know.
What they would do, where they had gone, how they would be altered, these things were questions an Earthman would die to answer. Kleenahn was not human; in him and his race the fires of curiosity burned low, an intellectual warmth rather than a consuming flame. Aarne, too, despite his apparent impetuosity, was the same. Of all the races in the galaxy none could rival that of dead Earth in the driving need to know .
That terrible lust for knowledge had lifted them to the stars, had destroyed their own planet and left them resident guests on tolerant worlds. The same need dragged them half across the galaxy to a place discovered only five thousand years before, in a segment of space which could never have been visited since Creation.
Such a race could never forget. Individuals, perhaps, but the race never. And yet the race was judged by the individual. Why then did so many individuals lack pride? Why then did the race as a whole command such respect?
Kleenahn sighed and waited as he had waited so often before.
And, after a long while, the Pilgrims returned.
*
They came over the low horizon as if they marched to soundless bands beneath the flutter of invisible banners. They came with faces set with purpose and with shoulders stiffened with pride. They had left the ship a defeated rabble. They returned a victorious army.
“Incredible!” Aarne stared at them, then at the captain. “They aren’t the same people.”
“I told you to expect miracles.”
“But this!” The navigator shook his head. “I see it but I simply can’t believe it.”
“They have pride,” said Kleenahn. “They left without pride, they return with it.”
“Is that what their shrine does for them?”
“Perhaps.”
“A thing which gives them pride?” Aarne shook his head, bewildered. “Can such a thing be?”
Kleenahn gestured toward the Pilgrims.
“I see them,” said the navigator. “But how?”
Kleenahn flipped a switch. Mechanical ears on the hull aimed themselves at the marching Pilgrims. Voices trickled from the speakers like the rolling surge of long trapped waves.
“...so old ! That’s what got me. So old !”
“...ten million years at least and there’s no arguing about it, not with that deposit all over him. Can you beat that! Ten million years ago we...”
“...it shows who is the oldest. And did you see his eyes? Blue, just like mine. I wonder if, maybe, he and I could be...”
“...makes a man feel warm inside just thinking about it.”
“...and he thought that I wasn’t good enough for him ! Why, the Johnny-come-lately, if he only knew...”
“...keep it to ourselves though. You heard what the man said, just keep it to ourselves. No sense in causing a lot of bad feeling. They’ve been good to us in their way and we don’t want them to start feeling inferior, but...”
The voices died as if the Pilgrims had become aware of the mechanical ears listening to their excited words. The speakers rushed with a blur of meaningless sound. Kleenahn waited a moment then opened the circuit.
“Is it always like this?” Aarne had understood little. “Always.”
“Will it last?”
“It will last.” Kleenahn gestured toward the Pilgrims. “You may meet these people again and, when you do, they will not have altered. A little quieter, perhaps, but that will be all. They will stand as straight and stare as hard and, within themselves, they will carry something stronger than anything we know.”
“Pride?”
“More than that. Conviction, perhaps, I do not know.” Aarne looked at the Pilgrims through the port, wondering with the dull curiosity of his race, what it was they must have seen. He had up until now tended to feel a little sorry for the Earthmen, a little impatient and, sometimes, a little disgusted that they should be so devoid of racial pride. That had been on the journey out. The journey back, he knew, would be very different. The Pilgrims no longer regarded themselves as
What they would do, where they had gone, how they would be altered, these things were questions an Earthman would die to answer. Kleenahn was not human; in him and his race the fires of curiosity burned low, an intellectual warmth rather than a consuming flame. Aarne, too, despite his apparent impetuosity, was the same. Of all the races in the galaxy none could rival that of dead Earth in the driving need to know .
That terrible lust for knowledge had lifted them to the stars, had destroyed their own planet and left them resident guests on tolerant worlds. The same need dragged them half across the galaxy to a place discovered only five thousand years before, in a segment of space which could never have been visited since Creation.
Such a race could never forget. Individuals, perhaps, but the race never. And yet the race was judged by the individual. Why then did so many individuals lack pride? Why then did the race as a whole command such respect?
Kleenahn sighed and waited as he had waited so often before.
And, after a long while, the Pilgrims returned.
*
They came over the low horizon as if they marched to soundless bands beneath the flutter of invisible banners. They came with faces set with purpose and with shoulders stiffened with pride. They had left the ship a defeated rabble. They returned a victorious army.
“Incredible!” Aarne stared at them, then at the captain. “They aren’t the same people.”
“I told you to expect miracles.”
“But this!” The navigator shook his head. “I see it but I simply can’t believe it.”
“They have pride,” said Kleenahn. “They left without pride, they return with it.”
“Is that what their shrine does for them?”
“Perhaps.”
“A thing which gives them pride?” Aarne shook his head, bewildered. “Can such a thing be?”
Kleenahn gestured toward the Pilgrims.
“I see them,” said the navigator. “But how?”
Kleenahn flipped a switch. Mechanical ears on the hull aimed themselves at the marching Pilgrims. Voices trickled from the speakers like the rolling surge of long trapped waves.
“...so old ! That’s what got me. So old !”
“...ten million years at least and there’s no arguing about it, not with that deposit all over him. Can you beat that! Ten million years ago we...”
“...it shows who is the oldest. And did you see his eyes? Blue, just like mine. I wonder if, maybe, he and I could be...”
“...makes a man feel warm inside just thinking about it.”
“...and he thought that I wasn’t good enough for him ! Why, the Johnny-come-lately, if he only knew...”
“...keep it to ourselves though. You heard what the man said, just keep it to ourselves. No sense in causing a lot of bad feeling. They’ve been good to us in their way and we don’t want them to start feeling inferior, but...”
The voices died as if the Pilgrims had become aware of the mechanical ears listening to their excited words. The speakers rushed with a blur of meaningless sound. Kleenahn waited a moment then opened the circuit.
“Is it always like this?” Aarne had understood little. “Always.”
“Will it last?”
“It will last.” Kleenahn gestured toward the Pilgrims. “You may meet these people again and, when you do, they will not have altered. A little quieter, perhaps, but that will be all. They will stand as straight and stare as hard and, within themselves, they will carry something stronger than anything we know.”
“Pride?”
“More than that. Conviction, perhaps, I do not know.” Aarne looked at the Pilgrims through the port, wondering with the dull curiosity of his race, what it was they must have seen. He had up until now tended to feel a little sorry for the Earthmen, a little impatient and, sometimes, a little disgusted that they should be so devoid of racial pride. That had been on the journey out. The journey back, he knew, would be very different. The Pilgrims no longer regarded themselves as
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