As he had expected, the machine told his perception of no device in arms or legs. Limbs can be lost in accidents, making them poor locations for tracker bugs. He was relieved when an examination of his head failed to wiggle the rod needles. He went on to explore his body.
The device was buried inside his rib cage, near the front and to the right. When he found it, he took readings on it from several directions, to pinpoint its location as finely as his not-too-precise machine would permit. Then came the crucial job: the destruction of the bug. With access to the proper Olsapern surgical equipment, the device could have simply been removed, painlessly and without leaving a scar. But Starn had no such equipment. He had to take the far less certain course of attempting to knock out the bug and leave its wreckage in place.
One of the difficulties was that he had no sample bug with which to experiment. He had to assume the device was similar in construction to other small microlek gadgets, and could be disrupted by a focused ultrasonic beam, which was the only tool at Starn's disposal that seemed remotely likely to do the job.
He had to use the beam cautiously. If the focus fell outside the bug rather than inside it, the ultrasonics could produce potentially dangerous internal injuries. He positioned the beamer with care, and triggered a three-second burst. He felt a tingle but no real pain, so the focus probably had been on target.
At any rate he had to assume that. Somewhere miles away, in some Domestic Defense installation, a point of light on a map had suddenly gone dark, he guessed. And perhaps, too, an alarm had gone off. He would have to move fast from now on.
He took his equipment into the bedroom where Cytherni was still sleeping soundly. Luckily for his purpose, she was lying on her back, and he quickly learned that her tracker bug was located similarly to his own. When he hit it with the ultrasonics she did not flinch, but stirred slightly. He quickly shoved his equipment under the bed and out of sight.
Cytherni opened her eyes and started to speak. He laid his fingers on her lips for an instant. She nodded, and he gestured the message that she should go prepare breakfast.
When she was in the kitchen Starn took his equipment to Billy's bedside. The boy didn't wake when Starn triggered the ultrasonics, which was all to the good. The longer he slept, the longer telltale conversation could be delayed.
Twenty minutes later, after a silent, hurried breakfast with Cytherni, Starn helped her place the portraits in cushioned cartons and load them into the flier. Then he carried the still-sleeping Billy aboard and bedded him comfortably on the long passenger seat. With Cytherni beside him, he sat down at the controls, turned on the engines, and lifted the craft out of its housing and into a steep, southward climb.
He didn't really expect immediate pursuit. What he was doing was far from an everyday occurrence. Whatever Olsapern defensemen were keeping vigil at this hour of the morning should, for a little while, be more puzzled than alarmed by whatever their instruments were telling them. By the time they swung into action, he hoped, he would be far to the south of the Hard Line. Then they could pursue him, but not intercept him.
As it turned out no pursuit at all materialized. Not once did another flier come within craft-radar range as Starn streaked south, high over the Hard Line and into Pack territory.
"Hey! Are we going camping?" Billy piped suddenly, waking up and staring around.
Starn turned in his seat and grinned at the boy. "Good morning, sleepy-head. We're delivering some presents."
"Oh. What happened to breakfast?"
"We brought yours along," said his mother, rising.
"Come sit up front with Daddy and I'll get it."
The boy took her place and stared out curiously. The sun was rising and he remarked knowingly, "We're going south!"
"That's right," said Starn. "We're taking presents to my mommy and daddy, and to Mommy's mommy and daddy."
Billy thought this over while Cytherni snapped his tray into the seat-rack. "Will we get to see them?" he asked.
"No. We'll drop their presents by chute."
Billy nodded thoughtfully and began eating.
"I'll put the chutes on now," said Cytherni.
"Better put one on yourself, for safety," said Starn carefully. "Unless you want to pilot while I toss them out."
"No, I'll do it." Cytherni strapped on a chute and busied herself with the packages.
"At this altitude we'd better put on helmets, too, before I open the hatch," said Starn.
"I will when I finish eating," said Billy.
Several minutes passed. "Coming up on Diston Compound in thirty seconds," Starn announced, mashing the hatch-control button.
Billy snorted as the air thinned and put on his helmet.
"Where?" he asked, craning his neck. "I want to see."
"There," Starn pointed.
Billy busied himself with the magniviewer, with which he was quite proficient, and studied the close-up appearance of his mother's home village with intense curiosity. Starn, meanwhile, was timing the drop and keeping an eye on Cytherni in the rearview mirror.
"About time now," he warned. "Be careful around that open hatch."
"O.K. Say when," Cytherni's voice sounded in his helmet phones over the roar of wind past the open hatch in front of her.
"Five seconds," replied Starn. "Two, one, now!" Cytherni pushed a carton out, and leaned forward to watch it fall, one hand grasping the edge of the opening while she needlessly shielded her goggle-protected eyes from the wind with the other.
"Chute's working fine," she reported, "Good. We're about two minutes from Foser Compound. Get the other one in position."
"Can I help?" asked Billy, stirring in his seat.
"No," said Starn tightly. "Stay where you are so you can see the Compound."
"In fact," said Starn, "I'd better strap you in to make sure you do." He leaned over and snapped the safety belt in place over the boy's middle.
"Good idea," approved Cytherni. "It's too windy back here for you, Billy."
"There's Foser Compound now, son," Starn pointed. The boy's attention was again glued on the magniviewer.
"See the river? I swam there when I was your age."
"How's the time?" demanded Cytherni.
"Eighteen seconds yet. No hurry," said Starn, hoping he did not sound as tight as he felt. "Five . . . Two, one, now!"
The second carton went through the hatch and again Cytherni leaned after it with her precarious onehanded grip.
Starn's teeth clenched as he gave the control wheel a sudden jerk. The flier rolled to the left and swerved to the right . . . and Cytherni was jerked through the hatch.
"Starn! I fell out!" Her voice yelped in his earphones.
"Your chute!" he snapped.
"It's working. I'm all right. We must have hit an air pocket! I was holding on, Starn!" she apologized. "Really I was!"
"Don't worry about it," said Starn. "I'll bring the flier down after you, and pick you up."
"No! Not here, with Billy aboard!" she objected.
"I'll try to make it quick," argued Starn.
"Absolutely no!" Cytherni ruled. "I won't permit our son to have contact with these telepaths! You know how I feel about that!"
Indeed Starn did. He felt the same way himself, to some extent. As children, he and his wife had been obliged to try to channel their very thoughts into lines approved by Pack society, and enforced by Pack telepaths. Cytherni had never adjusted to these mental restrictions, and had not been truly happy until happenstance left her among the Olsaperns, who were not only nontelepathic but detested all the Novo senses.
In Starn's judgment, a brief encounter with the disapproval of Pack telepaths might be unpleasant for Billy, but would be a challenge that might actually do the boy more good than harm. After all, Billy was over six years old, and already had a self-confidence that was not easily shaken. But Cytherni could not take that rational view—in fact, Starn had counted on her reacting in just this manner.
"Besides," she wa
s saying, "you should stay up beyond telepathic range. It's bad enough for them to learn what I know! Oh, Starn, why did I get us into this awful mess?"
"Easy, dearest!" he soothed. "It's not as awful as all that! Despite what the Olsaperns think, I don't believe a knowledge of the strength of Olsapern civilization will turn the Packs into jungle animals! A lot of Olsapern ideas about genetic history are pure rot, used to justify the Olsaperns' belief in their own superiority. The Packs aren't on the edge of a genetic collapse!"
"I hope you're right," responded Cytherni uncertainly.
"But just the same, you and Billy stay up there!"
"All right," agreed Starn. "It's too late to hope to keep this little jaunt a secret from Higgins, anyway. I'll circle till you're down safely. The Olsapern defensemen can come later to pick you up. Is that O.K.?"
"Yes."
"One thing, Cythie," Starn said hesitantly. "Whatever happens, remember that I love you . . . very much."
"I do, too, Mommy!" put in Billy, who had been sitting still, in shocked dismay, ever since his mother tumbled from the flier.
"Bless you both!" she sobbed.
When she was safely on the ground Starn returned the flier to a straight course.
"Mommy will be all right, won't she?" asked Billy.
"Yes, the Fosers will be nice to her," Starn assured him.
That satisfied the boy, and he again turned his attention to their flight. "We're still going south," he remarked.
"Southwest," said Starn.
"Not going home?" Billy asked.
"No . . . since your mommy's not there."
This made sense to Billy. He nodded. "Camping, then?"
"Yes, we're going camping."
"Will you let me shoot this time?"
Starn nodded. "Yes, I'll show you how to shoot."
"Oh boy!" exclaimed Billy in delight.
Starn put the controls on automatic, with the flight computer programmed to keep the southwest heading for eight hours and then bring the flier down for a landing. That would put the craft far south of the equator, and over the ocean. With the hatch left open, the flier would sink when it landed.
He left his seat and went into the back of the flier where he had stored the equipment and supplies. He bundled the stuff stoutly into two chute packs and placed them by the hatch. He strapped the one remaining chute to himself.
"Where are we going to camp?" asked Billy.
"That'll be a surprise. Somewhere you haven't been before." By now, Starn was certain, Olsapern ears were straining for every word of conversation detected by the flier's bugs. He wanted to say nothing that would tell more of his destination than the Olsaperns could learn from the path of the flier. In fact, he hoped to make them uncertain of the exact time he chuted out.
He went forward to stand by Billy's chair, and gazed down at the landscape for a moment. They were already well into the modest heights of the northern end of the mountain range. Packs were scattered through these hills, but not farther south, where the peaks soared high and discouragingly steep. In old times, Starn knew, even the tallest mountains felt the tread of man's boots, and the blades of his dozers. But now the heart of the range stood wrapped in lonely grandeur, unwanted by men too engrossed in other pursuits to expend their energies exploring territory that was, after all, thoroughly mapped by their ancestors. The dense cover of fir and pine now sheltered only such creatures as were there before men came, and after men left.
The taller peaks were coming into view as Starn watched. He unsnapped the breakfast tray from Billy's chair and helped the boy to his feet.
"Now," he said, "no more talking. I have a special reason. O.K.?"
Billy looked up at him with wide eyes, and nodded. Starn patted him approvingly on the head and led him back through the cabin. From some extra cargo straps he rigged a body-harness for the boy, and tied a strapend tightly around his own belt. He intended to chute out carrying the boy in his arms, but if the wind tore them apart the harness would enable him to pull the boy back.
As an afterthought he removed both their helmets, which were probably as trackable as bugs to the Olsaperns. And for the hundredth time since the trip started, he wondered if he had really succeeded in disrupting their body bugs. He shrugged. He would know in an hour or two. If the Olsapern defensemen came swarming down around them, the bugs would still be doing their job.
He leaned out the hatch from time to time to study the land below. The sun was now high enough for him to judge the roughness of terrain by the size, shape, and depth of shadows, without which the rugged hills would have appeared paper-flat from the flier's altitude.
At last he decided the mountains were as high and desolate as they were going to get. He motioned Billy to him, cradled the boy tightly against his chest, kicked the chute packs out the hatch, and jumped after them.
The flier was already out of sight when he thought to look for it. Billy was hammering his arm with a little fist.
"What is it, son?" he said.
"Can I talk now?" Billy asked.
3
Cytherni was, by nature, a blabber-brain. It was this trait that had made her childhood and adolescence in Pack Diston so miserable. Her mind simply refused self-censorship, and the very act of attempting to direct it into the channels prescribed by Pack mores was all too likely to trigger the forbidden thought-train she was trying hardest to avoid. Throughout her early years she had felt a cloud of disapproval hovering about her wherever she went.
Her marriage to Starn, and entry into Pack Foser, had partially dispersed this cloud, not due to any conscious effort on her part but simply because being Starn's wife preoccupied her mind with thoughts that were quite normal for a young married woman and, therefore, thoroughly acceptable.
But not until she had lived among the Olsaperns for a while did she come to appreciate that the untamable quality of her mind could be anything but a disastrous handicap, that it was indeed the kind of mind that creates most of the world's great art. A mind that accepts the discipline of form, but that insists on having its way about content.
Not surprisingly, after basking in Olsapern approval for several years, her mind was now less controllable than ever.
Thus, the people of Pack Foser had learned, within an hour after she chuted down in a nearby cabbage field, more about Olsapern civilization and Olsapern world views than any followers of the Sacred Gene had ever known before. The knowledge was greeted with shock, surprise, dismay, and some disbelief, but mostly with disdain.
And the news of it began to spread, in the usual erratic way, through telepathic farmers who lived within range of both the Compound and more distant telepaths. Also, a messenger on horseback was sent to carry the word of Cytherni's return to Diston Compound some thirty-five miles away.
"Please don't read me!" she had begged when the men had come running from Foser Compound to the spot where she landed. "It might hurt you!"
Of course her plea had no effect. They read, and talked, and read.
Her first encounter with Starn's old crony Rob, after she was brought into the Compound, was more or less typical. It began with surprise at the emblem of Raid Leader that adorned Rob's belt, and at hearing him addressed as "Foser." Later she learned that the old Foser had died quite recently, and Rob had been elevated to the Pack chieftainship but was retaining his old post until a new Raid Leader could be competitively selected.
She was surprised because she remembered Rob as a pleasant fellow for a telepath, but nevertheless a coward. Could he be a Raid Leader of Pack Foser, she wondered, after a man like Starn? But, she recalled, Rob had done one brave, almost foolhardy, thing: he had volunteered to go with some Olsapern defensemen on a mission across the Hard Line, to monitor and validate to Starn a lecture on genetic history by the Olsapern scientist Richhold. Starn had related the details of that meeting to her, and she recalled them well, including the fact that Rob's memory of the affair was erased before he was returned home.
"So that's what happened!" remarked Rob with a cold smile. "I've often wondered. And Starn says this Richhold had me halfway convinced, huh?"
Cytherni nodded. Richhold's lecture had been an eyeopener for both of the young Pack men, who knew of the infidel theories of the Olsaperns but had not previously been exposed to the evidence on which the theories were based. It was much later before Starn arrived at some theories of his own that accounted for the evidence at least as well as did the beliefs of the Olsaperns.
Starn had been "present" at the lecture through an artificial body, and Rob had been unable to read him because his brain was far away, in the hospital, directing the growth of a new normal body to replace the one damaged beyond repair when Starn and Huill made their first attack on Nagister Nornt . . .
"An artificial body I couldn't read?" Rob demanded in astonishment.
Yes. She recalled the one time she had seen that body, apparently bleeding from a dozen wounds but actually oozing red oil while it made its terrifying final assault on Nornt in his cavern hideaway. She had been pregnant with Billy then—Billy William Huill—and she had cowered until Nornt was frightened completely out of his mind and then she had shot him herself and what she thought was Starn was lying dead on the floor and . . .
"Stop!" grunted Rob. "You named your son after Huill?"
"We call him Billy. Huill was such a good friend—for a telepath—and so brave . . . the way he died. He was a real chum, he and Starn at ease together, but Rob here always uncomfortable . . . wanting to be a chum but . . . That's why he went to Richhold with the defensemen that time! Huill had been killed, which left him a live coward with his brave friends gone. So he was trying to—make up for it! Maybe he still is!"
"O.K.!" Rob rasped, his thin face showing red behind his beard. "So I know what fear is! I also have learned how to fight it, because a man does what he has to!"
"I'm sorry," murmured Cytherni.
"Never mind," Rob said in disgust. "You've turned Olsapern, that's for sure! I shouldn't expect anything better from the likes of you! What a man like Starn ever saw—" He strode angrily about the room in which he was interviewing her, trying to regain his composure.
A Sense of Infinity Page 41
