The City of the Sun (7 page)

“The suits are for protection,” said Nathan calmly. Because we’d already been seen without them he couldn’t claim that it was routine, and therefore he had to steer a course much closer to the truth than he would have liked. “We knew that this world had a rich complement of parasitic organisms,” he went on, “and when we saw the growth on the skin of the men who came to meet us we feared that it might be one such. We felt it better to be safe until we had talked to you and you had explained it to us.”

At least the truth constituted a kind of challenge. The way was clear for the Ego to offer us some kind of explanation.

The man in black didn’t hesitate. “The word ‘parasite’ is wrong,” he said. “You do not understand. I cannot attempt to explain at this time. How many people are there aboard your ship?”

“Seven in all,” replied Nathan.

“And what, precisely, do you intend to do here?”

“We would like to stay for several months,” said Nathan. “Perhaps a year. We would like to examine the colony in detail, in order to prepare a full report. We would like to study its history and its geography, its sociology and its ecology. We would like to examine the people and the land. And, as I have said, we would like to help you in dealing with any difficulties you have encountered in establishing yourselves.”

He didn’t deny that there were any difficulties. That was odd. Everywhere we went the people denied they had problems—or declared that they didn’t want our help in dealing with them. Nobody was ever glad to see us, and the situation suggested that this man was even less pleased than the others. He was treating us with the utmost caution. But he didn’t say right out that Arcadia needed no help and that we might as well go right now. He was too cautious even for that.

“It may be good that you should learn about us,” he said. “But that is for the Self to decide. What do you think of our city?”

Nathan rode the switchback conversation with ease. Abrupt changes of direction never bothered him.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Why did you take as your model Campanella’s description of the City of the Sun?”

“The design was appropriate.”

“And are you, then, the metaphysicus—an autocratic high priest?” It was a sharp question. Nathan had apparently decided that what went for the opposition should go for him too.

“Our Nation needs no autocrat,” said the man in black, “and God needs no priests.” The second sentence, at least, sounded significant.

“So it is just the city walls that echo Campanella,” said Nathan. “Not your social philosophy. But why the decorations? Surely this is a somewhat...flamboyant...gesture?”

The Ego sipped patiently at his tea. “The walls communicate,” he said. “They contain the knowledge of the Nation. They represent the Nation.”

“Chipped stones are not knowledge. They can do no more than symbolize it.”

“That is all that is necessary.”

I had the feeling that we weren’t winning the debate. I had a thousand questions, but I knew how difficult they were to ask. Even with the barrier of scrupulous politeness gone there was no way I was going to find out what I needed to know about the black parasite in conversation.

“What form of government do you have?” asked Nathan. “What is the Self that makes your decisions?”

“It is our collective will,” he replied.

“But how do you establish the collective will? By voting? How are decisions actually taken?”

“If you are allowed to remain on this world,” replied the Ego, with perfect equanimity, “you will come to understand. And the Self, in its turn, will come to understand you. I do not think that understanding is possible at this time. Are you frightened by what you see in the city?”

It was a very delicate way of putting the issue. Not:
are you frightened by the black markings on our bodies? but: are you frightened by what you see in the city?

“We are disposed to caution,” said Nathan, carefully. “We do not yet understand, and thus we are wary. But we are not afraid.”

“The people seem strange to you?”

“Of course. But not everything that is strange is implicitly fearful. We have visited several alien worlds. We have seen many things which were strange when we first encountered them.”

The Ego rose quickly to his feet then. He had obviously mastered the art of rising from a low cushion. We hadn’t, and we had to use our hands to push ourselves up in a somewhat ungainly fashion.

“You must wait in another room now,” he said. “We will give you beds. You may sleep while the Self decides whether you will be allowed to stay here. In the morning, you will hear the decision.”

“Thank you,” said Nathan, with a slight bow. The Ego walked to the door, moving easily and lightly. We followed him. The same man that had brought us was waiting outside, in the corridor, and he led us a few small steps to another door, and let us into one of the rooms at the outer edge of the building. Then he closed the door behind us. I almost expected to hear the sound of a key or a bolt, but the door wasn’t equipped for locking.

We heard him move away, and then we were alone.

“Well,” said Nathan, “what the hell do you make of this?”

How could I argue? She seemed certain, and she was laying it on the line quite clearly. There seemed to be only one possible interpretation that could be put on the evidence we had.

“It looks bad,” I agreed. “What’s our next move?”

“It isn’t our move at all,” said Nathan, dourly. “It’s theirs. All the moves are theirs, for the present.”

“Do you think they’ll tell us to get off their world and never to darken their doorstep again?” asked Mariel.

“I’ve a feeling,” he said, “that there may be worse prospects than that.”

“Here we are in the parlor,” I said, acidly, “as the fly said nervously to the spider. But they’re still thinking about it. They could have grabbed us at any time.”

“They’re testing us out,” said Nathan. “They knew how many of us were coming...so they must have known about the suits. But they prepare tea and dry fruit, to see if politeness is going to make us open up. That was no interrogation we went through...he could have asked a thousand detailed questions if he’d wanted to. The fact that he didn’t can only mean one thing.”

“He didn’t expect to get truthful answers,” I supplied.

“They’re afraid of us,” said Nathan. “They’re afraid of the impression that they might have made. They don’t want us to go away because they aren’t sure they can
afford
to let us get away. On the other hand, do they dare let us stay...if staying means that we get a chance to study this thing and perhaps find a way of destroying it. The thing they
really
want to do is capture the ship...make sure it never leaves. But they know full well that that won’t be easy. The purpose of this interview was for the so-called Ego—or whatever’s pulling his strings—to find out just how suspicious we are. The simple fact that we have the suits on must have told him more than enough. Our heads are right between the alligator’s jaws.”

The metaphor was lurid, but I had to admit that it summed up the way I was feeling, too. In the meantime, though, I thought there was still room for caution.

“All this is still speculation,” I said. “There’s one hell of a lot we don’t understand. If the people here are just helpless instruments of the parasite, why the city? Why the walls? And don’t forget that we’re dreaming up quite some story for this parasite. A hundred years ago it was a simple species parasitizing herbivores of various kinds. Now, we reckon, it’s adapted to human hosts, its cells have not only learned to mimic human nervous tissue but to aggregate that tissue in thinking brains and these thinking brains have taken over the thinking brains of their hosts. That’s one hell of a story.... It’s bordering on the incredible.”

“As a story,” countered Nathan, “it’s impossible. But it’s not a story. It’s what we see. Even without Mariel’s evidence we have a lot to go on. The Ego shows a distinct hostility toward the idea of genetic engineering—sure, it may be some kind of ecological morality, but it looks to me like straightforward anxiety. The Ego makes no decisions of his own—they have to be referred back to something called the Self. Even the nomenclature is significant—the
ego
is only a part of the psyche, the
self
is the whole. As if his mind existed in parallel with another.”

“In parallel,” I interrupted, “doesn’t necessarily mean under control. Maybe the parasite growth has developed its own brain, its own consciousness.... But even that doesn’t say that one has to dominate the other. It could be a kind of partnership—a symbiosis. This parasite is considerate, remember.... It goes to extremes to avoid impairing the efficiency of its hosts.”

“But there’s one other thing he said,” Nathan went on. “Maybe the most revealing thing of all. He said:
Our Nation needs no autocrat, and God needs no priests.
Now why doesn’t the Nation need an autocrat or God any priests? Maybe because the Nation is ruled from outside and its God is sitting on the back of every single man, woman and child. And I notice that the solicitude of the parasite for its hosts takes some rather strange forms—like the de-sexing of the warrior caste and the civil service, for instance.”

“He said other things too,” I reminded Nathan. “He said that the Self was a collective will...maybe the collective will of human mind and passenger mind.”

“Would you bet your life on that? Or your mind?”

“They’re already on the table,” I pointed out. “Those are the stakes, whether we like it or not.”

The argument wasn’t fierce—we were trying to clarify things, not tear out one another’s throats. But the room acquired a tense atmosphere anyhow. We were all very much on edge. All frightened, despite what Nathan had told our gracious host.

I opened the door to the balcony and stepped out. I was hoping to be able to look down and see the whole city spread before me, radiating out on all sides. But the innermost wall was too high. All I could see were the shadowed gardens and a few fugitive lights in the buildings within that final wall. The faint sound of the city still told me nothing.

Here we are, I thought, perched on top of an anthill. Strangers in the nest. Prisoners of the warrior caste. The other castes must be different categories of workers. Differentiated by the color of their clothing. But what kind of workers? Slaves? Automata? How many are neutered? After all, it makes sense...just as it makes sense in the anthill. A few drones can supply all the necessary sperm to keep society growing. Of course, you can’t have a human queen who lays a thousand eggs a time, so there’d have to be a fairly considerable breeding stock—either a particular caste of women, or all women in a particular age group. Neat, efficient.... Utopian.

A door opened down below, and half a dozen people came out onto the path, and went away in the direction of the gate. They did so silently, with common accord. By the light that spilled out of the door while it was open I saw that they were dressed like the dark man who’d been our guide, in silvery fancy cloth. Others of his kind—perhaps he was with them. Servants, as he’d styled them.

I wondered where they were going. Into the city to conduct a plebiscite, perhaps.

Nathan came out to join me, and saw them walking away into the trees.