At the Narrow Passage (19 page)

"I wish you would."
"Some of what you've been telling me is bound to be true, and maybe all
of it is. I don't know how much to believe of it yet, but give me time.
I'll sort it all out eventually."
"What are you getting at?" Mica asked, the ghost of a smile flickering
around the corners of his mouth as if all this were something he had heard
before. Maybe so.
"I'm not sure. Except this. You damned people have put some pretty big
doubts in my mind about the Kriths. Some damned big doubts. You've just
about knocked the props out from under my world."
Mica smiled broadly at this. "G'lendal told me this two or three days
ago, Eric," he said, using my first name, rare for him. "I have just
been waiting for you to say it."
So I'd fooled G'lendal already. That was something.
"Damn it, Mica," I said, hoping this would convince him of my sincerity,
"I'm not saying that I really believe you or that I'm ready to join you.
All I said was that you've made me doubt."
"That is the first big step, Eric. The rest is downhill." He paused for
a moment. "The world will never look the same to you again."
I'll be damned, I was thinking. He really does believe me.
"If I offered you transportation back to the place where Scoti picked
you up, would you accept it?" he asked slowly.
"You mean set me free?" I asked, almost but not quite startled, then
realized that it was an obvious trap that I wasn't going to let myself
fall into. "I don't know. I mean, I'm not being treated badly here at
all, but I would like my freedom. But as for going back with the Kriths
right now, well, I don't think so. Not right now, anyway. I'd want to
think about it and about what I'd do and about how I'd resolve these
questions before I do anything."
"An appropriate answer," he said. "But do not worry. That is the last place
you will be going, even if you were given your freedom. Excuse me for
a moment."
He rose, crossed to the intercom on the wall, and spoke a few alien,
French-sounding words into it. A voice that I tentatively tagged as
Sally's answered back. Mica smiled.
When he turned back to me, he said, "This button will ring Sally's quarters."
"Okay."
"I just told her that you are to be given limited freedom in her custody.
She requested that she be your 'guardian,' as it were, should you be put
on probation. She will accompany you wherever you go outside your room,
tell you about our little world here, and help you reach some further
conclusions. I hope that is agreeable with you."
I smiled back at him. "Yes, quite agreeable."
"Now listen carefully, Captain Mathers," he said, his face suddenly becoming
hard and cold. "You must remember that you are on a very limited probation.
Sally has explicit orders what to do if you step out of line. I would hate
for her to have to shoot you because of a stupid mistake. Ask her before
you do anything."
I nodded understanding.
"Very well," he said. "She will be down before dinner to give you a
Cook's tour, as they say, of Staunton. I probably will not see you again
today." Then he smiled a halfway convincing smile. "Welcome to the human
race, Eric."
When Sally arrived a couple of hours later, she was wearing tight shorts
and an equally tight halter that matched the golden color of her hair
and failed to cover her body very effectively. Though she wasn't the
stunning beauty that G'lendal was, she was still a very attractive young
woman and a person whose presence I enjoyed.
Yes, I told myself, I even
liked
Sally better than G'lendal. Sally was
a fairly simple person. By this I don't mean stupid. She certainly wasn't
that. But rather she was what she seemed to be, said what she felt,
did what she believed to be the right thing to do. I could understand
Sally and perhaps that was because I understood the culture in which she
lived and where she had been formed. And she still reminded me of Kristin.
As for G'lendal -- I understood absolutely nothing about her or about
the world from which she had come. It really didn't exist for me. It was
as unreal to me as the beautiful Cross-Line Civilization that the Kriths
had told me about -- and which, I suppose, I had even then begun to doubt.
But, back to Sally.
"Mica tells me that you're willing to listen to us," she said as the door
closed behind her.
"Yes, I guess you could say that," I said, noticing the small bulge on
her right hip under the shorts that obviously wasn't a part of Sally's
anatomy -- the bulge that could only be the shape of a very small handgun
which I assumed was quite deadly.
"Would you like me to show you around?"
"Yes, I Suppose so."
"Let's go then."
Staunton, I learned that afternoon, consisted of two major sections of
underground burrows in addition to a dozen or so other tunnels separated
from the two main ones. To my surprise I had been kept in the smaller one.
The Americans, the natives of this Line, dwelt and worked in the larger
section that was, in reality, a small city built under the earth with
a population nearing ten thousand. Here there were stores and shops and
theaters and meeting halls and factories and machine shops and printing
plants and weapons stores. And here the leaders of the American rebels
directed the operations of their guerrilla war against the British
overlords. This was, simply, the nerve center and store house of the
American rebellion, A.D. 1971.
And I thought that Mica must have been pretty well convinced of my
sincerity to allow me to see even that much -- or pretty well convinced
that I would never escape to tell anyone else what I had seen.
The other section, the smaller one where my cell was located, was devoted
to the Paratimers' quarters and their Outtime devices. Most of this area
was secret, and apparently even Sally didn't know all of what went on
there, though she did show inc what she was permitted to.
Unlike the American burrow city, that of the Paratimers consisted
of little more than sleeping quarters, machine shops, laboratories,
storerooms, one large cafeteria, and, of course, a few detention
cells. For personal shopping and amusements the Paratimers visited the
American section.
The Paratimers, as I said before, consisted of individuals from at least
a dozen Lines, and this was was evidenced by the bizarre decorations and
unusual costumes, or lack of costume, worn by the people in the Paratimer
quarters. I learned later, however, that when visiting the American section
they did their best to hide their difference. When in Rome . . .
Sally officially lived in the American section, of course, but I somehow
got the impression that she spent very little time there. This, added
to the fact that I had already suspected that there was some kind of
relationship between her and Mica, aroused an uncomfortable feeling
of jealousy in me. But what reason did I have for feeling that? Sally
certainly owed me nothing -- and what did I owe her?
Other than my life, perhaps . . .
No one, either in the American or Paratimer sections, showed us any
special attention, though I got the impression that everyone knew Sally
and they all were very glad to have her back with them and not across
the sea in the Holy Roman Empire where she had spent the previous year
as the wife -- in name, at least -- of Count Albert von Heinen.
The tour ended in the cafeteria in the Paratimer quarters, where we
joined perhaps half a thousand people having their dinner.
When we had finished eating Sally told me that she would have to take me
back to my quarters now. She had things she had to do that evening.
She did not say that she was going to be doing those things with Mica,
but I certainly got that impression.
I guess I got more impressions that day than outright information.
We went back to my quarters, and Sally locked me in.
For a while I paced the floor and wondered just where any radio equipment
was located and glanced anxiously at my watch -- which had been returned
to me at last, having been found harmless -- wondering whether G'lendal
was going to come as she had come every night since I had been there.
Back to the radio question. I had not thought it wise to come out and
ask Sally about it, though I was sure that somewhere the Paratimers
had radio gear, even though they must have used it sparingly to avoid
detection by the Kriths and my own Timeliners. Well, I had to somehow
find out where it was and learn to operate gear that I was sure would
not be of any make that I had ever seen before and would probably not
even be labeled in any language that I could read.
Okay, I comforted myself, you're a damned sight closer to it than you were.
Just be patient and take it easy and you'll find out.
Then I lit a cigarette wand paced the floor some more and waited for
G'lendal's knock on the door.
16
Of Democracy, Sautierboats, and Guns
The next four weeks went quickly, though my anxiety grew greater as I was
continually frustrated in my efforts to discover radio equipment. I knew
that there had to be some means of contacting the outside world, but I was
unable to find it.
My days were full and interesting as I learned more and more about the
world in which I found myself, as I learned more about the Paratimers who
were beginning their secret war against the Kriths and Timeliners. And
the nights . . . well, they were interesting too. Mica did not see fit
to let me sleep alone a single night or even sleep very much. There was
Jonna, of course, and even G'lendal, who came back to me a few times,
and Deean and Suski and two or three others, all lovely and willing and
fully experienced in bedtime pleasures.
I will not attempt to detail those four weeks, much of it would be
repetitive and most of the details are, from my present viewpoint,
unimportant, though I will hit on a few of the high points.
The American rebels of Staunton were self-governing and made a very big
thing out of getting everyone involved in the democratic machinery that
elected the governing council. The actual process -- party meetings,
speeches, nominations, campaigns, elections, and so on -- was not unlike
some other democratic processes that I had seen before. The outstanding
thing was the fervor and dedication of these Americans. They not only
believed in democracy -- they loved it.
Every two years the five-man governing council of Staunton was elected
and it so happened that the late spring of 1971 was the time of that
election. Sally, who was an official of the Jeffersonian Party, invited
me to attend the nominating convention of that party, which occurred
one weekend, beginning on Friday evening and lasting through Sunday
evening. As much as the rebels loved their democracy, they could not
afford to allow it to interfere with their ordinary workweek.
Sally came for me after dinner on that Friday evening clad in a very
conservative dress adorned with a large metal pin printed with a stylized
picture of one of the rebels' heroes, the American patriot named Thomas
Jefferson who was said to have been largely responsible for the writing of
the American Declaration of Independence nearly two hundred years before
and who had been brutally executed by the British after the collapse of
the first rebellion.
"We'd better hurry," she told me. "It will begin soon."
We hurried.
One of the main features of the underground burrows of the American
section of Staunton was a huge amphitheater cut from the stone and
earth. My guess was that it would hold, when packed full, something on
the order of four or five thousand people. And on this particular night,
it was packed. There was hardly standing room for all the people who
were attending, or rather attempting to attend, though Sally as a party
official was able not only to get in, but to get us seats fairly near
the front where we could see as well as hear the speakers on the stage.
I wondered if the people in the rear of the theater could even hear despite
the elaborate sound system of the theater -- a Paratimer installation.
We had hardly got into our seats when music began to play, recorded,
I supposed, since there was no visible band. At once Sally tugged on
my arm, so I rose with her and followed her example of placing my right
hand over my heart. I didn't recognize the music, but it was heroic and
stirring, and I realized how much it must affect the people who knew it
and the principles it represented to them.
Anyway I've always been a sucker for that sort of thing.
"Remain standing until I sit down," Sally whispered to me.
I nodded.
A group of men dressed in antique costumes that must have represented
the period of the first American rebellion paraded onto the stage. Three
of them led the procession -- one played a horn or whistle of some kind
that I didn't recognize, one played a drum, and the man between the two
carried a flag that I believe was one of the original flags of the
rebellion. They were followed by ten more men dressed as farmers,
clergymen, clerks, backwoods trappers, soldiers, and the like of that
period. When the procession reached the center of the stage, it stopped,
turned to face the audience, waited until the end of the music, and then
the flag was carefully placed in a socket in the floor of the stage.
Two or three patriotic songs followed, one of them called "Yankee Doodle"
or something like that. For some reason another of them stuck in my mind,
and later I wrote the words down with some help from Sally. It was
about the man called Mad Anthony Wayne, one of their principal heroes,
and the words went something like this:

Bang! Bang! the rifles go; down falls the startled foe.
Aim! Fire! exclaim his eyes; bang! bang! each gun replies.
Ran-tan! the bugles sound; our force has still the ground.
Tramp! Tramp! away they go; now retreats the beaten foe.
Many a red coat, the Continental scorning,
Shall never meet the blaze of the broad sunlight
that shines on the morrow morning.
His sword blade gleams and his eyelight beams,
And never glanced either in vain;
Like the ocean tide, at our head he rides,
The fearless mad Anthony Wayne.

[This is followed by the Chorus:]

Bang! Bang! the rifles go; down falls the startled foe;
Many a redcoat, the Continental scorning
Shall never meet the blaze of the broad sunlight
that shines on the morrow morning.
Was e'er a chief of his speech so brief,
Who utters his wishes so plain?
E'er he utters a word, his orders are heard,
From the eyes of Mad Anthony Wayne.
Chorus
It is best to fall at our country's call,
If we must leave this lifetime of pain;
And who would shrink from the perilous brink
When led by Mad Anthony Wayne?
Chorus
Let them form their ranks in firm phalanx;
They will melt in our rifle ball rain;
Every shot must tell on a redcoat well,
Or we anger Mad Anthony Wayne.
Chorus