Andre Norton - Dipple 03 - Night of Masks

ANDRE NORTON - NIGHT OF MASKS (1964)

(Scanned by: Kislany)

CONTENTS

Chapter I

.......................................................................................................................... 3

Chapter II

.......................................................................................................................... 7

Chapter III

......................................................................................................................... 10

Chapter IV

......................................................................................................................... 14

Chapter V

......................................................................................................................... 17

Chapter VI

......................................................................................................................... 20

Chapter VII

......................................................................................................................... 23

Chapter VIII

......................................................................................................................... 26

Chapter IX

......................................................................................................................... 29

Chapter X

......................................................................................................................... 32

Chapter XI

......................................................................................................................... 36

Chapter XII

......................................................................................................................... 39

Chapter XIII

......................................................................................................................... 43

Chapter XIV

......................................................................................................................... 46

Chapter XV

......................................................................................................................... 49

Chapter XVI

......................................................................................................................... 53

Chapter XVII

......................................................................................................................... 57

Chapter XVIII

......................................................................................................................... 60

Chapter I

OUTSIDE, THE DAY was as gray as the wall behind Nik Kolherne, where he hunched under the arch of

roof well above his head. The steady drizzle of rain was as depressing as those thoughts he could not push

out of his mind, even by the most determined effort. His thin-fingered hands moved restlessly, smoothing

the front of the worn and colorless jump coat that hung in folds about his thin chest and shoulders. The

damp had him shivering, but he made no move to seek shelter through the door immediately behind him.

There was shelter inside but nothing else in the big barracks of the Dipple. Those without family ties

held no more rights than the tentative possession of a bunk, and that only as long as they could defend it,

should one of their fellows in misfortune take a liking to it.

Nik's right hand came up in a gesture now so much a part of him that he was no longer aware when he

made it. Without actually touching his face, his palm covered chin and nose, masking all that lay below his

large, penetratingly brilliant blue-green eyes. He hugged the wall of the entranceway, giving good room to

two men splashing in from the yard. Neither noticed him as they pushed into the barracks.

Moke Yarn and Brin Peake. In the world of the Dipple, they were solid citizens of a sort. Or should one

correct that? Nik, his hand mask still upheld, searched for a proper term to cover the activities and

standing of Moke Yarn and Brin Peake.

Maybe not solid citizens in the sense used by the free world beyond the Dipple gates. But at least they

had power, and their standing within these walls was firmly based. And since it was undoubtedly true that

the Dipple would continue to be Nik's complete world, its terms of reference must be the ones used in

evaluating his fellow unfortunates - not that either Moke or Brin considered himself unfortunate.

Once there had been no Dipple; once there had been no war. Once - once a little boy had been someone

different, very different. His blue-green eyes held a shadow as Nik stared dully into the slanting lines of

rain. But there had been the war, and all the dispossessed flotsam had been swept up and thrown into the

refuse heaps of the Dipples on many planets - to rot forgotten, as if they were not people at all but

statistics and footnotes in some, little-read history book of a time the free worlds were now working hard

to forget. The war had ended in an exhausted tie, but hate lingered, smoldering under the surface of the

here and now, a hate that -

This time Nik's fingers closed tight against his face. His stomach heaved in a retching spasm. The

furrows of scarred skin were harsh under his touch. He had a mask all right, one out of nightmares and one

he could never put aside. Ten years ago a freighter spacer had been temporarily turned into an escape ship

for a small colony on a frontier world lying within enemy-patrolled territory. That freighter had been

pursued by the enemy and had crashed on a barren moon.

How in the name of the Spirit had Nik survived that disaster anyway? Why had a child with a torn and

burned face continued to live when all those about him had mercifully died? Then - out of nowhere - had

come rescue, men in space armor tramping into the small area of the ship where Nik had cowered almost

witless. After their coming, there was a jumble of impressions cloaked with delirium and pain, the terror

of the unknown. Finally, there had been the hospital here at the Dipple on Korwar. Then - just the Dipple in

which he was always alone.

He dreamed - yes, sometimes he dreamed of a country under another sky with a different tint and a

warmer sun. But was that a real memory or just a dream? He could remember only such small bits after the

crash. His sole link with that other world was the identity disk they had found on him - Nik Kolherne, a

name combined with symbols that had not made sense to any authority here. At first, he had asked

questions of his fellow internees until their reaction to his gargoyle face had driven him into a solitary life

and to the reading tapes.

To a tape, it did not matter that Nik was only human-seeming from eye level to the top of his head with

its tight curls of wiry hair the color of burnished jet. So he had fled into the world of the mind, soaking up

materials upon which his imagination fed, so that he was able to lead another life - one he could summon

up at need, perhaps as vivid as that a haluce drinker knew.

Sometimes nowadays Nik was more aware of that other life than he was of the Dipple, though a ripple

of disquiet came like a half-heard warning now and then to disturb his dreaming. But he pressed that

down, strove to rout it utterly. He had his dream world, and in it he was free! He clung to it passionately.

The need to return to his fantasy now drove him forth into the rain, and he scuttled from the barracks

to the next building, the supply warehouse. The bored guard at the door did not see Nik flit by - he was an

expert at finding hiding places. Seconds later he reached his latest one, a tiny opening through which he

could squeeze, to wriggle up on some crates and lie on a ragged bit of blanket.

Nik stretched out. The layer of stuff beneath his sharp shoulder blades was not thick, but he was

oblivious to the discomfort. The drum of rain on the roof not too far above him was soothing, and he

closed his eyes, ready to plunge into his dream.

"- has to be right - all a one-time blast-off."

Those words had no part in the fantasy Nik was creating in themselves, they were only a minor

disturbance, but something in the voice brought Nik's eyes open, made him listen.

"No move until we are sure."

"And while we're sittin' on our fins waitin' for a take-off, the whole deal can turn sour - into a real bad

burn-off."

Nik hitched around on his pad and began a worm's progress to the end of the box from which he should

be able to view the speakers. There was no light in the gloom below. The meeting had all the aspects of a

private one. Of course, there were a good many undercurrents in the Dipple. This was not the first time

Nik had been on the fringe of secrets or learned what could prove dangerous should his knowledge be

discovered by others.

"I repeat - in this there can be no chances - not in the groundwork. It's too big to allow any off-course

work. Do you understand that?"

Stowar! Nik could see the two figures below only as shadows among other shadows, but that one voice

he knew. Stowar was big here in the Dipple - a king shark to such small predators as Moke and Brin. If a

man could raise the price to buy into the Thieves' Guild and so open a door out of this rat hole, Stowar was

the negotiator who carried out the deal. Stowar had things to sell, too - haluce and other drugs. He had

contacts, they said clear up the Veeps of the half world on Korwar and even off-world, too.

Nik shivered. To eavesdrop on one of Stowar's little deals could be very dangerous. He dug his nails into

the surface of the box on which he lay and tried to still his breathing, not daring to withdraw for fear they

could hear his movements.

"All right - so no chances." The other sounded impatient and not a bit overawed by Stowar. "But that

course's been plotted twice - an' each time it cost us a fistful. If we have to go to Margan again, he'll up

the price on us. He's no fool, and he'll do a little thinking on his own."

"There are ways of dealing with Margan."

"Yeah, and those wouldn't be healthy either. Meddle with Margan and you'll have the Brethren down with

blasters out, ready to do some cookin'! Don't you planet crawlers ever forget that Margan is our man, and

we'll cut in for him. We need Margan; he's the best course man in the business. This trick of yours is just

one trip as far as the Brethren see it."

The Brethren! Nik's mind was wholly freed of the mist of fantasy now. Stowar could well have contacts

with the Brethren - the space-borne section of the Thieves' Guild who sought their prey on loosely held

frontier worlds. That meant this deal could be very big. Though Stowar might head the lawless element in

the Dipple, to the Guild itself he was a small operator to whom the real Veeps threw the small crumbs.

"Commendable comment. But our friend here is right on one point. This is no time to come in for a

two-fin landing, Bouvay."

A third man down there! Nik tried to pick out his shadow, but he must be standing, out of sight, in the

crack between the crate on which Nik himself perched and its fellow.

Stowar had been easy for Nik to identify because, seemingly indifferent to Nik's disfigurement, he had,

from time to time, given the boy small tasks, Nik's only means of earning a credit or two to finance the

purchase of new tapes.

"All right. But a third run with Morgan will be suspicious - maybe make real trouble."

"We are duly warned," agreed the unknown in the crack. "You say we have five more days?"

"Five more days for this course. Then you wait three planet months before you can try again."

"So be it. Well just have to wait it out."

"But." Stowar began an instant protest.

"Five days - to find our man, to set up the whole plan? It can't be done. I've tried some so-called

impossible things in my time, orbited in on one or two of them, too. But short of going into stass and

taking all of Korwar with us, we're going to have to pass on this run and wait out those three months."

"And in the meantime" - Stowar's voice soared."we can see i'Inad made some change to spoil

everything. I say - much better make it a straight snatch."

"Which is completely impossible," came a chill retort. "They have the ultimate in security. The pattern

can't be broken by us except by the setup Heriharz has worked out. You yourself were urging caution just a

moment ago, friend."

"Caution, reasonable caution, certainly. But every delay gives i'Inad a chance to counter us."

There was a soft laugh from the dark alley. "Seems an impasse, doesn't it? But I have faith in the stars,

Stowar. We'll either turn up our key or."

"Or have to write it all off. Some tricks you can't pull ever. This is a dead rocket if I ever saw one."

"Your commander doesn't agree with you, Bouvay, but it's your privilege to cry off if you want."

Only a mutter replied to that. Nik tensed. That voice out of the dark carried a note of confidence rarely

heard here. The diction was smooth, the tone authoritative. This was no Dipple dweller. Everyone knew

that the Guild had their undercover men in the Planet Guard, among the port authorities, with the spacer

crews. This man could well be one of them.

"Three months." That was Stowar, but this time there was a resigned note in his voice. "And at the end

of three months - if we have not found the right man?"

"Then we make some other decision. But FC says we will." Some one of his listeners snorted. "Then

why'n green blazes don't that tame machine tell us where to find him? Maybe he ain't on Korwar. Ever think

of that?"

"The probabilities, according to FC, are that he is. Look about you, man - what's in a Dipple?"

"A bunch of dim beats as has had it!" returned Bouvay promptly.

"According to your estimation, yes. But on the other hand, right between these walls we have a big

cross section of galactic races and types. When they swept up refugees and deportees and dropped them

down here, there wasn't any sorting. We have inhabitants from forty worlds, survivors of ship disasters, a

mixture such as you won't find anyplace else."

"Except in another Dipple," cut in Stowar. "Just so. And where is the nearest other Dipple? On Kali, a

good six-month flight from here. How long have we been sifting the stock right in front of us? About one

month. FC says the probabilities are he is here; we just have to find him. And because you haven't turned

up the proper combination yet, Stowar, is no reason that such a person does not exist."

"I know." The Dipple man sounded more confident. "You're right. If there's such a man, we ought to

have him here. There's a mix as will turn up about anything. The only thing they've in common is that they

all look human."

"That's the only factor he has to have," commented the unknown. "Our man has to register human or he

can't get by the spy line. So, we practice patience and."

Nik was startled. The speaker had stopped, almost in mid word. All Nik caught thereafter was a sharp

hiss. The shadows that were Stowar and Bouvay had frozen. Nik listened. His mouth was dry, his heart

beginning to sharpen its beat. Somehow he could sense a wariness, an alerting. Had they discovered him?

But how could they - ?

He cried out, tried to jerk free, kicking out with one foot, but the hold on his right ankle remained

firm. It was as if his whole right leg was glued to the top of the crate. Then the power in the left suddenly

failed. That leg lay beside the right, both now immovable. Thoroughly frightened, Nik tried to lever his half

- dead body up by using his arms, only to have them fail him in turn. He was pinned to the surface under

him as if he had never had any power to move.

Then he did move, but not by his own will. Stiff in his invisible bonds, his whole body rose from the

crate and slid out over the open space where the men he had spied upon stood waiting for him. Shaking

with a fear he could only control to the point of not screaming his terror aloud, Nik sank down, helpless to

defend himself against any action they chose to take.

"Stack rat!"

Nik was still descending when that fist snapped out of the general gloom and connected against his

cheekbone with force enough to scramble his senses. He was aware dazedly of another blow. And then

there was only darkness until light beat into him, and he tried to raise his hands to shield his eyes, blinded

by the full glare of a torch.

" - you're away off orbit."

"I don't think so. Look, man; just use your eyes for once!"

A painful grip on Nik's hair jerked his head closer to the light. He closed his eyes.

"Who is he, Stowar?"

"Just what Bouvay called him - a stack rat. Gives most of the people horrors, so he keeps out of sight."

"Sure - look at his face! Enough to turn your insides straight out of you! What do you mean about his

being any good to us? Give him a blast and let it go at that. Put him outta his misery. He can't enjoy life

lookin' like that."

"His face." The voice from behind the torch sounded speculative. "That doesn't matter too much. What

is important is that he's about the right size and age - or looks it anyway. It's just possible we have what

we want. If he goes, there'll be no one to ask questions - he won't be missed."

"I don't believe you can use him!" Bouvay was emphatic.

"You don't have to. But I believe in luck, Bouvay, and it may be that Lady Luck is pushing comets across

the board to us right now! Gyna can do wonders with raw material."

"Anyway, we'll have to do something with him." That was Stowar once more. "Stow him in the box

there, and I'll send a couple of the boys to take him to my place. How long does this tie of yours last?"

"Not much longer, unless I want to burn out the unit."

"Fair enough. I'll just take care of that problem."

The last words Nik heard were those from Bouvay. For the second time he was struck and sagged back

into the dark from which the torchlight had momentarily dragged him.

He was lying on a hard surface - the blanket must have been dragged from under him on the crate. And

this was the first time he had come out of a dream with a badly aching head. Dream? But this had not been

one of his visits to his secret world at all! Nik found thinking a shaky process, and the feeling of nausea,

which, oddly enough, seemed located more in his painful head than his middle, swooped down into the

proper section of his anatomy as he tried to move.

The patchwork of recent memories began to fit into a real pattern. He lay with closed eyes and forced

himself to make those memories whole. The warehouse - and the three who met there - Stowar! Nik's

suddenly tensing muscles hurt. He had been caught listening to some private plan of Stowar's!

Now he tried to make his ears serve to inform him on his present surroundings. He was lying on a hard

surface - that much he already knew - but before he opened his eyes and so perhaps gave away his return

to consciousness, he wanted to learn everything else he could.

There was a sound - a murmur that might be the rise and fall of voices from a distance. Now that he

had himself in hand, Nik could use his nose, too. The faintly sweet smell - that was only one thing, Canbia

wine. Just one inhabitant of the Dipple could afford Canbia - Stowar - so he was now in Stowar's quarters.

Nik dared to open his eyes and looked up into complete darkness. With great effort, he lifted a limp

hand. A fraction of an inch from his side, it struck against a solid surface. The left hand discovered a

similar obstruction on the other side.

He could see light now - a faint outline over him, enough to tell him he was in a box. In a moment of

raw panic, he struggled to sit up, only to discover the effort beyond his powers. Then all the patience and

self-control he had so painfully learned went into action. So - he was in a box. But he was still alive, and if

they had wanted to erase him, they would not have gone to the trouble of carting him here. Stowar wanted

no trouble in his own quarters.

Nik puzzled over his fragmentary memories of those last moments when he had been so strangely lifted

out of hiding and delivered, helpless, into the hands of the enemy. The method of attack did not concern

him now; the reason for his being here did. What had the stranger said - that he was the right age and

size and that his face was not important. Not important.

The sound of boot heels on the floor outside his prison made Nik strive once more to move. His hands -

he could pull them up a little. The rest of him seemed frozen still.

Then the cover over him banged back, and he was looking up into the face of a stranger. The skin was

browned in the deep coloring of a spaceman, so that the single topknot of hair above the almost totally

shaven skull looked like a white plume in contrasting fairness. The regular features were handsome,

though the eyes were so heavily droop-lidded that Nik had no idea of their coloring.

And now there was a quirk of a smile about the stranger's lips, giving a certain relaxation to his

expression. Nik found himself losing the first sharp edge of his apprehension.

A bronze hand swooped down and caught at the front of Nik's jacket. He was drawn up in that hold as if

his own weight were feather-light as far as the other was concerned. Then an arm about his shoulders

steadied him on his feet, and he was standing.

"Don't worry. You'll be able to blast in a minute."

Under the stranger's guidance, Nik regained enough power to step out of the box and take a stumbling

step or two. He was lowered onto a stool, his back against the wall of the room. The other sat down,

facing him.

The stranger wore space leather and ship boots. The triple star of a captain winked from the throat

latch of his tunic. He leaned forward, his fists on his knees, to survey Nik. For the first time in years, Nik

Kolherne made no attempt to mask his ruined face with his hand. There was a kind of defiance in his

desire for the other to see every scar.

"I was right!" The white-hair plume rippled as the stranger nodded briskly. "You are our probability."

Chapter II

NIK'S HEAD and shoulders were propped against the wall, and as the stranger leaned forward, their eyes

were much on a level. He matched the searching stare. And now he said, "I don't know what you mean."

"Not needful that you do - yet. How long have you had that face?

"Ten years, more or less. I was fished out of a wreck during the war."

"Nobody tried to patch it up for you?"

Nik willed his hand to remain on his knee, willed himself to face that frank appraisal without an outward

tremor. There was no disgust, no shrinking, only real bewilderment in the other's expression. And seeing

that, Nik replied with the truth.

"Why didn't they fix my face? Well, they tried. But it seemed I couldn't adapt to growth flesh - it

sloughed off after some months. And other experiments, they cost too much. No one had the credits to

spend on Dipple trash."

That had been the worst of his burden in the years behind him, knowing that right here in Korwar were

cosmetic surgeons who might have been able to give him a human face again. Yet the costly

experimentation needed by a patient who could not provide natural rooting for growth flesh was far out of

his reach.

"Something could be done even now."

Nik refused to rise to the bait. "I'm not the son of a First Circle family," he replied evenly. "And if

growth flesh fails, there's little they can do, anyway."

"Don't be so sure." The stranger got to his feet. "Don't discount luck."

"Luck?" queried Nik.

"Yes, luck! Listen, boy. I'm on a winning streak now. The comets are all hitting stars on my table! And

you're a part of it. What would you do for a new face - the face you should have had?"

Nik's stare was set. Plainly this was meant in all seriousness. Well, what would he give, do, for a face -

a real face again? He didn't have to hesitate over that answer.

"Anything!" It would be worth it, any pain or sacrifice on his part, any effort, no matter how severe or

prolonged.

"All right. Well see. Stowar - !" At the space officer's call, the Dipple man came to the door of the room.

"I'm standing for Kolherne."

Stowar's flat, emotionless eyes slid over the boy. He was frowning a little. "The choice is yours - now,"

he returned, but not as if he agreed. "When do you take him, Leeds?"

"Right away. Now, Kolherne" - the other swung to face Nik once more."it's up to you. If you want that

face, you have to be prepared to earn it, understand?"

Nik nodded. Sure he understood. Anything you wanted you had to earn, or take - if you were strong

enough and well armed enough to make the grab practical. He did not doubt that Leeds was either one of

the Guild or the Brethren, operating well on the cold side of any planetary or space law. But that did not

bother him. Within the Dipple, one learned that the warmth of the law was for the free, not for the

dispossessed and helpless. He was willing to walk the outlaw's road; that was no choice at all with the

promised award ahead.

"This is the story - you're the son of a spaceman, my former first officer. I found you here, will sign

bond for you. That will release you from the Dipple. The guard won't do much checking. They're glad to get

anyone off the roster legally. Got anything you want to collect from a lock box, Nik?

What did he have to call his own? A tape reader and a packet of tapes. Nothing he really needed. And

those belonged to the Kolherne who had no hope at all - save through their temporary means of escape.

Now something as wild as anger or fear was boiling inside Nik; he could hardly keep it bottled down. He did

not recognize it as hope.

"No - " His voice seemed so little under his control that he did not say more than that one word.

"Then, let's go!" Again that strong grasp bringing him up to his feet, steadying him. He stumbled across

the room, out into Stowar's business quarters, hardly noting Moke Varn there. Moke was of no importance

any more. This was one of Nik's dreams taking on the solid reality of flesh in the hand guiding him ahead,

in the surprised expression on Moke's flat face, in the bubbling and churning in Nik's middle. He was drunk

with hope and the excitement Leeds had fired in him.

"Now pay attention." Leeds' tone sharpened as they emerged into a mist that had followed the rain. "My

name is Strode Leeds. I'm master of the Free Trader Serpent. Got that?"

Nik nodded.

"Your father was my first officer in the Day Star when the war broke out. He was killed when we were

jumped by the Afradies on Jigoku. I've been searching the Dipples for you for the past three years. Luck, O

Luck, are you riding my fins today! I couldn't have set this up better if I'd known you were going to come

down out of the roof back in that warehouse. You stick with me, boy, and that luck has just naturally got to

rub off a little on you!"

Leeds was smiling, the wide satisfied smile of a gambler ready to scoop up from the table more than

his hoped-for share of the counters.

Nik, still a little wobbly on his legs, tried to match his stride to the captain's, willing to go where Leeds

wished, holding to him the promise the other had made, the promise that still seemed part of a dream. He

listened to Leeds' glib explanation at the Dipple Registration and nodded when the supervisor perfunctorily

congratulated him on his luck. There it was - luck again. He who had never remembered seeing the fair

face of fortune was beginning to believe in it with some of the fervor Leeds exhibited.

Then they were out of the Dipple. Nik dragged a little behind his companion, savoring that small wonder

that was part of the larger. In all his existence on Korwar, he had been out of the Dipple's gray hush no

more times than he could reckon on the fingers of one hand. Once to the hospital in a vain attempt to

have them try skin growth on him again, to return defeated and aching with the pain of the medical

verdict that it was useless. And the rest on hurried trips to the nearest tape shop to buy the third-hand,

scratchy records that had been all the life he cared for. But now he was out - really out!

Leeds punched the code of a flitter at the nearest call box. It was beginning to rain again, and the

captain jerked the shoulder hood of his tunic up over his head. Nik licked the moisture from that scar

tissue that should have been lips.

Even rain was different beyond the Dipple walls; it tasted sweet and clean here.

As they seated themselves in the cab and Leeds set the controls, he glanced at the boy. The captain

was no longer smiling. There was a sharp set to his mouth and jaw.

"This is only the first step," he said. "Gyna and Iskhag, they have the final decision."

Nik snapped back into tense rigidity. One part of him was apprehensive. So - there was a flaw in this

"luck" after all? This was only what all his life had led him to expect.

"But," Leeds was continuing, "since the main play is mine, I've the right to say who's going to lift into

this orbit."

Nik's first seething glow had faded; his old-time control was back. All right, so Leeds had talked him out

of the Dipple. He'd have to go right back if the captain's plan failed. Nowhere on Korwar could he show this

face and hope for a chance for freedom - unless it was freedom to starve.

Korwar was a pleasure planet. Its whole economy was based on providing luxury and entertainment for

the great ones of half the galaxy. There was no place in any of its establishments for Nik Kolherne. On

another world, he might have tried heavy labor. But here they would not even accept him for the off-world

labor draft once they took a good look at him.

The flitter broke away from the traffic lanes of the city and slanted out on a course that would take it

to the outer circle of villas and mansions. Nik gazed down at a portion of the life he had never seen, the

wealth of vegetation culled from half a hundred different worlds and re-rooted here in a mingled tapestry

of growing and glowing color to delight the eyes. They lifted over a barrier of gray thorn, where the

pointed branches and twigs were beaded with crystalline droplets - or were those flowers or leaflets? Then

the craft came down on the flat roof of a gray-green house, part of its structure seeming to run back into

the rise of a small hill behind it.

The rain splashed about them and poured off in runlets to vanish at the eaves of the building. Nik

followed Leeds out of the flier, saw it rise and return to the city. Then he shivered and wiped his sleeve

across his face.

"Move!" That was Leeds, giving his charge little or no time to look about him. The captain had his

boots planted on a square block in the roof. He reached out a long arm and caught at Nik, pulling him

close. There was a shimmer about the edges of the block on which they stood. Abruptly the rain ceased to

drive against them. Then the shimmer became solid, a silver wall, and Nik was conscious of a whine that

was half vibration.

The silver became a shimmer again, vanished. They were no longer on the roof under the dull gray of

the sky but in a small alcove with a corridor running from right to left before them.

"This way." Leeds' pace was faster; Nik stumbled in his wake.

The walls about them were sleekly smooth and the same cool gray-green as the outer part of the house.

But Nik had the feeling that they were not in that structure but beneath it, somewhere in the soil and rock

upon which it stood.

Just before the captain reached what appeared to be a solid wall at the end of the corridor, that surface

rolled smoothly back to the left, allowing them to enter a room.

The carpet under Nik's worn shoepacs was springy, a dark red in color. He blinked, trying to take in the

room and its inhabitants as quickly as possible, with all the wariness he could summon.

There were two eazi-rests, their adaptable contours providing seating for a man and a woman. Nik's

hand flashed up to his face, and then he wondered. She must have seen him clearly; yet there was none of

that distaste, the growing horror he had expected to see mirrored in her eyes. She had regarded him for a

long moment as if he were no different from other men.

She was older than he had first judged, and she wore none of the fashionable gold or silver cheek leaf.

Her hair was very fair and hung in a simple, unjeweled net bag. Nor did her robe have any of the highly

decorative patterns now preferred. It was a blue-green, in contrast to the red cushions supporting her

angular body, restful to the eye. Between the fingers of her right hand rested a flat plate of milky

semiprecious stone, and from that she licked, with small, neat movements of her tongue, portions of pink

paste, never ceasing to regard Nik the while.

In the other eazi-rest was a man whose ornate clothing was in direct contrast to the simplicity of the

woman's. His gem-embroidered, full-sleeved shirt was open to the belt about his paunch, showing chest

and belly skin of a bluish shade. His craggy features were as alien in their way to the ancestral Terran

stock of the others as that blue-tinted skin. His face was narrow, seeming to ridge on the nose and chin

line, with both those features oversized and jutting sharply. And there were two points of teeth showing

against the darker blue of his lips even when his mouth was closed, points that glistened in the light with

small jewel winks. His head was covered with a close-fitting metal helmet boasting whirled circles where

human ears would be set.

There were non-Terran, even non-humanoid, intelligent species in the galaxy, and Korwar pulled many

of their ruling castes into tasting its amusements, but Nik had never faced a true alien before.

Both woman and alien made no move to greet Leeds, nor did they speak for a long moment. Then the

woman put down her plate and arose, coming straight across the room to stand facing Nik. She was as tall

as he, and when suddenly her hand struck out, catching his wrist, she bore down his masking hand with a

strength he could not have countered without an actual struggle.

Grave-eyed, she continued to study his wrecked face with a penetrating concentration as if he

presented an absorbing problem that was not a matter of blood, bones, and flesh but something removed

from the human factor entirely. "Well?" Leeds spoke first.

"There are possibilities." she replied.

"To what degree?" That was the alien. His voice was high-pitched, without noticeable tone changes, and

it had an unpleasant grating quality as far as Nik was concerned.

"To the seventieth degree, perhaps more," the woman replied. "Wait."

She left Nik and went to the table by the eazi-rests. She spun a black box around to face a blank wall.

And the alien pressed a button on his seat so that it swung about to face the wall also. There was a click

from the box, and a picture appeared on the blank surface.

A life-size figure stood there, real enough to step forward into the room - a man, a very young man, of

Nik's height. But Nik's attention was for the unmarred, sun-browned face whose eyes were now level with

his own. The features were regular. He was a good-looking boy; yet there was an oddly mature strength

and determination in his expression, the set of his mouth, and the angle of jaw.

The woman had stepped to one side. Now she glanced from the tri-dee cast to Nik and back again.

"He says growth flesh did not take on transplant," Leeds commented.

"So?" Well, there are ways." Her reply was almost absent. "But look, Iskhag - the hair! Almost, Strode, I

Andre Norton - Dipple 03 - Night of Masks

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