A band of Companions was drilling; for though it had seldom fought in the last few centuries, the order remained military in character, and was police as well as quasi-priesthood. Distance and size dwindled the men to insects. Their calls and footfalls were lost in hot stillness, as were any noises from town; only the Linn resounded, endlessly grinding. Most life seemed to be in the building itself, its changeful iridescences and the energy of its curves.
“Why did Elders make it like this?” Ivar wondered aloud.
A scientific base, combining residences and workrooms? But the ramps which connected floors twisted so curiously; the floors themselves had their abrupt rises and drops, for no discernible reason; the vaulted corridors passed among apartments no two of which were alike. And what had gone on in the crater middle? Mere gardening, to provide desert-weary eyes with a park? (But these parts were fertile, six million years ago.) Experiments? Games? Rites? Something for which man, and every race known to man, had no concept?
“Jaan says the chief purpose was to provide a gathering place, where minds might conjoin and thus achieve transcendence,” Yakow answered. He turned to his escort. “Dismissed,” he snapped. They saluted and left, closing behind them the human-installed door.
It had had to be specially shaped, to fit the portal of this suite. The outer office where the two men stood was like the inside of a multi-faceted jewel; colors did not sheen softly, as they did across the exterior of the Arena, but glanced and glinted, fire-fierce, wherever a sunbeam struck. Against such a backdrop, the few articles of furniture and equipment belonging to the present occupancy seemed twice austere: chairs fashioned of gnarly starkwood, a similar table, a row of shelves holding books and a comset, a carpet woven from the mineral-harsh plants that grew in Orcan shallows.
“Be seated, if you will,” Yakow said, and folded his lankness down.
Won’t he offer me anyhow a cup of tea? flickered in Ivar. Then, recollection from reading: No, in this country, food or drink shared creates bonds of mutual obligation. Reckon he doesn’t feel quite ready for that with me.
Do I with him? Ivar took a seat confronting the stern old face.
Disconcertingly, Yakow waited for him to start conversation. After a hollow moment, Ivar attempted: “Uh, that Jaan you speak of, sir. Your prophet, right? I’d not demean your faith, please believe me. But may I ask some questions?”
Yakow nodded; the white beard brushed the infinity sign on his breast. “Whatever you wish, Firstling. Truth can only be clarified by questionings.” He paused. “Besides—let us be frank from our start—in many minds it is not yet certitude that Jaan has indeed been possessed by Caruith the Ancient. The Companions of the Arena have taken no official position on the mystery.”
Ivar started. “But I thought—I mean, religion—”
Yakow lifted a hand. “Pray hearken, Firstling. We serve no religion here.”
“What? Sir, you believe, you’ve believed for, for hundreds of years, in Elders!”
“As we believe in Virgil or the moons.” A ghost-smile flickered. “After all, we see them daily. Likewise do we see the Ancient relics.”
Yakow grew earnest. “Of your patience, Firstling, let me explain a little. ‘Religion’ means faith in the supernatural, does, it not? Most Orcans, like most Aeneans everywhere, do have that kind of faith. They maintain a God exists, and observe different ceremonies and injunctions on that account. If they have any sophistication, however, they admit their belief is nonscientiflc. It is not subject to empirical confirmation or disconfirmation. Miracles may have happened through divine intervention; but a miracle, by definition, involves a suspension of natural law, hence cannot be experimentally repeated. Aye, its historical truth or falsity can be indirectly investigated. But the confirmation of an event proves nothing, since it could be explained away scientifically. For example, if we could show that there was in fact a Jesus Christ who did in fact rise from his tomb, he may have been in a coma, not dead. Likewise, a disconfirmation proves nothing. For example, if it turns out that a given saint never lived, that merely shows people were naive, not that the basic creed is wrong.”
Ivar stared. This talk—and before we’ve even touched on any practicalities—from hierophant of impoverished isolated desert dwellers?
He collected his wits. Well, nobody with access to electronic communications is truly isolated. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Yakow studied at University. I’ve met a few Orcans there myself. Just because person lives apart, in special style, it doesn’t mean he’s ignorant or stupid … M-m, do Terrans think this about us? The question aroused a mind-sharpening resentment.
“I repeat,” Yakow was saying, “in my sense of the word, we have no shared religion here. We do have a doctrine.
“It is a fact, verifiable by standard stratigraphic and radioisotopic dating methods, a fact that a mighty civilization kept an outpost on Aeneas, six thousand thousand years ago. It is a reasonable inference that those beings did not perish, but rather went elsewhere, putting childish things away as they reached a new stage of evolution. And it may conceivably be wishful thinking, but it does seem more likely than otherwise, that the higher sentiences of the cosmos take a benign interest in the lower, and seek to aid them upward.
“This hope, if you wish to call it no more than that, is what has sustained us.”
The words were in themselves dispassionate; and though the voice strengthened, the tone was basically calm. Yet Ivar looked into the countenance and decided to refrain from responding:
What proof have we of any further evolution? We’ve met many different races by now, and some are wildly different, not just in their bodies but in their ways of thinkin’ and their capabilities. Still, we’ve found none we could call godlike. And why should intelligence progress indefinitely? Nothin’ else in nature does. Beyond that point where technology becomes integral to species survival, what selection pressure is there to increase brains? If anything, we sophonts already have more than’s good for us.
He realized: That’s orthodox modern attitude, of course. Maybe reflectin’ sour grapes, or weariness of decadent society. No use denyin’, what we’ve explored is one atom off outer skin of one dustmote galaxy …
Aloud, he breathed, “Now Jaan claims Elders are about to return? And mind of theirs is already inside him?”
“Crudely put,” Yakow said. “You must talk to him yourself, at length.” He paused. “I told you, the Companions do not thus far officially accept his claims. Nor do we reject them. We do acknowledge that, overnight, somehow a humble shoemaker gained certain powers, certain knowledge. ‘Remarkable’ is an altogether worthless word for whatever has happened.”
“Who is he?” Ivar dared ask. “I’ve heard nothin’ more than rumors, hints, guesses.”
Yakow spoke now as a pragmatic leader. “When he first arose from obscurity, and ever more people began accepting his preachments: we officers of the Arena saw what explosive potential was here, and sought to hold the story quiet until we could at least evaluate it and its consequences. Jaan himself has been most cooperative with us. We could not altogether prevent word from spreading beyond our land. But thus far, the outside planet knows only vaguely of a new cult in this poor corner.”
It may not know any more than that, Ivar thought; however, it’s sure ready to believe more. Could be I’ve got news for you, Commander. “Who is he, really?”