Pebble in the Sky by Isaac Asimov (best novels of all time .txt) 📗

not occur to him that that was the second time he had touched an Earthgirl.

He said sharply, “What do you want?”

The little man with the sharp eyes stepped diffidently out from behind a counter piled high with packages. He spoke in a manner which managed to be both ingratiating and impudent simultaneously.

“Here’s a weird go outside,” he said, “but it don’t need to bother you, miss. I’ll get your man back to the Institute for you.”

“What institute?” demanded Pola fearfully.

“Aw, come off it,” said the little man. “I’m Natter, fella with the fruit stand right across the street from the Institute for Nuclear Research. I seen you here lots of times.”

“See here,” said Arvardan abruptly, “what’s all this about?”

Natter’s little frame shook with merriment. “They think this fella here has Radiation Fever—”

“Radiation Fever?” It came from both Arvardan and Pola at once.

Natter nodded. “That’s right. Two cabbies ate with him and that’s what they said. News like that kinda spreads, you know.”

“The guards outside,” demanded Pola, “are just looking for someone with fever?”

“That’s right.”

“And just why aren’t you afraid of the fever?” demanded Arvardan abruptly. “I take it that it was fear of contagion that caused the authorities to empty the store.”

“Sure. The authorities are waiting outside, afraid to come in, too. They’re waiting for the Outsiders’ decontamination squad to get here.”

“And you’re not afraid of the fever, is that it?”

“Why should I be? This guy don’t have no fever. Look at him. Where’s the sores on his mouth? He isn’t flushed. His eyes are all right. I know what fever looks like. Come on, miss, we’ll march out of here, then.”

But Pola was frightened again. “No, no. We can’t. He’s—he’s—” She couldn’t go on.

Natter said insinuatingly, “I could take him out. No questions asked. No registration card necessary—”

Pola failed to suppress a little cry, and Arvardan said, with considerable distaste, “What makes you so important?”

Natter laughed hoarsely. He flipped his lapel. “Messenger for the Society of Ancients. Nobody’ll ask me questions.”

“And what’s in it for you?”

“Money! You’re anxious and I can help you. There ain’t no fairer than that. It’s worth, say, a hundred credits to you, and it’s worth a hundred credits to me. Fifty credits now, fifty on delivery.”

But Pola whispered in horror, “You’ll take him to the Ancients.”

“What for? He’s no good to them, and he’s worth a hundred credits to me. If you wait for the Outsiders, they’re liable to kill the fella before they find out he’s fever-free. You know Outsiders—they don’t care if they kill an Earthman or not. They’d rather, in fact.”

Arvardan said, “Take the young lady with you.”

But Natter’s little eyes were very sharp and very sly. “Oh no. Not that, guv’ner. I take what you call calculated risks. I can get by with one, maybe not with two. And if I only take one, I take the one what’s worth more. Ain’t that reasonable to you?”

“What,” said Arvardan, “if I pick you up and pull your legs off? What’ll happen then?”

Natter flinched, but found his voice, nevertheless, and managed a laugh. “Why, then, you’re a dope. They’ll get you anyway, and there’ll be murder, too, on the list. . . . All right, guv’ner. Keep your hands off.”

“Please”—Pola was dragging at Arvardan’s arm—“we must take a chance. Let him do as he says. . . . You’ll be honest with us, w-won’t you, Mr. Natter?”

Natter’s lips were curling. “Your big friend wrenched my arm. He had no call to do that, and I don’t like nobody to push me around. I’ll just take an extra hundred credits for that. Two hundred in all.”

“My father’ll pay you—”

“One hundred in advance,” he replied obdurately.

“But I don’t have a hundred credits,” Pola wailed.

“That’s all right, miss,” said Arvardan stonily. “I can swing it.”

He opened his wallet and plucked out several bills. He threw them at Natter. “Get going!”

“Go with him, Schwartz,” whispered Pola.

Schwartz did, without comment, without caring. He would have gone to hell at that moment with as little emotion.

And they were alone, staring at each other blankly. It was perhaps the first time that Pola had actually looked at Arvardan, and she was amazed to find him tall and craggily handsome, calm and self-confident. She had accepted him till now as an inchoate, unmotivated helper, but now—She grew suddenly shy, and all the events of the last hour or two were enmeshed and lost in a scurry of heartbeating.

They didn’t even know each other’s name.

She smiled and said, “I’m Pola Shekt.”

Arvardan had not seen her smile before, and found himself interested in the phenomenon. It was a glow that entered her face, a radiance. It made him feel—But he put that thought away roughly. An Earthgirl!

So he said, with perhaps less cordiality than he intended, “My name is Bel Arvardan.” He held out a bronzed hand, into which her little one was swallowed up for a moment.

She said, “I must thank you for all your help.”

Arvardan shrugged it away. “Shall we leave? I mean, now that your friend is gone; safely, I trust.”

“I think we would have heard quite a noise if they had caught him, don’t you think so?” Her eyes were pleading for confirmation of her hope, and he refused the temptation toward softness.

“Shall we go?”

She was somehow frozen. “Yes, why not?” sharply.

But there was a whining in the air, a shrill moan on the horizon, and the girl’s eyes were wide and her outstretched hand suddenly withdrawn again.

“What’s the matter now?” asked Arvardan.

“It’s the Imperials.”

“And are you frightened of them too?” It was the self-consciously non-Earthman Arvardan who spoke—the Sirian archaeologist. Prejudice or not, however the logic might be chopped and minced, the approach of Imperial soldiers meant a trace of sanity and humanity. There was room for condescension here, and he grew kind.

“Don’t worry about the Outsiders,” he said, even stooping to use their term for non-Earthmen. “I’ll handle them, Miss Shekt.”

She was suddenly concerned. “Oh no, don’t try anything like that. Just don’t talk to them at all. Do as