It wasn't pleasant. He got up and undressed, went into the bathroom and showered for half an hour, washing away all the things he had covered himself with in the past days, all the things other than dirt and sweat, the things that couldn't be seen or smelled but were nonetheless there.
The water gurgled, babbled, talked as the sea talked.
Water, he thought, was like a womb. Water was an aperture in the earth's belly from which life crawled forth to be spanked by the hands of the Fates and the Furies. And water cleansed life, washed away the dirt, leaving only the pure things which Nature first brought forth as her own. In the spring, it fell out of the heavens and splashed lightly onto the ground, dribbled away, cleansing the earth of the stain of evils endured. And in the winter, it drifted gentle and white, a virgin mantle to restore the hymen of the land, to make things once again pure and sweet and innocent.
Listening carefully, he conversed with it for half an hour, laughing at the tales it told, sighing at the confidences it imparted, frowning at the philosophical comments it made on its way to the sewer.
When he went back to his room, his old clothes were gone and a set of fatigues, olive drab, was waiting for him. This, he recognized, was the uniform dress of the lower class of the Romaghin social structure. He slipped into the rugged yet snug clothes, pressed the ends of the magnetic belt together, slipped into the black boots that were exactly like his old ones except that they broke at mid-calf rather than just below the knee — another sign of the lowest class. It seemed to him, from what history he could remember from Triggy Gop's books, that rebels always identified with the common people — in this case, even though the common people were just as ready, willing, and able as anyone else to blow their heads off.
He strapped the flybelt on and pocketed the gas pistol that had also been left undisturbed. He was warmed by the realization that these people were trying to show their trust for him. He had forgotten that some people could be trusted. And were trusting. Opening the door, he collided with the catgirl. “Oof!” he managed to gasp.
“I came to escort you to the dining hall. We didn't expect you to sleep until lunch,” she said, laughing.
“Your accommodations were too good. I think the bed injected me with some sinister narcotic.”
“Dragon blood,” she said in a mock whisper. Her eyes were like stars.
She led him to the end of a side corridor branching off his own and pushed open a door. “This is it.”
He held it. “Ladies first.”
He thought she blushed.
“Thank you,” she said demurely, entering the room.
They were all at the table. Corgi and Hunk sat side by side at one end. Babe sat across from Fish, and Tohm was shown to a chair next to Mayna. Seer sat in the corner, babbling something to himself, endlessly weeping.
“Oh,” Tohm said suddenly, “if I'm taking his seat—”
“No, no,” Corgi said, his eyes rippling with brilliant gold.
“But after all, I'm just an intruder, and—”
“He sits in the corner always,” Corgi said.
Everyone seemed to be uneasy.
“We can draw another table up to this one. I can sit there,” Tohm said.
The cat paw came, and the thin finger touched his arm. “I feed him after we are done. It is always like this.”
Tohm looked about at the others, then back to Mayna. “He can't feed himself?”
Her eyes suddenly sparked with a bright light that glittered behind the green little globes. “No, he cannot feed himself! Yes, he is next to helpless! So what is that to you?”
He sat, mouth open. “Well, I didn't mean—”
“Of course you didn't,” Corgi said quickly. “You don't understand many things. Mayna gets carried away at times.” He gave her a stern look.
She was no longer breathing heavily. “I'm sorry,” she said, looking directly at him. “I didn't mean it. Corgi is right. The pressure.”
They ate in continued uneasiness, although everyone had made an apology. Tohm wanted nothing more than to get through the entire experience without offending anyone. If Triggy Gop had only had material that would have given a stupid man the basics…
The food was, though more refined than that on Hazabob's ship, every bit as good as any he had ever eaten. There were thin, delicious sprouts of some green vegetable done in butter sauce and sprinkled with tiny black nuts. Three different varieties of fruit salads dotted the table. The main course was a noodle casserole in some delightful custardy sauce with miniature onions.
“We don't eat meat,” Corgi said from across the dish-littered table. “Too many of us are semi-animals in appearance. Somehow, it would be like eating a brother. We stick to fruits, nuts, vegetables. Mayna can do some marvelous things with them.”
“Mayna cooks too?” Tohm asked, looking at her with new admiration.
“Oh, yes. And Mayna is an expert with the hand laser too. Best marksman — rather, markswoman, we have.”
She smiled at Tohm and nibbled daintily on a snaky green bean.
“Perhaps you would be interested in knowing what each of us does here,” Corgi said, warming to his subject. “Babe, as useless as he seems, is the best man on explosives in this arm of the galaxy. Often, we have to rescue Muties from Romaghin clutches. Babe can make a bomb out of ice and water.”
“Not quite,” Babe said through a mouthful of casserole.
“Just about,” Corgi continued. “There are times, Tohm, when we would not have succeeded in springing our soulbrothers had it not been for Babe. The Romaghins and Setessins will fight fiercely to hold them for torture and execution. Technically, since they created us, they should be supporting us or at least be letting us have jobs and citizenship. Instead, they kill us on sight. It is an old trait in men. I think it is an attempt to salve their consciences for the wrong acts that caused us. If they pretend we are evil, attribute to us a relationship with the devil or with the enemy, killing us makes sense. And when they have murdered all of us, they will no longer have to face the mistake they made.”
“That Black Beast, the superego,” Babe said.
“Then Fish,” Corgi continued, “comes in exceedingly handy. He can get by on land using his lungs or in the sea by closing them up and working through his second respiratory system. You noticed the gills. When a passing ship is taking Muties to the docks to be unloaded and penned for execution, he can swim out, board it, and usually complete his mission with great success.”
Fish didn't bother to look up. He was, Tohm could see, the loner of the group.
“Hunk is invaluable, because he is slightly telepathic.”
“An Esper?”
“Yes. The Romaghins tell you there are no such things. But he is a living contradiction.”
Hunk lifted a tuft of lettuce and munched on it.
“Hunk tells us when he senses any Muties in distress. When an individual, especially a Mutie, is under pressure, in pain, or just plain scared, he radiates a stronger thought pattern. Hunk can then pick it up. We go into action on his advice. Not every hutch, which is what we call this place, is lucky enough to have a telepath.”
“Hunk tells you when a ship with Muties is approaching.”
“Exactly,” Corgi said, taking a sip of his wine, an amber fluid that sparkled like prisms, refracting the light as if it were a gem and not a liquid. “And I have a multiplex brain.”
“A what?”
Mayna nibbled away at another bean.
“A multiplex brain. I see what is happening now and can plot the possible futures for it in an instant.”
“You see the future?”
“No, no. Nothing so wonderful and horrible as that. I see the possibilities. There are thousands, millions, countless possible futures. I scan them at any moment of crisis. If ninety percent of the futures say we will fail in the mission, we do not jeopardize ourselves. If the chances are fifty-fifty or better in our favor, we go through with it.”