“Men…” he welcomed them into the Brotherhood, spoke briefly on their scholastic records, then went on, “What I have to tell you now will be received sadly by you. You will wonder why you have been required to attain to the lengths you have, why you have learned to control the vast powers of your minds…when it is possible that none of you will ever be permitted to use those powers.”
He paused to let his words sink in. Kor heard the sound of the words, but their import did not strike him at once. When it did, he felt himself tighten inside. He cast a startled glance at his fellow Men.
“You are about to be given the Oath of Manhood,” Tor Shan continued evenly. “You are expected to obey its conditions. There are sound reasons behind the Oath—it will be easy to see why it is necessary, but not so easy to see how you can live up to it. But live up to it you must, if the Brotherhood of Men is to survive and reach its ultimate goal—the liberation of the Universe. Stand up, now, and repeat the Oath after me.”
The five men stood up mechanically, held clasped hands aloft, and repeated the phrases of the ritual Oath after Tor Shan.
“I do solemnly vow…never in vanity or in pride … to demonstrate my powers … to any living thing…nor to use my powers against any of the People…except that my life be in danger…nor against any of the Trisz. This I most solemnly swear that I will face death before the Trisz and will let my life be lost rather than disclose the secret powers of the Men to them. I sanctify myself here and now in the service of God and Rth—in the race of People and Men. I accept my responsibilities in the world as a minister of spiritual comfort…and promise to discharge my duties as befits a Man …to hold the Chapel sacred and inviolate and the Chapel of my body I shall keep chaste and pure…for the space of one year from this graduation…”
There was more—much more. Kor intoned the words dismally, feeling that he had been cheated, if not robbed. Why those nineteen years, just to become a high priest of the mythical Lord Sun? Better if he should at least be allowed to preach the truth instead of that antiquated clap-trap. But there was a reason. There had to be. The Men could not preach truth to the People without revealing their own true nature to the Trisz. That was why they deliberately clung to the miserable ritual, why the Blue Brotherhood were trained to expound it learnedly, in full belief of its truth. The religion was the only contact the Men had with all the People, for religion was the only universal contact permitted by the Trisz.
Tor Shan explained these things after the formula had been recited. The Oath was given to prevent deviation from a strict line of conduct by the Men. Any other conduct would jeopardize, if not defeat, the purpose of the Brotherhood.
A foolish demonstration of their powers would awaken the Trisz to the danger that confronted them. They would be sure to retaliate with an endeavor to wipe out the Men. And it could be done, as Tor Shan assured them.
Their role as protectors of the People was enhanced by the prohibition contained in the Oath, for the People of Rth were unorganized—divided into hundreds of restless tribes that warred among themselves. A Man who permitted himself to be swayed by regional jealousies to the point of taking part in these internecine struggles, could succeed only in revealing the nature and purpose of the Brotherhood to the Trisz, who not only condoned these wars among their subjects, but actually encouraged them.
It all revolved around the same theme—the specialized powers of the Men must not be revealed to the Trisz.
“The Trisz are a totally alien life form,” Tor Shan explained. “No one knows how many Trisz there are, or if the Trisz might be only one. We know the Trisz is a self-contained energy-form, which does not explain them at all. We do know this, though, that even if there are many Trisz, it is as if there were only one. It is believed that somewhere in the universe there is a planet inhabited by the parent body, to which all Trisz are anchored by hyperspatial filaments of mind. Therefore, what one Trisz may observe is instantly known to all Trisz everywhere throughout the Universe, a local Trisz being merely an extension of the parent body.
“You see, then, how impossible it would be to destroy the Trisz one at a time. In order to do so, we must find the Trisz’ home planet and destroy it entirely with the parent body. Until we do find that planet, we must take extreme care.”
Slowly, Kor’s understanding grasped a mental picture of a vast world whirling through space in some remote island universe…a distant and unknown galaxy. This world was the home of the Trisz. Or perhaps there was no world at all—just an invisible cloud of Trisz-energy hovering somewhere in the eternal darkness of space.
Men secretly combed the reaches of space for that home of the Trisz, Tor Shan told them, and hinted at further secret activities of the Men, but firmly closed his lips upon all details.
He abruptly changed the subject and spoke glowingly of Kor’s accomplishment, his drawing the Fire Out of Heaven. But his voice was sad as he confessed that the ability was Kor’s alone because, to his knowledge, only Kor had the unique type of separable mind that seemed to be required. At least, the experience had pointed the way to further study. It might take centuries to adapt Men to the separable kind of intelligence which Kor resorted to instinctively.
Tor Shan brightened suddenly and spoke fondly to them. “Someday, however, Men shall prevail over the Trisz. Perhaps you very Men. Therefore, I bid you farewell with love and with hope for the future. In the morning each will receive his assignment and will be dispatched to duty in the world of the People and the Trisz. Return now to your quarters.”
* * * *
It was not so much that Kor resented his assignment to No-ka-si, the human settlement adjacent to the Trisz stronghold of Ka-si. He had at least hoped for preferential treatment because of his handiness with the Fire Out of Heaven. After all, did he not know about the Searchers who combed space for the of the Trisz? His own father had been one of them, had given his life in the search for that needle in the galactic haystack. His grandfather, father of his father, had destroyed himself in a sea of seething flames while experimenting with drawing the Fire Out of Heaven.
If any Man deserved an honorable post of hair-raising adventure, Kor thought, surely he was that Man. Tor Shan sympathized with his views.
“There is an ancient saying,” he observed with deep calm, “to the effect that he also serves who only stands and waits. Be patient, my son. The life of a Man is long. I myself have lived more than ten generations of the People. No excuse has yet been found for not living to the end of Time—except accident. The Men are somehow…prone to accident.”
He tugged at his chin thoughtfully.
“You know our methods of extrapolation. Have you extrapolated your own future yet?”
“I hadn’t thought of it,” Kor confessed. “The practice always seemed a little confusing to me, and of little value. We used to play at it, as Initiates, but one day was much like the next and we soon tired of it.”
“Let me tell you something,” Tor Shan said seriously. “It is a faculty you would do well to cultivate. We must strive constantly to be the equal of the Trisz, if not their better. Many of the things which you have been taught would be considered heavy miracles by the People, but familiar mind-mechanics to the Trisz. In many things we barely match their ability. In others—you especially in regard to the Fire—we outmatch them. In still others, they are our masters. Extrapolation, for instance.”
“The Trisz extrapolate?”
“They have machines which extrapolate for them. That is why you are being sent to No-ka-si.” He paused, peered keenly at the younger Man. Kor stirred with quickened interest.
“You have learned something of the social order of the People and the Trisz,” the old Master went on. “You have been shown how the Trisz rule through internal disruption of human civilization. The culture of the People of today is at a lower level than ever during the tenure of the Tri
sz. The People are divided into small, regional units, communications stifled, rivalries bred, education impeded. When such a situation obtains, a civilization tends to retrogress instead of advance. Human civilization on this planet has been swiftly moving backward. When I was a boy, steam locomotives still were in use on this continent. Today the horse and wagon have replaced it in the long-distance transportation of freight and passengers.
“As a Man, you are familiar with the brilliant technology of the Men. This technology rivals that of the Trisz; we know, because we are familiar with the ways of the Trisz. Our technology has been an aid in your training. It has helped you to develop the double mind of a Man, equipped to rationalize in third-order methods of reasoning. It has done more, in your case, by developing the separable quality of your mind. Also, our technology has made your training possible by effectively canceling out the inquisitive spy-rays of the Trisz, which are always focused on the Institutes throughout the world. It would not have been enough merely to shield ourselves from the spy-rays; we cannot even let the Trisz know that we know how to shield ourselves from his rays. We impress upon his spy-beams, therefore, recorded scenes of the kind we want the Trisz to view…giving an entirely false picture of the Institute.
“To the Trisz, therefore—and it goes without saying, to the Triszmen as well—we are only a religious sect of praying monks. Yet, our position is not one of complete trust.” He laughed shortly. “Suspicion is the prime virtue of the tyrant. The Trisz rule upon thousands—if not millions of worlds where they are considerably less than welcome. They maintain their position solely through nourishing the kind of suspicion that calls for eternal watchfulness.
“The Trisz possess a high order of intelligence. They are a race unto themselves, completely alien. And we are as alien to them as they are to us. It is a feat of reason to be able to outguess your own species, to outguess an alien is an extremely difficult mental exercise. To help themselves outguess us, the Trisz long ago developed a machine, a super-extension of our electronic cybernograph. One is installed in every principal Trisz city on Rth, and in every similar location in the Universe.
“It is called the Extrapolator. Its diet is a daily stream of sociological data that keeps its mechanical ‘mind’ stuffed with the latest concerns and affairs of each district. The brain of the machine sorts, classifies, and evaluates all such data and files it in its memory sectors. When questions concerning the future trend of events are put to the machine, it is enabled to draw remarkably shrewd conclusions that amount to an ability actually to foretell the future.”
“This machine must be important to me,” Kor observed, “or you would not tell me about it.”
Tor Shan smiled.
“The Ka-si Extrapolator has predicted you, Kor.”
“Sir!”
“We have our spies—we know almost everything we wish to know about the Trisz. Our spies lurk among the Triszmen—the physical hands and bodies of the Trisz—human beings who have sold themselves for hire to the conqueror. Unfortunately, most of these slaves—these Triszmen—love their chains. They offer allegiance to the Trisz and treason to their own for the privileges the Triszmen. It is chiefly these— You will need to be cautious in the world. You will have to learn to anticipate them in order to live long.”
Kor interrupted. “You said the Ka-si Extrapolator has predicted me!”
“So our spies have informed us.”
“How could the machine have predicted me?”
Tor Shan shrugged. “It is only obvious to us that it has, Kor. We can not know how great is the mass of material that has been fed for centuries to the Extrapolator. Its factual knowledge must be greater than the combined knowledge of all the brains in the Universe—with an added, tireless facility at sorting and classifying to enable it to draw from the mass at will to predict the future.
“Kor, you objected once to the confusing aspect of our method of extrapolation. The Extrapolator seems to have its own difficulties on this same score. It never makes a forthright statement that such-and-such is bound to occur at a given time. It couches its conclusions in symbolic, almost mystic terms, something like the oracles which tradition says spoke to the People in the hidden past.
“The Trisz present the problem of a local uprising to their machine as a persistent routine check. Many times the prediction given by the Extrapolator has resulted in smashing minor local defections of officials, has shown up petty embezzlements, chicaneries, or a troublesome feud. The machine has so far proved its value to the Trisz. They will hardly overlook its latest pronouncement.”
“That is—?”
“‘Beware, O Trisz, the Scarlet Saint, to Ka-si brings a dangerous taint,’” quoted Tor Shan. “I told you the utterance of the machine tends toward the mystic or symbolic. The Men are often called Scarlet Saints by the People. This local See has been recently vacated. A new Man is required in the position.
“We do not yet understand the full potentiality of your peculiar, separable mind. Our preliminary observation tends to suggest that you might be an extremely dangerous antagonist for the Trisz. Therefore, you must be the one to go to Ka-si.”
“The future is difficult to predict because it can be changed,” Kor observed sagely. “If you should send me to Nwok or Lim—what then?”
“Of course the future can be changed,” Tor Shan nodded agreement. “Prescience affords the opportunity to introduce aberrating factors into the trend of events. But there are three reasons, at least, why we don’t want to change this prediction, Kor. First, to send another Man than yourself would be to endanger his life uselessly. The Trisz are alerted by their Extrapolator, and they would destroy him. His Oath would leave him helpless to defend himself. Second, if another Man were sent, you may be sure the Trisz would investigate him thoroughly. If they should find that he was indeed no danger to them, they would suspect us of introducing an aberrant. You can see where that would lead. And third, Kor, we are very anxious to follow this probability to its end. We should like to see, if you will, just how dangerous you can be to the Trisz—and still live!”
Kor drew a deep breath. The picture was suddenly clear. Here was a greater opportunity to come to grips with the Trisz than he would find among the Searchers combing space for some alleged home-planet. That, too, might come in time, but here and now he had the opportunity to face, forewarned, a situation that could only lead to an intense personal struggle with the enemy. Kor was cheered and heartened.
CHAPTER IV
The carriage was a miserable conveyance. A potbellied diligence style, it had high iron-shod wheels that bumped and ground across the parched plains of ancient Kansas. The hoofs of the four-horse team thudded dispiritedly. The desiccated vehicle groaned a wretched protest in every joint and rivet. Over the perpetual jangle of harness, the driver from his box above shouted a periodic “Hoo-up!” and sharply cracked his whip.
The carriage was warted with bags, boxes and bales piled on the roof and lashed on behind. Dust covered everything.
Kor huddled inside, crowded among a half dozen other passengers who sat facing each other on hard board seats that ran athwart the carriage. Two of the passengers were Triszmen, accompanied by a woman. The other three were Outlanders, dressed in dull, brownish garb. The Triszmen wore the saffron cloaks of their station. Their garments were of fine texture, sadly the worse for wear.
Kor studied them thoughtfully, so far as he could without appearing curious. Both were men in their early thirties, the woman a few years younger, perhaps. The woman sat between them, looking at neither, seeming to interest herself in the never-changing wastescape visible through the narrow carriage windows.
Wind from an inferno spat through the openings, hurled stinging particles of sand with its furious breath. The heat was terrific. The male Triszmen had wrapped their heads in their yellow cloaks and sat hunched over, the tips of rapier-
scabbards brushing the floor between buskined heels. The woman sat quietly erect, swaying easily with the violent lurching of the coach.
No one talked. It was obvious to Kor that these Triszmen, who had got on at the last overnight stop, had other things on their mind than conversation. Two of the Outlanders shared the board seat with Kor, the other crouched on the weaving floor, clutching a dirty bundle of what appeared to be old rags.
His position was almost intolerable to Kor. He was not used to enduring such common physical hardship as this. Ordinarily, he could easily have made proper compensation for the heat and roughness of traveling—a minor adjustment of his mind would have taken care of it nicely—except that he dared not appear as a picture of cool comfort before his miserable companions. They rode unashamed of their sweat, grime, and aching muscles. To avoid seeming other than human, Kor had to sweat it out with them. He did so, grimly.
“Perhaps,” Kor finally suggested aloud, “we could make this trip more enjoyable. Has anybody got any ideas?”
The Outlanders eyed each other with embarrassment. The Triszmen remained wrapped in their cloaks. The woman scowled out the open window.
“We might sing a few songs,” Kor murmured hopefully.
The Outlander on the floor moved cramped legs, rolled over on his bundle of dirty rags.
“I ain’t much of a hand to sing, Reverend, but maybe some of these others…”
The Outlander at Kor’s left grinned.
“I can’t sing without my bottle of synth, and the way these land travel companies charge for baggage, I couldn’t afford to bring it along!”
The other Outlander maintained a somber silence, dwelling upon something remote within his own being.
The 7th Golden Age of Weird Fiction MEGAPACK®: Manly Banister Page 28
