Doris Lessing - The Sirian Experiments

“Canopus was once our enemy,” I said.

“You have just spent a long—a very long—leave, with Klorathy.”

“On the Rohandan moon.”

“The attractions of which we do not believe responsible for the quite inordinate time you were away.”

I looked at each of them, slowly one after another, so that they might read, if they could, the truth in my eyes.

It seemed I had failed, for Stagruk said: “for us to re-engage in Rohanda means to re-open the debate about our function as an Empire. About whether we maintain our present minimum performance or whether we expand again. It will mean training technicians to operate in the two Southern Continents. This will be of necessity a difficult and expensive training because of the appalling situation on Rohanda. There will be, almost certainly, loss of life among them. This will again reinforce the questionings among us—it is absolutely essential for us to realise that if do as you say, the least we can expect is an inflammation of the Existential Question—and to a dangerous point. That is our view, Ambien.”

I sat, absorbing the news that this had already been fully discussed among them: they, as four, had discussed one, me, Ambien. My distance and alienation from them, my ancient friends and co-workers, was such that I could have given up then. If I had not been thinking of Klorathy.

I was conscious that my continual reliance on him, in thought, was creating, or continuing, or reminding me of—I did not know which—a feeling that was becoming stronger as I sat there. For through this talk of ours a silent word reverberated: Klorathy, Klorathy, Klorathy.

I said: “It has long been policy that I should cultivate an association with Klorathy.”

At once Stagruk said: “For our benefit.”

This was a threat. And yet—there are threats and threats!

A situation can contain a threat—and then it doesn’t matter what is said: a group of individuals in a room swearing eternal brotherhood are eating the wind, if the situation they are in contains threat to them. And vice versa. Here there was no doubt—on the face of it—that there was a threat. I knew the calm judgemental expressions on the faces of these colleagues of mine very well. They were using this look because they believed the situation demanded it. And yet…

At the back of my mind my thoughts were racing: not yet has Canopus wanted something, when it has not happened! A request became a fact, even if I seem to have done nothing to further it. Everything that has passed between Sirius and Canopus, re Rohanda, between Klorathy and myself as Sirius and as Ambien, is insisting now, in a thousand voices, that what Canopus wants will come to pass. The worst that can happen is that these dear colleagues of mine will punish me in some way, but this will not prevent a Sirian involvement in Rohanda. This is because we are already involved, and in a way that Canopus needs—for the education of Sirius. A decision has already been made. And therefore: the threat that is present here and now is only to me… and, since my fate is of no importance, there is no real threat present.

While I considered all this, we were silent again—and whirling about among the other thoughts was that it was not possible that what I thought did not affect them, with whom I was so close. With whom I made a whole.

Feeling that these words had already been said or thought, or existed somehow, I said: “It is my belief that this association has always been for our benefit. And planned to be so.”

This was, if you like, treason. But it was putting into words what had been implicit among us all for a long time. This is where Ambien II, a member of the Five, had, if you like, “gone wrong.” And long ago.

I felt a great relief, a relaxing all through me and through us all. A climax had been awaited, had been reached—had gone past.

They were all looking at me, and not in hostility. Curiosity, perhaps, but not of an urgent or pressuring kind.

“You have not once mentioned Shammat,” said Stagruk.

“No.”

“Shammat is not a threat in your belief?”

“Shammat apparently controls Rohanda. And her moon. Shammat is prowling and working and busy from one end of Rohanda to the other. And yet this is with the permission or at least the tolerance of Canopus. Who could stop it tomorrow.”

“And you believe we have to take all this on trust?”

“I do.”

I knew then that they were going to agree. Canopus, working on me, on my nature, had also worked on them—without knowing it. They had watched me involved with Canopus, had wondered, had speculated—and their innermost selves had been touched. As I understood this I felt close to them in a way I had not before. And I do now.

“It is all good,” I said. “Believe me. It is for our good. For the good of…” I had been going to say, for the good of Sirius, but found myself saying… “the good of the Galaxy.”

“Very well,” said Stagruk. “We will agree. You will take charge of the new policy. You will be responsible for the training of the personnel. And for liaison with Canopus. And you will announce, and then control, the ensuing debates on policy.” And then she added, with a smile, “I suggest that the public reasons you give for this change of policy, on behalf of us all, include the threat of Shammat on Rohanda, and the possible need for us to start mining on the Rohandan moon.”

“You four have decided on mining that moon?”

“We are, after all going to experience considerable difficulty in changing the policy for the entire Empire. Will you mind our pointing out that your new—alignments—at times seem to make you rather remote from our Sirian realities? Some kind of saving form is essential.”

I laughed, of course. And mostly with relief. But we all stayed where we were, looking closely into each other’s faces.

“Why can’t you tell us, Ambien?” said Stagruk, suddenly, in a voice both hard with pride and reproachful. “Surely you must see how we feel?”

And I said, in equal conflict: “How can I? Don’t you see? It has taken—oh, so long! And so much reluctance on my part has had to be overcome. And everything I have learned from them has been bit by bit and slowly, so that I never even knew I had changed so much until I came to sit here with you…” And then I wept. It was a long time since water had spurted from my eyes, like the most primitive of our populations. And they, too, my old companions, showed signs of relapsing into the older ways.

The situation so unusual for us all that we were not as disturbed by our reactions as might otherwise have been.

This is what happened in that council meeting that later was recognised by everyone as a turning point, the beginning of a new orientation, for Sirius. Of course, at the time, that this was so was implicit in everything we said, and what we did not say. But none knew how far-reaching the changes would be. Even now, as I write, the importance of that meeting is still being re-assessed.

I shall now make two statements, without elaboration.

The first is that I have not again met Klorathy.

The second is that a very great of effort went into the change of policy that had to be made before I could actively and openly take my place identified in the eyes of the whole Empire as “Rohandan Ambien.” Ambien I aided me behind the scenes during this campaign.

Meanwhile, I was thinking deeply and privately about what it was Canopus really needed from us. These thoughts could be shared with no one, not even Ambien I.

Again, I shall not overload the narrative detail. The attentive reader will be able, I am sure, to understand my reasons for this or that decision.

I did not make arrangements for large numbers of technicians to establish themselves on Southern Continents I and II. This would have amounted to an armed occupation of these territories. Both continents were already being overrun by the white invaders from the northwest fringes: Klorathy’s prophecies were being proved true. Both vast territories were being conquered by the most savage brutalities, and indigenous peoples and races were being wiped out or enslaved. The rule was everywhere that of force, of compulsion, of tyranny. Shammat or its spirit was absolutely dominant. And there was another thought: to equip our forces on a large enough scale to subjugate. or least to control, these continents would be to undertake more than Canopus was doing in the northern areas. And it would mean teaching our technicians ways of war that we were forgetting— learning to forget as a deliberate and strict policy. We had our armed forces, yes; but these were small, and kept for special and particular occasions and tasks.