Captive Universe

1

Chimal squared his shoulders, ready to die. The words of a death chant came automatically to his lips and he spoke the first phrases before he realized what he was doing. He spat the words from his mouth and sealed his traitor lips tight. There were no gods to pray to and the universe was a place of utter strangeness.

“I am ready to kill you, Chimal,” the Master Observer said, his voice dry and toneless.

“You now know my name and you talk directly to me, yet you still want to kill me. Why?”

“I will ask and you will answer,” the old man said, ignoring his words, “We have listened to the people in the valley and learned many things about you, but the most important thing we cannot find out. Your mother cannot tell us because she is dead…”

“Dead! How, why?”

“… executed in your place when it was discovered that she had released you. The priests were very angry. Yet she seemed almost glad it was happening, and there was even a smile on her lips.”

They did watch the valley, and how closely. Mother …

“And just before she died she said the important thing. She said that it was her fault, twenty-two years ago, and that you, Chimal, were not to blame. Do you know what she could have meant by that?”

So she was dead. Yet he already felt so cut off from his life in the valley that the pain of it was not as great as he expected.

“Speak,” the Master Observer commanded. “Do you know what she meant?”

“Yes, but I shall not tell you. Your threat of death does not frighten me.”

“You are a fool. Tell me at once. Why did she say twenty-two years? Did her guilt have something to do with your birth?”

“Yes,” Chimal said, surprised. “How did you know?”

The old man waved the question aside with an impatient movement of his hand. “Answer me now, and truthfully, for this is the most important question in all of your lifetime. Tell me — what was your father’s name?”

There was silence then, and Chimal realized that all the men were leaning forward, intent on his answer, almost forgetting the weapons they carried. Why shouldn’t he tell them? What did broken taboos matter now?

“My father was Chimal-popoca, a man from Zaachila.”

The words struck the old man like a blow. He staggered back and two of the men rushed to help him, dropping their weapons. The third man looked on, worried, with his own weapon and Chimal’s killing thing both pointing downward. Chimal tensed himself to spring, grab one of them, and escape.

“No…” the Master Observer said hoarsely. “Observer Steadfast, drop those weapons at once.”

As he had been ordered, the man bent and put them on the floor. Chimal took one step toward the door and stopped. “What does all this mean?” he asked.

The old man pushed his assistants away and made some adjustment on one of the devices suspended from his belt. His metal harness instantly stiffened and supported him, holding his head high.

“It means we welcome you, Chimal, and ask you to join us. This is a glorious day, one that we never expected to see in our lifetimes. The faithful will gain strength by touching you, and you will aid us to gain wisdom.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Chimal said desperately.

“There is much to tell you, so it is best to begin at the beginning…”

“What do these stars mean, that is what I want to know?”

The old man nodded, and almost smiled. “Already you teach us, for that is the beginning, you divined that.” The others nodded. “That is the universe out there, and those stars are the ones the priests taught you about, for what they taught you was true.”

“About the gods as well? There is no truth in those stories.”

“Again you divine truth, unaided. Proof of your birthright. No, the false gods do not exist, except as stories for the simple to order their lives. There is only the Great Designer who did all this. I talk not of the gods, but of the other things you learned at the priests’ school.”

Chimal laughed. “About the sun being a ball of burning gas? I myself have seen the sun pass close and have touched the tracks it rides upon.”

“That is true, but unknown even to them, this world we live in is not the world they teach about. Listen and it shall be revealed. There is a sun, a star just like any of those stars out there, and about it in eternal circle moves the Earth. We are all of that Earth, but have left it for the greater glory of the Great Designer.” The others murmured response and touched their deuses at the words.

“It is not without reason we sing His praises. For look you, at what He has done. He has seen the other worlds that circle about the sun, and the tiny ships that men built to span those distances. Though these ships are fast, faster than we can possibly dream, they take weeks and months to go from planet to planet. Yet these distances are small compared to the distance between suns. The fastest of these ships would take a thousand years to travel to the nearest star. Men knew this and abandoned hope of traveling to other suns, to see the wonders of new worlds spinning about these distant flames.

“What weak man could not do, the Great Designer did. He did build this world and send it traveling to the stars…”

“What are you saying?” Chimal asked, a sudden spurt of fear — or was it joy? — striking within him.

“That we are voyagers in a world of stone that is hurtling through emptiness, from star to star. A great ship for crossing the impalable waters of space. It is a hollow world, and in its heart is the valley, and in the valley live the Aztecs, and they are the passengers aboard the ship. Because the time has not yet come, the voyage itself is an unrevealed mystery for them, and they live out their happy lives in comfort and ease under a benevolent sun. To guard them and guide them we exist, the Watchers, and we fulfill our trust.”

As though to underscore his words a great bell sounded once, then once again. The observers raised their deuses, and on the third stroke pressed down on the rods to add a number.

“And thus one more day of the voyage is done,” the Master Observer intoned, “and we are one day closer to the Day of Arrival. We are true for all the days of our years.”

“The days of our years,” the others said in muted echo.

“Who am I?” Chimal asked. “Why am I different?”

“You are the child we have sworn to serve, the very reason for our being. For it is not written that the children shall lead them? That the Day of Arrival will come and the barrier will fall and the people of the valley shall be set free. They will come here and see the stars and know the truth at last. And on that day Coatlicue shall be destroyed before them and they shall be told to love one another, and that marriage between the clans of one village is forbidden and marriage is only proper between a man of one village and a woman of the other.”

“My mother and father…”

“Your mother and father who entered grace too early and brought forth a true child of Arrival. In His wisdom the Great Designer put a blessing upon the Aztecs to remain humble and plant their crops and live their lives happily within the valley. This they do. But upon the day of arrival this blessing will be lifted and their children will do things their parents never dreamed possible, will read the books that are waiting and they will be ready to leave the valley forever.”

Of course! Chimal did not know how it had been done, but he knew that the words were true. He alone had not accepted the valley, had rebelled against the life there, had wanted to escape it. Had escaped it. He was different, he had always known it and been ashamed of it. That was no longer true. He stood straighter and looked around at the others.

“I have many questions to ask.”

“They will be answered, all of them. We will tell you all we know and then you will learn more in the places of learning that are awaiting you. You, then, shall teach us.”

Chimal laughed out loud at that. “Then you no longer want to kill me?”

The Master Observer lowered his head. “That was my mistake and I can only plead ignorance and ask forgiveness. You may kill me if you wish.”

“Do not die so quickly, old man, you have many things to tell me first.”

“That is true. Then — let us begin.”

2

“What is it?” Chimal asked, looking apprehensively at the steaming, brown slab of meat on the plate before him. “There is no animal that I know that is big enough to provide this much meat.” The suspicious look he gave the Master Observer inferred that he suspected which was the only animal large enough to supply it.

“It is called a beefsteak, and is particularly fine cut that we eat only on holidays. You may have it every day if you wish, the meatbank can supply enough.”

“I know of no animal named a meatbank.”

“Let me show you.” The Master Observer made an adjustment on the television set on the wall. His private quarters had none of the efficient starkness of the watchmen’s cells. Here was music from some hidden source, there were paintings upon the walls and. a deep carpet on the floor. Chimal, scrubbed clean and beardless after rubbing on a depilatory cream, sat in a soft chair, with many eating utensils and different dishes set before him. And the cannibalistically large piece of meat.

“Describe your work,” the Master Observer said to the man who appeared on the screen. The man bowed his bead.

“I am a Refection Tender, and the greatest part of my work is devoted to the meatbank.” He stepped aside and pointed at the large vat behind him. “In the nutrient bath here grow certain edible portions of animals, placed here by the Great Designer. Nutrients are supplied,, the tissues grow continually and pieces are trimmed off for our consumption.”

“In a sense these pieces of animal are eternal,” Chimal said when the screen had darkened. “Though part is removed, they never die. I wonder what the animal was?”

“I have never considered the eternal aspects of the meatbank. Thank you. I will now give it much thought because it seems an important question. The animal was called a cow, that is all I know about it.”

Chimal hesitantly ate one bite, then more and more. It was better than anything he had ever tasted before. “The only thing missing are the chillies,” he said, half aloud.

“There will be some tomorrow,” the Master Observer said, making a note.

“Is this the meat you give to the vultures?” Chimal said, in sudden realization.

“Yes. The less desirable pieces. There is not enough small game in the valley to keep them alive, so we must supplement their diet.”

“Why have them at all, then?”

“Because it is written, and is the Great Designer’s way.”

This was not the first time that Chimal had received this answer. On the way to these quarters he had asked questions, was still asking questions, and nothing was held back from him. But many tunes the Watchers seemed as unknowing about their destinies as the Aztecs. He did not voice this suspicion aloud. There was so much to learn!

“That takes care of the vultures,” he had a sudden memory of a wave of death washing toward him, “but why the rattlesnakes and scorpions? When Coatlicue entered the cave a number of them came out. Why?”

“We are the Watchers and we must be stern in our duty. If a father has too many children he is not a good father, because he cannot provide for them all and therefore they go hungry. It is the same with the valley. If there were too many people, there would not be enough food for all. Therefore when the population exceeds a certain number of people of both sexes, worked out on a chart kept for that purpose, more snakes and insects are permitted to enter the valley.”

“That’s terrible! You mean those poisonous things are raised just to kill the people?”

“The correct decision is sometimes the hard one to make. That is why we are all taught to be strong and steadfast and to hew to the plan of the Great Designer.”

There was no immediate answer to that. Chimal ate and drank the many good things before him and tried to digest what he had learned so far. He pointed his knife at the row of books across the room.

’I’ve tried to read your books, but they are very difficult and many of the words I don’t know. Aren’t there simpler books someplace?”

“There are, and I should have thought of it myself. But I am an old man and my memory is not as good as it should be.”

“May I ask… just how old are you?”

“I am entering my one hundred and ninetieth year. As the Great Designer wills, I hope to see my full two hundred.”

“Your people live so much longer than mine. Why is that?”

“We have much more to do in our lifetimes than simple farmers, therefore our years are the reward of our service. There are machines that aid us, and the drugs, and our eskoskeletons support and protect us. We are born to serve, and the longer that life of service, the more we can do.”

Once again Chimal thought about this, but did not speak his thoughts. “And the books you were talking about…?”

“Yes, of course. After today’s service I will take you there. Only Observers are allowed, those who wear the red.”

“Is that why I am wearing these red clothes as well?”

“Yes. It seemed wisest. It is the best, and most suitable for the First Arriver, and all the people will respect you.”

“While you are at the service I would like to see the place where the watchmen are, where they can see into the valley.”

“We will go now, if you are ready. I will take you myself.”

It was a different sensation to walk these tunnels without fear. Now, in his red clothing with the Master Observer at his side, all doors were open to him and the people saluted when they passed. Watchman Steel was waiting for them at the entrance to the observation center.

“I want to ask forgiveness,” she said, eyes downcast. “I did not know who you were.”

“None of us knew, Watchman,” the Master Observer said, and reached out to touch her deus. “Yet that does not mean we should avoid penance, because an unconscious sin is still a sin. You will wear a mortification, thirty days, and come to love it.”

“I do,” she said fervently, hands clasped and eyes wide. “Through pain comes purification.”

“May the Great Designer bless you,” the old man said, then hurried away.

“Will you show me how you work?” Chimal asked.

“I thank you for asking me,” the girl answered.

She led him into a large, circular, high-domed room that had screens inset into the wall at eye level. Watchmen sat before the screens, listening through earphones and occasionally talking into microphones that hung before their lips. Another raised observation station was in the center of the room.

“The Master Watchman sits there,” Steel said, pointing. “He organizes the work of us all and guides us. If you will sit here I will show you what to do.”

Chimal sat at an empty station and she pointed out the controls.

“With these buttons you choose the pickup you wish to use. There are 134 of them, and each one has a code and a watchman must know every code for instant response. They take years to learn because they must be perfect. Would you care to look?”

“Yes. Is there a pickup at the pond below the falls?”

“There is. Number 67.” She tapped the buttons and the pool appeared, seen from behind the falls. “To hear, we do this.” Another adjustment and the splashing of water was clear in his headphone, and the song of a bird belled out from the trees. The image was sharp and in color, almost as though he were looking through a window in the rock at the valley outside.

“The pickup is mounted on the valley wall — or inside of it?” he asked.

“Yes, that is where most of them are so they will not be detected. Though of course there are many concealed inside the temples, such as this.” The pool vanished and Itzcoatl appeared, pacing on the broad steps of the pyramid below the temple. “He is the new first priest. As soon as he was officially declared so, and had made the proper prayers and sacrifices, we permitted the sun to rise. The Sun Tenders say that they always welcome a chance to stop the sun for a day. It is a good chance to overhaul and adjust it.”

Chimal worked the controls, picking numbers at random and feeding them into the machine. There appeared to be pickups all around the valley walls, and even one set into the sky above that gave a panoramic view of the entire valley. It could be turned and had a magnifying attachment that could bring the valley floor very close and clear, though of course there was no sound with the picture.

“There,” Steel said, pointing at the image, “you can see the four high rocks that are along the river bank. They are too steep to be climbed…”

“I know, I have tried.”

“… and each one has a twin pickup on its summit. They are used to observe and control Coatlicue in the case of special circumstances.”

“I had one of them on screen earlier,” he said, pressing the buttons, “number 28. Yes, there it is.”

“You remember that code very quickly,” she said in awe. “I had to study many years.”

“Show me some other things here, if you will,” Chimal asked, rising.

“As you wish. Anything.”

They went first to the refectory where one of the tenders insisted that they be seated and brought them warm drinks. The others had to help themselves to food,

“Everyone seems to know about me,” he said.

“We were told at the morning service. You are the First Arriver, there never has been one before, and everyone is very excited.”

“What are we drinking?” he asked to change the subject, not enjoying the look of awe on her white face, the gaping mouth and slightly reddened nostrils. “It is called tea. Do you find it refreshing?” He looked around the large room, filled with the murmur of voices and the rattle of eating utensils, and suddenly realized something. “Where are the children? I don’t think I have seen one anywhere.”

“I do not know anything about that,” she said, and her face was, if possible, whiter. “If there are any they must be in the place of the children.”

“You don’t know? That’s a strange answer. Have you ever been married yourself, Watchman Steel? Do you have any children?”

Her face was bright red now, and she gave a small muffled cry as she sprang to her feet and ran from the refectory.

Chimal finished his tea and returned to find the Master Observer waiting for him. He explained what had happened and the old man nodded gravely.

“We can discuss it, since all things are guided by the observers, but the watchmen feel soiled by this kind of talk. They lead lives of purity and sacrifice and are far above the animal relationships that exist in the valley. They are Watchers first, women second, or women never for the most faithful ones. They weep because they were born with female bodies which embarrass them and hamper their vocation. Their faith is strong.”

“Obviously. I hope you won’t mind my asking — but your Watchers must come from someplace?”

“There are not many of us and we lead long and useful lives.”

“I’m sure of that. But unless you live forever you are going to need new recruits. Where do they come from?”

“The place of the children. It is not important. We can go now.” The First Observer rose to leave, but Chimal was not through yet.

“And what is at that place? Machines that make full grown children?”

“I sometimes wish there were. My hardest task is the controlling of the place of the children. There is no order. There are four mothers there now, though one will die soon. These are women who have been chosen because, well, they did not do satisfactory work in their studies and could not master their assignments. They became mothers.”

“And the fathers?”

“The Great Designer himself has ordered that. A frozen sperm bank. The technicians know how to use it. Great are His mysteries. Now, we must leave.”

Chimal knew that was all he would hear at this tune. He dropped the subject but did not forget it. They retraced the route they had taken when he had come here, after the observers had seen the alarm and gone to capture him. Through the great hall and down the golden corridor. The Master Observer pushed open one of the doors and showed him inside.

“It has been here since the beginning, waiting. You are the first. Simply sit in the chair before the screen and you will be shown.”

“You will stay with me?”

For the first time the old man’s down-tilting mouth curved reluctantly into a resigned smile. “Alas, that is not to be. This place is for arrivers only. It is my faith and my duty to tend it for them so it will always be ready.” He went out and the door closed behind him.

Chimal sat in the comfortable chair and looked for a switch to start the machine, but this was not necessary. His weight in the chair must have actuated the device because the screen lit up and a voice filled the room.

“Welcome,” the voice said. “You have come to Proxima Centauri.”

EROS, one of the many asteroids in the asteroid belt, an area of planetary debris between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, though there are violations to this rule. Eros is the most exceptional, with its orbit almost reaching that of Earth’s at one point. Eros, cigar shaped, twenty miles long, solid rock. Then the plan. The greatest plan executed by mankind in a history of great plans, originated by the man first called the Great Ruler now, truly, the Great Designer. Who else but He could have conceived of a project that would take sixty years to prepare — and five hundred years to complete?

Eros, swinging close to Earth to receive its new destiny. Tiny ships, tinier men, jump the gap of airless space to begin this mighty work. Deep inside the rock they drill to first prepare their quarters, for many will live out their lives here, then further in to hollow out the immense chamber that will house a dream…

FUEL TANKS, filling them alone takes sixteen years. What is the mass of a mountain twenty miles long? Mass, it will supply its own reaction mass, and the fuel will eject that mass and someday it will move, out and away from the sun that it has circled for billions of years, never to return…

THE AZTECS, chosen after due consideration of all the primitive tribes of Earth. Simple people, self sufficient people, rich in gods, poor in wealth. Still, to this day, there are lost villages in the mountains, accessible only by footpath, where they live as they did when the Spaniards first arrived hundreds and hundreds of years earlier. One crop, corn, consuming most of their time and supplying most of their food. Vegetarians for the most part, with a little meat and fish when it is available. Brewing a hallucinatory drink from the maguey, seeing a god or a spirit in everything. Water, trees, rocks, all have souls. A pantheon of gods and goddesses without equal; Tezcatlipoca lord of Heaven and Earth, Mixtec lord of death, Mictla-tecuhtli lord of the dead. Hard work, warm sun, all-pervading religion, the perfect and obedient culture. Taken, unchanged, and set down in this valley in a mountain in space. Unchanged in all details, for who can guarantee what gives a culture adhesion — or what, if taken away, will bring it down? Taken whole and planted here, for it must continue unchanged for five hundred years. Some small truths added, minor alterations it is hoped will not destroy it. Writing. Basic cosmology. These are needed when the Aztecs finally emerge from the valley and their children take up their destiny.

DNA CHAINS, complex intertwined helixes with infinite permutations. Builders of life, controllers of life, with every detail from the hair on the leg to the flea on the body of the twenty ton whale locked into their convolutions. Billions of years developing, unraveled in short centuries. Is this the code for red hair? Replace it with that and the child will have black hair. Gene surgery, gene selection, delicate operations with the smallest building blocks of life, rearranging, ordering, producing…

GENIUS, exceptional natural capacity for creative and original conceptions, high intelligence quotient. Natural capacity, that means in the genes, and DNA. In a world population there are a goodly number of geniuses in every generation, and their DNA can be collected. And combined to produce children of genius. Guaranteed. Every time. Unless this genius is masked. For every capacity and condition in the genes there is a dominant and a recessive. Father dog is black and black is dominant and white is recessive, and he has that too. Mother is all black too. So they are BW and BW and, as the good Mendell taught, these factors can be plotted on the square named after him. If there are four pups they will be BB, BW, BW and WW, or a white dog where none was before. But is it possible to take a dominant and make it artificially recessive? Yes, it is possible. Take genius, for instance. They did take genius. And they tied it down to stupidity. Dimness. Subnormality. Passivity. Prison it in slightly different ways in two different groups of people and keep them apart. Let them have children, generation after generation of obedient, accepting children. And each child will carry that tied-down dominant, untouched and waiting. Then, some day, the right day, let the two groups meet and mingle and marry. The bonds are then released. The tied-down dominant is no longer recessive, it is dominant. The children are — children of different parents than their parents? Yes, perhaps they are. They are genius children.

There was so much to be learned. At any point in the recorded lecture Chimal could press the question button and the pictures and voices would halt while the machine printed a list of references about the material then being covered. Some of these were recorded visual lectures that the viewer would play for him, others were specific volumes in the library. The library itself was a galaxy unexplored. Most of the books were photorecordings, though there were bound volumes of all the basic reference texts. When his head and his eyes ached from too much study and concentration, he would go through the library at random, picking up volumes and flicking through their pages. How complex the human body: the transparent pages of the anatomy text turned one by one to reveal the organs in vivid color. And the stars, they were giant burning spheres of gas after all, for here were charts with their temperatures and sizes. Page after page of photographs of nebulae, clusters, gas clouds. The universe was gigantic beyond comprehension — and he had once thought it was made of solid rock!

Leaving the astronomy book open on the table before him, Chimal leaned back and stretched, then rubbed at the soreness around his eyes. He had brought a thermos of tea with him and he poured a cup and sipped at it. The book had fallen open to a plate of the Great Nebula in Andromeda, a gigantic wheel of light against the star-pricked night. Stars. There was one star he should be interested in, the one he had been welcomed to when the process of education began. What was its name? — there were so many new things to remember — Proxima Centauri. It would still be far ahead, but he had a sudden desire to see the destination of his captive universe. There were detailed star charts of the sky, he had seen them, so it should not be too hard to pick out this individual star. And he could stretch his legs: his body ached from unaccustomed sitting for so many hours at a time.

It was a relief to walk briskly again, even run a few paces down the long passageway. How many days had it been since he had first entered the observation room? Memory fogged; he had kept no record. Maybe he should carry a deus like the others, but that was a bloody and painful way to mark the passing of a day. This rite seemed senseless to. him, like so much of the Watchers’ activities, but it was important to them. They seemed to actually enjoy this ritual infliction of pain. Once more he pushed open the massive doors and looked out at interstellar space, as boldly impressive as the first time he had seen it.

Matching the stars to the chart was difficult. For one thing the stars did not remain in relatively fixed positions as they did in the sky above the valley, but instead swept by in majestic parade. In a few minutes the cycle would go from summer to winter constellations and back again. As soon as he thought he had plotted a constellation it would vanish from sight and new stars would appear. When the Master Observer came in he was grateful for the interruption.

“I regret having to bother you…”

“No, not at all, I’m getting nowhere with this chart and it only makes my head ache more.”

“Then, might I ask you to aid us?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“You will see at once if you will accompany me.”

The Master Observer’s face was pulled into deeper lines of brooding seriousness: Chimal had not thought this was possible. When he tried to make conversation he received courteous but brief answers. Something was bothering the old man, and just what it was he would find out shortly.

They went downstairs to a level that Chimal had never visited and found a car waiting for them. It was a long ride, longer than he had ever taken before, and it was made in silence. Chimal looked at the walls moving steadily by and asked, “Are we going far?”

The Master Observer nodded. “Yes, to the stern, near the engine room.”

Though Chimal had studied diagrams of their world, he still thought of it in relation to his valley. What they called the bow was where the observation room was, well beyond the swamp. The stern, then, was south of the waterfall, at the end of the valley. He wondered what they would find there.

They stopped at another tunnel opening and the Master Observer led the way to one of a number of identical doorways, outside of which was waiting a red-garbed observer. Silently, he opened the door for them. Inside was a sleeping cell. A man in Watcher’s black was hanging from a rope that had been passed through the bar of the air vent in the ceiling. The loop of rope about his neck had choked him to death, slowly and painfully, rather than snapping his spine, but in the end it had done its job. He must have been hanging for days because his body had stretched so that his toes almost touched the floor, next to the overturned chair that he had jumped from. The observers turned away, but Chimal, no stranger to death, looked on calmly enough.

“What do you want me to do?” Chimal asked. For a moment he wondered if he had been brought as a burial party.

“He was the Air Tender and he worked alone because the Master Air Tender died recently and a new one has not been appointed as yet. His breviary is there on the desk. There seems to be something wrong and he was unable to correct it. He was a foolish man and instead of reporting it he took his own life.”

Chimal picked up the well-thumbed and grease-stained book and flipped through it. There were pages of diagrams, charts for entering readings, and simple lists of instructions to be followed. He wondered what had troubled the man. The Master Observer beckoned him into the next room where a buzzer sounded continuously and a red light flashed on and off.

“This is a warning that something is wrong. The Air Tender’s duty when the alarm sounds is to make the corrections at once, and then to make a written report to me. I received no such report.”

“And the alarm is still going. I have a strong suspicion that your man could not fix the trouble, panicked and killed himself.”

The Master Observer nodded in intensified gloom. “The same unharmonious thought is what came upon me when a report reached me that this had happened. I have been worried ever since the Master Air Tender was struck down in his youth, barely 110 years old, and this other one left in charge. The Master never thought well of him and we were preparing to train a new tender when this happened.”

Chimal suddenly realized what this meant “Then you have nobody who knows anything about repairing this equipment? And it is the air machinery you are talking about, that supplies the breathing air for us all?”

“Yes,” the Master Observer said and led the way through thick, double-locked doors to a vast and echoing chamber.

Tall tanks lined the walls with shining apparatus at their bases. Heavy ducts dived down and there was an all-pervading hum and the whine of motors.

“This supplies the air for everyone?” Chimal asked.

“No, nothing like that. You will read about it there, but most of the air has something to do with green plants. There are great chambers of them in constant growth. This apparatus does other important things with the air, just what I am not sure.”

“I can’t promise that I’ll be able to help, but I’ll do my best At the same time I suggest you get whoever else might be able to work with this.”

“There is no one, of course. No man would think of doing other than his assigned work. I alone am responsible and I have looked at this book before. Many of the things are beyond me. I am an old man,, too old to learn a new discipline. A young man is now being taught the air tender’s craft, but it will be years before he is able to work in here. That may be too late.”

With a new weight of responsibility Chimal opened the book. The first part was an outline of air purification theory which he skimmed over quickly. He would read that in detail after he had a more general knowledge of the function of the machinery. Under apparatus there were 12 different sections, each headed with a large red number. These numbers were repeated on large signs down the wall and he assumed, with some justification, that they related to the numbers in the book. When he glanced up at them he noticed that a red light under 5 was blinking on and off. He walked over to it and saw the word emergency printed under the bulb: he opened the book to section 5.

“Purification Tower, Trace Pollutants. Many things such as machinery, paint and the breath of living people give off gaseous and particulate matter. There are not many of these pollutants, but they do collect over the years and can become concentrated. This machine removes from our air those certain fractions that may be dangerous after many, many years. Air is forced through a chemical that absorbs them…”

Chimal read on, interested now, until he had finished section 5. This tower seemed to be designed to function for centuries without attention; nevertheless provision had still been made to have it watched and monitored. There was a bank of instruments at its base and he went to look at them. Another light was flashing over a large dial, blinking letters that spelled out REPLACE CHEMICAL. Yet on the dial itself the reading was right at the top of the activity scale, just where the book said it should be for correct operation.

“But who am I to argue with this machine,” Chimal told the Master Observer, who had been following him in silence. “The recharging seems simple enough. There is an automatic cycle that the machine does when this button is depressed. If it doesn’t work the valves can be worked by hand. Let’s see what happens.” He pushed the button.

Operation lights flashed on, flickering in response to the cycle, and hidden switches closed. A muffled, sighing sound issued from the column before them and, at the same time the needle on the activity scale moved into the red danger zone, dropping toward the bottom. The Master Observer squinted at it, spelling out the letters with his lips, then looked up, horrified.

“Can this be right? It gets worse not better. Something terrible is happening.”

“I don’t think so,” Chimal said, frowning in concentration over the breviary. “It says the chemical needs replacing. So first I imagine the old chemical is pumped out, and this removal is what gives that false reading on the scale. Certainly the absence of a chemical will give the same reading as a bad chemical.”

“Your argument is abstract, hard to follow. I am glad you are here with us, First Arriver, and I can see the workings of the Great Designer in this. We could do nothing about this without you.”

“Let’s see how this comes out, first. So far I’ve just followed the book and there has been no real problem. There, the new chemical must be coming in, the needle’s going back up again to fully charged. That seems to be all there is to it.”

The Master Observer pointed, horrified, at the blinking warning light. “Yet — that goes on. There is something terrible here. There is something wrong with our air!”

“There is nothing wrong with our air. But there is something wrong with this machine. It has been recharged, the new chemical is working perfectly — yet the alarm goes on. The only thing I can think of is that there is something wrong with the alarm.” He slipped through the sections of the book until he found the one he wanted, then read through it quickly. “This may be it. Is there a storeroom here? I want something called 167-R.”

“It is this way.”

The storeroom contained rows of shelves, all numbered in order, and Chimal had no trouble locating part 167-R which was a sturdy cannister with a handle on the end and a warning message printed in red. CONTAINS PRESSURIZED GAS — POINT AWAY FROM FACE WHEN OPENING. He did as it advised and turned the handle. There was a loud hissing, and when it had died away the end came free in his hand. He reached in and drew out a glittering metal box, shaped like a large book. It had a handle where the spine would be and a number of copper-colored studs on the opposite edge. He had not the slightest idea what its function might be.

“Now let’s see what this does.”

The breviary directed him to the right spot and he found the handle in the face of the machine that was marked 167-R, as was the new one he had just obtained. When he pulled on the handle the container slid out as easily as a book from a shelf. He threw it aside and inserted the new part in its place.

“The light is gone, the emergency is over,” the Master Observer called out in a voice cracking with emotion. “You have succeeded even where the Air Tender failed.”

Chimal picked up the discarded part and wondered what had broken inside it. “It seemed obvious enough. The machinery appeared to work fine, so the trouble had to be in the alarm circuit, here. It’s described in the book, in the right section. Something turned on and would not turn off, so the emergency sounded even after the correction had been made. The tender should have seen that.”

He must have been very stupid not to have figured it out, he continued, to himself. Do not speak ill of the dead, but it was a fact. The poor man had panicked and killed himself when the problem had proven insoluble. This was proof of what he had suspected for a long time now.

In their own way the Watchers were just as slow-witted as the Aztecs. They had been fitted to a certain function just as the people in the valley had.

3

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand it,” Watchman Steel said, frowning over the diagram on the piece of paper, turning it around in the futile hope that a different angle would make everything clear.

“I’ll show you another way then,” Chimal said, going into his ablutory for the apparatus he had prepared. His observer’s quarters were large and well appointed. He brought out the plastic container to which he had fastened a length of strong cord. “What do you see in here?” he asked, and she dutifully bent to look.

“Water. It is half filled with water.”

“Correct. Now what will happen if I should turn it on its side?”

“Why… the water would spill out. Of course.”

“Correct!”

She smiled happily at her success. Chimal stretched out a length of cord and picked up the container by it. “You said it would spill. Would you believe that I can turn this bucket on its side without spilling a drop?”

Steel just gaped in awe, believing anything possible of him. Chimal began to spin the bucket in a small circle, faster and faster, lifting it at the same time, until it was swinging in a circle straight up into the air, upside down at the summit of its loop… The water stayed in; not a drop was spilled. Then, slowly, he decreased the speed, until the container was once again on the floor.

“Now, one more question,” he said, picking up a book. “If I were to open my hand and let go of this book — what would happen?”

“It would fall to the floor,” she told him, intensely proud to have answered so many questions correctly.

“Right again. Now follow closely. The force that pulls the book to the floor and one that holds the water in the bucket is the same force, and its name is centrifugal force. There is another force on large planets called gravity that seems to act the same way, though I do not understand it. The important thing to remember is that centrifugal force also holds us down, so we don’t fly up into the air, and is also the reason why we could walk across the sky and look up at the valley over our heads.”

“I don’t understand any of that,” she admitted.

“It’s simple. Say that instead of a cord I had a spinning wheel. If the container were hung from the rim of the wheel the water would stay inside of it just as it did when I spun it on the cord. And I could fasten two containers to the wheel, opposite each other, and the water would stay in each one. The bottom of each container would be down for the water it held — yet the direction down would be directly opposite for each of them. The same thing is true for us, because this world of rock is spinning too. So down in the village is below your feet — and down on the sky is toward the sky. Do you follow all of this?”

“Yes,” she told him, although she did not, but she wanted to please ham.

“Good. Now the next step is the important one and I want you to be sure you are with me. If down is below your feet in the village and down is toward the sky when you are opposite it, then halfway between them the force must be equal, so that there is no force acting at all. If we could get halfway to the sky from the village we could just float there.”

“That would be very hard to do, unless you were a bird. And even birds are prevented from leaving the valley by a certain device of which I have heard.”

“Very true. We can’t climb up through the air, but we can go through a tunnel in the rock. The valley is in an opening in the rock, but it is solid at both ends. If there is a tunnel leading to the spot, it’s called the axis of rotation, that’s the name from the book, we could go there and float in the air.”

“I don’t think I would like that.”

“I would. And I have found the right tunnel on the charts. Will you go with me?”

Watchman Steel hesitated; she had no desire to experience adventures of this land. But the First Arriver’s wishes must be treated as law.

“Yes, I will come.”

“Good. We’ll go now.” The books were satisfactory and he enjoyed his studies, but he needed human contact too. In the village people were always together. Watchman Steel was the first person he had met here, and they had snared experiences together. She was not bright, but she tried to please. He put some food concentrates and a water bottle into his belt pouch: he had taken to wearing this as did all the others. It held the communicator, his writing instruments, some small tools.

“It’s the second stairway past the refectory,” he told her as they left.

At the foot of the stairway they stopped while she set her eskoskeleton for climb. It moved one foot after the other, providing all the power to lift her weight and therefore prevented undue strain on her heart. Chimal slowed down to match her mechanical pace. They went up seven levels before the stairway ended.

“This is the top level,” Steel said as she reset the controls. “I have only been up here once before. There are just storerooms here.”

“More than that, if the diagrams are correct.” They walked the length of the corridor, past the last doorway, and on through the drill-scored, chill rock. There was no heated flooring here, but their boots did have thick, insulated soles. At the very end, facing them, was a metal doorway with the painted legend in large, red letters: OBSERVERS ONLY.

“I can’t go in there,” she said.

“You can if I tell you to. In the observer’s breviary it states that watchmen or anyone else may be ordered by observers into any area to do what is needed.” He had never read anything of the sort, but she did not have to know that

“Of course, then I can go with you. Do you know the combination of this lock?” She pointed at the complex dial lock that was fastened to the edge of the door on a hasp.

“No, there was nothing about there being a lock on this door.”

This was the first sealed door that he had seen. Rule and order were enough to keep the Watchers from entering where they were not wanted. He looked closely at the lock, and at the hasp.

“This has been added after the original construction,” he said, pointing to the screw heads. “Someone has drilled into the metal frame and door and attached this.” He took out a screwdriver and twisted a screw loose. “And not a very good job either. They did not fix it very securely.”

It took only a few moments to remove the retaining screws and put the lock, still sealed to the hasp, onto the tunnel floor. The door opened easily then, into a small, metal-walled room.

“What can this mean?” Steel asked, following him in.

“I’m not sure I know. There were no details on the charts. But — we can follow the instructions and see what happens.” He pointed to the lettered card on one wall. “One, close door, that’s simple enough. Two, hold fast to handgrips.”

There were metal loops fixed to the walls at waist height, and they both took hold of them.

“Three, turn pointer in proper direction.”

A metal arrow beneath the sign had its tip touching the word DOWN. It was pivoted on its base and Chimal released one hand to push the point of the arrow to UP. When he did so a distant humming began and the car began to move slowly upward.

“Very good,” he said. “Saves us a long climb. This car must be fixed in a vertical shaft and is pulled up and down by a device of some kind. What’s the matter?”

“I… I don’t know,” Steel gasped, clutching to the ring with both hands. “I feel so strange, different.”

“Yes, you’re right. Lighter perhaps!” He laughed and jumped up from the floor, and it seemed to take longer than usual before he dropped back. “The centrifugal force is decreasing. Soon it will be gone completely.” Steel, not as enthused by the idea as he was, clasped tight and pressed her head to the wall with her eyes closed.

The trip was relatively brief, and, when the car stopped, Chimal pushed up on his toes and floated free of the floor.

“It’s true — there is no force acting. We are at the axis of rotation.” Steel curled over, gasping and retching, trying to control the spasms in her stomach. The door opened automatically and they looked along a circular corridor with rods, like raised rails, running the length of it. There was no up or down and even Chimal felt a little queasy when he tried to imagine in what direction they were facing.

“Come on. We just float, then pull ourselves along those rods to wherever the tunnel goes. It should be easy.” When the girl showed no intention of moving he pried her hands loose and gently pushed her into the end of the tube, knocking himself back against the wall at the same time. She screamed faintly and thrashed about, trying to clutch onto something. He launched himself after her and discovered it was not easy at all.

In the end he found that the surest way to progress was to pull forward lightly, then guide himself by sliding his hands along the bar as he went. Watchman Steel, after emptying her stomach felt somewhat better and managed to follow his instructions. Bit by bit they progressed the length of the tube to the doorway at the end, then let themselves through into a spherical room that looked out onto the stars.

“I recognize that long instrument,” Chimal said excitedly. “It’s a telescope, for making far away things look bigger. It can be used for looking at the stars. I wonder what the other instruments do.”

He had forgotten Steel, which she did not mind at all. There was a couch attached to one portion of the wall and she found that she could fix herself in it by tightening straps across her body. She did this and closed her eyes.

Chimal was almost unaware of the lack of any force pulling him down as he read the operating instructions on the machine. They were simple and clear and promised wonders. The stars outside of the bulging, hemispherical window, were rotating in slow circles about a point in the middle. Not as fast as the stars in the observation room, and they weren’t rising or setting, but they were still moving. When he actuated a control, as instructed, he felt a sudden force pulling on him, the girl moaned, and the sensation quickly stopped. When he turned to look out of the doorway it looked as though the tunnel was now turning — and the stars were now still. The room must now be rotating in the opposite direction from the rest of the world, so they were motionless in relation to the stars. What wonders the Great Designer had created!

Once the computer was actuated it needed two points of reference. After it knew these it was self orientating. Following the instructions, Chimal pointed the pilot scope at a bright, glowing red star, fixed it in the crosshairs of the telescope, then pressed the spectrum analysis button. The identification was instantly projected on a small screen: Aldebaran. Not far away from it was another bright star that appeared to be in the constellation he knew as The Hunter. Its name was Rigel. Perhaps it was in The Hunter, it was so hard to tell even well-known constellations with the infinitude of lights that filled the sky.

“Look at it,” he called to the girl, in pride and wonder.

“That is the real sky, the real stars.” She looked quickly and nodded, and closed her eyes again. “Outside this window is space, vacuum, no air to breathe. Just nothing at all, an empty immensity. How can the distance be measured to a star — how can we imagine it? And this, this world of ours, is going from one star to another, will reach it some day. Do you know the name of the star that is our destination?”

“We were taught — but I’m afraid I have forgotten.”

“Proxima Centauri. In an old language that means the closest star in the constellation of the centaur. Don’t you want to see it? What a moment this is. It is one of those out there, right in front of us. The machine will find it.”

Carefully, he set the dials for the correct combination, checking them twice to be sure he had entered the right numbers from the printed 1ist. It was correct. He pressed the actuate button and moved back.

Like the snout of a great, questing animal the telescope shivered and swung slowly into motion. Chimal stayed clear as it turned with ponderous precision, slowed and stopped. It was pointing far to one side, almost 90 degrees from the center of the window.

Chimal laughed. “That can’t be,” he said. “There has been a mistake. If Proxima Centauri were way over there, out to the side, it would mean that we were going past it…”

His fingers shook as he returned to the list and checked his figures over and over again.

4

“Just look at these figures and tell me if they are true or not — that’s all I ask.” Chimal dropped the papers onto the table before the Master Observer.

“I have told you, I am not very practiced at the mathematics. There are machines for this sort of thing.” The old man stared straight ahead, looking neither at the papers nor at Chimal, unmoving except for his fingers that plucked, unnoticed, at his clothing.

“These are from a machine, a readout. Look at them and tell me if they are correct or not.”

“I am no longer young and it is time for prayers and rest. I ask you to leave me.”

“No. Not until you have given me an answer. You don’t want to answer, do you?”

The old man’s continued silence destroyed the last element of calmness that Chimal possessed. The Master Observer gave a hoarse cry as Chimal reached out to seize his deus and, with a quick snap, broke the chain that supported it. He looked at the numbers in the openings in the front.

“186,293… do you know what that means?”

“This is — close to blasphemy. Return that, at once.”

“I was told that this numbered the days of the voyage, days in old Earth time. As I remember it there are about 365 days in an Earth year.”

He threw the deus onto the table and the old man snatched it up at once, in both hands. Chimal took a writing tablet and a stylus from his belt. “Divide… this shouldn’t be hard… the answer is…” He scrawled a line under the figure and waved it under the Master Observer’s nose. “It’s been over 510 years since the voyage began. The estimate in all the books was five hundred years or less, and the Aztecs believe they will be freed in 500 years. This is just added evidence. With my own eyes I saw that we are no longer going toward Proxima Centauri, but are aimed instead almost at the constellation Leo.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I was in the navigation chamber and used the telescope. The axis of rotation is no longer pointing at Proxima Centauri. We are going somewhere else.”

“These are all very complex questions,” the old man said, dabbing a kerchief at the corners of his red-rimmed eyes. “I remember no relationship between the axis of rotation and our direction…”

“Well I do — and I have checked already to make sure. To keep the navigational instruments functioning correctly, Proxima Centauri is fixed at the axis of rotation. Automatic course corrections are made if it drifts — so we move in the direction of the main axis. This cannot be changed.” Chimal chewed at a knuckle in sudden thought. “Though we might now be going to a different star! Now tell me the truth — what has happened?”

The old observer stayed rigid for a moment longer, then collapsed, sighing, inside the restraining support of his eskoskeleton.

“There is nothing that can be kept from you, First Arriver, I realize that now. But I did not want you to know until you had come to full knowledge. That must be now, or you would not have found out these things.” He threw a switch and the motors hummed as they lifted him to his feet and moved him across the room.

“The meeting is recorded here in the log. I was a young man at the time, then the youngest observer in fact, the others are long since dead. How many years ago was that? I am not sure, yet I still remember every detail of it. An act of faith, an act of understanding, an act of trust.” He seated himself again, holding a red bound book in both hands, looking at it, through it, to that well remembered day.

“We were weeks, months almost, weighing all of the facts and coming to a decision. It was a solemn, almost heart-stopping moment. The Chief Observer stood and read all of the observations. The instruments showed that we had slowed, that new data must be fed in to put us into an orbit about the star. Then he read about the planetary observations and we all felt distress at what had been discovered. The planets were not suitable, that was what was wrong. Just not suitable. We could have been the Observers of the Day of Arrival, yet we had the strength to turn away from the temptation. We had to fulfill the trust of the people in our charge. When the Master Observer explained this we all knew what had to be done. The Great Designer had planned even for this day, for the chance that no satisfactory planets could be found in orbit about Proxima Centauri, and a new course was set to Alpha Centauri. Or was it Wolf 359 in Leo? I forget now, it had been so many years. But it is all in here, the truth of the decision. Hard as it was to make — it was made. I shall carry the memory of that day with me to the recycler. Few are given such a chance to serve.”

“May I see the book? What day was this decided?”

“A day fixed in history, but look for yourself.” The old man smiled and opened the book, apparently at random, on the table before him. “See how it opens to the correct place? I have read in it so often.”

Chimal took the book and read the entry. It occupied less than a page. Surely a record of brevity for such a momentous occasion.

“There is nothing here about the observations and the reasons for the decisions,” he said, “No details on the planets that were so unsuitable.”

“Yes, there, beginning the second paragraph. If you will permit me I can quote from memory. ‘…therefore, it was the observations alone that could determine future action. The planets were unsuitable.’ ”

“But why? There are no details.”

“Details are not needed. This was a decision of faith. The Great Designer had made allowance for the fact that suitable planets might not be found, and He is the one who knew. If the planets were suitable he would have not given us a choice. This is a very important doctrinal point. We all looked through the telescope and agreed. The planets were not suitable. They were tiny, and had no light of their own like a sun, and were very far away. They obviously were not suitable…”

Chimal sprang to his feet, slamming the book onto the table.

“Are you telling me that you decided simply by looking through the telescope while still at astronomical distance? That you made no approaches, no landings, took no photographs… ?”

“I know nothing of those things. They must be things that Arrivers do. We could not open the valley until we were sure these planets were proper. Think — how terrible! What would it have been like if the Arrivers found these planets unsuitable! We would have betrayed our trust. No, far better to make this weighty decision ourselves. We knew what was involved. Every one of us searched his heart and faith before coming to a reluctant decision. The planets were unsuitable.”

“And this was decided by faith alone?”

“The faith of good men, true men. There was no other way, nor did we want one. How could we have possibly erred as long as we stood true to our beliefs?”

In silence, Chimal copied the date of the decision onto his writing tablet, then put the book back onto the table.

“Don’t you agree that it was the wisest decision?” the Master Observer asked, smiling.

“I think you were all mad,” Chimal said.

“Blasphemy! Why do you say that?”

“Because you knew nothing at all about those planets, and a decision made without facts or knowledge is no decision — just superstitious nonsense.”

“I will not hear these insults — even from the First Arriver. I ask you respectfully to leave my quarters.”

“Facts are facts, and guesswork is guesswork. Stripped of all the mumbo-jumbo and faith talk, your decision is just baseless. Worse than a guess since you make a guess from incomplete facts. You pietistical fools had no facts at all. What did the rest of your people say about the decision?”

“They did not know. It was not their decision. They serve, that is all they ask. That is all we observers asked.”

“Then I’m going to tell them all, and find the computer. We can still turn back.”

The eskoskeleton hummed to follow his body as the old man stood, straight and angry, pointing his finger at Chimal.

“You cannot. It is forbidden knowledge for them and I forbid you to mention it to them — or to go near the computers. The decision of the observers cannot be reversed.”

“Why not? You are just men. Damn fallible, stupid men at that. You were wrong and I’m going to right that wrong.”

“If you do you will prove that you are not the First Arriver after all, but something else. I know not what. I must search the breviary for the meaning of this.”

“Search, I act. We turn.”

For long minutes after Chimal slammed out the Master Observer stood, staring at the closed door. When he finally reached a decision he wanted to groan aloud with unhappiness at the terribleness of it all. But hard decisions had to be made too: that was the burden of his responsibility. He picked up his communicator to make the call.

The sign on the door read NAVIGATION ROOM — OBSERVERS ONLY. Chimal had been so angry at the time of his discovery that he had not thought to search out this room and verify his information. The anger was still there, but now it was cold and disciplined: he would do whatever had to be done. A search of the charts had revealed the existence of this place. He pushed open the door and went in.

The room was small and contained only two chairs, a computer input, some breviaries of data, and a chart on the wall of simplified operating instructions. The input was designed for a single function and took instructions in ordinary language. Chimal read the chart quickly, then sat before the input and tapped out a message with one finger.

IS THE ORBIT NOW TOWARD PROXIMA CENTAURI?

As soon as he pressed the button for answer the input burst into rapid life and typed:

NO.

HAVE WE PASSED PROXIMA CENTAURI?

QUESTION IS UNCLEAR. SEE INSTRUCTION 13.

Chimal thought a moment, then fed in a new question.

CAN THE ORBIT BE CHANGED TO GO TO PROXIMA CENTAURI?

YES.

That was better. Chimal typed in HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE TO REACH PROXIMA CENTAURI IF THE ORBIT IS CHANGED NOW? This time the computer took almost three seconds to answer, since there were many computations to be made and memories to be consulted.

ESTIMATED ARRIVAL 100 ASTRONOMICAL UNITS DISTANCE PROXIMA CENTAURI 17,432 DAYS.

Chimal did the division quickly. “That’s less than 50 years. The arrival might even be in my lifetime if we begin the new orbit now!”

But how? How could the observers be made to change the orbit? There was a possibility that he could find the proper instructions and breviaries and work out how to do it himself, but only if he were undisturbed. He could not possibly do the work in the face of their active hostility. Nor would words alone convince them. What would? They had to be forced to make the orbit change whether they wanted to or not. Violence? It wouldn’t be possible to capture them all and force them to the work. The Watchers would never permit this. Nor could he simply kill them: this was equally distasteful, though he was certainly in the humor for it He felt like doing violence to something.

The air machinery? The equipment he had worked on — it was vital for life, but only over a period of time. If there were some way to damage it, he was the only one who would be able to repair it. And he would not even begin the repairs until the course had been changed and they were on their way to the nearby star.

This was what he had to do. He slammed out into the passageway and saw the Master Observer and the other observers hurrying toward him at the highest speed their eskoskeletons would go. Chimal ignored their shouts and ran in the opposite direction, easily outdistancing them. As fast as he could, by the most direct route, he ran to the tunnel that went to the air plant.

The track was empty. No car was waiting.

Should he walk? It would take hours to get through this tunnel that ran the full length of the valley. And if they sent a car after him there would be no possibility of escape. He needed a car himself — but should he call for one? If all the Watchers had been alerted he would be simply trapping himself. He had to make a decision quickly. It was a better than good chance that the people had not been informed; that was not the Master Observer’s way. He turned to the communicator on the wall.

“This is the First Arriver. I want a car at once, at station 187.” The speaker hummed silently for a moment, then a voice answered.

“It shall be as you order. It will be there in a few minutes.”

Would it? Or would the man report it to the observers? Chimal paced in an agony of apprehension, unable now to do anything except wait. It was only a few minutes before the car arrived, but the time seemed endless to him.

“Would you wish me to drive?” the operator said.

“No, I can do it myself.”

The man climbed out and saluted Chimal respectfully as the car started down the track. The way was clear. Even if the man did report him, Chimal knew that he had a clear lead. If he kept ahead of any possible pursuers and worked fast he should finish what he had to do before they caught up with him. But now, before he arrived, he must think ahead, plan what would be the best thing to do. The machinery was so massive it would take too long to injure any of that, but the control panels were smaller and more lightly made. Simply destroying some of the instruments or removing their components should be enough. The observers would never be able to repair them without his help. But before he broke anything he had to be sure that there were replacements. Simply removing components from the controls might not be enough; the Master Observer, if pressed, might be able to figure that out from the empty slots. No, something must be broken.

When the car slammed to a stop at the other end of the tunnel he jumped from it, every move planned in advance. First the breviary. It was resting just where he had left it. There was no one else here so apparently the new tender had not taken up his position yet. That was just as well. He had to find the correct diagram, then the parts numbers. He walked into the storeroom as he read. Yes, here they were, the readouts and mechanical actuators from the panel. More than ten of each. The Great Designer had planned well, and overprovided for every eventuality. But He had not considered sabotage. As an added precaution, Chimal removed all the replacements and took them to another storeroom where he buried them deep behind a stock of massive piping. Now, destruction.

A great, open-end wrench, heavy and as long as his arm, would make a perfect weapon. He took it into the main chamber and stood before the board, weighing it in both hands. There, the glass-faced pressure dial first. He swung the wrench up over his head like a war-ax and brought it down with a splintering crash.

Instantly red lights flashed on and off all over the chamber and a siren began a shrill, ear-hurting scream. An amplified voice, louder than thunder, roared out at him.

“STOP! STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING! YOU ARE INJURING THE MACHINE! THIS IS THE ONLY WARNING YOU WILL HAVE!”

Flashing lights and warnings were not going to stop him. He brought the wrench down again on the same spot. As he did this a metal door burst open in the wall above him, showering down dust. The muzzle of a laser gun slammed out into position and began firing instantly, the green pencil of flame cutting an arc in front of the control panel.

Chimal threw himself aside but not quickly enough. The beam caught his left side, his leg, his arm, burning through the clothing instantly and deep into the flesh. He fell heavily, almost unconscious from the sudden shock and pain.

The Great Designer had considered everything, even the possibility of sabotage, Chimal realized. Far too late.

When the observers hurried in they found him this way, crawling, leaving a painful track of blood. Chimal opened his mouth to say something but the Master Observer gestured and stepped aside. A man with a tank on his back and a gun-like nozzle in his hand moved forward and pressed the trigger. A cloud of gas engulfed Chimal and his head dropped heavily to the stone flooring.

5

While he was unconscious the machines cared for him. The observers stripped his clothes from him and placed him in the trough on the table. They fed in a description of his injuries, then let the analyzer decide for itself. Once begun the entire operation was completely automatic.

X-rays were taken, while his blood pressure, temperature and all other vital statistics were recorded. Blood clotting foam was applied at once to the wounds, as soon as they had been photographed. Diagnosis took place inside the computer and treatment was programmed. The analysis apparatus rose silently up into its container and a shining metallic surgeon took its place. It hovered over the wound while its binocular microscopes peered deep, its many arms ready. Although it worked on only a very small area at a time it worked incredibly fast, far faster than could any careful human surgeon, as it followed the program of the computer. A speck of foam was flicked away, the area cleaned, burned tissue removed in a lightning debridement. Then a binding glue, that accelerated tissue growth as well, was applied and the flashing instruments moved on. Down his arm, closing the wound, sewing the severed tendons, rejoining the cut nerve endings. Then to his side where the laser ray had cut deep into the muscles, although it had not touched any of the internal organs. Finally the leg, a burned area on his thigh, the simplest wound of all.

When Chimal awoke he had difficulty at first in remembering what had happened and why he was here in the hospital. He was heavily sedated and felt no pain, but his head was light and he felt too exhausted to even roll over.

Memory returned, and with it bitterness. He had failed. The endless voyage to nowhere would go on. The observers were too faithful to their trust of preserving; they could not consider ending it. Perhaps the Great Designer had made His only mistake here by planning too well. The Watchers were so efficient at their work, and so pleased by it, that they could even consider the possibility of bringing it to a halt. The next star, if they ever reached it, would also be sure to have unsatisfactory planets. He had had only one chance to end the voyage, and Chimal had failed in the attempt. There would be no more chances for him, the observers would see to that — and there would be no more Chimals after this. The warning would be heeded. If any more children were ever born of a union between the two villages, they would not be welcome here. Perhaps the gods might even whisper in the first priest’s ear and there would be a welcome sacrifice.

The nursing machines, aware that he had returned to consciousness, removed the intravenous feeding drip from his arm and produced a bowl of warm broth.

“Please open your mouth,” the sweet, recorded voice of a girl, centuries dead, told him, and a bent tube was lowered into the broth and brought carefully to his lips. He obliged.

The machine must also have announced that he was awake because the door opened and the Master Observer came in.

“Why did you do this impossible thing?” he asked. “None of us can understand it. It will be months before the damage can be fixed since we cannot trust you near it again.”

“I did it because I want you to change our orbit. I would do anything to make you do that. If we made the change now we could be near Proxima Centauri in less than fifty years. That’s all I’m asking you to do, just look closer at the planets. You don’t even have to promise to tell anyone other than the observers. Will you do it?”

“Now don’t stop,” the gentle voice chided. “You have to finish it all up, every drop. You hear?”

“No. Of course not. It is not up to me at all. The decision has been made and recorded and I cannot possibly think of changing it. You should not even ask me.”

“I have to, to appeal to you — how? In the name of humanity? End the centuries of imprisonment and fear and death. Free your own people from the tyranny that controls them.”

“What madness are you talking?”

“Truth. Look at my people, living brutalized, superstitious and short lives, their population controlled by venomous snakes. Monstrous! And your own morbid people, these poor women like Watchman Steel, a ghost of a self-torturing female with none of the normal traits of her sex. Loathing motherhood and loving to inflict pain upon herself. You can end the bondage of all of them…”

“Stop,” the Master Observer commanded, raising his hand. “I will hear no more of this blasphemous talk. This world is a perfect world, just as the Great Designer ordered it, and to even speak of changing it is a crime beyond imagining. I have considered for many hours what to do with you, and have consulted with the other observers, and we have reached a decision.”

“Kill me and shut me up forever?”

“No, we cannot do that. Warped as you are by your incorrect upbringing among the savages in the valley, you are still the First Arriver. Therefore you will arrive, that is our decision.”

“What nonsense is this?” Chimal was too tired to argue more. He pushed the unemptied bowl away and shut his eyes.

“The diagrams disclose that there are five objects called spaceships in caverns on the outer skin of this world. They are described carefully and have been designed to travel from here to whatever planet is to be settled. You will be placed into one of these spaceships and you will leave. You will go to the planets as you wish. You will be the First Arriver.”

“Get out,” Chimal said, wearily. “No, you’re not killing me, just sending me on a fifty year voyage by myself, in exile, alone for the rest of my life. In a ship that may not even carry enough, food and air for a voyage of that length. Leave me, you filthy hypocrite.”

“The machines inform me that in ten days you will be cured enough “to leave this bed. An eskoskeleton is being prepared to aid you. At that time observers will come and see that you board the ship. They will drug you and carry you if they must. You will go. I will not be there because I do not wish to see you again. I will not even say goodbye because you have been a sore trial in my life, and have said blasphemous words that I will never forget. You are too evil to bear.” The old man turned and left even before he was through speaking.

Ten days, Chimal thought, as he drifted on the edge of sleep. Ten days. What can I possibly do in that time? What can I possibly do at all? To end this tragedy. How I wish I could expose the indecency of the life these people lead. Even the lives of my people, short and unhappy as they are, are better than this. I would like to break open this termites’ nest to their gaze, to let them see just what kind of people they are who hide and skulk nearby, watching and ordering.

His eyes opened wide and, unconscious of what he was doing, he sat bolt upright in the bed.

“Of course. Let my people into these caverns. There would be no choice then — we would have to change the orbit for Proxima Centauri.”

He dropped back onto the pillows. He had ten days to make plans and decide just what to do.

Four days later the eskoskeleton was brought in and stood in a corner. During the next sleeping period he dragged himself from the bed and put it on, practicing with it. The controls were simple and foolproof. He was out of bed every night after that, tottering at first, then walking grimly in spite of the pain. Doing simple exercises. His appetite increased. The ten day figure was far more time than he needed. The machines must have estimated his period of healing by using as a standard the sluggish metabolisms of the Watchers. He could do much better than that.

There was always an observer on guard outside of his room, he heard them talking when they changed shifts, but they never entered. They wanted to have nothing to do with him. During the sleeping period of the ninth day Chimal rose and silently dressed himself. He was still weak, but the eskoskeleton helped that, taking most of the exertion out of walking and other physical movements. A light chair was the only possible weapon that the room provided. He took it in both hands and stood behind the door — then screamed.

“Help! I’m bleeding… I’m dying… help!”

At once he had to raise his voice and shout louder to drown out the voice of the nurse who kept ordering him back to bed for an examination. Surely alarms were going off somewhere. He had to be fast. Where was that fool of an observer? How long did it take him to make up his simple mind? If he didn’t come in soon Chimal would have to go after him, and if the man were armed that could be dangerous.

The door opened and Chimal hit him with the chair as soon as he entered. He rolled on the floor and moaned but there was no time to even look at him. One man — or a world? Chimal pried the laser rifle from his fingers and went out, moving at the fastest speed the eskoskeleton would permit.

At the first turning he left the hospital passage and headed toward the outermost corridors, the ones that were usually deserted, almost certainly so at this hour. It was one hour to dawn, the Watchers of course kept the same time as the valley, and he would need every minute of that. The route he had planned was circuitous and he was so slow.

No one would know what he had planned, that certainly would help. Only the Master Observer could make decisions, and he did not make them easily. The first thing he would probably think of would be that Chimal might return to finish his job of sabotage. Weapons would be found and observers dispatched to the air plant. Then more thought. A search perhaps, and finally the alerting of all the people. How long would that take? Impossible to estimate. Hopefully more than an hour. If it happened sooner Chimal would fight. Hurt, kill if necessary. Some would die so that future generations might live.

The Master Observer moved even slower than Chimal imagined. Almost the entire hour had passed before he met another man, and this one was obviously bent on a routine errand. When he came close and recognized Chimal he was too shocked to do anything. Chimal got behind him and let the powered hands of the eskoskeleton throttle the man into unconsciousness. Now — dawn, and the last corridor.

His life was running backwards. This was the way he had entered, so long ago, going fearfully in the other direction. How he had changed since that day: how much he had learned. Valueless things unless he could put them to some real use. He came down the stone-floored tunnel just as the door at the far end swung up and outward. Outlined against the blue of the morning sky stood the monstrous figure of Coatlicue, snake-headed and claw-armed. Coming toward him. In spite of knowledge his heart leapt in his chest. But he walked on, straight toward her.

The great stone swung silently shut again and the goddess came forward, gaze fixed and unseeing. She came up to him and past him — then turned and entered the niche to wheel about and stand, frozen and inactive. To rest for one more day before emerging on her nightly patrol.

“You are a machine,” Chimal said. “Nothing more. And there, behind you, are tools and parts cabinets and your breviary.” He walked past her and picked it up and read the cover. “And your name isn’t even Coatlicue, it is HEAT SEEKING GUARD ROBOT. Which explains now how I escaped from you — once I was under the water I vanished as far as your senses were concerned.” He opened the book.

Though the Coatlicue robot was undoubtedly complex, the repairs and instructions were simple, like all the others. Chimal had originally thought that it would be enough to open the portal and send her out in the daylight. But there was far more he could do with her. Following the directions he slid aside a panel in the machine’s back and exposed a multiholed socket. In the cabinet was a control box with a length of wire and a matching plug. With this the automatic circuits could be over ridden and the machine tested and moved about at the will of the controller. Chimal plugged it in.

“Walk!” he commanded, and the goddess lurched forward.

“In a circle,” he said and worked the controls. Coatlicue dutifully trundled in a circle about him, brushing against the cavern’ walls, her twisting heads just below the high ceiling.

He could lead her out and command her to do just what he wished. No — not lead! He could do far better than that.

“Kneel!” he shouted, and she obeyed. Laughing, he put one foot in her bent elbow and climbed to her shoulders and sat, his heels dangling amid the dried human hands, while he held to one of her hard and metallically scaly necks.

“Now, forward, we are leaving. I am Chimal,” he shouted. “The one who left and returned — and who rides a goddess!”

As they approached the exit it swung up in response to some automatic signal. He stopped the machine under the door and examined the mechanism. Heavy pistons pushed it open and held it that way. If he could melt the rods, bend them without destroying them, the door would be held rigidly open beyond quick repair. And what he had to do would not take too long. Not long indeed. The laser beam played over the smooth rod of the piston until it turned red and suddenly sagged under the weight of the rock. He turned the beam quickly away and the door fell. But it stopped quickly, still supported by the piston on the other side. The first one was bent, the metal firm again, and would not be able to move back into the cylinder in this damaged condition. The door was sealed open.

Out into the valley Chimal rode his strange mount, the snake heads and snake-kirtle hissing loudly, but not as loud as his victorious laughter.

As the trail emerged from the crevice Chimal stopped and looked across his valley with mixed feelings: he had not realized until this moment that he would enjoy being back. Home. There was still a dawn haze hanging over the fields along the river bed. This would burn away as soon as the sun cleared the mountains. He breathed deep of the clean, sharp air that was touched with the scent of green growing things. It was pleasant to be outdoors again after the musty deadness of the corridors. Yet, as he thought this, he realized that his valley was just a large cavern torn from solid rock, and while he looked at it he was also aware of the tunnels that surrounded it and the empty space and stars outside. These thoughts were disconcerting and he shivered and put them from his mind. His wounds ached; he had moved too much and too soon. He started the goddess ahead, down to the riverbank and across, splashing through the shallow water.

In the villages people would be washing now and preparing the morning meal. Soon they would be leaving for the fields and if he hurried he would get there at the same time. A twist of the controls sent Coatlicue trundling forward at a slow run, jarring his body with every step. He closed his teeth tightly and ignored the pain. As the goddess’s speed increased her heads moved back and forth in faster tempo as did the kirtle of snakes. The hissing was deafening.

Straight ahead to the valley wall he went, and then south to the temple. The priests would be finishing the morning service and this would be a good time to find them all together. He slowed Coatlicue as the pyramid came into sight, and the hissing diminished. Then, at a steady walking pace, he brought her around the steps of the pyramid and into their midst.

It was a frozen, heart-stopping moment. There was a sharp crash as the obsidian knife fell from Itzcoatl’s hand as the first, priest swayed with shock. The others were rigid, and the only motion was the incessant weaving of the snakes’ heads. The priests turned faces, dumb with disbelief, upon the goddess and her rider, their eyes wide, the pupils contracted to dots.

“You have sinned!” Chimal screamed at them, waving the laser gun. It was doubtful if they even recognized him in his clothes the color of blood, perched high above them. “Coatlicue will have her vengeance. To the village of Quilapa, now — go. Run!”

The goddess started toward them, hissing outrageously, and they needed no more urging. They turned and fled and the snake-headed monster was at their heels. As they came to the village the first people appeared, stunned, all of them, by this frightening appearance and the unbelievable scene. Chimal gave them no time to gather their wits as he shouted orders at them to go on to Zaachila.

Chimal slowed the goddess as they came between the houses and the priests mingled with the crowd that poured out in a terrified wave. He did not permit them to stop, but scourged their flanks back and forth like a demonic herd. Women, children, babies — all of them — fled before him to the river and across. The first ones were already in Zaachila and the warning was given. Before he reached there the entire village was in flight from him.

“To the swamp!” he roared as they trampled through the fields of corn stubble and fled between the rows of maguey. “To the wall, to the cleft, to see what I will show you there!”

In blind panic they fled and he harried behind them. The palisade of the valley wall was ahead and the end was in sight. In a few minutes they would be in the tunnel and that would be the beginning of the end of the life they had known. Chimal laughed and shouted, tears streaming down his face. The end, the end…

A growing rumble, like distant thunder sounded ahead, and from the canyon wall a cloud of dust rolled out. The crowd slowed and stopped, milling about, not knowing which danger to flee from, then moved aside fearfully as Coatlicue plunged into their midst. Cold fear clutched hard at Chimal’s chest as he rode toward the cleft in the towering walls.

He was afraid to admit what might have happened, dared not admit it to himself. He was close, too close to the end in every way for anything to go wrong now. Up the trail Coatlicue ran, and into the opening in the cuff.

To stop, dead, before the barrier of broken rock that sealed it from side to side.

A piece of rock clattered down the heap and then there was silence. The dust settled slowly. There was no trace of the stone doorway or of the opening to the caverns beyond, only the great heap of broken rock that covered the spot where it once had existed.

And then the darkness came. Clouds blew up, so suddenly that before the first thunderheads were even noticed the sky was covered with them. And even before they hid the sun, the sun itself dimmed and darkened and a cold wind raced the length of the valley. The people, huddled together, moaned in agony at the tragedy that befell them. Were the gods warring on Earth? What was happening? Was it the end?

Then the rain fell, adding to the darkness, and there was hail mixed with the freezing drops. The villagers broke and ran. Chimal fought the obscuring depression of defeat from his thoughts and turned Coatlicue to follow them. The fight wasn’t over yet. Another way out could be found, Coatlicue would force the villagers to help him, their fear of her presence could not be washed away by rain and darkness.

Halfway about the goddess stopped, rigid. The snakes were frozen in the endless coiling and their voices cut off short. For a second she leaned forward onto a partly raised foot, then came to rest. All the power had been cut off and the control box was useless. Chimal let it drop from his hand, then slowly and painfully slid down the wet and slippery metal back to the muddy ground.

He realized that the laser rifle was still in his hand; he pointed it at the rock barrier in a futile gesture of hatred and pulled hard on the trigger. But even this weak protest was denied him: the rain had penetrated its mechanism and it would not fire. He hurled it away from him.

The rain poured down and it was darker than the darkest night.

6

Chimal found himself sitting on the bank of the river, the roar of the water flooding by invisibly before him. His head rested on his knees and his right side, leg and arm, should do it soon before it became too deep. There was water sounded high and if he were going to cross he should do it soon before it became too deep. There was really no reason to cross, he would be just as dead on the outer side as he would be here, but Quilapa was over there and that was his village.

But when he tried to rise, to push himself to his feet, he found that he was frozen in the hunched position. The water had shorted out his eskoskeleton and it would permit only limited movements. With an effort he freed one arm, then released all the other fastenings. When he finally rose he left it behind like a discarded husk of a former life, perpetually crouching in obeisance by the water’s edge. When he stepped into the river it came to his knees, then up to his waist before he was halfway across. He had to feel for each foothold carefully, leaning his weight against the current all of the tune. If he were swept away now he knew that he would not be strong enough to swim to safety.

Step by step he went forward, the water tugging relentlessly at him: it would be so easy to give in and let it carry him away from everything. For some reason he found the idea distasteful — a sudden memory of the Air Tender hanging by his neck — and he rejected it and went on. The water was only to his thighs now, then below his knees again. He was across. Before climbing out he bent and filled his cupped hands and drank from them, many times. He was thirsty and in spite of the rain and the cold his skin was hot. His wounds did not bear thinking about.

Was there nowhere to go? Was it all over, forever? Chimal stood there, swaying in the darkness, his face up to the rain. Perhaps there really was a Great Designer who watched and thwarted him at every turning. No, that couldn’t be true. He would not give in to a greater superstition now that he had discarded all his smaller ones. This world had been designed by men, built by men; he had read their proud reports and understood their thinking. He even knew the name of the one they called the Great Designer and knew the reasons why He had done all this. They were written in the books and could be read two ways.

Chimal knew that he had failed because of chance — and ignorance. It was luck that he had managed to come this far. A man was not made whole in a few short months. He had the knowledge of a man, perhaps. He had learnt so much and so quickly, but he still thought like a villager. Lash out. Run. Fight. Die. If only he could have done better.

If only he could have led his people through that painted hall and down the golden corridor to the stars.

And with this thought, this vision, came the first tiny inkling of hope.

Chimal walked on. He was again alone in the valley, and when the rains ceased and the sun came, out the hunt would once more be on for him. How tenderly the priests would keep him alive for the tortures that they would invent and dwell upon. They who taught fear had felt fear, had run, craven. Their revenge would be exacting.

They would not have him. Once before, in absolute ignorance he had escaped the valley — he would do it again. Now he knew what lay behind the rock wall, where the entrances were and what they led to. There had to be a way to reach one of them. Ahead, on the top of the cliff, was the entrance near which he had hidden his food and water. If he could reach it he could rest and hide, make plans.

Yet even as he thought of it he knew that it was impossible. He had never been able to climb the valley walls when in perfect health and possessed of all his strength. It had been cunningly designed everywhere to prevent anyone from escaping in that manner. Even the vulture’s ledge, far beneath the canyon’s rim, would have been impossible to reach had not some chance accident broken a gap in the overhanging lip of rock.

In the darkness he stopped and laughed, until it turned into a fit of coughing.

That was the way. That might be the way out. Now he had a purpose and, in spite of the pain, he moved forward steadily in the streaming downpour. By the time he reached the valley wall the rain had lessened to a steady drizzle and the sky was lighter. The gods had made their point; they were still in command. They would gain nothing by flooding the valley.

Only they weren’t gods, they were men. Fallible and stupid men whose work was finished even if they did not know it.

Through the faffing rain he could make out the dark bulk of the pyramid as he passed it, but it was silent there and nothing moved. If the priests had returned they were now locked in their deepest chambers. He smiled and rubbed his knuckles across his mouth. Well, if he had done nothing else he had given them a fright they would never forget, oh yes he had. Perhaps this made up, in a very small way, for what they had done to his mother. These arrogant, strutting bullies would never again have the assurance that they were the final law among men.

When Chimal reached the spot below the ledge he stopped to rest. The rain had ceased but the valley was still swathed in a sea of damp fog. His left side was on fire and when he touched it his hand came away red with blood. Too bad. It was not going to stop him. This climb had to be made while vision was still obscured, so neither the villagers nor the watching observers could see him. The pickups in the sky above would be useless now, but there might be others nearby that would be able to see him. Certainly things would be upset now among the watchmen, and the sooner he moved the better his chances would be of doing it unseen. But he was so tired. He stood and placed his hands against the rock.

The only memory of the climb he had was one of pain. Red agony that fogged his vision and made it almost impossible to see. His fingers had to seek out grips on their own and his toes scuffled blindly for a place to rest. Perhaps he went up the same way he had used when he had climbed it as a boy: he could not be sure. The pain went on and on and the rock was slippery, with water or blood he could not tell. When he finally pulled himself over the rock lip onto the ledge he could not stand, could barely move. Pushing with his legs he slid his body through the wet filth on the ledge to the back of the shallow cave, beside the door. He would have to find a hiding place to one side, where he could not be seen through the concealed peephole, yet close enough to attack anyone who came. Crawling over he propped his back against the rock.

If they did not come soon it was all over. The climb had taxed him beyond his strength and he could barely stay conscious sitting there. Yet he must. He must be awake and alert and attack the next time the door was opened to feed the vultures. Then he must enter, attack, win. But he was so tired. Surely no one would come now, not until normal events were restored in the valley. Perhaps if he slept now he would be rested when the door did open. That would surely be some hours, perhaps a day more at least.

Yet, even as he was thinking this, there was a motion of air as the entrance in the rock swung up and out.

The suddenness of the happening, the gray weight of his fatigue, were too much for him. He could only gape as Watchman Steel appeared in the opening.

“What has happened?” she asked. “You must tell me what has happened.”

“How did you find me…your screen?”

“Yes. We saw strange things happening in the valley, we heard rumors. No one seems to know the details. You have been missing, then I heard you were somewhere in the valley. I kept searching all the pickups, until I found you. What is happening? Tell me, please. None of us know and it is… terrible…” Her face was blank with fright: there is no destroyer like disorder in a world of complete order.

“Just what do you know?” he asked her as she helped him inside, to the seat in the car. After she had closed the feeding door she took a small container from her belt and passed it to him.

“Tea,” she said. “You always liked it.” Then fear of the unknown possessed her again as she remembered. “I never saw you again. You showed me the stars and told me about them, and kept shouting that we had passed Proxima Centauri, that we had to go back. Then we returned to the place where we had weight and you left me. I never saw you again. That has been days, many days now, and there has been trouble. The Observer at services tells us that evil walks the corridors but will not tell us what it is. He will not answer questions about you — it is as though you never existed. There have been alarms, strange things happening, two people have collapsed and died. Four girls are in hospital, they cannot work and we are all on extra shifts. Nothing is right When I saw you on the screens, back in the valley, I thought you might know. And you are hurt too!” She realized the last, gasping and shrinking away, as the blood seeped from his side onto the seat.

“That happened days ago. I’ve had treatments. But I have done it no good today. Is there any kind of medicine in your belt?”

“The first aid kit, we are required to have one.” She took it out with trembling fingers and he opened it and read the list of the contents.

“Very good.” He opened his clothing and she turned away, eyes averted. “Bandages here, antiseptics, some pain pills. All of this should help.” Then, with sudden understanding, “I’ll tell you when you can look again.” She bit her lip and nodded agreement, eyes shut.

“It appears your Master Observer has committed a grave error by not telling you about what has happened.” He would censor his own story, there were some things she had better not know, but he would at least tell her the basic truth. “What I told you when we looked at the stars was true. We have passed Proxima Centauri. I know that because I found the navigation machines which told me about it. If you doubt it I can take you there and they will tell you too. I went to the Master Observer with my information and he did not deny it. If we turn now we can be at Proxima Centauri within 50 years, the goal of the Great Designer. But many years ago the Master Observer and others went against the Great Designer. I can prove this too with the log in the Master Observer’s own quarters, the evidence of the men who decided this, and also decided to tell none of the others of you of this decision. Do you understand what I have told you so far?”

“I think I do.” She spoke in an almost inaudible voice. “But it is all so terrible. Why should they do a thing like that? Not obeying the will of the Great Designer.”

“Because they were wicked and selfish men, even if they were observers. And the observers now are no better. They are concealing the knowledge again. They will not permit me to reveal it. They have planned to send me away from here forever. Now — will you help me to right this wrong?”

Once more the girl was far beyond her depth, floundering in concepts and responsibilities she was not equipped to handle. In her ordered life there was only obedience, never decision. She could not force herself to conclusions now. Perhaps the decision to run to him, to question him, had been the only act of free will she had ever accomplished in her entire lengthened, yet stunted, lifetime.

“I don’t know what to do? I don’t want to do anything. I don’t know …”

“I know,” he said, closing up his clothing and wiping his fingers on the cloth. He reached out and took her chin in his hand and turned her great empty eyes to him. “The Master Observer is the one who must decide, since that is his function in life. He will tell you whether I am right or wrong and what is to be done. Let us go to the Master Observer.”

“Yes, let us go.” She almost sighed with relief with the removal of the burden of responsibility. Her world was ordered again and the one whose appointed place in life was to decide, would decide. Already she was forgetting the confused events of the past days: they just did not fit into her regularized existence.

Chimal huddled low in the car so his soiled clothing would not be seen, but the effort was hardly necessary. There were no casual walkers in the tunnels. Everyone must be manning the important stations — or was physically unable to help. This hidden world was in as much of storm of change as the valley outside. With more change on the way, hopefully, Chimal thought as he eased himself from the car at the tunnel entrance nearest to the Master Observer’s quarters. The halls were empty.

The observer’s quarters were empty too. Chimal went in, searched them, then dropped full length onto the bed.

“Hell be back soon. The best thing we can do is to wait here for him.” There was little else, physically, that he could do at this time. The pain drugs made him sleepy and he dared not take any more of them. Watchman Steel sat in a chair, her hands folded on her lap, waiting patiently for the word of instruction that would strip away her problems. Chimal dozed, and woke with a start, then dozed again. The bedding and the warmth of the room dried his clothing and the worst of the pain ebbed away. His eyes closed and, in spite of himself, he slept.

The hand on his shoulder pulled him from the deep pit of sleep that he did not want to leave. Only when memory returned did he fight against it and force his eyelids open.

“There are voices outside,” the girl said. “He is coming back. It is not seemly to be found here, lying like this.”

Not seemly. Not safe. He would not be gassed and taken again. Yet it took every bit of will and energy he had remaining to pull himself erect, to stand, to lean on the girl and direct her to the far side of the room.

“We’ll wait here in silence,” he said, as the door opened.

“Do not call me until the machine is up, then,” the Master Observer said. “I am tired and these days have taken years from my life. I must rest. Maintain the fog in the northern end of the valley in case someone might see. When the derrick is rigged one of you will ride it down to attach the cables. Do that yourselves. I must rest.”

He closed the door and Chimal reached out and put both hands over his mouth.

7

The old man did not struggle. His hands fluttered limply for a moment and he rolled his eyes upward to look into Chimal’s face, but otherwise he made no protest. Though he swayed with the effort, Chimal held the Master Observer until he was sure the men outside had gone, then released him and pointed to a chair.

“Sit,” he commanded. “We shall all sit down because I can no longer stand.” He dropped heavily into the nearest chair and the other two, almost docilely, obeyed his order. The girl was waiting for instruction: the old man was almost destroyed by the events of the preceding days.

“Look at what you have done,” the Master Observer said hoarsely. “At the evils committed, the damage, the deaths. Now what greater evil do you plan…”

“Hush,” Chimal said, touching his finger to his lips. He felt drained of everything vital, even of hatred at this moment, and his calmness quieted the others. The Master Observer mumbled into silence. He had not used his depilatory cream so there was gray stubble on his cheeks, as well as pockets of darkness under his eyes.

“Listen carefully and understand,” Chimal began, in a voice so quiet that they had to strain to hear. “Everything has changed. The valley will never be the same again, you have to realize that. The Aztecs have seen me, mounted upon a goddess, have found out that everything is not as they always thought it was. Coatlicue may never walk again to enforce the taboo. Children will be born of parents of different villages, they will be Arrivers — but will not have an arrival. And your people here, what of them? They know that something is terribly wrong, yet they do not know what. You must tell them. You must do the only thing possible, and that is to turn the ship.”

“Never!” Anger pulled the old man upright, and the eskoskeleton helped his gnarled fingers to curl into fists. “The decision has been made and it cannot be changed.”

“What decision is that?”

“The planets of Proxima Centauri were unsuitable. I told you that. It is too late to return. We go on.”

“Then we have passed Proxima Centauri… ?”

The Master Observer opened his mouth- — then clamped it shut again as he realized the trap he had fallen into. Fatigue had betrayed him. He glared at Chimal, then at the girl.

“Go on,” Chimal told him. “Finish what you were going to say. That you and other observers have worked against the Great Designer’s plan and have turned us from our orbit. Tell this girl so she may tell the others.”

“This is none of your affair,” the old man snapped at her. “Leave and do not discuss what you have heard here.”

“Stay,” Chimal said, pressing her back into her seat as she half rose at the order. “There is more truth to come. And perhaps after a while the observer will realize that he wants you here where you cannot tell the others what you know. Then later he will think of a way to kill you or to send you off into space. He must keep his guilty secret because if he is found out he is destroyed. Turn the ship, old man, and do one good thing with your life.”

Surprise was gone and the Master Observer had control of himself again. He touched his deus and bowed his head. “I have finally understood what you are. You are to evil as the Great Designer is to good. You have come to destroy and you shall not succeed. What you are…”

“Not good enough,” Chimal broke in. “It is too late to call names or settle this by insult. I give you facts, and I ask you to dare deny them. Watch him closely, Steel, and listen to his answers. I give you first the statement that we are no longer on the way to Proxima Centauri. Is that fact?”

The old man closed his eyes and did not answer, then crouched in his chair in fear as Chimal sprang to his feet. But Chimal went by him and pulled the red-bound log from the rack and let it fall open. “Here is the fact, the decision that you and the others made. Shall I let the girl read it?”

“I do not deny it. This was a wise decision made for the good of all. The watchman will understand. She, and all the others will obey, whether they are told or not.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Chimal said, wearily, hurling the book aside and dropping back into his chair. “And that is the biggest crime of all. No not yours, His. The most evil one, the one you call the Great Designer ”

“Blasphemy,” the Master Observer croaked, and even Watchman Steel shrank back from the awfulness of Chimal’s words.

“No, just truth. The books told me that there are things called nations on Earth. They seem to be large groups of people, though not all of the people on Earth. It is hard to tell exactly why these nations exist or what their purpose is, but that is not important. What is important is that one of these nations was led by the man we now call the Great Designer. You can read his name, the name of the country, they are meaningless to us. His power was so great he built a memorial to himself greater than any ever constructed before. In his writings he says how the thing he does is greater than the pyramids or anything that came before. He says that pyramids are great structures, but that his structure is greater — an entire world. This world. In detail he writes how it was designed and made and sent on its way and he is very proud of it. Yet what he is really proud of is the people who live in this world, who will go out to the stars and carry human life in his name. Don’t you see why he feels that way? He has created an entire race to worship his image. He has made himself God.”

“He is God,” the Master Observer said, and Watchman Steel nodded agreement and touched her deus.

“Not God, or even a black god of evil, though he deserves that name. Just a man. A frightful man. The books talk of the wonders of the Aztecs he created to carry out his mission, their artificially induced weakness of mind and docility. This is no wonder — but a crime. Children were born, from the finest people in the land, and they were stunted before birth. They were taught superstitious nonsense and bundled off into this prison of rock to die without hope. And, even worse, to raise their children in their own imbecilic image for generation after generation of blunted, wasted lives. You know that, don’t you?”

“It was His will,” the old man answered, untroubled.

“Yes it was, and it doesn’t bother you at all because you are the leader of the jailers who imprison this race, and you wish to continue the imprisonment forever. Poor fool. Did you ever think where you and your people came from? Is it chance that you are all so faithful to your trust and so willing to serve? Don’t you realize that you were made in the same way the Aztecs were made? That after finding the ancient Aztecs as a model society for the valley dwellers, this monster looked for a group to do the necessary housekeeping for the centuries-long voyage. He found it in the mysticism and monasticism that has always been a nasty side path taken by the human race. Hermits wallowing in filth in caves, others staring into the sun for a lifetime of holy blindness, orders that withdrew from the world and sealed themselves away for lives of sacred misery. Faith replacing thinking and ritual replacing intelligence. This man examined all the cults and took the worst he could find to build the life you lead. You worship pain, and hate love and natural motherhood. You are smug with the years of your long lives and look down upon the short-lived Aztecs as lower animals. Don’t you realize the ritualized waste of your empty lives? Don’t you understand that your intelligence has also been dimmed and diminished so that none of you will question the things you have to do? Can you not see that you are just as much condemned prisoners as the people in the valley?”

Exhausted, Chimal dropped back in his chair, looking from the cold face of hatred to the empty face of incomprehension. No, they had no idea what he was talking about. There was no one, in the valley or out, whom he could talk to, communicate with, and a cold loneliness settled on him.

“No, you cannot see,” he said, with weary resignation. “The Great Designer has designed too well.”

At his words their fingers automatically went to their deuses and he was too tired to do more than sigh.

“Watchman Steel,” he ordered, “there is food and drink over there. Bring them to me.” She hurried to his bidding. He ate slowly, washing the food down with the still-warm tea from the Thermos, while he planned what to do next.

The Master Observer’s hand crept to the communicator at his waist and Chimal had to reach out and pull it from his belt. “Yours too,” he told Watchman Steel, and did not bother to explain why he wanted it. She would obey in either case. He could expect no more help from anyone. From now on he was alone.

“There is none higher than you, is there, Master Observer?” he asked.

“All know that, except you.”

“I know it too, you must realize that. And when the decision was made to change the orbit, the observers agreed but the final decision was made by the then Master Observer. Therefore you are the one who must know all of the details of this world, where the spaceships are and how to activate them, the navigation and how it is done, and the schools and all the arrangements for the Day of Arrival, everything.”

“Why do you ask me these things?”

“I’ll make my meaning clear. There are many responsibilities here, far too many to be passed on by word of mouth from one Master Observer to the other. So there are charts that show all the tunnels and chambers and their contents, and there are breviaries for the schools and the spaceship. Why there must even be a breviary for that wonderful day of arrival when the valley is open. — where is it?”

The last words were a demanding question and the old man started and his eyes jumped to the wall, then instantly away. Chimal turned to look up at the red-lacquered cabinet that hung there, in front of which a light always burned. He had noticed it before but never thought consciously about it.

When he rose to go to it the Master Observer attacked him, his aged hands and the rods of his eskoskeleton striking Chimal about the head and shoulders. Finally, he had understood what Chimal had in mind. The struggle was brief. Chimal prisoned the old man’s hands, clasping them together behind his back. Then he remembered the failure of his own eskoskeleton and threw the power switch on the Master Observer’s harness. The motors died and the joints locked, holding the man captive. Chimal picked him up gently and laid him on his side on the bed.

“Watchman Steel, duty,” the old man ordered, though his voice quavered. “Stop him. Kill him. I order you to do this.”

Unable to understand more than a fraction of what had occurred the girl stood, wavering helplessly between them.

“Don’t worry,” Chimal told her. “Everything will be all right.” Against her slight resistance he forced her back into the chair and disconnected her eskoskeleton too, tearing the power pack free. He tied her wrists together as well, with a cloth from the ablutory.

Only when they were both secured did he go to the cabinet on the wall and tug at its doors. They were locked. In a sudden temper he tore at it, pulling it bodily from the wall, ignoring the things the Master Observer was calling at him. The lock on the cabinet was more decorative than practical and the whole thing fell to pieces easily when he put it on the floor and stamped on it. He bent and picked a red-bound and gold decorated book from the wreckage.

“The Day of Arrival,” he read, then opened it. “That day is now.”

The basic instructions were simple enough, as were the instructions in all the breviaries. The machines would do the work, they had only to be activated. Chimal went over in his mind the course he would take, and hoped that he could walk that far. Pain and fatigue were closing in again and he could not fail now. The old man and the girl were both silent, too horrified by what he was doing to react. But this could change as soon as he left. He needed time. There were more cloths in the ablutory and he took them and sealed their mouths with them. If someone should pass they would not be able to give the alarm. He threw the communicators to the ground and broke them as well. He would not be stopped.

As he put his hand on the door he turned to face the wide, accusing eyes of the girl. “I’m right,” he told her. “You’ll see. There is much happiness ahead.” Taking the breviary for the Day of Arrival, he opened the door and left.

The caverns were still almost empty of people which was good: he did not have the strength to make any detours. Halfway to his goal he passed two watchmen, both girls, coming off duty, but they only stared with frightened empty eyes as he passed. He was almost to the entrance to the hall when he heard shouting and looked back to see the red patch of an observer hurrying after him. Was this chance — or had the man been warned? In either case, all he could do was go on. It was a nightmare chase, something out of a dream. The watchman walked at the highest speed his eskoskeleton would allow, coming steadily on. Chimal was unrestricted, but wounded and exhausted. He ran ahead, slowed, hobbled on, while the observer, shouting hoarse threats, ground in pursuit like some obscene mixture of man and machine. Then the door to the great chamber was ahead and Chimal pushed through it and closed it behind him, leaning his weight against it. His pursuer slammed into the other side.

There was no lock, but Chimal’s weight kept the door closed against the other’s hammering while he fought to catch his breath. When he opened the breviary his blood ran down the whiteness of the page. He looked at the diagram and the instructions again, then around the immensity of the painted chamber.

To his left was the wall of great boulders and massive rocks, the other side of the barrier that sealed the end of his valley. Far off to his right were the great portals. And halfway down this wall was the spot he must find.

He started toward it. Behind him the door burst open and the observer fell through, but Chimal did not look back. The man was down on his hands and knees and motors hummed as he struggled to rise. Chimal looked up at the paintings and found the correct one easily enough. Here was a man who stood out from the painted crowd of marchers, who stood away from them, bigger than them. Perhaps it was an image of the Great Designer himself: undoubtedly it was. Chimal looked into the depths of those nobly painted eyes and, if his mouth had not been so dry, he would have spat into the wide-browed perfection of the face. Instead he leaned forward, his hand making a red smear along the wall, until his fingers touched those of the painted image.

Something clicked sharply and a panel fell open, and there was a single large switch inside. Then the observer was upon Chimal as he clutched at it, and they fell together.

Their combined weight pulled it down.

8

Atototl was an old man, and perhaps because of this the priests in the temple considered him expendable. Then again, since he was the cacique of Quilapa, he was a man of standing and people would listen when he brought back a report. And he could be expected to obey. But, whatever their reasons, they had commanded him to go forth and he had bowed his head in submission and done as they had ordered.

The storm had passed and even the fog had lifted. Were it not for the black memories of earlier events it could have been the late afternoon of almost any day. A day after a rain, of course, the ground was still damp underfoot and off to his right he could hear the water in the river, rushing high against the banks as it drained the sodden fields. The sun shone warmly and brought little curls of mist from the ground. Atototl came to the edge of the swamp and squatted on his heels and rested. Was the swamp bigger than when he had seen it last? It seemed to be, but surely it would have to be larger after all that ram. But it would get lower again, it always had before. This was nothing to be concerned about, yet he must remember to tell the priests about it.

What a frightening place the world had become. He would almost prefer to leave it and wander through the underworlds of death. First there had been the death of the first priest and the day that was a night. Then Chimal had gone, taken by Coatlicue the priests had said, and it certainly had seemed right It must have been that way, but even Coatlicue had not been able to keep that spirit captive. It had returned with Coatlicue herself, riding her great back, garbed in blood and hideous, yet still bearing the face of Chimal. What could it all mean? And then the storm. It was all beyond him. A green blade of new grass grew at his feet and he reached down and broke it off, then chewed on it. He would have to go back soon to the priests and tell them what he had seen. The swamp was bigger, he must not forget that, and there was certainly no sign of Coatlicue.

He stood up and stretched his tired leg muscles, and as he did so he felt a distant rumbling. What was happening now? In terror he clutched his arms about himself, unable to run away while he stared at the waves that trembled the surface of the water before him. There was another rumble, louder this time, that he could feel in his feet, as though the entire world were shaking beneath him.

Then, with cracklings and grumblings the entire barrier of stone that sealed the mouth of the valley began to stir and slide. One great boulder moved downward, then another and another. Sinking into the solid ground, faster and faster, all of them moving, rushing down, crumbling and cracking and grinding together until they vanished from sight below. Then, as the valley opened up, the waters before him began to recede, rushing after the rock barrier, trickling and bubbling away in a thousand small cataracts, hurrying after the dam that had held it so long. Quickly the water ran, until a brown waste of mud, silvered with the flapping bodies of fish, stretched out where there had only been ponds and swamp just minutes before. Reaching out to the cliffs that were no longer a barrier but an exit from the valley, that framed something golden and glorious, filled with light and marching figures — Atototl spread his arms wide before the wonder of it all.

“It is the day of deliverance,” he said, no longer afraid. “And all the strange things came before it. We are free. We shall leave the valley at last.”

Hesitantly, he put one foot forward onto the still soft mud.

The booming of explosions was deafening inside the hall. As they started the observer fell away and cowered in panic on the floor. Chimal held to the great switch for support as the floor shook and the boulders stirred. This was the reason for the location of the carved reservoir below. Everything had been planned. The barrier that sealed the valley must stand on the stone just above the hollowed-out chamber. Now supports were being blown away and the rock weakened. The entire roof was falling away. With a final roar the last boulders tumbled downward, filling the reservoir below with their tops making a broken roadway out of the valley. Sunlight streamed in through the opening and fell upon the paintings for the first time.

Outside Chimal could see the valley with the mountains beyond and he knew that this time he had not failed.

This action was irreversible, the barrier was gone.

His people were free.

“Get up,” he said to the observer who was groveling against the wall. He pushed at him with his toe. “Get up and look and try to understand. Your people are free too.”