad time."

A bad time on a bad planet, thought Dumarest. There were

too many such places. Dead ends, restricted worlds, planets

where transients were unwelcome and unwanted. Societies in

which there was no place for a man who simply wanted to work,

to build up the cost of a passage, to move on to somewhere new.

Legrain probed thoughtfully at his teeth. "I too was given that

same choice and, like you, I elected to fight." He smiled as he

met Dumarest's eyes. "That's right, my friend. I too am a

traveler. Or was," he corrected. "I visited a score of worlds before

bad luck brought me to Toy. Toy," he mused. "An odd name, is it

not? Legend has it that Director Conrad of Grail, on learning of

the birth of his firstborn son, promised to give the lad a world as

a plaything. This is it."

Dumarest made no comment.

"The stockholders are jaded," said Legrain. "They seek always

for new pleasures, new sensations. Insults must be avenged in

blood and men must be found to spill that blood. A hundred, five

hundred, sometimes a thousand men facing each other with

primitive weapons. A fine spectacle of blood and death and pain.

Did you not see the rafts floating safely above?"

"I was busy," said Dumarest dryly. "But I saw them."

"Spectators." said Legrain. "Gamblers. Vultures at the feast.

Lovers seeking new titivation." He stabbed at the fire with the

tip of his sword. "Rest," he said abruptly. "I will stand the first

watch."

Dumarest stretched, lying beside the fire, feeling the heat

warm his face. The breastplate was uncomfortable but he didn't

think of removing it. In this place protection was of prime

importance. He closed his eyes, seeing again the taut faces, the

wild eyes, flashing steel, dust, gaping wounds, the sudden gush of

blood. In memory he heard again the rasp of breath, the shouts,

screams, clash of weapons, tasted the swirling dust, felt his

overstrained muscles jerk to sympathetic exertion.

Irritably he turned, opening his eyes and looking up at the

stars. The sight was disturbing. There was something wrong

about the sky: the stars were too thin, too scattered. He missed

the sheets and curtains of brilliance, the nebulae, the

close-packed suns of the center. And yet, if he could trust

memory, the planet he sought had skies much as this. Dark skies

with a single moon, few stars and a band of light tracing its way

from horizon to horizon. Stars assembled in vaguely remembered

patterns, cold, remote, burning in the stillness of the night. So

far, so distant it seemed incredible they could ever be reached.

He jerked, aware that he had fallen asleep, nerves taut with

the consciousness of danger. He looked around. Legrain had

vanished and the fire had shrunk to a glowing ember. Shivering,

he rose, drew his sword, held the yard strip of edged and pointed

steel ready in his hand. He did not like the weapon: the blade

was too long, too clumsy, impossible to throw with any force or

accuracy. Transferring it to his left hand he drew the ten-inch

knife from his boot, poising it as his eyes searched the darkness.

Against his rock Sachen muttered in his delirium. "Mother,"

he said. "Mother."

"Easy," said Dumarest softly. He stepped across the fire,

staring into the starlit dimness. Light and shadow made a vague

chiaroscuro of blurred and indeterminate detail. Abruptly a

stone rattled off to one side. Legrain? Dumarest faced the

direction of the sound, ears strained, eyes narrowed to catch the

slightest hint of movement. A second rattle came, this time

closer and then something, a shadow, the disturbance of the air,

primitive instinct, caused him to duck and spring to one side.

A spear flashed through the space in which he had been

standing.

A second followed it, thrust by an indistinct shape rushing

from the darkness, the broad blade aimed directly at his eyes.

Dumarest swung up his left hand, parrying the shaft with the

sword, his right hand thrusting forward with the ten-inch blade

of his knife. He felt the jolt, the stench of foul breath on his

cheeks, the weight of a lunging body. Caught off-balance he fell,

rolled across the fire, sprang to his feet in a shower of sparks.

"You fool," he said. "Don't—"

The spear lunged at him again, held rigid by two hands

backed by wild eyes, a gaping mouth. Dumarest had lost both

sword and knife. He dropped to one knee, rose as the blade

passed his shoulder, gripped the shaft with both hands as he

twisted aside. Momentum carried his assailant forward, toppled

him over as he clung grimly to the spear. Dumarest pulled it

loose, lifted it, thrust down with the blade. Tearing it free, he

spun to face the sound of crunching sand.

"Easy, my friend." Legrain came from the darkness beyond

the circle of stone. He carried a heap of thorned scrub in his

hands. He threw down the fuel, then raked together the embers,

blew them to life, fed the dancing flames. In the light he looked

down at what Dumarest had killed. "A man," he said. "He doesn't

look it but that's what he is." He stirred the body with his foot.

"A man who tried to survive."

He was thin, emaciated, face masked by a heavy growth of

beard. His clothing was an assortment of bulky rags overlaid

with a dozen tunics of various colors. His helmet and breastplate

were black. Beneath the beard his face was mottled with sores.

Eyes, open in death, shone redly in the light of the fire.

"A loser," explained Legrain. "Someone who managed to avoid

the hunters. Hiding among the rocks, living on what he could

find, driven insane by hardship and the poison in the local

insects. He must have seen our fire." He kicked again at the

body. "I saw the end of the fight," he said. "You were fast, Earl. I

don't think I've ever seen anyone as fast."

Dumarest bent down, searching the dead man. His knife had

glanced from the breastplate and was buried to the hilt in the

mass of clothing. He drew it out, wiped it, thrust it back in his

boot. He sheathed his sword, stooped, gripped the dead man by

the shoulders. "Help me," he said to Legrain.

Together they carried the body from the circle of stone,

dumping it between two boulders.

"Tomorrow it will be gone," said Legrain as they returned to

the fire. "The metal and bones will be all that remain."

Reaching the fire he sat down and warmed his hands. "Tell

me, Earl. Why did you come to Toy?"

Dumarest added more scrub to the fire. "On business."

"Here that can only have one meaning," mused Legrain. "The

wealth of the planet rests on the computer." He looked curiously

at Dumarest. "What reason could a traveler have for consulting

the Library?"

"The same as any man's," said Dumarest. "To ask a question

and to receive an answer."

"The question?"

Dumarest hesitated, then mentally shrugged. What difference

could it make to confide in the man? It could even be to his

advantage. Legrain was a traveler and could have learned what

he wanted to know. "I am looking for a planet," he said. "The

planet Earth. Do you know it?"

"Earth?" Legrain frowned. "An odd name for a world. Who

would call a planet by a name like that? As well call it soil or dirt

or loam. Earth." He chuckled. "Earl, my friend, you surely jest."

"You have never heard of the name?"

"The name, yes." Legrain leaned forward, scooped up a

handful of sand, let it trickle between his fingers. "This is sand. Is

there a planet with such a name? On the mainland I would have

picked up a handful of earth. You see the analogy?"

It was another defeat, one of a countless number, but

Dumarest wasn't disappointed. What men had forgotten the

Library must remember. If the knowledge was available at all it

could well be here on Toy in the banks of the famous computer.

He turned as Sachen whimpered and suddenly called out. The

boy was no longer sweating. His dark skin held a flat, grayish

pallor beneath the pigment. "Water!" he croaked. "Water!"

Legrain dropped his hand to the canteen. "No," he said. "It

would be a waste."

Dumarest looked at the hand, then at the big-nosed face.

"All right," said Legrain. "Why not? Tomorrow we shall all be

dead."

Dumarest rose, fed the boy the last of the water, threw aside

the canteen as he sat facing Legrain across the fire. The shifting

light stained his face with dancing color, accentuating the hard

lines and planes, the strong jaw and mouth. It was the face of a

man who had learned early to rely on no one but himself. Legrain

moved uneasily beneath the impact of his eyes.

"Explain," said Dumarest. "What do you mean when you say

that we shall be dead?"

Legrain shrugged. "I mean nothing but the truth, my friend.

Three times have I fought in the arena. Twice I was fortunate to

be on the winning side. Each time I lived high, for there were few

survivors and so the share of each was all the greater. But this

time I chose the wrong side. This time I die."

"You are not dead yet," reminded Dumarest.

"Listen." Legrain drew a pattern in the sand, a rough circle

joined to a curve by a thin line. "This," he said, tapping the

circle, "is the arena. This line is the neck of land joining it to the

mainland. Across it is the Barrier, wired, fenced, guarded with

towers, impossible to pass without permission. Around the arena

are cliffs three hundred feet high falling to the rocks and the sea.

If you descend them there is only rock and water waiting to tear

out your life. No boats. No way of escape. We lost," he

emphasized. "The red and gold were beaten, scattered, smashed

to ruin. And we fought for the red and gold."

"So?"

"How do you make men fight?" demanded Legrain. "Pay them

well? True, but that is only the carrot. High pay and rich rewards

if you win. But how to make men really fight? A carrot isn't

enough; there must also be a whip. The whip is death. You win

or you die. That is why it isn't enough to fight to stay alive. You

must fight to win. For, if you do not win, you die. And," he added

grimly, "we did not win."

"We can escape," said Dumarest.

"How? Do you intend to grow wings and fly across the sea?

Become invisible so as to pass the Barrier? Hide here among the

rocks without food or water? Have you wondered why you've

seen no old-dead, only bones? Look at the bones, my friend. See

the marks on them. At night the arena vomits forth its own life.

Only a fire keeps them away; the light and warmth delude them

into believing that it's day. But for how long could you live with a

fire alone?"

Dumarest looked into darkness where they had dumped the

body.

"Do you want to end like that?" Legrain had guessed his

thoughts. "Perhaps you could survive for a while, but the end is

inevitable. No," he ended. "Tomorrow we die."

"Are you so in love with death?"

"No, my friend, but I am a realist. I accept what has to be."

Legrain stretched himself before the fire. "Your watch, Earl.

Wake me when you become tired."

Dumarest nodded, not answering, sitting tensed and

thoughtful as he stared at the slowly wheeling stars.

* * *

Dawn came with a flush of rose, of pink and gold and crimson,

of spears of violet and tinted clouds of cerise drifting against an

azure sky. The sun lifted from beneath the sea, bringing warmth

to thaw the rime and frost from the region. And with the dawn

came the antigrav rafts, the hunters, the men and women eager

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