craft began to move over the sea, heading for the African continent and Narvo’s house on Lake Tanganyika.
He joined the cavalcade, a feeling of intense desperation growing in him as he remembered the aching desolation of space and contemplated another miserable voyage—but a voyage that might mean the culmination of his ambition.
six Two Kinds of Salvation
F rom the hallbelow came the noise of the new party. Clovis lay in the dark, stretched out on his bed, his hands behind his head. He was half-asleep, half-dreaming. Two principal emotions were at work within him, conflicting—waves of excitement and waves of sadness.
He tried to forget the sense of loss, the increasing self-hatred, the uselessness of his ambitions, but he could not rid himself entirely of these feelings. The habit of service to his fellows was still strong, yet it had to be denied if he was to achieve what he wanted. Perhaps then he could resume his old life?
Yet he knew instinctively that he might never resume it, for in finding the thing he sought, he would have to sacrifice his earlier virtues.
He liked his old self better, he admitted, but his new self would accomplish more.
When at length Fastina sought him out, he could see that she was slightly drunk. Now that he had made up his mind what he would do, he could afford to allow his affection for her to manifest itself. He smiled at her as she entered the room.
She lay down beside him, laughing softly, stroking his hair.
“Hello, Clovis.”
He smiled and held her hand.
Her mood changed and she said quietly: “You seem worried. Was it something you heard at Yulof’s—about Take?”
“No.” He held her hand tightly. It wasn’t too late. He could change his mind—forget about everything, settle here with her, return to his earlier life—useful work—good friends—a sense of achievement—contentment—complacency. Yes, he had been complacent, they all had. It had taken this knowledge of impending annihilation to rid them of it. This scheme of Narvo’s, though, now he considered it—a fine idea. And the aliens —had they some means of helping them—was there a way? No—the forces involved were far too great. The final cataclysm was inevitable. Why should they think they could escape? When an individual was killed he was amazed at his bad luck—and the same would happen to the race. Really monumental bad luck...
Yet he believed that it wasn’t the same. A race had immortality, an individual had not, except through the race. But if an individual possessed immortality, then the race continued in him.
He had loved his fellows so much, loved Earth, loved its arts and its pleasures. He had squeezed life of every experience possible, and yet he had preserved his integrity, his humanity. Perhaps he should be content to die ? But he wasn’t...
He was stirring now, rolling over to kiss Fastina, embracing her in the same savage, hungry way that he embraced his new personality. 1 must stay selfish, he thought —1 must stay this way or lose it all.. .
When he stood up naked from the bed, he heard the party in progress below. He felt relaxed and in good humour, felt a return of his old stoicism, his self-control. She swung her legs off the bed and grinned at him, stretching.
“Shall we go down in a moment?” he said.
“If you like.”
He crossed into the shower-room, turning the dial and feeling the sting of the warm, chemical-laced water as it washed down his lean body. From there he walked into the drying chamber and let the heated air dry him. Then he went back into his room and pulled a fresh toga over his head. He had selected a white one, with red edging.
“That suits you better than those dark clothes you normally wear,” she said, looking at him critically as he combed his hair. He sat down and pulled on his soft, high-heeled boots as she sauntered towards the shower-room.
He paused, noticing something—silence in the hall below. Then one voice speaking. He went
He joined the cavalcade, a feeling of intense desperation growing in him as he remembered the aching desolation of space and contemplated another miserable voyage—but a voyage that might mean the culmination of his ambition.
six Two Kinds of Salvation
F rom the hallbelow came the noise of the new party. Clovis lay in the dark, stretched out on his bed, his hands behind his head. He was half-asleep, half-dreaming. Two principal emotions were at work within him, conflicting—waves of excitement and waves of sadness.
He tried to forget the sense of loss, the increasing self-hatred, the uselessness of his ambitions, but he could not rid himself entirely of these feelings. The habit of service to his fellows was still strong, yet it had to be denied if he was to achieve what he wanted. Perhaps then he could resume his old life?
Yet he knew instinctively that he might never resume it, for in finding the thing he sought, he would have to sacrifice his earlier virtues.
He liked his old self better, he admitted, but his new self would accomplish more.
When at length Fastina sought him out, he could see that she was slightly drunk. Now that he had made up his mind what he would do, he could afford to allow his affection for her to manifest itself. He smiled at her as she entered the room.
She lay down beside him, laughing softly, stroking his hair.
“Hello, Clovis.”
He smiled and held her hand.
Her mood changed and she said quietly: “You seem worried. Was it something you heard at Yulof’s—about Take?”
“No.” He held her hand tightly. It wasn’t too late. He could change his mind—forget about everything, settle here with her, return to his earlier life—useful work—good friends—a sense of achievement—contentment—complacency. Yes, he had been complacent, they all had. It had taken this knowledge of impending annihilation to rid them of it. This scheme of Narvo’s, though, now he considered it—a fine idea. And the aliens —had they some means of helping them—was there a way? No—the forces involved were far too great. The final cataclysm was inevitable. Why should they think they could escape? When an individual was killed he was amazed at his bad luck—and the same would happen to the race. Really monumental bad luck...
Yet he believed that it wasn’t the same. A race had immortality, an individual had not, except through the race. But if an individual possessed immortality, then the race continued in him.
He had loved his fellows so much, loved Earth, loved its arts and its pleasures. He had squeezed life of every experience possible, and yet he had preserved his integrity, his humanity. Perhaps he should be content to die ? But he wasn’t...
He was stirring now, rolling over to kiss Fastina, embracing her in the same savage, hungry way that he embraced his new personality. 1 must stay selfish, he thought —1 must stay this way or lose it all.. .
When he stood up naked from the bed, he heard the party in progress below. He felt relaxed and in good humour, felt a return of his old stoicism, his self-control. She swung her legs off the bed and grinned at him, stretching.
“Shall we go down in a moment?” he said.
“If you like.”
He crossed into the shower-room, turning the dial and feeling the sting of the warm, chemical-laced water as it washed down his lean body. From there he walked into the drying chamber and let the heated air dry him. Then he went back into his room and pulled a fresh toga over his head. He had selected a white one, with red edging.
“That suits you better than those dark clothes you normally wear,” she said, looking at him critically as he combed his hair. He sat down and pulled on his soft, high-heeled boots as she sauntered towards the shower-room.
He paused, noticing something—silence in the hall below. Then one voice speaking. He went
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