The Loafers of Refuge (21 page)

No others came by him, and after a moment he shifted the image, moving it downstream. The panicked rush of the river life stalled, hesitated, faint memories of danger at the point they had just left troubling their dim minds, and then they yielded to the stirring of instincts too strong to be fought and went speeding upstream again. This time Timmy netted a large one, and his main dish was complete.

There was a cornfield only a short distance away, and that farmer unknowingly surrendered several of the ripe ears to Timmy. He liked the tender corn raw, but since he had to cook the fish anyway he had roasted corn that night. It was a much larger and better meal than he had grown accustomed to, and Timmy found himself sleepy soon afterwards. He tossed the small debris from his meal into the purling river water and lay down by its soothing murmur to sleep.

He slept heavily for the first two hours, shifting position once or twice to ease cramped muscles, and then the first dream came.

She had long brown hair, spread in lavish disarray on the white pillow, and a white sheet was pulled up to her hairy chin, hiding the ripe and opulent form beneath. Her lips were painted a carmine red and her eyes, brown and large, peered from a face which had been cleverly touched with make-up. She was smiling, a rich and promising smile of welcome for him alone, and one slim hand came from beneath the sheet and slowly, lingeringly, pushed the white cover downward. Timmy found himself moving forward, bending down into soft arms and a fervid caress. He began to awaken as the warm lips touched his own, forcing his way upward and out of the cloying sweetness of the dream. He came awake to find himself trembling, sweat on his forehead and a slight nausea in his stomach. All Loafers were familiar with sex, since they regarded it as a natural function and made
little effort to conceal it, but promiscuity was completely unknown and, like all unmarried males, Timmy was a virgin.

He lay awake for a moment, wondering what mental unrest had brought on such an unusual experience, and then slowly some oddities in the dream began to stand forth and he grew even more disturbed. Why had he dreamed of such a lush woman in an Earthman’s bed, and himself approaching it, when he had never slept in such a bed in his life? And why was the woman wearing paint on her face? For that matter, the provocative way she had handled the bedsheet was completely unlike the Loafer women, who slept in nudity save for wirtl-cloaks or some other woven covering. And certainly women who walked about completely nude in the daytime would hardly try to tempt a man at night by covering up the same body they had seen all day. Or would they? Earthwomen, on a lesser scale, did just that.

Timmy lay back again, relaxed his body and opened his mind to reception.

The sensations came flooding in, strong and vigorous. The Loafer ability to project
sensations-feelings-impulses
was there, but their weakness at projecting images made the pictures less clear than they had been to his sleeping mind. The time sequence had changed so that Timmy found himself engaged in copulation with the woman.

He withdrew before the full strength of the projection reached him and sat up again. Someone nearby was projecting a series of controlled and calculated stories, and projecting them in such a fashion that the recipient seemed to be participating in the actions and sensations of the central character. That projectionist had to be a Loafer … And the recipients were Earthmen!

He returned to the dream and hovered on its fringes until it was over, permitting himself to absorb enough of the projection to follow the story without feeling the sensations. It lasted only a moment more and ended with the central character leaving the way he had come, with the hairy woman lying uncovered on the bed behind him.

Timmy focused his attention on the direction of the
projection, opened his eyes, and saw with a sensation of sickness that it came straight from the village he was seeking.

Troubled and badly disturbed, he set up a mental barrier against receiving any projections for the rest of the night and went to sleep. Two more came and battered against his consciousness; his sleeping mind duly recorded their attempted entry but would not let them pass.

Timmy slept slightly past sunrise the next morning, and hurriedly breakfasted on water and a little fruit he found nearby. He was on his way before the sun had been up an hour and by noon was walking into the village.

L
IKE
K
ARUL’S VILLAGE
this one was made of wooden homes built with Earthmen’s tools. Unlike the young chiefs, though, was the disorder, filth, and run-down condition rampant throughout this town. The buildings were unpainted and the naked wood warped and curled under the purple sun, oozing the green juices of all Refuge trees. Garbage lay piled just outside the doors of many houses and dogs from Earth nosed through their smelly contents in search of food. Loafer children played in the wide street, a screaming, running game very much unlike those played by the children in his own community. And the final, shattering blow was dealt when he passed by the first house and saw, in the tiny alley between it and its neighbour, the sleeping form of a young Loafer. He had vomited in his sleep and the rank, sour smell hung over him in a trenchant cloud, almost dispelling the lingering odour of alcohol.

Timmy felt his own stomach heave at the sight, and rigorously controlled himself. He walked on down the street to the largest house he saw, and inquiry of a child lingering nearby indicated it was indeed the house of the Chief.

“Greetings to the Head Councillor of this village. A stranger on havasid desires to enter the house of the Chief, that knowledge may be exchanged and wisdom gained by all,” Timmy said loudly outside the door, in the age-old ritual.

There was blank, aching silence for a moment, and then a hoarse voice called an invitation to enter.

Timmy stepped inside the open door and found himself in the presence of the largest woman he had ever seen.

She was the sole occupant of the hut and seemed almost to fill it, her vast girth comfortably ensconced in a specially-made
chair. Rolls of fat hung from a chin of vast size, the huge dewlaps hanging down until they almost touched her heavy shoulders. The great body swelled out from the shoulders in an enormous circle, seeming to expand in every direction at once. She wore no clothes, and her huge bulk was sweating slightly in the noon warmth. She was easily the most repulsive Loafer Timmy had ever seen, and he had known some of striking ugliness. Sometimes control over a grogroc slipped, and the ugly beasts needed only one swipe with their great horns to maim a Controller for life.

“A young man on havasid. It has been many years,” said the hoarse voice, and now Timmy realized the voice was unmistakably a woman’s. Women Head Councillors were very rare and this was the first one Timmy had met.

“Do not stare at me as though you had never seen a fat woman before,” said the hoarse voice, not unkindly. She was, as a matter of fact, the first fat Loafer Timmy had ever seen, of either sex. “Our village is prosperous and happy, and food is plentiful. Sit you down and I will have one of my girls bring you food.”

She gestured regally to a normal-sized chair in front of a small table and Timmy obediently sat in it, though it was very uncomfortable. The female chief called a name in a loud voice and a young girl, just past puberty, entered the hut. At her mother’s direction she produced food from cabinets in the walls, most of it Earth-grown or packaged but some fresh vegetables and fruits as well, and placed them in front of Timmy. From somewhere she produced a clay pot of cool water and a drinking gourd, and left Timmy to his meal.

He was hungry and ate with vigour, even partaking of the foreign food, some of which he had eaten at the Sheldon house. When his appetite was satisfied he pushed back from the table and formally thanked his hostess, who dismissed his words with a wave of her pulpy hand. She had bright, clear eyes buried in the fat of her face and they regarded him with open curiosity as he turned to face her.

“And now, young traveller, ask what you will and I will try to answer.”

“I have one question and perhaps after it there need be no
others,” said Timmy slowly. “Last night I slept an hour’s walk from the town of the Earthpeople and I dreamed a strange and disturbing dream. It was very similar to the stories our wise old ones used to tell to the young children, the teller projecting as he spoke so that the listener received the words, sensations, feelings and emotions of the person in the story. It was very like this and yet different in a way that is hard to describe. And the dream was of a nature strange to me, and one I could not understand. There was a stout Loafer woman, in an Earthman’s bed—”

“You have said enough.” The hoarse voice was no longer friendly. “I think there is little you have not guessed. Yes, our best projectors work each night, sending dreams to those Earthmen who wish to pay us for the pleasurable sensations they experience. It is this money which enables us to buy these fine houses and our abundant food. We no longer attempt to control animals, or grow our own food. My people live in comfort and ease, and at no cost in work to ourselves.”

“And where will the young Controllers come from, when the projectors you have working for you now die?” asked Timmy grimly. The fat woman did not answer. “One other question,” Timmy went on. His voice was devoid of emotion, “I saw some Loafer women in town as I came through, and spent the night on the road because I could not reach here by dark. Where did those women spend the night?”

“In the beds of former customers who are no longer satisfied with dreams,” said the chief angrily. There was a strained silence. Then she added, a defensive note in her voice, “They pay our young women well, those Earthmen who have no women of their own, and it does harm to no one. An Earth-man and a Loafer woman cannot make a child.”

Timmy rose to his feet, shuddering as though struck by a sudden chill, and turned towards the door. “I have no more questions, and no knowledge I can give to you,” he said in a choking voice, and stepped quickly outside the small building. “Wait!” the woman commanded, and there was menace in her tone.

Timmy broke into a hard run, and behind him there was
a sudden scream of rage. No one attempted to stop him and he deftly avoided running down a small group of children playing at the edge of the village. He glanced back as he passed the last house and saw the huge form of the Loafer woman standing outside the door of her hut, still screaming in anger. She saw him looking back and raised a fist in impotent fury; then he turned his face forward and ran as though fleeing from a plague.

In the next two towns he found Loafers and Earthmen working together in peace and harmony, with obvious gains to both. Here, too, he found the seeds of change firmly planted and growing, but the Loafers were developing in the direction Karul had taken and seemed happy with the gradual changes in their life. The questions that burned deep in his mind were still unanswered when he walked wearily eastward out of that fifth town. Strong and sharp before his tired eyes hovered the image of a thin brown face framed by russet-red hair, and on that face were embedded the twin sorrows of grief and pain. In his ears was the mocking echo of a remembered voice, but the voice was that of a man, and it said
, “I think you go on havasid not to gather knowledge but to confirm that which you already believe.”

The trial was drawing huge crowds, so big that the small offices of the Security Section, where such infrequent occurrences as trials were normally held, could not pretend to hold them. After the first day the proceedings had been moved to the larger Colony Centre. On colonial worlds, where Earth Central established the laws and penalties, trials were a rare occurrence. Any major offence automatically meant the offender would be returned to Earth. And a “return to Earth” action did not require the concurrence of the court, merely a signed statement from the planet’s Security Section Head that the person in question was not suited to colonial life. Until the advent of live transmission of people the ten colonies on Refuge had had but a single part-time jurist.

The reason for the extreme interest was the fact the person on trial could
not
be returned to Earth. He was a Loafer.

This trial is going to establish a lot of precedents, thought Carey Sheldon as he sat on the hard bench at the front of the crowded impromptu courtroom. The first trial of a Loafer by an Earthman’s court implied acknowledgement that the natives were human and responsible for their actions, and the tacit acceptance by the law of the Loafer’s mental powers as a force which existed in physical fact and for which they could be held accountable. This trial would become an important part of the recorded history of human law and the presiding jurist, Justice Hannah Cavanaugh, seemed well aware of it. She was a quiet, controlled woman whose dark brown hair was just turning grey, and she ruled the sometimes turbulent court with a fist of iron. Several indignant farmers had already been expelled for loudness and disorder, and more would go if necessary. Justice Cavanaugh was an appointed, not elected, official.

Marge stirred restlessly by his side. Maud was: looking after the baby, and both she and Doreen had decided to attend the trial. The Security Section chief in charge of the Refuge township, whose duties included acting as prosecutor, was winding up his summation and charge to the jury. There remained only the defence by young Similik’s attorney before the jury would file out and return in very short order, Carey was sure, with a verdict of innocent. It could hardly be any other way. Similik was accused of manslaughter of a local farm boy, Harvey Phillips, the youngest son of the prosperous Phillips clan. The two boys had been approaching the finish line after a hotly contested race, with young Phillips slightly in the lead, when Phillips’ horse unaccountably stumbled, throwing its rider. Similik went on to win the race and the large reward promised him by the horse’s backers, but Harvey Phillips did not cross the line at all. He landed on his head and flipped on his back, then rolled for twenty feet more. When he stopped his neck was broken, the spinal cord completely severed, and he was dead.