The sleeping room was a kind of greenhouse. The sleeping surface was tall grass, living grass, already covered by bodies. Gording and Corbell found space, lay down and slept.
The sun shining through glass walls woke him. Four women were still curled on the grass, isolated. The rest were gone.
He had daydreamed of nights like last night, when he was much younger. Without the bald heads, of course. So what? He was lucky they saw him as human. Lucky he could still see them as human, too. Their bodies hadn't changed much. Their minds had changed more; they seemed geniuses... and they seemed placid in their slavery.
If they hadn't freed themselves from the Boys in all those aeons, how could Corbell? Corbell remembered that there was a possible answer... which had to be tested.
A ceremony was in progress at the Boy encampment. Eight dikta males (he must have missed one yesterday) were presenting five boychildren to the tribe. Of the three cupbearers, Krayhayft who seemed to be the oldest now seemed to be in charge. The rest of the Boys watched solemnly. Three carried the remaining cat-tails around their necks.
Corbell decided against joining them; he took a place by himself and kept his mouth shut. His chance would come.
The children appeared to be five to seven years old. They were overawed and immensely proud. Of the adults, it was Gording who named each child and described him: his strength, his accomplishments, his habits good and bad. For a moment Corbell thought one of the children was being rejected, and that didn't fit his preconceptions at all. Then he realized that the boy-child's name had been rejected. He was being given a new one.
The ceremony broke up suddenly. The boy-children stayed with the Boys; the men went off talking together. Krayhayft called to Corbell. "I know that walk and that look."
Corbell went over.
"The walk means you have used muscles in unaccustomed labor. I know the bright smile and red eyes, too."
Corbell grinned. "You're right."
"You had fun?"
"You'll never know."
"I never will. Some of the boy-children we take try to be the best so that they can be dikta. Do you believe that?"
"Sure. Did you?"
Krayhayft scowled. "It didn't matter. I was not best at anything. I burnt food. My spear missed the prey. I don't like to remember that long ago. I remember that I wanted to go home. What does a yearling know of the difference between living five years or six, and living forever?"
"And sex?"
"What does a yearling know of sex? What does a Boy know of sex? He can only watch." Krayhayft grinned suddenly. "Last night was the first time I ever saw-" He beat his chest with his fists and gave an ululating yell.
"I was a little crazy."
"That seems normal."
"What happens next? How long do you stay here?"
"If some machine needs to be repaired, we stay. Otherwise we leave tomorrow. We have many tribes to meet, to tell them that we have made Sarash-Zillish ready for them."
Time was constricting for Corbel, but he dared not hurry. At the moment he had nothing at all to do. And everyone else was busy.
On the second floor the Boys had opened what might be a power generator. They ordered him away from their secrets.
In another room women wove cloth of exceptional beauty and color. "During the long night we cover ourselves," one told him. She refused to teach him how to weave. "The thread might cut off some of your fingers."
"It's that strong?"
"What would be the point of making cloth less durable?"
He stole a loop of the thread, held it a moment, then put it back. Sure, it'd make wonderful strangling cord, but where would he hide it?
He wound up in the kitchen/dining room complex, serving food and watching the cooks. He had been a pretty good cook once, but no sane chef would try to use someone else's kitchen without exploring it first. And it was bad news. The implements and measuring spoons were unfamiliar, of course. But the basic foods and the spices were also unfamiliar. If he intended to pay his way here, he would have to learn to cook all over again.
In mid-afternoon a woman offered to relieve him at the serving counter. She took a second look and said, "You are unhappy."
"Right."
"I am Charibil. Can I help?"
He couldn't tell her all his problems. "There's not much here I'm good for."
"Men don't have to work if they don't want to. You do have one useful talent. You can make greater the variety of traits among us."
Their gene pool was a little skimpy, yeah. Though there was variety. Charibil herself had the epicanthic fo!d and delicate features of an oriental, though she was Corbell's height. The uniformity was there too: pale skin, breasts wide and flat, half-bald scalp and curly black topknot, slender frame.
She jumped suddenly to her feet. "Come to the orgy room, Corbell. You need cheering up. Is it displacement from your tribe that bothers you? Or fear of the ancient dikt and her cane?"
"All of the above. Right, I need cheering up."
If he thought to be alone with Charibil, he was wrong. She called to three friends as they passed, and one joined them; and then a small golden-haired woman invited herself into the group; and four women presently reached the bedroom complex with Corbel. Others were there: a man and a single woman who seemed to want to be alone. Charibil and the other women suddenly picked Corbell up by arms and legs, swung him wide and slung him through the air, laughing at his startled "Hey!"
The surface surged as he splashed down, surged again as they joined him. He laughed with them. For a moment, the laugh caught in his throat.
There was a mirror over the bed.
He couldn't have missed that last night... and he hadn't. The others had those mobile sculptures over them. Had the women noticed anything? Corbell pulled Charibil against him, rolled onto his back with her on top... and looked up at himself.
Long, thinning white hair sprang from a military haircut in chestnut brown, in the damndest hairdo Corbell had ever seen. In the face there were frown lines around the mouth and eyes. He saw a lean, well-muscled, middle-aged version of one well known to him: a certain brain-wiped State criminal.
They'd noticed his tension. They turned him over and massaged it away. The kneading of muscles gradually became eight hands caressing him... and Corbell was seduced twice, to his own amazement. He felt that he was falling in love with four women: an impossible thing for CORBELL Mark I. In post-coital sadness Corbell knew at last that Corbell was dead...
He distracted himself with questions.
"No, all nights are not like last night," Charibil told him. "The men would tire of us. Last night was special. We stayed away from this place for five short days. We like to give the Boys something to watch."
"Why?"
"Why? They rule us, and they live forever, but there is one joy they can't know!" she gloated.
You can live forever! It was on the tip of his tongue... but instead he said, "What do the men do when they're not up here? I mean, if they don't work-"
"They make decisions. And, let me see: Privatht is perhaps our finest cook. Gording deals with the Boys in all matters; in fact he is with them now. Charloop makes things to teach and entertain children-"
"Gording is in the Boy camp?"
"Yes, he and the Boys had some important secret to discuss. They wouldn't-"
"I've got to be there." Corbell rolled off the bed. If Gording and the cat-tails had come together, then Corbell had to be there too. "I'm sorry if I'm being rude, but this is more important than I can tell you." He left. Behind him he heard tinkling laughter.