Into the Sea of Stars (22 page)

He chuckled with a deep solemn tone, which Ian found
to be strange after the emotional outbreak of earlier.

"Human nature... so strange, so strange.
They came
to enjoy it, this warriors' code. The women became the
fiercest at times, especially those who had lost children.
Don't look at me that way,
Ian,
you must have known
that when we were exiled we brought our families and
children with us. It was a penal colony."

"What happened to the children?"

"Those with superior abilities were sent to the isolation
area until the trials by arms were over. Those over twelve
who did not make it that way had to fight. Those under
twelve... we put to sleep."

"The children?"

"Don't call upon your moral superiority with me, Ian.
If we had left them back on your Earth, they would have
been vaporized in the war. Is that superior?"

Ian didn't particularly care for the way he said "
your
Earth," but he thought it best not to argue the point.

"But all those thousands who missed being defined as
superior by only a small
fraction,
or by several points in
the tests you once used. Would it not have been wise to
try to save them? What about the brutes, the savage an
imals who would survive by killing, were they worth saving?"

"If I had not let them think they had a fair chance, they would have overthrown my plan. Can't you see the
beauty of it? I let them think that they had the advantage.
However, it was so simple. I matched
brutals
against
bru
tals
.
Those who might oppose me against those who might oppose me.
And those who might be worth saving, I tried,
when possible, to match them against weaker opponents
who were not worth saving but whom I could not simply
execute.

"Through the fights it was so easy to deceive them and to keep them from destroying all of us in a mad frenzy of
destruction, as the scum back on Earth had prophesied.

"And so for six long and bloody months, I reduced us
step by step. The bodies were processed for their valuable
resources, my people learned a new code, and we were transformed. And as I watched the Earth disappear as
tern, fading to a blue speck lost in the glare of a minor
sun, I learned control.

"For they had destroyed Paradise!"
He shouted the
words, and Ian was tempted to tell him that he was not
preaching to the multitude, but thought better of it.

"We saw what was coming, we had spoken out against
it, and for our effort those fools had us exiled. I
learned
,
Ian
Lacklin
, what is the nature of power. I could hop to
one of my colonies right now, command ten thousand to
kill
themselves
, and they would do so without question
and consider it an honor. That, Ian
Lacklin
, is power—
and it rests in my hands.

"Never again shall I ever let happen what those on Earth forced us to do."

They finally swung in to the dark side of the planet,
and its surface was banded by necklaces of lighting that
illuminated the planet as if it were day. Ian was amazed
at the power being harnessed there. Smith's people were
literally tearing the planet apart. As if reading his thoughts,
Smith suddenly spoke again.

"
Gregor
gave me a report on our progress before you joined me. He said that it was recently calculated that if
growth continues at its current rate, we will totally con
sume the mass of that planet in four hundred years. Al
ready we are developing five of the moons on the first
gas giant."

"Which one is that?"

"It's called Janet."

"Of course."
Ian said it with such understanding that
Smith suddenly reached out and touched him on the arm and smiled briefly.

"But as I was saying, I saw the path. Once the Time
of Blooding had finished, I realized that the warrior code
must stay. So with the coming of the next generation, I
encouraged its development along with rigorous training of the mind and total discipline. Ian, I knew that the odds
were still against us. I had set a course that would take
seven hundred years—fearing that if we went to the closer
stars, we would find ourselves in competition. I knew
many were bound for the galactic core, but space is im
mense. We had contact with several colonies on the way out, but most we would not reach. Two did make
starfall
here at Delta Sag and we were forced to deal with them,
since of course they were not of us."

"I know. I found the results of your actions."

Smith ignored his comment and continued.

"I created
a warrior
-guard elite, and I acted as a guide to the future so that there would be a continuity with the past. As least, that is what I told them, but I knew what
would happen after only several generations.

"I was awakened every twenty years, or when there
was a crisis to
advise—
to give counsel and to plan. The first time I was greeted like an old friend returning. The
second time only a few from the 'Earth Time,' as they
were calling it, still remembered me. And on the fourth time, there was not one in fifty. And I started to become
first an advisor, then a legend, and finally a god—as I
knew I would."

He smiled at Ian as he said the words, and a man who had sounded before to be so sane now took on a different
edge, his powerful appearance and deep rich Voice lending
only more power to the image of something almost su
perhuman.

"My awakening became a religious event, a long-
cherished high holy day by which people measured their
lives. When I knew the time to be right, I laid out the
next step—the bonding of all by one common blood. It became a most sacred privilege to bear my child, even if
induced artificially. And it became the most cherished
dream of a maiden to surrender her virginity to me and
then to bear my child." Smith looked at Ian and gave a
slightly lascivious smile.

"It was easy to keep track of the genetics of it, and
within a few hundred years every single person became a descendent of
myself
. I am, therefore, truly the Father
of all my people!"

He shouted out the words and laughed as he did so, and then fixed Ian with his gaze.

"And I knew one other part of the formula that was necessary for our health and survival. A people must al
ways have a dream. And I gave them the dream. That we
would increase in number and then return one day to the
paradise that had been fouled by those who are not of
our blood. They would return to the
promised land
, led
by their Father—and we would purge the Earth of its
filth. We would take our revenge for having been driven out. We would take our revenge for the Blooding Time. And we would then dwell in the realm of Paradise for
ever!"

Smith grabbed
lan's
arm with such force that Ian feared
the madman's grip would burst right through his skin and
shatter the bone beneath.

"And you, Ian
Lacklin
, you gave me the means of my
return. Your people are
weak,
your own ship's computer
tells me you number not half a billion on the entire planet.
You have but a weak central government controlled by
an overgrown bureaucracy. There is no way that you can defy me. We have searched to transcend light for a millennium, and to think that its discovery would be a mere
accident by an amateur back on Earth. But now I know.
I have the data in your machine to tell me how. And then I shall return in glory and my people can at last return to
Paradise!"

I
an felt a moment of disorientation. The darkness was
strange. Shortly after his return from his meeting, a meal had been delivered that outshone anything they had experienced since Earth. In spite of the circumstances, Ian was enthralled with the dinner plates; each was stamped
"Souvenir of the 2064 New York World's Fair." Ian slipped
one of the coffee saucers into his jacket pocket. It now
rested next to the alien artifact.

It had already occurred to the crew of
Discovery
that this was to be some sort of ceremonial last supper—and they were suddenly convinced of it when the lights were
dimmed. Nervously they sat together until eventually exhaustion and the need for a final private moment had sent
them to their own small areas.

As if stirred by a distant voice, Ian "awoke from his
sleep and looked toward the doorway. A shadow filled
the dimly lit corridor—Smith. Leaving the others to what
he feared might be a final
rest,
Ian stood and followed
Smith to the audience chamber.

"Have you decided?"

"First, I give you permission to sit." And Smith beck
oned for him to sit on the small stool placed before the
dais.

Smith was dressed in the flowing ceremonial robes of
the warrior, his sword resting on the floor by his right
hand. The soft lamplight behind him haloed his salt-and-
pepper hair and cast darkened shadows that hid his beard
and ebony features.

Ian gave him a nod of thanks and settled down onto
the stool. Smith said nothing, and Ian finally broke the
silence.

"I can't understand one thing."

"Go on."

Ian drew in his breath and finally committed himself.
"You have the information that you need from us. We
therefore serve no logical purpose by living. You, if any
one, have learned to kill without prejudice or sentiment.
If we do not serve a purpose, then why don't you kill
us?"

Smith leaned forward and his features emerged from the shadows. "You are correct, Ian
Lacklin
. You've sur
mised that you still serve a purpose, and now you ask me
what it is."

"Yes."

Smith chuckled softly. "Are the universities still the same as when I was there?"

The change of tack threw Ian off balance for a second,
but he quickly picked up on it. "I have a feeling that it's
universal and timeless."

"Still the same administrators?" He chuckled softly.
"You know, I could never figure out how people so dumb
and so deceitful ever got into education."

Ian nodded and found himself chuckling, as well.

"And still the same dumb jocks who your dean forces
you to pass, in spite of their idiocy?"

"I think I know what jock means, we call them ozone heads. But yes—it is still the same. Most schools are still
places were education is second to the god of sports."

"It's just that I was once a full professor of philosophy,"
Smith said sadly, "and I know that you were a professor of history, specializing in my time."

"I thought that was part of the reason you kept my friends and me alive."

"But events, Ian
Lacklin
, will soon force the end of
this nostalgic interlude. I was a professor, but now I am
something entirely different."

Ian found it remarkable that he was gripped by an icy
feeling of calm. The path was open to him. He could sense
it in Smith's words. The reason he had not heard from
Smith or, for that matter, the reason they had not yet been eliminated was simply because Smith was not sure of the
path to follow. Smith as the Angel of Death was poised,
but something behind him held him back. Ian now knew
that it rested with him—an overweight, nearsighted, certifiably incompetent history teacher—to talk the man out
of slaughtering the entire population of the Earth, or he
would die trying.

He thought about that for a moment. He could die as
soon as the session was over. To his surprise his bowels didn't turn to water, and his knees didn't quake at the
mere thought of it all. His arguments were already form
ing, and he started.

"I guess it's obvious that you intend to use the plans
for our faster-than-light vessel. You'll build a fleet and in short order return to Earth."

Smith smiled softly and nodded.

"With fire and sword," his deep voice boomed, "as
they say."

Ian took a deep breath. "You're a fool!" His voice
echoed in the chamber. And for a moment there was a look of shock on the face of Smith.

The sword seemed almost to leap into Smith's hand
and arc back in a sweep that would culminate in death.
Ian steeled himself for the numbing blow and stilled the
terror in his heart. He looked into Smith's eyes and held him with a challenge.

Smith held his gaze, and wild desire was mirrored in his eyes, as if he wrestled with himself. Ian waited, amazed
at the sudden intensity of reality and thought that held
him. It was as if in a single second he could clearly con
sider a dozen different thoughts. He was amazed at the
almost ludicrous realization that he was engaged in
a diplomacy
that the world might never know of. He was
amazed, as well, at the cold-blooded logic that had driven
him to insult Smith.

And Ian
Lacklin
felt a secret pride. He had, for one
moment, at least, transcended; and as an old word had described, he was no longer a wimp. Ian
Lacklin
had
equaled, at last, his fabled heroes of old.

Smith kept the sword poised, and then with a sudden
flourish he drove it into the flooring by his side and re
leased it—so that the handle quivered and swayed as if
it held a trembling life of its own.

"Explain!" Smith barked. And shaking with sup
pressed emotion, he turned away.

"There is no need for me to be pedantic, your education
is better than mine. And as is so very rare, you do not
let that education hamper you with useless rhetoric. You
therefore understand the nature of societal movements.
That has been my career. I studied your movements, your age.

"A society must have a tangible goal, a Utopian dream
of what it can transcend to. It can be, as in the Middle Ages, a drive to religious oneness and establishment of
the kingdom of God. To my own ancestors it was an all-
consuming passion to transcend the near-fatal damage of
the Holocaust and return us to space. For you it is re
venge."

"Yes, revenge!" Smith shouted. "You were not there. I was. I saw the light slip out of Janet's eyes, I saw the
bloodied floor of the fighting pits,
I
carry the blood of the
tens of thousands on my soul. And I saw what they did
on Earth. They did it! They did it!" His voice rose to a
scream of rage.

"They are dead a thousand years," Ian whispered in
reply. "Franklin Smith, you are nearly the last of your age; you dream
a revenge
against those who are dust,
their legacies forgotten, their age destroyed in a Holocaust
of their own making. Damn it, Smith, they're nothing
except your memory."

He fell silent, waiting for the reply, but there was no
response. And Smith still kept his back to him. Ian searched
for the historical example.

"Your logic is the same as if the blacks of your age
were to punish the whites of your South for an experience
gone two hundred years, or a Jew of my time to punish
what
were
once Germans for that first Holocaust more than a millennium ago."

"But the memories are still here and alive." Smith turned
and pointed to his heart.
"Still alive and burning in here."

"You've had revenge enough, Franklin Smith, revenge enough. That traveler of mine, Elijah, he said 'For I alone have lived to tell thee this tale.' You know, you murdered his entire colony. That poor mad fool quoting ancient literature is all that is left of an entire world, and that is
your work."

"It was necessary."

"So was what happened to you."

Smith's hand rested again on the sword.

"Go ahead, if that's your answer to what might save
you, then go ahead and get it over with. I'm tired of waiting for it."

"Speak then, damn you."

"The world was tottering toward madness. To an insane world the voice of sanity is usually viewed as insane.
You're lucky they didn't kill you on the spot. At least you
had a chance. You're no better than they are, for you'd have done the same. In fact you have done the same in
the name of saving your society.

"Think of it, Smith. The madness that seized the world forced over seven hundred colonies and nearly thirty million people to flee the Earth. It was violent, in many cases
nearly hopeless, and millions died. But the bonds had
been broken. Right now hundreds of civilizations are spreading slowly across this area of the galaxy. The birth
of a child is attended by blood and trauma.
So, too, usually
with a civilization.
That madness, that trauma forced you to flee and, yes, forced the tragedy of your life. But I see
here a billion people, bonded together in a new civilization
that you have forged out of your own power and desire. That has only happened to a handful of men in history.
You are the Adam, Abraham, and Moses of a new civi
lization."

"And now the angel of war," Smith replied.

"Death, you mean. And as I said before, you'd be a fool."

"You're just arguing to save your own life and your own world."

"Of course I am. Only a madman desires death. Only
a madman desires his world to die. But I see the death
of all in this; your world and mine will die."

"How so?
I've looked at your records; I know your
capabilities. In ten years I could destroy you completely.
Even if your people learned of my coming, still I would
overwhelm them."

"Yes, even if my people knew. You already outnumber
us nearly four to one, and in ten years time it will be six
to one. Your technology is generations beyond our own, all except for that one small quirk of fate that caused one of our people to discover the way of circumventing light-
speed. That is our only superiority, and you now have that, as well.

"But I tell you this, Franklin Smith. Lead your people for a revenge that only you need have, and it will destroy
you and your civilization in the process."

"Give me your argument then, and be done with it. I am growing weary of this talk."

"My opening argument is that a civilization needs a
goal. You've set up the goal for your people: the desire for revenge. You've created a perfect machine for that
goal: a billion people linked together by common blood,
a people trained in what you called Bushido, and a tech
nological level that transcends Earth's—as if your twenty-
first-century world had found a way to wage war on a
rabble of medieval knights.

"But remember that concept about a goal. So you go
ahead, you build and then you attack. You use atomics
to blast us and sweep life off the face of the Earth. You have triumphed, Franklin Smith. Imagine that triumph."

He looked into Smith's eyes expecting the vision he painted to be one that would excite, but to his surprise
there was nothing, as if Smith could already see the path
that Ian was pointing to.

"And then what? Damn it, tell me, then what? You've
selected a goal that can be too easily reached. Oh, it was
a wonderful goal that could bind a people together when they needed binding. You engineered that superbly well. But now, thanks to me, you can attain that goal. Once
you've reached it, however, what can revenge bring?"

"It can still bring a payment here," Smith replied, strik
ing his chest. "Here it will bring a rich reward."

"A reward of the moment.
But a societal revenge, once
it is reached, bears a strange price. Once the goal has been obtained, then there is no goal—no dream to reach out to.
Nothing now to work toward.
And then the old
prophets and the old dreams are cast aside. Think, man, of the contempt' your age felt for the century-long quest for revenge in the Middle East. They had their revenge
and destroyed their foe, taking back what they called the
usurped lands, and think in the end of the bitter retribution
that came—and how it was created by
themselves
."

To his surprise Smith nodded his head in response. "I
lost several classmates in that war, I remember now."

"I could argue this point for hours, Franklin Smith,
but that is foolish. You're the philosophy
professor,
you
should be able to follow the argument on your own. I am
merely the historical observer.