The Collected Stories of Frank Herbert (62 page)

“Uncle, you must believe me,” said Saim.

“So you say,” said ó Plar. He caressed the polished surface of his staff—a long tube of metal with crooked top. His hands never strayed far from it. The staff leaned now against its slot on the edge of the desk. ó Plar tapped the metal as he spoke.

“These records you've discovered—you say they refer to many caves scattered around the world, each with its complement of … I believe you called them rockets.”

“Weapons, Uncle. Thousands of them! We found pictures. Weapons more terrible than you can imagine.”

“Mmmmmhmmmm,” said ó Plar. And he thought:
The young fool! He keeps hitting the most sensitive inhibitions! Well, he's in for it now. I can't help myself.

ó Plar took a deep breath, said: “Tell me how you found these records.”

Saim dropped his gaze. Fear touched him. After all, this
was
the Regent Priest.

“Was it by digging?” asked ó Plar.

Saim shrugged, thought:
He knows we've profaned the earth.

“Where is man's place?” demanded ó Plar.

Saim spoke with a resigned sigh: “Man's place is among the growing things on the blessed surface of Mother Earth. Neither in the sea below nor in the sky above, nor in caverns beneath. To the sea, the fishes. To the sky, the birds. To the earth's surface man. Each creature in his place.”

ó Plar nodded, tapped his staff against the floor. “You recite it well, but do you believe it?”

Saim cleared his throat, but did not speak. He sensed an abrupt tension in the room, glanced at the staff in ó Plar's hand.

ó Plar said: “You cannot plead ignorance. You know why man must not dig in the earth except where the Council or a Priest-Historian such as myself has sanctified both diggers and ground.”

Saim clenched his fists, unclenched them. So it had come to this.

“You know,” said ó Plar. “You've seen me come from Ultimate Conditioning with the Lord's force strong upon me. You've seen Truth!”

Saim's lips thinned.
What was that old saying?
he asked himself.
Yes: In for a penny, in for a pound.

“I know why,” said Saim. “But it's not because of your holy rigmarole.” He ignored the frozen look on ó Plar's face, said: “It's because back in the Lost Days people who dug in the ground accidentally set off some of these weapons. They reasoned that the region below the earth's surface was prohibited. And we're left with a law that grew out of accident and legend.”

No help for him now,
thought ó Plar. He said: “That would not be reasonable. And the Lord Buddha has ordered things in a reasonable way. I believe it's time to teach you this with some discipline.”

Saim stiffened, said: “At least I tried to warn you.”

“In the first place,” said ó Plar, “there may be a few such weapons as you've described, but time is sure to have destroyed their working parts.”

“Thousands of them,” said Saim. “Each sealed in a giant container of inert gas. Each ready to destroy.” He leaned forward. “Will you at least look at the evidence?”

ó Plar's voice grew sharper. “No need, young man. You could manufacture any evidence you needed.”

Saim started to speak, but ó Plar cut him off.

“No! You came here to get me to stop the Millennial Display. You presumed to use our relationship for…”

“Of course I want you to stop that display!”

“But you did not tell me why.”

“I did.”

“Let's look at it reasonably,” said ó Plar. “Under the guidance of the Blessed Priests, mankind has grown out of its violent childhood. We've enjoyed almost a thousand years of tranquillity. Just ten days now to the Millennial Display. Just ten days—and suddenly you've found a reason to stop that display.”

“You must stop it,” pleaded Saim.

“What harm can a few fireworks do to our people?” asked ó Plar.

“I don't have to tell you that,” said Saim. “We've never seen such things. We're conditioned against all violence. I don't even see how you could force yourself to arrange such a display. The inhibitions…” He shuddered. “Loud noises, great flashes of light in the night sky. There'll be a panic!”

So perceptive,
thought ó Plar.
This one was always so perceptive.
He said: “We but remind people in a relatively mild way how things were in ancient days.”

“Madness and panic,” said Saim.

“A little, perhaps,” said ó Plar. He stilled the trembling of his left hand by gripping the staff. “The important thing is that we'll create public revulsion at the things you young rebels are preaching.”

“Uncle, we…”

“I know what you're saying,” said ó Plar. “Revive all the sciences of the Ancients! Expand to other planets! Expand! We don't even fill our present living space!”

“Uncle, that's just it.” Saim felt like getting down on his knees. Instead, he leaned on the desk. “Mankind's dying out. There's no…” He shook his head “… no drive, no motive power.”

“We're adjusting to the normal requirements of our Mother Earth,” said ó Plar. “Nothing more. Well, we're going to show the people what it is you preach. We'll give them a display of ancient science.”

“Haven't you heard anything I said?” pleaded Saim. “Your display will set off a panic. It'll be like a wave of fear following the line of darkness around the world. And the old weapons … they're all set to detect that wave. Fear at a critical volume sets off the weapons!”

ó Plar could feel the pressure of his own conditioning—so much more terrible and constricting than any pressures felt by the common herd.
If they only knew …

“So you've stumbled on to a place of the Elders,” said ó Plar. “Where is that place?”

Saim's lips remained closed. He could feel an emotion tugging at him.
Anger?
He tried to remember the angers of childhood, but couldn't. The conditioning was too strong.

ó Plar said: “We'll find the place you profaned whether you tell us its location or not.”

“Get it over with,” said Saim. And the sorrow he felt brought dampness to his eyes.

“I will,” said ó Plar. He hesitated, sharing Saim's sorrow. But there was nothing else to do. The requirements of the moment were clear to both of them. “There is a strip copper mine in Mon'tana Province,” he said. “They need an acolyte to learn the rituals from the resident.”

“An acolyte? But, uncle I…”

“Don't think it'll lead to priesthood,” said ó Plar. “You'll be digging, too. You appear to like digging.”

“But…”

“Miners tend to be a profane lot,” said ó Plar. “It comes from all that digging, no doubt.”

Saim said: “Uncle, I don't care what you do to me, but won't you at least examine…”

“Enough!” ó Plar twisted an almost imperceptible ring on his staff. “Do you hear and obey?”

Saim stiffened to attention, feeling a terrible outrage that ó Plar should think it necessary to use the power of the staff in this. Saim's lips moved almost of their own volition: “I hear and obey.”

“You will pack a minimal bag and leave at once for the Blessed of Heaven mine at Crystal, Mon'tana Province,” said ó Plar. “Orders will be waiting for you at the train terminal.” Again, he twisted the ring on his staff.

Saim stood rigidly at attention. The signal of the staff filled his mind with a procession of terrors without names. There was the red unthing of the black place shaping his thoughts into forms he no longer recognized. There was the slimy green part-self hearing and obeying. There was …

“Go!” ordered ó Plar.

The signal relaxed its hold.

ó Plar bowed his head, mumbled the litany of peace. His head was still bowed when he heard the door close. The tinkling of the water rhythm garden sounded overloud in the room.

That was close,
thought ó Plar.
It's getting more difficult every day for me to deal with the accidental. My conditioning is so strong … so sure … so absolute.

Presently, he touched a button on his desk. The semi-opaque face and shoulders of a woman appeared in a moment, projected above the desk. She wore the blue robe of a Priestess-Historian of the Brox Family. Her dark hair was tied in a severe braid across one shoulder. Green eyes stared at ó Plar from above a thin nose and stiff mouth.

“Will you give yourself up and submit to punishment?” asked ó Plar. It was a flat question, ritualistic.

“You know I cannot,” she said. The answer carried the same lack of emphasis.

ó Plar held his face rigid to hide the momentary surge of loathing.
What this woman did might have an accidental necessity, but still …

“Well, why have you called me?” asked the woman.

ó Plar rapped his staff against the floor. “ó Katje! You must observe the forms!”

“Sorry,” she said. “I presume your nephew has just left you.”

“I sent him to a mine,” said ó Plar. “I gave him a jolt of the staff he'll never forget.”

“You gave him just enough to make him angry,” said ó Katje, “not enough to bind him. He'll run away. Your staff isn't functioning correctly today.”

ó Plar started to rise from his chair.

“You couldn't catch him,” said ó Katje. “There's nothing you can do. But no blame rests on you. It was an accident.”

ó Plar relaxed. “Yes. An accident.” He stared at the woman,
How to phrase this?
he wondered.
I must say a thing, yet not say it.

“You're not trying to trace my transmission signal again, are you?” asked ó Katje.

“You know we've given up on that,” said ó Plar. “No. I wish to say something of the simulacrum. This accident may give you Saim and Ren and Jeni, but I will have the simulacrum. He's unconditioned!”

“I need good workers,” she said.

“They're hiding near the city,” said ó Plar. “Saim came in on foot. They've found one of the ancient caves, that's what. The Elders hid them with devilish cunning, but sometimes an accident…” He broke off.
Did she get the message?

“How can you be sure you'll get the simulacrum?” asked ó Katje.

Damn that woman!
thought ó Plar.
Directly into the jaws of the inhibition!
He said: “If you will not give yourself up and submit to punishment, there is no further need for us to talk. May you find a path of grace.”

He broke the connection, watched the image fade.
Fool woman. Flying directly
 … His thoughts dived off at a tangent.
No! Not a fool! She was testing my inhibition! When I reacted … that's when she knew for sure we were prepared to follow Saim: we saw the accident.

Now, ó Plar sat back, worrying, wondering. The little signal generator he had stuck to the back of Saim's robe during the embrace of greeting—it was sure to lead the acolyte guards directly to the hidden cave. Part of him exulted at this thought, but part recoiled in horror. The careful accumulation of so many accidents …

*   *   *

George saw the door and stopped. The door had been forced and repaired. It was a perimeter door, leading to a defensive chamber. He knew that. But the ideas of perimeter and defensive chamber weren't quite clear in his mind. They came in Ancienglis, a language with big gaps in it.

Abruptly, everything around him seemed strange, as though his surroundings had stepped out of phase with his reality. Something dragged at his ankles. He looked down at the long white robe he was wearing. It was like a … a hospital gown, but longer.

“Is something wrong, Jorj?”

He whirled, saw a dark man with flat features, almond eyes.
Almond eyes! Something wrong … dangerous … about almond eyes.
He said: “You're…”

“I am Ren, your doctor,” And Ren tensed, wondering if there'd be some new violence from this simulacrum creature.

“Oh.” George relaxed. “I've been sick.”

“But you are well now.” Ren maintained his alert, watchful attitude.
No telling what set this creature off.

George took a deep breath.

The door!

He studied it. There were stains around it.
Blood?
He could hear voices behind it. He opened the door. It swung inward on silent hinges, revealing a chamber hewn out of grey rock. Indirect lighting gave the place a shadowless look of sterility. A man and woman stood in the chamber, talking. He knew the woman. Jeni. She came with food and sympathy in her eyes. But he didn't know the man—grey eyes, short-cropped blond hair. A feeling of youngness about him.

The man was speaking: “They didn't stand a chance of catching me. I outran them easily. And when we got into the timber…” He broke off, sensing the watchers.

Ren pushed past and into the room, said: “Saim, when did you get back?”

“I just this minute arrived.” Saim spoke to Ren, but kept his attention on Ren's companion, who advanced into the chamber, peering around. Saim found the sight of the simulacrum freed of the regenerative tank shocking and repulsive. He said: “Is something wrong with it?”

“With Jorj? Nothing at all. He's had a hard day's problem solving and probing is all.”

“My name is George,” George muttered. The words were flat as though he spoke to himself.

“He speaks!” said Saim. It was a terrifying idea, as though this creature had reached a tentacle out into a new and more deeply profane dimension.

Jeni said: “He looks tired, Ren.”

George focused on Saim. “You're…” His voice trailed off. His features grew slack. He stood silent, staring into nothing.