by Damon Knight
togetherfrom his previous utterances, to be edited by him later.
The uneasy rustling of chitinous arms against white robes recalled himfrom his meditation. The swarm of priests, altar boys, and the rest ofhis retinue was still gathered around him, waiting until he should deignto notice them again. Really, God thought with annoyance, thiswoolgathering--at such a moment!
* * * * *
The worshippers were massed in the Temple. A low, excited twitteringrose from them as He appeared and walked into the beam of the spotlight.
The dark lenses of television cameras were focused on Him from everypart of the balcony at the rear of the hall. The microphones were ready.Weaver walked forward as the congregation knelt, and waited animpressive moment before He spread His hands in the gesture that meant,"Rise, my children." Simon, previously coached, translated. Thecongregation rose again, rustling, and then was still.
At a signal from Simon, the choir began a skirling and screeching whichthe disciples warranted to be music--religious music, composed to fitthe requirements He had laid down. Weaver endured it, thinking thatsome changes must come slowly.
The hymn wailed to an end, and Weaver gripped the lectern, leaningcarefully forward toward the microphones. "My children," He began, andwaited for Solomon's twittering translation. "You have sinned greatly--"Twitter. "--and in many ways." Twitter. "But I have come among you--"Twitter. "--to redeem your sins--" Twitter. "--and make them as thoughthey had never been." Twitter.
He went on to the end, speaking carefully and sonorously. It was not along sermon, but He flattered Himself that it was meaty. At the end ofit He stepped back a pace, and folded His arms, in their long white-silksleeves, across His chest.
Simon took over now, and so far as Weaver could judge, he did well. Herecited a litany which Weaver had taught him, indicating by gesturesthat the congregation was to repeat after him every second speech. Thelow chirping welled from the hall; a comforting, warming sound, almostlike the responses of a human congregation. Weaver felt tears welling toHis eyes, and He restrained Himself from weeping openly only by agigantic effort. After all, He was a god of wrath; but the love whichswept toward Him at this moment was a powerful thing to gainsay.
* * * * *
When it was all over, He went back to His sanctum, dismissed all Hisretinue except His regular assistants, and removed the ceremonial robes.
"The people responded well," He said. "I am pleased."
Simon said, "They will work hard to please You, Master. You bring greathappiness to them."
"That is well," said Weaver. He sat down behind His great desk, whilethe others stood attentively below Him, in the sunken fore-section ofthe sanctum. "What business have you for Me today?"
"There is the matter of the novel, Master," said Mark. He steppedforward, mounted the single step to Weaver's dais, and laid a sheaf ofpapers on the desk. "This is a preliminary attempt which one calledPeter Smith has made with my unworthy help."
"I will read it later," Weaver told him. It was poor stuff, nodoubt--what else could one expect?--but it was a start. He would tellthem what was wrong with it, and they would try again.
Literary criticism, armaments, tariffs, manners--there was no end to it."What else?"
Luke stepped forward. "The plans for the large weapons You commandedYour servants to design, Master." He put three large sheets of parchmenton the desk.
Weaver looked at the neat tracery on the first, and frowned. "You maycome near Me," He said. "Show Me how these are meant to operate."
Luke pointed to the first drawing. "This is the barrel of the weapon,Master," he said. "As You commanded, it is rifled so that the missilewill spin. Here the missile is inserted at the breech, according to Yourdirection. Here is the mechanism which turns and aims the weapon, as Youcommanded. It is shown in greater detail on this second sheet.... Andhere, on the third, is the missile itself. It is hollow and filled withexplosive powder, as You ordered, and there is in the tip a device whichwill attract it to the target."
Weaver gravely nodded. "Has it been tested?"
"In models only, Master. If You direct, the construction will begin atonce."
"Good. Proceed. How many of these can you make for Me within a month?"
Luke hesitated. "Few, Master. At first all must be done by hand methods.Later it will be possible to make many at a time--fifty, or even ahundred in one month--but for the first two or three months, Master, twoweapons in a month is all that Your unworthy servants can do."
"Very well," said Weaver. "See to it."
* * * * *
He turned and examined the large globe of the planet which stood on Hisdesk. Here was another product of His genius; the Terranovans hadscarcely had maps worthy of the name before His Coming.
The three major continents trailed downward like fleshy leaves from thenorth pole; He had called them America, Europe and Asia, and they wereso lettered on the globe. In the southern hemisphere, besides the tipsof Europe and Asia and fully a third of America, there was a fourthcontinent, shaped rather like a hat, which He had called Australia.There was no Africa on Terranova, but that was small loss: Weaver hadnever thought highly of Africa.
The planet itself, according to the experts who had been assigned theproblem, was a little more than ten thousand miles in diameter. The landarea, Weaver thought, probably amounted to more than fifty millionsquare miles. It was a great deal to defend; but it must be done.
"Here is your next assignment," He told Luke. "Put a team to work onselecting and preparing sites for these guns, when they are built. Theremust be one in every thousand square miles...."
Luke bowed and took the plans away.
... For otherwise, Weaver thought somberly, another ship might land,some day. And how could I trust these children not to _welcome_ it?
* * * * *
Sunlight gleamed brilliantly from the broad, white-marble plaza beyondthe tall portico. Looking through the windows, He could see the enormousblock of stone in the center of the plaza, and the tiny robot aircarhovering near it, and the tiny ant-shapes of the crowd on the oppositeside. Beyond, the sky was a clear, faultless blue.
"Are you ready now, Master?" asked Luke.
Weaver tested His limbs. They were rigid and almost without sensation;He could not move them so much as the fraction of an inch. Even His lipswere as stiff as that marble outside. Only the fingers of His righthand, clutching a pen, felt as if they belonged to Him.
A metal frame supported a note-pad where His hand could reach it. Thenhe wrote, "Yes. Proceed with the statue."
Luke was holding a tiny torpedo-shaped object that moved freely at theend of a long, jointed metal arm. He moved it tentatively towardWeaver's left shoulder. Outside, the hovering aircar duplicated themotion: the grinder at its tip bit with a screech into the side of thehuge stone.
Weaver watched, feeling no discomfort; the drug Luke had injected wasworking perfectly. Luke moved the pantograph pointer, again and again,until it touched Weaver's robed body. With every motion, the aircarbored a tunnel into the stone to the exact depth required, and backedout again. Slowly a form was beginning to emerge.
The distant screech of the grinder was muffled and not unpleasant.Weaver felt a trifle sleepy.
The top of one extended arm was done. The aircar moved over and beganthe other, leaving the head still buried in stone.
After this, Weaver thought, He could rest. His cities were built, Hischurch founded, His guns built and tested, His people trained. TheTerranovans were as civilized as He could make them in one generation.They had literary societies, newsstands, stock markets, leisure andworking classes, baseball leagues, armies.... They had had to give uptheir barbaric comfort, of course; so much the better. Life was real,life was earnest--Weaver had taught them that.
The mechanism of His government ran smoothly; it would continue to run,with only an occasional guiding touch. This wa
s His last major task. Themonument.
Something to remember Me by, He thought drowsily. Myself in stone, longafter I am gone. That will keep them to My ways, even if they should betempted. To them I will still be here, standing over them, gigantic,imperishable.
They will still have something to worship.
* * * * *
Stone dust was obscuring the figure now, glittering in the sunlight.Luke undercut a huge block of the stone and it fell, turning lazily, andcrashed on the pavement. Robot tractors darted out to haul the piecesaway.
Weaver was glad it was Luke whose hand was guiding the pantograph, notone of the bright, efficient younger generation. They had been togethera long time, Luke and He. Almost ten years. He knew Luke as if he were ahuman being; _understood_ him as if he were a person. And Luke knew Himbetter than