At first the wolves looked baffled and confused. Then they started howling. But they didn't attack the ort. Didn't bite or even nip them. They yipped and growled and stalked about the perimeter of the circle, but the ort just stood their ground until eventually the wolves gave up and padded uneasily away.
Payne watched all this from where he stood above the field, too stunned and mesmerized to move. When at last he roused himself, the ort had started drifting off, and by the time he reached Vecque, they had vanished. All around her the snow was trampled, and here and there he made out tracks. But neither ort not wolf remained. Vecque stood alone in the middle of the field, hugging herself and moaning.
“Why did they do that?” she cried.
“It was a miracle,” said Payne. “The wolves were trying to kill you.”
“Yes. Why didn't they let them?” Haggard and shivering, she seemed to have lost her mind. Strings of tears had frozen to her cheeks. She looked ravaged. “Kill me, Payne. Please. I beg you. Put me out of this misery.”
Instead, he threw his coat around her shoulders and led her back to his quarters. Repeatedly, she pleaded with him to end the torment, until her pleas turned to sobs and then, at length, her sobs to a woeful, haunted silence. Payne put her in his bed and sat up the rest of the night, unable to sleep. Many thoughts went through his head. What was he to do? He couldn't take her life, and he thanked the ort, for, truly, they had saved her. His thanks were followed by another thought, and he hung his head and prayed to be forgiven, because he wished they hadn't.
This happened in the winter of his fourth year at the mine. It was his worst winter yet, one he feared would never end. But eventually it did, and even though his future was the same regardless of the season, he rejoiced to see the days begin to lengthen and the weather thaw. He had not a single reason to be hopeful and every reason not to be, and yet, like every living thing, with spring his spirits rose.
Everybody's did. The camp itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when spring arrived. Like an old dog dreaming of its youth, it woke with a sense of purpose, wagging its tail and shaking free of the winter doldrums.
There was plenty of work to do outside the mine, and the men set to it, if not with eagerness then at least with energy. Buildings damaged by the winter storms had to be repaired. Broken windows replaced, roofs and stairs that had buckled under the weight of snow shored up and mended. Iron rails that hard fingers of ice had loosened and in some cases popped free of their ties had to be reattached, and muck heaps impossible to deal with because of snow and freezing temperatures had to be sorted and attended to.
It was a busy time of year. Rail traffic picked up dramatically. Long and fully laden trains left camp once and sometimes twice a week on their way to processing plants in the south. Empty trains returned, some carrying passengers. One of the first that year was an officer of the Pannus Corporation. He was accompanied by an engineer and a team of surveyors. They stayed a week, analyzing rock samples and scouting out a site for a new decline. Along with them came a variety of peddlers and tradesmen, drawn by the scent of unspent winter money. One natty gentleman arrived with money of his own and left with a suitcase full of musk.
There was other traffic, too. The prospect of a better job elsewhere was a constant topic of conversation and source of speculation among the miners, and in spring and summer they had a habit of getting happy feet. Miners were a restless breed to begin with, tempted by dreams of greener pastures, prone to migratory bursts. Early that summer, fed by a rumor of a hot new mine on the jungle island of Sopor, a record number of men tramped out. The camp looked half-deserted. A week later, a record number tramped in to take their place, and the bunkhouses and mess hall were once more filled to overflowing.
When he had the time, Payne liked to watch the trains come in. He played a game with himself, a seemingly harmless game, imagining that one of the passengers carried news for him. Part of the game involved trying to guess which one it might be. That man, with the look of a mine official? That one, with the lined and weathered face? Or was it that one, with the deliberate, premeditated movements of a courier—was he the messenger boy, the bearer of the happy news?
For, of course, the news was happy: he'd been given a reprieve. Here's the letter, the man would say, and here's your ticket out. You've been here long enough; it's time to move on.
Every year he played this game, and every year it backfired. No one ever had a letter for him. No one even knew his name. It was not a harmless game at all, but depressing and self-defeating. If he played it a hundred years, he would have a hundred years of disappointments. Better not to get his hopes up, which is why every year, after a few weeks, he stopped watching incoming trains.
He was not on hand, then, the late summer day a passenger train arrived with but a single car, carrying a mere three passengers. Two of them were human, one male and one female. The male was large and portly. The female, tall and more finely built. The third passenger, a male, was tesque, and he reported immediately to the site boss. The humans went in search of Vecque.
They found her in her quarters, huddled in her bed. She shrank at their arrival, prompting the man to scowl and demand that she stand up and look at him. When this achieved nothing, the woman asked his permission to try a gentler approach. Kneeling beside Vecque, she spoke softly to her, and at length was able to coax her to her feet.
Immediately, Vecque started pacing, head down, arms against her sides, hands clenched. The man found this intolerable and ordered her to stop. When she didn't, he stepped forward and grabbed her by the wrist. His grip was strong, his fingers fat with many rings. With the other hand he pinched her chin and raised her head, forcing her to look at him.
But she couldn't. Her eyes darted this way and that, like flies unable or afraid to land. His voice, his grip, and now this, his look, were all too much for her. She whimpered and pleaded to be left alone. A moment later, grim-faced but apparently satisfied, he released her.
Next they sought out Payne. He had just completed an unremarkable extraction from a miner who'd been coughing blood, forming the Concretion into a gooey red rouleau and dropping it down the disposal shaft, when they appeared in the doorway of the healing center. The man he recognized at once as Valid, Doctor of the Mental Latitudes, and lately, it appeared, of the bulging equatorials as well. Jowly-faced, plethoric, with slicked-backed, scented hair and bloodred lips that gleamed from licking, he had put on weight and girth since Payne had last seen him in the final year of training. What he'd gained in size he seemed also to have gained in vanity. And power, or at least authority. He wore the pin of full Professor now.
The woman was a stranger. She wore loose trousers, a long-sleeved, chambray shirt, and sturdy boots. Unlike Valid's, hers were working clothes, sensible for a visit to a mining camp. Her mass of dark hair was pulled back and gathered behind her ears. High cheekbones, a graceful nose and chin, and pale blue eyes completed her face.
Valid swept into the room, cast a look around, then fixed his attention on Payne. He squinted, as if to draw him into better focus.
“Is it my imagination or have you shrunk?”
Payne, who was shocked enough to see him as it was, had no reply for this.
“Something in the air, you think? The food? The lack of stimulation? Remind me, Payne, how long it's been.”
“How long?”
“That you've been here.”
He knew to the day. “Four years,” he said, rounding off.
Valid looked surprised. “That long? How time flies. I hear that you've been busy.”
“It's a busy job.”
“Yes. And you've been all alone to do it.”
With someone else this might have been a simple observation. Maybe even a compliment. But with Valid there were always double meanings.
“I've managed,” he replied.
“No doubt. No doubt. We hear wonderful things about you. The Pannus Corporation feels very lucky to have a healer of your cap
ability. It understands that productivity begins and ends with the health of its workforce. And the Pannus workforce has stayed remarkably fit and productive. Profits, I'm told, are at an all-time high. Congratulations are in order.”
Was this a cue? Warily, Payne thanked him.
“Don't thank me. Thank the corporation. It's the one that agreed to keep you on after that debacle of yours.” He paused, and this time Payne had no doubt what was expected of him.
“I'm grateful.”
“Yes. I'd imagine so. And it has every intention of retaining you. For the duration, I might add.”
He paused again, as if to allow this grim reminder ample time to sink in. Pursing his lips, he swept a critical eye about the room and by extension, the entire camp and its surroundings.
“Such a far-flung place. So beyond the gem and jewel of the civilized world. So isolated. Though not without a certain rustic charm. If only there weren't so many trees. And so much…how shall I put it? Emptiness. Still, I could imagine worse. I'm sure we all could.”
Payne doubted this was meant to cheer him up. More likely it was some sort of threat, though why Valid would care to threaten him he had no idea.
“Speak up,” said Valid. “I didn't come all this way to entertain a mute.”
“Why did you come?” asked Payne, risking a rebuke for being impertinent.
“To question you. To observe how you respond. To see if you've changed. To judge for myself if you can be trusted.”
“Ask the men.”
“And what would they say?”
“They'd say yes.” With nothing to lose he went further. “I can heal them in my sleep.”
Valid raised an eyebrow. “And humble, too. That's good. But what concerns me is that other matter. It concerns all of us. Can we trust you not to go off half-cocked? Can we be assured you'll use your head?”
“Yes,” said Payne. “Absolutely.”
“You've learned from your mistake?”
“Yes. I have. Believe me.”
“Let's hope so. I'd hate to discover that you hadn't.”
Valid glanced at the woman as if to share an understanding, perhaps to consummate some prearranged agreement, but her attention was fixed on Payne. He watched her for a moment, hungrily it seemed, then wet his lips and continued.
“We've brought another healer with us. He's getting settled as we speak.”
It was not the news Payne would have hoped for if he had been so brazen or so foolish as to hope, but it was good news nonetheless. He sorely needed a companion.
He thanked them.
“You can thank us by your actions,” said Valid.
“I understand,” said Payne, reiterating that he'd learned his lesson.
“I'm glad to hear it, but you miss the point. We're making a swap, him for you. You're coming with us, Payne.”
Nothing could have shocked him more. His heart seemed to stop midbeat. His voice deserted him.
“We leave tonight. Sooner if at all possible.”
“I'm coming with you?”
“You are.”
“Why?”
“Because we choose to take you,” Valid answered flatly.
“You have a gift,” the woman said. They were her first words.
“What gift?” asked Payne, shifting his attention.
She started to reply, but Valid cut her off. He had the floor, he seemed to believe, until he chose to relinquish it.
“Perhaps he does; perhaps he doesn't. He's hardly been tested now, has he?” To Payne he said, “If it were up to me, you'd serve your sentence. But better minds than mine think otherwise. They think your talents are wasted here.”
Another glance around the healing center, with its muddy wooden floors, shabby furnishings and rudimentary equipment, seemed to convince him that this might well be the case. “There is a world outside, you know. A world beyond this…this hovel. In any case, it's best to keep an open mind. Everyone deserves a second chance. And healers are a precious commodity. There are places clamoring for one with experience.”
“What places?” asked Payne, hardly daring to imagine such a thing.
“Does it matter?” answered Valid.
No. Of course it didn't. “And Vecque? What about her?”
“Vecque?”
“The other healer,” said the woman.
“Ah, yes. Our sad, unfortunate Vecque. What shall we do with her?” Valid pursed his lips in thought. “But of course you knew the consequences. Did you think that somehow you were immune? Or perhaps you blame us for not teaching you properly? For not drilling into your heads what every first-year schoolboy knows?”
“No,” said Payne.
“No what?”
“I don't blame you. I blame myself.”
“Yes,” said Valid. “I'd think you would.”
“We knew the risks.”
“Did you?” Valid struggled with this for a moment before brightening. “Youthful exuberance then. Not so terrible a crime. But how to deter it? How to prevent such catastrophes in the future?”
Hands clasped behind his back, he took a step or two around the room, head bent in contemplation.
“Thoughts?” he asked.
Payne knew enough not to volunteer.
Valid provided his own. “I've one. We'll take her with us.”
Payne's heart leapt. “You can help her?”
Valid snorted. “Help her? Not likely. We'll use her as an example. An illustration for anyone who thinks he can flout the laws of nature. An object lesson in what? Stupidity? Arrogance? Ambition?” He seemed genuinely perplexed. “Hard to know what you were thinking. If thought, in fact, was involved. The vigor of youth so often resides outside the brain.
“Help her, you say? No, my friend, can't do. So sorry. But she'll help so many others. If you need consolation, and it appears you do, I'd take it in that.”
“You can't,” said Payne.
A furrow worried Valid's brow. Two furrows, in point of fact, troughs in a glistening and otherwise placid surface. Disturbances in the calm.
“Can't?”
“It's wrong.”
“You'd rather she stayed?”
“I'd rather you helped her.”
“I?” He placed a hand upon his chest. A preposterous idea.
At which point the woman intervened. Stepping forward, she faced Valid. They were roughly the same height, and she stood eye to eye with him.
“If you could give us a moment, I think that we can settle this.”
Valid had his doubts, but her voice and manner brooked no argument. Bowing slightly, he deferred to her good judgment and with a parting glance at Payne left the two of them alone.
Payne was relieved to have him gone, although the residue of his presence, like a vapor, lingered. The woman made him nervous, but in a different way.
“You do have a decision to make,” she said. “Your friend's not coming with us. Valid was only goading you with that. And frankly, it's better that she's not.”
“I can't leave her here.”
“No. That would be a cruel thing to do.”
“Then what?”
She didn't answer, but instead invoked a cagey sort of silence that sent the question back to him. But he was out of answers. He didn't know what to do; if he did, he would have long since done it. One thing was certain though: he'd had his fill of guilt and grief and helplessness, standing by while Vecque remained in agony.
“What would you do if the situation were reversed?” she asked at length. “If you were in her place?”
“If I were Vecque? I wouldn't do anything. I wouldn't be able to. If you've seen her, then you know what I mean.”
“But what would you want?”
“Help,” he said, which was all Vecque ever asked of him. “Relief. An end to the misery.”
“Yes. Of course. What anyone would want. So how can you help her? What can you do?”
He was afraid to mention the one thing that had occurred to him.
Who was this woman anyway? Why should he confide in her?
“It might help to get it off your chest,” she said.
“Get what?”
She assured him that anything he said would be held in the strictest of confidences. Not a word would leave the room. Valid, in particular, would never hear a thing. She didn't answer to him, or, for that matter, to anyone.
Still, he was reluctant to speak openly with her, and she didn't pressure him. She seemed, in fact, familiar with the concept of waiting, with the idea that certain things required time to mature and ripen. Beyond this, she seemed to have a talent for drawing people out.
In the end he told her. It was surprising, really, how quickly he acquiesced. Or not so surprising, considering how long he'd been alone, with no outlet for his thoughts and feelings, how thirsty he was for contact and conversation with someone else.
“I had one idea,” he said.
She nodded her encouragement.
“I wouldn't actually do it. It was just a thought.”
“I understand.”
“I mean, how much worse can things get?”
“I mean.”
She seemed to be teasing him in a gentle sort of way. Then all at once she smiled. It was a look that lit the room. Payne caught his breath, amazed at how beautiful a smile could be. And how long it had been since he'd seen one.
After that he wanted to tell her everything.
But he contained himself. This one secret would be enough. Drawing his breath, he confessed to the thought of trying to heal Vecque again, then waited anxiously for her reaction.
She didn't look particularly surprised. In fact, it seemed as if she'd been expecting to hear something along this line.
“I haven't acted on it,” he rushed to add. “I wouldn't. It's just a thought. A stupid one.”
“Not stupid. No thought is stupid. I'm glad you haven't tried it, though.” She seemed so very calm and at the same time keyed in to him. So poised and so astute.
“Any other secrets?” she asked.
It was a huge relief to get this one off his chest. If there were others, he couldn't think of them.
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