A Handful of Darkness (14 page)

He ran. Behind him, the two Caucs pushed after him through the throngs of men and women milling aimlessly along. Occasionally he glimpsed their white, perspiring faces. He turned a corner, raced between shabby huts, leaped over a sewage ditch, climbed heaps of sagging debris, slipping and rolling and at last lay gasping behind a tree, his brief-case still clutched.

The Caucs were nowhere in sight. He had evaded them; for the moment he was safe.

He peered around. Which way was his ship? He shielded his eyes against the late afternoon sun until he managed to make out its bent, tubular outline. It was far off to his right, barely visible in the dying glare that hung gloomily across the sky. Sung-wu got unsteadily to his feet and began walking cautiously in that direction.

He was in a terrible spot; the whole region was pro—Tinkerist—even the Chamber-appointed Manager. And it wasn’t along class lines; the cult had knifed to the top level. And it wasn’t just Caucs any more; he couldn’t count on Bantu or Mongolian or Indian, not in this area. An entire countryside was hostile, and lying in wait for him.

Elron, it was worse than the Arm had thought! No wonder they wanted a report. A whole area had swung over to a fanatic cult, a violent extremist group of heretics, teaching a most diabolical doctrine. He shuddered—and kept on, avoiding contact with the farmers in their fields, both human and robot. He increased his pace, as alarm and horror pushed him suddenly faster.

If the thing were to spread, if it were to hit a sizable portion of mankind. It might bring back the Time of Madness.

The ship was taken. Three or four immense Caucs stood lounging around it, cigarettes dangling from their slack mouths, white-faced and hairy. Stunned, Sung-wu moved back down the hillside, prickles of despair numbing him. The ship was lost; they had got there ahead of him. What was he supposed to do now?

It was almost evening. He’d have to walk fifty miles through the darkness, over unfamiliar, hostile ground, to reach the next inhabited area. The sun was already beginning to set, the air turning cool; and in addition, he was sopping wet with filth and slimy water. He had slipped in the gloom and fallen in a sewage ditch.

He retraced his steps, mind blank. What could he do? He was helpless; his shiver-gun had been useless. He was alone, and there was no contact with the Arm. Tinkerists swarming on all sides; they’d probably gut him and sprinkle his blood Over the crops—or worse.

He skirted a farm. In the fading twilight, a dim figure was working, a young woman. He eyed her cautiously as he passed; she had her back to him. She was bending over, between rows of corn. What was she doing? Was she—good Elron!

He stumbled blindly across the field towards her, caution forgotten. “Young woman!
Stop!
In the name of Elron, stop at once.”

The girl straightened up. “Who are you?”

Breathless, Sung-wu arrived in front of her, gripping his battered brief-case and gasping. “Those are our brothers! How can you destroy them? They may be close relatives, recently deceased.” He struck out and knocked the jar from her hand; it hit the ground and the imprisoned beetles scurried off in all directions.

The girl’s cheeks flushed with anger. “It took me an hour to collect those!”

“You were killing them! Crushing them!” He was speechless with horror. “I saw you! “

“Of course.” The girl raised her black eyebrows. “They gnaw the corn.”

“They’re our brothers!” Sung-wu repeated wildly. “Of course they gnaw the corn; because of certain sins committed, the cosmic forces have—” He broke off, appalled. “Don’t you know? You’ve never been told?”

The girl was perhaps” sixteen. In the fading light she was a small, slender figure, the empty jar in one hand, a rock in the other. A tide of black hair tumbled down her neck. Her eyes were large and luminous; her lips full and deep red; her skin a smooth copper-brown—Polynesian, probably. He caught a glimpse of firm brown breasts as she bent to grab a beetle that had landed on its back. The sight made his pulse race; in a flash he was back three years.

“What’s your name?” he asked, more kindly.

“Frija.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“I am a Bard; have you ever spoken to a Bard before?”

“No,” the girl murmured. “I don’t think so.”

She was almost invisible in the darkness. Sung-wu could scarcely see her, but what he saw sent his heart into an agony of paroxysms: the same cloud of black hair, the same deep red lips. This girl was younger, of course—a mere child, and from the Farmer class, at that. But she had Liu’s figure, and in time she’d ripen—probably in a matter of months.

Ageless, honeyed craft worked his vocal cords. “I have landed in this area to make a survey. Something has gone wrong with my ship and I must remain the night. I know no one here, however. My plight is such that—”

“Oh,” Frija said, immediately sympathetic. “Why don’t you stay with us, tonight? We have an extra room, now that my brother’s away.”

“Delighted,” Sung-wu answered instantly. “Will you lead the way? I’ll gladly repay you for your kindness.” The girl moved off towards a vague shape looming up in the darkness. Sung-wu hurried quickly after her. “I find it incredible you haven’t been instructed. This whole area has deteriorated beyond belief. What ways have you fallen in? We’ll have to spend much time together; I can see that already. Not one of you even approaches clearness—you’re jangled, every one of you.”

“What does that mean?” Frija asked, as she stepped up on the porch and opened the door.

“Jangled?” Sung-wu blinked in amazement. “We will have to study much together.” In his eagerness, he tripped on the top step, and barely managed to catch himself. “Perhaps you need complete instruction; it may be necessary to start from the very bottom. I can arrange a stay at the Holy Arm for you—under my protection, of course. Jangled means out of harmony with the cosmic elements. How can you live this way? My dear, you’ll have to be brought back in line with the divine plan!”

“What plan is that?” She led him into a warm living-room; a crackling fire burned in the grate. Two or three men sat around a rough wood table, an old man with long white hair and two younger men. A frail, withered old woman sat dozing in a rocker in the comer. In the kitchen, a buxom young woman was fixing the evening meal.

“Why,
the
plan,” Sung-wu answered, astounded. His eyes darted around. Suddenly his brief-case fell to the floor. “Caucs,” he said.

They were all Caucasians, even Frija. She was deeply tanned; her skin was almost black; but she was a Cauc, nonetheless. He recalled: Caucs, in the sun, turned dark, sometimes even darker than Mongolians. The girl had tossed her work robe over a door hook; in her household shorts her thighs were as white as milk. And the old man and woman—

“This is my grandfather,” Frija said, indicating the old man. “Benjamin Tinker.”

Under the watchful eyes of the two younger Tinkers, Sung-wu was washed and scrubbed, given clean clothes, and then fed. He ate only a little; he didn’t feel very well.

“I can’t understand it,” he muttered, and he listlessly pushed his plate away. “The scanner at the central Chamber said I had eight months left. The plague will—” He considered. “But it can always change. The scanner goes on prediction, not certainty; multiple possibilities; free will…• Any overt act of sufficient significance—”

Ben Tinker laughed. “You want to stay alive?”

“Of course!” Sung-wu muttered indignantly.

They all laughed—even Frija, and the old woman in her shawl, snow white hair and mild blue eyes. They were the first Cauc women he had ever seen. They weren’t big and lumbering like the male Caucs; they didn’t seem to have the same bestial characteristics. The two young Cauc bucks looked plenty tough, though; they and their father were poring over an elaborate series of papers and reports, spread out on the dinner table, among the empty plates.

“This area,” Ben Tinker murmured. “Pipes should go here. And here. Water’s the main need. Before the next crop goes in, we’ll dump a few hundred pounds of artificial fertilizers and plough it in. The power ploughs should be ready then.”

“After that?” one of the tow-headed sons asked.

“Then spraying. If we don’t have the nicotine sprays, we’ll have to try the copper dusting again. I prefer the spray, but we’re still behind on production. The bore has dug us up some good storage caverns, though. It ought to start picking up.”

“And here,” a son said, “there’s going to be need of draining. A lot of mosquito breeding going on. We can try the oil, as we did over here. But I suggest the whole thing be filled in. We can use the dredge and scoop, if they’re not tied up.”

Sung-wu had taken this all in. Now he rose unsteadily to his feet, trembling with wrath. He pointed a shaking finger at the elder Tinker. “You’re—meddling!” he gasped.

They looked up. “Meddling?”

“With the plan! With the cosmic plan! Good Elron—you’re interfering with the divine process. Why—” He was staggered by a realization so alien it convulsed the very core of his being. “You’re actually going to set back turns of the wheel.”

“That,” said old Ben Tinker, “is right.”

Sung-wu sat down again, stunned. His mind refused to take It all in. “I don’t understand; what’ll happen? If you slow the wheel, if you disrupt the divine plan—”

“He’s going to be a problem,” Ben Tinker murmured thoughtfully. “If we kill him, the Arm will merely send another; they have hundreds like him. And if we don’t kill him, if we send him back, he’ll raise a hue and cry that’ll bring the whole Chamber down here. It’s too soon for this to happen. We’re gaining support fast, but we need another few months.”

Sweat stood out on Sung-wu’s plump forehead. He wiped it away shakily. “If you kill me,” he muttered, “you will sink down many rungs of the cosmic ladder. You have risen this far; why undo the work accomplished in endless ages past?”

Ben Tinker fixed one powerful blue eye on him. “My friend,” be said slowly, “isn’t it true one’s next manifestation is determined by one’s moral conduct in this?”

Sung-wu nodded. “Such is well known,”

“And what is right conduct?”

“Fulfilling the divine plan,” Sung-wu responded immediately.

“Maybe our whole Movement is part of the plan,” Ben Tinker said thoughtfully. “Maybe the cosmic forces want us to drain the swamps and kill the grasshoppers and inoculate the children; after all, the cosmic forces put us all here.”

“If you kill me,” Sung-wu wailed, “I’ll be a carrion-eating fly. I saw it, a shiny-winged, blue-rumped fly crawling over the carcass of a dead lizard—in a rotting, steaming jungle in a filthy cesspool of a planet.” Tears came; he dabbed at them futilely. “In an out-of-the-way system, at the bottom of the ladder!”

Tinker was amused. “Why this?”

“I’ve sinned.” Sung-wu sniffed and flushed. “I committed adultery.”

“Can’t you purge yourself?”

“There’s no time!” His misery rose to wild despair. “My mind is
still
impure!” He indicated Frija, standing in the bedroom doorway, a supple white and tan shape in her household shorts. “I continue to think carnal thoughts; I can’t rid myself. In eight months the plague will turn the wheel on me—and it’ll be done! If I lived to be an old man, withered and toothless—no more appetite—” His plump body quivered in a frenzied convulsion. “There’s no
time
to purge and atone. According to the scanner, I’m going to die a young man!”

After this torrent of words, Tinker was silent, deep in thought. “The plague,” he said, at last. “What exactly are the symptoms?”

Sung-wu described them, his olive face turning to a sickly green. When he had finished, the three men looked significantly at each other.

Ben Tinker got to his feet. “Come along,” he commanded briskly, taking the Bard by the arm. “I have something to show you. It is from the old days. Sooner or later we’ll advance enough to turn out our own, but now we have only these remaining few. We have to keep them guarded and sealed.”

“This is for a good cause,” one of the sons said. “It’s worth it.” He caught his brother’s eye and grinned.

Bard Chai finished reading Sung-wu’s blue-slip report; he tossed it suspiciously down and eyed the younger Bard. “You’re sure? There’s no further need of investigation?”

“The cult will wither away,” Sung-wu murmured indifferently. “It lacks any real support; it’s merely an escape valve.”

Chai wasn’t convinced. He re-read parts of the report again. “I suppose you’re right, but we’ve heard so many—”

“Lies,” Sung-WU said. “Rumours. Gossip. May I go?”

“Eager for your vacation?” Chai smiled understandingly. “I know how you feel. This report must have exhausted you. Rural areas, stagnant back-waters. We must prepare a better programme of rural education. I’m convinced whole regions are in a jangled state. We’ve got to bring clearness to these people. It’s our historic role; our class function.”

“Verily,” Sung-wu murmured, as he bowed his way out.

As he walked he fingered his beads thankfully. He breathed a silent prayer as his fingers moved over the surface of the little red pellets, shiny spheres that glowed freshly in place of the faded old—the gift of the Tinkerists. The beads would come in handy; he kept his hand on them tightly. Nothing must happen to them, in the next eight months. He had to watch them carefully, as he poked around the ruined cities of Spain—and finally came down with the plague.

He was the first Bard to wear a rosary of penicillin capsules.

Ed Doyle hurried. He caught a surface car, waved fifty credits in the robot driver’s face, mopped his florid face with a red pocket-handkerchief, unfastened his collar, perspired and licked his lips and swallowed piteously all the way to the hospital.

The surface car slid up to a smooth halt before the great white-domed hospital building. Ed leaped out and bounded up the steps three at a time, pushing through the visitors and convalescent patients standing on the broad terrace. He threw his weight against the door and emerged in the lobby, astonishing the attendants and persons of importance moving about their tasks.

“Where?” Ed demanded, gazing around, his feet wide apart, his fists clenched, his chest rising and falling. His breath came hoarsely, like an animal’s. Silence fell over the lobby. Everyone turned towards him, pausing in their work. “Where?” Ed demanded again. “Where is she?
They?
”

It was fortunate Janet had been delivered of a child on this of all days. Proxima Centauri was a long way from Terra and the service was bad. Anticipating the birth of his child, Ed had left Proxima some weeks before. He had just arrived in the city. While stowing his suitcase in the luggage tread at the station the message had been handed to him by a robot courier:
Los Angeles Central Hospital. At once.

Ed hurried, and fast. As he hurried he couldn’t help feeling pleased he had hit the day exactly right, almost to the hour. It was a good feeling. He had felt it before, during years of business dealings in the “colonies”, the frontier, the fringe of Terran civilization where the streets were still lit by electric lights and doors opened by hand.

That
was going to be hard to get used to. Ed turned towards the door behind him, feeling suddenly foolish. He had shoved it open, ignoring the eye. The door was just now closing, sliding slowly back in place. He calmed down a little, putting his handkerchief away in his coat pocket. The hospital attendants were resuming their work, picking up their activities where they had left off. One attendant, a strapping late-model robot, coasted over to Ed and halted.

The robot balanced his noteboard expertly, his photocell eyes appraising Ed’s flushed features. “May I inquire whom you are looking for, sir? Whom do you wish to find?”

“My wife.”

“Her name, sir?”

“Janet. Janet Doyle. She’s just had a child.”

The robot consulted his board. “This way, sir.” He coasted off down the passage.

Ed followed nervously. “Is she okay? Did I get here in time?” His anxiety was returning.

“She is quite well, sir.” The robot raised his metal arm and a side door slid back. “In here, sir.”

Janet, in a chic blue-mesh suit, was sitting before a mahogany desk, a cigarette between her fingers, her slim legs crossed, talking rapidly. On the other side of the desk a well-dressed doctor sat listening.

“Janet!” Ed said, entering the room.

“Hi, Ed.” She glanced up at him. “You just now get in? “

“Sure. It’s—it’s all over? You—I mean, it’s
happened?
”

Janet laughed, her even white teeth sparkling. “Of course. Come in and sit. This is Doctor Bish.”

“Hello, Doc.” Ed sat down nervously across from them. “Then it’s all over?”

“The event has happened,” Doctor Bish said. His voice was thin and metallic. Ed realized with a sudden shock that the doctor was a robot. A top-level robot, made in humanoid form, not like the ordinary metal-limbed workers. It had fooled him—he had been away so long. Doctor Bish appeared plump and well fed, with kindly features and eyeglasses. His large fleshy hands rested on the desk, a ring on one finger. Pinstripe suit and necktie. Diamond tie clasp. Nails carefully manicured. Hair black and evenly parted.

But his voice had given him away. They never seemed to be able to get a really human sound into the voice. The compressed air and whirling disc system seemed to fall short. Otherwise, it was very convincing.

“I understand you’ve been situated near Proxima, Mr. Doyle,” Doctor Bish said pleasantly.

Ed nodded. “Yeah.”

“Quite a long way, isn’t it? I’ve never been out there. I have always wanted to go. Is it true they’re almost ready to push on to Sirius?”

“Look, doc—”

“Ed, don’t be impatient.” Janet stubbed out her cigarette, glancing reprovingly up at him. She hadn’t changed in six months. Small blonde face, red mouth, cold eyes like little blue rocks. And now, her perfect figure back again. “They’re bringing him here. It takes a few minutes. They have to wash him off and put drops in his eyes and take a wave shot of his brain.”

“
He?
Then it’s a boy?”

“Of course. Don’t you remember? You were with me when I had the shots. We agreed at the time. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

“Too late to change your mind now, Mr. Doyle,” Doctor Bish’s toneless voice came, high-pitched and calm. “Your wife has decided to call him Peter.”

“Peter.” Ed nodded, a little dazed. “That’s right. We did decide, didn’t we? Peter.” He let the word roll around in his mind. “Yeah. That’s fine. I like it.”

The wall suddenly faded, turning from opaque to transparent. Ed spun quickly. They were looking into a brightly lit room, filled with hospital equipment and white-clad attendant robots. One of the robots was moving towards them, pushing a cart. On the cart was a container, a big metal pot.

Ed’s breathing increased. He felt a wave of dizziness. He went up to the transparent wall and stood gazing at the metal pot on the cart.

Doctor Bish rose. “Don’t you want to see, too, Mrs. Doyle?”

“Of course.” Janet crossed to the wall and stood beside Ed. She watched critically, her arms folded.

Doctor Bish made a signal. The attendant reached into the pot and lifted out a wire tray, gripping the handles with his magnetic clamps. On the tray, dripping through the wire, was Peter Doyle, still wet from his bath, his eyes wide with astonishment. He was pink all over, except for a fringe of hair on the top of his head, and his great blue eyes. He was little and wrinkled and toothless, like an ancient withered sage.

“Golly,” Ed said.

Doctor Bish made a second signal. The wall slid back. The attendant robot advanced into the room, holding his dripping tray out. Doctor Bish removed Peter from the tray and held him up for inspection. He turned him around and around, studying him from every angle.

“He looks fine,” he said at last.

“What was the result of the wave photo?” Janet asked.

“Result was good. Excellent tendencies indicated. Very promising. High development of the—” The doctor broke off. “What is it, Mr. Doyle?”

Ed was holding out his hands. “Let me have him, doc. I want to hold him.” He grinned from ear to ear. “Let’s see how heavy he is. He sure looks big.”

Doctor Bish’s mouth fell open in horror. He and Janet gaped.

“Ed!” Janet exclaimed sharply. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Good heavens, Mr. Doyle,” the doctor murmured.

Ed blinked. “What?”

“If I had thought you had any such thing in mind—” Doctor Bish quickly returned Peter to the attendant. The attendant rushed Peter from the room, back to the metal pot. The cart and robot and pot hurriedly vanished, and the wall banged back in place.

Janet grabbed Ed’s arm angrily. “Good Lord, Ed! Have you lost your mind? Come on. Let’s get out of here before you do something else.”

“But—”

“Come on.” Janet smiled nervously at Doctor Bish. “We’ll run along now, doctor. Thanks so much for everything. Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s been out there so long, you know.”

“I understand,” Doctor Bish said smoothly. He had regained his poise. “I trust we’ll hear from you later, Mrs. Doyle.”

Janet pulled Ed out into the hall. “Ed, what’s the matter with you? I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.” Two spots of red glowed in Janet’s cheeks. “I could have kicked you.”

“But what—”

“You know we aren’t allowed to touch him. What do you want to do, ruin his whole life?”

“But—”

“Come on.” They hurried outside the hospital, on to the terrace. Warm sunlight streamed down on them. “There’s no telling what harm you’ve done. He may already be hopelessly warped. If he grows up all warped and—and neurotic and emotional, it’ll be your fault.”

Suddenly Ed remembered. He sagged, his features drooping with misery. “That’s right. I forgot. Only robots can come near the children. I’m sorry, Jan. I got carried away. I hope I didn’t do anything they can’t fix.”

“How
could
you forget?”

“It’s so different out at Prox.” Ed waved to a surface car, crestfallen and abashed. The driver drew up in front of them. “Jan, I’m sorry as hell. I really am. I was all excited. Let’s go have a cup of coffee some place and talk. I want to know what the doctor said.”

Ed had a cup of coffee and Janet sipped at a brandy frappé. The Nymphite Room was pitch black except for a vague light oozing up from the table between them. The table diffused a pale illumination that spread over everything, a ghostly radiation seemingly without source. A robot waitress moved back and forth soundless with a tray of drinks. Recorded music played softly in the back of the room.

“Go on,” Ed said.

“Go on?” Janet slipped her jacket off and laid it over the back of her chair. In the pale light her breasts glowed faintly. “There’s not much to tell. Everything went all right. It didn’t take long. I chatted with Doctor Bish most of the time.”

“I’m glad I got here.”

“How was your trip?”

“Fine.”

“Is the service getting any better? Does it still take as long as it did?”

“About the same.”

“I can’t see why you want to go all the way out there. It’s so—so cut off from things. What do you find out there? Are plumbing fixtures really that much in demand?”

“They need them. Frontier area. Everyone wants the refinements.” Ed gestured vaguely. “What did he tell you about Peter? What’s he” going to be like? Can he tell? I guess it’s too soon.”

“He was going to tell me when you started acting the way you did. I’ll call him on the vidphone when we get home. His wave pattern should be good. He comes from the best eugenic stock.”

Ed grunted. “On your side, at least.”

“How long are you going to be here?”

“I don’t know. Not long. I’ll have to go back. I’d sure like to see him again, before I go.” He glanced up hopefully at his wife.

“Do you think I can?”

“I suppose.”

“How long will he have to stay there?”

“At the hospital? Not long. A few days.”

Ed hesitated. “I didn’t mean at the hospital, exactly. I mean with
them
. How long before we can have him? How long before we can bring him home?”

There was silence. Janet finished her brandy. She leaned back, lighting a cigarette. Smoke drifted across to Ed, blending with the pale light. “Ed, I don’t think you understand. You’ve been out there so long. A lot has happened since you were a child. New methods, new techniques. They’ve found so many things they didn’t know. They’re making progress, for the first time. They know what to do. They’re developing a real methodology for dealing with children. For the growth period. Attitude development. Training.” She smiled brightly at Ed. “I’ve been reading all about it.”

“How long before we get him?”

“In a few days he’ll be released from the hospital. He’ll go to a child guidance centre. He’ll be tested and studied. They’ll determine his various capacities and his latent abilities. The direction his development seems to be taking.”

“And then?”

“Then he’s put in the proper educational division. So he’ll get the right training. Ed, you know, I think he’s really going to be something! I could tell by the way Doctor Bish looked. He was studying the wave pattern charts when I came in. He had a look on his face. How can I describe it?” She searched for the word. “Well, almost—almost a greedy look. Real excitement. They take so much interest in what they’re doing. He—”

“Don’t say he. Say
it
.”

“Ed, really! What’s got into you?”

“Nothing.” Ed glared sullenly down. “Go on.”

“They make sure he’s trained in the right direction. All the time he’s there ability tests are given. Then, when he’s about nine, he’ll be transferred to—”

“Nine! You mean nine years?”

“Of course.”

“But when do we get him?”

“Ed, I thought you knew about this. Do I have to go over the whole thing?”

“My God, Jan! We can’t wait nine years!” Ed jerked himself upright. “I never heard of such a thing. Nine years? Why, he’ll be half grown by then.”

“That’s the point.” Janet leaned towards him, resting her bare elbow against the table. “As long as he’s growing he has to be with them. Not with us. Afterwards, when he’s finished growing, when he’s no longer so plastic, then we can be with him all we want.”

“Afterwards? When he’s eighteen?” Ed leaped up, pushing his chair back. “I’m going down there and get him.”

“Sit down, Ed.” Janet gazed up calmly, one supple arm thrown lightly over the back of her chair, “Sit down and act like an adult for a change.”

“Doesn’t it matter to you? Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care.” Janet shrugged. “But it’s necessary. Otherwise he won’t develop correctly. It’s for his good. Not ours. He doesn’t exist for us. Do you want him to have conflicts?”

Ed moved away from the table. “I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just around. I can’t stand this kind of place. It bothers me. I’ll see you later.” Ed pushed across the room to the door. The door opened and he found himself on the shiny noonday street. Hot sunlight beat down on him. He blinked, adjusting himself to the blinding light. People streamed around him. People and noise. He moved with them.

He was dazed. He had known, of course. It was there in the back of his mind. The new developments in child care. But it had been abstract, general. Nothing to do with him. With his child.

He calmed himself, as he walked along. He was getting all upset about nothing. Janet was right, of course. It was for Peter’s good. Peter didn’t exist for them, like a dog or cat. A pet to have around the house. He was a human being, with his own life. The training was for him, not for them. It was—to develop him, his abilities, his powers. He was to be moulded, realized, brought out.