Normally, he remains away from the scene of his hoodling, employing agents to execute it for him. The other, Jamie Buckler, is one such. He has hoodled well for Zeemeister over the years and was recently promoted by him to guard his body.'
My own body was protesting the increased pace at that point, so I was not immediately certain whether the humming in my ears-was the product of a tidal bore in my river of red stuff or the sound of the sinister bird. Ragma removed all doubt.
'They are coming this way,' he said, 'quite rapidly. Are you able to run?'
'I'll try,' I said, forcing myself.
The ground dipped, rose again. Ahead, then, I was able to make out what I took to be their vessel: a squashed bell of dull metal, duller squares that might be ports spotted irregularly about its perimeter, an opened hatch ... My lungs were working like a concertina at a Polish wedding and I felt the first spray of the tide of darkness within my head. I was going to go under again, I knew.
Then came that familiar flicker, as of having taken a step back from reality. I knew that my blood was pooling in my guts, leaving me high and dry, and I resented my subservience to the hydraulics involved. I heard gunshots above the growing roar, as on the soundtrack for a distant show, and even this was not sufficient to draw me back. When your own adrenalin lets you down, who is there left to trust?
I wanted very badly to make it to that hatch and through it. It was not all that distant. I knew now that I would not. An absurd way to die. This near, and not understanding anything ...
'I'm going!' I shouted toward the bounding form at my side, not knowing whether the words really came out that way.
The sounds of gunfire continued, tiny as elfin popcorn. Fewer than forty feet remained, I was certain, as I judge local distances in terms of horseshoe-court lengths. Raising my arms to shield my face, I fell, not knowing whether I had been hit, scarcely able to care, forward, into a smooth blank that canceled the ground, the sound, the trouble, my flight.
Thus, thus, so and thus: awakening as a thing of textures and shadings: advancing and retreating along a scale of soft/dark, smooth/shadow, slick/bright: all else displaced and translated to this: the colors, sounds and balances a function of these two.
Advance to hard and very bright. Fall back to soft and black ...
'Do you hear me, Fred?'-the twilight velvet.
'Yes'-my glowing scales.
'Better, better, better ... '
'What/who?'
'Closer, closer, that not a sound betray ... '
'There?'
'Better, that cease the subvocals ... '
'I do not understand.'
'Later for that. But one thing, a thing to say: Article 7224, Section C. Say it.'
'Article 7224, Section C. Why?'
'If they wish to take you away-and they will-say it. But not why. Remember.'
'Yes, but-'
'Later for that ... '
A thing of textures and shadings: bright, brighter, smooth, smoother. Hard. Clear.
Lying there in my sling during Wakeful Period One:
'How are you feeling now?' Ragma asked.
'Tired, weak, still thirsty.'
'Understandable. Here, drink this.'
'Thanks. Tell me what happened. Was I hit?'
'Yes, you were hit twice. Fairly superficial. We have repaired the damage. The healing should be complete in a matter of hours.'
'Hours? How many have passed since we departed?'
'Three, approximately. I carried you aboard after you fell. We lifted off, leaving your assailants, the continent, the planet, behind. We are in orbit about your world now, but we will be departing it shortly.'
'You must be stronger than you look to have carried me.'
'Apparently so.'
'Where do you intend taking me from here?'
'To another planet-a most congenial one. The name would mean nothing to you.'
'Why?'
'Safety and necessity. You seem to be in a position to provide information that could be very helpful in an investigation with which we are connected. We wish to obtain that information, but there are others who would like to have it also! Because of them, you would be in danger on your own planet. So, for purposes of insuring your safety as well as furthering our inquiry, the simplest thing is to remove you.'
'Ask me. I'm not ungrateful for the rescue. What do you want to know? If it is the same thing Zeemeister and Buckler wanted, though. I'm afraid I can't be of much help.'
'We are operating under that assumption. We believe that the information we require of you exists at an unconscious level, however. The best means of extracting something of that sort is through the offices of a good telepathic analyst. There are many such in the place we will be visiting.'
'How long will we be there?'
'You will remain there until we have completed our investigation.'
'And how long will that take?'
He sighed and shook his head.
'At this point it is impossible to say.'
I felt the soft blackness brush like the tail of a passing cat against me. Not yet! No ... I couldn't just let them haul me off that way for an indefinite leave of absence from everything I knew. It was in that moment that I appreciated the deathbed peeve-loose ends, all the little things that should be wrapped up before you go away: write that letter, settle up those accounts, finish the book on the night table ... If I dropped out at this point in the semester, it would screw me up academically, financially-and who would buy my explanation? No. I had to stop them from taking me away. But the smooth to soft shadings were on the rise once more. I had to be quick.
'I'm sorry,' I managed, 'but that is impossible. I can't go with ... '
'I am afraid that you must. It is absolutely necessary,' he said.
'No,' I said, panicking, fighting against fading before I could settle this. 'No-you can't.'
'I believe a similar concept exists in your own jurisprudence. You call it ‘protective custody.' '
'What about Article 7224, Section C?' I blurted out, feeling my speech slip over into a slur as my eyes fell closed.
'What did you say?'
'You heard me,' I remember muttering. 'Seven ... two ... two ... four. Sec ... tion ... C ... That's why ... '
And then, again, nothing.
The cycles of awareness bore me back-to consciousness or within spitting distance of it-several times more before I stuck at something approaching full wakefulness and filled it with California-watching. It was by degrees that I became aware of the argument that filled the air, obtaining its content in a detached, academic sort of way. They were upset over something that I had said.
Oh yes ...
Article 7224, Section C. It had to do, I gathered, with the removal of intelligent creatures from their home planets without their consent. Part of a galactic treaty to which my rescuers' worlds were signatory, it was the closest thing to an interstellar constitution that they had. There was, however, sufficient ambiguity in the present situation to make for a debatable issue, in that there was also provision for removal without consent for a variety of overriding causes, such as quarantine for species protection, non-military reprisal for violations of certain other provisions, a kind of sensitive catchall for 'interstellar security' and several more along these lines, all of which they discussed and rediscussed at great length. I had obviously touched on a delicate area, especially in light of the recency of their initial contact with Earth. Ragma kept insisting that if they chose one of the exceptions as
