The Winds of Limbo

CHAPTER EIGHT

"I'LL see you home," Alan said lightly as they left the apartment.

"That would be nice," she said.

They walked slowly through the gardens, repaired and beautiful again. The starlight was augmented by soft beams from the roof structure which had the appearance of many tiny moons shining down, each one casting a single, exquisite beam. The Top had been well designed. To live here was the ambition of every young man and woman. It gave people, thought those at the Top, something to aim for.

"If only I could speak to the Fireclown personally," Helen said wistfully. "Then at least I'd be able to form a better idea of what he's really like."

Alan preferred to say nothing.

They reached the door of her apartment on the sixty-third level and went in.

Familiar smells greeted him, smells which he always associated with Helen-fresh, slightly scented, of soap and oils. It was strange, he reflected, that women's apartments always seemed to smell better than men's. Maybe it was an obvious thought. He noticed he was breathing a little more quickly, slightly more shallowly.

Neither recognized by outward expression the thought that was in their minds, yet each was aware of the other's emotions. Alan was slightly fearful, for he remembered the conflict between them as well as their old happiness and realized that Helen probably did, too.

"Would you like a nightcap?" she invited.

"I'd prefer coffee, if you've got it." Unconsciously, he had given her her opportunity. He was torn now, half afraid of what seemed likely to happen.

She came over to him as he sat down in a comfortable chair beside a small shelf of book-tapes.

She leaned down and stroked his face lightly.

"You look dreadfully tired, Alan."

"I've had a hard day." He smiled. He took her hand and kissed it.

"I'll go and get the coffee," she said.

When she came back she had changed into a pair of chaste pyjamas and a robe of thick, dark blue material. She had a tray of coffee-real coffee from the smell.

She put it down on a table and drew up a chair so that the table.was between them.

Helen, he thought. Oh, Helen, I love you. They were staring at each other, both wondering, perhaps, if this reunion would take on the same pattern as their previous affair.

"We're wiser now," she said softly, handing him his coffee. "It's a Powys trait-we learn by our mistakes."

"There are. always different mistakes to be made," he warned her. It was the last attempt to retreat from the situation and allow her to do the same, as gracefully as possible.

"That's experience," she said, and the fears were forgotten. Now they looked at one another as if they were new friends.

When they made love that night it was entirely different from anything either had ever before experienced. They treated one another delicately, yet passionately, as if a return to their earlier, less self-conscious love would plunge them back into the turmoil of four months before.

In the morning Alan's arm was aching painfully from having cradled her head all night. He raised her head gently and propped himself on his elbow, tracing the Softness of her shoulder with his fingers. She opened her eyes and seemed to be looking at him like a respectful stranger. Presumably there was a similar expression in his own face, for he felt he shared her emotion. He kissed her lightly on the lips and pushed back the bed clothes, swinging himself out of the narrow bed.

He sat slightly hunched on the edge, studying his head and torso reflected in the mirror opposite.

"I've got an idea where the Fireclown is," he said suddenly.

She was half asleep and didn't seem to hear him.

He didn't repeat himself then but went into the kitchen to make coffee. He was feeling rather tired now and his legs shook a little as the machine came alive and produced two beakers of hot coffee. He transferred the coffee into cups and took them back.

She was sitting up.

"What did you say about the Fireclown? You know where he is?"

"No, but we might be able to guess." He told her about overhearing the trio in the passage.

"Why didn't you tell me about this yesterday?"

"That was yesterday," he said simply. She understood and nodded.

"They took off in a small space-boat. I’ve thought about it since and I think there must be a launching ramp leading through the rock to somewhere outside the City. Those old bombs had be launched from somewhere."

"That sounds logical. You say he remarked that they didn't have enough fuel to make Luna. They may have made a transcontinental flight."

"Unlikely. You can't land even a small rocket without at least a few people observing it. I’ve got a feeling they're orbiting-maybe waiting for someone to pick them up."

"Or they may have gone to St. Rene's?"

"Why should they do that?" The Monastery of St. Rene Lafayette was the home of a group of monks who practiced a form of scientific mysticism. Little was known about the Order and it was thought that the monks were harmless. The monastery was, in fact, an abandoned space-station which the monks had taken over. The world had decided they were quaintly mad and had all but forgotten them.

"Well," Helen said, sipping her coffee, "it's just a connection that my mind made. I associated one 'crank' with a group of others, I suppose."

"Unless they were orbiting, it's the only place they could have gone," Alan agreed. "I wonder how we could find out."

"By going there, perhaps."

"We'd need a boat. We haven't got one."

"My brother has. A nice job-one of the latest Paolos."

"Would he let us take it?"

"We don't need to ask. I often use it. I have a pilot's license, the audiolocks respond to my voice, the ground staff at the port know me-we'd have a good chance of getting away with it."

"And going to our deaths, maybe. The Fireclown appears to be more ruthless than we thought, remember?"

"But are the monks? They are bound to give sanctuary to those they term 'unclears,' I believe."

"If s worth a try." He got up. "I'm going to have a bath. Is my green suit still here?"

"Yes."

"Good." He glanced at the chronom on the wall. "It's still early. If we leave now we could…" He turned to her. "Where is your brother's ship?"

"Hamburg-she's a sea-lander."

"A fast cab could get us there in an hour. You'd better get up and get ready."

He grinned at her as she sprang out of bed.

Hamburg Spaceport was surrounded by a pleasant garden-city with a population of less than two million. In contrast to the capital city of Switzerland, its buildings were single- or double-storied. Beyond the spaceport buildings water glinted in the summer sun, beneath a pale,and cloudless blue sky. As the cab spiralled down towards the landing roof a huge bulbous ship suddenly erupted from the waves, water boiling to steam as it lumbered upwards.

Helen pointed: "The Titan, bound for Mars and Ganymede, probably carrying one of the last seed consignments they need."

By the time the cab brought them down on the roof the ship had disappeared. From his lodge, the only building on the roof, an official in a brown velvet cutaway and baggy, cerise pantaloons came sauntering towards them. He was a firm-faced man with a smile.

"Good morning, Miss Curtis. Sorry to hear about yesterday," he said. "Many people's faith in the Fireclown seems to have been misplaced."

"Yes, indeed," said Helen, forcing a smile in response to his. "I’m planning to make a pleasure trip until the fuss dies down. Is the Solar Bird ready?"

"I expect so. She was being checked in the locks, I believe. She should be okay now. Do you want to go straight down?"

"Yes, please."

He took them into his lodge, a neat office with a big window overlooking the sea which was still heaving and steaming after the Titan's take-off. A small elevator cage was set in one wall. The man opened the gate for them, glancing at Alan in a speculative way. Alan returned his stare blandly and followed Helen into the elevator. It began to hiss downward.

A man in coveralls let them out, a plump red-faced man with a mechanic's badge on his sleeve.

"Good morning, Miss Helen. Nice to see you."

"Good morning, Freddie. This is Mr. Powys-Freddie Weinschenk."

They shook hands and Weinschenk led them along an artificially lit corridor.

Alan had never been in Hamburg before, but he knew the general design of a modern spaceport. They were now below ground level, he guessed, heading along a tunnel which led under the sea-bed.

Finally, Freddie ordered a door to open and they were in a dark, cool chamber with metal walls. From one wall, the back half of a small space-yacht projected, seeming, at first, to be stuck on the wall until Alan realized that the other half lay outside and that they were actually in a pressure chamber.

"Thanks, Freddie." Helen went up to the airlock and spoke, to it. It began to slide open; then slowly the four doors all opened and they went into the cramped cabin of the ship. Freddie shouted from outside:

"If you're leaving immediately, miss, I'll start the chamber up."

"Thanks, Freddie. See you when we get back."

Helen went to the control panel and touched a stud. The airlocks closed behind them. She switched on the exterior viewer so they could see the chamber. Freddie had left and Alan saw that the room was swiftly being flooded. Soon it was full and the wall surrounding the ship began to expand away from the ship itself and he saw the ramp extending outwards into open sea.

"We'll make a soft take-off," Helen said, strapping herself in the pilot's couch. Alan got into the other couch. "We don't want anyone to think we're in a hurry," she added.

"The softer the better," he smiled. "I’ve only been into space once and I didn't much care for the trip. She was an old chemical ship and I was certain she was going to break down every inch of the journey."

"You'll see a lot of difference in the Solar Bird." She activated the drive.

"It's unlikely they could improve a nuclear ship any further. They'll have to start thinking of some new type of engine now, I suppose, just as the old type starts getting familiar and comfortable."

The control panel was alive now, its instruments measuring and informing.

Alan felt a double pounding beat for a second or so, and then the ship was speeding up the ramp, leaving it, plunging up through water and then was in daylight, racing into the sky.

She switched on the chart-viewer, selected the area of space she wanted. It showed her the position of the space-station monastery and gave her all the information she needed.

"I hope your hunch is right," she said and turned round to see that Alan had blacked out.

There had been no reason for this at all, since the mounting pressure outside was completely countered by the ship's internal mechanisms. It was probably some kind of reflex, she decided.

"I'm a fool," he said when he was awake again. "Did anything happen, or was it just my imagination."

"Just imagination, I'm afraid. But you needed the sleep, anyway."

"Where are we?"

"In orbit. We should be getting pretty close to the station in a little while.

For the time being I’m going to pretend we're in trouble-that way we'll lull any suspicions the monks might have if they are harboring the Fireclown."

Soon the wheel of the big station came in sight, the sun bright on its metal.

There were two ships they could see hugged in its receiving bays, a big one and a little one. The big one was of unfamiliar design. They could see its title etched on its hull from where they were. Pi-meson.

"Funny name for a ship," Alan commented.

"The monks-if it is their ship-have got funny ideas." She reached out to press a red stud. "That's the May-day signal. With any luck they should get it."

In a moment their screen flickered and a face appeared on it-a thin man, lean-nosed and thin-lipped.

"Would it be impertinent to deduce that you are in trouble?" he said.

"It wouldn't be, no," Helen replied. "Can you help us?"

"Who knows? Can you maneuver your ship so that we can grapple, or shall we send out help?"

"The steering seems to be all right," she said. "I’ll come in."

She coasted the ship until they were near one of the empty bays and the station's magnegraps pulled them into the bay.

When, finally, they climbed from their ship into the unpleasant air of the monastery, they were greeted by the thin-faced monk. He was dressed in a blue habit that did nothing for his already pale face. His hair was short but he had no tonsure. His eyes and cheeks were sunken but, in his own way, he looked healthy enough. He held out a skeletal hand with incredibly long fingers.

"I am Auditor Kurt," he said as Alan shook hands. "It is good that we can be of service to you. Please come this way."

He took them into a small, barely furnished room and offered them tea, which they accepted.

"What exactly is wrong with your ship?" he asked politely.

"I'm not sure. I’m not familiar with the type-it's new. I could not get the landing jets to work when I tested them preparatory to re-entering the atmosphere. It's just as well I did test them." She had personally jammed the jet control. It could be fixed easily. "You were lucky to be so close." The monk nodded.

Alan was wondering how he could find out if the Fire-clown was here.

"I'm extremely interested in your Order," he said conversationally. "I'm something of a student of religions- perhaps you can tell me about yours?"

"Only that we were founded as long ago as 1950, although this Order did not come into existence until 1976 and did not come here until about twenty years ago. We are a branch of the original faith, which did not pay a great deal of attention to its mystical aspects until we founded the Order of St. Rene. St. Rene is not the true name of our inspired founder-that is secret to almost all-but that is the name we use for him."

"I should like to see the monastery. Is that possible?" Alan looked around the small room, avoiding the monk's intent gaze.

"Normally it would be possible-but, ah, we have repairs going on in many parts. … We are not really prepared for visitors."

"Oh? Then whose is the ship, other than ours, in the receiving bay?"

"Which one?"

"There are two. The Pi-meson and the Od-Methuselah."

"Both ours," the monk said hastily. "Both ours."

"Then why did you ask which one I spoke of?"

The monk smiled. "We monks have devious minds, I'm afraid. It is the nature of our calling. Excuse me, I'll go and check that the mechanics are repairing your ship." He rose and left. They heard the door seal itself behind him. They were locked in.

Alan sipped his tea.

"If the Fireclown's here, they're not likely to let on to outsiders who'd take the news back to Earth," he said.

"We'll have to think of a means of getting a look around this place. Have you noticed the atmosphere? It's weird."

The atmosphere of the place fitted well with the spacestation monastery circling in space, away from the things of Earth. It had a detached air of calm about it, and yet there, was a feeling of excitement here, too. It was possible, of course, that he was imagining it, for he was very excited himself.

"Do you think they know what he's up to? Or is he just making use of their habit of affording people sanctuary?" Alan asked her.

"They seem unworldly, to say the least," she replied, shivering a little, for the room was not well heated.

The door opened and Auditor Kurt came back.

"Your boat has been fixed, my friends. I see from the registration plates that it is owned by Denholm Curtis-an important man on Earth, is he not?"

"He's my brother," Helen said, wondering if the monk was getting at anything in particular.

Alan became aware at last that they might be in danger. If the Fireclown was here and knew they were here, too, he might decide it was risky to let them go.

"So you are Helen Curtis. Who, then, is this gentleman?"

"I'm Alan Powys."

"Ah, yes, Simon Powys' grandson. From what I have seen of recent lasercasts, Miss Curtis and Minister Powys are at odds over certain issues. Which side do you support, Mr. Powys?"

"Neither," Alan said coldly. "Just call me a disinterested spectator."

A peculiar expression came on the monk's face for a second. Alan could work out what it indicated.

"I should say you were the least disinterested…" the monk mused. Then he said briskly: "You asked earlier if you could look over the monastery. To tell you the truth we are not always willing to let strangers inspect our home, but I think it would be all right if you wanted to take a quick tour before you leave."

Why the monk's sudden change? Was he planning to lead them into some sort of trap? Alan had to take the chance.

"Thanks a lot," he said.

They began to walk along the curving corridor. This part, the monk told them, was reserved for the monks' cells.

They turned into a narrower corridor which led them to another similar to the one they'd just left, though the curve was tighter.

"Here is what we term our clearing house." The monk smiled, opening a door and letting them precede him through. It was a fairly large room. Several monks sat on simple chairs. They were dressed in brown dungarees. The monk in the center was dressed, like Auditor Kurt, in a blue habit, and was chanting some sort of litany.

"How would you worry somebody?" he chanted.

"By destroying their confidence," the other monks mumbled in reply.

"How would you make somebody happy?"

"By casting forth their engrams," said the monks in unison.

"How would you help somebody?"

"Teach them to-be clear."

"By the Spirit of the Eight Dynamics," intoned the blue-clad monk, "I command thee to cast forth thy engrams forthwith!"

The monks seemed to freeze, concentrating intently. Above them, behind the monk in the blue habit, a weird machine whirred and buzzed, dials swinging around strangely marked faces, lights flashing.

Alan said respectfully: "What are they doing?"

"They are attempting to learn the ultimate secret of the Great Triangle,"

Auditor Kurt whispered.

"Ah," Alan nodded intelligently.

They left this room and entered another. Here a great screen was blank and there were comfortable chairs scattered around before it.

"Sit down," said Kurt. "We are expecting a special event, today."

Alan and Helen sat down and watched the screen.

They fidgeted for over half an hour as nothing happened, and -Kurt continued to watch the screen impassively, not looking at them.

Alan's sense of danger was heightened and he had a feeling the monk was deliberately keeping them in suspense.

Then, all at once, big letters began to form on the screen until a whole sentence was emblazoned there.

ANOTHER BROTHER CLEAR! said the message. It meant nothing to either of them.

Alan turned to the monk, half suspicious that a trick had been played on them, but the monk was looking ecstatic and incredibly pleased.

"What does it mean?" Alan asked desperately.

"What it says-the hampering engrams have been exorcised from one of our brothers. He is now a clear and ready to become a Brother Auditor, as I am. It is a time for rejoicing in the monastery when this comes about."

Alan scratched his head and looked at Helen, who was equally perplexed.

"Well," beamed thin-faced Auditor Kurt, "now you have seen a little of our monastery."

Half convinced that he was the victim of a practical joke, Alan nodded mutely.

He was no nearer to finding out if the Fireclown was here, although perhaps a check on the Pi-meson when they got back to Earth would help them.

"Thank you for showing us," Helen said brightly. She, too, was obviously uncertain of what to do next.

"Oh"-the monk seemed to remember something-"there is one other thing I should like to show you before you leave. Will you follow me?"

They walked until they were close to the center of the spacewheel, came to a small door in the curved wall of Central Control. Auditor Kurt ordered it open.

It hissed back and they stepped through.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Powys," said the Fireclown amiably.