Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

He moved as the youth shouted, wasting no time on snatching the knife from his boot, darting forward and to one side as Lekhard clawed at his gun, closing the distance between them before the weapon lifted free of its holster. His left hand clamped on the wrist, twisting as his right sent fingers to close on the other's throat.

As the gun fell from the nerveless fingers to clatter on the stone of the floor Lekhard sagged, his face mottling, only the hand at his neck preventing him from crumpling to the stone.

Dumarest held him, counting seconds, then threw him to land sprawling against the wall.

"You-" Lekhard rose, coughing, rubbing at his throat. "I'll kill you! My gun-"

"I'll take care of it." Dumarest picked it up and held it casually in his hand. "You can collect it later from the Lady Dephine. I'll tell her you loaned it to me for examination." He added, bleakly, "Or you can tell her the truth as to how I obtained it. Her and everyone else of the Family. The choice is yours."

A choice which was none at all-Lekhard would not want to be shamed by the truth. As he left the chamber Dumarest turned to Navalok and threw him the weapon.

"Here. Take it. Does it make you feel more of a man?"

A mistake which he recognised as the boy caught the pistol. For him to own a gun was to be a man, but it had to come in a certain way, one hallowed by tradition.

"I can't take it, Earl. It isn't mine." Reluctantly he handed back the weapon. "But, Earl, the way you faced him! To best him with your bare hands."

A performance which had mainly been for the boy's benefit.

Dumarest said, curtly, "Let's get to the Shrine."

Chapter Twelve

A century earlier and there would have been armed men standing in honor, a guard carefully chosen and each man jealous of the privilege. A generation ago and older men would have tended the sacred place, sitting and dreaming of past glories, of the strength and vitality of their youth. Now there was only a crippled boy to tend the lights and to sweep the dust and venerate the past.

He said, "Earl, this is where the trophies are thrown when the hunters return after having made their kills."

Dumarest looked down at the floor, the place at which he pointed. It lay before the opening of the Shrine, the stone slightly concave with repeated washings. In imagination he tried to visualize the severed heads and the crowd who had watched the ancient heroes. Now there would be no crowd, only an official of some kind to record the achievement. Alorcene, perhaps, or an assistant. And even he would probably have to be summoned.

"Word is sent from the Watcher," explained Navalok when he mentioned it. "Always there are men stationed in the highest tower. They see the immediate surroundings and, of course, word would also be sent from the raft-enclosure."

"And?"

"Men will come to witness the trophy. The notation is made in the records and, later at dinner, the gun is given in ceremony."

A standard weapon each identical aside from personal adornment to the one he had taken from Lekhard. Dumarest examined it, a primitive thing with a revolving chamber holding five cartridges. The calibre was large, the charge, he guessed, small. The bullet would have high impact-shock but low penetration-to be expected in a weapon intended for use in a crowd.

"Earl, would-" Navalok broke off as Dumarest met his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing." The boy gestured towards the opening. "You wanted to inspect the Shrine."

Not the Shrine but the items it held. Dumarest strode to the slab of polished stone and looked at them. Rubbish for the most part, bits and pieces, some seeming to belong to other, larger artifacts, all showing signs of the ravages of time. Of use and time, the leaves of the plastic file were scuffed a little as well as faded and the metal of the chronometer held a dull patina which covered a worn inscription.

Dumarest rubbed at it with his thumb and held it closer to the light. Narrowing his eyes he read…OTA.F TE..A. The few discernible letters were followed by a disc surrounded with tapering spines-the symbolic image of a sun.

Dumarest lowered the instrument. The words could spell out the name of the ship and place of origin, the symbol would be a general identification device such as even now was used on the multiple commercial space lines. The Songkia-Kwei used the symbol of an open flower-the lotus. The Aihun Line a twisted helix.

Something, a name of-where?

He examined the instrument again, tilting it so as to throw the letters into prominence.

TE. .A

TELLA-No, TERRA?

TERRA!

An alternative name for Earth.

Navalok had been watching. He said, anxiously, "Earl, is anything wrong?"

"No." Dumarest took a deep breath and set down the chronometer. He could be reading too much into too little. The almost obliterated words could have meant something entirely different and, even assuming the last would have been the planet of origin, it need not have been Terra. And yet the chance existed and could not be ignored. "Do you have any more items like these?"