No One Goes There Now, page 12
“Channus,” croaked Gailen. “Lalande system. But, sera…Can you go around like…that?”
“Don’t be unkind,” she said impishly. “I designed this gown myself. It’s rather chic for evening wear, so I’ve been told—on the Palace reservation, of course. Who would ever think of leaving the reservation, ser Van Maar.”
“Uh, oh…yes.”
Minor laughed. “I imagine Earth would leave any stranger more or less fuddled.” She came over confidently and looked up at him in honest amusement “Are we so frightening?”
“Not…exactly frightening, sera Lovelock,” he stammered. “You will have to excuse me. I’m a fish out of water here. Everything is so formal.0
“It must be trying,” clucked Minor, considering it “Earth might seem rather stiff to a newcomer at that Well, relax and take your time. You’ll get along wonderfully.”
Gailen was desperate for something to take his mind and eyes from her nudity. “Uh, meeting the Director was an experience,” he said inanely. “I, uh, wanted to run out of there and keep running all the way back to Dan.”
“His bullying can be tiresome,” the girl told him frankly. “But his bite is much worse than his bark.”
Van Maar blinked. “Er, don’t you mean…?”
“I meant precisely that Which reminds me.” Minor dug in her pouch. “He asked me to return this to you.” She handed him Pierce Grey’s Congressional medallion.
“Yes, I’d forgotten about that,” he said, laying it on the table, “He more or less threw it at me, didn’t he?”
“You always go about unarmed,” she pointed out “It might be prudent to keep it on your person when you’re in public.” She stopped at his blank expression. “In the event you are challenged, I mean.”
“Oh, I understand,” he assured her. “But, you’ve only seen me once—there in the Director’s lair. I know armed men are not allowed in his presence. How did you know I went about unarmed?”
Minor looked intrigued. “Seriously, you didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
She laughed in delight “That you are—were until yesterday—the stereo personality of the hour, ser Van Maar.”
He swallowed uncomfortably. “People have been watching me?”
“All around the solar system,” she confirmed. “The Dan incident caused oodles of comment. So unusual! Earth is bored, starved for something out of the ordinary.” She shrugged. “You brought us something out of the ordinary. Now that a rash of disappearances has broken out, Dan creeps into small talk everywhere, probably because the mystery is connected with dueling.
“And my illustrious ancestor is desperately concerned. These odd happenings have aroused Weldon’s deeper emotions for the first time in anyone’s memory.”
Gailen shook his head soberly. “Difficult to believe,” he muttered, “me on stereovision!” He smiled shyly. “I’m afraid to ask what monumental event knocked me out of the limelight.”
“It was monumental. Pyron Nyemaster was challenged period before last.”
“Sera Lovelock,” he said, “will you make me ask who he is?”
“You don’t know! Pyron Nyemaster is the premiere gladiator,” she said brightly. “Champion of the might and the right, idol of squires everywhere and the object of maidenly dreams. Not even you could overshadow him. He killed his man yester-morn.”
“Um, good for him!”
“Poor Gailen,” she laughed. “I for one am through being mean to you. No more teasing! I’ll call you Gailen and you’re to call me Minor and we will be friends for life.”
“Done!” Despite himself, he looked down at her bare breasts. “You are a very lovely woman,” he groaned.
“And you are a very refreshing man,” she said. “I’m going to adopt your cause, coach you in local custom, and sponsor you while you’re here with us.”
“Kind of like a hobby,” he said ungraciously.
She waggled a finger. “Not nice! No, not a hobby, Gailen, but you could stand advice from time to time. Take my breasts.”
“Please, Minor!”
“Don’t be cute,” she admonished. “If a particularly shapely woman in a nue gown like mine were to attend some fashionable dinner party, a sophisticated buck might say, ‘Seven hundred grams of fatty tissue, more or less.’ Get the idea?”
Van Maar frowned. “That would be an appropriate remark? I’m neither blasé nor cynical, I suppose. On Channus or any other outworld that much bare skin would constitute an invitation. And, should some loudmouth make a crack like that about a girl I knew, he would lose a few teeth.”
Minor was aghast. “You wouldn’t strike him?”
“Probably not. I’d certainly have the urge.”
“Never even think of doing such a thing on Earth,” she warned. “The Assassins would have you spitted and hung out to be admired with the other scum who break Convention. Men make rude jokes about the Code of Life, but they live by it.”
“Or die by it,” he observed solemnly.
She admitted it with a toss of her head, a rueful look, wandering to the long table without making a rebuttal, running speculative fingers over Nefertiti’s cheek and inspecting the other relics closely. Minor stopped short and pinned Gailen with a withering look. “You’re the worst sort of hypocrite,” she accused.
Van Maar chuckled. She was holding the Cretan snake goddess figurine. “An accident of hospitality,” he apologized. “Bare bosoms were quite acceptable in ancient Minoa. In fact, bare everything went for both sexes in certain societies of ancient Earth.”
“Go on,” she instructed, “educate me.”
Smiling, he briefly catalogued the cultural backgrounds of several objects on the table, explaining his own familiarity with them through undergraduate courses on Channus. Warming to his subject, Cailen went on to tell her of the behemoth sandstone sculptures found on Carina, the Devonset culture which had in some remote age spread throughout the entire Centaurus system, and of the marvelous and intricate mosaic streets of San Xavier. He was describing the jeweled tableware discovered recently on Lothir when he noticed the twinkle in Minor’s brown eyes.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t intend to run on like that.”
“It was fun,” she said seriously, touching his arm. “I like listening to sincere people. You are a rare bird, even for an out-worlder. I wonder if you appreciate how lucky you are.”
“Lucky? In what way?”
“Oh,” she ruminated, looking distant, “lucky to have something to tie yourself to, an aim, a direction in life. I’ll bet you’re never bored.”
Gailen disclaimed it with an aimless motion of his hands. “Everyone goes through slow periods, Minor. But out there are such a variety of unknowns, and so very many places worthy of investigation…I suppose if I lived twenty centuries I’d never exhaust a certain amount of interest.”
“It sounds exciting,” said the girl.
“Digging up the past has intrigued many better men than me. Being fortunate enough to find something worthwhile is a thrill not easy to dismiss. And that’s true whether it’s a simple implement, potsherds, or a whole city forgotten even by the race which built it. The fact that it was shaped and used in the everyday life of long ago and far away lends it a mystique, a romantic aura.”
“Have you personally discovered such things?” she asked in awe.
“Not until recently,” he told her. “I was in the field on Dan less than one subjective month before we turned up an entire city—obviously Danite, since no other intelligence occurs on the planet—that had never burned, been bombed or sacked, but simply abandoned. You can imagine the enigmas surrounding such a find: what happened to the inhabitants, and why? We’d learned hardly anything of the written language when I left for Earth, but there are huge libraries of what the trade calls xenoapocrypha—”
“Pardon me?”
“It’s a catchall phrase for extrahuman writings. What stories must be there! And I had to run off to Earth. Why, the excavation of hill three-six A-D alone will take ten good men cycles to properly evaluate.”
“What is hill whatever-it-is?” asked Minor humbly.
“A power reactor of some kind. Let me show you.”
The girl waited behind him with a bemused expression as he emptied the contents of his valise on a chair and began to paw frantically through hundreds of stereographs.
“Here!” He held up an airview of the plot, pointing out the ghostly lines of buried walls.
Minor sank slowly to the lush carpet beside him and they pored over the photos together, Gailen babbling, Minor meek and appreciative, asking many questions.
Eventually she unearthed the stereograph of the black statue. She held it and quietly studied it for a long time.
“This is really beautiful,” Minor said with feeling. “Do they all look like that?”
“Exactly, though perhaps a touch lighter in color.”
She was about to comment but fell silent, pursed her lips and concentrated on the photo. “May I ask a favor?”
“Anything in my power,” he said quickly.
“When you return to Dan, will you have an ortho-simile made just for me? I’ll send a letter of credit”
Gailen was delighted. “Of course, Minor. You show excellent taste. It’s a major find.”
“They’re so…regal, so emotional,” she breathed. “The way they are looking at each other; those eyes!”
Minor gasped and held aloft her finger watch. “I forgot the time; Elan will be furious.”
“Elan Grey?”
“Didn’t I tell you? We were to meet him at the Palace Arena over an hour ago. We wanted to show off our visiting celebrity.” Van Maar cleared his throat uncertainly. “You’re sure I wouldn’t be a drag? I have some material to look over.”
“Oh, don’t be stuffy,” she admonished. “You must be tired of vegetating here in the tower. You’ll enjoy yourself, I promise.
It isn’t the snobbish sort of place you might imagine; just an aristocrat hangout seasoned with fine cuisine and a dash of deluxe gymnasium. We’ll have some wine, discuss things, and watch a few bouts.
“Besides,” she said provocatively, “you’ll be my escort.” Gailen chewed his lip. “Minor, I hope you won’t think me a coward, but I’m beginning to be afraid of both your world and you yourself.”
“A coward wouldn’t have said it,” she demurred, taking his arm.
* * *
Van Maar’s first glance showed Minor’s “aristocrat hangout” to be the most sumptuous hall in the explored universe.
Three vast arenas of red cork, there were, ringed by tables decked with snowy linen under which the floor rose in majestic tiers permitting each level an unobstructed view of the batde-ground below. The hall, elliptical in plan, was on a gargantuan scale; rippling sinusoidal walls of red plush climbed distantly to what seemed clear night sky high overhead. Only the lower level was softly lighted. Bold escutcheons, heraldic devices, and coats of arms of the more ancient patrician families graced curved pilasters with the luster of precious metal.
High in the twilight above the arenas, several thousand mysterious discs floated serenely, aloof from the tinkle of crystal and the subdued murmur of conversation.
Wondering idly what they were, Van Maar became engrossed in a drill taking place below as he and Minor were carried toward the center arena by the silent way. A Swordsmaster conducted at least two thousand tyros in a performance stately and formal as a fugue. Remise, reprise, beat and attack! The phrase rang in metallic unison, muted by distance, from punctilious rows of uniformed cadets. None of the black-clad patricians past whom they glided paid even casual attention to the drill.
“Impressed?” asked Minor, assaying his interest “It isn’t much, but it’s home!”
“Now you have the spirit of the thing,” she applauded.
“I am impressed by the Human servants,” said Gailen. “How can they pay anyone enough to do such menial work?”
Minor smiled. “They aren’t paid. Pedestrians study and groom themselves for cycles, living on the basic citizen’s allowance, hoping for a chance to serve here.”
“I don’t see—”
“It’s because the reservation’s so uncrowded,” she explained, “so glamourous, so exciting. For any plebeian, a visit here is an honor boasted about for cycles.”
Gailen swept what he could see of the great hall. Not more than a triple handful of tables were unoccupied. “Uncrowded?”
“A slow night,” she affirmed. “You should have seen it yester-forenoon when Pyron Nyemaster fought. There wasn’t even standing room.”
“Nye—? Oh, the gladiator fellow.” Gailen looked at her with secret amusement. “Nice to have a first-class hero hanging around.”
The way carried them in lordly dignity to the lip of a grand, broad-risered stair and deposited them politely before vanishing into the floor. Self-consciously, Gailen escorted Minor down the staircase. “How’ll we find Elan in all this?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” she promised.
The maitre d’ who met them wore scarlet livery; four assistants and six page boys bowed and scraped behind him. He made a short leg to Gailen and the full, sweeping bow of deference to Minor. “An honor, sera Lovelock, that you choose to grace us with your presence once again.”
Minor deigned not to look at the maitre d’. “Ring down ser Grey’s cupola,” she ordered.
A snap of fingers. A page performed a beautiful bow and scampered off somewhere. The maitre d’ and his entourage bowed away and transformed themselves into a frozen line of statues.
“What happens now?” asked Gailen with an uncertain glance.
Minor dimpled. “Watch over there.”
“Over there” was apparently a spot halfway up the distant wall of the Arena. He decided he was tired of mysteries. As he contemplated some cutting remark to that effect, an amber disc deserted its floating companions and slid down a long ramp of air to hover almost directly overhead. It dropped silently to the floor of the center arena before them. Seated in it was a surly Elan Grey.
“See?” Minor looked as if she enjoyed his reaction. “Dining cupolas; aren’t they clever? Elan practically lives in this one.”
Grey rose behind the banquette and bowed them in as the bowing maitre d’ and his bowing staff made their departure seem appropriate to an excursion to some distant galaxy.
“I had begun to think you angry with me,” complained Elan. “Had my craft been higher, I would have leaped hours ago.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself?” Minor patted his hand. “Gailen was such fascinating company I couldn’t tear myself away. He has some unbelievable stereos of Dan. We simply lost track of time.”
“Etchings?” asked Elan in a droll tone.
Minor’s laugh tinkled cleanly as the disc rose beneath them. The sensation was that of a smooth elevator, solid and trustworthy.
“Tricky,” admitted Van Maar. ‘What keeps it up?”
Grey shrugged. “I hadn’t thought to ask. Good wishes, perhaps.”
Gailen did not feel miffed until Minor said lightly, “Pay no attention to him. He’s in rare form tonight, aren’t you, darling?”
“Am I being crusty?” Elan snapped his fingers. “I’ve neglected my anti-erethism capsules again. Always slips my mind.”
“Nasty, nasty!” The girl waggled a warning finger. “Keep it up, and we may decide to go back to Gailen’s suite. He has a whole bag of…etchings.”
Grey gave the girl a sharp look, his features tightening. Then he relaxed. “Quite correct, my dear.” He stood and bowed, one hand on the quillon of his sword. “My apologies to you both.”
“Don’t overdo it,” urged Minor.
Van Maar, on sudden inspiration, decided to play Elan’s game. He got up, bowing. “You honor us, ser Grey,” he declaimed, bowing once more in the manner Roberts had taught him.
“Oh, both of you sit down,” laughed Minor. “Champagne all around?”
Elan developed a wistful look. “Alas, our Director forbade me with a blood-sealed sobriety oath.”
But when a dewy silver flask rose from within the banquette, escorted by a second silver bowl of fish eggs and a salver of butter toast, Elan relented without persuasion, poured for them, and offered a toast.
’To the three of us!”
* * *
An hour later, drifting placidly through the twilight high above the Place of Swords, Gailen Van Maar felt alive and wholly happy for the first time since leaving Dan. Part of it was the excellent wine, he knew. Mostly it was the glow which warmed him whenever Minor tilted her lovely throat in laughter, and in part, he was forced to admit, it was the unexpected conviviality of Elan Grey.
It was deceptively easy to dislike Elan at first meeting. He had been more than prepared to like him before arriving on Earth, reverencing his pater as he did, but his original impression of Elan there in the torture chamber of the Director’s lair had been of a sulky, proud, and very touchy aristocrat—the exact sort for whom he had always felt uneasy distaste. Champagne seemed to agree with Elan, soaking into his shell of haughty formality, dissolving it to reveal a humorous, interesting man.
Their conversation had tended toward lighthanded self-deprecation. Minor had given a giggling account of his expression at her bare-bosomed entrance, at which he’d found himself roaring, and had then told two rather subtle Palace anecdotes, one of which he had heard before on Channus with only the names changed to protect the “innocent.” Elan’s burlesque of ser Weldon Lovelock’s tongue-lashing techniques had left them gasping.
Gailen was slouching in a comer of the banquette, quite relaxed, when a soft voice interrupted Minor in mid-sentence. “A challenge in ring two, good gentles. Attend a challenge.”
Minor leaned backward and said, “A squabble! Would you like to see it?”
Van Maar nodded good naturedly. “If you wish.”
Elan whispered into thin air; quite magically the cupola began a gliding descent toward the farther arena, pausing a dozen meters above the edge of the ring and hovering to furnish a front row seat. Other cupolas quickly gathered around them.
