Captive Universe

1

Chimal pulled himself down the axis of rotation tunnel, grumbling when his left shoulder touched against one of the bars and the now familiar pain shot down his arm. The arm was getting more useless and painful all the time. He would have to get back to the surgical machines one of these days for another operation — or have the cursed thing taken off if they could do nothing more about it. If they had fixed it correctly in the first place this need not have happened. Not that he had done it much good bashing and battering with it. Still, he had done what had to be done at the time. He must make some time for the surgery, and soon.

The elevator lowered him back to the area of gravity and Matlal opened the door for him.

“On course,” Chimal told the guard, handing him the books and records to carry. “The orbit correction is going through just as the computer said it would. We’re cutting a great arc now, curving in space, though we can’t feel it in here. This will take years. But we are now on the way to Proxima Centauri.”

The man nodded, neither attempting nor desiring to understand what Chimal was talking about. It did not matter. Chimal was talking for his own benefit in any case: he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. He limped slowly down the corridor and the Aztec followed him.

“How do the people like the new water that has been piped into the villages?” Chimal asked.

“It doesn’t taste the same,” Matlal said.

“Aside from the taste,” Chimal said, trying not to lose his temper, “isn’t it easier than carrying it the way you used to? And isn’t there more food now, and the sick people are cured? What about that?”

“It’s different. Sometimes it is… not right that things should be different.”

Chimal didn’t really expect any praise, not from a society as conservative as this. He would keep them healthy and well-fed in spite of themselves. For their children’s sake, if not for theirs. He would keep the Aztec with him as a source of information, if for no other reason. There was no time for him to personally watch the valley people. He had taken Matlal, the strongest man in both villages, as a personal guard in the first days after the barrier had been opened. At that time he had no idea how the Watchers would act and he wanted someone to defend him in case of violence. Now there was no longer any need for protection, but he would keep him as an informant.

Not that he need have worried about violence. The Watchers had been as stunned by events as had the people in the valley. When the first Aztecs had pushed through the mud and over the broken rock they had been dazed and uncomprehending. The two groups met and passed without touching, unable at the moment to assimilate the others’ presence. Discipline had been restored only when Chimal had found the Master Observer and had handed over the breviary of the Day of Arrival. Bound by discipline the old man had had no choice. He had taken it without looking at its donor, then turned away and issued the first order. The Day of Arrival had begun.

Discipline and order had pulled together the Watchers, and an unaccustomed vitality had penetrated their lives. Here, now, in their lifetimes, they were fulfilling the promise that generations had been trained for. If the observers regretted the termination of the time of watching the ordinary tenders and watchmen did not. They seemed, for the first time, to be almost wholly alive.

While the Master Observer ordered their operations as it had been written. There were breviaries and rules for everything and they were obeyed. He was in charge and Chimal never questioned it. Yet Chimal knew that his blood inerasably marked the pages of the breviary of the Day of Arrival that the old man carried. That was enough for him. He had done what had to be done.

As he passed the door of one of the classrooms Chimal looked in, at his people bent over the education machines. They had furrowed foreheads for the most part and probably understood very little of what they were watching. That did not matter; the machines were not for them. The best that could be expected was an alleviating of the absolute ignorance that they lived in. Easier lives, better conditions. They needed contentment and health as the parents of the next generation. The machines were for the children — they would know what use to put them to.

Further down were the children’s quarters. Bare and empty now — but waiting. And the maternity wards, many of them bright and empty too, but it would not be too long until they were put to a good use. Give the Great Designer credit once again, there had been no protests when the booming voices in the hall had removed the taboo against intermarriage, had even said it was the only correct course. Everything had been worked out to the last, finest detail.

There was a motion inside and Chimal turned to look through the window at Watchman Steel sitting on a chair against the far wall.

“Go get some food, Matlal,” he ordered, “I’ll be down shortly. Put those things in my quarters first.”

The man saluted, automatically raising his hand in the gesture of obeisance that he used to a priest, and left. Chimal went inside and sat down wearily across from the girl. He had been working hard, since the Master Observer had left him to his own devices with the navigation and the change of orbit. That was under automatic control now. Maybe he could take time for the surgeons, though it would probably mean some days in bed.

“How long must I keep coming here?” the girl asked, the familiar, wounded look still in her eyes.

“Never again, if you don’t want to,” he told her, too tired to argue. “Do you think I’m doing this for my sake?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then try and think. What possible pleasure could I get from forcing you to look at pictures of babies, pregnant women, obstetric films?”

“I don’t know. There are so many things that it is not possible to explain.”

“And a lot that are explainable. You’re a woman, and outside of your training and development, a normal woman. I want to, perhaps, it is hard to say exactly, give you a chance to feel like a woman. I think you have been cheated by life.”

Her fists clenched. “I don’t want to think like a woman. I am a watchman. That is my duty and my glory — and I do not wish to be anything else.” The little spark of anger burned out as quickly as it had come. “Please let me go back to my work. Aren’t there enough women among the valley people to make you happy? I know you think that I am not smart, that none of us are smart, but that is the way we are. Can’t you leave us alone to do what we must do?”

Chimal looked at her, comprehending for the first time.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have been trying to make you something you are not and preventing you from being something that you want to be. Because I changed I keep feeling that everyone else should want to change too. But what I am has been planned by the Great Designer just as well as what you are. With me, yes, desire to change and understand is the most important thing possible. I hold onto that, no matter what. It is as important to me, and as satisfying, as that thing — what was it — your mortification used to be you.”

“As it is to me,” she called out, standing and, in a moment of righteous strength opening her clothing to turn out the gray edge of fabric to him that circled her body. “I do penance for both of us.”

“Yes, you do that,” he said as she closed her clothing, trembling again at her audacity, and hurried out.

“We should all do penance for the thousands who died over the years to get us here. At least there is finally an end to all that.”

Chimal looked at the rows of empty beds and bassinets, waiting, and realized not for the first time how completely alone he was. Well, that he could get used to, and it was not very different from the loneliness that he had always known. And they would be coming along soon, the children.

Within a year there would be babies, and a few years later they would be talking. Chimal felt a sudden identification with those unborn children. He knew how they would look around at the world, wondering. He knew the eager questions that would be on their lips.

And this time there would be answers to those questions. The empty years of his childhood would never be repeated. The machines would answer their questions and so would he.

At that thought he smiled, peopling the empty room with the eager-eyed children of his mind. Yes, the children.

Patience, Chimal, in a few short years you will never be alone again.