The Doors of the Universe

by Sylvia Engdahl

  Shaking her head, Lianne said, “What one draws from a controlled dream is limited by one’s preconceptions, I know that in principle. All the same, it’s hard to believe you missed so much.”

  “What? Lianne, did I miss something significant?”

  “Only to you. And perhaps,” she amended thoughtfully, “to your effectiveness in the role you’ll have to fill. Don’t expect to handle all the problems ahead with logic.”

  Noren frowned. “I know the value of faith. I admit we can’t keep going without it. But on the other hand, we can’t solve our problems with it, and the trouble is that most Scholars are trying to! I thought it was because I do follow logic instead of clinging to the Founders’ illusions that you believe I’m the one destined to make survival possible.”

  “Yes, but logic alone won’t be enough.” For a moment she seemed on the verge of adding something illuminating, then hastily she declared, “I mustn’t speak of this; it’s too soon.”

  Did she know the details of what the Service would demand of him? Noren wondered. That he must trust its elders was clear, and perhaps . . . perhaps she was saying he must go further, place faith in them of the sort his fellow-priests vested in the admittedly symbolic Star. That was reasonable . . . that was the logical answer to a lot of questions for which he could see no other. It explained how Lianne could find meaning in religious ritual, for instance. He had never fully understood religion. Its symbols were uplifting only when he managed to view them as an affirmation that the unanswerables would be answered, by his descendants if not by himself. But the Service already had answers. If one were to say the words with that in mind, not some vague future acquisition of knowledge, but contact with beings who possessed it . . .

  He tried it the next time he attended Orison. What is needful to life will not be denied us . . . not if the Service is watching out for our welfare. The children of the Star shall find their own wisdom . . . of course, if the Service knows all human species ultimately do so and that when they do, they become ready to join the Federation. There is no hope but in that which lies beyond our sphere . . . yes, and it existed! Now that he’d met proof that it existed, things made sense, more than they ever had while he’d thought such assurances must be accepted blindly. The Founders, to be sure, had been blind; if they’d been right about those promises it had been for the wrong reasons. Possibly that was what Lianne meant by true intuition. Or perhaps it was fortunate chance—but in any case, she herself was in a position to know, and so, now, was he. He need only trust her people.

  For the first time, Noren began not only attending Orison regularly but assuming the rotating role of presiding priest. He’d presided at Vespers occasionally for Talyra’s sake, but never at the services open to Scholars alone. The mere fact of his priesthood did not require it of him; the placing of one’s name on the roster was strictly voluntary. Somewhat to his own surprise he found it exhilarating. Was this merely because he knew secrets others didn’t? he asked himself in dismay. No—he still hated the secrecy. He longed to tell what he knew. And the only words in which he was free to tell it were those of the poetic liturgy. It was the knowledge itself that buoyed him, convinced him at last that those words were justified.

  No one commented at first on his new assurance; the extent to which one took on priestly functions was something never mentioned except by one’s closest friends. Noren noticed, however, that people seemed pleased—perhaps they thought his active endorsement of religion signified a return to the specific goals of the Founders. Almost certainly this was Stefred’s assumption. Lianne, who knew better, was strangely silent.

  Veldry also knew he hadn’t returned to orthodoxy, yet she came to every service at which he presided and was clearly elated by his public commitment. Her face, watching him, was at times as rapt as Talyra’s had been. It was probably a matter of traditional faith, Noren realized. Not being a scientist, Veldry hadn’t quite grasped that his abandonment of metal synthesization meant that without outside aid, the Prophecy could not come true. She knew only that he rejoiced in the child she carried, that his hope for the future was genuine. She seemed not to need to know why.

  Brek, however, had known Noren too well not to wonder. They were no longer as close as they once had been. Their companionship had been strained by the dark seasons after Talyra’s death when Noren had found it hard to watch the bliss with which Brek and Beris awaited the birth of their own baby. Then, after that baby was born, the disagreement about genetic experimentation had become a barrier to much conversation. He knew Brek would be shocked by what he had done. And he couldn’t have confided in him anyway, for Brek had not sought to experience the secret dream—by which, Noren felt, he would very likely be even more shocked. The love between Brek and Beris was too bound up with conventional values to permit any thought of risking its fruitfulness. Beris was by now again pregnant and they were both ecstatic; Noren found it hard to meet their eyes.

  But having shared his past crises of conscience, Brek was well aware of what full honesty had always meant to him. So it was Brek who cornered him one evening and demanded, “What’s going on, Noren? I’ve seen people change, but not this much! You swore to me that it’s impossible to synthesize metal, yet if you believed that, you wouldn’t be still affirming the Prophecy at all, let alone going out of your way to do it formally in priest’s robes. What do you know that the rest of us don’t?”

  “Stefred doesn’t feel a need to ask me that,” Noren temporized.

  “Stefred hasn’t been hearing you argue that we should hedge our bets by creating biological freaks,” replied Brek grimly. “He has no grounds for suspecting you’ve given up on the Prophecy’s promises.”

  This was partially true; since the Council had rejected the idea of genetic change, Noren had stopped expressing his opinions on the subject in front of its members. He stood helpless, inwardly debating how to answer Brek. He did not think he could get away with a direct lie even if that tactic weren’t repugnant to him, and besides, there was no lie that would serve to explain away Brek’s bewilderment. Best, then, to use half-truths to forestall further questioning, even at the cost of deliberately breaking their remaining ties of friendship.

  “I do know things the rest of you don’t,” Noren admitted flatly. “I know we have just one chance to survive and that only as an active priest will I have any chance of winning leadership away from narrow-minded diehards. I’m sorry if what I’m doing violates your principles.”

  Brek paled. “It violates yours,” he said incredulously. “It’s a betrayal of everything you’ve always stood for.”

  Miserably, Noren turned away in silence. Not until afterward did he reflect that the First Scholar himself had been obliged both to betray many of his principles and to purposely let his motives be misunderstood. Of course, things wouldn’t be as bad for him as for the First Scholar. Though he might be very much alone against opposition from even the few formerly close to him, he would not face the loneliness of total responsibility. He had the support of Lianne and her people. Strange, he thought; for years he’d felt alien in the world, and now aliens were the only friends he had.

  * * *

  Lianne was not quite his only friend; there was also Veldry. But it wasn’t safe to let that friendship become known to anyone. That he was the father of her unborn child was perhaps the only such secret in the City about which no rumors existed, and a secret it must remain till he was ready to confront the Council with the proven success of genetic engineering. People wouldn’t need much insight to see that if he’d chosen to have a child by Veldry there must be more involved than an ordinary love affair. So, aside from customary courtesy to her when they met publicly, he was forced to be content with seeing her during the services where he acted as presiding priest. She always stood in the front row on such occasions. Time passed, and he watched the child grow. Women, being proud of pregnancy, did not wear clothes of a style that masked it, as Lianne had told him they did in some cultures;
he didn’t have to count weeks to be aware of the baby’s approaching birth.

  The prospect both thrilled and terrified him. He dreaded the hours he must wait while Veldry was in the birthing room and half-hoped he wouldn’t know when her labor began. But one evening when he went to the dais to begin Orison, she was not in her usual place. Under the blue robe Noren’s flesh turned to ice. She never failed to appear when he presided; there could be only one cause for her absence. She had given birth without trouble in the past, he thought—surely there was no danger, and yet with this special child for whose genes he was dually responsible . . .

  Somehow he got through the ritual, his voice unfaltering, his hands steady as he raised them. “May the spirit of the Star abide with us, and with our children. . . .” No one would send him word—they would ask Veldry if anyone was to be informed, and she would say no. He might hear no news until long after the child was safely delivered, perhaps not till the formal announcement was posted. There would be a festive meal, for all births were celebrated, but probably no private party; Veldry’s beauty had won her few friends among the women. He wished he could have been with her when she entered the birthing room, could have said something encouraging. Maybe she too was now frightened by the risk they’d taken. Maybe she was afraid to see the baby.

  Would they even let her see it? No, under the stern tradition of sacrifice that permitted Scholars no contact with their children, she would see it only if no wet-nurse was available. But if it was not healthy, she would be told. She could handle that, Noren realized. Veldry had plenty of strength; she did not need to draw on his . . . unless, perhaps, that was what she’d been doing all this time during the services. Was that why she’d been eager to hear the words of faith proclaimed in his voice?

  After Orison Lianne spoke to him. He’d never told her who had conceived his child, but no doubt she’d sensed it telepathically.“Go to the computer room,” she said quietly. “I’ll bring you news as soon as there is any.”

  “You? But what excuse—”

  “I’m a medical student, and since fortunately I’m a female one, the midwives won’t think it strange if I ask to attend a birth. Who did you think was going to get a sample of the baby’s blood for genetic analysis?”

  He hadn’t thought. What went on in the nursery was not for men to ponder. “While you wait, you’d better start examining this world’s customs,” Lianne advised, only halfway amused. “I really don’t know how you’d get that blood sample without me, though no doubt you’d come up with some scheme as you did in the case of my blood. And I don’t know how you’re going to check on the child’s health after it’s adopted by villagers, either.”

  Nor did he, Noren thought ruefully. He’d been aware that he must test the genetic health of his grandchildren, but how was he to know who they were? No Scholar knew! No records of parentage were kept when babies were adopted; the Technician women who placed Wards of the City—presumed by the adoptive parents to be village-born orphans—made sure only that they went to good homes. Originally he had supposed that once genetic experimentation started, record keeping would become possible. Particular children could be placed under surveillance, for Technicians who visited the villages routinely reported to Stefred on those identified as potential heretics. Noren himself had been watched from early childhood. But without Stefred’s cooperation, this would be impossible to arrange. And after the child had been given out for adoption, it would be too late to trace where it had gone. That wouldn’t happen till it was old enough to be weaned, of course. Perhaps by then, the need for secrecy would be past.

  Check on its health, Lianne had said. He’d somehow assumed that either it would be born healthy or it would not, and that if it was all right, the only further step would be verifying passage of the altered genes to the next generation. Now, waiting for word, Noren began to consider factors he’d thrust from his mind during Veldry’s pregnancy.

  The child’s health must be continuously monitored. In the population as a whole, genetic disease was virtually nonexistent, for all who’d come from the Six Worlds had passed genetic tests. However, it was theoretically possible that the genetic alteration he’d done could have affected genes besides the ones he’d changed purposely, affected them in some way not detectable at birth or by computer analysis. And of course one test wasn’t enough—he must monitor many children. How was he to find enough volunteers? Noren wondered despairingly. For a long time he’d pictured himself displaying with triumph a normal son or daughter whose very existence would make the objections melt away. Now with the time at hand, he realized that no matter how healthy the baby was, there was nobody he yet dared confide in.

  Hours crept by. He was too agitated to think clearly. Tomorrow, he thought, if the child’s all right . . . and of course it is all right, the Service wouldn’t have let me go through with this otherwise. . . .

  He looked up, suddenly sensing Lianne’s presence. Simultaneously, with sickening fear, he sensed that in her mind was shock, horror—more than she’d displayed since the night he’d confronted her with his discovery of her identity. Her face was dead white. Noren found himself paralyzed; he could not even speak. The baby? he pleaded mutely, knowing that she was reading his thoughts although her own were shielded from him.

  A trace of color came back to her, and she smiled. “You have a strong son.” Hastily she added, “He’s fine, Noren—no problems I can see.”

  “What’s the trouble, then? Is Veldry—”

  “She’s fine, too. It was an easy birth. I—well, they were using hypnosis to ease her pains and that made her receptive, so I couldn’t resist helping a bit.” At his evident bewilderment Lianne explained, “The way I helped you deal with the effects of purple fever. By communicating wordlessly, giving her skills that can’t be taught with words.”

  Weak not with fear now but with relief, Noren was unable to piece things together. “Do you feel guilty about using telepathy that way?” he asked slowly.

  “No, certainly not. There’s no harm in my helping people as individuals. Veldry doesn’t know why the birth was easier than usual any more than you knew why your convalescence wasn’t as bad as you expected, and in both cases I prevented needless suffering.”

  “But when you came just now, your face—”

  Lianne’s smile faded. “Noren,” she said cryptically, “you’ve a long way to go. The road’s rougher than you’ve let yourself think, rougher in some ways than you’ve any grounds for anticipating. Let’s not talk about it now! Let’s just be happy because the baby’s so healthy.”

  “You’re certain he’s perfectly normal?” Noren persisted, striving to attain the state of elation he’d assumed would come naturally.

  “As certain as anyone can be by looking at him. But I’m not omniscient, Noren, and I’m not as competent to judge his genetic makeup as you are.”

  She hadn’t brought the blood sample with her; she declared he was too tired to handle it effectively and insisted that he get some sleep. It being impossible to visit the birthing room, Noren followed this advice. He woke exultant, so exultant that as he ran the tests he was not even nervous.

  The standard programmed analysis of the baby’s genotype, completed rapidly by the computer system, revealed no genetic defects of types known to the Founders. Noren’s own painstaking work, the many hours at a console during which he examined the coded data in detail, proved that the change he’d made to his own genotype had indeed been inherited by his son. The genes involved were, of course, dominant; it had been designed that way so only one parent’s genes need be altered in the first experiment. This meant the boy could metabolize the normally-damaging substance in native vegetation and water without ill effects, though verification would be needed after he was mature. Not all his descendants would inherit the same capability, however. The changed genes were unavoidably paired with the unaltered recessives that had come from Veldry, and chance alone would determine which would be passed to particular offspr
ing. From now on, since the vaccine was no longer untried, the genes of both parents must be altered.

  And yet, Noren thought, this wouldn’t be the case in the next generation unless experimental children paired with each other. How was he to arrange that? To deprive them of free choice would be unthinkable; Scholars saw to it that heretics were subtly encouraged, but no other interference in villagers’ lives was permitted. Even if he managed to keep track of the babies, there would have to be a lot of them before enough data could be obtained to prove it was safe to inoculate the whole population.

  So what next? “What’s your next step?” Lianne challenged when they met late that evening—and Noren became uncomfortably aware that underneath, he’d hoped she would tell him. Had he not gone as far as it was possible to go without Service guidance? What constructive end would be served by letting him waste time in further groping, considering they must already have analyzed what he ought to do?

  “I don’t know what to do now,” he said, thinking that perhaps this direct admission was required of him. “But you, Lianne—” He stopped; he still could not speak openly of his conviction that he’d be ultimately enlightened. “You know the people in the City better than I do,” Noren went on slowly. “I’m not good with people. You are, and you’ve some degree of access to their minds. Who can you name that might be open to the idea of volunteering?”

  “I can’t name anyone,” she replied soberly. “Oh. I would, Noren—I am permitted to help you in any way I could if I were truly of your people, even by using psychic powers abnormal among you. But if you have any potential supporters, they’re keeping their thoughts to themselves.”

  “How can everyone be so shortsighted?” Noren burst out angrily.

  “They aren’t in a position to judge metal synthesization,” Lianne pointed out, “and they’d rather believe you are wrong about it than that the Founders were.”