Part of the feeling was associated with the grove of buah trees. He was sure that he had glimpsed a building as the uncertain, sometimes gusting, sometimes gentle wind blew the buah branches. He had not mentioned this observation to the young people. It was probably something else autochthonous and therefore forbidden to discussion, or surely one of them would have mentioned it.
He searched his memory (yes, he felt, his mind was definitely recovering) for a person among the servants at the palace who might be willing to talk to a Lord of the Instrumentality. Suddenly he remembered something of which he must have made subliminal note at the time without being consciously aware. One of the men in the cat stable. What was it now? He had drawn a fish in the cat sand and then, glancing at the face of the Space Lord, had casually brushed it over. Later he had caught the gleam of metal at the man’s neck. Could it have been a cross of the God Nailed High? Was there a member of the Old Strong Religion here on Xanadu? If so, he had a subject for blackmail.
Or did he? The man had been trying to communicate to him. Now that he thought of it, he was sure. Well, at least he had a possible colleague. Now all he had to do was remember the man’s name.
He gave his mind free association; the face came to him; the man’s hand fumbling at the chain at his neck…yes, certainly the cross, he could see it now…why hadn’t he noticed it before?…but there it was, recorded on his mind…and, yes, the man’s name: Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston. The unlikely suspicion that there was, after all, an underperson on Xanadu crossed his mind. Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston did not look as if he were animal-derived, but the name indicated something odd in his background.
Lord Kemal bin Permaiswari felt he could not wait until “morning” to try to further his acquaintance with Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston, What excuse could he have to go down to the cat stables at this hour? The gates of Xanadu were closed for the next eight hours. Then he realized that he had been thinking as an ordinary human being. He was a Lord of the Instrumentality. Why should he have to have an excuse for anything he chose to do? Kuat might be Governor of Xanadu, but in the schema of the Instrumentality he was a very small speck.
Nevertheless, the Space Lord felt it best to be circumspect in his movements. Kuat had demonstrated his ruthlessness, and certain of these “autochthonous” practices seemed very peculiar. A Space Lord who “accidentally” drank pisang while of a disordered mind might be written off. And there was the well-being of Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston to be considered.
Griselda. That was the answer. He had noticed that she was sneezing this afternoon…he had even mentioned it to Madu and Lari…and they had passed it off as dust or pollen. But it would serve as an excuse. He had become so obviously fond of Griselda as to be the subject of teasing of a mild sort on her behalf. Certainly no one would find his concern for her out of the ordinary.
The corridors seemed strangely deserted as he strode through on his way to the cat stable. He realized that he had not ventured from his living area after the final meal of the day since his arrival on Xanadu. Apparently everyone retired after this meal, servants and masters alike. He wondered if the stables would also be deserted.
It was his incredible good fortune to find Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston alone. At least, at the time, he assumed that the meeting was fortuitous. Later he questioned the bird-man. Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston had proved to be, as the Space Lord had wildly surmised, an underperson.
Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston’s smile was wise and kindly. “You see, Governor Kuat has no suspicion at all that I am an underperson. And, of course, the universal mind barrier has no operative effect on me. It was a little difficult, but I see I did manage to get through to you. I was somewhat worried when my mind probe showed all the leftover scar tissue from Styron IV, but I’ve been using the latest methods to try healing your mind, and I’m sure we’re succeeding very nicely.”
The Space Lord felt an odd momentary resentment that this animal-derived person had such an intimate acquaintance with his mind, but the anger was short-lived because he quickly equated the empathy he had built up with Griselda to the mental communication he was having with the bird-man.
Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston smiled even more broadly. “I was quite right about you, Lord bin Permaiswari. You are the ally we have been needing here on Xanadu. You look surprised?”
Lord bin Permaiswari nodded. “The governor was so firm that there were no underpersons on Xanadu—”
“Getting through has not been without its difficulties,” Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston acknowledged, “but I am not alone. And we have other human families, of course, but none so powerful as a Space Lord up to now.”
Lord Kemal found that he did not resent the assumption that he was an ally. Again the bird-man read his thoughts and smiled at him. He had a curiously winning smile, assured but kindly. He looked trustworthy, and Lord Kemal felt himself ready to accept whatever the bird-man might say.
Their thoughts locked. “Let me introduce myself properly,” spieked the bird-man. “My real name is E’duard, and my progenitor was the great E’telekeli, of whom you may have heard.”
Lord Kemal found the false modesty of this statement rather touching. He bowed his head momentarily in respect; the legendary bird-man, the E’telekeli, was known throughout the Instrumentality as the acknowledged leader and spiritual advisor of the underpersons. This egg-derived underperson could be a most helpful ally in carrying out the work of the Instrumentality or an opposition of fearful proportions. The Lords and Ladies who ruled the Instrumentality were anxious for his cooperation.
Many underpersons were known to have extraordinary medical and psychic powers, and it comforted the Space Lord to know that the animal-derived person who had been manipulating his mind was a descendant of the E’telekeli. He found that he was spieking his thoughts because E’duard could obviously hier them. It would certainly make the process of solving Xanadu’s mystery simpler for the Space Lord if they cooperated, but first he wanted to know if their peculiar alliance violated any of the laws of the Instrumentality.
“No.” E’duard was emphatic. “In fact, it is a correction of matters which are in direct conflict with the laws of the Instrumentality, with which we have to deal.”
“Something ‘autochthonous’?” asked the Space Lord shrewdly.
“Native culture is involved,” E’duard agreed, “but it’s really being used as a screen for something far more evil—and I use the word ‘evil’ not only in this sense” (he held up the cross of the God Nailed High) “but in its sense of the basic violation of the rights of the living. I mean the right of an entity to exist, to exist on its own terms provided they do not violate the rights of others, to come to its own terms with life, and to make its own decisions.”
For a second time Lord Kemal bin Permaiswari nodded in respect and agreement. “These are inalienable rights.”
E’duard shook his head, “They should be,” he spieked, “but on Xanadu, Kuat has found a way around that inalienability. You are, of course, familiar with the diehr-dead?”
“Of course. ‘And ne’er a life of their own…” he quoted from an ancient song. “But what does that have to do with the rights of the living? The diehr-dead are grown from the frozen bits of flesh of remarkable achievers long dead. It’s true that in regenerating the physical person of the dead one we have sometimes had extraordinary results with the diehr-dead in their second lives; but sometimes not—their achievements seem to have been a combination of circumstances and genes, not of genes alone…”
Again E’duard shook his head. “It’s not of the legal, scientifically controlled diehr-dead I spiek, although I sometimes feel very sorry for them. But what would you think of diehr-dead grown from the living?”
The Space Lord looked his wonder and horror as E’duard continued. “Diehr-dead who are controlled like puppets by Kuat, diehr-dead who are substituted for the originals, so that in truth neither the diehr-dead nor the original has a life of its own…”
With quick realization th
e Space Lord knew what was in the building he had glimpsed in the grove of buah trees. “That’s the laboratory, isn’t it?”
E’duard nodded. “It’s a perfect location. Kuat has spread the rumor that the scent of the buah tree is deadly except when, after consultation with the aroi, he pronounces it safe to harvest the fruit. So nobody dares approach the laboratory. All nonsense. There is only a very short period, just before harvest, when the scent of the buah fruit is deadly…in other words, just enough truth to the rumor to give it currency. You saw our scout killed this morning—”
Lord Kemal looked uncomprehending. “The unmodified eagle you saw fall from the skies this morning on your ride. He was scouting the laboratory for us. He was shot with a pisang dart. It’s things like that which make people believe they must stay away from the grove.”
“You could communicate?”
For the first time the Space Lord thought that the smile of the bird-man was a little smug. “Of course.” Then his face fell and his eyes became old and sad. “He was a brother of mine; we were hatched in the same nest, but I was chosen for genetic coding as an underperson, and he was not. Our feelings are somewhat different from those of true persons, but we are capable of love and loyalty, and sadness as well…”
Lord Kemal saw again in memory the handsome soaring bird of his morning’s ride, and he felt E’duard’s sadness. Yes, he could believe in the feelings of the underpersons. E’duard touched his hand with a tentative finger.
“I could tell that you grieved for him without knowing any of the circumstances. It is one of the reasons I willed you to come tonight.” There was a quick change in his mood. “We must deal first with the aroi.”
“I have heard the word, but I don’t know its meaning,” the Space Lord acknowledged.
“I’m not surprised. The aroi lead a life of pleasure: they sing, they dance, they entertain, and they serve as a kind of priesthood. Both men and women make up the aroi, and they are respected and honored. But there’s a singularly ghastly requirement for joining the aroi.”
The Space Lord looked his question.
“All living descendants of the current mate of the person joining the aroi must be sacrificed. Or the mate must die, and if there is more than one offspring of that union, an equivalent number of other volunteers must also die.”
Lord Kemal comprehended. “So that is the reason that Lari’s mother drowned herself in the sunless sea—to save her infant son. But why did the old Governor join the aroi?”
“Don’t you see? With Kuat as governor and the old Governor with the aroi, that pair of conspirators wields a power over this planet so absolute—”
“So it was a conspiracy from the beginning.”
“Of course. Kuat was the son of the first wife, when the governor was in his first youth. In his old age he wanted to continue the power but with the help of a viceroy, as it were.”
“And the diehr-dead in the laboratory?”
“That is the reason that the matter is urgent. They are full-grown and almost sentient. They must be destroyed before they are substituted for the originals and the originals killed.”
“I suppose there is no other way, but it seems almost like murder.”
E’duard disagreed. “The substitution is both physical and spiritual murder. These diehr-dead are like robots without soul—” He saw the Space Lord’s faint smile. “—I know you do not believe in the Old Strong Religion, but I think you know what I mean.”
“Yes. They are not, in the sense you mean, living beings. They have no will of their own.”
“The aroi are two villages away, about one hundred li. After they have performed their entertainment in those villages, they will proceed here. That will be the signal for the harvest of the buah fruit and the substitution of the diehr-dead for their living counterparts. Then there will be no opposition to Kuat on the planet, and he can give his cruelty full rein…and plan for the conquest of other worlds. His brother Lari is one of the planned victims because he fears the boy’s popularity with the crowds.”
The Space Lord was almost incredulous. “But the two persons he has seemed to be truly fond of are Lari and the girl Madu.”
“Nevertheless one of the diehr-dead in the laboratory is a replica of the boy Lari.”
“Won’t the old Governor, the father, object?”
“Possibly, although the mere fact that he joined the aroi when he knew what the cost would be in human terms argues against his interference.”
“And Madu?”
“He will keep her as she is, for the time being, and try to mold her to his will. He so little respects individuality that if he cannot, he will obtain some bit of her flesh and eventually she too will be replaced by a diehr-dead. He could be satisfied with a physical replica without caring that the person was missing.”
The Space Lord felt his tired mind attempting to ingest more than was possible at one time. Immediately E’duard was sympathetic.
“I have kept you too long. You must rest. We will be in touch. And don’t worry; Kuat’s mind barrier applies to him too; only underpersons and animals are exempt, and we are all in league.”
As he made his way back to his living quarters. Lord bin Permaiswari was again aware of the silence, the absence of any human activity anywhere in the palace. He wondered how long it had been since he had left his room to seek Mr.-Stokely-from-Boston in the cat stables. He wished he had remembered to ask E’duard how he had acquired that unlikely name. Immediately he was aware of E’duard’s voice spieking in his mind: “It was bestowed upon me for some small service I rendered the Instrumentality on old Manhome.” The Space Lord started with surprise. He had forgotten that there were no space barriers to spieking if he left his mind open. He spieked “Thank you,” then closed his mind.
IV
When he awoke from a dream-tormented sleep, the Space Lord felt a weariness which he knew E’duard would have termed a tiredness of the soul. There was no way in which he could communicate with the Instrumentality. The next scheduled spaceship for the spaceport above Xanadu was too far in the future to be of any use in the matter of the illegal diehr-dead. E’duard was right. The substitution must be stopped before it began. But how? He felt it somehow belittling to his position for a Space Lord to have to rely on an underperson; the only consolation was that the underperson involved was a descendant of the great E’telekeli.
As they ate their first meal of the day, Madu seemed subdued; Lari was not present. Lord Kemal, making his voice as pleasant as he could, queried Kuat about the boy.
“He’s gone down to Raraku to dance with the aroi,” Kuat said. Then, apparently, he realized that the Space Lord would not know the word “aroi.” “It’s a group of dancers and entertainers we have here on Xanadu,” he explained kindly. Kemal felt a coldness about his heart.
He could hardly wait to communicate with E’duard. “Lari is missing,” he spieked, as soon as he was sure that Kuat would not notice his expression.
“All the diehr-dead are still in place, our scouts report,” E’duard spieked back. “We will try to locate him and communicate with you.”
But time passed; the only things the underpersons were able to assure Lord Kemal were that Lari was not with the aroi at Raraku and that the diehr-dead replica of him was still in place in the laboratory. He seemed to have vanished from the planet.
Madu had taken Kuat’s statement at its face value; she was much quieter now, but she apparently believed that Lari was dancing with the aroi. The Space Lord tried a gentle probing:
“I had gathered from what I heard that the aroi was a closed group which one had to join in order to participate.”
“Oh, yes, to participate fully,” Madu said, “but near harvest time the best dancers are allowed to dance with the aroi whether they are members or not. It will not be so long now. The aroi have moved from Raraku to Poike. Then they will come here. I will be so glad to see Lari again; I always miss him when he goes off to run or to dance.”
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“He has gone away before to dance?” the Space Lord asked.
“Well, no. Not to dance. To run, but not to dance before. But he is very good. He really hasn’t been quite old enough before.”
“And do you have other entertainment at the harvest besides the dancing?” the Space Lord asked, still seeking a clue as to the whereabouts of the vanished Lari.
Her smile had some of its old radiance. “Oh, yes. That is when we have the horse racing I told you about. It is Kuat’s favorite sport. Only,” her face clouded, “this time I’m afraid his horse doesn’t have much chance of winning. Gogle has really been raced too long and too hard; his back legs are wearing out. The vet was talking about doing a muscle transplant if they had a suitable donor, but I don’t think they’ve found one.”
At the prospect of seeing Lari soon again, however, she seemed happier with some of the joy the Space Lord associated with her. They went for a cat ride, and Lord Kemal felt again the overwhelming sense of wonder and pleasure as he and the cat Griselda became as one being. Their feelings were in such close communication that he did not have to tighten his knees or hiss at her to obey his slightest wish. For the first time in days Lord bin Permaiswari was able to forget about E’duard and the diehr-dead, about his concern for Lari and his worry as to whether the Instrumentality would approve his cooperation with the bird-man.
For the first time, also, the Space Lord began to wonder to what extent Madu and Lari were committed to each other. Now that he had Madu to himself, he felt more than ever the strong attraction she held for him. He had never, in all the worlds he had known, felt such an attraction for a woman before. And, such was his honor, he began to feel it all the more imperative to restore Lari safely before he could express his feelings to her. He tried spieking to E’duard.
“Nothing,” said the bird-man. “We have found no trace of him. The last time he was seen by one of our people was on the outskirts of the palace, headed in the direction of the stables. That is all.”
The Rediscovery of Man - The Complete Short Science Fiction of Cordwainer Smith - Illustrated Page 81
