The Ladder in the Sky by John Brunner Page B

to the barrier at the entry to the crew’s quarters, and there hammered till he was answered, and asked to talk with the doctor who had treated him. He was allowed that much, and out of curiosity Lieutenant Balden also came to the doctor’s office, and for the better part of an hour he fumbled through some of the ideas obsessing him.
    But Balden grew bored quickly, and gave patronizing answers as to an ape with a rudimentary gift of speech, and after a short while the doctor—who up till then had been much more friendly—decided that he wanted to give Kazan another set of tests, and became so eager that he started to interrupt every few moments.
    Eventually Balden left the office, and Kazan sighed and consented to take the tests, the doctor baiting the hook with the offer of advice and help when they were over. He dashed through them all; they were similar to the ones he had taken without interest in the examination hut at the spaceport in Berak. He waited, itching with impatience, while the doctor looked over what he had done, and finally demanded the advice and help he had been promised.
    The doctor looked up with a wan smile. Then he rose from his chair and slid back a panel in the wall, revealing shelf upon shelf of tiny oblong boxes not much larger than Kazan’s thumb. He indicated the lowest of the shelves.
    “Those are microfilms,” he said. “These boxes—there are a hundred and sixty-five of them—form one single set. I’ve owned them since I was a student, eight years ago, and I guess I’ve actually worked through less than a tenth of the total wordage in them. The title of the set goes like this: Human Philosophy, Ethics and Religious Beliefs, a Five-Thousand-Year Survey. The only advice I can possibly give you, Kazan, is this. Teach yourself to read, make yourself a fortune, pay for a century of geriatric treatment—and go and live by yourself out of reach of anyone else till you’ve read that book. If you don’t go away by yourself, someone else will have invented a new philosophy before you’ve more than begun.”
    Kazan looked first blank, then angry. The doctor shrugged.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “The simple fact is that there are that many answers to the kind of questions you’re asking, and none of them is definitive.”
    When he left the office Kazan was fuming. By the time he was back in the workers’ quarters, though, he had realized how sensible the doctor’s suggestion was. He slid back the door of his cabin and found Clary there alone. She was often there alone now—not because she was a person to shun company, but because by imperceptible stages she had come to see what was happening to Kazan and had been fascinated by it. There had obviously been instructions to the crew to treat Kazan as a special case and allow him to do what he liked so long as he did not interfere with the other workers, and no attempt was made to force him or Clary to the daily classes or the entertainments. Far from objecting to this special treatment, the others seemed to find it a relief that they could be away from Kazan for most of the day.
    At his slamming entrance Clary looked up, startled. She said, “Kazan, you look angry! What is it?” She put aside a book she had been leafing through. Kazan seized it and thrust it towards her again.
    “Can you teach me to read?” he demanded.
    A hint of a smile came to her mouth, and she cocked one eyebrow at him. “I’ve been wondering when you were going to ask that,” she said composedly. “I’ll try, if you like. Sit down.”
    Instead of obeying immediately, Kazan hesitated. He said after a pause, “How did you know?”
    “I’ve been watching you,” she answered. “Sit down!”
    He obyed slowly, not taking his eyes off her. Suddenly he burst out laughing. Then, still laughing, he threw his arms round her.

XI

    There was nothing much on Vashti except the mining settlement, a city of oblong apartment blocks faced with the dusty reddish color of