Night Lamp by Jack Vance

locators and the ever more remote frontier which separated the Reach from Beyond. He would try to read all twelve volumes of Baron Bodissey’s LIFE , which might well meet with Hilyer’s approval. On second thought, perhaps not; the Baron was closely identified with space exploration, while for many folk, including the Faths, the Gaean Reach was quite large enough, and there was no need for any more spacemen. The Faths had already established a program for Jaro’s future, consonant with their own ideals. Jaro’s plans would surely meet resistance at home. The idea saddened him, inasmuch as he loved Althea and Hilyer, who had devoted so much of themselves to his well-being. But it could not be helped. He wanted no part of an academic career, any more than he yearned to become a Tatterman or a Clam Muffin. Jaro thought of Tawn Maihac, who could be relied upon for discreet advice.
    A week had passed since Jaro had last seen Maihac. On this occasion, with the reluctant permission of the Faths, Maihac had taken Jaro to the space terminal. After crossing the main lobby, they entered a long hangar and sauntered along a line of spaceyachts, of many sizes and varieties. They moved slowly, studying each of the gleaming shapes in turn, appraising qualities of comfort, strength, and that peculiar air of dauntless magnificence which could be found in no other human construction.
    In the machine shop Maihac introduced Jaro to Trio Hartung, the shop foreman, and to a ferociously ugly mechanic named Gaing Neitzbeck, who acknowledged the introduction with a curt nod.
    Upon leaving the machine shop, Maihac took Jaro to an outdoor café at the side of the plaza. Over tea and a dish of cream tarts Maihac asked Jaro his opinion of Hartung and Neitzbeck. Jaro gave the matter consideration, then said: “Mr. Hartung seems very steady, and quite friendly. I found that I liked him.”
    “Fair enough. What about Gaing Neitzbeck?”
    Jaro knit his brows. “I don’t know what to think. He looks a bit grim.”
    Maihac laughed. “He is not altogether what he seems. One thing for certain, he is not diffident.”
    “You’ve known him a long time, then?”
    “Yes. Let me ask you this: when the Faths brought you to Thanet, you could remember nothing of your past?”
    “Nothing of consequence.”
    “And you don’t know where they found you?”
    “No. They won’t tell me until I am graduated from the Institute.”
    “Hmf. Tell me what you remember.”
    Jaro described the inklings and images he had brought to Thanet.
    Maihac listened intently, his eyes fixed on Jaro’s face as if he could read more than words in Jaro’s expression. “And that is all you remember?”
    Jaro looked off across the plaza. “Once or twice—I don’t know how many times—I dreamt of my mother. I could barely make out her shape, but I heard her voice. She said something like, ‘Oh my poor little Jaro! I am so sorry to put this burden upon your shoulders! But so it must be!’ Her voice was sad, and when I awoke I felt very sad, too.”
    “What did she mean ‘burden’?”
    “I don’t know. Sometimes, when I think of her, I feel that I ought to know, but when I try to remember, it slips away.”
    “Hmm. Interesting. And that’s all you remember?”
    Jaro grimaced. “There is something else. I think it’s connected with the garden under the two moons.” Jaro told Maihac of the doleful voice which had caused him so much anxiety. He described the therapy at Buntoon House and the harsh blurted words on the recording. “The doctors had no explanation except telepathy,” said Jaro. “Even then, they could not agree. But at least, I have no more trouble with the voice.”
    As Jaro spoke, a change came over Maihac. He leaned forward, tense and rigid, as if the account held a dreadful fascination. Jaro wondered if Maihac had suffered a similar intrusion into his mind.
    Maihac finally said, “That’s a remarkable set of events.”
    Jaro nodded. “I’m glad