Back again. It is much later, I think far past the middle of the night. We have been sitting up and talking, making new plans all evening. I was whispering into this thing, and Whiteapple was asleep, when Crookedleg came. I am amazed at the amount of pleasure it gave me just to see his narrow, scarred face—as though I had grown up among the Wiggikki instead of spending three days there. No doubt it is because they were the first three days. I feel as if I have come home, or a part of home has come to me, even though I never had a great deal to do with Crookedleg. When I recall the details, it was always Red Kluy or her son Longknife who was important to me at the time. I never really noticed Crookedleg until Nashhwonk nearly killed him. His name used to be Firerock.
But here he is—he says he has been following the Great Sleigh for the past week. When he came upon us he was too shy to join us for a time. Now he is here. He has walked around our fire, he says, for most of the night for the last two days; he saw Cim leave but did not try to stop her or speak with her. He says she was weeping. I hope everything goes well for her now.
Crookedleg has a sledge. He says he heard that I had one, and so built one himself in order to be able to catch up to me. It is larger than my old one—the one I bought from Longknife with Nashhwonk’s flesh—and should be able to carry all three of us at high speed even in a light breeze. We will leave in the morning, and I do not think any of us doubt that we will overtake the Great Sleigh within the next four or five days.
This sixteenth day I think has been the happiest of my life. We have been sailing along all day, with a quartering wind, going faster than the wind itself and hardly having to tack once an hour. Because there are big drifts in the track now, we don’t skim along on the flat as I used to, but sail, as it seems, over a succession of low waves of snow. Crookedleg sits singing in the stern and is captain and trims the sail; Whiteapple jumps out to push when pushing is needed, and, for all his stubby little body and seeming plumpness, there is a great deal of muscle and energy hidden in him. And I sit in the bow and enjoy myself as a passenger, i miss Roller, but this is much more pleasant than riding on his head; there is no noise but the creaking of the sledge-poles, and very little wind. Besides, we are always speeding up or slowing down, and I spend my time wondering how Crookedleg will handle the next drift.
Tonight we have the best camp I have seen since I left the Wiggikki. Crookedleg brought with him a small, domed tent of the kind they use, and he and Whiteapple have banked it with snow. With a very small fire in the center, it is almost too warm.
Before I close, perhaps I should mention that I have been worrying all day—though I admit, not very much— for fear someone might ask what has become of my staff. The truth is that I left it behind, quite intentionally, when we left our old camp last night. Crookedleg has his clubbow, so I will not need the staff. It was the last of the things we brought from the cavern, except for the food cubes and their little box—and there are only three cubes left.
The seventeenth day. This has been the warmest day I have ever seen; Whiteapple and Crookedleg say it is the warmest in their experience as well. Toward noon, the snow everywhere was visibly melting. We were all afraid we would bog down, but just when it seemed certain that we would have to get off and pull the sledge, the temperature began to go down a bit as the sun passed its zenith; we soon had a good, hard crust on which to skim along.
We shared the white cubes from the cavern tonight, though Whiteapple and Crookedleg did not want to at first. Then Whiteapple went out and gathered herbs for us, and Crookedleg went hunting with his clubbow and brought back a snow monkey. Quite a feast, altogether.
Later. I have been unable to sleep, so I have come outside. It is very bright out. When I saw the brilliance of the light on the snow through the doorway of the tent, I thought both moons must be in the sky; but it was too near daylight even for that. Something that looks like the sun, but dimmer, is high in the sky. It appears to be shining through a tremendous silvery cloud that reaches almost from horizon to horizon, blotting out the stars. I stared at it for a long time before I understood what it was I saw: a reflector of bright, finely divided metal dust wrapping the night side of the world. The false sun is the reflection of the real sun, and the light that would normally be lost in space is reflected to the ground when it strikes that great concave mirror of silver dust.
The eighteenth day. The temperature was only a few degrees above freezing when we woke, and it has been growing warmer all day. We pulled the sledge for most of the morning, but abandoned it at last. I advised Crookedleg to take the sail and rigging, and he did. Whiteapple has been carrying the tent. We have been moving much more slowly than we did when we could sail, and so ought to be disheartened, but we are not. If our sledge cannot slide across the snow, then neither can the Great Sleigh, and of course it is too large to pull.
So though we may be traveling slowly, it is no longer moving away from us. I think Crookedleg is more eager to reach it than any of us. He says that after his leg was hurt he no longer wanted to remain among his people—that it always seemed to him that when he was not looking into their faces, their faces changed; and he could no longer bear to be among them. His injury is not yet completely healed; but he can walk on his leg well enough, and even, run a little.
Today we have traveled all day to the sound of running water. Crookedleg and Whiteapple say that the snow has melted before, though never this rapidly. I showed them the silver cloud tonight and tried to explain what was happening. They were awed, but I don’t believe they understood.
This is the nineteenth day, and tonight I am alone. This morning we broke our camp, and I tried to march along with the others; but after a few hours I could not keep up. I told them to go on without me. Whiteapple wanted to carry me, but he could not do it by himself. He and Crookedleg built a litter, using two saplings and the sail from the sledge, but they could take me only a few steps—then Crookedleg’s bad leg could no longer stand the weight. Then they said they would stay with me until I was better.
There was nothing else to do, so I pretended that I thought they would kill me to eat when I was weaker, as the Wiggikki do. The truth was, of course, that they could have killed me very easily then—I could not have defended myself, and they knew that. But because I pretended to be frightened, they went away, though with many backward looks. I feel lonely now that they have gone, but what else could I have done? I did not want them to miss the Great Sleigh for my sake, and I am not such a fool as to believe now that I am going to get well. Eventually they will catch up with the Great Sleigh, and when they talk to the crew, they will tell them about me. That is what I want, and it will be the next best thing to having overtaken the Great Sleigh myself.
I find I can walk for about five minutes before I have to rest, so I have made a little camp, as I used to do when I traveled alone. Lying on my back as I am now, I can see the false, reflected sun. The whole world is bright and strange, and full of the sound of melting. Little animals of the night that I have never seen before are out now; one came near me a few minutes ago, large-eyed and humanfaced, but like a little bear, though when I think of it, I cannot remember just what a bear should be.
In the west, in the direction of the Great Sleigh, the track seems to go on and on under the strange light forever, as if it were going all around the world. To the east, from which I came…
I see something moving. I thought at first that it was another sledge, but a sledge could not sail on this melting snow. Whatever it is, it is coming rapidly, and it seems too large for a sledge. Perhaps the warmth has revived Roller …No, it is too big even for that. As big as a hill, and I see people standing on it.
And that is enough. I know who you are now. This small planet is round, and you have come back, and the time for talking into this black box is over. I am going to talk to you face to face. Who is that tall man with you? I think he has…wings?
The Search for Man
Walter Moudy
In the hospit
al, Judith and Daniel Zimmerman watched with increasing anxiety as the skilled surgeon opened the vat and reached in with soft, gentle fingers to remove the life which pulsated feebly in his hands. With great care he placed it in the container which had been prepared for it, then quickly locked the mechanism into place so that no seam was visible.
“Injector.” The doctor’s calm voice when he spoke to his nurse was reassuring.
He took the injector and with practiced hands found the right spot. “Pressure,” he said as he studied the dial. When the indicator reached one hundred, the doctor shut off the valve and removed the injector. He took the container in his hands and attached a series of electrodes to it. For a moment he studied the complex readings which were automatically recorded for later analysis; then, turning to the nervous couple, he said:
“Congratulations! You have a fine baby boy!”
“A boy! Are you sure, doctor?” Daniel Zimmerman’s voice held a mixture of pride and wonder.
“Of course I’m sure. Do you think I can’t read an indicator after more than four thousand births? Of course I’m sure.”
“Is he—? Is he all right, doctor?”
“Everything’s fine,” the doctor assured Mrs. Zimmerman. “There is no evidence of any neuroabnormality. The Beta quotient is somewhat pronounced, but that can be controlled by proper conditioning. The passive I.Q. reading is remarkably high, although I’m sure you realize how unreliable that can be in a naive mind. All in all, I’d say you have a very fine baby boy, Mrs. Zimmerman. Very fine indeed.”
“Oh, doctor, we’re so grateful. I wish there were something we could do to show our appreciation.”
“Part of my job, my dear. Nurse, would you please bring out one of the baby bodies—a boy body? You have had your indoctrination course, naturally?”
“Certainly,” Daniel Zimmerman said. “We both scored in the upper five percentile.”
“Very well. I need hardly remind you, then, that once the head is attached and the activater turned on, your child will have his three senses in from three to five hours. This is the real awakening, the true birth. This will be the moment of awareness. At best, it is a traumatic experience. At its worst, it can produce neurosis or even insanity. We have a specially equipped awakening room with trained conditioners which you may use—”
“Doctor, if you don’t mind, my wife and I have already discussed this, and we have made preparations for a home awakening. You understand. It’s our first, and… and…”
“I understand. Most people prefer to have the awakening in their homes. I don’t recommend it where the Beta factor runs as high as it does here, but if you’ve had the indoctrination lectures, I suppose no harm will come of it.”
“Thank you, doctor. We’ll be careful. My husband and I have been living for this day for over twenty years.”
The doctor took the strong plastic baby body and with a quick, deft twist locked the head into place and at the same time turned on the activater. “Well, there you are. Would you like for a nurse to carry him to your car?”
“I think we can manage, doctor.” She took the limp body into her arms tenderly. “Let’s go home, Daniel.”
In the tube, Judith continued to hold the inert body of their unborn baby close to her breast as their car sped swiftly home. For twenty years they had lived for this day, and now, in a few short hours, their child would be born. They had carefully selected his brain culture from the cell descendants of a poet, a philosopher, and a famous man of science. Very soon now, they would share the magic of his first awakening.
“Have you decided on a name yet, dearest?”
Her husband’s voice disrupted her reverie. “Yes. I shall name him David.”
Daniel was silent for a moment, as if savoring the name. “It has a manly sound to it,” he said at last.
She smiled with quiet pleasure. By ancient custom, the privilege of bestowing a name belonged to the mother alone, but she was glad the name pleased him.
The being who only a few hours before had been named David became aware of existence. No thoughts yet, no feelings. Just an awareness of life, of a black existence which asked no questions, felt no pain, and reacted to no stimuli. Gradually, awareness broadened so that he dimly perceived extensions of himself which did not emanate from the zone of central awareness. Tentatively he moved one of these extensions in a slow, uncontrolled movement. Sound came next, the sound of soft, sweet music which produced a mild pleasure. Then he opened his eyes.
Abruptly and without warning, his sense of awareness was shocked by a brilliant flow of colors, shapes, and movements. For a moment his naive mind endured this assault, and then he closed his eyes. He had had no experience that could prepare him for the crazy panorama which his eyes had imposed upon his mind. But he did not forget. Already he had learned something of the complexity of his existence.
Presently he opened his eyes again. This time the colors did not seem so brilliant. This time the shapes were not so startling. There were two shapes in particular in the scope of his vision which stood out because they moved slightly as he watched. There was a new sound, too, a gentle crooning sound which he did not yet associate with the two shapes and colors, and then he closed his eyes again and went to sleep.
He slept much during the next few weeks. He slept much, and he learned much. He learned to tell the difference between the two shapes by sight, by voice sounds, and by the way they handled him. Every day during his few hours of wakefulness, he learned to discriminate more and more among different shapes and colors. He learned to control the movements of his limbs, to grasp things in his hands, and to make pleasant-sounding noises from his own throat.
And he learned loneliness. He learned what it is to wake up in darkness with no one to hold him or to make pleasant sounds. He learned that when he cried, one of the shapes would come to him and turn on the colors and make soothing sounds for his ears. He learned to love the two shapes and to want them near him when he was awake.
Gradually he began to associate the sounds with objects. “Mama” was the word which he associated with the smaller shape he loved and “Daddy” with the larger. One day as he lay on his bed he said the magic word, and it was as though he had opened the gates on a garden of sweet-scented flowers.
“Daniel, did you hear him? Did you hear the child, Daniel?” She lifted him from his bed and held him close, her eyes reflecting a mother’s pride.
“It was an accident,” Daniel said, putting aside the paper. “It’s too early yet.”
“Mama, mama,” the child repeated and was again rewarded with the sense of having pleased her.
After that, David learned to talk rapidly. When he was two years old he had a vocabulary of over two thousand words, and it was growing every day. He possessed a retentive, inquiring mind and a rather devilish sense of humor that was sometimes very tiring to his parents. Sometimes his curiosity got him in trouble, but, all in all, his babyhood was a happy one.
One evening when he was just over two years of age he was sitting on the floor working a jigsaw puzzle when he suddenly had a new thought. “Mama, where did I come from?”
Judith dropped her knitting as though she had been shot, and his father quietly put the evening paper aside. Something about their sudden change of attitude alerted David to the importance of the question he had just asked.
“Perhaps your father would like to answer that question,” his mother said with some hesitation.
“Yes, well—ah—son, it’s this way. You have noticed that when we go into the city, there are other humanoids there.”
“Yes, father?”
“And you have probably noticed that there are boy humanoids and girl humanoids, and that the boy humanoids are always bigger than the girl humanoids—just as I am bigger than your mother.”
“Yes, father.”
“And I suspect you have noticed that the humanoids of each sex come in four different sizes. There are baby bodies, child bodies, teenage bodies, and adul
t bodies.”
“Yes, father. But what has this to do with where I come from?”
“I’m coming to that, son. That is, unless your mother wants to explain.”
“You’re doing fine, dear.” Judith had picked up her knitting and seemed to be particularly absorbed with her stitch count.
“You, of course, are a baby.”
“I know all that, father.”
“Yes. Well, you see, son, the four bodies of the humanoid race correspond to the four ages of Man.”
“Man, father?”
“Yes, son. Man. The father of us all. Perhaps I can best explain it this way: In the beginning there was Man, and in his image are we created. In the image of Man are we made. There is something of Mankind in us all.”
“I don’t understand, father.”
“It is hard to understand, son. Man is a complex thing to understand. You see, when Men no longer walked the earth—”
“Man walked the earth, father?”
“Yes, son. Long before the age of robots, Man was. In ancient days, there were no humanoids—not even robots. When Man abandoned earth, he left brain cultures from the Holy Twelve, and it is from combinations of those twelve brain cultures that we all descend.”
“Even me?”
“Yes, son, even you. Your mother and I carefully selected your original brain cells from cultures grown from the original brain cells of three very famous men. Since you owe your existence to Man, you must always strive to be Manlike.”
“What did Man look like, father?”
“Not much different from you or me, son. Your body has been made as Manlike as possible so that it may prove a fitting receptacle for a mind which was given to you by Man himself.”
“Are there no Men now?”
In the Wake of Man Page 16