Digges,” the machine said, with a slight intonation that was equally enigmatic, “what your response is to what the rogue machine told you.”
Thus far, Thomas had assumed that the violent interruption to his progress to this encounter had been exactly what it seemed: an intervention by a dissident element within the True Civilization. Now, he wondered whether it might all have been a sham: a ploy mounted by his interrogators. He had assumed, too, that Walter Raleigh’s spider-bite had either been an accident of happenstance or an assassination attempt. Now he wondered whether it might have been staged for subtler reasons. He reminded himself that the True Civilization’s philosophers, like the ethereals, had probably been studying humankind, albeit from a distance, for a very long time—centuries, at least. Was it possible, he wondered, that the supposedly aberrant pattern of life on Earth had not arisen as a freak of the Divine Will, but as some kind of experiment on the part of the True Civilization’s practitioners of some kind of New Learning?
“My response,” he said, slowly, “is that if the other machine was right about there being some fundamental difference of philosophy between exoskeletal and endoskeletal forms of life, it cannot be greater than the fundamental difference of philosophy between lobsters and moths, or between ants and slugs. Even if it were, it would be better to regard it as an opportunity for expanding the versatility of the unity at the heart of the True Civilization than to think of it as a potential generator of enmity and strife.”
Drake did not whisper any further encouragement, and Thomas could sense a certain perplexity in his friend’s stance. No one else had heard what the murderous machine had said, and he had not yet had an opportunity to tell them. He did not yet know what he ought to tell them, even if he could be confident that his words were not being overheard.
When he glanced sideways, Thomas saw that Field was having great difficulty suppressing his preacher’s instinct—but Field was no fool, and knew that there were occasions when even the most fervent messenger of God might do better to hold his tongue.
“Thank you, Thomas,” the machine said. “Master Dee will doubtless be proud of you.” Thomas took careful note of the fact that the entity had said “will” rather than “would”, and the consequent implication that the fleshcore really did intend to send them safely home.
“May I ask a question?” Thomas asked.
“You may,” the machine said.
“Is the representative of the Great Fleshcores, and of the True Civilization, willing to guarantee that the precious rarity of the human race, and its vertebrate kin, will be protected against any predator or parasite that seeks to destroy it, to the full extent of their ability?”
There was no delay in making the reply. “This representative of the Great Fleshcores and the True Civilization is willing to guarantee that your world will be protected against external predators to the extent of its need—with the condition that no species therefrom will become a predator upon any other world or species.”
Thomas took due note of the fact that he was not asked, or expected, to guarantee that.
The giant eyes closed again, and the wall’s face began to fade away.
Thomas was about to cry “Wait!” when his discreet passenger said: “Don’t! You’ve said more than enough—and the fleshcore is satisfied, for now.”
“Have we passed our trial by ordeal, Master Digges?” Raleigh whispered, before Thomas could reply to his silent companion.
Thomas had to suppose that his friend was right, and that this had indeed been a trial by ordeal from the moment the Queen Jane had passed from the air into the ether. It still was.
“For now,” he whispered, echoing the ethereal’s words, with all their ominous import. Pray to God that this is more than a dream induced by that strange smoke-creature, Thomas thought. We might wish to have found a kinder and more palatable truth—but, please God, let it be the truth that we have found, not some stupid nightmare. He was not certain that his prayer would be granted, although he told himself that he was incapable of inventing such a nightmare, and that there was surely no playwright in Queen Jane’s court who could have imagined a drama as this sort. If the ethereal could be trusted, dreaming was a rare gift—or curse—and it should not be exercised too generously.
“My companions may take you back to the moon now,” the machine told Thomas. “Returning the ethership to Earth will, however, be your own responsibility.”
“We can do that,” Thomas assured him. “Will we be visited by their kind—or any other—in the near future?”
“Probably not,” the machine said, “but you may be sure that they will be watching you. They will find a way to communicate with you, if they need to do so.”
As they turned to go, Thomas looked full into John Field’s face, and saw a new terror in it, which suggested that Aristocles’ kin would be wise not to show themselves too readily on the surface of the Earth at the present time, if they did not want to cause dire alarm.
CHAPTER NINE
They met no hostile machines or poisonous spiders on the return journey, and they did not descend into the interior of the moon again before being taken to the ethership. Their goodbyes were not protracted.
The blast-off from the moon was not nearly as taxing as the blast-off from Earth had been. Once they were clear of its surface, headed for Earth, it was de Vere who said: “Is it safe to talk freely now, do you think?”
“As safe as it has ever been,” Drake opined. “God has always been able to hear us, and the Devil too—what does it matter if a few monstrous insects are added to the list, or a vast community of worlds like giant periwinkles, whose flesh is all brain?”
“Nothing that we have seen,” Field stated, his voice dull in spite of an obvious determination to hold to his faith, “can alter the fact that Christ is our hope and our salvation—but we have learned a terrible lesson.”
“What lesson is that, Reverend Field?” Thomas asked, calmly.
“God revealed to man in the scriptures everything that man had need to know,” Field repeated. “This relentless search for a so-called New Learning is blasphemous; we know all that God intended us to know, and there is no further source of information but the Devil, who is ever delighted to mock and torment us. We have been punished, Master Digges; there is a demon within you as I speak.”
“Is that what you intend to report to Archbishop Foxe?” Drake asked, his voice as mild as his captain’s.
“It is,” Field said.
“He won’t thank you for it,” Raleigh opined. “If we have learned a lesson...well, I believe that I shall be inclined to treat insects with a little more respect and kindness in future—although I might not feel the need to extend the same courtesy to spiders.”
“They weren’t demons, John,” Thomas said, quietly. “Whether or not they have demons of their own, none of them is an imp of Satan. They are not angels either, alas, for all that they are message-bearers—but we must deal with the world as we find it, not as we would rather it were.”
“We’ll have a tale to tell, though, won’t we?” said de Vere. “A traveler’s tale to put John Mandeville and Odysseus to shame. Will anyone believe us, do you think?”
“I
