Harry Harrison: Captive Universe

In the darkness he stopped and laughed, until it turned into a fit of coughing.

That was the way. That might be the way out. Now he had a purpose and, in spite of the pain, he moved forward steadily in the streaming downpour. By the time he reached the valley wall the rain had lessened to a steady drizzle and the sky was lighter. The gods had made their point; they were still in command. They would gain nothing by flooding the valley.

Only they weren’t gods, they were men. Fallible and stupid men whose work was finished even if they did not know it.

Through the faffing rain he could make out the dark bulk of the pyramid as he passed it, but it was silent there and nothing moved. If the priests had returned they were now locked in their deepest chambers. He smiled and rubbed his knuckles across his mouth. Well, if he had done nothing else he had given them a fright they would never forget, oh yes he had. Perhaps this made up, in a very small way, for what they had done to his mother. These arrogant, strutting bullies would never again have the assurance that they were the final law among men.

When Chimal reached the spot below the ledge he stopped to rest. The rain had ceased but the valley was still swathed in a sea of damp fog. His left side was on fire and when he touched it his hand came away red with blood. Too bad. It was not going to stop him. This climb had to be made while vision was still obscured, so neither the villagers nor the watching observers could see him. The pickups in the sky above would be useless now, but there might be others nearby that would be able to see him. Certainly things would be upset now among the watchmen, and the sooner he moved the better his chances would be of doing it unseen. But he was so tired. He stood and placed his hands against the rock.

The only memory of the climb he had was one of pain. Red agony that fogged his vision and made it almost impossible to see. His fingers had to seek out grips on their own and his toes scuffled blindly for a place to rest. Perhaps he went up the same way he had used when he had climbed it as a boy: he could not be sure. The pain went on and on and the rock was slippery, with water or blood he could not tell. When he finally pulled himself over the rock lip onto the ledge he could not stand, could barely move. Pushing with his legs he slid his body through the wet filth on the ledge to the back of the shallow cave, beside the door. He would have to find a hiding place to one side, where he could not be seen through the concealed peephole, yet close enough to attack anyone who came. Crawling over he propped his back against the rock.

If they did not come soon it was all over. The climb had taxed him beyond his strength and he could barely stay conscious sitting there. Yet he must. He must be awake and alert and attack the next time the door was opened to feed the vultures. Then he must enter, attack, win. But he was so tired. Surely no one would come now, not until normal events were restored in the valley. Perhaps if he slept now he would be rested when the door did open. That would surely be some hours, perhaps a day more at least.

Yet, even as he was thinking this, there was a motion of air as the entrance in the rock swung up and out.

The suddenness of the happening, the gray weight of his fatigue, were too much for him. He could only gape as Watchman Steel appeared in the opening.

“What has happened?” she asked. “You must tell me what has happened.”

“How did you find me…your screen?”

“Yes. We saw strange things happening in the valley, we heard rumors. No one seems to know the details. You have been missing, then I heard you were somewhere in the valley. I kept searching all the pickups, until I found you. What is happening? Tell me, please. None of us know and it is… terrible…” Her face was blank with fright: there is no destroyer like disorder in a world of complete order.

“Just what do you know?” he asked her as she helped him inside, to the seat in the car. After she had closed the feeding door she took a small container from her belt and passed it to him.

“Tea,” she said. “You always liked it.” Then fear of the unknown possessed her again as she remembered. “I never saw you again. You showed me the stars and told me about them, and kept shouting that we had passed Proxima Centauri, that we had to go back. Then we returned to the place where we had weight and you left me. I never saw you again. That has been days, many days now, and there has been trouble. The Observer at services tells us that evil walks the corridors but will not tell us what it is. He will not answer questions about you — it is as though you never existed. There have been alarms, strange things happening, two people have collapsed and died. Four girls are in hospital, they cannot work and we are all on extra shifts. Nothing is right When I saw you on the screens, back in the valley, I thought you might know. And you are hurt too!” She realized the last, gasping and shrinking away, as the blood seeped from his side onto the seat.

“That happened days ago. I’ve had treatments. But I have done it no good today. Is there any kind of medicine in your belt?”

“The first aid kit, we are required to have one.” She took it out with trembling fingers and he opened it and read the list of the contents.

“Very good.” He opened his clothing and she turned away, eyes averted. “Bandages here, antiseptics, some pain pills. All of this should help.” Then, with sudden understanding, “I’ll tell you when you can look again.” She bit her lip and nodded agreement, eyes shut.

“It appears your Master Observer has committed a grave error by not telling you about what has happened.” He would censor his own story, there were some things she had better not know, but he would at least tell her the basic truth. “What I told you when we looked at the stars was true. We have passed Proxima Centauri. I know that because I found the navigation machines which told me about it. If you doubt it I can take you there and they will tell you too. I went to the Master Observer with my information and he did not deny it. If we turn now we can be at Proxima Centauri within 50 years, the goal of the Great Designer. But many years ago the Master Observer and others went against the Great Designer. I can prove this too with the log in the Master Observer’s own quarters, the evidence of the men who decided this, and also decided to tell none of the others of you of this decision. Do you understand what I have told you so far?”

“I think I do.” She spoke in an almost inaudible voice. “But it is all so terrible. Why should they do a thing like that? Not obeying the will of the Great Designer.”

“Because they were wicked and selfish men, even if they were observers. And the observers now are no better. They are concealing the knowledge again. They will not permit me to reveal it. They have planned to send me away from here forever. Now — will you help me to right this wrong?”

Once more the girl was far beyond her depth, floundering in concepts and responsibilities she was not equipped to handle. In her ordered life there was only obedience, never decision. She could not force herself to conclusions now. Perhaps the decision to run to him, to question him, had been the only act of free will she had ever accomplished in her entire lengthened, yet stunted, lifetime.

“I don’t know what to do? I don’t want to do anything. I don’t know …”

“I know,” he said, closing up his clothing and wiping his fingers on the cloth. He reached out and took her chin in his hand and turned her great empty eyes to him. “The Master Observer is the one who must decide, since that is his function in life. He will tell you whether I am right or wrong and what is to be done. Let us go to the Master Observer.”