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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b10d14e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51712 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51712) diff --git a/old/51712-8.txt b/old/51712-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c1fba48..0000000 --- a/old/51712-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8745 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Trace of Memory, by Keith Laumer - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: A Trace of Memory - -Author: Keith Laumer - -Release Date: April 9, 2016 [EBook #51712] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRACE OF MEMORY *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - A TRACE OF MEMORY - - KEITH LAUMER - - TOR - - A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK - - This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events - portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance - to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. - - A TRACE OF MEMORY - - Copyright 1963 by Keith Laumer - - All rights reserved, including the right to - reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. - - A short version of this novel appeared serially in - _Amazing_, July-August-September, 1962. - Copyright 1962 by Ziff-Davis Publishing Company. - - A TOR Book - - Published by Tom Doherty Associates, - 8-10 West 36 Street, - New York, N.Y. 10018 - - Cover art by Bob Layzell - - First TOR printing: November 1984 - - ISBN: O-812-54373-4 - CAN. ED.: O-812-54374-2 - - Printed in the United States of America - - [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any - evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - * * * * * - -"Let's get out of here fast," I said. "We've probably set off an alarm -already." - -As if in answer, a low chime cut across our talk. Pearly light sprang -up on a square panel. Foster and I stared at it. - -"What do you make of it?" he said. - -"I'm no expert on stone-age relics," I said. "But if that's not a radar -screen, I'll eat it." - -I sat down in the single chair before the dusty control console, and -watched a red blip creep across the screen. - -"That blip is either a mighty slow airplane--or it's at one hell of an -altitude." I sat upright, eyes on the screen. "Look at this, Foster," -I snapped. A pattern of dots flashed across the screen, faded, flashed -again.... - -"I don't like that thing blinking at us," I said. "It makes me feel -conspicuous." I looked at the big red button beside the screen. "Maybe -if I pushed that...." Without waiting to think it over, I jabbed at it. - -"I'm not sure you should have done that," Foster said. - -"There _is_ room for doubt," I said in a strained voice. "It looks like -I've launched a bomb from the ship overhead." - -A TRACE OF MEMORY - - -Look for these other TOR books by Keith Laumer: - - - THE BREAKING EARTH - THE GLORY GAME - THE INFINITE CAGE - KNIGHT OF DELUSIONS - THE MONITORS - THE HOUSE IN NOVEMBER AND THE OTHER SKY - ONCE THERE WAS A GIANT - PLANET RUN - WORLDS OF THE IMPERIUM - - - - -A TRACE OF MEMORY - - - - -PROLOGUE - - -He awoke and lay for a moment looking up at a low ceiling, dimly -visible in a faint red glow, feeling the hard mat under his back. He -turned his head, saw a wall and a panel on which a red indicator light -glared. - -He swung his legs over the side of the narrow couch and sat up. The -room was small, grey-painted, unadorned. Pain throbbed in his forearm. -He shook back the loose sleeve of the strange purple garment, saw a -pattern of tiny punctures in the skin. He recognized the mark of a -feeding Hunter.... Who would have dared? - -A dark shape on the floor caught his eye. He slid from the couch, knelt -by the still body of a man in a purple tunic stained black with blood. -Gently he rolled the body onto its back. - -Ammaerln! - -He seized the limp wrist. There was a faint pulse. He rose--and saw a -second body and, near the door, two more. Quickly he went to each.... - -All three were dead, hideously slashed. Only Ammaerln still breathed, -faintly. - -He went to the door, shouted into the darkness. The ranged shelves of -a library gave back a brief echo. He turned back to the grey-walled -room, noticed a recording monitor against a wall. He fitted the -neurodes to the dying man's temples. But for this gesture of recording -Ammaerln's life's memories, there was nothing he could do. He must get -him to a therapist--and quickly. - -He crossed the library, found a great echoing hall beyond. This -was not the Sapphire Palace beside the Shallow Sea. The lines were -unmistakeable: he was aboard a ship, a far-voyager. Why? How? He stood -uncertain. The silence was absolute. - -He crossed the Great Hall and entered the observation lounge. Here -lay another dead man, by his uniform a member of the crew. He touched -a knob and the great screens glowed blue. A giant crescent swam into -focus, locked; soft blue against the black of space. Beyond it a -smaller companion hung, gray-blotched, airless. What worlds were these? - - * * * * * - -An hour later he had ranged the vast ship from end to end. In all, -seven corpses, cruelly slashed, peopled the silent vessel. In the -control sector the communicator lights glowed, but to his call there -was no answer from the strange world below. - -He turned to the recording room. Ammaerln still breathed weakly. The -memory recording had been completed; all that the dying man remembered -of his long life was imprinted now in the silver cylinder. It remained -only to color-code the trace. - -His eyes was caught by a small cylinder projecting from the aperture at -the side of the high couch where he had awakened his own memory-trace! -So he himself had undergone the Change. He took the color-banded -cylinder, thrust it into a pocket--then whirled at a sound. A nest of -Hunters, swarming globes of pale light, clustered at the door. Then -they were on him. They pressed close, humming in their eagerness. -Without the proper weapon he was helpless. - -He caught up the limp body of Ammaerln. With the Hunters trailing in a -luminous stream he ran with his burden to the shuttle-boat bay. - -Three shuttles lay in their cradles. He groped to a switch, his head -swimming with the sulphurous reek of the Hunters; light flooded the -bay, driving them back. He entered the lifeboat, placed the dying man -on a cushioned couch. - -It had been long since he had manned the controls of a ship, but he had -not forgotten. - - * * * * * - -Ammaerln was dead when the lifeboat reached the planetary surface. The -vessel settled gently and the lock cycled. He looked out at a vista of -ragged forest. - -This was no civilized world. Only the landing ring and the clearing -around it showed the presence of man. - -There was a hollow in the earth by a square marker block at the eastern -perimeter of the clearing. He hoisted the body of Ammaerln to his back -and moved heavily down the access ladder. Working bare-handed, he -deepened the hollow, placed the body in it, scraped earth over it. Then -he rose and turned back toward the shuttle boat. - -Forty feet away, a dozen men, squat, bearded, wrapped in the shaggy -hides of beasts, stood between him and the access ladder. The tallest -among them shouted, raised a bronze sword threateningly. Behind these, -others clustered at the ladder. Motionless he watched as one scrambled -up, reached the top, disappeared into the boat. In a moment the savage -reappeared at the opening and hurled down handfuls of small bright -objects. Shouting, others clambered up to share the loot. The first man -again vanished within the boat. Before the foremost of the others had -gained the entry, the port closed, shutting off a terrified cry from -within. - -Men dropped from the ladder as it swung up. The boat rose slowly, -angling toward the west, dwindling. The savages shrank back, awed. - -The man watched until the tiny blue light was lost against the sky. - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -The ad read: _Soldier of fortune seeks companion in arms to share -unusual adventure. Foster, Box 19, Mayport._ - -I crumpled the newspaper and tossed it in the general direction of the -wire basket beside the park bench, pushed back a slightly frayed cuff, -and took a look at my bare wrist. It was just habit; the watch was in -a hock shop in Tupelo, Mississippi. It didn't matter. I didn't have to -know what time it was. - -Across the park most of the store windows were dark along the side -street. There were no people in sight; they were all home now, having -dinner. As I watched, the lights blinked off in the drug store with the -bottles of colored water in the window; the left the candy and cigar -emporium at the end of the line. I fidgeted on the hard bench and felt -for a cigarette I didn't have. I wished the old boy back of the counter -would call it a day and go home. As soon as it was dark enough, I was -going to rob his store. - - * * * * * - -I wasn't a full-time stick-up artist. Maybe that's why that nervous -feeling was playing around under my rib cage. There was really nothing -to it. The wooden door with the hardware counter lock that would open -almost as easily without a key as with one; the sardine-can metal box -with the day's receipts in it. I'd be on my way to the depot with fare -to Miami in my pocket ten minutes after I cracked the door. I'd learned -a lot harder tricks than petty larceny back when I had a big future -ahead with Army Intelligence. That was a long time ago, and I'd had a -lot of breaks since then--none good. - -I got up and took another turn around the park. It was a warm evening, -and the mosquitoes were out. I caught a whiff of frying hamburger from -the Elite Cafe down the street. It reminded me that I hadn't eaten -lately. There were lights on at the Commercial Hotel and one in the -ticket office at the station. The local police force was still sitting -on a stool at the Rexall talking to the counter girl. I could see the -.38 revolver hanging down in a worn leather holster at his hip. All of -a sudden, I was in a hurry to get it over with. - -I took another look at the lights. All the stores were dark now. There -was nothing to wait for. I crossed the street, sauntered past the cigar -store. There were dusty boxes of stogies in the window and piles of -homemade fudge stacked on plates with paper doilies under them. Behind -them, the interior of the store looked grim and dead. I looked around, -then turned down the side street toward the back door-- - -A black sedan eased around the corner and pulled in to the curb. A face -leaned over to look at me through lenses like the bottoms of tabasco -bottles. The hot evening air stirred, and I felt my damp shirt cold -against my back. - -"Looking for anything in particular, Mister?" the cop said. - -I just looked at him. - -"Passing through town, are you?" he asked. - -For some reason I shook my head. - -"I've got a job here," I said. "I'm going to work--for Mr. Foster." - -"What Mr. Foster?" The cop's voice was wheezy, but relentless; a voice -used to asking questions. - -I remembered the ad--something about an adventure; Foster, Box 19. The -cop was still staring at me. - -"Box nineteen," I said. - -He looked me over some more, then reached across and opened the door. -"Better come on down to the station house with me, Mister," he said. - - * * * * * - -At Police Headquarters, the cop motioned me to a chair, sat down behind -a desk, and pulled a phone to him. He dialed slowly, then swiveled his -back to me to talk. Insects danced around the bare light bulb. There -was an odor of leather and unwashed bedding. I sat and listened to a -radio in the distance wailing a sad song. - -It was half an hour before I heard a car pull up outside. The man who -came through the door was wearing a light suit that was neither new -nor freshly pressed, but had that look of perfect fit and taste that -only the most expensive tailoring can achieve. He moved in a relaxed -way, but gave an impression of power held in reserve. At first glance I -thought he was in his middle thirties, but when he looked my way I saw -the fine lines around the blue eyes. I got to my feet. He came over to -me. - -"I'm Foster," he said, and held out his hand. I shook it. - -"My name is Legion," I said. - -The desk sergeant spoke up. "This fellow says he come here to Mayport -to see you, Mr. Foster." - -Foster looked at me steadily. "That's right, Sergeant. This gentleman -is considering a proposition I've made." - -"Well, I didn't know, Mr. Foster," the cop said. - -"I quite understand, Sergeant," Foster said. "We all feel better, -knowing you're on the job." - -"Well, you know," the cop said. - -"We may as well be on our way then," Foster said. "If you're ready, Mr. -Legion." - -"Sure, I'm ready," I said. Mr. Foster said goodnight to the cop and we -went out. On the pavement in front of the building I stopped. - -"Thanks, Mr. Foster," I said. "I'll comb myself out of your hair now." - -Foster had his hand on the door of a deceptively modest-looking -cabriolet. I could smell the solid leather upholstery from where I -stood. - -"Why not come along to my place, Legion," he said. "We might at least -discuss my proposition." - -I shook my head. "I'm not the man for the job, Mr. Foster," I said. "If -you'd like to advance me a couple of bucks, I'll get myself a bite to -eat and fade right out of your life." - -"What makes you so sure you're not interested?" - -"Your ad said something about adventure. I've had my adventures. Now -I'm just looking for a hole to crawl into." - -"I don't believe you, Legion." Foster smiled at me, a slow, calm smile. -"I think your adventures have hardly begun." - -I thought about it. If I went along, I'd at least get a meal--and maybe -even a bed for the night. It was better than curling up under a tree. - -"Well," I said, "a remark like that demands time for an explanation." I -got into the car and sank back in a seat that seemed to fit me the way -Foster's jacket fit him. - -"I hope you won't mind if I drive fast," Foster said. "I want to be -home before dark." We started up and wheeled away from the curb like a -torpedo sliding out of the launching tube. - - * * * * * - -I got out of the car in the drive at Foster's house, and looked around -at the wide clipped lawn, the flower beds that were vivid even by -moonlight, the line of tall poplars and the big white house. - -"I wish I hadn't come," I said. "This kind of place reminds me of all -the things I haven't gotten out of life." - -"Your life's still ahead of you," Foster said. He opened the slab of -mahogany that was the front door, and I followed him inside. At the end -of a short hall he flipped a switch that flooded the room before us -with soft light. I stared at an expanse of pale grey carpet about the -size of a tennis court, on which rested glowing Danish teak furniture -upholstered in rich colors. The walls were a rough-textured grey; here -and there were expensively framed abstractions. The air was cool with -the heavy coolness of air conditioning. Foster crossed to a bar that -looked modest in the setting, in spite of being bigger than those in -most of the places I'd seen lately. - -"Would you care for a drink?" he said. - -I looked down at my limp, stained suit and grimy cuffs. - -"Look, Mr. Foster," I said. "I just realized something. If you've got a -stable, I'll go sleep in it--" - -Foster laughed. "Come on; I'll show you the bath." - - * * * * * - -I came downstairs, clean, showered, and wearing a set of Foster's -clothes. I found him sitting, sipping a drink and listening to music. - -"The _Liebestodt_," I said. "A little gloomy, isn't it?" - -"I read something else into it," Foster said. "Sit down and have a bite -to eat and a drink." - -I sat in one of the big soft chairs and tried not to let my hand shake -as I reached for one of the sandwiches piled on the coffee table. - -"Tell me something, Mr. Legion," Foster said. "Why did you come here, -mention my name--if you didn't intend to see me?" - -I shook my head. "It just worked out that way." - -"Tell me something about yourself," Foster said. - -"It's not much of a story." - -"Still, I'd like to hear it." - -"Well, I was born, grew up, went to school----" - -"What school?" - -"University of Illinois." - -"What was your major?" - -"Music." - -Foster looked at me, frowning slightly. - -"It's the truth," I said. "I wanted to be a conductor. The army -had other ideas. I was in my last year when the draft got me. They -discovered I had what they considered an aptitude for intelligence -work. I didn't mind it. I had a pretty good time for a couple of years." - -"Go on," Foster said. Well, I'd had a bath and a good meal. I owed him -something. If he wanted to hear my troubles, why not tell him? - -"I was putting on a demonstration. A defective timer set off a charge -of H-E fifty seconds early on a one-minute setting. A student was -killed; I got off easy with a busted eardrum and a pound or two of -gravel imbedded in my back. When I got out of the hospital, the army -felt real bad about letting me go--but they did. My terminal leave pay -gave me a big weekend in San Francisco and set me up in business as a -private investigator. - -"I had enough left over after the bankruptcy proceedings a few months -later to get me to Las Vegas. I lost what was left and took a job with -a casino operator named Gonino. - -"I stayed with Gonino for nearly a year. Then one night a visiting bank -clerk lost his head and shot him eight times with a .22 target pistol. -I left town the same night. - -"After that I sold used cars for a couple of months in Memphis; then I -made like a life guard at Daytona; baited hooks on a thirty-foot tuna -boat out of Key West; all the odd jobs with low pay and no future. I -spent a couple of years in Cuba; all I got out of that was two bullet -scars on the left leg, and a prominent position on a CIA blacklist. - -"After that things got tough. A man in my trade can't really hope to -succeed in a big way without the little blue card in the plastic cover -to back his play. I was headed south for the winter, and I picked -Mayport to run out of money." - -I stood up. "I sure enjoyed the bath, Mr. Foster, and the meal, -too--I'd like real well to get into that bed upstairs and have a -night's sleep just to make it complete; but I'm not interested in the -job." I turned away and started across the room. - -"Legion," Foster said. I turned. A beer bottle was hanging in the air -in front of my face. I put a hand up fast and the bottle slapped my -palm. - -"Not bad set of reflexes for a man whose adventures are all behind -him," Foster said. - -I tossed the bottle aside. "If I'd missed, that would have knocked my -teeth out," I said angrily. - -"You didn't miss--even though you're weaving a little from the beer. -And a man who can feel a pint or so of beer isn't an alcoholic--so -you're clean on that score." - -"I didn't say I was ready for the rummy ward," I said. "I'm just not -interested in your proposition--whatever it is." - -"Legion," Foster said, "maybe you have the idea I put that ad in the -paper last week on a whim. The fact is, I've been running it--in one -form or another--for over eight years." - -I looked at him and waited. - -"Not only locally--I've run it in the big-city papers, and in some of -the national weekly and monthly publications. All together, I've had -perhaps fifty responses." - -Foster smiled wryly. "About three quarters of them were from women who -thought I wanted a playmate. Several more were from men with the same -idea. The few others were hopelessly unsuitable." - -"That's surprising," I said. "I'd have thought you'd have brought half -the nuts in the country out of the woodwork by now." - -Foster looked at me, not smiling. I realized suddenly that behind the -urbane façade there was a hint of tension, a trace of worry in the -level blue eyes. - -"I'd like very much to interest you in what I have to say, Legion. I -think you lack only one thing--confidence in yourself." - -I laughed shortly. "What are the qualifications you think I have? I'm a -jack of no trades----" - -"Legion, you're a man of considerable intelligence and more than a -little culture; you've travelled widely and know how to handle yourself -in difficult situations--or you wouldn't have survived. I'm sure your -training includes techniques of entry and fact-gathering not known to -the average man; and perhaps most important, although you're an honest -man, you're capable of breaking the law--when necessary." - -"So that's it," I said. - -"No, I'm not forming a mob, Legion. As I said in the ad--this is an -unusual adventure. It may--probably will--involve infringing various -statutes and regulations of one sort or another. After you know the -full story I'll leave you to judge whether it's justifiable." - -If Foster was trying to arouse my curiosity, he was succeeding. He was -dead serious about whatever it was he was planning. It sounded like -something no one with good sense would want to get involved in--but on -the other hand, Foster didn't look like the sort of man to do anything -foolish.... - -"Why don't you tell me what this is all about?" I said. "Why would a -man with all this--" I waved a hand at the luxurious room--"want to -pick a hobo like me out of the gutter and talk him into taking a job?" - -"Your ego has taken a severe beating, Legion--that's obvious. I think -you're afraid that I'll expect too much of you--or that I'll be shocked -by some disclosure you may make. Perhaps if you'd forget yourself and -your problems for the moment, we could reach an understanding----" - -"Yeah," I said. "Just forget my problems...." - -"Chiefly money problems, of course. Most of the problems of this -society involve the abstraction of values that money represents." - -"Okay," I said. "I've got my problems, you've got yours. Let's leave it -at that." - -"You feel that because I have material comfort, my problems must of -necessity be trivial ones," Foster said. "Tell me, Mr. Legion: have you -ever known a man who suffered from amnesia?" - - * * * * * - -Foster crossed the room to a small writing desk, took something from a -drawer, then looked at me. - -"I'd like you to examine this," he said. - -I went over and took the object from his hand. It was a small book, -with a cover of drab-colored plastic, unornamented except for an -embossed design of two concentric rings. I opened the cover. The pages -were as thin as tissue, but opaque, and covered with extremely fine -writing in strange foreign characters. The last dozen pages were in -English. I had to hold the book close to my eyes to read the minute -script: - -_January 19, 1710. Having come nigh to calamity with the near lofs[1] -of the key, I will henceforth keep this journal in the English -tongue...._ - -[Footnote 1: Transcriber's Note: Sections of this text used "long s" -typeface. Text left as printed with the letter "f" substituted for the -"long s".] - -"If this is an explanation of something, it's too subtle for me," I -said. - -"Legion, how old would you say I am?" - -"That's a hard one," I said. "When I first saw you I would have said -the late thirties, maybe. Now, frankly, you look closer to fifty." - -"I can show you proof," Foster said, "that I spent the better part of a -year in a military hospital in France. I awakened in a ward, bandaged -to the eyes, and with no memories whatever of my life before that day. -According to the records made at the time, I appeared to be about -thirty years of age." - -"Well," I said, "amnesia's not so unusual among war casualties, and you -seem to have done pretty well since." - -Foster shook his head impatiently. "There's nothing difficult about -acquiring material wealth in this society, though the effort kept me -well occupied for a number of years--and diverted my thoughts from -the question of my past life. The time came, however, when I had the -leisure to pursue the matter. The clues I had were meagre enough; the -notebook I've shown you was found near me, and I had a ring on my -finger." Foster held out his hand. On the middle finger was a massive -signet, engraved with the same design of concentric circles I had seen -on the cover of the notebook. - -"I was badly burned; my clothing was charred. Oddly enough, the -notebook was quite unharmed, though it was found among burned debris. -It's made of very tough stuff." - -"What did you find out?" - -"In a word--nothing. No military unit claimed me. I spoke English, from -which it was deduced that I was English or American----" - -"They couldn't tell which, from your accent?" - -"Apparently not; it appears I spoke a sort of hybrid dialect." - -"Maybe you're lucky. I'd be happy to forget my first thirty years." - -"I spent a considerable sum of money in my attempts to discover my -past," Foster went on. "And several years of time. In the end I gave it -up. And it wasn't until then that I found the first faint inkling." - -"So you did find something," I said. - -"Nothing I hadn't had all along. The notebook." - -"I'd have thought you would have read that before you did anything -else," I said. "Don't tell me you put it in the bureau drawer and -forgot it." - -"I read it, of course--what I could read of it. Only a relatively small -section is in English. The rest is a cipher. And what I read seemed -meaningless--quite unrelated to me. You've glanced through it; it's no -more than a journal, irregularly kept, and so cryptic as to be little -better than a code itself. And of course the dates; they range from the -early eighteenth century through the early twentieth." - -"A sort of family record, maybe," I said. "Carried on generation after -generation. Didn't it mention any names, or places?" - -"Look at it again, Legion," Foster said. "See if you notice anything -odd--other than what we've already discussed." - -I thumbed through the book again. It was no more than an inch thick, -but it was heavy--surprisingly heavy. There were a lot of pages--I -shuffled through hundreds of closely written sheets, and yet the book -was less than half used. I read bits here and there: - -_"May 4, 1746. The Voyage was not a Succefs. I must forsake this avenue -of Enquiry...._" - -"_October 23, 1790. Builded the weft Barrier a cubit higher. Now -the fires burn every night. Is there no limit to their infernal -perfiftence?_" - -"_January 19, 1831. I have great hopes for the Philadelphia enterprise. -My greatest foe is impatience. All preparations for the Change are -made, yet I confefs I am uneasy...._" - -"There are plenty of oddities," I said. "Aside from the entries -themselves. This is supposed to be old--but the quality of the paper -and binding beats anything I've seen. And that handwriting is pretty -fancy for a quill pen----" - -"There's a stylus clipped to the spine of the book," Foster said. "It -was written with that." - -I looked, pulled out a slim pen, then looked at Foster. "Speaking of -odd," I said. "A genuine antique early colonial ball-point pen doesn't -turn up every day----" - -"Suspend your judgement until you've seen it all," Foster said. - -"And two hundred years on one refill--that's not bad." I riffled -through the pages, then I tossed the book onto the table. "Who's -kidding who, Foster?" I said. - -"The book was described in detail in the official record, of which I -have copies. They mention the paper and binding, the stylus, even quote -some of the entries. The authorities worked over it pretty closely, -trying to identify me. They reached the same conclusion as you--that it -was the work of a crackpot; but they saw the same book you're looking -at now." - -"So what? So it was faked up some time during the war--what does that -prove? I'm ready to concede it's forty years old----" - -"You don't understand, Legion," Foster said. "I told you I woke up in -a military hospital in France. But it was an AEF hospital and the year -was 1918." - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -I glanced sideways at Foster. He didn't look like a nut.... - -"All I've got to say is," I said, "you're a hell of a spry-looking -ninety." - -"You find my appearance strangely youthful. What would be your reaction -if I told you that I've aged greatly in the past few months? That -a year ago I could have passed as no older than thirty without the -slightest difficulty----" - -"I don't think I'd believe you," I said. "And I'm sorry, Mr. Foster; -but I don't believe the bit about the 1918 hospital either. How can I? -It's----" - -"I know. Fantastic. But let's go back a moment to the book itself. Look -closely at the paper; it's been examined by experts. They're baffled by -it. Attempts to analyze it chemically failed--they were unable to take -a sample. It's impervious to solvents----" - -"They couldn't get a sample?" I said. "Why not just tear off the corner -of one of the sheets?" - -"Try it," Foster said. - -I picked up the book and plucked at the edge of one of the blank -sheets, then pinched harder and pulled. The paper held. I got a better -grip and pulled again. It was like fine, tough leather, except that it -didn't even stretch. - -"It's tough, all right," I said. I took out my pocket knife and opened -it and worked on the edge of the paper. Nothing. I went over to the -bureau and put the paper flat against the top and sawed at it, putting -my weight on the knife. I raised the knife and brought it down hard. I -didn't so much as mark the sheet. I put the knife away. - -"That's some paper, Mr. Foster," I said. - -"Try to tear the binding," Foster said. "Put a match to it. Shoot at -it if you like. Nothing will make an impression on that material. Now, -you're a logical man, Legion. Is there something here outside ordinary -experience or is there not?" - -I sat down, feeling for a cigarette. I still didn't have. - -"What does it prove?" I said. - -"Only that the book is not a simple fraud. You're facing something -which can't be dismissed as fancy. The book exists. That is our basic -point of departure." - -"Where do we go from there?" - -"There is a second factor to be considered," Foster went on. "At some -time in the past I seem to have made an enemy. Someone, or something, -is systematically hunting me." - -I tried a laugh, but it felt out of place. "Why not sit still and let -it catch up with you? Maybe it could tell you what the whole thing is -about." - -Foster shook his head. "It started almost thirty years ago," he said. -"I was driving south from Albany, New York, at night. It was a long -straight stretch of road, no houses. I noticed lights following me. Not -headlights--something that bobbed along, off in the fields along the -road. But they kept pace, gradually moving alongside. Then they closed -in ahead, keeping out of range of my headlights. I stopped the car. I -wasn't seriously alarmed, just curious. I wanted a better look, so I -switched on my spotlight and played it on the lights. They disappeared -as the light touched them. After half a dozen were gone, the rest began -closing in. I kept picking them off. There was a sound, too, a sort of -high-pitched humming. I caught a whiff of sulphur then, and suddenly -I was afraid--deathly afraid. I caught the last one in the beam no -more than ten feet from the car. I can't describe the horror of the -moment----" - -"It sounds pretty weird," I said. "But what was there to be afraid of? -It must have been some kind of heat lightning." - -"There is always the pat explanation," Foster said. "But no explanation -can rationalize the instinctive dread I felt. I started up the car -and drove on--right through the night and the next day. I sensed that -I must put distance between myself and whatever it was I had met. I -bought a home in California and tried to put the incident out of my -mind--with limited success. Then it happened again." - -"The same thing? Lights?" - -"It was more sophisticated the next time. It started with -interference--static--on my radio. Then it affected the wiring in the -house. All the lights began to glow weakly, even though they were -switched off. I could feel it--feel it in my bones--moving closer, -hemming me in. I tried the car; it wouldn't start. Fortunately, I kept -a few horses at that time. I mounted and rode into town--and at a fair -gallop, you may be sure. I saw the lights, but outdistanced them. I -caught a train and kept going." - -"I don't see----" - -"It happened again; four times in all. I thought perhaps I had -succeeded in eluding it at last. I was mistaken. I have had definite -indications that my time here is drawing to a close. I would have been -gone before now, but there were certain arrangements to be made." - -"Look," I said. "This is all wrong. You need a psychiatrist, not an -ex-tough guy. Delusions of persecution----" - -"It seemed obvious that the explanation was to be found somewhere in my -past life," Foster went on. "I turned to the notebook, my only link. -I copied it out, including the encrypted portion. I had photostatic -enlargements made of the initial section--the part written in -unfamiliar characters. None of the experts who have examined the script -have been able to identify it. - -"I necessarily, therefore, concentrated my attention on the last -section--the only part written in English. I was immediately struck by -a curious fact I had ignored before. The writer made references to an -Enemy, a mysterious 'they', against which defensive measures had to be -taken." - -"Maybe that's where you got the idea," I said. "When you first read the -book----" - -"The writer of the log," Foster said, "was dogged by the same nemesis -that now follows me." - -"It doesn't make any sense," I said. - -"For the moment," Foster said, "stop looking for logic in the -situation. Look for a pattern instead." - -"There's a pattern, all right," I said. - -"The next thing that struck me," Foster went on, "was a reference to a -loss of memory--a second point of some familiarity to me. The writer -expresses frustration at the inability to remember certain facts which -would have been useful to him in his pursuit." - -"What kind of pursuit?" - -"Some sort of scientific project, as nearly as I can gather. The -journal bristles with tantalizing references to matters that are never -explained." - -"And you think the man that wrote it had amnesia?" - -"Not exactly amnesia, perhaps," Foster said. "But there were things he -was unable to remember." - -"If that's amnesia, we've all got it," I said. "Nobody's got a perfect -memory." - -"But these were matters of importance; not the kinds of thing that -simply slip one's mind." - -"I can see how you'd want to believe the book had something to do with -your past, Mr. Foster," I said. "It must be a hard thing, not knowing -your own life story. But you're on the wrong track. Maybe the book is a -story you started to write--in code, so nobody would accidentally read -the stuff and kid you about it." - -"Legion, what was it you planned to do when you got to Miami?" - -The question caught me a little off-guard. "Well, I don't know," I -hedged. "I wanted to get south, where it's warm. I used to know a few -people----" - -"In other words, nothing," Foster said. "Legion, I'll pay you well to -stay with me and see this thing through." - -I shook my head. "Not me, Mr. Foster. The whole thing sounds--well, -the kindest word I can think of is 'nutty.'" - -"Legion," Foster said, "do you really believe I'm insane?" - -"Let's just say this all seems a little screwy to me, Mr. Foster." - -"I'm not asking you just to work for me," Foster said. "I'm asking for -your help." - -"You might as well look for your fortune in tea leaves," I said, -irritated. "There's nothing in what you've told me." - -"There's more, Legion. Much more. I've recently made an important -discovery. When I know you're with me, I'll tell you. You know enough -now to accept the fact that this isn't entirely a figment of my -imagination." - -"I don't know anything," I said. "So far it's all talk." - -"If you're concerned about payment----" - -"No, damn it," I barked. "Where are the papers you keep talking about? -I ought to have my head examined for sitting here humoring you. I've -got troubles enough----" I stopped talking and rubbed my hands over my -scalp. "I'm sorry, Mr. Foster," I said. "I guess what's really griping -me is that you've got everything I think I want--and you're not content -with it. It bothers me to see you off chasing fairies. If a man with -his health and plenty of money can't enjoy life, what the hell is there -for anybody?" - -Foster looked at me thoughtfully. "Legion, if you could have anything -in life you wanted, what would you ask for?" - -"Anything? I've wanted a lot of different things. Once I wanted to be -a hero. Later, I wanted to be smart, know all the answers. Then I had -the idea that a chance to do an honest job, one that needed doing, was -the big thing. I never found that job. I never got smart either, or -figured out how to tell a hero from a coward, without a program." - -"In other words," Foster said, "you were looking for an abstraction -to believe in--in this case, Justice. But you won't find justice in -nature. It's a thing that only man expects or acknowledges." - -"There are some good things in life; I'd like to get a piece of them." - -"Don't lose your capacity for dreaming, in the process." - -"Dreams?" I said. "Oh, I've got those. I want an island somewhere in -the sun, where I can spend my time fishing and watching the sea." - -"You're speaking cynically--but you're still attempting to concretize -an abstraction," Foster said. "But no matter--materialism is simply -another form of idealism." - -I looked at Foster. "But I know I'll never have those things--or that -Justice you were talking about, either. Once you really know you'll -never make it...." - -"Perhaps unattainability is an essential element of any dream," Foster -said. "But hold onto your dream, whatever it is--don't ever give it up." - -"So much for philosophy," I said. "Where is it getting us?" - -"You'd like to see the papers," Foster said. He fished a key ring from -an inner pocket. "If you don't mind going out to the car," he said, -"and perhaps getting your hands dirty, there's a strong-box welded -to the frame. I keep photostats of everything there, along with my -passport, emergency funds and so on. I've learned to be ready to -travel on very short notice. Lift the floorboards; you'll see the box." - -"It's not all that urgent," I said. "I'll take a look in the -morning--after I've caught up on some sleep. But don't get the wrong -idea--it's just my knot-headed curiosity." - -"Very well," Foster said. He lay back, sighed. "I'm tired, Legion," he -said. "My mind is tired." - -"Yeah," I said, "so is mine--not to mention other portions of my -anatomy." - -"Get some sleep," Foster said. "We'll talk again in the morning." - - * * * * * - -I pushed back the light blanket and slid out of bed. Underfoot, the rug -was as thick and soft as a working girl's mink. I went across to the -closet and pushed the button that made the door slide aside. My old -clothes were still lying on the floor where I had left them, but I had -the clean ones Foster had lent me. He wouldn't mind if I borrowed them -for a while longer--it would be cheaper for him in the long run. Foster -was as looney as a six-day bike racer, but there was no point in my -waiting around to tell him so. - -The borrowed outfit didn't include a coat. I thought of putting my -old jacket on but it was warm outside and a grey pin-stripe with -grease spots wouldn't help the picture any. I transferred my personal -belongings from the grimy clothes on the floor, and eased the door open. - -Downstairs, the curtains were drawn in the living room. I could vaguely -make out the outline of the bar. It wouldn't hurt to take along a bite -to eat. I groped my way behind the bar, felt along the shelves, found -a stack of small cans that rattled softly. Nuts, probably. I reached to -put a can on the bar and it clattered against something I couldn't see. -I swore silently, felt over the obstruction. It was bulky, with the -cold smoothness of metal, and there were small projections with sharp -corners. It felt for all the world like---- - -I leaned over it and squinted. With the faint gleam of moonlight from -a chink in the heavy curtains falling just so, I could almost make -out the shape; I crouched a little lower, and caught the glint of -light along the perforated jacket of a .30 calibre machine gun. My eye -followed the barrel, made out the darker square of the entrance hall, -and the tiny reflection of light off the polished brass doorknob at the -far end. - -I stepped back, flattened against the wall, with a hollow feeling -inside. If I had tried to walk through that door.... - -Foster was crazy enough for two ordinary nuts. My eyes flicked around -the room. I had to get out quickly before he jumped out and said _Boo!_ -and I died of heart failure. The windows, maybe. I came around the end -of the bar, got down and crawled under the barrel of the gun and over -to the heavy drapes, pushing them aside. Pale light glowed beyond the -glass. Not the soft light of the moon, but a milky, churning glow that -reminded me of the phosphorescence of sea water.... - -I dropped the curtain, ducked back under the gun into the hall, and -pushed through a swinging door into the kitchen. There was a faint -glow from the luminous handle of the refrigerator. I yanked it open, -spilling light on the floor, and looked around. Plenty of gleaming -white fixtures--but no door out. There was a window, almost obscured -by leaves. I eased it open and almost broke my fist on a wrought-iron -trellis. - -Back in the hall, I tried two more doors, both locked. A third opened, -and I found myself looking down the cellar stairs. They were steep and -dark as cellar stairs always seem to be, but they might be the way out. -I felt for a light switch, flipped it on. A weak illumination showed me -a patch of damp-looking floor at the foot of the steps. It still wasn't -inviting, but I went down. - -There was an oil furnace in the center of the room, with dusty -duct-work spidering out across the ceiling; some heavy packing cases -of rough wood were stacked along one wall, and at the far side of the -room, there was a boarded-up coal bin--but no cellar door. - -I turned to go back up. Then I heard a sound and froze. Somewhere a -cockroach scuttled briefly. Then I heard the sound again, a faint -grinding of stone against stone. I peered through the cob-webbed -shadows, my mouth suddenly dry. There was nothing. - -The thing for me to do was to get up the stairs fast, batter the iron -trellis out of the kitchen window, and run like hell. The trouble was, -I had to move to do it, and the sound of my own steps was so loud it -was paralyzing. Compared to this, the shock of stumbling over the gun -was just a mild kick, like finding a whistle in your Cracker-jacks. -Ordinarily I didn't believe in things that went bump in the night, -but this time I was hearing the bumps myself, and all I could think -about was Edgar Allen Poe and his cheery tales about people who got -themselves buried before they were thoroughly dead. - -There was another sound, then a sharp snap, and I saw light spring up -from a crack that opened across the floor in the shadowy corner. That -was enough for me. I jumped for the stairs, took them three at a time, -and banged through the kitchen door. I grabbed up a chair, swung it -around and slammed it against the trellis. It bounced back and cracked -me across the mouth. I dropped it, tasting blood. Maybe that was what -I needed. The panic faded before a stronger emotion--anger. I turned -and barged along the dark hall to the living room--and lights suddenly -went on. I whirled and saw Foster standing in the hall doorway, fully -dressed. - -"OK, Foster!" I yelled. "Just show me the way out of here." - -Foster held my eyes, his face tense. "Calm yourself, Mr. Legion," he -said softly. "What's happened here?" - -"Get over there to that gun," I snapped, nodding toward the .30 calibre -on the bar. "Disarm it, and then get the front door open. I'm leaving." - -Foster's eyes flicked over the clothes I was wearing. - -"So I see," he said. He looked me in the face again. "What is it that's -frightened you, Legion?" - -"Don't act so innocent," I said. "Or am I supposed to get the idea the -brownies set up that booby trap while you were asleep?" - -His eyes went to the gun and his expression tightened. "It's mine," he -said. "It's an automatic arrangement. Something's activated it--and -without sounding my alarm. You haven't been outside, have you?" - -"How could I----" - -"This is important, Legion," Foster rapped. "It would take more than -the sight of a machine gun to panic you. What have you seen?" - -"I was looking for a back door," I said. "I went down to the cellar. I -didn't like it down there so I came back up." - -"What did you see in the cellar?" Foster's face looked strained, -colorless. - -"It looked like ..." I hesitated. "There was a crack in the floor, -noises, lights...." - -"The floor," Foster said. "Certainly. That's the weak point." He seemed -to be talking to himself. - -I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "Something funny going on outside -your windows, too." - -Foster looked toward the heavy hangings. "Listen carefully, Legion," -he said. "We are in grave danger--both of us. It's fortunate you arose -when you did. This house, as you must have guessed by now, is something -of a fortress. At this moment, it is under attack. The walls are -protected by some rather formidable defenses. I can't say as much for -the cellar floor; it's merely three feet of ferro-concrete. We'll have -to go now--very swiftly, and very quietly." - -"OK--show me," I said. Foster turned and went back along the hall to -one of the locked doors where he pressed something. The door opened and -I followed him inside a small room. He crossed to a blank wall, pressed -against it. A panel slid aside--and Foster jumped back. - -"God's wounds!" he gasped. He threw himself at the wall and the panel -closed. I stood stock still; from somewhere there was a smell like -sulphur. - -"What the hell goes on?" I said. My voice cracked, as it always does -when I'm scared. - -"That odor," Foster said. "Quickly--the other way!" - -I stepped back and Foster pushed past me and ran along the hall, with -me at his heels. I didn't look back to see what was at my own heels. -Foster took the stairs three at a time, pulled up short on the landing. -He went to his knees, shoved back an Isfahan rug as supple as sable, -and gripped a steel ring set in the floor. He looked at me, his face -white. - -"Invoke thy gods," he said hoarsely, and heaved at the ring. A section -of floor swung up, showing the first step of a flight leading down into -a black hole. Foster didn't hesitate; he dropped his feet in, scrambled -down. I followed. The stairs went down about ten feet, ending on a -stone floor. There was the sound of a latch turning, and we stepped out -into a larger room. I saw moonlight through a row of high windows, and -smelled the fragrance of fresh night air. - -"We're in the garage," Foster whispered. "Go around to the other side -of the car and get in--quietly." I touched the smooth flank of the -rakish cabriolet, felt my way around it, and eased the door open. I -slipped into the seat and closed the door gently. Beside me, Foster -touched a button and a green light glowed on the dash. - -"Ready?" he said. - -"Sure." - -The starter whined half a turn and the engine caught. Without waiting, -Foster gunned it, let in the clutch. The car leaped for the closed -doors, and I ducked, and then saw the doors snap aside as the low-slung -car roared out into the night. We took the first turn in the drive at -forty, and rounded onto the highway at sixty, tires screaming. I took a -look back and caught a glimpse of the house, its stately façade white -in the moonlight--and then we were out of sight over a rise. - -"What's it all about?" I called over the rush of air. The needle -touched ninety, kept going. - -"Later," Foster barked. I didn't feel like arguing. I watched in the -mirror for a few minutes, wondering where all the cops were tonight. -Then I settled down in the padded seat and watched the speedometer eat -up the miles. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -It was nearly four-thirty and a tentative grey streak showed through -the palm fronds to the east before I broke the silence. - -"By the way," I said. "What was the routine with the steel shutters, -and the bullet-proof glass in the kitchen, and the handy home-model -machine gun covering the front door? Mice bad around the place, are -they?" - -"Those things were necessary--and more." - -"Now that the short hairs along my spine have relaxed," I said, "the -whole thing looks pretty silly. We've run far enough now to be able to -stop and turn around and stick our tongues out." - -"Not yet--not for a long while yet." - -"Why don't we just go back home," I went on, "and----" - -"No!" Foster said sharply. "I want your word on that, Legion. No matter -what--don't ever go near that house again." - -"It'll be daylight soon," I said. "We'll feel pretty asinine about -this little trip after the sun comes up, but don't worry, I won't tell -anybody----" - -"We've got to keep moving," Foster said. "At the next town, I'll -telephone for seats on a flight out of Miami." - -"Hold on," I said. "You're raving. What about your house? We didn't -even stick around long enough to make sure the TV was turned off. And -what about passports, and money, and luggage? And what makes you think -I'm going with you?" - -"I've kept myself in readiness for this emergency," Foster said. "There -are disposition instructions for the house on file with a legal firm -in Jacksonville. There is nothing to connect me with my former life, -once I've changed my name and disappeared. As for the rest--we can buy -luggage in the morning. My passport is in the car; perhaps we'd better -go first to Puerto Rico, until we can arrange for one for you." - -"Look," I said. "I got spooked in the dark, that's all. Why not just -admit we made fools of ourselves?" - -Foster shook his head. "The inherent inertia of the human mind," he -said. "How it fights to resist new ideas." - -"The kind of new ideas you're talking about could get both of us locked -up in the chuckle ward," I said. - -"Legion," Foster said, "I think you'd better write down what I'm going -to tell you. It's important--vitally important. I won't waste time with -preliminaries. The notebook I showed you--it's in my jacket. You must -read the English portion of it. Afterwards, what I'm about to say may -make more sense." - -"I hope you don't feel your last will and testament coming on, Mr. -Foster," I said. "Not before you tell me what that was we were both so -eager to get away from." - -"I'll be frank with you," Foster said flatly. "I don't know." - - * * * * * - -Foster wheeled into the dark drive of a silent service station, eased -to a stop, set the brake and slumped back in the seat. - -"Do you mind driving for a while, Legion?" he said. "I'm not feeling -very well." - -"Sure I'll drive," I said. I opened the door and got out and went -around to his side. Foster sat limply, eyes closed, his face drawn and -strained. He looked older than he had last night--years older. The -night's experiences hadn't taken anything off my age, either. - -Foster opened his eyes, looked at me blankly. He seemed to gather -himself with an effort. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not myself." - -He moved over and I got in the driver's seat. "If you're sick," I said, -"we'd better find a doctor." - -"No, it's all right," he said blurrily. "Just keep going...." - -"We're a hundred and fifty miles from Mayport now," I said. - -Foster turned to me, started to say something--and slumped in a dead -faint. I grabbed for his pulse; it was strong and steady. I rolled up -an eyelid and a dilated pupil stared sightlessly. He was all right--I -hoped. But the thing to do was get him in bed and call a doctor. We -were at the edge of a small town. I let the brake off and drove slowly -into town, swung around a corner and pulled up in front of the sagging -marquee of a run-down hotel. Foster stirred as I cut the engine. - -"Foster," I said. "I'm going to get you into a bed. Can you walk?" He -groaned softly and opened his eyes. They were glassy. I got out and got -him to the sidewalk. He was still half out. I walked him into the dingy -lobby and over to a reception counter where a dim bulb burned. I dinged -the bell. It was a minute before an old man shuffled out from where -he'd been sleeping. He yawned, eyed me suspiciously, looked at Foster. - -"We don't want no drunks here," he said. "Respectable house." - -"My friend is sick," I said. "Give me a double with bath. And call a -doctor." - -"What's he got?" the old man said. "Ain't contagious, is it?" - -"That's what I want a doctor to tell me." - -"I can't get the doc 'fore in the morning. And we got no private -bathrooms." - -I signed the register. We rode the open-cage elevator to the fourth -floor, went along a gloomy hall to a door painted a peeling brown. It -didn't look inviting; the room inside wasn't much better. There was -a lot of flowered wallpaper and an old-fashioned wash-stand and two -wide beds. I stretched Foster out on one. He lay relaxed, a serene -expression on his face--the kind undertakers try for but never quite -seem to manage. I sat down on the other bed and pulled off my shoes. It -was my turn to have a tired mind. I lay on the bed and let it sink down -like a grey stone into still water. - - * * * * * - -I awoke from a dream in which I had just discovered the answer to the -riddle of life. I tried to hold onto it, but it slipped away; it always -does. - -Grey daylight was filtering through the dusty windows. Foster lay -slackly on the broad sagging bed, a ceiling lamp with a faded fringed -shade casting a sickly yellow light over him. It didn't make things any -cheerier; I flipped it off. - -Foster was lying on his back, arms spread wide, breathing heavily. -Maybe it was only exhaustion, and he didn't need a doctor after all. -He'd probably wake up in a little while, raring to go. - -As for me, I was feeling hungry again. I'd have to have a buck or so -for sandwiches. I went over to the bed and called Foster's name. He -didn't move. If he was sleeping that soundly, maybe I wouldn't bother -him.... - -I eased his wallet out of his coat pocket, took it to the window and -checked it. It was fat. I took a ten, put the wallet on the table. I -remembered Foster had said something about money in the car. I had the -keys in my pocket. I got my shoes on and let myself out quietly. Foster -hadn't moved. - -Down on the street I waited for a couple of yokels who were looking -over Foster's car to move on, then slid into the seat, leaned over, and -got the floor boards up. The strong-box was set into the channel of -the frame. I scraped the road dirt off the lock and opened it with a -key from Foster's key ring, took out the contents. There was a bundle -of stiffish papers, a passport, some maps--marked up--and a wad of -currency that made my mouth go dry. I riffled through it: fifty grand -if it was a buck. - -I stuffed the papers, money, and passport back in the box and locked -it, and climbed out onto the sidewalk. A few doors down the street -there was a dirty window lettered MAE'S EAT. I went in, ordered -hamburgers and coffee to go, and sat at the counter with Foster's -keys in front of me, thinking about the car that went with them. The -passport only needed a little work on the picture to get me wherever I -wanted to go, and the money would buy me my choice of islands. Foster -would have a nice long nap, and then take a train home. With his dough, -he'd hardly miss what I took. - -The counterman put a paper bag in front of me and I paid him and went -out. I stood by the car, jingling the keys on my palm and thinking. I -could be in Miami in an hour, and I knew where to go for the passport -job. Foster was a nice guy and I liked him--but I'd never have a break -like this again. I reached for the car door and a voice said, "Paper, -mister?" - -I jumped and looked around. A dirty-faced kid was looking at me. -"Sure," I said. I gave him a single and took the paper, flipped it -open. A Mayport dateline caught my eye: - - POLICE RAID HIDEOUT - - A surprise raid by local police led to the discovery here today of - a secret gangland fortress. Chief Chesters of the Mayport Police - stated that the raid came as an aftermath of the arrival in the - city yesterday of a notorious northern gang member. A number of - firearms, including army-type machine guns, were seized in the raid - on a house 9 miles from Mayport on the Fernandina road. The raid - was said by Chief Chesters to be the culmination of a lengthy - investigation. - - C.R. Foster, 50, owner of the property, is missing and feared dead. - Police are seeking the ex-convict who visited the house last night. - It is feared that Foster may have been the victim of a gangland - murder. - -I banged through the door to the darkened room and stopped short. In -the gloom I could see Foster sitting on the edge of the bed, looking my -way. - -"Look at this," I yelped, flapping the paper in his face. "Now the -cops are dragging the state for me--and on a murder rap at that! Get -on the phone and get this thing straightened out--if you can. You and -your little green men! The cops think they've stumbled on Al Capone's -arsenal. You'll have fun explaining that one...." - -Foster looked at me interestedly. He smiled. - -"What's funny about it, Foster?" I yelled. "Your dough may buy you out, -but what about me?" - -"Forgive me for asking," Foster said pleasantly, "But--who are you?" - - * * * * * - -There are times when I'm slow on the uptake, but this wasn't one of -them. The implications of what Foster had said hit me hard enough to -make my knees go weak. - -"Oh, no, Mr. Foster," I said. "You can't lose your memory again--not -right now, not with the police looking for me. You're my alibi; you're -the one that has to explain all the business about the guns and the ad -in the paper. I just came to see about a job, remember?" - -My voice was getting a little shrill. Foster sat looking at me, wearing -an expression between a frown and a smile, like a credit manager -turning down an application. - -He shook his head slightly. "My name is not Foster." - -"Look," I said. "Your name was Foster yesterday--that's all I care -about. You're the one that owns the house the cops are all upset about. -And you're the corpse I'm supposed to have knocked off. You've got to -go to the cops with me--right now--and tell them I'm just an innocent -bystander." - -I went to the window and raised the shades to let some light into the -room, turned back to Foster. - -"I'll explain to the cops about you thinking the little men were after -you--" I stopped talking and stared at Foster. For a wild moment I -thought I'd made a mistake--that I'd wandered into the wrong room. I -knew Foster's face, all right; the light was bright enough now to see -clearly; but the man I was talking to couldn't have been a day over -twenty years old. - - * * * * * - -I went close to him, staring hard. There were the same cool blue eyes, -but the lines around them were gone. The black hair grew lower and -thicker than I remembered it, and the skin was clear. - -I sat down hard on my bed. "_Mama mia_," I said. - -"_¿Que es la dificultad?_" Foster said. - -"Shut up," I moaned. "I'm confused enough in one language." I was -trying hard to think but I couldn't seem to get started. A few minutes -earlier I'd had the world by the tail--just before it turned around and -bit me. Cold sweat popped out on my forehead when I thought about how -close I had come to driving off in Foster's car; every cop in the state -would be looking for it by now--and if they found me in it, the jury -wouldn't be out ten minutes reaching a verdict of guilty. - -Then another thought hit me--the kind that brings you bolt upright -with your teeth clenched and your heart hammering. It wouldn't be long -before the local hick cops would notice the car out front. They'd come -in after me, and I'd tell them it belonged to Foster. They'd take a -look at him and say, "nuts, the bird we want is fifty years old, and -where did you hide the body?" - -I got up and started pacing. Foster had already told me there was -nothing to connect him with his house in Mayport; the locals there had -seen enough of him to know he was pushing middle age, at least. I could -kick and scream and tell them this twenty-year-old kid was Foster, but -I'd never make it stick. There was no way to prove my story; they'd -figure Foster was dead and that I'd killed him--and anybody who thinks -you need a _corpus_ to prove murder better read his Perry Mason again. - -I glanced out of the window and did a double take. Two cops were -standing by Foster's car. One of them went around to the back and got -out a pad and took down the license number, then said something over -his shoulder and started across the street. The second cop planted -himself by the car, his eye on the front of the hotel. - -I whirled on Foster. "Get your shoes on," I croked. "Let's get the hell -out of here." - -We went down the stairs quietly and found a back door opening on an -alley. Nobody saw us go. - - * * * * * - -An hour later, I sagged in a grimy coach seat and studied Foster, -sitting across from me--a middle-aged nut with the face of a young kid -and a mind like a blank slate. I had no choice but to drag him with me; -my only chance was to stick close and hope he got back enough of his -memory to get me off the hook. - -It was time for me to be figuring my next move. I thought about the -fifty thousand dollars I had left behind in the car, and groaned. -Foster looked concerned. - -"Are you in pain?" he said. - -"And how I'm in pain," I said. "Before I met you I was a homeless bum, -broke and hungry. Now I can add a couple more items: the cops are after -me, and I've got a mental case to nursemaid." - -"What law have you broken?" Foster said. - -"None," I barked. "As a crook, I'm a washout. I've planned three -larcenies in the last twelve hours, and flunked out on all of them. And -now I'm wanted for murder." - -"Whom did you kill?" Foster inquired courteously. - -I leaned across so I could snarl in his face: "You!" Then, "Get this -through your head, Foster. The only crime I'm guilty of is stupidity. I -listened to your crazy story; because of you I'm in a mess I'll never -get straightened out." I leaned back. "And then there's the question of -old men that take a nap and wake up in their late teens; we'll go into -that later, after I've had my nervous breakdown." - -"I'm sorry if I've been the cause of difficulty," Foster said. "I wish -that I could recall the things you've spoken of. Is there anything I -can do to assist you now?" - -"And you were the one who wanted help," I said. "There is one thing; -let me have the money you've got on you; we'll need it." - -Foster got out his wallet--after I told him where it was--and handed it -to me. I looked through it; there was nothing in it with a photo or -fingerprints. When Foster said he had arranged matters so that he could -disappear without a trace, he hadn't been kidding. - -"We'll go to Miami," I said. "I know a place in the Cuban section -where we can lie low, cheap. Maybe if we wait a while, you'll start -remembering things." - -"Yes," Foster said. "That would be pleasant." - -"You haven't forgotten how to talk, at least," I said. "I wonder what -else you can do. Do you remember how you made all that money?" - -"I can remember nothing of your economic system," Foster said. He -looked around. "This is a very primitive world, in many respects," he -said. "It should not be difficult to amass wealth here." - -"I never had much luck at it," I said. "I haven't even been able to -amass the price of a meal." - -"Food is exchanged for money?" Foster asked. - -"Everything is exchanged for money," I said. "Including most of the -human virtues." - -"This is a strange world," Foster said. "It will take me a long while -to become accustomed to it." - -"Yeah, me, too," I said. "Maybe things would be better on Mars." - -Foster nodded. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps we should go there." - -I groaned, then caught myself. "No, I'm not in pain," I said. "But -don't take me so literally, Foster." - -We rode along in silence for a while. - -"Say, Foster," I said. "Have you still got that notebook of yours?" - -Foster tried several pockets, came up with the book. He looked at it, -turned it over, frowning. - -"You remember it?" I said, watching him. - -He shook his head slowly, then ran his finger around the circles -embossed on the cover. - -"This pattern," he said. "It signifies...." - -"Go on, Foster," I said. "Signifies what?" - -"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't remember." - -I took the book and sat looking at it. I didn't really see it, though. -I was seeing my future. When Foster didn't turn up, they'd naturally -assume he was dead. I'd been with him just before his disappearance. -It wasn't hard to see why they'd want to talk to me--and my having -vanished too wouldn't help any. My picture would blossom out in post -offices all over the country; and even if they didn't catch me right -away, the murder charge would always be there, hanging over me. - -It wouldn't do any good to turn myself in and tell them the whole -story; they wouldn't believe me, and I wouldn't blame them. I didn't -really believe it myself, and I'd lived through it. But then, maybe -I was just imagining that Foster looked younger. After all, a good -night's rest---- - -I looked at Foster, and almost groaned again. Twenty was stretching it; -eighteen was more like it. I was willing to swear he'd never shaved in -his life. - -"Foster," I said. "It's got to be in this book; who you are, where you -came from----It's the only hope I've got." - -"I suggest we read it, then," Foster said. - -"A bright idea," I said. "Why didn't I think of that?" I thumbed -through the book to the section in English and read for an hour. -Starting with the entry dated January 19, 1710, the writer had -scribbled a few lines every few months. He seemed to be some kind of -pioneer in the Virginia Colony. He complained about prices, and the -Indians, and the ignorance of the other settlers and every now and then -threw in a remark about the Enemy. He often took long trips, and when -he got home, he complained about those, too. - -"It's a funny thing, Foster," I said. "This is supposed to have been -written over a period of a couple of hundred years, but it's all in the -same hand. That's kind of odd, isn't it?" - -"Why should a man's handwriting change?" Foster said. - -"Well, it might get a little shaky there toward the last, don't you -agree?" - -"Why is that?" - -"I'll spell it out, Foster," I said. "Most people don't live that long. -A hundred years is stretching it, to say nothing of two." - -"This must be a very violent world, then," Foster said. - -"Skip it," I said. "You talk like you're just visiting. By the way; do -you remember how to write?" - -Foster looked thoughtful. "Yes," he said. "I can write." - -I handed him the book and the stylus. "Try it," I said. Foster opened -to a blank page, wrote, and handed the book back to me. - -"Always and always and always," I read. - -I looked at Foster. "What does that mean?" I looked at the words again, -then quickly flipped to the pages written in English. I was no expert -on penmanship, but this came up and cracked me right in the eye. - -The book was written in Foster's hand. - - * * * * * - -"It doesn't make sense," I was saying for the fortieth time. Foster -nodded sympathetic agreement. - -"Why would you write out this junk yourself, and then spend all that -time and money trying to have it deciphered? You said experts worked -over it and couldn't break it. But," I went on, "you must have known -you wrote it; you knew your own handwriting. But on the other hand, -you had amnesia before; you had the idea you might have told something -about yourself in the book...." - -I sighed, leaned back and tossed the book over to Foster. "Here, you -read a while," I said. "I'm arguing with myself and I can't tell who's -winning." - -Foster looked the book over carefully. - -"This is odd," he said. - -"What's odd?" - -"The book is made of khaff. It is a permanent material--and yet it -shows damage." - -I sat perfectly still and waited. - -"Here on the back cover," Foster said. "A scuffed area. Since this is -khaff, it cannot be an actual scar. It must have been placed there." - -I grabbed the book and looked. There was a faint mark across the -back cover, as though the book had been scraped on something sharp. -I remembered how much luck I had had with a knife. The mark had been -put here, disguised as a casual nick in the finish. It had to mean -something. - -"How do you know what the material is?" I asked. - -Foster looked surprised. "In the same way that I know the window is of -glass," he said. "I simply know." - -"Speaking of glass," I said. "Wait till I get my hands on a microscope. -Then maybe we'll begin to get some answers." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -The two-hundred pound señorita with the wart on her upper lip put a -pot of black Cuban coffee and a pitcher of salted milk down beside the -two chipped cups, leered at me in a way that might have been appealing -thirty years before, and waddled back to the kitchen. I poured a cup, -gulped half of it, and shuddered. In the street outside the cafe a -guitar cried _Estrellita_. - -"Okay, Foster," I said. "Here's what I've got: The first half of the -book is in pot-hooks--I can't read that. But this middle section: the -part coded in regular letters--it's actually encrypted English. It's -a sort of résumé of what happened." I picked up the sheets of paper -on which I had transcribed my deciphering of the coded section of the -book, using the key that had been micro-engraved in the fake scratch on -the back cover. - -I read: - - _For the first time, I am afraid. My attempt to construct the - communicator called down the Hunters upon me. I made such a shield - as I could contrive, and sought their nesting place._ - - _I came there and it was in that place that I knew of old, and it - was no hive, but a pit in the ground, built by men of the Two - Worlds. And I would have come into it, but the Hunters swarmed in - their multitudes. I fought them and killed many, but at last I fled - away. I came to the western shore, and there I hired bold sailors - and a poor craft, and set forth._ - - _In forty-nine days we came to shore in this wilderness, and there - were men as from the dawn of time, and I fought them, and when they - had learned fear, I lived among them in peace, and the Hunters have - not found this place. Now it may be that my saga ends here, but I - will do what I am able._ - - _The Change may soon come upon me; I must prepare for the stranger - who will come after me. All that he must know is in these pages. - And say I to him:_ - - _Have patience, for the time of this race draws close. Venture not - again on the Eastern continent, but wait, for soon the Northern - sailors must come in numbers into this wilderness. Seek out their - cleverest metal-workers, and when it may be, devise a shield, and - only then return to the pit of the Hunters. It lies in the plain, - 50/10,000 parts of the girth of this(?) to the west of the Great - Chalk Face, and 1470 parts north from the median line, as I reckon. - The stones mark it well with the sign of the Two Worlds._ - -I looked across at Foster. "It goes on then with a blow-by-blow account -of dealings with aborigines. He was trying to get them civilized in a -hurry. They figured he was a god and he set them to work building roads -and cutting stone and learning mathematics and so on. He was doing all -he could to set things up so this stranger who was to follow him would -know the score, and carry on the good work." - -Foster's eyes were on my face. "What is the nature of the Change he -speaks of?" - -"He never says--but I suppose he's talking about death," I said. "I -don't know where the stranger is supposed to come from." - -"Listen to me, Legion," Foster said. There was a hint of the old -anxious look in his eyes. "I think I know what the Change was. I think -he knew he would forget----" - -"You've got amnesia on the brain, old buddy," I said. - -"----and the stranger is--himself. A man without a memory." - -I sat frowning at Foster. "Yeah, maybe," I said. "Go on." - -"And he says that all that the stranger needs to know is there--in the -book." - -"Not in the part I decoded," I said. "He describes how they're coming -along with the road-building job, and how the new mine panned out--but -there's nothing about what the Hunters are, or what had gone on before -he tangled with them the first time." - -"It must be there, Legion; but in the first section, the part written -in alien symbols." - -"Maybe," I said. "But why the hell didn't he give us a key to that -part?" - -"I think he assumed that the stranger--himself--would remember the old -writing," Foster said. "How could he know that it would be forgotten -with the rest?" - -"Your guess is as good as any," I said. "Maybe better; you know how it -feels to lose your memory." - -"But we've learned a few things," Foster said. "The pit of the -Hunters--we have the location." - -"If you call this 'ten thousand parts to the west of chalk face' a -location," I said. - -"We know more than that," Foster said. "He mentions a plain; and it -must lie on a continent to the east----" - -"If you assume that he sailed from Europe to America, then the -continent to the east would be Europe," I said. "But maybe he went from -Africa to South America, or----" - -"The mention of Northern sailors--that suggests the Vikings----" - -"You seem to know a little history, Foster," I said. "You've got a lot -of odd facts tucked away." - -"We need maps," Foster said. "We'll look for a plain near the sea----" - -"Not necessarily." - -"----and with a formation called a chalk face to the east." - -"What's this 'median line' business?" I said. "And the bit about ten -thousand parts of something?" - -"I don't know. But we must have maps." - -"I bought some this afternoon," I said. "I also got a dime-store globe. -I figured we might need them. Let's get out of this and back to the -room, where we can spread out. I know it's a grim prospect, but...." I -got to my feet, dropped some coins on the oilcloth-covered table, and -led the way out. - -It was a short half block to the flea trap we called home. We kept out -of it as much as we could, holding our long daily conferences across -the street at the Novedades. The roaches scurried as we passed up the -dark stairway to our not much brighter room. I crossed to the bureau -and opened a drawer. - -"The globe," Foster said, taking it in his hands. "I wonder if perhaps -he meant a ten-thousandth part of the circumference of the earth?" - -"What would he know about----" - -"Disregard the anachronistic aspect of it," Foster said. "The man -who wrote the book knew many things. We'll have to start with some -assumptions. Let's make the obvious ones: that we're looking for a -plain on the west coast of Europe, lying----" He pulled a chair up to -the scabrous table and riffled through to one of my scribbled sheets: -"50/10,000s of the circumference of the earth--that would be about 125 -miles--west of a chalk formation, and 3675 miles north of a median -line...." - -"Maybe," I said, "he means the Equator." - -"Certainly. Why not? That would mean our plain lies on a line -through----" he studied the small globe "----Warsaw, and south of -Amsterdam." - -"But this part about a rock outcropping," I said. "How do we find out -if there's any conspicuous chalk formation around there?" - -"We can consult a geology text. There may be a library in this -neighborhood." - -"The only chalk deposits I ever heard about," I said, "are the White -cliffs of Dover." - -"White cliffs...." - -We both reached for the globe at once. - -"One hundred twenty-five miles west of the chalk cliffs," said Foster. -He ran a finger over the globe. "North of London, but south of -Birmingham. That puts us reasonably near the sea----" - -"Where's the atlas?" I said. I rummaged, came up with a cheap tourists' -edition, flipped the pages. - -"Here's England," I said. "Now we look for a plain." - -Foster put a finger on the map. "Here," he said. "A large plain--called -Salisbury." - -"Large is right," I said. "It would take years to find a stone cairn -on that. We're getting excited about nothing. We're looking for a hole -in the ground, hundreds of years old--if this lousy notebook means -anything--maybe marked with a few stones--in the middle of miles of -plain. And it's all guesswork anyway...." I took the atlas, turned the -page. - -"I don't know what I expected to get out of decoding those pages," I -said. "But I was hoping for more than this." - -"I think we should try, Legion," Foster said. "We can go there, search -over the ground. It would be costly, but not impossible. We can start -by gathering capital----" - -"Wait a minute, Foster," I said. I was staring at a larger-scale map -showing southern England. Suddenly my heart was thudding. I put a -finger on a tiny dot in the center of Salisbury Plain. - -"Six, two and even," I said. "There's your Pit of the Hunters...." - -Foster leaned over, read the fine print. - -"Stonehenge." - - * * * * * - -I read from the encyclopedia page: - ---_this great stone structure, lying on the Plain of Salisbury, -Wiltshire, England, is pre-eminent among megalithic monuments of the -ancient world. Within a circular ditch 300' in diameter, stones up to -22' in height are arranged in concentric circles. The central altar -stone, over 16' long, is approached from the northeast by a broad -roadway called the Avenue_-- - -"It is not an altar," said Foster. - -"How do you know?" - -"Because----" Foster frowned. "I know, that's all." - -"The journal said the stones were arranged in the sign of the Two -Worlds," I said. "That means the concentric circles, I suppose; the -same thing that's stamped on the cover of the notebook." - -"And the ring," Foster said. - -"Let me read the rest: _A great sarsen stone stands upright in the -Avenue; the axis through the two stones, when erected, pointed directly -to the rising of the sun on Midsummer Day. Calculations based on this -observation indicate a date of approximately 1600 B.C._" - -Foster took the book and I sat on the window sill and looked out at -a big Florida moon over the ragged line of roofs with a skinny royal -palm sticking up in silhouette. It didn't look much like the postcard -views of Miami. I lit a cigarette and thought about a man who long ago -had crossed the North Atlantic in a dragon boat to be a god among the -Indians. I wondered where he came from, and what it was he was looking -for, and what kept him going in spite of the hell that showed in the -spare lines of the journal he kept. If, I reminded myself, he had ever -existed.... - -Foster was poring over the book. "Look," I said. "Let's get back to -earth. We have things to think about, plans to make. The fairy tales -can wait until later." - -"What do you suggest?" Foster said. "That we forget the things you've -told me, and the things we've read here, discard the journal, and -abandon the attempt to find the answers?" - -"No," I said. "I'm no sorehead. Sure, there's some things here that -somebody ought to look into--some day. But right now what I want is the -cops off my neck. And I've been thinking. I'll dictate a letter; you -write it--your lawyers know your handwriting. Tell them you were on the -thin edge of a nervous breakdown--that's why all the artillery around -your house--and you made up your mind suddenly to get away from it all. -Tell them you don't want to be bothered, that's why you're travelling -incognito, and that the northern mobster that came to see you was just -stupid, not a killer. That ought to at least cool off the cops----" - -Foster looked thoughtful. "That's an excellent suggestion," he said. -"Then we need merely to arrange for passage to England, and proceed -with the investigation." - -"You don't get the idea," I said. "You can arrange things by mail so we -get our hands on that dough of yours----" - -"Any such attempt would merely bring the police down on us," Foster -said. "You've already pointed out the unwisdom of attempting to pass -myself off as--myself." - -"There ought to be a way...." I said. - -"We have only one avenue of inquiry," Foster said. "We have no choice -but to explore it. We'll take passage on a ship to England----" - -"What'll we use for money--and papers? It would cost hundreds. -Unless----" I added, "----we worked our way. But that's no good. We'd -still need passports--plus union cards and seamen's tickets." - -"Your friend," Foster said. "The one who prepares passports. Can't he -produce the other papers as well?" - -"Yeah," I said. "I guess so. But it will cost us." - -"I'm sure we can find a way to pay," Foster said. "Will you see -him--early in the morning?" - -I looked around the blowsy room. Hot night air stirred a geranium -wilting in a tin can on the window sill. An odor of bad cooking and -worse plumbing floated up from the street. - -"At least," I said, "it would mean getting out of here." - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -It was almost sundown when Foster and I pushed through the door to the -saloon bar at the Ancient Sinner and found a corner table. I watched -Foster spread out his maps and papers. Behind us there was a murmur of -conversation and the thump of darts against a board. - -"When are you going to give up and admit we're wasting our time?" I -said. "Two weeks of tramping over the same ground, and we end up in the -same place." - -"We've hardly begun our investigation," Foster said mildly. - -"You keep saying that," I said. "But if there ever was anything in that -rock-pile, it's long gone. The archaeologists have been digging over -the site for years, and they haven't come up with anything." - -"They don't know what to look for," Foster said. "They were searching -for indications of religious significance, human sacrifice--that sort -of thing." - -"We don't know what we're looking for either," I said. "Unless you -think maybe we'll meet the Hunters hiding under a loose stone." - -"You say that sardonically," Foster said. "But I don't consider it -impossible." - -"I know," I said. "You've convinced yourself that the Hunters were -after us back at Mayport when we ran off like a pair of idiots." - -"From what you've told me of the circumstances--" Foster began. - -"I know; you don't consider it impossible. That's the trouble with you; -you don't consider anything impossible. It would make life a lot easier -for me if you'd let me rule out a few items--like leprechauns who hang -out at Stonehenge." - -Foster looked at me, half-smiling. It had only been a few weeks since -he woke up from a nap looking like a senior class president who hadn't -made up his mind whether to be a preacher or a movie star, but he had -already lost that mild, innocent air. He learned fast, and day by day I -had seen his old personality reemerge and--in spite of my attempts to -hold onto the ascendency--dominate our partnership. - -"It's a failing of your culture," Foster said, "that hypothesis becomes -dogma almost overnight. You're too close to your Neolithic, when the -blind acceptance of tribal lore had survival value. Having learned -to evoke the fire god from sticks, by rote, you tend to extend the -principle to all 'established facts.'" - -"Here's an established fact for you," I said. "We've got fifteen pounds -left--that's about forty dollars. It's time we figure out where to go -from here, before somebody starts checking up on those phoney papers of -ours." - -Foster shook his head. "I'm not satisfied that we've exhausted the -possibilities here. I've been studying the geometric relationships -between the various structures; I have some ideas I want to check. I -think it might be a good idea to go out at night, when we can work -without the usual crowd of tourists observing every move." - -I groaned. "My dogs are killing me," I said. "Let's hope you'll come up -with something better--or at least different." - -"We'll have a bite to eat here, and wait until dark to start out," -Foster said. - -The publican brought us plates of cold meat and potato salad. I worked -on a thin but durable slice of ham and thought about all the people, -somewhere, who were sitting down now to gracious meals in the glitter -of crystal and silver. I'd had too many greasy French fries in too many -cheap dives the last few years. I could feel them all now, burning in -my stomach. I was getting farther from my island all the time--And it -was nobody's fault but mine. - -"The Ancient Sinner," I said. "That's me." - -Foster looked up. "Curious names these old pubs have," he said. "I -suppose in some cases the origins are lost in antiquity." - -"Why don't they think up something cheery," I said. "Like 'The Paradise -Bar and Grill' or 'The Happy Hour Cafe'. Did you notice the sign -hanging outside?" - -"No." - -"A picture of a skeleton. He's holding one hand up like a Yankee -evangelist prophesying doom. You can see it through the window there." - -Foster turned and looked out at the weathered sign creaking in the -evening wind. He looked at it for a long time. When he turned back, -there was a strange look around his eyes. - -"What's the matter--?" I started. - -Foster ignored me, waved to the proprietor, a short fat country man. He -came over to the table, wiping his hands on his apron. - -"A very interesting old building," Foster said. "We've been admiring -it. When was it built?" - -"Well, sir," the publican said, "This here house is a many a hundred -year old. It were built by the monks, they say, from the monastery what -used to stand nearby here. It were tore down by the King's men, Henry, -that was, what time he drove the papists out." - -"That would be Henry the Eighth, I suppose?" - -"Aye, it would that. And this house is all that were spared, it being -the brewing-house, as the king said were a worthwhile institution, and -he laid on a tithe, that two kegs of stout was to be laid by for the -king's use each brewing time." - -"Very interesting," Foster said. "Is the custom still continued?" - -The publican shook his head. "It were ended in my granfer's time, it -being that the Queen were a teetotaller." - -"How did it acquire the curious name--'The Ancient Sinner?'" - -"The tale is," the publican said, "that one day a lay brother of the -order were digging about yonder on the plain by the great stones, in -search of the Druid's treasure, albeit the Abbot had forbid him to go -nigh the heathen ground, and he come on the bones of a man, and being -of a kindly turn, he had the thought to give them Christian burial. -Now, knowing the Abbott would nae permit it, he set to work to dig a -grave by moonlight in holy ground, under the monastery walls. But the -Abbott, being wakeful, were abroad and come on the brother a-digging, -and when he asked the why of it, the lay brother having visions of -penances to burden him for many a day, he ups and tells the Abbott it -were a ale cellar he were about digging, and the Abbott, not being -without wisdom, clapped him on the back, and went on his way. And so it -was the ale-house got built, and blessed by the Abbott, and with it the -bones that was laid away under the floor beneath the ale-casks." - -"So the ancient sinner is buried under the floor?" - -"Aye, so the tale goes, though I've not dug for him meself. But the -house has been knowed by the name these four hundred years." - -"Where was it you said the lay brother was digging?" - -"On the plain, yonder, by the Druid's stones, what they call -Stonehenge," the publican said. He picked up the empty glasses. "What -about another, gentlemen?" - -"Certainly," Foster said. He sat quietly across from me, his features -composed--but I could see there was tension under the surface calm. - -"What's this all about?" I asked softly. "When did you get so -interested in local history?" - -"Later," Foster murmured. "Keep looking bored." - -"That'll be easy," I said. The publican came back and placed heavy -glass mugs before us. - -"You were telling us about the lay brother's finding the bones," Foster -said. "You say they were buried in Stonehenge?" - -The publican cleared his throat, glanced sideways at Foster. - -"The gentlemen wouldna be from the University now, I suppose?" he said. - -"Let's just say," Foster said easily, smiling, "that we have a great -interest in these bits of lore--an interest supported by modest funds, -of course." - -The publican made a show of wiping at the rings on the table top. - -"A costly business, I wager," he said. "Digging about in odd places and -all. Now, knowing where to dig; that's important, I'll be bound." - -"Very important," Foster said. "Worth five pounds, easily." - -"'Twere my granfer told me of the spot; took me out by moonlight, he -did, and showed me where his granfer had showed him. Told me it were -a fine great secret, the likes of which a simple man could well take -pride in." - -"And an additional five pounds as a token of my personal esteem," -Foster said. - -The publican eyed me. "Well, a secret as was handed down father to -son...." - -"And, of course, my associate wishes to express his esteem, too," -Foster said. "Another five pounds worth." - -"That's all the esteem the budget will bear, Mr. Foster," I said. I got -out the fifteen pounds and passed the money across to him. "I hope you -haven't forgotten those people back home who wanted to talk to us," I -said. "They'll be getting in touch with us any time now, I'll bet." - -Foster rolled up the bills and held them in his hand. "That's true, -Mr. Legion," he said. "Perhaps we shouldn't take the time...." - -"But being it's for the advancement of science," the publican said, -"I'm willing to make the sacrifice." - -"We'll want to go out tonight," Foster said. "We have a very tight -schedule." - -The landlord dickered with Foster for another five minutes before he -agreed to guide us to the spot where the skeleton had been found. - -When he left, I began. "Now tell me." - -"Look at the signboard again," Foster said. I looked. The skull smiled, -holding up a hand. - -"I see it," I said. "But it doesn't explain why you handed over our -last buck----" - -"Look at the hand. Look at the ring on the finger." - -I looked again. A heavy ring was painted on the bony index finger, with -a pattern of concentric circles. - -It was a duplicate of the one on Foster's finger. - - * * * * * - -The publican pulled the battered Morris Minor to the side of the -highway and set the brake. - -"This is as close as we best take the machine," he said. We got out, -looked across the rolling plain where the megaliths of Stonehenge -loomed against the last glow of sunset. - -The publican rummaged in the boot, produced a ragged blanket and two -long four-cell flashlights, gave one to Foster and the other to me. "Do -nae use the electric torches until I tell ye," he said, "lest the whole -county see there's folks abroad here." We watched as he draped the -blanket over a barbed wire fence, clambered over, and started across -the barren field. Foster and I followed, not talking. - -The plain was deserted. A few lonely lights showed on a distant slope. -It was a dark night with no moon. I could hardly see the ground ahead. -A car moved along a distant road, its headlights bobbing. - -We moved past the outer ring of stones, skirting fallen slabs twenty -feet long. - -"We'll break our necks," I said. "Let's have one of the flashlights." - -"Not yet," Foster whispered. - -Our guide paused; we came up to him. - -"It were a mortal long time since I were last hereabouts," he said. "I -best take me bearings off the Friar's Heel...." - -"What's that?" - -"Yon great stone, standing alone in the Avenue." We squinted; it was -barely visible as a dark shape against the sky. - -"The bones were buried there?" Foster asked. - -"Nay, all by theirself, they was. Now it were twenty paces, granfer -said, him bein fifteen stone and long in the leg...." The publican -muttered to himself, pacing off distances. - -"What's to keep him from just pointing to a spot after a while," I said -to Foster, "and saying 'This is it'?" - -"We'll wait and see," Foster said. - -"They were a hollow, as it were, in the earth," the publican said, -"with a bit of stone by it. I reckon it were fifty paces from here--" -he pointed, "--yonder." - -"I don't see anything," I said. - -"Let's take a closer look." Foster started off and I followed, -the publican trailing behind. I made out a dim shape, with a deep -depression in the earth before it. - -"This could be the spot," Foster said. "Old graves often sink--" -Suddenly he grabbed my arm. "Look...!" - -The surface of the ground before us seemed to tremble, then heave. -Foster snapped on his flashlight. The earth at the bottom of the hollow -rose, cracked open. A boiling mass of luminescence churned, and a -globe of light separated itself, rose, bumbling along the face of the -weathered stone. - -"Saints preserve us," the publican said in a choked voice. Foster and -I stood, rooted to the spot, watching. The lone globe rose higher--and -abruptly shot straight toward us. Foster threw up an arm and ducked. -The ball of light veered, struck him a glancing blow, darted off a few -yards, hovered. In an instant, the air was alive with the spheres, -boiling up from the ground, and hurtling toward us, buzzing like a hive -of yellow-jackets. Foster's flashlight lanced out toward the swarm. - -"Use your light, Legion!" he shouted hoarsely. I was still standing, -frozen. The globes rushed straight at Foster, ignoring me. Behind me, I -heard the publican turn and run. I fumbled with the flashlight switch, -snapped it on, swung the beam of white light on Foster. The globe at -his head vanished as the light touched it. More globes swarmed to -Foster--and popped like soap bubbles in the flashlight's glare--but -more swarmed to take their places. Foster reeled, fighting at them. He -swung the light--and I heard it smash against the stone behind him. In -the instant darkness, the globes clustered thick around his head. - -"Foster," I yelled, "run!" - -He got no more than five yards before he staggered, went to his -knees. "Cover," he croaked. He fell on his face. I rushed the mass of -darting globes, took up a stance straddling his body. A sulphurous -reek hung around me. I coughed, concentrated on beaming the lights -around Foster's head. No more were rising from the crack in the earth -now. A suffocating cloud pressed around both of us, but it was Foster -they went for. I thought of the slab; if I could get my back to it, -I might have a chance. I stooped, got a grip on Foster's coat, and -started back, dragging him. The lights boiled around me. I swept the -beam of light and kept going until my back slammed against the stone. I -crouched against it. Now they could only come from the front. - -I glanced at the cleft the lights had come from. It looked big enough -to get Foster into. That would give him some protection. I tumbled him -over the edge, then flattened my back against the slab and settled down -to fight in earnest. - -I worked in a pattern, sweeping vertically, then horizontally. The -globes ignored me, drove toward the cleft, fighting to get at Foster, -and I swept them away as they came. The cloud around me was smaller -now, the attack less ravenous. I picked out individual globes, snuffed -them out. The hum became ragged, faltered. Then there were only a few -globes around me, milling wildly, disorganized. The last half dozen -fled, bumbling away across the plain. - -I slumped against the rock, sweat running down into my eyes, my lungs -burning with the sulphur. - -"Foster," I gasped. "Are you all right?" - -He didn't answer. I flashed the light onto the cleft. It showed me damp -clay, a few pebbles. - -Foster was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -I scrambled to the edge of the pit and played the light around inside. -It shelved back at one side, and a dark mouth showed, sloping down into -the earth--the hiding place from which the globes had swarmed. - -Foster was wedged in the opening. I scrambled down beside him, tugged -him back to the level ground. He was still breathing; that was -something. - -I wondered if the pub owner would come back, now that the lights were -gone--or if he'd tell someone what had happened, bring out a search -party. Somehow, I doubted it. He didn't seem like the type to ask for -trouble with the ghosts of ancient sinners. - -Foster groaned and opened his eyes. "Where are ... they?" he muttered. - -"Take it easy, Foster," I said. "You're OK now." - -"Legion," Foster said. He tried to sit up. "The Hunters...." - -"OK, call 'em Hunters if you want to. I haven't got a better name for -them. I worked them over with the flashlights. They're gone." - -"That means...." - -"Let's not worry about what it means. Let's just get out of here." - -"The Hunters--they burst out of the ground--from a cleft in the earth." - -"That's right. You were halfway into the hole. I guess that's where -they were hiding." - -"The Pit of the Hunters," Foster said. - -"If you say so," I said. "Lucky you didn't go down it." - -"Legion, give me the flashlight." - -"I feel something coming on that I'm not going to like," I said. I -handed him the light and he flashed it into the tunnel mouth. I saw a -polished roof of black glass arching four feet over the rubble-strewn -bottom of the shaft. A stone, dislodged by my movement, clattered away -down the 30 slope. - -"Hell, that tunnel's man-made," I said, peering into it. "And I don't -mean neolithic man." - -"Legion, we'll have to see what's down there," Foster said. - -"We could come back later, with ropes and big insurance policies," I -said. - -"But we won't," said Foster. "We've found what we were looking for----" - -"Sure," I said, "and it serves us right. Are you sure you feel good -enough to make like Alice and the White Rabbit?" - -"I'm sure. Let's go." - -Foster thrust his legs into the opening, slid over the edge and -disappeared. I followed him. I eased down a few feet, glanced back for -a last look at the night sky, then lost my grip and slid. I hit bottom -hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I got to my hands and knees on -a level, gravel-strewn floor. - -"What is this place?" I dug the flashlight out of the rubble, flashed -it around. We were in a low-ceilinged room ten yards square. I saw -smooth walls, the dark bulks of massive shapes that made me think of -sarcophagi in Egyptian burial vaults--except that these threw back -highlights from dials and levers. - -"For a couple of guys who get shy in the company of cops," I said, -"we've a talent for doing the wrong thing. This is some kind of Top -Secret military installation." - -"Impossible," Foster replied. "This couldn't be a modern structure, at -the bottom of a rubble-filled shaft----" - -"Let's get out of here fast," I said. "We've probably set off an alarm -already." - -As if in answer, a low chime cut across our talk. Pearly light sprang -up on a square panel. I got to my feet, moved over to stare at it. -Foster came to my side. - -"What do you make of it?" he said. - -"I'm no expert on stone-age relics," I said. "But if that's not a radar -screen, I'll eat it." - -I sat down in the single chair before the dusty control console, and -watched a red blip creep across the screen. Foster stood behind me. - -"We owe a debt to that ancient sinner," he said. "Who would have -dreamed he'd lead us here?" - -"Ancient sinner?" I said. "This place is as modern as next year's juke -box." - -"Look at the symbols on the machines," Foster said. "They're identical -with those in the first section of the journal." - -"All pot-hooks look alike to me," I said. "It's this screen that's got -me worried. If I've got it doped out correctly, that blip is either a -mighty slow airplane--or it's at one hell of an altitude." - -"Modern aircraft operate at great heights," Foster said. - -"Not at this height," I said. "Give me a few more minutes to study -these scales...." - -"There are a number of controls here," Foster said, "obviously intended -to activate mechanisms--" - -"Don't touch 'em," I said. "Unless you want to start World War III." - -"I hardly think the results would be so drastic," Foster replied. -"Surely this installation has a simple purpose--unconnected with modern -wars--but very possibly connected with the mystery of the journal--and -of my own past." - -"The less we know about this, the better," I said. "At least, if we -don't mess with anything, we can always claim we just stepped in here -to get out of the rain----" - -"You're forgetting the Hunters," said Foster. - -"Some new anti-personnel gimmick." - -"They came out of this shaft, Legion. It was opened by the pressure of -the Hunters bursting out." - -"Why did they pick that precise moment--just as we arrived?" I asked. - -"I think they were aroused," said Foster. "I think they sensed the -presence of their ancient foe." - -I swung around to look at him. - -"I see the way your thoughts are running," I said. "You're their -Ancient Foe, now, huh? Just let me get this straight: that means -that umpteen hundred years ago, you personally had a fight with the -Hunters--here at Stonehenge. You killed a batch of them and ran. You -hired some kind of Viking ship and crossed the Atlantic. Later on, you -lost your memory, and started being a guy named Foster. A few weeks ago -you lost it again. Is that the picture?" - -"More or less." - -"And now we're a couple of hundred feet under Stonehenge--after a brush -with a crowd of luminous stinkbombs--and you're telling me you'll be -nine hundred on your next birthday." - -"Remember the entry in the journal, Legion? 'I came to the place of the -Hunters, and it was a place I knew of old, and there was no hive, but a -Pit built by men of the Two Worlds....'" - -"Okay," I said. "So you're pushing a thousand." - -I glanced at the screen, got out a scrap of paper, and scribbled a -rapid calculation. "Here's another big number for you. That object on -the screen is at an altitude--give or take a few percent--of thirty -thousand miles." - -I tossed the pencil aside, swung around to frown at Foster. "What are -we mixed up in, Foster? Not that I really want to know. I'm ready to go -to a nice clean jail now, and pay my debt to society--" - -"Calm down, Legion," Foster said. "You're raving." - -"OK," I said, turning back to the screen. "You're the boss. Do what you -like. It's just my reflexes wanting to run. I've got no place to run -to. At least with you I've always got the wild hope that maybe you're -not completely nuts, and that somehow----" - -I sat upright, eyes on the screen. "Look at this, Foster," I snapped. A -pattern of dots flashed across the screen, faded, flashed again.... - -"Some kind of IFF," I said. "A recognition signal. I wonder what we're -supposed to do now." - -Foster watched the screen, saying nothing. - -"I don't like that thing blinking at us," I said. "It makes me feel -conspicuous." I looked at the big red button beside the screen. "Maybe -if I pushed that...." Without waiting to think it over, I jabbed at it. - -A yellow light blinked on the control panel. On the screen, the pattern -of dots vanished. The red blip separated, a smaller blip moving off at -right angles to the main mass. - -"I'm not sure you should have done that," Foster said. - -"There _is_ room for doubt," I said in a strained voice. "It looks like -I've launched a bomb from the ship overhead." - - * * * * * - -The climb back up the tunnel took three hours, and every foot of the -way I was listening to a refrain in my head: This may be it; this may -be it; this may be.... - -I crawled out of the tunnel mouth and lay on my back, breathing hard. -Foster groped his way out beside me. - -"We'll have to get to the highway," I said, untying the ten-foot rope -of ripped garments that had linked us during the climb. "There's a -telephone at the pub; we'll notify the authorities...." I glanced up. - -"Hold it!" I grabbed Foster's arm and pointed overhead. "What's that?" - -Foster looked up. A brilliant point of blue light, brighter than a -star, grew perceptibly as we watched. - -"Maybe we won't get to notify anybody after all," I said. "I think -that's our bomb--coming home to roost." - -"That's illogical," Foster said. "The installation would hardly be -arranged merely to destroy itself in so complex a manner." - -"Let's get out of here," I yelled. - -"It's approaching us very rapidly," Foster said. "The distance we could -run in the next few minutes would be trivial by comparison with the -killing radius of a modern bomb. We'll be safer sheltered in the cleft -than on the open." - -"We could slide down the tunnel," I said. - -"And be buried?" - -"You're right; I'd rather fry on the surface." - -We crouched, watching the blue glare directly overhead, growing larger, -brighter. I could see Foster's face by its light now. - -"That's no bomb," Foster said. "It's not falling; it's coming down -slowly ... like a----" - -"Like a slowly falling bomb," I said. "And it's coming right down on -top of us. Goodbye, Foster. I can't claim it's been fun knowing you, -but it's been different. We'll feel the heat at any second now. I hope -it's fast." - -The glaring disc was the size of the full moon now, unbearably bright. -It lit the plain like a pale blue sun. There was no sound. As it -dropped lower, the disc foreshortened and I could see a dark shape -above it, dimly lit by the glare thrown back from the ground. - -"The thing is the size of a ferry boat," I said. - -"It's going to miss us," Foster said. "It will come to ground several -hundred feet to the east of us." - -We watched the slender shape float down with dreamlike slowness, now -five hundred feet above, now three hundred, then hovering just above -the giant stones. - -"It's coming down smack on top of Stonehenge," I yelled. - -We watched as the vessel settled into place dead center on the ancient -ring of stones. For a moment they were vividly silhouetted against the -flood of blue radiance; then abruptly, the glare faded and died. - -"Foster," I said. "Do you think it's barely possible----" - -A slit of yellow light appeared on the side of the hull, then it -widened to a square. A ladder extended itself, dropping down to touch -the ground. - -"If somebody with tentacles starts down that ladder," I said, in an -unnaturally shrill voice, "I'm getting out of here." - -"No one will emerge," Foster said quietly. "I think we'll find, Legion, -that this ship of space is at our disposal." - - * * * * * - -"I'm not going aboard that thing," I said for the fifth time. "I'm not -sure of much in this world, but I'm sure of that." - -"Legion," Foster said, "This is no twentieth century military vessel. -It obviously homed on the transmitter in the underground station, -which appears to be directly under the old monument--which is several -thousand years old----" - -"And I'm supposed to believe the ship has been orbiting the earth -for the last few thousand years, waiting for someone to push the red -button? You call that logical?" - -"Given permanent materials, such as those the notebook is made of, -it's not impossible--or even difficult." - -"We got out of the tunnel alive. Let's settle for that." - -"We're on the verge of solving a mystery that goes back through the -centuries," said Foster, "a mystery that I've pursued, if I understand -the journal, through many lifetimes----" - -"One thing about losing your memory: you don't have any fixed ideas to -get in the way of your theories." - -Foster smiled grimly. "The trail has brought us here. We must follow -it--wherever it leads." - -I lay on the ground, staring up at the unbelievable shape across the -field, the beckoning square of light. "This ship--or whatever it is," I -said; "it drops down out of nowhere and opens its doors. And you want -to walk right into the cosy interior." - -"Listen!" Foster cut in. - -I heard a low rumbling then, a sound that rolled ominously, like -distant guns. - -"More ships--" I started. - -"Jet aircraft," Foster said. "From the bases in East Anglia probably. -Of course, they'll have tracked our ship in--" - -"That's all for me," I yelled, getting to my feet. "The secret's out--" - -"Get down, Legion," Foster shouted. The engines were a blanketing roar -now. - -"What for? They--" - -Two long lines of fire traced themselves across the sky, curving down-- - -I hit the dirt behind the stone in the same instant the rockets struck. -The shock wave slammed at the earth like a monster thunderclap, and I -saw the tunnel mouth collapse. I twisted, saw the red interior of the -jet tailpipe as the fighter hurtled past, rolling into a climbing turn. - -"They're crazy," I yelled. "Firing on----" - -A second barrage blasted across my indignation. I hugged the muck -and waited while nine salvoes shook the earth. Then the rumble died, -reluctantly. The air reeked of high explosives. - -"We'd have been dead now if we'd tried the tunnel," I gasped spitting -dirt. "It caved at the first rocket. And if the ship was what you -thought, Foster, they've destroyed something----" - -The sentence died unnoticed. The dust was settling and through it the -shape of the ship reared up, unchanged except that the square of light -was gone. As I watched, the door opened again and the ladder ran out -once more, invitingly. - -"They'll try next time with nukes," I said. "That may be too much for -the ship's defenses--and it will sure be too much for us--" - -"Listen," Foster cut in. A deeper rumble was building in the distance. - -"To the ship!" Foster called. He was up and running, and I hesitated -just long enough to think about trying for the highway and being caught -in the open--and then I was running, too. Ahead, Foster stumbled -crossing the ground that had been ripped up by the rocket bursts, made -it to the ladder, and went up it fast. The growl of the approaching -bombers grew, a snarl of deadly hatred. I leaped a still-smoking stone -fragment, took the ladder in two jumps, plunged into the yellow-lit -interior. Behind me, the door smacked shut. - -I was standing in a luxuriously fitted circular room. There was a -pedestal in the center of the floor, from which a polished bar -projected. The bones of a man lay beside it. While I stared, Foster -sprang forward, seized the bar, and pulled. It slid back easily. The -lights flickered and I had a moment of vertigo. Nothing else happened. - -"Try it the other way," I yelled. "The bombs will fall any second--" I -went for it, hand outstretched. Foster thrust in front of me. "Look!" - -I stared at the glowing panel he was pointing to--a duplicate of the -one in the underground chamber. It showed a curved white line, with a -red point ascending from it. - -"We're clear," Foster said. "We've made a successful take-off." - -"But we can't be moving--there's no acceleration. There must be -soundproofing--that's why we can't hear the bombers--" - -"No soundproofing would help if we were at ground zero," Foster said. -"This ship is the product of an advanced science. We've left the -bombers far behind." - -"Where are we going? Who's steering this thing?" - -"It steers itself, I would judge," Foster said. "I don't know where -we're going, but we're well on the way." - -I looked at him in amazement. "You like this, don't you, Foster? You're -having the time of your life." - -"I can't deny that I'm delighted at this turn of events," Foster said. -"Don't you see? This vessel is a launch, or lifeboat, under automatic -control. And it's taking us to the mother ship." - -"Okay, Foster," I said. I looked at the skeleton on the floor behind -him. "But I hope we have better luck than the last passenger." - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -It was two hours later, and Foster and I stood silent before a ten-foot -screen that had glowed into life when I touched a silver button beside -it. It showed us a vast emptiness of bottomless black, set thick with -corruscating points of polychrome brilliance that hurt to look at. And -against that backdrop: a ship, vast beyond imagining, blotting out half -the titanic vista with its bulk---- - -But dead. - -Even from the distance of miles, I could sense it. The great black -torpedo shape, dull moonlight glinting along the unbelievable length of -its sleek flank, drifted: a derelict. I wondered for how many centuries -it had waited here--and for what? - -"I feel," said Foster, "somehow--I'm coming home." I tried to say -something, croaked, cleared my throat. - -"If this is your jitney," I said, "I hope they didn't leave the meter -ticking on you. We're broke." - -"We're closing rapidly," said Foster. "Another ten minutes, I'd -guess...." - -"How do we go about heaving to, alongside? You didn't come across a -book of instructions, did you?" - -"I think I can predict that the approach will be automatic." - -"This is your big moment, isn't it?" I said. "I've got to hand it to -you, pal; you've won out by pluck, just like the Rover Boys." - -The ship appeared to move smoothly closer, looming over us, fine golden -lines of decorative filigree work visible now against the black. A tiny -square of pale light appeared, grew into a huge bay door that swallowed -us. - -The screen went dark, there was a gentle jar, then motionlessness. The -port opened, silently. - -"We've arrived," Foster said. "Shall we step out and have a look?" - -"I wouldn't think of going back without one," I said. I followed him -out and stopped dead, gaping. I had expected an empty hold, bare metal -walls. Instead, I found a vaulted cavern, shadowed, mysterious, rich -with a thousand colors. There was a hint of strange perfume in the air, -and I heard low music that muttered among stalagmite-like buttresses. -There were pools, playing fountains, waterfalls, dim vistas stretching -away, lit by slanting rays of muted sunlight. - -"What kind of place is it?" I asked. "It's like a fairyland, or a -dream." - -"It's not an earthly scheme of decoration," Foster said, "but I find it -strangely pleasing." - -"Hey, look over there," I yelped suddenly, pointing. An empty-eyed -skull stared past me from the shadows at the base of a column. - -Foster went over to the skull, stood looking down at it. "There was a -disaster here," he said. "That much is plain." - -"It's creepy," I said. "Let's go back; I forgot to get film for my -Brownie." - -"The long-dead pose no threat," said Foster. He was kneeling, looking -at the white bones. He picked up something, stared at it. "Look, -Legion." - -I went over. Foster held up a ring. - -"We're onto something hot, pal," I said. "It's the twin to yours." - -"I wonder ... who he was." - -I shook my head. "If we knew that--and who killed him--or what--" - -"Let's go on. The answers must be here somewhere." Foster moved off -toward a corridor that reminded me of a sunny avenue lined with -chestnut trees--though there were no trees, and no sun. I followed, -gaping. - -For hours we wandered, looking, touching, not saying much but saturated -in wonder, like kids in a toy factory. We came across another skeleton, -lying among towering engines. Finally we paused in a giant storeroom -stacked high with supplies. - -"Have you stopped to think, Foster," I said, fingering a length -of rose-violet cloth as thin as woven spider webs. "This boat's a -treasure-house of salable items. Talk about the wealth of the Indies--" - -"I seek only one thing here, my friend," Foster said; "my past." - -"Sure," I said. "But just in case you don't find it, you might consider -the business angle. We can set up a regular shuttle run, hauling stuff -down--" - -"You earthmen," sighed Foster. "For you every new experience is -immediately assessed in terms of its merchandising possibilities. Well, -I leave that to you." - -"Okay, okay," I said. "You go on ahead and scout around down that way, -if you want--where the technical-looking stuff is. I want to browse -around here for a while." - -"As you wish." - -"We'll meet at this end of the big hall we passed back there. Okay?" - -Foster nodded and went on. I turned to a bin filled with what looked -like unset emeralds the size of walnuts. I picked up a handful, juggled -them lovingly. - -"Anyone for marbles?" I murmured to myself. - -Hours later, I came along a corridor that was like a path through a -garden that was a forest, crossed a ballroom like a meadow floored -in fine-grained rust-red wood and shaded by giant ferns, and went -under an arch into the hall where Foster sat at a long table cut from -yellow marble. A light the color of sunrise gleamed through tall -pseudo-windows. - -I dumped an armfull of books on the table. "Look at these," I said. -"All made from the same stuff as the journal. And the pictures...." - -I flipped open one of the books, a heavy folio-sized volume, to a -double-page spread in color showing a group of bearded Arabs in dingy -white djellabas staring toward the camera, a flock of thin goats in the -background. It looked like the kind of picture the National Geographic -runs, except that the quality of the color and detail was equal to the -best color transparencies. - -"I can't read the print," I said, "but I'm a whiz at looking at -pictures. Most of the books showed scenes like I hope I never see in -the flesh, but I found a few that were made on earth--God knows how -long ago." - -"Travel books, perhaps," Foster said. - -"Travel books that you could sell to any university on earth for their -next year's budget," I said, shuffling pages. "Take a look at this one." - -Foster looked across at the panoramic shot of a procession of -shaven-headed men in white sarongs, carrying a miniature golden boat on -their shoulders, descending a long flight of white stone steps leading -from a colonnade of heroic human figures with folded arms and painted -faces. In the background, brick-red cliffs loomed up, baked in desert -heat. - -"That's the temple of Hat-Shepsut in its prime," I said. "Which -makes this print close to four thousand years old. Here's another I -recognize." I turned to a smaller, aerial view, showing a gigantic -pyramid, its polished stone facing chipped in places and with a few -panels missing from the lower levels, revealing the cruder structure of -massive blocks beneath. - -"That's one of the major pyramids, maybe Khufu's," I said. "It was -already a couple thousand years old, and falling into disrepair. And -look at this----" I opened another volume, showed Foster a vivid -photograph of a great shaggy elephant with a pinkish trunk upraised -between wide-curving yellow tusks. - -"A mastodon," I said. "And there's a woolly rhino, and an ugly-looking -critter that must be a sabre-tooth. This book is _old_...." - -"A lifetime of rummaging wouldn't exhaust the treasures aboard this -ship," said Foster. - -"How about bones? Did you find any more?" - -Foster nodded. "There was a disaster of some sort. Perhaps disease. -None of the bones was broken." - -"I can't figure the one in the lifeboat," I said. "Why was he wearing -a necklace of bear's teeth?" I sat down across from Foster. "We've got -plenty of mysteries to solve, all right, but there are some other items -we'd better talk about. For instance: where's the kitchen? I'm getting -hungry." - -Foster handed me a black rod from among several that lay on the table. -"I think this may be important," he said. - -"What is it, a chop stick?" - -"Touch it to your head, above the ear." - -"What does it do--give you a massage?" - -I pressed it to my temple.... - -_I was in a grey-walled room, facing a towering surface of ribbed -metal. I reached out, placed my hands over the proper perforations. -The housings opened. For apparent malfunction in the quaternary field -amplifiers, I knew, auto-inspection circuit override was necessary -before activation_---- - -I blinked, looked around at the yellow table, and piled books, the rod -in my hand. - -"I was in some kind of powerhouse," I said. "There was something wrong -with--with...." - -"The quaternary field amplifiers," Foster said. - -"I seemed to be right there," I said. "I understood exactly what it was -all about." - -"These are technical manuals," Foster said. "They'll tell us everything -we need to know about the ship." - -"I was thinking about what I was getting ready to do," I said, "the -way you do when you're starting into a job; I was trouble-shooting the -quaternary whatzits--and I knew how...!" - -Foster got to his feet and moved toward the doorway. "We'll have to -start at one end of the library and work our way through," he said. -"It will take us a while, but we'll get the facts we need. Then we can -plan." - - * * * * * - -Foster picked a handful of briefing rods from the racks in the -comfortably furnished library and started in. The first thing we needed -was a clue as to where to look for food and beds, or for operating -instructions for the ship itself. I hoped we might find the equivalent -of a library card-catalog; then we could put our hands on what we -wanted in a hurry. - -I went to the far end of the first rack and spotted a short row of -red rods that stood out vividly among the black ones. I took one out, -thought it over, decided it was unlikely that it was any more dangerous -than the others, and put it against my temple.... - -_As the bells rang, I applied neuro-vascular tension, suppressed -cortical areas upsilon-zeta and iota, and stood by for_---- - -I jerked the rod from my head, my ears still ringing with the -shrill alarm. The effect of the rods was like reality itself, but -intensified, all attention focused single-mindedly on the experience -at hand. I thought of the entertainment potentialities of the idea. -You could kill a tiger, ride an airplane down in flames, face the -heavyweight champion----I wondered about the stronger sensations, like -pain and fear. Would they seem as real as the impulse to check the -whatchamacallits or tighten up your cortical thingamajigs? - -I tried another rod. - -_At the sound of the apex-tone, I racked instruments, walked, not ran, -to the nearest transfer-channel_---- - -Another: - -_Having assumed duty as Alert Officer, I reported first to coordination -Control via short-line, and confirmed rapport_-- - -These were routine SOP's covering simple situations aboard ship. I -skipped a few, tried again: - -_Needing a xivometer, I keyed instruction-complex One, followed with -the code_-- - -Three rods further along, I got this: - -_The situation falling outside my area of primary conditioning, I -reported in corpo to Technical Briefing, Level Nine, Section Four, -Sub-section Twelve, Preliminary. I recalled that it was now necessary -to supply my activity code ... my activity code ... my activity -code ... (A sensation of disorientation grew; confused images flickered -like vague background-noise; then a clear voice cut across the -confusion:)_ - -YOU HAVE SUFFERED PARTIAL PERSONALITY-FADE. DO NOT BE ALARMED. -SELECT A GENERAL BACKGROUND ORIENTATION ROD FROM THE NEAREST EMERGENCY -RACK. ITS LOCATION IS.... - -_I was moving along the stacks, to pause in front of a niche where a -U-shaped plastic strip was clamped to the wall. I removed it, fitted it -to my head--(Then:) I was moving along the stacks, to pause in front -of a niche_-- - -I was leaning against the wall, my head humming. The red stick lay on -the floor at my feet. That last bit had been potent: something about a -general background briefing-- - -"Hey, Foster!" I called, "I think I've got something...." He appeared -from the stacks. - - * * * * * - -"As I see it," I said, "this background briefing should tell us all -we need to know about the ship; then we can plan our next move more -intelligently. We'll know what we're doing." I took the thing from the -wall, just as I had seemed to do in the phantom scene the red rod had -projected for me. - -"These things make me dizzy," I said, handing it to Foster. "Anyway -you're the logical one to try it." - -He took the plastic shape, went to the reclining seat at the near end -of the library hall, and settled himself. "I have an idea this one will -hit harder than the others," he said. - -He fitted the clamp to his head and ... instantly his eyes glazed; he -slumped back, limp. - -"Foster!" I yelled. I jumped forward, started to pull the plastic piece -from his head, then hesitated. Maybe Foster's abrupt reaction was -standard procedure--but I didn't like it much. - -I went on reasoning with myself. After all, this was what the red rod -had indicated as normal procedure in a given emergency. Foster was -merely having his faded personality touched up. And his full-blown, -three-dimensional personality was what we needed to give us the answers -to a lot of the questions we'd been asking. Though the ship and -everything in it had lain unused and silent for forgotten millenia, -still the library should be good. The librarian was gone from his post -for forgotten centuries, and Foster was lying unconscious, and I was -thirty thousand miles from home--but I shouldn't let trifles like that -worry me.... - -I got up and prowled the room. There wasn't much to look at except -stacks and more stacks. The knowledge stored here was fantastic, both -in magnitude and character. If I ever get home with a load of these -rods.... - -I strolled through a door leading to another room. It was small, -functional, dimly lit. The middle of the room was occupied by a large -and elaborate divan with a cap-shaped fitting at one end. Other curious -accoutrements were ranked along the walls. There wasn't much in them to -thrill me. But bone-wise I had hit the jackpot. - -Two skeletons lay near the door, in the final slump of death. Another -lay beside the fancy couch. There was a long-bladed dagger beside it. - -I squatted beside the two near the door and examined them closely. As -far as I could tell, they were as human as I was. I wondered what kind -of men they had been, what kind of world they had come from, that could -build a ship like this and stock it as it was stocked. - -The dagger that lay near the other bones was interesting: it seemed -to be made of a transparent orange metal, and its hilt was stamped in -a repeated pattern of the Two Worlds motif. It was the first clue as -to what had taken place among these men when they last lived: not a -complete clue, but a start. - -I took a closer look at an apparatus like a dentist's chair parked -against the wall. There were spidery-looking metal arms mounted -above it, and a series of colored glass lenses. A row of dull silver -cylinders was racked against the wall. Another projected from a socket -at the side of the machine. I took it out and looked at it. It was a -plain pewter-colored plastic, heavy and smooth. I felt pretty sure it -was a close cousin to the chopsticks stored in the library. I wondered -what brand of information was recorded in it as I dropped it in my -pocket. - -I lit a cigarette and went out to where Foster lay. He was still in the -same position as when I had left him. I sat down on the floor beside -the couch to wait. - - * * * * * - -It was an hour before he stirred, heaved a sigh, and opened his eyes. -He reached up, pulled off the plastic headpiece, dropped it on the -floor. - -"Are you okay?" I said. "Brother, I've been sweating...." - -Foster looked at me, his eyes traveling up to my uncombed hair and down -to my scuffed shoes. His eyes narrowed in a faint frown. Then he said -something--in a language that seemed to be all Z's and Q's. - -"Don't spring any surprises on me, Foster," I said hoarsely. "Talk -American." - -A look of surprise crossed his face. He stared into my eyes again, then -glanced around the room. - -"This is a ship's library," he said. - -I heaved a sigh of relief. "You gave me a scare, Foster. I thought for -a second your memory was wandering again." - -Foster was watching my face as I spoke. "What was it all about?" I -said. "What have you found out?" - -"I know you," said Foster slowly. "Your name is Legion." - -I nodded. I could feel myself getting tense again. "Sure, you know me. -Just take it easy pal. This is no time to lose your marbles." I put a -hand on his shoulder. "You remember, we were--" - -He shook my hand off. "That is not the custom in Vallon," he said -coldly. - -"Vallon?" I echoed. "What kind of routine is this, Foster? We were -friends when we walked into this room an hour ago. We were hot on the -trail of something, and I'm human enough to want to know how it turned -out." - -"Where are the others?" - -"There's a couple of 'others' in the next room," I snapped. "But -they've lost a lot of weight. I can find you several more, in the same -condition. Outside of them there's only me----" - -Foster looked at me as if I wasn't there. "I remember Vallon," he said. -He put a hand to his head. "But I remember, too, a barbaric world, -brutal and primitive. You were there. We traveled in a crude rail-car, -and then in a barge that wallowed in the sea. There were narrow, ugly -rooms, evil odors, harsh noises." - -"That's not a very flattering portrait of God's country," I said, "but -I'm afraid I recognize it." - -"The people were the worst," Foster said. "Misshapen, diseased, with -swollen abdomens and wasted skin and withered limbs." - -"Some of the boys don't get out enough," I said. - -"The Hunters! We fled from them, Legion, you and I. And I remember a -landing-ring...." He paused. "Strange, it had lost its cap-stones and -fallen into ruin." - -"Us natives call it Stonehenge." - -"The Hunters burst out of the earth. We fought them. But why should the -Hunters seek me?" - -"I was hoping you'd tell me," I said. "Do you know where this ship came -from? And why?" - -"This is a ship of the Two Worlds," he replied. "But I know nothing of -how it came to be here." - -"How about all that stuff in the journal? Maybe now you--" - -"The journal!" Foster broke in. "Where is it?" - -"In your coat pocket, I guess." - -Foster felt through his jacket awkwardly, brought out the journal. He -opened it. - -I moved around to look over his shoulder. He had the book open to the -first section, the part written in the curious alien characters that -nobody had been able to decipher. - -And he was reading it. - - * * * * * - -We sat at the library table of deep green, heavy, polished wood, -the journal open at its center. For hours I had waited while Foster -read. Now at last he leaned back in his chair, ran a hand through the -youthful black hair, and sighed. - -"My name," he said, "was Qulqlan. And this," he laid his hand upon the -book, "is my story. This is one part of the past I was seeking. And I -remember none of it...." - -"Tell me what the journal says," I asked. "Read it to me." - -Foster picked it up, riffled the pages. "It seems that I awoke -once before, in a small room aboard this vessel. I was lying on a -memo-couch, by which circumstance I knew that I had suffered a Change--" - -"You mean you'd lost your memory?" - -"And regained it--on the couch. My memory-trace had been re-impressed -on my mind. I awoke knowing my identity, but not how I came to be -aboard this vessel. The journal says that my last memory was of a -building beside the Shallow Sea." - -"Where's that?" - -"On a far world--called Vallon." - -"Yeah? And what next?" - -"I looked around me and saw four men lying on the floor, slashed and -bloody. One was alive. I gave him what emergency treatment I could, -then searched the ship. I found three more men, dead; none living. Then -the Hunters attacked, swarming to me--" - -"Our friends the fire-balls?" - -"Yes; they would have sucked the life from me--and I had no shield of -light. I fled to the lifeboat, carrying the wounded man. I descended -to the planet below: your earth. The man died there. He had been my -friend, a man named Ammaerln. I buried him in a shallow depression in -the earth and marked the place with a stone." - -"The ancient sinner," I said. - -"Yes ... I suppose it was his bones the lay brother found." - -"And we found out last night that the depression was the result of dirt -sifting into the ventilator shaft. But I guess you didn't know anything -about the underground installation, way back then. Doesn't the journal -say anything...?" - -"No there is no mention made of it here." Foster shook his head. "How -curious to read of the affairs of this stranger--and know he is myself." - -"How about the Hunters? How did they get to earth?" - -"They are insubstantial creatures," said Foster, "yet they can endure -the vacuum of space. I can only surmise that they followed the lifeboat -down." - -"They were tailing you?" - -"Yes; but I have no idea why they pursued me. They're harmless -creatures in the natural state, used to seek out the rare fugitive -from justice on Vallon. They can be attuned to the individual; -thereafter, they follow him and mark him out for capture." - -"Kind of like bloodhounds," I said. "Say, what were you: a big-time -racketeer on Vallon?" - -"The journal is frustratingly silent as to my Vallonian career," said -Foster. "But this whole matter of the unexplained inter-galactic voyage -and the evidences of violence aboard the ship make me wonder whether I, -and perhaps others of my companions, were being exiled for crimes done -in the Two Worlds." - -"Wow! So they sicced the Hunters on you!" I said. "But why did they -hang around at Stonehenge all this time?" - -"There was a trickle of power feeding the screens," said Foster. "They -need a source of electrical energy to live; until a hundred years ago -it was the only one on the planet." - -"How did they get down into the shaft without opening it up?" - -"Given time, they pass easily through porous substances. But, of -course, last night, when I came on them after their long fast, they -simply burst through in their haste." - -"Okay. What happened next--after you buried the man?" - -"The journal tells that I was set upon by natives, men who wore the -hides of animals. One of their number entered the ship. He must have -moved the drive lever. It lifted, leaving me marooned." - -"So those were his bones we found in the boat," I mused, "the ones with -the bear's-tooth necklace. I wonder why he didn't come into the ship." - -"Undoubtedly he did. But remember the skeleton we found just inside the -landing port? That must have been a fairly fresh and rather gory corpse -at the time the savage stepped aboard. It probably seemed to him all -too clear an indication of what lay in store for himself if he ventured -further. In his terror he must have retreated to the boat to wait, and -there starved to death. - -"He was stranded in your world, and you were stranded in his." - -"Yes," said Foster. "And then, it seems, I lived among the brute-men -and came to be their king. I waited there by the landing ring through -many years in the hope of rescue. Because I did not age as the natives -did, I was worshipped as a god. I would have built a signalling device, -but there were no pure metals, nothing I could use. I tried to teach -them, but it was a work of centuries." - -"I should think you could have set up a school, trained the smartest -ones," I said. - -"There was no lack of intelligent minds," Foster said. "It is plain -that the savages were of the blood of the Two Worlds. This earth must -have been seeded long ago by some ancient castaways." - -"But how could you go on living--for hundreds of years? Are your people -supermen that live forever?" - -"The natural span of a human life is very great. Among your people, -there is a wasting disease from which you all die young." - -"That's no disease," I said. "You just naturally get old and die." - -"The human mind is a magnificent instrument," Foster said, "not meant -to wither quickly." - -"I'll have to chew that one over," I said. "Why didn't you catch this -disease?" - -"All Vallonians are innoculated against it." - -"I'd like a shot of that," I said. "But let's get back to you." - -Foster turned the pages of the journal. "I ruled many peoples, under -many names," he said. "I traveled in many lands, seeking for skilled -metal-workers, glass-blowers, wise men. But always I returned to the -landing-ring." - -"It must have been tough," I said, "exiled on a strange world, living -out your life in a wilderness, century after century...." - -"My life was not without interest," Foster said. "I watched my savage -people put aside their animal hides and learn the ways of civilization. -I taught them how to build, and keep herds, and till the land. I built -a great city, and I tried--foolishly--to teach their noble caste the -code of chivalry of the Two Worlds. But although they sat at a round -table like the great Ring-board at Okk-Hamiloth, they never really -understood. And then they grew too wise, and wondered at their king, -who never aged. I left them, and tried again to build a long-signaller. -The Hunters sensed it, and swarmed to me. I drove them off with fires, -and then I grew curious, and followed them back to their nest----" - -"I know," I said. "'----and it was a place you knew of old: no hive but -a Pit built by men.'" - -"They overwhelmed me; I barely escaped with my life. Starvation had -made the Hunters vicious. They would have drained my body of its -life-energy." - -"And if you'd known the transmitter was there--but you didn't. So you -put an ocean between you and them." - -"They found me even there. Each time I destroyed many of them, and -fled. But always a few lived to breed and seek me out again." - -"But your signaller--didn't it work?" - -"No. It was a hopeless attempt. Only a highly developed technology -could supply the raw materials. I could only teach what I knew, -encourage the development of the sciences, and wait. And then I began -to forget." - -"Why?" - -"A mind grows weary," Foster said. "It is the price of longevity. It -must renew itself. Shock and privation hasten the Change. I had held it -off for many centuries. Now I felt it coming on me. - -"At home, on Vallon, a man would record his memory at such a time, -store it electronically in a recording device, and, after the Change, -use the memory-trace to restore, in his renewed body, his old -recollections in toto. But, marooned as I was, my memories, once lost, -were gone forever. - -"I did what I could; I prepared a safe place, and wrote messages that I -would find when I awoke----" - -"When you woke up in the hotel, you were young again, overnight. How -could it happen?" - -"When the mind renews itself, erasing the scars of the years, the body, -too, regenerates. The skin forgets its wrinkles, and the muscles their -fatigue. They become again as they once were." - -"When I first met you," I said, "you told me about waking up back in -1918, with no memory." - -"Yours is a harsh world, Legion. I must have forgotten many times. -Somewhere, some time, I lost the vital link, forgot my quest. When the -Hunters came again, I fled, not understanding." - -"You had a machine gun set up in the house at Mayport. What good was -that against the Hunters?" - -"None, I suppose," Foster replied. "But I didn't know. I only knew that -I was--pursued." - -"And by then you could have made a signaller," I said. "But you'd -forgotten how--or even that you needed one." - -"But in the end I found it--with your help, Legion. But still there is -a mystery: What came to pass aboard this ship all those centuries ago? -Why was I here? And what killed the others?" - -"Look," I said. "Here's a theory: there was a mutiny, while you were -in the machine having your memory fixed. You woke up and it was all -over--and the crew was dead." - -"That hypothesis will serve," said Foster. "But one day I must learn -the truth of this matter." - -"What I can't figure out is why somebody from Vallon didn't come after -this ship. It was right here in orbit." - -"Consider the immensity of space, Legion. This is one tiny world, among -the stars." - -"But there was a station here, fitted out for handling your ships. -That sounds like it was a regular port of call. And the books with -the pictures: they prove your people have been here off and on for -thousands of years. Why would they stop coming?" - -"There are such beacons on a thousand worlds," said Foster. "Think -of it as a buoy marking a reef, a trailblaze in the wilderness. Ages -could pass before a wanderer chanced this way again. The fact that the -ventilator shaft at Stonehenge was choked with the debris of centuries -when I first landed there shows how seldom this world was visited." - -I thought about it. Bit by bit Foster was putting together the jig-saw -pieces of his past. But he still had a long way to go before he had the -big picture, frame and all. I had an idea: - -"Say, you said you were in the memory machine. You woke up there--and -you'd just had your memory restored. Why not do the same thing again, -now? That is, if your brain can take another pounding this soon." - -"Yes," he said. He stood up abruptly. "There's just a chance. Come!" - -I followed him out of the library into the room with the bones. He -moved over to look down at them curiously. - -"Quite a fracas," I said. "Three of 'em." - -"This would be the room where I awakened," said Foster. "These are the -men I saw dead." - -"They're still dead," I said. "But what about the machine?" - -Foster walked across to the fancy couch, leaned down beside it, then -shook his head. "No," he said. "Of course it wouldn't be here...." - -"What?" - -"My memory-trace: the one that was used to restore my memory--that -other time." - -Suddenly I recalled the cylinder I had pocketed hours before. With a -surprising flutter at my heart I held it up, like a kid in a classroom -who knows he's got the right answer. "This it?" - -Foster glanced at it briefly. "No, that's an empty--like those you see -filed over there." He pointed to the rack of pewter-colored cylinders -on the opposite wall. "They would be used for emergency recordings. -Regular multi-life memory-traces would be key-coded with a pattern of -colored lines." - -"It figures," I said. "That would have been too easy. We have to do -everything the hard way." I looked around. "It's a big bureau to look -for a collar button under, but I guess we can try." - -"It doesn't matter, really. When I return to Vallon, I'll recover my -past. There are vaults where every citizen's trace is stored." - -"But you had yours here with you." - -"It could only have been a copy. The master trace is never removed from -Okk-Hamiloth." - -"I guess you'll be eager to get back there," I said. "That'll be quite -a moment for you, getting back home after all these years. Speaking of -years: were you able to figure out how long you were marooned down on -earth?" - -"I lost all record of dates long ago," said Foster. "I can only -estimate the time." - -"About how long?" I persisted. - -"Since I descended from this ship, Legion," he said, "three thousand -years have passed." - - * * * * * - -"I hate to see the team split up," I said. "You know, I was kind of -getting used to being an apprentice nut. I'm going to miss you, Foster." - -"Come with me to Vallon, Legion," he said. - -We were standing in the observation lounge, looking out at the -bright-lit surface of the earth thirty thousand miles away. Beyond it, -the dead-white disk of the moon hung like a cardboard cutout. - -"Thanks anyway, buddy," I said. "I'd like to see those other worlds -of yours but in the end I might regret it. It's no good giving an -Eskimo a television set. I'd just sit around on Vallon pining for home: -beat-up people, stinks, and all." - -"You could return here some day." - -"From what I understand about traveling in a ship like this," I said, -"a couple of hundred years would pass before I got back, even if it -only seemed like a few weeks en route. I want to live out my life -here--with the kind of people I know, in the world I grew up in. It has -its faults, but it's home." - -"Then there is nothing I can do, Legion," Foster said, "to reward your -loyalty and express my gratitude." - -"Well, ah," I said. "There is a little something. Let me take the -lifeboat, and stock it with a few goodies from the library, and some -of those marbles from the storeroom, and a couple of the smaller -mechanical gadgets. I think I know how to merchandise them in a way -that'll leave the economy on an even keel--and incidentally set me up -for life. As you said, I'm a materialist." - -"As you wish," Foster said. "Take whatever you desire." - -"One thing I'll have to do when I get back," I said, "is open the -tunnel at Stonehenge enough to sneak a thermite bomb down it--if they -haven't already found the beacon station." - -"As I judge the temper of the local people," Foster said, "the secret -is safe for at least three generations." - -"I'll bring the boat down in a blind spot where radar won't pick it -up," I said. "Our timing was good; in another few years, it wouldn't -have been possible." - -"And this ship would soon have been discovered," Foster said. "In -spite of radar-negative screens." - -I looked at the great smooth sphere hanging, haloed, against utter -black. The Pacific Ocean threw back a brilliant image of the sun. - -"I think I see an island down there that will fill the bill perfectly," -I said. "And if it doesn't, there are a million more to choose from." - -"You've changed, Legion," Foster said. "You sound like a man with a -fair share of _joie de vivre_." - -"I used to think I was a guy who never got the breaks," I said. -"There's something about standing here looking at the world that makes -that kind of thinking sound pretty dumb. There's everything down there -a man needs to make his own breaks--even without a stock of trade -goods." - -"Every world has its rules of life," Foster said. "Some more complex -than others. To face your own reality--that's the challenge." - -"Me against the universe," I said. "With those odds, even a loser can -look good." I turned to Foster. "We're in a ten-hour orbit," I said. -"We'd better get moving. I want to put the boat down in southern South -America. I know a place there where I can off-load without answering -too many questions." - -"You have several hours before the most favorable launch time," Foster -said. "There's no hurry." - -"Maybe not," I said. "But I've got a lot to do--" I took a last look -toward the majestic planet beyond the viewscreen, "--and I'm eager to -get started." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -I sat on the terrace watching the sun go down into the sea and thinking -about Foster, somewhere out there beyond the purple palaces on the far -horizon, in the ship that had waited for him for three thousand years, -heading home at last. It was strange to reflect that for him, traveling -near the speed of light, only a few days had passed, while three years -went by for me--three fast years that I had made good use of. - -The toughest part had been the first few months, after I put the -lifeboat down in a cañon in the desert country south of a little town -called Itzenca, in Peru. I waited by the boat for a week, to be sure -the vigilantes weren't going to show up, full of helpful suggestions -and embarassing questions; then I hiked to town, carrying a pack with -a few carefully selected items to start my new career. It took me two -weeks to work, lie, barter, and plead my way to the seaport town of -Callao and another week to line up passage home as a deck hand on a -banana scow. I disappeared over the side at Tampa, and made it to Miami -without attracting attention. As far as I could tell, the cops had -already lost interest in me. - -My old friend, the heavyweight señorita, wasn't overjoyed to see me, -but she put me up, and I started in on my plan to turn my souvenirs -into money. - -The items I had brought with me from the lifeboat were a pocketful -of little gray dominoes that were actually movie film, and a small -projector to go with them. I didn't offer them for sale, direct. I -made arrangements with an old acquaintance in the business of making -pictures with low costume budgets for private showings; I set up the -apparatus and projected my films, and he copied them in 35 mm. I told -him that I'd smuggled them in from East Germany. He didn't think much -of the Krauts, but he admitted you had to hand it to them technically; -the special effects were absolutely top-notch. His favorite was one I -called the Mammoth Hunt. - -I had twelve pictures altogether; with a little judicious cutting and a -dubbed-in commentary, they made up into fast-moving twenty-minute short -subjects. He got in touch with a friend in the distribution end in New -York, and after a little cagy fencing over contract terms, we agreed on -a deal that paid a hundred thousand for the twelve, with an option on -another dozen at the same price. - -Within a week after the pictures hit the neighborhood theatres around -Bayonne, New Jersey, in a cautious tryout, I had offers up to half a -million for my next consignment, no questions asked. I left my pal -Mickey to handle the details on a percentage basis, and headed back for -Itzenca. - -The lifeboat was just as I'd left it; it would have been all right for -another fifty years, as far as the danger of anybody stumbling over it -was concerned. I explained to the crew I brought out with me that it -was a fake rocket ship, a prop I was using for a film I was making, -I let them wander all over it and get their curiosity out of their -systems. The concensus was that it wouldn't fool anybody; no tail fins, -no ray guns, and the instrument panel was a joke; but they figured that -it was my money, so they went to work setting up a system of camouflage -nets (part of the plot, I told them) and off-loading my cargo. - -A year after my homecoming, I had my island--a square mile of perfect -climate, fifteen miles off the Peruvian coast--and a house that was -tailored to my every whim by a mind-reading architect who made a -fortune on the job--and earned it. The uppermost floor--almost a -tower--was a strong-room, and it was there that I had stored my stock -in trade. I had sold off the best of the hundred or so films I had -picked out before leaving Foster, but there were plenty of other items. -The projector itself was the big prize. The self-contained power unit -converted nuclear energy to light with 99 percent efficiency. It -scanned the "films", one molecular layer at a time, and projected a -continuous picture--no sixteen-frames-a-second flicker here. The color -and sound were absolutely life-like--with the result that I'd had a -few complaints from my distributor that the Technicolor was kind of -washed-out. - -The principles involved in the projector were new, and--in theory, at -least--way over the heads of our local physicists. But the practical -application was nothing much. I figured that, with the right contacts -in scientific circles to help me introduce the system, I had a -billion-dollar industry up my sleeve. I had already fed a few little -gimmicks into the market; a tough paper, suitable for shirts and -underwear; a chemical that bleached teeth white as the driven snow; -an all-color pigment for artists. With the knowledge I had absorbed -from all the briefing rods I had studied, I had the techniques of a -hundred new industries at my fingertips--and I hadn't exhausted the -possibilities yet. - -I spent most of a year roaming the world, discovering all the things -that a free hand with a dollar bill could do for a man. The next year I -put in fixing up the island, buying paintings and rugs and silver for -the house, and a concert grand piano. After the first big thrill of -economic freedom had worn off, I still enjoyed my music. - -For six months I had a full-time physical instructor giving me a -twenty-four-hour-a-day routine of diet, sleep, and all the precision -body-building my metabolism could stand. At the end of the course I was -twice the man I'd ever been, the instructor was a physical wreck, and I -was looking around for a new hobby. - -Now, after three years, it was beginning to get me: boredom, the -disease of the idle rich, that I had sworn would never touch me. But -thinking about wealth and having it on your hands are two different -things, and I was beginning to remember almost with nostalgia the tough -old times when every day was an adventure, full of cops and missed -meals and a thousand unappeased desires. - -Not that I was really suffering. I was relaxed in a comfortable chair, -after a day of surf fishing and a modest dinner of Chateaubriand. I -was smoking a skinny cigar rolled by an expert from the world's finest -leaf, and listening to the best music a thousand-dollar hi-fi could -produce. And the view, though free, was worth a million dollars a -minute. After a while I would stroll down to the boathouse, start up -the Rolls-powered launch, and tool over to the mainland, transfer to -my Caddie convertible, and drive into town where a tall brunette from -Stockholm was waiting for me to take her to the movies. My steady gal -was a hard-working secretary for an electronics firm. - -I finished up my stogie and leaned forward to drop it in a big silver -ashtray, when something caught my eye out across the red-painted water. -I sat squinting at it, then went inside and came out with a pair of -7x50 binoculars. I focused them and studied the dark speck that stood -out clearly now against the gaudy sky. It was a heavy-looking power -boat, heading dead toward my island. - -I watched it come closer, swing off toward the hundred-foot concrete -jetty I had built below the sea-wall, and ease alongside in a murmur -of powerful engines. They died, and the boat sat in a sudden silence -dwarfing the pier. I studied the bluish-grey hull, the inconspicuous -flag aft. Two heavy deck guns were mounted on the foredeck, and there -were four torpedoes slung in launching cradles. The hardware didn't -make half as much impression on me as the ranks of helmeted men drawn -up on deck. - -I sat and watched. The men shuffled off onto the pier, formed up into -two squads. I counted; forty-eight men, and a couple of officers. There -was the faint sound of orders being barked, and the column stepped -off, moving along the paved road that swung between the transplanted -royal palms and hibiscus, right up to the wide drive that curved off -to the house. They halted, did a left face, and stood at parade rest. -The two officers, wearing class A's, and a tubby civilian with a brief -case came up the drive, trying to look as casual as possible under the -circumstances. They paused at the foot of the broad flight of Tennessee -marble steps leading up to my perch. - -The leading officer, a brigadier general, no less, looked up at me. - -"May we come up, sir?" he said. - -I looked across at the silent ranks waiting at the foot of the drive. - -"If the boys want a drink of water, Sarge," I said, "tell 'em to come -on over." - -"I am General Smale," the B.G. said. "This is Colonel Sanchez of the -Peruvian Army--" he indicated the other military type "--and Mr. Pruffy -of the American Embassy at Lima." - -"Howdy, Mr. Pruffy," I said. "Howdy, Mr. Sanchez. Howdy--" - -"This ... ah ... call is official in nature, Mr. Legion," the general -said. "It's a matter of great importance, involving the security of -your country." - -"OK, General," I said. "Come on up. What's happened? You boys haven't -started another war, have you?" - -They filed up onto the terrace, hesitated, then shook hands, and sat -down gingerly in the chairs. Pruffy held his briefcase in his lap. - -"Put your sandwiches on the table, if you like, Mr. Pruffy," I said. He -blinked, gripped the briefcase tighter. I offered my hand-tooled cigars -around; Pruffy looked startled, Smale shook his head, and Sanchez took -three. - -"I'm here," the general said, "to ask you a few questions, Mr. Legion. -Mr. Pruffy represents the Department of State in the matter, and -Colonel Sanchez--" - -"Don't tell me," I said. "He represents the Peruvian government, which -is why I don't ask you what an armed American force is doing wandering -around on Peruvian soil." - -"Here," Pruffy put in. "I hardly think--" - -"I believe you," I said. "What's it all about, Smale?" - -"I'll come directly to the point," he said. "For some time, the -investigative and security agencies of the US government have been -building a file on what for lack of a better name has been called 'The -Martians.'" Smale coughed apologetically. - -"A little over three years ago," he went on, "an unidentified flying -object--" - -"You interested in flying saucers, General?" I said. - -"By no means," he snapped. "The object appeared on a number of radar -screens, descending from extreme altitude. It came to earth at ..." he -hesitated. - -"Don't tell me you came all the way out here to tell me you can't tell -me," I said. - -"--A site in England," Smale said. "American aircraft were dispatched -to investigate the object. Before they could make identification, -it rose again, accelerated at tremendous speed, and was lost at an -altitude of several hundred miles." - -"I thought we had better radar than that," I said. "The satellite -program--" - -"No such specialized equipment was available," Smale said. "An -intensive investigation turned up the fact that two strangers--possibly -Americans--had visited the site only a few hours before -the--ah--visitation." - -I nodded. I was thinking about the close call I'd had when I went back -to see about lobbing a bomb down the shaft to obliterate the beacon -station. There were plainclothes men all over the place, like old maids -at a movie star's funeral. It was just as well; they never found it. -The rocket blasts had collapsed the tunnel, and apparently the whole -underground installation was made of non-metallic substances that -didn't show up in detecting equipment. I had an idea metal was passé -where Foster came from. - -"Some months later," Smale went on, "a series of rather curious -short films went on exhibition in the United States. They showed -scenes representing conditions on other planets, as well as ancient -and prehistoric incidents here on earth. They were prefaced with -explanations that they merely represented the opinions of science -as to what was likely to be found on distant worlds. They attracted -wide interest, and with few exceptions, scientists praised their -verisimilitude." - -"I admire a clever fake," I said. "With a topical subject like space -travel----" - -"One item which was commented on as a surprising inaccuracy, in view of -the technical excellence of the other films," Smale said, "was the view -of our planet from space, showing the earth against the backdrop of -stars. A study of the constellations by astronomers quickly indicated -a 'date' approximately 7000 B.C. for the scene. Oddly, the north polar -cap was shown centered on Hudson's Bay. No south polar cap was in -evidence. The continent of Antarctica appeared to be at a latitude of -some 30 degrees, entirely free of ice." - -I looked at him and waited. - -"Now, studies made since that time indicate that nine thousand years -ago, the North Pole was indeed centered on Hudson's Bay," Smale said. -"And Antarctica was in fact ice-free." - -"That idea's been around a long time," I said. "There was a theory----" - -"Then there was the matter of the views of Mars," the general went on. -"The aerial shots of the 'canals' were regarded as very cleverly done." -He turned to Pruffy, who opened his briefcase and handed a couple of -photos across. - -"This is a scene taken from the film," Smale said. It was an 8x10 color -shot, showing a row of mounds drifted with pinkish dust, against a -blue-black horizon. - -Smale placed another photo beside the first. "This one," he said, "was -taken by automatic cameras in the successful Mars probe of last year." - -I looked. The second shot was fuzzy, and the color was shifted badly -toward the blue, but there was no mistaking the scene. The mounds were -drifted a little deeper, and the angle was different, but they were the -same mounds. - -"In the meantime," Smale bored on relentlessly, "a number of novel -products appeared on the market. Chemists and physicists alike were -dumfounded at the theoretical base implied by the techniques involved. -One of the products--a type of pigment--embodied a completely new -concept in crystallography." - -"Progress," I said. "Why, when I was a boy----" - -"It was an extremely tortuous trail we followed," Smale said. "But we -found that all these curious observations making up the 'Martians' -file had, in the end, only one factor in common. And that factor, Mr. -Legion, was you." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -It was a few minutes after sunrise, and Smale and I were back on the -terrace toying with the remains of ham steaks and honeydew. - -"That's one advantage of being in jail in your own house--the food's -good," I commented. - -"I can understand your feelings," Smale said. "Frankly, I didn't relish -this assignment. But it's clear that there are matters here which -require explanation. It was my hope that you'd see fit to cooperate -voluntarily." - -"Take your army and sail off into the sunrise, General," I said. "Then -maybe I'll be in a position to do something voluntary." - -"Your patriotism alone----" - -"My patriotism keeps telling me that where I come from, a citizen has -certain legal rights," I said. - -"This is a matter that transcends legal technicalities," Smale said. -"I'll tell you quite frankly, the presence of the task force here only -received _ex post facto_ approval by the Peruvian government. They were -faced with the _fait accompli_. I mention this only to indicate just -how strongly the government feels in this matter." - -"Seeing you hit the beach with a platoon of infantry was enough of -a hint for me," I said. "You're lucky I didn't wipe you out with my -disintegrator rays." - -Smale choked on a bite of melon. - -"Just kidding," I said. "But I haven't given you any trouble. Why the -reinforcements?" - -Small stared at me. "What reinforcements?" - -I pointed with a fork. He turned, gazed out to sea. A conning tower -was breaking the surface, leaving a white wake behind. It rose higher, -water streaming off the deck. A hatch popped open, and men poured out, -lining up. Smale got to his feet, his napkin falling to the floor. - -"Sergeant!" he yelled. I sat, open-mouthed, as Smale jumped to the -stair, went down it three steps at a time. I heard him bellowing, the -shouts of men and the clatter of rifles being unstacked, feet pounding. -I went to the marble banister and looked down. Pruffy was out on the -lawn in purple pajamas, yelping questions. Colonel Sanchez was pulling -at Smale's arm, also yelling. The Marines were forming up on the lawn. - -"Let's watch those petunias, Sergeant," I yelled. - -"Keep out of this, Legion," Smale shouted. - -"Why should I be the only one not yelling," I yelled. "After all, I own -the place." - -Smale bounded back up the stairs. "You're my prime responsibility, -Legion," he barked. "I'm getting you to a point of maximum security. -Where's the cellar?" - -"I keep it downstairs," I said. "What's this all about? Interservice -rivalry? You afraid the sailors are going to steal the glory?" - -"That's a nuclear-powered sub," Smale barked. "Gagarin class; it -belongs to the Soviet Navy." - - * * * * * - -I stood there with my mouth open, looking at Smale without seeing him, -and trying hard to think fast. I hadn't been too startled when the -Marines showed up; I had gone over the legal aspects of my situation -months before, with a platoon of high-priced legal talent; I knew that -sooner or later somebody would come around to hit me for tax evasion, -draft dodging, or overtime parking; but I was in the clear. The -government might resent my knowing a lot of things it didn't, but no -one could ever prove I'd swiped them from Uncle Sam. In the end, they'd -have to let me go--and my account in a Swiss bank would last me, even -if they managed to suppress any new developments from my fabulous lab. -In a way, I was glad the showdown had come. - -But I'd forgotten about the Russians. Naturally, they'd be interested, -and their spies were at least as good as the intrepid agents of the US -Secret Service. I should have realized that sooner or later, they'd pay -a call--and the legal niceties wouldn't slow them down. They'd slap me -into a brain laundry, and sweat every last secret out of me as casually -as I'd squeeze a lemon. - -The sub was fully surfaced now, and I was looking down the barrels of -half a dozen five-inch rifles, any one of which could blast Smale's -navy out of the water with one salvo. There were a couple of hundred -men, I estimated, putting landing boats over the side and spilling -into them. Down on the lawn, the sergeant was snapping orders, and the -men were double-timing off to positions that must have been spotted in -advance. It looked like the Russians weren't entirely unexpected. This -was a game the big boys were playing, and I was just a pawn, caught -in the middle. My rosy picture of me confounding the bureaucrats was -fading fast. My island was about to become a battlefield, and whichever -way it turned out, I'd be the loser. I had one slim possibility; to get -lost in the shuffle. - -Smale grabbed my arm. "Don't stand there, man!" he snapped. "Which -way--" - -"Sorry, General," I said, and slammed a hard right to his stomach. He -folded, but still managed to lunge for me. I gave him a left to the -jaw, and he dropped. I jumped over him, plunged through the French -doors, and took the spiral glass stairway four at a time, whirled, and -slammed the strong-room door behind me. The armored walls would stand -anything short of a direct hit with a good-sized artillery shell, and -the boys down below were unlikely to use any heavy stuff for fear of -damaging the goods they'd been sent out to collect. I was safe for a -little while. - -Now I had to do some fast, accurate thinking. I couldn't carry much -with me--when and if I made it off the island. A few briefing rods, -maybe; what was left of the movies. But I had already audited most of -the rods; I knew them as well as I know my tax bracket. One listen to -a rod gave you a fast picture of the subject; two or three repeats -engraved it on your brain. The only reason a man couldn't know -everything was that too much, too fast, would overload the mind--and -amnesia wiped the slate clean. - -I didn't have time to use any more rods, and I couldn't carry anything. -But just to walk off and leave it all.... - -I rummaged through odds and ends, stuffing small items into my pockets. -I came across a dull silvery cylinder, three inches long, striped in -black and gold--a memory-trace. It reminded me of something.... - -That was an idea. I still had the U-shaped plastic headpiece that -Foster had used to acquire a background knowledge of his old home. I -had tried it once--for a moment. It had given me a headache in two -seconds flat, just pressed against my temple. It had been lying here -ever since. But maybe now was the time to try it again. Half the items -I had here in my strong-room were mysteries, like the silver cylinder -in my hand, but I knew exactly what the plastic headband could give me. -It contained all anyone needed to know about Vallon and the Two Worlds, -and all the marvels they possessed. - -I glanced out the armor-glass window. Smale's Marines were trotting -across the lawn; the Russians were fanning out along the water's edge. -It looked like business all right. Still, it would take them a while -to get warmed up--and more time still to decide to blast me out of my -fort. It had taken an hour or so for Foster to soak up the briefing; -maybe I wouldn't be much longer at it. - -I tossed the cylinder aside, tried a couple of drawers, found the -inconspicuous strip of plastic that encompassed a whole civilization. -I carried it across to a chair, settled myself, then hesitated. This -thing had been designed for an alien brain, not mine. Suppose it burnt -out my wiring, left me here gibbering, for Smale or the Ruskis to work -over? - -But the alternative was to leave my island virtually empty-handed, -settle for what I might in time manage to salvage from my account--if -I could devise a way of withdrawing money without calling down the -Gestapo.... - -No, I wouldn't go back to poverty without a struggle. What I could -carry in my head would give me independence--even immunity from the -greed of nations. I could barter my knowledge for my freedom. - -There were plenty of things wrong with this picture, but it was the -best I could do on short notice. Gingerly I fitted the U-shaped band to -my head. There was a feeling of pressure, then a sensation like warm -water rising about me. Panic tried to rise, faded. A voice seemed to -reassure me. I was among friends, I was safe, all was well.... - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -_I lay in the dark, the memory of towers and trumpets and fountains of -fire in my mind. I put up my hand, felt a coarse garment. Had I but -dreamed...? I stirred. Light blazed in a widening band above my face. -Through narrowed eyes I saw a room, a mean chamber, dusty, littered -with ill-assorted rubbish. In a wall there was a window. I went to it, -stared out upon a green sward, a path that curved downward to a white -strand. It was a strange scene, and yet----_ - -_A wave of vertigo swept over me, faded. I blinked, tried to remember._ - -_I reached up, felt something clamped over my head. I pulled it off and -it fell to the floor with a faint clatter: a broad-spectrum briefing -device, of the type used to indoctrinate unidentified citizens who had -undergone a Change unprepared...._ - -Suddenly, like water pouring down a drain, the picture in my mind -faded, left me standing in my old familiar junk room, with a humming in -my head and a throb in my temples. I had been about to try the briefing -gimmick, and had wondered if it would work. It had--with a vengeance. -For a minute there I had stumbled around the room like a stranger, -yearning for dear old Vallon. I could remember the feeling--but it was -gone now. I was just me, in trouble as usual. - -There were a lot of tantalizing ideas floating around in my mind, -right at the edge of consciousness. Later I'd have to sit down and go -over them carefully. Right now, I had my hands full. Two armies had -me cornered, and all the guns belonged to the opposition. That part -was okay; I didn't want to fight anybody. All I wanted out of this -situation was me. - -A rattle of gunfire outside brought me to the window in a jump. It -was the same view as a few moments before, but it made more sense -now. There was the still smoking wreckage of the PT boat, sunk in -ten feet of water a few yards from the end of the jetty. Somebody -must have tried to make a run for it. The Russian sub was nowhere in -sight; probably it had landed the men and backed out of danger from -any unexpected quarter. Two or three corpses lay in view, down by the -water's edge. From where I stood I couldn't say whether they were good -guys or villains. - -There were more shots, coming from somewhere off to the left. It looked -like the boys were fighting it out old style: hand to hand, with small -arms. It figured; after all, what they wanted was me and all my clever -ideas intact, not a smoking ruin. - -I don't know whether it was my romantic streak or my cynical one that -had made me drive the architect nuts putting secret passages in the -walls of my chateau and tunnels under the lawn, but I was glad now I -had them. There was a narrow door in the west wall of the strong-room -that gave onto a tight spiral stair. From there I could take my choice: -the boathouse, the edge of the woods behind the house, or the beach a -hundred yards north of the jetty. All I had to do was---- - -The house trembled a split second ahead of a terrific blast that -slammed me to the floor. I felt blood start from my nose. Head ringing, -I scrambled to my feet, groped through the dust to my escape hatch. -Somebody outside was getting impatient. It wouldn't do to have my fancy -getaway route fall in before I had used it. I felt another shell hit -the house: mortars, I guessed, or rockets. I must have slept through -the preliminaries and wakened just in time for the main bout. - -My fingers were on the sensitive pressure areas that worked the -concealed door. I took a last glance around the room, where the -dust was just settling from the last blast. My eyes fell on a plain -pewter-colored cylinder lying where I had tossed it an hour before--but -now I knew what it was. In one jump I was across the room and had -grabbed it up. I remembered finding it aboard the lifeboat when I -tidied up; it had lain concealed among the bones of the man with -the bear-tooth necklace. He must have come across it, admired its -pretty colors, and tucked it away in his fur pants. And now I, with -my Vallonian memories banked in my mind, could appreciate just how -precious an object it was. It was Foster's memory. It would be only a -copy, undoubtedly; still, I couldn't leave it behind. - -A blast heavier than the last one rocked the house; a big chunk of -plaster fell. It was way past time to go. Snorting and coughing from -the dust, I got back to the emergency door, went through it, and -started down. - -At the bottom I paused to think it over, and the earth jumped again. -I fell back, saw the roof of the beach tunnel collapse. That left -the woods and the boathouse. I didn't have much time to decide; the -tunnels might go any second. Apparently my architect had economized -on the tunnel shorings. But then, he hadn't figured on any major wars -happening in the front yard. - -The fight was going on, as near as I could judge, to the south of the -house and behind it. Probably the woods were full of skirmishers, -taking advantage of the cover. The best bet was the boathouse, direct. -I'd have preferred to wait until dark, but the idea didn't seem -practical under the circumstances. I took a deep breath and started -into the tunnel. With a little luck I'd find my boat intact. I would -have to pull out under the noses of the combatants, but maybe the -element of surprise would give me a few hundred yards' start. I had -enough horses to beat anything afloat to the mainland--if I could make -a clean break. - -The tunnel was dark but that didn't bother me. It ran dead straight -to the boathouse. I came to the wooden slat door and stood for a -moment, listening; everything was quiet. I eased it open and stepped -on to the ramp inside the building. In the gloom polished mahogany and -chrome-work threw back muted highlights. I circled, slipped the mooring -rope, and was about to step into the cockpit when I heard the bolt of -a rifle smack home. I whirled, threw myself flat. The deafening _bam!_ -of a .30 calibre fired at close quarters laid a pattern of fine ripples -on the black water. I rolled, hit with a splash that drowned a second -shot, and dove deep. Three strokes took me under the door, out into the -green gloom of open water. I hugged the yellowish sand of the bottom, -angled off to the right, and kept going. - -I had to get out of my jacket, and somehow I managed it, almost without -losing a stroke. And there went all the goodies I'd stashed away in -the pockets, down to the bottom of the drink. I still had Foster's -memory-trace; it was in my slacks and there wasn't time to get out of -them nor to kick off my tennis shoes. Ten strokes, fifteen, twenty. I -knew my limit: twenty-five good strokes on a full load of air; but I -had dived in a hurry.... - -Twenty-five ... and another ... and one more. And up above a man was -waiting, rifle aimed, for my head to break the surface. - -Thirty strokes, and here I come, ready or not. I rolled on my back, got -my face above the surface. I got half a gulp of fresh air before the -shot slapped spray into my face and echoed off across the water. I sank -like a stone, kicked off, and made another twenty-five yards before I -had to come up. The rifleman was faster this time. The bullet crossed -my shoulder like a hot iron, and I was under water again. My kick-work -was weak now; the strength was draining from my arms fast. I had to -have air--but I could almost feel the solid smack of a steel-jacketed -bullet against my skull. I had to keep going. My chest was on fire and -there was a whirling blackness all around me. I felt consciousness -fading, but maybe just one more stroke.... - - * * * * * - -_As from a distance I observed the clumsy efforts of the swimmer, -watched the flounderings of the poor, untrained creature...._ - -_It was apparent that an override of the autonomic system was required. -With dispatch I activated cortical area omicron, re-routed the blood -supply, drew an emergency oxygen source from stored fats, diverting the -necessary energy to break the molecular bonds._ - -_Now, with the body drawing on internal sources, ample for six hundred -seconds at maximum demand, I stimulated areas upsilon and mu. I -channeled full survival-level energy to the muscle complexes involved, -increased power output to full skeletal tolerance, eliminated waste -motion._ - -_The body drove through the water with the fluid grace of a -sea-denizen...._ - - * * * * * - -I floated on my back, breathing in great surges of cool air and -blinking at the crimson sky. I had been under water, a few yards from -shore, drowning. Then there was an awareness, like a voice, telling me -what to do. From out of the mass of Vallionan knowledge I had acquired, -I had drawn what I needed. And now I was here, half a mile from the -beach, winded but intact. But there was no time now to wonder at -miracles.... - -I raised my head and glanced toward the house. A column of smoke rose -from a gaping cavity where the bedroom windows used to be. A man jumped -up, darted across the lawn, fell. I heard a shot a few seconds later, -floating lazily across the still sunset water. There was no visible -activity at the water's edge; the rifleman was gone. He probably -thought he'd finished me, especially if he had noticed blood in the -water. - -I thought about sharks. I hadn't heard of any in this neighborhood, but -a little blood was just the thing to bait them in. I twisted, got a -look at the throbbing burn across my left shoulder where the rifleman's -bullet had grazed; it was nothing much, just a skin gouge. It didn't -seem to be bleeding. If it had been, there wasn't much I could do about -it. It was no time for worrying. I had to keep my mind on the problem -of getting to the mainland. It was a fifteen-mile swim, but if the boys -on shore could keep each other occupied, I ought to be able to make -it. I thought again about pulling off my pants and shoes but decided -against it; I'd be in awkward shape without them--if I made it. - -I felt beat: as though I hadn't eaten all day--which wasn't too -strange, because I hadn't. Well, at least I wouldn't get stomach cramps -while circling the island. From there I'd strike out for shore. And the -first thing I would do when I got out of this would be to order the -biggest, rarest steak in South America. - -I took a last look toward the house. I could see fire inside it now. I -guessed each side was rationalizing the destruction as denial to the -enemy. It had been a nice place and I'd miss it. Some day somebody was -going to pay for it. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -I sat at the kitchen table in Margareta's Lima apartment and gnawed -the last few shreds off the stripped T-bone, while my girl poured me -another cup of coffee. - -"Now tell me about it," she said. "Why did they burn your house? And -how did you succeed in getting here?" - -"They got so interested in the fight, they lost their heads," I said. -"That's the only explanation I can think of. I thought I'd be as safe -as a two-dollar watch at a pickpockets' convention: I figured they'd go -to some pains to avoid damaging me. I guessed wrong." - -"But your own people...." - -"Maybe they were right: they couldn't afford to let the Ruskis get -me. Funny--if they'd just thought to write me a letter and ask for my -co-operation...." - -"But how did you get covered with mud? And the blood stains on your -back?" - -"I had a nice long swim: five hours' worth. Then another hour getting -through a mangrove swamp. Lucky I had a moon. Then a three-hour -hike ... and here I am." - -"I hope you're feeling better now that you've had something to eat. You -looked terrible." - -"Another block and I wouldn't have made it. I felt sucked dry. The -scratch on my back is nothing, but maybe the shock ... I don't know." - -"Lie down now and sleep," said Margareta. "What do you want me to do?" - -"Get me some clothes," I said. "A grey suit, white shirt, black tie and -shoes. And go to my bank and draw some money, save five thousand. Oh -yeah, see if there's anything in the papers. If you see anybody hanging -around the lobby when you come back, don't come up; give me a call and -I'll meet you." - -She stood up. "This is really awful," she said. "Can't your embassy----" - -"Didn't I mention it? A Mr. Pruffy, of the Embassy, came along to -hold Smale's hand ... not to mention a Colonel Sanchez. I wouldn't be -surprised if the local cops weren't in the act by now ... unless they -all think I'm dead. That impression won't last long after you show up -with a nice fresh check on my account and spend part of it on a man's -suit. I'll get some sleep and light out as soon as you get back." - -"Where will you go?" - -"I'll get to the airport and play it by ear. I don't think they've -alerted everybody. It was a hush-hush deal, until it went sour; now -they're still picking up the pieces." - -"The bank won't be open for hours yet," said Margareta. "Go to sleep -and don't worry. I'll take care of everything." - -I made it to the bedroom and slid out on the big wide bed, and -consciousness slipped away like a silk curtain falling. - - * * * * * - -I knew I wasn't alone as soon as I opened my eyes. I hadn't heard -anything, but I could feel someone in the room. I sat up slowly, looked -around. - -He was sitting in the embroidered chair by the window: an -ordinary-looking fellow in a tan tropical suit, with an unlighted -cigarette in his mouth and no particular expression on his face. - -"Go ahead, light up," I said. "Don't mind me." - -"Thanks," he said, in a thin voice. He took a lighter from an inner -pocket, flipped it, held it to the cigarette. - -I stood up. There was a blur of motion from my visitor, and the lighter -was gone and a short-nosed revolver was in its place. - -"You've got the wrong scoop, mister," I said. "I don't bite." - -"I'd rather you wouldn't move suddenly, Mr. Legion," he said. He -coughed, his eyes on mine. "My nerves aren't what they used to be." The -gun was still on me. - -"Which side are you working for?" I said. "And can I put my shoes on, -or are you afraid I'll pull a gat out of my sock?" - -He rested the pistol on his knee. "Get completely dressed, Mr. Legion." - -"Sorry," I said. "No can do. No clothes." - -He frowned slightly. "My jacket will be a little small for you," he -said. "But I think you can manage." - -I was sitting on the bed again. "I'm going to get out a cigarette," I -said. "Try not to shoot me." I reached for a package on the table, lit -up. His eyes stayed on mine. - -"How come you didn't figure I was dead?" I asked, blowing smoke at him. - -"We checked the house," he said. "No body." - -"Why, you incompetent asses. You were supposed to think I drowned." - -"That possibility was considered. But we made the routine checks -anyway." - -"Nice of you to let me sleep it out. How long have you been here?" - -"Only a few minutes," he said. He glanced at his watch. "We'll have to -be going in another fifteen." - -"What do you want with me?" I said. "You blew up everything you were -interested in." - -"The Department wants to ask you a few questions." - -"Look, I'm just a dumb guy," I whined. "I don't know nothing about all -that stuff. I was just the guy that peddled it, see?" - -He took a drag on his cigarette, squinted at me through the smoke. "You -ran up an A average in college," he said, "including English." - -"You boys really do your homework." I looked at the pistol. "I wonder -if you'd really shoot me," I mused. - -"I'll try to make the position clear," he said. "Just to avoid any -unfortunate misunderstanding. My instructions are to bring you in, -alive--if possible. If it appears that you may evade arrest ... or fall -into the wrong hands, I'll be forced to use the gun." - -I pulled my shoes on, thinking it over. My best chance to make a break -was now, while there was only one watchdog. But I had a feeling he was -telling the truth about shooting me. I had already seen the boys in -action at the house. - -He got up. "Let's step into the living room, Mr. Legion." I moved past -him through the door. In the living room the clock on the mantel said -eleven. I'd been asleep for five or six hours. Margareta ought to be -getting back any minute.... - -"Put this on," he said. I took the light jacket, wedged myself into it, -looked at my reflection in the big rectangular mirror that occupied -most of a wall above the low divan. - -"It's not the real me," I said. "I usually--" - -The telephone rang. - -I looked at my watchdog. He shook his head. We stood and listened to it -ring. After a while it stopped. - -"We'd better be going now," he said. "Walk ahead of me, please. We'll -take the elevator to the basement and leave by the service entrance--" - -He stopped talking, eyes on the door. There was the rattle of a key. -The gun came up. - -"Hold it," I snapped. "It's the girl who owns the apartment." I moved -to face him, my back to the door. - -"That was foolish of you, Legion," he said. "Don't move again." - -I watched the door in the big mirror on the opposite wall. The knob -turned, the door swung in ... and a thin brown man in white shirt -and white pants slipped into the room. As he pushed the door back he -transferred a small automatic to his left hand. My keeper threw a lever -on the revolver that was aimed at my belt buckle. - -"Stand absolutely still, Legion," he said. "If you have a chance, -that's it." He moved aside slightly, looked past me to the newcomer. -I watched in the mirror as the man in white behind me swiveled to keep -both of us covered. - -"This is a fail-safe weapon," said my first owner to the new man. -"I think you know about them. We leaked the information to you. I'm -holding the trigger back; if my hand relaxes, it fires, so I'd be a -little careful about shooting, if I were you." - -The thin man swallowed, a black leather bow tie bobbing against his -Adam's apple. He didn't say anything. He was having to make some tough -decisions. His instructions would be the same as my other friend's: to -bring me in alive, if possible. - -"Who does this bird represent?" I asked my man. I noticed my voice was -pitched half an octave higher than usual. - -"He's a Soviet agent." - -I looked in the mirror at the man again. "Nuts," I said. "He looks like -a waiter in a chili joint. He probably came up to take our order." - -"You talk too much when you're nervous," said my keeper between his -teeth. He held the gun on me steadily. I watched his trigger finger to -see if it looked like relaxing. - -"I'd say it's a stalemate," I said. "Let's take it once more from the -top. Both of you go out and--" - -"Shut up, Legion." My man licked his lips, glanced at my face. "I'm -sorry. It looks as though--" - -"You don't want to shoot me," I blurted out loudly. In the mirror I had -seen the door, which was standing ajar, ease open an inch, two inches. -"You'll spoil this nice coat...." I kept on talking: "And anyway it -would be a big mistake, because everybody knows Russian agents are -stubby men with wide cheekbones and tight hats--" - -Silently Margareta slipped into the room, took two quick steps, and -slammed a heavy handbag down on the slicked-back pompadour that went -with the Adam's apple. The man in white stumbled and fired a round into -the rug. The automatic dropped from his hand, and my pal in tan stepped -to him and hit him hard on the back of the head with his pistol. He -whirled toward me, hissed "Play it smart" just loud enough for me to -hear, then turned to Margareta. He slipped the gun into his pocket, but -I knew he could get it out again in a hurry. - -"Very nicely done, Miss," he said. "I'll have this person removed from -your apartment. Mr. Legion and I were just going." - -Margareta looked at me. I thought over two or three remarks but none of -them seemed to fit. I didn't intend to see her get hurt--or involved. -Apparently my FBI type was willing to leave her out of it, if I went -quietly. On the other hand, this was my last chance to get out of the -net before it closed for good. My keeper was watching, waiting for me -to try something, tip Margareta off.... - -"It's okay, honey," I said. "This is Mr. Smith ... of our Embassy. -We're old friends." I stepped past her, headed for the door. My hand -was on the knob when I heard a solid thunk behind me. I whirled in time -to clip the FBI on the jaw as he fell forward. Margareta looked at me, -wide-eyed. - -"That handbag packs a wallop," I said. "Nice work, Maggie." I knelt, -pulled off the fellow's belt, and cinched his hands behind his back -with it. Margareta got the idea, did the same for the other man, who -was beginning to groan now. - -"Who are these men?" she said. "What----" - -"I'll tell you all about it later. Right now, I have to get to some -people I know, get this story on the wires, out in the open. State'll -be a little shy about gunning me down or locking me up without trial, -if I give the show enough publicity." - -I reached in my pocket, handed her the black-and-gold-marked cylinder. -"Just to be on the safe side," I said, "mail this to me: John Jones--at -Itzenca, general delivery." - -"All right," said Margareta. "And I have your things." She stepped into -the hall, came back with a shopping bag and a suit carton. She took a -wad of bills from her handbag and handed it to me. - -I went to her and put my arms around her. "Listen, honey: as soon as -I leave, go to the bank and draw fifty grand. Get out of the country. -They haven't got anything on you except that you beaned a couple of -intruders in your apartment, but it'll be better if you disappear. -Leave an address care of Poste Restante, Basel, Switzerland. I'll get -in touch when I can." - -She put up an argument but I made my point. Twenty minutes later I was -pushing through the big glass doors onto the sidewalk, clean-shaven, -dressed to the teeth, with five grand on one hip and a .32 on the -other. I'd had a good meal and a fair sleep, and against me the secret -services of two or three countries didn't have a chance. - -I got as far as the corner before they nailed me. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -"You have a great deal to lose," General Smale was saying, "and nothing -to gain by your stubbornness. You're a young man, vigorous and, I'm -sure, intelligent. You have a fortune of some million and a quarter -dollars, which I assure you you'll be permitted to keep. As against -that prospect, so long as you refuse to cooperate, we must regard you -as no better than a traitorous criminal--and deal with you accordingly." - -"What have you been feeding me?" I said. "My mouth tastes like -somebody's old gym shoes and my arm's purple to the elbow. Don't you -know it's illegal to administer drugs without a license?" - -"The nation's security is at stake," snapped Smale. - -"The funny thing is, it must not have worked, or you wouldn't be -begging me to tell all. I thought that scopolamine or whatever you're -using was the real goods." - -"We've gotten nothing but gibberish," Smale said, "most of it in an -incomprehensible language. Who the devil are you, Legion? Where do you -come from?" - -"You know everything," I said. "You told me yourself. I'm a guy named -Legion, from Mount Sterling, Illinois, population one thousand eight -hundred and ninety-two." - -"I'm a humane man, Legion. But if necessary I'll beat it out of you." - -"You?" I smiled, curling a lip. "You mean you'll call in a herd of -plug-uglies: real crooks, to do the dirty work. My only crime is -knowing something you politicians want, and you're willing to lie, -cheat, steal, torture, and kill to get it. You know that and so do I; -let's not kid each other. I know your measure as a man, Mr. General." - -Smale had gone white. "I'm in a position to inflict agonies on you, -you insolent rotter," he grated. "I've refrained from doing so. You -might add that to your analysis of my character. I'm a soldier; I -know my duty. I'm prepared to give my life; if need be, my honor. I'm -even prepared to forego your good opinion--so long as I obtain for my -government the information you're withholding." - -"Turn me loose; then ask me in a nice way. As far as I know, I haven't -got anything of military significance to tell you, but if I were -treated as a free citizen I might be inclined to let you be the judge -of that." - -"Tell us now; then you'll go free." - -"Sure," I said. "I invented a combination rocket ship and time machine. -I traveled around the solar system and made a few short trips back into -history. In my spare time I invented other gadgets. I'm planning to -take out patents, so naturally I don't intend to spill any secrets. Can -I go now?" - -Smale got to his feet. "Until we can safely move you, you'll remain in -this room. You're on the sixty-third floor of the Yordano Building. -The windows are of unbreakable glass, in case you contemplate a -particularly untidy suicide. Your person has been stripped of all -potentially dangerous items, though I suppose you could still swallow -your tongue and suffocate. The door is of heavy construction, and -securely locked." - -"I forgot to tell you," I said. "I mailed a letter to a friend, telling -him all about you. The sheriff will be here with a posse any minute -now, to spring me----" - -"You mailed no letter," Smale said. "Unfortunately, we don't feel it -would be advisable to allow any furniture to remain here which you -might be foolish enough to dismantle for use as a weapon. It's rather -a drab room to spend your future in, but until you decide to cooperate -this will be your world." - -I didn't say anything. I sat on the floor and watched him leave. I -caught a glimpse of two uniformed men outside the door. No doubt they'd -take turns looking through the peephole. I'd have solitude without -privacy. I wondered if Margareta had managed to mail the cylinder. - -I stretched out on the floor, which was padded with a nice thick rug, -presumably so that I wouldn't beat my brains out against it just to -spite them. I was way behind on my sleep: being interrogated while -unconscious wasn't a very restful procedure. I wasn't too worried. In -spite of what Smale said, they couldn't keep me here forever. Maybe -Margareta had gotten clear and told the story to some newsmen; this -kind of thing couldn't stay hidden forever. Or could it? - -I thought about what Smale had said about my talking gibberish under -the narcotics. That was an odd one.... - -Quite suddenly I got it. By means of the drugs they must have tapped a -level where the Vallonian background briefing was stored: they'd been -firing questions at a set of memories that didn't speak English. I -grinned, then laughed out loud. Luck was still in the saddle with me. - - * * * * * - -The glass was in double panels, set in aluminum frames and sealed -with a plastic strip. The space between the two panels of glass was -evacuated of air, creating an insulating barrier against the heat of -the sun. I ran a finger over the aluminum. It was dural: good tough -stuff. If I had something to pry with, I might possibly lever the metal -away from the glass far enough to take a crack at the edge, the weak -point of armor-glass ... if I had something to hit it with. - -Smale had done a good job of stripping the room--and me. I had my shirt -and pants and shoes, but no tie or belt. I still had my wallet--empty, -a pack of cigarettes with two wilted weeds in it, and a box of matches. -Smale had missed a bet: I might set fire to my hair and burn to the -ground. I might also stuff a sock down my throat and strangle, or hang -myself with a shoe lace--but I wasn't going to. - -I looked at the window some more. The door was too tough to tackle, and -the heavies outside were probably hoping for an excuse to work me over. -They wouldn't expect me to go after the glass; after all, I was still -sixty-three stories up. What would I do if I did make it to the window -sill? But we could worry about that later, after I had smelled the -fresh air. - -My forefinger found an irregularity in the smooth metal: a short -groove. I looked closer, saw a screw head set flush with the aluminum -surface. Maybe if the frame was bolted together---- - -No such luck; the screw I had found was the only one. What was it for? -Maybe if I removed it I'd find out. But I'd wait until dark to try it. -Smale hadn't left a light fixture in the room. After sundown I'd be -able to work unobserved. - -A couple of hours went by and no one came to disturb my solitude, not -even to feed me. Maybe they planned to starve me out; or maybe they -weren't used to being jailers and had forgotten the animals had to be -fed. - -I had a short scrap of metal I'd worked loose from my wallet. It was -mild steel, flimsy stuff, only about an inch long, but I was hoping the -screw might not be set too tight. Aluminum threads strip pretty easily, -so it probably wasn't cinched up too hard. - -There was no point in theorizing. It was dark now; I'd give it a -try. I went to the window, fitted the edge of metal into the slotted -screw-head, and twisted. It turned, just like that. I backed it off ten -turns, twenty; it was a thick bolt with fine threads. It came free and -air whooshed into the hole. The screw apparently sealed the panel after -the air was evacuated. - -I thought it over. If I could fill the space between the panels with -water and let it freeze ... quite a trick in the tropics. I might as -well plan to fill it with gin and set it on fire. - -I was going in circles. Every idea I had started with 'if'. I needed -something I could manage with the materials at hand: cloth, a box of -matches, a few bits of paper. - -I got out a cigarette, lit up, and while the match was burning examined -the hole from which I'd removed the plug. It was about three-sixteenths -of an inch in diameter and an inch deep, and there was a hole near the -bottom communicating with the air space between the glass panels. It -was an old-fashioned method of manufacture but it seemed to have worked -all right: the air was pumped out and the hole sealed with the screw. -It had at any rate the advantage of being easy to service if the panel -leaked. Now, with some way of pumping air _in_, I could blow out the -panels.... - -There was no pump on the premises but I did have some chemicals: the -match heads. They were old style too, like a lot of things in Peru: the -strike-once-and-throw-away kind. - -I sat on the floor and started to work, chipping the heads off the -matchsticks, collecting the dry, purplish material on a scrap of -paper. Thirty-eight matches gave me a respectable sample. I packed it -together, rolled it in the paper, and crimped the ends. Then I tucked -the makeshift firecracker into the hole the screw had come from. - -Using the metal scrap I scraped at the threads of the screw, burring -them. Then I started it in the hole, half a dozen turns, until it came -up against the match heads. - -The shoes Margareta had bought me were the latest thing in Lima styles, -with thin soles, pointed toes, and built-up leather heels: Bad on the -feet, but just the thing to pound with. I thought about trying to work -loose a piece of rug to shield my face, but decided against it. I'd -have to stand aside and take my chances. - -I took the shoe by the toe and hefted it: the flexible sole gave it a -good action, like a well-made sap. There were still a couple of 'if's' -in the equation, but a healthy crack on the screw ought to drive it -against the packed match-heads hard enough to detonate them, and the -expanding gasses from the explosion ought to exert enough pressure -against the glass panels to break them. I'd know in a second. - -I flattened myself against the wall, brought the shoe up, and laid it -on the screw-head with everything I had.... - -There was a deafening boom, a blast of hot air, and a chemical stink, -then a gust of cool night wind--and I was on the sill, my back to the -street six hundred feet below, my fingers groping for a hold on the -ledge above the window. I found a grip, pulled up, reached higher, got -my feet on the muntin strip, paused to rest for three seconds, reached -again.... - -I pulled my feet above the window level and heard shouts in the room -below: - -"--fool killed himself!" - -"Get a light in here!" - -I clung, breathing deep, and murmured thanks to the architect who had -stressed a strong horizontal element in his façade and arranged the -strip windows in bays set twelve inches from the face of the structure. -Now, if the boys below would keep their eyes on the street long enough -for me to get on the roof-- - -I looked up, to get an idea how far I'd have to go--and gripped the -ledge convulsively as the whole building leaned out, tilting me back.... - -Cold sweat ran into my eyes. I squeezed the stone until my knuckles -creaked, and held on. I laid my cheek against the rough plaster, -listening to my heart thump. Adrenalin and high hopes had gotten me -this far ... and now it had all drained out and left me, a frail -ground-loving animal, flattened against the cruel face of a tower, like -a fly on a ceiling, with nothing between me and the unyielding concrete -below but the feeble grip of fingers and toes. I started to yell for -help, and the words stuck in my dry throat. I breathed in shallow -gasps, feeling my muscles tightening, until I hung, rigid as a board, -afraid even to roll my eyeballs for fear of dislodging myself. I closed -my eyes, felt my hands going numb, and tried again to yell: only a thin -croak emerged. - -A minute earlier I had had only one worry: that they'd look up and see -me. Now my worst fear was that they wouldn't. - -This was the end. I'd been close before, but not like this. My fingers -could take the strain for maybe another minute, maybe even two; then -I'd let go, and the wind would whip at me for a few timeless seconds, -before I hit.... - -I had had a lot of big ideas but in the cosmic scheme I was a gnat on -a windshield. I thought I'd learned something, was a jump ahead of -most guys, and could play the meaningless game with a certain flair. -But my fancy philosophies were words written in smoke when they came -up against the raw power of blind instinct. My conscious mind had an -I.Q. of 148, but the idiot subconscious that had frozen me here hadn't -learned anything since the first ape that had owned it rode out a storm -in a tree-top and lived to be my ancestor.... I heard a sound and it -was me, whimpering. I was a poor weakling, out of his element, bleating -for mercy. - -Down inside of me something didn't like the picture. A small defiance -flickered, found a foothold, burned brighter. I would die ... but that -would solve a lot of problems. And if I had to die, at least I could -die trying. - -My mind moved in to take over from my body. It was the body that was -wasting my last strength on a precarious illusion of safety, numbing -my senses, paralyzing me. It was a tyranny I wouldn't accept. I needed -a cool head and a steady hand and an unimpaired sense of balance; -and if the imbecile body wouldn't cooperate the mind would take it by -the scruff of the neck and force it. I'd been feeding this hulk for -thirty-odd years; now it would do what I told it. First: loosen the -grip-- - -Yes! If it killed me: bend those fingers! Sure, I might fall--all the -way--and splatter when I hit, but did this lousy slab of meat expect to -live forever? I had news for it: time was short, any way you figured. - -I was standing a little looser now, my hands resting flat, my legs -taking the load. I had a good wide ledge to stand on: nearly a foot, -and in a minute I was going to reach up and get a new hold and lift one -foot at a time ... and if I slipped, at least I'd have done it my way. - -I let go, and the building leaned out, and to hell with it.... - -I felt for the next ledge, gripped it, pulled up, found a toe-hold. - -Sure, I was dead. It was a long way to the top, and there was a fancy -cornice I'd never get over, but when the moment came and I started the -long ride down I'd thumb my nose at the old hag, Instinct, who hadn't -been as tough as she thought she was.... - - * * * * * - -I was under the cornice now, hanging on for a breather, and listening -to the hooting and hollering from the window far below. A couple of -heads had popped out and taken a look, but it was dark up where I was -and all the attention was centered down where the crowd had gathered -and lights were playing, looking for a mess. Pretty soon now they'd -begin to get the drift--so I'd better be going. - -I looked up at the overhang ... and felt the old urge to clutch and -hang on. So I leaned outward a little further, just to show me who -was boss. It was a long reach, and I'd have to risk it all on one -lunge because, if I missed, there wasn't any net, and my fingers knew -it. I heard my nails rasp on the plaster. I grated my teeth together -and unhooked one hand: it was like a claw carved from wood. I took -a half-breath, bent my knees slightly; they were as responsive as a -couple of bumper-jacks bolted on to the hip. Tough; but it was now or -never.... - -I let go with both hands and stretched, leaning back.... - -My wooden hands bumped the edge, scrabbled, hooked on, as my legs -swung free, and I was hanging like an old-time sailor strung up by -the thumbs. A wind off the roof whipped at my face and now I was a -tissue-paper doll, fluttering in the breeze. - -I had to pull now, pull hard, heave myself up and over the edge, but I -was tired, too tired. My crepe paper arms with the wooden hands seemed -to belong to someone else, someone who'd been dead a long time.... - -But the someone was me: death was an old story, one that I wrote -myself. This was something that had happened before, long ago, and the -palindrome of life was finished where it started, and a dark curtain -was falling.... - -Then from the darkness a voice was speaking in a strange language: a -confusion of strange thought symbols, but through them an ever more -insistent call: - -_... dilate the secondary vascular complex, shunt full conductivity to -the upsilon neuro-channel. Now, stripping oxygen ions from fatty cell -masses, pour in electro-chemical energy to the sinews...._ - -With a smooth surge of power I pulled myself up, fell forward, rolled -onto my back, and lay on the flat roof, the beautiful flat roof, still -warm from the day's sun. - -I was here, looking at the stars, safe; and later on when I had more -time I'd stop to think about it. But now I had to move, before they -had time to organize themselves, cordon off the building, and start a -floor-by-floor search. - -Staggering from the exertion of the long climb I got to my feet, went -to the shed housing the entry to the service stair. The door was -locked. I didn't waste any time kicking at it; I got a leg up and stood -on the doorknob. Two jumps and it snapped off. I pushed the stub of the -shaft through and tickled the back edge of the locking tongue, eased it -out. The door opened. - -A short flight of steps led down to a storeroom. There were dusty -boards, dried-up paint cans, odd tools. I picked up a five-foot length -of two-by-four and a hammer with one claw missing, and stepped out into -the hall. The street was a long way down and I didn't feel like wasting -time with stairs. I found the elevator, pushed the button, stood in -front of it whistling. A fat man in a drab suit came along, looked -at me distastefully, thought about telling me that workmen used the -freight elevator, then changed his mind and said nothing. - -The elevator arrived. I stepped in jauntily. The fat man followed me, -pushed the button for the foyer. I smiled and nodded, went on whistling. - -We stopped and the doors opened. I waited for the fat man to leave, -then glanced out, tightening my grip on the hammer, and followed. -I could see the lights in the street out front and in the distance -there was the wail of a siren, but nobody in the lobby looked my way. -I headed across toward the side exit, dumped the board at the door, -tucked the hammer in the waist band of my pants, and stepped out onto -the pavement. There were a lot of people hurrying past but this was -Lima: they didn't waste a glance on a barefooted carpenter. - -I moved off, not hurrying. There was a lot of rough country between -me and Itzenca, the little town near which the life boat was hidden -in a cañon, but I aimed to cover it in a week. Some time between now -and tomorrow I'd have to figure out a way to equip myself with a few -necessities, but I wasn't worried. A man who had successfully taken up -human-fly work in middle life wouldn't have any trouble stealing a pair -of boots. - -Foster had shoved off for home three years ago, local time, although to -him, aboard the ship, only a few weeks might have passed. My lifeboat -was a midge compared to the mother ship he rode, but it had plenty of -speed. Once aboard the lugger ... and maybe I could put a little space -between me and the big boys I was up against now. - -I had used the best camouflage I knew of on the boat. The near-savage -native bearers who had done my unloading and carried my Vallonian -treasures across the desert to the nearest railhead were not the -gossipy type. If General Smale's boys had heard about the boat, they -hadn't mentioned it. And if they had: well, I'd solve that one when I -got to it. There were still quite a few 'if's' in the equation, but my -arithmetic was getting better all the time. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -I took the precaution of sneaking up on the lifeboat in the dead of -night, but I could have saved myself a crawl. Except for the fact that -the camouflage nets had rotted away to shreds, the ship was just as I -had left it, doors sealed. Why Smale's team hadn't found it, I didn't -know; I'd think that one over when I was well away from Earth. - -It had been a long tough trip from Lima to the cañon, but I had made -it without interference. I had swapped my platinum finger ring for a -beat-up .38 pistol, but I hadn't had to use it. In a shabby bar in -one of the villages I passed through I had heard a battered radio -sputtering news; there was no mention of the assault on the island, or -of my escape. It seemed that all parties were willing to cover it up -and pretend it hadn't happened. - -I went into the post office at Itzenca and picked up the parcel -Margareta had mailed me with Foster's memory-trace in it. While I was -checking to see whether Uncle Sam's minions had intercepted the package -and substituted a carrot, I felt something rubbing against my shin. -I glanced down and saw a grey and white cat, reasonably clean and -obviously hungry. I don't know whether I'd ploughed through a field of -wild catnip the night before or if it was my way with a finger behind -the furry ears, but Kitty followed me out of Itzenca and right into the -bush. She kept pace with me, leading most of the time, as far as the -space boat, and was the first one aboard. - -I didn't waste time with formalities. I had once audited a briefing -rod on the boat's operation--not that I had ever expected to use the -information for a take-off. Once aboard, I hit the controls and cut a -swathe through the atmosphere that must have sent fingers jumping for -panic buttons from Washington to Moscow. - -I didn't know how many weeks or months of unsullied leisure stretched -ahead of me now. There would be time and to spare for exploring the -boat, working out a daily routine, chewing over the details of both my -memories, and laying plans for my arrival on Foster's world, Vallon. -But first I wanted to catch a show that was making a one-night stand -for me only: the awe-inspiring spectacle of the retreating earth. - -I dropped into a seat opposite the screen and flipped into view the big -luminous ball of wool that was my home planet. I'd been hoping to get -a last look at my island, but I couldn't see it. The whole sphere was -blanketed in cloud: a thin worn blanket in places but still intact. -But the moon was a sight! An undipped Edam cheese with the markings of -Roquefort. For a quarter of an hour I watched it grow until it filled -my screen. It was too close for comfort. I dumped the tabby out of my -lap and adjusted a dial. The dead world swept past, and I had a brief -glimpse of burst bubbles of craters that became the eyes and mouth and -pock marks of a face on a head that swung away from me in disdain and -then the sibling planets dwindled and were gone forever. - -The lifeboat was completely equipped, and I found comfortable quarters. -An ample food supply was available by the touch of a panel on the table -in the screen-room. That was a trick my predecessor with the dental -jewelery hadn't discovered, I guessed. During the courses of my first -journey earthward and on my visits to the boat for saleable playthings -while she lay in dry-dock, I had discovered most of the available -amenities aboard. Now I luxuriated in a steaming bath of recycled -water, sponged down with disposable towels packed in scented alcohol, -fed the cat and myself, and lay down to sleep for about two weeks. - -By the third week I was reasonably refreshed and rested. The scars from -my recent brushes with what passed as the law were healed. I had gotten -over regretting the toys I'd left behind on my island and the money in -my banks in Lima and Switzerland, and even Margareta. I was headed for -a new world; there was no point in dragging along old attachments. - -The cat was a godsend, I began to realize. I named her Itzenca, after -the village where she adopted me, and I talked to her by the hour. I -always had felt that there was a subtle difference between talking to -somebody else and talking to yourself. The latter gets a little tedious -after the first few days but you can keep the other up indefinitely. So -Itz got talked to plenty as we rode to the stars. - -"Say, Itz," said I, "where would you like your sand box situated? Right -there in front of the TV screen? There's not much traffic there, since -we cleared the solar system. You'd have the place all to yourself." - -No, said Itzenca by a flirt of her tail. And she walked over behind a -crate that had never been unloaded on earth. - -I pulled out a box of junk and slid the sand box in its place. Itzenca -promptly lost interest and instead jumped up on the junk box which fell -off the bench and scattered small objects of khaff and metal in all -directions. - -"Come back here, blast you," I said, "and help me pick up this stuff." - -Itz bounded after a dull-gleaming silver object that was still rolling. -I was there almost as quick as she was and grabbed up the cylinder. -Suddenly the horsing around was over. This thing was somebody's memory. - -I dropped onto a bench to examine it, my Vallonian-inspired pulse -pounding. "Where the heck did this come from, cat?" I said. - -Itz jumped up into my lap and nosed the cylinder. I was trying to hark -back to those days three years before when I had loaded the lifeboat -with all the loot it would carry, for the trip back to earth. - -"Listen, Itz, we've got to do some tall remembering. Let's see: there -was a whole rack of blanks in the memory-recharging section of the room -where we found the three skeletons. Yeah, now I remember: I pulled this -one out of the recorder set, which means it had been used, but not yet -color-coded. I showed it to Foster when he was hunting his own trace. -He didn't realize I'd pulled it out of the machine and he thought it -was an empty. But I'll bet you somebody had his mind taped, and then -left in a hurry, before the trace could be color-coded and filed. - -"On the other hand, maybe it's a blank that had just been inserted -when somebody broke up the play-house.... But wasn't there something -Foster said ... about when he woke up, way back when, with a pile of -fresh corpses around him? He gave somebody emergency treatment and to a -Vallonian that would include a complete memory-transcription.... Do you -realize what I've got here in my hand, Itz?" - -She looked up at me inquiringly. - -"This is what's left of the guy that Foster buried: his pal, Ammaerln, -I think he called him. What's inside this cylinder used to be tucked -away in the skull of the ancient sinner. The guy's not so dead after -all. I'll bet his family will pay plenty for this trace, and be -grateful besides. That'll be an ace in the hole in case I get too -hungry on Vallon." - -I got up and crossed the apartment; Itz followed me out to my sleeping -couch. I dropped the trace in a drawer beside Foster's own memory. - -"Wonder how Foster's making out without his past, Itz? He claimed -the one I've got here would only be a copy of the original stored -at Okk-Hamiloth, but my briefing didn't say anything about copying -memories. He must be somebody pretty important to rate that service." - -Suddenly my eyes were riveted to the markings on Foster's trace lying -in the drawer. "'Sblood! The royal colors!" I sat down on the bed with -a lurch. "Itzenca, old gal, it looks like we'll be entering Vallonian -society from the top. We've been consorting with a member of the -Vallonian nobility!" - -During the days that followed, I tried again and again to raise Foster -on the communicator ... without result. I wondered how I'd find him -among the millions on the planet. My best bet would be to get settled -down in the Vallonian environment, then start making a few inquiries. - -I would play it casually: act the part of a Vallonian who had merely -been travelling for a few hundred years--which wasn't unheard of--and -play my cards close to my gravy stains until I learned what the score -was. With my Vallonian briefing I ought to be able to carry it off. The -Vallonians might not like illegal immigrants any better than they did -back home, so I'd keep my interesting foreign background to myself. - -I would need a new name. I thought over several possibilities and -selected "Drgon". It was as good a Vallonian jawbreaker as any. - -I canvassed the emergency wardrobe that was standard equipment -on Far-Voyager lifeboats. There was everything from fur-lined -parka-type suits for outings on worlds like Pluto to sheer silk -one-man-air-conditioner balloon over-alls for stepping out on Venus. In -amongst them was a selection of dresses reminiscent of ancient Greece. -They had been the sharp style of Vallon when Foster left home. They -looked comfortable. I picked one in a sober color, then got busy with -the cutting and seaming unit to fit it to my frame. I didn't plan to -attract unnecessary attention with ill-fitting garments when I crossed -my first Vallonians. - -Itzenca watched with interest. "What the heck am I going to do with you -on Vallon?" I asked her. "The only cat on the planet. You may have to -put up with an iggrfn for a boy friend," I said searching my Vallonian -memory. "They're about the nearest thing to you in size and shape ... -but they're kind of objectionable, personality wise." - -I finished off my new duds, then dug through the handicrafts gear and -picked out a sheet of khaffite, a copper-like Vallonian alloy that -was supposed to have almost the durability of khaff without being so -hard to work. There were appropriate tools in the little workshop for -shaping it and adding decoration. - -"Don't worry," I said to Itz. "You won't go ashore shabbily clad -either. You'll be a knockout in this item." I parked her on the -workbench and sat down to my tools. I clipped out an inch-wide strip -of the khaffite, shaped it in a circle, and fitted it with a slip-out -catch. After a leisurely meal I spent what passed for an evening -etching "ITZENCA" on the new collar with plenty of curlicues. -Then I fitted it on her; she didn't seem to mind a bit. - -"There. All set to wow those Vallonians like they've never been wowed." -Itzenca purred. - -We strolled into the observation lounge. Strange bright-hued star -systems glowed far away. "We'll be stepping out with our memories any -night now," I said. - - * * * * * - -The proximity alarms were ringing. I watched the screen with its image -of a great green world rimmed on one edge with glaring white from the -distant giant sun, on the other flooded with a cool glow reflected -from the blue outer planet. The trip was almost over and my confidence -was beginning to fray around the edges. In a few minutes I would be -stepping into an unknown world, all set to find my old pal Foster and -see the sights. I didn't have a passport, but there was no reason to -anticipate trouble. All I had to do was let my natural identity take -a back seat and allow my Vallonian background to do the talking. And -yet.... - -Now Vallon spread out below us, a misty grey-green landscape, bright -under the glow of the immense moonlike sister world, Cinte. I had set -the landing monitor for Okk-Hamiloth, the capital city of Vallon. That -was where Foster would have headed, I guessed. Maybe I could pick up -the trail there. - -The city was directly below: a vast network of blue-lit avenues. I -hadn't been contacted by Planetary Control. That was normal enough, -however. A small vessel coming in on auto could handle itself. - -A little apprehensively I ran over my lines a last time: I was Drgon, -citizen of the Two Worlds, back from a longer-than-average season -of far-voyaging and in need of briefing rods to bring me up to date -on developments at home. I also required assignment of quarters. My -tailoring was impeccable, my command of the language a little rusty -from long non-use, and the only souvenirs I had to declare were a -tattered native costume from my last port of call, a quaint weapon from -the same, and a small animal I had taken a liking to. - - * * * * * - -The landing ring was visible on the screen now, coming slowly up to -meet us. There was a gentle shock and then absolute stillness. I -watched the port cycle open; I went to it and looked out at the pale -city stretching away to the hills. I took a breath of the fragrant -night air spiced with a long-forgotten perfume, and the part of me that -was now Vallonian ached with the inexpressible emotion of homecoming. - -I started to buckle on my pistol and gather up a few belongings, then -decided to wait until I'd met the welcoming committee. I whistled to -Itzenca and we stepped out and down. We crossed the clipped green, -luminous in the glow from the lights over the high-arched gate marking -the path that curved up toward the bright-lit terraces above. There -was no one in sight. Bright Cintelight showed me the gardens and walks -and, when I reached the terraces, the avenues beyond ... but no people. -I stood by a low wall of polished marble and thought about it. It was -about midnight, and the nights on Vallon lasted twenty-eight hours, -but there should have been some activity here. This was a busy port: -scheduled vessels, private yachts, official ships, all of them came and -went from Okk-Hamiloth. But not tonight. - -The cat and I walked across the terrace, passed through the open arch -to a refreshment lounge. The low tables and cushioned couches stood -empty under the rosy light from the ceiling panels. My slippered feet -whispered on the polished floor. - -I stood and listened: dead silence. There wasn't even the hum of a -mosquito; all such insect pests had been killed off long ago. The -lights glowed, the tables waited invitingly. How long had they waited? - -I sat down at one of them and thought hard. I had made a lot of plans, -but I hadn't counted on a deserted spaceport. How was I going to ask -questions about Foster if there was no one to ask? - -I got up and moved on through the empty lounge, past a wide arcade, -out onto a terraced lawn. A row of tall poplar-like trees made a -dark wall beyond a still pool, and behind them distant towers loomed, -colored lights sparkled. A broad avenue swept in a wide curve between -fountains, slanted away to the hills. A hundred yards from where I -stood a small vehicle was parked at the curb; I headed for it. - -It was an open two-seater, low-slung, cushioned, finished in violet -inlays against bright chrome. I slid into the seat, looked over the -controls, while Itzenca skipped to a place beside me. There was a -simple lever arrangement: a steering tiller. It looked easy. I tried a -few pulls and pushes; lights blinked on the panel, the car quivered, -lifted a few inches, drifted slowly across the road. I moved the -tiller, twiddled things; the car moved off toward the towers. I didn't -like the controls; a wheel and a couple of foot pedals would have -suited me better; but it beat walking. - - * * * * * - -Two hours later we had cruised the city ... and found nothing. It -hadn't changed from what my extra memory recalled--except that all the -people were gone. The parks and boulevards were trimmed, the fountains -and pools sparkled, the lights glowed ... but nothing moved. The -automatic dust precipitators and air filters would run forever, keeping -things clean and neat; but there was no one there to appreciate it. I -pulled over, sat watching the play of colored lights on a waterfall, -and considered. Maybe I'd find more of a clue inside one of the -buildings. I left the car and picked one at random: a tall slab of -pink crystal. Inside, I looked around at a great airy cavern full of -rose-colored light and listened to the purring of the cat and my own -breathing. There was nothing else to hear. - -I picked a random corridor, went along it, passed through empty rooms. -It was all in the old Vallonian style: walls paneled in jade, brocades -hangings in iridescent colors, rugs like pools of fire. In one chamber -I picked up a cloak of semi-velvet and put it over my shoulders; I was -getting cold in my daytime street dress. Walking among the tangible -ghosts of the long past didn't warm me up any. We climbed a wide spiral -stair, passed from vacant room to vacant room. I thought of the people -who had once used them. Where were they now? - -I found a clarinet-like musical instrument and blew a few notes on it. -It had a deep mellow tone that echoed along the deserted corridor. I -thought it sounded a lot like I felt: sad and forgotten. I went out -onto a lofty terrace overlooking gardens, leaned on a balustrade, and -looked up at the brilliant disc of Cinte. It loomed enormous, its -diameter four times that of the earthly moon. - -"We've come a long way to find nothing," I said to Itzenca. She pushed -her way along my leg and flexed her tail in a gesture meant to console. -But it didn't help. After the long wait, the tension of expectation, I -felt suddenly as empty as the silent halls of the building. - -I sat on the balustrade and leaned back against the polished pink -wall, took out the clarinet and blew some blue notes. That which once -had been was no more; remembering it, I played the _Pavane for a -Dead Princess_, and felt a forlorn nostalgia for a glory I had never -known.... - -I finished and looked up at a sound. Four tall men in grey cloaks and -a glitter of steel came toward me from the shadows. - - * * * * * - -I had dropped the clarinet and was on my feet. I tried to back up but -the balustrade stopped me. The four spread out. The man in the lead -fingered a wicked-looking short club and spoke to me--in gibberish. I -blinked at him and tried to think of a snappy comeback. - -He snapped his fingers and two of the others came up; they reached for -my arms. I started to square off, fist cocked, then relaxed; after all, -I was just a tourist, Drgon by name. Unfortunately, before I could get -my fist back, the man with the club swung it and caught me across the -forearm. I yelled, jumped back, found myself grappled by the others. My -arm felt dead to the shoulder. I tried a kick and regretted that too; -there was armor under the cloaks. The club wielder said something and -pointed at the cat.... - -It was time I wised up. I relaxed, tried to coax my _alter ego_ into -the foreground. I listened to the rhythm of the language: it was -Vallonian, badly warped by time, but I could understand it: - -"----musician would be an Owner!" one of them said. - -Laughter. - -"Whose man are you, piper? What are your colors?" - -I curled my tongue, tried to shape it around the sort of syllables -I heard them uttering; it seemed to me a gross debasement of the -Vallonian I knew. Still I managed an answer: - -"I ... am a ... citizen ... of Vallon." - -"A dog of a masterless renegade?" The man with the club hefted it, -glowered at me. "And what wretched dialect is that you speak?" - -"I have ... been long a-voyaging," I stuttered. "I ask ... for briefing -rods ... and for a ... dwelling place." - -"A dwelling place you'll have," the man said. "In the men's shed at -Rath-Gallion." He gestured, and handcuffs snapped on my wrists. - -He turned and stalked away, and the others hustled me after him. Over -my shoulder I got a glimpse of a cat's tail disappearing over the -balustrade. Outside, a long grey air-car waited on the lawn. They -dumped me in the back seat, climbed aboard. I got a last look at the -spires of Okk-Hamiloth as we tilted, hurtled away across the low hills. - -Somewhere in the shuffle I had lost my new cloak. I shivered. I -listened to the talk, and what I heard didn't make me feel any better. -The chain between my wrists kept up a faint jingling. I gathered I'd -be hearing a lot of that kind of music from now on. I had had an -idealistic notion of wanting to fit into this new world, find a place -in its society. I'd found a place all right: a job with security. - -I was a slave. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -It was banquet night at Rath-Gallion, and I gulped my soup in the -kitchen and ran over in my mind the latest batch of jingles I was -expected to perform. I had only been on the Estate a few weeks, but I -was already Owner Gope's favorite piper. If I kept on at this rate, I -would soon have a cell to myself in the slave pens. - -Sime, the pastry cook, came over to me. - -"Pipe us a merry tune, Drgon," he said, "and I'll reward you with a -frosting pot." - -"With pleasure, good Sime," I said. I finished off the soup and got out -my clarinet. I had tried out half a dozen strange instruments, but I -still liked this one best. "What's your pleasure?" - -"One of the outland tunes you learned far-voyaging," called Cagu, the -bodyguard. - -I complied with the _Beer Barrel Polka_. They pounded the table and -hallooed when I finished, and I got my goody pan. Sime stood watching -me scrape at it. - -"Why don't you claim the Chief Piper's place, Drgon?" Sime said. "You -pipe rings around the lout. Then you'd have freeman status, and could -sit among us in the kitchen almost as an equal." - -I went after the last of the chocilla frosting, licked my fingers, and -laid the pot aside. - -"I'd gladly be the equal of such a pastry cook as yourself, good Sime," -I said. "But what can a slave-piper do?" - -Sime blinked at me. "You can challenge the Chief Piper," he said. -"There's none can deny you're his master in all but name. Don't fear -the outcome of the Trial; you'll triumph sure." He glanced around at -the kitchen staff. "Is it not so, goodmen?" - -"I'll warrant it," the soup-master said. "If you lose, I'll take your -stripes for you." - -"You're going too fast for me, goodmen," I said. "How can I claim -another's place?" - -Sime waved his arms. "You have far-voyaged long indeed, Piper Drgon. -Know you naught of how the world wags these days? One would take you -for a Cintean heretic." - -"As I've said, goodmen: in my youth all men were free; and the High -King ruled at Okk-Hamiloth----" - -"'Tis ill to speak of these things," said Sime in a low tone. "Only -Owners know their former lives ... though I've heard it said that long -ago no man was so mean but that he recorded his lives and kept them -safe. How you came by yours, I ask not; but do not speak of it. Owner -Gope is a jealous master. Though a most generous and worshipful lord," -he added hastily, looking around. - -"I won't speak of it then, good Sime," I said. "But I have been long -away. Even the language has changed, so that I wrench my tongue in the -speaking of it. Advise me, if you will." - -Sime puffed out his cheeks, frowning at me. "I scarce know where -to start," he said. "All things belong to the Owners ... as is only -right." He looked around for confirmation. The others nodded. "Men of -low skill are likewise property; and 'tis well 'tis so; else would they -starve as masterless strays ... if the Greymen failed to find them -first." He made a sign and spat. So did everybody else. - -"Now men of good skill are freemen, each earning rewards as befits his -ability. I am Chief Pastry Cook to the Lord Gope, with the perquisites -of that station, therefore that none other equals my talents." He -looked around truculently, saw no challengers. "And thus it is with us -all." - -"And if some varlet claims the place of any man here," put in Cagu, -"then he gotta submit to the Trial." - -"Then," said Sime, pulling at his apron agitatedly, "this upstart -pastry cook must cook against me; and all in the Hall will judge; and -he who prevails is the Chief Pastry Cook, and the other takes a dozen -lashes for his impertinence." - -"But fear not, Drgon," spoke Cagu. "A Chief Piper ain't but a -five-stroke man. Only a tutor is lower down among freemen. And anyway, -the good Soup-master had promised to take the lash for you." - -There was a bellow from the door, and I grabbed my clarinet and -scrambled after the page. Owner Gope didn't like to wait around for -piper-slaves. I saw him looming up at his place, as I darted through to -my assigned position within the huge circle of the viand-loaded table. -The Chief Piper had just squeezed his bagpipe-like instrument and -released a windy blast of discordant sound. He was a lean, squint-eyed -creature, fond of ordering the slave-pipers about. He pranced in an -intricate pattern, pumping away at his vari-colored bladders, until -I winced at the screech of it. Owner Gope noticed him about the same -time. He picked up a heavy brass mug and half-rose to peg it at the -Chief Piper, who saw it just in time to duck. The mug hit a swollen -air-bag; a yellow one with green tassels; it burst with a sour bleat. - -"As sweet a note as has been played tonight," roared Owner Gope. -"Begone, lest you call up the hill devils----" - -His eye fell on me. "Here's Dugon, or Digen," he cried. "Now here's a -true piper. Summon up a fair melody, Dgron, to clear the fumes of the -last performer from the air before the wine sours." - -I bowed low, wet my lips, and launched into the _One O' Clock Jump_. -To judge from the roar that went up when I finished, they liked it. I -followed with _Little Brown Jug_ and _String of Pearls_. Gope pounded -and the table quieted down. - -"The rarest slave in all Rath-Gallion, I swear it," he bellowed. "Were -he not a slave, I'd drink his health." - -"By your leave, Owner?" I said. - -Gope stared, then nodded indulgently. "Speak then, Dugong," he said. - -"I claim the place of Chief Piper. I----" - -Yells rang out; Gope grinned widely. - -"So be it," he said. "Shall the vote be taken now, or must we submit -to more of the vile bladderings ere we proclaim our good Dagron Chief -Piper?" - -"Proclaim him!" somebody shouted. - -"There must be a Trial," another offered dubiously. - -Gope slammed a huge hand against the table. "Bring Lylk, the Chief -Piper, before me," he yelled. "He of the wretched air-skins." - -The Piper reappeared, fingering his bladders nervously. - -"The place of the Chief Piper is declared vacant," Gope said loudly. -The piper pinched a pink bladder, which emitted a thin squeak. - -"----since the former Chief Piper has been advanced in degree to a new -office," continued Gope. A blue bladder moaned, lost amid yells and -cheers. - -"Let these air-bags be punctured," Gope cried. "I banish their rancid -squeals forever from Rath-Gallion. Now, let all know: this former piper -is now Chief Fool to this household. Let him wear the broken bladders -as a sign of his office." There was a roar of laughter, glad cries, -whistles. Volunteers leaped to rip the colored air-bags; they died in -a final flurry of trills and flutters. A fool-slave tied the draggled -instrument to the ex-piper's head. - -I gave them _Mairzy Doats_ and the former piper capered gingerly. Owner -Gope roared with laughter. I followed with _The Dipsy Doodle_ and the -new fool, encouraged by success, leaped and grimaced, pirouetted, -strutted, bladders bobbing; the crowd laughed until the tears flowed. - -"A great day for Rath-Gallion," Gope shouted. "By the horns of the -sea-god, I have gained a prince of pipers and a king of fools! I -proclaim them to be ten-lash men, and both shall have places at table -henceforth!" - -The Fool and I followed up with three more numbers, then Gope let us -squeeze into a space on a hard bench at the far side of the table. A -table slave put loaded plates before us. - -"Well done, good Drgon," he whispered. "Do not forget us slaves in your -new honor." - -"Don't worry," I said, sniffling the aroma of a big slab of roast beef. -"I'll be sneaking down for a snack every night about Cinte-rise." - -I looked around the barbarically decorated hall, seeing things in -a new way. There's nothing like a little slavery to make a man -appreciate even a modest portion of freedom. Everything I had thought -I knew about Vallon had been wrong: the centuries that had passed had -changed things--and not for the better. The old society that Foster -knew was dead and buried. The old palaces and villas lay deserted, -the spaceports unused. And the old system of memory-recording that -Foster described was lost and forgotten. I didn't know what kind of a -cataclysm could have plunged the seat of a galactic empire back into -feudal darkness--but it had happened. - -So far I hadn't found a trace of Foster. My questions had gotten me -nothing but blank stares. Maybe Foster hadn't made it; there could have -been an accident in space. Or perhaps he was somewhere on the opposite -side of the world. Vallon was a big planet and communications were -poor. Maybe Foster was dead. I could live out a long life here and -never find the answers. - -I remembered my own disappointment at the breakdown of my illusions -that night at Okk-Hamiloth. How much more heartbreaking must have been -Foster's experience when and if he had arrived back here. And now we -were both in the same boat: with our memories of the old Vallon and the -dreary spectacle of the new providing plenty of food for bitterness. - -And Foster's memory that I had been bringing him for a keepsake: what -a laugh that was! Far from being a superfluous duplicate of a master -trace to which he had expected easy access, my copy of the trace was -now, with the vaults at Okk-Hamiloth sealed and forbidden, of the -greatest possible importance to Foster--and there wasn't a machine left -on the planet to play it on. - -Well, I still meant to find Foster if it took me---- - -Owner Gope was humming loudly and tunelessly to himself. I knew the -sign. I got ready to play again. Being Chief Piper probably wasn't -going to be just one big bowl of cherries, but at least I wasn't a -slave now. I had a long way to go, but I was making progress. - - * * * * * - -Owner Gope and I got along well. He was a shrewd old duck and he -liked having such an unusual piper on hand. He had heard from the -Greymen, the free-lance police force, how I had landed at the deserted -port. He warned me, in an oblique way, not to let word get out that -I knew anything about old times in Vallon. The whole subject was -tabu--especially the old capital city and the royal palaces themselves. -Small wonder that my trespassing there had brought the Greymen down on -me in doublequick time. - -Gope took me with him everywhere he went: by air-car, ground-car, or -formal river barge. There were still a lot of vehicles around, though -few people seemed to know how to use them, simple as they were to -operate. The air-cars were more useful, since they required no roads, -but Gope preferred the ground cars. I think he liked the sensation of -speed you got barrelling along a ninety or a hundred on one of the -still-perfect roads that had originally been intended merely as scenic -drives. - -One afternoon several months after my promotion I dropped in at the -kitchen. I was due to shove off with Owner Gope and his usual retinue -for a visit to Bar-Ponderone, a big estate a hundred miles north of -Rath-Gallion in the direction of Okk-Hamiloth. Sime and my other old -cronies fixed me up with a healthy lunch, and warned me that it would -be a rough trip; the stretch of road we'd be using was a favorite -hang-out of road pirates. - -"What I don't understand," I said, "is why Gope doesn't mount a couple -of guns on the car and blast his way through the raiders. Every time he -goes off the Estate he's taking his life in his hands." - -The boys were shocked. "Even piratical renegades would never dream of -taking a man's life, good Drgon," Sime said. "Every Owner, far and -near, would band together to hunt such miscreants down. And their own -fellows would abet the hunters! Nay, none is so low as to steal all a -man's lives." - -"The corsairs themselves know full well that in their next life they -may be simple goodmen--even slaves," the Chief Wine-Pourer put in. "For -you know, good Drgon, that when a member of a pirate band suffers the -Change the others lead the newman to an Estate, that he may find his -place...." - -"How often do these Changes come along?" I asked. - -"It varies greatly. Some men, of great strength and moral power, have -been known to go on unchanged for three or four hundred years. But -the ordinary man lives a life of eighty to one hundred years." Sime -paused. "Or it may be less. A life of travail and strife can age one -sooner than one of peace and retirement. Or unusual vicissitudes can -shorten a life remarkably. A cousin of mine, who was marooned on the -Great Stony Place in the southern half-world and who wandered for three -weeks without more to eat or drink than a small bag of wine, underwent -the Change after only fourteen years. When he was found his face was -lined and his hair had greyed, in the way that presages the Change. And -it was not long before he fell in a fit, as one does, and slept for -a night and a day. When he awoke he was a newman: young and knowing -nothing." - -"Didn't you tell him who he was?" - -"Nay!" Sime lowered his voice. "You are much favored of Owner Gope, -good Drgon, and rightly. Still, there are matters a man talks not -of----" - -"A newman takes a name and sets out to learn whatever trade he can," -put in the Carver of Roasts. "By his own skills he can rise ... as you -have risen, good Drgon." - -"Don't you have memory machines--or briefing rods?" I persisted. -"Little black sticks: you touch them to your head and----" - -Sime made a motion in the air. "I have heard of these wands: a -forbidden relic of the Black Arts----" - -"Nuts," I said. "You don't believe in magic, do you, Sime? The rods are -nothing but a scientific development by your own people. How you've -managed to lose all knowledge of your own past----" - -Sime raised his hands in distress. "Good Drgon, press us not in these -matters. Such things are forbidden." - -"Okay, boys. I guess I'm just nosy." - -I went on out to the car and climbed in to wait for Owner Gope. Trying -to learn anything about Vallon's history was about like questioning a -village of Eskimos about the great trek over from Asia: they didn't -know anything. - -I had reached a few tentative conclusions on my own, however. My theory -was that some sudden social cataclysm had broken down the system -of personality reinforcement and memory recording that had given -continuity to the culture. Vallonian society, based as it was on the -techniques of memory preservation, had gradually disintegrated. Vallon -was plunged into a feudal state resembling its ancient social pattern -of fifty thousand years earlier, prior to the development of memory -recording. - -The people, huddled together on Estates for protection from real or -imagined perils and shunning the old villas and cities as tabu--except -for those included in Estates--knew nothing of space travel and ancient -history. Like Sime, they had no wish even to speak of such matters. - -I might have better luck with my detective work on a big Estate like -Bar-Ponderone. I was looking forward to today's trip. I was cramped on -Rath-Gallion. It was a small, poor Estate, covering only about twenty -square miles, with half a dozen villages of farmers and craftsmen and -the big house of Owner Gope. I had seen all of it--and it was a dead -end. - -Gope appeared, with Cagu and two other bodyguards, four dancing girls, -and an extra-large gift hamper. They took their places and the -driver started up and wheeled the heavy car out onto the highroad. -I felt a pulse of excitement as we accelerated in the direction of -Bar-Ponderone. Maybe at the big Estate I'd get news of Foster. - -We were doing about fifty down a winding mountain road. I was in the -front seat beside the driver, fiddling with my clarinet, and watching -the road from the corner of my eye. I was wishing the driver's knuckles -didn't show white on the speed control lever. He drove like a drunken -spinster, fast but nervous. It wasn't entirely his fault: Gope insisted -on plenty of speed. I was grateful for the auto steer mechanism; at -least we couldn't drive over a cliff. - -We rounded a curve, the wheels screeching from the driver's awkward, -too-fast swing into the turn, and saw another car in the road a quarter -of a mile ahead, not moving but parked--sideways. The driver hit the -brakes. - -Behind us Owner Gope yelled "Pirates! Don't slacken your pace, driver." - -"But, but, Owner Gope----" the driver gasped. - -"Ram the blackguards, if you must!" Gope shouted. "But don't stop!" - -The girls in the back yelped in alarm. The flunkies set up a wail. The -driver rolled his eyes, almost lost control, then gritted his teeth, -reached out to switch off the anti-collision circuit and slam the speed -control lever against the dash. I watched for two long heartbeats -as we roared straight for the blockading car, then I slid over and -grabbed for the controls. The driver held on, frozen. I reared back -and clipped him on the jaw. He crumpled into his corner, mouth open -and eyes screwed shut, as I hit the auto-steer override and worked the -tiller. It was an awkward position for steering, but I preferred it to -hammering in at ninety per. - -The car ahead was still sitting tight, now a hundred yards away, now -fifty. I cut hard to the right, toward the rising cliff face; the car -backed to block me. At the last instant I whipped to the left, barreled -past with half an inch to spare, rocketed along the ragged edge with -the left wheel rolling on air, then whipped back into the center of the -road. - -"Well done!" yelled Cagu. - -"But they'll give chase!" Gope shouted. "Assassins! Masterless swine!" - -The driver had his eyes open now. "Crawl over me!" I barked. He mumbled -and clambered past me and I slid into his seat, still clinging to -the accelerator lever and putting up the speed. Another curve was -coming up. I grabbed a quick look in the rear-viewer: the pirates were -swinging around to follow us. - -"Press on!" commanded Gope. "We're close to Bar-Ponderone; it's no more -than five miles----" - -"What kind of speed have they got?" I called back. - -"They'll beat us easy," said Cagu cheerfully. - -"What's the road like ahead?" - -"A fair road, straight and true, now that we've descended the -mountain," answered Gope. - -We squealed through the turn and hit a straightaway. A curving road -branched off ahead. "What's that?" I snapped. - -"A winding trail," gasped the driver. "It comes on Bar-Ponderone, but -by a longer way." - -I gauged my speed, braked minutely, and cut hard. We howled up the -steep slope, into a turn between hills. - -Gope shouted, "What madness is this? Are you in league with the -villains...?" - -"We haven't got a chance on the straightaway," I called back. "Not in a -straight speed contest." I whipped the tiller over, then back the other -way, following the tight S-curves. We flashed past magnificent vistas -of rugged peaks and rolling plains, but I didn't have time to admire -the view. There were squeals from the odalisques in the rear seats, -a gabble of excited talk. I caught a glimpse of our pursuers, just -heading into the side road behind us. - -"Any way they can head us off?" I yelled. - -"Not unless they have confederates stationed ahead," said Gope, "but -these pariahs work alone." - -I worked the brake and speed levers, handled the tiller. We swung -right, then left, higher and higher, then down a steep grade and up -again. The pirate car rounded a turn, only a few hundred yards behind -now. I scanned the road ahead, followed its winding course along the -mountainside, through a tunnel, then out again to swing around the -shoulder of the next peak. - -"Pitch something out when we go through the tunnel!" I yelled. -"Anything!" - -"My cloak," cried Gope. "And the gift hamper." - -One of the flunkies started to moan. The girls caught the fever, joined -in with shrill lamentations. - -"Silence!" roared Gope. "Lend a hand here, or by the sea-devil's beard -you'll be jettisoned with the rest!" - -We roared into the tunnel mouth. There was a blast of air as the rear -deck cover opened. Gope and Cagu hefted the heavy gift hamper, tumbled -it out, followed it with a cloak, a wine jug, assorted sandals, -bracelets, fruit. Then we were back in the sunlight and I was fighting -the curve. In the rear-viewer I saw the pirates burst from the tunnel -mouth, Gope's black and yellow cloak spread over the canopy, smashed -fruit spattered over it, the remains of the hamper dragging under the -chassis. The car rocked and a corner of the cloak lifted, clearing the -driver's view barely in time. - -"Tough luck," I said. "We've got a long straight stretch ahead, and I'm -fresh out of ideas...." - -The other car gained. I held the speed bar against the dash but we were -up against a faster car; it was a hundred yards behind us, then fifty, -then pulling out to go alongside. I slowed imperceptibly, let him get -his front wheels past us, then cut sharply. There was a clash of wheel -fairings, and I fought the tiller as we rebounded from the heavier car. -He crept forward, almost alongside again; shoulder to shoulder we raced -at ninety-five down the steep grade.... - -I hit the brakes and cut hard to the left, slapped his right rear -wheel, slid back. He braked too; that was a mistake. The heavy car lost -traction, sliding. In slow motion, off-balanced in a skid, it rose on -its nose, ploughing up a cloud of dust. The hamper whirled away, the -cloak fluttered and was gone, then the pirate car seemed to float for -an instant in air, before it dropped, wheels up, out of sight over the -sheer cliff. We raced alone down the slope and out onto the wooded -plain toward the towers of Bar-Ponderone. - -A shout went up; Owner Gope leaned forward to pound my back. "By the -nine eyes of the Hill Devil!" he bellowed, "masterfully executed! -The prince of Pipers is a prince of Drivers too! This night you'll -sit by my side at the ring-board at Bar-Ponderone in the rank of a -hundred-lash Chief Driver, I swear it!" - -"Compared with making a left turn off the Outer Drive at 5:15 on a -Friday, that was nothing," I said. I held onto the tiller and tried -breathing again. I'd been a fool to try to flip a heavier car--but it -had worked. And now I'd gotten another promotion. I was doing okay. - -"And let no man raise a charge of Assassination," Gope went on. "I'll -not see so clever a Driver-Piper immured. I charge you all: say nothing -of this! We'll consider that the rascals merely outdid themselves in -their villainy." - -That was the first I'd thought of that angle. To take a human life was -still the one unthinkable crime in this world of immortals--because you -took not just one, but all a man's lives. The punishment was walling -up for life ... but just one life. In my case one would be enough; I -didn't have any spares. I had taken a bigger chance with Gope than I -had with the pirates. - -Life here was a series of gambles, but it looked like the chance-takers -got ahead fast. My best bet was to stay on the make and calculate the -odds when it was over. - - * * * * * - -I spent the first day at Bar-Ponderone rubber-necking the tall -buildings and keeping an eye open for Foster, on the off chance that I -might pass him on the street. It was about as likely as running into an -old high school chum from Perth Amboy among the body servants of the -Shah of Afghanistan, but I kept looking. - -By sunset I was no wiser than before. Dressed in the latest in -Vallonian cape and ruffles, I was sitting with my buddy Cagu, Chief -Bodyguard to Owner Gope, at a small table on the first terrace at the -Palace of Merrymaking, Bar-Ponderone's biggest community feasting hall. -It looked like a Hollywood producer's idea of a twenty-first century -night club, complete with nine dance floors on five levels, indoor -pools, fountains, two thousand tables, musicians, girls, noise, colored -lights, and food fit for an Owner. It was open to all fifty-lash -goodmen of the Estate and to guests of equivalent rank. After the -back-country life at Rath-Gallion it looked like the big time to me. - -Cagu was a morose-looking old cuss, but good-hearted. His face was cut -and scarred from a thousand encounters with other bodyguards and his -nose had been broken so often that it was invisible in profile. - -"Where do you manage to get in all the fights, Cagu?" I asked him. -"I've known you for three months, and I haven't seen a blow struck in -anger yet." - -"Here." He grinned, showing me some broken front teeth. "Swell places, -these big Estates, good Drgon; lotsa action." - -"What do you do, get in street fights?" - -"Nah. The boys show up down here, tank up, cruise around, you know." - -"They start fights here in the dining room?" - -"Sure. Good crowd here; lotsa laughs." - -I picked up my drink, raised it to Cagu--and got it in my lap as -somebody jostled my arm. I looked up. A battle-scarred thug stood over -me. - -"Who'sa punk, Cagu?" he said in a hoarse whisper. He probed at a back -tooth with a silver pick, rolled his eyes from me to my partner. - -Cagu stood up, and threw a punch to the other plug-ugly's paunch. He -_oof!_ed, clinched, eyed me resentfully over Cagu's shoulder. Cagu -pushed him away, held him at arm's length. - -"Howsa boy, Mull?" he said. "Lay offa my sidekick; greatest little -piper ina business, and a top driver too." - -Mull rubbed his stomach, sat down beside me. "Ya losin' your punch, -Cagu." He looked at me. "Sorry about that. I thought you was one of the -guys." He signaled a passing waiter-slave. "Bring my friend a new suit. -Make it snappy." - -"Don't the customers kind of resent it when you birds stage a -heavyweight bout in the aisle?" I asked. "A drink in the lap is -routine. It could happen in any joint in Manhattan. But a seven-course -meal would be overdoing it." - -"Nah; we move down inta the Spot." He waved a thumb in the general -direction of somewhere else. He looked me over. "Where ya been, Piper? -Your first time ina Palace?" - -"Drgon's been travelling," said Cagu. "He's okay. Lemme tell ya the -time these pirates pull one, see...." - -Cagu and Mull swapped lies while I worked on my drinking. Although I -hadn't learned anything on my day's looking around at Bar-Ponderone, -it was still a better spot for snooping than Rath-Gallion. There were -two major cities on the Estate and scores of villages. Somewhere among -the population I might have better luck finding someone to talk history -with ... or someone who knew Foster. - -"Hey!" growled Mull. "Look who's comin'." - -I followed his gaze. Three thick-set thugs swaggered up to the table. -One of them, a long-armed gorilla at least seven feet tall, reached -out, took Cagu and Mull by the backs of their necks, and cracked their -skulls together. I jumped up, ducked a hoof-like fist ... and saw a -beautiful burst of fireworks followed by soothing darkness. - - * * * * * - -I fumbled in the dark with the lengths of cloth entangling my legs, sat -up, cracked my head---- - -I groaned, freed a leg from the chair rungs, groped my way out from -under the table. A Waiter-slave helped me up, dusted me off. The -seven-foot lout lolling in a chair glanced my way, nodded. - -"You shouldn't hang out with lugs like that Mull," he said. "Cagu told -me you was just a piper, but the way you come outa that chair--" He -shrugged, turned back to whatever he was watching. - -I checked a few elbow and knee joints, worked my jaw, tried my neck: -all okay. - -"You the one that slugged me?" I asked. - -"Huh? Yeah." - -I stepped over to his chair, picked a spot, and cleared my throat. -"Hey, you," I said. He turned, and I put everything I had behind a -straight right to the point of the jaw. He went over, feet in the air, -flipped a rail, and crashed down between two tables below. I leaned -over the rail. A party of indignant Tally-clerks stared up at me. - -"Sorry, folks," I said. "He slipped." - -A shout went up from the floor some distance away. I looked. In a -cleared circle two levels below a pair of heavy-shouldered men were -slugging it out. One of them was Cagu. I watched, saw his opponent -fall. Another man stepped in to take his place. I turned and made my -way down to the ring-side. - -Cagu exchanged haymakers with two more opponents before he folded and -was hauled from the ring. I propped him up in a chair, fitted a drink -into his fist, and watched the boys pound each other. It was easy to -see why the scarred face was the sign of their craft; there was no -defensive fighting whatever. They stood toe-to-toe and hit as hard as -they could, until one collapsed. It wasn't fancy, but the fans loved -it. Cagu came to after a while and filled me in on the fighters' -backgrounds. - -"So they're all top boys," he said. "But it ain't like in the old days -when I was in my prime. I could've took any three of these bums. The -only one maybe I woulda had a little trouble with is Torbu." - -"Which one is he?" - -"He ain't down there yet; he'll show to take on the last boys on their -feet." - -More gladiators pushed their way to the Spot, pulled off -gaily-patterned cloaks and weskits, and waded in. Others folded, were -dragged clear, revived to down another and shot cheer on the fray. - -After an hour the waiting line had dwindled away to nothing. The two -battlers on the Spot slugged, clinched, breathed hard, swung and -missed; the crowd booed. - -"Where's Torbu?" Cagu wondered. - -"Maybe he didn't come tonight," I said. - -"Sure, you met him; he knocked you under the table." - -"Oh, him?" - -"Where'd he go?" - -"The last I saw he was asleep on the floor," I said. - -"Hozzat?" - -"I didn't much like him slugging me. I clobbered him one." - -"Hey!" yelped Cagu. His face lit up. He got to his feet. - -"Hold it," I said. "What's--?" - -Cagu pushed his way through to the Spot, took aim, and floored the -closest fighter, turned and laid out the other. He raised both hands -above his head. - -"Rath-Gallion gotta Champion," he bellowed. "Rath-Gallion takes on all -comers." He turned, waved to me. "Our boy, Drgon, he--" - -There was a bellow behind me, even louder than Cagu's. I turned, saw -Torbu, his hair mussed, his face purple, pushing through the crowd. - -"Jussa crummy minute," he yelled. "I'm the Champion around here--" He -aimed a haymaker at Cagu; Cagu ducked. - -"Our boy, Drgon, laid you out cold, right?" he shouted. "So now he's -the champion." - -"I wasn't set," bawled Torbu. "A lucky punch." He turned to the fans. -"I'm tying my shoelace, see? And this guy--" - -"Come on down, Drgon," Cagu called, waving to me again. "We'll show--" -Torbu turned and slammed a roundhouse right to the side of Cagu's jaw; -the old fighter hit the floor hard, skidded, lay still. I got to my -feet. They pulled him to the nearest table, hoisted him into a chair. -I made my way down to the little clearing in the crowd. A man bending -over Cagu straightened, face white. I pushed him aside, grabbed the -bodyguard's wrist. There was no pulse. Cagu was dead. - -Torbu stood in the center of the Spot, mouth open. "What...?" he -started. I pushed between two fans, went for him. He saw me, crouched, -swung. - -I ducked, uppercut him. He staggered back. I pressed him, threw lefts -and rights to the body, ducked under his wild swings, then rocked his -head left and right. He stood, knees together, eyes glazed, hands down. -I measured him, right-crossed his jaw; he dropped like a log. - -Panting, I looked across at Cagu. His scarred face, white as wax, was -strangely altered now; it looked peaceful. Somebody helped Torbu to his -feet, walked him to the ring-side. It had been a big evening. Now all I -had to do was take the body home.... - -I went over to where Cagu was laid out on the floor. Shocked people -stood staring. Torbu was beside the body. A tear ran down his nose, -dripped on Cagu's face. Torbu wiped it away with a big scarred hand. - -"I'm sorry, old friend," he said. "I didn't mean it." - -I picked Cagu up and got him over my shoulder, and all the way to the -far exit it was so quiet in the Palace of Merrymaking that I could hear -my own heavy breathing and the tinkle of fountains and the squeak of my -fancy yellow plastic shoes. - - * * * * * - -In the bodyguards' quarters I laid Cagu out on a bunk, then faced the -dozen scowling bruisers who stared down at the still body. - -"Cagu was a good man," I said. "Now he's dead. He died like an -animal ... for nothing. That ended all his lives, didn't it, boys? -How do you like it?" - -Mull glowered at me. "You talk like we was to blame," he said. "Cagu -was my compeer too." - -"Whose pal was he a thousand years ago?" I snapped. "What was -he--once? What were you? Vallon wasn't always like this. There was a -time when every man was his own Owner--" - -"Look, you ain't of the Brotherhood--" one thug started. - -"So that's what you call it? But it's just another name for an old -racket. A big shot sets himself up as dictator--" - -"We got our Code," Mull said. "Our job is to stick up for the Owner ... -and that don't mean standing around listening to some japester callin' -names." - -"I'm not calling names," I snapped. "I'm talking rebellion. You boys -have all the muscle and most of the guts in this organization. Why -do you sit on your tails and let the boss live off the fat while you -murder each other for the amusement of the patrons? I say let's pay him -a call--right now. You had a birthright ... once. But it's up to you to -collect it ... before some more of you go the way Cagu did." - -There was an angry mutter. Torbu came in, face swollen. I backed up to -a table, ready for trouble. - -"Hold it, you birds," Torbu said. "What's goin' on?" - -"This guy! He's talkin' revolt and treason," somebody said. - -"He wants we should pull some rough stuff--on Owner Qohey hisself." - -Torbu came up to me. "You're a stranger around Bar-Ponderone. Cagu said -you was okay. You worked me over pretty good ... and I got no hard -feelin's; that's the breaks. But don't try to start no trouble here. We -got our Code and our Brotherhood. We look out for each other; that's -good enough for us. Owner Qohey ain't no worse than any other -Owner ... and by the Code, we'll stand by him!" - -"Listen to me," I said. "I know the history of Vallon: I know what -you were once and what you could be again. All you have to do is take -over the power. I can lead you to the ship I came here in. There are -briefing rods aboard, enough to show you--" - -"That's enough," Torbu broke in. He made a cabalistic sign in the air. -"We ain't gettin' mixed up in no tabu ghost-boats or takin' on no -magicians and demons--" - -"Hogwash! That tabu routine is just a gag to keep you away from the -cities so you won't discover what you're missing--" - -"I don't wanna hafta take you to the Greymen, Drgon," Torbu growled. -"Leave it lay." - -"These cities," I ploughed on. "They're standing there, empty, as -perfect as the day they were built. And you live in these flea-bitten -quarters, jammed inside the town walls, so the Greymen and renegades -won't get you." - -"You wanna run things here?" Mull put in. "Go see Qohey." - -"Let's all go see Qohey!" I said. - -"That's something you'll have to do alone," said Torbu. "You better -move on, Drgon. I ain't turnin' you in; I know how you felt about Cagu -gettin' killed and all--but don't push it too far." - -I knew I was licked. They were as stubborn as a team of mules--and just -about as smart. - -Torbu motioned; I followed him outside. - -"You wanna turn things upside-down, don't you? I know how it is; you -ain't the first guy to get ideas. We can't help you. Sure, things ain't -like they used to be here--and prob'ly they never were. But we got a -legend: someday the Rthr will come back ... and then the Good Time will -come back too." - -"What's the Rthr?" I said. - -"Kinda like a big-shot Owner. There ain't no Rthr now. But a long time -ago, back when our first lives started, there was a Rthr that was Owner -of all Vallon, and everybody lived high, and had all their lives...." -Torbu stopped, eyed me warily. - -"Don't say nothing to nobody," he went on, "about what I been tellin' -you. That's a secret of the Brotherhood. But it's kind of like a hope -we got--that's what we're waitin' for, through all our lives. We got to -do the best we can, and keep true to the Code and the Brotherhood ... -and someday the Rthr will come back ... maybe." - -"Okay," I said. "Dream on, big boy. And while you're treasuring your -rosy dreams you'll get your brains kicked out, like Cagu." I turned -away. - -"Listen, Drgon. It's no good buckin' the system: it's too big for one -guy ... or even a bunch of guys ... but--" - -I looked up. "Yeah?" - -"... if you gotta stick your neck out--see Owner Gope." Abruptly Torbu -turned and pushed back through the door. - -See Owner Gope, huh? Okay, what did I have to lose? I headed back along -the corridor toward Owners' country. - - * * * * * - -I stood in the middle of the deep-pile carpet in Gope's suite, trying -to keep my temper hot enough to supply the gall I needed to bust in on -an Owner in the middle of the night. He sat in his ceremonial chair and -stared at me impassively. - -"With your help or without it," I said, "I'm going to find the answers." - -"Yes, good Drgon," he said, not bellowing for once. "I understand. But -there are matters you know not of--" - -"Just get me back into the spaceport, noble Gope. I have enough -briefing rods aboard to prove my point--and a few other little items to -boot." - -"It's forbidden. Do you not understand--" - -"I understand too much," I snapped. - -He straightened, eyed me with a touch of the old ferocity. "Mind your -tone, Drgon! I'm Owner--" - -I broke in. "Do you remember Cagu? Maybe you remember him as a newman, -young, handsome, like a god out of some old legend. You've seen him -live his life. Was it a good life? Did the promise of youth ever get -paid off?" - -Gope closed his eyes. "Stop," he said. "This is bad, bad...." - -"'And the deaths they died I have watched beside, and the lives they -led were mine,'" I quoted. "Are you proud of them? And what about -yourself? Don't you ever wonder what you might have been ... back in -the Good Time?" - -"Who are you?" asked Gope, his eyes fixed on mine. "You speak Old -Vallonian, you rake up the forbidden knowledge, and challenge the very -Powers...." He got to his feet. "I could have you immured, Drgon. I -could hand you to the Greymen, for a fate I shudder to name." He turned -and walked the length of the room restlessly, then turned back to me -and stopped. - -"Matters stand ill with this fair world," he said. "Legend tells us -that once men lived as the High Gods on Vallon. There was a mighty -Owner, Rthr of all Vallon. It is whispered that he will come again--" - -"Your legends are all true. You can take my word for that! But that -doesn't mean some supernatural sugar daddy is going to come along and -bail you out. And don't get the idea I think I'm the fabled answer to -prayers. All I mean is that once upon a time Vallon was a good place -to live and it could be again. Right now, it's like a land under an -enchantment--and you sleeping beauties need waking up. Your cities and -roads and ships are still here, intact. But nobody knows how to run -them and you're all afraid to try. Who scared you off? Who started the -rumors? What broke down the memory recording system? Why can't we all -go to Okk-Hamiloth and use the Archives to give everybody back what -he's lost--" - -"These are dread words," said Gope. - -"There must be somebody behind it. Or there was once. Who is he?" - -Gope thought. "There is one man pre-eminent among us: the Great Owner, -Owner of Owners: Ommodurad by name. Where he dwells I know not. This is -a secret possessed only by his intimates." - -"What does he look like? How do I get to see him?" - -Gope shook his head. "I have seen him but once, closely cowled. He is -a tall man, and silent. 'Tis said--" Gope lowered his voice, "--by his -black arts he possesses all his lives. An aura of dread hangs about -him--" - -"Never mind that jazz," I said. "He's a man, like other men. Stick a -knife between his ribs and you put an end to him, aura and all." - -"I do not like this talk of death. Let the doer of evil deeds be -immured; it is sufficient." - -"First let's find him. How can I get close to him?" - -"There are those Owners who are his confidants," said Gope, "his -trusted agents. It is through them that we small Owners learn of his -will." - -"Can we enlist one of them?" - -"Never. They are bound to him by ties of darkness, spells and -incantations." - -"I'm a fast man with a pair of loaded dice myself. It's all done with -mirrors. Let's stick to the point, noble Gope. How can I work into a -spot with one of these big shots?" - -"Nothing easier. A Driver and Piper of such skills as your own can -claim what place he chooses." - -"How about bodyguarding? Suppose I could take a heavy named Torbu; -would that set me in better with a new Owner?" - -"Such is no place for a man of your abilities, good Drgon," Gope -exclaimed. "True, 'tis a place most close to an Owner, but there is -much danger in it. The challenge to a bodyguard involves the most -bloody hand-to-hand combat, second only to the rigors of a challenge to -an Owner himself." - -"What's that?" I snapped. "Challenge an Owner?" - -"Be calm, good Drgon," said Gope, staring at me incredulously. "No -common man with his wits about him will challenge an Owner." - -"But I could if I wanted to?" - -"In sooth ... if you have tired of life--of all your lives; 'tis as -good a way to end them as another. But you must know, good Drgon: an -Owner is a warrior trained in the skills of battle. None less than -another such may hope to prevail." - -I smacked my fist into my palm. "I should have thought of this sooner! -The cooks cook for their places, the pipers pipe ... and the best man -wins. It figures that the Owners would use the same system. But what's -the procedure, noble Gope? How do you get your chance to prove who can -own the best?" - -"It is a contest with naked steel. It is the measure and glory of an -Owner that he alone stands ready to prove his quality against the peril -of death itself." Gope drew himself up with pride. - -"What about the bodyguards?" I asked. "They fight--" - -"With their hands, good Drgon. And they lack skill with those. A death -such as you described tonight--that is a rare and sorry accident." - -"It showed up this whole grubby farce in its true colors. A -civilization like that of Vallon--reduced to this." - -"Still, it is sweet to live--by whatever rules----" - -"I don't believe that ... and neither do you. What Owner can I -challenge? How do I go about it?" - -"Give up this course, good Drgon--" - -"Where's the nearest buddy of the Big Owner?" - -Gope threw up his hands. "Here, at Bar-Ponderone. Owner Qohey. But--" - -"And how do I call his bluff?" - -Gope put a hand on my shoulder. "It is no bluff, good Drgon. It is long -now since last Owner Qohey stood to his blade to protect his place, but -you may be sure he has lost none of his skill. Thus it was he won his -way to Bar-Ponderone, while lesser knights, such as myself, contented -themselves with meaner fiefs." - -"I'm not bluffing either, noble Gope," I said, stretching a point. "I -was no harness-maker in the Good Time." - -"It is your death--" - -"Tell me how I offer the challenge ... or I'll twist his nose in the -main banqueting salon tomorrow night." - -Gope sat down heavily, raised his hand, and let them fall. "If I tell -you not, another will. But I will not soon find another Piper of your -worth." - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Gaudy hangings of purple cut the light of the sun to a rich gloom in -the enormous, high-vaulted Audience Hall. A rustling murmur was audible -in the room as uneasy courtiers and supplicants fidgeted, waiting for -the appearance of the Owner. - -It had been two months since Gope had explained to me how a formal -challenge to an Owner was conducted, and, as he pointed out, this was -the only kind of challenge that would help. If I waylaid the man and -cut him down, even in a fair fight, his bodyguards would repay the -favor before I could establish the claim that I was their legitimate -new boss. - -I had spent three hours every day in the armory at Rath-Gallion, -trading buffets with Gope and a couple of the bodyguards. The -thirty-pound slab of edged steel had felt right at home in my hand that -first day--for about a minute. I had the borrowed knowledge to give -me all the technique I needed, but the muscle power for putting the -knowledge into practice was another matter. After five minutes I was -slumped against the wall, gulping air, while Gope whistled his sticker -around my head and talked. - -"You laid on like no piper, good Drgon. Yet have you much to learn in -the matter of endurance." - ---And he was at me again. I spent the afternoon back-pedaling and -making wild two-handed swings and finally fell down--pooped. I couldn't -have moved if Gope had had at me with a hot poker. - -Gope and the others laughed til they cried, then hauled me away to my -room and let me sleep. They rolled me out the next morning to go at it -again. - -As Gope said, there was no time to waste ... and after two months of it -I felt ready for anything. Gope had warned me that Owner Qohey was a -big fellow, but that didn't bother me. The bigger they came, the bigger -the target.... - -There was a murmur in a different key in the Audience Hall and tall -gilt doors opened at the far side of the room. A couple of liveried -flunkies scampered into view, then a seven-foot man-eater stalked into -the hall, made his way to the dias, turned to face the crowd.... - -He was enormous: his neck was as thick as my thigh, his features -chipped out of granite, the grey variety. He threw back his brilliant -purple cloak from his shoulders and reached out an arm like an oak -root for the ceremonial sword one of the flunkies was struggling with. -He took the sword with its sheath, sat down, and stood it between his -feet, his arms folded on top. - -"Who has a grievance?" he spoke. The voice reverberated like the old -Wurlitzer at the Rialto back home. - -This was my cue. There he was, just asking for it. All I had to do was -speak up. Owner Qohey would gladly oblige me. The fact that next to him -Primo Carnera would look dainty shouldn't slow me down. - -I cleared my throat with a thin squeak, and edged forward, not very far. - -"I have one little item--" I started. - -Nobody was listening. Up front a big fellow in a black toga was pushing -through the crowd. Everybody turned to stare at him: there was a -craning of necks. The crowd drew back from the dias leaving an opening. -The man in black stepped into the clear, flung back the flapping -garment from his right arm, and whipped out a long polished length of -razor-edged iron. It was beginning to look like somebody had beaten me -to the punch. - -The newcomer stood there in front of Qohey with the naked blade making -all the threat that was needed. Qohey stared at him for a long moment, -then stood, gestured to a flunky. The flunky turned, cleared his throat. - -"The place of Bar-Ponderone has been claimed!" he recited in a shrill -voice. "Let the issue be joined!" He skittered out of the way and Qohey -rose, threw aside his purple cloak and cowl, and stepped down. I pushed -forward to get a better look. - -The challenger in black tossed his loose garment aside, stood facing -Qohey in a skin-tight jerkin and hose; heavy moccasins of soft leather -were laced up the calf. He was magnificently muscled but Qohey towered -over him like a tree, with a build that would have taken the Mr. Muscle -Beach title any time he cared to try for it. - -I didn't know whether to be glad or sad that the initiative had been -taken out from under me. If the man in black won, I wondered would I -then be able to step in in turn and take him on? He was a lot smaller -than Qohey but there was always the chance.... - -Qohey unsheathed his fancy iron and whirled it like it was a lady's -putter. I felt sorry for the smaller man, who was just standing, -watching him. He really didn't have a chance. - -I had got through to the fore rank by now. The challenger turned and I -saw his face. I stopped dead, while fire bells clanged in my head. - -The man in black was Foster. - - * * * * * - -In dead silence Qohey and Foster squared off, touched their sword -points to the floor in some kind of salute ... and Qohey's slicer -whipped up in a vicious cut. Foster leaned aside, just far enough, then -countered with a flick that made Qohey jump back. I let out a long -breath and tried swallowing. Foster was like a terrier up against a -bull, but it didn't seem to bother him--only me. I had come light years -to find him, just in time to see him get his head lopped off. - -Qohey's blade flashed, cutting at Foster's head. Foster hardly moved. -Almost effortlessly, it seemed, he interposed his heavy weapon between -the attacking steel and himself. _Clash, clang!_ Qohey hacked and -chopped ... and Foster played with him. Then Foster's arm flashed out -and there was blood on Qohey's wrist. A gasp went up from the crowd. -Now Foster took a step forward, struck ... and faltered! In an instant -Qohey was on him and the two men were locked, chest to chest. For a -moment Foster held, then Qohey's weight told, and Foster reeled back. -He tried to bring up the sword, seemed to struggle, then Qohey lashed -out again. Foster twisted, took the blow awkwardly just above the hand -guard, stumbled ... and fell. - -Qohey leaped to him, raised the sword-- - -I hauled mine half way out of its sheath and pushed forward. - -"Let the man be put away from my sight," rumbled Qohey. He lowered his -immense sword, turned, pushed aside a flunky who had bustled up with -a wad of bandages. As he strode from the room a swarm of bodyguards -fanned out between the crowd and Foster. I could see him clumsily -struggling to rise, then I was shoved back, still craning for a -glimpse. There was something wrong here; Foster had acted like a man -suddenly half-paralyzed. Had Qohey doped him in some way? - -The cordon stopped pushing, turned their backs to the crowd. I tugged -at the arm of the man beside me. - -"Did you see anything strange there?" I started. - -He pulled free. "Strange? Yea, the mercy of our Lord Qohey! Instead of -meting out death on the spot, our Owner was generous--" - -"I mean about the fight." I grabbed his arm again to keep him from -moving off. - -"That the impudent rascal would dare to claim the place of Owner at -Bar-Ponderone: there's wonder enough for any man," he snapped. "Unhand -me, fellow!" - -I unhanded him and tried to collect my wits. What now? I tapped a -bodyguard on the shoulder. He whirled, club in hand. - -"What's to be the fate of the man?" I asked. - -"Like the Boss said: they're gonna immure the bum for his pains." - -"You mean wall him up?" - -"Yeah. Just a peep hole to pass chow in every day ... so's he don't -starve, see?" The bodyguard chuckled. - -"How long--?" - -"He'll last; don't worry. After the Change, Owner Qohey's got a -newman--" - -"Shut up," another bruiser said. - -The crowd was slowly thinning. The bodyguards were relaxing, standing -in pairs, talking. Two servants moved about where the fight had taken -place, making mystical motions in the air above the floor. I edged -forward, watching them. They seemed to be plucking imaginary flowers. -Strange.... - -I moved even farther forward to take a closer look, then saw a tiny -glint.... A servant hurried across, made gestures. I pushed him aside, -groped ... and my fingers encountered a delicate filament of wire. -I pulled it in, swept up more. The servants had stopped and stood -watching me, muttering. The whole area of the combat was covered with -the invisible wires, looping up in coils two feet high. - -No wonder Foster had stumbled, had trouble raising his sword. He had -been netted, encased in a mesh of incredibly fine tough wire ... and -in the dim light even the crowd twenty feet away hadn't seen it. Owner -Qohey was a good man with the chopper but he didn't rely on that alone -to hold onto his job. - -I put my hand on my sword hilt, chewed my lower lip. I had found -Foster ... but it wouldn't do me--or Vallon--much good. He was on -his way to the dungeons, to be walled up until the next Change. And -it would be three months before I could legally make another try for -Qohey's place. After seeing him in action I was glad I hadn't tried -today. He wouldn't have needed any net to handle me. - -I would have to spend the next three months working on my swordplay, -and hope Foster could hold out. Maybe I could sneak a message-- - -A heavy blow on the back sent me spinning. Four bodyguards moved to -ring me in, clubs in hand. They were strangers to me, but across the -room I saw Torbu looming, looking my way.... - -"I saw him; he started to pull that fancy sword," said one of the -guards. - -"He was asking me questions--" - -"Unbuckle it and drop it," another ordered me. "Don't try anything!" - -"What's this all about?" I said. "I have a right to wear a Ceremonial -Sword at an Audience--" - -"Move in, boys!" The four men stepped toward me, the clubs came up. -I warded off a smashing blow with my left arm, took a blinding crack -across the face, felt myself going down--another blow, and another: -killing ones.... - -Then I was aware of being dragged, endlessly, of voices barking sharp -questions, of pain.... After a long time it was dark, and silent, and I -slept. - - * * * * * - -I groaned and the sound was dead, muffled. I put out a hand and touched -stone on my right. My left elbow touched stone. I made an instinctive -move to sit up and smacked my head against more stone. My new room was -confining. Gingerly I felt my face ... and winced at the touch. The -bridge of my nose felt different: it was lower than it used to be, -in spite of the swelling. I lay back and traced the pattern of pain. -There was the nose--smashed flat--with secondary aches around the eyes. -They'd be beautiful shiners, if I could see them. Now the left arm: it -was curled close to my side and when I moved it I saw why: it wasn't -broken, but the shoulder wasn't right, and there was a deep bruise -above the elbow. My knees and shin, as far as I could reach, were caked -with dried blood. That figured: I remembered being dragged. - -I tried deep-breathing; my chest seemed to be okay. My hands worked. My -teeth were in place. Maybe I wasn't as sick as I felt. - -But where the hell was I? The floor was hard, cold. I needed a big soft -bed and a little soft nurse and a hot meal and a cold drink.... - -Foster! I cracked my head again and flopped back, groaned some more. It -still sounded pretty dead. - -I swallowed, licked my lips, felt a nice split that ran well into the -bristles. I had attended the Audience clean-shaven. Quite a few hours -must have passed since then. They had taken Foster away to immure him, -somebody said. Then the guards had tapped me, worked me over.... - -Immured! I got a third crack on the head. Suddenly it was hard to -breathe. I was walled up, sealed away from the light, buried under the -foundations of the giant towers of Bar-Ponderone. I felt their crushing -weight.... - -I forced myself to relax, breathe deep. Being immured wasn't the -same as being buried alive--not exactly. This was the method these -latter-day Vallonians had figured out to end a man's life -effectively ... without ending all his lives. They figured to keep -me neatly packaged here until my next Change, thus acquiring another -healthy newman for the kitchen or the stables. They didn't know the -only Change that would happen to me was death. - -They'd have to feed me; that meant a hole. I ran my fingers along the -rough stone, found an eight-inch square opening on the left wall, just -under the ceiling. I reached through it, felt nothing but the solidness -of its thick sides. How thick the wall was I had no way of determining. - -I was feeling dizzy. I lay back and tried to think.... - - * * * * * - -I was awake again. There had been a sound. I moved, and felt something -hit my chest. - -I groped for it; it was a small loaf of hard bread. I heard the sound -again and a second object thumped against me. - -"Hey!" I yelled, "listen to me! I'll die in here. I'm not like the rest -of you; I won't go through a Change. I'll rot here till I die...!" - -I listened. The silence was absolute. - -"Answer me!" I screamed. "You're making a mistake...!" - -I gave up when my throat got raw. The people who dropped the bread -through the little holes to the prisoners had heard a lot of yelling -in their time. They didn't listen any more. I felt for the other item -that had been pushed in to me. It was a water bottle made of tough -plastic. I fumbled the cap off, took a swallow. It wasn't good. I tried -the bread; it was tough, tasteless. I lay and chewed, and wondered what -I was supposed to do about toilet facilities; it was an interesting -problem. I could see it was going to be a great life, while it lasted. -I laughed: a weak snort of despair. - -As a world-saver I was a bust. I hadn't even been able to get around -to bailing out my pal Foster after Qohey had booby-trapped him. I -wondered where he was now. Sealed up in the next cubby-hole probably. -But he hadn't answered my yells. - -Yeah, mine had been a great idea, but it hadn't worked out. I had come -a long, long way and now I was going to die in this reeking hole. I had -a sudden vision of steaks uneaten, and life unlived. I would have been -good for another few decades anyway-- - -And then I had another thought: if I never had them was it going to be -because I hadn't tried? Abruptly I was planning. I would keep calm and -use my head. I wouldn't wear myself out with screams and struggles. I'd -figure the angles, use everything I had to make the best try I could. - -First, to explore the tomb-like cell. It hurt to move, but that -didn't matter. I felt over the walls, estimating size. My chamber was -three feet wide, two feet high, and seven feet long. The walls were -relatively smooth, except for a few mortar joints. The stones were big: -eighteen inches or so by a couple of feet. I scratched at the mortar; -it was rock hard. - -I wondered how they'd gotten me in. Some of the stones must be newly -placed ... or else there was a door. I couldn't feel anything as far as -my hands would reach. Maybe at the other end.... - -I tried to twist around: no go. The people who had built the cage knew -just how to dimension it to keep the occupant oriented the way they -wanted him. He was supposed to just lie quietly and wait for the bread -and water to fall through the hole above his chest. - -That was reason enough to change positions. If they wanted me to stay -put I'd at least have the pleasure of defying the rules. And there -just might be a reason why they didn't want me moving around. - -I turned on my side, pulled my legs up, hugged them to my chest, worked -my way down ... and jammed. My skinned knees and shins didn't help any. -I inched them higher, wincing at the pain, then braced my hands against -the floor and roof and forced my torso toward my feet.... - -Still no go. The rough stone was shredding my back. I moved my knees -apart; that eased the pressure a little. I made another inch. - -I rested, tried to get some air. It wasn't easy: my chest was crushed -between my thighs and the stone wall at my back. I breathed shallowly, -wondering whether I should go back or try to push on. I tried to move -my legs; they didn't like the idea. I might as well go on. It would -be no fun either way and if I waited I'd stiffen up, while inactivity -and no food and loss of blood would weaken me further every moment. I -wouldn't do better next time--not even as well. This was the time. Now. - -I set myself, pushed again. I didn't move. I pushed harder, scraping my -palms raw against the stone. I was stuck--good. I went limp suddenly. -Then I panicked, in the grip of claustrophobia. I snarled, rammed -my hands hard against the floor and wall, and heaved--and felt my -lacerated back slip along the stone, sliding on a lubricating film of -blood. I pushed again, my back curved, doubled; my knees were forced -up beside my ears. I couldn't breathe at all now and my spine was -breaking. It didn't matter. I might as well break it, rip off all the -hide, bleed to death; I had nothing to lose. I shoved again, felt the -back of my head grate; my neck bent, creaking ... then I was through, -stretching out to flop on my back, gasping, my head where my feet had -been. Score one for our side. - - * * * * * - -It took a long time to get my breath back and sort out my various -abrasions. My back was worst then my legs and hands. There was a messy -spot on the back of my head and sharp pains shot down my spine, and I -was getting tired of breathing through my mouth instead of my smashed -nose. Other than that I'd never felt better in my life. I had plenty of -room to relax in, I could breathe. All I had to do was rest, and after -a while they'd drop some more nice bread and water in to me.... - -I shook myself awake. There was something about the absolute darkness -and silence that made my mind want to curl up and sleep, but there was -no time for that. If there had been a stone freshly set in mortar to -seal the chamber after I had been stuffed inside, this was the time to -find it--before it set too hard. I ran my hands over the wall, found -the joints. The mortar was dry and hard in the first; in the next ... -under my fingernail soft mortar crumbled away. I traced the joint; -it ran around a twelve-by-eighteen-inch stone. I raised myself on my -elbows, settled down to scratching at it. - -Half an hour later I had ten bloody tips and a half-inch groove dug -out around the stone. It was slow work and I couldn't go much farther -without a tool of some sort. I felt for the water bottle, took off the -cap, tried to crush it. It wouldn't crush. There was nothing else in -the cell. - -Maybe the stone would move, mortar and all, if I shoved hard enough. -I set my feet against the end wall, my hands against the block, and -strained until the blood roared in my ears. No use. It was planted as -solid as a mother-in-law in the spare bedroom. - -I was lying there, just thinking about it, when I became aware -of something. It wasn't a noise, exactly. It was more like a -fourth-dimensional sound heard inside the brain ... or the memory of -one. - -But my next sensation was perfectly real. I felt four little feet -walking gravely up my belly toward my chin. - -It was my cat, Itzenca. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -For a while I toyed with the idea of just chalking it up as a miracle. -Then I decided it would be a nice problem in probabilities. It had -been seven months since we had parted company on the pink terrace at -Okk-Hamiloth. Where would I have gone if I had been a cat? And how -could I have found me--my old pal from earth? - -Itzenca exhaled a snuffle in my ear. - -"Come to think of it, the stink is pretty strong, isn't it? I guess -there's nobody on Vallon with quite the same heady fragrance. And what -with the close quarters here, the concentration of sweat, blood, and -you-name-it must be pretty penetrating." - -Itz didn't seem to care. She marched around my head and back again, now -and then laid a tentative paw on my nose or chin, and kept up a steady -rumbling purr. The feeling of affection I had for that cat right then -was close to being one of my life's grand passions. My hands roamed -over her scrawny frame, fingered again the khaffite collar I had whiled -away an hour in fashioning for her aboard the lifeboat-- - -My head hit the stone wall with a crack I didn't even notice. In -ten seconds I had released the collar clasp, pulled the collar from -Itzenca's neck, thumbed the stiff khaffite out into a blade about ten -inches long, and was scraping at the mortar beyond my head at fever -heat. - - * * * * * - -They had fed me three times by the time the groove was nine inches -deep on all sides of the block; and the mortar had hardened. But I was -nearly through, I figured. I took a rest, then made another try at -loosening the block. I thrust the blade into the slot, levered gently -at the stone. If it was only supported on one edge now, as it would be -if it were a little less than a foot thick, it should be about ready to -go. I couldn't tell. - -I put down my scraper, got into position, and pushed. I wasn't as -strong as I had been; there wasn't much force in the push. Again I -rested and again I tried. Maybe there was only a thin crust of mortar -still holding; maybe one more ounce of pressure would do it. I took a -deep breath, strained ... and felt the block shift minutely. - -Now! I heaved again, teeth gritted, drew back my feet, and thrust hard. -The stone slid out with a grating sound, dropped half an inch. I paused -to listen: all quiet. I shoved again, and the stone dropped with a -heavy thud to the floor outside. With no loss of time I pushed through -behind it, felt a breath of cooler air, got my shoulders free, pulled -my legs through ... and stood, for the first time in how many days.... - -I had already figured my next move. As soon as Itzenca had stepped -out I reached back in, groped for the water bottle, the dry crusts I -had been saving, and the wad of bread paste I had made up. I reached -a second time for a handful of the powdered mortar I had produced, -then lifted the stone. I settled it in place, using the hard bread -as supports, then packed the open joint with gummy bread. I dusted it -over with dry mortar, then carefully swept up the debris--as well as I -could in the total darkness. The bread-and-water man would have a light -and he was due in half an hour or so--as closely as I had been able -to estimate the time of his regular round. I didn't want him to see -anything out of the ordinary. I was counting on finding Foster filed -away somewhere in the stacks, and I'd need time to try to release him. - -I moved along the corridor, counting my steps, one hand full of -breadcrumbs and stone dust, the other feeling the wall. There were -narrow side branches every few feet: the access ways to the feeding -holes. Forty-one paces from my slot I came to a wooden door. It wasn't -locked, but I didn't open it. I wasn't ready to use it yet. - -I went back, passed my hole, continued nine paces to a blank wall. Then -I tried the side branches. They were all seven-foot stubs, dead ends; -each had the eight-inch holes on either side. I called Foster's name -softly at each hole ... but there was no answer. I heard no signs of -life, no yells or heavy breathing. Was I the only one here? That wasn't -what I had figured on. Foster had to be in one of these delightful -bedrooms. I had come across the universe to see him and I wasn't going -to leave Bar-Ponderone without him. - -It was time to get ready for the bread man. I had a choice of trying -to get back into my hole and replacing the block, or of hiding in one -of the side branches. I thought it over for a couple of microseconds -and decided against getting back in my tomb. If there were as many -vacancies here as I guessed, I'd be safe in any one of the side -passages but my own. - -I groped my way into a convenient hidey-hole, Itzenca at my heels. -With half a year's experience at dodging humans behind her, she could -be trusted not to show at the crucial moment, I figured. I had just -jettisoned my handful of trash in the backmost corner of the passage -when there was a soft grating sound from the door. I flattened myself -against the wall. I'd know in a second or two how observant the keeper -was. - -A light splashed on the floor; it must have been dim but seemed to my -eyes like the blaze of noon. Soft footsteps sounded. I held my breath. -A man in bodyguard's trappings, basket in hand, moved past the entry -of the branch where I stood, went on. I breathed again. Now all I had -to do was keep an eye on the feeder, watch where he stopped. I stepped -to the corridor, risked a glance, saw him entering a branch far down -the corridor. As he disappeared I made it three branches farther along, -ducked out of sight. - -I heard him coming back. I flattened myself. He went by me, opened the -door. It closed behind him and the darkness and silence settled down -once more. I stood where I was, feeling like a guy who's just showed up -for a party ... on the wrong day. - -The bread man had stopped at one cell only--mine. Foster wasn't here. - - * * * * * - -It was a long wait for the next feeding but I put the time to use. -First I had a good nap; I hadn't been getting my rest while I scratched -my way out of my nest. I woke up feeling better and started thinking -about the next move. The bodyguard who brought the food was the first -item: I had had to get a set of clothes somewhere and he'd be the -easiest source to tap. If my mental clock was right it was about time-- - -The door creaked, and I did a fast fade down a side branch. The guard -shuffled into view; now was the time. I moved out--quietly, I thought, -and he whirled, dropped the load and bottle, and fumbled at his club -hilt. I didn't have a club to slow me down. I went at him, threw a -beautiful right, square to the mouth. He went over backwards, with me -on top. I heard his head hit with a sound like a length of rubber hose -slapping a grapefruit. He didn't move. - -I pulled the clothes off him, struggled into them. They didn't fit too -well and they probably smelled gamey to anybody who hadn't spent a week -where I had, but details like those didn't count anymore. I tore his -sash into strips and tied him. He wasn't dead--quite, but I had reason -to know that any yelling he did was unlikely to attract much attention. -I hoped he'd enjoy the rest and quiet until the next feeding time. By -then I expected to be long gone. I lifted the door open and stepped out -into a dimly-lit corridor. - -With Itzenca abreast of me I moved along in absolute stillness, passed -a side corridor, came to a heavy door: locked. We retraced our steps, -went down the side hall, found a flight of worn steps, followed them up -two flights, and emerged in a dark room. A line of light showed around -a door. I went to it, peered through the crack. Two men in stained -kitchen-slave tunics fussed over a boiling cauldron. I pushed through -the door. - -The two looked up, startled. I rounded a littered table, grabbed up a -heavy soup ladle, and skulled the nearest cook just as he opened up to -yell. The other one, a big fellow, went for a cleaver. I caught him in -two jumps, laid him out cold beside his pal. - -I found an apron, ripped it up, and tied and gagged the two slaves, -then hauled them into a storeroom. I was stacking Vallonians away like -a squirrel storing nuts. - -I came back into the kitchen. It was silent now. The room reeked of -sour soup. A stack of unpleasantly familiar loaves stood by the oven. -I gave them a kick that collapsed the pile as I passed to pick up a -knife. I hacked tough slices from a cold haunch of Vallonian mutton, -threw one to Itzenca across the table, and sat and gnawed the meat -while I tried to think through my plans. - -Owner Qohey was a big man to tackle but he was the one with the -answers. If I could make my way to his apartment and if I wasn't -stopped before I'd forced the truth out of him, then I might get to -Foster and tell him that if he had the memory playback machine I had -the memory, if it hadn't been filched from the bottom of a knapsack -aboard a lifeboat parked at Okk-Hamiloth. - -Four 'if's' and a 'might'--but it was something to shoot at. My first -move would be to locate Qohey's quarters, somewhere here in the Palace, -and get inside. My bodyguard's outfit was as good a disguise as any for -the attempt. - -I finished off my share of the meat and got to my feet. I'd have to -find a place to clean myself up, shave-- - -The rear door banged open and two bodyguards came through it, talking -loudly, laughing. - -"Hey, cook! Set out meat for--" - -The heavy in the lead stopped short, gaping at me. I gaped back. It was -Torbu. - -"Drgon! How did you...?" He trailed off. - -The other bodyguard came past him, looked me over. "You're no Brother -of the Guard--" he started. - -I reached for the cleaver the kitchen-slave had left on the table, -backed against a tall wall cupboard. The bodyguard unlimbered his club. - -"Hold it, Blon," said Torbu. "Drgon's okay." He looked at me. "I kind -of figured you for done for, Drgon. The boys worked you over pretty -good." - -"Yeah," I returned, "and thanks for your help in stopping it." - -"This is the miscreant we immured!" Blon burst out. "Take him!" - -Torbu shifted. "Hold it a minute," he said. He looked uncomfortable. - -"Listen, you two!" I said. "You claim to believe in the system around -here. You think it's a great life, all fair play and no holds barred -and plenty of goodies for the winner. I know, it was tough about Cagu, -but that's life, isn't it? But what about the business I saw in that -Audience Hall? You guys try not to think about that angle, is that it?" - -"The noble Owner's gotta right--" Blon started. - -"I didn't like the caper with the wires, Blon," said Torbu. "You didn't -either; neither did most of the boys--" - -"And I don't remember getting much of a show myself," I said. "There -are a couple of your buddies I plan to look up when I have some free -time--" - -"I didn't lay a hand on you, Drgon," said Torbu. "I didn't want no part -of that." - -"It was the Owner's orders," said Blon. "What was I gonna go, tell -him----" - -"Never mind," I said. "I'll tell him myself. That's all I want: just a -short interview with the Owner--minus the wire nets." - -"Wow ..." drawled Torbu, "yeah, that'd be a bout." He turned to Blon. -"This guy's got a punch, Blon. He don't look so hot but he could swap -buffets with the Fire Drgon he's named after. If he's that good with a -long blade--" - -"Just lend me one," I said, "and show me the way to his apartment." - -"The noble Owner'll cut this clown to ribbons in two minutes flat," -said Blon. - -"Let's get the boys." - -"How could we explain it afterwards to the noble Owner?" said Blon. "He -ain't gonna think much of guys he thought was immured nice and safe -turnin' up in his bedchamber ... armed." - -"We're Brothers of the Guard," said Torbu. "We ain't got much but we -got our Code. It don't say nothing about wires. If we don't back up our -oath to the Brotherhood we ain't no better than slaves." He turned to -me. "Come on, Drgon. We'll take you to the Guardroom so you can clean -up and put on a good blade. If you're gonna lose all your lives at -once, you wanna do it right." - - * * * * * - -Torbu watched as the boys belted and strapped me into a guardsman's -fighting outfit. I had made him uneasy, maybe even started him -thinking. If I could last--just those 'two minutes flat'--before Owner -Qohey killed me, then he'd collect his bet, I'd be out of his hair, -and he could go back to being Torbu, a plain tough guy with a Code he -could still believe in. And if I won.... - -I felt better in the clean trappings of tough leather and steel. Torbu -led the way and fifteen bodyguards followed, like a herd of trolls. -There were few palace servants out at this hour; those who saw us gaped -from a safe distance and went on about their business. We crossed the -empty Audience Hall, climbed a wide staircase, went along a spacious -corridor hung with rich brocades and carpeted in deep-pile silk, with -soft lights glowing around ornate doors. - -We stopped before a great double door. Two guards in dress purple -sauntered over to see what it was all about. Torbu clued them in. They -hesitated, looked us over.... - -"We're goin' in, rookie," said Torbu. "Open up." They did. - -I pushed past Torbu into a room whose splendor made Gope's state -apartment look like a four-dollar motel. Bright Cintelight streamed -through tall windows, showed me a wide bed and somebody in it. I went -to it, grabbed the bedclothes, and hauled them off onto the floor. -Owner Qohey sat up slowly--seven feet of muscle. He looked at me, -glanced past me to the foremost of my escort.... - -He was out of the bed like a tiger, coming straight for me. There -was no time to fumble with the sword. I went to meet him, threw all -my weight into a right haymaker and felt it connect. I plunged past, -whirled. - -Qohey was staggering ... but still on his feet. I had hit him with -everything I had, nearly broken my fist ... and he was still standing. -I couldn't let him rest. I was after him, slammed a hard punch to the -kidneys, caught him across the jaw as he turned, drove a left and right -into his stomach---- - -A girder fell from the top of the Golden Gate Bridge and shattered -every bone in my body. There was a booming like heavy surf, and I was -floating in it, dead. Then I was in Hell, being prodded by red-hot -tridents.... I blinked my eyes. The roaring was fading now. I saw -Qohey, leaning against the foot of the bed, breathing heavily. I had to -get him. - -I got my feet under me, stood up. My chest was caved in and my left -arm belonged to somebody else. Okay; I still had my right. I made it -over to Qohey, maneuvered into position. He didn't look at me; he -seemed to be having trouble breathing; those gut punches had gotten to -him. I picked a spot just behind the right ear, reared back, and threw -a trip-hammer punch with my shoulder and legs behind it. I felt the -jaw go. Qohey jumped the foot-board and piled onto the floor like a -hundred-car freight hitting an open switch. I sat down on the edge of -the bed and sucked in air and tried to ignore the whirling lights that -were closing in. - -After awhile I noticed Torbu standing in front of me with the cat under -one arm. Both of them were grinning at me. "Any orders, Owner Drgon?" - -I found my voice. "Wake him up and prop him in a chair. I want to talk -to him." - -Ex-Owner Qohey didn't much like the idea but after Torbu and a couple -of other strong-arm lads had explained the situation to him in sign -language he decided to cooperate. - -"Get off his head, Mull," Torbu said. "And untwist that rope, Blon. -Owner Drgon wants him in a conversational mood. You guys are gonna -make him feel self-conscious." - -I had been feeling over my ribs, trying to count how many were broken -and how many just bent. Qohey's punch was a lot like the kick of a -two-ton ostrich. He was looking at me now, eyes wild. - -"Qohey, I want to ask you a few questions. If I don't like the answers, -I'll see if I can't find quarters for you in the basement annex. I just -left a cozy room there myself. There's no view to speak of but it's -peaceful." - -Qohey grunted something. He was having trouble talking around his -broken jaw. - -"The fellow in black," I said, "the one who claimed your place as -Owner. You netted him and had your bully boys haul him off somewhere. I -want to know where." - -Qohey grunted again. - -"Hit him, Torbu," I said. "It will help his enunciation." Torbu kicked -the former Owner in the shin. Qohey jumped and glowered at him. - -"Call off your dogs," he mumbled. "You'll not find the upstart you seek -here." - -"Why not?" - -"I sent him away." - -"Where?" - -"To that place from which you and your turncoat crew will never fetch -him back." - -"Be more specific." - -Qohey spat. - -"Torbu didn't much like that crack about turncoats," I said. "He's -eager to show you how little. I advise you to talk fast and plain, -before you lose a whole raft of lives." - -"Even these swine would never dare--" I took out the needle-pointed -knife I was wearing as part of my get-up. I put the point against -Qohey's throat and pushed gently until a trickle of crimson ran down -the thick neck. - -"Talk," I said quietly, "or I'll cut your throat myself." - -Qohey had shrunk back as far as he could in the heavy chair. - -"Seek him then, assassin," he sneered. "Seek him in the dungeons of the -Owner of Owners." - -"Keep talking," I prompted. - -"The Great Owner commanded that the slave be brought to him ... at the -Palace of Sapphires by the Shallow Sea." - -"Has this Owners' Owner got a name? How'd he hear about him?" - -"Lord Ommodurad," Qohey's voice grated out. He was watching Torbu's -foot. "There was that about the person of the stranger that led me to -inform him." - -"When did he go?" - -"Yesterday." - -"You know this Sapphire Palace, Torbu?" - -"Sure," he answered. "But the place is tabu; it's crawlin' with demons -and warlocks. The word is, there's a curse on the--" - -"Then I'll go in alone," I said. I put the knife away. "But first I've -got a call to make at the spaceport at Okk-Hamiloth." - -"Sure, Owner Drgon. The port's easy. Some say it's kind of haunted too -but that's just a gag; the Greymen hang out there." - -"We can take care of the Greymen," I said. "Get fifty of your best men -together and line up some air-cars. I want the outfit ready to move -out in half an hour." - -"What about this chiseler?" asked Torbu. - -"Seal him up until I get back. If I don't make it, I know he'll -understand." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -It was not quite dawn when my task force settled down on the smooth -landing pad beside the lifeboat that had brought me to Vallon. It stood -as I had left it seven earth-months before: the port open, the access -ladder extended, the interior lights lit. There weren't any spooks -aboard but they had kept visitors away as effectively as if there had -been. Even the Greymen didn't mess with ghost-boats. Somebody had done -a thorough job of indoctrination on Vallon. - -"You ain't gonna go inside that accursed vessel, are you, Owner Drgon?" -asked Torbu, making his cabalistic sign in the air. "It's manned by -gobblins--" - -"That's just propaganda. Where my cat can go, I can go. Look." - -Itzenca scampered up the ladder, and had disappeared inside the boat -by the time I took the first rung. The guards gawked from below as I -stepped into the softly lit lounge. The black-and-gold cylinder that -was Foster's memory lay in the bag I had packed and left behind, months -before; with it was the other, plain one: Ammaerln's memory. Somewhere -in Okk-Hamiloth must be the machine that would give these meaning. -Together Foster and I would find it. - -I found the .38 automatic lying where I had left it. I picked up the -worn belt, strapped it around me. My Vallonian career to date suggested -it would be a bright idea to bring it along. The Vallonians had never -developed any personal armament to equal it. In a society of immortals -knives were considered lethal enough for all ordinary purposes. - -"Come on, cat," I said. "There's nothing more here we need." - -Back on the ramp I beckoned my platoon leaders over. - -"I'm going to the Sapphire Palace," I said. "Anybody that doesn't want -to go can check out now. Pass the word." - -Torbu stood silent for a long moment, staring straight ahead. - -"I don't like it much, Owner," he said. "But I'll go. And so will the -rest of 'em." - -"There'll be no backing out, once we shove off," I said. "And by the -way--" I jacked a round into the chamber of the pistol, raised it, and -fired the shot into the air. They all jumped. "If you ever hear that -sound, come a-running." - -The men nodded, turned to their cars. I picked up the cat and piled -into the lead vehicle next to Torbu. - -"It's a half-hour run," he said. "We might run into a little Greyman -action on the way. We can handle 'em." - -We lifted, swung to the east, barrelled along at low altitude. - -"What do we do when we get there, boss?" said Torbu. - -"We play it by ear. Let's see how far we can get on pure gall before -Ommodurad drops the hanky." - - * * * * * - -The palace lay below us, rearing blue towers to the twilit sky like -a royal residence in the Munchkin country. Beyond it, sunset colors -reflected from the silky surface of the Shallow Sea. The timeless -stones and still waters looked much as they had when Foster set out -to lose his identity on earth, three thousand years before. But its -magnificence was lost on these people. The hulking crew around me -never paused to wonder about the marvels wrought by their immortal -ancestors--themselves. Stolidly, they lived their feudal lives in -dismal contrast with the monuments all about them. - -I turned to my cohort of hoodlums. "You boys claim it's the demons and -warlocks that keep the whole of Vallon at arm's length from this place. -In that case there's no protocol for a new Owner's reception at the -Blue Palace. A guy with a little luck and even less of a memory than -usual could skip the goblins and play it good-natured but dumb: show up -at the Palace grounds, out of common politeness to the Top Dog, to pay -his respects. Anything wrong with that?" - -"What if they rush us first ... before we got time to go into the act?" -said somebody in the mob. - -"That's where the luck comes in," I said. "Anybody else?" - -Torbu looked around at his henchmen. There was some shrugging of -shoulders, a few grunts. He looked at me. "You do the figurin', Owner," -he said. "The boys will back your play." - -We were dropping toward the wide lawns now and still no opposition -showed itself. Then the towering blue spires were looming over us, and -we saw men forming up behind the blue-stained steel gates of the Great -Pavilion. - -"A reception committee," I said. "Hold tight, fellas. Don't start -anything. The further in we get peaceably, the less that leaves to do -the hard way." - -The cars settled down gently, well-grouped, and Torbu and I climbed -out. As quickly as the other boats disgorged their men, ranks were -closed, and we moved off toward the gates. Itzenca, as mascot, brought -up the rear. Still no excitement, no rush by the Palace guards. Had too -many centuries of calm made them lackadaisical, or did Ommodurad use a -brand of visitor-repellent we couldn't see from here? - -We made it to the gate ... and it opened. - -"In we go," I said, "but be ready...." - -The uniformed men inside the compound, obviously chosen for their beef -content, kept their distance, looked at us questioningly. We pulled -up on a broad blue-paved drive and waited for the next move. About -now somebody should stride up to us and offer the key to the city--or -something. But there seemed to be a hitch. It was understandable. After -all there hadn't been any callers dropping cards here for about 2900 -years. - -It was a long five minutes before a hard case in a beetle-backed -carapace of armor and a puffy pink cape bustled down the palace steps -and came up to us. - -"Who comes in force to the Sapphire Palace?" he demanded, glancing past -me at my team-mates. - -"I'm Owner Drgon, fellow," I barked. "These are my honor guard. What -provincial welcome is this, from the Great Owner to a loyal liege-man?" - -That punctured his pomposity a little. He apologized--in a half-hearted -way--mumbled something about arrangements, and beckoned over a couple -of side-men. One of them came over and spoke to Torbu, who looked my -way, hand on dagger hilt. - -"What's this?" I said. "Where I go, my men go." - -"There is the matter of caste," said my pink-caped greeter. "Packs -of retainers are not ushered _en masse_ into the presence of Lord -Ommodurad, Owner of Owners." - -I thought that one over and failed to come up with a plausible loophole. - -"Okay, Torbu," I said. "Keep the boys together and behave yourselves. -I'll see you in an hour. Oh, and see that Itzenca gets made comfy." - -The beetle man snapped a few orders, then waved me toward the palace -with the slightest bow I ever saw. A six-man guard kept me company up -the steps and into the Great Pavilion. - -I guess I expected the usual velvet-draped audience chamber or -barbarically splendid Hall, complete with pipers, fools, and ceremonial -guards. What I got was an office, about sixteen by eighteen, -blue-carpeted and tasteful ... but bare-looking. I stopped in front -of a block of blue-veined grey marble with a couple of quill pens in -a crystal holder and, underneath, leg room for a behemoth, who was -sitting behind the desk. - -He got to his feet with all the ponderous mass of Nero Wolfe but a lot -more agility and grace. "You wish?" he rumbled. - -"I'm Owner Drgon, ah ... Great Owner," I said. I'd planned to give my -host the friendly-but-dumb routine. I was going to find the second part -of the act easy. There was something about Ommodurad that made me -feel like a mouse who'd just changed his mind about the cheese. Qohey -had been big, but this guy could crush skulls as most men pinch peanut -hulls, and in his eyes was the kind of remote look that came of three -millenia of not even having to mention the power he asserted. - -"You ignore superstition," observed the Big Owner. He didn't waste many -words, it seemed. Gope had said he was the silent type. It wasn't a bad -lead; I decided to follow it. - -"Don't believe in 'em," I said. - -"To your business then," he continued. "Why?" - -"Just been chosen Owner at Bar-Ponderone," I said. "Felt it was only -fitting that I come and do obeisance before Your Grace." - -"That expression is not used." - -"Oh." This fellow had a disconcerting way of not getting sucked in. -"Lord Ommodurad?" - -He nodded just perceptibly, then turned to the foremost of the herd who -had brought me in. "Quarters for the guest and his retinue." His eyes -had already withdrawn, like the head of a Galapagos turtle into its -enormous shell, in contemplation of eternal verities. I piped up again. - -"Ah, pardon me...." The piercing stare of Ommodurad's eyes was on -me again. "There was a friend of mine--," I gulped, "swell guy, but -impulsive. It seems he challenged the former Owner of Bar-Ponderone...." - -Ommodurad did no more than twitch an eye-brow but suddenly the air was -electric. His stare didn't waver by a millimeter but the lazy slouch -of the six guards had altered to sprung steel. They hadn't moved but -I felt them now all around me and not a foot away. I had a sinking -feeling that I'd gone too far. - -"--so I thought maybe I'd crave Your Excellency's help, if possible, -to locate my pal," I finished weakly. For an interminable minute the -Owner of Owners bored into me with his eyes. Then he raised a finger a -quarter of an inch. The guards relaxed. - -"Quarters for the guest and his retinue," repeated Ommodurad. He -withdrew then ... without moving. I was dismissed. - -I went quietly, attended by my hulking escort. - -I tried hard not to let my expression show any excitement, but I was -feeling plenty. - -Ommodurad was close-mouthed for a reason. I was willing to bet that he -had his memories of the Good Time intact. - -Instead of the debased modern dialect that I'd heard everywhere since -my arrival, Ommodurad spoke flawless Old Vallonian. - - * * * * * - -It was 27 o'clock and the Palace of Sapphires was silent. I was alone -in the ornate bed chamber the Great Owner had assigned me. It was a -nice room but I wouldn't learn anything staying in it. Nobody had said -I was confined to quarters. I'd do a little scouting and see what I -could pick up, if anything. I slung on the holster and .38 and slid -out of the darkened chamber into the scarcely lighter corridor beyond. -I saw a guard at the far end; he ignored me. I headed in the opposite -direction. - -None of the rooms was locked. There was no arsenal at the Palace and no -archives that lesser folk than the Great Owner could use with profit. -Everything was easy of access. I guessed that Ommodurad rightly counted -on indifference to keep snoopers away. Here and there guards eyed me -as I passed along but they said nothing. - -I saw again by Cintelight the office where Ommodurad had received me, -and near it an ostentatious hall with black onyx floor and ceiling, -gold hangings, and ceremonial ring-board. But the center of attraction -was the familiar motif of the concentric circles of the Two Worlds, -sketched in beaten gold across the broad wall of black marble behind -the throne. Here the idea had been elaborated on. Outward from both the -inner and outer circles flamed the waving lines of a sunburst. At dead -center, a boss, like a sword hilt in form, chased in black and gold, -erupted a foot from the wall. It was the first time I'd seen the symbol -since I'd arrived on Vallon. I found it strangely exciting--like a -footprint in the sand. - -I went on, toured the laundry and inspected pantries large and small -and caught a whiff of stables. The palace was asleep; few of its -occupants noticed me, and those who did hung back, silent. It looked as -if the Great Owner had given orders to let me roam freely. Somehow I -didn't find that comforting. - -Then I came into a purple-vaulted hall and saw a squad of guards, the -same six who'd kept me such close company earlier in the day. They were -drawn up at parade rest, three on each side of a massive ivory door. -Somebody lived in safety and splendor on the other side. - -Six sets of hard eyes turned my way. It was too late to duck back out -of sight. I trotted up to the first of the row of guards. "Say, fella," -I stage-whispered, "where's the ah--you know." - -"Every bed chamber is equipped," he said gruffly, raising his sword -and fingering its tip lovingly. - -"Yeah? I never noticed." I moved off, looking chastened. If they -thought I was a kewpie, so much the better. I was a mouse in cat -country here and I wasn't ready to fake a _meow_--not yet. - -On the ground floor I found Torbu and his cohort quartered in a -barrack-room off the main entry hall. - -"We're still in enemy territory," I reminded Torbu. "I want every man -ready." - -"No fear, boss," said Torbu. "All my bullies got an eye on the door and -a hand on a knife-hilt." - -"Have you seen or heard anything useful?" - -"Naw. These local dullards fall dumb at the first query." - -"Keep your ears cocked. I want at least two men awake and on the alert -all night." - -"You bet, noble Drgon." - -I judged distances carefully as I went back up the two flights to my -own room. Inside I dropped into a brocaded easy chair and tried to add -up what I'd seen. - -First: Ommodurad's apartment, as nearly as I could judge, was directly -over my own, two floors up. That was a break--or maybe I was where I -was for easier surveillance. I'd skip that angle, I decided. It tended -to discourage me and I needed all the enthusiasm I could generate. - -Second: I wasn't going to learn anything useful trotting around -corridors. Ommodurad wasn't the kind to leave traces of skullduggery -lying around where the guests would see them. - -And third: I should have known better than to hit this fortress with -two squads and a .38 in the first place. Foster was here; Qohey had -said so and the Great Owner's reaction to my mention of him confirmed -it. What was it about Foster, anyway, that made him so interesting to -these Top People? I'd have to ask him that one when I found him. But to -do that I'd have to leave the beaten track. - -I went to the wide double window and looked up. A cloud swept from -the great three-quarters face of Cinte, blue in the southern sky, and -I could see an elaborately carved façade ranging up past a row of -windows above my own to a railed balcony bathed in a pale light from -the apartment within. If my calculations were correct that would be -Ommodurad's digs. The front door was guarded like an octogenarian's -harem but the back way looked like a breeze. - -I pulled my head back in and thought about it. It was risky ... but -it had that element of the unexpected that just might let me get away -with it. Tomorrow the Owner of Owners might have thought it through -and switched me to another room ... or to a cell in the basement. Then -too, wall-scaling didn't occur to these Vallonians as readily as it did -to a short-timer from earth. They had too much to lose to risk it on a -chancey climb. - -Too much thinking is never a good idea when your pulse is telling you -it's time for action. I rolled a heavy armoire fairly soundlessly over -the deep-pile carpet and lodged it against the door. That might slow -down a casual caller. I slipped the magazine out of the automatic, -fitted nine greasy brass cartridges into it, slammed it home, dropped -the pistol back in the holster. It had a comforting weight. I buttoned -the strap over it and went back to the window. - -The clouds were back across Cinte's floodlight; that would help. I -stepped out. The deep carving gave me easy handholds and I made it to -the next windowsill without even working up a light sweat. Compared -with my last climb, back in Lima, this was a cinch. - -I rested a moment, then clambered around the dark window--just in case -there was an insomniac on the other side of the glass--and went on up. -I reached the balcony, had a hairy moment as I groped outward for a -hold on the smooth floor-tiling above ... and then I was pulling up and -over the ornamental iron work. - -The balcony was narrow, about twenty feet long, giving on half a dozen -tall glass doors. Three showed light behind heavy draperies, three -were dark. I moved close, tried to see something past the edge of the -draperies. No go. I put an ear to the glass, thought maybe I heard a -sound, like a distant volcano. That would be Ommodurad's bass rumble. -The bear was in his cave. - -I went along to the dark doors and on impulse tried a handle. It -turned and the door swung in soundlessly. I felt my pulse pick up -a double-time beat. I stood peering past the edge of the door into -the ink-black interior. It didn't look inviting. In fact it looked -repellent. Even a country boy like me could see that to step into the -dragon's den without even a Zippo to spot the footstools with would be -the act of a nitwit. - -I swallowed hard, got a firm grip on my pistol, and went in. - -A soft fold of drapery brushed my face and I had the pistol out and -my back to the wall with a speed that would have made Earp faint with -envy. My adrenals gave a couple of wild jumps and my nervous system -followed with a variety of sensations, none pleasant. - -It took me a minute to get my Adam's apple swallowed again and remind -myself that I was a rough tough son-of-a-gun from the planet earth who -had parlayed one short life into more trouble than most Vallonians -managed in half of eternity, and I was on my way to get my pal Foster -out of a tight spot, hand him back his memory, and set the Two Worlds -back on the rails they had fallen off of about six hundred years before -Alexander started looking around for his first rumble. - -I stopped before I got so confident I charged into the next room and -challenged Ommodurad to wrestle, two falls out of three. I could hear -his voice better now, muttering beyond the partition. If I could make -out what he was saying.... - -I edged along the wall, found a heavy door, closed and locked. No help -there. I felt my way further, found another door. Delicately I tried -the handle, eased it open a crack. - -A closet, half filled with racked garments. But I could hear more -clearly now. Maybe it was a double closet with communicating doors both -to the room I was in and to the next one where the Great Owner was -still rambling on. Apparently something had overcome his aversion to -talking. There were pauses that must have been filled in by the replies -of somebody else who didn't have the vocal timbre Ommodurad did. - -I felt my way through the hanging clothing, felt over the closet walls. -I was out of luck: there was no other door. I put an ear to the wall. I -could catch an occasional word: - -"... ring ... Okk-Hamiloth ... vaults...." - -It sounded like something I'd like to hear more about. How could I get -closer? On impulse I reached up, touched a low ceiling ... and felt a -ridge like the trim around an access panel to a crawl space. - -I crossed my fingers, stood on tip-toe to push at the panel. Nothing -moved. I felt around in the dark, encountered a low shelf covered with -shoes. I investigated; it was movable. I eased it aside a foot or two, -piled the shoes on the floor, and stepped up. - -The panel was two feet long on a side, with no discernible hinges or -catch. I pushed some more, then gritted my teeth and heaved. There -was a startlingly loud _crack!_ and the panel lifted. I blinked away -the dust that settled in my eyes, reached to feel around within the -opening, touched nothing but rough floor boards. - -This would be an excellent time, I reflected, to back out of here, get -a few hours' sleep, and tomorrow bid Ommodurad a hearty farewell. Then -in a few months, after I had had time to organize my new Estate and -align a few supporting Owners I could come back in force. - -I cocked my head, listening. Ommodurad had stopped talking and another -voice said something. Then there was a heavy thump, the clump of feet, -and a metallic sound. After a moment the Great Owner's voice came -again ... and the other voice answered. - -I stretched, grabbed the edge of the opening, and pulled myself up. I -leaned forward, got a leg up, and rolled silently onto the rough floor. -Feeling my way, I crawled, felt a wall rising, followed it, turned a -corner.... The voices were louder, quite suddenly. I saw why: there was -a ventilating register ahead, gridded light gleaming through it. I -crept along to the opening, lay flat, peered through it and saw three -men. - -Ommodurad was standing with his back to me, a giant figure swathed to -the eyes in purple robes. Beside him a lean redhead with a leg that had -been broken and badly set stood round-shouldered, teeth bared in an -eager grimace, clutching a rod of office. The third man was Foster. - - * * * * * - -Foster stood, legs braced apart as though to withstand an earthquake, -hands manacled before him. He looked steadily at the redhead, like a -man marking a tree for cutting. - -"I know nothing of these crimes," he said. - -Ommodurad turned, swept out of sight. The redhead motioned. Foster -turned away, moving stiffly, passed from my view. I heard a door -open and close. I lay where I was and tried to sort out half a dozen -conflicting impulses that clamored for attention. A few were easy: it -wouldn't help matters to yell "Stop, thief!" or to fall through the -register and chase after Foster with loud cries of joy. It wouldn't -be much better to scramble out, dash downstairs, and turn out my -bodyguards to raid Ommodurad's apartment. - -What might do some good was to gather more information. It had been bad -luck that I had arrived at my peephole a few minutes too late to hear -what the interview had been all about. But I might still make use of my -advantage. - -I felt over the register, found fasteners at the corners. They lifted -easily and the metal grating tilted back into my hands. I laid it -aside, poked my head out. The room was empty, as far as I could see. -It was time to take a few chances. I reversed my position, let my legs -through the opening, and dropped softly to the floor. I reached back up -and managed to prop the grating in position--just in case. - -It was a fancy chamber, hung in purple and furnished for a king. I -poked through the pigeonholes of a secretary, opened a few cupboards, -peered under the bed. It looked like I wasn't going to find any useful -clues lying around loose. - -I went to the glass doors to the balcony, unlocked one and left it -ajar--in case I wanted to leave in a hurry. There was another door -across the room. I went over and tried it: locked. - -That gave me something definite to look for: a key. I rummaged some -more in the secretary, then tried the drawer in a small table beside a -broad couch and came up with a nice little steel key that looked like -maybe.... - -I tried it. It was. Luck was still coming my way. I pushed open the -door, saw a dark room beyond. I felt for a light switch, flicked it on, -pushed the door shut behind me. - -The room looked like the popular idea of a necromancer's study. The -windowless walls were lined with shelves packed closely with books. The -high black-draped ceiling hung like a hovering bat above the ramparted -floor of bare, dark-polished wood. Narrow tables choked with books and -instruments stood along a side of the chamber and at the far end I saw -a deep-cushioned couch with a heavy dome-shaped apparatus like a beauty -shop hair-dryer mounted at one end. I recognized it: it was a memory -reinforcing machine, the first I had seen on Vallon. - -I crossed the room and examined it. The last one I had seen--on the -Far-Voyager in the room near the library--had been a stark utility -model. This was a deluxe job, with soft upholstery and bright metal -fittings and more dials and idiot lights than a late model Detroit -status symbol. This solved one of the problems that had been hovering -around the edge of my mind. I had fetched Foster's memory back to him, -but without a machine to use it in it was just a tantalizing souvenir. -Now all I had to do was sneak him away from Ommodurad, make it back -here.... - -All of a sudden I felt tired, vulnerable, helpless, and all alone. I -had been taking wild chances, setting my head more and more brazenly -into the kind of iron noose the Big Owner would arrange for his -enemies ... and without the ghost of a plan, without even an idea of -what was going on. What was Ommodurad's interest in Foster? Why did he -hide away here, keeping the rest of Vallon away with rumors of magic -and spells? What connection did he have with the disaster that had -befallen the Two Worlds--now reduced to One, and a poor one at that. - -And why was I, a plain Joe named Legion, mixed up in it right to the -eyebrows, when I could be sitting safe at home in a clean federal pen? - -The answer to that last one wasn't too hard to recite: I had had a pal -once, a smooth character named Foster, who had pulled me back from -the ragged edge just when I was about to make a bigger mistake than -usual. He had been a gentleman in the best sense of the word, and he -had treated me like one. Together we had shared a strange adventure -that had made me rich and had showed me that it was never too late to -straighten your back and take on whatever the Fates handed out. - -I had come running his way when trouble got too thick back home. And -I'd found him in a worse spot that I was in. He had come back, after -the most agonizing exile a man had ever suffered, to find his world -fallen back into savagery, and his memory still eluding him. Now he was -in chains, without friends and without hope ... but still not broken, -still standing on his own two feet.... - -But he was wrong on one point: he had one little hope. Not much: just -a hard-luck guy with a penchant for bad decisions, but I was here and -I was free. I had my pistol on my hip and a neat back way into the -Owner's bedroom, and if I played it right and watched my timing and had -maybe just a little luck, say about the amount it took to hit the Irish -Sweepstakes, I might bring it off yet. - -Right now it was time to return to my crawl-space. Ommodurad might come -back and talk some more, tip me off to a vulnerable spot in the armor -of his fortress. I went to the door, flicked off the light, turned the -handle ... and went rigid. - -Ommodurad was back. He pulled off the purple cloak, tossed it aside, -strode to a wall bar. I clung to the crack of the door, not daring to -move even to close it. - -"But my lord," the voice of the redhead said, "I know he remembers--" - -"Not so," Ommodurad's voice rumbled. "On the morrow I strip his mind to -the bare clean jelly...." - -"Let me, dread lord. With my steel I'll have the truth from him." - -"Such a one as he your steel has never known!" the bass voice snarled. - -"Great Owner, I crave but one hour ... tomorrow, in the Ceremonial -Chamber. I shall environ him with the emblems of the past--" - -"Enough!" Ommodurad's fist slammed against the bar, made glasses jump. -"On such starveling lackwits as you a mighty empire hangs. It is a -crime before the Gods and on his head I lay it." The Owner tossed off a -glass, jerked his head at the cowering man. "Still, I grant thy boon. -Now begone, babbler of folly." - -The redhead ducked, grinning, disappeared. Ommodurad muttered to -himself, strode up and down the room, stood staring out into the night. -He noticed the open balcony door, pulled it shut with a curse. I held -my breath but no general check of doors followed. - -The big man threw off his clothes then. He clambered up on the wide -couch, touched a switch somewhere, and the room was dark. Within five -minutes I heard the heavy breathing of deep sleep. - -I had found out one thing anyway: tomorrow was Foster's last day. One -way or another Ommodurad and the redhead between them would destroy -him. That didn't leave much time. But since the project was already -hopeless it didn't make much difference. - -I had a choice of moves now: I could tip-toe across to the register and -try to wiggle through it without waking up the brontosaurus on the -bed ... or I could try for the balcony door a foot from where he -slept ... or I could stay put and wait him out. The last idea had the -virtue of requiring no immediate daring adventures. I could just curl -up on the floor, or, better still, on the padded couch.... - -A weird idea was taking shape in my mind like a genie rising from a -bottle. I felt in my pocket, pulled out the two small cylinders that -represented two men's memories of hundreds of years of living. One -belonged to Foster, the one with the black and golden bands; but the -other was the property of a stranger who had died three thousand years -ago, out in space.... - -This cylinder, barely three inches long, held all the memories of a man -who had been Foster's confidant when he was Qulqlan, a man who knew -what had happened aboard the ship, what the purpose of the expedition -had been, and what conditions they had left behind on Vallon. - -I needed that knowledge. I needed any knowledge I could get, to add a -feather-weight to my side of the balance when the showdown came. The -cylinder would tell me plenty, including, possibly, the reason for -Ommodurad's interest in Foster. - -It was simple to use. I merely placed the cylinder in the receptacle -in the side of the machine, took my place, lowered the helmet into -position ... and in an hour or so I would awaken with another man's -memories stored in my brain, to use as I saw fit. - -It would be a crime to waste the opportunity. The machine I had found -here was probably the only one still in existence on Vallon. I had -blundered my way into the one room in the palace that could help me in -what I had to do; I had been lucky; I couldn't waste that luck. - -I went across to the soft-cushioned chair, spotted the recess in its -side, and thrust the plain cylinder into it; it seated with a click. - -I sat on the couch, lay back, reached up to pull the headpiece down -into position against my skull.... - -There was an instant of pain--like a pre-frontal lobotomy performed -without anesthetic. - -Then blackness. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -_I stood beside the royal couch where Qulqlan the Rthr lay and I saw -that this was the hour for which I had waited long, for the Change was -on him...._ - -_The time-scale stood at the third hour of the Death watch; all aboard -slept save myself alone. I must move swiftly and at the Dawn watch show -them the deed well done._ - -_I shook the sleeping man; him who had once been the Rthr--king no -more, by the law of the Change. He wakened slowly, looked about him, -with the clear eyes of the newborn._ - -_"Rise," I commanded. And the king obeyed._ - -_"Follow me," I said. He made to question me, after the manner of those -newly awakened from their Change. I bade him be silent. Like a lamb he -came and I led him through shadowed ways to the cage of the Hunters. -They rose, keen in their hunger, to my coming, as I had trained them._ - -_I took the arm of Qulqlan and thrust it into the cage. The Hunters -clustered, taking the mark of their prey. He watched, innocent eyes -wide._ - -_"That which you feel is pain, mindless one," I spoke. "It is a thing -of which you will learn much in the time before you." Then they had -done, and I set the time catch._ - -_In my chambers I cloaked the innocent in a plain purple robe and -afterward led him to the cradle where the lifeboat lay...._ - -_And by virtue of the curse of the Gods which is upon me one was there -before me. I waited not, but moved as the haik strikes and took him -fair in the back with my dagger. I dragged the body into hiding behind -the flared foot of a column. But no sooner was he hidden well away -than others came from the shadows, summoned by some device I know not -of. They asked of the Rthr wherefore he walked by night, robed in the -colors of Ammaerln of Bros-Ilyond. And I knew black despair, that my -grand design foundered thus in the shallows of their zeal._ - -_Yet I spoke forth, with a great show of anger, that I, Ammaerln, -vizier and companion to the Rthr, did but walk and speak in confidence -with my liege lord._ - -_But they persisted, Gholad foremost among them. And then one saw the -hidden corse and in an instant they ringed me in:_ - -_Then did I draw the long blade and hold it at the throat of Qulqlan. -"Press me not; or your king will surely die," I said. And they feared -me and shrank back._ - -_"Do you dream that I, Ammaerln, wisest of the wise, have come here -for the love of Far-Voyaging?" I raged. "Long have I plotted against -this hour, to lure the king a-voyaging in this his princely yacht, his -faithful vizier at his side, that the Change might come to him far from -his court. Then would the ancient wrong be redressed._ - -_"There are those men born to rule, as the dream-tree seeks the -sun--and such a one am I! Long has this one, now mindless, denied to -me my destiny. But behold: I, with a stroke, shall set things aright._ - -_"Below us lies a green world, peopled by savages. Not one am I to take -blood vengeance on a man newborn from the Change. Instead I shall set -him free to take up his life there below. May the Fates lead him again -to royal state if that be their will--"_ - -_But there were naught but fools among them and they drew steel. I -cried out to them that all, all should share!_ - -_But they heeded me not but rushed upon me. Then did I turn to Qulqlan -and drive the long blade at his throat, but Gholad threw himself before -him and fell in his place. Then they pressed me and I did strike out -against three who hemmed me close, and though they took many wounds -they persisted in their madness, one leaping in to strike and another -at my back, so that I whirled and slashed at shadows who danced away._ - -_In the end I hunted them down in those corners whither they had -dragged themselves and each did I put to the sword. And I turned at -last to find the Rthr gone and some few with them, and madness took me -that I had been gulled like a tinker by common men._ - -_In the chamber of the memory couch would I find them. There they would -seek to give back to the mindless one that memory of past glories which -I had schemed so long to deny him. Almost I wept to see such cunning -wasted. Terrible in my wrath I came upon them there. There were but two -and, though they stood shoulder to shoulder in the entry way, their -poor dirks were no match for my long blade. I struck them dead and went -to the couch, to lay my hand on the cylinder marked with the vile gold -and black of Qulqlan, that I might destroy it and with it the Rthr, -forever--_ - -_And I heard a sound and whirled about. A hideous figure staggered to -me from the gloom and for an instant I saw the flash of steel in the -bloody hand of the accursed Gholad whom I had left for dead. Then I -knew cold agony between my ribs...._ - - * * * * * - -_Gholad lay slumped against the wall, his face greenish above the -blood-soaked tunic. When he spoke air whistled through his slashed -throat._ - -_"Have done, traitor who once was honored of the king," he whispered. -"Have you no pity for him who once ruled in justice and splendor at -High Okk-Hamiloth?"_ - -_"Had you not robbed me of my destiny, murderous dog," I croaked, "that -splendor would have been mine."_ - -_"You came upon him helpless," gasped Gholad. "Make some amends now for -your shame. Let the Rthr have his mind, which is more precious than his -life."_ - -_"I but rest to gather strength. Soon will I rise and turn him from the -couch. Then will I die content."_ - -_"Once you were his friend," Gholad whispered. "By his side you fought, -when both of you were young. Remember that ... and have pity. To leave -him here, in this ship of death, mindless and alone...."_ - -_"I have loosed the Hunters!" I shrieked in triumph. "With them will -the Rthr share this tomb until the end of time!"_ - -_Then I searched within me and found a last terrible strength and I -rose up ... and even as my hand reached out to pluck away the mind -trace of the king I felt the bloody fingers of Gholad on my ankle, and -then my strength was gone. And I was falling headlong into that dark -well of death from which there is no returning...._ - - * * * * * - -I woke up and lay for a long time in the dark without moving, trying -to remember the fragments of a strange dream of violence and death. -I could still taste the lingering dregs of some bitter emotion. But -I had more important things to think about than dreams. For just a -moment I couldn't remember what it was I had to do; then with a start -I remembered where I was. I had lain down on the couch and pulled the -headpiece into place-- - -It hadn't worked. - -I thought hard, tried to tap a new reservoir of memories, drew a blank. -Maybe my earth-mind was too alien for the Vallonian memory-trace to -affect. It was another good idea that hadn't worked out. But at least -I had had a good rest. Now it was time to get moving. First--to see if -Ommodurad was still asleep. I started to sit up-- - -Nothing happened. - -I had a moment of vertigo, as my inner ear tried to accommodate to -having stayed in the same place after automatically adjusting to my -intention of rising. I lay perfectly still and tried to think it -through. - -I had tried to move ... and hadn't so much as twitched a muscle. I -was paralyzed ... or tied up ... or maybe, if I was lucky, imagining -things. I could try it again and next time-- - -I was afraid to try. Suppose I tried and nothing happened--again? It -was better to lie here and tell myself it was all a mistake. Maybe I -should go back to sleep and wake up later and try it again.... - -This was ridiculous. All I had to do was sit up. I-- - -Nothing. I lay in the dark and tried to will an arm to move, my head -to turn. It was as though I had no arm, no head--just a mind--alone -in the dark. I strained to sense the ropes that held me down: still -nothing. No ropes, no arms, no body. There was no pressure against me -from the couch, no vagrant itch or cramp, no physical sensation. I was -a disembodied brain, lying nestled in a great bed of pitchblack cotton -wool. - -Then, abruptly, I was aware of myself--not the gross mechanism of bone -and muscle, but the neuro-electric field generated within a brain alive -with flashing currents and a lightning interplay of molecular forces. A -sense of orientation grew. I occupied a block of cells ... here in the -left hemisphere. The mass of neural tissue loomed over me, gigantic. -And "I" ... "I" was reduced to the elemental ego, who possessed as a -material appurtenance "my" arms and legs, "my" body, "my" brain.... -Relieved of outside stimuli, I was able now to conceptualize myself -as I actually was: an insubstantial state existing in an immaterial -continuum, created by the action of neural currents within the -cerebrum, as a magnetic field is created in space by the flow of -electricity. - -And I knew what had happened. I had opened my mind to invasion by alien -memories. The other mind had seized upon the sensory centers and driven -me to this dark corner. I was a fugitive within my own skull. - -For a timeless time I lay stunned, immured now as the massive stones -of Bar-Ponderone had never confined me. My basic self-awareness still -survived, out was shunted aside, cut off from any contact with the body -itself. - -With shadowy fingers of imagination I clawed at the walls surrounding -me, fought for a glimpse of light, for a way out. - -And found none. - - * * * * * - -Then, at last, I began again to think. - -I must analyze my awareness of my surroundings, seek out channels -through which impulses from sensory nerves flowed, and tap them. - -I tried cautiously; an extension of my self-concept reached out with -ultimate delicacy. There were the ranked infinities of cells, there -the rushing torrents of gross fluid, there the taut cables of the -interconnecting web, and there-- - -Barrier! Blank and impregnable, the wall reared up. My questing tendril -of self-stuff raced over the surface like an ant over a melon, and -found no tiniest fissure. It loomed alien, inscrutable: the invader who -had stolen my brain. - -I withdrew. To dissipate my force was senseless. I must select a point -of attack, hurl against it all the power of my surviving -identity ... before it too dwindled away and the abstraction that was -Legion vanished forevermore. - -The last of the phantom emotions that had clung--for how long?--to the -incorporeal mind field had faded now, leaving me with no more than -an intellectual determination to reassert myself. Dimly I recognized -this sign of my waning sense of identity but there was no surge of -instinctive fear. Instead I coolly assessed my resources--and almost at -once stumbled into an unused channel, here within my own self-field. -For a moment I recoiled from the outré configuration of the stored -patterns ... and then I remembered. - -I had been in the water, struggling, while the Red soldier waited, -rifle aimed. And then: a flood of data, flowing with cold, impersonal -precision. And I had deftly marshalled the forces of my body to survive. - -And once more: as I hung by numbed fingers under the cornice of the -Yordano Building, the cold voice had spoken. - -And I had forgotten. The miracle had been pushed back, rejected by -the conscious mind. But now I knew: this was the knowledge that I had -received from the background briefing device that I had used in my -island strong-room before I fled. This was the survival data known to -all Old Vallonians of the days of the Two Worlds. It had lain here, -unused, the secrets of superhuman strength and endurance ... buried by -the imbecile of censor-self's aversion to the alien. - -But the ego alone remained now, stripped of the burden of neurosis, -freed from subconscious pressures. The levels of the mind were laid -bare, and I saw close at hand the regions where dreams were born, the -barren sources of instinctive fear-patterns, the linkages to blinding -emotions; and all lay now under my overt control. - -Without further hesitation I tapped the stored Vallonian knowledge, -encompassed it, made it mine. Then again I approached the barrier, -spread out across it, probed in vain-- - -"_... vile primitive...._" - -The thought thundered out with crushing force. I recoiled, then renewed -my attack, alert now. I knew what to do. - -I sought and found a line of synaptic weakness, burrowed at it-- - -"_... intolerable ... vestigial ... erasure...._" - -I struck instantly, slipped past the shield, laid firm hold on an optic -receptor bank. The alien mind threw itself against me, but too late. I -held secure and the assault faded, withdrew. Cautiously I extended my -interpretive receptivity. There was a pattern of pulses, oscillations -in the lambda/mu range. I tuned, focussed-- - -Abruptly I was seeing. For a moment my fragile equilibrium tottered, -as I strove to integrate the flow of external stimuli into my bodiless -self-concept. Then a balance was struck: I held my ground and stared -through the one eye I had recaptured from the usurper. - -And I reeled again! - -Bright daylight blazed in the chamber of Ommodurad. The scene shifted -as the body moved about, crossing the room, turning.... I had assumed -that the body still lay in the dark but instead, it walked, without my -knowledge, propelled by a stranger. - -The field of vision flashed across the couch. Ommodurad was gone. - -I sensed that the entire left lobe, disoriented by the loss of the -eye, had slipped now to secondary awareness, its defenses weakened. I -retreated momentarily from my optic outpost, laid a temporary traumatic -block across the access nerves to keep the intruder from reasserting -possession, and concentrated my force in an attack on the auricular -channels. It was an easy rout. Instantly my eye coordinated its -impressions with those coming in along the aural nerves ... and heard -my voice mouth a curse. - -The body was standing beside a bare wall with a hand laid upon it. In -the wall a recess partly obscured by a sliding panel stood empty. - -The body turned, strode to a doorway, emerged into a gloomy -violet-shadowed corridor. The glance flicked from the face of one guard -to another. They stared in open-mouthed surprise, brought weapons up. - -"You dare to bar the path to the Lord Ammaerln?" My voice slashed at -the men. "Stand aside, as you value your lives." - -And the body pushed past them, striding off along the corridor. It -passed through a great archway, descended a flight of marble stairs, -came along a hall I had seen on my tour of the Palace of Sapphires and -into the Onyx Chamber with the great golden sunburst that covered the -high black wall. - -In the Great Owner's chair at the ring-board Ommodurad sat scowling at -the lame courtier whose red hair was hidden now under a black cowl. -Between them Foster stood, the heavy manacles dragging at his wrists. -Ommodurad turned; his face paled, then flushed darkly. He rose, teeth -bared. - -The gaze of my eye fixed on Foster. Foster stared back, a look of -incredulity growing on his face. - -"My Lord Rthr," I heard my voice say. The eye swept down and fixed on -the manacles. The body drew back a step, as if in horror. - -"You overreach yourself, Ommodurad!" my voice cried harshly. - -Ommodurad stepped toward me, his immense arm raised. - -"Lay not a hand on me, dog of a usurper!" my voice roared out. "By the -Gods, would you take me for common clay?" - -And, unbelievably, Ommodurad paused, stared in my face. - -"I know you as the upstart Drgon, petty Owner," he rumbled. "But I know -I see another there behind your pale eyes." - -"Foul was the crime that brought me to this pass," my voice said. -"But ... know that your master, Ammaerln, stands before you, in the -body of a primitive!" - -"Ammaerln...!" Ommodurad jerked as though he had been struck. - -My body turned, dismissing him. The eye rested on Foster. - -"My liege," my voice said unctuously. "I swear the dog dies for this -treason----" - -"It is a mindless one, intruder," Ommodurad broke in. "Seek no favor -with the Rthr for he that was Rthr is no more. You deal with me now." - -My body whirled on Ommodurad. "Give a thought to your tone, lest your -ambitions prove your death!" - -Ommodurad put a hand to his dagger. "Ammaerln of Bros-Ilyond you may -be, or a changeling from dark regions I know not of. But know that this -day I hold all power in Vallon." - -"And what of this one who was once Qulqlan? What consort do you -hold with him you say is mindless?" I saw my hand sweep out in a -contemptuous gesture at Foster. - -"An end to patience!" the Great Owner roared. "Shall I stand in my -inner citadel and give account of myself to a madman?" He started -toward my body. - -"Does the fool, Ommodurad, forget the power of the great Ammaerln?" -my voice said softly. And the towering figure hesitated once more, -searching my face. "The Rthr's hour is past ... and yours, bungler -and fool," my voice went on. "Your months--or is it years?--of -self-delusion are ended." My voice rose in a bellow: "Know that I ... -Ammaerln, the great ... have returned to rule at High Okk-Hamiloth." - -"Months?" rumbled Ommodurad. "Indeed, I believe the tales of the -Greymen are true and that an evil spirit has returned to haunt me. You -speak of months?" He threw back his head, laughed a choked throaty -laugh that was half sob. - -"Know, demon, or madman, or ancient prince of evil: for thirty -centuries have I brooded alone, sealed from an empire by a single key!" - -I felt the shock rack through and through the invader mind. This was -the opportunity I had hoped for. Quick as thought I moved, slashed at -the wavering shield, and was past it---- - -I grappled onto the foul mind-matrix, scanned its symbolisms: a miasma -of twisted concepts like great webs, asquirm with bristling nodes like -crouching spiders--and through it all a yammering torrent of deformed -thought-shapes. - -In my eagerness I was careless. The invader mind, recovering, struck -back. Too late I felt it slip into my awareness, flick over the stored -information. I leaped to protect one fact ... and lost my gains. With -only a single tenuous line of rapport with the alien mind still open, -I clung, shaken--but hugging precious patterns of stolen data. My raid -had been no more than an irritation to the other mind ... but I had -fetched away a mass of information. I interpreted it, integrated it, -matched it to known patterns. A complex structure of relationships -evolved, growing into a new awareness. - -Upon the mind-picture of Foster's face was now super-imposed another: -that of Qulqlan, Rthr of all Vallon, ruler of the Two Worlds! - -And other pictures, snatched from the intruder mind, were present now -in the earth-consciousness of me, Legion. - -The Vaults, deep in the rock under the fabled city of Okk-Hamiloth, -where the mind-trace of every citizen was stored, sealed by the Rthr -and keyed to his mind alone. - -Ammaerln, urging the king to embark on a Far-Voyage, stressing the -burden of government, tempting him to bring with him the royal -mind-trace; Qulqlan's acquiescence and Ammaerln's secret joy at the -advancement of his scheme; the coming of the Change for the Rthr, -aboard ship, far out in space--and the vizier's bold stroke; -and then the fools who found him at the lifeboat ... and the loss of -all, all.... - -There my own memories took up the tale: the awakening of Foster, -unsuspecting, and his recording of the mind of the dying Ammaerlin; -the flight from the Hunters; the memory-trace of the king that lay for -three millenia among neolithic bones until I, a primitive, plucked -it from its place; and the pocket of a coarse fibre garment where -the cylinder lay now--on the hip of the body I inhabited but as -inaccessible to me as if it had been a million miles away. - -But there was a second memory-trace--Ammaerln's. I had crossed a galaxy -to come to Foster, and with me, locked in an unmarked pewter cylinder, -I had brought Foster's ancient nemesis. - -I had given it life, and a body. - -Foster, once Rthr, had survived against all logic and had come back, -back from the dead: the last hope of a golden age.... - -To meet his fate at my hands. - - * * * * * - -"Three thousand years," I heard my voice saying. "Three thousand years -have the men of Vallon lived mindless, with the glory that was Vallon -locked away in a vault without a key." - -"I, alone," said Ommodurad, "have borne the curse of knowledge. Long -ago, in the days of the Rthr, I took my mind-trace from the vaults in -anticipation of the day of days when he should fall. Little joy has it -brought me." - -"And now," my voice said, "you think to force this mind--that is no -mind--to unseal the vault?" - -"I know it for a hopeless task," Ommodurad said. "At first I -thought--since he speaks the tongue of old Vallon--that he dissembled. -But he knows nothing. This is but the dry husk of the Rthr ... and I -sicken of the sight. I would fain kill him now and let the long farce -end." - -"Not so!" my voice cut in. "Once I decreed exile to the mindless one. -So be it!" - -The face of Ommodurad twisted in its rage. "Your witless chatterings -too! I tire of them." - -"Wait!" my voice snarled. "Would you put aside the key?" - -There was a silence as Ommodurad stared at my face. I saw my hand rise -into view. Gripped in it was Foster's memory-trace. - -"The Two Worlds lie in my hand," my voice spoke. "Observe well the -black and golden bands of the royal memory-trace. Who holds this key -is all-powerful. As for the mindless body yonder, let it be destroyed." - -Ommodurad locked eyes with mine. Then, "Let the deed be done," he said. - -The redhead drew a long stiletto from under his cloak, smiling. I could -wait no longer.... - -Along the link I had kept through the intruder's barrier I poured the -last of the stored energy of my mind. I felt the enemy recoil, then -strike back with crushing force. But I was past the shield. - -As the invader reached out to encircle me I shattered my unified -forward impulse into myriad nervous streamlets that flowed on, under, -over and around the opposing force; I spread myself through and through -the inner all-mass, drawing new power from the trunk sources. - -I caught a vicious blast of pure wrath that rocked me and then I -grappled, shield to shield, with the alien. And he was stronger. - -Like a corrosive fluid the massive personality-gestalt shredded my -extended self-field. I drew back, slowly, reluctantly. I caught a -shadowy impression of the body, standing rigid, eyes blank, and sensed -a rumbling voice that spoke: "Quick! The intruder!" - -Now! I struck for the right optic center, clamped down with a death -grip. - -The enemy mind went mad as the darkness closed in. I heard my voice -scream and I saw in vivid pantomime the vision that threatened the -invader: the redhead darting to me, the stiletto flashing---- - -And then the invading mind broke, swirled into chaos, and was gone.... - -I reeled, shocked and alone inside my skull. The brain loomed, dark -and untenanted now. I began to move, crept along the major nerve paths, -reoccupied the cortex---- - -Agony! I twisted, felt again with a massive return of sensation my -arms, my legs, opened both eyes to see blurred figures moving. And in -my chest a hideous pain.... - -I was sprawled on the floor, gasping. Sudden understanding came: the -redhead had struck ... and the other mind, in full rapport with the -pain centers, had broken under the shock, left the stricken brain to me -alone. - -As through a red veil I saw the giant figure of Ommodurad loom, stoop -over me, rise with the royal cylinder in his hand. And beyond, Foster, -strained backward, the chain between his wrists garroting the redhead. -Ommodurad turned, took a step, flicked the man from Foster's grasp and -hurled him aside. He drew his dagger. Quick as a hunting cat Foster -leaped, struck with the manacles ... and the knife clattered across the -floor. Ommodurad backed away with a curse, while the redhead seized -the stiletto he had let fall and moved in. Foster turned to meet him, -staggering, and raised heavy arms. - -I fought to move, got my hand as far as my side, fumbled with the -leather strap. The alien mind had stolen from my brain the knowledge of -the cylinder but I had kept from it the fact of the pistol. I had my -hand on its butt now. Painfully I drew it, dragged my arm up, struggled -to raise the weapon, centered it on the back of the mop of red hair, -free now of the cowl ... and fired. - -Ommodurad had found his dagger. He turned back from the corner where -Foster had sent it spinning. Spattered with the blood of the redhead, -Foster retreated until his back was at the wall: a haggard figure -against the gaudy golden sunburst. The flames of beaten metal shimmered -and flared before my dimming vision. The great gold circles of the Two -Worlds seemed to revolve, while waves of darkness rolled over me. - -But there was a thought: something I had found among the patterns in -the intruder's mind. At the center of the sunburst rose a boss, in -black and gold, erupting a foot from the wall, like a sword-hilt.... - -The thought came from far away. The sword of the Rthr, used once, in -the dawn of a world, by a warrior king--but laid away now, locked in -its sheath of stone, keyed to the mind-pattern of the Rthr, that none -other might ever draw it to some ignoble end. - -A sword, keyed to the basic mind-pattern of the king.... - -I drew a last breath, blinked back the darkness. Ommodurad stepped past -me, knife in hand, toward the unarmed man. - -"Foster," I croaked. "The sword...." - -Foster's head came up. I had spoken in English; the syllables rang -strangely in that outworld setting. Ommodurad ignored the unknown words. - -"Draw ... the sword ... from the stone!... You're ... Qulqlan ... -Rthr ... of Vallon." - -I saw him reach out, grasp the ornate hilt. Ommodurad, with a cry, -leaped toward him-- - -The sword slid out smoothly, four feet of glittering steel. Ommodurad -stopped, stared at the manacled hands gripping the hilt of the fabled -blade. Slowly he sank to his knees, bent his neck. - -"I yield, Qulqlan," he said. "I crave the mercy of the Rthr." - -Behind me I heard thundering feet. Dimly I was aware of Torbu raising -my head, of Foster leaning over me. They were saying something but I -couldn't hear. My feet were cold, and the coldness crept higher. - -I felt hands touch me and the cool smoothness of metal against my -temples. I wanted to say something, tell Foster that I had found the -answer, the one that had always eluded me before. I wanted to tell him -that all lives are the same length when viewed from the foreshortened -perspective of death, and that life, like music, requires no meaning -but only a certain symmetry. - -But it was too hard. I tried to cling to the thought, to carry it with -me into the cold void toward which I moved, but it slipped away and -there was only my self-awareness, alone in emptiness, and the winds -that swept through eternity blew away the last shred of ego and I was -one with darkness.... - - - - -EPILOGUE - - -I awoke to a light like that of a morning when the world was young. -Gossamer curtains fluttered at tall windows, through which I saw a -squadron of trim white clouds riding in a high blue sky. - -I turned my head, and Foster stood beside me, dressed in a short white -tunic. - -"That's a crazy set of threads, Foster," I said, "but on your build it -looks good. But you've aged; you look twenty-five if you look a day." - -Foster smiled. "Welcome to Vallon, my friend," he said in English. I -noticed that he faltered a bit over the words, as if he hadn't used -them for a long time. - -"Vallon," I said. "Then it wasn't all a dream?" - -"Regard it as a dream, Legion. Your life begins today." - -"There was something," I said, "something I had to do. But it doesn't -seem to matter. I feel relaxed inside...." - -Someone came forward from behind Foster. - -"Gope," I said. Then I hesitated. "You are Gope, aren't you?" I said in -Vallonian. - -He laughed. "I was known by that name once," he said, "but my true name -is Gwanne." - -My eyes fell on my legs. I saw that I was wearing a tunic like Foster's -except that mine was pale blue. - -"Who put the dress on me?" I asked. "And where's my pants?" - -"This garment suits you better," said Gope. "Come. Look in the glass." - -I got to my feet, stepped to a long mirror, glanced at the reflection. -"It's not the real me, boys," I started----Then I stared, open-mouthed. -A Hercules, black-haired and clean-limbed, stared back. I shut my -mouth ... and his mouth shut. I moved an arm and he did likewise. I -whirled on Foster. - -"What ... how ... who...?" - -"The mortal body that was Legion died of its wounds," he said, "but the -mind that was the man was recorded. We have waited many years to give -that mind life again." - -I turned back to the mirror, gaped. The young giant gaped back. "I -remember," I said. "I remember ... a knife in my guts ... and a -redheaded man ... and the Great Owner, and...." - -"For his crimes," told Gope, "he went to a place of exile until the -Change should come on him. Long have we waited." - -I looked again and now I saw two faces in the mirror and both of them -were young. One was low down, just above my ankles, and it belonged to -a cat I had known as Itzenca. The other, higher up, was that of a man I -had known as Ommodurad. But this was a clear-eyed Ommodurad, just under -twenty-one. - -"Onto the blank slate we traced your mind," said Gope. - -"He owed you a life, Legion," Foster said. "His own was forfeit." - -"I guess I ought to kick and scream and demand my original ugly puss -back," I said slowly, studying my reflection, "but the fact is, I like -looking like Mr. Universe." - -"Your earthly body was infected with the germs of old age," said -Foster. "Now you can look forward to a great span of life." - -"But come," said Gope. "All Vallon waits to honor you." He led the way -to the tall window. - -"Your place is by my side at the great ring-board," said Foster. "And -afterwards: all of the Two Worlds lie before you." - -I looked past the open window and saw a carpet of velvet green that -curved over foothills to the rim of a forest. Down the long sward I -saw a procession of bright knights and ladies come riding on animals, -some black, some golden palomino, that looked for all the world like -unicorns. - -My eyes traveled upward to where the light of a great white sun flashed -on blue towers. And somewhere trumpets sounded. - -"It looks like a pretty fair offer," I said. "I'll take it." - - * * * * * - - A TRACE OF MEMORY - -Help wanted: Soldier of fortune seeks companion in arms to share -unusual adventure. Foster, Box 19. - -Legion was desperate--but not that desperate. Even petty larceny seemed -preferable to that kind of proposal. But fate stepped in, and now he -is on the run, pursued by cops, the CIA and a few not-so-friendly -acquaintances of Foster. And Foster has lost his memory--not to mention -about thirty years of his age! - -The key to Legion's dilemma, and to Foster's forgotten past, is in a -row of metal cylinders aboard a spaceship that has been orbiting Earth -for thousands of years. And Legion's troubles have really only begun.... - - A Tom Doherty Associates Book - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Trace of Memory, by Keith Laumer - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRACE OF MEMORY *** - -***** This file should be named 51712-8.txt or 51712-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/7/1/51712/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: A Trace of Memory - -Author: Keith Laumer - -Release Date: April 9, 2016 [EBook #51712] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRACE OF MEMORY *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="285" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - - -<h1>A TRACE OF MEMORY</h1> - -<p>KEITH LAUMER</p> - -<p>TOR</p> - -<p>A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK</p> - -<p>This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events<br /> -portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance<br /> -to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.</p> - -<p>A TRACE OF MEMORY</p> - -<p>Copyright 1963 by Keith Laumer</p> - -<p>All rights reserved, including the right to<br /> -reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.</p> - -<p>A short version of this novel appeared serially in<br /> -<i>Amazing</i>, July-August-September, 1962.<br /> -Copyright 1962 by Ziff-Davis Publishing Company.</p> - -<p>A TOR Book</p> - -<p>Published by Tom Doherty Associates,<br /> -8-10 West 36 Street,<br /> -New York, N.Y. 10018</p> - -<p>Cover art by Bob Layzell</p> - -<p>First TOR printing: November 1984</p> - -<p>ISBN: O-812-54373-4<br /> -CAN. ED.: O-812-54374-2</p> - -<p>Printed in the United States of America</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any<br /> -evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"Let's get out of here fast," I said. "We've probably set off an alarm -already."</p> - -<p>As if in answer, a low chime cut across our talk. Pearly light sprang -up on a square panel. Foster and I stared at it.</p> - -<p>"What do you make of it?" he said.</p> - -<p>"I'm no expert on stone-age relics," I said. "But if that's not a radar -screen, I'll eat it."</p> - -<p>I sat down in the single chair before the dusty control console, and -watched a red blip creep across the screen.</p> - -<p>"That blip is either a mighty slow airplane—or it's at one hell of an -altitude." I sat upright, eyes on the screen. "Look at this, Foster," -I snapped. A pattern of dots flashed across the screen, faded, flashed -again....</p> - -<p>"I don't like that thing blinking at us," I said. "It makes me feel -conspicuous." I looked at the big red button beside the screen. "Maybe -if I pushed that...." Without waiting to think it over, I jabbed at it.</p> - -<p>"I'm not sure you should have done that," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"There <i>is</i> room for doubt," I said in a strained voice. "It looks like -I've launched a bomb from the ship overhead."</p> - -<p class="ph3">A TRACE OF MEMORY</p> - - -<p>Look for these other TOR books by Keith Laumer:</p> - - -<p class="ph3">THE BREAKING EARTH<br /> -THE GLORY GAME<br /> -THE INFINITE CAGE<br /> -KNIGHT OF DELUSIONS<br /> -THE MONITORS<br /> -THE HOUSE IN NOVEMBER AND THE OTHER SKY<br /> -ONCE THERE WAS A GIANT<br /> -PLANET RUN<br /> -WORLDS OF THE IMPERIUM</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>Contents</h2> - - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h1>A TRACE OF MEMORY</h1> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a></h2> - - -<p>He awoke and lay for a moment looking up at a low ceiling, dimly -visible in a faint red glow, feeling the hard mat under his back. He -turned his head, saw a wall and a panel on which a red indicator light -glared.</p> - -<p>He swung his legs over the side of the narrow couch and sat up. The -room was small, grey-painted, unadorned. Pain throbbed in his forearm. -He shook back the loose sleeve of the strange purple garment, saw a -pattern of tiny punctures in the skin. He recognized the mark of a -feeding Hunter.... Who would have dared?</p> - -<p>A dark shape on the floor caught his eye. He slid from the couch, knelt -by the still body of a man in a purple tunic stained black with blood. -Gently he rolled the body onto its back.</p> - -<p>Ammaerln!</p> - -<p>He seized the limp wrist. There was a faint pulse. He rose—and saw a -second body and, near the door, two more. Quickly he went to each....</p> - -<p>All three were dead, hideously slashed. Only Ammaerln still breathed, -faintly.</p> - -<p>He went to the door, shouted into the darkness. The ranged shelves of -a library gave back a brief echo. He turned back to the grey-walled -room, noticed a recording monitor against a wall. He fitted the -neurodes to the dying man's temples. But for this gesture of recording -Ammaerln's life's memories, there was nothing he could do. He must get -him to a therapist—and quickly.</p> - -<p>He crossed the library, found a great echoing hall beyond. This -was not the Sapphire Palace beside the Shallow Sea. The lines were -unmistakeable: he was aboard a ship, a far-voyager. Why? How? He stood -uncertain. The silence was absolute.</p> - -<p>He crossed the Great Hall and entered the observation lounge. Here -lay another dead man, by his uniform a member of the crew. He touched -a knob and the great screens glowed blue. A giant crescent swam into -focus, locked; soft blue against the black of space. Beyond it a -smaller companion hung, gray-blotched, airless. What worlds were these?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>An hour later he had ranged the vast ship from end to end. In all, -seven corpses, cruelly slashed, peopled the silent vessel. In the -control sector the communicator lights glowed, but to his call there -was no answer from the strange world below.</p> - -<p>He turned to the recording room. Ammaerln still breathed weakly. The -memory recording had been completed; all that the dying man remembered -of his long life was imprinted now in the silver cylinder. It remained -only to color-code the trace.</p> - -<p>His eyes was caught by a small cylinder projecting from the aperture at -the side of the high couch where he had awakened his own memory-trace! -So he himself had undergone the Change. He took the color-banded -cylinder, thrust it into a pocket—then whirled at a sound. A nest of -Hunters, swarming globes of pale light, clustered at the door. Then -they were on him. They pressed close, humming in their eagerness. -Without the proper weapon he was helpless.</p> - -<p>He caught up the limp body of Ammaerln. With the Hunters trailing in a -luminous stream he ran with his burden to the shuttle-boat bay.</p> - -<p>Three shuttles lay in their cradles. He groped to a switch, his head -swimming with the sulphurous reek of the Hunters; light flooded the -bay, driving them back. He entered the lifeboat, placed the dying man -on a cushioned couch.</p> - -<p>It had been long since he had manned the controls of a ship, but he had -not forgotten.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Ammaerln was dead when the lifeboat reached the planetary surface. The -vessel settled gently and the lock cycled. He looked out at a vista of -ragged forest.</p> - -<p>This was no civilized world. Only the landing ring and the clearing -around it showed the presence of man.</p> - -<p>There was a hollow in the earth by a square marker block at the eastern -perimeter of the clearing. He hoisted the body of Ammaerln to his back -and moved heavily down the access ladder. Working bare-handed, he -deepened the hollow, placed the body in it, scraped earth over it. Then -he rose and turned back toward the shuttle boat.</p> - -<p>Forty feet away, a dozen men, squat, bearded, wrapped in the shaggy -hides of beasts, stood between him and the access ladder. The tallest -among them shouted, raised a bronze sword threateningly. Behind these, -others clustered at the ladder. Motionless he watched as one scrambled -up, reached the top, disappeared into the boat. In a moment the savage -reappeared at the opening and hurled down handfuls of small bright -objects. Shouting, others clambered up to share the loot. The first man -again vanished within the boat. Before the foremost of the others had -gained the entry, the port closed, shutting off a terrified cry from -within.</p> - -<p>Men dropped from the ladder as it swung up. The boat rose slowly, -angling toward the west, dwindling. The savages shrank back, awed.</p> - -<p>The man watched until the tiny blue light was lost against the sky.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h2> - - -<p>The ad read: <i>Soldier of fortune seeks companion in arms to share -unusual adventure. Foster, Box 19, Mayport.</i></p> - -<p>I crumpled the newspaper and tossed it in the general direction of the -wire basket beside the park bench, pushed back a slightly frayed cuff, -and took a look at my bare wrist. It was just habit; the watch was in -a hock shop in Tupelo, Mississippi. It didn't matter. I didn't have to -know what time it was.</p> - -<p>Across the park most of the store windows were dark along the side -street. There were no people in sight; they were all home now, having -dinner. As I watched, the lights blinked off in the drug store with the -bottles of colored water in the window; the left the candy and cigar -emporium at the end of the line. I fidgeted on the hard bench and felt -for a cigarette I didn't have. I wished the old boy back of the counter -would call it a day and go home. As soon as it was dark enough, I was -going to rob his store.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I wasn't a full-time stick-up artist. Maybe that's why that nervous -feeling was playing around under my rib cage. There was really nothing -to it. The wooden door with the hardware counter lock that would open -almost as easily without a key as with one; the sardine-can metal box -with the day's receipts in it. I'd be on my way to the depot with fare -to Miami in my pocket ten minutes after I cracked the door. I'd learned -a lot harder tricks than petty larceny back when I had a big future -ahead with Army Intelligence. That was a long time ago, and I'd had a -lot of breaks since then—none good.</p> - -<p>I got up and took another turn around the park. It was a warm evening, -and the mosquitoes were out. I caught a whiff of frying hamburger from -the Elite Cafe down the street. It reminded me that I hadn't eaten -lately. There were lights on at the Commercial Hotel and one in the -ticket office at the station. The local police force was still sitting -on a stool at the Rexall talking to the counter girl. I could see the -.38 revolver hanging down in a worn leather holster at his hip. All of -a sudden, I was in a hurry to get it over with.</p> - -<p>I took another look at the lights. All the stores were dark now. There -was nothing to wait for. I crossed the street, sauntered past the cigar -store. There were dusty boxes of stogies in the window and piles of -homemade fudge stacked on plates with paper doilies under them. Behind -them, the interior of the store looked grim and dead. I looked around, -then turned down the side street toward the back door—</p> - -<p>A black sedan eased around the corner and pulled in to the curb. A face -leaned over to look at me through lenses like the bottoms of tabasco -bottles. The hot evening air stirred, and I felt my damp shirt cold -against my back.</p> - -<p>"Looking for anything in particular, Mister?" the cop said.</p> - -<p>I just looked at him.</p> - -<p>"Passing through town, are you?" he asked.</p> - -<p>For some reason I shook my head.</p> - -<p>"I've got a job here," I said. "I'm going to work—for Mr. Foster."</p> - -<p>"What Mr. Foster?" The cop's voice was wheezy, but relentless; a voice -used to asking questions.</p> - -<p>I remembered the ad—something about an adventure; Foster, Box 19. The -cop was still staring at me.</p> - -<p>"Box nineteen," I said.</p> - -<p>He looked me over some more, then reached across and opened the door. -"Better come on down to the station house with me, Mister," he said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At Police Headquarters, the cop motioned me to a chair, sat down behind -a desk, and pulled a phone to him. He dialed slowly, then swiveled his -back to me to talk. Insects danced around the bare light bulb. There -was an odor of leather and unwashed bedding. I sat and listened to a -radio in the distance wailing a sad song.</p> - -<p>It was half an hour before I heard a car pull up outside. The man who -came through the door was wearing a light suit that was neither new -nor freshly pressed, but had that look of perfect fit and taste that -only the most expensive tailoring can achieve. He moved in a relaxed -way, but gave an impression of power held in reserve. At first glance I -thought he was in his middle thirties, but when he looked my way I saw -the fine lines around the blue eyes. I got to my feet. He came over to -me.</p> - -<p>"I'm Foster," he said, and held out his hand. I shook it.</p> - -<p>"My name is Legion," I said.</p> - -<p>The desk sergeant spoke up. "This fellow says he come here to Mayport -to see you, Mr. Foster."</p> - -<p>Foster looked at me steadily. "That's right, Sergeant. This gentleman -is considering a proposition I've made."</p> - -<p>"Well, I didn't know, Mr. Foster," the cop said.</p> - -<p>"I quite understand, Sergeant," Foster said. "We all feel better, -knowing you're on the job."</p> - -<p>"Well, you know," the cop said.</p> - -<p>"We may as well be on our way then," Foster said. "If you're ready, Mr. -Legion."</p> - -<p>"Sure, I'm ready," I said. Mr. Foster said goodnight to the cop and we -went out. On the pavement in front of the building I stopped.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, Mr. Foster," I said. "I'll comb myself out of your hair now."</p> - -<p>Foster had his hand on the door of a deceptively modest-looking -cabriolet. I could smell the solid leather upholstery from where I -stood.</p> - -<p>"Why not come along to my place, Legion," he said. "We might at least -discuss my proposition."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "I'm not the man for the job, Mr. Foster," I said. "If -you'd like to advance me a couple of bucks, I'll get myself a bite to -eat and fade right out of your life."</p> - -<p>"What makes you so sure you're not interested?"</p> - -<p>"Your ad said something about adventure. I've had my adventures. Now -I'm just looking for a hole to crawl into."</p> - -<p>"I don't believe you, Legion." Foster smiled at me, a slow, calm smile. -"I think your adventures have hardly begun."</p> - -<p>I thought about it. If I went along, I'd at least get a meal—and maybe -even a bed for the night. It was better than curling up under a tree.</p> - -<p>"Well," I said, "a remark like that demands time for an explanation." I -got into the car and sank back in a seat that seemed to fit me the way -Foster's jacket fit him.</p> - -<p>"I hope you won't mind if I drive fast," Foster said. "I want to be -home before dark." We started up and wheeled away from the curb like a -torpedo sliding out of the launching tube.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I got out of the car in the drive at Foster's house, and looked around -at the wide clipped lawn, the flower beds that were vivid even by -moonlight, the line of tall poplars and the big white house.</p> - -<p>"I wish I hadn't come," I said. "This kind of place reminds me of all -the things I haven't gotten out of life."</p> - -<p>"Your life's still ahead of you," Foster said. He opened the slab of -mahogany that was the front door, and I followed him inside. At the end -of a short hall he flipped a switch that flooded the room before us -with soft light. I stared at an expanse of pale grey carpet about the -size of a tennis court, on which rested glowing Danish teak furniture -upholstered in rich colors. The walls were a rough-textured grey; here -and there were expensively framed abstractions. The air was cool with -the heavy coolness of air conditioning. Foster crossed to a bar that -looked modest in the setting, in spite of being bigger than those in -most of the places I'd seen lately.</p> - -<p>"Would you care for a drink?" he said.</p> - -<p>I looked down at my limp, stained suit and grimy cuffs.</p> - -<p>"Look, Mr. Foster," I said. "I just realized something. If you've got a -stable, I'll go sleep in it—"</p> - -<p>Foster laughed. "Come on; I'll show you the bath."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I came downstairs, clean, showered, and wearing a set of Foster's -clothes. I found him sitting, sipping a drink and listening to music.</p> - -<p>"The <i>Liebestodt</i>," I said. "A little gloomy, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"I read something else into it," Foster said. "Sit down and have a bite -to eat and a drink."</p> - -<p>I sat in one of the big soft chairs and tried not to let my hand shake -as I reached for one of the sandwiches piled on the coffee table.</p> - -<p>"Tell me something, Mr. Legion," Foster said. "Why did you come here, -mention my name—if you didn't intend to see me?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "It just worked out that way."</p> - -<p>"Tell me something about yourself," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"It's not much of a story."</p> - -<p>"Still, I'd like to hear it."</p> - -<p>"Well, I was born, grew up, went to school——"</p> - -<p>"What school?"</p> - -<p>"University of Illinois."</p> - -<p>"What was your major?"</p> - -<p>"Music."</p> - -<p>Foster looked at me, frowning slightly.</p> - -<p>"It's the truth," I said. "I wanted to be a conductor. The army -had other ideas. I was in my last year when the draft got me. They -discovered I had what they considered an aptitude for intelligence -work. I didn't mind it. I had a pretty good time for a couple of years."</p> - -<p>"Go on," Foster said. Well, I'd had a bath and a good meal. I owed him -something. If he wanted to hear my troubles, why not tell him?</p> - -<p>"I was putting on a demonstration. A defective timer set off a charge -of H-E fifty seconds early on a one-minute setting. A student was -killed; I got off easy with a busted eardrum and a pound or two of -gravel imbedded in my back. When I got out of the hospital, the army -felt real bad about letting me go—but they did. My terminal leave pay -gave me a big weekend in San Francisco and set me up in business as a -private investigator.</p> - -<p>"I had enough left over after the bankruptcy proceedings a few months -later to get me to Las Vegas. I lost what was left and took a job with -a casino operator named Gonino.</p> - -<p>"I stayed with Gonino for nearly a year. Then one night a visiting bank -clerk lost his head and shot him eight times with a .22 target pistol. -I left town the same night.</p> - -<p>"After that I sold used cars for a couple of months in Memphis; then I -made like a life guard at Daytona; baited hooks on a thirty-foot tuna -boat out of Key West; all the odd jobs with low pay and no future. I -spent a couple of years in Cuba; all I got out of that was two bullet -scars on the left leg, and a prominent position on a CIA blacklist.</p> - -<p>"After that things got tough. A man in my trade can't really hope to -succeed in a big way without the little blue card in the plastic cover -to back his play. I was headed south for the winter, and I picked -Mayport to run out of money."</p> - -<p>I stood up. "I sure enjoyed the bath, Mr. Foster, and the meal, -too—I'd like real well to get into that bed upstairs and have a -night's sleep just to make it complete; but I'm not interested in the -job." I turned away and started across the room.</p> - -<p>"Legion," Foster said. I turned. A beer bottle was hanging in the air -in front of my face. I put a hand up fast and the bottle slapped my -palm.</p> - -<p>"Not bad set of reflexes for a man whose adventures are all behind -him," Foster said.</p> - -<p>I tossed the bottle aside. "If I'd missed, that would have knocked my -teeth out," I said angrily.</p> - -<p>"You didn't miss—even though you're weaving a little from the beer. -And a man who can feel a pint or so of beer isn't an alcoholic—so -you're clean on that score."</p> - -<p>"I didn't say I was ready for the rummy ward," I said. "I'm just not -interested in your proposition—whatever it is."</p> - -<p>"Legion," Foster said, "maybe you have the idea I put that ad in the -paper last week on a whim. The fact is, I've been running it—in one -form or another—for over eight years."</p> - -<p>I looked at him and waited.</p> - -<p>"Not only locally—I've run it in the big-city papers, and in some of -the national weekly and monthly publications. All together, I've had -perhaps fifty responses."</p> - -<p>Foster smiled wryly. "About three quarters of them were from women who -thought I wanted a playmate. Several more were from men with the same -idea. The few others were hopelessly unsuitable."</p> - -<p>"That's surprising," I said. "I'd have thought you'd have brought half -the nuts in the country out of the woodwork by now."</p> - -<p>Foster looked at me, not smiling. I realized suddenly that behind the -urbane façade there was a hint of tension, a trace of worry in the -level blue eyes.</p> - -<p>"I'd like very much to interest you in what I have to say, Legion. I -think you lack only one thing—confidence in yourself."</p> - -<p>I laughed shortly. "What are the qualifications you think I have? I'm a -jack of no trades——"</p> - -<p>"Legion, you're a man of considerable intelligence and more than a -little culture; you've travelled widely and know how to handle yourself -in difficult situations—or you wouldn't have survived. I'm sure your -training includes techniques of entry and fact-gathering not known to -the average man; and perhaps most important, although you're an honest -man, you're capable of breaking the law—when necessary."</p> - -<p>"So that's it," I said.</p> - -<p>"No, I'm not forming a mob, Legion. As I said in the ad—this is an -unusual adventure. It may—probably will—involve infringing various -statutes and regulations of one sort or another. After you know the -full story I'll leave you to judge whether it's justifiable."</p> - -<p>If Foster was trying to arouse my curiosity, he was succeeding. He was -dead serious about whatever it was he was planning. It sounded like -something no one with good sense would want to get involved in—but on -the other hand, Foster didn't look like the sort of man to do anything -foolish....</p> - -<p>"Why don't you tell me what this is all about?" I said. "Why would a -man with all this—" I waved a hand at the luxurious room—"want to -pick a hobo like me out of the gutter and talk him into taking a job?"</p> - -<p>"Your ego has taken a severe beating, Legion—that's obvious. I think -you're afraid that I'll expect too much of you—or that I'll be shocked -by some disclosure you may make. Perhaps if you'd forget yourself and -your problems for the moment, we could reach an understanding——"</p> - -<p>"Yeah," I said. "Just forget my problems...."</p> - -<p>"Chiefly money problems, of course. Most of the problems of this -society involve the abstraction of values that money represents."</p> - -<p>"Okay," I said. "I've got my problems, you've got yours. Let's leave it -at that."</p> - -<p>"You feel that because I have material comfort, my problems must of -necessity be trivial ones," Foster said. "Tell me, Mr. Legion: have you -ever known a man who suffered from amnesia?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Foster crossed the room to a small writing desk, took something from a -drawer, then looked at me.</p> - -<p>"I'd like you to examine this," he said.</p> - -<p>I went over and took the object from his hand. It was a small book, -with a cover of drab-colored plastic, unornamented except for an -embossed design of two concentric rings. I opened the cover. The pages -were as thin as tissue, but opaque, and covered with extremely fine -writing in strange foreign characters. The last dozen pages were in -English. I had to hold the book close to my eyes to read the minute -script:</p> - -<p><i>January 19, 1710. Having come nigh to calamity with the near loſs -of the key, I will henceforth keep this journal in the English -tongue....</i></p> - -<p>"If this is an explanation of something, it's too subtle for me," I -said.</p> - -<p>"Legion, how old would you say I am?"</p> - -<p>"That's a hard one," I said. "When I first saw you I would have said -the late thirties, maybe. Now, frankly, you look closer to fifty."</p> - -<p>"I can show you proof," Foster said, "that I spent the better part of a -year in a military hospital in France. I awakened in a ward, bandaged -to the eyes, and with no memories whatever of my life before that day. -According to the records made at the time, I appeared to be about -thirty years of age."</p> - -<p>"Well," I said, "amnesia's not so unusual among war casualties, and you -seem to have done pretty well since."</p> - -<p>Foster shook his head impatiently. "There's nothing difficult about -acquiring material wealth in this society, though the effort kept me -well occupied for a number of years—and diverted my thoughts from -the question of my past life. The time came, however, when I had the -leisure to pursue the matter. The clues I had were meagre enough; the -notebook I've shown you was found near me, and I had a ring on my -finger." Foster held out his hand. On the middle finger was a massive -signet, engraved with the same design of concentric circles I had seen -on the cover of the notebook.</p> - -<p>"I was badly burned; my clothing was charred. Oddly enough, the -notebook was quite unharmed, though it was found among burned debris. -It's made of very tough stuff."</p> - -<p>"What did you find out?"</p> - -<p>"In a word—nothing. No military unit claimed me. I spoke English, from -which it was deduced that I was English or American——"</p> - -<p>"They couldn't tell which, from your accent?"</p> - -<p>"Apparently not; it appears I spoke a sort of hybrid dialect."</p> - -<p>"Maybe you're lucky. I'd be happy to forget my first thirty years."</p> - -<p>"I spent a considerable sum of money in my attempts to discover my -past," Foster went on. "And several years of time. In the end I gave it -up. And it wasn't until then that I found the first faint inkling."</p> - -<p>"So you did find something," I said.</p> - -<p>"Nothing I hadn't had all along. The notebook."</p> - -<p>"I'd have thought you would have read that before you did anything -else," I said. "Don't tell me you put it in the bureau drawer and -forgot it."</p> - -<p>"I read it, of course—what I could read of it. Only a relatively small -section is in English. The rest is a cipher. And what I read seemed -meaningless—quite unrelated to me. You've glanced through it; it's no -more than a journal, irregularly kept, and so cryptic as to be little -better than a code itself. And of course the dates; they range from the -early eighteenth century through the early twentieth."</p> - -<p>"A sort of family record, maybe," I said. "Carried on generation after -generation. Didn't it mention any names, or places?"</p> - -<p>"Look at it again, Legion," Foster said. "See if you notice anything -odd—other than what we've already discussed."</p> - -<p>I thumbed through the book again. It was no more than an inch thick, -but it was heavy—surprisingly heavy. There were a lot of pages—I -shuffled through hundreds of closely written sheets, and yet the book -was less than half used. I read bits here and there:</p> - -<p><i>"May 4, 1746. The Voyage was not a Succeſs. I must forsake this avenue -of Enquiry....</i>"</p> - -<p>"<i>October 23, 1790. Builded the weſt Barrier a cubit higher. Now -the fires burn every night. Is there no limit to their infernal -perſiſtence?</i>"</p> - -<p>"<i>January 19, 1831. I have great hopes for the Philadelphia enterprise. -My greatest foe is impatience. All preparations for the Change are -made, yet I confeſs I am uneasy....</i>"</p> - -<p>"There are plenty of oddities," I said. "Aside from the entries -themselves. This is supposed to be old—but the quality of the paper -and binding beats anything I've seen. And that handwriting is pretty -fancy for a quill pen——"</p> - -<p>"There's a stylus clipped to the spine of the book," Foster said. "It -was written with that."</p> - -<p>I looked, pulled out a slim pen, then looked at Foster. "Speaking of -odd," I said. "A genuine antique early colonial ball-point pen doesn't -turn up every day——"</p> - -<p>"Suspend your judgement until you've seen it all," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"And two hundred years on one refill—that's not bad." I riffled -through the pages, then I tossed the book onto the table. "Who's -kidding who, Foster?" I said.</p> - -<p>"The book was described in detail in the official record, of which I -have copies. They mention the paper and binding, the stylus, even quote -some of the entries. The authorities worked over it pretty closely, -trying to identify me. They reached the same conclusion as you—that it -was the work of a crackpot; but they saw the same book you're looking -at now."</p> - -<p>"So what? So it was faked up some time during the war—what does that -prove? I'm ready to concede it's forty years old——"</p> - -<p>"You don't understand, Legion," Foster said. "I told you I woke up in -a military hospital in France. But it was an AEF hospital and the year -was 1918."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h2> - - -<p>I glanced sideways at Foster. He didn't look like a nut....</p> - -<p>"All I've got to say is," I said, "you're a hell of a spry-looking -ninety."</p> - -<p>"You find my appearance strangely youthful. What would be your reaction -if I told you that I've aged greatly in the past few months? That -a year ago I could have passed as no older than thirty without the -slightest difficulty——"</p> - -<p>"I don't think I'd believe you," I said. "And I'm sorry, Mr. Foster; -but I don't believe the bit about the 1918 hospital either. How can I? -It's——"</p> - -<p>"I know. Fantastic. But let's go back a moment to the book itself. Look -closely at the paper; it's been examined by experts. They're baffled by -it. Attempts to analyze it chemically failed—they were unable to take -a sample. It's impervious to solvents——"</p> - -<p>"They couldn't get a sample?" I said. "Why not just tear off the corner -of one of the sheets?"</p> - -<p>"Try it," Foster said.</p> - -<p>I picked up the book and plucked at the edge of one of the blank -sheets, then pinched harder and pulled. The paper held. I got a better -grip and pulled again. It was like fine, tough leather, except that it -didn't even stretch.</p> - -<p>"It's tough, all right," I said. I took out my pocket knife and opened -it and worked on the edge of the paper. Nothing. I went over to the -bureau and put the paper flat against the top and sawed at it, putting -my weight on the knife. I raised the knife and brought it down hard. I -didn't so much as mark the sheet. I put the knife away.</p> - -<p>"That's some paper, Mr. Foster," I said.</p> - -<p>"Try to tear the binding," Foster said. "Put a match to it. Shoot at -it if you like. Nothing will make an impression on that material. Now, -you're a logical man, Legion. Is there something here outside ordinary -experience or is there not?"</p> - -<p>I sat down, feeling for a cigarette. I still didn't have.</p> - -<p>"What does it prove?" I said.</p> - -<p>"Only that the book is not a simple fraud. You're facing something -which can't be dismissed as fancy. The book exists. That is our basic -point of departure."</p> - -<p>"Where do we go from there?"</p> - -<p>"There is a second factor to be considered," Foster went on. "At some -time in the past I seem to have made an enemy. Someone, or something, -is systematically hunting me."</p> - -<p>I tried a laugh, but it felt out of place. "Why not sit still and let -it catch up with you? Maybe it could tell you what the whole thing is -about."</p> - -<p>Foster shook his head. "It started almost thirty years ago," he said. -"I was driving south from Albany, New York, at night. It was a long -straight stretch of road, no houses. I noticed lights following me. Not -headlights—something that bobbed along, off in the fields along the -road. But they kept pace, gradually moving alongside. Then they closed -in ahead, keeping out of range of my headlights. I stopped the car. I -wasn't seriously alarmed, just curious. I wanted a better look, so I -switched on my spotlight and played it on the lights. They disappeared -as the light touched them. After half a dozen were gone, the rest began -closing in. I kept picking them off. There was a sound, too, a sort of -high-pitched humming. I caught a whiff of sulphur then, and suddenly -I was afraid—deathly afraid. I caught the last one in the beam no -more than ten feet from the car. I can't describe the horror of the -moment——"</p> - -<p>"It sounds pretty weird," I said. "But what was there to be afraid of? -It must have been some kind of heat lightning."</p> - -<p>"There is always the pat explanation," Foster said. "But no explanation -can rationalize the instinctive dread I felt. I started up the car -and drove on—right through the night and the next day. I sensed that -I must put distance between myself and whatever it was I had met. I -bought a home in California and tried to put the incident out of my -mind—with limited success. Then it happened again."</p> - -<p>"The same thing? Lights?"</p> - -<p>"It was more sophisticated the next time. It started with -interference—static—on my radio. Then it affected the wiring in the -house. All the lights began to glow weakly, even though they were -switched off. I could feel it—feel it in my bones—moving closer, -hemming me in. I tried the car; it wouldn't start. Fortunately, I kept -a few horses at that time. I mounted and rode into town—and at a fair -gallop, you may be sure. I saw the lights, but outdistanced them. I -caught a train and kept going."</p> - -<p>"I don't see——"</p> - -<p>"It happened again; four times in all. I thought perhaps I had -succeeded in eluding it at last. I was mistaken. I have had definite -indications that my time here is drawing to a close. I would have been -gone before now, but there were certain arrangements to be made."</p> - -<p>"Look," I said. "This is all wrong. You need a psychiatrist, not an -ex-tough guy. Delusions of persecution——"</p> - -<p>"It seemed obvious that the explanation was to be found somewhere in my -past life," Foster went on. "I turned to the notebook, my only link. -I copied it out, including the encrypted portion. I had photostatic -enlargements made of the initial section—the part written in -unfamiliar characters. None of the experts who have examined the script -have been able to identify it.</p> - -<p>"I necessarily, therefore, concentrated my attention on the last -section—the only part written in English. I was immediately struck by -a curious fact I had ignored before. The writer made references to an -Enemy, a mysterious 'they', against which defensive measures had to be -taken."</p> - -<p>"Maybe that's where you got the idea," I said. "When you first read the -book——"</p> - -<p>"The writer of the log," Foster said, "was dogged by the same nemesis -that now follows me."</p> - -<p>"It doesn't make any sense," I said.</p> - -<p>"For the moment," Foster said, "stop looking for logic in the -situation. Look for a pattern instead."</p> - -<p>"There's a pattern, all right," I said.</p> - -<p>"The next thing that struck me," Foster went on, "was a reference to a -loss of memory—a second point of some familiarity to me. The writer -expresses frustration at the inability to remember certain facts which -would have been useful to him in his pursuit."</p> - -<p>"What kind of pursuit?"</p> - -<p>"Some sort of scientific project, as nearly as I can gather. The -journal bristles with tantalizing references to matters that are never -explained."</p> - -<p>"And you think the man that wrote it had amnesia?"</p> - -<p>"Not exactly amnesia, perhaps," Foster said. "But there were things he -was unable to remember."</p> - -<p>"If that's amnesia, we've all got it," I said. "Nobody's got a perfect -memory."</p> - -<p>"But these were matters of importance; not the kinds of thing that -simply slip one's mind."</p> - -<p>"I can see how you'd want to believe the book had something to do with -your past, Mr. Foster," I said. "It must be a hard thing, not knowing -your own life story. But you're on the wrong track. Maybe the book is a -story you started to write—in code, so nobody would accidentally read -the stuff and kid you about it."</p> - -<p>"Legion, what was it you planned to do when you got to Miami?"</p> - -<p>The question caught me a little off-guard. "Well, I don't know," I -hedged. "I wanted to get south, where it's warm. I used to know a few -people——"</p> - -<p>"In other words, nothing," Foster said. "Legion, I'll pay you well to -stay with me and see this thing through."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "Not me, Mr. Foster. The whole thing sounds—well, -the kindest word I can think of is 'nutty.'"</p> - -<p>"Legion," Foster said, "do you really believe I'm insane?"</p> - -<p>"Let's just say this all seems a little screwy to me, Mr. Foster."</p> - -<p>"I'm not asking you just to work for me," Foster said. "I'm asking for -your help."</p> - -<p>"You might as well look for your fortune in tea leaves," I said, -irritated. "There's nothing in what you've told me."</p> - -<p>"There's more, Legion. Much more. I've recently made an important -discovery. When I know you're with me, I'll tell you. You know enough -now to accept the fact that this isn't entirely a figment of my -imagination."</p> - -<p>"I don't know anything," I said. "So far it's all talk."</p> - -<p>"If you're concerned about payment——"</p> - -<p>"No, damn it," I barked. "Where are the papers you keep talking about? -I ought to have my head examined for sitting here humoring you. I've -got troubles enough——" I stopped talking and rubbed my hands over my -scalp. "I'm sorry, Mr. Foster," I said. "I guess what's really griping -me is that you've got everything I think I want—and you're not content -with it. It bothers me to see you off chasing fairies. If a man with -his health and plenty of money can't enjoy life, what the hell is there -for anybody?"</p> - -<p>Foster looked at me thoughtfully. "Legion, if you could have anything -in life you wanted, what would you ask for?"</p> - -<p>"Anything? I've wanted a lot of different things. Once I wanted to be -a hero. Later, I wanted to be smart, know all the answers. Then I had -the idea that a chance to do an honest job, one that needed doing, was -the big thing. I never found that job. I never got smart either, or -figured out how to tell a hero from a coward, without a program."</p> - -<p>"In other words," Foster said, "you were looking for an abstraction -to believe in—in this case, Justice. But you won't find justice in -nature. It's a thing that only man expects or acknowledges."</p> - -<p>"There are some good things in life; I'd like to get a piece of them."</p> - -<p>"Don't lose your capacity for dreaming, in the process."</p> - -<p>"Dreams?" I said. "Oh, I've got those. I want an island somewhere in -the sun, where I can spend my time fishing and watching the sea."</p> - -<p>"You're speaking cynically—but you're still attempting to concretize -an abstraction," Foster said. "But no matter—materialism is simply -another form of idealism."</p> - -<p>I looked at Foster. "But I know I'll never have those things—or that -Justice you were talking about, either. Once you really know you'll -never make it...."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps unattainability is an essential element of any dream," Foster -said. "But hold onto your dream, whatever it is—don't ever give it up."</p> - -<p>"So much for philosophy," I said. "Where is it getting us?"</p> - -<p>"You'd like to see the papers," Foster said. He fished a key ring from -an inner pocket. "If you don't mind going out to the car," he said, -"and perhaps getting your hands dirty, there's a strong-box welded -to the frame. I keep photostats of everything there, along with my -passport, emergency funds and so on. I've learned to be ready to -travel on very short notice. Lift the floorboards; you'll see the box."</p> - -<p>"It's not all that urgent," I said. "I'll take a look in the -morning—after I've caught up on some sleep. But don't get the wrong -idea—it's just my knot-headed curiosity."</p> - -<p>"Very well," Foster said. He lay back, sighed. "I'm tired, Legion," he -said. "My mind is tired."</p> - -<p>"Yeah," I said, "so is mine—not to mention other portions of my -anatomy."</p> - -<p>"Get some sleep," Foster said. "We'll talk again in the morning."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I pushed back the light blanket and slid out of bed. Underfoot, the rug -was as thick and soft as a working girl's mink. I went across to the -closet and pushed the button that made the door slide aside. My old -clothes were still lying on the floor where I had left them, but I had -the clean ones Foster had lent me. He wouldn't mind if I borrowed them -for a while longer—it would be cheaper for him in the long run. Foster -was as looney as a six-day bike racer, but there was no point in my -waiting around to tell him so.</p> - -<p>The borrowed outfit didn't include a coat. I thought of putting my -old jacket on but it was warm outside and a grey pin-stripe with -grease spots wouldn't help the picture any. I transferred my personal -belongings from the grimy clothes on the floor, and eased the door open.</p> - -<p>Downstairs, the curtains were drawn in the living room. I could vaguely -make out the outline of the bar. It wouldn't hurt to take along a bite -to eat. I groped my way behind the bar, felt along the shelves, found -a stack of small cans that rattled softly. Nuts, probably. I reached to -put a can on the bar and it clattered against something I couldn't see. -I swore silently, felt over the obstruction. It was bulky, with the -cold smoothness of metal, and there were small projections with sharp -corners. It felt for all the world like——</p> - -<p>I leaned over it and squinted. With the faint gleam of moonlight from -a chink in the heavy curtains falling just so, I could almost make -out the shape; I crouched a little lower, and caught the glint of -light along the perforated jacket of a .30 calibre machine gun. My eye -followed the barrel, made out the darker square of the entrance hall, -and the tiny reflection of light off the polished brass doorknob at the -far end.</p> - -<p>I stepped back, flattened against the wall, with a hollow feeling -inside. If I had tried to walk through that door....</p> - -<p>Foster was crazy enough for two ordinary nuts. My eyes flicked around -the room. I had to get out quickly before he jumped out and said <i>Boo!</i> -and I died of heart failure. The windows, maybe. I came around the end -of the bar, got down and crawled under the barrel of the gun and over -to the heavy drapes, pushing them aside. Pale light glowed beyond the -glass. Not the soft light of the moon, but a milky, churning glow that -reminded me of the phosphorescence of sea water....</p> - -<p>I dropped the curtain, ducked back under the gun into the hall, and -pushed through a swinging door into the kitchen. There was a faint -glow from the luminous handle of the refrigerator. I yanked it open, -spilling light on the floor, and looked around. Plenty of gleaming -white fixtures—but no door out. There was a window, almost obscured -by leaves. I eased it open and almost broke my fist on a wrought-iron -trellis.</p> - -<p>Back in the hall, I tried two more doors, both locked. A third opened, -and I found myself looking down the cellar stairs. They were steep and -dark as cellar stairs always seem to be, but they might be the way out. -I felt for a light switch, flipped it on. A weak illumination showed me -a patch of damp-looking floor at the foot of the steps. It still wasn't -inviting, but I went down.</p> - -<p>There was an oil furnace in the center of the room, with dusty -duct-work spidering out across the ceiling; some heavy packing cases -of rough wood were stacked along one wall, and at the far side of the -room, there was a boarded-up coal bin—but no cellar door.</p> - -<p>I turned to go back up. Then I heard a sound and froze. Somewhere a -cockroach scuttled briefly. Then I heard the sound again, a faint -grinding of stone against stone. I peered through the cob-webbed -shadows, my mouth suddenly dry. There was nothing.</p> - -<p>The thing for me to do was to get up the stairs fast, batter the iron -trellis out of the kitchen window, and run like hell. The trouble was, -I had to move to do it, and the sound of my own steps was so loud it -was paralyzing. Compared to this, the shock of stumbling over the gun -was just a mild kick, like finding a whistle in your Cracker-jacks. -Ordinarily I didn't believe in things that went bump in the night, -but this time I was hearing the bumps myself, and all I could think -about was Edgar Allen Poe and his cheery tales about people who got -themselves buried before they were thoroughly dead.</p> - -<p>There was another sound, then a sharp snap, and I saw light spring up -from a crack that opened across the floor in the shadowy corner. That -was enough for me. I jumped for the stairs, took them three at a time, -and banged through the kitchen door. I grabbed up a chair, swung it -around and slammed it against the trellis. It bounced back and cracked -me across the mouth. I dropped it, tasting blood. Maybe that was what -I needed. The panic faded before a stronger emotion—anger. I turned -and barged along the dark hall to the living room—and lights suddenly -went on. I whirled and saw Foster standing in the hall doorway, fully -dressed.</p> - -<p>"OK, Foster!" I yelled. "Just show me the way out of here."</p> - -<p>Foster held my eyes, his face tense. "Calm yourself, Mr. Legion," he -said softly. "What's happened here?"</p> - -<p>"Get over there to that gun," I snapped, nodding toward the .30 calibre -on the bar. "Disarm it, and then get the front door open. I'm leaving."</p> - -<p>Foster's eyes flicked over the clothes I was wearing.</p> - -<p>"So I see," he said. He looked me in the face again. "What is it that's -frightened you, Legion?"</p> - -<p>"Don't act so innocent," I said. "Or am I supposed to get the idea the -brownies set up that booby trap while you were asleep?"</p> - -<p>His eyes went to the gun and his expression tightened. "It's mine," he -said. "It's an automatic arrangement. Something's activated it—and -without sounding my alarm. You haven't been outside, have you?"</p> - -<p>"How could I——"</p> - -<p>"This is important, Legion," Foster rapped. "It would take more than -the sight of a machine gun to panic you. What have you seen?"</p> - -<p>"I was looking for a back door," I said. "I went down to the cellar. I -didn't like it down there so I came back up."</p> - -<p>"What did you see in the cellar?" Foster's face looked strained, -colorless.</p> - -<p>"It looked like ..." I hesitated. "There was a crack in the floor, -noises, lights...."</p> - -<p>"The floor," Foster said. "Certainly. That's the weak point." He seemed -to be talking to himself.</p> - -<p>I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "Something funny going on outside -your windows, too."</p> - -<p>Foster looked toward the heavy hangings. "Listen carefully, Legion," -he said. "We are in grave danger—both of us. It's fortunate you arose -when you did. This house, as you must have guessed by now, is something -of a fortress. At this moment, it is under attack. The walls are -protected by some rather formidable defenses. I can't say as much for -the cellar floor; it's merely three feet of ferro-concrete. We'll have -to go now—very swiftly, and very quietly."</p> - -<p>"OK—show me," I said. Foster turned and went back along the hall to -one of the locked doors where he pressed something. The door opened and -I followed him inside a small room. He crossed to a blank wall, pressed -against it. A panel slid aside—and Foster jumped back.</p> - -<p>"God's wounds!" he gasped. He threw himself at the wall and the panel -closed. I stood stock still; from somewhere there was a smell like -sulphur.</p> - -<p>"What the hell goes on?" I said. My voice cracked, as it always does -when I'm scared.</p> - -<p>"That odor," Foster said. "Quickly—the other way!"</p> - -<p>I stepped back and Foster pushed past me and ran along the hall, with -me at his heels. I didn't look back to see what was at my own heels. -Foster took the stairs three at a time, pulled up short on the landing. -He went to his knees, shoved back an Isfahan rug as supple as sable, -and gripped a steel ring set in the floor. He looked at me, his face -white.</p> - -<p>"Invoke thy gods," he said hoarsely, and heaved at the ring. A section -of floor swung up, showing the first step of a flight leading down into -a black hole. Foster didn't hesitate; he dropped his feet in, scrambled -down. I followed. The stairs went down about ten feet, ending on a -stone floor. There was the sound of a latch turning, and we stepped out -into a larger room. I saw moonlight through a row of high windows, and -smelled the fragrance of fresh night air.</p> - -<p>"We're in the garage," Foster whispered. "Go around to the other side -of the car and get in—quietly." I touched the smooth flank of the -rakish cabriolet, felt my way around it, and eased the door open. I -slipped into the seat and closed the door gently. Beside me, Foster -touched a button and a green light glowed on the dash.</p> - -<p>"Ready?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Sure."</p> - -<p>The starter whined half a turn and the engine caught. Without waiting, -Foster gunned it, let in the clutch. The car leaped for the closed -doors, and I ducked, and then saw the doors snap aside as the low-slung -car roared out into the night. We took the first turn in the drive at -forty, and rounded onto the highway at sixty, tires screaming. I took a -look back and caught a glimpse of the house, its stately façade white -in the moonlight—and then we were out of sight over a rise.</p> - -<p>"What's it all about?" I called over the rush of air. The needle -touched ninety, kept going.</p> - -<p>"Later," Foster barked. I didn't feel like arguing. I watched in the -mirror for a few minutes, wondering where all the cops were tonight. -Then I settled down in the padded seat and watched the speedometer eat -up the miles.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h2> - - -<p>It was nearly four-thirty and a tentative grey streak showed through -the palm fronds to the east before I broke the silence.</p> - -<p>"By the way," I said. "What was the routine with the steel shutters, -and the bullet-proof glass in the kitchen, and the handy home-model -machine gun covering the front door? Mice bad around the place, are -they?"</p> - -<p>"Those things were necessary—and more."</p> - -<p>"Now that the short hairs along my spine have relaxed," I said, "the -whole thing looks pretty silly. We've run far enough now to be able to -stop and turn around and stick our tongues out."</p> - -<p>"Not yet—not for a long while yet."</p> - -<p>"Why don't we just go back home," I went on, "and——"</p> - -<p>"No!" Foster said sharply. "I want your word on that, Legion. No matter -what—don't ever go near that house again."</p> - -<p>"It'll be daylight soon," I said. "We'll feel pretty asinine about -this little trip after the sun comes up, but don't worry, I won't tell -anybody——"</p> - -<p>"We've got to keep moving," Foster said. "At the next town, I'll -telephone for seats on a flight out of Miami."</p> - -<p>"Hold on," I said. "You're raving. What about your house? We didn't -even stick around long enough to make sure the TV was turned off. And -what about passports, and money, and luggage? And what makes you think -I'm going with you?"</p> - -<p>"I've kept myself in readiness for this emergency," Foster said. "There -are disposition instructions for the house on file with a legal firm -in Jacksonville. There is nothing to connect me with my former life, -once I've changed my name and disappeared. As for the rest—we can buy -luggage in the morning. My passport is in the car; perhaps we'd better -go first to Puerto Rico, until we can arrange for one for you."</p> - -<p>"Look," I said. "I got spooked in the dark, that's all. Why not just -admit we made fools of ourselves?"</p> - -<p>Foster shook his head. "The inherent inertia of the human mind," he -said. "How it fights to resist new ideas."</p> - -<p>"The kind of new ideas you're talking about could get both of us locked -up in the chuckle ward," I said.</p> - -<p>"Legion," Foster said, "I think you'd better write down what I'm going -to tell you. It's important—vitally important. I won't waste time with -preliminaries. The notebook I showed you—it's in my jacket. You must -read the English portion of it. Afterwards, what I'm about to say may -make more sense."</p> - -<p>"I hope you don't feel your last will and testament coming on, Mr. -Foster," I said. "Not before you tell me what that was we were both so -eager to get away from."</p> - -<p>"I'll be frank with you," Foster said flatly. "I don't know."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Foster wheeled into the dark drive of a silent service station, eased -to a stop, set the brake and slumped back in the seat.</p> - -<p>"Do you mind driving for a while, Legion?" he said. "I'm not feeling -very well."</p> - -<p>"Sure I'll drive," I said. I opened the door and got out and went -around to his side. Foster sat limply, eyes closed, his face drawn and -strained. He looked older than he had last night—years older. The -night's experiences hadn't taken anything off my age, either.</p> - -<p>Foster opened his eyes, looked at me blankly. He seemed to gather -himself with an effort. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not myself."</p> - -<p>He moved over and I got in the driver's seat. "If you're sick," I said, -"we'd better find a doctor."</p> - -<p>"No, it's all right," he said blurrily. "Just keep going...."</p> - -<p>"We're a hundred and fifty miles from Mayport now," I said.</p> - -<p>Foster turned to me, started to say something—and slumped in a dead -faint. I grabbed for his pulse; it was strong and steady. I rolled up -an eyelid and a dilated pupil stared sightlessly. He was all right—I -hoped. But the thing to do was get him in bed and call a doctor. We -were at the edge of a small town. I let the brake off and drove slowly -into town, swung around a corner and pulled up in front of the sagging -marquee of a run-down hotel. Foster stirred as I cut the engine.</p> - -<p>"Foster," I said. "I'm going to get you into a bed. Can you walk?" He -groaned softly and opened his eyes. They were glassy. I got out and got -him to the sidewalk. He was still half out. I walked him into the dingy -lobby and over to a reception counter where a dim bulb burned. I dinged -the bell. It was a minute before an old man shuffled out from where -he'd been sleeping. He yawned, eyed me suspiciously, looked at Foster.</p> - -<p>"We don't want no drunks here," he said. "Respectable house."</p> - -<p>"My friend is sick," I said. "Give me a double with bath. And call a -doctor."</p> - -<p>"What's he got?" the old man said. "Ain't contagious, is it?"</p> - -<p>"That's what I want a doctor to tell me."</p> - -<p>"I can't get the doc 'fore in the morning. And we got no private -bathrooms."</p> - -<p>I signed the register. We rode the open-cage elevator to the fourth -floor, went along a gloomy hall to a door painted a peeling brown. It -didn't look inviting; the room inside wasn't much better. There was -a lot of flowered wallpaper and an old-fashioned wash-stand and two -wide beds. I stretched Foster out on one. He lay relaxed, a serene -expression on his face—the kind undertakers try for but never quite -seem to manage. I sat down on the other bed and pulled off my shoes. It -was my turn to have a tired mind. I lay on the bed and let it sink down -like a grey stone into still water.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I awoke from a dream in which I had just discovered the answer to the -riddle of life. I tried to hold onto it, but it slipped away; it always -does.</p> - -<p>Grey daylight was filtering through the dusty windows. Foster lay -slackly on the broad sagging bed, a ceiling lamp with a faded fringed -shade casting a sickly yellow light over him. It didn't make things any -cheerier; I flipped it off.</p> - -<p>Foster was lying on his back, arms spread wide, breathing heavily. -Maybe it was only exhaustion, and he didn't need a doctor after all. -He'd probably wake up in a little while, raring to go.</p> - -<p>As for me, I was feeling hungry again. I'd have to have a buck or so -for sandwiches. I went over to the bed and called Foster's name. He -didn't move. If he was sleeping that soundly, maybe I wouldn't bother -him....</p> - -<p>I eased his wallet out of his coat pocket, took it to the window and -checked it. It was fat. I took a ten, put the wallet on the table. I -remembered Foster had said something about money in the car. I had the -keys in my pocket. I got my shoes on and let myself out quietly. Foster -hadn't moved.</p> - -<p>Down on the street I waited for a couple of yokels who were looking -over Foster's car to move on, then slid into the seat, leaned over, and -got the floor boards up. The strong-box was set into the channel of -the frame. I scraped the road dirt off the lock and opened it with a -key from Foster's key ring, took out the contents. There was a bundle -of stiffish papers, a passport, some maps—marked up—and a wad of -currency that made my mouth go dry. I riffled through it: fifty grand -if it was a buck.</p> - -<p>I stuffed the papers, money, and passport back in the box and locked -it, and climbed out onto the sidewalk. A few doors down the street -there was a dirty window lettered MAE'S EAT. I went in, ordered -hamburgers and coffee to go, and sat at the counter with Foster's -keys in front of me, thinking about the car that went with them. The -passport only needed a little work on the picture to get me wherever I -wanted to go, and the money would buy me my choice of islands. Foster -would have a nice long nap, and then take a train home. With his dough, -he'd hardly miss what I took.</p> - -<p>The counterman put a paper bag in front of me and I paid him and went -out. I stood by the car, jingling the keys on my palm and thinking. I -could be in Miami in an hour, and I knew where to go for the passport -job. Foster was a nice guy and I liked him—but I'd never have a break -like this again. I reached for the car door and a voice said, "Paper, -mister?"</p> - -<p>I jumped and looked around. A dirty-faced kid was looking at me. -"Sure," I said. I gave him a single and took the paper, flipped it -open. A Mayport dateline caught my eye:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="ph4">POLICE RAID HIDEOUT</p> - -<p>A surprise raid by local police led to the discovery here today of -a secret gangland fortress. Chief Chesters of the Mayport Police -stated that the raid came as an aftermath of the arrival in the city -yesterday of a notorious northern gang member. A number of firearms, -including army-type machine guns, were seized in the raid on a house 9 -miles from Mayport on the Fernandina road. The raid was said by Chief -Chesters to be the culmination of a lengthy investigation.</p> - -<p>C.R. Foster, 50, owner of the property, is missing and feared dead. -Police are seeking the ex-convict who visited the house last night. -It is feared that Foster may have been the victim of a gangland murder.</p></div> - -<p>I banged through the door to the darkened room and stopped short. In -the gloom I could see Foster sitting on the edge of the bed, looking my -way.</p> - -<p>"Look at this," I yelped, flapping the paper in his face. "Now the -cops are dragging the state for me—and on a murder rap at that! Get -on the phone and get this thing straightened out—if you can. You and -your little green men! The cops think they've stumbled on Al Capone's -arsenal. You'll have fun explaining that one...."</p> - -<p>Foster looked at me interestedly. He smiled.</p> - -<p>"What's funny about it, Foster?" I yelled. "Your dough may buy you out, -but what about me?"</p> - -<p>"Forgive me for asking," Foster said pleasantly, "But—who are you?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There are times when I'm slow on the uptake, but this wasn't one of -them. The implications of what Foster had said hit me hard enough to -make my knees go weak.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, Mr. Foster," I said. "You can't lose your memory again—not -right now, not with the police looking for me. You're my alibi; you're -the one that has to explain all the business about the guns and the ad -in the paper. I just came to see about a job, remember?"</p> - -<p>My voice was getting a little shrill. Foster sat looking at me, wearing -an expression between a frown and a smile, like a credit manager -turning down an application.</p> - -<p>He shook his head slightly. "My name is not Foster."</p> - -<p>"Look," I said. "Your name was Foster yesterday—that's all I care -about. You're the one that owns the house the cops are all upset about. -And you're the corpse I'm supposed to have knocked off. You've got to -go to the cops with me—right now—and tell them I'm just an innocent -bystander."</p> - -<p>I went to the window and raised the shades to let some light into the -room, turned back to Foster.</p> - -<p>"I'll explain to the cops about you thinking the little men were after -you—" I stopped talking and stared at Foster. For a wild moment I -thought I'd made a mistake—that I'd wandered into the wrong room. I -knew Foster's face, all right; the light was bright enough now to see -clearly; but the man I was talking to couldn't have been a day over -twenty years old.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I went close to him, staring hard. There were the same cool blue eyes, -but the lines around them were gone. The black hair grew lower and -thicker than I remembered it, and the skin was clear.</p> - -<p>I sat down hard on my bed. "<i>Mama mia</i>," I said.</p> - -<p>"<i>¿Que es la dificultad?</i>" Foster said.</p> - -<p>"Shut up," I moaned. "I'm confused enough in one language." I was -trying hard to think but I couldn't seem to get started. A few minutes -earlier I'd had the world by the tail—just before it turned around and -bit me. Cold sweat popped out on my forehead when I thought about how -close I had come to driving off in Foster's car; every cop in the state -would be looking for it by now—and if they found me in it, the jury -wouldn't be out ten minutes reaching a verdict of guilty.</p> - -<p>Then another thought hit me—the kind that brings you bolt upright -with your teeth clenched and your heart hammering. It wouldn't be long -before the local hick cops would notice the car out front. They'd come -in after me, and I'd tell them it belonged to Foster. They'd take a -look at him and say, "nuts, the bird we want is fifty years old, and -where did you hide the body?"</p> - -<p>I got up and started pacing. Foster had already told me there was -nothing to connect him with his house in Mayport; the locals there had -seen enough of him to know he was pushing middle age, at least. I could -kick and scream and tell them this twenty-year-old kid was Foster, but -I'd never make it stick. There was no way to prove my story; they'd -figure Foster was dead and that I'd killed him—and anybody who thinks -you need a <i>corpus</i> to prove murder better read his Perry Mason again.</p> - -<p>I glanced out of the window and did a double take. Two cops were -standing by Foster's car. One of them went around to the back and got -out a pad and took down the license number, then said something over -his shoulder and started across the street. The second cop planted -himself by the car, his eye on the front of the hotel.</p> - -<p>I whirled on Foster. "Get your shoes on," I croked. "Let's get the hell -out of here."</p> - -<p>We went down the stairs quietly and found a back door opening on an -alley. Nobody saw us go.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>An hour later, I sagged in a grimy coach seat and studied Foster, -sitting across from me—a middle-aged nut with the face of a young kid -and a mind like a blank slate. I had no choice but to drag him with me; -my only chance was to stick close and hope he got back enough of his -memory to get me off the hook.</p> - -<p>It was time for me to be figuring my next move. I thought about the -fifty thousand dollars I had left behind in the car, and groaned. -Foster looked concerned.</p> - -<p>"Are you in pain?" he said.</p> - -<p>"And how I'm in pain," I said. "Before I met you I was a homeless bum, -broke and hungry. Now I can add a couple more items: the cops are after -me, and I've got a mental case to nursemaid."</p> - -<p>"What law have you broken?" Foster said.</p> - -<p>"None," I barked. "As a crook, I'm a washout. I've planned three -larcenies in the last twelve hours, and flunked out on all of them. And -now I'm wanted for murder."</p> - -<p>"Whom did you kill?" Foster inquired courteously.</p> - -<p>I leaned across so I could snarl in his face: "You!" Then, "Get this -through your head, Foster. The only crime I'm guilty of is stupidity. I -listened to your crazy story; because of you I'm in a mess I'll never -get straightened out." I leaned back. "And then there's the question of -old men that take a nap and wake up in their late teens; we'll go into -that later, after I've had my nervous breakdown."</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry if I've been the cause of difficulty," Foster said. "I wish -that I could recall the things you've spoken of. Is there anything I -can do to assist you now?"</p> - -<p>"And you were the one who wanted help," I said. "There is one thing; -let me have the money you've got on you; we'll need it."</p> - -<p>Foster got out his wallet—after I told him where it was—and handed it -to me. I looked through it; there was nothing in it with a photo or -fingerprints. When Foster said he had arranged matters so that he could -disappear without a trace, he hadn't been kidding.</p> - -<p>"We'll go to Miami," I said. "I know a place in the Cuban section -where we can lie low, cheap. Maybe if we wait a while, you'll start -remembering things."</p> - -<p>"Yes," Foster said. "That would be pleasant."</p> - -<p>"You haven't forgotten how to talk, at least," I said. "I wonder what -else you can do. Do you remember how you made all that money?"</p> - -<p>"I can remember nothing of your economic system," Foster said. He -looked around. "This is a very primitive world, in many respects," he -said. "It should not be difficult to amass wealth here."</p> - -<p>"I never had much luck at it," I said. "I haven't even been able to -amass the price of a meal."</p> - -<p>"Food is exchanged for money?" Foster asked.</p> - -<p>"Everything is exchanged for money," I said. "Including most of the -human virtues."</p> - -<p>"This is a strange world," Foster said. "It will take me a long while -to become accustomed to it."</p> - -<p>"Yeah, me, too," I said. "Maybe things would be better on Mars."</p> - -<p>Foster nodded. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps we should go there."</p> - -<p>I groaned, then caught myself. "No, I'm not in pain," I said. "But -don't take me so literally, Foster."</p> - -<p>We rode along in silence for a while.</p> - -<p>"Say, Foster," I said. "Have you still got that notebook of yours?"</p> - -<p>Foster tried several pockets, came up with the book. He looked at it, -turned it over, frowning.</p> - -<p>"You remember it?" I said, watching him.</p> - -<p>He shook his head slowly, then ran his finger around the circles -embossed on the cover.</p> - -<p>"This pattern," he said. "It signifies...."</p> - -<p>"Go on, Foster," I said. "Signifies what?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't remember."</p> - -<p>I took the book and sat looking at it. I didn't really see it, though. -I was seeing my future. When Foster didn't turn up, they'd naturally -assume he was dead. I'd been with him just before his disappearance. -It wasn't hard to see why they'd want to talk to me—and my having -vanished too wouldn't help any. My picture would blossom out in post -offices all over the country; and even if they didn't catch me right -away, the murder charge would always be there, hanging over me.</p> - -<p>It wouldn't do any good to turn myself in and tell them the whole -story; they wouldn't believe me, and I wouldn't blame them. I didn't -really believe it myself, and I'd lived through it. But then, maybe -I was just imagining that Foster looked younger. After all, a good -night's rest——</p> - -<p>I looked at Foster, and almost groaned again. Twenty was stretching it; -eighteen was more like it. I was willing to swear he'd never shaved in -his life.</p> - -<p>"Foster," I said. "It's got to be in this book; who you are, where you -came from——It's the only hope I've got."</p> - -<p>"I suggest we read it, then," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"A bright idea," I said. "Why didn't I think of that?" I thumbed -through the book to the section in English and read for an hour. -Starting with the entry dated January 19, 1710, the writer had -scribbled a few lines every few months. He seemed to be some kind of -pioneer in the Virginia Colony. He complained about prices, and the -Indians, and the ignorance of the other settlers and every now and then -threw in a remark about the Enemy. He often took long trips, and when -he got home, he complained about those, too.</p> - -<p>"It's a funny thing, Foster," I said. "This is supposed to have been -written over a period of a couple of hundred years, but it's all in the -same hand. That's kind of odd, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Why should a man's handwriting change?" Foster said.</p> - -<p>"Well, it might get a little shaky there toward the last, don't you -agree?"</p> - -<p>"Why is that?"</p> - -<p>"I'll spell it out, Foster," I said. "Most people don't live that long. -A hundred years is stretching it, to say nothing of two."</p> - -<p>"This must be a very violent world, then," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"Skip it," I said. "You talk like you're just visiting. By the way; do -you remember how to write?"</p> - -<p>Foster looked thoughtful. "Yes," he said. "I can write."</p> - -<p>I handed him the book and the stylus. "Try it," I said. Foster opened -to a blank page, wrote, and handed the book back to me.</p> - -<p>"Always and always and always," I read.</p> - -<p>I looked at Foster. "What does that mean?" I looked at the words again, -then quickly flipped to the pages written in English. I was no expert -on penmanship, but this came up and cracked me right in the eye.</p> - -<p>The book was written in Foster's hand.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"It doesn't make sense," I was saying for the fortieth time. Foster -nodded sympathetic agreement.</p> - -<p>"Why would you write out this junk yourself, and then spend all that -time and money trying to have it deciphered? You said experts worked -over it and couldn't break it. But," I went on, "you must have known -you wrote it; you knew your own handwriting. But on the other hand, -you had amnesia before; you had the idea you might have told something -about yourself in the book...."</p> - -<p>I sighed, leaned back and tossed the book over to Foster. "Here, you -read a while," I said. "I'm arguing with myself and I can't tell who's -winning."</p> - -<p>Foster looked the book over carefully.</p> - -<p>"This is odd," he said.</p> - -<p>"What's odd?"</p> - -<p>"The book is made of khaff. It is a permanent material—and yet it -shows damage."</p> - -<p>I sat perfectly still and waited.</p> - -<p>"Here on the back cover," Foster said. "A scuffed area. Since this is -khaff, it cannot be an actual scar. It must have been placed there."</p> - -<p>I grabbed the book and looked. There was a faint mark across the -back cover, as though the book had been scraped on something sharp. -I remembered how much luck I had had with a knife. The mark had been -put here, disguised as a casual nick in the finish. It had to mean -something.</p> - -<p>"How do you know what the material is?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Foster looked surprised. "In the same way that I know the window is of -glass," he said. "I simply know."</p> - -<p>"Speaking of glass," I said. "Wait till I get my hands on a microscope. -Then maybe we'll begin to get some answers."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h2> - - -<p>The two-hundred pound señorita with the wart on her upper lip put a -pot of black Cuban coffee and a pitcher of salted milk down beside the -two chipped cups, leered at me in a way that might have been appealing -thirty years before, and waddled back to the kitchen. I poured a cup, -gulped half of it, and shuddered. In the street outside the cafe a -guitar cried <i>Estrellita</i>.</p> - -<p>"Okay, Foster," I said. "Here's what I've got: The first half of the -book is in pot-hooks—I can't read that. But this middle section: the -part coded in regular letters—it's actually encrypted English. It's -a sort of résumé of what happened." I picked up the sheets of paper -on which I had transcribed my deciphering of the coded section of the -book, using the key that had been micro-engraved in the fake scratch on -the back cover.</p> - -<p>I read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><i>For the first time, I am afraid. My attempt to construct the -communicator called down the Hunters upon me. I made such a shield as -I could contrive, and sought their nesting place.</i></p> - -<p><i>I came there and it was in that place that I knew of old, and it was -no hive, but a pit in the ground, built by men of the Two Worlds. -And I would have come into it, but the Hunters swarmed in their -multitudes. I fought them and killed many, but at last I fled away. I -came to the western shore, and there I hired bold sailors and a poor -craft, and set forth.</i></p> - -<p><i>In forty-nine days we came to shore in this wilderness, and there -were men as from the dawn of time, and I fought them, and when they -had learned fear, I lived among them in peace, and the Hunters have -not found this place. Now it may be that my saga ends here, but I will -do what I am able.</i></p> - -<p><i>The Change may soon come upon me; I must prepare for the stranger who -will come after me. All that he must know is in these pages. And say I -to him:</i></p> - -<p><i>Have patience, for the time of this race draws close. Venture not -again on the Eastern continent, but wait, for soon the Northern -sailors must come in numbers into this wilderness. Seek out their -cleverest metal-workers, and when it may be, devise a shield, and only -then return to the pit of the Hunters. It lies in the plain, 50/10,000 -parts of the girth of this(?) to the west of the Great Chalk Face, and -1470 parts north from the median line, as I reckon. The stones mark it -well with the sign of the Two Worlds.</i></p></div> - -<p>I looked across at Foster. "It goes on then with a blow-by-blow account -of dealings with aborigines. He was trying to get them civilized in a -hurry. They figured he was a god and he set them to work building roads -and cutting stone and learning mathematics and so on. He was doing all -he could to set things up so this stranger who was to follow him would -know the score, and carry on the good work."</p> - -<p>Foster's eyes were on my face. "What is the nature of the Change he -speaks of?"</p> - -<p>"He never says—but I suppose he's talking about death," I said. "I -don't know where the stranger is supposed to come from."</p> - -<p>"Listen to me, Legion," Foster said. There was a hint of the old -anxious look in his eyes. "I think I know what the Change was. I think -he knew he would forget——"</p> - -<p>"You've got amnesia on the brain, old buddy," I said.</p> - -<p>"——and the stranger is—himself. A man without a memory."</p> - -<p>I sat frowning at Foster. "Yeah, maybe," I said. "Go on."</p> - -<p>"And he says that all that the stranger needs to know is there—in the -book."</p> - -<p>"Not in the part I decoded," I said. "He describes how they're coming -along with the road-building job, and how the new mine panned out—but -there's nothing about what the Hunters are, or what had gone on before -he tangled with them the first time."</p> - -<p>"It must be there, Legion; but in the first section, the part written -in alien symbols."</p> - -<p>"Maybe," I said. "But why the hell didn't he give us a key to that -part?"</p> - -<p>"I think he assumed that the stranger—himself—would remember the old -writing," Foster said. "How could he know that it would be forgotten -with the rest?"</p> - -<p>"Your guess is as good as any," I said. "Maybe better; you know how it -feels to lose your memory."</p> - -<p>"But we've learned a few things," Foster said. "The pit of the -Hunters—we have the location."</p> - -<p>"If you call this 'ten thousand parts to the west of chalk face' a -location," I said.</p> - -<p>"We know more than that," Foster said. "He mentions a plain; and it -must lie on a continent to the east——"</p> - -<p>"If you assume that he sailed from Europe to America, then the -continent to the east would be Europe," I said. "But maybe he went from -Africa to South America, or——"</p> - -<p>"The mention of Northern sailors—that suggests the Vikings——"</p> - -<p>"You seem to know a little history, Foster," I said. "You've got a lot -of odd facts tucked away."</p> - -<p>"We need maps," Foster said. "We'll look for a plain near the sea——"</p> - -<p>"Not necessarily."</p> - -<p>"——and with a formation called a chalk face to the east."</p> - -<p>"What's this 'median line' business?" I said. "And the bit about ten -thousand parts of something?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. But we must have maps."</p> - -<p>"I bought some this afternoon," I said. "I also got a dime-store globe. -I figured we might need them. Let's get out of this and back to the -room, where we can spread out. I know it's a grim prospect, but...." I -got to my feet, dropped some coins on the oilcloth-covered table, and -led the way out.</p> - -<p>It was a short half block to the flea trap we called home. We kept out -of it as much as we could, holding our long daily conferences across -the street at the Novedades. The roaches scurried as we passed up the -dark stairway to our not much brighter room. I crossed to the bureau -and opened a drawer.</p> - -<p>"The globe," Foster said, taking it in his hands. "I wonder if perhaps -he meant a ten-thousandth part of the circumference of the earth?"</p> - -<p>"What would he know about——"</p> - -<p>"Disregard the anachronistic aspect of it," Foster said. "The man -who wrote the book knew many things. We'll have to start with some -assumptions. Let's make the obvious ones: that we're looking for a -plain on the west coast of Europe, lying——" He pulled a chair up to -the scabrous table and riffled through to one of my scribbled sheets: -"50/10,000s of the circumference of the earth—that would be about 125 -miles—west of a chalk formation, and 3675 miles north of a median -line...."</p> - -<p>"Maybe," I said, "he means the Equator."</p> - -<p>"Certainly. Why not? That would mean our plain lies on a line -through——" he studied the small globe "——Warsaw, and south of -Amsterdam."</p> - -<p>"But this part about a rock outcropping," I said. "How do we find out -if there's any conspicuous chalk formation around there?"</p> - -<p>"We can consult a geology text. There may be a library in this -neighborhood."</p> - -<p>"The only chalk deposits I ever heard about," I said, "are the White -cliffs of Dover."</p> - -<p>"White cliffs...."</p> - -<p>We both reached for the globe at once.</p> - -<p>"One hundred twenty-five miles west of the chalk cliffs," said Foster. -He ran a finger over the globe. "North of London, but south of -Birmingham. That puts us reasonably near the sea——"</p> - -<p>"Where's the atlas?" I said. I rummaged, came up with a cheap tourists' -edition, flipped the pages.</p> - -<p>"Here's England," I said. "Now we look for a plain."</p> - -<p>Foster put a finger on the map. "Here," he said. "A large plain—called -Salisbury."</p> - -<p>"Large is right," I said. "It would take years to find a stone cairn -on that. We're getting excited about nothing. We're looking for a hole -in the ground, hundreds of years old—if this lousy notebook means -anything—maybe marked with a few stones—in the middle of miles of -plain. And it's all guesswork anyway...." I took the atlas, turned the -page.</p> - -<p>"I don't know what I expected to get out of decoding those pages," I -said. "But I was hoping for more than this."</p> - -<p>"I think we should try, Legion," Foster said. "We can go there, search -over the ground. It would be costly, but not impossible. We can start -by gathering capital——"</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute, Foster," I said. I was staring at a larger-scale map -showing southern England. Suddenly my heart was thudding. I put a -finger on a tiny dot in the center of Salisbury Plain.</p> - -<p>"Six, two and even," I said. "There's your Pit of the Hunters...."</p> - -<p>Foster leaned over, read the fine print.</p> - -<p>"Stonehenge."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I read from the encyclopedia page:</p> - -<p>—<i>this great stone structure, lying on the Plain of Salisbury, -Wiltshire, England, is pre-eminent among megalithic monuments of the -ancient world. Within a circular ditch 300' in diameter, stones up to -22' in height are arranged in concentric circles. The central altar -stone, over 16' long, is approached from the northeast by a broad -roadway called the Avenue</i>—</p> - -<p>"It is not an altar," said Foster.</p> - -<p>"How do you know?"</p> - -<p>"Because——" Foster frowned. "I know, that's all."</p> - -<p>"The journal said the stones were arranged in the sign of the Two -Worlds," I said. "That means the concentric circles, I suppose; the -same thing that's stamped on the cover of the notebook."</p> - -<p>"And the ring," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"Let me read the rest: <i>A great sarsen stone stands upright in the -Avenue; the axis through the two stones, when erected, pointed directly -to the rising of the sun on Midsummer Day. Calculations based on this -observation indicate a date of approximately 1600 B.C.</i>"</p> - -<p>Foster took the book and I sat on the window sill and looked out at -a big Florida moon over the ragged line of roofs with a skinny royal -palm sticking up in silhouette. It didn't look much like the postcard -views of Miami. I lit a cigarette and thought about a man who long ago -had crossed the North Atlantic in a dragon boat to be a god among the -Indians. I wondered where he came from, and what it was he was looking -for, and what kept him going in spite of the hell that showed in the -spare lines of the journal he kept. If, I reminded myself, he had ever -existed....</p> - -<p>Foster was poring over the book. "Look," I said. "Let's get back to -earth. We have things to think about, plans to make. The fairy tales -can wait until later."</p> - -<p>"What do you suggest?" Foster said. "That we forget the things you've -told me, and the things we've read here, discard the journal, and -abandon the attempt to find the answers?"</p> - -<p>"No," I said. "I'm no sorehead. Sure, there's some things here that -somebody ought to look into—some day. But right now what I want is the -cops off my neck. And I've been thinking. I'll dictate a letter; you -write it—your lawyers know your handwriting. Tell them you were on the -thin edge of a nervous breakdown—that's why all the artillery around -your house—and you made up your mind suddenly to get away from it all. -Tell them you don't want to be bothered, that's why you're travelling -incognito, and that the northern mobster that came to see you was just -stupid, not a killer. That ought to at least cool off the cops——"</p> - -<p>Foster looked thoughtful. "That's an excellent suggestion," he said. -"Then we need merely to arrange for passage to England, and proceed -with the investigation."</p> - -<p>"You don't get the idea," I said. "You can arrange things by mail so we -get our hands on that dough of yours——"</p> - -<p>"Any such attempt would merely bring the police down on us," Foster -said. "You've already pointed out the unwisdom of attempting to pass -myself off as—myself."</p> - -<p>"There ought to be a way...." I said.</p> - -<p>"We have only one avenue of inquiry," Foster said. "We have no choice -but to explore it. We'll take passage on a ship to England——"</p> - -<p>"What'll we use for money—and papers? It would cost hundreds. -Unless——" I added, "——we worked our way. But that's no good. We'd -still need passports—plus union cards and seamen's tickets."</p> - -<p>"Your friend," Foster said. "The one who prepares passports. Can't he -produce the other papers as well?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah," I said. "I guess so. But it will cost us."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure we can find a way to pay," Foster said. "Will you see -him—early in the morning?"</p> - -<p>I looked around the blowsy room. Hot night air stirred a geranium -wilting in a tin can on the window sill. An odor of bad cooking and -worse plumbing floated up from the street.</p> - -<p>"At least," I said, "it would mean getting out of here."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h2> - - -<p>It was almost sundown when Foster and I pushed through the door to the -saloon bar at the Ancient Sinner and found a corner table. I watched -Foster spread out his maps and papers. Behind us there was a murmur of -conversation and the thump of darts against a board.</p> - -<p>"When are you going to give up and admit we're wasting our time?" I -said. "Two weeks of tramping over the same ground, and we end up in the -same place."</p> - -<p>"We've hardly begun our investigation," Foster said mildly.</p> - -<p>"You keep saying that," I said. "But if there ever was anything in that -rock-pile, it's long gone. The archaeologists have been digging over -the site for years, and they haven't come up with anything."</p> - -<p>"They don't know what to look for," Foster said. "They were searching -for indications of religious significance, human sacrifice—that sort -of thing."</p> - -<p>"We don't know what we're looking for either," I said. "Unless you -think maybe we'll meet the Hunters hiding under a loose stone."</p> - -<p>"You say that sardonically," Foster said. "But I don't consider it -impossible."</p> - -<p>"I know," I said. "You've convinced yourself that the Hunters were -after us back at Mayport when we ran off like a pair of idiots."</p> - -<p>"From what you've told me of the circumstances—" Foster began.</p> - -<p>"I know; you don't consider it impossible. That's the trouble with you; -you don't consider anything impossible. It would make life a lot easier -for me if you'd let me rule out a few items—like leprechauns who hang -out at Stonehenge."</p> - -<p>Foster looked at me, half-smiling. It had only been a few weeks since -he woke up from a nap looking like a senior class president who hadn't -made up his mind whether to be a preacher or a movie star, but he had -already lost that mild, innocent air. He learned fast, and day by day I -had seen his old personality reemerge and—in spite of my attempts to -hold onto the ascendency—dominate our partnership.</p> - -<p>"It's a failing of your culture," Foster said, "that hypothesis becomes -dogma almost overnight. You're too close to your Neolithic, when the -blind acceptance of tribal lore had survival value. Having learned -to evoke the fire god from sticks, by rote, you tend to extend the -principle to all 'established facts.'"</p> - -<p>"Here's an established fact for you," I said. "We've got fifteen pounds -left—that's about forty dollars. It's time we figure out where to go -from here, before somebody starts checking up on those phoney papers of -ours."</p> - -<p>Foster shook his head. "I'm not satisfied that we've exhausted the -possibilities here. I've been studying the geometric relationships -between the various structures; I have some ideas I want to check. I -think it might be a good idea to go out at night, when we can work -without the usual crowd of tourists observing every move."</p> - -<p>I groaned. "My dogs are killing me," I said. "Let's hope you'll come up -with something better—or at least different."</p> - -<p>"We'll have a bite to eat here, and wait until dark to start out," -Foster said.</p> - -<p>The publican brought us plates of cold meat and potato salad. I worked -on a thin but durable slice of ham and thought about all the people, -somewhere, who were sitting down now to gracious meals in the glitter -of crystal and silver. I'd had too many greasy French fries in too many -cheap dives the last few years. I could feel them all now, burning in -my stomach. I was getting farther from my island all the time—And it -was nobody's fault but mine.</p> - -<p>"The Ancient Sinner," I said. "That's me."</p> - -<p>Foster looked up. "Curious names these old pubs have," he said. "I -suppose in some cases the origins are lost in antiquity."</p> - -<p>"Why don't they think up something cheery," I said. "Like 'The Paradise -Bar and Grill' or 'The Happy Hour Cafe'. Did you notice the sign -hanging outside?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"A picture of a skeleton. He's holding one hand up like a Yankee -evangelist prophesying doom. You can see it through the window there."</p> - -<p>Foster turned and looked out at the weathered sign creaking in the -evening wind. He looked at it for a long time. When he turned back, -there was a strange look around his eyes.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter—?" I started.</p> - -<p>Foster ignored me, waved to the proprietor, a short fat country man. He -came over to the table, wiping his hands on his apron.</p> - -<p>"A very interesting old building," Foster said. "We've been admiring -it. When was it built?"</p> - -<p>"Well, sir," the publican said, "This here house is a many a hundred -year old. It were built by the monks, they say, from the monastery what -used to stand nearby here. It were tore down by the King's men, Henry, -that was, what time he drove the papists out."</p> - -<p>"That would be Henry the Eighth, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Aye, it would that. And this house is all that were spared, it being -the brewing-house, as the king said were a worthwhile institution, and -he laid on a tithe, that two kegs of stout was to be laid by for the -king's use each brewing time."</p> - -<p>"Very interesting," Foster said. "Is the custom still continued?"</p> - -<p>The publican shook his head. "It were ended in my granfer's time, it -being that the Queen were a teetotaller."</p> - -<p>"How did it acquire the curious name—'The Ancient Sinner?'"</p> - -<p>"The tale is," the publican said, "that one day a lay brother of the -order were digging about yonder on the plain by the great stones, in -search of the Druid's treasure, albeit the Abbot had forbid him to go -nigh the heathen ground, and he come on the bones of a man, and being -of a kindly turn, he had the thought to give them Christian burial. -Now, knowing the Abbott would nae permit it, he set to work to dig a -grave by moonlight in holy ground, under the monastery walls. But the -Abbott, being wakeful, were abroad and come on the brother a-digging, -and when he asked the why of it, the lay brother having visions of -penances to burden him for many a day, he ups and tells the Abbott it -were a ale cellar he were about digging, and the Abbott, not being -without wisdom, clapped him on the back, and went on his way. And so it -was the ale-house got built, and blessed by the Abbott, and with it the -bones that was laid away under the floor beneath the ale-casks."</p> - -<p>"So the ancient sinner is buried under the floor?"</p> - -<p>"Aye, so the tale goes, though I've not dug for him meself. But the -house has been knowed by the name these four hundred years."</p> - -<p>"Where was it you said the lay brother was digging?"</p> - -<p>"On the plain, yonder, by the Druid's stones, what they call -Stonehenge," the publican said. He picked up the empty glasses. "What -about another, gentlemen?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly," Foster said. He sat quietly across from me, his features -composed—but I could see there was tension under the surface calm.</p> - -<p>"What's this all about?" I asked softly. "When did you get so -interested in local history?"</p> - -<p>"Later," Foster murmured. "Keep looking bored."</p> - -<p>"That'll be easy," I said. The publican came back and placed heavy -glass mugs before us.</p> - -<p>"You were telling us about the lay brother's finding the bones," Foster -said. "You say they were buried in Stonehenge?"</p> - -<p>The publican cleared his throat, glanced sideways at Foster.</p> - -<p>"The gentlemen wouldna be from the University now, I suppose?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Let's just say," Foster said easily, smiling, "that we have a great -interest in these bits of lore—an interest supported by modest funds, -of course."</p> - -<p>The publican made a show of wiping at the rings on the table top.</p> - -<p>"A costly business, I wager," he said. "Digging about in odd places and -all. Now, knowing where to dig; that's important, I'll be bound."</p> - -<p>"Very important," Foster said. "Worth five pounds, easily."</p> - -<p>"'Twere my granfer told me of the spot; took me out by moonlight, he -did, and showed me where his granfer had showed him. Told me it were -a fine great secret, the likes of which a simple man could well take -pride in."</p> - -<p>"And an additional five pounds as a token of my personal esteem," -Foster said.</p> - -<p>The publican eyed me. "Well, a secret as was handed down father to -son...."</p> - -<p>"And, of course, my associate wishes to express his esteem, too," -Foster said. "Another five pounds worth."</p> - -<p>"That's all the esteem the budget will bear, Mr. Foster," I said. I got -out the fifteen pounds and passed the money across to him. "I hope you -haven't forgotten those people back home who wanted to talk to us," I -said. "They'll be getting in touch with us any time now, I'll bet."</p> - -<p>Foster rolled up the bills and held them in his hand. "That's true, -Mr. Legion," he said. "Perhaps we shouldn't take the time...."</p> - -<p>"But being it's for the advancement of science," the publican said, -"I'm willing to make the sacrifice."</p> - -<p>"We'll want to go out tonight," Foster said. "We have a very tight -schedule."</p> - -<p>The landlord dickered with Foster for another five minutes before he -agreed to guide us to the spot where the skeleton had been found.</p> - -<p>When he left, I began. "Now tell me."</p> - -<p>"Look at the signboard again," Foster said. I looked. The skull smiled, -holding up a hand.</p> - -<p>"I see it," I said. "But it doesn't explain why you handed over our -last buck——"</p> - -<p>"Look at the hand. Look at the ring on the finger."</p> - -<p>I looked again. A heavy ring was painted on the bony index finger, with -a pattern of concentric circles.</p> - -<p>It was a duplicate of the one on Foster's finger.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The publican pulled the battered Morris Minor to the side of the -highway and set the brake.</p> - -<p>"This is as close as we best take the machine," he said. We got out, -looked across the rolling plain where the megaliths of Stonehenge -loomed against the last glow of sunset.</p> - -<p>The publican rummaged in the boot, produced a ragged blanket and two -long four-cell flashlights, gave one to Foster and the other to me. "Do -nae use the electric torches until I tell ye," he said, "lest the whole -county see there's folks abroad here." We watched as he draped the -blanket over a barbed wire fence, clambered over, and started across -the barren field. Foster and I followed, not talking.</p> - -<p>The plain was deserted. A few lonely lights showed on a distant slope. -It was a dark night with no moon. I could hardly see the ground ahead. -A car moved along a distant road, its headlights bobbing.</p> - -<p>We moved past the outer ring of stones, skirting fallen slabs twenty -feet long.</p> - -<p>"We'll break our necks," I said. "Let's have one of the flashlights."</p> - -<p>"Not yet," Foster whispered.</p> - -<p>Our guide paused; we came up to him.</p> - -<p>"It were a mortal long time since I were last hereabouts," he said. "I -best take me bearings off the Friar's Heel...."</p> - -<p>"What's that?"</p> - -<p>"Yon great stone, standing alone in the Avenue." We squinted; it was -barely visible as a dark shape against the sky.</p> - -<p>"The bones were buried there?" Foster asked.</p> - -<p>"Nay, all by theirself, they was. Now it were twenty paces, granfer -said, him bein fifteen stone and long in the leg...." The publican -muttered to himself, pacing off distances.</p> - -<p>"What's to keep him from just pointing to a spot after a while," I said -to Foster, "and saying 'This is it'?"</p> - -<p>"We'll wait and see," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"They were a hollow, as it were, in the earth," the publican said, -"with a bit of stone by it. I reckon it were fifty paces from here—" -he pointed, "—yonder."</p> - -<p>"I don't see anything," I said.</p> - -<p>"Let's take a closer look." Foster started off and I followed, -the publican trailing behind. I made out a dim shape, with a deep -depression in the earth before it.</p> - -<p>"This could be the spot," Foster said. "Old graves often sink—" -Suddenly he grabbed my arm. "Look...!"</p> - -<p>The surface of the ground before us seemed to tremble, then heave. -Foster snapped on his flashlight. The earth at the bottom of the hollow -rose, cracked open. A boiling mass of luminescence churned, and a -globe of light separated itself, rose, bumbling along the face of the -weathered stone.</p> - -<p>"Saints preserve us," the publican said in a choked voice. Foster and -I stood, rooted to the spot, watching. The lone globe rose higher—and -abruptly shot straight toward us. Foster threw up an arm and ducked. -The ball of light veered, struck him a glancing blow, darted off a few -yards, hovered. In an instant, the air was alive with the spheres, -boiling up from the ground, and hurtling toward us, buzzing like a hive -of yellow-jackets. Foster's flashlight lanced out toward the swarm.</p> - -<p>"Use your light, Legion!" he shouted hoarsely. I was still standing, -frozen. The globes rushed straight at Foster, ignoring me. Behind me, I -heard the publican turn and run. I fumbled with the flashlight switch, -snapped it on, swung the beam of white light on Foster. The globe at -his head vanished as the light touched it. More globes swarmed to -Foster—and popped like soap bubbles in the flashlight's glare—but -more swarmed to take their places. Foster reeled, fighting at them. He -swung the light—and I heard it smash against the stone behind him. In -the instant darkness, the globes clustered thick around his head.</p> - -<p>"Foster," I yelled, "run!"</p> - -<p>He got no more than five yards before he staggered, went to his -knees. "Cover," he croaked. He fell on his face. I rushed the mass of -darting globes, took up a stance straddling his body. A sulphurous -reek hung around me. I coughed, concentrated on beaming the lights -around Foster's head. No more were rising from the crack in the earth -now. A suffocating cloud pressed around both of us, but it was Foster -they went for. I thought of the slab; if I could get my back to it, -I might have a chance. I stooped, got a grip on Foster's coat, and -started back, dragging him. The lights boiled around me. I swept the -beam of light and kept going until my back slammed against the stone. I -crouched against it. Now they could only come from the front.</p> - -<p>I glanced at the cleft the lights had come from. It looked big enough -to get Foster into. That would give him some protection. I tumbled him -over the edge, then flattened my back against the slab and settled down -to fight in earnest.</p> - -<p>I worked in a pattern, sweeping vertically, then horizontally. The -globes ignored me, drove toward the cleft, fighting to get at Foster, -and I swept them away as they came. The cloud around me was smaller -now, the attack less ravenous. I picked out individual globes, snuffed -them out. The hum became ragged, faltered. Then there were only a few -globes around me, milling wildly, disorganized. The last half dozen -fled, bumbling away across the plain.</p> - -<p>I slumped against the rock, sweat running down into my eyes, my lungs -burning with the sulphur.</p> - -<p>"Foster," I gasped. "Are you all right?"</p> - -<p>He didn't answer. I flashed the light onto the cleft. It showed me damp -clay, a few pebbles.</p> - -<p>Foster was gone.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h2> - - -<p>I scrambled to the edge of the pit and played the light around inside. -It shelved back at one side, and a dark mouth showed, sloping down into -the earth—the hiding place from which the globes had swarmed.</p> - -<p>Foster was wedged in the opening. I scrambled down beside him, tugged -him back to the level ground. He was still breathing; that was -something.</p> - -<p>I wondered if the pub owner would come back, now that the lights were -gone—or if he'd tell someone what had happened, bring out a search -party. Somehow, I doubted it. He didn't seem like the type to ask for -trouble with the ghosts of ancient sinners.</p> - -<p>Foster groaned and opened his eyes. "Where are ... they?" he muttered.</p> - -<p>"Take it easy, Foster," I said. "You're OK now."</p> - -<p>"Legion," Foster said. He tried to sit up. "The Hunters...."</p> - -<p>"OK, call 'em Hunters if you want to. I haven't got a better name for -them. I worked them over with the flashlights. They're gone."</p> - -<p>"That means...."</p> - -<p>"Let's not worry about what it means. Let's just get out of here."</p> - -<p>"The Hunters—they burst out of the ground—from a cleft in the earth."</p> - -<p>"That's right. You were halfway into the hole. I guess that's where -they were hiding."</p> - -<p>"The Pit of the Hunters," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"If you say so," I said. "Lucky you didn't go down it."</p> - -<p>"Legion, give me the flashlight."</p> - -<p>"I feel something coming on that I'm not going to like," I said. I -handed him the light and he flashed it into the tunnel mouth. I saw a -polished roof of black glass arching four feet over the rubble-strewn -bottom of the shaft. A stone, dislodged by my movement, clattered away -down the 30 slope.</p> - -<p>"Hell, that tunnel's man-made," I said, peering into it. "And I don't -mean neolithic man."</p> - -<p>"Legion, we'll have to see what's down there," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"We could come back later, with ropes and big insurance policies," I -said.</p> - -<p>"But we won't," said Foster. "We've found what we were looking for——"</p> - -<p>"Sure," I said, "and it serves us right. Are you sure you feel good -enough to make like Alice and the White Rabbit?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure. Let's go."</p> - -<p>Foster thrust his legs into the opening, slid over the edge and -disappeared. I followed him. I eased down a few feet, glanced back for -a last look at the night sky, then lost my grip and slid. I hit bottom -hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I got to my hands and knees on -a level, gravel-strewn floor.</p> - -<p>"What is this place?" I dug the flashlight out of the rubble, flashed -it around. We were in a low-ceilinged room ten yards square. I saw -smooth walls, the dark bulks of massive shapes that made me think of -sarcophagi in Egyptian burial vaults—except that these threw back -highlights from dials and levers.</p> - -<p>"For a couple of guys who get shy in the company of cops," I said, -"we've a talent for doing the wrong thing. This is some kind of Top -Secret military installation."</p> - -<p>"Impossible," Foster replied. "This couldn't be a modern structure, at -the bottom of a rubble-filled shaft——"</p> - -<p>"Let's get out of here fast," I said. "We've probably set off an alarm -already."</p> - -<p>As if in answer, a low chime cut across our talk. Pearly light sprang -up on a square panel. I got to my feet, moved over to stare at it. -Foster came to my side.</p> - -<p>"What do you make of it?" he said.</p> - -<p>"I'm no expert on stone-age relics," I said. "But if that's not a radar -screen, I'll eat it."</p> - -<p>I sat down in the single chair before the dusty control console, and -watched a red blip creep across the screen. Foster stood behind me.</p> - -<p>"We owe a debt to that ancient sinner," he said. "Who would have -dreamed he'd lead us here?"</p> - -<p>"Ancient sinner?" I said. "This place is as modern as next year's juke -box."</p> - -<p>"Look at the symbols on the machines," Foster said. "They're identical -with those in the first section of the journal."</p> - -<p>"All pot-hooks look alike to me," I said. "It's this screen that's got -me worried. If I've got it doped out correctly, that blip is either a -mighty slow airplane—or it's at one hell of an altitude."</p> - -<p>"Modern aircraft operate at great heights," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"Not at this height," I said. "Give me a few more minutes to study -these scales...."</p> - -<p>"There are a number of controls here," Foster said, "obviously intended -to activate mechanisms—"</p> - -<p>"Don't touch 'em," I said. "Unless you want to start World War III."</p> - -<p>"I hardly think the results would be so drastic," Foster replied. -"Surely this installation has a simple purpose—unconnected with modern -wars—but very possibly connected with the mystery of the journal—and -of my own past."</p> - -<p>"The less we know about this, the better," I said. "At least, if we -don't mess with anything, we can always claim we just stepped in here -to get out of the rain——"</p> - -<p>"You're forgetting the Hunters," said Foster.</p> - -<p>"Some new anti-personnel gimmick."</p> - -<p>"They came out of this shaft, Legion. It was opened by the pressure of -the Hunters bursting out."</p> - -<p>"Why did they pick that precise moment—just as we arrived?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I think they were aroused," said Foster. "I think they sensed the -presence of their ancient foe."</p> - -<p>I swung around to look at him.</p> - -<p>"I see the way your thoughts are running," I said. "You're their -Ancient Foe, now, huh? Just let me get this straight: that means -that umpteen hundred years ago, you personally had a fight with the -Hunters—here at Stonehenge. You killed a batch of them and ran. You -hired some kind of Viking ship and crossed the Atlantic. Later on, you -lost your memory, and started being a guy named Foster. A few weeks ago -you lost it again. Is that the picture?"</p> - -<p>"More or less."</p> - -<p>"And now we're a couple of hundred feet under Stonehenge—after a brush -with a crowd of luminous stinkbombs—and you're telling me you'll be -nine hundred on your next birthday."</p> - -<p>"Remember the entry in the journal, Legion? 'I came to the place of the -Hunters, and it was a place I knew of old, and there was no hive, but a -Pit built by men of the Two Worlds....'"</p> - -<p>"Okay," I said. "So you're pushing a thousand."</p> - -<p>I glanced at the screen, got out a scrap of paper, and scribbled a -rapid calculation. "Here's another big number for you. That object on -the screen is at an altitude—give or take a few percent—of thirty -thousand miles."</p> - -<p>I tossed the pencil aside, swung around to frown at Foster. "What are -we mixed up in, Foster? Not that I really want to know. I'm ready to go -to a nice clean jail now, and pay my debt to society—"</p> - -<p>"Calm down, Legion," Foster said. "You're raving."</p> - -<p>"OK," I said, turning back to the screen. "You're the boss. Do what you -like. It's just my reflexes wanting to run. I've got no place to run -to. At least with you I've always got the wild hope that maybe you're -not completely nuts, and that somehow——"</p> - -<p>I sat upright, eyes on the screen. "Look at this, Foster," I snapped. A -pattern of dots flashed across the screen, faded, flashed again....</p> - -<p>"Some kind of IFF," I said. "A recognition signal. I wonder what we're -supposed to do now."</p> - -<p>Foster watched the screen, saying nothing.</p> - -<p>"I don't like that thing blinking at us," I said. "It makes me feel -conspicuous." I looked at the big red button beside the screen. "Maybe -if I pushed that...." Without waiting to think it over, I jabbed at it.</p> - -<p>A yellow light blinked on the control panel. On the screen, the pattern -of dots vanished. The red blip separated, a smaller blip moving off at -right angles to the main mass.</p> - -<p>"I'm not sure you should have done that," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"There <i>is</i> room for doubt," I said in a strained voice. "It looks like -I've launched a bomb from the ship overhead."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The climb back up the tunnel took three hours, and every foot of the -way I was listening to a refrain in my head: This may be it; this may -be it; this may be....</p> - -<p>I crawled out of the tunnel mouth and lay on my back, breathing hard. -Foster groped his way out beside me.</p> - -<p>"We'll have to get to the highway," I said, untying the ten-foot rope -of ripped garments that had linked us during the climb. "There's a -telephone at the pub; we'll notify the authorities...." I glanced up.</p> - -<p>"Hold it!" I grabbed Foster's arm and pointed overhead. "What's that?"</p> - -<p>Foster looked up. A brilliant point of blue light, brighter than a -star, grew perceptibly as we watched.</p> - -<p>"Maybe we won't get to notify anybody after all," I said. "I think -that's our bomb—coming home to roost."</p> - -<p>"That's illogical," Foster said. "The installation would hardly be -arranged merely to destroy itself in so complex a manner."</p> - -<p>"Let's get out of here," I yelled.</p> - -<p>"It's approaching us very rapidly," Foster said. "The distance we could -run in the next few minutes would be trivial by comparison with the -killing radius of a modern bomb. We'll be safer sheltered in the cleft -than on the open."</p> - -<p>"We could slide down the tunnel," I said.</p> - -<p>"And be buried?"</p> - -<p>"You're right; I'd rather fry on the surface."</p> - -<p>We crouched, watching the blue glare directly overhead, growing larger, -brighter. I could see Foster's face by its light now.</p> - -<p>"That's no bomb," Foster said. "It's not falling; it's coming down -slowly ... like a——"</p> - -<p>"Like a slowly falling bomb," I said. "And it's coming right down on -top of us. Goodbye, Foster. I can't claim it's been fun knowing you, -but it's been different. We'll feel the heat at any second now. I hope -it's fast."</p> - -<p>The glaring disc was the size of the full moon now, unbearably bright. -It lit the plain like a pale blue sun. There was no sound. As it -dropped lower, the disc foreshortened and I could see a dark shape -above it, dimly lit by the glare thrown back from the ground.</p> - -<p>"The thing is the size of a ferry boat," I said.</p> - -<p>"It's going to miss us," Foster said. "It will come to ground several -hundred feet to the east of us."</p> - -<p>We watched the slender shape float down with dreamlike slowness, now -five hundred feet above, now three hundred, then hovering just above -the giant stones.</p> - -<p>"It's coming down smack on top of Stonehenge," I yelled.</p> - -<p>We watched as the vessel settled into place dead center on the ancient -ring of stones. For a moment they were vividly silhouetted against the -flood of blue radiance; then abruptly, the glare faded and died.</p> - -<p>"Foster," I said. "Do you think it's barely possible——"</p> - -<p>A slit of yellow light appeared on the side of the hull, then it -widened to a square. A ladder extended itself, dropping down to touch -the ground.</p> - -<p>"If somebody with tentacles starts down that ladder," I said, in an -unnaturally shrill voice, "I'm getting out of here."</p> - -<p>"No one will emerge," Foster said quietly. "I think we'll find, Legion, -that this ship of space is at our disposal."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"I'm not going aboard that thing," I said for the fifth time. "I'm not -sure of much in this world, but I'm sure of that."</p> - -<p>"Legion," Foster said, "This is no twentieth century military vessel. -It obviously homed on the transmitter in the underground station, -which appears to be directly under the old monument—which is several -thousand years old——"</p> - -<p>"And I'm supposed to believe the ship has been orbiting the earth -for the last few thousand years, waiting for someone to push the red -button? You call that logical?"</p> - -<p>"Given permanent materials, such as those the notebook is made of, -it's not impossible—or even difficult."</p> - -<p>"We got out of the tunnel alive. Let's settle for that."</p> - -<p>"We're on the verge of solving a mystery that goes back through the -centuries," said Foster, "a mystery that I've pursued, if I understand -the journal, through many lifetimes——"</p> - -<p>"One thing about losing your memory: you don't have any fixed ideas to -get in the way of your theories."</p> - -<p>Foster smiled grimly. "The trail has brought us here. We must follow -it—wherever it leads."</p> - -<p>I lay on the ground, staring up at the unbelievable shape across the -field, the beckoning square of light. "This ship—or whatever it is," I -said; "it drops down out of nowhere and opens its doors. And you want -to walk right into the cosy interior."</p> - -<p>"Listen!" Foster cut in.</p> - -<p>I heard a low rumbling then, a sound that rolled ominously, like -distant guns.</p> - -<p>"More ships—" I started.</p> - -<p>"Jet aircraft," Foster said. "From the bases in East Anglia probably. -Of course, they'll have tracked our ship in—"</p> - -<p>"That's all for me," I yelled, getting to my feet. "The secret's out—"</p> - -<p>"Get down, Legion," Foster shouted. The engines were a blanketing roar -now.</p> - -<p>"What for? They—"</p> - -<p>Two long lines of fire traced themselves across the sky, curving down—</p> - -<p>I hit the dirt behind the stone in the same instant the rockets struck. -The shock wave slammed at the earth like a monster thunderclap, and I -saw the tunnel mouth collapse. I twisted, saw the red interior of the -jet tailpipe as the fighter hurtled past, rolling into a climbing turn.</p> - -<p>"They're crazy," I yelled. "Firing on——"</p> - -<p>A second barrage blasted across my indignation. I hugged the muck -and waited while nine salvoes shook the earth. Then the rumble died, -reluctantly. The air reeked of high explosives.</p> - -<p>"We'd have been dead now if we'd tried the tunnel," I gasped spitting -dirt. "It caved at the first rocket. And if the ship was what you -thought, Foster, they've destroyed something——"</p> - -<p>The sentence died unnoticed. The dust was settling and through it the -shape of the ship reared up, unchanged except that the square of light -was gone. As I watched, the door opened again and the ladder ran out -once more, invitingly.</p> - -<p>"They'll try next time with nukes," I said. "That may be too much for -the ship's defenses—and it will sure be too much for us—"</p> - -<p>"Listen," Foster cut in. A deeper rumble was building in the distance.</p> - -<p>"To the ship!" Foster called. He was up and running, and I hesitated -just long enough to think about trying for the highway and being caught -in the open—and then I was running, too. Ahead, Foster stumbled -crossing the ground that had been ripped up by the rocket bursts, made -it to the ladder, and went up it fast. The growl of the approaching -bombers grew, a snarl of deadly hatred. I leaped a still-smoking stone -fragment, took the ladder in two jumps, plunged into the yellow-lit -interior. Behind me, the door smacked shut.</p> - -<p>I was standing in a luxuriously fitted circular room. There was a -pedestal in the center of the floor, from which a polished bar -projected. The bones of a man lay beside it. While I stared, Foster -sprang forward, seized the bar, and pulled. It slid back easily. The -lights flickered and I had a moment of vertigo. Nothing else happened.</p> - -<p>"Try it the other way," I yelled. "The bombs will fall any second—" I -went for it, hand outstretched. Foster thrust in front of me. "Look!"</p> - -<p>I stared at the glowing panel he was pointing to—a duplicate of the -one in the underground chamber. It showed a curved white line, with a -red point ascending from it.</p> - -<p>"We're clear," Foster said. "We've made a successful take-off."</p> - -<p>"But we can't be moving—there's no acceleration. There must be -soundproofing—that's why we can't hear the bombers—"</p> - -<p>"No soundproofing would help if we were at ground zero," Foster said. -"This ship is the product of an advanced science. We've left the -bombers far behind."</p> - -<p>"Where are we going? Who's steering this thing?"</p> - -<p>"It steers itself, I would judge," Foster said. "I don't know where -we're going, but we're well on the way."</p> - -<p>I looked at him in amazement. "You like this, don't you, Foster? You're -having the time of your life."</p> - -<p>"I can't deny that I'm delighted at this turn of events," Foster said. -"Don't you see? This vessel is a launch, or lifeboat, under automatic -control. And it's taking us to the mother ship."</p> - -<p>"Okay, Foster," I said. I looked at the skeleton on the floor behind -him. "But I hope we have better luck than the last passenger."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h2> - - -<p>It was two hours later, and Foster and I stood silent before a ten-foot -screen that had glowed into life when I touched a silver button beside -it. It showed us a vast emptiness of bottomless black, set thick with -corruscating points of polychrome brilliance that hurt to look at. And -against that backdrop: a ship, vast beyond imagining, blotting out half -the titanic vista with its bulk——</p> - -<p>But dead.</p> - -<p>Even from the distance of miles, I could sense it. The great black -torpedo shape, dull moonlight glinting along the unbelievable length of -its sleek flank, drifted: a derelict. I wondered for how many centuries -it had waited here—and for what?</p> - -<p>"I feel," said Foster, "somehow—I'm coming home." I tried to say -something, croaked, cleared my throat.</p> - -<p>"If this is your jitney," I said, "I hope they didn't leave the meter -ticking on you. We're broke."</p> - -<p>"We're closing rapidly," said Foster. "Another ten minutes, I'd -guess...."</p> - -<p>"How do we go about heaving to, alongside? You didn't come across a -book of instructions, did you?"</p> - -<p>"I think I can predict that the approach will be automatic."</p> - -<p>"This is your big moment, isn't it?" I said. "I've got to hand it to -you, pal; you've won out by pluck, just like the Rover Boys."</p> - -<p>The ship appeared to move smoothly closer, looming over us, fine golden -lines of decorative filigree work visible now against the black. A tiny -square of pale light appeared, grew into a huge bay door that swallowed -us.</p> - -<p>The screen went dark, there was a gentle jar, then motionlessness. The -port opened, silently.</p> - -<p>"We've arrived," Foster said. "Shall we step out and have a look?"</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't think of going back without one," I said. I followed him -out and stopped dead, gaping. I had expected an empty hold, bare metal -walls. Instead, I found a vaulted cavern, shadowed, mysterious, rich -with a thousand colors. There was a hint of strange perfume in the air, -and I heard low music that muttered among stalagmite-like buttresses. -There were pools, playing fountains, waterfalls, dim vistas stretching -away, lit by slanting rays of muted sunlight.</p> - -<p>"What kind of place is it?" I asked. "It's like a fairyland, or a -dream."</p> - -<p>"It's not an earthly scheme of decoration," Foster said, "but I find it -strangely pleasing."</p> - -<p>"Hey, look over there," I yelped suddenly, pointing. An empty-eyed -skull stared past me from the shadows at the base of a column.</p> - -<p>Foster went over to the skull, stood looking down at it. "There was a -disaster here," he said. "That much is plain."</p> - -<p>"It's creepy," I said. "Let's go back; I forgot to get film for my -Brownie."</p> - -<p>"The long-dead pose no threat," said Foster. He was kneeling, looking -at the white bones. He picked up something, stared at it. "Look, -Legion."</p> - -<p>I went over. Foster held up a ring.</p> - -<p>"We're onto something hot, pal," I said. "It's the twin to yours."</p> - -<p>"I wonder ... who he was."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "If we knew that—and who killed him—or what—"</p> - -<p>"Let's go on. The answers must be here somewhere." Foster moved off -toward a corridor that reminded me of a sunny avenue lined with -chestnut trees—though there were no trees, and no sun. I followed, -gaping.</p> - -<p>For hours we wandered, looking, touching, not saying much but saturated -in wonder, like kids in a toy factory. We came across another skeleton, -lying among towering engines. Finally we paused in a giant storeroom -stacked high with supplies.</p> - -<p>"Have you stopped to think, Foster," I said, fingering a length -of rose-violet cloth as thin as woven spider webs. "This boat's a -treasure-house of salable items. Talk about the wealth of the Indies—"</p> - -<p>"I seek only one thing here, my friend," Foster said; "my past."</p> - -<p>"Sure," I said. "But just in case you don't find it, you might consider -the business angle. We can set up a regular shuttle run, hauling stuff -down—"</p> - -<p>"You earthmen," sighed Foster. "For you every new experience is -immediately assessed in terms of its merchandising possibilities. Well, -I leave that to you."</p> - -<p>"Okay, okay," I said. "You go on ahead and scout around down that way, -if you want—where the technical-looking stuff is. I want to browse -around here for a while."</p> - -<p>"As you wish."</p> - -<p>"We'll meet at this end of the big hall we passed back there. Okay?"</p> - -<p>Foster nodded and went on. I turned to a bin filled with what looked -like unset emeralds the size of walnuts. I picked up a handful, juggled -them lovingly.</p> - -<p>"Anyone for marbles?" I murmured to myself.</p> - -<p>Hours later, I came along a corridor that was like a path through a -garden that was a forest, crossed a ballroom like a meadow floored -in fine-grained rust-red wood and shaded by giant ferns, and went -under an arch into the hall where Foster sat at a long table cut from -yellow marble. A light the color of sunrise gleamed through tall -pseudo-windows.</p> - -<p>I dumped an armfull of books on the table. "Look at these," I said. -"All made from the same stuff as the journal. And the pictures...."</p> - -<p>I flipped open one of the books, a heavy folio-sized volume, to a -double-page spread in color showing a group of bearded Arabs in dingy -white djellabas staring toward the camera, a flock of thin goats in the -background. It looked like the kind of picture the National Geographic -runs, except that the quality of the color and detail was equal to the -best color transparencies.</p> - -<p>"I can't read the print," I said, "but I'm a whiz at looking at -pictures. Most of the books showed scenes like I hope I never see in -the flesh, but I found a few that were made on earth—God knows how -long ago."</p> - -<p>"Travel books, perhaps," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"Travel books that you could sell to any university on earth for their -next year's budget," I said, shuffling pages. "Take a look at this one."</p> - -<p>Foster looked across at the panoramic shot of a procession of -shaven-headed men in white sarongs, carrying a miniature golden boat on -their shoulders, descending a long flight of white stone steps leading -from a colonnade of heroic human figures with folded arms and painted -faces. In the background, brick-red cliffs loomed up, baked in desert -heat.</p> - -<p>"That's the temple of Hat-Shepsut in its prime," I said. "Which -makes this print close to four thousand years old. Here's another I -recognize." I turned to a smaller, aerial view, showing a gigantic -pyramid, its polished stone facing chipped in places and with a few -panels missing from the lower levels, revealing the cruder structure of -massive blocks beneath.</p> - -<p>"That's one of the major pyramids, maybe Khufu's," I said. "It was -already a couple thousand years old, and falling into disrepair. And -look at this——" I opened another volume, showed Foster a vivid -photograph of a great shaggy elephant with a pinkish trunk upraised -between wide-curving yellow tusks.</p> - -<p>"A mastodon," I said. "And there's a woolly rhino, and an ugly-looking -critter that must be a sabre-tooth. This book is <i>old</i>...."</p> - -<p>"A lifetime of rummaging wouldn't exhaust the treasures aboard this -ship," said Foster.</p> - -<p>"How about bones? Did you find any more?"</p> - -<p>Foster nodded. "There was a disaster of some sort. Perhaps disease. -None of the bones was broken."</p> - -<p>"I can't figure the one in the lifeboat," I said. "Why was he wearing -a necklace of bear's teeth?" I sat down across from Foster. "We've got -plenty of mysteries to solve, all right, but there are some other items -we'd better talk about. For instance: where's the kitchen? I'm getting -hungry."</p> - -<p>Foster handed me a black rod from among several that lay on the table. -"I think this may be important," he said.</p> - -<p>"What is it, a chop stick?"</p> - -<p>"Touch it to your head, above the ear."</p> - -<p>"What does it do—give you a massage?"</p> - -<p>I pressed it to my temple....</p> - -<p><i>I was in a grey-walled room, facing a towering surface of ribbed -metal. I reached out, placed my hands over the proper perforations. -The housings opened. For apparent malfunction in the quaternary field -amplifiers, I knew, auto-inspection circuit override was necessary -before activation</i>——</p> - -<p>I blinked, looked around at the yellow table, and piled books, the rod -in my hand.</p> - -<p>"I was in some kind of powerhouse," I said. "There was something wrong -with—with...."</p> - -<p>"The quaternary field amplifiers," Foster said.</p> - -<p>"I seemed to be right there," I said. "I understood exactly what it was -all about."</p> - -<p>"These are technical manuals," Foster said. "They'll tell us everything -we need to know about the ship."</p> - -<p>"I was thinking about what I was getting ready to do," I said, "the -way you do when you're starting into a job; I was trouble-shooting the -quaternary whatzits—and I knew how...!"</p> - -<p>Foster got to his feet and moved toward the doorway. "We'll have to -start at one end of the library and work our way through," he said. -"It will take us a while, but we'll get the facts we need. Then we can -plan."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Foster picked a handful of briefing rods from the racks in the -comfortably furnished library and started in. The first thing we needed -was a clue as to where to look for food and beds, or for operating -instructions for the ship itself. I hoped we might find the equivalent -of a library card-catalog; then we could put our hands on what we -wanted in a hurry.</p> - -<p>I went to the far end of the first rack and spotted a short row of -red rods that stood out vividly among the black ones. I took one out, -thought it over, decided it was unlikely that it was any more dangerous -than the others, and put it against my temple....</p> - -<p><i>As the bells rang, I applied neuro-vascular tension, suppressed -cortical areas upsilon-zeta and iota, and stood by for</i>——</p> - -<p>I jerked the rod from my head, my ears still ringing with the -shrill alarm. The effect of the rods was like reality itself, but -intensified, all attention focused single-mindedly on the experience -at hand. I thought of the entertainment potentialities of the idea. -You could kill a tiger, ride an airplane down in flames, face the -heavyweight champion——I wondered about the stronger sensations, like -pain and fear. Would they seem as real as the impulse to check the -whatchamacallits or tighten up your cortical thingamajigs?</p> - -<p>I tried another rod.</p> - -<p><i>At the sound of the apex-tone, I racked instruments, walked, not ran, -to the nearest transfer-channel</i>——</p> - -<p>Another:</p> - -<p><i>Having assumed duty as Alert Officer, I reported first to coordination -Control via short-line, and confirmed rapport</i>—</p> - -<p>These were routine SOP's covering simple situations aboard ship. I -skipped a few, tried again:</p> - -<p><i>Needing a xivometer, I keyed instruction-complex One, followed with -the code</i>—</p> - -<p>Three rods further along, I got this:</p> - -<p><i>The situation falling outside my area of primary conditioning, I -reported in corpo to Technical Briefing, Level Nine, Section Four, -Sub-section Twelve, Preliminary. I recalled that it was now necessary -to supply my activity code ... my activity code ... my activity -code ... (A sensation of disorientation grew; confused images flickered -like vague background-noise; then a clear voice cut across the -confusion:)</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">You have suffered partial personality-fade. Do not be alarmed. -Select a general background orientation rod from the nearest emergency -rack. Its location is</span>....</p> - -<p><i>I was moving along the stacks, to pause in front of a niche where a -U-shaped plastic strip was clamped to the wall. I removed it, fitted it -to my head—(Then:) I was moving along the stacks, to pause in front -of a niche</i>—</p> - -<p>I was leaning against the wall, my head humming. The red stick lay on -the floor at my feet. That last bit had been potent: something about a -general background briefing—</p> - -<p>"Hey, Foster!" I called, "I think I've got something...." He appeared -from the stacks.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"As I see it," I said, "this background briefing should tell us all -we need to know about the ship; then we can plan our next move more -intelligently. We'll know what we're doing." I took the thing from the -wall, just as I had seemed to do in the phantom scene the red rod had -projected for me.</p> - -<p>"These things make me dizzy," I said, handing it to Foster. "Anyway -you're the logical one to try it."</p> - -<p>He took the plastic shape, went to the reclining seat at the near end -of the library hall, and settled himself. "I have an idea this one will -hit harder than the others," he said.</p> - -<p>He fitted the clamp to his head and ... instantly his eyes glazed; he -slumped back, limp.</p> - -<p>"Foster!" I yelled. I jumped forward, started to pull the plastic piece -from his head, then hesitated. Maybe Foster's abrupt reaction was -standard procedure—but I didn't like it much.</p> - -<p>I went on reasoning with myself. After all, this was what the red rod -had indicated as normal procedure in a given emergency. Foster was -merely having his faded personality touched up. And his full-blown, -three-dimensional personality was what we needed to give us the answers -to a lot of the questions we'd been asking. Though the ship and -everything in it had lain unused and silent for forgotten millenia, -still the library should be good. The librarian was gone from his post -for forgotten centuries, and Foster was lying unconscious, and I was -thirty thousand miles from home—but I shouldn't let trifles like that -worry me....</p> - -<p>I got up and prowled the room. There wasn't much to look at except -stacks and more stacks. The knowledge stored here was fantastic, both -in magnitude and character. If I ever get home with a load of these -rods....</p> - -<p>I strolled through a door leading to another room. It was small, -functional, dimly lit. The middle of the room was occupied by a large -and elaborate divan with a cap-shaped fitting at one end. Other curious -accoutrements were ranked along the walls. There wasn't much in them to -thrill me. But bone-wise I had hit the jackpot.</p> - -<p>Two skeletons lay near the door, in the final slump of death. Another -lay beside the fancy couch. There was a long-bladed dagger beside it.</p> - -<p>I squatted beside the two near the door and examined them closely. As -far as I could tell, they were as human as I was. I wondered what kind -of men they had been, what kind of world they had come from, that could -build a ship like this and stock it as it was stocked.</p> - -<p>The dagger that lay near the other bones was interesting: it seemed -to be made of a transparent orange metal, and its hilt was stamped in -a repeated pattern of the Two Worlds motif. It was the first clue as -to what had taken place among these men when they last lived: not a -complete clue, but a start.</p> - -<p>I took a closer look at an apparatus like a dentist's chair parked -against the wall. There were spidery-looking metal arms mounted -above it, and a series of colored glass lenses. A row of dull silver -cylinders was racked against the wall. Another projected from a socket -at the side of the machine. I took it out and looked at it. It was a -plain pewter-colored plastic, heavy and smooth. I felt pretty sure it -was a close cousin to the chopsticks stored in the library. I wondered -what brand of information was recorded in it as I dropped it in my -pocket.</p> - -<p>I lit a cigarette and went out to where Foster lay. He was still in the -same position as when I had left him. I sat down on the floor beside -the couch to wait.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was an hour before he stirred, heaved a sigh, and opened his eyes. -He reached up, pulled off the plastic headpiece, dropped it on the -floor.</p> - -<p>"Are you okay?" I said. "Brother, I've been sweating...."</p> - -<p>Foster looked at me, his eyes traveling up to my uncombed hair and down -to my scuffed shoes. His eyes narrowed in a faint frown. Then he said -something—in a language that seemed to be all Z's and Q's.</p> - -<p>"Don't spring any surprises on me, Foster," I said hoarsely. "Talk -American."</p> - -<p>A look of surprise crossed his face. He stared into my eyes again, then -glanced around the room.</p> - -<p>"This is a ship's library," he said.</p> - -<p>I heaved a sigh of relief. "You gave me a scare, Foster. I thought for -a second your memory was wandering again."</p> - -<p>Foster was watching my face as I spoke. "What was it all about?" I -said. "What have you found out?"</p> - -<p>"I know you," said Foster slowly. "Your name is Legion."</p> - -<p>I nodded. I could feel myself getting tense again. "Sure, you know me. -Just take it easy pal. This is no time to lose your marbles." I put a -hand on his shoulder. "You remember, we were—"</p> - -<p>He shook my hand off. "That is not the custom in Vallon," he said -coldly.</p> - -<p>"Vallon?" I echoed. "What kind of routine is this, Foster? We were -friends when we walked into this room an hour ago. We were hot on the -trail of something, and I'm human enough to want to know how it turned -out."</p> - -<p>"Where are the others?"</p> - -<p>"There's a couple of 'others' in the next room," I snapped. "But -they've lost a lot of weight. I can find you several more, in the same -condition. Outside of them there's only me——"</p> - -<p>Foster looked at me as if I wasn't there. "I remember Vallon," he said. -He put a hand to his head. "But I remember, too, a barbaric world, -brutal and primitive. You were there. We traveled in a crude rail-car, -and then in a barge that wallowed in the sea. There were narrow, ugly -rooms, evil odors, harsh noises."</p> - -<p>"That's not a very flattering portrait of God's country," I said, "but -I'm afraid I recognize it."</p> - -<p>"The people were the worst," Foster said. "Misshapen, diseased, with -swollen abdomens and wasted skin and withered limbs."</p> - -<p>"Some of the boys don't get out enough," I said.</p> - -<p>"The Hunters! We fled from them, Legion, you and I. And I remember a -landing-ring...." He paused. "Strange, it had lost its cap-stones and -fallen into ruin."</p> - -<p>"Us natives call it Stonehenge."</p> - -<p>"The Hunters burst out of the earth. We fought them. But why should the -Hunters seek me?"</p> - -<p>"I was hoping you'd tell me," I said. "Do you know where this ship came -from? And why?"</p> - -<p>"This is a ship of the Two Worlds," he replied. "But I know nothing of -how it came to be here."</p> - -<p>"How about all that stuff in the journal? Maybe now you—"</p> - -<p>"The journal!" Foster broke in. "Where is it?"</p> - -<p>"In your coat pocket, I guess."</p> - -<p>Foster felt through his jacket awkwardly, brought out the journal. He -opened it.</p> - -<p>I moved around to look over his shoulder. He had the book open to the -first section, the part written in the curious alien characters that -nobody had been able to decipher.</p> - -<p>And he was reading it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We sat at the library table of deep green, heavy, polished wood, -the journal open at its center. For hours I had waited while Foster -read. Now at last he leaned back in his chair, ran a hand through the -youthful black hair, and sighed.</p> - -<p>"My name," he said, "was Qulqlan. And this," he laid his hand upon the -book, "is my story. This is one part of the past I was seeking. And I -remember none of it...."</p> - -<p>"Tell me what the journal says," I asked. "Read it to me."</p> - -<p>Foster picked it up, riffled the pages. "It seems that I awoke -once before, in a small room aboard this vessel. I was lying on a -memo-couch, by which circumstance I knew that I had suffered a Change—"</p> - -<p>"You mean you'd lost your memory?"</p> - -<p>"And regained it—on the couch. My memory-trace had been re-impressed -on my mind. I awoke knowing my identity, but not how I came to be -aboard this vessel. The journal says that my last memory was of a -building beside the Shallow Sea."</p> - -<p>"Where's that?"</p> - -<p>"On a far world—called Vallon."</p> - -<p>"Yeah? And what next?"</p> - -<p>"I looked around me and saw four men lying on the floor, slashed and -bloody. One was alive. I gave him what emergency treatment I could, -then searched the ship. I found three more men, dead; none living. Then -the Hunters attacked, swarming to me—"</p> - -<p>"Our friends the fire-balls?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; they would have sucked the life from me—and I had no shield of -light. I fled to the lifeboat, carrying the wounded man. I descended -to the planet below: your earth. The man died there. He had been my -friend, a man named Ammaerln. I buried him in a shallow depression in -the earth and marked the place with a stone."</p> - -<p>"The ancient sinner," I said.</p> - -<p>"Yes ... I suppose it was his bones the lay brother found."</p> - -<p>"And we found out last night that the depression was the result of dirt -sifting into the ventilator shaft. But I guess you didn't know anything -about the underground installation, way back then. Doesn't the journal -say anything...?"</p> - -<p>"No there is no mention made of it here." Foster shook his head. "How -curious to read of the affairs of this stranger—and know he is myself."</p> - -<p>"How about the Hunters? How did they get to earth?"</p> - -<p>"They are insubstantial creatures," said Foster, "yet they can endure -the vacuum of space. I can only surmise that they followed the lifeboat -down."</p> - -<p>"They were tailing you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; but I have no idea why they pursued me. They're harmless -creatures in the natural state, used to seek out the rare fugitive -from justice on Vallon. They can be attuned to the individual; -thereafter, they follow him and mark him out for capture."</p> - -<p>"Kind of like bloodhounds," I said. "Say, what were you: a big-time -racketeer on Vallon?"</p> - -<p>"The journal is frustratingly silent as to my Vallonian career," said -Foster. "But this whole matter of the unexplained inter-galactic voyage -and the evidences of violence aboard the ship make me wonder whether I, -and perhaps others of my companions, were being exiled for crimes done -in the Two Worlds."</p> - -<p>"Wow! So they sicced the Hunters on you!" I said. "But why did they -hang around at Stonehenge all this time?"</p> - -<p>"There was a trickle of power feeding the screens," said Foster. "They -need a source of electrical energy to live; until a hundred years ago -it was the only one on the planet."</p> - -<p>"How did they get down into the shaft without opening it up?"</p> - -<p>"Given time, they pass easily through porous substances. But, of -course, last night, when I came on them after their long fast, they -simply burst through in their haste."</p> - -<p>"Okay. What happened next—after you buried the man?"</p> - -<p>"The journal tells that I was set upon by natives, men who wore the -hides of animals. One of their number entered the ship. He must have -moved the drive lever. It lifted, leaving me marooned."</p> - -<p>"So those were his bones we found in the boat," I mused, "the ones with -the bear's-tooth necklace. I wonder why he didn't come into the ship."</p> - -<p>"Undoubtedly he did. But remember the skeleton we found just inside the -landing port? That must have been a fairly fresh and rather gory corpse -at the time the savage stepped aboard. It probably seemed to him all -too clear an indication of what lay in store for himself if he ventured -further. In his terror he must have retreated to the boat to wait, and -there starved to death.</p> - -<p>"He was stranded in your world, and you were stranded in his."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Foster. "And then, it seems, I lived among the brute-men -and came to be their king. I waited there by the landing ring through -many years in the hope of rescue. Because I did not age as the natives -did, I was worshipped as a god. I would have built a signalling device, -but there were no pure metals, nothing I could use. I tried to teach -them, but it was a work of centuries."</p> - -<p>"I should think you could have set up a school, trained the smartest -ones," I said.</p> - -<p>"There was no lack of intelligent minds," Foster said. "It is plain -that the savages were of the blood of the Two Worlds. This earth must -have been seeded long ago by some ancient castaways."</p> - -<p>"But how could you go on living—for hundreds of years? Are your people -supermen that live forever?"</p> - -<p>"The natural span of a human life is very great. Among your people, -there is a wasting disease from which you all die young."</p> - -<p>"That's no disease," I said. "You just naturally get old and die."</p> - -<p>"The human mind is a magnificent instrument," Foster said, "not meant -to wither quickly."</p> - -<p>"I'll have to chew that one over," I said. "Why didn't you catch this -disease?"</p> - -<p>"All Vallonians are innoculated against it."</p> - -<p>"I'd like a shot of that," I said. "But let's get back to you."</p> - -<p>Foster turned the pages of the journal. "I ruled many peoples, under -many names," he said. "I traveled in many lands, seeking for skilled -metal-workers, glass-blowers, wise men. But always I returned to the -landing-ring."</p> - -<p>"It must have been tough," I said, "exiled on a strange world, living -out your life in a wilderness, century after century...."</p> - -<p>"My life was not without interest," Foster said. "I watched my savage -people put aside their animal hides and learn the ways of civilization. -I taught them how to build, and keep herds, and till the land. I built -a great city, and I tried—foolishly—to teach their noble caste the -code of chivalry of the Two Worlds. But although they sat at a round -table like the great Ring-board at Okk-Hamiloth, they never really -understood. And then they grew too wise, and wondered at their king, -who never aged. I left them, and tried again to build a long-signaller. -The Hunters sensed it, and swarmed to me. I drove them off with fires, -and then I grew curious, and followed them back to their nest——"</p> - -<p>"I know," I said. "'——and it was a place you knew of old: no hive but -a Pit built by men.'"</p> - -<p>"They overwhelmed me; I barely escaped with my life. Starvation had -made the Hunters vicious. They would have drained my body of its -life-energy."</p> - -<p>"And if you'd known the transmitter was there—but you didn't. So you -put an ocean between you and them."</p> - -<p>"They found me even there. Each time I destroyed many of them, and -fled. But always a few lived to breed and seek me out again."</p> - -<p>"But your signaller—didn't it work?"</p> - -<p>"No. It was a hopeless attempt. Only a highly developed technology -could supply the raw materials. I could only teach what I knew, -encourage the development of the sciences, and wait. And then I began -to forget."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"A mind grows weary," Foster said. "It is the price of longevity. It -must renew itself. Shock and privation hasten the Change. I had held it -off for many centuries. Now I felt it coming on me.</p> - -<p>"At home, on Vallon, a man would record his memory at such a time, -store it electronically in a recording device, and, after the Change, -use the memory-trace to restore, in his renewed body, his old -recollections in toto. But, marooned as I was, my memories, once lost, -were gone forever.</p> - -<p>"I did what I could; I prepared a safe place, and wrote messages that I -would find when I awoke——"</p> - -<p>"When you woke up in the hotel, you were young again, overnight. How -could it happen?"</p> - -<p>"When the mind renews itself, erasing the scars of the years, the body, -too, regenerates. The skin forgets its wrinkles, and the muscles their -fatigue. They become again as they once were."</p> - -<p>"When I first met you," I said, "you told me about waking up back in -1918, with no memory."</p> - -<p>"Yours is a harsh world, Legion. I must have forgotten many times. -Somewhere, some time, I lost the vital link, forgot my quest. When the -Hunters came again, I fled, not understanding."</p> - -<p>"You had a machine gun set up in the house at Mayport. What good was -that against the Hunters?"</p> - -<p>"None, I suppose," Foster replied. "But I didn't know. I only knew that -I was—pursued."</p> - -<p>"And by then you could have made a signaller," I said. "But you'd -forgotten how—or even that you needed one."</p> - -<p>"But in the end I found it—with your help, Legion. But still there is -a mystery: What came to pass aboard this ship all those centuries ago? -Why was I here? And what killed the others?"</p> - -<p>"Look," I said. "Here's a theory: there was a mutiny, while you were -in the machine having your memory fixed. You woke up and it was all -over—and the crew was dead."</p> - -<p>"That hypothesis will serve," said Foster. "But one day I must learn -the truth of this matter."</p> - -<p>"What I can't figure out is why somebody from Vallon didn't come after -this ship. It was right here in orbit."</p> - -<p>"Consider the immensity of space, Legion. This is one tiny world, among -the stars."</p> - -<p>"But there was a station here, fitted out for handling your ships. -That sounds like it was a regular port of call. And the books with -the pictures: they prove your people have been here off and on for -thousands of years. Why would they stop coming?"</p> - -<p>"There are such beacons on a thousand worlds," said Foster. "Think -of it as a buoy marking a reef, a trailblaze in the wilderness. Ages -could pass before a wanderer chanced this way again. The fact that the -ventilator shaft at Stonehenge was choked with the debris of centuries -when I first landed there shows how seldom this world was visited."</p> - -<p>I thought about it. Bit by bit Foster was putting together the jig-saw -pieces of his past. But he still had a long way to go before he had the -big picture, frame and all. I had an idea:</p> - -<p>"Say, you said you were in the memory machine. You woke up there—and -you'd just had your memory restored. Why not do the same thing again, -now? That is, if your brain can take another pounding this soon."</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said. He stood up abruptly. "There's just a chance. Come!"</p> - -<p>I followed him out of the library into the room with the bones. He -moved over to look down at them curiously.</p> - -<p>"Quite a fracas," I said. "Three of 'em."</p> - -<p>"This would be the room where I awakened," said Foster. "These are the -men I saw dead."</p> - -<p>"They're still dead," I said. "But what about the machine?"</p> - -<p>Foster walked across to the fancy couch, leaned down beside it, then -shook his head. "No," he said. "Of course it wouldn't be here...."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"My memory-trace: the one that was used to restore my memory—that -other time."</p> - -<p>Suddenly I recalled the cylinder I had pocketed hours before. With a -surprising flutter at my heart I held it up, like a kid in a classroom -who knows he's got the right answer. "This it?"</p> - -<p>Foster glanced at it briefly. "No, that's an empty—like those you see -filed over there." He pointed to the rack of pewter-colored cylinders -on the opposite wall. "They would be used for emergency recordings. -Regular multi-life memory-traces would be key-coded with a pattern of -colored lines."</p> - -<p>"It figures," I said. "That would have been too easy. We have to do -everything the hard way." I looked around. "It's a big bureau to look -for a collar button under, but I guess we can try."</p> - -<p>"It doesn't matter, really. When I return to Vallon, I'll recover my -past. There are vaults where every citizen's trace is stored."</p> - -<p>"But you had yours here with you."</p> - -<p>"It could only have been a copy. The master trace is never removed from -Okk-Hamiloth."</p> - -<p>"I guess you'll be eager to get back there," I said. "That'll be quite -a moment for you, getting back home after all these years. Speaking of -years: were you able to figure out how long you were marooned down on -earth?"</p> - -<p>"I lost all record of dates long ago," said Foster. "I can only -estimate the time."</p> - -<p>"About how long?" I persisted.</p> - -<p>"Since I descended from this ship, Legion," he said, "three thousand -years have passed."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"I hate to see the team split up," I said. "You know, I was kind of -getting used to being an apprentice nut. I'm going to miss you, Foster."</p> - -<p>"Come with me to Vallon, Legion," he said.</p> - -<p>We were standing in the observation lounge, looking out at the -bright-lit surface of the earth thirty thousand miles away. Beyond it, -the dead-white disk of the moon hung like a cardboard cutout.</p> - -<p>"Thanks anyway, buddy," I said. "I'd like to see those other worlds -of yours but in the end I might regret it. It's no good giving an -Eskimo a television set. I'd just sit around on Vallon pining for home: -beat-up people, stinks, and all."</p> - -<p>"You could return here some day."</p> - -<p>"From what I understand about traveling in a ship like this," I said, -"a couple of hundred years would pass before I got back, even if it -only seemed like a few weeks en route. I want to live out my life -here—with the kind of people I know, in the world I grew up in. It has -its faults, but it's home."</p> - -<p>"Then there is nothing I can do, Legion," Foster said, "to reward your -loyalty and express my gratitude."</p> - -<p>"Well, ah," I said. "There is a little something. Let me take the -lifeboat, and stock it with a few goodies from the library, and some -of those marbles from the storeroom, and a couple of the smaller -mechanical gadgets. I think I know how to merchandise them in a way -that'll leave the economy on an even keel—and incidentally set me up -for life. As you said, I'm a materialist."</p> - -<p>"As you wish," Foster said. "Take whatever you desire."</p> - -<p>"One thing I'll have to do when I get back," I said, "is open the -tunnel at Stonehenge enough to sneak a thermite bomb down it—if they -haven't already found the beacon station."</p> - -<p>"As I judge the temper of the local people," Foster said, "the secret -is safe for at least three generations."</p> - -<p>"I'll bring the boat down in a blind spot where radar won't pick it -up," I said. "Our timing was good; in another few years, it wouldn't -have been possible."</p> - -<p>"And this ship would soon have been discovered," Foster said. "In -spite of radar-negative screens."</p> - -<p>I looked at the great smooth sphere hanging, haloed, against utter -black. The Pacific Ocean threw back a brilliant image of the sun.</p> - -<p>"I think I see an island down there that will fill the bill perfectly," -I said. "And if it doesn't, there are a million more to choose from."</p> - -<p>"You've changed, Legion," Foster said. "You sound like a man with a -fair share of <i>joie de vivre</i>."</p> - -<p>"I used to think I was a guy who never got the breaks," I said. -"There's something about standing here looking at the world that makes -that kind of thinking sound pretty dumb. There's everything down there -a man needs to make his own breaks—even without a stock of trade -goods."</p> - -<p>"Every world has its rules of life," Foster said. "Some more complex -than others. To face your own reality—that's the challenge."</p> - -<p>"Me against the universe," I said. "With those odds, even a loser can -look good." I turned to Foster. "We're in a ten-hour orbit," I said. -"We'd better get moving. I want to put the boat down in southern South -America. I know a place there where I can off-load without answering -too many questions."</p> - -<p>"You have several hours before the most favorable launch time," Foster -said. "There's no hurry."</p> - -<p>"Maybe not," I said. "But I've got a lot to do—" I took a last look -toward the majestic planet beyond the viewscreen, "—and I'm eager to -get started."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h2> - - -<p>I sat on the terrace watching the sun go down into the sea and thinking -about Foster, somewhere out there beyond the purple palaces on the far -horizon, in the ship that had waited for him for three thousand years, -heading home at last. It was strange to reflect that for him, traveling -near the speed of light, only a few days had passed, while three years -went by for me—three fast years that I had made good use of.</p> - -<p>The toughest part had been the first few months, after I put the -lifeboat down in a cañon in the desert country south of a little town -called Itzenca, in Peru. I waited by the boat for a week, to be sure -the vigilantes weren't going to show up, full of helpful suggestions -and embarassing questions; then I hiked to town, carrying a pack with -a few carefully selected items to start my new career. It took me two -weeks to work, lie, barter, and plead my way to the seaport town of -Callao and another week to line up passage home as a deck hand on a -banana scow. I disappeared over the side at Tampa, and made it to Miami -without attracting attention. As far as I could tell, the cops had -already lost interest in me.</p> - -<p>My old friend, the heavyweight señorita, wasn't overjoyed to see me, -but she put me up, and I started in on my plan to turn my souvenirs -into money.</p> - -<p>The items I had brought with me from the lifeboat were a pocketful -of little gray dominoes that were actually movie film, and a small -projector to go with them. I didn't offer them for sale, direct. I -made arrangements with an old acquaintance in the business of making -pictures with low costume budgets for private showings; I set up the -apparatus and projected my films, and he copied them in 35 mm. I told -him that I'd smuggled them in from East Germany. He didn't think much -of the Krauts, but he admitted you had to hand it to them technically; -the special effects were absolutely top-notch. His favorite was one I -called the Mammoth Hunt.</p> - -<p>I had twelve pictures altogether; with a little judicious cutting and a -dubbed-in commentary, they made up into fast-moving twenty-minute short -subjects. He got in touch with a friend in the distribution end in New -York, and after a little cagy fencing over contract terms, we agreed on -a deal that paid a hundred thousand for the twelve, with an option on -another dozen at the same price.</p> - -<p>Within a week after the pictures hit the neighborhood theatres around -Bayonne, New Jersey, in a cautious tryout, I had offers up to half a -million for my next consignment, no questions asked. I left my pal -Mickey to handle the details on a percentage basis, and headed back for -Itzenca.</p> - -<p>The lifeboat was just as I'd left it; it would have been all right for -another fifty years, as far as the danger of anybody stumbling over it -was concerned. I explained to the crew I brought out with me that it -was a fake rocket ship, a prop I was using for a film I was making, -I let them wander all over it and get their curiosity out of their -systems. The concensus was that it wouldn't fool anybody; no tail fins, -no ray guns, and the instrument panel was a joke; but they figured that -it was my money, so they went to work setting up a system of camouflage -nets (part of the plot, I told them) and off-loading my cargo.</p> - -<p>A year after my homecoming, I had my island—a square mile of perfect -climate, fifteen miles off the Peruvian coast—and a house that was -tailored to my every whim by a mind-reading architect who made a -fortune on the job—and earned it. The uppermost floor—almost a -tower—was a strong-room, and it was there that I had stored my stock -in trade. I had sold off the best of the hundred or so films I had -picked out before leaving Foster, but there were plenty of other items. -The projector itself was the big prize. The self-contained power unit -converted nuclear energy to light with 99 percent efficiency. It -scanned the "films", one molecular layer at a time, and projected a -continuous picture—no sixteen-frames-a-second flicker here. The color -and sound were absolutely life-like—with the result that I'd had a -few complaints from my distributor that the Technicolor was kind of -washed-out.</p> - -<p>The principles involved in the projector were new, and—in theory, at -least—way over the heads of our local physicists. But the practical -application was nothing much. I figured that, with the right contacts -in scientific circles to help me introduce the system, I had a -billion-dollar industry up my sleeve. I had already fed a few little -gimmicks into the market; a tough paper, suitable for shirts and -underwear; a chemical that bleached teeth white as the driven snow; -an all-color pigment for artists. With the knowledge I had absorbed -from all the briefing rods I had studied, I had the techniques of a -hundred new industries at my fingertips—and I hadn't exhausted the -possibilities yet.</p> - -<p>I spent most of a year roaming the world, discovering all the things -that a free hand with a dollar bill could do for a man. The next year I -put in fixing up the island, buying paintings and rugs and silver for -the house, and a concert grand piano. After the first big thrill of -economic freedom had worn off, I still enjoyed my music.</p> - -<p>For six months I had a full-time physical instructor giving me a -twenty-four-hour-a-day routine of diet, sleep, and all the precision -body-building my metabolism could stand. At the end of the course I was -twice the man I'd ever been, the instructor was a physical wreck, and I -was looking around for a new hobby.</p> - -<p>Now, after three years, it was beginning to get me: boredom, the -disease of the idle rich, that I had sworn would never touch me. But -thinking about wealth and having it on your hands are two different -things, and I was beginning to remember almost with nostalgia the tough -old times when every day was an adventure, full of cops and missed -meals and a thousand unappeased desires.</p> - -<p>Not that I was really suffering. I was relaxed in a comfortable chair, -after a day of surf fishing and a modest dinner of Chateaubriand. I -was smoking a skinny cigar rolled by an expert from the world's finest -leaf, and listening to the best music a thousand-dollar hi-fi could -produce. And the view, though free, was worth a million dollars a -minute. After a while I would stroll down to the boathouse, start up -the Rolls-powered launch, and tool over to the mainland, transfer to -my Caddie convertible, and drive into town where a tall brunette from -Stockholm was waiting for me to take her to the movies. My steady gal -was a hard-working secretary for an electronics firm.</p> - -<p>I finished up my stogie and leaned forward to drop it in a big silver -ashtray, when something caught my eye out across the red-painted water. -I sat squinting at it, then went inside and came out with a pair of -7x50 binoculars. I focused them and studied the dark speck that stood -out clearly now against the gaudy sky. It was a heavy-looking power -boat, heading dead toward my island.</p> - -<p>I watched it come closer, swing off toward the hundred-foot concrete -jetty I had built below the sea-wall, and ease alongside in a murmur -of powerful engines. They died, and the boat sat in a sudden silence -dwarfing the pier. I studied the bluish-grey hull, the inconspicuous -flag aft. Two heavy deck guns were mounted on the foredeck, and there -were four torpedoes slung in launching cradles. The hardware didn't -make half as much impression on me as the ranks of helmeted men drawn -up on deck.</p> - -<p>I sat and watched. The men shuffled off onto the pier, formed up into -two squads. I counted; forty-eight men, and a couple of officers. There -was the faint sound of orders being barked, and the column stepped -off, moving along the paved road that swung between the transplanted -royal palms and hibiscus, right up to the wide drive that curved off -to the house. They halted, did a left face, and stood at parade rest. -The two officers, wearing class A's, and a tubby civilian with a brief -case came up the drive, trying to look as casual as possible under the -circumstances. They paused at the foot of the broad flight of Tennessee -marble steps leading up to my perch.</p> - -<p>The leading officer, a brigadier general, no less, looked up at me.</p> - -<p>"May we come up, sir?" he said.</p> - -<p>I looked across at the silent ranks waiting at the foot of the drive.</p> - -<p>"If the boys want a drink of water, Sarge," I said, "tell 'em to come -on over."</p> - -<p>"I am General Smale," the B.G. said. "This is Colonel Sanchez of the -Peruvian Army—" he indicated the other military type "—and Mr. Pruffy -of the American Embassy at Lima."</p> - -<p>"Howdy, Mr. Pruffy," I said. "Howdy, Mr. Sanchez. Howdy—"</p> - -<p>"This ... ah ... call is official in nature, Mr. Legion," the general -said. "It's a matter of great importance, involving the security of -your country."</p> - -<p>"OK, General," I said. "Come on up. What's happened? You boys haven't -started another war, have you?"</p> - -<p>They filed up onto the terrace, hesitated, then shook hands, and sat -down gingerly in the chairs. Pruffy held his briefcase in his lap.</p> - -<p>"Put your sandwiches on the table, if you like, Mr. Pruffy," I said. He -blinked, gripped the briefcase tighter. I offered my hand-tooled cigars -around; Pruffy looked startled, Smale shook his head, and Sanchez took -three.</p> - -<p>"I'm here," the general said, "to ask you a few questions, Mr. Legion. -Mr. Pruffy represents the Department of State in the matter, and -Colonel Sanchez—"</p> - -<p>"Don't tell me," I said. "He represents the Peruvian government, which -is why I don't ask you what an armed American force is doing wandering -around on Peruvian soil."</p> - -<p>"Here," Pruffy put in. "I hardly think—"</p> - -<p>"I believe you," I said. "What's it all about, Smale?"</p> - -<p>"I'll come directly to the point," he said. "For some time, the -investigative and security agencies of the US government have been -building a file on what for lack of a better name has been called 'The -Martians.'" Smale coughed apologetically.</p> - -<p>"A little over three years ago," he went on, "an unidentified flying -object—"</p> - -<p>"You interested in flying saucers, General?" I said.</p> - -<p>"By no means," he snapped. "The object appeared on a number of radar -screens, descending from extreme altitude. It came to earth at ..." he -hesitated.</p> - -<p>"Don't tell me you came all the way out here to tell me you can't tell -me," I said.</p> - -<p>"—A site in England," Smale said. "American aircraft were dispatched -to investigate the object. Before they could make identification, -it rose again, accelerated at tremendous speed, and was lost at an -altitude of several hundred miles."</p> - -<p>"I thought we had better radar than that," I said. "The satellite -program—"</p> - -<p>"No such specialized equipment was available," Smale said. "An -intensive investigation turned up the fact that two strangers—possibly -Americans—had visited the site only a few hours before -the—ah—visitation."</p> - -<p>I nodded. I was thinking about the close call I'd had when I went back -to see about lobbing a bomb down the shaft to obliterate the beacon -station. There were plainclothes men all over the place, like old maids -at a movie star's funeral. It was just as well; they never found it. -The rocket blasts had collapsed the tunnel, and apparently the whole -underground installation was made of non-metallic substances that -didn't show up in detecting equipment. I had an idea metal was passé -where Foster came from.</p> - -<p>"Some months later," Smale went on, "a series of rather curious -short films went on exhibition in the United States. They showed -scenes representing conditions on other planets, as well as ancient -and prehistoric incidents here on earth. They were prefaced with -explanations that they merely represented the opinions of science -as to what was likely to be found on distant worlds. They attracted -wide interest, and with few exceptions, scientists praised their -verisimilitude."</p> - -<p>"I admire a clever fake," I said. "With a topical subject like space -travel——"</p> - -<p>"One item which was commented on as a surprising inaccuracy, in view of -the technical excellence of the other films," Smale said, "was the view -of our planet from space, showing the earth against the backdrop of -stars. A study of the constellations by astronomers quickly indicated -a 'date' approximately 7000 B.C. for the scene. Oddly, the north polar -cap was shown centered on Hudson's Bay. No south polar cap was in -evidence. The continent of Antarctica appeared to be at a latitude of -some 30 degrees, entirely free of ice."</p> - -<p>I looked at him and waited.</p> - -<p>"Now, studies made since that time indicate that nine thousand years -ago, the North Pole was indeed centered on Hudson's Bay," Smale said. -"And Antarctica was in fact ice-free."</p> - -<p>"That idea's been around a long time," I said. "There was a theory——"</p> - -<p>"Then there was the matter of the views of Mars," the general went on. -"The aerial shots of the 'canals' were regarded as very cleverly done." -He turned to Pruffy, who opened his briefcase and handed a couple of -photos across.</p> - -<p>"This is a scene taken from the film," Smale said. It was an 8x10 color -shot, showing a row of mounds drifted with pinkish dust, against a -blue-black horizon.</p> - -<p>Smale placed another photo beside the first. "This one," he said, "was -taken by automatic cameras in the successful Mars probe of last year."</p> - -<p>I looked. The second shot was fuzzy, and the color was shifted badly -toward the blue, but there was no mistaking the scene. The mounds were -drifted a little deeper, and the angle was different, but they were the -same mounds.</p> - -<p>"In the meantime," Smale bored on relentlessly, "a number of novel -products appeared on the market. Chemists and physicists alike were -dumfounded at the theoretical base implied by the techniques involved. -One of the products—a type of pigment—embodied a completely new -concept in crystallography."</p> - -<p>"Progress," I said. "Why, when I was a boy——"</p> - -<p>"It was an extremely tortuous trail we followed," Smale said. "But we -found that all these curious observations making up the 'Martians' -file had, in the end, only one factor in common. And that factor, Mr. -Legion, was you."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h2> - - -<p>It was a few minutes after sunrise, and Smale and I were back on the -terrace toying with the remains of ham steaks and honeydew.</p> - -<p>"That's one advantage of being in jail in your own house—the food's -good," I commented.</p> - -<p>"I can understand your feelings," Smale said. "Frankly, I didn't relish -this assignment. But it's clear that there are matters here which -require explanation. It was my hope that you'd see fit to cooperate -voluntarily."</p> - -<p>"Take your army and sail off into the sunrise, General," I said. "Then -maybe I'll be in a position to do something voluntary."</p> - -<p>"Your patriotism alone——"</p> - -<p>"My patriotism keeps telling me that where I come from, a citizen has -certain legal rights," I said.</p> - -<p>"This is a matter that transcends legal technicalities," Smale said. -"I'll tell you quite frankly, the presence of the task force here only -received <i>ex post facto</i> approval by the Peruvian government. They were -faced with the <i>fait accompli</i>. I mention this only to indicate just -how strongly the government feels in this matter."</p> - -<p>"Seeing you hit the beach with a platoon of infantry was enough of -a hint for me," I said. "You're lucky I didn't wipe you out with my -disintegrator rays."</p> - -<p>Smale choked on a bite of melon.</p> - -<p>"Just kidding," I said. "But I haven't given you any trouble. Why the -reinforcements?"</p> - -<p>Small stared at me. "What reinforcements?"</p> - -<p>I pointed with a fork. He turned, gazed out to sea. A conning tower -was breaking the surface, leaving a white wake behind. It rose higher, -water streaming off the deck. A hatch popped open, and men poured out, -lining up. Smale got to his feet, his napkin falling to the floor.</p> - -<p>"Sergeant!" he yelled. I sat, open-mouthed, as Smale jumped to the -stair, went down it three steps at a time. I heard him bellowing, the -shouts of men and the clatter of rifles being unstacked, feet pounding. -I went to the marble banister and looked down. Pruffy was out on the -lawn in purple pajamas, yelping questions. Colonel Sanchez was pulling -at Smale's arm, also yelling. The Marines were forming up on the lawn.</p> - -<p>"Let's watch those petunias, Sergeant," I yelled.</p> - -<p>"Keep out of this, Legion," Smale shouted.</p> - -<p>"Why should I be the only one not yelling," I yelled. "After all, I own -the place."</p> - -<p>Smale bounded back up the stairs. "You're my prime responsibility, -Legion," he barked. "I'm getting you to a point of maximum security. -Where's the cellar?"</p> - -<p>"I keep it downstairs," I said. "What's this all about? Interservice -rivalry? You afraid the sailors are going to steal the glory?"</p> - -<p>"That's a nuclear-powered sub," Smale barked. "Gagarin class; it -belongs to the Soviet Navy."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I stood there with my mouth open, looking at Smale without seeing him, -and trying hard to think fast. I hadn't been too startled when the -Marines showed up; I had gone over the legal aspects of my situation -months before, with a platoon of high-priced legal talent; I knew that -sooner or later somebody would come around to hit me for tax evasion, -draft dodging, or overtime parking; but I was in the clear. The -government might resent my knowing a lot of things it didn't, but no -one could ever prove I'd swiped them from Uncle Sam. In the end, they'd -have to let me go—and my account in a Swiss bank would last me, even -if they managed to suppress any new developments from my fabulous lab. -In a way, I was glad the showdown had come.</p> - -<p>But I'd forgotten about the Russians. Naturally, they'd be interested, -and their spies were at least as good as the intrepid agents of the US -Secret Service. I should have realized that sooner or later, they'd pay -a call—and the legal niceties wouldn't slow them down. They'd slap me -into a brain laundry, and sweat every last secret out of me as casually -as I'd squeeze a lemon.</p> - -<p>The sub was fully surfaced now, and I was looking down the barrels of -half a dozen five-inch rifles, any one of which could blast Smale's -navy out of the water with one salvo. There were a couple of hundred -men, I estimated, putting landing boats over the side and spilling -into them. Down on the lawn, the sergeant was snapping orders, and the -men were double-timing off to positions that must have been spotted in -advance. It looked like the Russians weren't entirely unexpected. This -was a game the big boys were playing, and I was just a pawn, caught -in the middle. My rosy picture of me confounding the bureaucrats was -fading fast. My island was about to become a battlefield, and whichever -way it turned out, I'd be the loser. I had one slim possibility; to get -lost in the shuffle.</p> - -<p>Smale grabbed my arm. "Don't stand there, man!" he snapped. "Which -way—"</p> - -<p>"Sorry, General," I said, and slammed a hard right to his stomach. He -folded, but still managed to lunge for me. I gave him a left to the -jaw, and he dropped. I jumped over him, plunged through the French -doors, and took the spiral glass stairway four at a time, whirled, and -slammed the strong-room door behind me. The armored walls would stand -anything short of a direct hit with a good-sized artillery shell, and -the boys down below were unlikely to use any heavy stuff for fear of -damaging the goods they'd been sent out to collect. I was safe for a -little while.</p> - -<p>Now I had to do some fast, accurate thinking. I couldn't carry much -with me—when and if I made it off the island. A few briefing rods, -maybe; what was left of the movies. But I had already audited most of -the rods; I knew them as well as I know my tax bracket. One listen to -a rod gave you a fast picture of the subject; two or three repeats -engraved it on your brain. The only reason a man couldn't know -everything was that too much, too fast, would overload the mind—and -amnesia wiped the slate clean.</p> - -<p>I didn't have time to use any more rods, and I couldn't carry anything. -But just to walk off and leave it all....</p> - -<p>I rummaged through odds and ends, stuffing small items into my pockets. -I came across a dull silvery cylinder, three inches long, striped in -black and gold—a memory-trace. It reminded me of something....</p> - -<p>That was an idea. I still had the U-shaped plastic headpiece that -Foster had used to acquire a background knowledge of his old home. I -had tried it once—for a moment. It had given me a headache in two -seconds flat, just pressed against my temple. It had been lying here -ever since. But maybe now was the time to try it again. Half the items -I had here in my strong-room were mysteries, like the silver cylinder -in my hand, but I knew exactly what the plastic headband could give me. -It contained all anyone needed to know about Vallon and the Two Worlds, -and all the marvels they possessed.</p> - -<p>I glanced out the armor-glass window. Smale's Marines were trotting -across the lawn; the Russians were fanning out along the water's edge. -It looked like business all right. Still, it would take them a while -to get warmed up—and more time still to decide to blast me out of my -fort. It had taken an hour or so for Foster to soak up the briefing; -maybe I wouldn't be much longer at it.</p> - -<p>I tossed the cylinder aside, tried a couple of drawers, found the -inconspicuous strip of plastic that encompassed a whole civilization. -I carried it across to a chair, settled myself, then hesitated. This -thing had been designed for an alien brain, not mine. Suppose it burnt -out my wiring, left me here gibbering, for Smale or the Ruskis to work -over?</p> - -<p>But the alternative was to leave my island virtually empty-handed, -settle for what I might in time manage to salvage from my account—if -I could devise a way of withdrawing money without calling down the -Gestapo....</p> - -<p>No, I wouldn't go back to poverty without a struggle. What I could -carry in my head would give me independence—even immunity from the -greed of nations. I could barter my knowledge for my freedom.</p> - -<p>There were plenty of things wrong with this picture, but it was the -best I could do on short notice. Gingerly I fitted the U-shaped band to -my head. There was a feeling of pressure, then a sensation like warm -water rising about me. Panic tried to rise, faded. A voice seemed to -reassure me. I was among friends, I was safe, all was well....</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h2> - - -<p><i>I lay in the dark, the memory of towers and trumpets and fountains of -fire in my mind. I put up my hand, felt a coarse garment. Had I but -dreamed...? I stirred. Light blazed in a widening band above my face. -Through narrowed eyes I saw a room, a mean chamber, dusty, littered -with ill-assorted rubbish. In a wall there was a window. I went to it, -stared out upon a green sward, a path that curved downward to a white -strand. It was a strange scene, and yet——</i></p> - -<p><i>A wave of vertigo swept over me, faded. I blinked, tried to remember.</i></p> - -<p><i>I reached up, felt something clamped over my head. I pulled it off and -it fell to the floor with a faint clatter: a broad-spectrum briefing -device, of the type used to indoctrinate unidentified citizens who had -undergone a Change unprepared....</i></p> - -<p>Suddenly, like water pouring down a drain, the picture in my mind -faded, left me standing in my old familiar junk room, with a humming in -my head and a throb in my temples. I had been about to try the briefing -gimmick, and had wondered if it would work. It had—with a vengeance. -For a minute there I had stumbled around the room like a stranger, -yearning for dear old Vallon. I could remember the feeling—but it was -gone now. I was just me, in trouble as usual.</p> - -<p>There were a lot of tantalizing ideas floating around in my mind, -right at the edge of consciousness. Later I'd have to sit down and go -over them carefully. Right now, I had my hands full. Two armies had -me cornered, and all the guns belonged to the opposition. That part -was okay; I didn't want to fight anybody. All I wanted out of this -situation was me.</p> - -<p>A rattle of gunfire outside brought me to the window in a jump. It -was the same view as a few moments before, but it made more sense -now. There was the still smoking wreckage of the PT boat, sunk in -ten feet of water a few yards from the end of the jetty. Somebody -must have tried to make a run for it. The Russian sub was nowhere in -sight; probably it had landed the men and backed out of danger from -any unexpected quarter. Two or three corpses lay in view, down by the -water's edge. From where I stood I couldn't say whether they were good -guys or villains.</p> - -<p>There were more shots, coming from somewhere off to the left. It looked -like the boys were fighting it out old style: hand to hand, with small -arms. It figured; after all, what they wanted was me and all my clever -ideas intact, not a smoking ruin.</p> - -<p>I don't know whether it was my romantic streak or my cynical one that -had made me drive the architect nuts putting secret passages in the -walls of my chateau and tunnels under the lawn, but I was glad now I -had them. There was a narrow door in the west wall of the strong-room -that gave onto a tight spiral stair. From there I could take my choice: -the boathouse, the edge of the woods behind the house, or the beach a -hundred yards north of the jetty. All I had to do was——</p> - -<p>The house trembled a split second ahead of a terrific blast that -slammed me to the floor. I felt blood start from my nose. Head ringing, -I scrambled to my feet, groped through the dust to my escape hatch. -Somebody outside was getting impatient. It wouldn't do to have my fancy -getaway route fall in before I had used it. I felt another shell hit -the house: mortars, I guessed, or rockets. I must have slept through -the preliminaries and wakened just in time for the main bout.</p> - -<p>My fingers were on the sensitive pressure areas that worked the -concealed door. I took a last glance around the room, where the -dust was just settling from the last blast. My eyes fell on a plain -pewter-colored cylinder lying where I had tossed it an hour before—but -now I knew what it was. In one jump I was across the room and had -grabbed it up. I remembered finding it aboard the lifeboat when I -tidied up; it had lain concealed among the bones of the man with -the bear-tooth necklace. He must have come across it, admired its -pretty colors, and tucked it away in his fur pants. And now I, with -my Vallonian memories banked in my mind, could appreciate just how -precious an object it was. It was Foster's memory. It would be only a -copy, undoubtedly; still, I couldn't leave it behind.</p> - -<p>A blast heavier than the last one rocked the house; a big chunk of -plaster fell. It was way past time to go. Snorting and coughing from -the dust, I got back to the emergency door, went through it, and -started down.</p> - -<p>At the bottom I paused to think it over, and the earth jumped again. -I fell back, saw the roof of the beach tunnel collapse. That left -the woods and the boathouse. I didn't have much time to decide; the -tunnels might go any second. Apparently my architect had economized -on the tunnel shorings. But then, he hadn't figured on any major wars -happening in the front yard.</p> - -<p>The fight was going on, as near as I could judge, to the south of the -house and behind it. Probably the woods were full of skirmishers, -taking advantage of the cover. The best bet was the boathouse, direct. -I'd have preferred to wait until dark, but the idea didn't seem -practical under the circumstances. I took a deep breath and started -into the tunnel. With a little luck I'd find my boat intact. I would -have to pull out under the noses of the combatants, but maybe the -element of surprise would give me a few hundred yards' start. I had -enough horses to beat anything afloat to the mainland—if I could make -a clean break.</p> - -<p>The tunnel was dark but that didn't bother me. It ran dead straight -to the boathouse. I came to the wooden slat door and stood for a -moment, listening; everything was quiet. I eased it open and stepped -on to the ramp inside the building. In the gloom polished mahogany and -chrome-work threw back muted highlights. I circled, slipped the mooring -rope, and was about to step into the cockpit when I heard the bolt of -a rifle smack home. I whirled, threw myself flat. The deafening <i>bam!</i> -of a .30 calibre fired at close quarters laid a pattern of fine ripples -on the black water. I rolled, hit with a splash that drowned a second -shot, and dove deep. Three strokes took me under the door, out into the -green gloom of open water. I hugged the yellowish sand of the bottom, -angled off to the right, and kept going.</p> - -<p>I had to get out of my jacket, and somehow I managed it, almost without -losing a stroke. And there went all the goodies I'd stashed away in -the pockets, down to the bottom of the drink. I still had Foster's -memory-trace; it was in my slacks and there wasn't time to get out of -them nor to kick off my tennis shoes. Ten strokes, fifteen, twenty. I -knew my limit: twenty-five good strokes on a full load of air; but I -had dived in a hurry....</p> - -<p>Twenty-five ... and another ... and one more. And up above a man was -waiting, rifle aimed, for my head to break the surface.</p> - -<p>Thirty strokes, and here I come, ready or not. I rolled on my back, got -my face above the surface. I got half a gulp of fresh air before the -shot slapped spray into my face and echoed off across the water. I sank -like a stone, kicked off, and made another twenty-five yards before I -had to come up. The rifleman was faster this time. The bullet crossed -my shoulder like a hot iron, and I was under water again. My kick-work -was weak now; the strength was draining from my arms fast. I had to -have air—but I could almost feel the solid smack of a steel-jacketed -bullet against my skull. I had to keep going. My chest was on fire and -there was a whirling blackness all around me. I felt consciousness -fading, but maybe just one more stroke....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><i>As from a distance I observed the clumsy efforts of the swimmer, -watched the flounderings of the poor, untrained creature....</i></p> - -<p><i>It was apparent that an override of the autonomic system was required. -With dispatch I activated cortical area omicron, re-routed the blood -supply, drew an emergency oxygen source from stored fats, diverting the -necessary energy to break the molecular bonds.</i></p> - -<p><i>Now, with the body drawing on internal sources, ample for six hundred -seconds at maximum demand, I stimulated areas upsilon and mu. I -channeled full survival-level energy to the muscle complexes involved, -increased power output to full skeletal tolerance, eliminated waste -motion.</i></p> - -<p><i>The body drove through the water with the fluid grace of a -sea-denizen....</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I floated on my back, breathing in great surges of cool air and -blinking at the crimson sky. I had been under water, a few yards from -shore, drowning. Then there was an awareness, like a voice, telling me -what to do. From out of the mass of Vallionan knowledge I had acquired, -I had drawn what I needed. And now I was here, half a mile from the -beach, winded but intact. But there was no time now to wonder at -miracles....</p> - -<p>I raised my head and glanced toward the house. A column of smoke rose -from a gaping cavity where the bedroom windows used to be. A man jumped -up, darted across the lawn, fell. I heard a shot a few seconds later, -floating lazily across the still sunset water. There was no visible -activity at the water's edge; the rifleman was gone. He probably -thought he'd finished me, especially if he had noticed blood in the -water.</p> - -<p>I thought about sharks. I hadn't heard of any in this neighborhood, but -a little blood was just the thing to bait them in. I twisted, got a -look at the throbbing burn across my left shoulder where the rifleman's -bullet had grazed; it was nothing much, just a skin gouge. It didn't -seem to be bleeding. If it had been, there wasn't much I could do about -it. It was no time for worrying. I had to keep my mind on the problem -of getting to the mainland. It was a fifteen-mile swim, but if the boys -on shore could keep each other occupied, I ought to be able to make -it. I thought again about pulling off my pants and shoes but decided -against it; I'd be in awkward shape without them—if I made it.</p> - -<p>I felt beat: as though I hadn't eaten all day—which wasn't too -strange, because I hadn't. Well, at least I wouldn't get stomach cramps -while circling the island. From there I'd strike out for shore. And the -first thing I would do when I got out of this would be to order the -biggest, rarest steak in South America.</p> - -<p>I took a last look toward the house. I could see fire inside it now. I -guessed each side was rationalizing the destruction as denial to the -enemy. It had been a nice place and I'd miss it. Some day somebody was -going to pay for it.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h2> - - -<p>I sat at the kitchen table in Margareta's Lima apartment and gnawed -the last few shreds off the stripped T-bone, while my girl poured me -another cup of coffee.</p> - -<p>"Now tell me about it," she said. "Why did they burn your house? And -how did you succeed in getting here?"</p> - -<p>"They got so interested in the fight, they lost their heads," I said. -"That's the only explanation I can think of. I thought I'd be as safe -as a two-dollar watch at a pickpockets' convention: I figured they'd go -to some pains to avoid damaging me. I guessed wrong."</p> - -<p>"But your own people...."</p> - -<p>"Maybe they were right: they couldn't afford to let the Ruskis get -me. Funny—if they'd just thought to write me a letter and ask for my -co-operation...."</p> - -<p>"But how did you get covered with mud? And the blood stains on your -back?"</p> - -<p>"I had a nice long swim: five hours' worth. Then another hour getting -through a mangrove swamp. Lucky I had a moon. Then a three-hour -hike ... and here I am."</p> - -<p>"I hope you're feeling better now that you've had something to eat. You -looked terrible."</p> - -<p>"Another block and I wouldn't have made it. I felt sucked dry. The -scratch on my back is nothing, but maybe the shock ... I don't know."</p> - -<p>"Lie down now and sleep," said Margareta. "What do you want me to do?"</p> - -<p>"Get me some clothes," I said. "A grey suit, white shirt, black tie and -shoes. And go to my bank and draw some money, save five thousand. Oh -yeah, see if there's anything in the papers. If you see anybody hanging -around the lobby when you come back, don't come up; give me a call and -I'll meet you."</p> - -<p>She stood up. "This is really awful," she said. "Can't your embassy——"</p> - -<p>"Didn't I mention it? A Mr. Pruffy, of the Embassy, came along to -hold Smale's hand ... not to mention a Colonel Sanchez. I wouldn't be -surprised if the local cops weren't in the act by now ... unless they -all think I'm dead. That impression won't last long after you show up -with a nice fresh check on my account and spend part of it on a man's -suit. I'll get some sleep and light out as soon as you get back."</p> - -<p>"Where will you go?"</p> - -<p>"I'll get to the airport and play it by ear. I don't think they've -alerted everybody. It was a hush-hush deal, until it went sour; now -they're still picking up the pieces."</p> - -<p>"The bank won't be open for hours yet," said Margareta. "Go to sleep -and don't worry. I'll take care of everything."</p> - -<p>I made it to the bedroom and slid out on the big wide bed, and -consciousness slipped away like a silk curtain falling.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I knew I wasn't alone as soon as I opened my eyes. I hadn't heard -anything, but I could feel someone in the room. I sat up slowly, looked -around.</p> - -<p>He was sitting in the embroidered chair by the window: an -ordinary-looking fellow in a tan tropical suit, with an unlighted -cigarette in his mouth and no particular expression on his face.</p> - -<p>"Go ahead, light up," I said. "Don't mind me."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," he said, in a thin voice. He took a lighter from an inner -pocket, flipped it, held it to the cigarette.</p> - -<p>I stood up. There was a blur of motion from my visitor, and the lighter -was gone and a short-nosed revolver was in its place.</p> - -<p>"You've got the wrong scoop, mister," I said. "I don't bite."</p> - -<p>"I'd rather you wouldn't move suddenly, Mr. Legion," he said. He -coughed, his eyes on mine. "My nerves aren't what they used to be." The -gun was still on me.</p> - -<p>"Which side are you working for?" I said. "And can I put my shoes on, -or are you afraid I'll pull a gat out of my sock?"</p> - -<p>He rested the pistol on his knee. "Get completely dressed, Mr. Legion."</p> - -<p>"Sorry," I said. "No can do. No clothes."</p> - -<p>He frowned slightly. "My jacket will be a little small for you," he -said. "But I think you can manage."</p> - -<p>I was sitting on the bed again. "I'm going to get out a cigarette," I -said. "Try not to shoot me." I reached for a package on the table, lit -up. His eyes stayed on mine.</p> - -<p>"How come you didn't figure I was dead?" I asked, blowing smoke at him.</p> - -<p>"We checked the house," he said. "No body."</p> - -<p>"Why, you incompetent asses. You were supposed to think I drowned."</p> - -<p>"That possibility was considered. But we made the routine checks -anyway."</p> - -<p>"Nice of you to let me sleep it out. How long have you been here?"</p> - -<p>"Only a few minutes," he said. He glanced at his watch. "We'll have to -be going in another fifteen."</p> - -<p>"What do you want with me?" I said. "You blew up everything you were -interested in."</p> - -<p>"The Department wants to ask you a few questions."</p> - -<p>"Look, I'm just a dumb guy," I whined. "I don't know nothing about all -that stuff. I was just the guy that peddled it, see?"</p> - -<p>He took a drag on his cigarette, squinted at me through the smoke. "You -ran up an A average in college," he said, "including English."</p> - -<p>"You boys really do your homework." I looked at the pistol. "I wonder -if you'd really shoot me," I mused.</p> - -<p>"I'll try to make the position clear," he said. "Just to avoid any -unfortunate misunderstanding. My instructions are to bring you in, -alive—if possible. If it appears that you may evade arrest ... or fall -into the wrong hands, I'll be forced to use the gun."</p> - -<p>I pulled my shoes on, thinking it over. My best chance to make a break -was now, while there was only one watchdog. But I had a feeling he was -telling the truth about shooting me. I had already seen the boys in -action at the house.</p> - -<p>He got up. "Let's step into the living room, Mr. Legion." I moved past -him through the door. In the living room the clock on the mantel said -eleven. I'd been asleep for five or six hours. Margareta ought to be -getting back any minute....</p> - -<p>"Put this on," he said. I took the light jacket, wedged myself into it, -looked at my reflection in the big rectangular mirror that occupied -most of a wall above the low divan.</p> - -<p>"It's not the real me," I said. "I usually—"</p> - -<p>The telephone rang.</p> - -<p>I looked at my watchdog. He shook his head. We stood and listened to it -ring. After a while it stopped.</p> - -<p>"We'd better be going now," he said. "Walk ahead of me, please. We'll -take the elevator to the basement and leave by the service entrance—"</p> - -<p>He stopped talking, eyes on the door. There was the rattle of a key. -The gun came up.</p> - -<p>"Hold it," I snapped. "It's the girl who owns the apartment." I moved -to face him, my back to the door.</p> - -<p>"That was foolish of you, Legion," he said. "Don't move again."</p> - -<p>I watched the door in the big mirror on the opposite wall. The knob -turned, the door swung in ... and a thin brown man in white shirt -and white pants slipped into the room. As he pushed the door back he -transferred a small automatic to his left hand. My keeper threw a lever -on the revolver that was aimed at my belt buckle.</p> - -<p>"Stand absolutely still, Legion," he said. "If you have a chance, -that's it." He moved aside slightly, looked past me to the newcomer. -I watched in the mirror as the man in white behind me swiveled to keep -both of us covered.</p> - -<p>"This is a fail-safe weapon," said my first owner to the new man. -"I think you know about them. We leaked the information to you. I'm -holding the trigger back; if my hand relaxes, it fires, so I'd be a -little careful about shooting, if I were you."</p> - -<p>The thin man swallowed, a black leather bow tie bobbing against his -Adam's apple. He didn't say anything. He was having to make some tough -decisions. His instructions would be the same as my other friend's: to -bring me in alive, if possible.</p> - -<p>"Who does this bird represent?" I asked my man. I noticed my voice was -pitched half an octave higher than usual.</p> - -<p>"He's a Soviet agent."</p> - -<p>I looked in the mirror at the man again. "Nuts," I said. "He looks like -a waiter in a chili joint. He probably came up to take our order."</p> - -<p>"You talk too much when you're nervous," said my keeper between his -teeth. He held the gun on me steadily. I watched his trigger finger to -see if it looked like relaxing.</p> - -<p>"I'd say it's a stalemate," I said. "Let's take it once more from the -top. Both of you go out and—"</p> - -<p>"Shut up, Legion." My man licked his lips, glanced at my face. "I'm -sorry. It looks as though—"</p> - -<p>"You don't want to shoot me," I blurted out loudly. In the mirror I had -seen the door, which was standing ajar, ease open an inch, two inches. -"You'll spoil this nice coat...." I kept on talking: "And anyway it -would be a big mistake, because everybody knows Russian agents are -stubby men with wide cheekbones and tight hats—"</p> - -<p>Silently Margareta slipped into the room, took two quick steps, and -slammed a heavy handbag down on the slicked-back pompadour that went -with the Adam's apple. The man in white stumbled and fired a round into -the rug. The automatic dropped from his hand, and my pal in tan stepped -to him and hit him hard on the back of the head with his pistol. He -whirled toward me, hissed "Play it smart" just loud enough for me to -hear, then turned to Margareta. He slipped the gun into his pocket, but -I knew he could get it out again in a hurry.</p> - -<p>"Very nicely done, Miss," he said. "I'll have this person removed from -your apartment. Mr. Legion and I were just going."</p> - -<p>Margareta looked at me. I thought over two or three remarks but none of -them seemed to fit. I didn't intend to see her get hurt—or involved. -Apparently my FBI type was willing to leave her out of it, if I went -quietly. On the other hand, this was my last chance to get out of the -net before it closed for good. My keeper was watching, waiting for me -to try something, tip Margareta off....</p> - -<p>"It's okay, honey," I said. "This is Mr. Smith ... of our Embassy. -We're old friends." I stepped past her, headed for the door. My hand -was on the knob when I heard a solid thunk behind me. I whirled in time -to clip the FBI on the jaw as he fell forward. Margareta looked at me, -wide-eyed.</p> - -<p>"That handbag packs a wallop," I said. "Nice work, Maggie." I knelt, -pulled off the fellow's belt, and cinched his hands behind his back -with it. Margareta got the idea, did the same for the other man, who -was beginning to groan now.</p> - -<p>"Who are these men?" she said. "What——"</p> - -<p>"I'll tell you all about it later. Right now, I have to get to some -people I know, get this story on the wires, out in the open. State'll -be a little shy about gunning me down or locking me up without trial, -if I give the show enough publicity."</p> - -<p>I reached in my pocket, handed her the black-and-gold-marked cylinder. -"Just to be on the safe side," I said, "mail this to me: John Jones—at -Itzenca, general delivery."</p> - -<p>"All right," said Margareta. "And I have your things." She stepped into -the hall, came back with a shopping bag and a suit carton. She took a -wad of bills from her handbag and handed it to me.</p> - -<p>I went to her and put my arms around her. "Listen, honey: as soon as -I leave, go to the bank and draw fifty grand. Get out of the country. -They haven't got anything on you except that you beaned a couple of -intruders in your apartment, but it'll be better if you disappear. -Leave an address care of Poste Restante, Basel, Switzerland. I'll get -in touch when I can."</p> - -<p>She put up an argument but I made my point. Twenty minutes later I was -pushing through the big glass doors onto the sidewalk, clean-shaven, -dressed to the teeth, with five grand on one hip and a .32 on the -other. I'd had a good meal and a fair sleep, and against me the secret -services of two or three countries didn't have a chance.</p> - -<p>I got as far as the corner before they nailed me.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h2> - - -<p>"You have a great deal to lose," General Smale was saying, "and nothing -to gain by your stubbornness. You're a young man, vigorous and, I'm -sure, intelligent. You have a fortune of some million and a quarter -dollars, which I assure you you'll be permitted to keep. As against -that prospect, so long as you refuse to cooperate, we must regard you -as no better than a traitorous criminal—and deal with you accordingly."</p> - -<p>"What have you been feeding me?" I said. "My mouth tastes like -somebody's old gym shoes and my arm's purple to the elbow. Don't you -know it's illegal to administer drugs without a license?"</p> - -<p>"The nation's security is at stake," snapped Smale.</p> - -<p>"The funny thing is, it must not have worked, or you wouldn't be -begging me to tell all. I thought that scopolamine or whatever you're -using was the real goods."</p> - -<p>"We've gotten nothing but gibberish," Smale said, "most of it in an -incomprehensible language. Who the devil are you, Legion? Where do you -come from?"</p> - -<p>"You know everything," I said. "You told me yourself. I'm a guy named -Legion, from Mount Sterling, Illinois, population one thousand eight -hundred and ninety-two."</p> - -<p>"I'm a humane man, Legion. But if necessary I'll beat it out of you."</p> - -<p>"You?" I smiled, curling a lip. "You mean you'll call in a herd of -plug-uglies: real crooks, to do the dirty work. My only crime is -knowing something you politicians want, and you're willing to lie, -cheat, steal, torture, and kill to get it. You know that and so do I; -let's not kid each other. I know your measure as a man, Mr. General."</p> - -<p>Smale had gone white. "I'm in a position to inflict agonies on you, -you insolent rotter," he grated. "I've refrained from doing so. You -might add that to your analysis of my character. I'm a soldier; I -know my duty. I'm prepared to give my life; if need be, my honor. I'm -even prepared to forego your good opinion—so long as I obtain for my -government the information you're withholding."</p> - -<p>"Turn me loose; then ask me in a nice way. As far as I know, I haven't -got anything of military significance to tell you, but if I were -treated as a free citizen I might be inclined to let you be the judge -of that."</p> - -<p>"Tell us now; then you'll go free."</p> - -<p>"Sure," I said. "I invented a combination rocket ship and time machine. -I traveled around the solar system and made a few short trips back into -history. In my spare time I invented other gadgets. I'm planning to -take out patents, so naturally I don't intend to spill any secrets. Can -I go now?"</p> - -<p>Smale got to his feet. "Until we can safely move you, you'll remain in -this room. You're on the sixty-third floor of the Yordano Building. -The windows are of unbreakable glass, in case you contemplate a -particularly untidy suicide. Your person has been stripped of all -potentially dangerous items, though I suppose you could still swallow -your tongue and suffocate. The door is of heavy construction, and -securely locked."</p> - -<p>"I forgot to tell you," I said. "I mailed a letter to a friend, telling -him all about you. The sheriff will be here with a posse any minute -now, to spring me——"</p> - -<p>"You mailed no letter," Smale said. "Unfortunately, we don't feel it -would be advisable to allow any furniture to remain here which you -might be foolish enough to dismantle for use as a weapon. It's rather -a drab room to spend your future in, but until you decide to cooperate -this will be your world."</p> - -<p>I didn't say anything. I sat on the floor and watched him leave. I -caught a glimpse of two uniformed men outside the door. No doubt they'd -take turns looking through the peephole. I'd have solitude without -privacy. I wondered if Margareta had managed to mail the cylinder.</p> - -<p>I stretched out on the floor, which was padded with a nice thick rug, -presumably so that I wouldn't beat my brains out against it just to -spite them. I was way behind on my sleep: being interrogated while -unconscious wasn't a very restful procedure. I wasn't too worried. In -spite of what Smale said, they couldn't keep me here forever. Maybe -Margareta had gotten clear and told the story to some newsmen; this -kind of thing couldn't stay hidden forever. Or could it?</p> - -<p>I thought about what Smale had said about my talking gibberish under -the narcotics. That was an odd one....</p> - -<p>Quite suddenly I got it. By means of the drugs they must have tapped a -level where the Vallonian background briefing was stored: they'd been -firing questions at a set of memories that didn't speak English. I -grinned, then laughed out loud. Luck was still in the saddle with me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The glass was in double panels, set in aluminum frames and sealed -with a plastic strip. The space between the two panels of glass was -evacuated of air, creating an insulating barrier against the heat of -the sun. I ran a finger over the aluminum. It was dural: good tough -stuff. If I had something to pry with, I might possibly lever the metal -away from the glass far enough to take a crack at the edge, the weak -point of armor-glass ... if I had something to hit it with.</p> - -<p>Smale had done a good job of stripping the room—and me. I had my shirt -and pants and shoes, but no tie or belt. I still had my wallet—empty, -a pack of cigarettes with two wilted weeds in it, and a box of matches. -Smale had missed a bet: I might set fire to my hair and burn to the -ground. I might also stuff a sock down my throat and strangle, or hang -myself with a shoe lace—but I wasn't going to.</p> - -<p>I looked at the window some more. The door was too tough to tackle, and -the heavies outside were probably hoping for an excuse to work me over. -They wouldn't expect me to go after the glass; after all, I was still -sixty-three stories up. What would I do if I did make it to the window -sill? But we could worry about that later, after I had smelled the -fresh air.</p> - -<p>My forefinger found an irregularity in the smooth metal: a short -groove. I looked closer, saw a screw head set flush with the aluminum -surface. Maybe if the frame was bolted together——</p> - -<p>No such luck; the screw I had found was the only one. What was it for? -Maybe if I removed it I'd find out. But I'd wait until dark to try it. -Smale hadn't left a light fixture in the room. After sundown I'd be -able to work unobserved.</p> - -<p>A couple of hours went by and no one came to disturb my solitude, not -even to feed me. Maybe they planned to starve me out; or maybe they -weren't used to being jailers and had forgotten the animals had to be -fed.</p> - -<p>I had a short scrap of metal I'd worked loose from my wallet. It was -mild steel, flimsy stuff, only about an inch long, but I was hoping the -screw might not be set too tight. Aluminum threads strip pretty easily, -so it probably wasn't cinched up too hard.</p> - -<p>There was no point in theorizing. It was dark now; I'd give it a -try. I went to the window, fitted the edge of metal into the slotted -screw-head, and twisted. It turned, just like that. I backed it off ten -turns, twenty; it was a thick bolt with fine threads. It came free and -air whooshed into the hole. The screw apparently sealed the panel after -the air was evacuated.</p> - -<p>I thought it over. If I could fill the space between the panels with -water and let it freeze ... quite a trick in the tropics. I might as -well plan to fill it with gin and set it on fire.</p> - -<p>I was going in circles. Every idea I had started with 'if'. I needed -something I could manage with the materials at hand: cloth, a box of -matches, a few bits of paper.</p> - -<p>I got out a cigarette, lit up, and while the match was burning examined -the hole from which I'd removed the plug. It was about three-sixteenths -of an inch in diameter and an inch deep, and there was a hole near the -bottom communicating with the air space between the glass panels. It -was an old-fashioned method of manufacture but it seemed to have worked -all right: the air was pumped out and the hole sealed with the screw. -It had at any rate the advantage of being easy to service if the panel -leaked. Now, with some way of pumping air <i>in</i>, I could blow out the -panels....</p> - -<p>There was no pump on the premises but I did have some chemicals: the -match heads. They were old style too, like a lot of things in Peru: the -strike-once-and-throw-away kind.</p> - -<p>I sat on the floor and started to work, chipping the heads off the -matchsticks, collecting the dry, purplish material on a scrap of -paper. Thirty-eight matches gave me a respectable sample. I packed it -together, rolled it in the paper, and crimped the ends. Then I tucked -the makeshift firecracker into the hole the screw had come from.</p> - -<p>Using the metal scrap I scraped at the threads of the screw, burring -them. Then I started it in the hole, half a dozen turns, until it came -up against the match heads.</p> - -<p>The shoes Margareta had bought me were the latest thing in Lima styles, -with thin soles, pointed toes, and built-up leather heels: Bad on the -feet, but just the thing to pound with. I thought about trying to work -loose a piece of rug to shield my face, but decided against it. I'd -have to stand aside and take my chances.</p> - -<p>I took the shoe by the toe and hefted it: the flexible sole gave it a -good action, like a well-made sap. There were still a couple of 'if's' -in the equation, but a healthy crack on the screw ought to drive it -against the packed match-heads hard enough to detonate them, and the -expanding gasses from the explosion ought to exert enough pressure -against the glass panels to break them. I'd know in a second.</p> - -<p>I flattened myself against the wall, brought the shoe up, and laid it -on the screw-head with everything I had....</p> - -<p>There was a deafening boom, a blast of hot air, and a chemical stink, -then a gust of cool night wind—and I was on the sill, my back to the -street six hundred feet below, my fingers groping for a hold on the -ledge above the window. I found a grip, pulled up, reached higher, got -my feet on the muntin strip, paused to rest for three seconds, reached -again....</p> - -<p>I pulled my feet above the window level and heard shouts in the room -below:</p> - -<p>"—fool killed himself!"</p> - -<p>"Get a light in here!"</p> - -<p>I clung, breathing deep, and murmured thanks to the architect who had -stressed a strong horizontal element in his façade and arranged the -strip windows in bays set twelve inches from the face of the structure. -Now, if the boys below would keep their eyes on the street long enough -for me to get on the roof—</p> - -<p>I looked up, to get an idea how far I'd have to go—and gripped the -ledge convulsively as the whole building leaned out, tilting me back....</p> - -<p>Cold sweat ran into my eyes. I squeezed the stone until my knuckles -creaked, and held on. I laid my cheek against the rough plaster, -listening to my heart thump. Adrenalin and high hopes had gotten me -this far ... and now it had all drained out and left me, a frail -ground-loving animal, flattened against the cruel face of a tower, like -a fly on a ceiling, with nothing between me and the unyielding concrete -below but the feeble grip of fingers and toes. I started to yell for -help, and the words stuck in my dry throat. I breathed in shallow -gasps, feeling my muscles tightening, until I hung, rigid as a board, -afraid even to roll my eyeballs for fear of dislodging myself. I closed -my eyes, felt my hands going numb, and tried again to yell: only a thin -croak emerged.</p> - -<p>A minute earlier I had had only one worry: that they'd look up and see -me. Now my worst fear was that they wouldn't.</p> - -<p>This was the end. I'd been close before, but not like this. My fingers -could take the strain for maybe another minute, maybe even two; then -I'd let go, and the wind would whip at me for a few timeless seconds, -before I hit....</p> - -<p>I had had a lot of big ideas but in the cosmic scheme I was a gnat on -a windshield. I thought I'd learned something, was a jump ahead of -most guys, and could play the meaningless game with a certain flair. -But my fancy philosophies were words written in smoke when they came -up against the raw power of blind instinct. My conscious mind had an -I.Q. of 148, but the idiot subconscious that had frozen me here hadn't -learned anything since the first ape that had owned it rode out a storm -in a tree-top and lived to be my ancestor.... I heard a sound and it -was me, whimpering. I was a poor weakling, out of his element, bleating -for mercy.</p> - -<p>Down inside of me something didn't like the picture. A small defiance -flickered, found a foothold, burned brighter. I would die ... but that -would solve a lot of problems. And if I had to die, at least I could -die trying.</p> - -<p>My mind moved in to take over from my body. It was the body that was -wasting my last strength on a precarious illusion of safety, numbing -my senses, paralyzing me. It was a tyranny I wouldn't accept. I needed -a cool head and a steady hand and an unimpaired sense of balance; -and if the imbecile body wouldn't cooperate the mind would take it by -the scruff of the neck and force it. I'd been feeding this hulk for -thirty-odd years; now it would do what I told it. First: loosen the -grip—</p> - -<p>Yes! If it killed me: bend those fingers! Sure, I might fall—all the -way—and splatter when I hit, but did this lousy slab of meat expect to -live forever? I had news for it: time was short, any way you figured.</p> - -<p>I was standing a little looser now, my hands resting flat, my legs -taking the load. I had a good wide ledge to stand on: nearly a foot, -and in a minute I was going to reach up and get a new hold and lift one -foot at a time ... and if I slipped, at least I'd have done it my way.</p> - -<p>I let go, and the building leaned out, and to hell with it....</p> - -<p>I felt for the next ledge, gripped it, pulled up, found a toe-hold.</p> - -<p>Sure, I was dead. It was a long way to the top, and there was a fancy -cornice I'd never get over, but when the moment came and I started the -long ride down I'd thumb my nose at the old hag, Instinct, who hadn't -been as tough as she thought she was....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was under the cornice now, hanging on for a breather, and listening -to the hooting and hollering from the window far below. A couple of -heads had popped out and taken a look, but it was dark up where I was -and all the attention was centered down where the crowd had gathered -and lights were playing, looking for a mess. Pretty soon now they'd -begin to get the drift—so I'd better be going.</p> - -<p>I looked up at the overhang ... and felt the old urge to clutch and -hang on. So I leaned outward a little further, just to show me who -was boss. It was a long reach, and I'd have to risk it all on one -lunge because, if I missed, there wasn't any net, and my fingers knew -it. I heard my nails rasp on the plaster. I grated my teeth together -and unhooked one hand: it was like a claw carved from wood. I took -a half-breath, bent my knees slightly; they were as responsive as a -couple of bumper-jacks bolted on to the hip. Tough; but it was now or -never....</p> - -<p>I let go with both hands and stretched, leaning back....</p> - -<p>My wooden hands bumped the edge, scrabbled, hooked on, as my legs -swung free, and I was hanging like an old-time sailor strung up by -the thumbs. A wind off the roof whipped at my face and now I was a -tissue-paper doll, fluttering in the breeze.</p> - -<p>I had to pull now, pull hard, heave myself up and over the edge, but I -was tired, too tired. My crepe paper arms with the wooden hands seemed -to belong to someone else, someone who'd been dead a long time....</p> - -<p>But the someone was me: death was an old story, one that I wrote -myself. This was something that had happened before, long ago, and the -palindrome of life was finished where it started, and a dark curtain -was falling....</p> - -<p>Then from the darkness a voice was speaking in a strange language: a -confusion of strange thought symbols, but through them an ever more -insistent call:</p> - -<p><i>... dilate the secondary vascular complex, shunt full conductivity to -the upsilon neuro-channel. Now, stripping oxygen ions from fatty cell -masses, pour in electro-chemical energy to the sinews....</i></p> - -<p>With a smooth surge of power I pulled myself up, fell forward, rolled -onto my back, and lay on the flat roof, the beautiful flat roof, still -warm from the day's sun.</p> - -<p>I was here, looking at the stars, safe; and later on when I had more -time I'd stop to think about it. But now I had to move, before they -had time to organize themselves, cordon off the building, and start a -floor-by-floor search.</p> - -<p>Staggering from the exertion of the long climb I got to my feet, went -to the shed housing the entry to the service stair. The door was -locked. I didn't waste any time kicking at it; I got a leg up and stood -on the doorknob. Two jumps and it snapped off. I pushed the stub of the -shaft through and tickled the back edge of the locking tongue, eased it -out. The door opened.</p> - -<p>A short flight of steps led down to a storeroom. There were dusty -boards, dried-up paint cans, odd tools. I picked up a five-foot length -of two-by-four and a hammer with one claw missing, and stepped out into -the hall. The street was a long way down and I didn't feel like wasting -time with stairs. I found the elevator, pushed the button, stood in -front of it whistling. A fat man in a drab suit came along, looked -at me distastefully, thought about telling me that workmen used the -freight elevator, then changed his mind and said nothing.</p> - -<p>The elevator arrived. I stepped in jauntily. The fat man followed me, -pushed the button for the foyer. I smiled and nodded, went on whistling.</p> - -<p>We stopped and the doors opened. I waited for the fat man to leave, -then glanced out, tightening my grip on the hammer, and followed. -I could see the lights in the street out front and in the distance -there was the wail of a siren, but nobody in the lobby looked my way. -I headed across toward the side exit, dumped the board at the door, -tucked the hammer in the waist band of my pants, and stepped out onto -the pavement. There were a lot of people hurrying past but this was -Lima: they didn't waste a glance on a barefooted carpenter.</p> - -<p>I moved off, not hurrying. There was a lot of rough country between -me and Itzenca, the little town near which the life boat was hidden -in a cañon, but I aimed to cover it in a week. Some time between now -and tomorrow I'd have to figure out a way to equip myself with a few -necessities, but I wasn't worried. A man who had successfully taken up -human-fly work in middle life wouldn't have any trouble stealing a pair -of boots.</p> - -<p>Foster had shoved off for home three years ago, local time, although to -him, aboard the ship, only a few weeks might have passed. My lifeboat -was a midge compared to the mother ship he rode, but it had plenty of -speed. Once aboard the lugger ... and maybe I could put a little space -between me and the big boys I was up against now.</p> - -<p>I had used the best camouflage I knew of on the boat. The near-savage -native bearers who had done my unloading and carried my Vallonian -treasures across the desert to the nearest railhead were not the -gossipy type. If General Smale's boys had heard about the boat, they -hadn't mentioned it. And if they had: well, I'd solve that one when I -got to it. There were still quite a few 'if's' in the equation, but my -arithmetic was getting better all the time.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h2> - - -<p>I took the precaution of sneaking up on the lifeboat in the dead of -night, but I could have saved myself a crawl. Except for the fact that -the camouflage nets had rotted away to shreds, the ship was just as I -had left it, doors sealed. Why Smale's team hadn't found it, I didn't -know; I'd think that one over when I was well away from Earth.</p> - -<p>It had been a long tough trip from Lima to the cañon, but I had made -it without interference. I had swapped my platinum finger ring for a -beat-up .38 pistol, but I hadn't had to use it. In a shabby bar in -one of the villages I passed through I had heard a battered radio -sputtering news; there was no mention of the assault on the island, or -of my escape. It seemed that all parties were willing to cover it up -and pretend it hadn't happened.</p> - -<p>I went into the post office at Itzenca and picked up the parcel -Margareta had mailed me with Foster's memory-trace in it. While I was -checking to see whether Uncle Sam's minions had intercepted the package -and substituted a carrot, I felt something rubbing against my shin. -I glanced down and saw a grey and white cat, reasonably clean and -obviously hungry. I don't know whether I'd ploughed through a field of -wild catnip the night before or if it was my way with a finger behind -the furry ears, but Kitty followed me out of Itzenca and right into the -bush. She kept pace with me, leading most of the time, as far as the -space boat, and was the first one aboard.</p> - -<p>I didn't waste time with formalities. I had once audited a briefing -rod on the boat's operation—not that I had ever expected to use the -information for a take-off. Once aboard, I hit the controls and cut a -swathe through the atmosphere that must have sent fingers jumping for -panic buttons from Washington to Moscow.</p> - -<p>I didn't know how many weeks or months of unsullied leisure stretched -ahead of me now. There would be time and to spare for exploring the -boat, working out a daily routine, chewing over the details of both my -memories, and laying plans for my arrival on Foster's world, Vallon. -But first I wanted to catch a show that was making a one-night stand -for me only: the awe-inspiring spectacle of the retreating earth.</p> - -<p>I dropped into a seat opposite the screen and flipped into view the big -luminous ball of wool that was my home planet. I'd been hoping to get -a last look at my island, but I couldn't see it. The whole sphere was -blanketed in cloud: a thin worn blanket in places but still intact. -But the moon was a sight! An undipped Edam cheese with the markings of -Roquefort. For a quarter of an hour I watched it grow until it filled -my screen. It was too close for comfort. I dumped the tabby out of my -lap and adjusted a dial. The dead world swept past, and I had a brief -glimpse of burst bubbles of craters that became the eyes and mouth and -pock marks of a face on a head that swung away from me in disdain and -then the sibling planets dwindled and were gone forever.</p> - -<p>The lifeboat was completely equipped, and I found comfortable quarters. -An ample food supply was available by the touch of a panel on the table -in the screen-room. That was a trick my predecessor with the dental -jewelery hadn't discovered, I guessed. During the courses of my first -journey earthward and on my visits to the boat for saleable playthings -while she lay in dry-dock, I had discovered most of the available -amenities aboard. Now I luxuriated in a steaming bath of recycled -water, sponged down with disposable towels packed in scented alcohol, -fed the cat and myself, and lay down to sleep for about two weeks.</p> - -<p>By the third week I was reasonably refreshed and rested. The scars from -my recent brushes with what passed as the law were healed. I had gotten -over regretting the toys I'd left behind on my island and the money in -my banks in Lima and Switzerland, and even Margareta. I was headed for -a new world; there was no point in dragging along old attachments.</p> - -<p>The cat was a godsend, I began to realize. I named her Itzenca, after -the village where she adopted me, and I talked to her by the hour. I -always had felt that there was a subtle difference between talking to -somebody else and talking to yourself. The latter gets a little tedious -after the first few days but you can keep the other up indefinitely. So -Itz got talked to plenty as we rode to the stars.</p> - -<p>"Say, Itz," said I, "where would you like your sand box situated? Right -there in front of the TV screen? There's not much traffic there, since -we cleared the solar system. You'd have the place all to yourself."</p> - -<p>No, said Itzenca by a flirt of her tail. And she walked over behind a -crate that had never been unloaded on earth.</p> - -<p>I pulled out a box of junk and slid the sand box in its place. Itzenca -promptly lost interest and instead jumped up on the junk box which fell -off the bench and scattered small objects of khaff and metal in all -directions.</p> - -<p>"Come back here, blast you," I said, "and help me pick up this stuff."</p> - -<p>Itz bounded after a dull-gleaming silver object that was still rolling. -I was there almost as quick as she was and grabbed up the cylinder. -Suddenly the horsing around was over. This thing was somebody's memory.</p> - -<p>I dropped onto a bench to examine it, my Vallonian-inspired pulse -pounding. "Where the heck did this come from, cat?" I said.</p> - -<p>Itz jumped up into my lap and nosed the cylinder. I was trying to hark -back to those days three years before when I had loaded the lifeboat -with all the loot it would carry, for the trip back to earth.</p> - -<p>"Listen, Itz, we've got to do some tall remembering. Let's see: there -was a whole rack of blanks in the memory-recharging section of the room -where we found the three skeletons. Yeah, now I remember: I pulled this -one out of the recorder set, which means it had been used, but not yet -color-coded. I showed it to Foster when he was hunting his own trace. -He didn't realize I'd pulled it out of the machine and he thought it -was an empty. But I'll bet you somebody had his mind taped, and then -left in a hurry, before the trace could be color-coded and filed.</p> - -<p>"On the other hand, maybe it's a blank that had just been inserted -when somebody broke up the play-house.... But wasn't there something -Foster said ... about when he woke up, way back when, with a pile of -fresh corpses around him? He gave somebody emergency treatment and to a -Vallonian that would include a complete memory-transcription.... Do you -realize what I've got here in my hand, Itz?"</p> - -<p>She looked up at me inquiringly.</p> - -<p>"This is what's left of the guy that Foster buried: his pal, Ammaerln, -I think he called him. What's inside this cylinder used to be tucked -away in the skull of the ancient sinner. The guy's not so dead after -all. I'll bet his family will pay plenty for this trace, and be -grateful besides. That'll be an ace in the hole in case I get too -hungry on Vallon."</p> - -<p>I got up and crossed the apartment; Itz followed me out to my sleeping -couch. I dropped the trace in a drawer beside Foster's own memory.</p> - -<p>"Wonder how Foster's making out without his past, Itz? He claimed -the one I've got here would only be a copy of the original stored -at Okk-Hamiloth, but my briefing didn't say anything about copying -memories. He must be somebody pretty important to rate that service."</p> - -<p>Suddenly my eyes were riveted to the markings on Foster's trace lying -in the drawer. "'Sblood! The royal colors!" I sat down on the bed with -a lurch. "Itzenca, old gal, it looks like we'll be entering Vallonian -society from the top. We've been consorting with a member of the -Vallonian nobility!"</p> - -<p>During the days that followed, I tried again and again to raise Foster -on the communicator ... without result. I wondered how I'd find him -among the millions on the planet. My best bet would be to get settled -down in the Vallonian environment, then start making a few inquiries.</p> - -<p>I would play it casually: act the part of a Vallonian who had merely -been travelling for a few hundred years—which wasn't unheard of—and -play my cards close to my gravy stains until I learned what the score -was. With my Vallonian briefing I ought to be able to carry it off. The -Vallonians might not like illegal immigrants any better than they did -back home, so I'd keep my interesting foreign background to myself.</p> - -<p>I would need a new name. I thought over several possibilities and -selected "Drgon". It was as good a Vallonian jawbreaker as any.</p> - -<p>I canvassed the emergency wardrobe that was standard equipment -on Far-Voyager lifeboats. There was everything from fur-lined -parka-type suits for outings on worlds like Pluto to sheer silk -one-man-air-conditioner balloon over-alls for stepping out on Venus. In -amongst them was a selection of dresses reminiscent of ancient Greece. -They had been the sharp style of Vallon when Foster left home. They -looked comfortable. I picked one in a sober color, then got busy with -the cutting and seaming unit to fit it to my frame. I didn't plan to -attract unnecessary attention with ill-fitting garments when I crossed -my first Vallonians.</p> - -<p>Itzenca watched with interest. "What the heck am I going to do with you -on Vallon?" I asked her. "The only cat on the planet. You may have to -put up with an iggrfn for a boy friend," I said searching my Vallonian -memory. "They're about the nearest thing to you in size and shape ... -but they're kind of objectionable, personality wise."</p> - -<p>I finished off my new duds, then dug through the handicrafts gear and -picked out a sheet of khaffite, a copper-like Vallonian alloy that -was supposed to have almost the durability of khaff without being so -hard to work. There were appropriate tools in the little workshop for -shaping it and adding decoration.</p> - -<p>"Don't worry," I said to Itz. "You won't go ashore shabbily clad -either. You'll be a knockout in this item." I parked her on the -workbench and sat down to my tools. I clipped out an inch-wide strip -of the khaffite, shaped it in a circle, and fitted it with a slip-out -catch. After a leisurely meal I spent what passed for an evening -etching "ITZENCA" on the new collar with plenty of curlicues. -Then I fitted it on her; she didn't seem to mind a bit.</p> - -<p>"There. All set to wow those Vallonians like they've never been wowed." -Itzenca purred.</p> - -<p>We strolled into the observation lounge. Strange bright-hued star -systems glowed far away. "We'll be stepping out with our memories any -night now," I said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The proximity alarms were ringing. I watched the screen with its image -of a great green world rimmed on one edge with glaring white from the -distant giant sun, on the other flooded with a cool glow reflected -from the blue outer planet. The trip was almost over and my confidence -was beginning to fray around the edges. In a few minutes I would be -stepping into an unknown world, all set to find my old pal Foster and -see the sights. I didn't have a passport, but there was no reason to -anticipate trouble. All I had to do was let my natural identity take -a back seat and allow my Vallonian background to do the talking. And -yet....</p> - -<p>Now Vallon spread out below us, a misty grey-green landscape, bright -under the glow of the immense moonlike sister world, Cinte. I had set -the landing monitor for Okk-Hamiloth, the capital city of Vallon. That -was where Foster would have headed, I guessed. Maybe I could pick up -the trail there.</p> - -<p>The city was directly below: a vast network of blue-lit avenues. I -hadn't been contacted by Planetary Control. That was normal enough, -however. A small vessel coming in on auto could handle itself.</p> - -<p>A little apprehensively I ran over my lines a last time: I was Drgon, -citizen of the Two Worlds, back from a longer-than-average season -of far-voyaging and in need of briefing rods to bring me up to date -on developments at home. I also required assignment of quarters. My -tailoring was impeccable, my command of the language a little rusty -from long non-use, and the only souvenirs I had to declare were a -tattered native costume from my last port of call, a quaint weapon from -the same, and a small animal I had taken a liking to.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The landing ring was visible on the screen now, coming slowly up to -meet us. There was a gentle shock and then absolute stillness. I -watched the port cycle open; I went to it and looked out at the pale -city stretching away to the hills. I took a breath of the fragrant -night air spiced with a long-forgotten perfume, and the part of me that -was now Vallonian ached with the inexpressible emotion of homecoming.</p> - -<p>I started to buckle on my pistol and gather up a few belongings, then -decided to wait until I'd met the welcoming committee. I whistled to -Itzenca and we stepped out and down. We crossed the clipped green, -luminous in the glow from the lights over the high-arched gate marking -the path that curved up toward the bright-lit terraces above. There -was no one in sight. Bright Cintelight showed me the gardens and walks -and, when I reached the terraces, the avenues beyond ... but no people. -I stood by a low wall of polished marble and thought about it. It was -about midnight, and the nights on Vallon lasted twenty-eight hours, -but there should have been some activity here. This was a busy port: -scheduled vessels, private yachts, official ships, all of them came and -went from Okk-Hamiloth. But not tonight.</p> - -<p>The cat and I walked across the terrace, passed through the open arch -to a refreshment lounge. The low tables and cushioned couches stood -empty under the rosy light from the ceiling panels. My slippered feet -whispered on the polished floor.</p> - -<p>I stood and listened: dead silence. There wasn't even the hum of a -mosquito; all such insect pests had been killed off long ago. The -lights glowed, the tables waited invitingly. How long had they waited?</p> - -<p>I sat down at one of them and thought hard. I had made a lot of plans, -but I hadn't counted on a deserted spaceport. How was I going to ask -questions about Foster if there was no one to ask?</p> - -<p>I got up and moved on through the empty lounge, past a wide arcade, -out onto a terraced lawn. A row of tall poplar-like trees made a -dark wall beyond a still pool, and behind them distant towers loomed, -colored lights sparkled. A broad avenue swept in a wide curve between -fountains, slanted away to the hills. A hundred yards from where I -stood a small vehicle was parked at the curb; I headed for it.</p> - -<p>It was an open two-seater, low-slung, cushioned, finished in violet -inlays against bright chrome. I slid into the seat, looked over the -controls, while Itzenca skipped to a place beside me. There was a -simple lever arrangement: a steering tiller. It looked easy. I tried a -few pulls and pushes; lights blinked on the panel, the car quivered, -lifted a few inches, drifted slowly across the road. I moved the -tiller, twiddled things; the car moved off toward the towers. I didn't -like the controls; a wheel and a couple of foot pedals would have -suited me better; but it beat walking.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Two hours later we had cruised the city ... and found nothing. It -hadn't changed from what my extra memory recalled—except that all the -people were gone. The parks and boulevards were trimmed, the fountains -and pools sparkled, the lights glowed ... but nothing moved. The -automatic dust precipitators and air filters would run forever, keeping -things clean and neat; but there was no one there to appreciate it. I -pulled over, sat watching the play of colored lights on a waterfall, -and considered. Maybe I'd find more of a clue inside one of the -buildings. I left the car and picked one at random: a tall slab of -pink crystal. Inside, I looked around at a great airy cavern full of -rose-colored light and listened to the purring of the cat and my own -breathing. There was nothing else to hear.</p> - -<p>I picked a random corridor, went along it, passed through empty rooms. -It was all in the old Vallonian style: walls paneled in jade, brocades -hangings in iridescent colors, rugs like pools of fire. In one chamber -I picked up a cloak of semi-velvet and put it over my shoulders; I was -getting cold in my daytime street dress. Walking among the tangible -ghosts of the long past didn't warm me up any. We climbed a wide spiral -stair, passed from vacant room to vacant room. I thought of the people -who had once used them. Where were they now?</p> - -<p>I found a clarinet-like musical instrument and blew a few notes on it. -It had a deep mellow tone that echoed along the deserted corridor. I -thought it sounded a lot like I felt: sad and forgotten. I went out -onto a lofty terrace overlooking gardens, leaned on a balustrade, and -looked up at the brilliant disc of Cinte. It loomed enormous, its -diameter four times that of the earthly moon.</p> - -<p>"We've come a long way to find nothing," I said to Itzenca. She pushed -her way along my leg and flexed her tail in a gesture meant to console. -But it didn't help. After the long wait, the tension of expectation, I -felt suddenly as empty as the silent halls of the building.</p> - -<p>I sat on the balustrade and leaned back against the polished pink -wall, took out the clarinet and blew some blue notes. That which once -had been was no more; remembering it, I played the <i>Pavane for a -Dead Princess</i>, and felt a forlorn nostalgia for a glory I had never -known....</p> - -<p>I finished and looked up at a sound. Four tall men in grey cloaks and -a glitter of steel came toward me from the shadows.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I had dropped the clarinet and was on my feet. I tried to back up but -the balustrade stopped me. The four spread out. The man in the lead -fingered a wicked-looking short club and spoke to me—in gibberish. I -blinked at him and tried to think of a snappy comeback.</p> - -<p>He snapped his fingers and two of the others came up; they reached for -my arms. I started to square off, fist cocked, then relaxed; after all, -I was just a tourist, Drgon by name. Unfortunately, before I could get -my fist back, the man with the club swung it and caught me across the -forearm. I yelled, jumped back, found myself grappled by the others. My -arm felt dead to the shoulder. I tried a kick and regretted that too; -there was armor under the cloaks. The club wielder said something and -pointed at the cat....</p> - -<p>It was time I wised up. I relaxed, tried to coax my <i>alter ego</i> into -the foreground. I listened to the rhythm of the language: it was -Vallonian, badly warped by time, but I could understand it:</p> - -<p>"——musician would be an Owner!" one of them said.</p> - -<p>Laughter.</p> - -<p>"Whose man are you, piper? What are your colors?"</p> - -<p>I curled my tongue, tried to shape it around the sort of syllables -I heard them uttering; it seemed to me a gross debasement of the -Vallonian I knew. Still I managed an answer:</p> - -<p>"I ... am a ... citizen ... of Vallon."</p> - -<p>"A dog of a masterless renegade?" The man with the club hefted it, -glowered at me. "And what wretched dialect is that you speak?"</p> - -<p>"I have ... been long a-voyaging," I stuttered. "I ask ... for briefing -rods ... and for a ... dwelling place."</p> - -<p>"A dwelling place you'll have," the man said. "In the men's shed at -Rath-Gallion." He gestured, and handcuffs snapped on my wrists.</p> - -<p>He turned and stalked away, and the others hustled me after him. Over -my shoulder I got a glimpse of a cat's tail disappearing over the -balustrade. Outside, a long grey air-car waited on the lawn. They -dumped me in the back seat, climbed aboard. I got a last look at the -spires of Okk-Hamiloth as we tilted, hurtled away across the low hills.</p> - -<p>Somewhere in the shuffle I had lost my new cloak. I shivered. I -listened to the talk, and what I heard didn't make me feel any better. -The chain between my wrists kept up a faint jingling. I gathered I'd -be hearing a lot of that kind of music from now on. I had had an -idealistic notion of wanting to fit into this new world, find a place -in its society. I'd found a place all right: a job with security.</p> - -<p>I was a slave.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h2> - - -<p>It was banquet night at Rath-Gallion, and I gulped my soup in the -kitchen and ran over in my mind the latest batch of jingles I was -expected to perform. I had only been on the Estate a few weeks, but I -was already Owner Gope's favorite piper. If I kept on at this rate, I -would soon have a cell to myself in the slave pens.</p> - -<p>Sime, the pastry cook, came over to me.</p> - -<p>"Pipe us a merry tune, Drgon," he said, "and I'll reward you with a -frosting pot."</p> - -<p>"With pleasure, good Sime," I said. I finished off the soup and got out -my clarinet. I had tried out half a dozen strange instruments, but I -still liked this one best. "What's your pleasure?"</p> - -<p>"One of the outland tunes you learned far-voyaging," called Cagu, the -bodyguard.</p> - -<p>I complied with the <i>Beer Barrel Polka</i>. They pounded the table and -hallooed when I finished, and I got my goody pan. Sime stood watching -me scrape at it.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you claim the Chief Piper's place, Drgon?" Sime said. "You -pipe rings around the lout. Then you'd have freeman status, and could -sit among us in the kitchen almost as an equal."</p> - -<p>I went after the last of the chocilla frosting, licked my fingers, and -laid the pot aside.</p> - -<p>"I'd gladly be the equal of such a pastry cook as yourself, good Sime," -I said. "But what can a slave-piper do?"</p> - -<p>Sime blinked at me. "You can challenge the Chief Piper," he said. -"There's none can deny you're his master in all but name. Don't fear -the outcome of the Trial; you'll triumph sure." He glanced around at -the kitchen staff. "Is it not so, goodmen?"</p> - -<p>"I'll warrant it," the soup-master said. "If you lose, I'll take your -stripes for you."</p> - -<p>"You're going too fast for me, goodmen," I said. "How can I claim -another's place?"</p> - -<p>Sime waved his arms. "You have far-voyaged long indeed, Piper Drgon. -Know you naught of how the world wags these days? One would take you -for a Cintean heretic."</p> - -<p>"As I've said, goodmen: in my youth all men were free; and the High -King ruled at Okk-Hamiloth——"</p> - -<p>"'Tis ill to speak of these things," said Sime in a low tone. "Only -Owners know their former lives ... though I've heard it said that long -ago no man was so mean but that he recorded his lives and kept them -safe. How you came by yours, I ask not; but do not speak of it. Owner -Gope is a jealous master. Though a most generous and worshipful lord," -he added hastily, looking around.</p> - -<p>"I won't speak of it then, good Sime," I said. "But I have been long -away. Even the language has changed, so that I wrench my tongue in the -speaking of it. Advise me, if you will."</p> - -<p>Sime puffed out his cheeks, frowning at me. "I scarce know where -to start," he said. "All things belong to the Owners ... as is only -right." He looked around for confirmation. The others nodded. "Men of -low skill are likewise property; and 'tis well 'tis so; else would they -starve as masterless strays ... if the Greymen failed to find them -first." He made a sign and spat. So did everybody else.</p> - -<p>"Now men of good skill are freemen, each earning rewards as befits his -ability. I am Chief Pastry Cook to the Lord Gope, with the perquisites -of that station, therefore that none other equals my talents." He -looked around truculently, saw no challengers. "And thus it is with us -all."</p> - -<p>"And if some varlet claims the place of any man here," put in Cagu, -"then he gotta submit to the Trial."</p> - -<p>"Then," said Sime, pulling at his apron agitatedly, "this upstart -pastry cook must cook against me; and all in the Hall will judge; and -he who prevails is the Chief Pastry Cook, and the other takes a dozen -lashes for his impertinence."</p> - -<p>"But fear not, Drgon," spoke Cagu. "A Chief Piper ain't but a -five-stroke man. Only a tutor is lower down among freemen. And anyway, -the good Soup-master had promised to take the lash for you."</p> - -<p>There was a bellow from the door, and I grabbed my clarinet and -scrambled after the page. Owner Gope didn't like to wait around for -piper-slaves. I saw him looming up at his place, as I darted through to -my assigned position within the huge circle of the viand-loaded table. -The Chief Piper had just squeezed his bagpipe-like instrument and -released a windy blast of discordant sound. He was a lean, squint-eyed -creature, fond of ordering the slave-pipers about. He pranced in an -intricate pattern, pumping away at his vari-colored bladders, until -I winced at the screech of it. Owner Gope noticed him about the same -time. He picked up a heavy brass mug and half-rose to peg it at the -Chief Piper, who saw it just in time to duck. The mug hit a swollen -air-bag; a yellow one with green tassels; it burst with a sour bleat.</p> - -<p>"As sweet a note as has been played tonight," roared Owner Gope. -"Begone, lest you call up the hill devils——"</p> - -<p>His eye fell on me. "Here's Dugon, or Digen," he cried. "Now here's a -true piper. Summon up a fair melody, Dgron, to clear the fumes of the -last performer from the air before the wine sours."</p> - -<p>I bowed low, wet my lips, and launched into the <i>One O' Clock Jump</i>. -To judge from the roar that went up when I finished, they liked it. I -followed with <i>Little Brown Jug</i> and <i>String of Pearls</i>. Gope pounded -and the table quieted down.</p> - -<p>"The rarest slave in all Rath-Gallion, I swear it," he bellowed. "Were -he not a slave, I'd drink his health."</p> - -<p>"By your leave, Owner?" I said.</p> - -<p>Gope stared, then nodded indulgently. "Speak then, Dugong," he said.</p> - -<p>"I claim the place of Chief Piper. I——"</p> - -<p>Yells rang out; Gope grinned widely.</p> - -<p>"So be it," he said. "Shall the vote be taken now, or must we submit -to more of the vile bladderings ere we proclaim our good Dagron Chief -Piper?"</p> - -<p>"Proclaim him!" somebody shouted.</p> - -<p>"There must be a Trial," another offered dubiously.</p> - -<p>Gope slammed a huge hand against the table. "Bring Lylk, the Chief -Piper, before me," he yelled. "He of the wretched air-skins."</p> - -<p>The Piper reappeared, fingering his bladders nervously.</p> - -<p>"The place of the Chief Piper is declared vacant," Gope said loudly. -The piper pinched a pink bladder, which emitted a thin squeak.</p> - -<p>"——since the former Chief Piper has been advanced in degree to a new -office," continued Gope. A blue bladder moaned, lost amid yells and -cheers.</p> - -<p>"Let these air-bags be punctured," Gope cried. "I banish their rancid -squeals forever from Rath-Gallion. Now, let all know: this former piper -is now Chief Fool to this household. Let him wear the broken bladders -as a sign of his office." There was a roar of laughter, glad cries, -whistles. Volunteers leaped to rip the colored air-bags; they died in -a final flurry of trills and flutters. A fool-slave tied the draggled -instrument to the ex-piper's head.</p> - -<p>I gave them <i>Mairzy Doats</i> and the former piper capered gingerly. Owner -Gope roared with laughter. I followed with <i>The Dipsy Doodle</i> and the -new fool, encouraged by success, leaped and grimaced, pirouetted, -strutted, bladders bobbing; the crowd laughed until the tears flowed.</p> - -<p>"A great day for Rath-Gallion," Gope shouted. "By the horns of the -sea-god, I have gained a prince of pipers and a king of fools! I -proclaim them to be ten-lash men, and both shall have places at table -henceforth!"</p> - -<p>The Fool and I followed up with three more numbers, then Gope let us -squeeze into a space on a hard bench at the far side of the table. A -table slave put loaded plates before us.</p> - -<p>"Well done, good Drgon," he whispered. "Do not forget us slaves in your -new honor."</p> - -<p>"Don't worry," I said, sniffling the aroma of a big slab of roast beef. -"I'll be sneaking down for a snack every night about Cinte-rise."</p> - -<p>I looked around the barbarically decorated hall, seeing things in -a new way. There's nothing like a little slavery to make a man -appreciate even a modest portion of freedom. Everything I had thought -I knew about Vallon had been wrong: the centuries that had passed had -changed things—and not for the better. The old society that Foster -knew was dead and buried. The old palaces and villas lay deserted, -the spaceports unused. And the old system of memory-recording that -Foster described was lost and forgotten. I didn't know what kind of a -cataclysm could have plunged the seat of a galactic empire back into -feudal darkness—but it had happened.</p> - -<p>So far I hadn't found a trace of Foster. My questions had gotten me -nothing but blank stares. Maybe Foster hadn't made it; there could have -been an accident in space. Or perhaps he was somewhere on the opposite -side of the world. Vallon was a big planet and communications were -poor. Maybe Foster was dead. I could live out a long life here and -never find the answers.</p> - -<p>I remembered my own disappointment at the breakdown of my illusions -that night at Okk-Hamiloth. How much more heartbreaking must have been -Foster's experience when and if he had arrived back here. And now we -were both in the same boat: with our memories of the old Vallon and the -dreary spectacle of the new providing plenty of food for bitterness.</p> - -<p>And Foster's memory that I had been bringing him for a keepsake: what -a laugh that was! Far from being a superfluous duplicate of a master -trace to which he had expected easy access, my copy of the trace was -now, with the vaults at Okk-Hamiloth sealed and forbidden, of the -greatest possible importance to Foster—and there wasn't a machine left -on the planet to play it on.</p> - -<p>Well, I still meant to find Foster if it took me——</p> - -<p>Owner Gope was humming loudly and tunelessly to himself. I knew the -sign. I got ready to play again. Being Chief Piper probably wasn't -going to be just one big bowl of cherries, but at least I wasn't a -slave now. I had a long way to go, but I was making progress.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Owner Gope and I got along well. He was a shrewd old duck and he -liked having such an unusual piper on hand. He had heard from the -Greymen, the free-lance police force, how I had landed at the deserted -port. He warned me, in an oblique way, not to let word get out that -I knew anything about old times in Vallon. The whole subject was -tabu—especially the old capital city and the royal palaces themselves. -Small wonder that my trespassing there had brought the Greymen down on -me in doublequick time.</p> - -<p>Gope took me with him everywhere he went: by air-car, ground-car, or -formal river barge. There were still a lot of vehicles around, though -few people seemed to know how to use them, simple as they were to -operate. The air-cars were more useful, since they required no roads, -but Gope preferred the ground cars. I think he liked the sensation of -speed you got barrelling along a ninety or a hundred on one of the -still-perfect roads that had originally been intended merely as scenic -drives.</p> - -<p>One afternoon several months after my promotion I dropped in at the -kitchen. I was due to shove off with Owner Gope and his usual retinue -for a visit to Bar-Ponderone, a big estate a hundred miles north of -Rath-Gallion in the direction of Okk-Hamiloth. Sime and my other old -cronies fixed me up with a healthy lunch, and warned me that it would -be a rough trip; the stretch of road we'd be using was a favorite -hang-out of road pirates.</p> - -<p>"What I don't understand," I said, "is why Gope doesn't mount a couple -of guns on the car and blast his way through the raiders. Every time he -goes off the Estate he's taking his life in his hands."</p> - -<p>The boys were shocked. "Even piratical renegades would never dream of -taking a man's life, good Drgon," Sime said. "Every Owner, far and -near, would band together to hunt such miscreants down. And their own -fellows would abet the hunters! Nay, none is so low as to steal all a -man's lives."</p> - -<p>"The corsairs themselves know full well that in their next life they -may be simple goodmen—even slaves," the Chief Wine-Pourer put in. "For -you know, good Drgon, that when a member of a pirate band suffers the -Change the others lead the newman to an Estate, that he may find his -place...."</p> - -<p>"How often do these Changes come along?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"It varies greatly. Some men, of great strength and moral power, have -been known to go on unchanged for three or four hundred years. But -the ordinary man lives a life of eighty to one hundred years." Sime -paused. "Or it may be less. A life of travail and strife can age one -sooner than one of peace and retirement. Or unusual vicissitudes can -shorten a life remarkably. A cousin of mine, who was marooned on the -Great Stony Place in the southern half-world and who wandered for three -weeks without more to eat or drink than a small bag of wine, underwent -the Change after only fourteen years. When he was found his face was -lined and his hair had greyed, in the way that presages the Change. And -it was not long before he fell in a fit, as one does, and slept for -a night and a day. When he awoke he was a newman: young and knowing -nothing."</p> - -<p>"Didn't you tell him who he was?"</p> - -<p>"Nay!" Sime lowered his voice. "You are much favored of Owner Gope, -good Drgon, and rightly. Still, there are matters a man talks not -of——"</p> - -<p>"A newman takes a name and sets out to learn whatever trade he can," -put in the Carver of Roasts. "By his own skills he can rise ... as you -have risen, good Drgon."</p> - -<p>"Don't you have memory machines—or briefing rods?" I persisted. -"Little black sticks: you touch them to your head and——"</p> - -<p>Sime made a motion in the air. "I have heard of these wands: a -forbidden relic of the Black Arts——"</p> - -<p>"Nuts," I said. "You don't believe in magic, do you, Sime? The rods are -nothing but a scientific development by your own people. How you've -managed to lose all knowledge of your own past——"</p> - -<p>Sime raised his hands in distress. "Good Drgon, press us not in these -matters. Such things are forbidden."</p> - -<p>"Okay, boys. I guess I'm just nosy."</p> - -<p>I went on out to the car and climbed in to wait for Owner Gope. Trying -to learn anything about Vallon's history was about like questioning a -village of Eskimos about the great trek over from Asia: they didn't -know anything.</p> - -<p>I had reached a few tentative conclusions on my own, however. My theory -was that some sudden social cataclysm had broken down the system -of personality reinforcement and memory recording that had given -continuity to the culture. Vallonian society, based as it was on the -techniques of memory preservation, had gradually disintegrated. Vallon -was plunged into a feudal state resembling its ancient social pattern -of fifty thousand years earlier, prior to the development of memory -recording.</p> - -<p>The people, huddled together on Estates for protection from real or -imagined perils and shunning the old villas and cities as tabu—except -for those included in Estates—knew nothing of space travel and ancient -history. Like Sime, they had no wish even to speak of such matters.</p> - -<p>I might have better luck with my detective work on a big Estate like -Bar-Ponderone. I was looking forward to today's trip. I was cramped on -Rath-Gallion. It was a small, poor Estate, covering only about twenty -square miles, with half a dozen villages of farmers and craftsmen and -the big house of Owner Gope. I had seen all of it—and it was a dead -end.</p> - -<p>Gope appeared, with Cagu and two other bodyguards, four dancing girls, -and an extra-large gift hamper. They took their places and the -driver started up and wheeled the heavy car out onto the highroad. -I felt a pulse of excitement as we accelerated in the direction of -Bar-Ponderone. Maybe at the big Estate I'd get news of Foster.</p> - -<p>We were doing about fifty down a winding mountain road. I was in the -front seat beside the driver, fiddling with my clarinet, and watching -the road from the corner of my eye. I was wishing the driver's knuckles -didn't show white on the speed control lever. He drove like a drunken -spinster, fast but nervous. It wasn't entirely his fault: Gope insisted -on plenty of speed. I was grateful for the auto steer mechanism; at -least we couldn't drive over a cliff.</p> - -<p>We rounded a curve, the wheels screeching from the driver's awkward, -too-fast swing into the turn, and saw another car in the road a quarter -of a mile ahead, not moving but parked—sideways. The driver hit the -brakes.</p> - -<p>Behind us Owner Gope yelled "Pirates! Don't slacken your pace, driver."</p> - -<p>"But, but, Owner Gope——" the driver gasped.</p> - -<p>"Ram the blackguards, if you must!" Gope shouted. "But don't stop!"</p> - -<p>The girls in the back yelped in alarm. The flunkies set up a wail. The -driver rolled his eyes, almost lost control, then gritted his teeth, -reached out to switch off the anti-collision circuit and slam the speed -control lever against the dash. I watched for two long heartbeats -as we roared straight for the blockading car, then I slid over and -grabbed for the controls. The driver held on, frozen. I reared back -and clipped him on the jaw. He crumpled into his corner, mouth open -and eyes screwed shut, as I hit the auto-steer override and worked the -tiller. It was an awkward position for steering, but I preferred it to -hammering in at ninety per.</p> - -<p>The car ahead was still sitting tight, now a hundred yards away, now -fifty. I cut hard to the right, toward the rising cliff face; the car -backed to block me. At the last instant I whipped to the left, barreled -past with half an inch to spare, rocketed along the ragged edge with -the left wheel rolling on air, then whipped back into the center of the -road.</p> - -<p>"Well done!" yelled Cagu.</p> - -<p>"But they'll give chase!" Gope shouted. "Assassins! Masterless swine!"</p> - -<p>The driver had his eyes open now. "Crawl over me!" I barked. He mumbled -and clambered past me and I slid into his seat, still clinging to -the accelerator lever and putting up the speed. Another curve was -coming up. I grabbed a quick look in the rear-viewer: the pirates were -swinging around to follow us.</p> - -<p>"Press on!" commanded Gope. "We're close to Bar-Ponderone; it's no more -than five miles——"</p> - -<p>"What kind of speed have they got?" I called back.</p> - -<p>"They'll beat us easy," said Cagu cheerfully.</p> - -<p>"What's the road like ahead?"</p> - -<p>"A fair road, straight and true, now that we've descended the -mountain," answered Gope.</p> - -<p>We squealed through the turn and hit a straightaway. A curving road -branched off ahead. "What's that?" I snapped.</p> - -<p>"A winding trail," gasped the driver. "It comes on Bar-Ponderone, but -by a longer way."</p> - -<p>I gauged my speed, braked minutely, and cut hard. We howled up the -steep slope, into a turn between hills.</p> - -<p>Gope shouted, "What madness is this? Are you in league with the -villains...?"</p> - -<p>"We haven't got a chance on the straightaway," I called back. "Not in a -straight speed contest." I whipped the tiller over, then back the other -way, following the tight S-curves. We flashed past magnificent vistas -of rugged peaks and rolling plains, but I didn't have time to admire -the view. There were squeals from the odalisques in the rear seats, -a gabble of excited talk. I caught a glimpse of our pursuers, just -heading into the side road behind us.</p> - -<p>"Any way they can head us off?" I yelled.</p> - -<p>"Not unless they have confederates stationed ahead," said Gope, "but -these pariahs work alone."</p> - -<p>I worked the brake and speed levers, handled the tiller. We swung -right, then left, higher and higher, then down a steep grade and up -again. The pirate car rounded a turn, only a few hundred yards behind -now. I scanned the road ahead, followed its winding course along the -mountainside, through a tunnel, then out again to swing around the -shoulder of the next peak.</p> - -<p>"Pitch something out when we go through the tunnel!" I yelled. -"Anything!"</p> - -<p>"My cloak," cried Gope. "And the gift hamper."</p> - -<p>One of the flunkies started to moan. The girls caught the fever, joined -in with shrill lamentations.</p> - -<p>"Silence!" roared Gope. "Lend a hand here, or by the sea-devil's beard -you'll be jettisoned with the rest!"</p> - -<p>We roared into the tunnel mouth. There was a blast of air as the rear -deck cover opened. Gope and Cagu hefted the heavy gift hamper, tumbled -it out, followed it with a cloak, a wine jug, assorted sandals, -bracelets, fruit. Then we were back in the sunlight and I was fighting -the curve. In the rear-viewer I saw the pirates burst from the tunnel -mouth, Gope's black and yellow cloak spread over the canopy, smashed -fruit spattered over it, the remains of the hamper dragging under the -chassis. The car rocked and a corner of the cloak lifted, clearing the -driver's view barely in time.</p> - -<p>"Tough luck," I said. "We've got a long straight stretch ahead, and I'm -fresh out of ideas...."</p> - -<p>The other car gained. I held the speed bar against the dash but we were -up against a faster car; it was a hundred yards behind us, then fifty, -then pulling out to go alongside. I slowed imperceptibly, let him get -his front wheels past us, then cut sharply. There was a clash of wheel -fairings, and I fought the tiller as we rebounded from the heavier car. -He crept forward, almost alongside again; shoulder to shoulder we raced -at ninety-five down the steep grade....</p> - -<p>I hit the brakes and cut hard to the left, slapped his right rear -wheel, slid back. He braked too; that was a mistake. The heavy car lost -traction, sliding. In slow motion, off-balanced in a skid, it rose on -its nose, ploughing up a cloud of dust. The hamper whirled away, the -cloak fluttered and was gone, then the pirate car seemed to float for -an instant in air, before it dropped, wheels up, out of sight over the -sheer cliff. We raced alone down the slope and out onto the wooded -plain toward the towers of Bar-Ponderone.</p> - -<p>A shout went up; Owner Gope leaned forward to pound my back. "By the -nine eyes of the Hill Devil!" he bellowed, "masterfully executed! -The prince of Pipers is a prince of Drivers too! This night you'll -sit by my side at the ring-board at Bar-Ponderone in the rank of a -hundred-lash Chief Driver, I swear it!"</p> - -<p>"Compared with making a left turn off the Outer Drive at 5:15 on a -Friday, that was nothing," I said. I held onto the tiller and tried -breathing again. I'd been a fool to try to flip a heavier car—but it -had worked. And now I'd gotten another promotion. I was doing okay.</p> - -<p>"And let no man raise a charge of Assassination," Gope went on. "I'll -not see so clever a Driver-Piper immured. I charge you all: say nothing -of this! We'll consider that the rascals merely outdid themselves in -their villainy."</p> - -<p>That was the first I'd thought of that angle. To take a human life was -still the one unthinkable crime in this world of immortals—because you -took not just one, but all a man's lives. The punishment was walling -up for life ... but just one life. In my case one would be enough; I -didn't have any spares. I had taken a bigger chance with Gope than I -had with the pirates.</p> - -<p>Life here was a series of gambles, but it looked like the chance-takers -got ahead fast. My best bet was to stay on the make and calculate the -odds when it was over.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I spent the first day at Bar-Ponderone rubber-necking the tall -buildings and keeping an eye open for Foster, on the off chance that I -might pass him on the street. It was about as likely as running into an -old high school chum from Perth Amboy among the body servants of the -Shah of Afghanistan, but I kept looking.</p> - -<p>By sunset I was no wiser than before. Dressed in the latest in -Vallonian cape and ruffles, I was sitting with my buddy Cagu, Chief -Bodyguard to Owner Gope, at a small table on the first terrace at the -Palace of Merrymaking, Bar-Ponderone's biggest community feasting hall. -It looked like a Hollywood producer's idea of a twenty-first century -night club, complete with nine dance floors on five levels, indoor -pools, fountains, two thousand tables, musicians, girls, noise, colored -lights, and food fit for an Owner. It was open to all fifty-lash -goodmen of the Estate and to guests of equivalent rank. After the -back-country life at Rath-Gallion it looked like the big time to me.</p> - -<p>Cagu was a morose-looking old cuss, but good-hearted. His face was cut -and scarred from a thousand encounters with other bodyguards and his -nose had been broken so often that it was invisible in profile.</p> - -<p>"Where do you manage to get in all the fights, Cagu?" I asked him. -"I've known you for three months, and I haven't seen a blow struck in -anger yet."</p> - -<p>"Here." He grinned, showing me some broken front teeth. "Swell places, -these big Estates, good Drgon; lotsa action."</p> - -<p>"What do you do, get in street fights?"</p> - -<p>"Nah. The boys show up down here, tank up, cruise around, you know."</p> - -<p>"They start fights here in the dining room?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. Good crowd here; lotsa laughs."</p> - -<p>I picked up my drink, raised it to Cagu—and got it in my lap as -somebody jostled my arm. I looked up. A battle-scarred thug stood over -me.</p> - -<p>"Who'sa punk, Cagu?" he said in a hoarse whisper. He probed at a back -tooth with a silver pick, rolled his eyes from me to my partner.</p> - -<p>Cagu stood up, and threw a punch to the other plug-ugly's paunch. He -<i>oof!</i>ed, clinched, eyed me resentfully over Cagu's shoulder. Cagu -pushed him away, held him at arm's length.</p> - -<p>"Howsa boy, Mull?" he said. "Lay offa my sidekick; greatest little -piper ina business, and a top driver too."</p> - -<p>Mull rubbed his stomach, sat down beside me. "Ya losin' your punch, -Cagu." He looked at me. "Sorry about that. I thought you was one of the -guys." He signaled a passing waiter-slave. "Bring my friend a new suit. -Make it snappy."</p> - -<p>"Don't the customers kind of resent it when you birds stage a -heavyweight bout in the aisle?" I asked. "A drink in the lap is -routine. It could happen in any joint in Manhattan. But a seven-course -meal would be overdoing it."</p> - -<p>"Nah; we move down inta the Spot." He waved a thumb in the general -direction of somewhere else. He looked me over. "Where ya been, Piper? -Your first time ina Palace?"</p> - -<p>"Drgon's been travelling," said Cagu. "He's okay. Lemme tell ya the -time these pirates pull one, see...."</p> - -<p>Cagu and Mull swapped lies while I worked on my drinking. Although I -hadn't learned anything on my day's looking around at Bar-Ponderone, -it was still a better spot for snooping than Rath-Gallion. There were -two major cities on the Estate and scores of villages. Somewhere among -the population I might have better luck finding someone to talk history -with ... or someone who knew Foster.</p> - -<p>"Hey!" growled Mull. "Look who's comin'."</p> - -<p>I followed his gaze. Three thick-set thugs swaggered up to the table. -One of them, a long-armed gorilla at least seven feet tall, reached -out, took Cagu and Mull by the backs of their necks, and cracked their -skulls together. I jumped up, ducked a hoof-like fist ... and saw a -beautiful burst of fireworks followed by soothing darkness.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I fumbled in the dark with the lengths of cloth entangling my legs, sat -up, cracked my head——</p> - -<p>I groaned, freed a leg from the chair rungs, groped my way out from -under the table. A Waiter-slave helped me up, dusted me off. The -seven-foot lout lolling in a chair glanced my way, nodded.</p> - -<p>"You shouldn't hang out with lugs like that Mull," he said. "Cagu told -me you was just a piper, but the way you come outa that chair—" He -shrugged, turned back to whatever he was watching.</p> - -<p>I checked a few elbow and knee joints, worked my jaw, tried my neck: -all okay.</p> - -<p>"You the one that slugged me?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Huh? Yeah."</p> - -<p>I stepped over to his chair, picked a spot, and cleared my throat. -"Hey, you," I said. He turned, and I put everything I had behind a -straight right to the point of the jaw. He went over, feet in the air, -flipped a rail, and crashed down between two tables below. I leaned -over the rail. A party of indignant Tally-clerks stared up at me.</p> - -<p>"Sorry, folks," I said. "He slipped."</p> - -<p>A shout went up from the floor some distance away. I looked. In a -cleared circle two levels below a pair of heavy-shouldered men were -slugging it out. One of them was Cagu. I watched, saw his opponent -fall. Another man stepped in to take his place. I turned and made my -way down to the ring-side.</p> - -<p>Cagu exchanged haymakers with two more opponents before he folded and -was hauled from the ring. I propped him up in a chair, fitted a drink -into his fist, and watched the boys pound each other. It was easy to -see why the scarred face was the sign of their craft; there was no -defensive fighting whatever. They stood toe-to-toe and hit as hard as -they could, until one collapsed. It wasn't fancy, but the fans loved -it. Cagu came to after a while and filled me in on the fighters' -backgrounds.</p> - -<p>"So they're all top boys," he said. "But it ain't like in the old days -when I was in my prime. I could've took any three of these bums. The -only one maybe I woulda had a little trouble with is Torbu."</p> - -<p>"Which one is he?"</p> - -<p>"He ain't down there yet; he'll show to take on the last boys on their -feet."</p> - -<p>More gladiators pushed their way to the Spot, pulled off -gaily-patterned cloaks and weskits, and waded in. Others folded, were -dragged clear, revived to down another and shot cheer on the fray.</p> - -<p>After an hour the waiting line had dwindled away to nothing. The two -battlers on the Spot slugged, clinched, breathed hard, swung and -missed; the crowd booed.</p> - -<p>"Where's Torbu?" Cagu wondered.</p> - -<p>"Maybe he didn't come tonight," I said.</p> - -<p>"Sure, you met him; he knocked you under the table."</p> - -<p>"Oh, him?"</p> - -<p>"Where'd he go?"</p> - -<p>"The last I saw he was asleep on the floor," I said.</p> - -<p>"Hozzat?"</p> - -<p>"I didn't much like him slugging me. I clobbered him one."</p> - -<p>"Hey!" yelped Cagu. His face lit up. He got to his feet.</p> - -<p>"Hold it," I said. "What's—?"</p> - -<p>Cagu pushed his way through to the Spot, took aim, and floored the -closest fighter, turned and laid out the other. He raised both hands -above his head.</p> - -<p>"Rath-Gallion gotta Champion," he bellowed. "Rath-Gallion takes on all -comers." He turned, waved to me. "Our boy, Drgon, he—"</p> - -<p>There was a bellow behind me, even louder than Cagu's. I turned, saw -Torbu, his hair mussed, his face purple, pushing through the crowd.</p> - -<p>"Jussa crummy minute," he yelled. "I'm the Champion around here—" He -aimed a haymaker at Cagu; Cagu ducked.</p> - -<p>"Our boy, Drgon, laid you out cold, right?" he shouted. "So now he's -the champion."</p> - -<p>"I wasn't set," bawled Torbu. "A lucky punch." He turned to the fans. -"I'm tying my shoelace, see? And this guy—"</p> - -<p>"Come on down, Drgon," Cagu called, waving to me again. "We'll show—" -Torbu turned and slammed a roundhouse right to the side of Cagu's jaw; -the old fighter hit the floor hard, skidded, lay still. I got to my -feet. They pulled him to the nearest table, hoisted him into a chair. -I made my way down to the little clearing in the crowd. A man bending -over Cagu straightened, face white. I pushed him aside, grabbed the -bodyguard's wrist. There was no pulse. Cagu was dead.</p> - -<p>Torbu stood in the center of the Spot, mouth open. "What...?" he -started. I pushed between two fans, went for him. He saw me, crouched, -swung.</p> - -<p>I ducked, uppercut him. He staggered back. I pressed him, threw lefts -and rights to the body, ducked under his wild swings, then rocked his -head left and right. He stood, knees together, eyes glazed, hands down. -I measured him, right-crossed his jaw; he dropped like a log.</p> - -<p>Panting, I looked across at Cagu. His scarred face, white as wax, was -strangely altered now; it looked peaceful. Somebody helped Torbu to his -feet, walked him to the ring-side. It had been a big evening. Now all I -had to do was take the body home....</p> - -<p>I went over to where Cagu was laid out on the floor. Shocked people -stood staring. Torbu was beside the body. A tear ran down his nose, -dripped on Cagu's face. Torbu wiped it away with a big scarred hand.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, old friend," he said. "I didn't mean it."</p> - -<p>I picked Cagu up and got him over my shoulder, and all the way to the -far exit it was so quiet in the Palace of Merrymaking that I could hear -my own heavy breathing and the tinkle of fountains and the squeak of my -fancy yellow plastic shoes.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In the bodyguards' quarters I laid Cagu out on a bunk, then faced the -dozen scowling bruisers who stared down at the still body.</p> - -<p>"Cagu was a good man," I said. "Now he's dead. He died like an -animal ... for nothing. That ended all his lives, didn't it, boys? -How do you like it?"</p> - -<p>Mull glowered at me. "You talk like we was to blame," he said. "Cagu -was my compeer too."</p> - -<p>"Whose pal was he a thousand years ago?" I snapped. "What was -he—once? What were you? Vallon wasn't always like this. There was a -time when every man was his own Owner—"</p> - -<p>"Look, you ain't of the Brotherhood—" one thug started.</p> - -<p>"So that's what you call it? But it's just another name for an old -racket. A big shot sets himself up as dictator—"</p> - -<p>"We got our Code," Mull said. "Our job is to stick up for the Owner ... -and that don't mean standing around listening to some japester callin' -names."</p> - -<p>"I'm not calling names," I snapped. "I'm talking rebellion. You boys -have all the muscle and most of the guts in this organization. Why -do you sit on your tails and let the boss live off the fat while you -murder each other for the amusement of the patrons? I say let's pay him -a call—right now. You had a birthright ... once. But it's up to you to -collect it ... before some more of you go the way Cagu did."</p> - -<p>There was an angry mutter. Torbu came in, face swollen. I backed up to -a table, ready for trouble.</p> - -<p>"Hold it, you birds," Torbu said. "What's goin' on?"</p> - -<p>"This guy! He's talkin' revolt and treason," somebody said.</p> - -<p>"He wants we should pull some rough stuff—on Owner Qohey hisself."</p> - -<p>Torbu came up to me. "You're a stranger around Bar-Ponderone. Cagu said -you was okay. You worked me over pretty good ... and I got no hard -feelin's; that's the breaks. But don't try to start no trouble here. We -got our Code and our Brotherhood. We look out for each other; that's -good enough for us. Owner Qohey ain't no worse than any other -Owner ... and by the Code, we'll stand by him!"</p> - -<p>"Listen to me," I said. "I know the history of Vallon: I know what -you were once and what you could be again. All you have to do is take -over the power. I can lead you to the ship I came here in. There are -briefing rods aboard, enough to show you—"</p> - -<p>"That's enough," Torbu broke in. He made a cabalistic sign in the air. -"We ain't gettin' mixed up in no tabu ghost-boats or takin' on no -magicians and demons—"</p> - -<p>"Hogwash! That tabu routine is just a gag to keep you away from the -cities so you won't discover what you're missing—"</p> - -<p>"I don't wanna hafta take you to the Greymen, Drgon," Torbu growled. -"Leave it lay."</p> - -<p>"These cities," I ploughed on. "They're standing there, empty, as -perfect as the day they were built. And you live in these flea-bitten -quarters, jammed inside the town walls, so the Greymen and renegades -won't get you."</p> - -<p>"You wanna run things here?" Mull put in. "Go see Qohey."</p> - -<p>"Let's all go see Qohey!" I said.</p> - -<p>"That's something you'll have to do alone," said Torbu. "You better -move on, Drgon. I ain't turnin' you in; I know how you felt about Cagu -gettin' killed and all—but don't push it too far."</p> - -<p>I knew I was licked. They were as stubborn as a team of mules—and just -about as smart.</p> - -<p>Torbu motioned; I followed him outside.</p> - -<p>"You wanna turn things upside-down, don't you? I know how it is; you -ain't the first guy to get ideas. We can't help you. Sure, things ain't -like they used to be here—and prob'ly they never were. But we got a -legend: someday the Rthr will come back ... and then the Good Time will -come back too."</p> - -<p>"What's the Rthr?" I said.</p> - -<p>"Kinda like a big-shot Owner. There ain't no Rthr now. But a long time -ago, back when our first lives started, there was a Rthr that was Owner -of all Vallon, and everybody lived high, and had all their lives...." -Torbu stopped, eyed me warily.</p> - -<p>"Don't say nothing to nobody," he went on, "about what I been tellin' -you. That's a secret of the Brotherhood. But it's kind of like a hope -we got—that's what we're waitin' for, through all our lives. We got to -do the best we can, and keep true to the Code and the Brotherhood ... -and someday the Rthr will come back ... maybe."</p> - -<p>"Okay," I said. "Dream on, big boy. And while you're treasuring your -rosy dreams you'll get your brains kicked out, like Cagu." I turned -away.</p> - -<p>"Listen, Drgon. It's no good buckin' the system: it's too big for one -guy ... or even a bunch of guys ... but—"</p> - -<p>I looked up. "Yeah?"</p> - -<p>"... if you gotta stick your neck out—see Owner Gope." Abruptly Torbu -turned and pushed back through the door.</p> - -<p>See Owner Gope, huh? Okay, what did I have to lose? I headed back along -the corridor toward Owners' country.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I stood in the middle of the deep-pile carpet in Gope's suite, trying -to keep my temper hot enough to supply the gall I needed to bust in on -an Owner in the middle of the night. He sat in his ceremonial chair and -stared at me impassively.</p> - -<p>"With your help or without it," I said, "I'm going to find the answers."</p> - -<p>"Yes, good Drgon," he said, not bellowing for once. "I understand. But -there are matters you know not of—"</p> - -<p>"Just get me back into the spaceport, noble Gope. I have enough -briefing rods aboard to prove my point—and a few other little items to -boot."</p> - -<p>"It's forbidden. Do you not understand—"</p> - -<p>"I understand too much," I snapped.</p> - -<p>He straightened, eyed me with a touch of the old ferocity. "Mind your -tone, Drgon! I'm Owner—"</p> - -<p>I broke in. "Do you remember Cagu? Maybe you remember him as a newman, -young, handsome, like a god out of some old legend. You've seen him -live his life. Was it a good life? Did the promise of youth ever get -paid off?"</p> - -<p>Gope closed his eyes. "Stop," he said. "This is bad, bad...."</p> - -<p>"'And the deaths they died I have watched beside, and the lives they -led were mine,'" I quoted. "Are you proud of them? And what about -yourself? Don't you ever wonder what you might have been ... back in -the Good Time?"</p> - -<p>"Who are you?" asked Gope, his eyes fixed on mine. "You speak Old -Vallonian, you rake up the forbidden knowledge, and challenge the very -Powers...." He got to his feet. "I could have you immured, Drgon. I -could hand you to the Greymen, for a fate I shudder to name." He turned -and walked the length of the room restlessly, then turned back to me -and stopped.</p> - -<p>"Matters stand ill with this fair world," he said. "Legend tells us -that once men lived as the High Gods on Vallon. There was a mighty -Owner, Rthr of all Vallon. It is whispered that he will come again—"</p> - -<p>"Your legends are all true. You can take my word for that! But that -doesn't mean some supernatural sugar daddy is going to come along and -bail you out. And don't get the idea I think I'm the fabled answer to -prayers. All I mean is that once upon a time Vallon was a good place -to live and it could be again. Right now, it's like a land under an -enchantment—and you sleeping beauties need waking up. Your cities and -roads and ships are still here, intact. But nobody knows how to run -them and you're all afraid to try. Who scared you off? Who started the -rumors? What broke down the memory recording system? Why can't we all -go to Okk-Hamiloth and use the Archives to give everybody back what -he's lost—"</p> - -<p>"These are dread words," said Gope.</p> - -<p>"There must be somebody behind it. Or there was once. Who is he?"</p> - -<p>Gope thought. "There is one man pre-eminent among us: the Great Owner, -Owner of Owners: Ommodurad by name. Where he dwells I know not. This is -a secret possessed only by his intimates."</p> - -<p>"What does he look like? How do I get to see him?"</p> - -<p>Gope shook his head. "I have seen him but once, closely cowled. He is -a tall man, and silent. 'Tis said—" Gope lowered his voice, "—by his -black arts he possesses all his lives. An aura of dread hangs about -him—"</p> - -<p>"Never mind that jazz," I said. "He's a man, like other men. Stick a -knife between his ribs and you put an end to him, aura and all."</p> - -<p>"I do not like this talk of death. Let the doer of evil deeds be -immured; it is sufficient."</p> - -<p>"First let's find him. How can I get close to him?"</p> - -<p>"There are those Owners who are his confidants," said Gope, "his -trusted agents. It is through them that we small Owners learn of his -will."</p> - -<p>"Can we enlist one of them?"</p> - -<p>"Never. They are bound to him by ties of darkness, spells and -incantations."</p> - -<p>"I'm a fast man with a pair of loaded dice myself. It's all done with -mirrors. Let's stick to the point, noble Gope. How can I work into a -spot with one of these big shots?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing easier. A Driver and Piper of such skills as your own can -claim what place he chooses."</p> - -<p>"How about bodyguarding? Suppose I could take a heavy named Torbu; -would that set me in better with a new Owner?"</p> - -<p>"Such is no place for a man of your abilities, good Drgon," Gope -exclaimed. "True, 'tis a place most close to an Owner, but there is -much danger in it. The challenge to a bodyguard involves the most -bloody hand-to-hand combat, second only to the rigors of a challenge to -an Owner himself."</p> - -<p>"What's that?" I snapped. "Challenge an Owner?"</p> - -<p>"Be calm, good Drgon," said Gope, staring at me incredulously. "No -common man with his wits about him will challenge an Owner."</p> - -<p>"But I could if I wanted to?"</p> - -<p>"In sooth ... if you have tired of life—of all your lives; 'tis as -good a way to end them as another. But you must know, good Drgon: an -Owner is a warrior trained in the skills of battle. None less than -another such may hope to prevail."</p> - -<p>I smacked my fist into my palm. "I should have thought of this sooner! -The cooks cook for their places, the pipers pipe ... and the best man -wins. It figures that the Owners would use the same system. But what's -the procedure, noble Gope? How do you get your chance to prove who can -own the best?"</p> - -<p>"It is a contest with naked steel. It is the measure and glory of an -Owner that he alone stands ready to prove his quality against the peril -of death itself." Gope drew himself up with pride.</p> - -<p>"What about the bodyguards?" I asked. "They fight—"</p> - -<p>"With their hands, good Drgon. And they lack skill with those. A death -such as you described tonight—that is a rare and sorry accident."</p> - -<p>"It showed up this whole grubby farce in its true colors. A -civilization like that of Vallon—reduced to this."</p> - -<p>"Still, it is sweet to live—by whatever rules——"</p> - -<p>"I don't believe that ... and neither do you. What Owner can I -challenge? How do I go about it?"</p> - -<p>"Give up this course, good Drgon—"</p> - -<p>"Where's the nearest buddy of the Big Owner?"</p> - -<p>Gope threw up his hands. "Here, at Bar-Ponderone. Owner Qohey. But—"</p> - -<p>"And how do I call his bluff?"</p> - -<p>Gope put a hand on my shoulder. "It is no bluff, good Drgon. It is long -now since last Owner Qohey stood to his blade to protect his place, but -you may be sure he has lost none of his skill. Thus it was he won his -way to Bar-Ponderone, while lesser knights, such as myself, contented -themselves with meaner fiefs."</p> - -<p>"I'm not bluffing either, noble Gope," I said, stretching a point. "I -was no harness-maker in the Good Time."</p> - -<p>"It is your death—"</p> - -<p>"Tell me how I offer the challenge ... or I'll twist his nose in the -main banqueting salon tomorrow night."</p> - -<p>Gope sat down heavily, raised his hand, and let them fall. "If I tell -you not, another will. But I will not soon find another Piper of your -worth."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h2> - - -<p>Gaudy hangings of purple cut the light of the sun to a rich gloom in -the enormous, high-vaulted Audience Hall. A rustling murmur was audible -in the room as uneasy courtiers and supplicants fidgeted, waiting for -the appearance of the Owner.</p> - -<p>It had been two months since Gope had explained to me how a formal -challenge to an Owner was conducted, and, as he pointed out, this was -the only kind of challenge that would help. If I waylaid the man and -cut him down, even in a fair fight, his bodyguards would repay the -favor before I could establish the claim that I was their legitimate -new boss.</p> - -<p>I had spent three hours every day in the armory at Rath-Gallion, -trading buffets with Gope and a couple of the bodyguards. The -thirty-pound slab of edged steel had felt right at home in my hand that -first day—for about a minute. I had the borrowed knowledge to give -me all the technique I needed, but the muscle power for putting the -knowledge into practice was another matter. After five minutes I was -slumped against the wall, gulping air, while Gope whistled his sticker -around my head and talked.</p> - -<p>"You laid on like no piper, good Drgon. Yet have you much to learn in -the matter of endurance."</p> - -<p>—And he was at me again. I spent the afternoon back-pedaling and -making wild two-handed swings and finally fell down—pooped. I couldn't -have moved if Gope had had at me with a hot poker.</p> - -<p>Gope and the others laughed til they cried, then hauled me away to my -room and let me sleep. They rolled me out the next morning to go at it -again.</p> - -<p>As Gope said, there was no time to waste ... and after two months of it -I felt ready for anything. Gope had warned me that Owner Qohey was a -big fellow, but that didn't bother me. The bigger they came, the bigger -the target....</p> - -<p>There was a murmur in a different key in the Audience Hall and tall -gilt doors opened at the far side of the room. A couple of liveried -flunkies scampered into view, then a seven-foot man-eater stalked into -the hall, made his way to the dias, turned to face the crowd....</p> - -<p>He was enormous: his neck was as thick as my thigh, his features -chipped out of granite, the grey variety. He threw back his brilliant -purple cloak from his shoulders and reached out an arm like an oak -root for the ceremonial sword one of the flunkies was struggling with. -He took the sword with its sheath, sat down, and stood it between his -feet, his arms folded on top.</p> - -<p>"Who has a grievance?" he spoke. The voice reverberated like the old -Wurlitzer at the Rialto back home.</p> - -<p>This was my cue. There he was, just asking for it. All I had to do was -speak up. Owner Qohey would gladly oblige me. The fact that next to him -Primo Carnera would look dainty shouldn't slow me down.</p> - -<p>I cleared my throat with a thin squeak, and edged forward, not very far.</p> - -<p>"I have one little item—" I started.</p> - -<p>Nobody was listening. Up front a big fellow in a black toga was pushing -through the crowd. Everybody turned to stare at him: there was a -craning of necks. The crowd drew back from the dias leaving an opening. -The man in black stepped into the clear, flung back the flapping -garment from his right arm, and whipped out a long polished length of -razor-edged iron. It was beginning to look like somebody had beaten me -to the punch.</p> - -<p>The newcomer stood there in front of Qohey with the naked blade making -all the threat that was needed. Qohey stared at him for a long moment, -then stood, gestured to a flunky. The flunky turned, cleared his throat.</p> - -<p>"The place of Bar-Ponderone has been claimed!" he recited in a shrill -voice. "Let the issue be joined!" He skittered out of the way and Qohey -rose, threw aside his purple cloak and cowl, and stepped down. I pushed -forward to get a better look.</p> - -<p>The challenger in black tossed his loose garment aside, stood facing -Qohey in a skin-tight jerkin and hose; heavy moccasins of soft leather -were laced up the calf. He was magnificently muscled but Qohey towered -over him like a tree, with a build that would have taken the Mr. Muscle -Beach title any time he cared to try for it.</p> - -<p>I didn't know whether to be glad or sad that the initiative had been -taken out from under me. If the man in black won, I wondered would I -then be able to step in in turn and take him on? He was a lot smaller -than Qohey but there was always the chance....</p> - -<p>Qohey unsheathed his fancy iron and whirled it like it was a lady's -putter. I felt sorry for the smaller man, who was just standing, -watching him. He really didn't have a chance.</p> - -<p>I had got through to the fore rank by now. The challenger turned and I -saw his face. I stopped dead, while fire bells clanged in my head.</p> - -<p>The man in black was Foster.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In dead silence Qohey and Foster squared off, touched their sword -points to the floor in some kind of salute ... and Qohey's slicer -whipped up in a vicious cut. Foster leaned aside, just far enough, then -countered with a flick that made Qohey jump back. I let out a long -breath and tried swallowing. Foster was like a terrier up against a -bull, but it didn't seem to bother him—only me. I had come light years -to find him, just in time to see him get his head lopped off.</p> - -<p>Qohey's blade flashed, cutting at Foster's head. Foster hardly moved. -Almost effortlessly, it seemed, he interposed his heavy weapon between -the attacking steel and himself. <i>Clash, clang!</i> Qohey hacked and -chopped ... and Foster played with him. Then Foster's arm flashed out -and there was blood on Qohey's wrist. A gasp went up from the crowd. -Now Foster took a step forward, struck ... and faltered! In an instant -Qohey was on him and the two men were locked, chest to chest. For a -moment Foster held, then Qohey's weight told, and Foster reeled back. -He tried to bring up the sword, seemed to struggle, then Qohey lashed -out again. Foster twisted, took the blow awkwardly just above the hand -guard, stumbled ... and fell.</p> - -<p>Qohey leaped to him, raised the sword—</p> - -<p>I hauled mine half way out of its sheath and pushed forward.</p> - -<p>"Let the man be put away from my sight," rumbled Qohey. He lowered his -immense sword, turned, pushed aside a flunky who had bustled up with -a wad of bandages. As he strode from the room a swarm of bodyguards -fanned out between the crowd and Foster. I could see him clumsily -struggling to rise, then I was shoved back, still craning for a -glimpse. There was something wrong here; Foster had acted like a man -suddenly half-paralyzed. Had Qohey doped him in some way?</p> - -<p>The cordon stopped pushing, turned their backs to the crowd. I tugged -at the arm of the man beside me.</p> - -<p>"Did you see anything strange there?" I started.</p> - -<p>He pulled free. "Strange? Yea, the mercy of our Lord Qohey! Instead of -meting out death on the spot, our Owner was generous—"</p> - -<p>"I mean about the fight." I grabbed his arm again to keep him from -moving off.</p> - -<p>"That the impudent rascal would dare to claim the place of Owner at -Bar-Ponderone: there's wonder enough for any man," he snapped. "Unhand -me, fellow!"</p> - -<p>I unhanded him and tried to collect my wits. What now? I tapped a -bodyguard on the shoulder. He whirled, club in hand.</p> - -<p>"What's to be the fate of the man?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Like the Boss said: they're gonna immure the bum for his pains."</p> - -<p>"You mean wall him up?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah. Just a peep hole to pass chow in every day ... so's he don't -starve, see?" The bodyguard chuckled.</p> - -<p>"How long—?"</p> - -<p>"He'll last; don't worry. After the Change, Owner Qohey's got a -newman—"</p> - -<p>"Shut up," another bruiser said.</p> - -<p>The crowd was slowly thinning. The bodyguards were relaxing, standing -in pairs, talking. Two servants moved about where the fight had taken -place, making mystical motions in the air above the floor. I edged -forward, watching them. They seemed to be plucking imaginary flowers. -Strange....</p> - -<p>I moved even farther forward to take a closer look, then saw a tiny -glint.... A servant hurried across, made gestures. I pushed him aside, -groped ... and my fingers encountered a delicate filament of wire. -I pulled it in, swept up more. The servants had stopped and stood -watching me, muttering. The whole area of the combat was covered with -the invisible wires, looping up in coils two feet high.</p> - -<p>No wonder Foster had stumbled, had trouble raising his sword. He had -been netted, encased in a mesh of incredibly fine tough wire ... and -in the dim light even the crowd twenty feet away hadn't seen it. Owner -Qohey was a good man with the chopper but he didn't rely on that alone -to hold onto his job.</p> - -<p>I put my hand on my sword hilt, chewed my lower lip. I had found -Foster ... but it wouldn't do me—or Vallon—much good. He was on -his way to the dungeons, to be walled up until the next Change. And -it would be three months before I could legally make another try for -Qohey's place. After seeing him in action I was glad I hadn't tried -today. He wouldn't have needed any net to handle me.</p> - -<p>I would have to spend the next three months working on my swordplay, -and hope Foster could hold out. Maybe I could sneak a message—</p> - -<p>A heavy blow on the back sent me spinning. Four bodyguards moved to -ring me in, clubs in hand. They were strangers to me, but across the -room I saw Torbu looming, looking my way....</p> - -<p>"I saw him; he started to pull that fancy sword," said one of the -guards.</p> - -<p>"He was asking me questions—"</p> - -<p>"Unbuckle it and drop it," another ordered me. "Don't try anything!"</p> - -<p>"What's this all about?" I said. "I have a right to wear a Ceremonial -Sword at an Audience—"</p> - -<p>"Move in, boys!" The four men stepped toward me, the clubs came up. -I warded off a smashing blow with my left arm, took a blinding crack -across the face, felt myself going down—another blow, and another: -killing ones....</p> - -<p>Then I was aware of being dragged, endlessly, of voices barking sharp -questions, of pain.... After a long time it was dark, and silent, and I -slept.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I groaned and the sound was dead, muffled. I put out a hand and touched -stone on my right. My left elbow touched stone. I made an instinctive -move to sit up and smacked my head against more stone. My new room was -confining. Gingerly I felt my face ... and winced at the touch. The -bridge of my nose felt different: it was lower than it used to be, -in spite of the swelling. I lay back and traced the pattern of pain. -There was the nose—smashed flat—with secondary aches around the eyes. -They'd be beautiful shiners, if I could see them. Now the left arm: it -was curled close to my side and when I moved it I saw why: it wasn't -broken, but the shoulder wasn't right, and there was a deep bruise -above the elbow. My knees and shin, as far as I could reach, were caked -with dried blood. That figured: I remembered being dragged.</p> - -<p>I tried deep-breathing; my chest seemed to be okay. My hands worked. My -teeth were in place. Maybe I wasn't as sick as I felt.</p> - -<p>But where the hell was I? The floor was hard, cold. I needed a big soft -bed and a little soft nurse and a hot meal and a cold drink....</p> - -<p>Foster! I cracked my head again and flopped back, groaned some more. It -still sounded pretty dead.</p> - -<p>I swallowed, licked my lips, felt a nice split that ran well into the -bristles. I had attended the Audience clean-shaven. Quite a few hours -must have passed since then. They had taken Foster away to immure him, -somebody said. Then the guards had tapped me, worked me over....</p> - -<p>Immured! I got a third crack on the head. Suddenly it was hard to -breathe. I was walled up, sealed away from the light, buried under the -foundations of the giant towers of Bar-Ponderone. I felt their crushing -weight....</p> - -<p>I forced myself to relax, breathe deep. Being immured wasn't the -same as being buried alive—not exactly. This was the method these -latter-day Vallonians had figured out to end a man's life -effectively ... without ending all his lives. They figured to keep -me neatly packaged here until my next Change, thus acquiring another -healthy newman for the kitchen or the stables. They didn't know the -only Change that would happen to me was death.</p> - -<p>They'd have to feed me; that meant a hole. I ran my fingers along the -rough stone, found an eight-inch square opening on the left wall, just -under the ceiling. I reached through it, felt nothing but the solidness -of its thick sides. How thick the wall was I had no way of determining.</p> - -<p>I was feeling dizzy. I lay back and tried to think....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was awake again. There had been a sound. I moved, and felt something -hit my chest.</p> - -<p>I groped for it; it was a small loaf of hard bread. I heard the sound -again and a second object thumped against me.</p> - -<p>"Hey!" I yelled, "listen to me! I'll die in here. I'm not like the rest -of you; I won't go through a Change. I'll rot here till I die...!"</p> - -<p>I listened. The silence was absolute.</p> - -<p>"Answer me!" I screamed. "You're making a mistake...!"</p> - -<p>I gave up when my throat got raw. The people who dropped the bread -through the little holes to the prisoners had heard a lot of yelling -in their time. They didn't listen any more. I felt for the other item -that had been pushed in to me. It was a water bottle made of tough -plastic. I fumbled the cap off, took a swallow. It wasn't good. I tried -the bread; it was tough, tasteless. I lay and chewed, and wondered what -I was supposed to do about toilet facilities; it was an interesting -problem. I could see it was going to be a great life, while it lasted. -I laughed: a weak snort of despair.</p> - -<p>As a world-saver I was a bust. I hadn't even been able to get around -to bailing out my pal Foster after Qohey had booby-trapped him. I -wondered where he was now. Sealed up in the next cubby-hole probably. -But he hadn't answered my yells.</p> - -<p>Yeah, mine had been a great idea, but it hadn't worked out. I had come -a long, long way and now I was going to die in this reeking hole. I had -a sudden vision of steaks uneaten, and life unlived. I would have been -good for another few decades anyway—</p> - -<p>And then I had another thought: if I never had them was it going to be -because I hadn't tried? Abruptly I was planning. I would keep calm and -use my head. I wouldn't wear myself out with screams and struggles. I'd -figure the angles, use everything I had to make the best try I could.</p> - -<p>First, to explore the tomb-like cell. It hurt to move, but that -didn't matter. I felt over the walls, estimating size. My chamber was -three feet wide, two feet high, and seven feet long. The walls were -relatively smooth, except for a few mortar joints. The stones were big: -eighteen inches or so by a couple of feet. I scratched at the mortar; -it was rock hard.</p> - -<p>I wondered how they'd gotten me in. Some of the stones must be newly -placed ... or else there was a door. I couldn't feel anything as far as -my hands would reach. Maybe at the other end....</p> - -<p>I tried to twist around: no go. The people who had built the cage knew -just how to dimension it to keep the occupant oriented the way they -wanted him. He was supposed to just lie quietly and wait for the bread -and water to fall through the hole above his chest.</p> - -<p>That was reason enough to change positions. If they wanted me to stay -put I'd at least have the pleasure of defying the rules. And there -just might be a reason why they didn't want me moving around.</p> - -<p>I turned on my side, pulled my legs up, hugged them to my chest, worked -my way down ... and jammed. My skinned knees and shins didn't help any. -I inched them higher, wincing at the pain, then braced my hands against -the floor and roof and forced my torso toward my feet....</p> - -<p>Still no go. The rough stone was shredding my back. I moved my knees -apart; that eased the pressure a little. I made another inch.</p> - -<p>I rested, tried to get some air. It wasn't easy: my chest was crushed -between my thighs and the stone wall at my back. I breathed shallowly, -wondering whether I should go back or try to push on. I tried to move -my legs; they didn't like the idea. I might as well go on. It would -be no fun either way and if I waited I'd stiffen up, while inactivity -and no food and loss of blood would weaken me further every moment. I -wouldn't do better next time—not even as well. This was the time. Now.</p> - -<p>I set myself, pushed again. I didn't move. I pushed harder, scraping my -palms raw against the stone. I was stuck—good. I went limp suddenly. -Then I panicked, in the grip of claustrophobia. I snarled, rammed -my hands hard against the floor and wall, and heaved—and felt my -lacerated back slip along the stone, sliding on a lubricating film of -blood. I pushed again, my back curved, doubled; my knees were forced -up beside my ears. I couldn't breathe at all now and my spine was -breaking. It didn't matter. I might as well break it, rip off all the -hide, bleed to death; I had nothing to lose. I shoved again, felt the -back of my head grate; my neck bent, creaking ... then I was through, -stretching out to flop on my back, gasping, my head where my feet had -been. Score one for our side.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It took a long time to get my breath back and sort out my various -abrasions. My back was worst then my legs and hands. There was a messy -spot on the back of my head and sharp pains shot down my spine, and I -was getting tired of breathing through my mouth instead of my smashed -nose. Other than that I'd never felt better in my life. I had plenty of -room to relax in, I could breathe. All I had to do was rest, and after -a while they'd drop some more nice bread and water in to me....</p> - -<p>I shook myself awake. There was something about the absolute darkness -and silence that made my mind want to curl up and sleep, but there was -no time for that. If there had been a stone freshly set in mortar to -seal the chamber after I had been stuffed inside, this was the time to -find it—before it set too hard. I ran my hands over the wall, found -the joints. The mortar was dry and hard in the first; in the next ... -under my fingernail soft mortar crumbled away. I traced the joint; -it ran around a twelve-by-eighteen-inch stone. I raised myself on my -elbows, settled down to scratching at it.</p> - -<p>Half an hour later I had ten bloody tips and a half-inch groove dug -out around the stone. It was slow work and I couldn't go much farther -without a tool of some sort. I felt for the water bottle, took off the -cap, tried to crush it. It wouldn't crush. There was nothing else in -the cell.</p> - -<p>Maybe the stone would move, mortar and all, if I shoved hard enough. -I set my feet against the end wall, my hands against the block, and -strained until the blood roared in my ears. No use. It was planted as -solid as a mother-in-law in the spare bedroom.</p> - -<p>I was lying there, just thinking about it, when I became aware -of something. It wasn't a noise, exactly. It was more like a -fourth-dimensional sound heard inside the brain ... or the memory of -one.</p> - -<p>But my next sensation was perfectly real. I felt four little feet -walking gravely up my belly toward my chin.</p> - -<p>It was my cat, Itzenca.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h2> - - -<p>For a while I toyed with the idea of just chalking it up as a miracle. -Then I decided it would be a nice problem in probabilities. It had -been seven months since we had parted company on the pink terrace at -Okk-Hamiloth. Where would I have gone if I had been a cat? And how -could I have found me—my old pal from earth?</p> - -<p>Itzenca exhaled a snuffle in my ear.</p> - -<p>"Come to think of it, the stink is pretty strong, isn't it? I guess -there's nobody on Vallon with quite the same heady fragrance. And what -with the close quarters here, the concentration of sweat, blood, and -you-name-it must be pretty penetrating."</p> - -<p>Itz didn't seem to care. She marched around my head and back again, now -and then laid a tentative paw on my nose or chin, and kept up a steady -rumbling purr. The feeling of affection I had for that cat right then -was close to being one of my life's grand passions. My hands roamed -over her scrawny frame, fingered again the khaffite collar I had whiled -away an hour in fashioning for her aboard the lifeboat—</p> - -<p>My head hit the stone wall with a crack I didn't even notice. In -ten seconds I had released the collar clasp, pulled the collar from -Itzenca's neck, thumbed the stiff khaffite out into a blade about ten -inches long, and was scraping at the mortar beyond my head at fever -heat.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They had fed me three times by the time the groove was nine inches -deep on all sides of the block; and the mortar had hardened. But I was -nearly through, I figured. I took a rest, then made another try at -loosening the block. I thrust the blade into the slot, levered gently -at the stone. If it was only supported on one edge now, as it would be -if it were a little less than a foot thick, it should be about ready to -go. I couldn't tell.</p> - -<p>I put down my scraper, got into position, and pushed. I wasn't as -strong as I had been; there wasn't much force in the push. Again I -rested and again I tried. Maybe there was only a thin crust of mortar -still holding; maybe one more ounce of pressure would do it. I took a -deep breath, strained ... and felt the block shift minutely.</p> - -<p>Now! I heaved again, teeth gritted, drew back my feet, and thrust hard. -The stone slid out with a grating sound, dropped half an inch. I paused -to listen: all quiet. I shoved again, and the stone dropped with a -heavy thud to the floor outside. With no loss of time I pushed through -behind it, felt a breath of cooler air, got my shoulders free, pulled -my legs through ... and stood, for the first time in how many days....</p> - -<p>I had already figured my next move. As soon as Itzenca had stepped -out I reached back in, groped for the water bottle, the dry crusts I -had been saving, and the wad of bread paste I had made up. I reached -a second time for a handful of the powdered mortar I had produced, -then lifted the stone. I settled it in place, using the hard bread -as supports, then packed the open joint with gummy bread. I dusted it -over with dry mortar, then carefully swept up the debris—as well as I -could in the total darkness. The bread-and-water man would have a light -and he was due in half an hour or so—as closely as I had been able -to estimate the time of his regular round. I didn't want him to see -anything out of the ordinary. I was counting on finding Foster filed -away somewhere in the stacks, and I'd need time to try to release him.</p> - -<p>I moved along the corridor, counting my steps, one hand full of -breadcrumbs and stone dust, the other feeling the wall. There were -narrow side branches every few feet: the access ways to the feeding -holes. Forty-one paces from my slot I came to a wooden door. It wasn't -locked, but I didn't open it. I wasn't ready to use it yet.</p> - -<p>I went back, passed my hole, continued nine paces to a blank wall. Then -I tried the side branches. They were all seven-foot stubs, dead ends; -each had the eight-inch holes on either side. I called Foster's name -softly at each hole ... but there was no answer. I heard no signs of -life, no yells or heavy breathing. Was I the only one here? That wasn't -what I had figured on. Foster had to be in one of these delightful -bedrooms. I had come across the universe to see him and I wasn't going -to leave Bar-Ponderone without him.</p> - -<p>It was time to get ready for the bread man. I had a choice of trying -to get back into my hole and replacing the block, or of hiding in one -of the side branches. I thought it over for a couple of microseconds -and decided against getting back in my tomb. If there were as many -vacancies here as I guessed, I'd be safe in any one of the side -passages but my own.</p> - -<p>I groped my way into a convenient hidey-hole, Itzenca at my heels. -With half a year's experience at dodging humans behind her, she could -be trusted not to show at the crucial moment, I figured. I had just -jettisoned my handful of trash in the backmost corner of the passage -when there was a soft grating sound from the door. I flattened myself -against the wall. I'd know in a second or two how observant the keeper -was.</p> - -<p>A light splashed on the floor; it must have been dim but seemed to my -eyes like the blaze of noon. Soft footsteps sounded. I held my breath. -A man in bodyguard's trappings, basket in hand, moved past the entry -of the branch where I stood, went on. I breathed again. Now all I had -to do was keep an eye on the feeder, watch where he stopped. I stepped -to the corridor, risked a glance, saw him entering a branch far down -the corridor. As he disappeared I made it three branches farther along, -ducked out of sight.</p> - -<p>I heard him coming back. I flattened myself. He went by me, opened the -door. It closed behind him and the darkness and silence settled down -once more. I stood where I was, feeling like a guy who's just showed up -for a party ... on the wrong day.</p> - -<p>The bread man had stopped at one cell only—mine. Foster wasn't here.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was a long wait for the next feeding but I put the time to use. -First I had a good nap; I hadn't been getting my rest while I scratched -my way out of my nest. I woke up feeling better and started thinking -about the next move. The bodyguard who brought the food was the first -item: I had had to get a set of clothes somewhere and he'd be the -easiest source to tap. If my mental clock was right it was about time—</p> - -<p>The door creaked, and I did a fast fade down a side branch. The guard -shuffled into view; now was the time. I moved out—quietly, I thought, -and he whirled, dropped the load and bottle, and fumbled at his club -hilt. I didn't have a club to slow me down. I went at him, threw a -beautiful right, square to the mouth. He went over backwards, with me -on top. I heard his head hit with a sound like a length of rubber hose -slapping a grapefruit. He didn't move.</p> - -<p>I pulled the clothes off him, struggled into them. They didn't fit too -well and they probably smelled gamey to anybody who hadn't spent a week -where I had, but details like those didn't count anymore. I tore his -sash into strips and tied him. He wasn't dead—quite, but I had reason -to know that any yelling he did was unlikely to attract much attention. -I hoped he'd enjoy the rest and quiet until the next feeding time. By -then I expected to be long gone. I lifted the door open and stepped out -into a dimly-lit corridor.</p> - -<p>With Itzenca abreast of me I moved along in absolute stillness, passed -a side corridor, came to a heavy door: locked. We retraced our steps, -went down the side hall, found a flight of worn steps, followed them up -two flights, and emerged in a dark room. A line of light showed around -a door. I went to it, peered through the crack. Two men in stained -kitchen-slave tunics fussed over a boiling cauldron. I pushed through -the door.</p> - -<p>The two looked up, startled. I rounded a littered table, grabbed up a -heavy soup ladle, and skulled the nearest cook just as he opened up to -yell. The other one, a big fellow, went for a cleaver. I caught him in -two jumps, laid him out cold beside his pal.</p> - -<p>I found an apron, ripped it up, and tied and gagged the two slaves, -then hauled them into a storeroom. I was stacking Vallonians away like -a squirrel storing nuts.</p> - -<p>I came back into the kitchen. It was silent now. The room reeked of -sour soup. A stack of unpleasantly familiar loaves stood by the oven. -I gave them a kick that collapsed the pile as I passed to pick up a -knife. I hacked tough slices from a cold haunch of Vallonian mutton, -threw one to Itzenca across the table, and sat and gnawed the meat -while I tried to think through my plans.</p> - -<p>Owner Qohey was a big man to tackle but he was the one with the -answers. If I could make my way to his apartment and if I wasn't -stopped before I'd forced the truth out of him, then I might get to -Foster and tell him that if he had the memory playback machine I had -the memory, if it hadn't been filched from the bottom of a knapsack -aboard a lifeboat parked at Okk-Hamiloth.</p> - -<p>Four 'if's' and a 'might'—but it was something to shoot at. My first -move would be to locate Qohey's quarters, somewhere here in the Palace, -and get inside. My bodyguard's outfit was as good a disguise as any for -the attempt.</p> - -<p>I finished off my share of the meat and got to my feet. I'd have to -find a place to clean myself up, shave—</p> - -<p>The rear door banged open and two bodyguards came through it, talking -loudly, laughing.</p> - -<p>"Hey, cook! Set out meat for—"</p> - -<p>The heavy in the lead stopped short, gaping at me. I gaped back. It was -Torbu.</p> - -<p>"Drgon! How did you...?" He trailed off.</p> - -<p>The other bodyguard came past him, looked me over. "You're no Brother -of the Guard—" he started.</p> - -<p>I reached for the cleaver the kitchen-slave had left on the table, -backed against a tall wall cupboard. The bodyguard unlimbered his club.</p> - -<p>"Hold it, Blon," said Torbu. "Drgon's okay." He looked at me. "I kind -of figured you for done for, Drgon. The boys worked you over pretty -good."</p> - -<p>"Yeah," I returned, "and thanks for your help in stopping it."</p> - -<p>"This is the miscreant we immured!" Blon burst out. "Take him!"</p> - -<p>Torbu shifted. "Hold it a minute," he said. He looked uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>"Listen, you two!" I said. "You claim to believe in the system around -here. You think it's a great life, all fair play and no holds barred -and plenty of goodies for the winner. I know, it was tough about Cagu, -but that's life, isn't it? But what about the business I saw in that -Audience Hall? You guys try not to think about that angle, is that it?"</p> - -<p>"The noble Owner's gotta right—" Blon started.</p> - -<p>"I didn't like the caper with the wires, Blon," said Torbu. "You didn't -either; neither did most of the boys—"</p> - -<p>"And I don't remember getting much of a show myself," I said. "There -are a couple of your buddies I plan to look up when I have some free -time—"</p> - -<p>"I didn't lay a hand on you, Drgon," said Torbu. "I didn't want no part -of that."</p> - -<p>"It was the Owner's orders," said Blon. "What was I gonna go, tell -him——"</p> - -<p>"Never mind," I said. "I'll tell him myself. That's all I want: just a -short interview with the Owner—minus the wire nets."</p> - -<p>"Wow ..." drawled Torbu, "yeah, that'd be a bout." He turned to Blon. -"This guy's got a punch, Blon. He don't look so hot but he could swap -buffets with the Fire Drgon he's named after. If he's that good with a -long blade—"</p> - -<p>"Just lend me one," I said, "and show me the way to his apartment."</p> - -<p>"The noble Owner'll cut this clown to ribbons in two minutes flat," -said Blon.</p> - -<p>"Let's get the boys."</p> - -<p>"How could we explain it afterwards to the noble Owner?" said Blon. "He -ain't gonna think much of guys he thought was immured nice and safe -turnin' up in his bedchamber ... armed."</p> - -<p>"We're Brothers of the Guard," said Torbu. "We ain't got much but we -got our Code. It don't say nothing about wires. If we don't back up our -oath to the Brotherhood we ain't no better than slaves." He turned to -me. "Come on, Drgon. We'll take you to the Guardroom so you can clean -up and put on a good blade. If you're gonna lose all your lives at -once, you wanna do it right."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Torbu watched as the boys belted and strapped me into a guardsman's -fighting outfit. I had made him uneasy, maybe even started him -thinking. If I could last—just those 'two minutes flat'—before Owner -Qohey killed me, then he'd collect his bet, I'd be out of his hair, -and he could go back to being Torbu, a plain tough guy with a Code he -could still believe in. And if I won....</p> - -<p>I felt better in the clean trappings of tough leather and steel. Torbu -led the way and fifteen bodyguards followed, like a herd of trolls. -There were few palace servants out at this hour; those who saw us gaped -from a safe distance and went on about their business. We crossed the -empty Audience Hall, climbed a wide staircase, went along a spacious -corridor hung with rich brocades and carpeted in deep-pile silk, with -soft lights glowing around ornate doors.</p> - -<p>We stopped before a great double door. Two guards in dress purple -sauntered over to see what it was all about. Torbu clued them in. They -hesitated, looked us over....</p> - -<p>"We're goin' in, rookie," said Torbu. "Open up." They did.</p> - -<p>I pushed past Torbu into a room whose splendor made Gope's state -apartment look like a four-dollar motel. Bright Cintelight streamed -through tall windows, showed me a wide bed and somebody in it. I went -to it, grabbed the bedclothes, and hauled them off onto the floor. -Owner Qohey sat up slowly—seven feet of muscle. He looked at me, -glanced past me to the foremost of my escort....</p> - -<p>He was out of the bed like a tiger, coming straight for me. There -was no time to fumble with the sword. I went to meet him, threw all -my weight into a right haymaker and felt it connect. I plunged past, -whirled.</p> - -<p>Qohey was staggering ... but still on his feet. I had hit him with -everything I had, nearly broken my fist ... and he was still standing. -I couldn't let him rest. I was after him, slammed a hard punch to the -kidneys, caught him across the jaw as he turned, drove a left and right -into his stomach——</p> - -<p>A girder fell from the top of the Golden Gate Bridge and shattered -every bone in my body. There was a booming like heavy surf, and I was -floating in it, dead. Then I was in Hell, being prodded by red-hot -tridents.... I blinked my eyes. The roaring was fading now. I saw -Qohey, leaning against the foot of the bed, breathing heavily. I had to -get him.</p> - -<p>I got my feet under me, stood up. My chest was caved in and my left -arm belonged to somebody else. Okay; I still had my right. I made it -over to Qohey, maneuvered into position. He didn't look at me; he -seemed to be having trouble breathing; those gut punches had gotten to -him. I picked a spot just behind the right ear, reared back, and threw -a trip-hammer punch with my shoulder and legs behind it. I felt the -jaw go. Qohey jumped the foot-board and piled onto the floor like a -hundred-car freight hitting an open switch. I sat down on the edge of -the bed and sucked in air and tried to ignore the whirling lights that -were closing in.</p> - -<p>After awhile I noticed Torbu standing in front of me with the cat under -one arm. Both of them were grinning at me. "Any orders, Owner Drgon?"</p> - -<p>I found my voice. "Wake him up and prop him in a chair. I want to talk -to him."</p> - -<p>Ex-Owner Qohey didn't much like the idea but after Torbu and a couple -of other strong-arm lads had explained the situation to him in sign -language he decided to cooperate.</p> - -<p>"Get off his head, Mull," Torbu said. "And untwist that rope, Blon. -Owner Drgon wants him in a conversational mood. You guys are gonna -make him feel self-conscious."</p> - -<p>I had been feeling over my ribs, trying to count how many were broken -and how many just bent. Qohey's punch was a lot like the kick of a -two-ton ostrich. He was looking at me now, eyes wild.</p> - -<p>"Qohey, I want to ask you a few questions. If I don't like the answers, -I'll see if I can't find quarters for you in the basement annex. I just -left a cozy room there myself. There's no view to speak of but it's -peaceful."</p> - -<p>Qohey grunted something. He was having trouble talking around his -broken jaw.</p> - -<p>"The fellow in black," I said, "the one who claimed your place as -Owner. You netted him and had your bully boys haul him off somewhere. I -want to know where."</p> - -<p>Qohey grunted again.</p> - -<p>"Hit him, Torbu," I said. "It will help his enunciation." Torbu kicked -the former Owner in the shin. Qohey jumped and glowered at him.</p> - -<p>"Call off your dogs," he mumbled. "You'll not find the upstart you seek -here."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"I sent him away."</p> - -<p>"Where?"</p> - -<p>"To that place from which you and your turncoat crew will never fetch -him back."</p> - -<p>"Be more specific."</p> - -<p>Qohey spat.</p> - -<p>"Torbu didn't much like that crack about turncoats," I said. "He's -eager to show you how little. I advise you to talk fast and plain, -before you lose a whole raft of lives."</p> - -<p>"Even these swine would never dare—" I took out the needle-pointed -knife I was wearing as part of my get-up. I put the point against -Qohey's throat and pushed gently until a trickle of crimson ran down -the thick neck.</p> - -<p>"Talk," I said quietly, "or I'll cut your throat myself."</p> - -<p>Qohey had shrunk back as far as he could in the heavy chair.</p> - -<p>"Seek him then, assassin," he sneered. "Seek him in the dungeons of the -Owner of Owners."</p> - -<p>"Keep talking," I prompted.</p> - -<p>"The Great Owner commanded that the slave be brought to him ... at the -Palace of Sapphires by the Shallow Sea."</p> - -<p>"Has this Owners' Owner got a name? How'd he hear about him?"</p> - -<p>"Lord Ommodurad," Qohey's voice grated out. He was watching Torbu's -foot. "There was that about the person of the stranger that led me to -inform him."</p> - -<p>"When did he go?"</p> - -<p>"Yesterday."</p> - -<p>"You know this Sapphire Palace, Torbu?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," he answered. "But the place is tabu; it's crawlin' with demons -and warlocks. The word is, there's a curse on the—"</p> - -<p>"Then I'll go in alone," I said. I put the knife away. "But first I've -got a call to make at the spaceport at Okk-Hamiloth."</p> - -<p>"Sure, Owner Drgon. The port's easy. Some say it's kind of haunted too -but that's just a gag; the Greymen hang out there."</p> - -<p>"We can take care of the Greymen," I said. "Get fifty of your best men -together and line up some air-cars. I want the outfit ready to move -out in half an hour."</p> - -<p>"What about this chiseler?" asked Torbu.</p> - -<p>"Seal him up until I get back. If I don't make it, I know he'll -understand."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></h2> - - -<p>It was not quite dawn when my task force settled down on the smooth -landing pad beside the lifeboat that had brought me to Vallon. It stood -as I had left it seven earth-months before: the port open, the access -ladder extended, the interior lights lit. There weren't any spooks -aboard but they had kept visitors away as effectively as if there had -been. Even the Greymen didn't mess with ghost-boats. Somebody had done -a thorough job of indoctrination on Vallon.</p> - -<p>"You ain't gonna go inside that accursed vessel, are you, Owner Drgon?" -asked Torbu, making his cabalistic sign in the air. "It's manned by -gobblins—"</p> - -<p>"That's just propaganda. Where my cat can go, I can go. Look."</p> - -<p>Itzenca scampered up the ladder, and had disappeared inside the boat -by the time I took the first rung. The guards gawked from below as I -stepped into the softly lit lounge. The black-and-gold cylinder that -was Foster's memory lay in the bag I had packed and left behind, months -before; with it was the other, plain one: Ammaerln's memory. Somewhere -in Okk-Hamiloth must be the machine that would give these meaning. -Together Foster and I would find it.</p> - -<p>I found the .38 automatic lying where I had left it. I picked up the -worn belt, strapped it around me. My Vallonian career to date suggested -it would be a bright idea to bring it along. The Vallonians had never -developed any personal armament to equal it. In a society of immortals -knives were considered lethal enough for all ordinary purposes.</p> - -<p>"Come on, cat," I said. "There's nothing more here we need."</p> - -<p>Back on the ramp I beckoned my platoon leaders over.</p> - -<p>"I'm going to the Sapphire Palace," I said. "Anybody that doesn't want -to go can check out now. Pass the word."</p> - -<p>Torbu stood silent for a long moment, staring straight ahead.</p> - -<p>"I don't like it much, Owner," he said. "But I'll go. And so will the -rest of 'em."</p> - -<p>"There'll be no backing out, once we shove off," I said. "And by the -way—" I jacked a round into the chamber of the pistol, raised it, and -fired the shot into the air. They all jumped. "If you ever hear that -sound, come a-running."</p> - -<p>The men nodded, turned to their cars. I picked up the cat and piled -into the lead vehicle next to Torbu.</p> - -<p>"It's a half-hour run," he said. "We might run into a little Greyman -action on the way. We can handle 'em."</p> - -<p>We lifted, swung to the east, barrelled along at low altitude.</p> - -<p>"What do we do when we get there, boss?" said Torbu.</p> - -<p>"We play it by ear. Let's see how far we can get on pure gall before -Ommodurad drops the hanky."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The palace lay below us, rearing blue towers to the twilit sky like -a royal residence in the Munchkin country. Beyond it, sunset colors -reflected from the silky surface of the Shallow Sea. The timeless -stones and still waters looked much as they had when Foster set out -to lose his identity on earth, three thousand years before. But its -magnificence was lost on these people. The hulking crew around me -never paused to wonder about the marvels wrought by their immortal -ancestors—themselves. Stolidly, they lived their feudal lives in -dismal contrast with the monuments all about them.</p> - -<p>I turned to my cohort of hoodlums. "You boys claim it's the demons and -warlocks that keep the whole of Vallon at arm's length from this place. -In that case there's no protocol for a new Owner's reception at the -Blue Palace. A guy with a little luck and even less of a memory than -usual could skip the goblins and play it good-natured but dumb: show up -at the Palace grounds, out of common politeness to the Top Dog, to pay -his respects. Anything wrong with that?"</p> - -<p>"What if they rush us first ... before we got time to go into the act?" -said somebody in the mob.</p> - -<p>"That's where the luck comes in," I said. "Anybody else?"</p> - -<p>Torbu looked around at his henchmen. There was some shrugging of -shoulders, a few grunts. He looked at me. "You do the figurin', Owner," -he said. "The boys will back your play."</p> - -<p>We were dropping toward the wide lawns now and still no opposition -showed itself. Then the towering blue spires were looming over us, and -we saw men forming up behind the blue-stained steel gates of the Great -Pavilion.</p> - -<p>"A reception committee," I said. "Hold tight, fellas. Don't start -anything. The further in we get peaceably, the less that leaves to do -the hard way."</p> - -<p>The cars settled down gently, well-grouped, and Torbu and I climbed -out. As quickly as the other boats disgorged their men, ranks were -closed, and we moved off toward the gates. Itzenca, as mascot, brought -up the rear. Still no excitement, no rush by the Palace guards. Had too -many centuries of calm made them lackadaisical, or did Ommodurad use a -brand of visitor-repellent we couldn't see from here?</p> - -<p>We made it to the gate ... and it opened.</p> - -<p>"In we go," I said, "but be ready...."</p> - -<p>The uniformed men inside the compound, obviously chosen for their beef -content, kept their distance, looked at us questioningly. We pulled -up on a broad blue-paved drive and waited for the next move. About -now somebody should stride up to us and offer the key to the city—or -something. But there seemed to be a hitch. It was understandable. After -all there hadn't been any callers dropping cards here for about 2900 -years.</p> - -<p>It was a long five minutes before a hard case in a beetle-backed -carapace of armor and a puffy pink cape bustled down the palace steps -and came up to us.</p> - -<p>"Who comes in force to the Sapphire Palace?" he demanded, glancing past -me at my team-mates.</p> - -<p>"I'm Owner Drgon, fellow," I barked. "These are my honor guard. What -provincial welcome is this, from the Great Owner to a loyal liege-man?"</p> - -<p>That punctured his pomposity a little. He apologized—in a half-hearted -way—mumbled something about arrangements, and beckoned over a couple -of side-men. One of them came over and spoke to Torbu, who looked my -way, hand on dagger hilt.</p> - -<p>"What's this?" I said. "Where I go, my men go."</p> - -<p>"There is the matter of caste," said my pink-caped greeter. "Packs -of retainers are not ushered <i>en masse</i> into the presence of Lord -Ommodurad, Owner of Owners."</p> - -<p>I thought that one over and failed to come up with a plausible loophole.</p> - -<p>"Okay, Torbu," I said. "Keep the boys together and behave yourselves. -I'll see you in an hour. Oh, and see that Itzenca gets made comfy."</p> - -<p>The beetle man snapped a few orders, then waved me toward the palace -with the slightest bow I ever saw. A six-man guard kept me company up -the steps and into the Great Pavilion.</p> - -<p>I guess I expected the usual velvet-draped audience chamber or -barbarically splendid Hall, complete with pipers, fools, and ceremonial -guards. What I got was an office, about sixteen by eighteen, -blue-carpeted and tasteful ... but bare-looking. I stopped in front -of a block of blue-veined grey marble with a couple of quill pens in -a crystal holder and, underneath, leg room for a behemoth, who was -sitting behind the desk.</p> - -<p>He got to his feet with all the ponderous mass of Nero Wolfe but a lot -more agility and grace. "You wish?" he rumbled.</p> - -<p>"I'm Owner Drgon, ah ... Great Owner," I said. I'd planned to give my -host the friendly-but-dumb routine. I was going to find the second part -of the act easy. There was something about Ommodurad that made me -feel like a mouse who'd just changed his mind about the cheese. Qohey -had been big, but this guy could crush skulls as most men pinch peanut -hulls, and in his eyes was the kind of remote look that came of three -millenia of not even having to mention the power he asserted.</p> - -<p>"You ignore superstition," observed the Big Owner. He didn't waste many -words, it seemed. Gope had said he was the silent type. It wasn't a bad -lead; I decided to follow it.</p> - -<p>"Don't believe in 'em," I said.</p> - -<p>"To your business then," he continued. "Why?"</p> - -<p>"Just been chosen Owner at Bar-Ponderone," I said. "Felt it was only -fitting that I come and do obeisance before Your Grace."</p> - -<p>"That expression is not used."</p> - -<p>"Oh." This fellow had a disconcerting way of not getting sucked in. -"Lord Ommodurad?"</p> - -<p>He nodded just perceptibly, then turned to the foremost of the herd who -had brought me in. "Quarters for the guest and his retinue." His eyes -had already withdrawn, like the head of a Galapagos turtle into its -enormous shell, in contemplation of eternal verities. I piped up again.</p> - -<p>"Ah, pardon me...." The piercing stare of Ommodurad's eyes was on -me again. "There was a friend of mine—," I gulped, "swell guy, but -impulsive. It seems he challenged the former Owner of Bar-Ponderone...."</p> - -<p>Ommodurad did no more than twitch an eye-brow but suddenly the air was -electric. His stare didn't waver by a millimeter but the lazy slouch -of the six guards had altered to sprung steel. They hadn't moved but -I felt them now all around me and not a foot away. I had a sinking -feeling that I'd gone too far.</p> - -<p>"—so I thought maybe I'd crave Your Excellency's help, if possible, -to locate my pal," I finished weakly. For an interminable minute the -Owner of Owners bored into me with his eyes. Then he raised a finger a -quarter of an inch. The guards relaxed.</p> - -<p>"Quarters for the guest and his retinue," repeated Ommodurad. He -withdrew then ... without moving. I was dismissed.</p> - -<p>I went quietly, attended by my hulking escort.</p> - -<p>I tried hard not to let my expression show any excitement, but I was -feeling plenty.</p> - -<p>Ommodurad was close-mouthed for a reason. I was willing to bet that he -had his memories of the Good Time intact.</p> - -<p>Instead of the debased modern dialect that I'd heard everywhere since -my arrival, Ommodurad spoke flawless Old Vallonian.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was 27 o'clock and the Palace of Sapphires was silent. I was alone -in the ornate bed chamber the Great Owner had assigned me. It was a -nice room but I wouldn't learn anything staying in it. Nobody had said -I was confined to quarters. I'd do a little scouting and see what I -could pick up, if anything. I slung on the holster and .38 and slid -out of the darkened chamber into the scarcely lighter corridor beyond. -I saw a guard at the far end; he ignored me. I headed in the opposite -direction.</p> - -<p>None of the rooms was locked. There was no arsenal at the Palace and no -archives that lesser folk than the Great Owner could use with profit. -Everything was easy of access. I guessed that Ommodurad rightly counted -on indifference to keep snoopers away. Here and there guards eyed me -as I passed along but they said nothing.</p> - -<p>I saw again by Cintelight the office where Ommodurad had received me, -and near it an ostentatious hall with black onyx floor and ceiling, -gold hangings, and ceremonial ring-board. But the center of attraction -was the familiar motif of the concentric circles of the Two Worlds, -sketched in beaten gold across the broad wall of black marble behind -the throne. Here the idea had been elaborated on. Outward from both the -inner and outer circles flamed the waving lines of a sunburst. At dead -center, a boss, like a sword hilt in form, chased in black and gold, -erupted a foot from the wall. It was the first time I'd seen the symbol -since I'd arrived on Vallon. I found it strangely exciting—like a -footprint in the sand.</p> - -<p>I went on, toured the laundry and inspected pantries large and small -and caught a whiff of stables. The palace was asleep; few of its -occupants noticed me, and those who did hung back, silent. It looked as -if the Great Owner had given orders to let me roam freely. Somehow I -didn't find that comforting.</p> - -<p>Then I came into a purple-vaulted hall and saw a squad of guards, the -same six who'd kept me such close company earlier in the day. They were -drawn up at parade rest, three on each side of a massive ivory door. -Somebody lived in safety and splendor on the other side.</p> - -<p>Six sets of hard eyes turned my way. It was too late to duck back out -of sight. I trotted up to the first of the row of guards. "Say, fella," -I stage-whispered, "where's the ah—you know."</p> - -<p>"Every bed chamber is equipped," he said gruffly, raising his sword -and fingering its tip lovingly.</p> - -<p>"Yeah? I never noticed." I moved off, looking chastened. If they -thought I was a kewpie, so much the better. I was a mouse in cat -country here and I wasn't ready to fake a <i>meow</i>—not yet.</p> - -<p>On the ground floor I found Torbu and his cohort quartered in a -barrack-room off the main entry hall.</p> - -<p>"We're still in enemy territory," I reminded Torbu. "I want every man -ready."</p> - -<p>"No fear, boss," said Torbu. "All my bullies got an eye on the door and -a hand on a knife-hilt."</p> - -<p>"Have you seen or heard anything useful?"</p> - -<p>"Naw. These local dullards fall dumb at the first query."</p> - -<p>"Keep your ears cocked. I want at least two men awake and on the alert -all night."</p> - -<p>"You bet, noble Drgon."</p> - -<p>I judged distances carefully as I went back up the two flights to my -own room. Inside I dropped into a brocaded easy chair and tried to add -up what I'd seen.</p> - -<p>First: Ommodurad's apartment, as nearly as I could judge, was directly -over my own, two floors up. That was a break—or maybe I was where I -was for easier surveillance. I'd skip that angle, I decided. It tended -to discourage me and I needed all the enthusiasm I could generate.</p> - -<p>Second: I wasn't going to learn anything useful trotting around -corridors. Ommodurad wasn't the kind to leave traces of skullduggery -lying around where the guests would see them.</p> - -<p>And third: I should have known better than to hit this fortress with -two squads and a .38 in the first place. Foster was here; Qohey had -said so and the Great Owner's reaction to my mention of him confirmed -it. What was it about Foster, anyway, that made him so interesting to -these Top People? I'd have to ask him that one when I found him. But to -do that I'd have to leave the beaten track.</p> - -<p>I went to the wide double window and looked up. A cloud swept from -the great three-quarters face of Cinte, blue in the southern sky, and -I could see an elaborately carved façade ranging up past a row of -windows above my own to a railed balcony bathed in a pale light from -the apartment within. If my calculations were correct that would be -Ommodurad's digs. The front door was guarded like an octogenarian's -harem but the back way looked like a breeze.</p> - -<p>I pulled my head back in and thought about it. It was risky ... but -it had that element of the unexpected that just might let me get away -with it. Tomorrow the Owner of Owners might have thought it through -and switched me to another room ... or to a cell in the basement. Then -too, wall-scaling didn't occur to these Vallonians as readily as it did -to a short-timer from earth. They had too much to lose to risk it on a -chancey climb.</p> - -<p>Too much thinking is never a good idea when your pulse is telling you -it's time for action. I rolled a heavy armoire fairly soundlessly over -the deep-pile carpet and lodged it against the door. That might slow -down a casual caller. I slipped the magazine out of the automatic, -fitted nine greasy brass cartridges into it, slammed it home, dropped -the pistol back in the holster. It had a comforting weight. I buttoned -the strap over it and went back to the window.</p> - -<p>The clouds were back across Cinte's floodlight; that would help. I -stepped out. The deep carving gave me easy handholds and I made it to -the next windowsill without even working up a light sweat. Compared -with my last climb, back in Lima, this was a cinch.</p> - -<p>I rested a moment, then clambered around the dark window—just in case -there was an insomniac on the other side of the glass—and went on up. -I reached the balcony, had a hairy moment as I groped outward for a -hold on the smooth floor-tiling above ... and then I was pulling up and -over the ornamental iron work.</p> - -<p>The balcony was narrow, about twenty feet long, giving on half a dozen -tall glass doors. Three showed light behind heavy draperies, three -were dark. I moved close, tried to see something past the edge of the -draperies. No go. I put an ear to the glass, thought maybe I heard a -sound, like a distant volcano. That would be Ommodurad's bass rumble. -The bear was in his cave.</p> - -<p>I went along to the dark doors and on impulse tried a handle. It -turned and the door swung in soundlessly. I felt my pulse pick up -a double-time beat. I stood peering past the edge of the door into -the ink-black interior. It didn't look inviting. In fact it looked -repellent. Even a country boy like me could see that to step into the -dragon's den without even a Zippo to spot the footstools with would be -the act of a nitwit.</p> - -<p>I swallowed hard, got a firm grip on my pistol, and went in.</p> - -<p>A soft fold of drapery brushed my face and I had the pistol out and -my back to the wall with a speed that would have made Earp faint with -envy. My adrenals gave a couple of wild jumps and my nervous system -followed with a variety of sensations, none pleasant.</p> - -<p>It took me a minute to get my Adam's apple swallowed again and remind -myself that I was a rough tough son-of-a-gun from the planet earth who -had parlayed one short life into more trouble than most Vallonians -managed in half of eternity, and I was on my way to get my pal Foster -out of a tight spot, hand him back his memory, and set the Two Worlds -back on the rails they had fallen off of about six hundred years before -Alexander started looking around for his first rumble.</p> - -<p>I stopped before I got so confident I charged into the next room and -challenged Ommodurad to wrestle, two falls out of three. I could hear -his voice better now, muttering beyond the partition. If I could make -out what he was saying....</p> - -<p>I edged along the wall, found a heavy door, closed and locked. No help -there. I felt my way further, found another door. Delicately I tried -the handle, eased it open a crack.</p> - -<p>A closet, half filled with racked garments. But I could hear more -clearly now. Maybe it was a double closet with communicating doors both -to the room I was in and to the next one where the Great Owner was -still rambling on. Apparently something had overcome his aversion to -talking. There were pauses that must have been filled in by the replies -of somebody else who didn't have the vocal timbre Ommodurad did.</p> - -<p>I felt my way through the hanging clothing, felt over the closet walls. -I was out of luck: there was no other door. I put an ear to the wall. I -could catch an occasional word:</p> - -<p>"... ring ... Okk-Hamiloth ... vaults...."</p> - -<p>It sounded like something I'd like to hear more about. How could I get -closer? On impulse I reached up, touched a low ceiling ... and felt a -ridge like the trim around an access panel to a crawl space.</p> - -<p>I crossed my fingers, stood on tip-toe to push at the panel. Nothing -moved. I felt around in the dark, encountered a low shelf covered with -shoes. I investigated; it was movable. I eased it aside a foot or two, -piled the shoes on the floor, and stepped up.</p> - -<p>The panel was two feet long on a side, with no discernible hinges or -catch. I pushed some more, then gritted my teeth and heaved. There -was a startlingly loud <i>crack!</i> and the panel lifted. I blinked away -the dust that settled in my eyes, reached to feel around within the -opening, touched nothing but rough floor boards.</p> - -<p>This would be an excellent time, I reflected, to back out of here, get -a few hours' sleep, and tomorrow bid Ommodurad a hearty farewell. Then -in a few months, after I had had time to organize my new Estate and -align a few supporting Owners I could come back in force.</p> - -<p>I cocked my head, listening. Ommodurad had stopped talking and another -voice said something. Then there was a heavy thump, the clump of feet, -and a metallic sound. After a moment the Great Owner's voice came -again ... and the other voice answered.</p> - -<p>I stretched, grabbed the edge of the opening, and pulled myself up. I -leaned forward, got a leg up, and rolled silently onto the rough floor. -Feeling my way, I crawled, felt a wall rising, followed it, turned a -corner.... The voices were louder, quite suddenly. I saw why: there was -a ventilating register ahead, gridded light gleaming through it. I -crept along to the opening, lay flat, peered through it and saw three -men.</p> - -<p>Ommodurad was standing with his back to me, a giant figure swathed to -the eyes in purple robes. Beside him a lean redhead with a leg that had -been broken and badly set stood round-shouldered, teeth bared in an -eager grimace, clutching a rod of office. The third man was Foster.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Foster stood, legs braced apart as though to withstand an earthquake, -hands manacled before him. He looked steadily at the redhead, like a -man marking a tree for cutting.</p> - -<p>"I know nothing of these crimes," he said.</p> - -<p>Ommodurad turned, swept out of sight. The redhead motioned. Foster -turned away, moving stiffly, passed from my view. I heard a door -open and close. I lay where I was and tried to sort out half a dozen -conflicting impulses that clamored for attention. A few were easy: it -wouldn't help matters to yell "Stop, thief!" or to fall through the -register and chase after Foster with loud cries of joy. It wouldn't -be much better to scramble out, dash downstairs, and turn out my -bodyguards to raid Ommodurad's apartment.</p> - -<p>What might do some good was to gather more information. It had been bad -luck that I had arrived at my peephole a few minutes too late to hear -what the interview had been all about. But I might still make use of my -advantage.</p> - -<p>I felt over the register, found fasteners at the corners. They lifted -easily and the metal grating tilted back into my hands. I laid it -aside, poked my head out. The room was empty, as far as I could see. -It was time to take a few chances. I reversed my position, let my legs -through the opening, and dropped softly to the floor. I reached back up -and managed to prop the grating in position—just in case.</p> - -<p>It was a fancy chamber, hung in purple and furnished for a king. I -poked through the pigeonholes of a secretary, opened a few cupboards, -peered under the bed. It looked like I wasn't going to find any useful -clues lying around loose.</p> - -<p>I went to the glass doors to the balcony, unlocked one and left it -ajar—in case I wanted to leave in a hurry. There was another door -across the room. I went over and tried it: locked.</p> - -<p>That gave me something definite to look for: a key. I rummaged some -more in the secretary, then tried the drawer in a small table beside a -broad couch and came up with a nice little steel key that looked like -maybe....</p> - -<p>I tried it. It was. Luck was still coming my way. I pushed open the -door, saw a dark room beyond. I felt for a light switch, flicked it on, -pushed the door shut behind me.</p> - -<p>The room looked like the popular idea of a necromancer's study. The -windowless walls were lined with shelves packed closely with books. The -high black-draped ceiling hung like a hovering bat above the ramparted -floor of bare, dark-polished wood. Narrow tables choked with books and -instruments stood along a side of the chamber and at the far end I saw -a deep-cushioned couch with a heavy dome-shaped apparatus like a beauty -shop hair-dryer mounted at one end. I recognized it: it was a memory -reinforcing machine, the first I had seen on Vallon.</p> - -<p>I crossed the room and examined it. The last one I had seen—on the -Far-Voyager in the room near the library—had been a stark utility -model. This was a deluxe job, with soft upholstery and bright metal -fittings and more dials and idiot lights than a late model Detroit -status symbol. This solved one of the problems that had been hovering -around the edge of my mind. I had fetched Foster's memory back to him, -but without a machine to use it in it was just a tantalizing souvenir. -Now all I had to do was sneak him away from Ommodurad, make it back -here....</p> - -<p>All of a sudden I felt tired, vulnerable, helpless, and all alone. I -had been taking wild chances, setting my head more and more brazenly -into the kind of iron noose the Big Owner would arrange for his -enemies ... and without the ghost of a plan, without even an idea of -what was going on. What was Ommodurad's interest in Foster? Why did he -hide away here, keeping the rest of Vallon away with rumors of magic -and spells? What connection did he have with the disaster that had -befallen the Two Worlds—now reduced to One, and a poor one at that.</p> - -<p>And why was I, a plain Joe named Legion, mixed up in it right to the -eyebrows, when I could be sitting safe at home in a clean federal pen?</p> - -<p>The answer to that last one wasn't too hard to recite: I had had a pal -once, a smooth character named Foster, who had pulled me back from -the ragged edge just when I was about to make a bigger mistake than -usual. He had been a gentleman in the best sense of the word, and he -had treated me like one. Together we had shared a strange adventure -that had made me rich and had showed me that it was never too late to -straighten your back and take on whatever the Fates handed out.</p> - -<p>I had come running his way when trouble got too thick back home. And -I'd found him in a worse spot that I was in. He had come back, after -the most agonizing exile a man had ever suffered, to find his world -fallen back into savagery, and his memory still eluding him. Now he was -in chains, without friends and without hope ... but still not broken, -still standing on his own two feet....</p> - -<p>But he was wrong on one point: he had one little hope. Not much: just -a hard-luck guy with a penchant for bad decisions, but I was here and -I was free. I had my pistol on my hip and a neat back way into the -Owner's bedroom, and if I played it right and watched my timing and had -maybe just a little luck, say about the amount it took to hit the Irish -Sweepstakes, I might bring it off yet.</p> - -<p>Right now it was time to return to my crawl-space. Ommodurad might come -back and talk some more, tip me off to a vulnerable spot in the armor -of his fortress. I went to the door, flicked off the light, turned the -handle ... and went rigid.</p> - -<p>Ommodurad was back. He pulled off the purple cloak, tossed it aside, -strode to a wall bar. I clung to the crack of the door, not daring to -move even to close it.</p> - -<p>"But my lord," the voice of the redhead said, "I know he remembers—"</p> - -<p>"Not so," Ommodurad's voice rumbled. "On the morrow I strip his mind to -the bare clean jelly...."</p> - -<p>"Let me, dread lord. With my steel I'll have the truth from him."</p> - -<p>"Such a one as he your steel has never known!" the bass voice snarled.</p> - -<p>"Great Owner, I crave but one hour ... tomorrow, in the Ceremonial -Chamber. I shall environ him with the emblems of the past—"</p> - -<p>"Enough!" Ommodurad's fist slammed against the bar, made glasses jump. -"On such starveling lackwits as you a mighty empire hangs. It is a -crime before the Gods and on his head I lay it." The Owner tossed off a -glass, jerked his head at the cowering man. "Still, I grant thy boon. -Now begone, babbler of folly."</p> - -<p>The redhead ducked, grinning, disappeared. Ommodurad muttered to -himself, strode up and down the room, stood staring out into the night. -He noticed the open balcony door, pulled it shut with a curse. I held -my breath but no general check of doors followed.</p> - -<p>The big man threw off his clothes then. He clambered up on the wide -couch, touched a switch somewhere, and the room was dark. Within five -minutes I heard the heavy breathing of deep sleep.</p> - -<p>I had found out one thing anyway: tomorrow was Foster's last day. One -way or another Ommodurad and the redhead between them would destroy -him. That didn't leave much time. But since the project was already -hopeless it didn't make much difference.</p> - -<p>I had a choice of moves now: I could tip-toe across to the register and -try to wiggle through it without waking up the brontosaurus on the -bed ... or I could try for the balcony door a foot from where he -slept ... or I could stay put and wait him out. The last idea had the -virtue of requiring no immediate daring adventures. I could just curl -up on the floor, or, better still, on the padded couch....</p> - -<p>A weird idea was taking shape in my mind like a genie rising from a -bottle. I felt in my pocket, pulled out the two small cylinders that -represented two men's memories of hundreds of years of living. One -belonged to Foster, the one with the black and golden bands; but the -other was the property of a stranger who had died three thousand years -ago, out in space....</p> - -<p>This cylinder, barely three inches long, held all the memories of a man -who had been Foster's confidant when he was Qulqlan, a man who knew -what had happened aboard the ship, what the purpose of the expedition -had been, and what conditions they had left behind on Vallon.</p> - -<p>I needed that knowledge. I needed any knowledge I could get, to add a -feather-weight to my side of the balance when the showdown came. The -cylinder would tell me plenty, including, possibly, the reason for -Ommodurad's interest in Foster.</p> - -<p>It was simple to use. I merely placed the cylinder in the receptacle -in the side of the machine, took my place, lowered the helmet into -position ... and in an hour or so I would awaken with another man's -memories stored in my brain, to use as I saw fit.</p> - -<p>It would be a crime to waste the opportunity. The machine I had found -here was probably the only one still in existence on Vallon. I had -blundered my way into the one room in the palace that could help me in -what I had to do; I had been lucky; I couldn't waste that luck.</p> - -<p>I went across to the soft-cushioned chair, spotted the recess in its -side, and thrust the plain cylinder into it; it seated with a click.</p> - -<p>I sat on the couch, lay back, reached up to pull the headpiece down -into position against my skull....</p> - -<p>There was an instant of pain—like a pre-frontal lobotomy performed -without anesthetic.</p> - -<p>Then blackness.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h2> - - -<p><i>I stood beside the royal couch where Qulqlan the Rthr lay and I saw -that this was the hour for which I had waited long, for the Change was -on him....</i></p> - -<p><i>The time-scale stood at the third hour of the Death watch; all aboard -slept save myself alone. I must move swiftly and at the Dawn watch show -them the deed well done.</i></p> - -<p><i>I shook the sleeping man; him who had once been the Rthr—king no -more, by the law of the Change. He wakened slowly, looked about him, -with the clear eyes of the newborn.</i></p> - -<p><i>"Rise," I commanded. And the king obeyed.</i></p> - -<p><i>"Follow me," I said. He made to question me, after the manner of those -newly awakened from their Change. I bade him be silent. Like a lamb he -came and I led him through shadowed ways to the cage of the Hunters. -They rose, keen in their hunger, to my coming, as I had trained them.</i></p> - -<p><i>I took the arm of Qulqlan and thrust it into the cage. The Hunters -clustered, taking the mark of their prey. He watched, innocent eyes -wide.</i></p> - -<p><i>"That which you feel is pain, mindless one," I spoke. "It is a thing -of which you will learn much in the time before you." Then they had -done, and I set the time catch.</i></p> - -<p><i>In my chambers I cloaked the innocent in a plain purple robe and -afterward led him to the cradle where the lifeboat lay....</i></p> - -<p><i>And by virtue of the curse of the Gods which is upon me one was there -before me. I waited not, but moved as the haik strikes and took him -fair in the back with my dagger. I dragged the body into hiding behind -the flared foot of a column. But no sooner was he hidden well away -than others came from the shadows, summoned by some device I know not -of. They asked of the Rthr wherefore he walked by night, robed in the -colors of Ammaerln of Bros-Ilyond. And I knew black despair, that my -grand design foundered thus in the shallows of their zeal.</i></p> - -<p><i>Yet I spoke forth, with a great show of anger, that I, Ammaerln, -vizier and companion to the Rthr, did but walk and speak in confidence -with my liege lord.</i></p> - -<p><i>But they persisted, Gholad foremost among them. And then one saw the -hidden corse and in an instant they ringed me in:</i></p> - -<p><i>Then did I draw the long blade and hold it at the throat of Qulqlan. -"Press me not; or your king will surely die," I said. And they feared -me and shrank back.</i></p> - -<p><i>"Do you dream that I, Ammaerln, wisest of the wise, have come here -for the love of Far-Voyaging?" I raged. "Long have I plotted against -this hour, to lure the king a-voyaging in this his princely yacht, his -faithful vizier at his side, that the Change might come to him far from -his court. Then would the ancient wrong be redressed.</i></p> - -<p><i>"There are those men born to rule, as the dream-tree seeks the -sun—and such a one am I! Long has this one, now mindless, denied to -me my destiny. But behold: I, with a stroke, shall set things aright.</i></p> - -<p><i>"Below us lies a green world, peopled by savages. Not one am I to take -blood vengeance on a man newborn from the Change. Instead I shall set -him free to take up his life there below. May the Fates lead him again -to royal state if that be their will—"</i></p> - -<p><i>But there were naught but fools among them and they drew steel. I -cried out to them that all, all should share!</i></p> - -<p><i>But they heeded me not but rushed upon me. Then did I turn to Qulqlan -and drive the long blade at his throat, but Gholad threw himself before -him and fell in his place. Then they pressed me and I did strike out -against three who hemmed me close, and though they took many wounds -they persisted in their madness, one leaping in to strike and another -at my back, so that I whirled and slashed at shadows who danced away.</i></p> - -<p><i>In the end I hunted them down in those corners whither they had -dragged themselves and each did I put to the sword. And I turned at -last to find the Rthr gone and some few with them, and madness took me -that I had been gulled like a tinker by common men.</i></p> - -<p><i>In the chamber of the memory couch would I find them. There they would -seek to give back to the mindless one that memory of past glories which -I had schemed so long to deny him. Almost I wept to see such cunning -wasted. Terrible in my wrath I came upon them there. There were but two -and, though they stood shoulder to shoulder in the entry way, their -poor dirks were no match for my long blade. I struck them dead and went -to the couch, to lay my hand on the cylinder marked with the vile gold -and black of Qulqlan, that I might destroy it and with it the Rthr, -forever—</i></p> - -<p><i>And I heard a sound and whirled about. A hideous figure staggered to -me from the gloom and for an instant I saw the flash of steel in the -bloody hand of the accursed Gholad whom I had left for dead. Then I -knew cold agony between my ribs....</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><i>Gholad lay slumped against the wall, his face greenish above the -blood-soaked tunic. When he spoke air whistled through his slashed -throat.</i></p> - -<p><i>"Have done, traitor who once was honored of the king," he whispered. -"Have you no pity for him who once ruled in justice and splendor at -High Okk-Hamiloth?"</i></p> - -<p><i>"Had you not robbed me of my destiny, murderous dog," I croaked, "that -splendor would have been mine."</i></p> - -<p><i>"You came upon him helpless," gasped Gholad. "Make some amends now for -your shame. Let the Rthr have his mind, which is more precious than his -life."</i></p> - -<p><i>"I but rest to gather strength. Soon will I rise and turn him from the -couch. Then will I die content."</i></p> - -<p><i>"Once you were his friend," Gholad whispered. "By his side you fought, -when both of you were young. Remember that ... and have pity. To leave -him here, in this ship of death, mindless and alone...."</i></p> - -<p><i>"I have loosed the Hunters!" I shrieked in triumph. "With them will -the Rthr share this tomb until the end of time!"</i></p> - -<p><i>Then I searched within me and found a last terrible strength and I -rose up ... and even as my hand reached out to pluck away the mind -trace of the king I felt the bloody fingers of Gholad on my ankle, and -then my strength was gone. And I was falling headlong into that dark -well of death from which there is no returning....</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I woke up and lay for a long time in the dark without moving, trying -to remember the fragments of a strange dream of violence and death. -I could still taste the lingering dregs of some bitter emotion. But -I had more important things to think about than dreams. For just a -moment I couldn't remember what it was I had to do; then with a start -I remembered where I was. I had lain down on the couch and pulled the -headpiece into place—</p> - -<p>It hadn't worked.</p> - -<p>I thought hard, tried to tap a new reservoir of memories, drew a blank. -Maybe my earth-mind was too alien for the Vallonian memory-trace to -affect. It was another good idea that hadn't worked out. But at least -I had had a good rest. Now it was time to get moving. First—to see if -Ommodurad was still asleep. I started to sit up—</p> - -<p>Nothing happened.</p> - -<p>I had a moment of vertigo, as my inner ear tried to accommodate to -having stayed in the same place after automatically adjusting to my -intention of rising. I lay perfectly still and tried to think it -through.</p> - -<p>I had tried to move ... and hadn't so much as twitched a muscle. I -was paralyzed ... or tied up ... or maybe, if I was lucky, imagining -things. I could try it again and next time—</p> - -<p>I was afraid to try. Suppose I tried and nothing happened—again? It -was better to lie here and tell myself it was all a mistake. Maybe I -should go back to sleep and wake up later and try it again....</p> - -<p>This was ridiculous. All I had to do was sit up. I—</p> - -<p>Nothing. I lay in the dark and tried to will an arm to move, my head -to turn. It was as though I had no arm, no head—just a mind—alone -in the dark. I strained to sense the ropes that held me down: still -nothing. No ropes, no arms, no body. There was no pressure against me -from the couch, no vagrant itch or cramp, no physical sensation. I was -a disembodied brain, lying nestled in a great bed of pitchblack cotton -wool.</p> - -<p>Then, abruptly, I was aware of myself—not the gross mechanism of bone -and muscle, but the neuro-electric field generated within a brain alive -with flashing currents and a lightning interplay of molecular forces. A -sense of orientation grew. I occupied a block of cells ... here in the -left hemisphere. The mass of neural tissue loomed over me, gigantic. -And "I" ... "I" was reduced to the elemental ego, who possessed as a -material appurtenance "my" arms and legs, "my" body, "my" brain.... -Relieved of outside stimuli, I was able now to conceptualize myself -as I actually was: an insubstantial state existing in an immaterial -continuum, created by the action of neural currents within the -cerebrum, as a magnetic field is created in space by the flow of -electricity.</p> - -<p>And I knew what had happened. I had opened my mind to invasion by alien -memories. The other mind had seized upon the sensory centers and driven -me to this dark corner. I was a fugitive within my own skull.</p> - -<p>For a timeless time I lay stunned, immured now as the massive stones -of Bar-Ponderone had never confined me. My basic self-awareness still -survived, out was shunted aside, cut off from any contact with the body -itself.</p> - -<p>With shadowy fingers of imagination I clawed at the walls surrounding -me, fought for a glimpse of light, for a way out.</p> - -<p>And found none.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Then, at last, I began again to think.</p> - -<p>I must analyze my awareness of my surroundings, seek out channels -through which impulses from sensory nerves flowed, and tap them.</p> - -<p>I tried cautiously; an extension of my self-concept reached out with -ultimate delicacy. There were the ranked infinities of cells, there -the rushing torrents of gross fluid, there the taut cables of the -interconnecting web, and there—</p> - -<p>Barrier! Blank and impregnable, the wall reared up. My questing tendril -of self-stuff raced over the surface like an ant over a melon, and -found no tiniest fissure. It loomed alien, inscrutable: the invader who -had stolen my brain.</p> - -<p>I withdrew. To dissipate my force was senseless. I must select a point -of attack, hurl against it all the power of my surviving -identity ... before it too dwindled away and the abstraction that was -Legion vanished forevermore.</p> - -<p>The last of the phantom emotions that had clung—for how long?—to the -incorporeal mind field had faded now, leaving me with no more than -an intellectual determination to reassert myself. Dimly I recognized -this sign of my waning sense of identity but there was no surge of -instinctive fear. Instead I coolly assessed my resources—and almost at -once stumbled into an unused channel, here within my own self-field. -For a moment I recoiled from the outré configuration of the stored -patterns ... and then I remembered.</p> - -<p>I had been in the water, struggling, while the Red soldier waited, -rifle aimed. And then: a flood of data, flowing with cold, impersonal -precision. And I had deftly marshalled the forces of my body to survive.</p> - -<p>And once more: as I hung by numbed fingers under the cornice of the -Yordano Building, the cold voice had spoken.</p> - -<p>And I had forgotten. The miracle had been pushed back, rejected by -the conscious mind. But now I knew: this was the knowledge that I had -received from the background briefing device that I had used in my -island strong-room before I fled. This was the survival data known to -all Old Vallonians of the days of the Two Worlds. It had lain here, -unused, the secrets of superhuman strength and endurance ... buried by -the imbecile of censor-self's aversion to the alien.</p> - -<p>But the ego alone remained now, stripped of the burden of neurosis, -freed from subconscious pressures. The levels of the mind were laid -bare, and I saw close at hand the regions where dreams were born, the -barren sources of instinctive fear-patterns, the linkages to blinding -emotions; and all lay now under my overt control.</p> - -<p>Without further hesitation I tapped the stored Vallonian knowledge, -encompassed it, made it mine. Then again I approached the barrier, -spread out across it, probed in vain—</p> - -<p>"<i>... vile primitive....</i>"</p> - -<p>The thought thundered out with crushing force. I recoiled, then renewed -my attack, alert now. I knew what to do.</p> - -<p>I sought and found a line of synaptic weakness, burrowed at it—</p> - -<p>"<i>... intolerable ... vestigial ... erasure....</i>"</p> - -<p>I struck instantly, slipped past the shield, laid firm hold on an optic -receptor bank. The alien mind threw itself against me, but too late. I -held secure and the assault faded, withdrew. Cautiously I extended my -interpretive receptivity. There was a pattern of pulses, oscillations -in the lambda/mu range. I tuned, focussed—</p> - -<p>Abruptly I was seeing. For a moment my fragile equilibrium tottered, -as I strove to integrate the flow of external stimuli into my bodiless -self-concept. Then a balance was struck: I held my ground and stared -through the one eye I had recaptured from the usurper.</p> - -<p>And I reeled again!</p> - -<p>Bright daylight blazed in the chamber of Ommodurad. The scene shifted -as the body moved about, crossing the room, turning.... I had assumed -that the body still lay in the dark but instead, it walked, without my -knowledge, propelled by a stranger.</p> - -<p>The field of vision flashed across the couch. Ommodurad was gone.</p> - -<p>I sensed that the entire left lobe, disoriented by the loss of the -eye, had slipped now to secondary awareness, its defenses weakened. I -retreated momentarily from my optic outpost, laid a temporary traumatic -block across the access nerves to keep the intruder from reasserting -possession, and concentrated my force in an attack on the auricular -channels. It was an easy rout. Instantly my eye coordinated its -impressions with those coming in along the aural nerves ... and heard -my voice mouth a curse.</p> - -<p>The body was standing beside a bare wall with a hand laid upon it. In -the wall a recess partly obscured by a sliding panel stood empty.</p> - -<p>The body turned, strode to a doorway, emerged into a gloomy -violet-shadowed corridor. The glance flicked from the face of one guard -to another. They stared in open-mouthed surprise, brought weapons up.</p> - -<p>"You dare to bar the path to the Lord Ammaerln?" My voice slashed at -the men. "Stand aside, as you value your lives."</p> - -<p>And the body pushed past them, striding off along the corridor. It -passed through a great archway, descended a flight of marble stairs, -came along a hall I had seen on my tour of the Palace of Sapphires and -into the Onyx Chamber with the great golden sunburst that covered the -high black wall.</p> - -<p>In the Great Owner's chair at the ring-board Ommodurad sat scowling at -the lame courtier whose red hair was hidden now under a black cowl. -Between them Foster stood, the heavy manacles dragging at his wrists. -Ommodurad turned; his face paled, then flushed darkly. He rose, teeth -bared.</p> - -<p>The gaze of my eye fixed on Foster. Foster stared back, a look of -incredulity growing on his face.</p> - -<p>"My Lord Rthr," I heard my voice say. The eye swept down and fixed on -the manacles. The body drew back a step, as if in horror.</p> - -<p>"You overreach yourself, Ommodurad!" my voice cried harshly.</p> - -<p>Ommodurad stepped toward me, his immense arm raised.</p> - -<p>"Lay not a hand on me, dog of a usurper!" my voice roared out. "By the -Gods, would you take me for common clay?"</p> - -<p>And, unbelievably, Ommodurad paused, stared in my face.</p> - -<p>"I know you as the upstart Drgon, petty Owner," he rumbled. "But I know -I see another there behind your pale eyes."</p> - -<p>"Foul was the crime that brought me to this pass," my voice said. -"But ... know that your master, Ammaerln, stands before you, in the -body of a primitive!"</p> - -<p>"Ammaerln...!" Ommodurad jerked as though he had been struck.</p> - -<p>My body turned, dismissing him. The eye rested on Foster.</p> - -<p>"My liege," my voice said unctuously. "I swear the dog dies for this -treason——"</p> - -<p>"It is a mindless one, intruder," Ommodurad broke in. "Seek no favor -with the Rthr for he that was Rthr is no more. You deal with me now."</p> - -<p>My body whirled on Ommodurad. "Give a thought to your tone, lest your -ambitions prove your death!"</p> - -<p>Ommodurad put a hand to his dagger. "Ammaerln of Bros-Ilyond you may -be, or a changeling from dark regions I know not of. But know that this -day I hold all power in Vallon."</p> - -<p>"And what of this one who was once Qulqlan? What consort do you -hold with him you say is mindless?" I saw my hand sweep out in a -contemptuous gesture at Foster.</p> - -<p>"An end to patience!" the Great Owner roared. "Shall I stand in my -inner citadel and give account of myself to a madman?" He started -toward my body.</p> - -<p>"Does the fool, Ommodurad, forget the power of the great Ammaerln?" -my voice said softly. And the towering figure hesitated once more, -searching my face. "The Rthr's hour is past ... and yours, bungler -and fool," my voice went on. "Your months—or is it years?—of -self-delusion are ended." My voice rose in a bellow: "Know that I ... -Ammaerln, the great ... have returned to rule at High Okk-Hamiloth."</p> - -<p>"Months?" rumbled Ommodurad. "Indeed, I believe the tales of the -Greymen are true and that an evil spirit has returned to haunt me. You -speak of months?" He threw back his head, laughed a choked throaty -laugh that was half sob.</p> - -<p>"Know, demon, or madman, or ancient prince of evil: for thirty -centuries have I brooded alone, sealed from an empire by a single key!"</p> - -<p>I felt the shock rack through and through the invader mind. This was -the opportunity I had hoped for. Quick as thought I moved, slashed at -the wavering shield, and was past it——</p> - -<p>I grappled onto the foul mind-matrix, scanned its symbolisms: a miasma -of twisted concepts like great webs, asquirm with bristling nodes like -crouching spiders—and through it all a yammering torrent of deformed -thought-shapes.</p> - -<p>In my eagerness I was careless. The invader mind, recovering, struck -back. Too late I felt it slip into my awareness, flick over the stored -information. I leaped to protect one fact ... and lost my gains. With -only a single tenuous line of rapport with the alien mind still open, -I clung, shaken—but hugging precious patterns of stolen data. My raid -had been no more than an irritation to the other mind ... but I had -fetched away a mass of information. I interpreted it, integrated it, -matched it to known patterns. A complex structure of relationships -evolved, growing into a new awareness.</p> - -<p>Upon the mind-picture of Foster's face was now super-imposed another: -that of Qulqlan, Rthr of all Vallon, ruler of the Two Worlds!</p> - -<p>And other pictures, snatched from the intruder mind, were present now -in the earth-consciousness of me, Legion.</p> - -<p>The Vaults, deep in the rock under the fabled city of Okk-Hamiloth, -where the mind-trace of every citizen was stored, sealed by the Rthr -and keyed to his mind alone.</p> - -<p>Ammaerln, urging the king to embark on a Far-Voyage, stressing the -burden of government, tempting him to bring with him the royal -mind-trace; Qulqlan's acquiescence and Ammaerln's secret joy at the -advancement of his scheme; the coming of the Change for the Rthr, -aboard ship, far out in space—and the vizier's bold stroke; -and then the fools who found him at the lifeboat ... and the loss of -all, all....</p> - -<p>There my own memories took up the tale: the awakening of Foster, -unsuspecting, and his recording of the mind of the dying Ammaerlin; -the flight from the Hunters; the memory-trace of the king that lay for -three millenia among neolithic bones until I, a primitive, plucked -it from its place; and the pocket of a coarse fibre garment where -the cylinder lay now—on the hip of the body I inhabited but as -inaccessible to me as if it had been a million miles away.</p> - -<p>But there was a second memory-trace—Ammaerln's. I had crossed a galaxy -to come to Foster, and with me, locked in an unmarked pewter cylinder, -I had brought Foster's ancient nemesis.</p> - -<p>I had given it life, and a body.</p> - -<p>Foster, once Rthr, had survived against all logic and had come back, -back from the dead: the last hope of a golden age....</p> - -<p>To meet his fate at my hands.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Three thousand years," I heard my voice saying. "Three thousand years -have the men of Vallon lived mindless, with the glory that was Vallon -locked away in a vault without a key."</p> - -<p>"I, alone," said Ommodurad, "have borne the curse of knowledge. Long -ago, in the days of the Rthr, I took my mind-trace from the vaults in -anticipation of the day of days when he should fall. Little joy has it -brought me."</p> - -<p>"And now," my voice said, "you think to force this mind—that is no -mind—to unseal the vault?"</p> - -<p>"I know it for a hopeless task," Ommodurad said. "At first I -thought—since he speaks the tongue of old Vallon—that he dissembled. -But he knows nothing. This is but the dry husk of the Rthr ... and I -sicken of the sight. I would fain kill him now and let the long farce -end."</p> - -<p>"Not so!" my voice cut in. "Once I decreed exile to the mindless one. -So be it!"</p> - -<p>The face of Ommodurad twisted in its rage. "Your witless chatterings -too! I tire of them."</p> - -<p>"Wait!" my voice snarled. "Would you put aside the key?"</p> - -<p>There was a silence as Ommodurad stared at my face. I saw my hand rise -into view. Gripped in it was Foster's memory-trace.</p> - -<p>"The Two Worlds lie in my hand," my voice spoke. "Observe well the -black and golden bands of the royal memory-trace. Who holds this key -is all-powerful. As for the mindless body yonder, let it be destroyed."</p> - -<p>Ommodurad locked eyes with mine. Then, "Let the deed be done," he said.</p> - -<p>The redhead drew a long stiletto from under his cloak, smiling. I could -wait no longer....</p> - -<p>Along the link I had kept through the intruder's barrier I poured the -last of the stored energy of my mind. I felt the enemy recoil, then -strike back with crushing force. But I was past the shield.</p> - -<p>As the invader reached out to encircle me I shattered my unified -forward impulse into myriad nervous streamlets that flowed on, under, -over and around the opposing force; I spread myself through and through -the inner all-mass, drawing new power from the trunk sources.</p> - -<p>I caught a vicious blast of pure wrath that rocked me and then I -grappled, shield to shield, with the alien. And he was stronger.</p> - -<p>Like a corrosive fluid the massive personality-gestalt shredded my -extended self-field. I drew back, slowly, reluctantly. I caught a -shadowy impression of the body, standing rigid, eyes blank, and sensed -a rumbling voice that spoke: "Quick! The intruder!"</p> - -<p>Now! I struck for the right optic center, clamped down with a death -grip.</p> - -<p>The enemy mind went mad as the darkness closed in. I heard my voice -scream and I saw in vivid pantomime the vision that threatened the -invader: the redhead darting to me, the stiletto flashing——</p> - -<p>And then the invading mind broke, swirled into chaos, and was gone....</p> - -<p>I reeled, shocked and alone inside my skull. The brain loomed, dark -and untenanted now. I began to move, crept along the major nerve paths, -reoccupied the cortex——</p> - -<p>Agony! I twisted, felt again with a massive return of sensation my -arms, my legs, opened both eyes to see blurred figures moving. And in -my chest a hideous pain....</p> - -<p>I was sprawled on the floor, gasping. Sudden understanding came: the -redhead had struck ... and the other mind, in full rapport with the -pain centers, had broken under the shock, left the stricken brain to me -alone.</p> - -<p>As through a red veil I saw the giant figure of Ommodurad loom, stoop -over me, rise with the royal cylinder in his hand. And beyond, Foster, -strained backward, the chain between his wrists garroting the redhead. -Ommodurad turned, took a step, flicked the man from Foster's grasp and -hurled him aside. He drew his dagger. Quick as a hunting cat Foster -leaped, struck with the manacles ... and the knife clattered across the -floor. Ommodurad backed away with a curse, while the redhead seized -the stiletto he had let fall and moved in. Foster turned to meet him, -staggering, and raised heavy arms.</p> - -<p>I fought to move, got my hand as far as my side, fumbled with the -leather strap. The alien mind had stolen from my brain the knowledge of -the cylinder but I had kept from it the fact of the pistol. I had my -hand on its butt now. Painfully I drew it, dragged my arm up, struggled -to raise the weapon, centered it on the back of the mop of red hair, -free now of the cowl ... and fired.</p> - -<p>Ommodurad had found his dagger. He turned back from the corner where -Foster had sent it spinning. Spattered with the blood of the redhead, -Foster retreated until his back was at the wall: a haggard figure -against the gaudy golden sunburst. The flames of beaten metal shimmered -and flared before my dimming vision. The great gold circles of the Two -Worlds seemed to revolve, while waves of darkness rolled over me.</p> - -<p>But there was a thought: something I had found among the patterns in -the intruder's mind. At the center of the sunburst rose a boss, in -black and gold, erupting a foot from the wall, like a sword-hilt....</p> - -<p>The thought came from far away. The sword of the Rthr, used once, in -the dawn of a world, by a warrior king—but laid away now, locked in -its sheath of stone, keyed to the mind-pattern of the Rthr, that none -other might ever draw it to some ignoble end.</p> - -<p>A sword, keyed to the basic mind-pattern of the king....</p> - -<p>I drew a last breath, blinked back the darkness. Ommodurad stepped past -me, knife in hand, toward the unarmed man.</p> - -<p>"Foster," I croaked. "The sword...."</p> - -<p>Foster's head came up. I had spoken in English; the syllables rang -strangely in that outworld setting. Ommodurad ignored the unknown words.</p> - -<p>"Draw ... the sword ... from the stone!... You're ... Qulqlan ... -Rthr ... of Vallon."</p> - -<p>I saw him reach out, grasp the ornate hilt. Ommodurad, with a cry, -leaped toward him—</p> - -<p>The sword slid out smoothly, four feet of glittering steel. Ommodurad -stopped, stared at the manacled hands gripping the hilt of the fabled -blade. Slowly he sank to his knees, bent his neck.</p> - -<p>"I yield, Qulqlan," he said. "I crave the mercy of the Rthr."</p> - -<p>Behind me I heard thundering feet. Dimly I was aware of Torbu raising -my head, of Foster leaning over me. They were saying something but I -couldn't hear. My feet were cold, and the coldness crept higher.</p> - -<p>I felt hands touch me and the cool smoothness of metal against my -temples. I wanted to say something, tell Foster that I had found the -answer, the one that had always eluded me before. I wanted to tell him -that all lives are the same length when viewed from the foreshortened -perspective of death, and that life, like music, requires no meaning -but only a certain symmetry.</p> - -<p>But it was too hard. I tried to cling to the thought, to carry it with -me into the cold void toward which I moved, but it slipped away and -there was only my self-awareness, alone in emptiness, and the winds -that swept through eternity blew away the last shred of ego and I was -one with darkness....</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a></h2> - - -<p>I awoke to a light like that of a morning when the world was young. -Gossamer curtains fluttered at tall windows, through which I saw a -squadron of trim white clouds riding in a high blue sky.</p> - -<p>I turned my head, and Foster stood beside me, dressed in a short white -tunic.</p> - -<p>"That's a crazy set of threads, Foster," I said, "but on your build it -looks good. But you've aged; you look twenty-five if you look a day."</p> - -<p>Foster smiled. "Welcome to Vallon, my friend," he said in English. I -noticed that he faltered a bit over the words, as if he hadn't used -them for a long time.</p> - -<p>"Vallon," I said. "Then it wasn't all a dream?"</p> - -<p>"Regard it as a dream, Legion. Your life begins today."</p> - -<p>"There was something," I said, "something I had to do. But it doesn't -seem to matter. I feel relaxed inside...."</p> - -<p>Someone came forward from behind Foster.</p> - -<p>"Gope," I said. Then I hesitated. "You are Gope, aren't you?" I said in -Vallonian.</p> - -<p>He laughed. "I was known by that name once," he said, "but my true name -is Gwanne."</p> - -<p>My eyes fell on my legs. I saw that I was wearing a tunic like Foster's -except that mine was pale blue.</p> - -<p>"Who put the dress on me?" I asked. "And where's my pants?"</p> - -<p>"This garment suits you better," said Gope. "Come. Look in the glass."</p> - -<p>I got to my feet, stepped to a long mirror, glanced at the reflection. -"It's not the real me, boys," I started——Then I stared, open-mouthed. -A Hercules, black-haired and clean-limbed, stared back. I shut my -mouth ... and his mouth shut. I moved an arm and he did likewise. I -whirled on Foster.</p> - -<p>"What ... how ... who...?"</p> - -<p>"The mortal body that was Legion died of its wounds," he said, "but the -mind that was the man was recorded. We have waited many years to give -that mind life again."</p> - -<p>I turned back to the mirror, gaped. The young giant gaped back. "I -remember," I said. "I remember ... a knife in my guts ... and a -redheaded man ... and the Great Owner, and...."</p> - -<p>"For his crimes," told Gope, "he went to a place of exile until the -Change should come on him. Long have we waited."</p> - -<p>I looked again and now I saw two faces in the mirror and both of them -were young. One was low down, just above my ankles, and it belonged to -a cat I had known as Itzenca. The other, higher up, was that of a man I -had known as Ommodurad. But this was a clear-eyed Ommodurad, just under -twenty-one.</p> - -<p>"Onto the blank slate we traced your mind," said Gope.</p> - -<p>"He owed you a life, Legion," Foster said. "His own was forfeit."</p> - -<p>"I guess I ought to kick and scream and demand my original ugly puss -back," I said slowly, studying my reflection, "but the fact is, I like -looking like Mr. Universe."</p> - -<p>"Your earthly body was infected with the germs of old age," said -Foster. "Now you can look forward to a great span of life."</p> - -<p>"But come," said Gope. "All Vallon waits to honor you." He led the way -to the tall window.</p> - -<p>"Your place is by my side at the great ring-board," said Foster. "And -afterwards: all of the Two Worlds lie before you."</p> - -<p>I looked past the open window and saw a carpet of velvet green that -curved over foothills to the rim of a forest. Down the long sward I -saw a procession of bright knights and ladies come riding on animals, -some black, some golden palomino, that looked for all the world like -unicorns.</p> - -<p>My eyes traveled upward to where the light of a great white sun flashed -on blue towers. And somewhere trumpets sounded.</p> - -<p>"It looks like a pretty fair offer," I said. "I'll take it."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="ph3">A TRACE OF MEMORY</p> - - -<p>Help wanted: Soldier of fortune seeks companion in arms to share -unusual adventure. Foster, Box 19.</p> - -<p>Legion was desperate—but not that desperate. Even petty larceny seemed -preferable to that kind of proposal. But fate stepped in, and now he -is on the run, pursued by cops, the CIA and a few not-so-friendly -acquaintances of Foster. And Foster has lost his memory—not to mention -about thirty years of his age!</p> - -<p>The key to Legion's dilemma, and to Foster's forgotten past, is in a -row of metal cylinders aboard a spaceship that has been orbiting Earth -for thousands of years. And Legion's troubles have really only begun....</p> - -<p class="ph4">A Tom Doherty Associates Book</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Trace of Memory, by Keith Laumer - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRACE OF MEMORY *** - -***** This file should be named 51712-h.htm or 51712-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/7/1/51712/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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