Mryna asked to be allowed to speak to someone in authority in the government. The Chicago port manager told her the request was absurd. For nine minutes Mryna argued, with a mounting sense of urgency, before he gave his grudging consent. Her trouble was that she had to skate close to the truth without admitting it directly. She could not—except as a last resort—let them kill her until they knew why the isolation of Rythar had failed.
It was thirteen minutes before landing when Mryna finally heard an older, more dignified voice on the speaker. By then the green globe of Earth filled the sky; Mryna could make out the shapes of the continents turning below her. The older man identified himself as a senator elected to the planetary Congress. She didn’t know how much authority he represented, but she couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
She told him frankly who she was. She knew she was pronouncing her own death sentence, yet she spoke quietly. She must show the same courage that the Earthmen had when they sacrificed themselves in the Guardian Wheel.
“Listen to me for two minutes more before you blast my ship,” she asked. “I rode the god-car up from Rythar—I am coming now to spread the Sickness on Earth—because I wanted to know the truth about something that puzzled me. I had to know what was above the rain mist. In the answer house you would not tell us that. Now I understand why. We were children. You were waiting for us to mature. And that is the mistake you made; that blindness nearly destroyed your civilization.
“You will have to build another Guardian Wheel. This time don’t hide anything from us because we’re children. The truth makes us mature, not illusions or taboos. Never forget that. It is easier to face a fact than to have to give up a dream we’ve been taught to believe. Tell your children the truth when they ask for it. Tell us, please. We can adjust to it. We’re just as human as you are.”
Mryna drew a long breath. Her lips were trembling. Did this man understand what she had tried to say? She would never know. If she failed, Earth—in spite of its generosity and its courage—would one day be destroyed by children bred on too many delusions. “I’m ready,” Mryna said steadily. “Send up your warships and destroy me.”
She waited. Less than ten minutes were left. Her shuttle began to move [p66] more slowly. She was no more than a mile above Earth. She saw the soaring cities and the white highways twisting through green fields.
Seven minutes left. Where were the warships? She looked anxiously through the viewport and the sky was empty.
Desperately she closed the voice toggle again. “Send them quickly!” she cried. “You must not let me land!”
No reply came from the speaker. Her auto-shuttle began to circle a large city which lay at the southern tip of an inland lake. Three minutes more. The ship nosed toward the spaceport.