The Doors of the Universe

by Sylvia Engdahl

  He held Lianne close. They sat quietly, not even fondling each other. There was time ahead for that, and Noren knew it would be good, that there would be a union of spirit as well as of body that would illumine all the dark years confronting them. Though the doors of the universe were shut, Lianne could open a window; and he no longer feared to look through.

  Suddenly, rays of sunlight flooded the room. “It’s morning,” said Noren, as if waking from sleep. “It’s a bright morning.”

  He stood up, putting on his tunic and then his blue robe over it, and turned to Lianne. “We’ve got obligations, you know. You aren’t going to enjoy being a prophet.”

  “A culture,” she told him, “can have only one great prophet at a time. I serve as a priest, but you are more. That, I think, must be what the mind probe was meant to confirm.”

  Side by side, they stood in the doorway as people came up the hill toward his dwelling; it was time for Benison. Lianne looked and whispered in astonishment, “Noren, practically all those girls are soon to give birth.”

  “Well, their weddings were all held on the same day.” He smiled. “This is what we’ve worked toward, isn’t it—new life, a new generation that’s born adapted to this world? It’s a good thing you’ve had some medical training, seeing as I forgot to include a midwife among the settlers. You got here just in time to deliver a lot of babies.”

  He took her hand and led her out before the assembled people. “Tonight is to be a feast night,” he announced with rising happiness, “for I will ask you to witness my marriage to the Scholar Lianne.”

  Epilogue

  As is well known, the Scholar Noren became a legend among his people. The usual image of him is as a white-bearded patriarch, revered Archpriest to the world of the Interregnum Era; that he was still a young man when he came out of the City is rarely remembered. That his exile outside the walls involved self-sacrifice is never so much as imagined, although those who knew him best did note that in his eyes, even at the moments of his greatest triumphs, was an inexplicable sadness. This seemed something of a paradox, for beneath the wisdom all acknowledged were intuitions of deeper things—things concerning the vast universe of which the Prophecy spoke—and there, he evidently found more light than dark. There is thus little doubt that his consort Lianne showed him visions of realms she had explored, and that she opened his questing mind to more than she herself had seen in them.

  In the closing years of the Dark Era, the settlement at Futurity flourished. The first harvests were small; most of the grain was kept for seed and the rest ceremonially consumed by the few Chosen Families then in residence. But word of the miracle spread. As each new crop sprouted, crowds came to see it, and to be blessed by the Scholar who was already accorded a status different from that of other priests, different even from that of the Scholar Lianne who stood at his side. He could have taken power over all the land in those years. People would have believed anything from him—except that his prophecies might yet fail. That knowledge, like the knowledge that such failure would turn men to vengeance, he kept to himself; yet he claimed none of the authority that could have been his. By his word, the City remained the world’s center. His task was not to abolish the High Law, but to herald the age of its transformation.

  Within the City, where this goal soon became openly known, the Scholar Noren was held in contempt. He was viewed as a defector, and a dangerous one; only the belief that he must stand answerable for his prophecies saved him from seizure. Few of his opponents felt—or wanted to feel—that the Law could be changed with safety, or that the promises of the Prophecy as traditionally interpreted might not be essential to survival. Alteration of human genes, in the second generation if not in the first, would surely prove as ruinous as it was indecent. For this, in the villages, Noren alone must be blamed; only so could the City’s life-support role be preserved. And meanwhile, grain was growing in untreated soil, grain that might be consumed by the unfit were it not for Noren’s presence. He was therefore left alone; but among the Scholars he was already a scapegoat, not merely for anticipated disaster, but for the lack of progress toward metal synthesization.

  This injustice even his secret supporters encouraged, telling themselves that the First Scholar’s pose as a mad tyrant had been comparable. Aware that a means of retreat must indeed be left open until genetic change was fully proven, they were obliged to become more secretive than ever, lest their cause be won too soon. Slowly, their number grew. There were more heretics than there used to be, youngsters stirred by Noren’s subtle discouragement of the caste concept. With such as these, he was merciless; he stimulated their rebellion and then contrived for them to be condemned, knowing they’d hate him for the betrayal, yet knowing, too, that they must be led to claim their birthright. Once enlightened in the City, their bitterness turned to loyalty, for Lianne had seen to it that recruitment of novices would be continued by her successor. By this means, over the years, Noren won a large following among the Scholars: a following inspired by him personally. The Scholar Stefred, foreseeing this, bided his time. He continued to champion tradition, forestalling the showdown until the outcome was assured.

  Genetic work continued, led by Noren outside the City and Denrul within, through the unquestioning Technician intermediaries. The genes of the newborn were tested. More Wards of the City were adopted, and more Chosen Families admitted to Futurity. Changes were made to the vaccine so as to impart heritable immunity to the planet’s lethal diseases; offspring of the first families were inoculated against disease like all villagers, but for their own children, and those of couples chosen later, that was no longer required—it would become impossible, after all, once the City’s technology failed. This was the last of the genetic alterations indispensable to human survival. When it was complete, Noren went on working: he designed vegetables to supplement the monotonous diet of grain. It was now also safe for the flesh of work-beasts to be eaten, but this he kept from the citizens of Futurity in fear that it would be called an abomination.

  Futurity’s children came of age. They married within the community as arranged; the few who refused were tried by the council for their defiance and delivered to the City for discipline—to Noren’s private satisfaction. He did not send word to Stefred that one of these was his son, for it would not help the boy to be the only known child of Scholars to attain Scholar rank in turn. That much of tradition must stand. But he confessed in his own heart that he’d fostered that child’s nonconformity.

  The children had children of their own, and all were born genetically healthy. There will be a time when all the world shall live as Futurity lives, the Scholar Noren had prophesied, and this will be in our era, before the Mother Star appears to posterity. Scholars will come forth to bless unquickened fields, and to mark all people, that they may turn from the old Law to the new. To the day of this event, all villages looked forward with gladness. No date had been given, but within the City, supporters and opponents alike knew the time for the change was ripe.

  They awaited Noren’s word. For he would choose his day, and they must respond: either in full agreement, or—as many feared—through a split no longer dangerous. The supporters were numerous enough now to take control; they would destroy the water purification plant if need be; but they would not see the castes maintained in the name of the original Prophecy’s lost cause.

  On Founding Day, the Scholar Noren spoke out, spoke to vast crowds at Futurity rivaling those before the City’s Gates. As always, Technicians recorded his words, and those words were soon heard in the Inner City.

  But they were not the words anyone expected to hear.

  I will build another new City, Noren had said, on the shores of a great lake two weeks’ journey hence; and it will be called Providence. And those in Providence will live as do those in Futurity; but there will be Technicians among them, and all villagers who work there will become Technicians.

  Among the Scholars there was both bewilderment and outrage. Had Nore
n, at the last moment, succumbed to the temptation to save the City at the price of keeping the castes? Or had he found evidence that genetic change was unsafe after all and so retreated to save his own life? Comparatively few would follow him two weeks’ journey into the wilderness, for not enough pure water could be carried to supply anyone whose genes had not been altered; those few would not rise against him for the failure of his promises to the rest of the world. And if they were offered Technician status, they would become his sure defenders.

  Thus the Scholars were of a mind to forbid this new scheme. Some believed genetic change should be implemented without delay, while others felt he should be publicly repudiated—and nearly all agreed that he should be brought back, by force if necessary, to give an accounting. But the Scholar Stefred trusted Noren; and because he had not aided him in the past, his word prevailed. The City waited, uncertain and afraid, while Providence was established.

  After the new settlement’s first harvest, on the day of the Blessing of the Seed, there was yet another prophecy. When all harvests are as this and no fields of the world need be quickened, Noren declared, the Scholars will go back into the sky from whence they once came. By the time of the Star’s appearance, they will return; and there will be a new Founding. And from that day forward, our world will be as the Prophecy promises.

  This was clearly impossible. There was not enough metal in the world to restore space travel; all Scholars knew that. The shuttle used in the establishment of the outpost beyond the mountains was still operable, but the starships in orbit were stripped hulls. Though in theory, the process of decommissioning them carried out by the Founders could be reversed, there were not sufficient resources to restore even one; there never would be, even if the life-support equipment unneeded after full implementation of genetic change were diverted to the task. Moreover, were a space journey to become possible, there could be no chance of fulfilling the Prophecy by it. The Founders had searched thoroughly but futilely for a solar system from which metal might be obtained, and the chances of finding one within range were therefore negligible. So it was said that Noren had been too long away from the computers, that his judgment was warped—or worse, that his longings and his power had driven him to madness.

  Yet the Scholar Stefred, now the oldest and most respected member of the Council, still refused to countenance any interference. In his thought was that the First Scholar had feigned madness for worthy ends. “Let Noren come to us in his own time,” he insisted. “For better or for worse, this world’s future is in his hands. If he is mad, which I do not believe, he nevertheless has the people behind him; they will not break the High Law without his sanction. And if he fails in the end to give it, full blame must rest on him for the promises unfulfilled.”

  Thus the building of Providence went forward without purpose the Scholars could discern. Perplexed, they reconnoitered from aircars during their trips to and from the outpost. The lake seemed more than a symbol of water now safely used for bathing. Much activity went on there, structures were built at the edge, and people approached these almost as they would holy things like Machines. It was recalled that the Founders’ plan for the transition period preceding fulfillment of the Prophecy included a phase during which villagers would earn Technician status by machine-aided work—but without metal, what semblance of machines could Noren have placed on the lakeshore?

  Several seasons passed. And then one morning, fair like all mornings, the plaza before the Gates began to fill with people, though no ceremony was scheduled; and word came through Technicians that the Scholar Noren would soon arrive. Without precedent in his years away from the City, he had commanded that an aircar be sent out to him. He had broadcast a message by radiophone, heard in all villages as well as by his contacts in the Outer City: he would appear at the Gates, and many Scholars would come forth to greet him.

  The aircar did not drop into its accustomed dome, but instead came to earth in the plaza outside the walls. Before a crowd surpassing any ever assembled there, the Scholars Noren and Lianne alighted; and with them were two citizens of Providence. Technicians cleared a path for them as they ascended the steps, while Scholars indeed came out to meet them, as many as could stand upon the wide platform—and for the first time in history, the Gates stood open after all had emerged. They invited Noren to pass through; but he shook his head and remained on the topmost step, facing the Scholar Stefred.

  “I will not enter the City,” he said, “until all people of the land are free to do so. I have come today for a different purpose.” As he spoke, the man and woman of Providence came forward. They did not kneel, but stood beside him, holding between them a large clay bowl, which they handled as a sacred thing, raising it in the manner of a seed jar presented for blessing.

  “These are the firstborn of Futurity,” Noren said, “who now show you the gift of Providence. Grant them in my presence their rightful status as Technicians, according to the Law.”

  Leaning forward, Stefred looked into the bowl, and saw with amazement the unmistakable glint of metal.

  “I have at last learned how it can be obtained,” said Noren, smiling.

  To the people, this was a lesser miracle than the blossoming of unquickened land; having been taught that all metal had been brought into the world by Scholars at the time of the Founding, they viewed a repetition of the event as not especially surprising. But to the Scholars on the platform, it seemed a truly supernatural feat. They wondered, in that moment, if Noren might not possess in truth the powers village tales had long attributed to him.

  “This is not my own doing,” he told them solemnly. “I must not be credited with it, now or ever, for it is a blessing of the Star.”

  “And . . . the Prophecy?” Stefred, his voice hushed with awe, spoke for everyone: all the Scholars who had kept that faith and all those who had in sorrow relinquished it for the sake of their people’s assured survival.

  “Our faith is vindicated,” Noren declared, “if we are now willing to give up our guardianship and turn to other tasks. I did not wish to raise your hopes before I was sure; but to my people last Seed Blessing Day, I told the literal truth. Though there is not enough metal on this earth to fulfill the Prophecy, what is accessible will suffice to restore one starship. In time, we can mine other worlds as the Visitors once mined here. What we lost to them has been amply repaid.”

  Then to the Scholars, in a voice too low to be heard by the multitude over the music that swelled forth, Noren explained his discovery. The metal could be extracted from lake water and wet soil, not by any method the Founders had known, but by genetically altered bacteria—which was, no doubt, a routine process on worlds less rich in ore than the Six. For it had been suggested to him not by sheer genius, but by a new alien artifact found the previous year near Futurity.

  “The Visitors used this—this genetic process?” Stefred asked.

  “So it appears.” Noren’s face was impassive. “The artifact contains coded symbols; Lianne and I were able to decipher them. Once I had the fundamental idea, genetic engineering of native bacteria wasn’t difficult.”

  The incredibility of this explanation was apparent. In the first place, it was an almost fantastic coincidence for Noren to have found one alien artifact, the radiating sphere, just at the place where he had crashed in the mountains. That another such coincidence could have occurred was past rational belief; the odds against it were incalculable. And even supposing that it had happened, how could any artifact of those long-vanished miners reveal that they’d used bacteria in such a way? Furthermore, if they’d indeed done so, why had they not completed the job, taken the last traces of metal? Why had the bacteria not gone on extracting it during the interim if there’d been any left—or if they had, why had the Founders not seen?

  These questions and more went through Stefred’s mind as he listened—but he knew they were, and would remain, unanswerable. He did not suppose that even Noren had answers to them. Yet one could not deny evidence bef
ore one’s eyes merely because logic said it couldn’t exist. Noren was extracting metal from low-grade unminable deposits, and he would not lie about how he’d learned to do so. There was in fact no other way he could have learned. Moreover, his next words confirmed what he had claimed.

  “There is also a star chart,” Noren went on calmly. “Its symbols, too, are decipherable and can be fed into the computers. Whether or not we find aliens by following where it leads, we need not worry about failing to find planets.”

  A chart of solar systems unknown to the Founders could not have been derived from any source other than the Visitors.

  So the Scholars Stefred and Noren embraced, and many prophecies were affirmed to the people; then all priests withdrew into the City save Noren and Lianne. In the days that followed, the Scholars embarked on new work: some to effect genetic change in the Outer City and villages; some to mine distant lakes; some to prepare for the immense task of refitting a starship. And Noren, from his base at Providence, watched with mixed feelings—for he knew that to equip the ship, the City must die.

  Yet in his heart was a great thankfulness. For that death must precede a rebirth, and the rebirth would be to a greater destiny than the other Scholars imagined. Only he and Lianne knew the truth about the scope of such a destiny.

  He had indeed found an alien artifact. He had shown it, by now, to the City’s scientists; the star chart was in their hands. They would believe the only thing they could believe: that it had been left by the aliens they knew about, the ancient Visitors. His people’s history would never record that other aliens had come and gone, much less that discovery of the artifact near Futurity had not been coincidence at all. But Noren knew, knew surely enough to stake everything on faith that its chart would lead the ship to planets that could be mined. For among the symbols decipherable by science, there had been one that seemed meaningless; and this Lianne had known for the Service emblem.