A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  CHAPTER IV

  Revelations

  WE CAME at last to a small single-storied white house that resembled a temple of some minor diety in ancient Greece. On the steps before the house stood two women. They had apparently been attracted outdoors by the hubbub of the Starling’s arrival. Both were fully as tall as I, a fact which did little to bolster my already tottering morale.

  Introductions were performed again. By means of Julon’s sign talk, interspersed with a few spoken words, I learned that the women were Mera and Varis, respectively Julon’s wife and daughter. Mera was a kind-faced, matronly woman, with a poised, erect bearing which I can describe only as queenly. And Varis . . . she was too beautiful to be entirely real. She was a vision of flowing golden hair, sea-blue eyes, and gleaming white skin. But even at first glance it was evident that she was no mere exterior shell of feminine perfection. There was flame and spirit in her, and a quick, all-embracing intelligence.

  Burdeen stared at Varis with the startled incredulity of one who sees, but is reluctant to believe. She flushed under the intensity of his gaze and looked away. As for myself, I could see in her bright beauty only the grave, dark loveliness of Suzanne—lost to me across the mysterious gulf which the voyage near light speed had placed between us. Thought of Suzanne filled me with a sudden, aching desolation. It didn’t seem possible that I would ever see her again.

  Julon chuckled tolerantly at Burdeen’s fascinated expression and gestured toward the doorway. We strode into the house. The interior was simply, yet comfortably furnished. Deep rugs covered the floors. Large globes hanging from the ceilings shed a clear, steady light on marble walls, broken in places by niches containing statuettes and vases, or hung with rich tapestries that glittered metallically. Scattered about were tables and couches, all exquisitely carven and inlaid.

  Elvar took Burdeen and me to a room at one side of the house, obviously a kind of sleeping chamber, for the couches here were deep and broad, resembling beds. We took turns in washing in streams of hot and cold water which flowed from opposite sides of a niche in one wall into a deep basin set at waist level. Drying ourselves on thick, soft towels, we followed Elvar to another room, filled with the savory odor of cooked food.

  Presently Julon, Mera, and Varis appeared, and the meal began. It was very much like the buffet suppers I had attended once. Each helped himself to food set out on trays before a broad, high cabinet of glass and metal, then, sat down on the couches about the room to eat from the plate which he held on his knees. The cabinet was a highly complex cooking device of some sort. Low bubbling, hissing, and humming sounds drifted from it, and by means almost like magic, it removed used trays of food and set out new ones. I learned later that it prepared and cooked the food entirely by itself, needing only a few spoken directions as to variety and amount. It was kept supplied by still other machines.

  The food had an exotic flavor, but it was delicious and satisfying, essentially like the food I’ve always eaten. Just then, however, I was too hungry to be critical—or very careful about my manners, though the meal was informal enough.

  WHEN we had finished, Julon beckoned us to a room which Burdeen and I had seen when first entering the house. It seemed to be the living room. Following the example of the others, we settled ourselves upon one of the couches and waited expectantly for what was to happen next. There was an unmistakable deliberate air about the proceedings.

  Julon strode to a tapestry on the wall and pulled it aside. A large screen was revealed, with an operating mechanism below it, set in the wall. The screen looked much like a television or view-plate screen, but as I was shortly to learn, it didn’t quite serve the same purpose.

  From a receptacle near the operating mechanism, Julon produced what seemed to be a spool of fine wire. He threaded an end of this into some part of the device, fixed the spool in place on a spindle, and pressed a switch. There was a soft hum. The screen lighted.

  In glowing, vivid colors a scene took form. At the same time there was a slow swelling of music. Two lines of men and women dressed in gay costumes faced each other against a vast painted backdrop. The costumes and setting depicted a symbolism which I could not grasp, but the nature of the scene was evident enough, suggesting opera or ballet. As the music rose in volume, the men and women bowed to each other, and then moved together, merging, to separate as couples. A quick, spritely dance began, with the couples gyrating in a pulse-lifting rhythm, forming intricate changing patterns. The music, bright and lilting in tempo, wove the color and movement of the spectacle into a harmonious, fascinating composition.

  The settings and the music changed from time to time. Occasionally only one couple danced, and then singing would be featured, solo and chorus. My interest gradually waned as I found myself growing sleepy. I glanced at Burdeen, to note his own reactions. But he was watching Varis, as he had watched her more or less continually the entire time.

  Finally the program ended, the screen darkening, the music fading into silence. Julon rose to drop the tapestry back in place. With a gravely apologetic smile, he indicated that he sensed the weariness of Burdeen and myself, and that we would be excused if we wished, to sleep. We nodded our acceptance. After an exchange of smiles and bows, Elvar led us to the sleeping chamber where earlier we had washed.

  Burdeen and I chose our respective beds, removed our coveralls, and lay down, pulling up around ourselves thick warm blankets. Elvar nodded at us and went out, extinguishing the lights. We were alone with our thoughts in the darkness.

  After a while Burdeen said: “Gilroy.”

  “What is it?”

  “Have you figured out what happened to us yet?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “But I have a vague idea. I’d rather not explain it, though, until I’m sure.”

  “Suppose we have to stay here—for good?”

  “We’ll just have to make the best of it, I guess.”

  “Living here wouldn’t be so bad.”

  I said slowly, “Don’t you want to go back?”

  Burdeen was silent a moment. Then he said, “Yes, I want to go back. This is a nice place—but it isn’t our world.”

  We said nothing more. I fell asleep, thinking, as it seemed I would always think, of Suzanne.

  The days that followed were filled with various activities. Burdeen and I were introduced to the other leaders of the people in the valley, who formed a sort of governing council of which Julon was the head. We were taken on tours of the city and to numerous banquets. The others, like Julon, seemed anxious to know the purpose of our visit. It meant something to them that I couldn’t grasp. I think it was this lack of understanding on our part, coupled with our inability to explain, that led Julon and his associates to take an extremely important step where Burdeen and I were concerned.

  WE WERE taken one morning to a large marble building, which seemed to be a kind of university or school. In the room to which we were led were two chairs, each literally festooned with a bewilderingly complex array of apparatus. By means of gestures, Julon gave us to understand that were to occupy the chairs. He endeavored to make it clear that we were not to be harmed, and that whatever was to take place would be to our advantage.

  The apparatus, however, was not reassuring. I surveyed it somewhat anxiously and glanced at Burdeen. He shrugged slightly.

  “They’re going to do something to us,” I whispered. “I don’t think it will hurt. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt anyway.”

  We sat down in the chairs, and two assistants began to fasten various portions of the apparatus about our heads. Metal skullcaps wound with wires were placed over our hair, a kind of earphones upon our ears, and over our eyes thick, cumbersome spectacles, through which I could at first see nothing. Finally the touch of hands left us. We waited tensely for what was to happen next.

  There was an abrupt hum in my ears, a flash of light and color before my eyes. My head became oddly weightless. My thoughts, as I considered these sensations, seemed strangely k
een and vigorous. It was as though my powers of concentration had been heightened. This, as I learned afterward, was what actually happened, by a process of subduing all superfluous thought and emotion save those concerning matters immediately at hand.

  The light before my eyes steadied. The image of a man appeared. Even as I realized this, a word in strange letters appeared below the image, and a word, obviously the same as the written one, was spoken in my ear. The image of the man walked, ran, smiled, became angry, each action being both visually and audially described. And with my increased powers of thought and concentration, I found that I retained a perfect memory of each explanation. I knew that I would be able easily to understand the words if I should ever hear them spoken or see them written.

  Additional subjects followed. Animals, houses, trees, and other things of a simple nature. Thus began the education of Burdeen and myself in the language of the people of the valley. As the days passed, we learned quite rapidly. How much of our speedy progress can be credited to the mental aid given by the teaching apparatus, or to our already vague familiarity with the language, is uncertain. Chaucer wouldn’t have had much difficulty in learning modern English—even less if he’d had a device to bolster and stimulate his thought processes while learning.

  Before long Burdeen and I were able to hold simple conversations with the others. We didn’t attempt to question them as yet, nor did they attempt to question us. By a sort of tacit agreement, we were waiting until the time when our vocabularies would be most nearly equal. This would permit a more complete and thorough discussion of the things important to us.

  Burdeen and I managed, however, to learn many things through these early conversations. We were still on Earth, not on a planet in some remote corner of the Universe, as we had dimly feared. From the changes which had taken place, it was obvious that a very long time had passed. This bore out the suspicion which I’d held about time being involved somehow in the flight. But how much time was impossible to determine.

  The valley and the city were known comprehensively as Ard. The same name applied also to the planet as a whole, but among Julon and his people it applied particularly to the city. The government of Ard was essentially democratic, the councillors and their presiding head being chosen by vote of the people. But life in Ard was so simple and well-ordered that the tasks of government were practically nonexistent. Machines did all the work, produced all the goods. Everyone had everything he needed, and no person had any more than the other.

  FREED from labor by the machines, the people of Ard used leisure to excellent advantage. They had made many advances in science and technology. Their music, literature, drama, and art were imaginatively vigorous and distinctly original. They had innumerable mind, body, and character building activities in the way of sports, contests, and hobbies. Their time, in fact, was in every way occupied beneficially.

  I had earlier supposed from what I had thought was their reliance upon machines, that the Ardians were sinking gradually into decadence. I had learned that was the fate which usually befell people who were cared for without effort of their own. But far from sinking into decadence, the Ardians were arising from it.

  The machines were not a development of their own. It seems that the machines, like the great empty cities and the planet itself, had always been. The cities and the planet had gradually been deserted. Those who had remained had come to rely too completely upon the machines, and when the machines had stopped, they had lapsed into barbarism. The Ardians, at some time in the distant past, had learned slowly and painfully to repair, start, and operate the machines again. They had not fallen into their old ways, but had used the machines as stepping stones to even greater achievements.

  A lot of time had passed, of course, during the period from decline to resurgence. During that time, freed from the bonds of print, the English language had undergone more changes than had taken place throughout the several thousand years preceding. The Ardian tongue had seemed vaguely familiar to me, but no more. The educating apparatus, one of the ancient devices which the Ardians had learned to use along with the others, had naturally been changed to conform to their own dialect. I wondered occasionally how large a role the educating apparatus had played In the Ardian rebirth.

  I was a scientist, and these things were interesting to me. I discussed them—haltingly at first, to be sure—with many of the elders in Ard, and particularly with Julon. Talking with Julon made me understand why he had been chosen a leader. His mind was very keen, and he had studied intensively the record-spools of the ancients. He possessed not only an amazingly broad range of knowledge, but the sense of human values and perspectives, coupled with a truly objective attitude, necessary to apply it.

  Such of my time as was not spent under the educating apparatus was passed in this way. I made few friends outside of Julon and the other elders. As for Burdeen, he was occupied in a manner typical of him. He entered zestfully into the sports and physical contests of Ard, natural outlets for his restless, competitive spirit. His great strength and stubborn endurance soon made him the idol of the city’s youth. And I noted that he was often with Varis.

  Finally the education of Burdeen and myself was completed. It was an event for which Julon had long and impatiently been waiting. After breakfast on the morning of the day following our “graduation”, he asked us to accompany him to the garden at the rear of the house. We settled ourselves on a marble bench that circled a small pool.

  It was cool, with that crisp tang to the air I’d grown to know so well. It was always cool, even when the reddish sun hung at zenith. There was a light wind. In the surrounding trees birds twittered and chirped quarrelsomely.

  JULON glanced slowly at Burdeen, and then at me. He seemed more than ordinarily grave. After a moment he said:

  “My friends, there are things which we of Ard have wanted to know ever since your arrival here. But first I shall tell you the reasons, so that you will understand us.

  “You have undoubtedly seen the world as it is . . . a waste of snow and ice, for the most part. The world is almost deserted. There are some people left, but these are savages, living in crude houses of wood and skins, or skulking among the crumbling towers of the ancient cities. There are none such as the people of Ard. Our kind is alone in the world—and the world is growing cold and inhospitable. If our descendants are to advance and grow and become a mighty race, we must leave Ard and find a habitable planet circling a younger, warmer sun.

  “In the dim past, men had machines—much like your own machine—in which to travel the vast distances between the stars. That is why the world is deserted now. They found and settled fresh, new planets, and as the old world grew cold, others left one by one to join them. Those who remained depended upon the servant-mechs, and when the servant-mechs broke down, they became savages.” Julon looked up at the sky, and his tone became faintly bitter.

  “All the available space machines were taken in the exodus. There were many more people, in fact, than there were space machines. That is why some remained behind. It was not of their choosing. A part of them, however, managed to gather the record-spools which explained the construction of space machines. These built the machines they needed and left. But they either took with them or destroyed the all-important record-spools. Subsequently refugees were left stranded. We of Ard wish to leave this world for a new one among the stars, but the means with which to do so is beyond our grasp. We do not know, as did the ancients, how to build space machines.

  “Out of our thwarted hopes a legend grew—a legend that some day men would come from the stars to visit the planet of their birth. They would find us of Ard, and would take us to the new world we sought. Or if they could not take us, they would give us the vital secrets of building space machines.” Julon gazed at Burdeen and me in sudden, intense appeal. It shocked me a little, for he had always seemed so profound and self-sufficient.

  “My friends, it is obvious that you have come from the stars. Now that you know our p
light, will you not help us? All we ask is that you teach us to build a space machine like your own, so that we may find a new home—so that what we have started here in Ard will not perish when the sun finally dies.”

  I glanced in dismay at Burdeen. There was a serious flaw in the Starling’s warp-line principle. If our short flight had had such an effect upon ourselves, what more serious results might it not have from a voyage across the immense gulf between the stars, as Julon contemplated? And while Burdeen and I knew the construction of space vessels, it was the construction of interplanetary vessels—not of interstellar vessels, which were what Julon had in mind.

  Julon saw from our expressions that something was wrong. “What is it?” he asked. “Can you not help us?”

  The question could not be avoided. I sighed, regretting the disappointment my words would bring, and launched into an account of the Starling’s incredible flight.

  Julon was silent for a long while after I finished. Then he said dully:

  “You have not come from the stars. You have come from this world—the world of long ago.”

  “And the difficulty is,” I answered helplessly, “that we don’t even know how. A lot of time has passed. I know that time is involved—but I don’t know how.”

  JULON rested an elbow on his knee and stared at the grass, considering the matter. It was as though the problem of his people were no longer uppermost in his mind. At last he said: “I have done much studying of the ancient record-spools. I know many of the things which the ancients knew—and some which they had forgotten or overlooked in the dense growth of new knowledge around them. I think I have the answer to that which puzzles you. It involves an ancient theory—the theory of relativity. The man to whom it is credited is no longer known.”

  I straightened on the bench, electrified, a name ringing in my mind. The name was Einstein. It was all suddenly very clear to me. I knew what Julon was going to say even as he said it.