Slaves of The Klau

Barch turned to Komeitk Lelianr. 'What do you think of it?'

'It seems loud and emotional.'

'It's the music of our times,' said Barch fervently. 'It reflects our racial drive; it's the best of our contemporary creativeness.'

Komeitk Lelianr leaned forward. 'You appear to think in symbolic images,' she remarked. 'Am I right?'

'I don't know,' replied Barch impatiently. 'It's not important; won't you forget primitive anthropology for awhile?'

Barch saw her eyebrows flicker. 'You do it automatically,' he said bitterly.

'What?'

'Jump into characterizations. Find whatever role works out best at the moment, then get into it.'

She frowned. 'I've never thought of it in quite that way.'

He made an impatient gesture. 'Forget it. Listen to the music. That's why I brought you here.'

Komeitk Lelianr listened. 'Very interesting. But it jars me. It's too forthright, too uncompromising.'

'No, no,' cried Barch, with no very clear idea of what proposition he was contradicting. He spoke on with great intensity, wanting to arouse in her a feeling for the music and, by extension, himself. 'By your time-scale, we're a young people. Your own world is quiet, your people are settled, complacent. Earth is different! This is an exciting time for Earth-the more so since the coming of the Lekthwans. Every day is new, fresh; every day sees something started, progress made toward a goal. We live with this drive, this thrust to the future-a dynamism that speaks in music.'

He waited but Komeitk Lelianr said nothing. Her thoughts were unreadable.

Barch qualified. 'I should say, the spirit of our section of the world. On other continents people live differently, and their music is different. The Chinese consider all our music marching music-jazz, chamber music, hymns, dirges, all of it.'

A waitress approached. 'Order, please?'

'Tom Collins, a pair,' said Barch. He said to Komeitk Lelianr, 'But we are the dominant force, the leaders-or were, until the Lekthwans came.'

She laughed. 'You forgot that for a few moments.'

'Yes. So I did.'

'Why do you tell me all this?'

Barch hesitated, then took the plunge. 'Because I don't consider myself a barbarian. I'm your equal, whether you like it or not. And-'

The waitress placed a pair of tall glasses in front of them. 'Dollar twenty, please.'

Barch dropped money on the tray.

Komeitk Lelianr touched the glass, smelled it gingerly, 'What is this?'

'Fruit juice, carbonated water, ethyl alcohol, sugar.'

'Living matter?'

'What if it is?' snapped Barch. 'Basically, it's carbon, oxygen, hydrogen; what difference does it make where it came from? The fruit is dead now.'

She screwed up her face, sipped. 'It's not unpleasant. Are these glasses sterile?'

'Probably not. That's why they put the alcohol in-to sterilize the glasses.'

'Oh.'

They sat in silence. The band returned to the stand and Barch felt Komeitk Lelianr's dispassionate observation of the music, then an equally dispassionate study of the dancers.

He set his shoulders, leaned forward. 'I'm sorry I brought you out under false pretenses.'

She said wistfully, 'Then there really are none of the ceremonies you described?'

'Perhaps in the middle of Africa.'

'One of the remoter districts?'

'Yes, quite remote,' said Barch sardonically. 'A different race of people entirely, as different from us as-' He was about to add, as we are from you, then stopped short. He drank from the tall green glass.

He pointed to a Negro sitting at a table nearby. 'That man is of African stock.'

'Oh? He seems no different from you except in skin coloring. Does he practice the ceremonies you speak of?'

'No, of course not. He's been born into our society. He does however, sometimes run into unpleasant discrimination.' And he added maliciously, 'Much, I suspect, as Earthers on Lekthwa experience.'

Komeitk Lelianr pursed her lips, turned the tall glass between her fingers. Barch noticed that she had barely tasted the drink. 'Don't you like it?'

She looked down indifferently, sipped at the straws. 'Should I now feel exhilarated?'

'Not unless you drink two or three more.'

She shook her head. 'That's not likely.' She rose to her feet. 'Now we will go.'

Sullenly Barch followed her out to the street, and back to the air-boat. Fighting to keep control of his voice he said, 'If you are interested in sordid spectacles, I could take you to a prize fight or a wrestling match-although I'd prefer not.'

She looked at him reflectively. 'It would embarrass you?'

'Yes. It would embarrass me.'

She shrugged. 'Then we will return to the dome.' She stepped through the hull, into the air-boat.

CHAPTER III

The boat rose into the night, automatically turned back toward Markel's dome, far to the south. San Pablo Avenue became a bright artery, flowing with twinkling headlight corpuscles. Overhead, the sky was luminous, dusted with the glow from a million lights.

The boat flew south across the great central valley. The cities became blurs of lights astern; the sky was dark and bright with stars.

Komeitk Lelianr said softly, 'I can see my native sun, up by that bright star…'

'That's Spica.'

'Up and to the left is a fainter star-Skyl, our sun.'

Barch contemplated the star without interest. 'You sound as if you're homesick.'

She nodded. 'It's very lonely on a strange planet with none of my friends; therefore I seek to bury myself in study.'

Barch lapsed into moody silence.

Suddenly, low ahead, an intense green flash appeared in the sky. Komietk Lelianr jerked up in her seat. A frightened sound came from her throat.

Barch sat up. 'What's the matter?'

'I don't know…' She drove home the speed button.

Shadows fled across the altimeter band. Komeitk Lelianr sat tense, clutching her knees; Barch looked uneasily ahead. Snowy peaks gleamed below; a few moments later Markel's dome appeared, faintly luminescent, peaceful.

The air-boat slowed, dropped, settled into its bay.

Komeitk Lelianr stepped quickly out. Barch followed. On the terrace she froze into a statue. Barch asked anxiously, 'What's the trouble?'

'I don't know. I feel something-bad.'

Barch started around the dark terrace. Fibers of green light glowed in the blue glass under his feet.

Ahead lay something dark. Barch ran forward, the muscles of his throat tight and stiff. He knelt slowly. Claude Darran. Barch stared in astonishment. Cold, dead-unthinkable!

A shape stood behind him: Komeitk Lelianr. Barch rose numbly to his feet. He walked forward; two paces, four- another dark shape. It was small, sprawled carelessly. Behind him he heard horrified gasping sounds.