Chapter 5
From a distance Dyoto resembled an enormous pyramid whose base rested on air more than a kilometer above the ground, a jagged cloud along whose sides dark planes flecked with sparkling dots of light were ranged like geological strata on the flank of an eroded mountain. It took Corson’s breath away.
Then the pyramid seemed to disintegrate. The cloud became a labyrinth. The buildings, or machines, which composed the city were widely spaced one from another. A twin river jetted vertically from the earth and ran through the city like a pillar trapped inside an invisible tube. Vehicles flitted along the city’s three-dimensional arteries. Just as the ship carrying Corson reached its outskirts, two major buildings, both cubical in shape, rose skyward and flew off toward the ocean.
Dyoto, Corson told himself, was a fine example of city planning based on antigravity and bearing the stamp of an anarchically conceived society. In his experience the use of antigrav was confined to warships. As for anarchy, that was no more to him than a historical label; it had no place in time of war. Every man, every object, had a role assigned by the system. But in twelve centuries, or however many millennia, there had been time for things to change. At first sight it was clear that antigrav must now be as common as fusion power. Could it itself have become a source of energy? He had heard vaguely about projects of that kind. Antigrav generators aboard warships consumed a hell of a lot of power, but that meant nothing. The forces exerted by one mass on another must also represent a vast energy potential.
Such a city, by contrast with those he was used to, was not a more or less fixed collection of structures. It was a fluid group of them; one could cast or hoist anchor at will. Only the primary function of the city endured, that of bringing people together so they could exchange goods and ideas.
Slowly Floria’s ship climbed along one of the faces of the pyramid. The buildings were so arranged, Corson noted, that even the lowest stories of the city enjoyed a great deal of sunlight. That argued the existence of some central authority, regulating traffic and allotting places to new arrivals.
“Here we are,” Floria said abruptly. “What are you going to do?”
“I thought you were going to turn me over to the police.”
Seeming interested, she said, “That’s what would have happened in your time? Well, the lawmen will find you by themselves if that’s what they want. I’m not sure they still know how to carry out an arrest, though. The last one must have happened a decade ago.”
“I—I assaulted you.”
She burst out laughing. “Let’s say I needled you, shall we? And it’s been a terrific experience, keeping company with a man who can’t tell from one moment to the next what you’re going to say or do.”
She walked straight up to him and kissed him on the mouth, then drew back before he had time to clutch at her. He stood there gaping. Then he told himself that what she’d said had the ring of truth. Meeting him had excited her. Well, she might not be used to men like him, but he knew women like her. He had found favor in her eyes because he had used violence against her. So the fundamental characteristics of humanity couldn’t have changed in these twelve centuries even if certain superficial talents had evolved.
He could capitalize on a situation like this.
But something in him rebelled. He wanted to get the hell out. A kind of instinct was urging him to put the maximum possible distance between this planet and himself. The impulse was solidly founded on what he knew was going to happen here. Possibly in twelve centuries—or more—the human race had made enough progress to get rid of eighteen thousand Monsters easily. He doubted it. And he was well aware that if he stayed in Floria’s vicinity much longer he was going to become attached to her in a way that would seriously hamper his freedom of action.
“Thanks for everything,” he said. “If I can do anything in return one day… ?”
“You’re very sure of yourself,” she said. “And where are you thinking of going?”
“Some other planet, I hope. I… Well, I get around a lot, and I’ve spent plenty of time on this world.”
Her eyes widened a little. “I won’t ask why you’re lying, Corson. But I am wondering why you lie so badly.”
“I enjoy it.”
“Not very much, apparently.”
“I do my best.”
He was aching to put a multitude of questions to her, but he bit them back. He would have to explore this new universe on his own. For the time being he wanted to keep his secret, so he would have to make do with the meager data he had acquired during this morning’s conversation.
“I’d hoped for something else,” she said. “Still, it’s up to you.”
“I can do you a favor anyhow. I’m going to get off this planet.
You do the same. In a few months life here is apt to be intolerable.”
“Go with you?” she countered ironically. “You’re not even capable of seeing one minute into the future, and here you are playing the prophet! Well, I’ll give you some advice in return. Get some new clothes. If you don’t you’ll look very silly.”
Embarrassed, he emptied the pockets of his combat uniform and accepted a sort of tunic which she offered him.
When on Mars, breathe like a Martian…
The ship was pulling alongside an aerial jetty now. Corson felt really silly in his new outfit. The craft came to a dead stop.
“Have you an incinerator?”
“A what?”
He bit his lip. “Ah… Something which gets rid of refuse.”
“An eraser? Well, of course.”
She showed him how the device worked. He rolled his uniform into a ball and tossed it in. The loose-fitting clothes he had put on would adequately hide his gun, under his left armpit. He was almost certain she had spotted the weapon, but that she had no idea of its purpose. The uniform vanished before his eyes.
He went straight to the door, which opened for him. On the point of leaving, he wanted to say something, but words would not come. He made a vague gesture with one hand. For the moment, his mind was dominated by a single obsession.
He needed somewhere quiet to think out how he could get the hell away from Uria—fast.
Chapter 6
The landing stage was soft under his boots—correction: under his sandals, now. A pang of alarm struck him as he looked around. He could have stayed longer with Floria, picked up a lot more information… As far as he could tell, his haste to get away stemmed from an ancient soldier’s reflex: never stay longer than you have to in a temporary hideout. Keep moving, always keep on the move!
So his present behavior was still conditioned by a war over a millennium old, which he had resigned from the night before. But he was aware of something else, too. Floria was young, lovely, and very likely available. He himself came from an epoch of total war, where practically every ounce of human energy was devoted to combat or to the industrial effort which made fighting possible. He was suddenly exposed here to the possibilities of a world where individual happiness appeared to be the only law. The contrast was too much for him. He had left the ship because in Floria’s company he suspected he would not be able to think straight.
He reached the end of the landing stage and studied with mistrust narrow gangways fitted with handrails, steeply slanting ramps. He was worried that he might draw attention to himself by his nervousness, but he soon realized that nobody was likely to notice. In his universe, a stranger was instantly assumed to be a spy even though it was absurd to imagine that a Urian would risk entering a city held by humans. A spy scare had an additional purpose apart from maintaining security. It kept people’s minds busy. He was cynical enough to recognize the fact.