Norton, Andre - Dread Companion

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Dread Companion
Copyright ©, 1970, by Andre Norton
An Ace Book, by arrangement with The Viking Press, Inc.
1
But A few days ago (I shall never trust the divisions of time again and say
with any certainty, "This is a day; that is a week; we face a year!") I was
shown some very ancient tapes, copied, I was assured, from ones that had
been made originally on fabled Terra. And some aspects of the information
they stored were so like my own experiences that I could only believe that
those who had first recorded them, back in a mist of time so great that I
could not count the planet years - any more than one can truly give sum to
the number of stars - had followed a trail like that which chance and my
own stubbornness set me.
Had I not invincible proof of what had happened to me and several others, I
might be judged now to be spinning some comet-hair tale for the
astonishment of the credulous. But this much is true, and records prove it.
I was born on Chalox in the planet and space-time year of 2405 After
Flight. I was between sixteen and seventeen years old, planet age, when I
left Chalox to land on Dylan. I am still no more than a year older - yet
the year is now 2483!
Time! Sometimes, when I look squarely at those dates and think how those
years fled for me, it brings back such fears that I must busy myself
feverishly about some task, putting all my strength and thoughts into it,
until the surge of panic that chokes me lessens. Were it not for Jorth,
whom I can reach out and touch, who shares my burden, I might- But of that
I shall not think at all - now or ever!
- As I say, I was born on Chalox. My father was Rhyn Halcrow, a Survey
scout. He was of Talgrinnian stock, which means Second Wave, Terran
outspread. My mother was a Forsmanian, of a trading family. They were
human, too, but of the First Wave outspread, and had mutated from what is
believed to be the original Terran.
Their marriage was a planet one as is usual for a man in the services, and
it lasted three Chalox years. After the ceremonial break-bond, my father
was assigned to a new outwave exploratory pattern. He left my mother with
the excellent life pension of a planet wife and her freedom to contact
another tie if she wished - or if her father wished, for the Forsmanians
are strictly family oriented, with the eldest male making the major
decisions for the clan.
Within a matter of months, my mother did take another husband, one of her
cousins, thus keeping her first grant-for-marriage dowry strictly within
the clan, in what her people considered a very practical and equitable
arrangement.
As for me, I was already established in the creche for Service children at
Lattmah. The break was complete. I never saw either of my parents again.
That I was a girl presented a minor problem, since the majority of such
cross-births are male and the offspring trained from childhood for
government service.
Unfortunately, I inherited my mother's sex but my father's spirit and
interests. I would have been supremely happy as a scout, a seeker-out of
far places and strange sights. My favored reading among the tapes were the
accounts of exploration, trading on primitive planets, and the like.
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Perhaps I might have fitted in with the free traders. But among them women
are so few and those so guarded and cherished that I might have been even
more straitly prisoned on one of their spaceports, seeing my mate only at
long intervals, bound by their law to remarry again if his ship was
reported missing for more than a stated time.
As it was, I did what I could to prepare myself for a possible escape from
Chalox. I became a keeper of records, adept in several techniques,
including that of implanted recall. And I had my name down - Kilda c' Rhyn
- on every possible off-planet listing as soon as the authorities allowed
me to register.
That no opportunity presented itself began to worry me. I was less than a
year from the time when I could no longer stay at the creche but would
arbitrarily be fitted into any niche those in charge might select. They
might even return me to my mother's clan, and such was not for me. So, in
desperation, I appealed, at last, to the one among my teachers whom I
thought the most sympathetic.
Lazk Volk was a mutant crossbreed. The mixing of races in his case had
resulted in certain deformities of body that even the most advanced
plasta-surgery could not correct. But his mind showed such a potential for
learning and teaching that he had never left the creche. Through his vast
tape library and the visits of scouts and other far travelers to his
quarters, he had gained knowledge far outstripping any local memory bank
except the government one.
Because in some small ways we were alike, each yearning for what was denied
us, Lazk Volk and I became friends. I had served for four years as recorder
and librarian for him when I voiced my fear of being without a future, save
one not of my choosing. I was hoping that he might answer with an offer of
steady employment. Though that would be no true solution to my desire to
travel, I would have, in his wealth of knowledge, the second best.
He stretched out his thin double arms in a gesture habitual to him,
wiggling his boneless fingers above the keyboard that produced anything he
might wish - from the complete history of the planet Firedrake to a
dinner-of-first-ceremony. With most of his misshapen figure muffled in a
robe of Bora rainbow cloth, rippling rich color at his slightest movement,
he was like a thick bolster perched on one end. Only his four arms and his
conical head showed he was a living being.
For the second time he flicked his wiggling fingers back and forth. Then
his slit of a mouth opened.
"No."
"No? Why?" I was startled enough to use a demanding tone that I would never
have tried with him ordinarily.
"No - I do not take you into my service. That is the easy way, Kilda. And
you are not meant to walk easy roads." He pressed one of those many buttons
now, and my chair spun about so that I no longer faced him, but rather the
wall on which was a projection screen, now like a huge mirror.
"What do you see?" he asked.
"Myself."
"Describe!" His tone was such that we might be in one of the training
booths where he had begun to shape my mind for the retention and collection
of knowledge.
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"I am a woman. My hair - it is - " I hesitated. Those living in the creche
were so varied from crossbreeding that we had no norm of either good looks
or downright ugliness. I knew that certain kinds of faces, coloring, forms
gave me pleasure to look upon. But I had no vanity, nor any idea as to
whether I could be deemed even passable in appearance. "My hair," I began
again resolutely, "is of the color dark brown. I have two eyes - which are
blue-green - one nose, a mouth. My skin is also brown, but lighter in shade
than my hair. For the rest - my body is humanoid, and it is healthy. What
is it that you wish me to see - other than this?"
"You have youth. And though you list your attributes so baldly, Kilda, you
will discover, once you walk beyond these walls, that you will be
considered above the ordinary in the sight of most. And, as you note, you
have an adequate and healthy body. Therefore, you shall not waste this by
crawling into shadows and turning your back upon the world."
"It is better," I protested, "to stay where I am happy than to be returned
to a Forsmanian clan house or to be a clerk in some government hive until I
become as dull-witted as the walls about me."
"Perhaps so." He nodded. I was surprised at winning my point so easily.
Then he went on. "But you cite only two of the possibilities now before
you. There are others - "
"Trade marriage?" I ventured the third I had considered.
"As a means of escape? I think not. The traders are too careful of their
women, having so few of them. You might find such an alliance even more
stultifying than your first two suggestions. There is this - "
He must have pressed another of his buttons, for there flashed on the
screen, obliterating my own image, a government announcement. It was one of
those general offers to emigrants, a fulsome and probably much overstated
listing of all the glowing opportunities awaiting the properly qualified on
a frontier planet.
"You forget"-though I did not see how he could-"that I am not
hand-promised, nor am I medically trained, nor - "
"You are in a very negative mood." But he did not sound impatient. "This is
the official listing. There are other possible ways of joining such a
company, namely as a house aide for someone with children of a teachable
age. You have given assistance in the classes here. And certainly your
training is above that of such aides. The position would be temporary, of
course, but it gives you a chance for emigration. And on a new world there
will be more opportunities. There is a tendency - unless the emigration
group is that of some close-knit religious sect-to be less rule-bound on a
frontier world. You might well have such a position there as is barred to
your sex on these inner planets."
What he said made good sense. There was only one flaw.
"They may think me too young."
"Your recommendations will be of the highest." He said that with such
confidence that I had to believe he had thought the whole matter over and
only my consent was needed.
"Then-then-I'll do it!" I had always imagined that if I were offered any
chance to leave Chalox and lift into the unknown of the far stars, I would
do it without a moment's hesitation. Yet now that I said I would go, I
found an uneasy stirring within me. It was as if, now that the door stood
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open, I was far more conscious of the safety of the room it guarded.
"Well done!" He brought my chair around to face him again. "But remember,
Kilda, I only provide the means for your first steps; the march beyond is
up to you. This much will I do for you. I shall appoint you one of my
off-world reporters. You shall keep your skill sharp by taping for me
anything that you think may add to this library."
I felt some easing of that tension within me. Now a spark of excitement lit
in my mind. There was probably little enough I could add to the great
wealth of material from a thousand - a hundred thousand - worlds that Lazk
Volk stored. But were even a few sentences of mine thought fit to be
included, I would be honored indeed.
"So it is decided." He spoke briskly. "The rest you will leave to me. Now -
1 want a run-through of the Ruh-karv report in comparison with the tridees
from Xcothal."
I busied myself in producing the two tapes of archaeological mysteries for
his viewing. With one thing and another, three days went by filled with
work. In fact, I was so busy tracing down buried facts - which had not been
called for for years - that on the third night, as I returned to my room to
kick off my toe slippers with a sigh, I had the suspicion that Lazk Volk
was keeping me running from one end of the archives to the other for some
purpose of his own.
On the fourth morning when I reported for work, I found him not barricaded
by rows of tape containers, but sipping a cup of caff and staring at his
projection screen as if it bore lines of formulae. He looked at me sharply
as I came in and "then used his lower right hand to indicate a box of, some
size and on the comer of his desk.
"Take that and put on its contents. You have an interview at the tenth hour
with Gentlefem Guska Zobak. She is staying at the Double Star."
"Put what on-"
"Clothing - proper clothing, girl! You go out in the city in that" - he
nodded to my creche dress, a one-piece garment planned for service and for
neither fit nor show - "and you will be the center of attention, which, I
assume, you would not care for."
To that I agreed and took the box into the storeroom beyond. But I was a
little surprised at the contents. I did have one utilitarian robe, which I
wore into the city on the few errands that took me there. It was as plain
as the uniform and, like it, shouted that it was institutional wear. But
these brilliant lengths of silky material were very different. I had seen
such worn - but only by the daughters of landed families.
There was a pair of loose trousers of a darkly rich plum shade. Over those
went a tunic of the same color, but a different material, for it was thick
and had a texture like fur. This had long sleeves coming to the knuckles,
and it was latched from belt to throat with a series of silver buckles. A
belt of the same metal drew in the waist tightly.
My hair was much shorter than that of any woman outside the creche. But
there was a long veil of silvery net, with the eyeholes ringed with
glitter, to cover my head, dropping to my hips in the back, to the waist in
front. In such clothing I was disguised, and certainly none of my fellow
students would know me.
When I went back to Lazk Volk and caught sight of my reflection on the
mirror screen, I was so astounded as to let out a small gasp. He nodded,
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and at the same time he pushed a transportation plaque to me.
Very good." He approved my masquerade, for such I felt this clothing to be.
"Gentlefem Zobak is bound for the planet of Dylan. She has two children, a
son and a daughter, both quite young. Not being in robust health, she has
applied for a house aide. Her husband is only temporarily stationed on
Dylan - for about two years planet-time, I believe. I do not think the
Zobaks will stay longer. But they have the power to ask for extra service,
and if you please them, they might open other doors for you. Now, you had
better go. It would never do to keep the Gentlefem waiting."
It might not do for me to keep my prospective employer waiting, but it was
plain when I reached the Double Star that the situation was not the same
for her. I was shown into an outer reception room, where I found others
before me. There were two women seated there, with the look of those having
waited perhaps already too long. Since we all followed the custom of
keeping our veils down with strangers, all I saw of them was their clothes,
much like those I wore, but differing in color and material. I spent some
of the tedious time in trying to place my fellow employment seekers.
One wore rusty brown. I noted two mended slits in her veil. And the hands
that showed (her sleeves were significantly shorter than mine) were red and
roughened as if she had done hard work with them. I gained an impression of
harassed middle age. The other, sitting across from me, wore blue, but
there was something cheap about the too extreme cut of the tunic (with
sleeves that touched the fingertips in an arrogant boast of the gentility
of a wearer who did not have to worry, about using her hands). And not only
were the eyeholes in her veil edged in glitter (those of her neighbor being
bound in plain material), but they were also of a width to bedazzle the
viewer.
The work-worn woman was summoned first and did not reappear; then my
companion of the over-glitter, who did not return either. I guessed there
must be another door for leaving. Finally, the servo robot jerked a
beckoning prong in my direction.
The room I entered was a standard luxury one of a caravansary. But its
present occupant had introduced other elements. She lay in the bed, its
back elevated to give her support, the surface before her strewn with a
variety of objects either dedicated to amusement or to the care of her
person.
I politely threw back my veil to meet her eyes. She was small and very
delicate in appearance. Her hair had been fashionably bleached and retinted
to a very brilliant green, striking against the pallor of her skin. She
represented the height of fashion as I had seen it on telcasts.
Though there were two easirests waiting to comfort occupants, she waved me
to a backless stool-cushion near the bed and stared at me without speaking
for a long moment. She had a fretful look about her mouth, and her hands
were seldom still, rummaging among the things that lay on the bed before
her, though she never looked down at what she picked up, nor, indeed, held
it long.
"You are Kilda c' Rhyn." She did not make a question of that, rather a
statement, such as one would use in naming an object - as if, were I not
Kilda, she would make me so. I wondered if such was meant to unsettle one,
a tone she always applied to prospective employees.
"It is so, Gentlefem." I treated her statement as a question and gave
answer.
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"At least you're young." She continued to stare at me. "The data said you
are well grounded in teaching. You're from the creche - " There was a note
of curiosity now, as if my background gave her a measure of interest. "You
understand this employment is only temporary. We have to go to this awful
frontier world for a year, maybe two, because my husband is stationed
there. Are you a good spacer?"
As to that, how could I tell, never having lifted on any ship. But I do not
think that she was really interested in me, for she swept on.
"I am not, not in the least. I go into voyage sleep at once, just as soon
as we take off. But Bartare and Oomark cannot do that for the entire trip -
they are too young. You'll have to take care of them during wake periods. I
don't know - you're young - " What appeared to have faintly pleased her
earlier now seemed to provide a question. "Bar-tare is quite difficult,
very difficult. She has to have guidance.
Her learning level is near eight and will increase, they tell us. You must
provide mental stimulation that will induce that increase. But then, you're
crech-trained, so you ought to know all about that. And I haven't time or
strength to interview a lot more dreary females - or unsuitable ones.
You'll have to do."
That she considered her choice the final settlement of the matter was
plain. And though I had read into her outpouring some hints of a demanding
and exasperating future, I knew that Lazk Volk had been right. This was
probably the only door that would open for me, and in this way I could have
a different future.
She hardly listened to my assent. Instead, she issued a series of
instructions as to where I must meet them. And I learned then that I could
have only two days before leaving. This I did not like, but before I could
protest, she gave a last order.
"The servo will show you to. the children's room. You should meet them, and
they must see you. That way, and remember - at the eleventh hour on Seven
Night Day."
I did not get a chance to finish the farewell-of-ceremony before the servo
ushered me out of the room and into a hallway. There it paused before
another door and sent in an announce-call, though it did not wait for
permission to enter. It would seem that Gentlefem Zobak treated her
children with no more ceremony than she did her employees. I was sent to
view and be viewed, and that was that.
It was true that I had taught children at the creche. But the situation
there had always been one of restraint and discipline. Creche children were
most carefully screened. Those with problems of personality or temperament
were early given professional treatment elsewhere. The children I had
taught had been good and willing scholars, already set in the patterns of
applied study. I was used to bright children who wanted to use their brains
to a purpose. So my employer's comments about urging her daughter to best
efforts made sense and were familiar to me. But some instinct warned me,
even as I entered the room, that this was not going to be like my almost
casual schoolroom supervision in the creche.
The room was as luxurious as the one their mother occupied, but it was
purely a sitting room. Strewn over a table under a lamp was a muddle of
odds and ends such as had littered their mother's bed. But one item seemed
of such interest now that neither child looked up.
Bartare was small, fine-boned, and delicate-looking, like her mother. But
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she had no languor. Instead, there was such a tension of concentration
about her small, thin body as reminded me disturbingly of that I had seen
Lazk Volk display on occasion. Her hair was twisted back from her face,
which came to a point with a small, sharp chin, with silver cords that
gleamed the more because the hair they confined was dead black. She had
very well-marked brows, which met over her nose, so they formed a solid bar
across her face. And her eyelashes were unusually thick about eyes, almost
as deeply sable as her hair. In contrast, her skin was pale, having no
trace of color in the cheeks and only a faint tinting of lips.
Her dress was dark green, an odd color for a child, yet one I would always
thereafter associate with Bartare. With a strip of material of the same
color, she was now wrapping one of the small carven images the country folk
set up in their kitchens for protection against the powers of darkness,
only this one, crude in its beginning, had several refinements. Metallic
wires had been twisted around the head to form a crown - for one.
Watching his sister robe the image was Oomark. Though he was the younger in
years, he was perhaps a finger's breadth the taller, big-framed and
solid-looking. His face had still a babyish roundness, and now it wore an
odd expression, almost as if he were both fascinated and alarmed by what
his sister was doing, too unusual a look to accompany the dressing of a
doll.
He glanced up at me. Then he leaned over and touched his sister on the arm,
almost diffidently, suggesting he was in awe of her and yet knew he must
attract her attention.
"Look, Bartare - " He pointed one finger at me.
Bartare raised her head. Her stare was deep, measuring, and somehow very
disturbing. I felt almost as shaken as if I had encountered, behind the
outer shell of a small girl-child, something old, authoritative, and
faintly malicious. But that was gone in a flash. Bartare laid down her doll
with the care of one putting aside an important piece of handiwork and came
away from the table to sketch one of those curtsies used by children of her
class as a polite greeting.
"I'm Bartare, and this is Oomark." Her voice was clear and pleasant. It was
only when she shot a sudden glance at me from beneath that eyebrow bar that
I was a little chilled.
"I'm Kilda c' Rhyn," I answered. "Your mother asked me-"
"To see us and let us see you. I know." She nodded. "That means you're the
one going to go to Dylan with us. I think - " She hesitated a moment and
then used an expression that was rather odd. "I think we may suit." But was
there or was there not a stress on the word "may" that hinted at
reservations and could be a warning?
I cannot remember now much of what we spoke about at that first meeting.
After his recognition of my being in the room, Oomark never spoke at all.
However, his sister displayed not only excellent manners but also the fact
that she was a child of superior intelligence and poise. She- well, I could
have said nothing but good of her. Yet I had reservations, an uneasiness
all the time we were together, as if we were both acting parts.
Once I saw a tape from Lazk Volk's files portraying a theatrical production
on another world. The actors and actresses carried elaborate ceremonial
masks mounted on sticks. Each had several of these, fastened by fine chains
to their girdles. In time for their speeches, they chose one or another of
these masks and held them before, but not directly against their faces, as
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they recited their lines. This came to my mind now, for it seemed to me
that both Bar-tare and I were holding masks and that what was behind our
masks and our stilted, polite conversation was very different.
Yet I was not so disturbed that I would refuse to take the position. In
fact, once I had subdued that initial sense of unease, I was intrigued by
Bartare, and I thought that I might find the next year or so interesting
for both of us. I also judged that Oomark was too much in his sister's
shadow, and he might well benefit by special attention. In any event, I
returned to the creche well enough pleased with the bargain Lazk Volk had
aided me to, prepared to cut ties with my old life and lift off-world to a
new.
2
I was not long in saying good-bys at the creche. Save for Lazk Volk, my
close ties there now were few. By his influence I had stayed a year longer
than others of my age group, being, as I had said, perilously near to the
time when I would have been forced to leave whether or no. My leaving fees
were paid to me, half in clothing suitable for my future on Dylan, the rest
in a small number of credits that I clung to, knowing them to be my barrier
against misfortune.
My last hours I spent with Lazk Volk, accepting from him the recorder he
was empowered to give me under a reportship. I was not a badge-wearing
representative. The authorities would not agree to that. But whatever I
returned to Volk's storehouse that was countersigned by him as useful would
add to my rating and, perhaps, might lead to more employment.
Yet he warned me not to squander the supplies he was giving me on anything
but the most important. And I realized that I must make a little cover
much. The baggage of a space traveler was very strictly limited, and I
could expect no further supply of tapes should I misuse those I carried
with me - at least not unless I had returned one with such useful notage on
it as to warrant sending me another.
He asked me what I thought of my charges, and I hedged somewhat. That
Bartare was a promising student, I was almost sure. Oomark would be less
troublesome. But "troublesome" was the term I applied to his sister. I know
that Lazk Volk noted my reserve, though he did not comment.
I did not join the Zobak family until we met in the entry place for the
ship. The Gentlefem was wrapped in the thick folds of a journey cape, but
Bartare had pushed back the hood of her outer garment to stare up at the
starship as if that presented some problem. Oomark turned excitedly from
side to side, his interest all for the coming and going of the crewmen.
As I came up, Gentlefem Guska turned to me, though I could not see her face
under her veil. Her voice was even more fretful than I had remembered it.
"You are late. We are about to go on board - "
"I am sorry," I answered. I had schooled myself, having taken her measure
at our first meeting, to supply no excuses or explanations. She was of
those, I decided, who accepted only one answer - that being their own. And
to combat such was like trying to erect a firm tower out of dry sand.
Better not to attempt it in the first place.
"I expect promptness," she was beginning when a load cage swung down a few
paces from us and the ship's steward, standing within it to direct traffic,
beckoned us forward.
"I hate this whirling about!" She clasped my arm so tightly that I
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supported her into the cage, the children moving with us. And she kept that
painful grip as we were swung up, to slide into the hatch. I must admit
that the swaying trip gave me little pleasure either.
Once inside, they ticked us off on their entry records, and Guska went
away, still leaning heavily, but now on a stewardess, to be put into deep
voyage sleep. The children and I were escorted to a small transport cabin
and only part suspension.
I earned whatever funds Gentlefem Zobak was depositing to my account, and I
earned them well during that voyage, for in the wake periods both children
were my sole responsibility. I tried to establish a good relationship with
them, and I thought that with Oomark I succeeded. He was plainly not as
brilliant as his sister and far more biddable. Bartare did not disobey me.
In fact, she was politely cooperative, all that one might ask for in a
child. It was only that the impression was now firmly rooted in my mind
that she moved behind a mask and played a part, so that I waited
continually for some revelation of what lay behind her words and actions.
This feeling fretted me, so that I had to subdue inner impatience and
irritation.
I went into the final suspension period before breakthrough and the landing
on Dylan with the problem of Bartare remaining as baffling as ever. But now
I had accepted it as a challenge, though I knew that I must go very slowly
and not try to push the girl into any disclosure.
Though my knowledge of other planets through Lazk Volk's library was
extensive, probably beyond that of most general travelers, Dylan was the
first new world I had ever visited myself. And I was excited as we were
swung down to the landing strip.
The familiar skies of Chalox had carried a green tinge, so that one
believed that was the only natural color for any sky to be. But here the
arch over us was blue, cut by masses of white clouds. Together with the
children, I had pored over the information tapes supplied by the ship's
library.
Dylan had been located some one hundred years earlier, oddly enough,
because of a distress call set on automatic, though the ship that had sent
it had never been found. It was Arth type. And there were some very
unexplainable remains that suggested it might once have either had native
inhabitants or been a colony of one of the Forerunner races. In fact, it
was to gather information about one of these that Guska Zobak's husband had
been sent here. He was not an archaeologist but a government man empowered
to declare the diggings protected if experts thought it necessary.
There were two cities on Dylan. Tamlin, was the port where we disembarked;
the other was Toward, on the other side of the planet providing an
alternate landing site. Neither was large. Dylan was mainly an agricultural
world. The western continent was one of open plains. And since the native
wildlife was very sparse, these plains provided grazing for imported herds
and flocks. The eastern continent, of which Tamlin was the center, was
planted heavily with vor vines and husard fruit - both of which were luxury
items off-world.
But such planting was spotty since both products required special types of
soil and drainage, so that the settlements had stretches of wilderness
between them. Such distances meant nothing, though, with all plantations
and villages linked by air flitter travel.
The buildings of Tamlin did not resemble those of the long-settled worlds.
They were all very like, having been constructed to plans worked out
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off-world, their blocks placed by robo workers. Any difference between them
came from the planting about their walls. Here were not only native growths
pleasing to the eye, but also exotic aliens imported and flourishing.
As we disembarked from the landing stage, a number of people moved forward
to greet the new arrivals. But the man who came to Gentlefem Guska
certainly bore no resemblance to the tridee the children had of their
father. He was a much older man, wearing the uniform of a port official.
"Where is Konroy? "Guska demanded of him. "Surely his duty does not demand
that he not be here to greet us!"
"My dear Guska!" The officer caught both her hands in his. "You know Konroy
would be here if he could. It is that-"
"He is dead!" Bartare's words might have been a war alert the way they
froze us all for a second that seemed-to stretch far longer than that.
She took a step forward and stood looking up at the officer.
"That is the truth," she continued. "Why not say that he is dead?"
I saw one kind of astonishment replace another in his expression, and I
knew that Bartare was speaking the truth.
"But how - " he began with a bewildered protest in his voice.
"Dead!" Guska gave a shriek that was echoed by a lesser cry from Oomark.
She sagged forward into the arms of the officer, and I moved, one hand
going to Oomark, who turned and threw his arms about me, burrowing his face
into my traveling cloak. But Bartare shrugged off my touch on her shoulder
and stood quietly, no expression at all now on her small pale face.
There was a flurry about us. Guska, unconscious, was taken in the officer's
arms to a waiting ground car, while we were ushered by two young spaceport
police into another. Oomark continued to hold on to me with a desperate
grip, but Bartare was as aloof as if she were only a spectator and a
faintly contemptuous one. I felt alienated from her at that moment, as
baffled as if I were confronting an unknown life-form that must be handled
with supreme caution. We were given quarters in one of the government rest
houses, and I persuaded Oomark to loose me long enough to try to find
someone to tell me what had happened. But when I returned to the children,
Oomark was fronting his sister, his tear-streaked face twisted with anger.
"You - you knew about it! You don't care!" He accused her shrilly.
I halted where I was, just outside the door. Perhaps he would get an answer
she would not give in my presence.
"She told me. His time was finished. And - he is not necessary to us - not
any more."
"She's bad!" Oomark's red face was thrust close to his sister's pale one.
"You listen to her tell you bad - things! Bad-bad-"
For the first time, then, I saw Bartare's composure break. She slapped her
brother hard enough to rock his head, leaving a hand print on his cheek.
"Be quiet!" Her voice was not controlled and even now. "You don't know what
you are saying. You can make things worse than even you think just by
saying things like that. Be quiet, you fool!"
She turned away from him, and he stood where he was, cowed and shaking, big
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file:///F|/rah/Andre%20Norton/Norton,%20Andre%20-%20Dread%20Companion.tx DreadCompanionCopyright©,1970,byAndreNortonAnAceBook,byarrangementwithTheVikingPress,Inc.1ButAfewdaysago(Ishallnevertrustthedivisionsoftimeagainandsaywithanycertainty,"Thisisaday;thatisaweek;wefaceayear!")Iwasshownsomeveryan...

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