“Thanks. But here we are, in the middle of the ocean headed for Iceland, or some such place. What’s the idea? A bit of a warning, since you were watching us anyway, and we might have avoided all this.”
“What’s the difference? What was formerly your country is now just so much territory overrun by savage tribes, here and there dotted with cities in a more or less feudal state. There is no more civilization there than there is anywhere else in the world.
“These Vikings are just as advanced as any race on the face of the Earth. And as far as social relations are concerned, they come closer to the old American traditions than any of the other races. They value personal independence highly, and look with suspicion on anyone who tries to govern them with an iron hand. They work together under a leader only when that leader has proven himself capable. No four-flusher can make them follow like a bunch of sheep.
“Taking it all in all they’re not such a benighted race, even if they do like a spot of pillage once in a while. That comes mainly under the head of exuberant animal spirits. They’re not essentially cruel.”
“That may be true, but now we’ll have to learn a new language, and be governed according to the customs of these people, or else leave them and make a home for ourselves in some totally unfamiliar land.”
“Use your head, son. After six thousand years, don’t you think the topography of the land is changed as well as the people? America is not as you left it. There are mountains where you knew valleys; lakes where there was land. For instance, you struck a path today aimed to bring you to the seashore about opposite the tip of Long Island. It didn’t, for the place no longer exists. Long Island gradually sank until now it is below sea level. It was gone for years before anyone noticed.
“And as far as customs are concerned, you certainly wouldn’t want to live out your lives as complete hermits. You’d have to conform to the customs of some race. And among these people you will be big-shots. Chosen of the gods! I fixed that for you. You’ll have to prove it every so often, for these lads don’t take much on hearsay, but you can do that easily.”
Mark looked at Nona, who was keeping a discreet silence. She seemed perfectly happy just to sit beside him and listen.
“I don’t want to give the impression of seeming ungrateful,” Mark said. “We both appreciate the things you have done — barring the practical jokes — but I don’t fancy this business of sailing under false colors. Chosen of the gods!”
“I EXPECTED you to pull that. Now listen... If I had given any other explanation for your physical peculiarities, they might not even have let you live. And if they had, you could never have associated with them on an even footing. You would have been a pariah, something not altogether to be trusted. An Elk at a Shriner’s clambake...
“On the other hand, if you are considered a sort of demigod blessed by their most respected deity, Thor, they will envy and respect you, but nevertheless treat you as one of them. It’s the type of thing they would fall for, too. They believe their gods are very close to them and interested in their slightest actions. Every exploit of theirs succeeds or fails only because the god interested approves or disapproves.
“And think of Nona. Her chances of safety are improved immensely.”
Mark made a helpless gesture.
“I shouldn’t have started this discussion in the first place,” he growled. “There seems to be nothing to do but begin taking lessons in Swedish.”
“It’s not exactly Swedish. It’s a conglomeration of three or four languages — Swedish, Norwegian, Danish and several dialects — all of them changed considerably by the passage of time. But I’ll spare you the mental effort of learning it.”
He arose, placed a hand on Mark’s head and stared into his eyes.
For the first time it was driven home to Mark the terrific mind-energy that was Omega’s. The impact of irresistible thought waves made his brain reel. It seemed as if a hammer was beating repeatedly — throbbingly — inside his skull. His senses were dimming and he had almost lapsed into unconsciousness when Omega quit and moved over to Nona. Mark shook his head several times, trying to clear it and gain sufficient possession of his faculties to stop Omega from subjecting Nona to the torture he had just endured. But the operation was completed before he could speak.
“Calm yourself,” said the ancient, in the Viking language, which Mark realized he could now understand as well as English, “I deadened her brain before I forced the change in her memory cells. She felt no pain. I’d have done the same for you except that you needed taking down a peg or two.”
“I’m chastened. But the next time I’ll learn languages in the ordinary manner.”
“I’ll have to explain to Sven that your keenness of mind — a gift conferred by Thor — enabled me to teach you the tongue in short order.” Omega chuckled.
“Now suppose you two adjourn to the next room until daylight. I have some thinking to do.”
Chapter 13: Mark, The Mighty
MORNING found the ship well out of sight of land, scudding with shortened sail before a fresh west wind. The sky was cloudless and the sun was so low on the horizon when Mark first set foot on the deck, that it seemed the ship was sailing directly into it.
Omega had brought out an assortment of feminine apparel for Nona to select from. The clothing was some of the loot garnered from one of the cities further south on the American coast, and consisted of the same sort of barbaric costumes as the one she had been wearing. There was variety, of course, but none of the outfits would have been suitable in a nunnery.
Omega had also provided a change for Mark, a Viking costume more in keeping with his surroundings. The shiny axe, which had been the center of the Norse-men’s discussion, had been returned and was now swinging from his belt on the right side, while on the left was a shortsword of excellent manufacture, a gift from Sven.
Nona had elected to stay in the cabin, which was to be theirs for the duration of the journey, and do a bit of tidying up. There were furnishings to be rearranged, she explained; and he might as well run along and get acquainted with the crew until she finished, or he would get in her way. So Mark was alone as he squinted into the rays of the rising sun. Sven had seen him emerge and was approaching from amidships. At the same time the door at his elbow opened and the ancient priest housing Omega’s mind-stepped forth.
“Thought I had better remind you about proving your standing with Thor. You can’t back down now, you know. That would make a liar out of the old guy whose body I’m using.”
“Old guy! What’s that make you?... Tell me what to do, before Sven gets here.”
“Well, Thor is supposed to be a great hand at throwing the hammer. You might try that.”
“You know darn well I couldn’t hit the side of the Empire State Building with a hammer.”
“No? Well, use your axe then. In a minute I’m going to tell Sven to clear the deck for an axe-throwing exhibition, so you had better be good.”
Mark’s throat rumbled, but Sven had arrived, so he kept still. The Viking brought up his arm in the salute he had used the night before. This time it seemed to include both of them. Mark decided to return it. This man was the captain of the ship, he had learned; the real leader of the expedition. An attempt to win his friendship seemed to be wise. Omega didn’t do likewise, for, playing the part of the wise old man, it wouldn’t be in character. The ancient was on board, as he had explained earlier in the morning, in the capacity of an advisor and medical man. His position commanded respect mainly because of his own wisdom and age. He had no real authority in an active sense, but was nevertheless consulted before any major step was taken.
Sven seemed to be quite pleased that Mark had returned his salute.
“My men greet you,” be said, “and wish to state that they are gratified that you hold no malice because of our attack yesterday. Those who survived appreciate that they are alive today only because you allowed yourself to be captured rather than take the lives of any more bra
ve men. They also asked me to extend their regret at ignorantly having laid hands on your mate.”
Mark rallied quickly. “You may say to your men that their actions were only natural and to think no more of the affair. It is forgotten.”
Sven bowed with the stiff inclination of the head that was characteristic. “There is something — the men would like explained, if it is not too presumptuous. Two of my men attest to the fact that when they aimed a blow which should have cut off your head, their axes rebounded as if striking a wall. Was this imagination, or what?”
Mark smiled enigmatically. “That is hard to answer,” he said, quite frankly. “But there is every chance that my patron interposed an obstacle in front of the axes. It has happened before. I remember once... But then that was different. There was a bear and I had the axe. No, that was different. But as I said, you can blame it on my patron. He is notoriously inclined to do strange and wondrous things.”
MARK was looking at Omega, who furtively looked back through the fingers of a hand placed before his face. But suddenly he snapped the hand down and addressed Sven.
“Our honored guest,” he announced pompously, “has consented to put the minds of our men at ease, in case they are secretly ashamed of the fact that they were not able to conquer him without such terrific loss. He is going to show that, due to the skill with which he has been endowed by his patron, Thor, no small body of warriors could hope to prevail over him. You will prepare a space for the throwing of the axe.”
Sven turned on his heel and set out to clear the deck.
“Now you’ve done it!” Mark growled. “I wish I could throw an axe as well as you throw the bull.”
Omega regarded him with a twinkle in his eyes. “I think I’ll give you another language lesson,” he said. “Or maybe you would learn to be more respectful to your elders if I gave you a complete knowledge and understanding of the various Einstein concepts. All in one quick dose!”
Mark winced. “I’ll behave,” he promised. “But I still can’t throw an axe; not with any remarkable degree of accuracy.”
“What are you worrying about? You have a splendid physique. The necessary muscles are well developed. All you do is aim the axe at the target and heave with all your strength. Simple! Of course I’ll be on the sidelines, rooting.”
“That ought to be a great help. But the point is, will it? You’re such a great practical joker. It won’t surprise me if the axe lands in the sea.”
Sven had gone efficiently about his task. Every man on board, with the exception of the helmsman, who luckily had a clear view of the deck, was lined up against the rails to watch the performance.
Omega led the way to a point about seventy-five feet from the mast, and held up his hands for silence.
“Our distinguished guest, Mark, the axe-thrower, has consented to give you an exhibition of his skill. He requests a volunteer.”
A chorus of yells indicated that there were plenty of takers. Sven was among them. He was directed to stand a few feet away from the mast. Omega produced a twig, about a foot long, and placed it in the volunteer’s mouth.
Mark’s heart sank. It was his job to knock it out, and yet he knew that he would have to have assistance or the Vikings would soon be voting for a new captain. With a silent prayer he firmly gripped the axe and measured the distance with a deliberate eye. Corded muscles stood out in relief as he slowly drew back his arm.
Then, with the speed of a striking snake, the arm shot out, releasing the axe.
With a swish that could be heard all over the deck, the axe cleaved the air, speeding true to its mark. The twig was sheared off close to Sven’s lips. But the axe did not spend its force by falling to the deck. Oh no. Not with Omega directing the performance. It continued flying, described an arc around the thick mast and sped back to Mark! Fortunately he saw it coming and caught it, calmly restoring it to his belt.
For an instant there was a dead silence, while Sven removed the short piece of twig from his mouth and gazed at it stupidly. Then bedlam broke loose.
Someone picked up the broken bit of twig and the men fought each other for a look at it. Some crowded about Mark and Omega and respectfully asked for a closer inspection of the axe. Its keen edge and stainless steel surface hypnotized them. Surely this axe was forged by the gods! No other answer could explain its quality or ability. No other weapon known to them would return to the hand of the thrower. It was evident that the men who had not witnessed the fight on shore were just as convinced as the others of Mark’s divine guidance. Only the hammer of Thor could perform that trick.
BACK in the cabin Nona heard about the performance. Mark spoke apologetically, embarrassed by the deception, but Omega was chuckling gleefully.
“You’ll simply have to get over your squeamishness,” he told Mark. “We’ve really done them a favor. Given them something new and wonderful to talk about. And in a way, we’ve shown them the power of their gods. I’ve found that’s always a comfort to mortals.”
“More trickery,” Mark commented.
Omega looked surprised. “About the gods? Not at all. You know, that’s one reason why I’ve always been interested in humans. They must have something to worship. I used to think it was plain ignorance of natural phenomena that caused them to explain everything they didn’t understand by devising beings with supernatural powers. But surely, if that was the reason, there would be somewhere a group of humans who would explain things that they could not understand by admitting they had not yet gained sufficient knowledge. But there has never in the history of mankind been a race of people who did not have some sort of deity —”
“I know,” agreed Mark. “And the logical inference is: Fifty billion humans can’t be wrong. There must be a deity.”
“Nonsense, my superstitious idiot. Among humans, majorities have always been wrong, and you know it. Cite one instance where a majority has been right. I dare you!”
Mark thought for a minute. “There must be one somewhere...”
“There isn’t. That is why man is where he is today. Majorities rule and majorities are always wrong. The multitude always allows itself to be swayed by some loudmouth who promises a lot, but who really holds his own interests paramount.
“Now, now... I’ll admit there have been some really selfless men who did manage to get a following. Confucius, Christ, a few others... But the reason they ultimately failed lay not in their lack of merit, but in the crass stupidity of those they tried to help. A race who, in a fevered instant, could forget all the benevolent teachings pounded into them for generations, and foolishly follow a madman into war. I don’t know why somebody hasn’t destroyed the race long ago. If it wasn’t against my principles I would have done it myself.”
“Could you do it?” asked Mark, curious.
“Certainly. In an hour your whole atmosphere could be ionized. That would do the job nicely.” Omega looked about, calculatingly; and for a moment a look came into his eyes that made Mark extremely apprehensive. It was the look of a man to whom world-cataclysm would be not only possible but even desirable.
“But no one would take the trouble to destroy the world, of course. Why should they?” Mark put in quickly. He was relieved to see the look fade from Omega’s eyes.
“I really don’t know,” Omega informed him. “I’m derelict in my duty for not doing it myself. For some day a civilization will develop to reach the point in scientific advancement where space can be conquered. And when man does that, he will colonize. The specked apple in the barrel of life will then contaminate the universe. To the detriment of worthier civilizations. Some entity with the power to manipulate cosmic forces, such as myself, will then be obliged to take action to protect other forms of life-forms which have not been instilled with the desire to exterminate and kill wantonly, as humans are wont to do. When that day comes the rotten apple will be tossed out of the barrel.”
“Meaning humanity,” murmured Mark, a bit worried. “Something will have to be done about it.
”
“I’ve already done it.”
“You don’t say?”
“Sure, I told you about it. This new race I’ve created in the persons of you and Nona.”
“YOU didn’t create Nona and me. You just woke me up, as any alarm clock could have done; and you gave Nona an injection which could have been done by the old doc, if he had been alive. Don’t take on such airs. Created us — bah!
Omega took that amiably.
“All right, get technical, you cub. The idea was mine, anyway. What I started to say was that in you and Nona we have two people who have the more admirable qualities in dominance. Your offspring will inherit the tendency. And due to the fact that your descendants will be long-lived, scientific and social progress will be much faster than with the short-lived race of normal humans.
“The ability and power of a brain increases with age, provided it is not being poisoned by an aging body. With the new race the individual will live long enough to utilize the learning that he acquires. The ordinary human begins to decline long before his accumulated knowledge can be put to any useful purpose.
“Here and there have been men energetic enough to accomplish a few triumphs before this decay set in, but they have been few and far between. Usually a man dies before his brain develops sufficiently for him to understand the most elementary of natural phenomena. And that, no doubt, explains why he fortifies himself with a belief in the supernatural, knowing subconsciously that he can never hope to solve the mysteries of the universe.”
“And that brings us back to religion. How’d we ever come to get off it?”
Omega glared in a ferocious manner. “My fault, moron. I forgot to keep my streamlined intellect on a narrow-gauge rail.”
The Best of Argosy #2 - Minions on the Moon Page 9
