Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 (122 page)

"Almost
everyone
is
here,"
Padma
said;
but
before
Bleys
could question
what
that
cryptic
statement
meant,
there
was
a
sound
off to
his
side;
and
he
turned
to
sec
Hal
Mayne
moving
toward
him across
the
stage,
accompanied
by
a
small,
wrinkled
Exotic
in
a
light gray
robe.

Hal
Mayne
loomed
like
a
mountain
over
his
companion,
and
was obviously
measuring
his
steps
to
avoid
outpacing
his
guide.
He
wore
a
short
jacket
over
rough,
dark-gray
ship's
coveralls;
and
for
a moment
Bleys
felt
overdressed
in
his
tailored
gray
jacket
and
narrow-legged
dark
gray
trousers.

Bleys
wondered
if
Hal
Mayne
had
a
similar
reaction
at
the
sight of
Bleys
towering
over
Padma;
he
started
to
look
sideways
at
the
elderly
Exotic
...
and
in
that
moment
Hal
was
right
there
in
front
of him,
looking
him
straight
in
the
eyes,
and
Bleys
realized
he
didn't know
what
to
say
to
this
man.

"Hal
Mayne
would
prefer
that
Bleys
Ahrens
speaks
first,"
said the
unnamed
small
Exotic.

"Of
course,"
Bleys
murmured.
He
was
dismayed
to
find
he
was once
more
feeling
the
tiredness
that
had
come
over
him
after
their
last meeting,
in
the
Final
Encyclopedia.
He
felt
as
if
he
were
being
left
out of
something,
something
he
would
have
liked
to
belong
to....
He turned
his
face
away
from
Hal,
to
appear
to
be
looking
out
across
the amphitheater.

"I'll
leave
you
to
it,
then,"
Hal
said;
and
he
turned
and
led
the
elderly
Exotics
back
off
the
side
of
the
platform,
where
they
seemed to
vanish
into
the
darkness.

Alone
on
the
bare
black
stage,
Bleys
battled
despair,
wondering how
he
could
reach
this
audience
of
aliens
that
waited
so
silently before
him
...
he
could
not
seem
to
make
eye
contact
with
any
of them,
could
not
seem
to
feel
them
.
.
.
and
he
still
did
not
know
the purpose
of
this
gathering.

They're here to listen to Hal Mayne,
he
reminded
himself.
They must be about to make some sort of decision.

He
made
himself
take
a
moment
to
control
his
breathing.

You never expected to win them over, anyway, so what've you got to lose?

He
squared
up
his
stance,
and
spread
his
arms
wide
to
his
sides, at
shoulder
height.

"Will
you
listen
to
me?"
he
asked
"For
a
few
moments
only,
will you
listen
to
me—without
preconceptions,
without
already
existing opinions,
as
if
I
were
a
petitioner
at
your
gates
whom
you'd
never heard
before?"

Still
there
was
no
reaction,
but
he
dropped
his
arms
slowly
to
his sides,
as
if
they
had
agreed
to
his
plea.

"It's
painful,
I
know,"
he
said.
He
spoke
slowly,
measuring
his words
out
a
syllabic
at
a
time,
as
if
that
would
somehow
drive
them through
the
wall
of
distance
he
felt
before
him.

"Always,
it
is
painful
when
times
change;
when
everything
we've come
to
take
for
granted
has
to
be
reexamined.
All
at
once,
our firmest
and
our
most
cherished
beliefs
have
to
be
pulled
out
by
the roots,
out
of
those
very
places
where
we'd
always
expected
them
to stand
forever,
and
subjected
to
the
same
sort
of
remorseless
scrutiny we'd
give
to
the
newest
and
wildest
of
our
theories
or
thoughts."

He
paused,
to
move
his
gaze
about
the
amphitheater
as
if
trying to
look
into
every
eye.

"Yes,
it's
painful,"
he
said;
but
he
allowed
no
sad
note
in
his voice.
He
wanted
to
be
all
of
History
speaking
to
them.
He
wanted to
be
Authority.

"But
we
all
know
it
happens.
We
all
have
to
face
that
sort
of
self-reexamination,
sooner
or
later.
But
of
all
peoples,
those
I'd
have
expected
to
face
this
task
the
best
would
have
been
the
people
of Mara
and
Kultis."

He
tried
then
to
raise
his
voice
in
exortation,
as
if
he
were
one
of the
gifted
preachers
he
had
heard
so
often
on
Association,
calling them
to
redemption.

"Haven't
you
given
your
lives,
and
the
lives
of
all
your
generations,
to
that
principle,
ever
since
you
ceased
to
call
yourselves
the Chantry
Guild
and
came
here
to
these
Exotic
Worlds,
searching
for the
future
of
humankind?
Not
just
searching
toward
that
future
by ways
you
found
pleasant
and
palatable,
but
by
all
the
ways
to
it
you could
find,
agreeable
or
not?
Isn't
that
so?"