Front matter (continued 2)

"No reason was given as to why the alleged Earthman was seen in the streets of Junction City last night, to all appearances a native of Kedak. His name, according to Gawroi, is Matlin. If anyone has any knowledge of...."

Then Haazahri took the paper and read it. She returned it to Ranmut, her hand trembling. "Do you know Gawroi?" she asked Matlin.

"No."

"An Earthman? Do you think that's what you are—purple skin or not?"

"Don't look at me like that," Matlin said, smiling. "Earthmen are human too. Just as human as Kedaki."

"I know, but—"

"Yes, I think I'm an Earthman. I think I'm this Philip Rhodes. I—"

"Oh, Matlin! Then you remember?"

"No, but there have been other things—no time to go into them now...." Quotis, he thought. The Arcturan doctor. There had been no mention of Quotis, but there should have been. It was as if the Kedaki authorities and this Gawroi wanted to ease Quotis out of the picture, and Matlin did not like that. Why? Why shouldn't Quotis have been contacted? Quotis knew more about Matlin than anyone did. Gawroi disturbed him more than the police. He sensed that he knew the Kedaki archaeologist. Besides, if Gawroi's purpose for finding Rhodes had not been sinister, wouldn't he seek Quotis for whatever help the Arcturan could offer?

"It means something to you, lord?" Ranmut asked, indicating the newspaper.

When Matlin answered, his words were addressed to Haazahri. "Tell me, would your friend Felg go to the police or to this Gawroi?"

"Felg would avoid the police if he could. Do you trust this Gawroi?"

"No," said Matlin promptly, not bothering to give his reason.

"Then you think Felg and the archaeologist are now in league against you?"

Matlin nodded, grasped Ranmut's shoulders. "Ranmut," he said, "I don't have to tell you you've done enough for us already. You came all the way out here to help, and—"

"I have done nothing, lord. Last night you saved my life, for my family."

"Do you wish to stay at Balata 'kai?"

"We lowborn are told Balata 'kai is a frightful place," said Ranmut, shaking his head dolefully. "We lowborn are told it is most dangerous for us to approach this shrine."

"And still you came," Matlin marveled. "Will you leave now?"

Ranmut shuffled his feet in the sand. "I'll stay if the Lord Matlin wishes."

But Matlin shook his head. "By all means go back."

"If the Lord needs me—"

"No, you can deliver a message for me in Junction City. In the Arcturan hospital, to a Dr. Quotis. Tell him that his patient Matlin is seeking his lost memory at Balata 'kai. Show him the newspaper article and say for certain reasons Matlin does not trust the archaeologist Gawroi. And tell him Matlin has not gone to the police because first he must find something which the police don't want him to find. Ask Quotis to contact the Earth authorities in Junction City, if he thinks that best. You'll do this?"

"Of course, lord," Ranmut said simply, and bowed.

"And don't do that. Don't bow. You're a man, Ranmut. You're as good a man as I am, or Felg, or anyone."

"Yes, lord," said Ranmut doubtfully. He smiled shyly at Haazahri, then Matlin offered his hand and Ranmut shook it solemnly and trudged back across the sands on his long walk to Haatok.

Ranmut was in luck, for a bus was just arriving that would soon take him back to Junction City. He jingled the few remaining denebs in his pocket thinking, proudly, that he had not asked Matlin for money. He owed the strange-talking highborn Kedaki this much: he would defend the message to the alien Quotis with his life if necessary, and it seemed ridiculous to ask money for it, even for the bus fare to Junction City.

He stood in the dusty throngs on the raised sidewalk alongside the bus while its passengers stepped onto the ramp, stretched themselves and claimed their baggage. Suddenly, he froze. Two men came through the wide bus doors together. The very large man he did not know, but the reasonably large one he did. The reasonably large one was Felg and Ranmut turned away quickly, trying to push his way through the crowd. But Ranmut was a small, slender man, and arms, legs and bodies could easily detain him. It was very hot there, and he began to sweat. He felt the sweat streaming from his face, dampening his armpits, coursing down his sides and flanks. He pushed and struggled in the pressing crowd, and the ranks of the indifferent, as if in league with his enemies, closed in.

"Careful, lowborn!" an indignant Kedaki woman chirped, and Ranmut offered her an obsequious smile, then helplessly felt the surging crowd, pushing forward now to find seats on the bus, turning him so that he faced Felg and the man who must be Gawroi.

The two highborn Kedaki were just alighting from the bus, their feet touching down on the section of the ramp which had been roped off for disembarking passengers. Gawroi said something, and Felg answered. They were very close. They were far closer than Ranmut had realized. Then Felg pointed and his finger, unwavering, speared air in Ranmut's direction. Ranmut tried to make himself very small. Sweat beaded his brow, stung his eyes. He wanted to disappear into his mean clothing. Felg pointed again and walked quickly with Gawroi to the rear of the crowd, where Ranmut lost them.

Several minutes later, the crowd had swept him to the doors of the bus. He held his three denebs overhead in one wet hand, waiting for the conductor to exchange them for a ticket to Junction City. Heads taller than his were everywhere. He could not see the conductor. Then something plucked the three denebs from his hand and a smile of relief lit his woe-begotten features momentarily. He expected to feel the bus ticket thrust between his fingers, where he would clutch it almost lovingly. It did not matter that the bus was already crowded and he would have standing room all the way back to Junction City. It mattered only that Felg had not pointed in his direction, that by now Felg and the archaeologist Gawroi were gone from the depot, and....

A hand closed on his elbow. A voice hissed in his ear: "This way, Ranmut." He knew the voice, and despaired. It was Felg.

They took him quickly from the bus station and thence across the hot dusty streets of Haatok to a small hotel where a sleepy-eyed desk clerk admitted them, gave them a big brass key and went back to doing absolutely nothing and wishing he could do less without even seeing their faces. Ranmut wanted to scream out for help, but the hotel clerk would be no help at all. Ranmut allowed them, Felg and the man Gawroi, to lead him upstairs to a small, dingy room with scabbing walls and a dirty floor and a faintly foul smell. Gawroi, who had held his elbow all the way from the bus station, flung him across the room as Felg shut the door. He fell on the bed and he did not weigh much, but the bed collapsed under him. At another time, it would have been very funny.

"What are you doing in Haatok?" Felg snapped.

He got up. Felg pushed him and he fell on the mattress and remained there.

"What are you doing in Haatok?"

He was not glib. He had never been glib. He could think of absolutely no answer, no fiction to substitute for the truth. He remained silent. Something rustled as he leaned uncomfortably on his left side. It was the newspaper with the circled article. If Felg found that, Felg would know. So, Felg must not find it. He shifted his weight to that side, trying to cover the telltale edge of paper protruding from his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Felg said.

He rolled over. The paper rustled. He wanted to scream.

Felg took hold of his arm and dragged him to his feet. The other man, Gawroi, merely stood and watched. Felg was going to get the newspaper, Ranmut knew. He broke away and ran toward the door. Felg stuck his foot out and Ranmut fell over it headlong, skidding across the dirty floor to the door, where he lay in a heap. Directly in front of his face was Gawroi's large shoe, the toe under his chin. But Gawroi's shoe did not move.

Felg reached down and got the newspaper. His face became dark with blood when he saw it. He pulled Ranmut to his feet and shook the paper before his face and bellowed, "Where did you get this?"

"In the bus depot, lord."

Felg thrust Ranmut back toward the broken bed and showed the newspaper to Gawroi. "I marked it. It's my paper," he admitted.

"That was clumsy of you, wasn't it?" Gawroi said. He had a powerful voice, but there seemed to be very little concern in it, as if whatever happened hardly mattered to him at all. "So now Rhodes knows you're after him."

"You think this slave told Rhodes?"

"Look at him. Dust-covered. Can't you see he's been on the desert, Felg? Can't you see anything?"

"Yes," Felg grumbled. "Then what can we do?"

Instead of answering, Gawroi said to Ranmut: "You realize we can do with you as we wish. No one knows we brought you here. The hotel clerk saw nothing. What sort of errand are you running for Rhodes?"

"Who," said Ranmut, "is Rhodes?"

"For Matlin."

Ranmut said nothing.

Felg growled, "We can break the bones in your body one at a time, you fool!"

"Yes, lord," said Ranmut meekly, speaking to gain courage from the sound of his own voice.

"But we won't do anything of the sort," Gawroi said. "Why should we? Listen."

A rumbling sound could be heard in the street. It became a growl and then a loud smooth purr of power. "The bus to Junction City," Gawroi said. "The only bus. What can this fellow do here in Haatok."

"He can go to the police."

"Who are seeking Matlin? Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, I don't trust him."

"Did I say I trusted him? But it doesn't matter, if he's quite helpless."

"Alive, he isn't helpless."

Gawroi said, "Violence satisfies a certain need in you, doesn't it? Do you want to hurt this little fellow? Is that what you wish? I have no interest in the matter, but I am ready to go to Balata 'kai."

"Alive, he isn't helpless," Felg repeated.

Ranmut did not let the relief show on his face. Words now, just words. They were going to let him go. And somehow, for the first time in his life, he wanted to live. It was very important that he lived. He had no wish to die. Because he did not believe? In truth, he could not tell himself that. Because he had always been a good man, if a lowborn, and had no desire for reincarnation if the highborn were men such as Felg and Gawroi? Something of that passed through his mind, but it was not altogether clear. I'm going to live, he thought. After all, I'm going to live. And he allowed himself the luxury of a slow smile. The smile dropped from his face when Gawroi said:

"All right, Felg. Do as you wish. I won't interfere with your pleasure. But I'm going downstairs. I'm renting a sand-car to take us to Balata 'kai. I'll meet you outside."

"Alive, he—"

"Don't try to rationalize it for my benefit. Do as you wish. I have utterly no interest in the matter." Gawroi gave Ranmut one final, utterly indifferent look, and left the room. That look told Ranmut his doom was sealed.

He was small and weak and Felg was a strapping, strong highborn. Felg said, when the door shut, "You had an extra day of life, for you should have died by my mace."

Ranmut said nothing.

Felg said, "Are you happy? You probably led a life exemplary for its lack of significance, as a lowborn should. You ought to be happy—your next incarnation will be a higher one."

"Please kill me if you are going to, lord," said Ranmut.

"Don't you believe? Aren't you glad for the chance to die? What have you to live for?" Beads of sweat stood out on Felg's forehead, and Ranmut did not understand.

"Kill me, lord. I won't resist, I won't prolong it."

"Then you do believe?" demanded Felg softly, passionately, his fingers closing on Ranmut's frail throat without applying pressure.

"No, lord," said Ranmut. "I do not believe."

"You've got to believe in reincarnation!" Felg screamed.

"I no longer believe."

"You must! Don't you see, you must?"

"I only know that my belief fades like the leaves in autumn in deep southern climes."

"Believe!" screamed Felg.

This was all madness to Ranmut. He waited for the fingers to tighten on his throat, to constrict there. But they did not.

"Believe!" The hands uncoiled, made weak fists and beat without strength against Ranmut's chest, beat beseechingly. "I need your belief!" Felg screamed, and, when next he spoke, he was sobbing with bitterness and fear. "I need your belief, please oh please, I need it to make my own belief strong. I need it, I need you, Ranmut, please, you've got to believe, because you're a lowborn and you have nothing to live for and if you don't believe then surely I, I can't believe either and that leaves nothing.... Ranmut, Ranmut, I don't want to die, Ranmut...."

Despite everything, Ranmut felt himself engulfed by waves of pity. He said, softly, "But you're not going to die, lord."

Felg hit him and his eyes and nose stung, the hot blood trickling from his nostrils. Then Felg sobbed and did not look at Ranmut again. Sitting on the broken bed, Ranmut watched the big man lumber, sobbing, from the room.

Outside, a horn blew. Gawroi was waiting and Ranmut sensed that if Felg were weak, Gawroi was strong. Together they were going to Balata 'kai after Matlin and there was nothing that he, Ranmut, could do to warn his friend that danger and possibly death was approaching across the sun-scorched sands.

CHAPTER IX

The walls glowed.

They had come a long way, Matlin and Haazahri, through tunnels carved in the soft, limey rock under the Balata 'kai ruins. The last signs for tourists had long-since vanished behind them and the way would have been totally dark but for the strangely glowing walls. Matlin went confidently at a dog-trot. Occasionally he stopped while Haazahri rested, and she saw the look on his face and never questioned him.

He knew where he was going, without knowing how he knew. But he had been this way before—seeking ... no, hiding. He had found something in the ruins, in an airtight box which had preserved it as if it had been left there yesterday and not five thousand years ago, and he had come this way to hide it, because it needed safe-keeping until he was ready for it....

If he could only find it!

For he knew that it held the key to his memory. A blow on the head, the Arcturan physician Quotis had told him once, was not enough to destroy memory. The blow was merely a trigger. Unconsciously, the victim of amnesia wanted his memory destroyed, to forget something intolerable, to hide something....

To hide something. Prison. Dark, wet walls. Torture. Subtle psychological torture. He held out, but couldn't hold out much longer. The fire, the beams falling, the horrible burning. And gladly surrendering memory because, miraculously, he had not died. Surrendering memory to hide—what lay before him in these caverns! One look, he thought as he ran, leaving Haazahri momentarily behind, and it will all come surging back like the sea at ebb tide. One look and I'll know not merely what it was I hid here, but the secrets of myself as well.

"Haazahri," he said.

Abruptly he stopped. He was here and the walls glowed and he could see but needed no vision for this.

"Haazahri," he said again, and she came up to him. "We're here, Haazahri," he said.

The passage looked like all the others. He'd led the way to it instinctively and knew that if he lost whatever instinct had guided his feet, they would be lost in this labyrinth forever. But it did not seem very important now. What was important had been hidden here, in this cavern.

"Where?" Haazahri asked. "Where is it, whatever you seek?"

He touched the wall near her head and she heard a shifting, a grinding of heavy stones. Part of the wall swung slowly to one side, revealing a dark recess, a niche with walls that did not glow. Matlin thrust his hands within the niche and took out a large, heavy book with a black, unmarked cover. When he got it clear of the niche, he looked at it a moment in the glowing cavern light and his eyes grew big and round and the book dropped from his hands to the floor of the cavern. He stood there, clutching his head with his hands and Haazahri cried:

"What is it? What happened, Matlin?"

The pain of returning memory thrust at him like a sharp knife, but was not intolerable. He remembered! He remembered!

"Rhodes," he said in a dream. "My name is Rhodes. Phil Rhodes, and I'm an Earthman. They took me and they tortured me and I was going to break. I must have known it, subconsciously. So I welcomed amnesia, as the one way I could not reveal where I had hidden this. I had revealed once the fact that I'd found it, to Gawroi, before I told the Earth authorities. The Earth authorities still don't know, but when they do know, when they see what has been found...."

"But what is it?" Haazahri asked him.

He stooped, picking up the book. "Earth doesn't want to dictate to your people, understand that. You are a sovereign people. But if in your sovereignty a small percentage of you have used lies and fabrications to enslave fifty generations of your people, and if Earth decides to do something about that...."

"But what is it?"

With both hands, Rhodes held the big book over his head. His face shone with triumph and he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, "The Book of the Dead, Haazahri."

She looked at it, and at him. Then abruptly she fell to her knees and touched the floor with her face. "The Book," she said. "The Book? You mean that?"

"Haazahri, listen. You're important. You're very important. I knew it would be dangerous coming here. Maybe, instinctively, that's why I let you come with me. Because you're so important. You're a Kedaki, don't you see? With a Kedaki's reactions. I know about this Book. It's sacred. It's had five thousand years in hiding to become sacred. Even your rulers today probably didn't know where it was. Excerpts only, key passages out of context, remained from the days the book had been hidden, remained to keep most of the Kedaki enslaved, chained to the lies of metempsychosis.

"I know, Haazahri. I know what it must be like. This book is the center of everything you believe. Your loves and dreams and hopes. Right now you must be telling yourself you ought to remain there, forever, your face in the dust before it. The Book of the Dead, Haazahri! Well, the Book is lies, do you understand? Lies! And I can prove it, the Earth scientists here on Kedak can prove it to all your people. Listen to me, Haazahri. This book doesn't explain the wonders of reincarnation, as you thought it might. No, Haazahri! Although, out of context, what material your leaders had might indicate that it did.

"This book is a book of instructions for the ruling classes of Kedak, through the unborn generations. The lies are explained, codified, systematized. There is no doubt, nothing left to interpretation. Keep them base, the book says. Keep them base and promise them a better life in their next incarnation, and they'll obey you. That's the cynical message of The Book of the Dead, Haazahri! Don't you see the difference between this and the true religions, in their many forms, of the other worlds? Yes, good behavior is rewarded, and should be rewarded. But what is good behavior for the Kedaki lowborn? Good behavior is merely servitude, slavery. And the reward which the slave-masters hold out is one which, in the beginning, in this book, they did not even believe themselves. It's a fiction, Haazahri! And they say so. They say so here. Do you believe me?"

For a long time Haazahri did not answer. When she did, her voice was choked with sobs. "You ... you're an Earthman. You brought me out here to ... test me with The Book and see ... not because you wanted me ... not because you love me. Matlin, Matlin...."

Rhodes said, "Stand up, Haazahri, and show me your face. Stand up, Haazahri, and let me kiss your tears. And don't cry, Haazahri. There isn't any reason to cry. Yes, I'm an Earthman. But I love you, Haazahri; I love you—"

She stood quickly and somehow he could sense that five thousand years of dogma and superstition were slipping away as, in time, with the passing of a generation perhaps, and with the understanding and patience of the rest of the galaxy, they would slip away for all of Kedak's peoples. She stood up boldly in the face of The Book, but seemed shy. She said, "Then Matlin is no more?"

"I am Matlin and more than Matlin. Matlin was only a part of me. But you can call me Matlin, if you wish. All our lives."

"Do you wish?"

"It is not my name."

"Philrhodes?"

"It is customary," he said, smiling, "to use one half or the other."

"Phil? Phil?" she breathed tremulously, and came into his arms. Then, after a while, he tucked The Book of the Dead under one arm and her hand under the other and started on the long trek back toward the sunshine.

Daylight was very bright, dazzling them.

"There they are!" a voice shouted, and Haazahri screamed:

"It's Felg!"

Rhodes said, "Watch the Book," and flung it to one side. They had come out into the daylight on the high limestone crag which jutted above the desert floor and Rhodes as yet could see no more than shadows against the fierce sun. The shadows came apart and one went toward Haazahri and the Book, and the other toward Rhodes. Tears sprang from Rhodes' eyes in the effort to see. Neither man was armed. It seemed right, somehow, that they battle for the Book which had been born with the birth of a civilization, with their bare hands.

Then he was closing with Felg and heard Haazahri scream and knew the noise of their fighting would summon the guards, who would take the Book from him.

"My life!" screamed Felg hysterically. "You destroyed my life!"

The words meant much to Felg, but meant nothing to Rhodes. Felg was mad—and strong with the strength of madness.

He forced Rhodes slowly back, and back meant toward the edge of the precipice and Rhodes got a quick vision of it as he was spun around, the world down there, far down, the tiny sand-car gleaming in the sun and the long stretches of sand and far away the huddle of stone structures that was Haatok gleaming in the sun. And then, still being forced back, he saw Haazahri, sprawled on the sand before one of the three great columns of the ruins of Balata 'kai. Blood trickled from her mouth and she was not moving. Of The Book of the Dead and Gawroi he saw nothing.

Then his own madness matched and surpassed Felg's own. Haazahri, he thought, Haazahri. His hands found Felg's throat and held there a moment, but not long. He shifted them and got Felg's weight up and Felg screamed a thin sound in the high air and then he sent Felg's body hurtling down, the scream fading, over the precipice.

He did not wait to see it land, but ran to Haazahri. He touched her breast and she was warm, warm! her heart beating....

"Haazahri," he murmured.

Her eyelids fluttered. "Go after him! Quickly, for he has The Book. I'll follow."

He whirled and sprinted for the broken, ruined staircase on the side of the cliff. Down it he went, tumbling, falling, sliding from rock-ledge to rock-ledge. The staircase, what was left of it, turned and twisted, and he could not see Gawroi below him.

When finally he hit the hot sands of the desert he saw Gawroi's figure ahead of him. Gawroi, running swiftly, and The Book! Heading for the sand-car, swift, swift—

And if Gawroi won the race, a people would remain in bondage. How long? Another five thousand years?

Gawroi looked over his shoulder once, redoubled his efforts. The sand was hot and the wind whipped it at Rhodes' face, but he was closing the gap rapidly on the ponderous Gawroi. Still, there was no time. The distance was too great.... Gawroi stumbled, rolled over, lost The Book, clutched it and began running again. Rhodes was closer, closer—

And Gawroi flung himself into the sand-car.

The engine growled, caught. The wheels spun in the sand, tractionless at first. But soon their big treads gained traction, and the car leaped forward with a surge of power.

Defeat....

But the car spun around, bore down on Rhodes. At the last moment he realized what Gawroi was attempting. He knew too much and Gawroi wanted to kill him.

Gawroi was going to run him down.

The car came screaming across the sand at him, whine of tires and whine of over-heated motor and Gawroi's grim face, growing, growing....

Rhodes flung himself aside, then leaped. His hands caught the side of the open car, clung there even though it felt as if his arms would be wrenched from their sockets. He had a quick glimpse of a dot which was Haazahri working her way down the staircase on the side of the cliff and another—a guard—pursuing her. Then he pulled himself up into the sand-car and was grappling with Gawroi.

They fought, and the wheel was forgotten, the car lurching from side to side across the sand. The cliff blurred ahead of them. How fast were they going? Seventy miles an hour? Eighty? If they struck at that speed....

Gawroi was a man possessed. He didn't care. If the crash would destroy The Book of the Dead, destroy Rhodes, who knew of The Book, it was enough.

Rhodes pushed flank against flank in the narrow front seat of the open sand car. Gawroi's hands tore at his face, ripping skin and flesh. All Gawroi needed was a few seconds, and it would all be over. Gawroi, who was fighting for an idea, fighting to preserve a five thousand year lie. And Rhodes, who was fighting that a people might live, after five thousand years....

Abruptly Gawroi tumbled from the car, clawing at air and screaming before he hit the sand at terrible speed, rolling and tumbling and coming to rest with his head at an impossible angle.

Then Rhodes was battling the car, and for a time which seemed extended over a yawning gap of infinity, he did not know if he would be able to bring it under control in time. The base of the cliff loomed. He could not see above it. He stamped on the brake and still the cliff blurred at him. He felt himself flung forward....

And gazed at the wall of rock, two feet in front of the now motionless car.

In a daze, he watched Haazahri climb in beside him. Close by a guard was shouting something; in the car, Haazahri was saying something about his cut and bleeding face.

The guard would find Felg, his body broken from the fall; would find Gawroi, his neck broken. The guard would summon help.

But by that time, Rhodes knew, The Book of the Dead would be in safe hands. Ever since the earthquake, thieves had been looting Balata 'kai. They were thieves in the eyes of the guard, only that. There was no reason for special pursuit and, in Gawroi's sand-car, they would reach Junction City.

And the pages of The Book of the Dead would be flung open for all the worlds to see. A generation might pass before the Kedaki could assume their rightful place in the civilized community of worlds, a generation in which the kind of thinking that had put Rhodes in a prison cell must be stamped out.

But in the end, the Kedaki would know freedom, and a mingling with the peoples of the other worlds.

He started the sand-car. Haazahri smiled at him, and kissed his bleeding face. And the love between him and this girl of the Kedaki was a symbol....