One of the guards had remained inside the room, ready to help him. Heller fished my identoplate from the pile of papers and handed it to the guard.
“No!” I pleaded weakly.
“Go down to the camp,” Heller told him, “and get a complete new General Services uniform from their supply.”
The guard gave him a crossed-arm Fleet salute—they never saluted me—and vanished with my identoplate.
“Heller,” I wailed. “With that plate he’ll just buy half the prostitutes in Camp Kill! You’ve bankrupted me.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Soltan, you’ll just have to learn to trust people.”
Trust riffraff and criminals like these? “Oh, I am too ill for a conduct lesson! Don’t moralize at me.”
He adjusted the heat on my stomach and put a cool wet cloth on my head. “Feeling better?”
I wasn’t. Heller cleaned up the mess the clothes had transferred to the floor. These Fleet spacers are amazingly neat. He undressed and took a shower himself. He washed out his redstar engineer’s rag and then his exercise suit. He neated the whole place up and then put on a one-piece casual evening suit. He combed his hair and then, looking like something that just stepped out of a tailor’s window, he turned on the Homeview and sat down.
My heart almost stopped. He was leaning forward and reaching toward the two piles from the suit. I thought he was going to go through my papers!
But he didn’t. He reached toward the weapons pile and picked up a blastick. “Quite an arsenal you’ve got here.” He opened the blastick load chamber and checked the power cartridge. “You have to be careful of these things. They ship them with a dummy load—looks just like the real thing. Well, this one is okay.”
I expected him to, any moment, start pawing through the papers. But he picked up the stun gun and verified its load. He reached again and once more I held my breath. But he picked up the ten-inch Knife Section blade. He looked at it curiously. They certainly aren’t common. If you know them, there is a certain way you can flick at the tip and make them sing. He flicked the tip and made it sing. “Good alloy,” he said.
His hand moved up and before I could even see what he was going to do, it left his hand with such velocity it hissed. I flinched. Was it coming at me?
There was a melon on a shelf and the knife hit it dead center and went through it with a thunk! He went over and removed it with a sort of double flip of his wrist and stood there offering me a neat slice of melon. “Want some?” he said. The thought of it made me go green inside again. “Sorry,” said Heller, “but sometimes a melon can cool one down.”
He replaced the piece of cut melon and returned to the chair but he still didn’t reach for any papers. He cleaned up the knife and its scabbard.
The guardsman came back with a package of uniforms. He returned the identoplate. Heller handed him a credit note and the guard said, “Will that be all, sir?” They never said “sir” to me. But then, I thought nastily, you can buy a lot of things with a credit note.
But that wasn’t the end of it. The fellow leaned over and whispered something in Heller’s ear and Heller smiled and whispered back. They both grinned. What were they planning? A breakout?
The guard stepped back and was about to salute when Heller pointed at the floor. “You dropped the money.”
“So I did,” said the guard and picked it up and put it in his pocket. Then he gave Heller a salute and left. So the guard wasn’t only interested in money, I told myself. They were up to something.
Heller got a textbook about Earth and began to read. He still ignored my papers. What a fool! He wouldn’t last ten days on Earth.
Somehow this made me feel worse and I began to worry about myself. I had never before had any stomach trouble. I didn’t seem to have a fever.
What could it be?
If I were to go down to Dr. Crobe, he would tell me that he would put in a new stomach. I thought about Crobe. I would never, never, never permit myself to go unconscious around that loony: you could wake up with a cow’s head!
That suggestion he had made about Heller’s legs . . . !
I was sick all over again! There was nothing left to throw up. I just hung off the side of the bed, retching.
Heller got a pan but it wasn’t needed. He dampened a cloth and put it on my forehead. But I didn’t pay much attention. I was desperate. I could not go on being sick like this. I’d not just be sick if I didn’t run this mission. I’d be dead!
I lay there. Heller had gone back to the textbook. I made myself think calmly and rationally. When had this illness begun?
With careful concentration I thought it over. It had started when I went into Crobe’s area. There was something totally poisonous about Crobe!
Yes, each time I concentrated on him, I felt sick!
Ha! It was obvious! I must never go near Crobe again! Never, never, never!
Abruptly, I was totally well! One instant I was feeling horrible. The next instant I was feeling great! There was not the tiniest suggestion of pain or nausea!
I sat up in happy relief.
“Feeling better?” said Heller. I nodded vigorously.
“Well, sometimes these things pass away pretty quick. After all, you’re young and healthy. Some fast bug, no doubt. I’m glad you’re better.”
I got up, washed my face again and put on my new uniform. I stuffed my telltale papers in my pockets and rearmed myself.
Life looked absolutely wonderful!
PART FOUR
Chapter 5
But as the priests of Voltar say, “Never get too fond of happiness or the Gods will take it away.” And so it was that evening.
Heller pottered about, neating things up, cleaning things, polishing up the table, straightening up the room. I ignored his spacer passion for bright, good order. I didn’t even mind the echo orchestra he had playing on the Homeview. I occupied my time neating up my pocket papers.
There was a knock on the door and I opened it. Two of the guardsmen were standing there with a big box on a low wheeler dolly. “For you,” said one.
It was an awfully big box. I couldn’t remember ordering anything of the sort. “For me?”
“For you all right,” said the guardsmen. “See?”
It was too dark in the passageway to read the label so they pushed it on into the room and closed the door behind them.
Sure enough, a big sign on top of the box read:
URGENT. OFFICER GRIS ONLY!
The solemnity of their expressions, the way Heller was watching, should have alerted me. But I had been feeling too good.
I put out my hand, grasped the handle on top and opened the lid. What I expected to see I don’t know. But what I did see was pure horror!
The head of a zitab! The wide-open, gaping fangs of the most venomous reptile on Voltar! A murder plot!
The lid flopped open!
I went backwards from that box as though catapulted!
I literally sailed through the air. I hit into the shower compartment! My scrambling hands pulled the curtain down! The perched lotion and soap bottles fell and hit my head in a cannonade! I was still trying to go backwards through the wall!
The zitab rose in the air, all five lethal feet of him! I felt that in the next second it was going to strike straight through the air and clear across the room. How was it suddenly stationary in midair?
And then, oh, my Gods, even worse, the Countess Krak, dressed in flaming red, stood up out of that box!
They all went into shrieks of laughter! The guards, Heller and the Countess Krak, that is!
She was holding that zitab just behind its head with one hand. She had held it under the lid and lifted it up as though to strike. But right now, with her other hand, she was holding her stomach she was laughing so hard! And they went right on laughing. They doubled up. A guard collapsed on the floor, absolutely dying with guffaws! Heller was laughing so hard he had to support himself on the back of a chair and tears were rolling out of his eye
s.
It felt like it went on for ten minutes at least!
I wasn’t taking it very well. Oh, my Gods! A fortress prisoner up here in the upper works, totally out of bounds: somebody could be shot! It was a terribly dangerous game they were playing. And they were laughing!
After a bit, I looked at the zitab she was holding. For a moment I had supposed it must be stuffed. And then I got another shock: it was writhing about! It didn’t even have its fangs drawn! One bite and you’re dead. And there she was reeling around in laughter!
Gradually the din died down. The Countess Krak stepped out. She turned the zitab’s head to face her and pointed a finger at its nose. It closed its mouth. She put it down in the bottom of the box and wagged a finger at it with a “you be good now” gesture. She closed the lid.
They had stopped laughing now and Heller went over and they held hands, just standing, looking at each other.
The guards got their breath back and with a cheery wave at Heller, wheeled the big box out into the passage and closed the door.
I was still lying in the wreckage of the shower and I made a noise trying to get up. It somehow attracted Heller’s attention and he reluctantly disengaged his hands and came over to me.
“That was sort of rough on you, Soltan. But you’ll have to admit, it was an awfully good joke.” He helped me to my feet and then straightened the shower disarray.
I didn’t admit it was a good joke. These stupid idiots were playing with bombs to bring her up here.
“So this is where you live?” said the Countess Krak. “I often wondered what else was in the top of the castle.” She went around touching some things. “Except for Hisst’s parades, I haven’t been out of those dungeons in three years! But no window.” She seemed puzzled for a moment, then, “This is Soltan’s room, isn’t it?” I wondered how she knew: Heller had cleaned it up.
Heller went over and got some soft music on the Homeview. Then he bustled back, the good host, and sat her down at the table. He opened the cupboard and I saw with amazement that it was stuffed with nice drinkables and edibles. He put a canister of pink sparklewater before her like she was royalty and then, as an afterthought, tossed down two more at the other table places. He got out four varieties of sweetcake and heaped up a plate for her. He sat down beside her. Then as a distinct afterthought he waved at the chair on the other side of the table. “Draw up, Soltan. Don’t be bashful.” But he had turned back to her before he finished speaking.
They just sat and looked at each other, pleased so hard they glowed!
I sat on my chair and sipped cautiously at the pink sparklewater. It is pretty expensive; it has a lot of minerals and protein in it and its bubbles jump up about six inches above the canister top and make tiny, glowing explosions. Because it instantly assimilates, one can get a trifle high on it.
Without looking at me, Heller pushed some sweetcake my way. They were just gazing at each other, eyes happy, smiling. The soft music played. They didn’t eat or drink. They just sat there, so pleased to be sitting there, so fed with each other’s company that they didn’t even touch their food or drink.
After a long time, Heller reached over and put a piece of sweetcake in her mouth and then lifted his canister to her lips. She gave him a drink from hers.
I sure was extra, unnecessary company here!
Finally they got around to eating their supper but I knew that, under the table, their feet were tangled up.
When they had finished the meal, Heller finally sat back. At length, he said, “Oh, yes. There was something I wanted to show you.” He reached over to a side table and picked up a pack of race-recognition practice cards he had evidently brought from the library. They have faces on the front and the correct names are on the back.
He showed her a card. “Who does this look like?” he asked.
I could see the back. It said:
Girl, English
Blito-P3 (Earth, Europe).
She looked very interested. But I felt she would have been interested in anything he showed her, even had it been a blank sheet of paper.
She said, “That looks like a farm girl from the highlands of Atalanta province, Manco. My people come from that area, you know. They had some estates there a few hundred years ago—until they lost them, that is.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Heller. “I was born in Atalanta province. In the capital, you know: Tapour.”
And they got into one of these “Did you know Jem Vis?” and “Do you remember the old lady Blice?” and “Is the courthouse still there?” interspersed with “You do?” and “What do you knows?” and “It’s a small universe” that went on and on. They were fellow denizens of Manco, all right! Old Manco reunion week! It went on and on.
Finally they ran out of that, at least for the moment, and Heller got back to his picture cards. He held up one that said on the back:
Old Man, Polynesian
Blito-P3 (Earth, Oceania).
“One of the boat people from the harbor of Dar?” she said.
“Now this one,” said Heller. The back said:
Film Star, Female
American, Blito-P3
(Earth, Americas).
“That isn’t your sister,” said the Countess. Heller showed her another. The back said:
Male, Caucasian
Blito-P3 (Earth).
“Is this some member of your family? It looks dimly like an uncle I had.” She pretended, only pretended, to be severe. “What is this, Jettero Heller? Are you trying to tell me you’ve just been to Manco? But those pictures are not three-dimensional and their color is poor. Oh, I place them now. They’re anthropology recognition cards. Give them to me!” She playfully snatched them out of his hand and looked at their backs.
She examined them a bit, turning them back and forth. “Blito-P3?”
“You remember an old fable?” said Heller. And with no prompting, he rattled off Folk Legend 894M, word for word in its entirety.
“Wait,” said the Countess. She was thinking hard. Then she picked up her canister and began to swing it back and forth to get a rhythm time. Then she started singing in a rather throaty but pleasant voice. But she did manage to give it a childish pronunciation:
If ever from life you need fly,
Or a king has said loved ones must die,
Take a trip
In a ship
That will bob, dive and dip,
And find a new home in the sky.
Heller joined in:
Bold Prince Caucalsia,
There you are on high.
We see you wink,
And we see you blink,
Far, far, far above the Mo-o-o-o-n!
They both laughed, pleased with their duet of the nursery song. They must have learned it as children.
The Countess Krak said, “What star really was it that we used to point to and call ‘Prince Caucalsia’?”
“Blito,” said Heller.
“You mean he really got there?” said the Countess, delighted.
Now, in my opinion, an engineer trying to get into historical anthropology, a subject far out of his line, can be awfully wide of the mark.
Heller turned to me. “Why do they call this race type Caucasian?” and he threw down the card. “You know the planet. Is there some continent called Caucasian?”
“I think it’s just a general race type,” I said. I thought. Then I remembered. Heller does not have a monopoly on memory and I had had to really grind about Blito-P3. “There’s a Caucasus district in southern Russia. That’s just north of Turkey. It’s a sort of border between the two continents, Asia and Europe. But I don’t think that’s what type the name means. Maybe the people came from there and maybe not, but there is a Caucasoid race that migrated around and spread out pretty far. You find them all over the place now. The type has minimal skin pigmentation, straight or curly hair, high-bridged, narrow noses. They have a high frequency of what they call Rh-negative blood type and the presence of a
special blood element: I think you must have been looking at it today.”
“All right,” said Heller. “Is there an ‘Atalanta’? A country or something?”
I thought about it. I had to go over and get a reference book out of the pile, a thing they call an “encyclopedia.” I read it aloud.
“Atlantis, also called Atalantis and Atalantica, legendary island in the Atlantic Ocean beyond the Straits of Gibraltar. Its civilization was thought to be very advanced. It was supposed to have been overwhelmed by the seas.”
“Aha,” said Heller. “Whatever Prince Caucalsia founded got destroyed and the people had to migrate elsewhere.”
“Heller,” I said patiently, “an engineer is not an anthropologist!”
“Oh, but they are!” said the Countess. “They work out the whole geological cycle of a planet and to do that they have to know fossils and bones!” She was very prim about it. I realized that a certain person had been studying like mad!
“Well, maybe so,” I said. And it might be true. “But a couple of names don’t make a historical fact. Just coincidence! There are humanoids all over the place. There is no reason to believe that your Prince Caucalsia, or whatever his name was, put some races down on Blito-P3. I can show you fifteen planets where there are inhabitants that look like you or her or me.”
“The poles shifted,” said Heller, “probably got relocated in sea areas, the ice caps melted and it drowned the colony out. Poor Prince Caucalsia.”
“The poor fellow,” said the Countess.
“So that’s what must have happened,” said Heller. “Well! We better make awful sure it doesn’t happen again and drown his descendants, too!”
“That would be a shame,” said the Countess.
I should have had my wits examined. Here they were agreeing on the mission! And such was my dogged devotion to fact—except where it concerns affairs of the Apparatus, of course—that I just couldn’t stand this much stupid sentimentality based on total illogics. “But Heller, we don’t have any data, not real solid data, that Prince Caucalsia of Atalanta, Manco, colonized an island on Earth and called it Atlantis! Countrymen of yours weren’t part of that migration!”
Heller was looking at me with his eyes slightly closed. “It’s more poetic that way,” he said.