This Star Shall Abide

by Sylvia Engdahl

  Noren could no longer see any of the rest, for this opponent loomed too large in the dream; but he could hear their voices. “Perhaps we will all lose our sanity . . . perhaps suicides weren’t the worst we had to fear . . . perhaps it’s true that no one can endure to outlive the Six Worlds! Our two best leaders have become madmen.”

  In the man’s eyes there was indeed madness; he looked at Noren with fanatical contempt, and then, abruptly, he turned and ran.

  The white table disappeared, and Noren found that he too was running, running down a long bright tunnel toward a thing that the First Scholar knew to be the starship’s main control board. He was dizzy with terror; his breath was torn from him in agonized gasps, for he was too old a man to run easily.

  The antagonist whom he pursued stood before an array of switches, levers and flashing lights. “I mean what I say!” he shouted. “I will disable the safety circuits and put on enough power to blow this ship.”

  There was no time for argument, no time to wait for other men to come; Noren knew that before they could reach him, the starship would be vaporized. If he had been younger and stronger he could have fought the man and overpowered him, but as the First Scholar he was not. The First Scholar had no alternative. He saw that some of the lights had gone out and he saw hands thrust into an opening in the control board, entangled in bare-ended wires; he raised his arm to touch a single switch.

  A flash of blue fire nearly blinded him. Noren shrank back, releasing the switch, and the man’s form crumpled, fell; there was the stench of charred flesh. He stared down in horror. I’ve killed a man! he thought dazedly. I said there would be no violence, yet already I’ve killed by my own hand. . . .

  Others by this time had crowded around. He lifted his head, willing himself to assume the bearing of a leader. They would follow him, he knew; they would go along with the plan. But if this was how it had begun, where was it going to end?

  Chapter Ten

  Gradually, through many dreams, Noren experienced it all: the building of the City; the unloading of the starships; and the nonviolent but rather ruthless way in which the research station people were transformed into villagers who, given the minimum essential technological aid, could fend for themselves in the wilderness of an alien world. But it wasn’t easy. The First Scholar suffered intensely throughout, and as Stefred had predicted, Noren shared the agony fully.

  Many of his sensations were pure nightmare. Because he was still partly himself, the impressions were often incoherent—he was experiencing mental reactions to events rather than events themselves, and though he could call on the First Scholar’s knowledge, the facts that came into his mind were hard to interpret. Even the feelings were sometimes diffuse, chaotic ones that he could not put into words.

  At first, during his periods of wakefulness, he found it hard to believe that keeping the secret of the nova had really been necessary. Surely few if any villagers would have gone so far as to kill themselves! Some of the men in the dreams shared this opinion. “Human beings have instincts that enable them to survive and adapt under almost any conditions,” they insisted. “We owe these people the truth! Though some may not prove able to take it, the majority will.”

  “You’re missing the point,” others replied. “Of course they could survive physically, but their morale would be destroyed; suicide’s just an extreme expression of the feeling almost everyone would share. And instinct wouldn’t help in this case. To remain human here, we’ve got to defy instinct. People’s instinct tells them that water that tastes pure is safe; it’s mere training that stops them from drinking it. The shock of knowing about the nova would strip away their protective training, at least temporarily. And if they turned to instinct—the instinct that would let them drink the water and perhaps even adapt to a diet of native plants, as we expect to adapt the embryonic animals we’ve brought for beasts of burden—their children would suffer irrevocable brain damage. They’d survive, all right, but at the expense of generations yet unborn.”

  The First Scholar understood that. He knew that no evil was worse than extinction of the human race, and though dissidents reminded him that at certain points in the Six Worlds’ history similar arguments had been invalidated, he knew such an analogy was false. There’d once been a time when his ancestors had claimed that abridging people’s rights in order to prevent overpopulation of the mother world was essential to survival, but it had not been essential at all. On the contrary, voluntary reduction of the birth rate had worked very well, for if the mother world hadn’t become overpopulated to some degree, interstellar travel would never have been developed—and in that case, nobody would have escaped the nova. This was different, for this was a matter not of how future humans would handle their problems, but of the terrible possibility that the next generation would be subhuman. Such a risk couldn’t be taken. Moreover, he began to see other reasons why keeping the secret was important to the success of his plan.

  He had known from the beginning that all offworld equipment would have to be preserved within the City if the colony was to last long enough for scientists to learn how to synthesize metallic elements suitable for the manufacture of machines. There were a number of reasons for this. In the first place, if that irreplaceable equipment fell into the hands of people unqualified to use and maintain it, it couldn’t be kept operative; and while the research station workers were qualified, their descendants wouldn’t be. Besides, recycling of worn metal parts, and indeed of all offworld materials, was going to be necessary over the years. If such materials were allowed outside the City, some would be lost. Some would be lost simply by being stored outside air-conditioned buildings, since the planet’s atmosphere was corrosive to the metals of which certain machines were built. And of course, once the population began to expand, there would not be enough tools and machines to go around. Then people would start fighting over them. The colony was too small and weak to withstand much fighting.

  But above all, the First Scholar knew that the existing equipment could not go on working forever even if it was carefully safeguarded, nor would it serve an expanding population forever. There would come a time when more had to be manufactured if survival was to continue. The supply of metallic trace elements for initial enrichment of cropland would also run out. Synthesization of metal had to be achieved by then, and that was utterly dependent not only on the education of future scientists, but on maintenance of research facilities and on preservation of the computers containing the Six Worlds’ knowledge. Those things would be possible only within the City, and the City would need all the offworld equipment merely to function.

  Depriving the people outside the City of that equipment, however, would be a terrible shock to them. The even greater shock of knowing about the nova might be too much—not simply because they had strong ties to the Six Worlds, but because if they knew, they’d be aware that there was nothing they could personally do to improve their situation. They couldn’t face such frustration without being united by some immediate aim; he had realized that when he formed the plan, and had wondered what aim he could give them. By keeping the secret he solved that problem.

  To Noren’s dismay, he solved it by making them hate him.

  Initially, the research station consisted of one large opaque dome in which people had been living and working, plus smaller ones containing power and water purification plants. Noren, as the First Scholar, looked down on them from the shuttlecraft in which he and some of the other Founders were descending, finding himself aware that such domes were standard equipment aboard all starships. They were easy to erect; an immense bubble was inflated, then sprayed with a substance that hardened to an impervious shell. The Outer City was to be composed of all the bubbles carried by the fleet.

  As soon as the shuttlecraft landed, the captain, by radio, called a meeting in the existing dome; and when all the research station’s people were inside, awaiting the newcomers’ appearance, its doors were locked. They stayed locked—permanently seale
d, in fact—during the days it took for the remaining passengers of the fleet to land and to build the huge circle of adjoining domes that formed the City’s outer boundary.

  Those imprisoned in the original dome were unharmed, but outraged and bewildered; they had no idea what was going on. They could not look out, and no one spoke to them. Then, once the City was fully enclosed, a new exit was cut in the outside of their dome, and they saw that they were at liberty to leave. Unsuspecting, they did so, taking nothing but the clothes they wore and whatever articles they had in their pockets. It never occurred to them that they’d be unable to get back in. At the moment their fighting spirit was aroused, and all they wanted was their freedom. To find themselves in the wilderness, outside a vast ring of domes that had not been there previously, was so astonishing that at first they didn’t understand the significance of what had happened. They encountered no people; they seemed to be free. And so they were. Nobody ever employed force against them again, but there was no way for them to enter the City.

  The nucleus of the first village had already been prepared by the Founders: a large water cistern connected by pipe to the City, surrounded by enough cleared and treated land to support the existing population. There was also one stone building containing irradiated grain seed, the fertilized eggs of fowl with hens to incubate them, and enough concentrated rations to last until the first harvest. Inside that building were posted the rules of the game: the research station workers were to raise a larger crop than their previous experimental ones; they would receive no tools and no help except for essential medical supplies, which they could request by radiophone; purified water—for irrigating the fields as well as for drinking—would be supplied continuously, but no further food. No reason whatsoever was given for these instructions.

  Though the people were stunned, they were not despairing. The only explanation they could think of was that they were the subjects of some fantastic psychological experiment, and they decided to play along, thinking that it would be an interesting challenge for which they’d eventually be well rewarded. They were all intelligent, highly-trained men and women who were ingenious enough to apply their technical knowledge to the fashioning of tools from stone. Some, in fact, began to have fun, for on their home worlds camping out had been considered a pleasure.

  Meanwhile, the Founders within the City were working even harder and having considerably less fun. All of the equipment had to be brought down from orbit, meaning endless shuttlecraft trips; and after that some of the stripped starships, which were not designed to travel through the atmosphere, were dismantled and brought down piece by piece. These starships were reassembled inside the enclosure to become the City’s towers. They were built of a special material that could not be reshaped by any means available on the planet, and all material was, of course, precious. The only solution was to make them into living quarters. It was a truly awesome task. The Scholars, unused to manual labor, worked to the point of exhaustion, and their knowledge of the tragedy and of the evils to come did not help.

  All this time no villager had seen or heard any of the Founders; they were figures of great mystery. The people were not afraid of them. They assumed that the Six Worlds had decided to establish a major colony, and that while it was being built, the psychological effects of close contact with the alien environment were being evaluated. They were sure the experiment would not extend past harvest day. When the day arrived, they were weary of the game; still they felt satisfaction with what they’d accomplished, and they’d developed a strong sense of community. With pride they reported their success on the radiophone. And at that point, the First Scholar faced his most heartbreaking ordeal.

  He knew that the people would not be willing to continue the “experiment” indefinitely. Furthermore, it was necessary for them to create permanent things: homes to replace the simple overhead shelters they’d constructed; gristmills to grind their grain; all the necessities of an ongoing life, including primitive clothing when their durable and easily-washed synthetic garments wore out. It was necessary for them to realize that no more contraceptive drugs would be available and that they would someday have to provide for children. Most important of all, it was time for irradiation of the seed and retreatment of the soil, which required go-betweens to ensure that the equipment would remain under the City’s control. He longed to offer sympathy and encouragement, but there was none he could give. Instead, he must play the role of a dictator—he must assume the blame for their severance from home to conceal the fact that home had ceased to exist.

  He spoke personally on the radiophone, the first voice that had been heard over it. He announced that he had established himself as absolute ruler of the planet, that his followers had successfully overpowered the crew of every supply ship that had arrived since, and that the Six Worlds, dismayed by the consistent and unexplained loss of ships, had written off this solar system and concentrated on exploring elsewhere. The people outside the City would be allowed to live only because they were needed to raise food. A token percentage of the harvest was to be delivered the next day to the gates; if it was not, the water supply would be cut off. By his manner as well as the words themselves, he deliberately made himself out to be insane.

  At first the villagers laughed. Did the experiment’s designer suppose that a season of living in the Stone Age would reduce citizens of the Six Worlds to a state where they’d swallow a ridiculous story like that? They didn’t become frightened until two days later when the water supply was indeed cut off. Even then, they held out till the last moment; they knew how much unpurified water they could safely drink. But they were young couples who expected to have families someday when they got home, and—except for a few who eventually fled to the mountains, where their offspring became mutant savages—they did not take foolish chances. Since the planet’s natural climate was dry and weather control hadn’t yet been established, there might be no rain for weeks. Realizing that they could not wait, they capitulated and delivered the grain.

  Noren was puzzled because although there were as yet no Technicians in the City, none of the Founders were allowed to risk disclosure of the secret by going out to treat the land. Someone would have to do it. He soon recalled, however, that the original villagers had been born as Technicians; they themselves knew how to operate the Machines. The process whereby they obtained those Machines and were forced to return them was shrouded in mystery, and he perceived that for some reason it was not in the recordings of the First Scholar’s memories. When he asked Stefred about it during one of his conscious interludes, he was told only that the problem had been handled in a way beyond his present comprehension, a way that had made the villagers angry and afraid, but had brought harm to no one.

  Lying there, waiting for the drug-induced sleep that would send him into the next dream, Noren wondered if he ought to take Stefred’s word for such a thing. Instinctively, he felt that Stefred would not lie to him; still, the Scholars were admittedly trying to win him to their side. . . . And then he realized that it did not matter whether he trusted Stefred. He trusted the First Scholar! Having shared the First Scholar’s feelings, he knew with absolute certainty that the man could not have made plans that would hurt anybody.

  But the villagers hadn’t known it. To them, the First Scholar was a tyrant, a madman; as the dreams continued, their hatred of him flourished and the bonds of their community strengthened. Slowly, Noren began to see that by hating him, people were adjusting to their new way of life much better than they would have if they’d known his true motives. They still had hope of getting rid of the “dictator” and regaining the things of which they’d been deprived. To be sure, the lack of shuttlecraft traffic had become all too evident; there could be no doubt that the Six Worlds had abandoned the planet, and the towers that began to rise within the City seemed a clear indication that no starships remained in orbit. There was thus no conceivable means of communicating with home, since only starships could travel faster than light. They
resigned themselves to their fate, knowing that even if they should succeed in overthrowing the “madman” and getting control of the City, they must make do with the world they had—still, hating him gave them the strength to keep struggling. In their hearts they cherished a hope of rescue. If they’d known the Six Worlds were gone, they would have had no hope at all.

  As the First Scholar, Noren knew that once the struggle became easier, the hate would become dangerous. The First Scholar foresaw things he did not like to think about. Noren tried reaching for them and, without knowing why, was badly frightened; thereafter he resolved to take one step at a time.

  Village life, he learned, was harder than in his own era. For instance, there were no work-beasts. The fleet had carried animal embryos, since the planet had no large native animals, but the poorly-understood process of altering their genetic makeup so that they could eat native plants wouldn’t be completed for years, and there wasn’t enough grain to feed more than were kept in the laboratory. To be sure, the original villagers lived close together and had no need to travel, but gathering stones for building wasn’t easy when sledges had to be pulled by men. They thought at first they might make devices called “wheels,” which they were used to, but soon found that since wheels made of softstone would not turn properly and wore away quickly from friction, these were less efficient than runners. That was a blow, for the wheel seemed somehow symbolic of civilization. Then too, there were no City goods at the beginning, aside from the cloth given in exchange for grain and wild fibers delivered to the gates. The Founders had brought machines to produce the City goods that would be needed, but it took time to find the right raw materials.

  The villagers assumed that the Scholars were living in luxury, but that was far from the case. Actually they too were undergoing severe hardships. In the dreams Noren was almost always hungry. Before his escape from the village, he hadn’t known what it meant to be hungry, and neither, it seemed, had the Founders. But the first harvests were not large, and the Scholars bought only the barest minimum to supplement the dwindling store of concentrated foods carried aboard the fleet, leaving most of the grain for the villagers. Within the City strict rationing was practiced, not only with food but with all supplies—especially anything made of metal—and the First Scholar felt called upon to set an example by following the rules more strictly than anyone else. He and his companions considered themselves stewards, custodians; they were preserving the City’s equipment not for their own benefit but for that of future generations. They could not afford any waste.