“These are the two choices we are now assembled to vote upon—”
“Medico Veelson!” One of the crewmen was on his feet. “Do you rule out the possibility of rescue then? Couldn’t we remain near here and try to use that communicator to summon help? Any Patrol ship—”
“Any Patrol ship!” Again the lack of expression in the medico-techneer’s voice underlined his words. “A communication attempt might just as well bring down roving pirates upon us. There is no way of identifying until too late any ship we might be able to beam in. And remember, Terra is off every known chart—so forgotten that its name is now only a legend.”
A murmur ran from seat to seat.
“So we must accept exile?” That was a woman.
“I believe that we must.” Veelson’s answer came clear and firm.
Another silence followed. They were facing truth now. And—Kartr thought proudly—they were accepting it quietly.
“I believe that we wish to remain together—” Veelson continued slowly.
“Yes!” That answer was so loud it woke a faint echo from the roof. The Patrol would stand together, that creed which had been theirs for generations still held them.
“We will abide by the will of the majority. Those who wish to seek shelter in the city may take their places against that wall. Those who would remain apart—on the land—stand here—”
Veelson had not even finished speaking before he himself moved with two distance-eating strides to the left of the dais. And Kartr joined him. Only for a moment were they alone. Adrana and her six co-workers arose from their seats in the group and marched to stand beside the medico-techneer. But then there was a pause—the other women did not move.
It was the Faltharian woman who broke the spell. Still carrying the Trystian infant and pushing her own two children ahead, she walked quickly to the left. But she did not reach the others before Zicti and his family.
Now there was a steady shuffling of feet and when it was quiet again there was no need to count heads. Not one stood on the city side. They had made their decision, weighing the evidence and the chances of the future. And, Kartr knew, seeing their serene faces, they would stand by it. Suddenly he was vaguely sorry for those in the city. They would struggle there to keep up a measure of mechanical civilization. Perhaps they would live in greater ease for this generation. But in a way they had turned their backs upon the future and they might not be allowed a second choice.
But the Patrol were eager to be gone, once their minds were made up. And the dawn of the second day saw them in marching order, their scanty belongings in packs, their faces set toward the unknown lands of the south.
Kartr watched Fylh and Zinga lead that line of women and children, crewmen and officers, all one now under an alien sun, going into the future.
He glanced back into the deserted hall. The sun caught and held on the symbols in the captains’ seats along one side. Old Terra— And down there—heading into the wilderness was the NEW!
“Shall we rise again to be the lords of space and the rangers of the star lanes?” he wondered. “Do we begin this day a second cycle leading to another empire?”
He was a little startled when Zicti’s thought answered his. “It is just history, my boy, history. We fashion that whether or no. But there is a very old saying known to my people—‘When a man comes to the end of any road let him remember that the end is not yet and a new way shall open for him.’ ”
Kartr turned his back upon the Hall of Leave-Taking and ran lightly down the eroded steps. The wind was chill but the sun was warm. Dust puffed up from beneath the marching feet.
“Yes, the end is not yet! Let us go!”