Montray’s face worked, and for a moment he turned away. When he looked at Larry again, his face was controlled and grim, his voice level. “You’d better tell me about it.”
Larry began the story, trying to make light of the roughing up he had had, but his father interrupted, harshly, “You could have been killed! You know that, don’t you?”
“”I wasn’t, though. And really, Dad, it’s an incredible piece of luck, meeting Kennard and everything. It was worth a little trouble—Dad, what’s wrong, what is it?”
Montray said, “I made a mistake ever letting you go into the town alone. I know that, now. That’s all over. It could have been very serious. Larry, this is an order: You are not to leave the Terran Zone again—not at any time, not under any conditions.”
Startled, outraged, hardly believing, Larry stared at his father. “You can’t mean that, Dad!”
“But I do mean it.”
“But you haven’t even been listening to me, then! Nothing like that would happen again! Kennard said I had the freedom of the city, and his father invited me to come again—”
“I heard you perfectly well,” his father cut in, “but you’ve had your orders, Larry, and I don’t intend to discuss it any further. You are not to leave the Terran Zone again— at any time. No”— he raised his hand as Larry began to protest—“not another word, not one. Go and wash your face and put something on those cuts and get to bed. Get going!”
Larry opened his mouth and, slowly, shut it again. It wasn’t the slightest use; his father wasn’t listening to him. Fuming, outraged, he stalked toward his room.
It wasn’t like Dad to treat him this way—like a little kid to be ordered around! Usually, Dad was reasonable. While he washed his bruised face and painted his skinned knuckles with antiseptic, he stormed silently inside. Dad couldn’t mean it—not now, not after the trouble he’d had getting accepted!
Finally he decided to let it ride until morning. Dad had been worried about him; maybe when he’d had a chance to think it over, he’d listen to reason. Larry went to bed, still thinking over, with excitement, the new friend he’d made and the opportunity this opened up—the chance to see the real Darkover, not the world of the spaceport and the tourists but the strange, highly colored world that lay alien and beautiful beyond them.
Dad would have to see it his way!
But he didn’t. When Larry tackled him again, over the breakfast table, Montray’s face was dark and forbidding, and would have intimidated anyone less determined than Larry.
“I said I didn’t even want to discuss it. You’ve had your orders, and that’s all there is to it.”
Larry bit his lip, scowling furiously into his plate. Finally, flaming with indignation, he raised his head and stared defiantly at his father. “I’m not taking that, sir.”
Montray frowned again. “What did you say?” Larry felt a queer, uneasy sensation under his belt. He had never openly defied his father since he was a toddler of four or five. But he persisted:
“Dad, I don’t want to be disrespectful, but you can’t treat me that way. I’m not a kid, and when you say something like that, I have a right, at least, to an explanation.”
“You’ll do as you’re told, or else you’ll—” Montray checked himself. At last he laid down his fork and leaned forward, his chin on his hands, his eyes angry. But all he said was, “Fair enough, then. Here’s the story. Suppose, last night, you’d been badly hurt, or killed?”
“But I—”
“Let me finish. One silly kid goes exploring, and it could create an interplanetary incident. If you’d gotten into real trouble, Larry, we would have had to use all the power and prestige of the Terran Empire just to get you out of it again. If we had to do that—especially if we had to use force and Terran weapons—we’d lose all the good will and tolerance that it’s taken us years to build up. It would all have to be done over again. Sure, if it came to a fight, we’d win. But we want to avoid incidents, not win fights which cost us more than we gain by winning them. Do you honestly think it’s worth it?” Larry hesitated. “Well, do you?”
“I suppose not, when you put it that way,” Larry said slowly. Mentally he was comparing this with what Kennard had said: how the Darkovans resented the use of the whole power of Terra, just to “pry into” what should be a private quarrel between one troublemaker and the people he had offended. It would also mean that if Larry had been harmed, the Terrans would have held all of Darkover responsible, not just the few young toughs who had actually committed the incident.
He was trying to think how he could explain this to his father, but Montray left him no time. “That’s the situation. No more exploring on your own. And no arguments, if you don’t mind; I don’t intend to discuss it any further with you. That’s just the way it’s got to be.” He pushed away his plate and stood up. “I’ve got work to do.”
Larry sat on at the empty breakfast table, a dull and simmering resentment burning through him. So Kennard had been rieht after all. It seemed that all of Darkover and all of the Terran Empire had to be dragged into it.
His head throbbed and he could hardly see out of his black eye, and his knuckles were so swollen that he found it hard to handle a fork. He decided not to go to school, and spent most of the morning lying on his bed, bitterly resentful. This meant the end of his adventure. What else was there? The dull world of Quarters and spaceport, identical with the world he’d left on Earth. He might as well have stayed there!
He got out the books he had promised Kennard. So he couldn’t even keep that promise! And Kennard would think his word wasn’t worth anything. How could he get word to his Darkovan friend about the punishment imposed on him? Kennard, and Kennard’s father, had shown him friendship and hospitality—and he couldn’t even keep his word!
Well, they’d started out by not thinking much of the Terrans—and now their opinion would just be confirmed that Terrans weren’t to be trusted.
The day dragged by. The next day he went back to school, turning aside queries about his black eye with some offhand story of falling over a chair in the darkness. But the day after, as the hour approached when he had promised the Altons to visit them, his conflict grew and grew.
Damn it, he’d promised.
His father, looking into his glowering face at breakfast, had said briefly, “I’m sorry, Larry. This isn’t pleasant for me—to deny you something you want so much. Some day, when you’re older, perhaps you’ll understand why I have to do this. Until then, I’m afraid you’ll just have to accept my judgment.”
He thinks he’ll cut off my interest in Darkover just by forbidding me to go outside the Terran Zone, Larry thought resentfully. He doesn’t know anything about it, really—or about me!
The day wore away, slowly. He considered, and rejected, the idea of a final appeal to his father. Wade Montray seldom gave an order, but when he did, he never rescinded it, and Larry could tell his father’s mind was made up on this subject.
But it wasn’t fair—and it wasn’t right, or just! Painfully, Larry faced a decision that all youngsters face sooner or later: the knowledge that their parents are not always right—that sometimes they can be dead wrong!
Wrong or not, he thinks I ought to have to obey him anyhow! And that’s the bad thing. What else can I do?
He thought that would have to be the end of it, but the question somehow stuck, uncomfortably, with him: Well, what else can I do?
I can refuse to obey him, the thought came suddenly, as if he had never had it before.
He had never deliberately defied his father. The thought made him uncomfortable.
But this time, I’m right and he’s wrong, and if he can’t see it, I can. I made a commitment, and if I break my word, that in itself is going to make a couple of Darkovans—and important people—think that Terrans aren’t worth much.
This is one time where I’m going to have to disobey Dad. Afterward, I’ll take any punishment he wants to hand out to me. But I’m not goi
ng to break my word to Kennard and his father. I’ll explain to them why I may not be able to come again, but I won’t insult their hospitality by just disappearing and not even letting them know why I never came back.
Kennard saved me from a mauling—maybe from being killed. I promised him something he wants—some books— and I owe him that much.
He was uneasy about disobeying. But he still felt, deep down, that he was right.
If I’d been born on Darkover, he told himself, I’d be considered a man; old enough to do a man’s work, old enough to make my own decisions—and take the consequences. There comes a time in your life when you have to decide for yourself what is right and what is wrong, and stop accepting what older people say. Dad may be right as far as he knows, but he doesn’t know the whole story, and I do. And I’ve got to do what I think is right.
He wondered why he felt so sad about it. It hurt, suddenly, to realize that he’d made a decision he could never go back on. He might be punished like a child, when he got back; but suddenly he understood that he’d never feel like one again. It wasn’t just the act of disobeying his father—any kid could do that. It was that he had decided, once and for all, that he no longer was willing to let his father decide right and wrong for him. If he obeyed his father, after this, it would be because he had thought it over and decided, on a grown-up basis, that he wanted to obey him.
And it hurt. He felt a funny pain about it, but it never occurred to him to change his mind. He’d decided what he was going to do. Now he had to decide how he was going to do it.
His father had mentioned that if he, Larry, got into trouble, it might drag the whole Terran Zone into it. That was something to consider. That was fair enough. Larry wanted to be sure there was no danger of that.
Then he thought: I could be taken for a Darkovan, except for my clothes. I have been mistaken for a Darkovan by my accent. If I’m not dressed as a Terran, then I won’t get into any trouble.
And, he added to himself rather grimly, if anything does happen to me, the Terrans won’t be dragged into it. It will be my own responsibility.
Quickly, he got out of his own clothes and put on the Darkovan ones Kennard had lent him. He glanced briefly at himself in the mirror. Part of himself recognized, a little ironic awareness, that he was enjoying the masquerade. It was exciting, an adventure. The other half of his awareness was a little grim. By deliberately taking off everything that could identify himself as Terran, he was deliberately giving up his right to the protection of the Empire. Now he was on his own. He’d walk down into the city with no more protection than his two hands and his knowledge of the language could give him.
As if I were really Darkovan born, and entirely on my own!
He had halfway anticipated being stopped at the gate, but he passed through the archway without challenge, and went out into the city.
It was the hour when workmen were returning home, and the streets were crowded. He walked through them without attracting a glance, a strange breathless excitement growing under his ribs, and bursting in him. With every step, he seemed somehow to leave the person he had been, further behind. It was as if his present dress was not a masquerade, but rather as if he had simply discovered a deeper layer of himself, and was living with it. The pale cold sun hung high in the sky, casting purple shadows across the narrow streets and alleys; he found his way through the outlying reaches of the city with the instinct of a cat. He was almost sorry when he finally reached the distant quarter where the house of the Altons lay.
The nonhuman he had seen before opened the door for him, but Kennard was standing in the hallway, and Larry wondered briefly if the Darkovan boy had been waiting for him.
“You did make it,” Kennard said, with a grin of satisfaction. “Somehow I’d had the feeling you wouldn’t be able to, but when I looked this afternoon, I realized you would.”
The words were confusing; Larry tried to make sense of them, finally decided that they must be some Darkovan idiom he didn’t understand too well. He said, “I thought, for a while, that I couldn’t come,” but he left it at that.
The nonhuman moved toward him, and Larry flinched and drew away involuntarily, remembering his encounter with one in the streets. Kennard said quickly, “Don’t be afraid of the kyrri. It’s true that if strangers brush against them they give off sparks, but he won’t hurt you now he knows you. They’ve been servants to our families for generations.”
Larry allowed the nonhuman to take his cloak, looking curiously at the creature. It was erect and vaguely manlike, but covered with a pelt of long grayish fur, and it had long prehensile fingers and a face like a masked monkey. He wondered where the kyrri came from and what sort of curious relationships could exist between human and non-human. Would he ever know?
“I brought you the books I promised,” he told Kennard, and the other boy took them eagerly. “Oh, good! But I’ll look at them later. We needn’t stand here in the hall. Do you know how to play darts? Shall we have a game?”
Larry agreed with interest. Kennard showed him the game in a big downstairs room, wide and light, with translucent walls, evidently a game-room of some sort. The darts were light and perfectly balanced, feathered with crimson and green feathers from some exotic bird. Once Larry grew accustomed to their weight and balance, he found that they were well matched in the game. But they played it desultorily, Kennard breaking off now and again to leaf through the books, stare fascinated at the many photographs, and ask endless questions about star-travel.
They were in one such lull in the game when the curtained panels closing off the room swirled back and Valdir Alton came in, followed by another man—a tall Darkovan, with copper hair sweeping back from a high stern forehead marked with two wings of white hair. He wore an embroidered cloak of a curious cut. The boys broke off in their game, and Kennard, with a start of surprise, made the stranger a deep and formal bow. The newcomer glanced sharply at Larry, and, not wishing to seem rude, Larry repeated the gesture.
The man spoke some offhand phrase of polite acknowledgment, nodding pleasantly to both boys; but as his gray gaze crossed Larry’s, he started, narrowed his brows, then, turning his head to Valdir, said, “Terran?”
Valdir did not speak, but they looked at one another for a moment. The stranger nodded, crossed the room and stood in front of Larry. Slowly, as of compelled, Larry looked up at him, unable to draw his eyes away from his intense and compelling stare. He felt as if he were being weighed in the balance, sorted out, drawn out; as if the old man’s searching look went down beneath his borrowed clothes, down to the alien bones under his flesh, down to his deepest thoughts and memories. It was like being hypnotized. He found himself suddenly shivering, and then, suddenly, he could look away again, and the man was smiling down at him, and the strange gray eyes were kind.
He said to Valdir, speaking past the boys, “So this is why you brought me here, Valdir? Don’t worry; I have sons of my own. Introduce me to your friend, Kennard.”
Kennard said “The lord Lorill Hastur, one of the Elders of the Council.”
Larry had heard the name from his father, spoken with exasperation but a certain degree of respect. He thought, I hope my being here doesn’t mean trouble, after all, and for a brief instant almost regretted coming; then let it pass. The tension in the room slackened indefinably. Valdir picked up one of the books Larry had brought Kennard, turning the pages with interest; Lorill Hastur came and looked over his shoulder, then turned away and began examining the darts. He drew back his arm and tossed one accurately into the target. Valdir put the book down and looked up at Larry.
“I was sure that you would be able to come today.”
“I wanted to. But I may not be able to come again,” Larry said.
Valdir’s eyes were narrowed, curious: “Too dangerous?”
“No,” said Larry, “that doesn’t bother me. It’s that my father would rather I didn’t.” He stopped; he didn’t want to discuss his father, or seem to complain about his
father’s unreasonableness. That was something between his father and himself, not to be shared with outsiders. The conflict touched him again with sadness. He liked Kennard so much better than any of the friends he had made in Quarters, and yet this friendship must be given up almost before it had a chance to be explored. He took up one of the darts and turned it, end for end, in his hand; then flung it at the target board, missing his aim. Lorill Hastur turned and faced him again.
“How is it that you were willing to risk trouble and even punishment to come today, Larry?”
It did not occur to Larry to wonder—not until much later—how the Elder had known his name, or the inner conflict that had forced a choice on him. Just then it seemed natural that this old man with the searching eyes knew everything about him. But he still wasn’t ready to sound disloyal.
“I didn’t have a chance to make him understand. He would have realized why I had to come.”
“And breaking your word would have been an insult,” Lorill Hastur said gravely. “It is part of the code of a man to make his own choices.”
He smiled at the boys, and turned, without formal leave-taking. Valdir took a step to follow him, turned back to Larry.
“You are welcome here at any time.”
“Thank you, sir. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to come again. Not that I wouldn’t like to.”
Valdir smiled. “I respect your choice But I have a feeling we’ll meet again.” He followed Lorill Hastur out of the room.
Alone with Kennard, Larry found room for wonder. “How did he know so much about me?”
“The Hastur-Lord? He’s a telepath, of course. What else?” Kennard said, matter-of-factly, his face buried in a book of views taken in deep space. “What sort of camera do they use for this? I never have been able to understand how a camera works.”
And Larry, explaining the principle of sensitized film to Kennard, felt an amused, ironic surprise. Telepath, of course! And to Kennard this was the commonplace and something like a camera was exotic and strange. It was all in the point of view.
Star of Danger Page 5
