"I am very sorry," she said, "that such a thing should have happened. I know you are full of grief for your comrades, and I wish that I could have postponed our interview. However, I must press you, for the longer you stay on this world, the greater the risk is for my people."
Somewhere before, it seemed to him, he had heard her voice—sensed her mind pattern, anyway. If he had not known that she was the mbretersha, he would have fancied that hers had been one of the minds that had spoken to him, the most persuasive of the cajoling creatures that had sung him their siren songs as he flashed transitorily through their universe. But, he thought dully, that was impossible. She was the mbretersha, the queen.
She read his thoughts, and the pattern of her appearance altered subtly. It was a warm and kind expression of herself; it was a smile. "You must learn, Mattern, that the concept of a ruler in this universe differs from the concept in yours. Here a ruler is the servant of her people, not their master. It is her obligation to take care of them, protect them, watch over them—in whatever way seems most fitting to her. She can have no pride in herself, only in them. They are more than her children."
It was funny, Mattern thought, that she should so easily plan to break the rules of her universe. A space rat like him—that was one thing; it was to be expected. But a queen? Now that he was coming back to life a little, he began to wonder about this again.
Deftly, she picked the wonder out of his mind and answered it. "Our Federation, like yours, is an artificial creation. Its laws are no more than arbitrary regulations, devised by the various peoples of each universe with regard to the greatest good of the majority, and thrust upon majority and minority alike."
Mattern began to understand, or thought he did. "A queen isn't likely to hold with democracy," he said—though perhaps not aloud.
She was a little impatient. "It's not a question of absolute power or divine right—simply that my people come first, even before myself; my own world is part of me, and I am part of it by nature and instinct. Its needs are my needs. When my people are hungry, I feel the pangs."
Most rulers justify themselves like that, he thought, keeping his lips pressed firmly together.But they all do the same things.
But he couldn't keep her out of his mind. "No," she said, "you're wrong. I was not speaking metaphorically. My nervous system is attuned to my people's; it is a hereditary trait bred into my family. So being the ruler is not a pleasant station to occupy."
It certainly wouldn't be, he thought, if she was telling the truth—to suffer every pang that was suffered on the planet, and, if the attuning were psychic also, every sorrow. He expected her to pick the disbelief out of his mind, but she smiled and went on to tell him about her planet.
Ferr was not a large world. Moreover, it was essentially a barren one. It had been rich only because it had previously engaged in sub-rosa commerce with Mattern's universe. "And the last traffic was long, long ago," she told Mattern. "In a day much before mine, when my mother ruled."
"What happened? What stopped the traffic?"
"Our captain died of old age, and we have had trouble finding a successor to him."
"Why is it so hard to get somebody else?" Mattern asked bluntly.
She paused. When she spoke again, it was so obliquely that he did not realize immediately that it was an answer. "Time was when we had more contact with your people. There were many who knew of the xhindi, although few had actually encountered us. It was not difficult for us to get humans to work with us then. But the barbarians took over your world and your people lost the knowledge of how to get through to us. And when they regained it, we were not why they wished to get through. Much of the problem is in making people believe that we exist."
He nodded. "The flluska call you demons."
"There are still some on Earth who call us demons, Mattern. Your rulers and administrators do not call us demons—no, they are too learned for that—but your Space Service, by means of divers spells and conditionings, prevents most of those who pass through hyperspace from seeing and hearing us. And, of those who do, most are too frightened for negotiation."
She asked with sorrowful archness, "Are we so terrible in your eyes, Mattern?"
"I don't know," he said slowly, bewilderedly. "Sometimes you are, and I know you will be again. But right now, to me you look—almost beautiful."
There was silence, and, for a moment, he thought that he had offended her.
Then, "Thank you," she said softly. "It is a great compliment."
He was anxious to know why they had chosen him as their human representative. "Weren't there any men who did try to get through?" he asked.
"A few—a very few—reached this space." She added reluctantly, "Some of them proved to lack stability of substance—"
He was angry, at her, and at himself, for not realizing that he had not been chosen. It had merely been a question of survival. "Then youknewwhat could happen to Schiemann!"
"It could have happened to anyone, Mattern. You knew there were risks to be taken. We did not conceal that from you."
And that was true. It had not occurred to him that the risks would not be equally shared by all three members of the ship's company.
The mbretersha continued: "And others of those who come through go mad. We feared that might happen to you, Mattern."
"Others go sane also," he said.
"This is the first time that has happened in my experience. But truly, Mattern, a madman would not seek to reach us."
"I wonder," Mattern said. "I wonder if anybody but a madman would."
This time he had displeased her. There was chill silence, and then: "Time is short. It is best that we return to discussing our business together. Now we will pay you for the merchandise you have brought us with a substance which is stable on Earth—at least it was in times gone by—and which used to become a stuff of considerable value. On your next trip—"
"What makes you think there's going to be a next trip? What makes you think I'm going to come back here again?" He would really have to be a madman to go through that all over again.
The mbretersha smiled. "You will come, Mattern," she said. "You will come when you see how rewarding it is to deal with us. And you will come because—"
"Because of what?" he demanded, more sharply than one should address a queen.
"Because your kqyres will make sure that you do." The tall, splendidly illuminated being who stood close to her throne bowed as she introduced him: "This is Lord Njeri, who served as kqyres with the previous captain. He will serve with you."
"Kqyres? What's that?" Apprehension quickened inside Mattern. "And what right have you to—"
"Your partner is dead," the mbretersha told him. "Lord Njeri is your new partner."
Mattern stood staring at her. No point protesting further, he knew; he was on her world, in her power. For the time being, he would have to obey her.
"Come, Captain Mattern," said the kqyres. "It is fitting that we superintend the loading of the ship."
So they went back to the port and Mattern watched the xhindi fill theValkyrie'shold with some queer, spongy-looking substance that couldn't possibly be of value anywhere. And beside him stood the kqyres, as he was to be beside him for the next fifteen years.
"If you are disturbed about my effect upon your people when they catch sight of me," the kqyres assured the young man, "you may ease your mind. I shall make myself so that I am barely visible in your universe. Only those who look for me can see me. You need have no fear," he added with a sigh. "I have been through all this before."
"Yeah, that's what she told me," said Mattern grimly.
"It is disloyal of me, I know," the xhind murmured, "but I had hoped the mbretersha would not find a human representative before I died. I am aware of my obligation to my world—but it is not a pleasant prospect to spend one's last years in exile, however honorable."
"Don't worry, as soon as we get to normspace, I'll send you back. I'm not going on with this."
The kqyres seemed to shrug sadly. "You cannot send me back, for I am permanently attached to you. Wherever you go, I go—until the mbretersha chooses to free us, one from the other."
Mattern couldn't believe that. Once he got out of this alien universe, none of its laws could apply to him.
"Secondly," the kqyres informed him, "you willwantto come back here. When you look at the cargo and see what it is, you will want to come back." He sighed again. "I know your species so well. And I do not fancy they have changed."
VI
When theValkyriereached normspace, her cargo proved to be the traditional reward—gold. Not the most precious metal in the universe any more, certainly, but still valuable. What there was in her hold would come to perhaps as much money as Mattern might, if his luck had held, have amassed in several decades of operating with Schiemann in normspace.
"Well," said the kqyres as Mattern stood goggling at the glowing bullion, "is the payment just?"
"Yeah," Mattern grunted, "fair enough." His mind was working busily:Captain Schiemann is dead, and so is Balas, so I can't do anything about that. A man's got to have some kind of business. Why shouldn't I go on trading with the xhindi, since I seem to be one of the few people lucky enough to be able to do it? Besides, from what the mbretersha said, I couldn't get out of it even if I wanted to. So why fight? Ethics aside, it's a good deal. I'd make more money that way than any other way. I could see a lot of Lyddy.
He caught a flicker in the shifting planes of a grayness that the kqyres had become, according to promise.
"I'm thinking the way you want me to think—right, Lord Njeri?" Mattern asked self-mockingly.
"You are thinking the way any reasonable being would think."
Left to his own devices, Mattern would have disposed of the gold as quickly as he could, and then gone back to Erytheia to spend it all on a year or so with Lyddy. She came that expensive.
"And then what would you do?" the kqyres queried.
"Well, then I'd go out to hyperspace and make more, I guess. I know it's a little tough on you," Mattern added apologetically, "but you know how it is; I'm crazy about that woman."
The kqyres evidently did not know, but he made an effort to understand. "And, meanwhile, she will go back to—doing what she has been doing, with other men?"
Mattern frowned. "Yeah, I guess so."
"This procedure is acceptable in terms of your culture?"
"Well," Mattern said, "for women like Lyddy, sure. I mean—oh, hell—it's hard to explain."
"But it doesn't disturb you?"
"All right," Mattern said sullenly, "so it disturbs me. So what can I do about it?"
"Would it not be wiser," the kqyres suggested, "for you to wait until you can get enough money so you can have her for yourself alone? After all, how long would it take for you to get together a sufficient sum at that rate?" And the kqyres indicated the gold.
"You got a point there." Mattern could see that the xhind was right. It would be a lot more sensible to make a few more trips and get himself a sizable bankroll before going after Lyddy, so he'd never have to share her again. Otherwise it would be back and forth, back and forth, until it sent him off his mental course.
So, as soon as he disposed of the gold, he went back with another cargo, and then another. Waiting for Lyddy wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, because he could talk to the kqyres about her. He'd never had somebody he could really talk to; even Captain Schiemann hadn't really been a companion. The kqyres always seemed interested in what Mattern had to say. He never talked much about himself, but he listened patiently to Mattern's description of Lyddy's talents, and charms, including some which, as a non-human, he could understand only intellectually, if at all.
And he didn't only listen, with it going in one ear and out the other—or whatever the xhindi had instead of ears. He made helpful suggestions, such as maybe Mattern ought to fix himself up a little before going back for Lyddy.
"I know she is to be—bought," he said, as if he still didn't quite understand what that meant, "but would you not derive greater pleasure from your purchase if you knew you were a man whom a woman could like for his own self?"
Len was silent. He knew the kqyres couldn't understand human concepts of beauty; he had taken Len's own word that the young man wasn't much of a specimen, that his body and his teeth were crooked and his skin bad, his vision defective and his hair drab. Lyddy deserved something better than that; Len knew it himself. Even if she would go with him for the sake of the money, it wasn't the same thing.
"I could get my teeth fixed up in this sector," he said at last, "but I'd need to go to the Near Planets, maybe even Earth, to have my leg fixed. It'd take a long time and passage costs a hell of a lot. People don't go that far just for a junket, you know. For most of 'em, it's a once-in-a-lifetime deal."
"Of course," Njeri said. "Your wealth is dearly won; you wouldn't want to squander it. However, wouldn't a considerable economy be effected if you went in your own ship?"
"TheValkyrie!" Len was shocked into laughter. "She'd never make it to Earth! She'd crumple up like an old paper bag!"
"She will not last much longer, in any case," said Njeri.
Len had been thinking that himself for some time—wondering how soon he would have no ship left at all, and what he would do then.
"It would be wise," the kqyres suggested, "for you first to get enough money to pay for a new ship. Only a few more trips should be necessary. Then go to whatever planet you deem most suitable for the necessary improvements, and finally return to Lyddy—a man worthy not only of her but of any woman."
"It'll take so long," Mattern said, tempted, and yet driven wild by the idea of Lyddy, so close to attainment.
"At your age, what are a few more trips?"
Len gave in.
Actually, it took five trips into hyperspace merely to pay for the new vessel, a much larger and more elaborate model than Len had planned on buying. "In the long run," his partner told him, "the best is most economical. A sound, spaceworthy vessel such as this one will last out your lifetime. And you can call her theHesperian Queen, after Lyddy."
"Why?" Len asked. "Is that what Lyddy is short for?"
"It is the same as naming it after her," the kqyres said shortly. "Only it's a little more subtle."
"Oh." Somehow the kqyres made Len feel stupid,uncouthalmost, even though he was the human being and the other nothing but hyperextraterrestrial.
The treatments were even costlier than anticipated, and it took many more trips to pay for them. Expenses were increased by the fact that he had to commute back and forth from his sector of space to the planet where he was being treated, since he couldn't afford to neglect his business now that his costs were mounting.
He had his leg straightened on Earth. That world was as colorful, as complex, as intoxicating as it was claimed to be. One series of marvels after another presented themselves before his inexperienced eyes like scenes in a vision show—except that he was actually there, breathing, tasting, feeling a part of this vast sophistication. Earth had many beautiful women, and he enjoyed the favors of those in Lyddy's profession, but only to prove to himself that she was much more wonderful.
He decided there was no point bothering with the other planets; he might as well have his teeth and everything else taken care of on Earth, too. "Very wise of you," the kqyres approved. "The best is always the soundest, and, hence, most worth waiting for. Like Lyddy."
"Yes," Mattern agreed, "she is the best. And the most beautiful."
"Of course," the kqyres said. "Tell me more about her."
And Mattern talked, far into the night. What he couldn't remember of her by now, he imagined, so that the picture should be complete, not only for the xhind but for himself.
When his leg and his teeth had been fixed, "Why stop at that?" the kqyres asked. "If it had not been for the way that stepfather of yours treated you as a child—" for Len had found himself telling his companion not only about Lyddy but about everything—"you would be a fine-looking man today. It would be no difficult task to have you restored to what you should rightfully be."
Mattern would not, of course, do such a thing out of vanity. But the more presentable he made himself, the more he would be offering Lyddy. So it would be worth the extra time, especially since he could spend so much of it on Earth. Lyddy had come from Earth; it would be a bond between them later.
Doctors and cosmetologists got to work on him. Each treatment seemed to be lengthier than the preceding one, and more expensive. He could, however, easily afford it—all he had to do was make more trips. The kqyres not only told him what cargoes to take but advised him on the investments to make with his profits.
They did very well together. As far as Mattern was concerned, they did fabulously well, because he had to make enough on his side to counterbalance the entire expenses of a planet on the other. The thought impressed him.I am, in a sense, equal to the mbretersha, he thought,and she is a monarch.As a result, he walked a little more erect than even the operations had rendered him.
The dangers of his trade grew less and less frightening as he came to know his way between the universes, even though, at the same time, he began to realize how great those dangers were. He had not conceived of their immensity before. The reason there were asteroid belts in so many of the solar systems, he learned now, was that the xhindi had traded with other intelligent races in earlier eras, and there had been accidents. Those races were now extinct.
The xhindi themselves ceased to be monstrous in his eyes. He grew to accept their appearance as perfectly natural in their universe. Toward the kqyres, he came to feel something of what he had felt toward Schiemann, except that where Schiemann had looked up to him and relied on him, he found himself increasingly dependent on Njeri. He told him all his hopes and ambitions, and the kqyres listened attentively. Mattern tried to explain to him how he himself felt about Lyddy, and the kqyres tried to understand.
The kqyres taught Mattern how to play chess. "But that's our game!" Mattern said. "I mean we play it in our universe!"
"In ours also," the xhind smiled. "Who knows whether it came from our universe to yours, or yours to ours? Nor does it matter. It is an old game and a good one."
Mattern became increasingly skillful at it. He was pleased that there was an intellectual activity in which he could engage as an equal with the kqyres, and the kqyres seemed pleased, too.
When the treatments were over, Mattern looked in a mirror. He was straight; he was handsome. His skin was clear, his eyes bright. He looked less than his age. Now he could go back to Lyddy, assured that most women would find his physical appearance more than acceptable.
But he found himself hesitating. Only his physical appearance would be truly acceptable. There was something still lacking in him. His body was right, but the way he stood, the way he moved, the way he spoke, all these were wrong.
"I'm not finished yet," he said stumblingly to the kqyres, "not quite straightened out. I ought to be more—well, more smooth."
"You do lack polish," the kqyres admitted, "although you are far less awkward, shall we say, than when we first met."
"That's because of you, Njeri!" Mattern declared, with genuine gratitude. "You've taught me a lot!" And he looked at his outlandish friend with a great affection.
The kqyres seemed quite moved; he flickered like a pin-wheel. "You have been an exceedingly apt pupil, Mattern. When first I saw you, I did not think it possible that I should ever consider you a companion. However, I have found myself taking an increasing pleasure in your company. Sometimes I even forget you are a human."
Mattern could not speak; he was so overwhelmed by the tribute.
"The passage of time disclosed to me that there were sensitivities and perceptions beneath that—forgive me, but we know how misleading first impressions can be—boorish exterior. The very fact that you are conscious of your own deficienciesprovesthat you are more than the mere clod you still, on occasion, seem to be—"
"Can't I improve myself that way, too?" Mattern asked plaintively. "Can't I make myself worthy of Lyddy in every way?"
"Of course you can," the kqyres beamed. "Were you to apply yourself specifically to the acquisition of culture, I am sure you could become as polished as any human being can hope to be. But it will take time."
"Well," Mattern said, "Lyddy's waited so long, she can wait a little longer. Things worth having are worth waiting for."
Under Njeri's tutelage, Mattern cultivated the arts and the amenities. As he used his ship for a permanent residence, it was there that he housed his growing collection of costly rare objects of art, and his library, notable for its first editions—not only of tapes, but of books. His uniforms were cut by the best terrestrial tailors and he took kinescope courses in the liberal arts and social forms from the outstanding universities of Earth. The provincial twang vanished from his speech; he developed a taste for wine and conversation. Nobody, seeing him, could ever have fancied him once a poor wizened space rat.
As the years went by, he grew to become as much of a ruler in his way as the mbretersha in hers. She ruled one planet, he told himself, but he had a business empire farflung over many planets—all of which, to some extent, he did rule through his investments. He would have worlds to lay at Lyddy's feet now, he thought complacently. No man could offer any woman more.
The firstHesperian Queendidn't have a chance to last out his lifetime; he kept trading her in for another and yet another model, as better, faster, more luxurious starships were developed. Finally, he outbid the Federation Government itself for plans of the latest-model spacecraft. When the government protested, he graciously gave them copies free of all charge. "I merely wanted to be sure that I had the best ship available," he explained. "I have no objection to your having it also. But I knew that you could not afford to be as generous as I can."
He never had more than one ship, because it was too dangerous to run more than one cargo at a time. His crew was always as small in number as possible. He would have preferred none at all; actually, all spaceships could run themselves, for the controls were completely automatic. But regulations said there had to be a crew, both for the sake of "face"—many extraterrestrials couldn't seem to recognize the authority of machines—and because a power failure was not inconceivable.
So theHesperian Queencarried four men. And, whenever she made the Jump through hyperspace, even the crew—though conditioned on Earth—was drugged. Mattern carried on alone. And if, when the crewmen awakened, they found that a day had passed when only an hour should have gone by, they knew better than to ask questions.
So the years went by—busy, pleasant, profitable years. The image of Lyddy was always before him, inspiring him to further efforts.Someday soon I will go back to her, he would tell himself. On his latest birthday, he looked in the mirror closely. At twenty-four, he had appeared forty; at forty, he could have passed for thirty. Sixteen years had gone by since that night with Lyddy. Now he was worthy of her or anyone.
"I think it's time I went back for her," he told the kqyres.
"For whom?" the kqyres asked; then added hastily, "Oh, yes, of course, Lyddy. We'll do that right after we come back from the Vega System. There's a little Earth-type planet out there—"
"Beforewe go to Vega," Mattern interrupted. "Now."
"But why the hurry? You've waited so long already—"
"I've waited too long. I'm not young any more."
"Neither is she," observed the kqyres. "Perhaps she is too old now, Mattern."
"She can't be too old," Mattern said. The tridi in his locker was Lyddy, and the picture was young; therefore, Lyddy must still be young.
"She may have married someone else. She may have numerous children clustering about her knee."
"Then I will take her away from her husband and children," Mattern declared. "Can you imagine that a little thing like that would stop me?"
"She may have lost her beauty," the kqyres said. "She may have left Hesperia. She may have suffered a disfiguring accident."
Mattern realized then that Njeri was deliberately trying to keep him from going back to Lyddy. Either he felt that she would interfere with the smooth operation of their business, or he was jealous of a third intruding into their company.
"I have done everything I did for the sake of winning Lyddy," Mattern said, biting off the words. "If all hope of her is gone, then my whole reason for working with you is gone. I will never go back to hyperspace."
"There are other women—"
"Not for me!"
"The business itself means nothing to you?" There was an aggrieved note in the kqyres' voice.
"It's just a living," Mattern said, "just a way of getting Lyddy. You know that was why I went into it. I thought you'd been listening to me all these years."
"I thought perhaps with the deepening of your interests—"
"They have only made me love her the more profoundly."
The kqyres took the equivalent of a deep breath. "You do not have a house or any regular place of residence. You cannot expect a lady to live permanently on a spaceship."
"I will build her a house."
"Will it not show her how carefully you have prepared for her if, first, you build her a palace worthy—"
"I have no time to build palaces."
"There is a tiny planet that circles the dim sun you call Van Maanen's star," the alien persisted. "It is always twilight there. The beings who live on that planet build crystal towers miles high and as fragile as spun glass, in dusk colors the rainbow never dreamed of."
"If she wants a crystal tower, I will have one built for her. But first I will ask her."
"Very well," the kqyres sighed, "since nothing else will satisfy you, let us return and fetch her."
And when they got to Erytheia City, Lyddy was still there, not only unmarried, but—in spite of all the years—unchanged.
VII
And now Mattern had been her husband for several months. He had begun to know her, and he realized that she could never be let known the truth about his life and his work. She would be frightened, and, if there was any emotion left over in her, angry.
He told the kqyres: "I've been thinking of taking Lyddy to Burdon. She might find distractions there that will take her mind off—things it shouldn't be on. What do you think of the idea?"
"I cannot tell," the kqyres replied doubtfully. "I have a curious feeling...."
"Thatwhat?" Mattern prompted him anxiously. It was the first time he had seen the kqyres definitely at a loss, although it had seemed to him of recent months that the xhind's assurance was beginning to ebb.
"... that I am getting too old for my work," the kqyres finished.
"Nonsense!" Mattern cried. The kqyres was his tower of strength; hewouldnot conceive of any weakness in him. It would mean that he would be forced to rely upon himself.And yet, he thought,I am certainly old and experienced enough by now to begin relying upon myself. In fact, I'm getting a little old and tired, too.
"You know," he said to his partner, "maybe we both ought to retire."
"What do you mean?"
"You've been at this long enough and I've got all the money I want. We can see each other sometimes; no reason why I couldn't go into hyperspace just to visit."
The kqyres paled to pearl. "Now that you have Lyddy, you don't want anything else at all?"
"Now that I have Lyddy, what else is there to want?"
The kqyres flickered anxiously. "But the mbretersha has commanded—"
Mattern smiled. "Her commands don't hold good in this universe. You know that. When I was a kid, she could fool me into believing she had a hold over me. But the hold is a psychological one; that's the only thing that could carry over from universe to universe. And I'm strong enough to break it now."
Although he was not quite serious, it might be, he thought, that the hyperspace trade and the trips to Ferr had spoiled him for everyday life, made him too restless for the mundanities of any world. And it was time for him to settle down now.
He let the kqyres win the game, and then he stood up. "I'd better start getting things ready for the trip to Burdon."
"You've definitely decided to go?"
"Yes," Mattern said, pleased with himself, "definitely."
He went to the control room and got out the forms that would need to be filled out before the ship could leave port. Suddenly he remembered his puzzlement about the young spaceman—what was his name?—Raines? He pressed a button on the file, and the boy's records flashed up at him. At first they seemed to be in order:Alard Raines, aged twenty-five, educated on Earth, well and good. Butborn on Earth... Mattern was almost positive that could never have been, not from the way the young man spoke. And one false statement meant that the whole record was false.
However, he could not challenge the discrepancy before they left for Capella. If he spoke to Raines, he'd probably have to dismiss him then and there. It would be difficult to find a suitable replacement in Erytheia City. He might have to send for someone from Earth, which would take months, perhaps a year. First he'd take theQueento Burdon, he decided, and then he would fire Raines.
Nearly three weeks went by before they could leave. Mattern found himself looking forward with some impatience to Burdon. When Lyddy had a house of her own that she could take an interest in, he told himself, things would be different; she would be different. This way she was bored much of the time, and boredom is contagious.
"I've 'vised ahead to Capella, dear," he told her as they boarded ship, "and rented a furnished multiplex, so we'll have some place to stay."
"Yes, honey," she said, with a strange lack of interest. She didn't even seem surprised at the size of the ship. Underneath her elaborate makeup, she was pale; her body was trembling. She saw that an explanation was necessary. "It's been so long since I made the Jump. Silly of me to be so nervous, but you do hear things about hyperspace...."
"You're safer in my ship than anywhere else."
"Yes, I know." Was she merely expressing trust in him, or was there more to her words than that?
At first he was just vaguely suspicious. Then, the second day out, he noticed that Lyddy and Raines seemed to be together a good deal more of the time than chance would account for, and his suspicions secured a focus. The two had some kind of unspoken understanding, he thought, watching them as much out of curiosity as anger.I have become chilled with the years of alien company, he thought.I am incapable of true passion; perhaps that is what she seeks in another.
But, though he might find excuses for her, he would not condone her. A bargain was a bargain. At the end of the first week, he said to her one evening, as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her brush her long, thick gilded hair, "Darling, I'm a little worried about one of my crewmen."
Lyddy didn't turn from the jeweled dressing table he'd had especially installed for her. "Which one?" she asked.
"Young Raines. Do you know which he is?"
"Yes." She paused. "There's only one young one. Why are you worried about him? Do you think he's sick or something?" But that was the question she should have askedbeforeasking the man's identity.
Mattern let a moment elapse, then said, "His papers appear to be forged."
He glanced at the reflection of her face, but it held neither relief nor fear, merely its usual sweet emptiness. "Maybe he needed a job real bad," she said.
"Maybe," her husband agreed, "but why use forged papers?"
"He might of gotten into some kind of trouble—you know how boys are."
"I'd hardly care to employ the kind of spaceman who gets into trouble serious enough for him to lose his papers. You have to do something pretty drastic to get them taken away, you know."
She said nothing.
He went on, "What I'm beginning to suspect is that he isn't really a trained spaceman at all, that he didn't go to any of the Earth space schools."
"Do you have to go to an Earth space school to be a spaceman? Can't you study somewhere else?"
"Earth's the only place where they give the conditioning." He told the truth, figuring she wouldn't understand.
She turned to look at him. "That's so the men shouldn't—see the things outside when they go through hyperspace, isn't it?"
Mattern was somewhat taken aback. "How did you know? It's not public information."
She shrugged and turned back to the dressing table. "I've known a lot of spacemen, hon."
Her face was pale, but why just now? He wondered just what Raines had told her—how much the boy actually knew. Naturally there could be only one possible reason he had chosen Lyddy as his confidante.
"There's something between you and Raines, isn't there?" he asked.
There was a slight delay. Then her laughter shrilled through the cabin. "Don't be silly, hon; I hardly know the man! All I've done was speak to him a couple of times!" She got up and put her soft arms around her husband. "You're jealous, Len," she said, and there was complacency mixed with the fright in her eyes.
He felt a pang of disgust, but tried not to let it show. Gently, he put her away from him.
"But that's so silly," she murmured. "How could I prefer a dumb pimply kid to you?"
In theory, that was quite true, but Len knew women had strange tastes. And possibly "a dumb pimply kid"hadmore to offer her emotionally and, in reverse, intellectually, than he had. It was not impossible that she was telling the truth, but Mattern could not, of course, believe her. And there was no point in making a further issue of it now. When they reached Burdon, he would fire Raines simply on the basis of the forged papers. No need to bring Lyddy into it at all. So that problem would be easily solved, but what of the others?
He went to play chess with the kqyres. "I trust you have got over your whimsical notion to retire," the xhind said hopefully.
"No," Len told him maliciously, "I've practically made up my mind to quit. There doesn't seem to be any point to it any more."
"The womanhaschanged! That's the whole trouble, isn't it? Even though it's not apparent, in some way she has changed?"
"No," Len said again, "she hasn't changed at all. In fact, I think that's what the trouble is. She hasn't changed, butIhave."
"I never thought of that," the kqyres confessed.
The night of the Jump, Mattern turned in at the kqyres' suggestion. "For once, your men can take care of the ship," the xhind said, "since there will be no trading stop." Lyddy would be drugged, but Mattern would not need drugs, for hyperspace held no more horrors for him. Or so he thought.
But that night he was awakened by the sound of a screaming so hideous that, if he hadn't known voices don't change during the hyperjump, he would be tempted to think it was one result of the law of mutability—so monstrous were these shrill, worse-than-animal cries.
He rushed out of his cabin.
In the corridor stood Lyddy, still screaming, her face contorted with terror that only the sight of Alard Raines standing there in his normal shape let Mattern know that they had already passed the Jump.
The shrieking separated into words. "I saw it! It was horrible!" And she made an ugly noise in her throat. "You were right, Alard. It's true! There's a monster on board and it did somethingawfulto me...." Her voice ebbed to a bubble as she looked down at her body beneath the thin veil of fabric and found the same voluptuous curves she had started out with.
Mattern sighed. "Better come into my cabin, Lyddy." And then he jerked his head at Raines. "You come, too." He paused in the doorway when he saw there was no need for privacy. "Where are the other crewmen?"
"Asleep," Raines said. "Drugged. As usual. Who do you think you're fooling, anyway?"
Mattern was too disturbed at the news to take notice of the boy's manner. "But they weren't supposed to be drugged this trip! And who's in charge then?You?"
Raines flushed and struggled to pronounce the word he wanted to use in return. "Your kek—kqyres, I'd say, is in charge. Like he always has been," he concluded triumphantly.
Mattern shut the cabin door behind the three of them. Lyddy went over and sat down on the edge of the bunk, quieter now that she found her personal transformation had been ephemeral. Seeing a monster is not, after all, anywhere near as bad as being a monster. Her fright dimmed and was outshone by a strong sense of personal injury.
"I thought all Alard's talk of kek-kek-monsters was just superstition," she babbled, "but it'strue. I saw that thing with my own eyes and it'shideous! Len,whydo you have it on board, especially whenI'mhere?"
"I have to," Len said. "He's my partner."
Her blue eyes widened in shock. "Then you've been doing more than justtradingwith the hyperspacers. You've beenassociatingwith them, and they're even worse than extraterrestrials because they're so much more—extraterrestrial!"
She went on talking in this vein, but Mattern ignored her and turned his attention to the boy. "I suppose you told her not to eat or drink anything so she'd see the hyperspacer?"
Raines nodded, his face essaying contempt but imperfectly concealing terror.
"And I suppose you yourself did the same thing, not knowing the men weren't going to be drugged this trip?" Len sat down behind his writing table and looked thoughtfully at the young man. "You must have done the same thing before, on other trips, to know as much as you seem to. You must have heard and seen a great deal, eh?"
"Plenty," Raines said, through brave, stiff lips. "Plenty."
Obviously the boy hates me, Mattern thought.But why? Is Lyddy enough reason?
"Why did you bring her into this?" he asked, almost mildly.
Lyddy didn't give Alard a chance to answer. "Because he wanted me to see you as you really are!" she shrieked.
The boy shuffled his feet. "I had to tell somebody."
"Why my wife, though? She owes you nothing; she owes me everything. The first woman of the streets you picked up would have made a safer confidante."
"Maybe I trusted her."
"Maybe you had no right to trust her!" Mattern cried, almost with sincerity. "It would have been wrong of her not to tell me."
"Maybe it was because I—I love her," Alard said, looking down at the thick rugs that covered the cabin floor. "If you fall in love with somebody, you tell them things."
Mattern couldn't help smiling. "I never do," he said.
"Maybe you've never been in love. Maybe you don't have any human feelings at all."
There was an uncomfortable feeling in Mattern's shoulders, as if his tailor had made a mistake for once. Had he, during sixteen years of alien trade, changed into something not quite human? Was there then a solid basis for the anti-extraterrestrial prejudice? He picked up a slender, sharp thike and ran his thumb absent-mindedly along the blade. Alard stiffened in his effort not to flush.
Mattern smiled and laid the thike down on the table. It was only a paperknife and had never been used for anything more. If he ever had need for such a thing to be done, the time was long past when he would have needed to do it himself. He looked at the crewman.
"One would almost think you told my wife because you wanted her to tell me," he suggested.
"That's ridiculous!" Alard flashed. "I may be a fool, but not that much of a fool!"
"Why are you on my ship with forged papers then?" Mattern demanded.
"I wanted—I wanted to bring you to justice."
"By committing a crime yourself? Surely a roundabout way. And why have you taken it upon yourself to help rid humanity of me?"
"Why shouldn't I?" Alard asked. "I'm a human being; isn't that enough? But, as a matter of fact, that wasn't the reason I came to your ship. I only found out later what you were doing."
Mattern waited patiently.
"You killed my father!" the boy burst out. And then tension seemed to ebb from him, as if the worst had happened. "So now you know who I am!"
Mattern picked his words delicately. "If you have proof that I murdered your father, why don't you prosecute? There's no statute of limitation on murder on any of the planets. Or don't you have proof?"
Alard's voice broke slightly. "Everybody on Fairhurst knows you killed him, but they won't do anything about it. They say he deserved what he got."
Mattern sighed, knowing now who the young man was. His brother. Another responsibility, another vain tie. "How do you know, he didn't deserve what he got?" Mattern asked.
Suddenly Alard grew shy. He lowered his eyes to the rug again. "BecauseIdidn't deserve whatIgot."
And there, Mattern thought, Alard had him. Whatever the boy was now, he certainly had not deserved what he'd got then.But I was only sixteen, Mattern argued with himself;how could I have been held responsible?And then he told himself,You haven't been sixteen for twenty-four years.
"I thought one of the women in the village would have adopted you," he said.
"One of 'em did. They took me away from her after she beat me so hard she practically killed me. Every little thing I did wrong, she said it was the bad blood coming out in me, and beat me so hard the blood did come. I went from one family to another, but nobody really wanted me." His voice cracked wide across. "You don't know what it's like to grow up with nobody caring for you!"
"It so happens I do," Mattern said, "but I can't expect you to believe me."
Alard wasn't interested in Mattern's life story; he wanted to wallow in his own in front of a captive audience. "The only hope I had was that you would come back for me some day. They told me you were probably dead, but I wouldn't believe it, see? It was all I had to hang onto."
"I thought you were part of a family," Mattern tried to defend himself. "I thought you belonged to somebody." He almost convinced himself that this was true, but, at the back of his mind, something whispered,You ditched him.
"When I was sixteen, like you'd been, I ran away to look for you. I found out where you'd gone and I followed. I even stayed a while with the flluska. I liked them better than my own people. They said I should try looking for you in hyperspace."
"They are a very wise people," Mattern said.
Alard hadn't had his brother's luck. None of the great starships offered him a berth. But there were unchartered vessels—smugglers and pirates and worse—that would hire anybody who didn't value his life very highly and knew how to keep his mouth shut. He got jobs on them. And as the bandit ships he sailed on took Jumps closer and closer in to the more sophisticated sectors, Alard began to hear of a Len Mattern. It took him a long time before he could bring himself to believe that this king of finance was the brother whom he had imagined finding derelict and penniless. Instead, he was rich and oblivious, not needing anything the younger man could give him.
It was then that Alard determined revenge. It took him years to save up enough money to buy the false papers he needed—more years to buy his way into Mattern's crew. And, finally, he had achieved his end; he was there.
"But you've been with me almost a year now," Mattern pointed out, "and done nothing except talk to Lyddy against me. What were you planning to do?"
"I don't know," the boy said hopelessly. "Lots of times I thought of killing you, but then I'd be killing the only relative I had."
"You could have told me who you were. I'd have done something for you."
Alard's eyes blazed. "Yes, youwouldhave. When it's easy, when it wouldn't mean a damn thing to you, you'd do something for me!"
Len pulled out a smokestick and offered it to the boy. Alard shook his head impatiently. Len lit one for himself. Neither of them said anything.
Lyddy was sobbing softly. "You never really loved me," she whimpered. "It was just a way of getting back at Len."
Alard looked away from her, met his brother's eye, and dropped his gaze to the rug, without denying the impeachment.
Mattern exhaled smoke. "All right, you had a grudge against me, but what did you have against her? If youwereusing her to get back at me, then I think you have no cause to reproach me for anything I did. Maybe your foster-mother was right; thereisbad blood in the family."