by John Brunner
“Come and enjoy me?” she said, laughing with a great flash of white teeth. “It’s good in the warm running water!”
Vykor muttered something and pulled his leg free. As he went on, sandals squelching, she shouted something after him and then gave an exaggerated sigh.
This whole area seemed to be laced and cross-hatched with pools, streams and little cascades; he picked his way among many, each occupied by a girl. Some were occupied by more than one person, he thought, but when this was the case a sort of isolated pool of impervious darkness formed a barrier.
There was someone coming up ahead: a fat figure, chuckling as it walked. It seemed vaguely familiar. Vykor dodged into an embrasure in the wall, for he had no wish to encounter anyone he knew here, and waited tensely.
It was a man of middle age, masked. He came into the middle of the open area, halted with his feet placed wide apart, and looked slowly about him. Then he threw up his arms in a gesture of astonishment, and exclaimed delightedly, “But this is paradise!”
Half a dozen girls who had not noticed his arrival—clad in sequins, braids and tassels that dripped water, or nothing at all—looked round to see who had spoken and clamored for his favors. Chuckling and giggling, he started on a tour of inspection.
Vykor closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall of the embrasure where he stood. That voice was unmistakable; it was Dardaino, the priest who had come out to be the new chaplain of the “free” Lubarrians at Waystation. And this, of course, was where one might expect to find him. Plainly the sensual religion of which he was the proponent had some ritual involvement with water.
He was looking cautiously to see whether there was a chance of slipping out unobserved, when heavy footsteps were heard in the same passages as that which Dardaino had come down. In a moment,' two brawny Cathrodynes in uniform, each carrying a powerful flashlight, entered and stood pointing their beams of light like swords.
Dardaino gave a squeak like a frightened animal, and one of the Cathrodynes stepped up to him and took him by the arm.
“Have you seen anything of the stranger from out of eye- range, the man called Lang?” he demanded, after giving Dardaino a contemptuous, sweeping glare.
“No! On my life, no!”
“All right,” said the man, and let him go. He swung his light again; the embrasure protected Vykor as he huddled back, shadowing him so that they failed to notice him, and they went on.
Dardaino sat down on an outcropping rock and wiped his face with a large kerchief, furtively raising his mask to do so and slipping it back into position hurriedly afterwards.
If Dardaino was going to spend much of his time here in the Caves, then Larwik wouldn’t have to worry about getting him addicted to dreamweed—it would happen of itself.
Taking advantage of the fact that the man’s back was turned, Vykor scurried from his hiding-place and made for the tunnel. This one was banded with patches of alternate light and dark; one of the dark areas concealed a sharp bend, and he barely turned aside in time to avoid hitting the wall. As he did so, he ran into someone and gave a startled cry, catching hold of the other s small, warm shoulder to stop himself overbalancing.
The person he had collided with stepped back into light, and he regarded her with puzzled eyes. Her. It was Raige, in a loose, flowing shirt of yellow crusted with sequins, that came halfway down her thighs, and thonged open sandals. Her pale bare legs were tensed so that the muscles of her calves stood in flat planes behind.
“Why, Vykor!” she said in astonishment. “Are you running from something?”
“N-not exactly," said Vykor. His mind was full of wild suspicions as he stared at her. The luxurious, shining fabric of the shirt which seemed to be her only garment gave her a sensual appearance so far from her habitual grave calm that he could scarcely believe his eyes.
“Did those Cathrodynes run into you?” Raige pressed him.
“I—I managed to dodge them,” Vykor told her. “But they caught and questioned Dardaino.”
“That one? He would be here! He thinks of his bodily urges all day and all night.” Raige gave a little musical chuckle. “And what think you of the Caves, Vykor, your first time?”
“They are squalid and unpleasant,” said Vykor, looking at the floor.
Raige regarded him speculatively. “Yesssss,” she said in a voice that faded slowly to silence. Then after a pause, “Come —I’ll guide you to the outside.”
She put out her hand and turned in the same moment: without thinking, Vykor took her cool fingers in his, and did not realize till seconds had passed that this was something he had dreamed of and never dared hope. Was the amazing, infallible woman whom he had so long admired actually as weak and human as those—girls back there . . .?
He repelled the idea, and followed meekly to the outside. They emerged very quickly, on a stretch of shore beside the Ocean, not far from the Mountains. There Raige stopped and turned to him. She didn't withdraw her hand; it was as though she had forgotten about it.
“It was well that you escaped those Cathrodynes,” she said. “Though it’s not you they’re hunting. They have been scouring Waystation for Lang, and cannot find him. And what is stranger still, we—ourselves—do not know where he is.” “You—do not know?” said Vykor, almost gaping.
She nodded and shrugged. A breeze off the Ocean tugged at the hem of her shirt. And then, in the same moment, her eyes widened, and she pulled her hand loose from Vykor’s to point with it over his shoulder. He swung round, startled.
And saw Lang, whom so many people had been unable to find anywhere in Waystation, walking calmly along the beach with his pet animal playing at his feet.
XV
The change that came over Raige was like a miracle. In a second she regained her official manner; the yellow playshirt which had given her a casual air lost its effect, became merely clothing. She stepped forward and spoke in a clear, carrying voice.
“Lang!”
The stranger from out of eye-range half turned his head, unhurriedly, to see who had called him. Then he bent and reached down his right arm, so that his pet could scamper up it to his shoulder, and began to come towards them.
He halted five or six paces distant, and looked them over leisurely, giving Vykor a nod first and then studying Raige. Its movements oddly parallel with its master’s, the creature called Sunny did the same from the vantage point of his shoulder.
There was even a certain resemblance between them, Vykor noticed. Lang’s face, with its firm but rather narrow jaw, coming to a point, its high-bridged, thin nose and the eyes deep-set beneath sandy brows, was hardly the same in any single respect as the animal face of his pet; what they shared was a certain alertness, a never broken interest in the world around them.
“I am Captain Raige,” said Raige when the silence had lasted some moments. “I am chief of the department of personnel administration, non-Glaithe branch. Accordingly, while you are at Waystation you fall within my field of responsibility.”
“I am so well able to look after myself,” said Lang with perfect gravity, “that I have even been able to undertake to look after another individual life besides my own.” He put up his hand and scratched Sunny behind one of his pointed ears. “Do not concern yourself on my account.”
“I’m afraid I must,” said Raige bluntly. “You have been the cause—knowing or unknowing—of a good deal of trouble since your arrival. Moreover, you have been reported in unauthorized areas to which no one but the permanent Glaithe staff is allowed access.” She stepped forward determinedly. “Please come with me to my office.”
For a moment Vykor, watching in fascination, thought that she was going to succeed, and that the assumption that her request would be automatically complied with would bring Lang in her wake unquestioning.
Lang gave her a quizzical look, and shook his head very, very slightly. A trace of tension showed in Raige’s neck muscles.
“You refuse?" she said.
“You
might say that was my intention,” Lang agreed.
"Very well,” shrugged Raige. “I will have you taken there —eventually. Unless you would prefer to answer my questions here and at leisure, now.”
“I’ll answer such questions as I can,” said Lang thoughtfully. “Yes, why not?” He looked around, selected a rock of convenient height to sit on, and tipped Sunny off his shoulder to run on the ground before relaxing onto his chosen seat.
“Go ahead,” he invited, with a large gesture.
“Where have you been since your arrival at Waystation?” Raige’s voice was as impersonal as ice. She had undone the neck of her shirt and was drawing out her tiny recorder on the end of a chain which she wore as a necklace. Her small fingers poised to note Lang’s answer.
“I have been ... in the station,” said Lang. His face remained serious, but a hint of mockery danced in his eyes.
“Where exactly, please?” said Raige levelly. “You have not been to the cabin which was assigned to you—”
“Is it compulsory to spend a certain proportion of time in the cabin allotted?” broke in Lang. “If so, I plead ignorance —and fail to see why such a rule is necessary.”
“There is not a rule requiring it—merely an inference that occasionally it is necessary to sleep, wash, change clothes.” “The Ocean is full of a liquid that cleanses swiftly," Lang said. “You have costume sellers all round the tourist circuit, as you call it, and as for—”
Vykor said suddenly, “What do you call it, then?”
Raige turned her head in surprise, and Lang affected polite non-comprehension. But his eyes contradicted his expression. “I? Call what?”
“The tourist circuit. You said, ‘as we call it.’ What do you think it should be called?”
Lang gave him a curious, meditative stare. "I think you are trying to read too much significance into a casual remark,” he said.
Vykor shrugged. Sunny, having scratched in the ground for a few moments, seemed to become aware that something was happening and came trotting over to squat down and stare at him.
“I agree—it’s neither here nor there,” said Raige, and returned to her inquiries. “Lang, you have been reported in parts of Waystation to which entry is forbidden, as I said. Is this true?”
“I was informed that Waystation is neutral territory,” Lang answered casually. “I have been wandering about looking and listening. Whether I infringed local regulations I do not know.” He paused, and added, “Designation of a place as neutral implies to me that all may come and go as they wish.”
“But you would not consider yourself free to come and go —let us say—in the bedrooms of a house belonging to even a
close friend.” Raige was studiously calm. “Where exactly have you been in the station?”
“I am a stranger here,” said Lang. “I do not know what your names are for the places I have explored.”
“Are you a stranger?” muttered Vykor, as though to himself. Sunny sat up on his hindquarters and waved his forelegs excitedly.
Lang chose to hear the low-voiced question, and bestowed a smile on Vykor. “Yes, young man,” he said. "I am a stranger here. Why should you think I have been here before?”
Vykor hesitated. He glanced at Raige and received an almost imperceptible nod.
“Because I myself have seen you in a part of Waystation you could not possibly have entered by accident,” he said.
“True—I have not entered any area by accident. I have been carrying out a systematic exploration to see as much of Waystation as I can in as short a time as possible.”
“And what do you think of what you have seen?” said Raige.
Lang’s face went dark on the instant, as though a thundercloud had crossed it. He said with sudden force, “It is aborninable."
Vykor started, and glanced at Raige to see what her response would be to that. She preserved her composure, as usual, but there seemed to be a trace of disappointment in her tone as she said, “Why so?”
“I have seen ... no happiness,” said Lang surprisingly. “None?”
“Selfishness, self-interest, lust to power, desire for satisfaction of personal urges, continual conflict, lack of security, lack of hope . . . these are what I have found at Waystation. And I have not found any attempt to set things right. I have not found anyone seeking a solution; I have seen not a single example of disinterested goodness.”
He spoke with a rising passion, and on the last sentence his voice rang like a trumpet.
“You’re wrong!” snapped Vykor. “Give credit to the Glaithes for what they do!”
Lang leaned back, his eyes fixed on Vykor, crossed his left leg over his right and clasped its ankle. Tired of playing, Sunny came and rubbed his furry flank against his master’s other leg.
“What?” Lang said softly. “The Pags curb their slave- subjects the Alchmids by making them dreamweed addicts. The Glaithes whom you admire curb their potential rivals the Cathrodynes by conniving at a Majko attempt to make them, also, addicts of the drug. What does this show in the way of hope? What is tomorrow?
“The Glaithes”—he turned his gaze on Raige, bit by bit, as he went on—'“arbitrarily deny to others the knowledge in the memory banks of Waystation. Is that your property, this knowledge? By what right do you arrogate it to yourselves? Merely because you think, as the Pags think and as the Cathrodynes think, that you are innately superior to others? It looks very much like it!”
Vykor was gaping. How had this man found out so much in so short a time? It seemed impossible that he should truly be as much a stranger as he claimed. He spoke out hotly.
“Wouldn’t the Pags and the Cathrodynes do their best to turn this knowledge to their own advantage? If you know so much, you must have discovered that they are forever seeking a chance to stab each other in the back!”
“And who tells you that this knowledge, this information in the memory banks, would serve as a knife?” said Lang scathingly. “Moreover, does it not seem wrong to you—as a member yourself of an oppressed people—that individuals should be used as pawns in a game of power-politics? Take this poor woman Mrs. Iquida, who came out here in the same ship as we did! Do you like to see her become a tool to prod the dignity of the Cathrodynes?"
“Any way the arrogance of the Cathrodynes can be deflated seems good to me,” said Vykor defiandy.
“I was afraid you might say that,” Lang commented, and fell silent.
“You are an outsider,” said Raige at length. She had put her recorder aside, and it hung on its chain against the bright fabric of her shirt. “It seems to me that you have little right to sit in judgment on us.”
Lang sighed and gave a nod. “I have only the right of a free individual,” he said. “But at least I am willing to use that right. Cruelty, depravity, injustice, evil of all sorts—these flourish most where individuals keep silence when they might condemn.”
He prodded Sunny with the toe of his right foot; the animal responded by running up his leg and body to his usual perch on his master’s shoulder.
“And moreover,” said Lang, apparently to himself more than to the others, “I have traveled far, and visited very many worlds. I have seen what can be made of human society, and what has been made of it. Here in the systems of the Arm you have failed in very nearly every imaginable way.”
“We have done our best,” said Raige. Lang’s tirade seemed to have affected her deeply.
“Then you must be willing to be judged by your achievement,” said Lang, and got to his feet and began to walk very slowly away along the edge of the Ocean.
Vykor was about to start after him and hold him, but Raige gestured to him. “Let him go,” she said soberly.
“But—after he refused to obey you? After he proved to know so many damaging things?”
“He is a stranger, and has no more than an abstract interest in our affairs here along the Arm.” Raige shrugged. “It is not likely, for instance, that he would tell the Cathrodynes who is responsi
ble for starting this wave of dreamweed addiction they are so worried about. No, we must let him go.”
Despondently, Vykor sat down on the rock that was still warm from Lang’s body. “Do you—do you agree with what he said?” he ventured. “About what the Glaithes have done, in particular?”
He sounded hopeful, as though he expected Raige to deny the truth of the accusations categorically. But in this she disappointed him.
"He may be right,” she admitted. “After all, he has traveled to many worlds; he has seen much, and perhaps enough to permit him to judge us. I can only hope, for the sake of Glai, that he is talking without knowing all the facts—yet lie seems to have discovered so much in such a short time I think even that consolation is denied to me.”
Vykor stared at Lang’s retreating back. Then he gave a sudden gasp, and flung up his arm, pointing.
As Lang passed one of the openings in the rock which gave access to the Caves, two men leapt stealthily out. Cathrodynes, in uniform. They looked like the same pair who had interrogated Dardaino a short while before.
One of them knocked Sunny to the ground and clapped a baglike hood over Lang’s head and shoulders; the other dived forward and wrapped his arms around Lang’s legs to pinion them. In seconds, before Vykor could cry out, they had carried him off. Sunny fled yapping among the rocks.
“That,” said Raige very softly, “is what I feared might happen. We cannot allow it, Vykor—and equally, we cannot do anything to prevent it.”
“What are you going to do?” demanded Vykor, white- lipped.
Raige shrugged, dropping her recorder back inside her shirt and fastening it. “What we can,” she said dully. “As always, what we can.”
XVI
It was as well, Ligmer reflected, that he had been warned by Ferenc about the precipice he was treading so close to. It puzzled him why he should not have been warned about the Cathrodynes’ discovery—their new knowledge about the real structure of Waystation—before leaving Cathrodyne.