The Robert Silverberg Science Fiction Megapack(r)

by Robert Silverberg

  The Elder Solomon Kane called for the floor—an ascetic-featured, dour man with the cold, austere mind of a master mathematician or a master theologian. “As I see it, brother, there are three choices facing us: we can return to Earth and apply for a new planet; or we can attempt to convert these people to our ways; or we can destroy them to the last man, woman and child.”

  The Blessed Dominic Agnello objected: “Return to Earth is impossible. We have not the fuel.”

  “And,” offered the Blessed Myron, “I testily that these creatures are incorrigible and beyond aid. They are none of them among the Blessed. We do not want to inflict slavery upon them, nor can we welcome them into our numbers.”

  “The alternative,” said the Blessed Solomon Kane, “is clearly our only path. We must root them out as if they were a noxious pestilence. How great are their numbers?”

  “Three or four hundred. Perhaps as many as five hundred, no more. We certainly outnumber them.”

  “And we have weapons. We can lay them low like weeds in the field.”

  A light appeared in the eyes of the Blessed Myron Brown. “We shall perform an act of purification. We will blot the heathens from our new world. The slate must be fresh, for here we will build the New Jerusalem.”

  The Blessed Leonid Markell, a slim mystic with flowing golden hair, smiled gently and said, “We are told, Thou Shalt Not Kill, Brother Myron.”

  The Blessed Myron whirled on him. “The commandments are given to us, but they need interpretation. Would you say, Thou Shalt Not Kill, as the butcher raises his knife over a cow? Would you say—”

  “The doctrine refers only to human life,” said the Blessed Leonid softly. “But—”

  “I choose to construe it differently,” the Blessed Myron said. His voice was deep and commanding, now; it was the voice of the prophet speaking, of the lawgiver. “Here on this world only those who worship God may be considered human. Fleeing from the bitter scorn of our neighbors, we have come here to build a New Jerusalem in this wilderness—and we must remove every obstacle in our way. The Devil has placed these creatures here, to tempt us with their nakedness and laughter and sinful ways.”

  He stared at the rest of them, and no longer were they his equals round the table, but now merely his disciples, as they had been all the long journey through the stars. “Tomorrow is the sabbath day by our reckoning, and we shall rest. But on the day following we shall go armed to the village of the idolaters, and strike them down. Is that understood by us all?”

  “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” the Blessed Leonid quoted mildly. But when the time came for the vote, he cast in his lot with the rest, and it was recorded as a unanimous decision. After the day of the Sabbath, the mocking forest-people would be eradicated.

  * * * *

  But the people of World had laws of their own, and a religion of their own, and they too held a convocation that evening, speaking long and earnestly round the council fire. The priestess Jeen, garbed only in the red paints of death, danced before them, and when Lyle of the Kwitni called for a decision there were no dissenters.

  The long night came to an end, and morning broke over World—and the spies returned from the settlement of the strangers, reporting that the strange god still stood in the clearing, and that his followers showed no signs of obeying the command to depart.

  “It is death, then,” cried the priestess. And she led them in a dance round the ship their God, and the knives were sharpened, and she and Lyle led them through the forest, Lyle carrying one of the swords that had hung in the cabin of the Captain McCaig aboard the Ship, and Jeen the other.

  The strangers were sleeping when the five hundred of the people of World burst in on their encampment. They woke, gradually, in confusion, as the forest slayers moved among them, slicing throats. Dozens died before anyone knew what was taking place.

  Curiously the strangers made no attempt to defend themselves. Jeen saw the great bearded man, he who had commanded her to wear clothes and who had eyed her body so strangely, and he stood in the midst of his fellows, shouting in a mighty voice, “It is the Sabbath! Lift no weapon on the Sabbath! Pray, brothers, pray!”

  And the strangers fell to their knees and prayed, and because they prayed to a false god they died. It was hardly yet noon when the killing was done with, and the eight hundred members of the Church of the New Resurrection lay weltering in blood, every one of them dead.

  Jeen the priestess said strangely, “They did not fight back. They let us kill them.”

  “They said it was the Sabbath,” Lyle of the Kwitni remarked. “But of course it was not the Sabbath—the Sabbath is three days hence.”

  Jeen shrugged. “We are well rid of them, anyway. They would have blasphemed against God.”

  There was more work to do, yet, after the bodies were carried to the sea. Fifty great trees were felled and stripped of their branches, and the naked trunks were set aside while the men of the tribe climbed the cliff and caused the great ship in which the strangers had come to topple to the ground.

  Then a roadway was made of the fifty great logs, and the men and women of the people of World pushed strainingly, and the great ship rolled with a groaning sound down the side of the hill, as the logs tumbled beneath it, and finally it went plunging toward the sea and dropped beneath the waves, sending up a mighty cascade of water.

  They were all gone, then, die eight hundred intruders and their false god, the ship. And the people of World returned to their village and wearily danced out the praise of their Ship, their God.

  They were not bloodthirsty people, and they would have wished to welcome the eight hundred strange ones into their midst. But the strange ones were blasphemers, and so had to be killed, and their god destroyed.

  Jeen was happy, for her faith in God was renewed, and she danced gladly round the pitted and rusting Ship. For her God had been true, and the god of the strangers false, and God’s bidding had been done. For it had been written in the Book of the Ship, which old Lorresson the priest recited to the people of World centuries ago in the days of the first McCaig and the first Kwitni, that there were certain commandments by which the people were to live.

  And one of these commandments was, Thou Shalt Not Kill, and another was, Remember the Sabbath Day, To Keep It Holy. These the people of World harkened to.

  But they were godly people, and the Word was most holy. They had acted in concord with the dictates of Lorresson and McCaig and Kwitni and the Ship itself, their God, when they had slain the intruders and destroyed their ship. For, first of all the commandments they revered, it was written, Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me.

  THE SONGS OF SUMMER

  Originally published in Authentic Science Fiction, July 1957.

  1. Kennon

  I was on my way to take part in the Singing, and to claim Corilann’s promise. I was crossing the great open field when suddenly the man appeared, the man named Chester Dugan. He seemed to drop out of the sky.

  I watched him stagger for a moment or two. I did not know where he had come from so suddenly, or why he was here. He was short—shorter than any of us—fat in an unpleasant way, with wrinkles on his face and an unshaven growth of beard. I was anxious to get on to the Singing, and so I allowed him to fall to the ground and kept moving. But he called to me, in a barbarous and corrupt tongue which I could recognize as our language only with difficulty.

  “Hey, you,” he called to me. “Give me a hand, will you?”

  He seemed to be in difficulties, so I walked over to him and helped him to his feet. He was panting, and appeared almost in a state of shock. Once I saw he was steady on his feet, and seemed to have no further need of me, I began to walk away from him, since I was anxious to get on to the Singing and did not wish to meddle with this man’s affairs. Last year was the first time I attended the Singing at Dandrin
’s, and I enjoyed it very much. It was then that Corilann had promised herself. I was anxious to get on.

  But he called to me. “Don’t leave me here!” he shouted. “Hey, you can’t just walk away like that! Help me!”

  I turned and went back. He was dressed strangely, in ugly ill-arranged tight clothes, and he was walking in little circles, trying to adjust his equilibrium. “Where am I?” he asked me.

  “Earth, of course,” I told him.

  “No,” he said, harshly. “I don’t mean that, idiot. Where, on Earth?”

  The concept had no meaning for me. Where, on Earth, indeed? Here, was all I knew: the great plain between my home and Dandrin’s, where the Singing is held. I began to feel uneasy. This man seemed badly sick, and I did not know how to handle him. I felt thankful that I was going to the Singing; had I been alone, I never would have been able to deal with him. I realized I was not as self-sufficient as I thought I was.

  “I am going to the Singing,” I told him. “Are you?”

  “I’m not going anywhere till you tell me where I am and how I got here. What’s your name?”

  “My name is Kennon. You are crossing the great plain on your way to the home of Dandrin, where we are going to have the Singing, for it is summer. Come; I am anxious to get there. Walk with me, if you wish.”

  I started to walk away a second time, and this time he began to follow me. We walked along silently for a while.

  “Answer me, Kennon,” he said after a hundred paces or so. “Ten seconds ago I was in New York; now I’m here. How far am I from New York?”

  “What is New York?” I asked. At this he showed great signs of anger and impatience, and I began to feel quite worried.

  “Where’d you escape from?” he shouted. “You never heard of New York? You never heard of New York? New York,” he said, “is a city of some eight million people, located on the Atlantic Ocean, on the east coast of the United States of America. Now tell me you haven’t heard of that!”

  “What is a city?” I asked, very much confused. At this he grew very angry. He threw his arms in the air wildly.

  “Let us walk more quickly,” I said. I saw now that I was obviously incapable of dealing with this man, and I was anxious to get on to the Singing—where perhaps Dandrin, or the other old ones, would be able to understand him. He continued to ask me questions as we walked, but I’m afraid I was not very helpful.

  2. Chester Dugan

  I don’t know what happened or how; all I know is I got here. There doesn’t seem to be any way back, either, but I don’t care; I’ve got a good thing here and I’m going to show these nitwits who’s boss.

  Last thing I knew, I was getting into a subway. There was an explosion and a blinding flash of light, and before I could see what was happening I blanked out and somehow got here. I landed in a big open field with absolutely nothing around. It took a few minutes to get over the shock. I think I fell down; I’m not sure. It’s not like me, but this was something out of the ordinary and I might have lost my balance.

  Anyway, I recovered almost immediately and looked around, and saw this kid in loose flowing robes walking quickly across the field not too far away. I yelled to him when I saw he didn’t intend to come over to me. He came over and gave me a hand, and then started to walk away again, calm as you please. I had to call him back. He seemed a little reluctant. The bastard.

  I tried to get him to tell me where we were, but he played dumb. Didn’t know where we were, didn’t know where New York was, didn’t even know what a city was—or so he said. I would have thought he was crazy, except that I didn’t know what had happened to me; for that matter, I might have been the crazy one and not him.

  I saw I wasn’t making much headway with him, so I gave up. All he would tell me was that he was on his way to the Singing, and the way he said it there was no doubt about the capital S. He said there would be men there who could help me. To this day I don’t know how I got here. Even after I spoke and asked around, no one could tell me how I could step into a subway train in 1956 and come out in an open field somewhere around the thirty-fifth century. The crazy bastards have even lost count.

  But I’m here, that’s all that matters. And whatever went before is down the drain now. Whatever deals I was working on back in 1956 are dead and buried now; this is where I’m stuck, for reasons I don’t get, and here’s where I’ll have to make my pile. All over again—me, Dugan, starting from scratch. But I’ll do it. I’m doing it.

  * * * *

  After this kid Kennon and I had plodded across the fields for a while, I heard the sound of voices. By now it was getting towards nightfall. I forgot to mention that it was getting along towards the end of November back in 1956, but the weather here was nice and summery. There was a pleasant tang of something in the air that I had never noticed in New York’s air, or the soup they called air back then.

  The sound of the singing grew louder as we approached, but as soon as we got within sight they all stopped immediately.

  They were sitting in a big circle, twenty or thirty of them, dressed in light, airy clothing. They all turned to look at me as we got near.

  I got the feeling they were all looking into my mind.

  The silence lasted a few minutes, and then they began to sing again. A tall, thin kid was leading them, and they were responding to what he sang. They ignored me. I let them continue until I formed a plan; I don’t believe in rushing into things without knowing exactly what I’m doing.

  I waited till the singing quieted down a bit, and then I yelled “Stop!” I stepped forward into the middle of the ring.

  “My name is Dugan,” I said, loud, clear, and slow. “Chester Dugan. I don’t know how I got here, and I don’t know where I am, but I mean to stay here a while. Who’s the chief around here?”

  They looked at each other in a puzzled fashion and finally an old thin-faced man stepped out of the circle. “My name is Dandrin,” he said, in a thin dried little voice. “As the oldest here, I will speak for the people. Where do you come from?”

  “That’s just it,” I said. “I came from New York City, United States of America, Planet Earth, the Universe. Don’t any of those things mean anything to you?”

  “They are names, of course,” Dandrin said. “But I do not know what they are names of. New York City? United States of America? We have no such terms.”

  “Never heard of New York?” This was the same treatment I had gotten from that dumb kid Kennon, and I didn’t like it. “New York is the biggest city in the world, and the United States is the richest country.”

  I heard hushed mumbles go around the circle. Dandrin smiled.

  “I think I see now,” he said. “Cities, countries.” He looked at me in a strange way. “Tell me,” he said. “Just when are you from?”

  That shook me. “1956,” I said. And here, I’ll admit, I began to get worried.

  “This is the thirty-fifth century,” he said calmly. “At least, so we think. We lost count during the Bombing Years. But come, Chester Dugan; we are interrupting the Singing with our talk. Let us go aside and talk, while the others can sing.”

  * * * *

  He led me off to one side and explained things to me. Civilization had broken up during a tremendous atomic war. These people were the survivors, the dregs. There were no cities and not even small towns. People lived in groups of twos and threes here and there, and didn’t come together very often. They didn’t even like to get together, except during the summer. Then they would gather at the home of some old man—usually Dandrin; everyone would meet, and sing for a while, and then go home.

  Apparently there were only a few thousand people in all of America. They lived widely scattered, and there was no business, or trade, or culture, or anything else. Just little clumps of people living by themselves, farming a little and
singing, and not doing much else. As the old man talked I began to rub my hands together—mentally, of course. All sorts of plans were forming in my head.

  He didn’t have any idea how I had gotten here, and neither did I; I still don’t. I think it just must have been a one-in-a-trillion fluke, a flaw in space or something. I just stepped through at the precise instant and wound up at that open field. But Chester Dugan can’t worry about things he doesn’t understand. I just accept them.

  I saw a big future for myself here, with my knowledge of twentieth century business methods. The first thing, obviously was to reestablish villages. The way they had things arranged now, there really wasn’t any civilization. Once I had things started, I could begin reviving other things that these decadent people had lost: money, entertainment, sports, business. Once we got machinery going, we’d be set. We’d start working on a city, and begin expanding. I thanked whoever it was had dropped me here. This was a golden opportunity for me. These people would be putty in my hands.

  3. Corilann

  It was with Kennon’s approval that I did it. Right after the Singing ended for that evening, Dugan came over to me and I could tell from the tone of his conversation that he wanted me for the night. I had already promised myself to Kennon, but Dugan seemed so insistent that I asked Kennon to release me for this one evening, and he did. He didn’t mind.

  It was strange the way Dugan went about asking me. He never came right out and said anything. I didn’t like anything he did that night; and he’s ugly.

  He kept telling me, “Stay with me, baby; we’re going places together.” I didn’t know what he meant.

  The other women were very curious about it the next day. There are so few of us, that it’s a novelty to sleep with someone new. They wanted to know how it had been. I told them I enjoyed it.