The Totems of Abydos

CHAPTER 6





“Those are Pons, over there, in their camp,” said Rodriguez, pulling on one of the ropes, one of two attached to the mud sled, purchased through the hostel this morning, before light, their luggage now on it.

“They are small,” said Brenner.

“They are amongst the slightest, most trivial, most backward organisms in the galaxy,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner nodded. Their simplicity, and primitiveness, might make them a trove for the researches of the anthropologist. To be sure, several of the most advanced cultures, too, in their depth and complexity, promised exotic fields of study, but grants for the study of the safer ones, usually reserved, for example, for those well-fixed in credits, who could afford the appropriate disbursements, bribes, and such, or those highly placed in a field’s or party’s bureaucracy, were not available to the likes of Rodriguez and Brenner, and grants pertaining to the study of the more perilous ones often languished for want of applicants. More than one female anthropologist, for example, had vanished without trace on such a world. It was rumored that one had been found, light years away, months later, in a slave market. It was said that another anthropologist had bought her, and kept her. Anthropologists, of course, need not be concerned with simple cultures, no more than the biologist must content himself with the study of protozoa. On the other hand, Rodriguez, and others, including Brenner, found cultural protozoa, so to speak, of great interest, and, who knew, perhaps one might, if one could understand them, truly understand them, even things so simple, perhaps one might then be better equipped, in time, to essay more profitable inquiries into the nature of more complex cultural structures, into the life of, so to speak, more complex organisms. Brenner thought that the mud sled was not a bad idea, particularly now that he saw how small the Pons were. Surely they would prove unlikely porters. And he, of course, was less than enthusiastic about carrying suitcases, or even encumbering packs, through dangerous forests. It had been enough of a bother to get their goods from the depot to the hostel. To be sure, the load might have been distributed over various porters, if the Pons were willing to serve as such, but Rodriguez was not sanguine about too open a transportation of a miscellany which included valuables such as several bottles of Heimat and two radios, not to mention a forbidden weapon, the disguised Naxian rifle.

It was raining, again. It was a little after dawn.

They drew the sled across the mud, and up, onto the plank road that led to the fence, the gate, and the tower, where the operator was stationed.

The Pons had apparently seen them, for they had emerged from their tiny, tentlike shelters and were hurrying about, seemingly conversing amongstst themselves.

The fence was actually a double fence, with the field between the two sets of wires, so that rational organisms would not be likely to enter the area of the field while it was active. There were postings frequently about, as well, on both sides of the double fence, in various languages, and in one of the common signs supposedly interpretable by all, or most, visually oriented rational creatures, a circle with a jagged line within it, presumably symbolizing lightning, or the flow of some strong current. Occasionally certain organisms, scions of diverse phyla, some of them distinctly unpleasant, for example, often poisonous or carnivorous, had been found dead within the fence. That now was seldom the case. Even the Norwegian rat, as it was called, now endemic on several worlds, the origin of the name a matter of debate amongstst zoologists, manifested the rudiments of a primitive tradition, older animals, for example, warning younger animals away from substances which in the past had been found harmful.

Rodriguez and Brenner hauled the sled along the planks to the foot of the tower, only back a little from the first metal-link gate, it set at the interior perimeter of the double fence, it, too, metal-linked. The top of the gate, like that of the opposite gate, and the fence, on both sides, was strung with coiled blades of metal. Rodriguez waved upward to the operator, and lifted his papers. The matter of their passage, of course, had been arranged. Still, as a matter of course, the papers would be checked. I must not make this sound as though those of Company Station were unusually security minded. They were not. It was rather that it was thought to be important to keep track of what went through the fence, and, in particular, what went through in the nature of equipment. It could be company property. It was not difficult, for most in Company Station, to go back and forth when they wished. Company Station, for most at any rate, was not a prison. Too, it might be mentioned, Pons occasionally frequented Company Station. Horemheb, who was, of course, a Pon, as well as others, had even, upon occasion, spent some time there. Also, as I have suggested, a certain amount of trading and, presumably, a sort of primarily asymmetrical cultural exchange obtained between them and the station. Indeed, had it not been so, the arrangements for the expedition of Rodriguez and Brenner, such as it was, might have been difficult to arrange. Certain of the Pons, at least, too, it should be mentioned, it was conjectured in virtue of these cultural contacts, were conversant in the most frequently employed language at Company Station, which was, incidentally, fortunately, the tongue native both to Rodriguez and Brenner. Our friends, then, anticipated little difficulty in initially communicating with the Pons. In this fashion a great deal of time might be saved, which otherwise would be consumed in learning the language, even as a child might learn it, beginning with rudimentary ostensions, having to do with material objects, and such. It was not that they did not anticipate learning the language of the Pons. It was rather that they thought this familiarity on the part of at least some Pons with their own tongue would facilitate and expedite their efforts. Brenner looked back toward the low, gray, squat buildings of Company Station. He wanted to see something there, and he did not want to see it. The buildings seemed bleak in the rain, in the dim light. The nearest was some hundred yards back, away from the fence. He felt in his pocket, for the small package he had wrapped and placed there.

Brenner turned about, again, to look outward, through the fence.

The operator, not guard, had descended from the tower, some fifteen Commonworld feet tall, which gave him a view along the fence for some hundreds of yards on both sides, and then out, for another hundred yards or so, to the margin of the forest. He took the papers from Rodriguez and, holding them against the side of the tower, initialed them. He and Rodriguez then exchanged some remarks, many of them good-humored and rough, and some of which Brenner found crude and embarrassing. Such, Brenner supposed, with a twinge of envy, passes for camaraderie amongst boors. Amongstst these diverse observations were several on Pons, not all of which, as the reader may have suspected, were complimentary. The operator, it seemed, doubtless a provincial, or outworlder, had not received an appropriate conditioning, one which would have encouraged him to give certain principles priority over the apparent evidence of his senses, for example, with respect to the intellectual, moral, and social equivalence, once suitably defined, and properly understood, of all life forms, from the flatworm to the meditative, polyplike megabregma, forty percent of whose weight was cerebral tissue. Whereas perhaps there was an excuse for the operator, a company employee, and doubtless a simple, ill-educated outworlder, to manifest inappropriate discourse and express discouraged views, what excuse could there be, Brenner wondered, for Rodriguez? Clearly Rodriguez was not stupid. It is always unsettling when one who is obviously not stupid disagrees with one. One may then, of course, revise one’s opinion. Perhaps he is stupid, after all. Or, too, one might more charitably suppose a lack of information, insanity, or perhaps iniquity. Iniquities and insanities, of course, go in and out of fashion. If one wishes to reassure oneself that one is right, of course, it is easy to do so. One need only ask those who agree with one. No, Rodriguez did not respect the Pons. It was only too obvious that he did not take them seriously, that he held them in contempt. On the other hand, he did regard them as of anthropological interest, and perhaps even, for some reason, particularly so. As I have made clear earlier, Rodriguez was not a champion of value-free science. He had too many values. What was important to him was to understand the data, and to theorize about it intelligently, and such. Nothing in this approach requires that he arrive at politically acceptable results, or even that he approve of what he learns.

The Pons, there were several of them, perhaps thirty or forty, it was hard to tell, as they milled about, had clustered a few yards outside the outer gate.

Brenner glanced back toward Company Station. It was a little lighter now. The planks of the road leading to the gate were slick with rain. He again saw only the buildings, the mud, the sky, the rain.

Rodriguez joined him, thrusting the wet papers back inside his jacket. He then waved to the Pons outside the gate, affably. It seemed they did not dare to return his greeting.

“What are they wearing?” asked Brenner. It surely did not seem typical raingear, though, to be sure, it might have been closely woven.

“Robes, smocks,” said Rodriguez.

“On their heads, over their heads,” said Brenner.

“It appears to be some sort of hood,” said Rodriguez.

“It is some sort of ritual veiling?” asked Brenner. He had not, in his research on Pons, not that a great deal was known of them, come on anything of this sort. It was a detail which certainly would not be likely to be omitted, even from a superficial account.

“I do not think so,” said Rodriguez.

“Perhaps they are timid, frightened, pathologically shy,” suggested Brenner.

“Perhaps,” said Rodriguez.

“Are there females amongstst them?” asked Brenner. The clothing of Pons, he had gathered from his reading, and from certain drawings, as there had appeared, oddly enough, to be no film records, or even photographs, of Pons, as that of many parts of the home world, was designed to minimize, or conceal, sexual differences, this having to do with the political desiderata of personistic neuterism.

“Probably not in this bunch,” said Rodriguez. To be sure, it was difficult to tell.

The operator had now switched a red light on at the top of the tower, making it clear to all that the current was still on, and that the field was active. The switching from red to green, in color codes the origin of which was lost in antiquity, would indicate deactivation. Green would remain lit while the field remained deactivated. Its flashing would indicate the proximity of activation. The switch from a flashing green to a red, which would be sustained for a short time, indicated reactivation. Then the red light, too, would be extinguished, its illumination being unnecessary given the presumption of activation, the presumed normal condition of the field, and the posting of the area. If one were in doubt as to the activation of the field, of course, there were simple ways in which its condition might be ascertained. For example, one might toss a stick between the fences. If nothing happened, the field was not active. If, on the other hand, the stick seemed to be caught, as if it were lodged in a wall of water, and began to twist, and then, in an instant, burst apart, crackling, and flaming, this would indicate that the field was active.

“They must be terribly shy,” said Brenner.

“I think it is rather that they are secretive,” said Rodriguez.

“I wonder what they look like,” said Brenner.

“We are going to find out,” said Rodriguez. He waved again to the Pons.

“I do not understand,” said Brenner.

“I do not like dealing with people who wear masks,” said Rodriguez.

“Why?” asked Brenner.

“Masks may conceal fangs,” he said.

He again waved affably at the Pons, who regarded them, clearly alert, clearly aware of them, but refraining from any explicit reciprocation of Rodriguez’s overture.

Brenner was uneasy. “You will not do anything foolish?” he asked.

“We must establish our footing with them,” said Rodriguez.

“If they are concerned with secrecy, and such,” said Brenner, “how is it that we are here? It seems unlikely they would simply open their lives, or culture, to us, if they commonly conceal it with such care.”

“Doubtless they want something from us,” said Rodriguez.

“What?” asked Brenner.

“Probably gifts, and such,” said Rodriguez. He had brought, of course, the customary trinkets, beads, ribbons, mirrors, and such, with which those of his species were wont to deal with, and impress, certain other life forms, which, in spite of their indubitable equivalence, might prefer colored glass to the abstractions of credits.

“The light is green,” said Brenner.

The two gates then slid back.

Rodriguez picked up a pebble and tossed it between the gates of the double fence. He was not the sort of fellow to trust to signals which might be deceptive, perhaps for so trivial a reason as a fault in wiring.

Brenner turned about, to look back toward the buildings of Company Station.

“Why are you looking back?” asked Rodriguez.

“No reason,” said Brenner.

“Look forward,” said Rodriguez. “Not back.”

Brenner did not respond to him.

“Did you sleep well?” inquired Rodriguez.

Brenner did not respond.

“How was the brunette?” he asked.

Brenner did not respond.

“She looked well on a chain,” said Rodriguez.

“So, too, did the blonde,” said Brenner, irritably.

“They all do,” granted Rodriguez. He then turned about and waved to the Pons, to enter through the gate.

“What are you doing?” asked Brenner.

“We have drawn the sled far enough,” said Rodriguez. “They can pull it from here.” Then he turned again to the Pons. “Here!” he called. “Sled! Sled! Pull! Pull! Hurry! Hurry!”

Brenner looked back again. He caught his breath. He thought, between the buildings, he caught sight of a small figure hurrying toward them, wrapped in a cloak.

“Here!” called Rodriguez to the Pons. They then, first two or three at a time, and then the others, together, like domesticated animals, came through the gates. Some of them looked upward, at the operator, who doubtless to them was a figure of considerable authority. He waved them through.

Brenner could now see clearly, through the lightly falling rain, that a small figure, indeed, was approaching them, hurrying through the mud, bundled in a cloak. Her feet and calves were bare.

Rodriguez was pointing to the ropes and communicating with the tiny figures now about them, trying to convey his desires to them.

One or two of them were poking at the cases and bundles on the sled.

“No!” said Rodriguez, pointing rather to the ropes.

Brenner felt in his jacket pocket for the small package he had placed there.

The small figure had now changed its direction a little, as had Rodriguez and Brenner earlier, the mud being deep in its path, apparently to reach the more secure footing of the plank road. Then it was on the surface of the road. The mud had come up several inches on her calves. She had had to hold the cloak a bit high, to a point just below her knees, that its hem not drag in the mud. Brenner had not objected to this glimpse of her well-turned calves. She now stood on the plank road, some yards from him. She continued to hold the cloak high. She could not lower it, of course, even on this surface, lest it be soiled from the mud on her legs. Again, of course, Brenner had no objection to this.

She stood there.

Brenner did not, of course, rush to her. He stood there, regarding her. He had grasped last night that it was, for most practical purposes, she who must come to him, that it is the female who must approach, and present herself to, the male. To be sure, she was still a free woman, at least in point of law. The woman under contract, for example, is not free to utter formulas of self-embondment. Being under contract, she is not at liberty to unilaterally alter her status. Such would be in clear violation of the rights of the contract holder. As a technical point, which might be of interest, if the contract is not paid off within a certain period, varying from contract to contract, the woman ceases to be under contract and becomes property, to be disposed of then as the contract holder may desire.

Brenner took a step or two toward the figure. She was, after all, a free woman.

She stood there, regarding him.

But he did not move more closely to her. Even though she might be free, she was, after all, a female.

It seemed she would move more closely toward him, but then she hesitated.

Brenner noted that there was a cloth wrapped about her left ankle, apparently to shield the lock, chain, and disk, to protect them from the mud. Yesterday, he recalled, in the street, when they had collided with one another, she had not been wearing the chain and disk.

Behind him Brenner could hear Rodriguez ordering Pons about.

Brenner wondered why the woman had come to the vicinity of the gate. He wondered if she might come with them for a bit, outside the gate.

There were streaks on her face. Brenner did not know if these were tears, or from the rain.

Brenner became aware of some Pons gathered about him, though he now stood back on the road, away from Rodriguez, away from the sled. He pushed them a bit away. Two or three of them looked up at him, their eyes peering inquisitively, too, it seemed, anxiously, through the holes in the hoods. The Pons were short, their heads on the whole coming only a bit above his belt. One of them pulled on his jacket, looking up at him. It seemed they were eager for him to come along, that he accompany them. Brenner pushed the Pon away.

“Good,” Rodriguez was saying, behind him. Brenner gathered that he was making progress with the Pons, that he was succeeding in communicating with them. He was enlisting them, or, perhaps better, impressing them, in the matter of drawing the sled. He was determined they prove useful. To be sure, what he wanted would not require great intelligence to fathom. On the other hand, Brenner did not know what the intelligence of the Pons might be. He doubted that it was particularly high, except, of course, that, whatever it was, it would count, in its type, as being the equivalent of any intelligence existing in any galaxy, or yet to be detected in any galaxy, this having to do with the equivalence of all life forms. Brenner hoped that they would have at least the intelligence of bright children.

Another Pon tugged on his jacket.

“Go away!” said Brenner. Then he said, “I’m sorry.” It was bad enough that Rodriguez might contaminate the data. He did not want to risk the same thing.

Yes, the woman’s face was wet. Surely it must be from the rain.

Why had she come, Brenner wondered. She has come for her pastry, he thought. That is why she has come. She had come for her pastry. He felt the package in his pocket.

“We are ready,” called Rodriguez.

He thought the woman sobbed, and put out her hand.

Brenner felt he should apologize to her for last night. How shamefully he had treated her! He had not treated her, at least not always, as he should have, as a same. Indeed, unaccountably, astoundingly, shamefully, he had betrayed his own conditioning program, that which had been imposed upon him from childhood. Needless to say Brenner, predictably, had experienced a good deal of misery and guilt this morning, at least after leaving the establishment of the zard. After all, you could not really expect his conditioning program to sit idly by and languish in its own neglect, and, indeed, it had not long delayed in exacting its revenge. On the other hand, Brenner had not suffered as much as certain individuals might have hoped, which such individuals might have regarded as an additional defect on his part.

“Tell her to get her ass back to her room,” called Rodriguez.

She trembled there, standing in the rain, a few feet away, barefoot on the planks of the road. She was then looking past Brenner, presumably toward Rodriguez. She feared him, of course. He was the sort of man, and she must have known others, particularly in a place such as Company Station, who would not hesitate to enforce his will on a woman, even with blows. Then she looked to Brenner. He did not order her away. In this, small, and vulnerable, trembling, her face stained with tears or rain, clutching the cloak about her, she seemed to take courage.

They looked at one another.

Brenner supposed she wished her pastry.

Some Pons were about. Brenner heard a squeak of the wooden runners of the sled on the planks. It had apparently moved a few inches. “That’s it,” said Rodriguez.

Suddenly, clutching the cloak about her, she hurried to Brenner.

“Why have you come?” he asked.

“You unchained me this morning,” she smiled, half laughing through what seemed, unaccountably, tears. “Nor did you return me to my room.”

“Oh,” said Brenner.

“The rooms have no handles on the inside,” she said. “They cannot be opened from within.”

“And that is why you have come?” he said.

“Of course,” she laughed.

Brenner gathered that the rooms, doubtless stoutly walled and doored, must be, in effect, cells. He supposed that the maids at the hostel might have similar rooms. Perhaps this was appropriate enough for women under contract. There would doubtless be a device which, if engaged, doubtless a lock device, would prevent the closing of the door, for the convenience of coming and going during the day. Thus, there would be times at which the door could not be closed, or at least fully, and, when it was closed, could not be opened from the inside. In this fashion the woman would be, in effect, denied privacy, in the sense that she could not close her door, or granted it at the option of the contract holder, at the price of her own incarceration, an incarceration which, of course, with its attendant privacy, was again at the option of the contract holder, or his agents. Brenner did not think that in the case of the zard’s establishment there would be surveillance devices in the room. To be sure, there might be an observation portal in the door, or such. Whereas this might seem to show the free female too little respect, it is well to understand the extraordinary dignity that this affords to her, in contrast, say, with the slave, who, for example, might be kept in a barred kennel.

“Where is the blonde?” asked Brenner.

“Your friend left her chained to the bed, spread-eagled,” she said, “too, chained by the neck, as you had me.”

Her eyes clouded.

“What is wrong?” asked Brenner.

“Apparently with the permission of our contract holder, he administered a releaser to her.”

Brenner looked puzzled.

“It is quite possible she is pregnant,” she said.

“I see,” said Brenner. “Does she want money? Does she want credits?”

“Things have been arranged between your friend and the zard,” she said.

“The appropriate credits have been punched?” asked Brenner.

“Apparently,” she said.

“She will bear the child?” asked Brenner.

“That or die,” she said. “The zard reveres life.”

“As she is free,” said Brenner, “the child, if any, would be free.”

“If she proves pregnant and comes to term, her embondment, if any, is not to take place until after the delivery.”

“And provisions have been made for the child?”

“It seems so,” said the woman.

This account interested Brenner. To be sure, he did not doubt but what Rodriguez, here and there, might have sired one offspring or another, on one world or another, perhaps even in similar circumstances.

“Why have you come here?” asked Brenner. “Is it because you want credits?”

“No!” she said.

“I have told you I cannot afford your contract,” he said.

“I do not want you to buy my contract!” she said, angrily.

“Why have you come?” he asked.

She put down her head. “What you did to me last night,” she said. “What you made me feel!”

“Naturally,” said Benner, irritably. “I apologize to you for how I treated you. Surely it was inappropriate, as we are sames.”

“We are not sames!” she said. “You are a man! I am a woman!”

“I apologize,” he said.

“Do not apologize!” she exclaimed.

“I am sorry if I demeaned you,” he said.

“It is now that you are demeaning me!” she said.

Several of the Pons now crowded about them. Brenner, not politely, brushed some of them back. Their eyes seemed inquisitive through the holes in the hoods. She did not seem surprised at the proximity of the Pons. She had, apparently, seen their likes in Company Station before. For most practical purposes, she ignored them. It was easy to overlook them, given their tiny size, their nondescript garb. They, on the other hand, seemed to find her an item provoking intense curiosity. They would look from Brenner to the woman, and then back again. Brenner scarcely registered this, but, as he did, he supposed that they were not that familiar with human females. At Company Station most of their contacts would be with males, of one species or another.

Brenner was curious to know what she might be wearing under the cloak. Too, he was somewhat irritated by her demeanor. For one of these reasons, or both, or perhaps, too, because he was not really the same this morning as he had been the preceding morning, he took in hand the edges of her cloak, where they were about her throat, and, moving his hands apart, drew them to the side. She put down her head and turned it to the left. She was not now in the dramatic, sensuous, so revealing, so provocative pleasure silks of the preceding evening, but in a brown work dress, simple, plain, coarsely woven, which came to a bit above her knees. In it, she would doubtless address herself to numerous domestic labors, cooking, cleaning, laundering, and such, shared with her fellow contractees in the zard’s establishment. Brenner had no doubt that women under contract, on the whole, particularly in an establishment such as the zard’s, would be well worked. Then in the late afternoon and early evening they could transform themselves into compliant, perfumed objects of desire. Even in the brown garb Brenner found her attractive, the contrast of it against her flesh at the neckline, and the way in which the turns of her delicious body were hinted at, and not at all obscurely, within that coarse cloth’s confines.

“Please, not before them,” she said.

Brenner smiled to himself. What interest could the Pons have in such a thing? To them would she not be merely a piece of meat, and merely meat, meaningless meat, and not meat in the sense in which slavers, or brutal, lusting men, might laughingly, in rude humor, use such an expression of, say, women chained naked in markets or lying helpless, stripped and collared, at their feet. To be sure, they might appreciate that Brenner might see her with desire, that he, as she was a female of his species, might find her of interest. The Pons, to be sure, were looking upon her. On the other hand, they seemed to look upon many things with curiosity, with inquisitiveness and wonder. They seemed a simple folk. It amused Brenner that she would feel shy before them. On the other hand, he supposed she, and other women, might feel that way, just as they might feel that way before children. They might be embarrassed to be revealed before them. It might not seem fitting to them. After all, it is not to children, nor to Pons, that such as they belong.

Brenner did not close her cloak.

“I thought last night that you were bold,” she smiled. “I see now that I was not mistaken.”

Brenner drew shut her cloak, and she held it together, about her throat.

They looked into one another’s eyes.

The Pons, Rodriguez, the opened gates, the operator, the light, green on the summit of the tower, might not have existed.

“I’m sorry,” said Brenner.

“Do not be sorry,” she said.

“About last night,” he said.

“Never be sorry!” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Because you did what you wanted?” she asked.

Brenner was silent.

“Why should you not do what you want?” she asked. “Why should you always do what others want?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Because you did not do what some anonymous, impersonal other wanted? Because, perhaps for the first time, you behaved in accordance with your real self, not some false self, one imposed upon you from the outside, one taught to you as your own?”

Brenner was silent.

“Can you not see that one generation perpetuates its tortures upon the next, and that that is part of the torture, that the next, too, must be tortured?”

“It is hard to know how to live,” said Brenner.

“I do not think it is so hard,” she said. “Cannot you listen to your heart, to your blood?”

“There is reason,” said Brenner.

“Reason is empty in itself,” she said. “It is an instrument, a tool. It can be put to many uses.”

Brenner was angry.

“It can be used as readily to thwart life as fulfill it, as readily in the defense of pathology as in the pursuit of health. Do not confuse its employment in the service of negativity with its own nature. Reason is a compass. At your disposal it places paths to an infinity of possible destinations. It itself does not tell you on which path to embark. It in itself cannot decide your direction. That you must decide yourself.”

“Some things are more reasonable than others,” said Brenner.

“Surely,” she said, “with respect to given ends. If you wish to frustrate, starve, and deny yourself, then it is reasonable to behave in one fashion. If you wish to fulfill yourself it is reasonable to behave in another fashion.”

Brenner did not respond to her.

Surely he had thought such thoughts often enough to himself. Indeed, he was weary of advocating and defending positions which had come to seem absurd to him. Why should he listen to such things from her, he asked himself. Why should he not simply put her to his feet?

“But it is surely easy enough to tell that what you have been taught is wrong!” she said.

Brenner was silent.

“If torture cannot make that clear,” she said, “what could?”

“I must be going,” said Brenner, angrily.

“I do not even know your name,” she cried.

“It is not important,” said Brenner. “We shall never see one another again.”

“Do you want to know my name?” she asked.

“Doubtless there is something the zard calls you,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “but it is in his own language, and I do not know its meaning, nor can I even pronounce it.”

“You respond quickly enough to it, I would suppose,” said Brenner.

“Yes!” she said. “I do!”

So, too, thought Brenner, slaves learn quickly enough to respond, and immediately, to the names which, for their master’s convenience, or pleasure, are put upon them.

“Do you not want to know my name?” she asked.

As she was free, she would have a legal name, a name in her own right, of course, not a name dependent on the decisions of a master.

“No,” said Brenner.

Tears sprang anew to her eyes.

“It is better that way,” said Brenner. In this fashion he might forget her the more easily. Too, not knowing her name would make it more difficult, or even impossible, to find her, or trace her, should he weaken. He must never see her again. He must never want to see her again. He told himself he must be like iron. He must regard her as only the meaningless occasion of an evening’s trivial pleasure. That was best. After all, was she not nothing, or next to nothing? Was she not only a female under contract? And had he not, even, had her on a chain?

“I do not know your name!” she said.

“I did not tell it to you,” he said.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What is your name?”

“It is unimportant,” he said.

“I see,” she sobbed.

“Come along,” said Rodriguez.

“You did such things to me,” she said. “You made me feel such things!”

Brenner was silent.

“And now you will not so much as tell me your name?” “No,” he said.

“We are ready,” said Rodriguez.

“What are you wearing under the brown dress?” asked Brenner.

“Nothing,” she said, bitterly.

“I did not think so,” he said.

“The zard does not permit us such frills,” she said.

Brenner smiled.

“I see that pleases you.”

“Of course,” he said.

“Return for me!” she cried.

“No,” said Brenner.

“Tell me who you are!”

“No,” he said.

“Oh!” she said, suddenly, pulling back from a Pon, who had been down on all fours, with one or two others, looking at her ankle, that with the cloth wrapped about the chain and disk. It had put its small hands on the cloth, as though to peep under it. “Get away!” she wept. She kicked, freeing her ankle from the small, inquisitive grasp. It scrambled back, quickly, like a small animal, and looked up at her. It was blinking, this clearly discernible through the apertures in the hood. Brenner hoped it was not disturbed. The others about, too, had drawn back, timidly. “Go away!” she said.

“Don’t frighten them!” said Brenner, angrily. “Stand still!”

She looked up at him, angrily, but obeyed.

“It is all right,” he said to the Pons, soothingly. He supposed at least one or two of them might understand him. Hopefully the tone of his voice might reassure them, if nothing else.

“I do not want them to touch me!” she said. “They are tiny, nasty creatures.”

“They are kindly, benign, social, gregarious, inquisitive creatures,” said Brenner. “We can learn much from them. Do not frighten them.”

How angry she was!

He did not want the Pons to associate those of his species with violence toward them, or with contempt for them. They must understand that he, at least, regarded them as wonderful life forms, and equivalent to, and wonderful like, all other life forms, regardless of what they might be, whether ponderous megabregmas, wonderful in their way, as what they were, megabregmas, or the two-foot-long, suction-disked blood slugs of Chios, which were wonderful in their way, as what they were, two-foot-long, suction-disked Chian blood slugs. Such insights had figured first in the teachings of mystics, managing to overcome the difficulties inherent in communicating the contents of ineffable experiences, but had later been discovered to be self-evident, at least to minds capable of detecting the self-evidence in question. It was well, too, that these things were self-evident, as they did not seem to be evident in other ways.

“Stand still,” said Brenner.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Brenner looked at her, sharply. He wondered if she were being ironic. But it did not seem so. She probably wants her pastry, he thought. That is why she has come. She does not wish to risk losing it.

“It is all right,” said Brenner to the Pons, soothingly. “It is all right.”

She looked away from Brenner. The Pons crept closer, again, to her ankle.

“They are merely curious,” he said.

“Surely they have seen such things before,” she said.

“Perhaps,” said Brenner. “I do not know.”

“I do not like them to touch me,” she said.

“They do not even understand such things,” he said.

“I do not know,” she said. “I do not know.”

He saw her suddenly shudder a little. The Pon, doubtless, had again touched the cloth at her ankle.

“Steady,” said Brenner.

Brenner looked down. The Pon had unwound the cloth from about her ankle and was gazing closely, inquisitively, at the chain and disk. He turned the disk from one side to the other, and then, carefully, others watching, as well, replaced the cloth.”

“You see,” said Brenner. “They were merely curious. Too, you note they have put things back exactly the way they were. No harm is done.”

“Let us be on our way,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner turned half about.

“Wait!” she said.

He turned back to face her. Of course he had forgotten her pastry!

“Do not leave me!” she said. “Not like this!”

“You can come with us through the fence, for a way,” he said. Perhaps he would make her wait a little for her pastry, or follow them for a time, not certain as to whether or not it would be given to her. To be sure, he did not wish her to accompany them into the forest, or far into it, for that might prove dangerous. Men from Company Station, he had learned, seldom entered it, unless armed. He supposed it probable that even the operator kept some sort of weapon in the gate house. After all, something unwelcome might appear at the gate if it were open, particularly at night.

“I am under contract,” she said. “I cannot go through the gate. It is not permitted to me!”

Yes, that makes sense, thought Brenner. Contracted women would not be coming and going as they pleased. That would not do at all. To some, it seemed, then, such as the brunette, under contract to the zard, this place, Company Station, did constitute a sort of prison. The maids at the hostel, too, he supposed, would not be permitted to exit through the gate without authorization, no more than, say, company property which, for most practical purposes, if he could believe Rodriguez, they were. To be sure, these provisions might be as much in their own best interests as in those of their contract holders. The forests were dangerous. Too, where would they go in them? The only port of exit on this lonely, outflung world was at Company Station. And, too, many of them at least, could be identified on either side of the fence by their chains and disks. To be sure, their plights were not as hopeless as those of slaves, whose very bodies were commonly marked. Brenner looked at the woman, and then down at her ankle. The first time he had seen her, yesterday, out in the mud and rain, he recalled she had not worn the chain and disk.

“Do not leave me!” she wept. “Remain here! Stay! Earn money! Buy my contract! It is for sale!”

“Do not be absurd,” said Brenner.

“It is not impossible!” she said. “Here there are lucrative posts for free men! You earn out-world pay! I am sure you could buy my contract! I am sure the zard will sell it!”

“You are being ridiculous,” said Brenner, angrily.

“Do you not like me?” she asked.

“You have pleasing curves,” he said.

“I love you!” she said.

“That is absurd,” said Brenner.

“I had rather be a constant joy to one man than a convenience, or a transient pleasure, to many!”

“You do not care for me,” said Brenner. “You merely wish to escape your contract.”

“No,” she said. “I love you!”

“That is absurd,” he said.

“And what is to become of me, other than eventual bondage on some far world?” she asked.

“You would look well, serving in a G-string and collar,” said Brenner.

“In yours!” she said. “In yours! Do you not understand, as I do, that I am your rightful slave, that you are you are my rightful master?”

“You are a free woman,” said Brenner.

“In my heart I am your slave,” she wept.

“I know why you have come,” said Brenner. “I am only surprised that it means so much to you.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“The zard, I gather,” said Brenner, “does not know you are here.”

“No,” she said, puzzled, backing away a step. “He does not.”

“Yesterday, when we first met,” Brenner explained, “you did not wear the chain and disk outside, in the rain and mud. The zard, it seems, did not wish it dirtied. If you were on an errand for him now, or had his permission to leave the tavern, in such weather, I would suppose he would have again removed it.”

“Doubtless,” she said.

“Perhaps the cloth will protect it,” said Brenner.

“It is my hope that it will do so,” she said.

“I suggest that you hurry back to the tavern before your absence is detected.”

“Please do not leave me!” she wept.

“What you really want is clear to me,” said Brenner. “You need not cover it with so elaborate a pretense.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“What will be done with you, if you are apprehended by the zard, outside the establishment without permission?”

“I do not know,” she said. “I suppose I will be stripped, and chained to a post in the back yard, and kept there for a day or two, in the cold, in the rain and mud. Doubtless I will be whipped, such things.”

“You are bold to come here,” said Brenner.

“I love you,” she said.

“I am only surprised that so small a thing means so much to you.”

“Even if my love be no more than that of a slave, do not scorn it,” she said.

“Do not embarrass me,” said Brenner, “so prating of love.”

“What you did to me!” she said. “What you made me feel!”

“It was nothing,” said Brenner, angrily, “only an evening’s dalliance.”

“I love you!” she said. “I love you!”

“Do you want money?” he asked. “Do you want credits punched?”

She regarded him, aghast.

“The appropriate credits for your services were punched,” said Brenner. “Your use has been paid for. The zard and I are clear. The matter is done.”

“No,” she said. “Please!”

“Your use has been paid for,” said Brenner.

“I am not a whore,” she said, “who demeans you for her profit.”

“No,” he said. “You are under contract, and so your earnings go to your contract holder, who applies portions of them on your behalf, to pay off your contract.”

“Our contracts are never paid off!” she said. “We soon learn that!”

Brenner shrugged.

“To you,” she said, “I am not a whore, not even a woman under contract! To you I am a slave, only an animal to you, an animal who begs to love and serve, to give all of herself, wholly, devotedly, unquestioningly!”

“I know what you really want,” said Brenner.

“And what is that?” she asked.

“Apparently it means much to you,” he said.

“I do not understand,” she said.

“Surely you hinted about such things last night.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“And I understand that you do not have coins, or credits, in your own control, that you might spend as you wish.” In this respect, of course, women under contract would be rather analogous to slaves, who are totally, like other animals, without economic resources. They are totally dependent upon the master.

“What are you saying?” she asked.

“Accordingly,” he said, “I can understand that even such small things may be important to you.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

He thrust his hand into his pocket. He drew forth the pastry in its wrapper. He partially unwrapped it. It was somewhat crushed now, from its sojourn in his jacket, and it was not at all likely that it was fresh, for he had obtained it at the hostel. But he did not doubt that it would still, though perhaps a bit dried, be tasty enough, and enough appreciated, given the circumstances. It reputedly housed a custard, and was roofed with a layer of chocolate.

“This is for you,” he said.

Some of the chocolate clung to the turned-back, opened wrapper.

“It is supposed to have custard in it,” he said.

He felt one of the Pons tugging at his sleeve. He looked back and he saw that Rodriguez had lined up several of the small creatures on each of the two ropes of the mud sled. Some of the other Pons had already gone through the gate and had busied themselves at their small, primitive camp outside the fence, striking tents, sacking belongings.

“Do you think this is why I have come?” she asked Brenner.

He held it out to her. “Take it,” he said.

“I love you,” she said.

He put the pastry in her hands.

“Don’t leave me,” she said.

He turned away from her and walked the few feet over the wet plank road to the vicinity of the sled, with its broad runners. Pons clustered about him.

“I do not know how long it will take to reach the Pon village,” said Rodriguez. “I can’t seem to get that out of the little bastards. I think we had better get started.”

The Pons outside the fence, at their camp, their work done, now seemed ready to depart, as well. Several of them stood there, tiny, clustered together, with their burdens. They seemed a dismal, forlorn crew, in the half light, in the rain, in their damp hoods, their wet, gray garb, like apparitions come from the forests, insubstantial like the fog which swirled about them, things only partly real. The Pons about them, though, seemed real enough, like small animals, pressing, urgent, tugging. Perhaps there was some place of safety they hoped to reach by nightfall, some cliff, or cave, where they might perch, or hide, until the morning, until they resumed their journey. Brenner did not think that their village, or villages, were close to Company Station. Everything he had heard suggested that that was not the case. It was supposed to take them days to reach the station. To be sure, they had short legs, and one of Brenner’s or Rodriguez’ species might cover the same ground in less time. How primitive were the Pons thought Brenner. Rodriguez had had to explain the sled to them. They did not even make use of the wheel. To be sure, wheeled vehicles would presumably not be particularly practical in the forests. There would be no roads there, at best, narrow trails.

“Let us be on our way,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner reached to one of the ropes. They were lifted now, one on either side of the sled, by Pons.

“No,” said Rodriguez. “They will do that.”

Brenner looked back to the woman.

“Don’t leave me!” she called. “I love you!”

He turned away from her. He must be strong. He must forget her.

“I hate you!” she cried. “I hate you!”

Rodriguez, with a wave of his arm, indicated that the Pons should proceed. The sled, with a squeak on the wet wood, began to move. It would not be a heavy weight for the Pons to draw, as there were several of them on the ropes. Rodriguez shook hands with the operator, who then climbed back to his tower. Brenner saw the sled slip down from the plank road onto the mud and gravel outside the gate. This made a different sound as the runners passed over mud and rock. In a moment then Rodriguez, too, had passed through the double gate. He followed the sled. After all, he did not know the way to the village, or villages. Only the Pons knew, now, thought Brenner. That would be different later.

He noted the line of march, azimuthlike, with relation to the detectable, but veiled position of Abydos’ star at the time of morning. To be sure, this would give him little more than a direction, which might be reversed. And a direction might be easily confused, if only by a degree or two, which, over a lengthy distance, could produce an error which might not be inconsiderable. Too, if the Pons were as secretive and shy as it seemed they might be, their village might not even lie in the direction they set out. Indeed, they might utilize various shifts in direction, to make it difficult for strangers to retrace the journey. On the other hand, Brenner was not really worried about this sort of thing. He could depend on Rodriguez. He and Rodriguez had discussed the matter, even on the ship. Rodriguez, of course, had a compass, and would make a map of the journey, jotting down landmarks and, as he could, distances from point to point. In this way the simple stratagems of the Pons, if they saw fit to employ such, might easily, and without their knowledge, as they would not understand such things, be circumvented. How innocent and simple were the small creatures.

“I hate you!” he heard from behind him, and her sobbing.

He looked up at the light on the tower. It was now flashing green. The operator would not activate the field, of course, while anyone was visibly within its circuits, but, Brenner gathered, this was his way of suggesting to him that it was time for him to be on his way. And so he followed Rodriguez.

“I hate you!” he heard from behind him, once more.

Resolutely he continued on his way, and crossed the gate area, and stepped down into the mud and gravel on the other side. He heard the gates slide shut behind him.

He did not want to look back.

He stopped a few yards outside the gate. He looked to his left. The Pons who had broken their small camp were there. They stood there silently, together, with their burdens. They, apparently neat creatures, had cleared the area of their camp. They had even shouldered their tiny tent poles. In a day or so, with the rains, there would probably be very little evidence left behind that they had been there, perhaps some streaks of ashes, some partly burned wood, some marks on the ground.

Brenner then, not looking back, continued on his way.

Two Pons were close to him.

As Brenner went past, the Pons from the area of the camp fell into line behind him, and thereby behind Rodriguez, and the sled, as well.

The forests, some distance ahead, fog within the trees, seemed thick, and dismal.

Brenner was pleased that Rodriguez had the rifle. Brenner, of course, had, as far as he knew, seldom been in danger. On the other hand, he knew that dangers did exist, at least in certain places. They existed in space, for example, and not merely from such things as equipment failures, the leakage of suits, the jamming of locks, and such, or radiation and orbiting debris, but even from some forms of rational life, for example, from the masters of rogue ships, the pilots of predatory corsairs, and such. Too, there had been dangers, it had been hinted, even on the home world, at least in certain backward areas, in which it was rumored that certain elements of the population had not yet been fully domesticated. Brenner had avoided such areas, of course. But in the forests, he conjectured, there might be dangers, genuine dangers, dangers not always easy to avoid, from which not even a party card, if he had had one, would have served as an adequate guarantee of safety. Doubtless in the forests there were wonderful life forms and such, but wonderful as they might be, they might not be literate, and they might be hungry. But then, he told himself, there is probably, actually, little danger. Such things tended to be exaggerated. Consider for example that the Pons had camped in safety, apparently for days, outside the fence. And they actually lived in the forests themselves, with their primitive culture, their simplicities, and no tools more formidable than, say, pointed sticks and their tiny “scarps,” little more than sharpened spoons. No, there would be no real dangers, even in the forests. Surely life, existence in its many aspects, had outgrown danger. But, still, he was not displeased that Rodriguez had brought the rifle. A charge from it could cut through a tree.

Brenner could not, of course, at least now, forget the woman. He wondered if she were still there, back, behind the fence, closed in, on the other side of it. Probably not, he thought. She has her pastry. He wondered why she had cried out that she hated him. He doubted that that was true. Too, why should she hate him? After all, she had received her pastry. He had not even made her beg for it, and perform for it, as might, for a master’s amusement, have been required of a slave.

He stopped, but he did not look back. The Pons near him stopped with him, and even, too, those following, with the tent poles, and such.

He must not think of the woman, he told himself.

But what would become of her, he wondered. She had surmised, and doubtless with considerable justification, that her eventual fate would be the anklet, or collar, on some far world. Surely that seemed not impossible. It was a common fate, Brenner had gathered, for women on contract. He had conjectured that she would look well, serving, in a G-string and collar. Surely that was true. He considered her, being handed from master to master, from world to world. He thought she would probably bring an excellent price. He wondered what her brand might look like. Such things are, he had gathered, at least in the case of women, discreet and lovely, enhancing their beauty. They would also be, of course, clear, and easily locatable. He recalled that she had declared herself his slave. It was well, he thought, that Company Station was not a place where such utterances constituted legal enactments. There were, of course, many such worlds. To be sure, in her case, such an utterance, even on a different world, one where such utterances could be taken as legally efficacious, would not be binding. She was under contract. She had declared herself his slave. That was nice, he thought. He considered her, stripped and collared, kneeling beside his bed, begging to be permitted to crawl into it. It was a pleasant picture.

One of the Pons pulled at his sleeve, and he, angrily, shook his sleeve, disengaging its grasp. “I’m sorry,” he apologized to the small creature.

He was tempted to look back, but he did not do so.

He continued on his way.

How well she had looked on the bed, removing the sheet, bit by bit, moving before him!

He smiled.

How desperately she had wanted to please him, almost as though he had been, in truth, not the simple patron of an establishment, but her owner, her master!

Forget her, he ordered himself. It is best to be done with her. She is a vile, low woman. She is not a person. She is insufficiently neuteristic. She does not behave as she should, as a “same.” She was found “incurable.” There could be no place for such as she on the home world. She had thus, appropriately, been put under contract and deported. She was disgusting! She had sexual needs! Brenner was pleased he had treated her as he had, coldly, and abandoned her. It was well that such vile needs be denied and frustrated! Or let her be reduced to bondage, in which degraded condition such needs are not only acceptable, but welcomed. And, indeed, in bondage, they are not only welcomed, but required! But he hoped, in spite of his contempt for her, and her weaknesses, that she would return to the zard’s establishment before her absence might be noted. It was still early. Perhaps she could slip in, unnoticed. He did not want her hurt. He recalled the heavy, supple quirt which had lain on the zard’s desk. He hoped that would not be used on her. He hoped that the zard would, as would presumably one of his own species, take into consideration her slightness, her softness, and beauty. Surely a chaining, and a switching, would be enough. She was not stupid. That should suffice to reform her behavior. Then he shuddered. He remembered the scaly countenance of the zard, its stature, and the seldom-blinking eyes. How much she must have wanted that pastry, thought Brenner. Brenner did not doubt, of course, that discipline was necessary to keep order in a house, for example, amongstst contracted women, and surely amongstst slaves, but he hoped, too, that the zard would possess at least a modicum of common sense about such matters. It was some consolation to him to suppose that the zard was a rational creature, and a businessman, so to speak. He had, if nothing else, an investment to protect. He would then, doubtless, adopt a policy which would both, insofar as these objectives were mutually achievable, preserve the beauty and usefulness of his contractees, women of Brenner’s species, and, at the same time, guarantee the absolute perfection of their service. Then again he shuddered. He had again thought of the creature’s seldom-blinking eyes. Hopefully the zard knew something of his species, and of the nature of pain. Brenner supposed that discipline is best imposed within a given species, that its nature and effects may be more adequately understood. Rodriguez had once told him, with a laugh, that slaves almost universally desire to belong to members of their own species. Brenner now thought he understood that remark more fully than he had earlier. To be sure, there were many reasons for keeping a bondage relation an intraspecific one, for example, the master’s knowledge of the nature of the slave’s nutrition and physiology, her exercise and rest needs, the limits of her small strength, her parameters of performance, her requirements with respect to atmospheres, her tolerances with respect to climatic conditions, and so on, not to mention such obvious things as the ease of communication and the mutual intelligibility of behaviors. Too, of course, in many cases, as was the case in Brenner’s species, the female can be a source, in many ways, of enormous pleasure to the male. That is another advantage of intraspecific bondage.

Brenner’s foot slipped to the side in the mud, but he quickly regained his balance.

Yes, thought Brenner, that is doubtless one of the major reasons one buys them off the block, for the pleasure one will derive from them.

He would not look back.

If she was serious about loving him why had she not cast aside the pastry? Why had she kept it? That proved it was the pastry she wanted, that the rest had been a pretense.

He would not look back.

Surely she would be gone by now.

He would not look back.

He trusted that she would have turned about by now and run as quickly as her small, sweet, shapely legs would carry her, back to the establishment of the zard. Hopefully she would manage to return unnoticed. That would be clever of her, to both obtain the pastry and escape a beating.

He would not look back.

She must be gone by now.

He would not look back. But then, as he ascended a small hillock, some yards before the beginning of the trees, he did stop, and he did turn about, and he did, over the heads of the Pons, look back.

Her small figure was still there, on the plank road, behind the double fence, not far from the tower.

For a moment he had not seen it as the area had been obscured by fog. Then the wind had stirred the fog, whipping it softly away from the gates. Now he saw it clearly, small, through the soft rain, clutching the cloak about itself.

How stupid she is, he thought, angrily. Let her hurry back before she is caught out of the house without permission! But he was glad he saw her. He was glad she was still there. She must have seen him, too, on the hillock, turned, for she lifted her arm to him. He did not return the gesture. She still, in one hand, held the pastry. She had not cast it away, she had not relinquished it. That is what she wanted, thought Brenner. That is why she came to the gates this morning, why she risked so much. It interested him that so tiny, so frivolous a thing, a trivial sweet, could have been so important to her. He looked at her again. Again she lifted her arm, but, again, he did not respond. Then he turned about, quickly, and descended the hillock. Rodriguez and most of the Pons, with the sled, were waiting at the edge of the trees.

“Are you all right?” asked Rodriguez.

“Yes,” said Brenner.

She had said that she loved him, and that she hated him. Surely that was some sort of contradiction. Brenner wondered what love might be, and if it truly existed. One school of thought, of course, held that love was a myth devised by men to oppress women. This position had originated, it seemed, with frustrated women who hated men and wished to destroy them as men, blaming them for all their own difficulties and shortcomings, and, who, in many cases, as it had turned out, interestingly, wanted other women to themselves. Strangely enough they were rival “lovers.” One did not hear much of “love” these days. He was a little puzzled, even, that she had heard of it, at least in an intersexual sense. Could it have emerged somehow naturally, spontaneously, within her? But how would she have known what to call it? She must have heard of it somewhere before. That was not impossible. There were, of course, worlds on which love, intersexual love, was accepted and known, but they were, on the whole, worlds in which the position of women was low, “suitably low,” as Rodriguez might have said. Love did seem to have something to do with putting women to the feet of men. But he doubted that men had invented this. Rather it seemed to have to do with the nature of love. There had been, at first, it seemed, an attempt to change the meaning of the word, by talk of what constituted “true love,” and such, to conformance with the political objectives of certain establishments, but this had not been successful. Unsuccessful, too, interestingly, had been efforts to construe “love” in terms of the civil tepidities, respect, and dignity, and such, prescribed to obtain amongst “sames.” Now, generally, however, one did not hear the word, at least publicly and in intersexual contexts. It had become, in such contexts, a word which occurred only infrequently in polite, informed discourse, a word which had become, in effect, to recall an ancient allusion, merely another “four-letter” word. To be sure, love was regarded as appropriate in certain contexts, as for the parties, for the state, and such things, and also for all life forms, of course, regardless of their placement on various phylogenetic scales. It was acceptable for a man to declare his love publicly for coelenterates, for example, and some did, but not for women. Brenner wondered what love might be, and if, indeed, there were such a thing. It must be some sort of emotion, he thought, or something like that, only perhaps much more complex. He did not doubt that there was hate. He had seen a great deal of that, even in his sheltered life. If there were hate, it seemed likely then, though not necessary, of course, that there might be such a thing as love. But surely the whole notion is unintelligible, thought Brenner. Yet she had said she loved him. He had heard, of course, that slaves often loved their masters, even when their masters had forbidden it. That was of interest to Brenner. Surely she had seemed, in many ways, slavelike, so passionate, so beautiful, so helpless, so desirous to please. Perhaps then, as she was such a woman, such a weak, low, helpless, worthless thing, she did love him. Perhaps she was indeed a slave, and that it was precisely in virtue of this that she was capable of love. But too, he reminded himself, she had said she hated him.

“Are you all right?” asked Rodriguez, again.

“Yes,” said Brenner, angrily.

Some of the Pons looked up at him, through the holes in the hoods, blinking. Their eyes seemed large, and soft.

“This is as far as we are going,” said Rodriguez, “without seeing whom we are with.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brenner.

One of the Pons suddenly squeaked, seized by the arm by Rodriguez.

“Stop!” said Brenner, horrified.

But Rodriguez had his free hand on the hood covering the creature’s head. It squirmed. It tried to hold the hood over its features. “Grab that one!” said Rodriguez, gesturing with his head to another Pon.

“No!” said Brenner. “Stop!”

“He’s a strong little bastard,” said Rodriguez.

“Stop!” said Brenner.

Then Rodriguez had jerked away the hood.

“It may bite!” said Brenner.

But the Pon did not bite. Rodriguez held it now, firmly, by the back of the neck and, with his free hand, forced open its mouth.

“Must you do that?” asked Brenner.

“See?” asked Rodriguez, grinning.

“Yes,” said Brenner.

“No fangs,” smiled Rodriguez.

“It may be poisonous,” said Brenner.

“I doubt it,” said Rodriguez.

The dendition of the Pon was regular, small, and fine.

The other Pons had scurried back, away from Rodriguez and the sled. They stood about, a few feet back.

“Do not be afraid,” said Brenner, soothingly.

Rodriguez released the Pon. Interestingly, it did not run away. It stood near him, looking up at him.

“Do you think you’re going to buy it, or sell it, or something?” asked Brenner.

Rodriguez laughed.

Slavers sometimes force open the mouths of captured free women, as a portion of their assessment. The nature of a female’s dentition can be informative, providing as it does an index to such things as her general health and condition, her accustomed diet, her age, and, even, in some cases, her former socioeconomic class. Sometimes the mouths of women in markets are also forced open but this is usually merely to remind them that they are slaves, as they, subject to the submission consequent upon their condition, may not only not attempt to prevent, but must, upon any appropriate indication, comply with, and abet, all such inquiries, inspections, and examinations.

“You should not have done that,” said Brenner. “You might frighten them. You might make it difficult to win their confidence. You might contaminate the data. You might even be violating some kind of taboo.”

“No,” said Rodriguez. “I know what I am doing. These little bastards have shown up often enough at Company Station without hoods. I checked that with the operator at the gates.”

“The hoods, then, are for our benefit,” said Brenner.

“Apparently,” said Rodriguez.

“Why would they conceal their faces from us?” asked Brenner.

“I’m not sure,” said Rodriguez.

“If they had anything to hide, they surely would not have invited us in,” said Brenner.

“I would think not,” said Rodriguez.

“They may be afraid of us,” said Brenner.

“Possibly,” said Rodriguez.

“Perhaps they are pathologically shy,” said Brenner.

“Perhaps,” said Rodriguez.

“Perhaps it is a custom to welcome guests while hooded?” said Brenner.

“Perhaps,” said Rodriguez.

“Perhaps it is really intended to have its full effect later, in rendering familiar, or unsuspect, a concealment for their females,” said Brenner.

“That is possible,” said Rodriguez. “By hooding all, they might hope to indirectly achieve such a desiderated objective, in an apparently innocent manner.”

On many worlds, of course, and in particular on those on which men were untamed, and proud, it was customary for free women to veil themselves, putatively that their beauty not constitute an irresistible provocation to sexual predation. To be sure, there seemed to be cultural ambiguities in such matters. For example, there was little doubt that veiling was in its way, rather like vulnerability and shyness in a woman, often sexually stimulatory to the male. It tended to suggest that she was a concealed treasure, and to enhance her aspects of remoteness, mystery, and inaccessibility. Besides, were veils not meant to be removed? Accordingly, veiling, the intent of which might seem to be to reduce the temptations which might otherwise overwhelm strong, excitable males, did not always have this effect. Too, it might be noted that the free women on these worlds often lavished great care and ingenuity on these veils, treating them less as defensive opacities, behind which they might hide, than as stimulatory accessories to their desirability. As a note it might be added that slaves on such worlds, and on such worlds, where there are strong men, there are always slaves, were commonly denied veiling. That dignity was not to be theirs. Rather, as was appropriate, given the lowliness and degradation of their condition, let them be shamed, refused the security and honor of the veil. Let their faces be bared, exposed to the gaze of any.

“But we do not really know,” said Brenner.

“No,” said Rodriguez, “but in any event I will not go into the forests with things whose faces I cannot see.”

Brenner looked at the Pon. It was tiny, of course, hardly coming to Rodriguez’s waist. It was fine boned. It seemed childlike. Its head and face were covered with hair, the face’s hair a lighter down. It’s eyes were large. Its hands and feet, as its body, were small. It had five digits on each hand, as Brenner would have expected, from the reports. Its nose was not prominent, but broad and flat. Its forehead sloped slightly backward. Its jaw was slightly prognathous. Its appearance, on the whole, was rather simian. Brenner, like Rodriguez, doubted that it was poisonous. It was regarding Rodriguez quizzically, sometimes blinking with the large eyes. It seemed surprising to Brenner that something like that, which resembled the tiny apes of Thera, was rational, that it could think, to some extent, and speak. To be sure, they lacked metallurgy and native pottery. They did have a culture, of a sorts, however simplistic. They were primitive. They were reputedly totemistic. The totem animal, Brenner recalled, was the Abydian mouse, or Abydian ground git, a tiny, stub-tailed rodent. That seemed fitting for the Pons.

“No hoods! No masks!” said Rodriguez to the Pon. “No hoods! No masks!”

He then lifted the small creature into the air, and shook it, good-naturedly, as one might a child.

“We are friends,” said Rodriguez. “Friends. There are no secrets between us, no masks, no hoods. We will tell one another everything. In the village you will behave as you always do. Do not be different because of us. In time you will pay no attention to us. It will be like we were not there. We want to find out about you. We want to know all about you. You are interesting. We like you. We will be friends. We will give you gifts, beads, pretty glass, nice things. Do you understand?”

The Pon, lifted up, Rodriguez’ hands under its arms, looked down at Rodriguez.

Then Rodriguez set it down, gently.

It then hurried to the others.

“Do you think it understood?” asked Brenner.

“I think so,” said Rodriguez. “These things trade at Company Station.”

“Do you think it is their leader?” asked Brenner.

“They do not have leaders, at least in the sense you are thinking of,” said Rodriguez. “They have little if any social organization. He was the first one I could get my hands on.”

“Look,” said Brenner.

The Pons, one by one, some of them looking away, or down, pulled away their hoods.

“Good! Good!” called Rodriguez to them. “We are friends, friends!”

Brenner thought they were all males, but he was not sure. The features of many were sufficiently fine as to make a mistake in such matters possible. The shapeless, nondescript nature of their garb, too, presented its problems. On the other hand, as they were bipedalian, and mammalian, or mammalian1ike, it seemed that some indications of feminine sexuality, if females were amongst them, ought to manifest themselves in even so inauspicious an environment. Yet he did not note such indications. There might, of course, be very few differences between the sexes of the Pons. Rodriguez had conjectured that they approached the unisexual ideal which was so prized, and yet still so imperfectly attained, on the home world. We can learn much from Pons, thought Brenner. His conjecture, incidentally, that they were all males was, in this case, we might note, correct.

“It seems they are cooperative,” said Brenner. “I am surprised they did not all rush away and leave us here. You may have jeopardized the entire expedition.”

“Not at all,” said Rodriguez. “We have something they want.”

“What is that?” asked Brenner.

“Beads, hard candy, mirrors, buttons, colored glass,” said Rodriguez, “that sort of thing.”

“Why did you insist on the removal of the hoods?” asked Brenner.

“Surely you were curious to see what they looked like?”

“Of course,” said Brenner. “But you could have waited until we knew them better, until we had won their confidence, until we had reached the village.”

“You have never been in a place like the forest, have you?” asked Rodriguez.

“No,” said Brenner.

“I am not going to follow something into the forests whose behavior I cannot interpret,” said Rodriguez.

“The forests are dangerous?”

“I think so.”

“And so you wished to see if they were unusually alert at times, if they were being evasive, if they were frightened.”

“Yes, such things,” said Rodriguez.

“You don’t trust them, do you?” asked Brenner.

“No,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner was silent.

“Too, of course,” said Rodriguez, “it is important to rob them of their anonymity, to individualize them, to reduce them to openness, to make them more helpless, more vulnerable to us.”

Brenner nodded. It was for such reasons, he supposed, as for many others, as well, that on various worlds slaves were denied veiling, that the least nuances of their expressions, in all their helplessness, in all their subtlety and delicacy, would be available to free persons. This contributes, of course, to their control.

Brenner looked at the Pons. All now, were unhooded. They were approximately the same height. They huddled together, watching himself and Rodriguez. Brenner hoped they had not been frightened.

Rodriguez consulted his compass.

“They seem sexless,” said Brenner.

“Back home even the Humblers would stand in awe of them,” said Rodriguez. “They would be on all the circuits, they would be celebrated as heroes of the times, they would be held up as shining examples to youth.”

“Because they are nothing, and have done nothing?” asked Brenner.

“Pretty much,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner suddenly, unaccountably, pitied the youth of the home world. How innocent they were. And how they would be warped and twisted, into what grotesque shapes would they be hammered, what eccentric, pathological, gruesome molds would they be expected to fill, and all to serve the ends of others, mocking them and exploiting them.

Brenner considered the Pons, standing there.

“I do not think I like Pons,” said Brenner.

“I would have thought you would esteem them,” said Rodriguez.

“How is that?” asked Brenner.

“Are they not, for most practical purposes, “sames”?”

“Yes,” said Brenner, guiltily. “I suppose they are.”

“So there,” said Rodriguez.

One of the Pons had come closer now, to look on.

Rodriguez showed him the compass. “See?” he asked. “Pretty?” Then he put the compass back in his pocket. The Pon, simple creature of the forest that it was, of course, would not understand the compass. At best it would seem to it like some sort of toy. Rodriguez then drew forth a sheet of paper from his jacket, on which he jotted something down. He had begun his map. He showed the paper to the Pon. “Paper,” he said. “Paper.”

The Pon looked up at him.

“They are illiterate, of course,” said Rodriguez. He put the paper back in his jacket. He then clapped his hands together, sharply. Brenner was startled. This seemed rude to him. “Ropes! Ropes! Pick up!” called Rodriguez. He clapped his hands together, twice more. The Pons hurried to the ropes.

“Why are you acting like this?” asked Brenner.

“We will teach them who is master,” said Rodriguez.

“You will alienate them,” said Brenner.

“No,” said Rodriguez. “They are only one step above gits, if that.”

“Are you ready?” asked Rodriguez.

“Of course,” said Brenner.

“You are all right?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Brenner. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought, before,” said Rodriguez, “that something might be wrong.”

“No,” said Brenner.

“Weren’t you crying?” asked Rodriguez.

“No,” said Brenner.

The woman had not cared for him, of course. She had only wanted her pastry. Women are practical in such ways. She had said she loved him. Such things are easily said. Brenner, of course, did not believe in love, for such, like sexual needs, did not exist. To be sure, one might love a party, or the state, or everything, rather as a rosy, remote, safe, antiseptic, abstract conglomerate. Too, he supposed it was all right to love everyone, and, ideally, everything, including primitive particles. It was only that it was suspect or immoral to love a particular individual, particularly if that entity were of an opposite sex. That was dangerous. For sexuality, as was well known, does not unite men; it divides them.

At a gesture from Rodriguez, the Pons put their small, but cumulatively not inconsiderable, weight to the ropes. The sled moved, over wet leaves and twigs. The trees here, at the edge of the forest were not closely grown. There would be little difficulty in making headway during this part of the journey and, later, hopefully, there would be trails. The mud sled was not wide, only a Commonworld yard in width.

“Those are lantern fruit,” said Rodriguez, pointing to some heavy, gourdlike pods, some half split.

“Are they edible?” asked Brenner.

“No,” said Rodriguez.

“They are not indigenous to this world, are they?” asked Brenner.

“It is thought not,” said Rodriguez.

Most of the Pons were following behind.

Brenner could not, at this point, of course, look back to the tower, to the fence. There was the rise, and there were the trees.

Brenner looked to the Pons drawing the sled. And ahead of them there were some others, strung out, leading the way.

He remembered how rudely Rodriguez had seized up one of the Pons, and removed its hood. Whereas the small creature had squirmed, and struggled, it had not attempted to fight, or defend itself. Too, when Rodriguez had forced open its mouth, it had not resisted. Pons do not bite, thought Brenner. On the other hand, thought Brenner, they do not have very strong teeth either. Perhaps organisms with small, fine teeth are well advised not to bite. At most, they might deliver a small, nasty, unclean wound, one which larger, stronger organisms might find annoying, and punish. Perhaps that was why Pons were good, thought Brenner, because they could not be dangerous. Perhaps morality comes most easily to the weak.

Brenner wondered what was the nature of his own species, and if it had a nature. One theory had it that those of his species were originally filled with a nothingness, and another that they were filled with sunshine. Those who held the “nothingness” theory looked upon this nothingness as an opportunity. If the mind, for example, were a blank tablet, or a blank recording plate, or such, one might then inscribe upon it messages of benignity and beauty. But if the mind were indeed a blank tablet, with no nature of its own, no secrets, no resistances, no internal geodesies, no realities, why might not one, with equal propriety, inscribe upon it messages of terror, of fear and woe, of sickness and hatred? Surely the canvas has no rights with respect to the pictures one chooses to paint upon it. Who decides the plans from which man is to be manufactured? If men had no nature of their own, then they are only putty in the hands of others, whether in the white fingers of angels or the paws of beasts. And where must one stand, outside the domain of man, to see value? Where will he find his patterns and possibilities if not within himself? Where will those who so complacently, so innocently, arrogate to themselves the right to write these messages find their models? Are there plates of graven brass hung between the stars? The stars are silent, burning in space. They are alone, like men. And if such plates were there, who will decipher them, who will read them, and who will ask from whence they came, and if they are true? No, thought Brenner, the theory of emptiness is not a happy one. If true, it is not that man is lost, or that he has not yet been found. Rather it is that he does not exist, has never existed, and can never exist. Rather he would be nothing in himself, not even a material, but rather only a temporary, arbitrary form, only an artifact, meaningless, and perishable. But what of the theory that man is filled with sunshine, thought Brenner. That is a theory, so to speak, of original virtue. Perhaps it is naive, and less plausible than an older, more pessimistic myth, but it might be a benign myth. Believe that man is basically good. Now that might be a useful myth. It could be developed in a number of ways, not all obviously compatible. If one stresses the corrupting influences of institutions and societal arrangements, construed somehow to have arisen surprisingly amongstst these benign creatures, perhaps by magic, then one can absolve individuals, generally on a selective basis, of responsibility for their actions. The victim, for example, is to blame for the crime. On the other hand, in a sterner society, one may blame the criminal, so to speak, for having chosen, somehow, to repudiate his own nature, his natural goodness. On this approach one may hold him responsible for his actions and simultaneously hasten to his correction, the effort to recall him, by various techniques, perhaps punishment, imprisonment, torture, conditionings, pharmacological therapy, lobal surgery, and such, to his forsaken innate goodness. There is an additional difficulty here, of course, which is that of independently identifying the “goodness” which is innate. Who makes this identification, how do we know it is correct, and who decides disagreements which might arise in these matters? Presumably we might not wish to characterize all nativistic dispositions, if there are any, in man as essentially good. If we did that, saying man was essentially good would presumably mean no more than saying that man was essentially man, which might be true, but would not be likely to be of much political utility. Presumably then, if the notion of man being essentially good is to make sense, we have to have an independent criterion for goodness. It does not seem likely that we will be successful in this search, except that we might impose one which pleases us, by force. In this sense, in its ultimate vacuity and bankruptcy, the “sunshine” theory closely approximates the “nothingness theory.” It is possible, Brenner thought, that man, innately, is both good and evil, assuming that some external sense could be given to such claims. But it is more likely, he thought, that man is neither good nor evil. Rather, he is something more profound than either. He is real. He is as he is, not in some trivial sense, but in the sense that he has his own nature, which is in its way apart from good and evil, or beyond them, if you like. This is not to deny, of course, that he might not have his own “good,” in senses such as those of satisfaction and pleasure, or his own “evil” or “bad,” in the senses of frustration or pain. Those things are real enough, and we grant them even to camels and horses, but they do not answer the social needs of a moral “good” and a moral “evil.” There may be no common interest; there may be no general will. But without the rules there is only chaos. Perhaps the myths are important.

Brenner was angry, seemingly unaccountably.

Brenner put down his head, and brushed a branch out of the way.

How complacent were those of the home world. How much they claimed to know! How assured they were!

But there must be something beyond the myths, thought Brenner. Beyond the evanescent myths, coming into fashion, going out of fashion. And not just more myths, nor even an ultimate myth, that to which all other myths might point, that to which they might over time, more and more closely, approximate, the myth ultimately fated to be agreed upon by all those in need of a myth, if only investigation could be carried on diligently enough, long enough, the ultimate myth, the fated myth, the ideal myth, lying like a spider at the end of time. No, thought Brenner. Rather a truth. But must we make it ourselves? And how then will that differ from another myth, or even from the ultimate myth? It will be ours, thought Brenner. But the myths, too, are they not ours? There must be criteria, thought Brenner, for truths, even for myths. And who shall decide the criteria? By what criteria shall we judge our criteria, and those criteria, in turn? How long is “until then,” how far is the end of time, how shall we come to the last foot of infinity?

Brenner suddenly stopped.

“Are you all right?” asked Rodriguez.

“Yes!” said Brenner.

They began again. That is it, thought Brenner. One must stop somewhere. One must begin somewhere.

What he had been taught, he was sure, was wrong, at least in some basic, fundamental, profound, even if only personal sense. It was productive of frustration; it generated misery; it caused pain.

He thought of the woman, whom he fiercely dismissed as a mere contract slut, in whom he had taken his pleasure, whom he had had well serve him, even to the collar and bracelets. Even she, low, vulnerable, passionate thing that she was, little better than a slave, had reminded him of such things, as though he had needed reminding! If torture could not convince him of the wrongness of what he had been taught, she had asked, what could? Suddenly he was angry with her. What an insult she was to the women of his species! Why could she not have been, like them, a “same”! She cast doubt, even, on her sisters of the home world. Perhaps, too, they were not really “sames.” Perhaps, too, like her, they were different from men, something quite different. How horrifying that would be! What if his species was not sexually unimorphic? What if the sexes, really, were quite different? The females of his species, he knew, both by those of his own species, and by those of other species, were kept as slaves, on many worlds. They were easily trained. They adapted quickly to bondage. It was said that within the institution they blossomed, that within it they found fulfillment. What could such things mean?

Brenner looked at the Pons about, so tiny, so weak, so pathetic, so meaningless. And yet they represented, in their way, as Rodriguez had pointed out, the achievement of what was at least a verbal ideal of the home world. That is what the home world wants, thought Brenner, at least of men. It wants to break and destroy men, to make them small and weak. It wants to turn men into such innocent, simple, stupid, harmless things, such tiny, blinking, pleasant, manageable, cooperative, timid, meaningless nonentities. In the Pon, it seemed, was to be found the new idea of the male, gentle, tender, and such, but his very weakness and manageability, and gullibility celebrated as true masculinity and strength. Surely that is an easy route to manhood, thought Brenner, doing what you are told, fulfilling a stereotype, externally imposed, indexed to the utility of those who despised one. Yes, thought Brenner, that is surely an easy route to manhood, doing what you are told, an easy route to strength, being weak.

“Through here,” called Rodriguez, pointing out the path through which the sled had been drawn.

A Pon, almost at his elbow, looked up at Brenner.

“Stay with the sled,” said Rodriguez.

“Of course,” said Brenner.

There must be a truth thought Brenner, a truth for my species, some sort of truth, even it be a truth relative to my species, a truth local or private, in its way, to my species. Then he felt grief for the youth of the home world. To them, such as the Pons, those sweet, insignificant, futile, trusting little aliens, would be held up, as Rodriguez had said, as examples. The youth of the home world, Brenner feared, would be destroyed, in its homes, in its schools, almost in its cradles. How could it resist the uniformity, the pervasiveness, of the conditioning programs to which it would be subjected? Indeed, is not youth, in its beautiful simplicity, and its lack of experience, even more likely than its elders to be devoted to, and defend, the very lies which keep them from their own honesties?

But I was such a youth once, thought Brenner.

To be sure, even when quite young, Brenner had never taken pain as a sign of truth, frustration as a clue to right, misery as a guide to an ideal morality. But perhaps that was because he had been a “vat brat”; indeed, he suspected he might well constitute some sort of anachronism in his species, some sort of atavism, or throwback; his genetic materials, for example, had been generated long ago, in a different, more primitive, more backward time.

Perhaps there is hope, thought Brenner.

Perhaps there is a human nature, with its own truths, its own realities, thought Brenner, even its own goodness and badness.

Perhaps there is hope.

“Help here,” said Rodriguez.

He and Brenner, assisting the Pons, lifted the sled up, over some rocks. The Pons then again addressed themselves to the ropes. Brenner noted that the Pons, in this journey, did not make much noise. He did not find that surprising. It seemed fitting for them. On the other hand, perhaps small creatures, generally, in the forest did not make a great deal of noise. There might be a reason for that.

Too, as they had continued in their journey, pausing now and then, he had noted that one or more of the Pons, to the side, rather modestly, back in the brush, squatting down, under the cover of their robes, had apparently relieved themselves. They had then covered this spoor with dirt, gouged up with their tiny, shiny scarps. Predators often covered their spoor, to keep their presence in an area concealed. But the Pons did not seem likely predators. As far as Brenner knew they did not even hunt, their reverence for life deterring them from the chase. This reluctance, of course, need not be symmetrical. In not hunting one does not thereby remove oneself from the category of the hunted. Such unilateral sacrifices are seldom reciprocated in nature. The Pons, in the forest, might not stand at the top of the food chain. There could thus be an advantage not only to the predator in concealing his presence, but one accruing similarly to the prey. But the forest seemed calm. The wind rustled gently through the leaves of the trees. The covering of the spoor, or feces, Brenner supposed, in the case of the Pons, probably had to do with their modesty, or their embarrassment concerning their own bodies, which they kept muchly covered, as shameful objects, and the processes of such bodies, or even with taboos, perhaps their ritual fear or loathing of touching unclean things, and such. Or they might just be neat, tidy creatures, intent upon keeping a pleasant environment.

Brenner struggled not to find the Pons disgusting. He did not wish to commit a fallacy, imposing his own values, as uncertain and confused as they were, on alien creatures. He was not, after all, a Rodriguez, who seemed to feel he was entitled to his own opinions on such matters. He must, instead, be scientifically neutral, and rigorously objective, and keep in mind, too, that all life forms, and all cultures, and such, were wonderful, the same, and equivalent. To be sure, there were some exceptions to this. For example, the science councils and many of the professional organizations of the home world, which were now in effect branches of various parties, and were politically active, and responsible, concerned, and militant, in acceptable ways, had denounced certain cultures, for example, those of several of the openly stratified worlds. Indeed, in some cases, vigorous resolutions had been passed, boldly conforming to various party lines. In short, in effect, science was neutral, and all life forms, and cultures, were wonderful, the same, and equivalent, except for those which were not approved, which were “bad,” etc. Needless to say, the scientific findings on these matters differed from world to world, and, within given worlds, from place to place, and from time to time.

From time to time Rodriguez stopped, and consulted his compass, and made an addition to his map. At such times, the Pons, too, of course, stopped. Then, again, the party would proceed.

There must be a human nature, thought Brenner, and a human goodness and badness, or rightness and wrongness, one for our species, not for all species, or for no species, not something external and imposed, but something internal and real, something with its own teleology, its own impetus, and viabilities.

But he could not deny the strength of conditioning processes. It is possible to condition an animal to behave in unnatural, eccentric fashions, to starve itself, to frustrate itself, to beat its head bloody into walls, to engage persistently, congratulating itself all the while, in self-destructive, life-shortening activities. Experiments, no longer permitted, except apparently on a global scale with rational species, had made that clear.

Perhaps there is hope, thought Brenner.

It is not always easy, say, to twist trees and bushes into unnatural shapes, however appealing these shapes may be to those with unnatural tastes. Once the eccentric stresses are removed, once the wires, the ropes, and bands are cut, the trees, the bushes, tend to grow again according to their own natures, the ancient natures, never forgotten, lurking in each cell in the body, putting down their roots deeply, into the foundational, sustaining, anchoring darkness, seeking there fluids and nutriments, and lifting their branches toward the light, thus standing in darkness, reaching for the sun. How else can one grow, or become real? Surely neither by repudiating the earth nor by denying the stars. One must have both, the darkness and the light, the polarities, each intelligible, each worthy of veneration, each meaningless without the other. And herein lies a paradox, in which some see tragedy, and others the key to the glory of a species.

But what of reason, asked Brenner. Is it empty, or does it have a content? Is it a way merely to achieve ends, or is it, in its way, an end in itself, or germane to particular ends, more to some than others?

Brenner thought of Rodriguez, who was beside him, to his right.

He is a case in point, thought Brenner. He does not subscribe to what he has been taught, he does not accept uncritically the uncontradicted. Indeed, he seemed genetically disposed to think for himself, a disposition which was rare enough perhaps in any time, but was certainly so in these times. Indeed, in virtue of his weakness for thought, he had encountered difficulties in many matters, almost from the very beginning. He had never been convinced that compliance was reason. Perhaps that was because he thought reason might be required in order to determine with what it might be rational to comply. If reason had an appropriate instrumentality, thought Brenner, rather than merely instrumentalities, surely then one might give some sense to the notion of reason, or better perhaps, to the notion of the “rational.” If reason herself were value-neutral, perhaps rationality was not; and rationality might be indexed to nature. To be sure, this involved an axiological commitment. Who is to say that it is not rational for a creature to starve and injure itself, particularly if this starvation and these injuries were instrumental to its moral improvement, namely, in producing an improvement on nature, a twisted, clipped, crippled organism? I, for one, thought Brenner. And who sees words as tools, and weapons, and cloaks of concealment behind which horrors might be hidden? But tell the difference between things and words. They are not the same. Listen to the wind, to the trees, to your heart. Recollect the forgotten languages, learned in youth, the memory of which lurks within you.

Needless to say, as you can see, Brenner was a very confused young man. Had he paid more attention to the Pons about him, his confusions and puzzlements might have been easily resolved. They provided, in their simplicity, inoffensiveness and innocence, the answer to his questions. Too, did they not stand at the “beginning,” in their way? Were they not the proof that a rational, or protorational, species, could begin in innocence? Perhaps the results of his labors, and those of Rodriguez, would be to provide such an example of basic, fundamental goodness in a rational species as to be not only refreshing to more complex, confused, jaded cultures, but perhaps even reassuring, or therapeutic, in its way, restorative perhaps. Brenner had gathered, from the directress, months ago on the home world, that it was expected that his researches would have some such utilitarian value, that it would be nice if they provided confirmation in their way of what already needed no confirmation, the value structure of the home world. “Anthropology can be good for something,” she had reminded him. Brenner supposed that it would be easy enough to slant the data, and, on a world like that of Abydos, an out-flung world, who would ever know, and, indeed, given the apparent nature of the Pons, it might not even be necessary to slant the data. Presumably they would provide the directress, and her party, through the studies and reports of Brenner and Rodriguez, with exactly what they wished. “Learn from them,” the directress had urged him. “We will all learn from them.”

Yes, thought Brenner. One must stop, and then one must begin again. Reason, he supposed, had indeed no content in itself. But, indexed to the needs of a species, the decision made, it being stipulated that these were to be satisfied, it could have an appropriate instrumentality, an instrumentality appropriate to that end, as indeed, in a sense, it could have instrumentalities appropriate to diverse ends. It is rather like a knife, he thought. It can be used for various things. For example, it could be used in self-defense, and even to attack. There are better things to do with it, thought Brenner, than to open one’s veins.

Brenner looked down at one of the Pons, quite close to him. It, with its small, soft, delicate, gentle, hairy, rather simian face, looked up at him, and blinked.

They are interesting little aliens, Brenner conceded.

The rain had now stopped. The sunlight, here and there, glistened on the wet leaves.

Brenner thought of the brunette. She had seemed a thousand times more a woman than the directress. But then, who knew? Perhaps there was a woman in the directress, too. Perhaps if she had found herself under contract, and put in the light, brief, white camisk of a contractee, chained in a cargo yard awaiting deportation, who knew? Or perhaps if she found herself stripped, save perhaps for a collar, ascending a sales block on an openly stratified world, to be considered by buyers, who knew? Perhaps she, too, later, in a man’s house, or at his feet, might recollect her womanhood.

“Look!” said Brenner. “There is another white, rounded rock.”

“Have you just noticed them?” asked Rodriguez.

“I have seen several,” said Brenner, defensively.

“They began at the edge of the forest,” said Rodriguez. “I have been watching. The Pons are following them. They are using them as guide stones.”

Brenner was silent, and was rather angry. He, too, should have noticed such things, and long ago, assuming they were actually there. He had been noting them, really, only for the past few minutes. He had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts. The whitish stones were spaced about every fifty feet or so. There were other such stones about, here and there, of course, but what Rodriguez had detected before him, and from the first, perhaps in virtue of having been less preoccupied with his own concerns than Brenner, was the alignment of certain of the stones.

“They probably lead between the village and the gates,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner nodded. In virtue of such things the Pons might find their way about in the forest.

“They are apparently so stupid,” said Rodriguez, “that they need such things to find their way home.”

Brenner smiled. Doubtless Rodriguez was right. But, too, Brenner was quite pleased. Now, he, too, whenever he wished, could follow the stones back to Company Station.

“You will not need your map any longer,” said Brenner.

“I will continue to keep it,” said Rodriguez. He was, it seemed, a suspicious fellow. Brenner, of course, was pleased, actually, that Rodriguez was going to continue to keep the map. After all, stones could be moved. They might be dislodged, for example, by the movements of water, or even by the passage of some animal, if it were sufficiently large. To be sure, the forest seemed quite empty.

Brenner wondered if the field between the fences was really necessary. Perhaps its main function, in the final analysis, was to prevent the disappearance of company property.

That must be it, thought Brenner.

“Rodriguez,” he said.

“Yes,” said Rodriguez.

“You remember the little brunette, who came to the gates this morning?”

““Curves”?” he asked.

“If you like,” said Brenner. To be sure, the blonde had been well formed, as well, though perhaps more sparely built.

“Certainly,” said Rodriguez.

“I gather, from what she said,” said Brenner, “that you had the blonde drink a releaser.”

“The matter was cleared with the contract holder,” said Rodriguez.

“And that you left her spread-eagled, and neck-chained, on the bed.”

“I seem to recall that,” said Rodriguez.

“Surely that was deplorable,” said Brenner.

“It was good for her,” said Rodriguez.

“She may be pregnant,” said Brenner.

“It is hard to say,” said Rodriguez.

“Are you in the habit of doing that sort of thing?” asked Brenner.

“No,” said Rodriguez.

“Why did you do that?” asked Brenner.

Rodriguez was silent, walking behind the sled. Brenner could hear his tread on the leaves.

“Why?” asked Brenner.

“Because we are going into the forests,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner did not understand this.

Once those ahead stopped, and so, too, then, did the rest of the party. One or two of the leading Pons had their heads back, lifted. They stood very quietly. Brenner went about the sled. Their nostrils were dilated. They seemed very intent. Then, after a moment, seemingly satisfied, they continued on, the rest of the party following.

“What was that about?” asked Brenner.

“Nothing,” said Rodriguez.

But Brenner noted that Rodriguez, in the interval, had gone to the luggage, and to his pack, which was now on top of the luggage. He unzipped the pack. Within the pack, now that it had been opened, on top, at hand, Brenner could see what appeared to be the brass barrel of an optical instrument, a telescope.