* * * * *
Straightening, MacMartree felt his particular affliction engulf him.
Anger, wild, unreasoning anger at this intangible, invisible enemy that
tormented them so. Cursing, he scooped up the vial of serum, flung
it to clatter against the shimmering force-screen. But it did not.
It passed through the curtain which was suddenly nothing more than
thinning mist ... and then not even that.
"Weapons!" MacMartree cried, his voice a hoarse bellow. "Weapons and
positions! Quickly!"
Phillips and Cole scrambled to obey. The three conscious men huddled
back to back around the body of the unconscious one. Their weapons
were small and unfamiliar in their waiting hands, and not the least
bit reassuring. They waited for whatever it was that stalked them from
beyond the ring of their glaring lamplight to come for them, battle
with them, make itself known.
"MacMartree," Phillips whispered in the throbbing stillness.
"Well? Are you sick again?"
"No, no--I just thought...."
"Yes?"
"The screen, the serum ... failing that way. What if ... the
_weapons_...."
A piece of eternity passed them by before MacMartree could make his
lips form the command.
"Test--your weapons."
Nothing.
Tentatively, fearfully, the three squeezed the metal in their icy
hands. _Nothing._ No rush of power, no leaping death to meet their
adversary when it came. Their weapons, too, had failed them.
Behind him, MacMartree heard the racking sobs begin in Cole. He did
not recognize them as sobs, but he sensed their meaning, and knew, of
course, what caused them.
He also heard Phillips scramble to his feet, his wind sucking in and
out of his throat in short, gasping shudders. He waited for Phillips
to break and run into the darkness, fleeing in blind panic for the
distant sanctuary of the ship on the plain below. But the darkness that
surrounded them stared Phillips down, sent him grovelling back to the
earth, a whipped and whimpering cur.
And then, MacMartree was alone. He had never felt so lonely in his life
before. The three younger men were there, of course, but they, too,
were lost in voids of aloneness. He envied the unconscious Abner, until
he felt Abner stir slightly on the ground behind him, and then go tense
with waking. So they were all to meet it, and be aware when it came.
But, such _loneliness_! Such a need he felt, for something to hold to,
to reach for, to depend on. Another of their weapons? He knew better.
There had to be something, there had to be. But what? Beaten,
vanquished, he covered his face with his hands, and waited.
The little planet rolled steadily toward the sunrise, the cold stars
glided above them. Quietly, the dawn breeze simpered among the grasses.
Quite slowly, MacMartree raised his head.
"Abner, Phillips, Cole...." They didn't answer, but he knew they heard
him, and were listening, within their individual worlds of aching
loneliness and fear.
"I ... I know what our Enemy is," MacMartree said.
They came a little closer to him then, venturing out of themselves a
fraction to hear what he said.
"Our Enemy," MacMartree told them, "is God."
* * * * *
After a pause, the inevitable question came. Phillips voiced it for the
rest.
"What is--God?"
MacMartree shook his head. "A myth--a legend--I thought. There were so
many things in all those ancient books I read ... how was I to know?"
"This is something you read, too?"
"Yes, in a very old book. In many of them, actually, but one in
particular. A book called--" the name eluded him. He let it go. "God
was a deity. People worshipped Him, thousands of years ago."
Cole had stopped his crying.
"The book was written as the Word of God. I--I remember a part of
it...."
"Tell us," dully, from Abner.
"'I the Lord thy God am a jealous God.' I think that explains it best."
He sighed. "It's my fault, I suppose. Man is omnipotent, I said. Man is
all-powerful. Man can do _anything_! Yes, it was enough to rouse the
anger of a jealous God."
"Is He going to kill us, then?"
"I don't know, Phillips. He could have, long before this...."
"How can we fight Him," Cole whispered. "How?"
"We can't," the old man said. "God is the only omnipotent One. We are
not." He got to his feet, came around to face them.
"One thing we can do."
"What?" they wanted to know. "What can we do?"
"We can try to--talk to Him."
The grassy world sped softly toward its dawning. Beyond the hill that
rose above them, lean fingers of light came creeping from the lifting
sun. It seemed to come in answer to those stumbling, clumsy, fervent
prayers--the first prayers that had touched the lips of men in a
thousand years.
Lost in concentration, MacMartree felt the sweet breath of the sun's
first warmth upon his back. He opened his eyes, found them dimmed
somehow, and a wetness on his cheeks.
Wonderingly, they looked at one another, awed by what they read upon
each other's faces.
"I forgot," MacMartree said softly. "I forgot that He is also
merciful...."
Abner slowly raised his arm.
"It's healed," he said.