Big Planet

Jack Vance

1. Sabotage

Arthur Hidders, he called himself. He wore Earth-style clothes, and,

except for the length of his hair and his mustache rings, he looked the

complete Earthman— which, in a sense, he was. His age was indeterminate;

the exact panel of races which had gone into his make-up was a secret six

hundred years gone. He stood an easy five foot six; he was light, with

delicate features centered rather too closely in a lar ge round head, which

obviously held many brains. T urning away from the porthole out on space, he fixed old Pianza with a

gaze of almost child-like ingenuousness. “That’ s all very interesting—but

doesn’ t it seem, well, futile?”

“Futile?” Pianza said with great dignity .

“I’m afraid I don’ t understand

you.”

Hidders made a careless gesture, taking few pains to hide his opinion of

Pianza: a well-meaning man, perhaps a trifle dense. “Earth-Central has sent

commissions to Big Planet once a generation for the last five hundred years. Sometimes the commission returns alive, more often not. In either case

nothing is accomplished. A few investigators lose their lives, much money

is spent, Big Planet tempers—for give me—are ruf fled, and things go on,

regrettably , as before.”

Pianza, certainly well-meaning, not at all dense, reflected that Hidders’ air

of naivete comported poorly with his professed occupation of fur -trading. Also, thought Pianza, how could a Big Planet fur -trader—a naive fur -trader

—accumulate the exchange necessary to buy passage to Earth?

He

answered gravely .

“What you say is true, but this time perhaps events will

turn out dif ferently .”

Hidders raised his eyebrows, spread out his hands. “Has Big Planet

changed?

Has Earth-Central changed?”

Pianza looked uneasily around the lounge—empty except for the nun who

sat statue-quiet, the visible section of her thin white face rapt in meditation. Big Planet lay close ahead; the Bajarnum of Beaujolais could not possibly

know of their approach. Pianza committed an indiscretion. “Conditions are dif ferent,” he admitted. “A great deal dif ferent. The

former commissions were sent out to—well, let us say , to soothe Earth

consciences. W e knew there was murder , torture, terror on Big Planet; we

knew something had to be done.” He smiled sadly .

“The easiest gesture was

to send out commissions. The commissions invariably made the same

report: nothing could be done that was not being done already at the

Enclave—unless Earth-Central wanted to expand, to take full responsibility

for Big Planet.”

“Interesting,” said Hidders. “Y ou have the gift of expressing complicated

ideas in simple language. And now?”

Pianza eyed him doubtfully .

The butter had become a little thick. “Now

there’ s something new on Big Planet: the Bajarnum of Beaujolais.”

“Y es, yes—I’ve frequently traveled through his realms.”

“W ell, on Big Planet there are probably hundreds of rulers no less cruel,

arrogant, arbitrary—but the Bajarnum, as you certainly must be aware, is

expanding his empire, his range of activities, and not only on Big Planet but

elsewhere.”

“Ah,” said Hidders. “So you come to investigate Charley L ysidder ,

Bajarnum of Beaujolais.”

“Y es,” muttered Pianza. “Y ou might say so. And this time we have the

authority to act.”

“If he learns of your plans, he will no doubt react with rancor and

violence.”

“W e realize that,” stammered Pianza, wishing now that he could disavow

the conversation. “But I’m sure he won’ t learn until we’re ready .”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Hidders gravely .

“Let us hope so.”

A dark-skinned man of medium height came into the lounge. His muscles

lay close under his skin; he moved quickly , with sharp definite motions. This was Claude Glystra, Executive Chairman of the commission. Glystra looked swiftly around the lounge, ice-colored glances, hard,

searching, just short of suspicious. He joined Hidders and Pianza at the

porthole, pointed to a flaming yellow sun close ahead. “There’ s Phaedra,

we’ll be on Big Planet in a few hours.”

A gong rang. “Lunch,” said Pianza, rising with a feeling of relief. The

purpose of the commission was hardly a secret to anyone aboard the ship;

however , he had been uncomfortably explicit in his talk with Hidders. He

was glad to push the whole matter to the back of his mind. Glystra led the way from the saloon, pausing at the door to let the nun

sweep ahead in a billow of black vestments. “Peculiar creature,” muttered Pianza. Glystra laughed. “There’ s no one on Big Planet but peculiar people; that’ s

why they’re there. If she wants to convert them to her own private

peculiarity , that’ s her privilege.”

Hidders nodded with lively emphasis. “Perfect democracy on Big Planet,

eh Mr Glystra?”

Pianza watched expectantly; Glystra was nothing if not outspoken. Glystra did not fail him. “Perfect anarchy , Mr Hidders.”

In silence they descended the spiral to the dining saloon, took their places. One by one the other members of the commission entered. First was

Cloyville, big, booming, florid; then Ketch, dark, drawn and saturnine, like

the “Before” in a laxative advertisement. Next came Bishop, the youngest

man on the commission, sheep-faced and seal-smooth, with a brain full of

erudition and a tendency toward hypochondria. He satisfied the one with a

portable microfilm library , the other with a portable medicine-chest. Behind

him, and last, was Darrot, erect and military with carrot-colored hair , lips

compressed as if against an imminent outburst of temper .

The meal was placid, but over -hung with a sense of excitement, almost

tension, which persisted, grew stronger all afternoon as the bulk of Big

Planet spread across the field of vision. Horizons belled out, blotted

Phaedra from the sky , and the space-ship settled into the darkness. There was a shock, a lurch, a perceptible change of direction. Glystra

spun away from the window .

The lights flickered, died, then glowed

weakly .

Glystra ran up the spiral toward the bridge. At the top landing stood

a squat man in ship’ s uniform—Abbigens, the radio operator and purser .

Lank blond hair hung down his forehead. He watched Glystra’ s approach

with narrow eyes set far apart. “What’ s the trouble?” Glystra demanded sharply .

“What’ s going on?”

“Don’ t know , Mr Glystra. I tried to get in myself; I found the door

locked.”

“The ship feels out of control, as if we’re going to crash!”

“Don’ t worry your head about that, Mr Glystra. W e’ve got emer gency

landing gear to set us down—automatic stuf f. There may be a bit of a

thump, but if we sit quiet in the saloon we’re safe enough.”

Gently he took Glystra’ s arm. Glystra shook him of f, returned to the door .

Solid as a section of the wall. He ran back down the steps, railing at himself for not taking precautions

against just such a chance. T o land anywhere on Big Planet except Earth

Enclave meant tragedy , debacle, cataclysm. He stood in the saloon

doorway; there was a babble of voices, white faces turned to him. Cloyville,

Darrot, Pianza, Bishop, Ketch, Hidders and the nun. All there. He ran to the

engine room; the door opened under his hands. Corbus, the easygoing chief

engineer , pushed him back. “W e’ve got to get to the life-boats,” barked Glystra. “No more life-boats.”

“No more life-boats!

What’ s happened to them?” Glystra demanded. “They’ve been ejected. It’ s stick by the ship, there’ s nothing else to do.”

“But the captain, the mate—”

“They don’ t answer the telephone.”

“But what on Earth happened?”

Gorbus’ reply was drowned by a siren which filled the air , already made

mad by the flickering light, with clangor .

Abbigens came into the saloon. He looked around with an air of triumph,

nodded toward someone. Who?

Glystra twisted his head. T oo late. White

faces, open mouths. And now—a picture he would never for get: the door

swung open, the mate staggered in, his hand held as if he were rubbing his

throat. His face was the colour of raw potato; ghastly dark ribbons striped

the front of his juniper .

He pointed a terrible trembling finger at Abbigens. Blood rasped in his lungs, his knees folded, he fell to the deck. His hand

slipped to show a second mouth under his chin. Glystra stared at the squat man with the blond hair falling thickly down

his forehead. Dark shadows rushed up past the saloon ports. A monstrous splintered

instant: the floor of the saloon struck up. The lights went out; there was a

hoarse crying. Glystra crawled up the floor .

He sensed walls toppling; he saw a sudden

dark motion, heard jarring thunder , and then felt an instant of pain....

Glystra rose toward consciousness like a waterlogged timber .

He opened

his eyes; vision reached his brain. He lay on a low bed at the rear of a plank-walled cottage. W ith a feverish

movement he half-raised on the cot, propped himself on an elbow , stared

out the open door , and it seemed that he was seeing the most wonderful

sight of his life. He looked out on a green slope, spangled with yellow and red flowers,

which rose to a forest. The gables of a village showed through the foliage,

quaint gables of carved dark-brown timber .

The entire landscape was

drenched in a tingling golden-white radiance; every color shone with jewel-

like clarity .

Three girls in peasant dress moved across the field of his vision; they

were dancing a merry jig which flung their belled blue and red skirts back

and forth, side to side. Glystra could hear music, the drone of a concertina,

tinkle of mandolin and guitar .

He slumped back to the cot, closed his eyes. A picture from the golden

ages. A beautiful dream. The thud of footsteps roused him. W atching under half-cracked eyelids he

saw Pianza and Cloyville enter the cottage: the one tidy , gray , quiet; the

other puf fing, red-faced, ef fusive. Behind came a fresh-faced girl with

blonde pigtails, carrying a tray .

Glystra struggled up on his elbows again. Pianza said soothingly , “Relax,

Claude. Y ou’re a sick man.”

Glystra demanded, “W as anyone killed?” He was surprised to find his

voice so weak. There was a moment’ s silence. “W ell?

Who got it?”

“The stewards. They had gone to hide in the shell. And the nun. Apparently she went into her cabin just before the crash. It’ s twenty feet

under ground now .

Of course the captain and the mate, both with their

throats cut.”

Glystra closed his eyes. “How long has it been?”

“About four days.”

He lay passive a few seconds, thinking. “What’ s been happening?”

“The ship’ s a total loss,” said Cloyville. He pulled out a chair , seated

himself. “Broken in three pieces. A wonder any of us came out alive.”

The girl laid the tray on the bed, knelt, prepared to feed Glystra with a

horn spoon. Glystra looked up ruefully .

“Is this what’ s been going on?”

“Y ou had to be taken care of,” said Pianza. He patted the girl’ s head. “This is Natilien-Thilssa. Nancy for short. She’ s an excellent nurse.”

Cloyville winked slyly .

“Lucky dog.”

Glystra moved back from the spoon. “I can feed myself,” he said shortly .

He looked up at Pianza. “Where are we?”

Pianza frowned slightly , as if he had hoped to avoid serious discussion. “The village of Jubilith—somewhere near the northeastern tip of

Beaujolais.”

Glystra pressed his lips together .

“It could hardly be worse. Naturally they

planned to drop us closer to Grosgarth, right into the Bajarnum’ s lap.” He

struggled up on his elbow .

“I’m astonished we haven’ t been taken up

already .”

Pianza looked out the door .

“W e’re rather isolated, and naturally there are

no communications ...

W e’ve been nervous, I’ll admit.”

The last terrible scene in the saloon rose before Glystra’ s mind. “Where’ s

Abbigens?”

“Abbigens?

Oh, he’ s gone. Disappeared.”

Glystra groaned under his breath. Pianza looked uneasily at Cloyville,

who frowned. “Why didn’ t you kill him?” Glystra moaned. All Pianza could do was shake his head. Cloyville said, “He got away .”

“There was someone else too,” said Glystra weakly .

Pianza leaned forward, his eyes sharp and gray .

“Someone else?

Who?”

“I don’ t know .

Abbigcns slaughtered the captain and the mate, the other

sabotaged the motors, dischar ged the life-boats.” He heaved restlessly on

the couch. The girl put a cool hand on his forehead. “I’ve been unconscious

four days. Extraordinary .”

“Y ou’ve been sedated,” said Pianza, “to keep you resting. For a while you

were out of your head, climbing out of bed, fighting, yelling.”

2. Forty-thousand-mile T r ek

Glystra sat up against Nancy’ s restraining hand, felt the base of his skull. He tried to rise to his feet. Cloyville jumped up. “For Heaven’ s sake,

Claude, take it easy ,” he admonished. Glystra shook his head. “W e’ve got to get out of here. Fast. Think. Where’ s Abbigens?

He’ s gone to report to Charley L ysidder , the

Bajarnum.” He stood swaying. Nancy came to cajole him back to the cot,

but instead, leaning on her shoulder , he went to the door and stood in the

wash of golden-white sunlight, the Big Planet panorama before him. Pianza

brought a chair , Glystra sank into it. The cottage, the forest, the village were situated halfway up the face of a

slope, vast beyond Earthly conception. Above, Glystra could see no sharp

termination or ridge; the land melted into pale blue distance. Below was a

vista so grand and airy that after the first few miles the eye could sense only

the spread of territory , meadows and forests becoming a green, blue, beige

blur .

Cloyville stretched his heavy arms out into the warmth. “Here’ s where

I’m coming in my old age.” He yawned. “W e never should have wasted Big

Planet on the freaks.”

Nancy slipped into the house with a stif f back. Cloyville chuckled. “I guess she thought I was calling her a freak.”

“Y ou’ll never have an old age,” said Glystra, “if we don’ t clear out of

here.” He looked up and down the slope. “Where’ s the ship?”

“Up in the forest a little bit.”

“And how far are we from Beaujolais?”

Cloyville looked southwest diagonally up the slope. “The borders of

Beaujolais are vague. Over the top of the slope is a deep valley , apparently

volcanic. Full of hot springs, fumaroles, geysers, so they tell me—the valley

of the Glass-Blowers. Last year the Bajarnum moved in with his troops, and

now the valley is part of Beaujolais. T o date he hasn’ t sent of ficials or tax-

collectors to Jubilith, but they’re expected every day , together with a

garrison.”

“Why a garrison?

T o keep order?”

Cloyville gestured down the slope. “Protection against the nomads—

gypsies, they call ’em.”

“Mmmph.” Glystra looked up at the village. “They don’ t seem to have

suf fered too much ...

How far is Grosgarth?”

“As near as I can make it, two hundred miles south. There’ s a garrison

town—Montmarchy , they call it— about fifty miles southeast along the

slope.”

“Fifty miles.” Glystra considered. “That’ s probably where Abbigens

headed for ....” A heavy metallic crash sounded from the forest. Glystra

looked questioningly at Pianza. “They’re cutting up the ship. It’ s the most metal they’ve seen in their

lives. W e’ve made them all millionaires.”

“Until the Bajarnum confiscates the whole thing,” said Cloyville. “W e’ve got to get out,” Glystra muttered, twisting in his chair .

“W e’ve got

to get to the Enclave— somehow ....”

Pianza pursed his lips doubtfully .

“It’ s around the planet, forty thousand

miles.”

Glystra struggled up to his feet. “W e’ve got to get out of here. W e’re

sitting ducks. If we’re caught, it’ s our lives. Charley L ysidder will make an

example of us....Where’ s the rest of the ship’ s company?”

Pianza nodded toward the village. “W e’ve been given a big house. Hidders has gone.”

“Gone?

Where to?”

“Grosgarth.” He added hastily , “He says hell take a bar ge to Marwan Gulf

and join one of the beach caravans to W ale.”

“Hmmm. The stewards dead, the captain and mate dead, the nun dead,

Abbigens gone, Hidders gone—” he counted on his fingers “—that leaves

eight. The commission and two engine room of ficers. Y ou’d better bring

them all down here and we’ll have a council of war .”

Eyes troubled, Glystra watched Pianza and Cloyville climbing to the

village, then turned his attention down the slope. Beaujolain soldiers

approaching during the daylight would be visible for many miles. Glystra

gave thanks for the non-metallic crust of Big Planet. No metal, no

machinery , no electricity , no long distance communication. Nancy appeared from the cottage. She had changed her puf fed blue skirt

for a parti-colored coverall, a harlequin suit of red and orange motley .

Over

her hair she wore a close fitting cap, set with two-inch spines of hair waxed

to golden points. Glystra stared a moment. Nancy whirled before him, pirouetted on one

toe, with the other leg bent at the knee. Glystra said, “Are all the girls at Jubilith as lovely as you are?”

She smiled, tilted her face to the sun. “I’m not from Jubilith ...

I’m an

outlander .”

“So?

From where?”

She gestured to the north. “From V eillevaux Forest. My father had the

gift, and for many miles people came to ask the future—even some who

might have made the pilgrimage to Myrtlesee Fountain.”

“Myrtlesee Fountain?” Glystra opened his mouth to inquire, then reflected

that any explanation would be couched in the intricacies of a strange

culture, and closed his mouth. Best to listen, to observe, let knowledge

come in manageable doses. “My father grew rich,” continued Nancy .

“He trained me in the crafts. I

travelled to Grosgarth and Calliope and W ale and through the Stemvelt

Canals, and I went outland as a troubadour , with fine companies, and we

saw many towns and castles and beautiful sights.” She shuddered. “And

evil also. Much evil, at Glaythree ...” T ears welled into her eyes, her

shoulders sagged. She said forlornly , “When I returned to V eillevaux Forest

I found ruin and desolation. The gypsies from North Heath had raided the

village and burnt the house of my father with all my family inside. And I

wandered here to Jubilith to learn to dance, that I might dance away my

grief....”

Glystra studied her closely .

Marvelous mobility of feature—sparkle of

eye, lilt of voice when she spoke of joy— a mouth that was never quite in

repose. And when she dwelt on her grief her eyes became lar ge and wistful,

and the nervous beauty of her face and body seemed to become less

explicit, glowing from some wonderful region inside her mind, as light

shines from the inner part of a star .

“And how is it that you were selected to nurse me?”

She shrugged, studied the backs of her hands. “I’m an outlander; I know

the methods of Grosgarth—some of which have been learned from Earth

books. Naisuka.”

Glystra looked up in puzzlement, repeated the word. “What is that?”

“It’ s a Beajolais word.” She settled herself to the ground at his feet,

leaned back against the wall, stretched with the easy looseness of a kitten. “It means—well, it’ s what makes a person decide to do things for no reason

whatever .”

He pointed down the slope. “What country is that nestled down there?”

She turned half on her side, propped herself on one elbow .

“The Jubilith

claiming ends at the T salombar W oods.” She indicated a far line of forest. “The T ree-people live there, above the tritchsod.”

Another idiom unfamiliar to Glystra. Up by the village the Earthmen appeared. Glystra watched their approach. Guilt in any one of them seemed as remote as guilt in Nancy .

But someone

had helped Abbigens, someone had burnt out the motors. Of course it might

have been Arthur Hidders, and he was gone. “Sit down,” said Glystra. They took seats on the turf. Glystra looked

doubtfully at Nancy .

She smiled up cheerfully , made no move to rise;

indeed, settled herself more comfortably , stretching her legs, pointing her

toes—exotic as a rare bird. Glystra hesitated, then turned back to the men. “W e’re in a tough spot,

although I suppose I don’ t need to belabor the point.“

No one spoke. “W e’re shipwrecked with no possibility of getting help from Earth. As far

as technical superiority goes, we’re no better of f than the people of the

village. Maybe worse. They understand their tools, their materials; we

don’ t. If we had unlimited time, we might be able to patch up some kind of

radio and call the Enclave. W e don’ t have that time. Any minute we can

expect soldiers to take us to Grosgarth....

In Grosgarth the Bajarnum will

make an example of us. He doesn’ t want interference, he’ll make sure we’re

aware of it. W e’ve got one chance, that’ s to get out of Beaujolais, put miles

behind us.”

He paused, looked from face to face. Pianza was mild, non-committal,

Cloyville’ s big forehead was creased in a heavy frown, Ketch was

petulantly digging at the ground with a bit of sharp gravel. Bishop’ s face

was faintly troubled, with little puckers like inverted V’ s over his eyes. Darrot ran a hand through his sparse red hair , muttered something to Ketch,

who nodded. Corbus the chief engineer sat quietly , as if unconcerned. V allusser the second engineer glared, as if Glystra were the cause of his

dif ficulties. He said in a thick voice, “What happens when we escape. Where do we escape to?

There’ s nothing out there—” he waved his hand

down the slope “—but wild men. They’ll kill us. Some of them are

cannibals.”

Glystra shrugged. “Y ou’re free to do whatever you like, save your skin the

best way you can. Personally I see one way out. It’ s hard, it’ s long, it’ s

dangerous. Maybe it’ s impossible. It’ s close to certain not all of us will

make it. But we want to escape with our lives, we want to go home. That

means—” he accented his words heavily “—one place on Big Planet. The

Enclave. W e’ve got to get to the Enclave.”

“Sounds good,” said Cloyville. “I’m all for it. How do we do it?”

Glystra grinned. “The only means of locomotion we’ve got—our feet.”

“Feet?” Cloyville’ s voice rose. “Sounds like a pretty stif f hike,” said Darrot. Glystra shrugged. “There’ s no use fooling ourselves. W e’ve got one

chance to get back to Earth—that’ s make Earth Enclave. The only way to

get there is to start.”

“But forty thousand miles?” Cloyville protested plaintively .

“I’m a big

man, hard on my feet.”

“W e’ll pick up pack-animals,” said Glystra. “Buy them, steal them, we’ll

get them somehow .”

“But forty thousand miles,” muttered Cloyville. Glystra nodded. “It’ s a long way .

But if we find the right kind of river ,

we’ll float. Or maybe, find a ship, sail around the coast.”

“Can’ t be done,” said Bishop. “The Australian Peninsula reaches down,

curves back east. W e’d have to wait till we reached Henderland, then cut

down, around the Blackstone Cordillera, to the Parmarbo. And, according

to the Big Planet Almanac, the Parmarbo is virtually unnavigable due to

reefs, pirates, carnivorous sea anemones and weekly hurricanes.”

Cloyville groaned again. Glystra heard a sound from Nancy , and looked

down, saw her mouth quivering in ef forts to restrain a giggle. He rose to his

feet, and Pianza watched him doubtfully .

“How do you feel, Claude?”

“I’m weak. But tomorrow I’ll be as good as new .

Nothing wrong with me

a little exercise won’ t cure. One thing we can be thankful for—”

“What’ s that?” asked Cloyville. Glystra motioned to his feet. “Good boots. W ater -proof, wear -proof. W e’ll

need them.”

Cloyville ruefully inspected his big torso. “I suppose the paunch will

work of f.”

Glystra glanced around the circle. “Any other ideas?

Y ou, V allusser?”

V allusser shook his head. “I’ll stay with the crowd.”

“Good. Now here’ s the program. W e’ve got to make up packs. W e want

all the metal we can conveniently carry; it’ s precious on Big Planet. Each of

us ought to be able to manage fifteen pounds. T ools and knives would be

best, but I suppose we’ll have to take what we can salvage ...

Then we’ll

want clothes, a change apiece. Ship’ s chart of Big Planet, if available. A

compass. Everyone had better find himself a good knife, a blanket, and

most important— handweapons. Has anyone checked the ship?”

Corbus put his hand in his blouse, displayed the black barrel of an ion-

dischar ge pistol. “This belonged to the Captain. I helped myself.”

“I’ve got my two,” said Cloyville. “There should be one in my cabin aboard ship,” said Pianza. “There was

no way in yesterday , but maybe I can squeeze in somehow .”

“There’ s another in mine,” said Glystra. He put his hands on the arm of

the chair , rose to his feet. “W e’d better get started.”

“Y ou’d better rest,” said Darrot gruf fly .

“Y ou’ll need all your strength. I’ll

see that your pack is made up.”

Glystra relaxed without embarrassment. “Thanks. Maybe we’ll make

better time.”

The seven men filed uphill, into the forest of silky blue-green trees. Glystra watched them from the doorway .

Nancy rose to her feet. “Best now that you should sleep.”

He went inside, lowered himself to the cot, put his hands under his head,

lay staring at the beams. Nancy stood looking down at him. “Claude Glystra.”

“What?”

“May I come with you?”

He turned his head, stared up in astonishment. “Come where?”

“Wherever you’re going.”

“Around the planet?

Forty thousand miles?”

“Y es.”

He shook his head decisively .

“Y ou’d be killed with the rest of us. This is

a thousand to one chance.”

“I don’ t care ...

I die only once. And I’d like to see Earth. I’ve wandered

far and I know many things ...” She hesitated. Glystra put the spur to his brain. It was tired and failed to react. Something was out of place. W ould a girl choose such a precarious life

from pure wanderlust?

Of course, Big Planet was not Earth; human

psychology was unpredictable. And yet—he searched her face, was it a

personal matter?

Infatuation?

She colored. “Y ou blush easily ,” Glystra observed. “I’m strong,” said Nancy .

“I can do as much work as either Ketch or

Bishop.”

“A pretty girl can cause a lot of trouble.”

She shrugged. “There are women everywhere on Big Planet. No one need

be alone.”

Glystra sank back on the couch, shaking his head. “Y ou can’ t come with

us, Nancy .”

She bent over; he felt her breath on his face, warm, moist. “T ell them I’m

a guide. Can’ t I come as far as the forest?”

“V ery well. As far as the forest.”

She ran outside, into the golden radiance of the day .

Glystra watched her run up the flowered slope. “There goes trouble.” He

turned his face to the wall. 3. Fr ee For All

He slept an hour , two hours, soaking the rest into his bones. When he

awoke, afternoon sunlight was slanting in through the doorway , a flood of

richest saf fron. Up the slope, the village merry-making was in full swing. Lines of girls and young men, in parti-colored motley like Nancy’ s, capered

back and forth in a dance of light-hearted buf foonery .

T o his ears came a

shrill jig played on fiddles, concertinas, guitars, rhapsodiums. Back, forth,

across his vision ran the dancers, bounding in a kind of prancing goose-

step. Pianza and Darrot looked in through the doorway .

“A wake, Claude?”

asked Pianza. Glystra swung his feet over the edge of the cot, sat up. “Good as new .” He

stood up, stretched, patted the back of his head, the soreness had nearly

disappeared. “Everything ready?”

Pianza nodded, “Ready to go. W e found your ion-shine, also a heat-gun

belonging to the mate.” He looked at Glystra half-sidewise, an expression

of mild calculation on his face. “I understand Nancy has been included in

the expedition.”

“No,” said Glystra, with some irritation. “I told her she might come as far

as the forest, that’ s only two or three hours away .”

Pianza looked doubtful. “She’ s made herself up a pack. Says she’ s going

with us.”

Darrot gave his head a terse shake. “I don’ t like it, Claude.” He had a

rough baritone voice. It sounded harsh and grating now .

“This march is no

place for a girl. Bound to be friction, inconvenience.”

Darrot’ s cast of mind was peculiarly grim, thought Glystra. In a

conciliatory voice he said, “I’m in full agreement with you. I refused her

point blank.”

“But she’ s all packed,” said Pianza. Glystra said tartly , “W ell, if she insists on going, if she follows a hundred

yards to the rear , I don’ t see how we can stop her short of physical

constraint.”

Pianza blinked. “W ell, naturally ....” His voice trailed of f. Darrot was unconvinced. His square face wore a look of mulish

displeasure. “She’ s travelled widely , she’ s been to Grosgarth. Suppose she’ s

one of the Bajarnum’ s secret agents?

I understand they’re everywhere, even

on the other side of the planet, even on Earth.”

“It’ s possible,” admitted Glystra. “Anything’ s possible. For all I know ,

you work for the Bajarnum yourself. Someone does.”

Darrot snorted, turned away .

“Don’ t worry ,” said Glystra, slapping him on the shoulder .

“When we get

to the forest, we’ll send her back.” He went to the door , stepped outside. Much of his strength had returned, although his legs felt limp and lax. Pianza said, “Bishop salvaged the ship’ s first aid kit, and all his food pills

and vitamins. They may be useful; our food won’ t always be the best.”

“Good.”

“Cloyville found his camping equipment and we’re taking along the stove

and the water -maker .”

“Any spare power units for the ion-shines?”

“No.”

Glystra chewed his lip. “That’ s bad ...

Find the nun’ s body?”

Pianza shook his head. “Her cabin is on the bottom.”

“T oo bad,” said Glystra, although he felt little real remorse. The woman

had hardly existed as a human being: he had been conscious of a thin white

face, a black robe, a black head-dress, an air of intensity , and all was now

gone. Down from the village came the Earthmen, and around them circled the

dancers, gay , exalted, aware only of their own motion and color .

Ketch,

Corbus, V allusser , Cloyville, Bishop—and Nancy .

She stood a little apart,

watching the dancing with an air of serene detachment, as if she had

renounced whatever ties bound her to Jubilith. An elder of the village came down the slope, a thin brown man in a heavy

loose smock of horizontal brown, gray and white stripes. The rhythm was

still in his ears; he jigged to the music following him down the hill. He spoke to Cloyville, remonstrated; Cloyville pointed to Glystra. The old

man jigged to where Glystra stood waiting. He sang out, “Surely you won’ t

leave us now?

The day is at its close; night drifts over the massif and our

merriment is not yet upon us.”

Glystra held out his arms while Pianza helped him into his pack. He said

with a grin, “Dance a couple sets for me.”

“Y ou’ll be a-dark!”

“W e’ll be a-dark more times than this once.”

“Inauspicious, importunate.” He broke into a chant such as children might

sing at their games. “The hop-legged sprites abound in the dark; skin to skin

they will weld your legs. Bone to bone, flesh to flesh, and all your life shall

be hop-step-one, hop-step-one....”

Nancy caught Glystra’ s eye, shook her head slightly .

Glystra turned away ,

looked out over Big Planet, already flooded in light of a darker gold. Behind him were the dancers in groups of five, wheeling, kicking out their

legs at the knee, wagging their heads drolly , and the music waxed shrill and

happy .

Looking down the vast slope, Glystra suddenly felt weak before the

immensity of the journey ahead. Jubilith seemed warm and secure. Almost

like home. And ahead—distance. Sectors and sections, extents and

expanses. Looking to where Earth’ s horizon would lie, he could lift his eyes

and see lands reaching far on out: pencil lines of various subtle colors, each

line a plain or a forest, a sea, a desert, a mountain range ...

He took a step

forward, looked over his shoulder .

“Let’ s go.”

For a long time the merry music followed their backs, and only when the

sun passed behind the slope and mauve dusk came down from the sky did

the sounds dwindle to the silence of distance. The way led across the bracken, a thick resilient mat of gray stalks beaded

with dull green nodules. The slope was gentle and uniform, and the coming

of Big Planet night brought no dif ficulties; it was only necessary to walk

down the fall of the ground. Cloyville and Darrot strode together at the head of the group; then came

Glystra, with Nancy at one elbow and Pianza at the other .

T o their left

walked Ketch a little apart, and behind came Bishop, eyes on the ground. At

the rear , twenty paces behind, walked Corbus, striding easily , and V allusser ,

picking his way as if his feet hurt. T wilight waned and stars appeared. Now there was nothing in the world

but darkness, the sky , the breast of the planet and their own infinitesimal

persons. Nancy had been carefully quiet, but now in the dark, she pressed closer to

Glystra. Glystra, expecting various wiles and persuasions, grinned to

himself and prepared to withstand an assault on his senses. She spoke in a soft low voice. “T ell me, Claude, which of those stars is

Old Sun?”

Glystra scanned the heavens. The constellations were strange and made

no particular pattern. He remembered that on leaving Earth for Big Planet, Cetus was astern till

they arrived at Index ...

There, was Spica, and nearby the black bulge of

the Porridge Pot. “I think that’ s the Sun there—right above the bright white

star , in toward the big blot of fog.”

She stared wide-eyed into the sky .

“T ell me about Earth.”

“It’ s home,” said Glystra. He looked for several seconds up at the white

star .

“I’d like to be there ...”

“Is Earth more beautiful than Big Planet?”

“That’ s a hard question to answer .

Of fhand—no. Big Planet is—big. Impressive. The Himalayas on Earth are foothills beside the Sklaemon

Range or the Blackstone Cordillera.”

“Where are they?” Nancy asked. Glystra’ s mind had been wandering. He looked at her blankly .

“Where are

what?”

“Those mountain ranges?

Here on Big Planet?”

“The Sklaemons are about thirty thousand miles northwest, in a part of

Big Planet called Matador .

The Ski-men live there, I believe. The

Blackstone Cordillera is to the southeast, about five thousand miles above

the Australian Peninsula, in Henderland.“

“There’ s so much to be learned ...

So many places to see ...” Her voice

broke a trifle. “The Earth-men know more about us than we know

ourselves. It isn’ t fair .

Y ou keep us in mental shackles ...”

Glystra laughed sourly .

“Big Planet is a compromise of many people’ s

ideas. Nobody thinks it’ s right.”

“W e grow up barbarians,” she said passionately .

“My father—”

Glystra looked at her quizzically .

“A barbarian is not aware that he is a

barbarian.”

“—was murdered. Everywhere is murder and death....”

Glystra tried to hold his voice at a dispassionate level. “It’ s not your fault

that this is so—but it’ s not the fault of the Earth people either .

W e’ve never

attempted to exercise authority past V ir ginis Reef. Anyone passing through

is on his own—and his children pay the price.”

Nancy shook her head—a kind of personal little jerk with head cocked

sidewise, indicating incomplete conviction. Glystra tried to think. There was little he could say to her that was

concrete and definite. He detested human pain and misery as whole-

heartedly as she did. He was equally convinced that Earth could maintain

authority only through a finite volume of space. It was likewise impossible

to prevent people who so desired to pass the boundaries and declare

themselves free of supervision. He also admitted that in such a case, many

might suf fer from the mistakes of a few .

It was an injustice arising from the

very nature of human beings. Nancy had known the injustice—the murder ,

the grief, the anger , the aberrations which reinforcing and building up down

the generations, now infected tribes, peoples, races, continents, the entire

world. These immediacies would be in the forefront of her mind; his

problem was to convey a sense of more-and-less relationships, to endow

these vaguenesses and conditionals with enough power to counter the force

of her emotion. “On Earth, Nancy , ever since our first archaic histories, the race has

graduated into levels. Some people have lived in complete harmony with

their times, others have in their core a non-conformist independence—an

apparently built-in trait, a basic emotion like hunger , fear , af fection. These

people are unhappy and insecure in a rigid society; through all the ages they

have been the unclassifiables: the pioneers, explorers, flagpole-sitters; the

philosophers, the criminals, the prophets of doom, and the progenitors of

new cultural complexes. Akhnaton—Brigham Y oung— W ang T si-po—

John D’Arcy ....”

They walked on through the dark. The matted bracken crackled underfoot,

muf fled voices sounded ahead and behind them. The air was cool and warm at once—balmy , soothing, smelling of a

peppery lavender from the bracken. Nancy , still watching Old Sun, said, “But these people whoever they

were, they have nothing to do with Big Planet.”

“Jubilith,” said Glystra, “was founded by a ballet troupe who apparently

desired solitude and peace to perfect their art. Perhaps they only intended to

come out for a year or two, but they stayed. The first settlers, almost six

hundred years ago, were nudists—people who dislike the wearing of

clothes. Convention on Earth forbids nudity .

So they bought a ship and

went exploring past the edge of the System. They found Big Planet. At first

they thought it too big to be habitable—”

“Why should that be?”

“Gravity ,” said Glystra. “The lar ger a planet is, the stronger the pull of its

gravity .

But Big Planet is made of light materials with a specific gravity

only a third of Earth’ s. Earth is a very dense planet, with abundant metals

and heavy elements, and so the gravity works out about the same—although

there’ s thirty times the volume here ...

The nudists liked Big Planet. It was

paradise— sunny , bright, with a mild climate, and—most essential it had an

or ganic complex similar to that of Earth. In other words Big Planet proteins

were not incompatible with Earth protoplasm. They settled here, and sent

back to Earth for their friends. “There was room for other minorities—endless room. Out they migrated

—all the cults, misanthropic societies, primitivists, communists, religious

monasteries, just people in general. Sometimes they built towns, sometimes

they lived by themselves—a thousand, two thousand, five thousand miles

from their nearest neighbor .

Useful ore deposits are non-existent on Big

Planet; technical civilization never had a chance to get started, and Earth

refused to allow the export of modern weapons to Big Planet. So Big Planet

evolved into a clutter of tiny states and cities, with stretches of open country

in between.”

Nancy started to speak, but Glystra anticipated her .

“Y es, we might have

or ganized Big Planet and given it System law .

But—in the first place—it is

beyond the established boundaries of the System. Secondly , we would

thereby have been defeating the purpose of those people who sacrificed

their place on the civilized worlds for independence—a perfectly legitimate

aim in itself. Thirdly , we would be denying refuge to other restless souls,

with the ef fect of sending them out seeking other worlds, almost inevitably

less propitious. So we let Big Planet become the System’ s Miscellaneous

File. W e established Earth Enclave, with the university and trade school, for

those who wish to return to Earth. But very few apply .”

“Of course not,” said Nancy scornfully .

“It’ s forbidden. A place of

maniacs.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It is well known. Once a Bajarnum of Beaujolais went to the Enclave, he

attended the school, and he came back a dif ferent man. He freed all the

slaves, and stopped all the punishment ordeals. When he declared the land-

hold system void, the College of Dukes rose up and killed him, because

clearly he was mad.”

Glystra smiled wanly .

“He was the sanest man on the planet....”

She snif fed. “Y es,” said Glystra. “V ery few apply to the Enclave. Big Planet is home. It’ s free—open—limitless. A man can find any kind of life he wants, even if

he may be killed almost any minute. Anyone with Big Planet in his blood

never feels loose on the civilized worlds. On Earth and the other planets of

the System we have a rigid society with precise conventions. It’ s smooth

and easy now; most of the misfits have gone to Big Planet.”

“Dull,” said Nancy .

“Stupid and dull.”

“Not entirely ,” said Glystra. “After all, there are five billion people on

Earth, and no two of them are identical.”

Nancy was silent a moment, then, almost as a taunt: “What of the

Bajarnum of Beaujolais?

He plans to conquer the planet. He’ s already

expanded Beajolais threefold.“

Glystra looked straight ahead, down through the infinite Big Planet night. “If the Bajarnum of Beaujolais or the Nomarch of Skene or the Gaypride

Baron or the Nine W izards or anyone else dominates Big Planet, then the

inhabitants of Big Planet have lost their freedom and flexibility even more

certainly than if the System or ganized a federal government. Because then

they would be obliged to adapt their lives to aberrations dif ferent from their

own, and not merely to a few rules and regulations essentially rational.”

She was not convinced. “I’m surprised that the System considered the

Bajarnum important enough to worry about.”

Glystra smiled thinly .

“Just the fact of our being here tells you something

about the Bajarnum. He’ s got spies and agents everywhere—including

Earth. He regularly violates our number one law—the embar go on weapons

and metal to Big Planet.”

“A man is killed just as surely with a birkwood sword as with a shaft of

light.”

Glystra shook his head. “Y ou are considering only one aspect of the

subject. Where do these weapons come from?

The System prohibits

unlicensed manufacture of weapons. It’ s very dif ficult establishing a

modern factory in secret, and therefore most of the Bajarnum’ s weapons are

stolen or pirated. Ships and depots are ripped open, men killed or herded

into slave-bins, bound out for the One-man Heavens.”

“One-man Heavens?

What are they?”

“Among these five billion I mentioned a minute ago are some very

strange people,” said Glystra thoughtfully .

“Not all the odd ones have

migrated to Big Planet. W e have over -rich over -ripe creatures on Earth with

too much self-indulgence and not enough conscience. Many of them have

found a little world somewhere of f in the cluster and set themselves up as

gods. The pirates sell them slaves and out on their little domains there’ s no

kind of indulgence or whimsicality they can’ t allow themselves. After two

or three months they return to the System and function as respectable

citizens for a period. Then they tire of the cosmopolis, and it’ s back to their

One-man Heaven out in the star -stream.”

4. Eight Against an Army

Nancy remained silent. “What’ s that got to do with Charley L ysidder?”

Glystra looked at her sidewise, and she saw his face as a white mask in

the darkness. “How does the Bajarnum pay for his smuggled weapons?

They’re expensive. Lots of blood and pain is spent on every ion-shine.”

“I don’ t know ...

I never thought of it.”

“There’ s no metal on Big Planet, few jewels. But there’ s trade-goods

more valuable.”

Nancy said nothing. “Girls and boys.”

“Oh....” in a remote voice. “Charley L ysidder is like a carrier of the plague and he infects half the

universe.”

“But—what can you do?”

“I don’ t know—now .

Events have not gone according to plan.”

“Y ou are only eight men. Futile against the Beaujolais army .”

Glystra smiled. “W e never intended to fight.”

“Y ou have no weapons, no plans, no documents—”

“Just brains.”

Nancy subsided into a silence of a quality which caused Glystra to peer at

her quizzically .

“Y ou’re not impressed?”

“I don’ t know .

I’m—very inexperienced.”

Glystra once more sought her face through the darkness, this time to make

sure she was serious. “W e form a team. Each man is a specialist. Pianza

here—” he nodded to the gray shape at his left “—is an or ganizer and

administrator .

Ketch records our findings on his camera and sonographs. Darrot is an ecologist—”

“What’ s that?”

Glystra looked ahead to where Cloyville and Darrot walked, and the

sound of their footsteps came as a regular double thud-crackle. They were

now entering a country clumped with great trees, and ahead loomed the

T salom-bar W oods, a line of black heavier than the sky .

“Ecology ,” said

Glystra, “is ultimately concerned with keeping people fed. Hungry people

are angry and dangerous.”

In a subdued voice Nancy said, “The gypsies are always hungry ...

They

killed my father ....”

“Cloyville is our mineralogist. I’m coordinator and propagandist.”

Anticipating her question, he asked, “Why is the Bajarnum able to conquer

his neighbors?”

“Because he has a stronger army ...

He’ s very crafty .”

“Suppose his army no longer obeyed him. Suppose no one on Big Planet

paid any attention to his orders. What could he do?”

“Nothing. He’d be powerless.”

“Propaganda at its maximum ef fectiveness accomplishes just that. I work

with Bishop. Bishop is a student of culture—human society .

He can look at

an arrowhead and tell you whether the man who made it had six wives or

shared a wife with six men. He can study the background of people and

discover their racial aberrations, their push-buttons—the ideas that make

them react like herds of—” he was about to say “sheep” but remembered

that Big Planet harbored no sheep—“herds of pechavies.”

She looked at him half-smiling. “And you can make people behave like

pechavies?”

Glystra shook his head. “Not exactly .

Or I should say , not all the time.”

They marched onward down the slope. The trees loomed in closer and

they entered T salombar Forest. Around him marched eight dark shapes. There were forty thousand miles to travel—and one of these shapes wished

him evil. He said under his breath to Nancy , “Someone here—I don’ t know

who—is my enemy .

Somehow , I’ve got to learn who he is....”

She had stopped breathing. “Are you sure?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Y es.”

“What will he do?”

“If I knew , I’d watch for it.”

“The Magic Fountain at Myrtleseee could tell you who he is. He knows

everything.”

Glystra searched his mind. Myrtlesee—a word on a map. “Where’ s

Myrtlesee?”

She gestured. “Far to the east. I’ve never been there; it’ s a dangerous

journey unless you ride the monoline, and that costs much metal. My father

told me of the oracle at the Fountain. He babbles in a frenzy and answers

any questions asked and then he dies whereupon the Dongmans select a

new oracle.”

Glystra was skeptical. “There have been similar oracles on Earth. They

are drugged and their ravings are interpreted as prophecy .”

“It’ s rather strange....”

Ahead of them Cloyville and Darrot stopped short. “Quiet!” hissed

Darrot. “There’ s a camp ahead. Fires.”

The sighing branches of T salombar Forest shut of f the sky and the

darkness was near -complete. Ahead a tiny spark of red flickered past the

ranked tree trunks. “W ould it be the T ree-men?” Glystra asked Nancy .

She said doubtfully , “No ...

They never come down from the trees. And

they never build fires; they’re deathly afraid of fire ...”

“Then,” said Glystra, “it is probably a party sent out to capture us.”

“Or gypsies,” said Nancy .

Glystra said, “Everybody come here, close.” Dark shapes stepped

forward. Glystra said in a low hurried voice, “I’m going ahead to reconnoiter .

I

want everyone to stay together .

This is emphatic. No one is to move from

this group or make a sound until I return. Nancy , you stand at the center; the

rest of you stand with your elbows touching. Make sure who is on either

side of you, make sure he doesn’ t move.”

He circled the group. “Everybody touching two others?

Good. Count of f.”

The names came softly across the darkness. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” said Glystra. “If I need help—I’ll yell. So keep your ears open.”

The matted bracken crackled under his feet as he stole down the slope. It was a lar ge fire, a roaring blaze fed by logs, in the center of a clearing. Fifty or sixty men sprawled around the fire, completely at their ease. They

wore a loose blue uniform of baggy breeches triced below the knee, smocks

gathered at the waist by a black sash. On their chest they wore a red

insignia, a triangle apex-down. They carried knives and catapults in their

sash; squat baskets heavy with darts hung at their backs. Some of the men

wore hats of black felt, bent, twisted, creased in flamboyant flaps and

bellies; others went bare-headed with their hats laid nearby on the ground. They were a rough crew—short and stocky with flat brown faces, little

spade beards, narrow-lidded eyes, hooked noses. They had eaten and now

were drinking from black kidney-shaped leather sacks. Discipline at the

moment was lax. A little apart, back turned to the noise, stood a man in a black uniform. Glystra saw with unreasonable surprise that it was Abbigens. He conversed

with a man evidently the of ficer -in-char ge, apparently instructing him,

emphasizing points with motions of his big pale hands. The of ficer listened,

nodded. Not far from Glystra a train of odd-looking beasts waited restlessly ,

swinging their long necks, snapping at the air , mumbling and moaning. They were narrow-shouldered, high in the back with six powerful legs and a

narrow trustworthy-looking head, a composite of camel, horse, goat, dog,

lizard. The driver had not bothered to remove their packs. W ith sudden

interest, Glystra examined the loads they bore. One carried three metal cylinders, another a squat barrel and a bundle of

metal rods. Glystra recognized the mechanism: a knock-down ion-blast, a

field-piece capable of smashing Jubilith flat. It was of Earth manufacture,

captured in a merciless little skirmish on an outer world, bought in blood,

sold for young flesh ...

Glystra looked behind, through the trees, suddenly

uneasy .

Strange that no sentries had been posted. A flurry of activity at one side of the clearing caught his attention. A

dozen soldiers stood with craned necks, looking up, pointing, talking

excitedly .

Glystra followed their gaze. A hundred feet overhead was a

village—a network of rude trestles, walkways swung on vines, pendant huts

swaying like oriole nests. No light showed, the huts were dark, but over the

side of the trestles peered several dozen white faces framed in a tousle of

brown hair .

They made no sound, moved but little, and then like squirrels,

quickly , abruptly .

Apparently the Beaujolais soldiers had not previously

noticed the village. Glystra peered up again. They had found a girl—whey-

faced, bleary-eyed, but still a girl. They shouted up taunts and jocularities,

to which the tree-men made no response. Glystra eyed the pack-animals with interest, estimating the chances of

leading them into the forest while attention was diverted by the girl in the

tree-village. He decided they were scant. Perhaps when they bedded down

for the night ...

For the night?

Why should they bed down for the night?

Jubilith was three or four hours up-slope. More likely they had camped here

to await nightfall before venturing out on the moors where they could be

seen from the village. Where the soldiers were baiting the tree-men there was further activity .

A

young swaggerer with a spike mustache was climbing a rude ladder toward

the hut from which hung the head of the slatternly girl. The way was easy;

where a branch angled up, steps were cut into the wood. The soldier ,

spurred by the approving hoots of his comrades, ran up the trunk, paused on

a rude platform. Here he was partly veiled by the branches, camouflaged by

the flickering firelight shadows. There was a motion, a swishing sound, a

thud, a sound of disturbed branches. A sprawling twisting body plunged

down from the shadows, landed with a heavy thump. Glystra jerked back, startled. The event had taken him unaware. He

looked up; there was no motion from the tree-village. The faces stared

down as before. Apparently the soldier had sprung a trap. A poised weight

had swept down, struck him from the platform. Now he lay moaning,

writhing. His fellows stood around him, watching dispassionately .

There

were glances turned up at the tree-men, but without apparent animus or

hostility .

There was no clamor for revenge, no threats, no fury .

The event

had occurred; it was fate....

Abbigens and the of ficer strode over , stood looking down at the fallen

man. He choked back his groans, lay silent, staring up white-faced. The

of ficer spoke; Glystra could hear the tone of his voice but could not

distinguish the words. The soldier on the ground made a reply , tried to rise

to his feet, an anguished ef fort. But his leg lay out at a curious angle; tilting

his chin, gritting his teeth, he lay back. The of ficer spoke to Abbigens; Abbigens looked up at the tree-men. They

watched from the walkways with wary interest. Abbigens spoke, gesturing

up at the tree-village. The of ficer shrugged, turned aside, made a motion to

one of the soldiers, turned away .

The soldier looked down at his comrade on the ground, muttered

resentfully .

He drew his sword from the sheath, stabbed the fallen man

through the chest, the neck, finally up through the eye socket. Behind the tree Glystra swallowed the lump in his throat. After a moment

he was once more able to see the clearing. The of ficer strode back and forth through the camp, barking orders, and

the words were loud enough for Glystra to hear: “Up, up on your feet. Form

ranks, double-quick, we’ve overstayed. Driver , see to your beasts—”

Abbigens came forward, spoke briefly to the of ficer .

The of ficer nodded,

crossed the clearing. Glystra could not hear his orders, but the soldier who

was tending the pack animals led aside the two beasts bearing the

knockdown ion-blast. He removed the packs, assembled the weapon. Glystra watched with narrow eyes. W as the ion-blast to be used against

the tree-village?

He looked up. The faces were as before, white blotches

peering down from the walkways. One of them looked at him, stared

closely a moment, then turned his head back to the clearing without further

attention. The ion-blast was assembled, mounted on its tripod. Firelight glinted on

the smooth metal barrel. The cannoneer swivelled the tube back and forth to

test the bearing, rocked it up and down checking the balance. He threw of f

the safety , set the valve, pulled the trigger .

A line of violet light lanced from

the nozzle, power cracked down the lane of ionized air , spattered into the

turf. T esting. The weapon was ready for use. The cannoneer set the safety , went to the line of pack-animals, selected

the strongest beast, yanked at the straps holding the pack to his back. The

driver came forward angrily and the two fell into dispute. Glystra moved, hesitated, started up, fell back. He gathered himself

angrily .

Boldness. T ake a chance. He stepped forward, heart in mouth,

moved out into the firelight. He swung the weapon around, opened the

nozzle into a narrow gape, threw of f the safety .

It was so simple as to be

ridiculous. One of the soldiers noticed him, uttered a sharp cry , pointed. “Stand still!” Glystra called out in a loud clear voice. “If anyone moves—

I’ll burn him in two.”

5. Captur e

Around the clearing shapes froze, startled faces looked in his direction. Y elling in fury , the cannoneer sprang forward. Glystra pulled the trigger; the

fan of violet light spread out, power crackled along the conductive air .

The

cannoneer was shattered and with him five others in the spread of the

blaster ’ s fan. Glystra lifted his voice. “Pianza!

Cloyville!”

No reply .

He called again, as loudly as he could, and waited, watching across the

sights of the blaster .

None of the soldiers moved. Abbigens stared with his pasty face flat, his

eyes like a pair of olives. There was a rustle of footsteps behind. “Who is it?” asked Glystra. “W ill Pianza—and the rest of us.”

“Good. Get around to the side, where you’ll be out of range.” He raised

his voice. “Now—you Beaujolains. Move to the center , this side of the fire ...

Quick!” He char ged his voice with the push-button crackle of authority .

Glumly the soldiers sidled into the center of the clearing. Abbigens took

three quick steps along with them, but Glystra’ s voice halted him. “Abbigens—put your hands on your head, walk backwards toward me. Quick, now ....”

Glystra said aside to Pianza, “Get his weapon.” He snapped to the of ficer

who was quietly shifting toward the rear of the cluster of men. “Y ou—come

forward, hands on your head.” From the corner of his mouth: “One of you

—Corbus—search him.”

Corbus stepped forward. V allusser made as if to follow .

Glystra snapped,

“Y ou others stand where you are ...

This is ticklish.”

Abbigens carried an ion-shine, the of ficer a rocket-pistol. Glystra said, “Put the guns on the ground, tie ’em up with pack ropes.”

Abbigens and the of ficer lay helpless. The soldiers stood swaying,

muttering in the center of the clearing. “Nancy ,” called Glystra over his shoulder .

“Y es,”—in a tight breathless voice. “Do exactly as I say .

Pick up those two weapons—by their barrels. Bring

them to me. Don’ t walk between the blaster and the soldiers. I don’ t want to

kill you.”

Nancy walked across the clearing to where the weapons glittered on the

ground, bent. “By the barrel!” rasped Glystra. She hesitated, turned him an odd wide-eyed look, the skin below the ridge

of her cheek-bones tight and pale. Glystra watched her stonily .

T rust no one. She bent, gingerly picked up the guns, brought them to him. He dropped

them into his pouch, looked warily into the faces of his companions. Behind

one of the faces was furious scheming ...

Behind which face?

Now was a

critical moment. Whoever it was would seek to get behind him, pull him

away from the blaster ...

He gestured. “I want all of you to stand over there, to the side.” He waited

till all his companions stood to the side of the clearing. “Now ,” he said to

the soldiers. “One at a time, cross the clearing ...”

Half an hour later the soldiers squatted in a tight circle facing inward, a

sullen slack-faced group. Abbigens and the of ficer lay where they had been

tied, Abbigens watching Glystra with expressionless eyes. Glystra watched

Abbigens also, watched the direction of his glances. W ould they seek out

his ally?

Pianza looked doubtfully across the clot of prisoners. “This poses quite a

problem ...

What are you planning to do with them?”

Glystra standing behind the blaster , relaxed a trifle, stretched. “W ell—we

can’ t let them loose. If we can keep the news of this episode away from the

Bajarnum, we gain a big head start.” T ogether they surveyed the prisoners,

and above the rumpled blue uniforms eyes fearfully reflected back the

firelight. “It becomes a choice of killing them or taking them with us.”

Pianza snapped his head around in alarm. “T ake them with us?

Is that—

feasible?”

“Down the slope a few miles begins the steppe. Nomadland. If there’ s any

fighting to be done, perhaps we can persuade them to do it for us.”

“But—we have the blaster .

W e don’ t need swords and darts.”

“What good is a blaster if we’re ambushed?

Jumped from two or three

sides at once?

The blaster is a fine weapon when you can see your tar get.”

Pianza shrugged. “It may be dif ficult to manage them.”

“I’ve considered that. Through the forest we’ll tie them together .

Once out

on the steppes they can march ahead of the blaster .

Naturally we’ll have to

be carefull.”

He set the safety on the blaster , nosed the barrel down into the bracken,

then strolled to where Abbigens lay .

He looked down. “Think it’ s about

time to talk?”

Abbigens drew back the corners of his wide flat mouth. “Sure, I’ll talk,

What do you want to know?”

Glystra smiled thinly .

“Who helped you aboard the V ittorio?”

Abbigens looked down the line of faces: Pianza, placid, attentive; the

bristling Darrot; Bishop, solemn, a man ludicrously out of place; Ketch;

Corbus; V allusser; and lastly Nancy , standing wide-eyed by Glystra’ s left

elbow .

“Pianza,” said Abbigens. “That’ s the man.”

Pianza raised his mild white eyebrows in startled protest. Somewhere else

along the line of faces there was a change of expression—a flicker so faint

as to be gone even as it manifested itself. Glystra abruptly turned away .

From the corner of his eye he sensed dark

shapes disappearing into the trees. The Beaujolais soldiers!

How many?

T wo, three, four?

T aking advantage of the Earthman’ s preoccupation they

had slipped across the clearing, disappeared into the woods. Glystra cursed. If even one got away , the advantage of their head-start

was diminished. He snatched the ion-shine from his pouch, slowly replaced

it. It would be foolish wasting power on the tree trunks. The footsteps died

in the distance, and then there was silence. Glystra stood still, trying to collect his wits. At the moment there was

only one person he was sure of— himself. He pointed to Darrot and Corbus. “Y ou two man the blaster .

Neither of

you trust the other .

There’ s an enemy among us, we don’ t know who he is,

and we can’ t give him the Opportunity to destroy us all.” He took a step

backwards, held his ion-shine ready .

“I want to locate the weapons in the

crowd. Pianza, you have an ion-shine?”

“Y es. One of Cloyville’ s.”

“T urn your back on me, lay it on the ground.”

Pianza did so, without remonstrance. Glystra stepped forward, ran his

hand over Pianza’ s body , into his pouch. He found no other weapon. In a similar fashion Glystra took the ion-shine from Cloyville, the mate’ s

heat-gun from Ketch. V allusser and Bishop carried only knives. Nancy

carried no weapon of any sort. T ucking the weapons into his pouch he stepped behind the blaster , took

the ion-shine from Corbus. Five ion-shines, counting Abbigens’, and the

mate’ s heat-gun. “Now we’re as toothless as possible, and I think we ought to try for some

sleep. Ketch, you and V allusser take a couple of swords, stand on each side

of the clearing. Make a triangle with the blaster .

Don’ t get in between the

blaster and the soldiers, because if anything happens— you’re gone.” He

turned to Darrot and Corbus. “Hear that?

Use that blaster if there’ s even a

hint of an excuse.”

“Right,” said Corbus. Darrot nodded. He looked at Nancy , Pianza, Bishop. “W e’ll try for some sleep now and

stand the second watch ...

Right there by the fire is a good place, out of

range of the blaster .”

The bracken was soft and comfortable under the blanket where the

firelight had warmed it. Glystra stretched himself down, and fatigue came

rising from his bones and muscles, and for an instant he was almost dazed

by the pleasant ache of relaxation. He lay ruminating, hands under his head. Above him the white blotches

still peered over the walkways, and for all he could see they had not moved

since he had seen them first. Bishop settled himself nearby , sighed. Glystra eyed him with a moment’ s

pity .

Bishop was a student, fastidious, with no natural inclination for

roughing it ...

Nancy returned from the forest. Glystra had watched her go

with an instant suspicion and then had relaxed. It was impractical to

supervise every waking moment of everyone. He must remember , he told

himself, to send her home to Jubilith the first thing in the morning. He

closed his eyes, opened them a crack. Languor came at him in billows,

delightful warmth leaching his consciousness. He lay on his side, one arm

thrown over his eyes. It was dif ficult keeping himself awake. “A wake or dead,” Glystra thought. “A wake or dead.” And he forced his

eyes open. Darrot, Corbus, Ketch, V allusser .

It was not that he trusted them

the less, but that he was instinctively sure of Nancy , Pianza and Bishop. There was no sound in the clearing other than the low mutter from the

cluster of soldiers. Darrot and Corbus stood stif f behind the ionic blaster ,

Ketch paced slowly along one side of the clearing, V allusser along the

other .

Behind him Nancy lay still and warm, Bishop slept like a baby ,

Pianza tossed fretfully .

All in all, quiet and peaceful. But the air was heavy with someone’ s

private tension—his misgivings, fear , vacillation. The tension permeated the

clearing, held Glystra’ s languor at bay .

The tension grew and Glystra tried to place it objectively .

In Corbus’ tight

alertness, in Darrot’ s rigidity?

In the feel of Nancy at his back?

Some subtle

wrongness in the breathing of Bishop or Pianza?...

What had aroused him

he could not determine, but he sensed a focus of action forming. As soon as

someone could summon the courage. He tried to see whom Abbigens might

be watching, without success. Minutes passed, a quarter hour , a half hour .

The air was brittle as ice. Ketch took a couple of steps toward the blaster , signalled, muttered a few

words, backed of f into the woods. Glystra watched without seeming to

watch as Ketch attended the needs of his body .

The soldiers noting Ketch’ s

momentary preoccupation, reacted with a small ripple of motion. A curt

monosyllable from Darrot froze them. Ketch returned, and now V allusser stepped into the woods. Again from

the captives the quiver of alertness, and again Darrot’ s soft command and

the slow subsidence of blue-clad shoulders, the sinking of the grotesque

black felt hats. A sudden shape behind the blaster , a sweep of sword, a startled cry , a

bubble of pure pain ...

Then a stamp of feet, a stabbing flash of steel. T eeth grinding together , Glystra leapt to his feet, ion-shine in his hand. At the blaster there was now but one man, crouching, swinging the tube

toward Glystra. Glystra saw it coming, saw the elbows tense ...

He

squeezed the handle of his ion-shine. Crackling electric streaks down the

violet ray .

Man’ s head charred, shriveled; blaster smashed, flung askew .

Glystra sprang about facing the soldiers. They had raised to their feet, stood

poised, undecided whether to attack or flee. “Sit down!” said Glystra, his voice rasping, deadly .

The soldiers slumped

instantly .

Glystra reached in his pouch, tossed weapons to Pianza, Bishop. “W atch

’em from here; we don’ t have any more blaster .”

He strode to the shattered field weapon. Three bodies. Corbus was still

alive. Darrot lay with his dead face turned up, frozen in rage. V allusser ’ s

body , with the head like an oversized black walnut, sprawled across

Darrot’ s legs. Glystra looked down at the bent little body .

“So it was V allusser the man-

hater .

I wonder what they bought him with.”

Ketch had unpacked the first-aid kit and they knelt beside Corbus. A

thrust through the side of his neck was bleeding profusely .

Glystra applied a

clotting agent, antiseptic and sprayed an elastic film over the wound, which

when dry would grip the edges of the cut close together .

He rose to his feet, stood looking down at Abbigens. “Y our usefulness is

limited. I’ve found out what I wanted to know .”

Abbigens shook the thick yellow hair back out of his face. “Are you going

to—kill me?”

“W ait and see.” Glystra turned away .

He looked at his watch. “T welve

o’clock.” He tossed Corbus’ ion-shine to Ketch, turned to Pianza and

Bishop. “Y ou two sleep; we’ll take it till three.” He felt alive, refreshed. His

enemy had been discovered and dealt with; the pressure of his most

immediate problem had been lifted of f his mind. Of course, tomorrow

would bring new problems ...

6. The Gypsies

Darrot and V allusser were buried in a common grave with the

Beaujolains: the young swaggerer who had fallen from the tree and the six

soldiers who had been killed when Glystra had first seized the blaster .

Abbigens heaved a great sigh when earth began to fall on the bodies. Glystra grinned. Evidently Abbigens had expected to be one with the seven. Shafts of sunlight, heavy and bright as bars of luminex, prodded down at

a slant through the foliage. Pale smoke drifted up from the ashes of the

campfire. It was almost time to leave. Glystra looked around the clearing. Where was Nancy?

There she stood,

by the pack-beasts, as inconspicuous as she was able to make herself. Behind her the tree-trunks rose like the columns of a great temple,

admitting brief glimpses of the sunlit slope. Nancy felt Glystra’ s eye, turned him her quick wide glance, with a

hopeful hesitant smile. Glystra felt his heart beating. He looked away .

Corbus was watching him with an unreadable expression. He compressed

his lips, strode forward. “Y ou’d better be on your way , Nancy—back to Jubilith.”

Her smile faded slowly , her mouth drooped, her eyes became moist. She

looked of f into the forest. “I’m— afraid,” she said in a voice which lacked

conviction. “Those soldiers who escaped may be waiting in the forest....”

Glystra snorted. “They’re half-way to Montmarchy by now—worse luck. Besides, you can almost see Jubilith from here, straight up the slope. I’m

sorry if you’re frightened. Y ou can take a catapult and darts if you like....”

She apparently realized the hopelessness of ar gument, turned away

without a word, crossed the clearing. At the edge of the forest she paused,

looked over her shoulder .

Glystra watched silently .

She turned away .

He watched her a few moments, moving through the

trees. He saw her come out on the sunny bracken, listlessly start up the

slope toward Jubilith. Half an hour later the column got under way .

The Beaujolains walked

single-file, each tied to the man ahead and behind by ankle ropes. They

carried their swords and catapults, but the darts were packed in panniers, on

one of the pack-beasts. The of ficer led the column; Abbigens was the last man. Then came the

pack-beasts, with Corbus on a litter between the first two. He was awake

and cheerful, and guarded the rear of the column with the big heat-gun. The village overhead was awake, watching. As the column passed

through the forest, the thud of feet sounded along the walkways, along with

the creak of fiber fastenings, sometimes a mutter of voices, a child crying. Presently a ceiling of tangled and tattered vegetation, supported by a

patchwork of branches, vines and dried yellow fronds, cut of f the sunlight. This second floor to the forest spread to a surprising extent, dank on the

bottom, trailing bits and shreds of rotting vegetation. “What do you make of that?” asked Pianza. “Of fhand,” responded Glystra, “it looks like a hanging garden ...

W e

don’ t have an ecologist with us any more. Darrot probably would have

known something about it...”

Shafts of sunlight ahead indicated the end of the suspended field. Glystra

went to the head of the line, where the of ficer walked, looked sullenly

straight ahead. “What’ s your name?” asked Glystra. “Morwatz. Leg-leader Zoriander Morwatz, 1 12th at the Champs-Mars

Academy .”

“What were your orders?”

The of ficer hesitated, debating the propriety of answering the questions. He was a short man, with a full round face, protuberant black eyes. He

spoke in a slightly dif ferent dialect than did his soldiers, and carried himself

with a trace of self-importance. Apparently he was a warrior by accident of

caste rather than inclination, essentially not a bad fellow , Glystra decided. A

man like Abbigens would completely overshadow him, reduce him to

vacillation and querulousness. “What were your orders?” repeated Glystra. “W e were placed at the command of the Earthman.” He jerked his hand

back toward Abbigens. “He carried a cachet from Charley L yssider , an

instrument of great authority .”

Glystra digested the information a moment, then asked, “An order

addressed to you specifically?”

“T o the commanding of ficer of the Montmarchy garrison.”

“Hmmmm.” Where had Abbigens obtained this order , signed by the

Bajarnum of Beaujolais?

There was a pattern here which as yet he was

unable to see in the whole. Certainly the fact of V allusser ’ s guilt did not

explain all the events of the last few weeks. He asked further questions, and learned that Morwatz had been born into

the Guerdons, a caste of lesser nobility , and was foolishly proud of the

distinction. His home was the village of Pellisade, a few miles south of

Grosgarth, and he believed Earth to be the home of a mindless robot race,

obeying the sound of gongs and bells like machines. “W e’d die here in

Beaujolais, before we’d let ourselves be emasculated,” declared Morwatz

with fine fire. Here was the obverse, thought Glystra, to the stereotype in Earth minds of

the Big Planeter as a flamboyant, reckless creature, totally without restraint. Grinning he asked, “Do any of us look as if our powers of free will were

lacking?”

“Y ou’re the elite. Here in Beaujolais we have a single lord, Charley

L yssider; never such tyranny as you experience on Earth. Oh, we’ve heard

all about it, from people who know best.” He nodded his plump head

several times. Now he looked at Glystra sidelong. “Why do you smile?”

Glystra laughed. “Naisuka. The reason that is no reason at all.”

Morwatz said suspiciously , “Y ou use an extremely high-caste word. Even

I would not feel proper speaking so.”

“W ell, well,” Glystra arched his eyebrows. “Y ou are not allowed to use

certain words—but neither do you live under tyranny .”

Morwatz pursed his lips. “T o be sure the Bajarnum is a harsh man, but he

is conquering the barbarians and forcing them to live correctly .”

“And they won’ t be able to use high-caste words either .”

“Precisely .

As it should be.” And now Morwatz screwed up his courage to

ask a question of his own. “And what will you do with us?”

“If you obey orders, you’ll have the same chances we have. Frankly , I’m

counting on you and your men to protect us on our march. Once we arrive

at our destination, your life is your own.”

Morwatz said with interest, “Where do you march for?”

“Earth Enclave.”

Morwatz frowned. “I don’ t know the place. How many leagues?”

“Forty thousand miles. Thirteen thousand leagues.”

Morwatz faltered in his stride. “Y ou are mad!”

Glystra laughed. “W e have the same man to thank for our troubles.” He

jerked his thumb. “Abbigens.”

Morwatz found it dif ficult to shape his thoughts. “First there is

Nomadland and the gypsies. If they capture us, they’ll roast us alive and eat

us. They are men of a dif ferent race and they detest the Beaujolais.”

“They won’ t attack fifty men as readily as they might eight.”

Morwatz shook his head despondently .

“Last six-moon Heinzelman the

Hellhorse raided deep into Beaujolais, and paved the way with the utmost in

terror .”

Glystra looked ahead through the thinning tree-trunks, to the open slope

ahead. “There’ s Nomadland, ahead of us. What lies beyond?”

“After Nomadland?” Morwatz wrinkled his brow .

“First, the River Oust. And then the swamps, and the Ropemakers of Swamp Island. And after the

swamps—”

“What?”

“Directly east, I don’ t know .

W ild men, wild animals. Southerly is the

land known as Felissima, and Kirstendale, and the monoline to Myrtlesee

Fountain and the oracle. Past Myrtlesee is the Land of Stones, but of this I

know nothing, since Myrtlesee is far to the east.”

“How many leagues?”

“Several hundred. But it is hard to determine exactly .

From here to the

river is—five days. T o cross you must use the Edelweiss high-line to

Swamp Island, or else you must follow the River Oust south-west back

toward Beaujoiais.”

“Why can’ t we cross the river in boats?”

Morwatz made a wise face. “The griamobots.”

“And what are they?”

“Savage river beasts. Horrible creatures.”

“Hm. And after the river?

What then?

How long to cross the swamps?”

Morwatz calculated. “If you journey east, four days— if you find a good

swamp car .

If you choose to bear southerly , you may take the monoline

which leads down past the March—the Hibernian March, that is—to Kir -

stendale. Possibly six days or a week to Kirstendale. Then, if you’re able to

leave—”

“Why should we not leave Kirstendale?”

“Some do,” said Morwatz with a sly wink. “Others don’ t ...

From

Kirstendale the monoline runs west to Grosgarth, south through the

Felissima trade-towns, east to Myrtlesee Fountain.”

“How long to Myrtlesee from Kirstendale?”

“Oh—” Morwatz made a vague gesture “—two days, three days on the

monoline. A dangerous trip otherwise, due to the tribesmen down from

Eyrie.”

“And beyond Myrtlesee?”

“Desert.”

“And beyond?”

Morwatz shrugged. “Ask the Magic Fountain. If you are wealthy and pay

much metal he will tell you anything you ask.” He spoke with confidence. Glystra thought it might be well to inquire the best way to convey himself

and his comrades to Earth Enclave. Overhead the foliage thinned and the column broke out into the blinding

Big Planet sunlight. The slope fell away ahead, a vast windy moor , rolling

slightly concave before them. No human habitation or artifact was in sight,

but far to the north a dense pillar of smoke bent eastward in the wind. Glystra halted the column, regrouped the soldiers, arranging them in a

square around the pack-beasts— zipangotes, so Morwatz called them. The

beast carrying the darts was guarded by Corbus riding in a litter directly

behind. He carried a catapult and dart in his hand, with the heat gun tucked

inside his shirt secure from any swift clutch. Abbigens walked at the right

forward corner , Morwatz at the left rear .

Flanking as guards to left and right

were Pianza and Cloyville with ion-shines; behind came Bishop and Ketch. T wo hours before noon they set forth across the moor , and as they

marched the tremendous slope behind them began to lose its bulk. The

upper reaches became murked in the haze, the forest became a dark band. The slope was levelling out into the River Oust pene-plain. A mutter from the soldiers reached his ears. They were faltering in their

step, the whites showed in their eyes. There was a general nervous motion

along the column, a jerking of arms, a tossing of the grotesque black felt

hats. Following their gaze Glystra saw along the horizon a dozen tall hump-

backed zipangotes, approaching at a careless pace. “Who are they?

Gypsies?”

Morwatz scanned the column, his face set in rigid lines. “They’re gypsies,

but not the Cossacks. These are high-caste warriors, possibly even

Politburos. Only Politburos ride zipangoes. W e can fight of f Cossacks, they

have little spirit, no discipline, no method, no mind. Only hunger .

As soon

as there are a few bodies, no matter whose, they are content. But the

Politburos ...” His voice faltered, he shook his head. Glystra prompted him. “What are the Politburos?”

“They are the great warriors, the leaders. When they appear the gypsies

fight like devils. The Cossacks alone are mere robbers. When a Politburo

leads them— demons!”

Glystra looked at Bishop. “Know much about these gypsies, Bish?”

“There’ s a short chapter in V endome’ s Big Planet Lore on the gypsies, but

the emphasis is on their racial background rather than their culture. The

stock was originally a tribe of Kir ghiz herdsmen from Earth. T urkestan, I

believe. When Cloud Control increased trans-Caucasian rainfall, they

moved out to Big Planet, where steppes presumably would remain steppes. They shipped out third-class, and in the same hold were a tribe of old-

fashioned gypsies and a brotherhood of Polynesians. On the trip out the

gypsy leader , one Panvilsap, killed the Kir ghiz head-man, married the

Polynesian matriarch, and when they were dischar ged on Big Planet,

controlled the entire group. The ensuing culture was mingled Kir ghiz,

Polynesian and Romany , and dominated by the personality of Panvilsap—

an enormous man, a killer , a butcher , as ruthless as he was single-minded.”

The column was now less than a mile distant, approaching without haste. Glystra turned to Morwatz. “How do these people live?”

“They herd zipangotes, hare-hounds, pechavies, milk-rats. They gather

fungus from the cycads in Depression. Spring and autumn they raid into

Beaujolais and Kerka-ten to the north, Ramspur to the south. The Oust cuts

them of f from Felissima and the Rebbirs of Eyrie. Ah,” sighed Morwatz,

“what a grateful war that would be, between the Rebbirs and the gypsies.”

“T ypical nomadic society ,” inserted Bishop. “Not a great deal dif ferent

from the ancient Scythians.”

Morwatz said fretfully , “Why are you so interested in the mannerisms of

the race?

T onight, they intend to eat us ...”

7. Heinzelman the Hell-horse

The sun was at zenith, and the coiled gray-green vegetation of the steppe

gave of f a smoky aroma. As the column approached, it was gradually joined

by groups of Cossacks, who fell in behind the slow-jogging zipangotes. Glystra asked Morwatz, “Is this their usual method of attack?”

Morwatz yanked at his black headgear .

“They observe no usual methods.”

Glystra said, “Order your men to take five darts apiece from the pack and

stand ready for action.”

Morwatz seemed to fill out, expand. His chest and shoulders became

rigid, his face tightened. He strode down the front of the square, barking

orders. The Beaujolains straightened, formed harder ranks. In groups of

five, they passed beside the pack animal which carried the darts, marched

back into ranks. Bishop said dubiously , “Aren’ t you afraid that—” he paused. “I’m afraid to act afraid,” said Glystra. “They’d be of f like jack-rabbits

toward the forest. It’ s a matter of morale. W e’ve got to act as if these

gypsies were dirt under our feet.”

“I guess you’re right—in theory .”

The mounted column halted a hundred yards across the moor , just out of

catapult range. The beasts were heavier than those in the pack train—sleek,

seal-brown, soft-padded creatures, with ridged convex backs, long heavy

necks. They were decked in trappings of shaggy leather painted with crude

designs, and each wore a white rhinoceros-like horn strapped to its snout. A tall burly man sat on the first of the zipangotes. He wore blue satin

trousers, a short black cloak, a peaked leather cap with cusped ear -pieces

protruding at either side. A three-inch brass ring hung from each ear , and on

each side of his chest he wore a medal of polished iron. He had a round

muscular heavy-lidded face; his skin was maroon as if char ged with a

special strong blood. Glystra heard Morwatz mutter , “Heinzelman the Hell-horse!” And his

voice was as flat as if he were reading the hour of his own death. Glystra re-examined the man, noted his complete ease, an indif ferent

confidence more striking than any arrogance. Behind rode a dozen others

similarly garbed, and still further behind skulked a hundred men and

woman in be-ribboned and be-tasselled breeches of dull red, green or blue,

heavy fustian blouses, leather skull-caps, some of which were crested by

complicated white objects. Glystra turned to check the formation of the Beaujolains—thwinggg!

something sang past his throat like a hornet. He recoiled, ducked, looked

full in the flat face of Abbigens, lowering his catapult with a curiously

black expression. “Morwatz,” said Glystra, “take the catapult from Abbigens, tie his wrists

together , hobble him.”

Morwatz hesitated a fraction of an instant, then turned, spoke to a pair of

soldiers. There was a scuf fle which Glystra ignored—for now Heinzelman the

Hell-horse and his Politburos had dismounted and were approaching. Heinzelman halted a few paces distant, half-smiling, toying with his quirt. “What is your thought encroaching on the land of the gypsies?” His voice

was soft and fluent. “W e’re heading for Kirstendale, past the swamps,” said Glystra. “The

route crosses Nomadland.”

Heinzelman drew back his lips, displaying teeth marvellously inlaid with

minute bits of colored stone. “Y ou risk your flesh, entering this land of

hungry men.”

“The risk is to the hungry men.”

“From the soldiers?” Heinzelman made a contemptuous gesture. “I will

kill each and drink his blood.”

Glystra heard a whimper , a cry .

“Claude—Claude—”

Hot blood pulsed in his brain. He stood swaying, then became conscious

of Heinzelman’ s amused scrutiny .

“Who calls my name?”

Heinzelman looked negligently over his shoulder .

“A woman of the

slopes we found by the forest this morning. She will be spitted at this

evening’ s camp.”

Glystra said, “Bring her forth, I will buy her from you.”

Heinzelman said lazily , “Then you have wealth?

This is a fortunate day

for the gypsies.”

Glystra tried to hold his voice steady .

“Bring forth this woman or I’ll send

a man to take her .”

“A man?

One man?” Heinzelman’ s eyes narrowed. “What race of man are

you?

Not Beaujolain, and you are too dark for a Maquir ...”

Glystra casually brought forth his ion-shine. “I am an electrician.” And

grinned at his own joke. Heinzelman rubbed his heavy chin. “In what parts live they?”

“It’ s not a race; it’ s an occupation.”

“Ah!

There are none such among us; we pursue our own business. W e are

warriors, killers, eaters. And if I gave you the woman, tonight we should go

hungry .”

Glystra came to a grim decision. He turned his head. “Bring out

Abbigens.” T o Heinzelman: “Electricians carry death in their every

gesture.”

Abbigens had been thrust forward, and stood still as a pillar , his pale

mouth sagging. Glystra said, “If killing you did not serve a practical purpose, I’d probably

march you all the way to Earth Enclave for de-aberration.” He raised the

ion-shine. Abbigens’ face was like risen dough. He began to laugh wildly .

“What a joke!

What a joke on you, Glystra!” The violet ray snapped out,

power crackled down the conductive channel. Abbigens was dead. Heinzelman appeared faintly bored. “Give me the woman,” said Glystra, “or I’ll bring this same death to you. I give you the corpse in her place.” He used the push-button rasp of

authority .

“Quick!”

Heinzelman looked up in faint surprise, hesitated, then made a motion to

his men. “Let him have her .”

Nancy came limping forward, fell shaking and sobbing at Glystra’ s knees. He ignored her .

“T ake your meat,” he said to Heinzelman. “Go your way

and we go ours.”

Heinzelman had regained whatever composure he had lost. “I’ve seen

those electrical clubs before. The Bajarnum of Beaujolais brings them down

from the sky .

But they kill no more certainly than our lances. Especially in

the dark, when lances come from many directions and the club points in

only one.”

Glystra turned to Morwatz. “Give the command to march.”

Morwatz stood back, jerked his arm up and down. “Forward!”

Heinzelman nodded, half-smiling. “Perhaps we shall meet again.”

The Great Slope was a shadow behind the western haze; the steppe spread

as wide as an ocean, carpeted with blue-green bracken except where black-

green furze filled the deeper hollows. And behind were the gypsies, a dark

clot like flies on stale meat, the Cossacks squatting around the heavier mass

of the Politburos on their zipangotes. In late afternoon a dark shadow appeared in the distance. “Looks like

trees, probably an artesian pond,” said Cloyville. Glystra looked around the horizon. “It seems to be the only shelter in

sight. W e’d better camp for the night.” He looked uneasily toward the dark

specks in the rear .

“I’m afraid we’re in for more trouble.”

The shadow took on substance, became a copse of a dozen trees. Underneath was a carpet of blue-white moss and lush herbage. A dozen

gypsy women scuttled from the shadows, hulking creatures in dirty black

robes, to disappear over the lip of a nearby swale. A moment later a flock of

fragile white creatures rose up on translucent wings and wheeled down-

wind. At the center of the copse was a small pond bordered by fat rust-colored

reeds. A scattering of transparent bubbles, like jellyfish, lay in the mud of

the rim. Glystra looked in suspicion at the water , which seemed brackish,

but the Beaujolains drank it with relish. Beside the pond was a tall rick full

of branches loaded with acorn-like fruit; beside the rick were tubs full of

rank beer and a crude still. The Beaujolains advanced eagerly to investigate the still. Morwatz ran

shouting to stop them; reluctantly they turned back. Glystra took a small cup from one of the packs, gave it to Morwatz. “Serve a measure to each of your men.”

There was a whoop of approval and a keg was broached. Glystra said to

Pianza, “If we could serve them grog every night we’d never need to guard

them.”

Pianza shook his head. “Just children. V ery little emotional control. I hope

they don’ t become boisterous.”

“Liquor or not, we can’ t relax. Y ou and Cloyville take the first four hours,

Bishop, Ketch and I will take the next four .

Keep a sharp eye on the beast

with the darts.” He went to change the bandage on Corbus’ neck but found

Nancy there before him. The Beaujolains, singing now , built a fire, and heaping on quantities of

the branches from the rick, breathed in the aromatic smoke. Pianza called to

Glystra in a worried voice. “They’re fighting drunk. I hope they don’ t get

any worse.”

Glystra watched in growing apprehension. The Beaujolains were pushing

and shouting, trying to shoulder into the densest clouds of smoke, where

they stood with faces wreathed in foolish smiles. When they themselves had

been pushed aside, immediately they raised angry outcries, cursed, pushed

and elbowed a way back into the smoke. “Must be a narcotic,” said Glystra. “Big Planet marijuana. Got to put a

stop to it.” He stepped forward. “Morwatz!”

Morwatz, red-eyed and flushed from his own indulgence in the smoke,

turned a reluctant face to the call. “Get your men fed and bedded down;

enough of the smoke breathing.”

Morwatz made a slurred acquiescence, and turning on his men, after a

volley of curses, succeeded in bringing order to the camp. A tureen of

porridge was prepared— wheat flavored with handfuls of dry meat and

fungus. Glystra went to squat beside Morwatz, where he ate a little apart from his

troops. “What is that stuf f?” He gestured toward the rick. Morwatz looked a little sheepish. “It’ s called zygage— a very potent

drug, very valuable.” He puf fed himself up. “Generally only the lowest

castes inhale smoke—very vulgar , the crudest sensations—”

“How do you usually take it then?”

Morwatz breathed heavily .

“Normally I do not take it at all. Far too

expensive for a warrior .

The Mercantils occasionally brew a potion, but its

use leads to debility , so I am told. The soldiers will sleep well tonight, so

you will observe. Zygage saps much vitality; smoke, potion or nose-salve,

the user pays very dearly for his pleasure ...

But look you there, what

manner of drug does your man take?”

Glystra turned his head. Bishop was swallowing his customary handful of

vitamins. Glystra grinned. “That’ s a dif ferent kind of drug. It has little ef fect—

makes Bishop think he’ s healthy .

He’d never know the dif ference if

someone fed him chalk.”

Morwatz was puzzled. “Another strange and useless Earth custom.”

Glystra rejoined his companions. Nancy had served Corbus, then went to

sit by herself among the zipangotes, as inconspicuous as possible. Glystra

had not spoken to her since she had run to his feet from behind the

Politburos. From the fire came a sudden tumult of hoarse quarrelling. A soldier had

quietly cast a new armful of the zygage branches on the flames, and

Morwatz had come forward expostulating. The soldier , stumbling and red-

eyed, cursed him back. Glystra sighed. “Now it’ s discipline. W ell—” he rose to his feet “—I

suppose we’ve got to make an example.”

Morwatz was pulling the smoking branches from the blaze; the soldier

lurched up, kicked him. Morwatz fell face down into the coals. Cloyville ran forward to pull at the screaming Morwatz; three soldiers

leapt on his back, pulled him down. Pianza aimed the ion-shine, but held his

fire for fear of shocking Cloyville. Beaujolains came at him from all

directions. He aimed, fired: Snap—snap—snap. Three soldiers fell flat,

shrivelled flesh. The others swarmed over him. The clearing was suddenly alive with wild-eyed men, screaming and

savage. One sprang at Ketch, toppled him. Glystra killed him with his ion-

shine, then felt viciously strong arms seize him from behind, hurl him to the

ground. The Earthmen lay weaponless, arms lashed behind their backs. Nearby Morwatz lay moaning from deep in his throat. The soldier who

had first kicked him came forward, a tall man with concave cheeks, a

pocked forehead, a split nose. He looked down, and Morwatz regarded him

with glazing eyes and moans gradually ascending in pitch. The soldier

deliberately drew his sword, punctured Morwatz’ neck— once, twice, three

times, as if he were prodding a rock. Morwatz, gur gled, died. He turned,

came to look at his captives, tapped Glystra’ s chin with the reeking sword. He laughed. “Y our death will not be at my hands. It’ s back to Grosgarth for

you, and there’ll be a reward to set us up as noblemen ...

Let Charley

L yssider have his will with you....”

“The gypsies!” said Glystra in a choked voice. ”They’ll kill us all!“

“Pah. Dirty animals!” He swung his sword in a wild flourish. “W e’ll kill

them as they come!” He gave a great exultant roar , a wordless drug-addled

cry of pure abandon. Leaping to the rick, he threw armful after armful of

branches into the blaze. The smoke poured forth, the Beaujolains inhaled it

in tremendous racking gulps. Breaking free to gasp for air , they fell to their

hands and knees, crawled back to suck up new lungfuls. Glystra tugged at his bonds, but they had been well-tied, cinched up with

no fegard for circulation. He craned his neck. Where was Nancy?

Nowhere

in sight. Had she escaped?

Where could she escape to?

Glystra ground his

teeth. The gypsies would take her and there would be no succor this time ...

Unless she could slip back to the forest during the night. She had clearly

fled. The copse was too small to conceal her , and she was nowhere within

the range of vision. T wilight was drifting down from the Great Slope—a

warm achingly beautiful time of luminous violet air with velvety black and

gray shadows below ...

There was a distant sound that he found himself

listening to, a far chanting from the steppe, a stave of four notes on a minor

scale, punctuated by a rumbling bellow as of a brass horn. The breeze shifted. Smoke from the smouldering zygage drifted through

the rapt soldiers to float across the bound Earthmen. T wist, turn as they

might, avoiding the smoke was impossible. Pungent and sweet, it

blossomed up through their nostrils directly into their brains. For a moment

they felt nothing; then as one man they lay back, succumbing to the

irresistible power of the drug. The first sensation was double, triple vitality , a thousandfold

perceptiveness that saw , heard, felt, smelt with minuscule and catholic

exactness. Each leaf on the tree became an identity , each pulse a singular

and unique experience. Flitting swarms of pleasant experiences crowded

into the mind: triumphs of love, zest of skiing, sailing, space-boating,

diving; the joy of colors, the freedom of clouds. At the same time another

part of the mind was furiously active; problems beame simplicities;

hardships—such as the bonds and the prospect of death at the hands of

Charley L ysidder—were details hardly worth attention. And of f in the

distance the chanting waxed louder .

Glystra heard it; surely the Beaujolains

must hear it likewise ...

But if they heard it they heeded it not at all. The breeze shifted again; the smoke drifted away .

Glystra felt an instant

resentment; he fought his bonds, looked enviously to the Beaujolains

standing quiet, quivering slightly in the rapturous smoke. The chanting was loud, close at hand. The Beaujolains at last heeded. They stumbled away from the fire, black hats askew , eyes bulging,

bloodshot, faces distended, mouths gaping and gasping for air .

The leader raised his head like a wolf, screamed. The cry pleased the Beaujolains. Each one threw back his head and

echoed it. Scream after scream of furious challenge rang out toward the

gypsies. Now laughing, crying, they loaded themselves with darts, ran out

of the copse toward the gypsy horde. The leader called out; the soldiers, without halting, ordered themselves

into a loose formation, and shrilling the eager challenge, char ged into the

after glow .

The copse was quiet. Glystra rolled to his knees, struggled to his feet,

looked around for means to loosen his bonds. Pianza called in a husky

voice, “Stand still; I’ll see if I can pull the ropes loose.” He rose to his own

knees, raised to his feet. He backed against Glystra’ s hand, fumbled with

the thongs. He gasped in frustration. “My fingers are numb ...

I can’ t move my hands...”

The Beaujolains had crossed the twilight; now the gypsy chanting came to

a halt, and only the deep bellow of the horn sounded. Detail was blurred in

the evening; Glystra could see men falling, then a convulsive Beaujolain

char ge which plunged into the gypsies like a knife. The battle was lost in the dusk. 8. A Matter of V itamins

Glystra tried to break loose the knots on Pianza’ s wrists, without success. His fingers were like sausages, without sensation. He was suddenly weak,

lax; his brain felt inert. The aftermath of the drug. The lid to the gypsy still quivered, raised. Dripping, sodden, Nancy

looked out—wide-eyed, white-faced. “Nancy!” cried Glystra. “Come here, quick!”

She looked at him as if dazed, moved uncertainly forward, paused, looked

out across the steppe toward the melee. The Beaujolain ululations rose shrill, keen, triumphant. “Nancy!” cried Glystra. “Cut us loose—before they come back and kill

us!”

Nancy looked at him with a strange contemplative expression, as if lost in

thought. Glystra felt hopelessly silent. The drugged smoke or the fumes of

the still had dulled her reason,

A throbbing chorus of bellows, deep-voiced, rich, rang like bells across

the air .

There was an intermittent thudding sound, and the Beaujolain

yelling choked of f, ceased. A voice rose above all others: Heinzelman the

Hell-horse. “I kill, I eat your lives!...

I kill, kill, kill....”

“Nancy!” cried Glystra. “Come here?

Untie us!

They’ll be here any

minute. Don’ t you want to live?”

She sprang forward, took a knife from her sash, cut, cut, cut. Earthmen

stood about, rubbing their wrists, grimacing at the pain of restored

circulation, torpid with zygage hangover .

Glystra muttered, “At least we need worry no further about guarding the

Beaujolains ...

A load of f our minds....”

“The gypsies will eat well tonight,” said Bishop. Alone in the group he

appeared alert. Indeed, he was more than alert; he evidently retained the

mental edge and physical tone which the others had felt under influence of

the zygage. Glystra wonderingly watched him prance up and down, like a

boxer loosening his muscles. His own frame felt like a sack of damp rags. Ketch bent with the ef fort of an old man, picked up a shining piece of

metal. “Somebody’ s ion-shine.”

Glystra searched the clearing, found his own weapon where it had been

carelessly flung. “Here’ s mine ...

They were too steamed up to care about

anything.” The breeze brought a wisp of smoke into his face; new fingers of

delight searched into his brain. “Whew!

That stuf f is powerful....”

Bishop had flung himself to the turf and was doing pushups. Feeling the

stares of the others he jumped to his feet. “I just feel good,” he said,

grinning sheepishly .

“That smoke did me good.”

There was silence from the steppes. Overhead in the pale blue-black sky ,

stars flickered. The gypsy war -chant rose up, loud, close at hand. Something whickered

overhead, slashing through the leaves. “Down!” hissed Glystra. “Arrows ...

Move away from the fire.”

Loud came the chant: four notes on a querulous quavering scale, sung

with syllables that carried no meaning. Loud came Heinzelman’ s voice. “Come forth, you strange men, you

miserable intruders, come forth. Come crouch at my feet while I kill you,

while I drink your blood; come forth ...

I am Heinzelman the Hell-horse,

Heinzelman the life-eater , I eat your life, I am the It, the Pain-maker ,

Heinzelman....”

They saw his shape silhouetted, and behind him were a string of

zipangotes. Glystra sighted along his ion-shine, then hesitated. It was like

felling an ancient tree. He called, “Y ou’d do better leaving us alone,

Heinzelman.”

“Bah!” A sound of immeasurable disdain. “Y ou dare not face me higher

than your knees. Now I come to kill you; put down your electrical tricks,

bow your neck, I come to kill.”

Glystra numbly started to lay down the ion-shine, then blinked, fought of f

the man’ s magnetism. He pushed the button. Purple sparks flashed at

Heinzelman, buried into his chest, absorbed, defeated. “He’ s grounded!”

thought Glystra in sudden panic. Heinzelman loomed on the after glow , a heroic figure, lar ger than life ...

Bishop ran forward, closed with him. Heinzelman bellowed, a ringing bull-

sound. He bent, Bishop twisted, rose up beneath. Heinzelman performed a

majestic cartwheel, struck earth with a ponderous jar .

Bishop sat casually on

him, made play with his hands a moment, then stood up. Glystra

approached, still numb. “What did you do?”

“T ried out a few judo tricks,” said Bishop modestly .

“I had an idea the

fellow won his battles with his voice, his hypnotic suggestion. Sure enough

he was soft; no muscle around his major chord. I killed him dead as a

mackerel, one tap in the right place.”

“I never knew you were a judo expert.”

“I’m not ...

I read a book on the subject a few years back, and it came to

me all at once—my word, all those zipangotes!”

“They must have belonged to the other Politburos, that the Beaujolains

killed. They’re ours now .”

“Where are the other gypsies?”

Glystra listened. There was not a sound to be heard across the steppes. A

far bray of the horn?

He could not be sure. “They’ve gone. Melted away .”

They returned to the copse leading the zipangotes. Glystra said, “W e’d

better get going.”

Cloyville stared. “Now?”

“Now!” Glystra snapped. He was taut with weariness. “Three Beaujolain

soldiers got away last night. They’ll take the news to Montmarchy .

A new

column will be sent out. They’ll be mounted on zipangotes, they’ll carry

metal weapons. W e can’ t take chances. I don’ t like it any more than you do

but—” he pointed to the zipangotes “—at least we can ride.”

Morning, midday , afternoon—the Earthmen slumped on the curved backs

of the zipangotes, half-dazed with fatigue. The gait was a smooth rocking

pitch, not conducive to sleep. Evening came with a slow dimming of the

sky .

A fire was built in a hollow , a pot of wheat porridge boiled and eaten,

two-hour sentry watches set, and the column bedded down. Glystra was too tired to fall asleep. He twisted and turned. He thought of

Nancy , raised to his elbow .

Her eyes were on him. Sweating, he sank back

into the couch. It would be hard indulging what he felt to be a mutual

passion without making themselves ridiculous. It would also be

inconsiderate ...

Sighing, Glystra slumped back into his blankets. The next morning Glystra opened his eyes to observe Bishop running

lightly back and forth along the side of the slope. Glystra rubbed his eyes,

yawned, hauled himself to his feet. Feeling dull and liverish he called

irritably to Bishop, “What in the world’ s come over you?

I never knew you

to go in for early morning exercise before.”

A flush mounted Bishop’ s long homely face. “I can’ t understand it

myself. I just feel good. I’ve never felt so well in my life. Perhaps my

vitamins are taking hold.”

“They never took hold before we got all doped up with that zygage. Then

they took hold like ice-tongs, and you ran out and played hell with

Heinzelman.”

“I can’ t understand it,” said Bishop, now half-worried. “Do you think that

drug has permanently af fected me?”

Glystra rubbed his chin. “If it has it seems to be a good thing—but why

did it give the rest of us hangovers?

W e all ate the same, drank the same ...

Except—” he eyed Bishop speculatively .

“I wish we had more of those

branches; I’d make some experiments.”

“What kind of experiments?”

“It occurred to me that you’d crammed yourself with vitamins—just

before the smoke hit us.”

“W ell, yes. That’ s true. So I did. I wonder if possibly there’ s a connection...

Interesting thought ...”

“If I ever lay my hands on any more of that zygage,” muttered Glystra,

watching Bishop absent-mindedly flexing his arms. “I’ll find out for sure.”

Four days of steady travel passed, from dawn till sunset. They saw no

human being until on the afternoon of the fourth day they came upon a pair

of young gypsy girls, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, tending a

score of sluggish animals, yellow-furred, the size of sheep— pechavies. They wore tattered gray smocks and their feet were tied in rags. The

freshness of youth was still theirs, and they had a wild prettiness in no way

diminished by their complete fearlessness when they found that the men of

the column were not gypsies. They deserted their animals and ran forward. “Are you slavers,” asked the

first happily .

“W e wish to be slaves.”

“Sorry ,” said Glystra dryly .

“W e’re just travellers. Why are you so

anxious?”

The girls giggled, eyeing Glystra as if his question were obtuse. “Slaves

are fed often and eat from dishes. Slaves may step under a roof when the

rain comes, and I’ve heard it said that slaves are eaten only if no other food

is available ...

W e are to be eaten this winter , unless the pechavies fatten

past expectation.”

Glystra looked at them irresolutely .

If he set about righting the wrongs of

everyone they meet, they would never arrive at Earth Enclave. On the other

hand—a stealthy thought—if the other men in the column were provided

with women, it would be possible for him to advance his own desires. Of

course, camp-followers would slow up the column. There would be added

supply problems, emotional flare-ups ...

He looked over his shoulder .

Corbus caught his eyes as if divining his thoughts. “I could use a good slave” he said easily .

“Y ou—what’ s your name?”

“I’m Motta. She’ s W ailie.”

Glystra said weakly , “Anyone else?”

Pianza shook his head. “I’m much too old. T oo old.”

Cloyville snorted, turned away .

This was embarrassing thought Glystra. Here is where he should display

firmness, leadership ...

He passed over Ketch, who gloried in his

misogyny , and would suf fer the pangs of Saint Anthony before yielding so

eaily .

Bishop said tentatively , “I’ll take her .”

Glystra felt quick relief, vindication of a sort. And the problems of the

future could be met as they arose. Now was the present, now was the time

containing that sweet union of carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, spirit, will and

imagination named Nancy .

He met her eyes, as if there had been a signal. She colored faintly , gave an enigmatic jerk of the shoulder , looked away .

Three more days of riding the steppe, each exactly alike. On the fourth

day the land changed. The bracken grew taller and harder to ride through,

almost like Earthly manzanita. There were occasional flamboyant shrubs

six feet tall, with leaves like peacock fans. Ahead appeared a low black

blur , which the gypsy girls identified as the bank of the River Oust. At noon they came upon a fetish post driven into the earth—a round

timber eight feet tall, topped by a spherical gourd painted to represent a

face. The gypsy girls made a wide circuit of the post. W ailie said in a hushed

voice, “The Magickers of Edelweiss put that there, and only just now , to

warn us away from the river .”

Bishop patiently pointed out that in all the range of vision there was no

living creature but themselves. “Only just now ,” declared W ailie stubbornly .

“See the moist dirt.”

“Does look fresh,” Bishop admitted dubiously .

“If you touch the post, you will blacken and die,” cried Motta. Glystra, reflecting that many folk-beliefs were based on fact, searched the

steppe in all directions ...

There!

A flicker of white?

Whatever it was, it

disappeared over a distant swale. In the middle afternoon they came upon Edelweiss, a stockaded fort, with

three story blockhouses at each corner .

Motta explained. “Sometimes the South Cossacks raid the Magickers. They are not allowed at the Rummage Sale, because the sight of naked

knees drives them mad and they run killing-crazy .

But they love the gray

powder salt which comes up the river from Gammerei and the Magickers

have it in stock, and that is why Edelweiss is girt up with such care.”

The town was illumined full-face by the afternoon sun, and across the

clear distance appeared as a toy , a miniature, colored dark and light brown,

with black windows, light green and black roofs. From the center of town

rose a tall pole, with a cupola at the top, like the crow’ s-nest of a ship. Motta explained the purpose of the pole. “The high-wire to Swamp Island

is made fast at the top of the pole. And then the Magickers always watch

the distance; they read the clouds as signs, and the wise hags among them

see the future.”

“By watching clouds?”

“So it is said. But we know little, being females and raised for use.”

They continued to the river , and with the afternoon sun at their backs

stood looking over the tremendous Oust. It flowed from the far north,

appearing into sight out of the hazy distance, and proceeded into the equally

distant south, curving back toward the west. Cat’ s-paws vibrated the

surface, and at intervals came a roiling-up from below , as if a monster fin

had set the water into turbulent motion. The other shore, two or three miles

distant, was low and flat, and over grown with a dense forest of tall poles

two hundred feet tall. These were silvery-green and stood like stripped and

dead tree-trunks or gigantic asparagus shoots. A few blots of color showed

at their base— vermilion, blue, yellow—too far distant to be resolved into

detail. A long island over grown with feathery foliage split the center of the

river like a wedge. “Look!” Cloyville cried hoarsely—unnecessarily , for every eye was

straining fascinated. Floating from behind the island came a black monster .

Its body was round and sleek, its head was like a frog, split by a vast mouth. The head darted forward as they watched, chewed and champed at

something in the water , then lowered lazily , lay flat. The creature circled,

drifted out of sight behind the island. Cloyville released his breath. “Whew!

That’ s a devilish thing to have for a

neighbor .”

Pianza searched the face of the river with concern. “I wonder that anyone

dares to cross....”

Corbus pointed. “They use the high-line.”

It was a thin gray-white cable, swooping from the pole in the village to

one of the spines of the forest on the opposite shore. The low point at the

center was only fifty feet above the surface of the river .

Glystra snorted in disgust. “They’ve got the river -crossing sewed up, and

so ...

I suppose we’d better apply for transportation.”

“That’ s how the Magickers acquire their wealth,” said Motta. Cloyville muttered, “They’ll probably make us pay through the nose....”

Glystra rubbed his short black thatch. “It’ s a case of take it or leave it. W e’ve got to take it if it breaks us.” He looked back across the steppe. “I

don’ t see the Beaujo-lain’ s flying squad. No doubt it’ s there ...

Once we

get past the river we can breathe easier ....”

They set out along the lip of the bluf f toward the village. Above them towered the walls of Edelweiss, two foot timbers, peeled, set

into the ground like piles, lashed at the top with coarse fiber and evidently

fastened elsewhere with dowels or tree-nails. The wood appeared punky

and soft. Glystra thought that anyone determined on entry could easily chop

his way in with a hatchet. They stopped by the gate, which opened at the rear of a rectangular

alcove, well buttressed with extra courses of timber .

The gate was open,

revealing a short passage walled on either side and cut of f at the far end by

another wall. “Strange,” said Glystra. “No guards, no gate-keeper ...

In fact—there’ s no

one.”

“They’re afraid,” said W ailie. She raised her strident young voice. “Magickers!

Come out and lead us to the high-line!”

There was no overt response. A stealthy rustle sounded behind the walls. “Come out,” yelled Motta, “or we’ll burn the walls!”

“My God!” muttered Pianza. Bishop wore an agonized expression. W ailie sought to outdo her companion. “Come out and give us welcome

—or it’ s the sword for all within!”

Bishop clapped his hand over her mouth. “Are you crazy?”

Motta shrieked, “W e’ll kill the Magickers and burn the Hags, and slide

the town into the river!”

There was no motion in the passageway .

Three old men, bald, feeble,

came forward. Their bare feet were blue-veined and bony , they wore only

ragged G-strings, the ribs showed like corrugations down their milk-colored

bodies. “Who are you?” quavered the first. “Go your ways, disturb us not; we

have nothing of value.”

“W e want to cross the river ,” said Glystra. “T ake us across on the high-

line and we won’ t disturb you any further .”

The old men engaged in a wheezing colloquy , watching Glystra

suspiciously as they whispered. Then: “It is too late in the year .

Y ou must

wait.”

“W ait!” demanded Glystra indignantly .

“Out here?”

The eyes of the old men faltered, fell. A muf fled voice came from behind

the wall. The spokesman cocked his head, listened, then said in a plaintive

voice, “W e are the quiet Magickers, innocent sorcerers and trades-people. Y ou are men of the Savage Lands, and doubtless you come to loot our

valuables.”

“The eight of us?

Nonsense. W e want to cross the river .”

There were further instructions from within the wall. The old man said in

a quavering voice. “It is impossible.”

Glystra lowered his head ominously .

“Why?”

“It is forbidden.” The old men withdrew .

The gate slammed. Glystra chewed his lip in frustration. “Why in the devil—”

Corbus pointed to the tower .

“There’ s a heliograph up there. It’ s been

shooting signals west. My guess is that they’ve had orders from the

Beaujolains.”

Glystra grunted. “In that case, it’ s more ur gent than ever to get across. Here we’re trapped.”

Cloyville advanced to the bank, peered over .

“No boats in sight.”

“Not even materials to make a raft,” said Pianza. “A raft wouldn’ t help us,” Cloyville pointed out. “There’ s no way to

propel it, no sails, no sweeps.”

Glystra looked up at the walls of Edelweiss. Corbus grinned. “Are you

thinking the thoughts I’m thinking?”

“I’m thinking that a piece of that wall—the section running parallel to the

river , right there, would make a fine raft.”

“But how would we cross the river?” demanded Cloyville. “There’ s a

good current out there; we’d be swept all the way down to Marwan Gulf.”

“There’ s a way staring you in the face.” Glystra made a lasso out of a

length of pack-rope. “I’m going to climb the wall; you cover me from

below .”

He tossed the loop around a timber , hauled himself up, cautiously peered

over the top, scrambled over .

He looked down. “There’ s no one up here. It’ s a kind of roof. One of you

come up—Corbus.”

Corbus joined him. Behind were blank walls and shielded windows, all

silent. Glystra looked skeptically at the windows. “I suppose they’re

watching, but afraid to show themselves.”

9. The Griamobot

There was a sound behind them; Ketch hauled himself over the wall. “Thought I’d see what the place looked like.” He looked over the flat roofs. “Pretty dingy .”

“Notice the wall,” said Glystra. “It’ s lashed along the top with rope,

secured along the middle by dowels. If we cut the rope, break the dowels—

there, there, there—” he pointed up a vertical crack where the dowels

showed through— “and if a man were to shove at each corner , I think we

could drop the wall right over into the river .”

“How about those sea-serpents—the griamobots?” Ketch asked. “They’re an unknown quantity .

W e’ll have to take a chance.”

“They might come up under the raft.”

Glystra nodded. “It’ s a chance. W ould you rather stay here?”

“No.”

Corbus stretched out his long arms. “Let’ s get busy .”

Glystra looked at the sky .

“An hour of light. Enough to get us across, if

things go well. Ketch, you go back down, take the whole party , zipangotes

and all, down to the beach under the bluf f. Naturally , keep clear when

things start coming. W e’ll send the wall down; if it lands in the river , make

it fast to the shore, so it won’ t float away .”

Ketch swung himself back down to the ground. Glystra turned back to the wall. “W e’ve got to get this over before they

figure out what we’re up to.” He looked over the side. T wenty feet below

was the edge of the bluf f, then another fifty feet, almost straight down, to

the beach. “There won’ t be any toe-hold to the wall. It should go over almost of its

own weight.”

“Fifty feet of it ought to be enough,” said Corbus. “The wood is light

stuf f.”

“It’ s not how much we need, it’ s how much we can get. I don’ t think

they’ll stand still when we get to work.”

Along the beach below they saw the string of zipan-gotes, with Ketch,

Pianza, Bishop, Cloyville and the three girls. Glystra nodded to Corbus, drew his knife, slashed at the fiber rope

binding the top of the wall. A sudden outraged screeching came from

behind. Apparently from nowhere appeared four old women, white

creatures with straggling pink-gray hair , howling and gesticulating. A

number of Magicker men, lean, white-skinned, daubed around their

shoulders with green paint, appeared behind them. The coarse rope parted. “Now ,” said Glystra. He aimed his ion-shine,

squeezed the button. Once—twice—three times. Three holes down the

vertical crack took the place of the pegs. Setting their shoulders to the top of

the posts, they pushed out. The wall leaned, creaked, moved no further .

“Below ,” panted Glystra. “There’ s more lashings halfway down.” He

crouched, peered into the dimness under the roof. “W e’ll have to shoot

blind ...

Y ou break your side, I’ll do mine.”

T wo shafts of pale purple light, crackling power .

A tongue of fire licked

up the punky side of the timbers, died in a charred smoulder .

The wall sagged, creaked. “Now ,” panted Glystra, “before they get their

army up here ...

Don’ t go over with it!”

The wall lurched, swept grandly out, fell, landed top-down on the beach,

stood a second, sagged outward, slapped into the river with a smash of

foam. Glystra caught a glimpse of Ketch scrambling out with a bit of line, then

turned to meet the onrush of a line of the Magickers—gaunt men, naked

except for the G-string at their loins. They chattered furiously , but danced

back like nervous prize-fighters when they met his eye. The women screeched, bawled, bellowed, wailed, but the men only made

tentative movements forward. Glystra threw a glance down to the river .

The

wall—now a raft— floated free, pulling at the rope Ketch had made fast. Cloyville and Pianza stood on the shore looking up. Glystra yelled down,

“Lead the animals aboard, tie them in the middle.”

Bishop called up something Glystra did not catch; he had been distracted

by the scene in the room immediately below the roof where he stood, a

room now open to the air where the wall had fallen away .

Glystra’ s throat

contracted, his stomach twitched ...

T wenty children hung by their hair two

feet of f the ground. Stone weights were suspended from their feet. W ide-

eyed, silent, the children stared from bulging eyes into the new openness,

silent except for a hoarse breathing. “Making tall ones out of short ones,” came Corbus’ cool voice. “Look farther down,” said Glystra in a low voice. “In the room next

lower .”

Corbus threw a glance toward the prancing Magickers, peered down

under the roof. “Can’ t see too well ...

It’ s confused ...

Oh—”

Glystra turned away .

The Magickers were stealthily sliding closer .

“Get

back!

Back!” he said flatly .

“Or I’ll cut your legs out from under you.” In a

lower voice he said, “I guess it wouldn’ t make any dif ference to you if

you’ve all gone through—that....”

But his words were not heard, or if heard, not heeded. Goaded by the

frenzied calls of the old women, the Magickers, lips drawn back from their

long teeth, were prancing forward, a step at a time. One began to scream—a

quavering fierce screech—which the entire line picked up. Suddenly they

all were brandishing four -foot pikes tipped with black horny barbs. “Looks like we’ll have to kill a few ,” said Glystra between tight lips,

“unless they’ll scare ...” He aimed the ion-shine at the roof, blasted a hole

in the roof at the feet of the nearest Magicker .

The Magicker never shifted his gaze. His eyes had become fixed, saliva

bubbled at his mouth. “They’re crazy—hysterics,” muttered Glystra. “Poor devils, I don’ t like it....”

Step by step the Magickers advanced, jerkily , one motion at a time. Behind came the hoarse shrieks of the Hags, and behind—the far glory of

Big Planet sunset. Orange, flaring gold. T oo close. Suddenly desperate, Glystra called in a deadly voice, “T wo

steps more, I’ll kill the lot of you....”

One step—two steps—pikes raised in gangling arms. Glystra squeezed the button. Gaunt forms flapped on the roof. Hags screamed horror , leapt across the roof to the stairs, black warlock

silhouettes, with tatters of cloth flying behind. Glystra went to the edge, looked over .

He yelled down, “Get a line ready ,

and make it fast to what’ s coming down next.”

Corbus was looking up the pole. “W e’d better drop the whole works, pole

and all. Otherwise the cable will snap past so fast they won’ t be able to see

it. Notice—three of those guy-lines run to the top, three to the buckle-point

at the middle. If we cut of f the three at top, the pole should snap of f nice

and neat.”

Glystra examined the magazine of his ion-shine, squinting in the failing

light. “Got to go easy on the power .

There’ s not too much soup in this one.”

He aimed, squeezed the button. Three gray cables sang, fell twisting like snakes over the roofs of

Edelweiss. The pole snapped like a carrot. From the cupola came wild

shrieks of fright. “God!” said Glystra. “I’d for gotten all about them....”

The pole crashed almost at their feet; the crying stopped abruptly .

Corbus called over the side, “Here it comes ...

Heads up!”

The tension of the cable dragged the stub across the roof, over the edge of

the bluf f. “Lay hold of it!” Glystra yelled. “Make it fast to the raft!” He started to

scramble down the wall, past the strung-up children, past the first floor ,

where he would not look. Corbus was at his heels. They ran along the bluf f,

found a place to scramble down to the beach. “Hurry ,” yelled Pianza. “Our shore line can’ t take all the strain; it’ll go in

a minute.”

Glystra and Corbus waded out into the river , scrambled up on to the cool

soft timbers. “Let ’er go.”

The raft drifted free. Behind them the bluf f made a black smear across the

after glow , and perched high was Edelweiss, bereft and forlorn with the

stump of its broken pole. “Poor devils,” said Glystra. The raft floated out on the river , carried downstream by the current but

tethered to the opposite shore by the cable of the broken high-line. “Ah,” sighed Cloyville, dropping his heavy posterior to the logs. “Peace

—quiet—it’ s wonderful!”

“W ait till you get to the other side before you rejoice,” said Ketch. “There’ s still the griamobots.”

Cloyville rose swiftly to his feet. “I’d for gotten about them. My Lord!

Where are they?...

If it’ s not one thing it’ s another ....”

Glystra pointed across the glimmering water to the island—a feathery

pyramid sharp on the mauve sky to the southeast. “W e won’ t miss that

island far—if at all. And there’ s not a damn thing we can do about it!”

“Look,” said Bishop in a soft voice. Heads turned as if activated by cams,

eyes went to the object inching over the edge of the raft—a flat glistening

thing, solid and muscular .

It quivered, jerked up on the raft another six

inches, becoming round in cross-section. Another six inches ...

Pianza laughed. Bishop moved forward. “I thought

it was the end of a tentacle.”

“It’ s a big fluke—some sort of leech or sucker .”

“Disgusting thing.” Bishop kicked it back into the river .

The raft gave a sudden lurch, swerved, twisted. Domes of water boiled up

around them. “Something below ,” whispered Glystra. Motta and W ailie began to whimper .

“Quiet!” snapped Glystra. They stifled the sound to a thin whining in their

throats. The motion ceased; the water subsided. Bishop touched Glystra’ s arm. “Look up on the Edelweiss clif f.”

A torch had appeared. It shone, went out, shone, went out—time and time

again for varying intervals. “Code. They’re talking to someone. Probably across the river to Swamp

Island. Hope no one cuts the cable at that end.”

“Cloyville could swim ashore with a message,” suggested Corbus. Cloyville snorted indignantly , and Corbus chuckled. From behind the island came the griamobot, its head high, questing. The

dark concealed its features; evident only were big segmented eyes. W ater

swished and gur gled past the black hulk of its body , from which came a

visceral growling sound. The head wove, swayed back and forth, suddenly darted forward. “It sees us,” muttered Glystra. He drew his ion-shine. “Perhaps I can

damage it or scare it away ...

There’ s not enough power here for real ef fect

if the brute is determined....”

“Knock the head of f,” said Pianza tremulously .

“Then it won’ t be able to

see us.”

Glystra nodded. The violet beam touched the head. It snapped of f like a

kicked paper bag. But the neck continued to weave, back, forth, back, forth,

and the beast never slowed or changed direction. Glystra aimed at the body , fired. There was a thin ripping sound and a

black ragged hole appeared on the dark hide. White objects like viscera

seemed to boil up. Glystra stared, fired again, at the water line. The monster cried out—in a

babble of human voices. The hulk wabbled, wallowed; long white shapes poured out through the

hole. “Duck!” cried Glystra. “They’re throwing at us!”

Thud!

A pike plunged quivering into the wood beside him. Another—

another—then a sound unlike the others: a shock and a long throaty gasp. Glystra raised up. “Ketch!”

Ketch tore feebly at the shaft in his chest, fell forward on his knees,

inched yet further forward, bowed his head, with the shaft grasped between

his hands, and in this position he froze quiet. “They’re boarding us!” yelled Cloyville. “Stand aside!” cried Pianza. He elbowed past Cloyville. Lavish plumes of

orange flame issued from the heat-gun, wreathed the thin shapes, who threw

up their arms, fell backward into the river .

The griamobot hulk had settled low in the water , drifted down-current,

past the raft and away .

Glystra gently lay Ketch on his side. His hands were locked on the shaft. Glystra stood up, looked across the dusk toward T own Edelweiss; then

after a moment, turned back to Ketch. “Cloyville—help me.”

He lay hold of Ketch’ s lax ankles. Cloyville bent, took the shoulders,

hesitated. “What are you going to do?”

“Drop him in the river .

I’m sorry .

W e can’ t af ford emotion.”

Cloyville opened his mouth, stuttered, stammered. Glystra waited. Cloyville finally said in a subdued voice, “Don’ t you think we should—

well, give him a burial?

A decent burial?”

“Where?

In the swamp?”

Cloyville bent to the body .

Ketch was gone. Glystra stood looking up at T own Edelweiss. “The griamobot was a hoax. A commercial enterprise, to frighten people of f the river , to funnel them

through the Edelweiss high-line....”

Night lay heavy over Big Planet, and the shores were dark. There was

silence aboard the raft. Little black waves lapped at the timbers. Down-

stream they floated, borne by the current; cross-stream, pulled by the tether

of the one-time high-line. The spines of Swamp Island towered above them. The chirping and

rasping of myriad small insects came to their ears. No lights were visible. The raft bumped gently into a ledge of mud, halted. “W e’ll have to wait for light,” said Glystra. “Let’ s try to get some sleep...”

But all sat staring across the black water , feeling the loss of dour Ketch as

a tongue feels the gap left by a drawn tooth. The River Oust moved quietly past in the dark, and somewhere now to the

south was Ketch. Dawn came to the water , seeping in from nowhere, moth-colored, the

softest luminosity conceivable. First the forest was black and the water

black and the sky only less black, then the sky was char ged with dimness

and the river shone like oil; and then the mother -of-pearl light spread from

sky to the air to the river , where it reflected back in odd-shaped leaden plats

and planes. There was more air and water and sky than a man’ s awareness could

encompass. The river ’ s far shore was a low black mark and T own

Edelweiss a nubbin on the bluf f. The air was still, held in an immense cool

quiet, smelling of mud and water and a smoke, spice, early-morning scent,

which in all the universe was individual to the one spot here on the shore of

the River Oust on Big Planet. T o the east the sky flared orange, yellow , behind the black spines of the

Swamp Island forest. They were two hundred feet tall, crowding till in

some instances the trunks touched. Motta screamed, a mindless piping. Glystra swung around; his heart

expanded, his blood caked. A tremendous black body blotted out the river ,

overhead swung a barrel-size head, split by a bony mouth. The head swung

down, the eyes stared, the neck looped, the head plunged into the water ,

returned laden with sodden yellow fiber .

It gulped, belched, sank out of

sight into the river .

Life returned to the raft. Hysterical women....

Calmness was restored. Glystra released a great pent sigh. “Evidently the

griamobots exist.”

“I will vouch for it at any time,” declared Cloyville. “But—they’re vegetarians. The Magickers arranged that they should be

thought carnivorous, and that was all that was necessary to confine river

traf fic to the high-line ...

W ell, let’ s get moving.”

The raft floated flat and vacant on the river .

The zipangotes stood loaded

and ready on the spongy black humus, raised their feet up and down,

swinging their long necks close to the ground. Glystra walked a little way into the swamp, testing the footing. The round

boles, ash-gray overlaid with green luster , prevented a clear vision of more

than a hundred feet, but so far as Glystra could see, the ground was

uniformly black peat, patched with shallow water .

If sight was occluded

horizontally , vertically it was wide open; indeed, the upward lines of the

trees impelled the eyes to lift along the multitudinous perspectives, up to the

little blot of sky above. W alking gingerly across the black bog, Glystra felt

as if he were two hundred feet under water , an illusion heightened by the

flying creatures, which moved along the vertical aisles with the ease of fish. Glystra saw two varieties: a long electric-green tape with filmy green wings

along its body , rippling through the air like an eel, and little puf fs of foam

drifting with no apparent or gans of locomotion. Glystra returned to the river .

The zipangotes had been arranged in line,

each long dog-like head under the hindquarters of the beast ahead. “Let’ s

go,” said Glystra. The river fell behind, was quickly lost to sight. The caravan wound like a

snake in tall grass—now left, now right, twisting, side-stepping, detouring

the puddles of water .

The sun rose, and they rode through shafts and bars of heavy light, and

zebra striping lay along the tall spines. 10. The Monoline

About noon, there was a sudden opening before them—a lake. Small

waves rippled and glinted at their feet; clouds reflected between areas of

deep blue. In the distance floated a few low boats with wide double-lateen

booms and baggy orange sails; and beyond was Swamp City .

It sat up in the

air , on top of the forest, like a mirage; it reminded Glystra of an old-world

fishing village. For several moments the party stood staring at the city on stilts ...

A shrill

squawking startled them: a blue and yellow flying thing, beating sluggishly

through the air .

“For a moment,” said Cloyville, “I thought the Magick-ers were upon us.”

Back to the forest—more winding, squeezing, doubling back,

occasionally a straight run of twenty or thirty feet. The sun moved across the sky; at last, in the middle afternoon, Glystra

saw overhead the walls and houses of the city .

Five minutes later the

caravan moved into the shadow of the deck. “A moment, please” said an unhurried voice. A platoon of warriors stood

beside them, stocky men in mulberry coats. The of ficer approached Glystra. “Y our business, if you please.”

“No business. W e’re travellers.”

“T ravellers?” The of ficer glanced at the zipangotes. “From where?”

“From Jubilith, north of Beaujolais.”

“How did you get those beasts across the river?

Certainly not on the high-

line; our agent would have reported you.”

“W e ferried them over on a raft. Last night.”

The of ficer fingered his mustache. “Did not the griamobots—”

Glystra smiled. “The Magickers have been hoaxing you. The griamobots

are vegetarians, harmless. The only dangerous griamobot was one the

Magickers built and filled with soldiers.”

The of ficer swore under his breath. “Lord W ittelhatch will wish to hear

this. Magicker regulations and tarif fs have long irked him, especially since

he strung up the cable to begin with.”

“The cable interests me,” said Glystra. “Is it metal?”

“Oh no, by no means.” The of ficer laughed af fably—a handsome young

man with an expressive face and a jaunty straw-colored mustache. “Come,

I’ll lead you to where your caravan may rest, and along the way you’ll see

the working of our industry .

W e are rope-makers to the world; nowhere is

cable equal to ours.”

Glystra hesitated. “Our wish was to continue as far along the way as

possible before nightfall. Perhaps you will direct us—”

“A wealthy man in a hurry ,” said the of ficer , thoughtfully eying the three

girls, “would ride the monoline. It would cost much metal, much metal ...

Best confer with W ittelhatch.”

“V ery well.” Glystra motioned to the column; they followed the of ficer ,

and a moment later came upon a scene of industry .

A series of rope-walks occupied an area five hundred feet square, which

had been partially cleared, leaving only enough spines to support the weight

of the city above. Each rope-walk consisted of a series of frames. In the

process of formation the rope passed through a hole in the frame and

immediately afterward passed through a wheel, which rotated around the

rope as an axis. Fixed at regular intervals on the wheel were five fat slugs,

and from their positors white strands ran to the rope. As the rope pulled

through the frame, the wheel rotated and five new strands were added to the

rope. Glystra sighted up the rope-walk. Each frame had its wheel, and each

wheel carried five slugs secreting thread for the rope. “V ery clever ,” said

Glystra. “V ery clever indeed.”

“Our rope is unexcelled,” said the of ficer , with a proud twist for his

mustache. “Flexible, weatherproof, strong. W e furnish rope for the

monolines of Felissima, Bogover , Thelma, also the long line to Grosgarth in

Beaujolais and the line out to Myrtlesee Fountain.”

“Hm ...

And the monolines are fast transportation?”

The of ficer inspected him smilingly .

“I assure you.”

“Just what is a monoline?”

The of ficer laughed. “Now you joke with me. Come, I will take you to

W ittelhatch, and he will doubtless feast you at his evening wassail. I

understand an excellent conger bakes in his oven this day .”

“But our packs, our luggage!

And the zipangotes, they have not eaten yet,

there is nothing in this swamp for them to eat!”

The of ficer signalled; four men stepped forward. “Service and groom the

beasts, feed them well, pluck their sores, wash and bind their feet, set them

out each a dram of dympel.“ He said to Glystra. ”Y our baggage will be

secure, Swamp Island knows no thieves. Merchants and industers we be,

but robbers no, it is against our rotes.“

W ittelhatch was a fat man with round red face, half-petulant, half-jocular ,

with crafty heavy-lidded eyes. He wore a white blouse embroidered with

red and yellow frogs, a red brocade surcingle, tight blue trousers, black

boots. In each ear hung a gold ring and each finger was heavy with assorted

metals. He sat in a ceremonial chair , apparently having just lowered himself

into place, for he was yet wrestling with the folds of his garments. The of ficer bowed gracefully , indicated Glystra with a debonair motion. “A traveller from the west, Lord.”

“From the west?” W ittelhatch, narrow-eyed, rubbed one of his sub-chins. “I understand that the highline across the river has been cut. It will be

necessary to kite it back into place. How then did you cross?”

Glystra explained the Magicker hoax. W ittelhatch became shrill and

angry .

“The long white muckers—and all the business I’ve sent them out of

pity!

Hey , but it discourages an honest community to be set so close to

rascals!”

Glystra said with restrained impatience, “Our wish is to proceed on our

way .

Y our of ficer suggested that we use the monoline.”

W ittlehatch immediately became business-like. “How many are in your

party?”

“Eight, together with our baggage.”

W ittelhatch turned to the of ficer .

“What do you suggest, Clodleber g?

Five

singles and a pack?”

The of ficer squinted thoughtfully .

“Their baggage is considerable. Better

might be two packs and two singles. And since they are unused to the

trolleys, a guide.”

“Where is your destination?” W ittelhatch inquired. “As far east as possible.”

“That’ s Myrtlesee ...

W ell now .” W ittelhatch calculated. “I care little to

let my trolleys journey to such vast extents; you must pay substantially .

If

you buy the trolleys outright—ninety ounces of good iron. If you rent—

sixty ounces, plus the guide’ s pay and a reasonable return fee— another ten

ounces.”

Glystra haggled politely , and reduced the rental to fifty ounces plus the

zipangotes, and W ittelhatch would pay the guide. “Perhaps, Clodleber g, you

would care to lead the party?” W ittelhatch inquired of the young of ficer .

Clodleber g twisted his blond mustache. “Delighted.”

“Good,” said Glystra. “W e’ll leave at once.”

W ittelhatch rang a hand-bell. A porter appeared. “Carry the baggage of

these people to the take-of f deck.”

W ind blew in sails and trolley wheels whispered down the monoline—a

half-inch strand of white Swamp Island cable. From the dome at Swamp

City the line led from spine to spine across three miles of swamp to a rocky

headland, crossed over the rotten basalt with only six feet to spare, swung in

a wide curve to the south-east. At fifty-foot intervals L-brackets mounted to

poles supported the line, so designed that the trolleys slid across with only a

tremor and slight thud of contact. Clodleber g rode the first trolley , Glystra followed, then came a pair of

three-wheel freight carriers loaded with packs—food, spare clothing, the

metal which represented their wealth, Bishop’ s vitamins, Cloyville’ s

camping gear , odds and ends from the Beaujolain packs. The first of the

freight-carriers was manned by Corbus, Motta and W ailie; the second by

Nancy , Pianza and Bishop. Cloyville in a one-man trolley brought up the

rear .

As he examined the vehicle he rode in, Glystra well understood

W ittelhatch’ s reluctance to part with it, even temporarily .

The wood was

shaped and fitted with painstaking precision, and performed as well as any

metal machine from the shops of Earth. The big wheel was laminated from ten separate strips, glued, grooved and

polished. Spokes of hardened withe supported the central hub, whose

bearings were wrought from a greasy black hardwood. The seat support was

a natural tree-crook, connecting to a slatted floor below .

Propulsion was

achieved by sails, set to a lateen boom. The halyards, outhauls and sheets

led to a cleat-board in front of the seat. W ithin reach was a double hand-

crank, of fset like the pedals of a bicycle; turning the crank would drive the

trolley up any slight slope at the end of a long suspension which momentum

and the pressure of the sails were unable to negotiate. At noon the land changed. Hills heaved up and it became necessary to

make portages, which involved carrying the trolleys and all the baggage up

to a higher level of line. At the end of the day they slept in a vacant cottage near one of the

portages and the next morning set of f through the mountains—the W icksill

Range, according to Clodle-ber g. The line swooped far across valleys, from

ridge to ridge, with the ground sometimes two thousand feet below .

The

trolleys, starting out across such a valley , fell into the sag of the cable with a

stomach-lifting swoop, falling almost free; then out in the middle the speed

would slacken and the trolley would coast on momentum up toward the

opposite ridge and presently slow almost to a stop. Then the sail would be

trimmed to its fullest ef ficiency and the drive-crank would be put into use,

and gradually the trolley would climb up to the high point. On the evening of the third day Clodleber g said, “T omorrow at this time

we should be in Kirstendale, and you must be surprised by nothing you

see.”

Glystra pressed for further information, but Clodleber g was disposed to be

jocular .

“No, no. Y ou will see for yourself. Kirstendale is a city of great

fascination. Possibly you may abandon your fantastic journey and settle in

Kirstendale.”

“Are the people aggressive, unfriendly?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Who rules them?

What is their government?”

Clodleber g raised his eyebrows thoughtfully .

“Now that you mention it, I

have never heard of a ruler in Kirstendale. Indeed, they rule themselves, if

their life could be said to be governed by rule.”

Glystra changed the subject. “How many days from Kirstendale to

Myrtlesee Fountain?”

“I’ve never made the trip,” said Clodleber g. “It is not entirely pleasant. At

certain seasons the Rebbirs come down from the Eyrie to molest the

monoline travellers, although the Dongmen of Myrtlesee are Rebbir stock

and try to maintain an open avenue of communication.”

“What lies past Myrtlesee Fountain?”

Clodleber g made a gesture of disgust. “The desert. The land of fire-eating

dervishes; scavengers, blood-suckers, so I’m told.”

“And after?”

“Then the Palo Malo Se Mountains and the Blarengorran Lake. From the

lake the Monchevior River runs east, and you might float a considerable

distance on one of the river boats—how far I am uncertain, because it flows

into the obscure and unknown.“

Glystra heaved a thoughtful sigh. By the time the Monchevior River

floated them out of Clodleber g’ s ken, there would still be thirty-nine

thousand miles to Earth Enclave. During the night a rainstorm broke upon the mountain, and there was no

escape from the roaring wind. The travellers straggled up under the lee of a

boulder and huddled under their blankets while the Big Planet gale drove

north. W et and cold they saw a bleared gray dawn come and for a time the rain

stopped, though clouds fleeted past on the wind almost within hand’ s-reach

overhead. Climbing upon their trolleys they set handkerchiefs of sail and

scudded along the monoline with wheels whirring. For two hours the line led along the ridge, and the wind pressed up and

over the mountain like a water -spill. The vegetation, low shrubs with

tattered blue-green streamers of leaves, whipped and flapped below .

T o the

left was a dark valley full of gray mist, to the right the clouds hid the

panorama, but when they broke and parted, a pleasant broken country could

be seen—hills, forests, small lakes, and several times they glimpsed great

stone castles. Clodleber g looked back at Glystra, swept his hand over the land to the

right. “The Galatudanian V alley , with the Hibernian March below .

A land of

dukes and knights and barons, stealing each other ’ s daughters and robbing

one another ...

Dangerous country to walk afoot.”

The wind increased, buf feted the travellers until tears flew from their

eyes, and a fine driven spume stung their cheeks. Heeling far to the side, the

trolley skimmed southeast at sixty miles an hour , and they might have

travelled faster had not Clodleber g constantly luf fed wind from his sails. For an hour they wheeled along the line, swaying and jerking, and then

Clodleber g rose in his seat, signalled to furl sail. The trolleys costed to a platform from which a line led at a right angle to

their course, down into the valley .

The far anchor was invisible; all that

could be seen was the gradually diminishing swoop of the white cable. Nancy peered down the line, drew back with a shiver .

Clodleber g grinned. “This is the easy direction. Coming back, a person

must make a two-day portage from the valley floor .”

“Do we slide down—out there?” asked Nancy in a hushed voice. Clodleber g nodded, enjoying the trepidation which the prospect of the

drop aroused in his char ges. “W e’ll kill ourselves going so fast; it’ s so—steep!”

“The wind presses on you, brakes your fall. There’ s nothing to it. Follow

me....”

He turned his trolley down the slanting line, and in an instant was a far

dwindling shape vibrating down the wind. Glystra stirred himself. “I guess I’m next....”

It was like stepping out into nothing, like diving headfirst over a clif f...

The first mile was almost free fall. The wind buf feted, cloud-wisps whipped

past, the land below was an indeterminate blur .

Overhead the wheel sang into high pitch, though it carried almost no

weight. The white line stretched out ahead, always curving slightly up,

away , out of vision. Glystra became aware that the whirr of the wheel was decreasing in pitch;

the line was flattening out, the ground below was rising to meet him. Across a green and yellow forest he rolled and he glimpsed below a

settlement of log cabins, with a dozen children in white smocks staring up...

Then they were gone and the forest was dark and deep below .

Flying

insects darted up past his eyes, and then ahead he saw a platform hung in

the top of a giant tree, and here waited Clodleber g. Glystra stif fly climbed to the platform. Clodleber g was watching him with

a crafty smile. “How did you like the swoop?”

“I’d like to move at that speed for three weeks. W e’d be at the Enclave.”

The line began to quiver and sing. Looking back up, Glystra saw the

freight-carrier with Corbus, Motta and W ailie. “W e might as well start of f,” said Clodleber g. “Otherwise the platform

will be over -crowded.” He tested the wind, shook his head. “Poor , a poor

reach. W e’ll have to trim our sails closeby; the wind blows almost down the

line ...

However fair winds cannot be ours forever—and I believe the line

veers presently to the east, and we’ll make better time.”

They set of f, close-hauled, sailing so near into the eye of the wind that the

leach of the sail flapped constantly .

The line ran from tree-top to tree-top,

and sometimes black-green foliage brushed Glystra’ s feet ...

Clodleber g

had doused his sail, was beckoning him ur gently .

“What’ s the trouble?”

Silence, signalled Clodleber g. He pointed ahead. Glystra trundled his

trolley forward, up against Clodleber g’ s. “What’ s wrong?”

Clodleber g was fixedly watching something on the ground, through a gap

in the foliage. “This is a dangerous part of the line ...

Bands of soldiers,

starving forest people, bandits ...

Sometimes they wait till a trolley is over

a high space, then cut the line, killing the traveller ....”

Glystra saw movement through the leaves, a shifting of white and gray .

Clodleber g climbed from the trolley into the branches of the tree, let

himself cautiously down a few feet. Glystra watched him quietly .

Behind

came the quiver of the next trolley .

Glystra signalled it to a halt. Clodleber g was motioning to him. Glystra left his trolley , climbed to the

crotch where Clodleber g stood. Through a gap in the leaves he could see the

floor of the forest. Behind a low orange bush crouched three boys about ten

years old. Bows and arrows ready , they watched the line like cats at a

mousehole. “Here’ s where they get their early training,” whispered Clodleber g. “When they grow lar ger they go to raiding the towns of the March and all

the Galatudanian V alley .” He quietly nocked a quarrel into his cross-bow .

“What are you going to do?” asked Glystra. “Kill the biggest ...

I’ll be saving the lives of many innocent people.”

Glystra struck up his arm; the bolt shattered a branch over the head of the

would-be assassins. Glystra saw their white faces, big dark eyes, open

frightened mouths; then they were of f, scurrying like rabbits. “Why did you do that?” asked Clodleber g heatedly .

“Those same skulkers

may murder me on my way back to Swamp City .”

Glystra could find no words at first. Then he muttered, “Sorry ...

I

suppose you’re right. But if this were Earth, or any of the System planets,

they’d be at their schooling.”

A shaft of pure brilliance plunged down through the sky— Big Planet

sunlight. The rain-washed colors of the forest shone with a glowing clarity

never seen on Earth: black-greens, reds, yellows, ochers, buf fs, the lime-

green of low hangworts, the russet of bundle-bush. The wind blew high,

blew low , the clouds flew back across the mountains; they sailed in a fresh

sunny breeze. The monoline dropped down out of the forest, stretched across a river -

valley , over a swift river which Clodleber g named the Thelma. They made a

fifty foot portage up the opposite bank, and set of f once more across a land

of peaceful farms and stone houses, undistinguished except for the fact that

each house carried on its gable an intricate tangle of brambles and spiny

leaves. Glystra called to Clodleber g. “What on earth are those bristling thorn-

patches?”

“Those are the ghost-catchers,” said Clodleber g easily .

“This section of

country abounds with ghosts; there’ s a ghost for every house, sometimes

more; and since they always give a quick jump which takes them to the roof

where they can walk back and forth, the traps discourage them sadly ...

The very home of ghosts is this Mankelly Parish, and witches too....”

Glystra thought that no matter how ordinary and uneventful a Big Planet

landscape might appear , it was still—Big Planet. The monoline paralleled a rutted earthen road, and three times the

caravan, swinging along briskly with the breeze on the beam, passed big red

farm-wains with six-foot wooden wheels, squeaking and groaning like

scalded pigs. They were loaded with red melon-bulbs, bundles of orange

vine, baskets of green okra. The lads who walked barefoot alongside

goading the longnecked zipangotes wore tall conical hats with veils of

white cloth about their faces. “T o fool the ghosts?” Glystra asked Clodleber g. “T o fool the ghosts.”

Afternoon wore on; the country became verdant and the ground supported

every kind of pleasant growth. The farming region fell behind; they seemed

to be traversing a great parkland. Clodleber g pointed ahead. “See there, that white aquafer?

There is your

first glimpse of Kirstendale, the finest city of the Galatudanian V alley ....”

1 1. Every Man a Millionair e!

For several minutes little enough of Kirstendale could be seen: splashes of

white through the trees, a pair of stone causeways. The trolleys sailed

across a pasture of red-green grass, the trees parted, and there was the city ,

rising from a grassy plain with blue mountains in the background. It was the lar gest and most elaborate settlement the Earthmen had seen on

Big Planet, but it was never a city which might have existed on Earth. It

reminded Glystra of the cloud-borne castles in fairy-story illustrations. The line took a sudden turn and they came upon a scene of gay activity ,

carnival color .

A game was in progress. On the field were fifty men and women in

garments of remarkable complexity and elegance: silks, satins, velvets,

coarse tasselled weaves— tucked, flared, gored, bedecked, be-ribboned,

covered with tinsel and lace. The field was laid of f into squares by lines of

colored grasses, cropped and tended with the nicest precision, and each

player occupied a single square. Sheets of silk hung at each side from a row

of moored balloons. Each sheet glowed a dif ferent color: peach-tan, orange-

russet, blue, sea-green, rippling, shining in the breeze. A myriad of small

colored balls were in use, balls which half-floated, almost as light as air .

The players caught balls in a manner which seemed to depend on the color

of the ball, the color of the player ’ s head-ribbon and the square where the

player stood. Balls filled the air , little sunlit jewels, and sometimes a player

would catch three balls at once and toss them away with great dexterity .

When a ball landed in one of the silken curtains, a score was counted to the

great jubilation of certain players and spectators who cried, “Ohe, ohe,

ohe!”

Several hundred men and women watched the game from the sidelines. They were dressed in the same extravagant fashion, and in addition wore

headgear of fantastic complexity , confections most ingeniously designed

and assembled. One young man displayed a shell like an overturned boat,

striped in bright green and scarlet. Balls of fluorescent blue clung here and

there to the fabric, and tapes of golden taupe fluttered below .

A great puf f of

bright purple veil rose from the top, and imbedded in this veil were globes

of red, green, blue, yellow , shining like Christmas tree ornaments ...

A

young woman—very beautiful, Glystra thought, supple as a kitten, with

sleek yellow hair and long yellow eyes—wore first a cloche-helmet of soft

leather from which rose a tall antenna, and this antenna radiated prongs

tipped with spangles of live fire—vermilion, scintillant green, molten gold....

Another—another—another: baroque, unique, incredible

The monoline circled the field. The players and spectators glanced up

casually , returned to their game with interest for nothing but the multiple

flight of the colored balls. Glystra noticed an attendant rolling a cart arrayed with pink and white

pastries. “Pianza—look what he’ s wearing ...”

Pianza snorted in surprise and amusement. “It’ s a tuxedo. Dinner jacket. Black tie. Stripe down the trousers, patent leather shoes. W onderful.”

Out on the field a ball fell into the billowing russet-gold curtain, rolled

softly to the ground. There was joyous applause from the spectators. Glystra slacked his sails, his trolley coasted quietly along the line. The

freight-flat behind, with Pianza and Bishop, overtook him. Glystra spoke

over his shoulder , “Bishop, what does the Almanac say about Kirstendale?

Anything interesting?”

Bishop came up to stand at the forward end of the flat, under the lead

wheel. He looked in frowning reflection toward the looping walls. “Seems

as if there’ s a mystery of sorts—‘the Kirstendale Paradox,’ that’ s what they

called it. It starts to come back to me. A syndicate of millionaires

established the town to beat System taxes. A whole colony came out with

their servants—twenty or thirty families. Apparently—well,” he waved his

hand. “There’ s the result.”

The monoline veered once more, the breeze fell astern. Sails spread out

like butterfly wings, the caravan plunged through an arch into the city ,

coasted up to a landing. Three quiet men in dark livery came foward, wordlessly removed the

packs from the trolley , put them into carts with high spoked wheels. Glystra

started to remonstrate, but catching Clodleber g’ s eye, desisted. “What’ s

happening?”

“They assume that you are wealthy ,” said Clodleber g, “from the trolleys

and the women.”

“Humph,” grunted Glystra. “Am I supposed to tip them?”

“Do what?”

“Give them money .”

Clodleber g blinked, still perplexed. “Money .

Metal.”

“Ah, metal!” Clodleber g twisted his natty mustache. “That is as you

wish.”

The head porter approached, a tall solemn-faced man with carefully

shaved cheeks, long sideburns terminating in a little puf f of whiskers: a man

comporting himself with immense dignity .

Glystra handed him three small iron washers. “For you and your men.”

“Thank you, sir ...

And where will you have your luggage sent?”

Glystra shrugged. “What are the choices?”

“W ell, there’ s the Grand Savoyard and the Metropole And the Ritz-

Carlton—all excellent, all equally expensive.”

“How expensive?”

The head porter blinked, raised his black eyebrows the faintest trifle. “Perhaps an ounce a week ...

The T raveller ’ s Inn and the Fairmont are

likewise expensive, but something quieter ....”

“What is a good inn of moderate rates?”

The head porter clicked his heels. “I recommend the Hunt Club. This way ,

sir , to the carriage.”

He led them to a landau mounted on four elliptical springs of laminated

golden wood. There were no zipan-gotes hitched to the front, in fact the

carriage appeared innocent of motive power .

The head porter swung open the door with a flourish. Cloyville, in the

lead, hesitated, looked quizzically back over his shoulder .

“A joke?

After

we get in, do you walk away and leave us sitting here?”

“No indeed, sir , by no means.”

Cloyville gingerly climbed up the two steps, lowered himself into the soft

seat. The rest of the party followed. The head porter closed the door with exquisite finesse, signalled. Four

men in tight black uniforms stepped forward; each clipped a strap to the

front of the carriage, tossed it over his shoulder , and the carriage was

underway .

W ooden planking rumbled below the wheels, the hangar -like

buildings were behind, they drove over granite flags through the heart of the

city .

Kirstendale had been laid out with an eye to striking vistas. It was a city

clean as new paper , bright with polished stone and glass, gay with flowers. T owers rose everywhere, each circled by a staircase which spiralled up to

meet the onion-shaped bulb of the dwelling. They approached a cylindrical building in the middle of the city , lar ge as a

gas-storage tank. A lush growth of blue-green vine with maroon trumpet-

flowers, rows of lar ge windows gave a sense of lightness and elegance to an

otherwise heavy building. The carriage passed under a marquee roofed with stained glass, and the

Big Planet sunlight, passing through, puddled the flags with gor geous color .

A sign on the marquee read, “Hotel Metropole.”

“Hm,” said Cloyville. “Looks like a nice place ...

After the—well,

inconvenience of the journey , I could stand a week or two in the lap of

luxury .”

But the carriage continued around the building, presently passed another

marquee. This was draped in rich saf fron satin, fringed with royal red

tassels. A sign read “Grand Savoyard.”

Next they passed a portico of somewhat classical dignity: columns, Ionic

capitals and entablature. Chiselled letters read “Ritz-Carlton,” and again

Cloyville looked wistfully over his shoulder as the carriage swept by .

“W e’ll probably end up on a flop-house on the skid-road.”

They passed a vaguely Oriental entrance: carved dark wood, a slab of the

same wood supporting tall green urns. The sign read, “The T raveller ’ s Inn.”

The carriage continued another hundred feet and stopped under an awning

of green, red and white striped canvas. A bold black and white sign

announced “The Hunt Club.”

A doorman stepped forward, helped them to the pavement, then ran

ahead, opened the door .

The party of travellers passed through a short corridor pasted with green

baize, decorated with black and white landscapes, entered a lar ge central

lobby .

Directly opposite, across the lobby , a corridor led outside. Through the

door shone the many-colored radiance of stained-glass in the sunlight. Glystra looked around the walls. At intervals other corridors led of f like

spokes from a hub, all evidently leading to the outside. Glystra stopped short. Grinning he turned to Pianza. “The Metropole, the

Grand Savoyard, the Ritz-Carlton, the T raveller ’ s Inn, the Hunt Club—

they’re all the same.”

Clodleber g made an ur gent motion. “Quiet. This is very real to the

Kirsters. Y ou will of fend them.”

“But—”

Clodleber g said hurriedly , “I should have informed you; the entrance you

chose places you on the social scale. The accommodations are identical, but

it is considered smarter and more fashionable to enter through the

Metropole.”

Glystra nodded. “I understand completely .

W e’ll be careful.”

The doorman led them across the lobby to a circular desk with a polished

wood counter .

Rods wound with spirals of colored cloth rising from the

edge of the counter supported a parasol-shaped top. A central pier

continued up three feet, then extended in a ten foot pole of pitted black

wood. Around the pole, veering in and out, flew ten thousand fireflies—

swooping, circling, settling on the pitted wood of the pole, flying out again

in a swift current, ten, twenty , fifty feet from the pole. The doorman took them to that section of the desk marked of f by the Hunt

Club colors. Glystra turned around, counted heads, like the father of a

troublesome family .

Cloyville, ruddy and flushed, was talking to a tired

Pianza; Corbus and Bishop stood with W ailie and Motta, the girls excited,

vastly impressed; Nancy stood pale and rather tense by his right elbow ,

Clodleber g at his left. Nine in all. “Excuse me, sir ,” said the desk clerk. “Are you Mr Claude Glystra, of

Earth?”

Glystra swung around in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“Sir W alden Marchion extends his compliments, and begs that you and

your party honor him by residing at his villa the period of your stay .

He has

sent his carriage for your use, if you will so favor him.”

Glystra turned to Clodleber g, spoke in a cold voice. “How did this Sir

W alden Marchion know of our arrival?”

Clodleber g flushed, preened his mustaches furiously .

“Who’ s been talking?”

Clodleber g said with immense dignity , “The head porter at the landing

inquired your identity ...

I saw no reason to conceal it. Y ou had issued no

orders to that ef fect.”

Glystra turned away .

If any harm was to result from the indiscretion, the

harm was by now done; no benefit would come of dressing down

Clodleber g, for whom, in general, he felt a high regard. “News certainly

travels fast in Kirstendale ...

What is your opinion in regard to the

invitation?”

Clodleber g turned to the desk clerk. “Exactly who is Sir W alden

Marchion?”

“One of the wealthiest and most influential men in Kirstendale. A very

distinguished gentleman.”

Clodleber g fondled his mustache. “Unusual, but gratifying ...” He

surveyed Glystra with a new appraisal. “I see no reason to decline.”

Glystra said to the desk clerk, “W e’ll accept the invitation.”

The desk clerk nodded. “I’m sure that you’ll find your visit pleasant. Sir

W alden has served meat at his table on several occasions ...

The carriage is

awaiting. Ah, Man-ville, if you will ...” He signalled to the clerk at the

Grand Savoyard sector of the desk. This clerk nodded to a young man in a

rich black livery with yellow piping down the sides, who clicked his heels,

bowed, stalked out the Grand Savoyard entrance and a moment later

reappeared in the Hunt Club corridor .

He strode up to Glystra, clicked his

heels, bowed. “Sir W alden’ s carriage, sir .”

“Thank you.”

Careful not to commit the faux pas of leaving by the T ravellers Inn

entrance, the party returned outside, climbed into a long low brougham. The

doorman closed the door , the carriage driver said, “Y our luggage will be

conveyed to Sir W alden’ s.”

“Such courtesy ,” murmured Pianza. “Such unbelievable punctilio!”

Cloyville sank back in the deep cushioned seats with a sigh. “I’m afraid

that I like it. Guess I’m soft, or possibly an anachronism. I’ll have to admit

that all this feudalism finds a customer in me.”

“I wonder ,” said Glystra, watching out the window , “what the desk clerk

meant when he said that Sir W alden often served meat.”

Clodleber g blew out his cheeks. “Easily explained. By a peculiar freak the

Galatudanian V alley supports no animal life other than the zipangotes,

whose flesh is so rank as to be inedible. A parasitic insect deadly to

creatures with fur , scales or floss is responsible. The zipangote, with his

naked hide, is not troubled. The Kirsters therefore subsist on vegetable

food, fruits, yeast, fungus, an occasional water -creature, certain varieties of

insect, and on rare occasions, meat, imported from Coelanvilli.”

The carriage, drawn by five runners in Sir W alden’ s black livery , trundled

across the pavement. They passed a row of shops. The first displayed

delicate creations of gauze and puf f, the second sold flagons carved of

green chert and mottled blue soapstone. The next booth of fered pom-poms

of twirled green and rose satin, the next was a jewellery , with trays full of

glinting lights, next a display of glassware—goblets exceedingly tall and

slender , with tiny cups and long fine stems, and the window glittered and

glistened in vertical lines and diamond-colored striations. “I’m rather interested in the economy ,” said Cloyville. “Somewhere these

goods are fabricated. Where?

By whom?

Slaves?

It takes lots of production

to support this kind of a set-up. Expensive leisure classes—like that.” He

pointed to a plaza where men and women in extravagant clothes sat

listening to seven young girls playing flutes and singing in clear sweet

voices. Glystra scratched his head. “I don’ t see how they do it. They certainly

can’ t be supplied from Earth....”

“Evidently this is their secret,” said Pianza. “The Kirstendale Paradox.”

Cloyville said with an air of finality , “Whatever it is, it seems to suit

everybody; everybody seems happy .”

“Everybody in sight,” said Corbus. W ailie and Motta had been chattering—bright-eyed, excited. Glystra

watched them a moment, wondering what was going on in their brains ...

They had filled out, their cheeks were no longer hollow , their hair was

glossy and well-tended, they were pretty girls. Corbus and Bishop were

modestly proud of them. Corbus patted Motta’ s head. “See anything you’d

like?”

“Oh, yes!

Jewels and metal and lovely cloth, and ribbons and spangles

and those lovely sandals....”

Corbus winked at Bishop. “Clothes, clothes, clothes.”

“Le plus de la dif férence, le plus de la même chose” said Bishop. The carriage turned among the towers—graceful spires swooping up to

the onion-shaped dwellings. The carriage halted by a pale green column; a servant swung wide the

door .

“The castle of Sir W alden Marchion ...”

12. Kirstendale Idyll

The party alighted, the carriage swept of f. “This way if you please....”

They climbed the stairs, spiralling up to the beetling shape of Sir

W alden’ s castle. Buttress vanes sprang out from the central column,

elbowing up and out to the outer flange. Corbus felt one of the vanes—a parchment-tan material two inches thick. “W ood ...

Looks like it grows right out of the trunk.” He cocked his head

up to where the floor swelled out in a smooth curve. “These things grew

here!

They’re big plants!”

The servant looked back, his black brows in a straight disapproving line. “This is the castle of Sir W alden, his manse....”

Corbus winked at Glystra. “Guess I was wrong; it’ s not a big acorn after

all.”

“Certainly not,” said the servant. The stairway made one last swoop far out from the central column,

apparently supported by its own structural strength; then the party stood on

a wide plat, swept by the cool Big Planet breezes. The servant flung open the door , stood aside. Sir W alden’ s guests entered

the sky-castle. They stood in a lar ge room, light and airy , decorated with an unobtrusive

intricacy .

The floor was not level, but flared like a trumpet bell. A pool of

water dyed bright blue filled the depression in the center .

Insects with white

gauzy wings and feelers scuttled and ran back and forth across the surface,

trailing V -ripples which sparkled momentarily green. The floor surrounding

the pool was covered by a carpet woven from dark and light-green floss; the

walls were bright blue, except where a frieze in sharp black and white, of

blank-faced men with owl-insect eyes, occupied one wall. “Be at your ease,” said the servant. “Sir W alden is on his way to welcome

you; in the meanwhile dispose yourselves as you will. Refreshing ichors are

at your disposal, in three vintages: maychee, worm, vervaine; pray be so

good as to enjoy them.”

He bowed, withdrew .

The travellers were alone. Glystra sighed heavily .

“Looks like a nice place ...

Doesn’ t seem to be a

jail....”

Five minutes passed before Sir W alden appeared—a tall man, sober -

faced, rather gravely beautiful. He apologized for not being on hand to greet

them, professing himself delayed beyond remedy elsewhere. Glystra, when he found opportunity , muttered aside to Pianza, “Where

have we seen him before?

Or have we?”

Pianza shook his head. “Nowhere to my knowledge....”

T wo lads of fourteen and sixteen wearing pink, yellow and green, with

curl-toed sandals of remarkable design, entered the room. They bowed. “At

your service, friends from Mother Earth.”

“My sons,” said Sir W alden, “Thane and Halmon.”

Glystra said, “W e are delighted to enjoy the hospitality of your house, Sir

W alden, but—bluntly—may I inquire why it has been extended to us,

complete strangers that we are?”

Sir W alden made an elegant gesture. “Please ...

W e will chat far and long

—but now , you are weary and travel-worn. So you shall be refreshed.” He

clapped his hands. “Servants!”

A dozen men and women appeared. “Baths for our guests scented with—”

he kneaded his chin with his hand, as if the matter required the utmost

nicety of judgment. He arrived at a decision. “—with Nigali No. 29, that

will be most suitable, and let there be new garments for their comfort.”

Cloyville sighed. “A bath ...

Hot water ....”

“Thank you,” said Glystra shortly .

Sir W alden’ s hospitality was still a

mystery .

A servant stood before him, bowed. “This way , sir .”

He was conveyed to a pleasant chamber high above the city .

An

expressionless young man in tight black livery took his clothes. “Y our bath

is through this door , Lord Glystra.”

Glystra stepped into a small room with walls of seamless mother -of-pearl. W arm water rose up around his knees, his waist, his chest. Foam, bubbles

sur ged up under his feet, rushed up past his tingling body , burst into his face

with a pleasant sharp fragrance. Glystra sighed, relaxed, floated. The fragrance of the foam shifted, changed, always new , now tart, now

sweet. Bubbles kneaded his skin, flushed it free of grime and perspiration,

toned, stimulated, and fatigue was gone, leaving behind a pleasant soft

weariness. The water level dropped swiftly , warm air gushed around him. He pushed

open the door .

The man had disappeared. A girl carrying a towel on two outstretched

arms stood before him smiling. She wore a short black skirt, no more. Her

body was tan and lovely , her hair arranged in a stylized loose swirl. “I am your room-servant. However , if you find me unpleasant or

unsuitable, I will go.”

She seemed very sure that he would find her neither .

Glystra stood still a

moment, then seized the towel, wrapped himself in it. “Does—um, everyone get a playmate?”

She nodded. “The women too?”

She nodded again. “That they may welcome you with renewed pleasure

when at last you depart.”

“Mmmph,” snorted Glystra. He wondered about the man now possibly

standing before the naked Nancy .

“Mmmph.”

He said with a brusqueness and finality he did not altogether feel, “Give

me my clothes.”

W ith no change in expression, she brought him Kirstendale garments,

assisted him into the intricate folds, tucks and drapes. At last she pronounced him dressed. He wore a garment of green and blue

in which he felt awkward and ridiculous. The first piece of head-gear she

brought forward, a tall tricorn dangling a dozen wooden sound-blocks, he

refused even to allow on his head. The girl insisted that a man without a

head-ornament would be a spectacle for derision, and finally he allowed her

to pull a loose black velvet beret over his cropped black poll, and before he

could protest she had fixed a string of scarlet beads so as to hang over one

ear .

She stood back, admired him. “Now my lord is a lord among lords ...

Such a presence....”

“I feel like a lord among jackasses,” muttered Glystra. He went to the

door , but the girl was there before him to sweep it open. Glystra frowned,

stalked through, wondering if Sir W alden had also arranged to have him fed

with a spoon. He descended to the main hall. Sunset light poured in through the

mullioned windows. A pair of lads placed screens of violet and green satin

where they would glow to the best advantage. A round table was spread

with heavy ivory cloth, and set with fourteen places. The plates were marble, thin and fragile, apparently carved and worked

by hand; the implements were carved from a hard black wood. One by one Glystra’ s companions arrived—the men sheepish in their new

garments, the girls sparkling and radiant. Nancy wore pale green, pink and

white. When she entered the room Glystra hastily sought her eye, hoping to

read how she had disposed of the companion assigned her by the

painstaking Sir W alden. She looked away , would not meet his eye. Glystra

clamped his mouth, scowled toward the blue pool in the center of the room. Sir W alden appeared and with him his two sons, a daughter , and a tall

woman in billows of lavender lace whom he introduced as his wife. Dinner was a splendid event, course after course, dishes of unfamiliar ,

odd-tasting food, all elaborately prepared and served: greens, fibers, cereals,

fungus, fruits, thistles, succulent stems, prepared in starchy coverings like

ravioli, spicy goulashes, croquettes, pastries, jellies, salads. The variety was

such that it came as a slight shock when Glystra realized that the meal was

entirely vegetarian— with the exception of certain ambiguous hashes,

which he took to be of insect origin, and avoided. After dinner there was oil-smooth liquor and much talk. Glystra’ s head

swam with the dinner wine, and the liquor relaxed him completely .

He

leaned toward Sir W alden. “Sir , you have not yet explained your interest in us casual passers-by .”

Sir W alden made a delicate grimace. “Surely it is a trivial matter .

Since I

enjoy your company , and you must rest your heads somewhere—what is the

dif ference?”

“It is a matter which disturbs me,” protested Glystra. “Every human act is

the result of some impulse; the nature of the impulse which caused you to

send the messenger for us preys on my mind ...

I hope you will for give my

insistence....”

Sir W alden smiled, toyed with a bit of fruit. “Some of us here in

Kirstendale subscribe to the Doctrine of Illogical Substitution, which in

many respects disputes your theory of causation. And then there is the

T empofluxion Dogma—very interesting, although I for one cannot entirely

accept the implications. Possibly the central postulates are unknown on

Earth?

The advouters claim that as the river of time flows past and through

us, our brains are disturbed—jostled, if you will—by irregularities, eddies,

in the flow of the moments. They believe that if it were possible to control

the turbulence in the river , it would be possible to manipulate creative

ability in human minds. What do you say to that?”

“That I still wonder why you asked us to be your guests.”

Sir W alden laughed helplessly .

“V ery well, you might as well learn the

inconsequential truth—and learn the inconsequentially of our lives in

Kirstendale.” He leaned forward, as if resolved on candor .

“W e Kirsters

love novelty—the new , the fresh, the exciting. Y ou are Earth-men. No

Earthmen have passed through Kirstendale for fifty years. Y our presence in

my house not only af fords me the pleasure of new experience, but also adds

to my prestige in the town ...

Y ou see, I am perfectly frank, even to my

disadvantage.”

“I see,” said Glystra. The explanation appeared reasonable. “I was quick with my invitation. Undoubtedly you would have received a

dozen others inside the hour .

But I have connections with the depot agent.”

Glystra tried to remember the head porter at the landing, who must have

relayed the information almost instantly to Sir W alden. Sir W alden cared little for answering Glystra’ s questions; he preferred to

discuss contemporary Earth culture, a lead which Glystra followed, to

please his host. The evening passed. Glystra, head spinning from the wine and liquor , was

conducted to his room. W aiting to undress him was the girl who had helped

him into his clothes. She moved on soundless bare feet, murmuring softly

as she unclasped the buckles, untied the hundred and one ribbons, bindings,

tassels. Glystra was drowsy .

Her voice was warm and heady as mulled

wine. The morning attendant was a thin-faced young man, who dressed Glystra

after his morning bath in silence. Glystra hurried to the main hall, anxious to find Nancy .

How had she

spent the night?

The question throbbed at the back of his mind like a bubble

of stagnant blood. But she was not yet in evidence. Pianza and Corbus sat

alone at the table, eating pink melon. Corbus was speaking. “—I think I’ll trade Motta in on this yellow-haired

girl. That’ s the way to cross a planet, wench by wench!”

Glystra muttered a greeting, sat down. A moment later Nancy entered the

room, fresh, blue-eyed, more beautiful than Glystra had ever remembered

her .

He half-rose to his feet, caught her eye. She nodded casually , dropped

into the seat opposite him, began to dip into the pink melon. Glystra returned to his own food. Big Planet was not Earth. He could not

judge a Big Planet girl by Earth standards ...

During breakfast he tried to

fathom her mind. She was pleasant, detached, cool. One by one the party entered the hall, until at last everyone was present. Except—

“Where’ s Cloyville?” asked Pianza. “Doesn’ t he plan to get up?” He

turned to a servant. “W ill you please arouse Mr Cloyville?”

The servant returned. “Mr Cloyville is not in his room.”

Cloyville was not seen all day .

It was possible, said Sir W alden, that he had wished to explore the town

on foot. Glystra, with no other hypothesis to of fer , concurred politely .

If

Cloyville had indeed wandered of f, he would return when he felt so

inclined. If he had been taken against his will, Glystra was unable to

formulate a plan to retrieve him. W ords would avail nothing ...

It might be

wise, thought Glystra, to leave Kirstendale as soon as possible. He said as

much at lunch. W ailie and Motta were downcast, and toyed with their food sulkily .

“Best

we should remain here in Kirstendale,” said W ailie. “Everyone is gay; there

is no beating of the woman, and a great deal of food.”

“Of course there is no meat,” Motta pointed out, “but who cares?

The

fabrics and the perfumed water and—” she glanced at W ailie and giggled. They looked at Corbus and Bishop, and giggled again. Bishop blushed, sipped green fruit juice. Corbus raised his eyebrows

sardonically .

Glystra chuckled; then, thinking of Nancy , asked himself

ruefully , what am I laughing at?

Sir W alden said gravely , “I have a rather pleasant surprise for you. T onight, at our evening meal, there will be meat—a dish prepared in honor

of our guests.”

He looked from face to face, half-smiling, waiting for the expected

enthusiasm. Then: “But perhaps for you, meat is not the gala event it is for

us ...

Also, I have been asked to convey the invitation of my Lord Sir

Clarence Attlewee to a soiree at his castle this evening. It has likewise been

planned in your honor , and he hopes you will accept.”

“Thank you,” said Glystra. “Speaking for myself, I’ll be delighted.” He

looked around the circle of faces. “I think we’ll all be there ...

Even

Cloyville, if he shows up.”

During the afternoon Sir W alden took them to what he called a

“pressing.” It proved to be a ceremonial squeezing of essence from a vat of

flowing petals. T wo hundred of the aristocrats appeared, wearing green and

gray headgear , which Sir W alden described as traditional for the occasion. Glystra looked about the plaza, along the ranks of gay careless faces. “A

good proportion of the upper classes must be present, I would imagine,” he

said idly to Sir W alden. Sir W alden stared straight ahead, and not a muscle moved on his face. “There are others, many others.”

“What is the population of Kirstendale, Sir W alden?”

Sir W alden made a non-committal gesture. “It is at best a speculation. I

have no figures.”

“And what is your speculation?”

Sir W alden darted him a brilliant glance. “W e are a proud race, proud and

sensitive. And we have our Secret.”

“Excuse me.”

“Of course.”

The booms which radiated like spokes from the press were bedecked like

a maypole, and manned by children. Round and round and round, chanting

a shrill song— round and round. Flower fumes rose into the air , and trickle

of yellow-green syrup dripped from the spout. Round and round. Essence of

white blossoms, lush yellow petals, blue flake-flowers ...

The children

bore tiny cups through the crowd, each containing a few drops of essence. Sir W alden said, “Bring your tongue almost to the liquid, but do not quite

taste it.”

Glystra bent his head, followed the instructions. A wave of pungent

fragrance swept through his throat, his nose, his entire head. His eyes

swam, his head reeled, momentarily dizzy in a kind of floral ecstasy .

“Exquisite,” he gasped when he was able to speak. Sir W alden nodded. “That was the Baie-Jolie press. Next will be a heavy

Purple W oodmint, then a Marine Garden, then a Rose Thyme, and last my

favorite, the fascinating Meadow Harvest Sachet.”

13. The Secr et

Through the afternoon the travellers revelled in perfume, and at last, half-

intoxicated from gor geous odors, they returned to Sir W alden’ s castle. Inquiry revealed that Cloyville had not yet returned. Glystra bathed with a troubled mind. A waiting him with a towel was the

same smiling girl who had served him yesterday .

T oday she wore, in

addition to her short black skirt, a string of red coral beads around her neck. Sighing, half in frustration, Glystra allowed himself to be arrayed in fresh

clothes. Sir W alden was more attentive and gracious than ever this evening;

repeatedly he toasted his guests and planet Earth in wines first green, then

orange, then red, and Glystra’ s head was light before the first series of

courses was served. Course after course: hot pickled fruit, slabs of nutty yeast spread with

sweet syrups, salads, croquettes garnished with crisp water -weed—and

presently a great tureen was wheeled in, a pottery bowl glazed in stripes of

brown, black and green. Sir W alden himself served the meat—slices of pale roast swimming in

rich brown gravy .

Glystra found himself replete, without further appetite, and merely toyed

with his portion. Sir W alden and his lady ate with silent concentration, for a

moment quiet. Glystra asked suddenly , “What kind of animal furnishes the meat?”

Sir W alden looked up, wiped his lips with a napkin. “A rather lar ge beast,

seldom seen in these parts. It seems to have wandered down from the north

woods; by rare luck we procured it; its meat is superlatively delicious.”

“Indeed,” said Glystra. Looking about he noticed Pianza and Bishop had

likewise left their plates untouched. Corbus and Clodleber g still had

appetite, and ate the meat with relish, as did Nancy and the gypsy girls. At the final course—a rich cheese-like substance— Glystra said suddenly ,

“I think Sir W alden, that tomorrow we will take our leave of Kirstendale.”

Sir W alden paused in his eating. “What?

So soon?”

“W e have far to go, and the monoline takes us but a short distance along

the way .”

“But—your friend Cloyville?”

“If he is found—” he paused. “If he returns, he possibly may be able to

overtake us. I feel that we had better go before—ah, any of us wander

away .”

“Y ou’re spoiling us for the tough life we have ahead,” said Pianza. “Another week here and I couldn’ t bring myself to leave.”

Sir W alden politely expressed his regret. “I invited you as curiosities of

the moment; now I look upon you as my friends.”

A coach came to convey the party to Sir Clarence Attlewee’ s soiree. Sir

W alden stood back. “But do you not come with us?” asked Glystra. “No,” said Sir W alden. “I will be occupied this evening.”

Glystra slowly took his seat in the carriage. Automatically he felt to his

side—but he had left his weapon in his room. He whispered to Corbus,

“T onight—don’ t drink too much. I think that we had better keep our heads

clear ...

For what—I don’ t know .”

“Right.”

The carriage stopped by a column painted blue-white, and the party was

conducted up a spiral staircase much like Sir W alden Marchion’ s. Sir Clarence, a man with a heavy chin and snapping eyes, greeted his

guests at the head of the stairs. Glystra stared at him. Somewhere,

somehow , Sir Clarence’ s face was familiar to him. He stammered, “Haven’ t

we met, Sir Clarence?

This afternoon at the pressing?”

“I think not,” said Sir Clarence. “I was otherwise occupied today .”

“I feel I’ve spoken to you before. Y our voice is familiar -”

Sir Clarence shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” He conducted them into his

home. “Allow me to present my wife-” He did so. “And V alery , my

daughter ...” Glystra’ s mouth fell open. Here was the girl who, nearly naked, waited to serve him when he left his

bath. He leaned forward. Or was she?

She regarded him with impersonal

interest, frowning slightly as if puzzled by his interest. Glystra mumbled,

“Charmed to make your aquaintance,” and she moved away .

W atching the swing of her body in its complicated wrappings of silk and

toile and net, Glystra was certain that she was the same girl. Bishop nudged him. “There’ s something rather pecu-liar—”

“What?”

“Our host Sir Clarence—I’ve seen him before.”

“So have I.”

“Where?

Do you remember?”

“At the Hunt Club?”

Bishop snapped his fingers. “That’ s it.”

“Who is he?”

“Sir Clarence is—or was—the doorman at the Hunt Club.”

Glystra stared, first at Bishop, then at Sir Clarence, who now was

speaking with Nancy .

Bishop was right. Behind him he heard a booming laugh, a great roar of merriment. “Haw ,

haw , haw!

Look at that!”

It was Corbus’ laugh, and Corbus laughed only rarely .

Glystra whirled. He looked face to face with Cloyville. Cloyville wore a black livery , with tiny gold epaulettes. He pushed a cart

laden with canapes. Glystra broke into laughter , as did Bishop and Pianza. Cloyville blushed,

a tide of red rising up his bull neck, over his cheeks. He darted an appealing

glance toward Sir Clarence, who watched him impassively .

“W ell, Cloyville,” said Glystra, “suppose you let us in on it ...

Picking up

a little spare change during your stay?”

“Care for hors d’oeuvres, sir?” asked Cloyville tonelessly .

“No, damn it. No hors d’oeuvres. Just an explanation.”

“Thank you, sir ,” said Cloyville and rolled his cart away .

Glystra turned to Sir Clarence. “What’ s going on?

What’ s the joke?”

Sir Clarence wore a puzzled look. “The man is new to my employ .

He

came to me well recommended—”

Glystra wheeled, strode after Cloyville, who seemed intent on rolling his

cart out of the room. “Cloyville!” barked Glystra. “W e’re going to thrash this thing out right

here.”

“Quiet!” hissed Cloyville. “It’ s not polite to create such a disturbance.”

“Thank God I’m not an aristocrat then.”

“But I am—and you’re hurting my prestige!”

Glystra blinked. “Y ou?

An aristocrat?

Y ou’re just a flunky pushing around

a tray of sandwiches.”

“Everybody’ s the same way ,” said Cloyville dispiritedly .

“Everybody

works. Everybody is everybody else’ s servant. How do you suppose they

keep up the front?”

Glystra sat down. “But—”

Cloyville said savagely , “I decided I liked it here. I want to stay .

I’ve had

enough of tramping across forty thousand miles of jungle, getting killed. I

asked Sir W alden if I could stay .

He said yes, but he told me I’d have to

work like everybody else, and work hard. There’ s not a more industrious

people in space than the Kirsters. They know what they want, they work for

it. For every hour of swanking around as an aristocrat they put in two

working—in the shops, the factories, in the homes. Usually all three. Instead of living one life, they live two or three. They love it, thrive on it. I

like it too. I’ve decided I’m built the same way .

Call me a snob,” he

shouted, voice rising angrily .

“I admit it. But while you and the others are

rotting your bones out in the muck I’ll be living here like a king!”

“That’ s all right, Cloyville,” said Glystra mildly .

“Or perhaps I should say ,

Sir Cloyville. Why couldn’ t you tell me of your plans?”

Cloyville turned away .

“I thought you’d try to ar gue with me. Or talk

about duty , rot like that—”

“Not at all,” said Glystra. “Y ou’re a free agent.” He turned away .

“I wish

you luck. I hope you’ll like it here. If we ever get to the Enclave I’ll send a

plane back to pick you up....” He returned to the main hall. Early the next morning a carriage called at the castle of Sir W alden

Marchion. Scrutinizing the men who pulled the carriage, Glystra recognized

one of Sir Clarence’ s sons. W ailie and Motta were missing. Glystra asked Bishop, “Where’ s your girl

friend?”

Bishop shook his head. “She had breakfast with me.”

“Did she know we were leaving?”

“W ell—yes.”

Glystra turned to Corbus. “How about Motta?”

Corbus looked at Bishop. “Let’ s face it.” He grinned. “W e’re just not the

men these Kirsters are ...”

Glystra could not prevent himself from glancing swiftly toward Nancy .

There she was, pale, rather taut—but there she was. He smiled at her ,

uncertainly .

There was still distance between them. He turned back to Corbus and Bishop. “Do you want to look for them?”

Corbus shook his head. “They’re better of f here.”

“Let’ s go,” said Bishop. At the monoline station, the head porter reached into the carriage,

unloaded the packs, to a cart, wheeled them to the trolleys. Glystra winked at his fellows. The porter was Sir W alden Marchion. W ith a straight face Glystra tipped him once again, three small iron

washers. Sir W alden bowed low .

“Thank you very much, sir .”

Kirstendale dwindled in the west. As before Clodleber g rode in the lead,

with Glystra following. Then came the first freight carrier with Corbus and

Nancy , then the second with Bishop and Pianza. Cloyville’ s trolley had

been left behind at Kirstendale. The party was dwindling. Glystra thought back across the last few weeks. A desperate bloody time. Ketch, Darrot, V allusser—killed. Cloyville had

abandoned the trek. Abbigens, Morwatz, the fifty Beaujolain soldiers— all

killed. Heinzelman, the Politburos, the Magickers in the griamobot—killed. A trail of death speading behind like a wake ...

Who would be next?

The thought hung in his mind like a cloud, while they sailed along the

bank of a quiet river—the East Fork of the Thelma. The countryside was

clumped with Earth-type oaks, cypress, elm and hemlock, imported with the

first settlers and now well-adapted; Big Planet flora: bell-briar , mutus weed,

handkerchief trees, with flowers like strips of rag, bronzenbush, wire-aspen,

a hundred nameless varieties of low jointed furze. T ruck-farms and paddies

occupied the river meadows; the caravan passed neat rows of thistle and

legumes, tended by a moon-faced thick-necked people who paid them no

heed whatever .

The river presently bore to the north. The monoline continued east, and

the country changed. The green meadows and forest became a dark blur to

the left and behind; ahead was dry savannah and a range of blue hills in the

far Big Planet distance. Clodleber g pointed. “The Eyrie.”

At noon on the third day Clodleber g pointed ahead once more. “W e’re

coming to Lake Pellitante.” Glystra saw the sheen of water , a limpidity in

the sky that told of reflection from a lar ge sheet of calm warm water .

The ground became marshy , and presently the mono-line swung to the

south. For half an hour they crossed dunes sparsely over grown with dry

yellow grass, and the glare of f the white sands combined with the normal

brilliance of the sunlight made ordinary vision painful. A high dune passed below , the dry grass licking up at the trolleys like

spume at the crest of a wave, and they coasted down toward a lagoon

choked with brilliant yellow reeds. Clodleber g, riding fifty yards ahead, suddenly dropped from sight. The

yellow reeds boiled with life; naked men, thin and tall as giraf fes, painted in

vertical yellow and black stripes, sprang forth. They were immensely tall—

eight feet or more—and they came in great bounds. A sharp cry like a

bugle-call sounded; the men stopped short, stif fened back to heave spears ...

V iolet light fanned out, crackling with white sparks. The tall men fell like

rags. Three had not been killed, but lay thrashing their long arms and legs

like upturned insects. Clodleber g picked himself up from the ground, stalked across the marsh,

stabbed them with their own spears. The swamp was quiet. Nothing could be heard but a rustle of the breeze in

the reeds, the warm hum of insects. Glystra looked at the power -bank of his

ion-shine, shook his head. “Done for .” He started to toss it to the ground,

then remembered the value of metal and tucked it under the seat. Clodleber g returned to his trolley , still muttering and bristling. “The

plague-taken reed-demons, they cut the line!” Evidently , in Clodleber g’ s

register of evils, this was the most depraved crime of all. “What race are these people?” asked Bishop, who had clambered down

one of the line standards to inspect the bodies. Clodleber g shrugged, and said in a disinterested tone, “They call

themselves the Stanezi ...

They’re a great nuisance to travellers, since they

gain nothing from the monoline by way of trade.”

Bishop nudged one of the scrawny forms over on its back, peered into the

open mouth. “Filed teeth. Hamitic physiognomy ...

A Shilluk tribe

emigrated to Big Planet from the Sudan about four hundred years ago—an

irredentist group who chose exile rather than submission to W orld

Government. V ery possibly here are their descendants.” He looked across

the reeds, the dunes, the hot sheen of Lake Pellitante. “The terrain is much

like the one they left.”

“From the swamps of the Nile to the swamps of Lake Pellitante,”

apostrophized Pianza. From the tool-box in his trolley Clodleber g brought a block-and-tackle,

and under his direction the broken parts of the monoline were heaved

together .

Sitting on top one of the standards Clodleber g was able to sink

barbed splints into both ends and secure the splice with three whippings of

fine cord. Then the tackle was released and the monoline was once more

whole. Clodleber g’ s trolley was hoisted back up into position; he set his sails and

the caravan was once more under way .

As they rounded the elbow of the lagoon Glystra looked back and saw

crouching forms steal from the swamp toward the yellow and black-striped

bodies ...

What a tragedy , thought Glystra. In ten seconds the flower of the

tribe wiped out. There would be wailing tonight in the Stanezi village,

grovelling in the ashes to the fetishes which had failed them, flagellations,

penances....

The monoline took a long gradual slant up into a line of trees bordering

Lake Pellitante, and the sudden shade was like darkness. The wind was

light, blowing in vagrant puf fs, and the trolleys ghosted hardly faster than a

man could walk. The lake lay nearly mirror -calm, with a peculiar yellow-

gray glisten on the surface, like a film of spider -web. The opposite shore

was lost in the haze; far out three or four boats were visible, manned,

according to Clodleber g, by fishermen of a tribe who held the land in

superstitious dread, and never in the course of their lives set foot ashore. An hour later they passed a village of house-boats—a triple row of bar ges

floating a hundred yards of fshore. The central row was covered with

vegetation, apparently a community kitchen garden. There was an air of

warmth and contentment to the village, lazy days in the sunlight....

Late afternoon found the party still drifting through the trees of the lake-

shore, and at dusk a party of traders appeared, riding the monoline from the

opposite direction. Clodleber g halted his trolley , the lead man in the opposite caravan

trundled cautiously closer , and the two exchanged greetings. The traders were men of Miramar , in Coelanvilli, to the south of

Kirstendale, returning from Myrtlesee Fountain. They were bright-eyed

wiry men in white linen suits, wearing red kerchiefs around their heads,

which detail of dress invested them with a peculiarly piratical air .

Clodleber g, however , appeared to be at his ease and Glystra gradually

relaxed. The trade caravan consisted of fourteen freight trolleys loaded with

crystallized sugar .

By an established rule, the Earthmen, with only four

trolleys, were obligated to drop to the ground and allow the traders free-

way .

Evening had seeped lavender -gray across the lake, and Glystra decided to

camp for the night. The leader of the traders likewise decided to make night

camp. “These are sad times,” he told Glystra. “Every hand is turned against the

trader , and it is wise to band together as many honest arms as possible.”

Glystra mentioned the Stanezi ambush by the lagoon of yellow reeds, and

the trader laughed rather weakly .

“The reed men are cowards; they are hardly resourceful or persistent, and

run at any loud sounds. It is dif ferent on the Palari Desert, where two days

ago we escaped the Rebbirs only because a squall of wind drove us at great

speed out of danger .” He prodded the earth with a stick, looked uneasily to

the east. “They are keen as the Blackhelm panthers, as single-minded as

fate. It would surprise me not at all to find that a party has followed us

down the monoline. For this reason we have kept our sleep short and our

sentries double.”

14. T r eachery

It was still too early for sleep. The traders sat by the fire, busy with a

game involving a rotating cage full of colored insects. Nancy sat cross-

legged, her dark-fringed eyes wide, the pupils big and black. Pianza sat on a

log, paring his fingernails; Bishop was frowning over a small notebook. Corbus leaned back against a tree, his spare body relaxed, his eyes alert,

watchful. Clodleber g greased the bearings of the trolleys, humming through

his teeth. Glystra walked down to the shore, to watch evening settle over the lake. Immense quiet enveloped the world, and the faint sounds from the camp

only pointed up the stillness. The west was orange, green and gray; the east

was washed in tenderest mauve. The wind had died completely .

The lake

lay flat, with a surface rich as milk. Glystra picked up a pebble, turned it over in his fingers. “Round pebble,

quartz—piece of Big Planet, washed by Big Planet water , the water of Lake

Pellitante, polished by the sands of the Big Planet shore ...” He weighed it

in his palm, half-minded to preserve it. All his life it would have the power

to recreate for him this particular moment, when peace and solitude and

strangeness surrounded him, with Big Planet night about to fall. Nancy drifted down from among the trees, her hair a niist of pale gold. Thinking of the nights at Kirstendale Glystra felt a pang, a pressure in his

throat. She came close beside him. “Why did you come out here?”

“Just wandering ...

Thinking....”

“Are you sorry you left Kirstendale?”

He was surprised at the tone of wistful reproach. “No, of course not.”

“Y ou have been avoiding me,” she said simply , looking at him with wide

eyes. Glystra had the uncomfortable feeling he was about to be put on the

defensive. “No, not at all.”

“Perhaps you found the Kirstendale woman more desirable than me?”

Again the tone of sad accusation. Glystra laughed. “I hardly spoke to her ...

How did you find the

Kirstendale man?”

She came close to him. “How could I think of anyone other than you?

My

mind was full of jealousy ....”

The weight lifted from Glystra’ s mind, the pressure eased from his throat ...

High from the sky came the deep note of a bell, a sonorous vibrating

chime. Glystra looked up in astonishment. “What on earth is that?”

“Some kind of night-creature, I suppose.”

The note throbbed once more across the lake, and Glystra thought to see a

dark shadow sweeping quietly past. He settled upon a log, pulled her down beside him. “After Myrtlesee

there’ s no more monoline.”

“No.”

“I’ve been considering going back to Kirstendale—”

He felt her stif fen, turn her head. “—and there build a sail-plane lar ge enough to carry all of us. And then I

remember that we can’ t stay aloft indefinitely; that without proper power to

keep us going we might as well stay on the ground ...

And then I consider

fantastic notions: rockets, kites—”

She caressed his face. “Y ou worry too much, Claude.”

“One scheme might work—a balloon. A hot-air balloon. Unfortunately

the trend of the. wind is south-east, and we would very soon be blown out

to sea.” He heaved a deep sigh. Nancy pulled him to his feet. “Let’ s walk up the shore, where we’re

farther away from the camp....”

When they returned, the traders had brought out a big green bottle of

wine, and all were sitting around the fire, flushed and talkative. Glystra and

Nancy each drank a small quantity , and presently the fire tumbled into coals

and the night air pinched at their bones. Sentry watches were arranged, and the party turned into their blankets. Sleep, under the great trees by Lake Pellitante....

Brilliant sunlight flooded the camp. Glystra struggled awake. Why did his

mouth taste so vilely?

Why had not the last sentry aroused him?

He stared around the camp. The traders were gone!

Glystra jumped to his feet. Under the monoline lay Pianza, face down—

and his neck was ghastly with blood. The trolleys were gone. Four trolleys, a hundred pounds of metal, clothes,

tools....

And Pianza dead ...

They buried him in a shallow grave in utter silence. Glystra looked up and

down the monoline, turned back to his company .

“There’ s no use fooling ourselves. This is a real blow .”

Clodleber g said sheepishly , “The wine—we should never have drunk the

wine. They rubbed the inside of our glasses with sleep oil. One should

never trust traders.”

Glystra shook his head glumly , looked toward Pianza’ s grave. No more

Pianza. It was a real loss. A fine fellow , kind, unassuming, cooperative. A

wife and three children awaited his return to Earth, but now they would

never see him again. The Earth calcium of his bones would settle into the

Big Planet soil ...

He returned back to the silent group. “Clodleber g, there’ s no reason for you to come any further .

The trolleys

are gone, our metal is gone. There’ s nothing for you ahead. Y ou’d best get

back to Kirstendale and pick up Cloyville’ s trolley , and that should get you

back to Swamp City .”

There would be Corbus, Bishop, Nancy and himself left in the party .

“Any of you others can do likewise. There’ s hardship and death ahead of us. Anyone who wants to return to Kirstendale—my good wishes go with

him.”

Nancy said, “Why won’ t you turn back, Claude?

There’ll be all our life

ahead of us—sooner or later we can get a message to the Enclave.”

“No. I’m going on.”

“I’ll stick,” said Bishop. “I don’ t like Kirstendale,” said Corbus. “They work too hard.”

Nancy’ s shoulders drooped. “Y ou can go back with Clodleber g,” suggested Glystra. She looked up at him sorrowfully .

“Do you want me to?”

“I never wanted you to come in the first place.”

She tossed her head. “I’m not going back now .”

Clodleber g rose to his feet, twisted his blond mustache. He bowed

politely .

“I wish you all the best of luck. Y ou’d be wiser to return to Swamp

City with me. W ittelhatch is not the worst master in the world.” He looked

from face to face. “No?”

“No.”

“May you reach your destination.”

Glystra watched him as he walked through the trees. His arms swung free. He had left his cross-bow on the trolley; the trolley was gone. “Just a minute,” called Glystra. Clodleber g turned inquiringly .

Glystra gave him the heat-gun. “This

should see you past the Stanezi. Throw of f the safety here, press this button. There’ s very little power left in the bank, don’ t fire it unless it’ s absolutely

necessary .”

“Thank you,” said Clodleber g. “Thank you very much.”

“Goodbye.”

They watched him disappear through the trees. Glystra sighed. “The two or three char ges in that gun might have taken us

a few extra miles, or killed a few more Rebbirs. It’ll save his life ...

W ell,

let’ s take an inventory .

What’ s left to us?”

“The commissary packs, with the concentrated foods, my vitamins, our

blankets, the water -maker and four ion-shines,” said Bishop. “Not very

much.”

“Makes for easier walking,” said Corbus. “Let’ s get moving. W e’ll go

crazy standing around here moping.”

“Good enough,” said Glystra. “Let’ s start.”

The lake was forty miles wide—two days march under the quiet trees. On

the evening of the second day a river out-flowing from the lake behind the

south barred the way , and camp was made on the shore. Next morning a raft was contrived by cross-piling dead branches. By dint

of furious poling and paddling the clumsy construction was forced to the

opposite bank, three miles downstream from the monoline. Climbing up on the bank they looked across the landscape. Looming in

the north-east were the crags of the Eyrie, guarded by a wall of great clif fs

running north to south. “Looks like about another three days to the clif fs,” said Bishop, “and no

perceptible gap for the monoline.”

“Perhaps it’ s just as well we’re on foot,” said Corbus. “Imagine the

portage to the top of the clif f!”

Glystra turned his head, looked along the river bank toward the lake,

looked again, squinted. He pointed. “What do you see up there?”

“About a dozen men on zipangotes,” said Corbus. “The traders spoke of a party of Rebbirs ...

Conceivably—” he nodded. Nancy sighed. “How nice to ride on one of those beasts instead of

walking!”

“The same thought had occurred to me,” said Glystra. Bishop said dolefully , “Three months ago I was a civilized human being,

never thought I’d turn out a horse-thief.”

Glystra grinned. “Makes it less astonishing when you remember that five

or six hundred years ago the Rebbirs were civilized Earthmen.”

“W ell,” said Corbus, “what do we do?

W alk down and murder them?”

“If they’ll wait for us,” said Glystra. “I hope we can do it on less than a

macro-watt, because—” he scrutinized the indicator of the ion-shine he had

claimed from Pianza’ s body “—there’ s only two macro-watts left in the

bank.”

“About the same here,” said Bishop. “I’ve got about two good kicks in mine,” said Corbus. “If they ride of f peaceably ,” said Glystra, “we’ll know they’re good

citizens and their lives won’ t be on our consciences. But if—”

“They’ve seen us!” cried Nancy .

“They’re coming!”

It was a race across the stretch of gray plain—men in flapping black

cloaks crouched on the thundering zipan-gotes. These were a species

dif ferent from the string of beasts they had sold to W ittelhatch; they were

lar ger , heavier , and their heads were bony and white, like skulls. “Demons!” muttered Nancy under her breath. The men wore tight helmets of a white shiny substance, ridged over the

tip and trailing scarlet plumes behind. Crouched low , knees clamped into

the horny black sides of their skull-headed char gers, the foremost flourished

swords of gleaming metal. “Up here, up on the bank,” said Glystra. “W e want to delay the front ones

till they’re all within range....”

The horny feet thudded furiously across the plain, the Rebbirs sang out

calls of the wildest exultation. The faces of the foremost were clear: bony

aquiline visages, jut-nosed, the lips drawn back in strain. “I count thirteen,” said Glystra. “Bishop take four on the left; Corbus four

on the right; I’ll get five from the middle.”

The riders deployed in a near -perfect line in front of the outcrop where the

four stood, as if they had lined up to be killed. Three flickers of violet, a

crackling of power .

Thirteen Rebbirs lay blasted and smouldering on the

ground. A few minutes later they set of f across the plain toward the line of clif fs. They rode the four strongest zipangotes; the others had been set free. The

Rebbir swords, knives and metal were secure behind their saddles. They

wore black cloaks and white helmets. Nancy found little pleasure in the disguise. “The Rebbirs smell like

goats.” She made a wry face. “This cloak is abominable. And the helmet is

greasy inside.”

“W ipe it out,” advised Glystra. “If it gets us to Myrtlesee, it’ s served its

purpose ...”

The land, rising in a long slope, became rocky and barren. The flat-leaved

vines and creepers near the lake gave way to stunted thorns of a particularly

ugly orange color .

The tides of sunlight glared and dazzled, and snow on the

Eyrie glittered like white fire. The region was not without inhabitants. From time to time Glystra,

glancing to the side, found white eyes in a pink wizened face staring into

his from out of the thorn, and occasionally he saw them running, crouched

low , bounding over the rocks. On the morning of the second day a caravan of six freight-carriers

appeared in the distance ahead, sailing swiftly down the wind. From a

covert fifty yards of f the trail the four travellers watched the caravan whirl

past— six swift shapes swinging to the press of white cloth— then they

were gone downwind, and soon out of sight toward Lake Pellitante. On the third day , the escarpment loomed big ahead. The monoline rose in

a tremendous swoop, up toward the lip of the clif f. “That’ s the way you come down from Myrtlesee,” said Glystra. He turned

his head, followed the hang of the cable across the sky , up, up, and along,

till it disappeared against the chalky front of the clif f. “Going up wouldn’ t

be so easy .

That’ s a long portage. But down ...

Remember the ride down

into the Galatudanian V alley?”

Nancy shivered. “This would be worse....”

They came to the landing at the end of the monoline, where the portage

must start. The trail led of f to the left, slanting up over the basal detritus of

crumbled boulders. Then it cut back, into a way dug out of the very side of

the clif f and curbed with cemented masonry .

T wo hundred yards in one

direction, then back, traversing— right, left, right, left—and the shoulders

of the zipangotes rubbed the inner wall, so that it was necessary to sit with

the inside leg looped over the pommel of the saddle. The zipangotes swept

up the trail easily , gliding on six legs with no suggestion of ef fort. Up, up, back, forth. The face of Big Planet dropped below , spreading

wider and wider , and where an Earthly eye might expect a horizon, with a

division into land and sky , there was only land, and then still more land. Lake Pellitante glanced and gleamed in the distance. A feeder river came

down from the north, circling out of the Eyrie, and stained the earth yellow

with its swamps. The outlet river , which they had crossed on rafts, swept

broadly south-east, presently breaking into a series of exaggerated

meanders, like a crumpled silver ribbon, and then vanished into the south. Up, up. W ind drove a scud of clouds at the clif f; suddenly the trail was

cloaked in damp gray twilight, and the wind swept up the mountain with the

sound of a roaring torrent. The fog glowed yellow , dispersed in trails and wisps; the sun shone full

on their backs. Glystra’ s beast shoved its horny face over the last hump,

sur ged with its four hind feet, and stood on flat ground. They halted near the edge of the clif f, with the wind pressing up over the

rim. The plateau was bare limestone, scoured and free of dust. Gray-white,

featureless, it stretched twenty miles flat as a sheet of cardboard; then

became mottled, a region of gray shadows. The intervening area was empty

except for the monoline: the standards at fifty-foot intervals and the cable

dwindling to nothing like an exercise in perspective. “W ell,” said Glystra, “nothing in sight, so—”

“Look,” said Corbus in a flat voice. He pointed north, along the rim of the

clif f. Glystra slumped back into the saddle. “Rebbirs.”

They came along the ver ge like a column of ants, still several miles

distant. Glystra estimated their number at two hundred. In a thick voice he

said, “W e’d better get moving ...

W e can’ t kill them all. If we ride along

the monoline—not too fast—perhaps they won’ t bother us....”

“Let’ s go!” said Corbus. At a careless lope the caravan started east, down the copy-book

perspective of the monoline. Glystra kept an anxious watch on the company

to the north. “They don’ t seem to be following—”

“They’re coming now ,” said Corbus. A dozen of the cavalry spurted forward out of the ranks, raced out at a

slant evidently bent on interception. Glystra clenched his teeth. “W e’ve got to run for it.”

He dug his knees into the side of the zipangote. It moaned and mumbled

and flung itself ahead, bony face straining against the wind. T wenty-four heavy feet pounded back the limestone. And behind came

the Rebbirs, black cloaks flapping out behind. 15. The Rebbirs

Nightmare flight, thought Glystra; was he asleep?

Nightmare steeds,

nightmare riders, the gray-white flat given depth only by the diminishing

monoline: a nightmare vista permeated by fear and strangeness and

pitilessness....

He broke free of the sensation, cast it away .

T urning, he watched the

Rebbirs over his shoulder .

The whole army had streamed out, as if

stimulated by the excitement of the chase. The first dozen had not gained

appreciably; Glystra stroked the horny side of his mount with an emotion

almost like af fection. “Go to it, boy ....”

Miles, changeless miles: flat gray plains, thunder of pounding feet. Looking ahead, Glystra saw that they were near the region of mottled

shadows—dunes of sand, white as salt, crystalline and bright as broken

glass. The Rebbirs had drawn closer , apparently able to extract the most frantic

ef forts from their mounts. Ahead—the dunes: sand swept of f the flatland

and piled in huge rounded domes. Looking behind, Glystra saw a sight which thrilled him, one which might

have been beautiful in other , less personal circumstances. The Rebbirs in

the van had risen to their feet, standing in wonderful balance on the backs

of their plunging mounts. And each, throwing back his cloak, fitted an

arrow to a heavy black bow .

The bows bent; behind the arrows Glystra glimpsed keen faces: eagle cast

to nose, forehead, chin. A chilling wonderful sight ...

He yelled, “Duck!

They’re shooting at us!” And he crouched over the side of his beast. Thwinggg!

The shaft sang over his head. The dunes towered above. Glystra felt the feet of his mount sound with a softer thud, a scuf fing, and

they were coursing across white sand ...

The creature was laboring, breath

was seizing in its throat. V ery few miles left in the clogged muscles, then

they would be at bay , the four of them. Their ion-shines would kill ten,

fifteen, twenty , fifty— then there would be a sudden sur ge of hawk-faced

men, a raising of swords, a chopping....

Over the dunes, down the soft round valleys, up to the milk-white crests. Then looking back to view the sur ge of black-cloaked riders pouring across

the swells, like black surf. The dunes ended, washed against black obsidian hills. Behind, the rumble

of multitudinous feet, hoarse war -calls ...

Out of the dunes, into an old

water -course through the flint, where possibly once or twice yearly water

foamed. The zipangotes stumbled over chunks of fractured black volcanic

glass with sagging necks, bent legs. T o either side gullies draining the side areas opened. Glystra swerved to

the left. “In here!” He was panting, in sympathy with the gasps of the

zipangotes. “Quick!

If we can lose them, we’ve got a chance....”

He plunged into the gully; behind came Nancy , pale, white around the

mouth, then Bishop, then Corbus. “Quiet,” said Glystra. “Back into the shadows—” He held his breath as if

he could control the rattling sobs of his beast. Thudding sounded out in the main watercourse. Black things hurled past

the opening. W ar -calls sounded now loud, now dim. There was a sudden slackening to the sounds, an ominous change of pitch. Galls vibrated back and forth— questioning tones, answers. Glystra turned,

looking behind. The ravine sloped at a near -impossible angle up to a ridge. Glystra beckoned to Nancy .

“Start up the hill.” T o Bishop and Corbus:

“After her .”

Nancy kneed her mount. It moved, mumbled, stopped short at the slope,

lowered its skull, tried to turn. Nancy hauled the reins, kneed the beast desperately .

Coughing and

whimpering, it set its first pair of feet above its head on the slope,

scrambled up. “Quick!” said Glystra in a harsh whisper .

“They’ll be here any minute!”

Bishop and Corbus followed ...

The yelling sounded closer .

Glystra

turned his mount up the slope. Steps sounded behind him, a snuf fling. Silence. Then a cry loud and brilliant, the loudest sound Glystra had ever

heard. From all directions came answering calls. Glystra kneed his mount up the slope. Behind came the Rebbir , leaning

forward with his sword out-stretched, waving it like an eager antenna. The gully was choked with hot-eyed men and their horny black beasts. The steep slope was a mass of clawing legs, hulking shoulders. Nancy breasted over the ridge, then Bishop, then Corbus, then Glystra. Corbus knew what to do. He laughed, his white teeth shining. His ion-

shine was ready .

He aimed it at the first Rebbir zipangote, squeezed. The

white skull-head shattered into a scarlet crush. The beast threw up its front

legs like a praying mantis, poised briefly , swung gradually over backwards,

fell into the beasts behind. A tangle of writhing flesh. White skull-faces, despairing eagle-men, a

horrid tangle at the bottom of the slope—a talus of hot jerking flesh, the

horny bodies of the zipangotes, the softer sinews of men, clotted together

like hiving bees. Glystra whirled his mount, led the way along the ridge. They rode with all

the speed left to their beasts, threading the line of the ridge past the

incursions of gullies, ravines, gulches. Caves and blow-holes opened under

their feet. After five minutes Glystra turned down one of the gullies, halted behind a

heavy wall of vitreous slag. “They’ll be a long time finding us now , if they even bother to look ...

W e’ll be safe until dark, at any rate.”

He looked down at the heaving shoulders of his mount. “Y ou’re not much

of a looker—but you’ve been quite a friend....”

After nightfall they returned to the ridge and stole eastward through the

dark. The ridge crumbled into rotten gray rock, disappeared under a dim

ocean of sand. As they started across the flat, from far behind came a call, an eerie

hooting which might or might not have been human. Glystra halted his

zipangote, looked up toward the Big Planet constellations, listened. Silence

everywhere. The zipangote shuf fled its feet, snorted softly .

The distant call came once

more. Glystra shifted in his saddle, kneed the zipangote into motion. “W e’d

better put distance between us and the Rebbirs while it’ s still dark. Or at

least until we find concealment of some sort.”

They set of f quietly across the glimmering sand. Glystra watched over his

shoulder .

A spatter of meteorites scratched bright lines down the sky .

From

far back came the mournful call once more. Big Planet rolled on through space, twisting its shoulder back toward

Phaedra. Dawn came, a pink and orange explosion. By this time the

zipangotes were barely able to stumble and their heads swung on long

necks, sometimes striking the ground. The light grew stronger .

A silhouette, low in the east, appeared—

vegetation, waving fronds, bearded stalks, tendrils trailing from splayed

branches. Phaedra burst up into the sky .

Plain to be seen now was an island of

vegetation ten miles long in a white sea. From the center rose a

hemispherical dome, glistening as of pale metal. “That must be Myrtlesee,” said Glystra. “Myrtlesee Fountain.”

There was no area of transition. Desert became oasis as sharply as if a

knife had trimmed away any extraneous straggles of herbage. Blue moss

grew fresh and damp; an inch away the clay lay as dry and arid as any

twenty miles to the west. Passing into the cool gloom was like entering the Garden of Paradise. The

air smelled of a hundred floral and leafy essences, damp earth, pungent

bark. Glystra slid of f his mount, tied the reins to a root, helped Nancy to the

ground. Her face was pinched and white, Bishop’ s long countenance was

loose and waxy , Cx>rbus’ eyes gleamed like moonstones and his mouth

was pulled into a thin pale line. The zipangotes nosed and snuf fled in the moss, lay down, rolled over .

Glystra ran to remove the packs before they should be crushed. Nancy lay at full length in the shade, Bishop slumped beside her .

“Hungry?” asked Glystra. Nancy shook her head. “Just tired. It’ s so peaceful here. And quiet ...

Listen!

Isn’ t that a bird singing?”

Glystra listened, and said, “It sounds very much like a bird.” A shadow

crossed his face; he frowned, shook his head. He dismissed the odd idea

which had suddenly been inserted in his mind. And yet—hmm. Strange. Corbus opened the commissary pack, mixed vitamin concentrate with

food powder , moistened it, stirred it into a heavy paste, scraped it into

Cloyville’ s cooker , squeezed down the lid, waited an instant, lifted the lid

and withdrew a cake of hot pastry .

He contemplated it gloomily .

“If we ever

get back to Earth I’m going to eat for a month. Ice cream, steak, apple pie,

swiss cheese on rye with lots of mustard, strawberry shortcake, corned beef

and cabbage, fried chicken, spare-ribs—”

“Stop it,” groaned Bishop. “I’m sick as it is....”

Glystra lay down on the moss. “Let’ s hold a council of war .”

Corbus asked lazily .

“What’ s the problem?”

Glystra looked up into the blue-green foliage, tracing the white veins of a

leaf. “Survival ...

There were eight of us that left Jubilith, not counting

Nancy .

Y ou, Bishop, me, Pianza, Ketch, Darrot, Cloyville and V allusser .

Nancy makes nine. W e’ve come a thousand miles and there’ s only four of

us left. Ahead of us is first of all more desert, the main part of the Palari. Then mountains, then the lake and the Monchevior River , then God knows

what-all.”

“T rying to scare us?”

Glystra continued as if he hadn’ t heard. “When we left Jubilith, I thought

the chances pretty good that we’d all make it. Footsore, bedraggled—but

alive. I was wrong. W e’ve lost five men. Our weapons are just about done

for .

I don’ t know whether I’ve got a char ge left in mine or not. Big Planet is

meaner and tougher than we allowed for .

The chances are that we’ll be

killed if we go on. So— now’ s the time. Anyone who wants to return to

Kirstendale on the monoline has my blessing. There’ s metal enough in

those Rebbir swords to make us all rich men. If any of you feel that you’d

rather be a live Kirster than a dead Earthman—now’ s the chance to make up

your minds, and no hard feelings.“

He waited. No one spoke. Glystra still looked up into the leaves. “W e’ll rest here in Myrtlesee a day

or so, and then—whoever wants to start east—” He left the sentence

hanging in mid-air .

His eyelids were heavy .

The warm air , the cool shade,

the soft moss, fatigue—all induced drowsiness. He aroused himself with a

jerk. Bishop was snoring. Nancy was lying on her side. Corbus sat with his

back to a tree, eyes half-closed. Glystra rose to his feet. “Looks like we’re planning to sleep,” he said to

Corbus. “I’ll take first look-out. Y ou can have the second, then Bishop, then

Nancy ....”

Corbus nodded, stretched out full length. Glystra paced up and down, clenching and unclenching his hands. It was

as if his brain were a house and knocking on the door was a boy with a

barrowful of thoughts. Somehow he could not find the key to the door .

He walked softly across the moss, looked down at his companions. Bishop snored, Corbus slept like an innocent child, Nancy’ s hands

trembled, quivered as if in a nightmare. He thought: the traders had killed

Pianza, the man on watch, why had they stopped?

It would have been

perfectly safe to kill the entire party , and the traders apparently lacked

qualms of any sort. The Earthmen wore valuable clothes, with many metal

accessories. The ion-shines alone represented fortune beyond dreams. Why

had not the entire party been slaughtered in their sleep?

W as it that the

traders had been prevented by someone who carried enough authority ,

perhaps in the shape of an ion-shine, to enforce his decisions?

Glystra kneaded his knuckles in his palms ...

Why?

Had his enemy

calculated that without trolleys, they might turn back to Kirstendale?

If

Pianza had been killed while someone stood acquiescently by , one of these

three sleeping before him was not only a spy and a saboteur , but a murderer .

Glystra turned away , the ache of grief and uncertainty in his throat. He

walked back into the grove. The moss was like a deep rug of marvellous

softness. The air was murmurous, restful. Big Planet sunlight trickled

through layers of leaves and open spaces, fell around him with the richness

of light in a fairy-tale forest. Through the air came a sweet trilling, soft-

flute-like. The song of a bird— no, probably an insect or a lizard; there

were no birds on Big Planet. And from the direction of the dome he heard

the mellow chime of a gong. There was a soft sound beside him. He jerked around. It was Nancy .

He

sighed in relief. “Y ou frightened me.”

“Claude,” she whispered, “let’ s go back—all of us.” She went on

breathlessly , “I have no right to talk this way , I’m an uninvited guest ...

But—you’ll surely die, I don’ t want you to die ...

Why can’ t we live, you

and I?

If we returned to Kirstendale—we could live out our lives in quiet....“

He shook his head. “Don’ t tempt me, Nancy .

I can’ t go back. But I think

that you should.”

She drew away , searched his face with wide blue eyes. “Y ou don’ t want

me any more?”

He laughed wearily .

“Of course I do. I need you desperately .

But—it’ s a

miracle that we’ve come this far .

Our luck can’ t hold out forever .”

“Of course not!” she cried. “That’ s why I want you to turn back!” She put

her hands on his chest. “Claude, won’ t you give up?”

“No.”

T ears trickled down her cheeks. He stood awkwardly , trying to formulate

words of comfort. They stuck in his throat. Finally , for want of anything

better , he said, “Y ou’d better rest,” aware that the words sounded stif f and

formal. “I’ll never rest again.”

He looked at her questioningly .

But she went to the ver ge of the oasis,

leaned against a tree and stood looking across the white desert. Glystra turned away , paced up and down the cool blue moss. An hour passed. He walked down to look at Nancy .

She lay outstretched, head on her

arms, asleep. Something in her posture, in the stif f turning-away of the

back, intimated to Glystra that never again would their relationship be quite

the same. He went to where Corbus lay asleep, touched his shoulder .

Corbus’ eyes

flicked open instantly .

“Y our watch. Call Bishop in an hour .”

Corbus yawned, rose to his feet. “Right.”

A sound. Hoarse throbbing sound. Glystra was very tired, very

comfortable. A harsh yammering penetrated the world behind his eyelids. It was a

distant ur gent sound. Danger , he must awake. He must awake!

He jumped to his feet, wide awake, clawing at his ion-shine. Corbus lay beside him, asleep. Bishop was nowhere in sight. Neither was Nancy .

A crackle of harsh voices. A thud. Another thud. Further voices, dying,

fading out. Glystra ran through the foliage, through vines with heart-shaped leaves,

through a clump of red feather -bushes with green flowers. He tripped on a

body , stopped short, frozen in terror .

The body was headless. Blood still pumped from the stump. The head was

nowhere visible. The body belonged to Bishop’ s head. Where was that round head with its brain so full of knowledge?

Where

was Bishop, where had he gone?

He felt a grasp of his arm. “Claude!” He felt a string on his cheek. He

looked into Corbus’ face. “They’ve killed Bishop.”

“So I see. Where’ s Nancy?”

“Where’ s Nancy?

Where’ s Nancy?”

He turned to look, then halted his gaze, turned to look at the ground at his

feet. “Whoever killed Bishop took her with him,” said Corbus. “Looks like her

tracks, here in the moss—”

Glystra took a deep breath, another .

He looked down at the tracks. Sudden

ener gy fired him. He ran of f toward the dome. He passed a circle of slim

cypresses, branches laden with golden fruit. He came out on a paved walk,

leading straight to the great central dome. The whole face of the building

was visible as well as the columned arcades to either side. Neither Nancy

nor her captors were in sight. For an instant Glystra stood stock still, then started forward once again. He ran through the gardens, past a long marble bench, a fountain spraying

up six jets of clear water , down a walkway paved with diamond-shaped

blocks of white and blue-gray stone. An old man in a gray wool smock looked up from where he knelt with a

trowel in flower -bed. Glystra stopped, demanded harshly , “Where did they go?

The men with

the girl?”

The old man gazed blankly at him. Glystra took a short step forward; the old man cringed. “Where did they go?

Answer me, or—”

Corbus came up behind. “He’ s deaf.”

Glystra glared, swung away .

A door opened into a wall at the end of the

walkway; this was the door Nancy must have been taken through. He ran

over , tried it. It was as solid as a section of the stone wall. He pounded on it, yelling, “Open up!

Open!

Open!”

Corbus said, “Pounding on that door won’ t get you much but a knife in

your neck.”

Glystra stood back, stared at the stone building. The sunlight had lost its

tingle, the gardens were drab and dismal. In a bitter voice he said, “There’ s

nowhere on this planet where a man can walk in peace.”

Corbus shrugged. “I guess anything goes anywhere— so long as they can

get away with it.”

Glystra clenched his teeth; the muscles corded around his mouth. “There’ s

power in this gun to kill a lot of them, and by heaven, I’ll see the color of

their blood!”

Corbus’ voice was tinged with impatience. “W e’ll do better if we go at the

matter rationally .

First we’d better take care of our beasts before they’re

stolen.”

Glystra glared defiantly up at the stone wall, then turned away .

“V ery well...

Y ou’re right.”

For a moment they stood by the headless body .

“Poor old Bishop,” said

Glystra. “W e probably won’ t outlive him more than a day ,” said Corbus in his flat

voice. The zipangotes stood grunting and growling, bumping the white carapace

of their heads against the tree-trunks. W ordlessly Glystra and Corbus loaded

the packs, handling the pathetic belongings of Bishop and Nancy with

heavy fingers. Corbus stopped in his work. “If I was running this outfit, do you know

what we’d do?”

“What?”

“W e’d ride out of here due east as fast as we could make it.”

Glystra shook his head. “I can’ t do it, Corbus.”

“There’ s something fishy going on.”

“I know it. I’ve got to make sure what it is. I’m fighting a lost cause now ...

Y ou can still drift back to Kirstendale.”

Corbus grunted. They climbed into the saddles, rode toward the dome. 16. The Sear ch

The air was full of lazy sounds: the far bird-like trill, a hum of small

insects, the rustle of warm wind. They passed a clump of gardenia trees;

here stood a girl playing with a diabolo. She had a triangle face, big dark

eyes; she wore green satin trousers and red slippers. W ordlessly she

watched them pass, mouth a little parted, her toy for gotten, and

contemplating her shining cleanliness Glystra became warmly aware of his

own bristling filth. They rode out of range of the girl’ s curious eyes, past a low wall topped

with spheres of polished stone over grown with colored lichen. Behind came

the sound of soft singing. The wall mer ged into the side of the main dome;

skirting the building they rode down a neat lane. A ditch with clean water

flowed to the left; to the right was a line of small shops. It was a bazaar like

hundreds of others Glystra had passed through while travelling among the

stars. Rugs, shawls, quilts hung over rods; fruits and melons lay heaped in neat

pyramids; pottery crocks and vessels lay stacked, their glaze misted by a

film of dust; baskets hung from ropes. No one heeded them as they rode

past on the moaning zipangotes. In the shadows a few heads were turned

and Glystra saw the flash of eyes, but there were no voices raised to greet or

sell. One shop, slightly lar ger than the others, displayed a wooden sword as a

guild-mark. Glystra pulled up his mount. “I’ve got an idea.” He slid free a

pair of the swords they had taken from the Rebbirs, carried them into the

dimness of the shop. A short fat man leaning against a heavy table looked up. He had a big pale

head, black hair shingled with gray , a sharp nose and chin, the face of a

Rebbir changed and rendered devious by civilization. Glystra flung the swords down on the table. “What are these worth to

you?”

The fat man looked at them and his face changed. He did not try to

conceal his interest. “Where did you get these?” He reached out, gingerly

felt the metal. “These are the finest steel ...

None but the South Rebbir

hetman carry steel like this.”

“I’ll part with them cheap,” said Glystra. The armourer looked up with quick light in his eye. “What is your wish?

A sack of peraldines?

A four -tier helmet, mother -of-pearl perhaps, crowned

by a Magic Mountain opal?”

“No,” said Glystra. “It’ s easier than that. An hour ago my woman was

taken into the big dome, or temple, whatever you call it. I want her back.”

“T wo steel swords for a woman?” demanded the merchant incredulously .

“Do you joke?

I’ll furnish you fourteen vir gins beautiful as the morning sun

for the two swords.”

“No,” said Glystra. “I want this particular woman.”

The merchant absent-mindedly felt of his neck, stared into the shadow of

his shop. “In truth, I covet the swords ...

And yet I own but one head.” He

stroked the shiny metal with a reverent hand. “Still—each of these blades

represents a thousand heads—a thousand bits of iron, melted and annealed,

cleared of dross, heated and quenched, honed for half a year .” He picked up

one of the swords. “The Dongmen are unpredictable; at times they seem

foolish and old, and then one hears of their craft and cruelty , so that an

honest man never knows what to believe....”

Glystra fidgeted. T ime was passing; minutes kneaded dull fingers into his

mind. Nancy—his mind wavered sidewise into the possibilities. Thenfa

floor of hardness seemed to rise up under his misgivings. Suppose she were

bedded, raped; if that were the worst, there was no irreparable harm done....Possibly she might be allowed a respite. One hour , two hours?

Perhaps

bathed, perfumed, clothed?

It all depended upon the fastidiousness of her

captor .

He became aware of the merchant’ s calculation. “W ell?”

“Just exactly what do you want of me?”

“I want this woman. She is young and beautiful. I imagine she has been

taken to someone’ s private chamber .”

W ith an expression of surprise at his ignorance, the merchant shook his

head. “The priests are celibate. Only the hierarchs allowed themselves the

use of women. More likely she has been taken to the pens.”

“I know nothing of the temple,” said Glystra. “I want the help of someone

who does.”

The merchant nodded. “I see. Y ou want help. Y ou’ll risk your own head

then?”

“Y es,” said Glystra angrily , “but drop the idea that you won’ t be risking

yours along with me.”

“I won’ t,” said the merchant coolly .

“But there is one who will.” He

pushed with his foot under the counter .

A moment later a chunky young

man with a face harder and bonier than his father ’ s entered the room. His

eyes fell on the swords; he uttered a sharp exclamation, took a step forward,

halted, looked at Glystra. “My son Nymaster ,” said the merchant. He turned to the young man. “One of the blades is yours. First you must take this man through Nello’ s

crevice into the temple. W ear robes, take an extra robe with you. This man

will point out a woman he wants; no doubt she’ll be in the pens. Y ou will

bribe Koromutin. Promise him a porphyry dagger .

Bring the woman back

outside.”

“Is that the all of it?”

“That’ s everything.”

“Then the blade is mine?”

“The blade is yours.”

Nymaster turned, motioned to Glystra with an air of calm execution. “Come.”

“One moment,” said Glystra. He went to the door .

“Corbus.”

Corbus slouched into the room, looked around expressionlessly .

Glystra pointed to the two blades. “If I return with Nancy , this man

receives the two swords. If neither of us returns—kill him.”

The merchant voiced an inarticulate protest. Glystra glared at him, “Do

you think I trust you?”

“T rust?” said the merchant with a puzzled expression. “T rust?

What word

is that?” And he tested it several times more. Glystra gave Corbus a wolfish grin. “If I don’ t see you again—good luck. Set yourself up as an emperor somewhere.”

The merchant conferred earnestly with his son, gesticulating with the

palm of one hand. The son wore a subdued expression. Nymaster beckoned to Glystra; they left the shop, walked around the

building, entered an alley between two fences over which fern fronds fell. Nymaster stopped at a little shed. He pressed heavily on one foot, the door

swung open. He reached in, tossed a bundle to Glystra. “W ear this.”

It was a white gown with a tall peaked hood. Glystra pulled it over his

head. “Now this,” said Nymaster—a maroon sleeveless smock an inch

shorter than the first garment. “And this”—a loose gown of black still

shorter , with a second hood. Nymaster dressed himself similarly .

“It’ s the wear of a Dongman

Ordinary—a lay priest. Once inside the temple no one will look at us.” He

tied a third set of robes into a neat bundle, looked up and down the alley .

“This way— quickly ,”

They ran a hundred feet to a portal in the fence, passed through into a

rank garden of fern. The ground was marshy and quivered underfoot. The

ferns crackled and snapped in the wind. Nymaster halted, then stole forward carefully , stopped once more, held

out a hand admonishing silence. Looking past him, through a screen of wire

vine, Glystra saw a tall spindly man with a gray concave face and a crooked

nose standing idly in the sunlight. He carried a quirt in a long gnarled hand,

which he slapped idly against his black boots. A little distance away six

children of varying ages squatted in a truck garden, grubbing weeds with

sharp sticks. Their ankles were knotted together with greasy twine, their

only garment was a loose smock of coarse cloth. Nymaster leaned back, whispered, “T o reach the wall we’ve got to pass

Nello; we can’ t let him see us, he will raise an outcry .”

He bent, picked up a clod, flung it hard at the little boy at the end of the

line. The boy cried out, then quickly silenced himself, bent furtively to his

work. Nello uncoiled like a lazy python, sauntered yawning across the sunny

garden to the quivering boy and raising his whip, carefully and without

haste striped the child’ s buttocks. Once—twice—three times—

Nymaster pulled at Glystra’ s arms. “Now while he’ s absorbed in his

enjoyment....”

Glystra let himself be pulled across the patch of open space, behind a wall

of crumbling stone. Nymaster scurried now at top speed, the skirts of his

garment flapping in three-colored flashes. By a thick cycad with a trunk like the skin of a pineapple he paused,

looked in all directions, and finally peered through the fronds at the top of

Myrtlesee dome. “Sometimes a priest stands in the turret watching across the desert. This is

when they expect important guests, and wish to ready the oracle.” He

peered, squinted. “Hah, there he is, scanning the wide world.”

Glystra saw the dark shape in a cage atop the dome, standing stif f as a

gar goyle. “No matter ,” said Nymaster .

“He will never notice us; his gaze is out in

the air -layers.” He climbed the wall, using chinks and crevices in the rock

for foot and hand holds. Halfway up he disappeared from view , and Glystra,

following him up the wall, came upon a narrow gap invisible from below .

Nymaster ’ s voice came from below .

“The wall was built for show , and

hollow .

There is an avenue within.”

Glystra heard a clink, a click and sparks flew through the darkness. A line

of hot smoulder pulsed as Nymaster blew , burst into a tongue of flame,

from which he lit a torch. Nymaster strode ahead confidently , a lord in his own realm. They walked

a hundred yards, two hundred yards, across damp well-packed clay .

Then

the wall ended against blank stone. At their feet was a pit into which

Nymaster lowered himself. “Careful,” he muttered. “The footholds are only cut into clay .

Get a good

toe-grip.”

Glystra descended eight feet, ducked under the foundations of a heavy

wall, crawled up a slanting passage. “Now ,” said Nymaster , “we’re under the floor of the Main College. Over

there”—he pointed—“is the V eridicarium, where the oracle sits.”

Footfalls sounded above—hasty yet light, with an odd hesitancy .

Nymaster cocked his head. “That’ s the Sacristy , old Caper .

When he was

young a malicious slave poisoned her teeth, and when he made demands on

her , she bit his thigh. The wound never healed and his leg is no thicker than

a wand.”

A second mass of rock barred their way .

Nymaster said, “This is the

oracle’ s pedestal. Now we must be careful. Hold your head away from the

light, say nothing. If we are halted and recognized—”

“What then?”

“It depends on who the villain is, and his rank. The most dangerous are

the novices in black fringes, who are over -zealous, and the Hierarchs, with

gold baubles on their hoods. The ordinaries are less conscientious.”

“What do you plan?”

“This passage leads to the pens where prisoners, slaves and exchanges are

pent before processing.”

“Processing?

Do you mean serving as an oracle?”

Nymaster shook his head. “By no means. The oracle needs the wisdom of

four men to guide his thoughts, and for every dissertation of an oracle three

men besides himself must be processed. He himself serves as fourth man,

for the next oracle.”

Glystra, gripped by a sudden impatience, waved his hand. “Let’ s hurry .”

“Now—absolute quiet,” warned Nymaster .

He led around the rock, up a

rude wooden ladder , from which he rolled of f on to a shelf. He fixed the

torch in a rope socket, and crawled of f on his stomach through the darkness. Glystra came after .

Overhead a stone floor pressed into his back. Nymaster stopped and Glystra ran into his feet. Nymaster listened, then

jerked forward. “Follow me, swiftly .”

He disappeared. Glystra almost fell into a dim hole. He swung himself

down, stood on a stone floor at Nymaster ’ s back. V ile-smelling water

gur gled past his feet. Nymaster strode toward the light, a shaft of feeble

yellow shining down a flight of steps. He climbed the steps and without

hesitation stepped out into the light. Glystra followed. The air was hot and reeked with an oily stench that knotted his stomach. From a wide archway came sounds of industry .

Nymaster marched past without pause. Glystra followed on his heels. He

turned his head, looked into a bin—into the blank dead eyes of Bishop. Glystra made a moaning coughing sound, stopped short. He felt

Nymaster ’ s hard arm, heard his petulant voice. “What’ s the trouble?”

“That is the head of my friend.”

“Ah.” Nymaster was uninterested. “Beyond is the extraction room where

the head is tapped of its wisdom....It is a precise art, so I am given to

understand, and not easily mastered.” He looked sardonically at Glystra. “W ell—?”

Glystra pushed himself away from the wall. “Y es. Let’ s get it over with.”

By a heroic ef fort he restrained his gor ge. Nymaster impatiently hurried

of f down the corridor .

Men in robes passed—two, three, four—without paying them heed. Then

Nymaster stopped short. “There, behind this wall are the pens. Look in

through the chinks and pick out your woman.”

Glystra pressed close to the stone wall, peered through an irregular hole at

about eye-level. A dozen men and women, completely naked, stood in the

middle of the room, or sat limply on stone benches. Their hair had been

shaved, and their pates daubed with paint of either blue, green or yellow .

“W ell—which one is she?” snapped Nymaster .

“That one at the far end?”

This was a long-headed creature with pendant breasts and a yellow

wrinkled belly .

“No,” said Glystra. “She’ s not here.”

“Ha,” muttered Nymaster .

“Hm, this poses a problem ...

V ery dif ficult—

and I fear past the scope of our agreement.“

“Nonsense!” said Glystra in a deadly voice. “The agreement was to find

the woman and bring her out, wherever she was ...

So now take me to her ,

or I’ll kill you here and now .”

“I don’ t know where to look for her ,” explained Nymas-ter in a patient

voice. “Find out then!”

Nymaster frowned. “I’ll ask Koromutin. W ait here—”

“No. I’ll come with you.”

Nymaster growled under his breath, and turned of f down the passage. He

thrust his head into a little chamber .

The man within was fat and middle-

aged. He wore a spotless white tunic and an immaculate collar of ruf fled

lace. He appeared soft, pompous, petulant, ef feminate, capable of

irresponsible spite. He was not surprised to see Nymaster and resentful only

to the extent that as an important of ficial, his time was valuable. Nymaster spoke to him in a low voice, which Glystra bent forward to

hear .

Koromutin’ s eyes rested on him, probed under his hood. “—he says she’ s not in the pen; he won’ t leave till he finds her .

She must

own the key to his life; she must be a witch. No woman is worth such ef fort

and expense. But in any event we must have her .”

Koromutin frowned judiciously .

“This woman evidently must be pent

upstairs for personal use. If so—well, how much does your father put

forward?

Now I mind me of a certain dagger of good Philemon porphyry ....”

Nymaster nodded. “It shall be yours.”

Koromutin rubbed his hands, bounded to his feet, examined Glystra with

a new speculation. “The woman is evidently a rich queen. My dear sir ,” he

bowed, “I salute your loyalty .

Allow me to assist your search.” He turned,

not waiting for Glystra’ s answer , flounced down the hall. They climbed a flight of curving stairs. From above came the sound of

footsteps descending. Koromutin bowed with vast obsequiousness. “Bow!” hissed Nymaster .

“The Prefect Superior!”

Glystra bowed low .

He saw the hem of priestly robes, exceedingly rich. The white was a silky floss; the red, a fur soft as the pelt of a mole; the

black, a heavier fur .

A peevish voice said, “Where are you, Koromutin?

An

oraculation will shortly be in progress, and where is the wisdom?

Y ou are

remiss.”

Koromutin spoke resonant apologies. The Prefect Superior returned

upstairs. Koromutin trotted back to his cubicle, where he donned a high-

collared garment of stif f white brocade embroidered with scarlet spiders and

a tall white conical hat with ear flaps and cheek guards which almost hid his

face. “Why the delay?” hissed Glystra. Nymaster shrugged. “Old Koromutin holds the post of Inculcator , and that

is his ceremonial regalia. W e will be delayed.”

Glystra said fretfully , “W e have no time for it; let’ s get about our

business.”

Nymaster shook his head. “Not possible. Koromutin is bound to the

oraculation. In any event, I wish to witness the rite; never have I watched an

oracle at his revelations.”

Glystra growled threats but Nymaster could not be moved. “W ait till

Koromutin leads us to the woman. She is not in the pens, you saw as much

yourself.”

Glystra, fuming and disquieted, was forced to be content. 17. The Oracle

Koromutin continued his preparations. From a locked cabinet he brought

a jar of a murky yellow fluid, from which he filled a rude hypodermic. “What’ s that stuf f?” demanded Glystra contemptuously .

“That is wisdom.” Koromutin spoke with unctuous complacency .

“The

head glands of four men go into each char ge; the material is concentrated

sagacity .”

Hormones, pineal fluid, thought Glystra; God only knew what nastiness. Koromutin replaced the jar of fluid in the cabinet, clamped the

hypodermic to the front of his hat like a holy emblem. “Now—to the

V eridicarium.”

He led Nymaster and Glystra down the corridor , up the stairs, along a

wide passage to the central hall under the dome—a lar ge twelve-sided room

panelled with mother -of-pearl and swimming with pale gray color .

In the

center rose a dais of black wood holding a single chair .

There were only two dozen priests in the hall, arranged in a semi-circle,

chanting a litany of monosyllabic gibberish unintelligible to Glystra, and,

he suspected, equally meaningless to the priests. “Only a score,” muttered Koromutin. “The Lord V oiv-ode will not be

pleased. He bases the value of the oracle’ s wisdom by the number of priests

in the hall ...

I must wait here, in the alcove.” His voice came muf fled as if

from under the robes. “By custom, I follow the oracle.” He glanced around

the hall. “Y ou two had best go by the Boreal W all, lest some stripling

novice peer under your hood and raise an outcry .”

Nymaster and Glystra took inconspicuous positions against a great carved

screen. A moment later an egg-shaped palanquin curtained with peach satin

and fringed with blue tassels was borne into the hall. Four black men in red

breeches served as porters; two girls followed with a chair of withe and

clever pink bladder cushions. The porters set down the equipage; a red-faced little man hopped out from

between the curtains, seated himself in the chair which was hurriedly thrust

under him. He beckoned furiously , to no one in particular , to the world at lar ge. “Haste, haste!” he wheezed. “Life is running out!

The light leaves my eyes

while I sit here!”

The Prefect Superior approached him, bowed his head with nicely

calculated respect. “Perhaps the Lord V oivode would care to refresh himself

during the preliminary rites.”

“Devil take the preliminaries!” bawled the V oivode. “In any event I note

but a niggardly score of priests here to honor my presence; such makeshift

preliminaries I can well spare. Let us to the oraculating; this time let him be

a stalwart in his prime—a Rebbir , a Bode, a Juillard. No more like that

senile Delta-man who died two minutes after the spasms left him.”

The prefect bowed. “W e will seek to oblige you, V oivode.” He looked up

at a sound. “The oracle comes.”

T wo priests entered the room supporting between them a black-haired

man in a white smock. He stared back and forth like a trapped animal,

digging his heels into the floor .

The Lord V oivode roared in contempt. “Is this the creature who is to

advise me?

Faugh!

He appears unable to do more than empty his bowels in

fear!”

The prefect spoke with imperturbable suavity .

“Let your misgivings

vanish, Lord V oivode. He speaks with the wisdom of four men.”

The wretch in the white smock was hoisted to the chair on the dais, where

he sat trembling. The Lord V oivode watched in ill-concealed disgust. “I believe I can tell

him more than he can tell me, even with his wisdom quadrupled; all he

knows is fear .

And once again the precious instants of my life are wasted

futilely; where will I find just treatment?”

The prefect shrugged. “The world is wide; perhaps somewhere oracles

exist superior to ours here at Myrtlesee Fountain. The Lord V oivode might

with advantage put his questions to one of those other omniscients.”

The V oivode spluttered, abruptly lapsed into silence. Now appeared Koromutin, stately and ceremonious in his stif f gown. He

climbed the dais, lifted the hypodermic down from his hat, plunged it home

in the oracle’ s neck. The oracle tensed, arched his back like a bow , flung his

elbows out, thrust his chin hard into the air .

For a moment he sat rigid, then

slumped, limp as seaweed into the chair .

He put his head into his hand,

rubbing his forehead. There was dead silence in the chamber .

The oracle rubbed his forehead. His foot jerked. His head bobbed. Sounds came from his mouth. He raised

his head in bewilderment. His shoulders quivered, his feet jerked again, his

nose twitched. A swift babble poured from his mouth, rising in pitch. He

yelled, in a hoarse bawling voice. His body quivered, jerked—faster , faster .

He was vibrating as if the dais were rocking. Glystra watched with fascinated eyes. “Is that the wisdom?

I find no sense

in this screaming.”

“Quiet.”

The man was in wildest agony .

Moisture dripped from his mouth, his face

muscles were knotted into ropes, his eyes glared like lamps. The Lord V oivode leaned forward, smiling and nodding. He turned to the

prefect who bent respectfully , put a query inaudible over the yammer of the

oracle. The prefect nodded calmly , straightened, teetered back and forth on

his heels, hands behind his back. The oracle sprang to his feet. His back arched, the breath rattled past lips

which were pulled back from teeth ...

Then he settled limply into the chair .

He sat still, calm and serene, as if agony had pur ged away all the dross in

his soul and left him with a vast meditative coolness. In the silence the prefect’ s murmur to the V oivode was clearly

distinguishable: “He’ s now on the settle. Y ou have perhaps five minutes of

wisdom before he dies.”

The V oivode hitched himself forward. “Oracle, answer well, how long

have I to live?”

The oracle smiled wearily .

“Y ou ask triviality—and I shall answer .

Why

not?

So—from the position of your body , from your gait, from certain

mental considerations, it is evident that you are eaten by an internal canker .

Y our breath reeks of decay .

I judge your life at a year , no more.”

The V oivode turned a contorted face to the prefect. “T ake him away; he is

a liar!

I pay good slaves and then he tells me lies....”

The prefect held up a calm hand. “Never come to Myrtlesee Fountain for

flattery or bolus, V oivode; you will hear only truth.”

The V oivode turned back to the oracle. “How may I extend my life?”

“I have no certain knowledge. A reasonable regimen would include bland

foods, abstinence from stimulating narcotics and gland revitalizers, a

program of charitable deeds to ease your mind.”

The V oivode twisted angrily back to the prefect. “Y ou have gulled me;

this creature voids the most odious nonsense. Why does he not reveal the

formula?”

“What formula?” inquired the prefect without concern. “The mixing of the elixir of eternal life!” roared the V oivode. “What

else?”

The prefect shrugged. “Ask him yourself.”

The V oivode dictated the question. The oracle listened politely .

“There is no such information in my experience, and insuf ficient data to

synthesize such a formula.”

In more gentle tones the prefect suggested, “Ask only such information as

lies in the realm of the natural. The oracle is no seer , like the W itthorns or

the Edelweiss Hags.”

The V oivode’ s face turned a mottled purple. “How may I best secure my

son his inheritance?”

“In a state isolated from external influence a ruler can rule from tradition,

by force or by the desire and acquiescence of his subjects. The last of these

guarantees the most stable reign.”

“Go on, go on!” screamed the V oivode. “T ime fleets: Y ou will die at any

moment?”

“Strange,” said the oracle with a weary smile, “when now for the first

time I have started to live.”

“Speak!” said the prefect sharply .

“Y our dynasty started with yourself when you poisoned the previous

voivode; there is no tradition of rule. Y our son might therefore maintain

himself by force. The process is simple. He must kill all who dispute his

leadership. These acts will win him new enemies, and he must kill these

likewise. If he is able to kill faster than his enemies are able to gather their

strength, he will remain in power .”

“Impossible!

My son is a popinjay .

I am surrounded by traitors, preening

cock-o’-the-walk underlings who wait the time of my death as the signal to

rob and pillage.”

“In this case your son must prove himself a ruler so able that no one will

desire to be rid of him.”

The V oivode’ s eyes grew dim. His gaze went far away , perhaps to the face

of his son. “T o foster this situation, you must institute a change in your own policies. Examine every act of your of ficials from the viewpoint of the least

privileged members of the state, and modify your policies accordingly; then

when you die, your son will be floated on a reservoir of good will and

loyalty .”

The V oivode leaned back in his chair , looked quizzically up at the prefect. “And it is for this that I have paid twenty sound slaves and five ounces of

copper?”

The prefect was disturbed. “He has outlined a course of action to guide

you. He has answered your questions.”

“But,” the V oivode protested, “he told me nothing pleasant!”

The prefect looked blandly up along the mother -of-pearl panelling. “At

Myrtlesee Fountain you will hear no flattery , no spurious evasions. Y ou

hear exactitude and truth.”

The V oivode swelled, puf fed, blew out his cheeks. “V ery well, another question. The Delta-men have been raiding all

Cridgin V alley and stealing cattle. My soldiers flounder in the mud and

reeds. How best may I abate this nuisance?

What can I do?”

“Plant bush-vine on the Imsidiption Hills.”

The V oivode sputtered; the prefect said hastily , “Explain if you please.”

“The Delta-folk subsist by preference on clams. For centuries they have

cultivated clam beds. Y ou have grazed your pechavies on the Imsidiption

slopes so steadily that the vegetation is gone and the rain washes great

quantities of silt into River Pannasic. This silt is deposited on the clam beds,

the clams die. In hunger the Delta-men raid the cattle of the valley .

T o abate

the nuisance, remove the cause.”

“They have been impudent and treacherous; I want revenge.”

“Y ou will never achieve your wish,” the oracle said. The V oivode leapt to his feet. He seized a stone jar from his palanquin,

threw it viciously at the oracle, struck him on the chest. The prefect held up

an outraged hand; the V oivode darted him a look of black malice, flung

aside the girls, jumped into the palanquin. The four black porters silently

lifted the poles to their shoulders, started for the door .

The oracle had closed his eyes. His mouth drooped. A tic twisted his lips. He began to gasp—great gulping breaths. His fingers clenched, unclenched. Glystra, watching in fascination, started forward, but Nymaster clutched

him, drew him back. “Are you mad?

Do you not value your head?”

Koromutin marched past, motioned significantly .

“A wait me in the

corridor .”

“Hurry!” said Glystra. Koromutin gave him a glance of wordless contempt, disappeared down

the passage. An endless ten minutes later he returned, wearing his usual

white and blue robe. W ithout a word or glance he turned up the steps

glowing with vermilion lacquer , which gave on an arcade circling the dome. Through tall arches Glystra could see across the oasis, past the shimmer of

the desert to the black hills, now hazy in the afternoon light. Koromutin turned up another flight of stairs, and they came out into

another corridor circling the dome. This time the openings overlooked the

hall below .

Koromutin turned into a small of fice. A man almost his twin sat

at a desk. Koromutin waved Nymaster and Glystra back, approached the

desk, spoke with great earnestness, and presently received an answer of

equal import. Koromutin beckoned to Nymaster .

“This is Gentile, the Steward Ordain. He can help us, if your father will part with a second dagger of

workmanship like that I am to receive.”

Nymaster grumbled and cursed. “It can be so arranged.”

Koromutin nodded and the little man at the desk, as if waiting the signal,

arose, stepped out into the hall. “He has seen the woman in question,” said Koromutin in a confidential

undertone, “and can take you to her quarters. I leave you in his care. W alk

discreetly , for now you tread in high places.”

They continued, with Gentile the steward in the lead— along interminable

corridors, up another flight of stairs. Glystra heard a sound which caused

him to halt in his tracks—a low-pitched steady hum. Gentile turned impatiently .

“Come now , I will show you the woman, then

my task is done.”

“What causes that sound?” asked Glystra. “Look through the grating; you will see the source. It is a glass and metal

or ganism that talks in distant voices—a think of potency , but not of our

present interest. Come.”

Glystra peered through the grating. He saw modern electronic equipment

arranged and hooked together in a manner that suggested knowledgeable

improvisation. A rough table held a speaker , a microphone, a bank of

controls, and behind, the twenty parallel fins which carried the printed

circuits, served as condensers, resistances, impedances ...

Glystra stared,

the sight opening an entirely new range of possibilities. “Come, come, come!” barked the steward. “I wish to keep my head on my

shoulders, even if you care nothing for yours.”

“How much further?” snapped Nymaster .

The af fair was taking him

farther afield than he had bar gained for .

“A few steps, no more, then you shall see the woman; but mind you, take

care not to make your presence known or else we’ll all dangle and our

heads will be drained.”

“What!” barked Glystra savagely .

Nymaster gripped his arm, shook his

head ur gently .

“Don’ t antagonize the old fool,” he whispered. “Otherwise

we’ll never find her .”

18. Charley L ysidder

They continued, walking on heavy green carpet along a corridor which

constantly curved out of sight ahead. At last Gentile halted at a door of

heavy wood. He looked furtively behind, then stooped with the ease of

much practice, peered through the crack where the hinges dented the jamb. He turned, motioned to Glystra, “Come now , look. Assure yourself of her

presence—then we must leave. At any moment the High Dain may appear .”

Glystra, smiling grimly , looked through the crack. Nancy .

She sat in a cushioned chair , head back, eyes half-closed. She

wore loose pajamas of dull green brocade; her hair was bright and clean,

she looked as if she had only just finished scrubbing herself. Her face was

blank, expressionless; or rather , she wore an expression Glystra could not

identify .

W ith his left hand Glystra felt for the latch of the door .

In his right hand

he held his ion-shine. The fat steward squawked. “Stand back, stand back!

Now we must depart!” He plucked Glystra’ s sleeve with angry fingers. Glystra shoved him away .

“Nymaster , take care of this fool.”

The door was not locked. He flung it open, stood square in the doorway .

Nancy looked up with wide eyes. “Claude....”

She slowly put her feet to the floor , stood up. She did not rush to him in

gladness and relief. “What’ s the trouble?” he asked quietly .

“What’ s happened to you?”

“Nothing.” Her voice was listless. “I’m all right.”

“Let’ s get moving. There’ s not too much time.”

He put an arm around her shoulders, ur ged her forward. She seemed limp,

dazed. Nymaster held the steward negligently by the nape of the neck. Glystra

looked deep into his frightened and outraged countenance. “Back to the

radio room.” The steward jerked around, trotted whimpering back along the

amber -lit corridor .

Downstairs, back along vaguely remembered ways. Glystra held his ion-

shine in one hand, Nancy’ s arm in the other .

A hum, an electric susurration. Glystra pushed into the room. A thin man in a blue smock looked up. Glystra said, “Stand up, be quiet and you won’ t get hurt.”

The operator slowly rose to his feet, his eyes on Glystra’ s ion-shine. He

knew it for what it was. Glystra said. “Y ou’re an Earthman.”

“That’ s right. What of it?”

“Y ou set up this equipment?”

The operator turned a contemptuous glance along the table. “What there is

of it ...

Anything wrong with that?

What’ s your ar gument?”

“Get me Earth Enclave.”

“No, sir .

I won’ t do it. I value my life pretty high, mister .

If you want

Earth Enclave, call it yourself. I can’ t stop you with that heater on me.”

Glystra took a sinister step forward, but the man’ s face changed not a

flicker .

“Stand against the wall, next to the steward ...

Nancy!”

“Y es, Claude?”

“Come in here, stand over by the wall, out of the way .

Don’ t move.”

She walked slowly to where he had indicated. She was trembling, her

eyes roved around the room, up and down the walls. She licked her lips, started to speak, thought better of it. Glystra sat down at the table, looked over the equipment. Power from a

small pile—a simple short-wave outfit like that owned by a million high

school boys on Earth. He snapped the “On” switch. “What’ s the Enclave frequency?”

“No idea.”

Glystra opened a file index, flipped to E. “Earth Enclave, Of ficial Monitor

—Code 181933.” The control panel displayed six tuning knobs. Under the

first was the symbol “0,” under the second “10,” under the third, “100,” and

so by multiples often to the sixth. Evidently , thought Glystra, each knob

tuned a decimal place of the frequency .

He set the sixth knob to “1,” the

second to “8”—he looked up, listened. Footsteps sounded along the wall, heavy hard feet, and Nancy wailed, a

wordless sound of desperation. “Quiet!” hissed Glystra. He bent to the dials. “1”—“9”—

The door swung open. A heavy black-browed face looked in. Instantly the

steward was on his belly .

“Holy Dain, it was never my will, none of my

doing....”

Mercodion looked over his shoulder into the corridor .

“Inside. Seize those

men.”

Glystra bent to the dials. “3”—one more dial to go. Burly men trooped

into the room; Nancy staggered out from the wall, her face drawn and

bloodless. She stood in the line of fire. “Nancy!” cried Glystra. “Get back!”

He aimed his ion-shine. She stood between him and the High Dain. “I’m

sorry ,” whispered Glystra huskily .

“It’ s bigger than your life....”

He squeezed the button. V iolet light, ghastly on white faces. A sigh. The

light flickered, went out. No power .

Three men in black robes rushed him. He fought, wild and savage as any

Rebbir .

The table tottered, toppled. In spite of the operator ’ s frantic ef forts

the equipment crashed, jangled to the floor .

At this point Nymaster bolted

from the room. His feet pounded down the corridor .

Glystra was fighting from the corner , using elbows, fists, knees. The

black-robed men beat him to the floor , kicked his head, wrenched his arms

up hard behind his back, punishing him. “T russ him well,” said Mercodion. “T ake him down to the pen.”

They marched him along the corridors, down the stairs, along the arcade

overlooking the oasis. A black speck streaked low across the sky .

Glystra uttered a hoarse cry .

“There’ s an air -car!

An Earthman!”

He stopped, tried to pull close to the window .

“An Earth air -car!”

“An Earth air -car ,” said Mercodion easily , “but not from Earth. From

Grosgarth.”

“Grosgarth?” Glystra’ s mind worked sluggishly .

“Only one man in

Grosgarth would own an air -car—”

“Exactly .”

“Does the Bajarnum know—”

“The Bajarnum knows you’re here. Do you think he owns an air -car and

no radio?”

He said to the black-robed men, “T ake him to the pens, I must greet

Charley L ysidder ...

W atch him carefully , he’ s desperate.”

Glystra stood in the middle of the stone floor , naked, damp, miserable. His clothes had been stripped from him, his head was shaved, he had been

drenched in an acrid fluid smelling of vinegar .

These were the pens of Myrtlesee Fountain. The air was gruel-thick with

latrine reek and slaughter -house odors, seeping in with the steam from the

processing rooms. Glystra breathed through his mouth to escape awareness

of the stink. Horrible odor—but it was a poor time to be fastidious. He

frowned. Strange. A component of the stench was a heavy , pungent, almost

sweet, smell which tickled his memory .

He stood quietly , trying to think. Dif ficult. The stone floor oozed under

his bare feet. Four old women crouching beside the wall moaned without

pause. A thin red-eyed man vilified a blowsy woman with waist-long

blonde hair , which for some reason had not been shaved. She sobbed into

her hands, without apparent attention to the curses of the man—guttural

throat-catching sobs. Steam and stench poured in from the processing room

through chinks and cracks in the stone, likewise bars of yellow light

flickering through the steam. W ith the light and the steam came the sounds

of the processing: boiling, pounding, rasping, loud conversation. Eyes looked in at him, through the hole to the corridor , blinked, passed on...

Unreality .

Why was he here?

He was waiting to have his head boiled. Like Bishop’ s head. Pianza was lucky; he lay buried beside the yellow reeds

of Lake Pellitante. Cloyville was luckier yet. Cloyville wore a grotesque

puf f of purple lace on his head, and played at being both master and servant. This was the low ebb. Nearly the low ebb. Much of a man’ s dignity went

with his hair .

There was one more notch to slip—from naked humiliation

into the anonymous soup of the processing pots. It was almost foreordained,

this last notch. It had been a steady progress down a slope toward lesser and

lesser life, morale, power ...

A whif f of the pungent sweet odor came from

the processing rooms, stronger than ever .

It was definitely familiar .

Lemon-

verbena?

Musk?

Hair -oil?

No. Something clicked in Glystra’ s mind. Zygage!

He went to the wall, peered through a chink. Almost under his face a tray held four neatly arranged heads, with their

brain-pans sawed of f to display the mottled contents. Glystra twisted away his gaze. T o the right a cauldron bubbled; to the left

a bin held acorn-shaped fruits. Zygage, indeed. He watched in fascination. A man, sweating and pallid, in clammy black leather breeches and a blue

neckerchief, scooped up a shovel-full of the zygage acorns, sprinkled them

into the cauldron. Zygage!

Glystra turned away from the hole, thinking hard. If zygage were

a constituent for the oracle-serum, why , then, the brain-extracts?

Probably

no reason whatever; probably they were added only for their symbolic

potency .

Of course he could not be sure—but it seemed unlikely that

pituitary and pineal soup would cause wild contortions like those he had

witnessed in the V eridicarium. Much more likely that the zygage was the

active ingredient; such would be the parallel with Earth plant-extracts:

marijuana, curare, opium, pejote, a dozen others less familiar .

He thought of his own experience with zygage: exhilaration, then

hangover .

The oracle’ s reaction was the same, on a vastly exaggerated

scale. Glystra pondered the episode. A miserable terrified wretch had

under gone torment and catharsis to achieve a magnificent calm and

rationality .

It had been an amazing transformation, baring the optimum personality

apparently latent in every human being. How did the drug act?

Glystra’ s

mind veered around the question: a problem for the scientists. It seemed to

achieve the results of the great de-aberration institutes on Earth, possibly by

the same essential methods: a churning through the events of a lifetime, the

rejection of all subconscious obsessions and irrationality .

A pity , thought

Glystra, that a man only achieves this supreme state to die. It was like the

hang-over after his smoke-breathing ...

In his brain there was a sudden

silence, as if a mental clock had stopped ticking. Bishop had felt no

hangover .

Bishop had—he recalled Bishop’ s intensified well-being after the

zygage inhalation; apparently his habit of ingesting vitamins had warded of f

the hangover .

V itamins ...

Perhaps the oracle died from exaggerated vitamin depletion. And the idea gave Glystra much to think about. He walked slowly back and

forth across the damp stone floor .

The woman with the yellow hair watched him dully; the red-eyed man

spat. “Ssst.”

Glystra looked toward the wall. Hostile eyes gleamed through the hole. He crossed the room, peered out into the corridor .

It was Nymaster .

His tough round face wore an expression of angry

discomfort. “Now you lie in the pen,” he said in a low ur gent voice. “So

now you die. What then for my father?

Y our man will take away the

swords, and possibly kill my father , for so you ordered.”

T rue, thought Glystra. Nymaster had served him faithfully .

“Bring me

paper ,” he said. “I will write to Corbus.”

Nymaster handed through a greasy scrap of paper , a bit of sharp graphite. Glystra hesitated. “Have you heard anything of—”

“Koromutin says you will be oracle. For Charley L ys-idder himself. So

the prefect told him while he was beating Koromutin.”

Glystra pondered. “Can you bribe me free?

I have other metal, other

swords like yours.”

Nymaster shook his head. “A ton of iron would ef fect nothing now .

T onight Mercodion has ordained that you burn up your mind for the

Bajarnum.”

The words sank into Glystra’ s mind. He stared at Nymaster scratching his

cheek with a ruminative finger .

“Can you bring Corbus back with you?

For

another sword of fine steel?”

“A ye,” said Nymaster grudgingly .

“I can do so ...

A mortal risk—but I can

do so.”

“Then take him this note, and bring him back with you.”

Now the sounds and the stenches of the pen had no meaning for him. He

paced up and down, whistling thinly through his teeth. Up, down, up, down, looking across the room at each turn, watching for

Corbus’ face. A chilly thought struck him. He had guessed something of the mechanics

of the plot against him. After Morwatz had failed, after he had eluded the

second expedition by crossing the river Oust and dropping the high-line, he

had been left to go his own way to Myrtlesee, but all the time, all the weary

miles from Swamp City , he had merely been taking himself to a

prearranged trap. The strategy was clear .

He had been left to execute it

himself. Suppose Corbus was part of the machinery?

At this moment

nothing was unthinkable. “Glystra.”

He looked up, turned to the hole. It was Corbus in priest’ s robes. Glystra

glanced right and left, crossed the room. Corbus looked in at him quizzically .

“How goes it?”

Glystra pressed close to the hole. “Did you bring it?” he asked in a

whisper .

Corbus passed a little package through the hole. “And now what?”

Glystra smiled thinly .

“I don’ t know .

If I were you I’d start back down the

monoline to Kirstendale. Y ou can’ t do any more here.”

Corbus said, “Y ou haven’ t told me what you plan to do with the

vitamins.”

“I plan to eat them.”

Corbus eyed him questioningly .

“They been giving you bum chow?”

“No. Just an idea I’ve got.”

Corbus glanced up and down the corridor .

“W ith a big hammer I might

make a hole in this wall—”

“No. There’d be a hundred priests out here at the first click. Y ou go back

to the sword-maker ’ s, wait till tomorrow .

If I’m not there then I’m never

coming.”

Corbus said coolly , “There’ s one or two char ges in the ion-shine. I’ve

been half-hoping”—his eyes glistened— “to meet someone we know .”

Glystra’ s throat constricted. “I can’ t believe it,” he muttered. Corbus said nothing. “She never had Bishop killed, I’m sure of it ...

It was an accident. Or he

tried to stop her .”

“No matter how you look at it—she’ s part of the picture. Four good men

killed—Bishop, Pianza, Darrot, Ketch. I’m not counting V allusser; that little

rat was in up to his neck. I’ve been watching her a long time—ever since

she insisted on joining our little suicide club.”

Glystra laughed shortly .

“I thought all the time it was—that she—” he had

no words to finish. Corbus nodded. “I know .

One thing I’ll say for her , she put her life on the

line alongside ours. She came out on top. She’ s up there”—he jerked his

thumb—“and you’re down here. What a stinking hole. What are they

cooking?”

“Brains,” said Glystra indif ferently .

“They distil out some kind of nerve

juice which they mix with zygage and feed the oracles. It works on the

oracles like the smoke worked on the Beaujolain soldiers, only a thousand

times more.”

“And it kills them?”

“Dead as a mackerel.”

“T onight you’re the oracle.”

Glystra held up the package Corbus had brought him. “I’ve got this. I

don’ t know what’ s going to happen. From here out I’m playing strictly by

ear .

And,” he added, “I may be wrong, but I have a hunch there’ll be a few

unforeseen developments here at Myrtlesee Fountain and I’m not

worrying.“

Nymaster appeared behind Corbus. “Come, there’ s a prefect on his way

down. Come quick.”

Glystra pressed close to the hole. “So long, Corbus.”

Corbus waved his hand non-committally .

19. W isdom for L ysidder

The sun dropped behind the fronds of Myrtlesee Fountain. A mesh of

cirrus clouds flared golden in the sky .

Dusk drifted in from eastern lands

where night had already fallen over peoples and cities and tribes and castles

still unseen. A marble pavilion extended to the east of Myrtlesee Dome, enclosed by a

colonnade of ornate design. Behind the colonnade was a pond of still water ,

dimly reflecting the after glow with the fronds and ferns of the grove

silhouetted in reverse. Four blond and slender youths bearing torches came

from the dome. Their hair was cut in ef feminate bangs. They wore skin-

tight costumes sewed of red and green diamonds, black satin slippers with

curled toes. They set the torches in tripods of dark wood, returned within. A moment later six men in black kilts carried forth a square table which

they placed in the exact center of the pavilion. The blond boys brought

chairs, and the men in black kilts marched away in a single file. The boys spread the table with a gold and brown-striped cloth, giggling

like girls. At the center they arranged a miniature landscape—Myrtlesee

Fountain in exact detail, complete with dome and pavilion, even to a table

on the pavilion, where five persons sat to the light of tiny candles. Flagons of liquor and wine were bedded in ice, trays of crystallized fruits,

tablets of insect gland-wax, cakes of pressed flower petals were laid exactly

in place, then the boys went to pose under the flaming torches, consciously

beautiful. Minutes passed. The boys fidgeted. Dusk gave way to feather -soft Big

Planet night. Stars gleamed. A syrup-smooth breeze drifted through the

colonnade to flutter the torches. V oices sounded from the dome. Out on the pavilion came Mercodion, the

High Dain of Myrtlesee Fountain and Charley L ysidder , Bajarnum of

Beaujolais. Mercodion wore his richest robes, with a stole woven of pearls

and metal. The Bajarnum wore a gray jacket of heavy soft cloth, red

breeches, soft gray boots. Behind came the Prefect Superior and two nobles of the Beaujolais

empire. Charley L ysidder remarked with pleasure at the table, glanced

appreciatively at the statue-like youths, seated himself. W ine was poured, food was served. Charley L ysidder was in high spirits

and Mercodion extended himself to laugh graciously at his jovialities. Whenever there was silence a girl blew chords on a flute. When one of the

diners spoke, she stopped instantly .

Ices and sorbets were brought in glass goblets, and finally pots of fuming

incense were placed before each of the diners. “Now ,” said the Bajarnum, “now for our oracle, Claude Glystra. Originally I had planned to question him under torture, but the oraculation

will prove easier for all concerned. He is a man of wide experience and

knowledge; he will have much to impart.”

“A pity that such brief opportunity exists to plumb his wisdom.”

The Barjarnum shook a finger .

“It is a matter you must concern yourself

with, Mercodion—the maintenance of longer life in your oracles.”

The High Dain bowed his head. “It is as you say ...

And now I will order

the oracle prepared and we will go to the auditorium.”

The hall was crowded with the rustling black-gowned priests. By custom

hoods were not worn at night, but the characteristic motivation of reducing

individuality to the lowest common denominator was expressed by a white

head cloth banded loosely around the forehead, around the nape of the neck,

forward under the chin. Special ceremonial chants had been ordained. T welve choirs situated each

to a wall, mingled their voices in a twelve-part polyphony .

The Bajarnum, Mercodion and their retinue entered the hall, strolled to

benches before the oracle’ s dais. A serious-faced girl with shining blonde

hair appeared at a side door .

She wore black silk pantaloons and a gray-

green blouse. For a moment she paused in the doorway , then slowly crossed

the room, the only woman among hundreds of men, a peacock among

crows. Eyes covertly followed her , tongues moistened celibate lips. She stopped beside the Bajarnum, looked down at him with an oddly

searching expression. Mercodion bowed politely .

The Bajarnum smiled a

cold tremble-lipped smile. “Sit down.”

The expression of intentness vanished, her face became blank. She sat

quietly beside the Bajarnum. A whisper , a buzz, a rustle of garments rose

from the spectators. By rumor the woman was the new toy of the High

Dain. Eyes curiously probed his face, but the sallow skin was set like the

rind of a pudding and no emotion appeared. A sad chime sounded; a second tremor ran through the hall, a shifting of

stance, a motion of eyes. The Bajarnum suddenly seemed to become aware

of the assemblage; he muttered to the High Dain, who nodded, rose to his

feet. “Clear the hall. All must go.”

Murmuring, dissatisfied, the priests filed out the great doors. The hall was

now near -empty , and reverberated with echoes of every movement. A second chime sounded; the oracle appeared. T wo prefects stood by his

side, the Inculcator in his stif f white gown and tall hat followed close to the

rear .

The oracle was wrapped in a robe of gray and red, and white swathing

veiled his head. He walked slowly , but without hesitation. At the dais he

paused and was lifted to the oracle’ s seat. The silence in the hall was like the inside of an ice-cave. Not a breath, not

a sigh, not a whisper could be heard. The prefects held the oracle’ s arm, the Inculcator stepped close behind. He took the hypodermic from his hat, he swung his arm. The High Dain frowned, squinted, jumped to his feet. “Stop!” His voice

was harsh. The watchers sighed. “Y es, Dain?”

“Remove the head-swathing; the Bajarnum would look on the man’ s

face.”

The prefect hesitated, then reached forward, slowly unhitched the white

burnoose. The oracle looked straight ahead, down into the eyes of the Bajarnum. He

smiled grimly .

“If it isn’ t my old shipmate, Arthur Hidders, dealer in

leather .”

The Bajarnum made a slight inclination of the head. “More people know

me as Charley L ysidder .” He examined Glystra with a narrow scrutiny .

“Y ou appear nervous, Mr Glystra.”

Glystra laughed, rather shakily .

Enormous overdoses of vitamins, amino

and nucleic acids were reacting on his motor system like stimulants. “Y ou

do me an honor of which I hardly feel myself worthy—”

“W e shall see, we shall see,” said the Bajarnum all too easily .

Glystra’ s eyes went to Nancy .

She met his eyes a moment, then looked

away^ He frowned. Seen in the new context beside the man he had known

as Arthur Hidders, she took on a new identity—one not unfamiliar .

“The

nun,” he exclaimed. Charley L ysidder nodded. “Rather a clever disguise, don’ t you think?”

“Clever—but why was it necessary?”

The Bajarnum shrugged. “A fur -and-leather -dealer might conceivably

accumulate enough Earth exchange to make the old world pilgrimage—but

hardly likely that he would bring his talented young concubine with him.”

“She’ s talented all right.”

Charley L ysidder turned his head, examined Nancy with dispassionate

appreciation. “A pity , really , that she had to become a base tool of policy ,

she is apt at finer things ...

But that fool Abbigens dropped the ship too far

from Grosgarth and I had no one at hand to serve me. Y es, a pity , since I

will never use a woman fresh from another man’ s couch. And now she must

find another patron.” He glanced humorously at Mercodion. “I fancy that

she will not need to seek far , eh, Dain?”

Mercodion flushed, darted an angry glance at L ysidder .

“My tastes are

perhaps as nice, in some respects, as yours, Bajarnum.”

Charley L ysidder settled back in his seat. “It’ s no matter; I have uses for

her in Grosgarth. Let us proceed with the oraculation.”

Mercodion waved his hand. “Continue.”

The Inculcator stepped forward, raised the hypodermic. The point stung deep into Glystra’ s neck. There was a feeling of injection,

of pressure. The prefect’ s grip tightened on his arms, tensing in anticipation of his

motion. He noticed that Nancy had turned her face to the floor; the

Bajarnum of Beaujolais, however , watched the proceedings with lively

interest. A great dark hand clamped on his brain. His body expanded enormously;

his arms felt twenty feet long; his feet were at the bottom of a clif f; his eyes

were like two long pipes leading out on the world. The Bajarnum’ s voice

came like a sibilant whisper in a vast cave. “Ah, now he squirms. Now it takes on him.”

The prefects held Glystra with practiced ease. “Look!” exclaimed the Bajarnum delightedly .

“Look how he flails about ...

Ah, he has caused me much trouble, that one. Now he pays the price.”

But Glystra felt no pain. He had passed beyond mere sensation. He was

reliving his life, from earliest foetus up through the years, reliving, re-

experiencing, re-knowing every detail of his existence. Reviewing these

events was a great super -consciousness, like an inspector watching a belt of

fruit. As each distorted concept, misunderstanding, fallacy appeared, the

hand of the inspector reached down, twitched events into rational

perspectives, smoothed out the neural snarls which had clogged Glystra’ s

brain. Childhood flickered past the super -awareness, then early life on Earth, his

training among the planets of the System. Big Planet bulked outside the

space-ship port, again he crashed on the Great Slope of Jubilith; again he

set out on the long journey to the east. He retraced his route through

T salombar W oods, Nomadland, past Edelweiss, the River Oust, Swamp

Island, down the monoline through the Hibernian March, Kirstendale,

across the desert toward Myrtlesee Fountain. Present time loomed ahead; he

plunged through like a train coming out of a tunnel. He was once more

aware and conscious, with the whole of his life rearranged, all his

knowledge ordered into compartments, ready for instant use. The High Dain’ s voice came to his ears. “Y ou see him with his brain

pur ged and clear .

Now you must hasten; in a few minutes his life-force

dwindles and he dies.”

Glystra opened his eyes. His body was at once warm and cool, tingling

with sensitivity .

He felt strong as a leopard, agile, flooded with potential. He looked around the hall, studied the troubled faces of the people before

him. V ictims they were, the result of their inner warps. Nancy was pale as

eggshell, her eyes full and moist. He saw her as she was, divined her

motives. The Bajarnum said doubtfully , “He looks perfectly happy .”

Mercodion answered, “That’ s the common response. For a brief period

they float on a sea of well-being. Then their vitality fails and they go. Hurry , Bajarnum; hurry if you wish knowledge.”

Charley L ysidder spoke in a loud voice. “How can I buy weapons from

the System Arms Control?

Who can I bribe?“

Glystra looked down at the Bajarnum, at Mercodion, at Nancy .

The

situation seemed suddenly one of vast humor; he found it hard to control his

face. The Bajarnum repeated the question, more ur gently .

“T ry Alan Marklow ,” said Glystra, as if imparting a precious secret. The Bajarnum leaned forward, excited in spite of himself. “Alan

Marklow?

The chairman of the Control?” He sat back, a pink flush, half-

anger , half-anticipation, on his face. “So Alan Marklow can be bought—the

sanctimonious scoundrel.”

“T o the same extent as any other member of the Control,” said Glystra. “That is the reasoning behind my advice: if you plan to bribe any of them,

the best person to subvert is the man at the top.”

The Bajarnum stared. The High Dain’ s eyes narrowed. He jerked upright

in his seat. Glystra said, “As I understand it, you want weapons so that you may

extend your empire; am I right?”

“In essence,” the Bajarnum admitted warily .

“What is the motive behind this desire?”

Mercodion raised his head, started to bellow an order , thought better of it,

clamped his mouth in a tight white line. The Bajarnum reflected. “I wish to add glory to my name, to make

Grosgarth the queen city of the world, to punish my enemies.”

“Ridiculous. Futile.”

Charley L ysidder was nonplussed. He turned to Mercodion. “Is this a

usual manifestation?”

“By no means,” snapped Mercodion. He could contain his fury no longer .

He leapt to his feet, black brows bristling. “Answer the questions directly!

What kind of oracle are you, evading and ar guing and asserting the ego

which you must know has been numbed by the drug of wisdom?

I

command you, act with greater pliability , for you will die in two minutes

and the Bajarnum has much he wants to learn.”

“Perhaps my question was inexact,” said the Bajarnum mildly .

He

returned to Glystra. “What is the most practical method for me to acquire

metal weapons at a low cost?”

“Join the Star Patrol,” said Glystra waggishly .

“They’ll issue you a

sheath-knife and an ion-shine free.”

Mercodion exhaled a deep breath. The Bajarnum frowned. The interview

was not going at all as he had expected. He tried a third time. “Is it likely

that Earth-Central will forcibly federate Big Planet?”

“Highly unlikely ,” said Glystra, with complete honesty .

He thought it was

almost time to die, and sank limply into the chair .

“Most unsatisfactory ,” grumbled Mercodion. Charley L ysidder chewed his lip, surveyed Glystra with his deceptively

candid eyes. Nancy stared numbly; for all his sharpened perceptions,

Glystra could not fathom her thoughts. “One more question,” said the Bajarnum. “How can I best prolong my

life?”

Only by the sternest measures could Glystra control his features. He

responded in a weak and doleful voice, “Allow the Inculcator to shoot you

full of wisdom-stuf f, as he has me.”

“Faugh!” spat Mercodion. “The creature is insuf ferable!

W ere he not

three-quarters dead, I swear I would run him through ...

Indeed—“

But Glystra had slumped to the dais. “Drag the hulk to the ’ toir -room,” roared Mercodion. He turned to

Charley L ysidder .

“A miserable mistake, Bajarnum, and if you wish, a

second oracle will be prepared.”

“No,” said the Bajarnum, thoughtfully surveying Glys— tra’ s body .

“I

wonder only what was his meaning.”

“Aberrated mish-mash,” scof fed Mercodion. They watched the prefects take the body from the hall. “Strange,” said Charley L ysidder .

“He seemed completely vital—a man

very far from death ...

I wonder what he meant...”

A naked man stole through the night, trailing the odor of death. He came

through Nello’ s garden plot, ducked into the alley , quietly approached the

street. No one was in sight or ear -shot. He trotted quietly through the shadows to

the house of the sword-smiths. Light glowed yellow through the shutters. He knocked. Nymaster opened the door .

He stood stock-still, his eyes bulging. A

second man came to look suspiciously over his shoulder—Corbus, who

stared a breathless moment. “Claude,” he said huskily , “Y ou’re—you’re—”

his voice broke. Glystra said briskly , “W e’ve got to hurry .

First a bath.”

Corbus nodded wryly .

“Y ou need something of the sort.” He turned to

Nymaster .

“Fill a tub. Get some clothes.”

Nymaster turned away wordlessly .

“They hauled me to their abbatoir ,” said Glystra. “They threw me in a bin

full of corpses. When the head-boiler came with his knife, I jumped out at

him, and he went into a fit. I escaped through the wall.“

“Did they pump you full of nerve-juice?”

Glystra nodded. “It’ s quite an experience.” During his bath he gave

Corbus and Nymaster an account of his adventures. “And now what?” Corbus asked. “Now ,” said Glystra, “we do Charley L ysidder one in the eye.”

Half an hour later , slipping through the gardens, they looked out on the

marble courtyard where the Bajarnum’ s air -boat rested. A man in a scarlet

tunic and black boots lounged against the hood. An ion-shine at his waist. “What do you think?” whispered Glystra. “If we can get in it, I can fly it,” said Corbus. “Good. I’ll run around behind him. Y ou attract his attention.” He

disappeared. Corbus waited two minutes, then stepped out into the court-yard, levelled

his ion-shine. “Don’ t move,” he said. The guard straightened, blinked angrily .

“What’ s the—” Glystra appeared

behind him. There was a dull sound; the guard sagged. Glystra took his

weapon, waved to Corbus. “Let’ s go.”

Myrtlesee Fountain dwindled below them. Glystra laughed exultantly .

“W e’re free, Corbus—we’ve done it.”

Corbus looked out across the vast dark expanse. “I won’ t believe it until I

see Earth Enclave below us.”

Glystra looked at him in surprise. “Earth Enclave?”

Corbus said tartly .

“Do you propose to fly to Grosgarth?”

“No. But think. W e’re in a beautiful position. Charley L ysidder is

marooned at Myrtlesee Fountain—without his air -car , without his radio to

call for another , if he owns one.”

“There’ s always the monoline,” said Corbus. “That’ s fast enough. He can

be back in Grosgarth in four days.”

“The monoline—exactly .

He’ll use the monoline. That’ s where we’ll have

him.”

“Maybe easier said than done. He won’ t venture out unless he goes armed

to the teeth.”

“I don’ t doubt it. He might conceivably send someone else back to

Grosgarth, but only if he owns another air -car .

W e’ll have to make sure. There’ s a spot, as I recall, where the monoline passes under a bluf f, which

should suit us very well.”

Corbus shrugged. “I don’ t like to play a string of luck too far—”

“W e don’ t need luck now .

W e’re not the poor hagridden fugitives that we

were; we know what we’re doing. Before the Bajarnum was hunting us;

now we’re hunting him. Right down there—” Glystra pointed “—that bald-

headed bluf f. W e’ll settle on top and wait out the night. Early tomorrow—if

he’ s coming at all—we should see Charley L ysidder scudding west under

full press of sail. He’ll want to get back to Grosgarth as soon as possible.”

20. V acancy in Beaujolais

Some two hours after dawn a white speck of sail came drifting across the

desert from the green smudge that was Myrtlesee Fountain. “Here comes the Bajarnum,” said Glystra, with evident satisfaction. The trolley drew closer , swinging and swaying with the changing force of

the wind. It was a long pack-car , equipped with two long lateen booms, and

flew down the line gracefully as a white swan. W ith a hum and spin of great wheels the contrivance of wood and canvas

slid under them, whirled on into the west. Four men and one woman rode

the platform: Charley L ysidder , three Beaujolain nobles in scarlet tunics,

elaborate black felt hats and black boots—and Nancy .

Glystra looked after the diminishing sail-car .

“None of them wore

pleasant expressions.”

“But they all wore ion-shines,” Corbus pointed out. “It’ll be a risky

business going near them.”

“I don’ t intend to go near them.” Glystra rose to his feet, started back

toward the air -car .

Corbus said with mild testiness, “I don’ t mind chasing after you if I know

what you’ve got on your mind; but if you ask me you’re carrying this

superman business a little too far .”

Glystra stopped short. “Do I really give that impression?” He looked

reflectively across the sandy wastes toward the green paradise of Myrtlesee. “Perhaps it’ s the normal state of the psyche after such a traumatic shock.”

“What’ s the normal state?”

“Introversion. Egocentricity .” He sighed. “I’ll try to adjust myself.”

“Maybe I’ll take a dose of that poison too.”

“I’ve been thinking along the same lines. But now— let’ s catch Charley

L ysidder .” He slid into the air -car .

They flew west, over the tortured hills of obsidian, the mounds of white

sand, the rock flat, over the ver ge of the great clif f. They slanted down,

skimmed low over the tumble of rock and scrub, already shimmering in the

morning heat. The monoline rising to the lip of the clif f etched a vast flat curve, a

spiderweb line against the sky .

Glystra veered west, flew a mile past the

bottom platform, landed under one of the stanchions. “Here we violate the

first of Clodleber g’ s commandments: we cut the line. In fact we excise a

hundred feet—the length between two of the stanchions should be enough.”

He climbed one pole, slashed the line; Corbus did the same at the second. “Now ,” said Glystra, “we double the line, tie the bight to the under -

frame.”

“Here’ s a swingle-bar; that suit you?”

“Fine. T wo round turns and a couple half-hitches should do the trick—”

he watched while Corbus made the line fast. “—and now we go back to the

bottom anchor .”

They returned to the platform from which the monoline rose to the lip of

the clif f. Glystra landed the air -car in the shadow of the platform, jumped to

the landing. “Pass up one of those ends from under the boat.”

Corbus pulled one of the trailing lengths clear , tossed it up. “Now ,” said Glystra, “we make fast to the monoline with a couple of

rolling hitches.”

“Ah,” said Corbus. “I begin to catch on. The Bajarnum won’ t like it.”

“The Bajarnum is not being consulted ...

Y ou get into the car , in case the

weight of the monoline starts to drag ...

Ready?”

“Ready .”

Glystra cut the monoline at a point four feet past the first of his hitches. The line sang apart, the connection to the air -car took hold, and a long wave

swerved up the line and out of sight. The air -car now served as the bottom

anchor to the monoline. Glystra joined Corbus. “I give them about an hour .

A little less if the wind

is good.”

T ime passed. Phaedra shouldered huge and dazzling into the dark blue

Big Planet sky .

Of f into the brush a few albino savages lurked and peered. Insects like eels with a dozen dragonfly wings slid easily into the air ,

threading the harsh gray branches. Round pink toads with eyes on antennae

hopped among the rocks. At the top of the clif f appeared a spot of white. “Here they come,” said Corbus. Glystra nodded. “The ride of their life coming up.”

The white spot at the top of the clif f dipped over the edge, started down

the long curve. Glystra chuckled. “I’d like to watch the Bajarnum’ s face.”

He pushed down the power -arm. The car lifted from behind the platform,

climbed into the air—up, up, as high as the lip of the clif f. The trolley rolled

down into the lowest section of the loop, slowed, hung suspended, helpless. Five black dots were the passengers—agitated, outraged, uncertain. Glystra flew above the trolley to the monoline landing at the top of the

clif f, settled on the platform. The second length of line under the air -car he

made fast to that section of the monoline which led over the clif f. He cut it,

and now the trolley with its five occupants hung entirely suspended from

the air car .

Glystra peered over the brink. “There he is, the Bajarnum of Beaujolais,

trapped fair and square, and not a hand laid on him.”

“They’ve still got their guns,” said Corbus. “No matter where we set ’em

down, they still can shoot at us—even if we take them as far as the

Enclave.”

“I’ve considered that. Dousing them in a lake will cool Charley

L ysidder ’ s temper as well as short out his ion-shines.”

The Bajarnum’ s face, as he stood dripping on the sand beach, was pinched

and white. His eyes glinted like puddles of hot quicksilver; he looked

neither left nor right. His three noble companions somehow contrived to

maintain their dignity even while water sucked squashily in their boots. Nancy’ s hair clung dankly to her cheeks. Her face was blank as a marble

mask. She sat shivering, teeth chattering audibly .

Glystra tossed her his cloak. Draping it over her shoulders and turning

away , she slipped out of her sodden garments. Glystra stood holding the ion-shine. “Now one at a time into the car .

Corbus will search you for knives and hooks and like unpleasantness on the

way .” He nodded to the Bajarnum. “Y ou first.”

One by one they passed Corbus, who extracted three daggers, the sodden

ion-shines, and a deadly little poison slap-sack from the group. “Back in the car , gentlemen,” said Glystra, “as far back as possible.”

The Bajarnum said in a voice soft as the hiss of silk, “There shall be

requiting, if I must live two hundred years to see it.”

Glystra laughed. “Now you spit nonsense, like an angry cat. Any

requiting to be done will be for the hundred thousand children you’ve sold

into space.”

The Bajarnum blinked. “There has been no such number .”

“W ell—no matter .

A hundred or a hundred thousand—the crime is the

same.”

Glystra climbed up into the seat beside Corbus, sat looking down into the

five faces. Charley L ysidder ’ s emotions were clear enough: serpent-spite

and fury behind the mask of the small features in the too-big head. The

three noblemen were uniformly glum and apprehensive. And Nancy?

Her

face was rapt, her thoughts were clearly far away .

But Glystra saw neither

fear , anger , nor doubt. Her brow was clear , the line of her mouth was

natural, almost happy; her eyes flickered with the passage of her thoughts

like the flash of silver fish in dark water .

Here, thought Glystra in sudden insight, is the conflict of multiple

personalities resolved; she has been at war with herself; she has been caught

in a flow too strong to resist; she submits with relief. She feels guilt; she

knows she will be punished; she awaits punishment with joy .

They were all settled. He turned to Corbus. “Let’ s go. Think you can find

the Enclave?”

“Hope so.” He rapped his knuckles on a black cabinet. “W e can find our

way along the radio-beam after we get around the planet.”

“Good.”

The air -car rose into the air , flew west. The lake vanished astern. Charley L ysidder wrung water from the hem of his cloak. He had

recovered something of his suavity and spoke in a thoughtful voice. “I think

you wrong me, Claude Glystra. So indeed I have sold starving waifs, but as

a means to an end. Admittedly the means was uncomfortable, but did not

people die before Earth became federated?”

“Then your ambition is to federate Big Planet?”

“Exactly .”

“T o what purpose?”

The Bajarnum stared. “Why—would not there then be peace and order?”

“No, of course not—as you must know very well. Big Planet could never

be unified by conquest—certainly not by the Beaujolain army mounted on

zipangotes, and not in your lifetime. I doubt if you care for peace and order .

Y ou have used your army to invade and occupy W ale and Glaythree, both

quiet farm-countries, but the gypsies and the Rebbirs roam, ravage, murder

at will.”

Nancy turned, eyed the Bajarnum dubiously .

The three nobles glared

truculently .

Charley L ysidder preened a ring in his mustache. “No,” said Glystra, “your conquests are motivated by vanity and egotism. Y ou are merely Heinzelman the Hell-horse in better -looking clothes.”

“T alk, talk, talk,” sneered Charley L ysidder .

“Earth commissions come

and go, Big Planet swallows them all; they drown like gnats in Batzimarjian

Ocean.”

Glystra grinned. “This commission is dif ferent—what there’ s left of it. I

insisted on complete power before I took the job. I do not recommend; I

command.”

The Bajarnum’ s tight features squeezed even closer together , as if he were

tasting something bitter .

“Assuming all this were true—what would you

do?”

Glystra shrugged. “I don’ t know .

I have ideas, but no program. One thing

is certain: the slaughter , the slaving, the cannibalism must stop.”

“Hah!” The Bajarnum laughed spitefully .

“So you’ll call down Earth

warboats, kill the gypsies, the rebbirs, the nomads, the steppe-men, all the

wandering tribes across Big Planet—you’ll build an Earth Empire where I

would build a Beaujolain Realm.”

“No,” said Glystra. “Clearly you do not grasp the crux of the problem. Unity can never be imposed on the peoples of Big Planet, any more than a

state could be formed from a population of ants, cats, fish, monkeys,

elephants. A thousand years may pass before Big Planet knows a single

government. An Earth-dominated Big Planet would be unwieldly ,

expensive, arbitrary—almost as bad as a Beaujolain Empire.”

“Then what do you plan?”

Glystra shrugged. “Regional or ganization, small regional guard-corps ...”

The Bajarnum snif fed. “The whole decrepit paraphernalia of Earth. In five

years your regional commanders become petty tyrants, your regional judges

are soliciting bribes, your regional policy-makers are enforcing uniformity

on the disparate communities.”

“That indeed,” said Glystra, “is where we must tread warily ....”

He looked out the window across the sun-drenched Big Planet landscape. An endless vista, forested mountains, green valleys, winding rivers, hot

plains. He heard a muf fled nervous cry .

He twisted to find two of the men in red

tunics on their feet, crouching to leap. He twitched the ion-shine; the men in

the damp red tunics sank back. Charley L ysidder hissed a word Glystra could not hear; Nancy shrank to

the side of the boat. There was ten minutes of acrid silence. Finally the Bajarnum said in a

crackling self-conscious voice, “And, may I ask, what you plan with us?”

Glystra looked out the window again. “I’ll tell you in another couple of

hours.”

They flew across an island-dappled sea, a gray desert, a range of

mountains with white peaks reaching angrily up into dark blue sky .

Over a

pleasant rolling country dotted with vineyards, Glystra said to Corbus,

“This is far enough, I think. W e’ll set down here.”

The air -boat touched ground. Charley L ysidder hung back, his delicate features working. “What are you

going to do?”

“Nothing. I’m turning you loose. Y ou’re on your own. Y ou can try to get

back to Grosgarth if you like. I doubt if you’ll make it. If you stay here,

you’ll probably have to work for a living—the worst punishment I could

devise.”

Charley L ysidder , the three noblemen, sullenly stepped out into the

afternoon sunlight. Nancy hung back. L ysidder gestured angrily .

“I have

much to say to you.”

Nancy looked desperately at Glystra. “W on’ t you let me out elsewhere....”

Glystra shut the door .

“T ake ’er up, Corbus.” He turned to Nancy .

“I’m

not setting you down anywhere,” he said shortly .

Charley L ysidder and his three companions became minute shapes,

mannikins in rich-colored clothes; rigid, motionless, they watched the air -

car swing across the sky .

Charley L ysidder raised his fist, shook it in a

frenzy of hate. Glystra turned away , grinning. “Now there’ s no more

Bajarnum of Beaujolais. V acancy , Corbus; need a job?”

“I believe I’d make a medium-to-good king ...

Come to think of it,”

Corbus ruminated, “I’ve always wanted a nice little feudal domain in a

good wine country ...

Fancy uniforms, operettas, beautiful women ...” his

voice trailed of f. “Anyway , put my name down for the job.”

“It’ s yours, if I’ve anything to say about it—and I have.”

“Thanks. My first of ficial act will be to clean out that den of fakers,

Myrtlesee Fountain. Or does my empire run that far?”

“If you want Myrtlesee Fountain you’ve got to take the Palari Desert and

the Rebbirs along with it.”

“Draw the boundary along the River Oust,” said Corbus. “I know when

I’m well of f.”

Big Planet landscape, swimming in the halcyon light of late afternoon,

slipped astern. Glystra finally found it impossible to ignore the quiet figure

in the rear of the car .

He stepped down from the control platform, settled

upon the seat beside her .

“As far as I’m concerned,” he said gruf fly , “I’m

willing to believe that you were an unwilling accessory , and I’ll see that—”

She interrupted him in a low and passionate voice. “I’ll never be able to

make you believe that we were working for the same things.”

Glystra grinned a wry sad smile, remembering the journey east out of

Jubilith. Darrot, Ketch, Pianza, Bishop: all dead, and if not by her direct

action, at least with her connivance. An angel with bloody hands. In order

to win his confidence she had feigned love, prostituted herself. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, “but let me speak—and then you

may drop me anywhere, in the middle of the ocean if you like. “The gypsies burnt my home with all inside,” she added in a dull voice. “I

told you so; it is true. I wandered to Grosgarth, Charley L ysidder saw me at

the Midsummer Festival. He was crying crusade against all the outside

world, and here, so I thought, was how Big Planet might be made safe and

evil beings like the gypsies exterminated. He called me to his chambers; I

did not refuse. What girl refuses an emperor?

He took me to Earth; on the

way back we learned of your plans. Apparently you projected nothing more

than the persecution of Charley L ysidder .

I was bitter against Earth and all

its people. They lived in wealth and security , while on Big Planet the great-

grandchildren of Earth were murdered and tormented. Why could they not

help us?”

Glystra started to speak; she made a weary gesture. “I know what you will

say: ‘Earth can only wield authority over a finite volume of space. Anyone

who passes through the boundaries forfeits the protection of those within.’

That might have been valid for the first ones to come out from Earth, but it

seems cruel to punish the children of these thoughtless ones forever and

ever ...

And it seemed that while you would do nothing to help us, you

wanted to thwart the only man on Big Planet with vision and power:

Charley L ysidder .

And much as it hurt me, because—” she darted him a

brief look—“I had come to love you, I had to fight you.”

“Why didn’ t you?” asked Glystra. She shuddered. “I couldn’ t. And I’ve lived in misery ...

I can’ t understand

how you failed to suspect me.”

“When I think back,” said Glystra, his eyes on the past, “it seems as if I

knew all the time, but could not make myself believe it. There were a

hundred indications. Morwatz’ troopers had us bound and helpless; you

refused to cut us loose until it was clear that the Beaujolains were dead and

the gypsies were coming. Y ou thought the Fountain insects sounded like

birds. There are no birds on Big Planet. And when Bishop was killed—”

“I had nothing to do with that. I tried to slip of f to the dome. He came

after me and the priests killed him and took his head.”

“And Pianza?”

She shook her head. “The traders had already killed Pianza. I kept them

from killing everyone else. But I let them take the trolleys, because I

thought that if you would only return to Kirstendale we could live together

safe and happy ...” She looked at him and her mouth drooped. “Y ou don’ t

believe anything of what I’m saying.”

“No, on the contrary , I believe everything ...

I wish I had your courage.”

Corbus’ voice came raucously down from the control platform. “Y ou two

are beginning to embarrass me. Clinch and get it over with.”

Glystra and Nancy sat in silence. After a moment Glystra said, “There’ s a

lot of unfinished business behind us ...

On our way back we’ll drop in at

Kirstendale and hire Cloyville to pull us around the streets in a big

carriage.”

“Count me in,” said Corbus. “I’ll bring a long whip.”