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To A Different Drum

Reginald Bretnor

The name of the ship was Lapis Lazuli, and in sunlight, in normal space, she gleamed like the gem she had been named after. She appeared, silently and instantaneously—like all Gilpin ships then or a thousand years earlier. She gleamed there, in the middle of a green wasteland of low mounds, bordered by forest on one side and a rushing river on the other.

That was on the Fourth Planet of a star named Goldenrod.

Lapis Lazuli's mission, like the mission of her innumerable sisters sent out from Old Earth was, if possible, to find the far-scattered descendants of that great diaspora Saul Gilpin had set off by giving war-threatened Earth his cheap, simple, almost do-it-yourself star drive. Her crew were the New People of Old Earth, for only the unshakably sane had survived the last and most hideous of Earth's wars, and during the succeeding centuries they had bred a new race, an amalgam of all previous races, but one which—perhaps because only those who carried the necessary genes had survived—had sloughed off the least appealing traits of their predecessors. They were a beautiful people, as Greek gods and goddesses were beautiful, or the noble Buddhist statues of Japan's Nara Period. And among themselves, especially within families, they were telepathic, consciously so, and able to shut their minds completely—even to those screamed agonies and horrors of unknown and unknowable beings which, from the beginning, had barred Gilpin's Space to most men, and which only the strange Far Outers had been able to traverse willingly. It had been those Far Outers who, reporting throughout the inhabited Galaxy and beyond, had finally ended Old Earth's post-war quarantine, and it was from them and from the records of long-dead governments and religious sects and merchant venturers that the New People had gathered their data regarding the dispersed. A few had built new civilizations; many had barely maintained their cultural levels; some had reverted to desperate savagery; some had vanished without a trace.

Around the star named Goldenrod, seven planets circled, and there were records of two having been settled, almost simultaneously, only a few years after the Gilpin Drive's introduction. One had been chosen by a consortium of several thousand men and women of different nationalities, all chosen for their scientific and technological sophistication. They had the wealth to purchase the most advanced equipment then available. Everything was computerized. Everything was automated. All Old Earth's learning, all its literature and music, were at their fingertips. Their eighteen ships had reached the most hospitable of the two habitable planets, passing safely enough through Gilpin's Space thanks to their careful choice of passengers.

It was a beautiful, verdant world.

Three decades passed before a Far Outer ship came calling on them. From Gilpin's Space, the Far Outer saw their entire fleet, arrayed in ordered ranks on the broad green plain where it had first landed. It came down next to them, but no one greeted it. The only human being they saw was a sickly, scrawny thing—man or woman?—who fled shrieking out of a ship at their approach. They investigated the ship, and found it strangely intact, and even more strangely ravished. Everything in it that could conceivably have been associated with man's employment of electro-magnetic forces had been dulled, abraded, and somehow, they knew, rendered forever incapable of performing its designed function. And every nuke-pak on the vessel was dead, totally inert. They didn't tarry to investigate the forests, the reed-jungles, the caves of the high hills. They didn't even bother to go near the Sixth Planet. They went away, and passed the word along.

Goldenrod Four remained unvisited until Lapis Lazuli's arrival. She came, and like her predecessor so long before, found the abandoned fleet. Now there was much less left, a thousand years of wind and rain and dust had built mounds and ant-heaps where ruined ships had lain. Lapis Lazuli's people searched carefully. They found nothing, nobody. Finally, in a cave high on the savage face of a mountain where they had spied the remnants of a no-longer-identifiable artifact, they came upon a grinning, dessicated corpse, half mummified, half eaten. It had built fires there before it died. With it lay a cooking vessel of still bright stainless steel, a broken knife, a belt buckle. Sometime before its death, it had scrawled its despair, scrawled on the smooth gray cave-wall. The message was in ancient French:

Ah Dieu! What's happened? Nothing, nothing works. Nothing turns on, not even solar panels. The ship's dead. Everything's dead. Even lasers don't work. Only guns work—guns, guns to kill with. They work. Hirath has gone out—how long? Oh God, days ago, days! What's happen . . .

It ended in insane repetitions, incoherences.

Molane, who would in an earlier age have been called Lapis Lazuli's captain, gazed at the sad remains. "They had everything—everything then obtainable. Like every other Gilpin ship, even in those days, they were equipped to conquer any disease; cures could be synthesized in minutes. With them, according to the records, they had foetuses and the sperm and ova of every useful animal on Earth, every prized food fish, and the seeds of every valued plant and flower. And then—"

He paused, trying to shake off the persisting aura of dead despair, and Lahaisa, his golden counterpart, finished the sentence for him. "And then," she said, "there was an event. Something came. Or something happened. And it sucked every nuke-pak dry. So everything went dead, every piece of sophisticated equipment, destroying even the unborn life that equipment guarded. And they thought they were prepared for everything."

"For anything but the event," said Molane. "Well, perhaps we can find out what it was. Could you—" He used an ancient word, "—could you skry what happened."

"I'd much rather not," she said, "but yes, I will."

She lowered herself to the cave's floor, assuming the lotus posture, and he placed the bright cooking pot in front of her. There was a long silence as he sat beside her, lending her his strength.

Finally, she gasped. She blinked away sudden tears. "Something came, happened—I don't know which. I feel it was alive, from incredibly far away. It was one of the sensate things that scream in the Far Reaches of Gilpin's Space. It was in pain, and it hungered for—for its sustenance, energy, pure energy. Blindly it entered, penetrating every route by which energy might travel, everything that could create energy, convert energy. No, it did not invade any living thing, at least not intentionally, though I feel that there was terrible agony with its passing, partly because of its effect on nervous systems, partly because of sheer shock. Oh, Molane, it was vast, incredibly vast! It descended almost but not quite invisibly. Still it was in agony, but now it had fed; it was recharged. It vanished as abruptly as it came, off for a destination even we can't imagine. And it left behind it—" She sat there, weeping silently, and now he held her to him for a time. "It had killed everything they depended on, and they had no way of depending on themselves. They blamed each other, and after they had exhausted their supplies they tried to live on native plants and animals. They blamed each other, group against maddened group. They began to kill each other, senselessly—"

She stopped. "Molane, do you remember that ancient story, The Machine Stops?' Mankind had become totally dependent on a machine. It housed them, fed them, suckled them as infants."

Telepathically, he had shared what she had scried. "And when it stopped," he said, "almost instantly they became savages. So it was here. All the knowledge that made them civilized had been destroyed, all their instruments rendered useless. They were utterly alone with each other, with fear, with themselves."

They stood. "Molane," she said, "after this, is there any use our going on to that Sixth Planet? According to the record, the people who went to settle it weren't well equipped either technically or intellectually. Their leader had proclaimed publicly that they were using Old Earth's science only to escape to some world where they could live simply, close to earth and sea, to other living things, to the forests and the fresh winds blowing through them. But still they were dependent on technology; then it would have been inescapable. Even if their data-banks held only a tiny fraction of what was ruined here, what could they have done without them? After that thing had passed they would have had nothing but their memories. Besides, the Sixth Planet is by no means as welcoming as this one. Its extremes of climate, its storms, its ice-toothed mountains and its dreadful jungles—all these were reported by the Far Outers who discovered it."

"But that didn't dissuade the men and women who went there," Molane replied. "Granted, what chance did they have? But still, Lahaisa, we must make absolutely certain, mustn't we?"

Once more aboard Lapis Lazuli, and with Goldenrod Four still visible as a Gilpin-ghost—as stars and planets always were from that strange Space—they took counsel with the others of their Eight: Lahaisa's parents, a cousin, an uncle and an aunt, and their own seven-year-old son, Kolali. Among the New People, children always were permitted to be present when affairs of importance were discussed; that was part of the process of growing up. They all agreed that, regardless of how hopeless it might seem, they should not by-pass the Sixth Planet.

 

Through Gilpin's Space, the traverse would have been a matter of minutes only, but they chose to linger a full Earth-day, partly to compose themselves after the trauma of finding only death and desolation, and partly to learn all that was known of the Sixth Planet and its settlers. After they had supped, they spent an hour or so "listening" to the mind-music of Arilé, Lahaisa's mother, her fantasies weaving and interweaving the voices of all known instruments and many another that never existed except in her mind. They seldom wore any clothing aboard ship, for clothing among people who are truly beautiful, people who retain their beauty even as they age, is never really necessary except to defend against vagaries of climate. So they relaxed, listening to Arilé, sometimes when she made it clear that they should do so adding the music of their minds to hers—all of them except Kolali, who always found it oddly difficult. Gradually the impact of the Fourth Planet was softened; gradually it ebbed. Finally Molane spoke to the ship.

"Lapis Lazuli," he said, "tell us all you know about Goldenrod's Sixth Planet, all you know about those people who fled Earth to settle here."

"I shall, Molane." The ship's voice was very soft and very beautiful, synthesized now to caress their minds. "Look!"

Instantly a hologram appeared between them, half sunlit, half in darkness, gleaming with the blue-green of its seas, its browns and umbres, its greens dark and pale, the light tan of its deserts, its white polar caps; and Lapis Lazuli told them what the Far Outers had recorded of its continents, its storms, its tectonic upheavals, its infinite variety of living things, its beauties and mysteries and its perils. And they realized it was indeed a far less friendly world than the Fourth Planet. Around the hologram, three small moons circled, one pallid, one dull red, one mirror-bright, and Molane wondered whether that last could perhaps once have been a spaceship.

Lapis Lazuli caught the thought. "No," she told him, "it's a true moon, but of almost solid ice. When all three are in the sky together at night they can provide some very curious shadow-play."

The Far Outers had found no intelligent autochthones, though there had been mammals and pseudo-mammals whose evolution had paralleled that of more or less similar creatures on Old Earth. They had found one outstanding difference. Archaic reptiles still lived whose counterparts had long since died out on Earth. These they had called dragons.

At that, Kolali spoke up excitedly. "Dragons?" he cried out. "Real dragons?"

"Very possibly," Molane answered with a smile, "but I doubt that they breathe fire, which real dragons are supposed to do."

"You never can tell," said Lapis Lazuli, with a gentle smile in her voice. "And now shall I tell you about the people?"

"Please," Lahaisa answered.

"As you know, Saul Gilpin's star drive came at a time of suspicion and tension and pervading terror, a time when men and women fearful for themselves and for their families would follow any prophet who offered what they hungered for subconsciously, sometimes a nonexistent Eden, sometimes cruel dominion over their fellows, sometimes simply death. It was one of these cults that sought out this planet, taking second choice because they knew a much more powerful expedition had picked the Fourth. They were not a wicked cult. Their leader, Gurat Singh, had started out as a devout Sikh, but had then split off, preaching simplicity, non-aggression, and a deep distrust of high technology. He converted thousands, first in the English-speaking countries, then in South America and along the rim of Asia, Hongkong, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Taiwan, and finally in his native India. Nearly three thousand fled Earth with him. Few of them were rich, and the ships that carried them were all they could afford. Like all Gilpin ships in those early days, they were converted submarines, mostly huge old tankers with rough accomodations, not only for the people, but also for the beasts Gurat Singh insisted they take with them. Taking embryos would have entailed too much of the high technology he despised. It was only reluctantly, and because he could not reverse what had become common practice, that he accepted the sensors and synthesizers aboard every Gilpin ship, the data storage that had virtually replaced the printed word, the navigational computers, even all those small devices used to keep individual records and solve petty mathematical problems. Their ships were few, and space was terribly limited, so possessions were strictly limited. We can assume that, whether Gurat Singh approved or not, they were as dependent on their electronics as those others. That is all we really know. Because the Far Outers who last touched down on Four decided to bypass Six, we don't even know how many of them made it through Gilpin's Space."

"What do you think of their chances?" Molane asked.

"Just of getting there? They were good. They were not hostile people. Instead they were fleeing hostility. Such people were much less likely to come apart when the space-voices started to scream their agonies and insanities into their minds while they were asleep."

They spent an hour or two discussing possibilities, quite sure that the Sixth Planet had been hit by whatever it was that had ravaged Four, and saddened now by the seeming certainty of what they would find there. But Arilé cheered them again with mind-music, letting it sing of the myriad calm, settled, burgeoning worlds that swam the seas of space.

 

Their approach was, of course, through Gilpin's Space, so that the planet's ghost-shape swelled suddenly in their view-ports, tenuous and uncanny in the non-light. It grew, and Lapis Lazuli told them that besides its three moons it had two moonlets, but that there was no sign of artificial satellites. They slowed, coming in from the night side. They watched, all of them.

And then they saw that the Sixth Planet was not dead, not as the Fourth had been, for lights were shining in the night, tiny elfin ghost-glows clustered here and there.

"They live!" cried big Orano, Molane's uncle. "Praise the Guardians! There are cities there."

They made a first careful survey from Gilpin's Space. One continent, the northernmost, was ribbed and girdled with ferocious mountains, snowclad, seeming to dwarf even Nix Olympica. They surrounded an immense rolling taiga cut by mighty rivers, and itself broken by more gentle grassy plains. There were four true continents, not contiguous, and a number of large islands—Ceylons, Tasmanias, Madagascars. These lay between and around the two central continents, one of which was an enormous fantasy of mountains, jungles, deserts. The southernmost continent began as verdant prairie, climbed up, up, range by hilly range, and finished as a veritable Antarctica of glaciers.

They followed the moving line of daylight, shuttling north and south as the land was lighted, knowing that Lapis Lazuli would be counting settlements and cities. Roads crossed the continents, and railroads. Ships plied the seas and the great rivers. Over the cities, there were no palls of smoke, no winding-sheets of smog.

The largest cities were not on the continents but on the great islands, and most were seaports. The Eight looked at them in wonder, descending in the ghost-light to barely a stone's-throw above their towers. Each city's structures were hauntingly, tantalizingly familiar. In the streets, self-powered vehicles moving; in the far-flung fields, self-powered machines were harvesting. The clothing worn by the men and women whom they saw was, again, familiar and yet, looked at more closely, totally new and strange.

From island to island, the architecture varied. On one, it was as if they were flying over Europe, but a Europe with vast sections of its history surgically removed. Over another, Lahaisa exclaimed that it was like looking down on the ruins of Singapore, Shanghai, Madras, long before they had fallen into ruin. And there were others which, echoing old Europe, were even more removed: echoing what? the mixed cultures of old South America?

There were fewer communities on the continents— mountain scarps crowned by settlements; towns in the heart of jungles surrounded by defensive works: against intelligent, hostile natives? against whatever dangerous brutes the planet nurtured?

They asked Lapis Lazuli, who repeated that the first discoverers had found no sign of indigenous intelligence.

They scanned each of the continents, each of the great islands. "Could you estimate the population?" Molane asked.

"Give or take ten percent," she answered, "about two hundred million, with perhaps seventy percent on the great islands."

"Look at what they've accomplished!" marveled Arilé. "Could they possibly have been hit by whatever it was on Four?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Molane said. "We'll have to monitor their radiation spectrum from normal space. If their ship's nuke-paks haven't been utterly drained, there'll still be some indication. Also we'll have to check their communications media, find out what kind of languages they're speaking, and see if we can get in contact."

Landing on an inhabited world with an advanced culture without first getting permission from one authority or another was something they never did.

"Where do you want to make the shift?" the ship asked.

"I think on their closest moon, in its dark sector."

Moments later, Goldenrod Six was receding, shrinking. The closest moon, perhaps half the size of Earth's was getting larger, the details of its rough face were becoming visible. They touched down on a worn crater's rim, and shifted into normal space immediately.

"What do you get?" Molane asked after a few moments.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," the ship replied. "There simply are no nuclear devices on that planet. Whatever they had with them has been sucked dry. And I detect no video signals of any sort—just radio, and very sparingly. There's nowhere near the noise you'd normally expect, and I've scanned every band. Another thing—there's no music, just talk. Apparently they don't use radio for entertainment."

"That's understandable, isn't it?" Arilé said. "After what happened to them, they're probably still scared of another visitation. What language are they speaking?"

"Listen!"

Suddenly a man's voice filled the ship's wardroom, clipped, oddly accented, but still recognizable as English, antique and changed, but changed far less than might have been expected.

"I wonder if English has become their universal language?" commented Orano, of them all the most competent with ancient tongues. "When a language has no real competition, it evolves more slowly, like Old Norse on Earth which hardly differed from Icelandic a thousand years later. We'll be able to understand each other. Shall I make the first approach?"

"Do that. Lapis Lazuli, please send a signal on their busiest band—and put all the power you can into it."

"Done," said Lapis Lazuli. "You're on the air."

Orano spoke, his voice deep and melodious, each word slowly enunciated, precisely carved. "We are eight people from Old Earth, man's birthplace. We have come to you through Gilpin's Space, as your ancestors came. Much has changed on Earth. Even man has changed. We now make it our mission to seek out all men everywhere. Our vessel rests on your nearest moon, waiting. Will you speak with us?"

They listened, and at first there was no change. The voices on their frequency kept on, talking about the weather, matters economic, news incomprehensible out of context.

Orano repeated his message once again.

And again there was no reaction.

He spoke a third time—and abruptly the voices stilled.

Minutes passed. Then Orano spoke once more, and this time an answer came.

"We have heard you!" a man's voice said. "Please be patient. Arrangements must be made for someone with adequate authority to speak with you. You are the first visitors we have ever had except—except the Eater."

"We shall wait eagerly," answered Orano.

Half an hour went by. Finally,

"I am Lord Burlow Erris," a new voice declared, "First Secretary to His Majesty's Government—"

Lord? thought Molane. His Majesty? He and Orano exchanged glances.

"—His Majesty and the Privy Council have told me what to say to you. If you are really from Old Earth, we do not want you here. Our Own Gilpin ships brought the Eater, the living terror that destroyed everything electrical and electronic, and even though we no longer are so vulnerable, we fear this."

"Lord Erris, our Gilpin ship today is undetectable. We can not endanger you. We want only to tell you what we have learned, on Earth. We want to help you if we can. Did not your own sant, Gurat Singh, declare that all mankind is One?"

"When the Eater came," Lord Erris answered, "all that was changed—even Gurat Singh, blessed be his name! We know that even if you do not bring the Eater, you will bring us back all those uncontrolled evils from which we fled."

"No, Lord Erris, we will not. We too have changed. Old Earth has suffered much, and in that suffering all our age-old passions, all our fury to destroy, which you so justly fear, have been bred out of us. You must believe me."

"Must I?" There was more than disbelief in Lord Erris' voice—there was contempt. "And if you have, what then? Here we have learned to live with those same passions, to master them. But enough. I gather you would like to walk among us, and see what's to be seen, and breathe our air. Therefore I must again consult my master, the King-Emperor. Will you wait?"

They waited patiently, speculating on what quirk of fate had placed a King-Emperor and his Privy Council and a peerage here so many centuries after all these had been dead on Earth. Four hours later, the invitation came.

"I am honored," said Lord Erris, "to announce that His Majesty King Edward, the Eleventh of his name on this world, has consented to your visit. Because you have a Gilpin ship, and we have not forgotten their capabilities, it really wouldn't matter where you first come down, but under present circumstances we prefer to show you precisely where. We are at war with the Holy Roman Empire, and—"

"You are what?" exclaimed Molane.

"We are at war. Surely you, from Old Earth, are familiar with the term? In any case, the war will not inconvenience you, for it is being fought far from Great Britain, on the Asian Continent. Besides, your permission will be limited. His Majesty wishes to look at you himself, and otherwise make certain you pose no danger to us."

"We understand. Where do you want us to come down?"

"Are you equipped to pinpoint a radio signal's origin?"

"Certainly." Molane signed to Lapis Lazuli, and the hologram of Goldenrod Six appeared instantly.

"Great Britain is the larger of our two most central islands, and London, our capital, is its greatest city. I am speaking from Hampton Court Palace, in its outskirts. You may land in the great meadow between the Palace and the park. You will have no trouble locating it from Gilpin's Space, for we will have a pavilion there for His Majesty. We shall expect you in two hours, roughly at mid-morning."

On the island's eastern shore, a brilliant spot of light appeared. Lapis Lazuli had pinpointed the transmitter.

"Thank you, Lord Erris," said Orano. "We will be there."

The contact ended. The hologram disappeared.

Molane looked at the others. "A British Empire? A Holy Roman Empire? And are they actually at war? What next?"

"They have dragons!" cried the boy Kolali. "Real dragons!"

 

London, like its Old Earth ancestor, was built along a great river and near the sea. It had its miles of docks, its bridges, and even from Gilpin's Space it seemed at once utterly strange and yet curiously familiar. Here and there, spires and steeples of its churches stood out from their surrounding buildings, a massive dome which could have been St. Paul's lording it over them. The Palace was not hard to find, for the grassland between it and its vast park held a small crowd, kept from a clearly defined landing area by orderly ranks of men in uniform. Beside that area, a pavilion stood. There, Molane judged, the King would be awaiting them.

"We'll have to dress for the occasion," he said. "Their women all wear skirts and dresses; their men either are in trousers or what look like jodhpur breeches, with a variety of upper garments. I'd suggest we come as close to these as possible."

He put on a pair of trousers, and over them a long jacket much like a soutane, and the others followed suit. Lahaisa donned a silver gown that left one shoulder bare. The colors all were muted, pale blues and greens, soft yellows with complicated knots of gold embroidery. The ship touched down. At Molane's signal, she shifted into normal space, and through the ports they could see the crowd's startlement.

Molane was first out. As soon as the port opened, he stepped onto the gangplank, halted there, one hand raised in greeting, serenely smiling. He was an impressive figure, all six foot six of him, black haired, golden skinned, gray eyed, wide shouldered. He waited for Lahaisa to come out to him. She took his arm. Together they walked to the pavilion.

After the pallid ghosts of Gilpin's Space, the sight before their eyes was dazzling. Brilliant banners and pennants whipped in the breeze. Everyone at the pavilion, the uniformed guard of honor, the King and Queen on their two thrones, everyone in the breathless crowd, all displayed an Elizabethan passion for color, for finery, for scintillating gems.

Four tabarded heralds blew three flourishes on crested golden trumpets, and King Edward stood, a man in his fifties, almost as tall as Molane and quite as straight. For moments, he looked penetratingly at his visitors, searching first Molane's eyes, then Lahaisa's. Obviously, he liked what he saw. He stepped forward, held out his hand.

"This is an Old Earth custom we have not forgotten," he declared. "Stranger, I am Edward the King."

They shook hands. "Come," the King said, and led them into the pavilion, the others of their Eight following after them. They stood while Molane introduced them one by one. They stood while the King himself introduced his Queen. Then he called to Lord Erris, proud, portly, diamonded, and he in turn introduced two Archbishops, of York and Canterbury, the Prime Minister and other civil dignitaries, a First Lord of the Admiralty and a Field Marshal, and a towering, turbanned Sikh, Sir Partab Singh, Viceroy of India. Molane felt that he was swimming in a sea of titles.

They were seated by uniformed equerries, and as Molane sat down Lord Erris whispered in his ear. "His Majesty," he said, "has decided there is no danger from you, and in this he is never wrong."

"He can see into the minds of men?"

"Infallibly. He cannot read your thoughts. It is simply that he can detect the slightest evil there."

Lord Erris sat down next to him. "First, before we converse, we shall be served refreshments. That is our custom. Your lady presently shall sit beside the Queen, and you beside His Majesty. Some of our food will doubtless be unpalatable to you. Do not hesitate to say so. You will give no offense."

Footmen appeared with small tables, table silver, napery. Swiftly, efficiently, they made ready for the food their fellows now were bringing: flagons of cool white wine, trays of small roasted birds, more trays of thin sandwiches on a variety of breads, salvers of steaming sea-crustaceans like nothing on Old Earth. Molane, watching them, felt a wave almost of déja vu; their liveries, like everything around him, were at once so uncannily familiar and, seen more closely, so alien.

They ate, slowly and with relish, realizing that whatever this culture lacked it was not the fine art of cookery, and finally there were toasts, from silver vessels like champagne flutes filled with a sparkling brandy. The first, proposed by the King-Emperor, was to his guests. The second, by Molane, to his gracious hosts, Their Majesties. The third, offered by the Archbishop of Canterbury, was to Gurat Singh, "Blessed be his Name!"

Then Molane and Lahaisa were escorted to sit beside King and Queen, who smiled at them.

"Your Majesty," Molane said, "shall I tell you what has happened on Old Earth since your ancestors went off so long ago?"

Instantly, the King's face was grave. "Molane," he answered, "I must tell you no. We want to hear nothing of the happenings on Old Earth. It is your world, and this world is ours, and here we not only have all we need, but we feel we are fulfilling a great purpose. After we tell you our own history since the landing and the coming of the Eater, you will understand why this must be so. We will remember you with pleasure, but we do not want you to come again. We have our own ways, our own beliefs, our own arts and sciences, all developed because the Eater came and destroyed, and forced us to build anew. This we could not have done had we not had The Book."

"The Book, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Molane, The Book that Providence decreed Gurat Singh would bring with him. Before you leave, we will show it to you." Again he smiled. "But I feel that there are many things we do that you would like to change. For instance, you were shocked to learn that we still fight wars?"

"I was, Your Majesty."

"Very well, we fight them because The Book informs us that they are part of man's heritage, that wise men never tried to abolish them completely, but instead did their best to ritualize and ameliorate them. In the Twentieth Century, according to the memories written by our ancestors, there was a change. Instead of trying to limit war, the world tried to outlaw it—and the result was war after more terrible war, culminating in that awful fear from which Saul Gilpin saved us. Besides, war has its challenges—like dangerous, strenuous sports it can bring out the very best in men. What do they fight for? Honor and glory, and this we share with them."

Molane smiled sadly and shook his head, but he remained silent, and the King pointed at a uniformed equerry. "Look at Captain Harrion there," he said. "He has served in two wars, one against the Chinese Empire, another against the Europeans. He has killed more of the beasts whom those first Far Outers called dragons than any other man, with a spear, either on horseback or from a shooting-cycle. They are saurians, very savage, and very hard to kill. Yet he is a courteous, kindly, gentle man."

Out of the corner of his eye, Molane saw his son staring in awe at Captain Harrion, at his polished boots, his spurs, his braided uniform in gold and green, at the jeweled insignia on his epaulettes and the panoply of decorations on his chest.

 

More toasts followed, then a parade of troops, first cavalry with a mounted band, then infantry with its own music, then artillery, some drawn by horses, some by sleek, silent, self-propelled vehicles. Aircraft, silent except for the sound of their propellers, flew overhead, and all was done with brilliance, to perfection. When the final band had passed, and its disturbingly reminiscent music had died away, King Edward turned back to Molane. "And now," he said, "His Grace of Canterbury, who is best qualified to do so, will tell you what happened to our ancestors and what we have accomplished since."

The Archbishop, a square, solid man in black and saffron, wearing a stiff white collar and a large pectoral cross, smiled at them, but with no real warmth.

"In those days," he began, "Earth, as you know, was on the verge of suicide. It was a grace and a mercy that when our ancestors fled into space they had as their leader our sant, Gurat Singh—blessed be his Name!—who embraced all religions within his teaching, showing them how to live together, and we might live like men with man's heritage. But I proceed too quickly. Our ancestors landed in what the Far Outers' report had stated was the most fruitful valley on this island. And they gave thanks that our sant had led them there, for our sensors, which were then still working, corroborated what the Far Outers had reported—nothing growing here, neither trees nor grasses, flowers nor beasts nor insects, was seriously inimical to man."

He and the Royal couple and his fellow Archbishop momentarily bowed their heads.

"Then, on the third day, the Eater came. Our nuke-paks were drained in an instant. Every channel along which force might flow was ruined. Every microchip became totally useless. We no longer had our libraries. We no longer had the music or legends or scientific textbooks of Old Earth. Our ancestors were not rich men, so all our ships were crowded, with medical supplies, with food, and with all those living creatures our sant had told us we could not leave behind, our horses and our cattle, our sheep and cats and dogs—the beasts themselves, and not their frozen seed. For lack of space, every work of reference, every personal note, even the works of Gurat Singh himself had been recorded electronically.

"We lost all, everything, even our small devotionals, which we then used to carry everywhere.

"Only one thing remained—The Book. The Book that Gurat Singh himself had brought. And it was then, when we were in despair, that for the first time he brought it forth and showed it to us. 'Listen!' he said. 'You say all is lost. Even the words of Gurat Singh are lost. That last is true. But everything is not lost, for in this Book is recorded all that was best in the history of Old Earth. And there is recorded also much of what was worst. But the very worst is not recorded, for it occurred after The Book was written. It is with this Book, my children, that you build the civilization of your new world.'

"Those first decades were hard indeed, but this island is not only richer and more clement than the others, it has none of the ferocious creatures that still infest so many areas of our continents. Our winters here are severe but endurable, our summers are seldom really hot. Even so, I do not know what we would have done had Gurat Singh not planned for us. From the start, everything was methodical. We began harvesting native fruits and grains and wild vegetables, herbivorous native mammals, and fish from our waters; and we successfully established the animals we had brought with us. Nor was that all. Everyone with a skill, everyone with special knowledge of any kind, was required to contribute to books of memories, and printing and papermaking were among the first of our simple industries, for it was absolutely essential that every section of The Book was reproduced as soon as possible.

"Gurat Singh lived more than forty years after we arrived, dying when he had almost reached his hundredth year, and when he died he left his Testament, a document which has guided us ever since. First, from The Book, he told us that only one form of governance on Old Earth had ever had stability and permanence and a high measure of security for peoples, and that was empire. 'So!' he said, 'You must prepare, for in two more centuries you will be ready. On Earth, the greatest empires were the Chinese, the Roman, and the British. I enjoin you to rebuild them here. This island we shall call Great Britain, and those of you who came from England, America, Australia, shall consider it your motherland. The second of our middle islands we shall name Austro-Italy, and there shall be the center of the new Roman Empire. Its capital shall be Vienna, and there shall be a Pope in Rome. Finally, on our largest island, the Chinese Empire will once again come into being, ruled by a new Son of Heaven from Peking. Why do I thus counsel you? Because it would not be well for one Empire to rule the world. As for the island we shall call India, it will be included in the British Empire, for under British rule India was united and ruled by law, and as soon as Britain left it fell again into virtual anarchy, ethnic group against ethnic group, sect against sect. As for your laws, The Book will teach you all you need to know, The Book and your compiled memories. You will have three great Empires, but you shall have one language, that in which The Book is written. Your other languages may be learned and spoken, but English shall be the language of education and diplomacy, science and the arts, for I can foresee the day when you will recreate your sciences, and then a confusion of tongues would only hold you back.' "

The King thanked him. "Our ancestors worked long and hard," he said, "and when the Empires were established, we adopted the practice, which we have followed ever since, of the three reigning Emperors or Empresses, for we have had both, holding council thrice a year with the leaders of the great religions and with the sant's Successor in New Delhi. This we do whether we are at war or not, and always we abide by the decision of this Imperial Council, for we recognize that it is the decision of Gurat Singh himself. Before you landed, I communicated with my fellow Emperors, and they agreed that three days should be the duration of your visit. Tomorrow you shall visit their Imperial capitals, their island nations. Next day you will be shown our vast continents, their settlements, their wildlife and, if you wish, the war zone. Then, before you leave, you will be allowed to see The Book."

"You Majesty is gracious," Molane said. "I gather that you want us to travel in our own vessel?"

"Certainly, Molane. Our aircraft, while they serve our purposes, are slow and primitive by comparison."

"And will Your Majesty come with us?"

The King shook his head. "That would be improper. As King-Emperor, I cannot permit myself to be con—" He hesitated, and Molane knew he had almost said 'contaminated' "—being influenced by Old Earth, even so indirectly. However, you shall have Lord and Lady Erris as your guides, and Captain Harrion and his lady too. For the remainder of today, you shall tour this city and see something of our industries, our schools and universities and libraries, and how our people live."

He stood. The heralds blew three flourishes. The interview was over. Then Lord Erris also stood. "May I escort you to your ship?" he said. "You may want to freshen up before the cars arrive and we begin our tour."

 

"Lapis Lazuli, you've been recording everything?" Molane asked as soon as they were aboard again.

"Of course."

"Good. We probably have twenty or so minutes. Can you get us views of London in Saul Gilpin's time? Views and perhaps a general plan? First over-all, from the air or space—it was an enormous city. Then the heart of it, the most important parts, and one especially—Hampton Court Palace, if there was such a place."

At once, a screen came into being, covering an entire wardroom wall, and they were looking down on London, its great grayness cut by the Thames, Then they were zooming down, and Lapis Lazuli was delineating the City proper, showing them the Tower, and building after famous building, site after historic site.

"My choice has been pretty arbitrary," she told them, "but here's your Hampton Court Palace, which was about fifteen miles from the city's center."

They looked. Here, in general outline, was the same building, but at a second glance, a third, the differences appeared, as though its reincarnation on this planet had been evoked from sketches and memories of the edifice Cardinal Woolsey had built for his private pleasure. Its surroundings, too, were different, and yet, even here, there was an echo, a vague resemblance.

Then Lapis Lazuli took them into the city's streets, showed them the hurrying crowds, the streams of traffic, the double-decked busses, tube stations, lorries.

"It was a mighty city in its day," she said. "I wonder how this one will compare."

The cars had come for them, and Captain Harrion was waiting as they filed out. These were nothing like most of the cars that filled the streets of ancient London. They were tall, majestic, built with no thought for such frivolities as wind-resistance. They might have been the lineal descendants of old Queen Mary's Daimlers. They had four wheels, pneumatic tires, but no hood that might conceal a motor. The driver's compartment, where two liveried servants sat, was separated from the passengers' by a pane of glass, as in any 20th Century limousine; and inside, as they approached, Molane saw comfortable seats for five or six, three or four facing forward, two facing aft. Servants held the doors open, and Harrion showed Molane and Lahaisa to the second car.

"You will ride with Lord and Lady Erris," he informed them, "Your parents and your son will ride with me in the first car. The others in your company will be with my own wife in the third. That is as protocol requires it."

Greeted by Lord Erris, Molane and Lahaisa got in, and Molane was not surprised to see fresh flowers in crystal vases at their elbows.

"Ordinarily," Lord Erris said, "we do not ride in these seats, facing backward. But His Majesty asked us to on this occasion, so we could better show the city to you."

"We are honored," said Molane gravely.

The cars moved out. They were completely soundless, odorless, vibrationless, and the traffic on the streets moved like a stately pageant. Nobody seemed to hurry, and here again Molane observed the lust for color characteristic of these new Londoners, not only in their clothing, but in a multitude of flags and banners, and even in such things as roofs and window frames, and building bricks in hues no brick ever had on Earth. These did much to counteract the overwhelming grayness of the great stone edifices that dominated everywhere.

During the entire afternoon, they toured the city and its environs while Lord and Lady Erris pointed out places of historic interest and importance: Trafalgar Square with its Nelson Column, the Bank of England and the British Museum, the Houses of Parliament. As their car ghosted through the streets and avenues and great squares, he told his guests how Gurat Singh had planned their progress.

"Our ancestors," he said, "were blessed with a world which, for all its perils and rigors, was far more bountiful than Old Earth in their time. Neither its minerals nor its forests had been depleted, neither its vegetation nor its wildlife had been destroyed by slaughter, by erosion, by senseless pollution; and Gurat Singh—blessed be his Name!—was determined that they would never be. From the very first, he ordained that education and research would have absolute priority, and he laid out a general plan for each, with The Book as its foundation, his Testament and the Books of Memories our ancestors compiled as its building stones. One law he laid down which we shall always keep; it forbids any technology that could result in highly concentrated energy sources, such as those that brought the Eater. Another was that we must never again allow ourselves to become dependent on machines to do our thinking and remember for us. That is why electronics was the last of our technologies to be developed, and why we have never attempted to build new Gilpin ships—and never will."

Molane thought of Lapis Lazuli, of how her kind had been evolved, and how she was regarded in their new animism, but he did not comment.

Erris went on to tell them of the gradual rebirth of the sciences; how the first three centuries passed in bridging the gap between what The Book contained and what their ancestors remembered in bits and pieces and half-understood terminologies.

"By that time," he said, "we had developed steam power to a degree never achieved on Old Earth. We have entire genera of plants here, growing like weeds, that produce abundant fuel alcohols, so abundant that we use them to run almost everything, our vehicles, our aircraft, our electric generators. We now have wind power and water power and solar power, but still most of us prefer to rely on our individual power-plants—in many areas every household has one."

They drove through residential districts crowded with houses and apartments, and through business districts with an unusual number of small shops and minor industries. The signs, always small and restrained, told them that here there was a tremendous reliance on fine handwork: gun and violin making, tailoring and cabinet-making, gem-cutting and book-binding and bootmaking. The marquées announced plays, operas, concerts—all live performances, and Molane commented on this.

"Do you have holovision?" he asked.

"We do not," Lady Erris answered. "No, nor television. We want our children to grow up in a real world. We want them to learn to do, instead of watching. We simply have no spectator sports here, unless we count horse-racing, because of the betting, and of course the wars. This isn't a safe world. We do not want it to be, and we don't pretend it is. There are enough dangers on the continents, where almost all our young people spend a few years at least, to satisfy anyone's desire for excitement."

"Do you mean," Lahaisa asked, "that people are allowed to go and watch the fighting? People who take no part?"

"Indeed yes. At their own risk, of course, and with proper permits. Our wars, even controlled as they are by our Council of Emperors, still show them how things were on Old Earth, and how fortunate they are to be here. If you wish, Captain Harrion can arrange for you to view the one now in progress on the Asiatic Continent."

They stopped occasionally. They entered shops and workshops, and invariably they were amazed at the courtesy that prevailed, with no servility on the one side, no arrogance on the other. They were shown libraries and colleges, hospitals and factories. They were driven to a district Lord Erris referred to as Soho, where everything and everyone looked alien: East Indian, Southern European, Chinese. It, more than any other area, had the look of having been contrived.

They dined at Erris House, sumptuously, then were taken to see a recreation of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. It was an eerie experience, for Molane especially because he had the original practically by heart. Costumes, dialogue, everything would at one moment seem totally unreal, at the next almost too real, as deja vu usually is.

They returned to Lapis Lazuli with the promise that their escorts would come again next morning; and after they went to bed, Lahaisa said thoughtfully, "Molane, think what happened on both planets. Consider all these people have accomplished. Whatever could that Book have been?"

"A Book that provided the basis for rebuilding everything they lost? I can't imagine. But much they have is now on a par with ours, their medicine, their plant and animal genetics, their careful conversation of their new environment."

She was silent for a moment. "Yes," she finally said, "but they're so strange."

"Their society progresses, dear, but still in some ways it is completely static, more so than the Roman Empire, far more so than the British, more so even than the Chinese—which is perhaps why Gurat Singh chose those as his models. The Eater apparently convinced them that the rest of the Universe is off-limits to them. At any rate, they're civilized compared to most cultures, even if they do fight wars—there seems to be no poverty, and consider their emphasis on all the arts, on beauty, on good manners. Lahaisa, they march to a different drum, one which we—mercifully—have not heard for centuries, and now would never listen to."

"Well, they have been kind and courteous to us, their unwanted guests, but still—" She paused, frowning. "Still, I am uneasy."

Next morning, ceremoniously, Lord and Lady Erris and the captain and his lady were received aboard the ship, and somewhat against their will they allowed themselves to be shown the wardroom and the control tower. As they shifted into Gilpin's Space, Lady Erris surreptitiously crossed herself, but they rigid-controlled any amazement they may have felt at the swiftness of the ship or the uncanniness of the reality perceived from the control tower's ports. When explanations were offered them, they took pains to display neither curiosity nor interest.

Their first stop, after a flight over the ocean, over fanged continental mountain ranges that towered in frozen silence over jungles and forests unbelievably enormous, was a great island Lord Erris announced as China, and a huge city named Peking. Here again they made their landing outside a palace—or more properly a complex of palaces behind a frowning wall—and in a flowering courtyard beside a lake on which multi-colored swan-like birds were sailing. Here again, too, stood a pavilion, with an Emperor and an Empress on lacquered thrones, surrounded by dignitaries uniformed and costumed very much as their counterparts had been the day before, except that the clergy were robed in saffron faced with black and wore white scarves, and their heads were shaven. The majority of those present looked definitely Asian, but only vaguely so; on Old Earth, in Saul Gilpin's day, one would have been hard put to classify them more definitely. As for the architecture, Lahaisa's father, Jerlan, who knew more about the subject than any of them, at once decided that it was based on data much more tenuous than that of the new England.

He thought the thought "aloud," and their answers echoed their agreement.

Here, again, the Emperor stood and strode toward them. He and his Empress alone were robed, in yellow silks embroidered with great dragons. He and she alone wore jeweled headdresses.

He strode forward and greeted Molane in English, and again there was the long eye-searching which yesterday had preceded their interview with the King and Queen. After that, everything followed almost exactly the same pattern, with the same attitude toward Old Earth, the same guarded less-then-friendliness, and virtually the same hospitality. Only the food was different. Whether it was indeed Chinese, they did not know.

An hour, and it was over. They were dismissed, and at their next stop, Vienna on the island named Austro-Italy, they followed a similar routine. Here the palace was rococo, ornate and enormous, surrounded by pools and fountains and endless statuary. Here the Emperor, fiercely moustached, was a Caucasian, as were his Empress and their entourage, most of them slightly darker than Lord Erris' countrymen. And here, once again, the pattern was followed in every detail, the eye-searching, the conversation, the introduction of important personages, beginning with cardinals in red-and saffron robes, and continuing with ministers of state and ranking officers. There was one difference only: only wines and liqueurs were served, doubtless because every visit had been carefully orchestrated.

Everyone had spoken English, and there had been little or no difference in their accents. Now, as they went again into Gilpin's Space, Molane asked Lord Erris if other languages had indeed survived.

"Oh, they've been preserved—" Lord Erris smiled, "—by scholars in the universities and to some extent in the churches—Latin and that sort of thing. We are Anglicans; the Holy Roman Empire is Roman Catholic; the Chinese are Buddhists. The old languages add something to them. But all religions are embraced within the teachings of our sant—blessed be his Name! When you meet the Successor, you may understand."

 

They hovered for a short time over Rome, built on a site carefully chosen for its seven hills, and Erris pointed out the Vatican. Then they headed halfway round the planet to a somewhat smaller island, far more tropical, which they were told was India.

They landed at New Delhi, a European city with overtones of a remembered East, echoing Benares, perhaps Amritsar, perhaps the Taj Mahal. Lord Erris guided them to an empty quadrangle in which a domed building stood, all white and gold, but much smaller than they would have expected. No one was there to greet them.

"The Successor," said Erris, "does not come to visitors. We must go to him."

They walked a hundred yards to the building's steps. Everything was white marble, beautifully proportioned, owing nothing to any discernible tradition on Old Earth. Two huge doors stood open. They entered, followed a wide corridor. They emerged into a hall. There were no attendants, no servitors, but on a marble dais stood a single golden chair.

In it, the Successor sat, all white except for his brown face, his bare brown feet: white robe, white turban, white beard, all pure white.

Arilé caught her breath. He—he's beautiful! she thought.

And instantly the thought came back to her, Thank you, my child.

She made no effort to hide astonishment, and caught his unvoiced chuckle.

Then Lord Erris presented them, and the Successor acknowledged each with an inclination of his head, a smile. His voice, when finally he spoke, was soft and very powerful.

"I know why you have come," he said, "and my Emperors tell me you are without guile, without intent to change us. They have also told you that our destiny was decreed when the Eater came. So you are being shown our world and what we have accomplished. You will see one of the wars we still fight. You will even be allowed to see The Book that shaped us. Go with my blessing. Perhaps someday in the future our destiny will bring us to you." Again he inclined his head. "Farewell," he said.

Bowing, they said goodbye. Then, once more aboard Lapis Lazuli, where they could converse mind to mind, Arilé said, I sang him seven bars of mind-music when we left, and he was pleased.

He's a full telepath, Lahaisa answered. The Emperors are partially telepathic, and probably many others are, too. Perhaps that's how they keep everything so—well, so stable.

It would help, Molane said. I'm sure the Successor has a goal in mind, one that unites them all. But does even he know what it is?

I still fear them. Lahaisa looked at her small son. Not personally, no. But I feel something in the offing, something ominous.

I think that old man was wonderful! said Kolali.

The balance of the day consisted of brief touchdowns at various islands and cities, glimpses of industries some unbelievably sophisticated, at modes of transportation almost invariably sacrificing speed to a maximum of comfort and of scenery. It is impossible to swallow a whole world in ah afternoon, but they learned that there were other religions besides the major three, that many of the planet's animals had been domesticated but that mankind's pets were still those brought from Earth, that except for the three capitals no city had been allowed to grow to more than one hundred thousand, and that the economic pressures which, on Old Earth, had dictated a sometimes deadly overcrowding in a few artificially maintained centers here simply did not exist.

Once more, they dined at Erris House, and when they left, "Tomorrow," Lord Erris said, "Captain Harrion and his lady will accompany you, for he is much more competent to show you the wild regions and their dangers than I would be, and in the war zone you'll be much safer in his hands."

"Don't worry," the captain told them. "Headquarters'll be expecting us, and anyhow you can watch most of the action from Gilpin's Space—" He sounded disappointed. "—Though of course it'll scarcely be the same."

"But we'll really see the dragons, won't we?" pleaded Kolali.

"Yes, really," the captain promised.

 

Just before she went to sleep, Lahaisa once more mentioned her nagging apprehension. "But it's not only that," she said. "I'm troubled about Kolali. His mind has not been open to me."

"Kids get that way," Molane reassured her. "He's just thinking about those dragons he has his heart set on, probably."

Next morning, the captain and his lady arrived immediately after breakfast, and from there on it was just one quick touchdown after another, this time on the continents. They perched on mountain peaks that made Everest seem a foothill; vast black birds of prey with cruel serrated beaks soared among them, swooping down like bullets on their unknown victims. In the heart of the continent called Africa, they saw hairy rhinoceroids, wandering at the foot of glaciers, fall victim to a veritable army of small gleaming serpents moving as army ants move. They were shown precipices plunging down into impenetrable jungles—and a river far mightier than the Amazon dropping half a mile down one of them. In America, there were more mountains, forests, deserts, enormous rivers running through jungle-marshes where raw hunger lived. And Captain Harrion named every place and every creature, and told them how difficult it was to climb, to penetrate, to kill or capture. His eyes shone as he told it, and—to Lahaisa's astonishment—so did his lady's.

The continent of Asia was as varied as the other two had been, and quite as perilous; and on each continent they saw settlements, roads, and railroads, fighting the wilderness, signs of husbandry and cultivation and development, but at none of these did they pause.

"On each continent," explained the captain, "each Empire has its sphere of influence, as you know, and—men being men—when these clash we sometime go to war. It's very exciting, and a very satisfactory way of settling things."

He pointed down at the War Zone, a great rift valley a hundred miles or so from the Asian coast, stretching perhaps forty miles between rain-forest on the one side and sodden bogs on the other.

Landing at Headquarters, they were introduced to the Commanding General and his staff, who were coldly polite to them. Suddenly, as they spoke, the general pointed at the sky. Three swept-wing silver aircraft floated down from a single gray-white cloud directly at them.

Instantly, weapons spoke. Puffs of smoke appeared. And suddenly the lead plane erupted in a gout of flame, lurched, collided with its partner on the left, crippling it. Both lost headway. Both suddenly were falling, while the third turned tail.

"Good shooting!" cried the general.

Molane and Lahaisa exchanged glances. "Thank you, general," Molane said, still watching the falling funeral pyre and its crippled mate. "You have been very kind, but we've taken too much of your time, and we need see nothing more here on the ground. The rest we can see from Gilpin's Space."

The general shook his head in puzzlement; Captain Harrion again looked disappointed, but he escorted them back into the ship, and from Gilpin's Space he explained the disposition of the two armies, where an advantage had been gained or lost, and where they might expect an action to be taking place. Finally, far to the right, he pointed out a regiment of self-propelled vehicles, more armored cars than tanks, advancing flanked by cavalry, lancers most of them, and followed by infantry. Artillery was vigorously in action. An occasional vehicle was staggering out of column or bursting into flame; horses were falling, others, riderless, galloping aimlessly away; men who had been marching suddenly were lying still.

Abruptly, then, a similar force appeared from a woods directly ahead of the attackers, and at the captain's signal Molane dropped Lapis Lazuli down to fifty feet over their heads just as they clashed.

Even from Gilpin's Space, they could see the expression on the faces of the soldiers as they killed, were wounded, died.

Sadly, they exchanged one unspoken thought. "Captain, it is enough," Molane said softly. "Let us go. It's time, I think, for my son to have his dragons."

The captain's momentary annoyance vanished. "My own regiment," he said, "the Fourth Hussars, the King-Emperor's Own, have a camp right in the best dragon country. They'll be expecting us, with a horse ready for me."

"Why a horse, captain?" Orano asked.

"Sir, you don't think I'd miss a chance to kill a dragon while we're here, do you? Otherwise, I'd have to wait for special leave. This is something the boy will really have to see. You don't mind, do you?"

The best dragon country, it turned out, was several hundred miles further down the Asian coast, in a British enclave, and the dragons were true saurians, with tough skins armored in hard scales. Fully grown, they were from ten to twelve feet long from savage jaw to tip of powerful tail, enormously strong hind legs that enabled them to leap frighteningly when attacking, and much smaller front legs equipped with tearing claws. The only sporting way to kill them, the captain said, was with a lance, on horseback. Carniverous, they could always be relied on to attack. Then it was just a matter of nerve and skill. At the right instant, you thrust your lance up through the roof of the hideous mouth into the brain—and then, just as instantly, whirled aside and away. If you didn't—he laughed—either those front legs would get you, or the tail would, or the beast would fall over on you.

They landed at the camp, a palisaded ring of wooden bungalows; were introduced to one or two different officers; waited for a corporal to bring up a saddled horse, a great bay with the conformation of a Lippizan and the fiery eye of a medieval charger.

Harrion asked one of his brother officers to accompany the party in Lapis Lazuli, and for a moment they talked about the most likely place. Then he shed his blouse, rolled up his sleeves, took the long lance the corporal handed him—a good two feet longer than those used by lancers in the 19th Century, with a three foot steel head—and mounted up.

The officer detailed to guide them, introduced as a Captain Swinney, entered the ship a little apprehensively, then pulled himself together and told Molane that, while the dragons ranged far and wide in their insatiable search for meat, their lairs were almost always in an area a mile or two away.

"It's eroded into all sorts of little cliffs," he said. "Well give old Harrion a few minutes to get there, then follow up. When we see he's spotted one, you can set down, but be sure not too close. We wouldn't want to spook it."

Fifteen minutes later, they spotted Harrion in the rough country he had just entered. He had slowed to a walk, and was reconnoitering—a Gilpin-ghost of a horseman, Molane thought, seeking a ghostly dragon.

Suddenly, they saw him rein in, point with his lance. A dragon had just emerged from a cliff-cave. It stood there for a moment, eyeing its approaching meal. Then it moved forward, all business.

Molane set the ship down about a hundred yards away, shifted into normal space. The dragon, as though he knew ships were inedible, paid them no heed. First he strode, then hopped, then ran directly at the captain. His low-ridged head was nearly two feet long, and most of it was open mouth and teeth. His color was a yellowish green.

Captain and horse stood stock-still, motionless. The dragon closed the distance rapidly. They saw him tensing for the final leap—

The lance was pointed forward, but scarcely raised.

The dragon leaped. The horse, perfectly trained, sat back on his hocks, braced his front legs, the lance point flashing upward—and an instant later, horse and man had whirled aside, the captain still clinging to the embedded lance, the saurian writhing, thrashing, twisting, flat on the ground. The lance point pulled free, and horse and man were turning off—

The captain's lady screamed. "God, Swinney!" she cried out. "Look!"

From behind a hummock scarcely feet away, a second dragon had appeared, one just as large and just as hungry as the first.

The horse heard it first, whirled without command. The captain held his seat, lifted his bloody lance. In seconds, it was over. Neither man nor horse lost his nerve. The lance point found the second dragon's brain, and they whirled away, the tail missing them by inches.

"Lord!" exclaimed Swinney. "Two! Lizveth," he told Harrion's wife, "that's damned well a record. I can't remember anyone ever getting two like that before!

"You have a man really to be proud of." He turned to Molane. "It'll take those brutes a while to die," he said. "We might as well get back and send some people out to measure them before their relatives come out and eat them up."

And Harrion's wife stood there, her fear forgotten, proud indeed.

 

Within minutes after his return, Captain Harrion was again immaculate, obviously well pleased and basking in his lady's admiration.

"Well," he declared, "now all we have to do is get you back to Hampton Court so you can see The Book and bid His Majesty goodbye. This has been a splendid day for me! You've really brought me luck, and I thank you for it."

In front of Hampton Court Palace, this time only Lord and Lady Erris were waiting, with an equerry. The ship landed. The Harrions said goodbye to them.

Lord Erris greeted them. "Come," he said, "the Palace isn't far, and it'll be a pleasant walk. How did your day go?"

"You have a fantastic world," Molane answered. "Everything's on a grander scale than on Old Earth."

"So I understand," said Erris. "So I have gathered from The Book. And we intend to keep it that way. There shall be no ruined forests, no dessicated hillsides washing to the sea. Not here."

It was a criticism no man from Earth could answer, not even the New People. Molane gave a brief account of what they had been shown, and Kolali finished with a highly dramatized recital of Harrion's dragon-slaying.

At the Palace door, a tall man in clerical was awaiting them, and Erris introduced him as the Librarian Royal. The Librarian said simply, "Follow me," and led them through corridors hung with paintings.

"Here is the Library," he announced, throwing open two massive doors. They opened on an enormous hall lined with shelves and glassed book-presses, and filled with scholars' carrels. A surrounding balcony, beautifully paneled, led to more shelves; and they were told that this was only one of many rooms.

They walked through it to a final door, paneled also but giving access to a great fireproof vault. The door, inches thick, swung open. The Librarian stood aside for them to enter. In the vault's very center, in a case of gold and crystal, stood The Book.

There were twenty-nine volumes of it, rebound in vellum and stamped in gold.

"The last one," the Librarian said, "is the Index. I shall show you Volume I, but I cannot allow you to handle it."

Very reverently, he unlocked the case, took out the first volume, opened it to the fly-leaf. There was a name written there: Gurat Singh, Balliol College, and a bookseller's label: Basil Blackwood, Oxford.

"Our sant," said the Librarian, "bought it when he was a student, blessed be his Name!"

He turned to the title page, holding the book out so all could see:

THE ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A DICTIONARY
OF ARTS, SCIENCE, LITERATURE AND GENERAL
INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION

Cambridge:
at the University Press
1910

"You see," the Librarian told them, "it was published during the very year of King Edward VII's death when the old British Empire was at the height of its power and glory, before the horrible wars of the Twentieth Century had brought chaos and destruction to Old Earth."

He replaced the volume, locked the case, and indicated to Lord Erris that he could take over. Then Erris led them off to a small throne-room, where the King-Emperor and his Queen said goodbye to them and wished them a pleasant trip home.

Only Lord Erris walked back with them to Lapis Lazuli, and he too bade them only a brief farewell.

Molane ordered the port closed, and they followed him into the wardroom. Lahaisa caught his momentary thought: No, we accomplished nothing, but thank the Guardians that we at least are immune to the excitements of these people and their barbarism!

"Lapis Lazuli," he said, "in your data banks do you have any information on an early Twentieth Century work called The Encyclopaedia Britannica, the Eleventh Edition?"

In seconds, she replied that, yes, she did.

"Scan it," said Molane, "and tell us if in your opinion a civilization such as the one we have just seen could possibly have been founded on it and on the largely untutored recollections of those disciples of Gurat Singh's who landed here?"

More seconds passed, and then the ship replied. "Yes, Molane, I think it could. Let me give you one example. That work of course says nothing about Einstein, but it has a great deal to say about James Clerk Maxwell, upon whose work much of Einstein's was based, and it gives certain of his basic equations. Does this make the point clear?"

"And what of the society that produced it?"

"It was a very proud society, Molane—in many, many ways justly proud. It had a great heritage."

There was a silence. Lapis Lazuli had, of course, recorded everything, and there would be plenty of time to discuss it.

It was Lahaisa who broke the silence. "Kolali!" she cried aloud. "Child, what's wrong with you? You're crying?"

"Kolali, Kolali! You shouldn't cry—don't you understand? We're going home."

He responded to the pain in her voice, but he did not run to her. Nor did his mind open to her anxious invitation.

"G-going home?" he choked. "I—I don't want to go home. I want to stay here, right here—and kill dragons—and—and be a soldier!"

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Framed