The Project Gutenberg eBook of Scanners live in vain
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Title: Scanners live in vain
Author: Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger
Release date: June 21, 2024 [eBook #73886]
Language: English
Original publication: Los Angeles: Fantasy Publishing Co, 1950
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCANNERS LIVE IN VAIN ***
SCANNERS LIVE IN VAIN
BY CORDWAINER SMITH
This story deals with science-fiction's oldest subject--space-travel.
Yet the author's treatment of the subject is so completely different
that it makes "SCANNERS" one of the most outstanding stories to appear
in any magazine!
****
Martel was angry. He did not even adjust his blood away from anger.
He stamped across the room by judgment, not by sight. When he saw the
table hit the floor, and could tell by the expression on Luci's face
that the table must have made a loud crash, he looked down to see if
his leg were broken. It was not. Scanner to the core, he had to scan
himself. The action was reflex and automatic. The inventory included
his legs, abdomen, Chestbox of instruments, hands, arms, face and back
with the Mirror. Only then did Martel go back to being angry. He
talked with his voice, even though he knew that his wife hated its
blare and preferred to have him write.
"I tell you, I must cranch. I have to cranch. It's my worry, isn't
it?"
When Luci answered, he saw only a part of her words as he read her
lips: "Darling ... you're my husband ... right to love you ...
dangerous ... do it ... dangerous ... wait ...."
He faced her, but put sound in his voice, letting the blare hurt her
again: "I tell you, I'm going to cranch."
Catching her expression, he became rueful and a little tender: "Can't
you understand what it means to me? To get out of this horrible prison
in my own head? To be _feel_ again--to feel my feet on the ground, to
feel the air a man again--hearing your voice, smelling smoke? To move
against my face? Don't you know what it means?"
Her wide-eyed worrisome concern thrust him back into pure annoyance.
He read only a few words as her lips moved: "... love you ... your own
good ... don't you think I want you to be human? ... your own good ...
too much ... he said ... they said ...."
When he roared at her, he realized that his voice must be particularly
bad. He knew that the sound hurt her no less than did the words: "Do
you think I wanted you to marry a Scanner? Didn't I tell you we're
almost as low as the habermans? We're dead, I tell you. We've got to
be dead to do our work. How can anybody go to the Up-and-Out? Can you
dream what raw Space is? I warned you. But you married me. All
right, you married a man. Please, darling, let me be a man. Let me
hear your voice, let me feel the warmth of being alive, of being human.
Let me!"
He saw by her look of stricken assent that he had won the argument. He
did not use his voice again. Instead, he pulled his tablet up from
where it hung against his chest. He wrote on it, using the pointed
fingernail of his right forefinger--the Talking Nail of a Scanner--in
quick cleancut script: "Pls, drlng, whrs Crnching Wire?"
She pulled the long gold-sheathed wire out of the pocket of her apron.
She let its field sphere fall to the carpeted floor. Swiftly,
dutifully, with the deft obedience of a Scanner's wife, she wound the
Cranching Wire around his head, spirally around his neck and chest.
She avoided the instruments set in his chest. She even avoided the
radiating scars around the instruments, the stigmata of men who had
gone Up and into the Out. Mechanically he lifted a foot as she slipped
the wire between his feet. She drew the wire taut. She snapped the
small plug into the High Burden Control next to his Heart Reader. She
helped him to sit down, arranging his hands for him, pushing his head
back into the cup at the top of the chair. She turned then, full-face
toward him, so that he could read her lips easily. Her expression was
composed.
She knelt, scooped up the sphere at the other end of the wire, stood
erect calmly, her back to him. He scanned her, and saw nothing in her
posture but grief which would have escaped the eye of anyone but a
Scanner. She spoke: he could see her chest-muscles moving. She
realized that she was not facing him, and turned so that he could see
her lips.
"Ready at last?"
He smiled a _yes_.
She turned her back to him again. (Luci could never bear to watch him
Under-the-wire.) She tossed the wiresphere into the air. It caught in
the force-field, and hung there. Suddenly it glowed. That was all.
All--except for the sudden red stinking roar of coming back to his
senses. Coming back, across the wild threshold of pain.
I
When he awakened under the wire, he did not feel as though he had just
cranched. Even though it was the second cranching within the week, he
felt fit. He lay in the chair. His ears drank in the sound of air
touching things in the room. He heard Luci breathing in the next room,
where she was hanging up the wire to cool. He smelt the
thousand-and-one smells that are in anybody's room: the crisp freshness
of the germ-burner, the sour-sweet tang of the humidifier, the odor of
the dinner they had just eaten, the smells of clothes, furniture, of
people themselves. All these were pure delight. He sang a phrase or
two of his favorite song:
"Here's to the haberman, Up and Out!
"Up--oh!--and Out--oh!--Up and Out!..."
He heard Luci chuckle in the next room. He gloated over the sounds of
her dress as she swished to the doorway.
She gave him her crooked little smile. "You sound all right. Are you
all right, really?"
Even with this luxury of senses, he scanned. He took the flash-quick
inventory which constituted his professional skill. His eyes swept in
the news of the instruments. Nothing showed off scale, beyond the
Nerve Compression hanging in the edge of "Danger." But he could not
worry about the Nerve box. That always came through Cranching. You
couldn't get under the wire without having it show on the Nerve box.
Some day the box would go to _Overload_ and drop back down to _Dead_.
That was the way a haberman ended. But you couldn't have everything.
People who went to the Up-and-Out had to pay the price for Space.
Anyhow, he should worry! He was a Scanner. A good one, and he knew
it. If he couldn't scan himself, who could? This cranching wasn't too
dangerous. Dangerous, but not too dangerous.
Luci put out her hand and ruffled his hair as if she had been reading
his thoughts, instead of just following them: "But you know you
shouldn't have! You shouldn't!"
"But I did!" He grinned at her.
Her gaiety still forced, she said: "Come on, darling, let's have a good
time. I have almost everything there is in the icebox--all your
favorite tastes. And I have two new records just full of smells. I
tried them out myself, and even I liked them. And you know me--"
"Which?"
"Which what, you old darling?"
He slipped his hand over her shoulders as he limped out of the room.
(He could never go back to feeling the floor beneath his feet, feeling
the air against his face, without being bewildered and clumsy. As if
cranching was real, and being a haberman was a bad dream. But he was a
haberman, and a Scanner.) "You know what I meant, Luci.... the
smells, which you have. Which one did you like, on the record?"
"Well-l-l," said she, judiciously, "there were some lamb chops that
were the strangest things--"
He interrupted: "What are lambtchots?"
"Wait till you smell them. Then guess. I'll tell you this much. It's
a smell hundreds and hundreds of years old. They found about it in the
old books."
"Is a lambtchot a Beast?"
"I won't tell you. You've got to wait," she laughed, as she helped him
sit down and spread his tasting dishes before him. He wanted to go
back over the dinner first, sampling all the pretty things he had
eaten, and savoring them this time with his now-living lips and tongue.
When Luci had found the Music Wire and had thrown its sphere up into
the force-field, he reminded her of the new smells. She took out the
long glass records and set the first one into a transmitter.
"Now sniff!"
A queer frightening, exciting smell came over the room. It seemed like
nothing-in this world, nor like anything from the Up-and-Out. Yet it
was familiar. His mouth watered. His pulse beat a little faster; he
scanned his Heart box. (Faster, sure enough.) But that smell, what
was it? In mock perplexity, he grabbed her hands, looked into her
eyes, and growled:
"Tell me, darling! Tell me, Or I'll eat you up!"
"That's just right!"
"What?"
"You're right. It should make you want to eat me. It's meat."
"Meat. Who?"
"Not a person," said she, knowledgeably, "a beast. A beast which
people used to eat. A lamb was a small sheep--you've seen sheep out in
the Wild, haven't you?--and a chop is part of its middle--here!" She
pointed at her chest.
Martel did not hear her. All his boxes had swung over toward Alarm,
some to Danger. He fought against the roar of his own mind, forcing
his body into excess excitement. How easy it was to be a Scanner when
you really stood outside your own body, haberman-fashion, and looked
back into it with your eyes alone. Then you could manage the body,
rule it coldy even in the enduring agony of Space. But to realize that
you _were_ a body, that this thing was ruling you, that the mind could
kick the flesh and send it roaring off into panic! That was bad.
He tried to remember the days before he had gone into the Haberman
Device, before he had been cut apart for the Up-and-Out. Had he always
been subject to the rush of his emotions from his mind to his body,
from his body back to his mind, confounding him so that he couldn't
Scan? But he hadn't been a Scanner then.
He knew what had hit him. Amid the roar of his own pulse, he knew. In
the nightmare of the Up-and-Out, that smell had forced its way through
to him, while their ship burned off Venus and the habermans fought the
collapsing metal with their bare hands. He had scanned then: all were
in Danger. Chestboxes went up to _Overload_ and dropped to _Dead_ all
around him as he had moved from man to man, shoving the drifting
corpses out of his way as he fought to scan each man in turn, to clamp
vises on unnoticed broken legs, to snap the Sleeping Valve on men whose
instruments showed they were hopelessly near overload. With men trying
to work and cursing him for a Scanner while he, professional zeal
aroused, fought to do his job and keep them alive in the Great Pain of
Space, he had smelled that smell. It had fought its way along his
rebuilt nerves, past the Haberman cuts, past all the safeguards of
physical and mental discipline. In the wildest hour of tragedy, he had
smelled aloud. He remembered it was like a bad cranching, connected
with the fury and nightmare all around him. He had even stopped his
work to scan himself, fearful that the First Effect might come,
breaking past all Haberman cuts and ruining him with the Pain of Space.
But he had come through. His own instruments stayed and stayed at
_Danger_, without nearing _Overload_. He had done his job, and won a
commendation for it. He had even forgotten the burning ship.
All except the smell.
And here the smell was all over again--the smell of meat-with-fire....
Luci looked at him with wifely concern. She obviously thought he had
cranched too much, and was about to haberman back. She tried to be
cheerful: "You'd better rest, honey."
He whispered to her: "Cut--off--that--smell."
She did not question his word. She cut the transmitter. She even
crossed the room and stepped up the room controls until a small breeze
flitted across the floor and drove the smells up to the ceiling.
He rose, tired and stiff. (His instruments were normal, except that
Heart was fast and Nerves still hanging on the edge of _Danger_.) He
spoke sadly:
"Forgive me, Luci. I suppose I shouldn't have cranched. Not so soon
again. But darling, I have to get out from being a haberman. How can
I ever be near you? How can I be a man--not hearing my own voice, not
even feeling my own life as it goes through my veins? I love you,
darling. Can't I ever be near you?"
Her pride was disciplined and automatic: "But you're a Scanner!"
"I know I'm a Scanner. But so what?"
She went over the words, like a tale told a thousand times to reassure
herself: "You are the bravest of the brave, the most skilful of the
skilled. All Mankind owes most honor to the Scanner, who unites the
Earths of Mankind. Scanners are the protectors of the Habermans. They
are the judges in the Up-and Out. They make men live in the place
where men need desperately to die. They are the most honored of
Mankind, and even the Chiefs of the Instrumentality are delighted to
pay them homage!"
With obstinate sorrow he demurred: "Luci, we've heard that all before.
But does it pay us back--"
"'Scanners work for more than pay. They are the strong guards of
Mankind.' Don't you remember that?"
"But our lives, Luci. What can you get out of being the wife of a
Scanner? Why did you marry me? I'm human only when I cranch. The
rest of the time--you know what I am. A machine. A man turned into a
machine. A man who has been killed and kept alive for duty. Don't you
realize what I miss?"
"Of course, darling, of course--"
He went on: "Don't you think I remember my childhood? Don't you think
I remember what it is to be a man and not a haberman? To walk and feel
my feet on the ground? To feel a decent clean pain instead of watching
my body every minute to see if I'm alive? How will I know if I'm dead?
Did you ever think of that, Luci? How will I know if I'm dead?"
She ignored the unreasonableness of his outburst. Pacifyingly, she
said: "Sit down, darling. Let me make you some kind of a drink.
You're over-wrought."
Automatically, he scanned: "No I'm not! Listen to me. How do you
think it feels to be in the Up-and-Out with the crew tied-for-space all
around you? How do you think it feels to watch them sleep? How do you
think I like scanning, scanning, scanning month after month, when I can
feel the pain-of-Space beating against every part of my body, trying to
get past my Haberman blocks? How do you think I like to wake the men
when I have to, and have them hate me for it? Have you ever seen
habermans fight--strong men fighting, and neither knowing pain,
fighting until one touches _Overload_? Do you think about that, Luci?"
Triumphantly he added: "Can you blame me if I cranch, and come back to
being a man, just two days a month?"
"I'm not blaming you, darling. Let's enjoy your cranch. Sit down now,
and have a drink."
He was sitting down, resting his face in his hands, while she fixed the
drink, using natural fruits out of bottles in addition to the secure
alkaloids. He watched her restlessly and pitied her for marrying a
scanner; and then, though it was unjust, resented having to pity her.
Just as she turned to hand him the drink, they both jumped a little as
the phone rang. It should not have rung. They had turned it off. It
rang again, obviously on the emergency circuit. Stepping ahead of
Luci, Martel strode over to the phone and looked into it. Vomact was
looking at him.
The custom of Scanners entitled him to be brusque, even with a Senior
Scanner, on certain given occasions. This was one.
Before Vomact could speak, Martel spoke two words into the plate, not
caring whether the old man could read lips or not:
"Cranching. Busy."
He cut the switch and went back to Luci.
The phone rang again.
Luci said, gently, "I can find out what it is, darling. Here, take
your drink and sit down."
"Leave it alone," said her husband. "No one has a right to call when
I'm cranching. He knows that. He ought to know that."
The phone rang again. In a fury, Martel rose and went to the plate.
He cut it back on. Vomact was on the screen. Before Martel could
speak, Vomact held up his Talking Nail in line with his Heartbox.
Martel reverted to discipline:
"Scanner Martel present and waiting, sir."
The lips moved solemnly: "Top emergency."
"Sir, I am under the wire."
"Top emergency."
"Sir, don't you understand?" Martel mouthed his words, so he could be
sure that Vomact followed. "I .... am .... under .... the .... wire.
Unfit, for ... Space!"
Vomact repeated: "Top emergency. Report to your central tie-in."
"But, sir, no emergency like this--"
"Right, Martel. No emergency like this, ever before. Report to
tie-in." With a faint glint of kindliness, Vomact added: "No need to
de-cranch. Report as you are."
This time it was Martel whose phone was cut out. The screen went gray.
He turned to Luci. The temper had gone out of his voice. She came to
him. She kissed him, and rumpled his hair. All she could say was,
"I'm sorry."
She kissed him again, knowing his disappointment. "Take good care of
yourself, darling. I'll wait."
He scanned, and slipped into his transparent aircoat. At the window he
paused, and waved. She called, "Good luck!" As the air flowed past
him he said to himself, "This is the first time I've felt flight
in--eleven years. Lord, but it's easy to fly if you can feel yourself
live!"
Central Tie-in glowed white and austere far ahead. Martel peered. He
saw no glare of incoming ships from the Up-and-Out, no shuddering flare
of Space-fire out of control. Everything was quiet, as it should be on
an off-duty night.
And vet Vomact had called. He had called an emergency higher than
Space. There was no such thing. But Vomact had called it.
2
When Martel got there, he found about half the Scanners present, two
dozen or so of them. He lifted the Talking finger. Most of the
Scanners were standing face to face, talking in pairs as they read
lips. A few of the old, impatient ones were scribbling on their
Tablets and then thrusting the Tablets into other people's faces. All
the faces wore the dull dead relaxed look of a haberman. When Martel
entered the room, he knew that most of the others laughed in the deep
isolated privacy of their own minds, each thinking things it would be
useless to express in formal words. It had been a long time since a
Scanner showed up at a meeting cranched.
Vomact was not there: probably, thought Martel, he was still on the
phone calling others. The light of the phone flashed on and off; the
bell rang. Martel felt odd when he realized that of all those present,
he was the only one to hear that loud bell. It made him realize why
ordinary people did not like to be around groups of habermans or
Scanners. Martel looked around for company.
His friend Chang was there, busy explaining to some old and testy
Scanner that he did not know why Vomact had called. Martel looked
further and saw Parizianski. He walked over, threading his way past
the others with a dexterity that showed he could feel his feet from the
inside, and did not have to watch them. Several of the others stared
at him with their dead faces, and tried to smile. But they lacked full
muscular control and their faces twisted into horrid masks. (Scanners
knew better than to show expression on faces which they could no longer
govern. Martel added to himself, I swear _I'll_ never smile again
unless I'm cranched.)
Parizianski gave him the sign of the Talking Finger. Looking face to
face, he spoke:
"You come here cranched?"
Parizianski could not hear his own voice, so the words roared like the
words on a broken and screeching phone; Martel was startled, but knew
that the inquiry was well meant. No one could be better-natured than
the burly Pole.
"Vomact called. Top emergency."
"You told him you were cranched?"
"Yes."
"He still made you come?"
"Yes."
"Then all this--it is not for Space? You could not go Up-and-Out? You
are like ordinary men?"
"That's right."
"Then why did he call us?" Some pre-Haberman habit made Parizianski
wave his arms in inquiry. The hand struck the back of the old man
behind them. The slap could be heard throughout the room, but only
Martel heard it. Instinctively, he scanned Parizianski and the old
Scanner: they scanned him back, and then asked why. Only then did the
old man ask why Martel had scanned him. When Martel explained that he
was under-the-wire, the old man moved swiftly away to pass on the news
that there was a cranched Scanner present at the Tie-in.
Even this minor sensation could not keep the attention of most of the
Scanners from the worry about the Top Emergency. One young man, who
had Scanned his first transit just the year before, dramatically
interposed himself between Parizianski and Martel. He dramatically
flashed his Tablet at them:
_Is Vmct mad?_
The older men shook their heads. Martel, remembering that it had not
been too long that the young man had been haberman, mitigated the dead
solemnity of the denial with a friendly smile. He spoke in a normal
voice, saying:
"Vomact is the Senior of Scanners. I am sure that he could not go mad.
Would he not see it on his boxes first?"
Martel had to repeat the question, speaking slowly and mouthing his
words before the young Scanner could understand the comment. The young
man tried to make his face smile, and twisted it into a comic mask.
But he took up his tablet and scribbled:
_Yr rght._
Chang broke away from his friend and came over, his half-Chinese face
gleaming in the warm evening. (It's strange, thought Martel that more
Chinese don't become scanners. Or not so strange perhaps, if you think
that they never fill their quota of habermans. Chinese love good
living too much. The ones who do scan are all good ones.) Chang saw
that Martel was cranched, and spoke with voice:
"You break precedents. Luci must be angry to lose you?"
"She took it well. Chang, that's strange."
"What?"
"I'm cranched, and I can hear. Your voice sounds all right. How did
you learn to talk like--like an ordinary person?"
"I practised with soundtracks. Funny you noticed it. I think I am the
only Scanner in or between the Earths who can pass for an Ordinary Man.
Mirrors and sound-tracks. I found out how to act."
"But you don't....?"
"No. I don't feel, or taste, or hear, or smell things, any more than
you do. Talking doesn't do me much good. But I notice that it cheers
up the people around me."
"It would make a difference in the life of Luci."
Chang nodded sagely. "My father insisted on it. He said, 'You may be
proud of being a Scanner. I am sorry you are not a Man. Conceal your
defects.' So I tried. I wanted to tell the old boy about the Up and
Out, and what we did there, but it did not matter. He said, 'Airplanes
were good enough for Confucius, and they are for me too.' The old
humbug! He tries so hard to be a Chinese when he can't even read Old
Chinese. But he's got wonderful good sense, and for somebody going on
two hundred he certainly gets around."
Martel smiled at the thought: "In his airplane?"
Chang smiled back. This discipline of his facial muscles was amazing;
a bystander would not think that Chang was a haberman, controlling his
eyes, cheeks, and lips by cold intellectual control. The expression
had the spontaneity of life. Martel felt a flash of envy for Chang
when he looked at the dead cold faces of Parizianski and the others.
He knew that he himself looked fine: but why shouldn't he? he was
cranched. Turning to Parizianski he said,
"Did you see what Chang said about his father? The old boy uses an
airplane."
Parizianski made motions with his mouth, but the sounds meant nothing.
He took up his tablet and showed it to Martel and Chang.
_Bzz bzz. Ha ha. Gd ol' boy._
At that moment, Martel heard steps out in the corridor. He could not
help looking toward the door. Other eyes followed the direction of his
glance.
Vomact came in.
The group shuffled to attention in four parallel lines. They scanned
one another. Numerous hands reached across to adjust the
electrochemical controls on chestboxes which had begun to load up. One
Scanner held out a broken finger which his counter-Scanner had
discovered, and submitted it for treatment and splinting.
Vomact had taken out his Staff of Office. The cube at the top flashed
red light through the room, the lines reformed, and all Scanners gave
the sign meaning
_Present and ready!_
Vomact countered with the stance signifying, _I am the Senior and take
Command._
Talking fingers rose in the counter-gesture, _We concur and commit
ourselves._
Vomact raised his right arm, dropped the wrist as though it were
broken, in a queer searching gesture, meaning: _Any men around? Any
habermans not tied? All clear for the Scanners?_
Alone of all those present, the cranched Martel heard the queer rustle
of feet as they all turned completely around without leaving position,
looking sharply at one another and flashing their beltlights into the
dark corners of the great room. When again they faced Vomact, he made
a further sign:
_All clear. Follow my words._
Martel noticed that he alone relaxed. The others could not know the
meaning of relaxation with the minds blocked off up there in their
skulls, connected only with the eyes, and the rest of the body
connected with the mind only by controlling non-sensory nerves and the
instrument boxes on their chests. Martel realized that, cranched as he
was, he expected to hear Vomact's voice: the Senior had been talking
for some time. No sound escaped his lips. (Vomact never bothered with
sound.)
"...and when the first men to go Up and Out went to the Moon, what did
they find?"
"Nothing," responded the silent chorus of lips.
"Therefore they went further, to Mars and to Venus. The ships went out
year by year, but they did not come back until the Year One of Space.
Then did a ship come back with the First Effect. Scanners, I ask you,
what is the First Effect?"
"No one knows. No one knows."
"No one will ever know. Too many are the variables. By what do we
know the First Effect?"
"By the Great Pain of Space," came the chorus.
"And by what further sign?"
"By the need, oh the need for death."
Vomact again: "And who stopped the need for death?"
"Henry Haberman conquered the first effect, in the Year 3 of Space."
"And, Scanners, I ask you, what did he do?"
"He made the habermans."
"How, O Scanners, are habermans made?"
"They are made with the cuts. The brain is cut from the heart, the
lungs. The brain is cut from the ears, the nose. The brain is cut
from the mouth, the belly. The brain is cut from desire, and pain.
The brain is cut from the world. Save for the eyes. Save for the
control of the living flesh."
"And how, O Scanners is flesh controlled?"
"By the boxes set in the flesh, the controls set in the chest, the
signs made to rule the living body, the signs by which the body lives."
"How does a haberman live and live?"
"The haberman lives by control of the boxes."
"Whence come the habermans?"
Martel felt in the coming response a great roar of broken voices
echoing through the room as the Scanners, habermans themselves, put
sound behind their mouthings:
"Habermans are the scum of Mankind. Habermans are the weak, the cruel
the credulous, and the unfit. Habermans are the
sentenced-to-more-than-death. Habermans live in the mind alone. They
are killed for Space but they live for Space. They master the ships
that connect the earths. They live in the Great Pain while ordinary
men sleep in the cold cold sleep of the transit."
"Brothers and Scanners, I ask you now: are we habermans or are we not?"
"We are habermans in the flesh. We are cut apart, brain and flesh. We
are ready to go to the Up and Out. All of us have gone through the
Haberman Device."
"We are habermans then?" Vomact's eyes flashed and glittered as he
asked the ritual question.
Again the chorused answer was accompanied by a roar of voices heard
only by Martel: "Habermans we are, and more, and more. We are the
Chosen who are habermans by our own free will. We are the Agents of
the Instrumentality of Mankind."
"What must the others say to us?"
"They must say to us, 'You are the bravest of the brave, the most
skilful of the skilled. All mankind owes most honor to the Scanner,
who unites the Earths of Mankind. Scanners are the protectors of the
habermans. They are the judges in the Up-and-Out. They make men live
in the place where men need desperately to die. They are the most
honored of Mankind, and even the Chiefs of the Instrumentality are
delighted to pay them homage!'"
Vomact stood more erect: "What is the secret duty of the Scanner?"
"To keep secret our law, and to destroy the acquirers thereof."
"How to destroy?"
"Twice to the _Overload_, back and _Dead_."
"If habermans die, what the duty then?"
The Scanners all compressed their lips for answer. (Silence was the
code.) Martel, who--long familiar with the code--was a little bored
with the proceedings, noticed that Chang was breathing too heavily; he
reached over and adjusted Chang's Lung-control and received the thanks
of Chang's eyes. Vomact observed the interruption and glared at them
both. Martel relaxed, trying to imitate the dead cold stillness of the
others. It was so hard to do, when you were cranched.
"If others die, what the duty then?" asked Vomact.
"Scanners together inform the Instrumentality. Scanners together
accept the punishment. Scanners together settle the case."
"And if the punishment be severe?"
"Then no ships go."
"And if Scanners not be honored?"
"Then no ships go."
"And if a Scanner goes unpaid?"
"Then no ships go."
"And if the Others and the Instrumentality are not in all ways at all
times mindful of their proper obligation to the Scanners?"
"Then no ships go."
"And what, O Scanners, if no ships go?"
"The Earths fall apart. The Wild comes back in. The Old Machines and
the Beasts return."
"What is the known duty of a Scanner?"
"Not to sleep in the Up-and-Out."
"What is the second duty of a Scanner?"
"To keep forgotten the name of fear."
"What is the third duty of a Scanner?"
"To use the wire of Eustace Cranch only with care, only with
moderation." Several pair of eyes looked quickly at Martel before the
mouthed chorus went on. "To cranch only at home, only among friends,
only for the purpose of remembering, of relaxing, or of begetting."
"What is the word of the Scanner?"
"Faithful though surrounded by death."
"What is the motto of the Scanner?"
"Awake though surrounded by silence."
"What is the work of the Scanner?"
"Labor even in the heights of the Up-and-Out, loyalty even in the
depths of the Earths."
"How do you know a Scanner?"
"We know ourselves. We are dead though we live. And we Talk with the
Tablet and the Nail."
"What is this Code?"
"This Code is the friendly ancient wisdom of Scanners, briefly put that
we may be mindful and be cheered by our loyalty to one another."
At this point the formula should have run: "We complete the Code. Is
there work or word for the Scanners?" But Vomact said, and he repeated:
"Top emergency. Top emergency."
They gave him the sign, _Present and ready!_
He said, with every eye straining to follow his lips:
"Some of you know the work of Adam Stone?"
Martel saw lips move, saying: "The Red Asteroid. The Other who lives
at the edge of Space."
"Adam Stone has gone to the Instrumentality, claiming success for his
work. He says that he has found how to Screen Out the Pain of Space.
He says that the Up-and-Out can be made safe for ordinary men to work
in, to stay awake in. He says that there need be no more Scanners."
Beltlights flashed on all over the room as Scanners sought the right to
speak. Vomact nodded to one of the older men. "Scanner Smith will
speak."
Smith stepped slowly up into the light, watching his own feet. He
turned so that they could see his face. He spoke: "I say that this is
a lie. I say that Stone is a liar. I say that the Instrumentality
must not be deceived."
He paused. Then, in answer to some question from the audience which
most of the others did not see, he said:
"I invoke the secret duty of the Scanners."
Smith raised his right hand for Emergency Attention:
"I say that Stone must die."
3
Martel, still cranched, shuddered as he heard the boos, groans, shouts,
squeaks, grunts and moans which came from the Scanners who forgot noise
in their excitement and strove to make their dead bodies talk to one
another's deaf ears. Beltlights flashed wildly all over the room.
There was a rush for the rostrum and Scanners milled around at the top,
vying for attention until Parizianski--by sheer bulk--shoved the others
aside and down, and turned to mouth at the group.
"Brother Scanners, I want your eyes."
The people on the floor kept moving, with their numb bodies jostling
one another. Finally Vomact stepped up in front of Parizianski, faced
the others, and said:
"Scanners, be Scanners! Give him your eyes."
Parizianski was not good at public speaking. His lips moved too fast.
He waved his hands, which took the eyes of the others away from his
lips. Nevertheless, Martel was able to follow most of the message:
"...can't do this. Stone may have succeeded. If he has succeeded, it
means the end of the Scanners. It means the end of the habermans, too.
None of us will have to fight in the Up-and-Out. We won't have anybody
else going under-the-Wire for a few hours or days of being human.
Everybody will be Other. Nobody will have to Cranch, never again. Men
can be men. The habermans can be killed decently and properly, the way
men were killed in the Old Days, without anybody keeping them alive.
They won't have to work in the Up-and-Out! There will be no more Great
Pain--think of it! No ... more ... Great ... Pain! How do we know
that Stone is a liar--" Lights began flashing directly into his eyes.
(The rudest insult of Scanner to Scanner was this.)
Vomact again exercized authority. He stepped in front of Parizianski
and said something which the others could not see. Parizianski stepped
down from the rostrum. Vomact again spoke:
"I think that some of the Scanners disagree with our Brother
Parizianski. I say that the use of the rostrum be suspended till we
have had a chance for private discussion. In fifteen minutes I will
call the meeting back to order."
Martel looked around for Vomact when the Senior had rejoined the group
on the floor. Finding the Senior, Martel wrote swift script on his
Tablet, waiting for a chance to thrust the Tablet before the Senior's
eyes. He had written,
_Am crcnhd. Rspctfly requst prmissn lv now, stnd by fr orders._
Being cranched did strange things to Martel Most meetings that he
attended seemed formal heartening ceremonial, lighting up the dark
inward eternities of habermanhood. When he was not cranched, he
noticed his body no more than a marble bust notices its marble
pedestal. He had stood with them before. He had stood with them
effortless hours, while the long-winded ritual broke through the
terrible loneliness behind his eyes, and made him feel that the
Scanners, though a confraternity of the damned, were none the less
forever honored by the professional requirements of their mutilation.
This time, it was different. Coming cranched, and in full possession
of smell-sound-taste-feeling, he reacted more or less as a normal man
would. He saw his friends and colleagues as a lot of cruelly driven
ghosts, posturing out the meaningless ritual of their indefeasible
damnation. What difference did anything make, once you were a
haberman? Why all this talk about habermans and Scanners? Habermans
were criminals or heretics, and Scanners were gentlemen-volunteers, but
they were all in the same fix--except that Scanners were deemed worthy
of the short-time return of the Cranching Wire, while habermans were
simply disconnected while the ships lay in port and were left suspended
until they should be awakened, in some hour of emergency or trouble, to
work out another spell of their damnation. It was a rare haberman that
you saw on the street--someone of special merit or bravery, allowed to
look at mankind from the terrible prison of his own mechanified body.
And yet, what Scanner ever pitied a haberman? What Scanner ever
honored a haberman except perfunctorily in the line of duty? What had
the Scanners as a guild and a class, ever done for the habermans,
except to murder them with a twist of the wrist whenever a haberman,
too long beside a Scanner, picked up the tricks of the Scanning trade
and learned how to live at his own will, not the will the Scanners
imposed? What could the Others, the ordinary men, know of what went on
inside the ships? The Others slept in their cylinders, mercifully
unconscious until they woke up on whatever other Earth they had
consigned themselves to. What could the Others know of the men who had
to stay alive within the ship?
What could any Other know of the Up-and-Out? What Other could look at
the biting acid beauty of the stars in open space? What could they
tell of the Great Pain, which started quietly in the marrow, like an
ache, and proceeded by the fatigue and nausea of each separate nerve
cell, brain cell, touchpoint in the body, until life itself became a
terrible aching hunger for silence and for death?
He was a Scanner. All right, he was a Scanner. He had been a Scanner
from the moment when, wholly normal, he had stood in the sunlight
before a Subchief of Instrumentality, and had sworn:
"I pledge my honor and my life to Mankind. I sacrifice myself
willingly for the welfare of Mankind. In accepting the perilous
austere Honor, I yield all my rights without exception to the Honorable
Chiefs of the Instrumentality and to the Honored Confraternity of
Scanners."
He had pledged.
He had gone into the Haberman Device.
He remembered his Hell. He had not had such a bad one, even though it
had seemed to last a hundred million years, all of them without sleep.
He had learned to feel with his eyes. He had learned to see despite
the heavy eyeplates set back of his eyeballs, to insulate his eyes from
the rest of him. He had learned to watch his skin. He still
remembered the time he had noticed dampness on his shirt, and had
pulled out his Scanning Mirror only to discover that he had worn a hole
in his side by leaning against a vibrating machine. (A thing like that
could not happen to him now; he was too adept at reading his own
instruments.) He remembered the way that he had gone Up-and-Out, and
the way that the Great Pain beat into him, despite the fact that his
touch, smell, feeling, and hearing were gone for all ordinary purposes.
He remembered killing habermans, and keeping others alive, and standing
for months beside the Honorable Scanner-Pilot while neither of them
slept. He remembered going ashore on Earth Four, and remembered that
he had not enjoyed it, and had realized on that day that there was no
reward.
Martel stood among the other Scanners. He hated their awkwardness when
they moved, their immobility when they stood still. He hated the queer
assortment of smells which their bodies yielded unnoticed. He hated
the grunts and groans and squawks which they emitted from their
deafness. He hated them, and himself.
How could Luci stand him? He had kept his chestbox reading Danger for
weeks while he courted her, carrying the Cranch Wire about with him
most illegally, and going direct from one cranch to the other without
worrying about the fact his indicators all crept up to the edge of
_Overload_. He had wooed her without thinking of what would happen if
she did say, "Yes." She had.
"And they lived happily ever after." In Old Books they did, but how
could they, in life? He had had eighteen days under-the-wire in the
whole of the past year! Yet she had loved him. She still loved him.
He knew it. She fretted about him through the long months that he was
in the Up-and-Out. She tried to make home mean something to him even
when he was haberman, make food pretty when it could not be tasted,
make herself lovable when she could not be kissed--or might as well
not, since a haberman body meant no more than furniture. Luci was
patient.
And now, Adam Stone! (He let his Tablet fade: how could he leave, now?)
God bless Adam Stone?
Martel could not help feeling a little sorry for himself. No longer
would the high keen call of duty carry him through two hundred or so
years of the Other's time, two million private eternities of his own.
He could slouch and relax. He could forget High Space, and let the
Up-and-Out be tended by Others. He could cranch as much as he dared.
He could be almost normal--almost--for one year or five years or no
years. But at least he could stay with Luci. He could go with her
into the Wild, where there were Beasts and Old Machines still roving
the dark places. Perhaps he would die in the excitement of the hunt,
throwing spears at an ancient Manshonjagger as it leapt from its lair,
or tossing hot spheres at the tribesmen of the Unforgiven who still
roamed the Wild. There was still life to live, still a good normal
death to die, not the moving of a needle out in the silence and pain of
Space!
He had been walking about restlessly. His ears were attuned to the
sounds of normal speech, so that he did not feel like watching the
mouthings of his brethern. Now they seemed to have come to a decision.
Vomact was moving to the rostrum. Martel looked about for Chang, and
went to stand beside him. Chang whispered.
"You're as restless as water in mid-air! What's the matter?
De-cranching?"
They both scanned Martel, but the instruments held steady and showed no
sign of the cranch giving out.
The great light flared in its call to attention. Again they formed
ranks. Vomact thrust his lean old face into the glare, and spoke:
"Scanners and Brothers, I call for a vote." He held himself in the
stance which meant: "_I am the Senior and take Command_."
A beltlight flashed in protest.
It was old Henderson. He moved to the rostrum, spoke to Vomact,
and--with Vomact's nod of approval--turned full-face to repeat his
question:
"Who speaks for the Scanners Out in Space?"
No beltlight or hand answered.
Henderson and Vomact, face to face, conferred for a few moments. Then
Henderson faced them again:
"I yield to the Senior in Command. But I do not yield to a Meeting of
the Confraternity. There are sixty-eight Scanners, and only
forty-seven present, of whom one is cranched and U.D. I have therefore
proposed that the Senior in Command assume authority only over an
Emergency Committee of the Confraternity, not over a Meeting. Is that
agreed and understood by the Honorable Scanners?"
Hands rose in assent.
Chang murmured in Martel's ear, "Lot of difference that makes! Who can
tell the difference between a meeting and a committee?" Martel agreed
with the words, but was even more impressed with the way that Chang,
while haberman, could control his own voice.
Vomact resumed chairmanship: "We now vote on the question of Adam Stone.
"First, we can assume that he has not succeeded, and that his claims
are lies. We know that from our practical experience as Scanners. The
Pain of Space is only part of Scanning" (_But the essential part, the
basis of it all_, thought Martel.) "and we can rest assured that Stone
cannot solve the problem of Space Discipline."
"That tripe again," whispered Chang, unheard save by Martel.
"The Space Discipline of our Confraternity has kept High Space clean of
war and dispute. Sixty-eight disciplined men control all High Space.
We are removed by our oath and our haberman status from all Earthly
passions.
"Therefore, if Adam Stone has conquered the Pain of Space, so that
Others can wreck our Confraternity and bring to Space the trouble and
ruin which afflicts Earths, I say that Adam Stone is wrong. If Adam
Stone succeeds, Scanners live in Vain!
"Secondly, if Adam Stone has not conquered the Pain of Space, he will
cause great trouble in all the Earths. The Instrumentality and the
Subchiefs may not give us as many habermans as we need to operate the
ships of Mankind. There will be wild stories, and fewer recruits and,
worst of all, the Discipline of the Confraternity may relax if this
kind of nonsensical heresy is spread around.
"Therefore, if Adam Stone has succeeded, he threatens the ruin of the
Confraternity and should die.
"I move the death of Adam Stone."
And Vomact made the sign, _The Honorable Scanners are pleased to vote_.
4
Martel grabbed wildly for his beltlight. Chang, guessing ahead, had
his light out and ready; its bright beam, voting No, shone straight up
at the ceiling. Martel got his light out and threw its beam upward in
dissent. Then he looked around. Out of the forty-seven present, he
could see only five or six glittering.
Two more lights went on. Vomact stood as erect as a frozen corpse.
Vomact's eyes flashed as he stared back and forth over the group,
looking for lights. Several more went on. Finally Vomact took the
closing stance:
_May it please the Scanners to count the vote_.
Three of the older men went up on the rostrum with Vomact. They looked
over the room. (Martel thought: _These damned ghosts are voting on the
life of a real man, a live man! They have no right to do it. I'll
tell the Instrumentality!_ But he knew that he would not. He thought
of Luci and what she might gain by the triumph of Adam Stone: the
heartbreaking folly of the vote was then almost too much for Martel to
bear.)
All three of the tellers held up their hands in unanimous agreement on
the sign of the number: Fifteen against.
Vomact dismissed them with a bow of courtesy. He turned and again took
the stance, _I am the Senior and take Command_.
Marvelling at his own daring, Martel flashed his beltlight on. He knew
that anyone of the bystanders might reach over and twist his Heartbox
to Overload for such an act. He felt Chang's hand reaching to catch
him by the aircoat. But he eluded Chang's grasp and ran, faster than a
Scanner should, to the platform. As he ran, he wondered what appeal to
make. It was no use talking commonsense. Not now. It had to be law.
He jumped up on the rostrum beside Vomact, and took the stance:
Scanners, an Illegality!
He violated good custom while speaking, still in the stance: "A
Committee has no right to vote death by a majority vote. It takes
two-thirds of a full Meeting."
He felt Vomact's body lunge behind him, felt himself falling from the
rostrum, hitting the floor, hurting his knees and his touch-aware
hands. He was helped to his feet. He was scanned. Some Scanner he
scarcely knew took his instruments and toned him down.
Immediately Martel felt more calm, more detached, and hated himself for
feeling so.
He looked up at the rostrum. Vomact maintained the stance signifying:
_Order!_
The Scanners adjusted their ranks. The two Scanners next to Martel
took his arms. He shouted at them, but they looked away, and cut
themselves off from communication altogether.
Vomact spoke again when he saw the room was quiet: "A Scanner came here
cranched. Honorable Scanners, I apologize for this. It is not the
fault of our great and worthy Scanner and friend, Martel. He came here
under orders. I told him not to de-cranch. I hoped to spare him an
unnecessary haberman. We all know how happily Martel is married, and
we wish his brave experiment well. I like Martel. I respect his
judgment. I wanted him here. I knew you wanted him here. But he is
cranched. He is in no mood to share in the lofty business of the
Scanners. I therefore propose a solution which will meet all the
requirements of fairness. I propose that we rule Scanner Martel out of
order for his violation of rules. This violation would be inexcusable
if Martel were not cranched.
"But at the same time, in all fairness to Martel, I further propose
that we deal with the points raised so improperly by our worthy but
disqualified brother."
Vomact gave the sign, _The Honorable Scanners are pleased to vote_.
Martel tried to reach his own beltlight; the dead strong hands held him
tightly and he struggled in vain. One lone light shone high: Chang's,
no doubt.
Vomact thrust his face into the light again: "Having the approval of
our worthy Scanners and present company for the general proposal, I now
move that this Committee declare itself to have the full authority of a
Meeting, and that this Committee further make me responsible for all
misdeeds which this Committee may enact, to be held answerable before
the next full Meeting, but not before any other authority beyond the
closed and secret ranks of Scanners."
Flamboyantly this time, his triumph evident, Vomact assumed the vote
stance.
Only a few lights shone: far less, patently, than a minority of
one-fourth.
Vomact spoke again. The light shone on his high calm forehead, on his
dead relaxed cheekbones. His lean cheeks and chin were half-shadowed,
save where the lower light picked up and spotlighted his mouth, cruel
even in repose. (Vomact was said to be a descendant of some Ancient
Lady who had traversed, in an illegitimate and inexplicable fashion,
some hundreds of years of time in a single night. Her name, the Lady
Vomact, had passed into legend; but her blood and her archaic lust for
mastery lived on in the mute masterful body of her descendent. Martel
could believe the old tales as he stared at the rostrum, wondering what
untraceable mutation had left the Vomact kith as predators among
mankind.) Calling loudly with the movement of his lips, but still
without sound, Vomact appealed:
"The Honorable Committee is now pleased to reaffirm the sentence of
death issued against the heretic and enemy, Adam Stone." Again the
_vote_ stance.
Again Chang's light shone lonely in its isolated protest.
Vomact then made his final move:
"I call for the designation of the Senior Scanner present as the
manager of the sentence. I call for authorization to him to appoint
executioners, one or many, who shall make evident the will and majesty
of Scanners. I ask that I be accountable for the deed, and not for the
means. The deed is a noble deed, for the protection of Mankind and for
the honor of the Scanners; but of the means it must be said that they
are to be the best at hand, and no more. Who knows the true way to
kill an Other, here on a crowded and watchful earth? This is no mere
matter of discharging a cylindered sleeper, no mere question of
upgrading the needle of a haberman. When people die down here, it is
not like the Up-and-Out. They die reluctantly. Killing within the
Earth is not our usual business, O brothers and Scanners, as you know
well. You must choose me to choose my agent as I see fit. Otherwise
the common knowledge will become the common betrayal whereas if I alone
know the responsibility, I alone could betray us, and you will not have
far to look in case the Instrumentality comes searching." (_What about
the killer you choose? thought Martel. He too will know unless--unless
you silence him forever._)
Vomact went into the stance, The Honorable Scanners are pleased to vote.
One light of protest shone; Chang's, again.
Martel imagined that he could see a cruel joyful smile on Vomact's dead
face--the smile of a man who knew himself righteous and who found his
righteousness upheld and affirmed by militant authority.
Martel tried one last time to come free.
The dead hands held. They were locked like vises until their owners'
eyes unlocked them: how else could they hold the piloting month by
month?
Martel then shouted: "Honorable Scanners, this is judicial murder."
No ear heard him. He was cranched, and alone.
None the less, he shouted again: "You endanger the confraternity."
Nothing happened.
The echo of his voice sounded from one end of the room to the other.
No head turned. No eyes met his.
Martel realized that as they paired for talk, the eyes of the Scanners
averted him. He saw that no one desired to watch his speech. He knew
that behind the cold faces of his friends there lay compassion or
amusement. He knew that they knew him to be cranched--absurd, normal,
man-like, temporarily no Scanner. But he knew that in this matter the
wisdom of Scanners was nothing. He knew that only a cranched Scanner
could feel with his very blood the outrage and anger which deliberate
murder would provoke among the Others. He knew that the Confraternity
endangered itself, and knew that the most ancient prerogative of law
was the monopoly of death. Even the Ancient Nations, in the times of
the Wars, before the Beasts, before men went into the Up-and-Out--even
the Ancients had known this. How did they say it? _Only the State
shall kill_. The States were gone but the Instrumentality remained,
and the Instrumentality could not pardon things which occurred within
the Earths but beyond its authority. Death in Space was the business,
the right of the Scanners: how could the Instrumentality enforce its
laws in a place where all men who wakened, wakened only to die in the
Great Pain? Wisely did the Instrumentality leave Space to the
Scanners, wisely had the Confraternity not meddled inside the Earths.
And now the Confraternity itself was going to step forth as an outlaw
band, as a gang of rogues as stupid and reckless as the tribes of the
unforgiven!
Martel knew this because he was cranched. Had he been haberman, he
would have thought only with his mind, not with his heart and guts and
blood. How could the other Scanners know?
Vomact returned for the last time to the Rostrum: _The Committee has
met and its will shall be done_. Verbally he added: "Senior among you,
I ask your loyalty and your silence."
At that point, the two Scanners let his arms go. Martel rubbed his
numb hands, shaking his fingers to get the circulation back into the
cold fingertips. With real freedom, he began to think of what he might
still do. He scanned himself: the cranching held. He might have a
day. Well, he could go on even if haberman, but it would be
inconvenient, having to talk with Finger and Tablet. He looked about
for Chang. He saw his friend standing patient and immobile in a quiet
corner. Martel moved slowly, so as not to attract any more attention
to himself than could be helped. He faced Chang, moved until his face
was in the light, and then articulated:
"What are we going to do? You're not going to let them kill Adam
Stone, are you? Don't you realize what Stone's work will mean to us,
if it succeeds? No more Scanners. No more habermans. No more Pain in
the Up-and-Out. I tell you, if the others were all cranched, as I am,
they would see it in a human way, not with the narrow crazy logic which
they used in the meeting. We've got to stop them. How can we do it?
What are we going to do? What does Parizianski think? Who has been
chosen?"
"Which question do you want me to answer?"
Martel laughed. (It felt good to laugh, even then; it felt like being
a man.) "Will you help me?"
Chang's eyes flashed across Martel's face as Chang answered: "No. No.
No."
"You won't help?"
"No."
"Why not, Chang? Why not?"
"I am a Scanner. The vote has been taken. You would do the same if
you were not in this unusual condition."
"I'm not in an unusual condition. I'm cranched. That merely means
that I see things the way that the Others would. I see the stupidity.
The recklessness. The selfishness. It is murder."
"What is murder? Have you not killed? You are not one of the Others.
You are a Scanner. You will be sorry for what you are about to do, if
you do not watch out."
"But why did you vote against Vomact then? Didn't you too see what
Adam Stone means to all of us? Scanners will live in vain. Thank God
for that! Can't you see it?"
"No."
"But you talk to me, Chang. You are my friend?"
"I talk to you. I am your friend. Why not?"
"But what are you going to do?"
"Nothing, Martel. Nothing."
"Will you help me?"
"No,"
"Not even to save Stone?"
"No."
"Then I will go to Parizianski for help."
"It will do you no good."
"Why not? He's more human than you, right now."
"He will not help you, because he has the job. Vomact designated him
to kill Adam Stone."
Martel stopped speaking in mid-movement. He suddenly took the stance,
_I thank you, brother, and I depart_.
At the window he turned and faced the room. He saw that Vomact's eyes
were upon him. He gave the stance, _I thank you, brother, and I
depart_, and added the flourish of respect which is shown when Seniors
are present. Vomact caught the sign, and Martel could see the cruel
lips move. He thought he saw the words "...take good care of
yourself...." but did not wait to inquire. He stepped backward and
dropped out the window.
Once below the window and out of sight, he adjusted his aircoat to
maximum speed. He swam lazily in the air, scanning himself thoroughly,
and adjusting his adrenal intake down. He then made the movement of
release, and felt the cold air rush past his face like running water.
Adam Stone had to be at Chief Downport.
Adam Stone had to be there.
Wouldn't Adam Stone be surprised in the night? Surprised to meet the
strangest of beings, the first renegade among Scanners. (Martel
suddenly appreciated that it was of himself he was thinking. Martel
the Traitor to Scanners! That sounded strange and bad. But what of
Martel, the Loyal to Mankind? Was that not compensation? And if he
won, he won Luci. If he lost, he lost nothing--an unconsidered and
expendable haberman. It happened to be himself. But in contrast to
the immense reward, to Mankind, to the Confraternity, to Luci, what did
that matter?)
Martel thought to himself: "Adam Stone will have two visitors tonight.
Two Scanners, who are the friends of one another." He hoped that
Parizianski was still his friend.
"And the world," he added, "depends on which of us gets there first."
Multifaceted in their brightness, the lights of Chief Downport began to
shine through the mist ahead. Martel could see the outer towers of the
city and glimpsed the phosphorescent Periphery which kept back the
wild, whether Beasts, Machines, or the Unforgiven.
Once more Martel invoked the lords of his chance: "Help me to pass for
an Other!"
5
Within the Downport, Martel had less trouble than he thought. He
draped his aircoat over his shoulder so that it concealed the
instruments. He took up his scanning mirror, and made up his face from
the inside, by adding tone and animation to his blood and nerves until
the muscles of his face glowed and the skin gave out a healthy sweat.
That way he looked like an ordinary man who had just completed a long
night flight.
After straightening out his clothing, and hiding his tablet within his
jacket, he faced the problem of what to do about the Talking Finger.
If he kept the nail, it would show him to be a Scanner. He would be
respected, but he would be identified. He might be stopped by the
guards whom the Instrumentality had undoubtedly set around the person
of Adam Stone. If he broke the Nail-- But he couldn't! No Scanner in
the history of the Confraternity had ever willingly broken his nail.
That would be Resignation, and there was no such thing. The only way
out, was in the Up-and Out! Martel put his finger to his mouth and bit
off the nail. He looked at the now-queer finger, and sighed to himself.
He stepped toward the city gate, slipping his hand into his jacket and
running up his muscular strength to four times normal. He started to
scan, and then realized that his instruments were masked. _Might as
well take all the chances at once_, he thought.
The watcher stopped him with a searching Wire. The sphere thumped
suddenly against Mattel's chest.
"Are you a Man?" said the unseen voice. (Martel would have known that
as a Scanner in haberman condition, his own field-charge would have
illuminated the sphere.)
"I am a Man." Martel knew that the timbre of his voice had been good;
he hoped that it would not be taken for that of a Manshonjagger or a
Beast or an Unforgiven one, who with mimicry sought to enter the cities
and ports of Mankind.
"Name, number, rank, purpose, function, time departed."
"Martel." He had to remember his old number, not Scanner 34. "Sunward
4234, 182nd Year of Space. Rank, rising Subchief." That was no lie,
but his substantive rank. "Purpose, personal and lawful within the
limits of this city. No function of the Instrumentality. Departed
Chief Outport 2019 hours." Everything now depended on whether he was
believed, or would be checked against Chief Outport.
The voice was flat and routine: "Time desired within the city."
Martel used the standard phrase: "Your Honorable sufferance is
requested."
He stood in the cool night air, waiting. Far above him, through a gap
in the mist, he could see the poisonous glittering in the sky of
Scanners. _The stars are my enemies, he thought: I have mastered the
stars but they hate me. Ho, that sounds Ancient! Like a Book. Too
much cranching_.
The voice returned: "Sunward 4234 dash 182 rising Subchief Martel,
enter the lawful gates of the city. Welcome. Do you desire food,
raiment, money, or companionship?" The voice had no hospitality in it,
just business. This was certainly different from entering a city in a
Scanner's role! Then the petty officers came out, and threw their
beltlights in their fretful faces, and mouthed their words with
preposterous deference, shouting against the stone deafness of a
Scanner's ears. So that was the way that a Subchief was treated:
matter of fact, but not bad. Not bad.
Martel replied: "I have that which I need, but beg of the city a favor.
My friend Adam Stone is here. I desired to see him, on urgent and
personal lawful affairs."
The voice replied: "Did you have an appointment with Adam Stone?"
"No."
"The city will find him. What is his number?"
"I have forgotten it."
"You have forgotten it? Is not Adam Stone a Magnate of the
Instrumentality? Are you truly his friend?"
"Truly." Martel let a little annoyance creep into his voice.
"Watcher, doubt me and call your Subchief."
"No doubt implied. Why do you not know the number? This must go into
the record," added the voice.
"We were friends in childhood. He has crossed the--" Martel started
to say "the Up-and-Out" and remembered that the phrase was current only
among Scanners. "He has leapt from Earth to Earth, and has just now
returned. I knew him well and I seek him out. I have word of his
kith. May the Instrumentality protect us!"
"Heard and believed. Adam Stone will be searched."
At a risk, though a slight one, of having the sphere sound an alarm for
_non-human_, Martel cut in on his Scanner speaker within his jacket.
He saw the trembling needle of light await his words and he started to
write on it with his blunt finger. _That won't work_, he thought, and
had a moment's panic until he found his comb, which had a sharp enough
tooth to write. He wrote: "Emergency none. Martel Scanner calling
Parizianski Scanner."
The needle quivered and the reply glowed and faded out: "Parizianski
Scanner on duty and D. C. Calls taken by Scanner Relay."
Martel cut off his speaker.
Parizianski was somewhere around. Could he have crossed the direct
way, right over the city wall, setting off the alert, and invoking
official business when the petty officers overtook him in mid-air?
Scarcely. That meant that a number of other Scanners must have come in
with Parizianski, all of them pretending to be in search of a few of
the tenuous pleasures which could be enjoyed by a haberman, such as the
sight of the newspictures or the viewing of beautiful women in the
Pleasure Gallery. Parizianski was around, but he could not have moved
privately, because Scanner Central registered him on duty and recorded
his movements city by city.
The voice returned. Puzzlement was expressed in it. "Adam Stone is
found and awakened. He has asked pardon of the Honorable, and says he
knows no Martel. Will you see Adam Stone in the morning? The city
will bid you welcome."
Martel ran out of resources. It was hard enough mimicking a man
without having to tell lies in the guise of one. Martel could only
repeat: "Tell him I am Martel. The husband of Luci."
"It will be done."
Again the silence, and the hostile stars, and the sense that
Parizianski was somewhere near and getting nearer; Martel felt his
heart beating faster. He stole a glimpse at his chestbox and set his
heart down a point. He felt calmer, even though he had not been able
to scan with care.
The voice this time was cheerful, as though an annoyance had been
settled: "Adam Stone consents to see you. Enter Chief Downport, and
welcome."
The little sphere dropped noiselessly to the ground and the wire
whispered away into the darkness. A bright arc of narrow light rose
from the ground in front of Martel and swept through the city to one of
the higher towers--apparently a hostel, which Martel had never entered.
Martel plucked his aircoat to his chest for ballast, stepped
heel-and-toe on the beam, and felt himself whistle through the air to
an entrance window which sprang up before him as suddenly as a
devouring mouth.
A tower guard stood in the doorway. "You are awaited, sir. Do you
bear weapons; sir?"
"None," said Martel, grateful that he was relying on his own strength.
The guard let him past the check-screen. Martel noticed the quick
flight of a warning across the screen as his instruments registered and
identified him as a Scanner. But the guard had not noticed it.
The guard stopped at a door. "Adam Stone is armed. He is lawfully
armed by authority of the Instrumentality and by the liberty of this
city. All those who enter are given warning."
Martel nodded in understanding at the man and went in.
Adam Stone was a short man, stout and benign. His grey hair rose
stiffly from a low forehead. His whole face was red and merry looking.
He looked like a jolly guide from the Pleasure Gallery, not like a man
who had been at the edge of the Up-and-Out, righting the Great Pain
without haberman protection.
He stared at Martel. His look was puzzled, perhaps a little annoyed,
but not hostile.
Martel came to the point. "You do not know me. I lied. My name is
Martel, and I mean you no harm. But I lied. I beg the Honorable gift
of your hospitality. Remain armed. Direct your weapon against me--"
Stone smiled: "I am doing so," and Martel noticed the small Wirepoint
in Stone's capable plump hand.
"Good. Keep on guard against me. It will give you confidence in what
I shall say. But do, I beg you, give us a screen of privacy. I want
no casual lookers. This is a matter of life and death."
"First: whose life and death?" Stone's face remained calm, his voice
even.
"Yours, and mine, and the worlds'."
"You are cryptic but I agree." Stone called through the doorway:
"Privacy please." There was a sudden hum, and all the little noises of
the night quickly vanished from the air of the room.
Said Adam Stone: "Sir, who are you? What brings you here?"
"I am Scanner Thirty-four."
"You a Scanner. I don't believe it."
For answer, Martel pulled his jacket open, showing his chestbox. Stone
looked up at him, amazed. Martel explained:
"I am cranched. Have you never seen it before?"
"Not with men. On animals. Amazing! But--what do you want?"
"The truth. Do you fear me?"
"Not with this," said Stone, grasping the Wirepoint. "But I shall tell
you the truth."
"Is it true that you have conquered the Great Pain?"
Stone hesitated, seeking words for an answer.
"Quick, can you tell me how you have done it, so that I may believe
you?"
"I have loaded the ships with life."
"Life?"
"Life. I don't know what the great pain is, but I did find that in the
experiments, when I sent out masses of animals or plants, the life in
the center of the mass lived longest. I built ships--small ones, of
course--and sent them out with rabbits, with monkeys--"
"Those are Beasts?"
"Yes. With small Beasts. And the Beasts came back unhurt. They came
back because the walls of the ships were filled with life. I tried
many kinds, and finally found a sort of life which lives in the waters.
Oysters. Oyster-beds. The outermost oyster died in the Great Pain.
The inner ones lived. The passengers were unhurt."
"But they were Beasts?"
"Not only Beasts. Myself."
"You!"
"I came through Space alone. Through what you call the Up-and-Out,
alone. Awake and sleeping. I am unhurt. If you do not believe me,
ask your brother Scanners. Come and see my ship in the morning. I
will be glad to see you then, along with your brother Scanners. I am
going to demonstrate before the Chiefs of the Instrumentality."
Martel repeated his question: "You came here alone?"
Adam Stone grew testy: "Yes, alone. Go back and check your Scanner's
register if you do not believe me. You never put me in a bottle to
cross space."
Martel's face was radiant. "I believe you now. It is true. No more
Scanners. No more habermans. No more cranching."
Stone looked significantly toward the door.
Martel did not take the hint. "I must tell you that--"
"Sir, tell me in the morning. Go enjoy your cranch. Isn't it supposed
to be pleasure? Medically I know it well. But not in practice."
"It is pleasure. It's normality--for a while. But listen. The
Scanners have sworn to destroy you, and your work."
"What!"
"They have met and have voted and sworn. You will make Scanners
unnecessary, they say. You will bring the Ancient Wars back to the
world, if Scanning is lost and the Scanners live in vain!"
Adam Stone was nervous but kept his wits about him: "You're a Scanner.
Are you going to kill me--or try?"
"No, you fool. I have betrayed the Confraternity. Call guards the
moment I escape. Keep guards around you. I will try to intercept the
killer."
Martel saw a blur in the window. Before Stone could turn, the
Wirepoint was whipped out of his hand. The blur solidified and took
form as Parizianski.
Martel recognized what Parizianski was doing: _High speed_.
Without thinking of his cranch, he thrust his hand to his chest, set
himself up to _High speed_ too. Waves of fire, like the Great Pain,
but hotter, flooded over him. He fought to keep his face readable as
he stepped in front of Parizianski and gave the sign,
_Top Emergency_.
Parizianski spoke, while the normally-moving body of Stone stepped away
from them as slowly as a drifting cloud: "Get out of my way. I am on a
mission."
"I know it. I stop you here and now. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stone is
right."
Parizianski's lips were barely readable in the haze of pain which
flooded Martel. (He thought: _God, God. God of the Ancients! Let me
hold on! Let me live under Overload just long enough!_) Parizianski
was saying: "Get out of my way. By order of the Confraternity, get out
of my way!" And Parizianski gave the sign, _Help I demand in the name
of my duty!_
Martel choked for breath in the syrup-like air. He tried one last
time: "Parizianski, friend, friend, my friend. Stop. Stop." (No
Scanner had ever murdered Scanner before.)
Parizianski made the sign: _You are unfit for duty, and I will take
over_.
Martel thought, "For first time in the world!" as he reached over and
twisted Parizianski's Brainbox up to Overload. Parizianski's eyes
glittered in terror and understanding. His body began to drift down
toward the floor.
Martel had just strength enough to reach his own _Chestbox_. As he
faded into haberman or death, he knew not which, he felt his fingers
turning on the control of speed, turning down. He tried to speak, to
say, "Get a Scanner, I need help, get a Scanner...."
But the darkness rose about him, and the numb silence clasped him.
Martel awakened to see the face of Luci near his own.
He opened his eyes wider, and found that he was hearing--hearing the
sound of her happy weeping, the sound of her chest as she caught the
air back into her throat.
He spoke weakly: "Still cranched? Alive?"
Another face swam into the blur beside Luci's. It was Adam Stone. His
deep voice rang across immensities of space before coming to Mattel's
hearing. Mattel tried to read Stone's lips, but could not make them
out. He went back to listening to the voice:
"...not cranched. Do you understand me? Not cranched!"
Mattel tried to say: "But I can hear! I can feel!" The others got his
sense if not his words.
Adam Stone spoke again:
"You have gone back through the Haberman. I put you back first. I
didn't know how it would work in practice, but I had the theory all
worked out. You don't think the Instrumentality would waste the
Scanners, do you? You go back to normality. We are letting the
habermans die as fast as the ships come in. They don't need to live
any more. But we are restoring the Scanners. You are the first. Do
you understand? You are the first. Take it easy, now."
Adam Stone smiled. Dimly behind Stone, Mattel thought that he saw the
face of one of the Chiefs of the Instrumentality. That face, too,
smiled at him, and then both faces disappeared upward and away.
Martel tried to lift his head, to scan himself. He could not. Luci
stared at him, calming herself, but with an expression of loving
perplexity. She said,
"My darling husband! You're back again, to stay!"
Still, Martel tried to see his box. Finally he swept his hand across
his chest with a clumsy motion. There was nothing there. The
instruments were gone. He was back to normality but still alive.
In the deep weak peacefulness of his mind, another troubling thought
took shape. He tried to write with his finger, the way that Luci
wanted him to, but he had neither pointed fingernail nor Scanner's
Tablet. He had to use his voice. He summoned up his strength and
whispered:
"Scanners?"
"Yes, darling? What is it?"
"Scanners?"
"Scanners. Oh, yes, darling, they're all right. They had to arrest
some of them for going into _High Speed_ and running away. But the
Instrumentality caught them all--all those on the ground--and they're
happy now. Do you know, darling," she laughed, "some of them didn't
want to be restored to normality. But Stone and his Chiefs persuaded
them."
"Vomact?"
"He's fine, too. He's staying cranched until he can be restored. Do
you know, he has arranged for Scanners to take new jobs. You're all to
be Deputy Chiefs for Space. Isn't that nice? But he got himself made
Chief for Space. You're all going to be pilots, so that your
fraternity and guild can go on. And Chang's getting changed right now.
You'll see him soon."
Her face turned sad. She looked at him earnestly and said: "I might as
well tell you now. You'll worry otherwise. There has been one
accident. Only one. When you and your friend called on Adam Stone,
your friend was so happy that he forgot to scan, and he let himself die
of _Overload_."
"Called on Stone?"
"Yes. Don't you remember? Your friend."
He still looked surprised, so she said:
"Parizianski."
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