The Still, Small Voice of Trumpets by Biggle Jr. Lloyd

Author:Biggle Jr., Lloyd
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: science fiction, sf, sci-fi, democracy, classic
ISBN: 9781434448422
Publisher: Ingram Distribution
Published: 2012-07-22T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Affecting the dejected, uncertain stride of the banished, Forzon moved haltingly through the shadowed streets. He experienced no difficulty in adopting the proper mien; he felt dejected and uncertain. Pedestrians turned their backs on him, carts halted until he passed, even the children scurried for cover, though the boldest lingered in doorways to peer out at him.

Ann Cory, again a venerable hag, limped ahead of him to show him the way. Now and again he caught a glimpse of a familiar profile: Sev Rawner tottering across a sidestreet; Joe Sornel, formerly a fat tavern pourer but now a slender tradesman, standing in the door of his shop; Hance Ultman sitting with downcast eyes in a halted cart. Every available agent had been mobilized to see him safely from the city, but he raised his eyes from the worn paving stones only to follow Ann’s turnings, and he saw few of them.

At the city gate one guard stepped toward him, noticed the empty, flopping sleeve, and scornfully turned on his heel. Forzon moved on through the gate and plodded along the dusty road that lead south.

Methodically he placed one foot before the other and kept his eyes on the rippling dust. He met no one. Traffic veered off the road and waited for him to pass. Those who overtook him turned to the fields to go around and did not look back.

Under the caressing warmth of the late afternoon sun his scarlet uniform became damp with perspiration and acquired a dulling veneer of dust. The forced inertness of his left arm tantalized him. His shaven head itched fiercely. Mild as these distractions were, he cursed them because they impaired his ability to concentrate.

He had much that he needed to think about.

The one-hand villages were tiny, isolated societies, so effectively detached from Kurrian life that Team B had never found a use for them, had never investigated them systematically. Although the IPR agents methodically compiled such information as came their way, the blunt fact was that they knew next to nothing about life in a one-hand village. Team B would keep an eye on Forzon until he reached his destination, but once there he would be on his own, in an utterly strange society—with a price on his head.

Much to his own surprise he found that this did not worry him. His gnawing anxiety resulted from his stupidity in allowing himself to be manipulated into a commitment to solve the problem of Kurr. Admittedly this was his assignment, but he had managed to ignore it on the reasonable assumption that a Cultural Survey officer’s responsibilities should be restricted to matters concerning culture. The IPR Bureau thought otherwise; after four centuries of highly competent bungling it was ready to grasp irrationally at any straw, and at the moment that straw was CS Sector Supervisor Jef Forzon.

Kurr had to be converted into a democracy without apparent outside interference, and quickly, before Rastadt’s machinations took effect and Supreme Headquarters stepped in to force the withdrawal of Team B.

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