"Did I...? Pencils are one thing they must have had on the ship in
abundance. The library too. Poor Doc, he'd have given anything for the
books--so would I...."
Kajana patted his hand. "Maybe it doesn't matter too much, Paul? We
have our own books to make.... Besides--don't you think Spearman may
have unloaded some things for us before he took off?"
"Not a chance. His mind wouldn't work that way."
"No? Well, you knew him better. Still, he had time, Paul. He knew we
couldn't go after him: you told me he drained the fuel out of one
lifeboat before he stole the other. And it was three hours, after you
found he was gone, before you saw the big ship go up over the range."
"And down," Paul said, still physically shaken with the memory, the
sound, the sight of it. "Down into the sea forever."
"What happened, do you think?"
"We'll never know. It was a new type of ship. His knowledge of such
things was ten years old, Lucifer years. Likely the take-off was too
complex for one man to handle it. After we saw it climb past the
range, we stayed there--Doc and Dorothy and Miniaan and I--near the
temple, just stayed there mind-sick and wondering. We saw it
reappear--a dot, then a flame. He never quit trying. He had the
atomics blazing all the way down. Sometimes they'd lift the ship a
little, and we--I suppose we weren't breathing--we'd think yes--no,
yes--no. I even thought: is he going to crash it _here_? But he was
really many miles to the west, only seemed near, so bright in that
darkness. A meteor--yes, call him a meteor--burned out and lost. Up to
the very end, until we saw it strike the water near the western
horizon, he was still trying, a mad insect heaving against the web of
gravity. And we'll never know what he really wanted, either. I have an
idea he may not have meant to go back to Earth. I think perhaps he
wanted another star--one that never was."
And Paul wondered: _Should I tell Kajana what Doc said when it was all
over? No, not now--not till I understand it myself._ ("I consider
myself to blame." "What do you mean?" "Remember when Arek noticed he
was gone? I saw him slip away ten minutes before she spoke. He looked
at me, too. I think I may have known what he meant to do: I said
nothing. Earth is a very distant place, Paul. The Federation is
building no more interstellar ships, for a while--for a while." "But
you--" "I may therefore be to blame. I look within and am confused, as
so often. But all the same, here in our world I have helped to
establish a few practical certainties." During that murmured
interchange by the temple, Dorothy had been quite silent, as if she
needed no question and answer, and Miniaan had ended it, saying,
"Let's go back, and tell the others that something has ended.")
Kajana's old mind was roving after other matters, to him more
important than Spearman or the beautiful lost ship from Earth.
"Teddy," he said, "do you know, Paul, when the two silver boats came
slipping down out of the sky Teddy only glanced at them once, and came
running to carry me outdoors so that I could see them too. It was her
first thought. Her father and mother in her, and what a new self
too...!" Kajana was having pain, from the old hip-joint injury that
would never heal. "That transcription, Paul--it's quite verbatim, even
to a little hemming and hawing."
"Good." Paul studied the wizened red face, regretful that his
painter's power could never record what was really Kajana--too much
that must escape, even if the portrait were faithful to the small
patient hands, the groove in the left fingers caused by years of
effort with makeshift writing materials. Sears--and Paul could think
it now without too much distress--Sears could have understood Kajana
better. "Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you, Paul. I'm very well tonight." But some other thought
stirred in him, and Paul lingered, knowing what it was: a need for a
particular reassurance, Kajana's only outward concession to his
frailty. "Paul, what do you really think? When the time comes, will it
be something like a sleep?"
"I believe so, Kajana. But not soon. We need you."
The mild face showed gratitude, then calm; it glanced beyond him.
"Why, Abara--you should be snoring."
Abara followed his comfortable potbelly into the room; his fluty voice
was indignant: "I never snore." He sank cross-legged by the bed,
rocking lightly with a foot in each hand.
"I've heard you, old man."
"Lizard-fur!" said Abara. "Hear yourself snoring, of course."
Paul stretched. "You gentlemen settle down to a good soothing quarrel.
I'll take off." Abara's left eyelid lowered and lifted gravely. "Good
night." "Good night," said the little voices. Leaving the room, Paul
heard Abara murmur, "Do you remember...."
Paul carried a taper from the permanent fire in the common room to
relight the lamp in his and Dorothy's bedroom. It was late indeed,
near to the time of the rising of the red moon, seen only the night
before from the jungle west of Vestoia--what had been Vestoia. Here in
the long room there was still a friendly disorder from the impromptu
banquet of the evening. Because of the disturbance when Spearman's
flight was discovered and preoccupation with the illness of the
newcomers, the common room had received only a few housekeeping
flurries. Mats were still scattered in the center of the floor;
earthen wine cups stood about. Carrying the taper, Paul saw by his
foot a graded series of round faces drawn on the earth with a twig.
Helen was apt to do that when most of her mind was elsewhere: the
faces were made of neat circles, even nose and mouth. Subject to a
pinch on the bottom from her half-sister, Helen called them teddies.
Paul smiled sleepily and stepped around.
Kajana took pride in the sharp printlike quality of his writing; under
lamplight, the brown ink shifted into gold. Kajana had not recorded
the casual beginning of the banquet: the idea had evidently come to
him after some remark of Kamon's. Paul could not remember it clearly,
but the old giantess had been roused to it by a thing the rather
sad-faced, brown-haired girl Sally Marino had mentioned: the prospect
of war on the planet Earth. Kajana had taken down what followed as
direct dialogue; riffling through the gray pages, Paul noticed that
Kajana had inserted no comment of his own at all. The phonetic
shorthand, Paul knew, was Kajana's invention--ideal for his own use,
but he had not been able to teach it even to Nisana. Too intricate,
she said, needing the hyperacute ear which was a gift Kajana could not
share.
SLADE: There seems never to be a single cause of war, only a
group of causes coming to a particular focus in time. Our
world, madam--
WRIGHT: Just Kamon. Somehow we've never formed the habit of
courtesy titles, Captain. Names, nicknames, and a few titles
of function--as for instance, if Elis were conducting one
of our meetings, we'd address him as Governor.
SLADE: Oh. Pleasant, I should think. Our world, Kamon, is
still divided in two parts. An ideological division. There
is the Asian Empire of Jenga. Let me show you--the map--
DUNIN: Here. I grabbed it. And what a map! If only we could
make such things!
DOROTHY: In time, sugar. Takes mighty complex machinery to
make such a map.
SLADE: One of the things that must come on the next trip
from Earth. Well--here is the Asian Empire. You can see the
vastness of it, one land mass, almost all of a continent--
MUKERJI: Except my country.