_Burial on Earth was the dream of every
person in the galaxy. And Krieg was certainly
rich enough to buy his way in. Valhalla
was his. But he changed his mind...._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, February 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The room seemed more a mausoleum than an office, but that was as had
been intended. Perhaps thirty feet high, fifty feet wide, it stretched
a good hundred feet in length. It was paneled entirely in jet black
onyx, which gave a sense of infinity to it. The floor was a thick lawn
of heavy black pile carpeting. Only two areas of the room offered
mitigation to this oppressive gloom. Just past the middle, bathed in a
haze of light, was placed a large black desk, and behind it sat a man.
At the far end of the room, slightly elevated, was an alabaster statue,
an abstraction of incredible beauty and poignancy. The statue too was
wrapped in a soft nimbus. Few visitors to this room ever had to be told
the title of this work of art, for its meaning was apparent in its
every line--_Bereavement_.
The man behind the big black desk belonged to the room as much as did
the onyx walls, the thick carpet or the alabaster statue. Without the
presence of this man the chamber seemed strangely empty, strangely
morbid, and few of the man's associates cared to remain in the room
when he was not there. Somehow the warm air of benevolence to be
found in his fair, pinkish face softened the harsh somberness of the
appointments, while the gentle strength in his dark and mournful eyes
gave amelioration to the atmosphere of despair. His job was to be a
Janus, looking from the cheery rubric of today towards the unknown but
dimmer colors of tomorrow--to be a bridge between present pleasures and
future fears. There was no better man for the task in all the Galaxy
than Consolator Steen.
At the moment Consolator Steen sat waiting, thinking, planning. Soon
through the huge doors facing him would come a man, one Joseph Krieg by
name, who sought Steen's assistance. The fact that Krieg was one of the
richest men in all the known universe made the impending interview a
most important one, for Consolator Steen's assistance depended entirely
upon the price that could be paid.
Steen's fingers flicked over the set of hidden controls on his desk.
Everything was in readiness. "And another innocent fish gets hooked,"
he muttered to himself. He sighed once, shortly, then touched an
invisible button. "I will see Joseph Krieg now." In the outer office
Steen's aide-de-camp, Assistant Consolator Braun, sprang to an attitude
of proper deference as the huge bronze doors swung open. Braun bowed
slightly as Joseph Krieg strode past him and into the onyx chamber.
* * * * *
Steen's eyes narrowed in admiration as he examined the man walking
towards him. Joseph Krieg was a huge person, just past middle age but
still retaining the hardened appearance of late youth. His face had
a chiseled squareness to it, and his manner indicated not so much
wealth as it did an obvious determination to succeed. This would be an
interesting fish to play with indeed, Steen thought.
About half-way to the desk Krieg stumbled slightly, but recovered
his pace with the cumbersome grace of some massive animal. A smile
flickered briefly over Steen's face. The thickness of the carpet had
more purposes than one. When Krieg was almost upon him, Steen stood up.
Krieg stopped in front of the desk, facing Steen, as if waiting for
some signal. Steen, who knew the value of silence, remained absolutely
still. After a few seconds, obviously perplexed, Krieg smiled
nervously. "Consolator Steen?"
"Welcome to Earth, Joseph Krieg. Welcome to the Heart of the Galaxy."
Steen's voice was rich, mellifluous, and the words fell from his mouth
like benedictions. He extended a hand. "Won't you please be seated?"
The chair received Krieg's body as if it were the most precious burden
it had ever held. Its soft contours almost demanded that he relax,
yield the tenseness of his muscles to its smooth and welcoming shape.
Its surface closed around him as if it were a second skin, then began
to tingle in gentle caress. Joseph Krieg had never felt so comforted in
his life.
Consolator Steen seated himself behind his desk, then waited until
his assistant, Braun, had taken a chair some feet away. He smiled
paternally. "May I ask you one favor? Would it seem presumptuous if
I called you Joseph? Perhaps you would feel it an impertinence on my
part, but...." Consolator Steen gestured slightly with both his hands,
as if to implore forgiveness.
Joseph Krieg smiled, nodded his head. "Of course I won't mind if you
use my first name. It would be an honor, Sir." The smile continued on
his face, but his eyes narrowed as if he were attempting to puzzle out
the figure behind the desk.
"You will excuse me too if I say that you've come too soon, Joseph,"
the Consolator said.
"Too soon?" Krieg replied quizzically. "I don't think I...."
Steen smiled warmly. "I only mean that you look still so young, so
strong and vibrant with life. And yet, perhaps you are the wiser to
come now, still in the vigor of living. It shows an honesty with
yourself, an ability to face the facts, which is much to be admired."
"Thank you, Sir," Krieg replied. He continued to stare at the
Consolator.
Steen knew full well the turmoil that was stirring within the man. The
entire interview had been psychologically planned to evoke dark and
dormant emotions which, when released, would destroy Krieg's normal
ability to judge situations impassively. Proof that things were going
as intended came from Krieg's continual use of the word "Sir." Krieg's
commercial empires spanned the Universe; from perfume to starships,
from food to fertilizers, he was king. And yet he would never
understand that it was Steen's quiet paternal power, the fact that he
wore wise sorrow wrapped around him the way some men wear a cloak, that
called forth this unfamiliar reverence. The psychological survey done
on Krieg had cost the Consolator a small fortune, and he didn't intend
to waste it.
"You must realize, Joseph, that the things which you have come to
discuss are matters of the deepest concern for all of us here on
Earth." Steen gesticulated towards Braun as if Braun represented
somehow all the other billions on Earth. "The problem is one that
touches deep within all of us, and we are anxious to be of whatever
service possible. But more than anything else, we want you to know
that we _understand_."
"Thank you, Sir," Krieg repeated. He frowned for a moment, then seemed
to smile. "But if you don't mind, maybe we could begin our discussion
of terms."
Steen raised one eyebrow slightly. The man showed a remarkable lack of
sentimentality. Corrections would have to be made in the approach....
"Of course. I am delighted to get on with things. And I must say, I
find your attitude extraordinarily sane. The problem is, really, a
simple one best met head on. You are here because you know that as it
come to all men, death must come to you too. And you feel the necessity
to make certain that when your time comes, you will be brought to
Earth to your final rest. You are a son of Earth. This is your great
ancestral home."
Krieg started slightly, then relaxed almost in reverie. Steen smiled
inwardly at the power of words, repeated, to invoke long forgotten
memories. For Steen knew that when Krieg had been no more than a
toddling child, learning to read, learning to respond to affection,
his simple-syllabled books had spoken in reverent tones of "The Great
Ancestral Home." In later years, all of Krieg's studies had had hidden
at their core an emotional dependence upon Earth. No place was finer,
more beautiful, more important. No, not all the rest of the stars put
together. He had been told it a million times until it had become an
inseparable part of his very personality, just so the words would have
the desired effect at this moment. _The Great Ancestral Home._
"You are so fortunate, my son," the Consolator continued. "So very few
of Earth's teeming children will ever have the opportunity that lies
within your grasp. You must make the most of it."
As Steen watched, Krieg seemed to shake some of the feeling of awe from
him. "I intend to make the most of it, Sir," he said, offering Steen
his most charming smile. "It just depends on how hard a bargain you
want to drive."
Consolator Steen gave Krieg a look of mild reproach. "There is no
'bargaining' to be done, Joseph. The monetary considerations are set
by law, and we have no choice in the matter. All that we can do is to
explain the services which we are prepared to extend to you, and then
help you as best we can to arrive at the most suitable decision. Our
position is simply that of catering to your individual wants as best we
can."
"My wants are simple," Krieg replied, and it seemed to Steen that far
too much of the man's usual forcefulness was returning to his voice. "I
wish to be buried on Earth when I die, and I want you to arrange this
for me."
"Of course, of course, my son," Steen said, letting just a glint of
steel appear in his eyes. "But what do we mean by burial? We have such
different problems here on Earth than you do elsewhere in the Galaxy.
You must understand that. We are forced to such strange solutions to
these problems. But perhaps if I merely show you the various types of
burial which we undertake, then you will understand." Steen laughed to
himself. The fish appeared fat and hungry, and now it was time to drop
in the bait.
* * * * *
The Consolator touched a hidden switch atop his desk and one of the
black onyx walls rippled and seemed to dissolve in mist. A replica of
Earth swam through the haze and into view. "Earth. Such an incredibly
small planet, Joseph. But the heart of the Galaxy none the less."
The replica seemed to swell in size and geographical details became
apparent. "Earth. Once a world of gentle, rolling plains, winding
rivers, thick forests, wide oceans and soaring mountains. Just like any
other habitable planet. And now look at it. One solid mass of buildings
and machines, Joseph. We've drained the oceans and filled in their beds
with metal. We've destroyed the forests and the rolling plains and
planted the land for miles above and below with throbbing inorganic
monsters. We've hollowed out the very mountains to make more space.
Space for nine hundred billion people, Joseph. And still we are cramped
almost beyond belief. We need to expand a hundredfold. But we cannot.
There simply is no room left.
"No room for the living, Joseph, and this means no more room for the
dead, either. Here, let me show you." The scene changed, showing first
a huge building, and then, the bottom floor of the edifice. "This is
one of our larger buildings, Joseph. It is more than fifty miles long
and one hundred miles wide. The bottom floor alone is more than one
quarter mile high. This huge space is completely filled with cubes two
inches square. Each cube holds the ashes of one human being who wished
to find his final resting place on Earth."
Consolator Steen made a motion of resignation. "Notice that I said 'on
Earth,' Joseph, and not 'in Earth.' This is our 'pauper's field,' the
burial ground of those devoted souls who could not afford to be buried
_in_ the Earth itself."