“I was a poor learner of the redes,” Copper confessed. “And I’ll have to
skip the Mysteries. I never even tried to learn them. Somehow I was sure
I’d never be a preceptress.” She settled herself more comfortably on the
tawny grass and watched him as he lay on his back beside her.
“Eh?” Kennon said, “Preceptress?”
“The guardians of our traditions. They know the redes and mysteries by
heart.”
“And you have kept your religion alive that way all these years?”
“It isn’t exactly religion,” Copper said. “It’s more like history, we
learn it to remember that we were once a great race--and that we may
be again. Someday there will come a male, a leader to bring us out of
bondage, and our race will be free of dependence on men. There will
be pairings again, and freedom to live as we please.” She looked
thoughtfully at Kennon. “You might even be the one--even though you are
human. You’re different from the others.”
“You’re prejudiced.” Kennon smiled. “I’m no different. Well--not very
different at any rate.”
“That is not my thought,” Copper said. “You are very different indeed.
No man has ever resisted a Lani as long as you have.”
Kennon shook his head. “Let’s not go into that now. What are these
redes?”
“I do not remember them all,” Copper apologized. “I was--”
“You’ve said that before. Tell me what you do know.”
“I remember the beginning fairly well,” she said. “It goes back to the
time before Flora when everything was nothing and the Master Himself was
lonely.”
Without warning her voice changed to a rhythmic, cadenced chant that
was almost a song. Her face became rapt and introspective as she rocked
slowly from side to side. The rhythm was familiar and then he recognized
it--the unintelligible music he had often heard coming from the barracks
late at night when no men were around--the voiceless humming that the
Lani sang at work.
First there was Darkness--starless and sunless
Void without form--darker than night
Then did the Master--Lord of Creation
Wave His right hand, saying, “Let there be light!”
Verse, Kennon thought. That was logical. People remember poetry better
than prose. But the form was not what he’d normally expect. It was
advanced, a style that was past primitive blank verse or heroic
pentameter. He listened intently as Copper went on.
Light filled the heavens, bright golden glowing,
Brought to the Void by His wondrous hand;
Then did the Master--Lord of Creation--
Nod His great head, saying, “Let there be land!”
Air, land, and water formed into being,
Born in the sight of His all-seeing eyes;
Then did the master--Lord of Creation--
Smile as He murmured, “Let life arise!”
All of the life conceived by the Master,
Varied in shape as the grasses and birds;
Hunters and hunted, moveless and moving,
Came into form at the sound of His words.
“That’s a great deal like Genesis,” Kennon said with mild astonishment.
“Where could you have picked that up?”
“From the beginning of our race,” Copper said. “It came to us with Ulf
and Lyssa--but what is Genesis?”
“A part of an ancient religion--one that is still followed on some of
the Central Worlds. Its followers call themselves Christians. They say
it came from Earth, the mother-world of men.”
“Our faith has no name. We are children of Lyssa, who was a daughter of
the Master.”
“It is an odd similarity,” Kennon said. “But other races have had
stories of the Creation. And possibly there may be another explanation.
Your ancestors could have picked this up from Alexander’s men. They came
from Earth originally and some of them could have been Christians.”
“No,” Cooper said. “This rede is long before Man Alexander. It is
the origin of our world, even before Ulf and Lyssa. It is the first
Book--the Book of the God-spell. Man Alexander came in the sixth
Book--the Book of Roga.”
“There’s no point in arguing about it,” Kennon said. “Go on--tell me the
rest.”
“It’s going to be a long story,” Copper said. “Even though I have
forgotten some of it, I can chant the redes for hours.”
Kennon braced his back against one of the fat tires of the jeep. “I’m a
good listener,” he said.
She chuckled. “You asked for this,” she said--and took up the verses
where she had left off. And Kennon learned the Lani version of creation,
of the first man and woman, cast out of Heaven for loving each other
despite the Master’s objection, of how they came to Flora and founded
the race of the Lani. He learned how the Lani grew in numbers and power,
how they split into two warring groups over the theological point of
whether Ulf or Lyssa was the principal deity, how Roga the Foolish
opened Lyssa’s tower to find out whether the Ulfians or Lyssans were
right, and brought the Black Years to Flora.
He heard the trial of Roga and the details of his torture by the priests
of Ulf and the priests of Lyssa--united by this greatest sacrilege. And
he heard the Lani version of the landing of Alexander’s ship and man’s
conquest of Flora.
It was a story of savagery and superstition, of blood and intolerance,
of bravery and cowardice, of love and beauty. Yet through it all, even
through the redes that described the Conquest, there was a curious
remoteness, a lack of emotion that made the verses more terrible as they
flowed in passionless rhythm from Copper’s lips.
“That’s enough!” Kennon said.
“I told you you wouldn’t like it.”
“It’s horrible. How can you remember such things?”
“We begin to learn them as soon as we can talk. We know the redes almost
our entire lives.” Copper was silent for a moment. “There’s lots more,”
she said, “but it’s all about our lives since the Man Alexander--the old
one--took possession of us. And most of the newer redes are pretty dull.
Our life hasn’t changed much since the men came. The Book of Man is
boring.” Copper sighed. “I have dared a great deal by telling you these
things. If the others knew, they would kill both of us.”
“Then why tell me?” he asked.
“I love you,” she said simply. “You wanted to know--and I can deny you
nothing.”
A wave of tenderness swept over him. She would give her life for
him--and what would he give? Nothing. Not even his prejudices. His face
twisted. If she was only human, If she wasn’t just an animal. If
he wasn’t a Betan. If, if, if. Resentment gorged his throat. It was
unfair--so damned unfair. He had no business coming here. He should have
stayed on Beta or at least on a human world where he would never have
met Copper. He loved her, but he couldn’t have her. It was Tantalus and
Sisyphus rolled into one unsightly package and fastened to his
soul. With a muttered curse he rose to his feet, and as he did he
stopped--frozen--staring at Copper as though he had never seen her
before.
“How did you say that Roga was judged responsible for Alexander coming
here?” he demanded.
“He went into Lyssa’s tower--where Ulf and Lyssa tried to call
Heaven--and with his foolish meddling set the tower alight with a glow
that all could see. Less than a week later the Man Alexander came.”
“Where was this tower?”
“Where Alexandria now stands. Man Alexander destroyed it and built his
house upon its ruins.”
“And what was that place of the Pit?”
“The Shrine of Ulf--where the God-Egg struck Flora. It is buried in the
pit, but the Silent Death has protected it from blasphemy--and besides
Man Alexander never learned about it. We feared that he would destroy it
as he did Lyssa’s tower.”
A wild hope stirred in Kennon. “We’re going home,” he announced.
“Good.”
“And we’re going to get a pair of radiation suits--and then we’re coming
back. We’ll have a good look at that Pit, and if what’s in there is what
I think it is”--his face was a mixture of grimness and eagerness--“we’ll
blow this whole operation off this planet!”
Copper blanched. “It is death to meddle with the God-Egg,” she said.
“Superstition!” Kennon scoffed. “If that Egg is what I think, it was
made by men, and you are their descendant.”
“Perhaps you’re right, but I can’t help thinking you are wrong,” she
said soberly. “Look at the trouble that came with Roga’s meddling. Be
careful that you do not bring us a worse fate.”
“I’ll be very careful. We’ll take every precaution.”
“We?”
“You’re coming, of course. I can’t imagine you staying away.”
Copper nodded.
“You shouldn’t worry so much,” Kennon teased. “You know we men live
forever.”
“That is true.”
“And if I’m right you’re just as human as I. And you’re capable of
living as long as I do.”
“Yes, sir,” Copper said. Her voice was unconvinced, her expression
noncommittal.
“You females,” Kennon said in quick exasperation. “You drive a man
crazy. Get an idea in your head and it takes triatomate to blast it out.
Now let’s go.”
Two hours brought them back to the volcanic area, and knowing what to
look for, Kennon located the pockmarked mountain valley. From the air it
looked completely ordinary. Kennon was amazed at the perfection of the
natural camouflage. The Pit was merely another crater in the pitted
ground. He dropped to a lower altitude, barely a hundred feet above the
sputter cones. “Look!” he said.
Below them was the crater of the Pit and in its center a smooth
bluish-black hemisphere protruded from the crater floor. It would have
passed unnoticed by the casual eye--nearly concealed by two gigantic
blocks of pumice.
“The God-Egg!” Copper exclaimed.
“Egg--ha! that’s a spacer! I thought it would be. I’d recognize durilium
anywhere. Let’s go down and look this over, but first we want a couple
of pictures.” He pointed a camera at the crater and snapped the shutter.
“There--now let’s have a closer look at our baby.”
“Do you expect me to get into that thing?” Copper said distastefully as
she prodded the shapeless green coveralls with a bare toe. She eyed the
helmet, gloves and boots with equal distaste. “I’d suffocate.”
“If you want to come with me, you’ll wear it,” Kennon said. “Otherwise
you won’t come near that pit. Try it and I’ll chain you to the jeep.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Just try me.”
“Oh--all right. I’ll wear the thing--but I won’t be comfortable.”
“Who cares about that? You’ll be protected.”
“All right--show me how to put it on. I’d rather be with you than worry
about what you are doing.”
The suit was several sizes too large but it covered her adequately.
Too adequately, Kennon decided. She looked like a pile of wrinkles with
legs. He chuckled.
She glared. “So I’m funny,” she said. “Let me tell you something else
that’s funny. I’m hot. I’m sweating. I itch. Now--laugh!”
“I don’t feel like laughing,” Kennon said. “I feel the same way.”
They approached the edge of the Pit carefully. Kennon kept checking
the radiation counter. The needle slowly rose and steadied at one-half
roentgen per hour as he thrust the probe over the rim of the depression.
“It’s fine, so far,” he said encouragingly. “We could take this much
for quite a while even without suits.” He lowered himself over the edge,
sliding down the gentle slope.
“How is it down there?” Copper called. The intercom crackled in his ear.
“Fine--barely over one roentgen per hour. With these suits we could
stay here indefinitely.” The sigh of relief was music in her ears. “This
place is barely lukewarm.”
“That’s what you think,” Copper said.
“I mean radiation warm,” Kennon said. “Stay up there and watch me. I may
need some things.”
“All right.” Copper squirmed inside the hot suit. The thing was an oven.
She hoped that Kennon didn’t plan to work in the daytime. It would be
impossible.
Kennon gingerly approached the ship. It was half buried in the loose
debris and ash that had fallen or blown into the pit during the
centuries it had rested there. It was old--incredibly old. The hull
design was ancient--riveted sheets of millimeter-thick durilium. Ships
hadn’t been built like that in over two thousand years. And the ovoid
shape was reminiscent of the even more ancient spindizzy design. A
hyperspace converter like that couldn’t be less than four millennia
old. It was a museum piece, but the blue-black hull was as smooth and
unblemished as the day it had left fabrication.
Space travel would have gotten nowhere without durilium, Kennon
reflected. For five thousand years men had used the incredibly tough
synthetic to build their spacecraft. It had given man his empire. Kennon
gave the hull one quick glance. That part of the ship didn’t worry him.
It was what he would find inside that bothered him. How much damage had
occurred from two thousand or more years of disuse? How much had the
original travelers cannibalized? How much could be salvaged? What sort
of records remained? There were a thousand questions that the interior
of that enigmatic hull might answer.
The upper segment of the airlock was visible. It was closed, which was a
good sign. A few hours’ work with a digger should expose it enough to be
opened.
“Copper,” he said, “we’re going to have to dig this out. There’s a small
excavator in the cargo bed of the jeep. Do you think you can bring it
down here?”
“I think so.”
“Good girl!” Kennon turned back to the ship. He was eager to enter it.
There might be things inside that would settle the question of the Lani.
The original crew had probably recognized the value of the hull as
a repository as well as he did. But in the meantime there would be
work--lots of it. And every step must be recorded.
It was the rest of the day’s work to expose the emergency airlock. The
little excavator toiled over the loose ash for hours before it displaced
enough to make the port visible, and the ash was not yet cleared away
sufficiently to open the portal when darkness brought a halt to the
work.
It would be impossible to unearth the spaceship with their low-capacity
digger, Kennon decided. It would be difficult enough to clear the
emergency airlock in the nose. But if the tubes and drive were still
all right, by careful handling it should be possible to use the drive to
blast out the loose ash and cinders which surrounded the hull.
Kennon reluctantly gave up the idea of entering the spaceship. That
would have to wait until tomorrow. Now they would have to conceal the
work and call it a day. A few branches and the big blocks of pumice
would suffice for temporary camouflage. Later they could make something
better. Anything in the jeep which might be useful was cached along with
the radiation suits in the passageway through the lava wall--and in a
surprisingly short time they were heading homeward.
Kennon was not too displeased. Tomorrow they would be able to enter
the ship. Tomorrow they would probably have some of the answers to his
questions. He looked ahead into the gathering night. The gray mass of
the abandoned Olympus Station slipped below them as he lined the jeep
along the path indicated by the luminous arrow atop the main building,
set the controls on automatic, and locked the craft on the guide beacon
in Alexandria’s tower. In a little less than an hour they would be home.