Son of the Tree

III

HABLEYAT glanced briefly around the room, shook his head dolefully. «A bad business. Risky for all concerned.»

Joe, standing stiffly at the wall, found ready assent. Hableyat took a couple steps forward, peered at the floor. «Careless. Still much blood.»

He looked up, became conscious of Joe's stance. «But by all means be at your ease. Indeed be at your ease.» For a moment he inspected Joe impersonally. «No doubt your mouth has been crammed with money. A marvel you still live.»

Joe said dryly, «I was summoned here by the Priestess Elfane, who drove off in the Kelt. Otherwise I disassociate myself from the entire affair.»

Hableyat shook his head wistfully. «If you are found here with the blood on the floor you will be questioned. And since every effort will be made to hush up Empoing's assassination you will undoubtedly be killed to insure your silence.»

Joe licked his lips. «But isn't it from whom they want to hide the killing?»

Hableyat nodded. «No doubt. I represent the Power and Reach of the Mangtse Dail–that is, the Bluewater Faction. Empoing was born to the Red-streams, who follow a different school of thought. They believe in a swift succession of events.»

A strange idea formed in Joe's mind and would not be dismissed. Hableyat noticed the shift of his features. His mouth, a short fleshy crevice between the two yellow jowls, drew in at the corners.

«Yes indeed. I killed him. It was necessary, believe me. Otherwise he would have slaughtered Manaolo, who is engaged on a very important mission. If Manaolo were deterred it would be–from one viewpoint–a tragedy.»

The ideas were coming too fast–they fled by Joe's mind like a school of fish past a dip-net. It was as if Hableyat were displaying a tray full of bright wares, waiting to see which Joe would select.

Joe said warily, «Why are you telling me all this?»

Hableyat shrugged his meaty shoulders. «Whoever you are you are no simple chauffeur.»

«Ah-but I am!»

«Who or what you are has not yet been established. These are complex times, when many people and many worlds want irreconcilable things and every man's origin and intentions must be closely analyzed. My information traces you to Thuban Nine, where you served as an instructor of civil engineering at the Technical Institute. From Thuban you came to Ardemizian, then to Panapol, then to Rosalinda, then to Jamivetta, finally to Kyril.

«On each planet you remained only long enough to earn transportation to the next. There is a pattern here and where there is a pattern there is a plan. Where there is a plan there is an intent and where there is an intent there are ends to be gained. And when ends are gained someone is the loser. But I see you are uneasy. Evidently you fear discovery. Am I right?»

«I do not care to be killed.»

«I suggest that we repair to my apartment, which is nearby, and then perhaps we will have a chat. I am always eager to learn and possibly in gratitude for a safe exit from this apartment–»

A chime cut him short. He started, moved rapidly to the window, looked up, down. From the window he ran to the door, listened. He motioned to Joe. «Stand aside.»

The chime sounded again–a heavy knuckle rapped at the door. Hableyat hissed under his breath. A scratch, a scrape. The door slid aside.

A tall man with a wide red face and a little beak of a nose strode into the room. He wore a flowing white robe with a cowl and a black-green-and-gold morion atop the cowl. Hableyat slid behind him, executed a complex gesture involving a kick at the back of the man's legs, a clip of the forearm, a wrench at the wrist– and the Druid fell face down on the floor.

Joe gasped, «It's the Thearch himself! We'll be flayed.»

«Come,» said Hableyat, once more a benevolent man of business. They stepped swiftly down the hall. Hableyat slid back his door. « In.»

Hableyat's suite was larger than the chambers of the Priestess Elfane. The sitting room was dominated by a long rectangular table, the top cut from a single slab of polished dark wood inlaid with arabesque copper leaves.

Two Mang warriors sat stiffly on each side of the door–short stocky men, craggy of feature. Hableyat paid them no heed, passed them as if they were inanimate. Noting Joe's inquiring glance, he appeared to observe them for the first time.

«Hypnotized,» he said off-handedly. «So long as I' m in the room or the room is empty they won't move.»

Joe gingerly moved past him into the room, reflecting that he was as open to suspicion here as he was in the Priestess' apartment.

Hableyat seated himself with a grunt, motioned Joe to a chair. Rather than trust himself to a maze of unknown corridors Joe obeyed. Hableyat lay his plump palms flat on the table, fixed Joe with candid eyes.

«You appear to be caught up in an unpleasant situation, Joe Smith.»

«Not necessarily,» said Joe with a forlorn attempt at spirit. «I could go to the Thearch, tell my story and that would be an end to it.»

Hableyat's face quivered as he chortled, opening his mouth like a squirrel. «And then?»

Joe said nothing.

Hableyat slapped the table heartily. «My boy, you are not yet familiar with the Druid psychology. To them killing is the response to almost any circumstance–a casual act like turning out the light on leaving a room. So when you had told your story you would be killed. For no particular reason other than that it is easier to kill than not to kill.» Hableyat idly traced the pattern of a tendril with his yellow fingernail, spoke as if musing aloud.

«Sometimes the strangest organisms are the most efficient. Kyril operates in a manner remarkable for its utter simplicity. Five billion lives devoted to feeding and pampering two million Druids and one Tree. But the system works, it perpetuates itself–which is the test for viability.

«Kyril is a grotesque ultimate of religious dedication. Laity, Druids, Tree. Laity works, Druids conduct the rites, Tree is–is immanent. Amazing! Humanity creates from the same protoplasm the clods of the Laity, the highly-tempered Druids.»

Joe stirred restlessly. «What is all this to me?»

«I merely indicate,» said Hableyat gently, «that your life is not worth the moist spot where I spit to anyone but yourself. What is life to a Druid? See this workmanship? The lives of ten men have been spent on this table. The slabs of marble on the wall–they were ground to fit by hand. Cost? Druids have no awareness of the concept. Labor is free, man-power unlimited.

«Even the electricity which powers and lights the palace is generated by hand in the cellars–in the name of the Tree of Life, where the poor blind souls ultimately hope to reside, serene in the sunlight and wind. The Druids thereby justify the system to their consciences, to the other worlds.

«The Laity knows nothing better. An ounce of meal, a fish, a pot of greens–so they survive. They know no marriage rites, no family, no tradition, not even folklore. They are cattle on a range. They breed with neither passion nor grace.

«Controversies? The Druid formula is simple. Kill both parties and so the controversy is dead. Unassailable–and the Tree of Life looms across the planet, the mightiest promise of life eternal the galaxy has ever known. Pure massive vitality!»

Joe hitched himself forward in his seat, looked to his right at the immobile Mang warriors. To his left, across the deep orange rug, out the window. Hableyat followed his gaze with a quizzical purse to his lips.

Joe said in a tight voice, «Why are you keeping me here? What are you waiting for?»

Hableyat blinked rapidly, reproachfully. «I am conscious of no intent to detain you. You are free to leave any time you wish.»

«Why bring me here in the first place?» demanded Joe.

Hableyat shrugged. «Sheer altruism possibly. If you returned to your quarters now you are as good as dead. Especially after the regrettable intrusion of the Thearch.»

Joe relaxed into the chair. «That's not–necessarily true.»

Hableyat nodded vigorously. «I'm afraid it is. Consider–it is known or will be known, that you took up the black Kelt, which subsequently was driven away by Priestess Elfane and Ecclesiarch Manaolo. The Thearch, coming to his daughter's apartments, perhaps to investigate, perhaps in response to a summons, is attacked. Shortly afterwards the chauffeur returns to his quarters.» He paused, opened plump hands out significantly.

Joe said, «All right then. What's on your mind?»

Hableyat tapped the table with his fingernail. «These are complex times, complex times. You see,» he added confidentially, «Kyril is becoming overpopulated with Druids.»

Joe frowned. «Overpopulated? With two million Druids?»

Hableyat laughed. «Five billion Laity are unable to provide a dignified existence for more. You must understand that these poor wretches have no interest in producing. Their single aspiration is to pass through life as expeditiously as possible so as to take their place as a leaf on the Tree.

«The Druids are caught in a dilemma. To increase production they must either educate and industrialize-thus admitting to the Laity that life offers pleasures other than rapt contemplation–or they must find other sources of wealth and production. To this end the Druids have decided to operate a bank of industries on Ballenkarch. So we Mangs and our highly industrialized world become involved. We see in the Druid plan a threat to our own well being.»

Joe asked with an air of tired patience, «How does this involve me?»

«My job as emissary-at-large,» said Hableyat, «is to promote the interests of my world. To this end I require a great deal of information. When you arrived here a month ago you were investigated. You were traced back as far as a planet of the distant sun Thuban. Before that, your trail eludes us.»

Joe said with incredulous anger, «But you know my home world! I told you the first time I saw you. Earth. And you said that you had spoken to another Earthman, Harry Creath.»

Hableyat nodded briskly. «Exactly. But it has occurred to me that 'Earth' as a place of origin offers a handy anonymity.» He peered at Joe slyly. «Both for you and Harry Creath.»

Joe took a deep breath. «You know more of Harry Creath than you let me believe.»

Hableyat appeared surprised that Joe should consider this fact exceptional. «Of course. It is necessary for me to know many things. Now this 'Earth' you speak of– is its identity actually more than verbal?» And he eyed Joe inquisitively.

«I assure you it is,» said Joe, heavily sarcastic. «You people are so far out along this little wisp of stars that you've forgotten the rest of the universe.»

Hableyat nodded, drummed his fingers on the table. «Interesting, interesting. This brings a rather new emphasis to light.»

Joe said impatiently, «I'm not aware of any emphasis, either old or new. My business, such as it is, is personal. I have no interest in your enterprises and least of all do I want to become involved.»

There was a harsh pounding at the door. Hableyat rose to his feet with a grunt of satisfaction. This was what he had been awaiting, Joe thought.

«I repeat,» said Hableyat, «that you have no choice. You are involved in spite of any wish to the contrary. Do you want to live?»

«Of course I want to live.» Joe half-rose to his feet as the pounding was resumed.

«Then agree to whatever I say–no matter how farfetched it may seem to you. Do you understand?»

«Yes,» said Joe with resignation.

Hableyat spoke a sharp word. The two warriors bounded to their feet like mechanical men, «Open the door.»

The door slid back. The Thearch stood in the opening, his face wrathful. Behind him stood a half dozen Druids in robes of different colors–Ecclesiarchs, Sub-Thearchs, Presbytes, Hierophants.

Hableyat was transformed. His overt characteristics became intensified. His benignity softened to obsequiousness; his bland ease of manner become a polished unction. He trotted forward as if the Thearch's visit afforded him tremendous pride and delight.

The Thearch towered in the doorway, glaring up and down the room. His eyes passed over the two warriors, came to rest on Joe.

He raised a hand, pointed portentously. «There's the man! A murderous blackguard! Lay hold, we'll see the end of him before the hour's out.»

The Druids swept forward in a swift rustle of robes. Joe reached for his weapon. But the two Mang warriors, moving so deftly and easily that they seemed not to have moved at all, blocked the doorway. A hot-eyed Druid in a brown-and-green robe reached to thrust them aside.

There was a twinkle of blue light, a crackle, a startled exclamation and the Druid leapt back, trembling in indignation. «He's charged with static!»

Hableyat bustled forward, all dismay and alarm. «Your Worship, what is happening?»

The Thearch's expression was vastly contemptuous. «Stand aside, Mang, call off your electrified go-devils. I'll have that man.»

Cried Hableyat, «But Worship, Worship–you dismay me. Can it be that I've taken a criminal into my service?»

«Your service?»

«Surely your Worship is aware that in order to pursue a realistic policy my government employs a number of unofficial observers?»

«Cutthroat spies!» roared the Thearch.

Hableyat rubbed his chin. «If such is the case, your Worship, I am disillusioned, since the Druid spies on Mangtse are uniformly self-effacing. Just what is my servant accused of?»

The Thearch thrust his head forward, said with soft fervor, «I'll tell you what he's done–he's killed one of your own men–a Mang! There's yellow blood all over the floor of my daughter's chamber. Where there's blood, there's death.»

«Your Worship!» exclaimed Hableyat. «This is serious news! Who is it that is dead?»

«How do I know? Enough that there's a man killed and that this–»

«But your Worship! This man has been in my company all day. Your news is alarming. It means that a representative of my government has been attacked. I fear that there will be tumult in the Lathbon. Where did you notice this blood? In the chamber of your daughter, the Priestess? Where is she? Perhaps she can shed some light on the matter.»

«I don't know where she is.» He turned, pointed a finger. «Alamaina–find the Priestess Elfane. I wish to speak to her.» Then to Hableyat, «Do I understand that you are taking this blackguard spy under your protection?»

Hableyat said courteously, «Our security officers have been solicitous in guarding the safety of the Druids representing your Worship on Mangtse.»

The Thearch turned on his heel, strode off through the hooded forms of his Druids.

Joe said, «So now I'm a Mang spy.»

«What would you have?» inquired Hableyat.

Joe returned to his seat. «For some reason I can't imagine you are determined to attach me to your staff.»

Hableyat made a gesture of deprecation.

Joe stared at him a moment. «You murder your own men, you strike down the Thearch in his daughter's sitting-room–and somehow I find myself held to account for it. It's not possible that you planned it that way?»

«Now, now, now,» murmured Hableyat.

Joe asked politely, «May I presume upon your courtesy further?»

«Certainly. By all means.» Hableyat waited attentively.

Joe said boldly, without any real expectation of Hableyat's assent, «Take me to the Terminal. Put me on the packet to Ballenkarch which leaves today.»

Hableyat, raising his eyebrows sagely, nodded. «A very reasonable request–and one which I would be unkind to deny. Are you ready to leave at once?»

«Yes,» said Joe dryly, «I am.»

«And you have sufficient funds?»

«I have five thousand stiples given me by the Priestess Elfane and Manaolo.»

«Hah! I see. They were anxious then to be on their way.» «I received that impression.»

Hableyat looked up sharply. «There is suppressed emotion in your voice.»

«The Druid Manaolo arouses a great deal of aversion in me.»

« Hah!» said Hableyat with a sly wink. «And the Priestess arouses a great deal of the opposite? Oh, you youngsters! If only I had my youth back how I would enjoy myself!»

Joe said in precise tones, «My future plans involve neither Manaolo nor Elfane.»

«Only the future can tell,» intoned Hableyat. «Now then–to the Terminal.»