A Choice of Gods

It could not be allowed, he told himself. They could not be allowed to come back and spoil the Earth again. They could not, for a second time, contaminate it with their machines. He must find a way to stop them, and even as he thought that he must find a way, he knew there was no way. One old and selfish man could not stand against all humanity; perhaps he had no right to stand against humanity. They had their three planets only, and the Earth would make a fourth, while the other small segment of humanity, those not taken in the net that had swept the others off the Earth, had all the galaxy, all the universe, perhaps, if the time ever came when they wished to spread throughout the universe.

Except that he'd not gone out into the galaxy, neither he nor Martha. This was their home, not just these few acres, but the entire Earth. And there was, as well, the others—the Leech Lake Indians. What of them? What would happen to them and their way of life if the others should come back? Another reservation? Another pe

Back on the ridge a stone was dislodged by something and went rolling down the slope. Jason sprang swiftly to his feet.

"Who's out there?" he demanded.

It might be a bear. It might be a deer. It was neither.

"It's Hezekiah, sir," a voice said. "I saw you leave the house and I followed you."

"Come on in," said Jason. "Why did you follow me?"

"To give you thanks," the robot said. "My very heartfelt thanks."

He came lumbering out of the darkness.

"Sit down," said Jason. "That boulder over there. It is comfortable."

"I have no need of comfort. I have no need to sit."

"And yet you do," said Jason. "I see you often sitting on the bench beneath the willow tree."

"It is an affectation only," Hezekiah said. "An aping of my betters and a quite unworthy act. I feel great shame of it."

"Continue in your shame," said Jason, "if you enjoy it, but please humor me. I have a need of comfort and a need to sit and shall feel most uncomfortable if you continue standing."

"If you insist," said Hezekiah.

"Indeed I do," said Jason, "and now what is this imaginary kindness for which you wish to thank me?"

"It concerns the pilgrim."

"Yes, I know. Thatcher told me of him."

"I am fairly certain," the robot said, "that he is not a pilgrim. Nicodemus, I know, told Thatcher that he was. Nicodemus got carried away. It is so easy, sir, to get carried away when you want something very much."

"I can understand," said Jason.

"It would have been so wonderful if he had been a pilgrim. It would have meant that the word had spread of the labor in which we are engaged. Not a robot pilgrim, you understand, but a human pilgrim…"

Jason sat quietly. The wind fluttered the robe that the robot wore. Hezekiah picked at it, trying to wrap it more closely about himself.

"Pride," he said. "That's the thing to fight. Like sitting down when there is no need to sit. Wearing a robe when there is need of none. Pacing up and down the garden, thinking, when one could think as well if one were standing still."

Jason sat unmoving, keeping his mouth tight shut when he wanted to scream questions: What about this pilgrim? Who is he? Where did he come from? What has he been doing all these years? But remembering with a sour amusement that up until a few moments ago the worry and the fret of the human race returning had blanketed out any real concern about the stranger at the monastery.

"The thing I want to say is this," said Hezekiah. "I know how long the humans at the House hunted for other humans in the world. I recall all the rumors that were brought and how, rumor by rumor, you were disappointed. Now a human does show up and you'd have been quite within your rights to have come hurrying down to claim him. And yet you did not do it. You stayed away. You let us have our human. You gave us our hour of glory."

"We figured that it was your show," said Jason. "We talked about it and decided to stay away. We can talk with this man later. There is little likelihood that he will run off. He must have traveled far to get here."

"Our hour of glory," Hezekiah said, "and an empty hour, for we know now we did no more than delude ourselves. I sometimes wonder if our whole life may not be delusion."

"You'll not get me," said Jason, "to wallow on the ground with you in your game of martyr. You've sat down there for years, I know, and eaten out your hearts, wondering if you were doing right, if you might be engaged in blasphemy, if you should not be stricken dead for your presumption. Well, the answer is that you've not been stricken dead.."

"You mean that you approve. That you, a human…"

"No," said Jason. "Not approve, or disapprove. What basis do I have to judge?"

"But once upon a time…"

"Yes, I know. Once upon a time man made images out of sticks and clay and worshiped them. Once upon a time he thought the sun was God. How many times must man be mistaken before he learns the truth?"

"I see your point," said Hezekiah. "Do you think we may ever know the truth?"

"How much do you want to know the truth?"

"We seek it," said Hezekiah, "with all our energies. That's the purpose in us, is it not?"

"I don't know," said Jason. "I wish very much I did."

He thought how ridiculous it was, sitting on this windy ridge in the dead of night, talking about the possibility of truth—of any truth, at all—with a fanatic robot. He could tell Hezekiah about the Principle that John had found. He could tell him about the alien who had come to seek a soul. And what good would it do if he told him either?

"I tell you my troubles," Hezekiah said. "You have troubles of your own. You walk the night thinking of your trouble."

Jason grunted uncommittally. He might have suspected. The robots knew what was going on, sometimes, it seemed, before you knew of it yourself. They walked quietly when they wished and heard and, once heard, the news sprang from one to the other of them like an electric impulse. Thatcher would have heard the talk at di

"I," said Hezekiah, "share your great concern."

"How is that?" Jason asked, surprised.

"I understand how you must feel," the robot told him. "Perhaps not all the others, out among the Stars. But you and Miss Martha, certainly the two of you…"

"Not only us," said Jason. "How about the tribes? The lives of their ancestors were dislocated once. Must it happen again? They have made a new life for themselves. Must they give it up? And how about your people? Would you be happier if there were more humans? At times I think you would."

"Some of us, perhaps," said Hezekiah. "Our function is to serve and there are so few to serve. If only the tribes…"

"But you know they won't. They'll have none of you."

"I was about to say," said Hezekiah, "that there is a certain segment of us who might not look kindly upon their coming back. I do not know too much about them, but they are engaged upon a project…"

"You mean the installation up the river?"

The robot nodded. "You might talk with them. You might find some help."

"You think that they would help us, would be willing to?"

"There is talk," said Hezekiah, "of marvelous new ideas, of very cu