Starman's Quest

by Robert Silverberg

  _Chapter Five_

  He reached the end of the walkway and paused, a little stunned, staringat the incredible immensity of the city spread out before him.

  "It's a big place," he said. "I've never been in a city this big."

  "You were born here," Rat reminded him.

  Alan laughed. "But I only stayed here a week or two at most. And thatwas three hundred years ago. The city's probably twice as big now as itwas then. It----"

  "Hey, you! Move on!" a harsh voice from behind snapped suddenly.

  "What's that?"

  Alan whirled and saw a tall, bored-looking man in a silver-gray uniformwith gleaming luminescent bands across the sleeves, standing on a raisedplatform above the road.

  "You can't just stand here and block the walkway," the tall man said.His words were heavily accented, thickly guttural; Alan had a littletrouble understanding them. The ship's language never changed; that ofEarth kept constantly evolving. "Get back in the Enclave where youbelong, or get moving, but don't stand here or I'll punch your ticketfor you."

  Alan took a couple of steps forward. "Just hold on a minute. Who----"

  "He's a policeman, Alan," Rat said softly. "Don't make trouble. Do as hesays."

  Throttling his sudden anger, Alan nodded curtly at the officer andstepped off the walkway. He was an outsider here, and knew he couldn'texpect the sort of warm fellowship that existed aboard the ship.

  This was a city. A crowded, uncomfortable Earther city. These were thepeople who were left behind, who never saw the stars in naked glory.They weren't going to be particularly polite.

  Alan found himself at an intersection, and wondered where he was tobegin. He had some vague idea of finding Steve in this city as easily ashe might aboard ship--just check the A Deck roster, then the B Deck, andso on until he found him. But cities weren't quite that neatlyorganized, Alan realized.

  A long broad street ran parallel to the river. It didn't seem verypromising: lined with office buildings and warehouses. At right anglesto it, though, stretching out in front of him, was a colorful, crowdedavenue that appeared to be a major artery of the city. He glancedtentatively in both directions, waited till a lull came in the steadyprocession of tiny bullet-shaped automobiles flashing by, and hastilyjogged across the waterfront street and started down the avenue.

  Maybe there was some kind of register of population at the City Hall.If Steve still lived in this city, he could look him up that way. Ifnot----

  Facing him were two rows of immense buildings, one on each side of thestreet. Above every three blocks there was a lacy aerial passagewayconnecting a building on one side of the street with one on the other,high above the ground. Alan looked up and saw black dots--they lookedlike ants, but they were people--making their way across theflexi-bridges at dizzying altitudes.

  The streets were crowded. Busy stern-faced people raced madly from oneplace to the next; Alan was accustomed to the more orderly and peacefullife of a starship, and found himself getting jostled by passersby fromboth directions.

  He was surprised to find the streets full of peddlers, weary-lookinglittle men trundling along behind small slow-moving self-poweredmonocars full of vegetables and other produce. Every few moments onewould stop and hawk his wares. As Alan started hesitantly up theendless-seeming street, one of the venders stopped virtually in front ofhim and looked at him imploringly. He was a small untidy-looking manwith a dirty face and a red scar streaking his left cheek.

  "Hey, boy." He spoke in a soft slurred voice. "Hey, boy. Got somethingnice for you here."

  Alan looked at him, puzzled. The vender reached into his cart and pulledout a long yellow fruit with a small, thick green stem at one end. "Goon, boy. Treat yourself to some of these. Guild-grown, fresh-ripened,best there are. Half a credit for this one." He held it almost underAlan's nose. "Go on," he said insistently.

  Alan fished in his pocket and produced one of the half-credit pieces hehad been given in the Enclave commissary. For all he knew it was thecustom of this city for a new arrival to buy the first thing offered tohim by a vender; in any event, he was hungry, and it seemed that thiswas the easiest way to get rid of the little man. He held out the coin.

  "Here. I'll take it."

  The vender handed the piece of fruit over and Alan accepted it. Hestudied it, wondering what he was supposed to do now. It had a thick,tough rind that didn't seem at all appetizing.

  The vender chuckled. "What's the matter, boy? Never seen a bananabefore? Or ain't you hungry?" The little man's derisive face was thrustup almost against Alan's chin.

  He backed away a step or two. "Banana? Oh, sure."

  He put the end of the banana in his mouth and was just about to take abite when a savage burst of laughter cut him off.

  "Looka him!" the vender cried. "Stupid spacer don't even know how to eata banana! Looka! Looka!"

  Alan took the fruit out of his mouth unbitten and stareduncomprehendingly at it. He felt uneasy; nothing in his past experiencehad prepared him for deliberate hostility on the part of other people.Aboard ship, you did your job and went your way; you didn't force yourpresence on other people or poke fun at them maliciously. It was theonly way to live when you had to spend your whole lifetime with the sameshipload of men and women.

  But the little vender wasn't going away. He seemed very amused byeverything. "You--you a spacer, no?" he demanded. By now a small crowdhad paused and was watching the scene.

  Alan nodded.

  "Lemme show you how, spacer," the vender said, mockery topmost in histone. He snatched the banana back from Alan and ripped back the rindwith three rough snaps of his wrist. "Go on. Eat it this way. She tastesbetter without the peel." He laughed raucously. "Looka the spacer!"

  Someone else in the crowd said, "What's he doing in the city anyway? Hejump ship?"

  "Yeah? Why ain't he in the Enclave like all the rest of them?"

  Alan looked from one to the other with a troubled expression on hisface. He didn't want to touch off any serious incident, but he wasdetermined not to let these Earthers push him around, either. He ignoredthe ring of hostile faces about him and calmly bit into the banana. Theunfamiliar taste pleased him. Despite hoots and catcalls from the crowdhe finished it.

  "Now the spacer knows how to eat a banana," the vender commented acidly."Here, spacer. Have another."

  "I don't want another."

  "Huh? No good? Earth fruits are _too_ good for you, starman. You betterlearn that fast."

  "Let's get out of here," Rat said quietly.

  It was sensible advice. These people were just baiting him like a bunchof hounds ringing a hare. He flexed his shoulder in a signal that meanthe agreed with Rat's suggestion.

  "Have another banana," the vender repeated obstinately.

  Alan looked around at the crowd. "I said I didn't want another banana,and I _don't_ want one. Now get out of my way!"

  No one moved. The vender and his monocar blocked the path.

  "Get out of my way, I said." Alan balled the slimy banana peel up in hishand and rammed it suddenly into the vender's face. "There. Chew on thata while."

  He shouldered his way past the spluttering fruit vender, and beforeanyone in the crowd could say or do anything he was halfway down thestreet, walking briskly. He lost himself in the passing stream ofpedestrians. It was easy to do, despite the conspicuous orange-and-blueof his _Valhalla_ uniform. There were so many people.

  He went on for two unmolested blocks, walking quickly without lookingback. Finally he decided he was safe. He glanced up at Rat. The littleextra-terrestrial was sitting patiently astride his shoulder, deep, asusual, in some mysterious thoughts of his own.

  "Rat?"

  "What, Alan?"

  "Why'd they do that? Why did those people act that way? I was a perfectstranger. They had no business making trouble for me."

  "That's precisely it--you _were_ a complete stranger. They don't loveyou for it. You're 300 years old and still 17 at the same time. Theycan't understand that. Th
ese people don't like starmen very much. Thepeople in this city aren't ever going to see the stars, Alan. Stars arejust faint specks of light that peek through the city haze at night.They're terribly, terribly jealous of you--and this is the way they showit."

  "Jealous? But why? If they only knew what a starman's life is like, withthe Contraction and all! If they could only see what it is to leave yourhome and never be able to go back----"

  "They can't see it, Alan. All they can see is that you have the starsand they don't. They resent it."

  Alan shrugged. "Let them go to space, then, if they don't like it here.No one's stopping them."

  They walked on silently for a while. Alan continued to revolve theincident in his mind. He realized he had a lot to learn about people,particularly Earther people. He could handle himself pretty well aboardship, but down on Earth he was a rank greenhorn and he'd have to stepcarefully.

  He looked gloomily at the maze of streets before him and half-wished hehad stayed in the Enclave, where starmen belonged. But somewhere outahead of him was Steve. And somewhere, too, he might find the answer tothe big problem, that of finding the hyperspace drive.

  But it was a tall order. And he had no idea where to begin. First thingto do, he thought, is find someone halfway friendly-looking and ask ifthere's a central directory of citizens. Track down Steve, if possible.Time's running out. The _Valhalla_ pulls out in a couple of days.

  There were plenty of passersby--but they all looked like the kind thatwould keep on moving without answering his question. He stopped.

  "_Come right in here!_" a cold metallic voice rasped, almost back of hisear. Startled, Alan looked leftward and saw a gleaming multiform robotstanding in front of what looked like a shop of some sort.

  "Come right in here!" the robot repeated, a little less forcefully nowthat it had caught Alan's attention. "One credit can win you ten; fivecan get you a hundred. Right in here, friend."

  Alan stepped closer and peered inside. Through the dim dark blue windowhe could vaguely make out long rows of tables, with men seated beforeeach one. From inside came the hard sound of another robot voice,calling off an endless string of numbers.

  "Don't just stand there staring, friend," the robot urged. "Go right onthrough the door."

  Alan nudged Rat quizzically. "What is it?"

  "I'm a stranger here too. But I'd guess it was some sort of gamblingplace."

  Alan jingled the few coins he had in his pocket. "If we had time I'dlike to stop off. But----"

  "Go ahead, friend, go ahead," the robot crooned, his metallic tonessomehow managing to sound almost human in their urgent pleading. "Go onin. One credit can win you ten. Five can get you a hundred."

  "Some other time," Alan said.

  "But, friend--one credit can win you----"

  "I know."

  "--ten," the robot continued, undismayed. "Five can get you a hundred."By this time the robot had edged out into the street, blocking Alan'spath.

  "Are we going to have trouble with you too? It looks like everybody inthis city is trying to sell something."

  The robot pointed invitingly toward the door. "Why not try it?" itcooed. "Simplest game ever devised. Everybody wins! Go on in, friend."

  Alan frowned impatiently. He was getting angrier and angrier at therobot's unceasing sales pitch. Aboard ship, no one coaxed you to doanything; if it was an assigned job, you did it without arguing, and ifyou were on free time you were your own master.

  "I don't want to play your stupid game!"

  The robot's blank stainless vanadium face showed no display of feelingwhatsoever. "That's not the right attitude, friend. _Everyone_ plays thegame."

  Ignoring him, Alan started to walk ahead, but the robot skipped lithelyaround to block him. "Won't you go in just once?"

  "Look," Alan said. "I'm a free citizen and I don't want to be subjectedto this sort of stuff. Now get out of my way and leave me alone before Itake a can opener to you."

  "That's not the right attitude. I'm just asking you as a friend----"

  "And I'm answering you as one. Let me go!"

  "Calm down," Rat whispered.

  "They've got no business putting a machine out here to bother peoplelike this," Alan said hotly. He took a few more steps and the robotplucked at his sleeve.

  "Is that a final refusal?" A trace of incredulity crept into the robot'svoice. "Everyone plays the game, you know. It's unconsumerlike torefuse. It's uncitylike. It's bad business. It's unrotational. It's----"

  Exasperated, Alan pushed the robot out of the way--hard. The metalcreature went over surprisingly easily, and thudded to the pavement witha dull clanking sound.

  "Are you sure----" the robot began, and then the voice was replaced bythe humming sound of an internal clashing of unaligned gears.

  "I guess I broke it." Alan looked down at the supine robot. "But itwasn't my fault. It wouldn't let me pass."

  "We'd better move on," Rat said. But it was too late. A burly man in ablack cloak threw open the door of the gambling parlor and confrontedAlan.

  "What sort of stuff is this, fellow? What have you done to our servo?"

  "That thing wouldn't let me pass. It caught hold of me and tried to dragme inside your place."

  "So what? That's what he's for. Robohucksters are perfectly legal."Disbelief stood out on the man's face. "You mean you don't want to goin?"

  "That has nothing to do with it. Even if I _did_ want to go in, Iwouldn't--not after the way your robot tried to push me."

  "Watch out, kid. Don't make trouble. That's unrotational talk. You canget in trouble. Come on inside and have a game or two, and I'll forgetthe whole thing. I won't even bill you for repairs on my servo."

  "Bill me? I ought to sue you for obstructing the streets! And I just gotthrough telling your robot that I didn't plan to waste any time gamblingat your place."

  The other's lips curled into a half-sneer, half-grin. "Why not?"

  "My business," Alan said stubbornly. "Leave me alone." He stalkedangrily away, inwardly raging at this Earther city where things likethis could happen.

  "Don't ever let me catch you around here again!" the parlor man shoutedafter him. Alan lost himself once again in the crowd, but not before hecaught the final words: "You filthy spacer!"

  _Filthy spacer._ Alan winced. Again the blind, unreasoning hatred of theunhappy starmen. The Earthers were jealous of something they certainlywouldn't want if they could experience the suffering involved.

  Suddenly, he realized he was very tired.

  He had been walking over an hour, and he was not used to it. The_Valhalla_ was a big ship, but you could go from end to end in less thanan hour, and very rarely did you stay on your feet under full grav forlong as an hour. Working grav was .93 Earth-normal, and that odd .07%made quite a difference. Alan glanced down at his boots, mentallypicturing his sagging arches.

  He had to find someone who could give him a clue toward Steve. For allhe knew, one of the men he had brushed against that day was Steve--aSteve grown older and unrecognizable in what had been, to Alan, a fewshort weeks.

  Around the corner he saw a park--just a tiny patch of greenery, two orthree stunted trees and a bench, but it was a genuine park. It lookedalmost forlorn surrounded by the giant skyscrapers.

  There was a man on the bench--the first relaxed-looking man Alan hadseen in the city so far. He was about thirty or thirty-five, dressed ina baggy green business suit with tarnished brass studs. His face waspleasantly ugly--nose a little too long, cheeks hollow, chin a bit tooapparent. And he was smiling. He looked friendly.

  "Excuse me, sir," Alan said, sitting down next to him. "I'm a strangerhere. I wonder if you----"

  Suddenly a familiar voice shouted, "There he is!"

  Alan turned and saw the little fruit vender pointing accusingly at him.Behind him were three men in the silver-gray police uniforms. "That'sthe man who wouldn't buy from me. He's an unrotationist! Damn Spacer!"

  One of the policemen stepped forward--a broad man with
a wide slab of aface, red, like raw meat. "This man has placed some serious chargesagainst you. Let's see your work card."

  "I'm a starman. I don't have a work card."

  "Even worse. We'd better take you down for questioning. You starmen comein here and try to----"

  "Just a minute, officer." The warm mellow voice belonged to the smilingman on the bench. "This boy doesn't mean any trouble. I can vouch forhim myself."

  "And who are you? Let's see _your_ card!"

  Still smiling, the man reached into a pocket and drew forth his wallet.He handed a card over to the policeman--and Alan noticed that a bluefive-credit note went along with the card.

  The policeman made a great show of studying the card and succeeded inpocketing the bill with the same effortless sleight-of-hand that theother had used in handing it over.

  "Max Hawkes, eh? That you? Free status?"

  The man named Hawkes nodded.

  "And this Spacer's a pal of yours?"

  "We're very good friends."

  "Umm. Okay. I'll leave him in your custody. But see to it that hedoesn't get into any more jams."

  The policeman turned away, signalling to his companions. Thefruit vender stared vindictively at Alan for a moment, but saw he wouldhave no revenge. He, too, left.

  Alan was alone with his unknown benefactor.