So I saw things then.
I was reluctant to accede to Klorathy’s invitation, because it was to discuss a squalid and unsatisfactory planet full of brutes who could be relied upon for only one thing—to kill each other on one pretext or another at the first opportunity.
If Klorathy had sent me an invitation to visit him on Canopus—or to discuss other planets that concerned us—yes.
I was disappointed. I felt as if I had been waiting, perhaps only half-consciously, for the development of an unfulfilled friendship, and then been offered participation in a dreary task that by definition could not succeed. I sent a message to Canopus that I could not meet Klorathy, “though I might be able to find time later.” There no satisfaction for me in this gesture. I felt only an intensification of my aridity. But a task that I knew I would find difficult and absorbing was waiting for me at the end of the Galaxy. As I prepared to leave, I was again summoned to a top-level conference. It concerned Rohanda, or rather, her moon. It had of course been known to us that Shammat was established on this small and unpleasant planet. Now it appeared there were new developments. I appointed someone to represent me at this conference, turned my mind from Rohanda—and found that as I went about my preparations for leaving, possibly for a long time, it as if, again, my ears were being filled with an insinuating memory. Sirius, I heard, Sirius, Sirius… and I could not free myself of it. Waves of this insidious whispering came up in me, so that I could hear nothing else, and ebbed, leaving a silence that I knew was waiting to be filled with Sirius, Sirius. In Nasar’s voice. In Rhodia’s. And in Klorathy’s. And in voices I had never heard but knew I would. I stubbornly ignored this call, or tried to, making my mind dwell on problems distant and different from Rohanda’s and found that no matter what I did, the whispering grew, so that I would find myself standing quite still, some task forgotten, listening.
THE LELANNIAN EXPERIMENTS
I told the Department that my mission must be postponed. I sent a message to Klorathy that I was going to Rohanda, and ordered the Space Traveller to set me down near our old station. We had maintained this post, though it had several times fallen into disuse, and twice been destroyed by earthquakes. It was repaired partly through sentiment: I had been so usefully happy there. Now I promised myself a short space of freedom and thought, in solitude, for Klorathy would need time to reach me. For one thing, he have to enquire from my Home Planet where on Rohanda he could find me… so far had I forgotten what one might expect of Canopean abilities!
I walked by myself up to the little group of buildings among low foothills, the towering ranges of the western mountains at my back, a good way to the south from where I done the same, going towards Lelanos, and as I approached thought they did not look uninhabited. Had the Lelannian tyrants then taken this Sirian station for themselves? If so, if they had lost all fear of Sirius, then they had fallen very far away from any sort of understanding. I was preparing in my mind how to deal with an emergency if I found one, as I entered the first one of the buildings, an airy set of rooms similar to those I once, so pleasantly, lived in: it would be easy, for instance, to summon the Space Traveller, which was already stationed just above me, and visible as a silvery glitter.
There was someone sitting, back to the light, across the room. I at once that it was Klorathy. Though, of course, it was technically impossible that he should have got here in the time since my message went out. This meant that he had known I would be here, in this place, well before the message did go out, and even before I had decided myself… I was absorbing this as I went towards him saying: “This is Sirius.”
“I am an uninvited visitor, I know,” said he; and I left the remark unanswered, meaning him to feel that I was making a point. And went to sit where I could see him clearly. I had not seen him since the experience on their Colony 11. It is of course a not uncommon thing to see, on this or that planet, within the Canopean aegis or within ours, an individual one recognises, so that one goes forward to say: “Greetings, Klorathy,” or Nasar or whoever it might be. But then one sees it as a type one has recognised, a species, a kind—and what then looks back from inside this known shape is an individual quite strange to one. It has always been, to me, a disturbing business, to be with this shape, which is that of a remembered friend or associate: and to match gestures, glances, mannerisms, that are so close to those that are, in memory, the property of this or that person. What absolutely individual and unmatchable entity is it that is not here? And, conversely, this other experience: when one encounters the species, type, shape, equipped with roughly similar manners and ways, and it is the remembered individual. This was Klorathy. I had known it was he, the moment I saw him, a shape against light, all his features invisible. Yet this was not the identical Klorathy. He had chosen to inhabit a physical equipment almost the same as his last. Presumably it was useful, being strong, healthy, and—I deduced—a good all-purpose type that would adapt easily to any planet and species without too much remark. For instance, he would not be likely to choose my physical type, which in fact always calls forth often uneasiness, if not worse, except on my own originating planet.
I had long been considering the Canopean ways of re-juvenation and re-issue. I have given a good deal of time to this problem since. And I want to make the point at this time that I consider we, Sirius, would do well to master these other techniques.
There is nothing we do not know about substitution and prosthetics. We replace parts of the body as fast as they wear out. I do not think there is an organ or a tissue in me that was Ambien II in pre-Disaster time, let alone even what the Canopeans call the First Time. There is nothing left even of what made up my being when I was whirled about the skies during the “events.” Even the ichor in my veins has been replaced many times. But these transplants and transfusions are costly in time and patience. Yes, I know that the argument will be that a vast quantity of admirable technicians would be put out of work; that many skills and techniques would become redundant. But this is a question falls under the heading of the existential problem, question, or dilemma. If we have answered that, in all other fields, by always accepting advances in knowledge even at the cost of falling populations, as classes of work become obsolete, then it is consistent for us to consider whether we should adopt the Canopean ways of self-perpetuation. How simple to “die”—and to take on new physical equipment. After all, it is not even necessary to go through the tedious business of having to endure infancy and childhood—they learned to bypass all that. How pettifogging and even pedantic the Canopean attitude to outworn physical equipment makes ours look! We patch and preserve—they throw an inefficient body aside and step into a new one without fuss, sentimentality, or regret.
Klorathy had inhabited three different bodies since I had seen him last. And he told me that Nasar was at that time down in our Southern Continent I as very small brown male, a hunter, bringing a species up to a new height of knowledge about its position in relation to “The Great Spirit.” Which the was formulation suitable for that place.
Klorathy told me this in a way that meant it was a rebuke—a rebuke to us for our negligence, We had no stations on that continent then.
And so we two engaged in, if not conflict, at least disagreement, and from the very first moment.
I was with Klorathy for fifty R-years; and I will sum up the essence of our being together thus: that he was there to bring me to a new view of the Sirian usage of the planet, a new view of ourselves altogether. And he was prepared to go to a great deal of trouble… from the start I was wondering what sort of importance Canopus could possibly be attributing to it all, to designate Klorathy, one of their senior Colonial officials, to my tutelage for such a long time. Of course I did not fool myself that this was an individual matter. No, it was Canopus and Sirius—as always. But I recognised that I was in a familiar position. Nasar… Klorathy… or whatever names they might be choosing to use, whatever shapes they wore, when with me, were—I had to accept it—instructors.
And Klorathy sat there patiently with me in that pleasant, airy room, where we looked out together over landscapes I almost was able to match with what I remembered—and talked.
When I had lived here during the best time, in the days when I thought of Rohanda almost as my home, what I saw from the foothills was savannah, a pleasant, lightly-treed country broken by valleys and plains of grass. All was different now: it was rain forest. Climatic changes of a dramatic kind had caused vast rivers to flow, and their many tributaries ran through enormous trees, which made a canopy of foliage it was not possible to see through. We looked at vast expanses of leaves, always leaves, the tops of trees that shimmered and moved under a heavy and uncomfortable sun. It was not at all the bracing and invigorating place of my memories.
There was nothing now in this continent pleasant to hear about. Klorathy was making certain that I did hear, and, as I have said, with the intention of making me feel it all as a responsibility. I shall never forget how, through those days of preparation—as he clearly saw it—I was held there by him, held by his determination, that I should not be allowed to escape anything of the truth. Sometimes, evading the necessity of looking at him, I gazed out into the hot steamy perspectives of green that were so often drenched by sultry rains: but otherwise I sat regarding him, Klorathy, taking in and wondering at the authority of this person who never demanded, never enforced, but who had only to be there, be present, be himself, to make of what he said a claim and something that had to be attended to.
The situation through the continent was this. While the Lelannians had become a tyranny that controlled the old Lelannian and Grakconkranpatl territories that, because of their position, also controlled the long isthmus that joined the Southern Continent to the Isolated Northern Continent, acting as a barrier to the movement of peoples, everywhere else was evolving a fairly uniform species made from the escapees and mutants from our—by now—very numerous experiments, crossed with that kind of borderline semi-ape is so often the predominant animal on certain types of planet. This cross was not dissimilar to the Lelanos type before it had degenerated. In appearance they were a lithe, slightly built, tallish people with the common ranges of colour from light-brown to almost black, long straight black hair, black eyes. They were hunters, and gathered plants from the forests. That their genes, which held memories of origins in other places where agriculture was understood, had not spoken in them here was not surprising: this was a sparse population, with no need to grow food. They were in strict harmony with their surroundings, at that stage where no act, or intention, or thought, could be outside the mental and emotional frames of reference forming their “religion.” The Great Spirit, here, as Nasar was teaching on the other Southern Continent, was in everything they did: they lived within the sacramental, or—as I attempted to joke with Klorathy—according to the Necessity. Our relations were not easy. (I see now that this had to be so, representing as we did, and do—I must insist—Empires on such different levels.) But we did joke, were able to use this ease between ourselves. Klorathy evidently could not see my, admittedly, minor and perhaps clumsy jests as worth more than the slightest of smiles; yes, said he, these people indeed lived within the ordinance of the Necessity. Or rather, had done, before they had been overrun by the Lelannians. They were now slaves and servants from the extreme south of the continent to the isthmus. Everywhere they worked mines and plantations, or provided the meat for the ritual murders of the religion. They were also material for experiment. This surprised me, and I had to sit and hear, at very great length and in detail, of the development of the master race into technicians who saw the animals that surrounded them as controllable and malleable and available for their purposes not only socially, that is, within the limits of sociological malleability, which after all was a viewpoint that as such, and in itself, I could hardly criticise, since we—Sirius—had seen this as the foundation of Empire, the basis of good government.
But they had gone further, used any living being they ruled, on any level, as the stuff for experiments of a most brutal nature. No, although I did have my uncomfortable moments listening to Klorathy describe the practices of these overlords, I could to myself that never had we, had Sirius, done unnecessary, or cruel experiments. Of course, experimentation of the physical, as distinct from the biosociological kind, is necessary and so permitted. But after all, it is always done, with us, within the limits of our necessity, even if this is sometimes only a local need… so I fatuously argued with myself as I sat listening to Klorathy, during these conversations that I was already seeing as a preparation. A deliberate, calculated preparation for what was to come. Oh, Canopus never did, never has done, anything that has not been calculated, foreseen, measured, and this down to the last detail, even when the plan is such a long-term one that… I have to state here again that we—meaning Sirius, and I say this knowing the criticism I risk—are not able to comprehend the Canopean understanding of what may be long term, or long foreseen. Yes, I am saying this. I am stating it. I am insisting on it… If I may not do this, then my attempt in writing this record, or report, is without use.
This small example, which I am describing here, consisting of Klorathy’s use of the situation in this continent at this time to instruct me, Sirius, contains many aspects of Canopean planning, foresight, patience. Even as I dwelt there, in that old Sirian station, day after day with Klorathy, I knew that he had calculated that I would need this period for adjustment, for the absorption of what he was presenting to me.
When I knew he wanted me to accompany him on a long and certainly dangerous journey to see for myself what he was describing, I resisted. Not because of the danger. I was acquiring very different attitudes to my own extinction! Once I would have regarded “death,” of the kind now obsolete among us, as a calamity, certainly as a loss to our community because of my vast experience. Now I was thinking that if I was worth a survival of physical extinction, then what there was in me to survive, would—must. And I was thinking, too, that if we were caught and killed by these truly horrible animals, the Lelannians, I would be in the company of Canopus, who regarded “death” as a change of circumstance.
No, I was resisting because of my old lack, or disability: I not being given what I felt I was due! In the past I had sulked, or allowed myself to become impervious to what I might be learning, because Klorathy’s attention was not being given to me alone. Now, when it was being given to me alone, or rather, to me as Sirius, I still felt neglected, insufficiently appreciated, because it was only a journey among these savage Rohandans that was being offered. I would have been prepared to stay in the little station in the foothills, overlooking the long reaches of simmering rain forest, listening to what Klorathy had to tell me—even though he talked of Lelanos and Lelannians, and their habits, and not ever of Canopus itself, which I longed so much to hear about—taking in what I knew was an education of a sort far larger than I was then equipped to understand. When Klorathy spoke, his words came from Canopus, were of the substance of Canopus—that I did know. But he was putting a term to this experience of ours, which on one level was so easygoing, even lazy, and demanding that we should go forth, into something else.
There were various ways we might travel. One was to summon my Space Traveller, and to descend, the two of us, as representatives of Sirius—they would not know Canopus, the real and true power!—and demand to see what we wanted. Or we could pretend to be from another part of Rohanda, “from across the seas.” Or we could announce ourselves as from the Northern Continent, and the fact that the isthmus was closed would add to our—we hoped—mysteriousness. It was not possible to purport to come from another city in the Lelannian system, for it was monolithic and all-pervasive and knew everything that went on everywhere.
The problem was my appearance: I at least could not hope to remain unremarked.
The alternatives were put to me by Klorathy, in his way of leaving me free, so that I had to consider them, and then offer my choice to hi
m for his acceptance. I chose descent by Space Traveller, the easiest. He did not at once disagree, but kept hesitating, as he made suggestions, or the beginnings of suggestions, for me to take up trains of thought for myself. I soon saw that to appear, suddenly, “from the skies,” and after such a long time during which the Sirian surveillance had been forgotten, would be to disrupt the social system totally, and in ways that ought to be calculated, weighed, planned for—in the Canopean manner. Planned for when the subjects of this consideration were such an unpleasant kind?
Yes, indeed. I had to accept it. What I was being given was a lesson in Canopean viewpoints—very far from ours.
No, we were not to use the easy way. In the end it was decided to be visitors from “over the seas.” Prompted by him, I brought forth from within myself the advantages—and they were all inside a Canopean scope of time. The main one, from which the others flowed, was that even these tyrants would be open to information or instruction from “over the seas,” for their legends kept references to such beings. Not by chance: some visiting Canopean had no doubt made sure that their legends would contain such memories.
This journey of ours through the Southern Continent was a long one, and there were many aspects to it that unfolded themselves as we went, that sometimes became clear to me only later. Are still, in fact, showing new facets, when I contemplate that time. I submitted a full report on this journey, which is still available. There is nothing untrue, or even evasive there: on that I must insist. But I must urge, too, that it is possible, and indeed often inevitable, that one may report events as fully and honestly as one knows how—and yet find oneself up against a check, beyond which one may in no way pass. This barrier is the nature or state of those for whom the report is made. Their state at that time. Preparing this report, one’s mind on those who will receive it—the words are chosen for you, the frequencies limited. As one’s mind goes out to touch, or assess, those who will take it in, one knows that only so much of it can be taken in. But that later, perhaps, much more will be found. I wonder if those of my fellow Sirians who have read so far—and, as I have already said, I can guess only too well the nature of some of their emotions—might care to look up that old report of the journey. I feel that both those who saw it all those ages ago, and those who read it now, for the first time, may find there a great deal that can amplify this present account of mine.
The Sirian Experiments Page 26