and where there is a pattern there is a plan. Where there is a plan there is an intent and where there is an intent there are ends to be gained. And when ends are gained someone is the loser. But I see you are uneasy. Evidently you fear discovery. Am I right?»
«I do not care to be killed.»
«I suggest that we repair to my apartment, which is nearby, and then perhaps we will have a chat. I am always eager to learn and possibly in gratitude for a safe exit from this apartment–»
A chime cut him short. He started, moved rapidly to the window, looked up, down. From the window he ran to the door, listened. He motioned to Joe. «Stand aside.»
The chime sounded again–a heavy knuckle rapped at the door. Hableyat hissed under his breath. A scratch, a scrape. The door slid aside.
A tall man with a wide red face and a little beak of a nose strode into the room. He wore a flowing white robe with a cowl and a black-green-and-gold morion atop the cowl. Hableyat slid behind him, executed a complex gesture involving a kick at the back of the man's legs, a clip of the forearm, a wrench at the wrist– and the Druid fell face down on the floor.
Joe gasped, «It's the Thearch himself! We'll be flayed.»
«Come,» said Hableyat, once more a benevolent man of business. They stepped swiftly down the hall. Hableyat slid back his door. «
Hableyat's suite was larger than the chambers of the Priestess Elfane. The sitting room was dominated by a long rectangular table, the top cut from a single slab of polished dark wood inlaid with arabesque copper leaves.
Two Mang warriors sat stiffly on each side of the door–short stocky men, craggy of feature. Hableyat paid them no heed, passed them as if they were inanimate. Noting Joe's inquiring glance, he appeared to observe them for the first time.
«Hypnotized,» he said off-handedly. «So long as I' m in the room or the room is empty they won't move.»
Joe gingerly moved past him into the room, reflecting that he was as open to suspicion here as he was in the Priestess' apartment.
Hableyat seated himself with a grunt, motioned Joe to a chair. Rather than trust himself to a maze of unknown corridors Joe obeyed. Hableyat lay his plump palms flat on the table, fixed Joe with candid eyes.
«You appear to be caught up in an unpleasant situation, Joe Smith.»
«Not necessarily,» said Joe with a forlorn attempt at spirit. «I could go to the Thearch, tell my story and that would be an end to it.»
Hableyat's face quivered as he chortled, opening his mouth like a squirrel. «And then?»
Joe said nothing.
Hableyat slapped the table heartily. «My boy, you are not yet familiar with the Druid psychology. To them killing is the response to almost any circumstance–a casual act like turning out the light on leaving a room. So when you had told your story you would be killed. For no particular reason other than that it is easier to kill than not to kill.» Hableyat idly traced the pattern of a tendril with his yellow fingernail, spoke as if musing aloud.
«Sometimes the strangest organisms are the most efficient. Kyril operates in a manner remarkable for its utter simplicity. Five billion lives devoted to feeding and pampering two million Druids and one Tree. But the system works, it perpetuates itself–which is the test for viability.
«Kyril is a grotesque ultimate of religious dedication. Laity, Druids, Tree. Laity works, Druids conduct the rites, Tree is–is immanent. Amazing! Humanity creates from the same protoplasm the clods of the Laity, the highly-tempered Druids.»
Joe stirred restlessly. «What is all this to me?»
«I merely indicate,» said Hableyat gently, «that your life is not worth the moist spot where I spit to anyone but yourself. What is life to a Druid? See this workmanship? The lives of ten men have been spent on this table. The slabs of marble on the wall–they were ground to fit by hand. Cost? Druids have no awareness of the concept. Labor is free, man-power unlimited.
«Even the electricity which powers and lights the palace is generated by hand in the cellars–in the name of the Tree of Life, where the poor blind souls ultimately hope to reside, serene in the sunlight and wind. The Druids thereby justify the system to their consciences, to the other worlds.
«The Laity knows nothing better. An ounce of meal, a fish, a pot of greens–so they survive. They know no marriage rites, no family, no tradition, not even folklore. They are cattle on a range. They breed with neither passion nor grace.
«Controversies? The Druid formula is simple. Kill both parties and so the controversy is dead. Unassailable– and the Tree of Life looms across the planet, the mightiest promise of life eternal the galaxy has ever known. Pure massive vitality!»
Joe hitched himself forward in his seat, looked to his right at the immobile Mang warriors. To his left, across the deep orange rug, out the window. Hableyat followed his gaze with a quizzical purse to his lips.
Joe said in a tight voice, «Why are you keeping me here? What are you waiting for?»
Hableyat blinked rapidly, reproachfully. «I am conscious of no intent to detain you. You are free to leave any time you wish.»
«Why bring me here in the first place?» demanded Joe.
Hableyat shrugged. «Sheer altruism possibly. If you returned to your quarters now you are as good as dead. Especially after the regrettable intrusion of the Thearch.»
Joe relaxed into the chair. «That's not–necessarily true.»
Hableyat nodded vigorously. «I'm afraid it is. Consider–it is known or will be known, that you took up the black Kelt, which subsequently was driven away by Priestess Elfane and Ecclesiarch Manaolo. The Thearch, coming to his daughter's apartments, perhaps to investigate, perhaps in response to a summons, is attacked. Shortly afterwards the chauffeur returns to his quarters.» He paused, opened plump hands out significantly.
Joe said, «All right then. What's on your mind?»
Hableyat tapped the table with his fingernail. «These are complex times, complex times. You see,» he added confidentially, «Kyril is becoming overpopulated with Druids.»
Joe frowned. «Overpopulated? With two million Druids?»
Hableyat laughed. «Five billion Laity are unable to provide a dignified existence for more. You must understand that these poor wretches have no interest in producing. Their single aspiration is to pass through life as expeditiously as possible so as to take their place as a leaf on the Tree.
«The Druids are caught in a dilemma. To increase production they must either educate and industrialize- thus admitting to the Laity that life offers pleasures other than rapt contemplation–or they must find other sources of wealth and production. To this end the Druids have decided to operate a bank of industries on Ballenkarch. So we Mangs and our highly industrialized world become involved. We see in the Druid plan a threat to our own well being.»
Joe asked with an air of tired patience, «How does this involve
«My job as emissary-at-large,» said Hableyat, «is to promote the interests of my world. To this end I require a great deal of information. When you arrived here a month ago you were investigated. You were traced back as far as a planet of the distant sun Thuban. Before that, your trail eludes us.»
Joe said with incredulous anger, «But you
Hableyat nodded briskly. «Exactly. But it has occurred to me that 'Earth' as a place of origin offers a handy anonymity.» He peered at Joe slyly. «Both for you and Harry Creath.»
Joe took a deep breath. «You know more of Harry Creath than you let me believe.»
Hableyat appeared surprised that Joe should consider this fact exceptional. «Of course. It is necessary for me to know many things. Now this 'Earth' you speak of– is its identity actually more than verbal?» And he eyed Joe inquisitively.
«I assure you it is,» said Joe, heavily sarcastic. «You people are so far out along this little wisp of stars that you've forgotten the rest of the universe.»
