by Matt
Indistinguishable, but different, from now on—in a way the Aalaag had yet to discover. He turned and walked swiftly away down the street that would bring him to the alien courier ship that was waiting for him. The colorful flicker of a butterfly's wings—or perhaps it was just the glint of a reflection off some high window that seemed momentarily to wink with color—caught the edge of his vision. Perhaps, the thought came suddenly and warmly, it actually was the butterfly he had seen emerge from its cocoon in the square. It was good to feel that it might be the same small, free creature.
"Enter a Pilgrim," he whispered to it triumphantly. "Fly, little brother. Fly!"
Descending in the icy, gray November dawn from the crowded bus that had brought the airline passengers from Bologna—as frequently happened in wintertime, the airport at Milan, Italy was fogged in; and the courier ship, like the commercial jets, had been forced to set down in Bologna—Shane Evert caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of a small stick figure, inconspicuously etched on the base of a lamppost.
2
He did not dare to look at it directly, but the side glance was enough. He flagged a taxi and gave the driver the address of the Aalaag Headquarters for the city.
"E freddo, Milano," said the driver, wheeling the cab through the nearly deserted morning streets.
Shane gave him a monosyllable in a Swiss accent, by way of agreement. Milan was indeed cold in November. Cold and hard. To the south, Florence would be still soft and warm, with blue skies and sunlight. The driver was probably hoping to start a conversation and find out what brought his human passenger to an alien HQ, and that was dangerous. Ordinary humans did not love those who worked for the Aalaag. If I say nothing, Shane thought, he may be suspicious. No, on second thought, he'll just think from the Swiss accent that I'm someone with a relative in trouble in this city and who doesn't feel like conversation.
The driver spoke of the summer now past. He regretted the passing of the old days when tourists had come through.
To both these statements, Shane gave the briefest of responses. Then there was silence in the cab except for the noise of travel. Shane leaned his staff at a more comfortable angle against his right leg and left shoulder, to better accommodate it to the small passenger compartment of the cab. He smoothed his gray robe over his knees. The image of the stick figure he had seen still floated in his mind. It was identical to the figure he himself had first marked upon a wall beneath the triple hooks with the dead man on them, in Aalborg, Denmark over half a year ago.
But he had not marked this one on the lamppost. Nor, indeed, had he marked any of the other such figures he had glimpsed about the world during the last eight months. One moment of emotional rebellion had driven him to create an image that was now apparently spawning and multiplying to fill his waking as well as his sleeping hours with recurring nightmares. It did no good to remind himself that no one could possibly connect him with the original graffito. It did no good to know that all these eight months since, he had been an impeccable servant of Lyt Ahn.
Neither fact would be of the slightest help if for some reason Lyt Ahn, or any other Aalaag, should believe there was cause to connect him with any one of the scratched figures.
What insane, egocentric impulse had pushed him to use his own usual pilgrim-sect disguise as the symbol of opposition to the aliens? Any other shape would have done as well. But he had had the alcohol of the Danish bootleg liquor inside him; and with the memory of the massive Aalaag father and son in the square watching the death of the man they had condemned and executed—above all, with the memory of their conversation, which he alone of all the humans there could understand —also burning in him, for one brief moment reason had flown out the window of his mind.
So, now his symbol had been taken up and had become the symbol of what was obviously an already existent human Underground in opposition to the Aalaag, an Underground he had never suspected. The very fact that it existed at all forecast bloody tragedy for any human foolish enough to be related to it. By their own standards the Aalaag were unsparingly fair. But they considered humans as "cattle," and a cattle owner did not think in terms of being "unfair" to a sick or potentially dangerous bull that had become a farm problem....
"Eccolo!" said the cab driver.
Shane looked as directed and saw the alien HQ. A perfectly reflective force shield covered it like a coating of mercury. It was impossible to tell what kind of structure it had been originally. Anything from an office building to a museum was a possibility. Lyt Ann, First Captain of Earth, in his HQ overlooking St. Anthony's Falls in what had once been the heart of Minneapolis, scorned such an obvious display of defensive strength. The gray concrete walls of his sprawling keep on Nicollet Island had nothing to protect them but the portable weapons within—though these alone were capable of leveling the surrounding metropolitan area in a few hours. Shane paid the driver, got out and went in through the main entrance of the Milan HQ.
The Interior Guards inside the big double doors and those at the desk were all human. Young for the most part, like Shane himself, but much bigger, for the largest of humans seemed frail and small to the nine-foot Aalaag. These guards wore the usual neat, but drab, black uniforms of servant police. Dwarfed beside them, in spite of his five feet eleven inches of height, Shane felt a twinge of perverse comfort at being within these walls and surrounded by these particular fellow humans. Like him, they ate at the aliens' tables; they would be committed to defend him against any nonservant humans who should threaten him. Under the roof of masters who sickened him, he was physically protected and secure.
He stopped at the duty desk and took his key from the leather pouch at his belt, leaving the documents within. The human duty officer there took the key and examined its alien metal—metal which no ordinary Earth native was allowed to own or carry—and the Mark of Lyt Ann that was stamped on it.
"Sir," said the officer in Italian, reading the Mark. He was suddenly obliging. "Can I be of assistance?"
"I sign in, temporarily," answered Shane in Arabic, for the officer's speech echoed the influence of the throat consonants of that language. "I am the one who delivers messages for the First Captain of Earth, Lyt Ahn. I have some to deliver now to the Commander of these Headquarters."
"Your tongue is skilled," said the officer in Arabic, turning the duty book about and passing Shane a pen.
"Yes," said Shane, and signed.
"The Commander here," said the officer, "is Laa Ehon, Captain of the sixth rank. He accepts your messages."
He turned and beckoned over one of the lesser human guards.
"To the outer office of Laa Ehon, with this one bearing messages for the Commander," he ordered in Italian.
The guard saluted, and led Shane off. Several flights of stairs up beside an elevator which Shane would have known better than to use, even if the guard had not been with him, brought them to a corridor down which, behind another pair of large carved doors, they reached what was plainly an outer room of the private offices of the Aalaag Commander in Milan.
The guard saluted again and left. There were no other humans in the room. An Aalaag of the twenty-second rank sat at a desk in a far corner of the large, open space, reading what seemed to be reports on the sort of plastic sheets that would take and hold multiple overlays of impressions. In the wall to Shane's left was a large viewing screen, showing in three dimensions a view of what must be an adjoining office, having benches for humans to sit on. This office was empty, however, except for a dark-haired young woman, dressed in a loose, ankle-length blue robe tied tight around her narrow waist.
Where Shane was, there were no places to sit. But, accustomed as he was to close attendance on Lyt Ahn and other Aalaag of low-number rank, he was used to waiting on his feet for hours.
He stood. After perhaps twenty minutes, the Aalaag at the desk noticed him.
"Come," he said, lifting a thumb the size of a tent peg. "Tell me."
He had spoken in Aalaag, for mos
t human servants had some understanding of the basic commands in the tongue of their overlords. But his face altered slightly as Shane answered, for there were few humans like Shane—and Shane both worked and lived with all of those few—who were capable of fluent, almost accentless response in that language.
"Untarnished sir," said Shane, coming up to the desk. "I have messages from Lyt Ahn directly to the Commander of the Milan Headquarters."
He made no move to produce the message rolls from his pouch; and the Aalaag's massive hand, which had begun to extend itself, palm up, toward him at the word "messages" was withdrawn when Shane pronounced the name of Lyt Ahn.
"You are a valuable beast," said the Aalaag. "Laa Ehon will receive your messages soon."
"Soon" could mean anything from "within minutes" to "within weeks." However, since the messages were from Lyt Ahn, and personal, it was probable that it would be only minutes. Shane went back to his corner.
The door opened, and two other Aalaag came in. They were both males in middle life, one of the twelfth, one of the sixth rank. The one of sixth rank could only be Laa Ehon. A Captain of a rank that low-numbered was actually too highly qualified to command a single HQ like this. It was unthinkable that there would be two such here.
The newcomers ignored Shane. No, he thought, as their gaze moved on, they had not merely ignored him. Their eyes had noticed, catalogued, and dismissed him in a glance. They walked together to the viewing screen; the one who must be Laa Ehon spoke in Aalaag.
"This one?"
They were examining the girl in the blue robe, who sat in the other room, unaware of their gaze.
"Yes, immaculate sir. The officer on duty in the square saw this one move away from the wall I told you of, just before he noticed the scratching on it." The Captain of the twelfth rank pointed with his thumb at the woman. "He then examined the scratching, saw it was recently made, and turned to find this one. For a moment he thought she had been lost among the herd in the square, then he caught sight of her from the back, some distance off and hurrying away. He stunned her and brought her in."
"His rank?"
"Thirty-second, immaculate sir." "And this beast has been questioned?" "No, sir, I waited to speak to you about procedure." Laa Ehon stood for a moment, unanswering, gazing at the woman.
"Thirty-second, you said? Did he know this particular beast previously to seeing her in the square?"
"No, sir. But he remembered the color of her apparel. There was no other in that color nearby."
Laa Ehon turned from the window.
"I'd like to talk to him, first. Send him to me."
"Sir, he's presently on duty."
"Ah."
Shane understood Laa Ehon's momentary thoughtfulness. As Commander here, he could easily order the officer in question to be relieved from duty long enough to report to him in person. But the Aalaag nature and custom was such that only the gravest reason would allow him to justify such an order. An Aalaag on duty, regardless of rank, was almost a sacred object.
"Where?" Laa Ehon asked. "The local airport, immaculate sir." "I will go and speak to him at his duty post. Captain Otah On, you are ordered to accompany me." "Yes, immaculate sir."
"Then let us move with minimal loss of time. It is unlikely that this matter has more importance than presently seems, but we must make sure of that."
He turned toward the door with Otah On behind him. Once more his eyes swept Shane. He stopped and looked over at the Aalaag behind the desk.
"What is this one?" he asked, pointing a thumb at Shane.
"Sir." The Aalaag at the desk was on his feet at once. "A courier with messages for your hand from Lyt Ahn."
Laa Ehon looked back at Shane.
"I will accept your messages in an hour, no more, once I've come back. Do you understand what I have just said to you?"
"I understand, immaculate sir," said Shane.
"Until then, remain dutiful. But be comfortable."
Laa Ehon led the way out of the room, Otah On close behind him. The Aalaag at the desk sat down again and went back to his sheets.
Shane looked once more at the solitary female figure beyond the one-way glass. She sat, unaware of what another hour would bring. They would question her using chemicals, of course, first. But after that their methods would become physical. There was no sadism in the Aalaag character. If any of the aliens had shown evidence of such, his own people would have considered it an unfitting weakness and destroyed him. But it was understood that cattle might be induced to tell whatever they knew if they were subjected to sufficient discomfort. An Aalaag, of course, was above any such persuasion. Death would come long before any degree of discomfort could change the individual alien's character enough to make him or her say what they wished to keep unsaid.
Shane felt his robe clinging to his upper body, wet with a secret sweat. The woman sat almost in profile, her dark brown hair down her shoulders, her remarkably pale-skinned face smooth and gentle-looking. She could not be more than barely into her twenties. He wanted to look away from her, so that he could stop thinking about what was awaiting her, but—as it had happened to him with the man on the triple hooks when he had first created the symbol—Shane could not make his head turn.
He knew it now for what it was—a madness in him. A madness born of his own hidden revulsion against, and private terror of, these massive humanoids who had descended to own the Earth. These were the masters he served, who kept him warm and well fed when most of the rest of humanity went cold and ate little, who patted him with condescending compliments—as if he was in fact the animal they called him, the clever house pet ready to wag his tail for a kind glance or word. The fear of death was like an ingot of cold iron inside him, when he thought of them; and the fear of a long and painful death was like that same ingot with razor edges.
But at the same time there was this madness—this madness that, if he did not control it by some small actions, would explode and bring him to throw his dispatches in some Aalaag face, to fling himself one day like a terrier against a tiger, at the throat of his Master, First Captain of Earth, Lyt Ahn.
It was a real thing, that madness. Even the Aalaag knew of its existence in their conquered peoples. There was even a word for it in their own tongue—yowaragh. Yowaragh had caused the man on the hooks a half year ago to make a hopeless attempt to defend his wife against what he had thought was an Aalaag brutality. Yowaragh, every day, caused one human at least somewhere in the world to cast a useless stick or stone against some shielded, untouchable conqueror, in a situation where escape was impossible and destruction was certain. Yowaragh had knocked at the door of Shane's brain once, less than a year ago, threatening to break out. It was knocking again.
He could not help but look at her; and he could not bear to look at her—and the only alternative to an end for both of them was to somehow keep it from happening—Laa Ehon's return, her torture, and the yowaragh that would lead to his own death.
In one hour, Laa Ehon had said, he would be back. Rivulets of perspiration were trickling down Shane's naked sides under the robe. His mind had gone into high gear, racing like an uncontrolled heartbeat. What way out was there? There must be one—if he could only think of it. What was on the other side of the coin to what they would do to the girl was built on the same lack of sadism. The Aalaag would only destroy property for some purpose. If there was no purpose, they would not waste a useful beast. They would have no emotional stake in keeping her merely because she had been arrested in the first place. She was too insignificant; they were too pragmatic.
His mind was feverish. He was not sure what he planned, but all his intimate knowledge of the Aalaag in the three years he had lived closely with them was simmering and bubbling in the back of his mind. He went and stood before the Aalaag at the desk.
"Yes?" said the Aalaag after a little while, looking up at him.
"Untarnished sir, the Captain Commander said that he would be back in an hour to accept my messages, but u
ntil then I should be dutiful but comfortable."
Eyes with gray-black pupils gazed at him on a level with his own.
"You want comfort, is that it?"
"Untarnished sir, if I could sit or lie, it would be appreciated."
"Yes. Very well. The Commander has so ordered. Go find what facilities there are for such activities in the areas of our own cattle. Return in one hour."
"I am grateful to the untarnished sir."
The gray-black pupils were cast into shadow by the jet brows coming together.
"This is a matter of orders. I am not one who allows his beasts to fawn."
"Sir, I obey."
The brows relaxed.
"Better. Go."
He went out. He was moving swiftly now. As before, in Denmark, he was at last caught up in what he was doing.
There was no longer any doubt, any hesitation. He went swiftly down the outside corridor, which was deserted, his ears and eyes alert for signs of anyone, but particularly one of the aliens. As he passed the elevators, he stopped, looked about him.