Night Walk (13 page)

Between the furnaces and the fence, the climbing weeds and grasses were
growing over untidy scrap heaps of packing cases and rusting metal framework,
which looked like discarded assembly jigs. The big fires were quiescent
in their ceramic ovens, but the heat from the stacks warmed the whole
area. Tallon investigated several of the vegetation-shrouded heaps before
he found a hole big enough to hide in. He slid wearily into the dusty
little hole and pulled a screen of grass back over the entrance.
Maneuvering around for comfort, he discovered he could stretch out full
length in the confined space. He gingerly put out his hand and found there
was a tunnel leading toward the center of the stack, roofed and walled with
random chunks of steel and discarded packing materials. Tallon wriggled
a little farther in, then the effort became too great. He struggled free
of the pack, laid his head on it, switched off the eyeset, and allowed
the whole stinking universe to tilt away from him.
"Brother," a voice said in the crawling darkness, "you have not introduced
yourself."
There were four of them -- Ike, Lefty, Phil, and Denver.
The big attraction, Ike explained, was the heat. In every human society
there are a few who are not equipped to make the grade, who have neither
the will to work nor the strength to take. And so they live on scraps
that fall from rich men's tables. You will always find some of them in
those few places where one or more of life's necessities can be obtained
simply by putting out a hand and waiting. Here there were falling scraps
of heat that on a long winter's night could mean the difference between
sleeping and dying.
"You mean," Tallon said drowsily, "that you're hoboes."
"That's putting it crudely," Ike replied in his thin nasal voice. "Have you
any more of that delicious stale bread? Nature's toast, I call it."
"I don't know." Tallon's back was hurting now and he longed for sleep.
"How could I tell in the dark, anyway?"
Ike's voice was mystified. "But, brother, we have our lumi-lamp on.
Can't you look in your bag? We're hungry. Your new friends are hungry."
"Sorry, new friend. I'm too tired to look, and if I wasn't too tired
it wouldn't make any difference, because -- " Tallon made the effort --
"I'm blind." It was the first time he had ever announced it to anyone.
"I'm sorry." Ike really sounded sorry. There was a long silence;
then he said, "Can I ask you a question, brother?"
"What is it?"
"Those heavy gray glasses you're wearing -- why have blind men started
wearing heavy gray glasses? What good are they when you have no eyes?"
Tallon lifted his head a few inches. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what's the point of wearing -- "
"No!" Tallon broke in. "What did you mean when you said blind men have
started wearing heavy gray glasses?"
"Well, brother, yours is the second pair I've seen this week. Ten miles
or so north of here is a private estate owned by a very rich man who's
blind. Denver and I often climb the wall, because we both like fruit. The
fruit trees there are overloaded, and it seems a shame not to relieve them
of their burden. There are the dogs, of course, but during the day -- "
"The glasses," Tallon interrupted. "What about the glasses?"
"That's it, brother. We saw the blind man this week. He was walking in
the orchards and was wearing glasses like yours. Now that I think of it,
he was walking like a man who can see!"
Tallon felt a surge of excitement. ."What's his name?"
"I forget," Ike replied. "I know he's supposed to be related to the Moderator
himself, and that he's a mathematician or something. But I don't remember
his name."
"His name," Denver said eagerly, "is Carl Juste."
"Why do you ask, brother?" Ike sniggered. "Did you think he might be a friend
of yours?"
"Not exactly," Tallon said coolly. "I'm more a friend of the family."
thirteen
Ike's price for acting as a guide was one hundred hours.
The figure shocked Tallon somewhat. In his two years on Emm Luther
he had grown used to the radical "fiscal democracy" the government had
imposed soon after it came to power in 2168. The original and purest form
ordered that for every hour a man worked, regardless of his occupation,
he would be paid a monetary unit called "one hour." These were divided,
like the Lutheran clock, into one hundred minutes; the smallest unit
was the quarter -- one-fourth of a minute, or twenty-five seconds.
When the uprising that had resulted in the ending of Earth's mandate had
died down, the Temporal Moderator had found it necessary to modify the
system considerably. Complex factorization clauses had been added,
allowing those who effectively increased their contribution to the
economy by self-improvement to be paid more than one hour per hour.
But the absolute top was a factor of three, which was why there were few
large private corporations on Emm Luther -- the incentive was limited,
as the Moderator intended it to be.
To approach factor three, a man had to have the highest professional
qualifications and use them in his job -- yet here was a shiftless hobo
named Ike demanding what Tallon conservatively estimated as factor ten.
"You know that's immoral," Tallon said, wondering if he had that much money.
He had forgotten to count the roll of bills he had stolen from The Persian
Cat.
"Not as immoral as it would have been had I taken the money while you were
sleeping and disappeared with it."
"Obviously you've checked that I have the money. As a matter of interest,
how much is in my pack?"
Ike tried to sound embarrassed. "I made it about ninety hours."
"Then how could I pay you a hundred?"
"Well -- there's the radio."
Tallon laughed sharply. He supposed he was lucky at that. He was blind,
and the wound across his shoulders stiffened his body with agony every
time he moved. The four tramps could have rolled him during the night;
in fact it was surprising they were prepared to do anything at all in
return for his money.
"Why are you willing to help me? Do you know who I am?"
"All I really know about you, brother, is what I can tell from your accent,"
Ike said. "You're from Earth, and so are we. This was a good world till that
bunch of Bible- waving hypocrites took it over and made it impossible for a
man to get an honest day's wage for an honest day's work."
"What was your work?"
"I had no work, brother. Health reasons. But it's just as well, isn't it?
If I had been working I wouldn't have got paid for it in good honest solars,
would I? Denver here used to sell pieces of the True Cross. . . ."
"Till they closed down his production plant, I suppose," Tallon said
impatiently. "When can you get me to the Juste estate?"
"Well, we'll have to hole up here for the rest of the day. We'll get you
through the fence after dark. After that it's just a matter of walking.
We can't stroll along the boulevards, of course, but we'll be there
before dawn."
Before dawn, Tallon thought; or, if he was unable to get his eyeset back
from Carl Juste, before the final nightfall. He wondered if the man who had
it was Helen Juste's father or brother.
"All right," he said. "You can take the money."
"Thank you, brother. I already have."
At Tallon's request, Ike allowed him to make the overnight walk with
the eyeset switched off to save his last glimmer of sight for whatever
he would have to face when he reached the estate. Only Ike and Denver
went with him, and each took one of his arms.
As his two companions guided him through a weed-hidden break in the perimeter
fence and out to where the quiet avenues began again, Tallon wondered how
their breed had survived the centuries without change. The continuous
development of civilization seemed not to have touched them; they lived
and died in a manner no different from that of vagrants in ancient times.
If the human race went on for another million years, perhaps at the end
of that time there would still be men like these.
"By the way," Tallon asked, "what will you do with all that money?"
"Buy food, of course." Ike sounded surprised.
"And when it's finished? What then?"
"I'll live."
"Without working," Tallon said. "Wouldn't it be easier to take a job?"
"Of course it would be easier to take a job, brother, but I'm not going
to go against my principles."
"Principles!" Tallon laughed.
"Yes, principles. It's bad enough not getting paid in good honest solars,
but the crazy system makes it worse."
"How? It seems like a reasonable idea to me."
"I'm surprised at you, brother. Factorization itself is a good idea,
but they apply it backward."
"Backward?" Tallon wasn't sure if Ike was expressing an honest opinion
or making a devious joke.
"That's what I said." Ike wasn't kidding. "It happens on Earth, too. Take
somebody like a surgeon. That man wants to be a surgeon -- he wouldn't do
any other job in the world -- and yet he gets paid ten or twenty times
as much as some poor guy who is doing work he hates. It isn't right that
somebody like -- what do you call the head man on Earth right now?"
"Caldwell Dubois," Tallon supplied.
"Well, he likes being head man, so why should he get so much more money
than somebody who has to mind a machine he hates the sight of? No, brother,
there should be a kind of psychological checkup every year on everybody
who's working. When it shows that somebody is starting to like his job,
his pay should be cut, and that would provide extra money for another
guy who hates his work a bit more than he did the year before."
"I'll pass your thoughts on to Caldwell Dubois the next time I see him."
"We've got a real celebrity here," Denver said. "After he's had sherry
with the Justes he's going on to dinner with the president of Earth."
"Talking about your principles," Tallon said to Ike, "would they allow
you to give me back a little money for train fare?"
"Sorry, brother. Principles is principles, but money is money."
"I thought so."
Tallon walked on blindly, allowing himself to be shoved unceremoniously
into gardens or doorways every time an automobile went by. The two men
accepted without question his need to avoid being seen, and they got
him to the Juste estate without incident. Tallon wondered if. in spite
of what Ike had said, they really did know who he was. It would explain
their willingness to help him in this way and also their readiness to
take advantage of him.
"Here we are, brother," Ike said. "This is the main gate. It will be
daylight in less than an hour, so don't try going in there in the dark.
The dogs are unfriendly."
"Thanks for the warning, Ike."
Tallon released his grip on the bars of the massive steel gate and dropped
to the ground. In the gray half-light he saw himself through the eyes of
Seymour, who had already wriggled through the bars and waited patiently
while Tallon went over the top. The eyeset, completely unused for a day
and a half, was giving a faint picture at maximum gain. It had reached
the stage at which its useful life could be measured in minutes.
"Come on, boy," Tallon whispered urgently. Seymour leaped up into his arms,
spinning Tallon's universe around him, but he had become used to the
occasional disorientation that was bound to occur when his eyes had
four legs, a tail, and the mind of a terrier. Although he had never been
interested in animals as pets, Tallon had developed a strong affection
for Seymour.
With the dog tucked under his arm and the automatic pistol in his hand,
Tallon walked cautiously up a gravel driveway that wound through tumbled
banks of dense shrubbery. He lost sight of the gate immediately, and
found himself moving thrugh a tunnel of overhanging trees and lush dark
foliage. The drive wound back on itself twice before coming to a misty
park. There were many trees here too, but Tallon was now able to see a
low rambling house on top of a small hill, with a series of ascending
terraces.
It was then he heard the dogs howling their deep-throated indignation at
his presence in the grounds. The awful sound was followed by a fierce
crackling of foliage as they came racing to hind him. To Tallon they
sounded as big as horses, and although he had not seen them yet, they
seemed to be moving at top speed.
He spun round once on his heels, equivalent to turning the head in a
normally sighted person. There was nothing to be gained by running back
into the bushes, and the house was at least four hundred yards away
and uphill. Some of the trees growing on the terraces had trunks that
separated into three or four thick curving branches just above the
ground. Tallon ran to the nearest one and scrambled into the narrow cleft.
The dogs -- three gray shapes -- appeared off to his left, skimming along
the edge of the shrubbery. They looked like a local hairless mutation
of original wolfhound stock, with huge flat heads carried close to the
ground. Their howling grew louder as they saw Tallon.
He began to raise the automatic, but Seymour's body convulsed in Tallon's
arms at the sight of the large bounding dogs. Before Tallon could adjust
his grip the little dog was down on the grass, yelping with fear and
scuttling frantically back toward the entrance gates. Tallon shouted
desperately as he saw, at one side of Seymour's vision, one of the gray
shapes separate from the others to intercept the terrier. Then Tallon
had to think about his own situation, for without the use of Seymour's
eyes he was, literally, easy meat.
His fingers flicked the eyeset controls, reselecting on proximity, and
he got behind the eyes of the nearest dog. It was a little like watching
a film shot from the nose of a low-flying jet -- a tremendous sense of
arrowing flight, ground flowing rapidly underneath, stands of tall grass
looming up, like hills, and being effortlessly penetrated as though
they were green clouds. Up ahead, apparently rocking slightly because of
the barreling motion, was a human figure, with a white desperate face,
hanging onto the curving arms of a tree.
Tallon forced himself to raise the automatic and move his arm around
until, from the viewpoint of the speeding animal, the weapon's muzzle
was a perfect black circle, with equal foreshortening of the barrel.
The trick, he thought grimly, is to try to hit myself right between the
eyes. He squeezed the trigger and was gratified to feel an unexpectedly
powerful kick from the automatic. But, apart from one slight shudder, the
shot made no difference to the rapidly expanding image he was receiving
from the hound.