The Days of Peleg (51 page)

Shem walked silently and swiftly, fully confident of his path and gait. Peleg frantically tried to keep up with him, but could never be sure of himself in the blackness that was only partially diffused by an occasional bio-light from an open doorway.

The corridor turned slightly, and Peleg smacked his face directly into a stone doorframe. He yelped slightly, and Shem suddenly grabbed his arm apologetically.

“Please forgive me,” he said. “I forgot about your visual deformity. We shall walk more slowly.”

Peleg winced at the word “deformity” and assumed (hoped) it was a mistake in Shem’s newly acquired language.

Shem’s hand adjusted itself around his elbow, and he began steering Peleg through the three dimensions of this labyrinth.

Peleg forced a conversation.

“The Chief Chemist aboard our ship wore the Sign of the Seed upon his cheek, just as you do,” he began. “Is it possible that he would have met you some time in the past?”

Shem stopped suddenly, and Peleg could only imagine the look of piqued interest that was showing on his face.

“It is most likely,” Shem said, excitedly. “Very few actually took the mark, since it soon became a focal point for persecution.”

He began walking again, still guiding Peleg’s elbow.

“I started the mark,” Shem continued, “to encourage those who wished to be identified as people who ‘awaited the coming
Zeh-ra
’. It was, in actuality, a protest of those who feared another flood, those who feared exploring the world, and all of the new leaders and policies who were refusing to trust the
Creator
and acknowledge His promises and requirements.”

“Requirements?” asked Peleg, who almost tripped as they began to descend a staircase.

“Yes,” said Shem. “After our family was rescued from the Great Calamity, the
Creator
made a covenant with my father.”

Peleg winced at more ‘revealed truth’.

“The
Creator
promised that He would never again destroy the world with water. All that He asked was that our new society would have four basic principles.”

“What were they?” asked Peleg.

“First, that we acknowledge the
Creator
as the creator of all things—life, the universe, everything.”

Shem laughed slightly. “It seems foolish to suggest that the Creator
not
be the creator, but apparently He wanted us to keep it foremost in our minds—or to make sure we didn’t start replacing Him with something else.”

He continued.

“Secondly, that we were now allowed to eat meat.” He paused. “Before the Great Calamity, the
Creator
had commanded that we not eat meat, although many did. As you know, there are qualities in meat which strengthen the mind against psychic attack.”

Peleg certainly did
not
know this, but he accepted the strange sentence in silence. His mind
did
flash back quickly to Thaxad’s reaction when they had discovered the meat-eating plant.

“Thirdly, judicial bodies were to revere all human life since it has been made in the
Creator
’s own image. To honor and protect human life, the
Creator
demanded that we enact laws which call for the immediate execution of anyone who murders another person.”

Peleg could hear Shem’s face break into a grin.

“People tend to reconsider killing their fellow man if they are in such a society.”

There was a pause until Peleg was forced to ask, “And the fourth?”

“The forth requirement was for humanity to spread out into the world and establish themselves into nations—separate entities where varieties of cultures, arts, and methods of government could be developed. It was
this
command which humanity most resolutely refused to obey as they cowered in fear of the vast, unknown world around them. They obstinately chose, instead, to build one singular city-state, refusing to venture into the world, and refusing to trust the
Creator
to protect them.”

Peleg caught himself starting to think that this
Creator
was real, and shook his head to clear it. They were now walking in a narrow corridor which seemed to curve slightly to the right. At Shem’s pause, Peleg gathered his courage and jumped in with a question.

“What is so wrong with people choosing to live together?”

They stopped walking again, and the ensuing silence made Peleg hope he had struck a nerve.

“Imagine,” Shem began slowly, “a society where great exploitation, oppression, and corruption are normal, yet the entire culture embraces it. What chance does that society have to change, unless there is an outside influence that challenges it?”

They resumed walking, slowly.

“You are aware, I’m sure, that local governments need checks and balances to maintain accountability. In this same manner, different nations and cultures constantly challenge each other. If one nation is attacked or subjugated, others can come to their aid. If there exists only one powerful state, who will come to
their
aid when they are oppressed?”

“It sounds like a good recipe for war,” commented Peleg.

“Yes, it can be,” admitted Shem. “But the alternative could be one super-culture which becomes so wicked that nothing could ever counter it. This is the condition your city of Babel had attained.”

He stopped and turned to Peleg in the darkness.

“Imagine a society which believes that human sacrifice is a beautiful, noble activity.
You’re
a linguist.
You
understand that such beliefs can be controlled through language, and unless an alternative thinking arrives, it will never change. And of course, by their very nature, multiple languages
assure
multiple ways of thinking.”

His hand gripped Peleg’s elbow more tightly, and Peleg felt his face move closer.

“You recall your travels in the land of Manco Chavin? That government (as are most) was artificially constructed for the sole purpose of controlling the population. The perpetuation of sun worship, and their willingness to kill dissenters was forever affected by your arrival. Manco Chavin survives, and their belief systems will never again be safe from challenges.”

Peleg twisted his arm to relax Shem’s grip.

“I understand what you are saying,” he said, “but it seems that if the right people
and
right culture are established, then all of that would be unnecessary. For example, in Ur, the
Citadel
, with the emphasis on reason and
Knowledge
, has created a society of complete peace, harmony, and prosperity.”

Peleg was totally unprepared for Shem’s response.

The Founder was laughing so hard that he began to choke. Finally, he managed to speak between gasps.

“I think,” he said, heaving, “that you will find things quite different if you were to return home.” He took another deep breath. “A great deal can happen in twelve years.”

This last sentence disturbed Peleg in a strange way he would not soon forget. His heart raced in a mixture of concern and fear. Concern that some unknown crisis had occurred in his home city—and a fear (based on the subjunctive voice in Shem’s
previous
sentence) that he would never return home.

Shem was breathing more regularly now.

“The culture of your
Citadel
was based on nothing but vapid human speculation,” he continued. “It was an emptiness that could not be sustained. Now every form of philosophical whim and ego-driven fantasy is expounded there, and the only beneficiaries are the merchants who sell them.”

Peleg felt as if he had been punched in the stomach, and a seething rage began to build. And what did Shem mean by ‘
was
’?

He jerked his arm away from Shem’s grasp.

“The
Citadel
is founded firmly on the principles of
Knowledge!”
he said angrily. “I’m not sure what rumors you have been listening to, but if you actually lived in the real world instead of this cave, you might discover the great progress that mankind has made in the last one hundred years!”

Shem was silent for a brief moment, but not intimidated. He snapped back at Peleg.

“If only you knew how far mankind has
regressed
in the last
three
hundred!”

He reached out and regained Peleg’s elbow.

“You must not be angry,” he said, not
too
condescendingly. “I’m sure we have much to learn from each other.”

Shem steered him around the next corner.

“Besides,” he said. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

Shem pressed Peleg’s head down and maneuvered him into a low doorway. Peleg’s anger faded as his curiosity took over.

As he stepped into the room, he realized the floor was covered with a thick mat of some kind of fur or woven hair. Faint bio-light panels hung from a high ceiling, and as his eyes refocused in the dim light, he heard muted thuds and saw a frenzy of motion throughout the room.

It was a room full of children, and they seemed to be engaged in a complex but silent dance. Young girls were lifting boys into the air, and the boys, in turn, would drop gracefully onto the rugs, rolling and slapping the floor to an inaudible beat.

Suddenly a signal from a flute sounded, and on cue, the roles were reversed with the girls now flipping through the air and rolling away, always slapping the floor together.

Peleg looked across the room and saw a young man holding a flute who appeared to be in charge of this class. Like everyone else here, he had a heavy brow-ridge and was wearing a leather skullcap, much like those he saw on the men who delivered his meals. In the dim light, Peleg couldn’t be certain, but he thought this man might be the same as the flute player whom he had seen in the room across from his.

The man raised the flute to his lips and sounded a different signal. Immediately the children lined up rank and file facing the man, who spoke a short command-like sentence.

The children turned as one towards the doorway, bowed to Shem, and spoke something, probably a greeting, in unison.

Shem smiled broadly at them, and most smiled back showing bright teeth in the dim light. A new signal sounded, and the children jumped down to their knees, grabbed a pre-determined partner by the shoulders, and began rocking back and forth.

It finally dawned on Peleg what this class was. It was not any type of music or dance. It was unarmed combat training! He looked over at Shem who was beaming.

“The next class of our defense force,” he said with pride.

“Defense force?” asked Peleg.

“Yes,” answered Shem. “The Gutian Defense Force, who disguise and guard our communities and protect us from Sargon and others who would destroy our destiny”.

Gutians!
Peleg’s stomach tightened at the word. Old angers began to surface as the identity of his hosts became clear. He was a prisoner of escaped outlaws and political criminals!

Shem read his face.

“Yes, we are the dreaded Gutians,” he said softly. “We’re the ones that kidnap babies and drink blood.”

Peleg looked at Shem sharply, who was grinning.

“I have heard everything that has been said about us,” Shem continued. “But are
you
capable of considering the possibility that you’ve been lied to?”

He paused.

“Most men cannot. We are criminals only because we choose to worship the
Creator
and await his coming Seed. Criminals, because most human authorities cannot accept the possibility that an authority higher than themselves exists.”

He steered Peleg away from the training room and continued down the dark hall.

“What was the name of your friend who bore the mark of the Seed?”

“His name was Thaxad,” answered Peleg, still trying to recover from too much information. “He was our Chief Chemist and was also an Elder Castor of the
Order of Buzur
.” He stopped and thought for a moment. “However, I once heard another man who knew him call him Tarshish.”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Shem. “I knew Tarshish. I gave him his first lessons in metallurgy and chemurgy when he was a boy. He then traveled to study stonecasting by the Great Sea, and later, I heard, was instructing in Kemet.”

His voice saddened suddenly.

“He was aboard your ship?”

“Yes, but Alapar did not mention if any Mentors were among the survivors.”

Shem’s heaved a sigh of such anguish that Peleg quickly continued.

“I thought I saw him with the Captain and his wife escaping on some floating timbers. There was a lot of smoke, and I was unable to see clearly, but if anyone could survive that, it was Thaxad.”

He thought of the aspersions that Shem had cast on the
Citadel
and said, “Thaxad designed the tiles for the outer surface of the
Citadel
, and also designed the small planetarium calculator I told you about.”

Shem nodded in silent appreciation.

“Tarshish was one of the last to take the mark,” Shem said, then looked at Peleg. “After him, there were only a few, and soon it was so dangerous that the mark was no longer administered.”

“So Thaxad believed in your
Creator
?”

“Naturally!” scowled Shem, apparently bewildered at any alternative. “What
else
could he do?”

Loud voices could be heard down the corridor. Peleg had noticed them earlier in the distance, but as they approached, the increasing clamor demanded their full attention.

Soon they arrived at a room on the left where an intense, virulent, assembly was apparently arguing. Peleg saw a lone man facing a group of forty-three men and women who were shouting and smacking their fists into their hands, very upset about something. Peleg still had not had enough exposure to the language to understand anything, but it looked like they were demanding some sort of change, and it was not being well received.

Although the people appeared (in the dim bio-light) to have a full range of skin and hair tones, they all had the large brows that Peleg had come to expect here, and they all wore the same one-piece animal skin suits that wrapped over one shoulder much like a uniform. Only a variety of armbands and skullcaps distinguished certain individuals.