We stayed with them because we thus had the unique opportunity of observing an alien race throughout its full development. But there was another reason, unknown even to us, why we became attached to the world of Varang-Varang. We know now—and you know, too—that their world was complementary to yours in certain ways.
You yourselves have now discovered that link between Varang-Varang and your own world, and it is because of your discovery that we are now able to converse with you. The two twin elements which opened up this path from you to us exist side by side on many worlds, but not on yours, nor on Varang-Varang. Unless these had been brought together, it would have been many, many ages before men of the Third Race could commune with us, or we with them, to perfection.
We now know that the doom of the bat-men’s race was necessary in order to link these two vital elements. If the batmen had not cast their world adrift and rent the cloak of darkness around it, you of the Third Race would never have attempted to reach Varang-Varang. This was a thing over which we had no control, a thing that could only be brought about by man’s courage and ingenuity. And you brought it about.
The last survivors of the bat-race who are there with you may live, or they may die quickly. Unless you have skilled physicians and surgeons there—and it is hardly probable that you have—they will die soon, for they cannot withstand the light.
(Here, Axel’s eyes opened widely in indignation, and then, as realisation of his achievement dawned upon him, he smiled broadly. His very evident self-satisfaction made us smile, too. Since then, his Nordic moods of dejection, few as they are, can easily be dispelled by reminding him that his skill apparently surpasses that of the Eighth Race.)
But (the voice went on) they will not survive as a race, for they are all males, and theirs, like yours, is a bisexual mode of life. The females of their kind are small and wingless, and we believe that none survived on Varang-Varang. Even in their prime, the females numbered only one to several hundred males.
We have no quarrel with the bat-men; like us, they are but Children of the Void. Indeed, we see their kind drift to extinction with keen regret. Had they survived as a race they could have been of the greatest value to the Cosmos in our time.
For we have alongside us, in our day, creatures and entities far more incomprehensible to you than are the bat-creatures. From the Solar System and from other Systems far outside it come our neighbours and our friends. All are physical beings—remember that. All live and die, and the thread of mental power is handed down from generation to generation. None of these neighbours of ours, we find, is what you would call “astral” or “phantasmal.” All are living creatures as we are and as you are.
We have with us still the Nagani. Their name has changed since your day, but their race remains the same. They alone remain somewhat alien to our imagination, for they are older —infinitely older—than any other existing life-form. And they alone among the beings of which we are aware now share the secret which we hold. They too, are able to commune with the past, and to some extent with the future. But they will not influence other species. They hold the belief that each kind must build its own future.
(And at this stage we recalled the inexplicable refusal of the usually co-operative Nagani to aid us recently. We remembered, with understanding, their refusal to assist us in the development of the dual-element electrodes, and we remembered, too, their use of the phrase “Children of the Void.”) It may be (the voice continued) that the Nagani will survive long after all the Races of Man have left the Universe. We cannot tell. Perhaps the Nagani can tell—if they will.
Now the time I have grows short. Perhaps not for many generations of your kind will the voice of the Eighth Race be able to reach you. What I have told you may signify little at this moment. Your minds are no doubt confused by the immensity of the prospect before you.
But always remember this one thing: your people will survive until they seek again the ultimate secrets.
Be ready to hear our voices again, and tell your children, and their children, to be ready. Do not forget us ... we may need you, as you may need us, at some time.
(Now the voice became indistinct for some minutes. Then it resumed for a brief few seconds before it finally faded out in a hiss and crackle of static:—)
. . . . . .may see us from time to time. Do not fear us if
you see. . . . . .we are. . . . . .
(And there the voice left us finally. I say finally, for it has never since been heard by any of those qualified to comment on it. We are sure that we—or our descendants—will hear it again in the future, for I am convinced that the Eighth Race are still struggling to maintain contact with us. More: perhaps we shall experience something more than a voice. I have a personal reason for making this statement.)
L’ENVOI
After much consideration I have decided to set down the reason I mentioned in that last paragraph. I have hesitated for a long time, because I am still not sure. And yet . . . such things could be, I suppose. If what I believe to have happened really did happen, it would explain much of what Man has considered to be profound mystery until now.
This is how it came about.
Before I wrote the last chapter, and yet after the voice last spoke to us, the laboratory in the tower had become a much-frequented place. Always, one of us was there, in case we received a signal from those who said they were of the Eighth Race.
The signal we expected was, of course, a voice. But it was not by way of a voice that the next communication came. At least... I think . .. but it is all so incredible. What happened may only have happened in the imagination of a child ...
Lucille and I had been in the tower room with Pierre, who was then eight years old. I had been on duty at the receiver, when Lucille, standing on the outside balcony, called out sharply. Down below, Leo’s jeep had collided with a steel fence post (Leo was always a reckless driver).
I heard her sudden call, and for some foolish reason fancied she had fallen from the balcony. I raced out, forgetting the receiver, and found Lucille at the far side of the tower—quite safe, of course. For two or three minutes (it cannot have been more) we stood watching Leo struggling to free his jeep’s front axle from the bent steel post. We chaffed him about his bad driving, and he looked up at us and called back. I can see now his white mop of hair waving in the breeze as he shaded his eyes from the sun, and his teeth flashed as he grinned and called back to us.
Then I heard another sound—a low, deep, hypnotic humming that came from the laboratory.
I remembered the receiver and ran back to it. The humming note rose to a higher, almost intolerable, pitch, and before I could reach the door it had wavered shrilly through the bounds of human perception and my ears no longer heard it.
As I ran through the curving corridor and burst into the laboratory, I saw Pierre, a smile on his freckled face, gazing fixedly at the bench apparatus. The two electrodes had remained in their setting, although we now had no reason to use them, and were wide apart for safety’s sake.
I thought I saw a faint blue aura glowing between the two elements, but could not be sure that this was not hallucination, caused by the sudden change from sunlight to comparative darkness.
Pierre turned to me, excited and laughing.
“He never spoke to me,” he said, “but I saw him! He waved to me. and wiggled his fingers—like this. Will he come back again?”
I was speechless with surprise for a moment. Then—“For Pete’s sake! Will who come back?” I asked.
“The man. The big man who stood over there right between those stones. Papa, can you stand there like he did? He sort of floated there. I wish I could float like that. Papa, tell me, how can I learn to float in the air like that? Ah! Comme ça serait beau! Dit, papa, comment on peut. . . ?”
By then, Lucille had joined us.
“Qu’est qu’il y a, le petit?” she demanded, then turned to me. “What is with him, Denis? What talk is this? He has seen something?”
> Pierre answered for me.
“A man! There was a big man, maman. Floating. He waved to me, and I waved back to him. Maman! He floated, he did. . .”
Lucille’s mouth opened in dismay and she threw up her hands to her temples.
“The sun!” she cried. “Il a attrapé un coup de soleill Oh! Le pauvre petit!” And she hurried him to a seat.
“I take him home quickly, Denis,” she insisted. “Standing so long there on the balcony, hie has caught the sun on his head.”
She took charge completely, and as at that moment my relief observer came in for his watch on the receiver, she had me carry Pierre down to the car, although the boy protested volubly at not being allowed to slide down the curving balustrade.
I was baffled. Had Pierre seen something? But what could he have seen? Perhaps Lucille was right. That hot sun the boy had been playing in. . .
Then I remembered the deep humming note. Ah, static. What else could it have been?
We drove home.
On our way, we passed a cemetery.
Pierre suddenly stood up in the open back of the car.
“Stop! Papa!” he shouted. “Stop! That's like the man I saw. Look! That one there. . .”
I stopped the car, and turned to look at Pierre.
He was pointing straight at a marble tombstone.
And on top of it, carved in white marble, with wings outstretched, was an immense angel
Table of Contents
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L’ENVOI
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Children of The Void by William Dexter :
First Published 1955,
Consul Books Edition 1963
&
Paperback Library in Oct 1966
Children of the Void Page 19
