Children of the Old Star

by David Lee Summers

  Burroughs folded his hands, carefully, looking down at the table. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Quite frankly, nothing is beyond possibility.” Clyde brightened somewhat at this, but the Reverend raised his hand in warning. “But visions like Ezekiel's tend not to come to groups of people. They only visit the anointed ones."

  "There are so many more people today, though,” said Clyde, slowly. “It seems like God would need to be much more convincing than he ever had to in the past."

  "It just doesn't work that way. Look how many times Christ was asked to put on a show to prove himself and didn't. He didn't need to. God doesn't put on demonstrations. He expects you to have faith.” Burroughs chewed his lower lip. “Besides, the Cluster is made of spheres. Ezekiel's vision was wheels and faces and such. Frankly, I don't see the similarity."

  Clyde frowned and took another sip of his coffee. “I think it's about time for me to move on,” he said at last.

  "As you wish,” said the minister gently. “But you will be in danger if you leave. The people of Tejo and New Granada would arrest you if you went there."

  "I'm thinking of going to Earth,” said Clyde.

  "Then,” said Burroughs steadily, “may God protect you, for the Earth is a far more dangerous place than either of the two major continents of this planet."

  Clyde nodded somberly. The Reverend pulled a small book from his jacket pocket and handed it to the former colonel. “What's this?"

  "A gift for you,” said the Reverend. Clyde looked down at the Revised Dead Sea Version of the Bible the Reverend had handed him. “A gift to help you remember His teachings.” The Reverend smiled, stood and shook Clyde's hand, warmly. “God go with you, brother."

  "And with you, Reverend,” said Clyde. He stood, holding the book close to his heart, watching the stern, yet vital man depart. Once gone, Clyde sat down, took a sip of coffee and turned to the first chapter of Ezekiel.

  * * * *

  Clyde McClintlock found no resistance on the trip to Little Sonora or the subsequent trip to Earth. He was somewhat surprised that he had full access to his bank accounts back at Tejo City. While in Little Sonora, he transferred all his money to accounts on Earth, just to be certain it would be safe. Still, the lack of resistance seemed odd. It was almost as if the people of Sufiro wanted him off their world. It saddened him to leave behind the one place in the galaxy he truly thought of as home for what, he knew, would be the last time.

  Arriving on Earth, he found the planet as crowded and polluted as he remembered. Landing at the spaceport in Boston, he immediately caught a commuter hover to Hyannis Port. From there he caught another hover out to Nantucket Island. He regretted going out by hover, though. The turbulence over the water buffeted the frail craft. Several times he was sure it would be pitched into the sea, despite its anti-graviton controls.

  At the hover port, Clyde asked the man behind the counter whether he knew where the Ellis home was. “One moment,” said the man. The man touched his forehead activating a chip implant and scanning the records of island housing. After a moment, the man faced Clyde and gave him directions.

  Clyde stepped lightly out of the hover port and felt the soft sea breeze tickle his hair as he looked up into a cloudy gray sky. A plastic road wound its way into the Village of Nantucket. Taking a step, Clyde almost fell flat on his face. He had not been to Earth for several years and was not used to the gravity that was lower than Sufiro's. His stomach felt fluttery. Still, with a heart as light as his stomach, he picked up his leather suitcase and walked the two miles into the village.

  Once he arrived in the village itself, Clyde found himself fascinated by the plain structures that surrounded him. In many ways they reminded him of the humble houses of Roanoke, only these houses were almost simpler. The houses of Roanoke had been painted a variety of colors. The houses of Nantucket were covered in plain gray shingles with white trim. Like Roanoke, Christians seeking freedom to worship as they saw fit had built Nantucket. Clyde was relieved when he turned off the crowded main street onto the silent row of gray sentinels where Ellis’ house was. Stepping up the street, it only took Clyde a few minutes to find the ancestral home of John Mark Ellis.

  Clyde stood in front of the imposing two-story house. The building could have easily held ten apartments the size he grew up in back in Iowa. It boggled his mind that such primitive materials as wooden shingles could have stood up to over a thousand years of rough island weather. He wondered how many times each shingle on the house had been replaced. Reverently, Clyde McClintlock reached up to a brass knocker in the center of the vast white door. His first knock was so tentative he could barely hear it. Gathering resolve, he knocked again.

  Clyde's once-light heart grew heavy as he realized that no one was home. His shoulders sank as he trudged downtown and got directions to a motel. Arriving at the motel, he found he had neither enough money for the room nor the night's taxes to stay on the island. Grumbling to himself, Clyde made his way back to the hover port and caught a flight back to Hyannis Port, where he found an affordable bed for the night.

  Sitting on the thin steel-framed bed that was covered in a blanket that smelled vaguely of mildew, Clyde worried about how he was going to get money to survive on Earth. He tucked his suitcase under the bed and stepped out into the streets of the once-rich town of Hyannis Port. Dirty people wandered by, heads down. People with less money than Clyde began to light fires by their street-side tents.

  Clyde McClintlock raised his collar against the wind, thrust his hands deep in his pockets and trudged down to the ocean side. More people camped on the beach. With a deep frown etched on his face, Clyde began to think about the stories the people of Roanoke taught about Jesus preaching by the seashore. He thought about his visions of the Cluster.

  On an impulse, Clyde wandered up to a group of rough looking people gathered by a cooking fire with fish skewered on pointed sticks. They huddled away from him, scared of just about any stranger. They protected their fish, which was probably more food than any of them had in days, maybe even weeks.

  "Don't be afraid,” said Clyde gently. “I'm here to bring you good news, glorious news..."

  * * * *

  That night, Clyde McClintlock delighted in the joy he brought to the people at the beach. He brought them news that there was nothing to fear from the Cluster. In fact, he taught them that the Cluster only had good news for the people of the Earth. He read passages from the book of Ezekiel showing them that the Cluster had, in fact, visited Earth in ancient times. Reverend Burroughs might not have seen any similarity between the Cluster and Ezekiel's vision, but these people saw it clearly. Because the people on the beach had not heard the news of how the clusters easily destroyed space vessels, it was easy to tell only the good side. Clyde told them of the visions and how the Cluster had placed him on the path of righteousness. Speaking dramatically, like Reverend Burroughs, he told them the Cluster would set them free.

  It all started simply, like that. Clyde made his way up Cape Cod, preaching the good news that the Cluster had come to help humanity. Some who knew of people who had died in the war, turned a deaf ear. Most of the people, haunted and tortured looks in their eyes, listened. After a week, Clyde found he did not need to worry about shelter. The people of the beach took him in and chipped in money, paying his taxes. People loved Reverend Clyde, as he came to be known, because he told them that there was one being that held the answers to a planet in trouble. Better than other preachers and soothsayers, he could show the people holograms of their awesome savior. He told them he had actually talked to it and it had helped him.

  Again, sitting on the beach one night, Clyde looked around at the people roasting fish over open fires. “The kingdom of heaven is like a net that was let down into the lake and caught all kinds of fish,” said Clyde, recalling the parable spoken by Jesus three thousand years before. “When it was full, the fishermen pulled it up on the shore. Then they sat down and collected the good fish in baskets,
but threw the bad away."

  "Baskets of fish?” scoffed a man with greasy hair and a livid scar on his forehead. “It's hard to catch even one fish in these waters. Even when you do catch one, it's hardly fit to eat."

  "Maybe so,” said Clyde patiently. “But this parable demonstrates how it will be at the end of this age we're living in. The Cluster will come and separate the wicked from the righteous by destroying the wicked with its beam. Those who are wicked are the ones who are terrified.” Clyde put his hands together. “You, the meek, who have inherited this poor Earth, are the ones who will survive. Do you understand?"

  Mouths hanging open, the men and women gathered around the fire nodded. For the first time in over two centuries, the people of Cape Cod, and ultimately the city dwellers in Boston began to feel empowered. They began to feel that there might be some hope of Earth becoming a nice place to live again.

  Reverend Clyde McClintlock never asked for money as he went around preaching the good news of the Cluster, but the money found him. He tried to give it to the bureau of taxation to get them off the backs of the poor. The bureau simply credited Clyde's personal account. Clyde would have used the money to build apartment buildings, but there simply wasn't enough land. Besides that, the taxes on those kinds of properties would have taken all the money Clyde had collected.

  Clyde decided to use the money he acquired to build a meeting hall. He decided it would be a place where the people could gather to hear his words. As far as he was concerned, people could sleep there as well. The hall he built, six months after returning to Earth proved to be one of the largest structures on Cape Cod. He built the structure up in old Province Town, at the very tip of the cape. Even given the building's size, it still overflowed with people, all of them willing to give all they had to the first man who had ever given them hope for the future.

  At the front of the enormous building, Clyde stood behind a giant rostrum. He wore a beautiful white suit. “The way of the Cluster is peace,” he said. “The Cluster is here to help the poor and the downtrodden to victory.” Clyde would close his eyes and look down at the pulpit, his voice becoming nothing more than a whisper. “Let me tell you how the Cluster helped me see the light. Let me tell you how the Cluster freed the slaves of Sufiro."

  * * * *

  During his six months on Earth, Clyde had not forgotten John Mark Ellis. With his church booming, he wanted more than ever to contact the only other man who had experienced a vision from his savior. This time, he was able to purchase a first class hover ticket to Nantucket. By memory, he wound his way through the streets of the ancient village. Once again, he stood on the front porch of Ellis’ home. Like last time, McClintlock wondered at the size of the house. This time, though, McClintlock wondered how many of his disciples could live in a house this size. Clyde McClintlock knocked with conviction.

  A grizzled old man opened the door. The man wore a white turtleneck shirt and blue pants. White hair stood out at all sides from under a green stocking cap. The old man cocked his head at McClintlock and looked him over as though he were something found on the bottom of a shoe. “This ain't a tourist house,” croaked the old man. “Private residence, go away."

  As the wry old man started to close the door Clyde called out. “Wait! I'm looking for John Mark Ellis."

  "We don't want no salesmen neither,” grumbled the old man, again eyeing McClintlock in his nicely pressed and tailored suit.

  "I'm not a salesman,” said Clyde with a warm smile. “I met Commander Ellis on Sufiro."

  "You're a friend?” The old man scratched his beard.

  "I don't know if I am or not.” Clyde opened his arms. “I'm Clyde McClintlock."

  The old man's scowl grew deep. At first, Clyde thought he was going to send him away. Finally, the old man shook his head. “I can't say as I know who you are, but I can tell you that Mark has gone."

  "I can get a room at a motel, wait for him,” offered Clyde, folding his hands in front of him.

  "I'm afraid you'd have to wait for quite a while,” wheezed the man. “He's gone off planet."

  "Do you know where?” Clyde's brow furrowed.

  "I think he's gone to Rd'dyggia, to see some mystic or something. God knows what he hopes to find in that hell hole.” The old man's patience had apparently run out, he finally turned back inside, closing the door behind him, muttering something about nosey off-islanders.

  Clyde McClintlock's shoulders sank. He realized that he had waited too long to come find Ellis. No, it was not too late. Using the resources of the church, he could follow. Clyde McClintlock smiled to himself. How hard could it be to find a human on Rd'dyggia?

  Part II

  The Search Within

  This is the vision that Ezekiel saw:

  There came the likeness of a chariot with wheel inside wheel and the wheels did not turn as they approached. When the being rose, the wheels rose like a bird with two wings. And the faces of the wheels were connected one to the other. There were four faces, the face of a man, the face of a lion, the face of an ox and the face of an eagle. The face of man was joined at the backs of the beasts and the beasts were attached one to another. And wheel joined to wheel when they moved. And their appearance and their working were as if it were a wheel in the middle of a wheel. As for the likeness of the living creatures, their appearance was like burning coals of fire and like the appearance of lamps. Now there was over their heads an expanse, like an awesome gleam of crystal and a voice came from above the expanse.

  —The Revised Dead Sea Version of the Bible

  The Book of Ezekiel

  (published 2766)

  RD'DYGGIA

  Wan, reddish light found its way to the surface of Titan. The outline of Saturn, turned rusty-orange by the shimmering light, could just be seen through the thin methane fog. Teklar looked out across a black lake of hydrocarbons. She brought any human who questioned that an advanced race could evolve on Titan to this place. The matron would simply wave her hand out across the lake and murmur the word, “home.” That simple gesture from the gray-coated creature hushed all cynicism.

  Now, she looked across the lake, feeling a much heavier burden than skeptical humans. The Titans, as members of the Confederation of Homeworlds, were sworn to help in the war against the Cluster. However, among themselves, the Titans had sworn never to interfere with the natural development of any less-developed species in the galaxy.

  She had told the ambassadors from the homeworlds of the Confederation that Titan ships had been attacked and examined like ships from the other worlds. As such, the Titans were ardently working on a defense against the enigmatic enemy. The truth was that those Titan ships that had been attacked had destroyed themselves to avoid the scrutiny of the Cluster. Not only that, the Titans were not working on a defense. Instead, the attitude of her people was that they should lie low and the other worlds would have to find their own defense. Teklar wondered how long she could conceal the truth from her fellow ambassadors.

  Teklar's lieutenant ambled out of the fog. “Ellis has booked passage for Rd'dyggia."

  "Good,” said Teklar somberly. “There he will find the help he requires."

  * * * *

  John Mark Ellis sat in the nearly empty passenger cabin of a vast transport making its way through the Rd'dyggian-Tzrn stellar system. The seat he occupied stood in a row of three other beige seats. Rounded tan plastic walls enclosed two such rows. It had taken nearly six months to consolidate his finances and help his old friend, Coffin, move into the family home. Suki Firebrandt agreed with her son's plans. If the house remained empty, the village of Nantucket would sell it. Suki needed to return to her job, but she hated to leave Sufiro and Manuel Raton. Ellis’ affairs on Earth settled, he was finally on his way to see the philosopher G'Liat.

  Only two other people were present in the cabin. One sat near the front, wearing portable EQ communications gear strapped to his head. The man's mind floated in the computer on his lap. He busily conducted transac
tions of some form or another on the planet ahead and back on Earth. The businessman wore a severely tailored coal-gray suit and stared blankly at the wall ahead. The other person was a jump attendant whose attention was absorbed by a tiny hologram concealed behind a black shield. Probably some kind of exotic dancer, Ellis cynically speculated. She wore a maroon and black jumpsuit designed to accentuate what few feminine curves she had.

  Mark Ellis, unlike the other passengers, had dressed for the surface of Rd'dyggia, wearing woolen trousers and a heavy cotton shirt that had been in the attic of the house on Nantucket. The clothes smelled a bit musty and looked ancient, but would be useful in the chill temperatures one could expect to find on the planet ahead. On the seat next to him lay a navy-blue woolen overcoat. The clothes weighed Ellis down and made him itch. The air in the cabin was stale and warm. Consequently, Ellis found himself tugging at his collar and squirming, adjusting his trousers and scratching his legs.

  Finally, he gave up and stretched. Doing so, he stood too quickly. The liner had been built principally to haul freight between Gaea-Titan and Rd'dyggia-Tzrn. Expensive graviton generators were a luxury. Instead, rotating the cabin around a central axis simulated gravity. As Ellis stood, he felt a sudden wave of vertigo. His head was lighter than his feet. Not only that, the ship's forward momentum placed the field slightly behind him, putting his center of gravity more in his buttocks than his middle body. He reached forward and stabilized himself on the seat in front. “A ten year space veteran, and I can't even stand on a star vessel,” muttered the ex-commander.

  In fact, Ellis was thankful that the ship required gravity for its cargo. Like many space veterans, Ellis despised weightlessness. He imagined the condition was analogous to eighteenth and nineteenth century sailors who hated swimming. As he stood, he realized he needed to go to the restroom.