Chapter Two

 

 

Noren was always glad of a chance to talk with Stefred, who, as head of recruiting and training, maintained close friendships with all the people he had guided through the steps leading to Scholar status. He had little free time; still Noren had dropped by to see him occasionally, and had often felt the better for it, although he was invariably offered not consolation, but challenge. And of course, they had had several discussions within the past few days about Brek.

On his way up in the Hall of Scholars’ lift, Noren recalled what had taken place during the last of those discussions. Stefred had been quieter than usual, and there had been something in his manner reminiscent of their early interviews, before any of the secrets had been revealed. “You’re hiding something,” Noren had accused finally. “If I’m to help Brek, I’ve got to know all the facts.”

“I’ve told you all that are pertinent,” Stefred had replied slowly. “But there are—other issues, Noren, and I don’t want you sidetracked right now. If things work out as I expect, you may soon be placed under rather more pressure than is usual for a trainee of your age. Once again I may have to gamble on your ability to withstand it.”

“Won’t I have a choice?” Noren had demanded.

“Of course. But knowing you as I do, I’m pretty sure you’ll choose involvement—and you won’t understand what you’re getting into until it’s too late.” Soberly Stefred had added, “Think that over. In a few days, once Brek is settled, we’ll talk again.”

Noren had indeed thought it over, and had been more curious than worried. He wasn’t bothered by the fact that Stefred evidently didn’t plan to explain whatever it was he’d be getting into, for he had learned that many of the things a Scholar met could not be explained. They had to be experienced. All the experiences he’d undergone so far had proved worthwhile: unpleasant at times, but on the whole exciting or at least enlightening. Training did involve pressure, but it wasn’t a sort of pressure he disliked. Just one comment of Stefred’s had made him wonder.

“The issues I’m referring to have nothing to do with your training,” Stefred had said. “They are real.”

Now, entering the familiar study which, like the conference room where he’d met Brek, was one of the few places in the City that had windows, Noren began to piece things together. He had been too absorbed in his own problems, in Brek’s, to do so before; he’d dismissed Grenald’s remark about the Prophecy’s coming true as the kind of wistful speculation sometimes heard from older Scholars who had few years left in which to see the research progress. Maybe it will begin sooner than you think, Grenald had said. . . . There could be a connection with the issues Stefred had mentioned, and with the unusual meeting to be held that night. Scholars did not meet formally except on matters of gravest importance, and even then the uncommitted—those who had not assumed the blue robe and the obligations of priesthood it symbolized, and who therefore had no vote—were rarely included. Sudden hope lifted Noren’s spirits. Perhaps a breakthrough was imminent! Perhaps there was no need to worry that he might have sanctioned an empty promise.

One look at Stefred confirmed the hints that something crucial had arisen. He was obviously troubled, more troubled than Noren had ever seen him, and he did not seem at all eager to proceed. “I must do some things I’d like to put off,” he declared without preamble. “First, there are questions I’ve got to ask you. If it were possible, I would wait till you’re further along in your training; failing that, I’d at least delay until your responsibility to Brek is finished. That’s no longer feasible. You must cope with them now. Bear with me, Noren, if this hurts; I won’t probe deeper than I have to.”

“I don’t mind questions,” said Noren, settling himself in the chair next to Stefred’s. “We’ve always been honest with each other.”

“Yes. You will be more honest with me than you’ve been with yourself lately; that’s why I would prefer not to do this yet. In time, you would confront the difficult parts spontaneously, but you’re not quite ready.” Stefred sighed. “Your tutors confirm what I already knew from the computers’ measurement of your aptitude. Grenald in particular tells me that, potentially, you have one of the most brilliant scientific minds of your generation, and that if I upset it, I’ll be accountable for any effect on your future contribution to the research. He is probably right. Yet I promised you a choice, and even if I hadn’t, it’s guaranteed to you by fundamental policy—which Grenald knows as well as I. Given such a choice, do you want me to continue?”

Confused, Noren groped for an answer. Stefred, he knew, expected more of him than simple assent; he must attempt to analyze the problem. It would not be spelled out for him. At length he ventured, “You couldn’t upset my mind except by telling me something I’m not aware of. And if you’re asking whether I’d rather not be told, well, you know the truth’s more important to me than anything else.”

“More important than the scientific work on which fulfillment of the Prophecy depends?”

“Is there a conflict?”

“For the sake of argument, assume there is.”

“Then the truth—the whole truth—is more important. A part couldn’t be more important than the whole.”

Stefred, with evident reluctance, fixed his gaze directly on Noren and in one skillful thrust stripped away the armor built up through many weeks past. “Is that consistent with the fact that you’ve devoted practically every waking moment to technical studies since the day after your recantation?” he inquired softly.

Noren gasped, overcome by the extent of his own self-deceit. How had Stefred known? He had never hinted to Stefred that doubt about the work’s ultimate outcome had entered his thoughts; not until he was watching Brek recant, in fact, had he admitted to himself that there might be truths from which he had hidden. Yet underneath he’d been aware that they existed. They’d emerged gradually from his increasing knowledge of science, and only concentration on its technical aspects had kept them back. The worries they’d raised could hardly be unfounded. . . .

“Forgive me,” Stefred said. “That was brutally abrupt, but it told me something I had to be sure of: you don’t wish to use science as a shield. If you did, I couldn’t have opened your eyes so quickly. Some Scholars take years to recognize what you just grasped.” There was no reassurance in his tone, though the usual warmth came through; Stefred’s honesty was what inspired people’s confidence in him.

Straightforwardly he continued, “We have no time to go into this problem right now; you must grapple with it alone. And it’s only the beginning, Noren. I’m leading up to more upsetting things.”

“I—I hope you’re not going to ask how I feel about wearing the robe,” Noren faltered, sensing the direction events seemed to be taking. He was to be offered some challenging new task, one for which full commitment was undoubtedly a prerequisite . . . and much as he might want to accept, he could not yet become a High Priest—not when deeper reservations were mingling with his original ones.

“I must, Noren. You need give me no decision—you will never be pressed for that—but if you have strong leanings one way or the other, I’ve got to know.”

“I honestly don’t know myself, Stefred. If that’s what you meant when you said I’d choose involvement—”

“It is not what I meant. I wouldn’t presume to influence you in regard to commitment; it isn’t a step to be taken lightly.” As relief spread through Noren. Stefred went on, “Don’t answer this next question if you don’t want to; I have valid reasons for asking it, but not ones that entitle me to invade your privacy. Do you attend Orison, Noren?”

Turning away, Noren felt his face redden. “Not often.”

“You’ve no need to look so guilty. Attendance isn’t required of you, and surely you know that none of us think less of you for not going, as villagers and Technicians would. There are committed Scholars who serve as High Priests before the people but take no part in our private religious rituals.”

“I don’t feel guilty,” said Noren. “I never felt any guilt for not having faith in religion, and I don’t now.” He paused, deciding what had caused the flush of shame; with Stefred there was no alternative to complete candor. “I’m embarrassed, I guess,” he continued slowly, “because the private rituals like Orison are the one thing I’ve encountered here that makes no sense to me. I just don’t see what they accomplish. The symbolism of religion was designed by the Founders to give hope to those who couldn’t be told our secrets, to express truths that couldn’t be stated in plain language. Yet as Scholars, we’ve learned the truth; our hope is in science. To the people we must speak of the Mother Star in symbolic words, but we who know the facts about it—what use have we for such symbols?”

“That’s a perfectly legitimate question, and not one to be ashamed of.”

“But look—I’m supposed to be so intelligent; I should be able to figure it out! There’s got to be something I’m missing. You go to Orison. Every time I’ve been, I’ve seen you there, and I—I’ve seen you enter while I stayed outside.”

“Have you lost any respect for me because I do go?”

“Of course not. Why should I?”

Stefred smiled. “You might, if you were staying away merely to assert your independence.”

Startled, Noren confessed, “It was that way in the beginning . . . though I don’t think I knew it. But not any more.” He had found that among Scholars, the right to independence was so plainly acknowledged that one had no need to assert it, and his boyhood antagonism toward religion had given way to genuine puzzlement. Though he’d been too busy to devote much thought to the problem, it was apparent not only that the villagers and Technicians expected more of the Mother Star than fulfillment of the Prophecy’s promises, but that the High Priests endorsed this view. Were it not so incredible, he might even have concluded that they shared it.

“You’ve come further than you realize,” Stefred commented. “Last year you wouldn’t have believed that there were any mysteries you couldn’t comprehend.” Then, with a penetrating look that warned of disquieting words to come, he once more broached a painful topic. “Do you think it possible, Noren, that if you don’t wholly understand my attitude toward the Mother Star, you also missed something in Talyra’s?”

At the sound of the name Noren winced. First Brek and now Stefred, when for so long he’d repressed all thought of her! “There’s no comparison,” he asserted.

“If you see none, I won’t pursue it. But there are other things you don’t understand about Talyra, and in fairness to you I can’t let them pass.”

“What use is there in discussing them?” Noren burst out, a bit too sharply.

Quietly Stefred declared, “I called you here this morning to find out if you still love her. Your face tells me that you do.”

Astonished, Noren abandoned all defenses. “I’ll always love her,” he agreed miserably.

“Enough to take on the burden of a relationship that would never be truly open—that would require you to conceal much of your inner life, respecting her beliefs without explaining yours?”

“It doesn’t matter, really. You know I’ll never see Talyra again; she’d have to take the initiative—”

“Which you’ve been sure she would not do. But she has.”

“Talyra . . . requested audience?” Noren whispered, suddenly cold. “When?”

“Shortly after you recanted. I did not grant it then; I had to be sure that your feelings for each other would not be changed by separation. She was told merely that I would see her before she left the training center to return to her village as a nurse-midwife. However, something’s developed that makes it necessary for me to act at once.”

“And you—you want me to decide whether she’s to stay here as a Technician? It’s too soon, Stefred! I can’t say whether we’d ever be able to marry.” Such a marriage would not be permitted unless he revealed his true status by assuming the robe, for no Scholar could take a wife who was unaware of his obligation to keep major secrets from her. Yet not all the secrets could be kept. Once admitted to the Inner City, Talyra would know too much to leave; Technicians who entered were, like the Scholars themselves, subject to lifelong confinement. And they too had to give up their children for adoption by village families, since a child who grew up knowing that Scholar rank wasn’t hereditary would have been doomed to a confinement not of his own choosing. These sacrifices were made gladly by those who considered Inner City work a high honor—but to let Talyra make them for the sake of a love that might remain hopeless . . .

“The final decision will be mine, based on her wishes as well as yours,” Stefred told him, “but I cannot admit her without your consent. The problems are difficult and complicated. With Talyra there’s a special complication, since she was present at your recantation and therefore knows that you were not only a heretic, but impenitent. That knowledge will make her ineligible for Scholar status once she learns you have attained it, even if she becomes a heretic herself.”

“Talyra would never do that!” Noren exclaimed.

“No, probably not. Though she is braver than you realize, I don’t think she has that particular sort of mind. Nevertheless, the opportunity is every citizen’s birthright, and it would be unjust to bar her prematurely from it. Your marriage must therefore be postponed. You must promise to delay any revelation of your rank until we’re sure that adjustment to City life won’t cause her to develop heretical views.”

“I see that,” Noren concurred, “though in her case it’s just a formality.” Inner City Technicians did not witness recantations and naturally assumed that any heretic who was made a Scholar had been penitent. The few who’d accidentally learned otherwise before entering the Inner City were necessarily excluded from candidacy because they alone, of all non-Scholars, were aware that unrepented defiance of the system could result in personal gain; the tests of incorruptibility were for them not valid. It was right that care should be taken to ensure that no potential heretic gained such awareness. But as far as Talyra was concerned, he was more worried about another injustice. “There’ll be no difficulty about postponement,” he continued, “because if I do decide to assume the robe, it won’t be soon. That’s the trouble; it’s so unfair to her—”

“She has no expectation of marrying you, Noren, and if she loves you and has continued to grieve for you, she’ll be happier here than outside, believing you a prisoner. She can serve as a nurse-midwife as well here as in the village, after all. She might even study to become a doctor.”

“I—I’m not sure she could adapt. She’s so unwilling to change the way she looks at things.”

“Is she? That doesn’t follow from the fact that she wouldn’t give up her faith on your say-so. I suspect that Talyra can adapt quite well; the question is whether you can. The stress on you will be very great—too great, Grenald thinks.” In an impassive voice Stefred added, “In his opinion I’d be a fool to let you involve yourself with a girl.”

Indignantly Noren protested, “Look, I have every respect for Grenald, but—well, he’s old enough to be my great-grandfather.”

“Yes. He is an old man who has devoted most of his life to research that he won’t live to see completed, and who gave up his children as infants. He may have grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but he knows neither their names nor the villages where they live. Now you’ve come—and you are his heir, Noren. Of all the young people he has taught, you are the one most likely to advance the work that his generation cannot finish. Can you blame him if he doesn’t want you distracted from it?”

Again Noren flushed. Stefred was the most compassionate man he had ever known, but he could be harsh at times when he had to be, and he’d implied from the outset that this was one of those times. Didn’t the priority of the research override all other considerations? “You’re telling me I have no alternative,” Noren said, striving to keep the emotion out of his own voice. “If I’m really dedicated—if I’m sincere in what I’ve always claimed about my willingness to sacrifice anything necessary to make the Prophecy come true—I should forget Talyra and commit myself to the job, whether or not I go so far as to accept the role of High Priest.”

Surprisingly. Stefred frowned. “That would be the easiest way,” he said after a short silence.

“Easy?” Noren echoed in bewilderment. Stefred was usually so perceptive. . . .

“It would be easiest,” Stefred repeated, “but if you elect that course, I’ll thank you not to do so under the illusion that I advised it. I thought you knew me better by now, but if you don’t, at least bear in mind what we established a few minutes ago. The work, vital though it is, remains part of a larger whole.”

“But if I’ve used study as a shield against . . . problems,” protested Noren, “they’re problems related to our work! They’re connected with—with fulfillment of the Prophecy; if I face them, I’ll be more absorbed by that than ever. I don’t see the comparison you’re drawing.”

“I don’t suppose you do,” Stefred conceded. “You are very young, and martyrdom still has its appeal.” He leaned forward, saying gently, “Under other circumstances I would not go into this when you’re unready to work it out on your own. In one brief talk I’m having to cover ground that should be explored over a period of weeks, perhaps years—and it’s unfair to demand a decision that you are not mature enough to make with full understanding. Yet in the real world I’m bound not by what should be, but by what is, and the events of the moment force us to decide Talyra’s future today.”

Noren, thoroughly baffled, gave up the attempt to resolve the issue and asked humbly, “Will you help me, Stefred?”

“If you mean will I choose the shape of your life for you, no. But I’ll tell you my own view of it.” He turned toward the window, looking out beyond the City to the open land that he himself had not walked upon since youth. Slowly he said, “I’ve been quite frank about our hope for you as a scientist, a hope that was born during your childhood when Technicians under our direction watched you and subtly encouraged you in the path of heresy. Grenald is not the only one who believes you’ll someday be instrumental in achieving the breakthrough that’s been sought since the First Scholar’s time. But you were not brought here to be an extension of the computer complex. You are a human being with the right and the responsibility to become enmeshed in human problems, personal problems. You must make sacrifices, yes—we all must, for we are stewards of our people’s heritage, and the ultimate survival of the human race rests upon us. But we do not sacrifice our humanity. We do not give up the thoughts and feelings and relationships of our individual lives. If we did, our dedication would in the end be self-defeating; we would have no more chance of fulfilling the Prophecy than computers alone would have.”

Staring at him, Noren saw the Chief Inquisitor in a way he never had before, despite their weeks of friendship. Stefred himself had once been married. His wife had been a Scholar, one of the few village women to seek knowledge beyond the station in which custom had placed her. She had been killed accidentally during a nuclear research experiment. There had no doubt been children who’d become craftsworkers or farmers somewhere, proud of their status as adopted sons or daughters without dreaming that their true father still lived. Or perhaps they had become heretics; perhaps they were now Scholars themselves! Stefred would not know. Even if he had presided at their inquisitions, he would not know, for though babies were placed only with good and loving families, no records of parentage were kept. Chagrined, Noren began, “What you said about Grenald—”

“Was meant merely to remind you that he too is human.”

“I—I’ve oversimplified things, I guess.”

“Sometimes one must in order to keep one’s balance.”

“I don’t really want to, though. And I do want Talyra here if she wants to come.”

“So I thought.” Stefred rose, “I’m sure you’ve guessed that I’m concerned about more today than you and Talyra, that this issue is related to a larger one. At tonight’s meeting you will learn the facts. Noren, there are two things you must go through before you learn. I would not subject you to them in quick succession if it were not an emergency.”

“That’s all right,” Noren assured him, though inwardly he was already more deeply shaken than he cared to admit. The day was apparently to be as demanding for him as for Brek.

*  *  *

Several hours later, after introducing Brek to the computer room where Scholars were free to call forth any information they cared to about the Six Worlds, Noren met Stefred in the courtyard beside the inner gates that led to the City’s exit dome. “It’s best for you to be present when I interview Talyra,” Stefred had told him. “It will not be an easy thing to witness, and you won’t be allowed to speak; but she will need you, Noren. Merely seeing you will give her confidence.”

Noren shuddered. It would be necessary, he knew, to determine not only Talyra’s willingness to enter the Inner City, but her ability to adapt to customs totally unlike those under which she’d been reared; and neither issue could be approached directly. “If I’m not convinced that she’ll be happy here, I shall send her away,” Stefred warned. “You will have to watch her go, knowing that you won’t see each other again, and she’ll be unaware that it might have been otherwise. Do you love her enough to endure that?”

“Yes,” Noren said steadily. “But Stefred, she can’t be given enough information for her to decide whether she’ll be happy until it’s too late for her to go back.”

“She won’t need information; she will judge and be judged by her feelings and her sense of values, just like a Scholar candidate, during my talk with her.”

Noren frowned; Stefred’s talks with people were apt to be grueling. “Will you—test her, then?” he asked worriedly.

“Yes, briefly, but there’s no danger in it; I promise you she won’t be hurt in any lasting way.”

As they walked down the wide corridor that stretched toward the main Gates and outer platform where public ceremonies were held, Noren’s pulse accelerated. He had not been in this dome, nor indeed in any other, since the day of his recantation; the huge domes that ringed the area of closely spaced towers were Outer City, off limits to Scholars and Inner City Technicians. Exceptions were made when it was necessary for a Scholar to appear publicly, to interview someone, or to investigate trouble with equipment such as the nuclear power plant, which was normally maintained by ordinary Technicians who lived in the domes and were free to go outside. But Noren had as yet done none of these things. The research laboratories, where he’d sometimes assisted, were located in the towers themselves.

Walking beside Stefred, Noren 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 fear that they were aware that she’d once helped him elude their custody.

“You won’t let on that you know about her part in my escape from the village, will you?” he asked anxiously.

“I shall have to,” Stefred told him. “She’ll expect it. Since those who request audience are informed that their past lives will be investigated, her coming here is tantamount to an open confession. And though a villager normally can’t be accused by Technicians or Scholars unless first convicted by his peers, a student at the training center is under our jurisdiction.”

“She took the risk deliberately,” mused Noren. “Why?”

“Why did you take the ones you took? You wanted something, wanted it so much that you ignored everything reason told you and followed your heart instead.”

“But she has no hope of even seeing me.”

“She hopes to help you through intercession on your behalf. Also, though you may find it hard to fathom, it’s likely that she’s torn by guilt over what she did—which is not the same as regretting it—and is seeking to declare herself and take the consequences. That is a form of honesty, Noren.”

Maybe it was, Noren thought, recalling the suggestion that he might have misinterpreted Talyra’s attitude. In the village they’d argued from opposite premises—she, that Scholars could do no wrong; he, that they could do no right—and neither view had been based on any real knowledge of the situation. Yet of the two, his had been the more dogmatic. There had been no doubt in his mind that it explained everything. Talyra, on the other hand, had believed both in the goodness of the Scholars and in the injustice of his imprisonment. Honesty was simple when one’s convictions didn’t conflict; now that he was facing doubts and conflicts of his own, he was beginning to see why she had seemed so bound by unexamined assumptions.

“She’ll accept your reassurance,” he said, “but as for the rest, it may be hard to get across. The very idea of becoming a Technician may—well, shock her. Talyra’s awed by Technicians; she won’t admit to herself that she’s as smart as they are.”

“She will admit it to me,” Stefred said. “I’ve dealt with many candidates, Noren, and I know how to find out what they really want.” He paused. “I’ll have to frighten her a little in order to be sure of her true feelings; and to make her aware of them herself, I’ll need to be a bit cruel. You must be silent and let me handle it; you must not offer any encouragement, for if you do, her choice will not be wholly free.”

Nodding, Noren strove to master his turbulent thoughts. Not since their parting had he dared to envision Talyra deliberately: her face; her long dark curls; her slim figure clad in a tunic and underskirt of the light green worn for holidays and other religious affairs, adorned by blue glass beads of spiritual devotion and today, perhaps, by the red love-beads he’d once given her. . . .

The door opened; she stood there between two uniformed Technicians, pale but with her head held high. At the sight of him her face was illumined with a brief, astonished joy that turned quickly to anguish. She thought him a prisoner, Noren realized miserably; she would feel terror for him as well as for herself. He longed to go to her, comfort her, but he knew he must not. Talyra must have a fair chance to withdraw.

Stefred dismissed the Technicians, motioning Talyra forward, and she knelt at his feet. “That is not necessary,” he said brusquely. “It is done only on formal occasions. Sit beside me, Talyra.”

“Yes, Reverend Sir,” she replied, using the form of address employed in public ritual. She rose and took the chair offered her.

“‘Sir’ alone is sufficient.” Glancing at Noren, Stefred added reflectively, “It would be well, Talyra, for you to become somewhat less worshipful in regard to Scholars.”

Noren gulped. If Talyra were ever to address him as ‘Reverend Sir,’ he would be too embarrassed to speak.

“You have requested audience with us,” Stefred went on, “ostensibly to plead clemency for someone you love. Yet we think perhaps you may also seek our pardon on your own behalf. Surely you know what has come to our attention in our review of your past.”

“I—I think so, sir.” Though her voice wavered, she appeared less dismayed than Noren himself by the directness of Stefred’s approach and his use of the cold, ceremonious we.

“We must accuse you of having once helped this man, a self-proclaimed heretic, to escape. You cannot be required to confess to us; it is your right to demand a civil trial. If you waive that right, however, you must swear to answer my questions truthfully and to accept my judgment.”

“I do waive it, sir. I have no wish to deny the charge.”

“Swear, then.”

“I swear by the Mother Star that I will tell you the truth.” Talyra drew a breath and added hastily, “But I wouldn’t sir, if it were not that Noren is already condemned! I’d never tell anything that would hurt him; I only hope I can make you see that he doesn’t deserve such a terrible punishment as—as was announced.”

“You must pledge also to accept my judgment, Talyra.”

“I so swear, as far as my own case is concerned—but not for Noren’s!”

Stefred leaned forward across the desk, fixing his gaze on her. “You must care deeply for him to feel yourself a better judge of his heresy than I. Or are you too an unbeliever? Do you perhaps consider denial of the Prophecy no crime at all?”

Talyra looked horrified. “Sir, I believe the Prophecy! I have never questioned it! Upon my oath—”

“Your oath by the Mother Star is worthless as a defense,” the Scholar said dryly, “since if you were indeed an unbeliever, it would have no meaning for you.” He frowned. “Talyra, heresy is a very grave charge. You say you do not think Noren deserves life imprisonment, yet have you ever heard of any heretic who was seen again after his recantation? And not all heretics recant. Some are not even charged publicly, for if they waive civil trial, as you have just done, their cases are not made known in the villages.”

Talyra met his eyes. “I did not waive a heresy trial,” she declared firmly. “I am not a heretic, and no court would convict me. You told me merely that I am accused of helping Noren, and that is the only crime I’ve admitted.”

“That’s quite true,” Stefred agreed. “I wasn’t trying to trap you, Talyra, but I had to assure myself that you have the wit not to incriminate yourself falsely. If you didn’t have, it would be improper for me to continue this interview without appointing someone to defend you, for though you are not yet formally charged with heresy, it’s possible that I will find grounds for such a charge in your responses.”

“What reason could you have for even suspecting me?” cried Talyra indignantly. “I helped Noren because I love him, but I never agreed with what he said—he’ll tell you so himself!”

The Scholar eyed her intently. “What would you say if I were to tell you that he has said the exact opposite: that he has not only reported your part in his escape, but has claimed that you shared and encouraged the false beliefs that he has now abjured?”

By great effort, Noren avoided her incredulous stare. One look from him, and she would know what to say; he must not give her any clue. Stefred, he realized, was testing them both by these tactics, for if he feared her answer enough to influence it, it would be proof that he was unwilling to accept a decision based on Talyra’s feelings alone.

In a cold dull voice Talyra declared, “I would say that you were lying. I didn’t think Scholars could lie, but if you tell me that, I’ll have to believe they can. You are setting a trap for me after all, sir. To accuse a Scholar of lying would indeed be heresy.”

“You have nothing to fear from me as long as you are honest,” Stefred assured her. “The point at issue here is your motive for helping Noren. To have helped him simply because you love him is one thing, but to have done it because you held heretical beliefs yourself would be something else. So you see I must determine whether you really do love him. If you do, it would be impossible for you ever to believe that he’d done what I suggested. He hasn’t, of course. I did not say he had; I merely said if.”

Talyra’s tense face relaxed into a faint smile. “You’re very wise, sir. I just can’t think you’ll really lock Noren up for the rest of his life! He—he was always honest, too; doesn’t that count for something? He was wrong, and he’s admitted it—but he believed what he said. Would you have wanted him to lie? Would you have wanted him to repent not having lied?”

“Certain things have inescapable consequences,” Stefred said quietly. “Noren is to be confined within the City permanently and nothing can change that; it is the consequence of heresy. But you don’t really know much about the City, after all. Has it occurred to you that life inside may not be so terrible? The Technicians live here; I live here myself.”

“But not as a prisoner, sir!”

“No? Have you ever seen a Scholar outside the City?”

She shook her head, confused. “Yet you could go outside if you wanted to. You could do anything you wanted to.”

“Why is it,” said Stefred, sighing, “that people so often think that those above them can do anything they want? It works the other way, Talyra. I have a good deal less choice than you do. If Scholars did whatever they liked, Noren’s suspicion would have been all too accurate; they would be unworthy guardians.”

To Noren’s relief, Talyra’s expression showed that she was thinking, and the new thoughts didn’t seem unduly disturbing. His concern had been groundless, maybe; he’d feared that the process would be more painful.

There was a short silence; then Stefred began an innocuous line of questioning quite evidently designed to lead directly to the decision. “Is there anyone outside the City for whom you care more than for Noren?”

“No, sir.”

“Not even anyone in your family?”

“I love my family, but I was planning to marry Noren. Now I’ll never marry anyone.”

“What are you going to do, then? Do you really want to be a nurse-midwife?”

“Yes, I like the work at the training center.”

“Yet you turned down the appointment when it was first offered.”

“That was because it meant delaying our marriage.”

“Why was getting married right away so important? Were you eager to have children?”

Noren held his breath. He and Talyra had never discussed that, for it had been assumed as a matter of course; in the villages a woman who bore few babies was scorned. The rearing of large families was considered a religious virtue. He did not know whether a family was important to her for its own sake, but if it was, she should not enter the Inner City, and Stefred would undoubtedly send her away.

“You don’t understand,” Talyra said. “Noren and I were in love.”

Slowly Stefred continued, “I do understand. Suppose, Talyra, that you had to choose again whether or not to help him; would you do the same thing?”

“Yes.”

“What if it meant that you would suffer the consequences of heresy even though you yourself had not incurred them? What if it meant that your family and friends might never learn what had become of you?”

Talyra met his eyes bravely. “I’d do it.”

“Then you’re as unrepentant as he is? You still love him, and you won’t ever be sorry?”

“That’s right, sir.”

It was going to work out, thought Noren joyously. In a moment Stefred would tell her, and the ordeal would be over. . . .

And then he saw that the true ordeal had not yet even begun.

*  *  *

With Stefred’s next words, Noren knew what the Chief Inquisitor was going to do; and he was appalled. Talyra’s wits were sharp, but she would be defenseless against an expert assault on her misconception of herself. He wished heartily that he had never agreed to let her be questioned.

“When a person loves someone that much,” Stefred was saying, “it’s only natural for her to be influenced by his opinions. Surely you did not disagree with all of Noren’s ideas.”

“Of course not, only with the heretical ones,” Talyra said confidently, too naive to sense her peril.

“He must often have told you that the things here in the City should be available to everyone, and not just to Technicians and Scholars. Did you agree with that?”

“It is not in accordance with the High Law.”

“I know the High Law, Talyra. I am asking whether you agreed with that particular idea of Noren’s, and you are bound to answer truthfully.”

She dropped her eyes. “I—I agreed that it would be good for everyone to have things,” she admitted in a low voice. “But they will have them after the Mother Star appears.”

Oh, Talyra, thought Noren hopelessly, the orthodox answer won’t do for Stefred! For the village council that would be a clever reply, but Stefred will hang you with it.

“Yet what if when it appears,” the Scholar went on, “the Technicians decide to keep everything for themselves?”

Shocked, Talyra protested, “That couldn’t happen.”

“How do you know it couldn’t? Have you never met a person who might want to?”

“Yes, but such people aren’t Technicians.”

“Noren believed otherwise. He believed that Technicians were ordinary men and women like the villagers. Suppose, for instance, that you yourself were a Technician—”

“Don’t mock me, sir,” she pleaded.

“I am not mocking you. Suppose you woke up one day to find yourself a Technician. Would you feel glad to have things that other people don’t, or would you wish that the Mother Star would appear sooner so that you could share them?”

Talyra was almost in tears. “How can I answer? I’d want to share, of course, yet if I picture myself in that position, I’m committing blasphemy by thinking of myself as Noren used to.”

Ruthlessly Stefred drove the point home. “Come now, Talyra—do you really, deep inside, believe that you’d be unable to do the work of a Technician, or that you would not enjoy it?”

She buried her face in her hands. Noren’s grip tightened on the arms of his chair and he half-rose, but Stefred shook his head, going himself to Talyra and laying a firm hand on her shoulder. “You have sworn by the Mother Star that you’ll tell me the truth,” he said impassively. “To break such an oath is a worse offense than the other.”

“I am guilty, then,” she sobbed. “I didn’t even know it before, but you were right about me!”

“You acknowledge these ideas? Think, Talyra! Your answer may determine the whole course of your future.”

“I can’t deny them. My guilt’s greater than Noren’s, for he at least was not a hypocrite.”

Her despair was more than Noren could bear. He would never forgive himself, he thought; he should have known that Stefred’s relentless approach to truth, so exhilarating to himself, would destroy Talyra. She’d been happy with her illusions; why had he let himself he convinced that she could remain happy after those illusions were gone?

“No!” he burst out. “I’ll not let you do this to her!”

“Be silent! If she’s to face what’s ahead, she must see herself for what she really is.”

“Let her go free,” Noren begged, his lips dry. “Don’t make her face it for my sake.”

“Having gone this far, Noren, I must proceed for her own sake; to stop now would be misplaced mercy.”

Raising her head, Talyra faltered, “I—I never asked for mercy, sir. Even for Noren I asked only justice.”

“And you seemed convinced that in the end I would be just. I promise you that I shall be.”

“I believe that. You have exposed my impiety, which I most heartily repent; I don’t expect to escape—consequences.”

Noren cringed. To him, the kindness in Stefred’s tone was evident, but to Talyra, who had been forced to confess what she thought was an unforgivable crime, it would not be; and he knew that Stefred would probe her further. Underneath she could not actually feel she’d done any wrong; she must be compelled to admit that, too. Otherwise she’d remain forever unconvinced of her worthiness to be a Technician.

“So be it, Talyra,” the Scholar said decisively. He returned to the desk and faced her. “Because you have helped and defended Noren and have even accepted some of his ideas, you must share his fate. You shall be confined within the City, as he is; you will never see the village of your birth again.”

She swayed, staring at him, obviously overwhelmed by the seeming severity of the sentence. She had expected punishment, but not the punishment she’d considered too great even for Noren. In panic, Noren clenched his hands. Stefred had promised that there would be no danger! Yet he had gambled and made a pronouncement from which there could be no turning back—what would happen if she failed to rise to the challenge? As long as she was contrite, she could not qualify.

“Do you want to retract anything you’ve said?” Stefred asked.

“N—no, sir.” Talyra whispered.

“Do you think the verdict too harsh?”

“I—I deserve it, I guess.”

The Scholar shook his head. “Talyra, you’re being dishonest either with me or with yourself. You know in your heart that you’ve never harmed anyone and that your inner thoughts are not evil; you can’t possibly feel that you deserve life imprisonment any more than Noren does. Tell me what you do feel, not what you think I want to hear.”

“I feel such a penalty’s heavy in proportion to the offense,” she admitted, “but if it must be Noren’s, I’m willing to share it. You’ve shown me that I’m no less presumptuous than he.”

“And is presumption to be punished equally with crimes of violence? For that matter, is any form of heresy? Here in the City even a murderer would receive no worse! Really, Talyra—is that fair?”

Talyra stood up, flushed, at last jolted into questioning the shaky premises of the villagers’ brand of orthodoxy. “No,” she said, “it’s not fair. My thoughts may be blasphemous, but they are my own, as Noren’s were his; and as you’ve said, they never hurt anybody. I came here believing myself innocent of all heresy, but your effort to find it in me has fanned its flame. There’s no need to goad me into any more incriminating statements. I will give you one freely: I hereby abjure my penitence, for you have made me see that Noren’s doubts about the High Law were justified.”

Good for you, Talyra! Noren cried inwardly. A mere indication that she was no longer sorry would have been enough, but by stating it formally, she had shown her true courage. In her view, if there was anything worse than a heretic it was a relapsed heretic—one who returned to heretical beliefs after having retracted them—and she had laid herself open to that charge.

She trembled a little, awaiting retribution, and then bewilderment crossed her face as Stefred answered, “I did so deliberately, Talyra. Later you will understand why.” To Noren he said. “All right. It’s finished; go to her now. The rest will come better from you than from me.”

Noren, with pounding heart, came forward to take Talyra in his arms. She clung to him, her eyes glistening. “I’m glad it turned out this way,” she said softly, giving him no chance to speak. “I could never have been happy in the village thinking of you here in prison; now at least I’ll be close by. And I—I see things clearer, Noren. Some of what you used to say makes more sense. Underneath I must have known it did; the Scholar judged me rightly.”

“He wasn’t mistaken, then, in deciding you’d rather be here with me than return to the village where we’d never see each other again?”

“Be with you?You mean I’ll be allowed to see you—often?”

“As often as you like,” Noren told her, smiling. “We’re not going to be punished, Talyra. I didn’t understand either when I was sentenced—we weren’t meant to—but the Scholar Stefred never said we’d be put in prison; he simply forbade us to leave the City.”

“But—but only Scholars and Technicians live in the City! And besides, we’ve broken the High Law—”

“I broke it, but I’ve recanted and been pardoned. You never broke it at all. In the Scholars’ eyes you’re completely innocent.”

“How could I be, Noren? Helping you to escape may have been just a civil offense, but I’m still guilty of blasphemy.”

“No,” said Noren gently. “I was right about some things; it’s not blasphemous to think you’d like to be a Technician. Talyra, you are a Technician now! Stefred had to make sure you wanted it before he passed judgment, because no one who’s aware that not all Technicians are born to their status can be released.”

She stared, wide-eyed. “Are you a Technician, too?”

Noren had learned long before that one could conceal without lying. “As you said, only Scholars and Technicians live in the City,” he told her. “A heretic who recants is confined here because of the secrets he knows, but he lives and works like the others.”

Talyra, for the moment speechless, turned to Stefred in a mute appeal for confirmation. His smile was warm, yet solemn. “There is nothing in the High Law that prevents a villager who is qualified from becoming a Technician or even a Scholar,” he said. “There can never be anything wrong in a person’s wanting to know more than he knows, or be more than he has been; the Law specifies only that those who do choose that course can never go back.”

He rose and walked to the door. Freeing herself from Noren’s embrace, Talyra followed, holding out her hands in the ritual plea for blessing. As Stefred extended his, she knelt, and this time he did not forbid her; she would have felt crushed, rejected, if he had, for she sought not to pay homage but to receive. But before the words could be pronounced, she looked anxiously over her shoulder. “Noren?”

In dismay, Noren watched her new glow of confidence fade to troubled confusion at his failure to kneel beside her. He moved to do so, but with a barely perceptible shake of the head Stefred stopped him. No pretense would be permitted. Not yet High Priest, he was nevertheless a Scholar, and one Scholar could neither kneel to another nor receive from his hands what faith alone could bestow; Talyra’s distress could not alter that. And this would not be the last time he would have to hurt her.

The flowing sleeves of Stefred’s blue robe hid her face as he intoned the formal benediction: “May the spirit of the Mother Star abide with you, and with your children, and your children’s children; may you gain strength from its presence, trusting in the surety of its power.” Surety? thought Noren bitterly. But there was no surety! One could not trust that the Star’s heritage of knowledge would lead to a transformation of the world, for it was quite possible that it would not. That was the truth he’d hidden from, the thing he was learning from science, and there was indeed no going back. He wondered how Stefred could sound so sincere.