Anderson, Poul - Novel 17

by Inheritors of Earth (v2. 1)

"That's why I appreciate paintings such as—" she gestured at the wall above "—that one. People tell me that art is a way of bringing meaning into life. I don't see that. I want my art to drive it away. That's why I cannot appreciate your sculptures—and I've seen every one you've done. They make too much—way too much—sense for me."

  "I'm sorry," Anna said.

  "Then do tell me about Alec."

  "I—I wouldn't know where to begin." The truth was that Anna couldn't remember Alec. Underneath the awful assault of this woman's radiations, she could remember nothing.

  Sylvia smiled and moved away from the wall at last. Once more she was standing in front of Anna. "I want to do you a favor."

  "What?"

  "Oh, nothing." She went to a small table in the center of the room and scribbled a note, which she brought to Anna. "Here you go."

  Anna did not look. "What—what is it?"

  "Where to find your father."

  "My father? You know about—?"

  Sylvia held up a hand. It was the same as a command. Anna fell silent.

  "And now that you know," Sylvia said, "you can tell Inspector Cargill that you will need his services no longer. He is an evil man, Anna. You should best beware of him. You will tell him to drop the search."

  "Yes." There was no other choice.

  Sylvia laughed. "Not that he would ever have found him anyway."

  Anna said, "Yes." It was the only word she knew. She was suffering from an awful headache. It felt as if someone's fingers had penetrated her skull, that they were moving across her mind, smoothing the wrinkles, crushing her feelings. "Yes," she said, with sudden conviction. "You are right. Yes, I understand. Yes, yes, yes."

  When Anna met Eathen beside the elevator, she did not give him a chance to ask questions. She told him straight-out: "It was easy."

  "You told her?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "And she didn't ask any questions? Why he hadn't called her? What he was doing in New York?"

  "She accepted everything I told her." She laughed, signaling for the elevator to come and take them down. "She's just a woman."

  "What's that?" Eathen asked, suddenly. He was pointing at her hand.

  "Oh, that." Anna raised the note and read the now familiar name and address written there. It was important— wasn't it?—she tried to remember. "Oh, that's my father."

  "Your father?" The elevator arrived. They stepped inside. Eathen grabbed her arm. "That woman knew your father?"

  "No," said Anna. Eathen's radiations were too strong. She wished he would go away and let her think in peace. "It was Inspector Cargill. He knew."

  "Cargill was there?"

  "Yes."

  "But what-?"

  "He was there." She could see him clearly, dark burlap, silver badge, standing, writing the note. "I saw him. He was investigating the murder. Why shouldn't he be there?"

  Going down, the elevator was much faster. They stepped immediately onto the street.

  Eathen glanced behind.

  "That man is still there," he said.

  "Ralston? He saw us?"

  "He must have."

  "Oh," she said. "Oh, no." But it didn't really seem very important. No—not really.

  Ten

  Before making himself venture out into the garden to look for them, Alec was determined to search every room in the house first. There were thirty, including rooms especially created for dining, bathing, sleeping, eating, studying, meditating, and tumbling. One room, on the far side of the house, was a vast ballroom, specifically designed for formal dancing. He and Anna had never made use of the room. It was the last place he inspected, but neither Anna nor Eathen was here either. He paused in the center of the vast, high-ceilinged room and looked at the outer wall. They had to be out in the garden.

  That was the last place in the world he felt like going now, but after so long an absence, he could hardly come home and not inform his wife. Or could he? Why not? Did she even care?

  While making up his mind, he roamed through the dusty room and uncovered a long forgotten bottle of Scotch tucked away in one dark corner. He popped the cork and sniffed the stem. It smelled good. He sat on the slick, polished floor and took a tentative swallow. He smiled. It was good. Another swallow. Still good. Another.

  Finally, having formed a decision, he pushed the bottle aside and stood up. He retraced his steps to the place where the transparent wall afforded immediate access to the garden. He stepped unhesitantly forward, letting the feeling of warmth that flowed, tingling, through his blood drive him ahead. Cupping his mouth with his hands, he called:

  "Anna!"

  A squadron of flying ants—he thought that's what they were—buzzed around the top of his head. He swatted one, then ducked past the rest, hurrying down a wide pathway, which gradually narrowed as he continued. He kept his senses carefully attuned, expecting at any moment to be confronted by Anna. She had to be out here; she couldn't very well be trying to hide. He called her name again. Immediately, he felt the radiated presence of someone else— a dim and distant mind—a stranger. Who? He stopped and tried to penetrate farther, but the radiations were dim and uncertain. He shook his head and continued forward, following a sharp turn in the path.

  He nearly ran right into Anna.

  She was seated in front of a high, blinking, pulsating machine, which Alec recognized as a device used for editing separate tape sequences into a draft sculpture. It was good to see Anna working again. Her eyes were fastened to the protruding lens of a scope. She peered down deeply into the dark innards of the machine. Eathen sat on the grass at her feet.

  With a start, Alec realized that the strange presence— the unknown person whose radiations he had earlier felt---was Anna.

  What had they done to her?

  He stepped forward, genuinely concerned, when she turned suddenly in her seat and glared at him.

  "Now where have you been?" she said, coldly.

  "I—" He stopped, unable to continue. He took a deep breath, fighting the dulling effects of the whisky. "I went to the office first."

  "Wouldn't your war wait?"

  "Astor ordered me to."

  "Was she there?"

  "Sylvia. Yes—of course. I called her ahead of time. Is there anything wrong with that?"

  "You called her—but not me?" Before he could reply, she waved a hand, dismissing the question. She said, "I assume, then, that she told you."

  "Yes," he said.

  "Everything?"

  "I suppose so."

  Anna shrugged and turned back to the machine. Eathen, at her feet, was smiling up at Alec, but the gesture---on his lips—was a cold, dead thing.

  "Stop doing that," Alec told him.

  Around the three of them, a high circle of trees rose in a single, sheer mass, like the walls of a deep canyon. Directly overhead, the moon sat big and golden in the sky. From the silver haze that circled the disk, he gathered that this must be the real moon tonight. Anna had taken the risk of lowering the dome. The stars, as well, seemed peculiarly bright and far away.

  "Anna," he said, when he saw her lean back in the chair. "Why did you—?"

  She spun around, her defenses momentarily slipping. Alec was appalled by the ugly, chaotic, senseless mass he saw inside her mind. What had happened to her? Could she be reverting all the way at last? Her aura genuinely frightened him; he kept his own feelings under stern control.

  "Why did I tell her I was leaving you? Is that what you want to know?"

  "Yes," he said, softly.

  "Because I am," she said. "By tomorrow evening, I will be gone."

  "But—" he struggled to find the right words "—why?"

  "Because you disgust me. No—I shouldn't say that. I should say that it's your hypocrisy that disgusts me."

  "What do you mean by that?" He tried to sound angry, but couldn't—couldn't even feel angry. When Sylvia had told him what Anna had said, he had been angry then. But not now. Not sitting across from her and seeing her
as she was and, most importantly, feeling her. He let her speak freely.

  "I can't tell you everything I mean," she said. "There isn't enough time for that. But your attitude on the war. You claim to be opposed and yet there isn't anyone working harder to bring it about."

  "You know why—"

  "No," she said, bluntly, meeting his gaze. "The fact is that I don't know."

  They had never talked this way before—so openly and bitterly. Her contempt was so immense he could not fight it. One person can argue with another only when there is some form of mutual respect between them and, as a result, some possibility of winning the other over. Alec could see that this condition no longer existed with Anna.

  "You tell me what I'm supposed to do."

  "Refuse to make the androids."

  He could tell that she was not only speaking honestly— truly—but that there was far more to it than that. He could almost sense the presence of some great barrier in her mind. She was speaking around this—unable to penetrate its mass—fighting a great battle with every word.

  "Then Astor will just find someone who won't argue with him. I'm only one person."

  "Yes, you are now—but you don't have to be. Talk to some of the others. Try to explain how you feel. Not all of them—us—are like Astor."

  He laughed, unable to hide his own skepticism. "Aren't they? Are you so sure? They're Superiors—that's all any of them know—and they want power."

  "Don't you?" she asked.

  "I don't know."

  "Can't you find out?"

  He shook his head. "That's what I'm waiting to see."

  She reached out. He came closer. She touched his hand. "Alec, I'm sorry it has to be this way. I wish it—none of it—had ever happened."

  "What?" he asked.

  She shook her head. Though her mouth opened, no words came out. Her feelings seemed muted now, as if the barrier whose presence he had sensed earlier had moved inward and smothered everything else. "Stay here," she said. "I want to work and I don't like doing it alone."

  "What about him?" Alec pointed at Eathen, who had hardly moved in all that time.

  "I want both of you to be here." She turned slowly back to the editing machine. Alec remained as he was, more than willing to honor her desire. The hate he had felt for her was wholly dissipated now. When Sylvia told him that Anna had visited her during his absence and said horrible, dreadful things about them both, he had come here prepared for a final showdown. But Anna had deflated him at once. He had intended to order her to leave; she had told him she was going. After that, was there anything more he could possibly say?

  As she worked, Anna radiated an aura of inexplicable, unstated serenity, as though she had chosen to surrender herself up to some great inner urging. Maybe it was better this way—not only for her but for him too. Hadn't they both managed to get almost everything into the open through the surest means available—by talking? Wasn't it easier to relax now, with nothing bottled up inside?

  But had he really told her everything? Or very much of anything? He had to admit—at least to himself—that he had not. Nor would he. Why? Perhaps because he was afraid that Anna would manage to penetrate his carefully erected defenses. She would glimpse the truth of his real feelings, and this was not something he cared for anyone to know.

  Let the war come, he thought. Hadn't the human race— didn't the present state of the world testify to this—hadn't they proved themselves unworthy to rule? What sort of world was it, governed by a single species and yet divided into two warring factions? The one rich, the other poor. The civilized world and the primitive. Why did it have to be that way? He knew history—was aware of how it had developed—but history could not explain why the situation had to remain unchanged. And could a world divided against itself ever survive for long?

  He didn't think so. He thought it would have to fall. Android soldiers or not. A-bombs or otherwise. As surely as the Earth turned, it was coming—the end was coming.

  So didn't the choice really lie between chaos and order? The end was predetermined—but the postscript was as yet unwritten. Wasn't that the real mission of the Superiors?

  To rescue from barbarism the world that followed the inevitable war?

  He could believe in a supreme entity—a being capable of injecting point and purpose into existence. He felt the presence of a plan now—he sensed his own significant role in the great design. The Superiors had been placed upon the Earth at the exact point in human history when they were needed, when their role was crystal clear.

  Anna had said he should refuse to do their bidding, that he should convince the others to resist. He had considered such a course of action in the past, but now he knew better: in failing to act, he had in fact done right. When the war was over—that was the time to begin saying no. Then he would step forward and explain the situation and convince the other Superiors to follow his lead. Their vast powers would be put to use for the greater good not only of themselves but of the human race as well. It would work. They would listen to him. His past views would testify to the sincerity of his present position. His views would be accepted. But the war would have to come first.

  He wished there were someone he could tell. But not Anna—he couldn't trust her to understand. And he didn't want to tell Sylvia because to tell her that much would necessitate telling her everything and he would never do that. And there was no one else—certainly not Astor nor the Circle. They sought power in order to subjugate the human race, not to help it.

  But wouldn't time change that? He had to believe so. Time was the great transformer, the universal force with the ability to change anything.

  He suddenly noticed that Anna was looking at him. The editing machine was dark.

  "I—" She was trying to fight that barrier again, but it was larger now. "There's something I want you to see." She stood up.

  "What?"

  "A program."

  "Not that again."

  She was desperately sincere. "No, it's real this time. I mean it. Eathen—tell him."

  "Yes," Eathen agreed. He stood beside Anna, as if he were capable of providing her with firm support.

  "All right." Alec shrugged. "I'll come."

  The three of them—Anna in the lead—walked off into the garden.

  Eleven

  The three of them—Anna, Eathen, Alec—went to the place in the garden where the two wooden benches sat facing each other. Alec occupied one bench and Anna the other. Eathen crouched down at her feet.

  Slowly, deliberately, Anna said, "I want you to watch this, Alec. I think it may be very important."

  "No tricks?"

  "None," she said. "None at all."

  "I still say—" Alec began but before he could finish the thought Anna and Eathen and the garden had disappeared. Instead, he was sitting among several thousand strangers in a huge, round, concrete stadium. Above, the sky was an odd shade of gray but otherwise unremarkable. There was a cold wind. The people were white-skinned, often blond, shabbily dressed. Their garments-ties and trousers and thick sweaters—had been out of fashion for decades. The wind caused everyone's hair to lean in one direction. The wind also seemed to sweep away any words. Around him, many lips were moving but he could hear nothing beyond a few, uncertain moans. He stared at the people closest to him, trying to make sense of their presence. Suddenly, out of the corner of an eye, he spied a familiar face:

  Inspector Cargill.

  He stood up, shouted, waved his hands. Cargill remained seated, his eyes turned toward the sunken center of the stadium. Alec started to move but his feet refused to budge. He remembered that this was a tape; his presence in this crowd was merely an. illusion. But Cargill— that was no illusion. He was really here.

  Suddenly, Alec's attention was drawn toward the center of the stadium. A wooden podium rested down there upon a small circle of artificial lawn. It was so far away he could not tell for certain if anyone was actually standing down there. But something had drawn his gaze—a
flash of motion. There—he saw it again. The others did too. Abruptly, the crowd fell silent. Their lips ceased to move, the occasional moans stopped. All eyes were focused downward. Even the wind seemed to fade, as if it were waiting too. Then, from below, an amplified voice spoke. Alec groaned aloud.

  The voice was Ah Tran's.

  It said: "Tonight, my lovers, young and old, I have chosen as my subject not godly things but rather human events. I wish to speak to you of the history of our race, but when I use that word—history—I do not desire you to think of an inexorably rising tide commencing with the establishment of so-called civilization and sweeping onward past such now submerged landmarks as Babylon, Egypt, the Indus Valley, Athens, Rome, the T'ang dynasty, Byzantine, the Golden Horde, the Mayans and Incas and Aztecs, the Spanish and French and British empires, the American Domination, Soviet Russia, and so on up to our present, precarious two-state world.

  Nor do I even wish you to think in scientific rather than political terms: from Democritus through Euclid, Archimedes, Ptolemy, Al-Khowarizmi, Galileo, Kepler, Francis Bacon, Newton, Gauss, Clausius, Darwin, Planck, Albert Einstein, Alec Richmond, and so on. Or the arts: poetry, epic, novel, painting, sculpture, music, film-making. I see no need to bore you with the sounding of further names. Or even— my own specialty—prophecy, theology: Moses, Lao-Tze, Buddha, Confucius, Jesus, Mohammed, Mao, and their latter day interpreters, disciples, corrupters. To see history in these terms—in any terms of mere progression—is to ignore the central question: Which is greater? Superior? Was the civilization of twentieth century America greater than that of the Kingdom of Axum? Was Milton a greater poet than Homer? Which is it? Can you say? Greater? Lesser? Or—and I place my name with those who here cry ‘Aye.'—different? Let us continue, carrying this question of progression onward into absurdity. Einstein a greater scientist than Archimedes? Mahler a greater composer than Bach? Rossellini a greater film-maker than John Ford? Anna Richmond a greater artist than Francois Auguste Rodin? Myself a greater prophet than the Buddha? I reply to these questions—and they are not intended wholly rhetorically—you may substitute any names you wish—I reply with a laugh."