Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 (118 page)

That
particular
deception,
Bleys
had
already
decided,
would
not be
used
again:
the
need
to
make
the
problem
seem
real
to
the
expert
had
resulted
in
the
ship
having
a
pervading
stale,
sickly
sweet smell
that
was
making
the
crew
increasingly
surly.

Still,
for
all
its
disadvantages,
Delivered
had
a
deluxe-size
viewing screen,
large
enough
to
dominate
its
lounge
with
the
illusion
of
a
gigantic
picture
window
cut
into
the
side
of
the
ship.
Bleys
had
ordered
such
screens
placed
in
all
the
ships
he
was
likely
to
use,
and this
one
was
left
permanently
on
before
his
desk.

At
the
moment,
the
screen
was
dominated
by
a
view
of
the
night-side
of
the
planet
below.
Mara,
the
smaller
of
the
two
Exotic
planets— although
only
by
a
small
amount—showed
before
Bleys'
eyes
as
a black
circle
cut
out
of
the
starfield.
The
Exotics
generally
eschewed large,
well-lit
cities,
and
the
planet
had
no
moon
to
reflect
Procyon's light
onto
the
planet's
nightside.

But
already
an
arc
of
excruciating
whiteness
was
outlining
one side
of
that
black
circle.
To
Bleys,
in
Delivered’s
particular
attitude,
that
arc
outlined
the
lower
edge
of
the
planet;
and
as
he watched
the
arc
grew,
curving
upward
and
away
on
both
sides
like the
horns
of
some
great
animal,
even
as
the
most
central
portion
of the
arc
thickened
...
and
abruptly,
a
point
at
the
very
center
of
the arc
sparkled,
glaring
at
him
with
the
smallest
edge
of
Procyon's
intense
face.

Bleys
had
watched
this
sight,
in
various
versions,
dozens
of
times already
during
their
long
stay
in
this
orbit;
and
he
knew
that
within moments
the
ship's
movement
would
separate
the
star
from
the planet,
and
the
dayside
would
expand
below
him,
glowing
warmly green
where
it
was
not
a
cooler
blue.

Mara
looked
a
lot
like
Old
Earth,
Bleys
thought.
That
recognition
was
not
original
with
him,
but
it
had
come
up
in
his
memory more
sharply
because
he
had
so
recently
been
looking
down
on
the mother
planet
in
much
this
same
way.

This
was
no
mother
to
the
human
race,
though,
he
reminded himself,
but
a
place
occupied
by
a
race
of
strangers,
of
people
almost
alien
in
their
self-created
differences
from
the
rest
of
the human
race
...
as
alien
to
them,
in
fact,
as
he
himself;
but
in
a
different
way.

And
it
was,
he
suddenly
recalled,
the
home—no,
call
it
the
birthplace,
only—of
his
mother.

He
probed
at
his
mind,
wondering
whether
he
might
be
letting his
own
feelings
about
his
mother
affect
his
perception
about
her birthplace.

No.

He
was
here
only
because
Hal
Mayne
was
here—had
brought the
woman
Rukh
Tamani
here
after
taking
her
from
the
Militia's holding
cells
in
Ahruma.

No
intelligence
source
had
given
Bleys
that
information;
rather, he
had
concluded
it
was
a
logical
move;
by
all
accounts,
the
woman had
not
fared
well
under
the
Militia's—Barbage's—care.
The
Exotics
were
renowned
healers,
and
Bleys
knew
even
that
Mayne
himself
had
come
here
for
healing,
after
his
own
escape
from
that
same prison—it
made
sense
he
would
return
here
with
someone
in
a
similar
position.

But
where,
on
that
large
planet
below,
was
Hal
Mayne?
Mara
was even
larger
than
Old
Earth,
by
a
small
amount,
and
Bleys
could
not very
well
ask
someone
for
that
information.

Or,
could
he?

He
leaned
back
in
his
chair,
his
eyes
no
longer
seeing
the
screen.

He
had
been
hanging
here
in
orbit
trying,
solely
by
means
of
passive
listening
techniques
used
by
the
technicians
he
had
brought along,
to
pick
up
some
piece
of
information
that
might
lead
him
to Hal
Mayne's
whereabouts
and
doings.
Any
more
active
form
of information-gathering
would
be
certain
to
betray
his
presence
to the
Exotics.

But
then
again:
what
could
he
lose
if
the
Exotics,
or
even
Hal Mayne,
learned
he
was
here?
Neither
of
them
would
attack
him physically,
even
here
in
Exotic
space;
he
was
sure
of
that.

By
himself
in
the
lounge,
he
shook
his
head.
Not
yet.

There
might
come
a
time
to
take
that
bull
by
the
horns,
but
this was
not
it.
Revealing
himself
to
the
Exotics
would
not
be
physically dangerous,
but
it
would
dissipate
any
chance
of
learning
something from
orbit.
And
it
would
likely
expose
him
to
pointless
bouts
with the
impenetrably
courteous
blandness
the
Exotics
so
adeptly
used to
befuddle
people.
All
they
would
ever
tell
him
would
be
what they
wanted
him
to
know,
as
if
they
were
running
him
through
a maze
like
some
experimental
subject. So
he
went
to
bed.

When
he
awoke
and
made
his
way
to
the
lounge,
he
found
waiting
there
a
recent
message
from
Delivered'?,
captain,
reporting
that the
Maran
environmental-systems
expert
had
finished
his
repairs and
was
preparing
to
depart:
did
Bleys
want
to
remain
here
in
orbit?

Bleys
sniffed:
the
air
did
seem
better.

On
a
sudden
impulse,
he
keyed
the
circuit
for
the
bridge.

"Captain,
is
the
Maran
still
on
board?"
he
asked.

"Yes,
Great
Teacher,
but
not
for
much
longer—the
shuttle
he called
to
pick
him
up
is
just
three
minutes
away."

"Ask
him
to
come
up
to
the
lounge,
please."

"I'll
have
him
escorted—"

"No,"
Bleys
interrupted.
"Just
ask
him
to
come
up,
and
let
him find
his
own
way.
He'll
be
familiar
with
ships
and
unlikely
to
get lost,
and
I
don't
want
him
subjected
to
any
intimidation
...
is
that understood?"

"Yes,
Great
Teacher,"
the
captain
said.
"But,
if
I
may
ask—what should
I
do
about
the
shuttle?"

"Ask
it—politely—to
wait,"
Bleys
said.
"We're
guests
in
this space,
even
if
the
Exotics
don't
know
it."

"Then—the
Maran
will
be
allowed
to
leave?"

"I'll
let
you
know."

It
was
only
a
few
minutes
before
a
figure
appeared
in
the
doorway Bleys
had
left
open,
to
look
enquiringly
inside.

"Please
come
in,"
Bleys
said
from
his
desk
across
the
room
as
he rose
to
his
feet.

The
man
who
entered
did
not
in
the
least
fit
the
popular
conception
of
an
Exotic.
He
was
of
medium
height,
and
stockily
built
and in
his
upper
forties,
with
rosy
skin
and
a
large
bald
spot
showing through
short
brown
hair.
He
was
wearing
a
grease-stained
gray-green
coverall
that
seemed
to
have
pockets
everywhere,
as
well
as
a tool
belt
with
both
loops
and
closed
pockets.

"Thank
you
for
coming
up
here,"
Bleys
said,
gesturing
to
an
empty
chair
as
the
Exotic
approached.
He
did
not
offer
his
hand, knowing
that
the
Exotics
generally
did
not
observe
that
custom.