Slaves of The Klau Page 2

  The Lekthwan language, he read, sounds harsh and consonantal to Earth ears-a matter which deserves explanation. To begin with, the Lekthwan language embraces a tremendous vocabulary, with sometimes a hundred synonyms for one basic idea. In consequence there is no need for circumlocution, and Lekthwan speech is notable for the logical simplicity of its declarative forms.

  A further peculiarity of the Lekthwan language is the fact that each word may have a number of different shadings, depending upon the "characterization" assumed by the person speaking, or even the person spoken to. There are almost a hundred of these characterizations, of which sixty-two are term "basic." Every mature person is familiar with the basic characterizations, and with most of the remaining optionals. The Lekthwan indicates the characterization in which he speaks by play of eyes, eyebrows and eyelashes. In crude analogy, the characterizations might be likened to the emotion-masks of the ancient Greek dramatists.

  Barch tossed the book back to the bench, mentally labeling the Lekthwan language a life-time job in itself. The Lekthwan children seemed to absorb it easily enough. He watched Sia Spedz, engrossed in Darran's explanation. How many of these characterizations was she able to use? A bright-looking kid. Thousands of years of natural-and possibly eugenic-selection had no doubt increased the intelligence of the race. Intelligence and-as if to offer an illustration, Komeitk Lelianr stepped out on the terrace-intelligence and beauty.

  Covertly he watched her as she leaned upon the balustrade. The Lekthwans, he knew, felt no self-consciousness in connection with nudity. Komeitk Lelianr now wore only a short skirt and air-sandals. Barch felt the warmth rising in his body. A stranger, a creature of a far world… and yet how wonderful, how alive, how graceful, how clean…

  She turned quickly, as if she had felt his eyes. Barch looked away guiltily, then after a moment glanced back, to where she now stood with her back to the balustrade. She was appraising him. Barch thought bitterly, I'm the first Earther savage she's had a close look at.

  She said politely, "I see that you study our language. Do you find it difficult?"

  Barch said, "At first glance it looks complicated. I imagine that it's a remarkable vehicle of expression, if a stranger could ever digest it."

  Her face showed interest. Barch thought angrily, she probably expected me to grunt like a bear.

  Komeitk Lelianr inquired, "Aren't you the one who doesn't like us?"

  Barch's eyes narrowed in surprise. He said carefully, "I don't object to Lekthwans as human beings."

  "And that's all you feel?"

  "I don't think that Earth will ultimately benefit from their presence."

  Komeitk Lelianr asked, "What's your name?"

  "Roy Barch." And almost rudely, he asked, "What's yours?"

  "Komeitk Lelianr."

  "Mmph… What does it mean?"

  She laughed. "A meaning? Why should it have a meaning?"

  "It seems reasonable that an advanced people-as you profess yourselves to be-would use your names to indicate your profession, or home, or some kind of identification."

  "Tsk," said Komeitk Lelianr. Her eyebrows moved in what Barch recognized as a change of characterization. "What a terrible idea: regimented, uniform. You suffer misapprehensions about us."

  "No less than your misapprehensions about us," growled Barch.

  Komeitk Lelianr grinned. "Does your name mean anything?"

  "No."

  "I'd like to ask a favor of you," she said. "You don't need to ask favors. I'm on the payroll; all you need to do is give orders."

  "I'm very much interested in the psychology of other-world races. Would you object if I made a psychometric test of you?"

  "Ah," said Barch bitterly. "So now it comes out. I'm to figure as one of your case histories… Typical Earther savage. Perhaps you'd like a photograph of me in my- war-bonnet? Or maybe a recording of me in my native chants?"

  "That would be wonderful," said Komeitk Lelianr. "But -do you have your regalia here?"

  Barch stared at her. She was unquestionably serious. "We're going to throw a combination cannibal-feed and voodoo orgy tomorrow night on Sunset Boulevard. If you sneak quietly over in your air-sandals, you'll get some really sensational stuff."

  Her eyebrows flickered in interest. "Indeed, I would like to visit one of these rites."

  "Well," said Barch thoughtfully, "you'd have to disguise yourself. If you powdered over your skin, you probably could pass for a good case of sun-tan. Also, you'd have to wear more clothes. That's a provocative outfit you've got on now."

  "I'm not sure I understand. Why do you say that?"

  Barch looked away. "I don't know… Yes, I do too."

  "Then how should I dress myself?"

  He looked sidewise at her. "Are you serious?"

  "Of course. Where is this Sunset Boulevard?"

  "I could take you," said Barch thoughtfully.

  "That would be very helpful."

  Barch calculated. "How will we get there?"

  "In the air-boat. How else?"

  "Your father won't kick?"

  "Kick?"

  "Object?"

  "Of course not." She added soberly, "You must understand, I possibly intend to make anthropology my career." Barch nodded. "Very well, that's a date."

  "But what sort of costume must I wear?"

  "Anything that covers you from shoulder to knee. If you combed your hair back I suppose you could pass for platinum blonde…"

  Darran came in while Barch was knotting his tie. "Where do you think you're going? Why the preparations?"

  "Got a date with the old man's daughter."

  Darran sat down. "So? Hopscotch with Spedz maybe, along the north terrace?"

  "No, sir. Catch-as-catch-can with the cute one, up to San Francisco."

  Darran leaned back limply. "This is fantastic."

  "Not when you get the background. She's interested in picturesque native customs; she thinks she's going to Los Angeles to see a human sacrifice, or a Dionysian fertility rite."

  Darran sighed. "What some guys won't do to get a date… And where are you taking her? Or is she taking you?"

  "Darned if I know. She'd probably enjoy the Embarcadero saloons or Chutes at the Beach." He made a wry face. "I have my pride too."

  "She'd be bored at the Fairmont."

  "I should think so. No blood-letting, no colorful rituals."

  "There's always Hambone Kelly's."

  "True," said Barch. "There's always Hambone Kelly's." He buttoned his jacket. "Well, here I go."

  "Good luck," said Darran. "Don't get in any trouble."

  Barch turned him a cool stare. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Nothing," said Darran mildly. "You're a truculent son-of-a-gun. You must have something on your mind."

  Barch pushed out upon the terrace and stood looking into the night. His hands were clammy and tense; Darran had hit close to the truth. This was like going out on the first date of his life, only more so.

  He walked slowly around the terrace, stopped near the main dome. Inside were Lekthwans, from a far planet; did they expect him to knock on the door, call for the girl? Or should he wait outside until she appeared? He made an angry sound through his teeth; where was his self-respect? He was as good as any of them; this was Earth, by God, they'd go by Earth customs.

  He strode belligerently up to the dome, then came to a halt. Knock, certainly. Or ring a bell. But where?

  Light glimmered through the opacity; Barch backed away. Komeitk Lelianr came quickly out upon the terrace, followed by Markel and Sia Spedz running like a terrier.

  Markel spoke in Lekthwan. "I imagine you'll be disappointed. Of course there's no reason why you shouldn't investigate."

  Sia Spedz said, "I'd like to go too."

  "One anthropologist in the family is enough," said Markel. He turned to Barch. "See that she does nothing to get into trouble, Roy."

  "Tsk." Komeitk Lelianr sauntered down the terrace. "Come, Roy."

  Barch,
mustered his dignity, followed to where the air-boat floated.

  Komeitk Lelianr ducked into the air-boat, Barch followed She wore a white and black one-piece suit, like a harlequin costume. She would be conspicuous, but would not necessarily draw a crowd.

  Inside the boat floated a silver ball pierced by a black rod. Komeitk Lelianr took the ball; the car moved off into the sky. "Now," said she, "which way?"

  The first thing, thought Barch, was to get the affair on its proper footing. "Show me how to run this contraption."

  She turned her head, her eyebrows raised in surprise. For a moment Barch thought she might politely ignore him; then she handed him the silver ball. "This"- she touched the black rod-"represents the perpendicular axis of the boat. Tilt the ball, the boat tilts. Move the ball up, you initiate a cumulative upward acceleration, which can only be countered by moving the ball down. The black rod is the speed control. The farther you depress it, the faster you go. To brake, you push from below."

  "That's simple enough. Where's the height indicator?"

  "There. She pointed to a series of angular black shapes moving along a pale gray band. "This is both the altimeter and the speed indicator. The green circle in the middle represents the boat. The outline of the shadow depicts the profile of the land directly ahead. The lower you fly, the larger becomes the green circle. The green touches the black when the boat touches ground."

  Barch nodded. "It seems easy enough."

  She watched intently for a moment or two, then asked, "Where are you heading?"

  "We're going to a place called Hambone Kelly's across the bay from San Francisco. Or would you prefer a more decorous approach to Earth night-life?"

  "I suppose I must rely upon your judgment as to what might interest me."

  "I don't know much about your frame of mind. Tell me something, how old are you?"

  "Fifty-two." At Barch's surprised glance, she explained. "That would be twenty of your years."

  "Your name is hard to pronounce," said Barch. "I'll call you 'Ellen.'"

  In the dark he could not see the expression of her face. "Whatever is convenient for you."

  Hills brought angular shapes to the altimeter band.

  A long carpet of light spread out below: San Leandro, Oakland, Berkeley. Barch flew a thousand feet over the shore of the bay, slanted down over San Pablo Avenue. "I think there's a vacant lot where we can leave the boat. Yes, there."

  He set the car down behind a row of eucalyptus trees. "Now we start."

  From Hambone Kelly's, music came loud and strong to the street.

  "Interesting music. The people do interpretative dancing, I suppose, with sexual symbolism," said Komeitk Lelianr.

  "Well, I don't know about that. It's energetic dancing, at least. But I really brought you to hear the music-a special kind of music that may be new to you."

  She listened. "Eight-part polyphony, is it not?"

  Barch started at her. "There's only seven pieces in the band."

  "There's one-a tinkling kind of harp that's playing in two parts."

  "Oh, the piano." Barch suddenly felt glum. "Let's go in."

  He led her to a dim table. On a raised stage stood seven men playing trumpet, trombone, clarinet, piano, drums, banjo, and brass bass. They played with brilliant emphasis; music poured forth clear and impelling.

  Barch said close to Komeitk Lelianr's ear, "This is the Yerba Buena Jazz Band. They're playing a tune called Weary Blues."

  "It sounds not at all weary."

  "No, quite the reverse." Barch turned to watch the band.

  Music came in a tide, the trumpet ringing like a bar of pure energy; the trombone dark, rough, hoarse; the clarinet a fiery bird. There came the final chatter and smash of traps, then the sigh of release from the audience, deep from the stomach, the chest, the throat.

  Barch turned to Komeitk Lelianr. "What do you think of it?"

  "It seems loud and emotional."

  "It's the music of our times," said Barch fervently. "It reflects our racial drive; it's the best of our contemporary creativeness."

  Komeitk Lelianr leaned forward. "You appear to think in symbolic images," she remarked. "Am I right?"

  "I don't know," replied Barch impatiently. "It's not important; won't you forget primitive anthropology for awhile?"

  Barch saw her eyebrows flicker. "You do it automatically," he said bitterly.

  "What?"

  "Jump into characterizations. Find whatever role works out best at the moment, then get into it."

  She frowned. "I've never thought of it in quite that way."

  He made an impatient gesture. "Forget it. Listen to the music. That's why I brought you here."

  Komeitk Lelianr listened. "Very interesting. But it jars me. It's too forthright, too uncompromising."

  "No, no," cried Barch, with no very clear idea of what proposition he was contradicting. He spoke on with great intensity, wanting to arouse in her a feeling for the music and, by extension, himself. "By your time-scale, we're a young people. Your own world is quiet, your people are settled, complacent. Earth is different! This is an exciting time for Earth-the more so since the coming of the Lekthwans. Every day is new, fresh; every day sees something started, progress made toward a goal. We live with this drive, this thrust to the future-a dynamism that speaks in music."

  He waited but Komeitk Lelianr said nothing. Her thoughts were unreadable.

  Barch qualified. "I should say, the spirit of our section of the world. On other continents people live differently, and their music is different. The Chinese consider all our music marching music-jazz, chamber music, hymns, dirges, all of it."

  A waitress approached. "Order, please?"

  "Tom Collins, a pair," said Barch. He said to Komeitk Lelianr, "But we are the dominant force, the leaders-or were, until the Lekthwans came."

  She laughed. "You forgot that for a few moments."

  "Yes. So I did."

  "Why do you tell me all this?"

  Barch hesitated, then took the plunge. "Because I don't consider myself a barbarian. I'm your equal, whether you like it or not. And-"

  The waitress placed a pair of tall glasses in front of them. "Dollar twenty, please."

  Barch dropped money on the tray.

  Komeitk Lelianr touched the glass, smelled it gingerly, "What is this?"

  "Fruit juice, carbonated water, ethyl alcohol, sugar."

  "Living matter?"

  "What if it is?" snapped Barch. "Basically, it's carbon, oxygen, hydrogen; what difference does it make where it came from? The fruit is dead now."

  She screwed up her face, sipped. "It's not unpleasant. Are these glasses sterile?"

  "Probably not. That's why they put the alcohol in-to sterilize the glasses."

  "Oh."

  They sat in silence. The band returned to the stand and Barch felt Komeitk Lelianr's dispassionate observation of the music, then an equally dispassionate study of the dancers.

  He set his shoulders, leaned forward. "I'm sorry I brought you out under false pretenses."

  She said wistfully, "Then there really are none of the ceremonies you described?"

  "Perhaps in the middle of Africa."

  "One of the remoter districts?"

  "Yes, quite remote," said Barch sardonically. "A different race of people entirely, as different from us as-" He was about to add, as we are from you, then stopped short. He drank from the tall green glass.

  He pointed to a Negro sitting at a table nearby. "That man is of African stock."

  "Oh? He seems no different from you except in skin coloring. Does he practice the ceremonies you speak of?"

  "No, of course not. He's been born into our society. He does however, sometimes run into unpleasant discrimination." And he added maliciously, "Much, I suspect, as Earthers on Lekthwa experience."

  Komeitk Lelianr pursed her lips, turned the tall glass between her fingers. Barch noticed that she had barely tasted the drink. "Don't you like it?"

 
She looked down indifferently, sipped at the straws. "Should I now feel exhilarated?"

  "Not unless you drink two or three more."

  She shook her head. "That's not likely." She rose to her feet. "Now we will go."

  Sullenly Barch followed her out to the street, and back to the air-boat. Fighting to keep control of his voice he said, "If you are interested in sordid spectacles, I could take you to a prize fight or a wrestling match-although I'd prefer not."

  She looked at him reflectively. "It would embarrass you?"

  "Yes. It would embarrass me."

  She shrugged. "Then we will return to the dome." She stepped through the hull, into the air-boat.

  CHAPTER III

  The boat rose into the night, automatically turned back toward Markel's dome, far to the south. San Pablo Avenue became a bright artery, flowing with twinkling headlight corpuscles. Overhead, the sky was luminous, dusted with the glow from a million lights.

  The boat flew south across the great central valley. The cities became blurs of lights astern; the sky was dark and bright with stars.

  Komeitk Lelianr said softly, "I can see my native sun, up by that bright star…"

  "That's Spica."

  "Up and to the left is a fainter star-Skyl, our sun."

  Barch contemplated the star without interest. "You sound as if you're homesick."

  She nodded. "It's very lonely on a strange planet with none of my friends; therefore I seek to bury myself in study."

  Barch lapsed into moody silence.

  Suddenly, low ahead, an intense green flash appeared in the sky. Komietk Lelianr jerked up in her seat. A frightened sound came from her throat.

  Barch sat up. "What's the matter?"

  "I don't know…" She drove home the speed button.

  Shadows fled across the altimeter band. Komeitk Lelianr sat tense, clutching her knees; Barch looked uneasily ahead. Snowy peaks gleamed below; a few moments later Markel's dome appeared, faintly luminescent, peaceful.

  The air-boat slowed, dropped, settled into its bay.

  Komeitk Lelianr stepped quickly out. Barch followed. On the terrace she froze into a statue. Barch asked anxiously, "What's the trouble?"