a freak with white hair and a young face. The fact your face is
like what they're looking for makes them all the more positive it's not you.
Their mind works backward. It starts making excuses for the fact that you look
like you. Ends up they're ready to swear you don't look like what you actually
look like at all. It's like hiding something in plain sight. They
say, that can't be it. It's not hidden."
Kil gave in, with
misgivings.
The
next part was more complicated. Dekko insisted on teaching him how to walk,
talk and act like an Unstab.
"Now,
there's got to be something inside you," he instructed. "That part
of it you should be able to do all right because you got something inside you; this business of your wife. But remember that—that's
the difference between Unstab and Stab. An Unstab's got something inside him,
chewing on him all the time. So just start thinking of your wife from the
minute we step out the door and keep it up."
Kil nodded.
"That won't be hard," he said.
"Now,
about the way you act. Unstabs don't just wander through the area not looking
at anything. They're out to make something, or keep what they already made.
They watch all the time, everything. Keep your eyes going and act suspicious
of anybody."
"Right," said
Kil.
"You
got one point in your favor. You can look at someone as if you want to cut
their guts out. Now, that's good for the average rigger you'll bump into
because it fits down here. But if you run across anyone who saw you before you
saw Ace, watch your face, because they'll remember that expression as
something special to you."
Kil sighed.
"I've been trying to
control that all my life," he said.
"Well,
now it's important. Now, about the talk—the gabby .low. This area here is riggertown; and everybody in it's a rigger—or thinks he is.
When one rigger takes another for something, that makes the second rigger a juby. Anybody who doesn't know riggertown or gets
rigged is a juby. Anybody who's Stab.* is Big S. . . ." and so on.
Finally,
the fifth day after Dekko had brought him back to the apartment, they were
ready.
"You
go first," Dekko told him. "Now, you know the route to the Terminal. It's eight to one no one'll even look twice at you. But if
there's trouble, just stall. I'll be about forty yards behind you and I'll come
up and take care of it. I'll say that again. Wait for me. Clear?"
"What
about you?" asked Kil. "What if someone
recognizes you?"
Dekko laughed noiselessly.
"Nobody's
seen me. Those two Crims of Ace's were blind before they knew what hit them.
Let's roll it."
They
went out. After all this, the trip to the Terminal was anti-climactic. No one so much as looked at Kil.
CHAPTER SIX
It was different travelling, Kil found, after his
recent experience with the Unstabs. That and the training session Dekko had
put him through had had the effect of rendering him suddenly and almost
painfully aware of the Unstab point of view. For the first time he knew what it
felt like to be conscious of accepted society as something apart from himself.
He felt it and something deep and rebellious within him resented it. He looked
around at his fellow passengers, once the rocket had reached peak altitude and
started its long glide toward the west coast, with naked eyes. Each individual
struck him, for the first time, as a living enigma, a walking puzzle box of
thought and flesh. What would this man do, or that woman, if Kil were to walk
up to them this minute and tell them what had happened to him? Which ones were
UnStab? Which ones were members of some Society or other? Which ones were,
perhaps, World Police out of uniform or on some secret duty? The normally
homogeneous structure of society seemed to Kil suddenly broken, shattered into
a million fragments—into four billion odd fragments—each one, one of the
world's four billion odd population. And Ellen lost among them. Lost . . . lost
. . . lost. . . .
They
came down at the foot of the mountains in Pasadena, in the
like what they're looking for makes them all the more positive it's not you.
Their mind works backward. It starts making excuses for the fact that you look
like you. Ends up they're ready to swear you don't look like what you actually
look like at all. It's like hiding something in plain sight. They
say, that can't be it. It's not hidden."
Kil gave in, with
misgivings.
The
next part was more complicated. Dekko insisted on teaching him how to walk,
talk and act like an Unstab.
"Now,
there's got to be something inside you," he instructed. "That part
of it you should be able to do all right because you got something inside you; this business of your wife. But remember that—that's
the difference between Unstab and Stab. An Unstab's got something inside him,
chewing on him all the time. So just start thinking of your wife from the
minute we step out the door and keep it up."
Kil nodded.
"That won't be hard," he said.
"Now,
about the way you act. Unstabs don't just wander through the area not looking
at anything. They're out to make something, or keep what they already made.
They watch all the time, everything. Keep your eyes going and act suspicious
of anybody."
"Right," said
Kil.
"You
got one point in your favor. You can look at someone as if you want to cut
their guts out. Now, that's good for the average rigger you'll bump into
because it fits down here. But if you run across anyone who saw you before you
saw Ace, watch your face, because they'll remember that expression as
something special to you."
Kil sighed.
"I've been trying to
control that all my life," he said.
"Well,
now it's important. Now, about the talk—the gabby .low. This area here is riggertown; and everybody in it's a rigger—or thinks he is.
When one rigger takes another for something, that makes the second rigger a juby. Anybody who doesn't know riggertown or gets
rigged is a juby. Anybody who's Stab.* is Big S. . . ." and so on.
Finally,
the fifth day after Dekko had brought him back to the apartment, they were
ready.
"You
go first," Dekko told him. "Now, you know the route to the Terminal. It's eight to one no one'll even look twice at you. But if
there's trouble, just stall. I'll be about forty yards behind you and I'll come
up and take care of it. I'll say that again. Wait for me. Clear?"
"What
about you?" asked Kil. "What if someone
recognizes you?"
Dekko laughed noiselessly.
"Nobody's
seen me. Those two Crims of Ace's were blind before they knew what hit them.
Let's roll it."
They
went out. After all this, the trip to the Terminal was anti-climactic. No one so much as looked at Kil.
CHAPTER SIX
It was different travelling, Kil found, after his
recent experience with the Unstabs. That and the training session Dekko had
put him through had had the effect of rendering him suddenly and almost
painfully aware of the Unstab point of view. For the first time he knew what it
felt like to be conscious of accepted society as something apart from himself.
He felt it and something deep and rebellious within him resented it. He looked
around at his fellow passengers, once the rocket had reached peak altitude and
started its long glide toward the west coast, with naked eyes. Each individual
struck him, for the first time, as a living enigma, a walking puzzle box of
thought and flesh. What would this man do, or that woman, if Kil were to walk
up to them this minute and tell them what had happened to him? Which ones were
UnStab? Which ones were members of some Society or other? Which ones were,
perhaps, World Police out of uniform or on some secret duty? The normally
homogeneous structure of society seemed to Kil suddenly broken, shattered into
a million fragments—into four billion odd fragments—each one, one of the
world's four billion odd population. And Ellen lost among them. Lost . . . lost
. . . lost. . . .
They
came down at the foot of the mountains in Pasadena, in the
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