What I have put down here can give only a hint of what was behind those words: “Checks and restrictions were imposed…” etc.
While all this was going on, I had no word from Canopus, though it can be imagined how much I thought of things Canopean and of my friends. Yes, I thought of Klorathy and Nasar thus, although it was never without strain. The strain that the inferior must feel in coming into contact with the superior. I hope that this statement will not earn me, again, a threat of Adjustive Hospitalisation!
It on the day that the law was passed in our Legislature, restricting the use of animals for research, that this message came from Klorathy. “And now I am looking forward very much to meeting on Shikasta’s planet shortly. Our co-operation is desirable during the period of the deepening crisis on Shikasta.”
ROHANDA’S PLANET
I feel that there is no need for me to describe my reactions to this.
I did think, and seriously, about whether I would return a message suggesting a date for our meeting, but the fact remained that Sirius had decided not to involve itself further with Rohanda. I therefore did nothing, reflecting how past experience indicated that if Canopus had decided on something, then this tended to come to pass. I had again made plans to take up my interrupted work, when I was instructed to go to Rohanda’s planet and deal with a crisis there. I went, unsurprised that this had happened; and expecting to meet Nasar or Klorathy.
The situation on this moon was at that time as follows: For a long time Shammat’s base there had been small, only used as a way station for its personnel and as a fueling depot. Then, as conditions on Rohanda steadily deteriorated—as Canopus saw it—and improved, from the point of view of Shammat, the emanations that Shammat elicited and used became too plentiful for previous means of transmission, and an accumulator was set up. This needed a permanent staff of technicians. These were of Shammat’s dominant class who demanded high standards in living conditions, which amenities were soon being used by their workers on Rohanda for ever-longer periods of recreation. What amounted to good-sized settlements came into existence. These were underground, because of the peculiar conditions of this moon, vulnerable to bombardment from space because of its lack of atmosphere, mostly from an asteroid belt that was the remains of a former planet. It was at that point that we placed our own personnel there, to keep a close and permanent watch on Shammat, who soon had gone further, and was engaged in extensive mining operations.
Neither Canopus nor ourselves objected to this: we were not short of minerals of any kind. But now Canopus, too, established itself in an observational capacity. No hostilities of a physical sort occurred between Shammat and the two superior powers—for Shammat was too afraid of us both. But while contact took place continually between ourselves and Canopus, of a formal kind, Shammat shunned us, and we were only too pleased to have it so.
From this time onwards, Rohanda was visited continually by spacecraft of all kinds, mostly Shammatan. The Canopus influence was more indirect: I have hinted at some of their means of coming and going. They seldom used physical craft, and when they did, it was with discretion, or with deliberate intent to instruct the current Rohandan dominant species in some necessary way. The Shammatans, on the other hand, were using their spacecraft with increasing indifference to the effect a sight of these vehicles might have on the populations. They had had underground settlements on Rohanda itself for a long time. From these they came and went, using every type of craft, quite freely. And they used, too, underwater craft. They took from Rohanda supplies of foodstuffs unavailable on the moon, and easier to fetch from there than from Shammat itself. They took, often, fresh water. They also kidnapped Rohandans from anywhere there were species that intrigued or amused them. These became pets on the moon or were sent back to Shammat itself to entertain the ruling caste. They were taken off vehicles on the oceans, or from isolated places.
As can be imagined, folklore and fantastic tales of all kinds were the result; but “sightings” of Shammat craft had taken place over millennia, and particularly recently, the populations of Rohanda did not know what it was they were seeing. Though legends of every branch of the dominant species contained stories of “higher beings,” these were always associated with “flying serpents” or “flying lizards” and so on, according to local conditions, and their technology had not yet developed to the point of recognition.
I must record at this point that on the Rohandan moon were, too, representatives of three other planets in this solar system. They had established there small observation posts, because of their concern about the increasingly discordant emanations of Rohanda, which threatened their own balances. This was a recent development. I shall say no more about it, because it does not concern my present theme. But my dispatch to this moon was because of alarm felt by the highest Sirian levels that perhaps the three planets might be tempted to become allied with Shammat, thus upsetting our alignments of power. Having surveyed the scene thoroughly, I sent back a report that in my view conditions on Rohanda’s planet were stable. I did not, however, leave the place at once, though this type of underground shelter never has suited me, no matter how well and flexibly the atmospheres are adjusted. It was not long before Klorathy arrived. He was again in different, though similar, physical housing. He greeted me with: “If I am not particularly welcome, this is at least a not unexpected visit, I see.”
And we achieved good fellowship on this note, though I was determined not to give way to his demands. Again there was a period when we simply sat together, establishing some sort of communion whose nature he understood and was adjusting, and which I at least was able to recognise.
The following exchanges will convey the nature of our many and prolonged conversations during this meeting on Rohanda’s moon.
“Sirius, you made undertakings, which you have gone back on!”
“I do not remember that we ever promised to engage ourselves with Rohanda in perpetuity!”
“Promises do not have to be verbal. By the fact that you involve yourself in a situation, becoming affected yourself as you affect it—that is in itself a promise.”
“You announce these laws to me with such authority!”
“Canopus did not invent the Laws. Have you not observed for yourself that if one disengages oneself from a process arbitrarily, then all kinds of connections and links and growths are broken—that yourself suffer for it?”
“Very well, then—yes, as you speak, it seems that I do remember seeing this myself. Very often when you say things of this kind, I might object or deny or refuse—and then later, on reflection, I see the truth of what you say. But I can only repeat that I do not decide Colonial policy.” And I asked, “Who is it above you, then, that makes laws?”
And he laughed at this. “Laws are not made—they are inherent in the nature of the Galaxy, of the Universe.”
“You are saying that we have to learn how to observe these laws in operation?”
“Yes, Sirius, yes, yes.”
“You are a great one for lost causes, I think!” And he smiled wryly. “How long have you spent with me? How many long ages of effort? And suppose that at last I do begin to see for myself something of what you mean. But I am one small individual in a vast Empire. Do you know that I am already known as a bit of a misfit, eccentric, someone who often has to be tolerated? I have been threatened with all kinds of mental re-processing—yes, of course you do know. And you are not likely to regard as important the fate of one…” I had been going to say “individual” but could not since I had been overtaken with the falseness of what I had said. “All right, then… but suppose you have changed me, suppose you have given me some of your nature—what do you expect of the Sirian Empire?” As I spoke, I was thinking that in fact I had caused the controversy over the misuse of animals, then at its height… and this thought, as it were, stunned my mind and… I came to myself later, not knowing how long, for I had been somewhere deep within myself, in thought.
And again:
“Why is it that you want my help? You, the all-powerful Canopus!”
“We are spread very thin at this time in Rohanda.”
“Because it is now policy that service on Rohanda is voluntary and there are not enough volunteers?”
“There are volunteers, but the turnover is high. It is hard to maintain our links with Shikasta. Very hard. And getting harder with every millennium.”
“You want me to go back and try to persuade Sirius to take over responsibility for the Southern Continents again?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Although our rule is so much less effective than yours? Although we, Sirius, cannot give to a situation what you can give?”
He said gently, with a diffidence that was rooted in his nature, and that I have seen seldom in my career: “If you will consent to act with us, so that we can influence through you, then perhaps things can at least be ameliorated. Prevented from getting worse.”
“Why, why why? What is the purpose of your concern?”
“Sometimes we have to take things on trust!”
“Are you taking things on trust?”
“Do you imagine that it could be otherwise? Sirius, this Galaxy is vast, is infinitely various, is always changing, is beyond what can you can see of it, in whatever little corner is our home.”
“To hear you call Canopus a little corner is—not to understand. Can it possibly be that just as I watch you, Canopus, while I strive and strive to understand—because I have to admit this, though of course you know it already!—is it possible that just as this is my relation to you, then so is your relation to—to…” and my mind faded out, into its depths.
And again: “You have never told me why! Do you really have no inkling at all of why such care should go into these… these…”
“These murderous half-apes?”
“Or worse.” And I could feel how my mouth was twisted with distaste and dislike…
And he, looking embarrassed, was not looking at me, but away.
“Oh, very well, very well, then! But you cannot possibly be saying, Canopus, that to an outside view, an objective view, yours, Canopus, the inhabitants of Sirius, or some of us, the lower kinds of our Empire, strike you as repulsively as Rohandans strike me?” And, as he did not reply, I cried out: “That cannot be! You do not take into account the efforts that have gone into our Empire. How we have striven and tried and even when we have failed, have tried again! You do not seem to notice the excellence of our Colonial Service, the concern we show for the good of all, or how individual officials sacrifice themselves for their charges! If we made mistakes—and of course we have—we have always tried to right them. Do you not give us any credit for the long periods of prosperity under our rule, least on some planets or for a time? Yes, I know it seems as if there is something deeply rooted in the very nature of things that must work for the overthrowing of everything that is, no matter whether it is good or bad, so that nothing we set up can be trusted to last, but is that the fault of those who try again to… to…”
“To what, Sirius?”
“We are not as bad,” I said stubbornly. “We are not.”
“As?”
“As them, the Rohandans. Or as Shammat.”
“Did I say you were?”
“But as you sat there and I was talking I had such a vision of us, of Sirius, of our greatness, and it seems to me suddenly that all it is—is a mirage. A shadow of greatness. And not very different from what I see when I… no, I am not going to equate us with Shammat. I can’t bear it. I cannot stand… what we are,” I concluded with difficulty.
“But it is not what you will be.”
“So you say, Canopus.”
“And now I want to show you something.” He indicated I should sit on a low seat near to him. I could not help hesitating. It is always risky, too close physical contact between those of different planets. Often enough, I have seen my own proximity badly affect others, even to death. It is one of the first things taught to us of the Colonial Service: “Never go near the inhabitants of another planet without being sure how your differing specifics may interact.” I had not been within touching distance of Klorathy before: had been careful not to be.
THE HORSEMEN
As I sat beside him, I felt the same strain, on the physical level, that I knew on the mental level, when I was endeavouring to follow him beyond my own natural limits. But he took my hand firmly and as he did so said, “Look at that wall, do not let your eyes close.” This I did, and saw on the wall, quite as clearly as one does ordinary vision—but as it were distanced and speeded up, so that what I was seeing was both exactly accurate, a true representation of actual events, and yet encapsulated, and simplified—a series of pictures, or visions, that drew me forward into them so that it was almost as if I was more a part of the events I watched than a spectator of them.
I was looking down at Rohanda, towards the east of the great central landmass, and rather to the north. This was not far from the area where I had met Nasar at the time of my visit to Koshi and where, before that, I had been tossed about the skies during the “events.” This region had been desert for millennia, then had become fertile again as the climate shifted, been deep desert where layers and layers of old cities lay covered, and was now a vast region of grassland. Looking down it was an ocean of grass, broken by mountains and hills where there were some trees. Great rivers crossed it, but it was a dry and harsh place, where a few nomads moved with their horses.
Around the areas of the great inland seas, and all over the plateaux of the southern part of the central landmass. and around the great mountains and on the eastern parts of the landmass, were many different cultures and social groupings infinitely complex and various and rich, and at every conceivable level of civilisation.
And as I watched, these little scattered groups of nomads multiplied, and covered all the vast plains, and there was a climatic change, and the grasses were replaced, here and there, by dust and drought, and the horsemen burst outward from their heartland to the east, and to the south and to the west and all the points between, and threatened the rich civilisations that bordered them—and then, loaded with booty, fell back and, because the winds were blowing differently and the grasses were covering their plains, stayed where they were bred. Besides, they were weakened by their conquests and, for a while, spoiled.
And again the civilisations on the edges of their enormous grassy homelands flourished and prospered and multiplied—and, as is the way (I was going to say of Rohanda) of our Galaxy, fell, and were overrun by local conquerors and remade themselves… and again the hordes on the grassy plains multiplied and covered them, seeming from the distance at which I was watching, or seemed to be watching, like swarms of insects that darkened everything… and again the winds blew dust instead of rain, and the horsemen massed themselves and then sped outwards east and south and west, and this time went further and threatened more, and despoiled more—and returned home, as before, carrying gold and jewels and garments and swords and shields and weapons of all kinds, and as the grasses grew up again covering all those vastnesses with their soft green or golden shine, they stayed home. But while these spoils of war amused them and even though they fought for them, they remained as they were, people of the horse.
They were very hardy, and brave, and they could live from their herds of horses and needed nothing else for months at a time, and their use of the horse for skill and cleverness has never been equalled, before or after. And the fame of these terrible peoples who could appear without warning at the edge of a valley full of rich farms, or on a city’s walls, covered all the central landmass so that even in the area that Canopus calls the Northwest fringes, which was at the very edge of the landmass, and at that time full of barbaric peoples who were so far from their great ancestors the Adalantalanders that these weren’t even a memory, were a savage fringe to the civilisations that lay to their south—even there, in black forests and swamps and in the misty isles of the extreme nort
hwest, tales of the dreaded horsemen kept children awake when they should have been asleep, and even a rumour of their approach sent peoples running for cover.
Meanwhile, on that area that lies immediately to the east of the Southern Continent I, which had previously been forested and green and fertile, and since had become desert and semidesert, like so much of Rohanda, had arisen a religion, the third of those emanating from the region of the great inland seas, similar to one another, each succeeding one confirming its predecessor—though of course their exponents fought for dominance, claiming superiority. This third variation of the religion created marvellous rich and complex civilisations that tolerated—at least to an extent and as far as is possible for Rohandans—the previous variations and also all kinds of other sects and cults and idea-groupings. There was prosperity, the development of knowledge of cosmic matters, and a precariously maintained peace. I could not have enough of gazing at these pictures of this amazingly intricate and affluent culture. And then, as I watched, the nomad horsemen arose from their breeding places and overwhelmed everything I looked at, but everything, so that nothing was left but smoking cities, charred fields and mounds of the slaughtered. The horsemen chased after every fleeing thing, even domestic animals, and killed them. From the northern half of Southern Continent I to the far east fringes of the main landmass remained only a waste of ruins. I cried out, I came to myself sitting on the Rohandan moon by Klorathy, and I looked at him with passionate appeal and reproach.
“All!” I said to him, “Nothing left; is it possible that such an accomplishment can be wiped out, just like that?”
The Sirian Experiments Page 29
