Russell sighed. So much had happened in the time they had lost. But then, also, so much had happened in the time they had known. So much that was frightening. And wonderful.
There was the echo of a whisper in his head: “The burden of knowledge is heavy, is it not?” The burden was indeed heavy—the burden of being a carbon copy. Was it right to share such a burden, and in so doing, perhaps, erode in his friends the sense of individuality that was so important for survival? Neither he nor Anna had yet been able to truly assimilate or accept what they had learned. They were both still in a state of shock. Perhaps, in the end, it would not matter to either of them that Anna Markova, Mark One, was somewhere in Europe scribbling away at her trade, or that Russell Grahame, Mark One, had retired from politics and was either drinking himself to death in the provinces or making a pile in industry.
He looked at her, perplexed. He looked at her with a question in his eyes. Anna looked back, and smiled. The answer was in her eyes. Intuitively, he knew it was the right answer. Intuitively, he knew that he could accept neither the responsibility nor the right to keep such knowledge to himself.
Russell spoke to Ireg first. “Ireg, my friend, forgive me. I am asking you to leave us now. What I have to say is hard to tell even to my own people. Some day, I will tell it to you. But, just now, the thoughts are too big for me to find the right words.”
Ireg left with dignity. “Russell, it is good that you come back to us. I—I understand. Janice calls us her children, and I know that there are things children cannot know. We will talk soon?”
“We will talk soon.”
Somewhat self-consciously, Ireg shook Russell’s hand.
When he had gone, Marion said: “You are sure you want to tell us about it now? You both look pretty shattered to me.”
“I had better tell you about it now,” said Russell. “Later may be too late, because already I am almost beginning to doubt what has happened… One question before I start. Have you had any more encounters with the ‘fairies’?”
“We have seen them, but not recently,” said John. “And always they are in flight. And always they disappear as soon as someone notices them.”
“They have faces like sea-horses,” said Russell.
“Seahorses?”
“Very solemn sea-horses.”
“What kind of creatures are they?”
“Ghosts. They are our masters. But they are only ghosts of ghosts.”
John Howard took a deep breath. “Why not begin at the beginning?”
“Why not, indeed?” said Russell. “And the beginning was the mist barrier.”
As he talked, his fatigue seemed to fall away. He knew that he would pay for it later. But, as he talked, he was aware of a new sensation. Compassion. Compassion for the Vruvyir— for the doomed master race that had leaped out among the stars to disseminate life and to pay for it with their own mortality. He felt he was beginning to understand the Vruvyir. He felt he was beginning to hear their music. Or was it all an illusion? Because, after all, they were now no more than ghosts.
He told John and Marion of the experience of passing through the mist barrier. He described his first glimpse of the great column and of the green translucent bubble that was the Sphere of Creation. He told of the encounter with the spider robots, and of the journey to the city that was, itself, a complex mausoleum. Then he tried to describe the appearance/materialization/projection of the Vruvyir. And, finally, stumbling over his own words, seeking and failing to find the right nuance, the appropriate image, he tried to convey some impression of his own experience in the Sphere of Creation.
When he had finished, Russell was exhausted. When he had finished, John and Marion were dumbfounded. When he had finished, Anna was weeping.
Presently, John said: “So we, too, are ghosts?”
“Living ghosts,” retorted Russell. “Doppelgangers with the ability to procreate. We can breed reality. The Vruvyir cannot. They can duplicate but they cannot breed. Their energies are spent.”
“And you say the original Vruvyir created life on Earth, and that they then seeded other planets?”
“So we were led to believe.” Russell shrugged. “I’m not asking you to believe us, John. I’m merely reporting in my own garbled fashion what passed between us and the Vruvyir, and what I, at least, experienced in the Sphere of Creation.”
“My experience was pretty much the same as Russell’s,” said Anna. “It was totally subjective. It might just be an hallucination. But for me it was real.”
John Howard sighed. “Much as it goes against my scientific training, I believe you both. I believe what you say, and I even believe what the Vruvyir said or revealed to you. I believe it because it is fantastic.” He laughed grimly. “If you had given me a tolerably rational explanation of our circumstances, I probably would not have accepted a word of it.”
“What do they want of us?” said Marion suddenly. “What do these terrible creatures want of us?”
“There is a phrase that seems to be etched in my mind,” said Russell quietly. “Let the children of your children’s children live to demonstrate that the Vruvyir, leaping from their parent star, did not leap in vain.”
“On Earth,” said Anna suddenly, “on Earth there are enough nuclear weapons to annihilate mankind about seventeen times. Perhaps the Vruvyir can predict the end of such a build-up. Perhaps they want to salvage something—if it is worth salvaging… Perhaps they want us to grow.”
John wrinkled his forehead and ran a hand through the grey hair. “So we and Sept Marur and the Stone Age People are of one blood?”
“We always were,” said Russell enigmatically, “in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“What of the future?”
“It belongs to us—not to the Vruvyir… It seems we are here to stay—to live or die. Some day, there will be no more Vruvyir. Some day, I believe, there will be no mist barrier, no groceries delivered by obliging metal spiders. We shall be on our own. We are the inheritors.”
“So what do we do? Build a new society? Integrate? Utopia on Erewhon?” He laughed bitterly.
“And the classic question: would you want your daughter to marry a Stone Age savage?”
Russell was tired. “There is the classic answer. I would only want my daughter to marry a man…
Let’s make the best of it, John. We can do no more.”
“They are going to rest now,” said Marion with determination. “They have been pushed to the limit, and they are going to rest. We have all the time in the world to talk about these things. Now, they need a bit of peace.”
Even while she was speaking, Anna had closed her eyes. Russell put his hand on her breast, then closed his eyes also. They slept through most of the day.
That evening, just before sunset, Absu mes Marur rode to the Erewhon Hilton. He was surprised to find Anna and Russell apparently in their right minds.
“Farn zem Marur, pathfinder and warrior of some talent, also has returned to his sept,” said Absu.
Then he added inscrutably: “Therefore, I rejoice to find my friends as they are.”
“How is Farn?” asked Russell. “Is he well and rested?”
Absu met the question with another question. “Lord Russell,” said Absu formally, “I require to know how my pathfinder bore himself. Did he bring dishonour to his sept?”
Russell was shaken. “Farn zem Marur, your servant and our friend and companion, is a brave man.
He endured much and with great courage.”
“Then there is no debt to pay?”
Russell was puzzled. “What kind of debt?”