The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

“Not one recent attack, as you call it,” she said.

“Very well. I will say nothing to anyone. That is, if there is no recurrence. You will be honest with me and inform me if you do suffer from any, won’t you? You would not endanger your ship just because you want so desperately to be a member of the crew?”

“No, I would not,” she said. But the words came hard.

“Then we’ll let it stand at that, for the time being.”

She rose on one elbow again, ignoring the slipping aside of the towel and the baring of her breast:

“Look, Piscator. Be honest. If you are given a rank inferior to mine, and it’s likely, if Firebrass awards ranks according to experi­ence, would you resent serving under me?”

“Not in the slightest,” he said, smiling.

She lay back and pulled the towel up. “You come from a culture which held women in a very inferior position. Your women were practically on a level with the beasts of burden. They …”

“That is in the past, the long dead and faraway past,” he said. “Nor was nor am I a typical male, Nipponese or not. You must avoid stereotyping. After all, that is what you hate, what you have fought all your life, have you not? Stereotyping?”

“You’re right,” she said. “But it’s a conditioned reflex.”

“I believe I said this once before to you. However, repetition has its uses in education. You should learn to think in a different pattern.”

“And how do I do that?”

He hesitated, then said, “You will know when to attempt that. And whom to see about it.”

Jill knew that he was waiting for her to ask him to accept her as his disciple. She was having none of that. She just did not believe in organized religion. Though Sufism was not a religion, its members were religious. There was no such thing as an atheist Sufi.

She was an atheist. Despite having been resurrected, she did not believe in a Creator. At least, she did not believe in a Creator who was personally interested in her or in any creature whatsoever. People who did believe in a deity who considered human beings as His children-and why was a spirit always he?-why not be logical since God had no sex, an it?- people who believed in Him were deluded. The believers in God might be intelligent, but they were mentally benighted. The gears in that part of the brain which dealt with religion had been put into neutral, and they were spinning. Or the circuit of religion had been disconnected from the main circuit of the intellect.

That was a bad analogy. People used their intellect to justify the nonintellective, emotionally based phenomenon called religion. Often brilliantly. But, as far as she was concerned, uselessly.

Piscator said, “You are going to sleep. Good. If you need me, though, feel free to call on me.”

“You’re no physician,” she said. “Why should you . . .”

“You have potential. And though you sometimes act foolishly, you are no fool. Though you have fooled yourself from time to time and still are. Good night.”

“Good night.”

He bowed quickly and walked out, closing the door behind him. She started to call out, but she stopped. She had wanted to ask him what he was doing near the hut when he had heard her. It was too late. Nor was it important. Still… what had he been doing here? Had he intended to seduce her? Rape was out of the question, of course. She was bigger than he, and though he probably was a master of the martial arts, so was she. Moreover, his position as an airship officer would be seriously jeopardized if she were to accuse him.

No, he would not have been here either to seduce or to rape. He did not give the impression that he was that type of man. On the other hand, no matter how nice they acted, weren’t they all? No, there was something about him-she hated to use the imprecise and unscientifically founded term vibrations-but there it was. He did not radiate that length of frequency classified as “bad vibes.”

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