But he kept his own counsel and went on with his meal. His uncle changed the subject. “I’ve occasion to visit the Witness. John Black claims I owe him three swine. Want to come along?”
“Why, no, I guess not—Wait—I believe I will.”
“Hurry up, then.”
They stopped at the cadets’ barracks, Hugh claiming an errand. The Witness lived in a small, smelly compartment directly across the Common from the barracks, where he would be readily accessible to any who had need of his talents. They found him sitting in his doorway, picking his teeth with a fingernail. His apprentice, a pimply-faced adolescent with an intent nearsighted expression, squatted behind him.
“Good eating,” said Hugh’s uncle.
“Good eating to you, Edard Hoyland. D’you come on business, or to keep an old man company?”
“Both,” Hugh’s uncle returned diplomatically, then explained his errand.
“So?” said the Witness. “Well—the contract’s clear enough:
“Black John delivered ten bushels of oats,
Expecting his pay in a pair of shoats;
Ed brought his sow to breed for pig;
John gets his pay when the pigs grow big.
“How big are the pigs now, Edard Hoyland?”
“Big enough,” acknowledged Hugh’s uncle, “but Black claims three instead of two.”
“Tell him to go soak his head. The Witness has spoken.” He laughed in a thin, high cackle.
The two gossiped for a few minutes, Edard Hoyland digging into his recent experiences to satisfy the old man’s insatiable liking for details. Hugh kept decently silent while the older men talked. But when his uncle turned to go he spoke up. “I’ll stay awhile, Uncle.”
“Eh? Suit yourself. Good eating, Witness.”
“Good eating, Edard Hoyland.”
“I’ve brought you a present, Witness,” said Hugh, when his uncle had passed out of hearing.
“Let me see it.”
Hugh produced a package of tobacco which he had picked up from his locker at the barracks. The Witness accepted it without acknowledgment, then tossed it to his apprentice, who took charge of it.
“Come inside,” invited the Witness, then directed his speech to his apprentice. “Here, you—fetch the cadet a chair.
“Now, lad,” he added as they sat themselves down, “tell me what you have been doing with yourself.”
Hugh told him, and was required to repeat in detail all the incidents of his more recent explorations, the Witness complaining the meanwhile over his inability to remember exactly everything he saw.
“You youngsters have no capacity,” he pronounced. “No capacity. Even that lout”—he jerked his head toward the apprentice—“he has none, though he’s a dozen times better than you. Would you believe it, he can’t soak up a thousand lines a day, yet he expects to sit in my seat when I am gone. Why, when I was apprenticed, I used to sing myself to sleep on a mere thousand lines. Leaky vessels—that’s what you are.”
Hugh did not dispute the charge, but waited for the old man to go on, which he did in his own time.
“You had a question to put to me, lad?”
“In a way, Witness.”
“Well—out with it. Don’t chew your tongue.”
“Did you ever climb all the way up to no-weight?”
“Me? Of course not. I was a Witness, learning my calling. I had the lines of all the Witnesses before me to learn, and no time for boyish amusements.”
“I had hoped you could tell me what I would find there.”
“Well, now, that’s another matter. I’ve never climbed, but I hold the memories of more climbers than you will ever see. I’m an old man. I knew your father’s father, and his grandsire before that. What is it you want to know?”
“Well—” What was it he wanted to know? How could he ask a question that was no more than a gnawing ache in his breast? Still—“What is it all for, Witness? Why are there all those levels above us?”
“Eh? How’s that? Jordan’s name, son—I’m a Witness, not a scientist.”
“Well—I thought you must know. I’m sorry.”
“But I do know. What you want is the lines from the Beginning.”
“I’ve heard them.”
“Hear them again. All your answers are in there, if you’ve the wisdom to see them. Attend me. No—this is a chance for my apprentice to show off his learning. Here, you! The Lines from the Beginning—and mind your rhythm.”
The apprentice wet his lips with his tongue and began:
“In the Beginning there was Jordan, thinking His lonely thoughts alone.
In the Beginning there was darkness, formless, dead, and Man unknown.
Out of the loneness came a longing, out of the longing came a vision,
Out of the dream there came a planning, out of the plan there came decision—
Jordan’s hand was lifted and the Ship was born!
Mile after mile of snug compartments, tank by tank for the golden corn,
Ladder and passage, door and locker, fit for the needs of the yet unborn.
He looked on His work and found it pleasing, meet for a race that was yet to be.
He thought of Man—Man came into being—checked his thought and searched for the key.
Man untamed would shame his Maker, Man unruled would spoil the Plan;
So Jordan made the Regulations, orders to each single man,
Each to a task and each to a station, serving a purpose beyond their ken,
Some to speak and some to listen—order came to the ranks of men.
Crew He created to work at their stations, scientists to guide the Plan.
Over them all He created the Captain, made him judge of the race of Man.
Thus it was in the Golden Age!
Jordan is perfect, all below him lack perfection in their deeds.
Envy, Greed, and Pride of Spirit sought for minds to lodge their seeds.
One there was who gave them lodging—accursed Huff, the first to sin!
His evil counsel stirred rebellion, planted doubt where it had not been;
Blood of martyrs stained the floor plates,
Jordan’s Captain made the Trip. Darkness swallowed up—”
The old man gave the boy the back of his hand, sharp across the mouth. “Try again!”
“From the beginning?”
“No! From where you missed.”
The boy hesitated, then caught his stride:
“Darkness swallowed ways of virtue, Sin prevailed throughout the Ship . . .”
The boy’s voice droned on, stanza after stanza, reciting at great length but with little sharpness of detail the old, old story of sin, rebellion, and the time of darkness. How wisdom prevailed at last and the bodies of the rebel leaders were fed to the Converter. How some of the rebels escaped making the Trip and lived to father the muties. How a new Captain was chosen, after prayer and sacrifice.
Hugh stirred uneasily, shuffling his feet. No doubt the answers to his questions were there, since these were the Sacred Lines, but he had not the wit to understand them. Why? What was it all about? Was there really nothing more to life than eating and sleeping and finally the long Trip? Didn’t Jordan intend for him to understand? Then why this ache in his breast? This hunger that persisted in spite of good eating?
While he was breaking his fast after sleep an orderly came to the door of his uncle’s compartments. “The scientist requires the presence of Hugh Hoyland,” he recited glibly.
Hugh knew that the scientist referred to was Lieutenant Nelson, in charge of the spiritual and physical welfare of the Ship’s sector which included Hugh’s native village. He bolted the last of his breakfast and hurried after the messenger.
“Cadet Hoyland!” he was announced. The scientist looked up from his own meal and said:
“Oh, yes. Come in, my boy. Sit down. Have you eaten?”
Hugh acknowledged that he had, but his eyes rested with interest on the fancy fruit i
n front of his superior. Nelson followed his glance. “Try some of these figs. They’re a new mutation—I had them brought all the way from the far side. Go ahead—a man your age always has somewhere to stow a few more bites.”
Hugh accepted with much self-consciousness. Never before had he eaten in the presence of a scientist. The elder leaned back in his chair, wiped his fingers on his shirt, arranged his beard, and started in.
“I haven’t seen you lately, son. Tell me what you have been doing with yourself.” Before Hugh could reply he went on: “No, don’t tell me—I will tell you. For one thing you have been exploring, climbing, without too much respect for the forbidden areas. Is it not so?” He held the young man’s eye. Hugh fumbled for a reply.
But he was let off again. “Never mind. I know, and you know that I know. I am not too displeased. But it has brought it forcibly to my attention that it is time that you decided what you are to do with your life. Have you any plans?”
“Well—no definite ones, sir.”
“How about that girl, Edris Baxter? D’you intend to marry her?”
“Why—uh—I don’t know, sir. I guess I want to, and her father is willing, I think. Only—”
“Only what?”
“Well—he wants me to apprentice to his farm. I suppose it’s a good idea. His farm together with my uncle’s business would make a good property.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“Well—I don’t know.”
“Correct. You’re not for that. I have other plans. Tell me, have you ever wondered why I taught you to read and write? Of course, you have. But you’ve kept your own counsel. That is good.
“Now attend me. I’ve watched you since you were a small child. You have more imagination than the common run, more curiosity, more go. And you are a born leader. You were different even as a baby. Your head was too large, for one thing, and there were some who voted at your birth inspection to put you at once into the Converter. But I held them off. I wanted to see how you would turn out.
“A peasant life is not for the likes of you. You are to be a scientist.”
The old man paused and studied his face. Hugh was confused, speechless. Nelson went on: “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. For a man of your temperament, there are only two things to do with him: Make him one of the custodians, or send him to the Converter.”
“Do you mean, sir, that I have nothing to say about it?”
“If you want to put it that bluntly—yes. To leave the bright ones among the ranks of the Crew is to breed heresy. We can’t have that. We had it once and it almost destroyed the human race. You have marked yourself out by your exceptional ability; you must now be instructed in right thinking, be initiated into the mysteries, in order that you may be a conserving force rather than a focus of infection and a source of trouble.”
The orderly reappeared loaded down with bundles which he dumped on the deck. Hugh glanced at them, then burst out, “Why, those are my things!”
“Certainly,” acknowledged Nelson. “I sent for them. You’re to sleep here henceforth. I’ll see you later and start you on your studies—unless you have something more on your mind?”
“Why, no, sir. I guess not. I must admit I am a little confused. I suppose—I suppose this means you don’t want me to marry?”
“Oh, that,” Nelson answered indifferently. “Take her if you like—her father can’t protest now. But let me warn you you’ll grow tired of her.”
Hugh Hoyland devoured the ancient books that his mentor permitted him to read, and felt no desire for many, many sleeps to go climbing, or even to stir out of Nelson’s cabin. More than once he felt that he was on the track of the secret—a secret as yet undefined, even as a question—but again he would find himself more confused than ever. It was evidently harder to reach the wisdom of scientisthood than he had thought.
Once, while he was worrying away at the curious twisted characters of the ancients and trying to puzzle out their odd rhetoric and unfamiliar terms, Nelson came into the little compartment that had been set aside for him, and, laying a fatherly hand on his shoulder, asked, “How goes it, boy?”
“Why, well enough, sir, I suppose,” he answered, laying the book aside. “Some of it is not quite clear to me—not clear at all, to tell the truth.”
“That is to be expected,” the old man said equably. “I’ve let you struggle along by yourself at first in order that you may see the traps that native wit alone will fall into. Many of these things are not to be underðstood without instruction. What have you there?” He picked up the book and glanced at it. It was inscribed Basic Modern Physics. “So? This is one of the most valuable of the sacred writings, yet the uninitiate could not possibly make good use of it without help. The first thing that you must understand, my boy, is that our forefathers, for all their spiritual perfection, did not look at things in the fashion in which we do.
“They were incurable romantics, rather than rationalists, as we are, and the truths which they handed down to us, though strictly true, were frequently clothed in allegorical language. For example, have you come to the Law of Gravitation?”
“I read about it.”
“Did you understand it? No, I can see that you didn’t.”
“Well,” said Hugh defensively, “it didn’t seem to mean anything. It just sounded silly, if you will pardon me, sir.”
“That illustrates my point. You were thinking of it in literal terms, like the laws governing electrical devices found elsewhere in this same book. ‘Two bodies attract each other directly as the product of their masses and inversely as the square of their distance.’ It sounds like a rule for simple physical facts, does it not? Yet it is nothing of the sort; it was the poetical way the old ones had of expressing the rule of propinquity which governs the emotion of love. The bodies referred to are human bodies, mass is their capacity for love. Young people have a greater capacity for love than the elderly; when they are thrown together, they fall in love, yet when they are separated they soon get over it. ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ It’s as simple as that. But you were seeking some deep meaning for it.”
Hugh grinned. “I never thought of looking at it that way. I can see that I am going to need a lot of help.”
“Is there anything else bothering you just now?”
“Well, yes, lots of things, though I probably can’t remember them offhand. I mind one thing: Tell me, Father, can muties be considered as being people?”
“I can see you have been listening to idle talk. The answer to that is both yes and no. It is true that the muties originally descended from people but they are no longer part of the Crew—they cannot now be considered as members of the human race, for they have flouted Jordan’s Law.
“This is a broad subject,” he went on, settling down to it. “There is even some question as to the original meaning of the word ‘mutie.’ Certainly they number among their ancestors the mutineers who escaped death at the time of the rebellion. But they also have in their blood the blood of many of the mutants who were born during the dark age. You understand, of course, that during that period our present wise rule of inspecting each infant for the mark of sin and returning to the Converter any who are found to be mutations was not in force. There are strange and horrible things crawling through the dark passageways and lurking in the deserted levels.”
Hugh thought about it for a while, then asked, “Why is it that mutations still show up among us, the people?”
“That is simple. The seed of sin is still in us. From time to time it still shows up, incarnate. In destroying those monsters we help to cleanse the stock and thereby bring closer the culmination of Jordan’s Plan, the end of the Trip at our heavenly home, Far Centaurus.”
Hoyland’s brow wrinkled again. “That is another thing that I don’t understand. Many of these ancient writings speak of the Trip as if it were an actual moving, a going-somewhere—as if the Ship itself were no more than a pushcart. How can that be?”
Nelson chuckled. �
��How can it, indeed? How can that move which is the background against which all else moves? The answer, of course, is plain. You have again mistaken allegorical language for the ordinary usage of everyday speech. Of course, the Ship is solid, immovable, in a physical sense. How can the whole universe move? Yet, it does move, in a spiritual sense. With every righteous act we move closer to the sublime destination of Jordan’s Plan.”
Hugh nodded. “I think I see.”
“Of course, it is conceivable that Jordan could have fashioned the world in some other shape than the Ship, had it suited His purpose. When man was younger and more poetical, holy men vied with one another in inventing fanciful worlds which Jordan might have created. One school invented an entire mythology of a topsy-turvy world of endless reaches of space, empty save for pinpoints of light and bodiless mythological monsters. They called it the heavenly world, or heaven, as if to contrast it with the solid reality of the Ship. They seemed never to tire of speculating about it, inventing details for it, and of making pictures of what they conceived it to be like. I suppose they did it to the greater glory of Jordan, and who is to say that He found their dreams unacceptable? But in this modern age we have more serious work to do.”
Hugh was not interested in astronomy. Even his untutored mind had been able to see in its wild extravagance an intention not literal. He turned to problems nearer at hand.
“Since the muties are the seed of sin, why do we make no effort to wipe them out? Would not that be an act that would speed the Plan?”
The old man considered a while before replying. “That is a fair question and deserves a straight answer. Since you are to be a scientist you will need to know the answer. Look at it this way: There is a definite limit to the number of Crew the Ship can support. If our numbers increase without limit, there comes a time when there will not be good eating for all of us. Is it not better that some should die in brushes with the muties than that we should grow in numbers until we killed each other for food?
“The ways of Jordan are inscrutable. Even the muties have a part in His Plan.”
Man Who Sold the Moon / Orphans of the Sky Page 30
