deliberate abolition of hierarchy. D Layo led them into the void of their hidden selves, where any mad chaos was possible. He was skillful, nothing like the fumbling fools Kelmz had encountered before. Gently, the DarkDreamer touched Sullen-face, drawing out the hesitant movements of his limbs and his slowcurling fingers. The man’s mouth simpered open, his hands began to stroke downward on his own chest and thighs. He cringed, he melted, he was a fem.
Revolted, Kelmz looked away. For himself, he realized, he had
hoped to see beasts – real beasts, hot-hided, pungently scented alien beings – not the pathetic perversions of other men.
Now d Layo was working on Hak. One-eyed Hak, chief of the crew on the coastal run, tumbled over and rolled on the floor, shielding himself from invisible kicks and blows, yammering. The DarkDreamer seemed to dance over and around him, perfecting the ferryman’s performance with a touch, a whisper, a tug at the sleeve.
Kelmz began to shake.
He couldn’t understand the meaning of the upright-walking being that came toward him, sniffed at him, put its hot, smooth touch on him. Panicky, he reared back to escape, but there were barriers. He struck out. The tall-walker evaded him and withdrew. Alone, penned in, he squeezed his eyes half shut and swung his head away from the bright, flaring heat and burning smell. Deep tremors of fear shuddered through him. He swayed from side to side, nosing the air for a familiar scent. There was none.
A sound found its way out of his throat, a whimper. He rocked his weight from shoulder to shoulder and moaned out his despair and isolation; but there came no answering voice.
It was day. Close by, a man slept all asprawl, snoring. Another had burrowed his way under a pile of woven mats so that only his haunches stuck out, collapsed sideways over his bent legs.
‘Stand up, Captain,’ the Endtendant commanded.
He was right to give that order, though he was only a Junior. Kelmz stood, blinking.
‘Sun’s fire!’ he croaked; ‘I was a beast!’
D Layo was laughing. ‘Look at him, he’s upset because his secret is out. What a secret! He should know as many men as I do who dream themselves a coat of fur or feathers when they get the chance!’
6
Servan was high as a flag. Each go-round with manna was a gamble for him; his tolerance for it was undependable. When it left him exalted he was the victor. He shook the empty bracelet along his arm as he walked. He would have to see about getting hold of some more good stuff, now that he’d used up his supply on that pack of ferry-punks.
The ferrymen had let them off at midday. The three men made their way through the marshes in the still, warm afternoon. The hike gave them time to emerge from the after-effects of the dreaming. Kelmz, in particular, needed that. He was in a black, bewildered mood and walked apart from the others.
As for Servan, he held onto his euphoria; he was practiced in keeping alert enough to function well in spite of his intoxication. That their destination was the fem-center of the entire Holdfast increased his good humor. He had always intended to visit Bayo, in order to fill a gap in his professional background — as he explained several times to his companions, between snatches of song. Inside his head an on-running paean of praise to his own good luck rippled along, woven of scraps of songs he had wrung from various fems who had passed through his hands. Completely unable to produce a true note of his own, he had spent a period of his life pursuing others’ music. That craze was over now, but he had learned a lot and still liked to sing, however tonelessly. Besides, one thing he still had a craze for was needling Eykar, and he knew perfectly well that his singing needled Eykar.
There was no one to hear him but themselves. The grass of the marshes was allowed to grow undisturbed to head height, curing in the salty mud. The Bayo fems were sent to harvest it as needed for
Revolted, Kelmz looked away. For himself, he realized, he had
hoped to see beasts – real beasts, hot-hided, pungently scented alien beings – not the pathetic perversions of other men.
Now d Layo was working on Hak. One-eyed Hak, chief of the crew on the coastal run, tumbled over and rolled on the floor, shielding himself from invisible kicks and blows, yammering. The DarkDreamer seemed to dance over and around him, perfecting the ferryman’s performance with a touch, a whisper, a tug at the sleeve.
Kelmz began to shake.
He couldn’t understand the meaning of the upright-walking being that came toward him, sniffed at him, put its hot, smooth touch on him. Panicky, he reared back to escape, but there were barriers. He struck out. The tall-walker evaded him and withdrew. Alone, penned in, he squeezed his eyes half shut and swung his head away from the bright, flaring heat and burning smell. Deep tremors of fear shuddered through him. He swayed from side to side, nosing the air for a familiar scent. There was none.
A sound found its way out of his throat, a whimper. He rocked his weight from shoulder to shoulder and moaned out his despair and isolation; but there came no answering voice.
It was day. Close by, a man slept all asprawl, snoring. Another had burrowed his way under a pile of woven mats so that only his haunches stuck out, collapsed sideways over his bent legs.
‘Stand up, Captain,’ the Endtendant commanded.
He was right to give that order, though he was only a Junior. Kelmz stood, blinking.
‘Sun’s fire!’ he croaked; ‘I was a beast!’
D Layo was laughing. ‘Look at him, he’s upset because his secret is out. What a secret! He should know as many men as I do who dream themselves a coat of fur or feathers when they get the chance!’
6
Servan was high as a flag. Each go-round with manna was a gamble for him; his tolerance for it was undependable. When it left him exalted he was the victor. He shook the empty bracelet along his arm as he walked. He would have to see about getting hold of some more good stuff, now that he’d used up his supply on that pack of ferry-punks.
The ferrymen had let them off at midday. The three men made their way through the marshes in the still, warm afternoon. The hike gave them time to emerge from the after-effects of the dreaming. Kelmz, in particular, needed that. He was in a black, bewildered mood and walked apart from the others.
As for Servan, he held onto his euphoria; he was practiced in keeping alert enough to function well in spite of his intoxication. That their destination was the fem-center of the entire Holdfast increased his good humor. He had always intended to visit Bayo, in order to fill a gap in his professional background — as he explained several times to his companions, between snatches of song. Inside his head an on-running paean of praise to his own good luck rippled along, woven of scraps of songs he had wrung from various fems who had passed through his hands. Completely unable to produce a true note of his own, he had spent a period of his life pursuing others’ music. That craze was over now, but he had learned a lot and still liked to sing, however tonelessly. Besides, one thing he still had a craze for was needling Eykar, and he knew perfectly well that his singing needled Eykar.
There was no one to hear him but themselves. The grass of the marshes was allowed to grow undisturbed to head height, curing in the salty mud. The Bayo fems were sent to harvest it as needed for
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