Collision with Chronos

He forced himself to speak mildly, calmly. “One can make many criticisms of them, of course,” he said, “but the Titans aren’t the source of their ideology – they are merely its chief instrument. And that instrument is necessary, Blare. Earth has to be defended; so does the correct evolutionary lineage – I’m astounded if you can’t see that.”

“Defending Earth against an alien invader is one thing,” Oblomot rejoindered. “We haven’t had to do that – this civilisation hasn’t had to do that. It all happened centuries ago. As for the rest—” He shook his head sadly.

Although he felt he had had enough of arguing for one day, Heshke could hardly allow such wild contentions to pass unchallenged. “But it’s all part of the same thing!” he protested. “The blood that flows in the veins of the Titanium Legions is the same blood that flowed in the men who flung back the invader. The threat is the same, the task is the same – to have and to hold the planet Earth!”

He was, he knew, spouting Titan slogans, but that didn’t worry him. This was part of the creed he would never seriously have doubted.

But Oblomot merely looked sardonic. “The blood in the veins of the deviant species is the same, too. We’re all descended from Classical Man.”

“Yes, but —”

“I know what you’re going to say. That we alone carry the unchanged line of Classical Man and hence constitute True Man – the others are aberrations leading away from the ‘natural’ line of evolutionary development. Well, it is true that we’re closest to Classical Man, in physical characteristics, anyway. And probably in mental characteristics too, I grant you that.”

“Then there you are. That is what I’m saying.”

“Yes, but what does it mean? Just because we resemble an old type doesn’t mean that newer types are somehow wrong. I and my friends aren’t opposed to evolution, Rond. We’re trying to save evolution from being stopped, from being cut short – because that’s what the Titans are doing. Nature’s method is diversity – always to be radiating out into new forms. The Titans are destroying all new forms and imposing a rigid uniformity. Believe me, we’ll all be victims in the end.”

Heshke found these new ideas frightening. “The Titans believe the deviants were caused by an alien weapon that affected mankind’s genes,” he said.

“Yes, I’ve heard that type of theory before. Perhaps it’s true. Or perhaps it was one of our own weapons. But so what? All these mutation-inducing influences can do is speed up evolution, compressing into centuries what otherwise would have taken tens of millennia or longer. The subspecies we’ve been dutifully annihilating would have developed sooner or later anyway.”

There was an awkward silence. Heshke shook his head, sighing deeply.

“I still say only one race can occupy the Earth,” he said sombrely. “For heaven’s sake, how do you expect us to react to an all-out attack by the Lorenes?”

Oblomot nodded slowly. “In that particular case, I agree with you. The Lorenes were an even more aggressive species than we are; they had to be wiped out – they were a strain this planet just couldn’t afford. But we didn’t stop there, we went on to all the others. The Lorenes were a danger, yes – but the Amhraks?” He smiled. “No, Rond. And as for the Urukuri, they were scarcely able to put up a fight. As a matter of fact I think it’s stretching a point to call them a subspecies at all. They merely have exaggerated negroid characteristics and an exceptionally placid disposition.”

“Think of the dangers of miscegenation. Of our blood becoming contaminated with Urukuri or Amhrak blood.” Heshke shuddered slightly. “Imagine your daughter being raped by one. They have raped our women, you know.”

Oblomot rummaged for a fresh bottle in a nearby cabinet. It was as if he were pretending not to hear Heshke.

At last he said heavily: “Have another drink, Rond. I don’t blame you for thinking like that, because Titan propaganda is very good and everybody is infected by it. To your mind it even appears perfectly rational, that’s how good it is. But it’s wrong.”

Sipping the newly filled glass, Heshke said with a note of petulance: “Well, why are you unburdening your soul to me? Aren’t you afraid I’ll report you?”

“No, I trust you. Basically you’re just not the Titan type. I wanted you to know why I’m leaving. When things get bad – which they may – I want you to understand that there is an alternative, that Titan thinking isn’t the only option for our species.”

He raised his glass as though offering Heshke a toast. “To the future.”

“Where will you go?” Heshke asked idly.

“In hiding for a bit. I have friends.” Oblomot drained his glass. “Sorry to make a ‘race traitor’ of you, old man.”

“That’s all right,” mumbled Heshke, waving his hand in embarrassment. “You know I could never bring myself to inform on you, Blare.”