"It is your idea that I am Karaghiosis. I've explained why Hasan called me by that name. Phil knew Karaghiosis and you know Phil. Has he ever said anything about it?"
"You know he hasn't. He is your friend and he would not betray your confidence."
"Is there any other indication of identity than Hasan's random name-calling?"
"There is no recorded description of Karaghiosis. You were quite thorough."
"All right then. Go away and don't bother me."
"Don't. Please."
"Hasan tried to kill me."
"Yes; he must have thought it easier to kill you than to try keeping you out of the way. After all, he knows more about you than we do."
"Then why did he save me from the boadile today, along with Myshtigo?"
"I'd rather not say."
"Then forget it."
"No, I will tell you.-The assagai was the only thing handy. He is not yet proficient with it. He was not aiming to hit the boadile."
"Oh."
"But he was not aiming at you, either. The beast was writhing too much. He wanted to kill the Vegan, and he would simply have said that he had tried to save you both, by the only means at hand-and that there had been a terrible accident. Unfortunately, there was no terrible accident. He missed his target."
"Why did he not just let the boadile kill him?"
"Because you had already gotten your hands upon the beast. He feared you might still save him. He fears your hands."
"That's nice to know. Will he continue trying, even if I refuse to cooperate?"
"I'm afraid so."
"That is very unfortunate, my dear, because I will not permit it."
"You will not stop him. Neither will we call him off. Even though you are Karaghiosis, and hurt, and my sorrow for you overflows the horizons, Hasan will not be stopped by you or by me. He is the Assassin. He has never failed."
"Neither have I."
"Yes you have. You have just failed the Radpol and the Earth, and everything that means anything."
"I keep my own counsel, woman. Go your ways."
"I can't."
"Why is that?"
"If you don't know, then Karaghiosis is indeed the fool, the buffoon, the figure in a shadow play."
"A man named Thomas Carlyle once wrote of heroes and hero-worship. He too was a fool. He believed there were such creatures. Heroism is only a matter of circumstances and expediency."
"Ideals occasionally enter into the picture."
"What is an ideal? A ghost of a ghost, that's all."
"Do not say these things to me, please."
"I must-they are true."
"You lie, Karaghiosis."
"I do not-or if I do, it is for the better, girl."
"I am old enough to be anyone's grandmother but yours, so do not call me 'girl.' Do you know that my hair is a wig?"
"Yes."
"Do you know that I once contracted a Vegan disease-and that that is why I must wear a wig?"
"No. I am very sorry. I did not know."
"When I was young, long ago, I worked at a Vegan resort. I was a pleasure girl. I have never forgotten the puffing of their horrid lungs against my body, nor the touch of their corpse-colored flesh. I hate them, Karaghiosis, in ways that only one such as you could understand-one who has hated all the great hates."
"I am sorry, Diane. I am so sorry that it hurts you still. But I am not yet ready to move. Do not push me."
"You are Karaghiosis?"
"Yes."
"Then I am satisfied-somewhat."
"But the Vegan will live."
"We shall see."
"Yes, we shall. Good night."
"Good night, Conrad."
And I rose, and I left her there, and I returned to my tent. Later that night she came to me. There was a rustling of the tent flap and the bedclothes, and she was there. And when I have forgotten everything else about her-the redness of her wig and the little upside-down "v" between her eyes, and the tightness of her jaws, and her clipped talk, and all her little mannerisms of gesture, and her body warm as the heart of a star, and her strange indictment of the man I once might have been, I will remember this-that she came to me when I needed her, that she was warm, soft, and that she came to me…
After breakfast the following morning I was going to seek Myshtigo, but he found me first. I was down by the river, talking with the men who would be taking charge of the felucca.
"Conrad," he said softly, "may I speak with you?"
I nodded and gestured toward a gully.
"Let's walk up this way. I've finished here."
We walked.
After a minute he said, "You know that on my world there are several systems of mental discipline, systems which occasionally produce extrasensory abilities…"
"So I've heard," I said.
"Most Vegans, at sometime or other, are exposed to it. Some have an aptitude along these lines. Many do not. Just about all of us, though, possess a feeling for it, a recognition of its operations."
"Yes?"
"I am not telepathic myself, but I am aware that you possess this ability because you used it on me last night. I could feel it. It is quite uncommon among your people, so I had not anticipated this and I had taken no precautions to prevent it. Also, you hit me at the perfect moment. As a result, my mind was opened to you. I have to know how much you learned."
So there apparently had been something extrasensory connected with those sight-vision overlays. All they usually contained were what seemed the immediate perceptions of the subject, plus a peek at the thoughts and feelings that went into the words he made-and sometimes I got them wrong. Myshtigo's question indicated that he did not know how far mine went, and I had heard that some professional Veggy psyche-stirrers could even elbow their way into the unconscious. So I decided to bluff.
"I gather that you are not writing a simple travel book," I said.
He said nothing.
"Unfortunately, I am not the only one who is aware of this," I continued, "which places you in a bit of danger."
"Why?" he asked suddenly.
"Perhaps they misunderstand," I ventured.
He shook his head.
"Who are they?"
"Sorry."
"But I need to know."
"Sorry again. If you want out, I can get you back to the Port today."
"No, I can't do that. I must go on. What am I to do?"
"Tell me a little more about it, and I'll make suggestions."
"No, you know too much already…
"Then that must be the real reason Donald Dos Santos is here," he said quickly. "He is a moderate. The activist wing of the Radpol must have learned something of this and, as you say-misunderstood. He must know of the danger. Perhaps I should go to him…"
"No," I said quickly, "I don't think you should. It really wouldn't change anything. What would you tell him, anyhow?"
A pause. Then, "I see what you mean," he said. "The thought has also occurred to me that he might not be as moderate as I have believed… If that is the case, then-"
"Yeah," I said. "Want to go back?"
"I can't."
"Okay then, blue boy, you're going to have to trust me. You can start by telling me more about this survey-"
"No! I do not know how much you know and how much you do not know. It is obvious that you are trying to elicit more information, so I do not think you know very much. What I am doing is still confidential."
"I am trying to protect you," I said, "therefore I want as much information as I can get."
"Then protect my body and let me worry about my motives and my thoughts. My mind will be closed to you in the future, so you needn't waste your time trying to probe it."
I handed him an automatic.
"I suggest you carry a weapon for the duration of the tour-to protect your motives."
"Very well."
It vanished beneath his fluttering shirt.
Puff-puff-puff, went the Vegan.
Damn-damn-damn, went my thoughtstrings.
"Go get ready," I said. "We'll be leaving soon."
As I walked back toward the camp, via another route, I analyzed my own motives. A book, alone, could not make or break the Earth, the Radpol, Returnism. Even Phil's Call of Earth had not done that, not really. But this thing of Myshtigo's was to be more than just a book. A survey?-What could it be? A push in what direction? I did not know and I had to know. For Myshtigo could not be permitted to live if it would destroy us-and yet, I could not permit his destruction if the thing might be of any help at all. And it might.