Samian transport chairs took many forms and varieties. The most interesting question about them, however, was who had made them. The Samians hadn’t permitted any surveys of their home worlds. But it was difficult to see how, given their physical structure, they could sustain a technological civilization without someone or something acting for them as their hands. For that matter, how, without limbs, could they build their spaceships? Or perhaps the question was, who built their ships? There were many unanswered questions about the Samians.
“I am very glad to meet you, Aaron Bixen,” the Samian said, setting off the sound impulses of the voice-maker built into his chair. “I am Octano Halfbarr. I am at present a male and will remain so for the next two months. I have come here bearing a Council message. But I am also here in friendship, since you are my nearest non-Samian neighbor and it is proper for neighbors to meet in person.”
That meant that the Samian was from Leuris, next planet out from the sun after Aaron’s own world of Sestes.
“You are most welcome,” Aaron said.
“I have come to tell you that there will be a General Council meeting seventy-two hours from now. The presence of all planetary Council representatives is urgently requested.”
“I’m afraid this is not the most convenient of times for me,” Aaron said. “Harvesting has just begun in this hemisphere. We are lightly populated. Everybody is needed. Is the matter so urgent?”
“You must judge for yourself,” Octano said. “It concerns the expedition to the planet Myryx.”
Myryx, the fifth and final planet from the sun, had not been populated when the first Erthumoi and the first Samians settled in this Minieri system about three hundred years ago. Neither species claimed Myryx. It was considered to be of no value. The galaxy was full of planets that came closer to fitting the requirements of one of the six civilized races. Many marginally suitable planets were ignored, since there were more than enough first-rate planets to suit the population requirements at this stage of the civilized species’ expansion through the galaxy. Myryx might have remained in that category indefinitely. But then just two years ago the Cleatis expedition discovered the vast deserted ruins of the civilization on Myryx that came to be called Alien City 4. This was the fourth find of its kind, proof that their had once been a seventh civilized race, which had vanished a million years before the first of the present-day six intelligent species ventured out into space.
Aaron said, “My son, Lawrence, is with the investigative team on Myryx.”
“So I was told at Council headquarters,” the Samian said.
“Why did the Council send you here?” Aaron asked. “What has happened on Myryx? Is my son all right?”
“I think there is no cause for alarm,” the Samian said. “But the Council wants to discuss the matter with you themselves, in person.”
Aaron thought for a moment. “I’ll need to activate a farm manager program. Then there is someone I must talk to. After that I am ready to go with you.”
“I will wait in the ship,” the Samian said. “I regret having been the bearer of ambiguous tidings.”
It was a stock apology among the Samians.
After activating a standard big-planet computer management program to take care of things in his absence—better than he could himself, if the brochure could be believed—Aaron telephoned Sara, Lawrence’s wife. He arranged to see her at her farm immediately. He went there in a hopper, whose long jumps combined with a shallow glide to cover distances quickly on this large, hilly, underpopulated planet. Lawrence’s farm was smaller than Aaron’s, about the size of Italy on the home planet Earth. Since Sara had no interest in fanning beyond growing tomatoes for her family’s consumption, Aaron fanned the land for her. The computer didn’t mind the extra work and it was only right with Lawrence away.
Sara was waiting for him at the door of the farmhouse. She was a small, graceful woman, dark-haired, with high cheekbones and an exotic tilt to her eyes. She was on her fifth life cycle, which made her older than Aaron. But age wasn’t judged in terms of single life spans anymore. It took quite a few life cycles before age began to show on an Erthuma. And then cosmetic surgery was always an option.
“Do you think you’ll see Lawrence?” Sara asked.
“That’s hard to say. It’s possible. I’ll certainly try. Is there any message you want me to give him?”
Sara thought for a while, then shrugged. “No, nothing special.”
Aaron said, “You’re his wife, Sara. Won’t you at least send your love?”
“What should I tell him? ‘Stay as long as you want at the fascinating alien city, Lawrence. Take a year or two; what does it matter to your wife all by herself on this goddamned farm the size of Italy?’”
“I know it’s difficult for you,” Aaron said. “Just you and the child and the robot servants on this big farm.”
“Lawrence said other Erthuma settlers would come here and we’d have neighbors. But they haven’t. Why?”
“There are a lot of places for Erthuma to go in the galaxy,” Aaron said. “And only a limited population to go to them. In fact, new territories are opened every day. But population increase is not sufficient to keep up with them. The result is, we Erthumoi are spread thin.”
Sara was not impressed. “Lawrence should have thought of that before he brought me away from my home world of Excelsis. I’m used to people, laughter, a good time. Now I don’t even have Lawrence. What’s so interesting about Alien City Four, anyhow?”
“I don’t know, Sara,” Aaron said. “I haven’t been there myself and the reports are fragmentary.”
“You haven’t been here much, either, Aaron,” Sara said. “You’re not being very nice to your daughter-in-law, are you?”
“I can assure you, I meant no offense. It’s just that there’s been so much work to do . . .”
“You must think I’m vain and stupid,” Sara said. “You and Lawrence are both so serious-minded. It would be a waste of your time to spend much of it with an empty-headed lady like me.”
“Sara, please! The truth is quite the opposite.”
She looked at him sharply. “What do you mean, Aaron?”
Aaron suddenly realized he had said too much. “Nothing, forget it.”
“You’re trying to tell me something, aren’t you?”
“Not at all,” Aaron said, his voice carefully unexpressive. “Don’t get any ideas, Sara.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never thought about you and me, Aaron?”
“You’re an attractive woman. Of course I’ve thought about you. But anything between us is unthinkable. You’re my son’s wife. And please stop laughing.”
“Oh, Aaron, if you only knew how silly and pompous you sound, saying those old-fashioned things. They don’t mean a thing anymore! I was sure you wanted me. The way you used to look at me whenever Lawrence and I came to visit. You don’t hide your interest very well, do you?”
“I suppose not,” Aaron said. He knew the cause of his restlessness. His own wife, Melissa, had been off-planet for almost six months, retraining on the Erthuma planet Elsinore in the newest developments in her field of tide pool ecologies. He missed her badly. But it was necessary that they part. For beings who lived the equivalent of a dozen or more old-style human lifetimes, separations and reeducations were necessary. Aaron and Melissa were, by mutual consent, on their fourth term of marriage. It was something to be proud of. Though it didn’t help much at the moment.
“I’m going to give Lawrence your love,” Aaron said firmly.
“Sure,” Sara said. “And while you’re at it, maybe you’d like to take a little of it yourself.”
“Please get hold of yourself,” Aaron said. “I’m sure Lawrence will be back soon.”
“And that’ll make us all very happy, won’t it?” Sara said. “Good-bye, Aaron. Good trip. Hurry back.”
The flight to Stillsune, the other Erthuma planet and home of the Council, was uneventful. Aaron had wanted
to question his Samian companion about the Council’s deliberations about Myryx, and how Lawrence fit into that. He did not, though. The planet was only hours ahead. He would soon know whatever there was to be known about this affair.
When he reached Stillsune, the capital city of Laxiheetch was different than he had remembered it. It had been a sleepy place back then. Now he noticed the new buildings, the roads, the ornamental fountains. He wondered where the money for all this had come from, because the population of Stillsune was not much larger than it had been a decade ago.
The government buildings on Stillsune occupied most of the downtown blocks. Aaron went to the discussion hall where the delegates for the Erthuma Association were meeting. There were guards at the door. They looked over Aaron’s identification, checked his retinal prints, finally let him through.
Within the discussion hall it was bedlam. Several speakers were tying to expound their points of view simultaneously. The master-at-arms, with his red sash of office and his side arms, stood near the door with folded arms.
“Aaron!” That was Matthew Bessemer, a fat miner with an enormous walrus moustache from the far side of Aaron’s home planet. “It’s about time you got here! We were expecting you days ago.”
“What’s going on? What’s the problem?”
“It’s evident that you haven’t stayed in touch with the situation on Myryx.”
“What’s there to stay in touch with? It’s a deserted city. People are studying it. I’m told it could throw some important evidence on the Seventh Race.”
Aaron was referring to the mystery of the disappearance of what was apparently the first intelligent race to emerge in the galaxy. This event, it was theorized, took place an almost inconceivable length of time ago. According to the artifacts discovered in the alien cities, this society had been further advanced than any of the civilized races who came after them. It was hard to reconcile the great antiquity of the race with the rest of the facts. They must have been active not long after the universe was born.
“You’re sadly out of date,” Matthew said, “if you think those are still the major developments on Myryx.”
“Has Lawrence been up to something? He never tells me anything about how the investigation is going.”
“None of them do,” Matthew said. “As soon as a man gets into the alien city he gets closemouthed and possessive. This is true of investigators from the other species, too. Although the Council is financing their researches, all of them become secretive, unwilling to tell us what they’ve found; they’re always pleading the need for more evidence.”
“Surely you have something to go on?”
“We do have one Cephallonian report. It has disturbing implications.”
Seashaws, a Cephallonian female from Lyrix, was the first to make a report of Alien City 4 from the point of view of her aquatic civilization. She took passage to Myryx in an Erthuma ship equipped with water tanks which had temperature and turbulence controls for maximum comfort. The ship was also equipped with ample supplies of the many varieties of the small fish and seaweed which the Cephallonians find delectable. The passage was expensive, but much of Seashaws’s fare was paid by her principality of Thurune, for whom she was preparing a report on Myryx.
“Right this way, madam,” the young Cephallonian crew member told Seashaws as she entered the ship, moving carefully in her unwieldy water-filled armor. “You’ll find it all right once you’re in the tank.”
The Cephallonian was not wearing the water-filled armor that Seashaws had always thought was necessary. Instead he made do with a perspex helmet and mask, with a water-recirculation cylinder on his back. She wondered how he kept his skin sufficiently moist to prevent lesions in the hot dry air of the ship. Some sort of oil, she supposed. He certainly looked in very good condition. Then she was ashamed at herself for thinking such a thought and hurried to the tank as fast as dignity would allow. But she cast a glance back over her shoulder before she slid in.
She was more than a little giddy with the excitement of it all. It was only the third time she had ever been out of her native planet’s water, and this was the first hyperjump she had ever made. She tried to calm herself, taking refuge in the nice little cave at the bottom of the tank. She arranged her swim bladder for zero gravity and hung in her cave, watching the TV monitor show a documentary on the lives of fish on different planets. It was the Cephallonian equivalent of soap opera, and usually it fascinated her. Not now, however. For once, real life was taking up all of her attention, driving out of her mind even normal speculation on the sexual preferences of the young crewman who had showed her such courtesy when she boarded.
“Oh, thank you,” she said to him again, when the ship reached Myryx and he accompanied her as the crane assisted her to the surface. He helped her leave the crane’s platform, and politely wished her the best of luck when they reached the little dock with the sloping ramp, where she would leave behind her helmet and proceed under her own fins to the water level of Alien City.
“It is a very great pleasure to serve one as beautiful as you,” the crewman said.
Although it was no more than a standard galantry, nevertheless, Seashaws’s heart leaped. She had been lonely of late. It had been hard to leave behind her two mates—big, surly Graver with the tender heart, and young Suddrix, the thrillingly beautiful young male whom she had won in the last city courtship lottery. Would they still be waiting for her when she returned? It was true that her relatives were keeping an eye on both males. Even so, Cephallonian males were known to be fickle creatures who combined a love for headstrong adventure with an attention span in matters of love that fell far short of female Cephallonian expectations. This discrepancy was a topic to be presented to the entire Cephallonian electorate for possible biological reengineering.
“Do you return to the ship at once?” she asked.
“My name is Trusknier,” he said. “No, as a matter of fact, I’ve decided to stay here on Myryx for a while.”
“Is that a fact?” she said saucily. “And what will you do here? Examine the ancient vanished civilization?”
“Seashaws,” he said, pronouncing her name with the intonation of expectant intimacy, “I am not a scholar. I am simply a normal young Cephallonian male whose interest has been aroused by a maiden whose beauties deserve telling.”
Thus began one of the formal courtship rituals of the Cephallonians. But Seashaws, thrilled though she was, yet clung to her sanity. This was no time to get mixed up with some fellow who was probably no better than the ones she already had. And besides, she was here for a serious purpose: to bring back word of the early findings of Alien City to the Ladies Club of Greater Truax, the municipality on her planet where she served as lecturer in popular exobiology.
“I have to investigate this planet,” she said. “But maybe later . . .”
“Yeah, right,” he said, and swam off with a flick of his tail. Seashaws was aware that she must have given him the impression that she was uninterested, when actually he had read it wrong; her nuance had been intended to signify that beneath her apparent casualness she’d like to see him again. It was really annoying how you could miss communication like that, even if you were of the same species, or maybe especially when you were of the same species. But maybe that’s how it always was when one of you was female and the other male.
Dorsal fins stroking smoothly, she descended into the water. Or began to. Then she was caught up at once in one of the unusual features of the underwater alien city. There was a sudden onset of turbulence, which threw her around severely without actually damaging her. When it was over she found herself at a very great depth, having been taken there somehow by the turbulence. She didn’t understand how it worked, but it was pleasant to be at the bottom starting back up, since, for the Cephallonians, going from the top to the bottom requires a lot of energy and is like climbing a mountain for Erthumoi.
She began to glide upward, and she noticed that the water was springlike and spa
rkling, and shot through with dancing lights and dots of color. It was the sort of water you’d like to live in forever, but that was not to be; she continued upward and came to the next level, which was rose-tinged, melancholy, and given to encouraging cosmic thought of the deepest and most exquisite variety. After that she came to the third level, which was aquamarine and was shot through with golden specks that hinted at glory. On the level above that, the colors were blue-gray and indigo, streaked with lighter bands of mauve, and being here brought on a sensation of ecstasy, something which rarely happened at home, where all the levels of the water were much the same. And then, to make it all the better, she saw a flash of light and a sensation of shape, and she saw the young Cephallonian male swim past her, eyes shining, waving a flipper in a beckoning gesture that she found nearly irresistible. But resist it she did, because there was something about that young male that had brought worry to her, and fear. Something in his eyes foretold that she might not arise from the depths if she went down there in search of him. She didn’t know if it were true, but it scared her enough to make her return to the surface at once, ask to be taken away from underwater Alien City, and file her report.
“That’s a strange story,” Aaron said. “The Cephallonians seem to pick up out-of-body experiences in the alien city. We know so little about the spiritual aspects of our fellow civilized races. I wonder if there’s a parallel between their experiences and ours.”
“There seems to be some evidence to support the view,” Matthew said, “that the fundamental organization of life is identical in all species, no matter how different they may be. That’s not to say that there’s a point-to-point correspondence between the one and the other.”
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