The Golden Space (33 page)

Eline sat down on the floor. Karim went over to the window and looked outside while Andrew fidgeted. There was another door near the window. Merripen went over to it and pushed it open. He saw a porcelain toilet and a sink with chrome faucets.

He started to laugh. Then he began to shake, and had to sit down. “A bathroom,” he said. “A holo screen downstairs. It makes no sense.”

“Yes, it does,” Karim said as he sat down. “Someone’s helping them, or controlling them.” He paused. “Or else they’ve regressed, gone backward.”

Merripen shivered; his clothes were damp from the rain. “I wonder why they brought us here.”

“I don’t know. I think we were lucky. They looked ready to kill us. I saw them change when I held out my hands. Such an obvious gesture.”

A man opened the door and threw in four bundles of cloth before closing it again. Eline got up and unwrapped one of the bundles, holding up a shirt. “I suppose we’d better bathe and put them on,” she said.

“Are we just supposed to do whatever they want?” Andrew said from the corner where he was sitting.

“We have no choice.” Karim rose, picked up one bundle of garments, and went into the bathroom, closing the door.

“Nice little place,” Andrew said harshly. “Nice, friendly people when they’re not burning down houses.”

“You don’t know that they did that,” Merripen said.

“Don’t I? Who else could it have been? I’ll bet they were returning for more loot.” He scowled. “Did you notice? They have a lot of children here, and I saw a few graybeards in the crowd. You know what that means. They live and die.” He turned to Eline. “This is a good place for a Rescuer, don’t you think? All these unchanged people—maybe you can recruit a few.”

“You don’t understand,” Eline replied.

“But I do.”

“No, you don’t. We don’t object to minor genetic engineering, as long as we don’t become something else. And we accept long life because it gives us a chance to prepare ourselves for the higher state, the life beyond. We mustn’t die before we’re prepared, but we know there’s nothing to fear in death, because our souls don’t die.” Her voice shook slightly.

“You must believe it,” Andrew said. “You’ve shown such fortitude yourself.”

Eline bowed her head, but not before Merripen saw her tight mouth and icy eyes.

Bowls had been pushed through the door. Eline rolled up her long white sleeves and began to pick at her food. The shirts and pants she and Andrew now wore were too large; the two looked like children hiding in the darkening room, puzzled about why they had been shut away.

Merripen inspected the meat and vegetables in his bowl, thought of where the food might have come from, and set the bowl down. Karim took it and ate heartily, while Merripen and Andrew shared a loaf of bread, washing it down with water.

Karim finished eating, wiped his hand on his tight white shirt, rose, and wandered over to the window. Merripen followed and stood next to him. The sky had cleared; lavender clouds edged with orange hung near the distant hills. The sun was low. Below them, a procession moved through the street; other groups of people were converging on the marble building in the town’s center. The marble was pink in the evening light. Five women in blue robes were climbing the steps to the top of the building; on the other side, ten men, also in blue robes, had reached the roof. One of the men in blue looked familiar; Merripen peered at him and recognized Brown-Beard.

“It looks like some sort of ritual,” Merripen said to Karim. Eline now stood near him, hands on the sill. Andrew suddenly elbowed his way in between Merripen and the woman.

“Look,” Andrew said. “There’s no one below us now. They’re all going over there. We could get away.” He pointed. “It isn’t that far. We could hang from the window and drop.”

Karim turned. “We’d have to travel by night, on foot. And we wouldn’t get far if they came after us.”

“We can try.”

“It won’t work.”

The crowd was still. Merripen could no longer hear their murmurs. They were waiting for something. The people on the roof raised their arms.

A dark object appeared in the west, a ship flying out of the sun. The people on the roof cried out and prostrated themselves. The dark shape grew larger. It was a bullet-shaped gravitic ship; it gleamed, its silver surface catching the last light of the sun. It swept down over the town and hovered above the roof; then, slowly, it dropped to the surface.

The side of the ship opened. A bearded blond man emerged; he wore a long red robe. The people on the roof groveled; the crowd below hid their faces in the dust of the street. The man touched a silver necklace at his throat and then spoke. Merripen did not understand the words, but the voice was clear and resonant, probably amplified. A few of the blue-robed people were crawling toward him, heads down. Brown-Beard held out his hands; he seemed to be speaking. The red-robed man nodded.

Brown-Beard, still kneeling, waved his arm. Two other men crawled to the edge of the roof and called to the people below. Several men at the edge of the crowd rose and moved in Merripen’s direction.

Andrew leaned out the window, as if ready to jump. The men were running through the street below; Merripen heard footsteps on the stairs. “They’re coming for us,” Andrew cried.

The door swung open; howls filled the room. Merripen was dragged away from the window; he saw Andrew struggle and Eline try to pull away. He was forced down the stairs and into the street; fingers dug into his arms. They made their way past houses with open doors and through the crowd of kneeling people; heads rose, and eyes watched them pass. They were pushed toward the steps and borne upward to the roof; the blue-robed men reached out and hauled them up the last step.

Merripen’s knees were about to give way. He reached for the person nearest him, and clutched Karim’s arm. The blue-robed men backed away from them; the blond man stared at them impassively. The women on the roof knelt. The men stretched out their arms; they were holding silver wands, pointing them at Merripen and his companions.

Merripen knew he was going to die. He was past being frightened; his body was stiff and his heart thumped slowly. He raised his head; the blond man’s face would be the last thing he would ever see. The cold gray eyes stared back at him and then, incongruously, the man winked.

Before Merripen could react, he heard the amplified voice once more. The robed men lowered their wands. The voice said a few more words and the crowd below shouted out a response. The blue-robed people backed away, arms out, heads down.

The blond man motioned to them. Merripen approached him cautiously, Karim close behind him. Part of the roof slid open, revealing steps leading down into darkness. The man pointed at the steps, then led them below.

As the roof slid shut above them, light flooded the room. The stairs faced a large holo screen; two walls were decorated with friezes. One wall showed a giant blond man with tiny figures at his feet; the other was of a disklike sun, its rays touching a painted village. Merripen descended the stairs and stood with his companions, looking uneasily at their savior. The man removed his silver necklace and spoke in normal tones; Merripen shook his head, not grasping his words.

“Do you understand this?” the man said, and Merripen nodded. “Good. Let’s leave this sacred spot. You look a little shaky.”

A door slid open near the painted village and the man led them into a smaller room. Long white couches without backs lined the pale walls. “You are truly blessed,” the man went on. “You’re also lucky. Sit down.” He waved at the couches.

Merripen sat. Andrew sprawled near him. Karim sat with Eline, who reached for his hand. The blond man stretched out on a couch near one corner. “My name is Domingo,” he said. “Just another name to you, perhaps, but for these people it holds quite awesome connotations.” He smiled and fingered his golden beard. “Don’t worry, you’re safe here. You’re greatly honored, in fact.”

Karim scowled. Andrew said, “What’s going on?”

“Haven’t you guessed? I am their god. They were going to sacrifice you to my greater glory. But I’m showing you even greater favor by allowing you to dwell here in my temple.” He laughed. “Don’t look so woebegone. You were very lucky to be caught on my day; they were expecting my visit. They must have believed you were sent here for me. I see you didn’t resist, or they might have killed you where you stood. Their voices must have told them you were sent as a gift.”

“Their voices?” Merripen said.

“You’ll be all right now,” Domingo said, ignoring the question. “You may even spawn a cult of your own. Anyone so favored by me must be sacred, after all. I’m glad you’re here. Any god can get lonely. We’ll talk.” He sat up. “But now you should rest.” He rose and left the room.

Andrew sighed as the light dimmed, leaving only a soft glow near the floor. “He must be mad,” he murmured.

Merripen got up and stretched out on another couch. He supposed that they were all still prisoners, but he was too tired to worry about it now. His muscles were sore, and his legs twitched as he tried to relax. Karim had reclined on the couch perpendicular to his; he tossed and turned, and Merripen heard him rasp. “Karim?”

“I’m all right.” His voice sounded weak. Merripen reached out and touched the other man’s forehead; it felt hot.

“You’re not well.”

“It’ll pass. I just need rest. My body can repair itself.”

Merripen withdrew and curled up, too exhausted to argue.

He opened his eyes, not knowing where he was. It was still dark. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, then leaned over Karim, feeling his brow again. The fever was gone, but the skin felt dry and leathery. Merripen frowned.

Karim opened his eyes suddenly. “Are you feeling better?” Merripen asked.

“I’m all right now. Perhaps the rain gave me a chill.” Karim sat up slowly. “Is it morning yet?”

“I suppose it must be.”

“It feels like morning. It might even be later. I think we slept very deeply.” He stood up. Andrew and Eline were still, their faces toward the wall. Merripen followed Karim to the door.

They peered into the next room. The ceiling opened and Domingo walked down the steps, carrying two bowls of fruit. A bolt of bright red cloth hung from one of his shoulders; a dead rabbit was draped over one of his arms.

Merripen swallowed. “I hope that’s not our breakfast,” he said.

“Oh, no. They’re only small offerings.” Domingo passed them and they followed him into a small side room. A round glass-topped table and six metal chairs with black-cushioned seats stood in the center of the room. Domingo dropped the rabbit and fruit on the floor next to his materializer. “We’ll give you something more appetizing.” He kept the cloth, adjusting it around his neck. “Please sit down.” He removed pastries and omelets from the dispenser, setting them on the table.

Merripen was hungry. He sat down and began to eat while Domingo poured coffee. He ate quickly, barely tasting the omelet. Karim picked at his food. Domingo sprawled in one chair, sipping his coffee, glancing from Karim to Merripen.

“I’m glad nothing happened to you,” Domingo murmured. “You might have been killed, or, at best, been brought here as slaves, and then it would have been harder for me to help you.” Merripen narrowed his eyes. “This society has a rigid hierarchy. Strangers are either enemies or slaves. They would not have been able to place you in any other position—unless, of course, you could have convinced them you were gods.”

Karim wiped his lips with a napkin. “Are they unchanged people?”

“In a sense, they are. They’re what we might have been long ago. I made them.” The blond man chuckled. “Then, of course, they bred themselves. Now there are many of them. There are other villages besides this one.” He paused. “I am their god. I have a temple like this one in every village. I also speak with them over the holo when I’m away. The priests enter the temple at certain times to hear my words directly, and each home has a shrine provided with my messages—prerecorded, of course. But they hear me at other times as well. When one part of their minds speaks to the other, it is often my voice they hear.”

“An implant,” Merripen said.

“Not at all. Their minds are divided; each side of the brain is separate. You see, they’re not conscious of themselves. When their right side directs their left side, they hear it as a voice directing them—my voice, or that of someone with authority over them. They do not know self-doubt, self-consciousness, depression, and other such advances our minds have made.” He shifted in his seat. “Do you know the feeling when you’re working, say, or concentrating on a particular task, and you lose yourself in it, coming to yourself only later?” He leaned forward. “They are that way all the time, lost in what they do. A voice directs them, and they act. They do not question or doubt. They live out their lives and die, but they do not really know death, because they continue to hear the voices and see the images of those who are gone. They do not know time except as a cycle; they may mark it, but they live in the present.”

Karim put down his cup. “Why?”

Domingo was silent for a few moments, then stood up. “Come with me.”

He led them to the steps, and they climbed to the ceiling. It slid open above them; Merripen squinted at the blue sky and billowing clouds. They walked out onto the roof. The sun was up. Out in the fields, Merripen saw the brown backs of workers. In the streets below, women stood in groups or nursed babies, while others worked on cloth or pounded grain with pestles. One old man nearby was shaping clay into bowls; another spoke to a group of children. When their eyes moved toward the men on the roof, they lowered them quickly and bowed.