they hold the piloting month by month?
Martel then shouted: 'Honorable Scanners, this is judicial murder.'
No ear heard him. He was cranched, and alone.
None the less, he shouted again: 'You endanger the Confraternity.'
Nothing happened.
The echo of his voice sounded from one end of the room to the other. No head turned. No eyes met his.
Martel realized that as they paired for talk, the eyes of the Scanners averted him.
He saw that no one desired to watch his speech. He knew that behind the cold faces of his friends there lay compassion or amusement. He knew that they knew him to be cranched—absurd, normal, man-like, temporarily no Scanner. But he knew that in this matter the wisdom of Scanners was nothing. He knew that only a cranched Scanner could feel with his very blood the outrage and anger which deliberate murder would provoke among the Others. He knew that the Confratermty endangered itself, and knew that the most ancient prerogative of aw was the monopoly of death. Even the Ancient Nations, in the times shall kill. The States were gone but the Instrumentality remained, and the Instrumentality could not pardon things which occurred within the Earths but beyond its authority. Death in Space was the business, the right of the Scanners: how could the Instrumentality enforce its laws in a place where all men who wakened, wakened only to die in the Great Pain? Wisely did the Instrumentality leave Space to the Scanners, wisely had the Confraternity not meddled inside the Earths. And now the Confraternity itself was going to step forth as an outlaw band, as a gang of rogues as stupid and reckless as the tribes of the unforgiven!
Martel knew this because he was cranched. Had he been haberman, he would have thought only with his mind, not with his heart and guts and blood. How could the other Scanners know?
Vomact returned for the last time to the rostrum: The Committee has met and its will shall be done. Verbally he added: 'Senior among you, I ask your loyalty and your silence.'
At that point, the two Scanners let his arms go. Martel rubbed his numb hands, shaking his ringers to get the circulation back into the cold fingertips. With real freedom, he began to think of what he might still do. He scanned himself: the cranching held. He might have a day. Well, he could go on even if haberman, but it would be inconvenient, having to talk with Finger and Tablet. He looked about for Chang. He saw his friend standing patient and immobile in a quiet corner. Martel moved slowly, so as not to attract any more attention to himself than could be helped.
He faced Chang, moved until his face was in the light, and then articulated:
'What are we going to do? You're not going to let them kill Adam Stone, are you?
Don't you realize what Stone's work will mean to us, if it succeeds? No more Scanners. No more habermans. No more Pain in the Up-and-Out. I tell you, if the others were all cranched, as I am, they would see it in a human way, not with the narrow crazy logic which they used in the meeting. We've got to stop them. How can we do it? What are we going to do? What does Parizianski think? Who has been chosen?'
'Which question do you want me to answer?'
Martel laughed. (It felt good to laugh, even then; it felt like being a man.) 'Will you help me?'
Chang's eyes flashed across Martel's face as Chang answered: 'No. No. No.'
'You won't help?'
'No.'
'Why not, Chang? Why not?'
'I am a Scanner. The vote has been taken. You would do the same if you were not in this unusual condition.'
'I'm not in an unusual condition. I'm cranched. That merely means that I see things the way that the Others would. I see the stupidity. The recklessness. The selfishness. It is murder.'
'What is murder? Have you not killed? You are not one of the Others. You are a Scanner. You will be sorry for what you are about to do, if you do not watch out.'
'But why did you vote against Vomact then? Didn't you too see what Adam Stone means to all of us? Scanners will live in vain. Thank God for that! Can't you see it?'
'No.'
'But you talk to me, Chang. You are my friend?'
'I talk to you. I am your friend. Why not?'
'But what are you going to do?'
'Nothing, Martel. Nothing.'
'Will you help me?'
'No.'
'Not even to save Stone?'
'No.'
'Then I will go to Parizianski for help.'
'It will do you no good.'
'Why not? He's more human than you, right now.'
'He will not help you, because he has the job. Vomact designated him to kill Adam Stone.'
Martel stopped speaking in mid-movement. He suddenly took the stance, / thank you, brother, and I depart.
At the window he turned and faced the room. He saw that Vomact's eyes were upon him. He gave the stance, / thank you, brother, and I depart, and added the flourish of respect which is shown when Seniors are present. Vomact caught the sign, and Martel could see the cruel lips move. He thought he saw the words '... take good care of yourself —'but did not wait to inquire. He stepped backward and dropped out the window.
Once below the window and out of sight, he adjusted his aircoat to maximum speed. He swam lazily in the air, scanning himself thoroughly, and adjusting his adrenal intake down. He then made the movement of release, and felt the cold air rush past his face like running water.
Adam Stone had to be at Chief Downport.
Adam Stone had to be there.
Wouldn't Adam Stone be surprised in the night? Surprised to meet the strangest of beings, the first renegade among Scanners, (Martel suddenly appreciated that it was of himself he was thinking. Martel the Traitor to Scanners! That sounded strange and bad. But what of Martel, the Loyal to Mankind? Was that not compensation? And if he won, he won Luci. If he lost, he lost nothing—an unconsidered and expendable haberman. It happened to be himself. But in contrast to the immense reward, to Mankind, to the Confraternity, to Luci, what did that matter?) Martel thought to himself: 'Adam Stone will have two visitors tonight. Two Scanners, who are the friends of one another.' He hoped that Parizianski was still his friend.
'And the world,' he added, 'depends on which of us gets there first.'
Multifaceted in their brightness, the lights of Chief Downport began to shine through the mist ahead. Martel could see the outer towers of the city and glimpsed the phosphorescent Periphery which kept back the wild, whether Beasts, Machines, or the Unforgiven.
Once more Martel invoked the lords of his chance: 'Help me to pass for an Other!'
Within the Downport, Martel had less trouble than he thought. He draped his aircoat over his shoulder so that it concealed the instruments. He took up his scanning mirror, and made up his face from the inside, by adding tone and animation to his blood and nerves until the muscles of his face glowed and the skin gave out a healthy sweat. That way he looked like an ordinary man who had just completed a long night flight.
After straightening out his clothing, and hiding his tablet within his jacket, he faced the problem of what to do about the Talking Finger. If he kept the nail, it would show him to be a Scanner. He would be respected, but he would be identified. He might be stopped by the guards whom the Instrumentality had undoubtedly set around the person of Adam Stone. If he broke the Nail—But he couldn't! No Scanner in the history of the Confraternity had ever willingly broken his nail. That would be Resignation, and there was no such thing. The only way out, was in the Up-and-Out!
Martel put his finger to his mouth and bit off the nail. He looked at the now-queer finger, and sighed to himself.
He stepped toward the city gate, slipping his hand into his jacket and running up his muscular strength to four times normal. He started to scan, and then realized that his instruments were masked. Might as v>eu take
