The Greek shrugged and smiled. "I wish you all the luck in the
universe, sincerely," he said. "But I am afraid I believe that no
material methods can rescue man from his dilemma."
"If I've given any offense," said Burgess suddenly, "I can leave."
Harkway stared at him for a moment, gears almost visibly slipping in
his head. Then he said, "Of course not, Mr. Burgess, please don't think
that for a moment. I respect your views--"
Burgess looked around him with a wounded expression. "I know," he said
with difficulty, "that I am in a minority--here--"
Father Exarkos put a hand on his arm and murmured something. Harkway
leaned forward impulsively across the table and said, "Mr. Burgess,
I've traveled a long way in the hope of discussing these problems with
men of intelligence and standing in their community, like yourself. I
hope you'll stay and give me the benefit of your experience. I shall be
very much the loser if you don't."
Burgess was visibly struggling with his emotions. He stood up and said,
"No--no--not tonight. I'm upset. Please excuse me." Head bowed, he
walked out of the room.
There was a short silence. "Did I do the wrong thing?" asked Harkway.
"No, no," said Father Exarkos. "It was not your fault--there was
nothing you could do. You must excuse him. He is a good man, but he has
suffered too much. Since his wife died--of a disease contracted during
one of the Famines, you understand--he has not been himself."
Harkway nodded, looking both older and more human than he had a moment
before. "If we can only turn back the clock," he said. "Put Humpty
Dumpty together again, as you expressed it, Mr. Cudyk." He smiled
apologetically at them. "I won't harangue you any more tonight--I'll
save that for the meeting tomorrow. But I hope that some of you will
come to see it my way."
Father Exarkos' eyebrows lifted. "You are planning to hold a public
meeting tomorrow?"
"Yes. There's some difficulty about space--Mayor Seu tells me that the
town hall is already booked for the next three days--but I'm confident
that I can find some suitable place. If necessary, I'll make it an
open-air meeting."
Rack, thought Cudyk. Rack usually stays in town for only two or three
days at a time. Seu is trying to keep Harkway under cover until he
leaves. It won't work.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark shape in the doorway, and
his first thought was that Burgess had come back. But it was not
Burgess. It was a squat, bandy-legged man with huge shoulders and arms,
wearing a leather jacket and a limp military cap. Cudyk sat perfectly
still, warning Exarkos with his eyes.
The squat man walked casually up the table, nodding almost
imperceptibly to Ferguson. He ignored the others, except the M.P.L.
man. "Your name Harkway?" he asked. He pronounced it with the flat
Boston "a": "Haakway".
"That's right," said Harkway.
"Got a message for you," said the squat man. "From Captain Lawrence
Rack, United Uth Space Navy."
"The Earth Space Navy was dissolved twenty years ago," said Harkway.
The squat man sighed. "You wanna heah the message or don't you?" he
asked.
"Go ahead," said Harkway. His nostrils were pale, and a muscle stood
out at the side of his jaw.
"Heah it is. You're plannin' to hold a meetin' of the vehmin lovehs
society, right?"
As Harkway began to reply, the squat man leaned across the table and
backhanded him across the mouth, knocking him sideways out of his chair.
"Don't," said the squat man. He turned and strolled out.
Cudyk and Ferguson helped Harkway up. The man's eyes were staring
wildly out of his pale face, and a thin trickle of blood was running
from a pulped lip. "Who was that man?" he asked in a whisper.
"His name is Monk," said Cudyk. "At least that is the only name he has
been known to answer to. He is one of Rack's lieutenants--Rack, as
you probably know, is the leader of the activists in this sector. Mr.
Harkway, I'm sorry this happened. But I advise you to wait for a week
or so before you hold your meeting. There is no question of courage
involved. It would be suicide."
Harkway looked at him blindly. "The meeting will be held as planned,"
he said, and walked out, stiff-legged.
Ferguson shook his head, laughed, and shook his head again. Cudyk
exchanged a hopeless glance with Father Exarkos, and then followed
Harkway out of the room.
* * * * *
The shop was empty except for young Nick Pappageorge, dozing behind
the long counter, and the pale morning sunlight that streamed through
the plastic window. Most of the counter was in shadow, but stray
fingers of light picked out gem trays here and there, turning them into
minuscule galaxies of frosty brilliance.
Two Niori, walking arm in arm, paused in front of the window display,
then went on. Two human youngsters raced by, shouting. Cudyk caught
only a glimpse of them through the pierced screen that closed off the
back of his shop, but he recognized them by their voices: Red Gorciak
and Stan Eleftheris.
There were few children now, and they were growing up wild. Cudyk
wondered briefly what it must be like to be a child born into this
microcosm, knowing no other. He dismissed the thought; it was simply
one more thing about which there was no use to worry.
Cudyk had not spoken to anyone that morning, but he knew approximately
what was happening. Seu would have been busy most of the night,
covering up the traces of last evening's riot. Now, probably, he was
explaining it away to Zydh Oran, the Niori Outgroup Commissioner.
Harkway was making preparations for his meeting--another thing for Seu
to worry about when he got through cleaning up the last mess.
Barring miracles, today was going to be very bad.
Seu came in, moving quickly. He walked directly to the rear of the
shop. His normally bland face looked worried, and there were beads of
sweat on his wide forehead, although the morning was cool.
"Sit down," said Cudyk. "You've seen Zydh Oran?"
Seu made a dismissing gesture. "Nothing. Not pleasant, but nothing.
The same as usual--he tells me what happened, I deny it. He knows, but
under their laws he can't do anything."
"Someday it will be bad," said Cudyk.
"Yes. Someday. Laszlo--you've got to do something about Harkway.
Otherwise he's going to be killed tonight, and there will be a stink
from here to Sirius. I had to tell him he could use Town Hall--he was
all ready to hold a torch-light meeting in the streets."
"I tried," said Cudyk.
"Try again. Please. Your ethnic background is closer to his than mine.
He respects you, I think. Perhaps he's even read some of your books. If
anyone can persuade him, you can."
"What did he say when you talked to him?"
"An ox. A brain made of soap and granite. He says it is a matter of
principle. I knew then that I could do nothing. When an Anglo-Saxon
talks about his principles, you may as well go home. He won't accept a
weapon, he won't postpone the meeting. I think he wants to be a martyr."