Beyond The End Of Time (v1.0)

by Unknown Author

young men like you three who give me confidence in the future of Mu—"

  "We don’t want appreciation; we want to win this election.”

  "Oh, to be sure! To be sure! So do we all—none more than myself. Uh—how much did you say this scheme of yours would rout?"

  "The integration won’t cost much. We can offer Kon-dor a contingent fee and cut him in on a spot of patronage. Mostly we’ll need to keep him supplied with wine. The big item will be getting the statues to the polling places. We had planned on straight commercial apportation

  "Well, now, that will be expensive.”

  "Dolph called the temple and got a price—”

  "Good heavens, you haven’t told the priests what you plan to do?”

  "No. sir. He just specified tonnage and distances.”

  "What was the bid?”

  Robar told him. Oric looked as if his first born Were being ravaged by wolves. “Out of the question, out of the question entirely,” he protested.

  But Robar pressed the matter. "Sure it's expensive— but it's not half as expensive as a campaign that is just good enough to lose. Besides—I know the priesthood isn’t supposed to be political, but isn’t it possible with your connections for you to find one who would do it on the side for a smaller price, or even on credit? It’s a safe thing for him; if we go through with this we’ll win—it’s a cinch.”

  Oric looked really interested for the first time. “You might be right. Mmmm—yes." He fitted the tips of his fingers carefully together. "You boys go ahead with this. Get the statues made. Let me worry about the arrangements for apportation.” He started to leave, a preoccupied look on his face.

  “Just a minute," Robar called out, “we'll need some ’money to oil up old Kondor.”

  Oric paused. "Oh, yes, yes. How stupid of me.” He pulled out three silver pieces and handed them to Robar. "Cash, and no records, eh?" He winked.

  "While you’re about it, sir.” added Clevum, "how about my salary? My landlady's getting awful temperamental."

  Oric seemed surprised. "Oh, haven’t I paid you yet?” He fumbled at his robes. "You've been very patient; most patriotic You know how it is—so many details on ray mind, and some of our sponsors haven't been prompt about meeting their pledges." He handed Clevum one piece of silver. "See me the first of the week, my boy. Don't let me forget it.” He hurried out.

  The three picked their way down the narrow crowded street, teeming with vendors, sailors, children, animals, while expertly dodging refuse of one kind or another, which was unceremoniously tossed from balconies. The Whirling Whale tavern was apparent by its ripe, gamey odor some little distance before one came to it. They found Kondor draped over the bar, trying as usual to cadge a drink from the seafaring patrons.

  He accepted their invitation to drink with them with alacrity. Robar allowed several measures of beer to mellow the old man before he brought the conversation around to the subject. Kondor drew himself up with drunken dignity in answer to a direct question.

  "Can I integrate simulacra? My son you are looking at the man who created the Sphinx." He hiccoughed politely.

  “But can you still do it, here and now?” Robar pressed him, and added, "For a fee, of course."

  Kondor glanced cautiously around. "Careful, my son. Some one might be listening ... Do you want original integration, or simply re-integration?"

  "What's the difference?"

  Kondor rolled his eyes up. and inquired of the ceiling”. "What do they teach in these modem schools? Full integration requires much power, for one must disturb the very heart of the aether itself; re-integration is simply a re-arrangement of the atoms in a predetermined pattern. If you want stone statues, any waste stone will do." "Re-integration, I guess. Now here’s the proposition

  "That will be enough for the first run. Have the porters desist." Kondor turned away and buried his nose in a crumbling roll of parchment, his rheumy eyes scanning faded hieroglyphs. They were assembled in an abandoned gravel pit on the rear of a plantation belonging to Dolph's uncle. They had obtained the use of the pit without argument, for, as Robar had reasonably pointed out, if the old gentleman did not know dial his land was being used for illicit purposes, he could not possibly have any objection.

  Their numbers had been augmented by six redskinned porters from the Land of the Inca—porters who were not only strong and endnuring but possessed the desirable virtue of speaking no Murian. The porters had filled the curious ventless hopper with grey gravel and waited impassively for more toil to do. Kondor put die parchment away somewhere in the folds of his disreputable robe, and removed from the same mysterious recesses a tiny instrument of polished silver.

  "Your pattern, son.”

  Dolph produced a small waxen image, modeled from his cartoon of Bat Ears. Kondor placed it in front of him, and stared dirough the silver instrument at it. He was apparendy satisfied with what he saw, for he commenced humming to himself in a tuneless monotone, his bald head weaving back and forth in time.

  Some fifty lengths away, on a stone pedestal, a wraith took shape. First was an image carved of smoke. The smoke solidified, became translucent. It thickened, curdled. Kondor ceased his humming and surveyed his work. Thrice as high as a man stood an image of Bat Ears— good honest stone throughout. "Clevum, my son,” he said, as he examined the statue, "will you be so good as to hand me that jug?”

  The gravel hopper was empty.

  Oric called on them two days before the election. Robar was disconcerted to find that he had brought with him a stranger who was led around through the dozens of rows of giant statues. Robar drew Oric to one side before he left, and asked in a whisper, "Who is this chap?"

  Oric smiled reassuringly. “Oh, he's all right. Just one of the boys—a friend of mine.”

  “But can he be trusted? I don’t remember seeing him around campaign headquarters.”

  "Oh, sure! By the way, you boys are to be congratulated on the job of work you've done here. Well, I must be running on— I'll drop in on you again."

  "Just a minute, Oric. Are you all set on the apportation?"

  "Oh. yes. Yes indeed. They’ll all be distributed around to the polling places in plenty of time—every statue.”

  "When are you going to do it?"

  "Why don't you let me worry about those details, Robar?”

  "Well . . . you are the boss, but I still think I ought to know when to be ready for the apportation.”

  "Oh, well, if you feel that way, shall we say, ah, midnight before election day?”

  "That’s fine. We'll be ready.”

  Robar watched the approach of the midnight before election with a feeling of relief. Kondor's work was all complete, the ludicrous statues were lined up, row on row, two for every polling place in the province of Lac, and Kondor himself was busy getting reacquainted with the wine jug. He had almost sobered up during the sustained effort of creating the statues.

  Robar gazed with satisfaction at the images. "I wish I could see the Governor's face when he first catches sight of one of these babies. Nobody could possibly mistake who they were. Dolph, you're a genius; I never saw anything sillier looking in my life."

  ‘‘That's high praise, pal," Dolph answered. "Isn't it about time the priest was getting here? I'll feel easier when we see our little dollies flying through the air on their way to the polling places.”

  "Oh, I wouldn't worry. Oric told me positively that the priest would be here in plenty of time. Besides, ap-portation is fast._ Even the images intended for the back country and the' far northern peninsula will get there in a few minutes—once he gets to work.”

  But as the night wore on it became increasingly evident that something was wrong. Robar returned from his thirteenth trip to the highway with a report of no one in sight on the road from the city.

  "What'll we do?" Clevum asked.

  “I don't know. Something's gone wrong; that's sure.” "Well, we've got to do something. Let's go back to the temple and try to locate him."

/>   "We can't do that; we don’t know what priest Oric hired. We’ll have to find Oric."

  They left Kondor to guard the statues and hurried back into town. They found Oric just leaving campaign headquarters. With him was the visitor he had brought with him two days before. He seemed surprised to see them. "Hello, boys. Finished with the job so soon?"

  "He never showed up," Robar panted.

  "Never showed up? Well, imagine that! Are you sure?”

  "OI course we're sure; we were there!"

  “Look," put in Dolph, “what is the name of the priest you hired to do this job? We want to go up to the temple and find him.”

  “His name? Oh, no, don't do that. You might cause all sorts of complications. I’ll go to the temple myself.”

  “We'll go with you.”

  “That isn’t necessary,” he told them testily. "You go on back to the gravel pit, and be sure everything is

  "Good grief, Oric, everything has been ready for hours. Why not take Clevum along with you to show the priest

  "I’ll see to that. Now get along with you.”

  Reluctantly they did as they were ordered. They made the trip back in moody silence. As they approached their destination Clevum spoke up, "You know, fellows—"

  “Well? Spill it.”

  "That fellow that was with Oric—wasn't he the guy he had out here, showing him around?”

  “Yes; why?”

  ”I've been trying to place him. I remember now—I saw him two weeks ago, coming out of Governor Vortus' campaign office.”

  After a moment of stunned silence Robar said bitterly. “Sold out. There's no doubt about it; Oric has sold us

  “Well, what do we do about it?"

  “What can we do?”

  “Blamed if I know.”

  "Wait a minute, fellows,” came Clevum's pleading voice, “Kondor used to be a priest. Maybe he can do apportation.”

  "Say! There’s a chancel Let's get going.”

  But Kondor was dead to the world.

  They shook him. They poured water in his face. They walked him up and down. Finally they got him sober enough to answer questions.

  Robar tackled him. "Listen, pop, this is important: Can you perform apportation?"

  "Huh? Me? Why, of course. How else did we build the pyramids?"

  "Never mind the pyramids. Can you move these statues here tonight?"

  Kondor fixed his interrogator with a bloodshot eye. "My son, the great Arcane laws are the same for all time and space. What was done in Ægypt in the Golden Age can be done in Mu tonight.”

  Dolph put in a word. “Good grief, pop, why didn't you tell us this before.”

  The reply was dignified and logical. "No one asked

  Kondor set about his task at once, but with such slowness that the boys felt they would scream just to watch him. First, he drew a large circle in the dust. “This is the house of darkness," he announced solemnly, and added the crescent of Astarte. Then he drew another large circle tangent to the first. "And this is the house of light." He added the sign of the sun god.

  When he was done, he walked widdershins about the whole three times the wrong way. His feet nearly betrayed him twice, but he recovered, and continued his progress. At the end of the third lap he hopped to the center of the house of darkness and stood facing the house of light.

  The first statue on the left in the front row quivered on its base, then rose into the air and shot over the horizon to the east.

  The three young men burst out with a single cheer, and tears streamed down Robar's face.

  Another statue rose up. It was just poised for flight when old Kondor hiccoughed. It fell, a dead weight, back to its base, and broke into two pieces. Kondor turned his head.

  "I am truly sorry," he announced; “I shall be more careful with the others."

  And try he did—but the liquor was regaining its hold. He wove to and fro on his feet, his aim with the images growing more and more erratic. Stone figures flew in every direction, but none travelled any great distance. One group of six flew off together and landed with a high splash in the harbor. At last, with more than three fourths of the images still untouched he sank gently to his knees, keeled over, and remained motionless.

  Dolph ran up to him. and shook him. There was no response. He peeled back one of Kondor’s eyelids and examined the pupil. "It's no good,” he admitted. "He won’t come to for hours.”

  Robar gazed heart-brokenly at the shambles around him. There they are, he thought, worthless! Nobody will ever see them—just so much left over campaign material, wasted! My biggest idea!

  Clevum broke the uncomfortable silence. "Sometimes,” he said, “I think what this country needs is a good earthquake.”

  ". . . the worship of their major deity.

  Beyond doubt, while errors are sometimes made in archeology, this is one case in which no chance of error exists. The statues are clearly religious in significance. With that sure footing on which to rest the careful scientist may deduce with assurance the purpose of . . .”