Beyond The Tomorrow Mountains (30 page)

“Well, I can’t be positive, but it just doesn’t follow the principles of Six Worlds’ engineering. And those holes were made for fingers… but not ours; they aren’t placed right.”

“Noren,” Brek objected, “if that’s the case, why did you want it taken up to the plateau where we can’t study it? And why, for the Star’s sake, did you tell her to turn it on? We’ve no idea what it’ll do.”

“I think it may give out some kind of radiation.”

“That could be dangerous.”

“It could also be detectable—from a distance.”

“From the City!” Brek breathed excitedly.

“There’s a chance. Don’t say anything to her; it may not reach that far, and even if it does it may be lethal as far as we’re concerned. It could even explode, though I don’t think it will while she’s activating it, since it didn’t when I was experimenting.” Noren lay back, gazing at the wild and inhospitable peaks of the Tomorrow Mountains. “We have nothing to lose,” he murmured. “If we don’t try this, we’re dead, so isn’t
any
attempt—even one we’re not sure of—better than none at all?”

Chapter Eight

The aircar came just before sunset, dropping out of the eastern sky to hover above the plateau. Brek heard it first, and in that instant Noren—who had not really dared to hope—knew from his face that the gamble had paid off.

Raising his head from Talyra’s lap, he cried, “Run, darling! Wave, make them see you!” She’d heard it too and scrambled to her feet, racing back through the arch toward the faint but unmistakable humming sound. She did not connect the aircar’s arrival with the mysterious metal sphere, yet she showed little surprise; she had felt all along that in the end the spirit of the Mother Star would bring help.

Noren was unable to walk; the two Scholars from the rescue car had to carry him to the flat place where they’d landed. Brek, with assistance, got there on his own. He explained about the sphere while Talyra stayed beside Noren.

It was indeed alien, the Scholars agreed. They had not known what to expect, for the radiation was powerful and unlike any the computer complex had monitored before, although it was not of a hazardous sort. No one had seen how it could be coming from the lost aircar, yet because its source was in the region where the crash was presumed to have occurred, a team had been sent at once. Now, with reluctance, it was decided that the sphere must be left where it was until more could be learned about it; to take it into the City would be an unjustified risk. It could be found again, and indeed would serve to mark the pile of metal that the rescue car, which was already overloaded with passengers, could not carry. After that it would be studied at the outpost.

Hearing that, Noren was stricken with disappointment. For a few minutes he had held with wonder a thing from another solar system… a thing made by a human race unlike his own. He wanted to see it once more, to share in the unraveling of its mysteries. But he could not expect that he’d be allowed to leave the City again. His confinement this time would be final and complete; he had forfeited the trust of those who were guarding the secrets.

It was nearly dark when they reached the City. Looking down from the air as they approached its cluster of lights, he remembered the first time he’d seen it so, driving a trader’s sledge up the final hill and halting at the crest to gaze with unbearable longing at the stronghold of all hidden truth. How naive he’d been. Even while he lived in the City he’d not thought it a prison; he’d assumed that everything he sought was there… .

Talyra squeezed his hand and smiled. Wan, emaciated, clothed in the tattered remnants of a tunic cut away for bandages, she was nonetheless radiant. To Talyra it had all worked out as it was meant to work. And perhaps, Noren thought sadly, she had again glimpsed the truth more clearly than he had; she’d seen through some window that to him would be forever obscure. They would surely have died if he had not carried through the masquerade for her sake. Still, he could not do that indefinitely. He’d once feared that he might accept priesthood rather than give her up, but when it came to the point of choice, he knew he would never be as great a hypocrite as that. Those who became High Priests were not hypocrites either, yet much as he might wish to believe as they did, he could not alter what he felt.

So, having had her love, he must once again sacrifice it. Since their marriage could never be authorized, he must free her from the betrothal. It would be best if there proved to be no child, for she would be hurt less that way; still he could not regret their brief hours of happiness. Little more lay in store for him, for though he knew that insofar as he was permitted, he would devote his remaining years to the work that had come to seem worthwhile despite its hopelessness, he was aware that neither love nor work would be enough to satisfy him. He would always be searching for something that was not to be found.

He turned to Brek, who did not meet his glance. Like himself, Brek had refused the hypnotic sleep offered by the rescue team. They had assuaged their thirst and hunger and had submitted to preliminary treatment of their injuries, but they had not wished to evade what awaited them on entrance to the City. Or rather, they hadn’t been willing to admit that they wished it. They were answerable both for the loss of an irreplaceable aircar and for their unfulfilled intent to betray secrets; neither could be easily dismissed. Perhaps they would be considered relapsed heretics and denied all contact with non-Scholars, Noren realized. Perhaps he would not even see Talyra after he had confessed. To his shame, he was thankful that her presence made immediate confession impossible.

The lights loomed brighter, then vanished as the aircar dropped into the open top of the entrance dome and settled gently. A crowd of faces appeared at the door: solicitous faces, faces that showed not reproof, but relief and welcome. One, Noren saw, was Stefred’s, and he looked away, lacking words, while he was carried down from the landing platform and through the maze of corridors leading to the Inner City’s courtyard. People didn’t yet know the whole story. Curious though they must be, they did not press for details; but they stayed with him until he was laid on a couch in a small private cubicle of the infirmary.

“You must have rest,” the doctor said. “If you will not consent to hypnotic sedation, I’ll have to use drugs—”

The pride that had kept Noren adamant made him yield. Drugs were scarce; it was not fitting for any to be consumed by a Scholar. He accepted the hypnosis, slipping resignedly, almost gratefully, into oblivion.

When he awoke, he found himself physically recovered, though still quite weak, and realized that days had passed while his body was nourished intravenously. As remembrance hit him, he was overwhelmed by remorse and despair. He no longer knew what was true and what was not; but he was certain that, not knowing, he could have done nothing but harm by destroying the villagers’ belief in the Prophecy. To be sure, deceiving people was wrong and they should be given the chance to claim their entire birthright if their descendants were already doomed… but what if humankind was not doomed? If a chance of a scientific breakthrough did exist—a chance as remote and unlikely as his discovery of the alien sphere—his proclamation could have ruined it.

Reason, mathematics, told him that there was no such chance. He still could not feel any hope. But as Talyra had said, if one stopped living because one expected to die, one threw away one’s own life. Had he thrown away the significance of his? he wondered. Could he, untrusted, share fully in the research? He knew that he would not be punished for what he had done. Even if he was isolated as a precautionary measure, Stefred and the others would be all too compassionate. Something else Talyra had once said echoed in his mind:
The Scholars don’t punish; that’s not their way—you simply have to live with the consequences of what you are
.

The doctor entered and examined Noren briefly, pronouncing him fit to have visitors. “Stefred has asked to see you,” he said. “Will you receive him, Noren?”

“It’s not my place to refuse.”

The man regarded him, disturbed. “You are a Scholar,” he said, “and Stefred’s equal; he would not presume to command except in matters concerning his official duties. Like your other friends, he merely wants to know whether he is welcome.”

“I—I’d rather not see anyone.” Noren asserted. It was true; he could not bear the thought of talking, not even to Talyra—and least of all to Stefred, whose trust he had betrayed. Besides, he reminded himself, Stefred had deceived him. He’d promised him access to knowledge that would help… .

But later, when he was released from the infirmary, it was to Stefred’s office that he went; for he owed Brek that, at least. He knew Brek would not denounce him, and would not be able to speak freely until he, Noren, had denounced himself.

*
 
*
 
*

Mustering all his poise, he stood erect before Stefred’s desk and declared forthrightly what his intentions had been at the time of the crash. Stefred remained impassive, but Noren knew him too well not to recognize that mask; he wondered whether the Chief Inquisitor was concealing contempt, pity, or a mixture of both. Very likely he would never be allowed to find out.

“Brek admitted something similar,” Stefred told him, “though he implied that he hadn’t discussed his plan with you.”

Noren, who had also tried to imply that the plan had been a private one, dropped the formality of guarding his words. “Brek isn’t to blame,” he said. “It was all my idea, and though he listened to me at first, he regretted it later. He would never have gone through with a public revelation. He—he doesn’t deserve to be barred from going back to the outpost, much less to be confined to the Hall of Scholars.”

“Do you?”

Wretchedly Noren murmured, “I’m unworthy of trust.”

“It’s unlike you to feel that way.”

“I haven’t felt like myself for a long time, Stefred.”

“Since the space flight?”

“I guess that’s obvious. But there’s more to it than you can imagine, and I—well, I’d better give you all the details.”

Stefred nodded. “There are ways I could make it easier,” he said. “Hypnosis, for instance, or a shot of the drug I used during your initial inquisition.”

Noren looked up, tempted. That would certainly be less painful. “Whether I give you such aid is up to you,” Stefred added quietly.

“I—I’ve got to tell it straight, then.”

“Do you understand why?”

“Because it’s not just what I did or how I felt; I have to make sense of it. Consciously.”

“Yes. But it will take more than confession to accomplish that, Noren.”

“I have to try.”

Pushing buttons on his desk to ensure that they’d be uninterrupted, Stefred said soberly, “We’ll try together. I’m more closely involved than you realize; still, I can’t offer any simple solution.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Sitting down in the chair near the window where so often in the past he had faced difficult things, Noren started at the beginning, at the moment of searing tenor that had paralyzed him in space. He went on to describe it all: all the fears, the doubts, the unanswerable questions that had led to his final disillusionment; all the rage that had followed; all the decisions he had reached. Stefred spared him nothing. Whenever Noren faltered, he was led on with astute, searching inquiries that left no room for equivocation. At first it was agonizing, but as the discussion proceeded, he found himself rising to the challenge and even welcoming it. He was heartened by Stefred’s very ruthlessness. To his surprise, though he was confessing to weakness, to cowardice, to failure, the Chief Inquisitor showed him no mercy; rather, he acted as if these self-accusations were untrue.

By the time he had explained the strange reversal of feelings he’d experienced in the mountains, Noren had regained much of his normal composure. How was it possible? he wondered as he spoke. How could he be talking naturally, confidently, as if life could indeed make sense, when he’d seen what a senseless place the universe was? “You can’t know what I really felt,” he concluded ruefully. “I’ve told all I can put into words, but—”

“But there were things for which no words exist. I do know about them, Noren.” Stefred met his eyes unflinchingly. “I knew beforehand; that was the information I withheld. The responsibility is as much mine as it is yours.”

Incredulously Noren burst out, “You knew what would happen to me in space?”

“I feared it. Noren, on the Six Worlds no competent psychiatrist would have let you become an astronaut; you are too introspective, too imaginative, too prone to think deeply instead of concentrating on the task at hand. But most people who become heretics are like that. The risk applied to nearly all the eligible Scholars.” He sighed, continuing, “Brek and one or two of the others were less vulnerable; I assigned pairs accordingly. And I did what I could to prepare you. I gave you so much else to worry about that I hoped you’d be distracted—by your love for Talyra, by the physical danger, and finally, in case that wasn’t enough, by anger at my admission that I was not telling you everything. I dared not warn you of your real peril because that would only have turned your mind into the wrong channel.”

Indignation rose in Noren, but he curbed it, sensing that Stefred too must have suffered during the past weeks, that the decision he’d made had been difficult and costly. “You warned me that there were hazards I wasn’t aware of,” he said, “and I chose freely. I wouldn’t have chosen to evade them even if I had known.”