the school so that I can spend as much time here as possible?
“And the Master of Medicine has no cause for concern,” he went on before the other could reply, “since off- world pathogens will not effect Teldins, nor will Teldin diseases be transmissible to the many hundreds of different species who inhabit the Galaxy. That is…”
“Hearsay!” the Teldin broke in.
“Naturally,” Martin went on, “I have not visited all of these worlds, but I have lived for a time on three of them without contracting any other-species diseases.”
He was bending the truth slightly because one of the three was Teldi itself. The others had been Formalhaut Three and the single, lifeless plant which circled the Black Diamond at the galactic center.
“It is still hearsay, but I am greatly reassured,” the Teldin said. “And your vessel will arouse less comment outside our school than in any other part of the city.”
“Thank you,” Martin said. “If a problem arises suddenly, as it may have done today had I been a disease- carrier, how do the Masters learn of it?”
The Teldin pointed to a recess which contained a table, chair and shelves lined with what could only be Leyden cells. The batteries were wired in series to a collection of table-mounted radio equipment with which the legendary Marconi would have felt instantly at home. Skorta was giving him a rundown on the Teldin equivalent of the Morse code when Martin interrupted quietly.
“This is a mechanism. It transmits and receives information over a great distance, not face to face. Surely this is hearsay, and forbidden?”
The Teldin gestured toward the barred bookshelves and said, “That, too, is hearsay, but some of us are allowed to read it.”
“You confuse me,” Martin said.
“The volumes contain hearsay which is a transcription of much older hearsay,” the Teldin explained, “selected by the Masters for study by only the highest-level slaves, slaves who are able to assimilate the material without mental suffering caused by disaffection with their present circumstances, or thoughts of what might have been had the Scourge not come upon us. Ignorance makes it easier to accept the inevitable.”
“Are you saying,” Martin asked harshly, “that the majority of the slaves are kept in ignorance?”
“I’m saying that they’re happier in their ignorance,” Skorta replied. “This hearsay material is not kept from them entirely. But it must be earned piece by piece, as a reward for physical and mental effort.”
It was like some kind of freemasonry, Martin thought, with secrets of increasing importance being entrusted to the favored few who showed themselves able and willing to maintain the Teldin status quo. His sarcasm was probably lost in translation as he said, “And the Masters know everything?”
“Not everything,” the Teldin said, showing more of its teeth. “As yet they don’t know about you.”
Chapter 8
ONCE again Martin got the impression that this particular Teldin was a potential rebel. “I have the feeling that you do not want my presence reported to the Masters,” he said, “Is this so?”
“That is correct,” Skorta said. “My reasons are, of course, selfish. Until official cognizance has been taken of your presence on Teldi, I am at liberty to learn as much as possible from you before the Masters rule on the factuality of your information. I expect that much of what I learn will have to be officially forgotten, not committed to writing, and will die with me. The Masters must consider the mental well-being of their slaves as the highest priority, and the simple fact of your presence here implies a way of life infinitely better than our existence on Teldi.
“Fortunately I can justify my delay in reporting you,” it added, “because of initial confusion regarding your status and the necessity of educating you in our ways lest you inadvertently commit a crime, such as insulting a Master.”
It was not lying, Martin thought admiringly, but it was certainly bending die truth into some fancy shapes.
“I had intended showing you the school now,” Skorta went on, “but it would be better if I drove you back to your vessel so that you can bring it here.”
“No problem,” Martin said. “My vessel can be moved here without me being on board.”
“There is a problem,” Beth contradicted. “Not an urgent one, so you can let your friend show you its school. A cloud of denser meteorite material is due to arrive in about fifteen hours’ time. According to the computer, the area for twenty miles around your city will be well and truly clobbered, so when I move the lander over there I suggest you excuse yourself politely and get the hell out.”
“The lander’s force shield will protect…” Martin began.
“It will be a very heavy bombardment,” Beth said firmly, “and you will be safer in the hypership. There is something very odd about this Scourge, and the things the computer is telling me about it just don’t make sense. I’d like to go over the data with you.”
Martin did not reply at once because he had followed the Teldin into a tunnel whose walls and ceiling were smooth and completely unlike the roughly chiseled rock surfaces he had encountered earlier. He could see small areas of tiling still adhering to the walls, and many horizontal markings which were thin and pale green in color and which passed through small spots of dull red. He aimed the visual pickup in his helmet at them and paused for a moment so that Beth would receive a clear picture, then hurried after the Teldin.
“Copper wiring and ferrous metal staples holding it in position,” he reported excitedly. “The insulation has rotted away and all that is left are the pale green and red corrosion traces. This is a much older section of the school, dating from the time when they had electrically generated rather than vegetation-produced lighting. That could have been hundreds of years ago.”
Beth sighed. “So you intend staying there until the last possible moment?”
“At least,” Martin said.
They came to an opening whose sides bore corrosion marks which suggested that it had once possessed a metal door. Inside, there was a large, square room rendered small by the presence of about thirty Teldins, who ranged in size from just over one meter to the full adult stature of three meters. The walls were hung with tapestries which were brightly colored, finely detailed, and dealt with various aspects of the Teldin anatomy.
His arrival caused an immediate cessation of work and a lot of untranslatable noises. He was introduced as an off-planet slave gathering information on Teldin teaching methods for its Master. Skorta told them to restrain their natural curiosity and resume work.
It was difficult to distinguish the teacher-in-charge from the adult pupils, Martin found, until he discovered that the more advanced students aided in the teaching process by instructing the less knowledgeable ones. He stopped beside two of the youngest, one of whom was immobilized and rendered speechless by practice splints and a tight, mandible bandage, and asked how long it took for a fractured forearm to heal.
“Thirty-two days on average, Senior,” the young Teldin said promptly, staring at the Federation symbol on Martin’s collar. “Longer if it is a compound or multiple fracture, or if it is sited at a joint or is complicated by severe wounding. If the accompanying wounds are improperly cleansed, putrefaction takes place and the affected limb must be removed.”
Martin estimated the age of the Teldin medical student to be the equivalent of a ten- or eleven-year-old of Earth. “I thank you for this information,” he said, and added, “How long will it be before you are a fully-qualified medical slave?”
Everyone had stopped working again and was making untranslatable noises. Anxiously he went over his question for implied criticisms or hidden insults and could not find any. In an attempt to retrieve the situation he said the first thing that came into his mind.
“I would like to answer some questions about myself and show you my vessel.”
They were all staring at him in absolute silence. It was close on a minute before one young Teldin spoke.
“When, Senior?”
“I do not want to interrupt your study or rest periods,” he said. “Would early tomorrow morning be
