The Forum

The Master’s Hand, Part 1:

By Markus Thyme

October 9, 2006:

Old John lay wide awake on his cot. It was too near dawn and he dare not doze off. It would be too easy to miss the morning bell. Wearily he waited — waited — waited. Finally, the single note sounded through the barracks and he rolled out onto his feet. Pain stabbed through his calves and thighs as he hit the floor and he groaned in spite of himself. He look furtively about, but the others seemed not to notice.

Each day it was more difficult for him to roll out like that. It was even more difficult to hold his back straight and push on into the day. At sixty-seven, every motion had to be forced. Still he pushed on. He was not yet ready for that final drama.

A time would come, he knew, when stiffening joints and screaming muscles would be too much, even for his will. Then, he would welcome the merciful, swift hand of his master. Someday, but not yet — not yet.

In his years of service, John had watched the aging of many workers. Always, that time came when they could no longer manage, when they became a liability rather than an asset to the community. Then a quick merciful act would end their suffering. That was right and good. It was good that they were spared the agony of a lingering death, and it was right that they no longer consumed without producing. Leisure, after all, was the prerogative of the elect.

Once, long ago, John had seen an old man panic when the master came for him. He began to tremble and jerk, as though he were suffering a stroke. His face seemed to shrivel into itself under the force of fear. Finally, he turned and ran, right through the green and out into the wild country. The master did not pursue. He just stood there, looking sadly after the man.

John had been a young apprentice at the time and the scene had burned itself into his memory. He could still picture it in all of its detail. He remembered the wise compassion in the master’s eyes when he turned and spoke.

“Out there,” he said, “he will find a death of pain and terror. I would have been quick and gentle. That poor wretched fellow. He was too weak and slow to do his work here, yet he thinks to survive out there. What he finds in the wild country will not be gentle or quick, but he has chosen.”

That ancient scene was still in John’s mind when he sat down in the dining hall. He wondered, for a moment, how he would act when the master came for him. It was not a good thought to start the day and he shook it off. After all, he had some time left yet. He was not all that tired.

The room filled rapidly with the day shift workers. John did not look up when the seat beside him was taken. He knew without looking. It was the kid, the apprentice who had been dogging his heels for the past month. It had reached the point where the others were referring to the runt as “Little John.”

The kid had said, “I”m gonna be an overseer someday, just like you, John.”

That had caused an anger in John, but he could not bring himself to direct it at the kid. The youngster reminded him of his own innocence at the same age. He simply did not realize what had to happen to make his dream come true. He did not understand that new overseers are only appointed after their teacher has experienced the master’s hand.

“Good morning, sir,” said the kid.

John’s answer was a grudging inclination of his head.

It was enough to satisfy the boy and he continued.

“Today is Ascension Day for our group, isn’t it?” What happens to them now, John? Where do they go from here?”

John snorted in disgust.

“Crap! It used ta be that kids knew something when they came out a nursery,” he sneered. “I guess that ain’t the case no more.”

The boy flushed and stared hard at his tray.

“Well, Hell,” said John, softening a little. “I guess it ain’t no crime to not know if nobody ever told you. They go to school now.

“Every day a group of human elect get sent to the special school on Calania. That’s the planet in space where the Calanians live. Today, our group goes, so it’s Ascension Day for them.”

“Well, I’m getting to understand that. sir,” said the kid. “What I don’t understand though, is how the elect are picked. Why are they going to a special school instead of you. It seems to me, you’re a lot smarter than any of them.”

A silence fell like doom and radiated in a circle outward from them. The nearest of the others looked away. Some suddenly noticed very interesting aspects of their food. One does not often hear blasphemy, even from a green kid. John’s face turned grey, then quickly changed to angry red.

“The elect,” he hissed, “are hand selected at birth by our Calanian masters.”

He continued in a quiet whisper. “Did you wish to imply that our masters are in error?”

The boy’s face went white. “Oh na - na - no sir!” he whispered. “I - I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything like that. I just didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know!” exclaimed John. “Blessed Master! Is there anything you do know? I think I’d better get you straightened out before your brainless babbling gets you culled.”

The boy shuddered, for culled was an ongoing threat that everyone understood.

Noting his reaction, John continued quietly and thoughtfully.

“The Calanians are our masters and we must never question that. We must never, never question their orders or their behavior.

“It’s not just the fear of punishment, you understand. Sure we could lose our turn with a sow and we could even be culled, but there’s more to it than that.

“The important thing is in knowing that our masters are wise and good. All we have to do is see how good it is now, the way everything is organized and planned out and taken care of. Then compare that to how things were before.”

“Before, sir?” queried the kid.

“Before the Calanians came.” answered John.

The kid looked startled.

“Yes, before they came,” continued John. “It may seem strange to you, but there was such a time — a very long time ago.”

“I really never thought about that,” whispered the kid.

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

The boy gave his full attention as John leaned closer and continued.

“A very long time before even I was born, humans were here alone. The Calanians had not come here yet.”

The boy gaped. “It seems impossible, sir, having no one to tell us what to do.”

“That was the problem, all right,” said John. “With no masters to keep us straight, humans had no choice but to manage by themselves. Imagine that, if you can.”

From the attention John had attracted, it was obvious that Little John was not the only innocent. Many of the younger workers around them were leaning closer and ignoring their food.

Asked one, “Then how were overseers appointed? Who picked them?”

“Ha!” gloated John, pointing a horny finger at the youngster. “That was the biggest problem of all. Myself, I would never have got to be an overseer. No, sir!”

He leaned forward and looked intently at the youngster. “Fairness and wisdom didn’t count for much back then. To be an overseer, you had to be very mean and tough. You would get to be an overseer by brute force or by trickery, that’s all.”

“But, even if a mean man became an overseer, how would he know what to do?” asked another. “Who would tell him what to do?”

John sighed and spoke gently, as to a simpleton.

“That’s the whole point, don’t you see?

“With no Calanian masters, they all tried to tell each other what to do. They actually thought they were good enough to rule the world, just like our masters.”

There were expressions of dismay and shock around the table as John’s point finally got through.

“It would never work,” whispered Little John.

“That’s exactly right,” snapped John. “It didn’t work. For years and years, before the Calanians came, the whole world was divided into groups of fighting humans. Each group wanted to rule all of the others. They were willing to kill each other to do it.”

“How were there ever any humans left, with all of them fighting all the time?” asked Little John.

“There almost wasn’t,” replied John solemnly. “There almost wasn’t.

“It’s sad to think about. At one time there were millions of people. No, really there were!” he insisted, answering the looks of his audience. “They were, most of them, killed in the last great human war. Almost all of them. A few, our ancestors, were saved when the Calanians came.

“Well, the Calanians put things in order right away. They selected the best of the humans and brought them here. The rest were culled right off, including the pretending overseers.

“Now we have nothing to do but enjoy a nice life, working and serving the Calanians. Our masters take care of everything. They give us sows for mating and recreation. They control our breeding. They select the elect and appoint the overseers. They also cull bad humans when it’s necessary, before a problem turns up.”

“Then we live and work just to send elect to the Calanian schools, sir?” asked another young man.

“That’s exactly right,” replied John. “And what better way to spend your life? Today, I’ll take a group of elect to the restricted area. There, they’ll get on one of those great space ships and zoom; away they’ll go to Calania. They’ll go to school to learn the ways of the masters. Then they’ll serve them on Calania. It’s a great honor, for them and us.”

“They go up in a space ship. Is that why it’s called Ascension Day?” asked someone else.

“Not at all,” smiled John. “Ascension Day and Heaven, the name of the school, are just stuff from some old human fairy tales. It was really nothing more than a bunch of myths made up by the pretended overseers to keep people in line. The Calanians just borrowed the words to make it more understandable to us.”

There were many more questions in embryo, but the five minute warning bell cut them short. As always, John was in motion at the sound.