Collected Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by Rosel G Brown

  Roan got to his feet. The chair was too comfortable, the conversation too unreal. He looked around at the perfect lawn, the perfect invisibility of the walls, the perfumed and curled Man.

  “Don’t you realize what this means? The Niss blockade is over. Terra’s an open world again!”

  Daryl took out a thin golden cylinder, drew on it, blew out pink smoke through delicate nostrils. He rearranged his body with a subtle excitement.

  “I haven’t felt such a thrill in years,” he said. “I half believe you really did come back from Beyond.” He stood, a smooth, flowing motion. “I want you to come with me, talk to me. I promise you such a night as you’ve never experienced on either side of the grave. My equipage is waiting. Come along to my place.” He put a slender hand on Roan’s arm. Roan knocked it away.

  “Just tell me where to find your military leaders,” he said harshly. He pushed past Daryl, who shrank back, his painted eyes wide. Roan groped, looking for the door. He slammed against the invisible wall, cursed, felt his way along it, banged his knee at an invisible corner. He whirled on Daryl.

  “Get me out of here!” He roared. “Where in the Nine Hells are the people who ought to be out here to hear what I have to tell them!”

  Daryl huddled against his chair; Roan stared at him, feeling the anger drain away as suddenly as it had come.

  “Listen—Daryl,” he said, forcing his voice low. “I grew up among aliens, fought my way through aliens to come here. I’ve gotten what I’ve had out of life by force, by guile, by killing. Those are my methods—the way you survive on the worlds out there.” Roan rammed spread fingers at the sky, accusing the worlds, accounting for himself. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he finished.

  Daryl smiled through glistening tears. He rose, all assurance again, touched his hair.

  “You’re quite wonderful,” he said. “And of course you’ll want to meet—oh, ever so many fascinating people.”

  “The place looks deserted,” Roan said. “Where is everybody?”

  “They’re a little shy. You understand. We weren’t just sure about Old Niss.”

  “You didn’t seem to be afraid of me—at first,” Roan said bluntly.

  “Afraid? Oh, I see what you mean. No, of course I wasn’t afraid. The restrainers are focused on you.”

  “What’s a restrainer?” Roan said in a tight voice.

  Daryl giggled. “They’re trained on your two—associates, too,” he said. “Shall I give you a demonstration?”

  “No!” Roan looked out across the flowerbeds beyond the glass. Askor and Sidis were standing together, squinting up at the strange blue sky of Terra.

  “We need a place to stay,” he said. He was looking around the room now, trying to pick out something that looked like a restrainer.

  “Oh, you’ll find many charming compositions to choose from,” Daryle said. “But why don’t you accept my invitation? It would be such a coup to have you all to myself this first evening.”

  “What about my friends?” Roan demanded.

  Daryl arched his neck gracefully to look at them. “Such strange looking, er, persons,” he said. “If you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Why should I mind?” Roan snapped. “It’s true enough, I guess. But there are a lot stranger, out there.” He waved at the sky.

  “They’ll be quartered wherever you choose,” Daryl said stiffly. “So long as you’re sure they’re not . . . Lowers . . .”

  Roan rounded on him. “No, damn you! They’re my friends!” And he hated the reluctance he felt in claiming them.

  Daryl frowned. “Your manner is somewhat abrupt,” he said stiffly.

  “Too bad about my manners,” Roan snapped.

  “But I suppose you forget such things, Beyond.” Daryl led the way out through panels that opened before he touched them to the accompaniment of musical tones that shimmered in the air like soap bubbles. Outside, Roan beckoned Askor and Sidis over.

  “This is Daryl,” he said. “He’s fixing us up with a place to stay.”

  “Boss, did you say he?” Sidis grinned.

  But Roan was staring at the heavymaned, two-legged animals that pulled the open chariot. The chariot itself was a work of art—a series of airy, fluted columns that supported a latticed roof. The columns were gold and the latticed roof seemed to be of glass or a plastic and changed color constantly, always glittering. The chariot had large wheels of gold, spoked with the same glittering lattice work, whose convolutions suggested . . . something like the forms of half remembered dreams. And Roan would have stood puzzling over the lattice, except that his eyes kept going back to the heavymaned draught animals . . .

  “They’re Men!” he cried suddenly, watching the dog adjusting their harness neatly. “Terrans, pulling your chariot!”

  “Only Lowers,” said Daryl. “You wouldn’t have dogs do it? My charioteers are very well treated. Come, give them a sweet and see how happy they are.” He smiled benignly, went over and took something from the pouch at his waist.

  Roan watched, feeling something in his heart rip. Terrans! The magic that word had been, all across the universe. Askor and Sidis gaped, mouths open.

  Daryl handed a square, white bit of food to one of the hairy Terrans. “Here, Lenny. Good boy.”

  Lenny took the candy and popped it into his mouth, then grinned happily. “Good, Master!” He almost jerked the chariot over as he got down to kiss Daryl’s sandaled foot. “Now, now, Lenny,” Daryl reproved softly. “Such a good boy,” he said, turning to Roan. “Would you like to give the other candy to Benny?”

  “No, damn you!” Roan roared. “I’d . . .” and then stopped in shock when Benny—the other draught-human—burst into tears.

  Daryl started to say something to Roan, sighed, and gave Benny the candy himself. “Roan is not familiar with our customs,” he told Benny, patting him on the shoulder. “Good Benny. We all love Benny. Benny is pretty. Roan, could you tell Benny he’s pretty?”

  Roan bit his lip. Benny looked at him in agony, holding the sweet and too upset to eat it. Benny had wide, innocent eyes that went oddly with his square beard and intricately plaited mane.

  “Benny is pretty,” Roan choked out. Lenny was watching, looking confused and frightened.

  “The slaves on Alpha Two at least hated being slaves,” Roan said. “And they weren’t even human.”

  “Hmmm,” Daryl mused. “You feel that because Benny and Lenny have the same basic form as you that they should be in all ways the same as you? Whereas if they were a different Shape . . .?”

  “I don’t know,” Roan cut him off. He avoided the eyes of Askor and Sidis. “Come on, load up,” he snapped.

  “In this play-pretty?” Sidis growled.

  “Unless you want to walk!”

  “Yeah,” Askor said. “We’ll walk.”

  “I guess we can walk as fast as Benny,” Sidis said.

  “And Lenny,” Askor added. “Then walk.”

  The cart moved off.

  “You’ll need a dog, of course. I’ll see to it as soon as I have you situated. You’ll have time for a bath and a nap.” Daryl gaily flicked the flower decked reins over the broad tan backs. “And then—but you’ll see for yourself—tonight!”

  XXXVII

  Roan woke in utter darkness, and his sleep had been so deep it was still heavy on him, like a weight of blankets. For a moment he strained his ears for noise, hearing only the silence that crowded his own heartbeat into his ears.

  Then he remembered. He was on Terra, in a room like a garden with flowers, high in a glassy tower. In the darkness, a breeze was blowing from somewhere and it smelled like a drowsy afternoon.

  Then suddenly the darkness lightened and Roan looked up to see a large, short-haired brown dog which nodded politely.

  “Good evening, Master. I am Sostelle. I am to be your dog—if you approve, sir.”

  Roan grunted, sat up. “My dog,” he said. He had never owned a living creature before.

  “I’m
sorry to have disturbed you, Master—but Master Daryl was emphatic about the party.”

  “That’s all right. I’m hungry. Can you get me something to eat?” Sostelle moved gracefully on his over-long hind legs, trotted to the wall, pushed a button, and a tray of hot, glazed fruit came out. He pulled the legs down on the tray and rolled it over to Roan, pulling up a chair for Roan to sit on. He had hands like a Man’s.

  “Is this all there is?” Roan asked.

  “It’s usual,” Sostelle said. “But I’ll get you something else, if you wish.”

  “How about meat and eggs?”

  “Dog food?” Sostelle looked as though he didn’t know whether to frown or laugh.

  “I can’t live on candy,” Roan said.

  “I’ll do my best, Master,” Sostelle said. “Cutlets in Sun Wine and pheasant eggs Metropole?”

  “Okay,” Roan said. “Anything.”

  “And shall I prepare a bath, Master?”

  “I had one yesterday,” Roan snapped.

  “Still—it’s customary . . .”

  “All right.” Roan looked at the dog. “I’m pretty ignorant, Sostelle. Thanks for trying to help me.”

  Sostelle’s tongue came out in a canine smile. “I am sure that you will be a great master. I sense it. If you’ll forgive a dog’s foolish fancy, Sir.”

  “Keep me from looking like an idiot in front of these pretty creatures and I’ll forgive you anything.”

  The fete was held in a vast, silver-and-glass walled space where fragile columns as slender as reeds ran up to arch out and meet in a glitter of jeweled-glass panels high overhead. The floor was a polished expanse of deep violet glass. The music was as stirring and as lovely as a flight of swans, as martial as the roar of lions, as gay as carnival.

  To Roan’s left and behind him, Sostelle stood in his stiff formal jacket, quite graceful on his hind legs, and whispered. “Hold your glass with one finger, Master, not with your whole hand.”

  Roan nodded, feeling awkward and almost naked, for Sostelle had depilated him and dressed him in a silky, green and gold garment that folded and tied together and felt as though it might fall off if you moved too quickly in it. The guests carefully avoided staring at him. Sostelle pointed them out as they whirled past, their dance a dainty posturing in which neither partner touched even the fingertips of the other.

  Roan watched, overwhelmed by the blaze of light, of color, of movement across the vast expanse of multitiered glass-clear floor that made the throng of fancifully gowned men and women appear to be floating in the air. He finished the drink and another was there at once. Daryl appeared, transformed in a pink garment, silver-dyed hair, and feathery wings attached to his ankles.

  “Roan—how marvelous you look.” He glanced at Sostelle.

  “And Sostelle—didn’t he offer you a choice of hair tints and scents? And what about decorative touches.”

  “He offered them,” Roan cut in. “I didn’t want them. Look, Daryl, I can’t afford to waste any more time. When will I meet your governmental leaders, your military men?”

  A small crowd was gathering in Daryl’s wake, watching Roan curiously. Someone tittered.

  “Waste time?” Daryl’s nose got a pinched look.

  “I seem to have offended everybody again,” Roan said in the silence. “Didn’t you warn them I’d forgotten my manners?”

  A nervous laugh went through the group.

  “Is that what it means to you?” he almost shouted. “Manners? Don’t you care that Terra’s a free world again—that the Galaxy is open to you?”

  Daryl put a hand on his arm. “No one here is much on mythology, Roan. They—”

  “Mythology, Hell! I’m talking about a thousand worlds—a million of them—and once Terra ruled them all!”

  A ripple of applause broke out.

  Daryl joined in. “Charming,” he said “So spontaneous.” He flicked his eyes at the others. “Roan’s going to be wonderful,” he said.

  A girl was looking at Roan. If she had been done by a bad artist in brass, she would have looked like Stellaraire. She was the statue in the garden on Aldo Cerise, but her body was warm human flesh instead of cold stone, and her mouth by its very existence begged to be kissed. She had smiled when the others laughed. Her lips barely curved but her green eyes seemed to tilt up at the corners.

  “I’m Desiranne,” she said. “I don’t understand what you’ve said—but it’s exciting.”

  “Desiranne will entertain tonight,” Daryl said. “It will be die high point of the evening.” His eyes moved over her like a lecherous hand.

  “Look,” Roan said to the girl. “It’s nice about the party and you’re so beautiful a man almost can’t endure it, but someone’s got to listen to me. This is the biggest thing that’s happened to Terra in five thousand years. But before long the ITN is going to realize the blockade is over. There’s a follow named Trishinist who’d give his hair to be the one to lead an invading force in here. They think of Terra as one big treasure house, ripe for looting—the richest prize of all.”

  Daryl laughed with a mouth full of smoke and ended up choking. Sostelle came immediately with a glass of water and a scented, gossamer tissue. People were turning away, already looking bored.

  Daryl smiled knowingly, took out a cigarette. “I wouldn’t,” he said. “Not so soon. I’m sure you’ll become a great Favorite, but if you try to push yourself forward right away, people will resent it.”

  Roan growled and Daryl jumped. “Really,” he said almost sharply. “You’ll have to learn a few of the graces. And I’d also suggest you let your fingernails grow out a bit more gracefully and a few things like that which Sostelle will advise you about.” He rose in a smooth ballet movement.

  “And now, I think Desiranne and I—”

  “She’ll dance with me,” Roan said roughly. He finished his wine with a gulp, tossed the glass aside, walked past Daryl to the girl’s side. She looked around, wide-eyed, as Roan took her in his arms. She was as light as a handful of moonbeams.

  Roan found himself thinking, suddenly struck dumb by her fragile loveliness.

  But there was no need for talk. He was suddenly aware of the music, swelling louder now. There was a deep, booming throb that matched the cadence of the human heart, and a dazzling interplay of horns that repeated the rhythms of the human nervous system, and an intricate melody that echoed forgotten human dreams. Stellaraire had taught Roan how to dance, long ago; he had not forgotten. All around, the Terrans had drawn back. Now they stood, watching, as Roan responded with a lifetime’s pent-up emotion to the call of the music and the girl and the strong wine of Terra.

  And then the music ended on a fading susurration of cymbals and the high wail of brass. Roan swept Desiranne almost to the floor. For a moment he held her there, looking into her perfect, half-frightened, half-enraptured face.

  “I think I know now why I came here,” he said. “I think I knew I’d find you. Now I don’t think I’ll ever let you go.”

  There were sudden tears in her eyes as Roan set her on her feet. “Roan,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

  Then she turned and fled.

  Suddenly there was deafening applause. Shouts of bravo! and splendid! rang out. Everyone seemed to be staring at him with eyes that were bright with . . . fear?

  They came toward him almost cautiously, as though approaching a tame beast, led by a small, lithe brunette with long hair done into such a complex system of plaits and curls that her head looked too heavy for her small body. She had a sinuous, elongated walk, and her dress was the color of . . . of air with sunshine in it.

  “Mistress Alouicia,” Sostelle whispered to Roan, “a dancer, and a very clever woman.”

  “Marvelous,” she said. “Such a spectacle of primitive savagery! For a moment I thought you were going to lose control and kill her, tear her throat out with those great strong teeth.” She shuddered, showing Roan a smile that was just a little long in the tooth.


  “I’d never understood ancient music before,” a man said. “Now I think I do.”

  “The way he sprang at her!” someone else offered. “And then putting his hands on her that way. It was intended to represent a tiger seizing his prey, wasn’t it?”

  “No, it was just a dance,” Roan said, and turned to Sostelle and asked in a loud voice, “It’s all right, isn’t it, to say what you mean instead of making people guess?”

  Sostelle, knowing this wasn’t to be answered, kept a discreet silence and straightened the folds in Roan’s chiton.

  “Does everyone dance in that way in your homeland?” Alouicia asked, smiling a bit stiffly now.

  “On every world there are different dances. Once I was with a circus and my girl did erotic dances in several different cultures.”

  “Erotic? How interesting.”

  Roan was glad to have found a subject of interest. He was feeling the wine, wanting to put everyone at ease, and then go find Desiranne.

  “It frequently led to public copulation,” he added.

  “To . . . to . . . what did you say?” Alouicia’s eyes widened.

  “What does it mean?” a high voice whispered loudly.

  Someone tittered. “Like Dogs. Imagine!”

  “Really! What sort of . . . animal . . . would perform such a dance?”

  “She was beautiful,” Roan said, remembering Stellaraire. and feeling that something should be said out of loyalty. “I loved her.”

  “He’s not merely a savage,” a voice said loudly behind him. “I do believe he’s a Lower.”

  Roan turned. A tall, wide-shouldered Terran stood looking at him with an expression of distaste.

  “Master Hugh, the famous athlete.” Sostelle murmured.

  “Hugh!” Alouicia said, her voice carrying the faintest edge of shrillness. “What an exciting confrontation! The strongest man on Terra, with your interest in the ancient athletic arts—and this . . . elemental man from—wherever he’s from!”