"To serve the Imperium." Karsler reflected briefly, and then remarked with apparent irrelevance, "Grandlandsman, I will describe an incident I witnessed en route to this hotel and this meeting. It was late afternoon, and the streets of the city were steaming. I walked along, thinking of little beyond the heat and discomfort, until I came to a plaza at the bottom of Eev Street, where a considerable crowd had gathered. The buildings lining the square were fire blackened and bullet scarred, for this was the site of the great ma.s.sacre of the last Aennorvi and native defenders of Jumo Towne, some weeks past. At the center of the square rose a rough scaffold equipped with a post and a block. A squad of Grewzian troops surrounded the scaffold."

Torvid took a cigarette from the enameled box. Lighting it, he listened in silence.

"Something was about to happen there," Karsler continued, "and so I paused to watch. Presently a cart containing several uniformed constables of the local police force arrived at the foot of the scaffold. The constables escorted a prisoner, a naked Ygahri male, who was removed from the cart and transferred to the custody of our countrymen. At this juncture a warrant was read aloud, and the crimes of the prisoner were made known to the public. It seems he was a fugitive native laborer guilty of fleeing the diamond mines, an illegality under the old Aennorvi law, which as yet remains active under the Grewzian administration. Moreover, it was the second such offense of which this Ygahri had been adjudged guilty. The punishment, fixed by statute, involved both corporal discipline and mutilation.

"The sentence was carried out by our Grewzian soldiers in full view of the a.s.sembled citizens," Karsler reported expressionlessly. "The native was bound to the post and whipped until his back streamed with blood. He was then taken down and conveyed to the block, where a Grewzian sergeant equipped with an ax amputated the anterior portion of the culprit's right foot, an operation certain to discourage future excursions. The wound was cauterized with a heated iron, and the prisoner-now unconscious-was returned to the cart and removed. The constables and troops withdrew, the crowd dispersed, and I continued on to the Queen of Diamonds Hotel." Karsler fell silent.

"Well?" Torvid prompted at last. "Your point?"

"Is it not self-evident?"

"You are about to plunge, I suspect, neck deep into some mora.s.s of sentimental guilt, and you hope to drag me down into the sweet muck to wallow alongside you."

"You have spoken of serving the Imperium." Karsler chose his words with care. "That is the first duty of our House, and so it has always been. Does that duty demand blind obedience and unquestioning loyalty? If so, we Stornzofs have willingly enslaved ourselves."

"What is this?" Frowning, Torvid extinguished his cigarette.

"Our system is deeply flawed," Karsler returned deliberately. "This is a fact I failed to recognize during my Promontory years of seclusion, and one I could overlook as a soldier at war. In recent weeks, however, I have been out in the world, where certain truths are impossible to ignore. The imperfections in the Imperium's structure are so obvious and marked that only a fool could fail to perceive them, and only a hypocrite or a coward could refuse to acknowledge them. I am a Stornzof as well as an Elucidated, and I believe as deeply as you do in serving our nation. But I ask you now, as your nephew and kinsman, to consider the possibility that we most truly serve Grewzland in striving to correct the Imperium's greatest defects."

"I see." Torvid appeared to consider his reply at some length. When finally he spoke, his tone was unwontedly forbearing. "You have appealed to me as a kinsman, and I will answer you as such. Indeed, it seems I can hardly do otherwise, which may be a weakness. But you are my oldest sister's son by our second cousin, thus doubly a Stornzof, your blood a distillate of Grewzland's finest, and I cannot forget that. Therefore I will tell you this. Your questions and misgivings are the product of youthful indecision, merely. I will go so far as to confess that such qualms sometimes clouded my own vision and judgment when I was a boy. I, too, pondered issues of conscience. Irresolution all but paralyzed my will. Almost perversely I undermined my own value to country and imperior. But then, before it was too late, I recognized my error. My eyes opened, and I realized that a man cannot serve his country with a divided heart and mind. He must commit himself fully, without reservation, or else he is worse than useless-he becomes a liability. Recognizing the dangerous arrogance of my doubts, I chose of my own volition to abandon them. I, a Stornzof, submitted to something that I could recognize as greater and more important than myself and my personal concerns, greater even than all my House-that is, the might and glory of the Grewzian Imperium. I did this because Grewzland required it, and in that yielding discovered the strength that is unconquerable. It is more than time for you to do the same."

Karsler recalled the grey seas and grey skies of the past. They seemed far distant. He said nothing.

"You are silent." Torvid studied his nephew. "Be aware that I have spoken to you of inward things, as I would to few others, because you are of my blood and we are linked by the strongest bonds, despite all differences. It is no small thing for me to hold out the hand, and it is not a gesture to be ignored. You understand me?"

"Yes, Grandlandsman," Karsler replied. "Now as never before, I understand you."

"PLEASE, SIR, WHAT IS THE HOUR?" Luzelle appealed in Grewzian.

Ignoring her query, the guard propelled a new drunk into the communal cage, locked the door, and turned away.

"Please, sir," she persisted, "will you not, if you please, tell us how long we are here? There is no clock, no window to see the sun, and-"

The guard exited the lockup in silence, and the door closed behind him.

"Oh, why don't they ever answer?" she exclaimed in frustration. "I only ask the time of day, would it kill them to tell me?"

"Ah, but an insect tyrant must take his pleasure where he finds it," Girays suggested.

"I hate them. They're malevolent morons."

"I quite agree, but outrage won't mend matters. You'll only make yourself ill."

"Thank you, Doctor v'Alisante. How long do you think we've been here?"

"I don't know, but I believe we're well into the afternoon, which would make it about twenty-four hours."

"A whole day lost-we can't afford it, I can't stand it! These rotten little Aennorvi nincomp.o.o.ps are ruining us, over nothing! We're going to lose, and it's all their fault! Oh, I'd like to throttle somebody!"

A couple of listening drunks whistled and whooped.

"Please, Luzelle, calm yourself," Girays enjoined wearily. "If you've no concern for your own health, then spare a thought for mine. You are giving me a headache."

"Oh-sorry." She considered. "I really am sorry. I must be making life miserable for you."

"Don't take credit for Aennorvi work."

"Well, I'm not helping much. I'll try to be more patient, I'll try to be quiet and calm. It won't be easy, but I will try."

"Interesting."

"What is?"

"You. I've never heard you express such sentiments, wouldn't have thought you had it in you. You've changed a bit, these past few years."

"Not for the worse, I hope."

"Far from it."

"Well. I suppose I must have been something of a brat in those days."

"You were indeed. A very charming brat."

"Oh." She was not certain whether she had been complimented or insulted. "Well, you know, you've changed too. The Girays v'Alisante I knew six years ago wouldn't have exerted himself, much less risked his own freedom, in defense of some nameless fugitive native laborer."

"Exerted? I served as your translator, nothing more."

"A little more." She lowered her voice discreetly. "You saved that poor native. He'd never have escaped, but for you. I saw you trip the constable and I know you did it on purpose."

"The constable?" Girays shrugged. "A very clumsy fellow, a most unlucky chance. I am a conservative traditionalist, as you know, and could never knowingly violate the law."

"Quite so. As time goes by, I am coming to realize just how truly conservative Your Lordship really is."

SHE KEPT HER WORD. She strove for patience, she tried to be quiet and calm. The miserable hours crawled by. The sweltering air pressed, the drunks vocalized and vomited, the flies swarmed by the hundreds, but she stifled all complaint. Eyes shut, she lay for a while upon her pallet in the hope that sleep might offer relief, but the flies buzzed and lighted on her damp flesh, the nameless wingless insects feasted on her blood, the agitated thoughts swirled through her head, and sleep eluded her. Rising to her feet, she paced the tiny confines of her cell, but activity only inflamed the mental fever. She envisioned her rivals, pressing on toward Aveshq. She contemplated the injustice of it all. Indignation, frustration, and mounting desperation scorched her brain. She strove for patience, she tried to be quiet and calm. The miserable hours crawled by. The sweltering air pressed, the drunks vocalized and vomited, the flies swarmed by the hundreds, but she stifled all complaint. Eyes shut, she lay for a while upon her pallet in the hope that sleep might offer relief, but the flies buzzed and lighted on her damp flesh, the nameless wingless insects feasted on her blood, the agitated thoughts swirled through her head, and sleep eluded her. Rising to her feet, she paced the tiny confines of her cell, but activity only inflamed the mental fever. She envisioned her rivals, pressing on toward Aveshq. She contemplated the injustice of it all. Indignation, frustration, and mounting desperation scorched her brain.

The counsel of Girays might have helped to cool and clear her head, but he had somehow managed to fall asleep, and she would not disturb him. The counsel of the drunks she did not desire.

Time seemed to have suspended itself, and yet in the real world outside the West Street Station the hours must have been pa.s.sing-in fact, evening must have arrived, for presently a khaki guard entered with a supper of bread and water for the prisoners. Attending first to the men, he came at last to Luzelle's little cage, where he paused to scrutinize her at unhurried length.

He was medium sized and nondescript, with a round tanned face and bushy black hair that sprang from his head in wiry ringlets. Evidently he did not believe in bathing. Even in the fetid atmosphere of the station lockup, the rank odor of his body was noticeable.

"Please, sir," Luzelle essayed in Grewzian, without much hope of success, "would you if you please tell me what is now the hour?"

"Six," he answered, to her surprise.

"May we if you please speak with the captain?"

"Captain will be back the day after tomorrow. Or else the day after that."

His breath fanned her face foully, and she resisted the impulse to step back. "This day has brought no report of stolen money?" she inquired.

"Not yet."

"There will come none, for the money and pa.s.sports are truly ours. We are innocent, we have done nothing." His face did not change, and she added urgently, "We are held wrongly. We ask for the chance to prove this."

He shrugged, tossed a hunk of bread through the bars, and commanded, "Pannikin."

She stooped to retrieve the tin vessel, and his eyes followed every move. She held the pannikin out, and he filled it from his long-spouted water can. This done, he stood stilly staring at her.

"We are not thieves, for nothing has been stolen from any person," she insisted. "We ask for justice, merely."

He studied her a while longer, then departed without reply.

Luzelle took a small sip of water, which was warm and no doubt poisonously dirty. She was probably condemning herself to severe diarrhea at the very least, but simple thirst triumphed over caution. She wet her mouth sparingly, then set the pannikin aside and picked the bread up off the filthy floor. The crust was damp and patched with green mold. Her nose wrinkled. She came within a twitch of flinging the loaf from her cell, but managed to contain the impulse. When she grew hungry enough, she would consume her soggy supper, mold and all.

She placed the bread beside the water, then stretched herself out again upon the pallet. Her hopes of slumber were slight. The insects were as offensive and her mind as busy as ever. Her thoughts hopped chaotically, the vermin did likewise, her misery intensified, and soon, to her disgust, she felt the hot tears scalding her eyes. Not here, not now, when she lay exposed to the view of guards, random drunks, and worst of all, Girays. She did not want him to see her weeping like an idiot infant, she did not want anyone to see, but particularly not him. But the tears were welling uncontrollably, streaming down her temples into her hair. Her face contorted, and the sharp, involuntary intake of her breath signaled an impending explosion of sobs.

Rolling over onto her side to face the stone wall, she buried her face in the crook of her arm. The tears gushed and her shoulders shook, but no sound escaped her. At last the storm abated, leaving her with a stuffed nose and an aching head. A little ashamed of herself, she snuffled and surrept.i.tiously wiped her nose on her sleeve. She risked no glance back over her shoulder. If her lapse had drawn attention, if anyone was watching, she did not want to know.

Her head was hot and seemed too heavy to lift. The intense noiseless weeping had exhausted her. She let her swollen eyelids drop, and soon, despite the heat, the stench, and bugs, she fell asleep.

SHE NEVER KNEW EXACTLY what woke her-perhaps the tap of a footstep outside her cell, perhaps the pressure of alien regard. Her eyes flew open. She knew where she was, and she knew upon instinct that she had slept for several hours. She also knew without turning her head that someone stood at her cell door looking in, and the pungent unwashed odor told her who it was. She lay quietly, studying the wall before her. The stones were bathed in weak yellowish light, by which she inferred that a lone ceiling lamp illumined the lockup. She could hear the buzz of nocturnal insects, the honking snores of a.s.sorted neighboring drunks, and little else. The smelly night guard stood not more than five or six feet behind her, his silent gaze pressing her back. Perhaps, if he thought her unconscious, he would grow bored with watching and go away. what woke her-perhaps the tap of a footstep outside her cell, perhaps the pressure of alien regard. Her eyes flew open. She knew where she was, and she knew upon instinct that she had slept for several hours. She also knew without turning her head that someone stood at her cell door looking in, and the pungent unwashed odor told her who it was. She lay quietly, studying the wall before her. The stones were bathed in weak yellowish light, by which she inferred that a lone ceiling lamp illumined the lockup. She could hear the buzz of nocturnal insects, the honking snores of a.s.sorted neighboring drunks, and little else. The smelly night guard stood not more than five or six feet behind her, his silent gaze pressing her back. Perhaps, if he thought her unconscious, he would grow bored with watching and go away.

He did not.

She heard the jingle of keys, the snap of a lock, and the squeal of hinges as the barred door opened. He stepped into the cell, closed and relocked the door. No further point in playing dead. She rose from the pallet and faced him squarely.

An unremarkable, ordinary-looking man, her mind registered inconsequentially. Nothing to distinguish him, apart from his odor; almost invisibly anonymous.

For a couple of seconds he stood eyeing her expectantly, as if he antic.i.p.ated questions, pleas, or even attempted flight. She neither moved nor spoke, and at last he muttered in Grewzian, "You were not properly searched for weapons upon arrest. They did not follow procedure. You must be searched."

"I am unarmed," she told him.

"You must be searched," he repeated doggedly. "There could be thin blades, or steel bands, or wires, hidden anywhere about you, under your clothes. You will take off your clothes."

"No," she answered with spurious calmness. Her heart slammed, her mouth went dry, and the sudden fear flashed along every nerve.

"Do it," he advised. "Or I will strip you."

"Touch me and I will scream for help," she warned.

"Scream all you want, there is n.o.body to hear. I am on duty alone here, and I am in full charge until the morning. I am in command. Now you will obey me."

She shook her head, and he lunged at her with unexpected speed. There was neither time nor room to evade him. One of his hands closed on her wrist, immobilizing her right arm, and the other flew to the neck of her Bizaqhi tunic. He pulled hard, and the gauzy fabric tore from neck to waist, exposing her linen chemise. An involuntary scream escaped her, which woke every prisoner in the lockup. The drunks, now comparatively sober, stirred and mumbled. Girays sat up, looked into the adjoining cell, and was instantly on his feet.

The night guard's fingers hooked in the bodice of her chemise. He yanked, but the linen held. Doubling her left fist, Luzelle swung wildly and hit the side of his head a glancing blow. He muttered something in Aennorvi and struck back. Instinctively she ducked, and his flying fist grazed her jaw. She staggered, and he pulled her to him. His hand thrust into her bodice to close on one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which he squeezed viciously. A high cry of pain tore from her. She clawed at his face with her free hand, then stiffened her fingers and jabbed at his eyes. His breath hissed and he jerked his head back. Twisting her wrist sharply, she broke his grip and sprang for the barred door, which she pulled at and rattled in vain. She was yelling at the top of her lungs, screaming for help, dimly aware that Girays was yelling as well, and there was some excited vociferation from the drunks, but the lockup door remained firmly closed. Either the office beyond was indeed empty, or else its tenants were ignoring the uproar.

Looping an arm around her waist, the night guard dragged her backward from the door. Her elbow hammered his ribs, then she twisted to face him and drove a knee at his groin. Releasing his hold, he dodged and threw a punch that caught her cheek. The pain exploded in her head, her vision swam, and she tottered. Shoving her down on the pallet, he flung himself atop her and pried her legs apart. His hand, fumbling at her crotch, discovered the unexpected impediment of the Bizaqhi divided skirt, and he spat an Aennorvi expletive. The hand shifted to her waist and tugged at the drawstring. His other hand, with most of his weight behind it, clutched her throat.

She was suffocating, the red lights flaring behind her closed lids, her lungs on fire, and even so the reek of his flesh and the stench of his breath seemed to fill the universe. There was a curious roaring in her ears, and somewhere she thought she could still hear Girays's voice, as if at a great distance.

The drawstring at her waist was stubbornly knotted, and the crushing pressure on her neck ceased as the guard began pulling at her skirt with two hands. He was kneeling above her, his weight pinning her thighs. She could breathe again, and her hands were free. Reaching up with both arms, she grabbed his head, pulled him down, sank her teeth into the side of his neck, and felt his blood fill her mouth.

Loosing a howl of astonished pain, he recoiled, and she scrambled from the pallet. He recovered in an instant, his nondescript face twisted with rage, and he sprang at her. She tried to duck out of reach, but there was no room. He grabbed her, and she struggled violently. Locked together, they reeled across the cell to crash against the wall of bars separating Luzelle's cage from its neighbor.

At once a purple-clad arm snaked through the bars to lock from behind around the night guard's neck. Girays tightened his hold, pressing hard on his captive's windpipe, and the guard began to gasp for breath. His grip on Luzelle weakened. She tore herself free and backed away.

The guard's hands rose to pull vainly at the wiry purple arm that was choking him. His mouth gaped, his eyes bulged, and his face darkened.

The spectacle was not unsatisfying, but she did not want to turn her defender into a murderer.

"Girays-" she began, uncertain whether he could hear her voice above the yammering of the drunks.

The night guard's eyes turned up, his struggles ceased, he slumped unconscious, and Girays relaxed the pressure, but maintained his grip.

"Luzelle. The keys," he directed, his voice impossibly calm, even nonchalant.

She threw him an amazed glance, then hastened to obey. Overcoming vast repugnance, she approached the guard and started patting his pockets. His odor filled her nostrils sickeningly. Holding her breath, she persevered and soon discovered a steel ring jangling with at least a dozen keys.

She rose, stepped to the door, and began trying the keys one after another. Her hands were shaky, too eager, and clumsy. She had trouble inserting the keys into the lock, and once she dropped the entire ring. Stooping to retrieve it, she was hardly aware that she whispered aloud, "Sorry, I'm sorry."

"You're doing well," Girays rea.s.sured her in the same astonishingly easy, tranquil tone.

Quietly though they spoke, their voices prodded the awareness of the guard, who groaned and stirred. Seizing a handful of bushy black hair, Girays rapped the captive head sharply against the iron bars, and the guard relapsed into unconsciousness.

She found the right key at last. The door screeched open. Stepping from the cell, Luzelle shut and relocked the door behind her. Girays released the guard, who slid to the floor with a small, affronted moan. She went to his cage and unlocked it with the same key she had used on her own.

He emerged, and they hurried to the exit. The drunks yelped, and Luzelle glanced back over her shoulder at them. Her questioning eyes shifted to Girays's face, and he shook his head. He was right, she realized. A bevy of liberated prisoners wandering the neighborhood was more than likely to attract undesirable notice.

The front office was empty, it had to be. Luzelle's heart was pounding as she silently lifted the latch, cracked open the door, and applied her eye to the fissure. She spied a section of quiet unoccupied chamber; bare wooden floor, a desk, a chair. No khaki guards, no constables. She opened the door fully and they slipped through.

"Desk," said Girays.

"Windows," she replied.

While he adjusted the wooden slats of the window blinds to shut the lamplit office off from the view of the darkened world, she sought and found the key to the locked desk drawer. The drawer opened, and there lay the confiscated pa.s.sports and wallets, the contents of the latter intact. She handed his property over to Girays, and hurriedly stuffed her own belongings into her hip pocket. As she did so she looked down and saw her tunic, rent from neck to waist, gaping wide to expose her underwear. The display was dangerously conspicuous, but for now there was little to be done about it. Hurriedly she tucked the dangling end of torn fabric into the neckline of her chemise; a slight improvement.

Girays peered out through the c.h.i.n.ks in the closed blinds. "All clear," he reported.

Opening the front door with care, they quietly exited the West Street Station house.

The air outside, although close and sultry, seemed marvelously fresh to Luzelle. She drew hungry drafts deep into her lungs. West Street was quiet and deserted, the shopfronts closed, the windows dark. A stray cat slunk from shadow to shadow, the atmosphere vibrated with the song of countless insects, but these were the sole signs of life.

For some silent minutes they hurried through the maze of foreign streets, and only when they had placed a long stretch of darkness between themselves and the jail did they dare to slacken their pace and exchange whispered words.

"What time d'you think it is?" asked Luzelle.

"Dead of night. Perhaps another couple of hours until dawn."