Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11

by Gordon R Dickson; David W Wixon

  That particular deception, Bleys had already decided, would not be used again: the need to make the problem seem real to the expert had resulted in the ship having a pervading stale, sickly sweet smell that was making the crew increasingly surly.

  Still, for all its disadvantages, Delivered had a deluxe-size viewing screen, large enough to dominate its lounge with the illusion of a gigantic picture window cut into the side of the ship. Bleys had ordered such screens placed in all the ships he was likely to use, and this one was left permanently on before his desk.

  At the moment, the screen was dominated by a view of the night-side of the planet below. Mara, the smaller of the two Exotic planets— although only by a small amount—showed before Bleys' eyes as a black circle cut out of the starfield. The Exotics generally eschewed large, well-lit cities, and the planet had no moon to reflect Procyon's light onto the planet's nightside.

  But already an arc of excruciating whiteness was outlining one side of that black circle. To Bleys, in Delivered’s particular attitude, that arc outlined the lower edge of the planet; and as he watched the arc grew, curving upward and away on both sides like the horns of some great animal, even as the most central portion of the arc thickened ... and abruptly, a point at the very center of the arc sparkled, glaring at him with the smallest edge of Procyon's intense face.

  Bleys had watched this sight, in various versions, dozens of times already during their long stay in this orbit; and he knew that within moments the ship's movement would separate the star from the planet, and the dayside would expand below him, glowing warmly green where it was not a cooler blue.

  Mara looked a lot like Old Earth, Bleys thought. That recognition was not original with him, but it had come up in his memory more sharply because he had so recently been looking down on the mother planet in much this same way.

  This was no mother to the human race, though, he reminded himself, but a place occupied by a race of strangers, of people almost alien in their self-created differences from the rest of the human race ... as alien to them, in fact, as he himself; but in a different way.

  And it was, he suddenly recalled, the home—no, call it the birthplace, only—of his mother.

  He probed at his mind, wondering whether he might be letting his own feelings about his mother affect his perception about her birthplace.

  No.

  He was here only because Hal Mayne was here—had brought the woman Rukh Tamani here after taking her from the Militia's holding cells in Ahruma.

  No intelligence source had given Bleys that information; rather, he had concluded it was a logical move; by all accounts, the woman had not fared well under the Militia's—Barbage's—care. The Exotics were renowned healers, and Bleys knew even that Mayne himself had come here for healing, after his own escape from that same prison—it made sense he would return here with someone in a similar position.

  But where, on that large planet below, was Hal Mayne? Mara was even larger than Old Earth, by a small amount, and Bleys could not very well ask someone for that information.

  Or, could he?

  He leaned back in his chair, his eyes no longer seeing the screen.

  He had been hanging here in orbit trying, solely by means of passive listening techniques used by the technicians he had brought along, to pick up some piece of information that might lead him to Hal Mayne's whereabouts and doings. Any more active form of information-gathering would be certain to betray his presence to the Exotics.

  But then again: what could he lose if the Exotics, or even Hal Mayne, learned he was here? Neither of them would attack him physically, even here in Exotic space; he was sure of that.

  By himself in the lounge, he shook his head. Not yet.

  There might come a time to take that bull by the horns, but this was not it. Revealing himself to the Exotics would not be physically dangerous, but it would dissipate any chance of learning something from orbit. And it would likely expose him to pointless bouts with the impenetrably courteous blandness the Exotics so adeptly used to befuddle people. All they would ever tell him would be what they wanted him to know, as if they were running him through a maze like some experimental subject. So he went to bed.

  When he awoke and made his way to the lounge, he found waiting there a recent message from Delivered'?, captain, reporting that the Maran environmental-systems expert had finished his repairs and was preparing to depart: did Bleys want to remain here in orbit?

  Bleys sniffed: the air did seem better.

  On a sudden impulse, he keyed the circuit for the bridge.

  "Captain, is the Maran still on board?" he asked.

  "Yes, Great Teacher, but not for much longer—the shuttle he called to pick him up is just three minutes away."

  "Ask him to come up to the lounge, please."

  "I'll have him escorted—"

  "No," Bleys interrupted. "Just ask him to come up, and let him find his own way. He'll be familiar with ships and unlikely to get lost, and I don't want him subjected to any intimidation ... is that understood?"

  "Yes, Great Teacher," the captain said. "But, if I may ask—what should I do about the shuttle?"

  "Ask it—politely—to wait," Bleys said. "We're guests in this space, even if the Exotics don't know it."

  "Then—the Maran will be allowed to leave?"

  "I'll let you know."

  It was only a few minutes before a figure appeared in the doorway Bleys had left open, to look enquiringly inside.

  "Please come in," Bleys said from his desk across the room as he rose to his feet.

  The man who entered did not in the least fit the popular conception of an Exotic. He was of medium height, and stockily built and in his upper forties, with rosy skin and a large bald spot showing through short brown hair. He was wearing a grease-stained gray-green coverall that seemed to have pockets everywhere, as well as a tool belt with both loops and closed pockets.

  "Thank you for coming up here," Bleys said, gesturing to an empty chair as the Exotic approached. He did not offer his hand, knowing that the Exotics generally did not observe that custom.

  "I understand there's a shuttle waiting for you," Bleys went on, "and I won't keep you long."

  "He'll wait," the Exotic said. "The driver's my nephew." He grinned, and Bleys smiled in response.

  "I won't sit down, if you don't mind," the Exotic said, waving vaguely at his own torso. "I got a little dirty down under the ion exchanger."

  "Weren't you offered a chance to clean up?" Bleys asked.

  "Oh, I was," the man said. "I turned it down—I know what my nephew's shuttle will be like; he's at the end of a long shift ferrying agricultural supplies to Ninevah—oh, that's one of the orbital manufactories."

  "These chairs clean up easily, in any case," Bleys said, "but do as you like. My name is Bleys Ahrens."

  "Honored," the Exotic said, continuing to stand. "My name is Tony Peterson." He seemed to peer at Bleys now, as if a thought had suddenly struck him. "I know who you are—are you here for the meeting, too?"

  "Which meeting?" Bleys said, stalling for time—and as he watched puzzlement enter the other's face, his mind made a sudden leap.

  "Do you mean the one with Hal Mayne?" Bleys asked. "Yes, I hope to be there."

  "It should be very interesting," Tony Peterson said.

  "Will you be there?" Bleys asked, trying to probe delicately.

  "Oh, we'll all be there," the Exotic said. "But about your air cleaner—I'm sorry it took so long, but it turned out the problem resulted from two different things going wrong at almost the same time ... I gave the details to your officers."

  "That's quite all right," Bleys said, realizing that the Exotic thought Bleys had called him up to the lounge to speak about the problem that had been created to allow the ship to stay at Mara without suspicion. "I take it you're sure you've gotten to the root of the problem?"

  "I believe so." The Exotic smiled. "The problem's mended now, but of course I can't promise it won't recur.
"

  "What do you mean?"

  "No system can last if it's mishandled."

  "Mishandled?" Bleys asked, wondering if the Exotic had detected the sabotage.

  "I believe some of your people may have gotten careless," Peterson said. "Cleaning solvents killed one of the polymembranes."

  "It sounds like improper training, then," Bleys said.

  "It may be.

  After the repairman left, Bleys asked the captain to contact Orbital Holistics and tell them that Bleys Ahrens was present and requesting permission to attend the meeting.

  "You want me to let them know you're here?" the captain asked.

  "Yes," Bleys said. He did not bother to tell the man that the situation had changed completely.

  Within thirty minutes a call was patched through to Bleys in the lounge, and he found himself looking at a woman in a pink coverall, who identified herself as Nonne, the Recordist for Mara.

  Nonne was black-haired, with a fine-boned face that suggested, despite the lack of scale in the comm screen, that she was small. But her voice was a calm, assured contralto that betrayed neither surprise at Bleys' presence nor indignation over his self-invitation to the meeting.

  "We've been told you wish to speak to someone about the upcoming meeting, Bleys Ahrens," she said, without preamble.

  "Yes," Bleys said. "It's my understanding that Hal Mayne will be addressing your gathering, and I felt it might be beneficial to all if I were allowed to present my own views."

  "We are always willing to listen," the Recordist said, her tone clinical and neutral.

  "When and where shall I appear, then?"

  "A shuttle will be dispatched for you, that will take you to whatever site is used," Nonne said. She shrugged. "The time is not yet fixed—we await Hal Mayne's return."

  He's off-planet, then Bleys told himself. But he made no comment on that subject to the Exotic on his screen.

  "I'll wait, then," he said. "But please keep me advised, won't you? Oh! By the way: could you tell me the purpose of the meeting?"

  "Why, the future," Nonne said. "Didn't you know?" There was something in her voice that made Bleys keep his silence.

  CHAPTER 39

  Stepping down from the shuttle, Bleys found himself on the resilient surface of a very small landing pad. Its edges were outlined by snow that was falling beyond its weather-control field; which told him they were now near one of the warm planet's poles.

  From one side a vehicle was approaching, its passage raising a cloud as it skimmed above the surface of the loose, new-fallen snow; and as Bleys watched, it passed through the weather curtain and onto the pad, heading directly, and silently, for him. As it drew up, a door opened; and as he moved toward it, he could see that the vehicle's surface was wet; snow that had accumulated on its back deck was beginning to slide off in clumps, as its bottom layers thawed down to water faster than the upper layers, providing a lubricating effect.

  Twenty minutes later the vehicle moved out of a stand of bare, snow-caked trees to pass through another weather barrier and draw up before a grass-surfaced ramp that sloped gently up to a place where a shadowy wall had apparently been cut into the side of a small hill. The hill itself was crowned with more snow-laden trees, and a small, conical tower of a sandstone color stuck up from behind them.

  Two figures appeared out of the shadowed cut in the hillside and began moving down the ramp. Bleys recognized the smaller one as Nonne, the Exotic he had spoken to earlier. She was now dressed in a green set of the robes that were what most of the Younger Worlds believed Exotics wore all the time.

  Bleys climbed out of the vehicle and walked to the ramp, to meet the figures moving toward him. The grassy surface was smooth and soft, comfortable to walk on, and it provided all the traction he needed, despite its upward grade.

  The taller figure moving toward him was also female, an unusual-looking woman with copper-colored skin and a shaven skull. Her robes were light blue in color, and to Bleys' unpracticed eye they appeared to be draped on her form in a different manner than those worn by Nonne; but he could not tell if the differences had any meaning.

  "Welcome, Bleys Ahrens," Nonne said, stopping at a distance of almost two meters in front of Bleys. He took an extra step, and then stopped also.

  "My companion is Sulaya," Nonne went on. "She'll be your guide, if that suits you—I'm afraid I have other duties."

  "I'm honored," Bleys said, speaking to Nonne but looking at Sulaya. "It was good of you to meet me."

  While he spoke Nonne was turning, to stride swiftly up the ramp and through the shadow-wall. Bleys and Sulaya, after another brief, polite exchange, followed her more slowly.

  Bleys was led through the shadow-wall, which he found to be some kind of pressure barrier, and beyond it, down several long passageways, to a kind of patio. Unless his direction-sense had been scrambled somehow, he was sure he was still under the hill, but the patio seemed to open on the edge of a snowbound glade. Bright light poured out of a sky from which the snow clouds had drawn off; it made tiny diamond-like sparkles dance out of the crystals of the snow on the ground.

  And yet, seated on the cushioned bench he had been shown to, Bleys felt comfortably warm. A gentle breeze breathed on his face, carrying with it a faint scent like some mild spice. Sulaya sat quietly nearby, perched atop what seemed to be a lichen-speckled stone wall. The entire patio before him and to his sides was filled with stone walls of varying heights, that bent and turned about him as if he were in the center of a maze. . . . When he found his eyes making the same circular scan of their top surfaces for the fourth time, he pulled his gaze away.

  Catching a slight movement out of the corner of an eye, Bleys turned in time to see a drinking vessel, apparently of gray glass, rise out of one arm of the bench. It contained apple juice, he discovered.

  Discounting his initial suspicions, he took a long drink of the cool, sweet fluid; and realized, when he lowered the glass, that two more people had moved into his line of sight—it seemed almost as if they had popped into being in front of him.

  One was a woman of medium height, with bronze skin and curly brown hair, wearing a honey-colored robe; Bleys found her age difficult to estimate. She gave him a welcoming smile, but said nothing while Bleys looked at her companion, a man who seemed to hold his attention without word or motion.

  This man was more than elderly, Bleys realized; in fact, he was quite probably the oldest person Bleys had ever seen. His skin seemed relatively unwrinkled, but there was a stillness in his face above the amber-colored robes, and something about the way he held himself....

  "We are pleased to have you here, Bleys Ahrens," the bronze-skinned woman said now, somewhat formally, as Bleys rose to his feet. She nodded slightly as she spoke, and her face became more serious, although she maintained a gentle smile. "My name is Chavis."

  She turned slightly, gesturing with a flowing movement of her left arm in the direction of her older companion.

  "And this is Padma, the InBond."

  InBond No one really understands the offices the Exotics give each other, but that's one I haven’t heard before.

  "I'm honored to meet you," Bleys said, as the elderly Exotic bowed, very slightly, in his direction. Padma's eyes stayed on Bleys' face, but he said nothing.

  The silence continued for a long moment, and as the three sets of Exotic eyes watched him, Bleys found himself becoming a little uncomfortable. He covered it by taking another drink; but in a moment the glass was empty.

  "Would you like some more?" Chavis asked as Bleys turned to put it down.

  "No, thank you," he said. "But is there something you'd like?"

  "There may be," Padma said. His voice was hoarse and low, the oldest thing about him. He paused to clear his throat lightly, even as a glass of water rose out of the bench's arm. Bleys reached back for it and handed it to the older Exotic.

  "Would you like to sit?" he asked, gesturing behind him at the bench.

  "No," Padma sa
id, after taking a sip of the water. "Thank you, but I think we won't be here long."

  "Then we should get to whatever you wanted to ask me," Bleys said.

  "That is sensible," Padma said, a smile coming to his face. "Would you be willing to give us twelve days of your time?" "Twelve days?" Bleys said, startled.

  "We here on the Exotics have spent generations in the study of human evolution," Chavis explained. "We'd like to measure you."

  Bleys, suddenly conscious of how he towered over the two Exotics, looked down at Padma.

  "You want data on me," he said. "And on my abilities."

  "That's one way to describe it," Padma said. "We're always looking for signs of improvements in the race."

  "To what point?" Bleys said. "There's no future in your work— surely you all know that by now."

  "It may be," Padma said. Again he smiled, gently. "But one might ask whether there is a future in any work."

  "That's the kind of philosophical speculation I prefer to avoid," Bleys said. "You must be aware of the futility of that line of thought." He paused; and after a brief moment, smiled.

  "Unless, of course, you're already testing me."

  "We were sure you would not agree," Padma said. "But regardless of what you think of our work, we believe it has value. And that it will continue to have value in the future."