The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works 1911-1987

by C. L. Moore

  Undoubtedly he was making the other classic mistake of confusing himself with his office. He arrogated to himself personally all the glory that belonged to the office of Hierarch. He was, in a word, vainglorious. Orgulous is the expressive medieval word for it.

  He scowled at me blackly. It went hard with him to have to back down even by implication. But there was that crowd outside which he hadn't dealt with yet. I could almost see him remembering it. So he snapped his fingers again reluctantly.

  I felt the pressure of my ropes slacken. They fell in two loose loops to my feet and I stepped out of them without even looking down.

  "You'll do as you're told," he said, just to make clear he wasn't conceding anything. "It isn't that easy. You're right to rely on your mob—but don't rely too much. I can always disperse them if they push me too far. I'd prefer not to, but it's within my power to do so. I'll refrain only so long as it's more convenient to refrain. Do you understand that?"

  "I see what you mean," I said.

  "Very well. You and Clia will return to Paradise. A public ceremony is being organized now for that purpose. You may go on one condition." He exhaled loudly through his nose.

  "On one condition," he repeated. "That is that you address the crowd before you go. A short speech is being prepared for you. The people must be instructed to disperse quietly. They must be told they have sinned in allowing the fatal treason of curiosity to overcome them. The great Alchemist is displeased with them all.

  "That must be made clear. A few moral truths about obeying the priesthood and doubling their contributions to the Temple as a sign of true repentance will be incorporated in your speech. After that I believe they'll go quietly."

  I looked at him thoughtfully. Maybe they would. I couldn't be sure, but I rather felt they would. It was clever of the Hierarch. Certainly it put Coriole right back in his place. He had tried to crowd me into a position of public savior which I wasn't at all ready to assume. This was the only way I could think of that would get me out of it.

  But it made me feel very uncomfortable. Nobody could say I'd encouraged all those people to stick their necks out by following me to the Temple. I'd done everything I could to get -rid of them. True, now that they were here they were very useful, but I hadn't asked them to follow me.

  I didn't owe them anything. I'd been deftly maneuvered into this spot and, if I could be maneuvered out again, that was a matter between Coriole and the Hierarch. I was a tool and it suited me fine.

  Then I remembered Uncle Jim and my discomfort deepened.

  When you came right down to it this is what Uncle Jim had done, too. Pitched into Malesco unintentionally, he had accumulated a band of followers, taken on hostages to fortune—at least I'd managed to avoid that—and eventually deserted when things became more rugged than he could take. Now the pattern was repeating itself.

  "You have no choice, of course," the Hierarch put in neatly at this point. "Your refusal would simply mean the deaths of the people. I'd rather not wipe out your misguided followers, but if I must I can. Remember, this is my world, not yours. I rule Malesco."

  He pulled in his chins and gave me an orgulous look. I shrugged. He was perfectly right. It was his world. I didn't want Malesco. All I wanted was to get back to New York with Lorna. And this was the easiest way to do it.

  "It's the people's problem," I assured myself. "They haven't any right to expect some magic deliverer from another world to turn up and solve everything for them. If I lay an easy solution in their laps they won't value it. You've got to work out your own problems before you get any good from them. That's one of the first lessons in life."

  "If you have any notions," the Hierarch said at this point, "that you can burst into inspired speech at the last moment, please forget them."

  I blinked at him. That hadn't occurred to me. He was overestimating my concern for the people of Malesco.

  "Remember I control all the mechanistic resources of this world," he reminded me. "The people can't possibly overthrow me. It's no kindness to encourage them to try. Surely you can see that."

  I did, all right. I glanced at Lorna, who had been unexpectedly silent. She wasn't following the conversation at all. From the moment she saw a pack of cigarettes emerge from my pocket it was clear that one devouring desire had taken control of her. But she seemed to be too afraid of the Hierarch to say anything. There was no help to be gained from her. She didn't even know what we were saying.

  I sighed uncomfortably. "All right," I said. "Let's get started. I'll make your speech for you." And I began stuffing my empty pockets back into place to give myself something to do.

  -

  Chapter XV

  I STOOD on the stage of the biggest theatre I'd ever played in and got ready for the largest audience. The average legitimate theatre in New York is a tiny place and it holds comparatively few people at a time.

  But this vast, long chamber with the painted walls would more than contain the crowd I had left in the square before the Temple. I shuffled my feet on the golden stage and wished the ordeal were over.

  Lorna was beside me, making nervous adjustments of her robes. The Hierarch sat on a hideous gold throne, even more encrusted with ornament than his desk upstairs. There were priests and priests and more priests everywhere I looked, but the people hadn't come in yet. The doors were closed.

  This was the dais below the great circular screen that opened upon Earth. It was just a window now. Through it I could see over the rooftops the great watery dome of the Baths with the fountains of fire playing over it, and Lorna's pictured face painted in colored lights on the side of the building.

  It was the same view I'd had from far above when I first emerged into Malesco. I never understood clearly how they switched the opening between the worlds from upstairs to the ground floor for ceremonies—but that was the way it was.

  Upstairs it was privately operated and constantly attended by people like Falvi. Down here it worked only on great occasions—like this one. Of course no great mystery was involved. We use remote control and coaxial cables and such gimmicks ourselves, and in the face of such a miracle as the Earth-Gates merely technical angles were trivial enough.

  I'd spent the last half hour or so cramming, studying my part with the aid of two priests who acted as prompters. It wasn't a difficult role to learn. In fact, I'd had time to ask a few tentative questions about the Earth-Gates, for I had a pardonable curiosity as to the nature of the springboard that was going to hurl me into a pretty frightening abyss.

  To my surprise the priests had answered my questions—not as clearly as I could have wished but I managed to piece out some interesting details. I began to understand why it was that Malesco had discovered the Earth-Gates whereas our own scientists have merely theorized about such matters.

  The reason was simply that alchemy accepts the idea of transmutation in a semi-mystical way which is nevertheless founded on solid physical science. Belief precedes practical application in spite of Newton and the apple.

  Before Newton men knew enough to get out from under, but the theory of gravitation enabled men to go on from there and create rather than merely to use what was already at hand. However, not until certain alloys, methods and isotopes were discovered was Malesco able to build the Earth-Gates.

  We use energy to move ourselves from place to place. With kinetic energy we travel far and fast. But there is another method—potential energy. We use that when we build a bridge. The bridge must be constructed in a special way so it won't fall down. It must be made of special material strong enough to endure the stresses and strains. The Romans used stone. They couldn't have bridged San Francisco Bay. We use metal alloys so we can do that.

  Now sometimes kinetic and potential energy are joined in one bridge—a drawbridge.

  The Malescan apparatus to bridge the gap between two worlds was similar. Cathode and anode may be solid metal; but what jumps between is pure energy, electronic in nature. So the Earth-Gates were part kinetic an
d part potential.

  When you get into the theory of probability you start working with its breakdown within the atom. So far our own science has been puzzled by this, rather as the experts of Galileo's time were baffled when two balls, one of wood and one of iron, were dropped from the top of a tower and behaved irrationally in the light of the known science of that period.

  Anyhow, Malescan alchemic scientists had also noticed a breakdown of probabilities within their atoms. Remember, they knew all about Earth, and the space-time cleavage back in Roman days. They thought this might be the key. Somewhere within the atom was the missing link. Somewhere, solidly in Malesco—somewhere, solidly on Earth, were cathode and anode.,

  The trick was to find a form of energy that would bridge the widening gap.

  Well, they did it. It took a long time, but they did it. They discovered atomic energy eventually and then managed to find the right type of energy to bridge the gap. Oddly enough, that wasn't the hardest part.

  The really tricky work—my priests explained—came, first in building up enough sufficient potential to cross the gulf, secondly in controlling and guiding that enormous power. (Remember the atomic bomb? We invented it all right but as for controlling it—)

  Moreover the powers involved were so enormous that sometimes the Earth-Gates got slightly out of control. The spark would jump the gap of its own volition and the two worlds would meet briefly—for a second or two—with only a few square feet of space involved. The gaps always closed again.

  Still, this is what must have happened when I entered Malesco. There must have been a brief bridging of the gap, so that when I called Lorna's name Falvi heard a voice from the air and, sensibly connecting that phenomenon with the Earth-Gates, let his fatal curiosity get the better of him. Perhaps that explains Joan of Arc's voices too.

  Legend had it that such phenomena had happened even before the Earth-Gates were built. Perhaps the two worlds were closer together then, so the gulf could be bridged more easily. A visitant from an unknown place had appeared once in Malesco—his name was something very much like Peter Rugg.

  And there was the tale of the Malescan who had disappeared without trace from the middle of an open field. (Would it surprise you to know that I finally worked it out that his name, spoken phonetically, resembled Kaspar Hauser?)

  I wish now I had asked more questions. I wish the priests had been clearer. For the Earth-Gates were among the great miracles of science, and I couldn't concentrate on them at all because I had stage fright.

  I stood waiting, facing the far end of the enormous room, wondering where the exit door was, running over my opening lines, wishing again and again that the next half hour were over, that Lorna and I were back home again. Then the air suddenly shuddered with the hollow hooting of trumpets and the whole far end of the room shimmered before me.

  I thought it was my eyes blurring. Then I saw that the entire end wall had grown translucent with a pouring flood of pale light. A vast a began to burn upon the surface of the wall, and I realized that it was no wall but a great curtain.

  It shivered and began to rise. The trumpets tooted their hollow notes again and a second curtain rose, lead-gray, to reveal a third and then a fourth beyond, successively thinner and more golden. Now I could see a dim outline of the square in which I had left my faithful followers.

  But the curtains distorted things. It looked as if the whole square, which had been half empty when I left, was full now of restless motion. I had thought the crowd would, if anything, thin out a little while it waited. I had even braced myself to find it entirely dispersed by the time I got to relying really heavily on the people. But Coriole had been smarter than I expected.

  The last curtain rolled upward, pure golden yellow, and from the dais where I stood I could see that the entire square was one solid, seething mass of heads and faces turned toward me. And that wasn't all.

  As far as the eye could reach down the streets leading into the square there were more heads, more faces, more restless pushing and surging. It looked as if all of Malesco had gathered here to send me off with appropriate ceremony. You couldn't see the pavement anywhere the crowd was packed so tight.

  When the curtain rose the foremost ranks rolled forward in one solid mass and the noise of it surged into the Temple and reverberated from the walls. The people weren't shouting. They didn't make any particular noises when they saw me.

  I'd rather expected some sort of demonstration, but I didn't get it. The volume of their voices rose a little, but each individual man and woman was talking in low, controlled tones and there was no shouting. It seemed to me that this crowd meant business.

  It scared me. Could I handle it? Could the Hierarch? I didn't know what weapons he had, but it looked to me that nothing short of an atom blast could wipe out this entire mob at one blow. He could, at worst, destroy the foremost of the crowd.

  It seemed to me those endless ranks of people disappearing down the streets far away could and would surge forward and find out and destroy the sources of the destruction before the last man was anywhere near extinction. I didn't look around at the Hierarch, but I felt a little cool breath of ... dismay? ... move over the dais as the priesthood prepared to greet its audience.

  In less time than I'd have believed, the hall was packed tight and solid with men and women shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the dais and at me. And with them came a curious atmosphere of tension and expectation, so that the enclosing walls seemed to pack the feeling down tight under the high roof and we all felt it pressing around us.

  Down there in the front ranks I saw one familiar face—Coriole's.

  He was only about twenty feet away from me and he was watching me like a cat, his pale blue eyes never swerving from mine. It made me uncomfortable. I looked away—and found I was staring at another familiar face, this time in the wings and even closer than Coriole. This time it was Dio.

  He still looked sleepy. He still had the air of a man who's had a hard night and not enough rest. But there was a lot more in his expression now. Sullenness, I thought, for one thing. I had a series of quick consecutive thoughts about Dio.

  There just hadn't been time until now to wonder where the Hierarch got his detailed information about my activities since my arrival here, but it was obvious when I thought back. Dio, of course—he had probably been hanging around Falvi's door hoping for a break and had got one.

  Maybe he'd suspected Falvi's connection with the underground for some while and finally had caught him at it with me. That would explain his air of avid anticipation when he carried me down the shaft and set me adrift in the city, hoping I'd lead him to something worthwhile.

  That was Dio's policy, of course. Coriole had confirmed it if I'd needed confirmation. Dio was on Dio's side and nobody else's. And now he was sullen. Why? Well, he'd given the Hierarch some valuable information, certainly. But what reward had he got? Not enough, to judge by his expression.

  He hadn't even been inside the Hierarch's door when I went to pay my formal call. He'd been hanging around in the hall, hoping for crumbs. It wasn't enough for Dio—not nearly enough. I wondered about promotion in the priesthood. Maybe it went by seniority. Dio was young. He wouldn't be content to wait another fifty years for recognition. He'd want it now.

  Since his scheme to inform the Hierarch on Coriole had failed he'd certainly be watching for something even bigger. I didn't like having him so close to me. I meant to play right along with the Hierarch, of course—I hadn't any choice now—but if I should see any loopholes I didn't want Dio watching me with that expectant stare, waiting to jump the moment my back was turned.

  There was a low rumbling along the walls. I looked up. So did everybody else. And this time a single deep breath of protest seemed to sweep the whole hall, from side to packed side. For above us, between the painted animals on the walls, were regularly spaced golden A's. There was an ominous glow dawning behind them.

  I recognized it with a shudder. It was the same glow
I had last seen in the bottle-shaped weapons of the priests. My eyes ached in quick retrospect as I thought of the blinding sunburst of heat and brilliance those weapons could emit.

  But those had been of milk-bottle size. These were six feet across. The golden A's were simply ornamental scrollwork across the mouths of so many cannon embedded in the wall. The Hierarch was taking no chances with this dangerous crowd. One simultaneous glare from those glowing mouths above us would crisp every human in the hall to cinders.

  I hoped—not at all like a hero—that the priests had some way to shut off the dais from those blasts if and when the time came to unleash them.

  Still there was no demonstration from the crowd. They weren't intimidated. They weren't even angry on the surface. But they were waiting. The thousands of lifted faces I could see had a grim set look, and I could feel in the air that indefinable tension of determination and hard, controlled patience. Every eye was on me.

  My speech was short. I'd learned it easily enough. The notes were on a little glass and gold table before me. I went over the opening lines in a quick mental gabble, waiting for my cue.

  People of Malesco ... gabble-gabble ... great Alchemist in Paradise is impatient with your sinful curiosity ... gabble-gabble ... sent me to warn you ... gabble-gabble ... at punishment for your wilful misconduct ... gabble-gabble ... returning to Paradise and taking Clia back with me out of the contaminating ... gabble-gabble ...

  There it was, the deep hooting of those great curled horns. A breathless hush fell upon the crowd. I knew I'd never have such an audience again. They were with me to a man. They loved me in Malesco. Well, it ought to be over in ten minutes.

  "It's not your battle, Eddie," I assured myself, waiting for the horns to stop echoing. "You're just an actor. You've played villains before. This is a quick walk-on and then curtain. In ten minutes you'll be home in New York and these people can fight it out among themselves."