"Dead? He'd only be in his fifties now--"
"I know. Sad. It was disease, hit him soon after he came to us. Lazarus
Six had a very short reign. Didn't he, Mr. Lindquist?"
"He certainly did," Lindquist agreed. "Let's hope that Lazarus Seven is
here to step down for Eight--and to watch Nine come in, fifty years
from now!"
Cheers filled the room and Eric smiled briefly. That reminded him of
Clair's note. Clair--
"So," said Captain Larkin, "you'll be crowned tomorrow. After that,
your people will see you, King Lazarus Seven on his throne. Don't
disappoint us, Mr. Taine. Their tradition means a lot to them."
"It should," Eric said. "The planners made it that way. With nothing
but space outside, and the confining walls of the ship, they needed
something to bind them together."
"Yes, that's true. But the people, as you'll see, have come up with
some of their own traditions over the years." Captain Larkin ran a hand
through his graying hair. "Like your kinghood, for example. You'll see,
Mr. Taine--or should it be Lazarus now, eh?" He laughed.
"If you'd like," Eric said. He did not relish the idea particularly,
but then, it was their show. Still, he had everything to check--from
astrogation to ethics--and he would not want to be delayed by pomp
and ceremony. Well, there was time enough for that. Now he felt
weary--and that made him chuckle, because he had just concluded a
hundred-seventy-five year nap.
They took him to his quarters, where the six before him had lived.
There he ate in silence, food from the hydroponic gardens on a lower
level of the ship. The line of light under his door had turned from
white to a soft blue. It was night on the ship.
Eric showered and got into bed, but although he was tired he could not
fall asleep. He had expected to be an efficiency expert of sorts;
that was his job; but they told him, matter-of-factly, that he would
be a king. Well, you could expect change in nearly two hundred years,
radical change. And if indeed their tradition were deep-rooted, he
would not try to change it. The planners had counted on that to keep
them going, because there could be no environmental challenge to goad
them. Just an unreal past and an unreal Earth which Eric and their
great-great-grandparents had seen, and an even more unreal future when,
someday far far off, the ship reached the Centaurian System.
Softly, someone knocked at his door. The sound had been there for
many moments, a gentle tapping, but it had not registered on his
consciousness. Now, when it did, he padded across the bare floor and
opened the door.
A girl stepped in from the corridor, pushing him before her with one
hand, motioning him to silence with the other. She closed the door
softly behind her, soundlessly almost, and turned to face him.
She wore the knee-length tunic popular with this generation, and it
covered a graceful feminine figure.
* * * * *
"Please," the girl said. "Please listen to me, Eric Taine. I may have
only a few moments--listen!"
"Sure," he smiled. "But why all the mystery?"
"Shh! Let me talk. Have you a weapon?"
"Yes, I carry a pistol. I don't fancy I'll need it, though."
"Well, take it with you and go back where you came. If anyone tries to
stop you, use your weapon. They have nothing like it. Then, when you
get there--" Her voice came breathlessly, and it made Eric laugh.
"Hold on, Miss. Why should I do that? Don't tell me there's a plot and
someone wants to usurp the new king before he's crowned? No? What then?"
"Stop making fun of me, Eric Taine. I'm trying to save your life." She
said it so seriously, her eyes so big and round, that Eric half wanted
to believe her. But that was fantastic. From what could she possibly be
saving him?
The words came out in a rush as the girl spoke again. "The ship is
not on course. For twenty five years it has been off, heading back to
Earth--"
"To Earth! That's crazy."
"Listen, please. They killed Lazarus Six. He was a scapegoat. They
watched the old films of Earth and felt they had been cheated out of
their birthright. Why should they live here, alone in space? they
said. Why should their children's children face the hardships of a new
world? They didn't ask for it. It was thrust upon them by the planners,
by your generation. If they knew how to get into your room of tubs,
they would have killed you. Now there is a mock ceremony, everything
is blamed on the new Lazarus, and the people feel better when he is
killed. I know, my mother told me. You can ask her----"
The girl was about twenty, Eric thought. A wild-eyed thing now, who so
wanted him to believe her impossible story. Her breath came quickly,
in little gasps, and Eric tried to hide the smile on his face.
"You're laughing at me! Stupid, stupid--please--And when you get back
to your room of tubs, awaken your friends, the three who remain.
You four can control the ship, put it back on course, teach the
people--Ooo, stop laughing!" She pouted prettily. "All of us, we're not
all like that. We who are not can help you."
Eric chuckled softly. "You try to picture it," he told her. "I'm sorry,
but everything's been sweetness and light, and you come in here with a
wild notion--"
"It isn't wild, it's the truth. Why don't you ask to check our course
before they make you king?"
He could do that, all right. But they'd be wondering what mad neurosis
compelled his actions, and he did not want that, not when he might have
so much to do.
"Check it," she pleaded. And when he shook his head, she told him,
"You're acting like a child, you know. The records say you are
twenty-five, and you've slept for seven times that, but still. All you
have to do is check. Please--"
The door burst in upon them, and Lindquist stood there, with Captain
Larkin and two others.
Lindquist shook his head sadly. "I thought so," he said.