 PART IV. OF CENTRY OF THE SKY. When Clary came home from Barshwat, M. Bilcyra said nothing more about her suspicions, but greeted him affectionately and prepared a special supper for him. Afterward he wondered if making love to an earth girl could be as pleasant. He wondered how it would be to make love to Han Vollard. The days passed and he forgot about Han Vollard. After much persuasion he agreed to give a series of concerts at Zrig, but only on condition that Rini played with him and had one solo each performance. He was embarrassed at having so far outstripped his teacher, but Rini seemed unperturbed. My technique's still better than yours will ever be," he said. It's this new style of yours that gets him. I understand it's spreading. It's reached as far as Barshwat. You should see the angry letters Iric writes about it," Rini chuckled. And he hasn't the least idea it started right here in his own home village that he's always sneered at for being so backward. Clary smiled and clapped the boy on the neck. If it made Rini feel better to think Clary had a new style rather than that Clary played better than he did, Clary had no objection. Clary was offered the post of head librarian at Zrig, but M.Belsaira didn't want to leave Katant, and when he thought about it he really didn't want to either. So he refused the job and didn't bother mentioning the matter to headquarters. As he grew more sure of himself and his position he allowed his wealth to show. He and M.Belsaira moved to a larger dome. Instead of sending to Zrig or even Barshwat for the furnishings, they hired local talent. Tevan, the carpenter, made them some exquisite blackwood pieces inlaid with opalescent stone that everyone said was the equal of anything in Barshwat. A talented nephew of Hankses painted glowing murals. M.Belsaira's mother wove rugs and draperies in muted water-tones. The dome became the district show-place. Clary realized he now had a position to keep up, but sometimes it annoyed him when perfect strangers asked to see the place. He was invited to run against Malasaur as headman, but declined. He didn't want to be brought into undue prominence. Trouble was, as he became popular, he also aroused animosity. There were the girls who felt he should have married them instead of M.Belsaira, and their mothers and subsequent husbands. A lot of people resented Clary because they felt he should have decorated his house differently, dressed differently, spent his money differently. A man can live ignored by everyone, he discovered, but he can't be liked by some without finding himself disliked by others. Matters came to a head in his fourth spring there. He thought of it as spring, although on D'morlin the seasons had no separate identities. They blended into one another, without its ever being very hot or very cold, very rainy or very dry. The reason he called this time of the year spring was that it seemed closest to perfection. It was less perfect that year, because it was then that Rene's brother, Ira, came back from Barshwat after a six years absence. He was very much the city-man, far more so than anyone Clary had seen in Barshwat itself. His tunics were shorter than his fellow villagers, and his cloaks iridesced restlessly from one vivid color to another. He wore a great deal of jewelry and perfume, neither of the best quality, and the toes of his boots were divided. Clary described this in detail to M.Belsaira the night Irak put in his first appearance at the fur-bush. You should have seen the little horror. That's the way city-men dress, and Belsaira told him. It's fashionable. But dear, I've been to Barshwat. You don't have an eye for clothes. You never notice when I put on anything new, and I think it's unfair to take a dislike to Irak just because you don't care for the way he dresses. It's more than that, Belsaira. And yet how could he explain to her what he couldn't quite understand himself, that Irak was vain, stupid, hostile, hence dangerous? I swear to you, Balt, M.Belsaira said demurely, that whatever there was between me and Irak it all ended six years ago. Clary gave a start, and then held back a smile. I believe you, dear, and he kissed her nose. Irak held forth in the fur-bush every evening of his stay in Khatand. He had grievances, and he aired them generously. He hated everything—the government, taxes, modern music, and earthmen—whom he seemed to consider in some way responsible for the modern music, or at least its popularization. Barbarians slept completely through my concerts. But people are always falling asleep during concerts, Irak? And how could you expect Barbarians to appreciate good music? What do you care for earthmen's opinions as long as your own people like your music? Irak hesitated. But the earthmen have taken up the new kind of music. They stay awake during that. And a lot of people seem to think that whatever strange is good, so whatever the earthmen like eventually becomes fashionable. Perhaps he wiggled his ears. Fashions change. Well, who's ready to have his mug refilled? But the earthmen will keep on setting the fashions, Irak snarled. Many people think the earthmen know everything, just because they're aloof and have sky-cars. Well, Matasor said, the sky-cars certainly prove they know something we don't. Better stick to your music, boy. The smoky little bar parlor resounded with laughter, and Irak's face turned a nasty red. They don't know anything about music, and they don't know everything about machinery. We might surprise them yet. A friend of mine knows Guhak, the fellow who invented that new break for the track car a few years ago. We know about that break, peak observed. It stops a car so good the chains are twice as late nowadays as they used to be, and you couldn't strictly say they were ever on time. Everybody laughed again. Irak quivered with anger. Guhak has invented a car that doesn't need to go on tracks. It can run whenever it wants, wherever it wants, and one car will be able to go faster than three hacks teams. That I'll believe when I've ridden on it, Kukwal grinned. Even the chains aren't that fast. The others bit their thumbs and nodded, except Clary, who was rigidly keeping out of the conversation. He forced Squuffer down his tightening throat and said nothing. You're backward clods, Irak raged. If the earthmen can have cars that go through the sky without tracks, why shouldn't we have cars that run on the ground the same way? Have we tried? It doesn't seem to me it's worth the effort, Malasur said. Our cars can get us where we're going as fast as we need to go already. Why bother? Whatever an earthman can do, we can do better. Soon, Guhak will get his ground cars on the road. After that, it'll only be a short step to cars that go in the sky. Then we'll find out where the earthmen come from and why they're here. We'll be as powerful as they are. We'll get rid of them and their rotten music. The bar-parter was silent, except for the clink as Clary put his mug on the table. If he held it an instant longer, he was afraid he would spill it. One or two of the men looked at him uneasily, out of the corners of their eyes. Malasur spoke, In the first place, you don't know how powerful earthmen are. In the second place, who wants to be powerful anyway? The earthmen haven't done us any harm, and they're a good thing for the economy. My cousin Inzrig tells me one of them comes into his store a couple of months ago and bought out his whole stock, every bolt of cloth, paid twice what it was worth, too. Live and let live, I say." The others murmured restlessly. "'If there are ways of doing things better,' Rene suggested, "'why shouldn't we have them, too?' His eyes darted quickly toward Clary's and then as quickly away. I returned his head and looked directly at Clary for the first time. "'You're a silent stranger. What do you think of the earthmen?' Clary picked up his drink, finished the squuffer, and set the mug back down on the table. "'I don't know much about earthmen. An ugly-looking lot, true, but there doesn't seem to be any harm in them. Of course, living in Barshwat, you probably know a lot more about them than I do. "'I doubt that,' Eirik said. "'You have an aunt in Barshwat.'" Clary allowed himself to look surprised before he said courteously, "'I'm glad you find me and my family so interesting. Yes, it so happens I do have an aunt there, but she's rather advanced in years and doesn't enjoy hanging around the starship field the way the children do." Eirik's face darkened. "'What's your aunt's name?' This time everyone looked surprised. The question itself was not too out of the way, but his tone decidedly was. "'She's a great grandmother,' Clary said. "'She would be too old for you. And I assure you it's difficult to part her from her money. I've tried.'" Everybody laughed. Eirik was furious. "'I understand that your aunt lives very close to earth headquarters.' We must have followed him on one or more of his trips to Barshwat,' Clary realized. "'If the earthmen chose to establish themselves in the best residential section of Barshwat, then probably my aunt does live near them. She's not the type to leave a comfortable dome simply because foreigners move into the neighborhood. "'Perhaps she has more than neighborhood in common with earthmen.'" The room was suddenly very quiet again. "'She does sometimes go to sleep at concerts,' Clary conceded. Eirik opened his mouth. Malisor held up a hand. "'Before you say anything more against the earthmen, Eirik,' he advised. "'You ought to find out more about them. Their cars move faster and higher than ours. Maybe their catapults do too.'" No one looked at Clary. Malisor had averted a showdown he knew, but this was the beginning of the end. He had a suspicion who was responsible. Innocently perhaps, perhaps not. Love does not always imply trust. And when he told M.Belsyvera what had happened in the furbush, she too couldn't meet his eye. "'That, Eirik,' she said, I never liked him. "'I wonder how he knows so much about me.'" "'Rainy writes him very often,' she babbled. "'He must have told him you were responsible for the new music. That would make him hate you. Rene loves to irritate Eirik because he's always been jealous of him. But the whole thing's silly. How could you possibly make over the world's music, even if you were?' Her voice ran down. "'An earthman,' he finished coldly. "'I suppose you went around telling everybody your suspicions, and Rene wrote that to Eirik, too.' "'I didn't tell anybody,' she protested indignantly. "'Not a soul,' she met his eye. "'Except mother, of course.' "'Your mother? You might as well have published it in the district bulletin. You have no right to speak of mother like that, even if it's true,' M.Belsyvera began to sob. I had to tell her bolt. She kept asking why there weren't any young ones. "'You could have told her to mind her own business,' he snapped, or he could catch himself. Five years and he still made slips. It was her business. On D'Morlin it was a woman's duty not only to have children, but to see that her children had children and their children had children. He made himself look grave and self-approachful. "'I have a confession to make, Belser. I should have told you when I married you. I can't have children.' "'I never heard of such a thing. Everybody has children, unless they're not married, of course,' she said primely. It's an affliction sent by the gods.' "'The gods would never do anything like that,' she declared confidently. "'How primitive she is,' he thought, and then angrily, how provincial I am. He had never stopped to think about it, but he knew of no married couple who had not at least one offspring. He and M. Belsaira were the only ones. It hadn't occurred to the XT specialists that a species whose biological assets were roughly the same might have different handicaps. Apparently there was no such thing as sterility on D'Morlin.' "'Are you really an earthman, then, Balt?' she asked timidly. She had spread the news around, ruined him, ruined the work the earth had been doing, perhaps ruined even more than that, and she hadn't even been sure to begin with. But it was too late for recriminations. He had to salvage what little he could. Time, maybe. That was all.' "'Are you going to tell?' he asked.' She hesitated. "'Do you swear you don't mean my people any harm?' "'I swear,' he said. "'Then I swear not to tell,' she said. He kissed her. After all, he thought, it isn't a lie. I don't mean her people any harm. Besides, sooner or later her mother will get it out of her, so she won't be keeping her part of the bargain. The next time he went to Barshwat, he knew he would be followed. He tried to shake the follower or followers off, but he couldn't be sure he'd succeeded. He found the Colonel looking out of the window with an expression of quiet melancholy. If there had been any earth women on D'morlin, Clary would have thought he'd been crossed in love. "'Things are taking a bad turn, Clary,' Blinn said. There have been certain manifestations of hostility from the natives. Get any hint of it?' "'No,' Clary said, taking his usual chair. Not a whisper. The Colonel sat down heavily. "'Katans, too, out of the way. You should have moved you to a city once you got the feel of things. But you do go to Zurig occasionally. Haven't you heard anything there?' "'Only that an earth man bought out a cloth merchant's entire stock at one blow.'" Blinn grinned weakly. "'Maybe it was rather an ostentatious thing to do. But the fabric's beautiful stuff.'" He rubbed his nose reflectively. "'Fact is, I've been hearing disturbing rumors. They say some fellow named Kuhak invented a ground-car that can run without tracks.'" Clary almost said Kuhak but caught himself in time. "'Nonsense,' he scoffed. "'The more I know of them, the more surprised I am they ever got as far as inventing the chains.'" "'But they did. No getting around that. That is what earth's afraid of, you know,' he reminded Clary unnecessarily. "'This is why you were sent here. And if the rumor's true, it looks as if you weren't needed at all. I got the bad news by myself.' "'But why should it be that upsetting?' Clary tried to laugh. "'You look as if it were the end of the world.'" The Colonel gave him a long, level look. "'I consider that remark in the worst of taste.'" Clary stopped laughing. "'Remember,' the Colonel reminded Clary, again unnecessarily. This is the way we ourselves got started." "'But the Demerlanti don't have to move in the same direction. They may look human and even act human, but they don't think human.'" The Colonel clasped his hands behind his head and sighed. "'There have been articles against us in the paper. And whenever we go out in the street, people, natives, I mean, make nasty remarks and sometimes even faces at us. And what have we done to them?' Carefully minded our own business, avoided all cultural contacts, except for trade purposes, paid them much more than the going price for their goods, and gave them one or two tips on health and sanitation. As a result, they're beginning to hate us. "'But if you send a report, it'll bring the staff ship in ahead of time. Maybe the whole thing will blow over. This way you're not giving it a chance to.'" The Colonel chewed his lip. "'Well,' he finally said, I might as well wait and see if the rumors verified before I report it.' Clary went back to Gatund. The months went by. The friendly atmosphere in the furbush had vanished, and not as many people stopped and chatted when they came to the library. But there wasn't any actual incident until the evening Clary was walking home after late night at the library and a stone struck him between the shoulder blades. "'Dirty earthman!' a voice called, and several pairs of feet scuttled off. He didn't mention the incident to Ambalsaira, not wanting to worry her, but the next morning he went to the village dome and informed Malasaur. "'Very bad,' the headman muttered. "'Very bad. Whoever did it will be punished.'" "'You won't be able to catch them,' Clary said, and there would be no point in punishment anyway. Look at it like this, Mal. Suppose I had been an earthman. Don't you see how dangerous this would be, not for me, but for you? Can't you imagine the inevitable results?' Malasaur nodded. "'The earthman's catapults do go farther and faster, then?' "'And maybe deeper,' Clary agreed, pretending not to notice that it had been a question. By the way Iric talked, I couldn't help drifting over to the starfield when I was in Barshwat and watching an earthship come. You've no idea how incredibly powerful a thing it was. Anyone who has power in one direction is likely to have it in another. I wonder if the earthman always had power!' Malasaur mused. "'If they weren't like us once. If, given time, we couldn't be like them.'" Clary didn't say anything. Malasaur's pale face turned gray. "'You mean we might not be given time?' Clary wiggled his ears. "'Who can tell what's in the mind of an earthman?' Malasaur looked directly at him. "'Why do you tell me this?' "'Because I'm one of you,' Clary said stoutly. Malasaur shook his head. "'You're not. You never can be. But thanks for the warning, stranger!' "'Never identify,' the robo-coach had said. "'You'll never be able to become the character you're trying to play.'" He was talking only of the stage, Clary told himself angrily, as he left the dome. Reports trickled in from the cities. Earthmen have been stoned twice in Zrig, more often than that in Barshwat. Clary got an agitated letter from his aunt. "'Watch out for yourself, nephew,' she warned. "'They may take it into their heads to attack all foreigners. Remember, come what may, you'll always have a home with me.'" Then everything broke open. A group of natives attacked earth headquarters in Barshwat. The earthmen sprayed them with a gas which made the attackers lose consciousness without harming them. That is, it was intended to work that way. However, one of them hid his head on the wall when he fell and he died the next day. The people of Vintnor were aroused. They milled angrily around earth headquarters carrying banners that said, "'Go home, earth murderers!' The headmen of Barshwat called upon Colonel Blinn. The Colonel courteously refused to withdraw his men from the planet. "'I'm under orders, old chap,' he said, "'but I'll report your request back to earth.'" "'It isn't a request,' the headman said." Colonel Blinn smiled and said, "'We'll treat it as one, shall we?' Clary knew what happened because the headmen gave a report of the conversation to the Barshwat Prime Bulletin. He also got a letter from his aunt describing the incident as vividly as if she had been there herself. The Barshwat Prime ran a series of increasingly intemperate editorials calling upon all the nations of D'Morland to unite against the earthmen. It was spirit that counted it said rather than technology. Malisor wrote a letter asking how superior spiritual values could compete against presumably superior weapons. He read it aloud in the purple furbush before he sent it to the editor of the Barshwat Prime, which was lucky because the Prime never printed it, although the Dardanek Bulletin ran a copy. However, the Barshwat Prime did print letters from editors in different countries. All of them pledged firm moral support. It also printed a letter from an anonymous correspondent in Katund, which alleged that there was an earth spy in that village, disguised as a D'Morland, and it was this spy who was personally responsible for the decline of musical taste on the whole planet. But the Bulletin seemed to consider this merely as an emanation from the lunatic fringe. It would be as easy to disguise a hicks as one of us as an earthman, and although we could certainly not minimize the importance of music in our culture, it is hardly likely that earth would be attempting to achieve fell purposes through undermining that art. No, the decline in musical taste represents part of the general decline in public morality which has left us an easy prey. I recwent back to Barshwat to help Riot, but he left the Katund convinced that Clary was, if not actually an earthman, at least a traitor. When he came into the furbush everybody got up and left. Nobody patronized the branch library any more. The constant readers went to the main library at Zrig, and since the trip was expensive their books were usually overdue and they had to pay substantial fines. Sometimes they never returned the books at all, and messengers had to be sent from the city. Finally, the chief librarian at Zrig issued a regulation that only those resident within the city limits could take books out. All others in the district had to read them on the premises. The Katundi blamed that on Clary, too. One night they broke into his library and stole all the best sellers. A couple of days later he came home and found all the windows of his dome broken. Best sellers are often disappointing, he thought. He found a note from M. Belsaira saying, I have gone home to mother. He knew she expected him to go after her, but he wrote her a note saying he was going to see his aunt, who was terrified by all the riots, and put it in the mail, so she wouldn't get it too soon. He packed his kit with his most important possessions and took his Eulerin under his arm. When he reached Barshwat, he had some difficulty getting through the crowd in front of earth headquarters. All the windows were boarded up and the garbage hadn't been collected for a considerable length of time. Just as he reached the door, a familiar voice called, That's the earth spy! Don't be silly, another voice said. He's obviously one of us. But a traitor! cried another voice. Otherwise, why go in there? Stones splattered against the door, followed by impartial cries of, Spy! Traitor! Fool! The last seemingly addressed to each other, rather than Clary. Blinn was haggard and anxious looking. I've been wondering when you'd show up. Afraid maybe they'd got you. I'm all right," Clary interrupted. But what are we going to do? Blinn laughed without stopping for a full minute. Do! I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to sit tight and wait for the staff ship. Two months later the staff ship came. Blinn radioed for the general and the secretary to come in a closed ground car. But why? The general's voice crackled plaintively over the comm unit. I thought we didn't want them to know about ground cars. They know," Blinn said crisply. They've got one of their own now, maybe more. Crazy-looking thing, but it works. You'll see it outside headquarters when you get here. The letters on the side mean, earth men go. Form imperative, impolite, emphatic. Han Vollard strode into headquarters, eyes ablaze. Why didn't you send a report before trouble started? How could you allow an emergency situation to happen? Neither Blinn nor Cary said anything. Very distressing thing, Spano declared. Maybe it hit them so suddenly they didn't know it was building. You and Blinn get over to the ship right away for deep probing, Han Vollard ordered, as both began to speak at once. It's the only way I'll be able to get a coherent report. After the results came through, her anger was cold, searing unwomanly. You knew, a year ago, that things were beginning to go wrong, and you didn't even mention it on the tapes. I could have both of you broken for this. If only that were all there was to worry about, Clary sighed wistfully. She whirled on him. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The sudden loss of control in that dark Amazon was more threatening than anything that had happened yet. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, he said. It's the damnerlanti I feel sorry for. You feel sorry for them because you identify with them. That makes you sorry for yourself. She misunderstood his motives as she misunderstood everything he did or said, but their rapport wasn't at stake now. What are you going to do? He forced himself to ask. The decision will have to be made on earth. Unless you mean what's going to happen to you, that's simple. You'll go back with us. Blinn will stay here, pending orders. The Colonel saluted. But I thought I was going to stay here ten years, said Clary. Five to ten years, she corrected. Apparently, five was enough. She cut herself short. What's the matter with me? She suddenly exclaimed, I've been letting myself think in the same woolly way you do. Suddenly, almost frighteningly, she smiled. Clary, you did the job we set you out to do. You did it better than we expected. What threw me off was that we set you out to act as an observer. Instead, you became a catalyst. She seized his hand and rung it warmly. Clary, I apologize. You've done a splendid job. You wrenched his hand from her grasp. I didn't act as a catalyst. It would have happened anyway. His voice rang in his own horrified ears, a voice begging for reassurance. And she was a woman. She had maternal instincts. She reassured him. It would have happened anyway, she said soothingly, but it would have dragged on for years, cost the taxpayers billions. And now, he whispered, still unable to believe that the thing had really happened. Will you dispose of everyone on de Morland? She smiled and threw herself into a chair, her body limp and tired and contented looking. Come, Clary, we're not that ruthless. Some kind of quarantine will probably be worked out. We just made the whole thing sound more drastic to appeal to your patriotism. The general beamed. So, everything has worked out all right, after all? I knew it would. I always had the utmost confidence in you, Clary. She was busily planning. We'll arrange some kind of heroic accident. I have it. You died saving your aunt from the flames. What flames? The flames of the fire that burned down her house. She died of the local equivalent of shock. Emble Syrah will be rich, so she'll want to believe the story. She'll be able to find herself another husband, she'll have children. She'll be better off, Clary. He looked at her, his misery welling out of his eyes. Oh, I don't mean it that way, man. All I meant was that you're a human being, she's not. I'm not saying one is better than the other. I'm saying they're different. But I felt less different with her, with the Damorlanti than with anyone on earth, he said. She walked across to the window and looked out at the Damorlanti rioting ineptly below. Most of us are happier in our dream world, she said at last, but society couldn't function if we were allowed to stay there. The Moorland wasn't a dream world. But it will be, she said. End of Part 4. Part 5. Of Century of the Sky by Evelyn E. Smith. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Century of the Sky. Part 5. And so Clary went back to earth on the staff ship. Once its luxury would have given him pleasure. Now the cabin with its taps that gave out plain water, salt water, mineral water, and assorted cordials held no charm. Neither did the self-contained, tri-dye projector receiver. The only reason he stayed there most of the time was to avoid the others. However, he couldn't avoid turning up in the dining-salon for meals. The greater his sorrow, the greater his appetite. One day after lunch, Hans stopped him forcibly grasping his arm. I've got to talk to you. Afterward you can go off and sulk if you want to. But we're going to make planet fall in a few days. It's necessary to discuss your future now." I have no future, he said. Come this way, Clary. That's an order. Obediently, he followed her into a lounge that was a dazzle of color and splendor. There were eight pseudo-windows, each framing a pseudo-scene of a different planet at a different season. The harsh barren summer of Mars, the cold bleak winter of Cussud, the gentle green spring of Earth. It must be a park, he knew. In no other place on Earth could spring be manifest, and yet it gave him a little pang to look at it. He tore his eyes away to turn them toward the others, and then up at the domed ceiling, fashioned to resemble a blue sky with clouds drifting across it. A domed ceiling. And he thought of the domes of D'Morland, light years away among the stars. I'm afraid the decor's a bit gaudy. Han apologized. We didn't check the decorator's past performance until it was too late. But it's comfortable, anyway. Try one of these chairs. They accommodate themselves to the form. She threw herself on a chaise long that accommodated itself perfectly to her form. Clary wasn't wearing her usual opulent secretarial garb, but something simple of clinging stuff that occasionally went transparent. So we're back to the first movement, Clary thought wearily. He made sure that the chair opposite her was old-style before he lowered himself into it. Where's the general? I thought he always sat in on these conferences. The formalities are over now, she said, smiling up at him. Besides, she added, if he doesn't take a nap after lunch it wreaks havoc with his digestion. Afraid to be alone with me, Clary? She asked huskily. Yes, he said, rising. As a matter of fact, I am, now that you mention it. She sat up. Sit down. He sat down. She didn't recline again. Her dress went opaque, but her voice grew silken once more. Then Clary, I don't want you to think we're cheating you out of anything we promised. Even though you stayed only five years, you're going to have it all. You'll have UE status. What do I want that for? Doesn't it mean anything to you any more, Clary? It used to mean a lot, though you denied it even to yourself. Did it? He forced his thoughts back through time. I suppose it did. But I've changed. You know, those five years on D'Morlin seemed like... Like a lifetime, she finished. Couldn't we dispense with the cliches? On D'Morlin the things I said were fresh and interesting. On D'Morlin I was somebody pretty special. I'd rather be a big second-hand fish in a small primitive puddle. Isn't there some way? No way at all, Clary. The puddle's drying up. We've got a nice aquarium ready for you. Why not dive in gracefully? It was my puddle, he said. I belonged. She closed her eyes and sang back into the chair, which arched to meet the arch of her body. Lying down she didn't look nearly as tall. All right, let's give the whole opera one final run-through. Nobody cared for you on Earth. On D'Morlin your friends liked you, your wife loved you. On Earth you never felt welcome and or appreciated. On D'Morlin you felt both welcome and appreciated. On Earth he was stung out of his apathy. That's right. I'm not saying I'm unique, only that I fitted. How about trying to look at it from another point of view? Did it ever occur to you that, if the Damorlanti accepted you, so might your own people, if you approached them in the same way? Did you ever try to make friends on Earth? But on Earth I shouldn't have to. They were my own people. Aha! She cried gleefully. I mean, well, General Spano said it would be wrong to stoop to hypocrisy to win the friendship of my own people, that if I did, their friendship wouldn't be worth anything. You can't buy friendship. You bought your Eulerin. Does it play any the worse because you paid for it? Does it mean any the less to you? What you're getting at, he said cautiously, is that that's the way to make friends? By being a hypocrite? Was it a sham with the Damorlanti? He had to stop for a moment before he could bring out an answer. It started out as a sham, but I really got to like them afterward. And it was real. So then you weren't a hypocrite, Clary. Her voice grew more resonant. Open yourself to people. Show them that you want to be friends. Basically everybody shy and timid inside. Like you, he said, casting an ironical glance at her dress. That's still the outside, she smiled, making no move to adjust it. Come to me, Clary, and don't go off on sidetracks. The people of earth are your own people. Your loyalties have always been with them. She had almost had him convinced, but this he couldn't swallow. If my loyalties had been with earth, I would have sent back reports of the trouble. But I didn't. I tried to stop it from happening. There just wasn't anything I could do. The deep probe never lies, Clary. You didn't really try to stop it. She paused and then went on deliberately. Because you could have stopped it, you know, quite easily. There was nothing I could have done, he stated, nothing. Remember the first time the staff ship came? Just before you left for Barshwat, the woman told you she suspected you were an earth man. You were afraid for her. Do you remember that? He nodded. Yes, he remembered how terrified he had been then, how relieved afterward, thinking everything was going to be all right. Luckily, he hadn't realized the truth, or he wouldn't have had those extra years of happiness. Han went on remorselessly. And you thought, if only something would happen to you en route, she would be safe. We might guess why it had happened, but we couldn't know for sure. We'd have had to start all over again. He could move, couldn't speak, couldn't think. She spaced each word carefully, sweetly. You were quite right. Because you were the only man on earth, Clary, who had the particular physical requirements and the particular kind of mental instability that we needed for the job. You just said you weren't unique, Clary. You were too modest. You are. If you'd killed yourself then, your death would have served a purpose. You would have died a hero. Kill yourself now, and you die a coward. But at least I'd be dead. I wouldn't have to live with a coward for the rest of my life. You're not a coward, Clary, she said. You wouldn't admit it, but you are and always have been a patriot. To you, earth came first. Things as simple as that. She had deprobed his mind. She must know his true feelings. There was no gain saying that. He could know only his surface thoughts. She knew what lay behind and beneath. And he reminded himself, at the end the Damorlanti were actually turning on him. Try to think of the whole thing as a course in charm that you've passed with flying colors, she said. It seems rather an expensive way of making me charming. He couldn't help saying, with the last struggle of something that was dying in him, something alien that perhaps should never have been there in the first place. Whole civilizations have been sacrificed for nothing at all. This one will not be sacrificed, only quarantined. But its contribution could be of cosmic magnitude. Now what are you trying to sell me? He asked, drearily. Are you saying that the essence of the Damorlet civilization is going to live on in me, that I carry its heritage inside myself, and so I have a tremendous responsibility to the Damorlanti on my shoulders? She laughed. You're really getting sharp, Clary. If you stayed in the service you could be one of our best operatives. But you're not going to stay in the service. This is a higher destiny. Here, catch. She tossed him something that glittered as it arched through the air. It was a UE-ident cube made out in his name. He had only seen them at a distance, and now he was holding one warm and gleaming in his hand, with his name and his face in it. His face. And yet not his face. That's what you're going to look like when the Plastasurgeons get through, she explained. They'll pigment your eyes and skin and hair, and they may be able to add a few inches to your height, though I think you actually have grown a little. Something about the air, or more likely, the food. M.B. Syrah thought I was handsome the way I was. M.B. Syrah. But M.B. Syrah was light years away. M.B. Syrah was part of a fading dream, and he was awakening now to reality. Look at the cube. Look at your status symbol. He looked at it and kept on looking at it. He couldn't tear his eyes away. He was hypnotized by the golden glitter of it, the golden meaning of it. Musician, he said aloud. Musician. A dream word. A magic word. He hadn't thought of it for years, but this he didn't have to reach back for. Once touched on, it surged over him, complete with its memories. But she had made it meaningless too. He managed to tear a laugh out of his throat. Spano said I'd be able to buy the Musician's Guild when I had my million and a half. Apparently you've been able to bargain them down. This cost nothing except the standard initiation fee, she told him. You came by it honestly, through your music, nothing else, and you have more than a million and a half credits, Clary, nearly ten times that, with more pouring in every day. She touched a boss on the side of her chair and a white light hazed around them. I think we're close enough to earth to get some of the high-power tridies, she said, although we can't expect perfect reception. Blurrly a show formed, a variety show. At first it seemed the sort of thing that he remembered dimly, more interesting now because it had almost the character of novelty. Then an ornate young man appeared and it took deeper significance. He was carrying a musical instrument, refined, machined, carefully pitched. He played music on the Eulerin while a trio sang insipid terrestrial words. Love is a guiding star, they called it, but that didn't matter. It was one of the tunes Clary had taped. She touched another boss. The Blurr reformed to a symphony orchestra, playing as background music to a soloist with another Eulerin. That's your first Eulerin concerto, she said. There are three more. Another program was beginning, an account of the tribulations of an unfortunate Plutonian family. It faded in to the strains of Eulerin music to a tune of Clary's. If they could have endured it to the end, she told him, it would have faded out the same way. Every time they play it, she said, somewhere on earth a cash register rings for you, and this one's a daily program. He watched Transfixed and Transfigured as program after program featured his music, his Eulerin. Not just on earth, Han said, but on all the civilized planets, even in a few of the more sophisticated primitive ones. You're a famous man, Clary. Earth is waiting for you, literally and figuratively. There'll be Eulerin orchestras to greet you at the field. We send a relay ahead to let them know you are coming. But his mind was slowly alerting itself. And where am I supposed to be coming from, then, since they're never to hear about DeMorlin? They've been told that you retired to a lonely asteroid to work, to perfect your art and its instrument. Of course they couldn't divulge the truth about DeMorlin. It seems a little unfair, though, he said. Why unfair? After all, Clary, the music is yours. You took DeMorlin's melodies and made them into music. You took their Eulerin and made it into a musical instrument. They're all yours, every note and bladder of them. She reached over and put out a hand to him. And I'm yours too, Clary, if you want me," she breathed. There was obviously no doubt in her mind that he did want her. And in his, too, one did reject the Secretary of Space. He took the chilly hand in his. The skin was odd in texture. I'm imagining things, he thought. It's a long time since I touched a human female's hand. I must be a very important musician, he said aloud. She nodded, not pretending to misunderstand. Yes, important enough to rate the original and not a reasonable facsimile. You're a lucky man, Clary. And then she smiled up at him. I can be warm and tender, I assure you. It took him a moment to realize what she meant. For a moment he had that pang again. She would never be the same as M. Belsaira, but a man needed change to develop. He was still troubled, though. I want to do something. Even an empty gesture's better than none at all. The last few months I started putting together a longer thing. I guess it could be a symphony. When I finish it, I'd like to call it the de Morlet symphony. Why not, she said. He thought she was humoring him, but she added, They'll think you just picked the name from an astrogation chart. In a final burst of irony he dedicated the de Morlet symphony to the human race, but as usual he was misunderstood. In fact one of the music critics, all of whom were enthusiastic over the new work, wrote, At last we have a great musician who is also a great humanist. Eventually, Clary forgot his original intent and came to believe it himself. The End of Century of the Sky by Evelyn E. Smith