A PLANET NAMED SHAYOL

by

Cordwainer Smith



I

There was a tremendous difference between the liner and the ferry in Mercer’s treatment.  On the liner, the attendants made gibes when they brought him his food.
“Scream good and loud,” said one rat-faced steward, “and then we’ll know it’s you when they broadcast the sounds of punishment on the Emperor’s birthday.”
The other fat steward ran the tip of his wet red tongue over his thick purple-red lips one time and said, “Stands to reason, man.  If you hurt all the time, the whole lot of you would die.  Something pretty good must happen, along with the whatchamacallit.  Maybe you turn into a woman.  Maybe you turn into two people.  Listen, cousin, if it’s really crazy fun, let me know …”  Mercer said nothing.  Mercer had enough troubles of his own not to wonder about the daydreams of nasty men.
At the ferry it was different.  The biopharmaceutical staff was deft, impersonal, quick in removing his shackles.  They took off all his prison clothes and left them on the liner.  When he boarded the ferry, naked, they looked him over as if he were a rare plant or a body on the operating table.  They were almost kind in the clinical deftness of their touch.  They did not treat him as a criminal, but as a specimen.
Men and women, clad in their medical smocks, they looked at him as though he were already dead.
He tried to speak.  A man, older and more authoritative than the others, said firmly and clearly, “Do not worry about talking.  I will talk to you myself in a very little time.  What we are having now are the preliminaries, to determine your physical condition.  Turn around, please.”
Mercer turned around.  An orderly rubbed his back with a very strong antiseptic.
“This is going to sting,” said one of the technicians, “but it is nothing serious or painful.  We are determining the toughness of the different layers of your skin.”
Mercer, annoyed by this impersonal approach, spoke up just as a sharp little sting burned him above the sixth lumbar vertebra.  “Don’t you know who I am?”
“Of course we know who you are,” said a woman’s voice.  “We have it all in a file in the corner.  The chief doctor will talk about your crime later, if you want to talk about it.  Keep quiet now.  We are making a skin test, and you will feel much better if you do not make us prolong it.”
Honesty forced her to add another sentence: “And we will get better results as well.”
They had lost no time at all in getting to work.
He peered at them sidewise to look at them.  There was nothing about them to indicate that they were human devils in the antechambers of hell itself.  Nothing was there to indicate that this was the satellite of Shayol, the final and uttermost place of chastisement and shame.  They looked like medical people from his life before he committed the crime without a name.
They changed from one routine to another.  A woman, wearing a surgical mask, waved her hand at a white table.
“Climb up on that, please.”
No one had said “please” to Mercer since the guards had seized him at the edge of the palace.  He started to obey her and then he saw that there were padded handcuffs at the head of the table.  He stopped.
“Get along, please,” she demanded.  Two or three of the others turned around to look at both of them.
The second “please” shook him.  He had to speak.  These were people, and he was a person again.  He felt his voice rising, almost cracking into shrillness as he asked her, “Please ma’am, is the punishment going to begin?”
“There’s no punishment here,” said the woman.  “This is the satellite.  Get on the table.  We’re going to give you your first skin-toughening before you talk to the head doctor.  Then you can tell him all about your crime –”
“You know my crime?” he said, greeting it almost like a neighbour.
“Of course not,” said she, “but all the people who come through here are believed to have committed crimes.  Somebody thinks so or they wouldn’t be here.  Most of them want to talk about their personal crimes.  But don’t slow me down.  I’m a skin technician, and down on the surface of Shayol you’re going to need the very best work that any of us can do for you.  Now get on that table.  And when you are ready to talk to the chief you’ll have something to talk about besides your crime.”
He complied.
Another masked person, probably a girl, took his hands in cool, gentle fingers and fitted them to the padded cuffs in a way he had never sensed before.  By now he thought he knew every interrogation machine in the whole empire, but this was nothing like any of them.
The orderly stepped back.  “All clear, sir and doctor.”
“Which do you prefer?” said the skin technician.  “A great deal of pain or a couple of hours’ unconsciousness?”
“Why should I want pain?” said Mercer.
“Some specimens do,” said the technician, “by the time they arrive here.  I suppose it depends on what people have done to them before they got here.  I take it you did not get any of the dream-punishments.”
“No,” said Mercer.  “I missed those.”  He thought to himself, I didn’t know that I missed anything at all.
He remembered his last trial, himself wired and plugged in to the witness stand.  The room had been high and dark.  Bright blue light shone on the panel of judges, their judicial caps a fantastic parody of the episcopal mitres of long, long ago.  The judges were talking, but he could not hear them.  Momentarily the insulation slipped and he heard one of them say, “Look at that white, devilish face.  A man like that is guilty of everything.  I vote for Pain Terminal.”  “Not Planet Shayol?” said a second voice.  “The dromozoa place,” said a third voice.  “That should suit him,” said the first voice.  One of the judicial engineers must then have noticed that the prisoner was listening illegally.  He was cut off.  Mercer then thought that he had gone through everything which the cruelty and intelligence of mankind could devise.
But this woman said he had missed the dream-punishments.  Could there be people in the universe even worse off than himself?  There must be a lot of people down on Shayol.  They never came back.
He was going to be one of them; would they boast to him of what they had done, before they were made to come to this place?
“You asked for it,” said the woman technician.  “It is just an ordinary anaesthetic.  Don’t panic when you awaken.  Your skin is going to be thickened and strengthened chemically and biologically.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Of course,” said she.  “But get this out of your head.  We’re not punishing you.  The pain here is just ordinary medical pain.  Anybody might get it if they needed a lot of surgery.  The punishment, if that’s what you want to call it, is down on Shayol.  Our only job is to make sure that you are fit to survive after you are landed.  In a way, we are saving your life ahead of time.  You can be grateful for that if you want to be.  Meanwhile, you will save yourself a lot of trouble if you realise that your nerve endings will all respond to the change in the skin.  You had better expect to be very uncomfortable when you recover.  But then, we can help that, too.”  She brought down an enormous lever and Mercer blacked out.

When he came to, he was in an ordinary hospital room, but he did not notice it.  He seemed bedded in fire.  He lifted his hand to see if there were flames on it.  It looked the way it always had, except that it was a little red and a little swollen.  He tried to turn in the bed.  The fire became a scorching blast which stopped him in mid-turn.  Uncontrollably, he moaned.
A voice spoke, “You are ready for some pain-killer.”
It was a girl nurse.  “Hold your head still,” she said, “and I will give you half an amp of pleasure.  Your skin won’t bother you then.”
She slipped a soft cap on his head.  It looked like metal but it felt like silk.
He had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from threshing about on the bed.
“Scream if you want to,” she said.  “A lot of them do.  It will just be a minute or two before the cap finds the right lobe in your brain.”
She stepped to the corner and did something which he could not see.
There was the flick of a switch.
The fire did not vanish from his skin.  He still felt it; but suddenly it did not matter.  His mind was full of delicious pleasure which throbbed outward from his head and seemed to pulse down through his nerves.  He had visited the pleasure palaces, but he had never felt anything like this before.
He wanted to thank the girl, and he twisted around in the bed to see her.  He could feel his whole body flash with pain as he did so, but the pain was far away.  And the pulsating pleasure which coursed out of his head, down his spinal cord and into his nerves was so intense that the pain got through only as a remote, unimportant signal.
She was standing very still in the corner.
“Thank you, nurse,” said he.
She said nothing.
He looked more closely, though it was hard to look while enormous pleasure pulsed through his body like a symphony written in nerve-messages.  He focused his eyes on her and saw that she too wore a soft metallic cap.
He pointed at it.
She blushed all the way down to her throat.
She spoke dreamily, “You looked like a nice man to me.  I didn’t think you’d tell on me …”
He gave her what he thought was a friendly smile, but with the pain in his skin and the pleasure bursting out of his head, he really had no idea of what his actual expression might be.  “It’s against the law,” he said.  “It’s terribly against the law.  But it is nice.”
“How do you think we stand it here?” said the nurse.  “You specimens come in here talking like ordinary people and then you go down to Shayol.  Terrible things happen to you on Shayol.  Then the surface station sends up parts of you, over and over again.  I may see your head ten times, quick-frozen and ready for cutting up, before my two years are up.  You prisoners ought to know how we suffer,” she crooned, the pleasure-charge still keeping her relaxed and happy, “you ought to die as soon as you get down there and not pester us with your torments.  We can hear you screaming, you know.  You keep on sounding like people even after Shayol begins to work on you.  Why do you do it, Mr. Specimen?”  She giggled sillily.  “You hurt our feelings so.  No wonder a girl like me has to have a little jolt now and then.  It’s real, real dreamy and I don’t mind getting you ready to go down on Shayol.”  She staggered over to his bed.  “Pull this cap off me, will you?  I haven’t got enough will power left to raise my hands.”  Mercer saw his hand tremble as he reached for the cap.
His fingers touched the girl’s soft hair through the cap.  As he tried to get his thumb under the edge of the cap, in order to pull it off, he realised that this was the loveliest girl he had ever touched.  He felt that he had always loved her, that he always would.  The cap came off.  She stood erect, staggering a little before she found a chair to hold on to.  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
“Just a minute,” she said in her normal voice.  “I’ll be with you in just a minute.  The only time I can get a jolt of this is when one of you visitors gets a dose to get over the skin trouble.”
She turned to the room mirror to adjust her hair.  Speaking with her back to him, she said, “I hope I didn’t say anything about downstairs.”
Mercer still had the cap on.  He loved this beautiful girl who had put it on him.  He was ready to weep at the thought that she had had the same kind of pleasure which he still enjoyed.  Not for the world would he say anything which could hurt her feelings.  He was sure she wanted to be told that she had not said anything about “downstairs” – probably shop talk for the surface of Shayol – so he assured her warmly, “You said nothing.  Nothing at all.”
She came over to the bed, leaned, kissed him on the lips.  The kiss was as far away as the pain; he felt nothing; the Niagara of throbbing pleasure which poured through his head left no room for more sensation.  But he liked the friendliness of it.  A grim, sane corner of his mind whispered to him that this was probably the last time he would ever kiss a woman, but it did not seem to matter.
With skilled fingers she adjusted the cap on his head.  “There, now.  You’re a sweet guy.  I’m going to pretend-forget and leave the cap on you till the doctor comes.”
With a bright smile she squeezed his shoulder.
She hastened out of the room.
The white of her skirt flashed prettily as she went out the door.  He saw that she had very shapely legs indeed.
She was nice, but the cap … ah, it was the cap that mattered!  He closed his eyes and let the cap go on stimulating the pleasure centres of his brain.  The pain in his skin was still there, but it did not matter any more than did the chair standing in the corner.  The pain was just something that happened to be in the room.
A firm touch on his arm made him open his eyes.
The older, authoritative-looking man was standing beside the bed, looking down at him with a quizzical smile.
“She did it again,” said the old man.
Mercer shook his head, trying to indicate that the young nurse had done nothing wrong.
“I’m Doctor Vomact,” said the older man, “and I am going to take this cap off you.  You will then experience the pain again, but I think it will not be so bad.  You can have the cap several more times before you leave here.”
With a swift, firm gesture he snatched the cap off Mercer’s head.
Mercer promptly doubled up with the inrush of fire from his skin.  He started to scream and then saw that Doctor Vomact was watching him calmly.
Mercer gasped, “It is – easier now.”
“I knew it would be,” said the doctor.  “I had to take the cap off to talk to you.  You have a few choices to make.”
“Yes, doctor,” gasped Mercer.
“You have committed a serious crime and you are going down to the surface of Shayol.”
“Yes,” said Mercer.
“Do you want to tell me your crime?”
Mercer thought of the white palace walls in perpetual sunlight, and the soft mewing of the little things when he reached them.  He tightened his arms, legs, back and jaw.  “No,” he said, “I don’t want to talk about it.  It’s the crime without a name.  Against the Imperial Family …”
“Fine,” said the doctor, “that’s a healthy attitude.  The crime is past.  Your future is ahead.  Now, I can destroy your mind before you go down – if you want me to.”
“That’s against the law,” said Mercer.
Doctor Vomact smiled warmly and confidently.  “Of course it is.  A lot of things are against human law.  But there are laws of science, too.  Your body, down on Shayol, is going to serve science.  It doesn’t matter to me whether that body has Mercer’s mind or the mind of a low-grade shellfish.  I have to leave enough mind in you to keep the body going, but I can wipe out the historic you and give your body a better chance of being happy.  It’s your choice, Mercer.  Do you want to be you or not?”
Mercer shook his head back and forth.  “I don’t know.”
“I’m taking a chance,” said Doctor Vomact, “in giving you this much leeway.  I’d have it done if I were in your position.  It’s pretty bad down there.”
Mercer looked at the full, broad face.  He did not trust the comfortable smile.  Perhaps this was a trick to increase his punishment.  The cruelty of the Emperor was proverbial.  Look at what he had done to the widow of his predecessor, the Dowager Lady Da.  She was younger than the Emperor himself, and he had sent her to a place worse than death.  If he had been sentenced to Shayol, why was this doctor trying to interfere with the rules?  Maybe the doctor himself had been conditioned, and did not know what he was offering.
Doctor Vomact read Mercer’s face.  “All right.  You refuse.  You want to take your mind down with you.  It’s all right with me.  I don’t have you on my conscience.  I suppose you’ll refuse the next offer too.  Do you want me to take your eyes out before you go down?  You’ll be much more comfortable without vision.  I know that, from the voices that we record for the warning broadcasts.  I can sear the optic nerves so that there will be no chance of your getting vision again.”
Mercer rocked back and forth.  The fiery pain had become a universal itch, but the soreness of his spirit was greater than the discomfort of his skin.
“You refuse that, too?” said the doctor.
“I suppose so,” said Mercer.
“Then all I have to do is get you ready.  You can have the cap for a while, if you want.”
Mercer said, “Before I put the cap on, can you tell me what happens down there?”
“Some of it,” said the doctor.  “There is an attendant.  He is a man, but not a human being.  He is a homonculus fashioned out of cattle material.  He is intelligent and very conscientious.  You specimens are turned loose on the surface of Shayol.  The dromozoa are a special life-form there.  When they settle in your body, B’dikkat – that’s the attendant – carves them out with an anaesthetic and sends them up here.  We freeze the tissue cultures, and they are compatible with almost any oxygen-based life.  Half the surgical repair you see in the whole universe comes out of buds that we ship from here.  Shayol is a very healthy place, as far as survival is concerned.  You won’t die.”
“You mean,” said Mercer, “that I am getting perpetual punishment?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Doctor Vomact.  “Or if I did, I was wrong.  You won’t die soon.  I don’t know how long you will live down there.  Remember, no matter how uncomfortable you get, the samples which B’dikkat sends up will help thousands of people in all the inhabited worlds.  Now take the cap.”
“I’d rather talk,” said Mercer.  “It may be my last chance.”
The doctor looked at him strangely.  “If you can stand that pain, go ahead and talk.”
“Can I commit suicide down there?”
“I don’t know,” said the doctor.  “It’s never happened.  And to judge by the voices, you’d think they wanted to.”
“Has anybody ever come back from Shayol?”
“Not since it was put off limits about four hundred years ago.”
“Can I talk to other people down there?”
“Yes,” said the doctor.
“Who punishes me down there?”
“Nobody does, you fool,” cried Doctor Vomact.  “It’s not punishment.  People don’t like it down on Shayol, and it’s better, I guess, to get convicts instead of volunteers.  But there isn’t anybody against you at all.”
“No jailers?” asked Mercer, with a whine in his voice.
“No jailers, no rules, no prohibitions.  Just Shayol, and B’dikkat to take care of you.  Do you still want your mind and your eyes?”
“I’ll keep them,” said Mercer.  “I’ve gone this far and I might as well go the rest of the way.”
“Then let me put the cap on you for your second dose,” said Doctor Vomact.
The doctor adjusted the cap just as lightly and delicately as had the nurse; he was quicker about it.  There was no sign of his picking out another cap for himself.
The inrush of pleasure was like a wild intoxication.  His burning skin receded into distance.  The doctor was near in space, but even the doctor did not matter.  Mercer was not afraid of Shayol.  The pulsation of happiness out of his brain was too great to leave room for fear or pain.
Doctor Vomact was holding out his hand.
Mercer wondered why, and then realised that the wonderful, kindly, cap-giving man was offering to shake hands.  He lifted his own.  It was heavy, but his arm was happy, too.
They shook hands.  It was curious, thought Mercer, to feel the handshake beyond the double level of cerebral pleasure and dermal pain.
“Good-bye, Mr. Mercer,” said the doctor, “Good-bye and a good good night …”



II

The ferry satellite was a hospitable place.  The hundreds of hours that followed were like a long, weird dream.
Twice again the young nurse sneaked into his bedroom with him when he was being given the cap and had a cap with him.  There were baths which callused his whole body.  Under strong local anaesthetics, his teeth were taken out and stainless steel took their place.  There were irradiations under blazing lights which took away the pain of his skin.  There were special treatments for his fingernails and toenails.  Gradually they changed into formidable claws; he found himself stropping them on the aluminium bed one night and saw that they left deep marks.
His mind never became completely clear.
Sometimes he thought that he was home with his mother, that he was little again, and in pain.  Other times, under the cap, he laughed in his bed to think that people were sent to this place for punishment when it was all so terribly much fun.  There were no trials, no questions, no judges.  Food was good, but he did not think about it much; the cap was better.  Even when he was awake, he was drowsy.
At last, with the cap on him, the put him into an adiabatic pod – a one-body missile which could be dropped from the ferry to the planet below.  He was all closed in, except for his face.
Doctor Vomact seemed to swim into the room.  “You are strong, Mercer,” the doctor shouted, “you are very strong!  Can you hear me?”
Mercer nodded.
“We wish you well, Mercer.  No matter what happens, remember you are helping other people up here.”
“Can I take the cap with me?” said Mercer.
For an answer, Doctor Vomact removed the cap himself.  Two men closed the lid of the pod, leaving Mercer in total darkness.  His mind started to clear, and he panicked against his wrappings.
There was the roar of thunder and the taste of blood.
The next thing that Mercer knew, he was in a cool, cool room, much chillier than the bedrooms and operating rooms of the satellite.  Someone was lifting him gently onto a table.
He opened his eyes.
An enormous face, four times the size of any human face Mercer had ever seen, was looking down at him.  Huge brown eyes, cowlike in their gentle inoffensiveness, moved back and forth as the big face examined Mercer’s wrappings.  The face was that of a handsome man of middle years, clean-shaven, hair chestnut-brown, with sensual full lips and gigantic but healthy yellow teeth exposed in a half smile.  The face saw Mercer’s eyes open, and spoke with a deep friendly roar.
“I’m your best friend.  My name is B’dikkat, but you don’t have to use that here.  Just call me Friend, and I will always help you.”
“I hurt,” said Mercer.
“Of course you do.  You hurt all over.  That’s a big drop,” said B’dikkat.
“Can I have a cap, please,” begged Mercer.  It was not a question; it was a demand; Mercer felt that his private inward eternity depended on it.
B’dikkat laughed.  “I haven’t any caps down here.  I might use them myself.  Or so they think.  I have other things, much better.  No fear, fellow, I’ll fix you up.”
Mercer looked doubtful.  If the cap had brought him happiness on the ferry, it would take at least electrical stimulation of the brain to undo whatever torments the surface of Shayol had to offer.
B’dikkat’s laughter filled the room like a bursting pillow.
“Have you ever heard of condamine?”
“No,” said Mercer.
“It’s a narcotic so powerful that the pharmacopoeias are not allowed to mention it.”
“You have that?” said Mercer hopefully.
“Something better.  I have super-condamine.  It’s named after the New French town where they developed it.  The chemists hooked in one more hydrogen molecule.  That gave it a real jolt.  If you took it in your present shape, you’d be dead in three minutes, but those three minutes would seem like ten thousand years of happiness to the inside of your mind.”  B’dikkat rolled his brown cow eyes expressively and smacked his rich red lips with a tongue of enormous extent.
“What’s the use of it, then?”
“You can take it,” said B’dikkat.  “You can take it after you have been exposed to the dromozoa outside this cabin.  You get all the good effects and none of the bad.  You want to see something?”
What answer is there except yes, thought Mercer grimly; does he think I have an urgent invitation to a tea party?
“Look out the window,” said B’dikkat, “and tell me what you see.”
The atmosphere was clear.  The surface was like a desert, ginger-yellow with streaks of green where lichen and low shrubs grew, obviously stunted and tormented by high, dry winds.  The landscape was monotonous.  Two or three hundred yards away there was a herd of bright pink objects which seemed alive, but Mercer could not see them well enough to describe them clearly.  Further away, on the extreme right of his frame of vision, there was the statue of an enormous human foot, the height of a six-story building.  Mercer could not see what the foot was connected to.  “I see a big foot,” said he, “but –”
“But what?” said B’dikkat, like an enormous child hiding the denouement of a hugely private joke.  Large as he was, he would have been dwarfed by any one of the toes on that tremendous foot.
“But it can’t be a real foot,” said Mercer.
“It is,” said B’dikkat.  “That’s Go-Captain Alvarez, the man who found this planet.  After six hundred years he’s still in fine shape.  Of course, he’s mostly dromozootic by now, but I think there is some human consciousness inside him.  You know what I do?”
“What?” said Mercer.
“I give him six cubic centimetres of super-condamine and he snorts for me.  Real happy little snorts.  A stranger might think it was a volcano.  That’s what super-condamine can do.  And you’re going to get plenty of it.  You’re a lucky, lucky man, Mercer.  You have me for a friend, and you have my needle for a treat.  I do all the work and you get all the fun.  Isn’t that a nice surprise?”
Mercer thought, You’re lying!  Lying!  Where do the screams come from that we have all heard broadcast as a warning on Punishment Day?  Why did the doctor offer to cancel my brain or to take out my eyes?
The cow-man watched him sadly, a hurt expression on his face.  “You don’t believe me,” he said, very sadly.
“It’s not quite that,” said Mercer, with an attempt at heartiness, “but I think you’re leaving something out.”
“Nothing much,” said B’dikkat.  “You jump when the dromozoa hit you.  You’ll be upset when you start growing new parts – heads, kidneys, hands.  I had one fellow in here who grew thirty-eight hands in a single session outside.  I took them all off, froze them and sent them upstairs.  I take good care of everybody.  You’ll probably yell for a while.  But remember, just call me Friend, and I have the nicest treat in the universe waiting for you.  Now, would you like some fried eggs?  I don’t eat eggs myself, but most true men like them.”
“Eggs?” said Mercer.  “What have eggs got to do with it?”
“Nothing much.  It’s just a treat for you people.  Get something in your stomach before you go outside.  You’ll get through the first day better.”
Mercer, unbelieving, watched as the big man took two precious eggs from a cold chest, expertly broke them into a little pan and put the pan in the heat-field at the centre of the table Mercer had awakened on.
“Friend, eh?” B’dikkat grinned.  “You’ll see I’m a good friend.  When you go outside, remember that.”

An hour later, Mercer did go outside.
Strangely at peace with himself, he stood at the door.  B’dikkat pushed him in a brotherly way, giving him a shove which was gentle enough to be an encouragement.
“Don’t make me put on my lead suit, fellow.”  Mercer had seen a suit, fully the size of an ordinary space-ship cabin, hanging on the wall of an adjacent room.  “When I close this door, the outer one will open.  Just walk on out.”
“But what will happen?” said Mercer, the fear turning around in his stomach and making little grabs at his throat from the inside.
“Don’t start that again,” said B’dikkat.  For an hour he had fended off Mercer’s questions about the outside.  A map?  B’dikkat had laughed at the thought.  Food?  He said not to worry.  Other people?  They’d be there.  Weapons?  What for, B’dikkat had replied.  Over and over again, B’dikkat had insisted that he was Mercer’s friend.  What would happen to Mercer?  The same that happened to everybody else.
Mercer stepped out.
Nothing happened.  The day was cool.  The wind moved gently against his toughened skin.
Mercer looked around apprehensively.
The mountainous body of Captain Alvarez occupied a good part of the landscape to the right.  Mercer had no wish to get mixed up with that.  He glanced back at the cabin.  B’dikkat was not looking out the window.
Mercer walked slowly, straight ahead.
There was a flash on the ground, no brighter than the glitter of sunlight on a fragment of glass.  Mercer felt a sting in the thigh, as though a sharp instrument had touched him lightly.  He brushed the place with his hand.
It was as though the sky fell in.
A pain – it was more than a pain: it was a living throb – ran from his hip to his foot on the right side.  The throb reached up to his chest, robbing him of breath.  He fell, and the ground hurt him.  Nothing in the hospital-satellite had been like this.  He lay in the open air, trying not to breathe, but he did breathe anyhow.  Each time he breathed, the throb moved with his thorax.  He lay on his back, looking at the sun.  At last he noticed that the sun was violet-white.
It was no use even thinking of calling.  He had no voice.  Tendrils of discomfort twisted within him.  Since he could not stop breathing, he concentrated on taking air in the way that hurt him least.  Gasps were too much work.  Little tiny sips of air hurt him least.
The desert around him was empty.  He could not turn his head to look at the cabin.  Is this it? he thought.  Is an eternity of this the punishment of Shayol?
There were voices near him.
Two faces, grotesquely pink, looked down at him.  They might have been human.  The man looked normal enough, except for having two noses side by side.  The woman was a caricature beyond belief.  She had grown a breast on each cheek and a cluster of naked baby-like fingers hung limp from her forehead.
“It’s a beauty,” said the woman, “a new one.”
“Come along,” said the man.
They lifted him to his feet.  He did not have strength enough to resist.  When he tried to speak to them a harsh cawing sound, like the cry of an ugly bird, came from his mouth.
They moved with him efficiently.  He saw that he was being dragged to the herd of pink things.
As they approached, he saw that they were people.  Better, he saw that they had once been people.  A man with the beak of a flamingo was picking at his own body.  A woman lay on the ground; she had a single head, but beside what seemed to be her original body, she had a boy’s naked body growing sidewise from her neck.  The boy-body, clean, new, paralytically helpless, made no movement other than shallow breathing.  Mercer looked around.  The only one of the group who was wearing clothing was a man with his overcoat on sidewise.  Mercer stared at him, finally realising that the man had two – or was it three? – stomachs growing on the outside of his abdomen.  The coat held them in place.  The transparent peritoneal wall looked fragile.
“New one,” said his female captor.  She and the two-nosed man put him down.
The group lay scattered on the ground.
Mercer lay in a state of stupor among them.
An old man’s voice said, “I’m afraid they’re going to feed us pretty soon.”
“Oh, no!”  “It’s too early!”  “Not again!”  Protests echoed from the group.
The old man’s voice went on, “Look, near the big toe of the mountain!”
The desolate murmur in the group attested their confirmation of what he had seen.
A woman – was it a woman? – crawled over to him on her hands and knees.  Beside her ordinary hands, she was covered with hands all over her trunk and halfway down her thighs.  Some of the hands looked old and withered.  Others were as fresh and pink as the baby-fingers on his captress’ face.  The woman shouted at him, though it was not necessary to shout.
“The dromozoa are coming.  This time it hurts.  When you get used to the place, you can dig in –”
She waved at a group of mounds which surrounded the herd of people.
“They’re dug in,” she said.
Mercer cawed again.
“Don’t you worry,” said the hand-covered woman, and gasped as a flash of light touched her.
The lights reached Mercer too.  The pain was like the first contact but more probing.  Mercer felt his eyes widen as odd sensations within his body led to an inescapable conclusion: these lights, these things, these whatever-they-were, were feeding him and building him up.
Their intelligence, if they had it, was not human, but their motives were clear.  In between the stabs of pain he felt them fill his stomach, put water in his blood, draw water from his kidneys and bladder, massage his heart, move his lungs for him.
Every single thing they did was well meant and beneficent in intent.
And every single action hurt.
Abruptly, like the lifting of a cloud of insects, they were gone.  Mercer was aware of a noise somewhere outside – a brainless, bawling cascade of ugly noise.  He started to look around.  And the noise stopped.
It had been himself, screaming.  Screaming the ugly screams of a psychotic, a terrified drunk, an animal driven out of understanding or reason.
When he stopped, he found he had his speaking voice again.
A man came to him, naked like the others.  There was a spike sticking through his head.  The skin had healed around it on both sides.  “Hello, fellow,” said the man with the spike.
“Hello,” said Mercer.  It was a foolishly commonplace thing to say in a place like this.
“You can’t kill yourself,” said the man with the spike through his head.
“Yes, you can,” said the woman covered with hands.
Mercer found that his first pain had disappeared.  “What’s happening to me?”
“You got a part,” said the man with the spike.  “They’re always putting parts on us.  After a while B’dikkat comes and cuts most of them off, except for the ones that ought to grow a little more.  Like her,” he added, nodding at the woman who lay with the boy-body growing from her neck.
“And that’s all?” said Mercer.  “The stabs for the new parts and the stinging for the feeding?”
“No,” said the man.  “Sometimes they think we’re too cold and they fill our insides with fire.  Or they think we’re too hot and they freeze us, nerve by nerve.”
The woman with the boy-body called over, “And sometimes they think we’re unhappy, so they try to force us to be happy.  I think that’s the worst of it all.”
Mercer stammered, “Are you people – I mean – are you the only herd?”
The man with the spike coughed instead of laughing.  “Herd!  That’s funny.  The land is full of people.  Most of them dig in.  We’re the ones who can still talk; we stay together for company.  We get more turns with B’dikkat that way.”
Mercer started to ask another question, but he felt the strength run out of him.  The day had been too much.
The ground rocked like a ship on water.  The sky turned black.  He felt someone catch him as he fell.  He felt himself being stretched out on the ground.  And then, mercifully and magically, he slept.



III

Within a week, he came to know the group well.  They were an absent-minded bunch of people.  Not one of them ever knew when a dromozoon might flash by and add another part.  Mercer was not stung again, but the incision he had obtained just outside the cabin was hardening.  Spikehead looked at it when Mercer modestly undid his belt and lowered the edge of his trouser-top so they could see the wound.
“You’ve got a head,” he said.  “A whole baby head.  They’ll be glad to get that one upstairs when B’dikkat cuts it off you.”
The group even tried to arrange his social life.  They introduced him to the girl of the herd.  She had grown one body after another, pelvis turning into shoulders and the pelvis below that turning into shoulders again until she was five people long.  Her face was unmarred.  She tried to be friendly to Mercer.
He was so shocked by her that he dug himself into the soft, dry, crumbly earth and stayed there for what seemed like a hundred years.  He found out later that it was less than a full day.  When he came out, the long many-bodied girl was waiting for him.
“You didn’t have to come out just for me,” said she.
Mercer shook the dirt off himself.
He looked around.  The violet sun was going down, and the sky was streaked with blues, deeper blues and trails of orange sunset.
He looked back at her.  “I didn’t get up for you.  It’s no use lying there, waiting for the next time.”
“I want to show you something,” she said.  She pointed to a low hummock.  “Dig that up.”
Mercer looked at her.  She seemed friendly.  He shrugged and attacked the soil with his powerful claws.  With tough skin and heavy digging-nails on the ends of his fingers, he found it was easy to dig like a dog.  The earth cascaded beneath his busy hands.  Something pink appeared down in the hole he had dug.  He proceeded more carefully.
He knew what it would be.
It was.  It was a man, sleeping.  Extra arms grew down one side of his body in an orderly series.  The other side looked normal.
Mercer turned back to the many-bodied girl, who had writhed closer.
“That’s what I think it is, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said.  “Doctor Vomact burned his brain out for him.  And took his eyes out, too.”
Mercer sat back on the ground and looked at the girl.  “You told me to do it.  Now tell me what for.”
“To let you see.  To let you know.  To let you think.”
“That’s all?” said Mercer.
The girl twisted with startling suddenness.  All the way down her series of bodies, her chests heaved.  Mercer wondered how the air got into all of them.  He did not feel sorry for her; he did not feel sorry for anyone except himself.  When the spasm passed the girl smiled at him apologetically.
“They just gave me a new plant.”
Mercer nodded grimly.
“What now, a hand?  It seems you have enough.”
“Oh, those,” she said looking back at her many torsos.  “I promised B’dikkat that I’d let them grow.  He’s good.  But that man, stranger.  Look at that man you dug up.  Who’s better off, he or we?”
Mercer stared at her.  “Is that what you had me dig him up for?”
“Yes,” said the girl.
“Do you expect me to answer?”
“No,” said the girl, “not now.”
“Who are you?” said Mercer.
“We never ask that here.  It doesn’t matter.  But since you’re new, I’ll tell you.  I used to be the Lady Da – the Emperor’s stepmother.”
“You!” he exclaimed.
She smiled, ruefully.  “You’re still so fresh you think it matters!  But I have something more important to tell you.”  She stopped and bit her lip.
“What?” he urged.  “Better tell me before I get another bite.  I won’t be able to think or talk then, not for a long time.  Tell me now.”
She brought her face close to his.  It was still a lovely face, even in the dying orange of this violet-sunned sunset.  “People never live forever.”
“Yes,” said Mercer.  “I knew that.”
“Believe it,” ordered the Lady Da.
Lights flashed across the dark plain, still in the distance.  Said she, “Dig in, dig in for the night.  They may miss you.”
Mercer started digging.  He glanced over at the man he had dug up.  The brainless body, with motions as soft as those of a starfish under water, was pushing its way back into the earth.

Five or seven days later, there was a shouting through the herd.
Mercer had come to know a half-man, the lower part of whose body was gone and whose viscera were kept in place with what resembled a translucent bandage.  The half-man had shown him how to lie still when the dromozoa came with their inescapable errands of doing good.
Said the half-man, “You can’t fight them.  They made Alvarez as big as a mountain, so that he never stirs.  Now they’re trying to make us happy.  They feed us and clean us and sweeten us up.  Lie still.  Don’t worry about screaming.  We all do.”
“When do we get the drug?” said Mercer.
“When B’dikkat comes.”
B’dikkat came that day, pushing a sort of wheeled sled ahead of him.  The runners carried it over the hillocks; the wheels worked on the surface.
Even before he arrived, the herd sprang into furious action.  Everywhere, people were digging up the sleepers.  By the time B’dikkat reached their waiting place, the herd must have uncovered twice their own number of sleeping pink bodies – men and women, young and old.  The sleepers looked no better and no worse than the waking ones.
“Hurry!” said the Lady Da.  “He never gives any of us a shot until we’re all ready.”
B’dikkat wore his heavy lead suit.
He lifted an arm in friendly greeting, like a father returning home with treats for his children.  The herd clustered around him but did not crowd him.
He reached into the sled.  There was a harnessed bottle which he threw over his shoulders.  He snapped the locks on the straps.  From the bottle there hung a tube.  Midway down the tube there was a small pressure-pump.  At the end of the tube there was a glistening hypodermic needle.
When ready, B’dikkat gestured for them to come closer.  They approached him with radiant happiness.  He stepped through their ranks and past them, to the girl who had the boy growing from her neck.  His mechanical voice boomed through the loudspeaker set in the top of his suit.
“Good girl.  Good, good girl.  You get a big, big present.”  He thrust the hypodermic into her so long that Mercer could see an air bubble travel from the pump up to the bottle.
Then he moved back to the others, booming a word now and then, moving with improbable grace and speed amid the people.  His needle flashed as he gave them hypodermics under pressure.  The people dropped to sitting position or lay down on the ground as though half-asleep.
He knew Mercer.  “Hello, fellow.  Now you can have the fun.  It would have killed you in the cabin.  Do you have anything for me?”
Mercer stammered, not knowing what B’dikkat meant, and the two-nosed man answered for him, “I think he has a nice baby head, but it isn’t big enough for you to take yet.”
Mercer never noticed the needle touch his arm.
B’dikkat had turned to the next knot of people when the super-condamine hit Mercer.
He tried to run after B’dikkat, to hug the lead spacesuit, to tell B’dikkat that he loved him.  He stumbled and fell, but it did not hurt.
The many-bodied girl lay near him.  Mercer spoke to her.
“Isn’t it wonderful?  You’re beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.  I’m so happy to be here.”
The woman covered with growing hands came and sat beside them.  She radiated warmth and good fellowship.  Mercer thought that she looked very distinguished and charming.  He struggled out of his clothes.  It was foolish and snobbish to wear clothing when none of these nice people did.
The two women babbled and crooned at him.
With one corner of his mind he knew that they were saying nothing, just expressing the euphoria of a drug so powerful that the known universe had forbidden it.  With most of his mind he was happy.  He wondered how anyone could have the good luck to visit a planet as nice as this.  He tried to tell the Lady Da, but the words weren’t quite straight.
A painful stab hit him in the abdomen.  The drug went after the pain and swallowed it.  It was like the cap in the hospital, only a thousand times better.  The pain was gone, though it had been crippling the first time.
He forced himself to be deliberate.  He rammed his mind into focus and said to the two ladies who lay pinkly nude beside him in the desert, “That was a good bite.  Maybe I will grow another head.  That would make B’dikkat happy!”
The Lady Da forced the foremost of her bodies into an upright position.  Said she, “I’m strong, too.  I can talk.  Remember, man, remember.  People never live forever.  We can die, too, we can die like real people.  I do so believe in death!”
Mercer smiled at her through his happiness.
“Of course you can.  But isn’t this nice …”
With this he felt his lips thicken and his mind go slack.  He was wide awake, but he did not feel like doing anything.  In that beautiful place, among all these companionable and attractive people, he sat and smiled.
B’dikkat was sterilising his knives.

Mercer wondered how long the super-condamine had lasted him.  He endured the ministrations of the dromozoa without screams or movement.  The agonies of nerves and itching of skin were phenomena which happened somewhere near him, but meant nothing.  He watched his own body with remote, casual interest.  The Lady Da and the hand-covered woman stayed near him.  After a long time the half-man dragged himself over to the group with his powerful arms.  Having arrived he blinked sleepily and friendlily at them, and lapsed back into the restful stupor from which he had emerged.  Mercer saw the sun rise on occasion, closed his eyes briefly, and opened them to see stars shining.  Time had no meaning.  The dromozoa fed him in their mysterious way; the drug cancelled out his needs for cycles of the body.
At last he noticed a return of the inwardness of pain.
The pains themselves had not changed; he had.
He knew all the events which could take place on Shayol.  He remembered them well from his happy period.  Formerly he had noticed them – now he felt them.
He tried to ask the Lady Da how long they had had the drug, and how much longer they would have to wait before they had it again.  She smiled at him with benign, remote happiness; apparently her many torsos, stretched out along the ground, had a greater capacity for retaining the drug than did his body.  She meant him well, but was in no condition for articulate speech.
The half-man lay on the ground, arteries pulsating prettily behind the half-transparent film which protected his abdominal cavity.
Mercer squeezed the man’s shoulder.
The half-man woke, recognised Mercer and gave him a healthily sleepy grin.
“‘A good morrow to you, my boy.’  That’s out of a play.  Did you ever see a play?”
“You mean a game with cards?”
“No,” said the half-man, “a sort of eye-machine with real people doing the figures.”
“I never saw that,” said Mercer, “but I –”
“But you want to ask me when B’dikkat is going to come back with the needle.”
“Yes,” said Mercer, a little ashamed of his obviousness.
“Soon,” said the half-man.  “That’s why I think of plays.  We all know what is going to happen.  We all know when it is going to happen.  We all know what the dummies will do” – he gestured at the hummocks in which the decorticated men were cradled – “and we all know what the new people will ask.  But we never know how long a scene is going to take.”
“What’s a ‘scene’?” asked Mercer.  “Is that the name for the needle?”
The half-man laughed with something close to real humour.  “No, no, no.  You’ve got the lovelies on the brain.  A scene is just a part of a play.  I mean we know the order in which things happen, but we have no clocks and nobody cares enough to count days or to make calendars and there’s not much climate here, so none of us know how long anything takes.  The pain seems short and the pleasure seems long.  I’m inclined to think that they are about two Earth-weeks each.”
Mercer did not know what an ‘Earth-week’ was, since he had not been a well-read man before his conviction, but he got nothing more from the half-man at that time.  The half-man received a dromozootic implant, turned red in the face, shouted senselessly at Mercer, “Take it out, you fool!  Take it out of me!”
When Mercer looked on helplessly, the half-man twisted over on his side, his pink dusty back turned to Mercer, and wept hoarsely and quietly to himself.
Mercer himself could not tell how long it was before B’dikkat came back.  It might have been several days.  It might have been several months.
Once again B’dikkat moved among them like a father; once again they clustered like children.  This time B’dikkat smiled pleasantly at the little head which had grown out of Mercer’s thigh – a sleeping child’s head, covered with light hair on top and with dainty eyebrows over the resting eyes.  Mercer got the blissful needle.
When B’dikkat but the head from Mercer’s thigh, he felt the knife grinding against the cartilage which held the head to his own body.  He saw the child-face grimace as the head was cut; he felt the far, cool flash of unimportant pain, as B’dikkat dabbed the wound with a corrosive antiseptic which stopped all bleeding immediately.
The next time it was two legs growing from his chest.
Then there had been another head beside his own.
Or was that after the torso and legs, waist to toe-tips, of the little girl which had grown from his side?
He forgot the order.
He did not count time.
Lady Da smiled at him often, but there was no love in this place.  She had lost the extra torsos.  In between teratologies, she was a pretty and shapely woman; but the nicest thing about their relationship was her whisper to him, repeated some thousands of times, repeated with smiles and hope, “People never live forever.”
She found this immensely comforting, even though Mercer did not make much sense out of it.
Thus events occurred, and victims changed in appearance, and new ones arrived.  Sometimes B’dikkat took the new ones, resting in the everlasting sleep of their burned-out brains, in a ground-truck to be added to other herds.  The bodies in the truck threshed and bawled without human speech when the dromozoa struck them.
Finally, Mercer did manage to follow B’dikkat to the door of the cabin.  He had to fight the bliss of super-condamine to do it.  Only the memory of previous hurt, bewilderment and perplexity made him sure that if he did not ask B’dikkat when he, Mercer, was happy, the answer would no longer be available when he needed it.  Fighting pleasure itself, he begged B’dikkat to check the records and to tell him how long he had been there.
B’dikkat grudgingly agreed, but he did not come out of the doorway.  He spoke through the public address box built into the cabin, and his gigantic voice roared out over the empty plain, so that the pink herd of talking people stirred gently in their happiness and wondered what their friend B’dikkat might be wanting to tell them.  When he said it, they thought it exceedingly profound, though none of them understood it, since it was simply the amount of time that Mercer had been on Shayol:
“Standard years – eighty-four years, seven months, three days, two hours, eleven and one half minutes.  Good luck, fellow.”
Mercer turned away.
The secret little corner of his mind, which stayed sane through happiness and pain, made him wonder about B’dikkat.  What persuaded the cow-man to remain on Shayol?  What kept him happy without super-condamine?  Was B’dikkat a crazy slave to his own duty or was he a man who had hopes of going back to his own planet some day, surrounded by a family of little cow-people resembling himself?  Mercer, despite his happiness, wept a little at the strange fate of B’dikkat.  His own fate he accepted.
He remembered the last time he had eaten – actual eggs from an actual pan.  The dromozoa kept him alive, but he did not know how they did it.
He staggered back to the group.  The Lady Da, naked in the dusty plain, waved a hospitable hand and showed that there was a place for him to sit beside her.  There were unclaimed square miles of seating space around them, but he appreciated the kindliness of her gesture none the less.








IV

The years, if they were years, went by.  The land of Shayol did not change.
Sometimes the bubbling sound of geysers came faintly across the plain to the herd of men; those who could talk declared it to be the breathing of Captain Alvarez.  There was night and day, but no setting of crops, no change of season, no generations of men.  Time stood still for these people, and their load of pleasure was so commingled with the shocks and pains of the dromozoa that the words of the Lady Da took on a very remote meaning.
“People never live forever.”
Her statement was a hope, not a truth in which they could believe.  They did not have the wit to follow the stars in their courses, to exchange names with each other, to harvest the experience of each for the wisdom of all.  There was no dream of escape for these people.  Though they saw the old-style chemical rockets lift up from the field beyond B’dikkat’s cabin, they did not make plans to hide among the frozen crop of transmuted flesh.
Far long ago, some other prisoner than one of these had tried to write a letter.  His handwriting was on a rock.  Mercer read it, and so had a few of the others, but they could not tell which man had done it.  Nor did they care.
The letter, scraped on stone, had been a message home.  They could still read the opening: ‘Once, I was like you, stepping out of my window at the end of the day, and letting the winds blow me gently toward the place I lived in.  Once, like you, I had one head, two hands, ten fingers on my hands.  The front part of my head was called a face, and I could talk with it.  Now I can only write, and that only when I get out of pain.  Once, like you, I ate foods, drank liquid, had a name.  I cannot remember the name I had.  You can stand up, you who get this letter.  I cannot even stand up.  I just wait for the lights to put my food in me molecule by molecule, and to take it out again.  Don’t think that I am punished any more.  This place is not a punishment.  It is something else.’
Among the pink herd, none of them ever decided what was ‘something else.’
Curiosity had died among them long ago.
Then came the day of the little people.
It was a time – not an hour, not a year; a duration somewhere between them – when the Lady Da and Mercer sat wordless with happiness and filled with the joy of super-condamine.  They had nothing to say to one another; the drug said all things for them.
A disagreeable roar from B’dikkat’s cabin made them stir mildly.
Those two, and one or two others, looked toward the speaker of the public address system.
The Lady Da brought herself to speak, though the matter was unimportant beyond words.  “I do believe,” said she, “that we used to call that the War Alarm.”
They drowsed back into their happiness.
A man with two rudimentary heads growing beside his own crawled over to them.  All three heads looked very happy, and Mercer thought it delightful of him to appear in such a whimsical shape.  Under the pulsing glow of super-condamine, Mercer regretted that he had not used times when his mind was clear to ask him who he had once been.  He answered it for them.  Forcing his eyelids open by sheer will power, he gave the Lady Da and Mercer the lazy ghost of a military salute and said, “Suzdal, ma’am and sir, former cruiser commander.  They are sounding the alert.  Wish to report that I am … I am … I am not quite ready for battle.”
He dropped off to sleep.
The gentle peremptories of the Lady Da brought his eyes open again.
“Commander, why are they sounding it here?  Why did you come to us?”
“You, ma’am, and the gentleman with the ears seem to think best of our group.  I thought you might have orders.”
Mercer looked around for the gentleman with the ears.  It was himself.  In that time his face was almost wholly obscured with a crop of fresh little ears, but he paid no attention to them, other than expecting that B’dikkat would cut them all off in due course and that the dromozoa would give him something else.
The noise from the cabin rose to a higher, ear-splitting intensity.
Among the herd, many people stirred.
Some opened their eyes, looked around, murmured, “It’s a noise,” and went back to the happy drowsing with super-condamine.
The cabin door opened.
B’dikkat rushed out, without his suit.  They had never seen him on the outside without his protective metal suit.
He rushed up to them, looked wildly around, recognised the Lady Da and Mercer, picked them up, one under each arm, and raced with them back to the cabin.  He flung them into the double door.  They landed with bone-splitting crashes, and found it amusing to hit the ground so hard.  The floor tilted them into the room.  Moments later, B’dikkat followed.
He roared at them, “You’re people, or you were.  You understand people; I only obey them.  But this I will not obey.  Look at that!”
Four beautiful human children lay on the floor.  The two smallest seemed to be twins, about two years of age.  There was a girl of five and a boy of seven or so.  All of them had slack eyelids.  All of them had thin red lines around their temples and their hair, shaved away, showed how their brains had been removed.
B’dikkat, heedless of danger from dromozoa, stood beside the Lady Da and Mercer, shouting.
“You’re real people.  I’m just a cow.  I do my duty.  My duty does not include this.  These are children.”
The wise, surviving recess of Mercer’s mind registered shock and disbelief.  It was hard to sustain the emotion, because the super-condamine washed at his consciousness like a great tide, making everything seem lovely.  The forefront of his mind, rich with the drug, told him, “Won’t it be nice to have some children with us!”  But the undestroyed interior of his mind, keeping the honour he knew before he came to Shayol, whispered, “This is a crime worse than any crime we have committed!  And the Empire has done it.”
“What have you done?” said the Lady Da.  “What can we do?”
“I tried to call the satellite.  When they knew what I was talking about, they cut me off.  After all, I’m not people.  The head doctor told me to do my work.”
“Was it Doctor Vomact?” Mercer asked.
“Vomact?” said B’dikkat.  “He died a hundred years ago, of old age.  No, a new doctor cut me off.  I don’t have people-feeling, but I am Earth-born, of Earth blood.  I have emotions myself.  Pure cattle emotions!  This I cannot permit.”
“What have you done?”
B’dikkat lifted his eyes to the window.  His face was illuminated by a determination which, even beyond the edges of the drug which made them love him, made him seem like the father of this world – responsible, honourable, unselfish.
He smiled.  “They will kill me for it, I think.  But I have put in the Galactic Alert – all ships here.”
The Lady Da, sitting back on the floor, declared, “But that’s only for new invaders!  It is a false alarm.”  She pulled herself together and rose to her feet.  “Can you cut these things off me, right now, in case people come?  And get me a dress.  And do you have anything which will counteract the effects of the super-condamine?”
“That’s what I wanted!” cried B’dikkat.  “I will not take these children.  You give me leadership.”
There and then, on the floor of the cabin, he trimmed her down to the normal proportions of mankind.
The corrosive antiseptic rose like smoke in the air of the cabin.  Mercer thought it all very dramatic and pleasant, and dropped off in catnaps part of the time.  Then he felt B’dikkat trimming him too.  B’dikkat opened a long, long drawer and put the specimens in; from the cold in the room it must have been a refrigerated locker.
He sat them both up against the wall.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.  “There is no antidote for super-condamine.  Who would want one?  But I can give you the hypos from my rescue boat.  They are supposed to bring a person back no matter what has happened to that person out in space.”
There was a whining over the cabin roof.  B’dikkat knocked a window out with his fist, stuck his head out of the window and looked up.
“Come on in,” he shouted.
There was the thud of a landing craft touching ground quickly.  Doors whirred.  Mercer wondered, mildly, why people dared to land on Shayol.  When they came in he saw that they were not people; they were Customs Robots, who could travel at velocities which people could never match.  One wore the insigne of an inspector.
“Where are the invaders?”
“There are no –” began B’dikkat.
The Lady Da, imperial in her posture though she was completely nude, said in a voice of complete clarity, “I am a former Empress, the Lady Da.  Do you know me?”
“No, ma’am,” said the robot inspector.  He looked as uncomfortable as a robot could look.  The drug made Mercer think that it would be nice to have robots for company, out on the surface of Shayol.
“I declare this Top Emergency, in the ancient words.  Do you understand?  Connect me with the Instrumentality.”
“We can’t –” said the inspector.
“You can ask,” said the Lady Da.
The inspector complied.
The Lady Da turned to B’dikkat.  “Give Mercer and me those shots now.  Then put us outside the door so the dromozoa can repair these scars.  Bring us in as soon as a connection is made.  Wrap us in cloth if you do not have clothes for us.  Mercer can stand the pain.”
“Yes,” said B’dikkat, keeping his eyes away from the four soft children and their collapsed eyes.
The injection burned like no fire ever had.  It must have been capable of fighting the super-condamine, because B’dikkat put them through the open window, so as to have time going through the door.  The dromozoa, sensing that they needed repair, flashed upon them.  This time the super-condamine had something else fighting it.
Mercer did not scream but he lay against the wall and wept for ten thousand years; in objective time, it must have been several hours.
The Customs robots were taking pictures.  The dromozoa were flashing against them too, sometimes in whole swarms, but nothing happened.
Mercer heard the voice of the communicator inside the cabin calling loudly for B’dikkat.  “Surgery Satellite calling Shayol.  B’dikkat, get on the line!”
He obviously was not replying.
There were soft cries coming from the other communicator, the one which the customs officials had brought into the room.  Mercer was sure that the eye-machine was on and that people in other worlds were looking at Shayol for the first time.
B’dikkat came through the door.  He had torn navigation charts out of his lifeboat.  With these he cloaked them.
Mercer noted that the Lady Da changed the arrangement of the cloak in a few minor ways and suddenly looked like a person of great importance.
They re-entered the cabin door.
B’dikkat whispered, as if filled with awe, “The Instrumentality has been reached, and a Lord of the Instrumentality is about to talk to you.”
There was nothing for Mercer to do, so he sat back in a corner of the room and watched.  The Lady Da, her skin healed, stood pale and nervous in the middle of the floor.
The room filled with an odourless intangible smoke.  The smoke clouded.  The full communicator was on.
A human figure appeared.
A woman, dressed in a uniform of radically conservative cut, faced the Lady Da.
“This is Shayol.  You are the Lady Da.  You called me.”
The Lady Da pointed to the children on the floor.  “This must not happen,” she said.  “This is a place of punishments, agreed upon between the Instrumentality and the Empire.  No one said anything about children.”
The woman on the screen looked down at the children.
“This is the work of insane people!” she cried.
She looked accusingly at the Lady Da.  “Are you imperial?”
“I was an Empress, madam,” said the Lady Da.
“And you permit this!”
“Permit it?” cried the Lady Da.  “I had nothing to do with it.”  Her eyes widened.  “I am a prisoner here myself.  Don’t you understand?”
The image-woman snapped, “No, I don’t.”
“I,” said the Lady Da, “am a specimen.  Look at the herd out there.  I came from them a few hours ago.”
“Adjust me,” said the image-woman to B’dikkat.  “Let me see that herd.”
Her body, standing upright, soared through the wall in a flashing arc and was placed in the very centre of the herd.
The Lady Da and Mercer watched her.  They saw even the image lose its stiffness and dignity.  The image-woman waved an arm to show that she should be brought back into the cabin.  B’dikkat tuned her back into the room.
“I owe you an apology,” said the image.  “I am the Lady Johanna Gnade, one of the Lords of the Instrumentality.”
Mercer bowed, lost his balance and had to scramble up from the floor.  The Lady Da acknowledged the introduction with a royal nod.
The two women looked at each other.
“You will investigate,” said the Lady Da, “and when you have investigated, please put us all to death.  You know about the drug?”
“Don’t mention it,” said B’dikkat, “don’t even say the name into a communicator.  It is a secret of the Instrumentality.”
“I am the Instrumentality,” said the Lady Johanna.  “Are you in pain?  I did not think that any of you were alive.  I had heard of the surgery banks on your off-limits planet, but I thought that robots tended parts of people and sent up the new grafts by rocket.  Are there any people with you?  Who is in charge?  Who did this to the children?”
B’dikkat stepped in front of the image.  He did not bow.  “I’m in charge.”
“You’re underpeople!” cried the Lady Johanna.  “You’re a cow!”
“A bull, ma’am.  My family is frozen back on Earth itself, and with a thousand years’ service I am earning their freedom and my own.  Your other questions, ma’am.  I do all the work.  The dromozoa do not affect me much, though I have to cut a part off myself now and then.  I throw those away.  They don’t go into the bank.  Do you know the secret rules of this place?”
The Lady Johanna talked to someone behind her on another world.  Then she looked at B’dikkat and commanded, “Just don’t name the drug or talk too much about it.  Tell me the rest.”
“We have,” said B’dikkat very formally, “thirteen hundred and twenty-one people here who can still be counted on to supply parts when the dromozoa implant them.  There are about seven hundred more, including Go-Captain Alvarez, who have been so thoroughly absorbed by the planet that it is no use trimming them.  The Empire set up this place as a point of uttermost punishment.  But the Instrumentality gave secret orders for medicine” – he accented the word strangely, meaning super-condamine – “to be issued so that the punishment would be counteracted.  The Empire supplies our convicts.  The Instrumentality distributes the surgical material.”
The Lady Johanna lifted her right hand in a gesture of silence and compassion.  She looked around the room.  Her eyes came back to the Lady Da.  Perhaps she guessed what effort the Lady Da had made in order to remain standing erect while the two drugs, the super-condamine and the lifeboat drug, fought within her veins.
“You people can rest.  I will tell you now that all things possible will be done for you.  The Empire is finished.  The Fundamental Agreement, by which the Instrumentality surrendered to the Empire a thousand years ago, has been set aside.  We did not know that you people existed.  We would have found out in time, but I am sorry we did not find out sooner.  Is there anything we can do for you right away?”
“Time is what we all have,” said the Lady Da.  “Perhaps we cannot ever leave Shayol, because of the dromozoa and the medicine.  The one could be dangerous.  The other must never be permitted to be known.”
The Lady Johanna Gnade looked around the room.  When her glance reached him, B’dikkat fell to his knees and lifted his enormous hands in complete supplication.
“What do you want?” said she.
“These,” said B’dikkat, pointing to the mutilated children.  “Order a stop on children.  Stop it now!”  He commanded her with the last cry, and she accepted his command.  “And lady –”  He stopped, as if shy.
“Yes?  Go on.”
“Lady, I am unable to kill.  It is not in my nature.  To work, to help, but not to kill.  What do I do with these?  He gestured at the four motionless children on the floor.
“Keep them,” she said.  “Just keep them.”
“I can’t,” he said.  “There’s no way to get off this planet alive.  I do not have food for them in the cabin.  They will die in a few hours.  And governments,” he added wisely, “take a long, long time to do things.”
“Can you give them the medicine?”
“No, it would kill them if I gave them that stuff first before the dromozoa have fortified their bodily processes.”
The Lady Johanna Gnade filled the room with tinkling laughter that was very close to weeping.  “Fools, poor fools, and the more fool I!  If super-condamine works only after the dromozoa, what is the purpose of the secret?”
B’dikkat rose to his feet, offended.  He frowned, but he could not get the words with which to defend himself.
The Lady Da, ex-empress of a fallen empire, addressed the other lady with ceremony and force.  “Put them outside, so they will be touched.  They will hurt.  Have B’dikkat give them the drug as soon as he thinks it safe.  I beg your leave, my lady …”
Mercer had to catch her before she fell.
“You’ve all had enough,” said the Lady Johanna.  “A storm ship with heavily armed troops is on its way to your ferry satellite.  They will seize the medical personnel and find out who committed this crime against children.
Mercer dared to speak.  “Will you punish the guilty doctor?”
“You speak of punishment,” she cried.  “You!”
“It’s fair.  I was punished for doing wrong.  Why shouldn’t he be?”
“Punish – punish!” she said to him.  “We will cure that doctor.  And we will cure you too, if we can.”
Mercer began to weep.  He thought of the oceans of happiness which super-condamine had brought him, forgetting the hideous pain and the deformities on Shayol.  Would there be no next needle?  He could not guess what life would be like off Shayol.  Was there to be no more tender, fatherly B’dikkat coming with his knives?
He lifted his tear-stained face to the Lady Johanna Gnade and choked out the words, “Lady, we are all insane in this place.  I do not think we want to leave.”
She turned her face away, moved by enormous compassion.  Her next words were to B’dikkat.  “You are wise and good, even if you are not a human being.  Give them all of the drug they can take.  The Instrumentality will decide what to do with all of you.  I will survey your planet with robot soldiers.  Will the robots be safe, cow-man?”
B’dikkat did not like the thoughtless name she called him, but he held no offence.  “The robots will be all right, ma’am, but the dromozoa will be excited if they cannot feed them and heal them.  Send as few as you can.  We do not know how the dromozoa live or die.”
“As few as I can,” she murmured.  She lifted her hand in command to some technician unimaginable distances away.  The odourless smoke rose about her and the image was gone.
A shrill cheerful voice spoke up.  “I fixed your window,” said the customs robot.  B’dikkat thanked him absentmindedly.  He helped Mercer and the Lady Da into the doorway.  When they had gotten outside, they were promptly stung by the dromozoa.  It did not matter.
B’dikkat himself, carrying the four children in his two gigantic, tender hands.  He lay the slack bodies on the ground near the cabin.  He watched as the bodies went into spasm with the onset of the dromozoa.  Mercer and the Lady Da saw that his brown cow eyes were rimmed with red and that his huge cheeks were dampened by tears.
Hours or centuries.
Who could tell them apart?
The herd went back to its usual life, except that the intervals between needles were much shorter.  The once-commander, Suzdal, refused the needle when he heard the news.  Whenever he could walk, he followed the customs robots around as they photographed, took soil samples, and made a count of the bodies.  They were particularly interested in the mountain of the Go-Captain Alvarez and professed themselves uncertain as to whether there was organic life there or not.  The mountain did appear to react to super-condamine, but they could find no blood, no heartbeat.  Moisture, moved by the dromozoa, seemed to have replaced the once-human bodily processes.



V

And then, early one morning, the sky opened.
Ship after ship landed.  People emerged, wearing clothes.
The dromozoa ignored the newcomers.  Mercer, who was in a state of bliss, confusedly tried to think this through until he realised that the ships were loaded to their skins with communications machines; the ‘people’ were either robots or images of persons in other places.
The robots swiftly gathered together the herd.  Using wheelbarrows, they brought the hundreds of mindless people to the landing area.
Mercer heard a voice he knew.  It was the Lady Johanna Gnade.  “Set me high,” she commanded.
Her form rose until she seemed one-fourth the size of Alvarez.  Her voice took on more volume.
“Wake them all,” she commanded.
Robots moved among them, spraying them with a gas which was both sickening and sweet.  Mercer felt his mind go clear.  The super-condamine still operated in his nerves and veins, but his cortical area was free of it.  He thought clearly.
“I bring you,” cried the compassionate feminine voice of the gigantic Lady Johanna, “the judgement of the Instrumentality on the planet Shayol.
“Item: the surgical supplies will be maintained and the dromozoa will not be molested.  Portions of human bodies will be left here to grow, and the grafts will be collected by robots.  Neither man nor homunculus will live here again.
“Item: the underman B’dikkat, of cattle extraction, will be rewarded by an immediate return to Earth.  He will be paid twice his expected thousand years of earnings.”
The voice of B’dikkat, without amplification, was almost as loud as hers through the amplifier.  He shouted his protest, “Lady, Lady!”
She looked down at him, his enormous body reaching to ankle height on her swirling gown, and said in a very informal tone, “What do you want?”
“Let me finish my work first,” he cried, so that all could hear.  “Let me finish taking care of these people.”
The specimens who had minds all listened attentively.  The brainless ones were trying to dig themselves back into the soft earth of Shayol, using their powerful claws for the purpose.  Whenever one began to disappear, a robot seized him by a limb and pulled him out again.
“Item: cephalectomies will be performed on all persons with irrecoverable minds.  Their bodies will be left here.  Their heads will be taken away and killed as pleasantly as we can manage, probably by an overdosage of super-condamine.”
“The last big jolt,” murmured Commander Suzdal, who stood near Mercer.  “That’s fair enough.”
“Item: the children have been found to be the last heirs of the Empire.  An over-zealous official sent them here to prevent their committing treason when they grew up.  The doctor obeyed orders without questioning them.  Both the official and the doctor have been cured and their memories of this have been erased, so that they need have no shame or grief for what they have done.”
“It’s unfair,” cried the half-man.  “They should be punished as we were!”
The Lady Johanna Gnade looked down at him.  “Punishment is ended.  We will give you anything you wish, but not the pain of another.  I shall continue.
“Item: since none of you wish to resume the lives which you led previously, we are moving you to another planet nearby.  It is similar to Shayol, but much more beautiful.  There are no dromozoa.”
At this an uproar seized the herd.  They shouted, wept, cursed, appealed.  They all wanted the needle, and if they had to stay on Shayol to get it, they would stay.
“Item,” said the gigantic image of the lady, overriding their babble with her great but feminine voice, “you will not have super-condamine on the new planet, since without dromozoa it would kill you.  But there will be caps.  Remember the caps.  We will try to cure you and to make people of you again.  But if you give up, we will not force you.  Caps are very powerful; with medical help you can live under them many years.”
A hush fell on the group.  In their various days, they were trying to compare the electrical caps which had stimulated their pleasure-lobes with the drug which had drowned them a thousand times in pleasure.  Their murmur sounded like assent.
“Do you have any questions?” said the Lady Johanna.
“When do we get the caps?” said several.  They were human enough that they laughed at their own impatience.
“Soon,” she said reassuringly, “very soon.”
“Very soon,” echoed B’dikkat, reassuring his charges even though he was no longer in control.
“Question,” cried the Lady Da.
“My Lady …?” said the Lady Johanna, giving the ex-empress her due courtesy.
“Will we be permitted marriage?”
The Lady Johanna looked astonished.  “I don’t know.”  She smiled.  “I don’t know any reason why not –”
“I claim this man Mercer,” said the Lady Da.  “When the drugs were deepest, and the pain was greatest, he was the one who always tried to think.  May I have him?”
Mercer thought the procedure arbitrary but he was so happy that he said nothing.  The Lady Johanna scrutinised him and then she nodded.  She lifted her arms in a gesture of blessing and farewell.
The robots began to gather the pink herd into two groups.  One group was to whisper in a ship over to a new world, new problems and new lives.  The other group, no matter how much its members tried to scuttle into the dirt, was gathered for the last honour which humanity could pay their manhood.
B’dikkat, leaving everyone else, jogged with his bottle across the plain to give the mountainman Alvarez an especially large gift of delight.