The Great SF Stories 1964 by Robert Silverberg & martin H. Greeberg (eds.)

Author:Robert Silverberg & martin H. Greeberg (eds.) [Silverberg, Robert & Greeberg, martin H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci-Fi & Fantasy Anthology
Publisher: NESFA Press
Published: 2001-10-03T23:00:00+00:00

Hearing returned to him first, with the steady roar of jets, and then there was the bodily sensation of being borne through air that was shaken occasionally by large turbulences. He opened his eyes, in wild alarm. It was several minutes before he could see anything but a thick fog. The fog cleared gradually and he found himself staring at Leila’s gold necklace and remembering with great clarity the information concerning it that he had rattled off so glibly and with such modest pride. A simple and obvious truth came to him.

“You’re from Jekkara,” he said, and only then did he realize that there was a gag in his mouth. Leila started and looked down at him.

“He’s awake.”

Firsa Mak rose and bent over Selden, examining the gag and a set of antique manacles that bound his wrists. Again Selden flinched from those fierce and brilliant eyes. Firsa Mak seemed to hesitate, on the verge of removing the gag, and Selden mustered his voice and courage to demand explanations. A buzzer sounded in the cabin, apparently a signal from the pilot, and at the same time the motion of the copter altered. Firsa Mak shook his head.

“Later, Selden. I have to leave you this way because I can’t trust you, and all our lives are in danger, not just yours…though yours most of all.” He leaned forward. “This is necessary, Selden. Believe me.”

“Not necessary,” Altman said, appearing stooped under the cabin ceiling. “Vital. You’ll understand that, later.”

Leila said harshly, “I wonder if he will.”

“If he doesn’t,” Altman said, “God help them all, because no one else can.”

Mrs. Altman came with a load of heavy cloaks. They had all changed their clothes since Selden had last seen them, except Leila, who had merely added an upper garment of native wool. Mrs. Altman now wore the Low-Canal garb, and Firsa Mak had a crimson tunic held with a wide belt around his hips. Altman looked somehow incredibly right in the leather of a desert tribesman; he was too tall, Selden guessed, to pass for a Jekkaran.

He wore the desert harness easily, as though he had worn it many times. They made Selden stand while they wrapped a cloak around him, and he saw that he had been stripped of his own clothing and dressed in a tunic of ocher-yellow, and where his limbs showed they had been stained dark. Then they strapped him into his seat again and waited while the copter slowed and dropped toward a landing.

Selden sat rigid, numb with fear and shock, going over and over in his mind the steps by which he had come here and trying to make sense out of them. He could not. One thing was certain, Bentham had deliberately led him into a trap. But why? Why? Where were they taking him, what did they mean to do with him? He tried to do positive therapy but it was difficult to remember all the wisdom that had sounded so infinitely wise when he had heard it, and his eyes kept straying to the faces of Altman and Firsa Mak.

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