The One was puzzled by this term. Nothing in this Tal’s configuration clarified it, so at last he said, “We are both marked by the truth.”
“Umm.” Tal motioned toward the Bay exit. “This way, please.”
Spider said, “Is this a good idea? Since when do you believe what some alien tells you—especially this story?”
“I don’t … but it sounds like the truth.” Tal’s voice was troubled.
“Maybe he’s an assassin,” said Spider gloomily. “Maybe he just wants to be introduced to the Protector so he can kill him. He’s got wonderful long fingers for strangling, did you notice?”
The One was fluttering his hands in indecision. “I was told to wait here as part of your City’s procedure.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tal. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I don’t worry,” agreed the One at once.
He followed Tal and Spider out of the Transport area.
On the train his two human brothers seemed to wish to keep him away from the other travelers; he cooperated with their desires. It was a pity the plump one was so difficult to read, for he seemed to wish to communicate. The One spoke very slowly and carefully to him.
“They left you behind, did they?” asked Spider, as the streets of the Diamond flew past their windows.
“Yes.”
“Well, what’ve you been doing all this time? Any hobbies?”
The One understood this question, as much as he could, more from Tal’s mind than Spider’s. “I was dead,” he explained.
This caused a silence on Spider’s part. The One hoped he had not been unclear again. “This is a state of nonparticipation,” he begun, but Spider looked at Tal and said, “Dead?”
“I think he means dead in the eyes of his people,” said Tal, although he was by no means sure of that interpretation.
“Oh!” said Spider, and he smiled with relief. He clapped the One on the shoulder, a sign of affection which pleased the One. “Is that all? I’ve been dead myself. It could happen to anybody.”
They led the One from die train to a shining corridor, whose texture and shape gave him great pleasure. From the corridor he was taken to a room with desks and people working and other people sitting in chairs as though they were waiting for something. “Stay here for just one minute,” said Tal. “I’m going to warn Adrian I’m bringing you in. Spider, stay next to him.”
“Right.”
Tal went into the next room, which depressed the One. It was too hard to communicate with this other, and Tal’s aura had an exoticism which pleased the One to watch— the more so since the mark of the Crown was on it.
He stood with Spider, surrounded by this roomful of humans, some of whom were staring at him openly. Their configurations were chaotic. It made him nervous, so he closed his eyes, pretending solitude.
—Well? Is the Awakened One awake?
His eyes flew open. But the words had come, as he knew in his heart, not from one of the humans here but from the other place.
—Brother? he asked.
—Who else?
Joy and relief overcame him, and he began to do a little dance of happiness, there in front of everybody.
—Blessed am I, he sang, for you did not desert me. In the blackness of the tomb, we were together. In the turning of the years, we were together—
—Yes, said his brother. But where are we now?
—What?
—Where are we now? This looks like no tomb that I was shown.
—We are aboard the City of Diamond, my brother. One of the Cities our people built for the humans to aid them in spreading the truth. We are waiting now to speak to their highest person. Is it not wonderful?
—Idiot.
His feet stopped dancing.
Tal came out then and said, “Well, let’s go in and confuse someone else. Are you all right, uh …” When no form of address sprang readily he said, “You look a little unwell.”
The One’s head was down, and he felt miserable. Already he had done something wrong.
“He was dancing a minute ago,” said Spider.
Tal shrugged. “We’ll drop it in Adrian’s lap for now. We’ve got enough to do before Blackout.”
They escorted him inside.
The One sat in the polished wooden chair in Adrian’s office. The surface of the chair spoke to him of life that was once free, of the long unchanging configurations of trees, now a corpse in the service of comfort. It was the way of things; the One noted it but was not disturbed by it.
Adrian Mercati had hold of the arms of the chair and was staring down into his face.
Adrian’s aura, whatever it had been was totally subsumed by the violet flickering of the Crown. It was obvious that he had used It recently. He bore the pressure well, though—indeed, he seemed unaware of it.
“He doesn’t match the pictures,” said Adrian. “What do you think?”
The three of them stared at the One, who shifted his feet nervously. The chair was high for him, and his toes just reached the floor if he stretched. His eyes were ridged, but without brows; his skin was tinged with bluish gray, but that was temporary; his lips were the same color. “For one thing, he’s smaller,” said Adrian. “And his skin’s too blue. And he looks—I don’t know, he looks more human than the Curosa did.”
Well, of course, that was true. Like his brothers, his features came together in a very humanoid gestalt. And the way his mouth quirked and his eyes moved were all expressive, in the human way of things. That was the way it should be.
“He’s got hair, too,” pointed out Tal, and so he did— sparse, but present.
“Sir and brother,” said the One to Adrian, “it’s you whom I’ve come to help. I’m so proud, so admiring, that you’ve grown up to use the Crown. Although—” He wondered if it were polite to say so, but from the chaotic mental configurations he’d passed on the way here, he was not entirely sure that using the Crown was a good idea.
He paused, and Adrian turned to Tal. “I
