Robert Silverberg - Halfway House

Alfieri knew that. He also knew that the Hinnerangi spoke the truth; unless he were allowed to pass through to Melknor to save his business, he would be obliged to take his own life. As much as Alfieri himself, this being had come before the tribunal of Halfway House under a death sentence.

But Alfieri had gifts. What did this man offer? He wished to sell houses on a planet that had no real need for them. He was one of many such house-growers, anyway, and a poor businessman to boot. He brought his troubles upon himself; unlike Alfieri, who had not asked for his cancer. Nor would Tomrik Horiman’s passing be any great loss except to his immediate family. It was a great pity; but the application would have to be refused.

“We will give you our decision shortly,” said Alfieri. He opaqued the walls and briefly reported to his colleagues. They did not question the wisdom of his decision. Clearing the walls, he stared through the blocks of quartz at the man from Hinnerang and said, “I greatly regret that your application must be rejected.”

Alfieri waited for the reaction. Anger? Hysterical denunciation? Despair? Cold fury? A paroxysm of frustration?

No, none of those. The merchant of vegetary houses looked back at Alfieri, who had spent enough time among the Hinnerangi to interpret their unvoiced emotions. And Alfieri felt the flood of sorrow coming at him like a stream of acid. Tomrik Horiman pitied him.

“I am very sorry,” the Hinnerangi said. “You bear such a great burden.”

Alfieri shook with the pain of the words. The man was sorry—not for himself, but for him! Morbidly, he almost wished for his cancer back. Tomrik Horiman’s pity was more than he could bear at that moment.

Tomrik Horiman gripped the rail and stood poised for his return to his own world. For an instant his eyes met the shadowed ones of the Earthman.

“Tell me,” Tomrik Horiman said. “This job you have, deciding who goes forward, who goes back. Such a terrible burden! How did this job come to you?”

“I was condemned to it,” said Franco Alfieri in all the anguish of his Godhead. “The price for my life was my life. I never knew such suffering when I was only a dying man.”

He scowled. And then he threw the switch that sent Tomrik Horiman away.