I

 

 

“Your business?” said the house in a tone as frosty as a polar winter. Then followed a dull and reflex hiss as its vocalizing bladders automatically refilled.

At first Chybee was too startled to respond. This magnificent home had overwhelmed her even as she approached: its towering crest, its ramifying branches garlanded with countless luminants, its far-spread webs designed to protect the occupants against wingets and add their minuscule contribution to the pool of organic matter at its roots, cleverly programed to withdraw before a visitor so that they would not be torn—all, all reflected such luxury as far surpassed her youthful experience.

But then her whole trip to and through this incredible city had been a revelation. She had heard about, had seen pictures of, the metropolis of Slah, and met travelers whom business or curiosity had lured hither. Nothing, though, had prepared her for the reality of her first-ever transcontinental flight, or the jobs she had been obliged to undertake to pay her way, constantly terrified that they would make her too late. No description could have matched the sensation of being carried pell-mell amid treetops by the scampering inverted fury of a dolmusq, with its eighteen tentacles snatching at whatever support was offered and its body straining under the weight of two-score passengers. Nor could anyone have conveyed to her the combined impact of the crowds, the noise, and the universal stench compound of pheromones, smoke from the industrial area to the west, and the reek of all the material that must go to rot in order to support the homes and food-plants of this most gigantic of cities. Never in all of history had there been one to match it, neither by land nor by sea—likely, not even in the age of legend.

From the corner of her eye she detected the house’s defenses tensing, gathering pressure to snare her if, by failing to respond, she identified herself as a mindless beast. Hastily she forced out, “My name is Chybee! I’ve come to hear the lecture! Never say I’ve missed it!”

Modern and talented as the house was, that exceeded its range of responses; she had to wait for a person to answer. Eventually the thorny barrier blocking the entrance drew aside and revealed an elderly woman wearing a stern expression.

“The professor’s lecture began at sundown,” she said. “It is now halfway to midnight.”

“I know!” Chybee cried, with a glance towards what little of the sky was visible through the overarching branches of this and other nearby homes. By chance the moon was framed by those and by a ring of thin cloud; it was just past the new, and its dark part was outlined by sparkles nearly as bright as those which shot continually through the upper air … a constant reminder, Chybee thought, of the lightness of her decision.

She went on pleadingly, “But I’ve come from Hulgrapuk to hear her! It’s not my fault I’ve been delayed!”

“Hulgrapuk?” The woman’s attitude softened instantly. “Ah! Then you must be one of Professor Wam’s students, I suppose. Come in quickly, but be very quiet.”

Injunctions to be quiet struck Chybee as rather silly when the hordes of the city made such a terrible droning and buzzing noise, sometimes punctuated by loud clanging and banging from the factories whose fumes made the air so foul, but she counted herself lucky not to have been turned away, and did as she was told.

Wondering who Professor Wam might be.

The woman indicated that she should follow an upward-slanting branchway towards the crest of the house, and there she found at least five-score folk gathered in a roughly globular bower. At its focus, comfortably disposed on large and well-smoothed crotches, were three persons of advancing age whose exudations indicated they were far from happy to be in such proximity. The rest of the attendance consisted of a few males scattered among numerous females, mostly young, who were trying hard not to react to their elders’ stench; that was plain from their own emanations.

Recordimals had captured Ugant’s voice for her many supporters around the planet. Chybee recognized it the moment she entered, and was so excited to hear her idol in reality that she bumped against a boy not much older than herself as she sought for space to perch.

Instantly: “Chhht!” from half a score of those nearby.

But the boy curled his mantle in a grin as he made room alongside him. Muttering thanks, she settled down and concentrated … rather to the boy’s disappointment, she gathered, but she was here for one purpose and one purpose only: to hear Ugant’s views in her own words.

It was clear that the formal lecture must long be over, for she was engaged in debate, either with those flanking her or with some doubter elsewhere in the bower. She was saying:

“… our researches prove conclusively that the fall of the civilization which bequeathed to us most of our modern skills—indeed, which unwittingly gave us this very city, changed though it now is out of recognition by those who created it as a sea-going entity!—was due to the impact of a giant meteorite, whose traces we can only indirectly observe because it fell into deep water. Given this indisputable fact, it can only be a matter of time before another and far larger impact wipes us out too. It’s all very well to argue that we must prepare to take the folk themselves into space, with whatever is necessary for their survival. I don’t doubt that eventually this could be done; we know how to create life-support systems that will sustain us for long periods on the ocean bed, and they too have to be closed. We know, more or less, how to shield ourselves against the radiation we are sure of meeting out there. But I contest the possibility of achieving so grandiose a goal with the resources available. I believe rather that we, as living creatures, owe it to the principle of life itself to ensure that it survives even if we as a species cannot!”

Suddenly there was uproar. Confused, Chybee saw one of Ugant’s companions turn her, or possibly his, back insultingly, as though to imply: “What use in arguing with such an idiot?” Meantime a few clear voices cut through the general turmoil; she heard “True! True!” and “Nonsense!” and then, “But the folk of Swiftyouth and Sunbride will hurl more missiles at us to prevent it!”

That was so reminiscent of what she was fleeing from, she shivered. Mistaking her response, the boy beside her said, “She does underestimate us, doesn’t she?”

“Uh—who?”

“Ugant, of course!”—in a tone of high surprise. “Going on all the time about how we can’t possibly succeed, and so we have to abandon the planets to bacteria! You should have been here sooner. Wam made sludge of her!”

“Wam?”

“On the left, of course! From Hulgrapuk, no less! How many scores-of-scores of padlonglaqs did she have to travel to be here this dark? That shows her dedication to the cause of truth and reason!”

I bet she had an easier journey than I did … But Chybee repressed the bitter comment, abruptly aware that she was hungry and that this bower was festooned with some of the finest food-plants she had ever set eye on.

Instead she said humbly, “And whose back is turned?”

“Oh, that’s Aglabec. Hasn’t dared utter a word since the start, and very right and proper too. But I’m afraid a lot of his supporters are here. I hope you aren’t one of them?” He turned, suddenly suspicious.

“I don’t think so,” Chybee ventured.

“You don’t know you aren’t? By the arc of heaven, how could anybody not know whether giving up reason in favor of dreamness is right or wrong? Unless they’d already decided in favor of dreamness!”

Aglabec …? The name floated up from memory: it had been cited by her parents. Chybee said firmly, “I’m against dreamness!”

“I’m glad of that!” said the boy caustically. But they were being called on to hush again. Wam was expanding her mantle for a counterblast.

“There is one point on which Professor Ugant and myself are entirely in agreement! I maintain that her scheme to seed the planets with microorganisms is a poor second-best, because what we must and can do is launch ourselves, or our descendants, and our entire culture into space! But we unite in despising those who spout nonsense about the nature of other planets totally at odds with scientific reality, those who claim that they can make mental voyages to Swiftyouth and Sunbride and indeed to the planets of other stars! Such people are—”

What carefully honed insult Wam had prepared, her listeners were not fated to find out. A group of about a score of young people, with a leavening of two or three older, outshouted her and simultaneously began to shake the branches. Resonance built up swiftly, and those around cried out as they strove to maintain their grip. The slogans the agitators were bellowing were like the one Chybee had caught a snatch of a few moments earlier, warnings that the folk of other planets were bound to drop more rocks from heaven if any plan to carry “alien” life thither were put into effect. But who could respect them if they were capable of slaughtering fellow beings for their own selfish ends …?

Chybee caught herself. There was no life on Swiftyouth and Sunbride; there couldn’t be. Modern astronomy had proved it. Fatigue and hunger were combining to drive her into dreamness herself … plus the shock of realizing that she could never go home again. Had she really gambled the whole of her future life on this one trip to Slah, which her budder had forbidden?

Indeed she had, and the knowledge made her cling as desperately to rationality as to her swaying branch.

She barely heard a new loud voice roaring from the center of the bower, barely registered that Aglabec the leader of the agitators had finally spoken up, and was shouting:

“You’re wasting your efforts! You’ll never shake this lot loose from their grip on the tree of prejudice! Leave that to the folk of other worlds—they’ll act to cure such foolishness in their own good time!”

Disappointed, his reluctant followers ceased making the branches thrash about. But at that point Chybee could hold her peace no longer.

Rising as best she could to full height on her swaying perch, she shouted back, “There aren’t any folk on other worlds, and there never will be if you get your way! We can’t live there either! Our only sane course is to hope that the seeds of life can be adapted to germinate and evolve elsewhere!”

What am I saying? Who am I saying it to?

Mocking laughter mingled with cheers. She slumped back on the branch, folding her mantle tightly around her against the storm of noise, and heard at a great distance how the company dispersed. Several in passing discourteously bumped against her, and she thought one must have been the boy from the adjacent perch. It was a shame to have made him dislike her on no acquaintance, but after what Aglabec had said … after what her parents had tried to force down her maw … after …

She had imagined herself young and strong enough to withstand any challenge the world might offer. The toll taken by her journey, her emotional crisis, her lack of food, maybe the subtle poisons some claimed to have identified in the air of Slah, proved otherwise. Her mind slid downward into chaos.