THE CHAPTER ENDS
Novelet of Latter Years
by Poul Anderson
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Dynamic ScienceFiction January 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Julith clasped the star-man's arm with one hand, whileher other arm gripped his waist. The generator in Jorun's skullresponded to his will ... they rose quietly and went slowly seaward....
"No," said the old man.
"But you don't realize what it means," said Jorun. "You don't know whatyou're saying."
The old man, Kormt of Huerdar, Gerlaug's son, and Speaker for SolisTownship, shook his head till the long, grizzled locks swirled aroundhis wide shoulders. "I have thought it through," he said. His voice wasdeep and slow and implacable. "You gave me five years to think about it.And my answer is no."
Jorun felt a weariness rise within him. It had been like this for daysnow, weeks, and it was like trying to knock down a mountain. You beat onits rocky flanks till your hands were bloody, and still the mountainstood there, sunlight on its high snow-fields and in the forests thatrustled up its slopes, and it did not really notice you. You were abrief thin buzz between two long nights, but the mountain was forever.
"You haven't thought at all," he said with a rudeness born ofexhaustion. "You've only reacted unthinkingly to a dead symbol. It's nota human reaction, even, it's a verbal reflex."
Kormt's eyes, meshed in crow's-feet, were serene and steady under thethick gray brows. He smiled a little in his long beard, but made noother reply. Had he simply let the insult glide off him, or had he notunderstood it at all? There was no real talking to these peasants; toomany millennia lay between, and you couldn't shout across that gulf.
"Well," said Jorun, "the ships will be here tomorrow or the next day,and it'll take another day or so to get all your people aboard. You havethat long to decide, but after that it'll be too late. Think about it, Ibeg of you. As for me, I'll be too busy to argue further."
"You are a good man," said Kormt, "and a wise one in your fashion. Butyou are blind. There is something dead inside you."
He waved one huge gnarled hand. "Look around you, Jorun of Fulkhis. Thisis Earth. This is the old home of all humankind. You cannot go off andforget it. Man cannot do so. It is in him, in his blood and bonesand soul; he will carry Earth within him forever."
Jorun's eyes traveled along the arc of the hand. He stood on the edge ofthe town. Behind him were its houses—low, white, half-timbered, roofedwith thatch or red tile, smoke rising from the chimneys; carvedgalleries overhung the narrow, cobbled, crazily-twisting streets; heheard the noise of wheels and wooden clogs, the shouts of children atplay. Beyond that were trees and the incredible ruined walls of SolCity. In front of him, the wooded hills were cleared and a gentlelandscape of neat fields and orchards rolled down toward the distantglitter of the sea: scattered farm buildings, drowsy cattle, windinggravel roads, fence-walls of ancient marble and granite, all dreamingunder the