“Those hopes won’t be satisfied,” Lianne continued steadily. “We are here to observe—that’s all. Nothing in your world will change because of us. It’s necessary for you to realize that from the beginning.”
Horrified, Noren protested, “You’re saying you’d stand by and observe evils you could put an end to? Lianne, I don’t believe it!” And yet something in her look frightened him; it was almost as if her words were true.
“You must believe it. I don’t expect you to comprehend it yet. In time, if you have courage enough, you’ll begin to perceive what’s involved. But meanwhile you must take my word—if you refuse, if you cling to the illusion that we will save your people, you’ll lose your own chance to do it. And then nothing can save them.”
“Your civilization wouldn’t let us die.”
“That’s a complicated issue. There’s more to it than survival—after all, your descendants could survive as subhuman mutants. You want more than life for them, Noren. You want them to regain their rightful heritage. It may be in your power to ensure that. It is not in mine.
“It is, it must be if you’ve got starships,” he began; but then a new thought came to him. He had assumed Lianne represented her people—yet it was strange that she was here alone, that she’d been arrested and convicted of heresy, brought into the City without any means of communicating with the others. Could they possibly have abandoned her? Was she herself in fact powerless?
“What are they, your people?” he asked slowly. “Why did they come?”
“We are anthropologists. We have more knowledge than you can envision, Noren, but at the same time less; we visit young civilizations to learn. We aren’t the ones who left the sphere on this world, but we did pick up its signals. They were—incongruous. We came to investigate. Not to interfere, only to watch.”
“To watch us struggle against hopeless odds?” Noren exclaimed bitterly.
“If you want to put it bluntly, yes.”
“You’re—inhuman, then, after all, at least your people are.”
“From your standpoint, now, perhaps so. There are sides to it you can’t see.”
“And are you on our side, Lianne,” Noren demanded, “or on your cold-blooded observation team’s?”
She hesitated. “I’m on both. I wish I could explain more, but I’m bound by a commitment; there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
Anger rose in Noren; he seized her by the shoulders, pulling her toward him. “Nothing you can do, or nothing you will?” he questioned. “You’re not insensitive, Lianne. You’ve been playing a role all this time, yes, but you do care what happens to us. You couldn’t have gotten past Stefred if our people’s future didn’t matter to you; no Scholar candidate can. And there’ve been other things you couldn’t have faked.”
“You’re right,” she confessed, “I couldn’t fake how I felt about you. I couldn’t even hide it—you knew when you spoke of the child that it wasn’t just that I supported your experiments. Only I couldn’t stand in the way of those experiments; they’re too important! They’re the one chance you have of saving your people, and if they succeed—”
“If? Lianne, you must know the work I’m doing’s going to succeed. You wouldn’t let me risk harming a baby.”
“There’s risk in all scientific progress. You’re aware of that.”
“But you’ve got advanced knowledge of genetics, surely—”
“I’m an anthropologist, not a geneticist. I know what you’re doing is feasible, but I’m in no position to judge the details.”
“Not personally, perhaps, but your people . . . I can’t keep working by trial and error, knowing there are people around who’ve already passed this stage!”
“That’s one reason you weren’t supposed to know,” Lianne admitted miserably. “It’s going to make what you have to do much harder.”
“I can’t take risks that are unnecessary. There’s got to be another way.”
“There is no other way! What can I do to convince you?” She drew a resolute breath, then continued with deliberate coldness, “My civilization’s further above the Six Worlds than you can conceive, and we don’t share our knowledge with primitives.”
Before Noren could reply she dropped her head; the next thing he knew she was leaning against him. He was dazed—with the ale he’d drunk, with ups and downs of emotion, with the conviction that Lianne could not be as coldhearted as she seemed; instinctively he embraced her. She was warm, not cold at all. . . .
“You’re so alone,” she murmured. “I can’t spare you what you’ll suffer from knowing about us. But I might—comfort you sometimes, offer the only thing I’m free to offer—” Though she said no more, abruptly her thought blazed clear in his mind, and outraged, he thrust her away.
“Sex?” he burst out in fury. “Am I on no higher level than that in your view—a primitive who’d be satisfied with sex when you could give me the stars?”
Lianne sprawled motionless on the bunk where she had fallen, her face set with anguish and resignation. She did not answer.
“I don’t need anything from you,” Noren said. “Or from your people, either. If they’re hoping to observe a so-called primitive civilization’s reaction to foreknowledge of certain doom, they’ll be disappointed—because we’re not going under. I’m going to have children, and I’m going to see to it that others do, too, children who can live on this world without the metal you see fit to deny us.”
For a moment a light flared in Lianne’s eyes; then, as he went on speaking, their brilliant blue darkened. “That’s not all,” Noren told her. “We respect each other here, and we respect privacy—but since you don’t rank us on your level, you’ve forfeited all right to be treated as human by our standards. Stefred could have had all your secrets during your inquisition if he’d chosen to take them without consent; he will take them now. Whatever knowledge we can get from your mind, we’ll get. It may be you know the key to metal synthesization after all, maybe even to the Unified Field Theory—”
“You aren’t going to tell Stefred or anyone else who I am, Noren,” Lianne declared with clear assurance. “Not ever.”
“What’s to stop me? I’ve got proof you can’t deny.”
“No one will believe the disc; it will only discredit your genetic work.”
“They’ll believe the computers if the blood test is repeated by experts.”
“There will be no opportunity to repeat it. If you tell, I will kill myself, as I would have if Stefred had pursued the inquisition too far in the first place—there’s no way he can forestall that. Did you think I came unprepared?”
Noren stared at her in astonishment, sensing beyond doubt that this was no empty threat. She meant it. “Why?” he asked, baffled. “Why is secrecy worth giving your life for?”
“Think about it sometime,” she replied quietly. “You won’t like the answer, but you’re capable of figuring it out, part of it, anyway.”
He was too aroused by rage and frustration to think anything out at the moment. He wanted no more of Lianne, not now, not ever except as an information source—yet she remained unmoving, showing no sign that she intended to leave his room. Turning his back on her, Noren strode out the door, realizing only dimly that he’d been left no choice, that he was on his way to find Veldry.
Chapter Seven
Noren awoke in a bed not his own, unsure of whether or not it was morning. In the windowless rooms of the towers one couldn’t tell, and his inner time sense seemed hazy. The lamp was on; he could see the tall time-glass in the corner. Its sand had run all the way through—but would Veldry have turned it over as people usually did on retiring? Under the circumstances, that seemed unlikely.
He found to his dismay that he had little recollection of what he and Veldry had said to each other. He’d intended only to ask her . . . somehow it had gone further than that. He ought, he supposed, to be glad. Instead he felt as if something very special had been devalued.
Veldry sat
at the foot of the bed, her back to him, brushing her hair. It was long and dark, like Talyra’s. He had, he remembered, imagined he was with Talyra, much as he had during the secret dream: Veldry’s own identity had been vague, like that of the woman the First Scholar had loved. Only this had not been a dream. He hadn’t been wholly himself—he’d been so hot with anger that he’d not thought beyond his vow that he would bring about his people’s survival—yet he could not say he had not known what he was doing. He’d had too much ale earlier in the evening, perhaps; he’d raged at Lianne’s refusal to bring help to the world, and yes, she had roused other feelings too; all those things might explain his impulsiveness. But they did not make what had happened any less real.
He sat up, reaching for his clothes. “Veldry—” he began, wondering what he could possibly say. He had assumed she wouldn’t get hurt. He’d supposed making love was something she took lightly. It hadn’t been that way; her welcome had been genuine, and her emotions as he’d explained the risk had been deep, though unreadable. That much he did recall.
She turned to him. Her face, of course, was not Talyra’s. It was older and lined with past sadness, though now it was alight with joy. It was also, by ordinary standards, more beautiful; Veldry was considered strikingly lovely. But there was more to her than that, Noren realized, trying to guess her thoughts. He sensed more intellect than rumor credited her with. If only he were better at understanding people. . . .
“Veldry,” he said stiffly. “I—used you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry,” she answered, “I’ve never let anyone use me. One thing I always do is make up my own mind.” Then, watching his eyes, she suddenly exclaimed, “Noren, you don’t believe me! You really think you came here last night and got me to give something you’re sorry you asked for, when it wasn’t that way at all. You were the one who gave! You’ve given me the only chance I’ve ever had to be somebody.”
“I don’t see what you mean.”
“I’m—beautiful,” she said slowly, not in a boastful way, but as if it were some sort of burden. “I’m acclaimed for my beauty, and that’s as far as anyone’s looked. When I was a girl, they called me wild; I guess I was, by their scale of values. I had a lover in the village before I was married, and there, that was a disgrace. But I really loved him. Then I found out that all he saw in me was—physical. That was all my husband saw, too. After a while I left him and started telling people what I thought about the world, only no one listened.” With a bitter laugh she added, “They didn’t even listen to heresy! If a girl’s pretty enough, it’s assumed she hasn’t any thoughts, let alone heretical ones. Do you know what I was finally arrested for? Blasphemy—the blasphemy of claiming to have made love with a Technician.”
“Why did you tell a lie like that?” Noren asked, appalled. It could not possibly have been a true claim; Technicians were forbidden by the High Law to take advantage of village women, who, assuming them to be superior beings, would obey any request without question.
“Didn’t you ever want to convince people Technicians were human, and that you were their equal?”
Yes, of course he had. All village heretics defied the caste concept; Veldry’s form of rebellion had been imaginative if not prudent.
“Maybe I wanted to see the inside of the City,” she went on, “or maybe I just wanted to die trying to be more than the object of men’s desire. I knew the Scholars were wise. I thought they’d see what I was, even though they’d kill me for it.”
“But Stefred did see, surely. He judged you qualified for Scholar rank.”
“Yes. At first I was overwhelmed, it was so inspiring—the dreams, I mean. I wouldn’t have accepted rank as payment for recanting; I’ve never sold myself any way. But the Prophecy . . . well, I was never a heretic about that; I liked the ritual even as a little girl. I liked the thought of a changing future. I was so dedicated in the beginning, Noren. Only . . . there hasn’t been anything I could do here, to help change things, I mean. I’m not a scientist, my mind isn’t that sort. I know officially the work I do rates just as much respect. But—but men still single me out for my starcursed beauty!” She reached out for his hand, clutched it. “You’re the first one who’s wanted anything more important.”
“You’ve had babies before. That’s important.”
“Yes, of course, but the men who fathered them weren’t thinking about future generations, they just—well, you know. I don’t mean they didn’t love me, I’ve never had a lover who didn’t claim he was in love . . . only there was never anything lasting.”
“Veldry,” Noren said painfully, “I’m not sure what I said about us, and that bothers me, because what’s between us can’t last, either.”
“It will! Not you and me, no, of course I know that. Do you think I wouldn’t have known even if you’d tried to pretend?” She stood up, began fastening the front of her tunic. “You’d never been with anyone but Talyra before, had you?”
He didn’t reply. “I knew that, too,” Veldry went on. “You were still with Talyra last night, in your mind, anyway.”
“I suppose I was. And it wasn’t fair to you,” he confessed in misery. “You’re you, and I didn’t respect you enough. It wasn’t right.”
“How can you say you didn’t respect me? You told me future generations will live because of us! That our child will be the first person truly adapted to this world, that from him and others like him will come a race that can survive after the machines break down, and maybe someday, somehow, will get back to the stars. No one ever talks to me about things like that. You did. You asked my opinion of what the woman did in the dream. And when I said I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person she was, do something really significant and daring, I meant it.”
“Even knowing how it turned out for her?”
“Even so—because someone’s got to try, somebody’s got to take the risks. I admire you for taking them, even going against the Council to take them. You paid me the biggest compliment anyone ever has by guessing I’d be willing to take them, too. That’s what matters, not the fact you can’t fall in love with me.”
“I wish I could, Veldry,” Noren told her. “But I’m not ever going to fall in love again.”
“Yes, you are,” she said gently. “In time, you are. I’m not the right person for you, but in time there’ll be someone—not to replace Talyra, no one ever could—but someone different, someone you’ll share a whole new life with. And she will be a very fortunate woman.”
“I hope you’ll find someone to share with, too.”
“Maybe it’ll happen. I try—every time, I believe it will, only there just aren’t many men who look at things the way I do. I—I’ll always be happy to know there’s one, and that I’m having his child.”
“We can’t really be sure yet,” Noren pointed out, “and much as I’d like to promise I’ll be back—”
“You won’t be back,” Veldry acknowledged. “What happened last night couldn’t happen twice, not between you and me. But I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if the timing had been wrong. I wouldn’t have presumed to take Talyra’s place without expecting to conceive. You mustn’t worry yet—I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a baby.”
* * *
Back in his own room, alone, Noren began facing the fact that there was nothing further he could do until the baby was born. Nothing . . . and he did not see how he could live with his own thoughts, let alone carry on normal relationships with people, considering the magnitude of the secrets he now bore.
He did have to keep Lianne’s secret. He was absolutely convinced, as if she’d somehow communicated it directly to his inner mind, that Lianne would kill herself if he told anyone about her. To be sure, he might tell Stefred in confidence—but no, Lianne would sense that Stefred knew. She was too intuitive not to. And if she carried out her threat, Stefred would suffer terribly.
Think about it sometime, Lianne had said when he’d asked why secrecy was worth her life. She’d sai
d it was one mystery he might solve. He’d never approved of secrets. No Scholar did; the guardianship of knowledge was condoned only as a necessary evil. How could Lianne have gotten through the tests of candidacy if she accepted an equivalent form of secrecy as right?
For that matter, how had she gotten through them at all?
Stefred had not invaded her privacy. But he must certainly have tested her in all relevant ways. If she did not truly care about the survival of future generations, she would have been disqualified. If she considered herself superior to people, even subconsciously, she’d have been screened out, too; that was one thing for which prospective Scholars were probed very thoroughly. Anyway, it just wasn’t possible to believe Lianne’s view was as heartless as she’d claimed. He, Noren, had long known how she felt toward him, and the kind of love she’d been hiding could not exist in someone whose inner feelings were inhuman.
The other kind, the outward physical expression . . . Lianne had not offered that before; she’d understood too well about Talyra. How could she have been so inconsistent in the end? It wasn’t just that she wanted his love—she’d had her chance, she could have lived with him for weeks without confessing there’d be no child. What he’d discovered shouldn’t have altered anything, for she knew better than to think he’d accept that sort of “comfort” from her. The pieces didn’t fit. She’d risked a secret she’d give her life to keep by refusing him, then at the last minute, had insulted him by suggesting . . .
Oh, Noren thought suddenly, oh, what a fool he’d been! Both times, she had been thinking of the child she couldn’t give him. When his discovery had made him balk at the risk of the experiment, she’d insulted him purposely to drive him in anger to Veldry.
She’d taken terrible chances. In his rage he might have gone straight to Stefred if it hadn’t been that she was his only link to more information about the aliens. Why must she keep their presence secret? For the same reason the Founders’ secrets had been kept—people in general simply could not live with the frustration of knowing themselves to be cut off from the wider universe. Noren was not sure he would be able to live with it, even temporarily. He wasn’t sorry for his discovery, not when he’d felt deeply since childhood that it was always preferable to know the truth. But few others felt that way. He and Lianne had agreed on that, the day they’d talked about the alien sphere. He had told her that most Scholars refused to acknowledge its implications! No wonder she’d realized he could figure out the need for secrecy.
The Doors of the Universe Page 20
