understand?”
She reached in the darkness, caught his hand, pressed it with her fingers. He was satisfied.
“And watch Rik. Don’t let him out of your sight. And Valona.” There was a long pause. Then he went on, “Don’t trust this Baker too much. I don’t know about him. Do you understand?”
There was a faint noise of motion, an even fainter distant creak, and he was gone. She raised herself to one elbow and, except for Rik’s breathing and her own, there was only silence.
She put her eyelids together in the darkness, squeezing them, trying to think. Why did the Townman, who knew everything,say this about the Baker, who hated patrollers and had saved them? Why?
She could think of only one thing. He had been there. Just when things looked as black as they could be, the Baker had come and had acted quickly. It was almost as though it had been arranged or as if the Baker had been waiting for it all to happen.
She shook her head. It seemed strange. If it weren’t for what the Townman had said, she would never think this.
The silence was broken into quivering pieces by a loud and unconcerned remark. “Hello? Still here?”
She froze as a beam of light caught her full. Slowly she relaxed and bunched the sheet about her neck. The beam fell away.
She did not have to wonder about the identity of the new speaker. His squat broad form bulked in the half-light that leaked backward from the flash.
The Baker said, “You know, I thought you’d go with him.”
Valona said weakly, “Who, sir?”
“The Townman. You know he left, girl. Don’t waste time pretending.”
“He’ll be back, sir.”
“Did he say he would be back? If he did, he’s wrong. The patrollers will get him. He’s not a very smart man, the Townman, or he’d know when a door is left open for a purpose. Are you planning to leave too?”
Valona said, “I’ll wait for the Townman.”
“Suit yourself. It will be a long wait. Go when you please.”
His light-beam suddenly left her altogether and traveled along the floor, picking out Rik’s pale, thin face. Rik’s eyelids crushed together automatically, at the impact of the light, but he slept on.
The Baker’s voice grew thoughtful. “But I’d just as soon you left that one behind. You understand that, I suppose. If you decide to leave, the door is open, but it isn’t open for
him
.”
“He’s just a poor, sick fellow——” Valona began in a high, frightened voice.
“Yes? Well, I collect poor sick fellows and that one stays here. Remember!”
The light-beam did not move from Rik’s sleeping face.
5. THE SCIENTIST
Dr. Selim Junz had been impatient for a year, but one does not become accustomed to impatience with time. Rather the reverse. Nevertheless the year had taught him that the Sarkite Civil Service could not be hurried; all the more so since the civil servants themselves were largely transplanted Florinians and therefore dreadfully careful of their own dignity.
He had once asked old Abel, the Trantorian Ambassador, who had lived on Sark so long that the soles of his boots had grown roots, why the Sarkites allowed their government departments to be run by the very people they despised so heartily.
Abel had wrinkled his eyes over a goblet of green wine.
“Policy, Junz,” he said. “Policy. A matter of practical genetics, carried out with Sarkite logic. They’re a small, no-account world, these Sarkites, in themselves, and are only important so long as they control that everlasting gold mine, Florina. So each year they skim Florina’s fields and villages, bringing the cream of its youth to Sark for training. The mediocre ones they set to filing their papers and filling their blanks and signing their forms and the really clever ones they send back to Florina to act as native governors for the towns. Townmen they call them.”
Dr. Junz was a Spatio-analyst, primarily. He did not quite see the point of all this. He said so.
Abel pointed a
She reached in the darkness, caught his hand, pressed it with her fingers. He was satisfied.
“And watch Rik. Don’t let him out of your sight. And Valona.” There was a long pause. Then he went on, “Don’t trust this Baker too much. I don’t know about him. Do you understand?”
There was a faint noise of motion, an even fainter distant creak, and he was gone. She raised herself to one elbow and, except for Rik’s breathing and her own, there was only silence.
She put her eyelids together in the darkness, squeezing them, trying to think. Why did the Townman, who knew everything,say this about the Baker, who hated patrollers and had saved them? Why?
She could think of only one thing. He had been there. Just when things looked as black as they could be, the Baker had come and had acted quickly. It was almost as though it had been arranged or as if the Baker had been waiting for it all to happen.
She shook her head. It seemed strange. If it weren’t for what the Townman had said, she would never think this.
The silence was broken into quivering pieces by a loud and unconcerned remark. “Hello? Still here?”
She froze as a beam of light caught her full. Slowly she relaxed and bunched the sheet about her neck. The beam fell away.
She did not have to wonder about the identity of the new speaker. His squat broad form bulked in the half-light that leaked backward from the flash.
The Baker said, “You know, I thought you’d go with him.”
Valona said weakly, “Who, sir?”
“The Townman. You know he left, girl. Don’t waste time pretending.”
“He’ll be back, sir.”
“Did he say he would be back? If he did, he’s wrong. The patrollers will get him. He’s not a very smart man, the Townman, or he’d know when a door is left open for a purpose. Are you planning to leave too?”
Valona said, “I’ll wait for the Townman.”
“Suit yourself. It will be a long wait. Go when you please.”
His light-beam suddenly left her altogether and traveled along the floor, picking out Rik’s pale, thin face. Rik’s eyelids crushed together automatically, at the impact of the light, but he slept on.
The Baker’s voice grew thoughtful. “But I’d just as soon you left that one behind. You understand that, I suppose. If you decide to leave, the door is open, but it isn’t open for
him
.”
“He’s just a poor, sick fellow——” Valona began in a high, frightened voice.
“Yes? Well, I collect poor sick fellows and that one stays here. Remember!”
The light-beam did not move from Rik’s sleeping face.
5. THE SCIENTIST
Dr. Selim Junz had been impatient for a year, but one does not become accustomed to impatience with time. Rather the reverse. Nevertheless the year had taught him that the Sarkite Civil Service could not be hurried; all the more so since the civil servants themselves were largely transplanted Florinians and therefore dreadfully careful of their own dignity.
He had once asked old Abel, the Trantorian Ambassador, who had lived on Sark so long that the soles of his boots had grown roots, why the Sarkites allowed their government departments to be run by the very people they despised so heartily.
Abel had wrinkled his eyes over a goblet of green wine.
“Policy, Junz,” he said. “Policy. A matter of practical genetics, carried out with Sarkite logic. They’re a small, no-account world, these Sarkites, in themselves, and are only important so long as they control that everlasting gold mine, Florina. So each year they skim Florina’s fields and villages, bringing the cream of its youth to Sark for training. The mediocre ones they set to filing their papers and filling their blanks and signing their forms and the really clever ones they send back to Florina to act as native governors for the towns. Townmen they call them.”
Dr. Junz was a Spatio-analyst, primarily. He did not quite see the point of all this. He said so.
Abel pointed a
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