Transit

TWENTY-SIX

There was nothing but darkness.

There was nothing but darkness and the awful, infinite splendour of stars.

He came to a sun; and the sun had given birth to planets. One of the planets was blue and white with clouds, green with oceans, red and yellow with islands.

‘This,’ said the voice, ‘is home. This is the garden. This is the world where you will live and grow and understand. This is where you will discover enough but not too much. This is where fife is. It is yours.’

The voice was gentle, but it came echoing down a draughty tunnel of centuries. Its sound was thunder; and the thunder shook his sleeping mind.

Christine swam towards him through the stars. And the stars became the leaves of an English autumn, brown and gold.

Christine whispered: ‘Wherever you are, whatever you do, my dear one, I am part of it. You have made of our love something new. You have made it bright. You have given it freedom…. She, now, is the one. So hold her, and hold us both….’

He wanted to speak, but there were no words. Christine, remote and beautiful, dissolved in the steep canyons of darkness, gently like a snowflake, like a dying point of light—

Avery stirred, opened his eyes, gazed in the half light at Barbara sleeping tranquilly by his side.

Dear Barbara, he thought, warm and wonderful Barbara. Not Christine. Not greater than Christine, not lesser. Strangely not even other than Christine. Simply the one to hold. A woman and Woman….

He touched her face. He felt the contours and marvelled at the living flesh. He knew that he would always want to look at her like this, as if for the first time.

Then he remembered the golden people and Zleetri. He remembered the battle and the dead man whom he finally had to carry away for burial He and Barbara were enriched somehow by the memory of shared dangers—and of a private sadness that could never wholly be shared.

He sat up carefully, not wishing to disturb her. She needed to rest, for there had been much to endure— there still would be much to endure—and inside her there was a tiny cellular miracle, quietly growing like a hidden fruit.

He sat up, sniffed the air luxuriously and gazed through the doorway of the tent at the briefly mysterious world of pre-dawn. There were hardly any signs now of yesterday’s battle. The wreckage of the old tents—and one of the trunks that had been badly burned—had already been cleared away. It was almost as if the conflict might never have been…. He got out of bed and stretched himself. Then he dressed and went outside.

The camp was what it always was—a small, known, untidy, familiar place of refuge. A home and a sanctuary. A magic circle, redolent of cooking and companionship, of living and loving.

No one else was about, and Avery moved quietly. Tom and Mary had had the hardest time of all. He hoped they would be able to rest now. They needed to rest for quite a while.

Avery stood on the small rock that was Camp Two and gazed at his private kingdom, the island and the sea. A red sun was beginning to climb over the edge of the world. The sky was still and clear. It was going to be a fine day Another day to fill with the incomprehensible privilege of being alive….

The sea was flat and softly silvered by the growing light. He gazed idly towards the water’s edge. Then rubbed his eyes and looked again.

It was there.

It was still there.

On the shore, not far from the water line, not far from the rock, stood a small pedestal. It supported a machine that looked something like a compact and incredibly neat typewriter. The paper was already fed into it from an endless roll.

Avery had seen such a machine before. In another time and place. In a dream. In a situation that was of a greater stature than dreams, yet dictated by the same unreasonable logic, and with the same vivid compulsions.

A great bubble of excitement grew inside him. A bubble of excitement and tension. He scrambled down the ladder. As he did so, the typewriter that was not a typewriter began to print out its message.

Do not be alarmed, it said. The experiment has reached a satisfactory conclusion. It would be of value, however, to have the observations of the subjects.

Avery relaxed a little. The machine had lost none of its inscrutability. He was surprised to find suddenly that he was filled not with resentment—not even with fear—but with amusement.

He put his hand towards the keys. This subject, he tapped out, is nonplussed.

The machine retaliated. Please amplify.

Nonplussed, responded Avery, means perplexed, bewildered, mystified. The subject has all that and heaven, too.

Please clarify.

Why should I? You hardly set a good example yourself…

Please clarify. It is important.

Avery was beginning to enjoy himself. Only living is important, he tapped out. That is the conclusion the subject has drawn as a result of the experiment.

There was a pause. Then the machine continued. Are you happy?

Yes.

Are you healthy?

Yes.

Do you regret the experiment?

It was Avery’s turn to pause. Finally, he typed No.

Do you wish now to return to your natural habitat?

Suddenly Avery thought about the others. He turned towards the rock. Barbara was already up. She had just at that moment come out of the tent, and stood staring at him incredulously.

‘Sweetheart, get the others,’ he called. ‘Uncle has suddenly come to life again. He wants to know how we’re all getting along…. And, Barbara, he wants to know if we’d like to go home.’

Barbara recovered herself remarkably quickly. ‘I’ll get Tom and Mary,’ she shouted. ‘Tell Uncle not to disappear for a while. There are a few things I’d like to say to that little joker.’

Avery tapped out: Hold your horses. Everybody wants to exercise their democratic rights.

Query: Which horses? Which democratic rights?

Avery was delighted by ‘Uncle’s’ evident confusion. The ones you might ride away on, and free speech for all.

Barbara was first down the ladder. She held it at the bottom while Mary helped Tom on to the top rung. Despite his heavy fall of the previous day, and apart from the fact that the wound in his back had bled a little, he was really recovering far better than anyone had expected. So was Mary. She still looked pale and tired, but that was all.

Tom came gingerly down the ladder and reached the bottom without mishap. Mary followed him.

With Barbara, they joined Avery and stood in front of the machine, marvelling.

‘We could always crown it with a large boulder,’ suggested Tom at length.

Avery grinned. ‘An excellent idea—provided you don’t ever want to go back to Earth.’

‘What!’

‘It just asked me whether we’d like to return—quote—to our natural habitat.’

‘Natural habitat!’ snorted Tom. ‘I’d just like to be in the natural habitat of the character at the other end of this little gadget.’

The machine came to life again. Since the experiment has been concluded successfully, the question of the rehabilitation of all participants now arises.

‘Let me get at it! ’ exploded Barbara. She began to hit the keys savagely. You mean the rehabilitation of all survivors, Uncle. What about the golden people that were killed? What about the baby that died? Rehabilitate them if you can.

Casualties are greatly regretted, came the answer. But in an experiment of this nature, some hazard must be accepted. Perhaps there is justification in the fact that the issue involved is great.

What was the nature of the experiment? tapped Avery.

The response came immediately: Culture dynamics.

Mary looked at the printed roll. ‘Ask him,’ she said, with a touch of bitterness, ‘what the marvellous issue was…. I don’t suppose that will make any sense either.’

Avery tapped out of the message, and again the answer came as soon as he had finished.

The issue involved is the ultimate domination of the second stellar rim sector in the second linear quadrant of the galaxy.

‘Shit and derision! ’ snapped Tom. ‘This thing is taking the mickey out of us with a load of gobbledygook. Here, let me have a go.’

He tapped out: Now cut the crap and get down to something a man can understand. How the hell did you get us here? Where are we, anyway? Whafs it all about? And finally, if you’ve got enough bloody decency— which I doubt—to be intelligible, what do you propose to do about repatriation?

‘There,’ he said, when he’d finished. ‘That ought to silence the bastard.’

But it didn’t. The machine began to click busily.

In the order of the questions given, the answers are as follows, it printed.

At the collection area, each of you discovered a crystal which produced the apparent effect of unconsciousness. In fact, you were not rendered unconscious in the sense of being immobile and helpless. However, the effect of the crystal was to anaesthetize your memory, while at the same time allowing remote control to be exercised over your actions. This, of course, involved a temporary suspension of freedom of thought, which was unavoidable. Each of you, operating under control, picked the crystal up and retained it. To accommodate you by explaining the matter in crudely simple terms, it is possible to say that each crystal acted as a kind of psychic radio which allowed the transmission of direct instructions to you. You, yourselves, apparently operating as free agents, obtained the equipment for the journey. As instructed, you then travelled to a rendezvous where it was convenient for you to be taken aboard a transport vessel at a time when it was unlikely that the operation would be observed by others of your species. In fact, the rendezvous took place within forty terrestrial hours of control being established.

‘Stop me! ’ said Tom helplessly. Seeing the look on his face, Avery wanted to laugh, but he was afraid that the laughter might become hysterical.

The machine continued.

Your present location is an island on the fourth planet of the star known to terrestrial observers as Achernar. It is about seventy terrestrial light-years from your own sun.

After a momentary pause, the machine went on once more.

In that section of the galaxy which can only be described to you as the rim sector of the second linear quadrant, there are two intelligent races at present on the threshold of space flight. To one of them must fall the ultimate responsibility for control of that area. Your own race and that of what you call the golden people are the two concerned. It was the object of the experiment—by assembling representative components of each culture pattern in a neutral background and under conditions of stress—to determine which of the races possessed the most useful psychological characteristics. This has now been established. Certain techniques—analagous to your system of radar, telephotography and parabolic sound detectors—have made it possible for you, the subjects, to remain under careful observation. The results of the experiment are conclusive.

‘This,’ said Mary quietly, ‘beats the band.’ She looked at her companions helplessly.

The machine went on.

All surviving subjects of the experiment are given the choice of returning to their planet of origin, or remaining on Achemar Four. This planet does not possess an indigenous race of intelligent beings. It is therefore available for development. However, any subject who wishes to return to his or her planet of origin can be so transported at speed. For various reasons, one of which is the mental health of the subject, it will be necessary to implant an amnesia block in those who wish to return. Remembering nothing of the experiment, they will not be subject to retroactive emotional stress. On return financial compensation and temporary therapeutic care can be arranged. Your decisions are awaited.

There was silence.

Avery and Barbara, Tom and Mary looked at each other. Bewilderment was on every face. Bewilderment and tension.

It was possible to go back to Earth! The knowledge hammered like an incessant drumbeat in Avery’s brain. He thought about London. For so long it had been vague and cloudy; but the possibility of return somehow brought the city into sharp focus, presented it to his inward eye as a series of magic lantern slides…. Kensington Gardens, Piccadilly Circus, theatres, shops, people, the Underground, Big Ben, the Embankment, the Bayswater Road—

He saw them all. He could hear the traffic, the street musicians, the starlings in Whitehall and Trafalgar Square. Big Ben struck; and he could smell the scent of roasting chestnuts, of crowded restaurants, of late roses in a flower seller’s basket.

He could see and smell—he could almost touch. And suddenly he felt a shock that seemed physical in its impact. He didn’t want London. He knew he didn’t want any of it. For London meant forgetting. London meant the loss of what had grown between him and Barbara And Tom And Mary London meant gaining so little, and losing so much.

He looked at the others and knew that they, too, did not want to surrender the memories of all that had happened to bind them close. On Earth they had all been lonely people. Here, seventy light-years from Piccadilly Circus, they were no longer alone.

But there was another reason for not going back—a reason that was as yet only half-formed in their minds. Here, there was a chance to create. A chance to start from nothing, with only their hands and their hopes. A chance to make something new…. A hell of a chance! But one, thought Avery, that was worth taking.

Unconsciously, he put his arm round Barbara’s shoulder. They looked at each other—as Tom and Mary were looking at each other. They looked at each other and understood.

‘Shall I give Uncle his answer?’ asked Avery quietly.

Barbara shook her head, and stepped up to the machine. ‘There’s something else,’ she said. ‘We have a right to know.’

She tapped the message out. We want to see you. You have done a great deal to us without our consent. We have a right to see you.

The answer was enigmatic. It will not be of value. There is no acceptable true image.

Barbara persisted. Nevertheless, we want to see you. Or are you afraid to be seen?

There was a long pause. Then the machine printed out: There is no true image. But judge for yourselves. The request is granted.

Suddenly, there was a humming in the air. A humming as of all the bees in the universe concentrated into an invisible point, into a searing needle of sound.

Then the humming was cut off abruptly. And, farther along the shore, a great monstrous, blinding, golden ball —perhaps thirty yards in diameter—hovered just above the surface of the sand.

There was a tiny, dry crackle—Avery remembered it well—as of fine splinters of glass being broken. For a fraction of a second, the ball shimmered, then it disappeared.

Four people stood where it had been.

Two men and two women.

Four golden people.

One of them was Zleetri.

Avery took a step forward. But in the sf ace of that single step, his desire to move was frozen.

The golden people were no longer golden people. They had changed into another Tom, another Mary, another Barbara—another Avery. Every detail was correct, even to Tom’s bandage showing through the top of his shirt. Even to the burn mark—a scar of battle—on Mary’s arm.

The other Avery spoke. ‘Forgive our tricks. Do not be afraid. They were to show you that there is no true image Think of it as a technique similar to, but far more complex than, the protective coloration of the chameleon.’

Avery heard his own voice used by a mirror-image. But though he was numb with shock, his mind continued to work The voice, he was surprised to find, had not been stolen in a literal sense; for suddenly, and in great amazement, he heard himself speak.

‘The tricks are not good enough. Show us, then, what is most nearly the true image.’

‘As you wish,’ said the other Avery.

The figures changed.

They changed into something that was familar, yet inexplicable. They changed into monsters that were not monstrous, into people who were neither men nor women.

They changed into small, naked, brown-skinned, humanoid hermaphrodites. Hermaphrodites who also seemed like super quadruplets. For, in every detail, they were absolutely identical.

One of them spoke. It was not a man’s voice, nor was it a woman’s voice. Nor yet was the sound displeasing.

‘To you of Achemar, late of the Earth, from the controllers of the second linear quadrant, greetings. For what has happened, we do not ask your forgiveness. We ask only your understanding; since your race is destined to become our inheritors.

‘It will be hard for you to understand. Our science and our culture are more than a million earth-years ahead of yours. Long ago we developed the technology to take us into space; and in becoming space-borne, we acquired the attitudes and the responsibilities that become the burden of all space-oriented forms of intelligent life. We have no planetary home. It is lost in time. Nor do we now need one. For long ago our techniques enabled us to become immortal. And because of this we are dying. That is why we set ourselves the task of discovering our true inheritors. It is to them that we must ultimately entrust the future of intelligent life in the second quadrant.’ Avery found his tongue again. ‘If you are immortal, then you cannot die.’

The hermaphrodite smiled. ‘Immortality was attained at the expense of fertility. We do not die of age. But no one can be immune to the laws of chance. Accident is our unvanquishable enemy. Few of us die by accident, yet fewer of us are born. In three or four millennia, we shall be extinct. Because of this we conducted the experiment. As a result, we shall ensure that in this sector one race only will eventually tap the secrets of the stars. The only other intelligent race—those whom you call the golden people, the inhabitants of the fifth planet of Alpha Centauri—will be inhibited. The people of your Earth are our inheritors.

‘Your race will become our inheritors not because of your superior strength, for your strength is not superior; and not because of your superior intelligence, for there is little to choose. But of the forty groups place ! on twenty islands of this planet, thirteen Earth-groups survived creatively, six Centaurian groups survived creatively and the rest disintegrated in conflict. The groups that survived did so not because they were strong—though strength was needed—but because they found another collective strength, which you inadequately call compassion.

‘Of the thirteen surviving Earth groups, nine—including this one, for we see that your decision has been taken —have elected to stay here on Achemar. Of the six surviving Centaurian groups, none have elected to stay….

‘Compassion and the desire to create. In the end, they are the only qualities you will need. Perhaps one day you or the others of your kind will cross the seas of Achemar to unite. They are of different ethnic groups. Perhaps, in the end, you will develop a multi-ethnic culture. That, too, might be an experiment of some interest….

‘But now we leave you with the gift of a planet. Make of it what you will. It may be that, in the space of a generation or two, we shall return to observe your progress. Meanwhile, farewell.’

The four identical hermaphrodites simultaneously raised their left arms in a gesture that seemed vaguely similar to the ancient Roman salute.

‘Wait! ’ said Avery desperately. ‘There is so much we want to know. So much we don’t understand.’

The hermaphrodite who had already spoken spoke once more. There seemed to be a hint of laughter in the voice.

‘This is home. This is the garden. This is the world where you will live and grow and understand. This is where you will discover enough but not too much. This is where life is. It is yours.’

Then there was that penetrating sound as of a myriad bees. The humming stopped. Instantly it was ?.s if the four beings had been obliterated by a ball of fire.

The sphere shimmered. Slowly it seemed to roll, liquid and blinding, towards Avery and Barbara and Tom and Mary.

They backed away.

It passed over the typewriter that was not a typewriter. And where it had passed there was nothing.

There came that other sound—the fine splintering of splintered glass. And suddenly, there was only sea and sky and land.

And four people, like sleep-walkers, like children waking and not yet quite awake.

Tom let out a great sigh and wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘Jesus! ’ he murmured. ‘Jesus H! As far as I’m concerned seeing isn’t believing any more. What do you make of it? What can you make of it?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Mary surprisingly. ‘I mean They don’t matter. They can talk about immortality and destiny and quadrants till they’re blue in the face. That doesn’t mean anything. Not to me…. What matters is that we have each other. It’s enough.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Barbara, taking Avery’s hand. ‘It’s quite enough. I don’t know what they’re up to—I don’t even want to know. But they’ve given us a chance to find each other and ourselves. That satisfies me.’

Avery smiled. ‘It doesn’t satisfy me.’

But Barbara’s brief disappointment vanished as he went on.

‘Finding each other is the big thing, but it’s only the first thing. Now we have to build. Not just a house or even—if we get enough children—a village. Not just comfort on a cosy little island for four. But some damn silly compulsive abstraction called civilization…. To hell with Them\ We’ll try to sort.out a few of their riddles when we have nothing better to do in the evenings. But if it’s true what They said, then sooner or later we’re going to have to try our hands at boats. Then we can link up and really grow.’

‘Pooh,’ said Barbara. ‘Let’s wait till somebody comes to visit us.’

Avery ruffled her hair affectionately. ‘Suppose they all think that? Come on, we can argue it out over breakfast. And then we must really look for a select plot of land for a house—the first house.’

As they went back to Camp Two, Avery began to think about Them. Despite the grotesque appearance, there had been something oddly familiar about them.

And suddenly he knew what it was.

He had seen that face—the four faces in one—and that smile before.

He had seen them seventy light-years ago in an illustration in a geography book in an English schoolroom.

The smile on the face of the Sphinx…

Filled with wonder, confusion—and a strange feeling of exhilaration—he helped Barbara to get fruit and some fresh water for breakfast.

The sun was still low, but there was every sign that it was going to be a hot day.

Perhaps, instead of looking for a piece of land to build on, he would paint.

Perhaps, while he was painting, he would dream of building a boat….