From the Ocean from teh Stars (85 page)

Jeserac, his tutor, who had been patient with what must have been his
most difficult pupil. He remembered all the little kindnesses that his
parents had shown him over the years; now that he looked back upon
them, there were more than he had imagined

And he thought of Alystra. She had loved him, and he had taken
that love or ignored it as he chose. Yet what else was he to have done?
Would she have been any happier had he spurned her completely?

He understood now why he had never loved Alystra, or any of the women he had known in Diaspar. That was another lesson that Lys had
taught him. Diaspar had forgotten many things, and among them was
the true meaning of love. In Airlee he had watched the mothers dandling
their children on their knees, and had himself felt that protective tender
ness for all small and helpless creatures that is love's unselfish twin. Yet
now there was no woman in Diaspar who knew or cared for what had once
been the final aim of love.

There were no real emotions, no deep passions, in the immortal city.
Perhaps such things only thrived because of their very transience, because
they could not last forever and lay always under the shadow which
Diaspar had banished.

That was the moment, if such a moment ever existed, when Alvin
realized what his destiny must be. Until now he had been the unconscious agent of his own impulses. If he could have known so archaic an analogy,
he might have compared himself to a rider on a runaway horse. It had
taken him to many strange places, and might do so again, but in its
wild galloping it had shown him its powers and taught him where he
really wished to go.

Alvin's reverie was rudely interrupted by the chimes of the wall
screen. The timbre of the sound told him at once that this was no in
coming call, but that someone had arrived to see him. He gave the admis
sion signal, and a moment later was facing Jeserac.

His tutor looked grave, but not unfriendly.

"I have been asked to take you to the Council, Alvin," he said. "It
is waiting to hear you." Then Jeserac saw the robot and examined it
^curiously. "So this is the companion you have brought back from your
travels. I think it had better come with us."

This suited Alvin very well. The robot had already extricated him from one dangerous situation, and he might have to call upon it again.
He wondered what the machine had thought about the adventures and vicissitudes in which he had involved it, and wished for the thousandth
time that he could understand what was going on inside its closely shut
tered mind. Alvin had the impression that for the moment it had decided

to watch, analyze, and draw its own conclusion, doing nothing of its own volition until it had judged the time was ripe. Then, perhaps quite suddenly, it might decide to act; and what it chose to do might not suit Alvin's plans. The only ally he possessed was bound to him by the most tenuous ties of self-interest and might desert him at any moment.

Alystra was waiting for them on the ramp that led out into the street. Even if Alvin had wished to blame her for whatever part she had played in revealing his secret, he did not have the heart to do so. Her distress was too obvious, and her eyes brimmed with tears as she ran up to greet him.

"Oh, Alvin!" she cried. "What are they going to do with you?"

Alvin took her hands in his with a tenderness that surprised them both.

"Don't worry, Alystra," he said. "Everything is going to be all right. After all, at the very worst the Council can only send me back to the Memory Banks—and somehow I don't think that will happen."

Her beauty and her unhappiness were so appealing that, even now, Alvin felt his body responding to her presence after its old fashion. But it was the lure of the body alone; he did not disdain it, but it was no longer enough. Gently he disengaged his hands and turned to follow Jeserac toward the Council Chamber.

Alystra's heart was lonely, but no longer bitter, as she watched him go. She knew now that she had not lost him, for he had never belonged to her. And with the acceptance of that knowledge, she had begun to put herself beyond the power of vain regrets.

Alvin scarcely noticed the curious or horrified glances of his fellow citizens as he and his retinue made their way through the familiar streets. He was marshaling the arguments he might have to use, and arranging his story in the form most favorable to himself. From time to time he assured himself that he was not in the least alarmed and that he was still master of the situation.

They waited only a few minutes in the anteroom, but it was long enough for Alvin to wonder why, if he was unafraid, his legs felt so curiously weak. He had known this sensation before when he had forced himself up the last slopes of that distant hill in Lys, where Hilvar had shown him the waterfall from whose summit they had seen the explosion of light that had drawn them to Shalmirane. He wondered what Hilvar was doing now, and if they would ever meet again. It was suddenly very important to him that they should.

The great doors dilated, and he followed Jeserac into the Council Chamber. The twenty members were already seated around their crescent-shaped table, and Alvin felt flattered as he noticed that there were no empty places. This must be the first time for many centuries that the

entire Council had been gathered together without a single abstention.
Its rare meetings were usually a complete formality, all ordinary business
being dealt with by a few visiphone calls and, if necessary, an interview
between the President and the Central Computer.

Alvin knew by sight most of the members of the Council, and felt
reassured by the presence of so many familiar faces. Like Jeserac, they
did not seem unfriendly—merely anxious and puzzled. They were, after
all, reasonable men. They might be annoyed that someone had proved
them wrong, but Alvin did not believe that they would bear him any
resentment. Once this would have been a very rash assumption, but
human nature had improved in some respects.

They would give him a fair hearing, but what they thought was not
all-important. His judge now would not be the Council. It would be the
Central Computer.

☆
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

There were no formalities. The President declared the
meeting open and then turned to Alvin.

"Alvin," he said, kindly enough, "we would like you to tell us what
has happened to you since you disappeared ten days ago."

The use of the word "disappeared," thought Alvin, was highly signif
icant. Even now, the Council was reluctant to admit that he had really
gone outside Diaspar. He wondered if they knew that there had been
strangers in the city, and rather doubted it. In that event, they would have
shown considerably more alarm.

He told his story clearly and without any dramatics. It was strange and unbelievable enough to their ears, and needed no embellishment.
Only at one place did he depart from strict accuracy, for he said nothing
about the manner of his escape from Lys. It seemed more than likely
that he might want to use the same method again.

It was fascinating to watch the way in which the attitude of the Coun
cil members altered during the course of his narrative. At first they were skeptical, refusing to accept the denial of all that they had believed, the
violation of their deepest prejudices. When Alvin told them of his passion
ate desire to explore the world beyond the city, and his irrational con
viction that such a world did exist, they stared at him as if he was some
strange and incomprehensible animal. To their minds, indeed, he was.
But finally they were compelled to admit that he had been right, and

that they had been mistaken. As Alvin's story unfolded, any doubts they may have had slowly dissolved. They might not like what he had told them, but they could no longer deny its truth. If they felt tempted to do so, they had only to look at Alvin's silent companion.

There was only one aspect of his tale that roused their indignation— and then it was not directed toward him. A buzz of annoyance went around the chamber as Alvin explained the anxiety of Lys to avoid contamination with Diaspar, and the steps that Seranis had taken to prevent such a catastrophe. The city was proud of its culture, and with good reason. That anyone should regard them as inferiors was more than the Council members could tolerate.

Alvin was very careful not to give offense in anything he said; he wanted, as far as possible, to win the Council to his side. Throughout, he tried to give the impression that he had seen nothing wrong in what he had done, and that he expected praise rather than censure for his discoveries. It was the best policy he could have adopted, for it disarmed most of his would-be critics in advance. It also had the effect—though he had not intended this—of transferring any blame to the vanished Khedron. Alvin himself, it was clear to his listeners, was too young to see any danger in what he was doing. The Jester, however, should certainly have known better and had acted in a thoroughly irresponsible fashion. They did not yet know how fully Khedron himself had agreed with them.

Jeserac, as Alvin's tutor, was also deserving of some censure, and from time to time several of the councilors gave him thoughtful glances. He did not seem to mind, though he was perfectly well aware of what they were thinking. There was a certain honor in having instructed the most original mind that had come into Diaspar since the Dawn Ages, and nothing could rob Jeserac of that.

Not until Alvin had finished the factual account of his adventures did he attempt a little persuasion. Somehow, he would have to convince these men of the truths that he had learned in Lys, but how could he make them really understand something that they had never seen and could hardly imagine?

"It seems a great tragedy," he said, "that the two surviving branches of the human race should have become separated for such an enormous period of time. One day, perhaps, we may know how it happened, but it is more important now to repair the break—to prevent it happening again. When I was in Lys I protested against their view that they were superior to us; they may have much to teach us, but we also have much to teach

them. If we both believe that we have nothing to learn from the other,
is it not obvious that we will
both
be wrong?"

He looked expectantly along the line of faces, and was encouraged
to go on.

"Our ancestors," he continued, "built an empire that reached to the
stars. Men came and went at will among all those worlds—and now their
descendants are afraid to stir beyond the walls of their city.
Shall I tell
you why?"
He paused; there was no movement at all in the great, bare
room.

"It is because we are afraid—afraid of something that happened at
the beginning of history. I was told the truth in Lys, though I guessed it long ago. Must we always hide like cowards in Diaspar, pretending that
nothing else exists—because a billion years ago the Invaders drove us
back to Earth?"

He had put his finger on their secret fear—the fear that he had
never shared and whose power he could therefore never fully understand.
Now let them do what they pleased; he had spoken the truth as he saw it.

The President looked at him gravely.

"Have you anything more to say," he asked, "before we consider
what is to be done?"

"Only one thing. I would like to take this robot to the Central Com
puter."

"But why? You know that the Computer is already aware of every
thing that has happened in this room."

"I still wish to go," replied Alvin politely but stubbornly. "I ask per
mission both of the Council and the Computer."

Before the President could reply, a clear, calm voice sounded through
the chamber. Alvin had never heard it before in his life, but he knew
what it was that spoke. The information machines, which were no more than outlying fragments of this great intelligence, could speak to men—
but they did not possess this unmistakable accent of wisdom and authority.

"Let him come to me," said the Central Computer.

Alvin looked at the President. It was to his credit that he did not
attempt to exploit his victory. He merely asked, "Have I your permission
to leave?"

The President looked around the Council Chamber, saw no disagree
ment there, and replied a little helplessly: "Very well. The proctors will
accompany you, and will bring you back here when we have finished
our discussion."

Alvin gave a slight bow of thanks, the great doors expanded before
him, and he walked slowly out of the chamber. Jeserac had accompanied