The 235th Hall had never seemed so long to him, nor the walk-belt so slow. It crawled past block after block until Ken felt every muscle twitching at the restraints he had to impose on himself. But Proctors were everywhere in the Hall, just waiting for a misdemeanor to break the monotony of their four-hour watch. Ken had heard it rumored that Proctors received extra calories for every conviction.
Well if that were so, he snorted to himself, innocently returning the shocked glances cast in his direction as he turned guilt from himself with practiced ease, their Aisle Proctor ought to be one helluva lot fatter than he was.
Up ahead, he heard a murmuring. He glanced over the barely bobbing heads, lucky enough to be taller than most of the run of his generation. He could hear a snuffling, the outraged mumble, the slight flurry of moving bodies.
A case of flatulence, no doubt, he decided with an inward chuckle. That offense'd reduce a lot of calories for someone if the criminal could be identified.
Fortunately, before he reached the scene of the crime, he got to his Corridor turn.
Turn, please, he murmured in the properly distressed tone required of a citizen imposing on his fellows.
With mechanical promptitude, the bodies directly to his right squeezed either backward or forward and permitted him space enough to slip sideways to the edge of the moving walk-belt and onto the stationary plastic floor.
Corridor, please, he repeated endlessly as he sidled, a step at a time, toward the 84th Corridor.
Christ, but it would be great to walk out without having to consult the schedule for Pedestrian Traffic in Hall and Corridor Routes. He could have been home from the Codep Block four hours ago. Of course, it had been great meeting the rest of the Phase III group. Their leader and the metropologist of the group, Dr. Hu Shih, was quite a guy; soft-spoken but firm, he seemed to know every frame of the Spacedep survey and the Alreldep reports. Hu Shih must have just got in under the age wire, too.
Ken spared a moment of wonder for the courage and tenacity of the many, many Codep assignees who never had made it off-planet, or who had turned overage before Spacedep released even a resources planet to Codep. God, to live a whole lifetime with nothing-nothing but a dream that would never be realized! To put up with the inferior quarters all inactive Codepers were given, the subsistence allowance, the disrespect, the sneers and condescensionand then never get off-planet? Well, that had been one of the arguments of his friends and family when he'd applied: Codep men died youngsuicides!
But not Ken Reeve. He and his were going. And the dream that had taken fire the day he'd stood on the amazing soil of his Regional Square Mile, felt grass, seen sky above him, blue and limitless, was going to be ful-filled.
Inadvertently Ken had lengthened his stride in the Corridor and trodden on the heels of a citizen in front of him.
Your number? the man rasped out indignantly.
"I'll be off-world before you can bring it to Court," Ken replied in a loud, carefree voice. Suddenly he no longer cared about earth-bound conventions-not when he would soon have a whole planet to conquer. I'm going to Doona!"
Indignation turned to shocked outrage.
Off-world? He's mad! Idiot! Social deviant! Anarchist! were some of the clearly projected whispers around him.
Your number! the offended citizen demanded again.
«Sweat it, man,» Ken advised him crudely and hopped off the Corridor, ducking down the Aisle three up from his own. Let that proper citizen search for him there! And Ken didn't care that it would take him another fifteen minuteseven at the acceleration permitted in an Aisleto double back to Aisle 45.
At a heel-thumping walk, he passed two shuffling women, arm-locked, faces nose-to-nose as they carried on a private mutter.
They squealed thinly as he thudded past them, but he had put too many other pedestrians between himself and them before they could form a protest.
Fortuitously his own Aisle was sparsely occupiedTodd had driven away any resident who could wangle a transfer. He lengthened his stride, passing others without the customary obsequiousness, ignoring the exclamations of those who did recognize him. Their complaints, too, would not come up on the docket before he left. And thank God, Pat and the kids would be transferred to Co-dep's Cubed Block now that the whole family was on active assignment.
Active assignment! He chanted the alliteration like a prayer. Maybe now they rated additional acoustical shielding so that Pat wouldn't suffer so much ostracism because of Todd's asocial traits. Active assignment aids additional acoustics, he expanded the litany, grinning foolishly.
As he threw open the door to their two rooms, he heard Pat's startled warning. He managed to prevent the door handle from jamming into the thin back threatened by his precipitate entrance.
Mr. Reeve, it is easy to see where your son received his unsocial tendencies, a whining whisper informed him.
Quickly closing the door behind him, Ken stared down at the socially correct, emaciated skeleton that housed the petty spirited Proctor of their Aisle Section.
A pleasant day to you, Ken replied with such jaunty good humor that Pat, who had obviously been taking a terrible tongue-lashing, stared at him with dawning hope.
How can it be pleasant when a steady stream of tenants report insupportable noise emanating from these rooms? Proctor Edgar demanded.
Oh, but it is the pleasantest of days. Now take your nosy intolerant bitching elsewhere!
Ken! Pat screamed in a well-trained sotto voce. Then the strain and pallor of her face were replaced by incredulous joy. Active assignment?
You bet!
Mr. Reeve. Moderate your voice this instant. Your family has already been reported nine times this week for social misdemeanors. I am reluctant to reduce your calorie allowance any further but I must demand . . .
Demand away, Ken encouraged him, beaming at Pat. You have no jurisdiction over us any more. We're out of it. We're going to Doona!
Doona! Pat stifled her elation but she could not suppress the relief she felt, even in the presence of non-family observers. Oh, Ken, is it really true?
True-true-true, Pat, and Ken, deliberately aggravating the outraged Proctor, picked up his wife and kissed her lustily.
Reeve!" the Proctor's protest was barely audible over the smack of the embrace.
Get out if you can't stand it, Ken advised. Go invade someone else's privacy on the excuse of official business. He kept his hold on his wife with one arm as he opened the door and shoved the Proctor back into the Aisle. At the door's resounding slam, Pat came to her senses.
"Ken, you're mad. He'll, he'll" she floundered helplessly.
«He can't do a damned thing to us, not ever again,» Ken assured her, burying his face in Pat's silky hair and hugging her for the joy bursting inside him. «We're going. We're going to be free to run and yell and stride andfeel!»
Chapter III. SURPRISE
WELL, GENTLEMEN, Hu Shih announced as they finished breakfast that morning, the town is in good order, all winter damage is cleared away, fences mended, fields plowed and sown, and our houses await our families. I believe it is therefore safe to inaugurate those secondary projects we planned during the long months of our winter.
When the cheering died, Ken Reeve pointed across the table at Sam Gaynor. C'mon, pal. Our project is the other side of the river.
Damn walk-about nut, Gaynor growled with an anticipatory grin spreading across his face. Remember, you guys, every man jack heard Ken bet he could walk me, me! off my feet.
Anyone who wants to walk after the winter we put in, Lee Lawrence exclaimed, throwing up his hands in disgust, is queer.
It's spring, man, you don't need snowshoes, Ken countered, grabbing up a handful of lunch rations.
Spring! When a man's fancies should turn to more than long tiring walks, Lee Lawrence remarked sourly.
Speaks the sociologist? Macy McKee taunted, for Lee was famed for his ingenuity in avoiding exercise.
Walking won't be so bad now it's spring, Vic Solinari put in. And next winter won't be so bad either, now we know what it's like during winter on Doona, he added, thinking of the exigencies which he, as storemaster, had had to practice over the incredible ten-month winter season.
Long and cold, Sam quipped.
But next winter, and Lee leered significantly, we'll have our wives with us.
Ezra Moody, the doctor, groaned. God, I'll be busy next spring!
Who's going to let you wait till next spring? Lee demanded, bringing his chair down with a crash
They'll be here any day now, Ken sighed with a sudden harsh yearning. C'mon, Sam, shake a leg! he urged and started for the door.
Their exit signalized an exodus from the mess hall in which they had spent so much of their time. In fact, by the time Ken and Sam were depositing their gear in the small powered skiff at the river's edge, only Solinari was left in the Common.
An hour later, when Ken and Sam returned at a dead run and in a kind of incredulous wrath, they had to hang on the air whistle for five minutes before anyone returned.
What'n'hell's the matter with you, Reeve? demanded Lee Lawrence, the first to arrive.
We're not alone on Doona, Lee, Ken cried, waving the quick-prints at the startled sociologist. We're not alone!
You're round the bend, man!
No, he's not, growled Sam Gaynor, his face set in hard, bitter lines. There's a village across the river in that grove of porous wood trees, where the river widens below the falls. A big village, full of furred, tailed cats that walk on their hind legs and carry knives.
Lee sat down slowly on the top step of the mess hall porch, staring at the photographs Sam thrust in front of his face.
If I didn't have these, I'd've sworn it was a mirage or something, Sam went on. Because, Almighty God, I couldn't believe my eyes.
And there was no village in that clearing when we were there last fall or last winter, Ken added, white beneath his tan.
It stinks! Lawrence grated out. Oh God, you didn't talk to 'em? You weren't seen? he added, reverting to his professional self.
Hell, no. I shot the camera and we sloped out of there, Ken assured him.
Oh God, what do we do now? Phase IV is already started, Lawrence groaned.
One thing's sure, Ken reminded him sourly, they can't reach the ship in warp drive to turn it back, and it's not scheduled to stop this side of Doona.
At that moment, Hu Shih, Ramasan and Ben Adjei came running across the Common and by the time the others had reported in, Sam, Ken and Lee had some-what adjusted to the unsettling discovery. Hu Shih was already running through the tapes and films of Phase I and II for any references to the porous wood forest in which the village so blatantly existed.
There is absolutely no evidence of any habitation in that area on any of these reports, he said in a decisive tone, his face inscrutable. Not a house, not a roof, not a shingle in sight. Hu Shih picked up one of Ken's quick-prints, regarded it thoughtfully a moment before placing it carefully beside the inaccurate films.
Well, the place is now crawling with cats, Sam Gaynor said into the silence.
I thought cats lived in caves, Eckerd, the other jack-of-all-trades, remarked inanely, looking up from his elaborate doodle in spilled sugar.
That is not as odd, Dautrish, the botanist, added, as the fact that there is no other even faintly felinoid species on this planet. Strange that only one would evolve and to such a dominant position.
''Hmmm, a very interesting observation, Abe," Lee drawled. "Nevertheless, it does not bear on the fact that our noble Spacedep has committed a grave error."
Error cried Victor Solinari in mock horror. The storemaster's voice was edged with bitter sarcasm. Our noble spacemen fallible?
But how could the Phase II scouts have missed a village as big, as well established as this one? Gaynor demanded, jutting his chin out with ursine aggressiveness.
Tell you what, Lawrence suggested, waggling a finger at Sam, I'll bet those Phase II-ers experimented with that local red berry and they thought the pussycat people were just hallucinations! Last night I went upon a bat, and saw a tawny six-foot . . .
This is no joke! Gaynor snapped.
Son, drawled Lawrence, his mockery gone, his voice rough, iffen Ah doan laff, Ah sure as hell stinks am gwanta cry!
Silence gripped the eleven men as each fought to control his emotions at this crushing blow; this unexpected denouement to years of training and hope.
The grotesque injustice of it all threatened to over-whelm Ken Reeve. He thrust back the childish desire to deny what his eyes had seen, to disregard the evidence of the pictures he himself had taken. He thought of the incredible effort required of them throughout the past ten months; physical, mental and emotional. Not merely the hard work of building the colony's headquarters and family homes, of enduring the unfamiliar discomforts of a long hard cold winter, but the psychological upheavals of adjusting to something as fundamental as open sky, broad fieldseveryone had experienced some agoraphobiaorganic foods which, no sweat, had had to be killed by men who had never before ended the life of an ant. However, once they'd run out of their pre-packaged protein supplies, any reluctance had quickly disappeared with the onslaught of hunger pangs. But such minor things as learning to shout to bridge distance, to run, even to be able to hike for miles at a timeall these new skills had had to be learned in painful adjustments. The idea of having to return to Earth and its stale, antiseptic sham life was grossly repellent.
There must be a mistake, Reeve heard himself say.
No, we're the mistake, Lawrence replied bitterly. If the cats are here, we shouldn't be. Simple as that. And at that, we have already broken the guiding principle of the Colonial Department.
«Sweat the goddamned stinking principle,» Gaynor said obscenely. He lurched to his feet and faced Hu Shih. «We're here. We've worked, we've bled, we'vesweated . . .»
«Gentlemen,» the colony leader cut in sharply, rising to his feet. He turned to Gaynor, waiting until the engineer had subsided to his seat. «It would be nice to believe that the evidence of these pictures is a mistakea mirage, as Sam suggested. But such houses are all too solid and cameras do not lie, despite the Phase I and II inaccuracies. Such houses do not grow overnight. Although I could wish that they did. We might then establish a prior claim to our lovely Doona.» He surveyed his fingertips contemplatively before he continued. «How such evidence of habitation can have escaped not only the robot cameras of the orbiting probe in Phase I but also the trained eyes of the scouts is beyond my comprehension. But,» and he paused to sigh deeply, «they are there. And we are here! And we have broken the Principle of Non-Cohabitation, by existing here with another and obviously sentient species.»