by D. E. Ellis
Anxious to leave the ancient water-course, in case of any more encounters, he indicated that they should continue without further delay. He found it necessary to lean heavily on her shoulder, as they proceeded for another half-a-mile, until they reached a point where the banks were less steep. By then he had recovered sufficiently to negotiate the slope. From then on, he could walk unaided.
It was not far. The Gabblers had not dared to venture far on the treacherous ground. Long grass, bushes and stunted trees hid many a pitfall.
A mound, or small hillock came into sight. Mury proceeded more cautiously after that, in case a tribesman had been sent while she had been absent from her own tribe. It was most unlikely, however, that one had been brave enough to venture on his own—and more would have seen no need to conceal themselves. There being no sign of movement as they approached, taking what cover they could from the bushes, they carried on to the cave’s entrance.
The silence worried Thane and, throwing caution to the winds, he tried to peer over the top of the boulder, into the darkness of the cave. He called, but there was no answer. With Mury’s help he tried to roll the obstruction away. At first, it seemed to be no use. Then he realised that it was held there by piles of smaller stones at its base. It would have been impossible to move it from inside; but after several minutes of hard work, the barrier was removed.
Thane’s heart sank as he beheld the two, still bodies lying on the floor. Neither appeared to be breathing. He felt their flesh, it was still warm. After a few moments’ perseverance, he was rewarded by the faintest trace of a pulse in each. He wished Grant Courton was with him.
From their sunken features and wasted bodies, the prisoners had every appearance of starvation: yet, whether it was this that had actually caused them to lose consciousness, or that the hypnosis which Hoonin had administered had resulted in a trance, it was impossible for him to say. Either way, he did not see how he was going to get them back to Ranmor unaided.
Rona, laying contented in Hamer’s arms, realised with a shock that it was several hours since she had tried to contact Thane or Mury. It was quite dark, and she hoped that the couple were in a place of safety.
It was some time before her call was answered. Then it was Mury who made contact. Rona could sense the weariness of the other girl’s mind, the effort of collecting enough energy to send a coherent message. There was also relief, mingled with many other emotions.
Her mind showed pictures of Thane, sleeping from exhaustion. Near to him were Bruce Kenton and Urik Wormald. The surroundings puzzled Rona. The broken heaps of masonry, and a glimpse of a rounded, manufactured roof, led her to suspect that it was another discovery of the prisoners, efforts to contact Rona or Ranmor, despair at their weakness; and, finally, the marathon effort by which they had managed to drag the two men over a mile of rough ground, to their present hiding place. From the picture Thane presented in Mury’s mind it was evident that all was not well with hi. Nevertheless, Rona had to speak to him, and asked Mury to wake him up.
“Can I help now?” asked Rona, remorsefully.
It was difficult to pluck a coherent answer out of Thane’s semi-delirious mind. Finally, she managed to grasp the essential sense of the message, amidst pictures of huge snakes, holes in the ground, high banks and gathering darkness.
“Contact Ranmor. Get Grant Courton here. Tell him—Leyton station. I can’;t do more …” Thane’s mind trailed off; he was asleep again.
“Don’t worry,” Rona reassured Mury. “Help will come.”
Mury did not understand the first part of the message, but it was quite clear she had to wait where she was for further developments. She settled down to continue her weary vigil, passing the time by wondering who Thane and these men were? By that time she suspected that Thane was not what he seemed to be—and neither was he as old as he appeared. His courage filled her with admiration.
Thane awoke to find himself being borne along with a gentle, swaying motion. For a time, he was content to let this comfortable state of affairs endure. He watched the shadows cast on the sides of the roof of the tunnel in which they were travelling. Suddenly, his memory started to function again. He tried to sit up, but found that he could only raise his head a few inches, before pain forced him back again. The movement had not gone unnoticed, however! in a few moments Grant Courton was at his side.
“Just keep still a little longer. Then we’ll have you in a comfortable bed. There isn’t much wrong with you, now that I’ve strapped up your ribs. A few days rest, and you’ll be able to get about again.”
“How about Bruce and Rikky?”
“Their condition is rather puzzling, but they are in no danger now. If you had not reached them when you did, they would have died from thirst. I doubt if they’ve had any food or drink in the eight or nine days since they’ve been missing. Being in a comatose condition, they have consumed very little energy. Otherwise their lives would be in danger.”
“The girl that helped me—where is she?” Suddenly that seemed to be the most important thing to Thane. He had done his part by rescuing his friends; it was now up to others to see that they were all right, that the Tube was restored to working order, that the problem of the Gabblers was settled.
Courton directed his attention to the other side of the stretcher. Mury plodded wearily along, slightly ahead of them.
“She would not leave you—although we tried to persuade her to use the stretcher, too. She is obviously tired out; but she seems deaf, or is past hearing from sheer exhaustion. She seemed pleased to see us, and then utterly ignore us. She waited patiently until we had done what we could, and were ready to go. Then she came along, too, moving like a robot.”
“Didn’t Rona tell you about her? She is deaf. The tribesmen thought she was simple, too. Rona found that she can receive strongly-sent messages, and transmit weak ones of her own, much the same as we can. She has a least average intelligence, although it is as yet untutored—even in the smallest of things which we take for granted.”
“Rona didn’t mention her at all—or, if she did, the message was not passed on. I can understand why she does not speak now. Deafness was recognised early in children of our age, and other methods of teaching them to speak were used. Earlier in our own civilisation, deaf children were often thought to be mutes also, merely because the could not learn to speak by themselves, without hearing others. The effects of being born deaf amongst these backward tribes must be far worse.”
“Mury also suffered from having no one to care what happened to her. Her parents were killed while she was very young. Her mother was a Klaatan, by the way.”
“That explains her looks. She reminds me more of the girls of our own time, though. Her features are not quite as delicate as those of the Klaatans. However, this discussion isn’t helping Mury at the moment. let us see if Griff can contact her.”
Griff was walking very near Mury, bearing one end of the stretcher supporting Thane. Even so, it was some moments before he could get any response from her tired mind. When he did, however, she seemed to come to life. The blankness had been pierced again, and she was no longer alone.
Her first thought was for Thane. It took her a long time to convey what was in her mind; but, having once found there was nothing seriously worn with him, she attempted to ask a question that had been troubling her since the Klaatans arrived. At last, Griff got the gist of it!
“If he really belongs to your people, instead of the tribes, why is it he does not speak to me with his mind, as you do?”
The monumental task of explaining Thane’s origin and true background, in a few pictures that Mury was most likely to understand, defeated Griff for the moment. He contented himself by explaining the Thane was not one of their people, but of a different race from either the Klaatans or the Gabblers.
At last, Mury was persuaded to accept a stretcher, after she was told that it was Thane’s wish. Another hour and a half brought them to the outskirts of Ranmor. There, they ascended
to ground-level, and were able to make use of the hospital ambulances that had been waiting for them. The horses drawing the ambulances accomplished the rest of the journey to the hospital in a very short time.
Thane, this is Rona,” came the thought, as Thane Arnot lay quietly in the hospital bed. “Griff tells me you succeeded. Hamer is furious that this prisoners have escaped, but I don’t think he connects you with it. He thinks that Hoonin’s defeat caused his control over the prisoners to lapse, so that they were able to escape of their own accord. At the moment, he is commiserating with Gor Don over the loss of his servant and woman.”
“That’s wonderful. Things have turned out even better than I had hoped I’m afraid this is the end of your organisation though.”
“Yes, I suppose I shall have to resign myself to exile—the same as any other Klaatan woman who has previously thrown in her lot with the Gabblers. I shall still be able to talk to Griff and some of the others, occasionally, thought.”
“You must have greater powers of thought-communication than the average Klaatan. I thought that only the super telepaths in the communications departments could make contact over distances amounting to several miles.”
“I surprised myself when I managed to contact Griff, and late Mury and yourself. Now I find it wasn’t just an odd chance or two, so I suppose I must be above the average. But I’ve nothing like the powers of the super telepaths. In any walk of life, the word ‘average’ is just a convenient expression to denote a kind of middle line. Most people fall a little to one side or the other of the average.”
“Well, it’s a comfort to know you won’t be entirely out of contact. I hope, one day, it will be possible for you to come and go as you wish.”
“It may happen, Meanwhile hurry up and get well. Mury is lost without you.”
Chapter 18
Once again, the crew of the starship Unisphere were on trial before the assembled Council of Patriarchs. This time, they had as their companions key members of the Group.
The Head addressed the assembly:
“We have allowed sufficient time to pass since our recent unfortunate disturbances for things to right themselves, and for out tempers to cool, in order that any judgements we are about to pass may be fair and unprejudiced. Those involved and injured have now recovered, and the Tube is working again. We will consider the case of each man separately. Let us begin with those who seem to be the least involved.
“Grant Courton, will you stand so that we may deal with you first. Has anyone anything against this man remaining in our society?”
With all the speed age allowed to him, a councillor rose to his feet. “As a member of the medical profession, I say it is unthinkable that this man is on trial. We owe so much to him that is impossible to asses it all here. Surely, it is against our code of conduct to steal the knowledge from a man’s mint, then send him over. It would be different if anything he has taught us was in any way detrimental to our civilisation. We, who have worked with this man, have never found the slightest trace of the evils attributed to his civilisation. If any man has earned his place in our society, it is the doctor.”
Many other members of the Council rose in order to defend Courton. The Head smiled and asked them to remain seated.
“Further defence is unnecessary. Neither is there any need to consider his place in our society. We will pass on to the next case—James Thursfield.”
Anu Rama spoke for him, and many councillors nodded in agreement as he praised the rare quality of his mind, the new light he had brought to bear on their social problems, the dignity and honesty with which he faced life.
A superior product of his own age, now able to approach life with a similar mature judgement to that with which toe older councillors were gifted, it was easy for them to regard him as one of themselves. There was no question as to his fate, it remained only for his position in their society to be ascertained. It was agreed to leave that question for the moment, and to pass on to the next person .
“Gordon Dunstable is not here. It seems he has already embarked upon a new career. He may do no good, but I doubt if he will do any harm either. He is working on the right lines to make the Gabblers more possible to live with. I have seen nothing in his character that would be in the least detrimental to the Klaatan society, so I suggest we consider his case closed.”
The Council were unanimously agreed with the Head’s suggestion. Gordon Dunstable, himself, would not have greed with the confidence shown in his work, had he been present. He had taken the opportunity to unburden himself to Jon Rubin, in a brief visit shortly before the trial. His mission was successful beyond his wildest dreams, and the whole thing seemed to be snowballing. Everywhere, small groups were growing faster than he could train helpers to guide them.
“Is this an evil thing I’ve started, Jon?” he had asked. “I feel I have been presumptuous in originating the crusade. They now look upon me as a god. I don’t dare disillusion them, or the whole thing will fall to pieces and they will be back where they started. Probably worse off, since they will return to their old gods twice as strongly. If I had not been so vain as to think I had been sent specially for the task of awakening their minds to the glory of God, in time God might have sent His Son amongst us again. Here am I professing to believe in Him, and presuming to interfere with His work.”
“I think you are worrying needlessly,” Jon Rubin had replied. “You are supplying a very great social need at the moment. If it is God’s purpose that His Son should come again, it will happen, regardless of what you may say or do. It may be that you are to pave the way, or that you are just an insignificant pebble on the beach.”
Slightly comforted, and praying for guidance, Gor Don had returned to the forests to continue his work, hoping that in time, there would be no need for performances of ‘magic’, that education by the Klaatans would make it possible to drop his deception, and tell them of Christianity as it really was.
Thane rose to his feet with apprehension as his turn came. Nothing in the characters of the three who had preceded him had ever denoted any warlike qualities. He knew this was not so with himself. He suspected that his brain contained urges to fight for survival as strongly as any soldiers of his era the age the elders dismissed as an unfortunate one.
“Thane Arnot has proved that what we regarded as the baser tendencies of his era, may be an asset in some situations. Provided those fighting qualities are guided by sound judgement, and are not used to support misplaced ambitions, our society will benefit from the inclusion of people like him.” Thane’s hopes rose as he heard a councillor speak for him. It was evident, however, that some of the others were undecided.
“What specific future do you see for him?” asked one. “We do not have an army for him to lead. Apart from piloting his space-ship, what use is he—other than a possible source of trouble.”
Thane saw, with gratitude, his friend, Adam Clint, enter the Council Chamber. Clint told simply of his friendship with the person on trial; of his attitude towards the ordinary things of life; of the way in which the ordinary people regarded him; and finally, of the willingness of his brother-in-law to teach him farming.
A few moments later, Thane was accepted as a permanent and responsible member of the community. He sat down with relief as attention was focused on Bruce.
The silence that greeted Bruce, as he took his turn to face the Council, showed this was a much more difficult case to judge. Although recovered from his imprisonment in the cave, he looked pale and listless. It was almost with indifference that he heard the Head, state the nature of the case:
“We have already decided to judge each person separately. But, in so doing, we must remember that quite a few people were involved in the recent disturbances, most of them Klaatans, and that only two of the Unisphere’s crew were members of the Group. We must not allow Bruce Kenton’s background to influence us unduly when apportioning his share of the guilt.”
Strangely enough, there were quite
a lot of councillors who spoke for Bruce. His attractive personality had charmed many people, now as in the old days. Many felt that the guilt lay at their own door—for it was the young men of their own people who had led him astray. Others felt that he had been punished enough by his experiences. A few vices rose to suggest that his lack of moral judgement, his craving for excitement, his failure to apply himself to anything worth while, were all part of his twenty-fourth century background.
Bruce was roused out of his apathy in surprise at the number of people who were willing to speak up for him. He hardly heard the others—who were only saying what he had expected anyway. The fact that the councillors were old should have lessened the chances he would have had, had he stood before a council of young men, he felt. He did not realise that, with their gifts of insight, they could see past the reckless youth to the genuine deference and interest he always felt when talking to an older person. Interest in others, no matter what their age, was the secret of his wayward charm.
Having completely given himself to the pursuit of Rona, his failure to win her had made him feel that this new life had nothing to offer him, that his life should have ended when the old civilisation no longer existed. Now he half-wondered if he had been wrong after all: perhaps this feeling of failure would not persist.
Then he returned to his former state of indifference to his fate, when he remembered he was hardly fitted for a job in this society. In any case, a life full of dull routine was hardly worth living. That was the reason he had become a spaceman.
He heard the Head summing up: