Later that day I saw Leslie--the Adept who tried to reach Wolverton
last year. I waved to him, but he did not notice me. He was reading a
book, and the glass wall that separated us prevented me from speaking
to him. A silver ring gleamed around his neck--he too was a prisoner,
and from the looks of it he, too, was learning forbidden things. I
wondered at the unholy spell of Wolverton. What was the devilish power
he had over the minds of men that made even an Adept ignore Zard's
teachings? There was a tense earnestness to Leslie's bent figure,
a driving air of concentration he had never shown when learning the
writings of Zard. He was absorbed--fascinated--and looking at him I
again felt the icy hand of terror grip my mind.
I shrugged it off. So far there had been no invasion of my thoughts. My
beliefs were still mine, and although my body was trapped, my spirit
was free. And if I could not reach him with my mind, there was always a
weapon to rely upon--something that would fit my hand--something blunt
to smash--something sharp to drive through skin and flesh into his
blackened heart.
But despite my freedom I was watched by seen and unseen eyes. No weapon
I could find remained long in my hand. It was the ultimate frustration.
And finally I gave it up. I would have to mark the location of weapons
and bide my time until Wolverton was close enough to one which I could
seize and slay him before his minions could prevent me. Slowly I
learned cunning--to dissemble--to hide my intent--to wait.
And while I waited Wolverton talked to me, and I listened, fascinated
by the evil of the man. For not only did he mock the Word, he
despised It, calling It a superstition-tainted mass of primitive
Mumbo Jumbo--whatever that might be. But except for this flouting
of the Word, Wolverton was not so evil as I thought. There was a
gentleness about him that was strange. My own people had little of
this. After all, Promised Land was not an easy world to tame, and our
rise to greatness had been the product of unending struggle against an
unfriendly if not inimical environment. But in the end, the Word and
those who believed in It, were triumphant. Did we not tame and rule
three-quarters of this world? Were we not the Chosen? Often I had to
go back to basics after a talk with Wolverton. He disarmed me with his
friendly voice and with his logic. It was getting harder to resist
him--and I understood now how the others had fallen. Wolverton, if he
tried, could charm the birds from the trees, make black look white,
evil virtuous, and righteousness unrighteous. He was truly a terrible
man and I looked forward to his daily visits with mingled dread and
anticipation. There was something toward which he was leading me and I
dreaded the revelation even while I enjoyed the trip.
* * * * *
We--or rather Wolverton--talked of philosophy--of science--of
history--of distant worlds which he had visited with such disarming
charm that I learned despite my obstinacy. Soon I began to know
them--Earth--green Earth, the home-world of the race with her
impossible blue skies and seas, gray clouds, white snows, fierce arid
deserts, tall mountains and greenly verdant valleys. From her vast
forests to her broad plains and great cities, Earth was a thing of
loveliness. I could feel Wolverton's passion when he spoke of it--nor
was I surprised when he at last confessed that he was born there.
And I learned of Mars--rust red and rugged--harsh and cold--where men
lived under domes and husbanded the scanty air and water with miser's
care.
And Proxima--first star colony of Earth--a gentle world of soft pastels
and grays--a barren world which men reclaimed and made beautiful,
drawing from their skill and science to mold the primitive life forms
into things of beauty and utility.
And golden Fanar--ripe and lovely with its humanoids and developing
civilization that blossomed to full flower when men came and lent their
skills and science to their cousins.
And Kungtze--delicate fairyland of violet skies and soft rounded hills
like virgin bosoms waiting to be kissed.
And Samar--not the Samar I knew, but a land of seas and islands, tall
ships and gracious living.
And Halsey--harsh--forested and forbidding--a world that distrusted
and did not welcome man--a world peopled by savage humanoids who united
only in the face of danger.
And more--many more.
* * * * *
I learned of them all in the days of their youth--together with the
struggles and pain that went into their taming. Wolverton's words were
wings that sent my spirit soaring. His tales--filled with courage and
adventure, of blood and treachery, of honor and fair dealing, made me
proud of my race. We were not perfect, we men--but there was within us
the seed of greatness that would perhaps flower into the true bloom.
It made me proud to learn the past glories of our race. Almost I could
feel that Wolverton was a brother in the great brotherhood of man.
And then he killed the dream--brought it crashing to the ground in a
brutal series of horridly frank solidograph projections. These were
real people that bled and died and performed unspeakable brutalities
upon each other and upon the worlds where they lived.
"On the average," Wolverton said bitterly, "it takes five to six
thousand years, but we have been in space longer than that, and some
societies last longer than others, but the end is always inevitable."
He showed me all--a solid month of it.
Earth: A world of legalized cannibalism where men were bred for
food--a world of wrecked glory swiftly returning to jungle and
desert.
Mars: Redying in slow bitter agony as technology failed under the
pressure of excessive population, with legal infanticide, eugenics
laws, and tyranny.
Proxima: Bloody and torn--waging suicidal war whose ultimate end
would be virtual annihilation of all life.
Fanar: Dead and radioactive.
Kungtze: A huge, monolithic state that owned and controlled
everything down to the last living unit, where the population
swarmed and jostled in huge collectives that were neither cities
nor farms, but something of both--where everything was used even
down to the dead bodies of those too old to work, slain by the
state to make room for others.
Samar: A matriarchate ruled by the few--filled by the many, where
women outnumbered men twenty to one, and the men ruled by the sly
and subtle tyranny of sex, and where--despite the disparity of
sexes--people swarmed and teemed, and struggled for possession of a
place to live and the partial possession of a man.
Halsey: Harsh, forested, and forbidding--a world that distrusted
and did not welcome man--a world peopled by savage humanoids who
united only in the face of danger. They were united now--armed and
ready to resist invasion.
And there were more.
I was sick--sick at the folly of man, who threw away so much for so
little. "Whose fault?" I asked. "Why did these things happen?"
"It was no one's fault," Wolverton said, sadly. "It was everyone's. In
opening new worlds, people are needed, so they have large families. The
tradition becomes established and when at last the world is comfortably
filled--instead of stopping--holding the line and consolidating what
they have won--people go right on the same old way, producing more and
more of their kind until finally the world grows too small. Then they
quarrel, fight, and die until they are so reduced that they can start
the vicious cycle over again--and in the process civilization becomes
barbarism and culture becomes chaos. If the world is lucky, it survives
to rise again as Earth will do. If it is unlucky it ends like Fanar.
* * * * *
"And that is where you come in. You and the others like you, but you
in particular. For you possess in a tremendous degree the ability to
_convince_. I could feel it in you despite my shields. It influenced
E'Komo despite his loyalty. It made Doctor Sara waver despite her
dedication. I have watched and waited for you for generations--for over
two thousand years. For here in this enclave I knew you _must_ some day
arrive. Your origin, frankly spiritual and mystic--your development
so ruthlessly selective starting with ritual sacrifice of excess--and
less desirable--maidens at puberty--your insistence upon developing
the spiritual rather than the mechanistic side of culture--all these
were bound to develop psi factors. And they have! It is here, I think,
where man's salvation lies. Here is the brake on rising population--a
person who can _convince_--who can inculcate into the very soul of men
that three children are _enough_--or that two are _enough_--or whatever
number is needed to stabilize the population of a planet."
I didn't really hear him. My mind had recoiled from what he had told
me. Two thousand years, he had said. Two thousand years! And he was not
old! Truly he was the Father of Evil, for only Evil and the soul are
immortal! "You said two thousand years, didn't you?"
Wolverton chuckled. "I should have added objective," he said.