“These stories already contain the goal for the future generations,” West went on.
“Someday, somehow, they will go to Athena, to kill the Gerns there and free the Terran slaves and reclaim Athena as their own.”
He had listened to them talk of the interstellar flight to Athena as they sat by their fires and worked at making bows and arrows. It was only a dream they held, yet without that dream there would be nothing before them but the vision of generation after generation living and dying on a world that could never give them more than existence.
The dream was needed. But it, alone, was not enough. How long, on Earth, had it been from the Neolithic age to advanced civilization—how long from the time men were ready to leave their caves until they were ready to go to the stars?
Twelve thousand years.
There were men and women among the Rejects who had been specialists in various fields. There were a few books that had survived the trampling of the unicorns and others could be written with ink made from the black lance tree bark upon parchment made from the thin inner skin of unicorn hides.
The knowledge contained in the books and the learning of the Rejects still living should be preserved for the future generations. With the help of that learning perhaps they really could, someday, somehow, escape from their prison and make Athena their own. He told West of what he had been thinking. “We’ll have to start a school,” he said. “This winter—tomorrow.”
West nodded in agreement. “And the writings should be commenced as soon as possible. Some of the textbooks will require more time to write than Ragnarok will give the authors.”
A school for the children was started the next day and the writing of the books began. The parchment books would serve two purposes. One would be to teach the future generations things that would not only help them survive but would help them create a culture of their own as advanced as the harsh environment and scanty resources of Ragnarok permitted. The other would be to warn them of the danger of a return of the Gerns and to teach them all that was known about Gerns and their weapons.
Lake’s main contribution would be a lengthy book: TERRAN SPACESHIPS; TYPES AND
OPERATION. He postponed its writing, however, to first produce a much smaller book but one that might well be more important: INTERIOR FEATURES OF A GERN CRUISER. Terran Intelligence knew a little about Gern cruisers and as second-in-command of the
He discovered that Craig could take a pen in his scarred, powerful hand and draw with the neat precision of a professional artist. He turned the sketches over to him, together with the mass of specifications. Since it might someday be of such vital importance, he would make four copies of it. The text was given to a teen-age girl, who would make three more copies of it
…
Four days later Schroeder handed Lake a text with some rough sketches. The title was: OPERATION OF GERN BLASTERS.
Not even Intelligence had ever been able to examine a Gern hand blaster. But a man named Schrader, on Venus, had killed a Gern with his own blaster and then disappeared with both infuriated Gerns and Gern- intimidated Venusian police in pursuit. There had been a high reward for his capture …
He looked it over and said, “I was counting on your giving us this.”
Only the barest trace of surprise showed on Schroeder’s face but his eyes were intently watching Lake. “So you knew all the time who I was?”
“I knew.”
“Did anyone else on the
“You were recognized by one of the ship’s officers. You would have been tried in two more days.”
“I see,” Schroeder said. “And since I was guilty and couldn’t be returned to Earth or Venus I’d have been executed on the
Lake put the parchment sheets back together in their proper order. “Sometimes,” he said,
“a ship’s officer has to do things that are contrary to all his own wishes.”
