Free Vectors by Charles Sheffield

tears running down his grimy face. The remaining priest turned to the crowd and seemed to be looking straight at Carl.
    "Learn the lesson. Disregard the teachings of Redman at your own risk. There must be no breaking of the Divine Law, and you must cast from your minds and thoughts all ideas of the Old Religion or the forbidden sciences. Now, go to your homes."
    The crowd began to disperse. Carl took a last look at the smoldering heap, then turned to continue up the hill to the Church Hostel. The priest watched him go, then whispered into the cowl of his robe as though in prayer.
    "Worked exactly according to plan. I think I've won my bet, Jason. Denning shouldn't give us any trouble now—he's as easily impressed as the rest of these simpletons here. By the way, call up Headquarters and tell them we've got an unexpected prize from this burning. Pauli's 1921 review article on General Relativity—in mint condition.
    "One other thing." His tone was casual. "The old librarian whose books we confiscated is having some kind of breakdown. We'll have to keep an eye on him for a few weeks. A nuisance, but it can't be helped."
    The priest walked slowly to the Lukon Mission, his robe a little bulky. He arrived there just as Carl was settling into his hard bed at the Hostel, his mind busy with the events of the day. The Science Museum, with its endless arrays of exhibits—certain omissions there resonated in his mind, adding to other facts and inconsistencies that he had noticed in the past two years. Then the burning of the books, with the tantalizing references to the 'forbidden sciences', and the mysterious words of the dark-haired woman. They all spun furiously together in his head, until sleep at last removed them.
    * * *
    The long-awaited thaw had begun during the night. Carl had gone to sleep to the soft rustle of powdery ice flakes against the window-pane. He awoke to a leaden grey sky and a harsh sleet. In a standard issue raincoat and plastic cape he walked gingerly down the hill on the slick, melting surface of the packed snow, past the long line of evergreens, white and bowed down by their glittering burden of ice, until he came to the Artisans' restaurant.
    Inside, he looked around at each table. The building was dimly-lit, with ornate examples of wood carving, stone work and metal castings—samples of the artisans' work—in every available nook and corner. He wandered about among the decorations, but although it was already noon there was no sign of the woman. He was turning to look in the street again when a hand took his elbow and a voice behind him said, "The table in the corner. Don't turn round, go to it."
    She was wearing the same hooded robe. When she sat across the table from Carl, smiled at him and threw back the cowl, he could get a good look at her for the first time. Her black hair was cut short all round, and her eyes, shielded from view last night, were a clear, dark grey. Her nose was straight and a bit too big, giving her face a decisive, determined look.
    "I waited to make sure you were alone." She held out her hand. "I'm Sarah Henderson."
    Carl took her hand uncertainly. The school gave no training in the social graces. "I'm Carl Denning. I'm from Briarsford, south of here, and I'm just visiting Lukon for a few days."
    She nodded. "I knew you were a stranger to the city. Do you have a food voucher? Let me have it for a minute."
    She took out her own meal book, left her coat on the wooden bench and slipped away. A few minutes later she was back, carrying two large earthenware bowls of pea soup and a stack of sandwiches.
    "Somebody's looking after you well. They gave you an unlimited food voucher. I took advantage of it to get us a bit more than the usual lunch here."
    She was very easy to talk to. As they ate Carl found himself explaining how he came to be in Lukon, about his science training, about his feelings that there were some vital facts being withheld. He began to explain until she stopped him