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

Arvardan swam out of the haze he was conscious first of all of a wash of welcome coolness on his forehead. He tried to open his eyes and found his lids reacting as if swinging on rusty hinges. He let them remain closed and, with infinitely slow jerks (each fragmentary muscular movement shooting pins through him), lifted his arm to his face.

A soft, damp towel, held by a little hand . . .

He forced an eye open and battled with the mist.

“Pola,” he said.

There was a little cry of sudden joy. “Yes. How do you feel?”

“As if I were dead,” he croaked, “without the advantage of losing pain. . . . What happened?”

“We were carted off to the military base. The colonel’s been in here. They’ve searched you—and I don’t know what they’re going to do, but—Oh, Mr. Arvardan, you shouldn’t ever have struck the lieutenant. I think you broke his arm.”

A faint smile wrenched at Arvardan’s face. “Good! I wish I’d broken his back.”

“But resisting an Imperial officer—it’s a capital offense.” Her voice was a horrified whisper.

“Indeed? We’ll see about that.”

“Ssh. They’re coming back.”

Arvardan closed his eyes and relaxed. Pola’s cry was faint and far-off in his ears, and when he felt the hypodermic’s thrust he could not gather his muscles into motion.

And then there was the wash of wonderful soothing non-pain along his veins and nerves. His arms unknotted and his back released itself slowly from its rigid arch, settling down. He fluttered his eyelids rapidly and, with a thrust of his elbow, sat up.

The colonel was regarding him thoughtfully; Pola, apprehensively, yet, somehow, joyfully.

The colonel said, “Well, Dr. Arvardan, we seem to have had an unpleasant contretemps in the city this evening.”

Dr. Arvardan. Pola realized the little she knew about him, not even his occupation. . . . She had never felt quite like this.

Arvardan laughed shortly. “Unpleasant, you say. I consider that a rather inadequate adjective.”

“You have broken the arm of an officer of the Empire about the performance of his duty.”

“That officer struck me first. His duty in no way included the necessity for grossly insulting me, both verbally and physically. In doing so he forfeited any claim he might have to treatment as an officer and gentleman. As a free citizen of the Empire, I had every right to resent such cavalier, not to say illegal, treatment.”

The colonel harumphed and seemed at a loss for words. Pola stared at both of them with wide, unbelieving eyes.

Finally the colonel said softly, “Well, I need not say that I consider the whole incident to have been unfortunate. Apparently the pain and indignity involved have been equally spread on both sides. It may be best to forget this matter.”

“Forget? I think not. I have been a guest at the Procurator’s palace, and he may be interested in hearing exactly in what manner his garrison maintains order on Earth.”

“Now, Dr. Arvardan, if I assure you that you will receive a public apology—”

“To hell with that. What do you intend doing with Miss Shekt?”

“What would you suggest?”

“That you free her instantly, return her papers, and tender your apologies—right now.”

The colonel reddened, then said with an effort, “Of course.” He turned to Pola. “If the young lady will accept my deepest regrets . . .”

They had left the dark garrison walls behind them. It had been a short and silent ten-minute air-taxi ride to the city proper, and now they stood at the deserted blackness of the Institute. It was past midnight.

Pola said, “I don’t think I quite understand. You must be very important. It seems silly of me not to know your name. I didn’t ever imagine that Outsiders could treat an Earthman so.”

Arvardan felt oddly reluctant and yet compelled to end the fiction. “I’m not an Earthman, Pola. I’m an archaeologist from the Sirian Sector.”

She turned on him quickly, her face white in the moonlight. For the space of a slow count to ten she said nothing. “Then you outfaced the soldiers because you were safe, after all, and knew it. And I thought—I should have known.”

There was an outraged bitterness about her. “I humbly beg your pardon, sir, if at any time today, in my ignorance, I affected any disrespectful familiarity with you—”

“Pola,” he cried angrily, “what’s the matter? What if I’m not an Earthman? How does that make me different from what I seemed to you to be five minutes ago?”

“You might have told me, sir.”

“I’m not asking you to call me ‘sir.’ Don’t be like the rest of them, will you?”

“Like the rest of whom, sir? The rest of the disgusting animals that live on Earth? . . . I owe you a hundred credits.”

“Forget it,” said Arvardan disgustedly.

“I cannot follow that order. If you’ll give me your address, I will send you a money order for the amount tomorrow.”

Arvardan was suddenly brutal. “You owe me much more than a hundred credits.”

Pola bit her lip and said in lowered tones, “It is the only part of my great debt, sir, that I can repay. Your address?”

“State House,” he flung at her across his shoulder. He was lost in the night.

And Pola found herself weeping!

Shekt met Pola at the door of his office.

“He’s back,” he said. “A little thin man brought him.”

“Good!” She was having difficulty speaking.

“He asked for two hundred credits. I gave it to him.”

“He was to ask for one hundred, but never mind.”

She brushed past her father. He said wistfully, “I was terribly worried. The commotions in the neighborhood—I dared not ask; I might have endangered you.”

“It’s all right. Nothing’s happened. . . . Let me sleep here tonight, Father.”

But not all her weariness could make her sleep, for something had happened. She had met a man, and he was an Outsider.

But she had his address. She had his address.

10

Interpretation of Events

They presented a complete contrast, these two Earthmen—one with the greatest semblance of power on Earth, and one with the greatest reality.

Thus the High Minister was the most important Earthman on Earth,