‘That was how the exodus took place,’ continued the Am Re. ‘That was how the seed-cases carried the seed. Of the five ships that left Mars, one proceeded to Sirius Four, where a great civilization is now maturing; one voyaged to Alpha Centauri One, where the seed withered before it had taken root; another journeyed to Procyon Two, where the seed remains still only the seed, and where there is yet little distinction between men and animals; the fourth vessel, myself, came here to Altair Five, where, it seems, the flower may yet blossom; and the last vessel made the shortest voyage, to Sol Three, the planet you call Earth. Its seed lived and flourished, though the star ship was destroyed, having settled on land that possessed a deep geological fault. It is now more than nine millennia since the island on which the star ship rested was submerged below the waters you know as the Adantic Ocean.’
Paul’s mind was numbed by revelations, traumatized by knowledge, shattered by incredible possibilities. The Mardan scene had faded, and there was now nothing. He floated dreamily and luxuriously in a sea of darkness, an intellectual limbo in which it was only possible to assume ‘sanity’ by actually believing that these fantastic experiences had been communicated to him by a telepathic star ship.
‘Your body grows cold,’ said the Aru Re incomprehensibly, ‘and there is little time left for me to answer the questions that are boiling in your mind. Soon I must allow you to return. But here are some of the answers that you seek. It is true that my mind is a linked series of what you would call computers, but it also stores the implanted patterns of the minds of men long dead. It bears no more relation to what you understand by the term computer than your Gloria Mundi bore to its ancestor, the guided missile. You wish to know how I can speak your tongue and converse of the things you have known. I can speak the language used by any intelligent being by exploring its mind and correlating symbols and images. You wish to know also if I can still communicate with the remaining star ships, the guardians that await the maturation of their seed, as I do. We communicate not by any form of wave transmission that you can understand, but by elaborate patterns of empathy that are not subject to the limiting characteristics of space and time.’
It seemed to Paul that, in the black silence of his head, there was a great drum roll of titanic laughter. ‘Is it so strange, little one,’ said the Aru Re softly and with irony, ‘that even a machine can grow lonely? Also, we need to share the knowledge when the first of the seed brings forth a truly mature fruit. For then there can be no doubt that the scattering of the seed was not in vain … I will answer one more question, and then you must return if you are to live. You are puzzled by the variation in the number of fingers of the race you have discovered. There was some small genetic damage during transit, which caused slight mutations. The variations are of no importance. It matters not in the long sweep of history.’ Again the titanic roll of laughter. ‘In the end, little one, despite their now rigid tabu of the little finger, the far descendants of the Bayani will be as their Martian ancestors were. But perhaps they will have outlived the impulse to self-destruction … Now, farewell, Paul Marlowe. Your mind flickers and your body grows cold … Open your eyes/’
The darkness dissolved; and once more there was feeling— pain and exhaustion and extreme cold.
Paul opened his eyes. He was still standing at the base of one of the metal shoes of the star ship. Had he ever moved from it? He did not know. Perhaps he would never know. He stared about him, dazed, trance-like, trying to accept the realities of a real world once more.
The ache in his limbs helped to focus his mind on practicalities. His limbs were stiff and painful—as if they had been rigid a very long time, or as if he had just come out of suspended animation.
Shielding his eyes, he gazed up at the polished hull of the great star ship and then down at its supporting shoes embedded in eternal ice. That at least was real. He stood contemplating it for some moments.
Then he said sofdy: ‘Yes, you are truly beautiful.’
He had told Shon Hu and the others not to wait for him after mid-day. The sun was already quite high in the sky. He felt weak and shattered; but there was no time to waste if he were to recross the glacier before they attempted to make their own way back to Baya Nor.
Then, suddenly, there was a curious rippling in his limbs—a glow, a warmth, as if liquid energy were being pumped into his veins. He felt stronger than he had ever felt. He could hardly keep still.
Impulsively, and for no apparent reason, he held out his arm—a strange half-gesture of gratitude and farewell—to the high, sun-bright column of metal that was the Aru Re.
Then he turned and set off on the journey back across the glacier.
Zu Shan saw him coming in the distance.
Shon Hu, partly snow blind, could hardly see anything.
Nemo did not need to see. His face wore an expression in which wonder mingled with something very near to ecstasy.
‘Lord,’ he said in Bayani when Paul was only a few paces away, ‘I have been trying to ride your thoughts. There has never been such a strange ride. I fell off, and fell off, and fell off.’
‘I, too, fell off,’ said Paul, ‘perhaps even more than you did.’
‘You are all right, Paul?’ asked Zu Shan anxiously in
English.
‘I don’t think I have felt better for a long time,’ answered Paul honestly.
‘Lord,’ said Shon Hu, ‘I cannot see your face, but I can hear your voice, and that shows me the expression on your face … I am happy that you have found what you have found … The little one told us many strange things, lord, which are much beyond the thinking of such men as I… It is true, then, that you have spoken with Oruri?’
‘Yes, Shon Hu. I have spoken with Oruri. Now let us return from the land of gods to the land of men.’
THIRTY-FOUR
There were now only two experienced pole-men to control the barge. But by this time Paul himself had acquired some of the tricks and the rhythm of poling, and he was able to relieve Shon Hu and Zu Shan for reasonably long spells; while Nemo continued to nurse his still aching bones in the stern of the small craft. Fortunately, navigation was not too difficult for they were now passing down stream. The poling was necessary as much to guide the barge as to add to its speed.
The journey back from the Temple of the White Darkness to the bank of the river had been easier than Paul had expected. Perhaps it was psychologically easier because they were relieved because the mountain had been reached without any further disasters, and they were now going home. Or perhaps it was because they were already familiar with the hazards of the route and also because Shon Hu’s uncanny sense of direction had enabled them to reach the Watering of Oruri less than a kilometre from where they had sunk the barge.
Shon Hu had completely recovered from his snow blindness by the time they had reached the savannah. As soon as they were on the lower ground, they made camp and rested for a day and a night before going back into the forest. They did not hear the voice of the Aru Re again—though, out of curiosity, Paul exercised what mental concentration he possessed in an attempt to contact it telepathically. It seemed as if the star ship had now dismissed diem altogether from its lofty contemplations.