by Jeff Sutton
"It's called Alpha Centauri," explained Ramsig.
"I thought you said it was called Glost?"
"That's the small red star. I'm talking about Klore and Bergon."
"If they're called Klore and Bergon, why do you call them Alpha Centauri?" asked Jedro. He found that quite puzzling.
Ramsig shrugged. "Just one of those things, I guess."
"How did you learn all that?" he asked admiringly.
"Remember I told you about Mr. Harper's radio? In winter, sometimes, he lets me listen to it."
Ramsig smiled enigmatically. "You'd be surprised how much you can learn from it."
"I wish Mr. Krant had a radio."
"Krant doesn't know much. He's plenty dumb."
"Plenty mean," Jedro replied.
"How come you ever went to work for him?"
"I don't know."
"You don't?" Ramsig eyed him speculatively.
"I can't remember how I got there."
"It was only a few years ago."
"Four," said Jedro. Prodding at his memory, he sensed again that curious blankness, that wall beyond which he couldn't go. He looked quizzically at the other youth, then blurted, "You won't laugh if I ask you something?"
"I won't laugh," Ramsig promised gravely.
"How old am I?"
"You don't know?"
"Please," he begged.
Ramsig studied him as if seeing him for the first time. "You're starting to grow," he said finally.
"You must be around fourteen or fifteen. You're going to be big."
"Thank you," Jedro answered humbly. Fourteen or fifteen! He felt a fierce pride. But then, caught with the knowledge that he could only remember back four years, he wondered at the ten or so years that lay beyond the curtain. From where had he come? Did he have parents? If so, what had happened to bring him to Mr. Krant's? The questions made him desolate. What was wrong with his mind that he couldn't remember? Perhaps he wasn't smart enough to remember.
That could be it, he thought, yet somehow knew that it wasn't.
"You don't have to work for Krant," suggested Ramsig. "A good gran herder can get a job most anywhere."
"Is that true?" The idea startled him.
"Sure, you might even get a job in one of the towns."
"You think I could?" he asked eagerly. The thought of escaping from Mr.
Krant was overwhelming.
"Lots of people do."
"What kind of work could I get?"
"Maybe building houses or working in a store." The taciturn boy shrugged. "Lots of people work in towns. You should see how crowded Little
Paris is."
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Jedro eyed him speculatively. "If it's that easy, why don't you get a job in town?"
"I like it out here," replied Ramsig. He gazed upward at the yellow-blue sky. "It's quiet and peaceful, a place where a man can think. Town is all right to visit, but it's no place to live. You can't hear anything but the chu-chu-chu of trucks, and at night they light the main street so you can't enjoy the darkness."
"Light the whole street?" Jedro exclaimed disbelievingly.
"With lamps set on the tops of poles," explained Ramsig. "Do you know what electricity is?
That's what they use. Every night all the lamps go on at the same time. They turn them on in the store windows, too, and they got them on the fronts of trucks. You ought to see the trucks at night, rolling down the street, their lights blazing like big eyes. It's plenty scary."
As Ramsig talked, Jedro again was conscious of a faint stirring of memory. Every now and then the gran herder's words struck strange chords in his mind, like the time he told about the big starport that lay around the curve of the planet, outside the main city of New Portland.
Occasionally nebulous images would flit through his mind. Perhaps, long ago, he had been to one of the towns. Was that possible? Blazing eyes rolling through the night...
"I'd like to see that," he exclaimed.
"It's quite a sight," agreed Ramsig, "but after a while you want to get back here where you can see the stars at night. You miss the quiet."
Lights that chased away the night! Long after Ramsig had departed, Jedro savored the wonder of it. And towns filled with people! He tried to visualize such a scene. If there were lots of people, then some would be like himself --
not big and coarse, like Mr. Krant, but young and slender. Boys and girls.
He dwelt on the vision. He had never seen a girl, nor any boy other than Ramsig, and Ramsig was so old he was almost a man. Would the girls, aside from being young and slender, look anything like Mrs. Krant? Picturing her mean, pinched face, he fervently hoped not. But, of course, they wouldn't, he told himself. Ramsig didn't look a bit like Mr. Krant so why should other girls look like Mrs. Krant? Neither did the men who drove the gran trucks look like
Mr. Krant, although they wore the same kind of dirty clothes. Perhaps people, unlike the grans, were all different. That would be much better.
When he looked at his reflection in the stream, he saw a lean-jawed face, broad at the cheekbones, eyes that were as dark as the otog nuts that he gathered in the woods. Framed in its long tousled hair, that tanned face did not at all resemble Mr. Krant's. He was glad for that.
In more sober moments, when alone, he pondered the enigma of his being, yet always pushed against the mental murkiness that blotted out his early years. At times he had fragmentary memories that escaped before he could grasp them. Like leaves in an autumn storm, they swirled too swiftly to be caught.
Who am I? Where did I come from? The twin questions were the companions of his solitude.
Everything had a beginning and an end; he knew that. Only he had never had a beginning -- not in the sense that the flowers and the birds and the gran did. He had just awakened, opened his eyes, and he was there.
In Mr. Krant's attic bedroom.
2
JEDRO WAS LOLLING on a hillside, idly watching the gran when first he saw the gaunt man.
That was his first impression -- a tall man, incredibly lean, with long white hair that whipped in the wind. Appearing suddenly along a path that led down from the hills, he strode swiftly toward him, his head tilted upward as if sniffing the breeze.
A stranger! Jedro rose, his heart hammering. It was the first time he'd ever seen anyone other Page 7
than Ramsig and Mr. Krant in the hills. As the stranger drew closer, he instinctively took a backward step.
"Don't be frightened." Those were the gaunt man's first words.
"I'm not," he denied. Although his voice quavered, he realized he wasn't so much frightened as surprised. Closer up he saw that the gaunt man's craggy face was seamed, the cheeks sunken, the eyes all but hidden under enormous frost-covered brows. But it was not an unpleasant face.
The gaunt man stared back along the trail before squatting on his heels.
"You're Jedro," he said.
"How did you know?" stammered Jedro. The eyes watching him, blue and glacial, held the suggestion of some vast infinity.
"I know." Chuckling, the gaunt man nodded sagely. All at once the craggy face was warm and understanding. "I'm Clement."
"I'm glad to know you, Mr. Clement," Jedro managed to say. He added desperately, "How did you know my name?"
"Know all about you," said Clement.
"Who I am?" he blurted.
"Quite well, Jedro."
"Then who am I?" he pleaded.
The gaunt man smiled. "You're Jedro."
Jedro stared at him. "That doesn't make much sense."
"Not much does," agreed Clement. "That's characteristic of the universe."
"The what?"
"The universe." Clement gestured toward the sky. "The suns and planets and moons -- the big box in which we live."
"We live in a box?" he exclaimed.
"A box filled with puzzles." The glacial blue eyes studied him. "Oh, it holds its hopes and it holds its dreams, but it also holds endless enigmas.
"What's that -- a puzzle?"
"Vast and baffling," asserted Clement. His gaze returned to the trail.
"Can't stay but a few moments," he said.
"Do you have to hurry?" Jedro felt a pang of disappointment. With the exception of Ramsig, the gaunt man was the first person with whom he'd really had a chance to talk since the morning of his awakening. Although the gaunt man's words were strange, they excited him.
"Time runs swiftly," said Clement.
"Are you talking about night coming?" He glanced at the sky; the yellow sun was still high above the horizon. Bergon, trailing it, would be up longer yet.
"Night, eternal night," replied Clement.
"What do you mean?"
"The night that is unending."
"That sounds strange," he answered. Unable to restrain his curiosity, he asked, "Are you from one of the towns?"
"You might say that, yes."
"Which one?" he asked eagerly.
"Los Angeles. It's a city on Earth."
"The home world?" Jedro stared incredulously at him, his eyes wide. "Is it like they say, all one city?"
"Not really, but it's mighty crowded."
"Is the sky filled with aircars?"
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"Like moths around a street lamp," asserted Clement. He described the vast urban sprawls and the almost unending smaller cities and industrial areas that linked them together. Men were going ever deeper underground to create new living space. Domed cities were rising under the seas; other cities floated on the oceanic tides. Gigantic transportation systems had diminished time and space. Slowly the world was becoming a thing of steel and plastic and concrete.
Fascinated, Jedro hung on to every word.
"I'd love to see Earth," he exclaimed, when finally Clement fell silent.
"You will."
"I will?" He felt a great excitement. "How do you know?"
"I know," said Clement. He nodded slowly. Filled with wonder, Jedro gazed at him. Cities under the earth, beneath the seas; aircars, and buildings that soared wildly upward -- magical things of which he scarcely could conceive. Earth, where life had been born, sending her children to the stars.
He trembled with excitement.
"I'm going to Earth," he cried.
"That is your destiny," declared Clement. A smile touched his lips.
"You'll find it just a way station."
"What do you mean?"
"Would you like to walk the universe?" The blue eyes peered out at him from under the frosty brows.
"Yes," he whispered.
"Ah, to walk through the ages while suns flourish and die."
"What does that mean?"
"Destiny has chosen a prince," replied Clement gravely. He reached in his pocket and brought Out a smooth, dark object, displaying it in his palm.
At first glance it appeared to Jedro somewhat like a polished otog nut, then he saw that it reflected a curious inner glow.
"What is it?" he asked finally.
"A stone." Clement chuckled. "Here, take it." He extended his hand.
Jedro plucked it gingerly from his palm, conscious of its warmth. The glow brightened, a deep yellow that held touches of purple and red; small violet flames seemed to leap from its depths. A strange sensation came into his hand and crept up his arm.
He asked shakily, "What kind of a stone?"
"A memory stone."
"What's that?"
"It elicits memory," explained the gaunt man.
"I don't understand."
"You will. Be careful never to lose it," he cautioned.
"I can have it?" Jedro gazed at the stone, thinking it the most beautiful he'd ever seen. The yellowish tinge he'd first noticed, somewhat the color of the light that came from the yellow sun Klore, now had turned completely to purples and deep reds from which leaped the small violet flames.
"Always keep it with you," warned Clement. "It's quite valuable."
"I will," he promised eagerly. His eyes came up, looking into the seamed face. For an instant he fancied he saw a great sorrow there, but the look passed, replaced by a deep tranquility. "Why are you giving it to me?" he asked wonderingly.
"Because it was meant for you."
"For me?"
"Call it a present," advised Clement.
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"What shall I do with it?"
"Keep it...and wait." A gentle smile, filled with longing, touched the gaunt man's face. "You have the power."
"The power?"
"It lies latent within you."
"I don't know what you mean." Jedro examined the stone, his mind troubled. The other's words were strange. He would go to Earth; more, he would walk the universe. And that about destiny choosing a prince! What did it all mean? He looked back at the craggy face.
"You will have your answers in time," explained Clement. He rose, tall and gaunt against the yellow-blue sky, looking back along the trail. Sorrow tinged his face.
Gazing back at Jedro, he said, "I have to leave now."
"So soon?"
"I have an appointment."
"You have?" Jedro was startled. No one except the Krants and the gran herder Ramsig lived within a day's travel of where he kept his lonely vigil.
His face betrayed his puzzlement.
"With death," said Clement softly.
"D-death?"
"Over yonder" -- Clement threw out a lanky arm -- "where the trail crosses the top of the next knoll."
"I don't know what you mean," he cried fearfully. He switched his eyes to the distant hilltop; it lay quiet and peaceful in the afternoon light.
People just didn't die like that.
"Death comes to everyone." Clement's blue eyes fixed him piercingly before he added, "Or almost everyone."
"You can't just die," he protested.
"All life is movement toward death," explained Clement. "For my entire life I've been traveling toward a certain instant of time, toward a certain spot in the universe. Now that time is almost here and the spot is yonder." He gestured toward the knoll.
"But why?" Jedro licked his lips dryly, trying to stem his fright.
"You can't escape death," asserted Clement. "At least I can't." Again a gentle smile softened his craggy face.
"But...how?"
"Death comes in many forms. In my case it will come in the form of a tattooed man astride a relk."
"Tattooed?"
"You'll know what that means when you see him, Jedro." Clement chuckled.
"You'll shudder."
Jedro thought the gaunt man must be joking until he looked into his eyes. Deep wells of sorrow, they held a glow strangely reminiscent of that he so often saw in the eyes of the relks, and in the eyes of the gran before they were driven to market. He had a strong feeling that the gaunt man's sorrow was not for himself. What was Clement thinking in this...last moment? The question brought a shock that he realized was occasioned by his acceptance of the other's fate.
"Stay hidden in the tall grass," warned Clement.
"You can't die," he cried vehemently. "Not here, not now. There's no reason to die."
"Destiny needs no reason." Clement tilted his face upward, gazing at the yellow-blue sky. The wind, riffling his long white hair, blew fine strands across his face to form a silver web against the dark skin. "It's a good day to die," he said.
"How do you know you have to die?" whispered Jedro.
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"I can see it."
"See death?"
"It fills my whole horizon, Jedro. Death is a great wind that blows through the universe; it is the hunter of life. It has feel, taste, sound, a smell, but most of all it's a vision." Clement gazed down at him. "No man can mistake its presence."
"I can't see or smell anything," he protested.
"It's an individual matter, Jedro. Death is a host who speaks only to his guests." A wistful look pervaded the seamed face. "Take good care of
the stone."
"I will, I will," he promised.
"And lie in the tall grass, remain out of sight."
"Because of The Tattooed Man?"
"He's evil, Jedro." Again Clement studied the trail behind him. "Mark him well, for you will see him again."
"I will," he promised huskily. The thought that Clement had to die brought a constriction to his throat. It didn't make sense, none at all. How could death come on such a cloudless day? Mr.
Clement had to be mistaken.
"Good-bye, Jedro." The gaunt man turned and strode briskly down the trail.
"Good-bye, good-bye," he shouted. He watched Clement leap a small ravine at the bottom of the hill and start up the opposite slope. Why did a man hurry so when he knew what lay ahead?
Why hadn't he taken another route? Destiny, Mr. Clement had called it; no one could change destiny. But how could Mr.
Clement know what lay ahead?
Clement turned back to wave without stopping his climb. Reaching the top of the knoll, he halted for a moment, his tall figure limned against the yellow-blue sky. He looked, thought Jedro, like the loneliest man in the universe. He choked back a sob.
The distant clop of hooves alerted him and he whirled, feeling a sudden panic. Remembering the gaunt man's admonition, he darted behind a tall clump of panda grass, peering around it to watch the trail.
A rider on a relk galloped into view, pulling the animal to a halt scarcely a dozen yards away.
The relk pranced, its long slender legs performing an intricate dance in the dust before it settled down.
Jedro gasped. The rider's face, neck, and hairless skull were covered with strange red, yellow, and blue patterns, leaving no part of his skin uncovered. His bare arms and sandaled feet were striped in gaudy colors.
Scarcely daring to breathe, Jedro gazed at him. A painted man!
"Tattooed" was the word Mr. Clement had used. A tattooed man! A violent trembling ran through his body. Remembering the stone, he jammed it into his pocket.
The tattooed face came up, lean and bony beneath its color. A huge, curving nose, flaring out at the nostrils, added to its fierceness. Both fascinated and frightened, Jedro wondered at what manner of man this was. He had never heard of such an awesome being.