PROAIRESIS<\/p>\n
It was the cleanest spaceport McCade had ever seen. He stood for a moment at the head of the landing ramp, looking around at the spotless concrete, the sparkling buildings, the clear sky. The Dovetail was the only ship on the apron, and there were no other people as far as he could see. But it was clean. He could imagine the cleaners coming out of some shed somewhere after the Dovetail left again, in two days, polishing away all signs of its ever having been there. A breeze came from the west and brought with it the scent of trees and growing things. He knew the port, in the Red Dog district of Loger, was at the edge of the city, but to have no city smell at all was very strange. Every city he\u2019d ever been in, on every world, had had a city smell. Maybe when the wind changed the true aroma of this place would return.<\/p>\n
As he stood he saw a low, broad vehicle come out of one of the terminal buildings, all glass and chrome, and come floating centimeters above the ground toward the Dovetail in a graceful, unhurried curve. And then he felt a touch at his elbow.<\/p>\n
\u201cEverything all right?\u201d the tall, graying man asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo far, Captain,\u201d McCade answered. The shuttle car stopped, connected to the base of the ramp, and McCade and the Captain went down to the vehicle and got inside. There was no driver. It was fully automatic.<\/p>\n
When they had gotten themselves comfortably seated, the car detached itself from the ramp and started smoothly back toward the terminal.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you sure you don\u2019t want to come back with me?\u201d Captain Toledo asked. It was plain that he was truly concerned.<\/p>\n
\u201cQuite sure,\u201d McCade said, watching the apron slide by.<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t be back for six months,\u201d Captain Toledo went on, \u201cand as far as I know, nobody else stops here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s quite all right,\u201d McCade said. The car slid into the terminal, one side opened up, and they were now at the edge of a large, comfortable waiting room. One whole wall of the room was a series of such cars, twenty in all, each with a capacity of fifty passengers. The re was nobody else in sight.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it always this empty?\u201d McCade asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlways. They don\u2019t get many visitors, and none of the residents ever goes traveling, which is good enough for me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou must find some profit in this trip.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, yes, I do,\u201d was all Toledo would admit.<\/p>\n
They left the waiting room, where on any other world innumerable ticket counters would have displayed their colorful logos. Here, on Seltique, there was only one desk, no timetables, no fancy insignia, just one man, who looked like an executive. And who looked bored. He did not rise as McCade and Toledo neared.<\/p>\n
\u201cCaptain Toledo,\u201d the man said. \u201cWelcome back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you. Here\u2019s the invoice for this shipment.\u201d He handed the well- dressed man a thick envelope, which the man dropped into a slot in his desk. Immediately another one rose up out of it.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd here is your new invoice,\u201d the man said. \u201cWe\u2019ll have you unloaded by midmorning tomorrow, inspected by noon. If there\u2019s no need of extensive service, you should be ready to go by noon the next day.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVery good,\u201d Toledo said and grinned. \u201cI\u2019ll be at my usual place.\u201d He turned to McCade. \u201cNoon the day after tomorrow,\u201d he said. \u201cIf your change your mind, be here before then.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I do,\u201d McCade said, \u201cI will. Goodbye, Captain.\u201d<\/p>\n
Toledo stood a moment longer, then with a scowl, turned and walked across the bright tiled floor to where the sign said \u201cPublic Road.\u201d McCade turned back to the man behind the desk.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you are?\u201d the man asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cLarson McCade.\u201d He handed the man his papers and ticket. The man took them doubtfully, examined them resignedly, and returned them mechanically.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey are in order,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. Where do I get my bags?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man pointed to a sign.<\/p>\n
\u201cFine. And I\u2019d like to confirm my hotel reservations.\u201d The man looked blank.<\/p>\n
\u201cI signalled ahead a week ago,\u201d McCade said, \u201cand booked a suite at the Fire sign. Would you check for me please?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man stared a moment longer, then looked down at his desk, touched a button to one side, and scanned the glowing panel.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m sorry to have misunderstood. You desire transient accommodations. The Firesign is not equipped to take care of you, and therefore your reservation has been canceled.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean, it can\u2019t take care of me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is a place for romantic assignations, not living. Begging your pardon, sir, but you are an outsider, and I\u2019d strongly recommend that you accompany Captain Toledo on his return flight.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs cancelling my reservation your way of emphasizing that recommendation?\u201d McCade asked.<\/p>\n
The man looked up at him again, and after a moment smiled quite genuinely.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, sir,\u201d he said. \u201cBut you are an outsider, and it\u2019s understandable that certain aspects of our society here would be beyond your knowledge. We are not used to tourists, have no facilities for them, and really nothing for them to see.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe so,\u201d McCade said, \u201cbut I\u2019ll give it a try anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man just shrugged, grinned again, and lost interest in him.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me,\u201d McCade said. He was not flustered, he was too experienced for that.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d the man said, looking up again.<\/p>\n
\u201cEven if I stay only two days,\u201d McCade said, \u201cI\u2019ll need some place to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, of course. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d The man touched another button on the desk. Again the screen lit up.<\/p>\n
\u201cRoom\u2026\u201d the man began.<\/p>\n
\u201cSuite,\u201d McCade corrected.<\/p>\n
\u201cPardon. Suite for one, immediately,\u201d the man said. \u201cNo credit.\u201d There was a flicker of light in the panel.<\/p>\n
\u201cCash in advance,\u201d McCade said, flipping open a packet of blue-green vouchers with red scrolls and figures. The man was not impressed.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can accommodate you,\u201d he said, \u201cat the Morphy Chessica. Please understand, it is not what you might be accustomed to.\u201d<\/p>\n
McCade nodded, put the vouchers away, and went to the sign that said, \u201cLuggage Pick-Up.\u201d There were his bags, three of them, and a small case that must have been Toledo\u2019s. McCade gripped the handle of the floating rack and drew it out after him. There were no porters. He was not used to doing things like this for himself, but that didn\u2019t matter. So far he was having no more trouble than he\u2019d expected.<\/p>\n
Towing the bags after him, he went through the door Toledo had left by, and found himself in a sort of arcade, roofed over with milk glass and open at either end, through which ran a shimmering belt some fifteen meters wide. There were no vehicles. For a moment he was at a loss and started to re-enter the terminal, but then took another look at the road surface. It was a molecular belt, one way, to the left.<\/p>\n
\u201cMorphy Chessica,\u201d he said out loud, and the road winked. He took his bags off the float, set them down on the twi nkling belt, and as he stepped on himself, saw the luggage float going back into the terminal, under its own direction and power. Then the molecular film under his feet began to move, accelerating so slowly that his balance was not in the least disturbed.<\/p>\n
He slid out of the arcade, and the belt joined a main road. Here there were people, moving in both directions, sliding effortlessly on the molecular belt which ran down the center of a tree-lined lawn. Buildings rose on both sides, widely spaced, landscaped with shrubs and flowers. It looked more like a middle-class business district than a portside area. He watched the people as he and his bags joined the moving way, and they, in turn, watched him.<\/p>\n
He grinned. He knew what they were seeing. His looks had turned out to be one of his best assets. Because of them, no one ever took him seriously, and he liked it that way. It gave him an advantage. With a deeply cleft chin, full cheeks, a mouth that always quirked in an almost smile, broad forehead, big blue eyes, curly hair, he looked twenty instead of thirty-five, and a little bit silly. Somehow, people never thought that the style and fit of his clothes, which were always perfect, could possibly be a contradiction to his face. Until it was t oo late.<\/p>\n
He rode northward for just a few blocks and stopped in front of a large tower. He took his bags from the belt and, leaving them on the lawn, walked up to the entrance.<\/p>\n
There was no clerk in the lobby, just a specialized corn-con keyed to voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cI called from the spaceport,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you have luggage?\u201d a pleasantly modulated, neutral voice from the comcon asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cOutside,\u201d he answered. There was a ping. Then the voice said, \u201cYou are from off world?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is correct.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou will have to pay cash until you have established proper credit,\u201d the voice<\/p>\n
told him. A low cart appeared beside him with his bags on it. He took out his packet of vouchers, pulled two of them off, and laid them on the comcon. They were whisked away, and numbers app eared on the panel in front of him.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is your credit balance after deducting two days\u2019 lodging,\u201d the voice said.<\/p>\n
McCade did not answer, but turned to the cart, which moved away across the lobby to a tiny cubicle. He followed it in. The door closed and a moment later opened again, and McCade followed the cart out of the cubicle down a broad, chair and potted-plant lined hall to a door. There was no number. There was no key. The door opened when he touched it, and he went inside. This time it was the cart which followed him.<\/p>\n
It was a fairly decent suite, with a living room, a bedroom, a large bath, a study, and a kitchen-dinette. Nothing fancy by his standards, but certainly adequate.<\/p>\n
The cart had deposited his baggage in the middle of the living room. He spent the next hour unpacking and putting things away. Then he sat at the comcon in the study and punched out the universal code for information.<\/p>\n
\u201cA directory, please,\u201d he said to the bright geometric pattern on the screen. There was a click. A door underneath the screen opened, and he took out a large, onionskin volume. Quickly, he thumbed through, punched another number, and this time a face appeared.<\/p>\n
\u201cMay I have an atlas of the city?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cCertainly,\u201d the attractive young woman said. She punched, his comcon clicked again, and he removed another volume. He switched off, but before the screen faded completely, some numbers flashed on. His credit balance. It had shrunk considerably. He took out his packet of vouchers and fed ten more blue- green bills into the appropriate slot.<\/p>\n
Then he turned his attention to the directory. He knew nobody in Loger, but he had some names, names he\u2019d heard as a boy, and he wanted to see if any of them still existed here, on a world that, though in the center of the Orion Limb of the galaxy, had been only sporadically visited for the last two thousand years. Everybody knew Seltique was here. It even figured in the history books. But the people of Seltique discour aged visitors, and nobody wanted to come here much anyway.<\/p>\n
None of the names were in the directory. He turned to the back section, and found a haberdasher. One thing he had noticed on his trip from the spaceport, his clothes were badly out of style here. Though there was still effective and efficient non-physical communication between Seltique and the rest of the Limb, these people had gone their own way more than any other planet.<\/p>\n
He dialed the haberdasher and ordered some clothes. The comcon took his measurements where he sat. As he waited for the haberdasher to prepare his clothes he looked up the Morphy Chessica in the directory. It was, he discovered, not a hotel at all, but a place advertised to provide comfortable living for people who had suffered a \u201cdemotion,\u201d whatever that was, and who, for obscure legal reasons, had to leave their own houses and could not immediately move into a new house. He closed the directory and ran over in his mind what he knew about this world.<\/p>\n
Seltique was not exactly isolated, though little news came out of it. Much went in, he knew, but what these people did with it, no one could say. It was a shy world, caught alone in the middle of a crowd, afraid to reach out, afraid to go away. It saw and heard what went on elsewhere in the Limb, but contributed nothing. Not that it couldn\u2019t, McCade thought as the comcon pinged and he began to remove packages from the recess. Several things he\u2019d seen so far today had impressed him as being highly desirable elsewhere\u2014the luggage floater, the molecular road which was the best he\u2019d seen anywhere, the cleanness of the air. Contrary to his expectations, even in the city proper, there was no city smell or city noise.<\/p>\n
He removed the package of clothing. The comcon flashed his balance, and he fed it the rest of the voucher packet.<\/p>\n
He turned to the atlas, orienting himself on the small-scale overall map. His hotel, as he continued to think of it, was at the western edge of the city of Loger. To the north, south, and east the city spread, divided into fifty-four districts. Red Dog was, he knew, the lowest-class district of all, as befitted a spaceport area. But if what he had seen of Red Dog so far was any indication of low-class, he could hardly wait to see some of the better districts.<\/p>\n
Checking with the index at the back of his atlas, he located a number of spots of interest to him: the main offices of the Eight Brotherhoods, several libraries, museums, schools, major churches. He grinned softly as he familiarized himself with the layout of the city, and for a moment he looked very much the good- natured clown. But there was more in his eyes than humor.<\/p>\n
Satisfied at last that he could not get seriously lost, he changed into some of his new clothes, carefully selected not to be at the peak of style, but a few steps below it. Still, he would do himself well. The fit was perfect, and if he had insisted on hot colors, what was it to anyone else? Then he left his suite, took the elevator down to the lobby, and went out into the street. People still noticed him, of course, but not as many, and their reactions were less pronounced. His face was still bright and foolish, but now he was one of them, not an outsider, and would be soon forgotten. He stepped on the belt, said, \u201cGo,\u201d and just went.<\/p>\n
He quickly passed out of Red Dog into Aragon to the north, across a river, under a bridge of some sort, into an area of comfortable homes on landscaped yards. He continued north into Rocky Point, where there were more high-rises, all beautiful. Then he veered east, cut across a corner of Regan and into Hadoth, where towers of enameled crystal rose to the clear sky. He skirted along the edge of another river, small and neat with manicured banks, across which was Whitefriar, where he had no business going as yet. North again, through Beach Harbor; east again across the tip of residential Newport, into Yarbrough, where the buildings were short but extensive; south towards Emeraud and its mini- estates, across a belt of Foxes, which followed no style, but with style, then further south through Rand, Duchane, St. Clair; west across Carmel, which reminded him of Chicago or Lorke, on to King\u2019s Lake with its huge lawns and Redkirk with its spires among the trees; south a bit to Bethim; further west through Chatham and Riverside; then north again and back into Red Dog. He was south of the spaceport now, and at the westernmost edge of the city of Loger. He had seen but a fraction of it. There were districts he had not yet glimpsed. Still, it was enough to give him a feeling for the place, though he had stayed out of the highest-class neighborhoods. As he understood it, it could be death to enter certain districts without good reason.<\/p>\n
On his right hand was the city. On his left an elegant parkland that stretched away for several kilometers before the forest took over. There were no other cities on Seltique, though there once had been many rich metropolises. Now there was only Loger, and all the rest of the planet was ruin, jungle, forest, desert, ocean, and bare mountain. As his road-belt swept him back into Red Dog toward his transient\u2019s accommodation, the setting rays of the sun lit the high buildings, and he knew that though Loger was the last city of Seltique, it was not the least.<\/p>\n
His way took him past a place that looked like it might serve food, so he stepped off the molecular belt, onto a green lawn in front of the building, where small tables were scattered, seemingly at random, among flower beds and low bushes. He went to one that was unoccupied and sat in a chair that he would have sworn had been carved from ivory. And only a block away was the spaceport. Amazing.<\/p>\n
A living waiter came over to his table. McCade took the hand-written menu and, though the script was elaborately lettered, was able to read it. He ordered something that he guessed would be like a slice of roast with potatoes and a salad, and asked the waiter to select a wine. Then he sat back. The waiter returned almost at once with a question about credit, and McCade referred him to the Morphy Chessica. This time the waiter stayed away.<\/p>\n
After a moment a cart appeared, the covered top of which folded back to reveal his meal, which was more like lobster with some kind of hot red vegetable. But the salad was salad, and the wine was quite good. He let the cart serve him and ate with pleasure. It was getting late in the day, and he had not eaten since breakfast, but he was used to irregular meals. His habits did not allow any kind of steady schedule.<\/p>\n
He finished the meal and sat sipping the last of his wine, watching the sky change colors, when two young dandies came up and stopped a few feet from his table. He noticed them, but did not pay them any attention. Nor did he react when, in voices sufficiently loud for him to hear, they began commenting to each other about his looks. This, too, had happened to him before, and he had learned not to mind it. If their opinion mattered, he could change it easily enough.<\/p>\n
Tiring at last at his lack of response, the two came up to his table and sat down, uninvited, draping themselves with practiced insolence across the chairs.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhacha up to, Dopey?\u201d one of them cracked. They both laughed. McCade just looked the speaker in the eye, a small smile touching his mouth, and did not answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cThink he\u2019s as dumb as he looks?\u201d the other one chortled.<\/p>\n
\u201cNaw,\u201d said the first. \u201cNobody could be that dumb.\u201d<\/p>\n
McCade just sipped his wine. A hand shot out and smashed the glass from his fingers. He looked into the smoldering eyes of the first youth, as he leaned across the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re rude,\u201d the youth said. McCade started, slowly, to rise but just then the waiter came hurrying up.<\/p>\n
\u201cLeo,\u201d the waiter said anxiously, \u201cFarn, stop, he\u2019s an unclassed.\u201d<\/p>\n
The two young men looked at the waiter in surprise, then back at McCade.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou sure?\u201d the second asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cAbsolutely. I checked his accommodation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCrap!\u201d the first one said, and they hurried away. The waiter bustled up.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said, \u201cthey just didn\u2019t know. Will there be anything else?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, thank you,\u201d McCade said, getting to his feet. He glanced in the direction the two dandies had gone, but they were nowhere in sight. Then he grinned at the waiter, went back to the belt, and returned to the Morphy Chessica.<\/p>\n
ZETESIS<\/p>\n
Larson McCade, attache case in hand, stepped on to the transport belt in front of the Morphy Chessica. The day was bright and clear, with only a few pearly clouds in the robin\u2019s-egg-blue sky. A slight breeze ruffled his curly brown hair, and he felt himself smiling. Other people on the belt saw him and smiled too, infected by his obvious good humor. As he slid easily along he felt the music softly playing in his head. It had a rhythm that made his muscles want to move, to dance, to step along the moving belt in a way he knew would attract too much attention. He did not yield, but smiled only the more broadly, and nodded at the people going the other way. They could not hear his music, would never know what made him feel so good today, but he didn\u2019t care. His business was not such that he wanted to share it anyway.<\/p>\n
There were very few private vehicles in Loger. On his tour a couple of days before he had seen fewer than a dozen. But then, there was very little need for them in this ancient city, where leisure was the rule, not the exception. Only members of the highest class and rank needed, or wanted, any such thing as a car. And the lower strata of this highly caste-oriented society were not allowed to have them.<\/p>\n
He crossed the river into Aragon, a district of much higher status than Red Dog, the bottom of the heap, and turned west. There were more people here, but by no means as many as a city the size of Loger would seem to warrant. Judging by the size, McCade estimated the city should be able to hold over ten million people comfortably. But an examination of the directory indicated that fewer than one million people lived here. Though he had understood that to be the case, it still surprised him somewhat to find that it was actually so.<\/p>\n
A few blocks farther on he left the belt and ascended a gentle ramp to a glass dome above the ubiquitous strip-park that bordered all the streets of Loger. For a moment the music in his head grew louder, and he skipped a step as he crossed the threshold of the dome.<\/p>\n
Inside he spent a few minutes walking around the perimeter of the dome, looking out over the city from all angles. Such a strange world, with no apparent resources and only one remaining city after thousands of years of decline, and yet the lowest-caste people of Red Dog were as wealthy as the best middle classes of any other world.<\/p>\n
At last he turned to the center of the dome, and the columns that rose from the floor to the great transparent tube that crossed the dome eight meters higher still. He stepped up to one of the columns, a door slid back silently, and he stepped inside. A moment later the door opened again, and he crossed the threshold into a tiny room furnished with a double-width reclining chair, in front of which was a low bar. The walls of the room were completely transparent, and curved over him without corner or seam. Even the door, which had closed, was invisible. He sat back on the comfortable chair, and the chamber turned and entered the tube.<\/p>\n
\u201cKimberly University,\u201d he said softly, and the car shot out over the city and away to the southeast. His view of the city was completely unobstructed, and he now had a perspective much different from that offered by the belts. There were few other cars in the tube, going either direction, and the car went quickly, without the need to slow for traffic. The whole trip took only ten minutes, and McCade envied the people of Loger their maneuverability. A similar trip in a comparable city on any other world would have taken at least an hour. But then, that was how he had been told it would be.<\/p>\n
Kimberly was a large, sprawling district in the foothills of the southern mountains, heavily wooded, sparsely populated, one of the ninth-ranked districts. His car stopped at a dome halfway between the first and second slopes, and he left the tubeways to return to the belts below.<\/p>\n
Here there was a definite nip in the air. McCade knew that the climate of Loger was strictly controlled, but to step from the early summer of the rest of the city to the earliest autumn of this district was still somewhat unsettling. He\u2019d never experienced anything like it before, and didn\u2019t know if he liked it. The weather was beautiful enough, and the tall trees, evergreens and deciduous, scenting the air with their crisp fragrances, made his blood tingle. It would be beautiful to live here. It was the controlled change that bothered him, robbing him for a moment of the pure pleasure of the day.<\/p>\n
On the belts again, he went east at a leisurely pace, allowing himself the time to enjoy the scenery. Houses were set back far from the road, their privacy protected by the trees and by rugged, dense bushes. He occasionally saw an individual or small group outdoors, doing something or other in the cool air, but met almost no one on the belt. Once he passed a commercial area, but so well blended into the landscaping that it was out of sight before he realized what it was.<\/p>\n
At last the widely spaced towers of the university appeared above and among the trees, and the beltway came to an end at a transverse road. He stepped off and onto the motionless polished-stone walkway of the campus. He shifted his attache case to his left hand and entered.<\/p>\n
Buildings mossy with age nestled among ancient trees and dense shrubbery. Vines and creepers climbed occasional walls and framed windows. And the people here were all young, except for a faculty member now and then. Their dress was at once less status-oriented and more extravagant than that of the rest of the people of the city. But that was natural. Most of these students would not be able to make use of any inherited or acquired class or rank for some years yet. They were learning how to fit into their society, as well as the subjects of their courses.<\/p>\n
Almost at random, McCade ambled around the campus, taking his time, locating buildings he had memorized from the directory and atlas the day before. He knew what he was looking for and where it was, but he was in no hurry. It was important to him to get the feel of a place, to know where he was more than just by map coordinates. He was too used to being a stranger, knew too well the ways a stranger stuck out in the biggest crowd. By spending an hour, walking around, entering an occasional building, he should be able to knock off the sharpest corners of his strangeness. That he was not a student was only too obvious, and he could do nothing about that. But that he was a stranger to Loger and Seltique he did want to conceal, if he could.<\/p>\n
He approached the building from the north, from the other end of a two-kilometer-long quad. He walked down the center, across the grass, his pace steady, his eyes neither wandering nor fixed. The music in his head was of a different beat and rhythm now, and it made his pace steady, his back straight. His grin was all but erased and his senses all alert, yet he managed to appear calm and relaxed.<\/p>\n
He stepped from the lawn to the paved court in front of the building. Across the court, broad shallow steps climbed up to a pillared portico, the lintel of which bore the legend \u201cEnoch Varney Sambrelli Library.\u201d He climbed the steps, passed between the pillars through the door marked \u201cIn Only\u201d into a marbled lobby. At a desk at his left, by the \u201cOut\u201d door, a student was checking to make sure that books leaving the library were properly checked out. Ahead of him another student at a desk marked \u201cInformation\u201d looked up expectantly. Without pause or hesitation McCade smiled at the girl and turned left into a large room filled with the library\u2019s catalogs.<\/p>\n
It took only a moment to find the section he wanted. He sat down at a desk, turned on the catcom, and watched the titles of the library\u2019s holdings drift by. The book he wanted\u2014it wasn\u2019t here.<\/p>\n
He punched a button and tried again, this time under author. The man was there, with three entries, but not the one book McCade wanted. He knew the book was here\u2014or at least had been here a century ago. He tried yet a third time, under subject. But the whole subject area was blank. There were no entries at all, only a few cross references to unrelated subjects.<\/p>\n
The book had been purged. The inside of his head felt strangely hollow and silent. To have come all this way, and then meet with absolute failure on his first step. Where did he go now?<\/p>\n
Maybe the book, and all the others dealing with the same subject, had not been destroyed. Maybe it had been only put away somewhere, withdrawn from the stacks and put in storage. This idea gave his new hope, and a soft melody once again played to him from some depth of his unconscious. He tried to think.<\/p>\n
There was another book, one his great-grandfather had often spoken of, what was it? He checked the catalog again, and that volume, too, was not listed. But that was not surprising. The book was only a novel, written two and a half centuries ago, and would be a prime candidate for a cleanup. He stood from the catcom, picked up his attach\u00e9 case, went back to the lobby and crossed to the other side into another large room where librarians worked at the circulation desk. He walked up to the high counter, laid his case on it, rested his elbows on that, and looked expectantly from one man to another. One of them noticed him, did a little take, smiled, and came up to the counter.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I help you, sir?\u201d the man asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI sure hope so,\u201d McCade said, smiling sheepishly. \u201cI\u2019m looking for a book and I can\u2019t seem to find it in your catalog.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat were the title and author?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPennyfargo, by Artur Mespelioski. It\u2019s an old novel, and I checked it out of here several years ago and, well, I wanted to read it again.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man fiddled with buttons on his side of the counter.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re right,\u201d he said, \u201cit\u2019s not listed in the catalog. Are you sure you got it from this library and not some other?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, absolutely. This is the only library I\u2019ve ever been to. It was several years ago, as I said, maybe six or seven.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see. Well, if it was a really old book we could have removed it from the circulating stacks and put it downstairs. Do you know where the storage catalog is?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I\u2019m afraid I don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust go through that door on your right. Across the hall, and to the other side of the room\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
There he turned right, between shelves of films and tape sand various viewing and listening equipment, until he came to a stair that opened off the corridor. He went down, around two turns, past a landing, round two more turns, and stepped off the stair into a low-ceilinged room with several doors. He opened the one marked \u201cStorage\u201d and stepped through.<\/p>\n
The lights were dim and at first he didn\u2019t recognize the objects in front of him. Then, as he reached out to touch, he realized that they were card storage drawers. He pulled open the drawer marked \u201cCLA-COT.\u201d Inside were about six thousand cards, bearing pertinent catalog information. He was in the subject section.<\/p>\n
Marveling that, in this day of automated information retrieval, even the withdrawn books should be recorded in so archaic a fashion, he flipped through the cards, looking for the missing subject. It was not here either.<\/p>\n
He shoved the drawer back in its place and moved farther into the room. Beyond the card catalog were stacks and stacks of books. There must have been almost half a million titles down here alone, he thought, peering down passageway after passageway, all lined with shelves. If the book he wanted was here, but not listed in the catalog, it would be beyond his experience to find it.<\/p>\n
He walked as far as he could go in one direction, then turned left and followed the wall. He came to a corner, turned, and followed the wall farther. So far there were only books, but when he turned the second corner the wall continued behind the room, self-contained, which held the stairway. Where the other doors in that room led to, he did not know or care to guess. But back here, behind the stairs and the card catalog, were books that had not been touched in years, just piled at random in towers that reached up over his head. Idly he began to scan the titles, but gave it up quickly. There were too many books, even here.<\/p>\n
Then he came to the door. He stopped, looked around, listened. At least two other people were not too far away, doing who knew what in these stacks, but nobody was near enough to see him. He touched the knob of the door, and it swung open. It was black inside. He groped along the wall until he found a switch. He turned it off as soon as it went on. A mop closet.<\/p>\n
Farther down the wall was another door\u2014a men\u2019s room. Then a ladies\u2019 room. Then a door with a frosted-glass upper panel, lit from the other side. He eased it open gently and beyond saw a short corridor. He stepped into it and closed the door behind him. Doors opened off the corridor, three on each side. He went to each one in turn, listened, opened, and found that the first three were a storage room, a closet, and a small untidy office. The fourth door was locked.<\/p>\n
He checked the last two doors first. Behind one he could hear voices, and behind the other was only a small kitchenette. Then he went back to the fourth door, put down his attache case, and took out his wallet.<\/p>\n
His senses became super sharp. Certain courses of childhood training took over now, and he listened to each and every sound that came to him, identifying, evaluating. His body became calm, and his fingers were quick but sure as they took a thin strip of metal from the wallet and stuck it in the lock. Gently, now, he twisted, pushed, rocked, and then there was a click. He turned the knob, pushed the door open a crack, and took out the bit of metal. With his toe against the door to keep it from swinging shut, he returned his lock pick to his wallet, picked up his attache case, and stepped through. Just as he closed the door behind him he heard the door to the fifth room open and two people come out into the corridor.<\/p>\n
He stood stock still, listening. The voices of the two people passed up the corridor and out the door into the storage stacks. Then he turned. He was at the head of a flight of stairs, leading down into darkness. There was a switch on the wall. He touched it, and a light came on below. He went down.<\/p>\n
There were more books down here, older books, untouched for years, if the accumulation of dust was any evidence. It was not a large room, and contained no more than ten thousand volumes, he estimated, but that was still too many for a quick search. He went round the room once, and back in a corner under the stairs he found the tiny twenty-drawer catalog.<\/p>\n
He had to force himself to be calm. He pulled out the \u201cC\u201d drawer and flipped through the cards. And there it was.<\/p>\n
Heavy rhythm flooded his brain. He memorized the number, and quickly found the shelf. And yes, there was the book. He took it down, dry, dusty, the pages yellowed, the spine broken. He flipped through it gently. Yes, this was the one.<\/p>\n
He opened his attach\u00e9 case, slipped the book inside, and went back to the stairs. In his head, the music was loud, and he could feel his face stretch into a broad grin. At the top of the stairs he turned off the light, listened carefully for a long moment at the door, then stepped out into the corridor. No one saw him re-enter the storage stacks, and the other person at the card catalog glanced at him only briefly. He looked up Pennyfargo, by Artur Mespelioski, found it, went to the appropriate shelf, took it down, tucked it under his arm, and went back up to the main floor of the library and the circulation desk. The librarian who\u2019d helped him before smiled when he saw him, and took the book from him.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is an oldie,\u201d the man said. \u201cI\u2019m surprised anyone would want to read anything like that any more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, it\u2019s not all that good, I suppose,\u201d McCade said, \u201cbut there are memories associated with it and, well, you know\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I do,\u201d the man said. He made out a special card allowing McCade to check the book out, and didn\u2019t even raise an eyebrow when McCade gave him the Morphy Chessica address as reference.<\/p>\n
\u201cHope you enjoy it as much the second time,\u201d the librarian said.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, I\u2019m sure I will,\u201d McCade answered, putting the book into his case. He snapped it shut and left the counter.<\/p>\n
And at the door the student there stopped him and asked to look in his case. McCade set it down on the desk and opened it. There was Pennyfargo. The student checked the card, smiled his thanks, and closed the case again. And with the music making his feet light, McCade left the library, skipped down the steps to the court, and walked briskly up the long quad.<\/p>\n
He enjoyed the autumn crispness now, as he went past dorms and class buildings. The feel of the air intoxicated him, and he toyed with the idea of getting a lunch somewhere and making a picnic out on the grass. But the music in his mind was too demanding. He left the campus, got on a belt, and went to the nearest tube station. Here he boarded another tiny car, asked for Red Dog, and settled back for the short ride across the city.<\/p>\n
He got off the tube at a point nearer his accommodation than the one at which he\u2019d gotten on, and went immediately home. Back in his room he put the case down on the table, opened it, and took out Pennyfargo. He flipped through it quickly, noted the due date, and tossed it aside. Then he reached into his case again, undid a flap at the bottom, and took out the other book. This, after all, was the purpose for the whole morning\u2019s expedition. He settled himself down in a chair and began to read.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen Seltique was founded nearly six thousand years ago\u2026 cultural center\u2026 interstellar jealousies\u2026 the concentrated lore of all the planets\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Yes, this was it. All the things he\u2019d heard as a child were verified here. The stories hadn\u2019t changed much with the generations, no matter how much they differed from what was publicly believed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe general public of the Orion Limb, at that time\u2026\u201d\u2014about twenty-seven hundred years ago. It was a long time for a world to be in social decline. Scholars on other worlds could not explain how Seltique had been able to continue as it had. Even McCade\u2019s grandfather had no explanation for that.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd thus the paranoid reaction put an effective embargo on all\u2026 the group which later became known as the Core\u2026 and not all its past advances were lost in spite of its cultural degeneracy.\u201d<\/p>\n
McCade hadn\u2019t yet seen enough of Loger to make any judgement on that, but if the affair of the two youths at the restaurant was any example, the author was probably right. His own knowledge was too biased and too limited.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen followed a counter reaction on the part of the Seltiques\u2026 another three centuries\u2026 records destroyed, but duplicates\u2026 completely underground, though actual members frequently held positions of importance and had high status.\u201d<\/p>\n
He could feel himself trembling. There was so much yet to be done, and this was just the first step. But it was also the key. The stories he\u2019d been told meant nothing without hard data to relate it to the real world, not as Seltique had been three thousand yeas ago, or even a hundred years ago, but as it was today.<\/p>\n
\u201cUnderground, a certain clique or club remained\u2026 the true position of Seltique was eventually forgotten\u2026 the people themselves no longer knew\u2026 continued isolation relieved only by reception of regular broadcasts\u2026 now a secret cult\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Here and there the book gave him little bits of information that turned the story he knew from an impressive if chaotic collection of reminiscences and prejudices into a complete picture. And, in turn, what he knew turned what the book said from a dry assortment of facts into a living drama with meaning. He could hardly sit still. His hands were wet and trembling, and as his excitement grew the music in his head became louder, more melodic, more emotional.<\/p>\n
\u201cTheir existence suspected, the remnants of the Core now\u2026 certain hiding places\u2026 dispersed the objects and remaining records\u2026 fanatical isolationists insisted\u2026 resulting in a pogrom. None of the Core members were known to have survived, though many bodies were unidentifiable and certain persons not accounted for. After this time the isolation of Seltique was complete, and even today, ten years later, mention of the Core can produce the most violent response on the part of certain individuals.\u201d<\/p>\n
No wonder the book was repressed. Only a few copies had ever gotten off Seltique, and they were now all lost or destroyed, but his great-grandfather had read the book and had acclaimed it highly.<\/p>\n
He finished the book quickly, then had room service bring him a late lunch. He needed time to assimilate all he had learned. He needed time to think.<\/p>\n
The island of Lestrange was the oldest part of Loger, in the mouth of the bay around which the city had grown. It showed no signs of antiquity in its architecture, however, other than what had been deliberately preserved. During the five thousand years of its existence, its streets had more than once changed their positions, and parks now grew where once buildings had stood.<\/p>\n
Only one bridge connected the island with the peninsula of low-status Pier, and that was a beltway. Lestrange was the most isolated of all the districts of Loger, and as a general rule, liked it that way. Because there was no air traffic of any kind in the city, the island could cut itself off from the rest of the world whenever it wanted to, which, thankfully, was not today. For today, McCade had business in Lestrange, at the local offices of the Brotherhood of Administrators. In this ninth-ranked district, the Compassionate Brothers of the Capital were very powerful, and maintained, along with its own records, the records of the whole city, back to its founding.<\/p>\n
McCade crossed the bridge to the island, surreptitiously watching the guards seated in their glass boxes at the end. He was an eminently memorable person, he knew, and there was no way for him to travel inconspicuously, but he did nothing to arouse any more attention than his bright clothes and unusual face would have done anyway.<\/p>\n
The Capital building was in the center of the island, on one side of a broad square where flowering trees grew, brilliant all year long. There was more weather here than elsewhere in Loger, due to the ocean to the north, and the bay to the south, but as elsewhere, it was always mild and well controlled. Still, there was a salt tang in the air, and a sense of freshness that differed from other parts of the city.<\/p>\n
McCade entered the imposing Capital building, fa\u00e7aded with pink and gray marble, stepped with dark gray granite worn to a high polish over the centuries. Inside the lobby, the stone walls and floor were more contrasting, dark gray and russet, and the people moving purposefully across the broad floor made the place echo with their footfalls. There was a reception desk to one side, an information desk at the other, elevators and stairs against the far wall, and an index of offices on a display in the middle. McCade stopped here and ran his eyes over the listing. He stopped at \u201cElex Norther, Director of Archives, 771.\u201d<\/p>\n
The elevator took him quickly up, and he stepped out into a large vestibule. There were only three offices here, and he went to the first one. A secretary took his name and a moment later told him to go in. As he entered the inner office a man of about his own age, but taller and with strong, handsome features, stood up from behind his desk and came around to greet him.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, Mr. McCade,\u201d the man said, oddly hesitant, \u201cI\u2019m Elex Norther. Uh\u2014what can I do for you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cQuite a bit, I hope,\u201d McCade said. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, but something seems to be upsetting you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, it\u2019s just that I see you\u2019re not wearing any badges of rank or class. And I\u2019m at a loss as to how to address you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHowever you please,\u201d McCade said, laughing. \u201cI may as well admit that I\u2019m from off world, and therefore don\u2019t have any rank or class. As a matter of fact, I\u2019m not really sure I understand the system.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, I see,\u201d Norther said, much relieved. \u201cPlease, sit down. So you\u2019re a visitor, a real visitor. You may know that we don\u2019t get very many of those. As a matter of fact, I believe you\u2019re the first one I\u2019ve ever met. Would you like a drink?\u201d He pushed a button when McCade nodded. \u201cWhat brings you to Seltique, may I ask, and is there anything I can do to help?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a long story,\u201d McCade said, and took a glass from a cart that had just presented itself to him, \u201cbut I\u2019ll keep it short. I\u2019m doing a monograph on the history of the Samosar Cluster here in the Orion Limb, concentrating on the period of about two to three thousand years ago. During all my early researches, I kept coming across references to Seltique, and I now find that I will be unable to finish my work without incorporating Seltique\u2019s influence on the rest of the Cluster during that period. I\u2019m afraid that our texts on your planet out in the rest of the Limb are ambiguous, contradictory, and incomplete, and so I\u2019ve come here looking for primary sources.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, this is the place for it,\u201d Norther said, taking a sip at his own drink. \u201cWe have all the remaining documents from the first period, and almost all the documents from about twenty-seven hundred years ago on up to the present day. But I\u2019m sure you don\u2019t want to see all of them. You could spend a lifetime just skimming, and only touch the surface.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re quite right,\u201d McCade said. \u201cBut I do have an area of particular interest. During the period which I am researching, Seltique played a very central role, for almost three hundred years, the culmination of a long period of ever increasing importance. Then, just twenty-seven hundred years ago, in fact, that role began to lose significance, until Seltique became just a name on a star atlas to most people. It is my thesis that, if Seltique had not dropped out of the greater society of the Samosar Cluster and the Orion Limb, the whole history of our galaxy from that time on would have been so different as to be unrecognizable. So you see, I am primarily concerned with those documents bearing on the reasons why Seltique\u2014uh\u2014dropped out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHmm. I see.\u201d Norther was no longer quite so cheerful. \u201cYou touch us at one of our sore spots,\u201d he said. \u201cWe ourselves have not been able to fully evaluate the reasons for our \u2018dropping out,\u2019 as you put it, probably due to first-hand bias. But even two and a half millennia have not been enough to make us change our minds or wish it had never happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand,\u201d McCade said, \u201cthat the fault lay primarily with the outside Cluster, and that your complete withdrawal was only a reaction to an externally imposed embargo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the way the theory usually runs. Do you think it\u2019s true?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know for sure, but it\u2019s certainly plausible. Tell me, is there any way I can get to look at certain specific documents of that period?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, yes, of course, but as I say, even that area is so broad\u2014a thousand years of unsifted history\u2014it would take you forever to find what you wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPerhaps not. Remember, this kind of work is my specialty. I am, in fact, a first-class \u2018sifter\u2019\u2014oh, beg your pardon, I mean an accredited expert.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s all right,\u201d Norther said, trying to recompose his features. \u201cWhen you said \u2018first class\u2019 I naturally thought you meant in the context of our world and city.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNaturally. I\u2019ll try to watch myself. But let me reassure you, I do know what I\u2019m doing, and I don\u2019t intend to spend any more time than I have to in plowing through old newspapers, videocasts, and books. If I can get access to the materials I want, I should be able to locate answers to my specific questions quite easily and quickly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor your sake I certainly hope so,\u201d Norther said. \u201cSome classification, of course, has been done, though not nearly so much as we would like. The data input is so voluminous, even these days, that we have a hard time trying to keep up with it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can understand that,\u201d McCade said, finishing his drink. The cart came over to retrieve the empty glass.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat then, in particular, are you looking for?\u201d Norther asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cDocuments relating to the group or organization known or referred to as the Core, specifically, what role they had to play in\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Core? My God, man, do you know what you\u2019re talking about?\u201d Norther was on his feet, surprised, frightened, and a little angry.<\/p>\n
\u201cAs I understand it,\u201d McCade said calmly, \u201cthe Core resisted first the efforts of the outside Cluster to shut Sel-tique off from the rest of society, then resisted Seltique when the rest of the world wanted to retreat into isolation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s just about it,\u201d Norther said, still hot, \u201cand whatever that group may have been, they were not popular. Are you aware that the last remnants of the Core existed as recently as a century ago? And that public feeling against them was so high that they were slaughtered to a man? Even the children!\u201d<\/p>\n
McCade let his mouth open softly and his face go white. He collected a little saliva in the back of his throat so that when he spoke again, he choked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he said, \u201cI wasn\u2019t aware of that. I assumed that\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, your assumption was in error,\u201d Norther snapped. \u201cLook, man, Idon\u2019t associate you with the Core, or with the things they did, but you are an outsider, and if it became known that you were interested in the Core, even your classless status wouldn\u2019t save you. The Core is a bugbear that fathers frighten their young sons with.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see,\u201d McCade said, and made himself flush. He clenched his teeth and drew his mouth into a tight line. \u201cI see,\u201d he repeated, \u201cand I appreciate your warning. But let me explain that I have already invested four years in this work, and have pre-published certain parts of it. My publishers want the book finished, and so do I. If I fail to produce, I stand to lose a fortune, and if I write the book without adequate reference to Seltique and the Core, I\u2019ll lose my reputation. It\u2019s a matter which is worth almost my life to me. I\u2019m sorry, but you just don\u2019t appreciate the academic pressure out there, even these days when the government seems to be falling apart.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I don\u2019t,\u201d Norther said. \u201cMaybe I\u2019m just as glad. But I had to make sure you understood just how dangerous such queries are here. I have seen enough and read enough to be able to suspend judgement in most cases, and I disagree with the anti-Core attitude on general principles. But if it\u2019s worth that much to you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen I think I can show you the documents\u2014at least, the area of the documents\u2014you\u2019re interested in. But I warn you, be discreet. If my Vice Director had been here today instead of me, he\u2019d have kicked you out and dropped a few words in a few places, and your life would have been in real danger. You were just lucky, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was as bad as he had been told. Though he wasn\u2019t actually afraid, McCade let his face go white again and made sweat pop out on his forehead. Macro-cutaneous control had been part of his early biotraining, and he had always appreciated the ability to make himself appear to be experiencing any emotion\u2014or lack of emotion\u2014that he desired. He swallowed noisily, then let himself return to normal so as to not overdo the effect. If Norther weren\u2019t so disturbed himself, it would already have been too much.<\/p>\n
\u201cI guess I am,\u201d he said. \u201cLucky, that is. And thank you very much for your concern. It\u2019s not all that common these days. But, as I said, it is worth practically my life to obtain this information, and if you will, I\u2019d like to see those documents.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAs you wish,\u201d Norther said, and came around the desk again. \u201cI admire your courage.\u201d He smiled. \u201cCome now, I won\u2019t tell anybody if you won\u2019t. This way.\u201d<\/p>\n
He led McCade out of the office and into the elevator. They went up and got out somewhere near the top of the building, McCade guessed.<\/p>\n
There were no people in the little foyer, but a robotic comcon kept watch. Norther flashed a card, and the only other door in the foyer opened.<\/p>\n
\u201cThese are the main files,\u201d Norther explained as they went past banks and banks of computer core. They came to a floating stair and climbed to another level.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe period you want,\u201d Norther said, \u201cis over on this side. It gets older as you go up. You\u2019ll have to start about twenty-five hundred years back. After that, the index keys to Core documents were removed, but you should be able to work forward if you have a need to. Are you familiar with Lepsecon Data Retrieval?\u201d<\/p>\n
McCade nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cFine,\u201d Norther went on. \u201cThen I\u2019ll just leave you here. Try to be out by six, and stop by my office when you go, will you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCertainly. I appreciate this, Mr. Norther.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cQuite all right, but listen, call me Elex. If you must be formal, it\u2019s \u2018Fifth Norther,\u2019not \u2018mister.\u2019Anyway, I hope you\u2019re as sharp at researching as you claim. If you need to come back, just let me know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI shall. Thank you again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Norther nodded, then turned and left.<\/p>\n
For a long moment, McCade just stood there, singing softly to himself. It had been too easy so far, and he had been too lucky. Still, the past had no effect on any future luck. Every moment was the start of a new game.<\/p>\n
Then he went to the console Norther had pointed out, and punched out the index. There were references to the Core, but they were few. He did not read out any of them, but instead took careful note of the index numbers, then shut off that machine, went to the next one, and punched them in.<\/p>\n
Here were more titles, but the index reference was slightly shifted. He made notes and went to the next computer. Again he found documents pertinent to the Core, but again the index was shifted slightly. Three more checks and a pattern to the shift began to emerge.<\/p>\n
It took him all the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon to work up to the recordings, on the floor below, of just a century ago. The index had continued its shift, and he was now punching out numbers far from what the original subject had been, but that in itself didn\u2019t bother him. He was closing in on what he wanted, and that was all that mattered.<\/p>\n
Then he ran the file on the year of the pogrom. There was plenty of material submitted both before, during, and after that slaughter of all people found to be involved with the Core in any way, but the references stopped two months after the event, and the Core was not mentioned again. But this was it. This was what he wanted.<\/p>\n
He checked his watch. It was a quarter to five, and he had no time to read all those documents now. Carefully he made an experimental print-out of an innocuous document relating to belt maintenance. No alarms lit up. And the printout was on microfine paper. Quickly, then, he set up a search program to find and print out at high speed all the documents under the index codes that were now assigned to the Core. Forty-five minutes later he had a stack of paper two meters high and weighing almost a hundred kilograms.<\/p>\n
Time was running out. He set his attache case down on the floor, opened it, and lifted up the false bottom flap. Inside, he touched a stud, and the true bottom of the case seemed to drop down out of sight.<\/p>\n
Then, grabbing the print-out in big bunches, yet being careful not to break up any whole document, he stuffed the whole pile into the case. The little device he\u2019d picked up on Farside Dexter allowing a four-dimensional internal expansion of the case was just what he needed. Then he touched another knob which had the effect of neutralizing the added inertia, closed the case, picked it up, and left the records room. The robocom at the door paid him no attention. He went down to Norther\u2019s office and was told to go right in.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, did you have any luck?\u201d Norther asked as McCade seated himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes and no. I found all the references to the Core that I could possibly desire, but I\u2019m afraid, from the few that I read, that they, at that time at least, were not instrumental in developing Seltique\u2019s isolation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s very interesting,\u201d Norther said. \u201cIt was certainly the Core that generated the strong feelings one, two, three hundred years ago that made our separatism final.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat may be, but it\u2019s way beyond my area of interest. It\u2019s surprising, though, that the group managed to survive so long, and that they continue to be so strongly hated.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIsn\u2019t it, though? Some of that is due, no doubt, to the Pro-Galaxy Group, which has always claimed that Seltique should maintain some form of contact with the Cluster and the Orion Limb. They are the ones responsible for the fact that all during this time we have continued to receive broadcasting from other worlds. But they, too, are beginning to go a bit rancid, I\u2019m afraid, and if they continue their fanatic activities, there may be another strong overreaction, and we\u2019ll find ourselves cut off completely. And that would be disastrous.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI agree. Well, Elex, I want to thank you again. I think I have found out what I needed\u2014though not what I wanted\u2014to know on the subject of the Core, and my researches will have to turn elsewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear that, but I must confess that at the same time I\u2019m relieved. But wait\u2014I have an idea. It may not help your book much, but perhaps it will give you some perspective on what kind of people we are now, if not about our ancestors of three millennia ago. And you might be able to meet some people who could help you on those other lines of research.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d McCade said.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, I\u2019m sorry; a party is what I\u2019m talking about. Nothing very special, just the usual sort of gathering. But then you\u2019re new to all this, of course. Then you must come. Day after tomorrow. Here\u2019s the address.\u201d He scribbled on a piece of paper.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, no, really,\u201d McCade protested. \u201cI\u2019m really not sure I should. I don\u2019t know anybody and I am, as you said, an outsider, and I won\u2019t know what\u2019s expected of me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll do just fine,\u201d Norther said, putting the paper in McCade\u2019s hand. \u201cAnd as for not knowing anybody, all the more reason to come. Don\u2019t worry about what\u2019s expected; as an outsider you could hardly do anything wrong\u2014except mention the Core, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course. But really, I have a considerable amount of work to do and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNonsense. You\u2019ll come. I\u2019ll let First Saranof know so you won\u2019t get lost the minute you get there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, if you insist\u2026 all right, I\u2019ll come.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExcellent. I\u2019ll see you then, the day after tomorrow, at about eight.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you very much,\u201d McCade said. Then, suddenly very tired of humility, he made his goodbyes and left.<\/p>\n
All the way back to the Morphy Chessica his mind swung between the upcoming party and the contents of his attache case. The one intrigued him as much as the other. He\u2019d heard enough stories and had always wondered if the inhabitants of Seltique were as decadent as the stories claimed. So far he hadn\u2019t had the opportunity to find out. This might just be the chance he needed. After all, with what was at stake\u2026<\/p>\n
That brought him back to the volumes of material in his case. There was an awful lot of stuff to go through, and he started as soon as he got back to his suite. Fortunately, he knew exactly what he was looking for, and was able to throw out whole masses of material after only a cursory glance. By noon the next day, he still had a meter-high stack of paper left, and what he wanted could have been anywhere in it. He began a more methodical search, now that the dross had been eliminated, and by midnight he had what he wanted. Names. Names of every single person known or suspected to be a member of the Core. A few of them were familiar; most were totally strange to him. He made up a list, and after each name recorded what pertinent data he could find, which wasn\u2019t much. When he finished at five in the morning, he had four hundred names, only twenty-seven addresses, and very little else. Still, it was a start. The book from the university had told him that the thing he suspected of being on Seltique might actually be here, and the list of names included one\u2014which one he did not yet know\u2014of a person who might have had that thing at one time. So he had a start.<\/p>\n
He had something else. Several times he had run across mention of certain data not related to his own searches, but which seemed to have to do with the existence, at one time, of an office of Planet Master. It was held not necessarily by the person with the highest caste, though the person who held the office naturally acquired tremendous status and real power. And from what he could tell, that office had terminated with the pogrom of the Core. It intrigued him, especially since the references indicated that the office was still valid, just unfilled. The idea crossed his mind, as he dropped off to sleep, to check on that point as well.<\/p>\n
The address of the party was at the top of Celadrin, the seventh-ranked district, in the southeast corner of the city in the mountains above Kimberly. It was one of the first-order districts, a place where people of lower than first or second class did not come unless by invitation. As McCade understood it, unwanted visitors to any of the seven first-ranked districts just didn\u2019t come out again. It went against all he knew of the outside galaxy, and his own beliefs in personal freedom. McCade valued his freedom highly. He had always gone where he wanted to, when he wanted to, in company he chose, to do anything he wished. Though the restrictions of Seltique had not yet made themselves strongly felt to him, he was already beginning to chafe with the knowledge that here, in Loger, there were places, public places, where he would be casually shot by whomever happened to be handy with a gun. He\u2019d been told of this, but he hadn\u2019t really believed it.<\/p>\n
He was going to Arvin Saranof\u2019s party, long black cloak covering his party clothes, and now he had to face the truth of the situation. The tubeway took him all the way to the edge of town, where he got off, before running across the parklands to the wilderness beyond. He was surprised to discover that though the distant destinations of the tubeways had long been vacant and were crumbling into ruins, the tubeways themselves still functioned\u2014though nobody used them, of course.<\/p>\n
From the tube station he had several blocks to go by belt to get to Saranof\u2019s residence, and it was then that he discovered the truth of the stories he\u2019d heard as a youth. A man lounging on his lawn spotted him and, leaving the cover of magnificent trees which framed the mansion beyond, came up to the belt, a smirk on his face, drawing a strangely designed pistol as casually as if he were just going to plunk tin cans. Before the belt could take McCade past the man, it stopped. Just stopped dead.<\/p>\n
\u201cI never cease to be amazed,\u201d the man said, \u201cat the temerity of you lower classes,\u201d and took a bead on McCade\u2019s forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have no class,\u201d McCade said softly but distinctly. The man stopped, then looked at McCade again.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve just removed them,\u201d he said, and started to aim again, casual, unhurried.<\/p>\n
\u201cI came on the Dovetail a week ago, from Phenolk P\u2019talion,\u201d McCade said further.<\/p>\n
The man lowered his gun a moment, a slight frown on his face.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat of it? This is still a restricted district.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m expected at First Saranof\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n
McCade just shrugged. But while he worked to maintain a calm, relaxed exterior, inside he was triggering certain neuromuscular systems. If this man actually shot, he would be in for a surprise.<\/p>\n
\u201cBeat it,\u201d the man snapped suddenly and, turning, shot a low branch off a nearby tree, then stalked away toward his house. The belt started again, and McCade slid on toward his destination.<\/p>\n
But before he got there he met two women on the belt going the opposite way. They saw him a hundred meters off and, giving each other significant glances, assumed easy postures of unarmed attack.<\/p>\n
The distance between McCade and the two women was closing rapidly. He had no time for arguments or explanations. Quickly he triggered again his body\u2019s internal preparedness, and when the two women came at him \u2014 fast, graceful, deadly, from two sides \u2014 he kicked into overdrive, accelerated to five times normal speed, and ducked between them and ran as stiff fingers and sharp boot-toes came at his throat and groin.<\/p>\n
He hated to flee. But he hated even more the thought of what might happen if he had actually killed these two women. After two hundred meters he dropped back to normal and looked behind him. The two women were just recovering from their missed blows and staring after him in utter surprise. He waved cheerily, turned, and went on his way.<\/p>\n
A few moments later the belt turned a corner, and he stepped off. A walkway of tiny stones set in a solid matrix of some dark color led through beautifully trimmed hedges and around exotic flower beds carefully tended to look natural. Ahead of him the wings of the mansion rose up in the evening dusk, and between them a blaze of lights around a broad porch at the entrance. From inside, as he neared, McCade could hear the sounds of voices mingled with a strange and muted music that touched something in his own mind. Adding counterpoint and syncopation in his head, he approached the house and stepped from the dark walkway into the brilliance of the porch. He climbed the stairs, and loosed the cloak fastened at his throat as he did so. The music swelled, in his ears and in his brain, and he felt himself grinning as he flipped the cloak off to reveal himself dressed in crimson and gold, brilliant but superbly cut. It was eight-thirty.<\/p>\n
An elegantly dressed woman came to the door, a slight question in her smiling face.<\/p>\n
\u201cMcCade,\u201d he said and, handing her the cloak, strode past into a vestibule and beyond to a huge room where at least fifty people sat or stood or lay, drinking and munching, talking animatedly, laughing, while bar men and women, dressed uniformly in dark, tight clothes, moved among them with trays of glasses and foods. McCade turned to the elegant woman, now standing behind him, still holding his cloak, a wry expression replacing the question.<\/p>\n
\u201cForgive me,\u201d McCade said, and took the cloak from her. \u201cI have been on Seltique for only a week, and I\u2019m afraid I\u2019m prone to gaffes such as this. I am terribly ignorant of your life here.\u201d<\/p>\n
The woman smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are forgiven,\u201d she said. \u201cI am Arvin Saranof.\u201d<\/p>\n
McCade\u2019s jaw dropped, then he laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cMilady,\u201d he said, \u201cI should have known.\u201d He handed the cloak to a servant, and took Saranof\u2019s arm. \u201cDo me the kindness please,\u201d he said, taking her in among her guests, \u201cto set someone over me to keep me out of trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n
She took a glass from a passing tray and handed it to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you sure it would do any good?\u201d she asked, smiling. \u201cYou seem to have a will all your own. I doubt you\u2019d bow easily to our customs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVery true, milady, but I am here to learn, and you must teach me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVery well, then. I shall endeavor to give you your first lesson myself. But after that you must fend for yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am most grateful,\u201d McCade said, bowing slightly while still holding her arm, and smiling as broadly as he knew how.<\/p>\n
\u201cFirst,\u201d she said, \u201cas a classless person, I suppose you might get away with certain familiarities not otherwise allowed.\u201d She gently disengaged her arm from his. \u201cOn the other hand,\u201d she went on, \u201cas a classless person you might be expected to show deference to everyone present.\u201d She looked at McCade with curiosity. \u201cHowever, Elex Norther tells me that what is expected is not what we must expect from you. So my one bit of advice for the evening is,\u201d and she became serious, \u201cwalk carefully.\u201d Then she smiled brightly, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.<\/p>\n
Mentally, McCade kicked himself. He\u2019d played it very badly and only extraordinary good luck had saved him from a debacle. He sipped his drink and, maintaining his external composure, moved slowly among the people. First he noticed that the style of his dress was quite severe by comparison with everyone else, although its color was the most brilliant. As usual, he stuck out.<\/p>\n
Slowly, he circled the room, looking closely at each person, trying to evaluate them, discover what kind of a crowd he was in. Occasionally, someone would look up from their conversation and notice him, but by the time he\u2019d gone around the room once, everyone was aware of him. He paid no attention to this, but continued to move, took another drink, smiled whenever he caught someone\u2019s eye, and said nothing.<\/p>\n
\u201cMcCade,\u201d someone called, and he stopped and turned to see Elex Norther coming through the press of people.<\/p>\n
\u201cLarson,\u201d Norther said, taking his hand. \u201cArvin told me about your entrance. I don\u2019t know where you get the gall.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere I come from,\u201d McCade said, smiling softly, \u201cit\u2019s not so unusual. But then, where I come from, we\u2019re not so status-conscious.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course, of course, but you\u2019re in Loger now, not out in the heathen galaxy. You\u2019ll have to conform, at least a little bit, or find yourself in deep trouble, or dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I discovered,\u201d McCade said, and told him about the two incidents on the beltway.<\/p>\n
\u201cSome people are too touchy,\u201d Norther said. \u201cTheoretically the beltways are neutral, if you\u2019re just going through, but some of the higher-ups, especially if they\u2019re not of the first or second class, tend to be overly particular. Do you carry a gun?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should. If someone assaults you on a belt or tube, or in any building or area that is strictly public, you have a right to defend yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks for the warning, but I\u2019ve seldom found a need for weapons.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAs you wish. Well, what do you think?\u201d He gestured vaguely at the room and the now nearly seventy people in it.<\/p>\n
\u201cToo early to make judgements,\u201d McCade said. \u201cBut it looks like quite a mixed group to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, it is. People here from almost all classes and ranks. Most of them personal friends of Arvin\u2019s. She makes it her business to move among all levels and give help to those who need it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVery impressive. I hope I haven\u2019t destroyed my chances for help.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot likely. She\u2019s had experience with off-worlders before, which is why I suggested you make your first social contacts here. That pilot or captain or whatever, Ben Toledo, has been here before.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see. Very interesting. By the way, I\u2019ve been wondering\u2014he wouldn\u2019t tell me anything on the trip out from Phenolk P\u2019talion\u2014just what does he transport back and forth?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI haven\u2019t the slightest idea.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me,\u201d said a man, tall, elegant, fiftyish. \u201cBut I understand that, uh, you have no class, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is correct,\u201d McCade said. \u201cI\u2019m from off world.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I understand,\u201d the man went on, \u201cbut still, how can one exist without class? Or rank?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m afraid I don\u2019t understand the distinction.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBetween class and rank? Why, class is one\u2019s status, and rank is one\u2019s level within a class.\u201d<\/p>\n
McCade shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cClass,\u201d Norther said, coming to his rescue, \u201cis a more or less permanent level of status, what one is born with, so to speak, and barring degradation or promotion, it does not change throughout one\u2019s life and requires no maintenance. Rank, on the other hand, fluctuates. A person of a given class can gain rank by performance in certain fields, by joining a Brotherhood, by elimination of opponents, and so on. In a certain way, rank cuts across class. A first class of the second rank is in some ways inferior to a second, or even a third or fourth, class of the first rank.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStill not very clear,\u201d McCade said, \u201cbut I\u2019m beginning to get the picture.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you see, sir,\u201d the tall man said, \u201cwe just don\u2019t know what to do with you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, nothing,\u201d McCade said, and his voice became just a bit acid. \u201cIt\u2019s what I do with you that you have to worry about.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man was taken aback, and mumbling something about outsiders, went off.<\/p>\n
Arvin Saranof returned to fill the vacuum, with several people in tow.<\/p>\n
\u201cLarson McCade,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019d like you to meet Eleventh Derk Renseleau, Master Artist of the first rank. Ninth Valyn Dixon, student-patron. And Sixth Mort Skopoloth, a member of the Inner Circle of the Understanding Brothers of the Institute of Science.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m very happy to meet you all,\u201d McCade said, looking from the short round youth, to the attractive girl, to the elderly gentleman. Renseleau snickered.<\/p>\n
\u201cI beg your pardon,\u201d McCade said.<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing,\u201d the artist said, trying to straighten his face. \u201cBut do all off-worlders have such unique physiognomy as yours?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally, Derk,\u201d Skopoloth said. \u201cI apologize for his manners, ah, Mr. McCade. He has just recently been promoted to eleventh class and his rise has gone to his head.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s perfectly all right,\u201d McCade said. \u201cI\u2019m used to comments on my face.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, what\u2019s wrong with it?\u201d Dixon asked. McCade looked at her sharply. She was more than just attractive.<\/p>\n
\u201cSome people think it funny, Ninth Dixon,\u201d he answered with a gentle smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think it\u2019s cute,\u201d she answered seriously.<\/p>\n
\u201cReally, Valyn,\u201d Skopoloth said. \u201cSir, the young lady pretends to be learning to become a patron, but she has yet to learn proper behavior.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy great-grandfather once told me,\u201d McCade said, \u201cthat behavior was proper when it achieved the effect one desired.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIndeed, and who was your great-grandfather?\u201d<\/p>\n
For a moment, McCade\u2019s mind went blank, but he recovered himself quickly.<\/p>\n
\u201cA refugee,\u201d he answered, \u201cwith no name when he came to Lamborge. He took the name Dugal McCade there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see. Then you are a person of no background.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOn the contrary, I have considerable background. Take any young man here, of about thirty say, rip him from his world, his class, his rank, and set him down on another world that had not yet been completely civilized. What do you suppose would happen to him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy,\u201d Skopoloth said, taken aback, \u201cI assume he would die.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIndeed. My great-grandfather, in very similar circumstances, owned half of Lamborge when he died ten years ago. My grandfather built an interplanetary transport company while his father was carving an empire out of the wilderness. My father united these two enterprises, and developed several research institutes, each worth a city. I have considerable background.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what about you?\u201d Renseleau asked.<\/p>\n
McCade grinned. \u201cI\u2019m striking out on my own,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think that\u2019s marvelous,\u201d Dixon said, and McCade now saw that, whenever her face grew animated, she was absolutely lovely. He looked at her for a long moment, becoming aware of the shape of her body under her clothes.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d he said. \u201cI prefer to stand on my own feet and be beholden to none. My great-grandfather approved.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d Skopoloth said, a bit ill at ease, \u201cI see that, even though the essentials of society are not recognized on other worlds, you are in fact a person of some status. Why don\u2019t you go to the Academy and see if you can get it regularized.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo thank you,\u201d McCade said. \u201cI\u2019ll establish myself as I am. And for the moment, I prefer my\u2026 anomalous position.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIndeed,\u201d Renseleau smirked, \u201cthat could be quite interesting, if it didn\u2019t involve certain disadvantages.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNonsense, Derk,\u201d Skopoloth snapped. \u201cIf he were truly classless, like the Planet Masters used to be, he would have every advantage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou mean,\u201d McCade said, suddenly paying sharp attention, \u201cthat there actually have been classless men on Seltique?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, yes, indeed, but not for a century or more. You can\u2019t just become classless at will, you know. Outsiders like yourself don\u2019t count. Bottom-rung people don\u2019t stand a chance. Only first-class, first-rank individuals stand to become classless, and unfortunately, the secret of the technique has been lost. When the last Planet Master died, he left no records as to how he had achieved this truly anomalous state, and so no one has been able to succeed him, though several people have tried to discover the secret.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now the conversation was beginning to get interesting, but before McCade could pursue the subject any further two other people came over to join in, primarily to satisfy their curiosity about him. After an hour or so he discovered that he was the center of attention, with people asking him all kinds of questions about what life was like on other worlds. From their questions and from their reactions to his answers, he learned more about them than they did about him, and though he didn\u2019t show it, he didn\u2019t like everything he heard.<\/p>\n
Then he felt a tugging at his arm, and turned to see Valyn Dixon.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome on,\u201d she said, \u201cyou\u2019ve supplied enough entertainment for a while. There are plenty of other things going on in other parts of the house. Let\u2019s explore.\u201d<\/p>\n
He let himself be pulled away. They passed from room to room, staying in each place just long enough to satisfy McCade\u2019s curiosity. In one room, lit with ultraviolet, people were dancing to musicless rhythms, performed by four men on a variety of drums. The beat was hypnotic, restless, and intricate, moving from four-four to seven-four to nine-three to five-two, then playing three on four or six on eleven, with first one player, now another, taking over the lead, and the others improvising around him.<\/p>\n
In another room games of chance were being played. As money was not used in Loger, the stakes were honor points, which obligated the loser to perform a service for the winner, the specific service being strictly defined by a scaling system and depending on the number of points lost.<\/p>\n
In another room four men and four women were involved in an elaborate sexual structure. McCade backed out as soon as he saw what was going on, though Dixon seemed in no way embarrassed.<\/p>\n
\u201cCall me Valyn,\u201d she insisted at one point. \u201cOne can carry formality too far.\u201d<\/p>\n
The hours passed and eventually they returned to some of the rooms they had visited before. In the gambling room McCade was fascinated by a game played with a hundred-sixteen-card deck, but when he heard what some of the losing penalties were, he declined to play.<\/p>\n
He especially noted one thing during the course of the evening. Valyn Dixon seemed to have acquired an attachment to him. He dared not encourage it. Despite all the things he\u2019d learned at home and here, he knew too little about male-female relationships in Loger to risk allowing himself to get involved. And besides, he did not want to find himself obligated to any person in any way. He still had many things to do in Loger, and to do them he needed absolute freedom, a quality he prized highly in any event.<\/p>\n
So he tried, several times, as gently as he could, to disengage himself from Valyn, but never with any success. If she was aware of his discomfort and intention to leave her, intensified by the attraction he felt toward her, she didn\u2019t show it, but stayed by his side, patiently answering his questions, commenting on things that caught his interest, sharing her evening with him in a way that struck him as almost too natural.<\/p>\n
About two in the morning, when the party was at its peak, they returned to the front living room where they had started out, and found an argument in progress. There were only twenty people present, all silently watching the two people in the center of the room, as they exchanged words that grew ever warmer as the moments passed.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou really don\u2019t deserve your rank,\u201d the younger of the two, a woman, said. \u201cI know your connection with Baldair. You satisfy her sexually and that\u2019s your reward.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can leave her out of this,\u201d the man said. \u201cHow a person of your status got into this party is beyond me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cArvin invites all sorts of people,\u201d the woman sneered. \u201cAt least my rank was fairly won.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFair, yes, if you call tricking people into duels they can\u2019t win fair. You won\u2019t get to me that way, Twelfth Dorkis.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome now, Twelfth Rean, why should I want to? I just don\u2019t like it when you parade your phony status around in front of honest people.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you calling me a liar?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course not. You wouldn\u2019t know how to lie.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know a hell of a lot more than you give me credit for,\u201d Rean shouted. \u201cI know who you were before you became anybody.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEverybody knows that,\u201d Dorkis laughed. \u201cWhat you don\u2019t know is how to keep your mouth shut.\u201d<\/p>\n
Reflexively, Rean lashed out and hit Dorkis across the face. She staggered back, but there was a light of triumph in her eyes, and Rean\u2019s face went white.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou also don\u2019t know,\u201d Dorkis went on quietly, \u201chow to control your temper. Can\u2019t you take a little criticism? If you didn\u2019t like it, you could always have gone away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd have you following me, hounding me all over the house? No, let\u2019s get this over with. Maybe you\u2019re not as hot as everybody seems to think.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe I\u2019m not,\u201d Dorkis said, but it was obvious that she knew better. One of the servants brought in a wide, shallow box, and opened it. Inside were two pistols. Dorkis took one, Rean the other. Rean examined his carefully, but Dorkis just stood, relaxed, the pistol in her hand by her hip.<\/p>\n
\u201cPoint blank,\u201d she said, and Rean looked up, startled.<\/p>\n
\u201cWha\u2014what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPoint blank. On three, Now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNow wait a minute, Twelfth Dorkis,\u201d the man said, \u201cthat\u2019s suicide. How could you hope to win a fight like that? If it\u2019s suicide you want\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNow wait a minute.\u201d He was sweating, and his face was chalky. \u201cWhat about all these people here? You wouldn\u2019t want any of them to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom a draw, Dorkis?\u201d He was desperate. His own hand hung limply at his side. As Dorkis started to say three, he started to bring his hand up, but Dorkis never raised her gun. It just pointed up at Rean\u2019s chin, and \u201cThree\u201d and the shot came together. The top of Rean\u2019s head came off, the gun fell from his fingers, and the body slowly slumped to the floor. One or two people applauded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat takes you over the top and into the next class,\u201d one of the bystanders remarked. McCade just moved away.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I\u2019ll go home now,\u201d he said grimly. \u201cThis party seems to lose its appeal for me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs death so shocking to you?\u201d Valyn asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot death. I\u2019ve killed a few myself. It\u2019s the manner of death and its reasons. I\u2019m not criticizing. It\u2019s just not my way.\u201d<\/p>\n
He went to one of the servants and asked for his cloak.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me come with you,\u201d Valyn asked.<\/p>\n
*****<\/p>\n
If you want more, you can find it here<\/a>. Or here<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" PROAIRESIS It was the cleanest spaceport McCade had ever seen. He stood for a moment at the head of the landing ramp, looking around at the spotless concrete, the sparkling buildings, the clear sky. The Dovetail was the only ship on the apron, and there were no other people as far as he could see.Continue reading →<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-91","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","no-thumb"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/91","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=91"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/91\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":787,"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/91\/revisions\/787"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=91"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}