superstitious awe. And the Darkovan nurses and matrons had been at such pains tosuppress the nickname that even then it had surprised him. He had collected the notion somehow, thoughthe Darkovan nurses were forbidden to talk local superstitions to the children, that red hair was unlucky,or taboo.
If it was unlucky the redhead certainly didn’t seem to know about it or care.
On Earth, perhaps because red hair was really not all that uncommon, the memory of that superstitionhad dimmed. But maybe that explained Ragan’s early stare. If red hair was all that uncommon, obviouslyyou would assume, if you saw a red-haired man at a distance, that he was the man you knew, and besurprised when it turned out to be a stranger.
Though, come to think of it, Ragan’s own hair had a rusty dull-red look to it; he might have beenredheaded as a child. Kerwin thought again that the little man had looked familiar, and tried again toremember if there had been any redheads, other than himself, in the orphanage. Surely he had known acouple of them when he was very small…
Page 23
Maybe before I went to the orphanage. Maybe my mother was redheaded, or had some relativeswho were … But try as he might, he could not uncover the blankness of the early years. Only a memoryof disturbing dreams…
A loudspeaker on the wall hiccupped loudly, and a metallic voice remarked, “Your attention please. Allspaceport personnel, your attention please.”
Kerwin lifted his eyebrows, staring at the loudspeaker with definite resentment. He’d come in here to getaway from things like that. Evidently some of the other patrons of the restaurant felt the same way; therewere a couple of derisive noises.
The metallic voice remarked, in Terran Standard, “Your attention please. All HQ personnel with planeson the field report immediately to Division B. All surface transit will be cancelled, repeat, will becancelled. The Southern Crown will skylift on schedule, repeat, on schedule. All surface aircraft on thefield must be moved without delay. Repeat, all HQ personnel with private surface aircraft on the field…”
The redheaded Darkovan Kerwin had noticed before said in an audible and malicious voice—and in the City dialect everyone understood—“How poor these Terrans must be, that they must disturb us all withthat squawking box up there instead of paying a few pennies to a flunkey to bring their messages.” Theword he used for “flunkey” was a particularly offensive one.
A uniformed spaceport official near the front of the restaurant stared angrily at the speaker, then thoughtbetter of it, settled his gold-lace cap on his head and tramped out into the rain. A blast of bitter cold blewinto the room—for he had started a small exodus—and the Darkovan nearest Kerwin said to hiscompanion, “ Esa so vhalle Terranan acqualle …” and chuckled.
The other replied something even more insulting, his eyes lingering on Kerwin, and Kerwin realized thathe was the only Terran left in the room. He felt himself trembling. He had always been childishly sensitiveto insults. On Earth he had been an alien, a freak, a Darkovan; here on Darkover, suddenly, he felthimself a Terran; and the events of the day hadn’t been calculated to sweeten his disposition. But he onlyglared and remarked—to the empty table at his left, “The rain can only drown the mud-rabbit if he hasn’tthe wit to keep his mouth shut.”
One of the Darkovans—not the redhead—pushed his bench back and swung around, upsetting his drinkin the process. The thin crash of the metal goblet, and the bleat of the waiter, drew all eyes to them, and Kerwin edged out of his seat. Inside he was watching himself with dismay. Was he going to make two scenes, in two bars, and would this rip-rousing welcome to Darkover end up by getting him hauled off tothe local brig for being drunk and disorderly?
Then the man’s companion grabbed his elbow and said something urgent that Kerwin
If it was unlucky the redhead certainly didn’t seem to know about it or care.
On Earth, perhaps because red hair was really not all that uncommon, the memory of that superstitionhad dimmed. But maybe that explained Ragan’s early stare. If red hair was all that uncommon, obviouslyyou would assume, if you saw a red-haired man at a distance, that he was the man you knew, and besurprised when it turned out to be a stranger.
Though, come to think of it, Ragan’s own hair had a rusty dull-red look to it; he might have beenredheaded as a child. Kerwin thought again that the little man had looked familiar, and tried again toremember if there had been any redheads, other than himself, in the orphanage. Surely he had known acouple of them when he was very small…
Page 23
Maybe before I went to the orphanage. Maybe my mother was redheaded, or had some relativeswho were … But try as he might, he could not uncover the blankness of the early years. Only a memoryof disturbing dreams…
A loudspeaker on the wall hiccupped loudly, and a metallic voice remarked, “Your attention please. Allspaceport personnel, your attention please.”
Kerwin lifted his eyebrows, staring at the loudspeaker with definite resentment. He’d come in here to getaway from things like that. Evidently some of the other patrons of the restaurant felt the same way; therewere a couple of derisive noises.
The metallic voice remarked, in Terran Standard, “Your attention please. All HQ personnel with planeson the field report immediately to Division B. All surface transit will be cancelled, repeat, will becancelled. The Southern Crown will skylift on schedule, repeat, on schedule. All surface aircraft on thefield must be moved without delay. Repeat, all HQ personnel with private surface aircraft on the field…”
The redheaded Darkovan Kerwin had noticed before said in an audible and malicious voice—and in the City dialect everyone understood—“How poor these Terrans must be, that they must disturb us all withthat squawking box up there instead of paying a few pennies to a flunkey to bring their messages.” Theword he used for “flunkey” was a particularly offensive one.
A uniformed spaceport official near the front of the restaurant stared angrily at the speaker, then thoughtbetter of it, settled his gold-lace cap on his head and tramped out into the rain. A blast of bitter cold blewinto the room—for he had started a small exodus—and the Darkovan nearest Kerwin said to hiscompanion, “ Esa so vhalle Terranan acqualle …” and chuckled.
The other replied something even more insulting, his eyes lingering on Kerwin, and Kerwin realized thathe was the only Terran left in the room. He felt himself trembling. He had always been childishly sensitiveto insults. On Earth he had been an alien, a freak, a Darkovan; here on Darkover, suddenly, he felthimself a Terran; and the events of the day hadn’t been calculated to sweeten his disposition. But he onlyglared and remarked—to the empty table at his left, “The rain can only drown the mud-rabbit if he hasn’tthe wit to keep his mouth shut.”
One of the Darkovans—not the redhead—pushed his bench back and swung around, upsetting his drinkin the process. The thin crash of the metal goblet, and the bleat of the waiter, drew all eyes to them, and Kerwin edged out of his seat. Inside he was watching himself with dismay. Was he going to make two scenes, in two bars, and would this rip-rousing welcome to Darkover end up by getting him hauled off tothe local brig for being drunk and disorderly?
Then the man’s companion grabbed his elbow and said something urgent that Kerwin
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