Man of Two Worlds

by Raymond F. Jones

  “Let’s go to it,” he said in a voice filled with subdued tension.

  William Douglas led him to the building where the hopelessly inept Illegitimates worked trying to rediscover and retain some of the technical heritage that had been lost to them. They had failed. For three generations they had failed, because it was not in them to understand more than the simplest of mechanisms. But they plodded their barren pathway relentlessly.

  Their clumsiness was incredible to Ketan, but he tried to understand their handicaps and admire what they had done.

  They had learned to smelt iron and forge crude tools: hammers* shovels, and other digging tools, but machine tools were utterly beyond them. Even the simplest screw mechanism such as nut and bott combinations was beyond their capacity to duplicate.

  Thus the machines of the Statists which sometimes crashed were like pieces of wizardry to the Illegitimates who examined them after killing the occupants.

  They arrived at the pile. There were bent and twisted frames, metal sheeting, complex pieces of driving machinery, all tumbled hopelessly in a pile.

  Ketan’s heart sank. There was nothing here. Nothing that would ever move by self-propulsion again. There was not enough whole parts to enable him to discover just how the Statists had made the machines travel through the air.

  “It’s no good,” he said to William Douglas. “There’s nothing here that we could possibly use.” He turned away. “Horseback is the only way.”

  “She’ll be weeks ahead of us, and the Statists will already be carrying out their attack if she fails. There must be a way out!”

  They left the piled wreckage and went back to the main road between the huts. The sun was high in the shining sky and the villagers were timidly beginning to come and stare at Ketan. He looked upon them in sudden pity for their ignorance, for the terror and the futility of their lives.

  Then he heard himself saying to William Douglas as if words were being put into his mind, “There is a way. Think! Where are there such machines as we need? Far better perhaps than the Statists have/’

  William Douglas stared at him a moment, then comprehension came. “The pinnacle!”

  The trail had lengthened by a thousand times since they first had traversed it. Retracing the pathway beneath the green arch of the forest was a venture into eternity. Yet they came out onto the hillside overlooking the bleak desert at the end of the first day as they had the first time.

  There were only the two of them with their mounts and their pack horses. They slept only a short time and started again in the darkness of night to cross the still-warm desert. It was only midday when they had reached the gap that led to the Valley of the Winds.

  “We were foolish to hurry so much,” William Douglas observed. “We can’t start through there until morning anyway. Now we have to wait a whole half day.”

  “Why ?”

  “You mean—?” William Douglas looked to the far end where the blank gray curtain of drifting sands hung like a veil over the end of the canyon. He turned back to Ketan. “I’m willing if you are.”

  They ate a short meal and then turned the horses towards the curtain of the winds. They made sure that the pack animals were securely tied. Then they wrapped their own faces in moistened cloths and plunged into it.

  It seemed to Ketan like something he had done once before, a thousand years ago, so long did it seem since they had been there. But as they advanced, time melted for him once more and ceased to exist. It was as if all the visions and their journey there and back previously and now this trip were locked in a single eternity of drifting, stinging needles of sand. He had always been doing this. He would do it forever more.

  Like some sudden miracle, the blank towering wall of the pinnacle loomed before them at last. But the sun was nearly gone. Its feeble light that trickled through the sand cloud cast no shadow. It left only an eerie grayness that hung like a shroud over the Earth.

  “Hurry,” said Ketan. “Let’s get the opening uncovered again before dark.”

  The digging went more swiftly this time because they knew their objective. By the time the dimmest of the fading beams of daylight were gone, they had the recess open again and the faint golden glow of the tiny image suffused into the night.

  “Careful,” warned William Douglas.

  Ketan held himself ready, but the sudden sinking of the sand beneath him was still a shock as he lifted the statue from its base. The stone plug withdrew and tumbled him into the rough rock antechamber.

  Richard Simons and his daughter were standing there as if they had not moved since the visitors had left days before.

  “You are back.” said Dorien, her eyes flashing in recognition. Ketan found it hard to comprehend that she was merely an image of light and shadow.

  “We want the most advanced airship that you have,” said Ketan. “We want your permission to use it and you will have to give us instructions in its operation.”

  “Of course,” said Richard Simons. “Come with us. You want to go to Igon. The ship is the best way to get there.”

  William Douglas shook his head in bewilderment. He couldn’t comprehend how the figures could make conversational response. And now he was wondering why Richard Simons hadn’t suggested they take a ship to Danfer when they were there the first time.

  The pair of images led them through the strange garden way where eternal flowers nodded before the breath of never ending breezes, and clouds made their ever new patterns in the sky.

  They led up the trail that wound through the woods and into the hills and into the shining marble hall. They wound up endless stairways and escalators that broke into motion with their approach.

  The utter timelessness of the place laid a wrap about Ketan and infiltrated into his being until lie felt as eternal as the gods, these ethereal, intangible gods who led them up through the channels of the pinnacle. He renewed his spirit in the eternities about him, and swore a solemn oath to all those who had gone before him that he would honor their dreams with reality.

  The four of them came suddenly out into an enormous chamber which Ketan did not recall seeing before.

  As if in answer to his unspoken question, Richard Simons said, “You did not stay to see it all. This is something that represents the most advanced technique of the ages before darkness came.”

  He held a hand extended towards a gleaming, pointed cylinder that stood on its blunt end with the tapering nose extending into the shadowy depths of the roof. Narrow plates like fins extended in pairs along a portion of the length 011 either side, giving it a stabilized, directive appearance.

  Its smooth, featureless exterior meant nothing to Ketan. “Will it take me to Danfer?” he asked.

  The image of Richard Simons smiled. “It could take you to the moon—if you wanted to go there. A little rebuilding of the interior to accommodate supplies would be required. It will take you anywhere on Earth as it .stands. It is fueled and loaded with adequate supplies. Come, let’s go in.”

  The sight was awe inspiring to William Douglas. Though he had lived with the Statists, seen the machines they built and flew, lie had never imagined a thing of shining beauty like this. It was a perfectly created body of steel and copper and aluminum, awaiting only a spark to bring it alive. He touched his hand to the side as they approached it.

  Richard Simons opened a small door in the base as they came up to the ship. It led immediately to a stairway. They climbed endlessly to the height of a narrow tube that occasionally had tempting passageways branching off to unknown sectors of the ship, but the two guides continued upward.

  At last, they opened upon a small room that Ketan knew must be located in the nose. It was a transparent walled room. Located in the exact center were twin chairs ;and a panel of meaningless dials fixed to each other and mounted on gimbals. A short stepway led up to the seats.

  “These are the controls,” said Richard Simons. “I will show you how to operate them. You might be interested in knowing that in the final
battles of the last war this ship was known as a fighter. It required a crew of twenty men to man it, and fight it; modified it makes an excellent two-man transport.”

  Ketan and William Douglas mounted the steps and sat in the seats that did not sway despite the seemingly fragile mounting. Richard Simons stood on the ladder. His finger touched a button on the panel. Nothing appeared to happen.

  “That circuit is connected to the external power units in the pinnacle,” he said. “I just burned away the protective coating that was placed over all parts subject to corrosion when the ship was first deposited here. Now that the coating is gone, scaled lubricants are bring automatically fed to all moving parts. In a moment it will be ready.”

  They waited in silence and after a moment Richard Simons pressed another button and then a second. With the first, a low hum of undetermined origin seemed to pervade the atmosphere. With the second, a portion of the roof over them slid aside and w’ind-borne sand poured in upon them, pecking at the transparent nose of the ship.

  The scientist pointed out to Ketan the simple, semiautomatic controls and explained their operation. “You may go any time,” he said. “Do not fail.”

  lie turned and went down to Dorien who had waited below. Ketan and William Douglas watched them go down the narrow companionway ; then in a moment the faint clang of the door came to them.

  Ketan advanced a control and the ship rose slowly through the hole in the flat mesa top of the pinnacle and soared through the night.

  A feeling of awe came over him as they rose above the blanket of sand and air that hid the Earth below and glimpsed the stars above. How easy it would be to just keep going, Ketan thought. The ship would simply rise forever if he let it. He wondered why they had never built such a ship in Kronweld.

  But he had little time for such wonder. William Douglas beside him was gasping, “Not so fast! We’ve got to check on our navigating, too.”

  Only then did Ketan realize that he didn’t have the slightest idea of where they were going. At the same time his finger had unconsciously advanced the power control until they were hurtling through the atmosphere at terrifying speed, a flight as aimless as his plunge down that long corridor from Kronweld.

  “How can we find it?” asked Ketan. “Can you tell?” The magnitude of the problem of navigation bewildered him. In Kronweld it would be possible to see any point of arrival within reason, but in the vast expanse of Earth’s surface—

  “I don’t know. Let me see what direction we’ve been headed.”

  Ketan was baffled when William Douglas indicated the compass and explained its operation. In the narrow confines of Kronweld, no such science as navigation or instruments therefor had ever arisen. But its logic was clear and shortly he had leaped ahead of the Illegitimate’s crude explanation.

  “Can you give me the heading of Danfer with respect to the pinnacle ?”

  “Yes. It’s forty-seven degrees and a distance of four hundred miles. Check your time and velocity and present heading.”

  Ketan made the necessary calculations mentally and adjusted the controls to the new heading. Silently, the slim projectile speared the night air.

  Ketan stared absently at the stars overhead, his thoughts on Elta. “I wonder how she is,” he said. “What about the burns?”

  “They could give trouble, but I imagine she knows enough to take care of them. The Statists have developed a fairly good art of medicine.”

  After a time the Illegitimate checked their flight and leaned forward. “We’re almost there. Look for a mass of lights— I wonder if that is it way over there on the horizon.”

  They turned the ship to investigate.

  “That’s it!” William Douglas exclaimed. “Those lights in the center. They mark the great dome of the citadel of the Director. Within it is the giant Selector.”

  “I don’t think it would be anything but foolish to attempt to take the ship into the city,” said Ketan, “or for you to appear there. Let’s land somewhere outside and I’ll go in alone. If I’m not back in, say, twenty days it will mean that I have failed. It will mean that you must wait for Igon, if he still lives, or try to contact the group he organized.”

  “No. I’m going with you.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that every entrant into the city must have his brand registered at once? What would they do to you with your artificial brand, which they know already? I’m protected. Mine is natural. I want you to draw me a map of the city. Give me the names of principal locations and acquaint me so that I may pass examination.”

  “Perhaps—” William Douglas agreed reluctantly. And in his eyes Ketan read the unspoken thoughts. Thoughts that went back to that dim cave by the sandy beached mountain stream, where a smoking pot of grease lit the space in which a woman and a child died. Deaths for which the Statists were directly responsible. And this was the city of the Statists.

  He knew that William Douglas would be utterly useless with the overpowering emotion of that black night crying out for vengeance upon the Statists.

  The innate skill in Ketan’s slim fingers guided the ship in a hovering, silent arc towards the city. The lights of Danfer were dim, scattered sparks that hung as if suspended in the midst of some vast abyss.

  “There is a forested region to the left,” said William Douglas. ‘Tt is flat, but heavily wooded. I think you will find a safe hiding place there if you can get down into it.” Ketan nodded. “We can try.” He turned the nose of the ship downward towards the indicated sector. Powerful lights were buried in the belly of the ship, but Ketan dared not use them until he was very low. He turned them on for a brief glimpse ahead and jerked the nose sharply upward. His fingers trembled at the sudden sight of towering green spires blocking the pathway through the night.

  “That was close,” William Douglas said softly. “Better leave the lights on. I don’t think there’s much danger this far out at this time of night.”

  Cautiously, Ketan turned the beams ahead again in time to see a tiny clearing. He tipped the nose into the air and let the ship drift forward on its momentum, then he blocked the motion and settled the ship gently on its stern.

  The men slipped out of the seats and went through the length of the ship and out into the cool night air. It was cold to Ketan, and he trembled violently with its impact.

  “We’ll have to wait until morning,” he decided. “There’s no chance of finding my way out of here tonight.”

  “Perhaps I should go with you—”

  “Someone ought to stay with the ship.”

  They went back inside and found compartments made up with beds ready as if they were long expected guests. They fell upon them and slept soundly until the glinting sun’s rays poured through narrow ports upon them.

  After a breakfast of synthetics, they went out into the air that was slowly warming under the sun’s rays.

  “There is an ancient, abandoned highway not far from here,” said William Douglas. “I’ll go that far with you and it will lead you on into the city.”

  Ketan assented and as they walked, William Douglas continued his instructions. “This road will take you in past the airfield. It’s about a full day’s walk from here to the citadel. Talk t-o as few people as possible. You will be stopped at the airfield and your brand examined. Say that you have come from the East as your accent will mark you. You will be required to answer no other questions, so don’t be afraid of approaching them. Be sure of yourself and they will not be suspicious.

  “When you get to the Selector, you may have a long wait. Get close to the front. You will not be barred. As soon as you see an infant appear on the altar surrounded by electrodes, climb the steps and leap into the flames beside it. You will be through.”

  He paused at the top of a low rise, then pointed to a distant break in the green of the forest. A broken white strip lay across it.

  “That’s the highway. Hundreds of years ago they say these roads went clear across the continent and thousands of automobiles, as they c
alled them, were driven on the roads. None of the roads are used now.”

  At the edge of the strip, Ketan paused. He hoisted the pack containing the books from the pinnacle and the food from the ship to his back and touched William Douglas’ hand. “Twenty days,” he said. “Go back if I’m not here by then.”

  When he looked back to carefully mark the spot for turning off the highway into the forest, the Illegitimate had disappeared.

  Ketan began walking swiftly, subconsciously trying to find a rhythmic beat in the irregular music of the wind through the trees. There was magic in these forests of Earth, and he gave himself up wholly to it now. He gave no thought to the tremendous and difficult task ahead of him. He only listened to the wind and walked and dreamed of the past that was his heritage and the future that he would make of it.

  The highway was not worthy of the name. No vehicle could have traversed it. Huge chunks of irregular stone material jutted up at crazy angles. He noticed that one side was smooth and wondered if the material had been poured molten as were the formed roads of Kronweld. Trees, small and large, had broken through the material and torn and twisted it aside like slow, careless giants, heedless of the transitory civilization that had formed the once mighty roadway.

  The whole Earth was like a Place of Dying. It was not individuals but a nation, a race, a civilization that was dying. Yet before it even ceased its death struggles a new and worthy civilization would be present to replace it, a civilization that was an offshoot of the old, yet purified of all the sickness and foulness that was within the old.

  And somehow, it had come to be his fate to have the rebirth rest upon the success of his endeavor, lie could not bear to think long upon that. He brought his mind back from it, and became just Ketan, Seeker of Kronweld, bent upon a certain and interesting quest.