A Thousand Ages

by D. E. Ellis

  “It doesn’t sound as though there is much room for politics in your system of government. And, believe me, although they were necessary to us, I think you’re better off without them.”

  “You’re talking of advanced politics and politicians—many of whom were professional talkers, not always concerned whether they strongly believed the things they tried to persuade others to believe. I’m thinking of a simpler kind—a smaller group of people disagreeing with some of the fundamental rules in our code of living, and determined to do something about it.”

  “Surely you have faced such things before. You just said it was outside your experience. But I can’t believe you’ve never had anyone question your authority!”

  “There have been dissenters, but they have never formed a group before. You see, it is possible to read anyone’s mind when they wish it, so we know exactly who is most suited to the task of governing. Not only that, as the government does not function as a series of separate minds, the Council are able to draw on the experience of each other, and of people outside the government.”

  It did not seem to Thursfield that a minority group could do much harm under such conditions. He said so, also asking what differences of opinion they held, and who they were.

  “As is only natural, the consist of some of the younger members of the community. My own son is numbered amongst them, so I have recently heard.” That Anu Rama had been shaken by the news was obvious. It explained his desire to confide in Thursfield.

  “They argue that those appointed to the Council become Councillors for life unless illness, accident or old age prevent them from further service. This means very few vacancies occur to be filled, and there are more then enough people of wisdom and experience to fill them. Occasionally, someone of exceptional merit makes their mark on the community, and it is wished to appoint them without waiting for a natural vacancy. In this case, a member voluntarily retires. Under such conditions, the Council membership may remain stagnant for years at a time; and when a vacancy does occur, the tendency is to appoint someone full of the ripe experience of years, whose whole life indicates that they deserve to be honoured in such a way.

  “This young band of dissenters think it is time that youth had more chance to air its opinions on government and social matters. They even aim at having some of their members on the Council, and are pressing for a general lowering in the average of the Councillors.

  “That there is some justification for their arguments I am not denying. At forty-five, I am the youngest member of that body by several years. I find them cautious in the extreme. Nevertheless a general age limit would deprive us of the wisdom of such wonderful people as the Head. He seems to have unusual insight into problems that would baffle lesser man. Many others are only slightly lesser degree of greatness. I should be sorry to see them replaced by these younger upstarts who have much to learn. The great pity is that the old ones have definitely lost something in the process of growing old. I think it must be initiative. This, the young people have in superabundances. If only one or two of them had that extra something which almost amounts to genius in anyone so young, it might be possible to nurse them along and incorporate them …”

  Anu Rama’s voice faded as he mused on the situation, possibly wishing that his own son would show some such latent spark of greatness. Thursfield brought him back to the present.

  “I should not have thought that you were lacking in initiative?”

  “Perhaps not, and perhaps that is why I can see both sides of the question so clearly. But I feel quite strongly that these young people are not the ones for the task they have set themselves.

  “It is one of their mad beliefs that we should admit into our society the wild people who roam the mountains and forests and live by preying on each other and hunting animals. They are known as the Gabblers and lack the art of thought communication.”

  Thursfield regarded him in astonishment. This was the first he had heard of another race of people. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps these people were the remains of the space traveller’s own race. Possibly evolution had passed them by, leaving them genetically unchanged.

  “I suppose our own training has led to this faulty belief. We have taught them—and, indeed, it comes naturally to them—to love one another and work together in complete harmony and understanding. This is easy for them, knowing each other’s minds. They do not understand, and cannot possibly conceive that generations of people, living by their wits and fighting for what they want, having only hatred and suspicion of each other, being unable to see what is in each others’ minds, have evolved quite different lines to ourselves. These youngsters believe we should help them by inviting them to mingle with our society and learn our ways.”

  “Could you not try the experiment on a small scale, without harm to your community?” asked Thursfield—feeling still that, perhaps these mysterious people were in some way akin to himself and misunderstood.

  “It has been tried, but even given every chance to succeed—such as on the few occasions we have found an abandoned baby and brought it up as one of our own—we have found they revert to type and become a menace when they grow up. Of course, in most cases we were able to treat their minds; but even that wasn’t a success from their point of view. It took away their personalities and harmed them in a way that never affects those of our own race, so treated. They were no longer dangerous to us, but it proves that it does no good to consider integrating them into our society.”

  “Left as they are, do they harm you in any way?”

  “Strangely enough, although the various bands fight each other, they hold us in some kind of superstitious awe and only on very rare occasions have we had any trouble …”

  While Anu Rama was enlarging on the Gabblers to Thursfield, other members of the Unisphere’s crew were becoming involved in the same problem in various ways.

  Bruce Kenton was now entirely smitten by Rona Solent. She was to him an anchor, holding him firmly in place in this new world—a refuge from the knowledge that he could never return to his own time. She introduced him to various other young people and also showed him the beauties of the countryside beyond Ranmor. Before long she had told him about the Gabblers.

  In spite of his infatuation, Bruce could sense that they held more than a normal fascination for her. He, too, wondered if they had any connection with his own race. After receiving a completely sympathetic report from her of their activities, he declared himself on their side.

  When Bruce next met some of her friends he assumed they had dropped in on an unexpected party; but he soon found a more serious purpose in their meeting together.

  “We are an organised party, determined to fight for the rights of youth—and, indeed, for all mankind, whether they can communicate with their minds or not,” Rona explained. “You have met us all at various times and have expressed your sympathies wit hour aims—even though, at the time, you did not know how serious they were. I believe you would be a valuable addition to our little group. We are asking you to become a member.”

  Bruce was rather taken aback. In his pursuit of Rona, he had not given her credit for any serious purpose in life. In his own eventful career it had been irresponsibility that had led him on, not serious purpose. It was not any sudden strengthening of character that now led him to identify himself with their cause, but a desire to please Rona. After all, it was something to do, and might well lead to further excitement.

  “I am honoured by your invitation to join you. I’ll certainly do my best to support you in any way I can, although I have no influence …”

  “That’s just what we aim to have as a group eventually,” broke in a young man, harshly. “As individuals, none of us have any influence. We think it is time we had.”

  “This is Griff Rama,” Rona introduced him to Bruce. “His father is a member of the Council—one of the less stuffy ones I must say, to give him his due. We are rather hoping he might see our aims in a sympathetic light.”


  “Leave my father out of this,” shouted Griff Rama, to everyone’s surprise. This was the nearest approach to a quarrel Bruce had ever seen amongst the Klaatans. Rona gazed at Griff in hurt surprise as she endeavoured to meet his mind in silent communion; but he screened his thoughts and turned away, leaving everyone puzzled by his outburst.

  Bruce could sense the thoughts being hurled back and forth, even though his own ability in this direction was very weak. He had given Rona the true story of how they came to bi in the country, soon after their first meeting—having realised that with her ability to mind-read, she could observe the truth for herself if she wished it. He wondered if any of the others present found his weakness obvious, but, as far as he knew, no one else knew of his origin. Then it occurred to him that, with Rona present when he met any of her friends, it was against their code of manners to commune by mind alone, there being more than two people present. Since he could receive a thought hurled personally to him from a short distance, possibly his weakness in sending thoughts to them had passed unnoticed.

  Somehow he did not care for everyone to know his story. He wished to belong, not to be made to feel different and set apart.

  By the time it was general knowledge that the crew of the Unisphere had come from another age, it had been made quite clear to him that he was part of the group; and the fact that he was different made him one of its most popular members.

  Chapter 10

  Gordon Dunstable searched in vain for visible evidence of an organised religion. Eventually, he had to face the fact that there were no churches, and no clergymen. Neither were there any groups of nonconformists or lay-preachers.

  With his newly-revived faith he became very bewildered. He had looked upon this as a most advanced, enlightened civilisation and, for an instant, an awful doubt crept into his mind. Could it be that they, with their vast intelligence, were wrong, and that he was right? For a moment, he wondered how he could possibly be so arrogant as to assume such a thing. His faith scarcely wavered, however, before he desperately thought that there must be some explanation. Perhaps, their philosophers had the answer.

  He proceeded to the mightiest seat of leaning in Ranmor. The splendour of this building almost equalled that of the Central Government Chambers. There, after many inquiries and a long wait, during which a guide showed him over various departments and offered him refreshments, he at last obtained an audience with an eminent scholar. The latter’s knowledge of philosophy had put him among the possible future candidates for appointment to the Council.

  Perceiving the thought in his mind before Dunstable uttered a word, Jon Rubin introduced himself and immediately started pouring forth thoughts to answer his question—for, as he explained, he had very little time before he was due to instruct another group of students.

  “I do not think my answer will bring you quite the satisfaction for which you hope. There is no need for religious organisation, since we know the nature of this Almighty Power you call God. We know amongst our first thoughts where we have come from and that there is a life after death. We do not need to talk about it. The knowledge is there every day of our lives and governs our actions and tempers our thoughts. What you call worship is an unconscious act with us. That answers you question but must leave you at a loss regarding your future application of your own religious convictions.”

  This rapid answer and perception—of not only his thoughts, but his very feelings on the subject—took Dunstable by surprise.

  “I see I have much to learn,” he muttered. “Your extra-sensory powers are much greater than I had realised. My own race is like the Stone-age man of prehistoric times, compared to yours. I had not realised that the difference was so great. Pity us, if you can. But try to imagine what it is like to grope blindly for this knowledge which you are so freely given. Pit even more those who cannot believe with blind faith that there is a life after death.”

  “I understand,” Rubin answered sadly. “If there is anything I can tell you, I will do so gladly. You must come and visit me privately, and we’ll have a quiet conversation on the subject—although I can see you have already more than half-solved the problem for yourself. Truly remarkable, if I can correctly imagine what it must be like to be born from blackness. Anyway, here is my address.”

  Even though he had received a shock which made him wonder still more at the purpose behind his survival thus far, when the new world so clearly had no need of him, Dunstable was grateful for his new-found friend. In the permanent friendship, of a kind that lasts a lifetime. At first, he could not understand what there could be about himself to attract his great man. He did not realise the admiration the other had for one whose faith could survive the trials of utter darkness. He would have been the first to decry that he was worthy of such admiration.

  It was from Jon Rubin that he first heard of the Gabblers. The subject became fascinating to him. The evil, unattractive creatures, as painted by Rubin’s colourful descriptions, made him wonder if it were possible for any man to be so bad. He wondered if his own race, seen under present conditions, would have appeared in much the same guise to these enlightened people.

  “These people are as much to be pitied as my own race,” he defended them. “They have not your gifts, so I doubt if they have been born with the knowledge you have. Perhaps they have not even been taught to have faith in God. In the old days, before my time, they had missionaries who considered it their duty to preach what they thought was the Word of God to all unenlightened races. Haven’t your people tried to do that?”

  “To the Gabblers, we are Gods. We cannot convey to them the idea of a greater power. Perhaps the fault lies with us as we have never conceived it our duty to save souls.”

  “Is it nothing to you that they may go to their deaths with great fear—afraid of what awaits them, or perhaps convinced that nothing exists beyond the grave? To have the knowledge that you have might influence them to live their lives differently.”

  “There is much in what you say. Bit it is one thing to tell them and quite another for them to believe blindly. That is why I have such admiration for you and others of your time, who have succeeded. Perhaps we do not understand enough of the problems of blind faith to be successful missionaries.”

  “I wonder if that’s the answer.” Dunstable spoke aloud, although much of the conversation had been silent. “No one understands those problems better than I. Perhaps this is the work given to me. Is it possible that I could help these people?”

  Understanding Dunstable’s need for this work, Rubin said nothing to dissuade him, and the pair were soon discussing ways and means of making contact with the Gabblers.

  As a doctor, Grant Courton found himself in the enviable position of actually being able to impart knowledge. Consequently, his services were much in demand.

  Although this new civilisation had advanced far along the many roads of learning, and in some subjects attained knowledge far beyond that of any previous age, medicine was still lagging behind the progress made in the three centuries before is own time. It was with the common consent of the wisest Councillors that many subjects, such as engineering and the various allied practical sciences, had not been thoroughly explored. This was not so with medicine. In time, perhaps, they would have regained all the knowledge lost at the time of the Disaster; but they did not neglect this opportunity to cut that time as short as possible, by ferreting out every little bit of knowledge Courton had that could possibly be of use to them.

  Courton himself was delighted. In his own time he had been hailed a one of the world’s greatest doctors; and the fact that he could now put his knowledge to more use than had been possible in the past, was ample compensation for his enforced exile.

  He spent so much of his time in hospitals, laboratories and the Centre of Medical Research that he scarcely ever returned to his apartment in the Central Government building. A room was made available for him in whichever establishment he happened to be—and many was the occasion
on which he would be invited to a doctor’s home—so he found no lack of friends in the new world.

  It was unfortunately otherwise with Wormald. He had always been a dour, taciturn character and, even under normal circumstances, found it difficult to make friends. Now, even his gifts as an engineer were no asset to him, and he, most of all the travellers, found this new world intolerable. Arnot, too, might have found it unbearable, if it had not been for his naturally attractive character and adaptability. His talent as leader, now that he had no crew to lead, were wasted; and his abilities also lay in mechanical and scientific directions that seemed to have little usefulness then.

  However, he made many friends and began to contemplate the various tasks it might be within his capabilities to perform. With a little study in some subject or other, he might yet become a useful member of the community.

  Sensing Wormald’s misery and trying to arouse him from his apathy, he invited him on several of his excursions. At first, these were chiefly of archaeological interest. After a great deal of research he finally pinpointed the place on which he believed his old home had stood. No trace remained, but, in its place, stood the most perfect little house he had ever seen. He lingered, staring so long that eventually one of the occupants came out and spoke to him. Thus began his first real friendship with the Klaatans. This charming, happy little family welcomed him into their midst; and from the young parents, he gained an insight into the life of the average member of the community.

  In spite of his invitations, Wormald very rarely accompanied Arnot—even when his excursions became more serious, and he settled down earnestly to seek out some interesting future occupation. An invitation that he did accept, however, came unexpectedly from Kenton. Wormald was attracted by the mysterious hint that he might be able to put his engineering knowledge to use. Roused at last, he went with Kenton to meet members of the rebel group. With scarcely a thought as to whether or not he agreed with its aims, he committed himself to supporting them, thankful that someone had need of him.