Man of Two Worlds

by Raymond F. Jones

  All the mad enthusiasm for the wild escape into Dark Land drained out of him. The ambition that had driven him on to defiance of the Seekers Council suddenly seemed dim and lifeless without Elta.

  Where could she have gone ?

  Then he began to order in his mind the catalogue of possible happenings. A person could not simply vanish into the air. She had to be some place, and Kronweld, from one boundary to the other, was not large. He’d search it from one end to the other if need be.

  Then he remembered he was a fugitive and his hopes crumbled again.

  He strode out of the room and closed the door softly behind him. He went to the door of the adjacent compartment and pressed the signal. The entrance response invited him in.

  Two women were in the room. Seekers whom he knew slightly, only by sight. He knew he was a stranger to them.

  “Respect to you,” he said. “I’m looking for the Seeker Elta. I expected to find her home, and now I see her compartment is uninhabited. Can you tell me where she went?”

  One of them rose, a tall willowy woman.

  “You must be Ketan,” she smiled. “Elta spoke often about you.”

  She surveyed him intimately for a moment. “Now I know Elta is even a bigger fool than we thought when she left this morning. But don’t tell me you don’t know where she went!”

  The woman’s gaze irritated him.
  “She has left for the Preparation Center. Tomorrow she enters the Temple of Birth to become a Lady of the Temple.”

  IX.

  The silence when the woman stopped speaking was terrifying. Ketan felt it was palpable, crushing in upon him like a vise.

  He spoke in a dead monotone. “You are sure of that?”

  The woman nodded. “I saw her application acceptance and her orders to appear this morning. But don’t act as if you’d just been declassed. There are still women in Kronweld—Seekers who might be very companionable. Won’t you come in and sit down? Try some of the new refreshments that the Food Center has put on only tonight.”

  “No … no … respect to you,” Ketan turned mechanically and went into the hall. “I must go. Wisdom.”

  He hurried into the night.

  The numb shock of the news dulled all but the senses necessary to drive the car through the streets, and he drove aimlessly for a time he could not measure.

  This could not be what Elta had meant when she told him she was going away and would return to him soon. There was no returning from the Temple of Birth—ever.

  While he drove, his mind began to function slowly again. The flight into Dark Land was in vain, now. There must be other plans.

  He drove far, around the entire circuit of the city, and when he had completed, his new plans were focused solidly in his mind. He found himself on the wide, scenic roadway that passed before the Temple of Birth. He was almost in the same spot that he and Elta had stood when the Servicemen accosted him.

  He stopped there and gazed upon the Temple of Birth. The smaller building of Preparation Center, which was outside the purple line, was an ordinary building of the city, except that there was only a single sealed entrance in its cubical hulk. All the other walls were perfectly blank.

  Somewhere within those walls Elta was going through unholy rites known only to the God himself.

  Ketan knew what he must do.

  And once he had come to a decision, a curious, frightening clarity came over his mind. He saw that this was what he would have done in any event. He had chosen—been guided in choosing—the only step for which he had been ordained from the moment he had emerged from the Temple of Birth twelve Tara before. All other plans would have failed regardless of his efforts.

  As this thought came to him, he seemed to hear a voice but he wasn’t sure. He thought it said, “That is correct. Hasten, Lonely One.”

  Varano was pacing about the room in soaring anxiety as Ketan returned.

  “I thought you’d never come. That fool Nelav, my superior, was here twice. I—”

  Then he saw Ketan’s face. “What did you find?”

  Ketan told him of Elta’s action. Varano was disconsolate, but resigned. “That about ends it, I guess.”

  Ketan surveyed the Serviceman at close range for a long moment then drew back his fist in a lightning movement and felled Varano with a single blow on the jaw.

  “Respect to you,” he murmured as the Serviceman crumpled at his feet. “But I’m afraid your conditioning has been too deeply embedded for me to ask for your help from here out.”

  He hoisted the limp form on his shoulders, ’ then made his way through the hall past his aboveground laboratories and down the steep, seemingly endless flight of steps into the depths under the house.

  He took the Serviceman into one of the spotless workrooms where he had patiently solved the problem of the creation of the Bors and lay Varano on a table. He examined the man’s breathing closely, then he selected an injector and filled it from a colorless bottle. He pumped the substance into Varano’s veins.

  After a moment the Serviceman became still and almost lifeless. His breathing slowed until it was nearly undetectable and his heart movements came farther and farther apart. At last they steadied until there was no more slowing. Ketan was satisfied.

  Varano would sleep for at least thirty days.

  This work was not the result of Ketan’s own Seeking. It belonged to Branen and another member of the Unregistereds who had worked it out in conjunction with Ketan’s work on the Bors.

  They had made only a small beginning in understanding the functions of the bodily mechanisms and Ketan hesitated to use the chemical on Varano. But there was no other solution. He believed it was safe.

  In the silent room he considered contacting Branen and conferring further now that it was certain that he would have to assume Ketan’s leadership of the Unregistereds. But there was little he could hope to accomplish. Branen would have to do the best he could from here on. Ketan hoped he had enough imagination to keep the organization of the Unregistereds from falling apart while he was gone—and longer if he failed to come back.

  He wrote Branen a letter explaining Varano’s presence and instructed him to put the Serviceman in a deserted public place at the end of the thirty days that he might regain consciousness outside Ketan’s home.

  This he put with the notes and instructions he was leaving concerning his work and the organization of the Unregistereds.

  For making enlarged models of his plants for study, Ketan had a large quantity of elastic molding plastine. He selected a mass of the whitish stuff and mixed it rapidly with a light cream and rose pigment.

  When he was satisfied with the result he stripped off his harness and began applying the stuff to his body, slowly remolding his contours and pigmenting his body from head to foot.

  The result was almost shocking to him as he viewed himself in the metallic mirror. He made a credible appearing woman; necessarily plump in order to smooth out his muscles, but satisfactory.

  The sculptoring was a long and tedious job. His muscles ached with the strain of his contortions when he was through, but he felt the job would pass the inspection of the first woman herself.

  He had no harness or light night cloak of the exact type that was worn by women, but the difference in style was slight and he would have to take that much chance.

  Ketan climbed the long flight of stairs gingerly. The molding on his body felt as if it would peel loose at any moment. But he knew it was merely an illusion. Nearly boiling water was required to remove it, and then only when it had been partially dissolved in a special solvent.

  He was thankful that its porous, minutely spongy nature made it possible for him to perspire or it would have been unendurable in the amount of skin area he had covered with it.

  From the remains of the possessions he had gathered for the flight to Dark Land he selected only a powerful harpoon and length of fine cord which he had used as a weapon.

&n
bsp; He sealed the opening to the secret laboratory so that no one who did not know the combination to the entrance could ever gain access to it. He darkened the rest of the house then and went out with the harpoon in his possession.

  He did not use the car but started afoot in a long easy lope that carried him swiftly over the cast surface of the road.

  There were few others about. He slowed when he passed anyone, so as to not attract attention, and ran on when he could not be observed.

  He was breathing heavily when he came to the circling road that passed in front of the Temple of Birth. For a moment he paused to catch his breath while he surveyed the exterior of the Preparation Center.

  The squat, three-level building was utterly dead to all outside appearances. The single door that served it would open only to one of the secret combinations that would identify the caller as one who had received her admission orders carrying her particular unique code.

  Somewhere within that building was Elta.

  The thought repeated itself over and over in his brain.

  The building stood alone. The lighting from nearby activators was dim and fairly dark shadows lay at the rear of the structure where only the pulsing reflections of the sky lit it.

  He glanced cautiously in all directions then walked boldly towards the building.

  On a line with the rear wall, he suddenly darted into the protecting half darkness of its shadow. He paused, listening and watching. Satisfied he was unobserved, he unslung the small harpoon and attached the line with its grapple head. He raised and fired a silent shot.

  Up into the air the grapple sped, snaking the line behind it, and fell over the edge of the roof. Ketan pulled it taut, then tested it with his full weight. It held.

  He braced his feet firmly against the wall and began climbing, inching his way to the top. He was desperately handicapped by the smallness of the line. It cut and sliced into the palms of his hands, but he continued the steady advance.

  At the top he finally grasped the edge and drew himself over. He lay a moment flat against the roof after drawing up the line and depositing it in a corner.

  He glanced around and saw what he had hoped for.

  The roof, in common with all others in Kronweld, formed a place for refreshing afid sun-ray exposure. There was an entrance from the roof to the interior of the building. He was counting on this being open. Seldom was such a place locked.

  This one was.

  It was hopeless to try to break through the door whose electric lock made the wall and door as a solid mass of metal. He glanced in momentary despair about the rest of the roof. There was nothing but the usual tables and chairs and lounges and a semi-covered refreshment panel with a capacity of about twenty, he noted.

  There was no way in from here short of blasting a hole in the thick stone and metal structure of the building.

  The only other alternative was to wait, hoping that someone would open the door from the inside and come out on the roof before it was too late to do him any good. He recognized the more than probable chance that a group of persons would come out at once, making his quest hopeless.

  He sat down beside the low wall. Above, the violet lights flickered and surged! Occasionally for brief moments of darkness, he could glimpse the pinpoints of light in the sky that hung mysteriously over Kronweld. Another of the great Mysteries that man had never solved. And the Seekers Council said man knew almost everything there was to know!

  The unhurried time passed slowly. He dozed once and roused in alarm at a sudden sound in the street below, but it was not repeated. His fingers moved over the compartments of his harness, idly checking the small kit he had filled before leaving the laboratory beneath his house. It still con-tained~the filled injector and repair materials for his disguise.

  Dawn began to slowly tinge the eastern fringe of the sky. The first globe would rise soon. He wondered desperately what to do. It would be too dangerous to try to get down the way he had come up if he waited much longer. If he were caught here, he didn’t know what would happen to him—in addition to the sentence that had by now been passed on him for his blasphemy.

  There was no precedent for the crime he was committing now.

  A sudden slight sound at the doorway roused the full alertness of his senses. He leaped to his feet and flattened himself against the wall. The door opened quickly for all its ponderous mass. A young woman came out and stood still a moment, watching the lighting sky.

  Ketan noted that she was alone, and with further gratefulness he observed that she was only a little less than his height and blessed with plumpness that was not quite as ungainly as his own hurried sculptoring, but was ample. Her hair, too, was trimmed not so differently from his own.

  He paused and watched her. She stood face to the rising sun, hair brushed back by the early morning breeze. A thin, white, glistening robe covered her in addition to the common harness wear. He guessed it was some sort of ceremonial garb.

  She turned with a start as he stepped away from the wall. “You frightened me. I thought I was the first here this morning,” she said. “Isn’t the sky beautiful up here in the morning? I wonder if we’ll ever see it again afterwards?” Ketan stepped forward smiling and put his hands quickly about, her throat. “Make no sound,” he said in passable falsetto. “You will not have to worry about the view of sunrise from the Temple of Birth. You are not going there.” The girl’s eyes went wide in sudden fear. She saw he was not one of those who belonged at Preparation Center. “Who are you?” she choked out.

  “I hope you never find out. Out of your clothes, quickly now. I must exchange with you.”

  She trembled even more fearfully. “No! These are my induction robes. I must wear them today to the Temple of Birth.” “That’s why I want them,” Ketan said grimly. Pie loosed one hand and tore the fastening loose at her throat and removed her robe. She struggled frantically until he carried her to the corner where he had left the harpoon and line. He bound her hands and gagged her mouth with the corner of the cloak. Then he swiftly exchanged clothing.

  When he was through, he freed the bonds and fastened a loop in the end of the line to fit her foot.

  “What are you going to do ?” she .cried.

  “Nothing that will harm you.” He seized her tightly and drew out the injector which he had transferred to the stolen harness. She had never seen such an instrument, but something of Ketan’s manner , suggested its purpose and she cried out in terror.

  He plunged the point into her arm and emptied it.

  “Now, put your foot in this loop and hang onto the line. I will lower you over the edge to the ground.” He spoke with a threatening hand on her throat.

  “No!” she cried in sudden shame. “I have taken my vows. I must go into the Temple. I can never again live in Kronweld. I would be shunned as a Bors walking in the streets. Let me go!”

  “As soon as you are on the ground you can find the nearest Serviceman and tell him what I have done. You will be freed of blame and can enter the next tara into the Temple, perhaps.”

  “They’ll kill you!”

  “Perhaps. Now quickly—”

  He dropped her to the edge and pushed threateningly. She grasped the line and fit it to her foot in self-preservation. Then he lowered her swiftly down. She stood a moment looking up in bitter hatred and fear, but Ketan was gone and the line flicked up to the roof again.

  As he went back to the door he caught a glimpse of her racing fleetly down the street. He hoped she was not too good a runner. She might even reach a Serviceman and tell her story yet.

  But as he watched she slowed and grasped at her heart as if in sudden pain, then fell headlong.

  She would awaken a half day later than Varano.

  X.

  From his kit he mixed a color preparation to match the girl’s hair and sprayed it into his own. He clipped it as nearly as possible to resemble hers—a low point at the nape of his neck, tapering to shorter length at his temples.

  H
e darkened his eyebrows and applied a thin ridge of plastic to his nose to lessen its apparent width. The girl had a thin, finely shaped nose and Ketan was disgusted with his attempts at imitation. It would have taken a good sculptor many days to duplicate her finely molded features.

  But it would have to do. He replaced his materials and fastened the compact kit to the glistening white and gold harness that cinched him tightly under the thin robe. It was adjusted to the maximum size, but the girl’s seeming plumpness had been somewhat deceptive, he found.

  There were two things he could not change. Those were his voice and the color of his eyes. He’d have to take a chance.

  He strode to the door and pushed it open.

  The short flight of steps led into a long, thickly carpeted corridor. Soft, creamy lighting was present in the energized air. Its impact made a restful sensation on the skin.

  Doors lined both sides of the hallway. He stood there in a momentary hesitation about where he should go. He had to learn something about the customs of the place or they would make short work of discovering his deception.

  A door behind him opened suddenly and a white-robed girl hurried out. “Come quickly,” she said. “It’s nearly time for the assembly. We’ll be late.”

  Ketan nodded and smiled and hurried along beside her. This was fortunate. He wondered what the assembly was.

  They turned a corner and passed through wide gold doors and found themselves at the rear of a small chamber in which about thirty young women were gathered in a semicircle about a small central platform.

  All were gowned in immaculate white robes. The expression on their faces was rapturous. The gathering made a solemn and sacred impression. It almost inspired in him a twinge of conscience at desecrating such a place.

  But his remorse was short lived. He knew that all this was but trimmings to ignorant belief in false gods. The sooner it was torn asunder and truth restored the better for all—including the young women present.