Demons' World

Chapter Three

“The growth of intelligence in a human child is not a steady upward curve; as understanding and knowledge and learning are assimilated, they coalesce and force the native intelligence onward in spurts and starts. Sometimes, when units of information appear to contradict, the child’s brightness wanes; he is called stupid and in clumsy hands much harm may be done by barbarous punishments.” Simon leaned forward, his creased serious face returning Stead’s calm regard. “But you are not physically a baby; your brain has already developed. The cells and synapses and general structure needed for memory and understanding on a higher plane than mere automatic living are already in existence.”

Delia nodded, flipping the page over to a new algebraic problem. “What Simon is saying, Stead, is that you learn so fast because you have superior equipment at hand. But you are still liable to the flux of learning as new factors interact.”

“So that’s why I was so stupid yesterday?”

“Yes, and why you’re so bright today and may be as stupid again tomorrow. The cycles in your case are more rapid and violent, simply because you are an adult. We’ve been pumping you full of information for the past sixty days, two thirds of a quarter, and you are now educationally on a level with the Hunters and Soldiers.”

“But I feel confident in going on.” Stead spoke slowly, using the refined accents of a Controller because that was the way he had been taught the language. “The world is a large and wonderful place and, much as I feel my debt to you, I need to go and know more, to find a place for myself in the world—perhaps find out who I was.”

“I don’t really think you could have been a Forager,” Delia said.

“Why not, Delia?” Stead had given up trying not to look at this girl with her clipped red curls, her face that haunted him, her figure that maddened him in a way he could not understand. She was a woman and he was a man; so far that was all he understood. Frankly, he couldn’t understand why there had to be two sorts of human beings. He felt annoyed that this evolution Simon talked about hadn’t been wise enough to insure just one sort of human being, a man, like himself and Simon. He got on with men. He couldn’t— for some strange and probably absurdly childish reason-feel comfortable in the presence of women, especially of Delia.

“I don’t think you were a Forager, Stead, because you’re rather large. Hunters and Foragers are usually small men and women, relatively speaking. That’s just a quirk of evolution, I expect.”

“Evolution!” said Stead. “Well, if I wasn’t a Forager, what was I. A Soldier?”

“Possibly.” Simon pulled forward a book, angled it on the table so that the electric light fell full on it. The room contained many books in shelves, a table, chairs; a functional room, it was, for the teaching of facts. “Here are pictures of soldiers from other Empires and Federations. You were not, we have found out, a soldier of Archon.”

“Perhaps,” Stead said, taking the book, “I was a worker.”

“Oh, no!” said Delia, and paused.

Stead glanced at her. Her cheeks were flushed. He wondered what was wrong with her, then he bent to the book.

The pictures leaped out at him from the page, colored drawings, black and white photographs, illustrated detail of uniform and weapons. A general similarity ran through the ideas governing what a soldier should be. A helmet, varying in size and complexity; a suit of armor, metal, leather, padded; weapons—guns, arbalests, spears, axes, swords—a whole gamut of lethal hardware. But beneath it all, the same human form stood out—two-armed, two-legged; the same sorts of face stared out—grim and lined, with narrowed eyes and thinned lips, harsh and uncompromising, the faces of men who knew the job to which they had been called and were dedicated in its performance.

Slowly, Stead shook his head. “No,” he said, “no. I don’t think I was a soldier.”

“Well, you can’t be sure of anything yet.” Simon put the book away, revealing the algebraic tract beneath. “Now, this problem—”

“I heard you call those soldiers ‘enemies’.” Stead stayed his hand and flicked back the page to a man wearing uniform and armor that almost—almost, but not quite—paralleled the equipment of Archon’s soldiers. “What makes this man an enemy?”

“But he’s a soldier of the Federation of Trychos!” Delia was astonished. “Of course, you’ve forgotten everything. You could not be from Trychos; we know them too well. We’ve fought six great wars with them and still they raid, stealing our women, stealing our food and raw materials. Why should we not call them enemies!”

Solemnly, Simon nodded. “The same facts apply to all outsiders. Only the Empire of Archon, our empire, has stayed the barbaric hordes. We fight in a noble cause, but these others are power mad.”

Stead took all this in with a growing feeling that if he had to lose his memory then he had been profoundly, gloriously fortunate to be found by men of Archon. “Suppose,” he said on a breath, staring up at Simon, “suppose I’d been found by some Foragers out of Trychos!”

“Don’t fret over it, Stead,” Delia said. “You weren’t.”

“One thing you must remember, Stead,” amplified Simon. “You do not, as far as we know, come from Archon. Certain items were found with you which you will be shown when the time is ready. But you must have come from somewhere.”

“I’m glad I did!” said Stead fervently. “How thankful I am that I’m now in Archon!”

Simon stood up and walked a little way towards the bookshelves. Then he turned to stare back at Stead.

“The Captain has asked to see you, Stead, as soon as you can converse coherently. I think that time has come.”

“The Captain?” Stead felt once again the rushing sense of fresh discoveries opening up, the heady sense of there being worlds of learning behind each new opening door. Life promised so much; there was so much to grasp and understand. “The Captain? Who is he?”

“The Captain is the chief man of the Empire of Archon. It is he who rules and directs—who Controls. There is a hereditary Crew who have only the well-being of Archon at heart. You see, Stead, Archon is the only true civilization on Earth. Our Captain and our Crew are the only true leaders. Try-chos and the other Empires and Federations own their own Captains and Crews, but they are shams, frauds, mere ordinary men built up with their own importance and counterfeit titles. In Archon resides the only truth! We are the depository of the ancient truths!”

“That is so,” Delia nodded solemnly. “For our Astroman is the true lineal descendant of the first Astroman in the Beginning. Through him Archon keeps alive the lights of the eternal truths.”

“When do I meet the Captain?”

“In a few days. But first you must learn a great deal more of life.”

“Teach me everything you can,” said Stead fervently. “I wish to know everything!”

The education of Stead went on smoothly. He learned that the Earth had been born from the condensation of tears from an immortal being weeping for the sins of mankind to come. The animals of the land had grown from a tiny scrap of immortal tissue falling among the thickening tears and slowly, as the Earth assumed its present shape of great buildings scattered over the face of the land, constructed in a single night of immortal compassion, they had diversified and adapted into their present innumerable forms.

“And man?” Stead had asked.

“Man was placed on the buildings of Earth by the immortal being in a spirit of contrition. He differs physiologically and mentally from all animals. In the beginning a Garden was brought to the Earth containing the Captain and his Crew. But the Captain’s children’s children quarreled and the light of the immortal being was withdrawn from them and a hideous night fell across the land. From that time the Empire of Archon has been trying to bring together the graceless children of the other nations, to bring them back into a state of grace, to unify with Archon because that is the only path by which the favor of the immortal being may once again be assured.”

“These things are very deep,” said Stead. He frowned. “But if only the Captain and his Crew came in the Garden to Earth, where have all the other people come from?”

Delia glanced at Simon and took a breath.

Simon said, “That you will learn in due course, Stead. The facts of Life and Death will be told you when… when you are ready for them.”

“But I want to know now!”

“When you are ready.”

“Life and Death, just what are they?”

“One thing I must impress upon you most firmly,” Simon said with a new gravity which impressed the stranger, “is that humanity, mankind, all human beings—even the benighted heretics of other nations—are superior beings. We did not evolve from any higher type of animal—simple comparative anatomy will show that—and we are as a consequence the highest form of life on Earth.”

“Cats,” prompted Delia simply. “Cats and dogs.”

“But they are a special case.” Simon rubbed his chin. “Even our most eminent philosophers do not entirely agree. As there is evolution so there must be atavism. Cats and dogs, like men, have four limbs. It could be that some unfortunate human beings degenerated into cats and dogs. I tend to doubt the idea that these animals, charming and friendly though they be, are men in the making.”

“The best we can say is that the immortal being created them alongside man to be his helpmates and companions,” Delia said with a sincerity that wanned Stead. This girl used her brains and Stead very much wanted to use his. He was thirsty for knowledge.

’The basic fact to remember,” Simon went on, reverting to his original theme, “is that mankind is unique. We are the guardians and controllers of the world, set down here on Earth by the immortal being—we scientists seldom use the word God these days—in order to fulfill our destiny.” He looked unhappy. “I, personally, deplore our schisms. No one any longer can say with utmost clarity what that mission is. The Captain professes to know and he is the custodian, but scientific thought, in which the Captain stands at the forefront, declines now to accept as absolute the values of the old teachings.”

“What it amounts to in your education,” Delia said, “is that mankind is in a Demonized mess. New ideas are beginning to challenge what we have accepted for decades. But through it all every man, woman, and child remains firmly convinced, knows, that their destiny on this planet is secure. We were sent here for a purpose, however mystical that may sound, and by striving that purpose will be found.”

Simon chuckled, and slapped Stead on the back. “Cheer up, lad. We’re in a muddle but we’ll fight our way through. Now, you’re going on a tour of the country and, so you won’t get into any mischief, young Lieutenant Cargill will go along.”

Lieutenant Cargill turned out to be nearly as tall as Stead, barrel-bodied, fresh and scrubbed and eager, with the lines of habitual command already forming around his eyes and mouth, a young dedicated soldier ready to lose his life for Archon.

Stead had no suspicion that Cargill was there for any other purpose than the one stated by Simon; Stead was in many things a baby. Stead accepted Cargill uncritically; more, he tended to admire, and revere him for the work he did.

Just before he and Cargill, together with Delia, set out from Simon’s laboratory, the old scientist called Cargill to one side. Standing uncomfortably close to Delia, Stead watched Cargill with all his attention, saw the soldier in earnest conversation with Simon. What they said he couldn’t hear, but Cargill shot a quick, surprised look at him, a look of baffled wonder and amusement, a pitying look. Simon clutched the young officer’s sleeve—he was not wearing armor—and spoke with a passionate sincerity.

Cargill’s reply was loud enough for Stead to hear.

“You mean he really doesn’t know about that? But, by the Demons, this is rich! Wait until Delia—” He lowered Ins voice.

And then Delia herself, richly imperious, spoke over the soldier’s careless words, in her turn catching Stead’s sleeve. “Come on, Stead. There’s a lot of country to cover. Lieutenant Cargill! Are you ready?”

“I shall be with you, immediately, Delia.” And Cargill, after a last throaty chuckle with Simon, joined the party for the country.

Very little time elapsed before Cargill showed that he regarded this task in the primary light of the freedom it gave him and the chance offered to better his acquaintance with the glorious Delia. Stead, walking along in front like a little boy out for a treat, couldn’t understand why Cargill was acting as he was—puffing out his chest as he talked, rolling his eyes, continually looking long at Delia—and all with an expression indicating he had eaten something that did not agree with him.

Stead said, “Don’t you feel well, Cargill?”

“I am perfectly all right, thank you.”

And Delia laughed and took Stead’s arm, to his intense discomfort, and walking on ahead, left the soldier to stare after them and fume, then sprint to catch up, sword jangling.

The country through which Stead was conducted that day differed considerably in detail from that he was to see later but in general the outlines were the same. The warrens, neatly subdivided into class sections where people lived, lay concentrated around a number of axial corridors. Once you left the control points with their blue lights, you stepped outside the normal world of electric lights and busy people, of commerce and factory production and all the civilized pursuits.

At first there was a long sloping ramp of concrete, broken away at the edges, surrounded on all sides by plaster walls.

At the side of the twenty-foot rampway, a number of excessively thick and clumsy wires ran in long rolling loops. “What are those?”

“Electric cables,” Delia said at once, before Cargill could open his mouth. “They are part of the construction made by the immortal being for the Outside. We tap them for our own power when necessary, but the Regulations expressly forbid too great a drawing-off of current.”

“Oh,” said Stead. He walked on in the light of their three headlamps. He’d heard a lot about these Regulations. But no one seemed ever to have read them; they merely were, handed on by word of mouth.

“We’re not going far today,” Cargill told them tartly. He walked now at Delia’s other side and he seemed to want to keep touching her at the slightest obstacle in their way. When Stead leaped lightly down a six-foot break in the paving, where far below he glimpsed a curious silver reflection, he saw Cargill holding up his arms to Delia, above.

“Jump, Delia,” said Cargill. “I’ll catch you.”

Delia jumped, but she jumped easily and lithely to avoid the soldier. He moved swiftly sideways in the path of her descent; they crashed together breast to breast and his arms went about her. He laughed in a curious, high-pitched way that irritated Stead.

“You oaf!” blazed Delia, stumbling sideways. Cargill’s Tiands were upon her, her body caught up to his.

“You nearly fell,” he said with that odd husk in his voice.

“I did not, and take your beastly hands off me!”

Cargill stepped back, reluctantly. His face flushed with color and he licked his lips. Delia brushed her long blue dress back into place, ignoring Cargill, took Stead’s arm, and said unsteadily, “We’d better get back.”

“Look, Delia,” Cargill’s voice held a note that Stead dimly realized was pleading, “I’m a soldier. You know that. And he doesn’t understand.”

“Of course he doesn’t!” blazed Delia. “You imbecile, you Demon-fodder. You deserve to be stepped on! He’s got to learn in the right way—when we say so—and not before! Now we’re going back. And I’m going—”

“No, please, Delia! Don’t report me! I couldn’t help it! By all the Demons, Delia, I’m crazy about you. I only—”

“Shut up!”

The words cracked from Delia like the lash of a whip.

Stead looked on dumbly, not understanding, sensing mysteries glowing with awful secrecy and wanting more than anything on the Earth to know.

Delia’s face had tautened, her mouth expressed her complete disdain for this oafish soldier; she swung Stead violently away. “We’ll have to go around the other way to avoid that gap,” she said coldly. “All right, Cargill.”

Cargill was not listening. He was staring along the beam of his headlamp, staring into the far darkness of the concrete roadway. His gun slithered from the holster in a metallic sigh.

“Keep quiet,” he said in a soft, controlled voice.

Delia looked; her hands flew to her face and their pressure stifled the scream her nerves could not suppress.

Stead looked. His body suddenly crawled with revulsion. He did not know at what he stared with such horror; he had never seen anything like it in his limited new experience. The thing was perhaps twice the size of a man, but bulky, with a multitude of legs stemming from its middle. The head, small and furry with two long horny projections forming a beak, stared at them unblinkingly from four small, hooded eyes. He felt a great sickness in his stomach. Car-gill’s gun came up as the horrific monster charged.