Cowering beneath an upturned chair, a small animal peered out with large, frightened eyes. It was perhaps half the size of his shoe. Its sixteen legs moved erratically, not propelling the tiny, shrunken body in any settled direction, its four feelers waving in mocking parody of the human dancers’ gesticulating arms.
“What is it?” asked Stead.
“A filthy rat!” A woman, far enough away to be brave, caught Stead’s arm. “Kill it quick!”
“But why?” Stead felt puzzlement. The little rat didn’t seem to be doing much harm. He had read about them, of course, but the reactions of these people, especially the women, surprised him.
The rat made a sudden despairing dart for safety. It scuttled in a blurring of speed along the wall. A man threw a glass at it. Another threw a goblet. Then two men trapped it. Stead saw a foot rise, go down. He heard—quite distinctly—a squeak abruptly chopped off.
“Filthy things,” said Delia, pulling him away from the painted woman who had caught his arm. “They infest the workers’ cubicles, of course, but one seldom sees any as low as this.”
“Horrible,” quavered the woman, reluctantly releasing Stead. “They make me feel itchy.”
“I want you to meet an old friend,” said Delia. “Forget the rat. Even a Controller’s cubicle cannot be entirely free of animal pests.” Looking at her, feeling the pressure of her hand on his arm, Stead forgot the rat.
Delia brought him wheeling round to face an old, wise, pretematurally aged, white-whiskered countenance that beamed on him with profound joy.
“This is Stead, Nav,” Delia said. “Stead, you have the great privilege and honor to meet Astroman Nav.” She was obviously happy at this meeting. “Nav is very high in the hierarchy of the Astromen. I’m sure he will be able to help you a lot.” She pouted at Nav. “You will, won’t you, Nav, dear?”
Nav’s pouched old eyes twinkled in the electrics. He lifted the hem of the long garment he wore, sat down on a chair, politely indicating seats for Delia and Stead, one on each side. Stead could not fail to notice the odd instrument dangling at Nav’s waist, but he decided that good manners demanded no comment.
“If your grandfather had heard you talking to an Astro-man like that you wouldn’t have sat down for a week.” Astroman Nav spoke in a gruff, shouty voice, a voice suitable for declamations now hushed into the more mellow tones of everyday conversation. “You young women. It’s all the fault of that fellow Wills. Filled your heads with free-thinking nonsense.”
“Now, Nav, dear!” Delia was exasperated at the old buffer. And just how much of an act it was even she wasn’t prepared to say. “I want Stead to know all you can tell him. When he goes among the Foragers he won’t have much time or opportunity for spiritual affairs.”
What Nav had to say absorbed Stead for an hour as the party whooped and hollered and thumped on all around.
“We Astromen are the custodians of the race’s progress. We chart the future and hold the people firmly to the ancient beliefs. It is an onerous occupation and one taxing all our strength.” He smiled a little ruefully. “This man Wills who emancipated thought—or so the youngsters claim—was a little of a charlatan, when you boil it all down. But, certainly, he brought changes. Religion doesn’t seem quite so potent a force as it was when I was a young Astro novice. And I deplore that. Fine a girl as Delia is, she could be better if she took her religion more seriously.”
“But,” said Stead with the acuteness of the newly-educated, “if the ancient truths are true—I mean about the immortal being creating the world and the land of buildings, placing mankind here among the animals, providing our food and raw materials for the Foragers to bring home—if these are true, as they must be, why should anyone seek to doubt it?”
“Go and read Wills. But I like your fire. I believe you have the makings of an Astro novice. Although you are old chronologically, spiritually you are as yet newly born. I don’t think Wills will harm you much.”
“I… I don’t know. I hadn’t thought—”
“You’ll have to think about it after your Foraging tour of duty. If the Demons spare you, that is.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What? Hasn’t Delia or that scientist fellow—what’s his name, Bonaventura?— told you about Demons?”
“No.” Again that glorious feeling of new worlds opening to him flooded through Stead. Here, unexpectedly, like walking around a dark corner into a flood of light, fresh learning lay ready to spring into his experience.
“Demons,” said Astroman Nav, “were sent into the world by the anti-immortal one to bring penance and suffering, to try us, to make us struggle to find the peace of our own immortal souls through the bitter battles of conscience. Demons are anti-human, opposed to the godhead, utterly abhorrent. To overcome the Demons is to share in the eternal light of the immortal being.”
Stead tried to sort out this spate of new information. Demons? Well, everyone seemed to use the term as a curse word, a swearing block to let off their feelings. Now Nav was saying that Demons were in some way put into’ the world to test mankind, to serve as a practical yardstick to measure man’s own goodness. It all sounded very theoretical and religious.
Stead turned to Delia, who had walked across the room toward him with Simon. “Why didn’t you tell me, Delia? Was it Demons that Cargill, Simon, and you sniggered over that day?”
Simon laughed. A real, boisterous belly laugh. “No, Stead. Though what we discussed is a demon to many.”
Stead glanced at Delia as Simon’s face and voice and personality changed dramatically. The scientist suddenly took on the aspect of Cargill, and sheer bewilderment crushed Stead. How could he ever be expected to understand if no one would tell him?
Delia said, “Remember you’re a scientist, Simon, and not twenty years younger. Now, Stead, what of Demons?”
“It’s rather confusing. They are a sort of phantom monster, sent to plague mankind, to test our faith and worship of the immortal one.”
“More or less what we now believe,” and Simon nodded, back to his old wizened scientific self. “With all due deference to Nav as an Astroman, the Demons do stand a strong possibility of actually existing.”
“Oh, nonsense, Simon!” That was Delia, beautifully annoyed.
“Well, the Foragers keep on talking about the Demons they’ve seen. And you know how often Foragers never return.”
“Now you just listen to me, Simon! The nerve of it! A foremost scientist, talking like an ignorant Forager. Those cunning Foragers make up these stories. It give them importance, in their own foolish eyes, against the rest of humanity who do not venture Outside. Oh, I know Forager Controllers who’ve been Outside have told us the same stories, but a Forager Controller is really only half a Controller at best!”
Delia looked prettily indignant, cherishing her own beliefs and theories.
“But—” began Simon.
“And,” Delia rushed on, “the Foragers who don’t return have simply been killed or captured by enemies. And no Hunter is going to admit he was bested by an enemy, by a lost soul not of Archon! You know how much our soldiers resent being beaten.”
Stead, surprising himself, said, “That doesn’t seem surprising.” And stopped.
They all looked at him. Then Delia spoke again in a torrent of anger. She didn’t believe in Demons. Wills had said quite plainly that they were figments dreamed up by the old hierarchy to keep the workers in their place. No worker would dream of going Outside for fear of the Demons. Stead listened and again felt bewilderment at the shifting strands of logic and belief.