A tall, red-headed man entered the kitchen. Niall guessed he was a member of the servant class condemned to work as a slave. He looked harassed and irritable. Ignoring Niall, he snatched a bowl from the sink, washed it under the tap and filled it with soup. Unlike the slaves, he took the trouble to dip the ladle to the bottom of the saucepan. Niall tuned in to his mind — he found that the thought mirror made this easier than usual — and discovered that the man was entirely preoccupied with the fact that he had overslept, and that in ten minutes time he had to report for work. The man — whose name was Lorris — hacked a chunk of bread off the loaf and began to eat ravenously. His mood was so sour and hostile that Niall was glad to withdraw his mental probe — the man’s state of mind produced an impression exactly like an unpleasant smell.
As he emptied his soup bowl, Lorris seemed to notice Niall for the first time. He asked:
“What are you here for?”
Niall thought quickly. “Arguing with a commander. What are you?”
“Constant lateness.” He refilled his soup bowl.
Niall said: “I’ve only just arrived. Is there anyone in charge?”
“Morlag, in building K.2.”
“Where is that?”
He gestured. “Along the street and first left.”
“Thank you.”
Out in the street, he noticed that many slaves were now walking in the same direction. But attempts to probe their minds were frustrating. There seemed to be almost no mental activity in the normal sense. They were living according to a mechanical routine, and each one seemed to regard himself as a mere fragment of a crowd. They moved like sleepwalkers. It was not unlike being among a pack of human ants. As they passed the house where Niall had seen the corpse — the smell of rotting flesh seemed stronger than ever — none of them seemed in the least concerned that one of their number had been killed. Each seemed to feel that it was none of his business. They were totally self-absorbed.
As he made his way through the crowded streets, Niall was struck by the sheer physical variety among the slave class. Unlike the servants and the commanders — who were united by a strong family resemblance — the slaves seemed to be of every shape and size. Many, but by no means all, were physically deformed. Some looked alert and intelligent, some sullen and bored; a few looked dreamily contented. The alert and intelligent ones were usually small and deformed, while taller, more physically attractive slaves often wore a blank, imbecilic smile. Niall noticed the same anomaly among the women, many of whom stood in windows or doorways and watched the men go past; those who looked alert were mostly short and ugly, while tall, attractive women stared blankly into space, apparently hardly conscious of their surroundings. He was struck by the large proportion of women in an advanced stage of pregnancy, and also by the enormous number of children, many of them leaning dangerously out of upstairs windows. The slave quarter seemed to contain more children than adults.
He found himself in a small square in which several platoons of slaves had already lined up. A big, black-bearded man of tremendous physique stood facing them, an expression of grim disgust on his face. The noise was deafening; children shouted and played games, adults screamed at one another, while two very pregnant women fought and rolled in the gutter. Niall approached the black-bearded man.
“I’m looking for Morlag.”
“That’s me. What do you want?”
“I’ve been told to report to you.”
Morlag suddenly roared “shut up!” in a voice so deafening that it struck Niall like a physical blow. Instant silence fell on the square, and the squabbling women let go of each other’s hair and sat up. Morlag said: “That’s better. Any more noise and I’ll feed you all to the spiders.” He looked down at Niall, whose face was on a level with his chest.
“Why did you get sent here?”
“Arguing with a commander.”
Morlag grunted: “Serves you right.” The noise had already started up again. “What job do you do?”
“Charioteer.”
“All right. Wait there.” He pointed to the pavement behind him where four more powerfully-built servants were standing.
A twinge of pain in the back of Niall’s skull reminded him that he had been using the thought mirror for too long. He reached cautiously inside his shirt and turned it over. The sense of relaxation was so powerful that for a moment he felt dizzy and had to close his eyes. And even before he opened them, he was once again pervaded by that sense of total calm he had experienced earlier by the river. His own identity seemed to fade away and he became a part of the communal life that surged around him. He was simultaneously inside the minds of all these people in the square, sharing their sense of absurd wellbeing. He was also aware once more of the rhythmic pulse of life that moved in periodic waves through the earth under his feet, like a rising tide gently breaking on a beach. The slaves were also dimly aware of this pulse, and it intensified their joy in being alive.
Niall’s four companions, on the other hand, were totally unaware of it; their minds were entirely preoccupied with which jobs the overseer would assign to each of them. Niall’s insight into their minds intrigued him. He could sense that they all regarded it as a humiliation to be condemned to live among slaves, and that this fostered an attitude of resentment towards the spiders. At the same time, each felt that their position had important compensations. Among their fellow servants they were nonentities; here they were regarded almost as gods. They had first choice of the best food, were waited on hand and foot and allowed to take their pick of the most attractive slave women. All this had developed in them a certain spirit of independence; none of them really wanted to be sent back to live among fellow servants. Potentially, such men were allies against the spiders.
At the moment, their attitude towards Niall was unfriendly; he was a stranger, and he might be assigned one of the more desirable jobs. The most coveted assignments were farm work and food gathering, which allowed an unusual degree of freedom. On the other hand, everybody hated street cleaning and sewage work, since these involved working under the direct observation of the spiders. For some reason, working for the bombardier beetles was also regarded with deep distaste.
When Niall turned his attention to Morlag, he realised with dismay that the overseer intended to assign him to take charge of a street cleaning detail. That would be a disaster; he would be recognised as soon as he crossed the bridge. For a moment, he considered the idea of slipping quietly away, then dismissed it; Morlag would want to know what had happened to him. The alternative was to try to influence the overseer’s mind, to implant the suggestion that he should be assigned to some other detail.
Niall stared at the back of Morlag’s head, at the same time reaching inside his shirt and turning the thought mirror. But even as his fingers touched it, he realised that this was not the answer. The thought mirror reflected his powers back inside himself and so diminished his power to influence other people. It was as he turned it back again that he made another discovery: as the mirror turned, it was as if his focused attention was deflected away from himself in a concentrated beam. Suddenly he understood. When the mirror was turned inward, it intensified his thoughts and feelings. When it was turned outward, it could be used as a reflector, beaming his thoughts and feelings towards other people. He had only to direct his own concentration towards the mirror.
He tried it, staring intently at the back of Morlag’s head. The result surpassed his expectation. Morlag was halfway through a sentence, roaring “Stand to attention and get in line, you stupid. . .” Then his voice faded, and a blank expression came over his face. He shook his head as if an insect were buzzing around it, and tugged nervously at his beard. Niall’s companions gazed at him in astonishment, wondering what had happened. Then Morlag seemed to recollect himself. “Time to get started. You. . .” He turned to the nearest servant. Take this lot to the rabbit farm. You and you, report to the main square for street cleaning.” His attention came to rest on Niall. “You . . .” His memory seemed to fail him for a moment, and in that moment, Niall selected from his mind the assignment he preferred. “You, report to the bombardier beetles. You, take this lot to the sewage works . . .” As he passed on down the line, Niall averted his eyes to conceal his relief.