2.

Guy sat on the edge of the bench by the window and polished the insignia on his beret with his cuff while Corporal Varibobu prepared his travel orders. The corporal's head was tilled to one side, eyes opened wide. With his left hand he held a red-bordered form while he slowly traced out a fine calligraphic script. "What handwriting," thought Guy somewhat enviously. "Ink-stained old fogey: twenty years in the Legion and still a measly clerk. Just look at those eyes goggle -- the pride of the brigade. Watch that tongue come out. Yup, there it is. Full of ink, too. So long, Varibobu, you old paper pusher. I won't be seeing you again. I feel sorry to leave -- good men they've got here, and the officers, too. And the job we do is useful and important." Guy sniffed and looked out the window.

Outside the wind was blowing white dust along the broad sidewalkless street paved with hexagonal slabs. The long walls of identical buildings housing administrative and engineering personnel gleamed white. Mrs. Idoya, a stout imposing woman, walked past the window, shielding herself from the dust and holding down her skirt. She was a courageous woman, not afraid to gather up her brood and follow her brigadier husband to these dangerous parts. The sentry in front of the CO's headquarters, a recent recruit wearing an unwrinkled trench coat and a beret pulled down over his ears, presented arms. Then two truckloads of trainees passed -- probably going for their shots. "That's right, sergeant, give it to 'em. Don't stick your head out. There's nothing to see here," Guy thought. "Where do you think you are -- on some main drag?"

"How do you spell it?" asked Varibobu. "G-a-I?"

"No. My last name is Gaal -- G-a-a-I."

"Too bad," said Varibobu, sucking his pen. "Gal would fit on one line."

"Come on, write," thought Guy. "It won't do you any good to save lines. This jerk is a corporal? Can't even polish his buttons. Some corporal. Two stripes, but you can't shoot worth a damn, and everybody knows it."

The door flew open and Captain Tolot, wearing the gold arm-band of duty officer, strode into the room. Guy jumped to his feet and clicked his heels. The corporal rose slightly but continued writing.

"Aha." The captain tore off his dust mask in disgust. "Private Gaal. Yes, I know, you're leaving us. Too bad. But I'm glad for you. I hope you'll serve as conscientiously in the capital."

"Yes, sir, captain!" said Guy. He was very fond of Captain Tolot, an educated officer and former high school teacher. The captain had singled him out.

"You may sit down, private." The captain went behind the counter to his desk. Still standing, he scanned some papers and picked up the phone. Guy turned toward the window tactfully. Nothing had changed outside. His buddies were marching information to dinner. Guy watched them sadly. Any minute they'd be entering the mess hall, and Corporal Serembesh would order them to remove their berets for "grace." Thirty throats would bellow while the steam was rising from the pots, the bowls were glistening on the counter, and old man Doga was getting ready tore lease one of his prize jokes about a soldier and a cook. Too bad he had to leave. True, it was dangerous here and the climate was unhealthy and the rations were monotonous -- canned stuff -- but. Here, at least, you knew you were needed, that they couldn't manage without you; here you took the ominous pressure of the forest on your own shoulders, and you felt it. Lord, how many of his buddies were buried here. Beyond the settlement stood a whole grove of poles topped with rusted helmets.

On the other hand -- the capital. Not just anyone was sent there. And once you got there, you were constantly on the move. They said all the capital's parade grounds were visible from the Creators' headquarters, so that every formation was observed by one of the Creators. Not every formation, really. But they did spot-check. Suddenly imagining himself being summoned from a formation, Guy was thrown into a panic. He takes two steps and slips and falls on his face at the commander's feet as his submachine gun clatters on the pavement. Damn, what a clumsy ox. And his beret flies off to God knows where. Phew! Guy took a deep breath and looked around furtively. God forbid. Yes, that was the capital for you. Everything was under watchful eyes. Oh well, never mind -- others were serving there. Besides, his sister Rada lived there. And silly old Unc with his prehistoric bones and antediluvian tortoises. Damn it, how he missed both of them!

When he glanced out the window again, his mouth dropped open. Two men were walking along the street toward the CO's office. One he knew -- red-bearded Zef, sergeant major of the114th Sappers' Detachment, a condemned man who earned the right to remain alive by clearing roads through the forest. But the other was weird-looking. At first Guy took him for a degen, but then reasoned that Zef would hardly bother dragging in a degen to headquarters. He was a healthy young man, almost naked, deeply tanned, strong as a bull, and wore only a pair of odd-looking pants made of shiny cloth and cut well above the knee. Zef had his gun with him but he didn't appear to be escorting this fellow under guard. They were walking side by side, and the queer-looking stranger kept waving his arms absurdly. He was attempting to communicate something to Zef, who was panting from their rapid pace and looking totally lost. "Some kind of savage," thought Guy. "But where did he come from? The road through the forest? Maybe he was raised by animals. It's happened before. Damn, what muscles!"

He watched the pair approach the sentry. Zef wiped his face as he attempted to explain something, but the sentry, the recent re-emit, didn't know Zef and thrust a gun into his ribs, ordering him to withdraw to the distance specified by regulations. The naked fellow entered the conversation with his arms still flying. The strange expression on his face was as elusive as quicksilver, and his eyes were expressive and dark. "Oh, now the sentry's lost his cool. Going to raise a ruckus." Guy turned around.

"Captain, permission to speak? The sergeant major of the 114th has brought someone in. Would you mind taking a look?"

The captain went to the window. His eyebrows went up. Opening the window, he stuck out his head.

'"Sentry, let them pass!"

Guy was closing the window when he heard tramping in the corridor. Zef and Ms savage companion entered the office. Close on their heels and crowding them, the chief sentry officer and two other men on sentry duty burst in. Standing at attention, Zef coughed and fixed his impudent blue eyes on the captain.

"Sergeant Major Zef, One hundred and fourteenth Sappers' Detachment, reporting, sir. This fellow was arrested on the road. Captain, from all outward signs, he's insane. He eats poisonous mushrooms, doesn't understand a word, speaks unintelligibly, and, as you see, walks around nearly naked."

While Zef was delivering his report, the prisoner scanned his surroundings and presented a strange smile to everyone present. His teeth were even and as white as sugar. Folding his hands be-hind his back, the captain went up closer and inspected him from head to foot.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The prisoner smiled even more strangely, slapped his palm against his chest, and pronounced something that sounded like "Mac Sim." The chief sentry guffawed, the sentries sniggered, and the captain smiled. At first Guy saw nothing humorous in his response; then he realized that "mac sim" in thieves' slang meant "I ate the knife."

"He's probably one of yours," said the captain to Zef.

Zef shook his head, throwing out a cloud of dust from hjs beard.

"Definitely not. Mac Sim is what he calls himself, but he doesn't understand Moves' language. So he's not one of us."

"Probably a degen," suggested the chief sentry officer. (They gave him an icy look.) "Naked," explained the sentry officer as he retreated toward the door. "May I go now, captain?"

"You may. Send for our staff physician. Dr. Zogu. Where did you catch him?" he asked Zef.

Zef explained that his detachment had been clearing quadrant23/07 during the night, had destroyed four self-propelled ballistic missiles and one device of unknown function, and had lost two men in an explosion; everything was in order. Around seven in the morning this stranger came off the road from the forest to their campfire. They spotted him from a distance, followed him unnoticed by taking cover in the bushes, and captured him at an opportune moment. At first Zef had assumed he was a fugitive, then decided he was a degen and was about to shoot him, but changed his mind because this fellow... Zef, embarrassed, ran his fingers through his beard and concluded: "Because I realized he wasn't a degen."

"How did you reach that conclusion?" asked the captain. The prisoner stood quietly, arms folded across his powerful chest, glancing alternately at him and Zef.

Zef said it would be rather difficult to explain.

"In the first place this guy wasn't afraid of anything. Further-more, he took the broth from the fire and ate exactly one-third, as if he was entitled to it, as a good friend. But before eating, he shouted into the woods, probably because he felt we were near-by. Next point: he wanted to treat us to mushrooms. The mush-rooms were poisonous, and we wouldn't eat them or let him, either. But he tried to treat us -- 1 suppose to show his gratitude. And last: as everyone knows, no degen is better endowed physically than a normal weakling. On the way here he kept up a wild pace, walked over fallen trees as if he were on level ground, and skipped across ditches and waited for me on the other side. And for some reason or other -- maybe to show off -- he actually picked me up and ran two hundred steps."

The captain listened to Zef attentively. But scarcely had Zef finished his story when the captain turned sharply to the prisoner, stared at him hard, and barked in Khonti: "Your name? Rank? Assignment?"

Guy admired the captain's clever approach, but it was obvious that the prisoner did not understand Khonti. Again he revealed his beautiful teeth and thumped himself on the chest, saying "Mac Sim." He jabbed his finger into his captor's ribs, saying "Zef," and then began to speak slowly, with long pauses, pointing alternately at the ceiling and the floor, and waving his arms, Guy thought he caught some familiar words in this speech, but the words had no bearing on the matter at hand. When the prisoner stopped talking. Corporal Varibobu spoke up.

"In my opinion this man is a clever spy and we should report this to the brigadier."

The captain ignored him.

"You may go now, Zef," he said. "You've done a good job and it will be taken into account."

"I'm very grateful to you, captain!" Zef was about to leave when the prisoner uttered a low cry, leaned over the counter, and grabbed a pile of blank forms lying on the desk.

Frightened out of his wits, Varibobu recoiled and flung his pen at the savage. The savage snatched it out of the air and, perching himself on the counter, began to sketch on the paper. Guy and Zef grabbed him by the shoulder, but he shrugged them off.

"Leave him alone!" ordered the captain, and Guy obeyed with a sense of relief. Restraining this brown beast would be as difficult as stopping a tank by grabbing its treads.

The captain and Zef flanked the prisoner and studied his scribbling.

"I think it's a map of the world," said Zef uncertainly.

"H'm," responded the captain.

"Well, of course! Here in the center he has the World Light. Around it is the World. And here is where he thinks we are."

Guy finally managed to squeeze between the prisoner's firm shoulder and Zefs coarse, sweaty jacket. The sketch amused him. That was how a six-year-old would portray the World: a small circle representing the World Light, and around it a large circle representing the World Sphere. And on the circle a duck dot, to which need only be added little hands and feet -- and then you have it: "Ibis is the World and this is me." The poor lunatic couldn't even draw the circle properly, making some sort of oval shape. It was obvious that he was abnormal. On top of that, he drew a dotted line going beneath the World to another point, as if he were trying to explain how he got where he now was.

Meanwhile the prisoner took a second form and rapidly sketched two small World Spheres in opposite comers, joined them with a dotted line, and added some flourishes. Zef let out a whistle: it was a hopeless case. There was no point in staying any longer.

"May I leave, sir?"

The captain shook his head.

"Uh, Zef, you were working in the Zone?"

"Yes, sir."

The captain paced up and down.

"Perhaps you could -- how shall I put it -- give me your opinion of this man? From, let's say, a professional point of view."

"Impossible, sir," replied Zef. "You know I've lost the right to speak in a professional capacity."

"I understand. That's all very true. And I must compliment you for your honesty. But..."

Zef stood at attention. The captain was clearly embarrassed, and Guy understood his predicament well. This was a serious case. (Suppose the savage is a spy?) Dr. Zogu was certainly a great officer, a brilliant legionnaire, but still he was only an army doctor. Zef, on the other hand, had really known his stuff before he was arrested.

"Well now," said the captain, "there's nothing we can do about that. But between you and me... "He halted in front of Zef. "You understand what I mean? Simply between you and me, do you really think this fellow is insane?"

Zef paused before replying.

"Just between you and me?" he repeated. "Well, of course, as a layman, and laymen do make mistakes. I'm inclined to believe that this is a clear-cut case of a split personality, where the real ego is ejected and replaced by an imagined ego. Purely as a layman, mind you, I would recommend electric shock therapy and tranquilizers."

Mac Sim began to speak again, addressing the captain and Zef alternately. The poor fellow was trying to say something -- some-thing was bothering him. But just then the door opened and the doctor, obviously out of sorts because his dinner had been interrupted, entered the room.

"Hello, Tolot," he said cantankerously. "What's the matter? I'm quite relieved to find you alive and well. Who the hell is this?"

"The rehabs caught him in the forest. I suspect he's insane."

"He's not insane. He's a malingerer," growled the doctor, pouring water for himself from a pitcher. "Send him back to the forest. Let him work."

"He's not ours," protested the captain. "And we don't know where he came from. I think he may have been captured by degens, gone off his head, and escaped to us."

"Right," grumbled the doctor. "You'd have to go off your rocker to come running to us." He went over to the prisoner and reached out to examine his face. The prisoner grinned and gently pushed him away. "No, no!" said the doctor. "Stand still!"

The prisoner submitted. The doctor examined his eyes, thumped him, felt his neck and throat, flexed his hand, tapped his knees, and then returned to the pitcher and poured himself another glass of water.

"Heartburn," he explained.

Guy looked at Zef, who was standing off to one side and staring at the wall with studied indifference. The doctor quenched his thirst and returned to the examination. He palpated the prisoner, looked at his teeth, punched him in the abdomen twice; then he took a flat box from his pocket, plugged it into a socket, and applied the box to various parts of the savage's body.

"Nothing special," he said. "Is he a mute, too?"

"No," replied the captain. "He can talk, but he speaks in some savage language. He doesn't understand us. Here are his drawings."

The doctor studied them.

"Well, well, very amusing." He grabbed the corporal's pen and rapidly sketched a cat as a child might, using stick lines and small circles. "What do you say to that, friend?" he asked, handing the drawing to the lunatic.

Without a moment's hesitation, Mac Sim took the pen and began to draw. Beside the doctor's cat he sketched a strange animal covered with a great deal of hair and wearing a hostile expression. Although this animal was unfamiliar to Guy, he realized it was not a child's drawing. It was a fine drawing -- in fact, remarkably good. Even a little frightening to look at. The doctor reached for the pen, but the lunatic drew back his hand and sketched still another animal -- with enormous ears, wrinkled skin, and, in place of a nose, something resembling a very long tail.

"Beautiful!" shouted the doctor, slapping his sides.

The lunatic didn't stop there. Now, instead of animals, he sketched some sort of apparatus that resembled a large transparent land mine. Then he very skillfully drew a little man sitting inside. He tapped the tiny figure with his finger and then tapped himself on the chest, saying: "Mac Sim."

"He could have seen this thing by the river," said Zef softly as he moved closer. "We burned a similar object last night. A real monster." He shook his head.

The doctor appeared to notice Zef for the first time.

"Ah, my dear professor!" he shouted with exaggerated pleasure. "Something stinks in this room. My dear colleague, be so kind as to deliver your profound judgments from the other side of the room. I shall be greatly indebted to you."

Varibobu snickered and the captain said sternly: "Zef, stand by the door, and don't forget yourself."

"Well, that's better," said the doctor. "Tolot, what do you think we should do with him?"

"That depends on your diagnosis. If he's a malingerer, I'll hand him over to the state prosecutor's office. They'll look into it. If he's insane..."

"Tolot, he's not a malingerer!" The doctor was adamant. "The office of the state prosecutor is not the place for him. But I do know a place that will be very interested in him. Where's the brigadier?"

"He's on patrol in the forest."

"Well, no matter. You're the duty officer today, aren't you? Send this young stranger to this address." The doctor wrote something on the back of the last sketch.

"What's that?" asked the captain.

"Oh, it's a place that will be very grateful to us for this lunatic. I can promise you that."

The captain twisted the paper in his fingers hesitantly, then went to the far corner of the room and beckoned to the doctor. They whispered for some time and only an occasional remark of Zogu's was audible. "The Propaganda Department... Send him with an escort. It's not that much of a secret! I guarantee you... Order him to forget the whole thing. Damn it -- the kid won't understand a thing anyway!"

"Good," the captain finally agreed. "Corporal Varibobu! Write up escort papers!"

The corporal rose slightly.

"Are Private Gaal's travel orders ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Insert Mac Sim's name in the orders as being under escort. Private Gaal!"

Guy clicked his heels and snapped to attention.

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to deliver the prisoner to the address on this paper before you proceed to your new post. After you have carried out these orders, you must present this paper to the duty officer at your new station. Forget the address. This is your last assignment, Gaal, and I know you will execute it as befits a good legionnaire."

"It will be done, sir," shouted Guy, flattered by the captain's confidence.

Suddenly a hot wave of indescribable ecstasy swept over him and bore him aloft. "Oh, the sweet moments of joy, those unforgettable moments when one is on wings, those moments of sweet contempt for everything crude, material, and physical. Moments when you long to hear the command that will join you to fire, fling you into its flames against thousands of enemies, into the very thick of wild hordes, to face a hail of bullets. Fire! Flame! Fury! And now he is rising, this strapping, handsome fellow, the pride of the brigade, our own Corporal Varibobu. Like a fiery torch, like a statue of glory and fidelity. And he leads the singing, and we all join in as one!

Forward, legionnaires, men of iron!

Forward, sweeping away fortresses with fire in our eyes!

We shall smash the foe with an iron boot!

Let drops of fresh blood sparkle on our swords...

"And everyone is singing with me, including the brilliant Captain Tolot, model legionnaire, cream of the Legion, for whom I would gladly give my life, my soul, my everything, this very instant. And Dr. Zogu is singing, too -- a model brother of mercy, rough and tough as a real soldier, but tender as a mother, too. And our Corporal Varibobu, ours to the core, an old warrior, a veteran grown gray in skirmishes with the enemy. Oh, how his buttons sparkle and his stripes shine on his worn, well-earned uniform. For him there is nothing but to serve, to serve!

Our iron fist sweeps away all obstacles.

The All-Powerful Creators are pleased!

How the enemy weeps! Show him no mercy!

Onward, legionnaires, brave warriors!

"But what's this? He'sHe's not singing. He's leaning on the counter and rolling his idiotic brown head. His eyes keeping roving and he doesn't stop grinning. Who are you grinning at, you scum? Oh, how I'd like to smash my iron first into that toothy grin. But no, I must not: such behavior is ill befitting a legionnaire. After all, he's a lunatic, a pitiful cripple. He can never know real happiness. He's blind, worthless, half-human. And that red-haired bandit is squirming in the corner in unbearable pain. You lousy criminal, here's a kick in the ass for you. Up on your feet, scum! Stand at attention when a legionnaire sings his marching song. Here's something for your empty head and your filthy face, and your insolent eyes. Take that, and that!"

Guy flung Zef back against the wall and, clicking his heels, turned to the captain. As usual after such fits of ecstasy, his ears rang and the world floated and swayed pleasantly before his eyes.

Corporal Varibobu, blue-gray from the strain, coughed, holding his chest. The doctor, sweaty and flushed, drank water greedily straight from the pitcher and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. The captain frowned vacantly as if trying to remember something. Red-haired Zef, looking like a pile of dirty rags, writhed in pain. His face had been battered to a bloody pulp and he was moaning weakly. And Mac Sim had stopped smiling. His face had stiffened: his lips were parted as he stared at Guy, wide-eyed.

"Private Gaal," said the captain. "Something I wanted to tell you -- hold it, Zogu, leave me at least one swallow of water."