_CHAPTER SIX_
Two days later, Underwood received a call from Phyfe, asking for an
appointment. It was urgent; that was all Phyfe would tell him.
The archeologist had not heard of the demands of the Disciples. He was
surprised to see the construction under way in the great central hall
where the restoration equipment was installed.
He found Underwood with Illia in the laboratory examining films of the
protoplasmic growth.
"What are you building out there?" he asked. "I thought you had all the
equipment in."
"A monument to human stupidity," Underwood growled. Then he told Phyfe
of the orders he had received. "We're putting in a balcony so that the
faithful can look down upon their Great One. Boarder says we'll have to
put up with this nonsense for six months."
"Why six months?"
"Demarzule will be revived by then or else we'll have failed. In either
case, the Disciples will have come to an end."
"Why?"
Underwood glanced up in irritation. "If he's dead, they won't have
anything to worship. And if he lives, he certainly won't have anything
to do with them."
"I could ask another 'why,'" said Phyfe, "but I'll put it this way.
You know nothing of how he will act if he lives. And if he dies he'll
probably be a martyr that will establish a new worldwide religion--with
those of us who have had to do with this experiment and its failure
being burned at the stake."
Underwood laid down the sheaf of films. Out among the asteroids he
had learned to respect the old archeologist's opinions but Dreyer had
already laid more of a burden upon him than he felt he should bear.
"The technological aspects of this problem are more than you say you
have found?"
"Fortunately for us, certain Stroid records were small metallic plates
whose molecular structure was altered according to script or vocal
patterns. Some of the boys in the lab have developed a device for
listening to the audio records. We have actually heard the _voices_ of
the Stroids! At least there are sounds that resemble a spoken language.
But it is what we have found on the written records that brought me
here.
"More than eighty-five years ago, the most fortunate find previous
to the discovery of the repository was made. An extensive cache of
historical records was uncovered by Dickens, one of the early workers
in the field. They were almost fused together, and the molecular
alteration was barely traceable due to exposure to terrific heat.
But we've succeeded in separating the plates and transferring their
records in amplified form to new sheets. And we can read them. We
have a remarkably complete section of Stroid history just before
their extermination, and, if we are reading it correctly, there's a
surprising fact about them."
"What is that?"
"They were not native to this Solar System. They were extra-galactic
refugees whose home world had been destroyed in something completely
revolting in an intellect that would foresee the doom of a world and
set about to assure its own preservation."
"But that is only your own subjective extension," Illia answered.
"There is no such semantic concept in the idea."
* * * * *
"Isn't there? The egotism, the absolute lack of concern for a
creature's fellows--those are semantically contained in it. And that
is why I'm more than a little afraid of what we shall find if we do
succeed in reviving this creature. How is it developing?"
"It seems to be going through a sort of conventional embryonic growth,"
Illia answered. "It's already passed a pseudo-blastic stage. So far, it
has generally mammalian characteristics; more than that is impossible
to say. But what about this new evidence enough for my mental capacity.
I can't and won't give a damn about any other aspects."
"You must!" Phyfe's eyes were suddenly afire, demanding, unyielding.
"We have new evidence--Terry may have been right when he asked to have
the protoplasm destroyed."