In the cabin, four frightened men stared at each other in confusion and dismay.
Stone found words first. Wild-eyed, he asked, “Did we really see it?”
“Yes, we saw it,” Havig said. His face was even more grim than usual. “It appeared there in that corner. It glowed. It spoke to us.”
Bernard abruptly began to laugh. It was a dry, thin, ratcheting laugh that held little mirth. The others frowned at him.
“He’s amused,” Stone said. “What’s the joke?” Dominici asked.
“The joke’s on us,” Bernard said. “On all of us in this cabin, and on the Norglans, and on poor old Technarch McKenzie too. You remember what Skrinri and Vortakel told us? The terms of the ultimatum?”
“Sure,” Stone said. He imitated the tone of the Norglans. ” You may keep these worlds. All other worlds belong to Norgla.’”
“That’s right,” Bernard said. “In a puffed-up huff of cosmic pride, we came across space to the Norglans, magnanimously offering to divide the universe equally with them. In even greater pride, they sent us packing. And who were we, anyway, to say, This universe is ours? Insects! Apes! Lowly grubbing creatures of no particular importance!”
“We are men,” Havig said stoutly.
Bernard wheeled to face the Neopuritan. ” Men!” he mocked. “You talk about knowing the ways of God, Havig. What do you know? What does God care for you, for all of us? We’re an insignificant part of creation. If He exists, he regards us as just another life-form. Nothing special about us. We’re worms in a puddle, and because we happened to be the lords and masters of our particular puddle we tried to say we owned the cosmos!”
“Hold on a minute here, Bernard,” Dominici protested. “Is it your turn to go nuts now? What are you trying to tell us, anyway?”
In a quiet voice Bernard said, “I’m not really sure what I want to say—yet. But I think I see what’s ahead for us. I think we’re going to be put into our true slot in the order of things. We’re not lords of creation. We’re hardly even civilized, in the eyes of these people. Did you hear what the Rosgollan said? They were like us, a few hundred thousand years ago! On their time-scale, it’s only a couple of minutes since we came down from the trees, just two or three seconds since we learned how to read and write, just a fraction of an instant since we got even the slightest control over our environment.”
“All right, all right,” Dominici said. “So they’re greatly advanced…”
“Greatly?” Bernard shrugged. “The difference is inconceivable. The evolutionary gulf between that—that being and us is so tremendous we can’t begin to imagine it. It’s enough to knock some of the arrogance out of you, isn’t it, to find out that you’re not really king of the heap?”
“Earth will be in for some surprises,” Havig remarked quietly.
“If we ever get back,” said Dominici.
“Earth will be in for surprises, all right,” Bernard said. “Surprises enough to upset the applecart with a crash. We had it good too long. Supreme masters of all we surveyed. It was bad enough finding the Norglans cluttering up our nice universe—but now, on top of that, to run into these people…”
“And who knows what other races there may be?” Stone said suddenly, a trace of wildness in his eyes. “In Andromeda, in the other galaxies? Creatures far beyond even the Rosgollans…”
It was a numbing thought.
Bernard looked away, feeling a kind of dizziness at the sudden revelation of the universe’s immensity. Man was not alone. Far from it. And on planets incredibly distant, older races thrived and watched the brash newcomers. Bernard’s eyeballs throbbed; his throat was dry, his lips gummed together.
He could still see, in his mind’s eye, that weird golden glow. Could still hear the calm, assured voice ringing in his mind. Could still remember the infinitely humiliating words…
“Let’s go up front,” he suggested. “We ought to tell Laurance about it.”
“Yes, we should,” Stone said.
They made their way fore. But there was no need to tell Laurance the story of the strange visitation. The crewmen were sitting in their cramped cabin looking dazed and shaken.
“You saw it too?” Dominici asked.
“The Rosgollan?” Laurance said. “Yes. Yes, we saw it too.” His voice was utterly flat.
Clive began to giggle. It began as a ratcheting hoo-ha sound deep in his chest, rising rapidly in pitch until it approached hysteria. For an instant no one moved. Bernard strode quickly across the cabin, grabbed Clive by the bunched-up collar of his shirt, and slapped him three times, hard, without pause.
“Stop it! Cut it out, Clive!”
The giggling stopped. Clive blinked, shook his head, rubbed his flaming cheeks. Bernard stared down in surprise at his fingers, which still tingled with the impact of the blows. He realized it was the first time in his life he had ever struck another human being. But it had been the sensible thing to do; if not checked, Clive’s giggling might have infected them all within moments. Just now all of them rode the thin edge between sanity and madness. Bernard moistened his lips.
“We can’t let this crack us up!”
“Why not?” Laurance asked tonelessly. “It’s the end, isn’t it? The finish for all our big talk of galactic empires? Now we know just how insignificant we are. Just the mammals who happen to live on a certain little yellow sun in that little galaxy there on the screen. We may have spread to a few other worlds, but that isn’t the same as saying we’re masters of the universe, is it?”
Bernard did not reply. He stared at the master screen in the control panel. A planet hung large in the visual focus. The XV-ftl had drifted into an orbit round it, an ever-narrowing orbit.
“We’re landing,” Bernard said.
THIRTEEN
The planet of the Rosgollans was not at all as Bernard had expected it to be. His idea of the home of a super-race was a kind of super-Earth, with vaulting burnished towers springing to the skies, meticulously planned parks providing contrast to the urban scene, flexibridges linking buildings at heights dizzying to the eye.
He was wrong.
Perhaps the Rosgollans had had such things once; in any event, they had long since discarded the empty majesty of massive cities. The scene that lay before the Earthmen, as they left the ship—which had floated down, feather-light, in defiance of all laws of inertia and mass—was one of pastoral serenity.
Gentle green hills rolled out to the horizon. Dotting the green here and there were the pastel tones of small houses that seemed to sprout as organically from the ground as the low, stubby trees. There was no sign of industry, none of transportation.
“Just like fairyland,” Dominici said softly.
“Or like Paradise,” murmured Havig.
Bernard said, “It’s the post-technological phase of civilization, I’m sure. Remember the withering-away of the state that the ancient Marxists were forever trumpeting about? Well, this is it, I’m sure.” He realized he was speaking in a hushed whisper, as though this were a museum or a house of worship.
The nine of them stood together not far from the ship, waiting for a Rosgollan to put in an appearance. The air was sharp, with an alien tang to it, but it felt good to the lungs. A coolish breeze blew in from the hills. The sun was high in the sky, and looked redder, cooler than was the sun of Earth.
Just when they were beginning to grow impatient, a Rosgollan appeared, winking into view out of nowhere between one instant and the next.
“Teleportation,” Bernard murmured. “Even better than a transmat; you don’t need a mechanical rig.”