On the afternoon following the meeting, Lanny was assigned to a group of traders so he might learn the geography of the skyport before the attack. As the enemy capital on Earth and a tourist attraction, the San Francisco skyport was a miniature replica of an enemy city. Under the dome were tiers of streets and walkways, interwoven in complex patterns, and the battlement spires of luxury hotels, theatres, cabarets, public buildings. The streets overflowed with a flood of jangling traffic, and the air was filled with the well-to-do riding their de-grav cars in the enviable security of their private capsules.
Lanny's overall impression was a place of intolerable noise and glitter. The Almost-men seemed to make a fetish of their machines. They found it necessary to use their clattering vehicles even though their destination might be a building only one tier away. The air under the dome was fetid with the stench of vehicle fuels.
The trading area was confined to a small, metal-surfaced square on the lowest level of the city, close to the narrow, neutralized vent through the force-field dome. Tall buildings swarmed above the trading booths, blotting out the sun. Lanny felt boxed in, imprisoned by the high walls, choked by the artificial, filtered air.
He sold a satisfactory quota of trade goods to the tourists who had adventured down to the booths. And he dutifully noted the location of the walkway to the power center and the arsenal. But he gave a sigh of relief when his duty was done and he was free to go back across the bridge to the treaty area. He filled his lungs with the crisp, damp air, unsterilized by the fans of the enemy city. How could the Almost-men survive, he wondered, how were they capable of clear-headed thinking, in such seething confusion?
In the treaty areas, where men could put their naked feet upon the soil and feel the life-energy of the earth, where men breathed the fresh wind and held sovereignty over their environment—only there were men really free. Would he trade that for the city walls that blotted out the sun, and the monotonous throbbing of machines? The victor was the slave; the conquered had found the road to liberty. For the first time in his life Lanny understood the paradox. Stated in those terms, what did men actually have to fight for?
As he always did when he had a problem, Lanny went to Juan Pendillo. It was late in the afternoon. Already the cooking fires were being lighted on the small rectangles of earth in front of the houses where the older survivors lived. But Pendillo and Dr. Endhart were still inside, packing away the models which Endhart had used to teach his last class for the day. They usually waited for Lanny or Gill to make their night fire, since Pendillo's sons did the work so effortlessly. Tak Laleen was with the teachers. She sat on the only chair in the room, playing abstractly with one of Endhart's teaching tools—a crude mock-up of the structure of a living energy unit. It was the same sort of learning-toy Lanny himself had been given when he was a child.
Lanny burst in on them excitedly. He began to talk at once, trying to put in words the conviction that had come to him as he stood on the bridge. Suddenly the words were gone. In his own mind it was clear enough, but how was he to explain it? How could he tell them it would be self-destruction to capture the city of the Almost-men?
"You wanted to talk to us?" Pendillo prompted him.
"It—it's this vote we've taken for war, father." Lanny glanced at Tak Laleen. His father and Endhart smiled disarmingly.
"You can talk quite freely," Endhart said. "Tak Laleen knows the vote has been counted. She knows what it means."
"Unarmed men are going to attack the city," the missionary said without expression. "You are very courageous people. But you are certain you will win—against our machines and our energy guns." With a frown, she put aside the model she had been holding. Her face was drawn and tense; there was doubt and fear in her eyes.
"Of course we'll take the skyport," Lanny assured her. "That doesn't worry me. It's what happens afterward—what we do when we have your guns and your machines."
Endhart and Pendillo exchanged glances, in subtle understanding. "The city will belong to us," his father said.
"Why do we want it? The city is a prison!"
The eyes of the elders met again. "We need guns to protect ourselves. Haven't you always said that, Lanny? You've heard all the discussions in the council meetings."
"But do we, father? Answer me honestly."
"You can answer that better than I, my son."
Tak Laleen stood up, wringing her hands. "You will face the force-field and our guns—but you wonder if you need weapons." With an effort she checked the hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat. "My people would say you had gone mad; but who knows the meaning of madness?"
Pendillo took the missionary's hand firmly in his. "She's tired, Lanny. Our ways are still new to her."
"And we've had her cooped up in the house too long," Endhart added.
Pendillo glanced sharply at his friend. Endhart nodded. "It is time," he said cryptically.
Pendillo turned toward his son. "A walk outside would do her good, Lanny."
"Is it safe?"
"She won't try to escape; you and I will go with her."
Pendillo led her toward the door. Her face glowed with hope. She glanced eagerly down the long street, lit by the evening fires. Lanny was sure she was looking for the nearest Chapel of the Triangle, calculating her chances of escape. She was the enemy. What reason did his father or Endhart have to trust her so blindly?
At the door Pendillo turned for a moment toward Endhart. "You'll make sure Gill knows?"
"At the proper time; leave it to me."
"Knows what?" Lanny demanded.
"That we may be a little late for dinner," his father answered blandly. He nodded toward Tak Laleen and Lanny understood.
Lanny walked on one side of Tak Laleen and slid his arm firmly under hers. She kept running her fingers nervously over his arm. She tripped once, when her foot caught in a shallow hole; her nails tore a deep gash in Lanny's flesh as he reached out to keep her from falling. He healed the wound at once, except for a small area where the germ colony needed exposure to the life-energy of the sun. She looked at his arm. Her lips were trembling; her face was white.
"So you can do it, Lanny."
For a moment he had forgotten her remarkable inability. "You mean the healing? All men do that; we always have. A rational mind controls the structure and energy of organized matter."
"I've listened to Dr. Endhart teaching that to the small children," she replied. "It—it is difficult to believe." She began to laugh again; waves of hysteria swept her body. "I'm sorry, Lanny. I've thought, sometimes, that I'm losing my mind. We're never really certain of ourselves, are we? Two plus two doesn't have to make four, I suppose; it's just more convenient when it does."
"I could show you how to heal yourself, Tak Laleen."
"Ever since I came here I've been learning, Lanny. But it does no good unless I'm willing to learn first. My mind is tied down by everything I already know. I can put my two and two together as often as I like, and I still come up with four. Any other answer is insanity."
Twice, as they walked through the streets, Pendillo took a turn which led toward one of the enemy chapels. Lanny swiftly guided the missionary in another direction. The third time they came upon the Chapel of the Triangle suddenly, and before he could pull Tak Laleen back she broke free and fled toward the glowing Triangle, crying for help in her native tongue.
Lanny sprinted after her. Tak Laleen beat with her fists on the metal door. From the air above them came the high whine of a materializing force-field. Capsules swung down upon them. The missionary was swallowed within the church. Lanny and his father were enveloped in a single bubble.
It rose on an automatic beam and arched toward the skyport. In panic Lanny glanced down through the opalescent field at the settlement rolling by beneath them, and the choppy water of the bay, turned scarlet by the setting sun. Pendillo leaned calmly against the curved wall of their prison.
"She betrayed us!" Lanny cried.
"I expected her to, my son."
"You—you knew this would happen?"
"A teacher must sometimes contrive a unique—and possibly painful—learning situation. It's one of the risks of our profession."
"Why, father? She'll tell the Almost-men about the attack on the skyport; she'll tell them—"
Pendillo tapped the curved wall of force. "We're in a tight spot, Lanny. It's up to you to get us out—without a gun and without any of the enemy machines. All you have to work with are your brains and what we've taught you for the past twenty years. I think you can count on some help from Gill later on. He'll have to attack the skyport tonight, without working out all his fine plans for seizing the arsenal. And Gill won't have any guns, either."
"So you and Endhart planned this."
"That's why I insisted on keeping Tak Laleen alive. I thought we might need her as—as a catalyst. The vote of the resistance council rushed things a little, but on the whole I think it worked out quite satisfactorily. Your education is finished, Lanny—for all of you who are the new breed. Now start applying what we think you know."
Lanny's overall impression was a place of intolerable noise and glitter. The Almost-men seemed to make a fetish of their machines. They found it necessary to use their clattering vehicles even though their destination might be a building only one tier away. The air under the dome was fetid with the stench of vehicle fuels.
The trading area was confined to a small, metal-surfaced square on the lowest level of the city, close to the narrow, neutralized vent through the force-field dome. Tall buildings swarmed above the trading booths, blotting out the sun. Lanny felt boxed in, imprisoned by the high walls, choked by the artificial, filtered air.
He sold a satisfactory quota of trade goods to the tourists who had adventured down to the booths. And he dutifully noted the location of the walkway to the power center and the arsenal. But he gave a sigh of relief when his duty was done and he was free to go back across the bridge to the treaty area. He filled his lungs with the crisp, damp air, unsterilized by the fans of the enemy city. How could the Almost-men survive, he wondered, how were they capable of clear-headed thinking, in such seething confusion?
In the treaty areas, where men could put their naked feet upon the soil and feel the life-energy of the earth, where men breathed the fresh wind and held sovereignty over their environment—only there were men really free. Would he trade that for the city walls that blotted out the sun, and the monotonous throbbing of machines? The victor was the slave; the conquered had found the road to liberty. For the first time in his life Lanny understood the paradox. Stated in those terms, what did men actually have to fight for?
As he always did when he had a problem, Lanny went to Juan Pendillo. It was late in the afternoon. Already the cooking fires were being lighted on the small rectangles of earth in front of the houses where the older survivors lived. But Pendillo and Dr. Endhart were still inside, packing away the models which Endhart had used to teach his last class for the day. They usually waited for Lanny or Gill to make their night fire, since Pendillo's sons did the work so effortlessly. Tak Laleen was with the teachers. She sat on the only chair in the room, playing abstractly with one of Endhart's teaching tools—a crude mock-up of the structure of a living energy unit. It was the same sort of learning-toy Lanny himself had been given when he was a child.
Lanny burst in on them excitedly. He began to talk at once, trying to put in words the conviction that had come to him as he stood on the bridge. Suddenly the words were gone. In his own mind it was clear enough, but how was he to explain it? How could he tell them it would be self-destruction to capture the city of the Almost-men?
"You wanted to talk to us?" Pendillo prompted him.
"It—it's this vote we've taken for war, father." Lanny glanced at Tak Laleen. His father and Endhart smiled disarmingly.
"You can talk quite freely," Endhart said. "Tak Laleen knows the vote has been counted. She knows what it means."
"Unarmed men are going to attack the city," the missionary said without expression. "You are very courageous people. But you are certain you will win—against our machines and our energy guns." With a frown, she put aside the model she had been holding. Her face was drawn and tense; there was doubt and fear in her eyes.
"Of course we'll take the skyport," Lanny assured her. "That doesn't worry me. It's what happens afterward—what we do when we have your guns and your machines."
Endhart and Pendillo exchanged glances, in subtle understanding. "The city will belong to us," his father said.
"Why do we want it? The city is a prison!"
The eyes of the elders met again. "We need guns to protect ourselves. Haven't you always said that, Lanny? You've heard all the discussions in the council meetings."
"But do we, father? Answer me honestly."
"You can answer that better than I, my son."
Tak Laleen stood up, wringing her hands. "You will face the force-field and our guns—but you wonder if you need weapons." With an effort she checked the hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat. "My people would say you had gone mad; but who knows the meaning of madness?"
Pendillo took the missionary's hand firmly in his. "She's tired, Lanny. Our ways are still new to her."
"And we've had her cooped up in the house too long," Endhart added.
Pendillo glanced sharply at his friend. Endhart nodded. "It is time," he said cryptically.
Pendillo turned toward his son. "A walk outside would do her good, Lanny."
"Is it safe?"
"She won't try to escape; you and I will go with her."
Pendillo led her toward the door. Her face glowed with hope. She glanced eagerly down the long street, lit by the evening fires. Lanny was sure she was looking for the nearest Chapel of the Triangle, calculating her chances of escape. She was the enemy. What reason did his father or Endhart have to trust her so blindly?
At the door Pendillo turned for a moment toward Endhart. "You'll make sure Gill knows?"
"At the proper time; leave it to me."
"Knows what?" Lanny demanded.
"That we may be a little late for dinner," his father answered blandly. He nodded toward Tak Laleen and Lanny understood.
Lanny walked on one side of Tak Laleen and slid his arm firmly under hers. She kept running her fingers nervously over his arm. She tripped once, when her foot caught in a shallow hole; her nails tore a deep gash in Lanny's flesh as he reached out to keep her from falling. He healed the wound at once, except for a small area where the germ colony needed exposure to the life-energy of the sun. She looked at his arm. Her lips were trembling; her face was white.
"So you can do it, Lanny."
For a moment he had forgotten her remarkable inability. "You mean the healing? All men do that; we always have. A rational mind controls the structure and energy of organized matter."
"I've listened to Dr. Endhart teaching that to the small children," she replied. "It—it is difficult to believe." She began to laugh again; waves of hysteria swept her body. "I'm sorry, Lanny. I've thought, sometimes, that I'm losing my mind. We're never really certain of ourselves, are we? Two plus two doesn't have to make four, I suppose; it's just more convenient when it does."
"I could show you how to heal yourself, Tak Laleen."
"Ever since I came here I've been learning, Lanny. But it does no good unless I'm willing to learn first. My mind is tied down by everything I already know. I can put my two and two together as often as I like, and I still come up with four. Any other answer is insanity."
Twice, as they walked through the streets, Pendillo took a turn which led toward one of the enemy chapels. Lanny swiftly guided the missionary in another direction. The third time they came upon the Chapel of the Triangle suddenly, and before he could pull Tak Laleen back she broke free and fled toward the glowing Triangle, crying for help in her native tongue.
Lanny sprinted after her. Tak Laleen beat with her fists on the metal door. From the air above them came the high whine of a materializing force-field. Capsules swung down upon them. The missionary was swallowed within the church. Lanny and his father were enveloped in a single bubble.
It rose on an automatic beam and arched toward the skyport. In panic Lanny glanced down through the opalescent field at the settlement rolling by beneath them, and the choppy water of the bay, turned scarlet by the setting sun. Pendillo leaned calmly against the curved wall of their prison.
"She betrayed us!" Lanny cried.
"I expected her to, my son."
"You—you knew this would happen?"
"A teacher must sometimes contrive a unique—and possibly painful—learning situation. It's one of the risks of our profession."
"Why, father? She'll tell the Almost-men about the attack on the skyport; she'll tell them—"
Pendillo tapped the curved wall of force. "We're in a tight spot, Lanny. It's up to you to get us out—without a gun and without any of the enemy machines. All you have to work with are your brains and what we've taught you for the past twenty years. I think you can count on some help from Gill later on. He'll have to attack the skyport tonight, without working out all his fine plans for seizing the arsenal. And Gill won't have any guns, either."
"So you and Endhart planned this."
"That's why I insisted on keeping Tak Laleen alive. I thought we might need her as—as a catalyst. The vote of the resistance council rushed things a little, but on the whole I think it worked out quite satisfactorily. Your education is finished, Lanny—for all of you who are the new breed. Now start applying what we think you know."
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