But here the system was closer. These people, Gates, Ileia, a good part of their very bodies were made up of the component chemicals that had formed their grandsires before the coming of the Holocaust.
As a historian the thought awed him. But there was a more overriding concern at the moment. He was simply exhausted.
"I'm heading back to the ship. If you people stay, I would suggest that you do so as a group. I'll send Richard down to take a look at these people."
"I take it we're staying for a while?" Shelley asked.
"Well, I guess that's what we've come sixty light-years for. We'll stay a week or so to gather the necessary data, document this place, then we'll push on."
"I want to get my surveys out," Ellen said excitedly. "This is going to be fascinating. I should get at least two or three publications out of this one."
"And I think I'll get something, as well," Stasz said eagerly, as he edged off to one side of the group and then turned to plunge into the overgrowth.
"I'm going back to sleep aboard ship. I don't want any of these people allowed aboard the vessel," Ian com manded. "If both sides met there, we would be the ones to suffer. So they stay out. I would suggest that we get Stasz to rig up a simple security surveillance system on the approaches to the air lock."
"I'll let him know when he gets back," Shelley said.
Ian turned and started back up the path. He gave a quick scan up, looking for incoming. Their catapult was visible but it was unattended.
"Get some rest, Dr. Lacklin," Shelley called. "You've had a hard night."
He looked back at Shelley. She had that straight, of ficial look about her, all professional.
"Ah, yeah, thanks, Shelley." He searched awkwardly for words, "Yes. You did a good job."
"I doubt if you did." Ellen sniffed.
"Ah, shut up," Ian grumbled, and he pushed off back to the ship.
"All secured for undocking," Stasz's voice crackled over the intercom.
Ian felt the gentle nudge of the ship as the maneuvering thrusters pushed them free and away.
He watched on the aft monitor as the bulk of the cyl inder dropped astern.
"I still think they're the craziest assholes I've ever laid eyes on," Richard said, resuming their conversation.
"Don't say assholes, Richard," Ellen replied, "I've heard that word shouted at least ten thousand times in the last two weeks."
"Okay, bastards."
"Richard!"
"I'm throttling up," Stasz said. A faint pulsing rumble echoed through the ship and the slight tug of gravity increased. Funny, he barely noticed the gravity changes anymore, and his stomach couldn't be in better shape.
"That's one group I'm glad to be rid of," Richard mut tered as he uncapped a beaker of gin and offered it around. Even Ellen took a quick snort and smiled her gratitude.
"So damned self-righteous, both of them," Shelley re plied. "I still can't figure out what split them up." She looked to Ellen, their sociologist who was always ready with a theory.
"I don't know, some doctrinal point about their wor ship service. I think the break came nearly a millennium ago. Fascinating how they ritualized their war. They never engaged in direct killing close up, they clearly defined their boundaries and observed them, and I found at least one record in their computer that indicated they had co operated when the vessel was holed. They even coop erated in their birth reductions and contraceptives to maintain the low population. But Lord, did they get into symbolic warfare."
"It sure as hell didn't look symbolic to me," Richard replied. "Thank heavens those crazies didn't have a cou ple of small thermonukes; they'd have wiped each other out long ago. What do you think, Ian? Ian?"
Ian sat off to one side, his expression pale as he fumbled with his pockets. But the others barely noticed as Shelley jumped back into the conversation.
"But it was symbolic. It was their catharsis; they could vent their feelings and only occasionally would some un wary person get slammed."
"I still think they were damn fools," Richard muttered, and Shelley nodded her agreement. Ian noticed how she stared at him, and felt a sudden flush of embarrassment.
"I think I'll go forward and watch jump from Stasz's Co seat."
He fumbled through his pockets one more time, but he already knew that what he was looking for was somewhere back on the colony, most likely having fallen from his pocket while he had been "playing" with Ileia. He had mislaid the Thermomine Manual and chances were the inhabitants were already pouring through it. He could only hope the symbolic warfare would stay symbolic. He cursed himself soundly; here was yet another thing to feel guilt over, but there was no way he could tell his comrades about this screw up-Ellen would be all over him in a flash.
As Ian closed the door, Ellen was waxing enthusiastic over the data she had collected about controlled primitive societies and ritualized warfare. She had been so enthusiastic that Ian had half expected her to request that she could stay behind, and only a promise of a return visit on their way back home had finally convinced her to leave.
He was half tempted to stay there, as well; Ileia haunted his thoughts. But in a way he was glad that they had decided to pull out. At forty-two he just couldn't keep up with the demands of a healthy eighteen-year-old, no mat ter how much he would fantasize about her later.
The decision to leave had come as a mild surprise to everyone. They had settled in nicely, learned to dodge the spears, and in fact were even starting to view the war as a great game-as they freely drifted between the two sides, taking notes and observing. Gates had hooked him into the computer log. The records of their initial depar ture over a millennium ago were still intact-a historical find that would keep dozens of graduate assistants busy for years. There were even fragments of a library and Ian found hundreds of volumes and documents thought to be long lost.
Ian had holed up in there for a week, taking all meals, sleeping only when exhaustion had set in, and pushing off Ileia's advances. And he discovered two disturbing facts.
The first, that a large exile colony had been established for political refugees. He already knew that, and knew as well that it had been the final domain of Dr. Franklin Smith, a noted political dissident in the years just before the Holocaust. He had assumed that Smith's colony had been destroyed when the war started, since the records back home indicated for some vague reason that the unit had died.
It had not.
The records in Unit 27's main library indicated a sight ing of it some forty years after departure, but their trajectory was faster and Smith's unit had passed them without direct contact.
But it was the second fact that had caused Ian to pull up stakes and leave the peace movement colony behind. Ian had discovered the name of Smith's ship. Alpha/ Omega. A strange compulsion was forming in lan's mind. Even as the compulsion formed it frightened him, for it implied a danger he would rather not face. But for some reason beyond his understanding, he wanted to discover why a colony started by a hero out of the distant past would now engage in wholesale murder. What was it that the poet from Unit 181 was warning him against? To the surprise of everyone else, Ian had talked them back to the Discovery and then immediate departure.