The God Next Door by William R. Doede (rosie project txt) 📖

a physical body from one place to another by a mere thought and a tiny instrument, yet you have done so. You deserted me out in the desert."

"I deserted you?" Stinson cried angrily, "You tried to kill me!"

"I was attempting communication. Why should I kill you?"

He was silent a moment, looking at the people in the cavern. "Perhaps because you feared I would become the God of these people in your place."

Stinson felt a mental shrug. "It is of no importance. When they arrived on this planet I attempted to explain that I was not a God, but the primitive is not deeply buried in them. They soon resorted to emotion rather than reason. It is of no importance."

"I'd hardly call them primitive, with such weapons."

"The tube is not of their technology. That is, they did not make it directly. These are the undesirables, the incorrigibles, the nonconformists from the sixth planet. I permit them here because it occupies my time, to watch them evolve."

"You should live so long."

"Live?" the wind devil said. "Oh, I see your meaning. I'd almost forgotten. You are a strange entity. You travel by a means even I cannot fully understand, yet you speak of time as if some event were about to take place. I believe you think of death. I see your physical body has deteriorated since yesterday. Your body will cease to exist, almost as soon as those of the sixth planet peoples. I am most interested in you. You will bring your people, and live here."

"I haven't decided. There are these web-footed people, who were hostile until they thought I was a God. They have destructive weapons. Also, I don't understand you. I see you as a cone of sand which keeps changing color and configuration. Is it your body? Where do you come from? Is this planet populated with your kind?"

The wind devil hesitated.

"Where do I originate? It seems I have always been. You see this cavern, the heated pool, the statues, the inscriptions. Half a million years ago my people were as you. That is, they lived in physical bodies. Our technology surpassed any you have seen. The tube these webfoots use is a toy by comparison. Our scientists found the ultimate nature of physical law. They learned to separate the mind from the body. Then my people set a date. Our entire race was determined to free itself from the confines of the body. The date came."

"What happened?"

"I do not know. I alone exist. I have searched all the levels of time and matter from the very beginning. My people are gone. Sometimes it almost comes to me, why they are gone. And this is contrary to the greatest law of all—that an entity, once in existence, can never cease to exist."

Stinson was silent, thinking of the endless years of searching through the great gulf of time. His eyes caught sight of the woman, reclining now on the pallet. The men had left her and stood in groups, talking, glancing at him, apparently free of their awe and fear already.

The woman looked at him, and she was not smiling. "Please ask the Sand God," she said, "to speak to my people again. Their fear of him does not last. When He is gone they will probably kill us."

"As for the webfoots," the wind devil, or Sand God, said, "I will destroy them. You and your people will have the entire planet."

"Destroy them?" Stinson asked, incredulously, "all these people? They have a right to live like any one else."

"Right? What is it—'right?' They are entities. They exist, therefore they always will. My people are the only entities who ever died. To kill the body is unimportant."

"No. You misunderstand. Listen, you spoke of the greatest law. Your law is a scientific hypothesis. It has to do with what comes after physical existence, not with existence itself. The greatest law is this, that an entity, once existing, must not be harmed in any way. To do so changes the most basic structure of nature."

The Sand God did not reply. The great bodiless, directionless voice was silent, and Stinson felt as if he had been taken from some high place and set down in a dark canyon. The cone of sand was the color of wood ashes. It pulsed erratically, like a great heart missing a beat now and then. The web-footed people milled about restlessly. The woman's eyes pleaded.

When he looked back, the Sand God was gone.

Instantly a new note rose in the cavern. The murmur of unmistakable mob fury ran over the webfoots. Several of the men approached the woman with hatred in their voices. He could not understand the words now.

But he understood her. "They'll kill me!" she cried.

Stinson pointed the disintegrating weapon at them and yelled. They dropped back. "We'll have to get outside," he told her. "This mob will soon get out of hand. Then the tube won't stop them. They will rush in. I can't kill them all at once, even if I wanted to. And I don't."

Together they edged toward the cavern entrance, ran quickly up the inclined passageway, and came out into crisp, cold air. The morning sun was reflected from a million tiny mirrors on the rocks, the trees and grass. A silver thaw during the night had covered the whole area with a coating of ice. Stinson shivered. The woman handed him a skirt she had thoughtfully brought along from the cavern. He took it, and they ran down the slippery path leading away from the entrance. From the hiding place behind a large rock they watched, as several web-footed men emerged into the sunlight. They blinked, covered their eyes, and jabbered musically among themselves. One slipped and fell on the ice. They re-entered the cave.

Stinson donned the shimmering skirt, smiling as he did so. The others should see him now. Benjamin and Straus and Jamieson. They would laugh. And Ben's wife, Lisa, she would give her little-girl laugh, and probably help him fasten the skirt. It had a string, like a tobacco pouch, which was tied around the waist. It helped keep him warm.

He turned to the woman. "I don't know what I'll do with you, but now that we're in trouble together, we may as well introduce ourselves. My name is Stinson."

"I am Sybtl," she said.

"Syb-tl." He tried to imitate her musical pronunciation. "A very nice name."

She smiled, then pointed to the cavern. "When the ice is gone, they will come out and follow us."

"We'd better make tracks."

"No," she said, "we must run, and make no tracks."

"Okay, Sis," he said.

"Sis?"

"That means, sister."

"I am not your sister. I am your wife."

"What?"

"Yes. When a man protects a woman from harm, it is a sign to all that she is his chosen. Otherwise, why not let her die? You are a strange God."

"Listen, Sybtl," he said desperately, "I am not a God and you are not my wife. Let's get that straight."

"But...."

"No buts. Right now we'd better get out of here."

He took her hand and they ran, slid, fell, picked themselves up again, and ran. He doubted the wisdom of keeping her with him. Alone, the webfoots were no match for him. He could travel instantly to any spot he chose. But with Sybtl it was another matter; he was no better than any other man, perhaps not so good as some because he was forty, and never had been an athlete.

How was he to decide if this planet was suitable for his people, hampered by a woman, slinking through a frozen wilderness like an Indian? But the woman's hand was soft. He felt strong knowing she depended on him.

Anyway, he decided, pursuit was impossible. They left no tracks on the ice. They were safe, unless the webfoots possessed talents unknown to him.

So they followed the path leading down from the rocks, along the creek with its tumbling water. Frozen, leafless willows clawed at their bodies. The sun shone fiercely in a cloudless sky. Already water ran in tiny rivulets over the ice. The woman steered him to the right, away from the creek.

Stinson's bare feet were numb from walking on ice. Christ, he thought, what am I doing here, anyway? He glanced down at Sybtl and remembered the webfoots. He stopped, tempted to use his cylinder and move to a warmer, less dangerous spot.

The woman pulled on his arm. "We must hurry!"

He clutched the tube-weapon. "How many shots in this thing?"

"Shots?"

"How often can I use it?"

"As often as you like. It is good for fifty years. Kaatr—he is the one you destroyed—brought it from the ship when we came. Many times he has used it unwisely."

"When did you come?"

"Ten years ago. I was a child."

"I thought only criminals were brought here."

She nodded. "Criminals, and their children."

"When will your people come again?"

She shook her head. "Never. They are no longer my people. They have disowned us."

"And because of me even those in the cavern have disowned you."

Suddenly she stiffened beside him. There, directly in their path, stood the Sand God. It was blood red now. It pulsed violently. The great voice burst forth.

"Leave the woman!" it demanded angrily. "The webfoots are nearing your position."

"I cannot leave her. She is helpless against them."

"What form of primitive stupidity are you practicing now? Leave, or they will kill you."

Stinson shook his head.

The Sand God pulsed more violently than before. Ice melted in a wide area around it. Brown, frozen grass burned to ashes.

"You will allow them to kill you, just to defend her life? What business is it of yours if she lives or dies? My race discarded such primitive logic long before it reached your level of development."

"Yes," Stinson said, "and your race no longer exists."

The Sand God became a sphere of blue flame. A wave of intense heat drove them backward. "Earthman," the great voice said, "go back to your Earth. Take your inconsistencies with you. Do not come here again to infect my planet with your primitive ideas. The webfoots are not as intelligent as you, but they are sane. If you bring your people here, I shall destroy you all."

The sphere of blue fire screamed away across the frozen wilderness, and the thunder of its passing shook the ground and echoed among the lonely hills.

Sybtl shivered against his arm. "The Sand God is angry," she said. "My people tell how he was angry once before, when we first came here. He killed half of us and burned the ship that brought us. That is how Kaatr got the tube-weapon. It was the only thing the Sand God didn't burn, that and the skirts. Then, when he had burned the ship, the Sand God went to the sixth planet and burned two of the largest cities, as a warning that no more of us must come here."

Well, Stinson said to himself, that does it. We are better off on Earth. We can't fight a monster like him.

Sybtl touched his arm. "Why did the Sand God come? He did not speak."

"He spoke to me."

"I did not hear."

"Yes, I know now. His voice sounds like thunder in the sky, but it is a voice that speaks only in the mind. He said I must leave this planet."

She glanced at him with suddenly awakened eyes, as if thinking of it for the first time. "Where is your ship?"

"I have no ship."

"Then he will kill you." She touched her fingers on his face. "I am sorry. It was all for me."

"Don't worry. The Sand God travels without a ship, why shouldn't I?"

"Now?"

"As soon as you are safe. Come."

Steam rose from the burned area, charred like a rocket launching pit. They stepped around it carefully. Stinson felt warm air, but there was no time, now, to warm cold feet or dwell on the vagaries of Sand Gods.

Together they crossed the narrow valley. Sybtl led him toward a tall mound of rock. Here they came to the creek again, which flowed into a small canyon. They climbed the canyon wall. Far away, small figures moved. The webfoots were on their trail.

She drew him into a small cave. It was heated, like the great cavern, but held no walled pool nor mysterious lighting. But it was warm, and the small entrance made an excellent vantage point for warding off attack.

"They will not find us...."

A high-pitched keening burst suddenly around them. Stinson knew they had heard, or felt the sound for some time, that now its frequency was in an audible range.

"The Sand God," Sybtl said. "Sometimes he plays among the clouds. He makes it rain in a dry summer, or sometimes warms the whole world for days at a time in winter, so the snow melts and the grass begins to green. Then he