Out of the compartment, away from where Dumarest crouched, shivering, fighting the hunger eating at his belly. Crossing to the spigot he did as the smaller of the two men had done. The liquid was thick, sweet with an appetizing tartness, emitting a tantalizing odor. He sipped at it then gulped it down. His stomach relayed messages of gratitude. He helped himself to more and then more. Bloated he returned to his hiding place and snuggled against a yielding bale.
Asleep, he didn’t notice the sudden movement of the compartment. Feel the change in orientation as the vessel lifted towards the stars. Unaware that he was traversing the void until, inevitably, he was discovered.
Captain Bazan Deralta had an old, lined face with tufted eyebrows and a pinched nose set above a firm mouth and prominent jaw. His skin was creped, mottled and pouched beneath the eyes. Thin hair graced a rounded skull. His hands toyed with a small, rounded disc of polished stone.
“Your name, boy?” He nodded as it was given. “Well, Earl, so you decided to become a stowaway. Why did you do it?”
Dumarest knew he needed to be polite.
“I didn’t intend to, sir. I’d never seen a ship before. I thought it a building and I was desperate for shelter. I took the open port to be a door and the ship as some kind of barn. That’s the truth, sir. I swear it!”
“Did you know we’d left the planet?”
“No, sir.”
“Even so you made a mistake, boy. A bad one.” The captain leaned forward in his chair, eyes and face serious. “A bigger mistake than I think you realize. It is my duty to punish you for having broken the regulations. Stowaways can’t be tolerated. They aren’t invited and they aren’t welcome. They can be dangerous. When found they are dumped as unwanted cargo.” The captain paused. “Do you understand what I am saying?”
“No, sir.”
“It is my duty to evict you into space. Now do you understand?”
“I’m not sure, sir. What is space?”
“You don’t know?” The captain shrugged. “No, why should you. You’ve never seen a ship before. Never left your planet. Space is a vacuum, boy. A vast emptiness devoid of air. It cannot support life as we know it. Are you afraid?”
“Of dying? Yes, sir.”
“Of course you are. To taste the void is not a pleasant way to die. Especially for the young and you are how old? Ten? Eleven?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes what? Ten or eleven?”
“Eleven sir, I think. Or I could be twelve.”
“Aren’t you sure?”
“No, sir.” Dumarest looked at the captain. “Does it matter?”
“It should. Earth!” The captain spat the word. “You poor little bastard.”
“Sir?”
“Forget it. I meant no insult. You’ve no family, of course. No kin. No one to care for you. Nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep. What the hell could you lose by stowing away? How were you to know you were committing suicide?”
Dumarest remained silent, watching the hands as they toyed with the stone, sensing the man’s doubt, his indecision.
“What am I to do with you?” muttered Bazan. “Kill you, a boy? Toss you into the void because you acted from ignorance? Dump you like excreta into space because you were desperate for shelter? Were you born for such an end? Was anyone? Damn it! What to do?”
The stone slipped as he passed it from one hand to another, bounced on a knee and dropped to the deck. Dumarest caught it just before it landed. It was carved in the shape of a woman depicted with her knees drawn to her chin, head, back, buttocks and limbs blending in a smooth, continuous curve. The figure was worn with much handling.
“Sir!” He handed it to the captain then saw the expression on the lined face. “Sir?”
“Do you always move as fast as that?”
“It was falling and I didn’t want it to get broken.”
“So you saw it begin to fall, lunged forward, stooped and snatched it before it could hit the deck.” The captain tossed the carving into the air, caught it, caressed it with the ball of his thumb and tucked it into a pocket. “Quick thinking, boy. Can you read?”
“Yes, sir. A little. An old man taught me in exchange for food.” He added, “He had some books but those who killed him burned them for fuel.”
“They murdered him?”
“They thought he had things of value!”
“I see.” The captain drew in his breath. “You’ve had a hell of a life. But it could change. Are you willing to work hard? To learn?” As Dumarest nodded he added, “Damn it! I’ll take a chance! You can work your passage. Ride with us as crew. It will be a restricted life and it won’t be easy. But, at least, you won’t starve. Report to Dorph, the steward. You’ll find him in the salon.”
Shandaha said, “So that was the beginning. Was it a happy time?”
“Why don’t you find out?”
“I’d prefer you to tell me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“From an ignorant and frightened boy who couldn’t even recognize a ship when he saw one you have progressed far. Far enough, surely, to recognize the advisability of cooperation. I ask you again. Was it a happy time?”
Dumarest remained silent, taking his time. There had been none of the previous ritual. No soothing drink or attached electrodes sprouting from an electronic machine. Both had been unnecessary, direct contact had been enough. Why had Shandaha chosen to reveal that facet of his power? Why, now, was he displaying impatience, the hint of a threat? Nothing seemed to have changed. The man and the room was as he remembered, the chairs, the table, the decanter glowing with emerald wine. Deliberately he filled two goblets and handed one to his host.
Lifting his own he said, “To harmony.”
“I asked a question, Earl. Answer it.”
Dumarest caught the hint of impatience that, too easily, could lead to anger. Even so he drank then, lowering the goblet, stared directly at his host.
“No, it was not a happy time. Not at first. The steward had a sadistic bent and enjoyed describing to me exactly what happened to those evicted into space. What would happen to me if I crossed him in any way. My eyes bulging from their sockets. The lungs spewing from by chest to hang like balloons from my mouth. The ruptured skin. The boiling blood. The ghastly pain.”
“He lied.” Shandaha sipped at his wine. “That is not how men die in the void.”
“I know that now. I didn’t then.”
Dumarest drew in his breath, remembering another time, another place when he had faced the frigid, mindnumbing vastness of the universe. A thing he had been forced to do; an experience he would never forget.
Shandaha, watching him, said, “The others?”
“Weren’t as bad but they were bored and I provided amusement. They teased me. I know now it was little more than a form of hazing. A ritual inflicted on most apprentices and novices. Cruel but basically harmless. But I was a boy, ignorant as you reminded me, helpless, insecure, terrified. No, it was not a happy time.”
“And then?”
“Most of what I did was to clean. The salon, cabins, the steward’s domain. Then I expanded into that of the handler, to the caskets in the hold, the hold itself. Zander was the engineer. One day he asked me to help him. He was busy with the generator and wanted it cleaned and checked for corrosion. Signs of failing insulation or extended wear. Basically it was routine maintenance. We talked as we worked, him telling me what to do and me doing it. Dorph, the steward„came in while we were at it. He didn’t like me helping the engineer. There was an argument that grew ugly. The captain intervened. After that things weren’t as bad.”
“You had made a friend.” Shandaha sipped more wine. “Did he teach you about engines?”
Dumarest leaned back, remembering the talk of components, the physics governing the establishment of the Erhaft field, the need for care, the danger if the field should collapse. A peril he had known and remembered too well.