A. E. Van Vogt by The Book Of Ptath

Author:The Book Of Ptath
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-11-07T21:30:53+00:00

CHAPTER XII

The Torn Page

The goddess' back was to him as Holroyd walked toward her across the thickly carpeted floor. He was able to study her with an objectivity that had not obtained while he was facing her. She was a small woman, not more than five feet in height. Her hair was her crowning glory. She wore it like a schoolgirl, and its cascading ripples shimmered with a soft, silken, golden luster. Sitting there, she looked like a child. The impression ended jarringly as Holroyd saw what she was holding in her lap: the great book containing the names of those whose executions she had desired such a short time before.

Holroyd smiled a pained smile, walked around, and sat down in his chair. The goddess looked up, her eyes thoughtful.

"I notice that you haven't signed this, Ineznio." Before Holroyd could speak, the goddess went on in a complaining voice, "You have never fully realized the importance of action against these people. Our whole younger generation is irreligious in the extreme, and self-assured, individualistic beyond bearance. A defeat, with their main leaders seemingly responsible--our propaganda will have to see to that--and most of those leaders killed--our military tactics will see to that-- will frustrate them, leave them no psychological loophole. By skillful exploitation of the opportunity, we can stress that their contempt for prayer was responsible; and so send millions of the weaker-minded back to their prayer sticks. After that we may cease to worry. I have discovered that these rebellious outbursts never last more than a few generations. I leave the details to you."

Holroyd sat quiet, then he picked up his cup. The nir was still hot, and it was delicious. But a minute after his first sip, he couldn't have described how it tasted. In his mind's eye, he could see the picture she had so swiftly sketched--men, women, their souls hammered by catastrophe, going down listlessly to old age, to gloomy graves, without hope, without a single way to turn, while the golden, immortal goddess lived on, while the temples and their princes and emperors continued to exercise their iron control of a people so hopelessly enslaved that it was like ... like hell!

Almost physically, ferociously, like a horse straining at a bit that was too tight, his mind champed on the determination that it should not be; it would not be.

The goddess was speaking again: "For the most part, as you can see, the executions are now unimportant. But--" her blue eyes measured him, "there is a page here, Ineznio, that I want you to sign. Every name on it is that of a person who is known to have committed murder. While they live, the law is insulted, my government put to scorn. You will sign it, will you not?"

She rushed on, "Ineznio, at times you infuriate me. You know as well as I that it has been my policy to permit you and my other--human--advisers to control the administration of government. I am interested only in the larger issues; this is one of them.

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