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Spy-waved. We should have talked less.
It isn t, came Schwartz s voice flatly. There s nobody listening.
The archaeologist was ready with an automatic How do you know? but never
said it.
For a power like that to exist! And not for him, but for a man of the past who
called himself an
Earthman and wanted to die!
Within optical sweep was only a patch of ceiling. Turning, he could see
Shekt s angular profile;
the other way, a blank wall. If he lifted his head he could make out, for a
moment, Pola s pale, worn expression.
Occasionally there was the burning thought that he was a man of the Empire--of
the
Empire, by the Stars; a Galactic citizen--and that there was a particularly
vile injustice in his imprisonment, a particularly deep impurity in the fact
that he had allowed
Earthmen to do this to him.
And that faded too.
They might have put him next to Pola...No, it was better this way. He was not
an inspiring sight.
Bel? The word trembled into sound and was strangely sweet to Arvardan,
coming as it did in this vortex of coming death.
Yes, Pola?
Do you think they ll be much longer?
Maybe not, darling....It s too bad. We wasted two months, didn t we?
My fault, she whispered. My fault. We might have had these last few
minutes, though. It s so--unnecessary.
Arvardan could not answer. His mind whirred in circles of thought, lost on a
greased wheel. Was it his imagination, or did he feel the hard plastic on
which he was so stiffly laid? How long would the paralysis last?
Schwartz must be made to help. He tried guarding his thoughts--knew it to be
ineffective.
He said, Schwartz--
Schwartz lay there as helpless, and with an added, uncalculated refinement to
his suffering. He was four minds in one.
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By himself he might have maintained his own shrinking eagerness for the
infinite peace and quiet of death, fought down the last remnants of that love
of life which even as recently as two days previously--three?--had sent him
reeling away from the farm. But how could he? With the poor, weak horror of
death that hung like a pall over Shekt; with the strong chagrin and rebellion
of Arvardan s hard, vital mind; with the deep and pathetic disappointment of
the young girl.
He should have closed his own mind. What did he need to know of the sufferings
of others? He had his own life to live, his own death to die.
But they battered at him, softly, incessantly--probing and sifting through the
crannies.
And Arvardan said, Schwartz, then, and Schwartz knew that they wanted him to
save them.
Why should he? Why should he?
Schwartz, repeated Arvardan insinuatingly, you can live a hero. You have
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nothing to die for here--not for those men out there.
But Schwartz was gathering the memories of his own youth, clutching them
desperately to his wavering mind. It was a queer amalgamation of past and
present that finally brought forth his indignation.
But he spoke calmly, restrainedly. Yes, I can live a hero--and a traitor.
They want to kill me, those men out there. You call them men, but that was
with your tongue; your mind called them something
I didn t get, but it was vile. And not because they were vile, but because
they were Earthmen.
That s a lie, hotly.
That is not a lie, as hotly, and everyone here knows that. They want to
kill me, yes--but that is because they think I m one of your kind of people,
who can condemn an entire planet at a stroke and drench it with your contempt,
choke it slowly with your insufferable superiority. Well, protect yourself
against these worms and vermin who are somehow managing to threaten their
Godlike overlords. Don t ask for the help of one of them.
You talk like a Zealot, said Arvardan with amazement. Why? Have you
suffered? You were a member of a large and independent planet, you say. You
were an Earthman when Earth was the sole repository of life. You re one of us,
man; one of the rulers. Why associate yourself with a desperate remnant? This
is not the planet you remember. My planet is more like the old Earth than is
this diseased world.
Schwartz laughed. I m one of the rulers, you say? Well, we won t go into
that. It isn t worth explaining. Let s take you instead. You re a fine sample
of the product sent us by the Galaxy. You are tolerant and wonderfully
bighearted, and admire yourself because you treat Dr. Shekt as an equal. But
underneath--yet not so far underneath that I can t see it plainly in your
mind--you are uncomfortable with him. You don t like the way he talks or the
way he looks. In fact, you don t like him, even though he is offering to
betray Earth....Yes, and you kissed a girl of Earth recently and look back
upon it as a weakness. You re ashamed of it--
By the Stars, I m not....Pola, desperately, don t believe him. Don t listen
to him.
Pola spoke quietly. Don t deny it, or make yourself unhappy about it, Bel.
He s looking below the surface to the residue of your childhood. He would see
the same if he looked into mine. He would see things similar if he could look
into his own in as ungentlemanly a fashion as he probes ours.
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Schwartz felt himself reddening.
Pola s voice did not rise in pitch or intensity as she addressed him directly.
Schwartz, if you can sense minds, investigate mine. Tell me if I intend
treason. Look at my father. See if it is not true that he could have avoided
the Sixty easily enough if he had co-operated with the madmen who will ruin
the
Galaxy. What has he gained by his treason?...And look again, see if any of us
wish to harm Earth or
Earthmen.
You say you have caught a glimpse of Balkis s mind. I don t know what chance
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