CHAPTER
25
It took a
little under five minutes for the uniformed attendant to ring the lounge doorbell of the suite and be admitted with the letters. Bleys, unsure whether to tip the man, played safe and did so. Customs differed from planet to planet. On some planets tips were practically demanded. On others they were an insult. Here, it appeared, a tip was not an insult. The attendant smiled broadly, thanked him and went out.
Bleys looked at the travel envelopes of both letters. They were both hand-addressed to him, in different but similar handwriting. The one from Ceta had been written a good two interstellar months previously. The one from Association was barely a week and a half old.
Bleys ripped open the older envelope first. He found inside a regulation military envelope, once again addressed to him with a return address that was merely a military code number. He opened it and glanced at the last page. It was a letter from Henry's youngest son, Will, its two pages covered with close handwriting on both sides—
probably the military limit im
posed upon Will. He must somehow have ended up in the militia. Bleys read it:
Dear Bleys,
I'm not allowed to tell you where we are, and it really doesn't matter anyway. There was a draft from our area just a couple of months ago, and now it seems in no time at all I've been through training and am already here on Ceta as part of a force that may be seeing combat soon. On the other hand, we may not. They tell us very little.
I've written Joshua and Father; but I wanted to write you too—simply because I don't know what may be the next chance I get to write, or what may happen to us.
I just wanted to tell you that I missed you, after you left the farm and your visits from time to time brightened all our days. Joshua was always the strong one—after Father, that is—but you were strong too, in a different way. As I remember being young, I remember how safe I used to feel with the two of you and Father. I was always the weak one. And I'm afraid I still am.
I do not feel safe now. I know that it is my duty to the Lord to be chosen for one of the expeditionary units; and that what our services earn will help everyone back home. But I'm not particularly close to anyone else in my Group; and without Father, Joshua, and particularly you, I feel very exposed, sometimes.
I can place my dependence in God and do, but somehow what I miss, even in a way I don't miss Joshua and Father not being close, I miss your understanding of things. I think that somehow if I understood more why God should arrange it that I was sent here, I would be a better soldier for Him.
You would understand this situation if you were in it; and if you were here you could explain it to me, so that I would feel less alone. Somehow, it is even a comfort to write you like this. Not as good, but something like having you here in person. Because, as I say, I know if you were here you would understand and you would show me how to understand.
There's not much space to write on these pieces of note paper they issue us, so I'll close now.
God and my prayers be with you, Bleys.
All my love, Will
At total variance with his usual habits, Bleys read the letter through several times, trying to reach through its words to a picture of Will sitting in his black expeditionary uniform, somewhere on Ceta; with a piece of paper on some kind of makeshift desk, like a board across his knees, writing it. Will would be nearly eighteen now, but his letter showed him still very young inside; as he had always been young for his years.
Finally, Bleys put that letter down on a table and opened the other one. This one, from only about ten days ago and in bolder handwriting, was from Joshua.
Dear Bleys,
I tried to call you in Ecumeny from the store, because I thought you would want to know, but they say you're off-planet at the moment. So I've written this letter, asking your organization and Dahno's to forward it on to you wherever you are.
I'm writing you, because I know it would be difficult for Father to do so. He hasn't told me that, but when I volunteered first to phone, and then to write he did not object. I think I could tell he was relieved that I had taken this on me, because of course he says and shows nothing—at least to any other eyes than my own.
Father and I have always felt the strong, comforting hand of the Lord firmly upon us. It has not been Will's fault that maybe at times he did not feel it so strongly. Perhaps if our mother had not died when he was so young, he might have been better armored in his Faith. But he was not; and therefore I know that this business of being chosen by the militia for draft, probably on contingent to be rented out off
-
world—as indeed it turned out he was—was hard on him.
I spoke to the selection committee for our district and tried hard to get them to take me in his place, since it would be much easier for me to go. But their decision was that I was of more importance to the farm and the farm of more importance to feeding our people; and so I must stay at home. They were in the seats of judgment in which the Lord had put them, and I could not quarrel with their decision, any more than Will could.
I was going to wait until you returned from off
-
world so that perhaps you could come out to the farm and I could simply tell you about his leaving. But today, we got news that Will, with all of his Group, was taken into the Lord's bosom as part of an action that took place on Ceta in a principality there, the name of which was censored in the letter that informed us of Will's death.
I knew you would want to know as soon as possible, and therefore I'm writing this letter. You must know that Will was very fond of you, as we all were, though it was sadness to all of us that you had never succeeded in giving yourself to God. But you know Father has always said that every man and woman belongs to the Lord in his or her own way, whether they know it or not. For that reason he would never join any of the volunteer evangelistic groups that our church sent into cities and other areas, where the beliefs of the people were either lacking or gone astray. I must rejoice that Will is now with God, even though I mourn him silently as Father does. When you return to Association and Ecumeny, we'll both be very happy if you could make a short visit to us out here. We have not seen you in some time.
God's blessing be on you, Joshua
Bleys laid Joshua's letter down on top of Will's. He stood for a moment, looking at nothing; then picked up both letters and carried them into the bedr
oom to put them in his personal
luggage case. He stood looking at the luggage case after he had relocked it.
Suddenly he shouted with all the force of his lungs. In a lightning movement he spun on one foot, bent over almost parallel to the ground and with the other leg lashed out at the bedroom wall beside him.
There was a crashing sound and an explosion of plaster. The wall, which was only a dividing wall with wooden studs beneath the plaster, suddenly showed a hole big enough for him to put both fists through.
He straightened up, looked at what he had done and after a moment laughed a little, angrily, at himself. He stepped to the phone and signaled the desk.
"I've just made a hole in my wall here," he said. "Send up whoever you have on duty at night and get it repaired."
There was a moment of confusion at the far end and then the voice of the man who had answered got himself under control. "Would you like us to move you to another suite while repairs are being made, Bleys Ahrens?"
"No," said Bleys, "just get them to fix this wall."
He went into the living room and from there onto the balcony. He stood with his hands on the stone-textured upper railing of the balcony, looking at the lights of the Cassidan city below and around him.
He did not see the lights, however, as much as he saw in memory an image of Will throwing himself forward to hug him, in that last moment, when Dahno had taken him from the farm permanently. For the moment he let the memory hold him; then, with an effort of will, he banished it.
If he accomplished the work he would set out to do, it well might be that he, himself, should yet be the cause of the death of both Joshua and Henry, or possibly, Josh's descendants, among millions of others. There was no point in dwelling on the chance that had killed Will.
With an effort he put the matter away. He was concerned that it should touch him at all.
He must not let this sort of thing get in his way. He had never experienced the loss of anyone he cared for. Mainly because, with the exception of his mother, he had been careful never to become close to anyone. He remembered now how instinct had kept him at arm's length from the women trainees of the first class that he had encountered in Ecumeny.
He had not thought that there was in him the capacity to be ensnared by an affection for another being. Not even Dahno— because he knew that Dahno could prove false, as their mother had to them. But, evidently, unknown in him all this time, there was still in him a potential weakness. He could see no cure for it, except to be sure that he stayed at a cautious distance from all other human beings. That was best in any case. It would leave his vision of what must be done, unimpeded.
Behind him, the doorchime rang; and the two cover-suited men outside identified themselves as the night repair crew sent up to work on the wall. He let them in; and then went to the phone in the far end of the living room.
"I've changed my mind," he told the desk. "You can move me to another suite, after all."
Within ten minutes a uniformed attendant was there to move his luggage and guide him to new quarters.
Once settled in his new suite, he went to bed and—after a while—slept soundly.
He was up, dressed and ready to have breakfast sent up, when his phone rang and Himandi's voice spoke in his ear when he keyed it in.
"I thought you might like to have breakfast with me," said Himandi.
"Fine," said Bleys.
They broke the connection and Bleys went down to the breakfast room of the hotel, where he found Himandi already at a table, waiting for him. Bleys sat down, and they ordered.
"I understand you had a small accident with one of the walls of your suite last night," said Himandi, after the morning greetings had been exchanged.
"Yes," replied Bleys in a perfectly level voice, "I had a small accident with one of the walls in my suite."
His eyes were directly upon Himandi's as he spoke; and he continued to hold them there after he finished speaking. Himandi looked away.
"Well, of course," he said, "the local organization wants you comfortable while you're here. If you have any problems, just get in touch with me."
"I don't expect problems," answered Bleys.
Himandi fished in his pockets and came up with two self-adhering badges, which he passed over the table to Bleys.
"One for the lower house, one for the upper," he said. "The minute you step in the front door of the building that encloses both of them, directories will show you the way to either one of the visitors' galleries."
"Thank you," said Bleys.
He put the badges away in his own pocket. They talked about the weather and various minor matters. Once or twice Himandi ventured to veer in the direction of the business part of Bleys' visit. But Bleys was apparently deaf to any such things. He went on talking of inconsequential subjects.
Himandi finally saw him off in an autocar which took him directly to the Government building.
As Himandi had said, once he reached the building that held the two parts of the legislature, Bleys had no trouble finding his way to both the visitors' galleries. The building was open, pleasant and well lit; and directions were frequent and explicit, on plaques on the wall.
He spent a relatively small amount of time in the gallery of the lower house, which was perhaps a quarter filled, with a debate of some kind going on. In the visitors' gallery of the upper house he spent a little bit more time. This particular chamber was almost empty. Only four or five people occupied seats at the individual desks on its floor, listening to one man on his feet, who was making a speech; apparently as much for the record as for those listening. After a while, Bleys left this gallery too and went out to find a phone.
He called Himandi, and found him at his office.
"I'd like to talk to Director Albert Chin," Bleys said. "He's one of your clients. Can you arrange for me to see him for perhaps fifteen minutes, right now?"
"If he's in his office," said Himandi, "I can try. Do you want to call me back in about half an hour? There's a very good restaurant on the ground floor. You might want to go down there and put in the time having something to drink."
"Yes," said Bleys. "Call me th
ere. I'll leave word when I go in that I'm expecting a phone call."
He broke the connection and went down to find the restaurant. As Himandi had said it was both a pleasant and a comfortable restaurant. He ordered the same ginger ale he had ordered after getting off the spaceship from Freiland, and sat with it, examining what the back of his mind had picked out of the wealth of material he had absorbed yesterday that seemed worthy of attention.
He had counted over forty Directors, as members of the upper house were known—probably in imitation of the Newton Board of Directors—who had been in the files as consulting with Himandi at one time or another.