"Will you?" Matlin asked indifferently. "I will not," said Haazahri promptly. "I'll go with you." Matlin shook his head, bemused. He couldn't believe his ears. His troubles were his troubles. Why should the beautiful Haazahri accompany him? Why should she want to? He asked, "Why?" "Because you gave me pleasure." Matlin felt disappointed. "You enjoyed the beating Felg got? You enjoyed his shaming?" "No, I don't mean that. It's your name and how ... how you live up to its suggestion of heresy. Religion is a good thing on other worlds, Matlin. I have spoken with people. On the planets of Antares, where the folk accept with choice a pantheism of total godhood, that is good; on Earth, where several religions freely proclaim the worship of a single great deity under different names, that is good. But don't you see, here on Kedak--but of course, you see. The point I make is, you say what you believe. If another...." "But I don't believe. I'm an iconoclast." "If another feels as you do, but says nothing...." "You, Haazahri?" "I. And so you give me pleasure. You're a strange man, Matlin, but a brave one. If you lost your memory, is Matlin a new name you have given yourself?" "Yes." "I wonder," Haazahri mused, looking at him and smiling. She was a tall woman, her face almost on a level with his own. She stared frankly into his eyes, boldly, still smiling. "I wonder if you have any family, if you are married...." "I'm a long way from home," Matlin said abruptly. "Now, what does that mean? What is your mind trying to tell you?" Matlin shook his head in wonder. "The words--just came!" Haazahri was still smiling. "No, you wouldn't be married." "Why not?" "Because," said Haazahri, "until this day you hadn't met me." "Haazahri, listen...." he began. "Don't start that again. I'm coming with you to Balata 'kai." "Haazahri...." But she swung to him abruptly, clutching his tunic and drawing herself close to him. "Matlin," she breathed tremulously. "Matlin, love...." They were in the pleasure district of Junction City, the lights a mad whirl-and-flash, the crowds noisy, drunken, unconcerned. They stood together, as stone. But the blood boiled in their veins, and their hearts were not stone. "Haazahri," he said. Then he kissed her. CHAPTER VII Gawroi's office at Kedaki College was furnished home-style with low benches and a central mat rather than chairs and a desk. The home-style furnishings, in their simple beauty, were not popular here on Kedak. Typical, thought Gawroi angrily. For five thousand years home-style is good enough for the Kedaki. For five thousand years no muddle-brained agitators question the value of home-style, its beauty or its function. Then a wave of false galactic brotherhood sweeps Kedak and the big, ungainly desks and chairs clutter more offices every day, so a man finds it difficult to move about without striking his body against some sharp edge or other.