3
"Say, How, I'd kinda like to hear some music."
Sir Howard had not gotten used to Haas' calling him "How." He liked the man, but couldn't quite make him out. In some ways he acted like a commoner. If he were, the knight thought he ought to resent his familiarity. But there were other things—Haas' self-possession, for instance. Oh, well, no doubt the scheme of social stratification was different out West. He turned the radio on.
"That's a neat little thing you got," Haas continued.
"Yep; it's nice when you're making a long ride. There's an aerial contact built into the lance boot, so this little toothpick acts as an aerial. Or, if I'm not carrying a lance, I can clip the aerial lead to my suit, which works almost as well as the lance."
"Is they a battery in the saddle?"
"Yes, just a little light battery. They have a real fuel battery, but they don't let us use it."
They topped a rise, and Albany's State Office Building came in sight. It was by far the tallest building in the city, none of the rest of which was yet visible. Some said it had been built long ago, when York State was a single governmental entity—and not just a vague geographical designation. Now, of course, it was hopper headquarters for a whole upstate region. Sir Howard thought the dark, square-topped tower looked sinister. But it didn't become a knight to voice such timid vagaries. He asked Haas: "How is it that you're so far from home?"
"Oh, I wanted to see New York. You been to New York, I suppose?"
"Yes, often. I've never been very far upstate, though."
"That was the main thing. Of course, they was that guy—"
"Yes? Go on; you can trust me."
"Well—I don't suppose it'll do no harm, this being a long way from Wyoming. Him and me was arguing in a bar. Now, I'm a peaceable man, but they's some words I don't like, and this guy didn't smile when he said 'em, either. So we had it out in the alley with sabers. Only he had friends. That'll be a lesson to me, to make sure whether a guy has friends first before I fight him. I wanted to see New York, anyway, so here I am. When I run out of money on the way, I'd make a stake doing rope tricks in the theaters. I made about six hundred clinkers in New York last week. It's purty near gone now, but I can make some more. They ain't nobody around these parts knows how to use a rope."
"Why," said Sir Howard, "what became of it? Were you robbed?"
"Nope; just spent it." The airy way in which this was said made Sir Howard shudder. The Westerner looked at him narrowly, with a trace of a smile. "You know," he said, "I always had the idea that lords and knights and such were purty free with their wallpaper; threw it around like it wasn't nothing. And here you're the carefullest guy with his money I ever did see. It just shows you."
"How did you like New York?" asked the knight.
"Purty good; there's lots of things to see. I made friends with a guy who works in a furniture factory, and he took me around. I liked to see the chairs and things come buzzing down the assembly line. My friend couldn't get me into the power plant though. They was a hopper guard at the door. They don't let nobody in there except a few old employees and I hear they examine them with this dope they got every week to make sure they haven't told nobody how the power machinery works.
"But I got tired of it after a few weeks. Too many hoppers. They get on my nerves, always looking at you with those little black eyes like they was reading your mind. Some says they can, too. I guess after what you told me about your brother it's safe for me to say what I think of 'em. I don't like 'em."
"Don't they have hoppers out West, too?"
"Sure, we got some, but they don't bother us much. What they say goes, of course, but they let us alone as long as we mind our business and pay our hopperage. They don't like the climate—too dry."
"They don't interfere too much in our local affairs, either," said the knight, "except that the big cities like New York are under their direct rule. That's how there are so many down there. Of course, if you—but I've already told you about that."
"Yeah. And it's a crime the prices you pay for steaks around here. Out in Wyoming, where we raise the critters, we eat mostly that. It's the hopperage charges, and all these little boundary tolls and tariffs between here and there makes'em so expensive."
"Do you have wars out West, too?"
"Sure, once and a while us and the Novvos gets in a scrap."
"The Novvos?"
"Folks who live down south of us. Stock raisers, mostly. They ain't like us; got sorta reddish-brown skins, like Queenie here, and flat faces. Hair as black as yours, too."
"I think I've heard of these people," said the knight. "We had a man at the manor last year who'd been out West. But he called these red-skinned people Injuns."
"That a fact? I always thought an Injun was what made the hopper cars and flying machines go. It just shows you. Anyhow, we get in a fight with the Novvos about grazing rights and such, now and then. Mostly mounted-archery stuff. I'm purty good at it myself. See." He unfastened the flap of an elongated box that hung from his saddle, which proved to be a quiver. He took out the two halves of a steel now. "Wish I had one of those trick saddles like yours to pack my stuff in, 'steada hanging it all over till me and my horse looks like a Christmas tree. But I travel purty light, at that. You got to, when you only got one little horse like Queenie. I suppose that high cantle's mostly to keep you from getting shoved off the horse's rump by some guy's toothpick." Haas had been fitting the halves of the bow together. The bow had a sighting apparatus just above the grip.
"See the knot in that big pine? Now watch. Yeeow!" The mare jumped forward. Haas whipped an arrow from his quiver; the bow twanged. The Westerner swung his mount back, walked her up to the tree, and pulled the arrow out of the knot. "Maybe I shouldn't a' done that," he said. "We're getting purty close in to Albany, and maybe they got a regulation about shooting arrows inside the city limits. What's they to see in Albany?" One of the hoppers' hexagonal glassy dwellings had come into view among the old two-story frame houses.
"Not much," replied the knight. "The first thing I have to do is to go to the Office Building and have my travel permit stamped. How about you?"
"Oh, mine ain't that kind. I had it stamped in New York, and now I don't have to report to the hoppers again till I get out to Chicago. But I'll tag along with you. Far's I can see they ain't neither of us got to get anywheres in particular."
They waited on the sidewalk in front of the Office Building for a quarter of an hour before they had a chance to go in, for, of course, they couldn't precede a hopper through the doors. By that time Sir Howard's steel-clad arm ached from saluting. A pair of the things passed him, chattering in their own incomprehensible tongue, which sounded like the twittering of birds. They smelled like very ripe cheese. He was startled to hear one of them suddenly switch to English. "Man!" it squeaked. "Why did you not salute?"
Sir Howard looked around, and saw that it was addressing Haas, who was standing stupidly with a cigarette in his mouth and a lighter in hand. He pulled himself together, put away the smoking things, and took off his hat. "I'm sure sorry as all hell, your excellency, but I'm afraid I wasn't looking."
"Control your language, Man," the hopper twittered. "Being sorry is no excuse. You know there is a five-dollar fine for not saluting."
"Yes, your excellency. Thanks, your excellency, for reminding me."
"Smoking is forbidden inside anyway," the thing chirped. "But since you have assumed a more respectful attitude I shall not pursue the matter further. That is all, Man."
"Thank you, your excellency." Haas put his hat back on and followed Sir Howard into the building. The knight heard him mutter, "I'm a peaceable man, but—"
Sir Howard found a man with a drooping white mustache at the travel-permit counter, who stamped his permit and entered his visit without comment. The man had the nervous, hangdog air that people got working around hoppers.
As they headed back to where their horses were tethered, Haas said, very low: "Say, How, do you reckon that hopper that bawled me out was showing off to his girl friend?"
"They don't have girl friends, Lyman," replied Sir Howard. "They don't have sexes. Or rather, each one of them is both male and female. It takes two to produce a crop of eggs, but they both lay them. Hermaphroditic, they call it."
Haas stared at him. "You mean they—" He doubled over, guffawing and slapping his chaps. "Boy, wouldn't I like to have a couple of 'em in a cage!"