On Podesta a man had rescued a child.
Okos checked the region, the details, absorbing the data at a glance and feeling the glow of mental satisfaction at having made a correct prediction which was the only pleasure he could know. Podesta-Dumarest had revealed himself-revealed too the world which must be his destination.
A window filled one wall of the room and Okos turned toward it, halting to stare through the crystal at the mass of buildings beyond-the spires and towers, domes and turrets, parapets and peaks all adorned with variegated flags denoting different universities, various seats of learning, the clustered departments, the massed halls. The product of a world whose main industry was the imparting of knowledge and which sprawled in city-sized confusion.
Even as he watched another ship settled on the distant field to discharge its cargo of fresh students. Another batch to add to the hordes which thronged the streets and lodging houses, the eating places and taverns, the emporiums, the bookstores, the cut-price tutorials. A mass of variegated humanity, nondescript in their ubiquitous robes. Soon Dumarest would be among them-when would he arrive?
Chapter Three
It had rained, the downpour followed by freezing winds which had turned the water into ice, coating the buildings with a glistening frost which glittered in the late afternoon sun as if the towers and spires and soaring peaks had been dusted with crushed and scattered jewels. Against the white brilliance the flags displayed their varied hues, their markings, their shapes: oblong, square, forked, lozenged, some with puffs and slashes, others with a stark and simple dignity.
"Damn!" The man at Dumarest's side stamped his feet, white plumes of vapor wreathing his uplifted cowl. "I hate the cold!"
Rani Papandrious, a merchant and a successful one, now aimed to acquire a degree and the entry it would give him to the higher echelons of society on his home world. Beyond him a girl sucked in her breath as she stared with wide eyes at the flags, the frosted buildings. She had been backed by her family and launched into a strange environment in a desperate hope that she would provide for them all.
Papandrious shook his head as she walked from the field toward a group of waiting figures.
"They'll skin her," he said with professional cynicism.
"Take all she's got and then leave her stuck in a slum dormitory, classes she can't handle, a job she won't be able to keep."
A judgment Dumarest didn't share. Those waiting were students with little love for the hovering vultures and, while they might sponge on the girl's generosity, they would be fair in their fashion. She would pay but she would learn and, later, she too could be meeting the new arrivals.
As could Bard Holman who had been the last down the ramp after arguing with the captain. A dispute he was reluctant to abandon.
"We have a case," he complained. "Passage booked to Ascelius and nothing said about diversions and pickups and delays on the way. I've lost classes and time and both will cost money. An extra semester will ruin my budget. The way I see it we're all entitled to a compensatory payment."
A fledgling lawyer, city-bred, inexperienced in the ways of space, he had no case. The captain had provided what he had contracted to supply and had probably lost money on the deal.
Sheen Agostino smiled as he stamped away. She was small and round and dark and had come to gain a post-graduate degree in computer programming, a woman with an innocent openness gifted with the ability to recognize the humor of every situation.
"So young," she said. "And so impatient. So eager to learn and to conquer his world. Even to listen to him makes me feel old."
Papandrious was gallant. "You don't look it, Sheen. In fact you look really lovely. You agree, Earl?"
"Of course."
"What else could a gentleman say?" Her tone held laughter but her eyes were grateful. "Well, friends, I guess it's time for us to part."
"But we'll meet again?" The merchant was eager to establish a comfortable relationship. "I'll contact you," he promised. "In a couple of days after we've settled down. We can have a meal, and talk, and share mutual entertainment." Courtesy made him turn to Dumarest. "And you, Earl? You will join us?"
"Thank you, but no." Dumarest saw the relief in the man's eyes. "I'll be too busy. I've a lot of catching up to do."
"You will, Earl." Sheen was positive. "And you'll make the best geologist this world has ever produced. Just keep thinking that."
This was basic advice to bolster a determination which could falter when faced with harsh reality, but even as she gave it she recognized how little he needed it. A recognition which made her feel a little stupid.
Dumarest came to her rescue, building on the lie he had told, the story he had given his fellow passengers to assuage their curiosity.
"I'll remember that, Sheen, and when I feel like quitting it'll help. It's just that I could have waited too long. Maybe, with the best instructors, well, we'll see."
A seed sown for future reaping if the need should arise. Her studies would give her access to the computers with their stored data, but to ask too much too soon would be to invite rejection or, worse, a sharpened curiosity. Later, if necessary, he would contact her and she would remember his present indecision.
Now she said, "Just don't rush into anything, Earl. Take your time and study the prospects. You'll find a complete listing of all available courses together with fees, times and such at any of the information booths. The ones operated by the combined universities can be trusted to deliver what they promise. The free-lance establishments may promise a shortcut and cheap tutorials but you need to be a genius to gain from their offers." She held out a hand, slender fingers touching his own, before falling back to her side. "Good luck, Earl."
Luck had saved him often in the past and he needed it now more than ever. Standing alone before the bulk of the vessel he looked over the field. To one side the wind caught a scatter of debris and lifted it to send it swirling in a drifting cloud of fragments which dissolved to fall in a powdery rain. Biodegradable material falling into their basic constituent elements beneath the action of sunlight and temperature change.
A good sign-Ascelius promised to be a clean world.
The shadows were lengthening when Dumarest left the field. The group of loungers had mostly dispersed, those remaining despite the growing cold ignoring him as he passed, sensing their attentions would be unwanted, their interest unwelcome. He ignored them in turn; the answers he needed would come from those less fortuitously placed. Ascelius might be clean but it was still a jungle and a dun-colored robe could mask a predator more dangerous than any beast.
He walked on, deeper into the city, heading for the busy streets and areas, watching for those who followed for too long and too close, those who stared too hard, those who looked away too soon. Small signs which could betray those with a special interest. He saw none and entered a tavern when lights began to glow from lamps fixed high on the walls. It was as he'd expected, a room set with tables and benches, a bar at one end, a counter bearing dishes of various foods presided over by a stout man with a shock of gray hair and a face seamed with time.
"Fill your plate for a veil, stranger." His voice was a boom. "Bread an extra five mins." He watched as Dumarest made his selection. "Just arrived?"
"It shows?"
"To an experienced eye." The man nodded at the plate which could have held more. "The longer you stay the hungrier you get. Not many students come in here who don't pile their plate as high as it will go. You want wine?" He beamed at Dumarest's nod. "Take a seat and the girl will serve you." His voice rose to a roar. "Trisha!"
She was tall, thin, her face bearing a waxen pallor, the eyes sunk in circles of darkness. Her hair, blonde, hung in a lank tangle. Beneath the rough gown she wore her figure was shapeless. The hands which tilted the flagon over Dumarest's goblet were little more than flesh stretched over bone.