“That clears up a lot of problems I had after listening to you, Conrad,” Yanderman said, turning. Then: “Conrad!”
With a start, Conrad looked round. “I’m sorry! I was trying to work out … Yanderman, please explain this. If my visions come from the distant past, how is it that I could have seen Nestamay in them? So clearly that when I tried carving a girl’s head out of soap the day you came to Lagwich, I made it look like her instead of like Idris, as I intended?”
“A family resemblance,” Yanderman said curtly, and went back to his discussion with Maxall.
XXI
Hours later, when he and Yanderman had been left to rest in the hovel-its usual occupants having insisted on moving to another-the superficial glibness of that explanation was still irritating Conrad. It refused stubbornly to let him yield to the sleep his exhaustion craved.
Giving up at last, he rolled on his side and looked in Yanderman’s direction. It was far too dark to see him even in outline. A soughing breeze turned momentarily to a stiff wind and rattled a few grains of sand on the hovel wall.
“Conrad?” Yanderman said. On receiving a grunted response, he went on, “How do you feel after our epic trip?”
“Not very different,” Conrad admitted. “It turned out so much easier than I expected it all feels unreal. And the people here, too-so ordinary in so many ways. You’d expect them to make much more fuss after over four hundred years in isolation.”
“I know.” Sounds suggested that Yanderman was rolling on his back to look upwards at the low ceiling. “I think there are two reasons why our arrival passed off so calmly. For one thing, there are no precedents. Your people at Lagwich, mine in Esberg-we’ve developed a set of habits for meeting strangers. A marrying expedition comes, and you put on your best clothes and bake celebration bread and clean house and so on; well, all that has just gone with the wind here. And the second reason, it seems to me, is that the pattern of life here is such a tightly-knit one there’s no slack. Some of the demands of the existence you and I know are taken off their shoulders by the ancient machines: they’d have no opening for a soapmaker, for instance, because they have a device which takes in soiled clothing and delivers fresh. And some of the food is automatically produced-I want to investigate that tomorrow. But even so, nine-tenths of their waking time is taken up in meeting the demands of their predicament. Every single day a twenty-man working party is occupied in keeping the vegetation under control, Maxall says. Yesterday the discovery of an alien plant seeded from the hoof of a recently arrived thing meant that those people who should have had a day to rest up had to go out and scour the barrenland for any other specimens. That’s how the plants we saw on the way got where they are, obviously. I’m amazed they haven’t caved in under this pressure long ago, especially as they have no proper weapons!”
“No weapons?” Conrad echoed in astonishment. “But how about the things they used to burn Jaspers body-the heatbeams? Those looked like weapons to me!”
“Maxall says they weren’t intended for such use. They were converted, a long time ago, from devices meant for welding or smelting metal. They’ve been indispensable, but they consume immense quantities of power which can only be replaced through solar batteries-collecting sunlight and storing it-and they burn out rapidly. Besides, they’re cumbersome. You saw how awkward they are to handle.”
“There’s something else,” Conrad said after a pause. “I mean another reason why they didn’t go crazy with joy on seeing us. They’re frightened.”
There was a further pause, considerably longer. At last Yanderman said, “You’re no fool, Conrad. Have you any idea why?”
Encouraged, Conrad said musingly, “When I first realised I thought it must be the shock of what happened to Jasper. Nestamay explained why he had to be killed at once, and it sounded horrible. But then I thought maybe it was going on before that. As I understand it, they have this alarm which signals the arrival of a thing, and Jasper turned it off. If you’ve been used all your life to being warned of danger it must be pretty upsetting to know one time there was no warning.”
“Ye-es,” Yanderman agreed. “But I think it’s even deeper than that. They had no warning about us, did they? There was no alarm to signal our arrival.”
Conrad started. “Do they think we’re dangerous?”
“Try and put yourself in their position. All your life, and during the lifetime of your ancestors, existence at this place they call the Station has had a rigid form, an embracing discipline. You’ve never seen a stranger apart from a newborn infant. Though your traditional lore talks matter-of-factly about transport to other worlds, you’ve never been out of sight of this monstrous dome here. There is only one random factor in your existence: things appear every now and then. Maxall says the incidence is about once in two to three days. It used to be higher, and smaller creatures as well as large ones came through, some of them in swarms which took a month or more to dispose of completely. According to him, one of his own ancestors put a stop to this, but at the cost of losing a great deal of the area under the dome to the creeping plants. It was the lesser of two evils. Several irreplaceable specialists, including men who really understood the traditional lore, had been killed within a single year. You were dozing when we discussed this, I believe.”
Shamefacedly Conrad admitted that was possible. He said, “You mean they’re frightened of us not because we threaten them but simply because our arrival upsets the-uh-the situation they’ve adjusted to?”
“Precisely. Add one more thing, too. Here they’ve been isolated for centuries, charged with a specific task. As a result of losing those irreplaceable men I mentioned, and for various other reasons, they’ve been driven to the verge of admitting failure. They just don’t know what they’re doing any more! All their energy goes in keeping the problem under control. They never advance towards a solution of it. And now our intrusion shows them that all this time the world has been going on outside; things have changed incredibly. Maybe, by this time, their dedication isn’t relevant any more. Maybe it will turn out that everything they’ve sweated and slaved for is useless.”
“I thought they were being very polite to us,” Conrad muttered. “It seemed like an effort.”
Yanderman gave a dry, rustling laugh.
“But-” Conrad fumbled for the words. “But haven’t they had anyone here who could do what I can do? I mean, have these visions of the past?”
“Apparently not. Maxall was explaining to me that the community is now reduced to a mere handful of heavily-inbred genetic lines. This boy who endangered everyone by turning off the alarm had only been spared punishment previously because he represented the sole survivor of a particular line and the only possible mate for Maxall’s granddaughter. Recessive imbecility has already appeared in the Maxall family; the old man was terrified that if Nestamay had children by anyone else this recessive would crop up in them. And a community like this can’t afford to feed unproductive people.”
“What’s this got to do with-?”
“With your gift? Simply that it’s a rarity, and probably due to some factor of inheritance. In this community, the genes endowing people with it aren’t present in anybody’s makeup.”
“I see.” Conrad hesitated. An idea had just struck him which seemed almost presumptuous, but he had to voice it anyway. “Yanderman, is it going to be possible to put my gift to use here? I mean-I mean …” His voice trailed away.
“I don’t know,” Yanderman said. “That’s what I’ve been banking on, naturally, ever since I heard those extracts from the ancient lore which Maxall read to us. There are clues in there which may lead us through the tangled maze of your visualised images to an eventual solution. It would help tremendously if you could gain full waking access to your visions, but I doubt if you’ll ever achieve it. I know Granny Jassy had been trying for nearly fifty years without succeeding.”