Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

"No?" She turned and smiled and let her fingers trace the scars on his tunic, the ripped plastic beneath which the protective mesh shone with a metallic gleam. "You gave a boy his ambition. You took a cripple and turned him into a man. Is that nothing? How many on Emijar would have done as much? To kill and give another your trophy."

"No." Dumarest was firm. "Navalok made the kill."

"Or so you made him believe. And he does believe it, Earl. As do others. They can't conceive of anyone relinquishing a trophy to another when he has yet to gain one for himself." Again her fingers traced the scars on his tunic. "But I know better. You are kind, Earl. Gentle and kind. A boy would do well to have you for his father."

And her for his wife. The implication was clear as was the invitation in her eyes. To marry, to settle down, to rear strong sons and lovely daughters, to grow old and leave his seed to continue his line on this world. To forget his dreams and accept the warm and solid comfort of present reality. To cease his search for Earth and to take what she offered. Her fingers tightened on his arm. "Earl?"

"Let's go down," he said. "Hendaza will be waiting for us." The man was happy, seemingly relaxed, his smile coming with quick naturalness as he lifted his hands to touch those of Dephine and her companion.

"Earl, the Family has much to thank you for. I add my own, special gratitude. Navalok is now, at last, a man."

The ceremony was over, the notation made in the records, the youth now proudly bearing a gun at his belt Dumarest remembered how eyes had followed him as he had struggled beneath the weight of the severed head to hurl it down at the opening of the Shrine. Hendaza had radiated an almost tangible relief and Dumarest guessed that his previous contempt and acidity had been intended as a spur. One now withdrawn and a genuine concern taking its place. Fatherless, the boy had found a mentor. Hendaza would take the place of the missing parent.

Lekhard had been edgy, sneering, turning away as he had met Dumarest's eyes. From him, later, there could be trouble but that was not Dumarest's concern. And Kanjuk, Lekhard's companion, had spoken to him and led the man from the assembly as if he had been a child.

Hendaza shrugged as Dumarest mentioned it.

"Lekhard is too ambitious and would have caused trouble had Navalok delayed obtaining his trophy for much longer. As you may have guessed I tried to spur him to courage in my own way. Now, as a potential Elder of the Family, he will crystalize various loyalties. Kanjuk knows that and will keep his friend in check."

"And if he doesn't?" Dumarest was blunt. "Navalok can't meet a challenge."

"He must if necessary." Hendaza was equally blunt. "That is the price he pays for being accepted as a man. But if Lekhard should challenge him without just cause he will face, not just one young man, but a line of others each of whom will challenge him in turn. Eventually he will fall. This he knows."

A mad dog taken care of in the traditional manner, Dumarest could appreciate how it would be done. Other Houses he had known would have called on the aide of assassins, here on Emijar they were more honest-or naive.

"And you, Earl?" Hendaza glanced towards Dephine. "When are we to celebrate your obtaining a trophy? Soon, I hope?"

"Perhaps."

"It will be soon, Hendaza," said Dephine firmly. "He would have had it by now but he had no wish to spoil Navalok's moment of triumph."

"A commendable attitude and one worthy of a man of proven courage. You should be proud, Dephine."

"I am." She smiled with possessive affection. "Very proud. Earl-" The smile changed to a frown as he moved away. "Earl!"

He said, without turning, "I'm going to see Navalok."

* * * * *

The boy was at practice. He stood at one end of a firing range, facing targets shaped in the image of a man, the gun in his hand lifting, to steady, to fire. A light set behind the targets showed where the bullets had struck.

"I'm getting better, Earl. I can hit a man each time I fire now."

"You can hit a target," corrected Dumarest. "A target can't shoot back."

"Neither can a man if he's dead." Navalok lowered the gun, reloaded it, slipped it into his belt. "Watch this, Earl!"

He was a boy, proud of his skill, a child eager to demonstrate his ability. The gun lifted from the holster, leveled, fired. On the target a light shone through a hole in the forehead.

"There!"

Dumarest said, dispassionately, "Navalok, you're a fool. Why aim for the head when the body offers a better target? And what if your opponent is wearing armor? If you want to play this stupid game then do it properly."

"Stupid?"

"If you want to kill a man then do it. Get in hard and fast and, above all, get in first. Don't give him a chance. To do that is to invite death. Don't waste time in talk. Just act and get it done with."

"But Earl, the code-"