"I was banished from Earth in seventy-eight, after the Second Arizonan Incident. I had become a leader in a disarmament drive; I and a hundred thousand others, mostly from the southwestern part of our country, were banished to a penal colony. This place here—" He shouted out the words and slammed the arm of the chair that he was sitting in. "One hundred thousand in a unit that could not sustain more than twenty-five thousand in closed-system regime."
He stopped, then smiled softly, like an old man who is concerned that he has just frightened the child he was talking to. Ian smiled back wanly and Smith continued.
"I could see what was coming. The darkness descending. All the nations of Earth would call upon their colonies to join in the nationalistic madness of their mother countries. And such madness! We had been living in space for nearly a century. We of space, from a dozen different nations, had far more in common with each other than with those mad fools below. It had been the same with America when at last her people had realized they were no longer Europeans. And so it was with us. Why should we slaughter each other for the sake of those madmen who were of a dying breed—the last generations of Homo sapiens?"
He said "Homo sapiens" with a disdain that was frightening.
"We were of the next generation of man!" Smith shouted. "And I knew that in the end it would come down not to a confrontation between the petty nationalistic states but a confrontation between those below and those of us above.
"But we were too weak yet. It would be a hundred years, perhaps a millennium before we would be ready.
"Security at the penal colony was lax, especially for one such as myself who already had a name and was widely known on Earth. A few well-placed bribes and I was allowed a class-one visa for space-to-space flight. Just as long as I did not return below. It was thus that I started to meet with those from the other units and formed the network you call Alpha Psi. It was an open secret—the governments of Earth knew what we were planning from the start. But they needed us, our products, the energy we beamed down, so they did not attempt to stop us from planning and stockpiling the necessary systems that would get us out of there. No one on Earth wanted to force the confrontation. And they assumed, as well, that no unit was one hundred percent self-contained. To the second decimal of the ninety-ninth percentile, yes—but there were still some few items that we needed from Earth on a regular basis. And as you know, a unit is only self-contained to the degree of its first perishable life-sustaining substance.
"But we labored on that, as well. That was our true secret, while we openly prepared in other ways. That is where we pushed our research, and soon we could improve self-sufficiency by a factor of ten. Then the Exodus began. One unit left, and then another, finally it was in the dozens, and then the hundreds. The men of Earth couldn't stop us without forcing a major confrontation. Finally when they worked up the nerve to do it, the end was already upon them."
He smiled sadly and looked off into the distance, as if recalling a half-forgotten dream.
"The Soviet-Pakistani Incident precipitated the first exchange. Even from fifty thousand miles out, we could see the flashes and firestorms. We made our moves as planned—before we ourselves would be dragged into the conflagration—and abandoned Earth to the fate created by those who were too inferior to understand.
"Yes, Ian, I was an Alpha Psi leader. I was the philosopher who motivated the others. We evacuated, Ian Lacklin, but it came far too soon for our unit. I want you to contemplate this, Ian Lacklin. We had one hundred thousand aboard, of which we calculated only twenty-five thousand could be supported by the ecosystem. Contemplate what that meant to us, contemplate what that did to a philosophy professor who was now the appointed leader of a colony doomed to die from overpopulation. I cursed them all. I cursed those who destroyed what might have been, and set me upon this Hegira."
"I'm not sure I understand. What is a hegira?"
"Ah, yes, but of course you wouldn't understand. I am weary, Ian, and shall soon leave you. But don't -worry. This conversation shall continue, for I do find it amusing. Yes, the Hegira. When Muhammad the Prophet was not recognized by the fools and unbelievers of Mecca, he and his followers were driven out of the city into exile. That is the time that the True Believers date their calendar from, the Hegira or exile of the Prophet. And so we were driven out, as well, Ian Lacklin—a hegira that has lasted eleven centuries."
Franklin Smith stood up, stretched slowly, and walked past Ian and out toward the far door, his silken robes rustling lightly with his passage.
"My Hegira—which I as the Father have lived through from the beginning. And which now, thanks to you and the present you bring, will soon end with fire and sword."
Ian was alone for three days, as near as he could estimate, before he was allowed to rejoin the others.
Surprisingly their captors had allowed some of their familiar items to be brought back from the Discovery, and Richard greeted Ian with a tumbler and a sad lament.
"I had two cases left, two cases, and the bastards only let me take this one bottle off." And he held up the last precious container, now three-quarters of the way to empty.
"Take it as a great honor and sign of my friendship," Richard said melodramatically, "that I saved this final drink for you." He poured the rest of the contents into the tumbler and offered it to Ian.
"What did they do to the ship?" Ian asked.
Stasz drew closer. "It seems our messiah friend is a little nervous about his catch," he whispered softly. "We were allowed to take off some personal items, but then the ship was sealed."
"Any cargo removed?"
"Nothing that I could see, " Stasz replied. "They did detect the radiation in that old thermomine in the aft storage compartment. That really set them off, and they put a secure lock on the door and left it there."
Ian smiled at this information and reached into his pocket to hold the alien cylinder, as if it were a talisman to ward off evil.
Shelley came to lan's's side and wrapped her arms around him. For a second he regretted his earlier confession, but he went ahead anyhow and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
"We thought maybe you weren't coming back," Ellen said, a note of concern in her voice.
"We saw him, we did. Saw their great dark Father," Elijah proclaimed. "He invited me to their communion of honor for you. I can hardly wait."
Still not used to Elijah's predilections, Ian backed away from him.
So the friends talked quietly among themselves. Each had met with Smith. With Stasz the talk was technical and dealt with the operation of an overdrive ship. From Stasz's descriptions they all realized he had lied to the point of absurdity with Smith when discussing the defenses of Earth and the limitless fleets of overdrive ships that swarmed the galaxy.
Ian smiled as Richard described their comparisons of medical technology and shook his head sadly. Here was an old friend, lost four-score light-years from home, brought to an early end by his mismanagement. lan's eyes started to fill, and he looked away.
Ellen said they had spoken of language and culture. She had even asked to use one of her precious survey forms, which she had saved for just such a moment. Smith had laughed and said he would consider it. With Shelley he reminisced about his days as a graduate student.
Only Elijah would not speak of their conversation and, when asked, would only mumble snatches of verse.
Ian knew that each of them was being judged and weighed for the slaughter. He knew that for the moment Smith was using them as a means of entertainment, a way of looking into the past. But that would soon change, he was sure of it.
They came for Ian while the others were asleep, and he quietly slipped away, not wishing to create another emotional scene. Smith was waiting for him in the same chamber but led Ian away through a side corridor and up into the docking bays. Not a single person did they meet, and Ian finally asked why.
"This whole unit is a shrine. If the ship of Columbus could be found, do you think
we would sail it and use it? The same is true of this vessel—this once-crowded penal colony. Only my priests and priestesses live here, to oversee my needs."
"Your priests and priestesses?" He knew the tone of disdain couldn't be concealed.
Smith looked at him and smiled. "Come and gaze upon my power."
Smith led the way to the zero-gravity docking section. Passing Discovery's port, the two boarded a small vessel and strapped into side-by-side couches. Smith activated a command screen then quickly rattled off a statement into the console mike. The shuttlecraft was activated, and they were off.
"Voice-activated commands?" Ian asked, impressed with the technology.
"Yes, I was rather amazed at the primitive piloting systems of your own vessel."
They traced a parabolic arc away from the main ship, and as they came up on the opposite side of the vessel, Ian couldn't help but gasp in amazement. In the harsh blue-white light of Delta Sag, hundreds of ships hung suspended in high orbit like fiery diamonds of light.
"What was once above Earth at the height of her power in space pales to insignificance when compared to this. Gregor says that there are now over ten thousand home vessels, from small ones such as the relic I now live in to giants, one hundred and fifty kilometers in length. Most are in orbit around this once-dead airless planet, which is so rich in the resources that we desire.
"When we arrived here nearly three hundred years ago, there were but twenty-five thousand of us. We fashioned crude landing vessels for the surface below and finally managed to gain a toehold. Those were exciting times, Ian Lacklin. Heroic times. Within several years the first mass-drivers were throwing up desperately needed supplies of silicon, iron, hydrogen, and oxygen, locked beneath the surface. Then we built the skyhooks, the powersats, and the first new habitation units. That took us fifty years. And then I approved the growth. Yes, the growth, where a mother could have more than two children. I now encouraged my people to have as many as possible. Since that time we've doubled our population every eighteen years."
Ian tried some quick mental arithmetic but Smith had already guessed his goal.
"According to Gregor, there are over one billion people living in space. If we continue for another two hundred years at this rate of growth, we'll have over a trillion souls. One trillion souls. And that small planet down below shall disappear from our insatiable need. Think of that, Ian Lacklin. One trillion souls."
There was a sudden connection, and Ian couldn't help but ask.
"Why do they call you the Father?"
"Ah, yes." He chuckled softly with an obvious note of pride. "Simple, Ian Lacklin. Of that first generation of growth, I was the father of at least one child from every mother."
Ian looked at him and couldn't help but smile.
"You from the Outside, you can smile in my presence, but not in front of the others. That could be deadly.
"I know what you're thinking, that it must have been a laborious task. Some were done in, how shall I say, 'the traditional way,' but the vast majority were performed through artificial techniques. Of the next generation the same was done again, and again thereafter and thereafter. The genealogies are watched of course and the males of my community sire children, as well, but ultimately they all trace themselves back to me. So you see, Ian Lacklin, by now all one billion alive today are my descendents in one degree or another. It's strange, Ian, to meet a man twice my age, bent over with time, and to realize that I am his father or grandfather. Soon for me, only a matter of months from now in my life span, there will be a trillion who are descendents from my loins." .
He said it with the pride of a biblical patriarch. One billion to date, Ian thought.
"I almost had the same arrangement myself," Ian said matter of factly.
"Oh, what happened?"
"The details of the contract didn't work out." And he wouldn't say another word on the subject.
They sat in silence for several minutes and Ian hoped that Smith would be duly impressed by that little revelation about the IFF and that there would be no more questions in that vein.
So, they were all descendents of Smith. The sociological implications were fabulous, and he wished that Ellen was with them at this moment. Smith had taken the primitive concept of the clan, with its family bondings, and raised it to the level of an entire civilization. He was Adam incarnate, master of an entire star system—and how much of a master, Ian would soon see.
Ian watched as Smith guided them on their trajectory toward one end of a cylinder that must have been a hundred kilometers in length.
Smith called out several approach commands and their shuttle swung in on the final run that was only a couple of hundred meters above a rotating surface so big that Ian felt he was orbiting a planet. His curiosity was aroused as to the mass of this ship and the gravitational field that it created.
As they approached the end of the cylinder, the shut-tlecraft started to decelerate and Ian was surprised at the sudden realization that Smith's people had mastered inertia dampening for a sublight vessel.
Clearing the end of the man-made planet, the shuttle finally docked at the very center, in the zero-gravity area.
"This will only take a couple of minutes. Would you care to come along?"
How could he refuse? Ian eagerly followed behind Smith.
Their docking port was devoid of people, and it seemed to be encased, floors, walls, and ceilings, in gold. They floated into a small golden room with a single circular doorway at the other end.
"I shall go first, of course," Smith said. "I'd appreciate it if you would stay behind me. If you should drift alongside of me or in front of me, I'm afraid that wouldn't follow protocol at all. I'd be forced to kill you." He smiled. "Do we understand each other?"
Ian nodded.
"Good then." Smith pushed off and floated toward the door. At his approach it slid open, a sudden roar engulfed them, as if a storm-tossed sea was breaking outside the golden room.
Smith grabbed hold of a circular railing of gold, stopping his forward momentum. He stood there surrounded by thunder.
Ian cautiously slipped up to the doorway and peaked out. "My God, it's full of people," he whispered.
He was looking out into a vast cylinder-shaped audience chamber: a kilometer or more in diameter, its length ten kilometers back up into the vessel. The entire population of the one habitat—millions of them—had gathered in this one place.
"O my children," Smith shouted, and his amplified voice rose above the thunderous roar.
"For you are the Father of us all!" ten millions answered in return.
"Our promise shall be fulfilled, our glory magnified a thousandfold. Our revenge shall be just."
"For so you have promised!"
"Our Hegira shall come to an end in the gardens of Paradise!"
Smith reached to his belt and with a dramatic flourish drew a sword that glinted in the harsh blue sunlight pouring in through the windows that surrounded the docking port like a beaded halo.
Ian gasped with amazement as, like a field of steely wheat, a wavering shimmer of metal rippled up over the multitude. Until all human forms were blotted out beneath ten million upraised swords.
"Father, Father, Father..."
Smith pushed off from the golden ring and reentered the golden room.
"That is power, Ian Lacklin," he said with a cold glimmer of menace. "Think of that power when, in vengeance for what we suffered, I unleash it across the world that so cruelly drove us out into the night."
Ian was silent as together they reboarded the shuttle.
Chapter 14
Not a word was said between the two as the same performance was repeated at half a dozen other colonies.
Ian knew he had been invited to the ritual display to be impressed. But for what purpose? Part of it, he guessed, was to judge his reaction. But by the informal way that he was treated, Ian suspected that Smith was looking for a contact that was not filled
with ritual, nor blood kin, for that matter.
Finally a question almost anthropological in nature broke the silence.
"Why the swords? I mean, I've been observing your technological level and it's simply astounding. Why this anachronism? Now, don't take offense, but in my eyes swords are rather ridiculous in a technological level anywhere beyond the Napoleonic. It's even stranger when I can't trace any useful cultural lineage out of it. I mean, swords were never used in space in your time, at least, not in anything above a poorly written video thriller."
"But there is a cultural lineage," Smith replied. "There's a direct historical linkage that centers our society around the sword and the mystique of the warrior. One more stop, Ian Lacklin, and then I shall explain."
The adulation seemed to have put Franklin Smith in a jovial mood, and he laughed as he entered through the airlock into yet another golden room. Ian sat in the shuttle and waited as the waves of noise washed the interior. For several minutes he looked across the star-studded night, the familiar formations now changed, with some brighter, and others dimmed, or lost altogether. Finally he found the one he was looking for, almost lost in the harsh glare of Delta.
The chanting would soon be heard there, as well, Ian realized, and he, more than anyone else alive, would be the one responsible for the devastation to come. He, a historian, a studier of others, a bookworm lost in fantasies of the heroic past would be the cause. Ian suddenly realized that in this movement he might very well be the prime ingredient in the fate of an entire world.
Into the Sea of Stars Page 18