Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 (93 page)

planets;
but
he
had
not
seen
a
real
one
since
his
mother
took
him along
on
a
trip
to
Old
Earth.
He
remembered
being
fascinated
by their
prehistoric
appearance;
at
the
time
he
had
just
discovered
picture
books
about
dinosaurs,
and
those
amazing
creatures
had
been depicted
moving
among
palmlike
plants.

He
would
have
liked
to
walk
over
and
take
a
closer
look,
perhaps even
feel
one
of
those
trunks,
that
looked
so
reptilian.
But
that would
make
him
conspicuous;
so
he
put
the
past
out
of
his
mind and
walked
toward
the
head
of
the
cab
rank.

At
the
Mediterranean
shore
north
of
the
city
he
boarded
an
old-fashioned
seaplane,
carefully
maneuvering
his
long
frame
into
its cramped
interior.
He
was
startled
when
the
lone
pilot
handed
out foam
earplugs
to
the
passengers,
but
soon
found
himself
grateful: they
not
only
blocked
out
most
of
the
noise
inside
the
small
craft, but
also
squelched
any
necessity
to
make
polite
conversation
with his
fellow
passengers—or
with
the
pilot,
who
had
been
showing signs
of
wanting
to
chat,
before
they
were
waved
away
from
the dock.

The
tall
man
had
to
crane
his
neck
to
look
out
the
tiny
window, but
he
rapidly
found
himself
almost
hypnotized
by
the
water
rushing
away
beneath
them,
close
enough
that
he
could
see
the
scalloped
white
line
that
occasionally
marked
a
wave
crest.
He
was intrigued
by
the
boats
below;
the
seaplane
flew
low
enough
that
he could
easily
make
out
the
figures
of
people
on
their
decks.

Within
a
short
time
the
water
lightened
in
color,
taking
on
a greenish
hue;
he
deduced
it
was
getting
shallower
as
they
approached
the
Asian
shore
at
Beirut—and
then,
as
the
plane
banked into
a
turn,
they
began
to
parallel
the
wide
sandy
beach.
Beyond
it the
ancient
buildings
of
an
old
city
rose
in
cluttered
stacks,
close enough
to
see
laundry
drying
on
balconies
and
rooftops,
interspersed with
communications
arrays.
In
what
appeared
to
be
a
small
park, people
were
dancing
in
an
intricate,
figured
pattern
he
had
no
time to
figure
out.

Most
people
of
the
Younger
Worlds
never
got
to
Old
Earth;
like them,
he
tended
to
forget
that
it,
too,
was
just
another
planet,
rather than
some
fabled
land
of
milk
and
honey—to
use
a
figure
out
of
his
religious
teachings.
On
Old
Earth,
too,
there
was
dust
in
some
places, mud
in
others—and
always,
people.
Just
regular
people.

Beirut,
he
remembered,
perched
on
one
edge
of
Old
Earth's largest
continent.
From
his
small
window
he
could
not
estimate
the city's
size.
It
appeared
to
be
strung
out
along
the
sea,
penned
between
forested
mountains
and
the
pale
beaches
that
stretched
into the
glaring,
hazy
sunlight
in
both
directions.

As
they
taxied
across
an
artificial
harbor
toward
the
little
industrial
dock
that
was
home
for
the
seaplane,
he
could
see
more
palm trees
in
the
distance.
None
were
close
enough
to
be
examined.

Before
he
boarded
the
regional
shuttle
flight
to
Roma
his
face was
smooth
again;
and
by
the
time
he
left
his
hotel
the
next
morning,
his
coloration
seemed
to
have
faded
to
only
a
moderate
tan. Only
his
height
would
make
him
stand
out
on
the
streets
of
Wien, when
he
got
there.

It
took
Bleys
a
day
and
a
half
to
make
contact
with
Dahno,
and
it was
another
day
before
his
half-brother
showed
up
on
the
street outside
his
hotel,
driving
a
four-wheeled
vehicle
propelled
by
what was
apparently
a
very
silent
motor.

"I
apologize
for
the
size
of
this
thing,"
Dahno
said,
as
Bleys
carefully
folded
his
length
into
the
cramped
passenger
seat.
"They
frown on
larger
vehicles
in
these
old
cities—I
think
it's
partly
a
political
issue,
but
the
streets
are
pretty
narrow,
at
times."

"But
you
like
the
challenge
of
handling
a
vehicle
in
these
streets, don't
you?"
Bleys
said.

Dahno
gave
a
short
bark
of
a
laugh
as
the
wheels
double-thumped over
a
set
of
parallel
metal
rails
set
into
the
middle
of
the
street
they were
crossing.

"You
felt
that!"
he
said.
"It's
like
being
in
touch
with
the
ground. I'd
forgotten
the
feeling
of
direct
contact,
after
all
these
years
of
the fans
or
mag-levs
we've
been
used
to."