The Blood-Rage (16)
CHAPTER 16 To trust another, you must first be able to trust yourself. For how else can you be sure the process used in trusting will be accurate? -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- It was night, and the silence inside the cupola made Darkcian nervous. I've become addicted to stimulus, he thought. This quietude is unnerving. Suddenly the lok was not enough in this regard. He rose and took off the learning device. I've to get out of here, he thought. I have to learn about the night with my six senses, not just with the abstract flow of the "lok's" data. He stood and tried to look into the darkness outside. He failed; it was too dark. Thinking again to himself, he wondered: They haven't specifically ordered me to stay within the "cupola" at night. But I think that their assumption is that I will. What was it Gravestone said? "Since our planet does not have a moon, as do some other systems in the galaxy, we don't fight each other at night because it's like fighting blind, for one can barely see in the starlight, so dim is that source. Thus, a fight at night becomes more of a cutting at shadows, and it takes more luck than skill. So, at night we sleep, and all rationals have agreed to do only that at night. In other words, we agree not to fight each other during that time. Instead, we renew for the fighting that will take place in daylight where skill, not luck, will prevail." He nodded his head. He felt that he understood the restrictions Agonians placed on the night. With a shrug, he walked through the energy wall of the cupola, leaving his sword behind, thinking: I don't have a need for a weapon at night, for Rasp, Erendria, and Gravestone are asleep . . . and they have said the night is for peace. A cool breeze greeted him; it was full of strange smells that made him wrinkle his nose and smile. There were also the faint sounds of the night: chirruping and scrapings, calls and cries, sniffs of the hunter, squeaks of the hunted, and always, always the rustle of the moving grass, bending and yielding to its master the wind. He felt the surge of joy in his heart. There was something about nature and its creatures that made him feel welcome and at home here . . . here in the midst of simple things, things that were motivated only by hunger and survival, not ego and pain. THE END RESULT IS THE SAME. He ignored that thought and looked at the other three cupolas with some apprehension. He shrugged and turned away. The call of freedom was strong in him now, flooding his mind with a strange longing. He thought: So soft does the night fall and so quiet, too. And it’s getting even quieter. Listen, now there's only the hint of sound. The hummers have stopped singing; the day-bats have stopped crying. Soft. Quiet. There is peace in the night. There is renewal. Hope, too? He suddenly wanted to shout out loud, to let out the pressure that was building inside. But not yet. He started to run, slowly at first, then with ever increasing speed. With each mile his joy increased; and, as his joy built, so did his speed. "Free, free, f-r-e-e-e!" he shouted into the unknown vastness of the dark. The thrill of not knowing what lay ahead and what moved in behind him was an ecstasy he didn't understand but could only accept. Freedom, freedom. Gods, how wonderful! An hour later, panting deeply, weary, yet still content, he fell face down onto the ground atop a soft mattress of grass. He estimated that he had traversed about fifteen miles into the dark of the prairie beyond the cupolas. Each mile between himself and the Kalts had brought him a lessening of tension. He rolled onto his back to stare up at the stars. The mystery of the heavens awed him; and, even though the lok had told him what the little pin-points of light were, he still had so many more unanswered questions about them. How far away do you ultimately go? he asked the infinity above him. How were you born? How will you die? Do any of you support life like Agon? If you do, do you then take it away? Why? He smiled. This was becoming a common dialogue between himself and the void up-there. He shouted his questions. Out- there shouted back in a silence that appeared even louder. ACCEPT WHAT IS. WONDER ABOUT WHAT IS NOT, came the thought. He pondered that awhile. But, of course, he concluded finally, that's logical. But he didn't want to have a dialogue with himself again tonight, so he shut his mind to it and closed his eyes. Ah, the smell of the land. How both sweet and bitter it was. He filled his lungs; it was like breathing in happiness. He suddenly felt something crawling up his bare leg. He sat up and swatted a six-legged bug back onto the grass. There's no privacy anywhere, he thought and probed the little creature's mind. It was so simple that he laughed. He expanded the probe outward, seeking for something more. The millions of little sparks of life filled him with awe again. So much, he thought, but still so simple. He went out further--the multitude of life made him dizzy--and further still, expanding and analyzing. He mentally leaped from the tiniest insect to the larger forms where, he found, the forever-flying glide-birds were the smartest. Each spark felt like a hot mental dot. No, dot was the wrong term, he thought. More like a hot sensation. Then suddenly it was there, complexity! Strong! Brilliant! Beautiful! He stood quickly and looked anti-poleward. Yes, there it was . . . something . . . something moving quickly in his direction. He squinted, trying for that night vision he had experienced before. The land suddenly blossomed brighter to his eyes. From being nearly black, it turned into a gray relief. Yes, a human, running. Why? All are suppose to be asleep now. Idiot, he next thought to himself. You left your sword behind. What was it that Rasp had said? "Fools die young on Agon." He reached out with his mind again, probing. There! Again! And there was something familiar in the contact. What? USE YOUR EYES, NOT YOUR MIND, came the thought. I feel danger, he thought. MEET IT AS AN AGONIAN THEN . . . OR ARE YOU TOO WEAK? Weak or stupid? Deny a gift and risk defeat or use the gift and assure victory? VICTORY AT WHAT PRICE? THAT OF FAIRNESS? HONOR? JUSTICE? Logically, I see no relevance to a code of conduct that brings failure, pain, or death as the result of its practice. IF YOU WERE SURE ANY OF THOSE THREE WOULD OCCUR, THAT WOULD PROBABLY BE TRUE. BUT YOU ARE NOT SURE AND THEREFORE MUST JUDGE THE RISKS AGAINST THE VIRTUES OF BEING STRONG IN THE SAME TERMS AS THE REST OF AGON. THIS IS A VALUE JUDGMENT. Since all information about any given encounter cannot be known, this judgment will have to be partly subjective and possibly in error. TRUE. ONLY MACHINES CAN BE FULLY OBJECTIVE. BUT THEY, TOO, CAN ERROR IF NOT ENOUGH INFORMATION IS AVAILABLE. SO, IF YOU ARE FORCED INTO A DECISION, YOU MUST MAKE IT BASED ON WHAT YOU KNOW AND WHAT YOU FEEL IS CORRECT. Darkcian saw that the runner was getting closer. He made his decision then and closed his mind to any further mental contact. He thought-spoke to himself again: I feel my thoughts are correct and reasonable. I bend to their application. He squatted on his heels and waited. As he noted the smooth grace of the running figure, the gap between them narrowed. The runner was now on a collision course with himself. He willed himself to be patient; he didn't move. At the last possible moment, he leaped up and sideways, spinning so that his left heel arced into the other's stomach, a movement learned from the ver. He heard a feminine-like gasp of pain from the runner, as whomever it was stopped in mid-stride and then fell toward the ground. Even so, the falling shape drew a dagger and twisted sideways, landing on its side. To Darkcian, the dagger confirmed his opponent's sex. The dark figure slashed upward with the blade, but Darkcian saw the movement and delayed his pounce until after the dagger passed in front of him. He fell on the shape. That seemed to knock the wind out of her. He then pinned the hands of the squirming form to the ground, concentrating on the right one, twisting it backwards until it was forced to open and let go of the dagger. He then released that hand and smacked his elbow into his opponent's temple. The other's struggling stopped immediately. He rose to his knees--still straddling whomever it was--and quickly untied the lanyard from the inert wrist and then flung the dagger away. The figure moaned and slowly twisted over onto her side, there to fold up from the pain. He turned the shape back onto its back and, lacing his fingers in other's fingers, forced her arms straight out beyond her head. He then stretched his body over the other's. He became conscious of the firm mounds of flesh pressing into his chest. The stretching of her body must have caused more pain, because he heard her cry out. But only for a second, for he noticed the pain also brought her back to consciousness. She looked up. And although the starlight was bright, he knew she couldn't see his face clearly. He guessed that the trembling that had just started in her body was from the shock of pain. Yet he sensed her fighting for calm, a steadiness of both body and mind. That took a great deal of strength, he knew, because he had done the same when under the tutelage of Rasp and Gravestone. He looked down at her and frowned. His night-vision did not show three-dimensional spatial shapes or textures, only contours of isometric temperatures. Thus, facial and body shapes lost all identification that would have been present to normal sight in the presence of light. In its place, only a body outline and a new identification according to temperature differences was possible. The areas around her eyes and mouth looked brighter than her forehead. Her teeth were not visible, but her tongue and the inside of her open mouth were. "Who are you?" she managed to whisper. "You saw me eight turns ago." He had finally placed her mental scent. She shook her head. "I saw many fools eight turns ago." "I was the one who didn't fight." She hissed through clenched teeth, "The weak one who kneeled on the ground while the clan of Kalt stood over him and killed eight warriors?" "Yes. And you? Weren't you the brave one who watched that event from a far, safe distance?" "I couldn't have gotten to the scene in time to do combat. By the time I saw what was happening, it was half-over. Besides, I wasn't needed. The fools tried to take a trio near zenith." Darkcian smiled. "I agree. Your dagger wasn't needed during that encounter. But you could have made the gesture." He saw her eyes widen and knew she could dimly see the outline of his face, and the smile she sensed there seemed to be making her angry. She twisted to break free, straining every muscle. She had a strength born from panic. Darkcian held her thrashing body by increasing the tension through her arms, stretching her body until she screamed. She gave up the struggle and went limp with a shudder. "Kill me," she whispered. "This sadistic waiting isn't honorable. I would have killed you long ago if the situation had been reversed. I'd have given you that courtesy." "A quick end you would have given me, you say?" She gave a short, quick nod. "If I were to kill you, it would be done quickly." "Why is there such a rush to kill? Many seek my destruction because I'm weak. But they don't seek the nature of my weakness nor its cause. Why? Why do you and others not wonder why the Kalts haven't killed me?" She tried to see into his eyes. "Yes. I've wondered about that. Why do you still live? Why have the Kalts ignored your cowardliness?" "They seek the cause of my weakness." As do I. "Why is that important to anyone?" His shrug brought a gasp of pain from her. He said, "They think that the cause could be a danger to Agon." "Only if you live to reproduce," she said through clenched teeth. "And they won't allow that." His shrug brought another wince from her. "Where's your diode-cloth?" he asked. He watched her eyes open wide in surprise. "It's in my belt-pouch. I don't need it now. It's night, and no one can see me." "They say you are ugly to look upon." What does ugly mean? Not beautiful? She took three quick breaths, holding the last one a long time. She then sighed, saying, "There's an ancient saying that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder." "You mean that you are beautiful to some?" "I mean that a rational should be able to look beyond the physical to see a beauty that can be within. And when found that beauty can moderate and modify any external ugliness." She squirmed again, violently, and then lay still, quelled. "I've always asked to be viewed as a whole person, not just by my exterior. The request always seems to be refused. I curse those who only judge by sight." Suddenly he let her go and rose to his feet. The quickness of it seemed to catch her unprepared, for she continued to lie on her back. He said, "It's night and neither of us can see external details. Perhaps we both can judge the quality of the other without being prejudiced by outside factors. A unique opportunity for each of us, I think." Besides, he thought, beauty's a breeding ground for cruelty. She rose slowly to stand in front of him. She stilled her breathing and replied, "As you said, it will be unique and . . . interesting. Thank you for the chance. Although it has been my desire to be so viewed, it's never happened. And in the end, I don't think you will succeed either. No one seems to be able to ignore horror." "I can because I don't know what it is." Is it like terror? he wondered. Something that makes the stomach cold? She appeared to consider him for a long time. At most, he knew, she could only see him as a tall, black silhouette. She said, "You speak so strangely. It makes me nervous. Could it be possible that you're like me and haven't talked with anyone in a long time?" "I've talked to the Kalts and Rasp, but no one else. Why are you nervous about talking?" "I fear I won't do well. I fear that I will reveal too much." He saw her clench her fists, as if dismayed that she had admitted to fear. "Is it important to always do well?" "It's important to be thought well of, for whatever reason. All humans want approval, most of all from a friend." "Are we friends?" The concept made him suddenly light- headed. "I don't know. I've never had a friend. And I still may kill you for touching me the way you did." He turned away from her and walked a short distance, searching the ground. "Death seems to be the answer to all things on this planet," he said over his shoulder. "It's our way. You should know that." He stopped and picked up her dagger. Straightening, he said, "I know very little, least of all why people act the way they do. It seems to me that the term rational, as applied to humans, is a misnomer." "I don't understand." He walked back to her and extended the dagger. "Here. Take your weapon. Let there be peace between us." She snatched the dagger from his hand, and he detected a sound of amazement in her voice as she said, "You trust me not to kill you now that I'm armed again? Few males can stand against the knife-that-returns, and I'm a master in its use." "Why would you kill me now? I'm not a threat." "You touched me," she said softly. "Is that a reason to kill?" "I've killed for less. Why are you so ignorant of insult?" He looked away from her heat-radiating body, exposing himself further to the dagger. "I'm ignorant because I've forgotten all things over ten turns old. The Kalts call it amnesia." He looked back toward her. "I'm flawed." "Forgotten? You mean you have no memory of your past?" "No memory of anything that occurred over ten turns ago." "Ah-h-h. Now I understand. You didn't fight beside the Kalts because you didn't know how. You hand back my dagger because you don't know the danger." She retied the lanyard and returned the dagger to its sheath. "You cannot live on this planet without knowledge. Why didn't the Kalts kill you?" "Why don't you?" She paused a moment, considering. "You trusted me not to. I've never been trusted in that way before, and I like it." "But I'm flawed." "So am I," she said softly. "But the Second Law says--" "Damn the Second Law!" she shouted. "No man will ever mate with me; I'm too horrible to look upon. My genes will thus never pollute Agon. That should be enough! Must I scream out my pain to Agon every day?" Her outburst startled and puzzled him. Here was a rational who didn't love Agon? Somehow he had gotten the impression there wasn't such a thing. Her life must be in constant danger because she held that view. He questioned cautiously, "And me?" She lowered her voice. "Why should I kill you now and deprive myself of the joy of talking to someone again? Gods, but it has been a long time. My need to hear a voice is so great; you can't believe. I crave to just hear the sound; it doesn't matter what you say." She drew her knife again. "But if you laugh at my need, that can change." "Laugh? What's that? Besides, I understand the need for friendship and communication. I seem to have a desire for it, also. Is that bad?" "Yes," she whispered. "It's like love; it makes you dependent."
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