The last gift (L'ultimo dono)

They weren't any taller than the Earth people, yet they built the Temple, this eternal monument which extended over two planets: the Main Planet and its smaller satellite, which had simply been called Temple for thousands of years. Connecting Main to its satellite there is a series of fourteen purification stations in which the pilgrims from Main who wish to visit Temple and see, if only for a few moments and from immeasurable distances, the Mother Priestess, must stop and raise their spirit and get slough off the dross of life. They weren't any taller than the Earth people, and they became extinct millions of years ago, yet they left a legacy to all peoples: their religion, which, over the following eras, absorbed all the others and became, in effect, the only one in the explored universe: the Worship of the Immense. And, of course, they left the Temple, or rather they left the original nucleus, which was renovated and extended and aggrandised in the millions of years that followed, until it became what it is today. They weren't any taller than the Earth people, perhaps even a little shorter, but their name is still remembered millions of years after their extinction, and will be remembered as long as life itself endures in the universe.

He had left the fourteenth and last purification station many days before and was now waiting for the moment of the private hearing in a lounge next to the hall of gifts, a rare honour reserved only to a few. He was an Earth man and he had a casket with him which he hardly took his eyes off, perhaps in the absurd fear that someone might take it from there, from that very place. A group of pilgrims had been waiting for a long time now, reciting the old string of prayer beads and chanting in unison, while silent automatons glided on air pillows, with swift and composed diligence. The Temple is permeated by technology, and there is nothing, from the cleaning, to the lighting system, to the adjustment of the atmosphere, that is not centrally directed by synthetic intelligence, subjected to incessant mutual control, in order to avoid any kind of malfunction. From time to time, however, albeit rarely, a flawed instruction is generated, though only in some minor routine which does not compromise the integrity of the system, a system that has been maintained for millennia, and has withstood all sorts of attacks from the most disparate and desperate, chaotic groups. Such an error – a tiny error – was generated just as the group of pilgrims were coming to the last bead on their prayer-strings, a tiny malfunction in the archive database during a procedure considered of the fifth level, for which no stringent controls are in place. The heavy, enormous doors opened without a groan, without any apparent effort, and the chamberlain approached, surrounded by a group of guardian automatons. He solemnly, but politely, invited the Earth man to follow him inside.
The Mother Priestess, tiny and translucent, almost transparent, was at the centre of the room, which was big enough to hold a large spaceship. She was suspended at a certain height from the floor, supported by invisible, delicate forces. The Earth man stopped his carrier at a certain distance from her and knelt down, bringing his hand to his chest, head bowed, waiting, next to the casket.
"Rise, Earth man" the Priestess told him, and her voice, barely a whisper, was perfectly audible in every corner of the room, without an echo. As he stood up, she said: "I am told that you are the last one of your people. Is it true?"
"Yes, Venerable Mother, it's true. There were two of us for a long time, but I lost my companion a year ago. Now I am the last one"
"What is your name, Earth man?"
"Does it matter, Venerable Mother? Who I will have to be distinguishable from, now? "
"I understand your bitterness, Earth man, as you wish to be named, but yours is not the first people that has departed. Look at this room: it was started by hands which have been extinct for millions of years. Peoples have lives, just like individuals: they are born, grow old, some older than others, but one day they die. Other peoples are born and evolve in their place, according to laws that only the Immense knows. But you know well, Earth man, that the Immense does not forget, neither the peoples nor the individuals. I know it will not pay for your loss, but I hope it will console your mind."

"The will of the Immense be done, Venerable Mother; but my mind would be less embittered if I were not aware that it was not the will of the Immense to declare our end, but the villainous conduct of our wretched ancestors."
"I know. I know that humans did not show the Immense any gratitude for the precious gift of the Earth, and they squandered it ungratefully."
"So it was, Venerable Mother. And we, pilgrims on other planets, far from our now uninhabitable and burning home, for thousands of years we have cursed the folly of our fathers. For millennia we have dreamed of returning to Earth but, as you know, our race has gradually dwindled over time. Perhaps unknown elements on our planet, elements not found in synthetic atmospheres recreated for us elsewhere, have made the succeeding generations ever more sterile. Until there were only two of us. And now just me, the last of the Earth people. "
There was a silence in the great hall, a respectful and sharing silence that was interrupted by the Mother Priestess's soft voice.
"I know you have a gift for me, Earth man..."
"Yes, Venerable Mother” - the man recovered from his brief listlessness, leaned towards the casket and held it up – “Here, the work of countless generations of exiles. All our fortunes, all the time we have been granted, all our efforts are here, Venerable Mother. We have enclosed in this casket all the knowledge that we have collected on the people of the Earth. Not all, to tell the truth, were contemptuous, idle people, heedless of the future. We had artists, philosophers, scientists and thinkers. Everything we were able to gather is here, translated into the major languages of the Galaxy, stored in cells made of indestructible Santen crystal, to buy which we donated all our resources. "
"Thank you for your gift, Earth man. You proved to be better than your fathers. We will keep this treasure here in the Temple, in our archives, so that the memory of your people will always be preserved."
The Priestess waved her hand and the casket rose into the air and floated across the room towards a side passage leading to the service buildings. It continued down a long tunnel, borne along by compressed atmosphere, until it reached the inspection station, where it was to be registered in the archive through an indelible inscription. It was then that the malfunction appeared, a totally insignificant one for the overall functioning of the Temple, but it created a difference between the code inscribed on the chest and the one, which should have been the same, recorded in the memory banks of the archive.
"And now, Earth man, what do you wish to do? You can stay here in the Temple, if you want, for as long as the Immense grants you life."
"I thank you for your offer, Venerable Mother, but I would prefer to be reunited with my people, and my companion."
"As you wish, Earth man. You will be taken to our sleep rooms and your will soon see them. And it will not be long until we meet again in the glory of the Immense. Sleep well, brother Earth man, and may the Immense welcome you kindly."
The man bowed again and walked away, carefully guided and escorted through a multitude of buildings and constructions, to one of the sleep rooms compatible with human physiology. He lay on a comfortable bed, and he was offered images and sweet sounds of his homeland. Images he had viewed countless times and knew by heart, describing a world that he had never seen.
While visions of sunsets on pristine shores flowed through the mind of the Earth man, the casket took a very different direction from the one intended by the code on the memory banks and, after passing through the many detectors that read the code impressed on it, ended its long progress in a place very different from the one originally established. It was not placed, as planned, beside the extinct flower people, poets of Stara, but next to the utterly unmourned Durti cannibal worms, in a corner of the archive where no-one, no matter for how long they searched, could ever recognize it, not even a hypothetical Palaeontologist who might feel, in the millennia to come, the desire to do some research on the dead planet Earth and its ancient inhabitants.
An ampoule of sedative had been gently injected into the veins of the Earth man, a prelude to a peaceful sleeping pill which would then be followed by a lethal substance that quickly and gently would take him among his own people. As the sleeping draught gradually pervaded his body, his reflexes became slower, meanwhile he was dreaming of the sea and the waves that slowly, very slowly, moooore and moooooore slooooowwwwwly caaaarressssed theeeee beeeeaaaaaa..


Italian