Into the Sea of Stars

Chapter 6

Colonial Unit: 27

First Completion date: 2031

Primary Function: Friends of the Light Colony. Anglo- American Peace Activist Group. In response to the growing concern over the second Kwajlein incident, this was the first of the "peace experiment" units that led the way for over one hundred Utopian concept colonies.

Evacuation Date: According to Copernicus Base Record, June 6, 2086; however, Mars Base Hatley claims unit left nearly nine months later. Beaulieu believes Mars Base confused this with the "Second Friends of the Light Colony."

Overall Design: Standard Cylinder, first generation, 1200 meters by 300 meters.

Propulsion: Standard Modification Design, strap-on ion packs mounted to nonrotational central shaft.

Course: Galactic Core.

Political/Social Orientation: Unit 27 was the first of the "Utopian" experiments modeled after the early-nineteenth-century Utopian movement; as such was the leading model of what would become a significant per centage of the twenty-first-century colonies. This unit attempted to model its government after consensus, with the guiding principle that a total concensus would be needed for any action. Therefore, a single dissenter could resist or stop an entire process. Second, violence of any kind was abhorred. Third, silent meditation was often the path to understanding.

The detection alarm did not cause the same thrill of fright that the first one had created, but the fact that it awoke him from a deep sleep caused Ian to flop around in confusion for several minutes until his glasses were in place and he was dressed sufficiently to appear in public.

The rest of the crew was already gathered around Stasz, with Ellen hanging very close to his shoulder. She had thrown on a light nightgown that clung tightly to her more than ample frame. Richard had already noticed that she was pressing her breasts into Stasz's arm and he gave Ian a sly nudge. Of course, they both knew what was coming, and settled back, anticipating her explosion with as much pleasure as they did the data racing across the monitors and spewing from the hard-copy displays.

As usual Shelley was in the seat next to Stasz, and she started interpreting the data while Stasz busied himself with ship commands.

"It's on a near-parallel course," Shelley muttered. "Relative ship trajectory R.A. twenty-one hours, forty-three minutes; declination five degrees north, range es timate one light-year, more or less."

"Good lord, Stasz," Richard exclaimed in surprise, "how the hell could we detect that?"

"Their automatic beacon," Ian replied. "The last one was out because the beacon had been hit in the strike.

This one is still functioning. It's nothing more than a signal burst and our ship's computer picked it up."

"Ann, Dr. Lacklin, my printout reads that this thing is definitely Earth origin. Shall we go for it?"

"What the hell, that's what we're here for, Stasz." Ian shrugged and started to walk away.

Just before he closed the cabin door a loud smack echoed through the room. With a start Ian looked back, as Stasz staggered away from Ellen.

"How dare you?" Ellen shrieked, her features flushing scarlet.

"Listen, lady," Stasz intoned with mock seriousness, "where I come from a woman who presses up against a man who has been deep spaced for three months is ob viously asking for some support. So I figured my free hand could provide that support."

Ian held the door open as Ellen glided out of the room in a royal huff. The moment Richard caught his eye they both broke out into rolling peals of laughter. Ian decided it was time for the cracking of another bottle.

"This looks like two in a row," Ellen said, her comment reflecting the dread they all felt as they surveyed what most likely was a dead colony.

The unit was less than a thousand meters away, turning slowly, outlined in sharp relief by the starlight and Discovery's spotlights.

"I'm picking up a hot reactor," Stasz said hopefully. "Trace emissions. Their power supply is still good."

Stasz jockeyed them around the cylinder for a closer examination. There was no direct view into the unit since the colony was coated with heavy shielding in order to cut down the radiation exposure for the inhabitants. Ex ternal light was admitted to the colony by a complex series of mirrors, and Stasz maneuvered toward one with the hope of getting a reflected view of the inside.

"There, in that mirror!" Shelley cried. "Look at the one to the right of the main antenna, do you see it?"

"If we're seeing light," Ian replied, "at least we know their power grid is still up."

In a vain attempt to appear calm, Ian had started a third read through of the Thermomine Manual. But the possibility of life aboard the ship was too much for him. Returning the manual to his back pocket, he started to pore through the hardcopy charts, quickly looking back at the cylinder for reference.

"The docking ports are on either end of the cylinder, Stasz. Shall we move in?"

Stasz started to maneuver in for final approach.

"Who's going?" Ian asked quietly.

Shelley turned expectantly and he gave her the nod. He looked at Ellen, half expecting her to back away after the last experience, but to his surprise she mumbled a brief reply about earning her keep. The two women pushed off and floated back to the suit room and docking port.

Richard looked at Ian with a bleary gaze. He had yet to recover from last watch's feast. Ian suspected that he didn't look much better.

"Why don't you stay here with Stasz, as backup?"

"Most gentlemanly of you, my dear professor." He winked at Ian and glided up to Shelley's vacated chair.

Ian pushed off for the open hatchway. As he cleared the doorway he heard a muffled comment and, looking back, saw Richard pass his flask to Stasz.

"For God sake, we're going out to risk our asses and you're soaking it up in here."

Stasz gave a quick smile to Ian, took a pull on the straw, and floated the flask back to its owner.

"Steadies me nerves, it does," he said with an absurd brogue.

"If you need to go in there and get us out," Ian shouted indignantly, "I don't want a couple of drunks responsible for saving my life."

"I'm insulted, my overly righteous friend," Richard replied. "This doesn't sound like the comrade of my hap pier youth. Why, you're becoming too official, Ian Lack- lin."

With a miffed expression Richard turned away to gaze out at the docking bay, which was lining up in the center of the viewport.

"Idiots," Ian muttered, and continued aft to join the women.

"Port seals secured, Ian. You can open it up at your discretion."

"Right. Stasz, stand by if we need any help." He tried to detect any sign of drunkenness in the pilot's voice, but so far nothing.

Ian looked back at Ellen and Shelley. "Ready?"

They floated side by side at the back end of the cham ber. Shelley, of course, could barely contain her eager ness. Hell, maybe he should let her pop the door while he hid back there with Ellen. He was almost tempted to do it, but what little male chauvinism he possessed forced him to lead the way.

"You both have the specs on this unit. Given its found ing philosophy, if anyone is alive, we should find some interesting results."

They nodded silently, and he knew that a nightmare image was hovering in Ellen's mind. It floated in his consciousness, as well.

Ian punched up the control panel command and the airlock hatch slid back, revealing the colony's door on the other side. It was lightly pitted by micrometeor im pacts, but the old Anglo-American writing and instructions were still clearly visible. He double-checked the procedure, took hold of the handles, and braced his feet in the magnetic footholds that Stasz had installed. With one sharp pull, the doorway silently opened and a whoosh of air whistled past him. Instinctively he closed his eyes and braced for another nightmare. Nothing touched him; finally he opened his eyes and looked around.

The vessel's airlock chamber was empty. Pushing off, Ian and the two women drifted into the narrow room. Ellen turned and fumbled with the hatch mechanism, se curing the vessel from the outside.

She gave Ian the go-ahead. Talcing a deep breath, he popped the next door, which opened onto the main dock ing chamber. The room was dimly lit by translucent panels, and a quick scan told him that the chamber had not been maintained or entered in years.

The vast majority of light panels were dark, and all were covered with a thin coating of dust.

"Must be running on automatic," Shelley whispered.

"If my Old English spelling is good," Ellen interrupted, "I believe that sign over there points us to the main cham ber."

Following Ellen's lead, they soon faced a large circular doorway at the end of the corridor.

"This is the end of the nonrotational shaft," Ian said, "assuming, of course, that the blueprints are correct. We clear this door and then enter the main rotating cylinder. Be careful as you go through, you'll be a hundred and fifty meters up from the floor. If you push off too rapidly, you'll float out into the center and it will be a pain to get you back. Just grab hold of the handrails and start to pull yourself down. Watch how I do it."

"Tell me, Dr. Lacklin," Ellen interjected with a playful touch of malice, "how much experience have you had doing this sort of thing?"

"None," he whispered, trying to cover the rush of fear.

He pulled the door release, and as it started to slide open, he felt a moment of panic. But the hatch slid quietly back and there was a barely perceptible rush of air as the pressure equalized. Ian gulped and pushed out.

It was stunning; beyond his wildest imaginings… and he was terrified.

The cylinder stretched on for nearly a kilometer, ver dant with lush semitropical growth. Broad bands of green alternated with narrow fields of black, through which the reflected images of the stars shone in blazing intensity. Illumination came from the opposite end of the cylinder, where a battery of lights emitted a soft yellow glow that bathed the world in a gentle late-afternoon light. He looked down as he drifted out the doorway and a squeal of terror burst from his lips. He had the sensation of falling and the wild vertigo turned his stomach upside down. The network of handhold cables were all around him and in desperation he snagged hold of one and hung on for dear life.

Laughing, Shelley came up and grabbed hold alongside of him.

"Do as you do, Dr. Lacklin," Shelley said teasingly, and she pushed herself off the handhold and drifted over to the stairs that spiraled down along the cylinder wall. He started to follow her.

Within the first fifty feet he started to detect a faint sense of gravity, but Shelley still continued in a head-down direction, as if diving toward the ground.

"Not too fast, Shelley," Ian called, as if advising an overzealous child, "it can be deceiving. Gravity will pick up significantly the farther we are from the center of ro tation."

He looked straight up and noticed that Ellen was com ing down feet first, still holding on to the handrailings. He liked the fact that she was frightened; somehow it made his own fear more palatable.

They passed the fifty-meter marker and now even Shel ley was feet down and using the steps. She was taking ten steps at a bound, but at least she was slowing down.

"Ian, look at that."

Ellen had stopped at the fifty-meter observation plat form. He suddenly realized that she had followed the right course of action. They all should have observed the sit uation carefully before barging down to the cylinder floor.

"What is it?"

"First off, none of the structures down there seems occupied, they're all overgrown. Second, I've yet to see a person. But third, look up overhead and about halfway down the cylinder."

Ian leaned his head back and gazed up to where she was pointing. It was a shock to see the greenness directly above them, where a lifetime of conditioning had taught him that the sky should be located. He scanned the distant floor for several minutes before finally locating what she had pointed out.

"It looks like smoke."

"Shelley, hold it up for a minute." He looked down and saw that she was continuing on.

"Shelley!"

She stopped, looked back up, and tapped the side of her helmet to signal there was something wrong with her transceiver. Ian gestured for her to hold, but she turned and kept on going.

"She's full of crap," Ellen muttered.

"I know. Call it youthfulness. Something that you and I, my dear Ellen, have started to leave behind."

"Maybe you, Doctor."

"All right, Ellen, all right, let's not get into an argu ment."

He fell silent and looked out over the expanse of green that had run riot through the ship. His gaze drifted back up toward the smoke. Was it smoke or condensation venting from a broken pipe? And where were the people? The system was still running, almost the entire ship could be programmed to go on automatic, but certain routine repairs definitely required human intervention.

"Shall we go back up the other way and investigate the smoke?" Ellen ventured.

"Seems a logical place to start."

He looked over the railing for Shelley, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Say, look, Shelley," Ian started, " don't give me that crap about a bad radio. If we get back into the ship and I discover it to be working, I'm going to kick your butt."

He stopped for a moment. An image of Shelley's back side flashed in his mind and suddenly, for the first time, it was an appealing backside. Naw, must be the isolation of three months out, Ian thought.

"Shelley!"

His voice was suddenly cut off by a loud, piercing scream.

"Ian!"

"Shelley, what the hell is going on! "

"Ian!"

"Shelley. Shelley, what the hell?"

There was no response.

"Ian, down there to the left." Ellen was pointing into the heavy growth, and Ian saw the canopy of brush mov ing as if something were passing underneath it.

"Ian, this is Stasz. What the hell is going on? That girl of yours nearly busted my eardrums."

"I don't know, I just don't know…" His voice tapered off. This is what he had feared from the start. The re sponsibility so far had been merely to point out a direction or, at worst, to mediate fights between the team members. But in his deepest fears he had dreaded this moment. Someone was in jeopardy and he had to decide. Worse. He had to got into what was obviously a dangerous sit uation.

He stood frozen by the railing watching the overgrowth ripple toward the middle of the cylinder. He wished more than anything to be absolved, to suddenly disappear back to his little cubbyhole in the stern of the Discovery where he could hide away with his books and forget.

"Ian!" Several voices called at once, all cutting in, demanding. Vaguely he looked at Ellen and saw her mouth moving behind her faceplate, shouting at him in exasper ation.

"Ian, we're coming over," Stasz said. A grunt of assertion surfaced from Richard.

The words started to form in his throat: "Yes, come over and find her, I'm going back to the ship." But that's not what came out.

"Stay there, by the time you suit up they'll be gone. Ellen, go back for a stun gun, I'll try to follow."

He pushed off from the platform, descending the steps in long lazy bounds with each jump landing slightly harder than the one before. He had to be careful not to push off too enthusiastically, otherwise it would be one long jump to the bottom, with an impact at killing velocity. He sud denly remembered some of the cheap space thrillers he had witnessed on the videos, where strange radiation- laden mutants preyed on extraordinarily buxom young nubiles. He actually chuckled at the thought. Shelley was flat- chested, acned, skinny, and bespectacled-he had never seen a monster eat anyone like that before.

What the hell was he laughing at? Maybe that crap was true after all. Ian reached the bottom of the stairs and was confronted by a wild tangle of growth. A virtual jungle canopied the living units and turned the designed green- spaces into nearly impenetrable wildernesses. Ian rec ognized the plant as a variation of the kudzo, which still flourished in the south and had been used aboard the colonies as a quick-growing greenery and food source.

He soon found a number of broken branches, then another broken branch, ten feet farther on. There ap peared to be a tunnel. He surveyed it cautiously for sev eral long minutes, and even as he looked at it, he suddenly realized that the cylinder was getting darker.

"Ellen, are you still up there?"

"No, I'm back in the ship getting the stun gun. Stasz will be coming back with me."

"The lights are shutting down." He felt a chill. His mind raced over the fact and then the obvious answer came to him. Even here, a thousand years out, the old custom of day and night remained. The unit's artificial sun was shutting down. Well, if he was going to find Shel ley, he had to push on.

Taking a deep breath, he started into the tunnel. "I'm entering a tunnel about fifty feet from the base of the stairs. It seems to run along a walkway now overgrown, you'll see the broken branches."

He broke into a slow run, but within a hundred yards he had overtaxed the cooling system of his suit and his own body.

Hell, why am I wearing his pressure cooker? Those plants are oxygen producers, I should crack the helmet.

But the old Ian was still very much alive-he kept the helmet on while contemplating the toxic trace elements that could have filtered into the closed environment.

After several more minutes the twilight seemed to darken appreciably, and against his better judgment Ian turned on his helmet light to follow the trail. He knew that it was a clear beacon of warning, but he wasn't up to crawling through the dark.

He passed a spidery walk that gently arched over a complex of glass-walled buildings, all of them covered by the everpresent kudzo. He estimated that he was nearing the center of the cylinder.

He stopped for a moment to look back through a break in the canopy of foliage. The far cylinder wall was visible, and he saw twin specks of light suddenly appear against it.

"Ellen? Stasz? I think I can see you."

"Ian, where are you?"

"About halfway into the cylinder."

"I'm facing you right now, you should be able to see my helmet light."

From atop their high perch, Stasz suddenly saw the flicker of light, a long way off.

"I think I see you, Ian. Say, Ian, I see something else. It looks like a fire, can't be more than a couple of hundred meters beyond you."

There was no response.

"Ian. Ian?"

He looked at Ellen.

"His light just disappeared," Ellen whispered.

"Oh, shit."

"Holy shit," Ian whispered.

The club was poised alongside his head. The semiclad woman holding it had already convinced him of the need to remove his helmet by her vigorous hand motions and waves of the knotted cudgel. He took a deep breath of the clean-smelling air. Why the hell had he kept that damn helmet on anyhow?

"What do you say?" the woman asked softly, and as she spoke several of her companions came out of the shadows.

Ian sifted through her speech pattern. It seemed to be based on Old English, to be sure, actually Old American, to be more precise. As his mind searched for the right words, his thoughts calmed down. He was engaged in an academic problem and when lost to such efforts, all else was forgotten.

" Oly hit?" the woman asked questioningly.

"No, holy shit," Ian repeated slowly.

"Shit is not holy, only the light is holy; you must be crazy." The others around her chuckled.

"Yeah, I think I am for even being here," Ian replied.

"What you say?"

"Never mind."

"Are you of the Dissenters?" a lanky, graying man asked, stepping from out of the. shadows.

"What the hell are Dissenters?" Ian replied.

"He must be crazy," a heavy set man next to the graying one interjected.

"You dressed like that loud-mouthed girl. She of your circle?" the woman asked.

"Yeah, ahh, yeah, the girl, she's of my circle."

"Tell me, friend, do you accept the concept that individual meditation must occur within a collective body?" the gray one asked. "Or do you accept the right of dissent from the collective?"

Think quick, Ian, he thought frantically. However, he instinctively realized that twenty years of academic com bat and bullshitting had put him in good stead. Ian noticed how the graying one said dissent with a note of venom. He also realized that the gray man held a very big club.

"What say you, friend?" the heavyset one asked softly, and he slowly hefted his club.

"Of course, what other way is there?" Ian blurted. "The individual must always be a part within the collective body." He prayed that he got his words correct; most of the Old American was familiar, but occasional colloqui alism and, of course, the slang could be deadly. Especially now, so he tried to speak with rigid preciseness.

He could sense them relaxing.

"Come, friend, and sit with us in the circle of understanding." The woman beckoned for him to follow.

She looked at him with a soft glow, and he suddenly realized how attractive she was in a wild, primitive way. She was almost completely naked except for a brief loincloth that barely covered her broad, inviting hips. He couldn't help but admire her full, rounded breasts, which were partially concealed by her flowing red hair. She no ticed his stare and smiled back at him with a seductive gaze. For the moment thoughts of rescue drifted away.

Primitives, he thought, looking for all the world like Neolithic tribesmen or something out of Eden. Yes, it could be Eden: the lush growth, the warm semitropical air, and now that the helmet was off, the sounds of birds and night creatures stirring around him.

Following the lead of the woman, they pushed their way into a small clearing, illuminated by a roaring blaze. Several dozen figures sat around the crackling flame, and one of them was Shelley.

He couldn't help but look at the redhead, even as he tried to get his thoughts under control. Shelley turned as one of the people by the fire pointed at the new arrivals.

"Shelley, everything, all right?"

"Ian? Well, if it isn't Dr. Lacklin, who's finally come to rescue me."

Was she mocking him, or was there a slight tone of relief in her voice?

Ian stepped into the circle of light and, gazing around, saw that dozens more had gathered around in curiosity.

He drifted over to Shelley's side, smiling broadly and nervously all the while, noticing that they smiled back just as broadly. Good lord, why are they smiling like such damn fools at a total stranger?

"Dinner." Someone was poking him in the back.

He turned with a yelp and was confronted by an old man bent over with age.

"Dinner," the man said again.

Good lord, was that why they were smiling? They were going to have them for dinner.

"Shelley!"

" It's okay, Ian, the food's not bad. Some sort of veg etarian mix, that's all."

He finally understood and broke into a nervous grin. "Thank you, ahh, friend."

A number of people around the circle mumbled their approval at his comment.

He drew closer to Shelley and sat down by her side. "What happened?"

"Most likely, same as you. They jumped me, but once I took the helmet off, they calmed down. Something about dissenters and I assured them I was nothing of the sort, and after that everything was fine. They brought me back here, fed me some broth, then you came in."

The old man brought over a wooden plate filled with a thick white soup. Ian took a hesitant sip, remembering all of his anthropological studies about primitive societies and eating rituals. The woman he admired earlier stepped out of the crowd and sat by his side.

"You from Earth, or another colony?"

This was a surprise. He expected some mumbo jumbo about gods from other worlds, or some similar nonsense.

"Earth. How did you guess that?"

"We're not stupid. You obviously aren't from here, at least not dressed like that."

"But how do you know about Earth? Did your elders teach you or-"

"Come now," she admonished, and lightly touched him on the arm, a move that Shelley could not fail to notice. "We do not understand everything, but some of the teach ing computers and their programs still work. When we're young we use them."

"If you can do that, then why do you?… "

"You mean, live like primitives. Why not? Maybe you should ask yourself that."

"Yes, friend," another woman interjected, "why not live like primitives?"

"But how do you keep your system running?"

"Most of it was automated by our forefathers. All we have to do is routine maintenance, which is simple."

"Which frees us of the slavery of complexity, so that we can return to simplicity and light," another one said, and a chorus of voices murmured in the affirmative. Ian looked up and noticed that several hundred people had gathered around the roaring fire.

"They're just getting started," Shelley whispered.

"When we foreswear complexity, then all is balanced," a young man said from the back of the crowd. "Then and only then is true simplicity obtained."

This is crazy, Ian thought, what are we getting into, first-year philosophy?

"But the order of your world is built on complexity," Ian tried cautiously.

"But we have purified it back to the basics," another replied.

"However, you live in one of the most complex ma chines ever designed by man. Once you accept that first step toward complexity, there is no going back."

"But we have," several replied eagerly.

"As I said," Shelley whispered, "don't even try."

"But this is a machine you live in, not Eden," Ian replied, "and a machine requires technical skills. Just sup pose something really serious should go wrong."

"Nothing has, and nothing will," the redhead replied. "We have everything under control, as long as we follow the simplicity of collective meditation and consensus."

"Tell me more about the dissenters," Shelley asked, wishing to extract Ian from a potentially dangerous de bate. Ian, however, shot her a quick look of reproach. These people obviously got excited, a little too excited, about the dissenters. He still wasn't sure if he and Shelley were guests or prisoners, and until he knew more, he wanted to keep them smiling.

"They are the ones who fell," the gray-bearded elder replied.

"How so?" Shelley continued.

"Can't you yourself see their folly?"

Oh, no, Ian thought, step carefully.

"Look out! Incoming!"

A wild explosion of confusion erupted. The people scattered in every direction, screaming in terror. For a second Ian thought Shelley had triggered something and they were now going to be ripped apart. Then he noticed the colonists were all running away, and he wondered if he and Shelley had broken some taboo, which caused them to flee.

A roaring, whishing noise thundered overhead.

"What the hell!" Ian felt something brush past his shoulder and for an instant thought Shelley was pressing up against him.

"Ian?"

"Yeah." He turned to look at her. But his view was now blocked. A huge arrow, nearly a dozen feet in length and as thick around as his thigh, was buried in the ground between them. The pressure on his shoulder came from the still-quivering bolt.

The locals looked at him in open-mouthed amazement. He tried a wan smile of bravado, wishing for a quick line. Ian looked back at the arrow, its heavy point buried only inches away from his foot. His eyes rolled up and he fainted dead away.

He heard a roaring sound, as if he were trapped in a waterfall. The shouting was all around him, and the individual voices soon came clear.

"Those sons of bitches!"

There was a wild frenzy of activity. Shelley had dragged him off to one side of the circle.

"Another incoming!"

The crowd scattered and this time he noticed that most of them disappeared into the vine-covered buildings that surrounded the clearing. He saw the bolt streaking in, following a strange curving trajectory. The arrow slammed against the side of a building and shattered.

"Bastards, ass-kissing Dissenters." The crowd poured out of the buildings, chanting.

"Bastards, bastards, bastards." The air around them pulsed with a rippling energy. From out of the shadows an object out of ancient history was dragged by an enthusiast mob.

"Double torsion ballista," Ian murmured. The urge of the historian was too much. He crawled out from under the protection of the building and went over and joined the shouting mob.

He walked up close to the machine. It was the real thing, and he felt a rippling thrill. The twin bundles of rope that powered it were made of human hair, while the bowstring appeared to be made of steel cable. Half a dozen young women carried up a ten-foot arrow and the crowd roared with pleasure at the sight.

The machine was cocked by hand-powered windlasses then tilted back so that it pointed halfway up to vertical.

What the hell? Ian stepped back. Why were they shoot ing an arrow straight up?

The crowd suddenly fell silent, and suddenly he heard a soft echoing chant.

"Assholes, assholes, assholes."

He looked around wondering where the distant chant ing came from, until Shelley touched his shoulder and pointed straight up.

"Look."

Ian tilted his head back and then he suddenly remem bered. They had seen another fire on the opposite side of the cylinder. Directly overhead and three hundred meters away was the other side, and a flickering fire illuminated the sky above them in a soft ruddy glow.

Ian sidled up alongside the redhead. He gulped as he came closer. The exertion and excitement had covered her body with a sheen of sweat, and her eyes were wild with excitement that had a most definite sexual aura to it.

He collected his thoughts and pointed straight up. "Dis senters?"

She nodded her head vigorously.

The graybeard took up position alongside the catapult, which was now loaded, and grabbed hold of the trigger.

"We are the truth," he intoned. "Therefore in the name of the truth and the light we are absolved of this action. It is not my hand that triggers this, it is the result of our consensus, therefore I am not responsible, for the con sensus makes me do it. But it is moral nevertheless, since we are right."

"We are right and they are wrong," the crowd roared.

"Fuck you" came a distant reply.

The elder yanked the trigger.

The catapult snapped with a thunderous crack. The arrow leaped away into the dark.

Ian was amazed. "Say, I thought I read somewhere that you were founded by believers in peace?"

"But we are followers of peace."

"That looks like a weapon of war to me."

"No, it's not, it's random luck. We don't aim it at anyone, if they get hit it's the will of a higher power. We believe in peace more than they do, and we are right, therefore our protest against them is for the higher cause of peace."

He tried to follow the logic but gave up.

"It's going to be a long night," the redhead whispered, drawing closer, and her hand lightly touched his side.

"But it looks like you people are having a war here," Ian said weakly. "How can we? I mean, aren't they going to come down and attack…?"

"No, that would be violence. They stay on their side, we stay on ours, and we trade spears. What do you think, we're savages or something?"

She drew closer, her naked breasts brushing against his arm.

He didn't dare to answer.

As he stepped out of the building into the soft diffused light of day, Ian felt a sense of guilt. Shelley sat by the ashes of the fire, notepad in hand, punching in observa tions. He ambled over to her side feeling rather sheepish.

"So, tell me, are primitive mating customs all they're cracked up to be? Shelley told us what you were up to in there."

It was Ellen! He turned around and there on the op posite side of the square stood Stasz and Ellen. Ellen's expression was definitely not one of cheerful good morn ing.

The redhead came out of the shelter, raised her arms up over her head, and stretched with a supple feline grace. Ellen's expression reddened, and on Stasz's there was genuine admiration as he kept looking from the girl and back to Ian. She smiled a vague sort of hello in their direction, then wandered off into the overgrowth. Shelley didn't even look up but simply continued with her notes.

"I'm glad to see you were in good hands and safe," Ellen snarled. "We wandered over half this god damn botanical toilet looking for you. Then we get captured by those, what did they call themselves, 'true dissenters,' and then…"

"Watch what you say," Shelley snapped.

"Are you addressing me?" Ellen purred, getting ready to strike.

"I would suggest that if you are referring to our friends up there"-Shelley pointed vaguely toward the other side-"that you do so quietly. And for God's sake, don't call them true dissenters. Our friends around here get upset rather easily."

Ellen knew she couldn't argue with her, but Ian and Stasz could see that Shelley had insulted her by pointing out something she should have realized already.

As if in response, a faint drifting call echoed down from above. "Collectivist assholes!"

"Oh, no, here we go again." Ian groaned.

" Naw, they're too exhausted," Shelley replied. "It was a hell of a night."

"To be sure," Stasz said, his voice edged with jealousy as he looked back in the direction the redhead had taken.

A couple of men were still gathered around the cata pult, which was loaded, and Ian could see this would be the last shot of the fray, since everyone had gone off to sleep. The old graybeard, however, was still up and di recting the alignment of the siege engine.

"Gates, the old graybeard, is the leader. By the way, you might like to know that you spent the night with his daughter Ileia," Shelley said softly.

Ian looked at his feet and muttered a comment about observing local customs.

"Gates filled me in on some fascinating details," Shel ley continued, ignoring his embarrassment. "I've re corded them all, Dr. Lacklin, so that you may study them later, when you feel up to it."

Stasz snickered and turned away, while Ian tried to come up with a casual reply.

"Freethinker bastards!" It was Gates and one of his followers.

"Watch this," Shelley said.

The catapult hurled its shot, which arced up and away. It followed an arching path, due to the Coriolis effect created by the turning of the cylinder. In the daylight Ian now realized that the catapult was not aimed straight at the other campsite but a good sixty degrees off.

He watched the bolt climb in a curving path-at least it appeared that way. As it reached toward the relative apogee in the center, the bolt slowed, then with ever-increasing speed it started the long sloping glide back down.

"Pretty good accuracy," Shelley said, "considering the physics of shooting an arrow inside a turning cylinder."

Ian watched with admiration as the bolt streaked in and landed near the bull's-eyelike target created by the dissenters' campfire. There was a mild scurrying and he half imagined that he could see several people look up and shake their fists.

"You missed me" came the taunting cry from the other side.

"The forms these people are going to fill out will be fascinating," Ellen whispered.

Gates and his two assistants shook their fists at the other side, and calling it quits, they went into the nearest building to catch up on their sleep.

Ian looked around the cylinder, at least able to get a good chance to observe his environment without the pressure of looking for Shelley. Its scale was truly astounding, but what amazed Ian even more was the realization that this was a small unit of early design. There were colonial cylinders of the same general design that were fifty times as big in volume. He looked up again at the lovely sweep of green overgrowth that covered nearly everything. He wondered how the unit managed to allow so much of its carbon and nitrogen to be fixed in such a profusion of plants, but then from his own rough estimate the popu lation here must only be a few percentile points of the bearing capacity. So that great percentage no longer in existence must be a fair part of the liquid and other ma terials tied up in the unit. The thought suddenly struck him with chilling force. Back on Earth one could not easily grasp the total cyclic nature of life. He once had a prof who pointed out that, statistically speaking, the next glass of water you drank would be carrying in it a molecule from Caesar's body-and from Cleopatra's urine, one of his classmates had rudely interjected.

But here the system was closer. These people, Gates, Ileia, a good part of their very bodies were made up of the component chemicals that had formed their grandsires before the coming of the Holocaust.

As a historian the thought awed him. But there was a more overriding concern at the moment. He was simply exhausted.

"I'm heading back to the ship. If you people stay, I would suggest that you do so as a group. I'll send Richard down to take a look at these people."

"I take it we're staying for a while?" Shelley asked.

"Well, I guess that's what we've come sixty light-years for. We'll stay a week or so to gather the necessary data, document this place, then we'll push on."

"I want to get my surveys out," Ellen said excitedly. "This is going to be fascinating. I should get at least two or three publications out of this one."

"And I think I'll get something, as well," Stasz said eagerly, as he edged off to one side of the group and then turned to plunge into the overgrowth.

"I'm going back to sleep aboard ship. I don't want any of these people allowed aboard the vessel," Ian com manded. "If both sides met there, we would be the ones to suffer. So they stay out. I would suggest that we get Stasz to rig up a simple security surveillance system on the approaches to the air lock."

"I'll let him know when he gets back," Shelley said.

Ian turned and started back up the path. He gave a quick scan up, looking for incoming. Their catapult was visible but it was unattended.

"Get some rest, Dr. Lacklin," Shelley called. "You've had a hard night."

He looked back at Shelley. She had that straight, of ficial look about her, all professional.

"Ah, yeah, thanks, Shelley." He searched awkwardly for words, "Yes. You did a good job."

"I doubt if you did." Ellen sniffed.

"Ah, shut up," Ian grumbled, and he pushed off back to the ship.

"All secured for undocking," Stasz's voice crackled over the intercom.

Ian felt the gentle nudge of the ship as the maneuvering thrusters pushed them free and away.

He watched on the aft monitor as the bulk of the cyl inder dropped astern.

"I still think they're the craziest assholes I've ever laid eyes on," Richard said, resuming their conversation.

"Don't say assholes, Richard," Ellen replied, "I've heard that word shouted at least ten thousand times in the last two weeks."

"Okay, bastards."

"Richard!"

"I'm throttling up," Stasz said. A faint pulsing rumble echoed through the ship and the slight tug of gravity increased. Funny, he barely noticed the gravity changes anymore, and his stomach couldn't be in better shape.

"That's one group I'm glad to be rid of," Richard mut tered as he uncapped a beaker of gin and offered it around. Even Ellen took a quick snort and smiled her gratitude.

"So damned self-righteous, both of them," Shelley re plied. "I still can't figure out what split them up." She looked to Ellen, their sociologist who was always ready with a theory.

"I don't know, some doctrinal point about their wor ship service. I think the break came nearly a millennium ago. Fascinating how they ritualized their war. They never engaged in direct killing close up, they clearly defined their boundaries and observed them, and I found at least one record in their computer that indicated they had co operated when the vessel was holed. They even coop erated in their birth reductions and contraceptives to maintain the low population. But Lord, did they get into symbolic warfare."

"It sure as hell didn't look symbolic to me," Richard replied. "Thank heavens those crazies didn't have a cou ple of small thermonukes; they'd have wiped each other out long ago. What do you think, Ian? Ian?"

Ian sat off to one side, his expression pale as he fumbled with his pockets. But the others barely noticed as Shelley jumped back into the conversation.

"But it was symbolic. It was their catharsis; they could vent their feelings and only occasionally would some un wary person get slammed."

"I still think they were damn fools," Richard muttered, and Shelley nodded her agreement. Ian noticed how she stared at him, and felt a sudden flush of embarrassment.

"I think I'll go forward and watch jump from Stasz's Co seat."

He fumbled through his pockets one more time, but he already knew that what he was looking for was somewhere back on the colony, most likely having fallen from his pocket while he had been "playing" with Ileia. He had mislaid the Thermomine Manual and chances were the inhabitants were already pouring through it. He could only hope the symbolic warfare would stay symbolic. He cursed himself soundly; here was yet another thing to feel guilt over, but there was no way he could tell his comrades about this screw up-Ellen would be all over him in a flash.

As Ian closed the door, Ellen was waxing enthusiastic over the data she had collected about controlled primitive societies and ritualized warfare. She had been so enthusiastic that Ian had half expected her to request that she could stay behind, and only a promise of a return visit on their way back home had finally convinced her to leave.

He was half tempted to stay there, as well; Ileia haunted his thoughts. But in a way he was glad that they had decided to pull out. At forty-two he just couldn't keep up with the demands of a healthy eighteen-year-old, no mat ter how much he would fantasize about her later.

The decision to leave had come as a mild surprise to everyone. They had settled in nicely, learned to dodge the spears, and in fact were even starting to view the war as a great game-as they freely drifted between the two sides, taking notes and observing. Gates had hooked him into the computer log. The records of their initial depar ture over a millennium ago were still intact-a historical find that would keep dozens of graduate assistants busy for years. There were even fragments of a library and Ian found hundreds of volumes and documents thought to be long lost.

Ian had holed up in there for a week, taking all meals, sleeping only when exhaustion had set in, and pushing off Ileia's advances. And he discovered two disturbing facts.

The first, that a large exile colony had been established for political refugees. He already knew that, and knew as well that it had been the final domain of Dr. Franklin Smith, a noted political dissident in the years just before the Holocaust. He had assumed that Smith's colony had been destroyed when the war started, since the records back home indicated for some vague reason that the unit had died.

It had not.

The records in Unit 27's main library indicated a sight ing of it some forty years after departure, but their trajectory was faster and Smith's unit had passed them without direct contact.

But it was the second fact that had caused Ian to pull up stakes and leave the peace movement colony behind. Ian had discovered the name of Smith's ship. Alpha/ Omega. A strange compulsion was forming in lan's mind. Even as the compulsion formed it frightened him, for it implied a danger he would rather not face. But for some reason beyond his understanding, he wanted to discover why a colony started by a hero out of the distant past would now engage in wholesale murder. What was it that the poet from Unit 181 was warning him against? To the surprise of everyone else, Ian had talked them back to the Discovery and then immediate departure.

He couldn't understand his own compulsion and tried to make believe that it was a simple intellectual exercise. Even as he pondered this fact, Ian reached the front cabin and swung into the seat alongside of Stasz.

"Proper trajectory set and locked in," Stasz said.

"We're ready."

"Remember those odds, Ian my friend. This jump could be the disintegration act."

Ian didn't reply. Logically they should head back to Earth, report their findings, and let someone else go out and look. But the way the bureaucracy ran, that could take years. And besides, he was starting to find the whole adventure compelling. Challenge was here. And mystery. His mind wandered around that thought even as Stasz pushed them through jump and the wave of distortion washed over him, plunging him into darkness.