“Do you mean that all that,” Mark pointed to the mottled white globe of the moon, “is their own doing?”
“Why not? If you remove all the vegetation, presently you have no atmosphere, no water.”
“But what was the purpose?”
“Hygiene. Why should they have their world all crawling with organisms? And specially, they would banish one organism. Her surface is not all as you see. There are still surface-dwellers-savages. One great dirty patch on the far side of her where there is still water and air and forests-yes, and germs and death. They are slowly spreading their hygiene over their whole globe. Disinfecting her. The savages fight against them. There are frontiers, and fierce wars, in the caves and galleries down below. But the great race press on. If you could see the other side you would see year by year the clean rock-like this side of the moon-encroaching: the organic stain, all the green and blue and mist, growing smaller. Like cleaning tarnished silver.”
“But how do we know all this?”
“I will tell you all that another time. The Head has many sources of information. For the moment, I speak only to inspire you. I speak that you may know what can be done: what shall be done here. This Institute-Dio mio, it is for something better than housing and vaccinations and faster trains and curing the people of cancer. It is for the conquest of death: or for the conquest of organic life, if you prefer. They are the same thing. It is to bring out of that cocoon of organic life which sheltered the babyhood of mind the New Man, the man who will not die, the artificial man, free from Nature. Nature is the ladder we have climbed up by, now we kick her away.”
“And you think that some day we shall really find a means of keeping the brain alive indefinitely?”
“We have begun already. The Head himself . . .”
“Go on,” said Mark. His heart was beating wildly and he had forgotten both Jane and Wither. This at last was the real thing.
“The Head himself has already survived death, and you shall speak to him this night.”
“Do you mean that Jules has died?”
“Bah! Jules is nothing. He is not the Head.”
“Then who is?”
At this moment there was a knock on the door. Someone, without waiting for an answer, came in.
“Is the young man ready?” asked the voice of Straik.
“Oh yes. You are ready, are you not, Mr. Studdock?”
“You have explained it to him, then?” said Straik. He turned to Mark and the moonlight in the room was so bright that Mark could now partially recognise his face-its harsh furrows emphasised by that cold light and shade.
“Do you mean really to join us, young man?” said Straik. “There is no turning back once you have set your hand to the plough. And there are no reservations. The Head has sent for you. Do you understand-the Head? You will look upon one who was killed and is still alive. The resurrection of Jesus in the Bible was a symboclass="underline" to-night you shall see what it symbolised. This is real Man at last, and it claims all our allegiance.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” said Mark. The tension of his nerves distorted his voice into a hoarse blustering cry.
“My friend is quite right,” said Filostrato. “Our Head is the first of the New Men-the first that lives beyond animal life. As far as Nature is concerned he is already dead: if Nature had her way his brain would now be mouldering in the grave. But he will speak to you within this hour, and-a word in your ear, my friend-you will obey his orders.”
“But who is it?” said Mark.
“It is Francois Alcasan,” said Filostrato.
“You mean the man who was guillotined?” gasped Mark. Both the heads nodded. Both faces were close to him: in that disastrous light they looked like masks hanging in the air.
“You are frightened?” said Filostrato. “You will get over that. We are offering to make you one of us. Ah-if you were outside, if you were mere canaglia you would have reason to be frightened. It is the beginning of all power. He live forever. The giant time is conquered. And the giant space-he was already conquered too. One of our company has already travelled in space. True, he was betrayed and murdered and his manuscripts are imperfect: we have not yet been able to reconstruct his space ship. But that will come.”
“It is the beginning of Man Immortal and Man Ubiquitous,” said Straik. “Man on the throne of the universe. It is what all the prophecies really meant.”
“At first, of course,” said Filostrato, “the power will be confined to a number-a small number-of individual men. Those who are selected for eternal life.”
“And you mean,” said Mark, “it will then be extended to all men?”
“No,” said Filostrato. “I mean it will then be reduced to one man. You are not a fool, are you, my young friend? All that talk about the power of Man over Nature-Man in the abstract-is only for the canaglia. You know as well as I do that Man’s power over Nature means the power of some men over other men with Nature as the instrument. There is no such thing as Man-it is a word. There are only men. No! It is not Man who will be omnipotent, it is some one man, some immortal man. Alcasan, our Head, is the first sketch of it. The completed product may be someone else. It may be you. It may be me.”
“A king cometh,” said Straik, “who shall rule the universe with righteousness and the heavens with judgement. You thought all that was mythology, no doubt. You thought because fables had clustered about the phrase ‘Son of Man’ that Man would never really have a son who will wield all power. But he will.”
“I don’t understand, I don’t understand,” said Mark.
“But it is very easy,” said Filostrato. “We have found how to make a dead man live. He was a wise man even in his natural life. He live now forever: he get wiser. Later, we make them live better-for at present, one must concede, this second life is probably not very agreeable to him who has it. You see? Later we make it pleasant for some-perhaps not so pleasant for others. For we can make the dead live whether they wish it or not. He who shall be finally king of the universe can give this life to whom he pleases. They cannot refuse the little present.”
“And so,” said Straik, “the lessons you learned at your mother’s knee return. God will have power to give eternal reward and eternal punishment.”
“God?” said Mark. “How does He come into it? I don’t believe in God.”
“But, my friend,” said Filostrato, “does it follow that because there was no God in the past that there will be no God also in the future?”
“Don’t you see,” said Straik, “that we are offering you the unspeakable glory of being present at the creation of God Almighty? Here, in this house, you shall meet the first draught of the real God. It is a man-or a being made by man-who will finally ascend the throne of the universe. And rule forever.”
“You will come with us?” said Filostrato. “He has sent for you.”
“Of course he will come,” said Straik. “Does he think he could hold back and live?”
“And that little affair of the wife,” added Filostrato.
“You will not mention a triviality like that. You will do as you are told. One does not argue with the Head.”
Mark had nothing now to help him but the rapidly ebbing exhilaration of the alcohol taken at dinner-time and some faint gleams of memory from hours with Jane and with friends made before he went to Bracton, during which the world had had a different taste from this exciting horror which now pressed upon him. These, and a merely instinctive dislike for both the moonlit faces which so held his attention. On the other side was fear. What would they do to him if he refused now? And aiding fear was this young man’s belief that if one gave in for the present things would somehow right themselves “in the morning.” And, aiding the fear and the hope, there was still, even then, a not wholly disagreeable thrill at the thought of sharing so stupendous a secret.