A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [45]
On the other hand, he told himself, your pessimism might be justified in this case. If the organism had mutated once, it could mutate again. Square one might become a very familiar place.
Then, suddenly, he felt silly. Unprofessional, even. Don’t make this any more complicated than it has to be, he advised himself. Remember-you’re on the Enterprise. Vega Antilles is a long way away.
Taking a deep breath, he thanked Arguellos and headed for the critical care area. At least he could tell his patient that he’d figured out what had happened. That would make Fredi feel a little better.
Winter was approaching. The air was getting cooler, the days shorter. Over the jagged profile of the factory district, the sun was already setting in a mighty blaze. Red flecks of cloud, scattered about the sky, seemed stymied in their attempts to escape the conflagration.
Dan’nor poured out of the shoe works with the rest of the laborers, maneuvering his way through the press. He spoke to no one and no one spoke to him. Perhaps they sensed his disgust at being lowered to their station. It didn’t matter-he wasn’t looking for their friendship.
The shoe plant was located at the top of a hill. It made his walk home considerably shorter than his walk to work. On the way down, he passed the refinery and then the plastics plant, and a little while later he came to the river.
There were shops along the water-all owned, of course, by someone or other in the Military. Probably not Council members, though-they didn’t get involved in such piddling operations. Not directly, anyway.
Normally, Dan’nor didn’t stop at any of these places. Eager to get home and view the Conflicts, he seldom even took note of what they were selling. This evening, however, he felt a little curious. Maybe because the Conflicts had been less engaging for him lately. They were beginning to take on a sameness; he was seldom surprised anymore.
One shop in particular caught his eye. No, not a shop-a small tavern. And taverns, he’d heard, were rare in this town. On an impulse, he opened the wooden door and walked inside.
It was quite crowded, and he hated crowds. They reminded him too much of the shoe factory. The sight of all those bodies pressed together in the dim light, the loud sounds and the smell almost drove him back out the door. Then he saw what had attracted the crowd in the first place, and he forced himself to stay.
It was a videoscreen, not much larger than the one he had at home. There was nothing unusual on it, just another clash outside the walls of some fortress. Probably K’trellan-they had been featuring that one a lot lately.
The fighting was fierce, but it didn’t hold Dan’nor’s interest for long. The siege sequences were always the least artistic-just a lot of bodies sweating and grunting and trying to hack other bodies to pieces.
On the other hand, the crowd seemed to love it. They were roaring and raising their drinks and pounding their fists on the occasional table. It was almost as if they themselves were on the battlefield.
It occurred to him that he had never seen people watching the Conflicts en masse. Perhaps in two and threes at someone’s home, but never in such a large group. And never in a place like this.
It made it something strange, something unfamiliar. There was an electricity in the air. A sense of involvement, of importance. Of magnitude.
Dan’nor wanted to learn more about it. Skirting the thickest part of the crowd, he worked his way to a spot in the corner. He could barely see the screen, but he had a good view of the onlookers. Finding a surprisingly empty chair, he sat down.
A moment later, he found out why the chair had been available. It was rickety. But by leaning back against the wall, he got it to bear his weight.
The screen generated a bright, flickering light, illuminating faces for him. It showed him the wild passion in their eyes, the way their mouths curled around their cheers and their curses. He had the feeling that they might whirl as one at any