Without looking back, he stepped into the car, where the two Elites already sat.
Anacho muttered, "Climb aboard, otherwise we'll be dragged."
The three crawled up on the rear shelf, clutched the rings to which their neck chains were shackled. In such undignified fashion they departed Woudiver's residence. Woudiver's black saloon trundled fifty yards behind, with Woudiver's huge bulk crouched over the steering apparatus.
"He wants recognition," said Anacho. "He has assisted at an important hunt; he wants a share of the status."
"I made the mistake," said Reith in a thick voice, "of dealing with Woudiver as if he were a man. If I had treated him as an animal we might be better off."
"We could hardly be worse."
"Where are we going?"
"To the Glass Box; where else?"
"We are to have no hearing, no opportunity to speak for ourselves?"
"Naturally not," said Anacho curtly. "You are sub-men. I am a renegade."
The white car veered into a plaza and halted. The Dirdirmen alighted and stood stiffly apart, watching the sky. A plump, middle-aged man in a rich dark brown suit came forward: a person of status and evident vanity, with his hair elaborately curled and jeweled. He addressed the Dirdirmen in an easy manner; they replied after a moment's meaningful silence.
"That is Erlius, Administrator of Sivishe," grunted Anacho. "He wants to be in at the kill too. It seems that we are important game."
Attracted by the activity, the folk of Sivishe began to gather around the white car. They formed a wide respectful circle, eyeing the captives with macabre speculation, crouching back whenever the glance of a Dirdirman drifted in their direction.
Woudiver remained in his car, at a distance of fifty yards or so, apparently arranging his thoughts. At last he alighted and seemed to concern himself with the matter indited on a fold of paper. Erlius, noticing, quickly turned his back.
"Look at the two of them," growled Anacho. "Each hates the other: Woudiver ridicules Erlius for lacking Dirdirman blood; Erlius would like to see Woudiver in the Glass Box."
"So would I," said Reith. "Speaking of the Glass Box, why are we waiting?"
"For the leaders of the tsaugsh. You will see the Glass Box soon enough."
Reith fretfully wrenched at the chain. The Dirdirmen turned him glances of admonition. "Ridiculous," muttered Reith. "There must be something we can do.
What of the Dirdir traditions? What if I cried h'sai h'sai, h'sai, or whatever the call for arbitration?"
"The call is dr'ssa dr'ssa, dr'ssa!"
"What would happen if I called for arbitration?"
"You would be no better than before. The arbitrator would find you guilty and, as before: the Glass Box."
"And if I challenged the arbitration?"
"You'd be forced to fight, and killed all the sooner."
"And no one can be taken unless he is accused?"
"In theory," said Anacho curtly, "that is the custom. Who do you plan to challenge? Woudiver? It will do no good. He has not accused you, but only cooperated with the hunt."
"We will see."
Traz pointed into the sky. "Here come the Dirdir."
Anacho studied the descending sky-car. "The Thisz crest. If the Thisz are involved, we can expect brisk treatment indeed. They may even issue a proscription, that none but Thisz can hunt us."
Traz strained against the chain shackle without avail. He gave a hiss of frustration and turned to watch the descending sky-car. The grayhooded crowd drew back from underneath; the sky-car landed not fifty feet from the white vehicle. Five Dirdir alighted: an Excellent and four of lower caste.
The Immaculate Dirdirman stepped grandly forward, but the Dirdir ignored him with the same indifference he had shown Erhus.
For a moment or two the Dirdir appraised Reith, Anacho and Traz. Then they made a signal to the Immaculate and uttered a few brief sounds.
Erlius stepped forward to pay his respects, knees bent, head bobbing. Before he could speak Woudiver marched forward and thrust his vast yellow bulk in front of Erlius, who was forced to stumble aside.
Woudiver spoke in a high-pitched voice: "Here, Thisz dignitaries, are the criminals sought by the hunt. I have participated to no small degree; let this be noted upon my scroll of honors!"
The Dirdir gave him only cursory attention. Woudiver, apparently expecting no more, bowed his head, swung his arms in an elaborate flourish.
The Immaculate approached the captives and unsnapped the chains. Reith snatched his chain free. The Immaculate looked up in slackjawed surprise, the false effulgences drooping to the side of his white face. Reith walked forward, heart pounding in his throat. He felt the pressure of every eye; with great effort he held his gait to a steady, deliberate step. Six feet in front of the Dirdir he halted, so close that he could smell their body odor. They regarded him without display of any kind.
Reith raised his voice in order to speak clearly: "Dr'ssa! Dr'ssa! Dr'ssa!"
The Dirdir made small movements of surprise.
"Dr'ssa! Dr'ssa! Dr'ssa!" Reith called once more.
The Excellent spoke in a nasal, oboe-sounding voice. "Why do you cry dr'ssa? You are a sub-man, incapable of discrimination."
"I am a man, your superior. Hence I cry dr'ssa."
Woudiver pushed forward with a self-important huffing and heaving. "Bah! He is mad!"
The Dirdir seemed somewhat perplexed. Reith called out, "Who accuses me? Of what crime? Let him come forward and let the case be judged by an arbitrator."
The Excellent spoke: "You invoke a traditional force stronger than contempt or disgust. You may not be denied. Who accuses this subman?"
Woudiver spoke. "I accuse Adam Reith of blasphemy, of disputing the Doctrine of Double Genesis, of claiming status equal to the Dirdir. He has stated that Dirdirmen are not the pure line of the Second Yolk; he has called them a race of mutated freaks. He insists that men derive from a planet other than Sibol. This is not in accord with orthodox doctrine, and is repugnant. He is a mischief-maker, a liar, a provocator." Woudiver accented each of his accusations with a stab of his massive forefinger. "Such are my charges!" He favored the Dirdir with a companionable smirk, then turned and roared at the crowd. "Stand back! Do not press so close upon the dignitaries!"
The Dirdir fluted to Reith. "You claim this accusation to be false?"
Reith stood in perplexity. He faced a dilemma. To deny the charge was to endorse Dirdirman orthodoxy. He asked cautiously, "Essentially, I am accused of unorthodox views. Is this a crime?"
"Certainly, if the arbitrator declares it so."
"What if these views are accurate?"
"Then you must hold the arbitrator to account. Ridiculous as such an eventuality may be, it is tradition and wields its own force."
"Who is the arbitrator?"
The polished bone countenance of the Excellent showed no change, nor did his voice. "In this instance I appoint the Immaculate yonder."
The Immaculate stepped forward. In plangent mock-Dirdir tones he spoke: "I will be expeditious; the ordinary ceremonies are inappropriate." He spoke to Reith.