He turned and muttered something, and the door slid sideways. Duncan followed him into another hallway, which also curved and sloped downward. The air was fresh, which meant that some kind of ventilation was provided. He could see no vents in the wall and could hear no moving machinery.
“Ah, here we are!” Cabtab said. He stopped before what seemed to be a wall, the end of the tunnel. “We are being observed, of course,” he said. He spoke a string of nonsense syllables, a code, then said, “They know me, but’ we have to go through the ritual anyway.”
He chuckled. “Who knows? The ganks might capture me and then send my clone to get in here. Or I could be an angel—or a demon—which has assumed my appearance for good or evil.”
Duncan did not know if he was jesting or not. As far as he knew, cloning had been made illegal a hundred subyears ago. However, he knew that the government was not above breaking one of its own laws. But a clone seemed like a lot of trouble and expense to go to just to capture a few daybreakers. Besides, it would take thirty or more subyears to grow from a baby to Cabtab’s present age, and by then Cabtab would be an old man or dead. Yes, the padre was kidding.
The door opened and revealed a brightly lit large room. Just beyond the doorway were a man and a woman. She was short, no taller than five feet eleven, dark, very thin, young, and somewhat pretty. The man was about Duncan’s height, middle-aged, fat, big-paunched, black-haired, brown-eyed, and big-nosed. Both held long knives, though these were not raised en garde. The man moved close to them, and Duncan wrinkled his nose. He was long overdue for a bath and clean clothes.
Cabtab introduced them. “This is a recent jailbreaker and daybreaker whom I fortunately met and rescued. William St.-George Duncan. Dunc, this is Mika Himmeldon Dong and Melvin Wang Crossant.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Duncan said. The two smiled, though coldly, and nodded.
“Well,” the padre said. “Now for the truth mist.”
Duncan said nothing. He had expected this. He followed the giant down the hallway while Dong and Crossant trailed him. They went into a small and sparsely furnished room. Duncan was invited by Cabtab to sit down on a folding chair.
“I won’t say make yourself comfortable. But you won’t be in it for more than ten minutes with the diluted mist we use.”
Time enough to find out all they want to know just now, Duncan thought. He was happy that the outlaws had gotten hold of the mist. That would ensure that their band would harbor no traitors or double agents. Unless, like him, they could lie after breathing the mist.
He awoke stiff and uncomfortable. The padre, smiling, gave him his hand and lifted him up. “Quite a story, my son,” he boomed. “Puzzling, though. You seem to have been more than one person at one time. You also seem to have locked up in you a secret that the government very much wants you not to reveal to the public.”
Mika Dong, standing by the padre, said, “That makes you very dangerous to the government.” She paused. “And to us. I don’t think the government is going to stop looking for you.”
“Am I too dangerous for you to let me stay with you?” Duncan said. He was hoping that she would say that he was not. If they would not keep him, they also would not release him. He knew where they were. That meant that he would be killed or, if they had facilities, perhaps stoned. In any event, he would have to be silenced.
“That isn’t for me to say,” Dong said.
Padre Cob said, “Pah!” indicating disgust, though with whom or about what he did not explain. He led Duncan, the others trailing them, into the hallway and down it for thirty feet. Then he went into a huge room with a low ceiling. There were a dozen rough-hewn wooden tables and benches in here, several small food-destoners, water-coolers, and some bunks. There were also about a dozen men and women and a boy and a girl about three years old. Duncan was surprised to see the infants. This was a hell of a place to raise children, he thought. Then, It’s also a hell of a place for adults to live.
“Welcome to the Free Band!” Padre Cob trumpeted. “Such as it is!”
Duncan had assumed that the giant was the leader. He was so huge and had such a forceful personality that he seemed the most likely to be the chief. Duncan was mistaken. The tall man with the pantherish body and towering forehead above heavy prognathous ridges was the leader. He was introduced as Ragnar Stenka Locks. The Decider.
“Put on some clothes, Padre,” Locks said in a soft but authoritative voice. “You look indecent.”
“You’re just jealous,” Cabtab said. He laughed, but he walked out of the room. He was back in a minute wearing a rainbow-striped monk’s robe with a cowl.
He grinned at Duncan and said, “Behold the band’s Friar Tuck! Or vice versa, initially speaking!”
Locks made the rest of the introductions. There were so many names that Duncan could not recall them all then. The few he did remember were Giovanni Sing Sinn and Alfredo Sing Bedeutung, who told him they were brothers; a ravishing blonde, Fiona Van Dindan, who wore a body-fitting shimmering blue gown; and Robert Bismarck Korzminski, a short and slender mulatto with the longest fingers Duncan had ever seen. The band was composed equally of males and females. However, during the meal that followed shortly afterward, a man came into the room and whispered something in Locks’ ear. He left then, though he slowed his step to look at Duncan.
The padre, sitting next to Duncan at the table, said, “That’s Homo Erectus Wilde. On duty as lookout.”
Duncan choked, coughed, drank some water, and said, “You’re kidding?”
“Not his natal name, of course,” the padre said. “He took it when he came of age, as is his citizen’s right. He’s our resident homosexual. He’s hoping that you’ll be of the same sexual compulsion. Nobody’s told him different yet. Let him abide in hope and nourish his fantasies for a while.”
Locks rapped a spoon against his glass. When he had silence, he announced, “Wilde reports that there is unusual activity by the organics in this area. He’s seen twelve craft patrolling around here so far. One party has landed and is using listening devices. Quite near here.”
The silence continued for a while. The two children moved closer on the bench to their mothers.
“No need to be alarmed!” Padre Cob said loudly. “They’re looking for our guest, but they must be looking everywhere. They have no occasion to concentrate here. I predict they’ll move on soon.”
“The padre is right,” Locks said. “Now, Citizen Duncan, you say…”
Duncan answered his questions as best he could. When the meal was finished, several men and women cleared off the dishes and took them into the kitchen. A TV set was trundled into the room. When the people were finished in the kitchen, the tape of Duncan’s interrogation while under the truth mist was shown. After that, he was questioned again by Locks while the others listened. If they had any comments to make, they waited until after he was gone.
Duncan was then given a short tour of the living area and was instructed on what to do if the alarm sirens sounded. Mika Dong, appointed as his guide, explained things in a singsong voice. She never smiled. After a while, Duncan concluded that she still did not trust him. Or else she had taken a dislike to him. Or perhaps she was just a sourpuss.
Probably, it was that mysterious chemistry that decreed, statistically, that in any group of more than seven, one person at least would not like one of the others. Hundreds of tapes had been issued by scholars on this subject, each with its own theory of why this phenomenon occurred. There were thousands of tapes about the other side of this chemistry, instantaneous attraction, but these were much more in agreement about the causes. That, Duncan thought, was strange. Generally, most people could see why it was easier to hate than to love.
He shrugged. Perhaps he was wrong. Mika Dong was probably just suspicious of strangers.
At seven that evening, he went to the gymnasium, a vast room that had been used as an armory during the war. Here, though most of the band played basketball, the padre was lifting we
ights. Duncan joined him for a while, then,’ when he saw fencing equipment, stopped. He asked if anyone was interested in the sport and got Locks, the Decider, to test him. Locks was a good fencer, but Duncan scored five out of six points. Locks, panting, finally called it quits.
“You’re damned good. Who was your instructor?”
“I don’t remember,” Duncan said. “The psychicist told me that I’d been a fencing instructor, but I remember nothing of that. In fact, I didn’t even think of it until I saw the foils. Then how do I explain it? Something called me. I just had to get a foil in my hand.”
Locks looked peculiarly at him but said nothing.
At nine, Duncan showered and then went to bed. He was tired after all his frantic activities and nervous strain; the adrenaline that had kept him going at a high pitch was dried up. He was shown by Homo Erectus Wilde into a large room fitted with bunks.
“A lot of space for just us two,” Wilde said. He smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t bother you. I respect your rights. I was hoping, though, when you first showed up…”
After an uncomfortable pause, uncomfortable for Duncan, Duncan said, “You know my story. But why did you become an outlaw?”
“My lover talked me into it. He was a wild man, unlike me, no puns, please. He hated the constant surveillance by the government. He had some insane ideas about his right to privacy. I went with him just because I didn’t want to be parted from him. Truer love had no man. And then…”
After another long pause, Duncan said, “Then?”
“The ganks surprised us. I got away. He got caught. So, I suppose, he’s a stoned statue somewhere in a government warehouse. I kept hoping he’d be brought to the one close to here, but…”
“I’m sorry,” Duncan said.
“Doesn’t help much.”
Wilde began weeping, and, when Duncan tried to say something, Wilde spoke fiercely. “I don’t want to talk about it! Don’t want to talk about anything just now!”
Duncan went to bed. Though exhausted, he could not sleep for a while. He had many questions to ask about this group. What was their main goal now that they were hunted daybreakers? Did they have any, other than staying out of the hands of the organics? What kind, of life did they lead? Where did they get their food from? What did they do when they needed a doctor?
Thinking thus, he finally passed into a state in which he had many nightmares.
5
Duncan’s first thought on awakening was depressing. He had escaped from one prison only to enter another. The organics were looking for him and probably would for a long time. That meant that he would be confined here until they quit searching. If they did so. He seemed to be so important to them that they might persist until they found this hideout. Once more, he would be in their grasp, and he doubted that he could ever get loose from it again.
Moreover, the people who had taken him in knew that he was fiercely wanted by the government. Would they finally decide, however reluctantly, to give him to the organics? No. They could not do so because he knew where they were. A spray of truth mist would make him spill all to the officials.
But what if the organics did find him out in the forest—dead? Then they would call off the search, and he would not have revealed anything about them.
That seemed the only logical course for his hosts to take. He could not argue against that.
He thought, I have to escape from the outlaws. The son of man has no place wherein to lay his head. The foxes in their burrows, the birds in their nests, are indeed better off than I am.
By the time he came out of the bathroom—running hot water for a shower, something he had not expected—he was no longer depressed. There was always a way out of a bad situation, and he would find it. Smiling, whistling softly, he walked to the dining room. Before he reached it, though, he was wondering why he felt so jaunty. Logic and its child, probability, were against any optimism. In that case, so much for them. But then he remembered what the psychicist had told him during a session.
“I don’t know how you did it, but you created—built yourself, rather—a new personality. You selected, so it seems to me, the elements you wanted for the persona of William St.-George Duncan, and you put them together. You have this buoyant optimism and this belief that you can conquer anything, get out of the most impossible jams. That isn’t enough. Belief, optimism, they can’t overcome reality.”
Duncan had replied, grinning, “But you told me that I don’t have any plans to escape.”
The psychicist had frowned. “It’s also part of your persona that it can hide your thoughts from others. And from yourself when you don’t want to know them. That makes you dangerous.”
“You just told me that you weren’t worried about me.”
The psychicist had looked confused and no doubt was. She had hurriedly changed the subject.
I’m somewhat confused about myself, Duncan thought. But what difference does that make as long as my behavior isn’t screwed up? Right action indicates right thinking.
Somewhere in his brain dwelt another person who was not one of the seven personae. Or a part of himself. It was doing the thinking for him, the thinking needed for his survival, anyway.
All human beings were unique in some respects. He doubted that anybody else had a persona deliberately put together of different character elements and selected memories so loosely, yet vitally, connected to his waking self. Or his dreaming self, too, perhaps. But that persona was not a self-programmed robot.
Breakfast was in the big room where he had eaten dinner. Duncan was invited to sit at the great round table in the center of the room with Locks, Cabtab, and other leaders. The priest, who sat by Duncan, still stank of the incense his clothes had absorbed during mass and several other rituals he had performed early in the morning. He wore a sky-blue robe and yellow sandals. Duncan asked him how he could blend all the religions into a harmonious whole and appoint himself as its vicar.
“No trouble of conscience or logic for me,” Padre Cob rumbled through a mouthful of toast and omelet. “I started out as a Roman Catholic priest. Then it occurred to me that Catholic meant universal. But was I truly universal? Was I not actually limited, confined by one church, which was not really universal? Was I not rejecting other religions, all of which and every one of which God must have founded, put on Earth through the minds of their founders? Would they exist if the Great Spirit regarded them as false? No, they would riot. Therefore, proceeding both on divine revelation and logic, which have never before had anything to do with each other, I became the first truly universal, therefore catholic, priest.
“But I did not found a new eclectic religion. I have no ambition to compete with Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, Smith, Hubbard, etcetera. There is no competition. I am that who is. I was officially decreed so by God. Who is higher than any priest, pope, or what have you. I became the unique priest. I am elected and entitled to practice any and all religions and to serve God, humbly or proudly, as the case requires, in the capacity of Its, or His or Her if you prefer, minister.”
Someone at the table behind Duncan’s sniggered.
The padre did not turn around. He put down his fork, placed his hands in prayerful attitude, and bellowed, “Oh, God, forgive the doubter his many doubtless sins! Show him or her or it the error of his ways and bring him into the fold! Or, if you don’t care to, make sure that he doesn’t laugh in my face. That will keep me from knocking him flat on his ass for showing such disrespect to a man of the cloth! Save me from the sin of wrathful violence, however righteous it may be!”
There was silence for a while thereafter except for the clink of tableware and some loud chewing. Then the padre, having finished his breakfast, said, “Decider, what have you decided?”
Locks drank the rest of his milk, put down the glass, and said, “We’ll talk about that…”
At that moment, a man walked swiftly into the room, went to Locks, and said something softly into his ear. Locks rose and called
for attention.
“Albani tells me that the organics have started drilling just above us!”
Duncan heard gasps and someone said, “God help us!”
“There’s no need to get overly alarmed,” Locks said. “The organics are probably doing it in many places. They’ve probably started probing into a number of randomly selected areas where they know underground chambers exist. At least, I hope so. You will gather your flight packages and be here in five minutes. Make as little noise as possible.”
Duncan stood up with the others at the table. He smelled the stale sweat of the man Wilde had referred to as “Downwind,” Mel Crossant. Duncan turned to see him and Mika Dong glaring at him. She spoke in a low but intense voice. “If it wasn’t for you, this wouldn’t be happening!”
“Knock that off!” Padre Cob said. “When we picked you up, you put us in some peril! Don’t forget that! Yet we welcomed you!”
Neither Crossant nor Dong replied. They walked away, though they were talking to each other. Dong stopped once to glare again at Duncan.
The priest, putting a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, spoke gently. “They’re terrified, so they’re taking their fright Out on you. Of course, that’s no excuse for their despicable behavior.”
“I don’t think they’re the only ones who feel that way,” Duncan said. “I regret putting them in danger, but what else could I do?”
“Don’t worry about it. We stay together, free or captured. See you in a few minutes.”
He strode away, the hem of the robe swaying around his bare massive calves. Duncan sat down. He had nothing to take with him. For a minute, he contemplated deserting by the same route by which he had entered. That would, however, be a foolish self-sacrifice. With the woods swarming with organics, he would be quickly found. That might cause them to quit pursuing the others, but how would that help him? It would not, and he would soon be stoned and forever a statue in some government warehouse. These people had taken him in with full knowledge of what might result from their hospitality. Besides, why should he feel bad because some of his hosts had panicked? They would get over it, and he would go to…to do what? He did not know at this time what he hoped to do. Whatever it was, it would be more than just hiding out like a rabbit from a fox. These people might settle for that. He would not.