the ground with a savagely spiked shoe on his hand. Even so he was not afraid of pain: he ripped his hand away and, despite the agony of flayed skin and torn-open veins, he almost scrambled away into the crowd before they caught him, ankle and wrist, and cuffed and shackled him.
“Tough little bastard,” said one of Mother's Little Boys.
“Why are you chasing me?”
“Because you ran. We always figure that anybody who runs should probably be caught.” But he was lying. They had orders to take Jason Worthing alive, at all costs. Whose orders? Hartman Torrock's? Radamand Worthing's? Not that the answer made much difference. He should have gone to the Colonies with Mother. He had gambled everything on the chance of turning a foul future into something better; he had lost.
But it was neither Radamand nor Tork who came to take him into custody. It was a short, stout, balding man who ordered them to unshackle him, and to cuff them together. The invisible field kept their wrists within a meter of each other.
“I hope you don't mind,” said his captor. “I wouldn't want to lose you again, after going to all this trouble. His hand is bleeding. Anyone have a healer?”
Someone passed a healer over Jase's hand, and the blood coagulated and the flow stopped. In the meantime, the short man introduced himself. “I'm Abner Doon, and I'm the closest thing to a friend you're likely to find in this world. I have every intention of exploiting you unmercifully to carry out my own plans, but at least while you're with me you're safe from Cousin Rademand and Hartman Torrock.”
How much did this man know? Jase looked within his mind and saw: everything.
“I was asleep until you took that second test,” said Doon.
“But when you got half right a question whose answer wasn't known to but a handful of physicists, who weren't too sure themselves— well, the Sleephouse people wakened me. They have their instructions. I wouldn't have missed you for the world.”
They went to an official highway, which Doon entered merely by palming the door, the way anyone else might board a worm. A private car was waiting. Jase was impressed, and willingly got inside.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“A question I've been trying to answer since adolescence. I finally decided I was neither God nor Satan. I was so disappointed I didn't try to narrow it down any further.”
Jase probed his mind. The man was an assistant minister of colonization. He also believed he ruled the world. And, upon further examination, Jase realized it was true. Even Radamand, for all his machinations, would have been awed at what Abner Doon controlled. Even Mother—not Jase's mother, but Mother, the ruler of Capitol—even she was his pawn. It was not the world he ruled. He could twitch, and half the universe would tremble. And yet he was almost utterly unknown. Jase looked him in the eyes and laughed.
Doon smiled back. “It's flattering that I've had as much power as I have, for as long as I've had it, and yet a good-hearted boy can look into my heart and still laugh.”
It was true. There were no murders in Doon's memory. Dwelling in his mind was not the agony that being Radamand had been. Doon did not live to shape the world to his convenience. He was shaping the world, but what he had in mind was not at all convenient.
“I've always wondered what it would be like to have a friend from whom I could keep no secrets,” said Doon. “Have you noticed yet your stupid blunder at the Colonies office? You proved you were a Swipe to the counter man. Now I have to put him under somec and wake him up with a old bubble, so he doesn't remember it. It's very unkind of you to clutter up other people's lives that way.”
“I'm sorry,” said Jase. But he also knew that this was Doon's way of telling him that his mistakes were being covered for. He felt better.
“Oh, by the way, speaking of somec, your mother wrote you a note before she went under.”
Jase saw in Doon's
“Tough little bastard,” said one of Mother's Little Boys.
“Why are you chasing me?”
“Because you ran. We always figure that anybody who runs should probably be caught.” But he was lying. They had orders to take Jason Worthing alive, at all costs. Whose orders? Hartman Torrock's? Radamand Worthing's? Not that the answer made much difference. He should have gone to the Colonies with Mother. He had gambled everything on the chance of turning a foul future into something better; he had lost.
But it was neither Radamand nor Tork who came to take him into custody. It was a short, stout, balding man who ordered them to unshackle him, and to cuff them together. The invisible field kept their wrists within a meter of each other.
“I hope you don't mind,” said his captor. “I wouldn't want to lose you again, after going to all this trouble. His hand is bleeding. Anyone have a healer?”
Someone passed a healer over Jase's hand, and the blood coagulated and the flow stopped. In the meantime, the short man introduced himself. “I'm Abner Doon, and I'm the closest thing to a friend you're likely to find in this world. I have every intention of exploiting you unmercifully to carry out my own plans, but at least while you're with me you're safe from Cousin Rademand and Hartman Torrock.”
How much did this man know? Jase looked within his mind and saw: everything.
“I was asleep until you took that second test,” said Doon.
“But when you got half right a question whose answer wasn't known to but a handful of physicists, who weren't too sure themselves— well, the Sleephouse people wakened me. They have their instructions. I wouldn't have missed you for the world.”
They went to an official highway, which Doon entered merely by palming the door, the way anyone else might board a worm. A private car was waiting. Jase was impressed, and willingly got inside.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“A question I've been trying to answer since adolescence. I finally decided I was neither God nor Satan. I was so disappointed I didn't try to narrow it down any further.”
Jase probed his mind. The man was an assistant minister of colonization. He also believed he ruled the world. And, upon further examination, Jase realized it was true. Even Radamand, for all his machinations, would have been awed at what Abner Doon controlled. Even Mother—not Jase's mother, but Mother, the ruler of Capitol—even she was his pawn. It was not the world he ruled. He could twitch, and half the universe would tremble. And yet he was almost utterly unknown. Jase looked him in the eyes and laughed.
Doon smiled back. “It's flattering that I've had as much power as I have, for as long as I've had it, and yet a good-hearted boy can look into my heart and still laugh.”
It was true. There were no murders in Doon's memory. Dwelling in his mind was not the agony that being Radamand had been. Doon did not live to shape the world to his convenience. He was shaping the world, but what he had in mind was not at all convenient.
“I've always wondered what it would be like to have a friend from whom I could keep no secrets,” said Doon. “Have you noticed yet your stupid blunder at the Colonies office? You proved you were a Swipe to the counter man. Now I have to put him under somec and wake him up with a old bubble, so he doesn't remember it. It's very unkind of you to clutter up other people's lives that way.”
“I'm sorry,” said Jase. But he also knew that this was Doon's way of telling him that his mistakes were being covered for. He felt better.
“Oh, by the way, speaking of somec, your mother wrote you a note before she went under.”
Jase saw in Doon's
Similar Books
