Beyond The Tomorrow Mountains (6 page)

“I—I’m not sure she could adapt. She’s so unwilling to change the way she looks at things.”

“Is she? That doesn’t follow from the fact that she wouldn’t give up her faith on your say-so. I suspect that Talyra can adapt quite well; the question is whether you can. The stress on you will be very great—too great, Grenald thinks.” In an impassive voice Stefred added, “In his opinion I’d be a fool to let you involve yourself with a girl.”

Indignantly Noren protested, “Look, I have every respect for Grenald, but—well, he’s old enough to be my great-grandfather.”

“Yes. He is an old man who has devoted most of his life to research that he won’t live to see completed, and who gave up his children as infants. He may have grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but he knows neither their names nor the villages where they live. Now you’ve come—and you are his heir, Noren. Of all the young people he has taught, you are the one most likely to advance the work that his generation cannot finish. Can you blame him if he doesn’t want you distracted from it?”

Again Noren flushed. Stefred was the most compassionate man he had ever known, but he could be harsh at times when he had to be, and he’d implied from the outset that this was one of those times. Didn’t the priority of the research override all other considerations? “You’re telling me I have no alternative,” Noren said, striving to keep the emotion out of his own voice. “If I’m really dedicated—if I’m sincere in what I’ve always claimed about my willingness to sacrifice anything necessary to make the Prophecy come true—I should forget Talyra and commit myself to the job, whether or not I go so far as to accept the role of High Priest.”

Surprisingly. Stefred frowned. “That would be the easiest way,” he said after a short silence.

“Easy?” Noren echoed in bewilderment. Stefred was usually so perceptive… .

“It would be easiest,” Stefred repeated, “but if you elect that course, I’ll thank you not to do so under the illusion that I advised it. I thought you knew me better by now, but if you don’t, at least bear in mind what we established a few minutes ago. The work, vital though it is, remains part of a larger whole.”

“But if I’ve used study as a shield against… problems,” protested Noren, “they’re problems related to our work! They’re connected with—with fulfillment of the Prophecy; if I face them, I’ll be more absorbed by that than ever. I don’t see the comparison you’re drawing.”

“I don’t suppose you do,” Stefred conceded. “You are very young, and martyrdom still has its appeal.” He leaned forward, saying gently, “Under other circumstances I would not go into this when you’re unready to work it out on your own. In one brief talk I’m having to cover ground that should be explored over a period of weeks, perhaps years—and it’s unfair to demand a decision that you are not mature enough to make with full understanding. Yet in the real world I’m bound not by what should be, but by what is, and the events of the moment force us to decide Talyra’s future today.”

Noren, thoroughly baffled, gave up the attempt to resolve the issue and asked humbly, “Will you help me, Stefred?”

“If you mean will I choose the shape of your life for you, no. But I’ll tell you my own view of it.” He turned toward the window, looking out beyond the City to the open land that he himself had not walked upon since youth. Slowly he said, “I’ve been quite frank about our hope for you as a scientist, a hope that was born during your childhood when Technicians under our direction watched you and subtly encouraged you in the path of heresy. Grenald is not the only one who believes you’ll someday be instrumental in achieving the breakthrough that’s been sought since the First Scholar’s time. But you were not brought here to be an extension of the computer complex. You are a human being with the right and the responsibility to become enmeshed in human problems, personal problems. You must make sacrifices, yes—we all must, for we are stewards of our people’s heritage, and the ultimate survival of the human race rests upon us. But we do not sacrifice our humanity. We do not give up the thoughts and feelings and relationships of our individual lives. If we did, our dedication would in the end be self-defeating; we would have no more chance of fulfilling the Prophecy than computers alone would have.”

Staring at him, Noren saw the Chief Inquisitor in a way he never had before, despite their weeks of friendship. Stefred himself had once been married. His wife had been a Scholar, one of the few village women to seek knowledge beyond the station in which custom had placed her. She had been killed accidentally during a nuclear research experiment. There had no doubt been children who’d become craftsworkers or farmers somewhere, proud of their status as adopted sons or daughters without dreaming that their true father still lived. Or perhaps they had become heretics; perhaps they were now Scholars themselves! Stefred would not know. Even if he had presided at their inquisitions, he would not know, for though babies were placed only with good and loving families, no records of parentage were kept. Chagrined, Noren began, “What you said about Grenald—”

“Was meant merely to remind you that he too is human.”

“I—I’ve oversimplified things, I guess.”

“Sometimes one must in order to keep one’s balance.”

“I don’t really want to, though. And I do want Talyra here if she wants to come.”

“So I thought.” Stefred rose, “I’m sure you’ve guessed that I’m concerned about more today than you and Talyra, that this issue is related to a larger one. At tonight’s meeting you will learn the facts. Noren, there are two things you must go through before you learn. I would not subject you to them in quick succession if it were not an emergency.”

“That’s all right,” Noren assured him, though inwardly he was already more deeply shaken than he cared to admit. The day was apparently to be as demanding for him as for Brek.

*
 
*
 
*

Several hours later, after introducing Brek to the computer room where Scholars were free to call forth any information they cared to about the Six Worlds, Noren met Stefred in the courtyard beside the inner gates that led to the City’s exit dome. “It’s best for you to be present when I interview Talyra,” Stefred had told him. “It will not be an easy thing to witness, and you won’t be allowed to speak; but she will need you, Noren. Merely seeing you will give her confidence.”

Noren shuddered. It would be necessary, he knew, to determine not only Talyra’s willingness to enter the Inner City, but her ability to adapt to customs totally unlike those under which she’d been reared; and neither issue could be approached directly. “If I’m not convinced that she’ll be happy here, I shall send her away,” Stefred warned. “You will have to watch her go, knowing that you won’t see each other again, and she’ll be unaware that it might have been otherwise. Do you love her enough to endure that?”

“Yes,” Noren said steadily. “But Stefred, she can’t be given enough information for her to decide whether she’ll be happy until it’s too late for her to go back.”

“She won’t need information; she will judge and be judged by her feelings and her sense of values, just like a Scholar candidate, during my talk with her.”

Noren frowned; Stefred’s talks with people were apt to be grueling. “Will you—test her, then?” he asked worriedly.

“Yes, briefly, but there’s no danger in it; I promise you she won’t be hurt in any lasting way.”

As they walked down the wide corridor that stretched toward the main Gates and outer platform where public ceremonies were held, Noren’s pulse accelerated. He had not been in this dome, nor indeed in any other, since the day of his recantation; the huge domes that ringed the area of closely spaced towers were Outer City, off limits to Scholars and Inner City Technicians. Exceptions were made when it was necessary for a Scholar to appear publicly, to interview someone, or to investigate trouble with equipment such as the nuclear power plant, which was normally maintained by ordinary Technicians who lived in the domes and were free to go outside. But Noren had as yet done none of these things. The research laboratories, where he’d sometimes assisted, were located in the towers themselves.

Walking beside Stefred, Noren thought back to the last time he’d passed through the corridor, recalling how clear-cut the Founders’ decision had seemed to him then. Prone though he’d always been to question, he had not questioned their conviction that the sealing of the City would result in discovery of a way to change the world. He had known too little of science to guess that the essential research might fail. He’d acknowledged the Prophecy’s truth only because he’d believed that it
was
true, literally, despite its symbolic form—nothing could have induced him to recant on any other basis. Nothing else could have justified his acceptance of a rigid caste system under which most people were deprived both of technology and of all but the most rudimentary education.

When, in recanting, Noren had endorsed that system, he had done so in the belief that synthesization of metal was only a matter of time. He had assumed that if the Scholars went on doing their job, there could be no doubt about cities and machines someday becoming available to everyone. Once he’d begun to study, however, he had found that research didn’t work that way. If scientists didn’t know how to do something, then they had no real proof that it could ever be done. And so far the Scholars hadn’t learned how to achieve nuclear fusion of heavy elements. Their progress over the years had consisted mainly of eliminating once-promising possibilities. To be sure, the current experimentation offered hope of another possibility; but hope was not the same as assurance. Would he have proclaimed the Prophecy to be “true in its entirety” if he had realized that? Noren wondered. Would he have freely renounced his opposition to the Scholars’ authority as “false, misconceived and wholly pernicious?”

Those statements echoed in Noren’s mind as he and Stefred continued along the corridor leading toward the platform where he had made them. The memory was all the more vivid because Stefred was robed; as a known Scholar, he could not show himself to Talyra—or in fact to any villager or Outer City Technician—without covering his ordinary clothes. And even so, such face-to-face discussions were few. Routine business was carried on by radiophone, for only thus could the air of mystery surrounding the Scholars be preserved.

The small windowless room they entered contained a desk and several chairs, all made of the white plastic material with which the starships had been outfitted. Most City furnishings were similar and had been in continuous use throughout the generations since the Founding. That would have been thought strange on the Six Worlds, Noren had been told; there, people had recycled things long before they wore out simply for the sake of variety. Variety was one of the luxuries the City could not afford. Even the homes of the villagers, who made their own furniture from softstone, wicker and the hides of work-beasts, were less monotonous. For that reason Outer City Technicians sometimes bought village-made furniture although it was relatively uncomfortable; their quarters were more spacious than those of Inner City people, and unlike the Scholars—who, as stewards, were not permitted to own anything—they had money.

Waiting, Noren turned his mind to Talyra, trying to quell the hope that had risen within him. Even if she wanted to join him, she might not measure up. She was so very devout, so unwilling to question the superiority of the Technician caste, that she could easily give a wrong impression. Stefred would not accept anyone who believed that being a Technician meant having the right to look down on the villagers.

She is braver than you realize
, Stefred had said. She must be, Noren reflected, if she had requested the audience. Any villager would feel terror at personal contact with the awesome High Priests who, under ordinary circumstances, were seen only at a distance. And Talyra had additional cause to be afraid. Supposing them omniscient, she would fear that they were aware that she’d once helped him elude their custody.

“You won’t let on that you know about her part in my escape from the village, will you?” he asked anxiously.

“I shall have to,” Stefred told him. “She’ll expect it. Since those who request audience are informed that their past lives will be investigated, her coming here is tantamount to an open confession. And though a villager normally can’t be accused by Technicians or Scholars unless first convicted by his peers, a student at the training center is under our jurisdiction.”

“She took the risk deliberately,” mused Noren. “Why?”

“Why did you take the ones you took? You wanted something, wanted it so much that you ignored everything reason told you and followed your heart instead.”

“But she has no hope of even seeing me.”

“She hopes to help you through intercession on your behalf. Also, though you may find it hard to fathom, it’s likely that she’s torn by guilt over what she did—which is not the same as regretting it—and is seeking to declare herself and take the consequences. That is a form of honesty, Noren.”

Maybe it was, Noren thought, recalling the suggestion that he might have misinterpreted Talyra’s attitude. In the village they’d argued from opposite premises—she, that Scholars could do no wrong; he, that they could do no right—and neither view had been based on any real knowledge of the situation. Yet of the two, his had been the more dogmatic. There had been no doubt in his mind that it explained everything. Talyra, on the other hand, had believed both in the goodness of the Scholars and in the injustice of his imprisonment. Honesty was simple when one’s convictions didn’t conflict; now that he was facing doubts and conflicts of his own, he was beginning to see why she had seemed so bound by unexamined assumptions.