Hot Sleep: The Worthing Chronicle
by Orson Scott Card
Version 1.0

1

JAS WORTHING was being kept alive by State Paper
FN3xxR5a, and he knew it. He didn't need an
assistant professor of education to tell him that.
But once Hartman Tork had begun a lecture, he
was unstoppable.

"There's no way, Jas Worthing, that you could
have made a perfect score on that test. The infor-
mation is classified, it was only bumped onto the
computers by a mistake in the program"

"Your mistake," Jas pointed out.

"Maybe not a mistake at all," Tork said, his face
turning red with anger. "Maybe we've found out
something about you that we desperately wanted
to know. You couldn't possibly have copied off
anyone else's paper"

"Are you accusing me of cheating? Because the
juvenile code requires a proper hearing and sub-
stantiating evidence"

Tork whirled around on his swivel stool and
stood up. He walked around the glowing teacher-
board until he stood only a meter or less away
from Jas. Again, as a hundred times before, Jas felt
the vertigo of childhood, realizing that everything
is up, that only when he tumbled into the future
would he be as large as those who manipulated
him todayor tried to, anyway.

"I've had enough," Tork said, softly, trying to
be menacing; and though Jas knew that the
menace was a facade worn to intimidate the small
and weak, he also knew that behind the facade the
threat was very, very real. "I've had enough of
your cocky smartass self-assurance. Now you're
going to take that test over again."

And in spite of himself Jas was trembling,
though he kept the quaver out of his voice. "Un-
less you can prove malfeasance"

"I know the juvenile code, Jas. And I don't have
to prove malfeasance if I can prove something
else."

His look of triumph was disconcerting. Jas
gripped the sides of the nearest console. "I didn't
cheat, Mr. Tork, and unless you have a witness"

"The law, boy, is a lot more open when it comes
to the question of the Swipe." Tork pounded his
finger on the teacherboard for emphasis.

"Are you calling me a Swipe, Mr. Tork?" Jas
asked. This time the quaver came into his voice.

"That's slander, Mr. Tork, unless you can
prove"

"I'm working on that, boy. Now get out."

Jas got out. But at the door he heard Tork call
after him, "You got those answers out of my head
and I'm going to prove it! You passed that test by
picking my brains!"

Jas turned around and said, "Assistant profes-
sor Tork, no one in his right mind, given a choice,
would pick your brains." Tork didn't answer, just
smiled savagely. But Jas felt a little better for hav-
ing said it.

He was shaking and weak all the way home.

His mother met him at the door of their flat.
"What happened?" she asked, trying to keep the
fear out of her voice, as if it couldn't be read on her

face.

"Tork yelled a lot."

"What about the proof? Did you have the
proof?"

"Your bloodiest came out okay, mom." Jas sat
down on the bed that doubled as a sofa in the
living room. "Sorry you had to get jabbed."

His mother sat next to him and took his hand.
Her palms were clammy. "I was so afraid. They
were so sure."

"I guess they can't cope with somebody out-
smarting their stupid tests." Jas lay back on the
bed and breathed deeply, "I need to rest, mom,"
he said. His mother nodded and got up and went
to the kitchen-dining-bathroom to ring up dinner.

Jas lay on the bed, his heart still pounding. He

had been stupid, not to realize that they'd know.
But it had been so easythe test in front of him,
and then just by looking at Tork the answers so
clear, sitting right behind Tork's eyes. It was as if
for a moment Jas had forgotten that telepathy was
a capital crime. In fact, of course, he hadn't really
realized, not for sure, that what was happening
was telepathy. It had grown so gradually, his
giftbeginning when he turned twelvefleeting
glimpses at random of what people thought, what
they felt. And then in the room last week, just as a
child might discover a new muscle that let him
wiggle his ears or twitch his scalp, Jas had
realized he could control it. Not just random
glimpses, but a deep, hard, long look into their
minds.

The Swipe? Swipes were monsters, Swipes
were planet-wreckers, Swipes weren't kids in"
schoolrooms taking calculus tests.

He stared at the picture of his father on the
ceiling. The tiling had been there since their last
authorized remodeling, when Jas was seven, and
he had instantly seen the picture. That squiggle
was the nose; the dark space his eye; the lips the
gentle curves just below. It was a benign face,
kind if monstrous, trustworthy if incredible. How
had he decided that it was his father? Jas knew.
After all, he had seen no other picture.

He wanted the face to smile, but it always just
smirked, as if just about to laugh, or as if it had just
tired of laughter. Or as if it knew that a meal was
coming. Jas shuddered.

And as he did his mind gave his body a reason

for the fear. How was I to know, he asked himself.
How was I to know that the last three questions
were cross-programmed from another classroom,
a classified, advanced, damn-it-but-it-all-made-
so-much-sense classroom, and Jason rolled over
and dug his hand into his mattress, partly because
it felt good, and partly because his mother had
told him, "When you muck up the mattress it has
to be replaced early, and if it has to be replaced
early, the government gets angry."

Advanced astrodynamics. Well, it just felt like
more math, how was I to know I was playing little
games with stars and planets? And I understood
it, once I got the answer. Jas rumpled the bed
again. Once he got the answer: that was the prob-
lem. He couldn't show them any figuring. He
couldn't show them how he arrived at the correct
answer. "I figure in my head," he said, and they
showed him the paper where he had done some
other figuring, and Jas had smiled and said,
"Sometimes, anyway."

If only Tork had been a moron and had remem-
bered astro-dynamics wrong.

If only God were still alive and not just a face on
the ceiling.

"I'm a Swipe," Jas said under his breath, trying
out the words.

Suddenly a hand was fiercely clamped over his
mouth. Startled, he opened his eyes to see his
mother glaring down at him.

"Fool!" his mother hissed. "An intelligence
that can't be measured and you talk as if the walls
weren't listening!"

"I was joking," Jas stammered, "I didn't
think"

"In this world, boy, don't ever not think. Why
do you suppose your father died?" She wheeled
and left the room.

Jas looked after her. "Father didn't have a
chance!" he shouted.

"Shut up and eat your dinner," his mother
snapped, surly again. Again? Still.

The answers had just been sitting there, like a
disc ready to be played, a book ready to be read,
waiting for him behind Tork's eyes. Jas looked up
and saw his mother watching him. He looked at
her tightly-set lips, glanced at her wrinkled
forehead, and saw (just behind the eyes) that she
would suffer any torture if it would bring Homer
Worthing back to her for one bright day, for one
penetrating touch, for one last kind, delicate,
ravishing night.

"I wish I looked more like him, mother," Jas
said, wanting the wrinkles on the forehead to go
away.

She just narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't," she
whispered, and then pushed a plate of the stiff gel
that was called soup in the catalog across the table
toward him. Jas sat for a moment, then leaned
across the table, took his mother by the shoulders,
and pulled her close. His mouth by her ear, he
spoke so softly that he could barely hear his own
voice, and said, "It's true."

She tried to pull away, shaking her head.

"Mother," Jas insisted, pulling her closer still,

"I'm a Swipe. I got the answers from the teacher's
mind."

She shuddered. "Impossible," she said softly.

"I know."

She got up from the table and took him by the
hand. Together they left the flat and walked down
corridors and ramps to the tube. At that hour it
wasn't crowded. She dragged him along until
they got to a women's lavatory. She started to pull
him in.

"I can't go in there," Jas whispered.

"You're sure as hell going to," she hissed back,
her face ugly with fear.

He went in. It was empty. His mother leaned
against the door, facing him.

"Maybe," she said, "this place isn't bugged. But
if it is, we won't be known."

"Voiceprints."

"Whisper, then," she whispered. "I said it's
impossible. I've had two blood tests. Once before
your father's trial, and this time for you. I do not
have the Swipe on any of my lousy DNA. My X
chromosomes are clean. Do you understand
that?"

"I know what I did."

"You couldn't have gotten the trait from your
father," she said, holding tightly to the boy's arm,
"because it's carried on the X and he only gave
you a Y."

"I've taken genetics."

"Then why did you say what you did?"

"Separate   mutation,"   Jas   said,   and   she

clenched her grip on his arm. It hurt, but he was
afraid to try to pull away. He had never seen her
this angry and afraid at the same time.

"Do you think they didn't check that? It's the
first thing they check. Your cells don't show any
mutation."

"Then it's magic," Jas said, and she relaxed just
enough that he felt safe in trying to pull his arm
free. She let him.

"Magic," she said, and then she covered her
face with her hands, digging her fingers into her
eye sockets so fiercely that Jas worried, fleetingly,
that she might be trying to blind herself, even
though the cost of a transplant would wipe out her
earnings and her pension for years. He gingerly
reached for her arms, to pull her hands down, but
when he touched her she erupted, shouted at him,
forgetting the danger that one of Mother's Little
Boys might be listening. "Listen to me! It's impos-
sible! You're just hallucinating because of your
father. They warned me it might happen, that
children of Swipes sometimes react this way, pre-
tending to be Swipes because of guilt feelings
about the way their parent died. But whether it's
real or not, it can get you killed if you go around
claiming to be a"

"I don't feel guilty about my father's death!" Jas
said angrily. "I wasn't even born when he died. I
wasn't even conceived. If you didn't want a crazy
child, why did you go to the sperm bank"

"I wanted him to have a son"

"Well, he's got one! But don't try to transfer
your psychoses onto me!"

She fell silent, her jaw slack. And as Jas leaned
against the washbasin he again had a flash; but
this time not a thought, this time a picture:

A man smilingnot a handsome man, but a
man used to power, a man sure of himself, a man
with huge, powerful, sweet hands that reached
out and touched

"No!" his mother shouted at him, and she
pushed his hand away, and he realized that he
had touched her just as she was remembering his
father's touch, that he had been acting out her
memory.

"Don't touch me!" she said. "Not like that."

"I'm sorry. I justI couldn't help itmother,
why do you remember him laughing, when he''

His mother shook her head violently. "You
didn't see," she hissed, more to herself than to
him. "You didn't know, you didn't see." She was
not looking at him. Is she even sane, Jas wondered
for a moment. And then realized that the answer
to his question was no, had always been no.

Suddenly his mother relaxed and smiled. "Of
course," she said. "You're just insightful. It's a
family trait. Your grandfather was just like that.
As if he could see into your soul." She laughed.
"Little Jason Worthing, just like your father's
father."

"And my father."

"No!" she said fiercely. "He was a Swipe. But
your grandfather. He just looked at me the first
time Homer brought me home, just looked at my
eyes and then he smiled and he said to me, 'Nita,
you're a good woman, you're right for my son.'

And from then on it was like he'd known me all
my life. He knew he could trust me. And he could,
he could."

Somebody pushed on the door, trying to get in.

"We've got to leave, mother," Jas said.

"Not until you promise me," she said.

"What."

"That you'll never say that again. To anyone.
About being a"

"I promise. Do you think I want to get killed?"
Jas lunged for the doorknob. His mother backed
away, and the door slid open as Jason twisted the
knob.

A woman with a little girl who was dancing up
and down shot them a dirty look as they came out.
Then she did a double take when she realized that
Jas was a boy.

"Perverts!" the woman spat as they hurried
through the cars to the exit.

The next day at school they tried to trap him.
Tork wasn't in the test room. Jas went in for his
regular weekend quiz, and an empty-headed
woman with thoroughly observable decolletage
greeted him in a whispery voice and told him his
test was ready. Jas guessed what they were going
to do. To make sure, he looked into her head.
Behind her eyes? A love life. No answers to tests.

And sure enough, the test was not on the topol-
ogy of speed-of-light motion, the study topic for
the week. It was, once again, astrodynamics. All
new questions, of course. But the same topic.

Jas had to work on this one. Of course, his mind

being what it was, he remembered perfectly ev-
erything he had taken from Tork's mind the week
before. Now he had to apply the principles, think
them through. But his logic kept up with the ques-
tions on the test.

He did miss one question. But ninety-nine was
close enough to a hundred to be statistically in-
significant.

When the computer printed out his score, Jas
stood up and announced to the woman, "All
right, lady. When you see Tork again, tell him for
me I'm going to press charges. This test was il-
legal."

The woman was genuinely surprised. "What
could be illegal? I just pressed the button and"

"I know, I know. Just tell Tork for me. Can you
remember that long?"

She sniffed her disdain. "You boy geniuses all
seem to think you're the only ones with minds."

When Jas left the school he had every intention
of going straight to the CRL for a lawyer to press
his caseit was airtight, there'd be no way to hide
their tampering with the computer program to put
the wrong test on it. And without a writ they had
no right to double-check his score.

But then he realized that he didn't want to at-
tract too much attention with this. Because if
rumor got around that he was suspected to be a
Swipe, the doors would start to close to him. His
unmeasurable intelligence would be worth as
much as a moron rating.

No, let them sweat, but don't make too many
waves.

Somehow the tests had all come out negative.
But Jas knew he had the Swipe. And they might
have other tests that would discover it.

"Insightful," his mother had said, "just like
your father's father."

Father. And me. And grandfather?

But grandfather was dead.

Jas went to a directory and found the listing:
"Genealogical program, G55Nxy3. He put his
credit card (nearly worthless for purchasing, but
good enough for this) into the computer outlet
and punched in the program.

"Genealogy: Name research, 4n; inheritance
tie-ins, 4i; name similarities . . ." Finally Jas
found what he wanted, punched in his own name
and birthdate, and waited for the reading.

"Male relatives of common descent by male
lines only." and then came a list of names that
threatened to go on all day. Jas interrupted the
readout and punched in a new instruction. Now
the screen flashed, "Five nearest male relatives by
common descent by male lines only."

First on the list was Talbot Worthing. He lived
on a planet only forty-two light-years away.

Next on the list was Radamand Worthing.
GE-44h ratinggovernment employee on the dis-
trict management level.

Again he put his credit card into the slot, and
this time asked only for an address. His fifth
cousin Radamand was supervisor of District
Napa-3. A good position not more than an hour by
tube from Jas's home district.

Nice to know that a relative had done well with
himself.

It was 1600, and Jas figured he'd have time to
get there before the man left workand get back
before his mother had Mother's Little Boys out
looking for him. So he got on the tube, wondering
all the time if this wasn't a wild goose chase. And
then in the part of his mind that always took over
when he was worried, he free associated, and
tried to calculate what in the world the phrase
wild goose chase meant.

Radamand Worthing had his name on the outer
door of the office complex, and no name at all on
his private door. Jas was aware enough of status
symbols to be impressed.

The secretary was also impressedby
Radamand, not by Jas.

"Do you have an appointment, little boy?"

"I don't need one," Jas said, putting on his most
irritating voice.

"Everyone needs one," she said, getting just as
irritated as he wanted her to get.

"Tell him his blue-eyed cousin Jason is here to
see him," Jas said, sneeringa facial expression
he had long since learned infuriated adults.

"I have instructions not to bother him."

"Tell him or you'll have new instructions to be
out of here with your desk left empty behind
you."

"Listen, little boy, if you've disturbed me
unnecessarily"

"The   noise   of   the    disturbance   opened

Radamand Worthing's door. "What's going on
out there?" the portly, middle-aged man with
bright blue eyes demanded. Bright blue eyes, Jas
noted. His grandfather's holo had blue eyes. His
mother's memory of his father had those same
bright blue eyes. "Uncle Radamand," Jas said af-
fectionately. At the same moment he focused on
the spot just behind Radamand's eyes.

What he read there was Radamand's immediate
fearand the fact that Radamand was also seeing
Jas's fear. Their bright blue eyes locked.

"You're impossible," the older man said. "You
can't be."

"Apparently you're hallucinating," Jas said.

"He just broke in here and demanded" the
secretary said, righteously indignant.

"Shut up." Radamand was sweating.

So was Jas. Because he could hear in the man's
mind the decision that Jas had to die.

"Is that the way to greet a long-lost relative?"
Jas asked.

"Get out of my" Radamand stopped, but Jas
knew he had been about to say

"Mind?" Jas asked.

"Office." Radamand bit the word, and then Jas
heard/saw/felt Radamand's panic, his rage

"Why are you afraid, Uncle Radamand?" Jas
asked in his sweetest voice.

In the older man's mind he found the answer:
Because you have it too, and if they catch you,
they might catch on, they might realize it's
hereditary on the male line, and they'll trace the
genealogies and find me

And as Jas heard Radamand's thoughts, he
realized that Radamand had heard what leaped
into Jas's thoughts: that assistant professor
Hartman Tork already suspected he was a Swipe,
was laying traps for him.

"I'm afraid for you," Radamand said sweetly,
through gritted teeth. "I'm afraid you might fall
into a trap somewhere."

"I'm smarter than they are," Jas said.

But not smarter than me, Radamand thought
loudly, fearfully, angrily.

Jas saw the laser in Radamand's mind before
Radamand could find it in his pocket. Jas dropped
to the floor, rolled. The laser seared the floor be-
hind him. A moment while the weapon re-
charged, and in that moment Jas was out the door,
running down the corridor.

An alarm sounded somewhere in the complex.

The door ahead of him slammed shut. A guard
stood in front of it. Jas stopped and frantically
searched the man's thoughts for another way out,
another exit. Where were the doors? He found
them just behind the guard's eyes, even as the
guard noticed Jas's fugitive appearance. The gun
raisedJas was already gone.

Through this? No, this door. Out and down the
stairs. And through this last door and into cor-
ridors branching off into the endless under-
ground city of Capitol, which stretched in an un-
planned and unplannable labyrinth from pole to
pole to

Home? Not home, Jas thought, because the plan
already forming in Radamand's mind was to ar-

rest Jas on some charge or otherbreaking and
entering? Resisting inquiry? For someone at
Radamand's level, and with his obvious influence
and prestige, it shouldn't be hard to get Jas put
away forever behind bars.

Or in a little plastic box in the cemetery.

Jas's mind kept wandering as he loped down
corridors, losing himself in the turns and the
rises, putting as much as possible of three dimen-
sions between him and his cousin. He smiled to
think of how Radamand had probably acquired
his influence and prestige: for he could easily spot
a superior's guilty secrets and then drop subtle
hintsnot enough for blackmail and the sub-
sequent murder, just enough to let the superior
know that Radamand shared his secret. And un-
derstood. Would never tell; could be trusted; was
a friend who knew all and loved anyway.

And so promotion. And so power. And so all of
the wealth and position that Radamand was afraid
he would lose because now someone shared
his guilty secret.

Jas came to the tube and got on going away from
his home.

Then he got off at the second stop and changed
to the first tube leaving for anywhere.

Then got off and caught another.

And another.

And then left the tubestop and went to a compu-
ter terminal and pushed in his card. Dangerous?
Perhapsbut access to the master files of the
computer was closely guarded by Mother's Little
Boys, and Jas doubted that Radamand's consider-

able influence was quite that considerable. No, it
would be the constables that Radamand had on
his trail, not the computer police, not the listeners
in the walls.

So probably the computers were safe.

Jas punched for a readout on criminal law. He
specified. And specified again. "Exemptions
from all class 2-8b felonies and all mis-
deameanors."

Then Jas specified for exemptions accessible
to juveniles. There were only two: the Service and
the Colonies.

Never the Colonies. Not the one shot of somec,
and then waking up fifty light-years away on an
empty planet, doomed to live out the normal
hundred or so years of life and then die, with
neither fame nor power nor hope of the somec
doses of immortality. Colonies were for the de-
spairing, not for the merely desperate. Jas still had
hope.

Had to be the Service. There at the end of the
somec sleep through space the captains awoke,
fought a battle or did a short term of duty and then
went back under the somec to return to Capitol,
where they were heroesat least the successful
onesand wealthy, whether spectacularly suc-
cessful or not; and, most important, the captains
were on somec, waking only one year out of every
thirty or forty or fifty, watching the centuries slip
by and laughing at time

The Service then. And it would be ironic, too;
for his father had been a ship captain, before the
Swipe crisis that killed him. It would be somehow

appropriate to follow in his father's footsteps.

And then Jas remembered his mother's warning
that sons of Swipes tried to expiate guilt. Maybe,
he thought. Maybe after all I'm just trying to relive
my father's

A hand gripped his shoulder.

"Jason Worthing, age thirteen, number
RR3njw-4, status juvenile, state your business in
this district."

Jason leaned limply against the wall, and the
man made sure he wouldn't leave the wall ab-
ruptly. The man's voice sounded official, but he
wasn't in uniform. A constable not in uniform?
Behind the man's eyes Jas learned that he was
one of Mother's Little Boys. Then he must have
guessed wrong, and Radamand did have that
much influence.

"Well, little boy, your mother's worried about
you. Seems you didn't come home after school."

"I just wentI went exploring," Jas said, using
his young voice, his unintelligent voice. "I was
trying to find my way home."

"Your mother asked us to run a missing persons
check. You shouldn't stick your credit card into
computer outlets if you want to run away," the
man said.

"I don't want to run away," Jas said, longing to
run away.

"Good thing," the man answered with a smile,
"because you can't."

They rode in the closed compartment of the
tube back to the station only a few corridors away
from Jas's flat. The man didn't let go of his iron
grip until Jas's mother opened the door.

"Jas, you're all right." She hugged him, acting
for all the world like a parent who had been wor-
ried that her little boy might be hurt. But Jas knew
what the real fear had been. Though he was al-
ready a little tired of looking into people's
thoughts, it was almost reflex already, and he saw
his mother's flashing memory of a visit from
Hartman Tork.

"Thank you, officer," she said, tears of joy in
her eyes.

"Any time, ma'am." The man left. Jas's mother
closed the door. She looked at Jas in fear.

"Hartman Tork came," Jas said. She nodded,
biting her lip in an exaggerated show of fear.
Again, Jas was convinced for a moment that she
was mad.

"Looking for you," she said. "He has proof. He
said you had passed the second test, that it was
proof positive"

"Proof when I passed it?" Jas asked, surprised.

"He said it contained information that had only
been fed into the computers this week, com-
pletely and totally restricted, there was no way
you could have studied the information, so obvi-
ously you got the answers by"

"But I didn't look into anyone's mind, mother. I
just used logic, I just figured it out"

"Apparently," she said bitterly, "your logic has
just caught up with the latest advances in as-
trodynamic theory."

Jas leaned against the wall. "I thought the test
went the other way. I thought that if I failed it
they'd think it was proof that I'd cheated, or some-
thing else. I thought I had to get a good score."

years ago, seven-year-old Jason leading her from
the park to the zoo to the dome to the cave, all the
sights; and she proud, happy, following where
he led, devoted to him.

But he was no longer seven years old. He was
thirteen. He was frightened. He was leading his
mother on an excursion that had no destination,
whose only goal was escape. Where to, on a planet
where there was no outside except the thin sky, no
away except on starships

Colonies.

The sign blinked. Colonies were one of the few
projects the government considered important
enough that they could be allowed a lighted sign.

Colonies put people on starships and sent them
far beyond the reach of Mother's Little Boys. Col-
onies asked few questions, and answered none.
To go with the Colonies was the next thing to
dying.

But it was only the next thing. And when dying
was the alternative. . . . Jas stood for a moment,
looking at the sign. He had the option of joining
the Service. His mother didn't.

So Jas led his meekly following mother through
the impressive archway leading into the plush
Colonies reception room. Lighted panels on the
walls depicted huge fields of a golden plant, ex-
tending to the horizon, with blue sky and a yellow
sun. "Earth Colony," the panel said, in a muted,
feminine whisper. "Return home again." Another
panel was in motionhundreds of tiny human
beings scrambling over red rocks and black cliffs,
raising a mesh of fine metal strands. The mesh
began to glow. "Catch stars on Manookin," the

virile masculine panel-voice said, "and bring
them home as frozen light."

Bring them homeJas laughed silently, bitter-
ly. No one came home from a colony. A hundred
years just to get established with any degree of
security. Another two hundred or so before any-
thing worth exporting could be developed in ex-
portable quantities. And without the somec sleep,
who would still be alive? None of the original
colonists. None of their great-great-grand-
children, either.

"A new home," sang a chorus of children's
voices, "where children have room to run and
play under the sun. Carter. The children's dream
planet."

And they were at the desk. "Both of you?" the
woman asked.

"Just her," Jas answered. "A place where you
can walk around in the open."

The woman pretended to think hard. "Cap-
ricorn? It's a yellow sun planet, just like Capitol."

Jas wasn't taken in. Obviously Capricorn was
what they were pushing today. "What do they
export?"

"Oh, exciting things."

"Excite me," Jas said.

"Aluminum," she said. "And platinum. And
chrome."

Jas smiled wanly. "You don't do much walking
in the open when you're down a mine shaft,
ma'am. A planet that exports food."

"Duncan, then. Sol-type planet, they didn't
even have to terraform it. She'll love it."

"Papers?"

And the papers appeared on the desk. Jas in-
sisted that the receptionist write in Duncan as the
legal contract destination, and in the preferred
work space Jas wrote, "Clerical." The chances of
anyone getting a clerical assignment on a colony
world were very slim, but there was no harm in
asking. And then the papers were in front of his
mother, and she meekly picked up the pen and
signed, writing the name very, very carefully, as if
for the first time, though she was a legal scribe,
both longhand and punching.

"You have a few minutes for good-byes," the
receptionist thoughtfully said. "And then these
nice men will take you with them." These nice
men were two blond, blue-eyed gorillas with
cheerful smiles on the front of their microcephali.
Jas felt a strange lightness in his stomach, a gentle
twisting that he recognized as guilt, though he
had never felt much guilt before.

He turned to face his mother. She was looking at
the two guards.

"You selfish bastard," she whispered gently,
"I'm not crazy enough not to know what you just
did."

"I had to," Jas said, not believing himself.

"I would have done it gladly if you had asked."

Jas took her hand. It was lifeless as it lay in his.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I love you."

And in his mother's mind he saw his father,
heard him say, "I'm sorry. I love you."

His mother's face contorted. "Selfish," she said
loudly. Then she screamed: "Selfish bloody flam-
ing Swipe bastard, you're your father's son, you're
no son of mine!"

Jas had made a gesture as if to stop her when she
said the word Swipe, and she noticed it. "That's
right, Jas, boy, look out for number one, the old
lady's going crazy, but all you care about is who
can overhear us, well I can shout it out, you
know" and her voice rose to a high-pitched
scream"I can yell to the whole world that you're
a stinking"

    "Sedation?" asked the receptionist. Jas didn't
answer, but one of the gorillas came over with a
needle anyway. Jas's mother tried to back away,
but there was no retreat. The needle dug into her
back, and in less than a minute she was smiling
sweetly. "Hi," she said to the gorilla. "I'm Nita
Worthing. Are you coming to Duncan, too?"

The gorilla smiled and patted her shoulder.

Nita turned to her son and smiled again.
"Thank you, son. Good-bye. Wish me a happy
voyage."

"Have a happy voyage, mother."

"It'll be happy because at the end of it, I'll have
memories of you."

The gorillas led her away. She was telling them
a joke as they went through the doors to the inner
complex.

The receptionist leaned forward over the
counter. "Your mother signed on as a volunteer,
didn't she? No legal problems, right?"

Jas nodded, shook his head. "Volunteer. She's
not wanted for anything."

"Don't worry about her," the receptionist said
kindly. "They often react that way. The minute
the papers are signed they're frantic to change
their minds. Silly, isn't it? You'd think they'd just

signed their own death warrant or something.
Why, they're absolutely lucky to get away from
this tin can of a world."

Jas smiled. "You're right. No doubt you've al-
ready signed onto a colony ship."

The woman's smile disappeared. "Get out of
here, smartmouth," she said. As Jas left he heard
her muttering, "Some people, you try to get
friendly and they get so. . . ."

Jas took another tube and ended up in one of the
huge parks that were placed in every borough by
some politicians who had visited Earth and had
thought it would be wonderful to spend tax
money duplicating it on Capitol. Live trees grow-
ing out of real lawns. The residents were unim-
pressed, by and largemost of them had never
seen a tree, and chlorophyll smelled dirty, some-
how. Green growing things were just large forms
of mold, and mold meant you had to have your
humidifier adjusted.

But Jas had been drawn to the parks since
childhood, and as he stepped onto the lawn he
remembered coming to this very park with his
mother, several times. She had sat on the grass,
spooning beef out of a dish, as Jas had climbed
that rock, and jumped onto the lawn, laughing
and laughing.

Well, I don't feel like laughing now, Jas re-
minded himself. And then wondered what it
would be like on a colony worldgreen, like this?
Only without the ceiling. Without the walls.
Without the crowded corridors leading off in six
directions.

The park was nearly empty, as always, and Jas
hoped that though cameras monitored the com-
ings and goings here as everywhere else, such an
unfrequented place might not be too well moni-
tored. He crept into the middle of a large clump of
bushes and curled up around the base of the tree
that grew out of the middle. It was shady, and so
darker than everywhere else in the open cor-
ridors. In the darkness of the shade he tried to
think. Had to decide what to do.

He daren't be caught by the constables because
of Radamand. And only the constables could offer
him any protection from Hartman Tork and the
mobs that would form if word got out that a Swipe
had been found. Mother's Little Boys? Jas shud-
dered. You just don't go to Mother's Little Boys.
For finding missing persons, yes. For protection?
Who would protect you from the Little Boys?

If he used the computers he could be found, and
yet the computers were the only way he could get
into the Service. And the other escape route, the
Colonies, he wouldn't do that. Jas had dreams of
an impressive and important future for himself.
People on Colony ships didn't have impressive
and important futures.

He thought of his mother, and the future she
had, and again felt the twist of guilt; maybe she
wouldn't have been caught, maybe they wouldn't
have tortured her and got the answer, maybe

There were no maybes. And when they had
proved that Jas was a Swipe and killed him, they
would have executed her, too, because the trait is
passed from mother to son. That's all they know,

Jas thought. Mother to son indeed. I'm like my
father. He thought the words again and again. I'm
like my father.

He woke about six hours after he had crept into
the bushes. And when he woke he knew what to
do. How long had it taken Mother's Little Boys to
find him when he had used the computer terminal
the last time? Not longthree minutes, perhaps.
But that would be long enough, if he hurried.

For a moment he wondered what he was so
worried about. For all he knew, Mother's Little
Boys weren't even looking for himjust the con-
stables and the school.

But it was too easy to file a missing persons
query, and the constables and the school would
have little trouble proving right-to-know.
Mother's Little Boys would be looking for him, all
right.

He walked to the nearest public terminal. Five
specifications got him an application form for
entry into the Service. Then he punched memory
and coded it to his private number, snapped on a
cover code, and then retrieved his card and hur-
ried away from the terminal. Mother's Little Boys
wouldn't find him thereit had taken only one
minute.

Jas took the tube (did they monitor the credit
cards at the tube stations? Probablybut not even
the Little Boys could board a moving tube), and
switched at the first station. Then he got off again,
went to another terminal, punched in the memory
code and the cover code, and started filling out
the application.

After a minute, the same thinga dash through
the tubes, a new terminal, and a few more items on
the application. And since the application wasn't
long, that finished it; Jas punched the send but-
ton, and left.

Another tube, another terminal, and he re-
quested an answer.

Fifteen seconds, and the screen said, "Reject."

He queried.

"Personal."

He queried again. Specify.

"Personal. Father killed in Swipe Wars."

He quickly punched in, desperately punched in
a rebuttal, a request for voice contact. It was an
agonizingly long wait. Then a face came on the
screen, and immediately Jas said, "Can you hold?
For just a minute?"

"I'm busy," the woman said, irritated.

"Please," Jas said, acutely aware that he had
been at the terminal for nearly three minutes.

"All right, hurry," she said.

Jas ran from the terminal, bumping into a man,
and behind the man's eyes Jas discovered in a
moment that the man was one of Mother's Little
Boys, coming to fetch him from the terminal. No
doubt nowthey were after him.

This time Jas didn't bother with the tube. He ran
to the nearest terminal, only a few ramps away,
and punched in. The woman's face reappeared.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"I'm sorry." Jas didn't have time to explain. "I
need to know" breath "why my application"
breath "was rejected."

"Your father was killed in the Swipe Wars," she
said, as if that explained everything.

"But I don't have the Swipe. Telepathy isn't
passed from father to son!" he insisted, wonder-
ing if she could possibly guess that it was a lie,
that she was talking to a member of the one family
in which the Swipe was, in fact, inherited on the
male line.

"Of course the Swipe isn't hereditary," she
said. "We aren't the least bit worried about that. In
fact," she said, as Jas inwardly urged her to hurry,
"in fact, you're a remarkably bright young man,
widely educated, ridiculously high test scores on
your record, and ordinarily we'd accept you in a
moment."

"Thanks. Then accept me."

"The Swipe isn't hereditary. But revenge is.
Sorry."

"I don't want revenge!" Jas shouted.

"If you're going to shout, please turn your vol-
ume control down. I'm not deaf."

"I won't try to get revenge"

"Of course you'd say that, but our statistics
make it almost a probability that"

"Dammit, my father burned three planets and
killed eight billion people, do you think I'm going
to try to avenge his death?"

She shrugged. "We have the psychological pro-
files, and I'm afraid the policy can't be reversed
without a lengthy process of appeal. Go ahead and
try. It'll take only two weeks, and maybe you can
change somebody's mind, though I doubt it. I
wish you luck, young"

An iron hand gripped Jas's shoulder. Involun-
tarily he cried out. The woman smiled. "Do you
have him, officer? Very well then. Out."

The screen went blank.

The iron hand turned Jas around to face the
man. Jas looked behind his eyes.

Amusement. That warm feeling of success.
"You've been leading us a merry chase, boy," the
man said.

Jas smiled weakly. "Tag I'm it?"

It worked. The man smiled back. "You're from
Rockwit?"

"I'm from Capitol. But I know the game. I
studied it."

"Then I'll feel a little worse turning you in. How
did you guess I was from Rockwit?"

I saw it in your mind, of course, Jas thought. But
he said, "Your accent."

"That bad, huh?"

"I study accents. It's a hobby."

"Accents and archaic games," the man said.
"Come along now, boy. I don't know why, but
somebody important wants you real bad."

Radamand, then. No one could call Hartman
Tork important. But Jas went along peacefully
enough. No sense struggling and increasing the
man's vigilance. Just wait for an opportunity.

The opportunity was the commuter traffic in
the tubes. The rush hour was starting, and as with
commuters in all times and places, the signs say-
ing enter and exit were regarded as mere decora-
tion. Those getting off the tube rushed out, mak-
ing rivulets around those struggling forward to

get on. Of course there were dozens of people who
stopped, greeted each other, blocked traffic
others, caught in the rush, desperately trying to
reach a destination different from that of the
crowd that swept them along. Three times a day
the shifts changed, as the night boroughs, morn-
ing boroughs, and afternoon boroughs in each
district lived their separate and rarely intercon-
necting days.

In the shoving and elbowing at the door, Jas
lurched into the secret policeman who was hold-
ing him, then tripped and fell, ripping his shoul-
der painfully away from the man's hand. Some-
one tripped over him; someone else stepped on
his leg; the crowd pulled Mother's Little Boy
away from Jason. In a moment friendly hands
helped Jas to his feet, and he began moving away
in the crowd.

"He's cut!" shouted the security policeman.
"Get him!"

He's cut? Jas realized as he threaded through
the crowd that the security policeman wasn't
alone. There had been more of Mother's Little
Boys close enough to call to. Who?

For a moment Jas tried identifying people as
they passed, before they came near him, but he
couldn'tit was too dizzying, darting from mind
to mind. And moving that quickly, impressions
became vague, too fleeting to catch.

A hand grabbed at his hip. Jas lurched away.
Again the hand was stronger than he expected,
and pulling away took so much force that Jas fell
to the ground. Someone stepped on his hand,

hard, and Jas cried out in pain, but pulled his
hand out from under the heavy boot. Blood leaped
from torn-open veins, but Jas ignored it, scram-
bling to his feet. Hands reached for him. He
swerved away, ducked, and then spotted a break
in the crowd, ran through, and shoved his way
into the mass of people piling up around the sta-
tion doors.

Now the crowd that had helped him escape
helped Mother's Little Boys to catch him. Where
the people had been moving fast, his small size let
him dodge through much faster than the police
could. But with the crowd moving slowly, shoul-
der to shoulder, his small size was a disadvantage.
He couldn't shove people out of the way, and
Mother's Little Boys could. In a moment rough
hands gripped him everywhere, and he was lifted
off the ground and tossed into the air. When he
came down there were six men around him.

He panted for breath. So did they. They looked
angry. Wary, too, waiting for Jas to try something,
to move. Jas didn't move. Blood dripped from his
hand.

"What do you guys think I am?" he finally said.
"Six of you to take a thirteen-year-old kid?"

The one who had first caught him smiled. "For
a minute there, we were wishing for an even
dozen."

"Well, you've got me," Jas said, still panting
from the chase. "What now?"

But they just watched him, and the exhilaration
of flight and pursuit gave way to the despairing
knowledge that he was, indeed, caught, and there

was no way he could stop them from doing what-
ever they wanted. Would it be the school, and
facing charges as a Swipe? Or Radamand, and
death to protect a rising politician?

Jas waited several minutes before it occurred to
him that he didn't have to wait for answers to
questions. He looked behind their eyes, and.. . .

Just then a short stout man dressed in thirty-
year-old styles that looked brand new came up to
their group.

"I'm amazed that you haven't hog-tied him,"
the man said.

Jas tried to find the meaning of the archaism,
but hog-tied wasn't catalogued in his memory.

"Let him go," the man said. "And fix his hand,
he's bleeding."

"If we let him go," one of Mother's Little Boys
said, "we might never catch him again."

The stout man pushed his way into the circle,
and looked at Jas with soft, kind eyes. He was so
short that Jas looked down at him a little. Some-
one wrapped the injured hand. "Dale Carnegie
cringes at their methods," the man said. This time
the allusion rang a bell, and Jas smiled, reciting
back: "You can catch more flies with a drop of
honey than with a gallon of gall."

"Actually," the stout man interrupted, "Car-
negie was only quoting someone else. Odd that
you should know Carnegie and not Aesop." The
man turned back to Mother's Little Boys. "He's in
my custody now."

The policemen looked at each other uneasily.
The man pulled out a little card and showed it

to them. They nodded obsequiously and moved

away.

The man turned back to Jas. "You have a name,"
he said.

"Jas Worthing."

"Jason Harper Worthing, a most remarkable
young man. Jason Harper Worthing, don't get any
clever ideas about escaping from me. Because
where Mother's Little Boys trust to brute strength,
I rely on technology." The cockle flashed momen-
tarily in his hand, safety off.

"Who are you?" Jas asked.

"A question I've been trying to answer ever
since adolescence. Shall we walk?" They walked.
"I finally decided I was neither God nor Napo-
leon. I was so disappointed I didn't try to narrow it
down any further."

The stout man escorted Jas to the officials-only
door in the station and they went down the lift to
the private cars. They got into one that looked
rather old and shabby. And ridiculously out of
date.

"I'm an archaist," the man said. "Like you. I
collect old things. The difference is that you,
being poor, can only collect ideas. I, being rich,
can collect things. Things are worth much more
money than ideas."

The man chuckled gently, and as the car took
off, skimming the tube on its delicate magnetic
balance, he laid a kind hand on Jas's knee. A good,
strong hand, though small, and the gesture of
affection was all it took to push Jas over the edge.
The tension before had been too greatthe relief

now too sudden. Jas began to tremble and his
breath came in short gasps like sobs.

"Please try to avoid hysteria," the man said, and
then continued his pleasant conversation. "I also
collect new things. But new things are hard to
judge. One never knows if they'll last. One never
knows if they'll appreciate or depreciate. Quite a
risky investment, new things. Here we are."

The car stopped. It hadn't traveled far. The man
led Jas to a door and they stepped into a lift and
rose for a long time. When the ceiling was right
above their heads they stepped onto a bare
wooden floor.

Wood. Jas realized that it didn't feel like wood.
He said so.

"Ah, your curiosity is beginning to function
again. Good. It doesn't feel like wood because
you've never touched wood in your life, you've
touched plastic. This, Jason Worthing, is wood.
From trees. I needn't tell you that you can't buy
any of it on your credit allowance."

And then they were through a door and Jas
gasped.

At first, for a moment, he had thought it was a
park. But it was too large, and there was no ceil-
ing. Instead the walls just ended, and a dazzling
bright blue arch crested over him, just like the
pictures of sky. The trees seemed to go on forever.
The grass underfoot was real. Something living
moved in the branches of a tree.

"I collect old things and new things," the man
said. "But mostly I collect living things. Like
you."

Jas turned to look at him and suddenly realized
that the eyes were no longer soft and kindhad
they really been before? And the man seemed to
be staring past Jas's clothing and his skin and into
his soul. Jas realized he had trusted this man
without reason, and he looked behind his eyes.

The man's name was Abner Doon. (Silly
namenever heard of him.)

His job was assistant minister of colonization.
(Colonies again. Mother.)

He honestly believed he ruled the world.
(Crazy? Or am I?)

And he knew Jas was a Swipe.

"I'm dead," Jas said, suddenly feeling despair.
Why had he thought he was no longer in danger
with this man?

"Very nearly," Doon said. "It depends on some
decisions you make in the next few hours. You
know my name, of course."

Jas shook his head to say no.

"You know my name, you know my title, you
know my real function, and you know that I know
what you are."

Jas took a step back. Abner Doon only smiled.
"Surely you don't fear any kind of physical at-
tack?"

"You're insane," Jas said.

"That's been said before," Abner answered
mildly, "by men and women with better creden-
tials than yours."

"I often wondered who really ruled Capitol and
the Empire, but I really never supposed it was the
assistant minister of colonization," Jas said, won-

dering how quickly he could get the door open
again. He decided that he couldn't possibly do it
faster than Doon could get the cockle into action.

"Well, it all depends on what you mean by rule.
Mother rules us, officially. But everyone knows
that the Cabinet rules Mother, and they're right.
She's just a figurehead. But who rules the
Cabinet?" Doon took off his jacket and tossed it to
the ground. "And even more important, who
owns the people who carry out the Cabinet's or-
ders?"

Abner Boon took off his shoes.

"Walking in grass with shoes on is a waste of an
opportunity," he told Jas. "Take your shoes off.
Join me in a swim. Hmmm?"

Jas took his shoes off, and they walked deeper
into the park. A large white bird flew nearby, then
skimmed the surface of a lake, stopped, dipped its
head, and flew off with something silver dangling
from its mouth.

"A fish!" Jas shouted, and he hurried past Boon
to the edge of the water.

"Clever deduction. What else did you learn
from the bird?"

Jas turned around. The assistant minister of
colonization was taking off his clothing.

"Is this a test?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Abner Boon answered. "I
just thought you might have guessed from the
species of bird what planet this park is modeled
after." Jas watched him undress to the skin, and
was mildly surprised to discover that the man
wasn't stout at alljust wore layers of protective
clothing.

"The water's relatively warm," Doon said.
"Swim with me."

"I don't know how to swim."

"Of course not. I'm going to teach you."

Jas undressed and followed the man uncer-
tainly into the water. They stopped when it was
up to Jas's neck.

"Water is actually a very safe medium of
locomotion," Doon said. Jas only noticed that
it was cold. Numbing. If this was what Boon
called relatively warm, Jas wondered what in the
world he called cold.

"Now here, my hand is against your back. Lean
back against my hand. Now let your legs just come
loose from the ground, just relax, I can hold you
up."

Suddenly Jas felt very light, and as he relaxed
he felt his body bobbing lightly on the surface,
only the gentle pressure of Boon's hand under
him to remind him of gravity.

Then the world turned upside-down, Abner
Boon had a back-breaking hold on him, and Jas's
face suddenly plunged underwater. He gulped,
swallowed water. His eyes, when he opened
them, stung in the water. He hadn't taken a breath,
needed one desperatedly. He struggled to come
up, but couldn't break the hold. He struggled, he
twisted, and tried to strike with his hands and
feet, but he couldn't get free, and not breathing
became agony.

Then he felt himself pulled to the surface. He
gasped for air. Coughed.

"Don't cough, it splashes water every-
where."

"Let go!" Jas cried out, still gasping. "Let me

go-"

"Never," said the man. "I'll never let you go,
Jason Harper Worthing. I have collected you. I
never break up my collections."

Jas looked behind his eyes, struggling to find a
motive, but found only an emotion oflove?
Kindness? The man was threatening his life, and
yet all Jas could find in his mind was kindness.

"This," Doon said, "was an object lesson. May I
assure you that you are in over your head? A
figure of speech that you may not have known."

"I knew it," Jas said. "Me Gook system."

"Much older than that," Doon said, "but of
course that's where it's still current. Very good.
You get the point, I'm sure, even if you haven't
read Aesop. Even when we step out of my lake,
you'll still be deep in water, and believe me, in
that water you don't know how to swim. I have
only to flick a wrist" suddenly Jas found him-
self dipping into the water again, and Doon's sen-
tence was muffled and yet strangely clarified by
the water "and you will certainly drown."

This time Abner Doon let him up almost im-
mediately, and Jas coughed and spluttered only
because he knew it annoyed the man. "What are
you arresting me for?"

"I'm not arresting you. Whatever gave you that
idea? I said I have collected you. Like the Cabinet.
Like Hartman Tork. Like Radamand Worthing.
The only difference is that I'm telling you. You
should be flatteredvery few people know."

"I would have known anyway, Mr. Doon," Jas

Said, and that was his surrender, admitting that he
had the Swipe, that Doon therefore had control
over him. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Why, teach you how to swim, of course," Doon
answered. "May I suggest you start by swimming
on your back? Much easier, and you don't have to
fuss with learning how to breathe. Just kick
lightly with your legsthat's right, shallower
kicks and more rapidly, very good. Arch your
back. The other way. Yes, yes, very good. I'm
going to let go."

Jas felt the hand go out from under him, and for
a moment he felt himself sinking. But he kicked
harder, and arched his back more, and floated.

"Now, one at a time, raise your arms in front of
your head and draw them back down to your side,
through the water. That's right, Jas. Very good.
Not a champion, but you'll float." And then there
was a splash, and Jas felt the water shift violently
as Abner Doon swam past him, not on his back,
but on his stomach in the water, breathing under
his arm. Jas turned his head to watch, and was
rewarded with an eyeful of water and a dunking
as he lost flotation. Sputtering, he tried to find
bottom with his feet, and couldn'this swim-
ming had carried him out where the water was
deeper than his head. But his instincts were
righthe splashed his way to the surface, and
kicked violently, bringing himself back up into a
backfloat.

A bright, golden sun passed slowly overhead.
Jas saw to his surprise that it moved detectably.
All the books said you couldn't see the motion of

the sun. And besideshe could look right at the
sun. And suddenly his vision shifted, and he
realized that the sky was just what it seemed to
bea dome of blueand the sun followed a track
across ita dazzling disc, not a sphere millions of
kilometers away.

When the swim ended, the sun was nearly set,
though it had barely been an hour. The man and
the boy lay on the grass, drying. The sky grew
dark, and reddened in the "west." The sun set.

"I've never seen a sunset before," Jas said. "Is
this anything close to what a real one looks like?"

"At least on the world this park imitates. My
home world, in fact," Doon answered. "It cer-
tainly isn't this way on the surface of this planet.
The sky of Capitol is absolutely greasy with the
filth of our planet. Just looking at it makes me
want a bath. Sunset topside is downright purple.
Pink is noon. Blue sky is impossible."

"Garden," Jas said.

"That's right," Doon answered softly. "The
most perfect place in the universe. So far, anyway.
I was a fool to leave Garden. But I had visions of
being great. One does not pursue greatness in a
beautiful setting. Only peace is possible where
things are invariably beautiful. Greatness only
comes in ugly settings. And that made Capitol
seem the best place to go."

"Is it ugly here?"

Doon laughed. "Oh, my. My, oh, my. To think a
human being should even have to ask that ques-
tion. But you aren't exactly a normal human be-
ing, are you?"

"Count the arms and legs," Jas said. "Even the
right number of heads."

"The only difference is that you can leave your
head and walk around for a while in mine. The
Swipe," Doon said, "is such a strange thing. Such
a great power that for a time most ship captains in
the Empire fleet and among our illustrious Enemy
were Swipes. Instantaneous communication. No
need for spies. Too bad that Swipes couldn't teach
the gift to others, you know? But that little X
chromosome modification just can't be trans-
ferred. Only passed from mother to children, and
the gift only crops up in boys, whose pathetic
little Y doesn't have the dominant to block out the
telepathy link. How we do dance with the helixes,
yes?"

Jas pulled a tuft of grass and sprinkled it on his
naked chest and abdomen. It prickled. He brushed
it off.

"But I don't have that chromosome. Neither did
my mother."

"Irrefutable. You are correct. You are clinically
not a Swipe. Bravo. Too bad the mob takes blood
tests after they tear reputed Swipes to little
pieces."

"Can't the law protect me?"

"If the law knew about you, my small, brilliant,
naive friend, the law would certainly be stretched
to include you. No, Jas. Your only safety lies in
being part of my collection. If you should leave
itwell, I simply couldn't stop them, could I?"

A breeze passed over them in the starlit dark-
ness. Jas shuddered.

"Cold? Or merely afraid?"

"Cold," Jas said.

"Actually, the temperature is quite comforta-
ble. Don't be afraid, Jason."

"I can't help it," Jas said, his teeth chattering a
little.

"All your life you've been completely under
other people's control. Your mother, the school,
the constables. Now, suddenly, it isn't they who
rule you anymore, it's one man, it's I, and that
makes you afraid."

"I don't know what you're going to do with
me."

"Why don't you look in my mind and see?"

Jas wondered why he didn't. But he didn't.
"No."

"Do it. Test me. See what you find out."

Jas shook his head. "I don't want to."

"Why not? I'm asking you to. Or do you only
like to peer in people's minds when they don't
know you're looking?"

Jas shivered now with the cold he felt. "I don't
want to look."

Abner Doon sighed. "I suppose my mind isn't
all that lovely a place to visit, anyway. Never
mind."

He got up and dressed. Jas still lay on the
ground, except that he curled up on his side. His
back was cold as the air touched it. Why don't I
look in his mind? I'm afraid, Jas decided. I'm
afraid I'll find my own death there.

"Tired?" Doon asked.

"Yes."

"Does your hand hurt?"

Jas nodded.

"Do you feel weak?"

Jas smiled. "No. I feel like ripping a tree into
toothpicks."

Doon, dressed again in the steel and asbestos
protective clothing, the stuffy, out-of-date suit,
knelt beside Jas in the grass. "Jas, you've done a
lot of studying over the years. Your teachers seem
to feel that you never forget what you've read.
Ever heard of the Estorian twick?"

Jas's mind reflexively found the reference.
"Yeah. Deadly little animal. Wiped out the first
colony on Estoria."

"What else do you know about it?"

"Marsupial mammal. Teeth like razors. Small,
but it hangs on with its claws while it bores with
its teeth. Once it gets on a person he has maybe
thirty seconds to get it off. If it lands near some-
thing vital, you've got only five seconds or so.
Could cause nightmares."

"Very good, Jas. How do you kill it?"

Jas laughed. "A laser. A cockle. I remember
reading a story where somebody tried beating it
with a rock and it just jumped on and started
eating his hand."

Jas watched uncomprehendingly as Doon
gathered all of Jason's clothing from the ground
and held it in a bundle under his arms. "You don't
happen to have a laser or a cockle, do you?" Doon
asked.

"Yeah," Jas said. "I hid 'em both in my mouth. I
was only waiting for an opportunity to get you."

"In other words, no."

"I don't even have a toothpick," Jas said. "What
are you doing with my clothes?"

"Getting them out of the way," Doon said.
"Good luck."

"Good luck for what?"

"Good luck in the upcoming battle. In a few
seconds an Estorian twick will be turned loose at
the other end of my little garden here. He'll be
headed your way."

And then Doon took off at a run.

Jas jumped to his feet, started after Doon, but
only got a few feet when he realized that Doon was
too far, already at the door, already closing it
behind him. Jas turned back and looked into the
darkness around the lake. The moon was rising,
but there wasn't enough light. And if there was,
Jas wasn't sure if he could tell what a twick was.
Had he ever seen a picture? Yesand as he re-
membered what it looked like, he saw a living one
crouched on a tree branch about thirty feet away.

Weapon? Unlikely. Doon wasn't the kind to
leave spare lasers lying around.

The twick darted forward on the branch. So
quickly that Jas could hardly see the movement
it was simply a few meters nearer. The twick
didn't take its eyes off Jas.

The words of the book flashed back. "Toys with
its victims. Tries to seem harmless. Many
fatalities among children who try to pet it." Use-
less information. What Jas needed to know was
how to kill one without a laser.

I should have looked in Doon's mind, Jas told

himself. At least I would have known the method
he planned to use to kill me. Some kind of pervert,
Jas decided. Likes to watch bloody death. Have
fun, Doon. This one's on me.

Jas's injured hand throbbed.

The twick wasn't on the branch. One minute it
was on the branch and the next minute it wasn't.

Jas looked down at the ground. Two meters
away the twick crouched in the grass. It was abso-
lutely motionless. Jas couldn't remember seeing
any movement. Was the animal smiling? Jas
wondered if an animal was capable of gloating
over a victim. Its fur glistened. Apparently Abner
Doon groomed his assassins well.

And suddenly Jas felt an excruciating pain in
his right calf. He reached down to pry the animal
off. For a moment the twick clung, still boring into
Jas's leg. Then it wriggled out and in less than a
second was burrowing into Jas's upper arm. The
leg gushed blood.

With the twick tearing at his right arm, Jas
could only strike at the animal with his left hand.
It did no good.

I'm going to die, Jas shouted in his mind.

But his survival instinct was still strong, de-
spite the terrible pain and the worse fear. Like a
reflex he realized that the twick would simply
jump from target to target on Jas's body. It was
only a matter of time until it hit a vital artery, or
until if found the boneless cavity of his abdomen
and devoured his bowels. But Jas could delay. Jas
could force it to move.

He   threw   himself  to   the   ground,   trying

(hopelessly) to crush the animal under the weight
of his body. Of course the twick was uninjured.
But the maneuver had won Jas a moment's
respitethe animal wriggled out and away, and it
crouched two feet from where Jas lay on the
ground.

Jas leaped to his feet and started to run. Of
course the twick struck, but Jas's back was turned,
and the animal only dug into the muscles under
the shoulder blade.

Jas threw himself violently to the ground,
backward. This time the twick made a sharp
sound (pain?) and scurried a little further away.
Jas tried to run again. He knew he couldn't outrun
the twick, especially now with his back ripped
open and his calf torn up so that every step was
agony. But at least he was doing something.

The twick landed on his buttocks and tore at
him. Jas broke stride, fell to one knee. Then he
noticed that the lake was only twenty feet away,
parallel to his line of flight. He had instinctively
been avoiding the water. But maybe

He got up again and staggered toward the wa-
ter. The twick kept boring into him, tearing at
the great muscles that controlled Jas's left thigh.
The animal struck bone just as Jas hit the
water.

I can't swim, Jas thought.

Oh well, the coldly intellectual part of his mind
answered. Maybe the twick can't either.

It was impossible for Jas to relax enough to float.
He just crouched under the water, holding his
breath forever, trying to ignore the agony pulsing
upward from his buttocks, from his leg, from his

arm, from his back. He could feel the twick bur-
rowing along the edge of his pelvic bone. His
analytic mind noted the fact that this was taking
the animal away from the vulnerable anal areas.
Muscles can heal. Muscles can heal. The repeti-
tion kept him underwater despite the agony, de-
spite his lungs bursting for air. He concentrated
on the rhythm of the words muscles can heal
muscles can heal muscles can heal.

And then the twick stopped burrowing. A mo-
ment later it dropped off Jason's body.

Jas lunged for the surface. He gasped air. He
gasped again. A few inches away from his face
floated the twick. It was moving feebly, also gasp-
ing. Jas grabbed it and forced it underwater again.
It wriggled, but it didn't get free, and after forever
it stopped moving at all. Jas threw it (with his left
arm) out into the deeper part of the lake, breathed
again, then felt irresistibly weak and sank back
into the water. The water closed over his eyes.

He woke in a gel bath. Only his head and his
knees broke the surface of the green slime. He was
vaguely aware of throbbing in his leg and arm and
buttocks, a tightness in his back. But the gel kept
the pain away, kept pressure off the wounds. Jas
closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

When he woke the next time he was in a con-
ventional bed, and his wounds hurt more. He
groaned with pain,

"Ouch," agreed a pleasant voice. "Well, that's
it. Conscious and almost no chance of coma now."

"Very good." Jas recognized the second voice.
Doon.

Someone got up and walked away. Someone
else didn't. Jas was aware of breathing near him.
He opened his eyes. The light was dazzling. He
closed them again.

"Abner Doon," Jas said.

"Feeling better?" the man asked cheerfully.

"Than what?" Jas asked. Abner laughed. It was
as if he hadn't tried to have Jason killed in the
garden. As if they had last met at a cocktail party.
As if they both shared a very good joke. "Why?"
Jas feebly asked, because he was too tired and
enervated to say what was really on his mind.

"You're a survivor all right," Abner Doon said,
patting Jason's hand. "So many people never use
their heads. Even people with fine minds. You'll
do. You'll do very well."

Jas didn't ask what he'd do very well for. He
knew that in the opinion of an Estorian twick,
he'd do very nicely for supper. Jas disregarded the
vague fear and anger he felt in his stomach and
turned his head away.

"I'll come visit you later," Doon said, still
cheerful.

"Don't bother," Jas mumbled. Then he slept
again. He dreamed of tearing Boon with his teeth,
burrowing into his throat and ripping out his
voice and then opening the jugular vein. The hot
blood leaped from the throat. Then, suddenly, the
blood was coming from the picture of his father on
the ceiling in his mother's flat, and Jas felt the
blood warm on his face. He woke up, grief-
stricken and guilt-ridden.

Boon was washing his face with a warm cloth.

"Quite a dream," the man said. "You were sweat-
ing quite a bit."

Jas pulled his head away from the cloth. His
wounds didn't feel as painful as they had before.
Tight, though, and Jas still felt weak and sleepy.

"Don't pull away, Jas," Doon said. "I'm only
trying to wash your face."

Jas turned his back, holding on to the opposite
side of the bed.

"Don't be absurd," Doon said. "You're acting
like an adolescent."

Jas turned back over, and the quick motion
made him grimace with a sharp pain from his hip.
He looked at Doon, who again seemed to be kind-
ness personified.

"Sorry that I didn't die on schedule," Jas said.

"Schedule? I have you scheduled for several
centuries from now."

"You tried to kill me, you bastard!"

"Oh, that," Doon said, dismissing it with a
wave of his hand. "That's not worth arguing over.
Come along."

Doon beckoned to an orderly, who brought over
a wheelchair. The orderly helped Doon lower Jas
into the chair. Then Doon himself pushed Jas out
of the room.

They went down corridors whose doors didn't
open, until the corridor itself opened into a large
room. Prominent at one end of the room was a
desk. Behind it the wall was an elaborate compu-
ter terminal.

Doon wheeled Jas over to the computer termi-
nal.

"Here's where I found you, Jas."

But Jas studiously did not look at the terminal.
Instead he gazed at his injured upper arm. Of
course the bandages had long since been re-
moved, while he was under the healers' sleep, and
the connective tissue now looked purple and dis-
gusting. Doon didn't seem to mind that Jas wasn't
paying attention, though, and soon the boy gave
up and looked where he was supposed to.

"I have two basic files herethey hold every-
thing I need to know. One is the nonsense file. The
other is the contradiction file. If found you in
nonsense, of course."

A code. Jas noticed, too, that Doon had a double
cover code on the program, besides the basic
search and specify. The screen flashed: "All left-
handed blue-eyed women with an IQ of 97 who
eat more than two pounds of meat a week and who
have more than three lovers." The list took three
flashes to read out fully on the screen. "You'll be
amused to know, Jas, that the list you just saw
includes not just one, but two mistresses or former
mistresses of Cabinet members. Incredible, isn't
it, that they could both meet that description.
Amazing things in this computer."

"And you found me under the program for all
blue-eyed thirteen-year-old orphans with tele-
pathic gifts," Jas said.

"No. You were part of a much more random
search. Everyone knows the computer knows
everythingthe trouble is that you have to have
the keys to find what you want. I have the keys.
And here's the program that found you."

The screen flashed: "All children IQ greater
than measurable, PQ above 3.8, health excellent,
with unfavorable reports from at least two teach-
ers."

Jas's curiosity was stirred. "Why the unfavora-
ble reports?"

"It's possible to be brilliant and utterly uncrea-
tive," Doon said. "But brilliant and creative
people always antagonize the merely bright, who
lack, shall we say, originality. Your odds of run-
ning into such unoriginal persons in the school
system of Capitol are about 8,000 to onea
reasonably good guide, then, to creativity. Better
than any test I've seen."

"And you had unfavorable reports from two of
my teachers?"

"Actually, Jas, you stuck out on this list because
you've never had a teacher who didn't file an
unfavorable report on you, despite the fact that
your PQ shows you adjusted at the 3.9 level,
which is neurotic but certainly not antisocial.
Why the reports? I could only conclude that you
were exceptionally creative. So I had the compu-
ter file you and gather all data. Merely routine, of
course, but I was aware of you. That was five years
ago. Between then and now I've been asleep on
somec. Normally I take twenty years" which,
Jas realized, meant that Doon was getting more
somec sleep than was legally permitted outside
the service "but because of you I came out only
three weeks ago."

"I didn't mean to wake you. I'll be quieter next
time."

"I had the computer set to wake me when a
certain kind of contradiction came up. The con-
tradiction that triggered it was, of course, your
score on the astrodynamics test."

"I wish I'd flunked it."

"No you don't. I don't mean the first as-
trodynamics test. That was routine. It merely
identified you as a Swipe, and the computer
would have been content to let you die. Luckily
for me and the Empireand you, of course
you're a survivor. You lived long enough to take
the second test."

Jas remembered how he had labored over the
answers to that one. "I didn't pass that one by
checking in on anybody's mind, Doon."

"I know. After all, whose mind would you
check in on, as you so colorfully put it? There isn't
a single mindor computer, for that matterin
the Empire or out of it that could have given you
all the answers. You missed one test question, of
course. But there were three questions on that test
for which we didn't have an answer."

Doon paused. Jas slowly realized the implica-
tions of that.

"You mean I moved beyond"

"I mean," Doon said, "that you are a reasonably
bright young fellow with prospects for a satisfac-
tory career in astrodynamics. My engineers assure
me that they can now construct a ship that moves
not the piddling triple-light-speed that our scouts
now muster, but rather a dazzling eleven lights.
Nothing, my young friend, goes eleven lights.
And you twisted up the physicists' understand-

ing of mass somehow, though they despaired of
trying to explain the difference to me. I'm not
mathematical. I hardly need tell you what this
does for the Empire."

"I suppose it will speed up the mail."

"You have a very flippant attitude today," Doon
said.

"I always antagonize the merely bright," Jas
retorted.

"You might recall that I can have you killed if I
like."

"You might recall that I have already faced
about the worst you can do to me. Kill me if you
like. I hardly give a damn."

Doon punched something else on the compu-
ter, and in the space over a large table in the
middle of the room, a star map formed. The stars
were fairly dense. Another code, and most of them
disappeared. Now all that were left were pale blue
stars and bright red stars. "Us," said Doon, "and
Them."

"They surround us," Jas said, surprised.

"Colonies all around, yes indeed. We're
hemmed in. And much as we hate to admit it
publicly, this war is all about colonies. Whoever
has room to expand will eventually win. Whoever
is hemmed in will eventually lose."

"Too bad for Mother, then, I suppose," Jas said,
though such an unpatriotic attitude jarred even
himone didn't forget one's entire upbringing in
a single fit of pique over a mere attempted murder.

"Too bad until now, anyway. With the new
eleven-light drive, my young friend, we shall

soon be colonized far beyond themand before
they can steal the drive and duplicate it, we'll be
firmly entrenched. It will remove the whole ques-
tion of encirclement forever, I am quite confi-
dent."

"So play the national anthem and give me a
medal, Mr. Doon. Don't have me eaten alive by
little animals. It doesn't feel like a suitable re-
ward."

"Does that still bother you? Surely you under-
stand that it was a test."

"What were you testing for, how good I taste?
Or how long I can hold my breath underwater?"

"Actually, I was testing to see if your clever and
creative mind would keep you alive in a situation
of high pressure. You're a survivor."

"And what if I had failed the test?"

"You'd be dead. I was willing to risk my whole
waking on that one test."

"A whole waking. While I merely risked the
rest of my life."

"You are annoyingly egocentric, Jas. What dif-
ference would it make to the world if you dropped
dead right now? An infinitesimally smaller daily
food demand for Capitol. In this universe you
don't amount to horse manureyou recall what
horses are? No matter how bright you are, my boy,
you are worthless and trivial to the universe until
and unless you get into a position where you can
make a difference."

Doon walked behind Jas and abruptly began
pushing the chair toward the door.

"I spent the first thirty years of my life, Jason,

just getting where I am. For thirty years I manipu-
lated and connived and sacrificedI passed up
five chances to go on somec before I was finally
satisfied that I had the organization that I needed.
I let myself reach thirty physical years of age, in
order to get the position I have."

"Assistant minister of colonization."

"I had that at twenty-two. The rest of the time
was spent getting control of the computers, win-
ning Mother's Little Boys to my group, getting
men and women who ultimately reported to me in
every level of the bureaucracy. And I had to keep
it all secret so that someone didn't pull the plug
while I was under somec."

Jas involuntarily started to laugh at the jux-
taposition of the archaic phrase "pull the plug,"
but caught himself, and merely smiled. "The ul-
timately efficient megalomaniac," he said.

"Of course. Megalomaniacs are simply people
who know damn well they can run the universe
better than God or the present governors."

"You've been doing a super job," Jas said.
"Everybody's happy."

"What the hell do I care if anybody's happy?"
Doon asked. "Least of all you. Heredity has dealt
you a full deck, my boy. So you're going to play
cards until you win or go broke. You're in my
collection, and if you do as you're told, you'll
eventually reach a position where you can make a
difference to humanity. But if you decide to do
things on your own, you'll step outside my pro-
tection. Do that, and if Radamand Worthing
doesn't get you, Hartman Tork will."

Doon pushed the chair quickly down the cor-
ridor. And as Doon's last statement hung in the
air, Jas felt a tremendous vertigo. The chair was
not moving forward, it was falling down the cor-
ridor, and he was powerless to stop it. He wasn't
afraid of hitting the endit was the falling itself,
the powerlessness itself that made him throw his
hands out in front of him and shout, "Stop me! Let
me stop!"

And Doon stopped pushing the chair. A sudden
silence fell in the corridor. The rhythm of Doon's
running steps made the stillness shout deafen-
ingly. Jas covered his face with his hands.

"What's wrong, Jas?" Doon whispered. "Why
are you afraid?"

Jas just shook his head.

"Brilliant or not, Jason, you are still a child, I
suppose. If you would only talk like a child,
people would remember to treat you like one."

"I don't want to be treated like a child."

"Well, you sure as hell don't want to be treated
like an adult. Remember that you applied for the
Service?"

"They turned me down."

"They've already reconsidered. You'll begin
pilot school as soon as your skin is healed."

"Pilot school?" Jas was surprised. "That was
just my escape, to save my lifeI never really
wanted to be a pilot."

"Too intellectual for the Space Service, is that
it? Well, consider it a lifesaver anyway, boy. Pilots
live longer than anybody. If they don't get killed,
of coursebut you're a survivor, right? On all
their twenty- and thirty-year flights, they're only

awake for a few months at the most. The rest of the
time, somec. Pilots are on a somec level that will
keep you young and alive for five hundred years."

"And after that?" Jas asked, trying to be sarcas-
tic.

"Why, further instructions, of course," Doon
answered with a bland smile. "There are only a
few people in the Empire who are on the somec
level that pilots take for granted. The whole
Cabinet will die before you. Only I will stay alive.
And the head of the Little Boys. And a few of my
most needed assistants."

Jas stared. "The somec usage is determined
strictly by law!"

"And once upon a time there was a little girl
with long blond hair that got involved with three
talking bears. I control the people who control the
somec, and that means I have control over life and
death everywhere in the Empire. Rather a secure
position to be in."

"I don't want to be a pilot."

"Then you want to be a corpse. That's the
choice."

"I thought you said you didn't think you were
God!" Jas shouted.

"I don't."

"Then get out of my life!"

"Why? Just because I want to make you great,
whether you like it or not?"

"If I'm going to be great, I'm going to do it on my
own. And I don't know if I even care about 'great-
ness'. Not everybody's a would-be worldmaker,
Doon."

"You have no vision, Jas."

"I see better than anybody I know."

"Better, but not very far. Your father's dead."

"You think I didn't know that?"

"He died because he and some other Swipe ship
captains weren't content to serve. They went into
business for themselves, and so they lost the pro-
tection of the Empire. They thought they didn't
need it. So they took a dozen ships and made war
with the universe. They were heroes for a while,
of course. Everybody loves a rebelfrom a dis-
tance, and as long as the rebel loses gracefully.
But when they were about to lose, they burned
over some planets as a last-ditch effort. Then sud-
denly the Swipe heroes became Swipe bastards,
and Swipes were hunted down and killed all over
the Empire. And do you know why your father
burned those planets?"

"No." Jas was grinding his teeth and couldn't
stop.

"Because they wouldn't let him land. He re-
quested permission to land and refuel, and they
turned him down. He had to teach them a lesson."

"That's not true. They fired on him."

"You know that there's no weapon that can be
fired in an atmosphere that can possibly do dam-
age to a ship, Jas."

"My father burned them in self-defense."

"He was angry, and he had to teach them a
lesson."

"No!"

"Like father, like son," Doon said.

Jason half-rose from the wheelchair, until the
pain stopped him. "That's not true, you bastard!
I'd never burn a planet, I never would"

"You would, Jason. Right now you would, if
they got you angry enough. Because you have no
vision. You have nothing important to ac-
complish, no magnificent goal that keeps you
from destroying yourself to achieve petty, transi-
tory objectives. You don't even have a right to be
free until you have vision and purpose. And so I'll
rule you, Jason, and keep you safe until you're
able to rule yourself."

They moved again down the corridor. Jas tried
to look into Doon's mind, to see, if he could, what
Doon eventually planned to do with himhaving
been betrayed once in the garden, he didn't plan
to be betrayed again. But he couldn't twist around
to see Boon's eyes, and whether that really
stopped him from seeing into the man's mind or
whether he simply couldn't control the gift well
enough to see a person's thoughts without look-
ing at him, Jas found nothing, could tell nothing.

They got back to the hospital room, which was
still empty. Without a word Jas gingerly lifted
himself out of the chair, and though he wanted to
refuse Boon's help, he had to lean on the man as
he made his way to the bed.

"Thirteen years old," Boon whispered. "Well,
heaven knows you're ready for pilot school, any-
way. They'll undoubtedly bend the rules and
make you a pilot before you turn twenty-one
why they chose that age anyway is beyond me to
fathom. You should go on two or three voyages,
and then sometime, say a century or a hundred
and twenty years from now, when you return to
Capitol from a voyage, come to the Ministry of
Colonization and ask for an appointment with me.

They'll know that they should wake me then. I'll
look forward to seeing you again, my boy."

"Going back to sleep now, Mr. Doon?" Jas
asked.

"In a few days. I've spent far too much time with
you as it is, and I'm behind schedule on all my
other work. You'd better be worth it."

"I hope I'm not."

"You like being excellent too well, Jas. You
won't be able to stop yourself."

"I will not be part of your bloody vision!"

"How do you know that your resistance to me
isn't exactly what I want from you?" Doon asked,
amused.

In despair Jas threw himself back on the pillow,
staring at the ceiling. There was no picture there.
Through gritted teeth he said, "There isn't a damn
thing I can do."

"You can trust me," Doon suggested. Jas
laughed bitterly. Doon sighed. "Why don't you
just look, and see who I am?"

"Look inside you?" Jas asked.

"Or are you afraid that if you knew me, you
couldn't hate me anymore?"

And so Jas leaned up on his left elbow and
looked behind Abner Doon's mind. It wasn't just a
glance this time, as it had always been before.
This time he looked deep, looked far, found the
hidden places, found the lies and the lies behind
them and finally came down to the truth. He held
it in his mindthe basis on which Abner Doon
thought, decided, actedand was amazed. And
then he stopped being amazed, and only with-

drew from Doon's mind. Painfully, reluctantly
removed himself, and then, because he had left,
he wept. Doon went away. Finally Jas slept.

When he woke, he remembered vague words
that Doon had said, but whether Doon had actu-
ally said them or Jas had only dreamed them, he
didn't know. He remembered them, though, and
over the next few weeks, as bureaucrats processed
him into the Service, tested him, trained him, as
he consented to everything done to him, he
stopped despising himself for the memory of
Doon's words, and began, instead, to call them
back, to listen to them again in his dreams, and in
his daydreaming.

One day they came to him and told him he was
ready for his first Service assignment. It was on
the other side of Capitol, a long journey, and at the
end of it he was assigned a tiny cubicle in a far
corner of the officers' section of the command
center. It was lowest in the hierarchy of privilege
and perks, but it was a private room all the same,
and in officers' quarters, too. And there was a
full-length mirror on the wall.

"Ha," Jas said when he saw himself in it.

He was surprised to see that he was still only
thirteen years old, still only a little over 165 cen-
timeters in height, his main growth still ahead
of him. Somehow during the last week he had
stopped thinking of himself as a child. He was
surprised at how young the face was. How slight
the body.

He grinned, and the boy in the mirror smiled
slightly back at him.

Then Jas turned and unpacked his few belong-
ings, then began memorizing the list of command
center rules and regulations that had been given
him upon arrival. He was going to be the best
damned new officer they'd ever had. Because the
sooner everyone was happy with him, the sooner
he'd become a pilot. And the sooner he became a
pilot, the sooner he'd be on somec, and then he
could sleep through most of the years until he
could wake up at the end of a century and come
back to see Doon.

He knew it was ironic that he should look for-
ward to seeing the man who had tried to kill him,
but Jas understood that a little better, now. For he
had seen Abner Doon as no other living person
had seen him. From the inside. And inside Abner
Doon, behind the memories and pain, Jas had
found what no other man could show him.

Peace. Utter discontent, but peace with his vi-
sion of the possibility, peace with his commit-
ment to fulfilling that vision.

And Jas remembered the words he had heard
Doon say. "I love you, son."

He set the list aside, closed his eyes, and re-
called, or tried to recall, the face on the ceiling in
his mother's flat. He couldn't. It was gone from his
memory. When he tried to remember his father's
face, all he could see was Doon, smiling.

2

THE AMUSEMENTS in the Empire depended more on
social class than on location. Though some games
and sports were restricted to certain planets, they
were few and fading-those that had universal
appeal, like the mismating simulacrum game of
Exeter, ceased to be provincial, while those that
didn't catch on off-planet, like cockball on
Campbell, eventually died away.

The truly popular games, however, spread
throughout the Empire rapidly-only the limita-
tion of space travel kept their acceptance from
being immediate. Spectator sports were im-
mensely popular, and the outcome of football,
basketball, and undercut games were rushed
by courier ships to every planet in the Empire. It

was here that the first division between classes
occurred: somec users began to time their wak-
ings to fit the expected arrivals of courier ships, in
order to watch the game and learn the outcome.
Those not on somec, of course, could rarely see
the same off-planet team perform twice in their
lifetime, and so only live, on-planet games were
readily available. Thus the somec users watched
games on vast screens in huge banquet halls,
where only the elite could come, and where prices
were prohibitive, while non-somec users crowded
into vast arenas, watching live athletes of the
second rank slug it out on the local playing field.
Participant sports also faced the same division.
Team sports gradually became the prerogative of
lower class enthusiasts, who could get together at
frequent intervals, and who didn't have to worry
about timing their wakings. Somec users, how-
ever, found it difficult to time their wakings just to
get a team together. A seven-year sleeper would
not be too terribly tempted to waken two years
earlier in order to play on the same team with a
superb rugby player who happened to be a fiver.
Instead, individual players would "pair up" in
"duels," and these would be taped and replayed
for other somec users later. A great deal of gam-
bling focused on these duels: Sleepers, upon wak-
ing, would consult lists of upcoming duels, study
past tapes of the players, and place bets. On their
next waking, they would learn the outcome of the
duel and watch the tape, learning why and how
they guessed right or wrong. The most common
games were fencing, rapiers, tennis, wrestling,

boxing, and knife-throwing, the last being an il-
legal game, with tapes secretly taken and pre-
served, since many deaths and injuries ended
particular contests prematurely.

Aside from sports, amusement centered around
computers. "Arcades" catered to the lower class-
es, offering many complex computer contests
called "pinballs." Similarly, the wealthy also
played with computers, but instead of simple
one-person games, played vast multiplayer
games such as "Soap Opera," "Monopoly," and
"Empire," in which individual players, upon
waking, could purchase an already existing per-
sona from a player ready to go under and play
against other players already in the game. It be-
came a point of pride to manipulate one's per-
sona to the strongest possible position, and many
players became so involved that they adopted the
persona name as their own, purchasing the right
to play in the same game at exorbitant prices at
every waking for centuries. The same game, with
different players manipulating the personae,
could continue for centuries, and the Monopoly
players of Sonora even today take great pride in
the fact that throughout the Somec Revolution
and the Dark Ages, their game missed only one
year, and that because of a power failure.

But the most all-pervading amusements were
the theatrical media: loops and plays. Plays, of
course, were for the lowest classes, those who
couldn't afford to see reality in the loops, which
commanded high prices. But for once the division
wasn't along somec lines. A majority of non-

somec users were able to pay to see loops, and this
one amusement brought them in contact with the
lives of the somec society.

Loops were made of practically everything.
Notably beautiful women were paid astronomical
fees for allowing their private lives to be looped-
audiences would sit for hours watching the un-
edited holo broadcast, enduring [or enjoying?] the
endless trivia, all for the sake of the dramatic
moment, the argument, the intercourse. Natu-
rally, budding actresses and actors would pay
dearly for the privilege of taking part in that "to-
tally true" looped life, and these women were the
top money-makers in the Empire, rising to somec
levels unreachable except to the highest govern-
ment officials.

Next to the actresses in the lifeloops were the
starship captains, pilots with such legendary
names as Carter Poor, Jazz Worthing, and Ngao-
ngao Bumubi. These pilots paid a small percen-
tage of their earnings to the Service, and then
allowed broadcasts of their victorious battles to
be made throughout the Empire. They, too, re-
ceived phenomenal wealth, and since they were
already at the highest possible somec level, all
their income could be-and usually was-invested
in business. Some pilots ended up owning entire
planets; others magnanimously sponsored uni-
versities; still others kept the uses of their money
entirely secret.

And others brought their own downfall by get-
ting embroiled in government. Perhaps the most
famous case was the phenomenally successful

pilot and loopstar Jazz Worthing, whose manager,
Willard "Hop" Noyock apparently involved him
in the famous Shimon Rapth Coup.

Excerpt from The Complete

Public Pleasure Book, Onger

and Haight, 6645, p.12.

3

HOP NOYOCK WOKE up feeling hot and flabby. Hot
because the reviver always left him sweating.
Flabby because somehow, over the last three
hundred years, he had gotten a little out of shape.

He rolled onto his side, and his stomach fol-
lowed a moment later, hitting the metal of the bed
with a disgusting slap. He belched.

"How," he asked the nurse who stood by with a
sponge and a towel, "can I possibly belch after
five years of sleep?"

The nurse shrugged and began to wipe him
down. The sponge was ice cold and the water
trickled freezingly along his back. Hop was
vaguely ashamed that the nurse had to lift his
stomach out of the way to wipe down the sweat-

ing crease. (I have got to exercise. I have got to
diet.) But he knew that he wouldn't have time for
exercise, that food would taste too good to worry
about dieting, that in only five weeks he'd be
eligible to return to the Sleeproom and go under
for another five years or until his client came back
(aye, there's the rub).

Hop got up and walked stiffly to the hooks
where his new clothes hung waiting for him. As
he took his first steps he felt a sharp pain, a stiff
uncomfortableness in a region of his body that
should not be causing him any pain. Could he
possibly have developed hemorrhoids while
under somec?

"Excuse me," he said to the nurse, who im-
mediately turned away. Nurses had to be very
deferential to the sleepersbut obsequiousness
was a small price to pay for the privilege of somec,
even at the nurses' rather trivial rate of two years
up for one year under.

Hop Noyock reached behind himself and found
the source of his discomfort. It was a small piece
of paper, soaked in the sweat of his revival. On it
was written, in Hop's own handwriting, a short
message:

"Someone trying to kill Jazz. Must warn."

What in hell did that mean? He looked at the
paper for some possible hidden clue. There was
none. It was just the ordinary paper they kept by
the sleepbeds to satisfy the paranoia of those who
were convinced they would think of something
absolutely vital between the time when their
brains were taped and the time when the somec

flowed into their veins, emptying all memories
from their minds. Memory slips, they called the
papers, and Hop had never used one before.

Now he had used one(or is it my handwriting?)
and not only that, he had gone to the bother of
putting it in a rather effective, if undignified, hid-
ing place.

Apparently, when he had written it, he had
thought it was vital.

But if (if) there was a plot to kill Jazz Worthing
(alias Meal Ticket) how in hell had he found out
about it between the taping and the somec? It was
strictly illegal for anyone but the nurses to come
into the tape-and-tap; that was in the contractit
was imperial law, for heaven's sake, forget the
contract.

And who would try to kill Jazz Worthing, the
Empire's most successful starship pilot, not to
mention the star of the five best-selling loops in
trade history (I made the boy a star, he'd be
nothing without his agent); killing him would not
only hurt the Empire's war effort and tear down
morale, it would also leave the fans disconso-
late

And thinking of the war effort, what about it?
Hop went to the history sheets that hung from the
wall. He was proud of the fact that he had a five-
year summary, a reminder of his high somec rat-
ing.

The news was basically good. The Empire was
still intact, more or less, win a little, lose a little
but the war is far from home.

Then, practical as always, Hop checked the

gossip sheets and spent an amusing five minutes
as he dressed, reading over what happened while
he was under. Of course, most of the people he
had never mettheir somec schedules never
coincided and so he knew of their escapades only
from the sheets

The flight schedules showed that Jazz was com-
ing in only three days. Hop glanced up at the
calendar on the wall (they never bother with
clocks in the Sleeproom) and realized that he had
been wakened almost three months early.

Damn.

Oh well, it could have been three years, that had
happened before, and it was a small enough price
to pay for his twenty percent of all of Jazz Worth-
ing's revenues. Without Jazz, Hop Noyock
wouldn't be on somec at all.

Somebody trying to kill Jazz? Asinine.

(If I find them, I'll tear them apart, the bastards.)

Hop met Jazz the minute the smoke had been
pumped out of the landing hall. The two-
kilometer-long ship always took Hop's breath
away (either that or the long climb up the ramp),
just as the ridiculous narrow tube that held all the
payload made him laugh. It looked like it was
tacked onto the huge stardrive as an afterthought.
The tail wagging the dog. A hammer to drive a
needle through nothing.

Over the ship stretched the huge girders that
supported the roof, now looking like fine lace in
the distance. Only here, in the shipcradles, were

there large doors in the metal roof that sheathed
the entire planet of Capitol.

Hop watched as, far below the audience, gates
were opened and the crowds flooded in. Jazz's
arrival was big news on Capitol. Hop felt the old
resentment as he watched the crowd fill all the
available space around the base of the cradle. He
had made a fortune by charging admission to
Jazz's arrivalsbut some of his competitors,
sponsoring less popular pilots, had managed to
convince the government that it was illegal to
charge admission for entry to public government
facilitiesand they had even made Hop give back
the money he had already made on it. Damn poor
losers, that's all they were.

And then the door of the ship fell open and out
stepped Jazz Worthing. Two hundred meters be-
low, the fans started screaming so loudly that the
sound could be heard even above the roar of the
machinery that was testing the stardrive. Hop
Noyock threw out his arms and made the theatri-
cal gesture that had been seen by billions at the
end of every Jazz Worthing loop. He strode to the
tired-looking pilot and embraced him.

"Jazz Worthing, Capitol is grateful that you're
home safe and victorious again."

"Nice to be back," Jazz said, smiling slightly,
his bright blue eyes flashing in the dazzling
lights. He was several centuries old, and looked
younger than twenty. One last pat on the back,
and then Hop reached down and flipped off the
loop recorder. Jazz relaxed as soon as the taping

was finished. He tensed again, though, when Hop
whispered in his ear, "Somebody may be trying to
kill you. Don't leave the crowds."

"Hop, I don't even want to see the damned
crowds."

"No one'd dare try anything in the crowds.
We'll talk in a minute."

Hop led Jazz to the railing and showed him off
to the cheering fans. Their roar of approval was
quite stirring. Hop felt quite stirred.

"Hop, what the hell is going on?" Jazz asked.

"I don't know," Hop said. "Bow for the bas-
tards, Jason, give them their money's worth."

Jazz looked at Hop in surprise. "You don't mean
the government's letting you charge admission
again?"

"No, no, figure of speech, little figure of speech,
you know."

"I just want to go home and go to bed, Hop.
Don't give me any trouble about it or I'll fire you."

Hop shrugged. "If you get killed, I'll be out of a
job anyway."

Jazz sighed and listened as Hop told him about
the note.

"I especially like your hiding place," Jazz
commented as they walked down the winding
ramp.

"It's my body's only built-in pocket."

"How are we doing?"

"Financially? Latest audit was five years ago,
and it said about seventeen billion."

"I left about forty years ago. What would it have
been worth then?"

"Eleven billion. Inflation's getting worse."

"That note. Are you sure you weren't just play-
ing a joke?"

"On myself? Ha ha, what a riot."

Jazz set his lips tightly. "Why would anyone
want to kill me?"

"One of the other captains?" Hop suggested,
lightly.

"We're all friends. We all like each other."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Hop shrugged. "One of their managers then.
Out to wipe out the competition."

"Do you believe that?"

"Hell no. It sounds more like treason. Must be
something involved with the government, or how
could the information have reached me in the
Sleeproom? Somebody thinks your death would
help or hurt some faction in the government. I
wish you'd stay out of politics."

The ramp seemed to go on forever. The roar of
the stardrive test grew softer; the roar of the crowd
grew louder. "Are you sure," Jazz asked, "that
you didn't already know the information, and put
it together after you were taped?"

"I've been racking my brains. Nothing. I didn't
know anything about any threat on anybody's life.
I don't know anybody with a motive. I was told,
after the taping."

"Damn."

"How are the loops from this trip?"

"Oh, some good stuff. My fleet got caught in an
ambush near Kapittuck and we fought our way

out without losses. Very dramatic. Some good
close-ups, too, you'll be in gravy for the next five
or ten wakings."

"So will you," Hop said.

"Sure," Jazz answered. "And I have so much
time on Capitol to enjoy it."

(Don't complain, you bastard. When I started
working for you three centuries ago we were both
in our teens, subjectively speaking, and now
count my gray hairs. I wake up every five years,
while you coast through life waking only three or
four times a century, staying young forever)

"You look great, Hop," Jazz said.

"You, too, Jazz old man," Hop said, using the
obscenity freely.

They reached the bottom of the ramp, where
police were struggling to hold the crowd back
from charging up to meet them. "Here are the
lions," Jazz said, and then they waded into the
crowd of outreaching hands and hungering eyes.

They went to a party that nightafter all, wak-
ings were short and all the pleasure had to be
crammed into only a few short days and weeks.
Besides, eleven actresses doing lifeloops were
there, and all of them had paid a tidy sum to get
Hop to promise that Jazz Worthing would not
only attend, but also spend at least three minutes
talking to them. Jazz took care of the duty calls
right away, and then proceeded to win a small
fortune (a drop in the bucket) at pinochle, losing
his preoccupied look for a few hours. The hostess,
Arran Handully, a former actress who had now

"retired"which meant she only made guest ap-
pearances in other women's lifeloopswas
forever fluttering around Jazz and Hop, bringing
them drinks, making charming conversation: ob-
viously Jazz was her prize for the evening. Hop
fleetingly wondered if she had arranged her wak-
ing just to coincide with his coming. That would
be flattery indeed.

After the party had been going for about four
hours or so, Arran Handully called for silence,
which after a few minutes was grudgingly
granted to her.

"One of the reasons for this party is that Fritz
Kapock has designed a new costume that is so
compelling, so magnificent, that I had to show it
to you the best way I knowon me."

Since there was nothing remarkable about the
dress she was wearingfloor-length white with
long sleeves that ended in gloves and a high
neckeveryone knew she was going to dance,
which would be fine, she had a Capitolwide repu-
tation for interesting effects, and one of the best-
selling lifeloops in history had been her "Re-
hearsal Day" tape in which she had practiced
every conceivable dance pose and motion, nude.

The Kapock design was interesting enoughas
she danced her ordinary-looking dress began to
glow brightly, dazzlingly, and slowly the guests
realized that it was dissolving somehow in the
process. The bright aura lingered for several min-
utes after she was completely naked, and when
she ended her dance sparks still seemed to dance
around her. The guests applauded wildlysome

with lust, some with real appreciation, and a few
with gratitude: with this on their loops, more than
one budding young actress would have a good
start to her career.

After her bow, she brought out Kapock, the
designer, who also bowed stiffly.

"Poor guy," Hop commented to Jazz, "he hates
the bitch, but who can turn down a commission
these days? Inflation eats it up faster than you can
spend it. And the price of lower somec ratings is
always going up."

Arran picked up a drink from a passing tray and
walked out among her guests. The other women
soon realized that she had no intention of dress-
ing again, and so they sighed and undressed, too,
wishing they hadn't bothered to spend so much
money on costumes for the party.

Arran went to Jason Worthing and handed him
the drink. Immediately a group of lifelooping
women and interested onlookers gathered to see
what would happen, hoping perhaps to interject
some witticism that might turn the incident to
their favorsome clever remark that might get
them invited to another, grander party on their
next waking, or the one after.

"Did you like Fritz's little costume?"

"Very clever," Jazz said, smiling and accepting
the drink. "How is it done?"

Fritz Kapock, who had followed Arran, smiled
and said, "I'll never tell."

"He told me," Arran said, tossing her head pret-
tily, "that it's oxidation."

Fritz laughed. "Of course. That much is obvi-
ous."

"Oh, and now Fritz is telling everyone how
stupid I am," Arran pouted.

What a great act, Hop thought. Billions of
loopwatchers, seeing this scene, would nudge
each other and say, "See, there's Arran Handully,
pretending to be dumb. She'll get 'em in a min-
ute."

Fritz Kapock awkwardly denied her accusa-
tion. "Of course I'm not."

"It's still a dazzling effect," Jazz said, and Hop
was pleased that Jazz was making an effort to be
pleasant company, even without being on con-
tract.

"That calls for a drink," Arran said, taking a
glass out of the hand of a servant near her.

Kapock held up his glass and said, "To Arran
Handully, who managed to upstage my small ef-
fort by wearing a costume far more beautifulher
lovely self."

"What a poet," Arran whispered, and then she
brought a gasp from everyone by stepping toward
Jazz Worthing and putting her own glass to his
lips. A declaration of intent, and everyone waited
for the completion of the ritual, Jazz sipping and
then placing his own glass up to Arran's lips.

He didn't do it, though. Instead, he stepped
back, rejecting the offer, and raised his glass into
the air. "And let me add my own toast to her
couragewho else would dare to try to murder
me at her own party?"

It took a moment for the words to sink in. And
then the guests murmured as Arran protested,
using her body coquettishly in a reflexive attempt
to disarm and win over all watchers. "What a

thing to say, Captain Worthing. There are politer
ways to say no to a girl."

"You mean you deny it? Then take a drink from
your own glass, my dear."

"After I've been refused? I could almost wish it
were poisoned."

"Really? And so could I," Jazz said. "Shall we
see if your wish is fulfilled?" He stepped toward
her abruptly, taking the glass from her hand, seiz-
ing her by the hair with his other hand, and put-
ting the glass to her lips. No one intervened. Let
the action flow, as they all said. However things
turned out, this would sell a billion loops.

"Take a drink, sweet Arran Handully, from the
glass you offered me," Jazz said, smiling.

"What an actor you are," she said softly, and
Hop was sure now that he saw terror in her eyes.
For the first time it occurred to him that somehow
Jason might well have uncovered the very murder
plot he had been warned against. But how? They
hadn't left each other since he disembarked from
the ship.

Jazz began to tip the glass up to pour over her
smiling mouth. Suddenly she writhed away,
knocking the glass on the floor. It broke; the liquid
splashed.

"Don't touch it," Jazz commanded. "It's now
time for at least one of our kind and watchful
observers to show himself and take a fragment of
glass for analysis."

Suddenly several women moaned in disap-
pointment, punching at the buttons on their loop
recorders. A grim-faced man came up, holding a

suppressor, and the moans stopped. Mother's Lit-
tle Boys could do whatever they likedincluding
cutting out a choice scene from a lifeloop. The
man knelt down by the fragments of glass and in a
very businesslike way mopped up a sample of the
liquid and took four pieces of glass, dumped them
into a small bag he pulled from his pocket, and
then, nodding to the company, left.

Arran was sitting down, shaking.

Fritz Kapock looked at Jason Worthing in
hatred. "That was incredibly crude, doing a thing
like that," he said.

"I know," Jazz agreed, smiling. "A more
courteous man would have drunk, and died
gracefully." Jazz excused himself from the group
in a way that informed everyone that he preferred
not to be accompanied. Hop, of course, accom-
panied him anyway.

"How did you know?" Hop asked.

"I didn't. But it seems like it was a pretty good
guess, doesn't it?"

Guess? Hop knew perfectly well that Jazz
Worthing wasn't stupid enough to open himself
up to libel suits on the basis of mere guesswork.
But if he preferred not to tell, why push him?
Then again, why not? Managers have some rights.

"Come on, Jazz. How did you know?"

"I'm a Swipe," Jazz answered.

Hop rolled his eyes and laughed. "All right
then. Don't tell me. Protect your sources. But at
least tell me why she tried!"

Jazz only smiled and looked over at the group
gathered to commiserate with their offended

hostess. She was looking weak and helpless, and
Hop couldn't help but admire her technique. A
brilliant actressable to utterly hide every
natural emotion, play a role every waking mo-
ment.

Fritz Kapock separated himself from the group
around Arran Handully and began to walk toward
where Hop and Jazz were sitting.

"You see," Jazz said, "they're persistent. They
won't settle for one attempt."

"What?" Hop asked. "Not Kapock. He's" but
then Hop remembered the gossip sheet "a
damned good swordsman and has had more than
a few formal duels. None to the death, but Jazz, be
careful, you've got to keep yourself safe. The Em-
pire needs you."

"Not as much as you need your twenty percent,
my dear friend," Jason answered.

Fritz Kapock stopped about three meters away,
and began talking loudly with a group that had
gathered there. Jazz didn't take his eyes off
Kapock. Hop was worried. "Jazz, you know a hell
of a lot more than you've been telling me."

"Of course," Jazz said, patting Hop's wrist.
"That's why you're a manager and I'm a star-
pilot."

Kapock's voice came loudly to them: "Only a
bastard and a coward would make an accusation
like thatespecially at her own party."

People nearby began to edge nearer. Actresses
frantically fiddled with their loop recorders, try-
ing to get them to warm up again, though they
knew it was hopeless for a few minutes more

suppressors always ruined recording for exactly
ten minutes, no more, no less.

"Jazz, he's trying to provoke you," Hop said.

"Perhaps I shall let him succeed," Jazz
answered, and Hop resigned himself to watching
his meal ticket get killed on the end of Fritz
Kapock's sword. It went like clockwork.

"That boor isn't fit company for civilized per-
sons," said Fritz.

"Hold my hat," said Jazz.

"They should never allow these common sol-
diers in refined company," said Fritz Kapock.

"Fritz Kapock, I believe?" said Jazz.

"And you're the man who ruined our hostess's
evening, aren't you?" Fritz snarled.

"I assume you were hoping I would overhear
your insults."

"It's hardly my affair what you do and don't
hear."

A woman whooped with glee as her loop re-
corder came on. Another breathed a sigh of relief.

"I heard, I take due note, and I assume you'll
want choice of weapons."

Hop moaned. Jason hadn't even been clever.
Hadn't even tried to get Kapock to make the chal-
lenge so that the starpilot would get the chance to
choose peashooters or tennis or some other harm-
less duel weapon.

"Foils are effeminate," Kapock said. "And sa-
bers are like meat axes. Rapier? Three edged?"

"Which, just by coincidence, you no doubt have
nearby," Jason said. "I'll agree to that."

A servant went for the weapons, and Hop an-

grily volunteered to be Jason's second. "You ir-
responsible bastard," Hop muttered as he helped
Jazz take off his jacket and shirt.

"True, true. It's been nice knowing you," Jazz
said.

"Do you know how to fight with swords?" Hop
asked, wondering how Jazz could be so calm
about this.

"Sure. You just hold it by the dull end and stick
the sharp end in the other fellow."

"Not funny," Hop said. And then the weapons
arrived, the crowd cleared a space, and Fritz and
Jason, stripped to the waist, took their weapons
and went to opposite comers. As a volunteer re-
feree went through the ritual of pleading with
both parties to reconcile their differences peace-
ably, Jazz asked Hop Noyock, "Do you have your
loop recorder?"

"Yes."

"Is it off?"

"Of course."

"Then here. Use this." And Jazz handed Hop a
small suppressor. Hop looked at him in surprise.

"This is illegal."

"So is duelling. But I want you to have an ex-
clusive. Your last chance to make money off me."

Hop grimaced at the implication of his own
venality; at the same time he realized that having
an exclusive of this duel would be immeasurably
valuable whoever won. So he turned on the sup-
pressor, and the moans and cries of outrage came
from women and men all around the duelling
square. Then, because his own loop recorder had

not been on, Hop started it right up, ready to
create another Noyock Productions masterpiece.

"All ready?" Jazz asked. Noyock, holding both
suppressor and recorder in his pockets, nodded.
"Wish me luck," Jazz said, and then he raised his
sword to signal the start of the duel. Kapock raised
his, and then leaped forward, swinging the sword
in a dazzling display of control, putting the point
exactly where he wanted it. Jazz merely held his
sword in front of him, almost as if it were a foil,
and stood half-crouched. No style at all.

Then Kapock came close enough to strikeand
struck. But his sword met Jason's in mid-thrust.
Kapock recovered, struck again and again found
his blade parried. He backed off. Jason merely
stood, waiting, his sword having varied only
twice from its straight forward position. Kapock
was embarrassed and angry. He had been made to
look like a pompous show-off, who could be
stopped with ease by a man not even bothering to
observe proper form.

Kapock moved to attack again, this time with
such quick movements that parrying seemed im-
possible. Feints could not be distinguished from
attacks; but Jason was not drawn into parrying
any of the false moves. Instead he moved only
three times, each time throwing aside Kapock's
whistling blade, and the third time twisting the
blade, breaking it off near the hilt. The broken
blade spun out toward the crowd, but hit the floor
before it could do any damage.

Kapock stood looking at the broken sword in
his hand, as amazed as Hop had ever seen a man.

Hop could understand ithe had tried his hand at
swordplay years ago, and he remembered enough
to know that it was humiliating to be disarmed on
only the fifth parry. He also knew that Jazz had
blocked the attacks as perfectly as if he had known
exactly where and when they were coming, before
Kapock himself even knew. More grist for the Jazz
Worthing legend mill.

The next step, of course, was for Jazz to step
forward and magnanimously state that he was
satisfied, and no further fighting was necessary.
But at that moment a woman screamed, and all
eyes whirled to Arran, who was standing, still
naked, looking with horror at the large doors to
her hall. They were open, and a group of laser-
armed men in Space Service uniforms were
marching in. And all at once everyone seemed to
come to the same conclusion. Jazz Worthing, the
great starpilot, had been under attackpoison,
and then a duel. These soldiers would not stand
for such an insult to the Service and to the Ser-
vice's most successful fleet commander. And the
guests, in the irrational manner of crowds, im-
mediately began to head for the opposite exit. At
the moment they started to move, however, those
doors opened, too, and more soldiers came in. The
crowd panicked, massed in a jumble in the mid-
dle of the hall, and began to shout and scream and
scurry meaninglessly from place to place so that it
was impossible to tell what was going on.

So Hop did what he always did. He stuck with
Jason, following him as Jazz coolly walked to
Arran Handully, who was looking dazed and

vaguely depressed as the crowd whirled around
her. Jazz picked her up and lifted her over his
shoulder in a manner vaguely reminiscent of the
worst excesses of the pornographic brutality
plays. Hop had never seen Jazz treat a woman like
thatbut then, she had tried to kill him.

Fritz Kapock tried to interfere. Jason hit him,
but the blow would only have slowed the artist
down, hampered as Jason was by Arran's rather
uncooperative bulk. Hop considered it his duty
(and a pretty damn good idea for profits) to try to
keep Jazz Worthing alive no matter what stupid
things he was trying to do. So Hop used a few of
the low blows he had learned in his childhood in
the lowest corridor of Capitol, and Fritz was out
for the duration. Perhaps longer. Hop didn't stop
to check.

They headed for a service entrance, and Hop
helped muscle a path for Jason to follow through
the crowd that was trying to get out that way.
Once into the corridor beyond the door (carpeted,
Hop noticedArran had spent a lot of money on
her flat), Jason looked at the direction the crowd
was heading, and went the other way. Hop
Noyock tagged along, noting with pleasure that
he was young enough to appreciate the way Arran
Handully looked as she wriggled and jerked, try-
ing to free herself from Jason's grasp. When she
started digging fingernails into Jazz's back,
Noyock swatted her sharply. "None of that," he
said, and she seemed to realize for the first time
that she and Jazz weren't alone. She stopped
struggling.

"Why don't they have anybody in here guard-
ing the halls?" Hop asked.

"Because they're Servicemen, not constables,
and certainly not Mother's Little Boys," Jason
answered. "Besides, we're heading farther in, not
out."

"Why the hell are we doing that?" Noyock
asked, making it a point to breathe heavily so that
Jazz knew how tired he was getting as they wound
up a ramp.

"Go the other way, if you want to get picked up
by angry soldiers."

Hop doggedly followed as Jason went up the
ramp, and saw, to his relief, that the starpilot was
capable of getting tired. Jazz slowed at the top of
the ramp, then swung Arran off his shoulder and
slammed her a little harder than necessary against
a wall. He held her right hand in his, with his
forearm pressing against her throat, and his legs
both to one side of hershe wasn't giving her an
opportunity for any action. Just to be sure, how-
ever, Hop held her left hand, too. She shot him a
glare.

"Don't look at me like that, Arran," Hop said,
using his wounded dignity voice. "I'm only hold-
ing you twenty percent against the wall. He's re-
sponsible for eighty percent."

She didn't answer. Jazz ignored Hop, too, and
so he stood holding Arran's hand as Jazz asked
her, "Which way from here?"

She didn't answer.

"I know you have a hiding place, Arran. The
reason those soldiers were there is because the

test on the poison came out positive and they got
mad. Want me to take you down there to them?"

She shook her head.

"Then where's the hiding place?"

Hop watched as Jazz stared at her eyes, as if
hoping to pluck the answers out of them. Appar-
ently Arran saw a different intent, and she let her
eyes fill up with tears. A play for sympathy, Hop
knew, but it didn't stop him from feeling instant
pity. The bitch. Actresses shouldn't be allowed to
have private lives. They didn't know how to stop
acting.

Abruptly Jazz jerked her away from the wall
and slung her over his shoulder again. Sighing
wearily, Hop followed him off down a corridor.

The halls were narrower up here, Hop noticed,
and the floors and walls were made of wood. He
touched one, and was surprised at the roughness.
Not just wood, then. Real wood. He whistled.

"Shut up," Jazz said.

"Why so glum?" Hop asked. "A billion men
would give their privates to have her over their
shoulder wearing that costume. Though that
would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

Jazz didn't laugh, and so Hop shut up.

They stopped in front of a rather insignificant-
looking door. "What's in here?" Jazz asked.

"A wardrobe," she said immediately.

"Can you break it open, Hop?"

"Me?"

"Forget it," Jazz said. He stepped back and, still
burdened with Arran, kicked the door. It budged,
but just barely.

"Let me," Hop said, now that he was sure there
was no sentry planted in the door. No sense get-
ting blown up unnecessarily. Jazz may be a meal
ticket, but keeping him alive would be pointless
to Hop if Hop weren't around to get his twenty
percent. He stood facing the opposite wall of the
narrow corridor, his hands firmly placed on the
wall. Then he jumped up and pushed off from the
wall, slamming his feet into the door. It didn't
quite break free, but all it took was another half-
hearted kick from Noyock as he lay on the floor.

"Spectacular," Jazz said as he stepped over
Noyock and walked into the room. "You're very
agile for a fat man."

"Paunch covers muscle, it doesn't replace it,"
Hop commented, and got up. The "wardrobe"
was a large library, with mirrors wherever there
were no shelves, including the floor and ceiling.
But the real attraction was the contents of the
shelvesreal paper books, not tapes, filling every
available space. Noyock wasn't much of a reader,
but he appreciated value in whatever form it took,
and under his breath he mumbled, "The lady's
literate, after all."

Jazz paid no attention. Instead he picked Arran
off his shoulders and tossed her to the floor. She
landed heavily.

"Where's the door?" he heard Jazz say. Arran
shook her head, wincing with some pain she ac-
quired in the fall to the floor. Jazz shook her, and
she started to cry. Hop hated himself, but the
crying made him want to say, "Hey, Jazz, go easy
on the woman, huh?" He resisted the impulse,
however.

So did Jazz, if indeed he felt such a charitable
feeling. Instead, he doubled up his fist and
plunged it sharply into Arran's stomach. Hop was
sure he heard a rib break. She screamed in pain,
and Hop wondered if it was the first honest emo-
tion he had seen her use.

Jazz leaned down and put his ear by her lips.
Hop was surprised she was consciousbut ap-
parently she had been for at least a moment, for
Jason got up and walked straight to a bookshelf
and pulled off two books, reaching behind to find
something. Immediately a mirror slid into the
floor, and a little room was revealed behind. Jazz
walked back to Arran, picked her up, and carried
her limp unconscious body into the room. Noyock
decided to follow.

As soon as they were inside, Jason lay Arran
down on the floor. "Find a light switch," Jazz
said, but before Noyock could even glance
around, the door slid back up, cutting off all light.

"And I suppose you didn't think to bring a
candle," Jason said.

"Next time I'll do better," Hop answered.

"A lighter?"

"You know I don't poison myself, Jazz, why
would I carry fire with me?" Not that Hop hadn't
once junked himself, but he had long since de-
cided long life took precedence over fleeting
pleasures, like smoking. That decision had made
him feel like a puritan for months. Now he regret-
ted it again.

They stood in the darkness for a while. Then
Hop offered to prowl around and see what he
could feel.

"Don't even twitch," Jazz said. "There may be
some nasty surprises in here."

They waited awhile more. "Has it been three
years yet, Jazz, or only two?" Hop asked.

"About four minutes. Give the lady a chance to
wake up."

"I think you broke a rib."

"I hope so. The bitch deserved to lose her
head."

"But she never did lose it, did she."

"Quiet. She's waking up."

Arran groaned, and Noyock wasn't even sur-
prised that the moan was vaguely seductive. She
could hardly be expected to lose lifetime habits all
at once.

"Don't move around too much, Arran," Jazz
said softly. "Your rib is broken, and you're in the
secret room behind the mirror in the library."

"How did you find the door!"

"You told me."

"I never"

Jazz slapped her, and she cried out. Hop began
to feel a little bit disturbed at the way his meal
ticket was acting. Cruelty should have some
point, Hop firmly believed.

Jazz hissed at her, "You've lied every moment
since we first met tonight. You tried to kill me. I
want to know why."

Silence. Then another slap, another cry of pain.

"Dammit, Jazz, stop it!" Hop said.

"I've got to know what I'm up against, Hop.
There's a lot she isn't telling me. Like the fact that
she has a friend named Farl Baak, a Cabinet minis-

ter, who for some absurd reason wants me dead."

She gasped.

"I didn't come to your party ignorantly, Arran.
Now you can start telling us things. For instance,
you might start by telling me how to turn the
lights on in here."

"Right by the door," she said.

Hop stepped in the direction he remembered
the door was in, but Jazz's voice cut through the
darkness. "Don't touch it! Stop where you are,
Hop!" Hop stayed where he was. He heard Arran
groan in fearwhatever Jazz was doing she didn't
like. "Clever trap, Arran," Jason said. "But I'll
start feeding you your fingers in small sections if
you don't start cooperating."

Another groan of fear and pain, and Arran
shouted, "Stop it! Stop itthe light's in the far
right corner as you come in, at about knee
height"

The light went on. Jazz was still holding Ar-
ran's hand, tightly, while his other hand was ex-
tended to touch the spot she had described.
Noyock turned from them to examine the door.
"Where's the trap?" he asked.

"A metal plate under the wallcoat," Jazz said.
"How many volts, Arran?"

"Enough," Arran answered. "I wish it had fried
you."

"Hit her once for me," Noyock said. "Suddenly
I'm not in love with her anymore."

"I'll be glad to oblige you," Jazz said, "in just
about one second if Arran doesn't tell me why Farl
Baak wants me dead."

She shook her head. "I never heard of Farl
Baak."

"Just because nobody looped it doesn't mean it
didn't happen," Jazz said.

"I didn't know the drink was poisoned," she
said. Jazz slapped her hard, on the growing bruise
at the bottom of her rib cage. She cried out, swung
her arm to try to hit him, but was stopped by the
pain. He slapped her again. She cried out again in
pain, and tears flowed out the corners of her eyes,
dribbling down into her ears and hair. These
tears, Hop realized in surprise, were involuntary.

"I don't know why you're persecuting me," she
said. Jazz only waited. "All right," she said. "I
know Farl Baak. But he didn't want you dead. He
had nothing to do"

Another slap, and this time the cry was louder,
and she started to sob slightly afterward. Each sob
took its toll in pain, and she stopped crying and
only moaned. "Because," she grunted in agony,
"you're in on the plot, you bastard."

"Plot?" Jazz asked.

"To control the somec. To take control of the
Sleeproom."

Jazz chuckled. "And so you had to kill me? How
could I be a threat to you, sleeping in a ship off
between the stars?"

She shook her head slightly. "Too many of the
wrong people were all timed to wake up when
you arrived, Starpilot." She spat out his title.
"Farl put two and two together."

"Ah."

"And you control the fleets and the armies.

That's why we had to get rid of you before we
acted against the others"

"Jazz is just a starpilot," Hop said, wondering
how such a sensible woman could believe such
drivel.

"Go touch the doorframe," Jazz said. "Or shut
up by yourself, Hop."

Hop shut up again.

"It's cold," Arran said, and her teeth were chat-
tering.

Jazz looked at Hop, and Hop sighed. Jason was
still stripped down for the duel, and only Hop's
expensive topjacket was available. He took it off,
emptied the loop recorder and suppressor out of
the pockets, and handed it to Jazz, who wrapped it
gently around her.

"Remind me never to trust a secret to her," Hop
said to Jazz. " She didn't last very long under pres-
sure."

Arran, despite the pain in her ribs, snarled back
at him, "No one expected I'd have to deal with an
animal."

Jason buttoned the jacket, and Hop noticed ap-
preciatively that he had not bothered to put her
arms into the sleevesthe coat would certainly
keep her arms confined, if she should be tempted
to try something. "The government," Jazz said,
"has tricks that make me look like a lamb." Hop
wondered vaguely what a lamb was.

"There are different kinds of pain," Arran said
quietly. "Maybe you can take this kind without
breaking. I'm sure of it."

"What kind of pain can you take?" Hop asked.

"I can keep smiling when I want to kill. I can
seduce a man I loathe. I can spend six months
without a single moment of privacy, waking,
sleeping, or going to the bathroom. I can endure
lovers who feel only contempt for me and pretend
that I love every minute of it."

Hop didn't feel like making a clever answer,
and Jazz patted her shoulder gently. "All right,
and you held up pretty damned well when I was
hitting you, too."

"What are you going to do with me now?"
Arran asked.

"Sit and watch you, I suppose, until supper-
time," Jazz said.

"She needs a doctor," Hop offered.

Jason shook his head. "If we try to take her out
of here now, she'll need a mortician. Her whole
flat's probably full of troops, searching for her
everywhere. If they find her, the law lets them kill
her. She did try to poison one of Mother's officers
of the fleet."

"Does that mean we can never leave here?"

"It means we'll stay here awhile, Hop. Try to
be patient. We'll be through with this before your
waking's over. You won't lose any sleep."

"And when we leave, what'll we do? Report on
this Farl Baak?"

"Whom do you report a Cabinet minister to?
God?"

"What'll we do, then?"

"I want to find out what Baak is really up to.
There is no somec plot, and I'm certainly not part
of one even if there is. So there must be some

reason all those wakings were timed to my arrival.
I mean to find out."

"She was probably lying."

"She wasn't."

"You sound pretty sure of that."

"I plan to find out who's behind the plot to kill
me. And what his real reasons are. And then I'm
going to kill the bastard."

"That's the Jason Worthing I've known and
loved," Hop said.

Hours later, Jason decided it was safe for him to
go look for Arran's private doctor. She told him
how to get out, and to Hop's surprise he believed
her immediately. Apparently he was a better
judge of people than Hop.

The doctor confirmed that the rib was, indeed,
broken. The shock was dangerous, the doctor
said. They should have got immediate medical
attention. Jason didn't bother explaining that it
would have been impractical, and so Hop also
kept quiet. And not even Arran hinted as to how
she had broken the rib, or what she was doing
naked in a secret room. Either the doctor was very
good at hiding his curiosity, or he had done all
this before. He left without asking for a credit
card, either. Hop decided he had to look into the
idea of getting a private physician.

Jason had picked up a full outfit of clothing for
Arran. He had chosen from her wardrobe in the
flat an outfit loose enough to fit over the bandages
the doctor had told her she would have to wear for
at least six hours until the growth hormone wore

off. "Otherwise," he had said, "you'll have a very
odd-shaped chest, which might hurt business."
Jason had also found a shirt and jacket that made
his military pants look a little less like a uniform.

And Hop got his topjacket back. "Well, dressed
for the evening and nowhere to go," he said.

"Arran will tell us where to go," Jazz said.

"I don't know any hiding places outside my
flat."

"I don't want a hiding place. I want you to take
us to Farl Baak," Jazz said.

She gasped. "He'll kill you."

"He doesn't really care if I'm dead, Arran. He
only wants to make sure I won't interfere with
him. But what if I'm on his side in this little
rebellion?"

She shook her head. "He won't believe you."

"Maybe not. Let's go see."

"I don't want you dead."

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Jason
asked.

Arran suddenly made her face ugly. The
woman can look downright natural, Hop realized.
"Because even a bitch like me is capable of realiz-
ing that you had every right to kill me and instead
you saved my life."

"Only in order to get information from you,"
Jazz said.

"If that were true," Arran answered, "I'd be
dead now. You know how to get to Farl's place.
You don't need me."

"I don't want to go in the front door."

She sighed. "Now that my ribs are healing, I
don't want any interference with them. I'll take

you. But it's none of my business what Farl does to
you."

"Maybe it would be more to the point," Hop
suggested, "if you worried about what we might
do to Farl."

She glanced coolly at Hop. "Farl isn't a naked
woman with a broken rib."

They walked out of the library and no one saw
them. They walked down several ramps and cor-
ridors, and finally left Arran's flat through the
delivery entrance, and in all that time they didn't
see one soldier, one constable, or one human be-
ing.

"Why isn't there a guard?" Hop asked.

"Mother's Little Boys are asleep on the job,"
Jazz answered.

"Jazz, I think this is about the stupidest thing I
ever saw you do."

Jason looked at him expressionlessly. "No one's
making you come along."

Hop was surprised. "If no one's making me
come along, then why the hell am I coming?"

"To protect your investment."

"Damn right."

Arran led them through a circuitous path of
tubes, private cars, and corridors. Finally they
found themselves ascending a long emergency
stairway. After eight flights Hop suggested that
they stop and rest.

As they sat on the steps, Jason looked intently at
Arran's eyes. She gazed coldly back. Finally Jazz
said, "You have one minute to tell me what's
really at the top of these stairs."

Arran pursed her lips, then got up and started

back down the steps. Jazz followed, and Hop mut-
tered as he brought up the rear, "How come you
only broke one rib, Jazz?"

They followed a different route and this time
came to a very ordinary door labeled "Employees
Only."

"I'm an employee," Arran said, with a nasty
smile. Inside the door was a ladder, which they
climbed. They came out in a storage closet with
no lights. Arran confidently pushed open a door.
From outside the closet they heard a man's voice
say, "Who the hellArran, darling, I'll have you
roasted if you ever come here again without an
appointment"

And then Farl Baak stopped talking because he
saw Jason and Hop behind the woman.

"Take your hand away from the call button,"
Jazz said.

"Good morning, Starpilot," Baak said. "I must
say, Arran, when you mess up an assignment it
isn't necessary to bring the target back with you."

"Just a word of warning, Mr. Baak. I'm not very
heavily armed" not armed at all, Hop refrained
from saying "but the computer on my ship is
watching us, and the full record of this conversa-
tion will be recorded in four different places. You
don't pull the right strings to stop an investigation
from finding you."

Baak pulled his hand away from the side of the
bed he was lying on.

"The poison was rather direct," Jazz said. "And
the duel was stupid."

"What duel?" Baak asked. He looked at Arran
for an answer.

"Fritz Kapock," she said.

"That damned hero. And here I thought he was
a honk." Baak laughed slightly. "What can I do for
you, Mr. Worthing, since you're unfortunately
still alive?"

Jason walked over to him, dragged him to an
upright position, and slapped him three times.
Blood ran from Farl's nose. Then the pilot
slammed him against the wall. Farl slid down the
wall to the floor.

Hop noticed that Arran seemed distressed by
this turn of events, and so he took her hands and
held them rather forcefully. "Don't strain any ribs
trying to help your friend," Hop said. He didn't
mention that he didn't know why the hell Jazz
was hitting Baak right now. Was he beginning to
believe his own imagetough guy and brawler?
(I've created a monster.)

Arran didn't try to break away from him. She
merely spat in his face. Because he was holding
her hands, he couldn't wipe it away. "Jazz," he
said. "I want a new contract for twenty-five per-
cent. Twenty isn't enough for these special ser-
vices."

Farl Baak was tipping his head backward to try
to stop the nosebleed. "If you've broken my nose,
you bastard, I'll see to it you're shredded."

Jazz laughed. "Baak, you've got a reputation as
a jackass and a pervert. No need to try to maintain
that reputation right now. Why did you want me
killed, and who are you working for?"

"I'm a Cabinet minister, Worthing, and I don't
work for anyone."

Jason took a step toward him. Farl slid away. "I

meant it, Worthing. Until my last waking before
this I was controlled, but I didn't know it. Now
that I know it, I'm not controlled."

"By whom?" Jazz asked.

"I don't know," Farl Baak insisted, and Hop
tended to believe him. "That's what I'm trying to
find out. But you work for him, I know that.
You're part of the plot."

"And how do you know that?"

Baak was silent.

Jason again menaced the man, but this time
Baak didn't try to retreat. "If you touch me, Worth-
ing, I'll have a civil suit on you, and criminal
complaints for assault and battery, and you know
I can make it stick, I'm a Cabinet minister, dam-
mit."

Suddenly Arran spoke up. "Don't be stupid,
Farl. Tell him. He doesn't give a damn about your
silly office."

Farl looked at her angrily, but it was hard to take
him very seriously with his nose bleeding down
to his chin. "There are some things I'm willing to
endure a lot of pain for, Worthing," Baak said.

Jason studied the man, then nodded. "All right,
Baak. You're not what I thought you were. Not a
jackass, anyway." Jazz reached for the man, and
Baak flinched. But this time Jason only helped
him to the bed. Baak sighed in relief, and lay
down, tipping his head back to stop the bleeding.
"Once my nose starts bleeding it goes off and on
for a week," Farl complained.

"Baak, it was stupid to try to kill me. I'm on your
side."

"And what side is that, Worthing?"

"Somebody's trying to take over the govern-
ment, all right. Well, I don't like it any better than
you do."

Suddenly Noyock felt lost. What the hell was
going on? Jazz hadn't been on Capitol in decades,
hadn't talked to anyone out of Hop's earshot since
he got back, and suddenly he seemed deeply into
plots and counterplots in the top levels of gov-
ernment.

Baak sniffed, then sputtered blood. "Dammit,
why did you have to be so rough?"

"Sorry."

"It isn't a plot to take over the government, Jazz,
and you know it. Somebody's already taken over.
For eight hundred years or so, I'm pretty sure.
Some bastard has been giving orders to the
Cabinet."

Jason looked at the man intently. "Who?" he
asked.

"Like I told you, my friend, I don't know. Until
recently I didn't even know I was controlled. But I
was. The man works through intermediaries.
Blackmail, bribery, playing off old friendships
and enmities"

"You're being blackmailed?" Jazz asked.

"Hardly. Everybody knows every possible
scandal about me. Actually I was controlled more
subtly. Through an intermediary."

"Who?"

"Arran, of course," Farl answered.

Hop had let go of her when Jazz let Farl lie
down. Now she cursed softly and walked toward

the bed. "'How can you say that, Farl, I've been
with you since"

"I didn't say you knew it, did I?" Baak waved
her away. "Somebody keep the woman from in-
terrupting. You know how it is, Jazz. You were
born on Capitol. I came here from well, it
doesn't matter. Nowhere. There are certain social
circles. Certain groups that dominate the life-
loops, that go to the same parties, that share all
the interesting gossip. When I got to this somec
level I began to think I belonged in those groups.
But I was provincial, a boor. Utterly without man-
ners. It was quite a coup when Arran let me into
her lifethe unlooped lifeand started bringing
me to parties, helping me learn what to do, what
to say. For fifty wakings, now, I've listened to that
group debate the great questions of the day
which is a laugh, since the great questions rarely
come more than once in a centuryand there was
definitely an 'in' opinion and an 'out' opinion. I
admit to you that I invariably voted with the ins. It
got me a reputation for wisdom. Arran, hereshe
decides what the in opinion is to be."

"Ridiculous," Arran said. "I just think what I
think."

"I traced it. I wish I could trace it further, but
you were so obviously innocent of the plot that I
didn't want to discover any"

"Damn right I'm innocent," Arran interrupted.

"Jason, every single Cabinet minister is con-
trolled some way or another. I didn't even dis-
cover it on my own. I was told. By a friend who
shall remain nameless."

"You mean Shimon Rapth," Jazz said.

Forgetting his nose, Baak sat upright. "If you
already know so damn much why did you come in
and break my nose!"

"What did Rapth tell you, Farl?"

"Just what I told you. That the Cabinet is being
controlled."

"And you nobly decided to try to put a stop to it
by killing me."

"No, Worthing, not at all. I don't give a damn
who controls the government. What I care about is
who controls the somec"

And then the conversation ended, because a
half-dozen guards broke into the room, armed
with lasers and ready to kill. Three of them took
Jason and held him. Only one of them bothered to
restrain Hop. Hop was a little offended at how
little they feared him. Oh well.

"If you men worked for me," Jazz said, "I'd fire
you all. He pushed the button ten minutes ago,
and had to stall me this long."

Farl only set his lips and got up to get some-
thing to stanch the nosebleed. Arran also moved.
She headed straight for Jason, who knew what
was coming but couldn't do anything about it.
She brought her knee up sharply into his groin.
Jason cried out and went slack for a moment in
the guard's arms. Then he pulled himself upright
and she did it again, even harder. This time Hop
cried out, too, and Farl said from the kitchen,
where he was dampening a cloth, "That's enough,
Arran." The Cabinet minister came back into the
room with the cloth pressed to his nose. "Too bad

you came along with Worthing on this one, Hop,"
he said. "We've had some pleasant dealings in the
past, but this time Jazz is going to die, and I'm
really not very afraid of the record on your ship, if
there is one, Worthing."

Jazz didn't answer. He was still in pain from
Arran's blows.

"Jason Worthing isn't any traitor, Baak,"
Noyock said.

"Oh, heavens, of course not," Baak answered.
"How could I think such a thing? Listen, Noyock,
how would you feel if you knew that somebody
was getting payoffs to promote wealthy people to
high somec levels on meritmen and women
who obviously have no merit?"

"I'd kill the bastard. But Jazz hasn't even been
on Capitol in forty years!"

"People are getting those promotions, Hop.
Somebody's controlling the somec review board
the same way they're controlling the Cabinet. And
Jazz Worthing is involved. Do you want to see the
proof? I'd love to show you." Farl Baak walked to
a looperone of the incredibly expensive home
modelsand slipped in a loop. Immediately on a
small viewing stage a half-size replica of Jason
Worthing stood in full starpilot's uniform. Baak
punched the start button and adjusted the vol-
ume.

"Fellow soldiers of the Empire," the holocene
of Jazz began, and the speech went on, an
eloquent reminder of all the ways that the troops
and the fleets had been trodden on and ignored by
those in high places in the government. The

speech, if played before soldiers, would have had
them ready to tear apart the entire civil service
after only ten minutes. And then the holo of Jason
Worthing dropped its voice and said, "But,
brothers, none of this amounts to anything. It
amounts to nothing at all. You haven't suffered a
bit, compared to this one outrage:

"You are not on somec, my friends.

"Except when they dump you in the belly of a
ship and send you off to die in some forgotten
colony, somec never reaches the common soldier.
These friends of ours in the civil service scramble
in their petty departmental squabbles in order to
get five years, ten years, twenty years on somec at
a time. What do you get? How long does a soldier
live?

"In this Empire there are men and women who
live forever! And youif you're lucky, you'll see a
century. And you'll spend the last fifty years of it
on a pension that isn't enough to buy a bottle once
a month." And so on. Until any soldier seeing it
would be ready to kill anyone who kept him from
somec. And the speech ended when Jason Worth-
ing raised both hands above his head and cried
out, "But there's one manno, not meone man
who can stop this, one man who can give you
eternal life, if you'll only help him, if you'll only
reach out with him and strike down the vipers
who strangle you! And that man is here with me
today!"

The holo of Jason Worthing turned and ex-
tended an arm, waiting for someone to appear.

And then the loop ended.

They all sat around the room in silence. Arran
looked at Jason Worthing with loathing. Baak
glanced at both the starpilot and his agent with an
amused half-smile. Jason looked at Hop. Hop
looked at Jason. "Jason, you're a bastard," Hop
said.

4

"THE LOOP is a fake, Hop," Jazz said, with feeling.

Baak chuckled. "Should we enlarge the image
for you? Show you the fingerprints? It's not fake.
Jason Worthing is up to his ears in a plot to help
someonethis mysterious person who controls
the Cabinettake over somec, and with it the
government, not in the subtle way he now con-
trols it, but openly, overtly, taking the reins of
power himself. And I don't think I'm the only one
who objects to someone playing around with my
somec. I like the thought of being immortal. So
does everybody else."

Jason said again, now sounding more tired.
"The loop is a fraud."

Hop shook his head. "You can't fake a loop,
Jazz. I know you. And that was you."

"You know me, but you don't know what that
loop means," Jazz insisted.

Baak swung himself off the bed again, where he
had reclined during the playback of the loop, and
walked over to Jason. "Actually, Jazz, Arran's lit-
tle cup didn't contain enough to kill you. Re-
member, the ritual she offered you required only a
little sip. It would have put you to sleep long
enough for us to get you here, where I can find out
from you the one thing that nobody knows right
now."

"I don't know anything that you don't know,"
Jason said wearily.

"You know one thing, Jazz. You know who is
supposed to walk out when you hold out your arm
in that loop. You know who our enemy is."

Jason shook his head.

"Don't worry, Jason. We don't expect you to
volunteer the information. When the probe gets
through with you, you'll have so little mind left
that you won't even notice when we kill you."
Baak waved to the guards and they pulled Jason
out of the room.

Before the door slid closed behind them,
though, Jason called out, "Don't believe it, Hop!"
Then silence.

Farl Baak looked at Hop with raised eyebrows.
"He must value your opinion very highly, Mr.
Noyock, to want so badly for you to deny the
evidence of your own eyes."

"Maybe," Hop said.

"Now we have a problem, Hop. What to do with
you. You're a witness, unfortunately, and there

could be serious legal repercussions to what hap-
pened today. Shimon Rapth and I have a lot left to
accomplish, even after we find out from your ex-
client who our enemy is."

"My enemy, too," Hop said.

"I'm glad you feel that way. Unfortunately,
Hop, there's always the risk that you might sud-
denly feel a rush of loyalty to the bastard whom
you've served so well during the last few cen-
turies, and we can't afford to have you wandering
around, able to tell people what you know. You
understand?"

"I'd rather you didn't kill me," Hop said,
amazed to discover that he could say that calmly.
Baak laughed.

"Kill you! Of course not. You'll just be my guest
here for a few days. We aren't animals, Hop. At
least we try not to be. Arran will show you to your
room. Unfortunately, we'll have to lock the door
behind you, but that can't be helped. We happen to
know that you're a wily old devil, and there's a
strong risk of you sneaking out if we don't bar
the door." Baak laughed again, but it was a friend-
ly laugh, the kind of laugh that a good man
laughs when he's been worried for days, but now
knows that things are going to work out well
for him. Hop found himself feeling almost at
ease.

Arran led the way down a short hall to another
room. It was almost as plush as Farl Baak's own.
The guard waited outside as Arran went in with
him. She touched his arm as he stood surveying
his surroundings.

"Hop, I'm sorry I almost killed you there in the
hiding place. I was fighting for my life."

"All in a day's work," Hop said. "You aren't the
first."

"What I'm saying, Hop, is that we were both
forced into doing things we usually wouldn't do.
By Worthing. I don't think we have to hate each
other."

"Are you looping this?" Hop asked.

"No," she said, looking a little angry.

"Well, I am," he said, and smiled. "I have an
exclusive. I'll give it to you for your birthday."

She smiled back. "I was never born. Friends?"

Noyock shook his head. "Let's just say, tem-
porarily not trying to kill each other. Let me de-
cide what to believe about Jazz."

She looked ceilingward, but turned to leave. As
she did, it occurred to Noyock that these people
were basically decent. But, he reminded himself,
they were also dangerous. (Never trust a woman
who knows where to kick, my father always told
me.)

"Can I ask you a question," he said.

She turned and faced him, and waited.

"What is a probe? What will it do to him?"

She shook her head. "It's fairly new and com-
pletely illegal and I don't know much about it. A
scientist who is with us invented it."

"Who is us?"

"Just a few of us who believe that somec should
be shared fairly. According to law. And this may
not sound very plausible, coming from me, but we

think it should be given only by merit. Not for
money at all."

"Damned stupid idea," Noyock said. "I'd be
dead now if that were the system when I came up
out of the slime."

"Well, there are some advantages to the system
now, that's true. But the main thing is that we've
got to stop this man, whoever he is, from getting
control of the Sleephouse. He'd have us all, then."

"So it does boil down to self-preservation, in
the end."

"Who said it didn't?" she retorted. "But you
may be surprised to learn that sometimes even the
rich and famous have consciences."

"Jazz Worthing has a conscience, too," Hop
mused.

She laughed at him.

"I know him," Hop said. "You don't. Some-
thing doesn't fit in all this."

"Well, believe what you want, Hop. All I know
about Jazz Worthing is that he's sadistic and a
traitor to humanity. Sorry if you like him, but
when the probe finds out who the enemy is"

"Jason won't tell it. He can take more pain
than"

"It isn't pain"

"He's immune to all the drugsthey do that the
week they enter the Service"

"It's not drugs, either. The inventor told me that
it's like bright, dazzling lights that suddenly
come and go from many directions. Only instead
of lights, it's brain waves, like the recorders in the

sleephouse. It's like pouring different mindsets
into your brain, distracting you, driving you
crazy, breaking down all will to resist. You tell
anything. You respond to anything. It's just too
many surprises inside your own head."

"And does anybody recover?"

"We're not altogether sure. We've only used it a
few times, and nobody has, if they stayed under
for very long. If Jazz Worthing resists for very long
at all, then he'll lose his mind." She patted
Noyock's arm. "Think of it this way. Your friend
won't even notice when he's killed."

"Thanks a lot."

"Sorry, old man." It didn't even sound like an
obscenity when she said it. She left, and the door
was locked behind her.

Hop went to the bed and lay down. The probe
worked by surprise. It really would have a tough
go with Jason Worthing, thenHop couldn't re-
member ever seeing Jazz surprised at all. It was
the same in all the loopswhatever the enemy
did, Jazz always seemed to know just a hair in
advance. He always spotted the ambush at the last
moment. It made for great loops.

Even today. Even last night. Jazz had known the
drink was drugged. He even seemed to know
without asking

Hop got up and turned on the loop recorder's
playback. It was an excellent model, and the fig-
ures were almost a quarter sizeexcellent for a
portable. It started with the duel. Hop jumped it
forward. The crowd, panicking. Jazz picking up
Arran. Knocking Kapock aside. Hop stopping to

pound Kapock into the ground, then following
Jazz to the exit.

Noyock watched closely, then. He tried to see
when Jazz heard the answer from Arran about
where the hiding place was. He couldn't find it.

Breaking down the door. The library, and Jazz
throwing Arran down and breaking her rib. Then.
It had to be right then, and Hop took the action at
tenth-speed, volume on full, close-up on the two
heads, now larger than life-size. Jason, incredibly
slowly, saying "Where's the door?" Hop moved
around, stared at Arran's lips.

They did not move. She was nearly uncon-
scious. She did not make a sound at all.

He shifted back to normal size when the holo
showed Jazz walking away, straight to the two
books. The door opened as Jazz pulled on some-
thing.

Arran hadn't told him a thing. Hop sat,
numbed, as the loop went on; turned down the
volume when it became annoying; flipped off the
machine when it finally stopped. Jazz knew
things that hadn't been told to him. The only
place he could have found out about that door was
from Arran's mind.

(Be reasonable. If Jazz really is a traitor, he'd
have sources of information.)

But he knew other things. The poison in the
glass. How could he have learned about that forty
years ago, before he left? And Hop knew for a fact
that Jazz found out nothing after he came back to
the planet. Unless he found it out in the ship
before he disembarked. He might have. . . .

Jazz as a traitor or Jazz as a Swipe. If I can choose
between them, Hop told himself, I'd rather he
were a traitor.

Or would I? Hop remembered all his associa-
tion with Jazz, from the beginning. The young
starpilot, eager, enthusiastic, itching for battle.
That couldn't have been an act. And what change
had there been since then? A gradual maturing.
There was no time that Jazz seemed to show any
change at all. When did he turn traitor? When did
he start to plot? Noyock couldn't believe it.

But Jason Worthing a Swipe? That was even
harder to believe. But the glass, the door, the in-
side information he seemed to pluck from midair.
Even the battle with Kapock, seeming to know
every motion before he made it.

And Jazz had even told him he was a Swipe.
Noyock had assumed he was joking. Wasn't he?

Back and forth, back and forth, like a tennis
duel, Noyock thought, and eventually he slept.

He awakened to the sound of the door opening.
His first thought: they've come for me. He stiff-
ened on the bed, prepared to struggle, though he
didn't know what he could hope to accomplish.

But the hands that touched him were gentle.
Insistent, but gentle. And the voice saying, "Hop,
wake up," was Arran's.

"Is it morning already?" he asked.

"Shut up. Come with me, fast. Don't talk."

She sounded frightened out of her wits. Hop got
up and followed her as she led him out into the
hall and through a large meeting-room. She
stopped only long enough to say, in a barely audi-

ble whisper, "Do you know how to kill an armed
man?"

"Sometimes," Hop answered, wondering if he
still remembered how. It was one thing to take
Fritz Kapock from behind and by surprisequite
another to face a man who was pointing a cockle
at you.

"Now's the time," she said. She pushed a but-
ton and a door slid open. A guard was standing
on the other side, already turning to see why the
door behind him was opening. There was a laser
in his hand. Hop didn't stop to wonder why Arran
was having him kill one of the men on her side. He
just let the reflexes from his boyhood take over.

He finished with the guard by breaking his
neck. In retrospect, Hop had the sickening know-
ledge that he had won only by a hair. Oh well, he
thought. Better close than not at all. Still, when
this was over, he'd have to lose weight. Get back
in shape. This could kill him.

"Come here!" Arran hissed at him, and he
came.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"There's no time." He followed her down the
corridor. They went into a bathroom and closed
and locked the door.

"Who's chasing you?" Hop asked.

"We only have a couple of seconds," she said.
"In the shower, the ceiling light. Can you reach
it?"

He could reach it. She told him to push it up. It
gave fairly easily, then swung back, out of the
way. Arran immediately stepped into the shower

and reached for the opening. Hop helped her up.
When she was through the trap, she hissed down
at him, "Come on up, quickly, they'll be here any
minute, and I don't know how many people know
about this way."

But Hop didn't go into the trap door. Instead he
stepped to the bathroom door and unlocked it.

"Hop, don't!" she hissed, frightened. But he
didn't leave. He just left the door unlocked and
climbed back into the shower and, with a great
deal of difficulty hoisted himself up into the
opening in the ceiling. Once there, it was hard to
find a way to get his legs up through the opening.
He could hear shouting down the corridor the
way they had come. Arran heard it, too, and
started pulling and tugging at him. "You're not
helping one damn little bit," Hop said impa-
tiently, and she left him alone as he finally got his
weight up far enough to let him turn around and
pull his legs up.

The moment he was clear, sweating and pant-
ing from the exertion, Arran pushed down the
trap. Now an innocent-looking lighting fixture
hung over the shower again.

"Why did you unlock the door!" she whispered
angrily.

"Because a bathroom door locked from the in-
side with nobody there is an advertisement that
there's another way out."

Worklights here and there provided a dim light,
and soon they could both seea little. The
crawlspace they were in was only a meter and a
half highneither of them could stand up. Struc-

tural beams were hard to tell from air conduits,
wiring frames, and exhaust shafts. Hop leaned
over from the catwalk they were sitting on and
pushing on a ceiling tile. It gave easily.

"We can only walk on beams and catwalks," he
said.

"Wonderful. Do you know your way around in
here?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Not right here, anyway. Capitol
isn't the same anywhere. Nobody planned the
remodeling over the last few thousand years.
Good luck to us. Now will you tell me who the hell
we're running from?"

She nodded. But Hop noticed that she was
breathing too heavily, and her hands were trem-
bling. She didn't say anything.

"What's wrong?"

She just shook her head and started to cry. Hop
had seen her cry several times before, in pain, for
effect, a play for sympathy. But this looked like
real honest-to-goodness little-girl tears. Nothing
controlled. She wasn't even beautiful or seductive
as she cried. Her fans would be shocked. Hop
reached over and touched her arm. A little human
contact, he decided, might help. It didn't. She
recoiled, turned away from him.

"Go ahead and cry, then," he said. "Just do it
quietly."

"I am, dammit," she said. "Farl is dead."

And that explained it, at least well enough for
Hop, well enough for right now. Farl Baak was the
one relationship that Arran Handully had never
looped; therefore it wasn't for sale to the public;

therefore it must be real. And now he was dead,
and her grief was also real.

"I'm sorry," Hop said.

She nodded, acknowledging his sympathy, and
began to get control of herself. "Sorry," she finally
said. "Sometimes things actually happen that
aren't in the day's scenario,"

"Yeah. I'll spill a few tears for you sometime
and we'll be even."

"Don't hurry," she said, and managed a faint
smile. "From now on I promise to cope. I don't
know where to go now, you know. I knew how to
get here, but from here I have no idea."

"Who killed him?"

"A man, just one of the guards. I didn't know
him. I went to watch thequestioning. With the
probe. I couldn't believe it, Hop. Jazz Worthing
lasted an hour and a half. No one has lasted fifteen
minutes. An hour and a half. It was terrible. Like
waiting for a deal to close in the other room, you
know at first that it'll be simple, but when it takes
longer, and longer, and longer, you begin to think
that it's gone sour, that it'll never happen."

"But he finally broke?" Hop asked, not sure
whether he was glad that Jazz had held out so long
(the bastard traitor) or sick that he had suffered so
much (I like him anyway, dammit).

"Yes. I was near the door. That's why I'm alive.
The moment he named the man, the cockles went
off, just like that. Farl didn't have a chance. Dead
on the spot. A few others, too. As if it had been
planned."

"But who was it? Who did Jazz name?"

"Didn't I tell you? Shimon Rapth."

Hop didn't know him, but remembered"Hey,
wasn't he the guy who was helping Baak figure all
this stuff out?"

She nodded, and a flash of hatred crossed her
face. "Looks like he was just trying to find out
who his opposition would be. The guards were all
his men, of course. They'll be rounding up the
whole group, there are at least a hundred of us,
maybe more"

"You mean Jazz Worthing was working for this
Shimon Rapth?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it?"

"Butthat's impossible, I never even heard of
him before. And why would he let them put Jazz
through the probe, drive him insane like that"

She shrugged. "Get rid of a possible future
competitor, maybe. I don't know. I just ran."

"Why'd you come to me?"

"Farl was dead. I didn't trust anybody else in
the group. I could have come here alone, I guess."

"I'm glad you didn't," Hop said. And then he
got upas far as he could, since the floor of the
room above kept him from standing straight. He
took Arran's hand. "Hang on. Let's not get sepa-
rated in the dark. But if I suddenly fall down a
hole, let go."

"Where are we going?"

"I told you, I don't know this area. I was born
and raisedif you can call it raisingin the bot-
tom levels of the stinkingest borough of Orem
district, and we'd go into the crawlspace all the
time. The only way we could stay out of the reach
of the constables and Mother's Little Boys."

"Then there might be criminals here?"

"In this district?" Hop chuckled as they walked
gingerly along the catwalk. "In this district all
we'll meet is dust. Every district is absolutely
sealed off from every other. Including the
crawlspace."

"Oh," she said. They came to a ladder. Hop
leaned on it, looked up. He could see light
abovedim, but light.

"Up," he said. "You first."

She started to climb. When they got to the next
level up, she stopped.

"What're you stopping for?" he asked.

"Don't we get off here?"

"No, of course not. Do you think we'd ditch
them by just changing floors? If they're serious
about rounding up everybody from your little
group, they'll seal off this whole district. Check
anybody coming and going, and spot you the first
time you use your credit card. We've got to get out
of this district."

"But you said they were all sealed off"

"Just keep climbing. There's a way out, and it's
up. This ladder's part of the exhaust system, and
the exhaust system leads to the surface."

"And what then?"

"Maybe we'll think of something on the way."

And so they climbed. Following the exhaust
vents meant hours of squeezing through narrow
spaces, climbing ladders to dizzying heights be-
fore the great vents leveled off again, bellying
through inches of dust in foot-high crawlspace.
They were filthy and exhausted a few minutes
after they started. They stopped three times to

rest. Once they stayed long enough to sleep. And
then they came to a place where huge steel girders
stretched above them, and the vents plunged
suddenly upward to a heavily girdered metal ceil-
ing. For the first time, except on the ladders, they
could stand up straight.

Arran looked around. The light was still dim,
but it was obvious the space around them was
hugemuch larger than any hall they had ever
been in, and interrupted only by the rising vents
and the huge steel shafts that apparently sup-
ported the roof.

"It looks very strong," Arran said.

"You should see it where the ships cradle.
Makes this look like foil."

"What's outside?"

"We'll soon see," Hop said. "Better lie down
and rest again. The next part's going to be hard."

"As if it had been easy up to now," Arran said,
lying down willingly enough. They lay on a large
vent, and the rush of air pouring through it made
the surface vibrate. "I heard," Arran said, after a
while, "that you can't breathe the air out there."

"A myth," said Hop. "You can breathe it. You
just can't breathe it for very long."

"What'll we do?"

"We'll go along here until we find the end of the
district. The sealed-off wall. Then we'll go up the
nearest vent and try to get across to a vent on the
other side of the barrier. The air isn't really
dangerous. The real danger is the sun."

Of course Arran knew what the sun was. It was
the nearest star, and the source of all of Capitol's

energy. She had never seen it. "Why is the sun
dangerous?" she asked.

"You'll see," he said. "I can't describe itjust
don't look at it! And whatever you do, don't let go
of my hand. If the sun isn't up we're coming right
back. At night we'd probably freeze to death in the
winds and get lost to boot. So we'll wait for sun-
light"

Silence for a few moments, and then Arran
laughed softly. "Funny. I never think of Capitol as
having winds. Just drafts. Just little breezes from
the vents. Capitol is a planet after all."

"The surface is the worst desert you'll ever find,
though. Any interference with our food supply or
energy sources, and it'd be a desert down below,
too. Sleep."

They both slept. When Hop woke, Arran wasn't
beside him. He got up quickly, looked into the
dimly-lighted distance for her. She wasn't too far
awaysitting at the edge of the huge exhaust duct
they had slept on, off toward the ladder they had
climbed to reach it. Hop walked toward her. His
steps were muffled by dust and the distance of the
wallsno echoes here. But she heard him a few
steps off, and turned to look at him. Wordlessly
she waited until he came to the edge and sat down
beside her.

"A long way down," he said. She nodded.
"Ever been this close to the surface?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I woke just now without a
toothbrush," she said. "I couldn't bathe. I
couldn't go to the wardrobe and choose what I
would wear for the day. Nobody's coming to call."

"You've got problems," Hop said. "I've already
missed about fifteen appointments, and Jazz's
latest tape isn't ready for distribution. It's costing
me about a thousand a minute just to sit here."

"What will we do, even when we get to another
district?"

"You're asking me?"

"We can't use our credit cards. They'd track us
down in a moment."

Hop shrugged. "Maybe they aren't looking for
me. Maybe I can use mine."

"And maybe not."

Suddenly there was an abrupt change of pitch
in the hum of the air passing under them. "What
was that?" asked Arran.

"Maybe eight thousand people flushed their
toilets all at once in this district. Maybe fifteen
thousand people turned down their thermostats.
Maybe there's a fire."

"I wonder what Capitol looked like before,"
Arran mused.

"That's a strange thing to wonder."

"Is it? But there must have been a time before
men came here. What did the first colonists see?"

Hop laughed. "A virgin world, ready for rap-
ing."

"Or perhaps a home."

"What is this, a lifeloop? Nobody talks about
home in real life," Hop said.

"Nobody talks about home in lifeloops, Hop,"
she said, a little annoyed. "Nobody has used the
word in thousands of years. But we keep it in the
language. Why?"

Hop shrugged. "Everybody says, 'I'm going
home'."

"But nobody says, This is my home. Come in.'
We live in flats. We walk through corridors. We
travel in tubes. What would it be like to live out
under the sky?"

"I hear there are bugs."

"A huge park."

"Well," Hop said, "that's your solution. Go to a
colony. Get on a colony ship, and your troubles
are over."

Arran turned to him, horrified. "And go off
somec? Are you crazy? I'd rather die."

She got up and walked back toward where they
had slept, and Hop joined her. They looked
around at the two patches where the dust had
been largely cleared away by their sleep. "No-
body's ever going to believe this," Hop said.
"Here I was, alone with Arran Handully for hours
on end. We slept together, and not only did I not
try to make love, lady, I didn't even have my loop
recorder going."

"Thank God."

"Let's go."

They went to the opposite end of the duct,
where it turned a ninety-degree angle and shot
upward to the distant ceiling. A thin, spidery
ladder crept up the shaft. They both stood and
looked upward for a few moments, and then
Arran said, "Me first?"

"Yeah. Try not to fall."

"Just don't tickle my feet."

And they began to climb. Their muscles were
still cold from sleep; at first they climbed awk-

wardly, slowly, carefully. After a short while,
though, they settled into a rather quick rhythm,
hand-foot-hand-foot, the motion carrying them
endlessly upward. Once Arran spoke, saying,
"How many kilometers to go?" The speech broke
her rhythm, and she missed a step, and for a mad
moment she felt herself fall. But her hands never
left the side shafts of the ladder, and her foot
caught on the next rung down. From then on
neither of them spoke.

At last the rhythm slowed down again. There
are only so many rungs of a ladder that untrained,
weary bodies can climb. "Stop," Hop said. Arran
took a few more steps and came to a halt.

"Tired?" Hop asked.

"Are you?"

"I think maybe yes;"

"Can we rest?"

"Sure. Just lean back and doze off."

"Laugh laugh. I'm too tired to be amused."

"Keep on going."

It was not long after that, though, that they
reached their destination. It was a small platform
built onto the side of the duct. The ladder kept
going up, but Hop told Arran to climb up only a
little way and stop. She did, and Hop stepped
onto the ledge. There was only one handhold,
beside a door that was too short to use comforta-
bly. It was latched shut, and a wheel had closed
the seal.

Arran climbed back down until she was even
with the ledge. "How do we know we can get out
of the vent?"

"We don't. But I'm betting that Capitol's surface

arrangement is the same everywhere. And even
though I was raised on the other side of the world,
I'm betting that I can get through the screens the
way I used to."

"And what if there isn't a vent down to the other
district?"

"They channel all the exhaust vents from the
same prefecture into the same general area, so that
other areas can be kept relatively clear of smoke. I
say relatively, of course, because it gets pretty
smoky. Now on the other side of the door the air is
pure poison. All that comes out here is the abso-
lute crap that the filters couldn't clean and recir-
culate. Poison means don't breathe."

"How long?"

"Till you get out of the duct. So take a good big
breath before you go in here. And don't look down
in the shaft. If you think it's bad here in the dim
worklights, you ought to see how it looks with all
the fires of hell sending smoke up a sunlit shift."

"What if the sun isn't up?"

"Then we go back down and wait."

Arran cursed. "I hope the sun is up," she said.

"All right, count to ten after I go through. Then
hold your breath and come through. There'll be a
ladder on the other side of this door. Stay on the
ledge on the other side just long enough to close
the door. We don't want to set off any alarms."

"Got it. Now let's hurry." she said.

"Let me have time to psych myself up, all right?
Do a chicken middle-aged man a favor." Hop
stood and counted to fifty, wondering why the
hell he was counting. Then he took hold of the

wheel and spun it until the seal was opened. A
thin trail of smoke came in around the edges of the
door. Hop flipped the two latches. The door
slowly swung open, inward, and the smoke jum-
bled through the opening, falling mysteriously
down toward the deep darkness they had climbed
from. Through the door, sunlight made the smoke
brightly gray, with black wisps here and there.
Arran was immediately aware of a revolting
stench. She looked at Hop with a disgusted ex-
pression, and Hop grinned back, took a deep
breath, and swung through. She could hear the
faint sound of his feet on the ladder.

Carefully, she stepped onto the ledge, took a
deep breath, and then ducked into the smoke and
passed through the door. She reached over and
swung the door shut fastening only one latch
(good enough for what we need, she decided) and
then began to climb. She could hardly keep her
eyes openthe smoke stung terribly, and tears
flowed. I'm not even acting, she said in her mind.
Tears without acting; pain without pretense.
What an education in theater I've been getting
these last few days.

(I want to breathe, she felt her lungs demanding
air.)

She scrambled on up the ladder, and suddenly
bumped into something with her head. It was
Noyock, and she wondered what the hell he had
stopped for. But a moment later, she heard a
clanking sound, and Noyock was up and out of
the way.

As she came out, almost totally blind from the

smoke, she felt Noyock's hands on her shoulder,
helping guide her. A moment later she was stand-
ing on the surface.

"Breathe now, but stay low," Hop ordered, and
Arran breathed, then coughed. They were not in
the thick smoke of the vent, but the atmosphere
itself was thick as shower fog, and smelled hide-
ous. She could open her eyes a little more now,
however, and she watched as Hop swung the
screen back down and latched it.

"Hold my hand," Hop said, taking her and start-
ing to pull her along. "And stay low."

She noticed her feet were hot. "My feet are hot,"
she said.

"Be glad you're wearing shoes," Hop answered.

There was a constant breeze coming from the
right. Abruptly the breeze turned into a tremen-
dous gust that for a moment lifted them both off
their feet. Hop landed standing; Arran did not.
She skidded along the surface of the metal, knees
and one hand holding her up, and Noyock hung
onto the other hand and tried to keep her from
sliding. The gust abated as quickly as it had come,
and Noyock yanked Arran to her feet. She was
gasping from the heat of the metal on her hand
and knees, the scraping the metal seams had
given her.

Just behind the gust, the air cleared noticeably.
Suddenly the bright gray sky turned white, and
the metal dazzled in sunlight. It completely
blinded Arran. She closed her eyes, and tried to
keep her balance as Noyock dragged her along.
The heat of the sun on her head was intense; and
then, just as quickly as the air had cleared, the

smoke closed over them again, and Arran could
open her eyes. She touched her hand to her
hairit was scalding hot.

And then they were at another exhaust vent, the
smoke pouring up darkly. Noyock took Arran's
hand and made her hold onto the mesh of the
vent. "Hang on and don't put your head in the
smoke," he shouted, and just then the wind came
up, blowing the smoke mostly away from them,
but almost tearing Arran's hand away from the
screen. Noyock hung on with one hand, while
with the other he fiddled with the latch. Just as the
gust died, he tossed the door open.

"Count to ten, take a breath, and follow me!"
he shouted, and Arran nodded. Then Noyock dis-
appeared down into the smoke.

I'm too tired, Arran thought. Her feet were burn-
ing hot from the metal; her eyes were in agony
from the smoke of the atmosphere; her knees and
hand hurt terribly; and her side, where the ribs
hadn't had a chance to heal properly, ached
deeply. Worst of all was the exhaustion, and she
wondered why she was trying.

Can't think that way, she told herself, as she
swung over the edge and began to climb down the
ladder. But as she descended she thought of how
restful it would be just to lean back into the
smoke, falling out of sight into soft oblivion. She
began to speed up her descent, stepping every
other rung, her hands only skimming the
sideshafts of the ladder.

"Arran!" somebody called from above her. "Ar-
ran, you passed me! Come back up!"

Air, she thought. I need air very badly.

"Arran, just five meters up. Climb up."

Have I stopped? I stopped. I must have stopped
when he called me.

"Move, before you have to breathe! Move!"

I'm moving, aren't I? Aren't I still climbing?

"Can't you hear me? I've got the door open here!
Just a few meters up."

Dammit, I'm climbing. I need air.

"Lift your right foot and put it on the next
rung."

Foot. Yes.

"Come on, now the left foot! That's it, keep
coming." And slowly Arran climbed up to where
a strong hand grabbed her arm, pulled her slowly
to the right. She couldn't see in the smoke. Who
was it? She brought her face close to him. Noyock.
Ah, yes. She opened her mouth to speak to him,
took a deep breath, and then began to cough vio-
lently. Someonemust be Noyockpulled her
through a door, forced her hands to hold a thin
handrail. Couldn't hold the handrail, she de-
cided. Had to cover her mouth as she coughed.
Impolite not to cover your mouth when you
cough.

Inhale again? Clean. She sighed. Her lungs still
stung, and her head ached painfully. She was flat
against a metal wall, covering her mouth with her
hands. Behind her she could feel Noyock's body,
and arms around her on both sides, holding the
handrail, keeping her from falling backward. She
opened her eyes. They still smarted, but she could
see. Beside them, an open door still let smoke
pour into the dimly-lighted interior of the space
under the ceiling.

"I won't go in there," she said.

"You don't have to. You just came out."

"I did?" Oh, yes, I did. "Am I safe?"

"You are if you'll only take hold of the handrail.
I've got to close the door before the smoke alarms
go off. Do you have it?"

"Yes."

"Both hands."

"Got it."

Noyock inched away from her and reached
through, closed the door, spun the seal, latched
the latches.

"How are you feeling?" he asked Arran.

"Really sick. My head aches."

"You breathed in the exhaust duct."

"Did I? Dumb. Dumb, that's all."

"Dead tired, that's all. But we've got to go down
before you can rest. All right?"

"I don't want to go anywhere."

"You're going to, though."

And so he helped her to the ladder, and this
time they went down virtually together, Noyock's
feet only a few rungs below hers, so that his head
was at the level of her waist as they slowly de-
scended the ladder.

It took forever.

"Stay awake," he kept telling her.

"Sure," she kept answering. And finally some-
thing changed, and he wasn't behind her, and
then his hands lifted her off the ladder and laid
her gently down on the heating duct.

She woke in near darkness, the air cool and
musty, but clean compared to the atmosphere
outside. Her head still ached, her knees smarted,

and her eyes were dully tired as she opened them.
But she was breathing, and felt better. Than what?
Than she thought she should.

"Awake?"

"Alive. I didn't worry about anything else."

"Head?"

"Aches. But I can breathe."

"Hungry?"

She hadn't thought of it until he asked. "I could
eat a person."

"I'll stand back."

"What are we going to do?"

"Get something to eat. Stay here."

"I'm coming with you," she insisted, trying to
get up. But a pain shot through her from her head
down her spine and she changed her mind. "I'll
keep the home fires burning," she said. After he
left, the darkness became overwhelming and she
slept again.

"It's morning," a cheerful male voice said, and
for a moment Arran was confused, and began
speaking in character. "Morning, already? How
can it be morning, and we just barely went to
bed?" Her voice was seductive. But when she
rolled onto her side (enhances cleavage, her man-
ager had always reminded her) she realized she
was dressed, and on a hard metal surface; more
important, she was stiff and sore, with a
headache. But the worst of the pain had dissi-
pated while she slept. Noyock leaned over her,
holding a bag of ragaway and another bag, this
one cold and filled with"What?"

"Milk."

"Do they still make that?"

"The only place I could make a pull was in a
school lunch room."

She nodded, and he helped her sit up. "It's hard
to believe I worked that hard," she said, "and
there wasn't even a loop of it."

Hop laughed and looked around as she put her
mouth to the nipple on the milkbag and drank a
little. He walked away as she ate the ragaway, and
didn't return until after she had finished and was
lying on her back, looking up into the darkness.

His footsteps were muffled by dust, of course,
but she heard him long before he arrived. "How
do you feel?" he asked softly.

"I feel like getting the hell out of here," she said.

"Which brings us to the next item of business,"
Hop said. "I'm pretty good at pulling a living out
of Capitol without a credit cardbut you get
pretty damn hungry that way, and you're compet-
ing with a lot of other people."

"Thieves? I never knew there were thieves"

"At your level? Not many. Thieves can only
afford to prey on the poor, Arran. The rich have
Mother's Little Boys to protect them. The thieves
have to live in the walls in the foulest boroughs.
And I learned my trade in childhoodI doubt
you'd catch on fast enough to keep from getting
caught on one of your first pulls."

Arran smiled wanly. "It didn't occur to me that
if I couldn't live honestly, I'd actually have to live
dishonestly."

"There's another alternative," Hop said. "You
could hook."

"Hook?"

"Whore."

"Oh my. Not even looped, I assume?"

"It pays very badly. And I'm not in love with the
idea of being a pimp."

Arran laughed. "Do it on a loop in front of
billions of eyes and it's an art. Do it in a dirty little
room with no audience and it's a filthy career."

"If it's any consolation, I'd see to it the room
was clean."

Arran shook her head. "If it's the only way. But
Hop, that's the part of my job I hated worst. Do you
realize that in four hundred years the only time I
ever made love was to Farl? And he even prefer-
red little boys."

"Well, you know that leaves us with only two
other alternatives. One is to turn ourselves in."

"Throw ourselves on the mercy of the court."

"Not renowned for being particularly clement,
especially when someone in a position of power
has a vested interest in a guilty verdict. The other
alternative, Arran, won't sound much better. The
colonies."

"Are you joking?"

"Was it funny?"

They sat in silence, Hop making little balls of
dust by allowing the last dregs of milk from Ar-
ran's milkbag to drip slowly out.

"You can't take any money into the colonies,
can you?" Arran asked.

"You can't take somec, either, which is more to
the point," Hop said.

"But what would you do when things got bor-
ing?"

"Stay awake and be bored," Hop answered.
"You actually wouldn't lose any real lifespan, of
course. Somec doesn't add to your lifespan. Just
stretches it out over a few centuries."

"I know, I know. But it means that only three
wakings from now, I'd be dead."

"That is what it means."

They sat for a while longer, and then Arran
slowly got up. "I feel very old right now," she
said, trying to make stiff muscles respond. "Dance
exercises just don't prepare you for climbing
kilometers of ladders."

"Have you made up your mind?"

"Yes," she said. "But of course that has no bear-
ing on your decision. You can stay alive as a
thief."

"You're going to the colonies, then?"

Arran shrugged, moved away a little. "I really
don't have any other choice." She laughed. "I was
getting bored with the life of a looper, anyway."

"Then I'll go with you."

"To the colonies registrar?"

"Yes. And then to the colonies. If you don't
mind, I'd like to petition to be sent on the same
ship with you."

"But why? You may not even be wanted, Hop.
The colonies are like suicide."

"Whither thou goest, I will go, and whither
thou lodgest I will lodge. Thy people shall be my
people, and thy god, my god."

"What in the world did that mean?"

Hop walked to her, put his arm around her
waist, and began leading her in the direction of
the nearest ladder down. "My mother was a Chris-
tian. That's from the Bible."

"A Christian. How quaint. What world are you
from?"

"Here. Capitol."

"A Christian on Capitol! How unusual! And
what did it mean?"

"It's from an old story that Mother told us a lot. I
got very bored with it. It's about a woman whose
sons die and her daughter-in-law still won't leave
her. She just figured, I supposed, that like it or not
their fates were wrapped up together."

"Do you really think our fates are wrapped up
together, Hop?" Arran said, awkwardly, no hint
of the famous Arran Handully, Seductress.

"I'm not a fatalist. I want to go where you're
going."

"So have a hundred billion other men," she
said, and now the actress was in her voice again.

"I always thought you were a disgusting, cheap
little tart," Hop said, mildly.

Arran stiffened, and stopped walking until Hop
removed his arm. "Thank you," she said icily.

"Watch out for where this duct ends," Hop said,
still calm. "It's a long drop."

"I can see perfectly well," Arran said.

"I was right, too, you know," Hop said. "That's
all you've been for the last few centuries."

Arran didn't answer. They reached the edge,

and Noyock swung easily down to the ladder.
Arran followed.

"A pretty damn good cheap little tart," Noyock
added, sounding very casual. "Very well worth
the price of admission."

"Haven't you said enough?" Arran asked. But
Noyock couldn't hear the famous Arran Handully
anger. Only an unaccustomed tone. On another
woman, it might be considered well-disguised
pain.

"Have I?" Noyock said. "We get off the ladder
here. It's just a step backward onto this catwalk."

"I can see it."

"I was just trying to tell you," Noyock said,
lifting her down from the ladder by her waist,
"that I didn't fall in love with what eight billion
other men fell in love with."

"What a freethinker you are," Arran said, and
they walked one behind the other along the cat-
walk.

"Watch your head," Noyock said, and they
ducked as they passed under a floor. Now they
had to walk stooped again, and below them the
ceiling of a borough of flats stretched out for
kilometers in either direction, until the dim work-
lights disappeared entirely in the dust and the
distance.

"What I fell in love with," Noyock said, "was
the kind of woman who could accept reality and
decide to go to the colonies, giving up everything,
without a qualm."

"I keep my qualms to myself."

"Three days ago I never would have believed
someone who told me that Arran Handully would
be capable of making the roof passage."

"Neither would I."

"And now it's discovery time, boys and girls,"
Hop said, imitating the nasal twang that always
came on the daily school broadcasts. Arran
laughed in spite of herself.

"What a cheerful sound," Hop said. "We get out
here."

He knelt on the catwalk, reached over, and
pulled up a section of ceiling tile. The room below
was empty.

"Don't know how long it'll last," Hop said, "but
this room is empty."

He dropped down through the hole, then
helped Arran as she lowered her legs through.
"Pull the tile back after you." Awkwardly, she did
so, and when she was on the floor, Hop jumped up
and adjusted it deftly with one swift pass of his
hand, so that it set firmly into place.

"How can we get back in there?" she asked.

"You come out of the crawlspace through ceil-
ings. You go into the crawlspace through exhaust
ducts. What a sheltered childhood you must have
had. Still want to find the nearest Department of
Colonization?"

Arran nodded, then looked at her filthy cloth-
ing. "We look rather conspicuous."

"Not here," Hop said, and they opened the door
and stepped into a corridor. Arran had never seen
poverty beforenow she had ample opportunity
to look. Her clothing was the dirtiest she could

see, but there were many shabbier costumes on
the grim-faced people who passed. No one looked
at them. They just threaded their way through the
corridors until they reached a main passage.

Three ramps later, they saw the lighted sign of
the Department of Colonization.

"Home sweet home," Hop said.

"Shut up," Arran answered, and they headed
for the sign.

"Chatter?" said a newsboy, with a gossip sheet
in his hand. "Buy Chatter."

Hop brushed him aside, but Arran stopped and
took a paper from his hand.

"Four and a half," said the boy.

"Wait a minute," said Arran, impatiently, us-
ing her can't-you-servants-ever-remember-your-
place voice. "Look at this, Hop."

Hop looked. The item of interest was headlined:
"Cabinet Minister Slain in Lover's Quarrel."

The subhead said, "Shimon Rapth jailed. Says
he killed 'for love of Arran Handully'."

The story went on to tell how Shimon Rapth
had confessed to murdering Farl Baak because he
had alienated the affections of Arran Handully,
who was even now secluded in her huge apart-
ments, refusing all visitors.

"That doesn't look like very accurate reporting,
does it?" Hop said.

"Shimon Rapth is arrested," Arran said.

"You certainly have distilled the most interest-
ing aspect, haven't you?" Hop said in his most
congratulatory tone. "Now pay the boy for the
paper."

"I don't have any money. Just a credit card."

"I take credit cards, ma'am," said the boy.

"Not hers, you don't," Hop said. "Nor mine,
either. So here's your paper and good luck selling
it to someone else."

The boy's curses followed them on their way to
the Department of Colonization.

"If Shimon Rapth isn't the man who was behind
the coup"

"He has to be," Arran answered, disturbed.
"The probe. Under the probe, Jazz Worthing
said"

"Jazz Worthing is a man of many gifts. Ignore
what he said under the probe. If Shimon Rapth
wasn't the man you were out to stop, then who
is?"

"Does it matter?" Arran asked.

"A little bit. It might be a friend of ours. It
especially matters because whoever it was, he
won."

"We're here." They went into the reception
room. They ignored the advertising and headed
straight for the desk.

"Would you like to register for a colony?" asked
the beaming receptionist.

"We would. An agricultural planet."

"A bit of the farming blood, eh?" she asked,
cheerfully. "We have just the thing, a little planet
called Humboldt."

"Put away Humboldt, lady, and show us some-
thing that didn't have to be terraformed."

A bit miffed, the receptionist pulled out another
folder. "Before we go any further, sir and madam,

I will have to have your credit cards in order to get
your aptitudes from the computer. You may not
be suited to agricultural work at all."

They gave her their credit cards, which she slid
into the terminal on her desk. Then they discus-
sed the merits of Cecily, a new colony 112 light-
years away. They were still discussing it when a
dozen of Mother's Little Boys came in from all the
entrances to the reception area and put them
under arrest.

"What for?" Hop demanded.

"Preventive detention," said the apparent
leader of the faceless security men. Hop grimaced
at Arran. "That means it's political. Confess to
everything. It saves time."

She looked at him with frightened eyes. "Can
they do this?"

"Can you stop them?" Hop asked, and then
smiled at her, trying to give her confidence. As if
he felt any himself. They were led awaybut not
out into the corridors. Instead they were taken
into a door that said, "Employees Only," and
Mother's Little Boys took them deeper into the
Department of Colonization.

5

IT CONTINUES to amaze many people that the Doon
Expeditions could have been set up and sent out
in utter secrecy, right in the heart of Capitol.
Those who understand Capitol society, however,
find nothing surprising in this. Our present open
society has almost nothing in common with the
authoritarian, byzantine way of life in the cor-
ridors of Capitol. Doon, because he controlled the
instruments of power-the Cabinet, the secret
police ["Mother's Little Boys," as they were less-
than-affectionately called], the Service, and
above all, the Sleeproom-was able to construct,
populate, and send a dozen colony ships, filled
with the elite of the Empire, to destinations far
beyond the pale of human settlement. It hardly

needs repeating, of course, that the Doon Expedi-
tions, conceived of by one man and sent in spite of
an empire, have done more to influence the
post-Empire history of humanity than any other
single event.

Solomon Harding, Abner
Doon: Worldmaker, 6690
p. 145.

Hop Noyock was sitting in a tree. His legs
dangled from the branch. His hands were touch-
ing wood, and a slight breeze tousled his hair.
Overhead, the imitation sun moved discernibly
across the arch of an imitation blue sky.

Below him, the garden was populated with
many dozens of men and women, who had been
moving around aimlessly for the past several
hours. Enough hours, in fact, that the sun had
risen, set, and risen again in its hurried pattern.
Hop had gathered very quickly that everyone in
the overgrown park was one of the conspiracy.
Each bit of news was eagerly seized on: this man
dead, this woman yet uncaptured, this man prob-
ably a traitor, this woman seriously injured but
accounted for. Hop knew none of the names, ex-
cept in their more official roles. Here and there he
recognized the name of an undersecretary of
chamberpots or some other such meaningless ti-
tle. But he personally knew no one, except Arran
Handully, and he began to appreciate how impor-
tant she had been in the conspiracy from the fact
that practically everyone spoke to her and of her
with respect.

But Hop gave up quickly on making any ac-
quaintance. Many had already learned that Jazz
Worthing was one of the chief manipulators of
somec, and even though he had been mentally
stripped under the probe, Hop Noyock was still
his managerworse, was not and never had been
a part of the conspiracyand worst of all, still felt
that Jazz Worthing was a decent human being and
made the mistake of saying so.

And now he sat on a branch of a tree. No one
noticed him, because in the corridor society no
one was used to looking up. He sat and thought,
and grew more uncomfortable and miserable the
more he thought.

He remembered Jason, and wondered what had
happened to him.

He remembered that he was a prisoner (but of
whom? And what was going to happen?).

Most of all, however, he thought of Arran. It was
childish (and I am several centuries old, he re-
minded himself) but when suddenly Arran was
embraced and wept over by so many friends, he
felt left out (self-pity, dammit, I haven't let myself
feel that in years), he felt used. He had been an
escape routebut escape had proved impossible.
He had thought himself a friend. Wrong again.

(I'm as bad as the other billions of gonad-
dominated oafs who ogle the holos and dream of
Arran Handully. I wish Jazz had broken another
rib. Damn childish attitude, of course.)

And then the milling groups fell still. The sun
did not setit darkened, and no stars came out. In
a short time the entire room was pitch dark. Hop

wondered idly if this was the first step to
executionthe garden, then darkness, then a gas.
But it seemed unlikely. Why plant trees when a
sterile room was all that was needed?

The silence, almost palpable when the darkness
first came, was gradually nudged aside by whis-
pers. But in the darkness no one moved, and the
conversations were soon exhausted.

Then, suddenly, a light. In the middle of the
lake. A man standing on the surface of the water.
Hop felt a sudden start, a quick memory of a story
his mother had told him from the Bible; but he
immediately recognized the brilliant colors of
looped life, and relaxed again. Neither murder
nor miracles today. Just a few doses of technology.

The man in the lake raised one hand, and si-
lence fell again. Then came the voice, soft and
gentle, but filling the entire garden. Hop had to
admire the sound workvery well designed, giv-
ing an illusion of omnipresence without any ob-
vious stereo effect.

"My name is Abner Doon. Welcome to my gar-
den. I hope you've found it comfortable."

Impatiently Hop moved on the branch. Skip the
trash, buddy, and get on with the meat.

"You have all been arrested in the last forty-
eight hours, ever since the unfortunate death of
Farl Baak. May I assure you that Shimon Rapth
did not kill his friend in deliberate betrayalhe
was, himself, the victim of a rather elaborate illu-
sion. However, that unfortunate incident did have
a fortunate side effect. Every member of your sin-
cere but amateurish plot exposed himself in one

way or another. Hundreds reacted by im-
mediately betraying their fellow-conspirators.
No, don't look around at one anotherall such
have been held somewhere else. All of you are the
ones who tried to hide, or who surrendered in
order to shield someone else, and so forth. There
were many others, of course, equally loyal as you
were, who are not here. That is because I have
selected from the group most loyal to the conspi-
racy, those with the most intellect, the most
creativity, the most ingenuity, the most impres-
sive record of achievement. The elite, if you will."

Well. What a clever bunch we are. Hop sneered
inwardly. Congratulate us, and then what? And
who the hell is Abner Doon?

"I think the rest of your questions will be
answered if I tell you two more facts. First, there
are exactly 333 of you here in my garden."

A pause, while that sank in. Three hundred
thirty-three. The number of colonists in the stan-
dard colony ship: three passenger tubes, each
with a mayor, ten aldermen, and ten more groups
of ten citizens111 per tube, three tubes per ship,
deliberately set up so that no one leader under the
captain could possibly get a majority of colonists
to rebel. Three hundred thirty-three. It meant that
every man and woman in the group would lose
somec privileges once the voyage was over. It
meant that they would be irrevocably exiled from
Capitol, from civilization, and be forced to rush
through the rest of their lives in a mere handful of
decades.

Hop smiled when he realized what the numbers

meant. He and Arran had signed up for a colony,
nearlyand had been interrupted. Now it looked
as though they would go out into deep space after
all. Like it or not. Hop didn't like itbut since he
had already made up his mind to do it before, it
came as less of a shock to him than it did to the
others.

Only one thorn in his side: He had decided to go
before in order to stay with Arran Handully, in a
dramatic, chivalric gesture of love (I've seen too
many tapes.) Now he would be just another man
along for the trip. And worseanother man who
had never belonged in the conspiracy, an outsider
untrusted and unwanted.

Bon voyage, he wished himself.

"Second," said the man in the middle of the
lake. "Second, I must tell you that because you
have all been convicted of treason against our
most perfect and majestic Empress, the Mother of
all mankind, your last memory tapes have been
removed from the Sleeproom and will accompany
you on your colonizing voyage. You will make no
new tapes. That is all. Try to get used to the idea
quicklywe have little time to waste, and there's
no point in awakening at your destination with
bruises and broken arms and legs. In other words,
for your own sakes, cooperate, my friends. Good
night."

And now the murmurs turned into shouts; of
dismay, of fear, of protest. The darkness didn't
hear, and the man on the lake disappeared, leav-
ing the night complete again. Some panicked and
rana few splashes indicated that some of them

had quickly run into the major obstacle in the
garden. Hop didn't laugh when someone ran into
the tree he was sitting on.

Convicted of treason meant that all laws and
rights were suspended.

The use of a previous memory tape and the
failure to make a new one meant that all memory
of their latest waking would be utterly erased.
Once somec had drained all but the most basic
brain activity, everything would vanish. They
would awaken on their new planet remembering
only what had happened up to the time they last
went under somec. They would know that some-
thing was missingthat would be enough to tell
them that they had been convicted of treason.
They would all assume that their conspiracy had
been launched, that they had been defeated. But
they wouldn't know how. They wouldn't know
who had been cowardly or courageous, loyal or
treasonous.

But at least they would know that they were
conspirators. Hop laughed at what he would
think when he woke on the colony planet. For he
had known nothing of a conspiracy before he
went to sleep. And this time there wouldn't even
be a note between his buttocks to hint that some-
thing was wrong. He alone, of all of them, would
understand nothing. Oh well, Noyock decided,
what the hell. I'll survive.

And then he realized that he would remember
nothing of Arran Handully beyond the actress he
had seen in the lifeloops. A shallow, seductive,
empty woman who mouthed insincere words and

made phony love to paying lovers. Not the woman
who had come to him in his prison and asked for
his help in escaping her (suddenly their) enemies.
He wouldn't remember the heart-stopping mo-
ment when she had descended past him on the
ladder, hysterically closing her eyes and plung-
ing deeper into the smoke of the exhaust duct. She
wouldn't remember, either, nor would she recall
whose voice had called her to come back up.
Whose hand had led her to safety.

It was a little harder to say What the hell now.

As abruptly as it had gone out, the sun lit up
again, and the light was dazzling. Hop closed his
eyes entirely, as all around him he could hear
people beginning to call out to each other again.
Given their vision, they found their voices, and
began calling out names.

Hop left his eyes closed. He would have closed
his ears, too, since he wished very much to be
alone, but the sounds of the crowd wouldn't leave
him alone. Snatches of grief, worry, anger
"What right do they have!" said one, and the
answer, "We are traitors, after all." (How
philosophical.)

"I have three children! Do they ever think of
that?" (Do you? Hop thought. Doubtless she was
on somecit was unlikely that a conspiracy made
up of somec users would include a non-sleeper.
How much did she think of her children as the
drug took her away from them for years at a
time?

And then a voice calling, from a distance,
"Hop!" and then closer, saying, "Hop, there you
are, I've looked everywhere."

He opened his eyes. Arran was at the foot of the
tree.

"Hi," he said stupidly.

"What are you doing up there, Hop? I couldn't
find you. I walked by here a dozen times at
least"

"I think I was hiding," Hop said. He pushed off
and jumped to the ground, landing awkwardly on
all fours.

"Hop," Arran was saying, as he got to his feet,
"Hop, I had to find you, I had to talk to youwhy
didn't you stay with me?never mind, nobody
could expect you to follow along like a pet or a
husband or somethingHop, they've posted a
roster at the doors. All the colonists, in their
groups of ten and hundred."

"And?"

"Well, for one thing, you're a mayor of three
hundred, Hop."

"Me?" Hop laughed. "What a joke! Just what I
was cut out for."

"Well, I'm an alderman, which is just as funny.
In your group, for luck! But Hopit's the cap-
tain."

"Who is it? Anybody I know?" As if it would be.

"It's Jazz Worthing, Hop. Jason Harper Worth-
ing."

And Hop couldn't think of anything to say to
that.

"Hop, he's supposed to be crazy."

"That's all right. We're supposed to be sane."

"Don't you see, Hop? He's your friend. The
notice said that anyone with a question could sign
up for an appointment to see him. I signed us up,

and it's only fifteen minutes or so from now."
"What do you want to see him for?"
"Us, Hop! We've got to see him. He's got to
arrange it for us."
"Arrange what?"

"To keep our memories, Hop! If they take away
my memory of this waking, I won't love you. I
won't even know you. You'll just be the manager
of that despicable bastard Jazz Worthing, and I'll
be a disgusting, cheap little tart."

And suddenly Hop felt very good. She wanted
to remember him. He took Arran's hand, and she
led him along to the door. On the way it occurred
to him that he would see Jazz againthat it had
been two days since he last saw himthat the
world had changed since thenthat he and Jazz
were now on opposite sides of a very high fence.
Would they be friends? Had they ever been? (Is
there anything that can't be called into question,
eventually?)

It is ironic that science itself, so long the
graverobber of all the gods, should have proved
conclusively the existence of the soul. It was cer-
tainly not intended, and judging from the acute
embarrassment of the team the developed somec
when they subsequently discovered the soul ef-
fect, they would have avoided discovery at all, if
that had been possible. But somec had first been
used to prolong the lives of the mortally ill in
hopes of a cure for them. It was only afterward
that somec's memory-erasing effect was noticed,
leaving the first somec sleepers as mindless veg-

etables. George Rines was the first to make the
connection between the new braintaping tech-
niques and the disaster of ignorant and pre-
mature use of somec. When he tried to resurrect
the sleepers by playing someone eJse's tape into
their heads, the result was madness within a few
days. There is something not part of memory (and
therefore not learned but rather innate in the in-
dividual) that remains even after the somec has
taken everything else, something that refuses to
accept the implanted memories of another person
for the simple reason that the new memories are
of actions and decisions that the wakened sleeper
himself would never have done or made. Rines
reported that as an inevitable reaction: The
wakened sleepers invariably said, "I remember
doing it, but I would never have done it." They
could not accept memories that they had no way
of knowing were not their own. For lack of a better
word, Rines whimsically named this property of
the human individual the soul. Doubtless he
meant to be ironic. But further research has borne
out the fact that his irony was really accuracy.

The Soul: Awake in the Age of Sleep,

2433, preface ii.

The woman was crying, and, as she left, Jazz
wondered why he was doing all this. As Doon had
so aptly pointed out, any comfort Jazz might give
them, any answers to questions he might offer
would all be swept away by somec. They'd re-
member nothing so why waste time trying to help
them?

But Jazz didn't see it that way. Though the
memory would be gone, these people were still
people. They deserved to be treated humanely.
"Memory disappears with death, too," Jazz had
pointed out to Doon, "but we still let old people
ask questions." So Doon had consented, laugh-
ing, and now Jazz found himself unable to help
after all. His gift to see into people's minds was no
particular boonin this extremity, they willingly
unfolded all their thoughts to him, and he could
give them no comfort. The decision was made to
wipe out their knowledge of this waking; that
decision would stand. Yet that decision was the
cause of their distress.

"Next," Jazz said, bracing himself for another
ordeal. But this time, he heard a familiar voice.
"Jazz, you hunk of cooler grease! How the hell are
you doing?" and then Hop's arms were around
him, and Jazz hugged him back, not the artificial,
is-everybody-watching kind of hug they had
shared at every docking of Jazz's ship, but a sin-
cere embrace of friendship. Out of a long-standing
habit, Jazz looked into Hop's mind, and heard
there an absurd quotation: "For this my son was
dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is
found." Jazz found the quotation in his
memorya snatch from on old religious book that
still haunted Noyock from the time his mother
had drummed it into his head in childhood.
 Jazz smiled, and finished the passage, though
Noyock hadn't spoken it aloud. "And they began
to be merry."

Noyock looked at him, startled, and then sud-
denly stepped back. Jazz was still listening to

Hop's mind; he heard Noyock's final, sure realiza-
tion of what he had come to suspect: Jazz is a
Swipe.

"Of course," Jazz answered. "Didn't I tell you
so?"

Hop's boisterous confidence disappeared. He
stepped back, unsure what he should do now. If
Jazz could so easily read his thoughts now, that
meant that Jazz could have heard every other
thought he'd had before. He was embarrassed. He
turned to Arran, mumbled something. What he
wanted to say was, Let's get out of here.

"Arran Handully," Jazz said. "With clothes."

"And Jazz Worthing, with his mind intact," she
said. "It looks as though the tables have turned
back again, doesn't it?"

"I try to be a graceful winner," Jazz said. "And I
see you have lost none of your grace in losing."

"It's losing that we've come to talk about,"
Arran said, and Jazz heard in her mind a puzzle-
ment as to why Hop had suddenly become so
reticent. Wasn't it his job to try to influence his
friend? "Captain Worthing, Hop and I have found
something that we don't want to lose"

"That we don't believe we have to lose" Hop
said, fumbling for words.

"If you can help us."

"If you're willingyou see, we" and Hop
gave up the struggle for the right words, quit
trying to make sure his words matched the
thoughts he knew Jazz was hearing anyway.
"Dammit, Jason, you know what I'm trying to say.
Save me the pain."

"You two have decided you love each other,"

Jazz said, "and in a sudden burst of domesticity
you want me to have your memories taped so you
can remember."

"That's it," Arran said, but Hop only turned
away, his face red. "Hop," she said, "what's
wrong?"

"He can hear us, dammit. He can hear every
word we're thinking. He's a Swipe!"

Arran half-laughed, turned to look at Jazz, saw a
beatific smile on his face, and whirled back to
look at Hop. "How do you know!" she demanded.

"He's been reading my thoughts since we came
in here. And for a dozen wakings beforeit all fits
together"

"A Swipe!" Arran said, then laughed again,
nervously. "You can read my"

"Yes," Jason answered, quietly. "When I want
to. If you had known that about me, you would
have known the probe wouldn't work on me. I'm
used to having other people's thought patterns
imposed on my own. I almost fell asleep under the
probe."

Arran fumbled for the chair. Sat down. Jazz
listened as she tried to drain her mind of all the
thoughts she didn't want Jazz to hear.

"You know," he said, "the more you think
about what you don't want me to know, the better
I can hear it."

It had taken only thirty seconds, and with that
comment Arran was reduced to near-hysteria.
"Hop!" she cried out. "Make him stop!Make him
get out of my mind!" She was crying. Hop himself
was trembling, but he understood what she felt,
the insecurity of having no secrets.

"Jazz, please."

"I'm not listening right now, if that's all you're
worried about," Jazz said. "But you see, don't you,
why I never told you I was a Swipe until this
waking. It makes other people very nervous. It
makes them, in fact, want to kill me."

"I don't want to kill you," Arran said, regaining
some control over her voice. "I just want to get out
of here."

"I'm sorry, Arran," Jazz said. "You won't be
able to rejoin the others now. If they knew I was a
Swipe, they'd never go under somec at all."

"We'll promise not to tell," she said, and then
she turned back and faced Jazz squarely. "Oh,"
she said. "You've already answered us, haven't
you?"

"What do you mean?" Hop asked.

"You stinking Swipe bastard!" she shouted.
"Why did you tell us that!"

Hop stood up, put his arm around her. "Arran,
you aren't helping anything"

"She's right, Hop," Jazz said, maintaining his
calm. "If there were any chance that Abner Doon
would let any of you have a memory tape, even
you, Hop, I would never have let you know I was a
telepath."

"So now that we know"

"I'm sorry. Maybe you'll fall in love again, if
that's what you want."

And now it was Hop's turn to be angry. "Jazz!
My friend!" he said, spitting out the words bit-
terly. "It's not being in love that I want. It's the last
forty-eight hours that I want! It's every damned
hideous thing we've gone through together! You

don't have a right to take that away from me!"

"I'm sorry," Jazz said. "But I can't change it."

Hop tried to shout something else, but the
words found no articulation, just a roar of fury and
grief and loss as he scrambled around the table,
striking at Jazz as he had struck at members of
rival gangs in the deep slums of Capitol. Go for the
eyes, the throat, the testicles, said his reflexes.
You can't do this to me, shouted his mind. Weep,
said the tears in his eyes, and Jazz overpowered
him easily, had him sitting in a chair, sobbing like
a child before he was sure of what was happen-
ing.

Now it was Arran's turn to offer a comforting
arm, and she softly whispered to him, "Hop, all
we can do is think of it as death. We're being
murdered, and in our place they'll be resurrecting
a new person, the person we were at the begin-
ning of this waking. We're just going to die."

"That's comfort?" asked Noyock, unable to re-
sist seeing the irony. Jazz chuckled softly. "You
can shut up," Arran snapped.

"You came in to ask me the impossible. When I
denied it you hated me."

"Listen in our minds," said Arran, "and see
how much."

"I was wrong," Jason said, "to give these inter-
views. False hopes are worse than no hope at all.
I'm sorry." He stepped to the door, opened it, said
to the guards outside, who were supervising the
line of colonists-to-be waiting to plead for their
past. "You can all leave," he said. "No more inter-
views today. Sorry." The people grumbled, cried
out in frustration, muttered epithets. But they got

up from the chairs where they had been sitting,
and left.

Jazz came back in, closed the door. "I'm sorry,"
he said again. He heard both Arran and Hop think,
"A lot of good that does," and then think again,
"What else can he do, either?"

Aloud, Arran said, "We're all trapped, then,
aren't we?"

"Who is this Abner Doon, anyway?" Hop
asked.

"Just a man who collects people," Jazz
answered. "Hundreds were collected today. You
were collected centuries ago, Hop. He found out
you were brilliant. And you lived to be sixteen
years old as the most prominent member of the
most prominent gang in the lower corridors.
You're a born survivor. So he collected youand
you've been my agent ever since."

"A puppet master," Arran said, bitterly. "And
what does he do with his collection?"

"He has a vision," Jazz said. "He saw in his
childhood that nothing important had happened
to the human race since somec taught us to fear
death and sleep through the centuries. He, and
those of us who have seen his visionwe're out to
wake the sleepers up. Destroy somec. Make
people live out their normal threescore and ten, so
that perhaps the human race can get back about its
business."

"Destroy somec!" Arran scoffed. "Do you think
the sleepers will ever part with it?"

"No. But we know that those who are denied it
will come to the point where they will either have
it, or destroy all those who do."

"Insane," said Arran.

"And for that you manipulated a thousand of
the best people of Capitol, so you could throw
them out into space and let them rot," Hop said.

"Manipulate? Who isn't manipulated? Even
you, Arranyou were manipulating Farl Baak.
And who was manipulating you? A person who
believes with all his heart in Doon's vision, who is
willing to go to the colonies, willing to lose his
last waking for it"

"Fritz Kapock," Arran whispered.

"There, you see?" Jazz said. "We all know who
our manipulators are, once we're willing to admit
that we're not really free."

"But Fritz is such a good, honest man"

"So are we all," Jazz said. "Even me."

They left him then, and the guards took them
directly to the tape and tap, so that they could see
no other colonist and tell what they had learned.
In the tape and tap, however, the attendant was
called to the phone, and when he came back, he
led Hop and Arran away from the somec table,
and sat them in the taping chairs, and put the
sleep helmets on their heads. "What does this
mean?" Hop asked, knowing what it meant. "Cap-
tain Worthing told me to do this," the attendant
said, and Hop and Arran wept with joy as they lay
back and gave their memories to the whirring
film. And when the helmets came off, and they
were led to the somec beds, they embraced, and
wept again, and smiled and laughed and kept
thanking the attendant, who nodded, promising
to offer their thanks to Captain Worthing. And

then they were put to sleep, and laid in their
coffins, and the attendant took the tapes to the
colony ship, and gave them to the starpilot, who
also thanked him, and paid him the money he had
promised.

Colonists traveled nude, of course, in special
boxes that were linked to the life-system of the
ship. Because of their shape, these boxes were
called coffins, though their purpose was exactly
opposite. Instead of guarding a body as it rotted
and decomposed, the colony ship coffins kept
colonists alive, so that they didn't age a day as
somec helped them sleep their way across the
galaxy. As long as the coffins remained abso-
lutely, perfectly sealed, and as long as the ship's
life-system kept functioning, human beings
placed inside them under somec sleep could, in
theory, Jive forever.

Peopling the Planets: The
Colonies, 6559, 11:33.

The last of the coffins was wheeled through the
lock, down through the storage compartments
(which, on a military ship, would have held ar-
maments) and on to the passenger section. The A
and B tubes were full, sealed, locked, the dials and
registers on the doors monitoring the almost in-
finitesimal but still detectable life-signs of the
sleepers. Jazz Worthing and Abner Doon watched
as the coffin was wheeled through into the tube.
Watched as the silent workmen connected the

tubes, wires, and drains that kept the sleepers
alive.

"Back to the womb, back to the placenta," said
Doon, and Jason laughed. And as they had done a
dozen times before, stretched out in front of the
highly illegal and therefore very expensive fire-
place in Doon's flat, they began to play their game
of archaism. "Western Airlines, the only way to
fly," Jazz said. Boon blandly responded, "Go
Greyhound, and leave the driving to us." And so it
went as they followed the workmen back through
the ship. In the storage compartment, Boon
paused to pat the oversized coffin that held an ox.
"For years," he said, and the joking tone left his
voice, "these people have known no other animal,
except the rats. For the first time they're going to
have to deal with an animal that's guaranteed to
be stupider than they are."

"The sudden proof of superiority will probably
bring back a belief in God, don't you think?" Jazz
asked.

"God?" Boon asked. "There's only one God on
this ship, and he's already playing his role."

"I thought you said you didn't claim that title."

"I don't. But you do."

"I? I'm part of your collection, remember?"

"Playing God with your colony, Jason, can be
dangerous. Especially when you aren't following
a plan. Doing things for sentimental reasons will
destroy you and your colony. Sentiment has no
place in a man of vision."

"I'm not a man of vision," Jazz said, shrugging.

"Then you'll die as fruitlessly as your father

did. In the meantime, I advise you to destroy the
memory tapes you had made of Hop Noyock and
Arran Handully."

Jazz chuckled. "I knew I should have paid that
attendant more."

"It would have made no difference. He has in-
structions to accept all bribes and do everything
he's bribed to do. As long as he reports it" to me.
Destroy the tapes."

"I don't think it will do any harm to have two
that remember their waking."

"No harm? A man with full knowledge will
spread even more poison than a man with no
knowledge. Hop and Arran would have you in
their power. You'd have to ask their advice before
you did something, and before long asking advice
always turns into asking permission. It's up to
you, though, Jazz. Be a fool if you like."

"Hop's my friend," Jazz said.

"And you're my friend," Doon said. "But of
course, I'm a megalomaniac, as you love to re-
mind me. A man with a eugenics program for the
universe. The other ships are all gone."

"Eleven others?"

"And no, I won't tell you where the others are
going. If you want to find them, you'll have to
look."

"You told my colony that they were the best of
the conspirators. Was that true?"

"For once, Jazz, I wasn't lying."

"Why are you giving me the best?"

"The others all have excellent colonies, too. I
want the gene pool and the intellectual climate to

be superb. The best start I can give my little pro-
jects."

"But why the best for me?" Jazz insisted.

"Because I love you so dearly," Doon said,
reaching up to pat the starpilot's head. "But
mostly, I'm afraid, because I believe that you, of
all the captains I've sent, are best equipped to
create what I want to have created."

"And what is that?"

"A better human race than the one we've had
since men began killing each other and cooking
the meat."

"And what improvement could the human race
possibly make?"

"Perhaps," Doon said, "you might be able to
develop a branch of the human family that could
know and understand what other human beings
areand love them anyway. Hmmm?"

"Impossible. And I should know."

"You should know," Doon said. They left the
storage room and went back to the pilot's cabin,
where a soldier was waiting, out of breath. "Cap-
tain Worthing," the soldier said, saluting. Jazz
returned the salute. "Yes?" And then the boy
noticed Abner Doon, and saluted again, his face
showing even more awe. "Abner Doon, sir," he
said.

"I take it this means the tape has been played,"
Jason said.

"It has, sir, and we're waiting for orders. The
fleet is with you."

"Then tell the fleet," Jazz said, "that I have done
all that I can do, and am leaving on an important

expedition. Tell them that Abner Doon will give
them somec. Tell them to follow Abner Doon."

The soldier nodded, saluted, and then said,
"Sir," looking at Doon. "Sir, will you come with
me? Admiral Pushkin is waiting."

Doon smiled at Jason. "See you again."
"Where?" asked Jason. "In heaven?"

"Unlikely," Doon said. "Give me three hundred
years, and I'll have this Empire where it should
be."

"And where is that?" Jazz asked.

"Please hurry, sir," the soldier insisted.

"In a gutter, bleeding to death," Doon said. And
then he walked out of the ship. The door closed
behind him, and he followed the soldier to the
hall where the representatives of the Fleet were
gathered.

Inside the control room, Jazz began working
immediately. He didn't know his final des-
tinationonly the official destination, Siis III,
was known to him. The computer would tell him
where Doon wanted him to go only after he got the
ship to Siis. But Jason knew enoughthat the
ultimate destination would be deep in the galaxy,
far toward the center, far from the human pale. He
knew that it would be hundreds of years of sleep,
traveling all the while at many times the speed of
light (using the drive that he himself had made
possible in childhood). He knew that there was no
record in the Empire, save in Abner Doon's head,
that clearly told that Jazz Worthing and the other
eleven ship captains were going anywhere but to
their official destinations.

All in the hope, as Doon had often explained,
that once isolated, these little colonies of human-
ity might actually develop something new. Some-
thing better than the decaying remnant of the
Empire. "All we are," Doon had often said, "all
we are is that last relic of the European civiliza-
tion that was born in England with the industrial
revolution. All we are is the fading shadow of the
Technical Age. We're ripe for something new.
Either for regeneration of the human race, or for
replacement." And Jazz had cast his vote for re-
generation, as had dozens of others who, though
at first coerced into Doon's collection, had later
been willing servants of Doon's vision.

Vision, thought Jazz, and as he settled down to
maneuver the ship out of the cradle and out of
Capitol's system, the idea of vision kept nagging
at him. Vision of what? Do I have anything I want
so badly that I'd sacrifice anything to have it? Is
there anything that I am so sure is right that I
would fight for it?

My own life, Jazz thought, but that isn't
visionevery animal instinctively fights for that.

And then the go-ahead signal came, Jazz
opened the view walls of the control pod, and the
cradle slowly lifted him into the smoky sunlight
of Capitol's surface. Around him the winds ed-
died and whirled, and from where Jazz sat in the
retractable bubble at the front of the needlelike
payload section of the ship, it seemed that the
winds were dancing for him. Far below him, the
vast doors of the ship cradle slowly closed, slid-

ing under the massive landing gear that now bore
the weight of the barrellike stardrive section of the
ship.

When the door was closed, Jazz sat for a mo-
ment, waiting for clearance from the deeply
buried traffic controllers, whose communications
complex was called, for some nonsensical reason,
the "tower." As he sat, he mentally said good-bye
to Capitol. To the teeming crowds who had
cheered on the exploits of Jazz Worthing, hero. To
the men and women who had offered their bodies
to him; to the incredible wealth and equally in-
credible poverty; to the oppression and the heady
liberty that lived side-by-side in the corridors of
Capitol. He also said good-bye to somec, and
found that it was somec he would miss most of all.

"I'm a bloody hypocrite," Jazz said, laughing
nastily at himself. "Out to destroy somec, when I
crave it as much as anyone else."

And then the clearance came, and Jazz punched
in the preset program alert, specified the route
they had been cleared for, and then retracted the
bubble so it wouldn't be shredded in the stresses
of takeoff.

Days later, as the starship drifted lazily out of
the Capitol system at a mere 1.35 gravities, and as
the computers lavishly checked, double-checked,
triple-checked, and then reported to Jason Worth-
ing, Jazz realized the mistake he was making.
Would Hop love him when they reached their
colony, knowing he was a Swipe? Of course Hop
and Arran would be grateful at first. But gratitude

is the least dependable of human emotions, Jazz
reminded himself. And I should know. I should
know.

He confirmed the computer's verdict that the
ship was ready for starflight. The readout warned
him that he had thirty minutes before the ship
would make its turn, putting the full thrust to-
ward Capitol's sun, and accelerating to five, fif-
teen, twenty light-years per year. As always, Jazz
had the whimsical thought that all the elec-
tromagnetic radiation in the universe was envi-
ous of him for the speed he could muster.

"Gratitude is the least dependable emotion,"
Jazz said aloud, and he went to the storage cabinet
where the papers and rosters of the colonists were
stored. There he found the two memory tapes that
the Sleeproom attendant had brought him. On the
one, the words Arran Handully, on the other
the words Willard Noyock. Jazz felt a momentary
longing to go and wake them, play the tapes into
their heads, talk to them for a moment or two,
plead for their reassurance that he was, after all,
right in the choices he had made. But he
squelched the desire. Who in the universe has
ever been sure he was right?

Except Abner Doon, of course.

And thinking of the man who had collected
him, and remembering his advice, Jazz confi-
dently walked to the garbage recycler and tossed
the two memory tapes inside. Within ten seconds
they had been stripped to their basic molecules,
and those had been simplified to uncombined
elemental atoms, which hung in a static field,

available for use later. "So easily we murder," he
told himself, and then went to the coffin that
waited for him in the control roomthe only cof-
fin that was not in the hindmost compartment of
the ship, the only one that would waken its oc-
cupant automatically, at the command of the
ship's computer.

Jazz stripped off his clothing and laid it aside.
Then he climbed into the coffin, eased himself
down, and pulled the sleep helmet over his head.
It recorded his brainwave pattern. A small amber
light flashed on just outside Jazz's range of vision,
and he said, "Jason Worthing, XX56N, sleep OK."
That was the code; but he added, "Good night."

The cover slid over him, and he watched as the
sealer oozed upward from the edges of the coffin
and made the space airtight. And then a green
light flashed on, and a needle entered his scalp
from the sleep helmet, and the somec flowed
hotly into his veins.

The somec burned, the somec was agony, the
somec felt like deathor worse, like the fear of
death. Jason panicked, afraid that something was
terribly wrong, afraid that somehow the somec
was burning him up from the inside out, destroy-
ing him.

He didn't know that somec was always like that;
it had always happened after the taping, and he
had no memory of it.

But after a fifteen-second eternity the somec
emptied his brain and Jason slept.

As soon as he was unconscious, the great star-
drive silently fired and the tremendous accelera-

tion began. Jason's coffin, and each of the coffins
in the passenger compartment, filled with a clear
gel. As the acceleration reached 2.7 gravities, the
gel solidified, formed a rigid supporting structure
that kept the bodies from breaking under the
strain of three gravities, four, five.

And the ship shoved its way relentlessly
through the empty space with three hundred
thirty-four bodies inside it, all of them alive, all of
them on fire, though they didn't know it, with an
agony that would make even life worth enduring
by contrast.

6

SOME REVOLUTIONS happen overnight. Some are
years in the making. But no other took so long to
foment as the Somec Revolution. The first step of
the revolution was Abner Doon's seizing of con-
trol of the overt organs of Imperial power. With
the Service and the secret police behind him, he
ousted the Cabinet, and assumed tyrannical con-
trol of every aspect of the Empire. At first this
seemed to be merely a coup-and one long over-
due. But Doon was subtle.

He began to make his tyranny oppressive in the
colonies first. Had Capitol come to hate him from
the beginning, its inhabitants might have ousted
him, put another more clement man in his place,
and the Somec Revolution might never have hap-

pened. As it was, minor rebellions began to occur
on planet after planet, as the privilege of somec
sleep became whimsical in its bestowal, corrupt
in its administration. Acting on Doon's instruc-
tions, totally undeserving people were put on
somec, while those long accustomed to it were
abruptly removed. And in every case, the rebel-
lions were begun, not by the masses who had
never had any hope of somec sleep, but by the
wakened sleepers, whose fear of death was irra-
tional, whose hatred for those who stole immor-
tality from them was implacable.

Each rebellion was put down, as cruelly and
bloodily as possible-and yet each time, some of
the key leaders were left alive, allowed to leave
prison as magnanimously pardoned "friends of
the state." These freed rebels invariably became
the seeds of still further revolt.

Besides its tremendous length of time in fo-
menting and the devastating effects it had on
humanity, the Somec Revolution was remarkable
for one other aspect: it is probably the only re-
volution that was completely planned, from the
outset, by the very tyrant against whom the rebels
revolted. Many theories have been advanced for
Abner Doon's actions, but examination of all the
most recently available documents suggests this
inescapable conclusion: for some reason of his
own, Abner Doon wanted somec to be removed
from consideration in the affairs of human-kind;
wanted, perhaps, the terrible collapse of technol-
ogy that followed; perhaps wanted, though this is
doubtful, the death of interstellar travel for more

than a millennium and a half; and some even
suggest that Doon planned and even desired the
diversity in humanity that occurred when
technology could no longer sustain the
"business-as-usual" way of life that humans had
enjoyed on planets utterly unsuitable for human
life. This last is doubtful. What is most likely is
that Doon was exactly what he has always been
thought to be: a madman bent on destruction as
the ultimate demonstration of his power.

Certainly when Capitol was at last provoked
and mobs stormed the Sleeprooms, smashing the
coffins and killing every sleeper, his mad dreams
must have been realized. And though for cen-
turies it has been supposed that Doon died in that
holocaust, recently discovered evidence suggests
quite the contrary. One eyewitness account seems
typical of many, which all agree on the general
outline of events:

"We went to the Dictator's private apartments,
and by threatening his servants with death, we
were led to the sleeproom he had privately used.
It was empty. I myself checked the instruments,
and determined that he had been awakened only
three hours before we reached the coffin. Inside
the coffin was a note, which said, 'Dear Rebels: I
give you my best.' Of course we killed all his
servants as traitors to the People. Where Doon
went, we do not know."

And we must echo that statement: Where Doon
went, we do not know. After all, we have only
recently been able to visit the ruins of Capitol and
search for old records. That we have already

found this much is to the credit of many dedi-
cated researchers. . . .

It seems to be a pattern in revolutions against
individual tyrants, that as often as not they are
never found. Perhaps it is a subtle, hidden ele-
ment of the human psyche (if one may speak of
that entity as being even vaguely uniform) that
the object of mankind's most virulent hatred must
be allowed to continue to live. Let us call this the
"devil syndrome," for we shall find it repeated in
dozens of other revolutions. . . .

After the sleepers were slain on Capitol, the
economy ground to a halt, not the least because
all incoming starship pilots were dragged from
the landing platform and tossed to their death at
the bottom of the ship's cradles, which in the days
of oversized starships were invariably at least a
kilometer below the door of the payload section of
the ship. Naturally, starships stopped arriving at
Capitol, and deprived of the essential influx of
raw materials, the seemingly eternal city of
Capitol died; food ran out first, and then, with
maintenance abandoned, the air cleaning system
stopping working, and oxygen was no longer elec-
trolyzed from the sea; the smoke of three
thousand years of exhaust seeped down into the
corridors; the hydrogen that had stored the sun's
power for use all over the planet stopped coming
from the sea; and within a year of the revolution,
all life on Capitol was dead.

With the centers of power gone, the rebellions
on the other planets could not be put down, and
soon the entire Empire was in chaos, though few

planets died as completely as Capitol. And it took
only a hundred years after the Empire's death for
the Enemy, poisoned by the rebel planets it took
over in a quick grab for power, to also fall victim
to the general destruction, thus setting the stage
for our own age-the Age of Diversity.

Hunter and Halleck, Revolution

in the Age of Diversity, 6601,

pp. 5-8.

7

JAZZ WAKENED to see the lid of the coffin sliding
back, the amber light winking at the edge of his
vision. The memory tape must have just finished,
he thought, though of course he had no memory of
it happening. His body was hot and sweating
like all somec users, he believed the warmth was
caused by the drugs used for waking.

He sat up abruptly, rolled himself over the edge
of the coffin, and dropped to the floor in push-up
position. Twenty push-ups and thirty sit-ups
later, he got to his feet, the blood flowing, feeling
refreshed from the long sleep.

Only then did he notice that it was not the
amber light flashing in the coffin. It was the red.

He had been reaching into the cupboard for the

packet of clothing that would have been prepared
by the ship for his waking. But the red flashing
light sent him immediately to the control board.

QUERY.

RESPONSE: ENEMY SHIP ROUNDED SIIS III SEVEN MIN-
UTES AGO.

QUERY HOSTILE ACTS.

RESPONSE: Two PROJECTILES LAUNCHED, IMPACT 1.7,
IMPACT 3.4.

QUERY ATTACK PATH.

RESPONSE: RANDOM UNPREDICTABLE.

That meant that the enemy pilot was still guid-
ing the projectiles. Jason immediately began
searching through space for the enemy captain's
mind, even as his fingers automatically sent half
of his projectilesa pitiful two on a virtually un-
armed colony shipand he found, yes, the mind
controlling the projectiles. Found in the mind the
path the projectiles would follow. And then ma-
neuvered his own ship, just slightly, in a feint. The
other captain followed the feint, committed the
first projectile, and then when it was too late for
the enemy to alter course in time to strike him,
Jason shifted again, just enough to keep his ship
out of reach.

The second enemy projectile was easier to
dodge. And now it was time for the opposite ma-
neuver as Jason controlled his own weapons, see-
ing in the enemy's mind his evasion plans, coun-
tering them just in time each time, until his first
projectile made contact with the giant stardrive of
the enemy ship, and its image on the holomap
became an ever fainter, ever expanding globe.

Just before the contact, Jazz had heard the
enemy captain crying out for help, had felt him
fumbling with a microphone, had heard in his
mind the faintest wisp of a prayer as he realized
that contact would be made, and then had heard
for an infinitesimal moment the agony of death,
and then felt the peace of death, the absence of
mind.

Jazz leaned back on the upholstered chair,
noticed how cold it felt on his naked, sweating
back.

The red light was still flashing. Jazz was puz-
zled, leaned forward again.

QUERY.

RESPONSE: SECOND ENEMY SHIP, ROUNDED SIIS III FOUR
MINUTES AGO.

QUERY HOSTILE ACTS.

RESPONSE: Two PROJECTILES LAUNCHED, IMPACT 0.2,
IMPACT 1.9.

Impact 0.2! Jason shouted at himself. And even
as his fingers played along the control board and
his mind sought the enemy captain's mind, his
intellectually unfazeable mind was saying to him,
"You fool, he would never have called for help by
radio unless he had someone else nearby."

The other mind found; the flight path of the
projectile mapped; contact inevitable; and by re-
flex Jazz did the only possible maneuver that
would ensure survival: he swung the starship
very slightyand intercepted the projectile with
the payload section of the ship, catching it deftly
with the only portion of the ship the weapon
could strike without causing a nuclear explosion.

At the same moment, Jazz released his last two
projectiles, hoping that there would be no more
enemy ships.

And his control room shuddered with the shock
of impact. The enemy projectile was not nuclei, of
courseon the surface of the stardrive, a nuclear
explosion would not penetrate through the
shielding. Instead, it was equipped with high in-
tensity fusion-source lasers, and it melted a path
ahead of itself for a critical number of seconds.
Just long enough, with a few meters to spare, to
penetrate the shielding of a stardrive.

Jazz didn't bother to wonder whether the pro-
jectile had had to force its way through enough
payload that it would run out of fuel before pene-
trating to the stardrive core. He was too busy mov-
ing his ship (the controls still respond, good) to
avoid the second enemy missile; and then he im-
mediately shifted his attention to guiding his own
projectiles as they homed in on the enemy ship.

He saw the enemy captain's disbelief as he
realized that he had made contactand yet Ja-
son's ship had not exploded. And then the panic
as the enemy captain tried to dodge Jason's pro-
jectiles, couldn't, and realized horribly that he
would die as his fellow captain had just died.

And then the globe of fading light on the
holomap.

QUERY.

RESPONSE: No ENEMY ACTIVITY.

QUERY LOCATION.

RESPONSE: SIIS III.

So Jazz had reached his destination; as was

often the case, the Enemy had dispatched war-
ships to intercept the colony ship before it could
land. Those Enemy craft might have been orbiting
Siis in for as much as a century, waking their
captains only when Jazz's ship was sensed as it
decelerated to subluminous speeds. Traditional
pattern, except that there were two ships instead
of one.

The tension of battle fading, he remembered
how he had stopped the enemy projectile, and felt
a horrible burning sensation in his stomach and
groin.

He got up from the chair and went to the cup-
board, dressed, and then for safety put on a pres-
sure suit with a field helmet. He adjusted it for
transparent and semipermeable, and then turned
the wheel on the seal lock of the door leading to
the back of the payload section.

The storage compartment was completely
undamagednone of the animal coffins had
even come loose. Which left only one conclusion:
the projectile had entered the payload section in
the passenger tubes.

Jazz readjusted for impermeable, and opened
the door at the back of the storage section. No rush
of air into spacethe monitor area was also un-
damaged.

Jazz looked at the dials that told the condition of
all the passengers in each of the tubes. The A
section dials were all functioning, and their mes-
sage was uniform: no life in any of the coffins. The
C section was as bad: the dials were all dark,
meaning that the life-support system was out.

Only B section was intact, showing no damage.
Jazz wasn't sure whether to be horrified at losing
two-thirds of his colony, or relieved at still having
one-third.

He opened the door to B tube and walked down
the rows, inspecting each coffin for damage.
There was none that he could detect, not even a
shifting of the bodies. Noticing who was still alive
also told him who was not. But among the sur-
vivors was Hop Noyock, and Jazz felt an un-
reasonable gladness, as if Hop's survival insured
the success of the colony after all.

At the end of the tube was another door, which
led to the schoolroom, where all the memory
tapes of the colonists were stored, and where at
the end of the voyage Jason would waken each of
the passengers.

Beside the door a warning light was flashing
red.

Jazz punched in the code on the doorbutton that
flushed all atmosphere out of the tube. When the
green light flashed on, he opened the door and
found chaos.

The schoolroom had been directly hit, and from
that vantage point he could see the gaping hole
left by the projectiles. It had entered near the front
of the passenger tubes, cutting a swath between
the life-support system of C tube and the coffin
racks of A tube, destroying every coffin and every
life-support complex on its way down the length
of the tubes. Then it had bored through the end,
struck the schoolroom, passed right through a
corner of the tape rack, and passed on into the

shielding in front of the stardrive. Looking down
into the hole, Jazz could see the back of the projec-
tile, stopped where it had gone cold, unable to
penetrate further. He quickly guessed that two
more meters and it would have exploded the ship.

I should feel grateful, he told himself. But when
he looked at the tape rack, he couldn't. The left
section of the rack, where the projectile had pas-
sed, was utterly destroyedwhere it wasn't cut
away by the projectile's passage, the tapes were
melted by the heat. The B section of the rack, in
the middle, was also mostly melted. Only a few of
the C rack tapes were still usable.

And everybody in C tube was dead.

Jazz knelt down and pulled out every tape in the
bottom part of B rack, where the heat was least
intense. But tape after tape showed damageand
even the slightest melting made the entire tape
unusable. Out of all the tapes, only one was un-
damaged, the one in the bottom right-hand
corner. It belonged to Carol Stipock.

Only one tape.

Which meant that only one single passenger
could be revived with his full memory. With any
memory at all. Only one that could be revived as
an adult human being. If anyone else was revived
at all, it would be as empty-minded as an infant, a
creature of reflex, unable to walk, speak, even
control bodily functions.

Jazz left the schoolroom, clutching the one usa-
ble tape, and walked back through B tube. This
time as he passed the coffins he didn't see adults
whom he knewhe saw huge infants, impossible

to care for, utterly cut off from their own life
history in the Empire.

Except Garl Stipock. And as Jason looked down
at the reposed face of the man who had invented
the Stipock geologer and a dozen other devices,
he said, "Gadgetry. Gimmicks and games. What a
wonderful colony we'll make together. And what
wonderful children we'll raise."

He left B tube, sealing the door behind him, and
wandered listlessly back into the control cabin.
He passed the roster compartment and remem-
bered, bitterly, the two tapes that had been in
there, tapes which he had destroyed for a
purposesome purposewhat purpose could
possibly compare with the terrible need he had
now? He longed for a way to reverse the garbage
process, bring back the lost fragments of Hop's
and Arran's memory tapes, restore them and
waken those two people whom he at least knew.
Garol Stipock. Who the hell was Garol Stipock?

A colony of infants.

Here it is, Doon. The perfect society. One you
could teach to be anything you wanted. As long as
you enjoy changing the diapers of adults who kick
like infants with grown-up strength.

He sat down in the control room, and the com-
puter, sensing that he had returned, began read-
outs on the information that had been kept from
him back on Capitolwhere the colony ship was
supposed to go.

Jazz was past caring, but by reflex he looked,
and by reflex he fed back into the computer his
confirming orders, his explicit instructions.

Mechanically he carried out his part of the mis-
sion, as if there were a mission to perform.

Something was gnawing at his stomach, and it
churned within him. But he finished the calcula-
tions in only seven hours, and then, exhausted,
threw himself on the cot provided for the star-
pilot.

He dreamed of the Estorian twick, staring at
him from a meter away. It just sat and stared, and
Jason knew that if he moved, if he made any move
at all, the twick would leap, would carve him with
its razor teeth, would devour him if it could. How
long can I stand without moving, he kept wonder-
ing, and the twick only watched, and waited. And
then suddenly he heard Doon's voice saying,
"You're a survivor. You're a survivor." And then
he felt himself swimming in the lake, the twick's
body floating beside him, feeling exultant. Survi-
val. That is enough grounds for joy.

He woke needing badly to go to the toilet. He
got up, unaccustomedly groggy with sleep. It had
not been a restful nap. He closed the toilet stall
and showered. Then he stepped out of the toilet
and looked at the computer.

The readout board said, "Ready for execute."

Why bother? Jason wondered.

"Why bother?" Jason asked aloud.

But he knew he would bother. He would push
the buttons on the computer, and then would
climb into his coffin and sleep the years until his
new destination. He would waken after 900 years,
farther by a dozen times than any starship had
ever gone from the human pale. And he would

revive, one by one, the huge infants that slept in
the back of the ship.

And as he resigned himself to survival, because
he really had no other choice, it occurred to him
how ignorant his colonists would be. Except for
Garol Stipock, they would know only what he
told them.

They would have no memory of Capitol, and
therefore no memory of any particular system of
law or government.

They would not know the technology that
would never be possible to them.

They would not remember that they had been
arrested as traitors; they would not remember that
Jason Worthing had been an enemy to them.

The word Swipe would be meaningless to
them.

Except Garol Stipock.

I can make the world the way it ought to be, he
thought. A clean slate, Doon. If I can survive the
first years, I can make a decent world.

And how ought the world to be? Jason laughed
at himself. A chance to make a utopia, and he had
no idea where to begin. Well, plenty of time for
that later. Plenty of time to work out the details. I
have a vision now, at least, Doon. Pat me on the
back for that.

Jason Worthing locked the solitary memory
tape in the cupboard, punched out the execute
code, and climbed into the coffin. He was excited,
exultant, and a little mad when the sleep helmet
recorded his mind. He would waken with that
excitement and madness when the ship woke him
a millennium from now.

A needle in his scalp. The hot rush of somec in
his veins. The agony, the panic. And then the
oblivion.

And the gutted starship turned, fired, and ac-
celerated madly, racing with the light of the star
Siis toward another star an unfathomable depth
into the broad white lake of the galaxy.

8

J HAS TOLD me I must write, though my writing is
slow and not always good, and so I write. I am
Kapock, and I am called the Eldest of the Ice
People, though there is no time when I do not
remember the other five who are also the Other
Eldest. J is gone now for the first time in memory,
and I am Warden, and I am afraid.

J has told me I must write what is most impor-
tant. Most important to me? I asked J. He said,
Most important to Heaven City, which is what we
call our place where we all live. J has gone up into
the Star Tower and I cannot ask him what is im-
portant, but I will obey him the best I can which is
not always good.

J has told me I am writing to my children. I do

not understand this, for my children are both very
small, and even though one of them can now
walk, which he could not do at first, he cannot
even speak. Does this mean that J promises that
someday my children will not only speak, but also
will read? This is a great promise, if it is true, but I
am not sure and so I tell it to no one yet. I tell no
one that I write.

I live apart from all the others with Sara my
wife. This is our way now. When Sara and I chose
each other and first coupled we were afraid, for
this thing had not been taught to us by J, but rather
by the oxen. Nevertheless J was not angry and
only said that now we must live apart. He said
words that declared us to be married and said that
once married a man and a woman must live only
together and never with any other man or woman,
so that children could be born. This we have done,
and it is a good way, for I am happy. And also
Sara.

This is the first thing that is important. When I
was a man alone I was often afraid and would
always ask J before I did anything. Now I ask Sara,
and she answers me, but I do not always do what
she says. This is not because I do not respect her,
but because we do not always agree. Many times I
have thought one way and she has thought
another way but we have done still another way
between the two. This is a good way to decide,
and now I do not need to ask J before I do things. I
am not alone and I am almost never afraid any-
more.

Until now that I am Warden, and I am afraid

again, because now I do not decide just the things
of a man and a wife, the things of my sheep and
my house. Now I must also decide the arguments
of the other people, and name the day of planting
and plowing and hoeing and reaping and all other
days, and this makes me afraid, for only J has
decided these things before.

Will the others obey me as they have obeyed J? I
do not know, for J is always wise, and I am always
foolish and this is known to all the men and
women of Heaven City. Yet J has told them to obey
me, and so they must do it.

But J has also told me to give commandments as
he would give them. But I am not wise, and so I
cannot obey. Does he not know this? I am afraid.

If I did not have Sara with me I would run from
Heaven City and build a far house. But Sara has
read what I am writing and has told me I am not
foolish. Even now she touches my hair and I am
not so afraid. I make an end of writing for this
time.

Linkeree and the ax.

Now I will tell you of Linkeree and the ax, for
Sara says to me all day that this is important, and
now I agree with her. J left at the seventh day of the
harvest moon, and now it is the third day of the
leaf-falling moon. Soon there will be first snow. I
remember this from two other winters. Our main
work at this time is building a new house for Wien
and Miott, who have coupled. Also this is the time
for making new thatch to cover the roofs of our
wooden houses, and this we also are doing.

Yesterday was the time of walls, and Linkeree is
the best at walls. He is also the best at much other
things working with wood, and so we listen most
to him in the making of houses and other things of
wood. Linkeree worked very hard, and the walls
were ready with four hours of light left.

At that time Linkeree said to me, Kapock. Can I
take an ax?

And I said to Linkeree, Where will you take the
ax and to what purpose? This I said because J has
told us the metal tools are precious and cannot be
made again as well, and so we keep them carefully
and do not leave them lying around in the fields to
be lost or broken.

Linkeree said to me, Kapock, I will take the ax to
a place I know and there I will cut trees for a
special purpose, and I will bring the ax to you at
dark, and you will have it again.

Now I am not a fool, though I am sometimes
foolish, and I knew that Linkeree had not
answered me at all. But I also knew that Linkeree
was not lazy and that he had several times thought
of ideas that J said were very good. Linkeree
thought of the way to catch fish with a cloth with
holes cut in it, giving us a good change from bread
and potatoes and radishes and cream and other
such quiet food. Linkeree also thought of the stool
with three legs that sits steady no matter what the
ground. So he is one to treat with respect. So I did
not argue with him, but decided that I would let
him take the ax this once, but that if any harm
came to it he could not have it again. I thought that
this is the way J would have decided.

To my anger Wien and Hux were standing near,
and Hux said, Why did you say yes, Kapock? He
did not answer you.

And Wien said to Linkeree, Where are you tak-
ing the ax and what will you do with it?

I do not answer quickly when I am angry, but
Linkeree is always quick to speak his anger. He
said to them, It is Kapock who is Warden, not you,
and I do not have to answer you.

This made Hux and Wien very angry, so angry
that I thought Wien might try to take the ax from
Linkeree by strength, which Wien could surely
do, being very large and strong, while Linkeree is
slight, though also tall.

This is what I said to Hux and Wien: Linkeree is
a good man and I will let him take the ax. But if he
does not keep his word and return it at dark, then I
will require that he tell us where and to what
purpose he would take the ax.

Then it will be too late, said Hux.

But I was angry now, and told Hux that tomor-
row he would have to bury all the nightsoil of
Heaven City himself. Hux said no more because
he knew that his punishment was just. Wien also
said nothing more. But I knew they were angry at
Linkeree and angry at me.

Then Linkeree left. He brought back the ax at
dark, as I had said, and no more was said on the
matter.

I did not think this was important yesterday,
but today Sara told me that it was very important.
This is the reason she told me: It is important
because never before have any of the Ice People

spoken against my decision after I had made it. I
had not thought of that at the time, but now that I
think of it it makes me afraid again, for it means
they do not think of me as if I were J, because they
would never have spoken against J.

J promised that he would return at harvest next
year. Will he then find that I have failed and not
been a good Warden? If he does, I will not want to
live anymore. I will want to die like the squirrels
who are crushed at the falling of a tree.

Sara is reading this and she tells me that I am
now being foolish.

There is another reason why this thing that
happened yesterday is important. This is the first
time that any person has ever done something and
not told all the people what he does, and yet has
told them that he is doing it. I write this, and have
not told others, but they do not know that I am not
telling. It is as if Linkeree wanted us all to know
that there is something he will not tell us. Why
does he do this? It only causes pain and anger, as
Hux and Wien and many others are angry.

They fear that Linkeree does not think himself
equal to us all, but better, and J has told us that
though each of us is better at some things than
others are, yet all of us, added together, are equal.
 This is why we have equal food, unless we are
lazy, and why we have equal houses and equal
portions of all things, good and bad. This is why
when one house is cold, all must help to fix it, or
all must take turns sleeping in the cold house
until it is warm again. This is good and right,

because one should not have less than another
when both work as hard.

But if Linkeree thinks himself better than
others, will he not want more for himself than for
others? This would not be right. I want to know
what he does. But I will not force him to tell
menor will I follow him or allow others to fol-
low him. For as J said to me on one day, If a man
does something that you do not understand, do
not stop him. Rather wait until you do under-
stand, for then you may learn something for your
good. These are the words of J.

This is what has happened with Linkeree and
the ax, and I make an end of writing at this time.

My house.

Sara says I should write of my house. I do not
think so. But because Sara is often wiser than I,
and because it will do no harm for me to write, I
write:

My house was built like all other houses of
Heaven City, except that I am on this side of the
Star River and all the other houses are on the other
side with the Star Tower. But my house is now
different, and this is because I am a foolish man.
Sara now laughs at me. But it is true.

I looked at the house and it did not look right to
me. It was solid like all other houses, but it did not
look right to me. Now do you see why I call myself
foolish?

So on a night with nothing to do, I took some of
the scraps of wool that we had not needed for

cloth, and I began to work the loom. After several
nights I had good lengths of cloth. I sewed them
together like a blanket, only tighter and stronger,
and I fastened the cloth to the front of my house
above the door, and then tied the two far comers
to ropes and tied the other ends of the ropes to
posts I put in the ground fifteen paces off. Now the
sun never shines through our door, which means
that all through the summer our door is open and
yet the house is cool.

This is a good reason to do the thing I did. But
that was not the reason I did it. I did it because the
house did not look right until I did that.

And now I will write something that will surely
make Sara laugh. I looked at the house tonight and
once again, to me, it does not look right.

Sara is laughing at me. I will make an end of
writing for this time.

Linkeree and days of work.

Today was a bad day again, and once again the
trouble was about Linkeree. What does he do in
the far forest with the ax?

Today Linkeree took the ax early in the mom-
ing. With my consent he took the ax. But then later
in the morning Hux told me that the firewood was
not as deep as it had been last winter, and I went to
see. Sure enough, the firewood did not rise as
high as the mark in the wall. I felt bad that I had
not checked this sooner. But I told Hux and three
other men to take axes and cut wood all day in-
stead of doing work on the thatch. This is because

thatch can be made even inside a house, but wood
cannot be cut easily after the snow is deep.

I forgot that Linkeree had one of the axes. There
would not have been a problem except that I for-
got.

Hux and Wien came to me and said, We have
not got all four axes.

Linkeree has the other, I said.

Then they became angry and said loudly, Why
does Linkeree have the ax doing things he will not
tell when all of us need the ax to cut wood? It is
not right for him to have the ax alone when it is
needed for all of us.

They were right, for this is J's law: No man or
woman may use a tool when it is needed for
another purpose by more people.

But to answer them I had to say, Linkeree did
not know our need, and we do not know where he
is to fetch it back.

Then they said, It is not right for us not to know,
for the ax does not belong to him alone, and yet he
has it where none but him can use it.

I said to them, Let three of you cut wood, and
the other will make thatch.

But they would not listen, and Hux said loudly,
so all in Heaven City would hear him, that he
would go and follow Linkeree's trail in the forest
so he could find him and fetch the ax.

Then I became angry and said just as loudly, so
all could hear: You will not follow Linkeree. I am
the man that J left as Warden, and I command you
as J would command you, not to follow Linkeree,

but to wait for his return, and then we will con-
sider what to do.

Then Hux grew very angry, and so did Wien.
They said many things. The worst thing they said
was this:

Kapock, they said to me, you are not a good
Warden, for J treats all of us the same, but you give
Linkeree special treatment. You do not make him
work as much as us.

And I held my tongue and did not speak, for
they were right, and yet they were wrong, and I
could not explain. It is true that Linkeree is not
working at our tasks as much as the others are.
This is because I let him go into the forest to do his
unknown thing.

But Linkeree never goes into the forest until he
has done as much work as others do. Linkeree is
very fast and clever with his hands. He can make
good thatch, the best that is made in Heaven City,
faster than any other man or woman. When he
works the same time as the others, his pile is twice
as big. Likewise working with wood and even
plowing and other things. Linkeree is not as
strong as Wien, but he is clever and works fastest
of all.

Thus I do not think it is unfair for him to not
work as long as the others, for if he worked as
long, would he not be doing more than others?

And yet all men are equal, and Linkeree cannot
be given more than others are given. I do not give
him more food. I do not give him more clothing, or
more of any good or bad things we have.

But I do give him more hours when he is not

told what to do. The others now tell me that this is
not fair. They say that Linkeree should be in all
things equal. Their words sound just.

But this is the question, I think, for Sara and I
have talked many hours tonight about this: Does a
man's or woman's time belong to all the people, or
does his time belong to himself? His body belongs
to himself, because no other man or woman can
use it, except his wife, which he has not got.
Speaking of Linkeree.

But does his time belong to himself? If yes, then
when he has done an equal share of all the tasks,
the time that remains is surely his own to spend as
he wishes, and then I am right to let Linkeree go
deep into the forest.

But if his time belongs to all of us, then it is not
right for him to go into the forest, but he must
work alongside us all, giving his time equally,
even if he does more work during the time.

Which is right? I do not know. In my own mind,
I think that a man's time is his own, for does not J
give us all time alone, not telling us what to do?
And I like best the things I do in those times. But
the others say that such time is only a gift from J,
and that J gave it equally, which is true.

I do not know which is right. I only know that I
must do something to stop the others from being
angry at Linkeree and at me. And yet it does not
seem right to me that Linkeree should be stopped
from what he is doing. If he would only tell us
what it is he does in the forest.

Tomorrow all must work to build a good large
fence and roof for the sheep for the winter, for

there are many more sheep this year than last, and
the old fence and roof are too small for them all.
This will stop the argument for a day.

This is another important thing: My son Ciel
has spoken a word today. He said, Sara, which is
his mother's name. Sara was so happy that she
sang all day, and Ciel said the word again tonight.
Sara is happy because it means that maybe our
child will be as clever as J's children which he
brings from the Star Tower. I do not hope for this,
for our children are weak and small. But I am
happy because J's promise is going to be fulfilled:
my children will speak, and then will read some-
day.

From now on Ciel and Mun I write to you, my
son and daughter. And now I make an end of
writing for this time.

Linkeree is a good man.

I write this because Linkeree is a good man and
will not cause trouble anymore. I told him of yes-
terday's trouble with Hux and Wien. Linkeree was
quiet for a little time, and then he said to me,
Kapock, I will not cause trouble in Heaven City. I
will work many hours like all the others, and will
not go into the forest again at all during this time
until the moon of the thaw. Maybe they will forget
during the winter when there is deep snow.

This way we will not have the trouble, for Lin-
keree will no more take the ax.

Linkeree is lost.

I did not finish my writing of yesterday because

there was a trouble after all. Linkeree went away
during the night, and I stopped writing when
Batta, one of the women who only a few months
ago learned speech, came to me to tell me that
Linkeree was not in his bed in the house with
other unmarried people.

We called for him, but he did not answer. Batta
said, We must look for him.

But I would not, because there is now snow on
the ground, and if anyone got lost in the night he
would die of cold before the morning.

Then in the morning before we could leave to
search for Linkeree, he came to us of his own will.

I am ready to work, he said.

Everyone said, Where were you all night, and
why are you not frozen in the snow.

But Linkeree would not say. He only said, I am
ready to work. What more can you want from me?

And this is true. For J never commanded us to
tell all things, but only to do all work in common.
Our thoughts belong to ourselves: this J has al-
ways said. We can make no man or woman tell us
their thoughts.

But Hux and Wien were very angry. I do not
understand why Hux and Wien are always angry
at Linkeree, for he does not make them hungry,
and he does not make them cold; he hurts them in
no way, but they do not like for him to do things
they do not know about. They say it is not fair, but
I do not think fairness is the question. I think that
Linkeree makes them afraid.

Why are they afraid of Linkeree? Why does he
make them angry doing this thing? I do not un-

derstand. For I, like Linkeree, look for time to be
alone. I have found out that the hours I spend
writing this are some of my happiest hours, like
the hours I spent at the loom, making cloth, for no
one takes my thoughts away from me during those
times, except Sara, and when she talks my
thoughts are not taken away, for I can tell my
thoughts to her, and so I keep them.

And now, tonight, Linkeree is gone again, and
the snow is falling. I am afraid that some danger
will come to him. But at least now I know what he
has done in the forest. All alone he has built a
house. This must be so because there is no other
way that he could have come to us warm and dry
in the morning.

Why does he want a house that no one else
knows? Why did he want no help in building it?
Even strong Wien wanted help to build his house.
Linkeree is the best wall maker, but even he can-
not make the great logs fly into place like birds.

Is he not afraid to sleep alone in the darkness,
far from the other people? My own house is on
this side of the river from all the others, but here I
am not truly alone, for Sara and my children and
the sheep are here. I would not like to be alone
where no one else breathed loudly in the night.

And there is something else: What will J think
when he learns that one of the Ice People has gone
away from Heaven City to build a place apart? I
worry that I should make Linkeree live among us
all, even at night. And yet I do not want to stop
Linkeree until I understand and am sure that it is
bad.

I do not like being Warden. But I would rather
be Warden than have Hux or Wien as Warden, for
they do not think before they decide, and now I
know that this is bad, for they would have caused
terrible anger in Heaven City by making Linkeree
not do what it was Linkeree's right to do.

I make an end of writing at this time. I am angry
and afraid, and I do not know what to do. What
will J think of me?

A bad thing has happened.

Today the snow was deep and Linkeree did not
come back from his house deep in the forest until
the sun was at noon. He was cold and wet, and he
said that it was hard walking through the deep
drifts, and that twice he had been buried in the
snow.

Wien was glad to see Linkeree, and I believe
because of this that Wien has a real caring for
Linkeree. But Hux was angry again. I think that
Hux would rather be angry at Linkeree than not.
Hux said that Linkeree had missed a whole morn-
ing of work, and that because of his house in the
forest he had stolen many hours from all of the
people.

The woman Batta, even though she is young,
said, I do not care about the hours. I care that
Linkeree has come back to us and he is safe.

He would not be in danger except that he steals
time from us and built himself a house in the
forest, Hux said. And then he said something that
many people agree with: We only get houses
when we marry. Why does Linkeree now have a

house when he is not married? If we all did this
we would spend all our time making houses.

Linkeree answered this with his face red with
anger, saying, I did not ask any of you to help me
build my house, and so it is mine. It cost you
nothing. You did not work for it, and I did not do
less work here in Heaven City than any of you. It is
my house.

I do not know if this is a good argument or not. It
is one thing to say My arm or my leg, for it is
clearly mine. It is even right to say, My shirt or my
shoes, for these would not fit any other person.
And when one has eaten one can say, My dinner,
for no one else can ever eat that food. But to say
My house when it is a thing that any person could
fit into and use does not seem right.

Sara is reading this and she says that in these
very writings I have called this house My house.
That is true. But when I call it My house I do not
mean that I would close the door against any other
man or woman. And yet this is what Linkeree
means.

For Hux said to Linkeree. Ryanno and I are
going to be married. We need a house.

And Linkeree said, Good. I will help you build
one.

No one said anything, but we all knew that Hux
was really saying I want to live in the house you
built. And Linkeree was really saying, I will not
let you live in it.

Then I spoke, for I had made a decision: Lin-
keree, until the snow is over, it is better if you do
not sleep in your house in the forest except on

nights when the sky is clear and it will not snow,
for it is not right that you should spend hours
going through the forest when you should be here
working like the rest of us.

And Linkeree saw that this was fair, and he
agreed. But then he said, If many people would go
with me, we could walk the snow down until it is
hard, and there would be a path through the
woods that I could follow without fear, and it
would not take me hours.

Hux shouted, No, for that is work that would
only help you, and no one else, for no one else
lives in your house.

Hux was right, and so I said, There is no more
work that must be done today except the cooking
of the food. So let all those who want to come with
Linkeree, and we will walk down the snow until it
is hard, if he will let us see his house and the way
to it. And all those who do not want to do this can
have hours to do with as they choose here in
Heaven City.

Hux still tried to say this was not right, but the
people saw that I was being fair, because this was
not work that anyone had to do. Also, everyone
wanted to see Linkeree's house, and so every
single person, including Hux at the end, agreed to
help walk down the snow.

We walked down the snow and it was a glad
time with shouting and singing all the way.

Linkeree's house is made of smaller logs than
our houses, and there are more of them. The
cracks he has filled with mud and straw, and it
lets in no wind. This is a good idea, and I have

decided that in the springtime we will also fill in
the cracks in logs with mud and straw. Also, Lin-
keree has made a hole in the other side of his
house from the door. It starts at a man's waist and
goes up to his head, and closes like a door with a
frame made of sticks covered tightly with cloth
and straw. Linkeree says that in the summer this
will let the wind pass through his house and he
will be cooler than those who live in other houses.

And as I looked at his house I thought, this is
what did not look right about my house, and I
knew that I would have to take down my back wall
and make a small door for the wind as Linkeree
has done.

When all had seen Linkeree's house we went
back to Heaven City, even Linkeree, for it was time
to eat.

Then the bad thing happened. During dinner,
Hux went to Linkeree and said, Give me your
bread.

This made everyone be quiet, because no man
has the right to say Give me your bread.

Linkeree said nothing, but went on eating his
potatoes.

Hux said, Today I worked for you. I did not
work for all of us, but only for you. Therefore, you
should give me something. I want your bread.

I said, You have enough to eat, Hux. You do not
need bread.

Hux said, When I work for another man I get
hungrier than when I work for myself. He must
give me bread, because I gave to him, and only to
him, the strength of my legs.

Then Hux spoke loudly to everyone gathered in
the eating house: when I work for all of you, then
all of you give me a part of your bread and
potatoes and cream and every other thing. If I do
not work, I get less. This is Jason's law.

This is true. But then Hux said: Today I worked
for Linkeree, and so now Linkeree must give me
food. When I work for all men, all men give me
food. When I work for one man, one man must
give me food.

This did not seem right to me, nor to many of us.
But no one could think of an answer. Hux is very
good at making his ideas seem true, even when
they are not true.

Linkeree said, If you want more food, there is
plenty of nightsoil.

This made many people laugh, but Hux did not
laugh. Instead he took Linkeree's bread from his
plate, and took a great bite out of it. Linkeree
jumped up to take back the bread, but Hux threw it
down on the ground and stepped on it so it could
not be eaten.

Then Linkeree became very angry and with his
fist he struck Hux in the stomach. He struck him
so hard that Hux fell to the ground and vomited all
he had eaten for dinner.

This made us all very afraid, for such a thing
had never happened before. Wien was more angry
than others because Hux is his friend more than
any other man. Wien was about to strike Linkeree
with his fist, also. But I went to Wien and put my
hand on his arm, and he did not strike Linkeree.

I did not know what to do, for such a thing had

never happened before. This is what I said, and I
fear it was not wise: Hux took that which he did
not have a right to takeanother man's bread. For
this a good and just punishment is for him to lose
his own dinner, which he has done. Therefore I
will give no more punishment to Hux.

Then I said to Linkeree: You have built yourself
a house, but this does not mean that you are not
one of us, equal to all of us. When we have a
problem we have always gone to the Warden or to
J to have an answer. But this time you did not wait.
You decided for yourself what the punishment
should be, as if you were the Warden. You are not
the Warden. You did not have the right to cause
pain to Hux.

Linkeree could see that I was very angry, be-
cause he said, I am sorry you are angry, Kapock,
and I am sorry that I struck Hux. I was angry, and I
did not think first.

But this could not be enough. For if a man can
make another man do his will by striking him
hard, then Wien would soon be the Warden, for he
is the strongest. And those who are not strong
would soon be ruled not by justice, but by the
desires of the strong. And did J not say, The strong
man and the clever man and the kind man have
equal gifts, and shall not rule over each other?

So I said that Linkeree must be punished, and
his punishment must be like what he did to Hux.
Therefore I said that Linkeree must stand while
another man struck him as he had struck Hux.

Everyone thought that this was a just punish-

ment, even Linkeree, though he looked afraid. But
then, even though the punishment was just, no
one was willing to strike Linkeree. Not even I, for
it is too hard a thing to cause someone pain, even
when they have caused it to someone else.

Then Sara said, I will do this, because the
punishment must be carried out.

I forbade her.

But she said, I will do it because it must be done,
but Linkeree must understand that I am not angry
at him, but love him like everyone else here, or I
will not do it.

I understand, Linkeree said.

Then Sara went to Linkeree and struck him very
hard in the stomach. Sara is very strong, stronger
than Linkeree, but because she was not angry she
did not strike him with the same force that Lin-
keree had used with Hux. But Linkeree still bent
in half with the pain, and cried out loudly, and all
of us agreed that justice had been done.

But I am still afraid. For Linkeree and Hux now
hate each other and are angry deep down inside
them, where it does not heal, and I fear that other
bad things will happen. Why did J make me War-
den? I would rather be just Kapock who tends the
sheeps and works the loom. For if I stand between
Linkeree and Hux they will hate me also. I am
afraid that they already do. And yet I have only
tried to be fair. But sometimes what is fair to the
one person and what is fair to all persons are not
the same fairness, and then how can I judge when
I do not have J's wisdom?

I have written many hours into the night, but I
cannot sleep even now. But I will make an end of
writing at this time. My hand is tired.

Kapocks gonn and Im alone here at the house
and so Im writing wat Kapock would write but hes
not here. Im Sara and wats happend is worse than
any of us thought. For Hux has hatid Linkeree bad
for days, and so hes gonn and made things worst
they can be.

Hux he hatid Linkeree even after I hit that good
man as punishment for hitting Hux who deserved
it. So he got the plan to marry Ryanno now instead
of wait for spring when we can bild a house.

Hux he said how he and Ryanno did not have to
wait to marry because already theres a house that
is fine for them, a fine house he said over and over.
No need he said to bild a new house and so he and
Ryanno did not have to wait for the snow to melt.

This was the hardist thing Kapock my dear
husbind has ever decidid but he did his best. Wat
could he do? For it was winter and we could not
bild a house and the snow was deep, like it is
today. Last year when Ally and Jobbin married
they had to wait for spring and it was hard for
them all winter not to couple when they wantid to
so bad but that was the law.

Now there is a house why should they wait? But
the house was bilt by Linkeree he did all the work.
And yet never has any man or woman in Heaven
City said to any other man or woman in need of his
thing, No. Always we have said Yes what I have is
yours all of it take wat you need.

If Jason was here he would have decidid but
Kapock is Warden and whatever he decidid
would make somebody angry. So he said to all
people Wat do you think? And many said Lin-
keree should have the house but many more said
It is not right for Hux and Ryanno to wait when
there is a house.

And so Kapock did the thing that would anger
the less people because he did not know wat is
right.

And now all things are bad and I am afraid for
Kapock is. gonn like Linkeree into the night and it
snows hard so I cannot even see the sheep behind
the fense.

Hux is stupid and stubborn like the ox that does
not move unless it is hit. I would want to hit him
five or eight times but he would still be stupid.

Kapock said Hux could have the house and
Linkeree got tears in his eys but he said if you
think thats right Kapock I will do wat you say.
Kapock he said thank you.

Then Kapock said In a week weel do all this like
I said. But Hux was not happy yet, he said I want
the house tonight and marry tonight. Ryanno she
said Wait a week Hux we have no hurry. But Hux
he got angry and said Tonight or you'll all be sorry.

Kapock he said This is not fair Hux. You'll wait a
week.

In the night Hux like an ox took Ryanno and his
clothes and things and went in the darkness for
there was a moon. They came into Linkerees
house where Linkeree was sleeping and said
Make room.

Linkeree he was very angry, but still he would
not hit again for he promist.

So Linkeree came in the night to Kapock and
said all that had happind and that Hux and
Ryanno were in his Linkerees house.

Many people then went in the night to Lin-
kerees house where Hux and Ryanno slept and
Kapock said Why did you do this when I com-
manded you to wait?

It was not fair said Hux.

Jason said you should obey me like I am Jason
said Kapock.

Then Hux he said When you decide wise like
Jason I will obey like youre Jason.

Then my husbind Kapock got angry and when
he gets angry he will not speak but instead is
silent because he says When I am angry I am
foolish.

And then Kapock said to all the people, Lets go
home and sleep in Heaven City and decide what is
right and wrong in the morning. But Linkeree said
No, for Ive dunn all things like you said even
giving up my house like you said now make Hux
this ox do like you said, for Ive obeyd and hes
broken all your words. Then Hux he shoutid I will
never leave this house unless you kill me to get me
out.

And so Kapock said Please Linkeree lets not
have more of this fighting this is so bad:

But Linkeree said I have dunn right and Hux
has dunn wrong take him out. When Linkeree saw
that Kapock would not do it because he wants no
more fighting, Linkeree went to the door of the

house he bilt and opend it to go in and fight with
Hux. But Hux struck Linkeree with the little door
that Linkeree had bilt for the other end of the
house and Linkeree fell down with bleeding from
his head and he didint get up we thought he was
dead.

Then Kapock said to Hux, You are not one of us
Hux. You are alone. You may not marry Ryanno I
forbid it. Ryanno come to me.

And Ryanno who is a good woman came out of
Linkerees house and came to Kapock. Hux he
stood looking at Linkeree who lay so quiet and he
said Im sorry I just wantid to keep him out of this
house I was so angry but I didint mean to hurt him
so bad.

But Kapock he just said You have killd a man
and you will have no more food in Heaven City
and no more friends in Heaven City. Live however
you want but come to us no more.

Then Kapock had the men carry Linkeree back
home.

But Linkeree he was not dead he was still alive
and when Kapock saw this he cried and said Lin-
keree my friend youre alive youre alive and many
others of us cried. Then we all went to sleep. I askt
Kapock What about Hux? He didint kill Linkeree
after all.

Kapock he said to me, Sara he didint care if he
killd Linkeree or not. So let him go a night think-
ing that Linkeree is dead and then weel see how
much he hits a man or woman again, I think never.

But this was again a wrong thing, yet how could
my Kapock know? How could he know what Lin-

keree would do? Can he look into other mens
hearts like Jason can and see the real truth inside
them? No he cant. So he did the best he could and
Jason if you read this Im saying to you Dont you
blame Kapock because hes a good man and its not
fair to tell a Warden he must be as wise as you
because no man can be so wise and if you say he
did bad and make Kapock feel bad I promise you
Ill never love you again Ill always hate you and
never do wat you say. Jason my husbind is a good
man, he is the best man in all of Heaven City. Wat
could he do?

Linkeree he took a burning branch from the fire
and went in the dark morning before the sun and
lit on fire the house he bilt. Hux he heard the
flames and he run out of the house into the snow
but all that he had except his own sleeping cloths
burnd up in the house which is nothing but ashes
and burnt up poles now.

All day we lookt for Linkeree we did not work
because it was about to snow and we did not want
Linkeree lost in the woods. But we did not find
him and when we get back wat do we find? Batta
is gonn too and with her much food and one ax
and much cloths enouf for two people and so we
know she is gonn to Linkeree. Did Linkeree come
to her or is she also lost in the forest? We do not
know.

And when the snow fell nobody would go look-
ing any more except Kapock and he promist me he
would not go eather but he is gonn and I know he
is in the snow. This is the worst storm so far this
winter it is very bad and I am afraid for Linkeree

and Batta but most of all I am afraid for my
Kapock. But he is full of darkness he said to me, he
said Sara even you cant take this dark out of me.

Before Kapock went out alone I said Here is Hux
who has dunn all these stupid things. I say lets put
him out in the snow till Linkeree and Batta come
back.

But Kapock he said No. He said, Hux did not
mean to hurt Linkeree so bad he is just stupid and
thinking only of hiself not of all of us. Hux he usd
the laws to do a thing for himself just like he said
Linkeree was doing, and now we know which of
them both is trying to be better than others it is
Hux.

This made Hux to cry.

But Kapock said We will not punish Hux any
more now, we will wait for Jason to come back to
us and Jason will say what Hux shall do. But I
command this one thing. Hux will not marry for
five years. As long as I have lived since Jason took
me down from the Star Tower, Kapock said, that
long will Hux not marry and not couple with a
woman. This is my commandment in the name of
Jason.

This time Ryanno cried and Kapock said Im
sorry Ryanno this punishes you as bad as Hux, so I
say you have no more promise to Hux but you can
marry any man who wants you because you can
see that Hux is not a good man right now he would
not be good to you and a man must be good to his
wife.

Ryanno said Its not fair.

And Kapock said There is no way to be fair Im

not trying to be fair. Im trying to stop all of us from
hurting each other any more and I dont care about
fair I care about right. And it is right that Hux is
treatid like one of the Ice People who comes down
from the Star Tower knowing nothing saying no-
thing just crying and making nightsoil and eating
and sleeping. Hux must be punisht so no other
person will do like he has dunn. And besides,
Ryanno, Kapock said, you did much things with
Hux like going to Linkerees house early and you
knew it was not right.

Then Kapock said to everybody Im going now
to find Linkeree and Batta. While I am gonn you
will obey Sara as if she were Jason or me. If I dont
come back at all then you obey her until Jason
comes back.

And he made all people promise but I said Dont
go Kapock but he didint answer just went out of
the door and into the snow which falls so fast.

Im writing all these things so that Jason will
know the truth of wat has happind no matter what
lies Hux and Ryanno try to tell.

Wat has happind to us it is not three moons yet
since Jason left us and went into the Star Tower
and now there has been much wrong and Lin-
keree and Batta and maybe Kapock are surely
dead tonight who can live in this snow? It breaks
branchis. It breaks even roofs tonight sometimes
when it is so bad.

And I have not said to Kapock yet because he
has been so worried but I am about to have another
baby will this baby ever see his father? Even now
in the early morning Ciel cries in his bed saying

Kack, Kack, which is all he can say of Kapocks
name I would suffer any pain if it only meant I
could see Kapock at the door smiling at me Im so
afraid Ill never see my husbind again.

Now has been three days Kapock and Linkeree
and Batta they are gonn and nobody thinks theyll
come back not even me. Jason why did you go
away and leave us like this? If you were here
Kapock would not be dead.

Now at last with three of our best people dead
even my husbind now Hux and Wien and every-
body they are being good and doing wat I say and
not causing argumints. Hux does not even speak
to anybody he is so ashamed but I want to spit on
him everytime. I stay away from him because I
would spit on him every time I see him. Today we
are fix three roofs that broke in places during the
bad storm it was so bad that one of the yung sheep
it died of the cold. Even with its wool it died oh
Kapock I cant write anymore now I am Warden
but I want Kapock to be Warden and hell never be.

It is five days and today Hux wont eat. I hate
him but I dont want him to die we made him eat
anyway. I said Hux only the good people have
died and I wont let you be like them. Then he
cried but he did not try to not eat or to die any
other way eather.

The snow meltid a little today the sun is up and
hot for winter. Today we went out looking for
them to find the bodies maybe but we couldint
find any tracks for the snow had coverd all of it. I

do not let myself cry at night anymore because it
makes Ciel and Mun wake up and cry too and it is
not good for these little ones to be unhappy when
they do not even understand why.

Where Linkeree and Batta are and how we built
a house.

I am Kapock and I have come back from my time
in the forest with Linkeree and Batta. I have read
all that my wife Sara has written, and she has
written well, for the things she wrote are mostly
important. She even now holds to me and cries
because she is happy and tells me, Kapock, do not
write that for I will seem foolish.

I said, Sara, you are foolish. It is why I love you,
because I am foolish too. I cried when I came
home. Ciel now says my name.

Sara has already written all things before I left
and there is no need for me to add to this because
she has written it well, though her writings are
not always the way J has taught us to write.

I, Kapock, went into the forest and I was afraid
because the snow was falling very fast and cover-
ing all the ground deeper than before and there
was a wind that moved the snow so that the deep
places looked like smooth ground. I called often
in the darkness and the snow, but no one
answered me. Then I thought to come back but I
could not find the way, and as I searched I fell into
a deep place and when I got out I was wet all over
and very cold, and I knew I would die.

Then it was that Linkeree and Batta came to me,
for they had heard my cries and by chance I was

not far from the place where they were hiding.
They had been afraid that I was coming to do them
harm because they had burned the new house, but
then they remembered that even though I was not
always wise I had never tried to do them harm and
they came to me.

Now this was how they had built a house: They
found a place where two trees grew close to a
steep hill. They cut long branches and put them
between the low branches of the trees and be-
tween the trees and the hill making a roof. Then
they covered it with many branches and dead
leaves that they uncovered from the early snows.
This way when the snow began to fall they al-
ready had a roof, and as the snow was falling they
made walls out of branches leaning against the
roof and they were dry. They made a small fire at
the door of this house, and the wind blew the
smoke away but also the heat, and even in blan-
kets it was cold all that night.

In the day the snow still fell, but Linkeree and
Batta and I decided that waiting would only make
us freeze like the water of the Star River, and we
must work to be warm. So Linkeree cut trees while
Batta and I brushed snow from a place on the
ground, even though the snow still fell, and then
we moved the logs to the place and began to build
walls. Linkeree and I built the walls as Batta kept
sweeping out the snow. During the day the little
house by the hill fell in from the snow on it, and so
we hurried to finish the new house by dark, but
we could not. So once again we only used the
walls of the house which were about shoulder

high to stop the wind, and we built a fire, and
snow fell on our blankets and we were cold but
the snow was not as bad as the wind, and so it was
better that night and I did not freeze and neither
did they.

Then the next day the snow was less, and we
finished the walls, even with a door and a little
door. Then we all made the roof frame out of logs
and long, thin branches but we had no straw for
thatch and so we used only leaves and this did
well enough for this time, though water drips in
many places. Also we made a door and a little
door frame to cover the holes and on the third
night we were warm and mostly dry.

Then I said to Linkeree, Who built this house?

You and Batta and I built it, he said to me.

Then who owns this house? I asked.

All of us, for we built it. If all of them had helped
us build it, then it would belong to all of them.

This is true, I said. And now, Linkeree, I give
you and Batta this house. It is no more mine, just
yours and Batta's. But you must also give me
something.

What can be as much as a house? asked Lin-
keree.

You must promise me, I said to them. You have
to promise me that even though you will live just
the two of you here, and will surely plant seed
here and make a field just like the field at Heaven
City, you will always be a part of Heaven City.

No, said Linkeree. I do not want to be a part of
them.

But I said to him, This is a new thing you have

done, and we did not know what to do. When you
made the cloth for catching fish, none of us knew
what it was for, did we?

No, he said to me.

But still it was good, and when we understood
we all were made stronger and better by it. Now
you also have learned from me and others. Is my
woollen cloth not warm? Do you not put cloth in
front of your door like I do in the summer?

But Linkeree said nothing. Then I said to him,
Linkeree, my friend, you are wise like J, you think
of things that no man has thought of before. We
need you. But you also need us. How will you
plow and plant without an ox? How will you do it
without seeds? And we need you to help us make
straight walls and to teach us the things you think
of that have never been done before. You are part
of us, and we are part of you. I said this to Lin-
keree.

Then he said to me, If I promise you to be part of
Heaven City always, and obey, you must promise
me that what I make with my own hands will
belong to me and what Batta and I make together
will belong to us.

And so I promised him this, even though it will
surely make J angry, because I think it is more
important for us to be together than it is for us to
have all things equally. Yet it hurts me to write
this, because it seems good to me that all men and
women have things the same as each other. For
now that Linkeree has his own field to plow and
care for, we will be weaker, and he will be weaker,
for we will not take care to put food in the mouth

of our friend, but only in our own mouth. This is
ugly to me.

When J comes again he will see what has hap-
pened and he will know that it is bad and he will
not make me Warden anymore. I will be glad. And
now I make an end of writing and I will write no
more, because I do not want my children to read
even this much, for it tells only of my foolishness
and my children will be ashamed that I am their
father, and J will be ashamed that I am his son. I
make an end.

J comes in the night.

I thought never to write again, and for several
moons I did not. But it is now the moon which at
its ends means we will plant, and tonight J came
to my house in the night.

He came quietly and commanded Sara and me
to wake no one. This is what he said:

Kapock, I come to see what has happened while
I was in the Star Tower. But I do not want the
others to know I came, for they must expect me
only in the harvest moon, and not look for me at
other times.

And so Sara and I promised.

Then J read all we had written. He cried twice.
Once when he read what Sara wrote about J him-
self, and once at the end of it when I wrote. He said
to me: Oh Kapock, you have done wisely, not
foolishly. It was a hard choice and no one could
have done better, not even me.

But I said, You could have done better, tor you

see into men's hearts and you would have known
that Linkeree planned to burn the house, and that
Hux planned to take it away from him.

And J said to me: That is true. But my power is
not the power of a man, and you did all that a man
could do.

And you, too, Sara, he said. You did wisely and
well, and I will say the same punishment on Hux
that you said, for there is nothing a man can do
that is worse than what Hux did, which is to make
another man do your will by striking him without
thought for his life. And if a man kills another
man, or a woman kills, either one, then the man or
woman who has killed man or woman, he will
also be killed.

And who will kill him? Sara asked.

All the people will kill him, Jason answered.
This is an ugly thing, but it is the only way to keep
a strong man from killing the weak who will not
do his way.

I will never do it, Sara said.

But others will, J said. And I thought he looked
sad as he said it.

Then J went out of the house and took me with
him. The moon was not full, but it still was bright
and so were the stars, and we could see for a long
way. We could see even the mountains to the
south, which are so far that we could never go to
them.

J said to me, All of this that you can see, it is not
even the hundredth part of the world.

I asked him what is the world.

He said to me, The world is round like a berry
and we stand on its face. And it flies through the
air.

I said to him, Is this why there is wind?

But he looked sad and said, No Kapock, for we
move with it and do not feel its motion. But this I
did not understand, for how can a thing move and
not know that he moves?

But I asked him a question because he seemed
to be ready to answer questions, and I asked him a
question I had thought of often.

I asked him Who makes all these things? When
you bring the Ice People from the Star Tower
every year at harvest time and we feed them and
teach them to walk and talk, where do they come
from? And who made the Star Tower? And the
forests? For I know who made the houses and the
fields, for I make them myself. And I know who
makes the children and the new lambs and the
calf oxen, but I do not know what makes the Ice
People.

Then he said to me a story, and I try to write it as
I remember it.

Once J was in the sky with 333 of the Ice People,
and the Star Tower flew like a bird only faster.
Then an enemy came and with one hand killed
111 of the Ice People and with the other hand
made 111 more of the Ice People sleep so they
could never wake up, and then with his spit the
enemy made even the last 111 Ice People forget all
things.

Then J killed the enemy and brought the Star

Tower to this world. There are many worlds, with
many people, but this world was empty, and he
brought the 111 Ice People who could waken out
of the Star Tower and J said that Sara and I and all
the others are these Ice People.

But there are not 111 of us, I said.

There will be, he said.

But I am foolish and I asked him, J, who made
the Ice People, then? And who made this world if
you only found it?

Then J shook his head and laughed softly and
said, God did, Kapock.

But this is not an answer, because what is God? I
asked him this, but he would say no more, except
this: I have told you the truth, but you cannot
understand it, neither can any of the others. I will
tell you only the truth that you can understand.

This is why I have written all that J said, for
somewhere in what he said must be the answer to
my question of who made all these things, or of
what this God is.

Then J and I went inside, and he said to me that
the promise I made to Linkeree and that Linkeree
made to me is a good promise, and that this will be
the law of all men and women: What a man makes
with his own hands is his own; what many men
make together belongs to all who worked. When a
man owns a thing that another needs, the other
must give the man something that he needs in
trade for this thing, and the trade must be fair, or it
is a crime.

This is a new word, which I shall teach the

people. Crime. J said it means those things which
if all people did them would make a man want not
to live among men.

J said many other things which I will not write
because he said not to. I write these things be-
cause he did not say not to, and they are impor-
tant.

After many hours in the darkness J left us, and
after he left Sara and I could not sleep, and so I
write. But now Sara sleeps and I too can sleep, and
so I make an end of writing for this time.

We plow three fields.

The plowing is done and we have plowed three
fields. First the field at Heaven City, which is the
first and the largest. Then the field where Lin-
keree and Batta now live, which is not large, but
which has black soil that feels warm and that will
grow much food, I think.

The third field is at the place where Linkeree
built the house that later he bruned. We have all
built a new house there, and into it Hux has
moved. And we have plowed a field with Hux,
and he will live alone.

But not alone. Rather only apart from the most
of us. For I saw that Hux was truly sorry for all he
had done wrong, I believe that he will not let
anger make him do such bad things anymore. So I
called all the people of Heaven City together and
asked them, one by one, saving only Linkeree and
Batta, if they had any thing bad to think of Hux for
anything he had done to them. And not one of
them said anything bad except Sara, and she

would not speak. Then I said to Hux, Neither do I
have anything bad to say of you, Hux. Yet that is
because no harm has been done to me.

I said to him, Linkeree and Batta are the only
ones who can speak bad of you. And so I say this:
Hux will be allowed to marry Ryanno and live in a
new house which we all will build, but only if he
asks permission of Linkeree. Then it will be Lin-
keree who gives Hux a house if he is to have a
house. This is only right, for Hux took a house
from Linkeree.

Then Hux went to Linkeree and asked him for a
house, and Linkeree and Batta said, We will work
with our own hands to help build you a house.

That is the house that Hux lives in now, and it
has the little door just as Linkeree's own house
has, and it is a good house, and when Hux and
Ryanno moved into it all of us sang and there was
dancing and laughing and we caught many fish
and ate them because it was a good day, for even
though we live in three places instead of two, we
are one people.

And now tonight I thought of what J said to me
that night and I think this: When J said, God made
all this, he was laughing because I did not know
that J made all these things, so he made up a name
and said this person did it. Or maybe God is J's
other name. But this I am now sure of: J brings the
Ice People from the Star Tower, and he is thus the
maker of the Ice People. He must also be the maker
of other things, for if he can make a man whole,
without it growing from a woman, he could surely
make all other things. This is what I think. If I am

wrong then J will think I am foolish. But then, I am
foolish. Why should he not think it?

We have found another thing. The Star River is
large, but it goes only a little way from Heaven
City and then it flows into a great river, a river so
wide that the other side looks as far away as the
mountains, and the water is muddy and not good
to drink. It is also deep, and a man or woman can
only walk a little way and the water is up to the
shoulders and the river pulls as if to sweep you
away.

Now I see something that I did not know before.
There are small rivers and larger rivers. Alone, the
small rivers are not strong, like the Star River that
we can walk across. But when the small rivers
flow into the large ones, then the large ones are
stronger.

This is like Heaven City, for Linkeree and Hux
live apart, yet they flow into the Heaven City like
the Star River flows into this big river. And so I
have named the big river Heaven River, and said
to the people:

Flow always into Heaven City as you see the
Star River flow into the Heaven River. Then
Heaven City will always be as strong as you see
this great river to be.

But if you flow in different ways, like the Star
River does when it splits upstream into two rivers
that pass on both sides of the hill I live on, then
you become weak.

Not all the people understood me, but many
did.

I did not tell them that J is God who made all
these things. This is a thing I will keep without

telling, for it is a hard thing, and I do not under-
stand it yet.

I am no longer afraid to be Warden. For I know
that J does not expect me to act always as he would
act. Rather he expects only that I act in the best
way I know how to act. And this I can do. And I
make an end of writing for this time.

I have thought of J as a father.

Today Ciel spoke to me and said, Father let me
come. I was going to shear the sheep and he said,
Father let me come.

When he said this I knew that he would some-
day say other things, and I felt then that someday
Ciel will grow wise like the Ice People, and a son
of my body may speak to me as my friends speak
to me.

And then as I sheared the sheep I thought of J
and knew that he is to us as I am to my son Ciel. He
is wise and knows many things, all the words and
all the names, what to do, when to do it, why it
must be done, and what will happen if it is not.
None of us knows these things, and we only say to
him the things he has taught us to say. Even as I do
with Ciel who cannot say all that we can say, J
must long to speak to us about things that we
could not understand.

I tried to tell Ciel why he could not play among
the sheep, for they might hurt him for he is small,
but he did not understand.

I laughed and shook my head. This is also what
J did when I did not understand. Laughed and
shook his head.

J is a father with all the children. He has no one

he can talk to as I talk to Sara. He can only talk as I
talk to Ciel, in simple words that even then are not
always understood.

J is like a father, but he has neither wife nor
friends nor father of his own. Or is that where he
goes when he leaves us? Is there a father for him
inside the Star Tower? I do not think so, for now I
realize that J always looks sad and alone, not
happy like I am with my son Ciel. I think J has no
one but us to talk to, and we do not understand.

But I will try to understand, so that someday
when J speaks to me I will be able to answer.

Then maybe he will take me into the Star Tower
and show me all the secrets there and he will
teach me how to make Ice People and all the other
things he has made.

Sara is reading this and she is angry. She says
that I am truly foolish to think that I will ever
know all that J knows. She is surely right.

But still I hope. If the Star Tower can fly like a
bird, will J not take me with him into the sky?
When Ciel is old enough and wise enough I will
take him with me everywhere I go, and teach him
everything I know. Is this surely not what J in-
tends for us as well? And so I say to J as Ciel said to
me, Father let me come.

But for now I will only try to be wise and will
study how to not be foolish like a child anymore. J
will know when I am ready. And I make an end of
writing for this time.

9

STIPOCK WOKE with the sleep helmet still on his
head, and as he moved his arms to the sides, he
realized to his surprise that he was still in his
coffin. It had never happened before. His body
was soaked in sweat from the waking drugs, and
his mind refused to clear. Bright spots appeared
in front of his eyes. He blinked. The spots went
away.

He reached up to the sides of the coffin, pulled
himself to a sitting position, and looked around.

Not a Sleeproom at all, he knew instantly. The
mass of controls placed within arm's reach of a
chair could only be a ship's control board. The
space was cramped. Garol Stipock had never been
in a warship before, but he had seen loops, and he

recognized quickly that this had to be the control
cabin of a ship of the fleet.

He also recognized the man standing at the
head of the coffin, who said softly, "Is everything
all right, Dr. Stipock?"

"Jazz Worthing," Stipock said, and his body
flushed with heat as everything fit together
waking in a starship, and Jazz Worthing, one of
the prime enemies of the people of Capitol, stand-
ing by his side.

"I'm in a colony ship," he breathed, the words
not sounding real.

"Very quick," said Jazz Worthing.

"Why? I never volunteered"

"Not so quick, then?"

"No," Stipock said. "We must have launched
our little coup attempt. We must have lost."

"In a nutshell," Jazz said, "that's so. There are
more ramifications, of course. But I doubt they'd
interest you."

"They interest me very much. Who else was
caught?"

"Everyone."

Stipock turned away, suddenly conscious of his
nakedness, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he
was. "Can I have some clothing?"

"The ship has it ready for you." The clothing
landed in a pile in the foot of the coffin. Stipock
clambered out of the box.

"Is there a shower first?"

The starpilot pointed, and Stipock went in,
showered, urinated, and came back out and

dressed. His thoughts began to settle down in the
process. Colonies. Death. No more somec. The
raw emotions never reached panic; instead he
began to think: Adjust. Fit in. Get along. Survive.

"What kind of planet is this?"

"Agricultural," Jazz answered.

"Most are," Stipock retorted, "at first."

"This one always will be," Jazz said. "Fossil
fuels are buried too deep to get to without metal
tools. Copper and tin are extractable with wooden
tools. Iron is only within three kilometers of the
surface at one place, the middle of an uninhabita-
ble desert. This planet will have a very hard time
getting out of the bronze age."

Stipock was surprised at Worthing's attitude.
"Don't you have any heavy equipment?"

"Yes," Jazz said.

"Then what's this about the bronze age?"

Jazz smiled. "Awake for three minutes, and al-
ready you know more than the captain."

Stipock flushed with anger, and grew angrier at
himself because he knew that his pale skin always
turned red when he was angry, making it impos-
sible for him to hide his emotions.

"What am I supposed to do? Where are the
others?"

"The others are all outside. You're the last."

Stipock didn't know how to take that. "Why
last? Why in here, for that matter? I thought col-
ony ships had a tape-and-tap."

"They do," Jazz said. "Ours isn't working."

"Why am I in here alone?"

"Your situation is unique, Dr. Stipock."

"Why? I wasn't even one of the leaders of the
coup. I'm not about to cause any problems."

Jazz laughed. "Your existence at this moment is
a problem. One which I created myself, I know,
but I have to see what'll happen. Experimenting,
you know?"

Stipock felt sick. He had seen the stolen loop,
knew that Jazz Worthing was set to lead a rebel-
lion of the Fleet to seize control of somec. But if
Jazz's rebellion had succeeded

"What are you doing here? I didn't think top
level starpilots were exactly thrilled with colony
assignments."

Jazz sighed. "That's the problem with using old
tapes to wake you up with. You don't know a
damn thing. Follow me." And Jazz turned on his
heel and walked to the back of the control room,
opened a door, and stepped through. Stipock fol-
lowed, telling himself that he'd have to humor
this man, but knowing that whatever his situation
turned out to be, he'd hate it.

They went through a large storage compart-
ment, with many large and small coffins, most of
them empty and stacked out of the way. A few
were still connected. "Ocelots just aren't needed
in the ecology," Jazz explained casually, "and I
decided skunks had no useful purpose either, just
now. Avoid the nuisance, you know."

Stipock followed the starpilot to the end of the
storage room, where he opened a door. Jazz
Worthing watched him as he stepped through the
door. Stipock looked aroundthere were three

sets of gauges and dials grouped around three
doors. He resisted the impulse to ask questions,
though he could think of no good reason not to.
He just didn't want to converse with a man whom
he had long hated (from a distance) and who now
had a great deal of power over him (from close
up).

Jazz parted the seal on the door marked A,
opened it, and stepped back. Stipock moved to the
door and looked through.

Dazzling sunlight poured in through a long
oval slit in the roof. It took a moment for Stipock to
adjust to the light. When he could see clearly, he
gasped. The long tube, which had been lined with
coffins, was a ruin. All the metal was melted
down, and a clear swath had been cut through.
There was no way a single passenger in that sec-
tion could have survived. "What happened?"
Stipock whispered.

"An enemy ship. Two of them, as a matter of
fact. I had a choice between letting a projectile hit
the stardrive and vaporize us all, or letting it hit
here, in the hope that some would survive."

"What a choice," Stipock said. "Were either of
the other two tubes hit?"

"All the life support in C tube was destroyed by
the heat of the projectile's passage," Jazz said.
Stipock noticed that the starpilot formed some of
the words and sentences with difficulty, as if he
were unaccustomed to saying them.

"I was in B tube?"

Jazz smiled patiently. "Isn't that obvious?"

Then Worthing stepped into the ruined tube,

and Stipock followed. They walked carefully
along the tube. Stipock looked up as he passed
under the tear in the roof. The sun was blinding.
He looked away, covering his eyes. A purple spot
blocked some of his vision. "Don't look at the
sun," Jazz said.

"Thanks for the warning," said Garol Stipock.

They made their way to the end of the tube and
didn't have to open a door, because the hole left by
the projectile was ample. They clambered
through, and Stipock was horrified by what he
sawthe tape rack mostly fused and melted by
heat. "The memory tapes," he said, "Look at
thisthis is terrible."

Jazz reached out with his toe, and showed
Stipock an empty slot in the lower right-hand
corner of the B-tube tape rack. "That's where the
only B tube tape that was usable was."

"Mine."

"Again, obvious."

Stipock leaned against the wall. "But what
about the others? They won't have any memory at
all, no training, no education. They'll be like in-
fants. What are we going to do?"

"It's all been done."

Stipock was puzzled. "But how? If you didn't
have the tapesyou said I was the last one
wakened! Why? How long did you leave me
asleep after landing?"

"Fifty-eight years."

It was too much to understand all at once. Bad
enough to wake up from somec and find that your
last waking had been wiped and you were in the

colonies, irrevocably off somec until you died
that much he had bargained for, had known the
risks when he joined the conspiracy. But the
deaths of two-thirds of the colonists in a battle in
space, and then the loss of every survivor's tape
except his own

And why had he been left asleep for fifty-eight
years?

"It wasn't an easy decision," Jazz said, answer-
ing Stipock's unspoken question. "A dozen times
that first year I headed for the Star Towerfor the
shipto waken you. I needed your help."

"Then why didn't you? Because I was a rebel
against your conspiracy? In a case like this, you
forget political differences. Captain Worthing, I
would have helped you."

Jazz smiled slightly. "Would you?"

"Damn right!" Stipock said. "Damn right! Of
course I would!"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" Whether
you'll help me, or whether you'll work against
me."

"Now? Aren't they all functioning adults by
now?"

Jazz nodded, then went to the door from the
schoolroom to B tube, opened it, went in. Stipock
followed. Most of the coffins were empty, stand-
ing open. But twenty of them were occupied. Jazz
touched each one as he passed, said a name. Most
of them Stipock recognizedFritz Kapock, the
designer; Sara Hamilton, a wholesaler who had
been one of the foremost leaders in the rebellion;
Arran Handully, the best-known actress in the

Empire and a primary financial backer of the re-
bellion. Others he didn't know, of coursehe
hadn't been that high in the ranks of the rebellion,
to know everyone.

"Why are they still here? I thought you said I
was last?"

"They aren't still here," Jazz answered.
"They're back here. These are the ones who have
proved themselvesthe most creative, the most
capable, those best able to lead. I bring them back
here to sleep, so I can use them again."

"You still have people on somec," Stipock said.
"But that's absolutely forbidden in the colonies."

"You worry about law?" Jazz asked. "You're
the man who invented the probe, Garol Stipock."

Stipock flushed again, was embarrassed again
that his anger showed so obviously. "I also in-
vented the geologer, which you no doubt used for
your planetary survey."

"Of course. I'm just pointing out that in special
circumstances, law-abiding people break laws.
You must admit these circumstances are special."

"When the next Empire ship comes, let's see
what they say about it."

"There won't be any Empire ship," Jazz said.
"We left Capitol more than a thousand years ago."

Another piece of unassimilatable information.
"A thousand years! Then we must be"

"Very, very far from the pale of human settle-
ment. And the Empire doesn't know we're here."

"Why!"

"Does it matter? Here we are. Now I'll explain
this carefully, and you'll listen carefully, and we

shall see what happens next. Dr. Stipock, these
people all had empty minds, like infants. No con-
ditioning from Capitol culture. No knowledge of
somec."

"They know now, anyway," Stipock inter-
rupted.

"I said listen. They know nothing about the
universe except what I could teach them. They
know nothing about law except what I have
taught them. And in all of this, I was limited by
what they could understand. On Capitol, children
were surrounded by the artifacts of civilization.
All the little gadgets that kept us alive and made
life fun. How many people on Capitol actually
know how those things work?"

Stipock snorted. "Almost no one."

"Only the specialists. Now if people who see
these things and use them every day have no idea
how they work, how could I explain, say, a laser to
these colonists, who have never seen one?"

"I never thought of that. They don't have a
fragment of the science of the last four thousand
years, then," Stipock said. "What have you
done?"

"I haven't tried to teach them."

"But they should know! They have to know"

"Why? On a planet where the technology they
and their children will have can't possibly extract
iron or aluminum from the earth? On a planet
where coal is inaccessible and oil even harder to
get? Should I tell them about star travel and tele-
phones and loops and food processors and tubes
and toilets? Should I tell them that they're living

in squalor and ignorance and make them hate
their lives?"

Stipock shook his head. He sat on an empty
coffin, looked at his hands. "But not to tell them
anything. Captain Worthing, I couldn't do it."

"Yes you could," Jazz said. "I even tried to tell
them. But they didn't understand. I told them I
brought them down from the sky in the ship, and
they decided that I must be superhuman. How
could I explain the science of the stardrive? They
have no need for higher mathematicsit would
just be a game to them, and a pretty damned hard
one. None of them has time to learn things that
can't be usedit takes all their time from dawn
to dark just to stay alive."

"It sounds like hell."

"They're completely happy."

"That's hard to believe."

"Only because you remember the Empire,
Stipock. If you forgot the Empire, you'd live like
them and be happy, too."

"What do they make of things like the starship,
then?" Stipock asked. "If they don't know about
technology, what do they think of the fact that
you're still young after fifty years or so, that these
people you've got in here don't get any older?"

"They think," Jason said, "that I'm God."

Stipock laughed uproariously. "Well, I hope
you set them straight on that!"

"I never tried," Jason answered, shrugging.

"You're joking," Stipock said, and then saw
that he was not. "What are you doing, setting
yourself up here as the local deity? What right do

you have to force them into superstition and ig-
norance?"

"The ignorance is unavoidable. And they made
up the idea that I was God all by themselves."

"You could have told them it wasn't true."

"And accomplished what? You've been pam-
pered all your life, Stipock, just like everybody
else in the Empire. Well, they've got a hard life out
there, and no precedents, no parents, no one to
teach them. Except me. I'm their parents and their
teachers and their ties with the past. They needed
a foundation, and I'm that foundation. Why else
do you think people believe in God? They can't
live without faith."

Stipock was silent, said nothing, but told him-
self, This man is insane. This man is playing God
with people's lives. I've got to stop him somehow.

"Garol Stipock," Jazz said, "you can try to stop
me all you like. As long as all you do is talk, and as
long as you obey the laws."

"The laws? You're the laws, aren't you?"

"I wrote them. But they stand alone now. The
government is entirely in their hands. I visit now
and then, to install a new Warden, to take people
who've excelled into the ship to sleep. You won't
find it oppressive."

Stipock got up and walked out of the tube. He
didn't look back to see if Jazz was following or
notthe footsteps behind him soon told him that.
He went back to the control room, and went to the
door that led outside. He began unlocking it, but
when it came to unfastening the seal, it wouldn't
budge.

"Sorry, Stipock. Keyed to my thumbprint. And
in case you get any ideas, it's keyed to my living
thumbprint. Wrong temperature, no pulse, and no
electric current, and the door won't open. In fact,
if I'm dead and I touch the button, the control
room blows up. The Fleet's little anticapture sys-
tem."

"Are you keeping me a prisoner here?"

"It depends on what you plan to do when you
go out there."

"I plan," Stipock said grimly, "to tell them all
what a lying crazy bastard you are."

"Still a rebel," Jazz said. "Do you think they'd
believe you?"

And Stipock calmed down, slumped as he
realized how stupid his impulse had been. He
would be a stranger to them all. Why should they
believe him?

"Garol," Jazz said, "strange as it may seem, I
know how you feel. A man once played God with
my life, and I hated him for it for a while. But
eventually I realized that what he was planning
was good. I still had no choice but to obey him
but I didn't want another choice. The vision was
good.

"I have a vision of this world, Garol. I imagine it
being a simple, peaceful place, where people are
happy, by and large. I at least want to give it a
good start. And if that means giving them a deity
to worship until they no longer need one, then I'll
give them a deity."

"Why did you even wake me?" Stipock said.
"Why did you even use that tape?"

"Well, as for that, if you don't cooperate, I'll

simply put you back to sleep and wake you as I
woke the others, with no tape at all. So in the long
run you'll be part of the colony one way or
another."

Stipock laughed bitterly. "Then put me under,
because the way I feel right now, I'm sure as hell
not going to cooperate."

"You're a brilliant man, Stipock," Jazz said.
"There have been only eleven significant ad-
vances in Empire technology since the beginning
of the somec. Four of them were yours."

"Four?"

"I count the probe. Stipock, I don't think the
way you do. I can help people solve their human
problems and I've taught them everything I could
learn out of the ship's library. But I can't invent.
And in a world with no metal, they need inven-
tion. We need it. Now if I put you under and woke
you up mindless, maybe you'd still become an
inventor and maybe not. Kapock was a designer
and he still has great sensitivitybut Linkeree
was a businessman and now he carves in wood.
You see?"

"So you do need me."

"We can survive just fine without you. But I
want your help."

"I won't help you as long as you're playing God,
Captain Worthing."

Jazz shrugged. "It's your choice. I'm walking
out of here in three days. They expect me then.
Either you'll come with me as you are now, or
you'll come with me as an infant in a box. Up to
you."

Stipock shouted, "You really believe you're

God, don't you, juggling with people's lives as if
they didn't have anything to say about it!"

Jason sat down at the control board, swiveled
the chair around to face Stipock. "People never
decide the major events in their lives, Dr. Stipock.
The major decisions are made for them. The only
things that people decide are the minor things.
Whether they'll be happy or not, for instance;
whom they'll love and whom they'll hate; how
trusting they intend to be. You can decide to trust
me, and I'll decide to trust you, and then maybe
you can be happy, if you've got guts enough to
be."

Stipock, bright red with rage, leaped for Jazz
Worthingno clear plan in mind, of course. Just a
vague but overpowering urge to cause pain. And
pain was, indeed, caused. Stipock lay on the floor,
holding his arm.

"That'll be a nasty bruise, Dr. Stipock. Re-
memberyou may have won a few duels on
Capitol, but the Fleet trains its soldiers to win.
And I always will."

A gross misappropriation of funds, Stipock
thought humorlessly. He felt the anger and
humiliation of a crippleunable to control his
own fate, hopelessly trapped and yet capable,
completely capable, if only he could set himself
free of his handicap.

Jazz stayed busy the rest of the day, and Stipock
began looking over his shoulder. He began won-
dering, from time to time, why Jazz was so calm
and easy about having him loose in the control
cabin, as if he posed no threat at all. But from time

to timein fact, whenever it occurred to him to
try to attack the starpilotJazz would almost
playfully, absentmindedly flash out a hand and
bruise Stipock, a sharp, quick pain somewhere on
his body. A reminder. And Stipock would put
down any idea of resistance.

What Jazz was studying, and what Stipock read
over his shoulder, were charts and readouts from
the computer on probable population figures, de-
pending on different variables. Now and then,
curiosity aroused, Stipock would ask a question.
"Which of these is accurate?"

"All of them. But the best predictor seems to be
the max-max-mini figuresmaximum fertility,
maximum available resources, minimum en-
vironmental hostility. The people out there seem
to like having babies. At least, they don't want to
quit having them bad enough to invent twin
beds," Jason answered, and Stipock couldn't help
laughing.

And reports, all written by Jason himself, on the
progress of the colony under each Warden. The
names were all familiarKapock, Steven Wien,
others that he had known or heard of. "Who's this
Ciel?"

"Kapock's oldest son. Second generation. The
first native-born that I appointed as Warden."

"Why do you call them Wardens?"

"I like the word."

"And why call it Heaven City, and the Star
River, and all this other mumbo-jumbo."

"I like mumbo-jumbo."

Angry again, Stipock went away from the con-

trol and fumed quietly in a corner for a few min-
utes. He and Jazz spoke no more that day, until
Jason yawned, looked at his watch, and said,
"Time to sleep,"

"Not for me," Stipock said.

"When I sleep," Jazz said, "you sleep."

And Jazz had a needle in his hand. Stipock
leaped to his feet, bounded away to comparative
safety by the door to the storage room. "Don't
come near me with that."

"You're afraid," Jazz said, "that once I have you
asleep normally, I'll put you under somec. Well, I
won't. When I put you under somec, you'll know
it."

"I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Got any choice?"

There was a struggle anyway, a brief scuffle that
Jazz won handily, and Stipock soon slept.

Lights up. Stipock opened his eyes. Jazz Worth-
ing was leaning over the bed, and Stipock sighed
in relief. Awake another day, with memory intact.

Breakfast out of the ship's paste. Taste foul.
"Well, the ship has been out for over a thousand
years," Jazz said, smiling pleasantly as Stipock
grimaced and forced it down. "Usually they're
refitted within a century. Time does things to
flavor."

After breakfast, more reports, and Stipock
began to get a feel for the community outside the
starship. By lunchtime he had even conceded to
himself that Jason had really done remarkably
well, turning mindless infants into a functional,
working society in only five decadesand with-
out being there much of the time.

"I can see," he finally said, "that their worship
of you served a real purpose for a time. Continui-
ty. Their awe of you lent authority to the Warden,
kept them together."

Jazz turned around in amazement. "Do I hear
you, Garol Stipock, the perfect judge of right and
wrong, actually commending me, the man who
plays God, of doing something right?"

Stipock turned red and Jazz laughed. "I told
you that before. But you wouldn't believe me. Just
like a scientist. Perfectly willing to decide what's
right and wrong without recourse to the evi-
dence."

"When I saw the evidence," Stipock said
grimly, "I changed my mind."

Suddenly more mild, Jazz said, "Sorry. I didn't
mean to mock. And I'm glad you saw my point."

"Then I hope you'll see mine," Stipock said.
"This God thing can't be forever. Let's make a
bargain. Let me go out there, let me live there for at
least a year. I'll be 'inventive' or whatever you
expect of meI'll try to find ways to improve their
lives with the limited resources. I'll help build up
your colony. I'll obey all the laws."

"Bargain?" Jason asked. "And what will I do for
you in this bargain?"

"You'll simply let me teach. I won't undermine
the Warden's authority. I'll just try to wean them
away from their belief in this God you've become
to them."

"By teaching?"

"Persuading."

"You realize that if you try to teach them that I
was a traitor to the Empire, which your little con-

spiracy believed, they'll either not understand, or
they'll get very upset at you."

"I'm not a fool," Stipock said, "at least not usu-
ally. I know enough to avoid getting people angry.
Peaceful means. Let me try to change their minds.
Or do you like being God so much you won't even
take a chance?"

Jazz cocked his head and looked intently at
Stipock's eyes. "You mean you'd promise to obey
all the laws, to build up the community in every
possibly way, in exchange for my allowing you to
teach people that I'm not God?"

"I promise it now."

"It must be worth a lot to you to unthrone God,"
Jazz said.

"If there were a God," Stipock said, "I wouldn't
fight it. But when a normal man acts the role, then
I'll unmake him the best I can."

"Well, then," Jazz said, "I think that's a fair
enough bargain. If you can persuade them, then
fine. But I warn youI'll give the Warden power
to imprison you if you incite or perform one act of
violence. Even one. Agreed?"

Stipock hesitated, then nodded." But I won't be
responsible if some crazy person takes an idea
into his own head"

Jazz laughed. "This isn't the Empire, Stipock.
The Wardens are all just. They try to be fair. And
usually succeed."

"Who's the Warden right now?"

"Hop Noyock," Jazz said.

"Your agent?"

"Was. But since I don't have any more income,
his ten percent is gone, too."

Jazz held out his hand. Stipock took it, and they
struck the bargain. Afterward Stipock laughed. "I
can't believe making a bargain without lawyers
and contracts."

"This isn't the Empire."

"Why are you trusting me?"

"Because," Jason said, "I have the foolish belief
that I can see into people's hearts. I've looked into
yours."

"A rather dismal place, wasn't it?" Stipock
said, playing along with the joke.

"No more so than normal," Jazz said, smiling.
"You still hate me. But I can trust you to keep your
part of the bargain.

"And," Jason added, "you can trust me to keep
mine."

10

NOYOCK LAID down the pen on the table and rubbed
his eyes. He shouldn't have left the writing until
the last minute. But the History had to be kept. Not
since the first day of the first Warden, Kapock the
Eldest, had any Warden failed to keep the His-
tory, and Noyock prided himself on being more
thorough than any of them.

A rooster crowed, and then another, as if in
answer. Noyock reached over and opened the
shutter slightly. Still darksomeone must be
walking the chickenyards, then. But perhaps it
was nearly morning. Was the sky a little lighter?
Had to sleep. Jason coming today, he muttered to
himself. Yawned again. Jason today, and the His-
tory is ready.

Noyock stretched, and left the room he had set
aside for his duties as Wardenhis planning, the
History, meetings with individuals and couples,
when the problems or questions weren't approp-
riate for open discussion. This, too, was new,
since Jason had left. He will be pleased, Noyock
told himself. I hope he's pleased.

Below him, he could hear the clank of tin pans,
the dull sound of a wooden spoon stirring rapidly
in a clay pot. Who this morning? Riavain,
Noyock's own wife? Or his daughter-in-law, Es-
ten, Wien's eldest daughter, who had married
Aven in a joyful ceremonyhow many year ago?
Thirty. Noyock chuckled. Poor Aven, he thought.
My poor son, now more than fifty years old, while
I look scarcely older than I did the day Jason
brought me down from the Star Tower, they all
tell me.

And Noyock paused to think about Jason for a
moment, to think of the miracle of dwelling in the
Star Tower, because no one who dwelt there with
Jason ever aged. They could go in, as Noyock had
done, leaving their children in their twenties, and
come out to find that their children seemed to be
older than they. Poor Aven. But no, aging was a
part of life, the natural pattern of things. Like the
cows and horses that grew old and died. It was not
poor Aven. It was blessed, lucky, favored Noyock
and Riavain and all the others who had been taken
into the Star Tower; and thinking of Jason's good-
ness to everyone in Heaven City, Noyock's eyes
filled with tears, and he wondered if he wasn't

getting old after all, and just as he thought that, he
heard a roar from downstairs.

"Lying to your father on top of disobedience!
What kind of child have I brought forth!"

Aven, Noyock thought to himself, and doubt-
less poor Hoom was the object of Aven's wrath.
Aven had always been obedient, deferent, careful.
And now the poor man was cursed with a son who
was wilful, forgetful, prone to disobey. But,
Noyock remembered with a chuckle, the boy was
a hell of a lot more fun to have around than his
father had been. And Noyock had often spent
hours with Hoom as he was growing up, teaching
him, answering the boy's questions, asking his
own. Bright boy.

The slapping sound of a leather strap. Ah,
thought Noyock. This is a bad one, then. Noyock
debated whether to go, for though he tried not to
intervene in the way Aven raised the boy, he had
often found that by simply appearing on the
scene, Aven's anger was tempered, and Hoom
was spared the worst.

Noyock went down the stairs to the second
floor (remembering, proudly, that his farm and
cattlefields had been so successful that he was the
first in the whole of Heaven City to have a house
with three floors. And a basement) and then
turned, going up the hall to the small room that
was Hoom's own, unshared with his sisters or his
brothers.

"And that," said Aven's voice, now low and
fierce with the exertion of the whipping, "is what

happens to boys who disobey. And that," with the
fall of the strap again, "is what happens to boys
who lie!"

Noyock stood in the door. Hoom was kneeling
at his bed, soundless as his father brought the
strap down again on his naked back. Large welts
were rising, but Noyock calculated that Aven
could be hitting a good deal harder, and so didn't
intervene, only walked in a little farther and
cheerfully said, "That brings the count to eleven."

Aven brought the strap down again. "Let's
make it an even dozen then, and be done."

He took the strap and hooked it through his belt,
then faced his father. "Well, father," Aven said,
"you see how my patience has finally been
pushed too far."

"I do indeed," said Noyock. "And what did the
boy do this time?"

"I come here in the morning to wake him, and
find him in here half-dressed. I think, 'The boy's
getting up early to help,' and come in to give him a
hug and clap him a good-morning, and by damn
his clothes are wet! Been down by the river again!
Down playing water games with that little bastard
Wix, no doubt. But I says to him, 'Did you sleep
well?' And he says to me, 'Very well, father.
Didn't stir all the night long.' And I'll not put up
with being disobeyed and lied to on top of it all!"

"So I see. Well, the boy's strapped well, now,
isn't he?"

"And I hope it hurts him long enough that he
learns to obey his father." And with that Aven
stalked righteously out of the room.

Now, in the silence that followed, Noyock
could hear the boy's labored breathing. Crying?
Either that or trying very hard not to, which
amounts to the same, Noyock decided. But no
need to let the boy wallow in it. Good cheer:
"Well, Hoom, my boy, today's Jason's homecom-
ing."

Grunt from the face in the blankets.

"And today your grandfather's been Warden for
one solid year. Four to go. Better this time than the
first. What do you think, will Jason have me out,
or keep me on?"

No answer at all.

"I suppose that's a trivial question to you right
now, Hoom. But it plagues me a far sight more
than anything else right now. What's troubling
you? I know the pain's a trifle to youwhat's your
sorrow?"

Mumbles.

"And only God heard that remark. Have you
nothing to say to me?"

Hoom lifted his face from the blanket. His
cheeks were tear-streaked, but his eyes were
aflame with hatred. "I want to kill him," the boy
hissed. "I want to kill him!"

The words were like knives to Noyock, who
couldn't bear such words being said within his
family. But he only smiled. "Ah, it isn't the pain at
all, then, is it, because if it was the blows, you'd
only want to thrash him. It's the shame, isn't it, of
being beaten."

Hoom started to argue, then thought better of it,
and Noyock took note of the boy's increasing

maturity, that he'd change his mind so readily
when he knew the other side had the truth. "Yes,"
Hoom said. "It's the shame."

"Well, Jason's coming today, and all shames are
forgotten."

"Not all," Hoom said. "He forbids me to spend
time with Wix."

"He's your father."

"Father or not, Wix is my friend! I didn't choose
my own damn father! And I did choose my
friend!"

"Well, you're thirteen," said Noyock. "In only
eleven months you'll be fourteen, and come of
age, and no father or mother can tell you what to
do or not to do."

"But by then Wix'll have it done! And I won't
have had a part in it!"

"In what?"

"Logs on the river!"

"Ah," Noyock said. "That again. But Wix is so
impractical! Why go out playing on the river, with
the current as dangerous and swift as it is, when
we have no need to travel on it?"

"But the city'll grow, grandfather! Wix says
there'll come a time when a floor of logs on the
river will carry cargo from one end of Heaven City
to another!"

"You can't even guide your silly logs," Noyock
said. "The river isn't an ox, to be tamed by men."

Hoom turned away in ill-hidden disgust. "No,
you're as bad as father."

"Probably worse," Noyock said. "I love you like
he does, but I haven't the courage to try to stop you

from drowning yourself. If it was up to me, I'd say,
'Let the boys experiment. Let them learn the only
way they ever will'."

"I wish you were my father!" Hoom said.

"Too late to arrange that," Noyock answered,
laughing. "But go on down to breakfast. Jason's
coming today."

Suddenly concerned, Hoom said, "Are my eyes
red? Does it show that I was crying?"

"Not a bit. But I'd advise you to put on some
clothes, boy. Your mother's likely to belt you a
good one if you come naked to breakfast." Hoom
laughed, and so did Noyock; and the Warden left
the room, wishing that all the unhappy people in
Heaven City could be so easily comforted.

Breakfast was placid, except when Aven started
telling how Niggo the tailor had nearly beaten
Wix within an inch of his life, because the boy had
been teaching Niggo's nine-year-old daughter to
swim. "That'll teach young hooligans to keep
their hands off young children."

The point of the remark was too sharp to miss,
and Hoom piped up in his changing voice, "She
asked him to teach her. He didn't want to, but she
pestered him until he did."

"Nevertheless," Aven pontificated, "if Jason
had meant for human beings to swim, he'd have
given us scales and fins."

Hoom's eyes flashed with anger, and he said
sarcastically, "And if God had meant for men to
plow, he'd have given you blades for feet."

Aven grew furious immediately, and a crisis
was averted by the arrival of the bacon and

Noyock's loud laughter. "My son and my grand-
son, both prizes for their wit!" The desire for a
quarrel passed quickly, and overzealous mouths
were soon filled with dripping fat. "I say that even
if hogs are disgusting creatures," Aven com-
mented with his mouth full, "they're certainly
good once they're dead!"

And Noyock answered, his mouth even fuller,
"And let us say the same for fat men, too!" and
everyone laughed, for they had nothing but con-
tempt for the tailors and weavers and woodcar-
vers who sat all day at their tasks, while Noyock
and Aven and all their family, keepers of cattle
and tillers of fields, considered loose skin at their
waist to be a sign that they'd been slacking.

The breakfast over, they gathered cloaks against
the wind and headed out of the house, down the
dirt road, and joined the crowd trickling along the
new road that was generally called Noyock's
Road. Noyock was justly proud of itfor though
Cooter the wagonmaster had suggested the idea to
two other Wardens, only Noyock had caught the
vision of it, and found a way to do it.

The trouble had been that no one wanted to
donate time just to spread small rocks over the
surface of the road. So Noyock had assessed, not
time, but goods from the older, wealthier people,
and had paid those goods to younger men whose
farms were not yet producing, or who were still
learning the trade. That way the older men didn't
have to waste their time on a public job, while the
younger men could work for the general good
and not starve in the process.

The result was good. A summer of frequent rain
had proved it: while every other road in Heaven
City was a morass of mud, Noyock's Road, which
led from the Main Town, past Noyock's Town,
over the crest of the hill, and down to Linkeree's
Baythe water ran right off or soaked right
through, and not a wagon was stuck all summer.
And now, with the evidence before their eyes,
there'd been no trouble persuading the people to
spread the small stones on all the streets of Main
Town, and much of Wienway Roadclear to the
forge. Jason would be pleased.

Firstfield was full already. The census last
winter had brought a total of 1,394 people in
Heaven City. Twenty had been taken into the Star
Tower. Eight had died in all the history of Heaven
City, of accidents or, in the case of a few of the Ice
People, of the strange, inexplicable maladies of
old age. Noyock had no hope of counting how
many babies had been born since winterthese
days it seemed that every woman was pregnant,
and Linkeree's son Torrel had told Noyock, "Ev-
ery third person wants a cradle these days."

Noyock came and stood on the Warden's place,
and watched to see when the rising sun would be
completely hidden behind the slender shaft that
stuck out from the front of the Star Towerthe
place where Jason lived. It was only a few mi-
nutes' wait, and then the citizens of Heaven City
sighed with pleasure and fulfilled expectation
when the dark place appeared at the front of the
Star Tower, and the slender line descended
slowly to the ground.

But Noyock's pleasure turned quickly to dis-
may. Jason was not alone. And the only time he
ever brought an adult from the Star Tower was to
put one of the sleepers into office as Warden. Have
I done so badly this year, Noyock wondered, that
Jason is already replacing me? But that would be
unfairhe hasn't even inspected my work! And I
did very well the first time I was Wardennot
fair!

But as the line descended more and came
closer, Noyock realized that the man with Jason
was a stranger. Blond and pale, he had obviously
never been in the sun; but he looked strong
enough, and intelligentbut who was he?
Noyock knew all the Ice People, and recognized
by sight everybody over ten years of age in the
whole city. This one was new.

Jason and the stranger touched the ground, and
Jason strode from the chair he rode in, holding out
his arms, greeting all his people. They leaped to
their feet. They cheered. They cried out. They
wept and laughed and some sang. And, represent-
ing all of them, Noyock came forward to embrace
Jason. But Noyock couldn't conceal his uneasi-
ness, and Jason, as always, saw into his heart. As
they embraced, Jason whispered, "Noyock, my
friend, this man isn't here to replace you. You're
doing well, and you are still Warden with all my
confidence."

And so Noyock was free to be curious rather
than concerned about the stranger. Until it occur-
red to him that this man must be

"The hundred eleventh Ice Person!" Noyock
called out in realization.

"What?" Jason asked. But Noyock had already
turned around to face the crowd. "Jason has
brought with him the hundred eleventh Ice Per-
son. The last of the Ice People! As Kapock
prophesied in the History! The last of the Ice
People has come!"

The people were awestruck, and Noyock barely
noticed the helpless expression on Jason's face as
he beckoned the stranger to come forward. "You
see?" Noyock heard Jason say, but he didn't un-
derstand why. Jason stepped forward, bringing
the stranger with him, and he raised his hand for
silence.

"Your Warden is right," Jason said. "This is the
last of the Ice People. And he is uniquely gifted!
Of all the Ice People, only Stipock has come from
the Star Tower with the power of speech. He is
a wise man in many thingsbut he is like an in-
fant in other things, and you must be patient
with him!"

(Did I see the stranger glare at Jason? Noyock
wondered. Why should he be angry?)

"His name is Stipock. Will you build him a
house?"

Of course the people shouted, "Yes," and the
meeting broke up immediatelyit had lasted
longer than any other Greeting in the History, and
because of the stranger it seemed that the tumult
afterward lasted longer, too. Everyone had to
touch Jason, talk to him, see if he remembered

them, show him the new children, ask him a ques-
tion, tell him how well things were going. And
then the more curiousand the majority were
very curioushad to come meet the new Ice Per-
son.

"Stipock," they all said, trying out the name.
"Welcome to Heaven City."

Noyock watched as Wix (the problem! The
thorn in everyone's side!) came to Stipock and
fixed him with that cold, painful stare, and asked,
"Why are you able to talk, when all the others who
came from the Star Tower were like babies?"

Stipock glanced at Jason (Why do I keep think-
ing they're adversaries? Noyock asked himself),
saw that he wasn't looking, and said, "Because
my memory tape was the only one that survived
the wreck of the ship in space."

Dead silence fell over the group. Someone mut-
tered, "He makes words, too, just like Jason." But
Wix only sneered and said to everyone and to no
one, "Anyone can make up words." And then to
prove his point, the fifteen-year-old man said,
"Because my memory glibbit was the only one
that survived the wreck of the mumblebunk in
tiddiewart." Though Wix was irritating to practi-
cally everyone, they couldn't keep from laughing.

And Noyock wondered why the stranger was
turning red. Embarrassment? Anger? Ah well.
He'd need a place to stay until the new house
could be builtso Noyock went to him and said,
"I'm Noyock, the Warden. Would you be willing
to live with me until we can build you a house?"

"I don't want to put you out," said Stipock.

"We won't leave," Noyock said hurriedly.
"We'd stay there, too. It's a big house."

Stipock seemed as if he wanted to explain
something, then thought better of it, and followed
as Noyock led him out of the crowd.

Several people followed them up Noyock's
Road toward Noyock's Town, the cluster of
houses mostly belonging to Noyock's children
and grandchildren that fringed the road near the
crest of the hill. They wanted to hear Stipock
speakhe had a different way of saying things
that was very amusing, and no one was sure what
to make of Jason's latest miracle.

The farther they walked up the hill toward
Noyock's house, the stronger the smell of the cat-
tle pens became. To Noyock it was the smell of
home; the smell of prosperity. But Stipock wrink-
led up his nose and said, "Can't you do something
with the smell?"

Noyock was startled, then laughed. "And what
can you do with a smell, when no one knows what
it looks like, or how to take hold of it?"

Stipock didn't answer, and Noyock wondered if
the man had a sense of humor. A person who can't
laugh is only half a human, Noyock firmly be-
lieved. Why had Jason created this halfman, and
brought him here?

Stipock stepped in a pile of fresh cow manure
that was sitting in the middle of the road. He lifted
his foot and asked, "What's that?" He sounded
irritated.

"Cow manure," Noyock said, puzzled that the
man wouldn't know.

Stipock walked from the road to the thick grass
and hurriedly rubbed it off his shoes.

"If you didn't want it on your feet," Noyock
asked, genuinely confused at the man's actions,
"why did you step in it?" Stipock only shook his
head, and wiped his feet some more.

Late that night, Noyock retreated to the room
where he worked on the History. But tonight he
couldn't bring himself to write anything. He just
stared at the paper, and at last passed the time by
drawing maps of his farm as it was, and as it
should be within a year, five years, ten. Meaning-
less. He was tiredhe had only managed a two-
hour nap in the afternoon. But he couldn't sleep.

All day Jason had been going through Heaven
City, visiting with people, talking to them, asking
what they thought about this, what they felt about
that. As always the Warden was forbidden to
come along. So instead, Noyock had had the in-
creasingly odious task of dealing with this crea-
ture Stipock. He wasn't sure how he was going to
broach the subject with Jason, but he certainly
wished Jason would take the man back into the
Star Tower with him.

Questions. "Why do you do this? Why do you
do that?" When Stipock asked Aven, "Why do
you let your wife do all this cooking while you
just come in and sit at the table, expecting to be
fed?" Noyock didn't even try to stem the outburst.
Aven was at his furious best. "Because, by damn, I
spend the day from an hour before dawn until an
hour after dark tending cattle, hoeing fields, reap-
ing, plowing, sowing and every other damn thing

that keeps this family alive, including producing
every damn thing you've put in your damn mouth
today, Stipock! And if I expect my wife to cook the
damn food and clean up the dishes after it seems
only fair considering that there'd be no food and
be no dishes and be no house and be no table if I
didn't work to get them!"

Stipock had turned very, very red, and Noyock
couldn't help ithe laughed outright. Now,
drawing maps on the paper, he wondered what
Jason intended to do with Stipock. Please, Noyock
wished fervently, please explain at least what the
fellow is for.

A knock on the door, and Noyock got up, star-
tled. Everyone knew that after dark Noyock was
not to be disturbed in this room. He opened the
doorand it was the hundred-eleventh Ice Per-
son. "What do you want?" Noyock asked.

"I just want to ask some questions," Stipock
answered. And because Jason had, after all, said
that he should be treated as carefully as an infant,
Noyock invited him to come in and sit down. He
did not, however, say to Stipock, "Be welcome."
There were limits.

"Questions?" Noyock asked.

"I've been talking to Hoom," Stipock said.
"Your grandson, right?"

Noyock nodded.

"He tells me that as Warden you tell everybody
what to do."

Noyock shrugged. "When it needs telling, I tell
it. Mostly people do what they want."

"But there are laws?"

Noyock nodded, wondering what Stipock was
getting at. "Of course. Jason gave us those laws."

"And according to those laws a man has a right
to beat his son?"

Ah. Another criticism. Noyock suddenly felt
very tired and wanted to go to bed. "Within
reason," Noyock said, "a man has power over his
children."

Stipock laughed and shook his head. "I just
can't believe how crude it all is."

Noyock stood up and stepped to the door.
"Good night, Stipock. Let's talk in the morning, if
you wish."

"No, I'm sorry," Stipock hurriedly said. "I
didn't meanI just meant that everything is so
primitive." The word meant nothing to Noyock.
Stipock went on: "I just wondered if you ever
voted on anything. If you voted about the laws."

"We vote," Noyock said, "when there is no law.
When Jason has given us a law, why should we
vote?"

"Why shouldn't you?"

"Because if Jason says it, only a fool would
disagree."

"It might as well be the Empire all over again,"
Stipock said, more to himself than to Noyock. "It
hasn't occurred to anyone that the laws ought to
come from the people, not from a man who comes
out of the starship once every few years?"

"People are often very stupid," Noyock said.

"Including Jason, just like anyone else,"
Stipock said.

Noyock fixed a cold glare on him. "Good night,
Stipock," Noyock said. "Sleep well."

Stipock shrugged, said, "Thanks for answering
my questions," and left. Noyock closed the door
after him, but his shaking fingers could hardly
control the string to loop it on the bolt. He walked
back to the table, sat down, and put his hands to
his face.

It is very clear now what Jason wants, Noyock
told himself. Stipock is here to test us, to try us.
Jason has created an enemy, so that our love for
him and our obedience to law will have its trial.

But we will overcome, Noyock vowed. We can
and will be strong.

And then he remembered that Stipock had spo-
ken with Hoom. With young, restless, easily in-
fluenced Hoom. And the spectre of the stranger
stealing away the hearts of the children came up
before Noyock's eyes for the first time, and he was
afraid.

11

HOOM SAT at the table, the tallow lamp casting a
circle of light that included the paper and the pen.
Except for the scratching of the point on the
paper, the room was silent, until Hoom laid down
the pen, sat up straight, and stretched, sighing
softly.

He got up and walked to the window, which
was barred. His fingers played along the bar,
but he didn't lift it. He was confined to his room
for a week, except for labor with his father on the
farm. And Aven had gone so far, this time, as to
insist that the window remain closed. Of course
Aven would never know, this late at night,
whether he was obeyed or notbut Hoom sus-
pected that his father was so angry, this time, that

he'd at least consider watching one night outside
Hoom's room, just to see if he was obeyed.

Not worth a chance, Hoom decided. His back
was still stiff from the last beatingthe tenth in as
many months. I will be fourteen next month, he
reminded himself. Then I can move out of here
and never see my father again.

Today his oldest brother, Grannit, at the age of
thirty-two already a grandfather, had talked to
him. "Why build a fire between father and your-
self, so that neither of you can ever cross?" he had
said, and Hoom had no answer. Except the silent
one: "I'm not building the fire." He couldn't say
that, though, because all the old people in Heaven
City seemed to be on his father's side. They all
distrusted Stipock, even though not a house in
Heaven City lacked at least one of the tallow
lamps Stipock had taught them to make. They all
resented Wix, even though Jason himself had
commended Wix for finding ways to travel on the
watereven though Noyock (thank Jason for
grandfather, Hoom thought) had ridden in the
newest boat, which Stipock had helped Wix de-
sign. And they all had nothing but contempt for
Hoom, who was "a disobedient child," as the
phrase had so often been said. Hoom sat down and
tried to write again. But the words were hard to
come by. And would Jason even care to read what
a thirteen-year-old boy had written? No, it was
pointless. Noyock wouldn't change the law to set
him free; Stipock hadn't the power; and Aven was
determined that until the last moment that his
authority lasted, Hoom would obey.

"I'll do all in my power to make him a decent

man," Aven had said, loudly, when the cattle-
keepers' council met tonight, "so that when he
turns to rubbish next year, no man can say it was
Aven's fault."

And while I rot this year, Hoom thought bitter-
ly, no man says any fault to Aven, either.,

A loud knock. Hoom got up, guiltily, as if his
thoughts could be heard and he was going to
be held to account. He turned the paper over, so
the writing couldn't be read, and went to the door.
No one was there. He wonderedwho could be
walking the halls tonight? And then the knock
came again, louder, and Hoom realized that
someone was knocking at the window. At a
second-story window? No mattersomeone was
there, as a third knock testified. Hoom rushed to
the window, opened it, and Wix tumbled into the
room.

Surprise turned to dismay. Hoom quickly
closed the window again, then rushed and closed
the door. Returning to Wix, who was now lying on
his back on the floor, flexing his arms, Hoom
whispered, "What are you doing, coming here
when I'm confined? Are you trying to get me
killed?"

"You killed!" Wix whispered back, laughing
silently. "And there I was hanging by my elbows,
trying to butt my head against the window loud
enough that you'd hear me! Were you asleep?"

Hoom shook his head. "I was writing. As
Stipock said to do."

"Writing'11 never do any damn good," Wix
said.

"I think Stipock's right," Hoom said. "Why

should the Wardens be the only ones to write the
History? Then it's all written down the way they
think it happened.

"Well, it's your grandfather," Wix said.

"Why did you come here? I've been beaten too
much already!"

"I came because you'd've killed me if I hadn't.
We finished the new boat today, and Stipock says
we're to try it out tonight."

"Tonight? In the dark?"

"There's a moon. And Stipock says that the
night wind is from the southwest and will help us
fight the current. We're going to cross the river."

Hoom immediately began pulling trousers over
his naked legs. "Cross the river, and doing it to-
night!"

"Coming then?" Wix asked, laughing silently
again.

"Think I'd miss it?"

"What about your father?" Wix's eyes taunted
him.

"This one's worth another beating," Hoom
said. "And maybe he won't know." Hoom opened
the window and Wix climbed out, falling lightly
on his feet in the soft earth below. Hoom paused a
moment in the window, dreading another huge
quarrel with his father, wondering if taking this
jump was worth it. But the thought of taking the
big boat out into the riveracross the river
ended his inward debate, and he jumped, landing
on all fours and rolling.

Wix scrambled back up the wall enough to
close the window, so that discovery wouldn't be

easy, while Hoom smoothed the dirt where they
had landed. A few meters out from the house the
dirt was covered by a thick mat of grassno tracks
there. And the dew was cold on their feet as they
ran. A cow lowed as they sped through the pas-
ture, almost three kilometers before they reached
the forest's edge. There they rested, panting, out
of breath, until their eyes got used to the denser
darkness under the thick leaves. They followed a
path known only to children's feet, a narrow
winding that seemed deliberately to take the most
dangerous descents, the steepest slopes, and it
took almost a half hour for them to reach the edge
of the river, in a little bay protected by a finger of
rock that protruded into the river, blocking the
current. There the boat lay rocking on the water;
there a half-dozen shadowy people were busy at a
half-dozen nameless, invisible tasks in the dark-
ness.

"Who's that?" hissed a voice, and Wix
answered, aloud, "Me, of course."

"Hurry, then, we're nearly done. Did you get
Hoom?"

"I'm here," Hoom said, clambering down the
slope after Wix. Closer, he could distinguish the
features of the people there, and he immediately
sought out Dilna, who smiled at him and let him
help her with her task, which was folding and
loading on the extra sail.

A few minutes later, Wix and Stipock pushed
the boat out of the tiny cove and then were helped
aboard as Hoom held the tiller. He had been til-
lerman on the last two boats, too, and as the boat

hit the first currents (still not as strong as the main
current a kilometer farther outthey had never
tried to cross that before) he laughed with plea-
sure at how lightly and easily the boat responded
to his touch.

Wix, in the meantime, with Dilna and Cirith,
was putting up the sail, and the wind from the
southwest caught it, pulling the boat forward,
making it dance across the water.

There were four oars on the boat, just in case the
sail didn't work, but Hoom laughed and said,
"Won't be needing to row, now, will we?" and
Wix laughed and said, "We could sleep our way
across in this boat," and Stipock said, "Shut up
and mind the tiller and the sail. The real current's
still ahead."

When they reached the main stream, the bow of
the boat yawed widely to the left, and for a mo-
ment there was a flurry of activity until the sail
was turned to take the boat virtually into the cur-
rent. Hoom plied the tiller vigorously, and kept
the boat on course, and when they finally passed
out of the main current and into the gentle eddies
of the opposite side of the river, they gave a quiet
cheer. Quiet, because Stipock had warned them
that sound flew across water better than through
forest.

Ahead loomed the highest hill of the opposite
shore, and just to the west of it there was a beach.
They unshipped the oars now, and pulled down
the sail, rowing gently into the shore. This time
everyone but Hoom jumped out of the boat into
the water, pulling it ashore. Hoom got out then,

patting the firm structure of the boat as he swung
from the bow.

"Well," said Dilna, "it doesn't feel much differ-
ent from the sand on the other side."

"What did you expect?" Stipock asked.
"Gold?"

"What's gold?" Hoom asked, and Stipock
shook his head and laughed. "Never mind. Let's
climb that hill, and see how the world looks from
this side of the water."

So they climbed up the hill, Wix pointedly tak-
ing the shorter, steeper way, and Hoom following
him. At the top, they waited for the others to
come. Stipock was smiling when he reached
them, and as they stood together in the wind, he
laughed and said, "It's not too many years off, my
friends, when you'll be as glad as I am to find the
path that's not so steep!"

"The hill's high enough," Hoom said, looking
at how small their boat seemed down on the
shore. The moon was full and high, and without
trees around them, it seemed they could see
forever.

"Well," said Stipock, after they had all had
ample time to look around, "what do you see over
there?" And he pointed toward the shore they had
come from.

"I can see my house," Hoom said immediately,
because his house crowned the bald hill of the
Pasture. There were others near it, of course, but
his grandfather's house, where he lived, was
highest.

"There's a light in my father's house," Wix said,

pointing to the many houses that skirted Lin-
keree's Bay, where Wix's father, Ross, still lived in
the house that his father, Linkeree, had built.

"My family lives in the Main Town," Dilna
said. "I can't see it from here."

Stipock chuckled softly behind them. "And is
that all you see?"

Cirith said, "What I mostly see is trees. The
houses look pretty damn small when you com-
pare them to the forest." Stipock patted her arm.

Hoom wondered what in the world he was sup-
posed to see as he looked across the river. Sure
enough, everything did look smaller from farther
away, but everyone knew that. What did Stipock
want them to see?

Wix finally kicked a rock off the hill and turned
back to Stipock. "Quit the guessing game. You
want to show us something, show us."

"Right," Hoom said. "All that we can see from
here is forest and Heaven City."

"And there's the answer," Stipock said, clap-
ping Hoom on the back. "That's Heaven City.
Over there, isn't it?"

"Where else would it be?" Cirith asked.

"Look down on this side. Is Heaven City here?"

No, of course not, they said.

"Well then. What if a man crossed the river with
his wife, and they built a house here. Would that
house be in Heaven City or not?"

And now they began to catch a glimmer of the
idea. "It wouldn't have to be, would it?" Dilna
said.

And Hoom added, "And if the people who lived

here had the boats, they could pretty much decide
who came and who didn't."

"They could even keep the damned Warden
and his stupid laws on the other side," Wix said.
"We could vote on everything, like you've been
saying!"

But the excitement was dampened when
Stipock said, "And could you keep Jason on the
other side?"

They shrugged. They shuffled. They didn't
know. After all, you never knew what Jason could
do.

"Let me tell you, then," Stipock said. "You
can't keep Jason away. Because Jason has
machines that let him fly."

Fly! Hoom stared in wonderment at Stipock.
The man was strangefor hours he would talk to
them about how Jason was just a man, like any
other; and then he would say things like this, or
talk about Jason piloting a great ship between the
stars. Who could know? Even Stipock himself
couldn't seem to make up his mind as to whether
Jason was God, as the old people said, or whether
he was just a man.

"And not just Jason. Which of you owns a
cow?"

None of them did.

"Or an ax? Or anything at all?"

"I have my tools," Wix said, but he was the
oldest of those who followed Stipock, and few of
the others had turned fourteen and reached
adulthood.

"Are your tools enough to build a town?"

Wix shook his head.

"Then we're back where we started, aren't we?
Because you can't be free from Heaven City until
you don't need Heaven City anymore. But it's still
worth thinking about, isn't it? Still worth,
perhaps, planning for. Perhaps?"

"Perhaps," Hoom said, so solemnly that he
earned several punches and jests from the others
all the way down the hill. But as he sat at the tiller
on the way back, he couldn't keep from looking
back often at the shore they had left. Land as good
as any at Heaven City. But perhaps there the
young, who, like Hoom and Wix, cared little for
the old people's single-minded attention to every
word that dropped from Jason's mouth, might be
able to set up another city, one that depended on
the will of those governed, as Stipock had so often
said, rather than the will of those governing.

Now as they crossed the river, the current was
trickier. They had to steer into it again, though it
took them far from the direction they wanted to
go, because the wind was directly against them
returning. Once they had crossed the main
stream, though, they let the eddies carry them
lazily back across Linkeree Bay, around the point,
and into the shallow cove where they had built
the boat.

They splashed to shore (except Hoom at the
tiller) and tied the boat to three trees, and then
they all laughed with each other and made funny
remarks about having to go back to the old people
again, and then they parted.

Because Dilna lived in the Main Town, she and

Hoom had to go back in the same direction, which
was perfectly all right with Hoom. He wanted to
talk to her anyway, had wanted to ever since he
had met her in the group that met to listen to
Stipock months ago, while he was still talking
about the stars and planets and billions of people
on other worlds (as if anyone much cared what
really existed in heaven). As they wound their
way through the forest toward the Pasture, Hoom
held her hand, and she only held the tighter when
he tried to do the courteous thing, and let go as
they reached level, open ground.

That was encouragement enough for Hoom.
"Dilna," he whispered as they walked through
the Pasture. "Dilna, in a month I'll be fourteen."

"And I'll be fourteen in two weeks," she said.

"I'm moving out of my father's house that day,"
Hoom said.

"I'd move, too," she answered, "if only I had a
place to go."

Hoom swallowed. "I'll build you a house, if
you'll come to live in it with me."

She tossed back her head and laughed softly.
"Yes, I'll marry you, Hoom! What did you think I
was hinting at so much all these months?"

And then they kissed each other, clumsily, but
with enough fervor to make the experience all
they had hoped it would be. "How long will I have
to wait?" Dilna asked.

"I'll have it built before Jason's Day."

"Will he come back, do you think?"

"This year?" Hoom shook his head. "This year
he won't come. Not with grandfather as Warden."

"I was hoping he would be able to marry us
himself," Dilna said, and then they kissed again
and she took off running, heading for Noyock's
Road, which would take her down into the Main
Town. Neither of them noticed the incongruity of
wanting Jason himself to perform their marriage,
even as they planned and worked to remove
themselves from the city he governed. After all,
Jason may not be God, as Stipock always told
them. But that didn't mean he wasn't Jason. And
everyone knew that Jason could read what was in
people's hearts, and that made him more than
anybody else. God or no God, Jason still wasn't, in
any way, ordinary.

Hoom reached the house and quickly scram-
bled up the horizontal logs to his window. He
pulled it easily ajar, and slipped through, barring
the window behind him.

His tallow lamp was sputtering, but hadn't
gone out. He doused it, and undressed in the
darkness. The room was cold, and his blankets
were colder still, He shivered and he slid his
naked body under the woolbut he was tired
enough, and he was quickly asleep.

He woke when his door crashed open violently
and his father shouted, "Hoom!" The boy sat up in
bed, holding his blankets around him as if they
would offer some protection. "FatherI"

"Father!" Aven said in a high voice, mocking
him cruelly. "Father." And then he roared, "Don't
you call me father, boy! Never again!"

"What is it? What have I done?"

"Oh, are we innocent this morning? Didn't I tell
you not even to unbar the window? And certainly
not to leave this room for a week! Do you re-
member why I told you that?"

"Because," Hoom said, "because I disobeyed
you and went on the river"

"And have you obeyed me when I told you to
stay here as punishment?"

Hoom knew then that the beating was coming.
He had long since learned that when he was
caught, it was better not to lie. The beating was
easier then, and the shouting was over sooner.

"I have not obeyed you," Hoom said.

"Come to the window, boy," Aven said, his
voice lower and so all the more frightening. Hoom
climbed uncertainly out of bed. The early autumn
air was chilly, and when his father unbarred the
window and flung it open, it became freezing cold
on Hoom's naked and sleep-slowed body. "Look
out the window!" Aven commanded, and Hoom
became really afraidhe had never seen his
father so furious.

Down at the foot of the wall of the house, the
dirt showed clearly Hoom's footprints leading
from the grass to the wall. In two hours, they
would not have showedbut the slantwise morn-
ing sun made the prints black on the dark brown
soil.

"Where did you go?" Aven asked, softly,
menacingly.

"I wentI went" and Hoom saw some of his
brothers and uncles and cousins, passing by with

tools for mending fences. They had stopped. They
were staring at the window. Had they heard
Aven's shouting?

"You went to the river?" Aven prompted.
Hoom nodded, and Aven roared again. "This is
how I'm obeyed! You're not my son! You're an
untrainable animal I've been cursed with! I won't
have you in my house anymore! You won't live
here anymore!"

Hoom could see some of his cousins, and he
thought he could see them pointing, laughing,
mocking. He whirled on his father and shouted
back, as loudly as he could, though his young
voice cracked twice, "That's no punishment at all,
you old hog! I've been wishing for the day that I
could get out of here, and you've set me free all the
sooner!" With that, Hoom started for the chair
where his clothes were piled. But his father
caught his arm in a tight, savage grip, and pulled
him back.

"Want your clothes, is it? Well, none of that. My
sweat earned those clothes for you, and your
mother's."

"I've worked too," Hoom said, defiant but terri-
bly afraid as his father's fingers dug viciously into
his arm.

"You've worked too!" Aven shouted, "You've
worked! Well, you've been paid for it. You've
eaten my food and slept in my house! But I swear
when you leave me you'll leave as naked as you
came! Now get out, and never come back!"

"Then let go of me, so I can," said Hoom, sick
with embarrassment at the thought of having to go

out naked in front of everyone, wondering where
he would go.

"I'll let go of you," Aven said, "but you won't
use the door, boy. You'll go out the way you snuck
out last night, hoping to deceive your father!
You'll dance out that window, boy." And Aven
flung him toward the open window again.

Hoom stood at the window, looking at the
ground below him. It suddenly looked farther
than it had last night, and his cousins had come
closer, were no more than twenty meters off now,
could hear every word, would watch him jump,
naked, with nothing to cover his shame.

"I said jump!" Aven said, "Now climb up on the
sill and jump!"

Hoom climbed on the sill, trying to cover him-
self with his hand, his mind an agony of humilia-
tion and indecision and hatred.

"Jump, dammit!" Aven bellowed.

"I can't," Hoom whispered. "Please!"

"You could damn well jump last night!" his
father shouted; and just at that moment Hoom
heard his grandfather's voice, from back by the
door, saying, "Aven, be careful with the boy," and
Hoom turned to call out to his grandfather, to cry
for help, for relief from the intolerable. But at the
moment he turned, Aven finished the gesture he
had begun, and struck Hoom hard. If Hoom hadn't
been turning, it would have struck him on the
back and stung bitterly; instead it struck him in
the ribs, crushingly, and because he was off-
balance Hoom teetered for a moment on the sill
and then fell from the window.

He wasn't prepared for the fall. He landed with
his right leg only, and the knee popped somehow,
and with an agonizing grinding the leg buckled
under him. He lay there, terribly, acutely, sharply
conscious, though the only reality was the vast
pain that pressed on him and shortened his breath
and threatened to suffocate him utterly. He heard
a distant scream. It was his mother. She ran to
him, screamed again, crying, "Hoom, my boy, my
son," and then in the distance (far up in the sky)
he heard his father's voice call out, "Stay away
from him, woman!"

"My name is Esten, man!" shouted his mother
in fury. "Don't you see the boy's leg is broken?"

Broken? Hoom looked down and nearly vom-
ited. His right leg was bent backward at a ninety-
degree angle at the knee. Only a little below the
knee, a new joint, from which a strange white-
and-bloody bone protruded, bent his leg back
again the other way.

"Jason!" he heard his father cry out, as if the call
would bring God from his tower. "What have I
done to the boy?" And then the pain subsided for
a second, Hoom gasped his breath, and the pain
washed back, twice as powerfully as before. The
wave of agony swept him away; everything went
bright purple; the world disappeared.

Hoom woke to hear a knocking at a door. He was
immediately conscious of being hot; sweat
dripped from him, and the wool of the blankets
over him prickled in the heat. He tried to push the

blankets off, but the movement was pain, and he
moaned.

Someone had come in, and he heard, in the
distance (a couple of meters away), an argument.

"You'll stay away from my boy, damn you,"
said Aven's voice.

"I can heal his leg, Aven," said another voice,
"and you have no right to stop me."

"Jason knows you've done enough!" Aven said,
his voice rising.

"And you've done more than enough!" came
back the savage retort. "At least let someone who
really loves the boy care for him now!"

Hoom recognized the other voice. It was
Stipock. But now Grandfather Noyock's voice
came, soothing, gentling. "Aven, the law is the
law. And if a man injures his child, the child is no
longer in his care."

A moan, a cry. "I didn't mean to hurt him!"
Aven said, his voice twisted and bent with weep-
ing. Father weeping! The thought was incom-
prehensible to Hoom. "You know I didn't mean to
hurt him, father!"

But Noyock said nothing to him, only told
Stipock to go ahead.

Hoom felt the blanket come off him. The cold
air was biting. Gentle hands touched his legfire
ran up his spine.

"This is terrible, terrible," Stipock said softly.

"Can you heal him?" Noyock asked. "We've
never had an injury this bad, at least not one that
left the poor fellow alive."

"I'll need help."

Aven spoke up from the corner. "I'll help you."

"No!" Hoom hissed from his pain-clenched
teeth. "Don't let him touch me."

Hoom couldn't see Aven turn away, or Esten
put her arm around her husband to comfort his
remorse. All he could see behind his closed eyes
was the hatred on his father's face.

"You help me then, Noyock. Is that all right,
Hoom?"

Hoom nodded, or tried to. Apparently Stipock
understood his assent, for he began giving in-
structions. "You'll have to hold the boy by the
armpits, from above. And don't try to spare
him any pain. Gentleness won't help him
now."

"What's happening to me? What are you do-
ing?"

"Trust me now," Stipock said. "This is going to
hurt like hell, Hoom, but it's the only way we can
fix it so you'll ever walk again."

And then a hand gripped him at the ankle,
which made Hoom moan, and another hand grip-
ped him just below the break, high on his shin,
which made him cry out in pain.

"Don't hurt him" began his mother, and then
silence, as Stipock said, "Now pull with all your
strength, Noyock," and Hoom felt as if he were
being pulled apart. The pain rose and rose and
rose, until, suddenly, Hoom could feel no more
pain, except that he knew he was virtually dead
with it. Above the pain he floated, and felt the
dispassionate movement of his body as Stipock

pushed the fragment of shin back into place,
where it fit again with a terrible snap (I don't feel
it; it isn't me); as Stipock slid the kneecap back
into position, forced the joint to fit again; as the
leg, already used to the torture of the bones out of
place, now began to feel the worse torture of the
bones back together.

"Is that it?" he heard Noyock ask, from a great
distance.

"We need wood and cloth strips," Stipock said.
"Straight firm wood, no twigs or branches or
green wood."

"I'll get it," Aven said, and "I'll get the cloth,"
said Esten, Hoom's mother. And then, at last,
Hoom fell back down into the sea of pain and
drowned in it, drifted down to the bottom, and
slept.

He woke again, and it was dark. A tallow lamp
sputtered by the bed. His head ached, and his
broken leg throbbed dully; but the pain was much
better, much eased, much gone, and he could
leave his eyes open.

The room focused, and he saw Stipock sitting
by his bed. "Hi," he said, and Stipock smiled.
"How do you feel?" Stipock asked softly.

"The pain's not as bad."

"Good. We've done all we can do. Now it's up to
your leg to heal."

Hoom smiled wanly.

Stipock turned toward somewhere elsea
door, Hoom assumedand said, "He's awake
now. You can call the others." Then he turned
back to Hoom and said, "I know you don't feel

well, but some decisions have to be made, that
only you can make."

Footsteps coming into the room, and one by one
they came into Hoom's range of vision. First
Noyock, looking grave. Then Esten, her eyes red
from crying. And then Aven.

Seeing his father, Hoom turned his head up-
ward, to the ceiling.

"Hoom," said Noyock,

"Yes," Hoom answered, his voice soft and
husky.

"Stipock wants to take care of you," Noyock
said. "He wants to take you out of your father's
home, if you want to, and take care of you until
you can walk again."

Hoom tried to control them, but the tears
dripped out of the corners of his eyes anyway.

"But, Hoom, your father also wants to take care
of you."

"No," Hoom said.

"Your father wants to say something to you."

"No."

"Please," said Aven. "Please listen to me,
son."

"I'm not your son," Hoom said softly. "You told
me so."

"I'm sorry for that. You know how it was. I went
crazy for a minute."

"I want to go with Stipock," Hoom said.

Silence for a few moments, and then Aven bit-
terly spat out his feelings about Stipock, who
came to steal children away from their parents. "I
won't let you take the boy!" Aven said, and might

have said more except that Noyock's voice, harsh
with anger, cut through.

"Yes, you will, Aven!"

"Father!" Aven cried out, anguished.

"The law says that after a father has injured his
child, the child must be taken by another family,
for its own protection."

"Stipock isn't a family," Aven said.

"I will be," Stipock said, "when your son is
living with me."

"It only makes sense, Aven," Noyock said.
"Stipock can help the boy nowyou can't."

"I can help him," Aven insisted.

"By pushing him out of windows?" Stipock
quietly asked.

"Shut up, Stipock," Noyock answered mildly.
"I'll ask Hoom one more time, and then that's it,
and there'll be no complaint, no more discussion,
and no resistance, or I swear I'll have you bound
up and kept in a locked room until Jason comes
again. Now, Hoom, will you stay with Stipock, or
with your father?"

Hoom half-smiled. He felt a glow of satisfac-
tion: the broken leg would be worth it, for the
chance to make this choice. "Stipock is my
father," Hoom said. And Aven's low moan of pain
was some measure of repayment, Hoom felt, for
the pain he had gone through. With that thought
he closed his eyes and dozed.

But he became vaguely alert again a few min-
utes later. It seemed that Noyock and Stipock
were alone in the room, and they were arguing.

"You see the harm it caused," Stipock said.

"The law didn't give you any power to take this
boy out of his father's home until his father nearly
killed him."

"The law is the law," Noyock said, "and only
Jason can change it."

"That's the point!" Stipock insisted. "The law
needs to be changed. If Jason were here, he'd
change it, wouldn't he?"

"Maybe," Noyock said.

"Then why can't we? Not just you and me, but
all the people. Vote. Let the majority change the
law."

Noyock sighed. "It's what you've wanted all
along, Stipock. To let the majority of people in
Heaven City change any one of Jason's laws they
want."

"Just this law," Stipock said. "Just the law that
lets fathers beat their children."

"Just this law? I'm not a fool, Stipock, though
you seem to feel that everyone in Heaven City is
stupider than a newborn pig. Once we've changed
one law that way, there'll be other laws to change,
and people will begin to think all the laws are
changeable."

"Aren't they?" Stipock asked. "Why don't you
just ask them? On Jason's Day, when they gather
at First field, call a council, ask them to vote on
whether voting should be allowed. See what they
decide."

"I said, Stipock, that I'm not a fool. If I let them
vote on anything, that becomes a lawful way for
decisions to be made."

"So you aren't going to change the law?"

"Just let me think, Stipock."

"Let you? I'm begging you to. Do you really
think the majority of people in this colony will
decide stupidly? Don't you trust them?"

"I trust them, Stipock. It's you I don't trust."
And Noyock left the room, his footfalls ringing in
Hoom's ears.

"Stipock," Hoom whispered.

"Hmmm? Are you awake? Did we wake you?"

"That's all right." Hoom found it hard to use his
voice. It was hoarse. Had he cried out that much
from the pain? He didn't remember shouting at
allbut his voice was as hoarse as if he had been
yelling all day in the fields. "Stipock, what's a
colony?"

"What? Oh, yes, I did use the wordit's still
hard, even after all these months"

"What is a colony?"

"It's a place whereit's when some people
leave their homes behind, and go to a new place,
and start to live there, far away from the others.
Heaven City's a colony, because theuh, the Ice
Peoplethey left the Empire and came across the
space between the stars and lived here."

Hoom nodded. He had heard that story
beforeStipock's miracle stories, they all called
them behind his back. Wix didn't believe them,
and Hoom wasn't sure.

"When we live across the river, we'll be a col-
ony, then, won't we?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"Stipock."

"Yes."

"Move me across the river."

Stipock chuckled. "When you can walk again."

"No. Move me now."

"Your leg is bound up. You can't walk for
months, Hoom."

"Then get my friends to carry me. Take me out
of Heaven City. I want to get out of Heaven City.
Even if I have to live in the open, in a tent. Get me
out. Get me out." And Hoom's voice drifted away
as he slept again.

Stipock sat studying the boy's quiet, gentle, but
pain-scarred face. The lips were turned perma-
nently downward; the forehead, even in sleep,
was furrowed; the eyes were bagged with exhaus-
tion, not crinkled with laughter as they should
have been.

"All right," Stipock whispered. "Yes, now.
That's a good idea, Hoom. Very good idea."

Two days later, two horses drew the cart that
carried Hoom jokingly down Noyock's Road to
Linkeree's Bay. Then, with a crowd of several
hundred people gathered around, they carried
Hoom on a plank out to the boat, which was wait-
ing a few meters from shore. And the boat, this
time in broad daylight, spread its white wings and
danced skimmingly out of the bay into the cur-
rent. Hoom laughed with pleasureat his free-
dom, at the movement of the boat on the water, at
his friends' proof of their true friendship. Dilna
was at the tiller, and she smiled at him. Wix poked
him now and then with his toe as he passed,
working the sails, just to let him know he was

noticed. And then they reached the other shore,
and they set him down by a tree to watch as they
cleared a patch of ground and laid the walls of a
rough cabin. The floor was of planks, which had
been cut the day before, and the door and win-
dows were gaping holes. The roof couldn't be put
on before dark, but they all promised they'd be
back in the morning, and then carried Hoom in-
side. He looked around at the walls of his house.

"Well," asked Wix, "how is it?"

"Ugly as hell," Hoom said. "I love every inch of
it." And then, before he could thank them and cry,
they whooped and hollered their way out of the
house and back to the boat.

It was getting dark, but there were plenty of
blankets over him, and the stars were shining.
Breakfast was in a bag on the floor beside him, and
Hoom listened to the distant sounds of the boat
being launched again.

As the sound grew softer, he listened to the
breeze in the branches above him. Leaves were
drifting lazily down; soon all the leaves would
have turned colors and dropped, and the snow
would come. Hoom felt a stab of lonelinessbut
he quickly forgot it in the satisfaction of being out
of Heaven City. A leaf landed on his face, and he
waited a moment before he brushed it away. Was
this what it was like for Linkeree, in the old story,
when he left Heaven City and built his own home
in the forest? This feeling of not being one of a
city, but of being an intruder among the trees?

He heard footsteps in the grass and leaves out-
side his door. He froze, afraid of who it might be.

The ship was gonehad someone stayed behind?
And why?

Dilna stood in the doorway.

"Dilna," Hoom said, sighing in relief.

"Hi," she said.

"I thought you went back with the others."

"I decided not to," she said. "Comfortable?"

Hoom nodded. "It's a good house."

"You promised me I could move in when the
house was done," Dilna said.

Hoom laughed. "As soon as you want to," he
said.

"Noyock promised me that he'd cross the river
and marry us tomorrow. If you want to."

"I want to."

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, come in. I didn't know you were
waiting for an invitation."

Dilna came in, her face lit only by starlight, and
knelt beside him. "Do you always sleep with your
clothes on?" she asked.

"No," he said, laughing at the idea. "But with a
lumberyard tied around my leg, I've found it a
little hard to get around."

"I'll help you," she said, and Hoom was sur-
prised that he felt no embarrassment as she gent-
ly, carefully undressed him, moving his leg with-
out hurting him, touching him so casually he felt
no shame. Then she turned her back and undres-
sed, also. "I didn't bring any more blankets. Any
room to spare under yours?" she asked.

"I can'tI can't do anything," he said. "My
legI can't"

"Nobody expects you to," she said, touching
his forehead softly. "There's plenty of time for
that." She lay down beside him and pulled the
blankets up to cover them both. Then she snug-
gled close to him. Her body was cold with the
chilliness outside the blankets. She put her arm
across his chest, stroked his cheek. "Do you
mind?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"Better get used to it," she said. "Because I plan
to sleep here for a good long time."

12

BILLIN'S VOICE sounded muffled in the heavy,
smoky room, though he was shouting. Dilna
sighed as she heard the same words again. "That
damned History is our enemy! Every time some-
thing comes for a vote, Noyock pulls out the His-
tory and says, 'That isn't the way Jason did it! That
isn't the way Kapock did it!' Well, I say, who the
hell cares how they did it?"

Dilna carved savagely at the block of wood in
her lap, as if it were Billin's head. It was stupid,
this meeting every night in the tavern. Everyone
in Stipock's Bay already agreedthey had to
separate themselves from Heaven City. The laws
had no relation to reality anymorethings were
different here. But Billin didn't help anything
with his fury, that so infected the others.

Even Stipock, she noticed, was watching Billin
intently. But she more than half-suspected that
Stipock was analyzing more than he was listen-
ing. Surely Stipock wasn't moved or impressed by
Billin's talk! But Dilna wondered just the same.
Could Billin possibly be doing just what Stipock
wanted?

"The History is just paper! Only paper, and
that's all! It can burn! And if that's the barrier that
keeps us from making our own laws here, then I
say, Burn it!"

Oh, clever, Dilna thought. The whole point is to
win our independence, as Stipock had so often
said, without losing our interdependence. If those
on the other side of the river come to hate us, she
silently asked, where would we get our copper,
our tin, our brass? Paper? Ink? Flour? None of the
tiny streams on this side of the river had enough
force to turn a mill. But if Billin had his way, we'd
rush over right now, burn the History, and then
somehow persuade them to amicably let us be
independent, while trade continued.

The chair next to hers scraped along the floor,
and she looked up to see Stipock sitting down
next to her.

"The aging philosopher comes to chat?" she
asked.

"Aging," Stipock said. "It's worry, not years."

Billin's voice reached a climax. "Does it matter
how the vote goes? As long as we own the boats,
we decide what laws get enforced on this side of
the river!" Some beery cheers arose from the au-
dience.

"The man's an ass," Dilna said. "Even if you
were the one who first pointed out that whoever
owns the boats makes the laws on this side of the
river."

"Billin gets a little too angry," Stipock said.

"As the great Stipock has always said," Billin
shouted, "a man who rejects a government is no
longer truly governed by it!"

"Is that what the great Stipock has always
said?" Dilna asked, smiling.

"I wish to hell no one would ever quote me." He
looked at the wood she was working on. "What
are you carving?"

"A canehead for a rich old codger from Wien-
way. One of Wien's sons, in fact, who thinks a bit
of bronze will buy anything."

"Won't it?" Stipock asked. She laughed. "Al-
most anything."

Stipock sat in silence, surveying the room.
"Hoom isn't back yet?"

"You know how it isonce you start visiting
with relatives"

"Hoom and his father, under the same roof to-
night. Will the house burn down, do you think?"

"Good chance," Dilna said, but she didn't
laugh.

"And Wix is with him?"

"I assume so," she said. Suddenly she felt her
knife hand gripped by Stipock's powerful fingers.

"Dilna. Hoom knows."

She gasped, before she could control herself.
Damn, she thought, trying to cover the reaction.
Damn, now whatever he suspects is confirmed.

"Hoom knows what?" she said, doing a bad job of
acting innocent.

"I said Hoom knows. And no one else matters.
I'm just warning you, Dilna. Hoom loves you too
much to do anything about it. Unless you leave
him. If you leave him, you'll have to kill him."

"What are you talking about? I have no inten-
tion of leaving Hoom. What an idea."

"Good thing," Stipock said, releasing her wrist.

"Damn you," Dilna said.

"You're an idiot," Stipock said. "No one on this
side of the river is half of Hoom's quality as a
man."

"And what do you know," she said bitterly,
"about quality in a man?"

"Enough," he said, and he got up and left, as
Dilna tried to force her trembling hands to carve
true. She couldn't, and she, too, walked out of the
public house.

She went down the dusty road toward the
house that she and Hoom had shared since their
marriage. It was much more elaborate now
prosperity had helped it growbut the original
cabin was still there, a back room now.

She went inside, suddenly bone weary, wish-
ing she could go to sleep and wake on another
planet, as Stipock kept saying people did. A crazy
man. For all these years, we've followed a crazy
man. No wonder we do crazy things.

The house was clean inside, and the cupboards
were full. Hoom, for all his mildness and lack of
initiative, was a good provider. She sold her carv-
ings because it made people prize her work, not

because she needed the money. And it was like
Hoomto dig up young trees, plant them, and
sell the fruit. He only needed to plant once, and he
reaped forever, only pruning now and then. His
orchards spread from the Heaven River far inland.
Tame trees. Hoom thought he could tame any-
thing or anybody. Except me, she thought bitterly.
Only I cannot be tamed, no matter how I long to
be.

Why Wix? she wondered. And why now? Why
a week ago? Why not ten years from now, or
never, or always, so that Hoom would never have
loved me, would never have been hurt. And how
the hell did Hoom know? Too many questions.
Does everyone know?

And if Stipock had only been guessing, she had
certainly confirmed his guess. What a fool I am,
Dilna reminded herself.

When Hoom got home Dilna was asleep, but she
roused herself with a groan when she heard the
door open, wrapped a blanket around her, and
went into the common room, where Hoom and
Wix were saying good night. Wix waved a greet-
ing at her, and then disappeared silently as Hoom
swung the door shut.

"Well?" Dilna asked. "How did the meeting
go?"

"I'm tired," Hoom said, collapsing on a chair in
an exaggeration of weariness.

"Tell me," Dilna insisted.

"And what will you give me if I do?" Hoom
asked with a lazy smile. Dilna sighed and walked
over to him. She sat on his lap, wrapping the

blanket around them both. He rubbed his hand
across her bare stomach and laughed. "Ah, the
wages I get in this house!"

"Tell me," Dilna said, "or I'll put roaches in
your bed."

"You would," he said. "So I'll tell you:
Noyock's willing."

"Good," she said. "That'll defuse that bastard
Billin."

"Don't call names. What's much more impor-
tant, my dear, is that father's willing, too."

"You spoke to your father?"

Hoom smiled, but he didn't look amused. "It
would have interfered with the negotiations if I
hadn't. After all, he is the leader of the Uniters."

"That's one nice thing about the opposition
they're very orderly, always appointing leaders."

"We don't have to appoint one: we have one
already."

"But Stipock refuses to say what he wants,"
Dilna said, getting up and walking to the cooking
fire, which still had enough heat to stir it back to
flame. "Want some broth?"

"As a second choice," Hoom said.

She put the kettle over the flames, its brass long
since blackened by smoke. "What did Aven say?"

"That if we were willing to accept the general
leadership of the Warden, they'd consent to a
separate vote and a separate tax."

"No, silly," she said. "What did he say after-
ward?"

"He tried to get all emotional and pretend that

there was a reconciliation. But I left as soon as I
could."

Dilna felt strangely irritated. "It was awfully
petty of you, not to let things smooth over."

Hoom didn't answer, and she knew he was an-
gry. Oh well, what the hell. He'd forget as soon as
she climbed into his bed. Instant forgiveness, she
called it. Privately, of courseit would never do
to let Hoom know how transparent he was.

Change the subject: "Any doubt about the
vote?"

"No. Even if half the Uniters don't go along
with the compromisewhich is likely enough,
too many old people believe the History says that
Jason has commanded us always to be united no
matter how widely we spread outwe'll have
enough votes to turn the difference."

The broth had already been warm, and now it
was steaming hot. She ladled some into a bowl
and carried it to Hoom. "Thank you," her hus-
band said as she went back for a bowl for herself.
They drank the broth in silence. When it was
gone, Hoom went outside to relieve himself and
Dilna went to the bedroom and turned down the
blankets on his bed. Even though Hoom never
treated her like a possession (as a lot of the older
men treated their wives, and too many younger
ones, too), she still liked to do small services that
made his life more comfortable.

As she turned back the blankets she wondered:
Does he know?

She thought of how Wix had looked afterward,

half-covered with damp leaves and his face
twisted inwhat, grief? Regret? Disappoint-
ment? He should have married, the bastard, and
then he never would have been tempted by her,
nor she by him. There was no way Hoom could
know.

He came into the room, stripping off his shirt as
he walked. "Getting chilly now. Jason's due back
in a month. From today. Noyock wanted us to wait
until he came."

Dilna turned in surprise. "Actually, why not?
That isn't a bad idea. After all, the whole idea of
voting was put in after Jason's last visitwhy not
let Jason see it in action?"

"Because," Hoom said wryly, "he might take
offense at it and abolish the practice, and every
old bastard in Heaven City would give it up just
like that. We haven't mentioned it much, but
that's one of the reasons Stipock's been pushing
us to get the decision now, before the old god
returns from the Star Tower."

"So Stipock does have opinions."

"One or two," Hoom said. "So do I. I'm of the
opinion that I married the most desirable woman
in Heaven City."

As he caressed her she laughed and said, "What
about the most beautiful?"

"Goes without saying," he answered. But she
wondered anyway whether he knew: why had he
chosen to call her desirable? Did he know who
had desired her? And been satisfied?

She didn't go back to her own bed until nearly
morning, wondering as she did why she had in-

sisted on that arrangement a year after they mar-
ried. A sign of independence, she supposed.
Everybody had to have their little signs of inde-
pendence.

Because Hoom's orchard needed little tending
at this time of year, he spent most of the day in the
house, and there was a constant stream of visitors.
Dilna usually would have been in the common
room joining into the conversations, but today she
didn't feel like it, and instead she climbed up onto
the shingled roof (Wix's innovation, and it had
made him rich before he turned eighteen) and lay
there, occasionally carving, but usually looking
up at the clouds that promised rain (but not a drop
fell, of course, for the winds were from the west
and not until they shifted to the north would the
fall rains begin).

Once she climbed to the crest of the roof and
looked out across the river, where now four boats
made regular trips back and forth. Eternally back
and forthboring. Wix and Hoom talked of fol-
lowing the current, going down the river to see
where it led. As soon as the vote was taken and
things were settled. Well, that's tomorrow, Dilna
thought, and I'll be packed five minutes after they
vote.

She wondered vaguely why she was so anxious
to get away, but when her mind made a connec-
tion to that day a week ago in the woods to the
west, she slid halfway down the roof (damn the
splinters, I'll slide if I want) and carved furiously
for a while.

She had fallen asleep on the roof when Hoom

found the ladder and climbed up. She was sur-
prised to see it was nearly evening.

"Trying to kill yourself?" Hoom asked, con-
cerned.

"Yes," she answered, and then realized that
Hoom really had been concerned. "No, Hoom, I
couldn't possibly fall off."

"Yes you could," Hoom said, and then he
helped her carry her things back down the ladder.

"The visitors all gone?"

Hoom nodded and led the way into the house.
"But they aren't all happy about the com-
promise."

"Why not?"

"Billin says he can't tolerate having the Warden
over him. Though why he should hate Noyock so
badly I don't know."

"He's a fool sometimes," Dilna said. "Noyock's
bound to be replaced next month when Jason
comes. Who knows? Maybe Stipock will be
Wardennow there's a thought that makes me
want to throw the vote away!"

Hoom laughed. "Stipock Warden? The way he
feels about Jason? I should tell youthere's even
talk of separating from Jason himself. That's what
Billin wants, anyway."

Dilna was silent for a while. Separate from Ja-
son? Well, of course, no one thought Jason was
God anymore, at least not in Stipock's village on
this side of the river. But separate?

That made her uneasy. She was eager to cut
tiesbut all the ties? That felt like Hoom's feud

with his father: wrong somehow, a wound that
should be healed, not widened. And would Jason
stand for it? He had toolslike the little box he
had held in his hand when he killed the ox that
went wild. Would he turn that against a man? The
thought made her shudder. Of course not. But
they'd never separate from Jasonthat was just
Billin's talk.

Hoom and Dilna spent the evening weaving
and sewing together, and then went to bed.

In the morning she felt a familiar nausea, and
vomited before breakfast.

"Well?" Hoom asked her as she came back from
the privy.

"Damn," she said. "Why now?"

"It's hard to pick the time," he said, laughing.
"This one we'll have," he said. He held her tightly
around the waist. She smiled at him, but there was
nothing behind the smile. She knew when her last
fertile time had beendamn Stipock for even
telling them about the cycle within the cycle
and it was possible, just possible, that Wix was the
father. And he and Hoom looked so different.

Don't borrow trouble, she told herself. I've got
months yet, and heaven knows the chances are
better that it'll look like Hoom.

As always, Hoom misunderstood what she was
worried about. "Two miscarriages aren't that
bad," he said, consoling her. "Plenty of women
have had two and then on the third pregnancy, the
baby was born. Which do you want, a boy or a
girl?"

"Yes," she answered, reviving the old joke from
their last pregnancy, and then she told him she
felt good enough to go to Firstfield.

"Are you sure?"

"Once I throw up I'm always fine," she said.
"And I'm sure as hell not missing the vote."

So they walked to the shore and got in Hoom's
small boat. This time Dilna was at the tiller, the
less strenuous job, while Hoom tended sail. The
wind from the west and the current from the east
made crossing trickyevery gust of wind meant
quick adjustments so the boat wouldn't veer in the
current. But they sailed into Linkeree's Bay,
where dozens of other boats were already landed,
and still more were just coming across the river.

The group from Stipock's Bay walked to
Firstfield together, as their friends and sym-
pathizersmostly youngfrom Heaven City
joined them along the way. The talk was cheerful
and neutralabout anything but the upcoming
voteand they arrived in Firstfield in good
humor.

Once there, however, they quickly got down to
business. "What's the count?" Hoom asked, and
Wix smiled as he said, "I don't think anybody
stayed home today. On either side."

"How will the vote turn out?" Dilna asked.

"Well, Aven's sure that at least half his people
will vote for the compromise. And with ours,
there's no chance of it failing." Wix looked
around. "Even Billin's smiling and looking hap-
py. And he swore he'd do anything before he'd let
the Warden keep power over us."

Hoom put his arm around Dilna. "When it
comes down to it, Billin's a pretty sensible man.
Just loves to hear himself talk."

But Dilna was watching Billin as he chattered
happily not far away, surrounded by his suppor-
ters. Billin had been talking for weeks of how
nothing short of complete freedom from the
Wardenand from Jasonwould be acceptable
to him. He seems too happy right now, she
thought.

I'm just depressed because of the pregnancy,
she thought.

But she was not the only one depressed when
the no vote was considerably louder than the yes
vote. Concerned, Wix leaped to his feet at the
same time as Aven, and both of them shouted for a
count. "Closer than we thought it would be," Wix
said as he sat down. "Trust the diehards to yell
louder."

But the count made it even more obvious. In
favor of the partial independence were a clear
majority of the Uniters. But among the people of
Stipock's Bay, fully two-thirds were opposed.

Noyock finished the count, and shook his head.
"People of Heaven City, I don't understand you!"
he shouted.

Aven leaped to his feet. "I understand! Those
crossriver bastards make all kinds of promises,
but nothing comes of it!"

Many of the older people grumbled their
agreement, and Billin shouldered his way
through the crowd to the front. "May I speak?" he
asked. Noyock shook his head. "Anybody who

wants to listen to you, Billin, is free to. But I'm
closing the council. Heaven City stands as a unit.
The vote was against separation, and that's all I
can do."

Noyock walked away from the front, and many
of the older people gathered around him followed
him away from Firstfield. Billin, undisturbed,
began to shout.

"Why did we vote against the so-called com-
promise?" he asked.

"Who the hell cares!" Wix shouted back, and
those who had voted for it laughed.

"We voted against that so-called compromise
because it was a trap set by these Jason-loving old
men, to keep us under the thumb of their precious
Warden! Well, we don't need you here in Heaven
City, and we don't have to settle for your out-
moded, rigid, stupid laws and decisions! We'll
cross that river, and take all the boats with us, and
you can keep your Heaven City and we'll be a new
city! Stipock City! A place where people are free!"

A thin cheer arose from those who had voted
with Billinand a few others.

"Let's get out of here," Dilna said.

"I agree," Hoom said.

"What I want to know," Wix shouted, even as
he was walking through the crowd to leave with
them, "is what you plan to do for metal if we don't
cross the river!"

"That's Wix for you!" Billin shouted. "If he
didn't think of a plan himself, he doesn't like it!"
Laughter. "Well, Wix, three days ago Coren, Re-
wen, and Hanlatta came back from a little explor-

ing party to the north of the river. And sure
enough, they found what they were looking for!
Copper! Tin! A supply as good as anything here
on this side of the river! We're independent in
every way now! So let the old men and the old
women sit over here for the rest of their lives.
We'll build a city that's a decent place to live in!
We'll have no Warden! We'll have no God who
tells us what we can and cannot do! We'll have
no. . . ."

Dilna, Hoom, and Wix were far enough up
Noyock's Road that they didn't have to listen
anymore. Several of their friends were with them,
and the silence was depressing as they walked up
the hill.

Soon, however, they began joking, clowning,
mocking each other and the events of the day.
And by the time they reached the rest of the hill,
they were laughing.

Stipock was standing, alone, on the hill.

"Didn't you go to the council?" Hoom asked
him.

Stipock shook his head. "I knew how it would
end."

"I didn't," Hoom said. "I wish you'd told me.
Before we set ourselves up as idiots." Hoom
laughed, but the mood was suddenly somber
again.

"I might have been wrong," Stipock said. Wix
laughed, spoke loudly so all could hear: "Do you
hear that? Write it downit's the first time we've
heard him say it. Stipock might have been
wrong!"

Stipock smiled thinly. "The feelings run too
deep. Too many people love to hate. People aren't
willing to work together."

"As the man who taught us that division was a
wonderful thing, it's odd you should suddenly
love peace and cooperation so much."

Stipock looked very tired. "You don't know. I
was born and raised in the Empire. Too many
laws, so much oppression, everything far too
rigid. And overnight I was put here, and I had to
fight those laws, relieve that oppression, loosen
things up."

"Damn right," Wix said.

"Well," Stipock said, "it can get a little out of
hand." And then he looked down from the hill
toward Linkeree's Bay. And all the eyes followed
his, and saw the flames and the smoke rising. The
boats were burning.

They shouted, and most of them ran down the
hill, screaming threats that they couldn't possibly
carry out, shouting for them to stop, not to burn
the boats.

Only Dilna stayed with Stipock and they
walked slowly down the road toward the bay.
"Your plans didn't work, did they, Stipock."

"Or worked too well. The one thing I didn't
count on, you see, was the fanaticism of the
people I converted too well, and this kind of reac-
tion from the people I antagonized too much."

"There it is, you know," Dilna said. "You're just
like Jason in your own way, Stipock. Twisting
people around to do what you want them to do.
Playing God with their lives. And what do you

think will be left when the smoke dies down?"

And Dilna sped up, leaving Stipock walking
slowly behind her.

At the burning ships, Wix and Hoom were hav-
ing a shouting match with Aven and Noyock.
Dilna ignored them. Just watched the flames and
the red coals of burnt wood.

"... Have no right! ..." she heard her hus-
band shout, and she only sighed, marveling at
how people who hated laws pleaded for rights
when their opponents, too, turned lawless.

"... Won't have this city split apart by chil-
dren. . . ." came Noyock's voice, angry and yet
still, in his own way, trying to reason.

"Our homes are on the other side!" Wix cried
out. And Noyock answered, "We'll let anyone
who swears to loyally support and obey the laws
Jason gave us build a new boat and cross the
Heaven River."

"You don't have the right to stop us!" Hoom
shouted again, and this time Aven answered his
son.

"I heard what you people were saying
separation whether we voted for it or not. 'We
own the boats,' you say! Well, you and your
damned Stipock made us start changing the laws
by majority vote. And so you damn well better be
ready to abide by majority vote! And we're going
to see to it you do, whether you like it or not!"

And Dilna couldn't see the flames anymore, for
the tears running down her cheeks. I'm pregnant,
she told herself. That's why things like this could
make me cry. But she knew that it wasn't preg-

nancy. It was grief and fear. Grief for what was
happening to people; fear of what would happen
next.

What could the people from Stipock's Bay do,
anyway? They had all comethere was no one
left on the other side to bring a boat and take them
across in the night. No one could swim the
riverthe current was too swift, and it was three
kilometers wide at the narrowest point. They had
none of their carpentry tools, and the older people
were brandishing their axes and torches as if
they'd gladly break a head or two, if one were
offered.

She left the fire and walked slowly to where
Hoom and Wix were still arguing furiously with
Aven and Noyock.

"We don't want any trouble," said Noyock,
"but I won't let you break up the City!"

"Break it up!" You call this holding it to-
gether?" Hoom shouted back.

Behind each group of leaders was a gathering
crowd of supporters. Both crowds looked equally
angry; but the crucial difference was the sharp
tools the older men held in their hands. Dilna
walked into the space between the two groups.

She said nothing, and after a few moments they
realized that she wasn't joining into the argument
on either side. "What is it?" Noyock asked.

"All this talk," Dilna said, "won't build the
ships for us. And all the shouting doesn't find us
a place to stay warm tonight. I want my husband
to build me a shelter. We'll need tools to do
it."

And Dilna turned around to find herself look-

ing directly into Wix's eyes. She averted her gaze,
found Hoom's concerned face. Behind her, she
could hear Aven saying, "We can't give them
toolsthey'd build boats in a week. Not to men-
tion busting our heads in."

Dilna whirled on him. "You should have
thought of that before you stole our homes from
us. I'm pregnant, Aven. Do you want me to spend
the night in the open air?"

Noyock turned to Aven and said, mildly,
"They're right. Maybe a few toolsenough to rig
some kind of shelter before nightfall."

"Why?" Aven asked. "Not one of them but has.
parents that'd be only too glad to invite 'em back
into their homes."

Wix's father, the usually gentle Ross, raised his
hand and said, "That's right, there's no hard feel-
ings. We'd be glad to give them food and shelter!"

Wix's face was twisted with fury. "Give us food
and shelter! There's not one of us but has plenty of
food and shelter across the river! You stole it from
us! You don't give us one damn thing! It's ours by
right!"

"Rights, rights!" shouted Aven. "You little
lying bastards don't have any rights!"

Dilna turned back to Wix and Hoom. "Enough,
enough," she said quietly. "In a brawl we'd lose.
Whatever we do, we can't do it here."

"She's right," Hoom said. "Let's go."

"Where?" Wix asked.

Hoom looked up the hill toward Noyock's
Town. "The forest just north of the Pasture. We
can take fence rails and rig a shelter."

Dilna turned back to Noyock. "Do you hear that,

Noyock? We're going to take fence rails from you
and build shelter. That way we won't have to
touch your tools."

Noyock, eager to end the quarrel without vio-
lence, agreed, and Hoom, Wix, and the rest of the
crowd straggled away from the beach, heading
back up the hill. It was already afternoon, and
there was much to do before night.

Noyock caught Dilna's arm before she could
leave the beach. "Dilnaplease listen. I want you
to know, this wasn't my idea. When I got here, the
boats were already burning."

"There's a law," Dilna said, "about destroying
another man's property. You're the man who
loves the lawimprison these men until Jason
comes."

"I can't," Noyock said miserably. "There are too
many of them."

"There are more than a few of us, too," Dilna
retorted. "This is Linkeree and the ax all over
again. Only you're not Kapock."

As she walked away, Noyock called after her:
"It wasn't me that worked so bloody hard to strip
all the power away from the Warden, it was you! If
I still had that power, I could protect you!" But
she didn't turn to answer. When she got to the
brow of the hill, she stopped and looked back at
the beach. Noyock was still there alone, watching
the last flames die. On impulse she ran back down
the hill, all the way to where he stood. "Warden,"
she said, "we'll need a fire tonight. Will Jason
approve, do you think, of our taking some of the
wood from our ships to start it?"

He set his face like stone and turned away. She

picked up a piece of wood that was still burning
on one end, and whose other end had been in the
water until then. And once again she climbed the
hill.

The people of Stipock's Bay were gathered in a
small clearing in the forest, trying to turn fence
rails, branches, and dead leaves into lean-tos for
the night. Few of them looked sturdy, and Dilna
looked at the sky, grateful that the clouds had
gone, and the sky was clear. When Wix saw the
torch, he smiled. "Wise woman," he said, and
called to several men to rig a fire. Again, they had
to use fence rails, so the fire was built in a large
square, hollow in the middle. "I only wish we
could burn down the whole damn fence," Wix
said, as he lit the fire.

"Burning's a good idea," said a voice from the
edge of the clearing. Many of the people working
turned to see who it was. Billin.

"Ah, Billin," said Wix. "I thought you were still
down in Firstfield, giving a speech."

"The time for speeches is over."

"How clever," Wix said. "Now he realizes
that."

"I just saw the ashes of our boats," said Billin,
raising his voice to be heard by all. "I just saw the
ruins of our last hope for peace! And I say to
you"

What he was going to say to them no one knew,
because at that moment Wix strode forward and
struck him so hard in the stomach that Billin's feet
left the ground, and he collapsed, gasping, in the
dirt.

"The ruins of our last hope for peace aren't on

the beach, Billin!" Wix shouted. "The ruins are
back in Firstfield, when you and the pebble-
brained oxen who followed you wrecked the only
compromise we could have had! It was you that
caused the burning of our boats, Billin! So you can
shut up for a few days, or I'll put you deep enough
in the river that you'll be singing to the fishes for
eternity!"

The silence rang out after Wix finished his im-
passioned speech. Then Billin groaned, and
slowly dragged himself to his feet. Everyone got
back to work. But when conversations resumed,
they were more bitter than ever before.

When night fell, they gathered around the fire,
staring at the flames. Some women from Noyock's
Town and Linkeree's Bay brought food before
dark. It wasn't enough, but it was something, and
they swallowed their pride and ate it. Now they
sat and watched the fence rails shrink in the fire.

"I've been thinking all day about what Billin
said," Hoom said in one of the dismal lulls in the
conversation. "And I think he's right. Burning's a
good idea."

"And what do we burn, the whole city?" asked
Wix, scornfully.

"No, no," Hoom said. "But the old people,
they've hated the boats from the beginning, the
boats have meant our freedom from them. They
burned them." Hoom stood up and walked
around the fire. He was no orator, but the very
quietness of his speech made them listen all the
more. "Well, there's a few things they've been
using as weapons against us. The Warden, for

instance." Someone laughed and said, "Does that
mean we burn Noyock?"

Hoom smiled and shook his head. "Noyock's
done us no harm. Just his office. There's some-
thing else, though. The History."

Several people snorted. The History, constantly
held over their heads as "proof" that things must
be done the old way.

"They burned our boats," Hoom said. "So let's
burn their History. It's far less harm than they've
done to us. You know what our fields will be like
if we let them sit for a month, unharvested. My
fruit trees will be bare, with the fruit rotting on the
ground. They've destroyed our homes and our
livelihoodsnobody could say we've been exces-
sive if we destroy their stupid History."

A few chuckled, and the idea began to look
more appealing.

Wix spoke up. "Easily said. But they're armed
against us, and they'll fight to protect it. It'sit's a
God-thing to them, they keep it for Jason. They'll
fight."

"So," Hoom said, "we won't announce what
we're after. Not a large number of us, either. We'll
just wait until everybody's asleep at Noyock's
house, and we'll break in, rush up the stairs, and
burn the damn thing before they even know what
we're about."

"Break in? Is it that easy?"

"It will be for me. I can get in," Hoom said. And
so the plan was made. The crescent moon was
high in the sky as they emerged from the forest, far
to the west of their camp. Only one of them held a

torch; the rest carried unlit torches and kindling
wood. They walked in silence, and approached
the tall house from the west, where it was less
likely that anyone would be watching.

There were no lights in the house, and so they,
set immediately to work. Wix pointed to a spot
beside the house, and the kindling was laid down:
Then Hoom, who carried the lit torch, ignited the
kindling. As it flamed, they all put their torches
in. After a few minutes, they were all ablaze. Then
Hoom raised his torch, and they all followed him
to the kitchen door.

Hoom knocked on the door, and they waited, all
of them standing close to the wall, so that some-
one glancing out a window wouldn't see them so
readily. But the household wasn't expecting
danger that nighta soft voice asked, "Who is
it?"

"Grandmother?" Hoom asked.

"Hoom," said the voice behind the door, in
relief and delight. "You've come home," she said
as she opened the door. But the door was barely
ajar when Wix and Billin muscled through, forc-
ing their way past Riavain. It only took her a
moment to see what was happening and she cried
out, "Fire! Help, fire! Quickly! They've come!"

No one stopped to silence her. Instead, Hoom
led the way up the stairs to the second floor. As
they reached it, several of his uncles and cousins
emerged from their rooms, looking worried.
"Where's the fire?" one of them asked, and Hoom
said, "Downstairs, in the kitchen." For a moment
the obvious ruse seemed to be workingthe men

headed for the stairs even as the torchbearers
charged upward toward the third floor. But then
they realized who was carrying torches, and ran
back up the stairs, trying to overtake them.

On the third floor, no one was fooled. Aven and
Noyock stood in front of the door of the library.
"You're not coming in here," Noyock said. "This
won't help you a bit."

"But burning boats will?" Hoom snarled, and
Wix shouted, "Get out of the way." Dilna realized,
though, that at this moment their attack would
either succeed or failthe men from the
downstairs were right behind them, waiting, it
seemed, for them to surrender. And talking would
never get the door open.

"Talk is nothing!" Dilna shouted, and she
swung her torch at the man behind her on the
stairs. He recoiled instinctivelyif he hadn't, the
torch would have hit him in the head. But in
recoiling, he lost his balance, and fell backward
into the men behind him. Billin seized the oppor-
tunity, and while Dilna and a few others used
their torches to keep the men on the stairs at bay,
Billin rushed forward, swinging his torch at Aven
and Noyock.

But they held their ground, and Billin faltered
in his advance. This time it was Wix who recov-
ered the momentum. "You've had fair warning,"
he snarled, and shoved his torch into Noyock's
belly.

The pain of the blow drove the breath out of
Noyockand when Wix pulled the torch away,
Noyock's shirt was on fire. He tried vainly to brush

it off, but it spread quickly, and he screamed and
fell to the floor, trying to smother the fire. Aven
still blocked the door, and he was using his feet to
try to keep Billin and Wix at bay.

"An ax!" someone shouted, and sure enough
one of the uncles was brandishing a bronze-
headed ax. He was swinging it in a circle over his
head, causing as much danger for his own side as
for Dilna and the others defending the stair, and
Dilna ducked under the blade and jammed the tip
of her torch upward against the man's chin. He
dropped the axit clattered on the floor next to
Hoom. Hoom picked it up and swung it savagely
at the door, right at Aven's head.

This time Aven ducked, just in time, and the
axhead was buried in the door, splintering it.
Aven tried to strike at Hoom while he pulled it
free, but Billin was too quick, forcing him back.

With a roar the men on the stairs tried to rush
past, just as the door gave way on the ax's second
blow. Dilna and the others couldn't stop them
but the work was nearly done. Wix and Billin
threw their torches into the roomWix's sput-
tered on the floor, but Billin's landed on a shelf,
instantly igniting the papers there. Then the stair
landing was a melee, as Wix, Billin, and Hoom
struggled to keep the older men from entering the
room and putting out the fire.

Aven bellowed and charged his son, throwing
him aside as he entered the smoky library. As he
passed, Hoom brought down the axhandle on his
father's head, sending him sprawling. At that
moment, Wix shouted, "Let's get the hell out of

here!" and began slugging his way to the stair.

The others tried to follow. One of them was
unconscious on the floor. Dilna, who had been
swept to a far corner by the rush on the stairs, tried
to rouse him, but he didn't budge, and she got up
to run for the stairs. As she did, the library erupted
in a sudden roar, and for a horrible moment
flames lashed out the door and threatened to start
the whole landing on fire. Then they subsided a
little, but flames danced now on the banisters, and
as Dilna forced her way toward the stairs, she saw
an inert body in the library, covered with flames,
the feet already charring. She screamed, caught
hold of Hoom, who was fighting his way down the
stairs, and shouted in his ear, "Your father! Your
father!"

The look on her face told him the story, and he,
too, screamed, rushing back up the stairs.
"Father!" he shouted, a throat-ripping cry.
"Father!" But the flames forced him back. Several
of the men on the stairs saw what was
happeningthere were three men unconscious
on the landing. They struggled back up against
the heat, pulled them out and down the stairs. But
Hoom still stood there, tears streaming down his
face, seemingly oblivious to the heat, screaming,
"Father! Father!" When they finally dragged him
down his face was black with smoke, and the front
of his clothing was charred. Dilna, who was being
held at the bottom of the stairs, saw his smoking
clothing and blackened face, and fainted.

They gathered in Firstfield on Jason's Day, but

this time there was no chatter or pleased expecta-
tion. Those who had borne torches that night were
each surrounded by men, and their hands were
bound, except Hoom, who was still so badly in-
jured that a makeshift bed was provided for him.
The other refugees from Stipock's Bay kept to
themselves. They were unguarded, but they had
nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. Jason
was coming; and suddenly even those who had
scoffed at him were afraid of his coming.

The sun was hidden from them by the shaft of
the starship, the space opened in the side and the
line descended. Dilna remembered four years ago,
when she was only barely thirteen, coming with
her mother to see Jason come. He had brought the
hundred eleventh Ice Person with him. Stipock.
And bitterly Dilna wished he had never come.

Jason's feet touched the ground, and he stood
and walked to Noyock, who waited for him. Jason
held out his arms to embrace the Warden, but
Noyock only covered his face with his hands and
wept.

Jason stopped directly in front of Noyock, his
blue eyes staring at him. They stood like that, it
seemed, for hours, though when Jason broke the
pose and enfolded Noyock in his arms, the sun
was still not out from behind the tower. The
people watched, and the realization spread as a
murmur among them. "Jason is crying too," they
whispered.

"He knows," came the answer, "he already
knows, without even a word spoken."

Jason whispered something in Noyock's ear,

and then stepped away. Noyock turned to look
after him, no longer sobbing, though his cheeks
were smeared with tears. Jason strode toward the
waiting crowd. "Where is Aven?" he called out.

There was no answer, only a rustle of whispers
in the crowd.

"Who has hidden Aven from me!"

And then some answers came. "Hoom killed
him!" someone said. "He died in a fire," said
another. But the answer that caught on, that many
called out, was the one that fixed the blame on
Hoom.

Jason walked to where Hoom lay, swathed in
bandages on the makeshift bed.

"Did you kill Aven, Hoom?" Jason asked,
loudly.

Hoom closed his eyes and answered, clearly.
"Yes."

Jason knelt beside him, and many, unable to
see, stood or crowded toward the front, to see
what Jason would do. But Jason only touched the
bandages on Hoom's forehead, and looked deeply
into him, as if he could see into his mind. Dilna
got up from her guards, and came to Jason. "It isn't
true," she said. "Hoom didn't mean to kill his
father. He was only trying to burn the History."

Jason stood, and looked around at the crowd.
"Burn the History. And why did Hoom want to
burn the History?"

Again silence. But now Wix leaped to his feet,
and cried out in fury, "They burned our ships,
that's why! They're all quick enough to tell you
Hoom killed his father, but they're not so fast to

tell you they burned our boats! Kept us from our
City on the other side of the river! All our fields
are rotten, our harvest is wasted, all because they
burned our boats!"

Jason nodded, and Wix fell silent, sat down.
"Burned the boats," Jason said. "And why did
they burn the boats?"

The answers came quickly then. "They wanted
to split the City! They wouldn't obey the Warden!
They said they'd make their own laws! They
didn't obey the majority!"

Jason raised his hands, and silence fell again.
He raised his voice and said, "They wouldn't fol-
low the majority. They wouldn't obey the War-
den. And for this you kept them from tending
their fields and their flocks. For this you kept
Hoom from getting a crop from his trees."

A gasp came from many in the crowd, for no one
could have told Jason about Hoom's trees. He al-
ready knew everything.

"And why wouldn't they let the Warden rule
them?"

The answers were shouted back at him, but
again and again the shouts included one name.
Stipock.

"Stipock!" Jason shouted. "Stipock!"

And Stipock walked out of the crowd, made his
way to the front, and stood to face Jason squarely.
"Stipock," Jason said. "It all seems to come back
to you."

"I never meant," Stipock said. "I never set out
to have it end as it did."

"What did you mean, then?"

"I just wanted to give them democracy."

Jason smiled grimly. "Well, you didn't. You
gave them anarchy."

Stipock's face was sculptured deeply with re-
gret. "Do you think I don't know?"

Jason stepped away from him, faced the crowd,
and cried out, "Who should be punished for this!"

There was no answer.

"That's what I think, too." Jason looked at them
angrily. "We couldn't fairly punish anyone,
without punishing everyone, could we. Because
you're all guilty of Aven's murder! Every one of
you!"

"I'm not," a woman shouted, leaping to her feet.
"I didn't have a part in any of the fighting!"

"You didn't?" Jason asked sharply. "Did you
try to stop them?"

And the woman sat down again, her face dark.

"Go to your homes, all of you. Be about your
business. And give tools to the people whose
homes are across the river. Let them build boats
and go home! I'll speak to you all in due time. Go
home!"

And the crowd dispersed miserably, in dismal
groups that silently walked home, cloaked in
shame. Jason knew. Jason had seen. And Jason
was not pleased.

Jason had even wept.

The snow was light on the fields and on the
trees when word spread through Heaven City:
"Jason is finished." And in fact he had talked to
everyone, visited in every home. And now he

went to the edge of the river, and splashed out to
the large boat that waited for him. Wix reached
out his hand, and helped him into the boat, where
ten of the people from Stipock's Bay sat, holding
oars.

"I wish," Wix said as the oarsmen pulled them
away from shore, "I wish you could have seen the
boats with sail on them. But the wind is from the
north now."

"I've seen them with sail," Jason said. Wix
wondered when, and how. And Jason answered
his unsaid words: "I've seen them in your eyes,
Wix."

They touched the other shore, and Jason walked
unerringly to the public house. Gradually the
people came in, filling the large room to overflow-
ing. Jason stood at the long bar, sipping hot beer.
When it seemed that all had come who were com-
ing, Jason set down the cup and lifted himself
onto the bar, where he sat as he spoke to them.

"I've talked to every one of you," Jason said,
"and there are many of youmost of youwho
have learned enough from the bitter experiences
of this autumn. You're content now to live under
the law and under the Warden. But you still want
to stay on this side of the river, where you're still
independent, where you're still a little lonelier,
and therefore a little happier." And then he said
the names, all the men and women who felt that
way, and told them they could go home. "If I'm
wrong, then stay," he warnedbut he wasn't
wrong. Only about forty people remained in the

public house, and Jason waited until the others
were all gone before he spoke.

"You are the ones who hate too much. You're
the ones who don't want to follow the laws, no
matter how it hurts other people; you're the ones
who don't want any part of Heaven City. If there's
anyone here who doesn't feel that way, you can
leave."

They all stayed.

"Well then," Jason said. "You're no more re-
sponsible for the disaster this city suffered than
are those who aren't content unless they force
everyone to fit their image of what is right and
good. You won't be punished. I think your
memories are punishment enough."

No one looked at anyone else, except Stipock,
who sat at the back of the room and looked at
everyone in turn.

"Stipock," Jason said. "You wanted to lead
your own city, didn't you? You wanted to wean
some of the people away from believing and trust-
ing in me."

"Damn right," Stipock said.

"Well, then, look around you. These are the
people you've won over. You've had four years.
I'm sure our bargain is satisfied in four years, isn't
it?"

And Dilna looked at Hoom, who sat beside her,
holding her hand. Bargain? she asked with her
eyes, and he shrugged.

"It may well be," Stipock said.

"You haven't fulfilled your part, you know"

Jason said. "I expected a bit more than a tallow
lamp and boats on the river."

"I was busy," Stipock said.

"You'll be busier. Because you're all getting
what you wantfreedom. Separation from
Heaven City. And I'll even let Stipock choose
where you're going. What's the most valuable
piece of land on this little planet, Stipock?"

Stipock only half-smiled, and shook his head.
But Jason acted as if he had answered. "Do you
love steel that much?" Jason asked. "Then that's
where I'll send youto the place where iron ore is
close to the surface."

The words were meaningless to themiron
and steel they had never heard of. Jason looked
around at them, and smiled. "Oh, the iron is de-
sirable enough," he said. "Have you seen the
metal of the Star Tower?" They had, of course.
"That's steel," Jason told them. "And you make it
from ironif you can."

"When do we leave?" Stipock asked.

"Tomorrow, I'd advise you all to forget your
warm clothing. And bring hats. The place you're
going is pretty sunny." Then Jason stepped away
from the bar, and left the public house.

The next morning those who were leaving
gathered in a large cleared field where the wheat
had rotted on the stem. They didn't wait longa
roaring sound came from the Star Tower, and
soon a huge metal object hovered over them.
Stipock told the people to stand clear, and when
they had shifted back, the metal craft settled to the
ground. Many of them were filled right then with

doubtsJason really did fly, and the ship he flew
in was bigger than a house.

But the door was open, and Jason was herding
them inside, and they had little time to worry
about whether Jason was, after all, everything he
had been thought to be. Two rows of seats filled
the middle section of the craft, and they nearly
filled them all. Stipock was the last to enter, and
the door closed behind him, though no one
touched it. And as soon as Stipock had sat down,
the craft lifted gently from the ground, and as the
earth receded below them, many were filled with
a terrible vertigo, and some vomited.

"Where are we going?" someone asked Stip-
ock, and Stipock turned around and spoke to
the group generally. "We're going," he said, "to a
very hard place. There aren't many places where
fields will grow well. But there are things more
precious than fertile soil."

Dilna leaned over closer to Hoom, and said
softly, "You'd almost think Stipock wanted us to
go to this place from the beginning." Hoom's only
answer was a faint smile. He didn't talk much,
even though he was virtually healed from his
burning in the fire at Noyock's house.

They crossed an endless forest, and then the
forest ended, and below them was nothing but
blue, striped with white. "The sea," Stipock
explained. "Water for kilometers in every direc-
tion, so it seems you can never find the end."

But they found the end, and under them was
rock and sand, carved into canyons and hostile
mountains, plateaus and occasional patches of

green. From the air it was impossible to see the
details, but it was plain enough to everyone,
though they had never seen a desert, that the land
below them was dead.

It was frightening to Dilna, to see so much space
with nothing growing in it. It looked endlessly
dry. She swallowed convulsively. Hoom's hand
closed over hers, and drew her close, and his arm
reached around her, and held her.

"Hoom," she whispered, "I've never loved anyone but you."

"And I trust you with my life," he answered;
and it occurred to Dilna to wonder whether Hoom
had told as great a lie as she had told.

Jason left them near trees, and a shallow stream
ran nearby, but the earth underfoot was sand, and
the air was hot and dry. They milled around aim-
lessly, until Jason said a few words wishing them
luck, urging them to obey Stipock; then the star-
pilot climbed back into the flying ship and the
door closed behind him.

"Well, everybody," Stipock said. "Let's get
movingup into the trees. We'll follow the
stream. Feels warm enough that we probably
won't need to build houses tonightgive us all
a chance to be lazy!" Stipock laughed, but no one
joined him. The sandy soil didn't look like it
would be easy to farm. The water trickled over
rocks, but a thin film of dust covered its surface
even as it moved.

They shouldered their burdens and followed
Stipock into the tall, gaunt-looking trees. Dilna
and Hoom were among the last, and Dilna turned
around to see dust rise under the flying ship.

She stopped and watched as it rose into the air
and moved away north over the sandy plain. Wait,
she wanted to cry out to him. Wait for me!

Instead, she shifted her pack and smiled at
Hoom, who was waiting for her. "Well," she said.
"This is more fun than a broken leg." He laughed,
and they hurried to catch up with the others.

13

IN HIS haste to get back with the good news, Billin
slipped on a shale slope and cut his hand severe-
ly. Of course he swore; of course he shouted; and
then he ripped up his good sleeve (the left) and
bound the bleeding cut and walked on.

He still carried his pack, though the food was
gone since yesterdaygood cloth was far too
scarce these days. In the hot gray days of autumn
when they first arrived, they had thrown away all
the clothing that modesty allowed. Now they
knew better. The summer sun burnt, and clothing
was the only defense.

The trees were already getting more open, and
shorter. The rich loam of the mountains had given
way to more sandy soil, loose and sliding and

hard to walk on. He was almost there, following
the trickling stream that kept Stipock's City alive.

It was late afternoon when Billin finally
reached the irrigation ditch and the diversion
dam. Wix's idea of course, and brilliant, of course,
but only a stopgap in their constant losing battle
with the sun and the sand. Although they might
have had a chance if Stipock weren't so dead set
on getting the ironno. We'd be losing anyway.
But now, Billin thought exultantly as he lurched
along down the path of the ditch, now we can live
better than we did at Heaven City. Just reach out a
hand and pick food from the trees. Water
everywhere. We have to leave immediately.

A house (new since he had left, but hardly a
surprise, and he noticed that they had built it
higher, out of the reach of the sand) and Billin
went to the door and knocked.

No one. Getting on toward darkwait here or
go on down?

Billin was too hungry to wait, and too eager to
tell his news, though his legs were weak enough
that he had to think of every step before they
would move.

And then he saw Wix and Dilna coming in from
the trees. He stopped and waited until they came
up to him.

"Billin," they said as soon as they were close
enough to see who it was, and they rushed up and
embraced him and welcomed him home. Yet Bil-
lin was not too tired to wonder what Wix and the
bitch had been doing in the woods (as if he and
everybody didn't knowa miracle Hoom hadn't

murdered them both by now, except that the
sweet simple-minded ox didn't notice), and he
smiled at them as he said, "How's Hoom doing?"

"Well," Wix said. Was Dilna blushing? Billin
doubted itshe wasn't the blushing type. At least
Cirith, ugly and foul-tempered as she was, stayed
faithful to Billin and loved him desperately.

"You must be tired," Dilna said, and Billin
didn't even have to agree. He just stumbled and
Wix caught him before he fell, and then the two of
them helped him to the nearest house that might
be large enough for him to rest awhile before
going on to his own home.

It was a struggle between hunger (stay awake
until the fish is fried) and sleep. Sleep won.

He woke in his own bed with Cirith leaning
over him, smiling.

"Good morning," Billin said.

"Stay in bed," Cirith ordered, losing the smile
the moment she knew he was looking. "You're too
tired and weak to get up."

"Then bring me something to eat, dammit,"
Billin said, lying back down.

"It was so good while you were gone," Cirith
grumbled as she brought a bowl from the fire. "No
one to complain at me."

"How did you make it through the weeks?"
Billin said. And then as Cirith set the bowl on his
bed and made as if to walk away in a huff, he
lunged over (spilling stew) and pinched her.

She whirled on him. "If you're that wideawake,
Billin my boy, you'll have no more sympathy from
me!" And then she was off to the children's bed-

room. Billin lay back on his bed and sighed. It was
so good to be home.

He vomited the stew, but was able to eat broth
later on in the morning.

And after noon, Stipock, Wix, and Hoom came
to see him.

"Three out of four," Billin said as they gathered
around his bed. "I feel honored."

"Dilna's pregnant again," Hoom said proudly.

"How many does that makethree?" Billin
asked.

"No, four, of courseunless it's twins."

Four of hers, Billin kept himself from saying,
but only three of yours. Not my place to tell the
fool what everybody else knows.

"You were gone three and a half months,"
Stipock said.

"The days just flew by," Billin said, smiling.

They waited, and Billin loved watching them as
they tried not to seem eager. But he was even more
eager than they, and he ended the game and told
them.

"A swift-flowing river, plenty of water even
during the heat of the summer. A bay, and there
are trees every inch, except where there are thick
berry bushes. While I was there I wasn't hungry
for a minuteI would have brought you back
some of the fruit, but it started spoiling in the heat
this side of the mountains, and so I ate it."

But as Billin described the paradise he had
found a hundred miles to the south (or more
who can tell when the distance is covered on foot,
scaling cliffs and wasting days hunting for a path

through an impassable barrier), he became more
and more uneasy. Hoom and Wix kept glancing at
Stipockand Stipock just watched Billin, his
face impassive.

"I tell you," Billin said, determined to fire them
with the enthusiasm he felt for the place, "that we
could leave the plow behind and live forever there
by just gathering. It goes on like that for miles.
And the ground is as rich as anything in Heaven
City, I swear it, except there's plenty of rainthe
mountains must catch all the clouds, keep them
from coming to usand it's warmer than Heaven
City, and besidesfrom the mountains I could see
another land across the water, not farwe could
build a boat and cross to it, and that other land
looks even richer than the one I was in."

At last Stipock answered, "Very interesting."

Billin sat up in bedtoo abruptly, and his
headache immediately punished him for the im-
petuosity. "The hell it's interesting, Stipock. It's
bloody damn perfect, it makes this place look like
a desert, which it is, if you had guts enough to
admit it. You chose this placewell, fine, you
made a mistake, but by damn I've found a place
we could get to in two weeks! Two weeks, and our
children wouldn't spend half the year crying for
food and the other half blistering in the sun and
crying out for water!"

"Relax, Billin," Hoom said. "Stipock didn't
mean anything bad. It's just hard to believe a place
could be that good"

"If you aren't going to believe me," Billin said,
"why the hell did you send me?"

"We believe you," Hoom said. Hoom the
peacemaker. Hoom the cuckold. Billin turned
away in disgust. What kind of people did he have
to deal with? Stipock, who only cared about that
damn iron ore which wasn't worth a quart of ox-
urine, and who always pretended that he was
thinking carefully about things when the truth
was his mind had been made up about everything
a million years ago and he'd never change it come
flood or fire. Hoom, so kind that you could almost
forget how stupid he was. Wix, always full of
bright ideasthe kind of man that could only be
trusted by a fellow with an ugly wife (like me,
Billin reminded himself). And Dilna? Why the
hell was Dilna always involved in decisions? At
least she wasn't here now.

"If you believe me," Billin finally said, "you
wouldn't be here, you'd be home packing food
and getting ready to go."

"Sleep awhile," Wix said. "You're still tired.
We'll talk tomorrow."

"What did I do wrong.'" Billin shouted, his
voice cracking from the weariness still in him.
"I'm not a hornet, don't brush me away!"

"You haven't done anything wrong," Stipock
said as he went to the door. But it was Hoom who
turned around and said, "I'm glad you're back,
Billin. I've missed you."

After they left Billin was too angry even to quar-
rel with Cirith, and she went to bed in a huff,
worried about Billin's strange behavior. And Bil-
lin kept waking in the nightangry, though it
took him a few moments after waking to remem-

ber what he was angry about. Why were they so
reluctant? Did they actually like the desert?

"No," Cirith said. Billin realized that he had
been talking aloud. There was a faint light in the
roomearly morning.

"Sorry I woke you," he said.

"That's fine. They don't like the desert, Billin,"
she said. "But about a week after you left, I guess
they realized you might find something like what
you found, and ever since then Stipock has been
telling people how good it is to suffer, how it
makes us strong."

"Don't tell me people believe that crap!" Bil-
lin's mouth tasted foul. He got out of bed and
staggered on aching legs to get a drink.

"I don't know what people believe," Cirith said.

Billin looked at her from the table, where he
was dipping water from the jar. "What do you
believe?"

"Don't tell me you suddenly, after two years of
marriage, want my opinion?"

"I don't want to have your opinion, I only want
to hear it."

Cirith shrugged. "Stipock's right. It makes us
strong."

"Crap."

She held up her arm, flexed a large muscle.
"Behold," she said. "Strong."

"So I married an ox," Billin said. "It's still a
desert and I found a place where our kids can
smile without getting a mouthful of sand."

He came back to Cirith and sat on the floor
beside her stool. She put her arms around him.

"Billin, I believe you and I want to go to that place.
But I don't think Stipock will ever give up on his
iron. He wants to make carts that move without
pulling or pushing them. He wants to make a mill
that doesn't need a stream. He thinks he can do it
with iron."

"And I think he's crazy," Billin said.

"I thought you loved Stipock."

"Like a brother," Billin said. "Like a stupid,
bull-headed, lovable, cold-as-a-fish brother. It's
morning and I'm already sick of today."

"Let me make it better," she said, and he let
her; and even though he was still a wreck from
the exertions of the last month, it was wonder-
ful.

"I take it all back," he said afterward. "That
place wasn't perfect. It needed you."

"You hurt my thumb," she said, and then it was
time to fix breakfast for little Dern, while Blessin
pumped away on Cirith's breast. Billin tried get-
ting out of bed, but he couldn't manage it. "Maybe
this afternoon," he said.

But that afternoon he slept again, and as the sun
set he woke to find Hoom beside his bed.

"Hello, Hoom. How long have you been waiting
there?"

"Not long."

"Good."

Long pause. Billin decided that whatever Hoom
had come to say must not be very pleasant, or he
would have said it by now.

"Say it," Billin urged.

"We've talked about it"

"We meaning the four Wardens of Stipock
City"

Hoom sat up rigidly. "How can you call us that?"

"You came to tell me," Billin said. "So tell me.
You four have talked about it and you decided
or rather, Stipock decided and the three of you
chirped back what he wanted to hearand now
you want to warn me not to tell people about what
I found in the south."

"You don't have to see it that ugly unless you
really want to."

"I should cover my eyes? I see what is."

Hoom smiled. "Does anybody see what is?"

"Least of all you, even when it's in front of your
face."

"Sometimes," Hoom answered mildly (he
doesn't understand, Billin thought contemptu-
ously) , "only the blind pretend to see. If you insist
on telling people about what you say you
foundwhat you believe you foundyou'll only
hurt yourself. No, that's not trueyou'll hurt
them, too, because they'll want so badly to believe
in a place like that."

"Of course they'll want to believe it."

"For your own sake, then," Hoom said. And he
left.

Billin felt better than he had since coming
backbut even so, he would have stayed in bed if
anger hadn't pulled him up and into his clothes
and out the door of the house.

"Where are you going?" Cirith snapped as she
saw him leaving.

"Visiting."

"At this time of night nobody wants to see you,"
she said.

"Mind your kitchen, woman," Billin answered.
She kept grumbling after he left.

He went first to Serret's and Rebo's house. They
were busy with putting children to bed (they had
been twinned twice since coming to Stipock Ci-
ty), but they greeted Billin kindly.

"Glad to see you up and about already," Serret
said, and Rebo smiled and took off her apron (in
tatters, Billin noticed, like all the cloth), bringing
him a stool to sit on.

He immediately began telling them what he
had found on his journey. They listened politely,
smiled, nodded, answered his questions, asked a
few (though not many). After a half hour of this
Billin realized to his fury that they weren't excited
about it. And why not? Their children were worse
off than most, with bloated bellies that even
Stipock said were a sign of a lack of food.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Billin
abruptly asked, even while Reblo cooed softly
about how wonderful his description of the rain-
fall sounded.

"Well, of course we believe you," Serret
answered. Billin wasn't fooled. He took his leave
quickly, went to another house.

It was late, and the lights were blown out in
most of the houses when Billin finally gave up
and came home. Cirith was waiting for him. She
looked worried when he finally came to the door.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Billin nodded, then shook his head. "Not one of
them," he said, and she understood, and for once
there was no banter, no complaint, she just came
to him and held him and in his weariness and
frustration he cried. The tears turned to anger
quickly enough.

"How did they do it?" Billin demanded, pul-
ling away from her and tossing a chair across the
room. One of the children woke at the noise, cried
out.

"Shhh," Cirith said, heading for the children's
room.

"Not on your life!" Billin retorted. "I want to
know how they did it! How did those damn self-
appointed gods get everybody to answer the same
way'Yes, Billin, so glad you had a good time
there, Billin, we're so pleased that your journey
was successful, now get the hell out and let us get
some sleep, Billin'"

Cirith came to him and took his arms and dug
her fingers into them. "You must promise me,"
she said, "that you won't do anything to them."

"What do you mean? What could I do to them?"

"Promise you won't. Promise you won't quarrel
with them, please, Billin."

"What do you think I could do? Hoom's the
murderer around here, Wix is the adulterer, all I
do is talk and now nobody's listening."

"Promise me, and then I'll tell you."

"Tell me what?" Billin asked, suspiciously.

"What they did."

Billin looked at her carefully. "I promise. What
did they do?"

"I didn't want to tell you before you went out
because you wouldn't have believed me and if
you'd known you would have gotten so angry"

"Get to it, Cirith, dammit, tell me what you
know!" Billin paced to the window.
 "They told everybody for the last two days,
while you mostly slept, they told them that you
had been badly hurt in a fall and it damaged your
mind"

"I cut my hand, the bastards, where do they
think my mind is?"

"I know that, but they told the others that you
invented a dream place, a place where everything
is perfect, but that it doesn't exist"

Billin roared with rage. The child in the bed-
room cried louder, and another cry joined in.
"Do they say I'm a liar! They dare to call me a
liar!"

"No, no, no," Cirith said. "They only say that
you were hurt. They say that you really believe
what you say, that your mind isn't working
rightStipock had a name for it, he called it 'hal-
lucinations', I think"

"Stipock has a name for everything"

"Billin, you can't fight it, the more you say you
know what you saw, the crazier they'll think you
are"

"Cirith!" Billin said, striding to her, looking her
in the eye, "do you believe them? Or do you be-
lieve me?"

She looked at him for a long time, but then she
looked away. "I don't know," she finally said.

This time Billin did not roar, because this time

his anger dissipated in despair. "If you don't be-
lieve me, Cirith"

"I do believe you, I do, Billin, I want to believe
you so much, but that's itwhat you tell about is
so perfect, how can I trust it? It makes everything
here so terrible, and Stipock says that this is the
best place"

"He says that because of the iron"

"I know, I know, please go to bed now, Billin,
you're tired"

"I can't sleep."

But he did, and woke in the morning still filled
with despair. Because sometime in the night he
had wakened after dreaming of the place he had
been to. The dream had seemed so real. He had
tasted the fruits again, and swum again in the bay,
and drunk from the cold river and lain in the grass
growing thickly on the riverbanks. He had felt the
rain cover him again, beating warm and fresh on
his skin, making him clean.

And he wondered if it had been a dream before.

And, once he wondered, he knew that it had.
How could it be real? He closed his eyes and tried
to picture the place, tried to imagine the taste of
the berries. But all he could taste was the dust that
always hung in the air; all he could see when he
closed his eyes was red.

So he didn't speak of it anymore, not for weeks.

It was time for the rains to come.
The rains didn't come.

"Don't worry," Stipock said. "These things
vary by as much as two or three weeks."

After six weeks the rains still hadn't come; but
the winds came on schedule. Last year the winds
had been cooling, drying out the soaking earth
(for that short time of rain and then wind, the
colony had been bearable); this year the winds
were hot and dry, the breath of dying, and after
four days of dust and sand whipping into ears and
eyes and noses and mouths, burning the skin of
those caught outside, drying out or silting up
every barrel of water, every cistern, filling every
ditch, tearing leaves off the trees, after four days of
that one of Serret's and Rebo's younger twins
died.

They buried him in the sand during one of the
brief lulls in the wind.

The next morning the dessicated body was in
the open, the skin flayed away. The wind, by one
of those cruel freaks of nature, had blown the baby
so that it jammed its parents' front door closed.
Serret swore as he shoved the door open that
morningscreamed and wept when he found
what had closed it so tightly.

They burned the body at noon. The wind kept
putting the fire out.

And the next day two more babies died, and
Wevin, Weerit's wife, died when her baby tried to
come four months early.

They couldn't bury the bodies, and they
couldn't burn them, so they carried them out into
the sand and left them, knowing the desert would
surely dry them out.

That evening Billin huddled into his last cloak
and crept against the wind to Serret's and Rebo's

house. While there he told them what the water
had tasted like in the land he had found. But he
knew they hated him for saying it, since they
believed he was insane, and it made it hurt even
worse.

And from time to time during the terrible three
weeks that the wind lasted, Billin dropped a word
here and there. "Fruit," he would say, "growing
off the trees. Wet and sweet." The person he was
talking to would frown and move away.

"Sweet water in a wide, cool river." And the
person would lick his lips and then say, "Dammit,
keep your madness to yourself."

"Rain," he would say, and a child nearby would
say, "What's rain, Mama?" and the mother would
weep and curse Billin for his cruelty.

And Billin cursed himself, for he, too, won-
dered if he were mad. For now that he himself
doubted what he had seen, he didn't know why he
kept talking about it, why every morning and
every night and the hours in between he would
keep seeing that fruit before his eyes again,
bushes more red than green, and water.

"Am I crazy?" he asked Cirith.

"Hopelessly," she answered, and kissed him.
But he didn't know if she was teasing; finally was
sure that she was not.

And then the wind stopped. One morning
everyone awoke to the sudden silence, to the sud-
den heat (even before sunrise) when the wind
didn't penetrate the cracks in the woodwork.

They put on their ragged clothing and went
outside to see. The sky was clear. The dust had

settled (mostly) to the ground. And now, for the
first time, they could see the damage. They saw
their suffering by moonlight, and realized before
daybreak that they were through.

The sand had built up against the trees, in some
places ten or eleven meters above the old level.
Houses that had been on level ground now
seemed to have been built leaning against sand
dunes that were higher than they.

The irrigation ditches were all gone, with no
trace left of where they had even been.

Two hundred meters to the west lay the new
course of the stream, a wide shallow trickling
stream, full of mud and barely drinkable.

The few sheep were all dead, except a couple of
lambs that had been kept indoors.

There was no scrap of food anywhere that was
not impregnated with sand. That was no surprise,
since sand was the main seasoning and the main
flavor that they had known for months. But the
people, as they talked, realized that all the chil-
dren were complaining of the pain of defecating,
for their stools were filled with sand. And now all
the bellies were distended, because food was
short.

And water less yet.

And then, as the sun broke over the horizon,
promising the terrible, unending heat they had
known before, Billin scrambled up a sand dune
that leaned against a house and cried out at the top
of his voice, "It's enough! We're finished here!"

They turned and looked at him.

"There's no hope here anymore! We have no

water, we have no food, we have no clothing, our
children are dying!"

In alarm, Wix and Hoom came running to him.

"Don't talk like that," Wix said.

"I take no orders from you," Billin said. Then
he shouted to everyone, "It's listening to Stipock
and Wix and Hoom and the Bitch that's got us
where we are! I say I'm through taking their or-
ders! Who made them Wardens! Who put them
in charge?"

Hoom climbed up the dune and took Billin by
the arm. "What did you call my wife, you bas-
tard!" Hoom shouted at him.

"How did you know I meant your wife?" Billin
said triumphantly. At that Hoom swung back his
arm to hit him, but Billin dodged and cried out,
"See! The murderer wants to kill again! Mur-
derer!"

And at the word Hoom backed away, confused.
By now all the people had gathered, even Stipock,
who watched dispassionately from a few meters
behind the rest.

Billin pointed his finger at Stipock and shouted
(and his mouth was dry and it was hard to make
the words come, but still he shouted), "There he
is! The man who taught us that Jason wasn't God!
Well, that's true enough. But neither are you,
Stipock! You and your damned iron. Machines
that fly through the sky! Where are they! What
about a machine that keeps our children alive,
what about that? Where's that, Stipock?"

People began to murmur to each other. Cirith
came to the foot of the dune and spoke to her

husband. "Billin, don't make people lose their
hope," she said.

"Damn right," he answered. To the crowd he
said, "I'm making you lose your hope, my wife
says. Damn right, I say. Look around you! They
say I'm crazy, but only a crazy man would look at
this and still hope!"

"He's crazy!" Dilna shouted. "Don't listen to him!"

Billin ignored her. "Think for a minute! Think
of this! You all saw how much food I took with
me. Enough for three weeks! How long was I
gone? How long?"

Three months, they realized.

"Why didn't I starve to death? I came back so
weary I was sick, came back hungry because I had
run out of food two days before. But not ten weeks
before! That's because I found food! Whether you
believe all that I said or not, you have to believe
this: I found food out there! And that's more than
you'll find here!"

Billin looked at Stipock and still the man didn't
show any emotion at all. Billin looked at the im-
passive face and realized he had no hope of per-
suading anyone. When Billin had stirred crowds
before, he had done it with the words Stipock had
taught him. And now Stipock was silent and
stood there uncaring, because he knew that Billin
couldn't persuade the crowd on his own.

So Billin slumped his shoulders, then looked
up at the crowd again and said, "Never mind. I
don't care what you do. Stay here and keep dig-
ging for the damned iron and wait for the sand to

come again. But I'm going. Because even if I'm
crazy and there's nothing out there, it's better to
die looking for something than to die here in the
sand, with the wind to dry us out because we've
lost our power even to bury or burn the dead."

And then Billin let himself fall backward and
slide down the dune to where Cirith caught him
and cradled his head. The crowd stayed for a
while, then went back to their homes to begin
sweeping out the dust.

That night the wind came up again, as hard as
ever, and the dust came back in and hung in the
houses.

And the next morning at dawn Billin, Cirith
and their two children loaded pitifully scrawny
packs on their backs and left their house. They
walked west to the stream and then set their faces
south, uphill into the shadeless trees that had
been stripped by the storms.

They had not gone more than a hundred meters
when they heard a hoarse cry behind them. Billin
turned and saw Serret and Rebo and their two
surviving children (one from each set of twins)
also loaded with meager packs.

"Wait for us!" Serret called again.

They waited.

"Billin, may we go with you?" Serret asked.

"I thought you didn't believe me," Billin said.

Rebo shrugged. "Does it matter whether we be-
lieve you?"

Billin smiled, a dry, ghastly grin, he knew, but
the first time he had smiled in weeks. "Come
along then."

They went up the stream all day. Gradually, as
the miles went by, the sand grew less, and the
stream was deeper, better to drink. They filled
their waterbags and went on (after drinking
deeply and pouring the clean water on their
heads). And finally they came to a place where the
stream bent to the west and their path went to the
east a little.

Billin went to a tree that bore a small cut, and
with his knife made the cut deeper and more
plain. He turned the mark into an arrow, pointing
the way they went. Then he looked ahead until he
saw a tree with another small mark, and led them
to it, where again he made the mark plainer. "In
case others follow."

They were nearly out of food when they came to
the mountains, but already the land was far
greener, the trees and undergrowth lusher, water
more plentiful. Billin killed a tree squirrel and
they ate the meat. And while they camped there,
with a fire and water enough to wash all over, two
more families joined them.

"We saw your fire," they said, "and realized
you weren't so far ahead as we had thought."

So they waited a few more days, killing more
squirrels and catching some small freshwater fish
in a mountain lake one of them found while
exploring the area. And when they finally left,
heading downhill this time, there were thirty of
them, counting women and childrenhalf of
the colony. Billin knew now that he hadn't
dreamedeverything was as he had remembered

it, and he couldn't stop talking about what they
would find at the bottom of the mountains.

And after another week they reached the end of
the craggy paths and found themselves by a
placid bay, with a coldwater river rushing down,
and fruit trees and berries so thick around that
there was hardly need to plant. Of course they did
plant, because one never knew what other seasons
might be like in a place like thisbut who needed
to bother with watering and tending the fields,
when they knew the seeds would grow and the
harvest would come without worry?

And Billin's children stopped wearing clothing
as they played in the sun, day after day.

Over the weeks more and more people came
down the mountains and into the village, where
the only houses were roofsno walls were
needed, and the roofs were just to keep a few
things dry when the rains fell, and to keep the sun
off during the heat of the day.

At last Billin counted who was there and
realized that between those who had died and
those who were there, only seven people re-
mained unaccounted for: Stipock, Wix, and
Hoom and Dilna with their three children.

He told Cirith.

"Will they come, too, do you think?" she asked.

"I don't think so," Billin said. "What would
they do here? The only way they know how to live
is by telling other people what to do."

"You tell people what to do."

Billin laughed. "Only when they want to work.

We built a boatso what! Those who wanted to
work on it did. The rest just did as they pleased.
Next week maybe we'll go over to that other place
across the water. Who knows? Who cares?"

"I see, now. You're just lazy." She laughed.

"Of course," Billin said. "And you're just fat."

Cirith looked ruefully at her bulging stomach.
"I was hoping I was going to have a baby, but my
time of month began yesterday, so it isn't that."

"It's berries. Always when I kiss you you taste
like berries," Billin said.

Then they made love, without particularly car-
ing that their house had no walls and that it was
daytime. No one particularly looked. And when
they were through, Cirith went naked to the
stream to get water.

"Cirith, you forgot your clothes," Billin said
reproachfully when she came back.

"I know," she said. "But who needs them in this
heat? We all know what human bodies look like,
don't we?"

And they laughed, joking about what life was
like for all the poor people back in Heaven City
who had to wear clothes to stay warm and who
had to work in order to eat, who always tried to
keep learning things.

"Who cares if you can read and write?" Billin
asked. "I never knew anyone who said anything
worth writing down."

And Cirith only belched and then left him, trot-
ting down to swim naked in the bay. Billin joined
her and swam for hours, mostly lying on his back
in the water looking at the white sky, wondering

what Jason would think if he could see them now.
Probably tell them that people were only human
when they were working to achieve something.
Like Stipockhave a goal, have a purpose. Well,
to hell with them, Billin thought, and then he
laughed so loud that he swallowed seawater and
had to paddle in to shore, coughing and sputter-
ing all the way. To hell with them, he thought
again as he lay in the warm sand of the shore. And
tomorrow I'll explore that other land. Or the next
day, maybe.

14

STIPOCK WOKE early one morning, and because
there was no wind he dressed and left his house
and walked among the dying houses of the vil-
lage. He went from door to door, and almost
every one was hanging on its hinges, or blown off,
and no one was there to make repairs. At last he
came to Hoom's and Dilna's house, and knocked,
and they let him come in and sit on one of the beds
as they served the small breakfast they had to
Cammar and Bessa and Dallat. The children
looked gaunt and old, and no one seemed to have
the energy to speak or make a sound.

Wix came a little later, and sat beside Stipock
on the bed, and said. "We're the last."

Breakfast done, there was little to do worth do-

ing. No one had worked the mine for a month or
more, and it was doubtless completely blocked by
sand. The pitiful amount of iron they had taken
from the hill this year was not enough to encour-
age them to dig for more. And Hoom voiced all
their thoughts when he said, "If only we could eat
iron."

Wix patted his trouser leg and dust rose into the
air. Outside there was only a small breeze. The
sand lay undisturbed, but the dust rose into the
air, seeped through the many cracks in the house.
Cammar kept sneezing.

Finally Stipock leaned back on the bed and
addressed the ceiling. "We might have done it,
you know."

Yes, yes, of course, if only.

"But you can't organize rebels to do a damn
thing," Stipock said. And again they agreed.

"Doesn't matter now," said Wix. "They're all
gone to where fruits hang on the trees and fish
leap up into your hands and the squirrels come
over and lie down in the pan for you." And they
managed to laugh.

- Without a word they all began to move, taking
all the food and putting it in bags. Hoom and Wix
took empty waterbags and went to the brook to fill
them. Stipock went back to his house and
gathered up the record he had kept of the village
and the small supply of food he had left.

At noon they were ready to go.

"Where?" asked Dilna as they hid from the sun
in her house.

"Home," said Hoom, and Stipock wondered at

the fact that for some reasonor manynone of
them suggested going south, to Billin's group.
Pride, because they had refused to take the easy
escape route that would lead to savagery, and
wouldn't give in now? Or a longing for Heaven
City? It didn't matter. Stipock was too tired to
analyze. Jason had won every round of their duel,
and had done it without breaking the bargain,
Stipock couldn't deny it, and now he wanted to go
back to Heaven City and surrender.

Satisfied? he could hear Jason saying.

Satisfied, he answered. Whatever the hell
you're doing with this world, you do it better than
I can. You know the people better than I do. And
so, because it's the only game, I'll pay whatever
price I have to in order to play. Your rules. But you
can bet I'll play pretty damn well, whatever the
rules might be.

"Stipock?" asked Dilna, and Stipock shook his
head. "Sorry. Yes. Home. Heaven City."

They slept in the afternoon, and began their
journey just before dark. The sky was cloudless, as
always, and the moon was high and full, and the
trees looked cool and welcoming as they left the
dying village and walked out into the sparse
forest. Stipock, Hoom, and Wix carried heavy
packs and water bags. Dilna carried Bessa in a
sack on her back, and held Dallat in her arms.
Cammar walked, his small legs forced to work
hard to keep up with the slow pace the adults
took.

They drank copiously from the stream before
they left, and began rationing immediately. And

as the night grew cool, and then cold, they hurried
their pace in order to keep warm.

Stipock brought up the rear, following several
paces behind Hoom, who now was carrying a
weary Cammar, at least for a kilometer or so. The
bodies of the three adults ahead of him were not
adult bodies, Stipock remembered. Only Wix was
twenty, the others still in their teens. In the Em-
pire they'd be children still, none of them at their
majority. Here the weight of the world was on
them. And they seemed strong enough to bear
it.

Hoom, burdened with Cammar's weight,
slowed down enough that Stipock overtook him.
"Let me carry the boy," Stipock said. And Hoom
willingly handed the child to Stipock, who held
him to his shoulder. Cammar barely noticedhe
was sleepy, and he rested his head. Hoom looked
at the boy as they walked, and then said, "A beau-
tiful boy."

"Yes," said Stipock. "Like his parents."

Hoom's face grew a little sadder, and he said, "I
wonder if Wix will ever marry, and have more
children." Not children of his own, Stipock
noticed. More children.

"You're a kinder man than I am," Stipock said,
softly.

Hoom shook his head. "Love and faithfulness
can only be given, not demanded. All the same, I
would have liked to have them."

Stipock was surprised at the pain behind the
whispered words. After all these years of silence,
of pretending not to know, why was Hoom saying
it now?

"Dilna loves you," Stipock said. "And so does
Wix."

"And I forgive them because of that. Or in spite
of that. Stipock?"

"Yes?"

"If I die before we return to Heaven City, would
you tell them? That I know? And that I forgive
them?"

"You won't die. You're the strongest of us all,
don't let the darkness and the sand get to you
already, or you'll never stay sane through the de-
sert."

Hoom only laughed. "Just taking precautions,
old man."

And then they walked in silence for another
hour, before Wix called out that they should stop
and drink. They drank, a swallow each from one
waterbag, and sat and rested for a few minutes.
And then they were on their way again, until
dawn.

They followed the pattern for days, walking
among the trees at night, sleeping in the best
shade they could find by day. They refilled the
canteens at every stream, and in this area there
were many.

But after a week, the trees began to thin, and the
ground began to rise, and Stipock told them it was
time to move due north. They reached a large
river, and followed its course northward, but the
water was brackish, and they only filled their bags
at the sluggish streams that joined the river. Later,
the streams became more rare, and they began to
drink the river's water in order to keep their
waterbags full.

They reached the crest of the mountains and left
the river behind, descending to a dry plain of rock
and sand. A few plants grew, and an occasional
small animal moved at the edge of their vision.
But no water at all.

And no rest from the heat. There was no shade,
except behind rocks, and at noon even the rocks
were no shelter, for the sun was directly overhead,
and rocks had no shadows at noon. On the eighth
day they ran out of water. On the ninth day they
piled rocks over Bessa's corpse and went on, no
one shedding tears because they were too tired,
and their eyes were too dry.

They found an oasis of sorts on the tenth day in
the desert, and drank the foul-tasting water, and
filled their waterbags. An hour later all were
vomiting, and Dallat died of it. They buried him
by the poisoned pool, and weakly walked on,
emptying their waterbags before they left to fore-
stall the possibility of their forgetting and drink-
ing again.

They were lucky. The next day they found a
clear spring in the side of a hill, and the water was
good, and they drank and didn't get sick. They
stayed at the spring for several days, building
back their strength. But now their food was get-
ting low, and with full waterbags they set out
again.

Two days later they reached the top of a rocky
rise, and stopped at the end of a cliff that plunged
nearly a kilometer, almost straight down. To the
west they saw the sea, and to the east another sea,
the water winking blue in the sunlight of early
morning. And at the bottom of the cliff, the land

funneled into a narrow isthmus between the seas.
The isthmus was green with grass, and Stipock
wasn't the only one, he knew, who breathed a
great sigh of relief.

"Do you see the green down there, Cammar?"
asked Dilna. The boy nodded gravely. "That's
grass, and it means that we'll find water."

"Can I have a drink?" Cammar asked.

They found a way down the cliff before noon,
and as they descended they realized that it wasn't
nearly as sheer as it seemed. The slope was bro-
ken, but there were many possible paths. And that
night, exhausted, they spread their blankets in the
tall grass. When they woke in the morning, the
grass was damp with dew, and their blankets were
cold and wet.

At first they laughed, and plucked up grass and
threw it at each other, getting soaked in the pro-
cess. And then Dilna began weeping, and the
others also grieved for the two children who had
been granted no tears at their burial.

From then on the journey seemed easy enough,
and they were hardened and ready to walk many
kilometers every day. Even Cammar seemed to
thrive on it, and often would run ahead of the
others, calling back, "Too slow! Hurry up!"

The farther north they went, the thicker the
grass and the larger the bushes became. Soon they
were passing many groves of trees, and tiny
streams became brooks that they had to take their
shoes off for. Eventually the shoes were put in the
packs, and they hiked on bare feet, which were
already toughened and hard as leather.

Six weeks after they had left the village to the

sand and drought, they saw the snow-capped
mountains rise ahead of them. "The headwaters
of half the rivers in the world rise in these moun-
tains," Stipock said, and they marched on. A
week later they could no longer see the peaks
because of the high, steep foothills they were
traveling through. They followed the banks of a
large river northward, and as it narrowed into a
canyon they often had to walk in the river itself.
They climbed cliffs to pass waterfalls, and often
had to backtrack when seemingly easy paths
ended in precipices and narrow defiles. And al-
ways the rivers flowed south and east, back in the
direction they had come, and always the path
ahead was uphill. They passed the last trees, and
food became scarce, and they rationed again; but
hunger was better then thirst, and it was summer,
so that although they were cold, they were in little
danger of freezing to death.

And then they noticed that the rivers seemed to
flow in the other direction, northwest, and some
of their routes were downhill. And one morning
as they reached the top of a windswept, grassy
hill, they saw what they had hoped to see: be-
tween two lower peaks in the distance, a green
blanket of dense forest that went on and on,
stretching forever into the distance.

"It's the largest forest in the world," said
Stipock, "according to Jason's map. But nothing
ahead should be as hard as what's gone on be-
fore." They sat down to rest and look at the hope-
ful view, and Cammar caught the mood of relief
and happiness, and he ran back and forth around
the crown of the hill.

"Jason never told us he had a map of the world,"
Wix said. "And yet you follow your memory of it
as if you trusted it completely."

"I should," Stipock said. "I invented the
machine that took the geological survey. It's
pretty accurate. The only inaccuracies are in
detailand in my memory."

Hoom was pulling up grass and letting the
breezes catch it. "You know, Stipock, you kept
telling us, again and again, that Jason wasn't God.
And yet every time it comes to one of the miracles
that Jason performs, you say, 'Of course he can do
that.' And I think I understand it now. To you,
what Jason does is commonplace. To you, God
would have to be far more extraordinary. But to
us, Jason's abilities are far out of reach. And that's
enough to make him not at all ordinary, not a
common man at all. To us, God. And why not?"

Stipock only leaned back. "I suppose that if a
man sets out to manipulate the world in certain
ways, and has the wit and the power to do it, then
why not play God? I would have stopped Jason if I
could. I couldn't. But does that"

A piercing scream interrupted the conversa-
tion, and they all jumped to their feet. "Cammar!"
Dilna shouted, and they quickly saw that he
wasn't on the crown of the hill. They ran in differ-
ent directions, and Stipock called, "Here! Come
here!" He was at the northwest slope, the area
they hadn't yet seen, and when they arrived in a
group at the edge, they saw that the gentle hill
they had climbed gave way to a jagged precipice
on the other side. A torn patch in the grass at the
edge showed where Cammar had fallen.

Dilna was frantic. "Cammar!" she cried out
again and again. And then his answer came from
surprisingly close. "Mama, I'm hurt!"

"Don't move, Cammar!" Hoom called, and
Stipock shouted, "Where are you?"

"Here!" Cammar answered.

Hoom ran along the edge of the cliff a little way.
"I can see him from here!" he called. "He's just
over the crest of that little cliff, on a ledge!" Then
Hoom waved and smiled, and the others knew
then that Cammar must be all rightjust out of
sight over the edge. Hoom ran back to the others.

"Can we reach him?" Stipock asked.

"He's not very far," Hoom answered. "You'll
lower me over the edgeI'm the lightest one who
isn't pregnant," and he smiled at Dilna. She
smiled back, reassured about Cammar's safety by
Hoom's obvious confidence. "Just hold onto my
legs."

In a few moments Stipock was gripping Hoom's
left leg, and Wix his right, as the young man
inched his way out over the edge, his arms reach-
ing downward, out of the others' sight. "Lower!"
Hoom called, and Stipock and Wix slid carefully
down a little farther. "Lower!" Hoom called
again, and Stipock answered, "We can't"

But he was cut off by Hoom's urgent cry, "Don't
jump for me, Cammar! Just stay theredon't
jump!" and then a high-pitched child's scream,
and Hoom lunged downward, desperately, tear-
ing his foot out of Stipock's grasp. Hoom slid out
of control, and only stopped with Wix gripping
his right foot, with Wix himself in clear danger of

being pulled over the edge. Hoom's left foot was
over the edge and out of sight. Stipock didn't try
for it, just clung to Wix to keep the two younger
men from flying off into the chasm. Wix was pant-
ing, his fingers slipping on Hoom's leg. "I can't
hold him," Wix said. "I can't hold him alone!"

"Let me help!" Dilna shouted, nearly hysterical
with the terror of knowing that her son had fallen,
that her husband was about to fall. She threw
herself to the ground and slid forward, face down,
toward the edge, out of control. "Dilna!" Stipock
cried, and she was only stopped by grabbing at
Wix, which jolted him enough that he lost his grip
on Hoom's foot. Wix cried out in the agony of
trying to force his fingers to grasp, but Hoom slid
away, struck the ledge Cammar had been standing
on, bounced limply out into midair, and for a
moment it seemed that he'd fly into the abyss
and then he was out of sight.

Dilna was hysterical, screaming Hoom's name
and beating at Wix. Both of them were in a pre-
carious position, and Stipock was afraid that any-
thing he did might break the equilibrium. But he
decided, and acted quickly, pulling Dilna by force
backward toward safer, more level ground. When
she was well clear of the edge, still weeping un-
controllably, Stipock went carefully back and
pulled Wix clear. It only took a meter's pulling to
get the young man in a position where he could
get himself back up to safe ground.

"I tried to hold him," Wix kept saying. "I really
tried." And Stipock said yes, I know, yes, of
course you did.

Then they heard Hoom's voice from below
not loud, but loud enough to be heard. Im-
mediately they fell silent, and listened.

"Don't come down!" Hoom shouted. His voice echoed from the walls of the canyon.

"Where are you!" Stipock shouted.

"There's no way down here! Don't try!"

"Are you all right?"

"I think my back is broken! I can't move my legs
at all!"

"How far down are you?"

"Don't come!" Hoom shouted, sounding more
frantic. "It's too sheer! And the rocks are giving
way under meI won't be here long!" To
Stipock's horror the boy began to laugh. "There's
nothing under me from here! Five hundred me-
ters, right down to the river!"

Dilna called out to him. "Hoom! Hang on!
Please!"

"I already thought of that!" Hoom called back,
and then they heard a distant scraping noise, and
a cry from far below. Dilna gasped, but Hoom
immediately called again, "I'm all right! I have
hold of a rock! It seems stable!"

Stipock wracked his brain for an idea, a way of
getting down to Hoom. But there was no rope any
nearer than Heaven City, and to try to scale the
cliff and bring up a man with a broken back with-
out rope was inviting more deaths.

"I'm going down," Wix said softly.

"No you're not," Stipock answered.

"I'm going down, Stipock," Wix said. "I've got
to help him!"

"Stay there, dammit!" Hoom shouted. "I don't want you to die with me!"

Wix was frantic. "I can't let him die!"

"Don't kill yourself for guilt," Stipock said
coldly, and Wix turned to Dilna for support. "I
tried to hold onto him," Wix insisted.

"I know it," she answered. "We all did."

And then they fell silent. They stood several
meters from the edge. Waiting. For what? Stipock
realized that the situation was impossible. They
were waiting for Hoom to fall asleep, or lose his
grip, or die of his injuries. At best they were wait-
ing for him to die of thirst. If they had to stay there
waiting, they'd all go crazy.

Hoom realized all that, too, and said so. "I'm
going to let go!" he called out.

"No!" Dilna wailed, and the canyon shouted it
back at her. "No! No!"

"I can't hold on forever! What should I wait for?
Jason's flying ship?"

"Is Cammar anywhere near you?" Wix called,
trying to keep Hoom from talking himself into
dying.

"He's dead!" came the answer.

"Can you see him?" Wix called. There was a
long wait before Hoom answered. "There's a lot
of blood on this rock," Hoom said. "It isn't mine.
There's nothing between here and the river."
Hoom's voice quavered as he spoke.

Dilna began to vomit, retching loudly. The
sound was terrible, and Stipock wanted to scream
in his helplessness. Wix was crying, more in
frustration than grief.

"Stipock!" Hoom called.

"Yes!"

"Tell them for me!"

"I will!" Stipock called back.

"Tell us what?" Wix asked, looking up in
dread. "What?"

"That he knew. And that he forgives you both."

Wix and Dilna were silent now. Hoom called
from below, "But you, Stipock! I'll never forgive
you!"

Stipock felt a terrible pain, a wrenching of his
bowels, and he breathed heavily. The boy
couldn't mean it.

"I'll never forgive you for not teaching me more
before I died!"

And, relieved, Stipock slowly sat down. But the
feeling of guilt was still there. Because it was
Stipock who had brought Hoom to this.

Hoom didn't say anymore. There was a sliding
of rock. No scream, no cry. No sound of the body
landing below. And in the deep silence after the
sound of Hoom letting go, the gurgle of the river
far below seemed remarkably loud.

Wix and Dilna just sat there, saying nothing,
not touching. After a while Stipock went farther
up the hill and looked for bushes he could use to
make a fire. When he got it going, he came back to
the two young people and led them up the hill to
the fire. They came passively enough, but they
didn't look him in the eye. Stipock could guess
what they were thinking. Years of betrayal, and
the fact that they hadn't stopped, had never
stopped. Knowing that he knew that they had

betrayed him. No wonder, Stipock thought, that
they sit on opposite sides of the fire. Guilt
couldn't keep them apart when Hoom was alive;
but now that he's dead, it will, for a time at least,
separate them more thoroughly than marriage
had ever done.

Dilna and Wix both cried out in the night, at
different times. Stipock also slept badly. The next
day they backtracked, and found another way
down the northwest slope of the mountains. They
never found the river that had taken Dilna's hus-
band and son, and were just as glad of that.

The forest swallowed them, and the going was
slow, and at last Dilna was too pregnant to travel.
They built a house, then, and hunted in the forest,
trapping small animals and birds and laying in
food for the winter, Wix and Stipock both leaving
the house for days at a time, to make sure the
winter would not catch them unprepared.

The snows in the forest here fell deep, deeper
than they ever had in Heaven City. The trees were
taller, too, and denser, and the darkness at noon in
the middle of winter, even though the leaves had
fallen from the trees, was dismal and depressing.
But that winter Dilna's child was born. A son.

"You'll name it Hoom?" Stipock asked.

She shook her head. "Hoom told me he wanted
a son named Aven." And there was little talk that
day, though the snow confined them all indoors;
they were thinking of death as the infant sucked
pap from Dilna's breasts.

As night came, and they laid the logs for the
night's fire, Dilna spoke from the bed where she

lay, recovering from the birth. "I've been preg-
nant," she said, "six times. Six times, and Aven
is all that I have now." As if in answer, the baby
stirred and cried weakly. No one could think of
anything to say to her.

And in the spring they set out again, following
streams and rivers northward, trying to find a pass
through the northern mountains that Stipock
warned them of. And they found it soonthere
was still snow on the ground as they hiked
through the vast gap in the mountains, the peaks
rising to the right and the left as they walked
northward on the gentle hills.

It was nearing summer when they came to the
Heaven River, the kilometers-wide torrent rush-
ing westward to Heaven City. They stopped to
build a small, crude boat, and two days after they
launched it, they saw the shining metal of the Star
Tower rise above the trees. Soon they saw boats
ahead, plying back and forth across the river.

"Left bank? Or right?" asked Stipock, who was
at the tiller.

"Left," Wix answered quickly.

"Left," Dilna agreed. They wouldn't try to hide
among the people of Stipock's Bay, who would
probably accept them more readily. They'd go to
the Main Town. They'd find the Warden and take
whatever answer he gave them.

They were greeted with amazement and open
pleasure by the people in Linkeree's Bay, and a
crowd followed them up Noyock's Road, over the
hill where the ashes of Noyock's house had been
cleared and a four-story house erected on the site,
and down the other side to Main Town.

The new Warden was Jobbin, a great-grandson
of Hux, a man younger than Wix. He embraced
them, and showed them a paper left by Jason
when he had come to take Noyock into the Star
Tower.

"Stipock," said the letter, "are you ready now?"

Yes, thought Stipock.

"You and all who returned with youwelcome
home. Be happy here in Heaven City. And at least
make an effort to avoid causing trouble," and
Jason had signed his name at the bottom.

Having read the letter, Wix and Dilna and
Stipock smiled at each other, and then settled
down to tell their story. Stipock gave the records
of his colony to Jobbin, who read them carefully.
Several people also took turns writing the account
of their journey as they told it. The travelers, in
turn, read the History of the last few years. It was
an unbroken story of peace, plenty, growth, hap-
piness. When it was done, Dilna looked at Wix
and then at Stipock, and said, "It's good to be
home again, isn't it?"

And then the three of them went to live in
different parts of Heaven City, and had as little to
do with each other as possible. Someone once
asked Stipock whyafter all they had been
through together, shouldn't they be close friends?

"We all died in a chasm in the mountains,"
Stipock answered. "And these new people you
see are strangers, with unpleasant memories of
someone who looked very much like us. When
those memories are gone, perhaps we'll be
friends." That was the most he ever said on the
subject. Wix and Dilna never said a thing.

But it was Wix who led the expedition that
mapped the Heaven River clear to its delta. And it
was Stipock who first minted money, and who
taught them to make charcoal, and who built the
first windmill, and who taught them to make
glass.

And Dilna's son Aven became Wardenmany
said the best Warden of alland when Jason
brought Arran from the Star Tower and married
her, it was Aven who performed the ceremony.

Jason eventually took both Wix and Stipock and
their wives into the Star Tower. But when he
asked Dilna to come and sleep so she could live
forever, she refused. "I don't see anything wrong
with dying," she said, "and I'd rather do it among
friends than strangers, years from now, who never
knew me." At her instructions, after she died her
body was burned, and the ashes were scattered
across Heaven River.

People kept having babies and the babies kept
growing up, and three hundred years after the
starship first landed beside the Star River, half a
million people were spread along the Heaven
River, and it was time for the next step in Jason's
plan.

15

PERHAPS THE greatest benefit of the discovery of the
so-called Aven Map is that it has caused ar-
chaeologists to rethink many of their most basic
assumptions. For years it was a canon of the
professional archaeologist that all the legends
of the Dispersal were merely after-the-fact ration-
alizations of the dominance of the Heaven
King over the counts of the low and high plains,
and eventually over the more distant dukes as
well. It was too tempting for researchers to as-
sume that the legendary Wardens, like Linkeree,
Hux, Ciel, Noyock, Kapock, and so on, were in-
vented to "prove" that all the great cities and
nations of the world had their start in Heaven
City.

Even now, the legends that ascribe to the Star
Tower the power to keep its residents from aging
while within its walls must be rejected by serious
scientists. But the fact that a map, carved in stone,
that could date from no later than 1800 B.A. [Be-
fore the Accession], clearly shows that residents
of Heaven City at that incredibly early date al-
ready had a full knowledge not only of the exact
outlines of the major land masses of the world,
but also of the names of the principal cities long
before they ever reached any appreciable size,
gives definite support to the idea of some kind of
Dispersal. And if the Wardens actually do have
some basis in historical fact, one begins to specu-
late that even Jason Himself may have had a
historical analog.

Enough of idle speculation, however. The Aven
Map has forced archaeologists to look to Heaven
City for the source of world culture-and now that
archaeologists have done so, many of the puzzles
of history are simplified:

1. The wide dispersal of the basic Jason
legends through every nation of the world.

2. The recurrence of the so-called "Songs of
Dilna" in various forms in both Stipock and
Wien.

3. The universal worldwide dating system,
that has for too long been taken for granted. After
all, why should the Stipock Calendar, when
meshed with the Heaven King's Calendar, show
exactly the same date for the Dispersal and the
Creation, though Stipock was isolated from the
Heaven Plain for more than a thousand years?

Before examining the actual inscriptions on the
Aven Map, Jet us first review the legendarybut
now proved to be at least somewhat reliable-
accounts of the Dispersal.

The Council of Lords. Not to be confused with
the present-day Council of Nobles, the Council of
Lords was a great meeting at which, according to
most versions, Jason brought all the Wardens and
their husbands and wives out of the Star Tower
and divided the people of Heaven City among
them. According to many versions, there were no
other people in the world at that time.

The First Leaving. After a year's preparation,
the Lords of the South departed overland
Kapock, Alss [Usset], Del, Poritil, Hux, Fane, and
Torne. The next year, the Lords of the North
departed-Wien, Merrion, Stoon, and practically
every County of the High Heaven Plain. And the
next year, the great fleets of the Lords of the Sea
set sail, Noyock and Aven to the west, and
Stipock, Jobbin, Linkeree, and Captil to the south.
This order of departure is reinforced by the fact
that in many cases, there is no tradition in the
nations that left first about the departure of the
nations that left later: Kapock, for instance, has
no legend to account for the founding of Wien,
though Wien accounts very well for the founding
of Kapock.

Jason's Ascent to Heaven. This is easily the
most confusing account. It seems that Jason
(whom we must now suspect of having really
lived) not only took his wife Arran into the sky,
but also took the Star Tower with him! This is the

explanation for the fact that this immense object,
supposedly kilometers in height and length, can-
not be found anywhere on this planet. Yet this
so-called ascent may indeed be based on some
kind of fact-Jason may indeed have taken his
departure, but not into the heavens; rather, he
probably wandered into the Heaven Mountains,
either living out the rest of his life in Hively or
beyond, in the Forest of Waters. Perhaps this is
why the freeholders in the Forest of Waters have
the seemingly arrogant habit of calling their na-
tive land "Jason's Country" and even "the Land
That Jason Chose."

Jason's Son. And here we have the wishful-
fillment of every people that remember a Golden
Age. Just as the people of Wien look for the
return of Hardon Hapwee, the great minstrel who
led their armies to victory on the plains of East-
way, so the legend persists, primarily among the
common folk, in many different parts of the
world, that Jason's Son will someday come, blue
of eye as Jason was, and bearing Jason's "hidden
name" (this primarily from Stipock), and posses-
sing many magical gifts, chiefest among them
being the power to see into people's hearts and
read their most secret thoughts. Quite an expecta-
tion, that! But here again, archaeologists can no
longer dismiss the legend. It must have some
meaning hidden back in the events of the time,
and it is even possible that the real Jason, if there
was such a man, made that very promise to the
people of his day.

The Dispersal, however, probably did not in-
volve nearly half a million people, as the no-

doubt-inflated legends claim. Rather these great
national heroes probably left with rather small
groups, taking their high-level civilization to
more benighted peoples in different areas of the
world. This would indeed, at least in one sense of
the word, be bringing mancivilized manto
places where he had never lived before. And care-
ful study of the Aven Map will undoubtedly bring
us a greater understanding of the religion, the
government, and the culture of people much
farther into our past than archaeologists had ever
dared to dream of going. . . .

The Aven Map:
The First Translation, 1204,
University of Darkwater,
pp. 22-25.

16

LITTLE REUBEN followed the bird into the forest. He
did not look where he was going. He did not
notice when he stepped through the cleared area
that stretched all the way around the farm. But if
he had, chances are he wouldn't have stopped.
Because he was only four years old, and his edu-
cation was not complete.

The bird, of course, being small, flew easily
through the invisible barrier and on into the dense
undergrowth of the Forest of Waters. But Reuben
could still see the splash of red, now hopping
back and forth on a branch. He did not know that it
was hopping because even though the barrier was
passable, it still caused such a disturbance in the
tiny brain that it was all the bird could do just to
stay on the branch.

Reuben ran through the invisible barrier,
toobut it cost him far more than it cost the bird.
Between the moment when his head first entered
the field and the moment he hit the ground
Reuben felt more pain than he had ever felt in his
short life. It seemed like every nerve in his whole
body was on fire, like huge thunders were erupt-
ing in his head, like lightning was dancing in his
eyes. So great was the pain that he didn't notice
that his shoulder struck a rock and bled profusely.

He didn't even notice the hideous scream he
uttered.

And because his leg remained in the middle of
the barrier after he fell, the pain went on and on
and on.

He fainted, but not soon enough. When he woke
in the dark house, with father and grandma bend-
ing over him, massaging his arms, he could still
hear the terrible thunder in his ears, and white
spots danced at the edges of the world, retreating
just out of sight when he tried to look at them. And
his leg was completely numb.

He heard nothing but the thunder, though
grandma's lips moved, and she seemed to be an-
gry. He wondered why his leg felt like it wasn't
there. Grandma and father were arguing, it
seemed, and he wondered why they were talking
so soft that he couldn't hear them.

Grandma clapped her hands hard beside his
ear. He thought she was trying to hit him, and he
dodged. Father looked triumphant, but grandma
shook her head. She reached down and rolled

Reuben over on his stomach, so he was looking at
the wall. Reuben didn't see anything, then,
though he did feel a wind rushing past his earat
least, his hair was stirred by something.

Then, as if from far away, he heard through the
thunder a soft voice, calling his name. He rolled
over quickly, to see who might be calling. But it
was grandma, and she was only a few inches
away. She seemed to be shouting. He answered, "I
can't hear you, grandma, you sound so far away."

But she seemed pleased with that response, and
father also looked relieved. Reuben didn't under-
stand.

But he soon understood his useless leg.

Over the months his hearing gradually came
back, but the feeling in his leg did not. He could
swing the leg from the hip, but he had no control
over what happened to the knee or foot. And so he
was always falling down, always dropping
things, and father and mother were impatient
with him. But after a while he learned to walk by
throwing his leg forward and bringing the heel
down hard on the ground, which made his knee
lock. Then he treated his leg just as if it were a
crutch, as straight and hard as wood. He swung
over it, then threw the leg forward again.

He could not see himself, but his older brothers
and his older sister teased him unmercifully be-
cause of the way he walked. "You walk like a
mantis," they said. "You walk like a crippled
rabbit."

But one day grandpa came back. Reuben was

old enough by now to notice that grandpa looked
younger than father, and much, much younger
than grandma. It was a mystery, but the kind of
mystery that he knew not to ask questions about.
Another mystery was why no one would answer
him when he asked if there were other people
outside the farm, and where they came from, and
who was grandpa's father.

When grandpa came back he took Reuben into
the shed behind the house and touched him with
little cold boxes and spheres that frightened him
and made him cry. But when grandpa left,
grandma began massaging Reuben's leg for an
hour every day.

Father complained about that, because it took
so much time away from important work. But
grandma answered, "That's what Jason said, my
boy, and so that's what we'll bloody well do. The
boy's leg is more important than the weeds."

Father looked angry, but went out of the room.
Grandma kept on massaging.

It did no good.

When Reuben turned five, grandma began to
take him out to the barrier now and then. He
would go with her easily enough until he realized
that they were near that partially cleared strip of
ground. Then he began to cling to her skirt and try
to hold back, try to pull her away.

"No, grandma please!" But she took him right
to the barrier, and then, every time, she said the
same words.

"This is the wall of Worthing Farm. On this side

of the wall is life and food and clear water and
everything good. On that side of the wall is death
and pain and terrible loneliness. What happens if
you cross that barrier?" She said all this in such a
dark and terrible voice that Reuben only cried and
answered, "I don't know!"

So she told him. And when she finished, he was
sobbing so hard he could barely breathe, and then
grandma would take him away from the barrier.
At night for weeks after one of those visits to the
wall, he would have nightmares, and wake
screaming. "Jason!" he would call. "Help me!"
But grandpa didn't comeonly grandma, or
mother, or father.

When Reuben turned six, he stepped on a sharp
rock and cut his bad foot. But he rejoicedfor he
had felt the pain, like a little spark from miles
away, but he had felt it.

When he told grandma, she didn't believe him,
told him that he must get used to not having the
use of his leg. But then father came and looked at
Reuben with his vivid blue eyes (just like grand-
pa's) and said, "He's telling the truth, mother."
And then grandma cried for joy and hugged him
in her long, strong arms.

And because he was getting better, father began
to give him more work to do. Reuben learned
ropemaking and bucketmaking, and was taught
all the seeds and which to plant at what day of the
year and month. He learned the calendar and the
names of all the weeds, but grandma never taught
him how she did her trick of scratching a quill on

thin strips of paper, and then say the same words
from it every time. She taught no one how to do it,
not even father.

When Reuben turned eight, father said he was
old enough to come on the Walk.

Reuben didn't want to go, but when father de-
cided, the children did it.

The Walk came every seventh day. Winter or
summer, blizzard or wind or the hottest day of the
year, they would leave at noon and walk to the
northeast corner of Worthing Farm. There at the
corner father would repeat the very words
grandma had used. Except that when he said
them, he not only made the children afraid, but he
also seemed to be afraid himself. When the words
were said, they walked in single file all the way
around the barrier. Reuben could hardly stand to
be so close to the edge. In the dark forest beyond
he could imagine them, waiting. He knew them
well: he had seen them in a hundred terrible
dreams. Now, walking along the barrier, he felt
the same sweating, freezing sensation that woke
him up screaming in the night. He kept turning
around to look, but they retreated out of sight
before he could get a clear glimpse. He stayed as
close to father as possible. Why doesn't he hurry?
Reuben wondered. Doesn't he know they're
watching us?

Then, after they had walked the whole border of
the farm, three kilometers on a side, they came,
wearily, to the Worthing stone. It was a smooth
silver-colored cube, harder than any other rock,
and it always gleamed in the sunlight. Etched into

the stone by a power greater than any of them,
because they knew they could never cut its sur-
face, were strange marks. The same kind of marks
grandma made on the paper.

JASON WORTHING

From the stars

Blue-eyed one

From this land

Jason's son

And at the Worthingstone father would say, his
voice trembling with emotion, "This stone was
marked by your grandpa. He set it here to protect
us. As long as this stone is here, the enemies from
outside Worthing Farm cannot harm us. But if any
harm comes to the stone, or if any of the people of
Worthing Farm leave, then our protection will
end, and terrible death will come upon us all."

Then the Walk was over, and they gratefully left
the barrier, walking slowly at first, then running,
then bounding across the farm until they were at
the dark house.

The light house, of course, they could not
enterit was grandma's, and it had the trick of
flying off. Everyone had to hide in the dark house,
and then there would be a terrible roaring, and
then grandma and the light house were gone.
Matthew told Reuben once, in whispers, behind
the shed, "Father said once that she goes to
grandpa."

Whenever grandma came back, she was quiet
for days; but she seemed serene and happy all that

time, going about her work with a smile. Father
would ask her, "What's so grand that you're grin-
ning all the time?"

But grandma only answered, "Why don't you
look behind my eyes, and see?"

Whenever she said that, father turned away
looking angry and ashamed. Matthew told Reu-
ben it was because grandpa had once done terri-
ble things to father for looking into grandma's
thoughts. No one was allowed to look into
grandma's thoughts.

"Will I be able to know what people think?"
Reuben asked Matthew one day.

Matthew laughed. "You're too little!"

But it was about the time that Reuben turned
twelve that three things happened to him. His leg
was almost completely better. His chest and groin
began growing hair. And he began to have flashes
of what people thought.

It was then that the stranger came to Worthing
Farm.

He was short, and dressed in clothing that
seemed like another skin, only dark brown.
Reuben, Matthew, father, and Jacob were hoeing
the potatoes when he stepped from the forest.
How he had got through the barrier no one knew.
But he was strange, he was from outside, and he
must be terribly powerful.

Reuben could not control his gift yetbut he
did manage to catch glimpses. They were
frightening. He saw images of great halls and
huge towers, the world like a little ball in the
distance, men and women in strange clothing
doing strange things. He heard words and sen-

tences that had no meaning, but that sounded
vaguely wondrous, and also menacing. And he
understood something else: this stranger was a
man of power, a man of might, a man who was
used to ruling other men.

He was everything that Reuben had learned to
hate and fear from outside. And almost at the
same time that Reuben realized that, father and
Matthew and Jacob silently picked up their
bronze-headed hoes and raised them high and
advanced on the stranger.

Later, Reuben could not remember if the man
had spoken or not. He only knew that the man
looked coldly at them, and turned and walked
back toward the barrier. Don't let him get away!
Reuben silently shouted, and the others thought
the same thing, because they ran to catch the man,
kill him before he could get away and come back
with more men with such frightening minds and
such calm, confident power. But the man reached
the edge, fiddled with something in his hands,
and stepped easily through the barrier.

At the cleared space the men stopped, word-
lessly watching as the stranger calmly walked
back into the forest. When he was out of sight,
they came away from the barrier, shaking with
fear as they always did when the barrier was too
close, too long.

They said little about the incident. Reuben as-
sumed they didn't want to tell the women and
worry them. But grandma looked at them all care-
fully at dinner, and asked, "What is it you're not
telling me?"

And father smiled and answered, "Why don't

you look behind my eyes and see?"

Grandma reached over and slapped his face,
lightly. "I said tell me."

And so they told her about the stranger. When
they were done, she leaped to her feet. "And you
waited to mention this until now! I've raised fools
for sons, but I had no idea how foolish!" And she
ran out of the house. Soon came the roaring of the
light house, and she was gone.

They assumed she'd be back soon, but she never
came.

Reuben grew up and married his Uncle Henry's
youngest daughter, Mary, and all their sons had
bright blue eyes, and all of them, at puberty, could
look behind each other's eyes and see each other's
heart. Nothing else of importance happened to
Reuben; he lived out his life within the confines of
the farm, and grew old, and saw his great-
grandchildren born.

One day, however, when he was very, very old,
he went to the barrier alone, and stood there for a
very long time. He wasn't sure why he had come.
But finally, in order to ease the longing, he
reached out his hand into the space where the
barrier had always been.

And felt nothing.

He took a step forward, and still felt nothing.
And another step, and another, and he was com-
pletely through the barrier to the other side, and
had felt no pain, nothing at all.

He touched a tree on the other side. It felt like
any other tree. The sky looked normal enough.
And the leaves crunched underfoot just the same.

And then he walked back through the barrier,
and fled back to his tiny room at the back of the old
house, and stayed there, trembling, for an hour.
He told no one of what he had found. But from that
day on, he made his son Simon lead the Walk, and
Reuben stayed away from the barrier for the rest of
his life.

He was buried with his head pointing toward
the Worthingstone.

17

JASON WORTHING awoke from somec for the hun-
dredth time within the pilot's cabin of the star-
ship. But now he no longer exercisedit was all
he could do to get out and walk around, force the
blood to flow. He had long since ceased wonder-
ing how old he really washe looked not older
than forty, and felt ninety-nine. For three cen-
turies the responsibility for a world had been on
his shoulders; for forty years since then, he had
been wakened every year or so to talk to Arran
when she flew the scoutship from the farm to the
starship. He assumed, when he got up, that it was
she whose coming had roused him.

But the voice that spoke to him as he stood,
flexing his arms beside the coffin, was a man's
voice, and Jason looked up in shock.

The man was fairly old, but dressed in Empire
fashions, though the color combinations were
strange to Jason. And the old man laughed as he
saw Jason's puzzlement. Jason looked into the
stranger's mind, and then laughed.

"Abner Doon!" he said, shaking his head in
disbelief. "I'd long since given up any hope!
Abner Doon!"

And the old man embraced him. "Sweaty,
aren't you," Boon commented.

"And still making a virtue out of discourtesy, I
see," Jason said.

And they sat and looked at each other for a
while. Finally Jason laughed again. "You know, I
kept expecting any time, after the first hundred
years here, that you'd turn up someday. I think I
was still hanging on to some hope of that. What
kept you?"

"Oh, things, you know. The revolution took a
bit longer than I had expected to foment, that kind
of thing. People are so damned unpredictable."

"I know," Jason said. They sat in silence for a
moment.

"Oh, by the way," Boon said. "I took some
liberties. I read all the Histories you've got stashed
in herefascinating reading. And the wreckage
in the back of the ship here is self-explanatory. So
instead of waking you and wasting your time on a
guided tour, I made a few visits around your little
planet."

"And is everything up to snuff?"

"Going nicely. You'll be interested to know that
Wien's groupWien's dead, by the waymade it

to the lake without much trouble, and there's a
magnificent little bronze-age town growing up
along the shores, with farms spreading all over.
And Noyock's quite ambitioushe's already sent
colonists to five of the major islands. You've ac-
complished a great deal. A planet with no metals,
and you've created a stable, religious society,
progressive, well-governed, peaceful, knowl-
edgeablemy congratulations."

Jason nodded, smiling.

Doon moved in for the kill: "So what the hell are
you doing with that miserable little farm in the
middle of the Forest of Waters?"

"Oh," Jason said. "You went there."

"Yes, I went there, and they damn near killed
me before I got away. That's when I decided to
come back here and wake you up. That farm is the
opposite of everything else you've done
everywhere else, poets, music, a chance for a
totally nontechnological culture of real beauty
and refinement. And on that farm, everyone sus-
picious, murderous, ignorant, and hemmed in by
the strongest damn mindshield I've ever had the
misfortune to bypass."

"Well," Jason said, "that's my showcase."

Doon snorted. "Papa's pride and joy."

"Exactly."

Boon looked up, startled. "You don't mean it!"

"Didn't you see their eyes?"

"I didn't come close enough. You mean that's
your family?"

"That's where my genes are being stored. In-
bred. There's a very small chance that a few idiots

will start turning up after a while. But in the
meantime, they're going to be getting my genes
from every parent for a few generations."

Doon looked disturbed. Angry. He got up and
walked to the control board. "Dammit, Jason!
That's terrible. I mean, it's fine to want to improve
the strainbut inbreeding like that can cause real
harm. You just don't have the right to play with
people's lives like that!"

Doon might have said more, but Jason started
laughing uproariously, and it didn't take Boon
long to join in.

"Oh, well," Boon finally said. "From one man
who's spent his life playing God to another, I must
say you've done a thorough job."

And Jason reached over and shook his hand.

The door from the storage area opened, and
Arran came in. She rushed to the coffin, saw it was
empty, and whirled to see Boon and Jason shak-
ing hands, looking at her in surprise. "Arran,"
Jason said.

"That must be the stranger," Arran said.

"Arran?" asked Boon. "Not Arran Handully"

"Correct," Jason said. "Not Arran Handully.
Just Arran. My wife."

Arran stepped forward, eyeing Boon suspi-
ciously. "He came to the farm, Jason, just as you
said. Thomas and the boys drove him off
thoughI came as soon as they told me."

"It's all right, Arran," Jason said. "He's a friend
of mine."

Boon got up and offered her his hand. She took
it carefully, and Boon smiled. "Still beautiful," he

said, "as beautiful as ever, though the years have
deepened you, it seems."

"Have we met each other?" Arran asked, sur-
prised.

"A long time ago," Doon said.

"Never mind, Arran." Jason took her arm, and
she clung to himclung as she had when they
both looked young, and she was a bride, living for
three glorious years in Heaven City as the wife of
God, before the Dispersal, before she went to the
farm in the Forest of Waters and raised a family in
the strange fashion Jason had commanded.

"Is he" she asked, then stopped.

Jason looked at her carefully, then smiled. "Yes,
Arran. He's my father."

They spent three days together in the ship, tel-
ling Doon anecdotes that hadn't found their way
into the History, he speaking of events in strange,
far-off places that left Arran dazzled and filled her
dreams. Doon and Jason pored over charts, talked
about the past, the future. And then Doon said,
"Well, Jason. I see you've thought of everything,
and you don't need the advice of an old man
anymore. Too bad I won't be around to see what
happens when some superhuman descendant of
yours comes out of the wood and demands his
rights as Jason's Son!"

"Where are you going next?" Jason asked. Doon
only smiled. "I think," he said, "that I'll go back
home now."

"Aren't you going to visit any other colonies?"

"Oh,   no.   No,   Jason.   Actually,   I   probably

shouldn't have visited here, either. But you see, I
had to kill a couple of thousand years before I
dared go home to Garden and find some subtle
way of living out my last few years in peace and
quiet. After all, even Hitler was forgotten after two
thousand years, and I wasn't quite as bad as he."
They both laughed, and then Jason put his arms
around the old man and embraced him, and Doon
hugged him back. "You're the prize in my collec-
tion, Jason. The best I ever found. That's the best
part of being God, you knowwhen you create
someone who surpasses you."

Doon went out to his own suborbital cruiser
and, without looking back, closed the door and
lifted off to rejoin his starship in orbit. Jason
watched until the craft was out of sight.

Arran asked him when he turned around,
"Well, Jason, do I go back to the farm now?"

He looked behind her eyes.

"You don't want to go back, do you?"

She shook her head, and her aging eyes filled
with tears. "Let me stay here with you, now, Ja-
son! They're all trained. They'll stay inside the
farm for a thousand years!"

"More likely two hundred, with luck," Jason
said. "That's all I could hope for. The barrier itself
won't last more than another fifty or sixty years.
Your work's done there, Arran. Far better than I
could do it."

"Why," she asked, "didn't you want to stay
with me there?"

"Oh, no, Arran, I did want to stay with you. But
I can't always do what I want, you know. You see,

there are things in my mind that the boys might
have understood, if they'd had enough time.
Things that would have destroyed everything."

"You mean they can see into you, too?"

"You can stay with me now, Arran, I want you
to."

And she threw her arms around him and wept.
"I'm old and ugly!" she cried. "And you're still
young. You'll always be young! I've lost my life
with you!" And he let her weep, saying softly,
"We all lose parts of our life, Arran. It can't be
helped." But for a fleeting moment he felt a bitter
regret for all the life that he, too, had lost; he
grieved for friends who had grown old and died
while he slept in the coffin; friends whose minds
had been stripped by somec, whose life and love
had been lost; for the children that he hadn't real-
ly been able to enjoy, for the life he had never been
able to taste. "Being God," he said, "is the worst
damn job in the universe."

Then he led Arran to a coffin in the now-empty
B tube, and put her to sleep. He sealed the tube
carefully, inspecting everything to make sure that
the components had lasted the time well. Then he
went through the rest of the ship, preparing it as if
for deep space. The gap in the side he could do
nothing about, but the interior locks in the ship
were as able to withstand pressure as the exterior
surface.

When he was satisfied with the condition of the
starship, he sat in the control room and gently
lifted the monstrous structure into the sky. He
hovered it, so that the rotation of the planet moved

the surface under him. Soon the land retreated to
the east, and he was over the sea. He flew south,
then, to a place far from any land, and gently
settled the starship toward the surface of the
ocean. The ship barely noticed contact with the
water; it sank easily beneath the waves. And the
structure was hardy enough to bear the pressure at
the bottom; Jason knew that the ship had been
built for far worse conditions than these; that
perhaps thousands of years from now the metal
would still be uncorroded, the ship's computers
still capable of being revived, the ship's engines
still able to bring her to the surface.

He wrote a message and laid it on the control
board, spoke the same message into the ship's log,
gave it to the computer so that any contact with
the computer would print it out on the screen.
Then he went to the coffin, lay down, put the
sleep helmet on his head, and waited for his brain
to be recorded. The job was done.

And then for no reason he could think of, Jason
began to weep, softly, in his coffin. He was still
weeping as the needle stabbed him and the somec
scoured through his veins, and the agony of
another thousand years of sleep began.

The ship lay waiting on the bottom. Sea crea-
tures crawled along its surface, or made their
homes in A tube, which lay open to the water.
Every fifty years or so the ship would come to life,
lights going on and off from one end of the ship to
the other. The engines would fire, killing millions
of infinitesimal plants and animals. Then the ship
would go back to sleep again.

Each time it happened, a message flashed on
the computer screen for a full minute:

"I am Jason Worthing. Think carefully before
you waken me. If my work has failed, I don't want
to know it. And if it has succeeded, but wasn't
good for the people after all, I would rather sleep
on. My dream of the future is too good for me to be
eager to wreck it with reality."

The bottomfish, with their self-made light to
protect them from the darkness of the deep, scut-
tled in and out of the torn place in the starship's
hull. To them it was just another rock that could
shelter them, for a short time, from the death al-
ways waiting just around the corner in the night.

