The girl's eyes popped open. She took one look at Saxon, then at
herself. Her eyes grew rounder, her throat flamed.
She gasped, "Oh! You should have let me keep my eyes shut," and whipped
her back to him.
She must have realized instantly that the view she presented was no
better screened, for she sat down with a thump, saying, "Oh!" again.
Then, in an embarrassed voice, "This is just like a dream I had once.
Only everyone but me wore clothes in the dream, and there isn't a fig
leaf between the three of us."
"The three of us?"
Saxon glanced around, discovered the Alien rummaging in one of the
cabinets, from which he produced three of the gleaming kilts, tossed
them each one.
"You humans," he said in an amused tone and perfect English, "have odd
notions about concealing yourselves. Here."
Saxon gratefully buckled his kilt in place, examined the material. The
threads were almost weightless and glowed like strands of light. With a
start, he recalled where he had seen them before.
The man and the woman had been wearing kilts like these in his vision
during the Little Death. Then....
His mind refused to entertain the possibility. And yet it was a piece
of everything else. His inability to remember his childhood. The
development of first a sixth sense at twenty-seven, then a seventh at
thirty-one.
He strode abruptly to the windows and looked out.
The windows were at an elevation and gave a view of the strangest city
he had ever beheld.
There were houses, at least they could be houses, spaced entirely
without relation to each other and surrounded by immense park-like
grounds. There were no congested areas within his range of vision.
Neither was he able to discover roads or sidewalks, fences or walls
anywhere.
Alpha Centauri A was still just rising, its orange twin not yet above
the hills, which he could see in the distance.
He turned wonderingly back into the room.
Their guard regarded them in amusement. "Sit down," he suggested,
indicating a bench.
They seated themselves.
"Ask him what they're going to do with us, Jon." Ileth nudged Saxon in
the ribs.
Saxon cleared his throat.
Before he could speak, the guard smiled and said, "I haven't the
faintest idea how they plan to dispose of you. Even if I did, that
would be for Them to tell you." He nodded toward a closed door on their
right. "They'll send for you any moment now."
"Who are 'they'?" Saxon asked.
"The Elders."
"What planet is this?"
"Vark." The guard's voice was pleasant. He smiled faintly when he
talked. "The fourth planet of the sun you call Alpha Centauri A. This
is the city of Ghibellena." He nodded out the windows.
"How did we get here? Teleportation?"
"Not exactly."
There was a momentary silence while the Alien observed them with that
amused gleam in his eye. Then Saxon tried again. "Who are you? Why have
you captured us?"
The man nodded briefly again towards the closed door. "You'll learn
that in there--if They see fit to tell you."
"Where are the rest of the crew? Dead? In prison?"
"Oh, no. They've been taken to Zara."
"Zara? Where's Zara?"
"Zara is a satellite of the third planet. The one we call Tunis."
"What is that city we saw? The deserted one near the ship?"
Again the man smiled and nodded toward the door. "If They see fit to
tell you."