“Of course, I’m grossly simplifying; good men and women often transcended their beliefs, and it’s quite possible that religion was essential to early human societies. Without supernatural sanctions to restrain them, men might never have cooperated in anything larger than tribal units. Not until it became corrupted by power and privilege did religion become an essentially antisocial force, the great good it had done being eclipsed by greater evils.
“You’ve never heard, I hope, of the Inquisition, of Witch Hunts, of Jihads. Would you believe that even well into the Space Age there were nations in which children could be officially executed because their parents adhered to a heretical subset of the state’s particular brand of Alpha? You look shocked, but these things – and worse – happened while our ancestors were beginning the exploration of the Solar System.
“Fortunately for mankind, Alpha faded out of the picture, more or less gracefully, in the early 2000s. It was killed by a fascinating development called statistical theology. How much time do I have left? Won’t Bobby be getting impatient?”
Mirissa glanced out of the big picture window. The palomino was happily munching at the grass around the base of the Mother Ship, and was clearly perfectly content.
“He won’t wander off- as long as there’s something to eat here. What was statistical theology?”
“It was the final assault on the problem of Evil. What brought it to a head was the rise of a very eccentric cult – they called themselves Neo-Manichees, don’t ask me to explain why – around 2050. Incidentally, it was the first orbital religion; although all the other faiths had used communications satellites to spread their doctrines, the NMs relied on them exclusively. They had no meeting place except the television screen.
“Despite this dependence on technology, their tradition was actually very old. They believed that Alpha existed, but was completely evil – and that mankind’s ultimate destiny was to confront and destroy it.
“In support of their faith, they marshalled an immense array of horrible facts from history and zoology. I think they must have been rather sick people, because they seemed to take a morbid delight in collecting such material.
“For example – a favourite proof of Alpha’s existence was what’s called the Argument from Design. We now know it’s utterly fallacious, but the NMs made it sound totally convincing and irrefutable.
“If you find a beautifully designed system – their favourite example was a digital watch – then there must be a planner, a creator, behind it. So just look at the world of Nature –
“And they did, with a vengeance. Their special field was parasitology – you don’t know how lucky you are on Thalassa, by the way! I won’t revolt you by describing the incredibly ingenious methods and adaptations that various creatures used to invade other organisms – humans especially – and to prey on them, often until they were destroyed. I’ll only mention one special pet of the NMs, the ichneumon fly.
“This delightful creature laid its eggs in other insects, after first paralyzing them so that when their larvae hatched out, they would have an ample supply of fresh – living – meat.
“The NMs could go on for hours along these lines, expounding the wonders of Nature as proof that Alpha was, if not supremely evil, then utterly indifferent to human standards of morality and goodness. Don’t worry – I can’t imitate them, and won’t.
“But I must mention another of their favourite proofs – the Argument from Catastrophe. A typical example, which could be multiplied countless times: Alpha worshippers gather to appeal for help in the face of disaster – and are all killed by the collapse of their refuge, whereas most of them would have been saved had they stayed at home.
“Again, the NMs collected volumes of such horrors – burning hospitals and old people’s homes, infant schools engulfed by earthquakes, volcanoes, or tidal waves destroying cities – the list is endless.
“Of course, rival Alpha worshippers didn’t take this lying down. They collected equal numbers of counterexamples – the wonderful things that had happened, time and again, to save devout believers from catastrophe.”
“In various forms, this debate had been going on for several thousand years. But by the twenty-first century, the new information technologies and methods of statistical analysis as well as a wider understanding of probability theory allowed it to be settled.
“It took a few decades for the answers to come in, and a few more before they were accepted by virtually all intelligent men: Bad things happened just as often as good; as had long been suspected, the universe simply obeyed the laws of mathematical probability. Certainly there was no sign of any supernatural intervention, either for good or for ill.
“So the problem of Evil never really existed. To expect the universe to be benevolent was like imagining one could always win at a game of pure chance.
“Some cultists tried to save the day by proclaiming the religion of Alpha the Utterly Indifferent and used the bell-shaped curve of normal distribution as the symbol of their faith. Needless to say, so abstract a deity didn’t inspire much devotion.
“And while we’re on the subject of mathematics, it gave Alpha another devastating blow in the twenty-first (or was it the twenty-second?) century. A brilliant Terran named Kurt Godel proved that there were certain absolutely fundamental limits to knowledge, and hence the idea of a completely Omniscient Being – one of the definitions of Alpha – was logically absurd. This discovery has come down to us in one of those unforgettable bad puns: ‘Godel Deleted God.’ Students used to write graffiti on walls with the letters G, O, and the Greek Delta; and of course there were versions that read: ‘God Deleted Godel’.
“But back to Alpha. By mid-millennium, it had more or less faded from human concerns. Virtually all thinking men had finally come to agree with the harsh verdict of the great philosopher Lucretius: all religions were fundamentally immoral, because the superstitions they peddled wrought more evil than good.
“Yet a few of the old faiths managed to survive, though in drastically altered forms, right up to the end of the Earth. The Latter Day Mormons and the Daughters of the Prophet even managed to build seedships of their own. I often wonder what happened to them.
“With Alpha discredited, that left Omega, the Creator of everything. It’s not so easy to dispose of Omega; the universe takes a certain amount of explaining. Or does it? There’s an ancient philosophical joke that’s much subtler than it seems. Question: Why is the universe here? Answer: Where else would it be? And I think that’s quite enough for one morning.”
“Thank you, Moses,” Mirissa answered, looking slightly dazed. “You’ve said it all before, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have – many times. And promise me this –”
“What is it?”
“Don’t believe anything I’ve told you – merely because I said it. No serious philosophical problem is ever settled. Omega is still around – and sometimes I wonder about Alpha …”
VII – As the Sparks Fly Upward
47. Ascension
Her name was Carina; she was eighteen years old, and though this was the first time she had ever been out at night in Kumar’s boat, it was not by any means the first time she had lain in his arms. She had, indeed, perhaps the best title to the much-disputed claim of being his favourite girl.
Though the sun had set two hours ago, the inner moon – so much brighter and closer than the lost Moon of Earth – was almost full, and the beach, half a kilometre away, was awash with its cold, blue light. A small fire was burning just outside the line of the palm-trees, where the party was still in progress. And the faint sound of music could be heard from time to time above the gentle murmur of the jet drive operating at its very lowest power. Kumar had already arrived at his prime goal and was in no great hurry to go elsewhere. Nevertheless, like the good seaman he was, he occasionally disengaged himself to speak a few words of instruction to the autopilot and made a swift scan of the horizon.
Kumar had s
poken the truth, thought Carina blissfully. There was something very erotic about the regular, gentle rhythm of a boat, especially when it was amplified by the airbed on which they were lying. After this, would she ever be satisfied by lovemaking on dry land?
And Kumar, unlike quite a few other young Tarnans she could mention, was surprisingly tender and considerate. He was not one of those men who was only concerned with his own satisfaction; his pleasure was not complete unless it was shared. While he’s in me, Carina thought, I feel I’m the only girl in his universe – even though I know perfectly well that isn’t true.
Carina was vaguely aware that they were still heading away from the village, but she did not mind. She wished that this moment could last forever and would hardly have cared if the boat had been driving at full speed out into the empty ocean, with no land ahead until the circumnavigation of the globe. Kumar knew what he was doing – in more ways than one. Part of her pleasure derived from the utter confidence he inspired; within his arms, she had no worries, no problems. The future did not exist; there was only the timeless present.
Yet time did pass, and now the inner moon was much higher in the sky. In the aftermath of passion, their lips were still languidly exploring the territories of love when the pulsing of the hydrojet ceased and the boat drifted to a stop.
“We’re here,” Kumar said, a note of excitement in his voice.
And where may “here” be? Carina thought lazily as they rolled apart. It seemed hours since she had last bothered to glance at the coastline … even assuming that it was still within sight.
She climbed slowly to her feet, steadying herself against the gentle rocking of the boat – and stared wide-eyed at the Fairyland that, not long ago, had been the dismal swamp hopefully but inaccurately christened Mangrove Bay.
It was not, of course, the first time she had encountered high technology; the fusion plant and Main Replicator on North Island were much larger and more impressive. But to see this brilliantly illuminated labyrinth of pipes and storage tanks and cranes and handling mechanisms – this bustling combination of shipyard and chemical plant, all functioning silently and efficiently under the stars with not a single human being in sight – was a real visual and psychological shock.
There was a sudden splash, startling in the utter silence of the night, as Kumar threw out the anchor.
“Come on,” he said mischievously “I want to show you something.”
“Is it safe?”
“Of course – I’ve been here lots of times.”
And not by yourself, I’m sure, Carina thought. But he was already over the side before she could make any comment.
The water was barely more than waist deep and still retained so much of the day’s heat that it was almost uncomfortably warm. When Carina and Kumar walked up on to the beach, hand in hand, it was refreshing to feel the cool night breeze against their bodies. They emerged from the random rippling of tiny wavelets like a new Adam and Eve given the keys to a mechanized Eden.
“Don’t worry!” Kumar said. “I know my way around. Dr. Lorenson’s explained everything to me. But I’ve found something I’m sure he doesn’t know.”
They were walking along a line of heavily insulated pipes, supported a metre from the ground, and now for the first time Carina could hear a distinct sound – the throbbing of pumps forcing cooling fluid through the maze of plumbing and heat exchangers that surrounded them.
Presently they came to the famous tank in which the scorp had been found. Very little water was now visible; the surface was almost completely covered with a tangled mass of kelp. There were no reptiles on Thalassa, but the thick flexible stalks reminded Carina of intertwining snakes.
They walked along a series of culverts and past small sluice gates, all of them closed at the moment, until they reached a wide, open area, well away from the main plant. As they left the central complex, Kumar waved cheerfully at the lens of a pointing camera. No one ever discovered, later, why it had been switched off at the crucial moment.
“The freezing tanks,” Kumar said. “Six hundred tons in each. Ninety-five per cent water, five per cent kelp. What’s so funny?”
“Not funny – but very strange,” answered Carina, still smiling. “Just think of it – carrying some of our ocean forest, all the way to the stars. Who would ever imagine such a thing! But that’s not why you brought me here.”
“No,” said Kumar softly. “Look …”
At first, she could not see what he was pointing at. Then her mind interpreted the image that flickered at the very edge of vision, and she understood.
It was an old miracle, of course. Men had done such things on many worlds, for over a thousand years. But to witness it with her own eyes was more than breathtaking – it was awesome.
Now that they had walked closer to the last of the tanks, she could see it more clearly. The thin thread of light – it could not have been more than a couple of centimetres wide! – climbed upward to the stars, straight and true as a laser beam. Her eyes followed it until it narrowed into invisibility, teasing her to decide the exact place of its disappearance. And still her gaze swept onward, dizzyingly, until she was staring at the zenith itself, and at the single star that was poised motionless there while all its fainter, natural companions marched steadily past it towards the west. Like some cosmic spider, Magellan had lowered a thread of gossamer and would soon be hoisting the prize it desired from the world below.
Now that they were standing at the very edge of the waiting ice block, Carina had another surprise. Its surface was completely covered with a glittering layer of golden foil, reminding her of the gifts that were presented to children on their birthdays or at the annual Landing Festival.
“Insulation,” Kumar explained. “And it really is gold – about two atoms thick. Without it, half the ice would melt again before it could get up to the shield.”
Insulation or no, Carina could feel the bite of cold through her bare feet as Kumar led her out on to the frozen slab. They reached its centre in a dozen steps – and there, glittering with a curious nonmetallic sheen, was the taut ribbon that stretched, if not to the stars, at least the thirty thousand kilometres up to the stationary orbit in which Magellan was now parked.
It ended in a cylindrical drum, studded with instruments and control jets, which clearly served as a mobile, intelligent crane-hook, homing on to its load after its long descent through the atmosphere. The whole arrangement looked surprisingly simple and even unsophisticated – deceptively so, like most products of mature, advanced technologies.
Carina suddenly shivered, and not from the cold underfoot, which she now scarcely noticed.
“Are you sure it’s safe here?” she asked anxiously.
“Of course. They always lift at midnight, on the second – and that’s still hours away. It’s a wonderful sight, but I don’t think we’ll stay so late.”
Now Kumar was kneeling, placing his ear against the incredible ribbon that bound ship and planet together. If it snapped, she wondered anxiously, would they fly apart?
“Listen,” he whispered …
She had not known what to expect. Sometimes in later years, when she could endure it, she tried to recapture the magic of this moment. She could never be sure if she had succeeded.
At first it seemed that she was hearing the deepest note of a giant harp whose strings were stretched between the worlds. It sent shivers down her spine, and she felt the little hairs at the nape of her neck stirring in that immemorial fear response forged in the primeval jungles of Earth.
Then, as she grew accustomed to it, she became aware of a whole spectrum of shifting overtones covering the range of hearing to the very limits of audibility – and doubtless far beyond. They blurred and merged one into the other, as inconstant yet steadily repeating as the sounds of the sea.
The more she listened, the more she was reminded of the endless beating of the waves upon a desolate beach. She felt that she was hearing the sea of space wash upon th
e shores of all its worlds – a sound terrifying in its meaningless futility as it reverberated through the aching emptiness of the universe.
And now she became aware of other elements in this immensely complex symphony. There were sudden, plangent twangings as if giant fingers had plucked at the ribbon somewhere along its thousands of taut kilometres. Meteorites? Surely not. Perhaps some electrical discharge in Thalassa’s seething ionosphere? And – was this pure imagination, something created by her own unconscious fears? – it seemed that from time to time she heard the faint wailing of demon voices or the ghostly cries of all the sick and starving children who had died on Earth during the Nightmare Centuries.
Suddenly, she could bear it no longer.
“I’m frightened, Kumar,” she whispered, tugging at his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
But Kumar was still lost in the stars, his mouth half open as he pressed his head against that resonant ribbon, hypnotized by its siren song. He never even noticed when, angry as much as scared, Carina stomped across the foil-covered ice and stood waiting for him on the familiar warmth of dry land.
For now he had noticed something new – a series of rising notes that seemed to be calling for his attention. It was like a Fanfare for Strings, if one could imagine such a thing, and it was ineffably sad and distant.
But it was coming closer, growing louder. It was the most thrilling sound that Kumar had ever heard, and it held him paralysed with astonishment and awe. He could almost imagine that something was racing down the ribbon towards him …
Seconds too late, he realized the truth as the first shock of the precursor wave jolted him flat against the golden foil and the ice block stirred beneath him. Then, for the very last time, Kumar Leonidas looked upon the fragile beauty of his sleeping world, and the terrified, upturned face of the girl who would remember this moment until her own dying day.
Already, it was too late to jump. And so the Little Lion ascended to the silent stars – naked and alone.
The Songs of Distant Earth Page 18
