Millie halted and knelt without an order: Nisana jumped down. Paul saw
the shapes of Elis and Sears suddenly bright under Wright's
flashlight--the only radion light left. "Easy," Elis said. "I have
you." And he lowered the man's bulk to the ground as Susie moaned and
shifted her feet. Sears had said nothing, but he was smiling, his face
red and vague above the disorder of the black beard.
"Paul, hold the light for me." Wright removed the stained bandage.
There was a wide area of inflammation; the lips of the arrow wound
were purple. "Pakriaa! You said once you never heard of poison on the
arrows----"
Pakriaa gaped, rubbing her eyes. It was Brodaa who answered: "Our
people never had it on the arrows. But in the war with Lantis last
year some of our soldiers had wounds like this."
"And what happened?"
"Ismar--" Pakriaa stumbled forward. "Ismar took----"
"My sister," said Brodaa, "be quiet, my sister."
"Elis," Paul whispered, "have Tejron and the other women keep
watch--we must stay here a while. Where is Mijok?"
"Here." Mijok spoke behind him. "I have put my shield--over there."
His voice became a whisper for Paul: "There are only three on it now.
One little man, two women. They might live. Paul--is it happening,
Paul?"
"I can't say it. I don't know...." Sears was talking, ramblingly, very
far from this patch of earth. One could only listen till he was
silent. Then Paul said, "I think so, Mijok. He needs to speak; we need
to remember."
"What is this--Tel Aviv----"
"The place on the other planet where he was born."
"And there were the vineyards, oh my, yes--the little white and tan
goats----" Sears could see it, Paul thought, that small country, a
quiet corner of the Federation, where every grain of sand might
remember blood spilled in the follies of hatred, where a teacher of
mercy had been crucified. But now for Sears it was not a place of
history: he saw gardens defying wasteland, the homes and farms,
centers of music and learning where he moved, thoroughly at home,
discovering the country of his own science, himself a citizen of no
one place except the universe. Later he was recalling the hot white
streets of Rio, the genial clutter of London, Baltimore, the majestic
contradictions of New York.
"Why, yes, Doctor," he said--and he did not mean Christopher Wright,
but some friend or instructor whose image might be standing in front
of the shadows of Lucifer, "yes, Doctor, you could say I've traveled a
great deal, in my sort of blundering fashion. And I would not exactly
say that people are the same everywhere, but you'll have noticed
yourself--the many common denominators are much more interesting than
the seeming-great differences, aren't they, hey...? What? Sorry,
Doctor, I've got no damned use for your abstraction Man, and why?
Because he doesn't exist, except as a device in a brain that wants to
prove something--which may or may not be useful. In any case it's not
my dish. There are only men and women. They get born and love and
suffer and work and grow old and die; or sometimes, Doctor, they die
young. Men and women I can love and touch; sometimes I can even teach
them the few things I know. You may take Man to the library; feed him
back into your electronic brain and don't bother me with the results
so long as I'm alive to see a child discovering his own body--or for
that matter a bird coming out of the egg, a minnow in a spot of
sunlight, a blade of grass."
Pakriaa wailed: "What is he saying? He is not here." She squirmed past
Wright, dropped to the ground, her cheek pressed on Sears' tangled
hair, her free arm wandering over his face and shoulder as if she
wanted to cover him like a shield. "He talked to me once. Sears, you
said--you said----"
He was back among them, gazing around in sane bewilderment. "I should
be riding.... Pakriaa--why Pak, I'm all right." Paul moved the torch
here and there to pick out his own face, Wright's, Mijok's, the white
bulk of Susie looming close by, the pouting ugly mask of Abara, who
had stolen up close, his underlip wobbling in an effort to speak. "I
fell asleep--took a tumble?"
"Almost," Wright muttered. "Just lucky chance I saw you tottering. You
need to rest a bit."
"Oh no." Sears frowned. "Can't stop." He smiled at Pakriaa, who had
lifted herself to watch him pleadingly. "What's the matter, Pakriaa?
What's the time?"
"First-light before long," Paul said. "We made good distance, Jocko.
The Vestoians won't have traveled in the dark. Plenty of time and we
all need rest. Take it easy a while."
But Pakriaa could not hide her knowledge that he was dying; Sears
touched her cheek with a curious wandering finger. "You liked looking
in the microscope, didn't you?" She nodded. "Remember--must be sure
you've got the best focus you can before you make up your mind about
anything. But this is more serious, Pak--because I think you love me
and you have trouble. I tell you again, you must go to the island with
the others. You must live. Now I expect to go there too, but--"
Abara moved away. Paul glimpsed him striding back and forth, striking
the air with little fists. When he returned, Paul made way for him.
"--for a teaching is a gift, Pakriaa, not to be thrown away--"