Highway of Eternity (33 page)

“That is quite enough,” said Boone. “You've convinced us.” He turned to Horseface and asked, “Will the net hold all of us?”

“Indeed,” said Horseface. “The net will take us.”

“What will we do with the traveler?” Enid asked.

“It will be safe here,” Horseface told her. “The net is far better.”

“But where are we going?” asked Corcoran. “That Galactic Center sounded attractive, if anyone knows how to reach it.”

We go to the planet of the Rainbow People, said The Hat. The Infinites ask for justice and justice they will find there.

“I don't give a damn what the Infinites want,” Boone said. “We need some place where we can get some answers. There have been too many daft places and mad happenings. This road, Jay's tree …”

You are confused? asked The Hat.

“Considerably.”

Then we go to the Rainbow People, said The Hat. They can supply answers.

“Very well,” Horseface growled. “We'll go to the Rainbow People. So let us load the net with what we take and climb aboard.”

Something bumped against Boone's leg. He looked down at Wolf.

“You, too,” he said. “We'll take you along, but stick close to me. This one could be creepy.”

13

Horace

The robot swung the axe, severing the rope that held the ballista cup in place. The great arm, responding to unleashed tension, swung up swiftly, hurling the boulder that lay in the cup against the wall. Against the wall, but not flying over it. At the impact of the boulder, the wall rang like the clanging of a mighty bell. The boulder came tumbling down the slope from which the wall rose. Robots scattered, getting out of the way of the rolling stone, which barely missed the ballista before coming to a halt.

Two primitive steam engines, earlier used to haul the ballista into place, stood a little distance off, panting under their head of steam.

Conrad plodded slowly to where Horace stood.

“It's no use,” the robot said. “We aren't going to be able to heave a stone over that wall. It's the configuration of the wall that defeats us. It flares up and out at the top and we are forced to position the machine too far back to give us the arc we need. And besides, to tell you the honest truth, which I have told you many times before, I fail to grasp the point of it.”

“The point,” said Horace, “is that somehow we're going to attract the attention of whoever is living in the city. They can't just sit there and ignore us, as they have been doing all this time. They have to be made to recognize that we are here and come out to talk with us.”

“I'm not quite sure why you are so set on that,” Conrad told him. “If I were you, I'd be inclined to be better satisfied if they continued to pay no attention to us. We don't know who or what they are. Once we attract their attention, if we do, we may be sorry that we did.”

Horace glowered up at the wall. It was a monstrous structure, looming high into the sky, a milky white barrier that ran for miles all around the ridge top, closing in the city.

Emma said, a little piteously, “Why don't we let it be, Horace? You have become obsessed with it. You spend all your time scheming at how you are going to get at those people.”

“They know we're here,” Horace fumed. “They send out flyers every now and then to look us over, then go back. We are knocking at their door and we get no answer. That's not right, I tell you. That simply isn't right. This is the first time in my life I have been ignored and I won't stand for it.”

“I don't know what else we can do,” said Conrad. “We have modified the boulder-thrower and we still can't pitch anything over the wall.”

“If we did,” said Horace, “they'd pay us some attention. Toss a few boulders over that wall and they'd pay attention to us.”

“Why don't you come over to the tent,” suggested Emma. “Sit down for a while. Eat something, maybe. You haven't eaten for hours. You must be hungry.”

Horace paid her no attention. He kept staring at the white, defiant wall.

“We've tried everything,” he said. “We circled the entire wall, looking for doors or gates. We built fires and sent up smoke signals. Someone would have seen them. They ignored the signals. We tried to climb the wall and it can't be climbed. It's smooth. There is no place a man can get hold of it. It isn't stone and it isn't metal. It looks more like a ceramic. But who can make a ceramic that can withstand a thrown boulder?”

“Whoever is in there can,” said Conrad. “Don't ask me how they do it.”

“We talked about a tower that would reach the top of the wall,” said Horace, with a question in his voice.

“It wouldn't work,” said Conrad. “It would have to be high. We have trees from which we can make timber, but not the kind of timber to build the tower you have in mind. Also, there is the question of anchoring its base securely.”

“We also talked about a ramp. I suppose that's out of the question, also.”

“There is no way we could move enough dirt to build that sort of ramp.”

“I suppose so,” said Horace. “If we only had a flier.”

“Look,” said Conrad, “my robots and I have done the best we can. We built steam engines, and they are working well. We can build almost anything that runs on the ground, but air travel is beyond our skills. We don't know the theory; we couldn't machine the parts. And the energy? You couldn't power a flier with wood and coal.” He hesitated for a moment. “I don't know how long we can keep the ballista working. We're running out of rope. Every time we use it, we waste ten feet of rope.”

“You can splice rope.”

“That we have done,” said Conrad. “But each time you splice it, you lose a few feet of it.”

“We could make more rope.”

“We can try. The material we've tried has not worked out well.”

“You see,” said Emma. “It isn't any use. The wall has got you stopped.”

“No, it hasn't!” Horace raged. “I'll find a way to beat it. I'll force the people in that city to pay me some attention.”

A robot standing nearby said, “There is something coming.”

When they turned around to look, they saw that a flier from the city was approaching for a landing.

Horace leaped into the air, waving his arms in triumph.

“Finally,” he yelled. “Finally someone is coming out to talk. That is all we ever wanted. Just someone to come out and talk.”

The flier landed and the passenger was getting out of it—a human, not some kind of crummy alien. There was an alien in it, but it stayed in the flier. More than likely, Horace told himself, the alien was the aviator.

Emma started forward uncertainly, then stopped and stared, as if not believing what she saw. Then she moved again, running toward the man who had climbed out of the flier.

“It's Timothy,” muttered Horace, talking to himself. “Wouldn't you know it would be Timothy?”

Then he was hurrying forward, with Conrad trailing along behind him.

“So it's you,” said Horace, sourly, coming up to Timothy. “What are you doing here? We thought we'd seen the last of you.”

“Isn't it wonderful!” gushed Emma. “He's back with us again.”

Timothy thrust out his hand, briefly meeting Horace's unwilling clasp.

“I see you're still at it, Horace,” he said. “As uncouth as ever.”

“I don't suppose,” said Horace, “that you are here to extend an invitation.”

“I'm here to tell you to cut out your inane doings. We'd appreciate it if you'd halt your banging on the wall.”

“We?”

“The others in the city. And myself, of course. All your life you've embarrassed me and you still are doing it.”

“There are people in the city?” Emma asked breathlessly. “People just like us?”

“Not people just like us. In appearance, some of them are fairly dreadful. But they are people and your throwing rocks at them has them somewhat perturbed.”

“So they don't like it, huh?” said Horace.

“Some of them are outraged.”

“Who are those monsters in there? Just what is this place?”

“This,” Timothy told him, “is the Galactic Center.”

“Then what are you doing in there?”

“I am one of them. I'm the only human member of the Center.”

“You mean you pretend to represent the human race.”

“I represent no one. All I can do is present the human viewpoint. That is all they ask.”

“Well, then since you are one of them, why don't you just invite us in? That's all we want, to have some attention paid to us. All you've done is ignore us. We've been knocking at the door—that's all we've been doing.”

“Hammering, you mean. You never knock, Horace. All you ever do is hammer.”

“You mean you won't do anything for us?”

“I'd take it upon myself to invite Emma with me. She'd be more comfortable inside the city than out here.”

Emma shook her head. “I'll stay with Horace. I thank you, Timothy, but I am staying with him.”

“Then I guess I can do no more.”

“You mean that's it?” asked Horace. “You just come out here and threaten us and that is all there's to it.”

“I don't intend to threaten you. I only ask you hold it down.”

“And if we don't hold it down?”

“Next time, it won't be me who comes. It'll be someone else. They may not be as courteous as I have tried to be.”

“You certainly have not been the soul of courtesy.”

“Perhaps not,” said Timothy. “At times, it is something of a strain to be courteous to you.”

“Stop it!” screamed Emma. “Stop it, the two of you! You're acting as you've always acted. At one another's throats.”

She turned to Horace. “You! You say you've been only knocking at the door. It's more than that. It's throwing stones at windows. That's what you've been doing. Throwing stones at windows.”

“One of these days,” said Horace, “I'll break a window. Once I do that, the city will pay attention to me.”

“I'll tell you what I'm willing to do,” said Timothy. “I'm willing to go back to the council once again. I'll try to put your case to them. It's barely possible I can get you and Emma in, but not the robots.”

“That would be all right with us,” said Conrad. “We're not the ones who want in. We are doing it for Horace. We'd be just as satisfied to be left out here. We've got an entire planet to fool around with. A chance to build a robot society. A chance to make something of ourselves. There is a lot of good farmland here. We could grow food for the city. There are a lot of other things to do.”

“How does that sound to you?” Timothy asked Horace.

“Well,” said Horace reluctantly, “if that is what they want.”

“Back on Earth,” said Conrad, “we had our war with the trees. If we were still back there, we'd go on fighting trees. But here it makes no sense to fight against anything at all. Left on our own, we will make out. We'll begin to build a life. There is no end to the possibilities of what we might be able to accomplish.”

Timothy looked at Horace, who shuffled his feet, saying nothing. He looked like a man who'd had the wind knocked out of him.

“So I'll go back and do what I can,” said Timothy. “But if they let you in, you'll have to behave yourself, you'll have to keep your mouth shut. No more trouble-making. I have a house much like the one at Hopkins Acre. You'll be welcome there. It's a pleasant place to live. If you get obnoxious, you'll be restricted to it. Is all this satisfactory to you?”

Emma answered for him. “It's satisfactory to him. I'll see it is. I'm tired of this wilderness. So you go back, Timothy. Do the best you can for us.”

14

The Rainbow People

Where the net had landed, huge up-thrust blocks of ice-white crystal humped up to make a serrated skyline above the plain, which was also made of white crystal blocks, laid like paving stones. The sky was so deep a blue that it was nearly black. The horizon seemed too near and was marked by a line of purple. Naked space came down close to the surface of the planet, with only a puny shield of atmosphere sandwiched between the surface and emptiness. Yet breathing was not difficult. It looked cold, but it was really shirt-sleeve comfortable.

No one had yet said a word. Boone turned slowly, looking around. There was nothing to see but the crystal blocks encircling the tiny plain on which they'd landed. There seemed to be no sun, although there was light and warmth.

Color flickered briefly above the skyline, then was gone.

“What was that?” asked Enid.

No one answered her.

“There it is again!” cried Enid.

This time the flicker persisted and climbed in a curving arc above the notched horizon, bending over and reaching down. It glowed and steadied, forming an arch of pastel color that loomed high above the surface.

“A rainbow!” Corcoran said. “This is the place.”

“It is not,” rumbled Horseface, “a simple rainbow. Mayhaps it could be the Rainbow People.”

As they watched, more rainbows formed. They flickered out of nothing, then reached into the sky, bent and formed their arches. They clustered, rainbow bisecting rainbow until the plain picked up the colors, glowing with the soft light that glimmered in the sky.

Although the rainbows seemed stable enough, there still was about them the sense of not being fixed. There was a feeling of a certain delicacy, a misty ethereality, as if they were a phenomenon that was not meant to stay.

The robot had hauled his equipment off the net and was working on his stove, paying no attention to the rainbows. Enid and Corcoran stood not far away, staring up into the sky. The Hat was hunkered down close against the surface. Horseface loomed over him.