Rakki looked away and saw Jemmo, along with the most loyal of Jemmo’s followers, the young ones of Yellow Hair, still lined by the wall, as paralyzed and uncomprehending as everyone else. The God looked at them too. He wanted Rakki to contemplate them.
Keene and the long-haired Goddess had tried to teach Rakki other ways. They had told him that the power he sought to share could be his, but it could not be obtained through killing, hatred, and destruction. The huge machines that had brought them from beyond the sky, and the cities that they would rebuild across the world, the knowledge that revealed the mysteries of life and the meaning of why pain and hardship, pleasure and joy existed—these things were achieved by cooperation and trust, by uniting in an effort to overcome the challenges that the world posed, not dividing and striving to overcome each other. The false gods had proclaimed, as Rakki had believed through all the time he had lived, that power came from instilling terror and compelling the obedience of others. And in his wisdom, the God Keene had allowed Rakki to follow that path if he chose, and now he had shown him where it would lead.
The power that Zeigler would have offered had been pitted against that which true Godhood promised. Rakki was looking at the result. And now, in his moment of revelation, it all seemed so simple and self-evident to him. He had seen the intricate fashioning of the interiors of the craft in which the Gods flew over the land, and of the artifacts that filled them; the immense constructions they were erecting at their city to the north; the windows that brought living images from distant places, the light that appeared on command, and countless other arts for manipulating objects and forces, and directing thought of which he had no comprehension. How could the clumsy swinging of a club, the ending of a life, rage, and bloodshed accomplish any of those things? All they could result in had been shown to him in the calamity he had just witnessed. White Head had told him that the whole world had tried to follow the path that Zeigler and the false gods had thought would bring them greatness. And it too had met with its calamity. Had that too been visited by the Gods who were now asking Rakki which world he would rebuild? And he knew his answer, and he knew what he must do.
While the whole of the Cave Tribe looked on, he walked to the wall where Jemmo and the others were standing and drew up in front of him. He brought up the rifle and saw Jemmo’s jaw tighten, his body tense. And then Rakki extended his arm back to hand the weapon to Enka, who had followed him. He beckoned to Yellow Hair, and she came across, hesitant and apprehensive. “Take your children and care well for them. They will help us begin a new world,” he told her.
And then, to Jemmo, showing his empty hands, “Can we forget the hatreds that are behind us? Our peoples, working together, can learn to build cities and fly beyond the sky. And we can learn to live wisely, as Gods. True Gods.”
* * *
Keene put out a general announcement via the Varuna that Zeigler and the entourage that had gone with him had been wiped out, and their attempt to raise a native force was over. The supporters left at Serengeti and up in the ships were on their own and leaderless. Adreya Laelye came through shortly afterward to say they had capitulated, and she had taken charge at Serengeti.
A medical unit was despatched to Joburg for Charlie Hu. They reported that he was weak but hanging in. The treatment the women there had applied had been effective, and he was expected to recover. A short while later, a flyer landed at Carlsbad to collect Keene.
He left for Serengeti stiff, aching, numb with cold and exhaustion; but inside, weak with relief, and still not really believing things could have worked out this way. A clamorous reception was awaiting when he arrived, but a bath, clean clothes, a meal were all he could really think of. After that, he was sure he would sleep for a week. . . .