TO THEM, THE UNIVERSE WAS AN OPEN BOOK
"Whatever your question, the Borg will
answer it. They will teach you anything you want to know."
Here was an opportunity the four space-farers
from Earth could not afford to pass up. Hadn't they just failed in their
attempt to quell the Horta—a race of paranoid telepaths so destructive that
they were a menace to other planets. Now, at last, they might know how the
homicidal energy of the Horta could be harnessed.
Yet the Borg themselves might be
dangerous—after all, they were an unknown race on an uncharted planet. Still,
the two men and two women from Earth would not have been exploring the stars if
they had lacked courage. Besides, now they had to know how the Borg could answer any question,
and why they bothered.
Turn
this book over for second complete novel
FOREWORD
I came to write this book because I'd just
finished a year of grappling, unsuccessfully, with a novel about young people struggling with the problems of love and
marriage, and I thought it might be fun to write a book where there was plenty of sweep and excitement with problems that
could be settled by physical action—in Sturgeon's phrase, a book about "a
man getting into a spaceship to go somewhere and do
something." I like adventure science-fiction when it's well done—The Dragon Masters, for example—and I feel there's always a need
for stories that will take the reader some place strange, give him a new slant on the universe, and let him engage in some vicarious violence
and excitement.
But
I think it has to be well done, and that means above all that it has to be
believable. For one thing, if the characters are future people, then they
should be different from present day people. And their social customs and
politics should be different, too. I can't believe in—which means I can't
enjoy—space adventures in which the characters all seem to be people just like
Twentieth Century Americans from a society just like Twentieth Century America,
and in which the technical details aren't well worked out.
For the benefit of those who sneer at
adventure stories, I might add, that just by trying to tell an exciting story,
I think I've ended up saying more about nuclear weapons, love, death, the
meaning of life, and what it is to be human, than if I had sat down and tried
to write about all those things.
—Thomas Pukdom
I WANT
THE STARS
TOM PURDOM
ACE
BOOKS, INC. 1120 Avenue of the
Americas New York, N.Y. 10036
I want
the stars
Copyright ©, 1964, by Ace Books, Inc. All Rights Reserved
For Will Jenkins of Philadelphia
demons' world Copyright ©, 1964, by Ace Books, Inc.
Printed in U.S.A.
I
■R-ocKETiNG at twice the speed of sound, holding a course
so close to the water the spray misted its windows, the winged orbit-to-ground
vehicle shot across the oceans of a world sixty thousand light years from
Earth.
Dangerous, unpredictable mountains of water rose and fell beneath the vehicle's
hull, but the woman in the pilot's seat flew without looking at the waves or
the controls. Her dark, serious eyes were locked on the horizon. The battle
would begin the instant she saw the Horta ship.
Behind the pilot two women and a man sat in
the reclining chairs of the passenger cabin. The women had been gazing at each
other since the vehicle entered the atmosphere; now, knowing the battle could
begin any moment, they settled back in their chairs and watched the horizon
over the pilot's shoulder. The man, Jenorden A'Ley went on staring at the ocean
through the misted window by his seat. There were no" continents on this world,
only a few hundred islands, and the waves were titanic.
He was a slight, dark man
with silver hair and sharp features. Even as he rode into danger he was
brooding about the passion which had sent him to the stars and which was now
driving him toward the island of the Horta. It was a passion as titanic as the
waves, it dominated his life and could be driving him to his death, and yet he
had never found the words to describe it. In a time when linguistics and
psychology were so advanced the members of the human community could
communicate their thoughts and feelings with almost no distortion, no one he
knew quite understood what he wanted.
"There it isl"
The woman's voice ended his reverie. His
hands tightened on the arm rests. Through the front window he saw the tall
Horta ship and the edge of the island. Now he was undoubtedly in range of
whatever weapons the Horta possessed.
The pilot pressed a button on the control
panel. Somewhere in the vehicle, a circuit closed. The mass-energy converter,
which had been turning water into energy and using the energy to propel the
vehicle, now sent a fraction of its energy flowing toward the cannon in the
nose. High explosive shells screamed toward the island.
The Horta ship grew taller and blacker,
rising out of the ocean until it towered above the mosquito darting toward it
across the waves. He could see the gun turrets, and the crude seams in the
metal, and the one porthole in the nose. They skimmed over the breakers and he
saw white shapes running across the beach. Once every half second a shell
screamed out of the cannon. Veering away from their target, they soared across
the island. The vehicle banked and the ground dropped away and for a brief
instant he saw the wall which cut the island in half, on one side the flat
beach the Horta used for a landing site, on the other side the stone buildings
they had erected with the labor of their slaves. Then he was shooting across
the waves again, fleeing toward the horizon, and Roseka was leaning out of her
chair and staring through the rear window.
"Make
another runl" Roseka shouted.
"Did I get it?"
Elinee asked.
"No."
"I was aiming right at it."
"You were hitting to
the left," Jenorden said.
Elinee
swung them into a wide turn. They all knew they had to strike fast, before the
Horta could ready their weapons or get their ship off the ground. The ship
looked primitive, but they were certain it was better armed than their vehicle.
If the Horta ever got off the ground, they would have to give up and run for
space.
"Is everybody all
right?" Elinee asked.
Roseka
turned to Thelia My, the woman sitting beside her, and they regarded each other
gravely. "We're doing very well," Thelia said.
For
a moment he envied them. Roseka and Thelia were lovers and had been ever since
the last decade of their schooling. Everything they experienced, their
thoughts, their work, their affairs with men, every love and hate and pleasure,
was shared and communicated. They had created a psychological relationship
which impressed everyone who knew them. He had never felt the need for such a
relationship, but now, conscious he was riding toward the Horta guns—and this
time the Horta were prepared—he knew he was more alone than any human should
be.
.
The raid had been Roseka's idea. She had been determined to contact the Horta
since the moment the changing colors on the Sordini's forehead had first told
them what the Horta were.
"They do things to your mind," the
Sordini said. "Once they've had time to work on you, you do what they
want." "Telepathsl" Veneleo whispered.
Roseka
gasped. She was a psychologist and no group of humans had ever encountered a
telepathic race. Most psychologists had come to believe telepathy was
impossible. In all the records of all the thousands of races mankind had
contacted, there was no evidence that any being in the galaxy had ever
encountered a telepath.
"What
do they doF" Roseka asked. "What do they do
to your mind?"
Veneleo
bent over his machine and tapped out her question on the keyboard. On top of
the machine a yellow and green light flickered and changed shade while the
Sordini watched it intently. The Sordini were amphibians who spent most of
their time under water and communicated by modulating the color of a fleshy
organ in their forehead. Veneleo had established communication with them by
first teaching them a simple color language which had been developed by the contact
experts of the human community; once the amphibians had learned the simple
language, it had taken him less than a day to learn the Sordini language.
"We
don't know what they do," the Sordini signaled. "Some of us have felt
their touch and escaped, but no one has felt them long enough to learn what
they do."
"How long does it take
them?" Roseka asked.
"We think it takes
several minutes."
"Are they spreading
their influence?" Jenorden asked.
"Yes.
We try to fight them, but they send our own people against us. Until you came, it
was hopeless."
"Macrella's
theory," Roseka said.
"Which theory is
Macrella's?" Jenorden asked.
"Macrella thought telepathy would tend
to cause paranoia. If it were a mutation, if some race acquired it suddenly,
after they'd always been able to think and feel in private, Macrella
demonstrated the most likely reaction was hate. The telepath would have other
people's emotions pouring into his psyche and most of the emotions would be
repulsive to him. In many cases they'd be emotions the. telepath
had driven into his unconscious. He'd have to try to make the other mind
repress them, too. A telepath would probably have a compulsion to dominate
every mind around him, to make every mind have feelings he could
tolerate."
"That
could even drive them off their own world," Jenorden said. "They
couldn't live with each other."
"Possibly. It sounds logical."
"It sounds
terrible," Elinee said.
"It's
the most exciting thing we've run into," Roseka said. "This could
revolutionize every culture in the galaxy. The Horta have a tool which could
solve every psychological mystery."
Veneleo
smiled. "All we have to do is talk them into cooperating."
Jenorden pointed at the Sordini. The
amphibian's forehead was pulsing like a beacon.
"What's he
saying?" Roseka asked.
Veneleo
studied the swiftly changing colors. The message went on for a long time.
"He wants us to help them. He's asking us to fight the Horta. He thinks
we've got the equipment to do it."
"You sound like you think we
don't," Roseka said.
"You
know what kind of weapons we've got. Even if they weren't telepaths, it would
be foolish. We're armed for self-defense."
"I'm
thinking about hitting them fast and taking one prisoner. We could study it
and we might learn how to reach them. They're insane but that doesn't mean
they're beyond help."
"What
makes you think we can get that close without becoming slaves?"
"He
said it takes them a few minutes to get control. If we hit them by surprise and
work fast, we may be able to do it."
"And what if we
fail?"
"I'm willing to take
the risk."
"I'm not."
"Then don't do it. I'm suggesting it so
everyone can think about it. Maybe the others are interested."
"What
will we do with a prisoner if we get one?" Jenorden asked. "How do
you think we can keep him from working on us?"
"We can put him in a robot vehicle and
send him out past the fifth planet. We'll keep a few million miles between our
ship and the vehicle and I'll study him a few minutes at a time."
"You'll be taking some
terrible risks, Roseka."
"I
know it's dangerous. I wouldn't do it for anything that wasn't this
important."
"They're destroying the Sordini,"
Elinee said. "They're enslaving an entire race. We should do
something."
"It's none of our business,"
Veneleo said. "You'll get killed for nothing."
"It's nothing to you," Roseka said,
"but that doesn't mean it's nothing to everybody else."
They returned to their star ship and made a
reconaissance from orbit, and the argument went on. Veneleo was definitely
against it and Thelia would go wherever Roseka went, but Elinee and Jenorden
couldn't make up their minds. And Roseka felt she needed four people, three to
make the landing and one to pilot the vehicle.
Jenorden was tempted. He would have said yes
right away if he hadn't been afraid. When he lay with Roseka that night, they
spent hours discussing his emotions and only a few minutes enjoying their
bodies. He was afraid to die, and he was afraid of what the Horta could do to
his mind, but he was driven by a need to experience everything a human being
could experience.
He had grown up in a time when war was as
obsolete as sickness and poverty. It had been almost a century since men had
last pointed weapons at their own kind. He was glad of that, every member of
the human community considered it mankind's greatest victory, and yet he knew
he had missed an experience which had once been a common part of human life.
Men had been warriors since they first inhabited the Earth. How could he feel
he had known the full range of human experience if he lived out his three
centuries without once going into battle?
He would probably never
have another chance like this one. Humans never had to fight advanced races,
and if they were attacked on primitive worlds they retreated as fast as they
could. Here, uniquely, was a situation in which attack could be morally
justified. The passion which had sent him to the stars was now demanding he go
with Roseka against the Horta.
All through his education, the forty-seven
years when everything you did was planned by the community so you would grow
to full human stature, he had been obsessed with the size of the universe. He
had grown up knowing the galaxy was inhabited by thousands of races, each one
unique and with a history and culture as complicated as the history and culture
of mankind. Every year since his twelfth birthday ships had returned from the
stars with news of inhabited worlds. Life flowered everywhere. A man could live
a million centuries and never know it all.
He had roamed the stars for
eight years now and he knew his hunger could never be satisfied. He couldn't
forget all the places he had never seen, and the knowledge he hadn't learned,
and the intelligent beings he had never met. He wanted to experience the whole
universe, every star, every life, every world, and the knowledge that it was
impossible tormented every hour of his days. He could cross the Milky Way in
months and yet, when he compared the limits of his mortal consciousness to the
infinite size of the universe, he felt as confined and as angry as a prisoner
in a six foot square cell.
He had to have this. He had to know how
combat felt. It was part of life and he didn't want to miss anything.
Elinee was just as tormented. He slept with
her the next night and once again he spent most of the time talking. Her needs
were very similar to his. She, too, wanted to experience everything. She had
come on this voyage because she thought she was an artist. She thought there
was some work growing in her imagination and she was feeding whatever it was
with everything she experienced. Someday, if she was an artist, it would bloom.
She was a human being and this was the first century of the first human
civilization. No member of the human community had to work or do anything else
he didn't want to do. Every member of the human community could have anything
he wanted, including a ship which could cross the galaxy in months, simply by
asking for it. She could do as she pleased with three centuries of life.
"I'm not just afraid of death, Jenorden.
I'm afraid this will do something to me."
"We have to decide something. We've been
thinking about this for two days now. We haven't had a good moment since we got
here."
"I know. Even Veneleo's getting moody."
"I don't feel like I'm
deciding something. I feel like I'm trying to accept my fate. I know what I'm
going to do. All I'm doing now is hesitating."
"Then let's wake them up and tell them
we're going to do it."
He
stiffened. "You've decided?" "I'm as decided as I'll ever
be."
They
woke up the others. As he had expected, the news didn't start a celebration.
Veneleo looked stunned. Roseka nodded soberly and suggested they make the
attack right after breakfast.
Elinee
was still undecided. Speeding toward the island, making their second attack,
Jenorden saw the tracers passing to the right of the ship and he knew her lack
of skill wasn't the only reason she was missing. Even an inexperienced gunner
should be able to put at least one shell on a target that big. They veered to
the right and he cringed when he heard bullets clanging on the vehicle's armor.
"What's wrong?" Roseka demanded.
"What are you doing, Elinee?"
Elinee didn't answer. The horizon came
between them and the ship and she banked into another turn. In a moment they
would be heading back toward the island.
Jenorden
unbuckled his seat belt, and made his way to the front of the cabin. By now the
Horta probably had their big guns ready.
"Let me take it, Elinee."
"I'll hit it this
time."
"You don't want to hit
it."
She had answered him without looking up. Now
she raised her head, and her eyes looked so tortured they pleaded with him.
Humans could hide very little from themselves. Repressed desire, the cause of
so much mental illness, was almost a thing of the past. One sentence from
another human had made her accept the truth she had been evading.
"This
will be our last chance," he said. "It isn't your fault you aren't a
destroyer."
She turned them away from the island.
Switching on the robot pilot, she slid out of her seat.
He
sat down and strapped himself in. As soon as Elinee was safe in a passenger
seat, he turned toward the island. The ship appeared on the horizon and
something wild leaped in his psyche. The vehicle fitted him like a shell. The
cannon was a natural extension of his mind. Mankind
had abolished war, and he could roam the stars as a member of an advanced
race, but at that moment he knew men were still barbarians. His hand tightened
on the wheel.
Three puffs of smoke appeared on the ship's
back sides. He cringed, but this time his fear drove him forward. His thumb
pressed the trigger button and a shell screamed out of the cannon.
A
Horta shell exploded on his right. The wheel fought his hands as the sudden
pressure on the right wing made the vehicle bank. His arm muscles strained and
he felt the vehicle turn left and climb. For a moment he saw the sun and a big
yellow cloud. He turned his head and spied the ship over the leading edge of
the right wing. Far below, a tracer bullet shot across the waves.
He
rolled out of the climb. Pressing the trigger button in until it locked, he
drove toward the ship. The cannon growled rhythmically. More puffs appeared on
the ship's side. He couldn't see the ammunition speeding toward him, but he
knew it was there and he knew what it could do to him. Clenching his teeth,
taking pride in the strength of his will, he held the vehicle on a long incline
which ended in the middle of the ship's hull. The barbarian was all the way
out now. He was enjoying this.
A
shell rammed the base of the ship and exploded. The ship rocked and a ring of
smoke surrounded its tail. He veered away from his target, banked, and dove
again. The first shell out of the cannon exploded just above the ship's middle.
A second explosion went off next to the first and then a series of explosions hammered
the entire vessel. The ship tilted and began to fall. He climbed and dove
again, this time on a wrecked, toppling hull, and two more explosions sent the
Horta vessel crashing to the beach.
He circled the island, inspecting the
wreckage. The nose dropped and he dove again. Coming in low over the beach, he
sent two shells screaming toward the wall and climbed above the stone
buildings. When he looked back, he saw smoke drifting away from a breach in the
wall. He climbed to twenty-thousand feet, leveled off, and turned on the robot
pilot.
Elinee
came forward and took his place. He felt exhausted. As he returned to his seat,
all his taut muscles and nerves suddenly relaxed. He became aware of an ache in his jaw and he realized he had been clenching his teeth ever
since he took over the pilot's seat.
They
came in over the breakers and made a smooth landing on the beach. Elinee
turned the vehicle until the cannon pointed at the breach in the wall.
Jenorden
and the other two women stood up and started putting on their equipment. They
were all wearing the light, transparent pressure suits humans wore on alien
planets at all times; pulling the rolled collars over their heads, they zipped
themselves in. From a rack in the rear of the cabin, they each took a
mass-energy converter and a pistol and holster.
Elinee
started the airlock cycle. The inner door opened and they entered the lock and
waited for the signal to open the outer door. Jenorden drew his pistol and
Roseka and Thelia unsnapped their holsters.
They
lived in the dawn of human freedom. Masters of the star drive, citizens of a
world community so wealthy it could satisfy every material desire without human
labor, men went where they wanted and did what they pleased. They followed
their hearts and nothing else. Waiting for the signal, he stared at his gun and
wondered why he should have the bad luck to be the slave of a heart which
needed more than life could possibly give it, a heart which drove him from
folly to folly.
The
outer door glowed. He opened it and one by one they went down the ladder to the
beach.
II
They
spread out and started
walking toward the wall with drawn guns. The waves thundered on the beach and
the ocean and the sky seemed immense.
Elinee
turned the vehicle around and took off over the ocean. She would circle at
thirty-thousand feet and return when they called her.
They
were beautiful people and they walked with the grace of creatures who have perfect control of their bodies. There were no
awkward, ugly humans anymore. Roseka was blonde and voluptuous, with a rolling
stride which made men feel with their eyes the soft flesh of her body, and
Thelia was a slender girl with long black hair and an oval face. They would be
as youthful and healthy as they were now until the moment they died.
"You
really messed things up," Roseka said. "They should be stunned."
Jenorden
kept his left hand near his belt. The third button on the left activated a
force shield which repelled all missiles weighing less than six ounces and
moving at less than eighteen hundred feet per second. The shield had to be
used sparingly, only when needed, because it used up so much energy the
converter on his back could only keep it activated for a few minutes.
Their
pistols used the same mechanism as the cannon on the nose of their vehicle. A
unit of energy from the converter moved a piston which propelled the bullet.
Various weapons had been designed for self defense on alien worlds and this
system had proved to be the best. Radiation weapons were too dangerous to the
user, and weapons which used an explosion to propel a bullet were hard to adopt to atmospheres with varying percentages of oxygen. The
system was ideal for self-defense, which was all it had been designed for, but
Jenorden knew they would probably be outgunned when they clashed with the
Horta.
The
ocean and the beach reminded him of all the pleasures he had enjoyed on Earth.
If this were Earth, he could take off his suit and feel the air and the sun on
his flesh. He could even bathe in the ocean. Earth was a garden. Every place on
it was a source of pleasure. There were forests and mountains and pretty little
places where you drank wine next to carefully arranged scenery. He had gone on
parties which lasted for weeks and which circled the world several times,
dining at the North Pole, singing and playing instruments in African jungles,
dancing on top of Mount Everest, riding camels over deserts. . . .
For
eight years he had spent every minute of his life in the artificial atmosphere
of a suit or the artificial atmosphere of the ship. For eight years he had
lived without the tang and variety of natural air, air which could he hot and
cold, dense and thin, and without the water of the ocean, and rain, and without
those wonderful days when two and three hundred thousand members of his
species gathered in one place for the joy of being human together. He had been
separated from everything he loved, and now he was risking all of it for an
experience men had once tried to avoid.
"What
are you feeling?" Roseka asked. "Do you notice anything strange?
"I'm
thinking about Earth," Jenorden said. "I think I'm getting
homesick."
"How
about you, Thelia?"
"Just apprehension. I expected that. What are you feeling?"
"I
feel very calm. I haven't felt this calm in months. I think you'd better watch
me, both of you. I don't like it. Are you still thinking about Earth,
Jenorden?"
"We've
been away a long time, haven't we? If we die, well never . . ."
He
stopped. He choked and then he threw up his hands as if he were warding off a
blow.
"What's
the matter?" Roseka said. "Keep talking. Keep talking."
He
was looking at the universe. He was standing on the edge of space and the
galaxies were turning before him. The whole creation had suddenly appeared in
his mind. Stars burst into flame and flickered out. Millions of intelligent
life forms struggled to survive, built star ships, wandered and fought and
created, and died, and were as if they had never existed. It was more than consciousness
could bear. He cringed in terror. Before the juggernaut, the universe rolling
through time, he was nothing. His entire life would only be an instant. Already
the cold was creeping through his veins.
"What is it,
Jenorden?"
He couldn't answer. His arms dangled at his
sides, the gun completely forgotten. He had seen this vision before, but never
so intensely. He knew what it meant to be mortal. He was moving toward death,
and death negated everything an intelligent being could achieve. He was dying.
Everything was dying. He had been dying since the moment he took root in the
womb.
A white head rose above the wall. Roseka
screamed and both women turned on the white, strangely formless shape and
brought their pistols up to eye level. Hate twisted their faces.
Activating
his shield, he stood there and watched them shoot. Three more shapes appeared
at the far end of the wall and he watched as they aimed their rifles. He knew
he should protect the women, who were still firing at the lone Horta in front of
them, but he was paralyzed by the vision of his own futility. He felt as if he
were already dead. He was a stiff, ghostly spectator at a drama which had no
effect on his emotions.
Three
Horta rifles cracked at once. Thelia spun and her pistol flew from her hand and
dangled from the wires which attached it to her converter. He watched her
crumple, the first violent death he had ever witnessed, and his shoulders
drooped.
Roseka
screamed and turned on the three Horta without activating her shield. She was outgunned
but she was trying to fight without protecting herself. She has to die sometime. Life is painful.
Death is the absence of pain. Death is just
like sleep.
He
felt the alien mind flicker in his consciousness and he understood what was
happening. The Horta had found his weakness seconds after he landed on the
island. They had detected his underlying sense of futility and they were using
it to paralyze him.
He
stared at Thelia's body. That is death. That is what you are becoming. That is the goal of your life.
The
Horta were the loveliest music he had ever heard. They sang to him from the
deepest regions of his psyche. He felt as peaceful and sleepy as he had the
month he had slept every night in a yacht in the middle of the South Atlantic.
He closed his eyes and yawned.
More
Horta appeared on the wall. Roseka turned on them, screaming every time she
fired, and they all took aim. She still didn't have her shield on.
Two
Horta slid behind the wall with mangled heads. The carnage was disgusting.
Roseka was a killer, too. They were only defending themselves and look what she
was doing to them. She had come here to capture an intelligent being and
experiment with it as if it were some kind of laboratory animal. This
was an immoral, foolish expedition and she had talked them into it. She
deserved to die.
His
muscles quivered as if they were struggling against chains. The Horta had found
his weakness. His personality had been shaped by forty-seven years of
education designed to create a conscience which would make him fit to control
the immense powers of his species. In spite of everything they were doing to
him, a segment of his personality knew he couldn't let another human being die.
They had hit him by surprise, before he even knew he was being attacked, but
now that tiny, warTing
segment was trying to
marshal psychological forces which would liberate him from the Horta.
Visions
of the pleasant world of Earth floated in his consciousness. He swam and danced
and hiked. He kissed a slender young redhead—he was only seventeen—in the
lovely waterfront streets of a city where great unmanned ships came up the
river from the ocean. He listened to a hundred thousand voices sing a hymn to
Earth composed by a great musician who had been a founder of the human community.
Memories crowded through his skull until he was so enraptured he could hardly
see the battle going on in front of him.
A
bullet kicked up the dust at Roseka's feet. The Horta were bad shots but they
exposed themselves to Roseka's fire as if they didn't know what death was.
They're
undefeatable. They can't be beaten.
Again
he detected an alien thought. They were using every psychological persuasion
possible—you can't win, the enemy is undefeatable, your side is in the wrong,
the fight isn't worth it, go home and have a good time.
Earth
sang in his brain. He knew what they were doing, but the knowledge wasn't
enough. He was still chained. He still didn't have the weapon to fight them.
Perhaps there wasn't any weapon. Perhaps he should lie on the sand and enjoy
his dying moments dreaming about Earth. The Horta couldn't be fought. Roseka
was going to die, and after that his shield would use up all the energy in his
converter, and he would lie there unprotected while the Horta filled him with
bullets. If he did with his brain full of dreams, he wouldn't even know they
were killing him.
He would never see his own
lovely world. He would never breathe natural air. He would never again
experience the happiness of living in unity with the members of his own race.
The
sudden attack jolted him so hard he doubled over. The rush of emotion nauseated
him. The unconquered, struggling portion of his ego had seized its first opportunity.
The Horta had been using his memories of Earth to paralyze him with a longing
which made him unable to risk his life. Now that little piece of human will
took his natural desire to live and used the memories evoked by the Horta to
intensify it. Two sets of emotions clashed in his psyche.
He
opened his mouth and one foot shuffled forward. Leaning into a frozen half
step, he stood there and strangled on what he wanted to say.
"Elinee
. . . land."
His
radio was on and his mike was attached to his throat. His voice sounded strange
and choked, but he knew she could hear him.
"Ro . . . se . . . ka
. . ."
A
bullet knocked Roseka's legs out from under her. She screamed and fell on her
face and as soon as she hit the sand she raised her head and started shooting.
Her anger was stronger than her pain. Two Horta fell away from the wall without
a sound of pain.
Her
suit had automatically sealed the bullet hole, protecting her from alien
bacteria, but he could see the blood spurting from her wound. The bullet had
punctured an artery. Even if they didn't wound her again, she would bleed to
death in a few minutes.
He
stared at her wound. The Horta visions were powerful and confusing. Only by
looking at her blood could he remain aware she was hurt and dying and needed
his help.
He
was on Earth. He was home. He was standing on a beach and a girl was waiting
for him in the breakers. When he entered the water, he would taste the salt on
his bare lips.
A
fountain of blood spurted through his vision. He stared at the blood, at the
wound, at another member of his own species, and he took a full step forward. A
bullet cracked on his shield. He moved clumsily, like some monster created by a
blundering genetics engineer. He had to fight his own emotions all the way. He
wanted to look at the sky and the ocean—this is Earth, lie down, lie down—but
he had to look at her wound. He would bleed like that, too. Her blood and his
blood were the same color and the same chemistry. When they shot their final
volley, he would bleed like that from half a dozen holes at once.
He
stopped. It was like walking in a three-g gravity field. His legs felt numb. He
wanted to lie down and rest and let the Horta sing him to his death. Staring at
Roseka's wound, he raised his hand and yawned. He couldn't move.
He
gathered what little drive he had. Dropping to his knees, he threw himself
forward.
His
hand found her waist. When he raised his eyes, she was still screaming and
shooting. He pushed in the button and a bullet ricocheted off her shield.
Something
was roaring in the sky. He twisted his head and saw Elinee skim across the
waves and land on the beach.
"Look
. . . out . . . get us off. . . ."
"What's
wrong, Jenorden?"
"In
. . . our mind . . . careful . . ."
"Can
you walk to the airlock?"
"Roseka
. . . shot . . ."
"Thelial
Is Thelia dead?"
".
. . ahhhhh . . ."
"Hold
on!"
Her
voice cracked. As the vehicle rolled up the beach, the sobs in his earphones
were louder than the roar of the engines.
Waves
of apathy and bleakness rolled through his mind. Life was pain without a
purpose. He was tired of feeling. Emotion was a torment. He could sink, he was sinking, into a peace as soft and gentle as the
ocean. This is the peace of the Horta. Take the gift of the Horta.
The
vehicle stopped between him and the wall. "Can you move her?" Elinee
asked.
"Help . . . me. . . ."
"Why did we do this? Roseka, what are
you doing?" Roseka was shooting at the Horta through the space between
the sand and the bottom of the vehicle. She had stopped screaming, but the muscles
of her face were frozen in the same expression of intense hate they had assumed
when the Horta first appeared on the wall. Jenorden pushed her waist, unlocking
his paralysis that much, and suddenly she wiggled forward, under the vehicle,
and crawled toward the wall.
"Stop her, Jenorden!" ". . . peace . . ." "I can feel them!"
Blackness
was creeping through his bones. His legs were growing stiff. He could feel the
cells of his brain shutting off. It was like falling asleep. He knew Roseka had
been shooting so much her shield was almost ready to collapse, leaving her
unarmed and unprotected, but he could hardly keep his eyes open.
A
spasm shook his entire body. His fingers clawed the sand. He looked at Thelia's
body and he knew what it meant to die.
The
Horta had gone too far. They had brought him so close to death even his numbed,
exhausted mind had to feel the terror of non-existence. At the edge of
extinction, he recoiled.
He
put his hands under his shoulders and lifted himself to his knees. His muscles
trembled as he pushed against the weight of his despair. A hail of bullets
rattled on his shield. The Horta struggled to retain control, but they had provoked
an emotion so powerful it couldn't be restrained. He stared at Roseka with the
dumb, brutal eyes of an intelligent being who has lost
every feeling but the need to live.
"Jenorden,
they're inside my mind!"
He
grunted. One human urge remained from all those years of education. He couldn't
leave Roseka. She was human.
He stood up and shuffled around the vehicle.
The Horta could still slow him down, but they had aroused something so basic it
would take them a long time to dominate it. He didn't want to be dead like
Thelia. He would kill every living thing on this planet before he would let
them kill him.
Roseka's shield collapsed just before he stepped in front of her. Putting his foot on her hand, he
crushed her fingers until she released the gun. She looked up, snarling like an
animal, and he bent down and grabbed her shoulders. "Kill them! Kill them!
Kill them!"
He
hit her in the jaw with the edge of his palm. Keeping his shield between her
and the Horta rifles, he picked her up and carried her toward the vehicle. The
bone had cut through her leg but the important thing right now was speed. The
ship's hospital could repair any damage he was doing. Already he could feel the
Horta eroding his drive. They had discovered the sensitive human was revolted
by this upsurge of the animal, and they were bringing the sensitive human back
to power. They could be surprised, but they weren't stupid.
"Open
the airlock, Elinee!" "They're getting me." "Open it!"
He had never heard a human voice growl like
that. The sound would have terrified him if he hadn't been driven by the animal
need which produced it.
The
airlock opened. He lifted Roseka and shoved her through the door. The ladder
came up and he went up it in one motion, pushing the button which closed the
door at the same time he stepped over Roseka.
''Go!"
>
"I
can't," Elinee moaned.
The
outer door closed behind him and he immediately pushed the button which
unlocked the inner door. He didn't have time to unsuit and go through the
sterilizing process. The cabin was already infected with something worse than
disease.
Elinee was staring out the front window. She
was humming to herself and her fingers were scratching the control panel.
She didn't resist him when he unstrapped her
and pulled her out of the seat. He pushed her into a passenger chair, fastening
the belt for her, and she stared at him with eyes which reflected the struggle
going on in her mind.
He
slid behind the controls. The Horta were singing about Earth again. He was
leaving Earth, not an island on a planet sixty-thousand light years from Earth. He was leaving peace and fresh
air and forests where people could hike for weeks in perfect solitude.
He
fastened his seat belt and turned the vehicle toward the ocean. When the
landing gear finally ~left the beach, he was crying.
Ill
He
turned on the robot pilot
and returned to the airlock. Roseka was moaning in pain. She had recovered from
whatever madness the Horta had given her, but she was still incoherent. He
gave her first aid, applying a tourniquet and splinting her leg, and shot an
anaesthetic drug into her thigh.
When
they reached the star ship, he and Veneleo put her in the hospital and the
hospital immediately sent her into therapeutic shock and began repairing the
damage. In a few days her body would be exactly as it had been. Everywhere the
members of the human community traveled, the best of their medical techniques
traveled with them.
Healing
the mind was a different matter. As soon as Roseka was settled in the hospital,
the three who were physically unharmed retired to their quarters.
Jenorden
felt drained of all emotion. When he slumped into his arm chair, he pressed the
emergency therapy button only because he had been trained to, not because he
cared what happened to him.
"What happened?"
a voice asked.
"We landed on the
island."
rwhyr
"How should I
know?"
A
moment passed while his answer was analyzed by the computer which occupied half
the ship's volume. Impulses flowed along circuits, choices were made according
to a program designed by the best therapists in the community, and again the
voice asked a question.
"Why do you think you
don't know?"
Something
hissed in a corner of the room. Sniffing the air, he realized the computer had
released a psycho-active gas.
He
must sound pretty recalcitrant. It didn't matter. He was too tired to care.
His
limbs relaxed. He closed his eyes and for the next hour the computer asked him
questions which made him examine his emotions. The process wasn't as efficient
as analysis with a human therapist, but Roseka wasn't available, and in the end
it did the same job. The goal was complete self-awareness. All repressed
emotions had to be brought to consciousness. Every human subjected his
emotions to this kind of objective questioning at least once a week.
"Is this
helping?" the machine asked.
"Some. It can't help
much."
"Why not?"
"I'm
not hiding from anything. I can't. I want to but I can't. I've seen what death
is. This is what I've been fighting all my life and now it's more real than
it's ever been. Therapy can keep me from running away from it, but it can't
tell me what the answer is."
"No more
questions."
He
sat there a few minutes longer and then he got up and took his musical
instrument off the wall. That session had been necessary for his health, but it
had added nothing to his happiness. Someday, somewhere in the universe, before
his despair paralyzed him and turned him into a walking dead man, he had to
find an answer to what the Horta had taught him. As he carried his instrument
to the common area, he felt the heavy weight on his shoulders, and the
weariness in his limbs, and he knew that moment of living death was only a few
years away.
Music
was as much a part of human communication as speech. Every human played at
least one instrument, and most played several. He played only one, the third
instrument in the modem violin family, an instrument with a range higher than
the old violoncello, but lower than the old viola. He had fallen in love with
its somber, lyrical voice when he was a boy of eleven, and fifty years of
playing had only made him love it more.
When
he reached the common, Veneleo and Elinee were already playing a duet. Behind
them, as the ship accelerated away from the sun, the stars were marching
across a tall window. They were both playing the second instrument in the
violin family, a significant choice for Veneleo, who usually played the flute
or the trumpet.
He
sat down. Vaneleo and Elinee had begun a coda and were working their way toward
a climax. They were good improvisers, and he wasn't, so they usually let him
choose the basic piece. He waited until the duet faded out in a climax of
understated grief, and then he began a long, quiet solo from a sonata a friend
of his had written many years before, when they were both hopelessly in love
with a great beauty. The music used all the power of the instrument's middle
range, and he played it with the passion of an artist who has such control of
his medium he can forget his hands and his tools and let his emotions run wild.
There
were no words. There never would be words. Thelia was dead. Roseka was hurt.
Jenorden had seen too much.
The ship accelerated beyond the speed of
light. Shutters automatically slid across the windows, blocking out the
strange, milky whiteness few humans could tolerate for long. Hours passed as
they streaked across the light years toward a new sun. Inside the ship, the
music shook and groaned and soared. Jenorden played as if he wanted to fill the
universe with sound.
They
approached a star four light years from the system they had just left and the
ship decelerated below the speed of light. Taking over the controls, Veneleo
put them in an orbit around the new star, and told the computer to open the
dome over the common.
The shutters slid back. Sunlight exactly like
the sunlight of home flooded the big room. The ship was now a small planet in
an orbit calculated to give them the same heat and light they would have
enjoyed on Earth.
Elinee arranged some furniture around the
pool and Veneleo and Jenorden brought trees and flowers from the hydroponics
farm. None of them said much. They all knew what they needed. They lay in the
sun, and they napped, they swam, and whenever their feelings got too painful
for comfort, they picked up their instruments and turned their grief into
music.
Roseka returned to consciousness on the
second day. The
hospital let
them visit her for half an hour. When she asked about Thelia, they all
hesitated. She burst into sobs before they could tell her, and the hospital
immediately put her to sleep.
The
hospital kept her unconscious for three more days. The next time they saw her,
she was standing in the door of the common room. She started to talk, and then
she shook her head and ran to her quarters.
That
night, and for the next week, she slept with Veneleo. She had always insisted
they change sex partners frequently, to avoid the troubles caused by strong
attachments in a small group, but they all knew Veneleo was the kind of man she
needed at this moment. Veneleo was gay and comforting and sympathetic. Jenorden
gave women pleasure and excitement, but he had never yet given one rest.
Soon
there were four of them lounging around the swimming pool. For once even
Jenorden didn't want to move on. Another week passed before he and Roseka
discussed what had happened on the island.
As
he had guessed, the Horta had simply aroused her hatred. She was very ashamed
of this. She had made love the central theme of her life, and she had trouble,
though it was necessary therapy, admitting she was a person with many strong
dislikes.
"They went right into me," she
said. "They flooded me with hate. I wanted to kill them so bad I couldn't
think."
"I didn't think they'd be so fast,"
Jenorden said.
"They
found your weakness and mine in less than a minute."
"I think they did some permanent damage,
Roseka." "It's too early to tell."
"Don't
you think they did something permanent to you?" "Please."
"You
have to talk about it. You may as well talk about it with somebody who was
there."
She
was responsible for their psychic health, but they were all collectively
responsible for hers. Now she did something he had seen her do before when he
was acting as her therapist and she had to say something difficult; she looked
at a point in space just above his shoulder and
then she threw her head back and looked him in the eye.
"I
can't give up," she said. "I have to reach the Horta. I can't let Thelia die for nothing."
"Do you still think
it's possible?"
"I have to try."
He
put his hand on her shoulder. He wanted to comfort
her, but he didn't know how to do it.
"If
you ever go back there, Roseka, I'll have to go with you."
"If
I could leave them alone, I'd do it. I'm not sure the human race has evolved to
a point where we can face what they make us face."
"Do you have any idea
how it can be done?"
She
shook her head. "It's obvious we can't do it by force. Even if we'd taken
one prisoner, I think they showed us we couldn't have handled him. We have to
learn how to open our minds to them without being manipulated." The words
flowed out of her mouth. She had obviously been giving this a lot of thought.
"We have to learn how to manipulate them. That won't be easy, either. This
will take the best we've got. I'm going to go on educating myself, traveling
and learning just as I have
been, and when we get home, I'll set up a research project. Every advanced
race in the galaxy should be interested in this. With all that intellect to
draw on, we should be able to find a way."
She
had found her career. His own sanity, and everything
that mattered to him of his life, could depend on her success.
More
days drifted by. Little by little he felt his restlessness returning. It wasn't
as sharp as it had been before he met the Horta, but he found himself pacing
the edge of the pool and thinking about all the unexplored stars he could see
through the windows.
"Jenorden's ready to go," Elinee
said.
"How can you
tell?" Veneleo asked.
He took off his shirt and dove into the pool.
He was too tense to engage in banter. He swam the length of the pool four
times, trying to use up his extra energy, and then he climbed out and stretched
himself on a reclining chair. Five minutes after he sat down, he was pacing the
deck again.
"I think we're ready to move,"
Veneleo said. He strolled across the common to the control room.
A
few minutes later the shutters slid across the dome. Veneleo returned to the
pool and dove in without a word. No one bothered to ask where they were going.
They swam, and then ate lunch, and all the while the giant, battered sphere
accelerated past the speed of light and sped toward the nearest star.
They
were in a cluster no human had ever explored. Men had been wandering the stars
for over fifty years, and the libraries of Earth had tapes describing the
language and customs and history of thousands of worlds, but there were still
immense regions of the galaxy which had never been visited by man or by any
race known to man. They had come here because eight years of visiting planets
already known to the human community had bored them with being mere tourists.
This was far more exciting. They were surrounded by mystery. Anything could be
waiting for them out there.
The
first system they entered was a double star. As they had expected, it had no
planets. They moved on, crossing five more light years, and entered a system
with two planets, one of them a giant and one about half the size of Earth. On
the smaller planet they found the remains of a civilization which had been
totally destroyed.
The
surface radiation was so intense they had to survey the ruined world from
orbit. The continents were pitted and scarred. The ship's eight-inch telescope
brought the surface so close they were practically walking through the empty
streets of wrecked cities. To members of a race which had nearly met a similar
fate, the sight was chilling.
"Some of this reminds
me of the Horta," Jenorden said.
Roseka nodded. "I've
been thinking the same thing."
"I
think we taped some pictures of skeletons. Why don't we look them over and see
if they look like the Horta? Maybe we can prove Macrella's theory."
"That
ship the Horta had was pretty crude. Fifteen light
years from where we found them is just about where I'd expect to find their
home planet."
The
evidence of the photographs wasn't conclusive, but
Jenorden and Roseka agreed the skeletons
would fit what they had seen of the Horta.
They
moved on. As the months passed they discovered several inhabited worlds. Some
they visited, and others they decided to leave alone.
Everything
they learned was recorded in the ship's computer. Eventually all that
knowledge, more than any single mind could hope to assimilate, would be added
to the staggering load already in mankind's libraries.
Eight
months after their encounter with the Horta, they entered a system near the
center of the cluster. Veneleo gave an order and the ship began its contact
program. Tracer beams swept the system in search of planets. Messages in every
language in the computer, every language known to the human community and to
every star-faring race the community had met, went out over hundreds of beams.
All incoming radiation was analyzed by the computer for a pattern, and if it
seemed to have one the pattern was compared, in seconds, with the entire
language file. If any inhabitant of this system was broadcasting any language
known to mankind, the computer would know before they came within ten million
miles of a planet.
"Attention.
Attention. We are receiving a message from the fourth planet."
The voice caught them all by surprise. They
turned toward the wall speaker with renewed excitement.
"Star-farersl" Elinee said.
"Translation follows," the computer
said. "Welcome from the Eb. Who are you? Please reply. End of
message." "What language?" Veneleo asked. "Ungveerd."
"What
part of the galaxy?" "Sector Forty-nine."
Jenorden
made a calculation. "About five thousand light years from here."
"Describe
the race and the language," Veneleo said.
"Ungveerd. One language of a race of small, winged beings who
live in the upper atmosphere of a giant, gaseous world. A
sound language. Resembles whistling." The
computer made some low whistling sounds to illustrate. "Note: this
language is lacking in political concepts. Use as a common language with
caution."
"Send
the standard contact message," Veneleo said. "Prepare a learning
program for Ungveerd."
They
waited while the computer acknowledged the message it had received and
whistled greetings and words of friendship from the visitors and from the human
community. They all knew this could be the major discovery of their voyage.
Since the computer had detected no message in Communal, the language of the
human community, this had to be a star-faring race unknown to mankind.
"Message
sent," the computer said. "Receiving message, Translation follows.
Welcome from the Eb. Welcome from the three—next words precise translation
impossible. Some kind of political division. Continuing message. Welcome from their—next word precise
translation impossible. Citizens? Inhabitants?
Continuing message. Please excuse our linguistic
crudities. Translation to Ungveerd difficult. Will you
receive visual contact? End of message."
"Answer yes,"
Veneleo said.
Jenorden
examined a group of instruments on the left side of the front wall. Detector
beams were searching space for incoming missiles. Hatches had swung open and
cannon had slid into firing position. The Horta were the only hostile
star-farers mankind had ever encountered, and they were a special case, but in
every meeting with technologically advanced races, reasonable precautions were
taken.
The
big screen in the center of the front wall flickered. The picture danced
between sharp and blurry and then settled into focus. The four humans stood up.
Three
beings appeared on the screen. They were roughly humanoid, with two arms, two
legs, and a head which looked like it housed a brain and sense organs, but they
were covered with thick fur. Their eyes were several times larger than human
eyes, and they had small horns growing from their skulls. Two were covered with
shiny brown fur, and one was white with black and white horns.
The
brown Eb on the left touched his horns and said something in his own language.
As he spoke, the computer provided a translation on a luminated strip under
the screen.
"I am Nolten, Mentob of the Togme of
Bel. Please call me Nolten."
That
was the standard formula used by all star-faring people. A being gave his full
name and title and then suggested a single name for the convenience of the
aliens.
Question
marks on the strip indicated the computer could not translate Mentob or Togme.
The greetings of the other two Eb gave it a similar trouble. "I am
Enrarkal," the second brown Eb said, "of the (nation? republic? democracy?) of Kroon. Please call me Enrarkal." "I am Emcasa
Mefala," the white one said, "of the (union? country?
federation?) of Em-canes.
Please call me Emcasa."
Veneleo
bowed. "I am Veneleo Lenn, citizen of the human community. Please call me
Veneleo."
One
by one the other humans bowed and introduced themselves.
"Why do you come
here?" Emcasa asked.
"To
visit," Veneleo said. "To learn. To exchange knowledge with you, if you will. We are
peaceful explorers. We will stay only if invited."
"Your ship is heavily
armed."
"Only for defense. The weapons on this ship have never been used against any living
creature. We will run before we will fight."
"We
have powerful weapons," Nolten said. "If you attack us, we'll destroy
you."
"He's making a
threat!" Roseka said.
Jenorden
glanced at the weapon board. From a star-faring race, threats, even defensive
threats, were dangerously primitive behavior.
And
the threats weren't the only evidence they had encountered something
dangerous. If the computer had translated correctly, the Eb were still divided
into political groups, something unheard of in a race which had advanced to
interstellar travel. His stomach turned cold when he thought of a race
equipped with the powerful technology faster than light travel required, and so
savage it was still divided against itself.
"They
aren't attacking," he said. "Keep up the diplomacy. I'll let you know
if anything happens." He and Roseka both had their throat mikes off, so
the computer wouldn't translate what they said.
"We
will stay only if invited," Veneleo repeated. "You may take any
precautions you wish."
"What
did the others say?" Nolten asked. "Why wasn't that translated? I
tell you we have weapons which can destroy planets. If we die, you'll die with
us."
"Another threat,"
Elinee whispered.
"We
are happy to meet such a powerful race," Veneleo said. "We wish to
know you better. Tell us how we can satisfy your suspicions."
"You can't," Emcasa said.
"Don't listen to him. All his people know is—"
"Silence!" Nolten said.
The
screen blanked. Shocked by the same idea, the four humans stared at each other
and then at the weapon board. "They can't be star-farers," Roseka
said. "By now they would have blown themselves to bits."
"What do we do?"
Veneleo asked. "Run or wait?"
For
a moment no one spoke. They stared at the weapon board and thought the
situation over, their powerful, disciplined brains examining every
ramification before they made a decision.
"Wait," Jenorden
said.
The other three nodded, one
after the other.
The
screen flickered. They watched it, Jenorden keeping one eye on the weapon
board, and again it jiggled into focus.
The
being who appeared on the screen was not an Eb. Neither was he humanoid. He had
a lumpy body, with eyes, or something which looked like eyes, growing from it
on top of long stalks; he had no hands, and, in fact, apparently had no
grasping organs of any kind, and he stood on three legs. A striped skirt hung
from his body to just above his knees. As soon as the screen came into focus,
he bent his knees and spoke in a high, fast voice, the sound coming from a part
of his body they couldn't see. Again a translation appeared on a ruminated
strip.
"I am Revliken Ziv, of the race of the
Ivel, the Servants of the Borg. Please call me Revliken."
The humans were startled, but they went
through the formula with their usual politeness and waited for the new being
to continue.
"I am happy to meet
you," Revliken said.
"Can you tell us
what's happening?" Veneleo asked.
"This
station on the fourth planet of this system belongs to the Borg. It was put
here so the Borg could (announce? advertise? offer?) themselves to all
visitors. However, since this is the system of the Eb, and since three Eb were
present on this planet, I asked them to greet you. They have now asked me to
greet you for them."
"Are the Eb a
star-faring race?"
"The
Eb are on the verge of travel within their own system.
The group called the (nation? republic? democracy?) of Kroon—I think the
translation will be crude, but I assure you it doesn't matter—that group
recently orbited the Eb planet."
"Then your people are
the star-farers?"
"The Ivel are the
servants of the Borg."
"Who are the Borg?"
"The
Borg inhabit a world in this cluster of stars. They
invite all people to visit them. They will teach you anything you wish to know.
Whatever your question, the Borg will answer it. My people travel the stars
inviting every race to learn from the Borg. We build stations such as this one
to inform all travelers of the existence of the Borg. I am about to take three
representatives of the Eb to the world of the Borg. One of them, Emcasa Mefala,
wants to learn how his race can avoid a world destroying war."
"The Borg will teach
him that?"
"If the student wants to learn, the Borg
will teach him anything."
Jenorden
was shocked. He glanced at Roseka and Elinee and their faces told him they were
just as shocked. Only Veneleo, because he was engaged in diplomacy, accepted
the Ivel's words with a calm face.
Jenorden
turned on his microphone. "Are you telling us you give advanced knowledge
to primitives?"
"We
are going to teach them how to make peace with themselves."
"Then
you're going to teach them advanced social techniques!" The idea was so
horrifying he had completely forgotten his manners. "That's worse than
teaching them advanced technology."
"The
Borg are teachers. All who wish to learn,
may learn from the Borg."
"This
disturbs us," Veneleo said. "Our race nearly died during a period of
four hundred years in which new ideas and new technology were introduced faster
than our society could adjust to them."
"Anyone
may visit the Borg. I invite you to join the Eb and all the other people who
are learning from the Borg."
"Why do the Borg do this?" Jenorden asked.
"The Borg will answer
all questions."
"Can't you answer that
one yourself?"
"The
Borg have much to offer. Whatever troubles you, the
Borg can help you. The Borg are the teachers. The Ivel
are the servants of the Borg."
"But don't you know what advanced
knowledge could do to a race like the Eb? How can you know how some piece of
knowledge will affect a whole culture?"
"The
Borg will answer all questions. Anything you wish to leam, come to the Borg,
and the Borg will teach you."
"Where is this
world?" Roseka asked.
"Tell me your system
for giving directions in space."
"We'd
better discuss this," Jenorden said. "Why don't we call him
back?"
Veneleo
glanced from face to face and took the consensus of the group. "Revliken,
we want to discuss this. We'll call you back."
"I will wait for your call."
Veneleo turned off the transmission. They
returned to their seats and spent several minutes thinking.
"I don't like it," Jenorden said.
"The Eb can't even greet us without getting into a fight, and yet the Borg
seem to think they can give them advanced knowledge
without destroying them."
"I think we should visit the Borg,"
Roseka said. "If they can teach us something, we ought to learn it."
"But why would any race go to all this
trouble?"
No
one answered him. They were used to strange behavior and strange motivations,
but this was something so alien they couldn't even speculate about it.
rv
They
didn't like feeling
suspicious. The emotion was so primitive it made them feel ashamed. But this
was one encounter with an advanced race in which suspicion couldn't be
dispelled. Any race which seemed to be tampering with the affairs of other
cultures had to be approached with caution.
They had been discussing the situation for
half an hour, when the computer announced they were receiving a broadcast from
the fourth planet. Elinee switched on the screen and they saw the white Eb,
Emcasa, standing by himself.
He
started talking before they had time to bow. The words sped along the
illuminated strip so fast they had trouble keeping up with them.
"I'm
embarrassed by what happened. I know you must think we're savages but don't
think all Eb are like Nolten. The Togme of Bel and the (republic? democracy?
nation?) of Kroon are going to destroy the world if they aren't stopped. For
the last twenty years they've been engaged in an arms race. They've developed
terrible bombs and they're heading toward a war which will destroy us. The Borg
are our only hope. The other two are going only
because they're afraid the Borg will give us a new weapon. If they hadn't been
allowed to come, the war would have started already. They threatened to
destroy us if we didn't let them come."
They listened with blank faces and increasing
horror. The situation on the Eb world was even worse than they had suspected.
If it was really that bad, everything they said had to be preceded by careful
thinking. Every word they spoke would be examined and pondered by the rival Eb
factions. A few words from them which gave a wrong impression or accidentally
revealed some minor bit of information could upset the delicate balance of
power and trigger a catastrophe.
"We do not think you're savages,"
Roseka said.
"You're
being kind, but I thank you. I hope I will see you on the Borg world. Now I
have to—"
Somewhere
behind Emcasa an Eb voice shouted. Nolten charged onto the screen and Emcasa
whirled to meet him. They faced each other with their heads lowered and their
horns pointed forward, a gesture which probably went back to the beginning of
their race's history, and then Nolten put his hand in his fur and jerked out a
two-pronged object which was undoubtedly a weapon.
"What's going on
here?" Nolten demanded.
Emcasa
stepped back. His head dropped even lower, pointing his horns at Nolten's
stomach. The humans glanced at each other. Jenorden got a vivid picture of
those sharp little horns stabbing upward into the belly of an enemy.
"I ought to kill you
right here," Nolten said.
A
door opened and shut and Revliken hopped into the camera's field of vision.
"Stop him!" Emcasa said. "He's trying to kill me."
Revliken
halted and faced the camera. His eye stalks moved slowly from Nolten to Emcasa.
"Take his
weapon," Emcasa urged. "Hurry!"
"He
was violating the treaty," Nolten said. "He was talking to the humans
in secret. For all I know, he's already learned how to destroy us."
"You suspicious primitive! Why would they teach me anything? Can't you
see how advanced they are? To them we're like children."
"We must return home at once,"
Nolten said. "You have broken the treaty. Revliken, you must return us to
our planet."
Emcasa
turned on Revliken and gestured with both his hands. "He's been against
this journey from the start. His people want me to fail."
"I insist we return," Nolten said.
Revliken bent his knees. "I will return
you at once."
"You
can't," Emcasa said. "You're our last hope. We're doomed. You can't
let us die."
"Do you wish to return, Emcasa?"
Revliken asked.
"Didn't you hear what I just said?"
"Do you wish to return, Emcasa?"
"No!"
Revliken bent his knees.
"We will do what you wish."
"You just said you'd
take us back," Nolten said.
"If
you wish to go on, we will take you to the Borg. If you wish to return to your
own world, we will return you."
"What about Emcasa?"
"We will do what he
wishes."
"If he doesn't return
with me, I'll kill him."
"He'll do it,"
Emcasa said. "Disarm him! Hurry!"
Revliken
didn't answer. His lumpy body was as motionless as a rock.
"What
are you waiting for?" Emcasa said. "What's wrong with you?"
"We cannot
interfere," Revliken said.
Jenorden switched off his throat mike.
"He can't interfere! What does he think he's doing?"
"Are you coming?"
Nolten repeated.
"What's wrong with you?" Emcasa
said. "You're destroying our last hope. You're dooming our entire
race."
Again
a door opened and shut off-screen. Enrarkal strode into the picture and his big
Eb eyes passed slowly from the Ivel to the other two Eb and then to the humans.
"He
was talking to the humans," Nolten said. "I caught him while he was
doing it. He's violated the treaty."
"I
see." Enrarkal gestured at the camera with his horns. "Have you asked
the humans if they told him anything?"
"It doesn't matter.
We're returning home."
"Emcasa has
agreed?"
"If he doesn't go,
I'll kill him."
"The Togme will be proud of you."
Enrarkal touched homs at the humans. "Has Nolten
asked you what happened?"
"Emcasa
called us to apologize," Roseka said. "He told us about the situation
on your world, and when he said we must think you're savages, I told him we
don't. That's all any of us said to him."
"Do you still think we aren't
savages?"
"Yes."
Enrarkal turned to Nolten. "Is there a
record of the conversation?"
"He's violated the treaty," Nolten
said. "We must return home."
"Revliken,"
Enrarkal asked, "is there a record
of the conversation?"
"All broadcasts are automatically
recorded."
Enrarkal
turned to the humans. "I think we should discuss this without an
audience." He touched horns and the picture faded and disappeared.
For
a moment no one could speak. Their race, too, had once been divided into rival
factions engaged in an arms race which could have ended in extermination. The
Eb were at the beginning of a long time of troubles and no one could promise
them they were going to survive.
"Revliken
is just like a computer," Roseka said. "He only tells what he's
asked. Emcasa could have died just because he didn't ask the right
questions."
"After
that scene," Jenorden said, "the Borg had better have proof they know
what they're doing. The Eb can't even handle the knowledge they have, much less
the kind of knowledge they're trying to get from the Borg."
They
sat down in their swivel chairs. None of them looked comfortable. Their eyes
kept glancing from the screen to the clock.
"This
obligates us," Roseka said. "We have to investigate the Borg. I won't
judge them in advance, and I don't see how any technologically advanced race
could be that stupid, but judging by what we've just seen, the Borg could be a
menace to every race in the galaxy."
An
hour passed. One by one, they drifted out of the control room. They were
worried but they were too alive not to grow bored waiting in front of a blank screen. Veneleo nibbled a buffet
in the dining area; Roseka studied some of her observations on the last planet
they had visited, and Elinee and Jenorden practiced an ancient duet they had
uncovered in the ship's musical records. All the while a small part of each brain thought about the situation on the fourth
planet and waited for news.
"Attention," the computer said.
"Attention. We are receiving a message from the fourth planet."
In a moment they were all standing in the control room.
Elinee
switched on the screen and Revliken appeared before them and bent his knees.
"We
are ready to leave," Revliken said. "Do you wish to visit the
Borg?"
"Are the Eb going with you?"
Jenorden asked.
|Tes."
"What are you going to teach them?"
"Nothing."
"What are the
Borg going to teach them?" "The Borg will teach them the answer to
their question." "Why didn't you tell Emcasa our conversation with
him had been recorded?"
"We cannot interfere," Revliken
said.
"Aren't you interfering by taking them
to the Borg?"
"We don't consider that
interference."
"Why not?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Why not?"
"You must ask the Borg."
"We've
decided to visit the Borg," Veneleo said. "Our computer is about to
broadcast our system for giving directions in space."
"Thank
you. If you can give me some information on your language and your natural
environment, we can have quarters prepared for you before you arrive."
"I'll have the computer broadcast that,
too."
Revliken bent his knees. The screen blanked
and they returned to the common. Roseka joined Veneleo at the buffet and
Jenorden and Elinee continued practicing the duet. Again the shutters slid
across the tall windows. Eating cakes and white meat, sipping delicate
beverages and struggling with the complicated patterns of a shallow but
interesting composer, they sped in minutes over distances light crossed in
years.
They strolled to the control room as soon as
the ship began to decelerate.
"Attention," the computer said.
"Attention. We are receiving a message from the fourth planet."
"What language?" Veneleo asked. "Communal."
"The Borg learn
fast," Roseka said. "Repeat the message," Veneleo ordered.
"Welcome from the Borg and from the Ivel, the servants of the Borg. Will
you accept visual transmission?" "Answer yes."
Jenorden switched on the screen. An Ivel appeared at once.
"Welcome."
The Ivel bent his knees. "I am Zilv Klenev, of the race of the Ivel, the
servants of the Borg. Please call me Zilv."
Jenorden
bowed. "I am Jenorden A'Ley, a citizen of the human community. Please call
me Jenorden."
The
others bowed and introduced themselves. "I am happy to meet you,"
Zilv said. "I will be your host and your guide as long as you are guests
of the Borg. Quarters have already been prepared for you. We hope you will find
them pleasant."
"We appreciate your courtesy,"
Venelo said.
"Thank
you. The Borg wish to give you as much of their knowledge as you desire. If you
will tell me now what your questions are, we can begin preparing a learning
program for you."
"The Borg answer all questions?"
Roseka asked. "Yes."
"How can I establish friendly relations
with the Horta?" "Who are the Horta?"
"A
race we discovered several months ago. They're tele-paths." She paused,
but Zilv said nothing, and of course there was no way they could interpret his
expression. "They use their powers to enslave other beings. When we tried
to contact them, they nearly destroyed us."
"Can
you give us a complete account of your encounter with the telepaths?"
"Certainly."
"Ill have our ship broadcast it right
away," Veneleo said.
"We
will prepare a learning program for you. Are there any other questions?"
"Is this the first time you've heard
anything about the Horta?" Jenorden asked.
"Yes."
"Then how can you teach us how to deal
with them?" "Whatever you wish to leam, the Borg will teach
you."
Veneleo grinned. "How can I live forever
and enjoy every minute of it?"
"We
will prepare a learning program for you. Are there any other questions?"
"Tell me how I can
save the Sordini," Elinee said.
"We
will prepare a learning program for you. Do you have a question, Jenorden?"
He
had expected to encounter many strange things when he had left Earth to explore
the stars, but this—this calm, almost mechanical voice promising to teach the
answer to all of life's problems—was so incomprehensible he wasn't sure it was
real. "Only one," he said. "It isn't very profound, but since
the Borg answer all questions, I'm certain they won't mind answering
mine."
"Whatever you wish to
learn, the Borg will teach you."
"Then tell me why the
Borg are doing this."
"That is what you wish
to learn?"
"This is what I wish
to learn."
"We will prepare a
learning program for you."
V
Still
cautious,
they made a reconaissance orbit of the Borg world. The planet was about half
the diameter of Earth and about five light minutes from a small sun. The
surface was an airless desert covered with large domes.
"The
domes are quarters for our guests," Zilv Klenev informed them.
"Yours is just south of the Borg dome. You'll see it in a moment. The Borg dome is the largest on the planet."
Jenorden
checked the board. The domes were at least seventy miles in diameter and a mile
high. The Borg dome, when it came over the horizon, was about three times the
diameter of the other domes. The board said it was twelve miles high. To the
naked eye it seemed to be filled with a yellow and green atmosphere.
The
covenant of the human community made it immoral to leave the ship unattended.
They could not risk having such power fall into the hands of beings who might
not be quali-
Bed to control it. Leaving Elinee to be the
first guard, they descended in two orbit-to-ground vehicles.
Zilv
Klenev met them with a few courteous words and led them across the airless,
dune-covered waste to the airlock. The surface of the dome was opaque and
unrevealing. Taking no chances, Jenorden kept his left hand close to the button
which activated his shield.
The
outer door closed behind them. They waited, prepared for anything, and the
inner door swung open. Jenorden started forward and then the hospitality of the
Borg overwhelmed his senses and he halted with one foot inside the door.
Beside him Roseka and Veneleo froze, too.
There
was a broad, swift stream, and there was a lake, and there were woods and hills
and fields. The gravity was Earth normal and the sky was Earth blue. In front
of them, on the side of a hill, there was a rambling stone house.
Jenorden
looked up. For the first time in eight years he saw white clouds sailing
majestically across the sky.
"Do
you like it?" Zilv asked. "If you want it modified, tell us."
"It's
fine," Veneleo whispered.
"You
can take your suits off if you wish. You don't have to fear disease."
Jenorden
was so overcome his hand was on his zipper before he remembered the covenant.
"We can't."
"Even
if we've overlooked something and you get a disease, we can cure you."
"It
would be immoral. We can't endanger the community. When you're dealing with
disease there are too many unknown factors."
"How long did you have to prepare this?"
Roseka asked.
"Six of your hours and
nineteen of your minutes."
Jenorden
was awed. No engineers known to mankind could equal the feat. The Borg might
well be the most powerful race in the galaxy.
That
night the scene looked more alien. The close, bright stars of the cluster
filled the sky and the Borg dome dominated the horizon. Every time they looked
out the rear windows of the house, they saw the giant yellow and green dome
just over the top of the hill. Occasionally they glimpsed titanic black shapes,
the Borg themselves.
Jenorden
spent most of die hours after dinner staring at that lurid dome and brooding
about what it meant. Even after he went to bed, he got up several times and
went to the window.
They
began their studies the next afternoon. Their classrooms, which Zilv had taken
them through as soon as they were settled, were in a one-story building on the
side of the lull. For each of them there was a room the size of an auditorium
with a big spherical screen in the center and a variety of equipment grouped
around a swivel arm chair.
A
Borg appeared in the sphere as soon as Jenorden sat down. "Welcome,
Jenorden A'Ley, citizen of the human community. Welcome. Welcome from all the
Borg."
Peering
through the thin yellow and green mist which surrounded the Borg, he could
detect no exterior organs. The black shape seemed featureless. Judging by what
he had seen the night before, the image was about a third actual size.
"Your hospitality is
overwhelming," he said.
"Thank you. We hope you profit from your
studies."
"Can you tell me how
long they'll take?"
"That question will be
answered during your program."
"Why can't you answer
it now?"
"That question, too, will be answered
during your program."
"I can't understand why you have to set
up a complete program for a question every being who comes here must ask."
"You ask a great many questions,
Jenorden."
"You present a great
many mysteries."
"We want to teach you
eveiything you wish to learn."
"Then when do you
start giving me answers?"
"Now. May you profit from your studies."
The
Borg disappeared. The lights went out and the screen darkened. In perfect
Communal, a voice began describing the beginning of the universe. Light
flickered through the black sphere. Clouds of radiant dust appeared and then
the dust condensed into stars. Hosts of galaxies wheeled before I lis eyes.
The
lecture was elementary, but it awed him even more than it had when he first
studied the subject. As the spectacle unfolded, as the planets acquired life,
and life acquired intelligence, and the first ships probed in each galaxy—and
there were more galaxies in the universe than there were stars in any
galaxy—the immensity of the drama evoked emotions so strong he sometimes
forgot he was watching a screen. He was present at the actual creation of the
cosmos.
A
single galaxy filled the screen. The focus narrowed to a small yellow star and
then to one planet. The calm, undra-matic narrator listed the planet's major
characteristics.
"Now
we will study the history of the race which inhabits this world."
Again
he was present at an awesome beginning, the birth of a world. Each stage in the
planet's geological development was pictured and described. By the end of the
second hour, the lecture had just arrived at the period in which intelligent
life first appeared.
Jenorden
pressed a button marked Question.
An Ivel appeared and bent
his knees.
"Why are you giving me
this lecture?" Jenorden asked.
"That
is a new question," the Ivel said. "We will have to prepare a new
program."
"Why can't you just
tell me?"
"That is a new
question also."
"Would the new course be any shorter
than this one?" "I don't know."
"What are you people
trying to do?"
"We are trying to
serve the Borg."
"What
are the Borg trying to do?"
"Jenorden,
that is the question you originally asked."
He closed his eyes.
"Continue the lecture."
Two
hours later, having watched a race of blood sucking parasites begin to discover
its newly mutated brain could be useful, he wandered into the next classroom
and found Roseka was also watching the early history of an intelligent race.
When she finally noticed him, she nodded and immediately returned her attention
to the lecture.
In
the next room Veneleo was watching a discussion between two beings so far from
human in shape they made
Jenorden
feel visually disoriented. It was several minutes before he could see them
clearly. They seemed to be arguing about the relationship between social
organization and ocean-shaping. The discussion made little sense to him, but
Veneleo was smiling and nodding his head. He tiptoed out of the room and went
for a walk.
"Whatever
the Borg are," Roseka said that evening,
"they're master teachers. I don't think I could forget if I tried. And they
did all this, setting up a program in our own language, in less than two daysl
I don't think any other race in the galaxy could do that."
"It's
impressive," Jenorden said. "I'll be even more impressed when I
start getting some answers. We've given them quite a list, haven't we? They're
going to teach us how to deal with the Horta—even though they had to ask us who
the Horta are—and Veneleo wants immortality, and they're going to tell Emcasa
how to make peace. . . ."
"It's
hard to believe," Roseka said. "And yet, why go to all this trouble
if they can't do it?"
"Why go to all this
trouble if they can do it?"
"Maybe
it's some form of amusement," Veneleo said. "It makes as much sense
as exploring the galaxy, or writing music."
"Then why be so secretive about
it?"
VI
Evehy
day, he spent at least
nine hours in the lecture room. If the Borg .really intended to answer his
question, he wanted to hear the answer soon.
He
sat through the entire history of the blood sucking parasites, who died of disease only a few millenia after they acquired
intelligence, and after that he again witnessed the birth of a world and the
slow evolution of its life forms. This time the lecture on evolution went on
several hours longer than the previous one had, and still no intelligent life
form had appeared on the screen. Every minute detail, even the mating habits of
obscure insects, was being included in the lecture. Exasperated, he pressed the
question button and again demanded they tell him how long the program was
supposed to last.
"How
do I know this program has an end? How do I know you aren't trying to avoid
answering me?"
"You don't," the Ivel said.
"Am I supposed to
trust you?"
"If
you wish to learn the answer to your question, you have to."
At the
end of the ninth of the planet's twenty-seven hour days, he used the
orbit-to-ground vehicle to travel to the Borg dome. Standing with his chin
resting on his hand, he watched the giant black shapes appear and disappear
among the shifting gases. He stayed there a long time, thinking and staring,
and then he returned to his imitation Earth and sat in his sleeping room
playing a group of harsh, passionate songs.
When
he put down his bow, he left the house and walked down the hill to the dome
Zilv lived in just inside the airlock. "I want to visit the other
domes," he said. "Is that permitted?"
"Yes," Zilv said.
"Will
you come with me and make the introductions?" "I can come with you
but I cannot interfere." "What can you do?" "I can answer
questions."
"I'd
like to start with the Eb. Can you tell me how I can contact them?"
"You
can use the screen in your dome. You have to call the Ivel dome first and tell
them what you want."
"If
we go places where I don't know the language, can you act as interpreter?"
"Yes."
He used the next day, his turn to guard the
ship, to learn all three Eb languages. It was hard work, even with drugs and
the learning programs the computer prepared for him, but it was relief to get
out of his suit. He did most of his learning while swimming naked in the pool.
He
called the Eb the next morning. Emcasa and N. Rar-kal—from his language studies
he had learned Enrarkal was an incorrect rendering—both sounded pleased to hear
from him. Nolten was courteous. When he suggested a visit, Emcasa told him he
could come that afternoon. After a hurried conference the other two agreed.
The
Eb dome was near the north pole and the trip took
about two hours. Elinee and Zilv accompanied him.
The
Eb greeting ceremonies were simple and brief. As they walked from the airlock
to the Eb dwelling, making polite conversation, Jenorden learned something
else about N. Rarkal. The emissary from the Republic of Kroon was a female, or
at least of the child bearing sex.
The
Eb dwelling was a circular metal wall. Inside the wall, each inhabitant seemed
to have a small covered dwelling of his own. Their hosts led them to a shallow
pit in the center of the ring and as soon as they were all seated around the
edges of the pit, Jenorden and Emcasa began exchanging information.
Emcasa
had been spending ten to twelve hours a day in the lecture room, with Nolten
and N. Rarkal keeping watch on him, and he was obviously growing impatient. His
complaints were vehement. He, too, had asked the Borg how long his program was
going to take, and received no answer. Since his arrival, he had been watching
a lecture on the evolution of a race with a history very similar to the history
of the Eb. Then, just this morning, as the lecture reached the moment when the
race developed weapons of mass destruction, the subject had changed. He was now
watching the evolution of a race so unlike the Eb it had seventeen sexes and
the entire planet was one consciousness.
"Did
you ever think of asking them my question?" Jenorden asked.
"Many times," N. Rarkal said.
"You
can't understand how I feel," Emcasa said. "When they came to us it
was a gift from the sky. All I could think of was saving my people."
"Do you still think the Borg can help
you?"
"I have to."
"What do you think, N. Rarkal?"
"I
don't think anything," N. Rarkal said. "How can I? We're dealing with
the unknown. The Borg may give us information we can use and then again they
may not. Even if they tell us something, it will probably do more harm than
good."
He
turned to Nolten. "What do you think?" "Evaluation isn't my
job," Nolten said.
"That's
the attitude," Emcasa said. "His people all think like that. That's
why their precious Togme is leading them straight into suicide. I can imagine
how stupid we must seem to beings like you."
Embarrassed,
Jenorden returned to discussing what the Borg had been teaching Emcasa. The
world consciousness on the planet Emcasa was currently studying sounded fascinating.
He tried to get more details, but after a few minutes the conversation suddenly
turned into a tirade by Emcasa on the follies of the Eb.
N.
Rarkal interrupted with an impatient-looking gesture with her horns.
"Perhaps our guests would like some entertainment."
"Thank you," Jenorden said.
"That's very thoughtful of you. It sounds to me like we've discussed
everything we can." "Do you enjoy the hunt?"
Emcasa
made a strange sound. "The humans are civilized peoplel I'm sorry,
Jenorden. I'm sorry she offended you. On her part of our world, they still kill
animals for amusement."
N.
Rarkal jumped to her feet. "You insulting boor!"
Her
head lowered and her horns pointed straight at Em-casa's chest. Jenorden and
Elinee glanced at each other. Jenorden's calves and thighs tensed slightly and
he primed himself to jump backward out of the pit.
"The
treaty," Nolten shouted. "N. Rarkal!"
N.
Rarkal didn't move. Emcasa stood up and the two of them faced each other across
the diameter of the pit.
"Emcasa
Mefala," N. Rarkal said, "if it weren't for the treaty I'd kill you
here and now."
Emcasa
turned to Jenorden. "That's our basic problem. The two most primitive
countries have the strongest weapons. No other country wanted to make such
things."
"What
do you hunt?" Jenorden asked N. Rarkal.
N.
Rarkal raised her head. "An animal called the herkan. We breed it so it
will be as dangerous as possible."
"What's it like?"
"Would
you like to look at one?" "Certainly."
"I'll
have to drive us there. They're a few miles down the road."
"If
we hunt them, can I use my own weapon?"
"Of course. You can decide for yourself if it's good enough."
He
bowed. "Thank you."
"Do
you hunt on your world?"
"We
do whatever we please."
"You
sound like you've been lucky."
"We
have been. I'm sorry I can't tell you more."
"I'll
get a car. I'll meet you outside in a minute."
"Are
you really going to hunt this animal?" Elinee asked in Communal.
"I
may. I'll decide after I've looked at it."
"You
can't resist a new experience, can you?"
"I
won't do it if it looks too dangerous."
She
smiled. "I can't believe you."
He
turned to Emcasa and Nolten. "Are you coming with us, honored
gentlemen?"
"I
have to," Nolten said.
"Of
course," Emcasa said. "Certainly."
N.
Rarkal drove them to the herkan in a noisy open car. The dome was as spacious
as the dome the Borg had provided the humans but it was much colder and the
vegetation was a darker green. Jenorden had to raise the temperature of his
suit twice before they reached a long, flat building several minutes drive from
the Eb dwelling.
He
wondered if he was really going to hunt with N. Rarkal. It wasn't as obvious
as Elinee thought. Already he could feel an odd numbness in his arms and legs
and a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, the fear he had learned about but had never felt very strongly until the day he
fought the Horta.
When
they entered the building they were greeting by wild shrieks, the noise of huge
bodies thrashing against metal bars, and the whir of many wings. The clamor
evoked primitive, disturbing emotions in Jenorden's psyche, but he and Elinee
looked around them with their usual air of calm. They were standing at one end
of a bare, well lighted corridor. On each side of the corridor were big cages
with thick, iron bars, and in each cage, shrieking at them and angrily beating
several pairs of stubby wings, was a long, many legged animal.
The
animal closest to the door had pulled itself up the front of its cage and was
holding itself erect by gripping the bars with its foremost pairs of legs.
Looking down on them it shrieked and tried to push its blunt, primitive face between
the bars.
The
teeth were bad enough. They looked as vicious as any teeth Jenorden had seen on
any living creature in the galaxy. But even worse than the
teeth were the two sets of claws, mounted on short arms, which grew from the
fur on each side of the face. As they watched, the animal turned its
head and got one set of claws between the bars. The long nails moved up and
down and it was unpleasantly easy to imagine them raking living flesh.
"They certainly look
deadly," Jenorden said.
N.
Rarkal led them down the corridor. "They are deadly. They're the best
opponents a brave man can have." She paused in front of a cage. You can't
see them until they leap. When they charge, they're faster than a car, and when
they leap, the wings add to their speed. We added the wings and the face claws
by breeding."
"That's quite a
feat."
"Thank
you. We also increased their intelligence. By the best measure we've got,
they're twice as intelligent as any other animal on our planet. When they hunt
together, they cooperate. Only suicides ever hunt more than two or three at
once."
Jenorden's hand kept straying to his pistol.
Elinee was right. He couldn't resist a new experience.
"The
hunting ground is right outside," N. Rarkal said. "Inside
that stone wall. The Borg built us a big one. To hunt them all you do is
walk through it. Sooner or later you see a ripple in the grass. That's the
herkan hunting you. You get one shot when it leaps."
"Are
you going to hunt with her?" Elinee asked Jenorden in Communal.
"She hasn't repeated her
invitation." He smiled. "That's the most considerate thing she's done
so far."
"It's
unbelievable," Emcasa said. "Visit their country and this is all you
hear: who's the best hunter, who breeds the most vicious animals, when the next
public hunt will be. It's hard to understand, isn't it? I suppose it's been
thousands of years since your people behaved like that."
Jenorden
stared at the row of cages. He wondered how Emcasa would react if he told him
it had only been four hundred years since the period when sober observers had
been afraid the human race was going to destroy itself in a thermonuclear war.
He stared at the row of cages. One shot . . .
His reflexes were good and so was his coordination. He was probably a better,
faster shot than any Eb now living. He had the advantage of all the
improvements two centuries of genetic engineering had made in the human
physique, plus a life span so long he had been able to spend leisurely decades
training his body.
The
herkan shrieked and pushed against the bars. Its eyes glared at him with angry
cunning.
"Are you ready for the hunt?" he
asked N. Rarkal.
"You'll join me?"
"Yes."
She stared at him. "I wonder what you're
feeling right now. Forgive my bad manners, but that expressionless accent of your conceals the biggest mystery I've ever encountered.
What kind of being has all the powers you have and can still enjoy the
hunt?"
"I'm sorry I'm a mystery to you. I'd
like to be your friend."
"In
my country when two people hunt the herkan together, they're friends for life,
no matter what else comes between them."
He bowed. "Thank you. I'm honored."
"We'd better go now.
It's getting late."
She
started walking toward the door. As they passed each cage, the animal inside
shrieked and threw itself against the bars.
"I let a herkan loose in the field two
days ago," N. Rarkal said. "By now it should be ready for us, hungry
but not weak."
She
led him to the high wall behind the building. Together they lifted a ladder and
placed it against the chilly stone. She drew a double barreled pistol from
under her fur and examined it, and Jenorden drew his own weapon and had Elinee
make sure his converter was all right.
They
went up the ladder. For a moment he stood on the wall and looked around, taking
in the open sky and the long sweep of grassy field in front of him. The sun was to their left and behind them and the clouds were
slowly changing color, from light orange to deep red.
"I always stop,
too," N. Rarkal said.
"Can Elinee stand here
while we're hunting?"
"Certainly. She'll be safe."
He
waved to Elinee and she came up the ladder with Nolten behind her. Zilv and
Emcasa looked like they were going to stay on the ground and then Emcasa made a
gesture Jenorden couldn't interpret and he came up the ladder, too.
N.
Rarkal shaded her eyes with her hand. "Look for ripples in the grass. If
you don't see any, our adversary is at the other end. They never stop
moving."
They
pulled up the ladder and let it down the inner face of the wall. N. Rarkal went
down first, while Jenorden watched the field for her. Gun ready, she crouched
at the foot of the ladder. Jenorden turned to Elinee and let his face reveal
all his complex feelings, including his awareness he might never be this close
to Elinee or any other woman, again.
"Jenorden
. . ." She tried to show him what she felt and then she shook her head
hopelessly. "I'd have to make a speech to tell you how I feel."
"I
know." He squeezed her hand. "Tonight. We'll
go back to the ship."
"Yes."
She looked at him with a tenderness he had seen only a
few times before, and then only when they were alone together.
He
climbed down the ladder and he and N. Rarkal moved forward. Waist-high grass
rustled against the fabric of his suit.
"Don't relax your
guard for a moment," N. Rarkal said.
'This
isn't a game. The herkan was bred to be a fit adversary for warriors." Her
eyes traversed the field as she talked. "Did I tell you to aim for the head?
That's the only place you can kill them."
He
and Roseka had a big job waiting for them. He did not know a single normal,
healthy human who risked his life simply for the excitment of it. Anything so
unusual had to be analyzed until every suspicion of sickness had been allayed.
He froze. With his left hand he pointed at a
far off movement in the grass.
N.
Rarkal lowered her head. "Let's spread apart." She edged away from
him and he moved the other way until they were several yards apart. They
crouched above the grass and watched the oncoming ripple. The grass moved so
violently it was easy to imagine the huge body running along the ground. As N.
Rarkal had told him, it moved quite a bit faster than her car.
"He's attacking you,
Jenorden."
He nodded. His legs wanted to tremble, but
his brain had them under control.
The ripple stopped. Confused, he tried to
look where it had been.
"This one's a coward," N. Rarkal
called. "Stay alert. He may not charge until he's almost on us."
"What if he's circling us?"
"Move this way. We'd better stand back
to back."
He
edged toward her, making a complete turn every step. His back felt naked. No
matter which way he looked, he felt certain the animal was coming at him from
another direction.
For
several minutes they stood back to back in the middle of the field. Somewhere,
moving so slowly and gently not a blade of grass was disturbed,
the herkan was creeping along on its belly. The wall, with Elinee and the
others silhouetted on top of it, looked like something in a far off dream.
"Do they do this often?" he asked.
"We've drawn a bad one. Now and then we
get one like this."
"Is he trying to wear us down?"
"He could be. They can be very
intelligent."
"How many have you killed?"
"Fourteen. I've been on more hunts, but
on the others the people I was with did the killing."
"How often does the herkan kill the
hunter?" "Often enough to make it dangerous."
Two
hundred yards away, perhaps three hundred, the grass moved. It could have been
the wind or a trick of his eyes. He tried to focus on the place where he had
seen it.
The
herkan leaped from the grass. Shrieking with all the power of its lungs, it
hurtled toward him with its wings beating and its claws fully extended.
He
brought his gun up. N. Rarkal had been right. He would have one shot. And he
couldn't fire hastily, either. He had to aim. In less than three seconds he had
to get the head and eyes between the sights, and he had to calculate the proper
lead and step out of the way the moment he fired. Even the dead animal could
kill him.
The
head disappeared. He fell to one side and the body hurled past him and crashed
into the ground.
N.
Rarkal was yelling at him. "Good I GoodI Wonderfull You didn't have any
warning at all! Magnificent!"
He
was lying flat on the grass. His fingers felt so numb he couldn't grip the butt
of his pistol. He raised his head and looked thankfully at the sky.
He
stood up and shoved his gun into its holster. A furred hand touched his wrist.
Two big eyes studied his face.
He
squeezed her hand. He was too full of emotion to worry about what the gesture
might mean to her.
He
walked to the body and stared at it. This wasn't the first time he had killed
an animal. During his education he had been required to slaughter several meat
animals with his own hands, and he had also had to watch the painless slaughter
machines do the job. It was unhealthy to eat meat and repress the knowledge it
was the flesh of killed animals.
It
would have been equally unhealthy to have killed and not contemplated the
consequences of his act. Squatting in the grass flattened by the huge carcass,
he examined the mangled head, and ran his eyes along the length of the body.
There had been something terrible and magnificent in the universe and now it
was gone.
"What are you
doing?" N. Rarkal said.
"It's a ritual my people have."
"You
contemplate your victory? You think about your courage?"
"Something like
that."
"I'm sorry. I think
I'm prying."
"I'm
sorry I can't be more open. What do you do with the herkan after you kill
it?"
"We
clear the ground and bum the body where it lies." "I'll help
you."
They
labored together, uprooting the grass for several yards around the body so the
fire wouldn't spread. They
burned the animal until its
bones were bare of flesh and then they kicked dirt and cold ashes on the
skeleton and returned to the wall.
As
he stepped onto the wall Elinee gave him her hand. Her face expressed emotions
even more complex and varied than they had been when he left her.
"Roseka and I have a
lot to talk about," Jenorden said.
"Do you feel
guilty?"
"I don't think so. Ill
have to talk to Roseka."
N.
Rarkal drove them to the airlock. As they were saying goodbye, Emcasa suddenly
asked Jenorden if he could accompany the humans when they visited the other
domes.
"My
government sent a pressurized tractor with me but it's too slow. Will there be
room in your craft?"
"Won't Nolten and N.
Rarkal object?"
"We
certainly will," Nolten said. "If he leaves the dome, we have to go
with him."
"I
can't take all of you, Emcasa. Our vehicle only holds six, and there'll be two
or three of us and you'll be wearing bulky suits."
"Will you do it if the others let me go
alone?"
Jenorden
thought. He was certain Nolten and N. Rarkal would veto the idea.
"All right. If the others don't object, we'll take you with us.
"We'll talk it over," Emcasa said.
"I'll call you when we decide."
VII
"I
think we've discovered why you're doing this," Roseka said. "Now we
have to determine if it's healthy."
Jenorden
slumped onto his spine. The struggle to understand his emotions had always
been hard for him and these last two hours had been even harder than usual.
"What
do you think?" Roseka askedi "Do you think it's healthy?" She
was pacing the floor, as she often did when she questioned them.
"I
wouldn't if I were doing it out of cruelty or because I want to die. But I'm
not. And the animal isn't a substitute for something I hate and can't admit I
hate, either."
"We've
eliminated all those motivations, all right. But still, do you think it's
unhealthy?"
He shook his head slowly.
"Are you sure?"
Roseka asked.
"No,
and neither are you."
"Do you want to go
hunting again?"
"Not now. In a few
days I may want to."
"You've
got a complex group of emotions this thing satisfies. Excitement.
Pleasure in your own competence. That
other feeling, that intensifying of sensory impressions. And of course
there's the conflict that's probably the basis of most of your personality—your
hunger for life versus your feeling that life is futile. You want to face death
partly because you're afraid your idea that life is pointless will someday make
you an unfeeling robot. You want to confront that fear and struggle with it.
Are there any emotions there you're ashamed of?"
"I'm not exactly proud of what you call
my sense of futility. But that isn't a motivation. I'm going hunting so I can
fight that. I have a feeling I should be
ashamed, and yet every time I face danger I feel as if I'm learning something.
This is an experience very few humans have anymore. Who knows what the
standards are?"
"Are you willing to be analyzed every
time you do it?"
He thought for a moment. "I'm not sure I think it's worth it."
"I don't think you should hunt if you
aren't willing to be analyzed every time you come back from it."
She
was right. He hated analysis but he knew
this was something they had to observe carefully. Any behavior this unusual was
as potentially dangerous to the
community as a new virus.
"It looks like I have
to," he said.
He
was glad the next day was Roseka's turn to guard the ship. After two
restless-hours in the lecture room, he went for a long hike. He stayed out all
day. When it rained in the late afternoon, he stood in a meadow and tried to pretend the water was running down his skin instead of his suit.
When
he returned from the hike Elinee told him Emcasa had called. Nolten and N.
Rarkal had agreed he could accompany the humans on their travels.
"I wonder how he did
that," Jenorden said.
"I couldn't tell. When
are you going to start?"
"I
was thinking about tomorrow. Do you mind if I start without you? Tomorrow's
your day on the ship, isn't it?"
"You'll have to do some of your exploring
without me anyway."
N.
Rarkal called shortly after sundown. "We hunted together," she said,
"and therefore I trust you in spite of the gulf between us. If Emcasa does
anything or leams anything which may be dangerous, will you tell us at
once?"
"Certainly,"
Jenorden said. "I'll call you after every trip and tell you everything
that happened."
"He
made such a fuss about it I finally said he could do it if you agreed to watch him for us. He said he'd go exploring in his tractor
without us, and of course if he did that Nolten would insist we return to our
own world."
"Don't you want to
return to your own world?"
"Not yet. I come from an adventurous
people. I don't know if the Borg will teach us how to make peace, but if I had
to leave now, I'd be very disappointed."
"Suppose
Emcasa learns something that will be dangerous even if you know he knows it?"
"We can always kill him. He knows the
risk he's taking."
Her matter of fact tone chilled him. After he
switched off the screen, he spent a long time staring out the window at the
Borg dome.
He
and Zilv left early in the morning. When they arrived at the Eb dome, they
landed just outside the airlock and a moment later Emcasa appeared in a
spacesuit which was just as clumsy as Jenorden had expected. They had to wait
pa-tiendy while their encumbered guest plodded across the waste and struggled
up the ladder. When he entered the cabin his features were completely hidden
behind a tiny, dark face plate.
"Where are we going
first?" Emcasa radioed.
"Just
a few domes away," Jenorden said. "The less time we spend traveling,
the more time we can spend learning something."
"Do you think we'll
learn anything important?"
Jenorden
glanced south. He couldn't see the Borg dome from here, but he could picture
every detail of it and the image sent a rush of emotion up his spine. The Borg
could not have challenged him more if they had stood before him with sighted
weapons and threatened to kill him.
"Sooner
or later," he said. "We may not like what we learn, but even the Borg
can't hide something from us forever."
That
day they visited a race so primitive the four or five living in the dome seemed
to think the Borg were gods and that they had been transported to the afterlife
they believed in. "How can we become gods, too?" they had asked.
Shy
as animals, they spoke to Jenorden by shouting from deep inside a cave. Their
language, which Zilv translated into Emcanes and Communal, seemed to have a
rudimentary vocabulary. Many of Jenorden's questions couldn't be translated—or
at least Zilv said they couldn't be.
Soon
Jenorden had completely given up the Borg learning program. He was certain it
would be years, if ever, before he learned anything in that lecture room. They
were still showing him lectures on minute details of the history of every
culture of the second race they wanted him to study. He might not learn
anything exploring the domes, but even if he didn't, his explorations might
eventually force the Borg to try and stop him, and thus reveal something of
their motives.
During
the next few weeks they visited several domes. Jenorden soon observed an
obvious pattern. Most of the beings living in the domes had asked for power, or
for some knowledge which would give them power, and the Borg had begun their
education by teaching them history and philosophy.
There
was, for example, a group of beings who called themselves the Ersar-Aswero crar. They represented the domi-ant political division of their race and they
had asked the Borg how their government could conquer the rest of their world.
For three years they had been studying philosophy and history. They were
getting impatient, but their rulers had told them to go to the Borg planet and
do what the Borg told them until they were ordered to return, and their rulers
were never disobeyed. A primitive race, armed with cross bows and swords and
wearing armor, their social system apparently used the most primitive
techniques for getting people to cooperate.
For
awhile Jenorden was fascinated by them. They seemed to have some kind of herd
instinct, which was rare in intelligent races. They reproduced in groups of
sixteen males or sixteen females, and each group remained together all its
life, uniting with a group of the opposite sex to produce a mature crar. When they talked to their visitors, they talked as a group and reacted
as a group. Swiftly, without any regard for manners, one would speak, and then
another would comment, or even interrupt, and the process of thinking would
flow through the group as if it were traveling along one nervous system, until
finally a consensus was stated. Their greeting ceremonies were precise,
complicated drills which were executed without anyone giving orders.
Roughly
humanoid, they were thick skinned and about five feet tall. Because their brain
was located in their torso, where it was protected by their thick, armored
chests, their head was just a tiny lump on top of their body, a lump with a
mouth, a breathing organ in the rear, ears on the side, and two tiny eyes
covered with a hard, transparent substance. Their muscles looked powerful. They
moved in long bounds, covering so much ground with each stride that they were
several times faster than a running human.
Their
world was dark and rugged, with winds so strong there was a constant flow of
grit and small rocks occasionally flew through the air. They had just started
using windmills to generate electricity.
In
the dome next to the Ersar-Aswero lived a lone being who
belonged to a race which appeared to be at least as advanced as the human
community. "Please call me Rotrudo," he greeted them. "I have a
few other names, but that's good enough." He was almost three times the
height of a human. His arms and legs were long and skinny and his head seemed
ridiculously small on such a large body.
According
to his own words, he had been on the planet more than fifty years. He was so
gentle and courteous Jenorden was amazed to leam he had asked the Borg how he
could become the ruler of the galaxy.
"Repeat
my question, Zilvl Are you sure you translated correctly?"
"My
translation is correct. Your language and his are very similar. Your word ruler and the word I translated ruler have
almost the same semantic content."
"Ask him if he really
expects the Borg to teach him that."
"What kind of madness
is this?" Emcasa asked.
"I
used to doubt the Borg," Rotrudo answered, "but I don't any more.
Thirty local years ago I asked them how long it was going to take and they told
me another hundred and sixty local years. I consider an answer that
discouraging evidence of their sincerity. If they had been trying to encourage
me to stay here, they would have told me it would take much less."
"Don't
you think they may have known you would think that way?"
"Perhaps. But how can the members of one race understand a single member of
another race that well? I can't believe it."
"Do
you think you've learned anything about their motives?"
"For many years now they have been
teaching me the customs, history and philosophy of many races. I am certain
they are giving me a moral preparation before they give me the power to
establish my rule. If I succeed, I will be a wise ruler."
They
talked for a long time. Long before they finished, Jenorden decided Rotrudo's
question wasn't as insane as it had first appeared. Rotrudo had contemplated
the chaos of the galaxy during many years of wandering, and he had decided one
consciousness must eventually establish its rule and bring order to the
pointless flowering of intelligent life.
"The
galaxy must have a purpose," he said, "and only a single
consciousness can give it a purpose. And no group of races could ever determine
a single purpose. Only one consciousness completely devoted to this single
aspect of life, can hope to be successful. The need is great! All over the
galaxy intelligent beings are dying of despair. Entire races lose their passion
to live and create as soon as they leave their native worlds and learn how
immense their environment is."
"Agreed,"
Jenorden said. "But if the Borg can teach yon what you've asked, why don't
they rule the galaxy themselves?"
"I've
wondered about that many times. Before I leave here I'll probably know."
"How
much of your life span are you gambling?"
"I
will have less than a century to live when I leave here."
Emcasa
made a growling sound which meant he was startled. Both human faces showed
horror at such a commitment of life.
"What
have you asked the Borg?" Rotrudo asked.
"I
asked them why they're doing all this."
"And
they gave you a learning program, and you grew impatient and decided to visit
the rest of us and see if you could find out by yourself."
"Yes."
"Have
you some other goal which makes you impatient to move on?"
"Yes. I want to visit every star, learn
everything there is to loam, and experience everything there is to
experience." "And you thought I was insane."
Jenorden laughed. "At least I'm not cooped up in a dome."
"Sometimes this dome seems bigger than the galaxy. Give the Borg a chance.
Go back to your dome and study for a few years. See if you don't come to have
faith in them."
"The
Borg bring some extremely primitive races here,"
Elinee said. "Doesn't that bother you? Even if they give their students
years of moral preparation, how can they be certain a particular individual
has grown enough to handle the knowledge they can give him? How can they
understand so many strange psychologies that well?"
"I believe the Borg know what they're
doing."
"Why?"
"Have
you ever seen or heard of a race as powerful as the Borg?"
"That doesn't mean they can do
everything," Jenorden said. "Doesn't it make you think they can do
anything they claim they can do?"
"But what are they getting from all
this?" "Why do you explore the stars?"
"To learn. To experience. We get something every place we
go. What are they getting?"
Emcasa
put a heavy, gauntleted hand on Jenorden's shoulder. "Jenorden, excuse
me. It's late."
Jenorden nodded. "We have to go,
Rotrudo."
"Visit
me again. I have something I'd like to show you. My race has a work of art—our
only one, it replaced all the others we've created—which we think is the
ultimate expression of our being. Would you like to see it?"
"Yes," Elinee said. "Very much. It sounds exciting."
Rotrudo showed them to the airlock. Emcasa
looked worried, but Elinee took the controls as soon as they were settled in
the vehicle, and they made a perfect airless landing beside the Eb dome less
than an hour after they left Rotrudo.
Emcasa
struggled to his feet. "Jenorden, will you walk to the dome with me? I'm
afraid I may run out of air."
"Certainly."
He followed Emcasa into the airlock and they
walked across the harsh wasteland to the dome. His muscles ached with the
effort it took to move as slowly as the bulky spacesuit made Emcasa walk.
"I
want to ask you something," Emcasa radioed. "I have a favor to ask.
We can talk in private here. You know
what the situation is on my world. You know a race is about to die. A whole
racel A thousand million intelligent beings! Does our fate arouse your
pity?"
"More
than you'll ever know. What do you want? You don't have to make speeches,
Emcasa."
"I
know the Borg can't help us in time. Our race may be extinct already. Believe me, we were on the verge of extinction when we left
home."
"Go
on." Jenorden tried to keep his voice flat and noncom-mital.
"You have to help us.
Only you can help us."
"You
don't understand. Anything we give you will do more harm than what you already
have."
"I
do understand. I don't want you to give us weapons. I have as little faith in my people as you do."
"Then what do you
want?"
"Come
and rule us. Make
us stop fighting. Make us unify. I saw how powerful the Borg ship is and I know your ship is
just as powerful. You can do it. No weapon we have can stop you. You could
orbit our planet and train your weapons on us. If any country did anything which would lead to war, you could destroy
them. And once we'd disarmed and were living in peace—it would only take a few years—then you could leave us."
Jenorden
felt sick. Killing in self defense was tolerable, but mass slaughter, even
thinking about threatening mass slaughter, was revolting. In the first years
of his education he had been taught a moral principle which he couldn't forget.
He could kill one or two or even ten in self defense, but at some point there
was a limit to the price he could set on his own life. The Eb hadn't learned
that yet, and therefore they were in danger,
but it was up to them to prove their competence. If they failed, they weren't fit to continue evolving. There was no room in
the universe for people who could build powerful weapons and then couldn't
control themselves enough to survive their own ingenuity.
"We can't." He put a hand on the
spacesuited shoulder. "I'm sorry. Don't ask me to explain why. We
can't."
"Don't you care what happens to
us?"
"Goodbye, Emcasa."
He turned on his heel. A gauntleted hand
reached for his1 shoulder but he evaded it and strode toward the
ship. "Jenorden! I beg you!"
There
was nothing he could do. He couldn't even tell them the terrible truth that in
this test they were alone and success was not guaranteed. Learning that was
part of the test.
"Monster! Insect! You have the passions of an
insect!"
He
trudged up the ladder. He radioed Elinee to take off while he was still inside
the airlock.
That
evening he called the Eb dome and told Emcasa he couldn't accompany them
anymore. That should have been clear already, but Emcasa made a long oration,
growing more and more emotional, until he had to cut him off to preserve his
sanity. A little later N. Rarkal called and said she hoped they were still
friends.
"We
are," Jenorden said. "I'm surprised you asked. We hunted the herkan
together. Your people are right—that makes you friends for life."
"Things
aren't as bad on our world as Emcasa likes to think. We'll solve our problem,
and we don't need help to do it, either. My race isn't going to die."
"I
hope he doesn't do something that forces you to return to your own world. I
kept on taking him with me primarily because you want to stay here. I don't
think it did any harm, but I never was comfortable about it."
"He'll calm down. When
are we going hunting again?"
"I
think I'd better wait awhile. Invite me as soon as you think it's all
right."
"I will. Good hunting,
Jenorden."
"Good hunting, my
friend."
VIII
The
stone was as
passionate and mysterious as a human face. Revolving on a thick disk, in the
center of a blue room where Rotrudo, Elinee and Jenorden sat in three niches in
the wall, it turned with all the slow, impressive massiveness of a world
suspended in space. Each of its hundreds of facets was a different color and
texture, and through some trick of the effects of moving colors no facet
looked the same for more than an instant. The rough became sniny, and the shiny
warm, and dark places which drew them in suddenly
exploded. It was only color and texture blended by rotary motion—the technology
was so elementary even the electric motors of the Ersar-Aswero could have
handled it—but it pulled tides of emotion through Jenorden's psyche. All the
while he watched it he seemed to hear music.
Beside
him Elinee gasped. He knew what she was thinking. Was this the kind of work her
imagination was creating? Was something like this, the ultimate expression of
her race, to come from her mind?
The
last revolution ended. There was a long silence and then Rotrudo pushed himself
out of his niche. "Thank you. I hope you enjoyed it."
Elinee
glanced at Jenorden. "We did," she said. "We both enjoyed it
very much. Thank you."
"Do you experience
this often?" Jenorden asked.
"Every few days. That's more than I'd need if I weren't living alone."
"You're a strange
person, Rotrudo."
"No stranger than life itself. Have you
been attending your lectures?"
"Not since the last
time we saw you."
"And
that was twenty local days ago, at least. By now the Borg might have answered
your question."
"I'd like to agree with you, but I doubt
it."
Rotrudo
gave an order. The wall opened and they stepped outdoors. A brown fog had
settled around the house while they were inside.
"I wish I could invite you again,"
Rotrudo said. "I've enjoyed having company."
"We may never see you again?"
"You're
the last people I intend to see from now on until I finish my studies."
Overcome with emotion, Jenorden hunted for
words. Finally he reached up and gripped Rotrudo's wrist. The alien flesh felt
hot, and to the other his suit probably felt cold and hard, but Rotrudo stooped
a litde and put a hand on his shoulder, and something of what they felt passed
between them.
"Do
you mind if I don't walk you to the airlock?" Rotrudo asked.
"We can make it
ourselves. You go back to work."
They
turned away. Thoughtfully they plodded through the mist. Just inside the
airlock Zilv met them outside a small Ivel dome. They entered the airlock and
waited patiently while it cycled, and then they hiked across the dunes to their
vehicle.
Elinee
was the first to enter the cabin. Jenorden followed behind her, thinking about
Rotrudo and paying little attention to his surroundings. Suddenly Elinee
gasped. He jerked out of his revery and his eyes darted from her face to where
she was looking.
The control panel was a wreck. The
instruments had all been shattered and the wheel was lying on the seat with its
shaft and control wires cut through.
He stepped forward, and bent over the
wreckage. The radio had been attacked, too. The vehicle couldn't operate and
they couldn't possibly radio for Veneleo to bring them the second vehicle.
Elinee put a hand on his back. "What
does it mean?"
He
straightened up and glanced around the cabin. Zilv was squatting placidly on
the rear seat. Through the window he could see nothing but lifeless dunes,
black sky, and Ro-trudo's dome.
"Can we use Zilv's radio?" Elinee
asked. "Zilv, can you contact one of your people?"
"No," Zilv said.
"My radio has too short a range."
Jenorden
shrugged. They had both seen the Ivel dome just inside Rotrudo's dome, but of
course there might not be an Ivel in it.
"Let's go back to the dome," he
said. "We'll use Rotrudo's equipment."
He
turned to go, and then a movement among the dunes caught his eye. A strange
vehicle was approaching the two dunes which rose between the vehicle and
Rotrudo's airlock. As soon as he saw it, he put the facts together and
understood what was happening.
The
vehicle was a rough wooden deck suspended between four wheels. Half a dozen
Ersar-Aswero, in full armor and carrying crossbows, were holding onto a wooden
railing. At the rear of the deck was an electric motor
and a tall cylinder which had to be a device, probably a wet cell, for generating
electricity.
Taking
out binoculars, he studied the vehicle and its passengers. The Ersar-Aswero
had managed to convert their armor into crude space suits. A pair of oversized
air tanks burdened each back. Somehow they had managed to design airtight
joints which were flexible but which wouldn't let the internal pressure
spread-eagle the suit.
The
vehicle halted and the Ersar-Aswero jumped off and bounded stiffly to positions
behind the dunes. They couldn't have run in those suits—it took them most of
the time they were in the air to bend their knees for the landing—but with
their long bounds they could cover the ground almost as fast as when they were
unencumbered in their own environment.
They
couldn't reach the dome without a fight. They could turn on their shields and
run the gauntlet, but if Rotrudo didn't open up the airlock soon after they
reached it, they might be trapped in the open with no energy left in their
converters.
He
lowered the binoculars and looked around. Directly in front of the vehicle's
nose, a second group was dismounting from another flat car and taking up
positions. Still another group had been rolling up behind him while he was
watching the group in front of the dome. They were surrounded, or would be in a
moment.
"They can't be planning to attack
us," Elinee said.
"Not
with crossbows. And they can't be planning to outwit us either, not with those
suits." He scanned the area. "They must have something else. Shall we
wait here or shall we run lor the dome? Can you open Rotrudo's airlock,
Zilv?"
"Only with Rotrudo's
permission."
"You don't have some way you can do it
without him?"
"I
can enter a student's quarters only with the student's permission."
"Can't you see what's
happening?"
"Yes."
He repressed a spurt of anger. He had to stay
rational and alert. The Ersar-Aswero were moving with
deadly, effii-cient co-ordination. This had been carefully planned. They had to
have some plan for forcing their quarry out of the shelter of the vehicle.
Elinee
pointed out the front window. He followed her arm and saw one of the flat cars
disappear behind a dune. At the rear of the deck was a device he had never seen
before, but whose function was obvious. Piled in front of the device were
several large boulders.
"Shall
we go now?" he asked. "Or shall we stay and see if it works?"
His
ability to talk and think pleased his vanity. He would have made a good soldier
in the old days. He was afraid of death, but his fear didn't conquer him.
"It
may not be accurate," Elinee said. They had decided to stay.
A
boulder rose above the dune. He followed it and for a moment it seemed to hang
directly above him. He put up his hands. Elinee gasped. The boulder hit the
ground just off the right wing and the wreckage on the control panel rattled.
They
waited for the next shot. This was a new experience, bombardment, and Jenorden
quickly discovered it was hard to endure. He wanted to bolt for the airlock. He
was helpless. There was nothing he could do to stop the boulders. He turned on
Zilv. "Why can't you stop this? Isn't this your world? You've got the
power. Go out there and order them to stop."
"We cannot
interfere."
Elinee
moaned. He swung around in time to see another boulder rise above the dune.
Some part of his mind tried to think of a way they could contact Rotrudo. There
was a signal beside the airlock door, but Rotrudo might be a long way from a
control which would open it to them. They couldn't radio him, either. While
they were inside the dome, they had talked to him with the loudspeakers in
their belts and they didn't know what frequency he used. Even if they had
known, Rotrudo trusted the Borg and didn't wear his suit inside his dome. If he
was in the lecture room, it might be hours before he heard whatever signal the
airlock entrance gave off.
The boulder Landed to the right and near the
tail. The next one, or the one after, would land on top of them.
"Let's
go," he said. "Don't use your shield too much. Save it until we're at
the airlock. Keep them down with your gun."
He
ran down the aisle. Zilv was still squatting on the rear seat. "Are you
coming?" he yelled.
"No,"
Zilv said. He was looking out the window. His eye stalks were moving so much it
was obvious he was observing everything.
They
entered the airlock and drew their weapons. He looked at Elinee's worried face
and it occured to him she had never been in a battle before.
"You
don't have to kill them," he said. "Just keep them away from us. Keep
them down so they can't shoot. I'm afraid, too."
"It doesn't
show."
"I've
learned something. If you keep it from showing, it's easier to fight it."
The
door opened. He was certain the Ersar-Aswero wanted to capture them, not kill
them—only an attempt to gain information made any sense—and that meant they
probably wouldn't shoot while he and Elinee were still inside the vehicle.
Crouching to one side of the door, he studied the ground.
The
vehicle was in a hollow surrounded by several low dunes. He knew there was a
group behind the two dunes, directly in front of him, between the vehicle and
the dome, to his left, in front of the vehicle, and another group behind him.
There might be a group on his right, but there was some chance they hadn't had
time to complete the encirclement.
He
pointed right, toward the rear of the vehicle. "Well run that way. We'll
capture the nearest dune and make them come after us. We just have to hold them
off until they run out of air."
"Go ahead."
He
jumped out, hitting the ground in a crouch, and she landed beside him. He
turned right and started running.
A
crossbow bolt shot across their path. Elinee cried out and Jenorden stopped in
his tracks. Twisting, he pointed his
gun at the dunes. Another bolt hit the ground in
front of him.
Where were they? He couldn't
see a single bowman.
His
inexperience overwhelmed him. He had superior weapons but the primitives were
fighters and had been all their lives. The bolts were more unnerving than
bullets. Bullets couldn't be seen, but the bolts were visible and they were
swift, stubby and heavy.
Something
flashed on the side of a dune. His reflexes brought his gun up to eye level and
a bullet kicked up the dust before he had time to think.
He
turned and started to run. Before he completed a stride, a bolt shot across his
path.
He
stopped again. He wanted to crawl into the ground. There was no cover.
He
stared at the dunes. Every flash made him start. How could he keep them down
with his gun when he couldn't see them?
His
hand jumped to his belt. "Activate your shieldl Run hard!"
A
bolt richocheted off his shield and the force field drove it into the ground at
his feet. He stared at it and then he started to run. That had been aimed to
hit him, not maneuver him, and it had been aimed low. They probably wanted to
wound and then take prisoners.
Using
up energy they would need, sooner or later, to power their guns, they ran
toward the dune he had selected. Two more bolts struck his shield before the
Ersar-Aswero adjusted to the new weapon and stopped shooting.
They
reached the top of the dune without opposition. Three armored figures were
bounding away down the other side. Jenorden raised his gun to shoot. He got one
between his sights and then he lowered his arm. They looked too vulnerable. He
could have killed all three of them while they were at the top of their
trajectory.
They
dropped to their stomachs and switched off their shields. They were both
breathing hard. Glancing at an indicator on his belt, he knew he should avoid
using his shield again.
They started hollowing out a depression in
the sand. "How do you feel?" he asked. He couldn't see her face. He
was facing the vehicle and she was facing the other way.
"Do you think we're
safe now?"
"We're safer."
A
bolt slid through the sand, missing his hand by a finger length. He twisted
around onto his back and fired at a helmet on the dune behind him. The helmet
disappeared, but he didn't know if he had hit it or not.
Too
late he realized their best strategy would have been to continue running in
that direction until the Ersar-Aswero didn't dare go further from their dome
with their meager air supply. Now they would have to stay here and fight. If
they tried to run that way now without their shields, they would be running
toward three hidden crossbows. And if they tried to run it with their shields
on, they might run out of energy before the Ersar-Aswero ran out of air.
"Where do they
hide?" Elinee murmured.
"Between
the sand grains probably. This is their whole life."
A
boulder shot above the dune which hid the catapult. As soon as he saw it his
fear overcame him. The boulder hit the base of their dune and he closed his
eyes and buried his face in the dust.
Fearfully
he raised his head. For a moment he concentrated on mastering his terror. His
brain was paralyzed. Everything they could do, stay or run,
looked too dangerous.
The
dome airlock swung open. Three blue flashes shot from the entrance and
disappeared behind the two dunes which hid the first group of Ersar-Aswero.
Armored figures bounded from behind the two dunes like birds scared from cover.
Jenorden
yelled. His arm shot forward, aiming at an Ersar-Aswero who was at the top of
his leap, and he pulled the trigger twice. A bullet made a wide hole in the
soft, primitive armor and the Ersar-Aswero dropped his crossbow and finished
his trajectory as a lifeless heap which crashed to the ground chest first and
lay sprawled and still on the sand.
He
raised his eyes from the sights and tried to pick another t;irget.
More blue flashes shot from the airlock at the scattering primitives. For a
vivid moment an armored figure glowed bright, ruddy
copper against a background of stars. There were targets all over the place but
again he hesitated. This wasn't like the fight with the Horta. He knew these
people. He had talked to them. He knew he had to fight them if he wanted to
live, that was the reality and his brain couldn't evade it, but at the same
time he couldn't be indifferent when they died.
Crossbow
bolts sped toward the airlock. Already the Ersar-Aswero had adjusted to the
surprise attack and were hidden and returning their new adversary's fire. They
seemed to have a maneuver for every contingency.
Rotrudo's
huge figure appeared in the entrance. He was dressed in a transparent space
suit and he was carrying a weapon proportioned to his size, a metal shield half
the length of his body with a wide, stubby barrel sticking out the middle. He
fired a long burst, spraying the area with blue flashes, and edged several
steps away from the airlock. Setting the weapon on the ground, he crouched
behind the shield.
"He's
covering the front of this dune," Jenorden said. "If he stays there,
they can't attack us. They'll probably turn the catapult on him, but he's
making them use up time. He looks like he's figured the situation out."
Rotrudo
fired a burst. A bolt struck his shield and several bolts bounced off the dome.
Jenorden searched for targets. He had never realized finding something to shoot
at was such an important, difficult part of fighting.
A
minute passed. Rotrudo remained crouched behind his shield and the Ersar-Aswero
stopped wasting bolts.
"They're
probably aiming the catapult at him. He could have stayed in the airlock, but
the line of fire from the airlock between those two dunes doesn't cover
us."
"He's taking a
terrible risk for us," Elinee said.
Jenorden
glanced at an indicator on his belt. If they ran for the airlock, their
converters would be exhausted before they were halfway there. He decided to
remain on the dune and wait for the Ersar-Aswero to run out of air.
The
catapult heaved another boulder into the sky. It started to drop and he closed
his eyes again. When he opened them, the boulder was blocking the airlock
entrance. Immediately another boulder rose against the stars and fell toward Rotrudo.
Rotrudo watched it, calculating its trajectory, and then picked up his weapon
and lumbered away from the dome.
Suddenly
Ersar-Aswero exposed themselves in every direction as
they bounded into new positions. Behind him Elinee fired shot after shot. Three Ersar-Aswero appeared on his left and leaped across
the open space toward the dome. His gun arm stiffened and followed one of them
up from the ground and fired when it was at the top of its arc. Again a wide
hole appeared in the armor and the Ersar-Aswero crashed to the ground near the
two he and Rotrudo had already killed.
He
fired at the other two as they disappeared behind a dune. Between the two dunes
he could see Rotrudo turning his weapon in a wide arc and firing continuously.
Rotrudo
was trying to cover two directions at once. The Ersar-Aswero had obviously
decided to eliminate him first. If they were willing to accept a few deaths
their co-ordinated maneuvers could do it quickly. They could come at Rotrudo
from either dune and still be protected from the humans.
Rotrudo
picked up his weapon and backed between the two dunes into the central open
space. Jenorden scanned the top and sides of every dune around the hollow. A
new emotion was beginning to dominate his feelings. Rotrudo was risking his
life for them. He had to risk his life for Rotrudo, if that was necessary.
He
glanced at the dune on his left. If the Ersar-Aswero were the tacticians they
appeared to be, they had to have at least one bowman hidden on the far side of
that dune. He couldn't protect Rotrudo's back if he stayed where he was.
His
hands loaded explosive shells into the chamber. Slipping and sliding, he ran
down the face of the dune. He was exposed now and his only protection was his
gun. Crouching, he fired on the run. The shell hit the far side of the dune and
stirred up a gigantic, silent cloud of sand. He fired again, stirring up a
cloud almost as tall as Rotrudo, and then he was at the bottom of the dune and
running across the open space.
"What
are you doing?" Elinee radioed. "Protecting
Rotrudo. Shootl Keep shooting!"
Ersar-Aswero
fired on him from all over the dunes in front of Rotrudo. Rotrudo raked their
positions with his weapon and most of the bolts fell short or missed by yards.
No one had time to take aim. Both sides were relying on fire power.
He
fired another shell and plunged into the dust. The instant he rounded the dune
his reflexes threw him to the ground.
In
front of him an Ersar-Aswero bounded out of sight around the dune and another
Ersar-Aswero shouldered a crossbow and released the catch. His finger convulsed
on the trigger. A silent, invisible blow shoved the bowman back and knocked him
to the ground, and the crossbow launched its bolt at the stars.
He
rose to a crouch and searched for the sniper who had fled. Dropping to the
ground again, he crawled around the dune.
"Jenorden! Jenordenl"
The scream jerked his head off the ground. He
looked back. Ersar-Aswero were pouring over the two dunes and bounding across
the open space past the wrecked vehicle. He couldn't see Rotrudo or even a
single blue flash.
He
stood up and ran for the next dune with strides that brought his knees up to
his stomach, Rotrudo had to be dead. Even if he was only wounded, there was
nothing he could do to save him from so many.
He
glanced over his shoulder. The leader of the oncoming horde was landing beside
the dune he had just fled. He fired several shots on the run and a bullet hit
the leader square in the chest. Before the armored back hit the ground, a dozen
warriors landed beside it and launched themselves into their next bound.
"Are
you all right?" He was shouting. He couldn't control his voice.
"They're
attacking," Elinee radioed. "They've killed Rotrudo I"
He
looked back. Three of the group pursuing him had gotten far ahead of the
others. Like animals pouncing on his back, they were sailing through space and
aiming their crossbows as they came. "Shoot to kill!" He fired at
the one in front. "Protect yourself!"
"I'm fighting them. There aren't many.
They're after you."
He
reached a dune and crouched behind its protecting flank. Three-quarters of the crar were coming at him across the ground between this dune and the last one.
Half a dozen of them were descending on a point just in front of his hiding
place. He couldn't possibly outrun them. If he wanted to live, he had to stand
here and fight.
He
stood up and ran. His hand shoved his pistol into his holster. He had reached
his limit. He had killed as many as he could.
He
looked back. They were coming over the top and around the sides of the dune.
Two more jumps and they would be all around him.
He
glanced at his belt. If he turned on his shield he would be disarmed in less
than a minute. His decision to die rather than fight would be irrevocable. They
would capture him, and try to get information out of him,
and in two or three days they would torture him to death or his suit would foul
and he would die.
The
next dune was a long way off. Already bolts much be* speeding toward his legs.
They were standing on the last dune, he didn't have to look back to know it,
and now they could stand still and aim without having to duck bullets and blue
flashes.
A
bolt struck his shield and bounced. Bolts landed all around him, scattering as
they bounced off his shield. He didn't know when what part of him had decided
to activate the shield.
He
jumped behind the dune. His shield winked off and he looked back and saw a line
of Ersar-Aswero standing on the dune he had just left. He was helpless.
Panic-stricken, he looked down and thought about digging into the sand.
He
stood up and ran for the next dune. Harsh, sobbing gasps resonated inside his
hood.
He
made himself look back. They weren't there. They weren't pursuing him. There
was no line of bowmen standing on the dune."
He stopped running. "Elinee!"
"They're leavingl They're
getting on their flat cars."
"Are you all right?"
"I killed one."
He
trudged across the route he had just run. As he passed each Ersar-Aswero body,
he paused long enough to make himself fully aware of what he had done.
Rotrudo
was sprawled face down in the center of the open space. There was a bolt in the
small of his back and another bolt between his shoulders.
Elinee
stumbled off the dune. Her face and the way she walked told him everything she
was feeling. She was not the same person she had been when they left Rotrudo's
airlock. With one deed, the killing of an intelligent being, she had changed
herself for life.
He
looked from her face to Rotrudo's body. Overcome by the heavy sadness of
irrevocable loss, he put his arms around her shoulders and held her against his
chest. Neither of them —Rotrudo, and the Elinee who had been—would ever be with
him again.
He looked at the bodies scattered on the
field. He wasn't the same, either. For the second time in his life, the third
counting the hunt with N. Rarkal, he had been exposed to violence and death.
IX
The
vehicle landed
beside the Borg dome. The airlock opened and Jenorden climbed down the ladder
and trudged to the microphone station and its attendant Ivel. "May I talk
to the Borg?"
The
Ivel bent his knees. "You may, but it is rarely necessary. Whatever your
request, usually the Ivel can help you."
"What I have to say
has to be said to the Borg."
"Many
beings think that and then they request something we could have arranged. The
Borg should not be disturbed unnecessarily."
"I don't have a
request. I have something to say."
"You can tell
me."
"Get
me the Borg!"
The eye stalks regarded
him. Keeping one eye on his face, the Ivel bent its other eye toward the
control box it attended. One leg reached out and pressed a button.
He
looked up. Far above, at least a mile, several Borg hung near the edge of the
dome. He saw them through a vague shimmer, a thin atmosphere or some other
medium for transmitting the sound from the loudspeaker, which had appeared as
soon as the Ivel pressed the button.
"Tell us what you want
to say, Jenorden."
Nothing
he could see indicated their method of communication. The black shapes were
just as featureless as ever.
"Do
you know what happened outside Rotrudo's dome? Do you know Rotrudo's
dead?"
"We know."
"Why
couldn't Zilv help us? With all your power, you couldn't stop a little brawl
like that one?"
"We do not interfere
in the actions of other life forms."
"Wasn't
it interference when you took barbarians off their own worlds and exposed them
to advanced knowledge? You've interfered in the life of every intelligent being
here. If it weren't for you, Rotrudo would still be alive."
"If
you'll only study what we're trying to do, all your questions will be
answered."
"After
what happened today, I'm supposed to go back to my dome and trust you? You do
something which violates moral principles every civilized being accepts. You
bring races at every level together on one world—and I see people die because
of itl—and then you expect me to trust youf'
"What proof can we
give you?"
"Tell me why you're
doing this. Explain yourselves!"
"We're trying to.
We've been trying to since you got here."
"Why can't you tell me
now?"
"There are some things
... if you're not prepared
. .."
"How long will it
take?"
"We can't say yet.
Can't you be patient?"
It
was hopeless. He could deduce the rest of the dialogue as if it were a
mathematical theorem. Every time he talked to them he ended up running around
the same circle.
He
stalked back to the vehicle. He had come here prepared to accept part of the
blame for Rotrudo's death, but now he was so angry he blamed them and only
them. What intelligent being at his level of the stage of the Ersar-Aswero and
the Eb wouldn't try to steal knowledge they could exploit? Normally it would
have been centuries, even millenia, before the Ersar-Aswero left their planet.
A world like this was bound to cause trouble. And to set up such a world, to encourage
beings to come here and then not take reasonable precautions, to claim you
couldn't interfere, to give every being perfect freedom of the planet—that was
the irresponsibility of madnessl
Roseka
met him at the airlock of their dome. Elinee had been drugged and asleep for
the last hour.
"What did they
say?"
He
scowled. "What they always say. They can't interfere. Be patient,
everything will be explained. Let's gol Why waste our time? I'm not going to
stay here for the next decade, hoping they'll explain themselves someday. And
after today I'm not going to prowl around causing trouble, either."
"You've
been through a terrible shock. Wait awhile. You don't want to leave here any more than I do."
"There
are races in the galaxy no human has ever heard of which have just as much to
teach us as the Borg, and don't hide themselves behind a lot of mystery."
"I
can't agree with you. The Borg could be the biggest discovery in human history.
I've sat through lectures which make a few days on this world worth months of
visiting other worlds. What I've learned about the psychology of intelligent races no one
on Earth has even approached."
"Assuming what they're
teaching you is true."
"If it isn't, they
have fantastically detailed imaginations."
"How long are you
willing to give them?"
"A few more months, at least that. After that we'll have to decide if it's
worth staying. Right now it's too early to decide." Strong emotions
surged across her face. "I can't leave here now. This may be the only real
chance to deal with the Horta I'll ever have. It would torment me the rest of my life if I left here now."
That couldn't be argued
with.
The
next day was his turn to guard the ship. He slept fitfully, and when he reached
the ship he felt tired and restless at the same time. He couldn't seem to do
anything more than a few minutes. He would pick up his instrument and then in
the middle of a song put it down and dive into the pool. A minute later he
would climb out of the water and stand by the window looking at the stars.
Sometimes
while he was standing there the ship passed over the Borg dome. Every time he
saw it, he understood why the founders of the human community had been profoundly
disturbed when scientists developed the interstellar drive. The unknown was a
source of danger. Contacts with unpredictably different races could arouse
dangerous emotions. If men learned to hate again among the stars, the young,
still developing peace created on Earth might be destroyed before it was a
century old.
X
Crouching
back to back with N.
Rarkal, Jenorden watched the grass and tried to ignore the reactions of his
glands and nerves. There were two herkan loose in the field and N. Rarkal had
made it vividly clear two were several times more dangerous than one. According
to her they would probably attack simultaneously from one direction, forcing
one hunter to turn around and aim in the brief interval he had been given last
time just for aiming. So far, after several wearing minutes, they had seen no
sign of either animal.
"We may not get any warning," N.
Rarkal said. "Stay alert. They may crawl until they're close enough to
jump."
"Is this their worst
maneuver?"
"I think it is."
"How often do they do
it?"
"Almost every time. When we hunt three, usually two attack
together and one attacks from the opposite
direction."
Elinee
was standing on the wall. She had wanted to hunt with them, for the experience,
and then at the last minute she had decided she couldn't.
She
was standing by herself. Nolten had retired to his personal dwelling soon after
he had helped N. Rarkal welcome them. N. Rarkal said Nolten now spent most of
his time in his dwelling, enjoying some pleasure, apparently a story-telling
device, he had brought with him from home. The device was popular, even
encouraged, in the culture of the Togme of Bel, and Nolten could use it for
unlimited periods for the first time in his life. Enforced idleness, and being
light years from home and authority, seemed to be eroding Nolten's character.
As
for Emcasa, he and his pressurized tractor had both disappeared from the dome
yesterday morning. N. Rarkal had greeted them with her usual courtesy, but
Jenorden knew she was shaken. She was not as nonchalant about killing a member
of her own species as she. had appeared to be. She had
mentioned Emcasa's disappearance several times as they drove to the hunting
ground, and it was obvious she was looking for an excuse not to kill him.
The
grass bent in the wind. The dark vegetation and the cold light made Jenorden
think of an autumn afternoon on Earth. The air, if he could have breathed it,
would have been chilly and stimulating.
After
the battle with the Ersar-Aswero, he had thought he would never want to face
danger again. But the days had passed—it had now been an Earth month since
Ro-trudo's death—and he had grown increasingly restless and dissatisfied with
what he was doing. He had hiked, and loafed on the ship, and even wasted a few
hours a day in the Borg lecture room, but all the while he had felt as if there
was something he was not doing. As soon as N. Rarkal had called and mentioned
hunting, he had known what he wanted. He wanted to look death in the eye again.
His consciousness of death was slowly destroying him, and he had been educated
to face his problems, not evade them.
N.
Rarkal yelled. He heard the wild shriek of a herkan, and the rustle of a great
body lifting itself from the grass, and he whirled. Both animals were hurtling
through the air at them. N. Rarkal was already aiming, fierce, short noises
breaking from her throat.
She
was firing at the herkan on the right. The other one was leaping at him.
Bending his arm at the wrist and the elbow, he leveled his gun. His face was a
complicated system of tensions. Every emotion in his body was focused on the
oncoming danger.
His
gun roared. The herkan's face became a mess of brains and blood and gore and
the body hurled over his bent back and landed in the grass.
They
looked at their kill and then at each other. Relief and a strange affection
flooded his being. She had stood between him and death. She
and only she. The last hunt had been exciting, but this one had evoked a
deeper emotion.
He
was certain her eyes were expressing a similar feeling. He thought he
understood the function hunting had in her culture.
"When your people
quarrel," he said, "what do they do?"
"They hunt
together."
"That's what I
thought."
"Does it seem strange
to you?"
"It works. It does
what it's supposed to do."
"Thank
you." She stared at him a moment longer and then she gestured at the two
herkan. "They're beautiful creatures, but we think we sacrifice them to a
good cause."
They
cleared the grass around the bodies. Together they lit the fires and watched
the animals burn.
They
walked to the wall in silence. Jenorden felt pleased with himself. He had
acquired a piece of knowledge, an insight into another culture, which the
community would not have obtained if he had merely studied the Eb from the
outside.
This
might even be an institution the community could use. If machines could be
substituted for living creatures, hunting might be a useful addition to the
community's peacekeeping techniques. Or would it tend to intensify the appetite
for destruction? He wasn't sure. A culture devoted to the fulfillment of life
might need the occasional shock of violent death. Otherwise it might forget
what it was fighting and its rituals and ceremonies might become meaningless.
"I keep wondering what you're
thinking," N. Rarkal said.
"If I could tell you, you'd be
pleased."
"Are you trying to comfort me?"
"I'm telling you the truth. After what
we've just done together, don't you believe me?"
"After what we've just
done, I have to. Thank you."
Elinee
put down the ladder and they climbed over the wall and walked to N. Rarkal's
car. Elinee was pensive. As they rode back to the Eb dwelling, her thoughtful
face told him she still felt disturbed because she hadn't participated in the
hunt. He did his best to show her it was all right.
He
leaned forward, putting his head next to N. Rarkal's shoulder. "How can
one person hunt three of those things alone?"
N.
Rarkal turned her head. "Very few can. You have to be fast and you have to
be clever."
"I don't think I could
watch it," Elinee said.
"I've
seen crowds of spectators drop on all fours with excitement."
N.
Rarkal turned back to the road. As they rounded the curve, he saw Emcasa's
pressurized tractor blocking the road, and at the same time he heard two sharp
cracks. N. Rarkal threw up her arms, blood gushing from her skull. Elinee
screamed. N. Rarkal slumped over the wheel and the car swerved off the road
into the side of the hill.
Jenorden
lunged at the steering wheel. Without really knowing what was happening,
reacting before his mind could adjust to the sudden, shocking event, he steered
them along the side of the hill. The car lurched to a halt and they dove behind
it and drew their weapons. An automatic weapon chattered at them from the
trees. The back of the tractor had opened up and Ersar-Aswero were pouring out. Bullets cracked above their heads.
They
were both stunned by horror. Emcasa had killed a member of his own species. N.
Rarkal's blood was smeared on Jenorden's sleeves.
The
Ersar-Aswero were bounding toward them. He glanced at
Elinee and the two of them stood up and ran for the bend in the road.
A
bolt shot past his legs. He turned and snapped a pair of shots as he ran. The
Ersar-Aswero were gaining on them fast. Their suits
encumbered them less in this environment than they had in the airless
wasteland.
They rounded the turn. They were still only a
short distance from the hunting field and the building where the herkan were
caged. On their left, about half a mile from the road, there was a small wood.
"Head
for the trees! We'll hide in the trees!"
Elinee
was already several feet ahead of him. She gestured to let him know she'd
heard and they both turned off the road toward the woods. Behind them
Ersar-Aswero came around the turn and over the hill. Bolts shot past him at
chest level and he realized they were willing to kill him after all.
He
hit the grass. Feverishly he snapped half a dozen incendiaries into his
pistol. He felt as if he were stuck in one of those recurrent dreams some people
had. How long would it take him to reach his limit this time? Already he could
feel an insistent urge to switch on his shield and run for the woods. But that
would be folly. This time they not only had him outnumbered, they had as much
time as they needed. If Emcasa had transported his allies between the domes in
his tractor, he must have brought a good supply of their atmosphere with him.
As long as he had his gun, he could at least shoot to scare them, even if he
soon reached the point at which he couldn't actually kill them.
He
fired the incendiaries and the grass lit with a roar. Tall flames and heavy
white smoke shielded him from the Ersar-Aswero onslaught.
A
group of them bounced into sight on his right, bypassing the wall of smoke and
intent on Elinee. They held their crossbows diagonally across their chest and
their bodies were perfectly motionless. Only their legs moved, bending as they
came down and straightening the instant they hit.
He
fired at the grass in front of them and they sailed through a wall of fire and
smoke which shot up almost the instant he pulled the trigger. He turned around
just as a warrior, crossbow aimed, sailed through the first wall of smoke. He
fired at the hard, armored chest and the incendiary struck home and turned the
armor into an oven.
He
turned around. Through the thin mist of smoke from his second barrage, he could
see Elinee running and the Ersar-Aswero dropping on her back.
He
raised his gun and aimed at the leader. He wanted to face both directions at
once. They were probably falling on his back at the same time they were falling
on hers.
"Shoot! Turn around and shoot!"
He
fired. Elinee turned, bringing her weapon up, and the first warrior to hit the
ground got Jenorden's bullet in his back. The others landed, crossbows ready,
and there was a quick, violent scuffle. Elinee's gun was knocked from her hand.
Two Ersar-Aswero grabbed her shoulders and leaped
toward the hill and the tractor. She struggled with them, kicking and thrashing
even when they were at the top of their trajectory and she could have dropped
several yards into the flames.
Jenorden
dropped. Bolts flew at him through the smoke. The smoke was thinning out and he
could see them bounding back to the tractor.
He
stood up. Switching on his shield, he ran toward the hill.
He
ran around the bend and jumped into the middle of the road. The rear door was
already shut and all the Ersar-Aswero were inside.
Only a crippling explosive could keep them from leaving the dome with their
prisoner.
On
top of the tractor the gun turret swung his way. Confronted with the bore of a small cannon, he panicked and threw himself flat in the
grass. The cannon roared and a shell bigger than anything his shield could stop
screamed down the road.
He
crawled behind the hill. Out on the road the gun roared twice. The first shell
exploded close enough to shower dirt and shrapnel on his back. The second shell
whistled in a different direction. Raising his head, he followed the sound and
watched it explode in the building where the herkan were caged.
XI
Stars glittered above the dome. Huddling on the narrow branch
of a tree, the rough trunk pressing his spine, he stared at the thousands of
glittering lights and struggled
with the
vision of the Horta. In the morning he had to go out on the grass and fight the
hungry animals who were prowling the dark in search of
their prey.
N.
Rarkal was a thing, a lump of flesh. By now she was covered with vermin or her
body was fueling a prowling herkan. Someday he would be a thing, too. It could
happen tomorrow or it could happen in two hundred and thirty-seven years. In
the time scale of the universe it didn't matter. One swift, violent moment and
the passion and achievement of intelligent life were ended forever.
He
could live in his suit up to four days. If he stayed in the tree he would
probably outlast the herkan. There was a good chance they would be dead, or too
weak to fight, before his suit turned foul and poisonous. AH he had to do was
huddle here. He didn't have to struggle or defy his fate.
By
that time, of course, Elinee would be beyond help. Even now the tractor was
crawling across the planet to the Ersar-Aswero dome. He couldn't take on the
herkan in the dark, but if he came down from the tree as soon as the first mist
left the ground, there was a chance he could fight his way to the airlock and
get to the Ersar-Aswero dome before Emcasa.
His
despair was overpowering. Let the galaxy turn without him. But this concerned
someone else, another human, and his education had been long and successful.
His concern for Elinee was as powerful and as irresistible as an instinct.
"Jenoden. Elinee." Roseka's voice murmured in his
earphones. He had heard her calling earlier in the evening, but his
transmitter was too weak for him to answer. He was at least twenty miles from
the airlock and he would have to be within five miles of her receiver before
she could hear him. "I'm still here. I guess you're too far away to
answer—I hope that's why you didn't answer—but if you're still alive, I'm here.
I asked Zilv to open the dome and he refused. I tried to blast my way in but
the shells just go right into the dome. It absorbs them. I know I told you this
before, but I don't know if you heard me. I'm still here. Don't give up. I'll
be here when you come out."
He
switched off the receiver and closed his eyes. Knowing he had to do it, for
tomorrow he had to be alert, he pushed all the terrifying knowledge from his
brain, consciously relaxed his muscles, and fell into a fitful, uncomfortable
sleep.
The
sun which stirred him from his dreams was cold and gloomy. For almost the first
time in his life, he didn't want to wake up.
He
scanned the grass with his binoculars. Far away, almost on the horizon, he
spotted a ripple. He was certain at least six of them were loose in the dome.
Last night he had reached the tree just as they started leaping from the
building.
His
stomach felt sick. When he raised his binoculars again, he spotted two more
ripples. He closed his eyes. His conscience was as real as the fear pounding in
his temples. They had taught him what was right, and they had taught him why it
was right, and he had learned the lesson willingly. And now all the terror in
the universe couldn't erase the lesson from his being.
He
picked his way downward through the branches of the tree. On the last thick
branch, an easy hop from the ground, he hesitated again. His eyes took in the
sky, and the horizon, and the cold sun shining through the dome. Drawing his
gun, he stepped off the branch.
He
walked toward the road. His eyes scanned the grass systematically. He wanted to
run, but he knew if he did he would be worn out long before he was safe. He had
to meet them in battle and kill them. That was his only chance.
He
froze. Three ripples were coming his way. Two were racing toward him side by
side and the third was intersecting their path at an angle.
When they were all within six hundred yards,
two of them started circling and the third disappeared. He turned with the two
circlers, his back tingling and his eyes searching for some sign of the other
one. His hands were steady but inside he felt sick and trembling. The circlers
were getting further apart. Already the front one was almost half a turn ahead of the other.
They
made one full turn and then a second. He had trouble keeping both of them in
sight at once. He had to keep turning his head to make sure the third one
wasn't attacking him from behind.
He
wondered if they were intelligent enough to know they were wearing down his
nerves. They had done something like this both the times he had hunted with N.
Rarkal. Or were they just afraid, as he was afraid, and hesitating until the
needs of their bodies drove them toward food? They were doing what they had
been bred to do, and he was doing what he had been educated to do.
He
looked behind him and saw the ripple streaking at his back. He whirled and the
other two broke from their circle and charged.
He
didn't wait for it to leap. As it reached the point where it would normally
spring, his gun roared and an explosive shell smashed into the oncoming
ripple. The ground shook. Dirt and grass and flesh fountained into the air and
he turned just as the other two leaped. His first shell grazed a winged side,
exploding and knocking the wounded body off course, and he turned on the third
animal and shot it in the face when it was only a few feet from his own
fear-contorted features. The shell penetrated the body before it went off, and
the muffled explosion shoved him to the ground as he tried to back away.
He
picked up his gun and stood up. In the grass the herkan he had wounded was
screaming and thrashing as it died. The other two had been blown to pieces.
Drained of emotion, exhausted by an instant of fear and action, he stared dully
at the tortured body. He wanted to end its pain, but he didn't want to use up
an explosive shell and he didn't want to stop long enough to switch to regular
ammunition. He tried to think, and then he turned his back on the wounded
animal and trudged toward the road.
A herkan leaped from the grass. There was no
ripple, no warning of any kind except the rush of a massive body lifting itself
off the ground. He screamed and brought up his gun and his finger convulsed on
the trigger. Wings beat and claws and teeth sped toward his face. The gun
roared in his hand. A strange swelling appeared in the middle of the animal's
body. He dropped to one knee, throwing up his left hand. The front half of the
body sailed over his head and the gory mess of the rear half crashed to the
ground beside him.
He
stood up and stumbled away from the carcass. In the open, a good quarter mile
from the bodies and the torn up ground, he stopped and waited for the next
attack. The herkan he had wounded was still screaming.
From
the far end of the dome three ripples converged on him as relentlessly as if
they were missiles placed in a trajectory and lacked any will of their own.
Under the grass, only inches from the ground, their heads were raised to catch
the scent and their claws were sheathing and unsheathing with excitement.
Crouching,
he held his gun with relaxed fingers and awaited their attack. They had passed
the wall and were moving parallel to the road less than a mile away. They would
break from the grass in a few seconds.
They
split apart. One turned right and the other left and the middle one charged him
head on. He sighted on the middle one and the ripple on the left slid out of
his peripheral vision.
Almost
simultaneously herkan sprang at him from the front and from the right. He
pressed the trigger and shot the first one as it cleared the grass and then he
turned on the second and fired again. The hasty shot hit it near the tail and
knocked it off course. As it flew past him its wings struck his shoulders and
knocked him to the ground. He landed on all fours, scrambling for balance, and
the third herkan leaped at him at close range.
He
snapped a shot. The thing kept coming. The bullet had hit but it had missed the
face and it hadn't been an explosive. He fired again and threw himself forward,
under the oncoming body and away from the head. The heavy stomach landed on his
ribs. Legs kicked his chest and wings beat on his face through his suit. He
fired twice, directly into the belly, as the herkan thrashed and tried to reach
him with its fangs. Blood gushed from the bullet holes. The animal screamed and
bucked and he kicked himself out from under and fired at its head. His arms and
the lower half of his body were covered with blood.
He
stood up. Two clouded eyes stared at him, and then the herkan dropped its head
and died.
The
herkan he had wounded in the tail sprang from the grass. He screamed and a rush
of surprise and horror made him throw up his left hand and stumble back.
His
right hand did what it was trained to do. The bullet hit the herkan square in
the head and he threw himself down. Long after the body hit the ground, he lay
on the grass and stared at his hands.
XII
Roseka
followed Emcasa's
tracks all the way to the Ersar-Aswero dome. She didn't admit she was too late
until she saw the tracks ending at the closed airlock.
She
returned to the Eb dome and picked up Jenorden. As they flew to their dome,
they radioed the ship and told Veneleo what had happened.
Veneleo
was stunned. "As soon as we get to our dome," Roseka said,
"we're going to call Emcasa. If that doesn't work, we'll talk to the
Borg."
"Do you think they'll
help?" Veneleo asked.
"They have to."
"They don't
interfere."
"Even they can't be
that indifferent."
"Don't
make me wait for news. Tell me as soon as something happens."
"We'll call you as often as we
can," Roseka said.
"If she dies . .
." The words trailed off.
They called Emcasa as soon as they reached
their dome.
"You're
alive, Jenorden. I'm glad. I was afraid those beasts might kill you. I'm sorry
I had to delay you that way."
"Elinee
can't give you any information, Emcasa. None of us can. When something is this
immoral to us, it's impossible."
"What
is it immoral? You can't make things any worse for us than they are. Do you
think I'd do what I've done if that wasn't true? Do you think I'm a murderer
because I like it?"
"The prohibition is absolute. I can't do
what you want me to do."
"I don't believe
you."
"You'll
kill her—you'll murder someone else—and you'll learn nothing."
"You
can be the saviors of a world. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Is our fate
so petty to you you can't care?"
"We
do care," Roseka said. "That's why our teachers taught us so well
nothing that happens can change us. They knew we'd be tempted."
Emcasa's
big eyes studied them. "How can I know you're telling the truth? I have to
test you. If you're lying, you'll give me what I want before she dies. I'm
sorry. What else can I do?" Jenorden had learned enough about Eb expressions
to know he was truly in agony. "Jenorden, I'm sorry! If you're telling the
truth, forgive me! I've done too much. I can't stop now."
"She'll die, Emcasa.
We aren't lying."
"I
almost believe you. Call me if you decide you can save her."
The
screen blanked. "She's going to die!" Roseka whispered.
He
stalked toward the door. Roseka watched him go and then she started after him.
He piloted the vehicle a short distance from the Borg dome and this time the
attendant didn't argue with him. The Borg appeared as soon as he demanded their
presence.
"You
know what's happened," he said. "You must. Will you help us?"
"We
can't," the loudspeaker said. "We want to, Jenorden, but we can't. We
have our morality, too."
He
stared at the high dome and the black shapes a mile above his head. They were
telling him the same thing he had told Emcasa, and he didn't believe them any
more than Emcasa had believed him. How could he believe Elinee was doomed?
"At least let us into that dome so we
can fight for her!" "We can't. Once we give any being a dome, only he
can open it."
He clenched his fists. If he had been a
little less rational, he would have drawn his gun and vented his anger by
shooting at the dome. What" kind of beings were they?
"We're
sorry. We didn't want this to happen."
He
turned away. Two hours later he dove on the Ersar-Aswero dome.
Shell
after shell poured out of the cannon at the airlock. Most of them were direct
hits. A few hit the side of the dome. All were absorbed exactly as Roseka had
said they would be.
He
turned around and flew back to their dome. Neither of them had the strength to
radio Veneleo.
When
they entered the house, he went straight to the screen and called Emcasa. This
time the Eb took his time coming.
"What
are you going to do?" Roseka asked.
"Talk. Just talk. What else can I do? At least as long as we're talking, I can
hope."
Emcasa
appeared on the screen. "Have you decided to help us, Jenorden?"
"What
can we do to convince you we can't?"
"You
can let Elinee die."
"Is
that all you have to say?"
"Can
you think of anything else?"
"If
we give you any information, will the Ersar-Aswero get it, too?"
"You're
bargaining?"
"I'm
asking for information. The more I know, the more chance there is I can think
of a way out of this."
"We'll discuss it when you're ready to
bargain. When you have something to say, call me."
The
screen blanked and Jenorden shut it off with a blow. Roseka couldn't look at
him. His anguish looked like something no human nervous system could endure.
He
turned away from the screen. Then his face softened. He felt the first stirring
of the same fear he had felt that morning, the terror of doing something he was
afraid to do and yet was forced to do by his own irresistible drives. He turned
back to the screen and watched his hands manipulate the controls.
Three Ersar-Aswero appeared on the screen and began their
elaborate greeting ceremonies. Deliberately, insultingly, he interrupted them,
"You're
all cowards." Haltingly, choosing his words carefully, he spoke as well
as he could in their language. All primitives were different, but the
Ersar-Aswero were warriors, and warrior primitives
usually had a strong sense of honor. "You took Elinee by ambush. You're
afraid to meet us in open combat. You learned to fear me the first time we
fought. When I leave this world, I'm going to spread your shame to every planet
in the galaxy. Your race will be ashamed to leave its native world. You aren't
a crar. A crar has
morals. You're a pack of unorganized, nameless animals."
He
turned off the screen. When he glanced at Roseka, she nodded her approval.
"Good thinking, Jenorden."
"You
know what this means if it works? If I could have kept myself from doing it, I
would have."
"I know."
"It may not
work."
"Do you think you can fight them? After
this morning, after what you went through in the Eb dome . . ."
"I
don't know what I can do. Ill find out when the time
comes."
A long time passed. Outside the sun set and
insects and small animals began making night noises. The house was silent.
Roseka lay on her bed and he lay on his. Neither of them felt like talking.
The
Ersar-Aswero would be fighting in their own environment
and Emcasa would have the heavy weapons mounted on his tractor. It would be
worse than anything he had endured that morning.
Until
he had made the call he had been moral and high-minded and suffering for
Elinee. Now he was once again faced with the possibility he might die. Worry
about others and worry about oneself were not the same emotion.
The
screen buzzed. He rolled out of bed and walked to the common room.
Roseka
got to the screen before him. She turned it on and Emcasa appeared and touched
horns.
"I've been talking to
my colleagues. They think you should come here if you want to talk. We've
decided face-to-face discussions might be useful."
Jenorden's
heart jumped. Concealing his excitement, he looked at Emcasa scornfully.
"So you can take another prisoner?"
"I
already have the only prisoner I need. You may come with your usual weapons. The
Ersar-Aswero will meet you at the airlock." Emcasa paused. "They're
the ones that want this."
"Why can't we talk
now?"
"The
Ersar-Aswero feel uncomfortable negotiating over long
distances. They aren't used to modern communications. This doesn't seem real to
them."
"Suppose we come
tomorrow morning? Does that suit you?"
"I'll
tell the Ersar-Aswero you're coming. Elinee isn't hurt, by the way. She's
guarded, but we aren't torturing her."
Jenorden bowed. "Thank
you. I'm certain you aren't cruel."
"I have my morality,
too."
The
screen blanked and he turned to Roseka. Her emotions were just as mixed as
his. He put his arms around her and they took what comfort they could from the
touch of bodies encased in suits.
>
"He still pretended we're coming for a
conference," Roseka said.
"He's
probably leaving it up to us. They'll be ready for a fight but we can back down
if we want to. Let's call Veneleo."
Veneleo
had his moment of jubilation when they told him the news, and then he, too,
began to think about the danger. "Do you have any clever strategies,
Jenorden? You've done more fighting than any of us."
"I've
got a few ideas, but nothing we can do will make it easy. Whatever we do, it's
going to be bloody."
"It's Roseka's turn to
guard the ship, isn't it?"
They
both turned to Roseka. For a brief instant her face betrayed her relief, and
then she regained her composure. "I'm going with Jenorden," she said.
"You're saying that," Veneleo said,
"because you think you have to."
"I didn't say I want to go. I said I'm
going."
"Why should you go with him?"
"Because the decision has to be made as impersonally as possible. The one who stays will feel guilty and the
one who goes—his emotions won't be pleasant either. We set up the schedule for
watching the ship when we first got here. It's as impersonal as any
system."
"Tomorrow is
Jenorden's day."
Jenoden
felt irritated. They were indulging in a luxury. Veneleo was right. They both
felt obliged to offer and neither of them could afford to withdraw. Withdrawal
would be psychologically damaging.
He
glanced around the room. In the pre-community days humans had rolled dice and
flipped coins. Money and' games of chance were both obsolete, but there must be
something he could use.
He
took a bullet from his belt. "Let this settle it." Squatting he laid
the bullet on the floor and flipped it with his finger. Veneleo and Roseka
watched it spin with fascinated eyes. It slowed, and then it stopped, and after
awhile he lifted his head and looked at the screen.
Veneleo
nodded. He didn't try to pretend he was unconcerned.
Roseka looked relieved and then she looked at
Veneleo and her eyes grew sad. "I'm not happy either." "I
believe you," Veneleo said.
The
carefree look had left Veneleo's face. His love of life and happiness, an
emotion all humans honored and respected, was too great for him to face death
stoically.
"I'm
sorry," Jenorden said. "I'm sorry, Veneleo. If I could do this by
myself, I would."
"Don't
blame yourself. You've only done what you had to do. You're right, if anybody's
to blame, it's the Borg."
Roseka
touched Jenorden's arm. He turned to her and she looked at him questioningly.
"I'm going to the ship now," she said. "Veneleo can come down in
the morning."
He
nodded. He wanted her, too, but they both knew Veneleo needed her more.
XIII
It
had to be a
battle of attrition. Jenorden thought about it, brooding as he stared out the
window at the Borg dome, and then he discussed it with Veneleo and Roseka and
they both reluctantly agreed he was right. From the moment they entered the
dome, they would have to concentrate on equalizing the odds by killing the
Ersar-Aswero.
Neither
of them asked how many they could kill. There would be two of them, and they
were fighting for the life of another human, and they didn't feel responsible,
so there was no way they could know when their revulsion would overcome their
instinct to survive. They could only hope that sometime before that, the
Ersar-Aswero and Emcasa would stop fighting. Surely even primitives would be
revolted by so much slaughter.
For
the second night in a row he was waiting for a morning which might be his last.
He wondered what would happen to him tomorrow if he survived. He knew he was
still functioning only because another human needed him. He had looked at
death, and every day the vision planted in his psyche by the Horta grew more
powerful, and tomorrow more deaths would be embedded in his consciousness.
In
the morning Veneleo arrived with a fresh converter and a double supply of
ammunition for him. They flew toward the north with him piloting and Veneleo
sitting behind him.
He
landed them several hundred yards from the Ersar-Aswero airlock, behind a dune
which would protect them from any sudden attacks. Switching on the radio, he
contacted Emcasa.
"Welcome, Jenorden. Welcome,
Veneleo."
"Good
morning, Emcasa. We'll be outside your airlock in a few minutes."
"It
will open as soon as you get there. The Ersar-Aswero are
waiting for you."
They stood up. Veneleo stared gloomily at the
dome and then he struggled and made his face look a little like his old self.
"Are
you ready?" Jenorden asked. "Let's go."
The
airlock door opened when they were still several paces from the dome. They
stopped, and their fingers closed around their weapons, but the airlock was
empty.
"We
have to go in," Jenorden muttered. "We shouldn't take too long."
They
entered the airlock and the heavy door closed behind them. Machinery hummed.
Radiation sterilized their suits and the lighting dimmed to the twilight of the
Ersar-Aswero environment.
They
drew their weapons. In the dimness a pink light blinked three times. The inner
door swung open.
They
didn't stop to look things over. They had picked their strategy and ruthless as
it was they had to go through with it. Jenorden fired twice, the noise of the
gun reverberating in the lock and creating new pressures on his ear drums, and
two explosive shells tore up the ground in front of the door. Veneleo fired an
instant later and two incendiaries combined with the sparse vegetation and the
powerful, constant wind of the Ersar-Aswero world to create a sheet of flame
which flared toward the sky and collapsed at once.
Bolts
clattered on the walls of the airlock. Jenorden threw himself flat and again
two explosive shells rocked the ground. Rising, he sprinted through the dust
and smoke, firing blindly and trying to create enough havoc to keep the Ersar-Aswero
down. Veneleo followed on his heels.
The
Ersar-Aswero had formed a semi-circle around the airlock and were
shooting at them from behind the rocks and hills and out of the gullies of
their rugged environment. Several warriors, incredibly, were drawn up in
formation on his left and taking careful, formal aim with their crossbows.
Hitting the ground as a flock of bolts flew over his back,
he shot an explosive at them. The wind diverted the bullet and it exploded on
their right flank and scattered the formation. In their own environment they
moved even faster than they had in the Eb dome. Here they could even ride on
the wind.
He
stood up and ran on. Hurdling a fallen warrior, he
switched on his shield. Together he and Veneleo charged up a hill into a shower
of bolts. They reached the top and went down the other side firing at the
fleeing warriors. Jenor-den switched off his shield as he ran.
They
jumped into a gully, a natural chest-high trench. Veneleo blasted the top of
the hill they had just left and they looked around for their adversaries. None
were in sight. Remembering the first time he had fought them, Jenorden
shuddered and peered into every shadow.
"This light,"
Veneleo muttered.
The wind pressure pushing on Jenorden's cheek
increased drastically. Automatically he glanced down the gully. "Duck!"
They
squatted and a rock half the size of a man's fist shot over their heads. Jenorden
stared sickly at the side of the gully. He could have been brained.
Veneleo
fired and the sound jerked him erect. Several Ersar-Aswero were bounding over
the top of the hill. He snapped a shot and then ducked as a volley of bolts
sped toward the gully. When he raised his head the Ersar-Aswero were bouncing
off the side of the hill and aiming a second volley as they descended on him.
He snapped another shot and ducked again. In a second they would be over the
trench.
The
gully made a ragged semi-circle around the base of the hill. They both came to
the same conclusion and ran for cover in opposite directions. Crouching behind
the bend, he fired at the first Ersar-Aswero to cross the trench. The shot hit
the armored warrior square in the chest. Another warrior sailed across the
trench right behind the first one and Jenorden ducked a bolt and looked around
the bend just in time to duck another bolt.
He
looked again. They had all disappeared. Raising his head and eyes above the top
of the trench, he scanned the darkness.
"Are you all
right?" Veneleo radioed.
"I killed another one.
I think we've killed four." The callousness of his language disgusted him,
but he refused to use euphemisms.
"Watch
the hill!" Veneleo yelled.
Another
group, as big as the last bunch, poured over the side of the hill. Bolts flew
and he caught them on his shield and then switched the shield off and shot
back. Explosives tore up the hillside. Yelling battle cries and ignoring their
dead, the warriors leaped toward him through the wreckage.
Turning
on his shield, he surrendered the position and bolted around the hill and up
another gully. He switched off his shield and turned around. They weren't
following him. Trying to look up, back and ahead at the same time, he felt his
way backward. His eyes ached with the effort to see in this light.
"They've
disappeared," Veneleo said.
"Where
are you? I'm backing up a gulley in front of the hill."
"I'm
in some boulders to your left. I had to turn my shield on."
"So
did I. We'd better watch our indicators."
"What do you think they'll do now?"
"Look
out for ambushes. They've probably been trying to separate us. Now that they've
done it, I don't think they'll make any frontal attacks. Try to keep moving
further into the dome."
Through
the twilight and the craggy land, they stalked the Ersar-Aswero and the
Ersar-Aswero stalked them. Jenor-den butchered them as methodically as if he
were a slaughter machine. Only during lulls, lying in hiding while he waited
for them, did he feel bitter misery.
When
Veneleo shot their eighth victim, they had been inside the dome almost an hour.
He had no idea where Veneleo was, except that he was far away, and he guessed
he himself had moved a couple of miles into the dome. He whs lying behind a boulder, resting as he worked his
way up a ridge. It had been several minutes since an Ersar-Aswcio hud shot at him. He knew there were several of 11 if 'i 11 sprdul
out below, stalking him up the ridge, but llicv srcnicil 111
be resting, too.
A limit sound ulliacted his attention. He
strained his ears.
The sound was a long way off and would have
been inaudible if the wind hadn't carried it.
"Veneleo! I think I hear the tractor!"
"Can
you see it?"
"Wait."
He listened again. She had to be on it. Emcasa wouldn't let her out of his
custody. "He's on the other side of this ridge. He's coming this way. The
Ersar-Aswero must have called for help."
A
scream pierced Jenorden's ear drums. "Veneleo!" Shock blurred his vision. He almost stood up and exposed himself to the
Ersar-Aswero crossbows.
"Veneleo!"
Veneleo groaned. "I'm hit. Jenorden, I'm
hit!" Jenorden closed his eyes. He didn't even know where Veneleo was.
"Where? Where are you hit?"
Veneleo
groaned. "My thigh . . . my forearm ...
I think my leg's . . . broken. . . ." He groaned again. Jenorden tried to
think. The tractor sounded closer.
"Can
you hold them off? Are you in a good position?"
"Go
after Elinee."
"Can
you hold them off?"
Veneleo
gasped. Jenorden listened to Veneleo's quick, panting breaths rise to a crescendo of agony and he felt as if the pain were his.
"It'll
take . . . two of . . . you to move me."
"Hold
on. Hold them off. Don't give in."
In a
sitting position, kicking himself backward with his legs, he backed away from
the boulder and up the side of the ridge. Between Veneleo's groans and the
sound of the oncoming tractor, he was almost in a state of panic himself.
Veneleo must not die. No person so alive should die.
He
sent two shells down the slope. They exploded and threw up a screen of dirt and
he stood up and ran for the top of the ridge. As he went down the other side,
the Ersar-Aswero leaped from their hiding places and bounded after him.
The
ridge sloped downward a couple of hundred yards and then the ground sloped
upward again to the back of a higher
ridge. On his left, about half a mile away, there was a U-shaped opening in the
opposite ridge. Emcasa's tractor was just creeping through the opening.
The
automatic weapon on the tractor opened up on him and he dropped into a narrow
gully, turning sideways so he could squeeze in and slipping on a floor of loose
rocks. Adrenalin flooded his body. Again his fear was driving him forward.
Up
the slope of the valley the tractor halted next to a group of spear-shaped
rocks. Running from boulder to boulder and gully to gully, crawling on the
ground with some minor upheaval in the landscape for protection and then
sprinting from a place where he hoped Emcasa didn't expect him to appear, he
fought his way toward it. Sometimes Emcasa fired on him with the automatic
weapon and sometimes the cannon turned his way and explosive shells screamed
down the valley. Behind him the Ersar-Aswero sniped at his back and drew the
noose tighter. In spite of his fears he kept his shield turned off. There was
plenty of cover and the light was as hard on Emcasa's marksmanship as it was
on his.
He
squatted in a shallow gully as close to the tractor as he wanted to get.
Nervously he raised his head. The gun turret swung on him and he dropped to all
fours and crawled along the gully.
"Elinee! If you're in the tractor, tell me what part. Say front or rear. One word. They won't kill you. You're too valuable."
He
waited. He couldn't shoot until he knew. He couldn't see the Ersar-Aswero but
he knew they were moving in on three sides. "Hurry!
Hurry! It's our only chance." Even as he crouched here, pinned below
ground level by the tractor's guns, they might be making their final assault.
"Front."
The sound was only a mumble, hardly a word at
all, but he was certain he had heard it. "Front! I heard you. Keep still.
Get ready to run."
He
rose as far out of the gully as he dared. His gun came up and he sighted on the
rear half of the tractor. Ersar-Aswero battle cries rang in his ears. The
turret turned on him, the automatic chattering.
He squeezed the trigger and dropped. Bullets
cracked above his back. An explosion shook the ground.
He
raised his head. There was a gaping hole in the rear of the tractor.
Ersar-Aswero were leaping toward him across the rocks.
A figure in a human spacesuit was stumbling out the back of the wrecked
vehicle.
He
switched on his shield and stood up. In one swift, chaotic glance he saw the
Ersar-Aswero charging him from three directions, Elinee stumbling across the
treacherous ground with her hands tied behind her back, and the turret edging
the cannon his way. Bolts ricocheted off his shield. He fired at the turret,
directly at the cannon, and then he turned on the Ersar-Aswero.
He
fired a barrage at the oncoming warriors. Behind him, one more sound in the
din, the shell he had fired at the turret exploded against metal. Shells tore
up and ground smashed into armor. Battle cries turned into death yells in
midbreath.
The
charge broke. The Ersar-Aswero leaped for cover and he turned on the tractor
again. Emcasa was stumbling toward the rocks in his cumbersome space suit.
Elinee had reached a gully and was dropping into hiding.
Switching
off his shield, he dropped and crawled along his own gully. He jumped up and
sprinted toward Elinee. As he ran, a line of bullets kicked up the dust behind
his heels. Emcasa had another weapon.
He
dropped into the gully and yelled when he realized how deep it was. Elinee was
crouching at the bottom rubbing her bonds against the rocks. He broke his fall
and came up ready to shoot whoever looked over the rim.
"She's free! Hold on.
We're coming!"
"Is she all
right?" Veneleo whispered.
He
looked at her. Her eyes were filled with tears. "You came," she said.
"You came." She stood up and he struggled with the knots on her
bonds. "What's wrong with Veneleo?"
He
glanced at the rim of the gully. "He's hit. Well have to carry him
out."
"Where is he?"
He
untied the last knot. Emcasa and the Ersar-Aswero would be on them in seconds.
If they went down the valley, toward Veneleo, they would collide with the
Ersar-Aswero. Elinee didn't have a gun and according to his indicator he
couldn't fire one more shot than he had to. They would have to run, not fight.
He
started backing up the gully, away from the Ersar-Aswero. He waved his gun
impatiently. "Come on. Hurry! I'll tell you later."
XIV
Emcasa
maneuvered into
a position on a hill in the center of the valley and the Ersar-Aswero started
driving them toward the automatic weapon. Every way they went a crossbow or a
burst from Emcasa brought them to a halt. Emcasa commanded the valley and the
slopes of the ridges and the crar still
had enough warriors to patrol whatever the terrain hid from his view. Little by
little the Ersar-Aswero pushed them toward the hill.
Veneleo's
groans were unnerving. Every time he talked to them his whispers seemed
noticeably weaker. They kept telling him they would soon be with him, but their
voices betrayed their lack of confidence.
Crouching
in a twisted jumble of rocks near the base of Emcasa's hill, Jenorden peered up
the slope through a crack between two boulders. They had been driven here
through a system of gullies and he was certain the Ersar-Aswero were now
creeping toward them through those same gullies. Uphill was the only direction
open to them, but if he tried to rush it his shield would collapse long before
he reached the top. There was enough cover—a gully, rocks, an overhang at the
bottom—so that he could hope to get part way up. But the final rush would kill
him.
"Jenorden! Elinee!" From the top of the hill Emcasa
blared at them with all the power of the loudspeaker in his space suit.
"We have you surrounded. Don't make us take you by force. We might kill
you in the struggle. I don't want to kill you! Surrender! I beg you to
surrender. Your position is hopeless."
Jenorden
picked up a crossbow bolt he had plucked from 102 the dirt the last time an
Ersar-Aswero had shot at them. A plan had been taking shape in his mind since
he had first realized they couldn't break through the Ersar-Aswero ring.
"We
have to get rid of Emcasa," he said. "Eliminate that gun and the
Ersar-Aswero will be reduced to something we can handle."
She
glanced at the bolt. "With that? And one of us
stays here with the gun?" She couldn't conceal her distaste.
He
nodded. She avoided his eyes and then she looked at him with a face full of
sympathy. He unsnapped his pistol from the wires which connected it to his
converter and she took it and hooked it to hei own converter.
He
put his hand on her shoulder and they came together and embraced. His lips
tingled to kiss her. He wanted to return to the ship and satiate himself with
her.
Elinee
felt the change in the way he held her. She stepped back and their eyes said
more than any touch could.
He
looked away, returning to reality as he automatically checked the approaches
the Ersar-Aswero might use any moment. The entire profound, intense exchange
had lasted only a few seconds.
What
difference did it make? His shoulders drooped and the sudden unexpected rush of
passion drained from his body. His awakening emotions only made him more aware
of the truth that violence and death of the last months had impressed on his
consciousness. He was about to die. Even if he lived, it would only be to die
some other day.
He
had known that when he left Earth, but he had only known it with his brain. Now
he knew it with his emotions. He had gone forth, hungry and curious, to possess
the stars, and he had learned the only truth the stars could teach.
Even
as he began to desire Elinee, he knew he would never again desire anything very
much. It would always be like this. The desire would begin to stir and then his
knowledge would deaden it. And in his world, a world without necessity, a man
was only as alive as his desires.
Elinee responded to the
change in his mood. "Jenorden .. ."
"Do you want to live,
Elinee?"
"Don't you?"
"I'll have to kill
him."
"He's almost our own kind."
His fingers gripped the iron bolt. He turned
up the loudspeaker on his suit. "Emcasa!"
"Are you ready to surrender,
Jenorden?" "Let us go free. I don't
want to kill you." "I don't want to kill youl" "Then let us
go free."
"If
you want to live throw out your weapons and come out in the open." He
sounded excited. He probably thought they were ready to give in.
"I'm
going to kill you," Jenorden yelled. "Don't make me kill you."
"Don't threaten me! I
can't be threatened!"
Jenorden
turned to Elinee. "You know what to do." His voice sounded listless.
"Don't let the Ersar-Aswero get you while you're covering me." He
gestured with the bolt. "Put two shells on top of the hill."
She
raised the pistol and shot between the crack. Two
explosions raised the dirt just below Emcasa's position, and the wind blew the
dust up the slope and obscured the hilltop.
He
sprinted across the open ground between the rocks and the bottom of the hill.
Emcasa's weapon chattered, firing blindly through the dust and the smoke. He
reached the overhang at the base of the hill. Keeping his balance by digging
his hands into the flat face of the overhang, he moved around the hill toward a
gully.
He
dropped into the gully. Holding the savage weapon in his hand, he crawled up
the hill. The gully narrowed and he climbed out of it behind a twisted rock. He
took his bearings and then he broke from cover and ran toward another rock.
Surprised, Emcasa reacted too late and fired a short, angry burst.
"Go back, Jenorden! Surrender! You can't
fight me unarmed."
He crept up the hillside from cover to cover
until he reached a protecting rock face just below the final cover-less expanse
of hill. He was reasonably certain Emcasa didn't know exacdy where he was.
There had been no firing the last time he broke from hiding. He stared bleakly
at the sharpened metal and signaled Elinee with his hand.
She
fired six shots, one after the other. A barrage tore up the hillside. He
counted the explosions. As soon as number six hit, he stood up and charged
through the dust.
The
automatic weapon swept the hillside. Again the wind blew the dust upward and
covered the hilltop with a thick cloud. Guessing which direction Emcasa was
facing from the sound of the gunfire, Jenorden circled left and leaped through
the dust.
Emcasa
was firing from a hollow he had dug in the hilltop. He tried to roll onto his
back and-bring the gun around and Jenorden fell on him, pushing the gun away
with his free hand. Through their dust streaked suits they glared at each other
like animals. Emcasa saw the bolt and a horrible sound, amplified by the
loudspeaker, burst from his mouth. He grabbed Jenorden's forearm and the two of
them struggled and kicked in the dirt. Jenorden fought Emcasa's legs with his
own longer legs. His free hand held Emcasa's right arm pinned to the ground. He
jerked his right arm up, pulling it free of Emcasa's grip.
"Surrender! Surrender!" He
was pleading.
Emcasa
grabbed his forearm again. His short legs thrashed as he tried to break the
grip of the stronger, heavier human. Jenorden forced the point toward the
breast of his suit.
"Surrender!"
"Murderer! Savage!"
"Don't make me kill
you."
Emcasa
answered with an insult. Jerking the hand which was pinned to the ground, he tried
to pull Jenorden off balance. Jenorden shifted his weight and pressed the
point a little closer.
"You're beaten. You
can't survive. Surrender."
Emcasa
glared at him. The point hovered an inch above the thick material of the space
suit. Revolted by the savagery of the weapon, he hesitated. His own muscles
would drive the weapon through flesh and bone. He would have to keep pushing
even after Emcasa's face registered the first shock and pain.
He
looked away from Emcasa's face and saw the gun 105
lying just beyond his reach. He jumped up.
Dropping the bolt, he picked up the gun and leaped backward. Emcasa came up
roaring with fight. Jenorden pointed the gun at him and he froze.
"Raise
your arms," Jenorden panted. "I couldn't use the bolt, but I can use
this."
Emcasa
lowered his head. Inside the helmet his horns pointed at Jenorden's chest.
"Raise your
arms," Jenorden repeated.
Emcasa
raised his arms. "You're still surrounded. You aren't out of here
yet."
Three
explosions, soft, mushy sounds bome on the wind, went off down below. Jenorden
glanced down the hill. Emcasa bent and hurled his heavily encumbered body at
Jenorden's knees.
The
automatic weapon hammered against Jenorden's hands. Bullets tore up the back of
Emcasa's helmet. The gun climbed and more bullets pierced Emcasa's back and
legs.
Jenorden
stared at the body. Crouching, he searched for some sign of life.
He
looked up. "Did you like that?" he asked the Borg. "Did you Ieam
anything? Did it amuse you?"
Another
explosion made him stand up. Elinee was running up the hill with the
Ersar-Aswero bounding after her. Two armored bodies were sprawled near the
jumble of rocks.
He
raised the automatic weapon to his shoulder. He didn't shoot to kill, but the
bullets swept the hillside and the Ersar-Aswero bounded for cover. He followed
them with short, choppy bursts. Elinee struggled up the hill and threw herself
flat in the hollow.
She stared at the body.
"I killed him," Jenorden said.
"At least you did it
with the gun."
"He wouldn't
surrender."
She
fired down the hillside. Realizing he was exposed to the Ersar-Aswero
crossbows, he crouched beside her.
"Don't
give in now," she said. "We still have to help Veneleo. I think I
know how you feel, but try to force yourself." She frowned. "We
haven't heard from him in a
long time."
"I'm here," Veneleo whispered.
"I've had my transmitter turned off."
"Emcasa's
dead," Elinee said. "Now it's just us and the Ersar-Aswero. Can you sent up a flare?"
"Not
yet," Jenorden said. His voice sounded hoarse and listless but his brain
was still functioning. "The Ersar-Aswero here probably don't
know where he is either. I don't think they have radios. We'll send up a flare
and you can guide us, Veneleo."
"You're
still thinking," Veneleo said. "I'm glad it's you I'm with."
"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be
here." "Is the pain any worse?" Elinee asked. "I feel numb.
I think I went over the pain threshold awhile ago."
They
sent up the flare and then they sneaked down the back of the hill and started
working their way down the valley. They did as little shooting as they could.
Jenorden carried the automatic weapon and some ammunition he had taken from
Emcasa, but he only shot to frighten and, when he had to, to wound. Whenever
they thought it was safe, they sent up another flare and Veneleo gave them a
new fix on his position.
They
had been in the dome a long time. To their eyes the twilight was now almost
total darkness. About half the stars in the sky were already visible.
Veneleo
was sprawled on a ledge near the bottom of a steep cliff. They reached him just
before nightfall. They ran across the open with a flare from Veneleo's pistol
lighting the ground, and behind them the Ersar-Aswero gave up the chase and took
cover.
Veneleo
collapsed as soon as they arrived. Elinee watched the open ground and Jenorden
uncoiled the ultra-thin wire splint in his first-aid kit and used it to
immobilize the broken leg as soon as contact with human body warmth hardened
the metal. The bolts were still inside Veneleo's limbs, but the holes in his
suit had sealed without a flaw and his indicators said the suit's antibiotic
system was fighting off infection. If they could get him to the ship in a few
hours, the hospital might not have to replace anything.
Jenorden studied their position. "We'll
have to carry him and we can't do that and fight them at the same time."
"We
can't leave," Elinee said, "and they can't get at us. Of course now
that it's night. . ."
"Maybe
I can reason with them." He turned up the volume of his loudspeaker.
Again he struggled to express himself in a language he had studied very
briefly. "Warriors of the Ersar-Aswero crar! You
have fought well. You are brave and ruthless opponents. I apologize for my
insult. If we weren't better armed then you, we'd be dead now. Look at the
position here. We can't leave unless you let us. We have to carry our wounded
friend. You, on the other hand, cannot attack us across the open ground. Why
not let us go? Why continue a useless fight? Let us go now and we'll give
medical aid to your wounded. We can save many who are now dying."
He
waited. Far above him the wind howled along the face of the cliff. Veneleo
groaned and moved his free hand fretfully toward his wounded forearm.
"Noble enemies! Honored warriors!" The voice came from
their left. "Our crar
is dead. You have destroyed
our crar. The crar has
died and you must die with it."
The
words fell on his consciousness as if they were blows. "You'll all die!
You'll die for nothing! Listen to reason!"
Only the wind answered him.
"I was afraid of
that," Elinee said.
"Why
don't the Borg stop this? How can they watch and let
this happen? What kind of things are
they?"
She
put her hand on his shoulder. "Keep thinking, Jenorden. Don't fall apart.
I need you. As far as the Ersar-Aswero are concerned,
they're already dead. When we killed so many of their crar, it was as if we'd mortally wounded an individual. They want to die. Dying honorably is all they have left. We aren't killing thirty
of them to save three of us—we're killing one individual."
He
took Veneleo's pistol and attached it to his converter. He stood up and once
again he turned up the volume of his loudspeaker.
"Warriors of the Ersar-Aswero crar! Attack with all your skill and courage. Do your best. If we live, your crar will be a legend on every world in the galaxy. Do your best. We are not
afraid." He crouched and his voice dropped to a whisper. "We are not
afraid. . . ."
XV
Sometimes they came alone, creeping through the dark and landing
on the ledge with their iron swords swinging. Sometimes they came by twos and
threes and Jenorden and Elinee shot them under the light of the flares. Every
time Jenorden pulled a trigger, his rage swelled. Every time an Ersar-Aswero
died, something in him died. They had robbed him of every passion except anger.
He was a killer animal standing alone beneath the stars and the only claim to
humanity he still possessed was his outrage against the beings who had done this to him. Take that away and he would be a thing, too.
In
the morning they looked across a battleground strewn with armored corpses. The crar was dead.
He
hurled his pistol across the field. He kicked a flock of expended cartridges
off the ledge and then he picked up Emcasa's automatic weapon and swung it
against the face of the cliff.
"Jenorden!"
Chips of rock spattered on his suit. Little
by little the tough metal bent. The firing machanism sprang apart and he kicked
it off the ledge. It bQunced and slid into a gully and he lowered his eyes and
saw the dead Ersar-Aswero. He moaned and covered his face with his hands.
"Veneleo," Elinee said. "We
have to get Veneleo to the hospital."
He
wasn't insane. His life seemed like a prison in which he would be tortured by
knowledge until he died; his disgust with himself and with a universe where
such things could happen was a passion he had to release; but he wasn't insane.
He knew what he was supposed to do and he could still go through the motions.
He
uncovered his eyes. He looked angry and defeated at 109 the same time. Elinee
looked away from him and blanked her face.
They
bent over Veneleo, who was mumbling in his sleep. Jenorden picked up his
shoulders and Elinee picked up his boots. It wasn't the best way to carry him,
but they didn't have a stretcher and the hospital would repair any damage they
did. Silently they lugged their burden across the dark landscape. They were
both physically exhausted. They had to stop and rest every few minutes.
"Is
this how our ancestors lived?" Elinee asked. "I thought I understood
history, but now I wonder how they managed to get so far. How did they keep
their desire to do anything?"
When
they arrived at the ship a wheeled stretcher was waiting in the airlock. He
helped Elinee and Roseka transfer Veneleo, and then he watched the stretcher
roll away from the airlock with the two women walking beside it. Pushing
himself back into the zero gravity of the orbiting vehicle, he floated through
the cabin to the pilot seat.
Once
again he trudged across the wasteland from the vehicle to the Borg dome. This
time the Borg were already waiting for him. There
seemed to be more of them than usual and they were spread out along the curve
of the dome at several levels.
He
glared upward at the black shapes and the shifting gases.
"Have
you counted the dead in that dome? What kind of beasts are you? You made this
world. You made it and you brought us all here and then you let that slaughter
happen. Did you like it? Did you learn anything?"
"Jenorden,
Jenorden. Control yourself. We know how you feel. We're as miserable as you
are."
"If
you watched that and didn't stop it, you aren't even alive. You're dead and
you're trying to kill everything else in the universe."
"We
watched it all and we suffered. We're suffering now. If we could have stopped
it, we would have. Believe us— we wanted to stop it."
"Then why didn't you?"
"We almost did. It's been a long time
since we were that tempted."
"Why didn't you? Justify yourselves!
Answer me!"
"You
didn't have to leave your dome. We didn't make you leave your dome."
"If
you don't justify now what you're doing, I'll leave this world today and I'll
spend the rest of my life telling the galaxy to shun you. I'll tell them
everything that's happened here. I'll tell them of all the brave, intelligent
beings who died because of your folly. Everywhere you send the Ivel, they'll be met with suspicion and hatred. As far as
I'm concerned, you're some kind of disease trying to spread itself through the
galaxy."
"You'll
ruin everything we're trying to do. You don't know what you're doing."
"What you're trying to do has already
ruined too many good lives. Tell me why every being in the galaxy shouldn't be
warned to avoid you. Tell me something that outweighs all the evidence I can
give them."
"We
want to. We want to tell you everything. Go back to your dome, follow the lectures, and you'll understand. Can't you be patient?"
"As patient as Rotrudo? How many years
will it take? Ten? Fifty? Why
should I waste my life span?"
"You
have to be prepared. What we're doing ...
if we told you now, you wouldn't understand. You probably couldn't accept it.
It might even disgust you."
"I'll take the risk.
What have I got to lose?"
There
was a long silence. Random noise crackled on the loudspeaker. He stared at them
and tried to discover some clue to what they were doing, but they remained
featureless and motionless as ever.
"You've given us no choice," the
loudspeaker said. "You'll ruin everything. We have to tell you."
XVI
The
ship drifted away
from the Borg sun. The metal shutters slid across the windows and the four
humans strolled out of the control room and selected drinks and food from the
buffet.
They
were full of emotion but they savored the food without speaking. No words could
possibly express what they were feeling. This was a day they had struggled toward
for many years. Even their movements and the swift looks they exchanged
revealed only a part of their tension and their buoyant excitement.
Jenorden
walked to the pool, where his instrument was lying in the bottom of a chair.
His emotions were too big to hold. He had to have music. Putting down his
glass, he sat down and started a song they all knew. Elinee and Roseka picked
up first and second violins and Veneleo put a metal wind instrument to his
lips.
The
music got louder and wilder. Roseka put down her instrument and started
dancing. Veneleo and Elinee clapped their hands and shouted. Jenorden strummed
and bowed as loud as he could and Roseka's soft hips and driving legs responded
as if the music were originating inside her own nervous system. She danced with
the uninhibited grace of a being that wasn't ashamed of anything it felt.
Veneleo
stepped forward and started dancing with her. Soon they were all dancing,
sometimes one of them alone, sometimes three of them and one playing, sometimes
all of them together with no accompaniment except their own voices. The light
years were speeding by, and they knew it, and they knew dangers and unknown terrors
waited for them ahead, but they were riding to their fate with live bodies and
full hearts.
"Attention,"
the computer said. "Attention. We are approaching our destination."
The
shutters slid back. They returned to the control room and Veneleo gave the
computer instructions. The instrument board lit up. Screens began projecting
views of the ocean-covered world below. Detector beams probed down through the
atmosphere and under the turbulent surface of the ocean. Traversing an orbit
which crossed the equator at a forty-five degree angle, they reconnoitered the
planet.
The
results were as bad as they had feared. The Horta had established complete
control over the Sordini and every other native life form. Under the paranoid
repressions of the invaders, the drives and hungers of an entire world were
clamoring for release. They were about to descend on a planet crawling with
madness.
They
stood up. For a moment they joined hands in a ring. Jenorden looked at them,
his friends, his comrades, and he swelled with joy. Where in all
the universe would he discover finer creatures? Who could have known
that life could achieve so much? Whatever happened to them down below, no one
here would falter. They would overcome the sickness of the Horta, or they would
die in the attempt.
They
went to the airlock and put on their suits. One by one they boarded the
orbit-to-ground vehicle. Jenorden took the controls and the others strapped
themselves into the passenger seats.
They
were unarmed. They didn't even have their shields. When they landed on the
suffering world below and opened their minds to the Horta, their only weapons
would be what they were and the way their differing personalities were
organized. They were not the same people they had been when they had first landed
on this world, and they were now organized in the same way the Borg were
organized, and for the same purpose. No other race in this galaxy had ever been
organized for that purpose. In this vast, slowly revolving island of stars,
they were something new. They were probably the next step in the evolution of
their species.
Jenorden
manipulated the controls. Behind him Elinee started a song they had selected
before they left the Borg world. The rockets flared into life and they drifted
away from the ship. Singing with all the power of their strong, almost gay,
voices, they began their descent.
The
Borg were from another galaxy. They had arrived in
this galaxy less than a century before the four human wanderers had landed on
their planet-ship. Sometime during the four million years of their history,
they had reached the limit of their development, they had become all they were
capable of being, and they had acquired a new need, a passion which had sent
groups of them across the widest gulfs in the universe. They had stopped
seeking power and knowledge and immortality and they had found themselves
driven by an emotion grander than any passion any human had ever known—a
passion for the development and fulfillment of all life. They could not keep
what they had achieved to themselves. They thought of life springing into being
all over the universe, races evolving which needed their knowledge, and even
the gulfs between the galaxies couldn't hold them back. Where men and other
intelligent life forms wandered the stars seeking what they could get,
pleasures, and knowledge, and new powers, the Borg, having acquired all they
were capable of absorbing, wandering the universe driven by an urgent need to
give.
He
had been stunned when he had first learned the immensity of life's potential.
The Borg were not the ultimate in evolution. Indeed,
on the cosmic scale their intelligence might be far below average. Even as he
would seem like a god to the men of only three or four centuries ago, so his
descendants would seem like gods to the Borg. But they would grow on what the
Borg had given them, which was all the Borg asked, and when they reached their
limit, they would do what the Borg had done. They would give all they had to
other races, races which would eventually surpass them.
All life was growing. There was no limit to
what life could be. Individuals and races had their limits, but life itself was
unlimited, and every living creature could contribute to its growth.
Individuals and races died and were forgotten, but what they had done and what
they had been could never be extinguished, for it became part of the evolution
of all life.
In
all that infinity of possibilities, there was only one restriction. No race
could know the potential of another race. Races could learn and they could
borrow, but nothing of value could be forced on them. The older races could
only offer and help. Hard as it sometimes was, they had to
let the younger races make their mistakes. Force
could destroy and subdue, but it could not develop.
The
Borg had given him a vision of the universe men might not have achieved for
millenia, if ever. It was a vision he had lived with for ten years now and it
still excited and disturbed him. But it was no more disturbing than the moment
when he had first heard the Borg confess their passion. If he lived a thousand
years, as he might, he would never forget his surprise, even his horror and
disgust, when he heard the soft Borg voices telling him their secret.
"Jenorden A'Ley, we
love you."
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