The Golden Space (42 page)

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Authors: Pamela Sargent

BOOK: The Golden Space
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“Tell us another story,” the boy said.

The woman rested one hand on his black hair. “Which story?”

“About the dead worlds.”

“We’ve heard about them before,” the girl said. Her blond curls bounced as she shook her head.

“I want to hear about them again.”

“You can see them for yourselves,” the woman said. “Those worlds tell their own story. I saw it written on the faces of the dead and in their records. Those worlds will always circle ours, because we keep them in space as a warning. And what do they tell us?”

The boy shrugged. “Not to do what they did.”

“That isn’t it,” the girl answered. “Some of the worlds left, didn’t they? They wander through space and I’m sure they know everything there is to know. They’ll never come back here. Only the dead ones stayed.”

The woman smiled. The girl glanced at the stranger, then looked down. “Tell us about the labyrinth,” she said.

The boy frowned. “We know about that, too,” he protested. He raised his head. “Why’s it up there, anyway?” he asked.

“The labyrinth? We don’t really know. It was there when we first went to the moon. I suppose it was once only the hollowed-out caves and corridors made by the people who long ago lived there, but when you’re actually walking through it, you wonder if they meant it to be part of an elaborate game as well.”

“Where did they go?” the girl asked.

“I don’t know. They left nothing behind to tell us. No one did, except the dead worlds.”

“And the Guardians,” the boy said. The girl tilted her head and looked at him from the sides of her eyes.

“The Guardians didn’t leave anything behind, either,” the woman said softly.

“They might have stayed themselves,” the boy said. “They might still be here.” He leaned forward. “I think one was here last night. I felt it. I woke up and felt someone near me, and heard a voice. It sounded like a song.”

The girl tossed her head. “There are no Guardians,” she replied. “You were dreaming.” The boy lowered his eyes. “It’s just a story, isn’t it?”

“It might be just a story,” the woman said gently. “But it’s a very persistent one, so it could hold a bit of truth. There’s so much we don’t know, you see. We know about the dead worlds, and we know from their records that there were others who lived on Earth and in space who left and never returned. We’ve found the walls and the bones of giants, but nothing telling us who they were. And we know nothing about the Guardians, only stories and myths and occasional feelings that they’re present, like yours.”

“You don’t believe me,” the boy said.

“I believe you.”

“I think you had a dream,” the girl murmured.

“But I was awake when I felt it. And then we found him.” He pointed at the stranger.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” the woman said. “But it’s only speculation, so it may be just a story, too. Some think that the old stories about the Guardians were just a way of explaining certain events, and a way of consoling ourselves as well. Life was once very hard, and people needed to believe in something. Invisible beings, existing in our world but not really part of it, were supposedly guiding us and protecting us, but actually all we were perceiving was something inside our minds. It was part of ourselves that spoke to us, and we personified it—we thought of it as something outside our minds. Do you understand?”

The children nodded.

“But I think it’s possible that the Guardians might have been real. We know that others, a very long time ago, changed themselves and lived in what we call the dead worlds. Why couldn’t others have chosen to shed their bodies and transform themselves into something immaterial—Guardians, for example?”

The girl shook her head. “How? And if you could see or hear them, they’d have to be made of something, and we could prove they’re real. And why don’t they come out and tell us about themselves if they’re real? Why would they hide?”

“I don’t know,” the woman answered. “Perhaps they revealed themselves only for as long as they thought they were needed. They might have tried to turn us from our crueler impulses. We don’t need them now. We have everything; we live as long as we wish. Maybe now they only watch us, knowing that we must make our own choices, or maybe they, too, have left Earth. Perhaps they were the ones who created us so long ago, if in fact we were made by those ancient people instead of being a group they somehow forgot.”

The girl sighed. The boy looked toward the man under the carapace. “I wonder who he is,” he murmured. “He looked so sick, so lost.”

“He must have had an accident,” the woman said. “It’s fortunate we were out here. We’ll take him with us and heal him. He’ll be well.” The man was still, suspended, at peace. “He’ll live, and maybe he’ll tell us his story.”

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The section entitled “The Renewal” was originally published in slightly different form in the anthology
Immortal
(Harper & Row). Copyright © 1978 by Jack Dann.

The section entitled “The Summer’s Dust” was originally published in slightly different form in
The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction
, July 1981. Copyright © 1981 by Mercury Press, Inc.

The lines from “The Treasure” are reprinted by permission of Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc. from
The Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke
. Copyright 1915 by Dodd, Mead and Company. Copyright renewed 1943 by Edward Marsh. Permission also granted by the Canadian publishers, McClelland and Stewart, Limited, Toronto.

Copyright © 1982 by Pamela Sargent

Cover design by Andy Ross

978-1-5040-1040-5

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com

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