“I’m sure you’re right,” he said, gritting his teeth.
“Be assured, I am,” said Questioner. “Let us expedite this climb. You, Mouche, come here upon my left side. I shall extrude two little steps there, see, one at the back, one at the side, one for each foot to stand upon while you lean forward upon my shoulder. And you, Ornery, do the same upon my right, if you will. In that way we may make better time, and certainly in a less fatiguing manner.”
Though doubtful, they did as she ordered, after which a brief clicking and clanking preceded a seemingly effortless, level and continuous descent of the interminable stairs.
“How are you doing this?” asked Ornery, who had always been fascinated by machinery.
“Two-part rotary tread, two outside sections, one wider, central section, operating alternately, first center legs then side legs. The knees are double jointed, of course, and the only trick is to shift my ballast properly.”
“How long can you do it?”
“Several planetary diameters, I should imagine. Do you think we’ll be going that far?”
Ornery fell silent for a time, thinking it remarkable how quiet the mechanism was. There was only the slightest chickety-click, chickety-click as the treads placed themselves, only the tiniest hum as Questioner descended, obviously unhampered by the weight of both of them and their packs.
“I can see how that works on stairs, but does it work on irregular slopes?” Ornery asked.
“It adapts itself. I am very well designed.”
They went down the stairs for what seemed half a day with the water, intermittently lit by Questioner’s headlamp, still soundlessly falling at left or right, depending upon the spiral of the stair. Mouche leaned upon her shoulder and slept while Ornery, more or less alert, whispered occasional comments and questions into Questioner’s ear.
“Someone said you were made with mankind brains inside. Is that true?”
“True. Yes. Three of them.”
“Do you know whose they were?”
Questioner surprised herself by answering honestly, “Yes. I was recently given that information.”
“Old people, I suppose.”
“No. Three young women. Very young, one of them, only a girl, M’Tafa, her name was. Of an untouchable caste, on a planet you’ve never heard of and I wish I hadn’t.”
“Why?” begged Ornery, sensing no discomfort and willing to be distracted with a story.
“The untouchables are simply that. They may not let their shadows fall on other people. They may not touch anything the higher castes touch or use. If they do, the thing must be boiled before it can be used again. If the thing cannot be boiled, they kill the untouchable instead.
“The untouchables speak a language of their own in order that the words spoken by the higher castes cannot be sullied on their lips. This child, M’Tafa, was a filth carrier. She sat outside an uppercaste nursery, and whenever the babies soiled a diaper, M’Tafa carried it to the laundry where it would be boiled. Sometimes, when no one was looking, she would touch things, very quickly, and then watch to see if anyone boiled them. They never did, unless they knew M’Tafa had touched them.
“One day a pet animal knocked over a lamp in the nursery, and the baby’s crib was in the way of the fire. M’Tafa could not call anyone, for they did not speak her language. She could not put out the fire, for she had nothing to do it with. She was not supposed to touch the baby. Very quickly, so that no one saw, she moved the baby out of its crib, out of the way of the fire.
“Of course, someone figured out what had happened, for M’Tafa was the only one there. They could not boil the baby, so they killed M’Tafa. She was buried alive for her crime.”
“Oh, horrid,” cried Ornery. “That’s terrible. Does she remember? Is she still … like, alive inside you?”
“She is, yes.”
“Were the other two like that?”
“More or less. Tiu was a young bride, married to an old man who lived only a few days after the wedding. When he died, custom dictated that a faithful wife could offer to die on the pyre with him. Tiu did not wish to die so. She scarcely knew the old man. But, if Tiu did not die on the pyre, she could claim an inheritance, and since the grown children of the old man did not want to divide the inheritance, she was tied to the pyre and burned alive.”