"On the contrary, you have. There is a time and place for everything,
though."
Suddenly a great voice sounded in the cavern, a voice with no
direction. It came from the ceiling, the floor, the walls, the steaming
pool. It was in the language of the web-footed people; it was in his
own tongue. "No harm must come to this woman. The God with fingers on
his feet has decreed this."
Those in the cavern looked at the woman with fear and respect. She
kissed Stinson's feet. Two of the men came and gave her a brilliant
new skirt. She smiled at him, and he thought he had never seen a more
beautiful face.
* * * * *
The great, bodiless voice sounded again, but those in the cavern went
about their activities. They did not hear.
"Who are you?"
Stinson looked at the wind devil, since it could be no one else
speaking, and pointed to himself. "Me?"
"Yes."
"I am Stinson, of the planet Earth."
"Yes, I see it in your mind, now. You want to live here, on this
planet."
"Then you must know where I came from, and how."
"I do not understand how. You have a body, a physical body composed
of atoms. It is impossible to move a physical body from one place to
another by a mere thought and a tiny instrument, yet you have done so.
You deserted me out in the desert."
"I deserted you?" Stinson cried angrily, "You tried to kill me!"
"I was attempting communication. Why should I kill you?"
He was silent a moment, looking at the people in the cavern. "Perhaps
because you feared I would become the God of these people in your
place."
Stinson felt a mental shrug. "It is of no importance. When they arrived
on this planet I attempted to explain that I was not a God, but the
primitive is not deeply buried in them. They soon resorted to emotion
rather than reason. It is of no importance."
"I'd hardly call them primitive, with such weapons."
"The tube is not of their technology. That is, they did not make
it directly. These are the undesirables, the incorrigibles, the
nonconformists from the sixth planet. I permit them here because it
occupies my time, to watch them evolve."
"You should live so long."
"Live?" the wind devil said. "Oh, I see your meaning. I'd almost
forgotten. You are a strange entity. You travel by a means even I
cannot fully understand, yet you speak of time as if some event
were about to take place. I believe you think of death. I see your
physical body has deteriorated since yesterday. Your body will cease to
exist, almost as soon as those of the sixth planet peoples. I am most
interested in you. You will bring your people, and live here."
"I haven't decided. There are these web-footed people, who were hostile
until they thought I was a God. They have destructive weapons. Also, I
don't understand you. I see you as a cone of sand which keeps changing
color and configuration. Is it your body? Where do you come from? Is
this planet populated with your kind?"
The wind devil hesitated.
"Where do I originate? It seems I have always been. You see this
cavern, the heated pool, the statues, the inscriptions. Half a million
years ago my people were as you. That is, they lived in physical
bodies. Our technology surpassed any you have seen. The tube these
webfoots use is a toy by comparison. Our scientists found the ultimate
nature of physical law. They learned to separate the mind from the
body. Then my people set a date. Our entire race was determined to free
itself from the confines of the body. The date came."
"What happened?"
"I do not know. I alone exist. I have searched all the levels of time
and matter from the very beginning. My people are gone. Sometimes it
almost comes to me, why they are gone. And this is contrary to the
greatest law of all--that an entity, once in existence, can never cease
to exist."
* * * * *
Stinson was silent, thinking of the endless years of searching through
the great gulf of time. His eyes caught sight of the woman, reclining
now on the pallet. The men had left her and stood in groups, talking,
glancing at him, apparently free of their awe and fear already.
The woman looked at him, and she was not smiling. "Please ask the Sand
God," she said, "to speak to my people again. Their fear of him does
not last. When He is gone they will probably kill us."
"As for the webfoots," the wind devil, or Sand God, said, "I will
destroy them. You and your people will have the entire planet."
"Destroy them?" Stinson asked, incredulously, "all these people? They
have a right to live like any one else."
"Right? What is it--'right?' They are entities. They exist, therefore
they always will. My people are the only entities who ever died. To
kill the body is unimportant."
"No. You misunderstand. Listen, you spoke of the greatest law. Your law
is a scientific hypothesis. It has to do with what comes after physical
existence, not with existence itself. The greatest law is this, that an
entity, once existing, must not be harmed in any way. To do so changes
the most basic structure of nature."
The Sand God did not reply. The great bodiless, directionless voice was
silent, and Stinson felt as if he had been taken from some high place
and set down in a dark canyon. The cone of sand was the color of wood
ashes. It pulsed erratically, like a great heart missing a beat now and
then. The web-footed people milled about restlessly. The woman's eyes
pleaded.
When he looked back, the Sand God was gone.
Instantly a new note rose in the cavern. The murmur of unmistakable mob
fury ran over the webfoots. Several of the men approached the woman
with hatred in their voices. He could not understand the words now.
But he understood her. "They'll kill me!" she cried.
Stinson pointed the disintegrating weapon at them and yelled. They
dropped back. "We'll have to get outside," he told her. "This mob will
soon get out of hand. Then the tube won't stop them. They will rush in.
I can't kill them all at once, even if I wanted to. And I don't."
Together they edged toward the cavern entrance, ran quickly up the
inclined passageway, and came out into crisp, cold air. The morning sun
was reflected from a million tiny mirrors on the rocks, the trees and
grass. A silver thaw during the night had covered the whole area with
a coating of ice. Stinson shivered. The woman handed him a skirt she
had thoughtfully brought along from the cavern. He took it, and they
ran down the slippery path leading away from the entrance. From the
hiding place behind a large rock they watched, as several web-footed
men emerged into the sunlight. They blinked, covered their eyes, and
jabbered musically among themselves. One slipped and fell on the ice.
They re-entered the cave.
* * * * *
Stinson donned the shimmering skirt, smiling as he did so. The others
should see him now. Benjamin and Straus and Jamieson. They would
laugh. And Ben's wife, Lisa, she would give her little-girl laugh, and
probably help him fasten the skirt. It had a string, like a tobacco
pouch, which was tied around the waist. It helped keep him warm.
He turned to the woman. "I don't know what I'll do with you, but now
that we're in trouble together, we may as well introduce ourselves. My
name is Stinson."
"I am Sybtl," she said.
"Syb-tl." He tried to imitate her musical pronunciation. "A very nice
name."
She smiled, then pointed to the cavern. "When the ice is gone, they
will come out and follow us."
"We'd better make tracks."
"No," she said, "we must run, and make no tracks."
"Okay, Sis," he said.
"Sis?"
"That means, sister."
"I am not your sister. I am your wife."
"_What?_"
"Yes. When a man protects a woman from harm, it is a sign to all that
she is his chosen. Otherwise, why not let her die? You are a strange
God."
"Listen, Sybtl," he said desperately, "I am not a God and you are not
my wife. Let's get that straight."
"But...."
"No buts. Right now we'd better get out of here."
He took her hand and they ran, slid, fell, picked themselves up again,
and ran. He doubted the wisdom of keeping her with him. Alone, the
webfoots were no match for him. He could travel instantly to any spot
he chose. But with Sybtl it was another matter; he was no better than
any other man, perhaps not so good as some because he was forty, and
never had been an athlete.
How was he to decide if this planet was suitable for his people,
hampered by a woman, slinking through a frozen wilderness like an
Indian? But the woman's hand was soft. He felt strong knowing she
depended on him.
Anyway, he decided, pursuit was impossible. They left no tracks on the
ice. They were safe, unless the webfoots possessed talents unknown to
him.
So they followed the path leading down from the rocks, along the creek
with its tumbling water. Frozen, leafless willows clawed at their
bodies. The sun shone fiercely in a cloudless sky. Already water ran in
tiny rivulets over the ice. The woman steered him to the right, away
from the creek.
* * * * *
Stinson's bare feet were numb from walking on ice. Christ, he thought,
what am I doing here, anyway? He glanced down at Sybtl and remembered
the webfoots. He stopped, tempted to use his cylinder and move to a
warmer, less dangerous spot.