The best way would be to avoid manifesting his penumbra entirely by arranging a physical-contact transfer. That way the enemy would not know even if he happened to be extended at the time.
Unless the enemy umbra was there. In that case there would be an abrupt struggle for existence: penumbra against umbra. Victory would depend on circumstance—and surely the enemy had arranged things to favor him, here.
Yet the risk had to be taken. NK-2 would try to stun his host momentarily, so that he stumbled and brushed against another person, seemingly by accident. Then—
Dishon came for him that morning. Once again Enkidu traveled the long dark hall, past the cell where Amys waited silently—alive!—and up the steps that led to the far room of the water-clock. He was tired and unsteady, so that he stumbled and almost fell on the stair. The idiot lamp-bearer continued without noticing, and Dishon stepped back, not even proffering a gloved hand to steady the prisoner. Enkidu had to recover his equilibrium by himself. But what did such little accidents matter? Amys lived!
They entered the room. Amalek and he of the white robe sat as before, and the clock dripped steadily, its drop-shadows plummeting as the lamplight picked them out. Stars winked from the wall in back as he came forward to stand in the red circle.
This time Sargan conducted the questioning. The voice inside the cowl was soft, almost a whisper; but in that room it carried easily and seemed to come at Enkidu from all sides. There was the menace of a hissing snake in it. Once more Enkidu marveled that such a person should maintain so firm an enmity toward an innocent god.
“Do you still pretend to worship the false god?”
“I worship Aten.”
Amalek rose, but the white robe waved him back. “Insolence will not avail you, pretender. It is our duty and our intent to persuade you of the error of your belief. If you renounce Aten sincerely we will free you and allow you to return to your home in Calah. But the greatest gift we can give you is freedom from false worship. When your spirit is unburdened, the rest follows naturally.”
“Aten has sustained me for many years,” Enkidu said. “I shall not desert him now.”
“Strange,” Sargan’s muffled voice mused. “His heresy is very strong.” He returned his attention to Enkidu. “Do you realize that you leave us no choice but to put you to the torture if you refuse to recant voluntarily?”
“Why?” Enkidu asked, loudly, because this was the thing he feared. “Aten is a merciful god. He would embrace you also, if you only let him. Why do you hate him so?”
“We do what we must,” Sargan said, and his tone was sad but the menace remained. “It is not always easy. We cannot allow a pretender to go uncorrected.”
“I am no pretender! Aten is my god. I seek only to worship at his temple, wherever it may be.”
“Soon we shall show you the instruments. We warn you now, in the hope that you will recant before it becomes necessary to employ such devices. Torturemaster!”
Dishon stepped forward, standing rigid.
“You recognize him, of course,” Amalek said. “Dishon is not an intelligent man, or a vindictive one. But his experience in his craft is substantial. In the interrogation chamber, with the instruments in his hands, he shows the mark of genius. Never have I seen defter turns of the knife, a more precise point at which pain draws the shades of consciousness. Seldom does a bone or a tendon snap before he is ready for it to. His touch is marvelous. I once attended while he operated for a quarter of a day—and the subject never stopped screaming for a moment.”
Several moments passed before Enkidu could summon the composure to speak. When he did, he tried to make his voice crackle with contempt, but was quite unable. “Aten is my god!”
Sargan sighed. “We shall give you further time to consider. We are not cruel or premature. Consider the other gods. Surely at least one of these is worthy of your fidelity—as Aten is not.”
At his gesture, Dishon came up to remove the pretender. Enkidu turned—and felt suddenly faint. He fell against the table, almost upsetting the water-clock, and slid along it toward Sargan. His outflung hand brushed momentarily against Sargan’s own.
CHAPTER 9.
Contact! And the potential host was empty!
NK-2 left his umbra in the primary host. That portion of himself would be without exploratory capability, but would be safe enough for the moment. This portion could not have any influence on the host, but could observe the superficial thought processes.
The two figures remained silent for a time after Dishon had escorted the prisoner back to his cell. The water-clock dripped in monotonous punctuation to their thoughts.
Sargan stood at last but did not remove his cowl. “I look for my god, but I see him not,” he murmured. “For an instant, when the pretender touched me—but that is impossible.”
Amalek also stood. He was a dark, rather short man of about forty. His face was unremarkable except for his eyes, which suggested a certain human compassion. “The pretender is obstinate.”
“So many give way when their seals are taken. I had hoped this one—”
“Perhaps the Ishtar bracelet is what should have been taken,” Amalek suggested.
Sargan shook his head. “No. We want him to orient on Ishtar, if he has the inclination. We must remove his identification from Aten.”
Sargan stared into the wall. “See the way his myriad eyelets glint,” he said, more to himself than Amalek. “They know, but will not speak. Sometimes I think that I can make out the face of Aten—but when I look again, it is only a pattern in the wall, a trick of the lamplight, signifying nothing. How I long for the simple faith, the innocence of a pretender, who has only the name of a god and a personal belief, and neither knows nor believes enough to be gainsaid. But such bliss may not be. Heavy is the burden of accountability my knowledge places on me.”
Amalek looked at the water-clock. “Yet this one may be worthy—”
Sargan turned and peered at his second. “He may be worthy and his faith may be strong; but even he admits that Aten is not omnipotent. The line has been drawn for us and it is plain, and once we stray from it we are lost. Aten is not some huge, grasping, indiscriminate deity like Marduk. Aten can commune with only the purest worshipers, and their number must be strictly limited. His essence must not be debased by the ignorant worship of pretenders. Our first and most sacred trust is to shield our god from corruption by strangers. We must allow no exceptions. No pretender to the worship of Aten can be tolerated.”
“Yet in the past—” Amalek began gently.
“Not in my time!” Sargan said firmly. “There may have been some dilution in worldly Nineveh—indeed a god of mercy was much in demand in the face of savage Asshur. Our present problems stem from that period. This pretender himself comes from that region. No doubt the name of Aten still circulates clandestinely among the peasants. But so long as I am high priest our membership will be controlled.”
“Of course,” Amalek agreed quickly. “Yet I cannot but wonder at times whether, in our very adherence to the rules we have set to prevent adulteration of worship, we are not in danger of shutting out those very men whose worship would strengthen our god.”
“There is that danger,” Sargan conceded. He stopped in front of a lamp niche and stared at the flame. “But consider: if we permit just any man to worship, then we foreclose Aten from any genuine choice.”
“Yet by our indiscriminate denial of—”
“It is not indiscriminate!” Sargan cried. Then, controlling himself: “Your ordinary man-off-the-Kebar is not dedicated. He is spiritually unlettered. What ethics he practices is governed solely by posted statute—and only that which is enforced. His worship goes not to the god who merits it most, but rather to the one who rewards it most specifically. A man who wishes to rise in the councils of government will worship Marduk. When he achieves the power he covets, he then forgets Marduk in his spleen and worships him only with his lips. A man who lusts for a woman not his own will make his offerings to Ishtar. After he has sated himself in the soft flesh of a temple harlot, his need for Ishtar is gone until his desire regenerates. The gods have thus been debauched into panders to the basest desires in man. No! Aten must not be reduced to the purchase of such worship!”