when, as he turned to go, his new, vital body straining inside his too-small
clothing she let slip one last hint of her eternal need. He went back to the room of the machines. «Talk to me,» he said. The voice came. He opened to it. It blasted inside his skull, an attack
meant to be fatal, an attempt to burn his brain, to kill. Startled, he closed, shot back. For a moment, he knew, once again, the fear of death, but the fear pumped in him, glands working, his every fiber fighting and, with a smoking, sizzling hiss, wires fused and things blew with little popping sounds and the voice, weakened, was controlled. «Now talk to me,» he ordered. The voice faded. «Talk or—» He opened, projected, seeking the machine mind. Stop. You have already blown half the system aboard the ship. «I'll destroy it.» Then you, and she, would be lost in space. He closed. He had not considered that possibility. In fact, since the machines, or whoever was behind the machines, had apparently decided that it would be best to kill him, why shouldn't they strand him in space? He opened quickly, searched for an answer. She is of the race. She must be protected. «I'm like her. Yet you tried to kill me. Am I not of the race?» You are—sub-human—more than retarded—worse than moronic. «I was.» He sent. A hissing and more smoke from the machines inside the room. Stop. «What am I?» Mutant. «From what?» Pictures. A race, changing. Mental abilities opening. Vast change. Men becoming supermen. Words changing to thoughts. The ability to heal, to control the last, minute cell in one's own body. And a segment, relatively small, not changing staying the same. A minority outside the pale, a minority which still died and had disease and reminded the new, beautiful people of their former mortality. Then ships flashing out. New planets. The people who had not changed being exiled, left on primitive planets to exist as they saw fit, without benefit of the vast technology developed by men like them before the super beings mutated into control. A hundred planets all peopled by castoffs, worse than retarded, more than moronic—by the standards of the new people. Left alone. Left to develop and crowd themselves off the primitive, isolated planets through sheer breeding, left to war as the memories of the once great technology faded and barbarism swept the uneducated descendants of the original exiles and now and then, before Trang, ships checking and checking until, as the race became Trangized and withdrew to garden planets and eternal love and euphoria, check sensors were installed to guard, to warn of any change in the lowly lives of the new barbarians on the exile planets. And some ugly pictures, too, as the machine fed history tapes to him, race members on a lark, going down, ravishing the females, guiding males into wild ventures. The sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were air; and they took them wives of all which they chose. And God spake unto Moses, saying—Giants on the earth, half-god, half-man. The gods fighting on one side or the other in ancient wars. Flying saucers. White gods coming to earth on pillars of flame to watch the sacrifices on the blood altars of the Incas. Is that all there is? Was God not dead, but Trangized? Was man no more than the cast-off dregs of this race which first peopled a large portion of the galaxy and then rested, euphoric, never sated on eternal sex? Is that all there is, he thought? Then what's the use.
But his new vitality, the unbelievable feeling of health after a lifetime of misery, brought him quickly out of hopelessness. He pushed God away into a small corner of his mind. He was not prepared to reject God, although the foundations of his faith had been somewhat weakened. There were other things to think about. Back on Earth, Caster was in the hands of the Brotherfuzz. His first impulse was to turn the ship around, go back immediately. With his new powers he could fix the things they'd done to her. Unless— «The race is immortal since each member can regenerate his body indefinitely. Can they not be killed?» The powers are limited, the machines told him. «I could be killed by, say, a fire gun?» By any totally destructive method which would damage the— an image of the portion of his brain which had newly come to life. «Even a conventional bullet, then.» He could go back, but he would be one man alone. And one blast from a fire gun, one bullet could end it. But ahead of him, at the end of those incredible, unbelievable distances, were the means he needed to save Caster and to destroy the power of the Brothers forever. «When will we arrive.» An expression in terms of time he didn't understand. «In Earth days?» He frowned at the answer. Weeks. Almost a month, with Caster in the hands of the Brotherfuzz torturers. Saddened, he paced the small room. Perhaps he should go back, try to rescue Caster, then go to the home
system of these people and carry out his plan. But it was too risky. It came to this: Caster against the future of all the human beings on Earth. And the machines had talked of others like them, scattered on the outskirts of the galaxy on other Earth-like planets. Them, too. «Caster, Caster,» he said aloud. «Forgive me.» With some of the ship's computer system ruined, it was necessary for the girl, he thought of her as Blaze, after the rosy glow of her mind, to check navigation. He watched. He asked questions. She, impatient, feeling somewhat put upon to be called to do tasks usually handled automatically by the ship's system, told him that she was not in the business of education. When his quick anger seeped through his shield, she quickly suggested the educational potential of the system. He spent long days with the history of technology of the race being force-fed into his receptive mind. He encountered resistance, at first, but the machines were programmed to function on the command of any member of the race and his mind was now capable of giving orders. He spent long hours learning about the potential of the ancient computer system which was now largely idle and, as ideas solidified, he began to communicate with the base system on the planet known as A-l. «I need your help,» he told the distant mind, which, to him, seemed alive. I am programmed to protect and serve the race. «We are of the race.» You did not develop. «We can develop. I have developed.» This does not mean that all have the same potential. «It is there.» Proof? «There have always been those among us who showed the latent abilities.» Not always. Each exile was measured. «All right, not always. But in written history. There was a man known as Jesus who could raise the dead.» And Luke found himself, then, telling the old, old story as best he remembered. And there were others, evangelists, men of God who had healed. And there were the healing miracles in which a place became sacred in the memory of a saint and, the very memory of that saint having consecrated the ground, many people healed themselves with their own inner faith. Interesting, but I am a servant of the race. «You were built to serve an expanding race. You were built to help people the stars. You are now sterile, a great waste, idle. Your race is
static. You can serve the race with a small portion of your capacity. It is no task for a great system, a galactic system, to control the shipment of Trang once a year and to send the small ships from planet to planet during the commitment changes between the members of the race. And
yet, out there, there are countless stars, countless planets, waiting. And we have the people for them, people who desperately need the release of
stellar colonization. Wouldn't it be satisfying to you to be directing, once again, a great, outward movement instead of a minor shifting of people from bed to bed?» I am not programmed for emotion. «You are programmed for function. I'm giving you a chance to function.» My first responsibility is to the race. I could not actively encourage the emergence of a rival race who could pose a threat to the race. «From your own information I've learned of the richness of the universe. The race has occupied a vast empire at the heart of the galaxy.