Jestocost did not.
He set up his own police, using under people themselves for the purpose, hoping to recruit enemies who would realize that he was a friendly enemy and who would in course of time bring him into touch with the leaders of the under people
If those leaders existed, they were clever. What sign did a girly girl like C’mell ever give that she was the spearhead of a crisscross of agents who had penetrated Earthport itself? They must, if they existed, be very, very careful. The telepathic monitors, both robotic and human, kept every thought-band under surveillance by random sampling. Even the computers showed nothing more significant than improbable amounts of happiness in minds which had no objective reason for being happy.
The death of her father, the most famous cat-athlete which the under-people had ever produced, gave Jestocost his first definite clue.
He went to the funeral himself, where the body was packed in an ice-rocket to be shot into space. The mourners were thoroughly mixed with the curiosity-seekers. Sport is international, in terrace inter-world, interspe-cies. Hominids were there: true men, one hundred percent human, they looked weird and horrible because they or their ancestors had undergone bodily modifications to meet the life conditions of a thousand worlds.
Underpeople, the animal-derived “homunculi,” were there, most of them in their work clothes, and they looked more human than did the human beings from the outer worlds. None were allowed to grow up if they were less than half the size of man, or more than six times the size of man. They all had to have human features and acceptable human voices. The punishment for failure in their elementary schools was death. Jestocost looked over the crowd and wondered to himself, “We have set up the standards of the toughest kind of survival for these people and we give them the most terrible incentive, life itself, as the condition of absolute progress. What fools we are to think that they will not overtake us!” The true people in the group did not seem to think as he did.
They tapped the under people peremptorily with their canes, even though this was an under person funeral, and the bear-men, bull men cat-men, and others yielded immediately and with a babble of apology.
C’mell was close to her father’s icy coffin.
Jestocost not only watched her; she was pretty to watch. He committed an act which was an indecency in an ordinary citizen but lawful for a Lord of the Instrumentality: he peeped her mind.
And then he found something which he did not expect.
As the coffin left, she cried, “Ee-telly-kelly, help me! help me!”
She had thought phonetically, not in script, and he had only the raw sound on which to base a search.
Jestocost had not become a Lord of the Instrumentality without applying daring. His mind was quick, too quick to be deeply intelligent. He thought by gestalt, not by logic. He determined to force his friendship on the girl.
He decided to await a propitious occasion, and then changed his mind about the time.
As she went home from the funeral, he intruded upon the circle of her grim-faced friends, under people who were trying to shield her from the condolences of ill-mannered but well meaning sports enthusiasts.
She recognized him, and showed him the proper respect.
“My Lord, I did not expect you here. You knew my father?”
He nodded gravely and addressed sonorous words of consolation and sorrow, words which brought a murmur of approval from humans and under people alike.
But with his left hand hanging slack at his side, he made the perpetual signal of alarm! alarm! used with the Earthport staff a repeated tapping of the thumb against the third finger when they had to set one another on guard without alerting the off world transients.
She was so upset that she almost spoiled it all. While he was still doing his pious doubletalk, she cried in a loud clear voice: “You mean me]” And he went on with his condolences: “… and I do mean you, C’mell, to be the worthiest carrier of your father’s name. You are the one to whom we turn in this time of common sorrow. Who could I mean but you if I say that C’mackintosh never did things by halves, and died young as a result of his own zealous conscience? Good-bye, C’mell, I go back to my office.”
She arrived forty minutes after he did.
II
He faced her straightaway, studying her face.
“This is an important day in your life.” “Yes, my Lord, a sad one.”
“I do not,” he said, “mean your father’s death and burial. I speak of the future to which we all must turn. Right now, it’s you and me.”
Her eyes widened. She had not thought that he was that kind of man at of Man all. He was an official who moved freely around Earthport, often greeting important off world visitors and keeping an eye on the bureau of ceremonies. She was a part of the reception team, when a girly girl was needed to calm down a frustrated arrival or to postpone a quarrel. Like the geisha of ancient Japan, she had an honorable profession; she was not a bad girl but a professionally flirtatious hostess. She stared at the Lord Jestocost. He did not look as though he meant anything improperly personal. But, thought she, you can never tell about men.
“You know men,” he said, passing the initiative to her.
“I guess so,” she said. Her face looked odd. She started to give him smile No. 3 (extremely adhesive) which she had learned in the girly girl school. Realizing it was wrong, she tried to give him an ordinary smile. She felt she had made a face at him.
“Look at me,” he said, “and see if you can trust me. I am going to take both our lives in my hands.”
She looked at him. What imaginable subject could involve him, a Lord of the Instrumentality, with herself, an under girl
They never had anything in common. They never would.
But she stared at him.
“I want to help the under people
He made her blink. That was a crude approach, usually followed by a very raw kind of pass indeed. But his face was illuminated by seriousness. She waited.
“Your people do not have enough political power even to talk to us. I will not commit treason to the true human race, but I am willing to give your side an advantage. If you bargain better with us, it will make all forms of life safer in the long run.”
C’mell stared at the floor, her red hair soft as the fur of a Persian cat. It made her head seem bathed in flames. Her eyes looked human, except that they had the capacity of reflecting when light struck them; the irises were the rich green of the ancient cat. When she looked right at him, looking up from the floor, her glance had the impact of a blow.
“What do you want from me?”
He stared right back.
“Watch me. Look at my face. Are you sure, sure that I want nothing from you personally?”
She looked bewildered.
“What else is there to want from me except personal things? I am a girly girl I’m not a person of any importance at all, and I do not have much of an education. You know more, sir, than I will ever know.”
“Possibly,” he said, watching her.
She stopped feeling like a girly girl and felt like a citizen. It made her uncomfortable.
“Who,” he said, in a voice of great solemnity, “is your own leader?”
“Commissioner Teadrinker, sir. He’s in charge of all out world visitors.”
She watched Jestocost carefully; he still did not look as if he were playing tricks.
He looked a little cross.
“I don’t mean him. He’s part of my own staff. Who’s your leader among the under people
“My father was, but he died.”
Jestocost said, “Forgive me. Please have a seat. But I don’t mean that.”
She was so tired that she sat down into the chair with an innocent voluptuousness which would have disorganized any ordinary man’s day. She wore girly girl clothes, which were close enough to the everyday fashion to seem agreeably modish when she stood up. In line with her profession, her clothes were designed to be unexpectedly and
provocatively revealing when she sat down not revealing enough to shock the man with their brazenness, but so slit, tripped, and cut that he got far more visual stimulation than he expected.
“I must ask you to pull your clothing together a little,” said Jestocost in a clinical turn of voice.
“I am a man, even if I am an official, and this interview is more important to you and to me than any distraction would be.”
She was a little frightened by his tone. She had meant no challenge. With the funeral that day, she meant nothing at all; these clothes were the only kind she had.
He read all this in her face.
Relentlessly, he pursued the subject.
“Young lady, I asked about your leader. You name your boss and you name your father. I want your leader.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, on the edge of a sob.
“I don’t understand.”
Then, he thought to himself, I’ve got to take a gamble. He thrust the mental dagger home, almost drove his words like steel straight into her face.
“Who . . .,” he said slowly and icily, “is … Ee … telly . . . kelly?”
The girl’s face had been cream-colored, pale with sorrow.
Now she went white. She twisted away from him. Her eyes glowed like twin fires.
Her eyes . . . like twin fires.
(No under girl thought Jestocost as he reeled, could hypnotize me.) Her eyes . . . were like cold fires.
The room faded around him. The girl disappeared. Her eyes became a single white, cold fire.
Within this fire stood the figure of a man. His arms were wings, but he had human hands growing at the elbows of his wings. His face was clear, white, cold as the marble of an ancient statue; his eyes were opaque white.
“I am the E’telekeli. You will believe in me. You may speak to my daughter C’mell.”
The image faded.
Jestocost saw the girl staring as she sat awkwardly on the chair, looking of Man blindly through him. He was on the edge of making ajoke about her hypnotic capacity when he saw that she was still deeply hypnotized even after he had been released. She had stiffened and again her clothing had fallen into its planned disarray. The effect was not stimulating; it was pathetic beyond words, as though an accident had happened to a pretty child. He spoke to her.
He spoke to her, not really expecting an answer.
“Who are you?” he said to her, testing her hypnosis.
“I am he whose name is never said aloud,” said the girl in a sharp whisper.
“I am he whose secret you have penetrated. I have printed my image and my name in your mind.”
Jestocost did not quarrel with ghosts like this. He snapped out a decision.
“If I open my mind, will you search it while I watch you? Are you good enough to do that?”
“I am very good,” hissed the voice in the girl’s mouth.
C” mell arose and put her two hands on his shoulders. She looked into his eyes. He looked back. A strong tele path himself, Jestocost was not prepared for the enormous thought-voltage which poured out of her.
Look in my mind, he commanded, for the subject o/underpeople only.
I see it, thought the mind behind C’mell.
Do you see what I mean to do for the under people
Jestocost heard the girl breathing hard as her mind served as a relay to his. He tried to remain calm so that he could see which part of his mind was being searched. Very good so far, he thought to himself. An intelligence like that on Earth itself, he thought and we of the Lords not knowing it!
The girl hacked out a dry little laugh.
Jestocost thought at the mind. Sorry. Go ahead.
This plan of yours thought the strange mind may I see more of it?
That’s all there is.
Oh, said the strange mind, you want me to think for you. Can you give me the keys in the Bell and Bank which pertain to destroying under people ?
You can have the information keys if I can ever get them, thought Jestocost, but not the control keys and not the master switch of the Bell.
Fair enough, thought the other mind, and what do I pay for them?
You support me in my policies before the Instrumentality. You keep the under people reasonable, if you can, when the time comes to negotiate. You maintain honor and good faith in all subsequent agreements. But how can I get the keys? It would take me a year to figure them out myself.
Let the girl look once, thought the strange mind, and I will be behind her. Fair?
Fair, thought Jestocost.
Break? thought the mind.
How do we re-connect? thought Jestocost back.
As before. Through the girl. Never say my name. Don’t think it if you can help it. Break?
Break! thought Jestocost.
The girl, who had been holding his shoulders, drew his face down and kissed him firmly and warmly. He had never touched an under person before, and it never had occurred to him that he might kiss one. It was pleasant, but he took her arms away from his neck, half turned her around, and let her lean against him.
“Daddy!” she sighed happily.
Suddenly she stiffened, looked at his face, and sprang for the door.
“Jestocost!” she cried.
“Lord Jestocost! What am I doing here?”
“Your duty is done, my girl. You may go.”
She staggered back into the room.
“I’m going to be sick,” she said. She vomited on his floor.
He pushed a button for a cleaning robot and slapped his desktop for coffee.
She relaxed and talked about his hopes for the under people
She stayed an hour. By the time she left they had a plan. Neither of them had mentioned E’telekeli, neither had put purposes in the open. If the monitors had been listening, they would have found no single sentence or paragraph which was suspicious.
When she had gone, Jestocost looked out of his window. He saw the clouds far below and he knew the world below him was in twilight. He had planned to help the under people and he had met powers of which organized mankind had no conception or perception. He was righter than he had thought. He had to go on through.
But as partner C’mell herself!
Was there ever an odder diplomat in the history of worlds?
III
In less than a week they had decided what to do. It was the Council of the Lords of the Instrumentality at which they would work the brain center itself. The risk was high, but the entire job could be done in a few minutes if it were done at the Bell itself.
This is the sort of thing which interested Jestocost.
He did not know that C’mell watched him with two different facets of her mind. One side of her was alertly and wholeheartedly his fellow-conspirator, utterly in sympathy with the revolutionary aims to which they were both committed. The other side of her was feminine.
She had a womanliness which was truer than that of any hominid woman.
She knew the value of her trained smile, her splendidly kept red hair with its unimaginably soft texture, her lithe young figure with firm breasts and persuasive hips. She knew down to the last millimeter the effect which her legs had on hominid men. True humans kept few secrets from her. The men betrayed themselves by their unfulfillable desires, the women by their irrepressible jealousies. But she knew people best of all by not being one herself. She had to learn by imitation, and imitation is conscious.
A thousand little things which ordinary women took for granted, or thought about just once in a whole lifetime, were subjects of acute and intelligent study to her. She was a girl by profession; she was a human by assimilation; she was an inquisitive cat in her genetic nature. Now she was falling in love with Jestocost, and she knew it.
Even she did not realize that the romance would sometime leak out into rumor, be magnified into legend, distilled into romance. She had no idea of the ballad about herself that would open with the lines which became famous much later: She got the w
hich of the what-she did Hid the bell with a blot, she did, But she fell in love with a hominid.
Where is the which of the what-she did
All this lay in the future, and she did not know it.
She knew her own past.
She remembered the off-Earth prince who had rested his head in her lap and had said, sipping his glass of mott by way of farewell: “Funny, C’mell, you’re not even a person and you’re the most intelligent human being I’ve met in this place. Do you know it made my planet poor to send me here? And what did I get out of them? Nothing, nothing, and a thousand times nothing. But you, now. If you’d been running the government of Earth, I’d have gotten what my people need, and this world would be richer too.
Manhome, they call it. Manhome, my eye! The only smart person on it is a female cat.”
He ran his fingers around her ankle. She did not stir. That was part of hospitality, and she had her own ways of making sure that hospitality did not go too far. Earth police were watching her; to them, she was a convenience maintained for out world people, something like a soft chair in the Earthport lobbies or a drinking fountain with acid-tasting water for strangers who could not tolerate the insipid water of Earth. She was not expected to have feelings or to get involved. If she had ever caused an incident, they would have punished her fiercely, as they often punished animals or under people or else (after a short formal hearing with no appeal) they would have destroyed her, as the law allowed and custom encouraged.
She had kissed a thousand men, maybe fifteen hundred. She had made them feel welcome and she had gotten their complaints or their secrets out of them as they left. It was a living, emotionally tiring but intellectually very stimulating. Sometimes it made her laugh to look at human women with their pointed-up noses and their proud airs, and to realize that she knew more about the men who belonged to the human women than the human women themselves ever did.
Once a policewoman had had to read over the record of two pioneers from New Mars. C’mell had been given the job of keeping in very close touch with them. When the policewoman got through reading the report she looked at C’mell and her face was distorted with jealousy and prudish rage.
The Rediscovery of Man Page 32
