Beyond The Tomorrow Mountains by Sylvia Engdahl

thought back to the last time he’d passed through the corridor, recalling how clear-cut the Founders’ decision had seemed to him then. Prone though he’d always been to question, he had not questioned their conviction that the sealing of the City would result in discovery of a way to change the world. He had known too little of science to guess that the essential research might fail. He’d acknowledged the Prophecy’s truth only because he’d believed that it was true, literally, despite its symbolic form—nothing could have induced him to recant on any other basis. Nothing else could have justified his acceptance of a rigid caste system under which most people were deprived both of technology and of all but the most rudimentary education.
    When, in recanting, Noren had endorsed that system, he had done so in the belief that synthesization of metal was only a matter of time. He had assumed that if the Scholars went on doing their job, there could be no doubt about cities and machines someday becoming available to everyone. Once he’d begun to study, however, he had found that research didn’t work that way. If scientists didn’t know how to do something, then they had no real proof that it could ever be done. And so far the Scholars hadn’t learned how to achieve nuclear fusion of heavy elements. Their progress over the years had consisted mainly of eliminating once-promising possibilities. To be sure, the current experimentation offered hope of another possibility; but hope was not the same as assurance. Would he have proclaimed the Prophecy to be “true in its entirety” if he had realized that? Noren wondered. Would he have freely renounced his opposition to the Scholars’ authority as “false, misconceived and wholly pernicious?”
    Those statements echoed in Noren’s mind as he and Stefred continued along the corridor leading toward the platform where he had made them. The memory was all the more vivid because Stefred was robed; as a known Scholar, he could not show himself to Talyra—or in fact to any villager or Outer City Technician—without covering his ordinary clothes. And even so, such face-to-face discussions were few. Routine business was carried on by radiophone, for only thus could the air of mystery surrounding the Scholars be preserved.
    The small windowless room they entered contained a desk and several chairs, all made of the white plastic material with which the starships had been outfitted. Most City furnishings were similar and had been in continuous use throughout the generations since the Founding. That would have been thought strange on the Six Worlds, Noren had been told; there, people had recycled things long before they wore out simply for the sake of variety. Variety was one of the luxuries the City could not afford. Even the homes of the villagers, who made their own furniture from softstone, wicker and the hides of work-beasts, were less monotonous. For that reason Outer City Technicians sometimes bought village-made furniture although it was relatively uncomfortable; their quarters were more spacious than those of Inner City people, and unlike the Scholars—who, as stewards, were not permitted to own anything—they had money.
    Waiting, Noren turned his mind to Talyra, trying to quell the hope that had risen within him. Even if she wanted to join him, she might not measure up. She was so very devout, so unwilling to question the superiority of the Technician caste, that she could easily give a wrong impression. Stefred would not accept anyone who believed that being a Technician meant having the right to look down on the villagers.
    She is braver than you realize , Stefred had said. She must be, Noren reflected, if she had requested the audience. Any villager would feel terror at personal contact with the awesome High Priests who, under ordinary circumstances, were seen only at a distance. And Talyra had additional cause to be afraid. Supposing them omniscient, she would