Masters of Everon (8 page)

Tell the truth and shame the devil.

Almost fiercely, Jef got busy with his packing for the cross-country hike that would begin for him tomorrow.

"Bring him along! That's right... inside, now," said the Constable. He stood with his shoulder against the open door of the rotorcraft, making his big body one side of a corridor which channeled Mikey through into the craft's interior.

It was the next morning. Jef, outfitted with a mapcase, directions, and the rest of his equipment he had brought along for just this use, was embarking with Mikey for a lift upcountry in search of Beau leCourboisier. It was a bright, warm day and everything was fine; except that Mikey did not want to board. He was signaling Jef by every means available to him that they should not board the rotorcraft, but take off across country northward, on foot. The fact was he had never really calmed down since the encounter with Chavel. He was showing now the same sort of excitement he had exhibited on the flight to the Constable's home from the spaceport.

"In,
Mikey!" Jef finally managed to push the maolot through the entrance and hurried to squeeze in behind him. Seated and holding Mikey wedged against the farther side of the craft with his knees, Jef turned to say a last word to Armage and Martin.

"I appreciate all this," he told the Constable. "You'll keep an alert here for anyone with information on the whereabouts of my brother's grave—?"

"Absolutely," said the Constable. "Good luck, now. You understand the pilot's not allowed to take you beyond the edge of grazing territory? It's one of our ordinances aimed to saving fuel and engine-wear. Any travel beyond the plains country has to be on foot or animal, except official or emergency travel."

"It's all right," said Jef. "I knew about that. That's why I brought this backpacking equipment I'll do fine. Good-bye then. Martin—"

Martin, who was standing half a dozen steps off, took one small step closer to the craft. "Yes?" he said.

"I wanted to thank you, too—"

"Never mind. Think nothing of it—nothing at all." Martin's speech was rapid, as if his mind was elsewhere and he resented the time being wasted in social exchange. He had been this way all morning, a complete change of mood from his attitude when Jef had last seen him, the night before. Martin seemed now to have lost interest in Jef and Mikey—almost to the point of regretting that he had ever had anything to do with them. He had not mentioned the note from Jef.

Jef took his determination in both hands.

"I put a message under your door last night—" he began quietly to Martin, as Armage turned away out of earshot.

"Oh, yes. Thank you. Very nice of you," said Martin. "However, it's hardly likely that I'd have need of your assistance, since our paths lie in different directions. But thank you, by all means—and I believe it's time you were following your beast aboard, there."

"But you did say it was possible Mikey and I might be useful to you, and that was the reason you wanted to keep track of where we were," said Jef stiffly. "If you still think that would be useful—"

"Not at all, not at all—the way things look, now that I'm actually here and have a better view of them. Simply disregard what I said, Mr. Robini. And now—"

"Good-bye, then," said Jef, clearly and deliberately, determined not to be hustled off in such a manner.

"Good-bye, good-bye," said Martin.

The Constable slammed the rotorcraft door closed. "Strap in, sir," said the driver of the craft, over his shoulder. "Ready to lift."

Jef strapped in both Mikey and himself. The rotorcraft lifted with an unexpected lurch and the ground fell away below them as they headed northward, away from the artificially landscaped lawn and neatly planted trees of the Constable's home.

But with the upward bound of the craft into the air, Jef felt a curiously corresponding bound in his own spirits. Suddenly he was conscious of a vast feeling of relief. For the first time it dawned on him that he was now relieved of all obligations—to Martin or to anyone else.

In an unexpected sense, just now, Martin had set him free. If the man had accepted—even conventionally accepted—the idea of a debt of action due on Jef's part, Jef would still have been tied to his affairs and whatever connection they had with the affairs of the Everon government, in the person of Armage and others like him. As it was, apparently both Martin and the Constable were happy to see the last of him; and, more than a little to his own astonishment, he was overwhelmingly happy to see the last of them.

For the first time he recognized some of the hidden depths of feeling with which he had come out here. He had been expecting to encounter an alien world with all its differences and dangers— but also expecting the assistance and aid of the people who had come here before him.

Unconsciously he had been thinking that everyone who emigrated to a new world like this would be like William. Where he had never expected friendship or help from any among the teeming billions of people on Earth, he had expected those things, automatically, out here. That had been why, he now realized, he had been hit so hard by the hostility of the other passengers on the spaceship, and that of the Constable, on landing.

Now, in the face of his expectations, everything had been reversed. Those humans belonging to Everon had treated him with coldness and suspicion. But the different and dangerous planet he had been braced to encounter had seemed to reach out golden-green, warm and strangely friendly arms to welcome and enfold him.

He laughed a little to himself. He was being fanciful.

Nonetheless, it was a fact that he had seldom felt as free as he did at this moment, and never in his memory could he remember feeling happier. He was headed out at last to do the research he had always wanted to do, with Mikey, who had always been closer to him than anyone but his immediate family; and there were, as far as he could see now that he had left Everon City behind, no clouds on the horizon of his immediate future to trouble this prospect.

It was a strange feeling but a good one. He fastened his gaze on the landscape below. Ten minutes later there was no sign of city or planted fields under them at all; and they were fleeing west and north over a sea of yellow-green grass that seemed to stretch unbroken and unblemished to the uplands and the misty mountains.

They traveled for nearly an hour above the apparently endless grass and occasional herds of wisent, seemingly hidden shoulder-deep in it. Jef found himself surprised to see how small the variform of the European bison must be. As best he could judge from the air, they could not be much bigger than sheep. Then a dark line appeared on the farther horizon and grew into a green band of forest, stretching on to a farther horizon. The rotorcraft approached to within a hundred meters of the forest edge and slowed gradually to a hover. Instead of landing, the craft held its position ten meters off the ground and the entrance door opened itself on the air. A section of floor moved outward through the opening and became a platform supported by cables slanting down on either side of the entrance.

"Ready to descend," said the driver. "Don't worry, that platform can carry cargo ten times the weight of you and the maolot and it has, lots of times."

"I wasn't exactly worried," retorted Jef. "Just surprised. Why don't you land?"

"Ordinance," said the pilot. "Don't ask me why. It's the law, is all."

Jef got up from his seat and led Mikey out on to the platform. He had been afraid that Mikey would choose this time to be excited, as he had been on boarding the craft, but the maolot was now perfectly calm and docile. Jef found himself looking at the horizon, rather than straight down. Ten meters was no great height, but the platform was only about a meter and a half by three meters in area, and it had no side rails. He felt the metal surface tremble under him as the cables extended, and the ground came slowly up to meet them until they touched, flattening the grass beneath.

Once down Jef stepped off, staring about himself. This grass was as tall as his own head. Evidently he had been badly wrong about the size of the variform wisents. They must be nearly as big as buffalo back on Earth. However, there was no point in worrying about that now. Luckily, he could see the edge of the forest through the heads of the stems.

"All right?" called down the driver. Jef looked up.

"All right," Jef waved. "Take it up. Thanks."

"Luck!" The platform began to be drawn back to the rotorcraft again. It mounted all the way, was taken back in, and the door of the craft shut. The pilot waved through the glass of the windscreen and the craft, gaining altitude, turned and headed south once more.

"All right, Mikey, here we go," said Jef, turning to the maolot. Mikey butted him cheerfully with his head. For a second Jef merely looked down at the animal.

"I don't get it," he said. "You were all wound up back at the Constable's, now you're peaceful as a lamb. What's got into you —or I should say, what's got out of you?"

Mikey only butted him again. Jef gave up and led the way toward the forest edge.

As they came within the shade of the nearest trees—some were variform conifers, but mainly willy-trees, specimens of a cotton-woodlike plant that was native to these regions of Everon—the tall stems of the grass shrank until they were hardly centimeters in height, revealing the bright-green interlacing, ground-hugging part of the plant that gave it its local name of moss-grass. Back under the farther parts of the forest this green seemed to extend forever like an endless carpet. It was a brighter green than most of the more somber colors of the forest, but almost everything growing on Everon was green, including the trunks and branches of native plants such as the willy-tree. The only patches of non-green were occasional pastel patches of flowerlike vegetation and dustings of brown from the dried and fallen apart, fleshy extensions of the native trees, which took the place of leaves in the Everon vegetation.

Jef stopped to check the mapcase the Constable had given him. It was a device about the size and shape of a pocket-sized book. A computer-loaded compass on the upperpart of its surface, however, pointed always in the direction of the destination it was set for; and just below the compass a section of map showed through the window, with a red line marking the direction and distance Jef had traveled since leaving the aircraft.

The compass needle was now pointing straight ahead, and the red line was running nicely parallel to the black line indicating their desired route. Jef put the map back into one of his woods-jacket pockets with satisfaction. According to the map and to what the Constable had said, it would be a short two-day hike to Trading Post Fifty on the Voral River. He could look forward to finding a good camping spot tonight by the ford on the only other actual river between him and Post Fifty. Then at Post Fifty he would either find this Beau leCourboisier or someone who could tell him how to locate the man.

His search seemed to be turning out to be more straightforward than he had thought—thanks to the Constable; or rather thanks to Martin Curragh, who had been responsible for the Constable's cooperation. For the first time in some months Jef's spirits began to rise as he strode along.

The simple fact that the exercise was warming him, making him more alert and optimistic, could have been reason enough for his increase in cheerfulness. But it was also a fact that the country through which he was traveling was strangely pleasant and exciting. Jef looked about him as he walked, trying to pin down what it was that was so particularly stimulating to his feelings.

There seemed to be no one specific cause. Overall, there was almost a fabled quality to the place he was in. Everything was as green as the Land of Oz, which gave the forest an unreal, magical appearance. But it was not just the green color alone, thought Jef, that produced the magical effect. It was the way the oversize yellow sun sent its light in amongst this verdant work greenness itself seemed touched with gold leaf and horizon, rather than straight down. Ten meters was no great height, but the platform was only about a meter and a half by three meters in area, and it had no side rails. He felt the metal surface tremble under him as the cables extended, and the ground came slowly up to meet them until they touched, flattening the grass beneath.

Once down Jef stepped off, staring about himself. This grass was as tall as his own head. Evidently he had been badly wrong about the size of the variform wisents. They must be nearly as big as buffalo back on Earth. However, there was no point in worrying about that now. Luckily, he could see the edge of the forest through the heads of the stems.

"All right?" called down the driver. Jef looked up.

"All right," Jef waved. "Take it up. Thanks."

"Luck!" The platform began to be drawn back to the rotorcraft again. It mounted all the way, was taken back in, and the door of the craft shut. The pilot waved through the glass of the windscreen and the craft, gaining altitude, turned and headed south once more.

"All right, Mikey, here we go," said Jef, turning to the maolot. Mikey butted him cheerfully with his head. For a second Jef merely looked down at the animal.

"I don't get it," he said. "You were all wound up back at the Constable's, now you're peaceful as a lamb. What's got into you—or I should say, what's got out of you?"

Mikey only butted him again. Jef gave up and led the way toward the forest edge.

As they came within the shade of the nearest trees—some were variform conifers, but mainly willy-trees, specimens of a cotton-woodlike plant that was native to these regions of Everon—the tall stems of the grass shrank until they were hardly centimeters in height, revealing the bright-green interlacing, ground-hugging part of the plant that gave it its local name of moss-grass. Back under the farther parts of the forest this green seemed to extend forever like an endless carpet. It was a brighter green than most of the more somber colors of the forest, but almost everything growing on Everon was green, including the trunks and branches of native plants such as the willy-tree. The only patches of non-green were occasional pastel patches of flowerlike vegetation and dustings of brown from the dried and fallen apart, fleshy extensions of the native trees, which took the place of leaves in the Everon vegetation.