“Then it wasn’t the city that was altered—it was me. I had been ejected from my normal continuum into this null-time state—”
“Quite correct, old fellow,” Dzok blinked at me sympathetically. “I can see you’ve been laboring under a ghastly strain, thinking otherwise.”
“I’m beginning to get the picture,” I said. “The Hagroon are studying the Imperium from null time—getting set for an attack, I’d guess offhand. They’ve got techniques that are way beyond anything the Imperium has. We need help. Do you think the Authority will give it to us?”
“I don’t know, Bayard,” Dzok said. “But I’ll do my best for you.”
I had a few hours’ restless nap on the floor behind the control seat before Dzok called me. I climbed up to lean over his chair, staring into the screen. We were among spidery towers now; minarets of lofty, fragile beauty, soaring up pink, yellow, pale green, into a bright morning sky.
“Nice,” I said. “We’re close to your home line now, I take it?”
“Ah, the towers of Zaj,” Dzok almost sang. “There’s nothing to equal them in all the universes!”
“Let’s hope I get a reception to match the pretty buildings.”
“Look here, Bayard, there’s something I feel I ought to… ah… tell you,” Dzok said hesitantly. “Frankly, there’s a certain, well, ill-feeling in the minds of some against the sapiens group. Unreasonable, perhaps—but it’s a factor we’re going to have to deal with.”
“What’s this ill-feeling based on?”
“Certain, ah, presumed racial characteristics. You have a reputation for ferocity, ruthless competitiveness, love of violence…”
“I see. We’re not nice and mild like the Hagroon, say. And who was it that I saw bounce one of the Hagroon out of the way in order to steal this scout we’re riding in?”
“Yes, yes, all of us are prey to a certain degree of combativeness. But perhaps you noticed that even the Hagroon tend to enslave rather than to kill, and though they’re cruel, it’s the cruelty of indifference, not hate. I saw you kick one of them just as you entered the cell. Did you note that he took no revenge?”
“Anybody will fight back when he’s been knocked around enough.”
“But only you sapiens have systematically killed off every other form of hominid life in your native continual” Dzok was getting a little excited now. “You hairless ones—in every line where you exist—you exist alone! Ages ago, in the first confrontation of the bald mutation with normal anthropos—driven, doubtless, by shame at your naked condition—you slaughtered your hairy fellow men! And even today your minds are warped by ancient guilt-and-shame complexes associated with nudity!”
“So you’re holding the present generation responsible for what happened—or may have happened—thousands of years ago?”
“In my world sector,” Dzok stated, “there are three major races of Man: we australopithecines, to employ your English terms; the Rhodesians—excellent workers, strong and willing, if not overly bright; and the Pekin derivatives—blue-faced chaps, you know. We live together in perfect harmony, each group with its societal niche, each contributing its special talents to the common culture. While you sapiens—why, you even set upon your own kind, distinguishable only by the most trivial details!”
“What about me, Dzok? Do I seem to you to be a raving maniac? Have I indicated any particular distaste for you, for example?”
“Me?” Dzok looked amazed, then whooped with laughter. “Me!” he choked. “The idea…”
“What’s so funny?”
“You… with your poor bald face—your spindly limbs—your degenerate dentition—having to overcome your natural distaste for me!” He was almost falling out of his chair now.
“Well, if I had any natural distaste, I at least had the decency to forget it!” I snapped.
Dzok stopped laughing, dabbed at his eyes with a dangling cuff. He looked at me almost apologetically.
“You did, at that,” he conceded. “And you bound up my arm, and washed my poor old uniform for me—”
“And your poor old face too, you homely galoot!”
Dzok was smiling embarrassedly now. “I’m sorry, old boy; I got a bit carried away. All those personal remarks—a lot of rot, actually. Judge a chap on what he does, not what he is, eh? None of us can help our natural tendencies—and perhaps overcoming one’s instinct is in the end a nobler achievement than not having the impulse in the first place.” He put out his hand uncertainly.
“Empty hand, no weapon, eh?” He smiled. I took the hand.
“You’re all right, Bayard,” Dzok said. “Without you I’d have been rotting in that bloody cell. I’m on your side, old fellow—all the way!”
He whirled as a buzzer went, slapped switches, threw out the main drive, watched needles creep across dials, flipped the transfer switch. The growl of the field generators faded down the scale. Dzok beamed at me.
“We’re here.” He held a thumb up. “This may be a great day for both our races.”
We stepped out into a wide sweep of colorfully tiled plaza dotted with trees, the bright geometric shapes of flower beds, fountains splashing in the sunlight. There were hundreds of australopithecines in sight, strolling leisurely in pairs, or hurrying briskly along with the air of urgency that was apparently as characteristic of Xonijeelian bureaucrats as of their hairless counterparts at home. Some wore flowing robes like Arab djellabas; others were dressed in multicolored pantaloon and jacket outfits; and here and there were the trim white uniforms that indicated the IDMS. Our sudden arrival in the midst of the pack caused a mild stir that became a low murmur as they caught sight of me. I saw noses wrinkle in flat, toothy faces, a few hostile stares, heard snickers from here and there. Someone called something to Dzok. He answered, took a firm grip of my arm.
“Sorry, Bayard,” he muttered. “Mustn’t appear to be running loose, you know.” He waved an arm at a light aircraft cruising overhead. I thought it was a heli until I noticed its lack of rotors. It dropped into a landing and a wide transparent hatch opened like a clamshell. A close relative of Dzok’s showed a fine set of teeth and waved, then his gaze settled on me and his grin dropped like a wet bar rag. He fluted something at Dzok, who called an answer back, took my arm, urged me along.
“Ignore him, Bayard. A mere peasant.”
“That’s easy. I don’t know what he’s saying.”
I climbed into the well-sprung seat. Dzok settled in beside me, gave the driver an address.
“This adventure hasn’t turned out too badly after all,” he said expansively. “Back safe and sound—more or less—with a captive machine and a most unusual, ah, guest.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say prisoner,” I commented, looking down on a gorgeous pattern of parks and plazas and delicate spires as we swooped over them at dashing speed. “Where are we headed?”
“We’re going directly to IDMS Headquarters. My report will require quick action, and of course you’re in haste as well.”
There didn’t seem to be much more to say. I rode along, admiring the city below, watching a massive white tower grow in the distance. We aimed directly for it, circled it once as though waiting for landing instructions, then hovered, dropped down to settle lightly on a small pad centered in a roof garden of tall palms, great banks of yellow and blue blossoms, freeform reflecting pools with caged birds and animals completing the jungle setting.