"Wait!" Barr held out his thin hands. "Where do you rush? You come here, but I ask no questions. In the city, where the inhabitants are still called rebels, you would be challenged by the first soldier or guard who heard your accent and saw your clothes."
He rose and from an obscure comer of an old chest brought out a booklet. "My passport, 杅orged. I escaped with it."
He placed it in Mallow's hand and folded the fingers over it. "The description doesn't fit, but if you flourish it, the chances are many to one they will not look closely."
"But you. You'll be left without one."
The old exile shrugged cynically, "What of it? And a further caution. Curb your tongue! Your accent is barbarous, your idioms peculiar, and every once in a while you deliver yourself of the most astounding archaisms. The less you speak, the less suspicion you will draw upon yourself. Now I'll tell you how to get to the city"
Five minutes later, Mallow was gone.
He returned but once, for a moment, to the old patrician's house, before leaving it entirely, however. And when Onum Barr stepped into his little garden early the next morning, he found a box at his feet. It contained provisions, concentrated provisions such as one would find aboard ship, and alien in taste and preparation.
But they were good, and lasted long.
11.
The tech-man was short, and his skin glistened with well-kept plumpness. His hair was a fringe and his skull shone through pinkly. The rings on his fingers were thick and heavy, his clothes were scented, and he was the first man Mallow had met on the planet who hadn't looked hungry.
The tech-man's lips pursed peevishly, "Now, my man, quickly. I have things of great importance waiting for me. You seem a stranger" He seemed to evaluate Mallow's definitely un-Siwennese costume and his eyelids were heavy with suspicion.
"I am not of the neighborhood," said Mallow, calmly, "but the matter is irrelevant. I have had the honor to send you a little gift yesterday"
The tech-man's nose lifted, "I received it. An interesting gewgaw. I may have use for it on occasion."
"I have other and more interesting gifts. Quite out of the gewgaw stage."
"Oh-h?" The tech-man's voice lingered thoughtfully over the monosyllable. "I think I already see the course of the interview; it has happened before. You are going to give me some trifle or other. A few credits, perhaps a cloak, second-rate jewelry; anything your little soul may think sufficient to corrupt a tech-man." His lower lip puffed out belligerently, "And I know what you wish in exchange. There have been others and to spare with the same bright idea. You wish to be adopted into our clan. You wish to be taught the mysteries of nucleics and the care of the machines. You think because you dogs of Siwenna and probably your strangerhood is assumed for safety's sake are being daily punished for your rebellion that you can escape what you deserve by throwing over yourselves the privileges and protections of the tech-man's guild."
Mallow would have spoken, but the tech-man raised himself into a sudden roar. "And now leave before I report your name to the Protector of the City. Do you think that I would betray the trust? The Siwennese traitors that preceded me would have perhaps! But you deal with a different breed now. Why, Galaxy, I marvel that I do not kill you myself at this moment with my bare hands."
Mallow smiled to himself. The entire speech was patently artificial in tone and content, so that all the dignified indignation degenerated into uninspired farce.
The trader glanced humorously at the two flabby hands that had been named as his possible executioners then and there, and said, "Your Wisdom, you are wrong on three counts. First, I am not a creature of the viceroy come to test your loyalty. Second, my gift is something the Emperor himself in all his splendor does not and will never possess. Third, what I wish in return is very little; a nothing; a mere breath."
"So you say!" He descended into heavy sarcasm. "Come, what is this imperial donation that your godlike power wishes to bestow upon me? Something the Emperor doesn't have, eh?" He broke into a sharp squawk of derision.
Mallow rose and pushed the chair aside, "I have waited three days to see you, Your Wisdom, but the display will take only three seconds. If you will just draw that blaster whose butt I see very near your hand"
"Eh?"
"And shoot me, I will be obliged."
"What?"
"If I am killed, you can tell the police I tried to bribe you into betraying guild secrets. You'll receive high praise. If I am not killed, you may have my shield."
For the first time, the tech-man became aware of the dimly-white illumination that hovered closely about his visitor, as though he had been dipped in pearl-dust. His blaster raised to the level and with eyes a-squint in wonder and suspicion, he closed contact.
The molecules of air caught in the sudden surge of atomic disruption, tore into glowing, burning ions, and marked out the blinding thin line that struck at Mallow's heart and splashed!
While Mallow's look of patience never changed, the nuclear forces that tore at him consumed themselves against that fragile, pearly illumination, and crashed back to die in mid-air.
The tech-man's blaster dropped to the floor with an unnoticed crash.
Mallow said, "Does the Emperor have a personal force-shield? You can have one."
The tech-man stuttered, "Are you a tech-man?"
"No."
"Then then where did you get that?"
"What do you care?" Mallow was coolly contemptuous. "Do you want it?" A thin, knobbed chain fell upon the desk, "There it is."