Skora smiled wearily, his eyes moving toward the book Kayel still held. He nodded thoughtfully. “Superstition? I suppose you’re right,” he admitted. “Or conditioned reflexes of thought. Until about the age of nine, it was easier for a young telepath to explore the passive, unresisting mind of god than that of a busy adult. Eventually, it became the only way for them to learn in our culture. Now I suppose we’ll have to train teachers for the children.”
Kayel was staring at them, his mind busily adjusting to the new conditions. “Telepathy!” he said, without fear, but with a growing sense of wonder, as he knitted his brows and stood silently while Skora seemed to listen. Derek wondered why his own mind wasn’t curling up in horror at being read. But what difference would it make? He’d helped Vanir, but the Federation could never use the secret.
Skora sighed at last. “Sanity, new morals, many other things, Kayel. We only deceived you about our ability to read minds, and that for your own good. We were, afraid it might be too disturbing. And we’re doubly grateful now. If there is anything we can do…”
“Send us home on the Sepelora,” Derek suggested.
“The affairs of the rest of the universe are not ours, Derek,” the old man answered, and he seemed genuinely sorry. “We can’t risk having them brought to us by returning you. The decision of the majority went against me. Now all I can do is make you welcome here on Vanir.”
Derek stared up at the sky where the Sepelora lay out of reach but ready to carry them home. He let his eyes fall again to the planet that was to be their prison. He had come to like the people and to feel more at ease among them in many ways than among his own race. But there had been hope, until now.
“All right,” he said at last. “Keep your world, Skora, Live on it comfortably while the rest of the human race nearly kill themselves in another war. You’ll be safe. Dredge up a few more tricks from Aevan’s notes. You like being alone—most provincials do. And it won’t matter in your time. But when the children of my people find mechanical ways of doing what you do with your minds—when they sweep in here with ten battleships for each that your people can handle—remember that you could have joined us and saved us from the enemy that burned this planet once already. When that happens, cry for the brotherhood of men. See what they think of a single planet that kept its secrets to itself. Oh, damn it, send us back to Lari’s and let us alone!”
Skora reached for the amulet. Then he threw it away and stared at them, frowning in concentration without the help of tools. His hands clenched at his side.
They stood in Derek’s bedroom.
Derek lay wearily on the bed while Kayel’s low voice went on explaining things to Siryl. The woman had resented their going off without her, even though she had wanted no part of the trip. But now her hurt scorn had cooled down to an unbelieving interest. In a way, the captain thought, she had been right all along. But she didn’t seem to be enjoying it. He started to turn over.
Siryl screamed thinly. By the time he could look, she was throwing Aevan’s notebook away and whimpering. “No!” Her voice was low now, but rising slowly toward hysteria as Derek got off the bed. “No. No! It can’t be telepathy!”
“It is,” Derek assured her. “I tested it. So did Kayel.”
Her face contorted, and she swung toward him, groping for support. She found his shoulder and buried her face in it, clinging to him, her nails digging into his back as she strained closer. “Take me away! Derek, take me away. I can’t stand having them read my mind—every thought I ever had, every wish…. Derek!”
He reached up to disentangle the hands that were trying to dig through his backbone. “Siryl—” he began.
She flung herself from him and groped toward the door. But Kayel was there, his tortured face sympathetic. The little man caught her, and she dragged herself against him. He drew her closer while she sobbed, standing the pain of her hysteria as if he were being -knighted.
“I’ll protect you, Siryl. Some way I’ll protect you. They aren’t going to read your mind. I won’t let them.” He was scowling furiously with some effort as he tried to comfort her. His eyes turned toward Derek. “Maybe if they know about their god now, they’re upset! Maybe they won’t think too well. Get Lari, Derek—she’s not very suspicious, I hope. And don’t think about anything except that Siryl’s sick.”
The woman had whimpered at the mention of Lari’s name. Kayel drew her down beside him, rubbing her hair gently. “There, there, baby. Nobody is going to read your mind now.”
Derek found Lari in the kitchen, naturally, and brought her back with him. She was wearing her big apron with the amulet pockets, and moved ahead of him with the bowl in her hands clattering against one of them while she went on stirring—the picture of a quiet housewife, Derek thought bitterly. With the power of a god!
“Lari,” Kayel told her, “Siryl’s sick. We’re not just like you. We’re neurotics—we have been since the Collapse. We need things you don’t have which are on the Sepelora—Ferad will need them, too. Can you send Siryl and Derek up for them? They’ll know where to find the drugs.”
Derek started to protest. But this was more important to the physicist than escape. He was being the space knight who could slay monsters for his lady. The captain glanced at Lari, trying to keep his thoughts down. She puzzled over it, but seemed completely unsuspicious. It must have been a hard day for her already, and her mind wasn’t on the request.
“I guess so,” she answered. “If I sort of pretend god is still there and use the amulet. I’ll have to concentrate. You stir this till I work it.” She handed the bowl to Kayel, who took it quickly, keeping the swirling bubbles in the mixture going.
Lari pulled out the amulet and clutched it firmly. She bent over it, hesitated, and looked up. “No sense in two of you going for a few drugs,” she commented, and clenched her hand.
Derek found himself in the control room of the Sepelora, beside a new bank of instruments. He let out a yell of protests at the miscarriage of Kayel’s plans, but his finger hit the red button that was still marked firing pin. There was no way he could go back for them, nothing he could do to help. And he was still captain of the ship, in the service of the Federation, with a job to do.
The Sepelora came to life. There was no blanking out of the ports, but the stars began rushing by at an incredible rate, while the radar checked them and threw the ship about to :av6id a direct hit. They were making better than a thousand light-years an hour!
Derek found the instructions beside the new panel and began setting their course for Sirius. He had no idea of how the machines worked, but that would be for experts if he got back; and it was something to aid the Federation, at least.
He could feel the breath of fear blowing down his neck as he worked frantically. Lari might not be able to handle a time-negation field. She might have to waste tune in hunting for Skora. Or perhaps none of them could work through this. Perhaps there was no way to locate him. He could be sure of nothing, except that each thousand light-years gave him a slight added reason for hope—but sure that it wasn’t enough reason, even so.
He wondered about Siryl and Kayel. She might be sick at their failure, but she was probably female enough to appreciate the attempt Kayel had made more than the fact that he hadn’t delivered. And she’d been rocked by telepathy enough to seek comfort where she could find it and in the strongest manner.
Then he went back to worrying, staring back in the direction of Vanir. He had no idea of how far they could reach. Maybe they could throw things farther than they could suck them in. The Waraok had been tossed two hundred thousand light-years. But the people of Vanir had gone out only a few light-years to bring supplies. Maybe he was already safe.
He began to think so as the hours drifted by. And he began to appreciate the time-negation field more as he saw the simplicity of the generators. He could already construct another set from memory, if he had to. With this, the Federation still might win.
Worry over pursuit kept
him from sleeping until fatigue finally took over. That day and the next went by. Then the next.
He went to bed with more confidence. He’d underestimated the speed of the new drive and was already half the distance back to Sirius—they should have stopped him before that, since he was now near some of the outer fringes of the Federation. He considered landing on one, but decided against it. The farther he went, the better. And the new drive should be taken directly to headquarters.
In the so-called morning, his head was aching as if the back of his skull were about to split, and the wqrry had returned. There was no reason for it, except the jinx that had become such a part of him. He swallowed anodynes and fought off some of the pain, but it kept coming back, as if something were bursting inside.
He made his way up to the control room, while the feeling that he had lost grew stronger and stronger inside him. He should have remembered that the anodyne was a depressant. It wouldn’t do to go into a fit of depression now, while he was nearing home.
He opened the door to the precabin, strode through it, and into the cabin beyond. Then he stopped.
Skora sat in a seat there, staring at the great spread of stars that streaked across the ports. This time there were no pants of homespun and no scrape over the old shoulders. The beard was still there, but shortened and trimmed. It projected over the collar of a Federation Fleet uniform—and on the side of the collar was pinned the double cluster of a galaxy commander!
The old man saluted crisply, smiling in amusement at the gesture, and waited while Derek’s arm automatically returned the honor. “As you were, Captain!” Then he sobered. “As you can see, Derek, your words made an impression on me. Vanir couldn’t stand in a backwater, hoping that men would never catch up. Nor could we forget that we belonged to the race of mankind and were all brothers. Telepaths are unusually sensitive to that argument, once it’s pointed out to them. I couldn’t convince enough of our council. But after I teleported myself to Sirius and convinced your command there, it was too late for Vanir to retrench. We aren’t limited to one planet now, clinging to the memory of a decaying god. Now there are two million of us being fitted for your uniforms—enough to win your war without having to destroy the enemy we both fought once before.”
“And I suppose headquarters took one look at what you could do and made you all officers,” Derek said bitterly, remembering the years he’d spent fighting for a mere sector commander’s rating.
The pain in his head broke over him again, and he doubled over. Skora seemed not to notice.
“It wasn’t hard, Derek. They were paralyzed with fear of new weapons until they were beginning to lose the battle. Your command had its own superstitions. And reading their minds helped me to find ways of convincing them. Then, when I could, I came to take you back. I’ve been waiting here for you for hours—though not idly.”
The pain hit a sharp peak and faded somewhat. Skora was staring at him intently, and he covered the remaining pain under automatic questions. “How’s Siryl? And I suppose Kayel is happy working out more of the mathematics for you?”
“Siryl—” Skora paused and shrugged. “Kayel had her promise to marry him, of course, and is a new man. She is recovering, we hope, since he made her a metal net and told her it would keep us from reading her mind. It won’t, if we try, but she needs her little superstition, if she’s to stop hating us.”
Derek stared out at the stars rushing by, knowing he had won what he had been sent to win—and had lost the Federation. His jinx had outgrown him, and had spread to the whole race.
Now Siryl hated and feared the men of Vanir for their power to see the things which a prude must conceal within her own mind. She might get over that; perhaps she could learn to accept their power. But in time, all the women on Federation planets would have to hate the telepaths—not for themselves, but for the sake of the children who should never be born into the life that must come.
Skora had spent a few days gaining himself the coveted rank of Galaxy Commander, while Derek had never dared to hope he could rise that high in a lifetime. And Skora’s people could have everything they wanted for the asking.
Monsters were loose on the world. Until power could corrupt them, they might be kind monsters. But they were worse than any enemy defeat could have been. They would save the Federation, but after the triumph, those most fit would own it. The men who had built the star ships would never control the future—that would be left for the conquering march of the men who .had done nothing, but had simply been given a power denied to the rest of the race.
“There was an old legend,” Skora said suddenly. “About a boy who lived with some kind of animals. When men discovered him at the age of twelve, he was a savage. He was unable to talk—and nobody learned how to teach him. Yet his powers of speech were latently as good as those of any man.”
The pain had lashed out again at the man’s words. Derek let them slip over his mind without trying to understand. Skora was reading his mind, but it didn’t matter. He went on thinking, forced to recognize that he had brought total defeat to all nontelepathic men. If there had been any hope…
But the psychologists and geneticists had looked for the power of telepathy in the current race, and had found none.
Skora stirred impatiently. “Telepathy never occurred strongly in men more than once in perhaps a billion births. Even in the group at the place where god found us, only Moskez had any great power, after all the careful breeding for it. He had to teach it to the others, so that they would not be wolf-boys in the world which the explosion left them. And Lari and Ferad are having a child—who will learn, like all the rest of us, even though Ferad is its father.”
Derek groped for the hope, and then shrugged. It was a good line for the rest of the worlds. It would give them faith in their future, while Vanir replaced them. They could believe that with a little more work and time, they would slowly develop the power—and their “teachers” would find ways of convincing them they were succeeding. Maybe they needed that faith, no matter how wrong it was. They would forget the legends that spoke of a time when the strange psi factor was bred out of the, race—for the benefit of a few, as he now knew. They would pretend there was only one race, instead of the two into which it had been split.
The pain caught him again, and Skora got up sympathetically to rub the back of his neck. It helped. “Men,” the old man told him, “have been finding ways to claim they are not all one race since there first were human beings. But it’s still wrong. And science has made mistakes, while legends are only superstitions.”
The old fingers found the spot of greatest anguish and began rubbing it out. Derek looked up, grateful in spite of his bitterness against what had been done. “The advantage of being a telepath,” he admitted. “You know where the pain is. Thanks, Skora.”
It always hurts at first, Skora’s voice said softly.
His lips had been tightly shut, and he was smiling. Derek felt his body tauten, and his eyes froze on the unmoving lips, while the voice continued quietly somewhere in his mind.
It takes time, Skora’s voice went on, with a warmth that had always been lacking in it before. And it hurts. So does the loss of some of the things we believe—that we are persecuted, that we must depend on god, that incomplete knowledge and old legends can tell us everything, or that we are more than one race. Telepathy is never easy for an adult, Derek. But with it, we can unite our whole race—perhaps even the ones we call an enemy!
The pain was gone now, leaving only a strange sense of completion behind it. Derek stumbled to his feet, choking over words that would not come.
The old man caught his mind, smiling, and led him to the viewing port.
“Sector Commander Derek,” he said aloud, while the warm soft echo of the words came into the former captain’s mind, “out there is man’s kingdom. All of space! But there’s no room there for any more of the superstitions we’ve all had too long.”
Derek looked out through the ports
toward the stars
that rushed by the Sepelora, while the ship carried the two men into their future.
There was no jinx reflected in the port glass. There were only the images of two faces, smiling back at him.
For I Am a Jealous People!
1
…the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves… and the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low… they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish… because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets….
Ecclesiastes, 12:3-5
THE BOOK OF THE JEWS
there was the continuous shrieking thunder of an alien rocket overhead as the Reverend Amos Strong stepped back into the pulpit. He straightened his square, thin shoulders slightly, and the gaunt hollows in his cheeks deepened. For a moment he hesitated, while his dark eyes turned upward under bushy, grizzled brows. Then he moved forward, placing the torn envelope and telegram on the lectern with his notes. The blue-veined hand and knobby wrist that projected from the shiny black serge of his sleeve hardly trembled.
Unconsciously, his eyes turned toward the pew where his wife should be, before he remembered that Ruth would not be there this time. She had been delayed by the arrival of the message and had read it before sending it on to him. Now she could not be expected. It seemed strange to him. She hadn’t missed service since Richard was born nearly thirty years ago.
The sound of the rocket hissed its way into silence over the horizon, and Amos stepped forward, gripping the dusty surface of the rickety lectern with both hands. He straightened and forced his throat into the pattern that would give, his voice the resonance and calm it needed.
“I have just received final confirmation that my son was killed in the battle of the moon,” he told the puzzled congregation, which had been rustling uncertainly since he was first interrupted. He lifted his voice, and the resonance in it deepened. “I had asked, if it were possible, that this cup might pass from me. Nevertheless, not as I will, Lord, but as Thou wilt.”
The Best of Lester del Rey Page 23