"The Rancher's son! Amusing!"
Biron brought his attention downward. He was tired of cautious monosyllables and careful phrases. He said abruptly, "Yes, the Rancher's son. It is a congenital situation. Can I help you in any other way?"
Gillbret showed no offense. His thin face merely creased further as his smile widened. He said, "You might satisfy my curiosity. You really came for Sanctuary? Here?"
"I'd rather discuss that with the Director, sir."
"Oh, get off it, young man. You'll find that very little business can be done with the Director. Why do you suppose you had to deal with his daughter just now? That's an amusing thought, if you'll consider it."
"Do you find everything amusing?"
"Why not? As an attitude toward life, it's an amusing one. It's the only adjective that will fit. Observe the universe, young man. If you can't force amusement out of it, you might as well cut your throat, since there's damned little good in it. I haven't introduced myself, by the way. I'm the Director's cousin."
Biron said coldly, "Congratulations!"
Gillbret shrugged. "You're right. It's not impressive. And I'm likely to remain just that indefinitely since there is no assassination to be expected after all."
"Unless you whip one up for yourself."
"My dear sir, your sense of humor! You'll have to get used to the fact that nobody takes me seriously. My remark was only an expression of cynicism. You don't suppose the Directorship is worth anything these days, do you? Surely you cannot believe that Hinrik was always like this? He was never a great brain, but with every year he becomes more impossible. I forget! You haven't seen him yet. But you will! I hear him coming. When he speaks to you, remember that he is the ruler of the largest of the Trans-Nebular Kingdoms. It will be an amusing thought."
Hinrik bore his dignity with the ease of experience. He acknowledged Biron's painstakingly ceremonious bow with the proper degree of condescension. He said, with a trace of abruptness, "And your business with us, sir?"
Artemisia was standing at her father's side, and Biron noticed, with some surprise, that she was quite pretty. He said, "Your Excellency, I have come on behalf of my father's good name. You must know his execution was unjust."
Hinrik looked away. "I knew your father slightly. He was in Rhodia once or twice." He paused, and his voice quavered a bit. "You are very like him. Very. But he was tried, you know. At least I imagine he was. And according to law. Really, I don't know the details."
"Exactly, Your Excellency. But I would like to learn those details. I am sure that my father was no traitor."
Hinrik broke in hurriedly. "As his son, of course, it is understandable that you should defend your father, but, really, it is difficult to discuss such matters of state now. Highly irregular, in fact. Why don't you see Aratap?"
"I do not know him, Excellency."
"Aratap! The Commissioner! The Tyrannian Commissioner"'
"I have seen him and he sent me here. Surely, you understand that I dare not let the Tyranni-"
But Hinrik had grown stiff. His hand had wandered to his lips, as though to keep them from trembling, and his words were consequently muffled. "Aratap sent you here, you say?"
"I found it necessary to tell him-"
"Don't repeat what you told him. I know," said Hinrik. "I can do nothing for you, Rancher-uh-Mr. Farrill. It is not in my jurisdiction alone. The Executive Council-stop pulling at me, Arta. How can I pay attention to matters when you distract me?-must be consulted. Gillbret! Will you see that Mr. Farrill is taken care of? I will see what can be done. Yes, I will consult the Executive Council. The forms of law, you know. Very important. Very important."
He turned on his heel, mumbling.
Artemisia lingered for a moment and touched Biron's sleeve. "A moment. Was it true, your statement that you could pilot a spaceship?"
"Quite true," said Biron. He smiled at her, and after a moment's hesitation, she dimpled briefly in return.
"Gillbret," she said, "I want to speak to you later."
She hurried off. Biron looked after her till Gillbret tweaked at his sleeve.
"I presume you are hungry, perhaps thirsty, would like a wash?" asked Gillbret. "The ordinary amenities of life continue, I take it?"
"Thank you, yes," said Biron. The tension had almost entirely washed out of him. For a moment he was relaxed and felt wonderful. She was pretty. Very pretty.
But Hinrik was not relaxed; In his own chambers his thoughts whirled at a feverish pace. Try as he might, he could not wriggle out of the inevitable conclusion. It was a trap! Aratap had sent him and it was a trap!
He buried his head in his hands to quiet and deaden the pounding, and then he knew what he had to do.
Seven: Musician of the Mind
Night settles in time on all habitable planets. Not always, perhaps, at respectable intervals, since recorded periods of rotation vary from fifteen to fifty-two hours. That fact requires the most strenuous psychological adjustment from those traveling from planet to planet.
On many planets such adjustments are made, and the waking-sleeping periods are tailored to fit. On many more the almost universal use of conditioned atmospheres and artificial lighting make the day-night question secondary except in so far as it modifies agriculture. On a few planets (those of the extremes) arbitrary divisions are made which ignore the trivial facts of light and dark.
But always, whatever the social conventions, the coming of night has a deep and abiding psychological significance, dating back to man's pre-human arboreal existence. Night will always be a time of fear and insecurity, and the heart will sink with the sun.
Inside Palace Central there was no sensory mechanism by which one could tell the coming of night, yet Biron felt that coming through some indefinite instinct hidden in the unknown corridors of the human brain. He knew that outdoors the night's blackness was scarcely relieved by the futile sparks of the stars. He knew that, if it were the right time of year, the jagged "hole in space" known as the Horsehead Nebula (so familiar to all the Trans-Nebular Kingdoms) inked out half the stars that might otherwise have been visible.
And he was depressed again. He had not seen Artemisia since the little talk with the Director, and he found himself resenting that. He had looked forward to dinner; he might have spoken to her. Instead, he had eaten alone, with two guards lounging discontentedly just outside the door. Even Gillbret had left him, presumably to eat a less lonely meal in the company one would expect in a palace of the Hinriads.
So that when Gillbret returned and said, "Artemisia and I have been discussing you," he obtained a prompt and interested reaction.
It merely amused him and he said so. "First I want to show you my laboratory," he had said then. He gestured and the two guards moved off.
"What kind of a laboratory?" asked Biron with a definite loss of interest.
"I build gadgets," was the vague response.
It was not a laboratory to the eye. It was more nearly a library, with an ornate desk in the corner.
Biron looked it over slowly. "And you build gadgets here? What kind of gadgets?"
"Well, special sounding devices to spy out the Tyrannian spy beams in a brand-new way. Nothing they can detect. That's how I found out about you, when the first word came through from Aratap. And I have other amusing trinkets. My visisonor, for instance. Do you like music?"
"Some kinds."
"Good. I invented an instrument, only I don't know if you can properly call it music." A shelf of book films slid out and aside at a touch. "This is not really much of a hiding place, but nobody takes me seriously, so they don't look. Amusing, don't you think? But I forget, you're the unamused one."
It was a clumsy, boxlike affair, with that singular lack of gloss and polish that marks the homemade object. One side of it was studded with little gleaming knobs. He put it down with that side upward.