“Very good memory, too,” the priest agreed.
“All right, now, Gar,” the priestess said, “I’m going to wake you up.” She coached him back to the present, brought him to a very light trance, then said, “When I clap my hands you’ll be completely awake, but you won’t remember anything of what we’ve said. Is that clear?”
“Clear,” Gar muttered.
The priestess clapped her hands; Gar blinked, then looked around him as though wondering how he’d come to be there.
“Surely you remember coming down here with us,” the priest cajoled.
“Coming … down here?” Gar frowned intently, then nodded. “ ‘Member.”
“He’s lost his memory again.” The priestess sighed. “I had hoped he could hold on to it once the link was established.”
“No doubt it will reestablish itself more often,” the priest told her.
“Yes, we’ll have done that much good, at least. Well, Gar, would you like some breakfast now?”
Half an hour later, Alea led her “brother” down the hillside. When they were several hundred yards from the temples, Alea said, “Well, you certainly had your chance to learn about the religion here. Anything interesting?”
“The underground chambers, for one,” Gar said. “Metal walls and plastic chairs aren’t exactly Neolithic, let alone sliding doors. Their ancestors became mound builders, covering the landing craft with dirt and calling them hills, then building the temples on top.”
Alea nodded. “Did you read the minds of the priest and priestess who were taking care of Orgo?”
“No, I was a little preoccupied,” Gar confessed. “What did they do?”
“Took him deep underground to a room where there was one of those X-ray machines Herkimer told me about,” Alea said, “though maybe it was a sonograph or a CAT scanner.”
“Something that let them look inside the boy, anyway.”
Alea nodded. “They found his throat was clogged with mucus and said they’d give him one of those pills you told me about, the kind that kill germs. You know, I hadn’t thought germs were real, just something Herkimer made up, but those priests couldn’t have talked with him.”
“No, though I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a computer with a database like his,” Gar said, “just a much older version.” He smiled. “Well, it may not be terribly Neolithic, but it does fit the priestly role of healer.”
“Yes, it does.” When she’d learned they were going to visit a Neolithic society Alea had studied everything about them that Herkimer had on file.
“That’s why the temple isn’t in the village—each ship has to care for a whole district.”
“But the original colonists had a problem,” Gar said. “They wanted to make modern medicine available to their descendants, but they didn’t want to contaminate their brand-new Neolithic civilization with modern machinery and the industrial civilization that would go with it.”
“So they passed the knowledge down through the clergy,” Alea said. “I’ll bet they don’t teach the priests and priestesses about the machines until they’ve taken their final vows and committed themselves completely to the temples.”
“And one of those vows is an oath not to talk about anything modern with anybody who isn’t a priest.” Gar smiled, amused. “No wonder they went into a panic when I performed a tracheotomy!”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it a panic,” Alea demurred. “I do think they’re aware that this knowledge gives them power and status, though. They don’t want to lose that, so they’re very worried if someone else has their knowledge:”
“Especially if that someone is a common peasant,” Gar said with a sardonic smile. “Still, I think they’re at least as worried about protecting their society from the modern world as they are about keeping their position. I wonder how their ancestors managed to pass on their fear of contamination?”
“Probably through stories,” Alea said. “I’d love to hear their myths.” She remembered how she and Gar had made up tales that were even now helping change her home world.
“Good thought.” Gar nodded. “I wonder how many other advanced techniques the clergy are using, disguised as religious rituals.”
Alea frowned. “Why would there be any need for anything but healing to be modern?”
“Because with advanced medical services,” Gar said, “people live longer, and the population grows—especially when women live until menopause and after; they can bear more children.”
Alea frowned. “Who says they have to?”
“Their societies, usually,” Gar said, “even their religions—or they did, in the Neolithic era. With short life spans and a lot of babies dying at birth or soon after, they needed to keep the birth rate up so the tribe wouldn’t die off. We don’t have any evidence that they thought about birth control—but these people must, or there would be too many of them and not enough food.”
“More people makes for more hands to do the work,” Alea argued. “They could have all the babies they want if they grow more food!”
“Not enough more,” Gar said, “unless they used modern farming techniques like crop rotation and spreading fertilizer. I’ll bet you the priests and priestesses do both under the guise of ritual.”
Alea eyed him warily. “What’s the stake?”
For a moment, Gar’s eyes gleamed with admiration and desire; then the look was gone, hidden under the mask of his constant courtesy, leaving Alea shaken, relieved, and disappointed all at the same time. She gathered anger to hide her confusion. “Never mind. I don’t know if I want to gamble with you of all people.”
“I’m not usually a betting man,” Gar told her, “and I meant it more as a figure of speech than a serious wager. Still, I’ll settle for the loser admitting the winner was right.”
Alea’s anger focused into indignation that he would even ask such a lessening of her pride—but she remembered it might be he who applauded her good sense. “I’ll take that bet.” She wondered what stakes had been his first impulse—a kiss, or more? and felt a wave of regret that he had bitten back the words. Still, that regret was mingled with relief, but also amazement that he had shown some feeling for her other than friendship and admiration.
Well, little good would it do him, and if he ate his heart out watching her, so much the better! She lifted her chin and said, “You don’t fool me. You’re hoping the priests and priestesses will turn out to be a government dressed in ceremonial robes.”
“A theocracy? Yes, the thought had occurred to me,” Gar confessed. “It wouldn’t be the first time a church has taken up the functions of a government when there was none.” He looked up at the sky. “There isn’t all that much of the night left, but I confess I’d like to sleep while I can. Shall we go back to Bartrum and Celia’s cottage?”
Bartrum was waiting up nervously and was massively relieved to hear that Orgo was well and would be as good as new, but that he would have to stay at the temple for a day or two until the priestess was sure the illness had run its course. He cobbled up a late supper; then everyone went back to sleep again.
They all woke late, by farm standards—it must have been an hour past sunrise at least—and ate a leisurely breakfast with their host. Celia arrived home while they were eating, worn but happy. Bartrum fussed over her, making sure she joined them to eat, and wouldn’t leave off until he was sure she felt somewhat restored. Then he turned to Gar and Alea with an apologetic smile and explained, “My friends won’t blame me if I come late to the plowing this morning.”