A Thousand Deaths (4 page)

A young woman with curly pink hair looked up at him. She was drinking a cup of coffee and reading a romance novel on the microfiche reader. "It's almost lunchtime," she said.

"My name is Sandor Courane. I was told to report here at noon."

The woman grimaced and slipped the novel fiche out of the reader. "You don't have a ticket then?"

"No," he said in some embarrassment. "You see, I—"

Her eyes widened. "I know who you are! You're being exiled!"

The word surprised Courane. He didn't like it at all. "Exiled? My father said I was being expatriated."

"Whatever. Oh, wait a minute. I have a friend at the package claim who wanted me to make sure to call her when you came in. This is just terrific. Will you sign my book? It's for my mother, really. She always has me ask people to sign the book if they're in the news or anything like that."

Courane just wanted to get on with it, but he had to go through the entire embarrassing scene. People came from all over the substation to look at him, to point at him and whisper and laugh. Soon he begged to be allowed to walk through the portal and get away from the crowd.

"Will you look at this guy" she said, shaking her head. "He actually sounds like he's in a hurry. Say, how does it feel?"

"Awful," he said. He looked around resentfully at the mob surrounding the desk.

"I mean, screwing up as bad as you did. I can't imagine it."

"It was easier than you might think," he said.

"Easy for you, honey," she said. "Still, shipping you away from Earth forever. That seems a little harsh. It's not like you robbed a bank or anything."

"It's for your own good," said Courane. "I'm a menace in my own way. I take without giving, and the community at large can't allow that."

"When you put it that way, I see your point. Why do you do it, then? You look like a nice boy. Was it your parents? Was it something that happened to you as a child?"

"Yes," he said. "A woman at an information counter once said something to me, and it affected the rest of my life."

"What did she say?"

"She was giving me directions and she said, 'You can't miss it.' I took that as a direct challenge and I determined to get lost. I succeeded, and I didn't stop there. Until TECT put an end to my career, I was quickly becoming a legendary failure. A failure of mythic proportions. And I owe it all to her. You have that potential, too, Miss. Someday you may inspire someone to abandon everything and ruin his life."

She seemed transported by the idea. "Do you really think so?"

Courane studied her and nodded slowly. "I don't doubt it for a moment," he said. "It must be almost time."

She checked her watch. "It is," she said. "Just follow the yellow line to the portal. You'll have to identify yourself to the operator, but from then on I'm told it's easy. Good luck."

"That way?"

"That way," she said. "You can't miss it."

There wasn't a trace of humor in her voice. She didn't realize what she had said.

Courane left her and pushed his way through the crowd of curious people. They cheered him, but he paid no attention. He followed the yellow line to the portal. The gate wasn't very impressive to look at, much like the metal detectors used by the airlines. There was a small door set into a wall of cinder blocks, apparently leading outside to the parking lot. Courane produced his identification, let the operator examine his single bag of belongings, and turned to take his last look at the planet of his birth. He wondered if he ought to make a final statement, some brave word to be remembered by.

"Hurry up," said the operator. "It costs a fortune to keep the connection open. We're talking light-years here, you know. You're not going on a weekend trip to Atlantic City."

"All right," said Courane. He took a firm grip on his zipper bag, opened the door, and stepped through.

Behind him there was the sound of a door sighing closed. He turned, but there was no sign of the portal. There wasn't so much as a shimmer in the air.

He was on another world.

It wasn't what Courane would call an especially attractive world. Naturally, he hadn't had any choice in the matter, but if he had he might have picked a place where the colors of the sky and ground and growing things were more in harmony. The sky was bleak and clothed with storm clouds. The light had an unsettling greenish cast to it. The tall grass and the leaves on the twisted trees were the precise red-purple of a flea gorged with blood. Courane's face showed distaste, but in a moment he settled himself enough to look around.

The sun—Epislon Eridani—was low in the sky, but there was no way for him to say if it was morning or late evening. Not far was a large house with a barn and a silo. That was his new home, evidently, and he took a deep breath and headed toward it. He felt strangely nervous. He didn't know why he was so anxious; he couldn't fail here. There would be no evaluations. This was the end of the line, the bottom of the barrel. If there were any others in the house, they were there for the same reason he was. Birds of a feather, they had been marooned together.

The house had a large front porch with several comfortable old chairs arranged so the tenants could sit and watch the grotesque dull-red grasses waving in the winds of approaching storms. A half-filled pitcher rested forgotten on the porch railing.

There was neither bellpush nor knocker beside the screen door. Of course not, Courane thought, applauding his own perception; they wouldn't often receive package deliveries or weary travelers. "Hello?" he called. There was only silence. For a moment he had the horrible thought that he was alone, not only on the porch but on the planet, that TECT had banished him to solitary confinement on a strange world. But a moment later a woman came around the corner of the house. She was his mother's age, in her middle or late forties, with short blonde hair and a youthful face. She didn't show the signs of years of toils beneath the foreign sun. Although she wore no makeup, there were no lines of pain or hard work around her mouth or eyes. She wore a plain gray dress that was imperfect enough to have been made here at home. She smiled and came toward him, one hand extended.

"Hi," she said. Her voice was low and friendly. "My name's Molly. We didn't know anyone was coming today."

"TECT didn't tell you?" he said, taking her hand.

"No. Doesn't make any difference, though. I'm glad I was around when you got here. Everyone else is either working around the farm or too sick. So come in, put your bag down. What's your name?"

"Courane. Sandor Courane. I'm from a little town in Europe. Greusching."

"We've got a few Europeans here," said Molly. "A few North Americans, one Pacifican girl, and some folks from other colonies."

"How many altogether?"

"Twelve. Two of them are kids. Isn't that awful? Two children, both boys, neither of them older than eleven." She looked across the yard, lost in thought. "So come in." She smiled and held the screen door open.

 

Courane steadied the woman's body with one hand. His shoulder ached from carrying her. The day was hot and there was no breeze at all. The sand had given way to small rounded stones, and the footing was difficult. The ground had risen slowly, and as he paused he looked out over a gentle declivity that stretched before him all the way to the horizon. He would have to carry her down into the basin in search of the river. The only proof that there was a river was the note pinned to the woman's clothing. Courane accepted its authority without question. It didn't occur to him to ask if the note might belong to another time, another situation, another world perhaps, that there might be no river within the limit of his strength and perseverance. There were low gnarled trees scattered around the floor of the depression, and clouds in the distance gave hope of rain and an end to his thirst. He did suffer a growing fatigue, an exhaustion that almost overpowered him when he became conscious of it. When he remembered, it was with a clarity and a force that consumed him; he was aware of nothing else, nothing at all in his present condition. His past was denied to him, so far as voluntarily calling it up. But when it visited him unbidden, it blinded his senses and hungers to everything else.

Courane shifted the corpse to the other shoulder, settled his burden more comfortably, and descended into the desert basin.

 

 

 

Two

 

 

Courane sat by the river with Rachel and
watched the dead autumn leaves shuffle in the brisk wind. He didn't know what to say to the young woman. She was pleasant enough, of course, as well as intelligent, but Courane was embarrassed by her attention. Everyone on the farm knew that he had paired off with the Pacifican girl, Alohilani. Courane hoped that Rachel understood the social conventions of their small community. He hoped that she wouldn't make any emotional demands of him. Under the best of conditions in the past, he had never been very good at handling that kind of thing.

"How long have you been here now?" she asked.

Courane picked up a stone and tossed it in a high arc into the coffee-brown river. "Not quite five months," he said. Questions like these were discouraged among the colonists. Rachel had been there for more than a month; she ought to have known better.

The sky was clear, an unusual occurrence, and Courane lay back in the rough grass and closed his eyes. There was a tense silence between them.

"I still haven't gotten used to it all," she said at last. "The colors of the sky and sun, I mean. And the stars at night being different."

"You'll get used to it."

"I'm glad I work in the house. I don't think I would want to workaround the farm. The animals are so strange. So are the crops in the fields."

"You'll work on the farm soon. You won't stay in the house. They keep you there until you get adjusted. But we need you outside. There's never enough help."

Rachel brushed her long dark hair with her hands and drew it over her shoulder, across her breast. Then she lay back beside Courane. "How sick is she?" she asked.

"Alohilani?"

"Of course."

"She's very sick."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Sandy. Really. She's a beautiful girl."

"You should have known her before she became ill."

Rachel sighed and rolled over in the grass. She plucked a long blade of the red weed, looked at it, and frowned. "Let's talk about something else, all right?" she said.

"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

"Are you happy here?"

Courane sat up and brushed damp soil from his shirt. He looked astonished. "Happy?" he said. "We're in prison. How can you be happy in prison?"

Rachel gazed at him, her large brown eyes brilliant with unshed tears. "I'm happy," she said. "I'm happier here than I've ever been before. TECT was perfectly right, sending me here. I only wish it had happened sooner. I met you here."

Courane raised a warning hand. "Rachel, please. I'm glad you're happy, but I hope it isn't just because of me. I can't be a part of it for you. I'm in love with someone else."

"I know that."

"You've only been here a little while—"

"Why do you call it a prison?" she asked. Rachel sat up and looked toward the river. "Just because you aren't free to go back to Earth? I think this is my home. I think this place is beautiful, once you get used to the strange things. In its own way, it's much more beautiful than Earth. The open space and the clean air." She looked back into Courane's face, but she saw only bitterness there. Rachel shook her head. "I love those little animals, the ones that hop like frogs but look kind of like chipmunks. The yellow fuzzy things."

"I do, too," said Courane.

"What are they called?"

"There isn't a name for them. Why don't you think of one?"

Rachel laughed. Courane stood up and helped her to her feet. Together they walked back to the house. Courane was glad the conversation had turned away from unpleasantness.

 

On Earth it was early January in the year 7 YT. "YT" originally meant the "Year of Tom," the last of the Representatives, but since T was also the first letter of TECT, no one felt the need to change calendars again upon Tom's retirement. When Courane arrived on Planet D, it was the middle of the local summer, July of the year 124. He was happy, in a way; his exile enabled him to bypass the rest of the Asian winter and walk through a portal into summer. On his first day on the farm, this minor advantage was the only one that presented itself. Courane waited skeptically for the self-esteem and satisfaction that TECT had promised. He decided to relax in the main parlor, and made himself comfortable while he waited.

He was alone for a good part of the day. There were no electronic entertainment devices, of course, and no one had been permitted to bring books or fiche with them. Courane sat and looked at the wood-paneled walls in growing boredom. The house's tect was tied directly into TECT's main and subsidiary memory units, but Courane hadn't learned that yet. He could have summoned up any of the resources available to anyone on Earth, but instead he sat and waited, afraid to violate any strange local customs or practices. If he was expected anywhere or if he was required to do anything, he was sure someone would tell him. And if the house rules forbade anyone telling him, he hoped someone would let him know about that. In any event, the safest thing seemed to be just to hang around, to be available until he was given a definite role to play.

After a long while, Molly came into the parlor. "Have you been sitting here all this time?" she asked.

"Yes," said Courane.

"How monotonous. I guess everyone else is busy. I hope I'm not the one assigned to show you around; I've got much too much to do. If it were my job, though, I'd remember it." Her face became suddenly serious. "I
think
I'd remember it," she said softly. "I'll be right back."

"No need on my account," said Courane. He just wanted something to eat.

A few minutes later, she returned. She smiled. "I was right, it isn't me. Sheldon is supposed to give you the tour. Have you met Sheldon?"