by Set Wagner
I was getting carried away, developing my ideas and enriching them with logical conclusions that stimulated my confidence in humanity even more, until I finally started to accept the Yusians with condescending kindness. Since we were then passing a device that looked as if its only purpose was to spread clouds of dust around, I asked Chuks about it, just to be polite, “Tell me, Chuks, what is this—used for?” I casually waved my hand at the device.
“Used for example, because has many difficulties.” Approaching it, he literally dived into the dust. From within its whirlwind, he added, “Misses original planet, so grant regular approval.”
For some reason I thought he wouldn’t hear me if I spoke normally, so I almost screamed, “Is it a plant?”
“Has been, but now a memory. Grows only in our visions,” the hardly distinguishable silhouette of Chuks offered sotto voce.
Our tour continued with an unpleasant surprise. We had moved away from the “memory” plant, and I was absentmindedly observing how Chuks absorbed its pollen through his skin, when the floor around us quickly dropped away and we found ourselves some distance beneath its regular level. Then it closed over our heads, forming a semitransparent capsule, which carried us headlong downward. I tried to find out what surrounded us but could see only long luminous lines and feel that we were sinking rapidly. Nor was this an illusion. Then the capsule stopped softly, as if it had shock absorbers, and fell apart. Its remnants merged with the new floor beneath us, which resembled the back of an enormous panting reptile. Chuks confidently started walking on its heaving back, so I had no choice but to follow.
We soon stopped on a square platform that seemed to be suspended in midair. At its edge was probably a force field, which allowed Chuks to occupy a position that would have been impossible to maintain otherwise. I stepped back a little; this vantage point offered a good view, as if from a high balcony. I wish I had understood better the view beneath me. Something was spreading, some kind of room the size of a soccer field, but its outlines were too amorphous to determine its precise shape. The scarlet walls meandered randomly, uniting at the top to form a cupola dotted with dark greasy residue that constantly shifted position, somehow crawling and stretching. When these touched, they abruptly contracted into spheres, remaining in that position for a second or two before exploding, during which they erupted with yellowish bubbling foam.
The bottom of the room was rough, composed of a combination of substance and energy that sometimes sank and other times swelled and folded into smooth, shiny waves that mirrored its depths, where wide ribbons of fire leaped in a wild contest, tangling into complicated ornaments before slowly extinguishing in the gushing foam. In the center rose three towering pillars, as if formed of petrified darkness, through which veils like thick transparent glass undulated rhythmically while circulating a grayish fluid within.
From the direction of the meandering, or maybe wriggling, walls came sounds that dwindled swiftly and frighteningly, like death rattles, and then, after moments of silence tense with expectation, began their moaning anew, like the groaning of dying animals.
“Time down there!” Chuks’s scream startled me.
I turned mechanically toward him, dumbstruck, as he hung above me, apparently so that I could hear him better.
“Time down there,” he repeated, “and undoubtedly recalling Eyrena, since there we captured selves belong to it. Able regain them only through three near shadows of nothing.”
I guessed that his “three near shadows” referred to the black pillars, and once again I stared at them. This creature had quite a vocabulary: “near shadows of nothing”! I shrugged my shoulders and started backing up. I didn’t want to have to yell up at him all the time.
“What is our present velocity?” I asked him in a businesslike manner once we had settled in a quieter place.
“No, no!” Chuks heartily but worriedly objected. “Must not move. Is time! Only to wait for it—”
“But we are traveling, aren’t we?” I interrupted him impatiently. “Otherwise, how will we ever reach Eyrena?”
“Traveling drastic distance away Earth, Ter. With motion we cross when everything ours already somebody else’s. Why collide with natural limits?”
I made a thoughtful face, as if considering the reasonableness of his argument, finally concluding sharply, “Yes, that would not be in our best interests.”
We left the seething flux of “time” as we had reached it, in yet another capsule. When it stopped and disintegrated, before my eyes appeared a new, equally incomprehensible vista, though not as exotic as the previous one.
Now we were standing at the foot of a pyramid-like structure with an open top from which, at regular intervals, arose clouds of thick white steam. The steam condensed into large drops on the low ceiling, from which grew long, flexible leechlike forms. They stretched toward the drops, swallowing them quickly, sometimes even quarreling over them, their actions accompanied by the slurping sounds of a herd of unrestrained greedy creatures. After all the drops had been devoured, they returned to the fleshy tissue of the ceiling, lurking there until the condensation of their next “meal.”
After watching the creatures feed for a few cycles, I directed my attention toward the pyramid itself. The surface layer was composed entirely of shells as big as a human palm, which amazingly resembled mussels: the same shape, the same lustrous nacreous lining, and even the same small protuberance in the middle. While I was examining them, they entered their next cycle, because all of them opened at the same time and uncovered their soft rosy flesh exactly as common mussels do. The similarities were really incredible, fantastic! Or maybe it was even a common phase in the evolution of two distant planets?
“Are mussels,” Chuks’s remark brought me back to reality. “And made them ours. For now, only give us their cautiousness, but soon foresee more transformed future for them. Being used, being used.”
He lifted his lower limb and pressed it toward the flesh of some of the mussels. When he pulled it back, they remained just as trustfully opened.
Beneath the disgusting membrane space suit, I broke into a cold sweat. A common phase—what an absurd idea! The Yusians had probably started their surreptitious campaign of conquest long ago. These mussels were hardly their first victory. Who knows how many other earthborn creatures have “transformed future” by them? And who knows whether they are preparing the same for us too. But, after all, Zung was right: they must have a weak spot. We only have to find it. We have to!
I said with feigned indifference, “I would like to see where you do your calculations. The control of such a starship is probably a very complex task.”
“No, is not,” Chuks confirmed, cheerfully leading me toward one of the tunnels to the right of the pyramid. “Is not, as calculations not be any help. Starship must be always in wholeness, as you or I. How calculating our personal control?”
“So this starship is actually a living organism?” I smiled at him skeptically, although I had heard other people say the same thing.
“Yes, it turns out,” Chuks confirmed again and then added, “But human meaning very much aside from Yusian truth.”
“Well, all right, I didn’t express myself very precisely. I meant that the starship is like a gigantic biological robot or self-regulating biological machine. Whatever we call it, the important thing is that it functions according to the principles of a live organism. Of course, it’s not alive in the sense that it can reproduce itself. On the other hand, if necessary, maybe it can regenerate each of its parts, and this ability…is…characteristic of…of many living organisms.” I had confused even myself, so I stopped speaking.
Chuks gladly picked up where I had left off. “Can be anything you wish to it, but not with all uses. Will meet you with it. Is near here.”
While I was wondering who or what he had in mind, we came to the end of the tunnel and stopped in front of a porous vertical plane that thinned and then split at Chuks’s touch. We entered a small re
ctangular white room.
“There is,” Chuks announced, stopping next to a diminutive transparent sphere filled with silver spots that seemed to be roaming randomly.
“What is this?”
“Starship.”
I felt a strong need to sit down, to hold my head, or at least to swear aloud, but I allowed myself only a deep sigh.
Chuks said, “Realize with trust is ordinary object.”
“An artificial mind!” I exclaimed, delighted with my guess.
“No! Is ordinary object! But maintains strict requirements toward surrounding anything. When different substances and energies subordinate to it, pays back in details vital conditions needed for us.”
Chuks crossed to what looked like a wall shelf with separate compartments, in which were placed tiles as small as playing cards.
“These signs so ship combines with chosen planet,” he continued. “This sign of Earth until recently was affected. But inside is already sign of Eyrena, then will be this one.” He tenderly touched some of the tiles.
When I looked more closely at the sphere, I noticed that there was also a tile in its center. I don’t know why, but it all seemed to me absolutely ridiculous, as if a passenger seeing an airplane for the first time were being told by some joker that it flies only because inside is a blinking “No Smoking” sign!
“Not to confront from this place more, Ter,” Chuks warned me. “Starting to effort self.”
We left the room with the “starship” and again started roaming along the “substances and energies,” toward which, as I already knew, it had “strict requirements.” I felt demoralized and dispirited after this avalanche of inaccessible and incomprehensible sights and explanations.
Chuks, however, showed no intention of parting from me. He couldn’t seem to get enough of my presence and wouldn’t stop babbling on. I was dizzy from listening to him call incandescent balloons “climatizers” and announce that a zone dotted with simple spongy funnels provided “balance retention.” Then he led me through a labyrinth of gloomy slippery pipes, which were, in his words, generating an “external insulation veil.” And so on.
Would this damned tour ever be over? Then, when its end was finally near, I had to squeeze through a narrow lane between at least twenty more Yusians! They had gathered, presumably, to honor me. They were roaring something, and all of them gazed at me with their horrible eyes, clearly finding me quite an amusing attraction.
I made an effort to respond in kind and, I think, succeeded to a great extent, because this time their paralyzing gaze had little effect on me. I stopped, looked at them with no more than a passing glance of curiosity, asked Chuks a few questions, laughed a little, and waved my hand playfully. Zung would have been proud of me—I had followed his directives to the letter. I understood him better now and felt more and more sympathetic toward him. One or two more experiences like this, and I would probably become his most fanatic supporter.
By the time I sank into the familiar cleft, I could hardly stand on my feet. I was even numb to the relief of my space suit melting. I simply waited until the procedure ended and returned through the rotating rings, entirely naked again, as if in a trance. Since nobody bothered to give me back my clothes, I assumed that they didn’t exist anymore. Were they cankered or absorbed by something? I didn’t know.
I entered the apartment without even paying any attention to Jerry, who rejoiced at my return, and headed for the bathroom to take a shower—the memory of the cloying reddish threads clinging to my body still made my skin crawl.
When I finally reached the bedroom, the first thing I saw in the open closet was my gray suit, the same one I thought was destroyed. I also found my blue shirt, my shoes, my underwear, and my socks. I took them out and examined them carefully. Were they really the same ones or not? This question obsessed me, causing me to forget all about the starship, the tour, and even the Yusians. But why? Only a competent psychologist, or psychiatrist, could answer that.
Of course the clothes weren’t the same ones, as I determined when it occurred to me to look for their labels. Where they had been I saw the entirely inappropriate stamps of “essiko.” Was that a mistake—or a hint that they intended to turn me into a robot?
I put on the clothes and returned to the living room to listen to music. I needed to take my mind off this unpleasant adventure. But even more unpleasant thoughts tortured me: my fears of what I would be facing on Eyrena.
Part Two
Chapter 7
“Now in an event!” I heard the ecstatic voice of Chuks. “Your opposition only fourteen Earth days and now nine hours over.”
Somehow I understood from his words that we had arrived on Eyrena, although the landing was as light as the liftoff. But this time I wasn’t particularly impressed. I simply ordered the robot to collect my luggage and waited impatiently to leave the starship. Whatever next awaited me would be better than being surrounded by only Yusians!
After about ten minutes, Chuks walked in, wearing his terrestrial space suit. I hurriedly gathered the puppy in my arms, hoping to shield him at least partially from the initial “psychosensor overload.” Unfortunately I couldn’t protect myself, let alone Jerry, from that.
“From now on will desire summary,” the Yusian said heartily when I came back to my senses.
“Are we leaving?” I asked.
“And summary always indolent,” he continued, “by choosing only similarities to merge.”
“But after all,” I replied reluctantly, “finding similarities is the easiest way to reach logical conclusions.”
“Not easy if not safe!” Chuks objected.
Our few previous conversations gave me no reason to assume that exchanging two or three seemingly shared phrases would lead to anything but more confusion. “Maybe you’re right,” I yet argued, “but there are many complex situations or, let’s say, phenomena, that require us to summarize. It’s going to be difficult, if not impossible, to understand the basic principles if we focus only on specific details.”
“Can’t find basic because already known,” Chuks noted. “One for everything and is little. Who disregards will lose above-mentioned distinctive complexity.”
“What could be better than the absence of complexity?” I smiled wryly.
“Better the slow approacher giving chance to react,” Chuks answered my rhetorical question.
My growing impatience became unbearable claustrophobia. I wanted out—immediately. I had to escape! “We have to go, Chuks,”
“We have to go, Chuks,” he repeated and finally headed for the door.
The gallery that had disappeared during the journey was back in place. I walked behind the Yusian, my feet sinking into the spongy floor, almost blinded by the constant sparks spouting from the brackets along the sides. The robot plodded mechanically behind me. Jerry was trembling violently, his head buried under my jacket. From time to time, his curiosity overcame his fear, and he peeked out—a good sign that his psychological condition was improving, as was mine. Good or bad, the way was familiar and, most importantly, led to the exit.
We entered the hall with the vibrating ellipses. Chuks kept moving, but I stopped and, as soon as my eyes adapted to the new lightning, looked around for the elevator we had used when we were here before. It was nowhere to be found, but a sluice slowly rising on the other side of the hall caught my attention.
Soon a pulsing elastic substance began flowing—or crawling—out, upon which floated a bluish-white object that I couldn’t identify in any way. The substance expanded sideways until it resembled a shallow pond, while the object bobbed up and down like an oversized polyhedral buoy. When the “pond” suddenly swelled in the middle, the polyhedron slid down the newly formed slope. Inertia carried it beyond the substance, which quickly receded into the original opening, and the sluice closed.
“Should exploit readiness!” Chuks exclaimed, but I didn’t budge. He waited for me, next to that extremely, even hideously, absurd object. If I
had seen it on the monitor and couldn’t judge its size, I would have guessed it to be a crushed cardboard box completely covered with small, uneven handwriting. But I hadn’t seen it on a screen and could tell by its size alone—as big as a minibus!—that it certainly wasn’t a box. Nor were those skewed blue and purple markings anyone’s handwriting.
Although it seemed improbable, I finally realized the repugnant truth: I was actually looking at a Yusian vehicle. Had they no sense of shape!
As I approached it, even Jerry barked disapprovingly before again hiding his head under my jacket. Moving to the most prominent side of the vehicle, Chuks climbed in with a well-practiced maneuver. I followed, but nowhere near as skillfully. Then I remembered the robot and got out again.
“Come on, Siko!” I urged him nervously.
But he didn’t move—just stood in the middle of the hall holding the two suitcases. His head was tilted backward on that unnaturally extended bony neck, his eyes, glowing like burning coals, firmly riveted on something above us. I traced their direction and discovered that they were locked on a long, narrow opening in the ceiling, through which a few Yusians, closely squeezed together, were looking at us.
“Come on, Siko!” I repeated, vague suspicions about him creeping into my mind. “Get in!”
The robot rocked back and forth, stopped for a moment to regain his equilibrium, and then moved rapidly toward me. We climbed into the vehicle, where Chuks was already crouched in a very particular, yet obviously totally comfortable, position. As for myself, I found all the surfaces disturbingly soft and sensitive to my touch. The lack of any windows intensified the impression that we were enclosed in a hollow, dark womb.