Malesor shook his head. “You're not. You never can be. But thanks for the warning — stranger."
Never identify, the robocoach had said. You'll never be able to become the character you're trying to play. He was talking only of the stage, Clarey told himself angrily, as he left the Dome.
Reports trickled in from the cities. Earthmen had been stoned twice in Zrig, more often than that in Barshwat. Clarey 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 hit 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 headman of Barshwat called upon Colonel Blynn. 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 Blynn smiled and said, “We'll treat it as one, shall we?"
Clarey knew what happened, because the headman 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 Damorlan to unite against the Earthmen; it was spirit that counted, it said, rather than technology. Malesor 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 Dordonec 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 Damorlant, 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 hix 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."
Irik went back to Barshwat to help riot, but he left the Katundi convinced that Clarey 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 Clarey, too. One night they broke into his library and stole all the bestsellers.
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 Embelsira, 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 he took his ulerin 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 Clarey.
Blynn was haggard and anxious-looking “I've been wondering when you'd show up. Afraid maybe they'd got you — "
“I'm all right," Clarey interrupted. “But what are we going to do?"
Blynn 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. Blynn radioed for the general and the secretary to come in a closed ground car.
“But why?" the general's voice crackled plaintively over the com-unit. “I thought we didn't want them to know about ground cars — "
“They know," Blynn 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 ‘Earthmen, 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 Blynn nor Carey said anything.
“Very distressing thing,!' Spano declared. “Maybe it hit them so suddenly they didn't know it was building."
“You and Blynn get over to the ship right away for deepprobing," 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," Clarey 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 Damorlanti 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. Blynn will stay here, pending orders."
The colonel saluted.
“But I thought I was going to stay here ten years," said Clarey.
“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. “Clarey, you did the job we sent you out to do! You did it better than we expected! What threw me off was that we sent you out to act as an observer. Instead, you became a catalyst!"
She seized his hand and wrung it warmly. “Clarey, I apologize. You've done a splendid job!"
He 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 Damorlant?"
She smiled and threw herself into a chair, her body limp and tired and contended-looking. “Come, Clarey, 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, Clarey."
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. Embelsira 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, Clarey."
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."
“Damorlan wasn't a dream world."
“But it will be," she said.
* * * *
And so Clarey 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-di 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, Han 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 planetfall in a few days. It's necessary to discuss your future now."
“I have no future," he said.
“Come this way, Clarey. 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 Ksud, 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 Damorlan, 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 lounge that accommodated itself perfectly to her form. She 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, Clarey though 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, Clarey?" 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. “Listen, Clarey, 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 U-E status — "
“What do I want that for?"
“Doesn't it mean anything to you any more, Clarey? 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 Damorlan seem like — "
“Like a lifetime," she finished. “Couldn't we dispense with the cliches?"
“On Damorlan the things I said were fresh and interesting. On Damorlan 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, Clarey! 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 sank 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 Damorlan your friends liked you; your wife loved you. On Earth you never felt welcome and/or appreciated; on Damorlan 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 thq 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 ulerin. 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. Then it was real."
“So then you weren't a hypocrite, Clarey." Her voice grew more resonant. “Open yourself to people, show them that you want to be friends. Basically, everybody's 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. “Listen to me, Clarey, 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, Clarey. 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 Earthman. 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. Lucky 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 coul
dn't know for sure. We'd have had to start all over again."
He couldn't 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, Clarey, 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, Clarey. 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, Clarey," she said. “You wouldn't admit it, but you are and always have been a patriot. To you, Earth came first. It's as simple as that."
She had deep-probed his mind.
She must know his true feelings. There was no gainsaying 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 going to try to sell me?" he asked drearily. “Are you saying that the essence of the Damorlant 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, Clarey. If you stayed in the service, you could be one of our best operatives. But you're not going to stay in the service. Yours is a higher destiny. Here, catch!"
She tossed him something that glittered as it arched through the air.
It was a U-E identcube, 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.
The 20th Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK ™: Evelyn E. Smith Page 31
