When the bell sounded for the people to separate, preparatory to the
hunt proper, the captain got up and buckled on his huge infantry sword.
He had spent most of the night sharpening it.
He had after long hours of considering, decided that there was only one
honorable course left to him. He would defend himself.
For if he were the Sole Survivor of the hunt, he would be Cast Off
properly by the first mate. Otherwise....
The possibility that it might be done by a crewman was staggeringly
humiliating. He would salvage his honor from that final indignity at
all costs.
Of course, if he were captured by an officer, it would be a different
matter entirely; he would surrender and submit like the gentleman he
was. But a crewman....
He took the sword out of the scabbard and rubbed his thumb along the
side of it.
He swung it, and it whistled in the air crisply, pleasingly.
He grasped it firmly in his right hand and walked to the door. He threw
open the door and jumped back and away.
But it was safe; there was no one outside.
He stepped into the corridor.
Empty.
He looked both ways. He listened.
Then he began to run, swiftly, silently, on his toes.
At the first intersection, he stopped and surveyed the crossing
corridor.
To his left, almost at the far bend, he saw a crewman; however, the man
was not looking in his direction, and the captain felt that he could
be reasonably safe from detection if he crossed quickly enough. He
sprinted across the open space.
On the other side, he stopped and waited. After several minutes of
silence, he knew that he could safely continue.
He ran for a long distance.
Finally, safely down in the second level, he slowed to a walk. He was
breathing heavily; it was very loud, and his footsteps echoed hollowly.
He was alone down there. He could tell that.
At the Jonson bend, he breathed a sigh of relief. Ahead was the empty
corridor that led to the dead end, Forward. He could see down it, clear
to the bulkhead. And as he knew it would be, it was devoid of life and
movement.
He sat down to wait out the long day.
He scratched his chin.
He would have nothing to do until the closing bell. At which time he
would be forced to go to the assembly area.
As would anyone else, according to the rules of the Festival as laid
down by Nestir, who had not yet been sent to his Reward.
That would be a dangerous time. For then there would be no esthetic
consideration. It would be a fight amongst all assembling for the final
honor of Sole Survivor. One could expect no mercy: clean, quick sword
stroke, no more. No suffering at all.
It was not a pleasant prospect. But to be the coveted Sole Survivor
compensated for the risk.
The captain laid the sword across his lap and petted it.
He would fight. And no crew member need expect to be the man Cast Off
by the first mate; that was to be the captain's fate.
The second bell called to the ship shrilly.
The hunt was on!
* * * * *
Martha and the first mate assembled the children in the large,
comfortable hospital. The steward's department had fixed them all a
lunch. The children were silent, for the angry brow of the first mate
was a complete damper on their usual animal spirits. There was no
holiday happiness.
The children moved around and fell into little, shifting groups.
Several of them began to game at marbles, but the first mate broke it
up before it degenerated into a fist fight.
"Well, there goes the hunting bell," Martha said.
"Yes," the mate said, "hit do, don't hit."
"I think they could have a regular nurse for this sort of thing,"
Martha said.
The mate grunted. "Humph. I shore hope they uns don't raise no ruckus.
I've got me a splittin' haidache."
"Shhhh. Listen. I thought I heard someone scream."
"Yep," the mate said. "I was sure afraid uv hit; won't be able to
heyar myself think all day long. I'm a-tellin' ya, Martha, if these
young uns start a-actin' up, too, I'm jest a-gonna take a knife an'
split this here haid open, Reward or no Reward."
"That's not a nice way to talk," Martha said.
"No, hit hain't. But I'm a-sayin' hit."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," Martha said. "I'll call all the children
together and tell them nursery stories. That oughta keep them quiet.
And you go over there and lay down where there won't be anyone to
bother you."
"All right, Martha, an' I shore do thankee."
The first mate made his way to the farthest bed, sat down, took off
his shoes, and stretched out on it. He reached up and felt his head
tenderly.
"Children," Martha called. "Oh, children! I want you all to come over
here."
Reluctantly, the children obeyed her.
"That's right," she said. "Now. You all sit down and make yourselves
comfortable, and be still as mice so my husband can sleep, and I'll
tell you stories. And then, after a while, we'll eat the nice lunch the
steward fixed for us, and we'll all have the bestest time."
"I don't like you," one of the little boys said.
"Little boy," Martha said, "I don't like you, either."
"Oh," the little boy said.
"Now," Martha said, "I'm going to tell you the wonderful story about a
very pretty Princess and a very pretty Prince: Once upon a time, there
was a land called Zont. It sank long ago under the big, salty sea of
Zub...."
"My name's Joey," the little boy said.
"Well, Joey," Martha said, "do you see that long, steel rod over there,
where we hang clothing from?"
"Uh-huh."
"If you don't shut your little mouth, I'll hang you on it by your
thumbs."
"Betcha ya won't," one of the little girls said.
* * * * *
"Once upon a time," Martha said, "there was this handsome Prince and
pretty Princess. But the father of the Princess, King Exaltanta, was a
heathen and did not believe in the Prophet. Now. When a true believer,
kind King Farko, captured King Exaltanta's kingdom, the deposed king
hid his daughter in the deepest dungeon.
"Now when the fair Prince, who was the son of King Farko, and whose
name was William, heard of the Princess in the dungeon, he decided that
he would rescue her and marry her. And after she had had one child
by him, the two of them would travel to the Holy City of Meizque to
participate in the Changing of the Wives and the Festival there.
"Well, it so happened that King Farko got a special dispensation from
the Great Priest to send the members of Exaltanta's family to their
Reward without their consent. As he prepared the ceremonies--they were
to be very simple: for, after all, the royal household members weren't
true believers, and would consequently need to spend a million years
(at least) as Outcasts before entering into their Reward, anyhow--as he
prepared the ceremonies...."
"But does everyone get a Reward? Even people who don't believe?" a
little girl asked, wide eyed.
"Nearly everyone, my child. The Prophet was not a cruel man. Of course,
people who try to Cast themselves Off never, never, never get a Reward.
But others, everybody else, all get theirs. It's only a question of how
long they have to wait. Sometimes, as when they're unbelievers, it may
be a long, long, long time, but...."
"I know that," Joey said.
Martha looked up at him and sighed; she stood up. "Come with me, dear,"
she said.
At that moment, the door flew open with a loud bang.
The first mate, who had been asleep, sat bolt upright on the bed. "God
damn hit!" he screamed. "My haid!"
"Oh," said a crew member, who was dragging a woman by the hair, "I'm
terribly sorry. I didn't know you were in here. I just came in to Cast
Mary Jane Off in privacy." He waved an odd-looking instrument at Martha
by way of amplification.
"Hello, mummy," one of the smaller girls said to the woman.
"Oh, why, hello, honey. Are you having fun?"
"Oh, yes, mummy."
Mary Jane looked at the crewman. "Well, Bob," she said, "I guess we'll
just have to go some place else."
"Well, git hout er come in, but shut that door! That noise out there is
a-tearin' off my haid!"
The crewman called Bob dragged the woman called Mary Jane out of the
room. She pulled the door closed behind her.
"Well, children," Martha said, "we ought to get back to my story. Now,
King Farko, as you will remember, received a special dispensation...."
* * * * *
Nestir locked his door when the separation bell sounded.
Having done that, he proceeded to fix himself a meal. It was a simple
one, consisting only of what material he had been able to steal from
the steward's department the previous night.
As he ate, he reflected upon his course of action. It was, he could
see, going to be difficult to justify at the Reward. But he had been
a priest, and because of that he was reasonably well grounded in
theological dialectics.
The Festival, of course, was a fine thing. But it had its weak points.
Chief among them being that the Casting Off was left to inexperienced
hands, and certainly, if there was ever a time when experience was
required, then the Casting Off was that time. One should be Cast Off at
leisure; suffering long and deliciously. A state hero, for instance,
honored by being Cast Off by one of the King's Guards, certainly died
the best death imaginable.
In the present case, although the death as Sole Survivor was to come at
the hands of the first mate (who really lacked the training for such
a position of trust), it would be the best Casting Off available. For
the first mate could follow instructions, and Nestir had written the
instructions.
Nestir intended to remain in the stateroom all day; the hunt would go
merrily along without him.
When the assembly bell rang, he would still remain in his stateroom.
Then, late at night, he would leave. He would slip down to the first
mate's stateroom and determine from him where the premature Sole
Survivor slept. Then he would find him and Cast him Off in his sleep.
And Nestir would be the actual Sole Survivor.
Nestir could justify his conduct by virtue of the little known
theological clause: _ego bestum alpha todas_. A decision handed down by
the High Court of the Prophet (Malin vs the Estate of Kattoa: T & C,
'98) nearly a hundred years previously.
Nestir had, in his hip pocket, a small vial of slow-acting poison.
He would drink it just before Casting the man Off. Then were he not
handled the next day by the first mate, he would die the Outcast death,
by his own hand.
He did not doubt his ability to convince Them at the Reward. It would
be difficult, but it was not beyond his ability. Certainly, if no one
took the opportunity of Casting him Off as he sat behind the locked
door of his room, it wasn't Nestir's fault.
The bosun pushed the ventilator grill away and jumped out of the shaft
even before it hit the carpet.
He landed catlike, his knees bending springily to absorb the shock. He
landed directly behind Nestir and pushed the little man against the
wall.
Nestir struggled out of the wreckage of the chair.
"How ... why ... why...?" he said.
"Ah-ha," the bosun said. "Fooled ja, didn't I?"
The bosun was carrying a thin rapier.
"Let's discuss this," Nestir said. "One must go about these things
slowly."
"Sorry," the bosun said.
"My God," said Nestir, "you can't Cast me Off just like that: without
any suffering!"
"Sorry," the bosun said. "Don't have all day. Spend all day with you,
and then what? The more people I can Cast Off before the assembly bell,
the better chance I'll have to be the Sole Survivor."
"Have you no compassion, man? Can you turn aside from the course of the
gentle Prophet?"
"Sorry," the bosun said again, sincerely. "I can't stand here all day
discussing it."
"Ah, me," said Nestir as the bosun drew back from the thrust, "who
would have thought that I would be trapped by a religious fanatic?"
"Must look out for myself, you know," said the bosun.