Rastignac the Devil

hand, one whose fingers tapped a barely heard code of impotent rage and voiceless screaming fear. Yet beneath that anguish was a base of confidence and mockery at others. She might be temporarily upset, but when the chance came for her to do something she would seize it with every ability at her command.

Another radiation dipped into the general picture and out. A wild glowworm had swooped over them and disturbed the smooth reflection built up by the Skins.

This was the way the Skins worked. They penetrated into you and found out what you were feeling and emoting, and then they broadcast it to other closeby Skins, which then projected their hosts' psychosomatic responses. The whole was then integrated so that each Skin-wearer could detect the group-feeling and at the same time, though in a much duller manner, the feeling of the individuals of the gestalt.

That wasn't the only function of the Skin. The parasite, created in the bio-factories, had several other social and biological uses.

Rastignac almost fell into a reverie at that point. It was nothing unusual. The effect of the Skins was a slowing-down one. The wearer thought more slowly, acted more leisurely, and was much more contented.

But now, by a deliberate wrenching of himself from the feeling-pattern, Rastignac woke up. There were things to do, and standing around and drinking in the lotus of the group-rapport was not one of them.

He gestured at the prostrate form of the mucketeer. 'You didn't hurt him?'

The Ssassaror rumbled, 'No. I scratched him with a little venom of the dream-snake. He will sleep for an hour or so. Besides, I would not be allowed to hurt him. You forget that all this is carefully staged by the King's Official Jail-breaker.'

'Me'dt!' swore Rastignac.

Alarmed, Archambaud said, 'What's the matter, Jean-Jacques?'

'Can't we do anything on our own? Must the King meddle in everything?'

'You wouldn't want us to take a chance and have to shed blood, would you?' breathed Archambaud.

'What are you carrying those swords for? As a decoration?' Rastignac snarled.

'Seelahs, m'fweh,' warned Mapfarity. 'If you alarm the other guards, you will embarrass them. They will be forced to do their duty and recapture you. And the Jail-breaker would be reprimanded because he had fallen down on his job. He might even get a demotion.'

Rastignac was so upset that his Skin, reacting to the negative fields racing over the Skin and the hormone imbalance of his blood, writhed away from his back.

'What are we, a bunch children playing war?'

Mapfarity growled, 'We are all God's children, and we mustn't hurt anyone if we can help it.'

'Mapfarity, you eat meat!'

'Voo zavf w'zaw m'fweh,' admitted the Giant. 'But it is the flesh of unintelligent creatures. I have not yet shed the blood of any being that can talk with the tongue of Man.'

Rastignac snorted and said, 'If you stick with me you will some day do that, m'fweh Mapfarity. There is no other course. It is inevitable.'

'Nature spare me the day! But if it comes it will find Mapfarity unafraid. They do not call me Giant for nothing.'

Rastignac sighed and walked ahead. Sometimes he wondered if the members of his underground—or anybody else for that matter—ever realized the grim conclusions formed by the Philosophy of Violence.

The Amphibians, he was sure, did. And they were doing something positive about it. But it was the Amphibians who had driven Rastignac to adopt a Philosophy of Violence.

'Law,' he said again. 'Let's go.'

The three of them walked out of the huge courtyard and through the open gate. Nearby stood a short man whose Skin gleamed black-red in the light shed by the two glowworms attached to his shoulders. The Skin was oversized and hung to the ground.

The King's man, however, did not think he was a comic figure. He sputtered, and the red of his face matched the color of the skin on his back.

'You took long enough,' he said accusingly and then, when Rastignac opened his mouth to protest, the Jail- breaker said, 'Never mind, never mind. Sa n'apawt. The thing is that we get you away fast. The Minister of Ill-Will has doubtless by now received word that an official jail-break is planned for tonight. He will send a company of his mucketeers to intercept you. By coming in advance of the appointed time we shall have time to escape before the official rescue party arrives.'

'How much time do we have?' asked Rastignac.

The King's man said, 'Let's see. After I escort you through the rooms of the Duke, the King's foster-brother —he is most favorable to the Violent Philosophy, you know, and has petitioned the King to become your official patron, which petition will be considered at the next meeting of the Chamber of Deputies in three months—let's see, where was I? Ah, yes, I escort you through the rooms of the King's brother. You will be disguised as His Majesty's mucketeers, ostensibly looking for the escaped prisoners. From the rooms of the Duke you will be let out through a small door in the wall of the palace itself. A car will be waiting.

'From then on it will be up to you. I suggest, however, that you make a dash for Mapfarity's castle. Follow the Rue des Nues; that is your best chance. The mucketeers have been pulled off that boulevard. However, it is possible that Auverpin, the Ill-Will Minister, may see that order and will rescind it, realizing what it means. If he does, I suppose I will see you back in your cell, Rastignac.'

He bowed to the Ssassaror and Archambaud and said, 'And you two gentlemen will then be with him.'

'And then what?' rumbled Mapfarity.

'According to the law, you will be allowed one more jail-break. Any more after that will, of course, be illegal. That is, unthinkable.'

Rastignac unsheathed his epee and slashed it at the air. 'Let the mucketeers stand in my way,' he said fiercely. 'I will cut them down with this!'

The Jail-breaker staggered back, hands outthrust.

'Please, Monsieur Rastignac! Please! Don't even talk about it! You know that your philosophy is, as yet, illegal. The shedding of blood is an act that will be regarded with horror throughout the sentient planet. People would think you are an Amphibian!'

'The Amphibians know what they're doing far better than we do,' answered Rastignac. 'Why do you think they're winning against us Humans?'

Suddenly, before anybody could answer, the sound of blaring horns came from somewhere on the ramparts. Shouts went up; drums began to beat, calling the mucketeers to alert.

And above it all came the roar of a giant Ssassaror voice: 'An Earthship has landed in the sea! And the pilot of the ship is in the hands of the Amphibians!'

As the meaning of the words seeped into Rastignac's consciousness he made a sudden violent movement— and began to tear the Skin from his body!

VI

Rastignac ran down the steps, out into the courtyard. He seized the Jail-breaker's arm and demanded the key to the grilles. Dazed, the white-faced official meekly and silently handed it to him. Without his Skin Rastignac was no longer fearfully inhibited. If you were forceful enough and did not behave according to the normal pattern you could get just about anything you wanted. The average Man or Ssassaror did not know how to react to his violence. By the time they had recovered from their confusion he could be miles away.

Such a thought flashed through his head as he ran towards the prison wells. At the same time he heard the horn-blasts of the king's mucketeers and knew that he shortly would have a different type of Man to deal with. The mucketeers, closest approach to soldiers in this pacifistic land, wore Skins that conditioned them to be more belligerent than the common citizen. They carried epees and, while it was true that their points were dull and their wielders had never engaged in serious swordsmanship, the mucketeers could be dangerous from a viewpoint of numbers alone.