It was morning.
I dressed and headed for the jetcopter stage and the ship for Center
One.
The ship was comfortable and departed on time, a transport with seats
for about twenty passengers. I sat near the tail and moodily busied
myself watching the gaunt brown earth far below. Between Centers there
was mostly desert, only occasional patches of green. Before the atomic
decade, I had heard, nearly all the earth was green and teemed with
life ... birds, insects, animals, people, too. It was hard rock and
sand now, with a few scrubs hanging on for life. The pre-atomics, who
hadn't mastered synthesization, would have a hard time scratching
existence from the earth today.
I tried to break the sad mood, and started to look around at some of
the other passengers. That was when I first noticed the prisoners
in the forward seats. Man and woman, they were, a youngish, rather
non-descript couple, thin, very quiet. They were manacled and two
Deacons sat across from them. The Deacons' backs were turned to me and
I could see the prisoners' faces.
They had curious faces. Their eyes were indescribably sad, and yet
their lips seemed to be ready to smile at any moment.
They were holding hands, not seeming to care about this vulgar
emotional display.
I had the sudden crazy idea that Lara and I were sitting there, holding
hands like that, nonconforming in the highest, and that we were
wonderfully happy. Our eyes were sad too, but we were really happy,
quietly happy, and that was why our lips stayed upon the brink of a
smile.
* * * * *
I sighed. My mood was just as sad, if not sadder, than it had been
before.
Later, in the rest room, I had a chance to talk to one of the Deacons
guarding these two. I was washing my hands when he came in, and he
nodded to me briefly and said, "Nice day for a flight."
He seemed pleasant enough, more than I would expect a Deacon to be. He
was tall and blond and rather lithe; his shoulders sloped forward like
a boxer's.
"Taking those prisoners to Center One?" I asked.