Stockton's twitch firmed into a triumphant smile. "I've got you there, Swami!" He pointed at the gorgeous panorama of green continents, blue oceans, and riotous cloud formations. "There is a humanoid stage of intelligence there, an early phase of civilization. On Earth, homo sapien didn't appear until the Pleistocene."
The swami smiled at the girls apologetically as he got to his feet, prepared to leave. "According to your post-diluvian sediments and few fragments of axes and bones, Doctor," he asked gently, "or to the true record of Nature?" With that he departed.
This was ammunition for more wild conjectures, and Stockton soon withdrew in disgust to join the small group of scholars who were clumped about the deck telescope. A few crewmen walked away, muttering about parallel universes. Danny, Mabuse, Fitz, and Foxy were left along with Jerry Fontaine and the two girls.
Danny had noted that Jerry and Lalille were very close together, apparently sharing the unutterable thoughts of what really lay in store for the man-woman relationship down there on the last world they might ever know. He looked at Freddie and noticed her meditative mood. Mabuse brought up the Colonial Charter and the heavy stress on militia and weapons control. When Fitz cynically mentioned Father Saussure's New World Church, Boozie shook his head sadly.
"They're planting dragon seeds," he said. "We're slipping back in time, all right, maybe to the Dark Ages again."
Danny had just managed to grasp Freddie's hand when Fitz blundered through with the unspeakable. "Seems to me they're pussyfooting around the main piece of dynamite," he said, grinning at the girls and Danny and Jerry. "Why don't you lovers get married? That would solve the question of sex, once and for all. Let's face it."
Lalille's great blue eyes swung toward him in momentary disbelief. Then she turned crimson and stared at Frederica. Danny still held her hand, but she suddenly pulled it away.
"All right, Doctor Sachs," said Boozie, smirking shrewdly at her, "there's a clinical doozie for you, right out on the old microscope slide!"
Lalille let out a strange choking sound as if she were going to cry. She rushed away, followed by Jerry. Danny forced a rueful grin. "Freddie, that's a lousy way of getting proposed to, but as you said, people shouldn't play roles, honey. I'll punch Fitz in the nose later. He's an Irish bull, but I can't say he told a lie!"
Frederica's tawny eyes flashed indignation as she sprang to her feet. The old rapier stiffness came back as she faced them furiously. Her lips were thin, totally drained of color. "For your information, Captain Troy, I didn't go on a star quest to play stud poker with the crewmen, nor do I have any intention of becoming the mother of a nation!"
With this revelation, she swept away in a storm of hurt and anger. As Danny stood up, watching her go, wondering what to do, Fitz clapped a consoling hand on his shoulder.
Foxy sighed resignedly. "Get ready, number four. Here comes civilization!"
"Or maybe the bubonic plague," added Boozie morbidly.
THE SECOND CYCLE
"The Star Sons brought forth fire devils and took Ravano captive. The giants were unleashed and the sacred children vanished into their hiding places. Then spoke the Gods of Prayava-Kutami in their wrath. This was the Second Cycle."
–Stanza 37, Vol. 16 – The Lahayana
CHAPTER VIII
It was a simple cup of water, clear, tepid and harmless, but a milestone in human history.
"This is our proper champagne for such an occasion," Alonso said over the loudspeakers. "It is the first water of another solar system ever to be tasted by man!"
As Danny sipped from his cup, he looked across the crowd, some of whom were seated on the ground. Most of the crewmen were shirtless and gleaming with sweat. He could see the two girls near the microphone stand, all decked out in tropical shorts and summer blouses as if they were ready for tennis. Here was a far different game, he reflected glumly, and they were already playing it. There had been talk of building separate quarters for the women in relation to plans for the church. Lalille had been tense, troubled and restless, but had managed to become absorbed in the colony work with Freddie, who was already the acting secretary for the council. Each of them was putting up a smokescreen. He had to admit that Fitz was right. If the girls had married, the game of feint and fend would be over with.
He sat there in the steaming tropical afternoon and was thankful for plenty of water, considering the sweat and humidity. But he wondered at the prosaic and physical level of his thoughts just now. Perhaps he was as tired as everyone else. As Boozie had expressed it, their wonder glands had been juiced out. Coming to this primitive planet and actually landing on it had stripped their emotions dry. The burden of what they'd been through and the unresolved question of what lay ahead was enough to leave them gasping like fish on the beach. It was a proper time for invocations and ceremonies.
* * * *
All day he had worked with an unreasoned feverish dedication, helping the crew with their tasks, setting up field equipment, laying outside cables, erecting solar panels so as to relieve the ship's nuclear plant of unnecessary power drains. He sat on a packing case with some of the crewmen and scanned the camp in unfocused wonderment as the Duke warmed up to his speech. The four-hundred foot hull of the star ship's silvery life-pod had separated flawlessly from the orbiting main frame and had used its gravitrons to settle down on a vast, stone-paved square. On three sides the great open court was surrounded by brilliant green jungles, but to the north it was dominated by an ancient temple half-overgrown with moss and vines. The cyclopean pyramid structure rose six hundred feet above the square, looking remarkably like a Babylonian ziggurat with its receding levels, its soaring flight of stairs between straightlined buttresses, and the low-roofed sanctuary on the flattened top. Nobody had had time to inspect it or even permission to do so. Exploration was forbidden until further orders. Two inflated field huts had been set up on the western edge of the square: one for the scientific staff, and one for security. Pike's guards and the motionless roborgs were more than enough reminder that everyone's "safety" was being provided for. The local inhabitants were still an unknown prove quantity except for colorful squawking birds and some insistent chattering, whistling, and occasional rumbling in the jungle. "So far the biggest danger I see," Fitz had commented earlier, "is that the roadblock works both ways. The natives can't get in, but nobody can get out."
Indeed, the complexion of colony life was taking on its subtler hues in a hurry, and Pike loved it, combat helmet and all.
By way of further panoply and display, the Duke proudly presented his big surprise. It was something he had probably been working on for weeks. He held the colored shield up so that it gleamed nobly in the sun.
"I give you," he said, "the coat of arms of the Colony of Terra Nova!" He stood there and beamed as applause and cheers rang out over the square. In his best dark suit and sunburst medal, he looked like some dignified Spanish Don of centuries past, claiming new lands in the name of his sovereign.
Then came the Bishop, Auguste Saussure, to give the benediction. Some heads bent devoutly as he raised his baritone voice in prayer. Poyntner and some of his atheistic hardheads quietly left the gathering and went over to their new field headquarters. Cyrus Stockton was with him.
"Man, I'm telling you," said one of the crew, "we have really arrived!"
On the near southern horizon, volcanic ranges loomed darkly. Even in the bright afternoon, they could see a reddish glow beneath the perpetual curtain of smoke that lay across the ominous peaks. Three times that day they had heard distant rumblings and felt the earth tremble under their feet.
"The question is, for how long?" asked somebody else. But no one ventured to answer.
Commander Alex Lyshenko had evidently timed his appearance so that what he had to say would be the last word of the colonial inauguration. P.Q. Bates was beside him, wearing oversized white shorts and a ludicrous-looking safari helmet, but his ever-present transcorder was with him. The ship's log was still the key journa
l of the mission.
The skipper again wore his parade yellows, as the crew called his sole dress uniform. The stocky, broad-chested figure stood before the microphone with the thick legs apart and the muscular hands clasped behind his back. The wide Mongolian face gleamed with perspiration. His heavy brows moved together as he squinted his already narrowed eyes against the lowering sun. A silence descended even on the jungle as Lyshenko began to speak.
"The Colonial Council and the Charter represent the official extension of World Authority here," he said, with his usual rasping gruffness. "You have all studied the provisional regulations. You know that Dr. Madrazo is the Chief of Council, which gives him direct authority over colonial administration. As commander of the Sirius III, I am still in charge of the ship and Flight Command. The new point I'm going to stress for the record is that on land, under present conditions, two special provisions are in effect. One: the ship's crew will be prepared at all times, under my direction, to cooperate with Council Authority and assist in carrying out the programs that have been developed in the interests of our survival here. Two: the security guard under Major Pike will serve henceforth as the colonial militia and will be expanded as necessary."
He cleared his throat as if for emphasis. "The initial phases of any adjustment to an alien environment present certain problems and dangers, especially in our own case. We have to be on the alert for uncontrolled emotions, divided opinions, and possible attempts at independent action." He paused to stare everyone down. "For the safety of this company, no one is independent! We are a unit. Any violation of orders will be dealt with under mode-one provisions. This gives the council the power to issue penalties, including the penalty of execution."
In response to a few murmurings of protest, he snapped a finger at Philo, signaling him to hold up Alonso's new coat of arms. He rapped the emblazoned shield almost disdainfully. "All these fancy symbols aren't worth the paint and trim that makes them, unless there's a coat of mail and a mace behind them! Law is the one ramrod that'll keep your backs up and your heads on straight! I stand here to tell you that this law is going to be maintained!"
This ended the ceremonies and some of the noncoms and swabbies crowded around Danny to complain.
"Jesus, Captain, who turned out the lights!"
"Yeah, what the hell! This isn't a chain gang!"
He listened to the bitchings around him and then suddenly cut them off. "Stow it, men! The Skipper is right. You may find out soon enough. Now get back to work."
He was aware of their shocked amazement as they walked off, arguing among themselves. Meanwhile he stared at Freddie's distant figure. She was talking to Lalille, Tallullah, and Saussure. The nuns and the Mother Superior, he thought, conferring with their bishop. After the blowup on the observation deck, he had done some thinking about Frederica. Maybe he'd been pushing things. It was way too early for tiger skins, if it ever happened between them. Meanwhile he could lose himself in a blind response to duty, like the roborgs out there, answering to their silent bells. As for Adolf the Pike, let him wave his stick. There was time to sort out the pieces. For his own stability, he was playing it all by the book. The Duke and the Skipper were still the law. This made sense to him on that first day of the landing, especially when he searched his mind for alternatives. There were none.
* * * *
A long and eerie tropical twilight came upon them with such a contrast that it seemed somebody had changed the scenery for a second act. The stars were few and remote because of humidity heat waves, and a perpetual haziness caused by volcanic action. The chief spectacle of the night was the pyrotechnical display on the southern horizon. Three particular peaks in the mountain chain were highly active volcanoes which occasionally spewed sparks and streamers of lava into the air, adding morbid brilliance to the blood-red glow of the smoke clouds above them. Earth tremors and distant rumblings had become as much a part of the environment as the other ominous sounds of the encroaching jungle.
Although the air was still humid, it was laden with that inimitable essence that only exists in tropical climes. The dense rain-forest flora seemed to add an almost cloying aura of animal vitality to the spice-laden air. As Jerry expressed it, here one sensed a quality of the universal earth mother, which was in a word – voluptuous. Yet more than that, he added, it was prepagan in its mood, even to the point of mythological enchantment. The young geochemist had temporarily eluded his personal problem with Lalille by surrendering almost animistically to the mysteriously vital blosphere around him.
To add a deeper but more disturbing mystery, Nolokov brought word to Danny and Fitz and Boozie that a curious meeting had just occurred. Dr. Jules Elliott had taken him and Sam to the Duke and the Skipper, who had at first tried to dismiss the subject he brought before them.
"That slab-brain, Poyntner, tried to shoot us down," said the Monk, in a tone of vicious contempt. "But Jules reminded them that the psi group had not come all these light-years just for the ride."
The point of the story was that the swami's unique faculties had sensed something. Holy Sam's ability to lock in on multiple levels of consciousness was a phenomenon that the non-metaphysical types found it hard to comprehend.
"The basics of occult-metaphysical knowledge include the reality of separate consciousness structures for a number of kingdoms in nature," Nolokov explained. "Mineral, plant, animal, human, and something else we don't talk about."
Sam had scanned the planet's levels of consciousness. He was aware of the presence of a human-type consciousness somewhere nearby, and also something else.
"It was in between," said Nolokov, "like a missing link of some kind." His deep-set eyes gleamed with a keen awareness of what he was seeing behind his revelation, but he was cautious with his words. "Metaphysically, this is more important than they realize. I think we're dealing with the ancient prehuman stragglers and hybrid forms that preceded the self-conscious stage of evolution."
"What do you mean?" asked Fitz. "Like Pithecanthropus?"
Nolokov smiled enigmatically. "You don't have the proper imagery. I'd say Jerry Fontaine is closer in a way. He's suggesting a prepagan situation to the point of mythological life forms."
"Come on now, lad," retorted Fitz. "The next thing you'll be saying is, we're surrounded by leprechauns!"
"Don't be an idiot!" countered the Monk impatiently. "This is science, not fantasy. Where exoteric science is concerned, your empiricists like Poyntner and Stockton don't know the first thing about evolution." He walked off abruptly, which was one of his characteristics. It was as if his perceptions were not reducible to language, and he either despaired of explaining his thoughts or disdained to.
"Sometimes that Svengali acts like he was talking to baboons," Fitz complained angrily.
"That's probably not far from the truth," commented Boozie.
"What?"
"Relatively speaking, Fitz. He and Sam are way ahead of us in some departments."
"So what's it boil down to?" asked Danny. "There may be humanoids out there somewhere, but what else? Satyrs? Centaurs? Unicorns?"
Boozie smirked. "In effect, why not? You think it's way out? That's exactly where we are, buddy. We are as way out as you can get! Time, parallel universes, or maybe another dimension. Don't let your packaged education get in the way. Stop being a tree. Out here, lost in the stars, who knows what's in the forest?"
"If anybody, maybe Sam..."
"That's about the only route right now, other than the Monk, but I get a feeling they're both clamming up."
"Scared, you mean?"
"No. More like leaving it to us baboons to find out for ourselves."
This was what brought home the impact of the alien world, with an imagery which lay beyond the limitation of words. The volcanoes rumbled, sending a new flare of angry light against the vine-grown face of the looming temple.
"A word just hit me," said Danny. "Lemuria."
"No holds barred, baby. This could be anywhere, anytime."
"I think I'll hit the sack, lads," said Fitz, "and I'll be coverin' my poor curly head to keep from hearin' the banshees!"
* * * *
A partial corroboration of Sam's sensitivity concerning between-forms of life occurred on the second day when Chief Engineer Bruno and Fitz took a tech crew to the nearby river to set up a hydroelectric generator system. They had been delayed by a sudden tropical cloudburst that finally passed as abruptly as it had come. Word came later from the river that they had shot a huge beast that looked like a cross between a rhinoceros and a prehistoric brontops. It probably weighed six tons. However, that wasn't the main surprise of their mini-expedition. Around noon the base camp was suddenly in commotion. Danny and other crewmen stopped their work when shouts were heard near the field huts and men started running to join the security guards. Bruno's detail had apparently flushed something out of the jungle.
"Watch out!"
"Grab it!"
"Don't shoot it. Use the beamers!"
The entire camp was alerted as a snarling and spitting apelike creature darted out onto the square and sought to find an escape route.
"Look out for those teeth!"
"Stand back. We'll gas the son of a bitch!"
A gas grenade exploded in front of the red-haired, dog-faced man-thing. Its narrow-boned, atavistic face turned toward the rising silvery fog of anesthetic gas, the beetling, elemental brows lowered over its savage yellow eyes as if confronting a demonic apparition. It muttered strangely, emitting surprisingly unguttural sounds that were hauntingly close to speech. Then it collapsed suddenly. The men closed in swiftly with ropes.
* * * *
Thus the "dog-faced man" came to the colony of Terra Nova. Later, when under control in an improvised cage of wire mesh and deck clamps, it was examined more closely by the scientific staff, including Tallullah and her anthropologists.
Even Lalille Sardou was called into conference to see what she could make of the thing's constant mutterings. Jerry Fontaine was not to be excluded. He had made himself unpopular with the militia by complaining of their inhumane treatment of the captive.
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