We feel that the fundamental knowledge must be placed in the minds of those entities best able to utilize it, with the proviso that it be used only to facilitate harmony and progress among all the alternates. We feel that four of our five representative species lack suitable philosophies or talents for this purpose. The fungoids and the aves do not have either the inclination or the manual dexterity to operate the necessary constructs. The mams have both -- but lack appropriate social control. They are predators, exploiters: in their own description, "omnivores," destroyers of differing systems. Therefore, this power can not be entrusted to their possession. The pattern-entities are also capable and have better philosophical mores. But their cynicism in setting up this enclave and the associated "hexaflexagon" pattern of alternate frames shows that their philosophy is incomplete. Sentients are not to be toyed with in this fashion. In fact, the patterns have such extraordinary difficulty comprehending the nuances of physical need and operation that we feel that they, too, are unsuitable.
Only one species possesses incentive, capability, and philosophy to make proper use of the information and to carry through effectively on the implied commitment. For this species only, we append our technical report, granting the power of alternity.
We believe the machines well serve the need.
Chapter 19 - ORN
Orn heard the terrible squawk and knew its meaning instantly. The predator mam had caught Ornette and killed her. Now it would come for him.
He did not feel grief, only loss. Now he had no mate, and the line of his species was ended -- unless he found another mate or preserved the eggs. Neither he nor his eggs would survive if this man caught him -- and the mam cub would perish, also.
Orn did not think in the manner of reps or mams. His mind was experience, and the experience was millions of seasons long: a racial memory. It did not employ words at all; to him, "mam" was that complex of impressions generated by the presence of fur-bearing, infant-nursing, warm-bodied vertebrates. "Rep," "aves," and the various representatives of such classes were similar concepts.
Orn knew the manner his kind had survived, back as far as his species had existed distinct from other aves. He was well equipped for survival in the world his ancestors had known. But that world had changed, and this made survival perilous.
Orn's ancestry contained no record of a chase by a predator mam, for mams had been tiny prey for most of their species duration. Thus, he had never experienced a threat of the kind this represented. But Orn was expert in hiding and in hunting -- indeed, the two were aspects of the same process. He knew this mam was as savage and deadly as a young tyrann. If it caught him it would kill him and take the eggs and cub.
So he fled -- but he did it expertly. He put his long neck through the front loop of the nest-cart and drew it behind him. The cub began to make noise. Immediately, Orn twisted his head about, bent his neck down, and found the chip of wood that was used for such occasions. He put it in the cub's mouth. The cub sucked on it and stopped crying.
Orn hauled the wagon into a dense thicket near a turbulently flowing stream, concealing it from the exposure of both light and sound. He washed his beak and feet in the stream, temporarily cutting down on his typical odor. Then he scraped over the traces the cart's wheels had made, carefully placing pine needles, palm fronds, and half-decayed brush in place so that it matched the forest floor. He found the rotting, arth-riddled corpse of a small rep and placed it nearby: That smell would override all else.
This was not the way Orn reasoned, for his mind did not work that way. It was merely the accumulated and sophisticated experience of his species. As the arths constructed elaborate warrens and performed many specialized tasks, so he performed in the manner survival had always dictated. That he did it consciously only reflected the talent of his species: His memories were far greater than those of arths, reps, or any other species and required far more sophistication of choice. But memory it was, not reasoning.
His camouflage completed, he washed himself again, waded downstream, and spotted a small grazing rep: a baby tricer. He pounced on it, digging his claws into the creature's back just behind the protective head-flange.
The slow-witted rep emitted a squeal of pain and whipped its head about. But Orn held his position just out of reach of the crushing bone, digging his powerful talons in deeper, flapping his stubby wings to maintain his balance. Unable to dislodge his attacker, the tricer stampeded. Orn rode it, guiding it by tightening the grip of one foot or the other, causing it to shy away from the increased pain.
Finally, Orn jumped off it, releasing the rep to its own devices. He had, in effect, flown: He had traveled a distance leaving no recognizable trace of his passage. No predator could follow his trail by sight or scent back to the hidden nest.
Now he made an unconcealed trail that led obliquely away from that nest. He knew the predator mam would come across it in due course and would recognize it. Orn made several big circles so that there was no obvious point of termination to betray his ruse, then set off for the territory of the largest and fiercest tyrann in the valley. The man would find plenty to distract him, following this trail!
But Orn had underestimated the cunning of this beast. The mam did not pursue his mock trail directly. He set an ambush for Orn.
Only the silence of the arths of the region alerted the bird. Normally, the little flying, crawling, and tunneling creatures were audible all around -- except when an unnatural presence alarmed them. When Orn entered this pocket of quiescence, he knew something was wrong.
He retreated silently -- but the mam was aware of him. A bush burst into fire beside him: the lightning strike of the mam's weapon.
Orn ran. The mam pursued. Orn was fleet, for his kind had always hunted by running down their prey. But this mam was far swifter on his feet than others of his type, the Veg and the Quilon. Orn had to exert himself to an extraordinary extent to leave it behind -- and then he was unable to conceal his trail properly.
He could lead it in a long chase, hoping to tire it: Orn could run for days. But meanwhile the eggs were slowly growing cold. The warmth of the mam cub beside them in the nest and the covering of feathers and fibers extended the time those eggs could be left -- but the night was coming. Both eggs and cub would need attention -- the one for warmth, the other for food. If the cub were not fed, it would make noise -- and that would summon the predator mam or a predator rep. Orn knew these things from recent experience.
He had to lose the mam quickly, then return to the nest for the night. Because it was well concealed, he should be able to leave it where it was until morning.
But the mam would not relinquish his trail. It fell back but never enough to permit him to eliminate his traces. He was in trouble.
Then a fung found him. Only with difficulty had Orn learned to comprehend these plant-creatures, for they were completely alien to his ancestry. Now he identified them fairly readily. They bounded across land or water faster than any other creature, and their strike was deadly -- but they killed only for their food and fought only for the two friendly mams. Orn had no concern about the fungs.
Now he realized that its presence signified a development in the conflict with the predator mams. But he was unable to communicate with the creature.
The fung dropped before him and coalesced into its stationary shape. Though Orn could not afford to wait long, he knew there was motive behind this presence. He inspected the fung at close range.
The creature was injured. Fluids oozed from it.
Then Orn knew that the friendly mams had succumbed. This was the Circe fung, companion of the Quilon. It had been rent by a predator weapon. It had sought him out to show him this.
No creature but Orn remained to protect the nest -- and the predator was after him.
The sounds of the pursuer were growing. Orn had to run again.
The fung rose up, faltered in the air, and righted itself. There was no doubt it was in trouble; its normal grace and speed were gone.<
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It moved toward the predator mam.
Orn realized that disabled as it was, the fung was about to attack the mam.
That might eliminate the mam or delay him so that Orn could get safely to the nest.
He ran to the stream, went up it, found another small rep, and forced it to take him toward the nest.
All was well. The eggs were still warm, and the cub was sleeping.
Orn sat on the nest, raising the temperature of the eggs while he poked his beak into the mash prepared by the Quilon. When the cub woke, he put a portion of this mash into its mouth, holding its head upright with one wing, patiently catching the spillage and putting it back into the mouth. When the cub balked, Orn performed his most difficult ritual: He took a shell dish in his beak, carried it to the nearby stream, scooped it full of water, brought it back, and set it on the edge of the nest. Then he took one of the hollow-reed sections and set one end in the dish, the other in the cub's mouth. The cub sucked. Water went up the tube and into its mouth. In this way it drank.
Orn's care of the cub was another function of his memory. Ancestors had on occasion sought to preserve the lives of young animals, the cubs of those slain for food. Those cubs could mature to become prey when prey was scarce, so this was a survival talent. Even a newly hatched chick, confronted with a helpless mam cub, would have reacted similarly, sharing food, cutting reed stems, fetching water, fashioning warm cover. It was a symbiosis that came naturally in the time of the dominance of the great reps.
Now he cleaned the nest. The mam cub, like all mams, was a voluminous processor of water. It imbibed great quantities and expelled them almost continuously. The nest was made so that most of the fluid percolated through and fell on the ground, but in time the damp bedding soured, creating an odor problem. Orn pulled out tufts of it and replaced them carefully with fresh. This took some time, but it was necessary and natural. The cub slept. Orn covered it and the eggs and slept, too.
In the morning Orn left the nest well insulated and went out to hunt and reconnoiter. He did not take extraordinary measures to conceal his traces, for he intended to move the nest to a better place.
First he checked on the predator mam. The fung was gone, and the mam was injured; it had evidently been a savage encounter. Orn did not see the mam; he saw the site of the contest, noting the scuffled ground, the blood soaked in it -- mam blood and fung ichor -- and the bits of flesh and bone that had constituted the five extremities used to manipulate the lightning weapon. He saw the ruptured skin of the fung, the lens of the great eye, some muscle of the foot, but very little of the main body. That was odd, for the scavenger arths had not had time to consume that mass yet.
The mam had survived, badly damaged -- but he was still casting about, searching for Orn and the nest.
Orn thought of attacking the mam. It was in a weakened state, and Orn was strong; he might now be able to kill it. But if the mam possessed the fire weapon and had some way to operate it despite the loss of the small bones, Orn could not prevail. A tyrann might be crippled, but its tooth was still sharp! Orn left the mam alone.
He ran down a small brach rep, fed on it, and returned to the nest. It was full daylight now. The mam's search pattern was getting closer; he had to move the nest.
He hooked his neck through the harness and pulled. He would take it to a warm cave high in the mountain ridge. There the eggs could remain warm steadily, and the cub would be protected. Caves made good nesting places -- sometimes.
But the route was difficult. He had to pass through the territories of two predator reps, slowed by the nest, and pursued by the mam. He had to navigate the fringe of a mud flat. Then the steep slope, where he would be exposed to the mam's lightning weapon.
Orn did not concern himself with the odds. He moved out.
He passed through the tyrann's region safely. Once this section had been the territory of a larger tyrann, who had pursued the Quilon up the mountain and perished in the cold; the new tyrann had not yet fully assimilated the enlarged area. It might be asleep or occupied elsewhere.
But the smaller rep predator, a struth, caught him.
Struth was as like Orn as a rep could be. He had long legs, a slender neck, and he was within twice Orn's mass. He therefore regarded Orn as a direct competitor.
With a scream of outrage, Struth charged. Orn ducked out of the harness and scooted around the cart to face the rep. He would have to fight -- otherwise, Struth would gobble the eggs and cub.
Orn's ancestry had had much experience with Struth. The rep was tough. Only in the cool morning could Orn match it, for then the rep's speed and reflexes were slowed.
This was morning.
Orn dodged aside as Struth charged. He brought up one foot, using his sharp claws to rake the rep's side with the powerful downstroke.
It was a good shot. A soft-skinned mam would have been disemboweled. But the tough hide of the rep protected it so that all it suffered was a nasty scrape and the severance of several small muscles. Meanwhile, its teeth whipped around, snapping in air not far from Orn's neck.
But Orn was ready for that motion. His beak stabbed forward, scoring on the rep's eye. The creature screamed with pain and pulled back.
Orn raised his foot again to make the evisceration strike, his best technique. But the rep's jaws closed on his elevated foot, for it was taller than he.
Immediately, desperately, Orn struck with his beak, punching out the other eye. The rep let go -- but Orn's foot had been mangled.
He made one more strike against the blind Struth with his good foot. This time it was effective. Dying, his intestines spilling out, the rep collapsed. He snapped savagely at his own guts, trying to vanquish the pain.
Orn took no time to feed, tempting as the sight of those burgeoning entrails were. The mam would catch up! He returned to the nest, hooked his neck through, and limped forward. Weight on his injured foot pained him increasingly, but he went on jerkily.
He reached the mud flat. The mud was hot today; huge bubbles rose, expanded, and popped. But a detour around this area would greatly extend his route and take him back through Tyrann's territory. Lame as he was, that was not to be risked.
The best path through it would take him near several of the largest bubble-pits. Alone, he might manage it, even injured as he was. Hauling the nest made it far more difficult.
But if he made it, the boiling mud would serve as an equal barrier to the mam. Perhaps a fatal one.
He moved ahead, twisting around the hot pits with the inspiration of desperation. He had to keep the nest moving, for the wheels tended to sink in the soft surface.
He heard a noise. His head swiveled. The predator mam had emerged from the foliage. The creature was swathed in material. Sticks were bound to its limbs and fabric covered its torso -- not its normal removable plumage but tight patches covering wounds. Orn did not have to reason out the combat; his observation of the site of the engagement with the fung, coupled with the present condition of the mam, were sufficient to form the picture.
The fung had struck at the weapon first, nullifying it, leaving the mam to his own resources. Next, the fung had cut at the mam's broad neck. The mam had protected his neck with his limbs, and so those limbs had been deeply sliced: flesh from bone. But once the mam got his appendages on the fung, he had torn it apart, killing it.
Afterward, the mam had bound up his wounds to stop the loss of body fluids, using the sticks to fix the bones in place. And continued his pursuit of Orn. A formidable predator!
A huge bubble developed almost beneath Orn. It was a slow riser that had given no prior signal of its presence; Orn had judged this section safe.
He jerked forward, trying to haul the cart to safety. But its wheels were deep in the mud loosened by the bubble. He only succeeded in sliding it directly into the air cavity as it erupted.
The cart tipped, spilling one egg into the hot mud, then another. The cub wailed. Orn flapped his wings, striving for leverage against the air.
But the harness entangled them.
The bubble burst. Scorching gas enveloped Orn. He squawked in agony, then inhaled the vapor into his lungs.
Burning inside and out, Orn sank into the bubble. As the heat of it cooked him, his glazing eyes saw a strange glow with many sparkling points. It coalesced about the nest, about the one remaining egg and the mam cub.
This was the one experience Orn's ancestry had been unable to bequeath to him: the death of the individual. Heat, pain, and a cloud of lights. Mud-matted feathers. Sinking.
The strangest thing about it was the apparent surprise of the watching predator. The mam was not dying; why was he sharing Orn's experience?
Chapter 20 - UNIT
Of Man and Manta Omnibus Page 72