Replacing the cover he looked at the woman standing against the wall masked by the shadows. One he had seen before on a pathdappled with starlight. It was obvious why she had been standing a lonely vigil. "Your sister?"

"Yes," Pellia stepped forward, small crunching sounds rising from beneath her sandals, ceasing as she halted at Dumarest's side. "I was watching in case-" Breaking off she said bleakly, "A beautiful girl. She was to have been married next month. To Heyne." Her hand made a gesture toward the remaining bundle.

"At least they died together."

The boy, also, was relatively unmarked about the face but the lower portion of his body had been wrenched and broken by the impact of the blast and a sc.r.a.p of metal had almost buried itself in the chest Dumarest jerked it free, looked at it, threw it back as he drew the cover over the body.

"Why?"

"Why was I standing here? Alline is still beautiful even though dead and the Choud are bored. Some of them might want to-"

"Not that. Why did they do it?"

"Do what?" Pellia looked blank. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Don't give me that, girl! She was your sister and you had to be close. Why did she want to rob the ship?"

"She didn't."

"She was there with the others. Why?"

"An accident." Pellia looked from side to side, her eyes those of a trapped animal. "It must have been an accident. She and Heyne had gone out to look at the ship and became involved in what happened."

"And the other one?" Dumarest jerked his head at the first corpse he'd examined. "What about him? Did he accompany them? A spare lover, perhaps? Was your sister hard to satisfy?"She said furiously, "You filth! Don't defame the dead!"

"Then don't take me for a fool. All three were close, the injuries prove that. Therefore they had to know each other and lovers aren't usually eager for company. The first man was holding whatever it was that exploded. Heyne was close to him and my guess is that your sister was standing behind him. His body protected her from obvious injury but her internal organs were ruined by the shock wave. Three of them, all close, all working in harmony. No accident, Pellia, and you know it." Then as she made no answer he added quietly, "How many were really killed? How many were hurt?"

"Why do you ask these things? You are not of the Choud."

"No."

"Then why be so concerned?"

"My concern is with the ship." Dumarest glanced past the woman to where the doors stood shrouded in gloom then, taking her arm, led her toward them. "But why are you so afraid? An accident, you said, and who can help an accident? It was natural for Alline and Heyne to have wanted to see the ship. Natural also for them to have helped unload if asked. Who could guess at what would happen? Then, after the explosion, those left unhurt ran and took their injured with them. Their other dead, too?"

"No, only those hurt."

"And needing attention. Are they getting it? Do you have drugs?"

She said bitterly, "All drugs are dispensed by the Choud."

"And you daren't go to them for fear of being arrested and interrogated." Dumarest nodded. "I understand. Do you trust me, Pellia?"

"I'm not sure. You kept your word the last time we met but this is different. Why should I trust you?""Because I'd like to make another bargain with you." They had reached the doors and Dumarest paused. "I'll get you some drugs and do what I can to help the injured and, in return, they can do something for me. They can give me a name. A single name."

He felt her sudden tension, the abrupt strain of aroused suspicion. "Which name? Whose?"

"The one who allowed them to unload the Sivas."

The ship looked much as he had left it but the ramp was straight now and the buckling of the hull smoothed. The workers had gone and the immediate area around the vessel was deserted. Dumarest paused at the foot of the ramp, looking back toward the cold-store. Pellia was nowhere to be seen but she would be watching him, hiding in the greenery or standing immobile against a mottled patch of stone with, perhaps, her head in shadow. Good places to hide if you knew anything about camouflage and Dumarest guessed she had long since learned that it was movement and not shape which attracted the eye.

Within the ship the air held a peculiar taint of char and burned gases, of seared insulation and the reek of dispersed chemicals. The hold was a mess, the floor littered with the fragments of the caskets used to carry men and animals, coolants evaporated and leaving blotched stains, the mechanism of the apparatus itself a jumbled ruin. Dumarest touched a bulkhead and looked at the grime on his finger. Chemical explosive would have left such a trace, one of tremendous power and, apparently, poor stability.

He moved and touched another portion of the inner hull this time at a place close to the port. Again he examined the grime and found it apparently identical with the other. Wiping away the dirt he crossed the hold and paused at the door beyond. It led into the engine room and he could hear a succession of small sounds; metallic sc.r.a.pings, a rustle, a drone of muttered curses, a ringing. Glancing inside he saw the engineer where he crouched before the dismantled bulk of the generator. The man was alone.

Another door led to the pa.s.sage communicating with thecabins and leading to the salon and then on up to the control room and the normally restricted portions of the vessel.

Dumarest glanced into the cabins as he trod softly along the pa.s.sage. In one of them the steward lay on a bunk, light glistening from the transparent film on his cheek, his arm held awkwardly away from his body. As Dumarest entered the compartment he opened his eyes.

"Earl! What are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you're getting on. How's the arm?"

"It hurts."

"How did they treat it? With Staders?"

"I think so." The fingers flexed as the steward moved; visible proof of the metal splints which had been riveted to the bone on either side of the break to hold it firm. "I was out when they treated me but I guess that's what they must have done. The wound is sore, though, and it aches like h.e.l.l."

"Let me have a look." Dumarest pursed his lips as he examined the wound. It was a neat gash, the only evidence of the surgery which had opened the flesh to permit the splints to be fitted, now neatly held by sutures which would become absorbed into the body. Gently he touched it to either side, pressing, easing the pressure as the man sucked in his breath. "That hurt?"

"Like fire. You think it's infected?"

The flesh was bruised and would have been rendered tender by the force of impact and the later treatment, but Dumarest didn't mention that. The man had a low pain level and it was easy to enhance his fears.

"It could be. Let me check again." This time he pressed harder and caused the man to grunt. "That's bad. It shouldn't hurt as much as that. Just once more."

"G.o.d!" The steward was sweating. "What's going to happen,Earl? I could lose the arm, become a cripple. Regrowths cost money I haven't got."

"Take it easy, man. It isn't as bad as that. I can fix it."

Dumarest held out his hand. "Just give me the keys to the medical cabinet and I'll get what's needed and do what's to be done. Or do you keep your drugs in here?".

A chance, on small ships stewards tended to maintain their own medical supplies. The Sivas follower the custom.

"In that drawer. You'll find the key in the one below." The steward wiped his glistening forehead. "There isn't much."

An understatement. Dumarest looked at the neat rows of packages all bearing recent dates. He selected ampules and loaded a hypogun.

"Give me the arm." He fired local anesthetics directly through the skin and fat into the area around the wound, the hiss of the driving air blast a sharp sibilance. "Better?"

"Yes." The steward flexed his fingers. "You think that'll do it?"

"For now. Is Renzi or the captain around?"

"d.a.m.ned if I know. Renzi should be helping Sharten and I guess the Old Man's busy in the town." The steward winced as he moved. "Are you sure you gave me enough?"

"Give it time. What's the latest on the repairs?"

"Nothing. Sharten's still not sure if he can manage without a replacement. Check with him if you want to know more. Me, all I want is to get rid of this d.a.m.ned pain. You sure you've done enough?"

"This will take care of it." Dumarest fired the hypogun at the man's throat "In three seconds you'll be asleep."

A sleep which he made sure would last by trebling the dose.

Pocketing the hypogun Dumarest helped himself to various.p.a.ckages from the drawer, then, locking it, replaced the key where he had found it. Outside the cabin he closed the door then turned to face it as footsteps sounded from the higher reaches of the pa.s.sage.

"Earl?" Renzi came toward him, his eyes vague. "A surprise to find you here, but life seems to be filled with many surprises of late. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, I came to see how the steward is getting on."

Dumarest rapped on the door. "This is his cabin?"

"It is." The navigator pushed open the panel. "And he appears to be asleep. It would not be kind to wake him, my friend. You were not, I trust, thinking of seeing the captain?"

"No."

"You are wise. He is not in the best of moods. His pet has had the bad grace to destroy itself though I must admit I am not displeased. Only the manner of its pa.s.sing disturbs me." Renzi smiled and steadied himself with a hand pressed against the bulkhead. "Did I say disturb?"

"What happened?"

"Borol is dead. The spined, horrible thing is no longer with us, but in dying it left its mark. You see, Earl, for some unaccountable reason, the creature decided to chew and tear its way into the radio. Perhaps it needed to eat and if so was doing well until it formed a bridge between two sources of power. Now, cremated, it is no more." Renzi smiled again then added, "And neither is our means of communication. Earl, my friend, I would advise you to find an amiable host-we could all be a long time on Ath."

Chapter Ten.

From where she sat on the dais Sardia said, "I'm getting stiff, Cornelius. May I move now?"

"Later." He was being unfair and knew it. Setting down hisbrush he said, "I'm sorry, of course you may move. I've been thoughtless but time has pa.s.sed so quickly. Forgive me?"

"For what? Asking me to model for you? That is a compliment. I shall live forever immortalized by your genius."

"You exaggerate."

"No."

Deliberately she drew in her breath before rising to stand, to stretch with arms upraised, the light from the great window adding richer tints to the smoothness of her flesh. She was nude aside from a drape around her hips, the proud contours of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s now catching the glow from the painted, sunset sky, the brown of her skin accentuating the shimmer of diverse color.

Beauty personified, he thought, watching her. The loveliest creature he had ever seen. Why was it so hard to capture her image in paint?

He looked at what he had so far accomplished and fought the inclination to tear the canvas from the easel and destroy the mockery it contained. Were these lines and daubs the best he could do? Did those scrawls and dabs depict the loveliness which now stood before him?

Was his talent so small that he was unable even to convey what was real to the world where he had thought himself a master?

"No," she said quickly as his hand lifted. "No!"

"It's useless!"

"It's a beginning." She moved with her dancer's grace to stand at his side, eyes narrowed as she studied what he had done. "A good beginning."

Nonsense and she knew it-who could tell what a good beginning was in the realm of art? A scrawl which would not dignify the literary status of an idiot could be nursed and nurtured to form an epic when handled by a master. A few lines,a scatter of notes, an insignificant chord and a symphony could be born. And even though the canvas held little of apparent worth the feeling was there, the striving, the reaching out and the aspiration.

As she was the inspiration.

"It doesn't do you justice," said Cornelius. "Nothing created by human hands could ever do that. You are sublime in what you are. The ultimate of perfection; flawless in every way."

"I am a woman, Cornelius."

"So?"

"No woman is without fault and never make the mistake of believing you have found one who is. May I dress now?"

A request he could not refuse and it had been polite of her to ask. A subtle way in which to let him know that he was the master as well as the host. A courtesy which he recognized and appreciated as he appreciated her willingness to pose for him.

Had he asked or had she offered? He couldn't remember and the details didn't matter. It had happened. For the first time it had happened.

And, for the first time, he was in love.

Sardia could sense it as she dressed, recognizing the atmosphere, the slightest tension which ruled his every movement; the little gestures quickly controlled, the words which came a little too fast and were too plentiful; masks for their real meaning, the thoughts they covered. A familiar situation-always there had been those crowding her dressing room entranced with the glamor which accompanied her. Love born of illusion, those experiencing it confusing the performances for the reality.

A madness which left most unharmed but which, badly handled, had caused pain and death to others.

Would he kill her if she should refuse him?

She said quietly, "Cornelius, don't misunderstand me, but Ithink it would be better if I were hosted by someone else. Ursula, perhaps."

"That b.i.t.c.h? No!"

"Would she have me if I asked?"

"Why should you do that?" He imagined he guessed the reason. "Is it because of Dumarest? Are you jealous of him?"

"No."

"No?" His eyes held her own. "I wish I could be sure of that.

You traveled together and have been lovers. j__"

"Did he tell you that?"

"No." Me blinked at the interruption. "But it's true, isn't it?"

"Does it matter?" Her shrug gave the measure of the importance she attached to the subject. "I was thinking of your work, Cornelius. I feel I am a distraction. Don't misunderstand me, you are a genius, but with you art must always come first.