The Sirian Experiments

Alone. I was surrounded by cold blue-grey stone. It was not a small room, but was oppressive, because of its dimensions. I will here say that while Sirius even then was familiar with ideas to do with the relations between the dimensions of buildings and the psychological state of their inhabitants, we had—dare I say have?—not approached the understanding of Canopus in the field. It was a place designed to crush, belittle, depress. (These dimensions were in common use through all the levels of the buildings, even those in use by the ruling class. When I found this I concluded that this culture had been Canopus-inspired and had then degenerated under the influence of Shammat.) The walls were of large slabs of squared stone. So was the floor. The ceiling was made to look the same, as it was faced with stone. The door was a single slab of stone, moving in a groove on invisible weights. There was no window. Two small oil lamps stood on a cube of stone that was the only table. A stone bench or ledge ran along one wall. This bluish-grey stone did not reflect the light. It was not stuffy: there was air coming from somewhere.

There was nothing in this room, or tomb, to soften or reassure. I decided therefore that my captors intended to threaten or even torture, and that I had been put here to lower my resistance.

I sat on the bench. as comfortably as I and entered into reflection on situation. First of all, and most important for the overall situation of Sirius, the exact timing of my arrival had been known: I had been expected. This meant a much closer acquaintance with our activities on this continent that we had known. One had always to expect some sort of espionage or at least a local curiosity enough to supply a certain amount of information, but the manner of my reception showed something well beyond this. No matter how I mentally surveyed my companions, our local staff, the members of our internal and external air forces, I could not find anyone to suspect. There was another thought that kept presenting itself: who was it that had always seemed to know what our movements and plans were? Canopus! Was I to believe that Canopus had supplied this nasty little kingdom with information us? No, that was out of the question. Yet, here, in this area of possibility, was something that could not be dismissed… I set it aside and considered my own present situation.

If it been planned simply to kill me, to remove me as a threat, then this could have been done as I landed, or soon after, without this obedient populace knowing anything about it. The fact that I had been received by the entire priesthood—the upper class of this culture—and their guards meant that I was to be sacrificed publicly, probably as the central and even sole figure of an imposing ceremony.

I was beginning to feel very cold inside my prison. This, too, was not a sensation I could remember feeling—not to this degree. I noted my thoughts were slowing; my mental reactions were becoming as stiff as my limbs. There was an absolute silence here under this weight of stone.

If they were so well informed about our movements and intentions, why was there any need to interrogate me?… It was at this point I noted that my thinking was becoming too inefficient to continue and so I switched it off. Soon afterwards, the great stone slab slid sideways in its grooves and a female entered. She was a slave. The reddish skin colour of this face was paler in her because of her long sojourn within these stone prisons. She was shorter and lighter in build than those great strong specimens, the ruling caste and their guards. But her face had the same brutality and I could see in her dulled brutish eyes that she would kill me at a word. She had brought in some dishes and jugs that contained quite an adequate meal. I told her I was very cold. She stared, and did not seem to hear. She came swiftly to me, her black eyes not on my face but all over me, as if they were curious hands. And then her hands were all over me and I thought she going to take my protective necklace and bracelets. I could see that she was afraid of this exploration of my person, but could not resist it. Her face showed an uneasiness not far off terror, and her eyes kept flickering towards the open doorway. Yet she felt my hair, ran thick fingers up and down my arm, and then bent to peer right into my face, and my eyes: this was the oddest sensation, because it was the colour of my eyes, that fascinated her, the shape of my face, and I might been inanimate for all the interest she had in my intrinsic self, in anything my eyes might have been saying to her.

Then she abruptly stood straight and turned to go out. I said again that I was cold and again she did not respond.

Perhaps she was deaf. Or even dumb.

Although I believed there might be drugs in the food, I did not hesitate to eat and drink, and without any real concern for the results. This was partly because of the frigid slowness of my mental processes, but partly because of what I have already mentioned, my inbuilt unconquerable belief that I was immune. Not eligible for death!

Yet I was certainly able to consider, and even with an appreciation, that I was likely to be murdered in this ugly little city on this inferior little planet. It was a fact that I kept supplying to myself, as something that had to be taken in. But I could not.

Between my functioning being, the familiar mechanisms of Ambien II, senior official of Sirius, member of a race that did not expect to die, except by some quite fortuitous event—such as a meteorite striking a Space Traveller—between that state of consciousness, and the real urgent apprehension of the fact: You may very well be murdered at any moment, there was really no connection. I literally could not “take it in.” I wondered what it would feel like to “take it in” so that my whole organism knew, understood, was prepared. What would it be like to live, as these unfortunates did, not more than four hundred to eight hundred years, depending on their local conditions—no sooner born than ready to die? Did they feel it? Really feel their impermanence? Or was there something in the nature of the conditions of living on this planet that imposed a barrier between fact and its perception?

I pursued these thoughts, or rather, allowed them to float through my mind, or—perhaps even more accurately—observed them take shape and pass, while I ingested foodstuffs that I hoped would soon warm me.

Soon there came in another female. Once again I am faced with that problem of hindsight. The female was Rhodia. To try and put myself back into my state of mind before I knew who she was, without distortion, is not easy.

But I can say accurately that at once I was saying to myself that she did not resemble the slave who had brought the food. She was dressed in the same clothes, long loose dark blue cloth trousers, and a tunic of the same, which was belted with leather, and hung with various keys. She was a wardress or jailor. She was larger in build than the other, and her red or red-brown skin was lightened by lack of sunlight, like the other. But I at once felt at ease in her presence, to the extent that I warning myself: Be careful, it might be a trap. She was not, as I was already seeing, of the same race. Or not of the same sub-race. Same in general style or pattern—skin colour, build, the long hair—she nevertheless had an aliveness that at once set her aside.

She stood immediately in front of me, this handsome, alert female, her large black eyes full on mine. And remained there, as if expecting or requesting an exchange. I did smile at her, even while I was telling myself that it was the oldest trick in the world—the amiable jailor. She had over her arm a length of dark blue woollen cloth, and this she unfolded to display a warm cloak, in which I thankful to muffle myself. Then she grasped me by the arm and assisted me to rise, knowing that I had become stiffened and lumpish. This firm confident touch was quite unlike the avid, brushing touch, like a snake’s tongue, of the other inferior wardress. She walked me, gently enough, to the door, and then assisted me through it. By now my responses were blocked and confused. Everything in me that told me to like this creature was being chided and set aside by me. She felt this, for her hand fell from my elbow and I stumbled on by myself along the low corridors, all straight, all lit by the same regular minor gleams of light at long intervals, all of the same regular blocks of dark stone. Somewhere above me was the sunlight of this region, were the peaks capped with snow. But it was as hard to take in, to really believe that fact, as it was to believe that this woman might easily slide a knife into me.

After a long walk, turning with monotonous regularity at sharp angles from one corridor to another, the lights on the walls suddenly increased, there was softness under my feet—and I saw coloured rugs and carpets, and the walls had hangings on them. Abruptly, we stopped. Apparently facing a blank wall. She pressed down a lever that projected from the wall, and another great slab of stone slid silently back. I was in the entrance to a brightly lit room that had windows in it.

This alone nearly overthrew me—being in ordinary daylight again. Seven tall men, in the black cloaks I had already seen, were seated behind a long wooden table. An eighth stood by a window half turned away, looking out. Again, I have to disentangle what I later learned of the eighth man and what I felt then. Then, I saw at once he was not of the same race as that of Grakconkranpatl, nor of my wardress, who was standing just behind me. He reminded me of those Shammat pirates who had visited me such a very long time ago, the shameless thieving ones. He was, however, taller than they. He was more finely built. His skin was pale brown, as theirs had been. His eyes were quick and brown. His hair was profuse, curly and reddish, worn long on the head, with a neat strong beard. He was the old Shammat type much refined. Compared to the seven, in their heavy black, with their brutish features, their long black eyes that conveyed coldness and deadness as much as they did avidity and lust for power, he seemed infinitely better, even reassuring. And it was as I stood there, my eyes turning for relief to this eighth that I heard a breath from behind me: “Sirius, be careful.” This sound floated into my mind, as if it came from not now and here but from Koshi, or from the spaces between the stars. I could not believe I was hearing it, and even thought I had imagined it… when I slightly turned my head, the woman was a few paces behind, and her face was immobile, even indifferent.

And I was still waiting there, in front of these coldly observant men, all eight of them, now that the one by the window had turned to stare, too. And as yet nothing had been said.

One of the men rose, came over to me, his cold gaze assessing my hair, my skin, my light brittle build, and whipped off the dark cloak, and, gripping my upper arm, pushed me forward closer to the seven so that I stood close against the table they sat along, one, two, three, four, five, six, all so alike, copies of each other, so little variation there was between them. And the seventh stood behind me, and lifted my hair in his large hands, so that he could feel it and show it to the others, and then lifted one of my arms, and then the other—both bare, now that the enveloping cloak lay discarded on the floor. Then he slid the bracelets up down my arms in a way that showed he wanted to take them from me, but, leaving them for the moment, he began to unhook the necklace of Canopean silver. I was surrounded by his cold unpleasant smell and I felt faint, but I said calmly:

“If you take these things from me, it will be the worse for you.”

I saw the eyes of all six of these rulers—priests and tyrants—turn towards the one who lounged still at the window, showing his superiority to them and the scene by his affectation of half-indifference, sometimes watching what went on in the room, sometimes observing some events out of my sight on the central avenue that, presumably, was not now lined with the guards. He now glanced at them, and nodded slightly—such a minimal gesture was this that I could easily have believed it had not occurred, was it not that it had its effect: the hands of the man who stood behind me no longer fumbled at the catch of the necklace.

Was this eighth man, then, the tyrant who called himself the High Priest? How otherwise was he in a position of supereminence?

Under my robe, I could feel the girdle of starstones, which was the third object given me for protection by Canopus, lying tightly around my waist, not a few inches from the one behind me. I was conscious of the smooth clasp of the gold band around my left thigh, which was the fourth of the talismans.

If the priests had not summoned me to take these things, or to interrogate me, why then was I here? The thought strongest in me was that it was the eighth man who had demanded this confrontation. But why?

Again, I was standing there, no one speaking, the eighth man gazing apparently indifferently out of the window, six of them ranged one beside the other opposite me on the other side of the long narrow table, six pairs of black eyes staring at me. I do not remember any other species that has struck me with such unpleasantness as these did: if they had been simple brutes—that is, a species still totally brutish, or one just lifting itself away from brutishness—they would have been more tolerable. But they were a long from running about on four legs or tearing their food with their fangs. It was the end of a line of evolution I was seeing; one that had taken its path into this cruelty and narrow caste interest and was frozen there.

It came into me that there were two different interests at work here: those of the eighth man being different from the seven, but they did not know it.

One of the men got up, pushed down a lever that slid stone panels across the windows, extinguishing daylight, and I found myself standing in a beam of brilliant light that fell on me from above. All me was quite black and I stood illuminated. I knew then that this was a rehearsal for some ceremony: they wished to see how I would look to an assembly of, probably, slaves as well as the ruling caste, when I stood before them, bathed in light, in one of the temples, before the priests cut the heart out of my body.

A moment later, the stone window panels had slid open again, the light had been switched off, and I was being wrapped in the heavy cloak by the woman, and then taken back along the passages to my room.

There she left me, without other communication.

I sat alone in the awful silence, and now my mind was full of Nasar. I was reliving my exchanges with him before I left Koshi. So strong was my sense of him when the door slab slid back and the same woman stood there, I was thinking still of Nasar, and it was with difficulty that I forced my mind to take her in. Again I was telling myself that one did not trust jailors, while I was contrasting this simple direct presence with the men I had been taken to stand before. The seven men—yet I was seeing the one at the window as apart from the others and as better than them, even while I remembered the whisper: Sirius, be careful. I looked into this woman’s strong eyes, and she gazed straight back at me.

It was as if my mind was trying to open itself, to take in something… but after a long silence, she put down on the stone bench a bundle, which I saw was bedding, and she said: “Try to sleep.” I believed I heard the word “Sirius,” after that admonition, but she had gone. I lay down on the stone slab wrapped in heavy woven material, and lay awake, very far from sleep.

Now, looking back, I can see very clearly two strands, or factors, in my situation. One was the eighth man, he who reminded me of the Shammat thieves. The other was Rhodia. The bad and the good. The two potentials in my situation. The two currents that are in every situation if one learns to recognise them! Now it is all very clear.

Then I lay and thought of Nasar, and sometimes of Klorathy, and hardly at all of the eighth man.

In what I supposed to be the morning of a new day, the first slave came again with food for me.

I sat wrapped to the chin in all the coverings there were, my hands around a bowl of hot meaty liquid, for warmth. My mind was ringing with Nasar! Nasar!—to the extent that I was beginning to judge myself mad. When the female Rhodia came in swiftly, and stood before me, I stammered out “Nasar” before I could stop myself, and then stared at her, as if expecting her to explain.

She kept her eyes on mine for a long interval, as she had done before, and then said, “You must give me your talismans, Sirius.”

I did not move, and she said: “When they come and ask for them, you will say that you have disintegrated them to keep them out of the wrong hands.”

“I have no such skill,” I said. All this while our eyes were engaged, and my mind felt again as if it tried to enlarge, yet could not.

“No, but there are those who have.”

“And these—criminals know this?”

“They know it.”

As I unwound the thick cloths around me, it was with the strongest of feelings of identity with this woman. The thought that I did wrong to trust her was faint now. I held out my bared arms to her to slip off the bracelets. I slid the band down off my thigh and gave it to her. I stood to unlatch the girdle of stones from my waist. I bent my head so that she could undo the necklace. These articles vanished into the voluminous folds of her clothing.

“And now for a time you will be very weak,” she stated, “You are unarmed against Rohanda. You must guard yourself in every way. It not be for long.”

Not knowing I was going to say this, I said: “This is a very strange place to find you in.”

And she said: “And it is a foolish place to find you in, Sirius.”

I was breathing the name Nasar again, as she reached the doorway, and she turned, swiftly, and said, “Yes.” And was gone.

I could feel the weakness of not being protected. My mind seemed to dim and fade. I sat quietly holding onto what she, or he, had promised, that it would not be long.

Soon two of the black-clothed men, tall knifelike men, came and said: “Give us the things!” They were bending over me, their alien black eyes consuming me, and my senses weakened with the odour of them. I said, as Nasar had told me to say: “I do not have them. I disintegrated them, so that they should not fall into the wrong hands.”

At this their faces distorted, rage convulsed them, and their hands dragged off my coverings and were all over me, finding nothing. They stood up, looking at each other—so alike they were, so dreadfully alike, it was as if individuality had been engineered out of them. Then, without looking at me, they strode out and the stone slab closed the entrance.

Now, feeling my mind’s strength ebb away, I simply held on, held on.

When Rhodia, or Nasar, came in, she had a cup of some drink, which she made me take, and it did restore me a little.

Then she sat by me on the bench, and, rubbing my hands between hers, said: “You will have to do absolutely everything I say. When you find yourself lifted up on the sacrificial place, and a green light shines on you, call out, as if in invocation, ‘Death to the Dead…’ and then fling yourself backwards. You will be caught.” And she was already up and away to the door.

I whispered: “Canopus, why are you doing this?”

She said, low and hurried: “You saved me. Though you did not know from what degradations. So now it is my turn to save you.” And the door slid to.

I felt the weight of the cold dark misery of that place come down over me, and wondered how it must affect those who were not protected, as I had been, by my talismans. My mind kept darkening, as if it were full of mist that thickened, but then thinned again; and I was repeating to myself over and over what I had to do.

And it all happened quickly. Into my cell crowded the dark priests, any number of them, and I was hurried along corridors in a press of people and then up some steps, and was inside one of the temples. It was massed with slaves at the lower end, standing in ordered ranks and companies, each with their guards. I caught a glimpse of our poor Colony 9 animals, chained together, lifting their hairy faces and bewildered blue eyes at what they saw at our end of the temple. The black-clothed ones, males and females, were in their ranks on either side of a great reclining statue of stone. Where its belly should have been was a hole, and from it came the smell of stale blood. Oh, the smell of that place! That in itself was enough to quench any sense I retained.

Behind the evil statue—for its visage was horrible, an evil face above gross swollen limbs—was a high plinth. On to this I pushed, stood there swaying and faint. I saw before me the squat dark interior of this temple, with its stone gods, I saw the massed slaves, I saw the priestly caste who used and fed off them—all this bathed in a ruddy ugly light that suffused the place. A savage wailing began from the black-clothed ones. It was a hymn. I was holding on to my senses, but only just… I could imagine what it was they were seeing—a white wraith, or phantom, with its glittering fleece of hair, in a white wisp of a dress, on which red light flickered… and then the light on my hands turned green, there was a green glow where the blood glow had been. My mind told me that this was a signal. I fought for the words I had to cry out, at last they came to me—as I saw a knife raised in the hand of a priest aimed for my heart, I called out, “Death to the Dead… Death to the Dead…”

There was something else I had to do, and I could not remember. The knife still held above me, its blade glittering green. I jumped backwards off the plinth, fell into something that yielded and then gave way altogether. I heard a clang of stone on stone above me. There were people around me were and they were lifting me and carrying me. My part in this escape having been done, I slept or went into a trance.

And yet it was not a complete oblivion, for I was conscious of urgency, of flight along low dark passages, and of Rhodia’s voice. And I was talking to her, asking questions, which were answered, for as the dark in my mind lifted, and I began to see that we were coming out from deep underearth places into light, the information I had been given was making a clear enough picture.

Rhodia was not a native of the priest-ruled city, but of Lelanos, which was not very far from here. Not far, that is, in distance…

She had caused herself to be captured and made a slave. Her capacities had quickly raised her to a position of trusted wardress of captives who were to play a leading part in the sacrificial ceremonies. Many were the unfortunate ones whom she had guarded, cared for, and seen lifted up on the plinth above the blood-filled stone god. No, she had not been able to save any of these, not one of the important victims, though she had managed to spirit away a few, not many, of the lesser slaves. Her task had been to position herself ready for my capture, so that she could save me. She… she… I was making myself use this word, as I saw a dim light begin to fill the passages we fled along, and as I saw her, Rhodia, this strong, tall, handsome female, running along beside me where I was being carried in the arms of a male slave. I had to say she, think she—yet in my half-trance or sleep, in the almost complete dark of the deep earth, I had been able to feel only Nasar, his presence had been there around me.

What is that quality in an individual so strong, so independent of looks, sex, age, species—independent of the planet “he” or “she” or originates from—that enables one to walk into a completely dark room, where one had not expected anyone to be, and to stammer out—a name! It doesn’t matter what name! Nasar. Rhodia. Canopus.

Yes, it has happened to me. More than once.

But it has only to happen once for it to become impossible ever after to do more than salute an appearance, or the distinctions of a race or a sex, while recognising that other, deeper truth. I had known this unique and individual being as Nasar, the tormented man in Koshi. And so the associations of my brain made me want to name her “Nasar.” Had I met this being first as Rhodia, then other names would come just as reluctantly to my tongue.

The light was growing stronger, and I kept my eyes on Rhodia, reaching out with my sight, as if there was some truth there I could not grasp. She was Nasar, and she was not; he was Rhodia, but he was not… whatever was there inside that female shape was deeply familiar to me. But beyond this puzzle something else. There was a bleached look to her, and she had a pallid and even repelling aspect at moments when the light fell more strongly at the angle of a passage. I wondered if she had been struck lightning, or had some disease… In the dungeons, and in the room with the eight men, I had not seen her clearly, either from the dimness of the light, or because of pressure from anxious thoughts.

So disquieting did I find these glimpses of her that I tried to turn my attention from her, and instead reviewed what I knew about recent events so to make some kind of coherent picture.

Rhodia’s main concern, when I was taken prisoner, was to make sure that the talismans should not fall into their hands: very evil use would been made of them. For, in spite of their efforts, Grakconkranpatl had not once managed to steal any of the articles that had, for this time, Canopean effect.

Her second concern—and I was expected to understand and to agree with this order of priorities—was to get me away. She had caused the priests to believe that I had powers they would be wise to fear. They believed I had made the ornaments vanish by use of these powers. But they had not been of one mind, the group of Overlords, or Chief Priests, whom I had seen: they had almost decided to take me out of their city and leave me to make my way back to my own kind if I could—if I could. But I had actually been seen arriving “from the heavens.” They could not cause the memory of this to vanish from the minds of their enslaved peoples. So it had been given out that I was an enemy, drawn to the city and into their hands, by their cunning powers. Enemies were always publicly sacrificed. If I simply vanished, never to be seen again, this could weaken the powers of this caste, who ruled by fear. So in the end it had been decided to cut the heart from my breast, in the temple, had been always been done. But Rhodia had strengthened their doubts.

When I was pushed up on to the plinth they were all apprehensive. There was a point in the ceremony when the priests shouted and sang to their “Gods” that they were the Dead, identifying themselves temporarily with the sacrificed ones who would almost immediately in fact be dead: the victims were in some ambiguous and rather unsatisfactory way—to a rational mind—the same as those murdered them. My call, Death to the Dead, condemned the entire priestly caste. Behind the idol was a stone that moved on levers, used for purposes of trickery and illusion in the ceremonies. As my threat momentarily froze the priests and then made them run from where I stood bathed in the unexpected green ray, Rhodia and her accomplices turned the stone, and pulled me down into the rooms underneath the temple proper. This was the most dangerous part of the escape, for of course those clever priests were not likely to remain confused for long. It was, for a few moments, speed that had to save us. There were passages under the buildings of the city, running everywhere below the tunnels used by the slaves. These were complicated, and none known to all of the priests: a tyranny is always self-divided, always a balance of competing interests.

It was this that saved us, the jealous knowledge of mutually suspicious sects. But Rhodia had learned of every one of the passageways. As our band fled deeper and further, the guards of the priests were running parallel to us at times, or above us, and they might very well come on the right turning by accident and encountered us—but Rhodia knew of a very old and disused system of tunnels, made long ago by slaves who had tried to dig their way to safety and had been caught. Once we found the entrance to these we were safe.

We found ourselves on the side of a high mountain, in a little cleft among rocks, screened by bushes. Far below us was the priests’ dark city. And I saw those poor slaves who had come with us fling themselves on the sun-fed earth and kiss it and weep. And when they lifted their faces, of that faded red-earth colour, to the sun, I fancied that I saw health come into that starved skin even as I watched. And as Rhodia watched, standing aside, waiting for them to be past their first convulsion of delight.

She caught my questioning thought and said to me: “These are the slaves I was able to talk to, and who I was able to trust.”

It was an obvious, a simple, thing to say. She could have said nothing else! Yet it struck me so painfully then, the strength, the inexorableness of the laws that govern us all. Down in the chilly dim prisons under the priests’ city, slaves who—some of them—could remember nothing else, having been born there, had been able to respond to some quality that they—recognised? remembered?—in a fellow slave who was better than they only in as much as she was able, so it must often seemed to them, to torment them, stand in authority over them… But they had seen, felt something in her, listened; and because of some—chance?—qualities in themselves, had been found reliable. Trustworthy. And so it was they who now kissed the earth on the free mountainside, and lifted their faces to the sun. For the first time in their lives, for some of them. It was a thought enough to chill the heart—my heart that, if it were not for Rhodia, would now have been lying in a pool of blood in the idol’s hollowed-out belly. And she knew what I was thinking and smiled. And for the first time I caught from her a physical memory of Nasar, and his derisive angers. It was Nasar, for that moment, sharing with me an appreciation of our grim necessities… so strongly there that I could have been back him at the top of the tall cone with the snow flying past.

And then I saw her quelling the emotions of her charges, and urging them to their feet, and pointing out over the slopes of the mountains to the north. For they were to go one way into the forests, for safety, and she and I another. When they had gone off, some fifty or so, turning to smile and hold up their arms to her in thankfulness and farewell, she came to me and, rummaging in the folds of her garments again, produced the ornaments and told me to put them on. As I did so, first the band on my thigh, then the girdle of cool starstones, and then the bracelets, and lastly the necklace, it was as if my mind cleared, my thoughts steadied, and even a short moment after my old state of mind had been banished by the secret strengths of the ornaments, it seemed as dreadful and inconceivable a place or state of being as the dungeons of the city now seemed. I looked at Rhodia with clarity and steadiness of thought and saw her straight. Again, my thought was that she was suffering from some horrible disease, like a leprosy. She had a faded, drained look, as if she had been dusted with ashes. I not seen anything like it before. The face, the hands, what was visible of her arms and legs, were all dried up, and had a shrivelled look, as a corpse sometimes does. And the hair on her head, which by race was a vigorous glossy black, had white in it.

She saw how I stared, and she said: “Sirius, you are looking at the physical aspect of the Shikastan Degenerative Disease.”

“Rohanda has become so decadent?”

“Now, by halfway through their lives, sometimes even sooner, they start to show signs of decay. This is a process that accelerates generation by generation. They have even forgotten that this is recent thing with them.”

I could not at once recover from the horror of it. I was trying to imagine what it must be like for these unfortunates, trapped inside their enfeebled defective bodies, and I was wondering if it was not possible for Canopus, with their knowledge of the techniques of how to discard bodies at will, to aid the poor creatures.

She sighed, and then gave her short characteristic Nasar-laugh. “There are other priorities. Believe me. We have other, and most urgent, things to do.”

“Necessities,” I said, meaning to joke with her.

And she acknowledged my intention with a smile, but said, “Yes, indeed, Sirius—necessities!”

And on this familiar note we began our journey eastwards through the alleys and passes of the mountain chains along the coast. We went up and we went down, but it was without haste. We were not in danger, she said. This was because “our greatest danger is also our protection. On this occasion.” And when I pressed her to elucidate she gave me a long strong look from eyes that I saw had around their black pupils colourless edges, the tax of Rohandan age—a look that made me think of the whisper: Sirius, be careful!—which seemed to sound, now, all the time, somewhere in my deepest self. She said only: Your greatest danger. Yours, Sirius.” And would not say any more on the subject. Though she talked willingly and at length about the city we were going to.

We walked for several days through thick and pleasant forests. We did not hurry. I got the impression that this pace was for my benefit. So I could absorb—instruction. From her. From Nasar. From Canopus. I did not mind. I was in her, their, hands. Very different was my state of mind now from my angered self-esteem when I had had the chance to be with Canopus, in the person of Klorathy, in those faraway days of the unfortunate “events.” I was trying to listen. To adjust. But now, looking back, I see that I was trying over and over again in every way I knew to find out about Canopus itself, its organisations, its ways of managing itself, its planets—and while I did this Rhodia patiently returned the subject to Grakconkranpatl, to Shammat, and, several times, to the eighth man of those priests. It was not, I see now, that she repeated his name, which was Tafta, so that Tafta recurred through our talk, but that she kept bringing me to points and places where I had to think of him. He was strongly in my mind. I could feel his presence there. Just as, wrapped shivering in my stone cell, Nasar had rung in my mind, so that the name could not help but come to tongue, so, now, as we walked through those magnificent forests, the great snowy mountains at our backs, the feeling or sense of that man kept coming back. I found myself thinking of him, and what he was, when I recognised his particular and unique pulse in my mind: disturbing, harsh, yet nothing near the cold evil of the priests.

And when she brought me back to this point, Tafta, the smiling, handsome, and enigmatic savage, it was always with the long dark stare of warning that I recognised.

We able to look down on Lelanos from a height—and what a difference from the other city! The same bluish-grey stone was used, but lightened with a glistening white quartz and thin bands of red, so that the place had a lively charm about it. As I moved about Lelanos in the days that followed, I often thought I had glimpsed a pattern or even several interlocking patterns in the way the buildings were set out, but I never grasped it wholly, and this was one of the things that I omitted to ask Rhodia, and then it was too late. At any rate, to view it from above, there was variation, and informality; there were no frowningly dominant buildings; no temples; no threat of stone, and rock, and earth being used to imprison or weight the tender—and so brief—flesh of Rohanda.

And from what I had heard from Rhodia of its governance, there was nothing to fear from it.

This was its history. On this site, a small plain ringed by low and friendly mountains, had been several tribes of creatures at that level where their physical needs ordered their lives, and these needs had not been given a religious or “higher purpose” recognition. In other words, they were considerably lower even than the Lombis before their culture was disturbed by our use of them. They fished, hunted, ate, mated, slept.

Nasar caused himself to be born into a family that retained enough of the remnants of “an ancient and high knowledge,” as they put it, to see in this girl something superior. The family was a well-regarded one among a dwindling people living far to the north in the narrow peninsula that separated the Isolated Northern and Isolated Southern Continents—this land bridge, or channel, had often been under water, completely cutting off the Southern Continent, but the “events” had lifted it high above the ocean, and subsequent minor “events” had not succeeded in submerging it. There had flourished a Canopus-inspired culture that had degenerated, and these fast-vanishing people were all that remained. Their memories of the “ancient knowledge” were equated with female dominance, for a variety of reasons extraneous to this account. Rhodia was well treated, and when she told her parents of her needs, was given a company of the physically most striking young males and females of her people to go with her, and she travelled southwards looking for a place and race that would respond to her instruction.

It was easy to imagine how these handsome visitors must have struck the tribes. Rhodia’s people were a tall, broad, red-brown type, with large dark eyes, and flowing luxuriant black hair. They had all the ease of manner and confidence of their past high culture. The tribes were of a slight, shorter kind, with dark brown skin, small black eyes, sparse coarse black locks. The new arrivals wore handsome coloured cotton clothes; the tribes wore skins. The “Gods” were able to instruct them in a thousand skills undreamed of by them, and to cut it short, within a couple of their generations, but while Rhodia's people were still youthful, there was large, expanding city that had been set up according to her instruction, but was governed by themselves. All the visitors but Rhodia had returned to their own people. Rhodia was considered, still, a “God,” but lived as they did, had married one of their males, and her children were not set apart in any way from the other citizens. Lelanos was governed like this.

It was a democracy, elective. There was no written or formal constitution, since Rhodia had taught them that some of the worst tyrannies in Rohandan history had had “constitutions” and written laws with no purpose except to deceive the unfortunate victims and outside observers, There was no point in constitutions and frameworks of laws. If each child was taught what its inheritance was, both of rights due from it and to it, taught to watch its own behaviour and that of others, told that the proper and healthy functioning of this wonderful city depended on his or her vigilance—then law would thrive and renew itself. But the moment any child was left excluded from a full and feeling participation in the governance of its city, then she or he must become a threat and soon there would be decay and then a pulling down and a destruction.

I was much interested in this because of what I, Sirius, had observed, and often: when we took over a planet and ordered its rule, we always imposed a constitution that seemed appropriate to us; and this was safeguarded by every sort of threat and punishment. But never had any rule imposed by us stayed for long the same, without falling into anarchy or rebellion.

There were three safeguards used by Lelanos. The first was the governing body itself, which made the laws. This was elected by general suffrage, every person over the age of sixteen becoming eligible both to vote and to take office. Each officeholder had to lay bare his or her life to the examination of a body of citizens separately elected by the citizens. This was to prevent any individual from benefitting from office, and to see him or her dismissed at the first evidence of any falling away from high conduct. What these officeholders might not do included the use of servants—there were no slaves—who were treated in any slightest detail differently from members of their households; the improper use of sex by either male or female—that is, to dominate or degrade; and luxurious or greedy behavior. The individuals voted on to this Scrutiny, for so it was simply called, were considered the best and most honourable of all Lelannians, and to serve Scrutiny, the highest office.

The second safeguard was an independent judiciary, to keep the laws made by the governing body. The members of this arm of the State, too, were continually watched by Scrutiny, and their behavior was expected to be as beyond reproach as that of the rulers.

While it was not considered undesirable for an individual suited for the work to be reelected, even for the whole of a lifetime, onto either the governing body or the judiciary, the citizens who staffed Scrutiny were not allowed to serve more than one term of four years, though they might after retiring from Scrutiny serve either on the judiciary or the governing body.

The third safeguard was a jealously kept law that the currency used to facilitate the exchange of goods should never be allowed to acquire a self-breeding value. That is, the coins used were only and always to be used as a means of exchange and nothing else. If any individual or group of individuals was to fall into debt, then no interest could be charged, and the debt itself must be abrogated at the end of seven years. Rhodia had caused to come into existence a body of instruction, framed as tales and songs, to enforce the message that if once “money” was allowed to become a commodity on its own account, then the downfall of Lelanos could be shortly expected, because she or he who charged “interest” would control the supply of goods and of labour and a ruling class would become inevitable. The songs and stories were based on the histories of innumerable cities and cultures in Rohanda, the means of exchange had become king. Over and over again, so Rhodia said, Canopus had laid down laws and instruction forbidding the improper use of money and yet never had this been prevented for long. Shammat was too strong in these unfortunate ones who could never retain excellence.

“And does this mean,” I enquired of Rhodia, “that Lelanos can be expected to fall away?” For, walking towards it, and then into its outer suburbs, I was struck with the manifest health and sanity of the place, the absence of poverty and deprivation, the real and inbred democracy that ruled here—for one may see its opposite in signs of servility, fear, deceitfulness.

And Rhodia said only: “You will see for yourself.”

She had a small house towards the centre of the place, in a group of them set around a small square. She lived there alone now, for her children had grown and left. The house had two small rooms on an upper floor and two on the ground floor. She had lived in it since the city was built, and had resisted all pressures on her by her children to move into a larger house—and when she told me this, her eyes met mine with a mordant amused glance I remembered from Koshi. Oh yes, I was being told quite enough to make me suspect that my arrival here was at point in the city’s fortunes before a fall, or decline: and in the next few days it seemed to me that Rhodia was doing everything to impress on me, not only the charm, the health, the good sense of this place, but, at the same time, what was wrong with it. And I could not help wondering why she did so…

Looking back I see that everything conspired to put me into a high (or low!) but at least irrational and emotional condition. First of all, the contrast between this lovely civilised city with its horrible opposite across the mountains. Within a few days I had been taken from one to the other, and they illustrated extremes of what was possible on this planet: I had experienced, was still experiencing, within myself, these two extremes. And there had been the unhurried walk here, with Rhodia, or Nasar, and the way this presence—this Canopean reality—seemed to explore and challenge my deepest self. And there had been something else. I had traversed a zone of forest in no different from any other, but this in fact been the barrier zone between the Lelannian territory and that of Grakconkranpatl. For many centuries the evil and predatory city had been kept from attacking Lelanos because of rumours set afloat by Rhodia and then sedulously kept up that there was a zone or band of forest completely surrounding Lelanos that, if invaded or infringed, would result in the most savage reprisals.

Lelanos was a villainous place—so the rumours went—feeding on flesh and blood, ruled by a self-perpetuating oligarchy that would lay in ruins any attacking city. Every kind of chance or even contrived incident or event was pressed into service to give credence to these tales. When I heard some of them on our way to Lelanos, from a terrified tribesman who had been fed all his life on stories of the cruelties of Lelanos, I felt my whole self powerfully affected. The shiverings and shudderings of the poor wretch as he described Lelanos the horrible showed how skilful had been the work of Rhodia and her associates. This propaganda work, and nothing else, had kept Lelanos safe. The clever and cunning priests of the city that really was wicked, using every kind of deceit themselves, had not been able to penetrate the disguise of Lelanos… and there was something as disturbing here as there had been in the sight of the band of thirty freed slaves who of all the innumerable slaves of Grakconkranpatl were the only ones able to free them by use of some inward recognition of reality, of the truth. Standing on a slender tower in magically charming Lelanos, looking out over forests where I had travelled, knowing what they were and how they were seen by those outside Lelannian borders—this was enough to set me shuddering in something not far off awe at the strange capacities for self-deception of the Rohandan mentality. And awe was not an emotion that I easily accommodated!

No, I conclude now, but was not dispassionate enough to do so then, the sojourn in the cold dungeons, the deprivation of my protective devices, close contact with the Canopean—all this had unbalanced me. And still Shammat rang in my mind and pulled me towards it—towards Tafta, who was working on me powerfully, though I did not know it. I was beginning to react away from Rhodia. I found myself watching this strong old, or elderly, female, with her simple directness, her honesties, and I was seeing in them callousness, indifference to suffering, a refusal to use powers she certainly must have, as Canopus, to relieve the lot of these Rohandans.

It is strange thing that I, Ambien II, after many long ages of a Colonial Service that supervised the continual and often—as we had to know—painful adjustment of innumerable species, cultures, social structures, the fates of myriads of individuals, could now suffer as I did over this one city. For never had a culture seemed more valuable to me than did Lelanos, never had one been felt by me as a more remarkable and precious accomplishment, set it was among so much barbarity and waste and decline. I found I was wrung continually with pity, an emotion I literally at first did not recognise for what it was, so strange was it.

I would wander about the streets and avenues of this place, sometimes with Rhodia and sometimes by myself, and everything about these people hurt me. That they should have been brought to a such pitch of responsibility and civil awareness in such a short time… and from such unpromising material, merely a few barbarous tribes living only to keep alive… and that they should use each other with such alert and lively and free kindness… and that all this was the achievement of poor wretches who were so far gone with the Rohandan Degenerative Disease that hardly a whole or healthy specimen was to be seen among them… and that every one of them, almost from middle age, was struck as if with an invisible withering blast, leaving them enfeebled and bleached and shrunk… and that… and that… there was no end to the sights and sounds that could inspire me to pitying anger, to the need to protect and keep safe.

Rhodia watched all this in me, and I knew she did, and I was by now in the grip of a resentment against her. Against Canopus. Yet I did, just occasionally, gain the most faint of insights into my condition and was able to match it with Nasar himself, in Koshi, wrung with conflict, and with the pain of this place, this unfortunate Rohanda. Or Shikasta.

A great deal that I saw later was very far from me then. For instance, there was my casual, almost careless, approach to the priests’ dark city, allowing myself to so easily be taken prisoner. How to account for that? For never before, not on any planet, had I behaved in a comparable way. I saw after it was all over, and my subjection to Shammat was past, that there had been a softening and slackening all through me, long before my descent to Rohanda on this visit, and this was due to my low spirits and inner doubtings because of the work I was having to do, and for so long.

And that was another thing: we might congratulate ourselves as we liked on the order and good sense on the planets we governed, with their minimum well-fed, well-cared-for populations, their willing submission to our rule, but it had been a very long time indeed, it had been long ages, since I had seen a culture anything like as lively as this Lelanos. No, something had gone out of our provenance, our Empire—I had known it, sensed it; but not until I had been brought here by Rhodia was I able to see what it was that had been lost. This place had some kind of vitality that we lacked. A deadness, a lack of inspiration was afflicting us, Sirius…

And why had Rhodia brought me here at all? All she had to do to was to send me with guides back southwards to our Sirian stations.

Yet here I was, with her, with Canopus, in this city. A city that had reached its perfection, and was about to sink… had begun to sink away from itself.

And I could not stand the thought of it! I could not! I found that I wished to raise my voice and howl in protest, to cry out, to complain to—but to whom? Rhodia, the now willing and dutiful servant of Canopus?

There was a morning when she and I sat together in one of the little rooms at the top of her house. We had been taking a meal of fruit and bread. We were not talking: talk between us had become difficult.

The sun came in through window openings in the brick walls, and lay in patterns on woven and coloured rugs. It was a scene of such simple friendliness and pleasantness.

I was looking in hostility at Rhodia, knowing she knew it, and yet I could not prevent my critical feelings. She seemed to me stubborn. I was seeing in her, as she sat quietly on her cushions, hands folded in her lap, looking up into the blue of the Rohandan sky, a stubborn and difficult woman who was refusing me, or something, or some demand. I felt towards her at that moment as I had done with Nasar in Koshi, when he rebelled, or half rebelled, or struggled against his inner rebellion. And I was not able to tell myself that this time the case was opposite.

She looked straight at me, with one of her full steady looks, and said: “Sirius, I am going to leave you.”

“Well, then, you are going to leave me! And you will leave this poor place, too, abandon it to its fate.”

“There is nothing that can be done to arrest the laws of Rohanda,” she said, “or indeed, the laws of the universe. They are worse here, that is all. We see them on Rohanda exaggerated and displayed, but there is never anything that can stay the same. You know that from your own Empire! Has there been a single culture you have established that has not changed and fallen away?”

I looked into her eyes—I had to—and agreed that this was the case. But not with grace.

“The best we can do is to set up something that approximates to the good, for a short time. This I have done in this city. And now it is time for me to go.”

“You have finished your task for this visit?”

“For this time it is done.”

“I have to thank for rescuing me, Nasar.”

“As you did me.”

She stood up. I saw she was weary, holding herself up only with an effort.

“You’ll be glad to go,” I said, sullen.

“I am always glad to go,” she said, on the old grim note. “Yes, I shall never, I sometimes believe, come to terms with it—the striving and striving to make the good and honest thing, and then—and so soon, so terribly soon, it is done, it is finished, it has become its own opposite.”

I saw her face ravaged, for a moment, with pain. Then it was clear again, patient. She contemplated some future I was trying to guess at.

“Be careful, Sirius,” she said. “You are in very great danger.”

“Why did you lead me into it?" I was angry, and resentful.

“You have to know it," she said. “You are a stubborn one, Sirius. You are not of those who can be told a thing, and absorb it.”

“Well,” I said, sarcastically, “tell me, do you have hopes of my surviving this danger?”

She turned her face full towards me, and smiled.

“If not this time, then another,” she said, and this struck me again with the idea of her callousness, her indifference.

And she responded to this in me with: “Sirius, rebellion is of no use, you know. That is what you are now—rebellion, the essence and heart of no, no, no. But against what are you rebelling? Have you asked yourself? When you run about this city gazing at its people as victims and the abandoned—who is it that has abandoned them and what is it that governs their good and their evil? To rebel against an Empire—Sirius, you punish that quickly enough, do you not?” she held my eyes with hers, insistent, till I nodded, “Yes, you do, and very harshly! There is little pity in you, Sirius, for those who rise up against you. But when you, or I, rebel, protesting against what rules us all, and must rule us all, no one imprisons us, or kills us in the name of order and authority. Yet order and authority there are. We are subject to the Necessity, Sirius, always and everywhere. Are you thinking, as you sit there sulking and angry and bitter at what you see as the waste of it all, that you may change the Necessity itself? By your little cries and complaints? Well? What did you say to me when I was biting my hands and howling like an animal, in Koshi? Do you not recognise a disobedient servant when you see one?”

As she spoke, into the stillness of the morning, there came a sound of shouting, and distant anger. This was something I had heard often enough on other planets, and often, too, on this one, but I had not believed it possible I might hear it here.

“Yes,” said Rhodia. “When a place, or a person, begins to fall away, to descend from itself, to degenerate, then it is a quick business. It is inherent in this planet, in the states of mind it engenders, that we tend to see things, patterns of events, conditions, in terms of balances of force and energy that are already past and done. The high time of Lelanos is done with, Sirius. And be careful. Fare well. We shall meet soon enough. We shall meet again here, on Shikasta, the unfortunate one… unfortunately, we shall meet…” and she accompanied this last “unfortunately” with the ironic smile that oddly enough comforted me and made me laugh.

She went out of the room, and down the little stair. Outside a throng of people rushed past, with weapons of all kinds, screaming, shouting, raging. I heard “Death to the Tyrants, death to Rhodia, death to the Oligarchy…” And as I stood looking down, I saw Rhodia walk out from the door of her house into the mob. They screamed abuse as they saw her, surrounded her, struck her down, and rushed on, leaving her dead on the sunny bricks of the roadway.

Such was the disorder in the city that her burial was a matter of throwing her with the other victims of the riots into a communal grave. And it was how, I felt sure, she would have wanted it. I wished I were not there. I had no protection here now, I was known as her associate, and it was impossible to disguise my appearance. But soon Rhodia’s death had affected me into a state of noncaring, indifference: thus I was pulled down further from my proper levels of thought and responsibility. I walked a great about Lelanos; and for me it was a ritual of mourning. Not for Rhodia, or Nasar but for a perfect thing. I could not tire of what I saw. Each city, anywhere, has its unique note, and that of Lelanos was unexpectedness and variety gained by ingenious use of its materials. There was its setting, a wide plain or plateau ringed with mountains but not closely enough to oppress. The plain was not flat, but full of change and unevenness, and the trees were of many tones of rich full green. Oh, the green of Rohanda, the infinite ranges of its greens, its wonderful green! Those of us who have not known such a planet must find it hard to imagine the charm and interest that resides always in the colours of vegetation of this kind. And the “seasons” that had resulted from the “events” caused even wider changes in colour and texture. This Rohandan plain was—alas, one may not say is, it has been through many metamorphoses since those far-off days—one of the most beguiling I have seen. And the city seemed to grow from it, was its spirit, its expression. Anywhere in Lelanos one might walk, seeing only the rich shining greens of trees and grass, with glimpses of buildings that astonished and caused a need to smile, even to laugh—there was always the hint of fantasy or even of self-parody in Lelanos. One longed to hasten, to come on this half-seen building, but did not, because of the pleasures of waiting, of lingering… and then there it was, and you were smiling, and laughing: at its best, in Lelanos, a smile was never far from any face. This was the architecture of the smile. The building in front of you was not large, though one might find, once inside it, there was more space than you could believe possible. Not large, but then size was not what it spoke of. It was made of clouds, perhaps? Coloured bubbles? It looked like a thunderhead building itself up, up, rapidly, in a clear but electric sky. Glistening white puffs and balls and shafts underlay the dark blue-grey stone of the region. which balanced in light globes or cubes on it, as if the snowy crystal had given birth to these darker shapes, which in their turn sped up again, burgeoning and unfolding, as summer clouds do. The red stone was used in the lightest of touches, for instance in their symbol for the lightning flash—these buildings were all a reminder, a celebration, of the forces that gave them life on this planet. And beyond these airy fantastic buildings, which yet spoke so accurately through stone of the necessary (so that I felt I was being enabled to glimpse that “need” of the Canopean levels of thought), were others, bit placed not in rows of obvious order, but so that walking among them they opened and showed themselves, or became concealed, as if one were to walk through sky—as if these earthbound creatures had actually flown through their skies. Air and sky were brought near to them in Lelanos. I cannot express the lightness of spirit, the cheerfulness that the place induced: and I thought of the dreadful weight of threat and punishment expressed in the same dark grey stone over the far mountains. Through this happy city thronged the tall, sinewy, almost black race, a quick-witted, smiling, subtle people, beautiful to look at, with the same sharpness of colour in them their city, loving to wear the brilliance of feathers from their forest birds or multihued and vivid flowers in their clothes or in their hair.

As I wandered there I saw a class of children, seated on bright green grass, their dark glossy skins and coloured clothes making brilliancy and light, but their faces were sullen and they stared at a woman who was a teacher from the time of the city’s health. She was asking them to comment on the rioting and destruction that was taking place now continually, to comment on it from within the spirit of their inheritance. She had a weary look to her, and seemed even distraught—and this was from lack of comprehension. She did not know what had happened or why it was happening. And as she stood there, appealing to them, one began to shout, and then another: “Death to the Oligarchy!” And they were up and racing off into another part of Lelanos where, soon, we could hear shouting and screams. And then smoke rose slow and steady into the blue air.

The teacher came slowly towards me. She stopped, and I saw the reaction I had become accustomed to. I was so amazing to them that their good manners could not prevent incredulity, then repulsion, at my white skin, my shreds of pale hair. “If this is your doing,” she said, in a low bitter voice, “then be proud!” And then, surprising herself, she spat at me. She looked horrified—at herself, and hurried away. I saw crystal drops of liquid splashing from her eyes on to the shining black of her arms.

I understood that I was in danger of being killed like Rhodia, but I was unable to care. I went off in the direction of the now thickly rising blue smoke, which seemed, in its up-pouring, rather like another form of the buildings. Crowds were hurrying in from all parts of the city. Nothing had been set on fire before.

And soon I was in a vast crowd that was sullen and silent, standing to watch one of those graceful stone fantasies pouring dark smoke from every opening, and then it seemed to shrink, and then dissolve, and it collapsed inwards in a burst of smoke. And now an angry roaring went up from everywhere, and the focus of the crowd having gone, they surged about, and looked for some other thing to absorb them. Those near me were staring hard, and muttering. I was becoming surrounded by ominous people. And then I saw, almost as if I had expected it, and as if nothing else could have happened, Tafta—and he was making his way through the throng. He was wearing the garb of Lelanos, loose blue trousers, with a belted tunic of the same, which I was also wearing, though it could do nothing to disguise me. He, too, could not be taken for one of them, being broad and brown and thickly bearded, but he was determined, and full of authority, and so they fell from him—briefly, but it was enough. He took me by the arm, and pulled me out of the crowd, not running, but quickly enough. We had soon left them all behind, and were hidden from them by the curve of a crystal globule, in which there was a low round opening.

This was some kind of public building. The interior shone more softly than its outer dazzle. It was like being inside a blown egg, white and quiet. But we went on deeper into the building, so as not to be seen at once by someone entering, and climbed high through the globes and cubes till we came out on a small flat roof, from which we could look down on the city. Smoke rose still from the fallen building. We were high enough for the crowds below to look small and manageable—this was a frame of mind familiar to me from so many hoverings above places, cities, herds, tribes, crowds. The space beneath one’s craft, within the span of one’s personal vision, seems under one’s control, and contemptible or at least negligible. I have had often enough to note this reaction and to check it. Yet we were not so high that there were not still taller shapes of white and bluish stone around us where could shelter, unseen.

And that was the setting of my encounter with Tafta. We were there for a long time, all that day, and on into the night, and I shall give a summary of what was said, what I understood.

First, it is necessary to establish my emotional condition—though that is hardly the kind of statement with which I normally preface a report! Tafta, who when he had been “the eighth man” had struck me as an acceptable barbarian, compared with obviously evil priests, was now seeming to me a savage, but a not-unattractive one, compared with Rhodia, of whom I was thinking with reluctance, as if this was a duty. I did not want to think of her at all. There was something intractable, stubborn, even meagre about my memory of that elderly female. As if she had refused me something that was my due, and which I had earned: yes, this was a recurrence, in a milder form, of my old reactions to Klorathy. It was as if she were determined to keep herself out of my reach and not let me encompass her with what I was convinced was a reasonable demand. I felt thwarted by her, refused.

And now, by contrast, here was this Tafta, about whom she had warned me. He was her enemy, the enemy of Canopus. And therefore of Sirius. But here I was sticking, in my thoughts. She had said that we had been enabled to escape from that dreadful city because of our enemy—that meant he had helped, or at least allowed our escape. She had said… and implied… not said…

Tafta was doing everything to win me—I could see that, of course, but did not dislike this, or even resent it—provided he kept at a good distance. The physical presence of the creature, this great hairy barbarian, glistening with crude strength, affected me as if I was being threatened by the smell of their blood, or at least by something too hot, too thick, too pressing. As he leaned towards me, where he sat in his characteristic swagger on a low seat—this little patch of roof was used for sitting out on—and smiled, showing the great glistening teeth of a healthy animal, and compressed his features in a smile that was like a snarl—even so, I found myself reassured. The snarl, after all, was only what I saw with my experience of these lower species: it was their expression of friendliness: the shining white teeth, like the exposed teeth of the lower animals, meant I need not expect attack. The light, almost colourless eyes, surrounded by fringes of yellowy hair were not unfamiliar to me: these were to be seen even among the favoured class of our Home Planet. Provided I was able to hold off in myself a strong reaction to this animality, I was able to regard him steadily—and to regard myself, too. I was not unconscious of the contrast between us, and of how he must be seeing me, Sirius, in the light of our long history of domination of Shammat. What I was thinking most strongly was that this almost overpowering vitality of his, which he was using like a weapon, was at least not a symptom of decline as were the inner doubts and dryness that was afflicting our Empire. At least this one was not likely to let his magnificent confidence be assailed by existential confusions! And when he spoke to me of what I, Sirius, could do here, in this city, to prevent its decline, I found myself unable to stand up to him. That is the truth.

He was speaking to me as if he, Tafta, this enemy of Sirius, had somehow become the voice of my most inner feelings. As if he had laboured, with me, devising my last tour of duty in our outermost planets, asking himself why, and what for, and what next. As if he wandered, with me, through Lelanos, inwardly grieving for its imminent overthrow.

I had hardly to speak! As the day passed and the blue went out of Rohanda’s sky, I was feeling that this enemy was myself. As if some part of my mind, or inner self, had been occupied by this Tafta without my knowing it. And long before the Rohandan sky had filled with its stars and I had signalled a private greeting to my home, I had agreed, at least by silence, to the following:

That I would put myself at the head of the government of this city. That he, Tafta, would maintain me in power for as long as I needed to restore Lelanos to its former balance and health. That I would set up a governing body with his aid, of the best individuals to be found in Lelanos. And that when all this was done, I would either stay as ruler, or queen, or whatever I wished, or he would see me to my own part of the continent.

He told me I might now return to my room in Rhodia’s house, without fear since I was “under his protection” and that he would meet me again next day for further discussion of “our plans.”

I spent the night seated at a window, star-bathing, as if I were safely home. I was immersed in my plans for the re-establishment of Lelanos.

And next day, when I walked quite openly and at ease through the green spaces to the same airy building, and went up to our little platform among those stone symmetries, my mind was at work on management: the exercises and uses of management.

He was not there as he had said he would be. I did not think anything of this, then. I was considering the causes of the falling away of Lelanos, among which Rhodia had indicated was the failure to maintain the independence and integrity of money. Well, that was easily put right! An enforcement of the law… if necessary an enforcement by the power of Tafta’s troops… the strengthening of the Scrutiny, and its powers… perhaps Tafta should be made a member of the Scrutiny…

Tafta did not come at all that day. I felt as if I had had something snatched from me: and I was again full of grief on behalf of Lelanos, the deprived—the deprived of me, and my expert and benevolent guidance. But as I waited there on my little platform among the snowy and bluish cubes and spheres, the deep blue of the Rohandan sky enclosing the lovely scene, I looked down on little people far below, and it was as if I held them in my protection; as if I was promising them an eternal safety and well-being.

It is not that I am proud of this: I have to record it.

By the end of that day, I was in the sort of mood where, had I been on my own ground, within my own frame of understanding, I would have had to watch myself so as not to punish unjustly. I was feeling about Tafta as about a delinquent servant. That night, my contemplation of our stars was hazed, I seemed not to be able to find their shadow within myself, and at the back of my mind, where the shores of Sound begin, I could hear the warning whisper, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, and I was shaking my head as an animal does when its ears are full of irritating water. Sirius, Sirius—and I shook my head so as not to hear the echo of: Be careful, be careful, be careful.

I was late going to my high watching place next day, and it was from calculation, and when I reached it, Tafta was there, and bent in a gesture of submission that I had always previously found slavish. He applied his lips to my hand, and then glanced up from this humble position with a winning glance and a baring of his white teeth. “My apologies,” he said. “But it was for the sake of our cause.”

And that did begin to shake me out of my illusion. He stood before me, all confident physicality, all glisten and shine, the sun on his whiskers and the smooth curls of his head, his brown skin where you could see the red blood running underneath shining, too. This type of animal, when overheated, produces a greasy secretion to cool itself: the exposed areas of his skin, cheeks, brow, nose, arms, hands, even his ears, were beaded with globules of liquid. It had a salty smell. And yet there something in me even then that said: this is health, this is vitality, you need it!

He told me that his absence was due to his having to bring in from outside the city the troops that would guard us. And to his having to organise their safety and their shelter. And he said that on the next morning he would come to my lodging for me and we—he and I and the guards—would make a public display of ourselves through Lelanos, to the place of government of the city and its environs, where we would be installed as rulers. This was not at all as I had been imagining events. But meanwhile we were standing on the very edge of the little platform, overlooking the whole plain and its focal city, and he was flinging out his arm and saying “It is yours, all yours. And together we will restore it and make it everything it was.” There was such a glossy insolence about him! He could not stop the triumphant grimace that showed his teeth, he could not control his glances down at me, as if he had already swallowed me whole, and finding me negligible, was about to spit me out again.

And yet my head swam as I overlooked Lelanos, and I was promising it in a silent passionate bond with it: “I will protect you, I will guard you, I will keep you safe.” And the warning whisper, Sirius, Sirius, was not more than a low hissing from a long way off.

Again he kissed my hand, and I descended, he following. and I went to my rooms, and—but now I was thinking. Thoughts that had been far from me crowded in.

Who was it who had warned the priests of the time of my arrival in the other city? Not Rhodia—though she had known what was going to happen. How was it that this gallant ruffian had made his appearance in Lelanos only after Rhodia’s death?

And how could I explain that Shammat was now so ready to devote himself to the restoration of sweet civilisation and order, when I had so recently seen this, their servant, at work, of the kind to be expected of them, with the dark priests?

How was it… but it was as if two forces were at war in me. I did not want to hear warnings from deep within me, or remember Canopus. I wanted with all my present self—the self brought into being by Shammat—to rule this city, and to strengthen my inner feebleness by doing as Canopus did. And I was already thinking of how, when Lelanos was itself again, balanced under the care of the Scrutiny, I would leave here and find other tribes, descendants perhaps of the Lombis, or subsequent experiments, and build, as Rhodia had done, a perfect and lovely civilisation, using all my own age-long experience, and what I had learned from Rhodia, here.

Next morning I waited quietly for Tafta, mind already beyond the—so I thought—unimportant formalities of the day, dwelling on future plans and arrangements, when Tafta walked in, saw me standing there in my ordinary Lelannian clothes, flung over me without asking a cape of fur, which smelled of the poor animals that had been killed to make it, and pressed me to the door, his arm at my back, to stop me sliding away. He was grinning, triumphant… outside were company after company of Shammat soldiers, the nastiest, most brutish types you can imagine. Tafta pulled me in front of them, a harsh thumping music started up, and I was being marched along the leafy ways of Lelanos, a captive of Shammat.

And unable to escape. My mind was darting frantically around the possibilities of escape. My whole self had been shocked back into sanity, into sense. Behind me came, singing—if that is the word for it—the contingents. Beside me strolled, grinning, Tafta. Those people who came out of their houses or ran along beside us to see what this impossible and inconceivable visitation could be were beaten back with swords, with cudgels, with knouts—and our path was lined with poor wretches who lay bleeding, or tried to crawl away to safety.

That is how Ambien II, of Sirius, one of the Five, came to be marching into the gay and colourful building that used to house the governing bodies of Lelanos, at the head of a Shammat army; how I came to be made ruler of Lelanos.

When the brief and ridiculous ceremony was over, Tafta announced that he would take me to

my “palace”—there was no such thing in Lelanos—and I said that I would return to my own lodgings. It was at this moment the illusion, or spell, that had been on me dissolved, and left me looking at a half-animal adventurer, who had no idea of the dimensions of the forces he was challenging. He could not stop me. Not unless he made me a prisoner then and there and ended his illusion. He was living in some dream of glory and grandeur, with his own city to rule, backed by Sirius, whom he could manipulate and use in his, Shammat’s, eternal battle with Canopus. So he had seen it. So he still saw it; looking into those shallow almost colourless eyes of his, I could see his thoughts swimming there, for my Sirian intelligence had come back to me—I could see, in the cocksure, but absurd, postures his limbs fell into that he was dreaming of an Empire that would match that dreamed of by Grakconkranpatl. Suddenly, I was able to see all kinds of things.

He might have been able to find out by subtle reasoning when I was to arrive in the other city, but he had not known that Lelanos was peaceful behind its forbidden zone, and not a tyranny. He had not dared to challenge Canopus by entering Lelanos, until Rhodia was gone. And he did not know that our forces could crush anything he or the evil city across the mountains did any time we wanted—that if they were allowed to survive, it was because it did not matter to us.

And because, of course, Canopus, inexplicably, allowed them to survive—but this was deep waters for me, and I was far from understanding.

I said to this little upstart that I would take myself back to my lodgings and he did not stop me. It was because he did not care. He had got what he wanted—to be ruler of Lelanos.

Well, I could tell myself that if he was a tyrant who would bring the place to ruin very fast, then this was no more than Lelanos would do for itself, could not prevent itself doing. I had hastened an inevitability, that was all.

I left him there lolling in the graceful council chamber, ruler of Lelanos, among his savages, whom he had been to fetch the day before from where they had been feasting and roistering in the forests, not daring to enter the city—I left them, and went to my lodgings, where I sat up and thought, and thought, through the night.

The low and sibilant song of Sirius, Sirius, be careful, was strong, and it drowned out other thoughts, until I bade the song be quiet, for it had a valedictory sound. And it was quiet, for I had no need of it now that I was restored to myself. Except for my shame. My incredulous shame… how easy it had been after all, for Shammat to win me over. And with such slight powers at his disposal! No more than a minimal use of intuition, as in the case of my first capture, constant brooding about Canopus, envy of Canopus, hatred of Canopus, had brought to Shammat some of the least and most lowly of Canopean skills. How easy, then, to flatter me, by speaking through my weaknesses. How easy to take me over. And now it was all done with, I could hardly believe it had happened and that I had succumbed—yet I had to believe it, and, by extension know that I could be lost again, and that I might easily have not recovered my good sense this time—for if it had not been for the low song of Sirius, Sirius, set into me by Rhodia, by Canopus, to remind me of what I was, I might easily be lolling there with Shammat now, ready to tyrannise poor Lelanos.

When the morning came, I walked out of my lodgings into the empty street and away from the city. I reasoned that Shammat would be drunk this morning, and in any case he would not care. He could use the legend of the white goddess, or priests from afar, or any such formulation, to strengthen his claims to power there. For as long it lasted. Why should he come after me? He might know, using the pitiful little powers he did possess, where I was, approximately, in the forests to the south of the city, but did he want an unwilling captive, one who would not grace his rule, but must be drugged, or beaten into submission? Sirius willing was one thing. Sirius sullen and subversive could do nothing to help him.

Besides, he afraid of—not me, but Canopus. Shammat might control this planet—Canopus admitted this. But Shammat controlled it only within limits Canopus set. Drunk with power, with inglorious confidence, as Tafta might be, he could not choose to challenge retribution.

He had gambled to his limits when he had told the dark priests I would be an easy capture. He had wanted two things. One, to take from me the ornaments that he knew had some sort of talismanic power—Shammat with or without Puttiora were always trying to get their hands on the articles powerful at any given time. But he also expected to be able to use the situation, for he had been waiting, having partially gained the confidence of the priestly caste, to gain total power over them, and to rule Grakconkranpatl. He knew that Canopus was somewhere close, for he could sense the strength there, but he never guessed it was Rhodia the wardress who watched and knew everything he did. And when the priests, afraid of me, afraid that one faction might use me to strengthen its position and win power over the others, decided to sacrifice me, and he sensed that Rhodia—or someone—would rescue me, he did not give the alarm, for he was a gambler by nature, always ready to see where any new twist in a situation would lead him.

He would not follow me. I knew this, having thought it out all through the long night.

And so I walked steadily south, and had many pleasant solitary days, and even some adventures (which I have published elsewhere, for the entertainment of our people), and at last I reached one of our outposts, from which I could send a message for an aircraft to come fetch me.

And so ended my descent into Shammat-nature. Ended, at least, outwardly. But inwardly it was a different matter. It is not possible to become a subject of Shammat, even temporarily, without being affected, profoundly, and for long time, in every fibre of oneself.

When I reached our headquarters for the supervision of the Colony 9 animals, I spent a short time restoring my inner balances. I was now viewing my recent psychological overthrow with amazement as well as apprehension for a possible recurrence. When I thought of the woman Rhodia it was with admiration, a feeling that I was able to take refuge in the thought of that strength of hers—or his! And I could think with abhorrence of Tafta, whom I had even liked, for a while.

It had to be decided what was to be done with the city, Grakconkranpatl. I thought long and hard about this. Easy enough to blast the whole place out of existence. But there was no way of preventing another just as bad coming into being. And looking at it from the overall view (which after all it was my responsibility to do), these indigenous cultures—if it was accurate to call cultures native when the origin of their genes lay so far from Rohanda, in such distant planets—were useful to us. Some of them provided social laboratories without any effort on our part. I decided to rescue our 2,000 captives, and sent five cargo planes, with ten armed craft for support. These flew back and forth over Grakconkranpatl for a sufficient time, and then the cargo planes descended at the prison farms where the animals were working in chains. The 2,000 were returned to the settlement in the high peaks. It was felt that their sojourn in the lower areas, and then a re-introduction to the harsh conditions, would strengthen them and further their adaptability. And so it turned out.

As the future of these animals does not concern this narrative further, I will summarize. The controlled explosions on Planet 3 (1) did not affect its atmosphere in the way it had been hoped. The crawling plant-animals were destroyed, however. This did not seem to be likely to change the planet’s atmosphere in any way, but some of our biologists complained that we had destroyed a unique and irreplaceable species. The usual arguments took place: “You cannot make an omelette, etc.” against the “Storehouse of nature.” An amount of oxygen was locked up in the soil and rocks of the planet; we did not know how much. Thermonuclear explosions with a different intent took place. The oxygen content of the atmosphere did significantly increase. We shipped the Planet 9 animals from their high, oxygen-starved station in the mountains to the oxygen-starved air of Planet 9. About half succumbed, but this was felt to be better than expected. We introduced at the same time a large quantity of different kinds of vegetation at the lichen level, and marsh plants, and types of seaweed—all with the idea of adding to the oxygen. A fuller account of this experiment will be found in the appropriate place. The planet, in fact, did slowly come to life, and within five hundred S-years was in a condition to allow the exploitation of minerals. But it was and is a chilly, phlegmatic planet, where everything is slow moving, small, dank. It was interesting to see what happened to the Planet 9 type. They became smaller; their fur became more like scales, or lichens; they laid eggs that they carried in a pouch under their tails until they hatched; and they were amphibious. They became useless for physical work of any kind. Their function remains slowly to increase the oxygen content. The exploitation of the planet has to be carried out by technicians and labourers who work in strictly controlled conditions for short periods.

The success of this experiment influenced how we set up our stations on the Rohandan moon.

A necessary word about my state of mind. I remained on Rohanda for a considerable time after my experience as a captive. I recognised that I had been in an unhealthy and dangerous emotional condition. I knew that this was not a new thing: its origin was due to the situation of Sirius itself. I felt that I should do something about it, change myself in some way—at least not remain as I had been: capable of such foolhardiness and almost cynical indifference. But time did not seem to improve me. Discussions with Ambien I led to no more than assurances of mutual support, and declarations that we understood each other’s metaphysical situation: for my mood was not confined to myself, and the briefest of exploratory conversations with others of our Service revealed how general the unease had become.

What slowly hardened in me was a feeling of resentment, or at least puzzlement, over the behaviour of Rhodia, or Nasar. Why had I been led into such temptation? For what purpose? I had succumbed, had freed myself—or, rather, had recognised in myself the implanted reminders of Canopus, which were the means by which I saw my situation and could free myself. But what had it all been for?

And this thought, or emotion, was directly linked to, fed by, an astonishment, a sick angry disbelief that Shammat—was so paltry! Who was, what was, this power that held Rohanda in thrall? Tafta was an insignificantly nasty half-animal who had acquired some minor capacities that allowed him petty tricks. He was not more than crafty and cunning. Evil I had seen in the cruel priesthood. What relation did Tafta have to these evil ones? Had he created them or merely tolerated and used them? Could the progeny of an unpleasant, mildly disgusting, unimportant nastiness become so much worse than its progenitors? What I was feeling became—as it crystallised out so that I could look at it--something like this: if Nasar had arranged for me to become tempted by something really wicked, like the dark priests, a total and thoroughgoing beastliness, I might have found some point in that! But to have succumbed to Tafta was humiliating. Yes—it was my pride that was speaking; and I was even half aware of it. What it amounted to was that I was annoyed with Canopus for not arranging for me a more profound evil! They had rated me low because of matching me with such a petty wickedness. I felt insulted! And yet my reason told me that I had been proved not to rate any greater nastiness than Tafta! After all, I had succumbed, even though briefly. I had not been immune to nastiness and ambition. Yet I could not imagine myself ever wanting anything the priesthood of Grakconkranpatl could offer me: nor feeling anything but revulsion for them… Was I then to understand, from my weakening towards Tafta, that the beginnings of an immersion in evil must start with something easy, paltry, seemingly unimportant? Was this what Canopus had been teaching me?

All these thoughts, and many others on these lines, conflicted in me and at length I found it all too much, and I shut a door on them. Enough. I had been proved to be gullible and feeble. I knew it. I was not going to deny it. I flew away from Rohanda, with a dissatisfaction in me I was not equipped to handle.

This dwindled into a dry sorrow, which was not far from the “existential malady,” or so I found, when subjecting it to my dispassionate judgment.

I was away from Rohanda for some time.

The experiments being undertaken there, less biosociological than strictly scientific, laboratory stuff, did not interest me very much. I followed the progress of only one. The atmosphere of Rohanda is 80 percent nitrogen. Yet its mammals subsist on less than 20 percent oxygen. The idea was to breed an animal capable of living on nitrogen, or at least a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen.

Many and ingenious were the experiments, which had to end because all of Isolated S.C. II was overrun by an empire ruled by Grakconkranpatl and Lelanos. This uneasy alliance. Alliances between two partners equal in strength and much the same aim in my experience have to be unstable. They last only when one is in a generously tutelary relationship with the other. Our history is in point. Lelanos had become as horrible a place as the other. The Lelannians mated freely with the race of dark priests, whose main feature been a heavy uniformity of ugliness, and this match had produced a type of strong, but more flexible and varied people, who adopted the “religious” practices of their former enemies and terrorized the entire continent. The new cross dominated Grakconkranpatl and used the former priestly caste as slaves. Thus had the state of affairs come into being where the two cities had become allied in evil.

But I was not disposed to concern myself much with Rohanda. Affairs elsewhere in our Empire seemed more important. When I got message from Canopus, inviting me to a discussion “on the present situation in Rohanda, with particular attention to the Isolated Southern Continent II,” I at first ignored this order. For it was one. I was then sent a message signed by Klorathy of whom I had never ceased to think, and who was always at the back of my mind, even when I was much occupied elsewhere. What he said was that “the present situation in the continents under your control is disadvantageously affecting all of Rohanda.”

Now, I was quite aware that both the Southern Continents were populated by warring, savage, degenerated tribes. But when we had wanted the use of these two continents for—mostly—experimental purposes, it was not in my mind that our responsibilities should also be altruistic. I saw no reason why Sirius should not simply leave Rohanda altogether. Canopus was welcome to both Southern Continents. Nor did my reports indicate that the state of affairs in the northern hemisphere was much to the credit of Canopus. If our uses of Rohanda could not be described as having led to an improvement of the place, then the same had to be said about Canopus.

So I saw things then.

I was reluctant to accede to Klorathy’s invitation, because it was to discuss a squalid and unsatisfactory planet full of brutes who could be relied upon for only one thing—to kill each other on one pretext or another at the first opportunity.

If Klorathy had sent me an invitation to visit him on Canopus—or to discuss other planets that concerned us—yes.

I was disappointed. I felt as if I had been waiting, perhaps only half-consciously, for the development of an unfulfilled friendship, and then been offered participation in a dreary task that by definition could not succeed. I sent a message to Canopus that I could not meet Klorathy, “though I might be able to find time later.” There no satisfaction for me in this gesture. I felt only an intensification of my aridity. But a task that I knew I would find difficult and absorbing was waiting for me at the end of the Galaxy. As I prepared to leave, I was again summoned to a top-level conference. It concerned Rohanda, or rather, her moon. It had of course been known to us that Shammat was established on this small and unpleasant planet. Now it appeared there were new developments. I appointed someone to represent me at this conference, turned my mind from Rohanda—and found that as I went about my preparations for leaving, possibly for a long time, it as if, again, my ears were being filled with an insinuating memory. Sirius, I heard, Sirius, Sirius… and I could not free myself of it. Waves of this insidious whispering came up in me, so that I could hear nothing else, and ebbed, leaving a silence that I knew was waiting to be filled with Sirius, Sirius. In Nasar’s voice. In Rhodia’s. And in Klorathy’s. And in voices I had never heard but knew I would. I stubbornly ignored this call, or tried to, making my mind dwell on problems distant and different from Rohanda’s and found that no matter what I did, the whispering grew, so that I would find myself standing quite still, some task forgotten, listening.

I told the Department that my mission must be postponed. I sent a message to Klorathy that I was going to Rohanda, and ordered the Space Traveller to set me down near our old station. We had maintained this post, though it had several times fallen into disuse, and twice been destroyed by earthquakes. It was repaired partly through sentiment: I had been so usefully happy there. Now I promised myself a short space of freedom and thought, in solitude, for Klorathy would need time to reach me. For one thing, he have to enquire from my Home Planet where on Rohanda he could find me… so far had I forgotten what one might expect of Canopean abilities!

I walked by myself up to the little group of buildings among low foothills, the towering ranges of the western mountains at my back, a good way to the south from where I done the same, going towards Lelanos, and as I approached thought they did not look uninhabited. Had the Lelannian tyrants then taken this Sirian station for themselves? If so, if they had lost all fear of Sirius, then they had fallen very far away from any sort of understanding. I was preparing in my mind how to deal with an emergency if I found one, as I entered the first one of the buildings, an airy set of rooms similar to those I once, so pleasantly, lived in: it would be easy, for instance, to summon the Space Traveller, which was already stationed just above me, and visible as a silvery glitter.

There was someone sitting, back to the light, across the room. I at once that it was Klorathy. Though, of course, it was technically impossible that he should have got here in the time since my message went out. This meant that he had known I would be here, in this place, well before the message did go out, and even before I had decided myself… I was absorbing this as I went towards him saying: “This is Sirius.”

“I am an uninvited visitor, I know,” said he; and I left the remark unanswered, meaning him to feel that I was making a point. And went to sit where I could see him clearly. I had not seen him since the experience on their Colony 11. It is of course a not uncommon thing to see, on this or that planet, within the Canopean aegis or within ours, an individual one recognises, so that one goes forward to say: “Greetings, Klorathy,” or Nasar or whoever it might be. But then one sees it as a type one has recognised, a species, a kind—and what then looks back from inside this known shape is an individual quite strange to one. It has always been, to me, a disturbing business, to be with this shape, which is that of a remembered friend or associate: and to match gestures, glances, mannerisms, that are so close to those that are, in memory, the property of this or that person. What absolutely individual and unmatchable entity is it that is not here? And, conversely, this other experience: when one encounters the species, type, shape, equipped with roughly similar manners and ways, and it is the remembered individual. This was Klorathy. I had known it was he, the moment I saw him, a shape against light, all his features invisible. Yet this was not the identical Klorathy. He had chosen to inhabit a physical equipment almost the same as his last. Presumably it was useful, being strong, healthy, and—I deduced—a good all-purpose type that would adapt easily to any planet and species without too much remark. For instance, he would not be likely to choose my physical type, which in fact always calls forth often uneasiness, if not worse, except on my own originating planet.

I had long been considering the Canopean ways of re-juvenation and re-issue. I have given a good deal of time to this problem since. And I want to make the point at this time that I consider we, Sirius, would do well to master these other techniques.

There is nothing we do not know about substitution and prosthetics. We replace parts of the body as fast as they wear out. I do not think there is an organ or a tissue in me that was Ambien II in pre-Disaster time, let alone even what the Canopeans call the First Time. There is nothing left even of what made up my being when I was whirled about the skies during the “events.” Even the ichor in my veins has been replaced many times. But these transplants and transfusions are costly in time and patience. Yes, I know that the argument will be that a vast quantity of admirable technicians would be put out of work; that many skills and techniques would become redundant. But this is a question falls under the heading of the existential problem, question, or dilemma. If we have answered that, in all other fields, by always accepting advances in knowledge even at the cost of falling populations, as classes of work become obsolete, then it is consistent for us to consider whether we should adopt the Canopean ways of self-perpetuation. How simple to “die”—and to take on new physical equipment. After all, it is not even necessary to go through the tedious business of having to endure infancy and childhood—they learned to bypass all that. How pettifogging and even pedantic the Canopean attitude to outworn physical equipment makes ours look! We patch and preserve—they throw an inefficient body aside and step into a new one without fuss, sentimentality, or regret.

Klorathy had inhabited three different bodies since I had seen him last. And he told me that Nasar was at that time down in our Southern Continent I as very small brown male, a hunter, bringing a species up to a new height of knowledge about its position in relation to “The Great Spirit.” Which the was formulation suitable for that place.

Klorathy told me this in a way that meant it was a rebuke—a rebuke to us for our negligence, We had no stations on that continent then.

And so we two engaged in, if not conflict, at least disagreement, and from the very first moment.

I was with Klorathy for fifty R-years; and I will sum up the essence of our being together thus: that he was there to bring me to a new view of the Sirian usage of the planet, a new view of ourselves altogether. And he was prepared to go to a great deal of trouble… from the start I was wondering what sort of importance Canopus could possibly be attributing to it all, to designate Klorathy, one of their senior Colonial officials, to my tutelage for such a long time. Of course I did not fool myself that this was an individual matter. No, it was Canopus and Sirius—as always. But I recognised that I was in a familiar position. Nasar… Klorathy… or whatever names they might be choosing to use, whatever shapes they wore, when with me, were—I had to accept it—instructors.

And Klorathy sat there patiently with me in that pleasant, airy room, where we looked out together over landscapes I almost was able to match with what I remembered—and talked.

When I had lived here during the best time, in the days when I thought of Rohanda almost as my home, what I saw from the foothills was savannah, a pleasant, lightly-treed country broken by valleys and plains of grass. All was different now: it was rain forest. Climatic changes of a dramatic kind had caused vast rivers to flow, and their many tributaries ran through enormous trees, which made a canopy of foliage it was not possible to see through. We looked at vast expanses of leaves, always leaves, the tops of trees that shimmered and moved under a heavy and uncomfortable sun. It was not at all the bracing and invigorating place of my memories.

There was nothing now in this continent pleasant to hear about. Klorathy was making certain that I did hear, and, as I have said, with the intention of making me feel it all as a responsibility. I shall never forget how, through those days of preparation—as he clearly saw it—I was held there by him, held by his determination, that I should not be allowed to escape anything of the truth. Sometimes, evading the necessity of looking at him, I gazed out into the hot steamy perspectives of green that were so often drenched by sultry rains: but otherwise I sat regarding him, Klorathy, taking in and wondering at the authority of this person who never demanded, never enforced, but who had only to be there, be present, be himself, to make of what he said a claim and something that had to be attended to.

The situation through the continent was this. While the Lelannians had become a tyranny that controlled the old Lelannian and Grakconkranpatl territories that, because of their position, also controlled the long isthmus that joined the Southern Continent to the Isolated Northern Continent, acting as a barrier to the movement of peoples, everywhere else was evolving a fairly uniform species made from the escapees and mutants from our—by now—very numerous experiments, crossed with that kind of borderline semi-ape is so often the predominant animal on certain types of planet. This cross was not dissimilar to the Lelanos type before it had degenerated. In appearance they were a lithe, slightly built, tallish people with the common ranges of colour from light-brown to almost black, long straight black hair, black eyes. They were hunters, and gathered plants from the forests. That their genes, which held memories of origins in other places where agriculture was understood, had not spoken in them here was not surprising: this was a sparse population, with no need to grow food. They were in strict harmony with their surroundings, at that stage where no act, or intention, or thought, could be outside the mental and emotional frames of reference forming their “religion.” The Great Spirit, here, as Nasar was teaching on the other Southern Continent, was in everything they did: they lived within the sacramental, or—as I attempted to joke with Klorathy—according to the Necessity. Our relations were not easy. (I see now that this had to be so, representing as we did, and do—I must insist—Empires on such different levels.) But we did joke, were able to use this ease between ourselves. Klorathy evidently could not see my, admittedly, minor and perhaps clumsy jests as worth more than the slightest of smiles; yes, said he, these people indeed lived within the ordinance of the Necessity. Or rather, had done, before they had been overrun by the Lelannians. They were now slaves and servants from the extreme south of the continent to the isthmus. Everywhere they worked mines and plantations, or provided the meat for the ritual murders of the religion. They were also material for experiment. This surprised me, and I had to sit and hear, at very great length and in detail, of the development of the master race into technicians who saw the animals that surrounded them as controllable and malleable and available for their purposes not only socially, that is, within the limits of sociological malleability, which after all was a viewpoint that as such, and in itself, I could hardly criticise, since we—Sirius—had seen this as the foundation of Empire, the basis of good government.

But they had gone further, used any living being they ruled, on any level, as the stuff for experiments of a most brutal nature. No, although I did have my uncomfortable moments listening to Klorathy describe the practices of these overlords, I could to myself that never had we, had Sirius, done unnecessary, or cruel experiments. Of course, experimentation of the physical, as distinct from the biosociological kind, is necessary and so permitted. But after all, it is always done, with us, within the limits of our necessity, even if this is sometimes only a local need… so I fatuously argued with myself as I sat listening to Klorathy, during these conversations that I was already seeing as a preparation. A deliberate, calculated preparation for what was to come. Oh, Canopus never did, never has done, anything that has not been calculated, foreseen, measured, and this down to the last detail, even when the plan is such a long-term one that… I have to state here again that we—meaning Sirius, and I say this knowing the criticism I risk—are not able to comprehend the Canopean understanding of what may be long term, or long foreseen. Yes, I am saying this. I am stating it. I am insisting on it… If I may not do this, then my attempt in writing this record, or report, is without use.

This small example, which I am describing here, consisting of Klorathy’s use of the situation in this continent at this time to instruct me, Sirius, contains many aspects of Canopean planning, foresight, patience. Even as I dwelt there, in that old Sirian station, day after day with Klorathy, I knew that he had calculated that I would need this period for adjustment, for the absorption of what he was presenting to me.

When I knew he wanted me to accompany him on a long and certainly dangerous journey to see for myself what he was describing, I resisted. Not because of the danger. I was acquiring very different attitudes to my own extinction! Once I would have regarded “death,” of the kind now obsolete among us, as a calamity, certainly as a loss to our community because of my vast experience. Now I was thinking that if I was worth a survival of physical extinction, then what there was in me to survive, would—must. And I was thinking, too, that if we were caught and killed by these truly horrible animals, the Lelannians, I would be in the company of Canopus, who regarded “death” as a change of circumstance.

No, I was resisting because of my old lack, or disability: I not being given what I felt I was due! In the past I had sulked, or allowed myself to become impervious to what I might be learning, because Klorathy’s attention was not being given to me alone. Now, when it was being given to me alone, or rather, to me as Sirius, I still felt neglected, insufficiently appreciated, because it was only a journey among these savage Rohandans that was being offered. I would have been prepared to stay in the little station in the foothills, overlooking the long reaches of simmering rain forest, listening to what Klorathy had to tell me—even though he talked of Lelanos and Lelannians, and their habits, and not ever of Canopus itself, which I longed so much to hear about—taking in what I knew was an education of a sort far larger than I was then equipped to understand. When Klorathy spoke, his words came from Canopus, were of the substance of Canopus—that I did know. But he was putting a term to this experience of ours, which on one level was so easygoing, even lazy, and demanding that we should go forth, into something else.

There were various ways we might travel. One was to summon my Space Traveller, and to descend, the two of us, as representatives of Sirius—they would not know Canopus, the real and true power!—and demand to see what we wanted. Or we could pretend to be from another part of Rohanda, “from across the seas.” Or we could announce ourselves as from the Northern Continent, and the fact that the isthmus was closed would add to our—we hoped—mysteriousness. It was not possible to purport to come from another city in the Lelannian system, for it was monolithic and all-pervasive and knew everything that went on everywhere.

The problem was my appearance: I at least could not hope to remain unremarked.

The alternatives were put to me by Klorathy, in his way of leaving me free, so that I had to consider them, and then offer my choice to him for his acceptance. I chose descent by Space Traveller, the easiest. He did not at once disagree, but kept hesitating, as he made suggestions, or the beginnings of suggestions, for me to take up trains of thought for myself. I soon saw that to appear, suddenly, “from the skies,” and after such a long time during which the Sirian surveillance had been forgotten, would be to disrupt the social system totally, and in ways that ought to be calculated, weighed, planned for—in the Canopean manner. Planned for when the subjects of this consideration were such an unpleasant kind?

Yes, indeed. I had to accept it. What I was being given was a lesson in Canopean viewpoints—very far from ours.

No, we were not to use the easy way. In the end it was decided to be visitors from “over the seas.” Prompted by him, I brought forth from within myself the advantages—and they were all inside a Canopean scope of time. The main one, from which the others flowed, was that even these tyrants would be open to information or instruction from “over the seas,” for their legends kept references to such beings. Not by chance: some visiting Canopean had no doubt made sure that their legends would contain such memories.

This journey of ours through the Southern Continent was a long one, and there were many aspects to it that unfolded themselves as we went, that sometimes became clear to me only later. Are still, in fact, showing new facets, when I contemplate that time. I submitted a full report on this journey, which is still available. There is nothing untrue, or even evasive there: on that I must insist. But I must urge, too, that it is possible, and indeed often inevitable, that one may report events as fully and honestly as one knows how—and yet find oneself up against a check, beyond which one may in no way pass. This barrier is the nature or state of those for whom the report is made. Their state at that time. Preparing this report, one’s mind on those who will receive it—the words are chosen for you, the frequencies limited. As one’s mind goes out to touch, or assess, those who will take it in, one knows that only so much of it can be taken in. But that later, perhaps, much more will be found. I wonder if those of my fellow Sirians who have read so far—and, as I have already said, I can guess only too well the nature of some of their emotions—might care to look up that old report of the journey. I feel that both those who saw it all those ages ago, and those who read it now, for the first time, may find there a great deal that can amplify this present account of mine.

We dressed ourselves as differently from the current Lelannian mode as possible: they expressed their hierarchic society most fully in their clothes, which were elaborate, stiff, and ornamented. We wore simple robes, and made sure that the current protective devices were well concealed; though we believed that all memory of such things had been forgotten.

Klorathy took me straight, not to the capital but to a main research centre.

It was situated well away from areas of habitation, was guarded heavily. The actual appearance of the place was not dissimilar to our research establishments that had been in past times quite plentiful over this and the other Southern Continent: this fact did give me some unpleasant moments, and I wondered if our practices been noted by the ancestors of this present breed, and copied. I did not mention my suspicion to Klorathy, who, however, as it passed through my mind, said only: “May I suggest that we reserve all comment and comparison until after our journey our is done?”

The station consisted of laboratories of various kinds, and compounds and camps for the retention of the experimentees: a local tribe.

When we arrived in the place, and said that we were “from over the long blue seas”—a phrase which was part of their heritage of song—they showed a disposition to worship us, which we discouraged, asking to be shown examples of their technical knowledge.

Their awe was a disadvantage, because it made it difficult for them to produce simple answers to straight questions; but we could see enough without that.

These currently ruling animals seemed to have inherited the worst of the originating breeds. The slablike uniformity of the Grakconkranpatls remained: there was a truly extraordinary lack of variation in feature and build. Any lightness or quickness derived from the subtle vitality of the old Lelannians, but this had degenerated into mental dishonesty and capacity for self-deception, which showed itself in their faces and eyes as shiftiness. It is astonishing how a characteristic may become deformed into its opposite under the pressure of degeneration.

Experiments then in progress at that station included the following:

In order to find out the capacities for endurance and perseverance of their subject animals, they had built a very large tank with slippery sloping sides on which it was not possible to find a purchase. This was filled with water. About a hundred particularly healthy and strong tribesmen had been selected and put into this tank to swim there until they drowned. All around the edge of the tank researchers stood with stopwatches in their hands. Others guarded the instruments with which they were measuring the pulse rate and breathing of the experimentees: from time to time an animal would be selected, pulled out of the water and tested, and then, in spite of cries and pleadings, would be flung back in again.

The teams of researchers, as they tired, were replaced. Astonishing feats of endurance were performed. It was not the most pleasant of sights. Though it was certainly interesting to see the differences between the swimming animals. Some, when thrown in, suspecting the nature of the experiment, at once allowed themselves to drown. This tendency was regarded as a measure of intelligence. Some cried and begged to be taken out. Some panicked and clung to others so that one might see two or three or more at a time, sinking during their struggles. Others were silent and conserved their strength and swam around and around and around, regarding their masters on the edges with a look in their eyes that—I have to record for the sake of truthfulness—I had seen in the eyes of some of our subject races… the Lombis, for instance. Some, seeing others weaken, went to support them knowing that their own ends would be nearer. But a few swam on for several days. And even when they seemed half-conscious, they swam on, and on, until at last they sank. To stand on those high banks, while some of the unfortunate animals scrabbled and clutched at the slippery slopes beneath me, calling out for aid—I soon found this too upsetting, and suggested to Klorathy that we should leave.

There was another experiment to measure strength and endurance. They had a large cauldron under which were piles of wood. The cauldron, from which it was impossible to climb, because the sides sloped inwards, was filled with water. Into this they put, one at a time, males, females, and children, and lit the fires, and heated the water. This was to measure the different rates at which the experimentees succumbed to the heating water. Again the differences were remarkable. A few managed to stay alive until the water was nearly at boiling point. (This part of my account will be more fully appreciated if the reader equips himself with a basic knowledge of Rohandan chemistry.)

In a third experiment they transplanted limbs and organs. It was unpleasant to see all this work being done using techniques that had not only been in use with us for so long but were already becoming superceded—though we did not (do not yet) appreciate that. Yes, I am making this comparison quite soberly.

The monsters created by their crude techniques were, I suppose, not without interest, when I was able to quell my—by then soaring—indignation. The glands of some females had been grafted on their backs. Others had them on their thighs. The sexual organs of males were transferred to their faces, so that the organs for eating and progeniture were adjacent. This caused psychological maladjustment, which they found, surprisingly, of interest. I saw a child that had had legs grafted on to its hips! We were told that this unfortunate at least would have an adequate future, for it would be used as entertainment for the ruling classes: it was able to revolve itself on these four legs as on the spokes of a wheel. The technicians did seem quite pleased to be able to reassure us when they could—as in the case of this cartwheeling child. They did not enjoy causing pain, they insisted. But they believed that the experimentees, being of an inferior kind, did not feel physical or psychological pain as they themselves did. I have not before encountered this trick of the mental processes—at least not since the very early days of our science, when there were tendencies to assure ourselves of the invulnerability of our experimentees.

At least Sirius can say that not for many long ages have we been hypocrites… I said this then, to Klorathy, who merely repeated that we should wait for the end of our journey to make comments.

Before we left that place we were taken on a tour of the compounds. They housed several hundred tribespeople: males, females, children. Long sheds contained tiers of bunks in which they slept. These were built of concrete because, as was explained to us, the animals were thus more easily protected from vermin and kept clean: the interiors of the sheds, and the animals, hosed down once a with water that had chemicals in it. Some animals took cold and died of this treatment: the hot climate disposed them to respiratory diseases. They were fed from large pots filled with porridge made of a cereal introduced by us long before from our Planet 17. They were made to do exercises twice a day because unfit animals were of no use in research work. There was a prison and punishment block for offenders, and a small hospital for the sick. The compound was surrounded by tall fences, and guarded heavily. As we made our tour, a male tribesman stood forth, holding up his hands palms out—in their gesture for entreaty. As the guards went forward to club him back among his fellows, I asked them to let him speak. He wanted to make a petition. He said that many of the experiments being made on them were unnecessary, because the information needed could be gained by simply asking them—as for instance, as to abilities of endurance compared among individuals. In their native habitat, before their subjection, their own traditions told them that there had been an extensive and rich knowledge of the nature of their physiques, and of their mental processes. They had used a medicine based on plants and on psychological understanding. Also, they had known how to live in and with the terrain in such a way that this was not damaged.

The poor fellow came out with this in a rush, because of his fear of being checked, looking all the time at me, begging for protection. He stood naked there before us, his features marked with the signs of long imprisonment, but he had a self-respect that was impressive. This “inferior” race was obviously, and at the most cursory inspection, superior to their masters—particularly in the honesty and straightforwardness of their understanding and means of expressing themselves.

He said that at no time had the Lelannians asked the natives about what might be known by them, and which could be used generally, to benefit everyone. Never had the Lelannians been prepared to listen, though the natives had continually tried to offer their knowledge, their expertise… but the Lelannians were not prepared to listen then either—clubs and whips descended; soon the poor fellow was lying senseless in his blood, and the group of technicians who were showing us around showed indignation at the “impertinence” and then went on with the self-satisfied stupidity that was their characteristic, to say that “these animals were always up to their tricks.” I was seething with indignation, not only because of the injustice I had witnessed but because of the waste of it all. I was thinking that never had Sirius—at least, not since our civilised time began—gone into a planet and destroyed the precious knowledge of its inhabitants, the irreplaceable knowledge—for only those have been evolved from the earth and air and liquid of a planet can know its real, its innermost, nature.

But Klorathy stood silent by me. I knew him enough to understand that a tightening of his face showed he was suffering. But he made no sign, only turned to go. And we made our way through the packed masses of naked tribespeople, all beseeching us with their eyes and holding up their palms to us, afraid to speak, but taking this opportunity to make their cause known to those who—they could see—were not Lelannians.

Before we left the place we had to endure a long feast at which we played our parts. The feast was nauseating. The flesh of the natives and other animals was its main feature. The technicians of this place were glad of an excuse for a feast, we could see: they saw themselves as sophisticates banished for long tours of duty in a backwater, and longed to be returned to the capital.

They made speeches every one of which congratulated themselves on their brilliant experimental work. It did not cross their minds to think we might not admire them as they admired themselves.

And next morning we thankfully left.

News about the appearance of the “great ones from over the waters” had preceded us to the capital. We were received with much pomp and ceremonial. Again, the priesthood ruled, but the ruling caste did not consist only of the priestly families, as had been the case in old Grakconkranpatl. The division showed at once as we proceeded between two ranks, on one side the priests in their gorgeous robes and jewellery, flanked and buttressed by the soldiery; and on the other side the privileged families, in colourful clothing and jewels, charming and infantile as such indulged castes always are. No soldiers on their side! No guards, even! And no need of either, for they were the willing captives of the ruling priests. I shall not describe our visit to this capital city any further—there were no experimental stations there. But I shall mention the architecture. When the Lelannian and Grakconkranpatl states mingled, and Lelanos dominated, taking over the priesthood, the blocklike, ominous, Grakconkranpatl style was used for all administrative buildings, prisons, hospitals, and punishment centres. The light, fanciful Lelanos ways were used for housing and places of entertainment. Strange it was to see these extremes so juxtaposed.

We spent some months in the capital. Slowly I saw that Klorathy needed this time to find out whether these brutes were capable of regeneration. The process, for the most part, consisted of listening. Or he probed, lightly and skillfully. Sometimes he made experiments of his own—but so slight and subtle were they that at first I did not notice what he was doing: I to learn to be able to observe what went on. He would test their reactions to this idea or that, by suggestions, or even mild provocation. He would implant a new idea into a group and then wait to see how it would become processed by their particular mentation. I was not equipped to understand how he was reacting to what he found in them. But I was able to see that he was increasingly sombre, and even—it took me some time to be able to admit to myself that the great Canopus was capable of such emotions—discouraged. But there was soon no doubt of it: he was containing a dry and powerful sorrow, and I was able to recognise what I knew myself so very well and so intimately from such long immersion in it.

This stay in the capital is fully dealt with in my old report.

By the time we left, in spite of Klorathy's attempts to prevent us becoming cult objects, focuses of useless awe, that is what we had become. We had to forbid, absolutely, ceremonies in which droves of unfortunate natives were designated as “sacrifices to the Gods.” We insisted, as far as we could, that such practices were regarded at least “over the long blue seas” as unnecessary—it would not do to suggest to these self-satisfied ones that they were barbaric and primitive. When we left we travelled accompanied by priests, who performed their repulsive ceremonies at every opportunity; and by some of the youth, who saw no shame in describing themselves as “playpeople.”

The experimental station we visited next was similar to the other in appearance. The experimental subjects again consisted of the local tribesmen, but they also used some other kinds of animals, notably carnivores. They preferred to use the natives, on the ground that these were nearer to themselves in physical structure. Also that they had done so much work on them that comparisons could more usefully be made.

At this station Klorathy made an attempt to persuade the technicians to ask the natives in a systematic way for information about their medicine. He spoke of places “beyond the waters” where an advanced medicine was used, based on local balances and earth forces, on the rhythms of the stars, on the disposition of exactly placed and planned buildings, and on the use of plants. This “medicine” was more than curative or preventive: health was considered as a result and an expression of the exact sciences, used by a whole society, taught to every individual in the society. Health was being in balance with the natural forces of—the Galaxy. Yes, he went so far. And, yes, I was all ears. For this was what I had wanted to know. He was talking about the Necessity, even if in this guarded and indirect way. That much I did recognise. But as usual I was being disadvantaged by my emotional reactions. How was it that this precious information, the secrets of Canopus, of the Canopean superiority, was being given to these debased Lelannians. How was it, that when I had wanted, and for so long, to hear him talk in this way, it was not I who was addressed… it took me a long time, not until after we separated on this occasion, to see the simple fact that after all he had been speaking to me, since I was there. To Sirius… And he not been talking to the Lelannians, that is, if one was to judge by results: for they could make no use of what they heard. They did not hear. They could not hear. I have never before seen so clearly and simply that law of development that makes a certain stage of growth impossible to an individual, a people, a planet: first, they have to hear. They have to be able to take in what they are being offered.

Throughout the main occasions when Klorathy was with these top-level priest-technicians, they sat apparently all attention and respect, but their faces showed always the self-esteem that was their curse, the mark of their incapacity. The ground of their nature was this conviction of superiority, of innate worth over other species. Klorathy was not able to shake it.

This was true of nearly all. There were in fact a few of them who did absorb the intuition that there was something here they could learn, and they came to him secretly. And he instructed them as far as he could. When we left this station, they accompanied us. Our escort was now an extraordinary mixture of officials and priests, the frivolously curious, and these serious students of his ways of thought.

The third station was of particular interest, and the work there could have thrown light on the nature of the processes that had Rohanda in their grip—if the Lelannians had been capable of understanding them. The station researched the Degenerative Disease that caused the “ageing” that I had first seen—but still only in a mild form—in Rhodia. Since that time, this expression of Rohanda’s falling away from earlier excellence had accelerated. The term of life was half of what it been in the old Lelannian days. A hundred and fifty R-years was the norm now. And “ageing” began at the end of the stage of physical readiness for mating and reproduction. There was a dryness, a shrivelling, and, soon, a wrinkling of all the skin casing. The hair lost its colour and became spectral and pale. The eyes, too, lost colour. Hearing, sight, touch, taste—all the senses—became blunted, or ceased to operate. The processes of mentation were affected, sometimes to the point of imbecility. There were compounds full of local natives, all over a certain age, and these were being tortured to give up the secrets of “ageing.”

An interesting fact was that the natives were viable much longer than the “superior” race. They remained energetic and flexible in limb for longer, their hair kept its colour often until death—their pitifully early deaths—and their teeth often remained comparatively excellent. Also, there was less mental confusion. This, Klorathy said, was because of the natives’ closer bond with the natural flows and forces, as compared with the Lelannians, whose ways were mechanical and imposed by arbitrary law or by whim; because they worked physically, which the “superior” ones were proud not to do; because the stuff of their genetic inheritance did not include any contribution from Shammat and Puttiora.

It was at this stage in our journey that Klorathy informed me nothing could be done for the Lelannians. They were beyond improvement. He asked me—in that way of his—what I thought should be done in this situation, but asked, too, that I should take my time thinking about it, “putting aside my emotions.”

When we were back in the Sirian post in the hills above the rain forests, we sat together, as we had before our long and difficult journey, and we talked. I was impatient for him to come to a conclusion, to “sum up”—a favourite Lelannian expression. But he was in no hurry and for many days, and then months, our experience was allowed to, as it were, ferment between us.

He was at particular pains to make me think about the Lelannian experiments, the Lelannian attitudes towards themselves as experimenters and researchers. I was by then reluctant to do this. I had been so sickened and disgusted at what I had seen, and my inability to change anything, that I wanted only to put the whole experience out of my mind.

He said that the Lelannians, living in a rich and fruitful continent, blessed by the climate, by every natural resource, had little need to work hard to sustain themselves. That even if they had, they provided themselves with abundant slaves and servants who did their work for them. Leisure was their inheritance. It was, as the Shammat observers saw, their means of being kept in subjection, because it rotted them: the right amount of sloth and ease would keep them Shammat’s. Too much would make them useless. Shammat had influenced them towards their experimentation. Apart from a very small administrative class, who increasingly left this work to slaves trained for this purpose—who could be expected shortly to seize power for themselves, but that is another story—the ruling race as a whole occupied themselves with the increasingly refined techniques of research. There were not enough genuine avenues of enquiry to occupy everyone, and therefore the experiments became more bizarre, extensive—useless. And more and more unfortunate animals of other species were sacrificed.

Their attitude towards themselves, that everything that surrounded them was their property, to use as they wished, meant that the delicate and invisible balances of force and power were increasingly disrupted. The two Southern Continents, the Sirian responsibility, were wildly out of key, were unbalancing the already precarious Rohandan cosmic economy. There been a time, at the beginning of our journey, said Klorathy, when he believed it might be possible to arrest the brutalisation of these Lelannians, to make them see the natural balances of earth, rock, vegetation, water, fire, and the infinitely various differing species of the creatures of earth, of water, of air, as irreplaceable and distinct, each with its part to play in the invisible cosmic dance. But it had become clear the innate self-esteem of the Lelannians was too strong.

And now we come to the culminating point of our encounter, Klorathy and I: Canopus and Sirius.

He was making, in fact, a complaint. If one could call this long process of journeying together for the purposes of my instruction, and these long discussions, during which he never insisted, or demanded, but only demonstrated—a complaint. The differing roles of Canopus and Sirius, our different weights and emphases in the cosmic scale, made these conversations of ours have the effect of criticism and—on my side—of resistance.

Why had we neglected these Southern Continents?

Because they had not seemed worth our while.

But we had asked for them, had done more, had insisted on having them.

At the time we needed them. (And, of course, we were not going to let Canopus get away with anything—ridiculous and petty though this attitude was. And is.)

What were we going to do now?

The point was, Rohanda was not of much interest to our Empire. Not now. It had been relegated, with other planets, to a position of being possibly useful again in the future. Not all my persuasions, if I decided to take this course, would make Sirius actively exploit Rohanda again. It was too overrun with inferior species, too problematical—and there was Shammat, whose rule was established everywhere. Apparently with Canopean permission, and that was more than we could understand.

I said to Klorathy that there was nothing we, Sirius, could do for Rohanda.

“You will not then, I am sure, be resentful if we interest ourselves in your territories?”

“You are already! You have been for some time. I am not saying that anything you do is harmful, far from it. I am sure that without your intervention everything would be worse. But it is hypocritical to ask for permission for actions you have already taken.”

“Never without your knowledge.” At this we exchanged smiles: he was referring to the extensive and admirable Sirian espionage systems.

“But now, in my view, definite and prompt action is needed in Southern Continent II. As is being done in Isolated Southern Continent I. By your old friend Nasar, among others.”

I allowed him to understand that I did not care, would be happy to leave it all to him.

“Tell me, Sirius, now that you have seen everything and thought about it, in your opinion, is the right thing to be done?”

I exploded, out of long months of indignation and revulsion: “I would call in our fleet of Flame Makers and destroy these squalid little animals.”

He was silent for a long time.

“You are shocked, of course,” I said.

“No. I—we—cannot afford to be shocked. We have in fact destroyed cultures that have become corrupt.”

“I am surprised that the great Canopus should use such means.”

“Or surprised at our admitting it?”

“Yes. I suppose that is it.”

For we certainly would not have admitted it, in similar circumstances.

“But when we have been forced to use such means, in order to keep our balances within measure, then these been small local cultures. A city… a group of two or three cities… even a few particularly damaging individuals. At this very time, in the area of the great inland seas…” and he seemed distressed, in pain “…we are being forced to take certain steps… This is not the most pleasant of tasks, this Shikastan assignment.”

“No. It is a horrible place.”

“But are you actually suggesting we should destroy all life over a continent?” he asked reproachfully.

“They should be treated as they treat others.”

“A hard rule, Sirius… tell me, have you ever reflected that our behaviour influences theirs?”

This came too close to certain private thoughts of mine, and I exploded with: “The native tribes may be sympathetic enough now, harmless, but you know as well as I do that given opportunity they will become as bad as the Lelannians. That is why this is such a planet.”

“It is not the fault of the planet.”

“That way of thinking is not within our scope, Canopus,” I said, looking at him as forcefully as I could, hoping that he would—at last, as I then saw it—begin to reveal truths, secrets, Canopean expertise.

“Why isn’t it, Sirius?”

This silenced me. He was saying that I had admitted our inferiority and that he was challenging its inevitability.

“Why? … and here we are,” he added, in a low, reproachful voice.

“Very well then, what do you think should be done?”

“I propose that we space-lift all the Lelannians away from this planet.”

“Where to?”

“Why,” he said smiling, “Shammat, of course. Each to his own.”

I laughed. “There are a million of them!”

“You are rich, Sirius. You have large fleets. You are in the habit of transporting populations from planet to planet. And you suffer from underemployment.”

“It is absolutely out of the question that I could get Administration to agree. They would not waste so many resources on such an inferior species.”

He was silent for a while. “Sirius, very often a great deal of time, effort, and resources are spent on ‘inferior’ species. Everything is relative, you know!”

I did not choose to “hear” this. Not at that time.

“You are also very rich, Canopus. Are you telling me that you do not transport populations from planet to planet?”

“Yes, I am telling you that. Not for the reasons you do, at least. Very rarely. We have a very finely balanced economy, Sirius. Exactly and delicately tuned. And if we were to undertake to transport a million animals from here to Shammat, then this would impose a strain on us.”

There was a great deal of information in this, of the kind I wanted so much to have from him—about Canopus and its nature. But I was too disturbed at that juncture to take it in.

“I tell you, it is not possible for me to arrange it.”

“Not possible for one of the five senior administrators of the Sirian Colonial Service?”

“No.”

“I appeal to you. It may surprise you to know that your economy is more flexible in certain ways than ours.”

“I am sorry.”

“Then we shall have to undertake it.”

I attempted to joke in the face of his evident disappointment, and even worry. “A million all at once will certainly impose a strain on Shammat!”

“It might keep them busy for a bit, at least. And I must confess it does give me some pleasure, unworthy though it is, I am sure, that these will become slaves now in their turn. Shammat is short of labour at this time.”

“I share your feelings.”

“Will you help us perhaps with the task of rehabilitating the tribes?”

And now I did hesitate for a long time. I did feel in the wrong about refusing our aid in the matter of the mass space-lift. I was feeling lacking generally in relation to Canopus—hardly a new emotion! But I also could not understand why he, or they, should concern themselves with this trivial nastiness.

“Why?” I demanded. “Why take so much trouble?”

“It will be useful for us—for everyone—for the whole Galaxy, if the tribes are enabled to return as far as possible to their old state. They will be returned to their own territories, and encouraged to resume their former simple lives in balance with the environment. Not taking more than they need, not despoiling, not overrunning their geographical areas, or laying waste. Before the Lelannian conquest this continent was in harmony. We shall see that it becomes so again.”

“And for how long?” I enquired, making him face me on this.

“Well, not forever, certainly. No. That we know.”

“Why?—oh, don’t talk to me of the Necessity!”

“There is nothing else, or less, I can talk to you of.”

“Then do so,” I cried, excited and peremptory. “I am waiting. I feel always at the edge of things, and you never come to the point.”

At this he looked, at first, faintly startled, then grieved, and then—as if he had determined to use this aid—amused.

“Sirius, you are indeed hard to please.”

I was angry. I was angry because of knowing I was in the wrong. I even knew then that this was why I was so fatally angry. I rose to my feet, unable to prevent myself, and said: “Canopus, I am leaving now.”

“I shall not prevent you!” said he, in an attempt to remind me of our old ironical understanding of the real situation.

“Very well, you can stop me if you want. But you won’t. Perhaps I would even be glad of that—if you would simply, and once and for all, do something unequivocal.”

And now he laughed. He laughed out, shaking his head with comical disbelief. This finally enraged me. I ran out into the open, summoned the hovering Space Traveller, and turned to see him in the doorway watching.

“May I perhaps give you a lift? To your Planet 10, perhaps? I shall be passing it.”

“I shall be staying here for a while.”

“Then goodbye.”

And that was how this encounter of ours came to its conclusion.

Once again, distancing myself, it was with relief. I was simply not up to it! It was all too much! And, as I approached home again, I found myself muttering: “That’s it then—it's enough!” And: “Very well, if that's how you want it!” But what these defiances actually meant was something I soon discovered, after I reported back and started to re-align myself with the work I had interrupted, for I found my mind was at work in quite other ways.

Recently I was scanning a history of that time in connection with a different subject, when I came across this: “Checks and restrictions were imposed on our experimental and research programmes; and as a result the numbers of animals licensed for use fell sharply.”

In this dry sentence is encapsulated what I am sure must have been the hardest effort of my career. I did not depart for the borders of our Empire. I did not apply for leave—which I was entitled to. I did not do, as Klorathy wanted, anything about our responsibility for Rohanda. But what I did do was engage myself with a fight to force us, Sirius, into a different attitude towards our subject populations, and particularly as regards their use as laboratory material. This battle is by no means over. As I write this, different factions of opinion are still engaged.

Large-scale experiments of the biosociological kind are in progress—the kind that one of our wits has summed up as: What if we…? In other words, populations are subjected to this and that stress, or the planets of planets moved about—all that class of thing. I am far from claiming that this does not cause suffering.

Of course it does. I do not believe that it is useful—as some of our technicians still do—to say things of this sort: “These creatures are of so low a mental development that they do not know what is happening to them.” Yes, I was certainly of their company—once. I like to think that it was a long time ago. It will not have escaped the speculation of the more sensitive reader that my—perhaps unnecessarily full—account of the Lombis was for a purpose. But it is not possible to avoid such disturbances of a Colonised Planet altogether. What would then be the purpose of colonising one? No planet is welcomed into the Sirian system without careful thought and planning and, as I have said, at this particular time our expansion is suspended.

To be of the Sirian whole is to be part of progress, development, an attitude of “one for all and all for each!” Sacrifices have to be made by everyone for such an ideal. I want to make it clear, here, at this point, that I do not demand the total abolition of all social disturbance—that would be to demand the end of Sirius itself—Sirius the Planet, herself daughter of the great star Sirius, and sister to her two siblings—Sirius the glorious, with her wonderful children scattered so felicitously through the Galaxy. Of course, I cannot mean that, cannot want that… I want no part of the sentimentalism that says that “Nature has its rights!” “Each in its own place!” Or “Hands off…”—whatever planet is in question: to mention a few of the more popular current slogans. No. It is the duty of the more evolved planets, like the great daughter of Sirius, to guide and control.

But that is a very different thing from using not hundreds, not thousands, not even millions, but billions of animals of all kinds and types of genera and species in cruel and unnecessary experiments. As we used to do. For a very long time. For not millennia, but for long ages. I say unnecessary. I use the word knowing how this goes straight to the point of the argument, the disagreement. Necessary for what?

At the time of my return from Rohanda on that trip, two-thirds of all the technicians throughout the Empire were employed on experiments on various kinds of animals. These were of every kind, from the mild to the horrific. In some there was concern that the pain suffered by the animals should be kept minimal. In others there was no concern at all. But, as often happens, the debate that started, and then raged—the only word for it—as a result of my efforts, was centered on the pain suffered or not suffered, and how much, and how it should be regulated, was not discussed then—and what to my mind has not been adequately recognised since—is the question of the actual use of the animals at all, our attitude to them, what right we have to arbitrarily take them and exploit them according to our current needs. And this question, which to my mind is the real one, is rooted in another, much deeper: what is a genus for? What is its function? What does it do? What part does it play in the cosmic harmony?

It will be seen that I approach here the Canopean formula, or tenet, or habit of mind: according to the Necessity.

It is also, of course, linked with our existential situation or problem. And much more fundamentally than on that level where we had to face the truth that something like fifteen millions of our most highly trained technicians were without an occupation. Without a function. Which is what we did have to face as the controversy raged, and resulted in public opinion changing to the point where it could not tolerate any longer the mass torture—the accurate word—the mass and unnecessary torture of billions of living creatures. If we, Sirius were—are—to decide, at last, what we are for, what our function is, then it follows that we have to wonder at last what these lower animals are for.

Well, a great many of us are now pondering just this question… The fifteen million technicians, finding themselves without a use, were retired, according to our custom, on to planets of their choice, to live out the remainder of their lives in honour and peace. And, of course, to join those who have leisure to devote themselves to our basic, crucial, quintessential problem. Most of them died off very quickly. This is what happens when a class of workers finds itself obsolete.

None of this happened without bitterness, emotional and mental conflict, even—in some planets—rioting and social disturbance. It will almost certainly strike present-day students unpleasantly, and surprisingly, to know that some of the slogans under which these old battles were fought included: What we have, we hold. Might is right. Victory to the strongest. The ends justify the means. The function of the inferior is to serve the superior.

Our entire administrative class was threatened. As for my own position, I had to face a long period of near-ostracism. That I was wrongheaded was the least of it. It was only with difficulty that I avoided being sent off to Adjustive Hospitalisation. Yes, it was put about that my mentality had been affected by sojourns in inimical climates on unpleasant planets—Rohanda being chiefly blamed. And in some moods I even found myself agreeing with my critics. It was not always easy to see Klorathy’s influence on my life—on (I insist) Sirius—as unambiguously good.

What I have put down here can give only a hint of what was behind those words: “Checks and restrictions were imposed…” etc.

While all this was going on, I had no word from Canopus, though it can be imagined how much I thought of things Canopean and of my friends. Yes, I thought of Klorathy and Nasar thus, although it was never without strain. The strain that the inferior must feel in coming into contact with the superior. I hope that this statement will not earn me, again, a threat of Adjustive Hospitalisation!

It on the day that the law was passed in our Legislature, restricting the use of animals for research, that this message came from Klorathy. “And now I am looking forward very much to meeting on Shikasta’s planet shortly. Our co-operation is desirable during the period of the deepening crisis on Shikasta.”

I feel that there is no need for me to describe my reactions to this.

I did think, and seriously, about whether I would return a message suggesting a date for our meeting, but the fact remained that Sirius had decided not to involve itself further with Rohanda. I therefore did nothing, reflecting how past experience indicated that if Canopus had decided on something, then this tended to come to pass. I had again made plans to take up my interrupted work, when I was instructed to go to Rohanda’s planet and deal with a crisis there. I went, unsurprised that this had happened; and expecting to meet Nasar or Klorathy.

The situation on this moon was at that time as follows: For a long time Shammat’s base there had been small, only used as a way station for its personnel and as a fueling depot. Then, as conditions on Rohanda steadily deteriorated—as Canopus saw it—and improved, from the point of view of Shammat, the emanations that Shammat elicited and used became too plentiful for previous means of transmission, and an accumulator was set up. This needed a permanent staff of technicians. These were of Shammat’s dominant class who demanded high standards in living conditions, which amenities were soon being used by their workers on Rohanda for ever-longer periods of recreation. What amounted to good-sized settlements came into existence. These were underground, because of the peculiar conditions of this moon, vulnerable to bombardment from space because of its lack of atmosphere, mostly from an asteroid belt that was the remains of a former planet. It was at that point that we placed our own personnel there, to keep a close and permanent watch on Shammat, who soon had gone further, and was engaged in extensive mining operations.

Neither Canopus nor ourselves objected to this: we were not short of minerals of any kind. But now Canopus, too, established itself in an observational capacity. No hostilities of a physical sort occurred between Shammat and the two superior powers—for Shammat was too afraid of us both. But while contact took place continually between ourselves and Canopus, of a formal kind, Shammat shunned us, and we were only too pleased to have it so.

From this time onwards, Rohanda was visited continually by spacecraft of all kinds, mostly Shammatan. The Canopus influence was more indirect: I have hinted at some of their means of coming and going. They seldom used physical craft, and when they did, it was with discretion, or with deliberate intent to instruct the current Rohandan dominant species in some necessary way. The Shammatans, on the other hand, were using their spacecraft with increasing indifference to the effect a sight of these vehicles might have on the populations. They had had underground settlements on Rohanda itself for a long time. From these they came and went, using every type of craft, quite freely. And they used, too, underwater craft. They took from Rohanda supplies of foodstuffs unavailable on the moon, and easier to fetch from there than from Shammat itself. They took, often, fresh water. They also kidnapped Rohandans from anywhere there were species that intrigued or amused them. These became pets on the moon or were sent back to Shammat itself to entertain the ruling caste. They were taken off vehicles on the oceans, or from isolated places.

As can be imagined, folklore and fantastic tales of all kinds were the result; but “sightings” of Shammat craft had taken place over millennia, and particularly recently, the populations of Rohanda did not know what it was they were seeing. Though legends of every branch of the dominant species contained stories of “higher beings,” these were always associated with “flying serpents” or “flying lizards” and so on, according to local conditions, and their technology had not yet developed to the point of recognition.

I must record at this point that on the Rohandan moon were, too, representatives of three other planets in this solar system. They had established there small observation posts, because of their concern about the increasingly discordant emanations of Rohanda, which threatened their own balances. This was a recent development. I shall say no more about it, because it does not concern my present theme. But my dispatch to this moon was because of alarm felt by the highest Sirian levels that perhaps the three planets might be tempted to become allied with Shammat, thus upsetting our alignments of power. Having surveyed the scene thoroughly, I sent back a report that in my view conditions on Rohanda’s planet were stable. I did not, however, leave the place at once, though this type of underground shelter never has suited me, no matter how well and flexibly the atmospheres are adjusted. It was not long before Klorathy arrived. He was again in different, though similar, physical housing. He greeted me with: “If I am not particularly welcome, this is at least a not unexpected visit, I see.”

And we achieved good fellowship on this note, though I was determined not to give way to his demands. Again there was a period when we simply sat together, establishing some sort of communion whose nature he understood and was adjusting, and which I at least was able to recognise.

The following exchanges will convey the nature of our many and prolonged conversations during this meeting on Rohanda’s moon.

“Sirius, you made undertakings, which you have gone back on!”

“I do not remember that we ever promised to engage ourselves with Rohanda in perpetuity!”

“Promises do not have to be verbal. By the fact that you involve yourself in a situation, becoming affected yourself as you affect it—that is in itself a promise.”

“You announce these laws to me with such authority!”

“Canopus did not invent the Laws. Have you not observed for yourself that if one disengages oneself from a process arbitrarily, then all kinds of connections and links and growths are broken—that yourself suffer for it?”

“Very well, then—yes, as you speak, it seems that I do remember seeing this myself. Very often when you say things of this kind, I might object or deny or refuse—and then later, on reflection, I see the truth of what you say. But I can only repeat that I do not decide Colonial policy.” And I asked, “Who is it above you, then, that makes laws?”

And he laughed at this. “Laws are not made—they are inherent in the nature of the Galaxy, of the Universe.”

“You are saying that we have to learn how to observe these laws in operation?”

“Yes, Sirius, yes, yes.”

“You are a great one for lost causes, I think!” And he smiled wryly. “How long have you spent with me? How many long ages of effort? And suppose that at last I do begin to see for myself something of what you mean. But I am one small individual in a vast Empire. Do you know that I am already known as a bit of a misfit, eccentric, someone who often has to be tolerated? I have been threatened with all kinds of mental re-processing—yes, of course you do know. And you are not likely to regard as important the fate of one…” I had been going to say “individual” but could not since I had been overtaken with the falseness of what I had said. “All right, then… but suppose you have changed me, suppose you have given me some of your nature—what do you expect of the Sirian Empire?” As I spoke, I was thinking that in fact I had caused the controversy over the misuse of animals, then at its height… and this thought, as it were, stunned my mind and… I came to myself later, not knowing how long, for I had been somewhere deep within myself, in thought.

And again: “Why is it that you want my help? You, the all-powerful Canopus!”

“We are spread very thin at this time in Rohanda.”

“Because it is now policy that service on Rohanda is voluntary and there are not enough volunteers?”

“There are volunteers, but the turnover is high. It is hard to maintain our links with Shikasta. Very hard. And getting harder with every millennium.”

“You want me to go back and try to persuade Sirius to take over responsibility for the Southern Continents again?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Although our rule is so much less effective than yours? Although we, Sirius, cannot give to a situation what you can give?”

He said gently, with a diffidence that was rooted in his nature, and that I have seen seldom in my career: “If you will consent to act with us, so that we can influence through you, then perhaps things can at least be ameliorated. Prevented from getting worse.”

“Why, why why? What is the purpose of your concern?”

“Sometimes we have to take things on trust!”

“Are you taking things on trust?”

“Do you imagine that it could be otherwise? Sirius, this Galaxy is vast, is infinitely various, is always changing, is beyond what can you can see of it, in whatever little corner is our home.”

“To hear you call Canopus a little corner is—not to understand. Can it possibly be that just as I watch you, Canopus, while I strive and strive to understand—because I have to admit this, though of course you know it already!—is it possible that just as this is my relation to you, then so is your relation to—to…” and my mind faded out, into its depths.

And again: “You have never told me why! Do you really have no inkling at all of why such care should go into these… these…”

“These murderous half-apes?”

“Or worse.” And I could feel how my mouth was twisted with distaste and dislike…

And he, looking embarrassed, was not looking at me, but away.

“Oh, very well, very well, then! But you cannot possibly be saying, Canopus, that to an outside view, an objective view, yours, Canopus, the inhabitants of Sirius, or some of us, the lower kinds of our Empire, strike you as repulsively as Rohandans strike me?” And, as he did not reply, I cried out: “That cannot be! You do not take into account the efforts that have gone into our Empire. How we have striven and tried and even when we have failed, have tried again! You do not seem to notice the excellence of our Colonial Service, the concern we show for the good of all, or how individual officials sacrifice themselves for their charges! If we made mistakes—and of course we have—we have always tried to right them. Do you not give us any credit for the long periods of prosperity under our rule, least on some planets or for a time? Yes, I know it seems as if there is something deeply rooted in the very nature of things that must work for the overthrowing of everything that is, no matter whether it is good or bad, so that nothing we set up can be trusted to last, but is that the fault of those who try again to… to…”

“To what, Sirius?”

“We are not as bad,” I said stubbornly. “We are not.”

“As?”

“As them, the Rohandans. Or as Shammat.”

“Did I say you were?”

“But as you sat there and I was talking I had such a vision of us, of Sirius, of our greatness, and it seems to me suddenly that all it is—is a mirage. A shadow of greatness. And not very different from what I see when I… no, I am not going to equate us with Shammat. I can’t bear it. I cannot stand… what we are,” I concluded with difficulty.

“But it is not what you will be.”

“So you say, Canopus.”

“And now I want to show you something.” He indicated I should sit on a low seat near to him. I could not help hesitating. It is always risky, too close physical contact between those of different planets. Often enough, I have seen my own proximity badly affect others, even to death. It is one of the first things taught to us of the Colonial Service: “Never go near the inhabitants of another planet without being sure how your differing specifics may interact.” I had not been within touching distance of Klorathy before: had been careful not to be.

As I sat beside him, I felt the same strain, on the physical level, that I knew on the mental level, when I was endeavouring to follow him beyond my own natural limits. But he took my hand firmly and as he did so said, “Look at that wall, do not let your eyes close.” This I did, and saw on the wall, quite as clearly as one does ordinary vision—but as it were distanced and speeded up, so that what I was seeing was both exactly accurate, a true representation of actual events, and yet encapsulated, and simplified—a series of pictures, or visions, that drew me forward into them so that it was almost as if I was more a part of the events I watched than a spectator of them.

I was looking down at Rohanda, towards the east of the great central landmass, and rather to the north. This was not far from the area where I had met Nasar at the time of my visit to Koshi and where, before that, I had been tossed about the skies during the “events.” This region had been desert for millennia, then had become fertile again as the climate shifted, been deep desert where layers and layers of old cities lay covered, and was now a vast region of grassland. Looking down it was an ocean of grass, broken by mountains and hills where there were some trees. Great rivers crossed it, but it was a dry and harsh place, where a few nomads moved with their horses.

Around the areas of the great inland seas, and all over the plateaux of the southern part of the central landmass. and around the great mountains and on the eastern parts of the landmass, were many different cultures and social groupings infinitely complex and various and rich, and at every conceivable level of civilisation.

And as I watched, these little scattered groups of nomads multiplied, and covered all the vast plains, and there was a climatic change, and the grasses were replaced, here and there, by dust and drought, and the horsemen burst outward from their heartland to the east, and to the south and to the west and all the points between, and threatened the rich civilisations that bordered them—and then, loaded with booty, fell back and, because the winds were blowing differently and the grasses were covering their plains, stayed where they were bred. Besides, they were weakened by their conquests and, for a while, spoiled.

And again the civilisations on the edges of their enormous grassy homelands flourished and prospered and multiplied—and, as is the way (I was going to say of Rohanda) of our Galaxy, fell, and were overrun by local conquerors and remade themselves… and again the hordes on the grassy plains multiplied and covered them, seeming from the distance at which I was watching, or seemed to be watching, like swarms of insects that darkened everything… and again the winds blew dust instead of rain, and the horsemen massed themselves and then sped outwards east and south and west, and this time went further and threatened more, and despoiled more—and returned home, as before, carrying gold and jewels and garments and swords and shields and weapons of all kinds, and as the grasses grew up again covering all those vastnesses with their soft green or golden shine, they stayed home. But while these spoils of war amused them and even though they fought for them, they remained as they were, people of the horse.

They were very hardy, and brave, and they could live from their herds of horses and needed nothing else for months at a time, and their use of the horse for skill and cleverness has never been equalled, before or after. And the fame of these terrible peoples who could appear without warning at the edge of a valley full of rich farms, or on a city’s walls, covered all the central landmass so that even in the area that Canopus calls the Northwest fringes, which was at the very edge of the landmass, and at that time full of barbaric peoples who were so far from their great ancestors the Adalantalanders that these weren’t even a memory, were a savage fringe to the civilisations that lay to their south—even there, in black forests and swamps and in the misty isles of the extreme northwest, tales of the dreaded horsemen kept children awake when they should have been asleep, and even a rumour of their approach sent peoples running for cover.

Meanwhile, on that area that lies immediately to the east of the Southern Continent I, which had previously been forested and green and fertile, and since had become desert and semidesert, like so much of Rohanda, had arisen a religion, the third of those emanating from the region of the great inland seas, similar to one another, each succeeding one confirming its predecessor—though of course their exponents fought for dominance, claiming superiority. This third variation of the religion created marvellous rich and complex civilisations that tolerated—at least to an extent and as far as is possible for Rohandans—the previous variations and also all kinds of other sects and cults and idea-groupings. There was prosperity, the development of knowledge of cosmic matters, and a precariously maintained peace. I could not have enough of gazing at these pictures of this amazingly intricate and affluent culture. And then, as I watched, the nomad horsemen arose from their breeding places and overwhelmed everything I looked at, but everything, so that nothing was left but smoking cities, charred fields and mounds of the slaughtered. The horsemen chased after every fleeing thing, even domestic animals, and killed them. From the northern half of Southern Continent I to the far east fringes of the main landmass remained only a waste of ruins. I cried out, I came to myself sitting on the Rohandan moon by Klorathy, and I looked at him with passionate appeal and reproach.

“All!” I said to him, “Nothing left; is it possible that such an accomplishment can be wiped out, just like that?”

"Yes, indeed it is possible-and it nearly happened.”

“So what I saw was not the truth?”

“It is what will happen—unless…”

“Unless I help you?”

“I need your help. I keep telling you so. It is a strange fact, but everywhere in the Galaxy when the weaker look at the stronger and the more powerful, what they see is self-sufficiency, easy capacity, an effortless ability—very seldom something that is indeed stronger, but only if it receives support, a continuous and maintained regard of a certain kind, to enable this strength to function.”

I said nothing for a long time.

“Well,” I finally said, “I have a long leave due to me at home, and I shall take it now. It is without precedent—the way I propose to spend my leave! And as a matter of fact, how? What do you want specifically?”

“You shall be the ruler of a small realm, on the western slopes of the Great Mountains. And you shall confront the horsemen who will have overrun everything, leaving nothing behind but death—and who then stand at your gates ready to slay you and your people and lay your kingdom waste.”

“And Nasar?”

“He, and others, will be there.”

“Very well.” I sent the appropriate messages home and put myself into the hands of Klorathy.

To voluntarily submerge myself in that story of murder and destruction that I had watched to its last detail was not the easiest thing I have done. One moment I was poised still a spectator, with Klorathy, and the next it was as if I had been swallowed by the brilliancies and multitudinous detail of that mountainous kingdom where Queen Sha’zvin still ruled, waiting and watching the cruel horsemen came closer, destroying everything they found.

It was not without interest, learning this Canopean technique of occupying mind for a brief and exact purpose. The Queen, a vigorous and handsome woman in middle age, the widow of a much-loved husband who had been killed in her youth, fighting during an earlier campaign against the horsemen, was standing high at the windows of her palace, which overlooked the walls of her city, gazing down a narrow ravine where the horsemen would have to come. Her mind was alert, though anxious; and occupied with the surveillance of a thousand administrative details. To enter that mind was not to overthrow it, or to supplant its own intelligence—rather to remain a spectator, and rather to one side, in readiness for the moments of decision. And so, too, Klorathy was doing a hundred miles away, with the general, Ghonkez.

Queen Sha’zvin was not aware of my entrance into her being, except as an increase in her anxiety. It was an experience more powerful than I had expected. I did not lose my Sirian perspectives, the Sirian scope of time and space. But I was inside, too, this civilization’s view of itself as all there was of the known world—for on its edges were to the north, the threatening horsemen, to the northwest, very far away, dark forests full of barbarians whom these people scarcely accounted as human at all, believing them not much more than beasts—and from their point of view, accurately—while beyond what was known and understood, in the Southern Continent, were, again, barbarians useful for trade and as slaves. Nothing was known at all of the Isolated Northern Continent and the Isolated Southern Continent. The world as understood by this great and powerful Queen was, though it stretched from one end of the main landmass to the other, circumscribed indeed, and the stars that roofed it were understood only—and to limited extent—by their influences on their movements… on our movements… an odd, a startling, a disturbing, clash of focusses and perspectives encompassed me; and as for the historical aspect, this queen knew the story of her own civilisation and some legends, mostly accurate, of a “distant” past, which to me, and my mind, was virtually contemporary with her.

She was feeling, as she stood there—part of a scene drenched with sunlight and the colours of Rohanda—that death lay just ahead not only for her but for her people. Death had already ended so much of what she knew. This kingdom of hers lay among the passes and roads that controlled the territories to the south, to the east, and to the west. The horsemen had already devastated everything to the west. For hundreds of miles there was nothing but ruins and corpses and the stink of death. She looked over her kingdom that as yet was all richness and peace, and the wind brought to her nostrils the news of corruption and of spoiling. The horsemen were encircling her to the south—there, too, the principalities and the kingdoms lay smoking. To her east, high in the mountains still remained some small safe valleys—for how long? Beyond them, on the other side of the Great Mountains, the horsemen ravaged and plundered and killed. She had survived so long because of this position on a small plateau encompassed by rocky and precipitous mountains. The horsemen of the plains did not love high places and rocks and fastnesses where, looking down, their heads swam and dizzied. They had left her and her people to the last.

Her land maintained five hundred thousand people. It was, had been, a place of contentment and order and harmony. She had seen herself as one blessed by God—such were the words she used—since her rulership had experienced none of the misfortunes that she knew well enough came sooner or later to all kingdoms. Now she ruled three times that number. Men, women, children, fleeing from the horsemen, had begged for refuge. She had taken them all in. Where a household had had ten people, now it had thirty. The smallest hut and shelter was crammed with refugees from hundreds of miles of devastated country. There was little food. The wells were so low that water was limited to a few mouthfuls a day. Over this fair city of hers, all markets and buildings and lively streets, lay a silence. Often had she stood here, for the pleasure of watching her people—but now there was little movement, and no cries of buying and selling or greeting, no singing or laughter. Silence. They all, as she did, awaited death.

This scene I had noticed, as the sweep and scope of the terrible invasion had been shown to me by Klorathy, but now, there was a variation—a great hammering and clamour at the western gates of the city. The Queen turned to face, so she believed, the horsemen, looking to see them appear on the high walls. But they were not there. A messenger came running, breathless, pale.

“There are more refugees from the west—about ten thousand—they have made their way here and beg your aid.”

The Queen stood silent. She was thinking that now, in this decision she was going to make, she would pay for all her long years of pleasure in the equilibrium of her rule, where she had never had to make decision out of the pressures of a hard choice. She was about to say that she would not open her gates, because these ten thousand would drag her city into famine tomorrow instead of its possibly lasting another week, and it was her duty as custodian to… but I caused her to say, instead, “Admit the leader of these people. For the time being bar the gates to the others.”

“They are dying of thirst and hunger,” said the man who had brought the message.

“Take them enough food to keep them alive, no more.”

He ran off, and shortly entered a young man, who ordinarily would be handsome, strong, and full of vitality, but now was gaunt and faint with famine. He put out his hand to hold himself on the painted arch of the entrance, and at the sight of his condition, Queen Sha’zvin filled a cup of water and took it across to him, and held it to his lips. He took one swallow of the precious liquid, and looked her in the eyes and said: “We beg mercy, great Queen.”

I was saying to myself Nasar, Nasar, knowing it was he, though nothing in his appearance said so. And now I was in control of this Queen’s mind and her decisions: Sirius and Canopus commanded, and Canopus was racing towards us at the head of a myriad brutes ready to destroy everything they could see.

“Among us are savants, wise men and women, poets, geographers—those who have been saved from the devastation by Allah for purposes in the future. Take them in, and quickly, for it will not be long before the Mongols appear.”

The Queen said, smiling: “These precious ones will die almost as quickly inside our gates as they would outside them!” And I said, or made her say: “But bring them in. I will give the order.” She clapped her hands, called the order to an attendant, who ran off.

We three stood together in the silent city, in the high rooms of this delightful palace, the death-smelling breeze stirring the embroidered hangings, and clinging in an unseen miasma on the surfaces of pillars, the brilliant tile work of the ceilings.

“You will buy time,” said Nasar, “in this way. You will go out to the northern wall and stand there, alone, facing them as they ride up the ravine.”

“They have been slaughtering women all the way from China to the dark forests of the northwest and to the southern seas.”

“Ah, but we will be aided, just a little, for just long enough, in an illusion, great Queen.”

“It will have to be a strong one,” said she, smiling—and I, now, had retreated to the back of her mind. For the course of events I had seen projected by Klorathy was altered: I had seen nothing of this: what was happening because of our intervention.

Nasar, revived a little by the swallow of water, but still staggering as he went, descended the stairways of this lovely building, so soon to be ruins. and arrived in the open square below the palace as the people he had brought across the deserts of the west came in. They, too, could hardly stand. They were an army of ghosts and phantoms. And yet they were to live, a good many of them.

The Queen divested herself of her dagger, her ornaments, and, wrapping herself in a dark cloak, walked along the northern wall of her kingdom as the first horseman came chasing up the ravine.

Flights of arrows were already on their way to her when the leader shouted an order. These men who could shoot at full gallop as accurately as from the ground rested their bows on their horses’ necks. There was not room in the narrow ravine, dark between its rock edges, for more than a few hundred of them. They were gazing up to the sunlit walls of this famed city, where there stood a single figure, a woman, confronting them steadily and without moving at all.

As they looked, it seemed as if rays of light dazzled around her. Their ideas of deity did not include an illuminated female figure, and they were only temporarily stayed. They were riding steadily nearer, and higher, and soon, as the gates of the city swung back on a signal from the Queen, they saw the city itself, in its gardens and orchards and fantastic variety, a scene of plenty and deliciousness that had never failed to inflame these men—whose measures of worth were all related to the hardships and endurance of their symbiotic relationship with their herds—into a rage to destroy and afflict. Yet as they looked, every tree and flower seemed to dazzle with light that was like a million minute rainbows. The woman on the high wall, the gardens, the buildings, all shone and dazzled, and from the watching horsemen there rose a deep and anguished groan. Their leader shouted to them that they were faced with demons; and the massed horsemen in their close leather tunics and trousers and caps, emanating a smell of sweaty skins—their own and their beasts—sent up, too, the smell of fear as they jostled back down the pass again, in the shades of the evening.

Sending back fearful glances they saw high above them the red sandstone walls, and the woman there, motionless, surrounded by a dazzle of light.

They made a camp at the foot of the escarpment, and their cooking fires seemed to burn with otherworldly lights. But then their fear became anger, and, after that, derision. These were not cowards, these men. They could not remember ever staying their hands before. Besides, not all had seen the enchanted city in its halo of iridescence. Even those who had now doubted what they had seen. Their General Ghonkez maintained steadily—as his troops, who were not accustomed to subservience and blind obedience, but only to following orders whose sense they could understand, and who increasingly shouted criticisms at him—that they had done well to wait there through the night until the morning came and they could again ride up the pass and face the city in the plain light of day.

When these horsemen again jostled up the pass to the city, it in a mood of savage anger against their general. The gates of the city were still open. They rode inside the walls like avenging devils and found only what they had seen in a hundred other places—an intricate and rich comfortable web of streets and markets and gardens, which they felt they had to obliterate. No radiant mists of light surrounded what saw and they burned and destroyed as they rode. But there were very few living creatures. A dog sitting at the door of his empty house. Cats sunning themselves on sills in dwellings where humans had gone. An old man or an old woman who said they would stay behind, since their days had been lived through and it was enough. These the horsemen killed.

And when reached the reached the palace, they found Queen Sha’zvin standing alone in her rooms and they killed her. They then turned on their General Ghonkez and slew him, so that we two lay side by side, in our deaths, as the palace burned down around us.

Meanwhile, Nasar had led away long columns of people out of the eastern gates of the city. Not all had had time to leave and these were killed. And then, suddenly, and out of season, a blizzard descended, and the horsemen were stopped. They knew blizzards and cold from the terrible winters of their northern plains. But they understood nothing of the treacherous snowdrifts and the ice masses and the murderous winds of the mountains. They rode away down into the plains to wait until better weather, so that they could chase the refugees into their high fastnesses and kill them all. For they had sworn to leave no one alive in all the lands they raided. But the winter came and blocked the way. Thousands of the fleeing ones died of cold and deprivation but most did reach the high sheltered valleys. When spring came and the snows of the passes melted and the way was open for horsemen, they did not come. There were rumours of an enchantment and of dangers from demons. Their killing of their general had put a curse on them—so it was said. And they had heard that none of the refugees had survived their ordeals in the snow.

But among those who did survive were enough with the skills and knowledge of their destroyed civilisation to instruct others. Those who came to be instructed were the descendants of these same horsemen.

And that was how I, Ambien II , and Klorathy, and Nasar, together with others who have not been mentioned, took our roles in this drama. And this was not the only one. In other sequences of events, at that time of the cruel horsemen, did we three play our parts, altering enough of the pattern to save a few here, preserve a city there, and keep safe men and women equipped with the knowledge of the sciences of matching the ebbs and flows of the currents of life with invisible needs and imperatives. These were scientists. Real scientists, armoured by their subtle knowledge against all the wiles and machinations of Shammat.

Klorathy and I sat together in the Sirian moon station. I had just rescued him from slow death in prison. Nasar had made me captive to save me from being executed, and had secretly released me. I had been one of the raiding horsemen. Klorathy was a deposed judge. Nasar was a female slave from the heart of Southern Continent I, who had risen to be the manager of a large household belonging to an indolent and tyrannical princeling.

A monitor showed that above us on the moon’s surface it was night, and very cold. Rohanda was hidden from us, being between us and the sun.

Klorathy clapped his hands, and on to the blank wall came a map of Rohanda—the continents and oceans laid flat. Klorathy went to stand beside it. With his finger he outlined that part of the main landmass that had been afflicted by the horsemen. Holding me with his eyes he outlined it again—slowly. I knew he wanted me to understand: that all those centuries of invasion and destruction were being contained within the shape his finger had traced. And he expected me to make, too, comparisons with Sirius, our vast Empire.

“Very well,” I said.

“The horsemen have terrorised this part of Rohanda for centuries, and the fear of them is imprinted in the innermost nature of the peoples of this region. Yet soon they will have been absorbed into what remains of the peoples they conquered. And civilisations will rise and fall, rise and fall—until quite soon, a race will come into being—here.” And he ran his finger down the edge of the great landmass. “Here, in the Northwest fringes, in these islands, in this little space, a race is being formed even now. It will overrun the whole world, but all the world, not just the central part of it, as with the horsemen of the plains. This race will destroy everything. The creed of this white race will be: if it is there, it belongs to us. If I want it I must have it. If what I see is different from myself then it must be punished or wiped out. Anything that is not me is primitive and bad… and this creed they will teach to the whole of Shikasta.”

“All? The whole world?”

“Very nearly.”

“Shammat being their tutor?”

“Shammat being their nature. Do you want to see what will happen?” And he stretched out his hand to make a gesture that would summon the stream of pictures, the moving vision, that had showed me the wave after wave of the Mongol threat.

“No, no, no—or not yet.” And I covered my eyes.

He returned quietly to his seat near me.

“You want our help?”

“Yes. And you need our help.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know it.”

I could hear through the earthy walls of this shelter the grinding and shuddering of machinery: Shammat at work in a crater not far away.

“When I go back home now, I shall say only that I have chosen to spend my leave here. I shall not be questioned about this choice: but my reputation for eccentricity will be added to. I, Sirius, shall not be able to say one word to Sirius of what I have experienced with you…”

"Of the work you have done with Canopus…”

“Very well. Of the work we have done together. Because Sirius would not be able to understand one word of what I said. Only Canopus can understand me now.”

“You are lonely, Ambien!”

“Very.”

He nodded. “Please do what you can, Sirius.”

Before I left this moon, I instructed my Space Traveller to fly all over the sunlit side. The Shammat mining operations were evident everywhere. Their settlements were mostly underground, but in places were to be seen their observatories and laboratories. In the craters, some of them many R-miles across, their machinery laboured. It was ingenious, but none was unknown to me. Shammat the thief did not initiate; it sent spies into the territories of others, and copied what it saw.

A vast machine like a segmented worm whose segments could be fitted together in various ways was the kind they used most. One of these could be a mile or more long. Inside it were workplaces; temporary living places of labourers and technicians; and the extremities of a segment could be fitted with excavating devices. Some sucked in earth and sprayed it out again. One I hovered low over looked for all the world like the dragon of the Rohandan mythologies, with its spray of dirt emitted from its “mouth.” Others looked like starfish sprawling. They were a most ingenious type of machine. Flexible, so they could climb and clamber and balance; of any desired size, according to the number of segments fitted; very long, traversing difficult terrain and becoming bridges or tunnels as necessary; easily kept in repair, since an individual segment was so quickly replaced—these “crawlers” had been evolved us for use on inhospitable planets that were rich in minerals. But so adaptable and multifunctional had they proved that they were employed for purposes beyond mining.

As I sped away, I was escorted by a dozen of the wasplike Shammatan fighter craft. This was an act of impudence that in fact I welcomed. It would strengthen my hand in the efforts I was now about to make at home: I had to persuade our Colonial Service that our active presence on Rohanda was necessary to us.

As one will, I formulated in my mind all kinds of approaches to the problem, but soon understood that none was suitable: again and again, bringing to a situation or a person the framework of ideas, already formulated in my mind, these as it were fell apart, dissipated like a mist when the sun falls on it. I saw, then, that there was something wrong in my assessment of the situation. I even wondered if my mind had been affected by my excursions into the Rohandan reality; I half believed I had become more Canopean than Sirian. All kinds of doubts and weaknesses assailed me.

Meanwhile, my colleagues were referring to my “leave” on the Rohandan moon in a careful nonjudgemental way. I knew it was not possible for them to have any inkling as to what I had really been doing; and could not decide what it was they suspected that made them treat me like a—well, yes: I had to accept it: I was being handled in the way we use for those about to be summoned to a formal court of enquiry, or even arrested. Meanwhile discussions went forward for, again, my long interrupted work on our borders. I concluded at last that something was at work in the situation that I was severely misinterpreting.

Time was passing. I not raised the subject of Rohanda. Tempted to let the subject slide from me again, I made myself remember undertakings to Klorathy. At last, not knowing what else to do, I summoned a meeting of the Five.

The Five, of whom I am one, run the Colonial Service. This fact everybody in the Empire knows. That we implement policy made by our Legislature is known. That this policy is influenced by us is known. What is not understood is the extent to which we influence policy. I shall simply state here, without softening it, and as a fact, something that contradicts the Sirian view of itself; our view of ourselves. We Five run the Empire, govern everything, except for the details of the lives of our elite class. That does not concern us in the slightest! This elite of ours does as it pleases. Within limits. Our limits. I have already said that there has to be an elite: legislation will not prevent one coming into being, or do away with one when it has. And as little as we, the rulers of Sirius, are interested in the affairs of these darlings and charmers, so are they interested in what we do. There is a law that no formal framework of an organisation, or a society, can affect. Or not for long. It is that those who do the work are the real rulers of it, no matter how they are described.

We Five embody the governance of our Empire. That is what we are. And have been since the end of the war between ourselves and Canopus.

I took risk in summoning only the Five, and not the extended council of the planetary representatives. Whatever decisions the Five came to, would stand. If it were to be a meeting of the thirty, I would have right of appeal to the twenty-five who sit listening to the case we present, without taking part in the discussion, and who are available for precisely this purpose: to set aside our decisions for varying periods, according to their importance and severity, while we Five are instructed to re-consider.

The meeting took place as usual. Since the appearance of each one of us Five is familiar to every Sirian citizen from infancy, I shall say no more, beyond remarking that the extraordinary nature of the circumstances did make me conscious of the dramatic aspect; I found myself, as we took our seats, looking into the faces of these colleagues of mine, with whom I was, and am, so close, with whom I have worked through the millennia, who make up, with me, a whole, an organism, almost an organ of the Sirian body. And, feeling my closeness to them, I was at the same time anguished, being so distanced from them, so alien in part of myself, because of Canopus. I sat looking at one face after another, all so different since we come—by policy—from different planets, and wondering how it was possible that we could be so close, so one—and yet I could at the same time feel set apart from them.

The meetings of those who know each other as well as we do have no need of rules and order. Often enough we have sat silent together until agreement has been reached, and separated without a word being said.

I wondered, to begin with. if this was to be such an occasion. At last I addressed them: “You know that I want us to agree on a reversal of our policy towards Rohanda.”

Four faces said that they had expected me to take up the argument in a more developed way.