And then we may not like what we learn, Nansen refrained from saying. Nansen refrained from saying.

Bringing him and Zeyd down was an awkward business, which required much advance planning. Flesh and blood no longer made passages across interplanetary space. Those who wished to experience sister globes contented themselves with virtuals. That art was well beyond anything of eleven millennia ago. The fact that no one seemed addicted to it said something profound about their society, but the newcomers weren't sure what. In the end, the two men crossed from the ship to the robotic boat in their spacesuits.

"I am am sorry," Nansen told Dayan, holding her close to him in their cabin just before he went. "It does feel like a dirty, selfish trick on you. But -" sorry," Nansen told Dayan, holding her close to him in their cabin just before he went. "It does feel like a dirty, selfish trick on you. But -"

"But you've explained the reasons, and they're valid, and mainly, I'm going to miss you like hell. So shut up already and give me a last big, wet kiss." She grabbed his ears and pulled his head down to her lips.

Areli the Unifier herself had suggested that the first visit, perhaps all, be by a small party and discreetly handled. Envoy's Envoy's arrival had roused "strong general interest." (Sundaram had an idea that no word for "sensation" existed, that the culture valued tranquility, self-control, and good manners too much. "Confucian?" asked Yu, and answered herself: "No, doubtless no analogy really fits.") It had been necessary to screen applicants for direct contact with the crew, and millions had tuned in on each conversation. ("Well, we are extraordinary," Mokoena observed, "although I won't be surprised if most of them stop caring in a few more months.") A conspicuous, publicized group would be everywhere encumbered by well-meaning crowds, besieged with invitations, swept off to festivities. ("Which seems to contradict your view of the Zeitgeist, Ajit," Dayan remarked, "except that, no matter how persuasive their social conditioning methods are, I don't believe they can make everybody identical. It could even be that a few cranks would try to attack us.") If the honored guests from the remote past wished to walk again on their mother world, best they go essentially incognito. arrival had roused "strong general interest." (Sundaram had an idea that no word for "sensation" existed, that the culture valued tranquility, self-control, and good manners too much. "Confucian?" asked Yu, and answered herself: "No, doubtless no analogy really fits.") It had been necessary to screen applicants for direct contact with the crew, and millions had tuned in on each conversation. ("Well, we are extraordinary," Mokoena observed, "although I won't be surprised if most of them stop caring in a few more months.") A conspicuous, publicized group would be everywhere encumbered by well-meaning crowds, besieged with invitations, swept off to festivities. ("Which seems to contradict your view of the Zeitgeist, Ajit," Dayan remarked, "except that, no matter how persuasive their social conditioning methods are, I don't believe they can make everybody identical. It could even be that a few cranks would try to attack us.") If the honored guests from the remote past wished to walk again on their mother world, best they go essentially incognito.

That suited Nansen well - so well that he came to suppose his original dim suspicions had been unjust. Which perhaps helps show how foreign Earth has really become, Which perhaps helps show how foreign Earth has really become, he thought with a slight shiver. he thought with a slight shiver.

The question was who should go first. His overriding priority was the safeguarding of the knowledge his expedition had brought back, and getting it to those humans to whom it would make a difference.

He considered: Yu, engineer, interpreter of technical data from Tahir and the star cluster. Dayan, physicist, who came closer than anyone else to comprehending what the Holont had had to tell; furthermore, along the way Nansen had given her simulations and a little practice in flying Courier, Courier, so that she was his auxiliary pilot. Mokoena, who could delegate her biology to the computers but not her hands or her presence as a healer. Sundaram, linguist, the nearest thing the ship had to an anthropologist, who could do his work over the laser channels while reserving himself for the folk of other stars. All, Nansen judged, indispensable. That left him and Zeyd. so that she was his auxiliary pilot. Mokoena, who could delegate her biology to the computers but not her hands or her presence as a healer. Sundaram, linguist, the nearest thing the ship had to an anthropologist, who could do his work over the laser channels while reserving himself for the folk of other stars. All, Nansen judged, indispensable. That left him and Zeyd.

His decision had raised only minor protest, which soon died. The years and the light-years had knit them that closely together.

Zeyd's appointed (anointed?) guide was a young man called Mundival, of Areli's mixed-race type. Mnemonic induction techniques had given him a good command of English as reconstructed from the databases. He was ardent, well-nigh worshipful; he could not hear enough about starfaring and its pioneer days, or do enough for the starfarer. Just the same, Zeyd couldn't help envying, a hit, Nansen, who'd gotten a most attractive young woman. Not that either of them would - However - Oh, well.

Mundival proposed a walk through a city. Clothes varied broadly, sometimes fantastically, according to individual choice within parameters Zeyd had not learned. Dressed in inconspicuous tunics and trousers, they two wandered along the paths that wound over a high hill and around its foot. It was late spring in the northern hemisphere, a season of jubilance after the stark winter of these parts. Sunlight spilled across blossoms and leaves. Trees vibrated with wings and carols. A breeze drifted sweet. Dwellers went loosely clad, children skipping, youth and maiden hand in hand, elders dignified but generally cheerful. Sometimes a car purred by, robotic, more often carrying loads than passengers.

Elya occupied a height between two landscapes. Westward swept plains of grass, dotted with stands of trees, where wild herds roamed - big animals, brown and shaggy, developed from lesser creatures to replace the extinct grazers that belonged in such an ecosystem. East and north the terrain dropped to an enormous bottomland, intensively cultivated. There it was robots that moved, tending the biosynthetic plantations, processing the products.

The population here numbered some one hundred thousand. Most of them lived in houses set well apart among gardens and groves. Their places of business were similarly modest, schools, shops, ateliers, inns, decorous recreational establishments. Many served pilgrims to the Sanctuary and the shrines nearby. That quasi-temple rose majestic above surrounding trees, natural stone carved with an exuberance of foliage, flowers, fruits, and vines, towers branching like boughs against the sky. When the Sanctuary sang, the music went as waterfall, thunder, and joy from horizon to horizon.

No two the same, other buildings were mainly underground, with only an upper level in the air. Passing an especially curious structure, drape-like curves in blue-and-white stripes surmounted by a roof that was a living organism, Zeyd confessed, "In spite of my virtual tours, I am afraid everything is rather bewildering to me."

"I ammed - I was not certain how it would be for you, sir," Mundival replied. "We lost so much information during the evil millennia. And what we keep is too much for one human brain."

Yes, Zeyd reflected, the total might be fragmentary but must be overwhelming. How closely could he number the rulers of medieval Egypt or say what their individual fortunes had been? "This is marvelous, of course. Is it typical?"

"Not truly. No place is. This one is more historic than most."

Mundival gestured at some nearby remnants of massive walls, recalling ages when men thought and wrought larger than now. City lay buried upon city beneath Elya, the whole way down to Chicago. Micromachines had done the archeological work on them centuries ago. Ruins like these were merely curiosa.

Like a ship from that same past?

"Elsewhere is different," Mundival said. "I believe you have seen. You shall betread if you wish. Territories, biomes, inhabitants, lives, all be - are different, all around Earth. Life varies." He searched for a word. "Spontaneity is life, Selador teached."

Zeyd frowned, picking his own words with care. "Forgive me, but I still don't quite understand. I gather that religions, customs, even laws vary from group to group, and each develops as it chooses, or splits off to start something new. Doesn't that lead to conflict?"

"All are Seladorian," Mundival said earnestly. "Different deity or none, different usage, yes, but all accept the oneness of life. That means, too, the oneness of humans." He hesitated. "It shalled - it should."

Zeyd knew of no faith that had ever brought universal harmony He wondered how meaningful these cultural uniquenesses were, and what measures were now and then necessary to maintain the global peace. Regardless of what it called itself, he didn't think Seladorianism was just a philosophy.

"But not many believe this out among the stars?" he asked cautiously.

"No. It is far to there, and they are strange -"

The young voice did not condemn; suddenly it throbbed. The young face glowed. Perhaps, Perhaps, Zeyd thought, with a tingle through his nerves, Zeyd thought, with a tingle through his nerves, we are not quite living fossils after all. we are not quite living fossils after all.

A vast lake, almost an inland sea, filled the heart of what was once Paraguay. Its creation had been part of the general transformation of Earth through several centuries. Machines, most of them millionfold and invisibly small, kept watch over it, monitoring, correcting, guiding the further evolution of lake, land, and life. Yet as he stood on the shore, to Nansen it seemed as if newly come from the hand of God.

Water sheened argent to the edge of sight. The sun was a great gold-orange globe wheeling down to the horizon. It cast a molten bridge toward him, which broke up in little fires where wavelets lapped in the shallows and lost themselves among reeds. Sometimes a fish leaped, like a meteor that rose before it fell. Wings swarmed through deepening, nearly cloudless blue overhead; cries drifted faintly across distance. Ashore, enormous blossoms and delicate tall trees were new to him, engineered for subtle purposes, but they perfumed the evening coolness and drew an arabesque over heaven.

"Yes," he said after silence had grown long, "my forebears rest in a good place."

"I am glad you are pleased," answered Varday. She touched his arm. "We had better turn back. The guests will be arriving."

He took a moment to enjoy the sight of her in the sunset glow. Like Zeyd's companion, she was of the Unifier's type. Early on, he had suppressed an impulse to ask exactly how equal everybody was. Let it suffice him that the breed was a handsome one - in her case, lovely, for she was gracefully formed, with hair a dark ruddy cascade over bare, amber-hued shoulders.

"Mrs, that's right," he agreed. "I look forward to meeting them." They fell into step over the soft turf.

"You are kind to permit that I invite my friends." Her voice flowed easily, melodiously. Accent added charm. "They were delighted."

"Well, you have been more than kind to me. Besides, I do want to meet people, not in masses or at some official function, but individually."

"I wish conversation could be more free. If you were willing to undergo a mnemonic in a modern language -"

"No, thanks." He had more than once declined the neurological process. "First I should get a general impression of your world. There'll be time later, if we so decide." He knew his - and Zeyd's - excuse was lame, but neither cared to say outright that he didn't entirely trust whatever else the program might instill.

Varday lapsed into the solemnity of youth. "You cannot know the spirit of a people unless you speak with them unrestricted."

Nansen shrugged. "Not always then, either." Or ever? Are they any more candid today than in the ancient past? Or ever? Are they any more candid today than in the ancient past?

Varday nodded. "That is true. We may have changed too much from what the star folk are. Often since you came I have wondered if that may not be the deep reason why the Kith scarcely ever call on us."

"Oh, surely not. You aren't hostile to them in any way, as I've heard people once were."

Varday shivered in the breeze. "People were not sane."

He tried to drive off the specter with dryness. "From what I've gathered - tell me if I'm mistaken - there simply isn't a trade to ply. Planets, or at least planetary systems, have long since become self-sufficient. They don't need to import. Newness, fresh ideas, or stories - but this culture of yours, here on Earth, isn't much interested even in that."

It comforted neither of them. Is any culture anywhere? Is any culture anywhere? he thought, with recollections of recorded communications from other stars. he thought, with recollections of recorded communications from other stars. No voyages now seem to go past the sphere of the known, if only because the radius has grown too great and nobody wants the fate of No voyages now seem to go past the sphere of the known, if only because the radius has grown too great and nobody wants the fate of Envoy. As Envoy. As ships die or their crews disband, they are not replaced. . . . ships die or their crews disband, they are not replaced. . . .

And she exclaimed: "It shouldn't be so! We We shouldn't be!" She gulped. "I used to think about this sometimes. And then you came back to us." shouldn't be!" She gulped. "I used to think about this sometimes. And then you came back to us."

They walked on. The sun was down, the sky still bright in the west, but dusk seeped from the ground and spread from the east with the swiftness of these latitudes. Lights began to twinkle in the village ahead. A tune chimed.

Varday tossed her head. The hair rippled along her back. "This is to be a happy occasion," she declared. "Forgive my loss of laughter."

It was not the first time he had seen sudden melancholy fall on her as they traveled about. She bounced back equally fast, with cheer to lighten his own inner darknesses. "You'll make it be, my friend," he said.

They entered the village. It was in and of this clime, houses square, earth-toned, each surrounding a garden court. Only the local Sanctuary, foam white tower with a helical spire in which rainbow colors played by clay, stood out. Residents wandered the streets, relaxing in the cool. Mostly they wore white robes and headcloths, trimmed with bright colors. Pet animals were popular, cockatoos on wrists, long-legged hounds, vividly marked cats, creatures more exotic. Where illumination fell strongest, several artists and musicians followed their callings. Nansen did not recognize the implements and instruments. Everybody greeted him and Varday as they passed. He had merely been named to them as a visitor from elsewhere. That was no novelty.

The mansion stood on the far edge of town, not very big though ornamented with pilasters, changing iridescences, and a winged cupola. Varday had explained that it belonged to an association of which she was a member, and currently she had the use of it. Bubblelike aircars had already delivered some guests and returned to wait for the next demand for their services. More set down while the door parted for Nansen and his guide.

Inside was a chamber where abstract murals slowly refashioned themselves, aromas wafted, and music played in the background - music resurrected from his era, mainly by transmission from Envoy's, Envoy's, database, in his honor. A buffet stood generously spread. Food and drink were excellent nowadays, though moderation in both appeared to be universal. Most of the gathering were young. They merged zestfully around the starfarer, without pressure or presumption, informal because etiquette and restraint were ingrained. database, in his honor. A buffet stood generously spread. Food and drink were excellent nowadays, though moderation in both appeared to be universal. Most of the gathering were young. They merged zestfully around the starfarer, without pressure or presumption, informal because etiquette and restraint were ingrained.

Of course they wanted to hear about his voyage. The basic account had gone worldwide, but incidents, anecdotes, sidelights must be numberless. Nansen spent the next two or three hours largely seated, talking. Beside him, Varday held a small device programmed to translate back and forth. She was right, it didn't make for intimate conversation, but it served well enough here.

". . . and we left the star cluster and continued on our way," he said.

"Does it abide in its unhappy state?" asked one girl.

He shrugged. "We can only answer that by going back."

She hugged herself. "I will never be able to see it again without a shudder."

"It's like something out of Earth's blackest past," said another.

"Oh, now," countered a young man, "that was a rousing story."

"A dreadful story," maintained a second youth. "Forgive me, Captain Nansen, but if mistakes lead to madness among the far stars, too, we are well free of them all." dreadful story," maintained a second youth. "Forgive me, Captain Nansen, but if mistakes lead to madness among the far stars, too, we are well free of them all."

Some assented, some frowned. Nansen went quickly on to milder tales.

Later there was dancing. Varday had learned some steps from his time and was his sole partner. The rest made a game of devising their own to fit the archaic melodies. She was warm and lithe in his arms.

After a span he didn't measure she suggested some fresh air. A couple already out in the court murmured a salutation and returned inside. Tact?

The door contracted behind them and shut off sound from within. Early dew on roses glimmered beneath stars and Milky Way.

"You have a beautiful world here," he said. "I didn't hope to find anything like this."

I hoped to find humans in the freedom of the galaxy, and something of its grandeur in their spirits. hoped to find humans in the freedom of the galaxy, and something of its grandeur in their spirits.

She nodded. How slender her neck was, beneath the heavy hair. "Three thousand years of peace."

"Thanks to ... Selador." Who seems to have done better than the Christ they seem to have forgotten. Who seems to have done better than the Christ they seem to have forgotten.

"And those who came after, martyrs, preachers, workers." Her basic seriousness was again upon her. "To this very day. Each one of us, in every generation, must do the work over again."

"How?" he wondered.

"Against the beast that is born in us. We must never let down our defense or believe the past is safely dead."

He knew that education included virtual experiences of former events. It struck him now that some of those must be cruel. Psychotherapy afterward could take away the pain, but the scars would remain, reminding. Could this whole civilization be a retreat from the horror that was history? Could this whole civilization be a retreat from the horror that was history? "Peace." He was unable not to ask: "Do you never grow restless?" "Peace." He was unable not to ask: "Do you never grow restless?"

"Of course we do." She sounded defensive. "We make our adventures."

Yes, I've seen some recordings of breakneck sports.

"And we create," Varday said.

When did anyone last create anything really new? He had inquired, during his long-range dialogues while he lingered in quarantine orbit. Artists of every sort - yes, and scientists - were evidently satisfied to play variations on themes long canonical. Most effort and ardor went into exploring and re-enacting the accumulated works of the ages. No one lifetime sufficed to exhaust that heritage. He had inquired, during his long-range dialogues while he lingered in quarantine orbit. Artists of every sort - yes, and scientists - were evidently satisfied to play variations on themes long canonical. Most effort and ardor went into exploring and re-enacting the accumulated works of the ages. No one lifetime sufficed to exhaust that heritage.

"Not everybody can be ... original, can they?" he demurred, then feared she might take offense.

She did not. Looking up at him, her eyes were big and abrim with starlight. "No, not in public ways," she answered softly. "But everyone can make life itself the highest art."

Her invitation was unmistakable. They had been well behaved throughout, by his standards. Hers - ? A wish stirred - would Hanny really mind?

As if summoned, a spark rose over the westside roof and hastened across the stars. "Why, look," he said, and realized how relieved he felt, "I do think that's Envoy." Envoy."

Probably she recognized his tone. Probably she wasn't too disappointed. She spoke gravely. "Your ship. Your life's meaning."

He glanced his startled question at her.

"We of Earth today seek what we may find in ourselves," she told him. "You seek elsewhere, outward."

Did her voice tremble the least bit?

From the southeastern shore of the Mediterranean Sea, down over the Arabian peninsula to its end - though neither of these bore the names Zeyd remembered - was rain forest. Nor did he know most of its plants and animals. Many had not existed when he left home.

He stood with Mundival at the edge of a clearing. Ferns brushed his calves, wet, a touch of cold here where sultriness hung on after dark. Below a black wall of trees, a fire blazed and roared. Flamelight wavered on smoke; sparks leaped. Before it bulked an altar hewn from a stone. A hundred or more people were gathered in front, naked to the night. This was their form of Sanctuary, their unifying and affirming ritual.

Robed at the altar, their leader lifted her arms on high. "In the name of Selador," she chanted, "oneness." Mundival whispered a translation in Zeyd's ear.

"Helui ann! Helui ann!" boomed the response. Mundival did not render it. Perhaps he couldn't. boomed the response. Mundival did not render it. Perhaps he couldn't.

"For everything that is life, oneness."

"Helui ann! Helui ann!"

And yet at home they lived and worked, in their scattered communities, as members of global civilization, made trips everywhere around the planet, partook of its all-embracing communications web. Two or three of them had shown Zeyd around, and through Mundival had described rationally - with a certain passion, but rationally - something of the balance between humankind and nature in this land, a balance not only ecological but sacred.

The liturgy went on. Drums and whistles joined in. The people began to sway and stamp their feet.

The voice grew shrill. ". . . bring down the falsehoods of the Biosophists . . ."

A carnivore screamed, somewhere off in the dark. Zeyd wondered how serene Earth really was and how long its peace could endure.

Kith Town lay empty save for robotic caretakers, a museum of antiquity. The styles, furnishings, possessions in its buildings had changed over the millennia, but gradually and never entirely. Even the newest homes, forsaken just centuries ago, haunted Nansen with hints of his childhood.

Visitors were rare. Anyone who felt curious could employ a virtual. However, a service center included sleeping quarters.

Nansen got up before dawn. Varday waited outside her adjacent room, as they had agreed. He didn't want to say more than a good morning, and her culture put her under no compulsion to talk. They went silently out together, into silence.

It was cold; breath smoked, barely visible by starshine. Murk overspread the hemmed-in street. Footfalls rang hollow.

The houses ended at a sharp and ancient boundary. With the sky clear above them, the pair saw better. A few lights glimmered on the ground afar, lost beneath the stars. Closer by, snags of walls and pits that had been foundations broke the gray of hoarfrosted grass and brush. From time to time, a a city had engulfed the starfarers' dwelling place. city had engulfed the starfarers' dwelling place.

"They come no more," Varday said, barely loud enough for him to hear, and needlessly, except for whatever need was in her. "It is so seldom a ship arrives, and so brief a while. The crew stay in a hostel, or they stay aboard."

Do they sense they are no longer wanted? Nansen thought. Nansen thought. Their wares are of no more use. The stories and questions they brought from beyond were often troublesome. Their wares are of no more use. The stories and questions they brought from beyond were often troublesome.

He stopped and looked aloft. She did, too. Constellations had changed shape, not greatly but noticeably. He pointed toward what he knew as Ursa Minor. "See," he told her, "there was our North Star." It was Delta Cygni now, not very near the celestial pole.