“The ship was enclosed. It was still, so far as anyone aboard could tell; even the engineers who controlled it never directly perceived its motion, but read dials emotionlessly. To Kazan this was a parable of himself. A journey undertaken in a womb, like a mother bearing her foetus unknowing, beginning at the familiar Berak spaceport and ending soon on Vashti.A word. A label without an object. A scrap of tacky paper clinging to the fingers against attempts to throw it away.Here, there had to be ...the start of an understanding of himself. To accept was not enough if he had to wrestle with the central problem: is Kazan Kazan or is he a black devil? They had said, “He is highly intelligent.” He began now to realize what the word meant, because it applied itself to his worries. It wasn’t the Dyasthala comment: “He’s sharp.” That was a business of assessing risk, of knowing how best to organize a pattern of action centered on a clothman’s store, or a drunken spaceman, so that it ended with safety and anonymity and a handful of cash instead of the impersonal retribution of the law.In the Dyasthala, Kazan’s world: hunger yesterday, fullness today, randomly.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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