"No."
"The habit of a traveler then," said Nimino, smiling. "Eat while there is food available for you never can be certain as to when you may have the opportunity to eat again. If nothing else, Earl, it tells me what you are."
Dumarest finished the contents of the cup and dropped it into the receptacle provided. "And you?"
"I am a weird, didn't Lin tell you that? I believe that there is more to the scheme of things than a man can per shy;ceive with his limited senses. Electro-magnetic radiation for example. Can a man see infrared or ultraviolet? Tell the presence of radio waves, of magnetism, of the ebb and flow of the energies of space without mechanical aid? Of course not. And yet still men deny that there could be higher realms of existence than those we know. You are interested in such things?"
"No."
"Then you also think that I am a weird?"
"I don't give a damn what you are," said Dumarest blunt shy;ly. "Just as long as you're a good navigator."
Nimino laughed. "At least you are honest, my friend. Have no fear, I know my trade. And I know the Web, which is a thing few men can say without boasting. As long as the generators do not fail, I can take the Moray where we want her to go. Unless fate decides otherwise," he added. "Against fate what chance has limited man?"
"In my experience those who talk of fate usually do so to provide themselves an excuse for failure," said Dumarest. The banality of the conversation was beginning to annoy him. The navigator's place was on the bridge, for until he gave the word the ship could not leave. "And it is wrong to rely on superior powers. Even if they existed, it would be wrong. Wrong and foolish. I do not think you are a foolish man."
"And I do not think you are wholly what you seem." Nimino smiled again, his teeth flashing in the cavern of his mouth, startlingly white against the rich darkness of his skin. "Certainly you are not a common traveler, and few handlers trouble themselves with philosophical concepts. But enough of this wrangling. We are shipmates for good or ill and we both have our duties. Until later, my friend. I anticipate many pleasant hours."
Fifty-seven minutes later they left Aarn, rising on the magic of the Erhaft field from the ground, through the at shy;mosphere, and up into space where their sensors quested for target stars.
Twenty-six minutes after that, Dumarest paid five stergols to the steward.
Lin had won his bet. Claude had found them a passenger.
II
He was a round, sleek, yellow-skinned man of indeterminate age, who smiled often and spoke at length. Gems glittered on his pudged hands and soft fabric of price clothed his rotund body. His hair was a cropped stubble on the ball of his skull and his eyes, slanted like almonds, were as watchful as a cat's. His name was Yalung and he claimed to be a dealer in precious stones.
Dumarest thought about him as he worked on the caskets. Carefully he checked each connection and tested each seal, measuring the degree of chill established by the refrigera shy;tion, counting the seconds as the eddy currents warmed the interior of the coffin-like boxes. Several times he made adjustments, knowing that a human life could depend on his skill. Animals had a wider tolerance than men, but animals did not always fill the caskets.
Claude entered the region as Dumarest straightened from the last of the caskets.
"All finished?"
"Yes." Dumarest handed the engineer the meters he had borrowed. "I'll check the rest of the equipment later. Can you make some more restraints for the cargo?"
"Why bother? We don't carry much and what we do won't come to any hurt."
"Can you make them?"
"Later." The engineer leaned against the curved metal of the wall and blinked his bloodshot eyes. He had been drink shy;ing and his broad, mottled face was heavy with the red mesh of burst capillaries. "You worry too much, Earl. Elgart never used to worry like you do."
"Maybe that's why he's dead," said Dumarest dryly.
"He died because he was a perverted swine," said Claude dispassionately. "I've no objection to a man being a lecher, but he was worse than that. Once when we carried some animals he-well, never mind. He's dead and good rid shy;dance. Like a drink?"
It was wine: thin, sharp with too much acid, the flavor indistinguishable. Dumarest sipped and watched as the en shy;gineer gulped. Behind him, squatting on thick bed-plates, the generators emitted a quivering ultrasonic song of power, the inaudible sound transmuted by the metal of the hull in shy;to a barely noticed vibration.
"Swill," said Claude as he lowered his empty glass. "Some cheap muck I bought on Aarn. They don't know how to make wine. Now on Vine they make a wine which would wake the dead. Thick and rich and with the color of blood. A man could live on the wine of Vine. Live and die on it and never regret wasted opportunities."
Dumarest said softly, "As you do?"
"I was there once," said the engineer as if he had not heard the interjection. "At harvest time. The girls carried in the grapes and trod them beneath their bare feet. The juice stained their legs and thighs, red on white and olive, thick juice on soft and tender flesh. As the day grew warmer they threw off all their clothes and rolled naked among the fruit. It was a time of love and passion, kissing and copulating in great vats of succulent grapes, the juice spurt shy;ing and staining everyone so that all looked like creatures of nature."
Dumarest took a little more wine, waiting for the engineer to extinguish his dream.
"There was a girl," whispered Claude. "Soft and young and as white as the snows found on the hills of Candaris. We trod the grapes together and joined bodies as we mated in the juice. For a week we loved beneath the sun and the stars with wine flowing like water and others all around laughing and singing and laving their bodies with the juice. The harvest on the following season must have been excep shy;tional if what they believed was true."
"Fertility rites," said Dumarest. "I understand."
"You understand." The engineer poured himself more of the thin wine. "I did not. I thought she loved me for myself alone, not because she thought that a stranger would bring fresh seed to the mating, new energy to the fields. For a week she was mine and then it was over." He gulped the wine and stared broodingly into the glass. "Often I wonder if my grandsons tread the grapes as I did, if my grand shy;daughters yield themselves as did she."
"You could find out," suggested Dumarest. "You could go back."
"No. That is a thing no man should ever do. The past is dead, forget it, let us instead drink to the future."
"To the future," said Dumarest, and sipped a little more wine. "Tell me about our passenger."
"Yalung?" Claude blinked as he strove to focus his atten shy;tion. "He is just a man."
"How did you meet?"
"In a tavern. I was looking for business and he approached me. He had money and wanted a High passage to the Web."
"It's just as well he didn't want to travel Low," said Dumarest. "He would never have made it."
"The caskets?" Claude shrugged. "We rarely use them; the journey between planets is too short. Even on the longer trips Sheyan usually adjusts the price and lets any passengers ride under quicktime. The Web is compact," he explained. "Stars are relatively close. Anyway, we don't often cany passengers."
"Let's talk about the one we have now."
"What is there to talk about? He wanted a passage and could pay for it. He approached me. What else is there to know?"
"He approached you." Dumarest was thoughtful. "Didn't you think it strange? A man with money for a High passage wanting to travel on a ship like this?"
Claude frowned, thinking. "No," he said after a while. "It isn't strange. Not many ships head for the Web and those that do only go to established planets, the big worlds with money, trade, and commerce. From there shuttle ves shy;sels take freight and passengers to the other planets. Yalung wants to roam the Web and this is the best way for him to do it."