Sanctuary in The Sky by John Brunner Page A

Pagr is right out towards the end of the Arm, isn’t it? Doesn’t that suggest that it might be the last world on which Waystation—which wouldn’t have been a station at all, but an interstellar vessel, on this theory—the last world on which colonists were deposited? Naturally relics occur there; that’s where the ships, no longer wanted, were dumped. They were probably first cannibalized, then left to decay.”
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    “That’s one way of looking at it,” said Usri grudgingly. Ligmer confirmed with a nod.
    “What do they say about the origin of man on Majkosi, by the way?” Lang glanced at Vykor, who stared down at his wine.
    “We are not permitted to speculate so far,” he mumbled. "We are forbidden to have universities, observatories, laboratories, schools higher than mere technical colleges where one learns routine mechanical tasks, or in fact any of the centers where people talk about such matters.”
    He met Ligmer’s glance with a defiant stare and relapsed into silence.
    “But if you were asked to give your own opinion?” Lang pressed gently. Ligmer scowled; in his view, too much attention paid to subject races was dangerous. Still, Lang was an outsider; it wasn’t as bad as if he himself had been doing it.
    “All right,” said Vykor. “I’d say that man must have started somewhere, once. I don’t believe he could have grown up on all these different worlds—not just along the Arm, but all over the galaxy—by pure coincidence. Take mating, for instance.” He was surprised to find himself warming to his thesis.
    “Now we know that people from different planets can mate and have children. On Lubarria, where a lot of the priests are Cathrodynes who can’t make a go of it on Cathrodyne itself, and where the fake religion that the Cathrodynes stuck there compels women to give in to priests when they’re asked to—on Lubarria there you can see lots of kids of mixed blood. There are some mixed Lubarrian-Cathrodynes right here on Waystation, in the Lubarrian section; Cathrodynes won’t accept them, Lubarrians hate their exalted opinion of themselves, so they make do here, if they can.
    “Likewise between Alchmids and Pags. I’ve heard how, when your people, Scholar Usri”—he boldly looked the Pag straight in the face—"have a male they can’t quiet down or satisfy themselves, they’ll turn it loose among a crowd of Alchmid women. And pretty often there are kids born that way, too. Only you kill them off at birth.”
    “True enough,” said Usri dispassionately. “You have a sharp mind, fellow.”
    “Too sharp, I’d say,” Ligmer snapped. “A Majko has a very good reason to put about such theories;- these would imply that all men ought to be on equal footing, and that Majkosi and Lubarria are oppressed unjusdy.”
    There was a sudden tension in the air; Usri was aware of it, Lang was aware of it, even the little animal which Lang called Sunny raised its head inquiringly and snuffed. And Vykor grew aware of it also. But too late. Because by then he could hear the fatal words ringing in his memory. He had said—had actually said to the face of a Cathrodyne in the presence of a Pag—had said:
    “And they are! Monstrously oppressed, and without a shred of justice for it!”
    There was a long, frozen silence. Or rather, a period when none of them said anything; there was noise from everywhere, music from the dancing floor, talk from beyond the bushes that ringed the clearing, even very faint thunder from the storm still raging in the Mountains.
    Outcast! Outcast! The word hammered at Vykor’s imagination. He looked at Usri’s frozen face, at Ligmer’s which was purpling with indignation, at Lang’s which wore a quizzical half-smile. Suddenly he felt unreasonably angry with Lang. He had never dreamed he could do such a stupid thing! He had thrown away his life, his freedom to come and go between Waystation and home, his value as a courier for the revolutionary movement on Majkosi,