by Ayn Rand
I was surprised and a little guilty that I had not thought of this myself. I covered it with a mocking, “I thought you didn’t give a damn about ‘any of my friends.’”
Rafe said doggedly, “I guess I was wrong about that. They’re going through this out of a sense of duty, so they must be pretty different than I thought they were.”
Regis, who had overheard Rafe’s plan, now broke in quietly, “There’s no need for you to travel ahead, Rafe. I can send a quicker message.”
I had forgotten that Regis was a trained telepath. He added, “There are some space and distance limitations to such messages, but there is a regular relay net all over Darkover, and one of the relays is a girl who lives at the very edge of the Terran Zone. If you’ll tell me what will give her access to the Terran HQ—” he flushed slightly and explained, “from what I know of the Terrans, she would not be very fortunate relaying the message if she merely walked to the gate and said she had a relayed telepathic message for someone, would she?”
I had to smile at the picture that conjured up in my mind. “I’m afraid not,” I admitted. “Tell her to go to Dr. Forth, and give the message from Dr. Jason Allison.”
Regis looked at me curiously—it was the first time I had spoken my own name in the hearing of the others. But he nodded, without comment. For the next hour or two he seemed somewhat more pre-occupied than usual, but after a time he came to me and told me that the message had gone through. Sometime later he relayed an answer; that airlift would be waiting for us, not at Carthon, but a small village near the ford of the Kadarin where we had left our trucks.
When we camped that night there were a dozen practical problems needing attention; the time and exact place of crossing the ford, the reassurance to be given to terrified trailmen who could face leaving their forests but not crossing the final barricade of the river, the small help in our power to be given the sick ones. But after everything had been done that I could do, and after the whole camp had quieted down, I sat before the low-burning fire and stared into it, deep in painful lassitude. Tomorrow we would cross the river and a few hours later we would be back in the Terran HQ. And then....
And then ... and then nothing. I would vanish, I would utterly cease to exist anywhere, except as a vagrant ghost troubling Jay Allison’s unquiet dreams. As he moved through the cold round of his days I would be no more than a spent wind, a burst bubble, a thinned cloud.
The rose and saffron of the dying fire-colors gave shape to my dreams. Once more, as in the trailcity that night, Kyla slipped through firelight to my side, and I looked up at her and suddenly I knew I could not bear it. I pulled her to me and muttered, “Oh, Kyla—Kyla, I won’t even remember you!”
She pushed my hands away, kneeling upright, and said urgently, “Jason, listen. We are close to Carthon, the others can lead them the rest of the way. Why go back to them at all? Slip away now and never go back! We can—” she stopped, coloring fiercely, that sudden and terrifying shyness overcoming her again, and at last she said in a whisper, “Darkover is a wide world, Jason. Big enough for us to hide in. I don’t believe they would search very far.”
They wouldn’t. I could leave word with Kendricks—not with Regis, the telepath would see through me immediately—that I had ridden ahead to Carthon, with Kyla. By the time they realized that I had fled, they would be too concerned with getting the trailmen safely to the Terran Zone to spend much time looking for a runaway. As Kyla said, the world was wide. And it was my world. And I would not be alone in it.
“Kyla, Kyla,” I said helplessly, and crushed her against me, kissing her. She closed her eyes and I took a long, long look at her face. Not beautiful, no. But womanly and brave and all the other beautiful things. It was a farewell look, and I knew it, if she didn’t.
After the briefest time, she pulled a little away, and her flat voice was gentler and more breathless than usual. “We’d better leave before the others waken.” She saw that I did not move. “Jason—?”
I could not look at her. Muffled behind my hands, I said, “No, Kyla. I—I promised the Old One to look after my people in the Terran world. I must go back—”
“You won’t be there to look after them! You won’t be you!”
I said bleakly, “I’ll write a letter to remind myself. Jay Allison has a very strong sense of duty. He’ll look after them for me. He won’t like it, but he’ll do it, with his last breath. He’s a better man than I am, Kyla. You’d better forget about me.” I said, wearily, “I never existed.”
That wasn’t the end. Not nearly. She—begged, and I don’t know why I put myself through the hell of stubbornness. But in the end she ran away, crying, and I threw myself down by the fire, cursing Forth, cursing my own folly, but most of all cursing Jay Allison, hating my other self with a blistering, sickening rage.
* * *
Coming through the outskirts of the small village the next afternoon, the village where the airlift would meet us, we noted that the poorer quarter was almost abandoned. Regis said bleakly, “It’s begun,” and dropped out of line to stand in the doorway of a silent dwelling. After a minute he beckoned to me, and I looked inside.
I wished I hadn’t. The sight would haunt me while I lived. An old man, two young women and half a dozen children between four and fifteen years old lay inside. The old man, one of the children, and one of the young women were laid out neatly in clean death, shrouded, their faces covered with green branches after the Darkovan custom for the dead. The other young woman lay huddled near the fireplace, her coarse dress splattered with the filthy stuff she had vomited, dying. The children—but even now I can’t think of the children without retching. One, very small, had been in the woman’s arms when she collapsed; it had squirmed free—for a little while. The others were in an indescribable condition and the worst of it was that one of them was still moving, feebly, long past help. Regis turned blindly from the door and leaned against the wall, his shoulders heaving. Not, as I first thought, in disgust, but in grief. Tears ran over his hands and spilled down, and when I took him by the arm to lead him away, he reeled and fell against me.
He said in a broken, blurred, choking voice, “Oh, Lord, Jason, those children, those children—if you ever had any doubts about what you’re doing, any doubts about what you’ve done, think about that, think that you’ve saved a whole world from that, think that you’ve done something even the Hasturs couldn’t do!”
My own throat tightened with something more than embarrassment. “Better wait till we know for sure whether the Terrans can carry through with it, and you’d better get to hell away from this doorway. I’m immune, but damn it, you’re not.” But I had to take him and lead him away, like a child, from that house. He looked up into my face and said with burning sincerity, “I wonder if you believe I’d give my life, a dozen times over, to have done that?”
It was a curious, austere reward. But vaguely it comforted me. And then, as we rode into the village itself, I lost myself, or tried to lose myself, in reassuring the frightened trailmen who had never seen a city on the ground, never seen or heard of an airplane. I avoided Kyla. I didn’t want a final word, a farewell. We had had our farewells already.
* * *
Forth had done a marvelous job of having quarters ready for the trailmen, and after they were comfortably installed and reassured, I went down wearily and dressed in Jay Allison’s clothing. I looked out the window at the distant mountains and a line from the book on mountaineering, which I had bought as a youngster in an alien world, and Jay had kept as a stray fragment of personality, ran in violent conflict through my mind:
Something hidden—go and find it ...
Something lost beyond the ranges ...
* * *
I had just begun to live. Surely I deserved better than this, to vanish when I had just discovered life. Did the man who did not know how to live, deserve to live at all? Jay Allison—that cold man who had never looked beyond any ranges—why should I be lost in him?
&
nbsp; Something lost beyond the ranges ... nothing would be lost but myself. I was beginning to loathe the overflown sense of duty which had brought me back here. Now, when it was too late, I was bitterly regretting ... Kyla had offered me life. Surely I would never see Kyla again.
Could I regret what I would never remember? I walked into Forth’s office as if I were going to my doom. I was ...
Forth greeted me warmly.
“Sit down and tell me all about it ...” he insisted. I would rather not speak. Instead, compulsively, I made it a full report ... and curious flickers came in and out of my consciousness as I spoke. By the time I realized I was reacting to a post-hypnotic suggestion, that in fact I was going under hypnosis again, it was too late and I could only think that this was worse than death because in a way I would be alive ...
* * *
Jay Allison sat up and meticulously straightened his cuff before tightening his mouth in what was meant for a smile. “I assume, then, that the experiment was a success?”
“A complete success.” Forth’s voice was somewhat harsh and annoyed, but Jay was untroubled; he had known for years that most of his subordinates and superiors disliked him, and had long ago stopped worrying about it.
“The trailmen agreed?”
“They agreed,” Forth said, surprised. “You don’t remember anything at all?”
“Scraps. Like a nightmare.” Jay Allison looked down at the back of his hand, flexing the fingers cautiously against pain, touching the partially healed red slash. Forth followed the direction of his eyes and said, not unsympathetically, “Don’t worry about your hand. I looked at it pretty carefully. You’ll have the total use of it.”
Jay said rigidly, “It seems to have been a pretty severe risk to take. Did you ever stop to think what it would have meant to me, to lose the use of my hand?”
“It seemed a justifiable risk, even if you had,” Forth said dryly. “Jay, I’ve got the whole story on tape, just as you told it to me. You might not like having a blank spot in your memory. Want to hear what your alter ego did?”
Jay hesitated. Then he unfolded his long legs and stood up. “No, I don’t think I care to know.” He waited, arrested by a twinge of a sore muscle, and frowned.
What had happened, what would he never know, why did the random ache bring a pain deeper than the pain of a torn nerve? Forth was watching him, and Jay asked irritably, “What is it?”
“You’re one hell of a cold fish, Jay.”
“I don’t understand you, sir.”
“You wouldn’t,” Forth muttered. “Funny. I liked your subsidiary personality.”
Jay’s mouth contracted in a mirthless grin.
“You would,” he said, and swung quickly round.
“Come on. If I’m going to work on that serum project I’d better inspect the volunteers and line up the blood donors and look over old whatshisname’s papers.”
But beyond the window the snowy ridges of the mountain, inscrutable, caught and held his eye; a riddle and a puzzle—
“Ridiculous,” he said, and went to his work.
* * *
Four months later, Jay Allison and Randall Forth stood together, watching the last of the disappearing planes, carrying the volunteers back toward Carthon and their mountains.
“I should have flown back to Carthon with them,” Jay said moodily. Forth watched the tall man stare at the mountain; wondered what lay behind the contained gestures and the brooding.
He said, “You’ve done enough, Jay. You’ve worked like the devil. Thurmond—the Legate—sent down to say you’d get an official commendation and a promotion for your part. That’s not even mentioning what you did in the trailmen’s city.” He put a hand on his colleague’s shoulder, but Jay shook it off impatiently.
All through the work of isolating and testing the blood fraction, Jay had worked tirelessly and unsparingly; scarcely sleeping, but brooding; silent, prone to fly into sudden savage rages, but painstaking. He had overseen the trailmen with an almost fatherly solicitude—but from a distance. He had left no stone unturned for their comfort—but refused to see them in person except when it was unavoidable.
Forth thought, we played a dangerous game. Jay Allison had made his own adjustment to life, and we disturbed that balance. Have we wrecked the man? He’s expendable, but damn it, what a loss! He asked, “Well, why didn’t you fly back to Carthon with them? Kendricks went along, you know. He expected you to go until the last minute.”
Jay did not answer. He had avoided Kendricks, the only witness to his duality. In all his nightmare brooding, the avoidance of anyone who had known him as Jason became a mania. Once, meeting Rafe Scott on the lower floor of the HQ, he had turned frantically and plunged like a madman through halls and corridors, to avoid coming face to face with the man, finally running up four flights of stairs and taking shelter in his rooms, with the pounding heart and bursting veins of a hunted criminal. At last he said, “If you’ve called me down here to read me the riot act about not wanting to make another trip into the Hellers—!”
“No, no,” Forth said equably, “there’s a visitor coming. Regis Hastur sent word he wants to see you. In case you don’t remember him, he was on Project Jason—”
“I remember,” Jay said grimly. It was nearly his one clear memory—the nightmare of the ledge, his slashed hand, the shameful naked body of the Darkovan woman, and—blurring these things, the too-handsome Darkovan aristocrat who had banished him for Jason again. “He’s a better psychiatrist than you are, Forth. He changed me into Jason in the flicker of an eyelash, and it took you half a dozen hypnotic sessions.”
“I’ve heard about the psi powers of the Hasturs,” Forth said, “but I’ve never been lucky enough to meet one in person. Tell me about it. What did he do?”
* * *
Jay made a tight movement of exasperation, too controlled for a shrug. “Ask him, why don’t you. Look, Forth, I don’t much care to see him. I didn’t do it for Darkover; I did it because it was my job. I’d prefer to forget the whole thing. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“I rather had the idea that he wanted to see you personally. Jay, you did a tremendous thing, man! Damn it, why don’t you strut a little? Be—be normal for once! Why, I’d be damned near bursting with pride if one of the Hasturs insisted on congratulating me personally!”
Jay’s lip twitched, and his voice shook with controlled exasperation. “Maybe you would. I don’t see it that way.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to. On Darkover nobody refuses when the Hasturs make a request—and certainly not a request as reasonable as this one.” Forth sat down beside the desk. Jay struck the woodwork with a violent clenched fist and when he lowered his hand there was a tiny smear of blood along his knuckles. After a minute he walked to the couch and sat down, very straight and stiff, saying nothing. Neither of the men spoke again until Forth started at the sound of a buzzer, drew the mouthpiece toward him, and said, “Tell him we are honored—you know the routine for dignitaries, and send him up here.”
Jay twisted his fingers together and ran his thumb, in a new gesture, over the ridge of scar tissue along the knuckles. Forth was aware of an entirely new quality in the silence, and started to speak to break it, but before he could do so, the office door slid open on its silent beam, and Regis Hastur stood there.
Forth rose courteously and Jay got to his feet like a mechanical doll jerked on strings. The young Darkovan ruler smiled engagingly at him:
“Don’t bother, this visit is informal; that’s the reason I came here rather than inviting you both to the Tower. Dr. Forth? It is a pleasure to meet you again, sir. I hope that our gratitude to you will soon take a more tangible form. There has not been a single death from the trailmen’s fever since you made the serum available.”
Jay, motionless, saw bitterly that the old man had succumbed to the youngster’s deliberate charm. The chubby, wrinkled old face seamed up in a pleased smile as Forth said, “The gifts sent to the trailme
n in your name, Lord Hastur, were greatly welcomed.”
“Do you think that any of us will ever forget what they have done?” Regis replied. He turned toward the window and smiled rather tentatively at the man who stood there; motionless since his first conventional gesture of politeness:
“Dr. Allison, do you remember me at all?”
“I remember you,” Jay Allison said sullenly.
His voice hung heavy in the room, its sound a miasma in his ears. All his sleepless, nightmare-charged brooding, all his bottled hate for Darkover and the memories he had tried to bury, erupted into overwrought bitterness against this too-ingratiating youngster who was a demigod on this world and who had humiliated him, repudiated him for the hated Jason ... for Jay, Regis had suddenly become the symbol of a world that hated him, forced him into a false mold.
A black and rushing wind seemed to blur the room. He said hoarsely, “I remember you all right,” and took one savage, hurtling step.
The weight of the unexpected blow spun Regis around, and the next moment Jay Allison, who had never touched another human being except with the remote hands of healing, closed steely, murderous hands around Regis’ throat. The world thinned out into a crimson rage. There were shouting and sudden noises, and a red-hot explosion in his brain ...
* * *
“You’d better drink this,” Forth remarked, and I realized I was turning a paper cup in my hands. Forth sat down, a little weakly, as I raised it to my lips and sipped. Regis took his hand away from his throat and said huskily, “I could use some of that, Doctor.”
I put the whiskey down. “You’ll do better with water until your throat muscles are healed,” I said swiftly, and went to fill a throwaway cup for him, without thinking. Handing it to him. I stopped in sudden dismay and my hand shook, spilling a few drops. I said hoarsely, swallowing, “—but drink it, anyway—”