Eric swung down, his arms still tingling with pleasure where he had
held her. She said, "Knock three times on the door. I will see you
again inside. And thank your brother for sending me to bring you here."
Eric knocked on the door. The door was as plain as the building, made
of a luminous plastic. It had all the beauty of the great gate door,
but a more timeless, more functional beauty.
The door opened and an old man greeted Eric. "Come in. The Council
awaits you. Follow me, please."
Eric followed down a hallway and into a large room. The room was
obviously designed for a conference room. A great table stood in the
room, made of the same luminous plastic as the door of the building.
Six men sat at this conference table. Eric's guide placed him in a
chair at the base of the T-shaped table.
There was one vacant seat beside the head of the T, and as Eric
watched, the young woman who had rescued him entered and took her place
there. She smiled at Eric, and the room took on a warmth that it had
lacked with only the older men present. The man at her right, obviously
presiding here looked at Eric and spoke. "I am Kroon, the eldest of
the elders. We have brought you here to satisfy ourselves of your
identity. In view of your danger in the City you are entitled to some
sort of explanation." He glanced around the room and asked, "What is
the judgment of the elders?"
* * * * *
Eric caught a faint nod here, a gesture there. Kroon nodded as if
in satisfaction. He turned to the girl, "And what is your opinion,
Daughter of the City?"
Nolette's expression held sorrow, as if she looked into the far future.
She said, "He is Eric the Bronze. I have no doubt."
Eric asked, "And what is this Legend of Eric the Bronze? Why am I so
despised in the city?"
Kroon answered, "According to the Ancient Legend you will destroy the
city. This, and other things."
Eric gaped. No wonder the crowd had shown such hatred. But why were
the elders so friendly? They were obviously the governing body, and if
there was strife between them and the people it had not shown in the
respect the crowd had accorded Nolette.
Kroon said, "I see you are puzzled. Let me tell you the story of the
City. The City is old. It dates from long ago when the canals of Mars
ran clear and green with water, and the deserts were vineyards and
gardens. The drouth came, and the changes in climate, and soon it
became plain that the people of Mars were doomed. They had ships, and
could build more, and gradually they left to colonize other planets.
Yet they could take little of their science. And fear and riots
destroyed much. Also there were those who were filled with love for
this homeland, and who thought that one day it might be habitable
again. All the skill of the ancient Martian fathers went into the
building of a giant machine, the machine that is the City, to protect a
small colony of those who were chosen to remain on Mars."
"This whole city is a machine!" Eric asked.
"Yes, or the product of one. The heart of it lies underneath our feet,
in caverns beneath this building. The nature of the machine is this,
that it translates thought into reality."
Eric stared. The idea was staggering.
"This is essentially simple, although the technology is complex. It is
necessary to have a recording device, to capture thought, a transmuting
device capable of transmuting the red dust of the desert into any
sort of material desired, and a construction device, to assemble this
material into the pattern already recorded from thought." Kroon paused.
"You still doubt, my friend. Perhaps you are thirsty after your escape.
Think strongly of a tall glass of cold water, visualize it in your
mind, the sight and the fluidity and the touch of it."
Eric did so. Without warning a glass of water stood on the table before
him. He touched the water to his lips. It was cool and satisfying. He
drank it, convinced completely.