This Star Shall Abide (9 page)

“I believe as you do,” the Technician confessed. “I didn’t know I did until I heard you testify today, but—well, that woke me up. It’s wrong for the Scholars to conceal their knowledge! And it’s wrong for you to be punished for saying what you think.”

“Will you answer some questions?” Noren challenged. Above all, he needed information, and this was probably his one chance to get it.

“Yes, if I can.” The Technician, to Noren’s astonishment, drew the matting across the cell’s door and without hesitation, removed the ropes by which his prisoner was kept helpless. Then he sat down on the dirty stone floor and placed the light between himself and Noren.

“Exactly what were your instructions?” Noren began.

“To watch you, wait till you were in some public place or else alone with your older brothers, and then trick you into an open declaration of heresy by pretending to sympathize.”

Noren frowned; whoever had planned that had been very clever and very well informed. They had known his brothers would denounce him, and what was more, had been aware that he viewed Technicians as people rather than as the nameless, faceless beings most villagers considered them. The more obvious approach would have been to arouse his ire by an overbearing attitude, yet it had been foreseen that he’d be on guard against that. “Was the other man to do the same?” he inquired.

“I don’t think so, but we were briefed separately. I assume he was told not to report me later for anything I might say.” Meeting Noren’s eyes, the Technician added painfully, “You’d best know everything. He admitted to me that it was hoped that offering your girl an appointment to the training center would upset your marriage plans, and perhaps make you vulnerable.”

Noren clenched his hands, knowing that he could not afford to give in to anger, and demanded, “Were you told why they wanted me convicted?”

“Yes, at least they had an excuse that seemed plausible at the time. They claimed it was for your own good! They knew you were a heretic, and they said it would be better for you to get caught while we were on hand to see that you weren’t harmed by the villagers.”

“It would have been still better for me not to have gotten caught at all,” said Noren dryly.

“They don’t look at it that way. They think a heretic is happier after they’ve converted him, that he benefits from ‘acknowledging the truth,’ as they call it.”

“Recanting?” asked Noren with a shiver.

“Yes. I believed it, Noren! I’ve always believed it, but now—after what you said at the trial—I can’t.”

“Who gave you your instructions?”

“The Scholar Stefred.” There was awe in the Technician’s voice, as if the name was of particular and terrible significance. “He’s the Chief Inquisitor, and he’s in charge of all heresy proceedings. I’d never seen him except from a distance, at ceremonies, until he sent for me. He seemed to know a lot about me, Noren—and he knew
all
about you.”

That fit, Noren thought; things had been too carefully planned for it to have been otherwise. “What will happen to me in—in the City?” he faltered.

“I honestly don’t know. We don’t have any more information about that than the villagers. Ordinary Technicians aren’t allowed in the Inner City, the Scholars’ part; when Stefred sent for me, I went to a conference room in the exit dome where the Gates are, and that’s Outer City. All I can tell you is that he’ll make you recant.”

“How? By torture?” Noren asked directly.

The young Technician averted his face. “I’m afraid it may be something like that,” he admitted miserably. “When you talk to him, he doesn’t seem like a cruel man, yet it’s said that no heretic can hold out against him. I used to think he really convinced people, but I can see that wouldn’t work with someone like you; and threats wouldn’t, either.”

“No,” declared Noren grimly. “Look, if you know anything more specific—any rumors, even—go ahead and say so. Don’t try to spare me, because I’d rather be prepared.”

“I wish I could help. But there’s—well, a strange sort of mystery about heresy. I don’t know how to describe it except to say that we all feel there’s some tremendous secret that’s hidden from everyone but Scholars. Perhaps it’s merely what you believe, that they made up the whole Prophecy to stay in power. I think there’s more to it, though; I think it’s connected with what becomes of heretics, both before they recant and afterwards. They’re imprisoned in the Inner City, you see, and Outer City people don’t have any contact with them.”

Noren shuddered. The information he was getting was anything but reassuring. He was quiet for a few moments, then asked hesitantly, “Are you transporting me to the City yourself?”

“No,” the Technician replied. “I can guess what you’re thinking, and I’d like to let you escape; but it’s impossible. They’ll send an aircar for you. All we do is escort you to it, keeping you safe from the mob that’ll gather to watch.” There was an unhappy silence. Then suddenly he raised his head, saying in a low, excited voice, “If you were to escape, it would have to be tonight. Is there anybody who’d help you if I could get you out of here? Your family, maybe? I—I’ve just had an idea, but it depends on outside aid.”

Noren thought. His brothers would not want to help him; his father would not dare. But Talyra…

Talyra loved him. She would not marry him, but neither would she abandon him to torture and death. To aid a convicted heretic would be a sin in her eyes; she would be torn; still, remembering her as he’d last seen her in the courtroom, he was quite sure that she wouldn’t refuse him any help that was in her power to provide.

Yet he could not say so. His testimony at the trial had cleared her of involvement, and he dared not undo that. This Technician seemed sincere, but he had tricked him once; there was no real assurance that he would not do so again. The whole episode, including both the confession of remorse and the frightening suggestion of some unspeakable mystery in regard to his fate, might be a trick to get the names of other potential heretics; the Scholars’ design was obviously complex.

“No,” he said. “No, there isn’t anyone.”

The Technician’s distress, whatever its cause, was unquestionably real. “I don’t believe that,” he said slowly, “but I can’t blame you for not trusting me. Noren, you don’t need to! I won’t have to know from whom you get help. What I’m proposing is that you change clothes with me, here and now, then tie me up and simply walk out.”

Noren stared at him, completely and utterly astonished. That a Technician should make such an offer was incredible even in the light of his own unprecedented view of their humanity. “But—but what would happen to you?” he stammered.

“Nothing. The aircar will take me back to the City, where I’ll be recognized. The other Technician will recognize me first, of course; but the villagers won’t, and to save face he’ll put me aboard quickly, without letting them notice that I’m not you.”

“Won’t the Scholars punish you?” Noren protested.

“I’ll say your ropes were loose and you overpowered me. That can’t hurt you even if they recapture you, since under the High Law they can’t accuse a villager of any crime for which he hasn’t been convicted in a civil trial.”

It made sense, Noren saw. They would certainly be more likely to believe that a heretic would overpower a Technician than that the Technician would voluntarily change places with him!

“In any case,” the man went on, “they’ll be looking for you before I get back; the aircar has radiophone equipment, and I’ll have to let the pilot use it. That’s why you’ll need help. You’ve got to get other clothes and be well away from here when the alert’s given. Can you arrange that?”

“Perhaps,” Noren admitted. “What happens to me if I fail?”

“Nothing worse than what’ll happen if we don’t try it, at least not as far as the Scholars are concerned. The villagers—” The Technician frowned. “Officially I’m here to protect you from the villagers. If you’re caught by them after I’m gone, you may be in trouble, especially if the story that you attacked me gets out.”

Noren knew only too well what trouble he’d be in. If he should be caught masquerading as a Technician, he would incur even more wrath than Kern had. Yet it was that against certain doom, and even if he lived only a short while, he might manage to convince someone who would carry on after him. The fact that he’d convinced the Technician was encouraging, if he had indeed convinced him and this too was not an elaborate trap of some kind. It seemed odd that the man did not expect to be held in suspicion merely for having visited a prisoner’s cell at this hour; still, what was there to lose by trusting him? “I’ll try,” he decided, “if you’re sure you’ll be all right.”

“We’ll make it look good,” the Technician said with apparent confidence. He regarded Noren’s bruises thoughtfully. “You’re going to have to rough me up a bit. Otherwise I can’t pass as far as the aircar, let alone fool the Scholar Stefred.”

“You mean you’d just stand there and let me hit you?”

“It’s necessary, Noren. Don’t worry, I won’t make any noise, and I ordered the jailer not to come back into the building till I called him.”

They switched clothes first, Noren marveling at the strange feel of the green stuff of which the uniform was made. Fortunately its sleeves were long enough to conceal the bruises on his arms; only those of his face would have to be hidden, and he could not show his face anyway. The hat covered the ragged cut of his hair.

“Go ahead and let loose,” the Technician told him, once he’d rubbed dirt on his own arms to simulate as much bruising as possible. He braced himself against the wall and added, “Think of how you felt toward me when I first admitted what I was doing at the inn.”

After a brief hesitation, Noren complied. The Scholar Stefred, he judged, would demand real evidence of a struggle. The whole business was carried out in silence; the Technician didn’t shrink from it, though he’d obviously had no prior experience with blows.

“Noren,” he said when it was over, “I’ve got to be honest. You haven’t much chance to elude Stefred, not if he really wants you. And I’m pretty sure he does. I could sense it in the way he spoke.”

“I know. But before he gets me maybe I can win some people over to our side.”

There was frank admiration in the Technician’s gaze. “I’ll try, too. We’re up against something a lot stronger than we are, though—stronger than you realize. The Scholars have powers you can’t even imagine. I agree that it’s wrong for them to keep those powers for themselves, but I’m not sure I believe your idea about there never having been a Founding. You’re just as smart as they are; could you have discovered such powers if you and everyone else had always lived as the savages do?”

“There’s got to be more to it than intelligence,” Noren conceded, frowning. “I don’t quite see how it happened, yet it’s more reasonable than people dropping out of the sky.”

The Technician drew out several small objects that were hidden in the belt he still wore beneath Noren’s tunic. “Hold this,” he commanded, handing Noren an ordinary tallow candle stub and lighting it with a match. “The Power Cell in the lantern is weak; I must replace it before you leave.” As Noren watched in fascination, he turned out the light, opened a panel in its bottom, and inserted a little red cube in place of an identical one that he stored carefully away in his belt. Then, once the lantern was burning with even greater brilliance than before, he took the candle back and produced a featureless flat disk.

“It’s the recording of your trial,” he told Noren. “Destroy it when you ditch the uniform.”

Noren examined the thing closely, wondering how his words could possibly be preserved in such a form. “No,” he said. “No, it will be better if you give it to the Scholars; if I’d overpowered you, I wouldn’t have known enough to take it. I don’t mind having them hear what I said.”

“You’re really not ashamed, are you… not even of having declared that there’s no Mother Star.” The young Technician’s tone was troubled, though it carried no disapproval.

“I’m not,” agreed Noren.

“I—I don’t know what to say to you, then. I can’t wish you its protection, yet—well, something’s lacking. It’s not enough just to learn what there
isn’t,
we need to know what there
is.”

“Let’s just wish each other luck,” Noren said, for though he understood the deficiency very well, his feelings about it went too deep for words. He gripped the Technician’s hand, wondering if any villager had ever done such a thing before. When it was too late, the man having been securely tied and the jailer called, he realized that he did not even know his friend’s name.

*
 
*
 
*

He held the light low when he left the cell, so that his face was in shadows, and he did not speak to the jailer, who nodded respectfully as he passed but did not question his actions. There was little chance of his being recognized; villagers did not look at the features of Technicians. To them Technicians were not men, but beings of a different order, and one was assumed to be like another. The idea of an ordinary person wearing a Technician’s uniform would not enter anyone’s mind.

The street was dark and silent. Noren walked rapidly through the village and headed out along the road toward Talyra’s farm. He did not want to ask her help, for he knew she’d be shocked by the masquerade, but there was no one else from whom he could possibly get clothes. He’d be taking a risk; if he was caught by her family, he would be shown no mercy. He would have to reach her from a hiding place he’d used more than once in the past: the cluster of rocks on the knoll against which the farmhouse nestled. There had been an understanding between them that if a yellow pebble was tossed in between the woven mats that hung at her window, she would climb out and meet him there. She would no longer be expecting such a signal, however, and he hoped she wouldn’t be too incredulous to respond.

All at once another thought hit Noren, and he stopped in the middle of the road, appalled. There was a worse risk than capture in contacting Talyra! With sickening chagrin he realized that he indeed had something to lose by trusting the Technician. Everything in the man’s manner had indicated sincerity, yet if he’d misjudged…