Furthest Page 6
Bess stabbed her steak and cut him off, all with the same gesture.
“Citizen Jones,” she said, fixing him with eyes as cool and knowing as some ancient crone, the eyes looking out of that strong young body (at least he assumed there must be a body under all the trappings), “Citizen Jones, it is all very well for you to tell my brother fairy stories. He is young, after all, and you have no reason to value his discretion. But I ask you not to insult me with, such nonsense, because I am neither blind nor a fool.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, very much afraid that he did know what she meant, and she proved him right.
“Citizen,” she said, “no one, no one at all, would come all the way out to the very backtail planet of the Third Galaxy, and set up a MESH with his last penny, for the simple and single purpose of setting up a MESH to make money at it. You can’t possibly expect me to believe that.”
“Bess—”
“Not only that,” she went on, “but my government would not have allowed it for a moment, if it were only that. Do you see any other offworld businessmen in K’ith Vaad, Citizen? Have you noticed any signs saying ‘Welcome to Furthest’ and begging you to invest your funds? My government has a vested interest in the ignorance of its people, and a MESH represents a threatening factor of great strength.”
“But—”
“Do spare me, Citizen,” she continued, charging right over him, “or I shall be insulted; after all, for you to find my body of an unaccustomed and unbeguiling cragginess is predictable, but that you should find my mind wanting is absurd.”
“What am I to say?” he floundered. “What do you want me to say to you… I would like to convince you…”
“You’ll not convince me if you keep at it all night, which I’m not likely to allow, but I don’t intend to keep embarrassing you. It’s rude of me. Shall we return to the discussion of your finances, and this time I’ll pretend to believe you?”
Coyote sighed, and refilled his glass.
“You know,” he said, “I was reluctant at first to believe in such a thing as a nineteen-year-old girl who could have committed a crime that merited a sentence of Erasure. But having met you, I find myself convinced. The only thing that amazes me now is that the crime was religious—I would expect murder, at the very least.”
Bess chuckled. “That shows where lies will get you, Citizen. I’m not a nineteen-year-old girl; RK only said that to play on your sympathy, foolish boy that he is. I’m a hale and withered twenty-three, my friend, and of those twenty-three I’ve spent a total of four years and seven months in solitary confinement for one thing or another. That tends to be aging. And the crime is not religious.”
“Oh? Is it murder after all?”
RK, who had not said one word through all this exchange but had sat doggedly eating his food and looking miserable, stood up suddenly and struck the table with his fist.
“I forbid you, my sister!” he shouted. “You may mock and laugh and make a fool of us all, but I forbid you to speak your blasphemies in my presence—have you no shame at all?”
“Benighted moons,” said Bess mildly. “I’m sorry, Ahr, Citizen, you must allow me to correct myself.”
“Please do.”
“The crime with which I am charged is defined by our government as religious, since religion is the mechanism by which we are controlled. That I do not agree with them, and consider it something else entirely, upsets my brother to an extent that amazes me. But he is quite right, in the sense that what I have done is technically looked upon as a violation of religious law by the elders and by the judge and by the rest of the creaking antiques who run this poor planet.”
“I warn you,” said RK viciously, “that if you continue I will not remain at this table.”
“Then she will stop,” said Coyote, and was rewarded at once by an almost imperceptible nod from Bess. “Sit down, RK, and eat your dinner in peace. We worked hard tonight.”
The boy sat down slowly, the flush draining from his face, and took a long drink from his glass.
“Now, tell me, Citizen Jones,” said Bess, with a flagrantly fake decorousness that very nearly caused Coyote to blow the whole thing by laughing at her, “how does our frontier life here compare with the sophisticated existence of the First Galaxy? You must find us dreadfully primitive.”
“No,” said Coyote, managing seriousness by staring at the wall above her head, “I really haven’t had a chance to learn enough about your people or your way of life to make any kind of judgment. There are a lot of things that seem strange to me, but then that is true when I go to any planet farther out than Mars Central.”
“You travel a lot, then?” said Bess demurely. “Perhaps that’s why you find yourself so poor now… perhaps you should not have squandered all your worldly goods dashing about the Galaxies.”
Coyote was ashamed of himself. He’d walked into that one like a junior diplomat at a tea-party, and this damned woman never missed a trick. Perhaps it was her beauty that RK had relied on to soften him up, and the beauty didn’t impress him, but her mind impressed the hell out of him, and the boy just might turn out to be right with his “wait till you meet my sister” after all. The idea of throwing Bess to the government wolves and seeing that spectacular mind wiped cleaner than the newest babe’s was beginning to really cause him pain.
“You’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t have. If I’d been more careful no doubt I’d be a rich man at this moment. More wine?”
“Thank you, Citizen,” she said, extending her glass to him. “Have you always been wealthy—until now, that is?”
“No, not at all. As a matter of fact, two years ago I owned nothing whatever except a few personal keepsakes, and even those were locked away from me.”
“Oh? Were you in prison, too?”
Pleased to see evidence of genuine interest, Coyote told her of his attempt to join the Maklunites and his ignominious failure.
“But why couldn’t you have had your personal things, the ones you mentioned?” she asked.
“Because I missed them,” he said. “As soon as I was able to say that I no longer missed them they would have been given back to me. It was not a punishment, Bess, just a part of learning communal living.”
“They live in each other’s pockets, then,” she said.
“I suppose that’s accurate, although they would say they live in each other’s hearts.”
“I would despise that,” she said fiercely.
“I’m sure you would.” Coyote laughed. “It’s a pleasure to meet someone who’d be even worse at it than I was!”
“And this cult is really numerous? I find it hard to believe.”
“If by cult you mean ‘a small exotic group of religious crackpots’ or something of that kind, I’m afraid the word won’t fit, Bess. I told RK already, the Maklunites are outnumbered only by the Ethical Humanists and the Jews.”
“Hmmm. I find the whole idea of communal living repulsive. How can they manage with no privacy, no personal belongings, even their thoughts shared!”
To Coyote’s surprise she shuddered violently, and he chalked one point up for himself. Apparently there were areas where it was possible for the rough and ready lady to be shaken up a bit.
“Oh, yes,” he said, relishing her discomfort. “That’s certainly an excellent description.”
“But aren’t there continual fights—don’t people become half mad, cooped up together like that?”
“Well, I did,” Coyote admitted, “but the majority don’t. If they did, they would be told that they had to leave, just as I was. Of course there are very often novices, what are called ‘Learners,’ in the Maklunite clusters, and they do have trouble. They find it difficult and hard at first, even when they are very sincere in their desire to follow the Maklunite Way. Especially they find it hard to get over the clinging to ‘things,’ you know. The women don’t like to go to the closets and find that a garment they had wanted to wear has already been
put on by someone else.”
“And the novices are not a source of continual conflict?”
“Some conflict,” Coyote said. “But they are necessary. It would be difficult for a completely settled cluster to avoid becoming smug and complacent if there were not Learners present to stir the surface up a little.”
“I see. And marriages? How, in such intense communication, does a couple ever manage to build any sort of life?”
Coyote hesitated for a moment; he wasn’t sure just how far he dared go at this point.
“Well,” he said finally, “that isn’t really a problem. Since the Maklunites do not believe in marriage.”
“That’s awful,” said RK abruptly. “I really don’t feel that you should speak in that way in front of a woman, Citizen.”
“I am interested,” said Bess. “Restrain your chivalrous impulses on my behalf, RK, they are superfluous. I wish to know—if the Maklunites do not, as you say, ‘believe’ in marriage, why don’t they?”
“Because it is their conviction that the entire institution of marriage is based upon the idea of a human being as property, and they find that concept obscene.”
Would she ask the obvious next question? He wondered. He had yet to hear the naughty word “sex” or any circumlocution for it even mentioned upon this planet. Perhaps she would ask what arrangements the Maklunites made for “you-know-what”?
“Well, the Maklunites’ loss is our gain,” she said instead, and he smiled to himself. Platitudes for emergencies, even from a hardened criminal.
“Thank you, Bess,” he said, not sure the remark was appropriate but sure it would do as a filler, and then, abruptly, before he could change his mind, he committed himself.
“Bess, you’ll stay here for the time being at least,” he said. “I’m not going to promise anything; you obviously understand why I will not and cannot. But until I see some reason to be more concerned about this matter, I want you to stay here. RK seems to feel we can keep you safe.”
“Thank you, Citizen!” said RK fervently. “I won’t forget your kindness, nor will my sister, I swear that!”
“It’s not kindness,” said Coyote. “It’s stupidity and old age. And I’ll thank you not to remind me of it, since I’m sure to regret it eventually.”
“I don’t think so,” said the boy. “I will do everything I can to see that you don’t regret it, ever.”
“There’s nothing that you can do, Arh,” said Bess quietly. “If I am found I am found, that’s all.”
“I can see to it that Citizen Jones is not involved,” said the boy firmly. “Somehow, I will see to that.”
Coyote reached out and touched RK’s hand gently. “Look,” he said, “I know the risk I’m taking, and I take it with full responsibility for myself. I think I could play dumb if someone finds us, and I promise you I won’t try to be a hero if that happens. I can’t, because I have obligations that supersede any such abstract action. And I may change my mind tomorrow and throw Bess out. But for now, for tonight, we’ll try it and see.”
He thought for a moment that RK was going to really embarrass him. The people of Furthest were so cold and unemotional and grim that the sight of genuine tears in the boy’s eyes gave him the feeling that he was witnessing some monstrous display of emotion, and anything more would have been too much. But RK’s good manners saved them both. He stood up and excused himself politely; he was tired, he said, and there was much to be done in the morning. He would see his sister up to the third floor, where she would be safe and comfortable, and then he was going to bed.
They went off and left Coyote sitting over the fragments of the dinner, wondering how long it would be before he began to regret his soft heart. He could just hear the Fish. But on the other hand, what else could he do? He couldn’t let a fugitive girl be taken away for Erasure for a religious crime—and what the hell could she have done, anyway, missed Tenth Day Observance?
He shook his head and gave it up. Nothing made any sense, but then nothing had yet. He wasn’t surprised.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Since the only real function of officials is to serve as repositories for mail—a sort of ‘X Marks The Spot’ function—we have no such creatures within our clusters. We have found that there is nothing at all that an official can do that cannot be done by a mailbox with equal skill.”
(from the Devotional Book of Tham O’Kent)
file 803.09.a, Segement 2
topic: The planet Furthest
from: Citizen Coyote Jones
to: Office of the Director
tri-galactic intelligence service
galcentral, station 5
date: augustseventh 3022
1. Last night, Augustsixth, it was my very unusual good luck to be invited to spend an entire evening in the home of a Furthester family. My helper here, the boy Arh Qu’e, somehow managed to persuade his parents to have me as their guest. As you are well aware, the Furthesters are extremely antagonistic to offworlders, and I was conscious throughout the evening that the two Qu’es were having to make an intense effort not to show their resentment of my presence in their home. Under ordinary circumstances I would certainly have made a point of leaving as rapidly as possible. However, in this case I realized that the opportunity should be made much of, and I simply ignored the strain.
2. The home of the Qu’es is like those I saw in the threedy in your office; i.e., it is made of stone, three stories in height, bisected by a corridor and staircase, with a central door flanked by windows front and back. The furnishings were of interest to me, since any clue to what a Furthester considers to be “comfort” should be of some use in the establishment of a valid personality profile. (And by the way, is anyone there aware of the fact that there exists on Furthest nothing even remotely approaching a “catalog,” either in the old-fashioned sense or in the contemporary form, through which a purchaser might look before selecting clothing or household items? I find this rather mysterious.) At any rate, the majority of the furnishings appear to consist of blocks of this same stone, or rather of a stone that looks much the same but is extremely light and porous. I would assume that the stone used for furnishings is that surface layer which is continually worn by the water of this planet. There were tables, shelves, some primitive-appearing stoves. Rugs and curtains are all of the heavy synthovelvet which is so popular with these people. The effect is like the effect of their clothing, a sort of forbidding magnificence.
3. There was one item of furniture which I found of interest, as it did not entirely fit the pattern displayed by the rest. The chairs used by the family were beautiful objects, giving the appearance of having been carved from a single piece of wood, and that a rich dark wood of a high soft luster. The chairs are rounded rather than angular, and are obviously intended to be curled up in, although no one did so in my presence. I inquired as to their manufacture and was told that each chair is made of a single nut from a tree, and that these nuts are imported from one of the Extreme Moons, where they can be found growing to a length of fifteen feet and some ten feet in diameter. (I can’t imagine what size the trees must be, but nothing about the Extreme Moons surprises me any more.) It should be noted that this is the only offworld item other than foodstuffs that I have seen since I arrived here, excepting of course those items I have myself brought in to stock the MESH. I was not told which of the Moons was the source of these nuts, and in view of the incredible reticence of the Furthesters I did not think it advisable to press the matter. I would suggest that someone at GALCENTRAL look into this, since the traders who deal with the Furthesters to supply the nuts might well have information that would be valuable to us.
4. The third floor of the Qu’e home was a genuine surprise to me. You will recall that my major impression—TOTAL impression, I should say—has been of austerity, cold magnificence, and so on. Even the luscious velvets and silks these people wear are in dark, somber colors and patterns. I was therefore surprised when taken up to the third floor of th
e building after our evening meal. In fact I was surprised to be taken up there at all, since I have not been able to obtain permission to go to the third floor of the building in which our MESH is located. The third floor appears from the street to be a sort of attic—that is, the roof is peaked and there is only one small, very high window. This is quite false, however, as the whole area is open to the sky, and it is really a sort of garden. It should be remembered that I have seen no plants on this planet, although of course there have to be some somewhere, and I am told by my helper that food is grown in hydroponic stations. I have never seen even a blade of grass, the surface of Furthest being literally as bare as ancient Luna. You can well imagine my surprise, then, to find myself in a magnificent garden, three stories up. Samples of some of the plants (primarily leaves and stems, since I had to take them without being seen, and scrappy bits of leaves and stems at that) are enclosed with this report; your analysis will show, I believe, that they are without exception water plants.
5. Discreet questioning on my part established as fact that the third floors of all the Furthester houses are, like this one, a sort of water garden. Water flows throughout the city, from a main aqueduct, through pipes that flow from house to house at the third floor level. The water enters at one corner of the wall, drops over waterfalls constructed by these people, flows in patterns across the floor (in channels and pools, of course), and is then driven out the other side by small pumps and into the next house. Photographs are enclosed; I was forced to use extreme caution in obtaining them, even with the microcameras, and it may be that they are not of good quality. They should nonetheless give you some idea of the situation.
6. This artificial stream that flows from house to house is used by the Furthesters not only for decoration but as a means of communication. Messages are inserted in small plastic vials, the name of the person for whom they are intended clearly showing through the plastic, and then they are dropped into the water to be taken out by the addressee when they make their way around the city to the proper spot. I observed some half dozen such vials go by during the hour that we spent in the garden. When I asked how one could be sure that a message would not be taken out by someone other than the person it was intended for I got that standard politely shocked response. Apparently no one, under any circumstances, would consider doing anything so uncouth as looking at someone else’s mail. It is at any rate reassuring to me to discover that they do send one another mail.