The Golden Space (35 page)

He got up quickly and went into the next room. Eline was sitting on the floor next to the holo; she wore a Band around her head. He did not get too close to her; lately Eline would draw back if one of the men came near. He waited until she took off the wide, round circlet and set it on the floor.

“Why are you learning their language?” he asked.

“Why shouldn’t I learn it? I need something to do. I’ll learn what I can.” She ran a hand through her pale hair. “It helps me to understand these people a little. Their minds aren’t the only division in them—they even speak of their bodies as if an arm or a leg is somehow a separate thing, connected to but not really a part of the person. And feelings—rage, or joy, or whatever—are seen as entities that come upon them from outside.”

“We speak that way, too, at times.”

“Yes, but not with the same emphasis. And perhaps that in itself is
more evidence for Domingo’s theory. I don’t know. He gave them the language. If he’d used a
different one, maybe they would be different.” She leaned back and rubbed her forehead. “They’re so
much like us, and yet there’s that wall between their minds and ours that I can’t quite penetrate.
That’s more disturbing and intriguing than if they had looked and acted unlike
us.”

He nodded, thinking of his own project. “I would have thought,” he said, “that you would have been very unhappy here. Yet you’ve already adapted to it.”

She smiled. “I’m being realistic. We might be here for a while. You and those friends of yours haven’t been doing much. Karim’s tired all the time and Andrew starts drinking pretty early in the day.”

“You, of all people, shouldn’t be critical of him for that.”

“I start early myself. That’s how I know. But Andrew drinks out of impatience and restlessness. I drink to celebrate.”

He was about to ask her what she celebrated when Domingo’s door opened. Merripen wondered how long he had been standing behind it. The blond man raised one hand in greeting, then walked toward the dining room. His shoulders sagged; his head was bowed. Merripen hesitated, then went after him.

“Domingo.”

He kept his back to Merripen for a few moments, then turned. His pale eyebrows were drawn together; his hand rested on his chest, as though he were in pain. He straightened.

“When will you let us leave?”

Domingo did not answer.

“You’ll have to leave yourself; you’ve said you have obligations in other villages.”

“Obligations.” Domingo brushed back a lock of hair which had fallen over his forehead. “It’s true. You may think I can do what I like here, but I’m bound, too. I’ve thought of leaving them altogether. They could get along without me. My image would be here; the shrines and my recordings could guide them. But what if they needed me later? I’m afraid to go.”

“Maybe you’re just afraid to be among people like yourself, people who can judge you. Or do you actually have scruples?”

“I don’t know.”

“When can we leave?”

“When I choose to let you go.” Domingo passed his hand over his forehead. “Don’t be so impatient. You may be leaving sooner than you think. I’ve been lonely.” He seemed to be trying to reach out to Merripen; his gray eyes were rimmed with red.

Merripen spun around and left the room, crossing the alcove. He found Andrew and Karim sitting on a couch, backs against the wall. Karim’s hands were still; Andrew’s danced nervously on his thighs. “We have to do something,” Andrew said.

“What would you suggest?”

“Walking out through the village. We’re sacred now, aren’t we? No one would stop us.”

“Domingo could.”

“It’s better than waiting.”

“He could order them to stop us. He could tell them to kill us on the spot.”

He heard Domingo’s heavy footsteps on the stairs; he was climbing to the roof. Andrew rose quickly and went out; Merripen, apprehensive, hurried after him and followed him up the steps.

The sky was hazy; the air felt damp as he stepped out onto the roof. He blinked, feeling disoriented after having been inside for so long. The village below was quiet, the streets empty; even the craftspeople had gone inside with their wares. Domingo stood at the edge of the roof.

Andrew glanced at Merripen, then walked over to Domingo. The blond man turned to face him. “I know you won’t let us go until you’re ready,” Andrew said softly. Merripen moved closer to the two men in order to hear Andrew more clearly. “Maybe you’ll be ready if I tell you that Eline is plotting something.”

Domingo raised an eyebrow. “And what is she plotting?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her. But I’ve been watching her, and she’s making plans. I know it. In your own interest, you ought to let us go.” He took a breath. “Do you know what she is?”

Merripen stepped forward, holding up his hand. “She’s a Rescuer,” Andrew went on. Merripen lowered his hand. “You must know what that is, even hiding away here. It’s a cult. They rescue souls. Sometimes their idea of rescuing them is to kill the people in whom the souls reside. She may try to rescue some people here.”

Merripen’s anger at Andrew faded. Domingo would have to act now. But the blond man seemed unconcerned. He gazed calmly at Andrew, then at Merripen.

“She’s learning,” Andrew continued. “She’s learning fast. You’d better get her out of here.”

Domingo turned away. Andrew, chewing his lip in frustration, retreated, disappearing below the roof. Domingo said, “Come with me.” Merripen hesitated, wondering if he should go after Andrew. “Don’t worry, it’s just for a walk. No young maidens, no temptations.” He descended the steps to the street.

Merripen followed, looking uneasily from side to side. They passed open doors. Domingo stopped in front of one house and put his hand on the wall for a moment; the people inside murmured to one another. He led Merripen through narrow alleyways and past smaller houses until they came to the edge of a field.

A group of young men and boys had gathered in the fallow field; they carried javelins. Two men saw Domingo and bowed; Domingo waved at them to go on. One boy ran with a javelin and hurled it; the weapon arched against the sky and struck the ground, quivering.

“Some day, I won’t be able to walk through the streets like this,” Domingo said. “Do you know what is happening? Soon they’ll build another village, and another, and another. My authority will weaken. Already there are those who travel from one village to another, to trade. I think they may begin to hear other voices more clearly than mine. The villages are beginning to diverge. You might not notice the differences, but I do. The ceremonies vary slightly, the language is accented differently, the pottery and jewelry and clothing are changing. One group wears white, another yellow—some embroider their shirts with designs, while others paint the insides of their tombs. It’s all a sign. Even I can’t stop it; I can only postpone it. I’ll become too distant a figure to hold them. Their world will become chaotic, even without intervention from outside. And one group will begin to grow conscious of itself, and when that happens, they’ll sweep over the other settlements in a wave of terror and murder. Those who are cruelest will inherit everything.”

“You can stop it,” Merripen said. “You can keep the population small, you can—”

“And why should I stop it? Should I deny them self-consciousness, and abstract reasoning, and the chance, one day, to look beyond their simple lives? They deserve their time.” He frowned. “I was hoping you would understand. Perhaps I made a mistake.”

He led Merripen back through the village. People were watching from their doorways; they bowed as Domingo passed and peered through their fingers at Merripen. He saw their eyes and wondered what they perceived; did they see a continuous procession, or a series of discrete moments with no connection? Did he pass through the street, or appear and reappear? He caught the eyes of one man; the hazel eyes were cold as he watched Merripen from under cupped hands. He remembered the young woman. As he moved toward the temple, he felt the man’s gaze on his back.

They climbed to the roof. Domingo stopped and put a hand on Merripen’s shoulder. “You know old myths, don’t you? Some have common elements. A god, or set of gods, rules— the first gods. But their days are numbered. They are replaced by new gods. Often they know who will topple them.” He went to his ship and rested against it, head down. “I’m so weary,” he said as Merripen came up to him. “I’m so tired. I see what’s coming, and I’m caught in it. I have to see it through.”

Merripen’s neck was stiff; his muscles were taut. His back prickled. There was despair on Domingo’s face; the gray eyes stared past him into a void. Merripen had seen that look before. It was the look of a dying man, a potential suicide, a signal that something had gone wrong, that cells were beginning to die and biological systems were breaking down.

“I can help you,” Merripen said rapidly. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself, you need treatment. Come away with us.”

“Don’t you think I know what’s happening inside my own body?” Domingo waved away the hand that Merripen was offering. “I can repair it. But my mind goes on. A mind is a strong thing. It can create its own illness, and harm the body all over again, and make you want it to happen even as you struggle against it. It’s a feedback loop. It’s also part of you, and you can’t kill it. We’ve never been masters of ourselves. We’re still too young, not much past my people here.”

“You need to come away.”

Domingo sagged against the ship. “I want you to go,” he said softly. “Do you hear? I want you to leave. Get your friends and bring them up here.”

Merripen waited, wondering if Domingo was somehow testing him.

“Go on,” Domingo whispered.

Merripen hurried below. He found Andrew drinking with Eline at the glass-topped table; Karim had just removed a bowl of soup from the materializer. Andrew scowled as he looked up; Eline glared at Andrew over her glass. Her cheeks were pink, her lips drawn back. Merripen said, “Domingo wants us on the roof. He says he’s going to let us go.”

Andrew looked at Eline and smiled, showing most of his teeth. Karim put down his bowl and came toward Merripen. Andrew rose, and Merripen ushered the two men out of the room. They were halfway up the stairs before Eline came out and followed them. She walked stiffly, keeping her left arm straight at her side, as though she had hurt it.

They went out onto the roof. Thick clouds hung low in the sky, pressing against the distant hills. Domingo had opened the side of his ship. A large transparent bubble floated out and rested on the roof; Domingo came out after it.

“It’ll be crowded,” Domingo said. “But I think you can all fit.” He motioned at Karim. “You’ll have to stoop. I’ve set it for Harsville. I can’t leave you to wander the roads, and you should make an impressive departure.”

Andrew looked at the bubble suspiciously. The streets were filling with people. Karim took Andrew’s arm. “We’d better get in,” he said.

Eline said, “I don’t want to go. I’d rather stay here.”

“Would you?” Domingo lifted an eyebrow. “Of course. I knew it would be you. You can stay. I can see you’ve been planning for it.” He turned his eyes from her to Merripen. His gaze was steady, his face composed. He reached inside his robe and took out his silver necklace, putting it around his neck.

Domingo called out in his amplified voice. This brought more people into the streets below the temple; the javelin-throwers were rushing from the field. Eline backed away from the men and stood to one side; her right hand was on the wrist of her stiff left arm. The priests were climbing the steps, smoothing their robes, as if they had just pulled them on. The side of the bubble slid open. Andrew got in, then Karim, who had to stoop. Merripen looked from Eline to Domingo, then followed his friends into the bubble.

The bubble closed and lifted slowly. Domingo spoke in his strange language; Eline moved to his side. The bubble hovered over the roof; Merripen pressed his hands against the curved surface and looked down. They drifted away; Domingo’s voice seemed to follow them. He was chanting; the priests knelt. The globe floated over the bowed backs of the people below.

Andrew pressed against him; Karim peered over his shoulder. Merripen watched the roof recede. The small figure of Eline stepped away from the blond man. Her right hand darted toward her left wrist. Merripen saw the beam of light before he knew what it was. Domingo fell, arms out, sprawling on the roof. Eline bent over him, pulling at his neck with one hand, holding her weapon with the other. Merripen thought he heard a cry from the crowd. Eline was putting something around her neck. She stood up. Her amplified voice pierced the bubble. The people on the roof had pressed their heads to the marble surface; those in the street were on their knees.

The bubble fled from the village, flew over the fields, lifted above the treetops, and carried them over the road leading to Harsville.

Their vehicles were undamaged. They had all changed their clothes for warmer ones. The bubble sat among the debris in front of the unburned house. Light glowed from the dome of Eline’s craft; Andrew was inside it. Karim drove his own vehicle across the road, past a mound of burned rubble and up a hill, coming to rest among the trees. Andrew turned off his light and followed; Merripen trailed after him.

The sun was setting; the ruins below were being transformed into shadows that masked the destruction. Andrew got out of Eline’s craft and went to Merripen; he leaned against him as he sat down. He rested his hand on Merripen’s shoulder for a moment, then withdrew. “I hated being so far off the ground in that bubble.” Andrew paused. “What are we going to do?”