Direct Descent by Frank Herbert

  Sil-Chan could imagine the racing stream of robot emergency equipment which would have greeted such a landing on a regular field. He shuddered. All of the quiet, single-purposed reserve which had marked his life to this point dissolved like the mists around the island. It was as though he had passed through an invisible barrier to become an unexpected person on the other side.

  “You funnel-mouthed, vacuum-headed idiots!” he bellowed.

  The jetter trembled as someone forced open the door beside him. He turned his head, looked upside down into the face of a man who reminded him of a younger Director Tchung. It was the set of the eyes and the reserved look in a narrow face.

  “You sound healthy enough,” the man said. “Did you break anything?”

  “No thanks to you!” Sil-Chan raged.

  “Here, let me help you out of the harness,” the man said. He knelt and gently helped Sil-Chan remove the crash harness. The man’s hands were rough and there was unexpected strength in his arms. He smelled of some odd spice.

  Sil-Chan winced as the straps were eased over his left shoulder.

  “Bit of a bruise there,” the man said. “Doesn’t feel like anything’s broken. How about your legs and back?”

  “They’re fine. Get me out of this stupid …”

  “Easy there. Easy does it.”

  The man gentled Sil-Chan out the door and onto the grassy ground, helped Sil-Chan to sit up. There was an acrid fuel smell mixed with the odors of crushed grass. The sky swayed a bit above his rescuer.

  “Just sit there a bit until you feel better,” the man said. “You seem to be all in one piece.”

  Sil-Chan studied this first Dornbaker he had seen. The man was a loosely hung figure in a brown fringed jacket, tight pants. The jacket was open almost to his navel and exposed a smooth, almost hairless chest. The same could not be said of his head—which was a tangle of black hair, some of which straggled over his forehead, He looked as primitive and wild as this island.

  “David! David! Is he all right?”

  It was the voice of the young woman at Free Island Control. She came panting around the end of the wrecked jetter, bare legs swishing in the long grass. At sight of Sil-Chan, she came to a stop and leaned against the jetter, gasping for breath. “Thank the Stone you weren’t killed,” she panted. “I ran all the way from Control.”

  Sil-Chan stared up at her: skin as dark as Tchung’s but her hair was a golden cloud and her eyes were the blue of the misty sea, full of lurking merriment that even her obvious worry could not conceal. She, too, wore the oddly fringed clothing, but a curve of bright red blouse filled the wedge of her jacket. It came to Sil-Chan that she was the most delicately beautiful creature he had ever seen. He found himself unable to look away from that lovely face, the soft mouth, the tiny nose, the smooth rounding of chin and cheeks. All of the careful repression that had kept him grinning upward in the Archival hierarchy, everything of his past peeled away. It was an effort to wrench himself back to duty. He cleared his throat.

  Before he could speak, she said: “I told them that runway was too short. But no! They had to get off right away on the hunt!”

  “Easy, Hep,” the man said. His voice floated out in an effortless baritone.

  Sil-Chan shook his head to clear it of that lovely female vision. “Would you direct me to the Paternomer, please?” he asked.

  “He won’t be back for two days,” the man said. “I’m David. This is Hepzebah.” He spoke the names as though they should convey important information. “We’re to take care of you until the PN returns.”

  Stiffly, painfully, Sil-Chan levered himself to his feet, waving away David’s proffered help. “I have to see the Paternomer as soon as possible. Can you take me to him?” He glanced at the wreck. “This hardly seems the way to get to him anymore.”

  “We’re very sorry about that,” Hepzebah said. “Really, we had nothing to do with the arrangements.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the PN’s return,” David said. “No way to get to him when he’s on a hunt.”

  “But it’s urgent and I …”

  “You sure aren’t going back to the mainland in that.” Hepzebah indicated the wreck. “Best you stay. My brother here has tight quarters and he’s a good host when he wants to be.”

  Brother!

  Once more, Sil-Chan found himself staring at Hepzebah. Lovely. Lovely. And such a charming name. There was a painful constriction in his chest where the crash harness could not have touched him. Brother. Sil-Chan had feared they might be a mated pair. She still might have a mate somewhere.

  She blushed under the steadiness of his stare.

  I mustn’t stare. I must say something.

  “It’s a very nice day,” he said.

  “Yes, it is,” she agreed. “Let’s go over to David’s.” She waved at a low structure in the trees at the side of the field. Sil-Chan had not noticed it until she pointed, as though she had created the structure by some wild magic—red-brown logs, rock chimney, small windows. It nestled among the trees as though it had grown there.

  “You’re favoring your left arm,” David said. “We’d best go in and have a look at it.” He turned and led the way across the tall grass.

  Sil-Chan kept pace behind with Hepzebah walking close beside, studying him. There was a penetrating quality to her stare which made Sil-Chan uncomfortable but he would not have had her look away for anything. Lovely! “I’m sorry I blew up back there,” he said.

  “You had a perfect right,” she said. “I’d have never permitted it, but the PN makes all his own rules. He sent us in from Big North Cape to greet you and didn’t give us enough help. They wouldn’t make other arrangements—only what the PN ordered.”

  “There was the hunt,” David said. He spoke without turning.

  “The hunt!” she flared. “You’re here because you’re the Aitch Aye.” She turned to Sil-Chan. “David has to do all the official work that the PN doesn’t want to do. The PN made me come because I wouldn’t take the trothing. He thinks he’s punishing me.”

  Sil-Chan shook his head. What were they talking about? He said: “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “He’s from far mainland,” David said. “You’re making no sense to him.” David slowed his pace and walked beside Hepzebah, speaking across her to explain. “Hep wouldn’t accept the mate the brothers picked for her. Made the PN angry. She really doesn’t have to accept, but the PN’s K-cousins are expected to obey. Things are different with H- and B-cousins.”

  Sil-Chan stared back at David without comprehension.

  “No sense yourself!” Hepzebah laughed.

  “Is it some special language?” Sil-Chan asked.

  David grinned. They were into the trees now, within only a few steps of a wide split-wood door into the house.

  “It’s Dornbakerish, I guess,” David said. “I’ll try again. I was tolled off to greet you because the PN wouldn’t miss the hunt. He’s getting old and he figures he doesn’t have many more. They’re running fallow deer on Big Plain. That’s why I’m here. I’m the Aitch Aye. That means I’ll be PN when the present PN goes upStone. Hep’s of the same line, a K-cousin. She …”

  “What is a K-cousin?” Sil-Chan asked.

  They stopped just outside the wide door of the house.

  David looked at Hepzebah. She looked at David. Presently, she looked at Sil-Chan. “Just K-cousin,” she said. “It’s close. I’m of the PN’s line. One of my boy-children will be picked to succeed David.”

  “You … have children?” Sil-Chan asked.

  “Oh, no. I don’t even have a mate. And the PN’s angry at me, punishing …”

  “The PN isn’t that petty,” David said. He opened the door, exposed a dim interior into which he motioned Sil-Chan. “My honored guest, Sooma Sil-Chan. Enter my abode and call it your own.”

  “You know my name?”

  “David signed the clearance for the PN,” Hepzebah said. She followed Sil-Chan into
the house.

  David brought up the rear and closed the door.

  Sil-Chan stared at the room—long with a ceiling which reached away to dim rafters. Windows looked out onto the landing field and the wrecked jetter … more windows peered into shadowy woods … gigantic rock fireplace at one end, smoke-blackened. There was a smell of smoke in the room. Odd projections on the walls. Sil-Chan peered at them, realized they were the mounted heads of horned animals. There was a small fire in the fireplace. David crossed to it, stirred up the flame and added more logs.

  Hepzebah touched Sil-Chan’s arm, said: “Come over by the fire and let me look at your shoulder. David, get a refresher, a good stiff one.”

  “Right.” David walked off toward a door opposite the fireplace.

  Sil-Chan’s mind reeled. This entrancing woman was not wed! David was Aitch Aye. What was that? Sil-Chan felt that he had read of such a relationship somewhere in the Library. Heir Apparent! Yes, of course. And Hepzebah was ‘of the same line.’ Gods of the universe! This pair was royalty!

  “Come along,” Hepzebah said.

  Sil-Chan allowed himself to be led to a low-backed divan beside the fireplace. Flames murmured in the logs. The smell of smoke was stronger here. He stumbled over something that rang musically.

  “One of the children left a toy,” Hepzebah said. “David’s so easy with them.” She indicated the divan. “Sit down and take off your jacket. I’ll …”

  “No, really. It’s all right,” Sil-Chan said. Again, he found himself trapped in her eyes—the soft look of them here in the shadowed room … like some forest animal. She’s not wedded. She’s not wedded.

  “I’ll have a look all the same,” she said. She put a light pressure on his shoulder and he sank to the divan. It was soft, absorbing and smelled of animal.

  Hepzebah bent over him, and Sil-Chan inhaled a mind-rolling musk of perfumed hair. He allowed her to help him out of his jacket and shirt. The jacket was torn at the elbow and he had not even noticed. His flesh tingled where Hepzebah touched him.

  “Bad bruise on your shoulder and a scratch above your left elbow,” she said. She went to a door beside the fireplace, returned in a moment with a cloth which smelled of unguent. The cloth felt cool and soothing where she pressed it to his shoulder.

  “What’s a trothing?” Sil-Chan asked.

  “The trothers are the clan elders. They decide if a joining will be good for the clan.”

  He swallowed. “Do you ever … wed outside your clan?”

  She lowered her eyes. “Sometimes.”

  Sil-Chan studied the soft oval of her face, imagined that face pillowed beside him. His mission, the Archive’s problems, Tchung—all melted into the distance … another planet.

  “Drink this.”

  It was David suddenly standing behind him, proffering an earthen mug that swirled with pungent brown liquid and a biting aroma. Sil-Chan tasted it: hot, tangy and sharp on the tongue. He downed the drink. Warmth filled him. He re-experienced the inner release he had felt after crashing the jetter—another person. He stood up.

  “How does one arrange a troth?” he asked.

  She peered up at him, a smile touching her lips. Something smoky and wondering drifted in her eyes. “We have several ways. The PN’s K-cousins can take the initiative if the couple ask it.”

  “What’s all this talk of trothing?” David asked. He came around the divan and stood with his back to the fire.

  Hepzebah waved a hand in front of Sil-Chan’s eyes, leaned close to stare at him.

  Sil-Chan said: “What’re you …”

  “I have the inward eye,” she said. “You go very deep. It’s warm and nice in there.”

  David said: “I asked you …”

  “If he’ll have me, David, I’m going to open the troth,” she said.

  David looked at Sil-Chan, at Hepzebah. “I haven’t been out of the room that long, have I? I just went for a drink.”

  She touched Sil-Chan tentatively on the wrist. Again, he felt his flesh tingle.

  “This is nonsense,” David said.

  Her hand stole into Sil-Chan’s. He felt the perfect fit of her there, the perfection of her beside him.

  “Will you wed me, Sooma Sil-Chan?” she asked.

  “Hep, you stop this!” David said.

  “Be quiet, David,” she said, “or I will tell stories about a young man’s secret visits to the mainland.”

  “Now, Hep! You …”

  “Quiet, I said.”

  Sil-Chan felt himself bathed in a warm glow—the drink inside him, Hepzebah’s hand in his. Wed her?

  “I’d go to the ends of the universe to wed you,” he whispered.

  “Is that a yes?” she asked.

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “But you’ve only just met!” David protested.

  “The trothers will agree with me,” she said. “But I already know. The inward eye never fails.” She tipped her head, looked up at Sil-Chan from the corners of her eyes. “I find him very attractive.”

  David appeared angry. “He’s just different.”

  “I’m already certain,” she said. “And you heard the question and you heard his response.”

  “This is too much!” David raged. “You’re always doing things like this!”

  Sil-Chan experienced a crawling of goose flesh. He felt delirious. All those years of celibacy and devotion to duty and career had melted away.

  “He’ll never take the name!” David said. “Just to look at him you can tell. You’d best accept Martin as the trothers …”

  “Gun the trothers!” Steel in her voice. “So if he won’t take the name, I’ll go with him … as is right. We’ll cross that river when it cuts our trail.”

  “This is much too quick,” David said. “The PN will blast the roof off when he …”

  “His sister’s son and your sister’s son—that’s the way of the PN,” she said. “Let us never forget it.”

  When he responded, David’s voice was lower. “Still too quick.”

  Sil-Chan looked from one to the other. He took strength from the feeling of Hepzebah’s hand in his. There was no need for logic or reason.

  “I’ve always been a quick one,” Hepzebah said. “I make decisions the way the ice breaks from the glacier.”

  David threw up his hands.

  “This is impossible. You’re impossible!”

  “When will we wed?” Sil-Chan asked.

  “A month,” she said. “That we cannot speed.”

  David said: “Hep, if you would just …”

  “I warned you, David.”

  David turned to Sil-Chan. “Do you have any idea of what you’re starting?”

  The question ran a finger of ice down Sil-Chan’s spine. He was here to negotiate with the Paternoster. What happened to that if the PN were alienated at the start?

  “I knew it would be a day of turning,” Hepzebah said. “A flight of plover settled in the grass outside my window at dawn. One remained when the others flew on. It called to me before following the flight.”

  “The PN will blow down the trees,” David said. “He wants Hep to wed Martin. Joining the two lines will prevent disputes.” He whirled on Hepzebah. “You know that!”

  “There are others to do the joining,” she said. “It will be done.”

  David flicked a glance at Sil-Chan. “What if this one changes …”

  “Have I ever been wrong, David … about such as this?”

  “The line of the PN is more important than you or anything else,” David said.

  “And I will join what I will join,” she said.

  David turned his back on her, stared into the fire. “You!” he muttered.

  O O O

  Tchung awoke in the black darkness of his bedroom and was several heartbeats orienting himself. The nightmare persisted in his mind. A dream of horrible reality: Ambroso had come into the Director’s office, flourishing deadly weapons and laughing with the laugh of Sooma Sil-Chan. Slow
ly, the flesh of Ambroso had peeled away, leaving Sil-Chan who continued to laugh and flourish the weapons.

  “Now you know me,” the dream Sil-Chan said. “Now I am director. Be gone, old man.”

  “Are you awake, Pat?” It was Madame Tchung from the other bed.

  Tchung was glad she could not see his perspiring face.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you troubled, dear?”

  “I’m worried about Sooma. Not a word from him.”

  “He’ll call when he has news, dear.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Ambroso demanded all of my private scrambler codes today.”

  “And you gave them to him?”

  “What else could I do. I must obey.”

  “That stupid rule!”

  Tchung sighed.

  “Sooma will find a solution,” Madame Tchung said. “Records cannot have made a mistake about him.”

  “But he’s … so intense.”

  “He’s still young, dear.”

  “And so intense.”

  “Sooma had to work hard to get where he is, dear. Trust him.”

  Tchung sighed. “I’m trying. But it is difficult. When I was his age I was already …”

  “You were precocious, dear. Now come over here and let me soothe you.”

  O O O

  Sil-Chan, too, experienced a nightmare. He had been quartered by David Dornbaker in a small upper room above the fireplace “because it gets cold here at night.” The cot was slender and firm, the blankets rough and smelling of animal fur. There was no pillow, and Sil-Chan’s shoulder throbbed. He rolled up his clothing for a pillow and tried to sleep.

  The nightmare invaded his mind.

  Paternomer Dornbaker stood over him. The PN was twice the height of a normal man and his fingers ended in claws. The blood of fallow deer dripped from the claws.

  “I will hunt you!” the PN raged. Clawed hands came up to threaten Sil-Chan.

  Hepzebah darted in front of him. Fangs protruded from her soft mouth. “He is mine,” she said and her voice was the voice of a hunter-cat. “I will drink your blood before I let you harm him.”

  Sil-Chan found that his arms were bound, his feet encased in tight sacking. He could not move. His voice would not obey him.