by Trevor Hoyle
‘The tribe lived peacefully for several generations and gradually a city was constructed with the temple as its focal point. They were a deeply religious people and worshipped the Ark as a symbol of God. About three to four hundred years after the time of Kish, when the city was well-established, the tribe was threatened by the Dagonites. It seems they sent an emissary who demanded that the High Priest should give up the Ark and deliver it to Dagon in his temple at Ashdod. The High Priest, called Eli, refused, and the Dagonites declared war. It was then, according to the Book of Samuel, that the Lord appeared in a vision. This is the actual text:
‘“And the Lord said, Behold, I will do a thing at which both the ears of every one that heareth it shall tingle. In that day I will perform against Eli all things which I have spoken concerning his house: when I begin, I will also make an end. For I have told him that I will judge his house for ever for the iniquity which he knoweth; because his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not. And therefore I have sworn unto the house of Eli, that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be purged with sacrifice nor offering for ever.”
‘There was a battle and the tribe was defeated. The people were at a loss to understand this because they believed the Lord to be on their side. Again, if we refer to I Samuel Chapter 4:
‘“And when the people were come into the camp, the elders said, Wherefore path the Lord smitten us today before the Dagonites? Let us fetch the Ark of the Covenant of the Lord out of Shiloh unto us, that, when it cometh amongst us, it may save us out of the hand of our enemies. So the people sent to Shiloh, that they might bring from thence the Ark of the Covenant of the Lord of hosts, which dwelleth between the cherubims. And when the Ark of the Covenant of the Lord came into the camp, all the tribe shouted with a great shout, so that the earth rang again. And when the Dagonites heard the noise of the shout, they said, What meaneth the noise of this great shout in the camp? And they understood that the Ark of the Lord was come into the camp. And the Dagonites were afraid, for they said, God is come into the camp. And they said, Woe unto us! for there hath not been such a thing heretofore.”
‘It has always been something of a mystery as to where the Dagonites originated from; according to the texts they had no direct antecedents but seem to have suddenly materialized from nowhere. The information provided by the neuron processing technique was extremely valuable in that it confirmed what I already suspected – that the Dagonites were a species of genetic mutations who had, for want of a better word, been “manufactured”. Their creator was Dagon ben Shem Tov and the prototype of the new species was the figure you called Angel. The species had been placed on Old Earth at that time and in that place with one objective: to subvert the natural process of history. It was Dagon ben Shem Tov’s intention to create a Saviour in his own likeness but he was faced with an obstacle, an enigma – the Ark of the Lord. Another intelligence, from somewhere in time and space, knew of his plan and had chosen a people to oppose him and his followers, and the Ark was the symbol of power of that intelligence. It was imperative that Dagon capture the Ark and he could then destroy it or use it for his own purposes. He succeeded. The Book of Samuel tells us:
‘“And the Dagonites fought, and the tribe was smitten, and they fled every man into his tent: and there was a very great slaughter; for there fell thirty thousand footmen. And the Ark of God was taken; and the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas were slain. And there ran a man out of the army, and came to Shiloh with his clothes rent, and with earth upon his head. And when he came, lo, Eli sat upon a seat by the wayside watching: for his heart trembled for the Ark of God. And when the man came into the city, and told it, all the city cried out. And when Eli heard the noise of the crying, he said, What meaneth the noise of this tumult? And the man came in hastily, and told Eli. Now Eli was ninety and eight years old; and his eyes were dim, that he could not see. And the man said unto Eli, I am he that came out of the army, and I fled today out of the army. And he said, What is there done, my son? And the messenger answered and said, We are fled from the Dagonites, and there hath been also a great slaughter among the people, and thy two sons, Hophni and Phinehas, are dead, and the Ark of God is taken. And it came to pass, when he made mention of the Ark of God, that he fell from off the seat backward by the side of the gate, and his neck brake, and he died: for he was an old man, and heavy.”
‘Afterwards, as I have said, the Ark was taken to the temple at Ashdod and set before the god Dagon. What has always seemed strange is that Dagon ben Shem Tov, in transcribing the history of those times, didn’t know the purpose of the Ark or where it had come from.’
He lifted his head and they saw for the first time that his dead ceramic eyes were capable of expression. The light sensing arrays in each artificial pupil glittered malignantly, tiny specks of silicate scanning their electromagnetic spectra and feeding the data to Dagon’s brain.
All the time he had been speaking Queghan had begun to understand – slowly at first and then with gathering momentum – the implications of Dagon’s mad idea that the future could affect the past; and in the mythological sense he was perfectly right. In an instant of absolute clear-sighted prescience the Myth Technologist saw what the dream had been intended to show him and he marvelled at his own stupidity.’ Karve too had been just as obtuse – so near the truth with his theory of protoplasmic mutation – because it was now evident that Dr Francis Dagon wasn’t human at all but the result of a long tortuous process of genetic malformation.
He himself was a mutant.
And what disturbed Queghan even more was the realization of Dagon’s ultimate purpose: the disruption of Judaeo-Christian history to the extent that the tribe which was destined to bring forth Christ would be wiped from the face of the planet and in His place a new ‘Saviour’ would arise – a mutant Anti-Christ spawned by the line of Dagon.
From the very beginning it had been Dr Francis Dagon’s mission to discover the purpose of the Ark of God and to communicate the information back through time. Dagon now possessed that information and the irony was that Queghan had helped him get it: he and Blake had unwittingly provided the means – both technical and mytho-logical – to enable him to complete the dossier which lay on the desk: THE DAGON FILE.
Milton Blake, it seemed, still hadn’t grasped the implications of the story, for he said, ‘If Dagon ben Shem Tov didn’t discover the purpose of the Ark he couldn’t have subverted the natural process of history. Isn’t that so?’
‘Oh yes,’ Dagon said in his sighing whisper. ‘But now we do know.’
Blake frowned and glanced at Queghan, apparently mystified. ‘Chris?’
‘Dr Dagon believes his cause is not yetlost.’
‘What I have described to you is history according to the Judaeo-Christian Bible. It is one version of what may or may not have taken place. We know that a Saviour was born but do we know which Saviour it was?’
‘Yes of course,’ Blake said uncertainly.
‘Do you know?’ Dagon asked the mythographer.
Queghan was staring at the smooth thermoplastic shape of Dagon’s head and remembering his dream of the mutant girl who had come to pieces in front of his eyes. He remembered also the machine in the chamber and the beam of pure light searching the desert, scorching a path through living flesh.
He couldn’t answer.
10
An Experiment with Time
Karla Ritblat was a formidable woman and she ran Psycho-Med on military lines. At MyTT she was regarded as an ogress with a fearsome appetite for work and a reputation for driving her staff until they collapsed of brain fatigue; and yet those who knew her well – nobody knew her intimately – recognized this as an elaborate subterfuge which had been erected over the years as a form of self-defence. Her bark was worse than her bite though her bark was quite enough to frighten most people.
She had silver hair cut into a square rigid shape which framed her rather heavy-looking face whose main feature was a bulbous nose th
at cosmetics could do little to disguise or improve. Physical appearance often dictates character and in the case of Karla Ritblat it had been the overriding influence. Somewhere inside that stocky frame supported by cumbersome legs and thick ankles there was a pleasant and sympathetic woman struggling to get out.
She stood four-square in the Psycho-Med Laboratory on Level 23, her bulk outlined against the triangular tinted window, and said in her flat no-nonsense voice, ‘You know my professional opinion. If the Director thinks it can be done let him take the responsibility.’
‘We need your support, Karla,’ the mythographer said patiently. ‘And your co-operation. We require more than just tacit approval.’
‘You want me to say what I don’t think so you can proceed with a clear conscience. I’ve said and will say again: you’re tempting fate, Queghan. To start meddling with the past is an extremely dangerous business.’ She leaned against the balustrade and folded her arms in a movement that was firm, abrupt, almost masculine.
Queghan said, ‘All right, we know we have the injection technique all sewn up but do we have the psycho-medical backup? The responsibility is mine and the Director’s but if we can’t sustain adequate life-support during the term of injection there’s no point in making the attempt. Can it be done – yes or no?’
Karla Ritblat debated a moment or two, enjoying the taste of decisive power. She wasn’t a vainglorious woman, neither was she in the habit of wallowing in the shallow sensual pleasures of the ego, but it was true that her profession was the only opportunity she had of expressing her individuality and gaining the respect of other people. She was good at her job and knew it.
‘The Director has no reservations about making the attempt?’
‘He knows there’s a risk but the risk is inherent in any form of mythic projection. The probability of success as against failure is fifty per cent: it always has been and always will be, we can’t alter that whatever we do. The only thing we can do is to ensure that all systems are functioning properly and at optimum efficiency.’ Queghan sat forward in the chair and said earnestly, ‘Karla, I want to know if you can keep me alive during injection.’
‘If I say yes you’ll go ahead and make the attempt. If I say no, then you won’t – so effectively the responsibility has devolved to me and this department. The Director will only agree providing he has my assurance that from a psycho-medical point of view injection is feasible.’
‘As head of Psycho-Med you are only required to give your unbiased professional opinion based on the facts available to you. And that’s all I’m after. Ethical considerations don’t enter into it.’
Karla Ritblat lowered her head to gaze at the floor and a sheen of light moved across the silver helmet of hair. When she spoke again her voice had a thinner edge to it. ‘I can’t recall any other project at MyTT in which we’ve planned, quite deliberately, to interfere with the past.’
‘It hasn’t been necessary before,’ Queghan answered shortly. He had been afraid of becoming embroiled in such a discussion; Karla wanted to see him jump through hoops.
‘And is it necessary now?’
‘I think so. And so does Karve.’ He concealed his irritation and said reasonably, ‘We haven’t made the decision lightly or for the fun of it, we’ve discussed the whole thing at length and in considerable detail. Karve thought we should make the attempt and I agree with him.’
‘So you actually believe that Dr Dagon – or should I say his heteromorphic manifestation – has the power to influence past events.’
‘He used Professor Blake and he used me to discover the purpose of the machine. It was for a very specific reason: he needed the information to communicate it to another time and place. He now has that information. Do you suppose he’s going to leave it at that?’
Karla Ritblat said, ‘But as I understand it doesn’t Dr Dagon believe that the blueprint and specification were produced by the cyberthetic system from the ancient texts?’
‘Yes.’ Queghan nodded. ‘And it was from the blueprint and specification that the protein plant was manufactured.’
‘But the blueprint didn’t exist until Dr Dagon came along with the description of the machine. How could he find the description of the machine before the blueprint was produced?’
Queghan sighed. It was so tedious to explain. ‘The blueprint was produced cyberthetically from the texts: the texts contain a description of the machine: the machine existed in Biblical times on Old Earth and was manufactured according to the blueprint.’
Karla Ritblat looked at him, shaking her head, trying to grasp the paradox. She said, ‘Where did the machine come from – I mean originally?’
‘From the future. Don’t ask me which future or whose future because that’s one thing we haven’t puzzled out.’
‘You say that Dr Dagon wanted to know the purpose of the machine.’
‘Yes.’
‘For what reason?’
‘I’ve already said: to communicate the information into the past.’
‘But if Dr Dagon hadn’t approached you and you hadn’t processed the text through the cyberthetic system …’ she faltered, having lost the thread‘… the blueprint wouldn’t have been produced and without the blueprint – no machine.’
‘Except that we know that to be false,’ Queghan said. ‘The ancient texts tell us of a machine which existed in Biblical times – therefore it must have come from a blueprint and specification which exists somewhere in the future. All the elements are mythologically self-consistent – Dagon did approach me and he did discover the purpose of the machine.’
Karla Ritblat came away from the window and walked slowly, arms folded, to the curved instrument panel with its flexible microphone like a slender silver snake. This central console was faced by a bank of screens which monitored the injectee whilst he was held in a state of hyper-suspension. The mythographer waited, controlling his impatience, biding his time. He needed her official blessing.
She said finally, ‘What happens if Dr Dagon succeeds and you fail?’
‘There’s always that possibility, in which case history would follow a different path: there could be one or two nasty little surprises in store for us.’
Karla Ritblat was fully aware of the theoretical backcloth to all this. She quoted from Johann Karve’s The Hidden Universe: … ‘“There are any number of alternative pasts, any one of which might or might not exist in space and time. Because we can only recall a single past doesn’t necessarily deny the probability of an infinity of others”.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’ve always liked that phrase, “an infinity of others”. I can see all those mytho-logical pasts and futures stretching away into the distance, millions of them side by side.’
‘As far as we know the structure isn’t like that. We see it as obeying a law similar to the one Einstein proposed to deal with the curvature of spacetime. Alternative pasts and futures exist in a state of probability, which is an impossible concept to visualise.’
‘Unless your Minkowskian geometries are up to scratch, which mine aren’t,’ Karla Ritblat said. She leaned against the control console, letting her blunt chin sink down on to her chest. It was a ‘thinking’ pose that Queghan had seen many academics employ to good effect.
He said, ‘Psycho-medically you have no objection.’
‘No I haven’t,’ she admitted. ‘But you should know that I still have doubts about the wisdom of undertaking such an experiment. You might come back and find us not here.’
‘That’s a risk I’ll have to take.’
‘So will we, it seems,’ Karla Ritblat said.
*
He thought he was dying. He had never died before and it was a novel experience. It surprised him to learn that dying was quite painless. He thought, All this fuss over dying and it’s so easy, why didn’t I think of it before? His wife was there (somewhere or other) and she said, When you see the bright light you know you’re there. I’ll be with you later. He wanted to ask her something but couldn’
t remember what it was. I’m losing the bit of me that contains my memory, he thought. But if I can remember that I once had a memory perhaps I haven’t lost it all after all. All after all. All after all. The phrase reminded him of something. It reminded him of An infinity of others. Now, he thought carefully, an infinity of other what? Worlds? Stars? Atoms? An infinity of infinities? He had been there once before to that place they called An infinity of infinities. It was somewhere over the rainbow, down a deep black hole, through the eye of time, on the edge of the universe. Everything stopped in that place. Everything. Stopped. In. That. Place. Everything. Sto—
Tighten the straps. Gently does it.
