by Hogan, James
petrified, staring up at two radiant orbs of purest violet that had appeared in
the sky above the mountaintop moments after the voices had gone quiet. "By the
Lifemaker!" he gasped. A flying creature, similar to the one he had seen over
Xerxeon but glowing with blinding light, and much larger, was floating over the
mountain, above the orbs. It was sinking slowly toward the ground, balanced on a
column of violet radiance. The orbs were descending steadily too, all the time
keeping ahead of the creature as if to clear its way—harbingers of light sent on
before the heavenly beast to conduct it from its sacred realm beyond the sky.
The creature descended out of sight, and shortly afterward a halo of violet
light appeared and continued to glow softly among the rocks at the summit.
What did it mean? Was it a sign for Groork to ascend the mountain or a warning
for him to turn back? Would he risk being smitten for presumptuous arrogance if
he went forward, or smitten for self-serving disobedience and cowardice if he
went back? For a fleeting moment he wished his brother Thirg were present;
blasphemer or not, Thirg's unholy methods of argument could prove useful in
situations like this. And then Groork remembered the message he had been given
at the time of his being commanded to leave Xerxeon: Soon he would be told of
the path that it was the Lifemaker's will for him to follow. The ways of the
Lifemaker were sometimes mysterious and devious, but they were never misleading
or capricious.
So now, it seemed, the moment had come.
With a mixture of wonder, trepidation, and excitement rising within him at every
step, Groork urged his mount off" the trail he had been following and began to
pick his way upward. When the smoother terrain gave way to steeper ice crags and
broken rock, he dismounted near some mountain scrub growing by a stream,
tethered his animal to a bar of a conduit-support trellis beside a clump of
tubing winders, and climbed on foot toward the mystical light beckoning to him
from the summit.
"So what does Gerry think he can do about it?" Zambendorf asked. Vernon Price
shrugged in his seat across the cabin. "He's not sure yet. What can you do? Try
and get the message across to as many Taloids as you can about what's behind it
all and why, maybe... Then perhaps enough of them will wise up sufficiently to
throw out the leaders who'd go along with Giraud's deal. In a word, you educate
them, I guess."
Zambendorf shook his head. "It's no good, Vernon. It won't work."
Price shuffled his feet awkwardly, as if deep down he already knew that. "How
come?" he asked anyway.
"Because the Taloids are too much like people—they believe what they want to
believe and close their eyes to what they don't want to believe. They need to
think the world is the way they'd like it to be because having to face up to the
reality that it isn't would be too uncomfortable. So they carry on pretending
because it makes them feel better."
Price frowned for a second. "I'm not sure I see the connection." <> "When you
look around at the leaders people follow and take orders from unquestioningly,
what do you see? For the most part, you can't say that the leaders are where
they are because of any particular talent or ability, can you—most of them
aren't really very bright when all's said and done. In many cases their only
claim to exceptionality is their abnormal gullibility and extraordinary capacity
for self-delusion. But the people don't see it. The leader-image that exists in
the minds of the followers is something quite different. The person that the
followers follow is a fantasy that they manufacture in their own imaginations,
which they can project onto anyone who'll stand up and play the role. All that a
leader needs is the gall to stand up and tell them he's got what they're looking
for. They'll believe it because they need to."
"They need to believe they're in capable hands," Price said, taking the point.
"Truth isn't the important thing. The important thing is to be certain." It
didn't sound as if he was hearing it for the first time.
"To have the illusion of certainty, anyway," Zambendorf agreed. "If they just
know their place and do as they're told, life will be very cosy and
uncomplicated. To feel secure they need their authority figures. They'd be lost
without them—hopelessly, helplessly, and traumatically. They talk about being
free, but the thought of real freedom terrifies them. They couldn't handle it
... not until they learn how in their own time, anyhow." He raised his head to
look at Price. "And that's why trying to tell them they're being taken doesn't
do any good. Even if they do get rid of whoever is selling them up the river
today, tomorrow they'll be flocking after somebody else who's just as bad, and
quite likely worse. They wouldn't have learned a thing."
A few seconds of silence passed, broken only by the voices of Clarissa and
Abaquaan reciting numbers to each other in the nose compartment. "So what do you
do?" Price asked at last. "About the Taloids, I mean. We can't just wash our
hands of the whole business and do nothing."
Zambendorf frowned down at the floor and sighed. "First we have to accept
reality as it is," he replied slowly. "And the facts are that you can't turn
people whose beliefs are based on ignorance and superstition into rational,
objective thinkers overnight. You'd be wasting your time. They don't have the
concepts. The only way they'll get rid of corrupt leaders is when they stop
listening to them, not because of any slogans that you or I might have taught
them to memorize, but because of reasons they've worked out for themselves and
understand. You're right —the answer is education, but unfortunately there isn't
any instant brand of it that you can get by adding water."
Price thought for a moment. "Well, if they're going to go on being irrational
for a while anyway, maybe the best thing you can do is give them some kind of
harmless substitute to get them by in the meantime," he said. "You should know
what I'm talking about. It's what you've been doing for years, isn't it."
"Well, it took you long enough to figure that out," Zambendorf grunted.
Price worried at a tooth with his thumbnail and eyed Zambendorf dubiously for a
second or two longer, then looked away and stared at the far wall. Suddenly he
got up and crossed the cabin to peer through one of the ports. "What is it?"
Zambendorf asked, turning in his seat.
"I thought I saw something moving just outside the light out there. . . . Maybe
not. I don't know."
Zambendorf rose to his feet and moved over to the port to look for himself.
After a few seconds he called in the direction of the forward cabin door, "Can
you turn on an outside flood, Clarissa?—port-side forward?"
"Why?"
"We think there might be something moving out there."
A moment later a cone of light stabbed from the craft and etched the figure of
the Taloid clearly against the darkness. It was motionless on its knees, its
hands clasped upon its chest and its head bowed in humble reverence.
28
"ARRGH!"
Groork raised his arms to shield his eyes as the shining creature's side opened
and more blinding violet light poured from within. Clearly this appointment had
been preordained and marked the moment that the Lifemaker had chosen to make
known to Groork the purpose for which the whole of his life so far had been the
preparation. A chorus of voices sang thunderously from a bulge on the creature's
back, rising to a crescendo as if to announce the arrival of some great
presence, and then faded. Groork moved his fingers from an eye to look . . .
then gasped, and raised his head hesitantly in awe and terror. A figure had
appeared, barely visible in silhouette against the glare from the shining
creature's interior. Its outline took on form and substance as it emerged—a
broad, round-headed angel with a face that shone as fire, wreathed in glowing
vapors—sent down from the celestial realm as the Lifemaker's personal emissary
to Groork.
"Oh, get up off your knees, you fool," Zambendorf said irritably.
The screen of the transmogrifier that he was holding displayed REMOVE UP FROM
YOUR KNEES. YOU ARE JOKING.
"Delete," Zambendorf told it with a sigh. "Substitute: Rise up."
"Arise," the angel boomed, and advanced slowly a few paces. It held a frond from
some strange tree that Groork didn't recognize. A second angel had appeared
behind it, standing in the opening in the shining creature's side.
"There, Vernon," Zambendorf said into his helmet mike. "Your first Taloid at
close quarters." The Taloid was wearing a tunic of woven wire, a thick cloaklike
garment, and a dark cap of some rubbery-looking material. As it climbed slowly
to its feet, it picked up a staff of metal tubing that it had laid by its side.
"It's . . . amazing," Price's voice replied haltingly. "It's so different from
watching recordings up in the ship." There was a second or two of silence. "What
do you think it's doing up here?"
"I've no idea . . . attracted by our lights and the flyer's thermal radiation,
probably. From some of the things Galileo said, I wouldn't be surprised if it
thinks we're gods or something."
"It's uncanny," Price said, staring.
"I am Zambendorf," Zambendorf said, activating the transmogrifier again and
pointing to himself; then he instructed the instrument: "Get name."
"I am the Wearer," the angel announced as the computers returned the Taloid
pulse-sequence that had been equated to "Zambendorf"— the Wearer of the sacred
Symbol of Life, Groork decided. Then the angel asked, "What is your name?"
"Groork, known as Hearer-of-Voices, son of Methgark and Coorskeria, and brother
ofThirg," Groork answered. He was surprised that the angel didn't know.
"No, too long. Shorter please," the angel said.
The celestial voices were rising and falling in the background again. They
seemed to be saying, "Light and awe. Light and awe . . ." Or was it "Send light
and awe"? Groork frowned as he tried to make sense of it. The angel was still
standing and waiting. Why wouldn't the angel accept his name? What were the
voices trying to say?
And then Groork understood. This was his moment of spiritual rebirth, which
would be symbolized by his being rebaptized with a new name. The angel wished
him to repeat the name by which the Lifemaker wanted him to be known'from now
on, and which the voices were telling him. "Enlightener!" he exclaimed as the
inspiration struck. "I am called the Enlightener!"
NAME OBTAINED, the transmogrifier screen reported. ENGLISH MATCH REQUIRED.
Zambendorf thought for a moment, and then said, "Moses. Spell M-O-S-E-S."
Moses? the screen repeated.
"Okay."
"I shall go forth from this place as the Lifemaker commands and enlighten the
world," the Enlightener declared, his voice rising in fervor. "I shall destroy
the blasphemers and smite down the unbelievers who bow themselves not before the
holy words that I shall bring unto them. I shall—"
"Stop! Thou jabberest. Makest not sense any. More simple. Shorter please."
It wasn't the angel that spoke, but the frond that the angel was holding, the
Enlightener realized with a start—the angel was teaching the frond to speak. He
stared in wonder. Then he realized that it was a miracle to show that the angel
was truly a messenger from the Lifemaker. That explained its questions: The
frond was like a child, and obviously couldn't be expected to comprehend all the
complexities of speech in an instant. "My task now," he said to it, making his
phrases short and simple. "Talk to world. Kill all Lifemaker's enemies."
"Talk to world means talk to robeings?" the frond asked.
"Yes," the Enlightener answered.
MOSES' JOB AT PRESENT—TALKING TO TALOIDS; KILLING HERETICS, the screen informed
Zambendorf.
Zambendorf shook his head. "No! No! Killing each other is not the way. You have
to understand that!"
The screen offered NOT KILLING EACH OTHER IS NOT A GOOD METHOD. HIGHLY PROBABLE
THAT YOU UNDERSTAND.
"Damn," Zambendorf muttered beneath his breath. "Delete. Substitute: Do not kill
each other. Imperative that you understand."
(Phrase 1) DO NOT KILL.
(Phrase 2) IMPERATIVE THAT = command?
"Oh hell . . . Delete phrase two," Zambendorf ordered.
And the frond said, "Thou shall not kill."
"Clarissa," Zambendorf called into his radio. "How are you doing in there?"
"Nearly through. Why?"
"Is there any chance Otto can come out here? He's more used to this damn
transmogrifier thing than I am."
"I'm done. I'll be out as soon as I get a helmet on," Abaquaan's voice said.
Meanwhile the Enlightener was standing transfixed in wonderment. He had heard
the divine command. But what new wisdom was the Lifemaker revealing? Was His
power so strong and invincible that His faithful need have no fear of enemies?
Were heretics, blasphemers, and unbelievers not to be punished? The Enlightener
stared at the frond in the angel's hand and puzzled over what the utterance
meant. And then, slowly, his inner eye was opened. What did killing another
robeing signify, apart from brutality and ignorance, and an inability to
persuade by other means? It required no learning or schooling, no discipline and
development of self, no comprehension of worth, or any aspiration to higher
things. The lowest savages in the farthest reaches of the swamplands south of
Serethgin were capable of that. They knew of no other way to settle their
differences.
Truly this was a sacred moment that would be recorded in the Scribings, and this
spot a holy place that would be visited by pilgrims and penitents for all the
twelve-brights that were left to come until the world ended. The moment should
be symbolized by an act that would immortalize it, the Enlightener thought, and
the spot marked as the selected place of the angels' coming. He looked around
him and saw a smooth, flat rock, obviously placed there to serve his purpose. He
moved over to it, and with the tip of his staff inscribed slowly and solemnly
near the top of the slab the words:
THOU SHALT NOT KILL.
When he had finished he looked up, and saw that a th
ird angel had appeared.
"What more of me does the Lifemaker command?" he asked meekly.
Abaquaan took the transmogrifier from Zambendorf. "He seems pretty impressed by
the message," he said. "Maybe it's a new idea to these guys. He wants to know if
you've got any more of 'em."
"They mustn't believe anyone who tries to tell them they're worthless or
inferior," Zambendorf said. "But neither must they believe they are superior to
any of the neighboring nations. All the nations must accept each other as equal
partners and learn to cooperate in building a better future for all." After some
exchanges with the transmogrifier, Abaquaan had reduced this to something the
machine could accept.
And the frond spoke once more. The Enlightener listened, then added the numeral
1 before his previous inscription and wrote underneath it:
2. THOU ART THY NEIGHBOR'S EQUAL. HELP THY NEIGHBOR, AND THY NEIGHBOR SHALL HELP
THEE.
The Enlightener was being enlightened, as he would bring enlightenment to
others. With just a few simple words, the Lifemaker had opened up a vision of a
whole new world that could come to be, a world in which all robeings everywhere
would prosper and help one another grow strong in a spirit of compassion,
cooperation, tolerance, and understanding. All would be brothers, like Thirg. A
new era would come to pass, in which killing and violence would be renounced and
universal love among robeings would prevail—a stronger, deeper, and more
enduring force to shape the world than anything ever conceived previously.
"What's he doing?" Price asked as the Taloid finished scratching a second row
below the marks that it had made on a large ice slab with its staff.
"Looks like he doesn't carry a notebook," Abaquaan replied. "I guess we must be
saying the right things."
Price stared at the Taloid for a few seconds longer. "I'll be back out in a
second," he said, and disappeared into the open outer door of the flyer's
airlock.
"I'm all through," Clarissa's voice informed them. "How's it with Rin-Tin-Tin
out there?"
"We need a few more minutes," Zambendorf said. He switched back to local to
address Abaquaan. "They shouldn't blindly accept anything that others tell them
to believe. Facts are the only guide to what is true, and facts can't be changed
