Message From the Eocene
Page 13
How could that be? He had lost his second body long ago. It could not possibly have survived his long exile from it. Almost his last awareness, until now, had been of the annihilation of the sentient thought that had been Tharg. He had accepted the annihilation as regrettable but necessary. Had it somehow given him this new body?
Well, it was possible. From the thought-stream in which he had lost his identity, he might have acquired energy so that a "new" second body could coagulate around what might be called the idea of Tharg. He had seemed to be dissolved completely. But he had been alien to the medium he was dissolved in, and in time he might, so to speak, have crystallized out of it again. Sugar can be dissolved in water, but it does not form a real chemical compound with it. There is always the possibility of the sugar recrystallizing out of the solution.
Yes, it was possible. And then, in the long space of time that had passed, the energetic, streaming force of human thought might have molded this new, ethereal vehicle for him. The body might have been built up, a little at a time, around the "idea" of him, as a pearl is built up, layer upon layer, around an initial grain of sand. The only thing he didn't understand was why, as his identity began to separate out from what it had been dissolved in, he hadn't been aware of himself. Perhaps the rushing force of thought had numbed him, even after he began to separate from it.
At any rate, he had a second body again. Where was he now? There was a brilliant blue sky over him, and the air seemed full of a pearly, golden light, a light without visible source.
Under his feet there was nothing. But he was not alarmed by this. Whatever it was that had need of support had found it, and was satisfied.
A sentence read eons ago, and only half understood then, came back to him. The gist of it was that on the second plane, when one is nowhere, one is everywhere. Utopia? Ou-topia? This bright emptiness was an antechamber to anything he desired. His new body had been attracted unerringly to its proper place, the second plane, and from there he had access to any time or any space. A multiplicity of choices spread out before him like the broadening blades on a fan.
He thought briefly of the second guidebook, the one sent to the indigenous inhabitants of Earth. Had it got through to them? Yes; his new body could never have been molded otherwise. Only the emancipated thoughts of beings who had received their birthright, the guidebook from interstellar space, would have had energy enough to shape this new vehicle for him. Tharg had succeeded in what he had wanted to do.
A joyfulness like the quivering flash of light on water seized him. He had succeeded, and now he was free of the second plane. He had a multiplicity of choices? No, an infinity. He had only to will to go. He felt full of new power, like a green plant, ready to mount to the stars.
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The Elpis' lounge also doubled as her dining salon. Captain Ambarzumian had ordered the dining table put up, and had had a glass of vodka set by every place. Now the whole crew of the Elpis sat around the table—the first officer, the chief engineer, his assistant, the electrician, the medical officer, the cook (who was also a chemist), and the mess boy (who had a Ph. D. in psychology).
Captain Ambarzumian sat at the head of the table. In the midst of the excitement he had found time to shave and change into his dress uniform. Now he got to his feet and addressed them formally.
"Gentlemen and comrades," he said, "I have asked you to assemble here because something very extraordinary has happened. Before I go any further, I should like to propose a toast to the success of our expedition and to the continued cooperation between our countries when we return to Earth."
There was a spatter of hand claps. They all drank. Ambarzumian put down his empty glass.
"Some two hours ago," he said, "the Elpis picked up a small object in her radar screen. The object was moving slowly and in a direction that, it first appeared, would take it far from our ship.
"As the Elpis continued on her course, however, the object gradually changed direction and in a short time was moving parallel to us.
"After considerable discussion, I directed Comrade—excuse me, Mister—Parker to have the object brought inside the Elpis. He did so. Here it is."
Ambarzumian reached around behind him to the sideboard. Holding the brownish ellipsoid in both hands, he deposited it on the dining table in front of his auditors.
"Now, this object is almost certainly an artifact. It is not a meteor, and it in no way resembles one. Preliminary tests have failed to show what it is made of. Apparently it was moving in a direction that would have taken it to Earth, had not the Elpis deflected it from its course.
"It has been represented to me that this object may possibly be dangerous—that it may have been sent from some extraterrestrial source, perhaps a source outside the solar system, with a hostile intent. I do not agree with this view, but it is a possible one. It has further been represented to me that, since the object may perhaps be dangerous, we ought to destroy it.
"I should welcome discussion on this point."
There was a brief silence. Then the mess boy said, "I don't understand how we could destroy it, sir. The Elpis isn't carrying any weapons. She's a scientific ship."
"That is true," Ambarzumian answered. "But if this object were positioned at the rear of the ship, where it would be in range of a rocket blast, it could be subjected to a very high temperature. Of course, it is possible that this would have no effect on it."
There was another brief silence. Then Vladimir, the engineer, said, "Comrade Captain, why don't you call for a vote? I doubt there's much use in discussing what we should do with this object. I believe each of us has his mind made up."
"Would you mind putting that in the form of a motion, Comrade Vladimir?"
"Very well." He cleared his throat. "I move that we preserve this object and, uh, see whether it can be opened without damaging it."
"Do I hear a second?"
"Second the motion," said the mess boy.
"It has been moved and seconded that we preserve the object and attempt to open it. Will those in favor please raise their right hands?"
Every hand except Parker's went up. "Contrary minded?" asked the captain.
Parker put up his right hand, and then jerked it down again. "I withdraw my opposition," he said.
"Good," said Ambarzumian. He had begun to smile. "I believe this object is a container for something," he said, "perhaps for something of great value. Comrades and gentleman, this is a historic moment. Let us try to open it."
The End
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Book information
LEGACY OF A LOST RACE
His name was Tharg, but he was not of any life form we know today. He lived so long ago that the planet Earth had not yet shaped itself. Lava seas roiled and churned, volcanoes spouted and grew, and heavy clouds hung in the hydrogen atmosphere, leaving the planet's surface dark and dangerous.
On that world Tharg met his death, or something very much like it. He became a disembodied, totally nonphysical intelligence, cut off from all contact with the life he had known. He "slept" for hundreds of millions of years, unconnected with the world, unthinking, hardly existing.
But then he began to awake—for there was new life on Earth, creatures called "human", and Tharg, knowing an ancient promise from the stars, had to tell them of it. But … how?
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MARGARET ST. CLAIR has had her stories published in such leading magazines as Galaxy, Fantasy & Science Fiction, Esquire, etc., and a good many of them have found their way into anthologies here and abroad. As often as not, she is likely to be using the pseudonym of Idris Seabright for a by-line.
A resident of Richmond, California, she is the wife of the well-known writer of children's stories, Eric St. Clair. Typical of science-fiction personalities, she lists a great many interests among her hobbies, and includes among them such varieties as sports cars, amateur astronomy, cooking, classical antiquity, gem cutting, and mandolin playing.
MESSAGE f
rom
the EOCENE
Margaret St Clair
ACE BOOKS, INC.
1120 Avenue of the Americas
New York, N.Y. 10036
MESSAGE FROM THE EOCENE
Copyright ©, 1964, by Margaret St. Clair
All Rights Reserved
FOR ERIC
... drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
THREE WORLDS OF FUTURITY
Copyright ©, 1964, by Margaret St. Clair
Printed in U. S. A.