Regeneration
by Charles Dye
Edition 1, (November 29, 2006)
This etext was produced from "Future combined with Science Fiction stories" September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
REGENERATION
*So long as there are men and women alive, in a livable environment, then a new beginning is possible.*
by Charles Dye
*It has been truly stated that those who fail to learn and understand history, are condemned to repeat history!*
For those in the cities, it was the end....]
For those in the cities, it was the end....
_It was bound to happen sooner or later._
_Not because man failed to understand his fellow man, but because hefailed to understand himself._
_There wasn't much left afterwards--after the golden showers of deadlydust and the blinding flashes that blotted out the light from the sun._
_And all because man continued to confuse emotion with reason._
_But somehow, as before, man survived...._
"_Don't touch!_" Sinzor's command shot through the chill morning air likean arrow.
The ragged little group of men stopped dead in their tracks and lookedquestioningly at their leader. He was pointing down to an object lyinghalf-buried in the soil at his feet.
"Another _death-thing_, maybe," Sinzor said. "Another _'thing_ ourancestors made with which to destroy themselves." He peered around thesemi-circle of men until he spotted the aged one with a leg missing."Morge! See that this place is marked forbidden." The hunting party movedon and Morge stayed behind. He hobbled about, collecting sticks andstones, arranging them in the "forbidden-symbol" way to form a barrieraround the _'thing_. It was because of such a _'thing_ that he'd lost aleg in his youth. He both hated and feared the _death-things_ hisancestors had so carelessly left lying about before they vanished. Butthat wasn't right. Morge scratched his grizzly old head and thought hard.According to Builder, wisest of their tribe, their ancestors hadn't allvanished; some of them had become the tribe--Sinzor, Builder, and even oldMorge. Very puzzling. But it was all because of the _death-things_!
Puffing, Morge completed the barrier, then turned for a last look at the_'thing_ gleaming dully in the pale winter sunlight. How strange itlooked. In no way did it resemble the usual _death-things_, most of whichwere long and round with little wings attached. This one was different,like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was boxlike with strange armssticking up; and under the arms, half-buried, was a shelf or platformresembling vaguely the upper portion of two legs. The _'thing_ terrifiedMorge for a moment; then, in order to prove his courage to himself, hestepped forward and spat on it. Nothing happened. Sneering, he spat on itagain and watched his spittle slowly run down its side over a strangemarking like a thunderbolt--
Thunderbolt!
Suddenly Morge fell grovelling to his one good knee. It was Thor, god ofthunder and lightning and god of the tribe!
_And he had spat on Thor!_
For nearly an hour he knelt there praying forgiveness for his sacrilege.Then, trembling, he tore off a piece of his goatskin and wiped the spittleoff Thor's side, carefully began to uncover the remainder of Thor.
Finally he lifted Thor out of the hole and onto level ground. Kneelingonce more, he took a small drink-scoop from his belt and placed it beforeThor. Then he pulled out his knife and folded his single leg under him;bending over, he cut a gash in his wrist and let the blood flow into thescoop until it was nearly full.
Rising to his knee he said, "Oh, Thor, please take this humble offering toshow that I am forgiven." Almost prostrate now, he picked up the scoop andplaced it on Thor's lap beneath his arms.
Immediately there was a soft rumble and humming. Fearfully old Morgewatched Thor's arms come down, lift up the scoop and carry it inside hishuge mouth. There was a sucking noise and the scoop was returned empty tohis lap.
Filled with joy, Morge spent another endless time thanking Thor. Then allof a sudden an idea seized him. What if he carried Thor back to the tribeand presented him to the priest, Thougor, for all to worship and givesacrifices to? Would not he, the despised, the looked down upon, be thegreatest of heroes? All that was known of Thor were the legends, but atlast they would have the actual god!
Painfully, with many grunts and groans, he got Thor under one arm andstaggered off towards the village, his crutch kicking up little puffs ofdust.
Builder was having trouble with Thougor.
He almost wished now that he'd continued his search a little longer for asegment of humanity. He might have found a group less primitive who wouldhave appreciated and understood his help much better. But this was thebest he'd found; as it was, he'd wandered over the continent nearly alifetime before even finding these poor wretches. But they were at leasthuman--something that couldn't be said for those _others_ he'd come incontact with all through the past years.
And now, after having been with the tribe--the only human tribe--for overa year, he was being balked by this--priest! Which meant being balked atsetting up Truth and Knowledge as the only true gods of humanity, beingbalked at getting the dam built before the spring rains, so that therewould not be another summer drouth followed by a winter of famine such asthey had just passed through. The dam was his first big project; withoutfreedom from want, there would be little progress next winter.
Almost savagely he turned on Thougor. "But why must you have thisreligious festival _now_?"
"Because of the finding of the god Thor," came Thougor's cold answer.
"Why the offerings of blood? Can't they wait? The dam _must_ be finishedbefore the rains; but the loss of blood already has so weakened theworkers that they can no longer work for a full day."
"Which is more important, worldly or spiritual things?" Thougor replied.
"But there maybe won't be anyone around to indulge in spiritual things ifthere's another drouth this year!"
"Thor will see to it that there is not another drouth."
"Yes, I know, but wouldn't it be wiser to be on the safe side? Supposesomebody does something to displease Thor?"
"Nobody will displease Thor! It is my duty to see to that! I tell themwhat to think, so that they won't displease Thor."
_A crafty devil you are_, Builder thought. _Manipulating this image ofThor you talk about, so that it will take the blood offerings of thepeople and even you and that half-baked discipline of yours, Morge. I mustlook at your god Thor one of these days--_
He suddenly felt very weary and sat down on the floor; looking up atThougor, he said, "But that is not part of being civilized, to tell thepeople _what_ to think. You must _make_ them think without telling themwhat to think. And with the dam, next winter there will be freedom fromwant for the first time. The tribe will have a chance to think and be onthe road to civilization."
"The tribe has already found civilization in finding Thor. By worshippingHim as a group they have already ceased their bickering and quarreling.Does not that fit in with your definition of civilization, the one yougave my people when you first came to us? Since the coming of Thor we havebegun to cooperate, have we not?"
"No, hardly at all. I said civilization is cooperation among men inadapting to environment--which includes man."
The two men stared at each other, and for awhile there was silence.
"Nevertheless," Thougor finally said, "Thor and blood offerings continue!"
Builder watched Thougor turn and stalk out of the tiny hovel that housedhis plans and his work, himself and his dreams. What could he do? He couldonly appeal to the tribe's reason; Thougor could appeal to their emotionswhich were far stronger. But unless
emotion was controlled, used wisely,there could never be any reason.
Builder realized, with a sinking heart, that he was much too old for thejob he'd undertaken. Too late in life had he discovered these people.Almost all his energy since youth had been sapped just looking for asegment of humanity. His mother and father had told him there might befailure, but still they had taught him everything they could in the shorttime before death had overtaken them. They had been the only humans livingin that towering jungle of concrete and steel. How they had gotten therewas never explained to him. It didn't matter, though.
Suddenly Builder shook himself. Here he was recollecting his youth insteadof concentrating on the task at hand. He must _really_ be getting old.
He was glad of Thougor's visit. At least he was now fully aware of theproblem to be solved. In spite of the priest, he had to find a way ofgetting that dam finished and soon. Or maybe next year there wouldn't beany people, for game was getting scarcer each winter.
Very little work was done that day in spite of Builder's managing to roundup his full crew. The blood offering each worker had given the nightbefore had left them tired and listless. Only four of the fifty-four moldsrunning across the river were filled with sand and gravel that morning andafternoon--there were still nearly fifty to be filled. Builder was verydepressed--
But he was even more depressed when, at the close of day, two workmen grewcareless and slipped into the last mold being filled; their ear-splittingshrieks brought half the tribe up over the hill above the village and downto the dam sight.
After Builder explained what had happened, there were angry mutterings tothe effect that Thor was displeased with the dam and therefore had takenlives. Nothing Builder could say would dissuade them from this notion, sowell had Thougor indoctrinated them with religious fear of anything usedto control nature. Builder hadn't realized until that moment just how muchthe people were against the dam.
Then he saw Thougor, tall and ominous in his cloak of black skins, comestriding through the crowd.
For a moment he stood facing them with his hands on his hips. There seemedto be a silent understanding between them. Slowly the crowd turned anddisappeared over the hill.
Then Thougor strode over to Builder and said simply, "There will be nomore dam." Turning he followed the rest of the tribe back to the village.
Builder was thunderstruck. He knew there was no use arguing or trying toreason with either Thougor or the tribe. It was too late for that; onlysome drastic measure would complete the dam now.
He walked tiredly over the black hill and down to his shack, wondering howhe could compete with an idol. He realized now, it had been foolish of himto have overlooked the possible effect Thor might have upon the tribe.When it had been found three months ago, he never dreamed they would spendall their leisure in rituals.
The god was his problem; therefore he must get it out of the way, himself,without expecting help from anyone. Each evening the clouds on thenorthern horizon were darkening and drawing closer.
It was night when Builder finally stumbled into his quarters. Afterlighting a pine torch he sat down by his workbench and buried his head inhis hands. He was too tired and upset to eat, which was just as well--
Outside of deliberately killing Thougor, there was only one thing he coulddo--that was to kidnap Thor. With this realization, in spite of the riskinvolved, came some peace of mind. He hadn't the vaguest idea just how hewas to go about it, especially since his strength was failing him, but doit he would. First, though, he would have to wait until sometime beforedawn when everybody--even Thougor--was sure to be asleep.
The hours dragged heavily between then and his chosen time. Many were thetimes when he longed for something to read, although he supposed that bythis time he'd forgotten how. Like wisps of smoke, memories of his youthin the concrete jungle drifted through his mind. How long ago that allseemed now. Sometimes he wondered if any of it had been real. But here hewas, as his parents had wished him to be, trying to help what was left ofhumanity back up the trail. To what, he wondered? To destructionagain--this time, probably complete and final?
He shook his old head and ran a trembling hand through his white shaggyhair. He'd gotten this far; somehow he would get the rest of the way.
Builder got up and crossed over to his sleeping pile. After tying severalskins together, he folded them under his arm and walked out into thepre-dawn night. His bones felt the crackling cold of early spring as theyhad never felt it before. Slowly he made his way around the village towhere Thor was housed under a huge slanting roof of bark and scrapedskins. He'd never seen Thor, and now wished he'd paid at least one visitto the god.
Like a shadow he glided carefully through the blackness in back of thetemple until he was just inside the rear opening. He could see clearacross the chamber, out into the pale twinkling stars. Then he detected adark mass in the center of the temple silhouetted against the stars; thatmust be Thor.
Swiftly Builder advanced towards it until his foot struck something soft,causing him to stumble and fall. As he did so, he heard a grunt soundinglike someone being kicked in the stomach--
Then something was on top of him, pounding his head and shoulders with aheavy stick of some kind. Old Builder knew he didn't have the strength towrestle; he managed to get his pile of skins unfolded and, with his lastounce of strength, throw them over the head of his attacker. Somehow hemanaged to wiggle out from underneath and climb to his feet. His assailantbegan to scream for help, but the heavy skins muffled his shouts.
Quickly Builder looked around for something to hit him with. The onlything his eye spotted was the idol. He hobbled over and, using both arms,dragged it off its dias. Then, with the remainder of his strength, droppedit squarely on top of whomever was under the skins. There was a mutedclunk followed by silence.
Fearfully Builder stood there for a moment catching his breath andlistening for anyone coming. All was quiet except the pounding of hisheart.
As fast as he could make his arms and hands work he rolled up the body inthe skins and painfully hoisted it over one shoulder. With his other handhe reached down and picked Thor up by one of its arms, then, staggeringunder the load, he started back the way he had come.
Except for a greyish streak in the east, it was still dark. He stumbledand fell several times before reaching his dwelling, but he was confidentthat he had left no tracks. Every night, even this late in the winter, theground froze solid.
Back inside his shed, still in the dark, Builder unrolled his burden andlistened for any heartbeat. There was none. As he rolled the body upagain, something clattered to the floor. It was a crutch. Quickly he feltfor his victim's legs; one was missing. Of all the people he had tokill--Morge! Thougor's right hand man.
He realized he had to get rid of the body before daylight and fast!Already more grey was lining the eastern horizon.
He didn't know whether he had the strength to do it or not, but he had toget Morge up to the dam and into one of the unfilled molds. For the timebeing he would have to hide Thor someplace inside here. He couldn't carryboth of them up to the dam.
He rolled the idol up in another set of skins and placed it under the headof his sleeping pile. Then, picking up his other bundle once more, hestarted for the dam.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Builder finally stumbledback into his dwelling and into bed.
All that day, he lay there, body on fire with fever, and heart poundinglike a drum. He was almost certain he would soon die. "It was just aswell," a little corner of his consciousness said. At least he would bemissing all the frenzied excitement of Thor's disappearance along withMorge.
But it looked as though he had failed after all. In spite of removing thegod, now he was dying--and the dam still unfinished.
The day dragged on and on and he didn't die.
After waking up in late afternoon he felt better. He ate a handful of nutsand figs washed down with a little herb tea. Then as night crept over thesky, he tottered down to
the village.
Whatever had taken place during the day was done, and little groups ofpeople stood around fires resting and talking--as though it were the olddays before the coming of Thor, thought Builder. That was good.
Builder moved in closer to one of the fires to warm himself against theearly spring night. Someone recognized him--it was one of his workers--andhe was suddenly made welcome, once again being given the place of honornearest the fire, as in the old days when he'd first discovered thehumans.
Builder was dumbfounded at the sudden cordiality. In recent days, Thougorhad done such a good job of discrediting, he never dreamed of regaininghis old standing.
Then he was told what had happened during the day while he lay almostdying:
When the god and Morge were discovered missing, Thougor had called thevillage together, explaining that Thor had left them, taking Morge as asacrifice because he was dissatisfied with the tribe's paltry bloodofferings and worship. Therefore a great death sacrifice of young men andwomen must be undertaken to pacify Thor and cause his return.
But the people questioned Thougor's order; they seemed to feel it was thepriest who had been at fault, not themselves. After all, he was theclosest to Thor, was he not? Therefore it was Thougor, not the village,that Thor had become angered at. And after holding quick council, they haddriven Thougor out into the wilderness, telling him he was not to returnunless Thor was with him.
Old Builder almost cried when he heard this joyful news. The dam would becompleted after all, he was almost certain. He decided to say nothing moreabout religion, Thor or Thougor. Maybe soon they would forget the wholething. Now he could go back to teaching the youngsters and some of thebrighter oldsters the methods of writing in symbols instead of drawingpictures.