"So you see part of our problem," said Ian to me when we were alone again, walking back to his offices.
We went a little distance together in silence.
"Part of that problem," I said, "seems to lie in the difference between our idea of honor, and theirs, here."
"And William's complete lack of it," said Ian. "You're right. With us, honor's a matter of the individual's obligation to himself and his community - which can end up being to the human race in general. To the Naharese, honor's an obligation only to their own soul."
I laughed, involuntarily.
"I'm sorry," I said, as he looked at me. "But you hit it almost too closely. Did you ever read Calderon's poem about the Mayor of Zalamea?"
"I don't think so. Calderon?"
"Pedro Calderon de la Barca, seventeenth century Spanish poet. He wrote a poem called El Alcalde de Alamea."
I gave him the lines he had reminded me of. Al Rey la hacienda y la vida Se ha de dar; pen el honor Es patnmonio del alma Tel alma solo es de Dws.
" ' - Fortune and life we owe to the King,' " murmured
Ian, " 'but honor is patrimony of the soul and the soul belongs to God alone.' I see what you mean."
I started to say something, then decided it was too much effort. I was aware of Ian glancing sideways at me as we went.
"When did you eat last?" he asked.
"I don't remember," I said. "But I don't particularly need food right now."
"You need sleep, then," said Ian, "I'm not surprised, after the way you made it here from the Dorsai. When we get back to the office, I'll call one of Michael's men to show you your quarters, and you'd better sleep in. I can make your excuses to the Conde if he still wants us all to get together tonight."
"Yes. Good," I said. "I'd appreciate that."
Now that I had admitted to tiredness, it was an effort even to think. For those who have never navigated between the stars, it is easy to forget the implications in the fact that the danger increases rapidly with the distance moved in a single shift - beyond a certain safe amount of light-years. We had exceeded safe limits as far as I had dared push them on each of the six shifts that had brought Amanda and myself to Ceta.
It's not just that danger - the danger of finding yourself with so large an error in destination that you cannot recognize any familiar star patterns from which to navigate. It is the fact that even when you emerge in known space, a large error factor requires infinitely more recalculation to locate your position. It is vital to locate yourself to a fine enough point so that your error on the next shift will not be compounded and you will find yourself lost beyond repair.
For three days I had had no more than catnaps between periods of calculation. I was numb with a fatigue I had held at bay until this moment with the body adrenalin that can be evoked to meet an emergency situation.
When the bandsman supplied by Ian had shown me at last to a suite of rooms, I found I wanted nothing more than to collapse on the enormous bed in the bedroom. But years of instinct made me prowl the quarters first and check them out. My suite consisted of three rooms and bathroom; and it had the inevitable plains-facing window wall - with one difference. This one had a door in it to let me out onto a small balcony that ran the length of this particular level. It was divided into a semi-private outdoor area for each suite by tall plants in pots which acted as screens at each division point.
I checked the balcony area and the suite, locked the doors to the hall and to the balcony, and slept.
It was sometime after dark when I awoke, suddenly. I was awake and sitting up on the edge of the bed in one reflex movement before it registered that what had roused me had been the sound of the call chime at the front door of my suite.
I reached over and keyed on the annunciator circuit.
"Yes?" I said. "Who is it?"
"Michael de Sandoval," said Michael's voice, "can I come in?"
I touched the stud that unlocked the door. It swung open, letting a knife-blade sharp swath of light from the corridor into the darkness of my sitting room, as seen through the entrance from my bedroom. I was up on my feet now, and moving to meet him in the sitting room. He entered and the door closed behind him.
"What is it?" I asked.
"The ventilating system is out on this level," he said; and I realized that the air in the suite was now perfectly motionless - motionless and beginning to be a little warm and stuffy. Evidently Gebel Nahar had been designed to be sealed against outside atmosphere.
"I wanted to check the quarters of everyone on this level," Michael said. "Interior doors aren't so tight that you would have asphyxiated; but the breathing could have got a little heavy. Maybe by morning we can locate what's out of order and fix it. This is part of the problem of the servant staff taking off when the
army did. I'd suggest that I open the door to the balcony for you, sir."
He was already moving across the room toward the door he had mentioned.
"Thanks," I said. "What was the situation with the servants? Were they revolutionary sympathizers, too?"
"Not necessarily." He unlocked the door and propped it open to the night air, which came coolly and sweetly through the aperture. "They just didn't want their throats cut along with the Conde's, when the army stormed its way back in here."
"I see," I said.
"Yes." He came back to me in the center of the sit ting room.
"What time is it?" I asked. "I've been sleeping as if I was under drugs "
"A little before midnight."
I sat down in one of the chairs of the unlighted lounge. The glow of the soft exterior lights spaced at ten meter intervals along the outer edge of the balcony came through the window wall and dimly illuminated the room.
"Sit for a moment," I said. "Tell me. How did the meeting with the Conde go this evening?"
He took a chair facing me
"I should be getting back soon," he said. "I'm the only one we've got available for a duty officer at the moment. But - the meeting with the Conde went like a charm. He was so busy being gracious to Amanda he almost forgot to breathe defiance against the army deserters."
"How did Amanda do with the Governors, do you know?"
I sensed, rather than saw, a shrug of his shoulders in the gloom.
"There was nothing much to be done with them," he said. "They talked about their concern over the desertion of the regiments and wanted reassurances that Ian and Kensie could handle the situation. Effectively, it was all choreographed."
"They've left, then?"
"That's right. They asked for guarantees for the safety of the Conde. Both Ian and Kensie told them that there was no such thing as a guarantee; but we'd protect the Conde, of course, with every means at our disposal. Then they left."
"It sounds," I said, "as if Amanda could have saved her time and effort."
"No. She said she wanted to get the feel of them." He leaned forward. "You know, she's something to write home about. I think if anyone can find a way out of this, she can. She says herself that there's no question that there is a way out - it's just that finding it in the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours is asking a lot."
"Has she checked with you about these people? You seem to be the only one around who knows them at all well."
"She talked with me when we flew in - you re member. I told her I'd be available any time she needed me. So far, however, she's spent most of her time either working by herself, or with Ian or Padma."
"I see," I said. "Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to spell you on the duty officer bit?"
"You're to rest, Ian says. He'll need you tomorrow. I'm getting along fine with my duties." He moved toward the front door of the suite. "Good night."