The Traffic Division was efficiency made insolent5, in glass and chrome and polished steel, mirrors and windows and looming6 electronic clerical machines. Most of one wall was taken up by a TV monitor which gave a view of the spaceport; a vast open space lighted with blue-white mercury vapor8 lamps, and a chained-down skyscraper of a starship, littered over with swarming9 ants. The process crew was getting the big ship ready for skylift tomorrow morning. I gave it a second and then a third look. I'd be on it when it lifted.
Turning away from the monitored spaceport, I watched myself stride forward in the mirrored surfaces that were everywhere; a tall man, a lean man, bleached10 out by years under a red sun, and deeply scarred on both cheeks and around the mouth. Even after six years behind a desk, my neat business clothes—suitable for an Earthman with a desk job—didn't fit quite right, and I still rose unconsciously on the balls of my feet, approximating the lean stooping walk of a Dry-towner from the Coronis plains.
The clerk behind the sign marked TRANSPORTATION was a little rabbit of a man with a sunlamp tan, barricaded[10] by a small-sized spaceport of desk, and looking as if he liked being shut up there. He looked up in civil inquiry11.
"Can I do something for you?"
"My name's Cargill. Have you a pass for me?"
He stared. A free pass aboard a starship is rare except for professional spacemen, which I obviously wasn't. "Let me check my records," he hedged, and punched scanning buttons on the glassy surface. Shadows came and went, and I saw myself half-reflected, a tipsy shadow in a flurry of racing12 colors. The pattern finally stabilized13 and the clerk read off names.
"Brill, Cameron ... ah, yes. Cargill, Race Andrew, Department 38, transfer transportation. Is that you?"
I admitted it and he started punching more buttons when the sound of the name made connection in whatever desk-clerks use for a brain. He stopped with his hand halfway14 to the button.
"Are you Race Cargill of the Secret Service, sir? The Race Cargill?"
"It's right there," I said, gesturing wearily at the projected pattern under the glassy surface.
"Why, I thought—I mean, everybody took it for granted—that is, I heard—"
"You thought Cargill had been killed a long time ago because his name never turned up in news dispatches any more?" I grinned sourly, seeing my image dissolve in blurring15 shadows, and feeling the long-healed scar on my mouth draw up to make the grin hideous16. "I'm Cargill, all right. I've been up on Floor 38 for six years, holding down a desk any clerk could handle. You for instance."
He gaped17. He was a rabbit of a man who had never stepped out of the safe familiar boundaries of the Terran Trade City. "You mean you're the man who went to Charin in disguise, and routed out The Lisse? The man who scouted18 the Black Ridge19 and Shainsa? And you've been working at a desk upstairs all these years? It's—hard to believe, sir."
"Right away, sir." He punched buttons and a printed chip of plastic extruded22 from a slot on the desk top. "Your[11] fingerprint23, please?" He pressed my finger into the still-soft surface of the plastic, indelibly recording24 the print; waited a moment for it to harden, then laid the chip in the slot of a pneumatic tube. I heard it whoosh25 away.
"They'll check your fingerprint against that when you board the ship. Skylift isn't till dawn, but you can go aboard as soon as the process crew finishes with her." He glanced at the monitor screen, where the swarming crew were still doing inexplicable26 things to the immobile spacecraft. "It will be another hour or two. Where are you going, Mr. Cargill?"
"Some planet in the Hyades Cluster. Vainwal, I think, something like that."
"What's it like there?"
"How should I know?" I'd never been there either. I only knew that Vainwal had a red sun, and that the Terran Legate could use a trained Intelligence officer. And not pin him down to a desk.
There was respect, and even envy in the little man's voice. "Could I—buy you a drink before you go aboard, Mr. Cargill?"
"Thanks, but I have a few loose ends to tie up." I didn't, but I was damned if I'd spend my last hour on Wolf under the eyes of a deskbound rabbit who preferred his adventure safely secondhand.
But after I'd left the office and the building, I almost wished I'd taken him up on it. It would be at least an hour before I could board the starship, with nothing to do but hash over old memories, better forgotten.
The sun was lower now. Phi Coronis is a dim star, a dying star, and once past the crimson27 zenith of noon, its light slants28 into a long pale-reddish twilight29. Four of Wolf's five moons were clustered in a pale bouquet30 overhead, mingling31 thin violet moonlight into the crimson dusk.
The shadows were blue and purple in the empty square as I walked across the stones and stood looking down one of the side streets.
A few steps, and I was in an untidy slum which might have been on another world from the neat bright Trade City which lay west of the spaceport. The Kharsa was alive and reeking32 with the sounds and smells of human and half-human life. A naked child, diminutive34 and golden-furred,[12] darted35 between two of the chinked pebble-houses, and disappeared, spilling fragile laughter like breaking glass.
A little beast, half snake and half cat, crawled across a roof, spread leathery wings, and flapped to the ground. The sour pungent36 reek33 of incense37 from the open street-shrine38 made my nostrils39 twitch21, and a hulked form inside, not human, cast me a surly green glare as I passed.
I turned, retracing40 my steps. There was no danger, of course, so close to the Trade City. Even on such planets as Wolf, Terra's laws are respected within earshot of their gates. But there had been rioting here and in Charin during the last month. After the display of mob violence this afternoon, a lone41 Terran, unarmed, might turn up as a solitary42 corpse43 flung on the steps of the HQ building.
There had been a time when I had walked alone from Shainsa to the Polar Colony. I had known how to melt into this kind of night, shabby and inconspicuous, a worn shirtcloak hunched45 round my shoulders, weaponless except for the razor-sharp skean in the clasp of the cloak; walking on the balls of my feet like a Dry-towner, not looking or sounding or smelling like an Earthman.
That rabbit in the Traffic office had stirred up things I'd be wiser to forget. It had been six years; six years of slow death behind a desk, since the day when Rakhal Sensar had left me a marked man; death-warrant written on my scarred face anywhere outside the narrow confines of the Terran law on Wolf.
It had been Rakhal who first led me through the byways of the Kharsa, teaching me the jargon47 of a dozen tribes, the chirping48 call of the Ya-men, the way of the catmen of the rain-forests, the argot49 of thieves markets, the walk and step of the Dry-towners from Shainsa and Daillon and Ardcarran—the parched50 cities of dusty, salt stone which spread out in the bottoms of Wolf's vanished oceans. Rakhal was from Shainsa, human, tall as an Earthman, weathered by salt and sun, and he had worked for Terran Intelligence since we were boys. We had traveled all over our world together, and found it good.
And then, for some reason I had never known, it had come[13] to an end. Even now I was not wholly sure why he had erupted, that day, into violence and a final explosion. Then he had disappeared, leaving me a marked man. And a lonely one: Juli had gone with him.
I strode the streets of the slum unseeing, my thoughts running a familiar channel. Juli, my kid sister, clinging around Rakhal's neck, her gray eyes hating me. I had never seen her again.
That had been six years ago. One more adventure had shown me that my usefulness to the Secret Service was over. Rakhal had vanished, but he had left me a legacy51: my name, written on the sure scrolls52 of death anywhere outside the safe boundaries of Terran law. A marked man, I had gone back to slow stagnation53 behind a desk. I'd stood it as long as I could.
When it finally got too bad, Magnusson had been sympathetic. He was the Chief of Terran Intelligence on Wolf, and I was next in line for his job, but he understood when I quit. He'd arranged the transfer and the pass, and I was leaving tonight.
I was nearly back to the spaceport by now, across from the street-shrine at the edge of the square. It was here that the little toy-seller had vanished. But it was exactly like a thousand, a hundred thousand other such street-shrines54 on Wolf, a smudge of incense reeking and stinking55 before the squatting56 image of Nebran, the Toad57 God whose face and symbol are everywhere on Wolf. I stared for a moment at the ugly idol58, then slowly moved away.
The lighted curtains of the spaceport cafe attracted my attention and I went inside. A few spaceport personnel in storm gear were drinking coffee at the counter, a pair of furred chaks, lounging beneath the mirrors at the far end, and a trio of Dry-towners, rangy, weathered men in crimson and blue shirt cloaks, were standing59 at a wall shelf, eating Terran food with aloof60 dignity.
In my business clothes I felt more conspicuous44 than the chaks. What place had a civilian61 here, between the uniforms of the spacemen and the colorful brilliance62 of the Dry-towners?
A snub-nosed girl with alabaster63 hair came to take my order. I asked for jaco and bunlets, and carried the food to[14] a wall shelf near the Dry-towners. Their dialect fell soft and familiar on my ears. One of them, without altering the expression on his face or the easy tone of his voice, began to make elaborate comments on my entrance, my appearance, my ancestry64 and probably personal habits, all defined in the colorfully obscene dialect of Shainsa.
That had happened before. The Wolfan sense of humor is only half-human. The finest joke is to criticize and insult a stranger, preferably an Earthman, to his very face, in an unknown language, perfectly65 deadpan66. In my civilian clothes I was obviously fair game.
A look or gesture of resentment67 would have lost face and dignity—what the Dry-towners call their kihar—permanently. I leaned over and remarked in their own dialect that I would, at some future and unspecified time, appreciate the opportunity to return their compliments.
By rights they should have laughed, made some barbed remark about my command of language and crossed their hands in symbol of a jest decently reversed on themselves. Then we would have bought each other a drink, and that would be that.
But it didn't happen that way. Not this time. The tallest of the three whirled, upsetting his drink in the process. I heard its thin shatter through the squeal68 of the alabaster-haired girl, as a chair crashed over. They faced me three abreast69, and one of them fumbled70 in the clasp of his shirtcloak.
I edged backward, my own hand racing up for a skean I hadn't carried in six years, and fronted them squarely, hoping I could face down the prospect71 of a roughhouse. They wouldn't kill me, this close to the HQ, but at least I was in for an unpleasant mauling. I couldn't handle three men; and if nerves were this taut72 in the Kharsa, I might get knifed. Quite by accident, of course.
The chaks moaned and gibbered. The Dry-towners glared at me and I tensed for the moment when their steady stare would explode into violence.
Then I became aware that they were gazing, not at me, but at something or someone behind me. The skeans snicked back into the clasps of their cloaks.
Then they broke rank, turned and ran. They ran, blunder[15]ing into stools, leaving havoc73 of upset benches and broken crockery in their wake. One man barged into the counter, swore and ran on, limping. I let my breath go. Something had put the fear of God into those brutes74, and it wasn't my own ugly mug. I turned and saw the girl.
She was slight, with waving hair like spun75 black glass, circled with faint tracery of stars. A black glass belt bound her narrow waist like clasped hands, and her robe, stark76 white, bore an ugly embroidery77 across the breasts, the flat sprawl78 of a conventionalized Toad God, Nebran. Her features were delicate, chiseled79, pale; a Dry-town face, all human, all woman, but set in an alien and unearthly repose80. The great eyes gleamed red. They were fixed81, almost unseeing, but the crimson lips were curved with inhuman82 malice83.
She stood motionless, looking at me as if wondering why I had not run with the others. In half a second, the smile flickered84 off and was replaced by a startled look of—recognition?
Whoever and whatever she was, she had saved me a mauling. I started to phrase formal thanks, then broke off in astonishment85. The cafe had emptied and we were entirely86 alone. Even the chaks had leaped through an open window—I saw the whisk of a disappearing tail.
We stood frozen, looking at one another while the Toad God sprawled87 across her breasts rose and fell for half a dozen breaths.
Then I took one step forward, and she took one step backward, at the same instant. In one swift movement she was outside in the dark street. It took me only an instant to get into the street after her, but as I stepped across the door there was a little stirring in the air, like the rising of heat waves across the salt flats at noon. Then the street-shrine was empty, and nowhere was there any sign of the girl. She had vanished. She simply was not there.
—Like the little toy-seller they had hunted out of the Kharsa.
There were eyes in the street again and, becoming aware of where I was, I moved away. The shrines of Nebran are on every corner of Wolf, but this is one instance when familiar[16]ity does not breed contempt. The street was dark and seemed empty, but it was packed with all the little noises of living. I was not unobserved. And meddling89 with a street-shrine would be just as dangerous as the skeans of my three loud-mouthed Dry-town roughnecks.
I turned and crossed the square for the last time, turning toward the loom7 of the spaceship, filing the girl away as just another riddle90 of Wolf I'd never solve.
How wrong I was!
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收听单词发音
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1
blazon
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| n.纹章，装饰；精确描绘；v.广布；宣布 | |
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skyscraper
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| n.摩天大楼 | |
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3
resonance
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| n.洪亮；共鸣；共振 | |
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4
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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5
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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6
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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7
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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8
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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9
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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10
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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11
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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12
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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13
stabilized
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| v.（使）稳定， （使）稳固( stabilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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15
blurring
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| n.模糊，斑点甚多，（图像的）混乱v.（使）变模糊( blur的现在分词 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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16
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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17
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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18
scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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19
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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20
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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21
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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22
extruded
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| v.挤压出( extrude的过去式和过去分词 )；挤压成；突出；伸出 | |
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23
fingerprint
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| n.指纹；vt.取...的指纹 | |
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24
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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25
whoosh
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| v.飞快地移动，呼 | |
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26
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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27
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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28
slants
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| （使）倾斜，歪斜( slant的第三人称单数 )； 有倾向性地编写或报道 | |
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29
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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30
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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31
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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32
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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33
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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34
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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35
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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36
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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37
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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38
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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39
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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40
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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41
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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42
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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43
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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44
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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45
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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46
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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48
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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49
argot
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| n.隐语，黑话 | |
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50
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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51
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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52
scrolls
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| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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53
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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54
shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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55
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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56
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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57
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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58
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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59
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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60
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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61
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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62
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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63
alabaster
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| adj.雪白的；n.雪花石膏；条纹大理石 | |
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64
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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65
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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66
deadpan
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| n. 无表情的 | |
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67
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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68
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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69
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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70
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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71
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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72
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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73
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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74
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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75
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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76
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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77
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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78
sprawl
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| vi.躺卧，扩张，蔓延；vt.使蔓延；n.躺卧，蔓延 | |
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79
chiseled
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| adj.凿刻的，轮廓分明的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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80
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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81
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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82
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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83
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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84
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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86
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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87
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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88
wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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89
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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90
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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