able to establish contact with the force.
There was a name for that machine, but there was no word in the English language which closely approximated it. “Talisman” was the closest, but
Talisman was too crude a word. Although that had been the word that Ulysses had used when, some years ago, they had talked of it.
There were so many things, so many concepts, he thought, out in the galaxy which could not be adequately expressed in any tongue on Earth. The
Talisman was more than a talisman and the machine which had been given the name was more than a mere machine. Involved in it, as well as certain mechanical concepts, was a psychic concept, perhaps some sort of psychic energy that was unknown on Earth. That and a great deal more. He had read some of the literature on the spiritual force and on the Talisman and had realized, he remembered, in the reading of it, how far short he fell, how far short the human race must fall, in an understanding of it.
The Talisman could be operated only by certain beings with certain types of minds and something else besides (could it be, he wondered, with file:///F|/rah/Clifford%20D.Simak/Clifford%20Simak%20-%20Waystation.txt (35 of 103) [1/19/03 4:01:51 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Clifford%20D.Simak/Clifford%20Simak%20-%20Waystation.txt certain kinds of souls?). “Sensitives” was the word he had used in his mental translation of the term for these kinds of people, but once again, he could not be sure if the word came close to fitting. The Talisman was placed in the custody of the most capable, or the most efficient, or the most devoted (whichever it might be) of the galactic sensitives, who carried it from star to star in a sort of eternal progression. And on each planet the people came to make personal and individual contact with the spiritual force through the intervention and the agency of the Talisman and its custodian.
He found that he was shivering at the thought of it-the pure ecstasy of reaching out and touching the spirituality that flooded through the galaxy and, undoubtedly, through the universe. The assurance would be there, he thought, the assurance that life had a special place in the great scheme of existence, that one, no matter how small, how feeble, how insignificant, still did count for something in the vast sweep of space and time.
“What is the trouble, Enoch?” Mary asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking. I am sorry. I will pay attention now.”
“You were talking,” David said, “about what we could find in the galaxy. There was, for one thing, that strange sort of math. You were telling us of it once and it was something …”
“The Arcturus math, you mean,” said Enoch. “I know little more than when I told you of it. It is too involved. It is based on behavior symbolism.”
There was some doubt, he told himself, that you could even call it math, although, by analysis, that was probably what it was. It was something that the scientists of Earth, no doubt, could use to make possible the engineering of the social sciences as logically and as efficiently as the common brand of math had been used to build the gadgets of the Earth.
“And the biology of that race in Andromeda,” Mary said. “The ones who colonized all those crazy planets.”
“Yes, I know. But Earth would have to mature a bit in its intellectual and emotional outlook before we’d venture to use it as the Andromedans did.
Still, I suppose that it would have its applications.”
He shupered inwardly as he thought of how the Andromedans used it. And that, he knew, was proof that he still was a man of Earth, kin to all the bias and the prejudice and the shibboleths of the human mind. For what the
Andromedans had done was only common sense. If you cannot colonize a planet in your present shape, why, then you change your shape. You make yourself into the sort of being that can live upon the planet and then you take it over in that alien shape into which you have
There was a name for that machine, but there was no word in the English language which closely approximated it. “Talisman” was the closest, but
Talisman was too crude a word. Although that had been the word that Ulysses had used when, some years ago, they had talked of it.
There were so many things, so many concepts, he thought, out in the galaxy which could not be adequately expressed in any tongue on Earth. The
Talisman was more than a talisman and the machine which had been given the name was more than a mere machine. Involved in it, as well as certain mechanical concepts, was a psychic concept, perhaps some sort of psychic energy that was unknown on Earth. That and a great deal more. He had read some of the literature on the spiritual force and on the Talisman and had realized, he remembered, in the reading of it, how far short he fell, how far short the human race must fall, in an understanding of it.
The Talisman could be operated only by certain beings with certain types of minds and something else besides (could it be, he wondered, with file:///F|/rah/Clifford%20D.Simak/Clifford%20Simak%20-%20Waystation.txt (35 of 103) [1/19/03 4:01:51 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Clifford%20D.Simak/Clifford%20Simak%20-%20Waystation.txt certain kinds of souls?). “Sensitives” was the word he had used in his mental translation of the term for these kinds of people, but once again, he could not be sure if the word came close to fitting. The Talisman was placed in the custody of the most capable, or the most efficient, or the most devoted (whichever it might be) of the galactic sensitives, who carried it from star to star in a sort of eternal progression. And on each planet the people came to make personal and individual contact with the spiritual force through the intervention and the agency of the Talisman and its custodian.
He found that he was shivering at the thought of it-the pure ecstasy of reaching out and touching the spirituality that flooded through the galaxy and, undoubtedly, through the universe. The assurance would be there, he thought, the assurance that life had a special place in the great scheme of existence, that one, no matter how small, how feeble, how insignificant, still did count for something in the vast sweep of space and time.
“What is the trouble, Enoch?” Mary asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking. I am sorry. I will pay attention now.”
“You were talking,” David said, “about what we could find in the galaxy. There was, for one thing, that strange sort of math. You were telling us of it once and it was something …”
“The Arcturus math, you mean,” said Enoch. “I know little more than when I told you of it. It is too involved. It is based on behavior symbolism.”
There was some doubt, he told himself, that you could even call it math, although, by analysis, that was probably what it was. It was something that the scientists of Earth, no doubt, could use to make possible the engineering of the social sciences as logically and as efficiently as the common brand of math had been used to build the gadgets of the Earth.
“And the biology of that race in Andromeda,” Mary said. “The ones who colonized all those crazy planets.”
“Yes, I know. But Earth would have to mature a bit in its intellectual and emotional outlook before we’d venture to use it as the Andromedans did.
Still, I suppose that it would have its applications.”
He shupered inwardly as he thought of how the Andromedans used it. And that, he knew, was proof that he still was a man of Earth, kin to all the bias and the prejudice and the shibboleths of the human mind. For what the
Andromedans had done was only common sense. If you cannot colonize a planet in your present shape, why, then you change your shape. You make yourself into the sort of being that can live upon the planet and then you take it over in that alien shape into which you have
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