Beyond The Tomorrow Mountains (18 page)

Insofar as he could, Noren kept their sessions strictly technical, and there were plenty of safe topics to occupy Brek’s attention, First, there was the matter of why the natural resources of the planet could not be utilized for the building of machines. That they could not was something a new Scholar accepted uncritically, for no villager or even Technician had the background to realize that certain metallic and semi-metallic elements did exist in the native rock; but once a trainee’s study of chemistry began, simple explanations became inadequate. It quite naturally appeared that since the Six Worlds’ scientists had been so knowledgeable, they ought to have been able to find substitutes for the metals they’d used at home. But in this, at least, Noren was on firm ground. He could assure Brek categorically that it was impossible to obtain usable metal by mechanical or chemical processes. Metals with the properties needed for machines—strength, durability, and so forth—had never been present in large quantities, and what deposits there once were had been taken by the mysterious alien visitors of the past, whose technology had apparently surpassed that of the Six Worlds.

Plastics couldn’t serve as a substitute, either, any more than they could be used for wheels. The large-scale manufacture of plastics would require more than the raw materials; it would demand high heat or high pressure, neither of which could be obtained without metal machinery. The same was true of glass and ceramics, which like plastics were limited to the small amounts that could be produced with the City’s existing equipment. The planet offered no fuel that would burn hot enough to melt such materials. Without heat or, for that matter, metal cauldrons, there could be no progress beyond unfired pottery.

Thus the Founders had pinned all humanity’s hope on transmutation of specific elements through nuclear fusion, in full knowledge of their audacity in setting such a goal. Only recently had Noren come to see how audacious they had been. Foolishly so, perhaps. Still, they’d had no alternative. The orbital surveys had shown the entire solar system to be metal-poor; if there had been a chance of getting metal from any of the moons or other planets, the Founders would have tried it—but there’d been no such chance. The Visitors who’d preceded them had done a thorough job.

Speculation about the Visitors had never ceased among the Scholars, although without more data no conclusions could be reached. In the City the topic was mentioned occasionally, but in camp, around the evening fires, it was attacked with renewed interest. In the back of everyone’s mind was the wild hope, “What if we should
find
something? What if we should uncover evidence not only of their presence, but of their origin, or of how long ago they came?”

Noren sat frozen during these discussions, unnaturally silent, cold with an apprehension he could neither analyze nor push aside. His people were not the only sentient beings; they had absolute proof that they were not… yet they could make no contact with their predecessors or even determine whether any of them still lived. What sort of a universe was it where such barriers prevailed? Were all human races isolated, condemned to perpetual ignorance of the rest? Did others, too, rise to greatness and then, through senseless, futile tragedy, die out, like grain shoots crushed beneath the hoofs of work-beasts loosed into a field? Perhaps the Visitors’ sun had also ceased to exist except in the form of light rays out somewhere between the stars, invisible because no one was there to see. Were stars, like men, inescapably doomed to death?

He had never thought much about death except in an abstract way. He’d believed himself beyond reprieve during his trial and inquisition and had been afraid; he had felt vague surprise while sharing the dying thoughts of the First Scholar, who as an old man had given up life without fear; he had, earlier, grieved over the deaths of his mother and of a boyhood friend. He had been horrified by the concept of racial extinction and had pledged himself unhesitatingly to its prevention. But he had barely begun to face the implications of prevention being impossible, and somehow, doing so raised the awareness that he himself would someday really die. Alone in the darkness of the outdoor nights, Noren let himself consider death not merely as an abstraction but as a future certainty, feeling terror such as he had never imagined. He, to whom knowledge was all-important, confronted the depths of the unknown, and was overpowered. Had this been buried in him all along? he wondered in dismay. Had his panic in space been based on physical fear after all? The idea added both to his inner shame and to his determination to show no further weakness, but the memory of that paralyzing moment continued to haunt him; though he drove himself to exhaustion in an attempt to suppress it, it followed him into his dreams.

Exhaustion was the common lot of the entire team, of course; strenuous work on short rations had its effect on everyone. Yet all the men had their pride. Moreover, as village youths many had taken pleasure in competition, and camp life brought back remembrance if not full prowess. Stewards and High Priests they might be, but there was nothing somber about them; before long somebody suggested a stonesetting contest, a proposal adopted with great enthusiasm. Though the accompanying festivities could not take place without women and children to watch, to reward the victor, and to prepare the traditional feast, it seemed a good way to initiate work on the water purification plant, which in the absence of domes would have to be installed in an ordinary stone structure.

The stonework of such structures was crude, since without metal tools it was necessary to rely mainly on rocks small enough not to require cutting. Fortunately these were abundant in the area; the men not engaged in erecting the tower had been able to gather them without too much difficulty. Everybody wanted to take part in the contest, so on the day chosen, tower construction was temporarily suspended, and only the current space crew had to miss out. As was usual in the villages on such occasions, people rose and ate before daybreak, and by the time the sun appeared the workers were in place around the square marked off in the gray earth where the building’s walls were to be. Sunrise came late beyond the Tomorrow Mountains. The nearby ridges to the east blocked all rays long past the normal hour of dawn. Noren stood facing them, wondering as he waited how they could look so tall when from space, they’d been merely a yellowish blotch. He felt no excitement; the high spirits of his companions lowered his own by contrast—but he was resolved that as far as stonesetting was concerned, he was not going to make a poor showing.

At sunup the men began a song, taking stones into their hands in readiness. It was the folk hymn prescribed by custom, passed on from one generation to the next as the building skills themselves had been passed on:

May our strength be everlasting,

May our skill be sure.

Till the Star’s light shines upon it

May the stone endure.

Noren did not join in, not even when the work started and the songs became livelier and, before long, bawdier. He was kept from it by more than the new depression; his boyhood had not been happy enough to be brought back willingly. Some of the others, apparently, had had fun in the villages, heretics though they were. They were enjoying this chance to relive bygone years. Or was it simply that they were hoping to forget what they knew of the future?

Not once in camp had Noren heard anyone express doubt about the successful outcome of Grenald’s experiments. The issue had been argued at the meeting in the City, but after the vote, even the skeptics seemed to have convinced themselves that they, here beyond the mountains, were the pioneers of the Transition Period. Had not another city in fact begun to rise? Was not real evidence of the Prophecy’s fulfillment at last before them? Surely the breakthrough would come soon, people declared; surely the vision they saw when they surveyed the drab and desolate camp would be transformed into reality! Noren had always felt that villagers were prone to believe in things because they wanted to, but it was disillusioning to find that Scholars were no different.

He attacked the work that day as never before, conscious only of the stones he handled, not bothering to count them or to notice the rate at which his own section of wall grew in comparison to others; not even noticing when fresh mortar was brought by one of the men who’d chosen not to compete. As the sun rose higher and the day’s heat increased, he stripped to the waist, throwing aside his tunic without a glance. Sweat poured from his body and ran into his eyes so that he could scarcely see. He could not see anyway; he was giddy; but it did not seem to matter. Vaguely he perceived that the pain in his arms and back was more severe than any he could remember, yet that did not matter either. He did not pause except during the rest periods called at intervals, when he waited apathetically for the signal to resume work. His body moved of its own accord. It was as though it were no part of him.

Eventually the light began to fade, and Noren decided that he was on the verge of passing out. He did not mind; it might, he thought, be a good thing. Not until men surrounded him, thrusting a mug of ale into his hands, did he become aware that the sun had dropped below the horizon and that the contest was over. And even then he could not take in the fact that he had won.

Dazed, he looked around at the stone walls that had not been there that morning. Stone was real, stone was tangible; it would indeed last till the Mother Star’s light shone upon it… but what did that mean? The stone might well outlast the men, and perhaps, in some dim future age, other Visitors would come and wonder who the builders had been. Such things ought to fit together in a pattern, Noren felt, but he could see no pattern at all. He let his fellows carry him to the bonfire, and he drank the ale that, in lieu of a feast, was to supplement the usual food ration; but he knew no joy of victory. The best he could manage was grim satisfaction in not having disgraced himself.

Sparks from the blazing moss flew upward, mingling with the stars. Noren’s eyes did not follow them; he had avoided looking up of late. But a recollection of other campfires came to him: fires in the village square, where he and Talyra had sat together in the first season of their betrothal. “If she were here—” Brek began, congratulating him, and Noren turned away. If she were here, she would place the victor’s string of polished pebbles around his neck, and she would kiss him while the people watched and cheered; but later, when they were alone, it would be no good at all. She would sense his emptiness, and Talyra’s pity was one thing he could not bear.

He drooped with a weariness that was as much of spirit as of body. The singing, which had not continued past early morning, was taken up again: not only the bawdy songs, but slow, sad ones, love songs and laments for nameless things lost in the haze of legend. One after another men recalled ballads they had not heard since boyhood, marveling that those from different villages knew them. It was not really surprising, considering their common ancestry and the fact that the traders who traveled from place to place spent their nights in taverns; yet somehow the provincial attitude of their youth was hard to shake.

“You know, we have one great advantage in this world,” someone remarked during a lull. “Despite the reversion, despite all that was taken from us, we still have the part of our heritage our forebears struggled longest and hardest for. We have unity.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brek, who had not yet studied much of the Six Worlds’ history.

“We have a single culture that’s expanding instead of many that must eventually merge. That wouldn’t be good, of course, if it hadn’t been based on a combination of the mother world’s cultures. Diversity is valuable. But it means we won’t have to go through the painful business of resolving cultural conflicts all over again.”

“The Founders spared us that,” another man agreed. “Think what we’d have faced if people had reverted to more primitive customs without keeping any sense of common identity! All the villagers’ frustration over their inability to progress would have been turned into disputes between separate villages.”

“I’m still confused,” Brek admitted. “We’re united by the Prophecy and the High Law; we couldn’t survive without them. But those of us who know the secrets don’t like the system. We’re working to get rid of it. So how can you call such unification an advantage?”

“We’re working toward the time when we can reveal the secrets, relinquish our control of the City, and abolish stratified castes. We’re not trying to get rid of the High Law, though. That will always be necessary here.”

“Well, yes. People won’t ever be able to drink unpurified water, or cook in pots made from unpurified clay. And religion’s certainly not going to become obsolete.”

Wasn’t it? Noren thought. What good would it do, once its promises had been kept? And if keeping them should prove impossible, it would become a hoax, an inexcusable deception—the Founders themselves had been horrified by the idea of upholding a
false
religion. “Brek,” he protested, surely you don’t think heresy should be a crime after the Prophecy’s fulfillment is… settled.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Heresy is not a crime under the High Law,” someone else reminded them. “Only village laws forbid it, and those laws aren’t going to be changed overnight; it will take time for intolerance to be outgrown.”

“But can’t we issue some kind of proclamation?”

“Certainly not. We mustn’t interfere with democratic government then any more than we do now.”

“The point I was making about unity,” explained the first man, “is that in the culture that’s grown up on this planet, religious tradition will never be a cause of strife. Individual heretics may be persecuted—although we as priests will always offer them sanctuary—but groups of people with different symbols for the same idea will never go to war over it, as happened on the mother world when intolerance prevailed.”