I did not stay long on that trip. I had heard that the intermediary settlement, on the mountainside, had been visited by observers from a “kingdom” further north along the mountain chain, and that attempts had been made to kidnap some of the animals. Presumably as slaves. It was a slave state of a particularly unpleasant sort. Further attempts would probably be made.
So went my reports. I then made a mistake. Believing that the extreme height of the settlement would be enough of a deterrent, I did not order an increase in the supervisory force.
I ordered, however, a visit by spies into this “kingdom,” and asked that their report should be sent to me where I would be on the other side of the mountain chain on the foothills above the great jungles that now covered so much of the continent.
I wished to visit Ambien I, whom I not seen for a long time.
Ever since the unfortunate “events” on Rohanda, which had knocked the axis askew and caused seasons, involving changes of vegetation and weather of a sometimes spectacular nature, it had been fashionable for certain of the more advantaged of our citizens to spend holidays on both southern continents to observe these “seasons.” Not only the well off; there were also excursions for officials of the more lowly kind, or even of ordinary citizens, particularly the elderly. In other words, there were two different sorts of visitor to Rohanda, for whom two standards of accommodation were prepared. My old friend Ambien I was put in charge of arranging the accommodation for the second class of our citizens and colonists. This did not mean more than a supervisory eye on the work of underlings. But he had indicated he would appreciate a chance to spend time in the better class of place, where I would join him.
As this most agreeable visit has nothing to do with this account of mine, I shall merely say that I flew down to a holiday settlement, from which one was able to see the high mountains on one side, and over the top of the jungles on the other, and where we watched the snows of the winter dwindle off the mountain ranges, and rush everywhere in fountains and torrents of sparkling water. Meanwhile, Ambien and I caught up with news and gossip of what turned out to be—when we added it all up—fifty thousand R-years! We had in fact last met on this planet, on a joint mission connected with the inspection of our laboratories.
That meeting had seemed to us short enough; but this one was even shorter, for the reports of our spies in the threatening kingdom reached me, and it was clear that something had to be done at once. An expeditionary force had been sent up into the mountains, and it had succeeded in capturing over 2,000 of the poor animals, whose future, judging from what I was finding out about Grakconkranpatl, was dark indeed.
Ambien I and I talked it all over, and I made my plans. Leaving him, reluctantly, I flew away from this holiday place, full of species from every part of our Empire, all revelling in the sharp new sensations to do with changing weather, the delightful emotions associated with the “seasons”—which pleasures are to be found only on Rohanda, or only to such a prodigal and always unexpected extent.
It was as a result of this meeting of ours, and what we observed together of the reactions around us, that we recommended a team of medical experts visit the Southern Continents, to see whether sojourns in places where the changes of the “seasons” were particularly marked could benefit certain psychological conditions, such as melancholia, or an exaggerated dose of “the existentials”—an irreverent name among the young for this emotional affliction. Our recommendations were followed; a team of medical technicians did explore possibilities on both continents; they agreed with our—tentative—conclusions; clinics were set up on appropriate sites; and was it not long before Rohanda became the most favoured place for the treatment of these afflictions.
A side benefit was that a new branch or department of literature resulted. It is categorised in our libraries as Effluvia of the Seasons. I wonder how many now realise that this honoured, not to say hoary, branch of our great literature originated in Rohanda with that—now long-past—era of its use by us as a station and emotional-adjustment area?
GRAKCONKRANPATL
As usual, I began my investigation with an aerial survey. I had to decide whether I wanted this to be noticed, and interpreted to Sirian advantage. After deliberation I decided on minimum visibility, choosing a surveillance aircraft that, if seen, could easily be dismissed as the result of freak atmospheric effects. Whirling at extreme speed, at the worst it would be seen as a kind of crystalline glisten. I chose a day of high winds, fast-moving white cloud, and bright sun, and hovered over Grakconkranpatl long enough for a good survey.
I certainly did not like what I saw: for one thing, I observed our poor Colony 9 animals being sadly misused. I had to retire with my observations to my old headquarters in the foothills that once had monitored the Lombi and other experiments, for an opportunity for solitary thought.
What I had seen was this. Descending through gaps in the mountain ranges, my eyes filled with the blue sweep of the ocean, below me was what at first glance could seem to be an assemblage of stone cubes assembled on a high place between peaks. The vegetation was heavy, a dense green, kept back from the piled stone by brief clearings showing the reddish soil. The massive cubes were of a dull greyish blue, the same colour as certain ticks I have seen infesting animals. These great blocks crammed and piled together were the city, and closer analysis showed they were built of uniformly cut stones, fitted together. Their lowering colour, their massing and crowding arrangement, gave an impression of hostility and threat, and even of great size. Yet it was not a large city. There were no gardens or green. No central open space, only a not overlong avenue, or narrow rectangle, that lay between two very large buildings, facing each other. These two opposing facades had no openings or windows. There were few windows anywhere, and once observed, this fact explained the sombreness and the threat of the place. The roofs, however, did offer some relief, for they were flat, and each was crowded.
I had never before seen a city like this, and, if it had not been for our spies’ reports, would not have been able to interpret it. The social structure could not easily be inferred from it. I knew this to be a wealthy culture with a large ruling class of one race, and slaves and menials of other captured races.
There was no sign here of rich or poor buildings, or rich and poor quarters of the city. Each of these vast blocklike buildings was a microcosm of the society, housing the rich and their attendants. The rich, it was clear, lived on the top layers, where there were more windows, and on the roofs, which were equipped with awnings and shades wind screens of all kinds. The slaves were down in the dungeonlike bottom layers where there was very little light. Life was never communal or public; there were no festivals or common amusements; no eating places, no baths, no shops.
Around this central city, the heart of Grakconkranpatl, on lower slopes, were the farms and the mines. These stretched in every direction for long distances. The farms were worked with gangs of slaves. They lived in heavy stone buildings, built in regular blocks. From the air they looked depressingly uniform. They were prisons. Even from the height of my observation craft I could see that where there was a cluster of working slaves, there were lines of supervisors, with weapons. I thought of our encampment in the heights where our Colony 9 animals were being acclimatized, and the regular patterns of huts in which they were kept, and could not help a pang, wondering if they perhaps felt not very different from the poor wretches I could see slaving below me. But after all, our supervision was only for their benefit, to keep them in health and of course to prevent them from running away, which would do them no good. And our punishments were hardly of the kind I knew were used here.
All the same, I must record that I did not enjoy the comparisons I was being forced to make; I suffered more than a few moments of attack from the existential problem.
At various distances from the central city, beyond the farming areas, were mines; the culture made extensive use of minerals. The same dark and forbidding patterns of barracks showe
d where the mines were. Down the mountainside from Grakconkranpatl ran an absolutely straight paved road, a dark grey streak through the lush forests. This road can only be described as insane. It made no concession to the terrain, to ups downs or even mountains and precipices. Where there was a mountain it did not wind about it, but drove straight through. A long precipitous decline of several R-miles had been filled with rubble and the road taken over it. What it looked like was that some tyrant in a fit of hauteur commanded: Make me a road straight to the ocean!
In fact I learned later that this was what had happened: hundreds of thousands of slaves died in its making.
From my craft, I could watch long trains of transport animals with their loads of fish from the sea making their up to the city on its high place. I could see that it was joined all along its length by smaller, equally straight roads, for the transport of farm produce and minerals.
I had to decide how best to present myself. I was handicapped by not having experienced this particular type of society before. “Religions,” of course, are to be found in one form or another everywhere. Only on Rohanda, due to the influence of Shammat—so I came to understand later—were theocracies common: that is, societies where the social structure was identical with the hierarchies of the religion. The ruling class was the priesthood, was hereditary, was all-powerful. The slaves were kept in order by the priesthood.
The root of my problem, so it seemed to me, was the degree of cynicism of the priesthood. In other words, could they be frightened through “religion” or could they not?
I studied the reports for accounts of their ceremonies and practices, and concluded that since—for Rohanda—they were well established, not to say ancient, having lasted for over a thousand years, and since this same ruling class had been perpetuated for so many generations, there was a likelihood that they in fact believed their repulsive inventions. The practice on which this “religion” based itself was murder, ritual murder. This has always struck me uneconomic, quite apart from its barbarity. One has to postulate a population organised to renew itself in excess of the needs of labour and breeding; or if not, then accessible to weaker cultures for the capture of slaves.
Not only were large numbers of unfortunate creatures “sacrificed” continually, the method was most disgusting. The heart was cut out while the victim was still alive. This had been going on, as I say, for centuries. This fact raises problems and questions that as an administrator cannot help but fascinate me, to do with the nature of what subject classes and races can be made to believe, or submit to.
The thought that occurred to me when I read of this practice was, of course, how it originated? Memories of meetings with Canopus, reports from our agents, came to my aid. Canopus always and everywhere on Rohanda attempts to modify and soften the effects of Shammat by enjoining moderation of the natural appetites, sometimes referred to as “sacrificing the heart.” I concluded that this emotive and rhetorical phrase had, due to the continuous degeneration on Rohanda about which Nasar had been so eloquent, come to be taken literally. If this was the case, it seemed to me to indicate that Rohanda had, in the long interval since I had been involved there last, made a further step, and a large one, into brutishness.
It did occur to me that in culture so addicted to murder, I might find myself a victim, but I dismissed the thought: from our agents’ reports I had concluded that erring slaves or captives from other cultures were sacrificed. In other words, I did not feel myself eligible. This was because situations of danger are so rare in our lives that I, like all of us long-lived administrative-class Sirians, had come to think of myself almost as immortal! Death did not—does not—often approach my mind. And so I walked calmly and unafraid into the greatest danger I ever experienced. This was not courage, but a result of the atrophy of the instinct of self-preservation.
I considered, and dismissed, plans for taking a large entourage. For instance, the inhabitants of Grakconkranpatl were dark skinned; both rulers and slaves. A plan was for sending a craft down to the recreation settlements and asking for volunteers, from those races who were pale skinned and, preferably, with pale hair. I imagined the effect of a company of silvery ambassadors, arriving unexpectedly among those coppery or reddish people. Or, the opposite: I had often observed the impressive effect of individuals from C.P. 2: enormous black specimens, totally and glossily black, with cone-shaped narrow heads and long fine features. I imagined an entry of myself companioned in this way, but decided against this, too.
I toyed with a display of our crystal observation spheres, hovering over the city, for long enough to be thought a permanent invasion, and then broadcasting loud and portentous messages, threatening them with destruction if they raided our settlements.
But I have always been reluctant to use complicated or even untruthful means when something simpler would do.
What was the simplest of the means within my scope?
It was to go myself, alone. It was to demand to see the High Priest alone. It was to tell him the truth: that this territory of theirs, on the slopes of the mountain ranges, was not at all, as they seemed to imagine, theirs, and under their rule, but under the overall sovereignty of “the Gods.” Their astronomy was fair; they knew enough about the movements of the stars to match these with effects on crops and weather. They could be persuaded to make the step onwards to knowing that their superiors dwelled on the far stars: Gods. I would present myself as a God.
This was not untruthful, from the perspective of Rohanda.
I caused one of our agents to make a secret visit into the city, with a written message. I took care to use writing material foreign to Rohanda, and to choose solemn phrases to the effect that an Emissary from the Gods would visit them shortly, “from the skies.” I then left a good interval, so that this should become well absorbed, and took the opportunity to pay another quick visit to my dear Ambien I.
I was conveyed to Grakconkranpatl by a war machine specially summoned by me from the Home Planet. Our population-control experts had been instructed to design an aircraft that could intimidate by appearance. It was extremely swift, could hover, and shoot off in any direction, or land and take off very fast. It was absolutely silent. It was black, with a single dull-red eye on its body, which emitted greenish rays that in fact did have a temporarily stupefying effect on any thing beneath. But its shape was the real triumph of the experts. This managed to suggest a heavy implacable strength and brutality. Nobody underneath it could avoid an emotional reaction: one was being monitored by a crudely punitive and jealous eye. This machine was very seldom used. The more sophisticated of our Colonised Planets were not likely to be more than irritated by it. Those of our planets kept backward, as for instance 24, where the transplanted Lombis were, would be too affected by it: the balances of their culture might be entirely overthrown. But for an occasion like this, it was admirable.
So I thought. I was right. But I should have ordered a fleet of them, accompanied them with threats, and not appeared myself at all…
The machine set me down at such speed that I had no opportunity to take in that the long oblong or central avenue was crammed, but in an organised and purposeful way. I was at one end of this avenue, my back to one blank frowning facade, facing down its length to its opposing building. The avenue was longer than it seemed from the air. It was narrower because it was banked with seemed to be statues, or even machinelike beings. They wore straight dark grey tunics, to the ankles. Over their heads they wore hoods of the same colour, with only narrow slits for eyes. Their gloved hands held upright before them very long iron lances. Their feet were in heavy leather. They were five deep on either side.
It will already have been seen by the reader that these figures underlined and reinforced the theme of the buildings, with their featureless uniformity. Behind these guards stood in rigidly ordered groups the contents of each individual building—the living contents, in the shape of the members of a family group, or tribe, all wearing identical black robes, w
hich covered them completely, leaving their faces bare. My first sight of the visage of this culture caused my physical self unmistakably to falter. It was a harsh, authoritarian face, remarkably little diversified, and with little difference, too, between the tribes or families. On their heads they each wore a certain style of stiff conical hat, in black felt. I was easily able to recognise this as having derived from one of the old and superceded special articles prescribed by Canopus to its agents. These privileged ones, the rulers of Grakconkranpatl, carried no arms.
Far ahead of me, at the end of the narrow grey corridor between these dark grey guards, and their black-robed rulers, was a massed group of priests, and theirs was the only colour on the scene. In scarlet and yellow, bright green and brilliant blue, these stood waiting under the blank dark wall of their temple. For these two buildings that stared eyelessly at each other were temples.
I understood, rather late, that this was a reception for me: and that the exact time of my arrival here had become known. This gave me food for thought indeed, since my decision when to come had been made two days before.
I was already aware that I had made a mistake. For one thing, I should not be wearing a slight white robe, that paid little homage to ceremonial. (I of course had on me the artefacts currently prescribed by Canopus, some concealed, and others in the shape of a necklace of Canopean silver, heavy bracelets.) To these people, able to be impressed only by the grandiose, the emphatic, the threatening, I must be seeming like a leaf or piece of dead grass. Able, at any rate, to be crushed at a touch.
The Sirian Experiments Page 20
