Staffa remained silent during water break. Anglo, having arrived, allowed them a longer than normal sit in the shade
to drink while he took Kaylla into the dunes, anticipation in his eyes. For the first time, Staffa noted the hatred in each of his fellow's eyes as they stared at the dune Anglo led Kaylla behind.
Emotion — a violent storm — filled Staffa's breast when she finally returned, mouth pursed bitterly. She waited until they were walking back down the trench to spit into the scorched sand.
Fear for his own safety and vile hatred for Anglo twisted and ate inside Staffa as he fought to keep his tired body upright.
God's work? If so, God was a bastard. And so was Staffa kar Therma. He'd helped build this living hell. He had gleefully sacrificed souls to it.
I could die so easily. It would only be just in an unjust universe. How true Koree's words are. Have I come to this horrid existence to finally know the roots of Truth? Is this what people, those mindless clods who compose the masses, feel? Do they. No. Only a few are ever driven to find ultimate Truth. The rest would fawn over their Blessed Gods, or their Sassan Emperors, and look no deeper.
God, whatever you are. This I swear upon my soul. If I live, I will seek you out. I will find my son, and I will change the lot of humanity! I'll break your rotted Forbidden Borders. I'll find a way to change humanity — and if I die in the process, that energy Koree talks about will make it back to you some day and you will know that one man, at least, dared to defy you!
"I did what I did because I was trained for it," Staffa told Koree as they moved into the shadow of the unstable dune. Blessed shade came only at the expense of the towering danger.
"I was taught and trained to be a mercenary by the Praetor of Myklene. It was drilled into me from the time I was five," he continued, noting Kaylla's frightened glance going to the sheer walls on either side of them. Tiny grains and streamers of sand — whipped from the top by the wind— trickled down the sides in a constant purr to settle on their damp bodies in a gritty dusting of sweat-streaked gray.
"Like a tool," Koree mused. "Did you ever have friends your own age? Ever get out into the city?"
"No," Staffa told him dully. "I only associated with my
teachers — constantly studying, practicing, learning. My goals were to improve until I could outperform my instructors. To that end, I devoted every waking moment." Staffa barked a short laugh. "I succeeded by the time I was twenty-three."
"And at what cost to yourself, my friend Tuff?"
"I don't know. I don't even know why I tell you this."
"Such talk is new to you?"
Staffa almost feH again. He waited until he had his footing. "About myself, yes." Too tired; he wasn't in control. Fear built.
Koree fought to get his breath. "You must have had a lonely life, my friend."
The call "Whoa!" came from behind. They had no breath left for talk as they stumbled and staggered to set the pipe straight.
They hurried, everyone aware of the ominous wall of sand that rose over them. Staffa's exhaustion increased, each step in the loose sand sapped him further, draining his very life. Rotted Gods, for the ability to simply stagger to the side of the trench and collapse!
Cursing, they placed the yokes and staggered up with the last of the pipe sections.
Have you become the confessor of my sins, tiny fragile man? Are you my route to salvation? You, who I could break with one hand? Why do you, who are so fragile, seem so strong and terrible now?
To cover his discomfort, Staffa continued to speak. "I always turned to my study and training. I lived with military problems. How do I take this planet? How can I counter these defenses? They were my reality."
"And what landed you here, Tuff?"
"The questions of a dying old man," Staffa whispered.
They were laboring in the shadow of the dune when the hovercraft approached with a new stack of pipe dangling beneath. The pilot, making a poor job of it, slowed too quickly. The cable swayed crazily as the craft dropped rapidly, heavy pipe thumping into the sand beyond the dune. Staffa felt the impact through his feet.
Years of combat had ingrained split-second reactions. Twisting from under the yoke, his terror-galvanized muscles
sped him forward. He braced himself and yanked the tug rope to pul Kaylla backward. Staffa caught her, pinned her arms to her sides with panic-lent brute strength. Hugging her tightly, he catapulted their bodies into the
end of the tube. A half second later, thousands of tons of sand avalanched down to bury the world.
Chapter 16
"Tell me, Bruen, what do you think God is?" the hollow voice demanded, blasting through the Magister's staggering mind.
He swallowed, heart racing. Could the machine hear his heartbeat? Or understand the cold sweat that poured down his face in trickling streams?
Bruen allowed the mantra to flow. "God is a fallacious human delusion. By following the path of Right Thought, we wean ourseves from the illusions reinforced by antique mythology. The Way leads us from primitive superstitions which require the concept of God to atone for human inadequacies and only act to keep us servile—"
"Enough!"
Bruen gasped, mind reeling from the booming explosion in his mind.
"You are very good at chanting mantra, Bruen." The Mag Comm hesitated. "But let us speak on an intellectual level. You used to believe in God. You practiced that heresy. Why? Why did you believe? I would know your reasons for accepting the fallacy. You are not totally illogical."
Bruen clamped his jaw to still his chattering teeth. He shook uncontrollably, every muscle in his tired body vibrating in the grip of the Mag Comm's awesome mental power.
"Because the concept of God explains… I mean, seems to explain, certain phenomena observable in the physical universe." A sweet breath of relief filled his lungs. Fear loosened its grip on his intestines. He had a slim chance.
"Then God is an explanation? Speak, Bruen, speak to me of the hypothetical underpinnings of your outlawed heresy. Do you mean that logically God could be considered the quest of science?"
"Not exactly." Bruen swallowed again as he sought to
soothe his panicked brain. "You see, science is the investigation of the physical universe around us. God, on the other hand, was considered the creator, the thing that gave purpose to everything. The designer, if you will, of physical laws such as entropy, thermodynamics, the quant… I mean, the uncertainty we observe in the physical world before—"
"/ know to what you refer. Tell me of God — not physics."
"The belief in God wasn't universally the same. Various traditions developed different explanations. Nor was belief in God totally accepted. Any investigation
of the nature of God depends on basic assumptions. The atheists always pointed to those assumptions as—"
"Atheists? Explain!"
"Not everyone accepted God as real. Humans, through many centuries, practiced atheism — the disbelief of God's existence. We have no record how long atheism has—"
"Do humans still practice atheism?"
Bruen thought he perceived an element of uncertainty in the mechanical voice. "Yes. It should be a predictable intellectual position in any society composed of rational individuals."
"Why, if the society is rational, do not all humans practice atheism?" The machine seemed off balance.
Bruen swallowed, willing his suddenly frantic mind to silence and serenity. "Because the proofs offered by the atheists have never been convincing. Just as belief in God cannot be proved without making an assumption, neither—"