William R. Forstchen Into the Sea of Stars

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that."
"But how do you know about Earth? Did your eldersteach you or "
"Come now," she admonished, and lightly touched himon the arm, a move that
Shelley could not fail to notice."We do not understand everything, but some of
the teach-ing computers and their programs still work. When we'reyoung we use
them."
"If you can do that, then why do you?..."
"You mean, live like primitives. Why not? Maybe youshould ask yourself that."
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"Yes, friend," another woman interjected, "why notlive like primitives?"
"But how do you keep your system running?"
"Most of it was automated by our forefathers. All wehave to do is routine
maintenance, which is simple."
"Which frees us of the slavery of complexity, so thatwe can return to
simplicity and light," another one said,and a chorus of voices murmured in the
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affirmative. Ianlooked up and noticed that several hundred people hadgathered
around the roaring fire.
"They're just getting started," Shelley whispered.
"When we foreswear complexity, then all is balanced," a young man said from
the back of the crowd.
"Then andonly then is true simplicity obtained."
This is crazy, Ian thought, what are we getting into,first-year philosophy?
"But the order of your world is built on complexity," Ian tried cautiously.
"But we have purified it back to the basics," anotherreplied.
"However, you live in one of the most complex ma-chines ever designed by man.
Once you accept that firststep toward complexity, there is no going back."
"But we have," several replied eagerly.
"As I said," Shelley whispered, "don't even try."
"But this is a machine you live in, not Eden," Ianreplied, "and a machine
requires technical skills. Just sup-pose something really serious should go
wrong."
"Nothing has, and nothing will," the redhead replied."We have everything under
control, as long as we followthe simplicity of collective meditation and
consensus."
"Tell me more about the dissenters," Shelley asked,wishing to extract Ian from
a potentially dangerous de-bate. Ian, however, shot her a quick look of
reproach.These people obviously got excited, a little too excited,about the
dissenters. He still wasn't sure if he and Shelleywere guests or prisoners,
and until he knew more, hewanted to keep them smiling.
"They are the ones who fell," the gray-bearded elderreplied.
"How so?" Shelley continued.
"Can't you yourself see their folly?"
Oh, no, Ian thought, step carefully.
"Look out! Incoming!"
A wild explosion of confusion erupted. The peoplescattered in every direction,
screaming in terror. For a
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second Ian thought Shelley had triggered something and they were now going to
be ripped apart. Then he noticedthe colonists were all running away, and he
wondered ifhe and Shelley had broken some taboo, which causedthem to flee.
A roaring, whishing noise thundered overhead.
"What the hell!" Ian felt something brush past hisshoulder and for an instant
thought Shelley was pressing up against him.
"Ian?"
"Yeah." He turned to look at her. But his view wasnow blocked. A huge arrow,
nearly a dozen feet in lengthand as thick around as his thigh, was buried in
the groundbetween them. The pressure on his shoulder came fromthe
still-quivering bolt.
The locals looked at him in open-mouthed amazement. He tried a wan smile of
bravado, wishing for a quick line.Ian looked back at the arrow, its heavy
point buried onlyinches away from his foot. His eyes rolled up and hefainted
dead away.
He heard a roaring sound, as if he were trapped in awaterfall. The shouting
was all around him, and the in-dividual voices soon came clear.
"Those sons of bitches!"
There was a wild frenzy of activity. Shelley had draggedhim off to one side of
the circle.
"Another incoming!"
The crowd scattered and this time he noticed that most of them disappeared
into the vine-covered buildings thatsurrounded the clearing. He saw the bolt
streaking in,following a strange curving trajectory.
The arrow slammedagainst the side of a building and shattered.
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"Bastards, ass-kissing Dissenters." The crowd pouredout of the buildings,
chanting.
"Bastards, bastards, bastards." The air around them pulsed with a rippling
energy. From out of the shadowsan object out of ancient history was dragged by
an en-thusiast mob.
"Double torsion ballista," Ian murmured. The urge ofthe historian was too
much. He crawled out from under the protection of the building and went over
and joined the shouting mob.
He walked up close to the machine. It was the realthing, and he felt a
rippling thrill. The twin bundles of rope that powered it were made of human
hair, while thebowstring appeared to be made of steel cable.
Half adozen young women carried up a ten-foot arrow and thecrowd roared with
pleasure at the sight.
The machine was cocked by hand-powered windlassesthen tilted back so that it
pointed halfway up to vertical.
What the hell? Ian stepped back. Why were they shoot-ing an arrow straight up? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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