Code of the Lifemaker By James P. Hogan

Carthogia.

Worst of all, Thirg had placed all his personal trust in the Wearer and had no

alternative now but to admit that he had been betrayed cruelly. That bewildered

him the most. He had never been more sure of anything in his life than of the

special relationship which he had thought he and the Wearer shared—a

relationship based on a mutual understanding of the power of mind and reason

that transcended differences in language, race, form, and even world of origin.

Each had recognized a common quality in the other that reduced all their

differences, striking as they seemed at first glance, to no more than trifling

superficialities, indicating—or so Thirg had hoped—the existence of a bond that

could unite all the unknown forms of life and mind that existed across the

countless worlds above the sky. Truly inquiring minds everywhere had more in

common than divided them, and could work together regardless of what they were

or where they came from, just as the true inquirers from Kroaxia and Carthogia

could work together without cognizance of the borders between their nations.

Lumian ways would spread across Robia and bring an end to the reign of

ignorance, superstition, and fear; no longer would beliefs be imposed by dictate

or intimidation . . . and instead, knowledge and reason would prevail.

Or so Thirg had believed.

But the Wearer had deceived him and taken advantage of his trust. All of the

promises and reassurances had been as devious and as self-serving as the

practiced rhetoric of a trained prosecutor in the court of the High Council of

Kroaxia. It seemed, then, that the appeal of reason was not so universal after

all; possibly it was as rare among the worlds beyond the sky as was Kleippur

among Robia’s rulers, and the domain of reason as small a portion of the

universe as Carthogia was of Robia. Thirg had to concede that he knew of no law

of nature which said it had to be otherwise. Therefore, he told himself, partly

in consolation, perhaps it was a mistake to feel he had been wronged, for the

concept of “wrongness” was surely subjective—an expression of the limits that

the majority of robeings placed upon desirable behavior, within robeing society,

as judged through robeing eyes, on the basis of robeing teaching and experience.

No valid basis could exist for extrapolating identical, or even comparable,

ethical codes to beings from other worlds. So no compelling evidence could lead

Thirg to conclude that the Wearer had deliberately “wronged” him—Thirg’s

behavior might simply have been considered hopelessly naive and infantile by

Lumian standards. But the thought didn’t make him feel very much better. He was

still bitterly disappointed.

They climbed some shallow steps to the rear terrace of the main building and

were about to enter the hallway outside the Council Chamber when the sentries at

one of the courtyard’s side entrances opened the gate to admit a mounted

messenger. The messenger’s steed crossed the yard at a gallop and halted below

the terrace. Kleippur, who had been about to enter the door, looked back over

his shoulder then turned and strode to the head of the steps, followed by

Dornvald, while the entourage parted to let them through. “Speak,” Kleippur said

to the messenger. “What is your news?”

“Tidings from General Yemblayen,” the messenger replied, his words coming fast

with urgency. “The Waskorians have crossed our lines and are heading toward

Menassim.”

Alarmed murmurs broke out among the others on the terrace. “How many and how

armed?” Dornvald snapped. “Was there a battle? Where, and what were our losses?

What is the condition of Yemblayen’s force?”

The messenger shook his head. “Your pardon, sir, but you misunderstand. There

has been no battle. General Yemblayen opened his lines to allow the Waskorians

free passage. They have agreed willingly to travel under Carthogian escort and

are approaching Menassim peacefully, led by their prophet, Ezimbial.”

“Ezimbial . . . leading them peacefully?” Kleippur stared in disbelief. “Have

you been imbibing uranium salts, messenger?”

“‘Tis true, ’tis true,” the messenger insisted. “They are seized by a new faith

that renounces all war and killings. They speak of Carthogians as brothers and

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