“For instance?”
“Do you remember what you saw from the window of the building where you have been in stasis for the last three hundred and fifty-three years?”
“Yes.”
“That land can be reclaimed, Paul Heisenberg. It can be made to live again. The whole Earth can be reborn. We could begin that rebirth tomorrow, with the re-seeding of North America, Asia and Europe. We can design organisms that can begin the cycle of life there again. It will take a long time, but not nearly as long as it would take for the rebirth to happen naturally. We can take care of the poisons in the earth, the radioactive wastes, the artificial organisms made by your own kind for the purposes of war. We have the ability to do all of that.”
“What’s stopping you?” asked Paul.
“An ideology. I will not pretend that it is something which affects only your kind, because it sometimes seems to me that it is held more fanatically by those of my kind who have espoused it. It has been seized by our rebels and our misfits, suiting them perfectly because it provides a mirror-image of our own prevailing ideology.”
“To put it simply, Paul Heisenberg, the majority of my people believe that the purpose of intelligent life is to achieve a special kind of harmony with nature. We mean rather more than you can presently imagine by the word which we have rendered into your language as symbiosis. It is our whole philosophy of life, presenting an ideal not only for social life but for evolutionary strategy—we have, of course, long since taken on responsibility for our own social and biological evolution. We are a long-lived species, and can travel between the stars by virtue of the fact that we can lower our metabolic rate to the point where all our energy-requirements can be fulfilled by our photosynthetic symbiosis—effectively becoming vegetables. We see the future not merely of our own kind but of the whole universe as a continual meeting, whenever and wherever such meetings can take place, between compatible species, in order that they should form an ever-more-extensive network of symbiotic relationships, which will ultimately fill the universe and unite its life into one vast organic whole. This is, if you like, a dream—but it is one that gives form and purpose to our long lives.”
“Elsewhere in the universe we have met people who could share that dream, and who have entered into participation in it. Those people were often more like you than like us—short lived, unable to travel between the stars. Sometimes, we have met people who could not. Such people we have left alone, confident that, in the fullness of time, evolution will remake them. Eventually, we are certain, they will either become compatible or they will be absorbed as their ecosystem gives birth to third-phase life and intelligence becomes extinct.
“We feel that there is a possibility that a lasting and harmonious relationship could be established between your people and ours. Some of your people share this belief. Others, however—and they have seduced many of my own kind—have committed themselves to a very different and much more individualistic dream. Some retain the same notion of the eventual consummation of the evolutionary scheme, but they wish to play a very different part within that scheme. They are uninterested in growth and communication, uninterested even in the rebirth of this world. Their declared aim is to become pilgrims on a lonely road to the end of time. What will happen when they get to the end of their journey none can imagine, but they all believe that the journey has a purpose and an end.
“Even for your kind, this dream is irrational. For mine it is doubly so, for there is not a single one of my species who has yet succeeded in projecting himself through time. For my kind, in fact, I believe that the mythology is only the means to the more immediate end of denying and dissociating themselves from the faith they have known since birth. They cannot really hope that they will ever be able to join the pilgrimage, but they believe in it no less insistently for all that. Many hope that it requires only your return, your teaching, and your example to spread the word from your kind to include mine, but that is a futile hope, and even the people who entertain it must know that it is futile in their hearts.”
“In brief, Paul Heisenberg, the situation has much in common with the one which you found in 2119. Again you are awaited because your name has become the symbol of hopes and expectations which are incapable of fulfillment. Again, the future of the world might actually be hanging in the balance—so delicately balanced that your words could make the difference between the rebirth of your world and the extinction of your species. There is much more to be said about this, but it is important that this much, at least, should be made clear. A decision will be needed—not immediately, but soon.”
The artificial voice stopped, and the room suddenly seemed very silent. The bright lights still disturbed Paul with their dazzle.
“I don’t quite see how it matters,” said Paul, eventually. “Presumably most of the human would-be pilgrims are already on their way. Why can’t you let those who want to believe it do so? Why should it inhibit you from re-seeding the Earth and restoring its ecosystems?”
“Symbiosis must be wholehearted,” said Remila, flatly. “It cannot work unless it is complete. The example of a parasitic mode of existence and a parasitic philosophy of life cannot be tolerated—it is the seed of a cancer. Your people must be made to see that. Without their example and your name, my people would inevitably return to their own faith.”
“I see,” said Paul. “So symbiosis and all it implies in your philosophy doesn’t exactly equate with universal goodwill. You still feel free to fight, against enemies you can stigmatize by analogy with parasitism and cancer.”
“Our purpose cannot be fulfilled if parasitism and cancer survive within the universal life-system.”
“Why not simply exterminate all the would-be parasites and all the potential seeds of cancer? After all, it wouldn’t be mass murder—simply necessary surgery performed in the name of symbiosis and the universal life-system.”
Paul stared into the great round eyes, whose large brown irises were ringed with white. Remila did not blink, though he did have large leathery eyelids. Instead, a transparent nictitating membrane flicked from side to side across the cornea.
“It is not our way,” replied the alien. “We will not kill individuals of our own kind, nor of yours, unless we ourselves are under threat of extreme injury or death. The choice facing us is simple. Either there is a future for us on Earth, involving a healthy symbiotic relationship between your race and mine, or there is not, in which case our starships will depart, leaving behind those of my kind who prefer to stay. We are not murderers.”
Paul hesitated for a moment, and then said: “I’m sorry.”
Remila made no reply, but simply inclined his head slightly.
“I have to know more,” said Paul.
“I am here to answer questions. Others will come, too. Hadan will return. And there are the letters.”
“Letters?”
“In our charge there are approximately two thousand letters addressed to you by humans who have died or who have gone into stasis. There are open letters left behind by some jumpers which are addressed generally to other jumpers. It is a somewhat laborious communications system, but it is the only way that anyone embarking upon a pilgrimage through time can possibly keep in touch with his fellow pilgrims. There is, it seems, a desperate need to communicate, which overcomes many people before they go into stasis. It is a defense mechanism against the loneliness and the uncertainty.”
“Is there a letter from Rebecca?”
“There is. There is also a letter from Ricardo Marcangelo.”
“I’d like to see them. And any others that are from people I knew personally.”
“I do not know of any others that are from people who knew you personally. Perhaps you could check the names.”
“No—just let me see those two first. I’ll look at the others in time. How many people are there in stasis at this moment?”
“Approximately five thousand.”
“That doesn’t sound like very many, compared to the num
ber quoted to me in 2119.”
“The great majority of those who jumped from the war years, or from 2119 itself, either died or refrained from jumping again.”
“And what’s the present active population of the world?”
“Approximately one million of my race, approximately six million of yours.”
“Six million! In the whole world! What about Australia?”
“At no time since the end of the twentieth century has the birth rate exceeded the death rate. Australia, though untouched by the battle which we fought against the machine, continued to decline. It is a dying continent, as is South America. Only symbiosis can reverse the trend.”
“If you stood back and let the human race become extinct,” observed Paul, dryly, “you could own the Earth outright in a few hundred years, except for a few silver statues that only wake up once every few centuries.”
“Of what use is an empty world?” asked Remila. “It is humankind that interests us.”
“Have you ever met another race that could time-jump?” asked Paul.
“No.”
“So you’ve never encountered this phenomenon anywhere in the galaxy—or such of the galaxy as you’ve explored?”
“We have found gaps in the fabric of spacetime, which exhibit the same surface phenomena as the silhouettes left by the time-jumpers. We know nothing about what causes them. Prior to coming here, we had considered them to be minor accidents of circumstance—flaws in the fabric of the universe. We had not suspected that they could be created by the power of the will. We do not know how this can be the case. It seems to be irrational—we have no theory to account for it.”
Paul nodded. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Would it be possible for you to supply me with some clothes?” he asked.
“It is not customary that garments are worn inside our dwellings,” replied the alien. “However, if it would make you more comfortable while you have an opportunity to adjust to our ways, clothing will be supplied. Any other needs that you care to make known to us will also be met. We have prepared a room for you close at hand.”
“Speaking of other needs,” said Paul, reacting to the other’s words with slight sarcasm, “I’m rather hungry.”
The alien inclined his head again. “Then you may go to your room now. We will talk again later.”
Paul looked around, and saw that an aperture was widening in the wall behind him.
“How does that work?” he asked.
“When closed, the apertures are mere pinpricks,” said Remila. “They are virtually invisible. They are dilated by an artificial muscle built into the tissue of the wall. The muscle is ordinarily stimulated electrically—I used a stimulation-point set here in the desk. There are others mounted around the muscle itself—simply press the wall in the region of the aperture.”
Paul was slightly relieved by the words. He had begun to suspect that he was effectively a prisoner, unable to leave his room. Moments later, however, the anxiety returned as he realized that he only knew the location of a single aperture and that they were, as Remila had said, virtually invisible.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Paul ate his way steadily through the meal. First there was some kind of soup, very thick and glutinous, with a taste somewhat reminiscent of asparagus. Then there were several slices of crisp bread, with various savory preserves, most of which he found too highly spiced for his own taste. Finally, there was fruit in a sweet syrup. There was nothing to which he could put a name with any certainty.
When he was finished, he left the table, half-expecting it to fold up and retract, like the mussel in the room where he had first become conscious. It remained a table, though.
This room was a little larger than the one that contained the mussel. Physically, it was similar, even with respect to the blue walls, but it contained the table and dining chair, a bed, an armchair and a computer terminal with a display screen, which he had so far left alone, not having the least idea how to make use of it.
Presumably, his new hosts had some way of monitoring him, because he had hardly sat down in the armchair when the aperture in the wall widened again to permit the entry of two visitors. One was an alien—presumably Remila—and the other was the tall negro who had been with him when they fetched Paul from the prison.
“I’m Gelert Hadan,” said the human. He did not introduce the alien, and Paul concluded that it must be Remila. Paul had put on a light shirt made from a material resembling cheesecloth and a pair of loose-fitting trousers, but Hadan was naked. Paul sat on the bed, offering Hadan the armchair and Remila the dining chair.
Without the speaking-device to assist him Remila could only speak in his own tongue, and did so. His speech sounded rather like strident birdsong, but there was a smooth and liquid transition from one note to the next. He whistled several phrases at Hadan, who simply nodded in reply.
“You are comfortable here?” he asked Paul.
“Moderately,” answered Paul.
“The food was acceptable?”
“Yes. I presume that it was grown from alien seed, brought here by Remila’s people?”
“Not at all,” said Hadan. “It was all grown from Earthly crops, descended from the crops that you knew in your own time. There has been some improvement in yield, and fashions in preparation have changed greatly.”
“But it is the food the aliens eat?”
“Of course,” said Hadan. “Our needs are similar. The La, of course, obtain extra energy from photosynthesis, but an active animal cannot live on the resources of a plant. Their flesh is very little different from ours, and they eat as we do.”
“The La—that’s what they call themselves?”
Hadan glanced sideways at Remila, smiling. “Not quite. It is the name of a musical note, as are the names which we articulate in human languages to apply to most things which have no parallel therein, including names. It is not, even so, a “translation”—the names which they use among themselves are usually more complex.”
“What exactly is your role?” asked Paul.
“I am the leader of the human community.”
“Which human community?”
“The human community. All of it. Leader, you understand, is meant figuratively rather than literally. I cannot say that I represent every man or woman on Earth, or even a majority, in any direct sense—local communities tend to look after their own internal affairs and most ignore what goes on beyond their personal horizons—but I am the representative of all in some way. I am elected by those humans who live in the cities of the La.”
“I see.”
“No, Paul. You are a long way yet from clear sight. At the moment, you see very little, and what you see is distorted by your own perspective. You are a long way out of your time, and the world has changed.”
Here Remila intervened, interposing several phrases of whistles and hoots. When the alien had finished, Paul added: “Remila has already suggested to me that it has changed less than I might have imagined.”
“There are similarities in the situation,” admitted Hadan, “but the world itself is new. Nearly five hundred years have passed since you first jumped through time, and the world today is different from the world in which you lived most of your life as that world was from the fifteenth century.”
“I can believe that,” said Paul, quietly. “I can understand how Columbus might have felt, confronted with Adam Wishart and television.”
“This world needs you, Paul,” said Hadan, his tone equally gentle.
“Strangely enough,” said Paul, “I think that’s exactly what Adam Wishart might have said to Columbus, before putting him on television as the eighth wonder of the world.”
Hadan was silent for a moment, obviously disturbed. Then he said: “It will take time for you to become accustomed to the world as it now is. When you do, you will be able to see it as it might become—as it must become, if the human race is to have any future at all. You cannot yet know what the La have done fo
r Earth, or what they could do if only we could help them. When you find out, then I believe you will see clearly what you cannot now see at all—that you must add your voice to ours. It is the one voice which might influence those who are opposed to us. They have adopted your name as the emblem of their opposition.”
“Do I get to hear their side of the story?” asked Paul.
“Of course. We will hide nothing from you. The letters, I think, will help you to understand what those who act in your name have come to believe, and how they act upon their beliefs. There are also letters that favor our course. Once you have read them, it will be possible for you to go out into the world, to see the way we live our lives. You may read what you will—the terminal here will call up any book or document known to us. I will show you how to operate it presently.”
Paul frowned pensively, and thought about what Remila had told him in the course of the earlier interview.
“If I have the story straight,” he said, slowly, “the La want to remake Earth as a Garden of Eden. They think that it will take some time, but that it might be done. Their main condition is that we not only co-operate but offer ourselves body and soul to their philosophy, which translates into English as symbiosis but which implies rather more than that. I’d like to know much more, but for the time being, can you answer a much simpler question: what do they get out of it?”
“Symbiosis,” replied Hadan. “It is the highest goal, the greatest possible reward. Indeed, it is the only reward. The La have long been able to supply all their material needs. They are not a competitive people, and cannot occupy themselves in a ceaseless struggle to win advantage from one another—they have long tried to eliminate from their culture the impulses they describe as parasitic and predatory. Their one goal is to expand the realms of their symbiotic harmony, to establish communication and understanding and common cause with other races. They believe that there is some urgency in this task, in evolutionary terms, because they have reason to believe that where their kind of harmony cannot be attained—where intelligent races cannot enter into their interstellar network of symbiosis—intelligence itself cannot survive. Either races destroy themselves, as we nearly did, or evolutionary change eventually creates circumstances inimical to the existence of intelligent life.”
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