Like a tide, the horror of the silver
death was sweeping to inundate the
inhabited worlds--with only Varon to
halt its flood--and he was already
marked by the plague he fought.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1945.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Fermin, the _Arch-Mutant_, had risen before dawn and in the
garnet-colored light that passed for morning on Ganymede, repaired to
the magnificent austerity of his cloister where he received an endless
series of reports.
He had been reading _Seville-Lorca_ the previous evening, delighting
in the incredible pages which had been the great historians' dying
contribution to their worlds, and to which he had every intention of
adding an ironic anti-climax of his own. He sat in an austere Jadite
chair basking in the archaic warmth of an open hearth, and watched
whimsically for a moment how the darting flames reflected a bright
patina on the fur of the somnolent Felirene at his feet. There was
a chapter on the Jovian Societies he wanted to re-read. Not for
the brilliant, facile style in which _Seville-Lorca_ presented the
distilled chronicles of the Jovian Moons, but for that deeper purport
which is the notation of the heart.
Slowly, Fermin became absorbed in the photo-plastic record on the stand
before him, unrolling in synchronized timing with his own reading speed.
"... It seems natural, I suppose, human nature being as it is--that the
Mother Planet should maintain an attitude of supercilious aloofness.
But then, it is axiomatic we can never quite love those we have
wronged. And the history of the colonization of the major Jovian Moons
is anything but exalting.
"When at the close of the 'Great Unrest,' as the twenty-third century
is popularly known, it was definitely established that the ratio of
Mutants to the grand total of normal populations was becoming an
increasingly dangerous potential, they were given their choice of a
charter to the newly explored Jovian Moons--a magnanimous gesture
which ignored with olympic indifference the fact that at least
one--Ganymede--had already a civilization of its own.
"The fact that 'Mutants' were the direct result of malignant rays and
fiendish gases to which their ancestors had been exposed during the
endless wars that ravaged Terra until the twenty-second century, thus
damaging and modifying their chromosomes until Mutants began to appear
in increasing numbers, was beside the point.
* * * * *
"Terra was not interested in 'origins' it was only interested in
'conclusions'--and that the sooner the better! For these silver-haired
Mutants the color of old ivory, with the piercing silver-grey eyes,
were a constant reminder of a recent barbarism, of fratricidal wars so
damning that the new apostles of the 'Great Peace' would rather avert
their minds. Besides, and this was the deciding factor, the Mutants'
infinite capacity for intrigue bid fair to upset Terra's idyllic
applecart!
"For in a world devoid of want, where strife had ceased under
scientific control, where obedience was taken for granted, and
robot-labor performed an endless variety of tasks, the blessed Mutants
found ways and means of fomenting discontent with admirable logic. Had
it been confined to their own ranks, it would have been no problem at
all, for as yet their number were negligible--scarcely a million. But
the perversity of human nature is sometimes appalling to behold; thus,
under the persuasive eloquence of the Mutants, great numbers of the
population of the World State began audibly to long for freedom!
"What manner of freedom they longed for, was a little difficult for
the World-Council to establish. For surely, in the face of universal
plenty, freedom from want had been accomplished. Since the Government
was a benevolent bureaucracy staffed by scientists, oppression was
unknown. And, in the absence of need for labor, thanks to robots,
anyone could and did pursue such bents and careers as best suited them,
within certain limits. Even pleasure palaces; rejuvenation centers--and
pleasures had been socialized. The Government furnished Cinemils, mild
stimulants; even the more esoteric delights to all who performed a
minimum of work per day.
"Of course, we now know (thanks to three hundred years of perspective),
what the World-State failed to perceive: That human beings need not so
much 'Freedom' per se, as the 'conditions of freedom.' For in a Social
Order where everything is provided without effort, effort itself is
hopelessly circumscribed. Where the 'Will to Achievement' is subtly
neutralized by an established way of life, that precludes 'friction,'
such a 'Will' becomes atrophied and progress stagnant. Just as
'resignation' is an inadequate word to describe the psychic exhaustion
of a wounded soldier who contemplates with indifference the immediacy
of death, so is 'exaltation' insufficient to describe the spiritual
change that came over large segments of the World-State under the fine
ivory hands of the Mutants.
"Fortunately, the Terran Government had the wit to sense an impending
explosion that would have scattered their precious 'Peace' to Kingdom
Come. Thus began the hurried exodus of both Mutants and malcontents
to the Jovian system of Moons. The Mutants went first by unanimous
decision of the Council. They demanded to be taken to Ganymede, where
with a sigh of infinite relief (on the part of the World-State),
they were deposited bag and baggage. Then the malcontents were taken
to Callisto, to Io, to Europa, and some even to one or two of those
smaller Moons hardly bigger than asteroids. Even in exile, however, the
parental hand of Terra followed its strange and wayward children.
"For we can suppose without fear of error, that the stately World-State
Government felt much as an old and weary hen that has hatched a
particularly bewildering brood of ducks. Deep in its heart, Terra felt
a guilty sense of blame, and had anyone been able to reach that cold
and battered throne, he would have discovered the angry pity and vast
misgivings with which it undertook the colonization of the Moons.
"But as usual, they failed to take into consideration the
'Unpredictable,' that cosmic accident that recurs always in the lives
of men--thus the World-State never even dreamed of what were later on
to be called 'The Societies.'"
Fermin the Arch-Mutant paused meditatively in his reading, and wondered
with faint amusement if _Seville-Lorca_ peering from the summit of some
remote Nirvana could see the stupendous drama that was being enacted in
the Moons, and write on the spectral pages of a book, a new addition
to his "_Annals_." But his sardonic reverie was suddenly arrested in
mid-flight, for at his feet the great, golden _Felirene_ had stirred
with the preternatural awareness of the feline, its immense green eyes
feral as it sensed....
I
"_O Moon of my delight_
That knows no waning..."
Terra--19th Century.
In the semi-darkness, the vast crysto-plast observatory was deserted.
For the fifteen Tiers devoted to the feast, overflowed with celebrants
who observed the three hundredth anniversary of their landing.
All Io seemed devoted to the chief preoccupation in their lives, and,
had managed to make of an historic fact, the excuse for a planet-wide
bacchanale. Julian Varon removed his black silk mask and stepped to the
wide balcony overhanging the plains. The frosty air was like a benison
on his narrow, high-cheek-boned face, and the silence was a greater
blessing still. Vaguely, he remembered the lines of an ancient poem of
the twentieth century, which, by one of those ironies of Fate, had been
preserved when far greater masterpieces had faded into oblivion:
"_The brandy's very good--
Blue space before me and no sign of man._"
Meditatively, he raised the fragile Bacca-glass to his lips and sipped
the fiery liquor that Ionians distilled from the fragrant stems and
leaves of the _Clavile_ plant. For days, his mind had whirled in
hopeless circles, and he wondered with a curious sense of detachment,
whether he wouldn't be better off to leave the problem to the
scientists. Only, it was his duty as much as any scientist, to search
for clues.
Julian raised his eyes and gazed at the great tiers of stars that
glittered above the towering, purple crags of the _Mallar_ range.
Throughout the hours of the Ionian night, the skies had been peopled by
the singing of these constellations. But there had been none to hear
it, for despite the ravages of the _Silver Plague_, the inhabited Moons
of Jupiter had gone mad with revelry, as if they would distill the last
drop of pleasure from each passing hour that brought them closer and
closer to extinction.
"I wonder," Julian spoke aloud, "why decadence always hastens the tempo
of pleasure!" He smiled acidly as his own voice sounded strange in his
ears. Below him, the blazing tiers within the transparent enveloped,
that was Atalanta, capital of Io, the great Galilean satellite,
sparkled polychromatically in the night. In the utter silence, a stream
of music faint and far away, like a tiny goblin orchestra reached him,
as the icy wind plucked with elfin fingers at his cape.
And something else reached him, too, that sent the blood racing through
his veins as his hypersensitive awareness of danger, translated the
sound of stifled breathing behind him into a signal for action.
He whirled with a speed that was an index of Jovian training, for in
the vastly lighter gravities of the Moons, his muscular coordination
was breath-taking.
Before him stood a Mutant in the act of crouching for a leap. He was
huge, squarely built, his silver mane standing straight out as he
sprang with a murderous rush. Julian stepped aside with calculated
ease and his left hand moved like a piston into the Mutant's face.
There was no time to seek the hidden "electro" under his arm-pit, and
power-rapiers had to be checked before entering pleasure palaces. The
Mutant bellowed with fury, and rammed a right deep into Julian's ribs,
then brought up his left and Julian tasted the claret in his mouth. The
silver-haired, silver-eyed being was obviously fighting to kill. And
suddenly Julian's vast amazement changed to a cold fury that turned his
blue-grey eyes to a smouldering black.
He slid two sharp jabs into his enemy, then crossed his right and felt
bone give under his fist. He moved in, blasting with both fists like
rocket exhausts, and heard the Mutant's breath exploding from his body.
The Mutant with supreme effort tossed a fist grenade at him, but Julian
had caught the rhythm of the battle and swayed away with it; he made
the assailant miss again, then with all his dynamic power sent his
right hand crashing home.
He saw the Mutant, face askew, slide drunkenly to the blood-patterned
floor. Then cool hands were on his wrists, on his brow, and sanity
began to return again.
"Darling!" Narda said in a husky voice that was distilled music, and
drew down his golden head against a priceless gown that was all blue
shadows and pin-points of lights, to stanch the blood from his cut
lips. Her violet eyes were bright with unshed tears, but in the odd,
slurred melody of her haunting voice there was no tremor as she asked,
"What on Io's happened? Were you recognized by any chance? _And a
Mutant...!_"
"Hardly think so ... still.... Oh, forget it, this is not a night for
problems. Did anyone ever tell you that your eyes are in Heaven," he
grinned irresistibly with a charm that made him seem younger.
"No! None of your ... what was it your barbaric ancestors called
it?... _blarney!_" It was then she noticed the tell-tale silver flood
at the roots of his yellow mane, and her heart stood still. _The
Silver Plague!_ Carefully she lighted a cigarette and blew a perfect
smoke-ring into the icy air, she brushed an imaginary tobacco speck
from lips that were like red roses. And when she spoke Narda was
perfectly calm.
"I came to find you because they're going to play the _Ecstasiana_
with a native orchestra from Ganymede--the muted viols and flute-like
instruments, and those weird violins of that strange race.... We danced
it the first time we met. Remember, my dear?" Her eyes were radiant as
if all her tears were concentrated in her heart, leaving only their
sparkle behind.
* * * * *
He nodded silently. He was too full of the racking knowledge that all
his dreams had been destroyed by this alien malady that turned the hair
to gleaming silver, and rendered them sterile. That, and his terrible
love for this exquisite, gallant being who had consecrated her youth
and brains and loveliness to the only ideal in the chaos of their
lives--The _Dekka_. And as they turned to go, the tiny tele-rad on
Julian's wrist began to flash a pin-point of light in a complicated
code.
They both watched instantly alert, translating the urgent message with
the ease of years of experience. The message was peremptory--final.
They were to repair to the Dekka's ancestral Hall without delay for a
plenary session. The laconic order ceased as the instrument went blank.
Julian Varon looked at Narda for a long moment. Then he shrugged his
shoulders. "We'll have to leave right away, it may be _emergency_!"