THE PEACEFULNESS OF VIVYAN

The newsman had come a long way, studied by small spaceburnt men who wore their lasers against naked callus. And he in turn had stared at his first sealmen, the natives of McCarthy’s World. The newsman had been careful not to call it McCarthy’s World now, but Sawewe. Sawewe meaning of course Freedom.

For another long wait all the newsman had seen of Sawewe was the dilapidation of the old Terran Enclave; a perfectly flat view of sea on one side and tropical scrub on the other. The surface of Sawewe was a limestone plain pitted with sinkholes which led—some of them—to the continent-wide cavern system in which the sealmen lived. Worthless, except that those gray-gren spikes stretched unharvested to the horizon were silweed. The newsman, whose name was Keller, blew out his lips when he saw it. Back in the Empire a gram bag of silweed was worth half his pay-voucher. He knew now why the planet-burners had been held off.

Finally, because Keller was patient and tough and his credentials were good there came the long trip in the sealed floater, and the blindfold, and the longer hours of stumbling down and down. Sawewe was not trusting toward Terrans. Keller tripped, heard a faint splash echo. Sealmen hooted, a scanner clicked. He trudged on, hoping he would not have to swim.

At last a hard woman’s voice said, “Leave him here. You can take that off now.”

He bunked into an enormous green dimness, a maze of terraces crumbling into water, low walls, incongruous wires, a plastic console in a carved niche. Folds of rock hung from the sky. This was a very old place.

“He will be here in an hour,” said the woman, watching him. “He is on the reef.”

Her hair was gray. She wore a wetsuit but no weapons and her nose had been slit and crudely repaired. An Empire prisoner, one of the Terran traitors who had worked for Sawewe.

“Did they tell you about the contamination?”

Keller nodded.

“The Empire had no need to do that. We never had weapons there. If he talks to you will you tell lies like the others?”

“No.”

“Maybe.”

“Did I lie about Atlixco?”

Her shrug conceded nothing. Keller could see that her face had once been very different.

“That’s why he decided to see you.”

“I’m very grateful, Mamsen.”

“No titles. My name is Kut.” She hesitated. “His wife Nantli was my sister.”

She went away and Keller settled on a stone bench beside an ancient stalagmite frieze. Through the fins of a fish-god he could see two sealmen wearing headsets: a communications center. The pavement in front of him ended in a natural pool which, shimmered away into gloom, lit here and there by yellow light-shafts from the stone sky. Water chuckled, a generator keened.

Suddenly Keller was aware that a man was squatting quietly by the poolside, looking at him. When their eyes met the man smiled. Keller was immediately struck by the peaceful openness of the stranger’s face. His smile was framed in a curly black beard. A gentle pirate, Keller thought, or a minstrel. A very tall man hunkered down like a boy, holding something.

Keller rose and sauntered over. It was a curious shell.

“The carapace has two openings,” the man told him, turning the shell. “The animal inside is bimorphic, sometimes a single organism, sometimes two. The natives call it Noshingra, the come-and-go animal.” He smiled up at Keller, his eyes very clear and defenseless. “What’s your name?”

“Keller, Outplanet News. What’s yours?”

The man’s eyes softened as though Keller had made him a present and he continued to gaze at Keller in a way so receptive and innocent that the newsman, who was very tired, found himself speaking of his journey and his hopes for the coming interview. The tall man listened peacefully, touching the shell with his hands if it were a talisman that could protect them both from war and power and pain.

Presently the woman Kut came back with a mug of mate and the man unfolded himself and drifted quietly away.

“Biologist?” Keller asked. “I didn’t catch his name.”

The woman’s face went bleaker.

“Vivyan.”

The newsman’s memory hunted, jarred.

“Vivyan? But—”

She sighed. Then she jerked her head, motioning Keller to follow her. They went along behind a wall which became an open fretwork. Looking through, Keller could see the tall figure ambling toward them across a little bridge, still holding his sheel.

“Watch,” the woman told him.

The boy Vivyan had noticed the brown man first around the ski-fires of the snowy planet Horl. Vivyan noticed him particularly because he did not come to talk as most people did. Better so, Vivyan felt obscurely. He did not even learn the brown man’s name then but simply saw him among the flame-lit faces, a stocky gray-brown man textured all over except for two white owl-rings around his eyes which meant he wore goggles a lot.

Vivyan smiled at him as he did at everyone and when the singing was over he skiied out across the moonlight to the ice-forests, pausing often to touch and examine lovingly the life of this mountain world. It was not long before certain snow-creatures trusted him, and the even shyer floating animals who were Horl’s birds. The girl who had been with the brown man came to him too. Girls usually did.

Vivyan found this delightful but not remarkable. People and animals always came to him and his body knew the friendly and joyful ways to touch each kind.

People, of course, seemed to need also to talk and talk, which was a pity because their talk was mostly without meaning. Vivyan himself talked only to his special friend on Horl, the man who knew the names and hidden lives of the snow world and accepted all that Vivyan had observed. Thus should a man live, Vivyan knew, questing and learning and loving. He always remembered everything he encountered; his memory was perfect, like his eyes and ears. Wy not? It pained him to see how other humans lived in dimness and distraction and he tried to help.

“See,” he said tenderly to the brown man’s girl, “each branchlet has one drop of sap frozen on the tip of the bud. That makes a warming lens. It is called photothermal sap; without it the tree cannot grow.”

The brown man’s girl looked, but she turned out to be a strange tense girl preoccupied with hurtful things. She became preoccupied also with Vivyan’s body and he did all he could for her, very enjoyably. And then she and some of the others weren’t around any more and it was time to move on.

He didn’t expect to see the brown man again. But some while later in the cantinas of McCarthy’s World he did. McCarthy’s World was the best yet—its long bright beaches, the hidden marvels of its reefs by day and unending welcome in its nights. He had a special friend here too, a marine zoologist who lived up the coast beyond the Terran Enclave. Vivyan never went into the Enclave. His life was in the combers or drifting through the redolent cantinas, moving with the music and the friendly flow. Young people from countless Terran worlds came to McCarthy’s beaches and many short, excitable spacers on leave from the Terran base and even a few real aliens.

As always, arms and lips opened to him and he smiled patiently at the voices without hearing the words that his memory could not help recording. It was while he was being harangued by one of the spacers that Vivyan saw white owl-eyes watching from the shadows. It was the brown man. A new girl was with him now.

The spacer pulled at him, inexplicably and drunkenly outraged. Something about the natives of McCarthy’s World. Vivyan had never seen one. He longed to. His friend had told him they were very shy.

And there was something negative connected with them which he did not want to know. It was tied in some way to a large badness—the lost third planet whose name Vivyan did not recall. Once, he knew, all these three worlds, Horl and McCarthy’s and the nameless one, had been all together and all friendly until the wrong thing had occurred. Terrans were hurt. A pity. Vivyan did not probe into negative, angry things.

He smiled and nodded gently at the spacer, longing to share with him the reality of sunlight on the reef, quietness in the wind, love. The brown man was as before, remote. Not in need. Vivyan stretched and let arms pull him out to fly firekites on the murmuring beaches.

On another evening they were all linked in a circle singing one of the aliens’ songs when the brown man’s girl began to sing to him with slow intensity across the shadows. Vivyan saw she was a delicate cool girl like the fire-lace on the reefs and hoped she would come to him soon. When she sought him out next day he learned that her name was Nantli. To his delight she spoke very little. Her eyes and her red-gold body made him feel enveloped in sun-foam.

“Beautiful Vivyan.” Her hands traced him shyly. He smiled his innocent pkate’s smile. People always said that, it seemed to be their way of making him feel good. They didn’t understand that he always felt good. It was part of his way to be, natural that his long olive body was strong and that his beard curled joyfully. Why did other people hurt themselves so?

“Come to the reefs.” It was fine how eagerly she came and let him teach her to quest down among the firelace to the hidden caverns below. McCarthy’s fish circled and danced above their nests, rolling horrified eyes, so tame and ludicrous that the humans spluttered and had to surface to laugh.

Nantli dived and laughed and dived again until Vivyan became worried and hauled her out on the rocks. And later in the breast of the moonlit dunes it was very good. When she had left him he stretched and set out up the beach to the home of his friend, bearing many things of which he wished to be told the names.

McCarthy’s sun was a ghost flower rising on the misty sea when he walked back. Beautiful how it fitted, Vivyan thought, the total serenity he always felt after bis long talk in the lamplit room.

When he looked back at the beach ahead there was a gray-brown figure by the line of sea-wrack. Jarring. He could think of nothing to do but walk on forward.

The brown man was turning a sea-feather with his foot. He didn’t look up, only said quietly, “Strange pattern. What’s it called?”

Reassured, Vivyan squatted down to trace the sea-feather’s veins. “It’s a gorgonia, I think. A colongy of animals in a common tissue, a coenchyme. This one came from somewhere else, a spore from the ships maybe.”

“Another pattern.” The brown man frowned, looking out to sea. “I’m interested in patterns. Like on Horl you were doing birds then, wasn’t it? With that xenoecologist wallah around the mountain. And my girl went with you, on Horl. And you checked in with your friendly ecologist and my girl and a couple of our group turned up missing. Somebody came for them. Only it wasn’t anybody we know and nobody’s heard of them since.”

He looked at Vivian.

“And here you’re into marine biology. And there’s this marine-life wallah down the line you have long sessions with. And Nantli’s got interested in you. A pattern. How does the pattern go, Vivyan? Does Nantli disappear too? I wouldn’t like that. Not Nantli.”

Vivyan kept turning the sea-feather, wailing for the sea-wind to carry away the harshness in the brown man’s voice. After a moment he looked up and smiled. “What’s your name?”

Their eyes met really close then and something began happening inside Vivyan. The brown man’s face was changing too, as if they were both under water.

“Vivyan,” the brown man isaid with fearful intensity, “Vivyan?”

He pronounced it wrong, like Feefyane. Their eyes locked together and a hurt started lunging behind Vivyan’s eyes.

“Vivyan!” the brown man insisted in a horrible tearing voice. “Oh, no. You—” And then everything was perfectly still until he whispered, “I think... I’ve been looking for you... Vivyan.”

Vivyan’s whole head was jerking, he tore his eyes down from the white-ringed glare. “Who are you?” he stammered. “What’s your name?”

The brown man put two hard fingers under Vivyan’s jaw and turned his face up.

“Look at me. Think of Zilpan, Vivyan. Tlaara, Tlaara-tzunca... little Vivyan, don’t you know my name?”

Vivyan gave a raw cry and lunged up clumsily at this small dangerous man. Then he was running into the sea, hurling himself across the shallows to the green depths where no one could follow. He stroke with all his strength, not looking back until he was in the thunders of the reef.

When the anger and hurtfulness had been cleaned away he made for a coralhead far out where he rested and dived and ate a conch and some sweet wet seahares and drowsed in the foam. He saw many calming things, and when the sun set he went back to shore. It was in his mind that he should go again to visit his friend, but warm voices called him and he let himself be drawn to where huge arthrostraca were being roasted in seaweed. He had never seen the brown man in this place, and soon he began to grin again and eat vastly of the tender shellfish in the silvery silweed smoke.

But there was an undercurrent here too, a strainedness. People were restless, talking quick and low-voiced, looking past each other’s shoulders. Was something unpleasant building, cramping the air?

Vivyan recalled sadly that he had noticed such feelings before. Certainly he must go soon to visit his friend. He hoped it was not becoming time to move on from this place too. He wolfed the delicious clams, soothing himself with the names of peaceful things, Tethys, Alcyonaria, Coniatities, Coccolobis, Nantli.

But Nantli was not a sea-creature, she was the brown man’s girl and suddenly she was here in the silsmoke by herself, coming to him smiling and still. All at once he felt better. Maybe the badness had gone now, he thought, stroking her hair. They went out together.

When they reached their place in the dune he felt the tension under her stillness.

“You wouldn’t hurt us, would you Vivyan?” She held his sides, peering at his face. The stress inside her was disgusting to feel. He tried to help her, to let his calm flow into her. Her talking was like claws. Something about his friend. Patiently he recounted to her some of his new knowledge of the reef world.

“But about us,” she persisted. “You didn’t talk with him about us, about Cox?”

He stroked her breast, automatically registering the news that the brown man’s name was Cox. Wrongness. He concentrated on the beautiful flow of his palms on ner body. Nantli, Nantli. If only he could ease this frenzy that was eating at her. His body guided him and presently she quieted and let him mold them together, let the life rhythm rise in peace. When it had crested and spent itself he stood up into the moonlight, pointing his beard at the sea.

“No, you go,” she smiled. “I’m sleepy.”

He touched her gratefully and went down to the silver water. As he dived he heard her call.

Beyond the surf he turned and began to swim along the coast. It was better this way; no one could bother him here as they had on the beach. His friend lived in a small cove, beyond the far point; to swim would mean only taking more tune and the tide was running with him toward the setting moon. It drew him strongly, but not more strongly than his desire for the peace that only the long quiet talk would bring.

In the rhythm of his swimming he mused. Always there had been a friend for him, as the brown man—Cox?—had said. But that was good, that was necessary. How else could he understand a new place? On Horl there had been his friend on the mountain, and before that in another part of Horl where the mines were he had known a man who told him about the folding of mountains and the alien relics at which so many people came to wonder. That had been interesting but somehow troubled; he had not stayed long. And before that on the stations there had been the friends who taught him the names of stars and the large ways of suns. And before that, on the ships... so many lives to learn, such a universe of marvels to remember. His arms rose and thrust tirelessly, carried on the moon tide. He was just feeling the long swells off the point when the strange heads rose around him.

At first Vivyan thought they were McCarthy’s seals, or a kind of dugong. Then a streaming crest came up alongside and he saw moonlight on intelligent eyes and knew at once what they were: the natives of McCarthy’s World.

He wasn’t in the least frightened, only intensely curious. The moon was so bright he could see wet mottlings on the the stranger’s pelt, like a seal pup. It touched his arm with webbed fingers, pointing to the reef. They wanted him to go there. But he couldn’t, not now. He shook his head regretfully, trying to tell them he would come back when he had talked with his friend.

The sealman pointed again, and the others came closer. Then he saw they had weapons. A kind of spring-load spear. As they closed in Vivyan shot downward with all his power. It would have carried him far from any Terran but the sealmen were easily before him in the glimmering darkness, herding him back.

It was not in his nature to fight. He surfaced and swam with them, debating what to do. Was it possible that it was intended for him to bring this too to his friend? But that did not seem fair, when he was already so burdened.

He swam mechanically, watching the strangers’ eyes film and clear. They seemed to have transparent inner lids like certain fish which could focus either in water or air. Their eyes were huge, too; undoubtedly they were nocturnal.

“N’ko, n’ko!” The leader hooted, the first sound they had made. They were motioning him to dive. He did so and found himself being pulled under the reef. Just as his lungs began to knot he saw, incredibly, a bright light ahead. The burst up into a cavern booming with sea-sound. He gulped air, staring with delight at a lantern on a ledge. All doubts vanished, he was glad he had come.

The webbed ones were scrambling out around him. Bipeds no taller than his waist, with lobed and crested heads. When they tugged his arms he bent and let them blindfold him before they led him into a tunnel. What an adventure to tell his friend!

The tunnel was dripping and musty and the way was hard to his feet. Coral. Presently he had to go under water again, still blindfolded. When they came out the air was dry and warmer and when he stumbled he felt crumbling limestone shelves. His sealmen hooted, were answered. Suddenly he was jostled and turned and they were taking his blindfold off, in a crowded place where several passageways met.

Before him stood three much larger sealmen. To Vivyan’s intense surprise they were holding weapons of a type which he knew for forbidden. He was just looking at these when the scent of the girl Nantli pulled his head around. How could she be here? He smiled uncertainly and then he saw the white eyes of the man Cox. The adventure was going bad.

“All right.” Cox spoke to the sealmen who had brought him and they pulled at Vivyan.

“Strip down.”

Wondering, he did so and felt an instrument sliding on the base of his spine.

“See,” said Nantli’s voice. “A scar, I told you.”

The brown man made a grunt like a sob and came and grasped Vivyan by the shoulders.

“Vivyan,” he said thickly in the strange way. “Where are you from?”

“Alpha Centauri Four,” Vivyan told him, automatically remembering the garden city, his parents. The memory felt queer, thin. He saw the big sealmen gazing expressionlessly, cradling their weapons.

“No, before that.” Cox’s grasp tightened. “Think, Vivyan. Where were you born?”

Vivyan’s head began to hurt unpardonably. He squinted down through the pain, wondering how he could get away.

“They’ve done something to him, I told you,” Nantli said.

“In God’s name, try.” Cox shook him. “Your real home! Your home, Vivyan. Remember Zilpan mountain? Remember—remember your black pony? Remember Tlaara? Have you forgotten your mother Tlaara who sent you away when, the revolt started, to keep you safe?”

The pain was terrible now. “Alpha Centauri Four,” he whimpered.

“Stop, Cox,” Nantli cried.

“Not Alpha!” Cox shook him savagely, his white eyes glaring. “Atlixco! Can a prince of Atlixco forget so easily?”

“Please stop it, please.” Nantli begged. But Vivyan had realized he must listen very carefully in spite of the pain. Atlixco was the bad place, the world he didn’t think about ordinarily. This was not ordinary. His friend would want him to listen.

“The scar,” Cox breathed through his teeh, made a kind of dreadful chuckle. “I have one too. They’ve tried to make you look like an ordinary Terran. Don’t you remember that little deformity you were so proud of, Vivyan? Alpha Centauri! You’re twenty generations of inbred Atlixco, Vivyan, born with a curly, hairy, tail. Remember?”

Vivyan cringed helplessly under the angry voice. Nantli pushed forward.

“What did they tell you about Atlixco, Vivyan?” she asked gently.

A painful shutter seemed to grate in Vivyan’s head.

“Butchers... murderers.... All dead,” he whispered.

Nantli pried at the brown man’s hands. “Alpha Centauri, he grew up believing it all. A good Terran upbringing. Let him be, there isn’t time.”

“All dead?” Cox demanded. “Look at me, Vivyan. You know me. Who am I?”

“Cox,” Vivyan gasped. “I must tell—”

A hard hand slashed across his face, he went down on one knee.

“Tell!” Cox roared. “You traitorous crotchlouse! Little Prince Vivyan, the Empire spy. You’re the bloody answer to what happened to us on Horl, aren’t you? And if we hadn’t caught you tonight—”

A kick sent him sprawling at the sealmen’s feet. They hooted and stamped. Everyone was yelling, Nantli screaming, “Cox! It’s not his fault, they’ve messed up his mind, you can see that—” until Cox’s bellow cut them all off.

He walked over to Vivyan and took him by the hair, scowling down into his face. It never occurred to Vivyan to use his strength against the terrifying little man.

“I should kill you,” Cox said quietly. “Maybe I will. But maybe first we have a use for little Vivyan.” He straightened up releasing Vivyan. “If I can bear the sight. All those years,” he said in a harsh hurting voice. “Thank God at least the kid is safe... Terran filth. Take him to Doc.”

He went out abruptly with the three big sealmen.

The pain in Vivyan’s head quieted as he followed Nantli through green flaking tunnels to a large dim place. Seal people were lying everywhere, on ledges and piles of seaweed. Vivyan saw a small face bubbling at him over its mother’s side. He smiled eagerly and then he noticed that there was something wrong with it. With all of them.

“Their skins,” he said. An old Terran stood up.

“Hull-scrapers from the Enclave,” the man said. “Poisons ’em.”

“This is Vivyan, Doc,” said Nantli. “He doesn’t know who he is or anything.”

“Who does?” grunted the doctor. Vivyan studied him, wondering if this could possibly be his new friend. He felt horribly shaken. Maybe this man was to prepare him to go on to a new place?

“Lie down,” the doctor told him. Vivyan felt the flash of an injector. Suddenly he was very frightened. There was a danger he’d been warned against, a thing that was not allowed. If this man was not a friend he had done something very wrong. How had this happened? He was trapped. Bad.

But then he remembered that there was some way to be all right, something his friends had fixed in case of trouble. He must relax. Peacefulness was the key. He lay quietly breathing the wet cave air, not looking or listening. But it was hard to be peaceful here. Sealmen were corning through, hooting at the sick ones on the seaweed who roused themselves and hooted back. Shouting, stamping, more hooting.

Something seemed to be happening. A sealman shook a laser at the doctor, laughing in a wild yowling way. The doctor grunted, doing things to the seal-baby. Vivyan felt dizzy and unclean. In a moment he would leave this place.

But white-ringed eyes were over him. Cox.

“Now. Talk. How much have you passed your contact here?”

Vivyan could only stare, the words meant nothing. Nantli’s face appeared, saying gently, “Don’t be frightened, Vivyan. Just tell us. You did talk to your friend about me, didn’t you?”

The shutter-thing in Vivyan’s brain seemed to be sliding, melting.

“Oh yes.” His lips felt floppy.

“That’s right. And Captain Palcay, did you talk about him?”

“Pal, Palcay?” Vivyan mumbled. The brown man made an angry noise.

“The spacer you were with at Flor’s, Vivyan, the one who got so drunk. Did you tell your friend about that?”

Vivyan could not follow her clearly but at the words “tell your friend” he nodded his head, yes. Cox snarled.

“And have you told him you’ve seen Cox here?”

Vivyan felt a sudden jar inside him as though he had missed a step. The brown man—had he ever? This was very peculiar. Frightening. He turned his head to meet the pale ringed eyes.

“Cox?”

“Not Cox!” the brown man said furiously. “Cancoxtlan. Cancoxtlan! Remember yourself, Vivyan of Atlixco, son of Tlaara.”

“My mother was raped and butchered by the rebels,” Vivyan heard his voice saying in a weird flat tone. The words meant only pain. “They burned my father alive and all my family. The shrikes ate their bodies. My pony too,” he began to sob. “Butchers. Traitors. You’re hurting me, it hurts—”

The brown face watched him, suddenly still. Then Cox said heavily, “Yes. Princes get killed. Even good kind princes who weren’t responsible, only blind. They get killed too... I couldn’t make them see, Vivyan. At the end I couldn’t even get to them in tune.”

“We were so happy,” Vivyan wept, “we were peaceful and beautiful.”

“You were five years old,” said Cox. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you what we’d done to the Atlixcans? The real Atlixcans? Two centuries of happiness for Terran princes, two centuries of slavery—the debt got paid, Vivyan.”

A sealman ran up uttering barking cries. Cox turned to him.

“Oh, God, they’re going ahead,” Nantli exclaimed. “Cox—”

“All the way,” Cox said. He turned back and gripped Vivyan’s head. “They lied to you, can you understand? We were wrong. We were the butchers. The Empire, us. We’re fighting it now, Vivyan. You’ve got to come with us. You must. You owe it, Prince of Atlixco. We can use you in place, in their spy net—”

One of the big sealmen had come up and grabbed Cox’s shoulder. Vivyan heard Nantli saying something and suddenly the white eyes had left him, they were all gone. Other sealmen and Terrans ran through, but no one bothered him.

He lay with his head whirling and hurting, wondering if it had been all right. His lips seemed to have spoken by themselves, as they did when he was with his friend. Was it all right? He must get out of here as soon as he could stand up.

He drowsed a little and then more sealmen were all around him, hooting, groaning, smelling of burnt flesh and blood. A body bumped him. It was a Terran in a wetsuit oozing blood. The man slumped down, yelling, “Hey Doc, you gloomy sod, we got the goddamn transmitters! You bloody pervert, Doc!” he shouted. “The Tlixcan ships are coming in, how about that you gutless mother?”

“They’ll burn the planet,” the doctor told him. “Cut that off so you can fry clean.”

He hauled the man away. Vivyan saw that the passage was now clear. Next minute he was out and running back the way he had come.

His memory was perfect, although he felt a little ill. All he had to do was let his feet carry him while his eyes and ears kept watch. Twice he ducked into side tunnels while sealmen went by with their wounded. Then he was at the place where many tunnels met, where they had removed his blindfold trusting to the maze.

Vivyan simply closed his eyes and let his body guide him back. Turn, rough place to the left, bend his head, cool air on his right side, the natural mechanism within him unspooled its perfect tape. He only had to hide once more. These passages seemed to be unused.

Presently he was through the inner pool and into the last dark tunnel undersea. This was easier yet, he could hear the water churning under the reef and he ran stooped in the darkness, longing to be out in the clean, away from this peaceless place. Surely they would take him away now to a new place, after he had given all these things to his friend?

He reached the cavern. No latern now. That didn’t matter, Vivyan knew exactly where to dive, how to come up under the reef. He kicked powerfully down into blackness, thinking he must be sure to remember everything. This must be a secret way to the caves, it would be a wonderful surprise.

In a moment he had surfaced and marked the horizon and the stars. There seemed to be fires on the shore. He began to swim eagerly, feeling marvelous now. This would be his best yet. If only the name Cancoxtlan didn’t trouble his head... but he would forget about that, he felt sure. Peace flooded him as he saw the far light of his friend’s house by the cove.

“No one noticed he had gone,” the woman told the newsman. “The fight for the Enclave had started and Cancoxtlan was there. When the Terrans broke in through the reef tunnel we managed to blow the section between the hospital and the armory. They got the wounded, of course, and Doctor Vose. And Nantli. But it had no effect.” Her scarred face was impassive. “Cox wouldn’t surrender to save Nantli, she wouldn’t have wanted that. The raid diverted one of their core units.”

They watched Vivyan’s tall figure moving aimlessly along the terrace, glancing in the water. Seen from behind he looked older, stooped under the striking black hair.

“The spacers were with us, did you know that?” The woman was suddenly animated. “Oh yes, even the officers. When the crusier from Atlixco showed up they all came in.” She grimaced. “Three days before, we intercepted a Space Command signal about indoctrination to combat, quotes, apathy.... Empires grow old and foolish, even the revolt on Horl didn’t wake them up. We’ll have Horl next.”

She checked herself then. They saw Vivyan glance round quickly and turn toward the wall.

“We found him wandering, afterwards,” the woman went on quietly. “Cancoxtlan’s brother, after all... he never understood what he’d done. We think now he was basically retarded, in addition to the conditioning they’d put him through. Nothing reached. You’ve heard of idiot savants? He’s very gentle and that smile, one doesn’t realize.”

The newsman remembered his own gut response to the gentle stranger and shuddered. Exquisite tool of empire. A deadly child.

Vivyan had halted before a peculiar carving in an alcove. The newsman frowned. A Terran eagle, here? The boy-man seemed to be whispering to it.

“He carved it himself. Cox let him keep it. What does it matter now?” The woman bowed her bleak head. “Listen.”

By a trick in the wall structure the newsman could hear perfectly what Vivyan was whispering.

“...he says his name is Keller of Outplanet News. He didn’t tell his first name. He says he came from Aldebaran Sector on the Komarov to interview the traitor Prince Cancoxtlan. He is about one meter eighty, medium build, gray hair and eyes. He has a scar on his right ear lobe and his timer is forty-five units ahead of planet time...”