"Do you carry a blast gun?" Charlie asked eagerly, "just in case there's a robbery somewhere—"
The old man was startled by the question, his eyes wide for a moment as he looked directly at Charlie. Then he relaxed again.
"No, son," he said finally. "I can understand now, personally, why your Little Star is called primitive. Blast guns, as you term them, are not necessary in our Barrier World. We long ago learned how to live with ourselves, son. They are a symbol of the barbarous past, something long outmoded in our life here.
I know, too, what you mean by the thought of robbery, but there is no need for us to steal from one another. Food, clothing, whatever we have, there is plenty, son. We treat others as we would have them treat us."
In a flash, Charlie was about to ask why they didn't send him back then, to his own world, but he withheld the thought. However, it seemed the old man anticipated him somewhat.
"You'll like our world, son. It is new to you, but you'll like it. The timeless healer will make you understand it some day."
About to retort hotly to that comment from the old alien, Charlie again refrained, as the man turned and started on his way. Charlie watched him press and start another automatic vac cleaner further down the street. He wanted to shout to him, to tell him they could let him go, could treat him as they would want to be treated on his world. But he thought then, how would Earth treat a stranger from somewhere out in space? Charlie well knew the answer. His own world, if they did not destroy that stranger on sight, would at least immediately make him a prisoner.
Taking a deep breath, Charlie let it out wearily, even as he now watched the old man turn out of sight around the S- curve in the street. Once more he started off, doggedly determined to find Navajo. To find him, and somehow, also find a way to escape. He didn't even want to consider now how he could, without detection, manage to leave the planet Saturn and make it back to his own world, and take Navajo, too. But he could try. No matter how, he must get back and warn Earth of the Star Project. . . tell them, then let them try and figure out what was so important to the aliens to make them send regular missions all the way to Earth.
Coming to a great plaza, a spacious circle of low-shrubbed park and flower beds laid out like a spoke-wheel, Charlie immediately noticed the yellow-green of the plants' leaves, and was reminded again of the need for the Sun's cosmic rays. The cold chemical lighting denied the chlorophyll needed by flora. He noticed, too, the smaller birds flying beneath the man-made sky in the great space above the park, and the larger dove-like birds—"pink pigeons" he thought they looked like—that were all about the plaza cooing busily as they enjoyed life in the only world they knew.
Hopelessly wandering about the plaza, Charlie was be- ginning to feel how aimless the search for Navajo was, how futile to hope to find the old horse in a city that held forty million people in its strangely beautiful underground honey- comb. Then he stopped short in his path. He stood very still. Now he called loudly, hopefully, his voice carrying clearly across the great empty and dim-lit plaza, as he repeated Navajo's name again and again in his mind. And then, on his mind's ear, he heard the sound, a far-off whinny from Navajo. Continuing his calling, Charlie turned, as he felt Navajo's voice to be somewhere off behind him.
Still concentrating all his mental power, hoping that Navajo could feel his impulses, he headed toward a large windowless building, apparently a storehouse of some sort near the plaza. Charlie started to run at the sound—a faint sound, but unmistakably a sound that was Navajo.
"Nav—Navajo!" Charlie called, fighting desperately to open the big, clumsy door. "Navajo!"
As he pounded, the old horse was doing what he had long ago learned from Charlie to do, when a door was in his way. Charlie yelled, even as the door swung wider.
"Okay, okay, Nav—you don't have to kick the whole building down! It's open now, Nav."
Joyfully whinnying again, Navajo pranced about as Charlie hugged him.
"Shhh, Nav, we gotta take it easy," and with his words, Navajo got the idea.
"We got to be quiet, Nav. Once we make it to the airlift elevators, then it's open country for us, where all their space ships are. And maybe if we're lucky, we can stow away on an empty tier, and just wait for the blast off."
With a low, short whinny, Navajo showed his approval, and it wasn't long before they were entering one of the big surface elevators. To make Navajo whinny and pop his ears for relief from the change of pressure, Charlie laughed and talked to him to get him excited, and the old horse soon realized the more he whinnied the better he felt. Reaching the surface, Charlie was happy to find the mist heavier than ever, and almost like a deep fog.
"Now they won't see us, Nav. Shh, you got to take it easy, boy! Even if you are glad to be out in open country!"
Up ahead Charlie noticed dim figures on the ramps, climbing in and out of the cradles that held a number of the flagships. He trailed Navajo behind him and, in a roundabout way, they at
last reached one ship being loaded. The ramp was down and when no one was near, Charlie quickly led Navajo aboard in the deep shadows of the mist. High mounds of material were everywhere about the tier, and Charlie could only hope that this flagship was scheduled to go to Arizona, or at least, somewhere on Earth. He and Navajo squeezed their way between the supplies and under one of the waterproof coverings that protected the supplies from the mist.
"We did it, Nav!" Charlie whispered. "We might go a little bit hungry on the trip, but we'll make it home again. All this stuff's for the lower storage deck, like on that other ship, Nav."
Charlie talked on in a low voice, keeping Navajo quiet. Alien men went on and off the ramp of the lowered tier, stacking more supplies in front of them and further sealing off their detection. "We sure are going to make it, Nav!"
Hardly had Charlie finished the excited whisper when a furtive probing came to him. It was Dondee. Charlie was not about to answer the impulse and maybe betray their plans for escape. He remained silent, listening, and jumbling his thoughts as much as possible so as not to let one get through to Dondee, even though he did want to talk to him. They were successful so far, and he couldn't take the chance of contacting Dondee.
"Charles—will you answer? I know you can hear me, Charles. It's very important, for there's something I must tell you."
Charlie bit his lip, stroking Navajo's neck all the while, for the old horse had felt the impulse, too, even though he couldn't understand it.
"Charles, since you will not answer, I'll tell you anyhow. It's no further use, Charles. Everybody on the Barrier World already knows the news. They know you're trying to escape. But it is futile, Charles. I just wanted to let you know . . . Charles?"
Even though Charlie realized from Dondee's word picture that his escape was known, he remained silent. There was still a chance, unless they searched every flagship that left. And besides, they'd have to move a lot of the cargo around him, since much had been loaded on after he and Navajo got aboard. No, he'd just wait and see.
"No, Charles. They'll move it," came Dondee's impulse to his most recent thought. "The officials are on their way to get you and the animal—you and Navajo, Charles. They know right where you are, even now. Just to prove they do, Charles, even I can tell where you are. You're on one of the star ships, almost in the center of the deck, among the supplies taken aboard for the Star Proj—" Dondee abruptly stopped the impulse. "I mean, Charles, you are there, on one of the dome lifters with Navajo. You're both under the equipment covering. Now do you believe me, Charles? I'm sorry . . ."
"Thanks . . . thanks for telling me, Dondee. I'm sorry too, Dondee. I would have talked to you, but I couldn't risk it first. I only wanted to get home. To my own world, Dondee."
Even as he talked with the alien boy, Charlie was aware of a commotion outside, and it was only seconds before the cargo was being moved and angry aliens pushed their way in between the stacks toward him. Then everything happened fast. Navajo was taken separately, and once again
Charlie found himself "celled," but this time in a small room with no one-way panoramic view, and the door was really locked. Caged, Charlie thought, like an animal. No lock, no key, but a force field that kept the panel in place so tightly that he couldn't even make it budge a little. And the one brief impulse the guards had tossed back to him as they went out still burned in his mind.
"If you are given your life, you may spend it in caged display, like the savage you are, Primitive."
Charlie had tried to say something, but they had already gone.
There was no way he could tell how long he was kept in the small room in solitary confinement. He had been brought food several times, and from the dimness and brightness he noticed when the door was opened each time, he figured that he had been there at least a couple of days, since he had slept twice also. At last he was told the Council was convening in the Rotunda, and that he would be taken before them to stand trial. In spite of his worry about the situation he faced, Charlie made an attempt to look his best. He carefully combed his black curly hair with the broken piece of comb he always carried in the pocket of his levis. With his handkerchief he gathered some fine dust from a corner of the room and polished the silver star-wheel spurs and his boots.
"I guess I'm ready," Charlie told them, when the alien guards came at last for him. "Is my horse—"
"Your animal is being cared for," replied the guard's impulse to his half-asked question. "You need not concern yourself about it."
Resenting the last remark, Charlie, however, did not speak his thoughts. Silently he followed the guards out, and after a long walk, was surprised to find they were taking him on an airlift to the surface.
"It is a rule of this Barrier World, Primitive," the other guard spoke this time, "that no hearing on justice may be conducted in darkness, beneath the land. It must be, by ancient law, held in the open countryside."
"Thanks," Charlie said.
Some time later, after reaching again the cool, silver- flecked mists of the surface, Charlie was glad to see it looked so clear that it seemed the Sun might come out at any minute. A guard informed him then that the trials to be heard were always held at noon, the nearest time to clear, pure light. It took them some fifteen or more minutes to traverse the long tunnel and finally, Charlie found himself entering a great outdoor arena, larger than any football stadium he had ever seen on Earth. Only, this had a roof, a great domed canopy that seemed at least a thousand feet high to him. The great bowl of the roof was supported by a surrounding circle of giant columns that held it up. It was such a great space that small wispy clouds could be seen drifting across under its great ceiling.
Charlie held his breath a moment as he stood there with the guards at the entrance, staring up at the vastness of the open air court. Mighty was the only word that came into his mind to describe the vastness of the trial chamber.
"This is the Rotunda," a guard informed him.
Charlie looked about at the sea of colors, the packed circle upon circle of seats in the Rotunda, beginning with the center circle that surrounded a large platform in the pit and spreading out, one after the other from there, to the foot of the giant stone columns that looked like white marble. Like the ripple of a sea, Charlie could tell now that the great throng of aliens gathered here had noticed his arrival, for all were looking his way as far as he could see. For a moment he wanted to turn and run back down the long tunnel aisle, back through the corridor and out, anywhere, just to get away. But the closeness of the guards on either side of him told him it would be useless to try.
Momentarily, Charlie glanced up as a beautiful pink bird flew low, across the broad flat steps before him that led down to the center. Then it was gone. The broad, spacious steps reminded him of library steps back on Earth, the easiest steps in the world to climb. But as he was nudged again by the guards, Charlie went on. As he walked down the steps, Charlie could see the one great half-moon shaped white bench, marble like the columns, and with its high back. And as he looked at it, seven tall men walked slowly from the aisle just behind the bench, and came around and stood in front of it, watching him as the guards hurried him more now. Charlie realized in that moment that the tall alien men standing there were the Council, the supreme governing body of the Barrier World.
There was a sense of awed wonder coming over him as the two guards left him standing alone on a small dais before the bench. Charlie looked now at the seven members of the Council. The robes they wore were all the same, flowing togas of the blueness of the Sun, as it looked from above the Barrier World's atmosphere. It was a brilliant cobalt blue, that shone with its own natural pure light, so that the seven Council members stood out clearly above all other persons present. As he watched, a growing fear was welling up within him, and Charlie heard a small but unmistakable thought impulse, the familiar one that had come to him when he was escaping with Navajo. It was an impulse he would know anywhere.
"Charles," said the mild, restrained impulse, "they are the Council that will judge you. Don't be afraid, Charles. They will judge you fairly, and know whether the charges of savagery against you are right or wrong."
"Wh—where are you, Dondee?" Charlie sent the desperate impulse in his mind. And as he did, he glanced about quickly at the great sea of faces, far out to the towering columns.
"Oh, you'd never find me, Charles—I'm halfway up almost in front of you, but in the middle of the crowd. I'm with my duplicate, Biri, and Elstara, my mother. Biri said to tell you she hopes you win. Oh Charles—my father, Darda Bin, is the one in the center, the judge in the Primate's seat of the bench."
Charlie felt better, knowing that both Dondee and his sister were hoping he'd win. He looked at Dondee's father, realizing that he must have received the thoughts from Dondee, but then, possibly not. Dondee had repeated privacy, privacy, privacy, every few words or so, and according to their world's custom, no one would listen in on that conversation. Besides, it was impossible to "tune" in to the impulses of someone you did not know and who, in turn, did not know you.
A hushed silence—there was not even a movement—came down over the great gathering as the Primate rose now. Charlie realized that every last trace of the background maze of impulses had ceased. Primate Bin stepped forward a little, then stopped and looked down to the dais where Charlie was standing. But in spite of the gravity of his situation, Charlie's eyes kept admiring the clear and vivid brightness of the cobalt blue, shimmering before his eyes.
Charlie felt his knees getting a little wobbly, as the Chief of Council, the First Primate of the Planet, looked at him. He realized, as he stood there, that this was like standing before the President, back on his own world. And with the Primate holding the trial, Charlie was more sure than ever now that the charge and punishment was the most serious possible.
"You are the Primitive?" asked the tall alien in a mild voice.
Startled by the sound of the words, spoken in clear and perfect English, Charlie was unable to speak for a moment.
"I—yes sir," he stammered finally. "But I’m—I’m not a primitive, sir."
The tall Primate looked at him, as the other six judges behind him leaned forward, as though to see Charlie better.
"To answer the thought of your mind, I am one of the few linguists of our world, young man. In spite of progress in the philosophies, I have learned to speak the ancient physical tongue once used by us, and also, a prime language of your planet. I shall continue its use, for the duration of this trial, for your better understanding."
"Thank you, sir," Charlie said. "Thank you very much, sir."
"I may inform you, Charles Holt, that this is not a criminal court. The Prime Council of the Planet does not conduct such hearings. However, there remains a great preponderant against your person, in the nature of your attempted escape."
"Yes sir," Charlie acknowledged. "I guess I know it."
"The duty of this Council, then, Charles Holt, is to determine now, the charges pressed, regarding savagery. We shall simply
determine whether or not you are civilized, and worthy of the status that goes with such civilization."
Feeling somewhat better now that the charges were a little clearer to him, and glad to hear that he had not broken any special law of their world, Charlie was also grateful that the Primate spoke words that he could hear and understand, instead of the impulses.
"It is generally regrettable, Charles Holt, but the circumstance must be faced by us. For the public safety, this Council must prove or disprove your right to civilized status. This is important. The very homeland you have come from, all your world, has not yet passed through the seven thousand
years of cultural progress deemed appropriate to the level of civilization as recognized currently on this Barrier World. Little Star remains a savage world."
"Sir," Charlie said, "my world is civilized, it's—"
Charlie paused, unable to find the words he wanted.
"Add to the standing charge," the Primate continued, when Charlie did not go on, "the suspicion, however understandable, concerning the Star Project, and your distrust of us, and you see we have cause to doubt your being civilized. The recorded history of your world, Charles Holt, is a terrifying one, and one in whose shadow we must judge you now. It is difficult because of all this, to accept you as a civilized equal."
"But—sir," Charlie said, "I only wanted to go home—to be back in my own world. I'm not asking for anything more, sir."
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