by Jack Vance
“A toy, an imaginative fabrication.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Joaz, troubled in spite of himself.
“Have I not said that we know all of history? We can look into our tands and see deep into the past, until the recollections are dim and misty, and never do we remember planet Eden.”
Joaz shook his head stubbornly. “There must be an original world from which men came. Call it Earth or Tempe or Eden — somewhere it exists.”
The Demie started to speak, then in a rare show of irresolution held his tongue. Joaz said, “Perhaps you are right, perhaps we are the last men. But I shall go forth to look.”
“I shall come with you,” said Ervis Carcolo.
“You will be fortunate to find yourself alive tomorrow,” said Joaz.
Carcolo drew himself up. “Do not dismiss my claim to the ship so carelessly!”
Joaz struggled for words, but could find none. What to do with the unruly Carcolo? He could not find in himself enough harshness to do what he knew should be done. He temporized, turned his back on Carcolo. “Now you know my plans,” he told the Demie. “If you do not interfere with me, I shall not interfere with you.”
The Demie moved slowly back. “Go then. We are a passive race; we despise ourselves for our activity of today. Perhaps it was our greatest mistake … But go, seek your forgotten world. You will only perish somewhere among the stars. We will wait, as already we have waited.” He turned and walked away, followed by the four younger sacerdotes, who had all the time stood gravely to the side.
Joaz called after him. “And if the Basics come again? Will you fight with us? Or against us?”
The Demie made no response, but walked to the north, the long white hair swinging down his thin shoulder blades.
Joaz watched him a moment, gazed up and down the ruined valley, shook his head in wonder and puzzlement, turned back to study the great black ship.
Skene touched the western cliffs; there was an instant dimming of light, a sudden chill. Carcolo approached him. “Tonight I shall hold my folk here in Banbeck Vale, and send them home on the morrow. Meanwhile, I suggest that you board the ship with me and make a preliminary survey.”
Joaz took a deep breath. Why could it not come easier for him? Carcolo had twice sought his life, and, had positions been reversed, would have shown him no mercy. He forced himself to act. His duty to himself, to his people, to his ultimate goal was clear.
He called to those of his knights who carried the captured heat-guns. They approached.
Joaz said, “Take Carcolo into Clybourne Crevasse. Execute him. Do this at once.”
Protesting, bellowing, Carcolo was dragged off. Joaz turned away with a heavy heart, and sought Bast Givven. “I take you for a sensible man.”
“I regard myself so.”
“I set you in charge of Happy Valley. Take your folk home, before darkness falls.”
Bast Givven silently went to his people. They stirred, and presently departed Banbeck Vale.
Joaz crossed the valley floor to the tumble of rubble which choked Kergan’s Way. He choked with fury as he looked upon the destruction, and for a moment almost wavered in his resolve. Might it not be fit to fly the black ship to Coralyne and take revenge on the Basics? He walked around to stand under the spire which had housed his apartments, and by some strange freak of chance came upon a rounded fragment of yellow marble.
Weighing this in his palm he looked up into the sky where Coralyne already twinkled red, and tried to bring order to his mind.
The Banbeck folk had emerged from the deep tunnels. Phade the minstrel-maiden came to find him. “What a terrible day,” she murmured. “What awful events; what a great victory.”
Joaz tossed the bit of yellow marble back into the rubble. “I feel much the same way. And where it all ends, no one knows less than I.”