Liano stepped from the hut and bowed her head respectfully. He started toward her.
Then he saw the long row of snow-shrouded dead. He strode among them, scattering the snow and now and then kicking at a wasted body. He whirled and ran toward Liano. His sputtering rage left him momentarily speechless, and when he found his voice he screamed incoherently, but there was no mistaking the fury that throbbed in every choked syllable. Liano faced him calmly, eyes downcast.
He leaped to the waiting gril, snatched his zrilm whip, and with all of his strength brought it whistling down on Liano.
Farrari had started forward when the durri reached for his whip. It was in its clownstroke when he seized him from behind and jerked him backward. The dry leaves no more than brushed Liano’s robes, but they raked Farrari’s leg with excruciating pain. He hurled the durrl to the ground, secured the whip, and slowly backed away, his leg dripping blood onto the snow.
The durri dazedly regained his feet. He said nothing; the shock of being attacked by an ol left him not only incoherent, but almost comatose. Farrari calmly tossed the zrilm onto the fire and turned to confront him. Looking a durrl in the eyes for the first time, he had the inward apprehension of having unleashed a clap of doom, but he could not resume the subservient posture that his role demanded.
He could not think like an ol.
A gril raced down on them with a patter of small hooves. Farrari whirled, caught the flutter of gold-embossed robes, and hastily lowered his eyes. Doom had arrived, and he felt more astonished than apprehensive.
An aristocrat, in this remote ol village!
The durrl was as dumbfounded as Farrari. He stared for long seconds before he remembered to avert his eyes.
The aristocrat halted outside the circle of huts, a shout rang out, and the durri approached him haltingly. A question was flung in harsh Rasczian syllables, and the durri began a stumbling reply. They were too far away for Farrari to understand what was said, but it was obvious that the durrl’s explanation did not sound convincing, even to him, and his discomfiture increased as he fumbled for words. Farrari enjoyed the situation while he could; his own turn would inevitably follow and there was no justice for an o/—only greater or lesser punishment.
The aristocrat snarled a reply that ended with a rasping command. The durrl turned silently, mounted his gril, and rode away.
The aristocrat turned his back on Farrari and Liano, made a sweeping motion that could not be misunderstood, and rode away. Obeying his unspoken command they followed him on foot.
He led them a short distance along the hedge-lined lane and turned, flourishing a spear. Farrari tensed himself to dodge or attack.
The aristocrat leaned forward. “Of all the idiotic things to do—are you trying to blow the planet?”
Liano said quietly, “Hello, Orson.”
“What sort of indoctrination did this halfwit have?” the aristocrat demanded. “An ol assaulting a durrl! Why, that’s… that’s—”
“Sacrilege,” Liano murmured. “Cedd, this is Orson Ojorn.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Farrari demanded angrily. “Let him use that damned whip on her?”
“Yes,” Ojorn snapped. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do. When you have an ol role you behave exactly like an ol—or you get recalled and buried in an office job on a nicely-controlled world where your impulsiveness isn’t likely to embarrass anyone. And that’s what’ll happen to you as soon as I report. Assaulting a durrl!” He waved his arms wildly. “You could have blown the planet and got the entire team demoted five grades. It’s a good thing Peter sent me to observe you two.”
“What’s going to happen?” Farrari asked.
“You’ll be recalled. Expect a contact as soon as it’s dark.”
“We’re already expecting a contact. I meant—what’ll the durrl do?”
“Nothing. I’ve instilled in him a lifelong respect for yilescz. If I hadn’t been here—”
“We have work to do, Orson,” Liano said. “The ol are dying.”
“I know. Go back to work, then. I’ll tell base to send you another kewl.”
He rode away, and Farrari and Liano walked back toward the village.
“I thought there weren’t any agents among the aristocrats,” Farrari protested.
“There aren’t,” Liano said, “but there are a few aristocrat agents. They can get away with it as long as they stay away from the real aristocrats. Sometimes they can be very useful.”
“Obviously. Could you understand what he said to the durrl?”
“He said enough to frighten him badly. He reminded him that a yilesc has the protection of the kru and threatened to hold him responsible for the sickness if we were interfered with.”
“I see.”
“He would have whipped me,” Liano said softly.
“He certainly gave every indication of it. Why, by the way?”
“He’d already started. He would have whipped me.”
Abruptly she lapsed into a mood he had not seen for months; her manner was subdued; her gaze directed absently at nothing on the horizon. And when they returned to work she performed her tasks mechanically and spoke not at all. Farrari did not disturb her. His leg was still bleeding and he could not bandage it—no ol would wear a bandage. It throbbed painfully, but he knew that it was not even a sample of what a real beating would be like.
And Liano, he feared, had her own vivid memories of that.
He worked at her side, wondering bitterly if a sick ol was any more susceptible to culture than a well one, because on this, his last day in the field, the only olz available for him to work on were dying.
But when Dr. Garnt came that night Farrari’s recall was not even mentioned.
There was sickness in the next village. And the next. For days they labored, moving from village to village, covering as much territory as they could but not nearly enough, fanning the feeble sparks of life that they found in the foul, damp coldness of the huts. Base, in a frantic attempt to halt the spread of the strange virus, sent all of its ol agents into the area and everyone else who could by any stretch of the imagination pass as an ol. The latter were less than adequately trained, but the durrl never reappeared and the olz were too sick to care whether their nurses walked properly.
In every village the piles of dead grew daily. Soon there were more dead olz than there were live olz being cared for. When Farrari suggested that they dig graves, Liano solemnly shook her head. A village’s dead were its own business.
“Come warm weather, these villages aren’t going to be pleasant places,” Farrari objected.
“And what if there’s no one alive in the village to take care of them?”
“Then the neighboring villages will do it.”
Farrari grumbled for days before abandoning the argument.