Up the Walls of the World

by James Tiptree Jr.

“Oh, another piece of news for you,” Waxman goes on. “Did I tell you that the Tyrenni have set up a big dream-world of their own, over that way? All the Fathers have the kids in there. We call it Tyree-Two. Giadoc says the soul of Tyree came with us, that makes it a heavy trip. Val and Frodo went to see it. They liked the flying. And Winnie took Kirk to some Father who’s going to raise him for awhile, she knows she was too soft with him.”

  “Tyree-Two…” Dann thinks of the strength of Ted’s dream-world. This must be incredible, a structure of joined dreams, a real place.

  “ Yes. But Heagran is more worried than ever. He’s coming to talk to you soon.”

  “I’ll be here.” Dann tries his first mild joke in life beyond death, in realms between the stars.

  But it is Chris who comes next, a new, stronger Chris whose shyness is only a slight abruptness in the contact now.

  “We need time here, Doc.”

  “Time?” It seems the one thing they have.

  “I mean, we need some way of marking real time. It’s weird here with nothing changing. I notice some of those stars pulse regularly. I was thinking, why can’t you tie one into a digital counter that we could read?”

  “It isn’t me, Chris. I can’t do anything. I’m only the doorman here.”

  “You know what I mean, Doc.”

  Yes, Dann knows. Chris means what he has always meant, that there are human dimensions he can’t cope with. But the idea is, as usual, a good one.

  “Cepheid variables, I think that’s what you’re seeing. The periods are generally around a week.”

  “Yeah. We could spit it into intervals. Then you could keep track of things and plan to do a thing in so many periods, say, instead of this fuzzy stuff.”

  “I don’t see why not. I’ll ask.”

  “I know what we should call them.” Waxman has evidently been monitoring the interchange. “It would be stupid to have weeks or whatever the Tyrenni had, out here. Let’s call the base period after Chris.”

  “Good,” says Dann. But Chris has already broken contact, apparently overcome by Waxman’s proposal.

  When the apparition of Margaret comes again, Dann senses that she is amused by the proposal. As she moves away to whatever magical manipulations will put it into effect, an odd dreamy smile comes to her human face.

  “Baseline, time zero… TOTAL can compute. It will start from when, when we awoke.”

  When “we” awoke. Dann realizes anew that this dream-normalcy conceals a reality he has no access to. But he is not unhappy. Let it just go on.

  The new real-time system is duly acclaimed a success. The screens carry it, and from time to time a soft unliving energy-signal resonates through the spaces round them.

  On one of these occasions a new voice speaks spontaneously to Waxman: “Ship’s bells!” The lost mariner, Ted, is stirring from his dream.

  Dann and Waxman are conferring, trying to compute how long, how surprisingly long, they have really been here, when a sense of something happening within the nucleus makes him break off.

  His perception returns inward to find indefinable energies in action. Margaret in her human incarnation is not there, but the elegant remote profile against the stars is very vivid and strong, and the chamber seems to be thrumming with the quick rise of signals just beyond his range.

  Then suddenly it is over, the energies subside, the shadowy figure fades and all is as before. And Margaret herself comes back, seated by a different part of the great console.

  “What happened? Are you all right?”

  Her expression is indrawn, she does not answer for awhile. Then she brushes her forehead in a very human gesture. “I—we—heard a death-scream. Very small, very close; something dying, freezing or burning up. I’m not sure, but I think I took in an alien astronaut. You can find out.”

  When Dann turns his attention outside, he finds the others are already aware of what has happened.

  “Something came barreling in here screaming blue murder,” Waxman tells him. “Heagran’s friends have gone out to see what they can do. Holy smokes!” The young voice is full of wonder. “Imagine, a real alien! I’m going to see it unless somebody gives me a good picture soon.”

  Dann is too bemused to reply. “A real alien”—this from a disembodied double being dwelling in the interior of some leviathan of the starways, dealing in mind-speech with the creatures of another world. But he knows what Waxman means. Not for the first time, Dann reflects on the curious compatibility of these human and Tyrenni minds. They’re healthier, and less individuated than we, he thinks; and they lack our predatory aggressiveness. Our particular group of humans are rather deficient in that way too. Is it possible that empathic intelligence is the same the Galaxy over, that the knowledge of the reality of others’ feelings breeds a certain gentle cast of mind, whether one is in a human body or a great manta-ray of the winds? Or is it something deeper in their contactless, food-rich way of life?

  The advent of the alien has generated a flurry of activity. It is decided to let him stay where he first lodged until more is known of him.

  “Val’s gone over to try to learn its language,” Waxman reports. “She’s got a gift that way. They think it’s a combined being, a what-you-call hemaphrodite. Sastro sent me a good memory. Even Ted has heard of it.”

  “Margaret didn’t do that on her own,” Dann tells him. “I mean, she did it, but it was her plus something. The being, whatever we’re in, seems to have a compulsion to respond to life in distress.”

  “We’re in a life-boat,” puts in the dreamy voice Dann recognizes as Ted Yost.

  “That’s right,” Waxman agrees. “We all feel something, some kind of urge like that underneath. It’s beautiful.”

  Beautiful? Yes. But suddenly it occurs to Dann, what if they involuntarily take on a load of sapient predators? A space-going armada like Ghengis Khan’s hordes, with whom even a Tyrenni Father couldn’t cope? Or a distressed planetful of highly evolved scorpions? What would the gentle souls here do then?

  He puts the question to Margaret when she next appears.

  “Margaret, you know the people here, we who ride with you, are pretty peaceful types. Empathic, rational. And there’s not many of us. What if you take in some really ferocious characters? Fighters, killers, slavers? We might all be massacred or destroyed in some way.”

  The figure in the shadows seems to stir slightly, and the “human” Margaret shakes her head, smiling gently.

  “No. You will never be in danger. We—I have learned the value of life. I have you all in my circuits. If there should be hostility provision will be made. We are equipped for that, you know.”

  He doesn’t know and he can’t imagine anything beyond, say, bulkheads. But he’s willing to trust it to her.

  Oddly, it is the coming of the alien that is reponsible for Dann’s most human contact and the most touching one.

  For some time his outward sensors have been aware of a presence nearby, close-held but emanating a hesistant intent and what he recognizes unhappily as pain. Dann puzzles. Can it be Ted, or Chris?

  No; Waxman says that Ted has been induced to meet the Tyrenni, and Chris has formed a strong relationship with Giadoc in their curiosities about the unliving energies of this world. Moreover Chris is getting over his shyness about having his mind read. “They’re helping him a lot,” Waxman says. “He may let old Sastro fix his head a touch, so he doesn’t feel so, so, you know. From being like he was on Earth.”

  Dann recollects his own slight experience of “having his head fixed.” To have ones fears and inadequacies put to rest—good for Chris. But who is this then nearby? Almost he asks Waxman, but the being’s shyness is so clear. Rather like a private patient waiting to see him again.

  Finally comes a tentative mind-touch on his own. “Doc?”

  The mystery is solved—it’s Frodo. If he had thought of her at all, he’d imagined her somewhere off happily exploring with Val.

  “I’m glad you came by, Frodo.
As maybe you can see, I’m stuck here.”

  “I never thanked you for helping me back there. What you did, when we were on Tyree.”

  Whatever she has come for, this isn’t it. He transmits a genial acknowledgment, while the thing in him that cannot rest in the presence of pain gropes toward her.

  “Doc, you always understood—” It’s coming: with wrenching intensity her mind opens to him like a child, and she blurts, “Val doesn’t need me anymore.”

  In dim immateriality she grips something that might be his hand; he can feel her struggle, her shame at showing pain. He remembers a long-ago small boy, brought in with a dreadfully smashed kneecap. For a moment he simply hangs on, trying to absorb and master the hurtful transmission, and sends the first thing that comes to his head.

  “I don’t believe she doesn’t need you, Frodo. She loves you. Did she say so?”

  “NO!—but she keeps doing things with Tivonel and the others, and she’s so busy with that alien. Oh, Doc, it’s horrible. I’m horrible.”

  “Why are you horrible, Frodo?”

  “Because—because—” The impression of a wailing little figure throwing itself on his bosom is overpowering. “Because she’s happy now! It’s horrible that I can’t take her being happy. She doesn’t need me at all!”

  Dann holds her strongly, sharing the sharp grief, waiting for the storm to spend. Trying to understand, he recalls his glimpse of Val’s mind. The secret, sacred enclave of We Two. Now all that has been changed. The hostile world around has vanished and Val has been freed; she is enjoying her freedom in this weird place, like his little friend Tivonel. But this other inhabitant of that private world cannot fly free so easily. She misses horribly the exclusive love and sharing that gave life meaning— How well he knows it.

  The sad mind in his nonexistent arms is murmuring. “Sometimes I think I’ll just start moving on till I come to the edge of this thing and go on out into space.”

  “No. Would it be fair to Val to lay that guilt on her? Listen. When that idea comes to you I want you to come to me first. Will you promise me that?”

  Finally she agrees. The intensity is drained for the moment. But the mournful message comes, “No one needs me here. Hell, I was just a dumb law student. We’ve passed beyond Middle Earth now, haven’t we? Who needs a law student in the Western Isles?”

  “I was just a dumb medical doctor, Frodo. We all have to reconvert ourselves somehow.”

  Frodo gives the ghost of her old scornful laugh. “You have her.”

  Oh God, he knows what she means.

  I don’t have Margaret, Frodo. Nobody could ‘have’ her anymore. I get to look at some aspect of her and talk with apart of her now and then. I think she’s happy… That’s all. She’s passed away beyond your Western Isles, farther than any of us.”

  Frodo is silent for a moment. “I see… I’m sorry.”

  “No need. I do get to see… something of her. Just like you see Val.”

  “And that’s got to be enough for us?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  The mind touching his sighs, then laughs again. But it’s a better laugh, Dann thinks, not understanding that his “gift” has worked again, but only feeling a new sadness.

  “Speaking of law, have you found out what kind of laws that alien has on his world? Or the Tyrenni, for that matter? Look, here’s something you could think of. Why don’t you figure out the ideal code of laws? Then if we get the chance we could write them in fiery letters in the sky of some world.”

  She really laughs. “Like the Ten Commandments. Thou shall not crucify green lizards,”

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you really think we could do things like that some day?”

  “I don’t know. We’re in the realm of the impossible already.”

  “Yeah.”

  They are silent together; a companionable feeling Dann never imagined he would share with the fierce little androgyne.

  “Come back and see me, Frodo. We can be depressed together. But if it gets too bad, you know, the Tyrenni can help you with bad memories.”

  “I guess so… But I think I’d rather come to you. Thanks, Doc.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She leaves, and Dann’s attention strays back inside the nucleus.

  It is empty of all save mystery for a long time, until the child comes shyly out and starts to examine something on the small screen. It is a great dim red sun, Dann sees. A red giant. Perhaps she wants to ask him again about the lives of stars. Yes, she has replaced the picture with TOTAL’S Hertzsprung-Russell diagram now, showing the main sequence and the tracks taken by various masses and types of stars. If only he knew more!

  But when she turns to him the question is unexpected.

  “If we made time run backward, it would shrink again. And if there were people around it, they would be alive again, wouldn’t they, Dan’l?”

  Make time run backward?

  For a moment he thinks it’s a play-question, and then the fearful significance sinks in. He has found out from Margaret how the great being’s former companions cleared space; they somehow accelerated or reversed the processes of stars until their mass-energy dissipated below a critical point. But this is the first time he comprehends, really grasps that the entity he rides in, the being he knows as partly “Margaret,” has such powers at command; To make lost races live again?

  “I suppose so,” he says feebly.

  At that moment the grown-up Margaret appears from the shadows and the child goes to her. “There is also alternation,” she says quietly, half to Dann and half as if in reminder to the child. “Events don’t have to repeat exactly.”

  Then she and the child melt away, leaving Dann’s head spinning.

  Before he can organize his thoughts he is aware of a summons from Waxman outside.

  “Father Heagran wants an interview with Margaret, Doc. Can you arrange?”

  “I’ll see. It may be awhile.”

  When Margaret comes back he tells her. “I think he wants a face-to-face meeting, like you had with Winnie. I believe I could translate. You’ve never really seen a full-fledged Tyrenni Elder, have you? It’s quite something, you might enjoy it. The thing is, they’re big.”

  “Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’ll make arrangements.”

  Shortly thereafter he feels a change in the opening he guards, and prudently retracts himself. The opening seems to widen, and brighten to a view of Tyree’s wind-torn skies. Hovering there at an indeterminate distance is the great age-splendored form of Heagran himself. Dann wonders how it appears to Margaret. To him the form is both monstrous and beautiful; above all, a personage. The great mantle ripples, speaks in light.

  “He addresses you as Gracious Elder,” Dann tells Margaret. “And asks if it is true that you can put his people’s minds down on a suitable world.” As Dann says this he is assailed by a pang of coming loss.

  “ We can,” she says, seated quite normally and businesslike at the great console.

  “Then it is time,” Dann goes on reluctantly. “Their world of fantasy here grows strong and strange and the, the children do not grow. However they will not commit life-crime on an intelligent race. He asks if you can find a world of advanced animal life where true, ah, self-concept has not developed. The animals’ minds can be merged to make room for the Tyrenni. I think he is saying that the soul or spirit of Tyree is with them, so he is not afraid they will degenerate. He believes that Tyree will live again in another form.”

  “A world of advanced animal life.” Margaret’s hand brushes her dark hair as if the most ordinary program request had been put to her. “I think that can be done best if they will help monitor the life-bands to select the right level. Do they have other requirements?”

  When Dann translates this the great changes color slightly, as if deep emotions were touched. “That it be a world of wind,” he says. “That we are not condemned to live in the Abyss, remembering flight.”


  His emotion evokes echoes; even Margaret’s gaze is lowered for an instant. “I understand… Is there anything more?”

  “Your people have told us how many worlds may be filled by fierce eaters of flesh. Our people cannot kill, we cannot cause pain. On our world was only one small fierce animal, the carlu, who served as a lesson for children. Therefore I would ask that our people be sent where there are no savage enemies and they may live at peace.”

  “I understand that too.” She smiles. “We will set out systems to search. When we find possible worlds they will be displayed on the screens for you to judge. And I will study how to set you down gently, so that your people will not be frightened. I believe that is within our power.”

  “All thanks to you, Gracious Elder-Female.” But the great being does not recede or turn away. Instead he signs almost hesitantly. “Another point.”

  “Yes?”

  “I and a few others… do not wish to leave you. I am too old to start life anew, and like young Giadoc I find that my soul has been touched by a greater wind. We know that if we stay we will not remain unchanged. Nevertheless we would wish to go with you on your great voyage among the Companions of the sky. May we?”

  As Dann translates this his immaterial heart is filled with joy. To know that some of the Tyrenni will be staying! How unbearable to have lost all contact with the wondrous race whose ordeal he has shared, whose physical form is part of his intimate memories.

  “You are very welcome,” Margaret is saying. “Your help in understanding the transmissions of life will be of great value here. Is there anything we can do for your comfort?”

  “A small thing and perhaps impossible,” Heagran replies. “I know that we travel across immense spaces and that what we call the Companions are limitless in number. In such voyages, is it conceivable that we will ever again approach the new home of my people, to see how they fare?”

  “I’m not sure.” Margaret’s brow has the so-human line of preoccupation, Heagren might have been asking her for a tricky computation. “Space, yes, and there is the factor of time. I believe we can mark the world you select, and return to it. But the time-lapse may be many generations of lives on that world.”