"From which men ran in the old days?"

"I don't understand."

"No?" Dumarest shrugged. "Maybe not, but I think you do." His voice deepened, took the pulse of drums as he quoted. "From terror they fled to find new places on which to expiate their sins. Only when cleansed will the race of Man be again united."

The creed of the Original People, but if the monk knew of them he made no comment.

"Terror," said Dumarest. "Or Terra – another name for Earth. It fits with what you are saying. A world abandoned because of some terrible catastrophe. Forgotten, ignored, all references to it eliminated from the almanac. An entire planet relegated to the status of a legend. But Earth is not a legend. It exists. I shall find it."

A statement of fact as Weyer recognized. He looked at his hands, locked as if in prayer, then at his guest. A hard man and not one to be easily dissuaded.

He said, quietly, "There are many legends. One is about a box. The comfort and safety of a world rested on the fact that it should never be opened. But someone was curious. The box was opened and terror was released. You recognize the analogy?"

"Earth is not a box."

"And the galaxy is not a world, but the similarity is the same." Weyer's voice held a desperate intensity. "All legends hold a grain of truth. Why else should a planet be abandoned? The thing which destroyed a world could still exist. The hope of the Church is that the vileness which contaminates the human race can be contained and, in time, neutralized. But if the galaxy is again exposed to the essence of horror which could still reside on Earth then what hope for Mankind?"

A man of intelligence and understanding repeating dogma learned when young. A doctrine designed to shape minds to serve a particular end.

"You talk of legends," said Dumarest impatiently. "Use logic and reason instead. I am living proof that the planet is harmless. I was born on Earth. If there is contamination then I must carry it. Am I such a dangerous threat to the safety of the galaxy?"

"You could be unique," said Weyer. "Immune. The possibility exists. As does the threat you could present. You are not as other men. Your reflexes are amazingly fast and you seem to constantly benefit from a succession of fortuitous circumstances. Luck," he explained. "Good luck. Also there is something within you which seems to radiate a determined strength. A violence and intensity of purpose." He moved his hands in a helpless gesture. "I can't explain it, but it is present and it sets you apart. The Kaldari will be freshly exposed. They are savage barbarians of the worst kind. Selfish, uncaring, devoid of any sense of responsibility. Once contaminated they would be irresistible. Such a scourge must not be permitted to exist!" His right fist drove into his left palm. "No matter how remote the possibility it cannot be allowed!"

Dumarest said, "The Kaldari are no problem. Have the ganni refuse their labor. Move into the hills."

"The Kaldari would follow them."

"And return to ashes. I've looked around. Their strongholds, factories, warehouses, workshops – all are vulnerable. Fire could cleanse this world. There are enough men wearing the collar to take care of it."

"They won't," said Weyer. "You could and would, but they can't and neither can I. It's advice I cannot accept. It is not what I want from you."

"What is?"

"For you to give up your search for a legend. I beg you – do not find Earth!"

A useless plea. As it ended Dumarest heard sounds from outside the room. A scrape, the clink of metal, a sharp inhalation as of a stifled curse.

"Down!" His hand lashed out to kill the lantern. Pushed Weyer to lie beside it. "Stay on the floor!"

In darkness Dumarest lunged towards the wall, plastic yielding to the slash of his knife. Easing himself through the gap he crouched, immobile, eyes and ears strained for movement and sound. The interior of the church was dark aside from the nacreous glow of starlight filtering through the translucent material of its construction. The stacked materials on the floor provided both traps and cover.

Metal clinked to one side.

An accident or noise deliberately created to attract attention? As it came again Dumarest moved to a pile of crates, hugging their shelter as he searched the area. Was that a bale or a crouching man? Sacks or a lurking menace? Was the intruder still within the church?

Dumarest knew he was lurking in the shadows. Sooner or later he would move to the attack or decide to retreat. When he did would be the time to act. Time would provide the answer. All he need do was wait.

Weyer lacked his patience. Within the room the monk stirred, fumbled for the lantern, triggered it into glowing life as he headed towards the door. Illumination flooded into the body of the church as he opened it, revealing the scattered materials, the figure rising from where it had crouched. Nowka, light gleaming from a familiar object in his hand. One he pointed at the monk.

"No!" Weyer lifted a hand as if against the threat of a gun. "Don't shoot!"

Dumarest rose, lifting his knife as Weyer fell. The blast of a gun froze his hand and he lowered the blade as Zehava moved from the entrance to the building.

"The fool!" She kicked at Nowka's lifeless body. "Just as well I followed him. I knew he was nursing a grievance, but I didn't think he'd turn into an assassin. He couldn't stand the shame," she explained. "You bested him at the range and he resented it. He was close to Toibin and wanted to avenge him. That's why he used the weapon he did. A symbol in a way. A pity about the monk, but better him than you. I guess the light must have dazzled Nowka, or he was just primed to react to any target he saw."

Dumarest stooped and picked up the knife the dead man had carried. The one Toibin had used. Weyer lay where he had fallen, as he would have fallen had Nowka made sure of his target. But how could a knife, unless thrown, kill at a distance?

"Earl!" Zehava was impatient. "Let's get away from here. Forget him," she snapped as Dumarest knelt beside the monk. "Let his own kind take care of him."

He made no comment as he examined the limp shape. There was no apparent wound, just a fleck of blood on the right cheek. A tiny puncture which could have been made by a stinging insect – or a tiny missile. One which had induced the simulation of death, but Dumarest could feel the slow, turgid beat of the heart. Crossing to the lantern he examined the knife, seeing the tiny hole in the guard, the stud on the hilt. Pressed it would fire a dart loaded with chemicals. A device common in cheating arenas.

"Earl!"

"There's no need for you to stay, Zehava. Just tell someone to get rid of this filth." He gestured at the dead man. "I'll take care of the monk."

Chapter Nine

Lief Chapman was as hard as a rock, his body angular, his mouth like a trap. A laser had burned out his left eye and half his face during an old raid. Though surgery had replaced the eye and repaired the ravaged cheek and temple a certain oddness remained which gave the impression he stared at things others could not see.

To Dumarest he said, "Have you any idea where these coordinates will take us?"

"To Earth."

"Almost to the edge of the galaxy." Gampu Niall scowled at the almanacs which littered the surface of his desk. The navigator was younger than the captain, but matched him in physical hardness. "It's a long way."

"So?" Dumarest looked from one to the other. "Are you saying you can't handle it?"

"I can guide a ship to anywhere in the universe," snapped Niall. "I'm saying it won't be easy. Stars are thin so far out and so are planets. If anything should go wrong we'll have nothing to rely on but ourselves. I'll have to plot a safe course and it'll have to be done in stages. One mistake could be our last."