Up the Walls of the World

by James Tiptree Jr.

  “Ronnie, are you all right?” The uncertain voice is asking.

  “Ron’s all right, Rick. I’m Doctor Dann. Ron is right here, he’ll be awake soon.”

  “I know.” Warm color is returning to the words, the life-field is rearranging itself. Almost like a small Tyrenni, Dann thinks. The voice is so absurdly like Rick; was it only hours or an eternity ago that he had heard it tell the yarn about the Japanese time-machine? Incredibilities swamp him.

  “I better explain what happened, if I can,” he says.

  “I know what’s happened,” the voice says dreamily. “We’re on another world. We’ve been kidnapped by alien telepathic monsters.”

  Dann is so taken aback that he can only say feebly, “As a matter of fact… you’re quite right. But don’t worry. They’re friendly, they really are.”

  “I know that too,” says the voice of Richard Waxman, drifting in horrendous form upon the far winds of Tyree. Next minute his mind-aura subsides, his body darkens.

  “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

  “He’s just asleep,” Tivonel says briskly. “You always sleep awhile after you’ve been deep-drained. But look here, Tanel. Janskelen has something really wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The body of the old female seems to be floating easily, adjusting itself automatically on the uprushing air. It takes Dann an instant to recall that he should look at the important thing, the “field.” When he does he sees that the nebulosity wreathing the body seems decidedly smaller and less structured.

  “Do you have plenyas on your world?” Tivonel demands.

  “What’s a plenya?”

  Instead of answering, Tivonel’s mind-field extends and brushes the sleeping one. She recoils.

  “Oh, for wind’s sake, No! How awful.”

  “What? What’s awful?”

  “That’s an animal’s mind, Tanel. Poor old Janskelen has landed in some dumb animal. Oh, how sad.”

  Dann considers. In the back of his mind a Labrador’s tail thumps. Good God. Apparently this Beam stayed focussed right on his group. And will Fearing, God knows who from Deerfield, be here too?

  “Tanel, do you realize?” Tivonel is asking. “That’s what’ll happen to us if we do what Heagran says. We’ll be animals. Nothing but beasts. I don’t want to live that way, losing everything. I’m going to stay here and die as myself. I know that’s what Giadoc’ll want. We’ll die here together.”

  Another far fire-shriek splits the heavens. Milder this time. It’s starting, all right, Dann thinks. As the uproar dies away he says gently.

  “If worst comes to worst Tivonel, it looks as if you may have to die here with me.”

  Chapter 15

  It is so easy this time!

  The thread of essence that is Giadoc has felt the tension-release which means that Terenc has left the Beam for an alien mind. Now Giadoc must enter one.

  Life is near him; he touches, prepared to push. But there is no need—he finds himself being called, almost pulled into a strangely welcoming matrix. No fear here. He condenses into embodiment so gently that it occurs to him to greet the alien creature. As the displaced mind slides out on the Beam, it seems to leave him with a message: Danger. Take Care.

  Extradorinary! What superior creatures, he thinks, establishing himself in the alien sensorium. To show Fatherly concern in the midst of what must be a terrifying experience. There will be no life-crime here; Giadoc resolves it. If he survives this test he will break the Beam rather than send such people to die on Tyree.

  Remembering the stranger’s warning he makes no move, but lets the body lie in dark silence as he has found it, while he accustoms himself to the dead air and the weird somatic sensations. Thought flares are flooding around him, extra-energetic in the Beam’s power. He examines them, looking for Terenc. Seven minds in his immediate vicinity, but no Terenc. All are disorganized and seem totally unconscious; he can read them as if he were among animals. He has, he finds, returned to the same place as before. What is exciting them so?

  The nearest mind-field is intent on his physical body, its owner is in fact actually touching his limbs. It thinks of itself as Doctoraris, a Body-Healer. And three others nearby seem to be Healers too. They are focussed on a dead person or animal. How bizarre to have so many Healers! It must be due to their dangerous life among solid matter at the bottom of the wind.

  Beyond the Healers is a small, excited, simple field—a child or a female? No; it knows itself as “Kirk,” an adult male. Disgraceful!

  Beside “Kirk” is the energy-phenomenon he remembers from his last visit: an unidentifiable complex of cold semisentience concentrated in a pod, with tendrils leading farther than he can scan. Some kind of intelligent plant? He probes Kirk’s mind, finds its image as a “console” or “computer,” apparently not alive. Fascinating!

  All this has taken Giadoc only an instant, when suddenly a crude alien fear-probe bounces off him and he recalls that there may be danger here. Who tried to probe him? Ah—it came from the mind he met before, the being with multiple names, “Sproul,” “Barr,” or “Fearing,” whom he had greeted. Now it’s stationed apart in a high state of energy, violently compressed and yet drawing attention to itself by a barrage of hostile flares, mainly directed toward himself. This must be the problem the friendly alien had warned him of. This alien seems insanely concerned with ideas of concealment and control; Giadoc decides it would be unwise to attempt to interact with it again until it has calmed down. But he deciphers a useful fact from the repellent chaos of its thought: the body he is in is named “Doctordan.”

  Meanwhile the “Doctoraris” mind beside him is clamorously willing him to show signs of bodily life. Giadoc makes a final distance scan-sweep but Terenc does not seem to be in range. Very well. Deliberately he opens Doctordan’s eyes.

  The extraordinary silent light of this world bursts upon him, and the wealth of close, rigid outlines, surfaces, discrete movements, disorients him for a moment. It’s hard to identify the mad mute shapes with the mind-fields in his scan. He sorts out the forms of two Healers carrying a sagging thing away; doubtless the dead body they were concerned with. Giadoc is amazed again at the way everything drags downward in this windless place. Even the energy of the Beam seems muted here.

  Now Doctoraris is projecting impatience, and, alarmingly, the intention to have him transported elsewhere and do unclear things to his body. Surely Giadoc must prevent this; it wouldn’t be fair to return the friendly alien to some unpleasant situation. Doctoraris’ mouth is opening and closing oddly. As Giadoc notices this he recalls the air-jet language of this world. He has forgotten to activate his “ears.”

  He does so in time to hear speech coming from the “Fearing” alien.

  “Kirk, you will tell the others that the Omali woman is under treatment for a heart problem. A minor heart problem. Is that clear, Harris?”

  The words mean nothing to Giadoc except that they elicit fear-deference from the others. Amazing. But now he must do something if his body is not to be carried away too; his quiescence is being taken as a serious sign.

  He energizes Doctordan’s limbs, intending to bring it upright like the others. It’s hard work, with no wind. He must hold the strange muscles rigid.

  “Take it easy, Dann, wait—” Doctoraris protests audibly, his colors weirdly unchanging. “Do you feel all right?”

  Giadoc allows the other to guide him into a chair.

  “I am all right,” he pronounces, probing hard through Doctoraris’ mind for some plausible explanation of his collapse, while at the same time he works to deflect and drain the other’s concern with him. It’s all so alien. But finally he comes across an engram having to do with an organ in the upper part of his body.

  “A minor heart problem,” he echoes Fearing’s words. All this time one of his upper limbs has been involuntarily groping in the recesses of the dead plant-stuff around his alien body. He encounters a small object and has a sudden vivid bod
y-image of bringing it into his mouth. He does so.

  “Forgot your medication, eh, Dann?” Doctoraris’ thoughts resolve and relax; the mind-turning worked. “Smith, get some water.”

  “How about a coke, Doctor?” The other Healer asks.

  “Okay.”

  Giadoc manages to grope through the embarrassing ritual of public intake. Fearing is still watchfully lashing out at him from a distance, like a wild corlu in ambush.

  “I still think we should take you in, Dann.”

  “No, no need,” Giadoc protests. “I am all right now.”

  To Giadoc’s surprise, Fearing comes to his aid. “I believe we can take Doctor Dann’s word for it, Harris. In fact I’d prefer him to remain here. Kirk, bring him some lunch and stay with him. Harris, since Dann says he’s all right, I think we’ll leave now.”

  “Very well.”

  Giadoc has been noticing a small but energetic field approaching from outside the “room.” As the others prepare to depart, the newcomer bounces in, saying, “Good God, Major, what’s going on here? Where’s Margaret? Dann, what’s wrong with you? The subjects were becoming extremely upset, I sent them to lunch.”

  Giadoc ignores the rest of the conversation while he studies this new mind. It is another small-field male—are there no Fathers here? He sees himself in charge of the alien experiment in life-signals: “Project Polymer.” His name is “Noah” something and, surprisingly, there are areas of considerable order in his mind.

  Good; Giadoc has just realized that he may be here some while. The Beam has not even withdrawn yet in this world’s time. Perhaps the time-scales are different. He should behave appropriately to leave the body in good shape for the real Doctordan, and this “Noah” is clearly the best mind by which to guide himself.

  “How are you, Dann?” Noah is demanding with more empathy than Giadoc has seen on this world.

  “I am all right, Noah. I forgot my medication, that is all.”

  “Oh. Well, my goodness! Take care. I’m off to the hospital to check on Margaret. The next test is at three sharp, you know.”

  Regretfully, Giadoc watches him leave with the others. Too bad. But he can use the time alone to gain skill with his body.

  As he rises unsteadily to his feet he feels the power of the Beam drain away and cease. On far Tyree the Hearers have broken link. Will his life continue?

  He stands gazing around the windless alien enclosure, wrestling with rebellious memories. Tyree’s plight—Tivonel— Tiavan’s wicked intent. No—No time for that now. What’s wrong with him? Resolutely he orders his mind. The minutes pass. He lives.

  He feels nothing more than a slightly unpleasant lowering of his vitality. As he had suspected, it is possible to live on here without the Beam.

  Very well. His task now is to maintain Doctordan’s role until the Beam returns and he can go home. He moves about, gaining clearer and firmer contact with the body’s autonomous skills, using his upper limbs to examine himself and his coverings, touching things. These manipulators are so large and strong and naked! It’s like being a child again, before his mantle grew. Obviously these beings continue to manipulate matter all their adult lives.

  On impulse he presses at the “console” of the cryptic semisentience. It does not respond. Presently he wanders to the access-opening of this place and stands looking out at the extraordinary world of the Abyss. The sheer quantity of static stuffs, the hard wind-bottom with its silent coloration of fear and shame, the ugly verticals and horizontals everywhere, the mute unchanging light. Unsettling, profoundly alien to the blessed blowing world of hime. But how exhilarating, to have all this time in an alien world! If this is to be his last adventure, it’s a worthy one.

  Experimentally, he pushes aside the access-cover and steps out. A weak flare of hostility greets him. Who did that?

  Ah; he makes out a kind of pod resting in the middle distance. An alien mind-field is inside. At this range Giadoc can read only vague resentments connected with food and the vigilant intention to prevent Doctordan’s body from proceeding farther. He steps back inside.

  Extraordinary how much hostility the amiable Doctordan seems to be surrounded by. What a ferocious world! Well, not his concern.

  Another pod is noisily arriving. Giadoc watches the “Kirk” alien get out, followed by what is clearly a pet animal. He is carrying objects which he intends to eat—with Giadoc. Oh, winds! Well, so be it.

  “Up and around, Doc?”

  No empathy here, quite the reverse. But the pet animal is projecting contact-welcome. Giadoc lets his hand move toward it and stops just in time at the flash of jealousy shooting from Kirk’s mind-field. What wild people! He follows Kirk to the corner and watches him open the food, probing for his expectations of Doctordan’s behavior. Ah; he seats himself.

  Fortunately, no speech seems to be expected. By closely following Kirk’s mind-pictures, at the same time copying his own actions, Giadoc manages to grapple with what seems to be called a “chicken sandwich” and some “milk.” His body’s automatic eating actions begin to unroll. Giadoc is delighted; it’s like the child’s game of following his Father’s mental images of mat-weaving. But now he must sort deeper through the other mind for clues to what Doctordan’s next actions will be. It’s hard to believe these people are so unconscious.

  As Giadoc’s thought-tendrils snake into the other mind, he comes upon a pocket of emotion so repellent that he drops the “sandwich.”

  “Had enough, Doc?”

  “A, a weakness,” Giadoc stammers. Why, this creature before him is guilty of physical harm, thinks he has perhaps caused the death of a female. Yes, that dead alien he had glimpsed. And it excites him. Why, these people are savages!

  “Terrible about Margaret,” Kirk says, his thought wildly at variance with his words. “I guess I didn’t take you seriously.”

  “Yes.” Picking up the sandwich, Giadoc pushes aside a flare of repulsive malice toward Doctordan, and concentrates on what there is of Kirk’s rational memory-field. “Project Polymer”—ah, here it is. He finds a pyramidal structure with Kirk himself at the top beside a small figure of Noah. Six subjects—the tests—a mind at a distance will attempt to transmit again, etc. etc. All quite simple and childish. But—Wind save us—Kirk’s memory of what he, as Doctordan, will be expected to do, arrangments of complex matter on the test-persons, “electrodes,” “pressure cuffs,” “biomonitors”—it’s appalling. And much too vague. He could never guide himself by this mind. And the next test is quite soon!

  If the Beam does not return in time, what can he do?

  Well, of course he can always feign illness as he had before. But the spirit of the game has him; he will play out his last adventure as far as he can. An idea comes to him, watching Kirk feed the last of his food to his “dog.” Perhaps by double-probing the test persons and the old male “Noah” simultaneously he can get by? That would be a feat!

  At this moment two things occur. A pod pulls up outside and releases a flood of large, active mind-fields—and Giadoc realizes that his Doctordan body requires to eliminate water. What to do, in this windlessness?

  Luckily the same thought has just risen in Kirk’s mind. Another cross-wind conquered! He copies Kirk’s disposal of the debris and follows him back to the “latrine” before the new aliens come in.

  The liquid-elimination routine proves simple, the body’s habits are strong. As he stands beside Kirk, Giadoc allows himself to sample more of the other’s surface thought, and suddenly picks up a detailed picture of alien sexuality. It fascinates him so that he almost forgets to hold his stream of liquid steady. Imagine, all that contact! Never to know the ecstasy of repulsion—and the egg unblessed by the wind! And how does the Father pouch the egg? Is this Kirk totally immature?

  His explorations are interrupted by the entry of another alien, and Giadoc barely manages to follow Kirk’s lead in restoring his “dick” and “zipper” to their original states.

  The newcomer is t
ransmitting friendship toward him and hostility toward Kirk. Giadoc pauses; the field is so large and expressive that he is sure this mind must be aware. But no; in answer to his mental greeting the other only says, “Not feeling so good, Doc?”

  “Weak,” Giadoc says, studying the other. Its name is “Tedyost,” and it is preoccupied with some massive grief. Giadoc probes further and it enlightened: Tedyost’s body is damaged by some illness that afflicts these people. He is in fact dying. Moved by such frailty, Giadoc involuntarily sends him the ritual energy-gift appropriate to the old.

  “Dann! Where are you? It’s time to set up.”

  Noah is calling him and the Beam has not returned. Well, now for some improvisation worthy of a true Beam traveler!

  He finds Noah just outside.

  “I fear I am not feeling all right,” Giadoc tells him. “Can you assist me?”

  “Damnation! And this is the big one. Margaret out sick, they wouldn’t even let me see her. Oh, all right. Every bloody thing always—”

  His anger is wholly superficial, Giadoc sees; the intent to help is strong. He follows Noah into a small enclosure containing a mind-field in such agitation that he cannot help extending a Fatherly field-edge. And he can sense others almost in panic nearby. Winds, this is going to be rough, if he must soothe and double-probe at the same time!

  Moreover, the mind under his touch is a puzzle—an unmistakable Father who thinks of himself as a low-status female. But no time for puzzles now. Noah is manipulating a formidable mass of dead tendrils attached to chinks of shiny matter, expecting him to do something. What, what? Shamelessly he thrusts among them both, probing for the veins of expectation, their anticipations of what he will do. Ah, yes—select that “wire,” the one with the clasperlike disk.

  Concentrating with all his might, Giadoc lets his Doctordan hands carry it to the “temple,” seat it on the skin. Approval in both minds—that was right. Now the next, yes, and the next. Memorize carefully. Is he succeeding?

  Beside him Noah is doing something with “reels,” not his concern. They are expecting him to attach another set of wires, something to do with circulation; the alien has extended a lower limb. Which wire? Ah—he guesses right and is already applying it when he catches the surprised objection, “electrode paste.” What? Oh—He finds the substance and achieves the proper combination, though apparently too lavishly.