THE CATERPILLARS QUESTION

by Piers Anthony

  How many kids on Earth or here would be familiar with this complex stuff.

  The answers to this question, as to many, would have to wait.

  He hoped he would live long enough to hear them.

  The window was completely open now. He reached into his jacket, found one of the pencils in the leather holder in the inside pocket, and withdrew it. Then, leaning out of the window and twisted so that he could look back along the fuselage and upward, he extended the brace-the radiator-toward the wing of the Gaol craft. The air tore at him and caught the radiator, but he was gripping it hard. It was not easy to keep the weapon pointed at the wing while he pressed the pencil end against the orange button, the firing activator, the trigger.

  There was no visible radiance expelled from the end of the brace. He knew there would be none, but he had momentarily expected one. He was too conditioned by -all the science-fiction movies he had seen and all the books he had read.

  The wing, cut in half, was whisked away, tumbling over and over.

  He should have expected the shadow. But he had not. He grunted when he saw the transparent but still visible plane attached to the sheared-off wing. Then the strange and unexplainable thing was out of his sight.

  The plane suddenly lifted as the solid and opaque Gaol craft on its back fell off.

  He swung the radiator to point at the other plane. For the first time, he could sea the pilot's face clearly. Previously, it had been a blank or, rather, a generic human face. Now it came into focus, and he saw the features of an individual. A woman's face. Since she was unhelmeted, her reddish hair was visible. It was coiled into a bun on top of her head. A Psyche knot. Her delicate and rather pretty face was frozen. Her mind must have gone blank when she saw the wingtip flutter away and her colleague's plane roll off the back of Jack's machine.

  The next moment, she had an even more puzzling and urgent matter to disturb her. Jack had pressed the radiator button. The tail of her plane got a quick divorce from the front part. It dropped, the shadow of the other part turning as it turned. And a shadow of the rear section projected from the still-flying part.

  For a few seconds, the winged half-plane struggled onward, though losing altitude swiftly and beginning to bank to the left.

  The propulsive-levitation engine must radiate from inside the wings, Jack thought. But the pilot could not steer her craft.

  Then the shorn plane nose-dived.

  Jack turned the plane to observe what would happen next to the Gaol machine. It sped straight downward. A half a minute later, the pilot dived out of the window. Something was strapped to her front. Presently, she managed to straighten out, and she flew at a steep angle toward the ground.

  She had put on some kind of parachute or emergency one person mini-aircraft.

  He looked in the space behind the seat. It held two cylinders about fourteen inches hi h and with a radius of six inches. Three levers were sticking out halfway down a yellow vertical stripe.

  Attached to the cylinders were harnesses.

  The pilot's hands had been on the cylinder. Evidently, she had been using the levers to guide her flight.

  Jack turned back to the north. The compass needle indicated that he was headed toward the exact direction that Tappy had indicated. But, just to make sure, he asked her again if he was headed in the right direction. She nodded.

  It was strange that he trusted her more as a compass than he did an electromechanical device. Or was it? She knew the true direction better than any man-made compass. But the panel device could be malfunctioning or affected by aberrant magnetic fields.

  While he was going toward the black clouds, he looked at the instruments. One of those switches or buttons must be a cruise control. Another would put the plane on automatic navigation.

  And what was that blank screen that looked so much like that on a TV set?

  He decided that it was best not to monkey around with anything the exact function of which he did not know. So far, he was doing all right with his flying. But what about when he had to land?

  What activated the machinery to lower the wheels?

  Of course! Ask Tappy!

  He should have thought of that automatically. But his mind was still not completely thawed out. It contained ice, the ice of anxiety.

  No genuine hero, I, he thought.

  He had not volunteered for this perilous voyage. No one in his or her right mind would do that.

  Well, yes, he had entered the rock, and no one had forced him to do that. However, he just could not have allowed Tappy to pass through the gate, or whatever it was, alone. What he should have done, he should have kept her from going into it. Even if he had had to use force.

  No. Somehow, she would have found her way back if he had dragged her away. life was her destiny, and it was her will to follow her destiny.

  My destiny, too, he thought. If I had refused to go with her, I would have loathed myself until I died. And am I not really living, vibrating, keenly aware, alive in every atom of my mind and body? Wasn't I a sort of walking dead before I passed through the gate?

  I didn't know it. I had to come here to find that out. All those people on Earth-well, most of them, anyway-are semizombies.

  The clouds and the mountains ahead swelled. After a while, the black roiling mass, shot with lightning streaks, covered the mountains. It would be raining inside that mass. That reminded him that his mouth was still very dry. His bladder pained him again. During the dogfight, as he thought of it, he had forgotten about the urgency within him.

  Where could he land to get much-needed relief.? There was forest below him as far as he could see. could this plane alight without a long runway? Come straight down like a helicopter? It certainly had used a short takeoff space. But there were very few open areas, and these looked as if they were small.

  That reminded him that he had meant to ask Tappy about the panel instruments. Urged by him, she ran her fingers over the switches, buttons, and dials. When he told her to stop at a certain instrument, she did so. But she could not tell him what they were for unless he ran down a list of questions and she would nod if he was right. This took too much time and required too much patience for him to learn what every instrument did.

  However, he did make a lucky guess about the screen. It showed the view from the rear of the plane if you pressed one of two buttons below it. He activated it. Then he said, "Just what I was hoping wouldn't happen!"

  Three large black dots were in the sky, flying in formation.

  They were at the same altitude as his plane.

  "We're being followed," he said. "They've sent at least three pursuits after us."

  He looked through the windows to each side and through the window in the ceiling. He could not see any other craft. Then it occurred to him that there could be Gaol machines below him.

  But his eye-sweeps saw nothing.

  The chasers seemed to be in faster aircraft than the two he had disposed of. The dots had grown larger. It was highly likely that the downed pilots had radioed their experiences to their HQ.

  These newcomers would be much more cautious.

  The radio blared, startling him and the girl.

  Malva's voice filled the cockpit.

  "You will turn back! You will turn back! Return to the place from which you took off! Return to the place from which you took off! You will be escorted back! You will be escorted back!"

  Jack said, "For God's sake!"

  Though his mind threatened to rupture from the strain of its resistance to the commands, it was making him turn the plane.

  If his mind could have teeth, it would be gritting them so hard it would break them off.

  "Tappy! Order me to disobey Malva!"

  But how could she do that? She could not speak.

  He was desperately trying to think of an idea. His mind was running around like a squirrel looking for nuts it had buried during the summer. It knew they were somewhere in this area.

  But exactly where?
r />   The plane was by now going in the direction from which it had come.

  "Tappy!" he said loudly. "Can you write?"

  She nodded.

  He released the pressure on the wheel rim. Let the plane slow down. He was in no hurry to get back. A few seconds later, he handed her a pencil and the small notebook he car.-led in the leather holder in the inner jacket pocket.

  "Write down your order to me to disobey anybody but you.

  Then show it to me. I don't know if it'll work, but we've got to try everything!"

  Why didn't I do that long ago? he thought.

  Then, Well, things've been happening too fast. I can't think of everything.

  Tappy, frowning in concentration, wrote on the topmost paper of the notebook. She held it in front of him.

  He groaned.

  The writing was in Gaol characters.

  He was surprised that she knew that. She had fled this planet at the age of six, and how many that age could write? Though he could not read the characters, he could see that her penmanship was beautiful. She must have been precocious. Or, maybe, the Daws had continued her Gaol education. Which meant that they were not just your ordinary Earth citizens.

  "No, in English," he said.

  Looking distressed, she shook her head.

  "Do you know any foreign language? I mean, non-English Earth language. Like French or Spanish?"

  Again, she shook her head.

  That squirrel in his mind was frantic now. It was whirling around like a furry gyroscope.

  "All right! Let's try something else! You used body and hand language to tell me to fly this plane! Can you do the same to tell me to turn back to the north? Malva will give her orders again, but you could cancel them."

  Malva would repeat her command. And Tappy would have to override Malva's orders. And then Malva would give her orders again. The plane would yo-yo until the pursuit planes caught up with it.

  The bitch might be listening in now via the radio.

  He leaned over and whispered to Tappy.

  "You didn't point out the radio switches. We have to find them and turn them off."

  Malva's voice had come from a grille inset above his head. But there were no buttons or switches near it.

  First, he eliminated the controls and indicators the function of which he knew. That left about twenty-five unknowns. What if resetting one caused a serious change in the performance of the craft? Like shutting off the power to the engine?

  He had to do something very soon. The three pursuers were steadily growing larger.

  At that moment, Malva's voice rang in the cabin.

  "You will obey), the orders transmitted to you by your escort!

  One aircraft will guide you! Follow it! Stay at the same level as it! Descend when it descends!"

  "Ah!" Jack said.

  When the voice had come on, a green panel inset in the center of the steering wheel started to glow.

  "Repeat!" Malva said. "You will . .

  Jack had cut her off by pressing the green panel with his fingertip. The panel ceased to glow.

  "Gotcha!"

  He pressed the panel again.

  follow the plane in front of you and . .

  "Sure, we'll just do that, you bitch"' Jack shouted. And he turned the radio off.

  All that time, the radio had been on, and he had not noticed the glowing panel. But then he had been busy. Moreover, he was not a trained pilot.

  He laughed as he wheeled the craft around and headed for their destination. Some of his dread and uncertainty was gone.

  That Malva's commands were being ignored must be whirling her around as if she were glued onto a jet engine vane. She would be horrified, burning with panic. Her masters would not be tolerant about her failure.

  He did not feel the least bit sorry for Malva.

  Now the air had suddenly become much rougher. The plane fell and rose as if it were diving into and out of express elevators. This was the forerunner of the storm. What would it be like when they were inside its troubled heart?

  If it were not for those aircraft catching up with him so swiftly, he would have tried to climb over the storm. But the chasers would overtake him sooner if he lost speed by ascending. They might do so, anyway. The only way to escape was straight ahead.

  The electrical disturbances there might affect whatever detectors the pursuers had. If this happened, they would lose him and Tappy.

  Might ... if ...

  It did no good to wonder about might-have-beens. But that was an integral part of the human mind. Animals never worried about these. Humans found it necessary they had to fantasize.

  So, maybe, it was good for them.

  No time for that.

  He squeezed the inflatable rim again. "Go ahead, Tappy. Try to cancel the spell, whatever it is, the control she has over me.";

  Tappy seemed to be thinking hard. Then she smiled. After tearing off the sheet she had written on, she drew a single character.

  She held it in front of him.

  "You know I can't read it."

  She half turned and gestured behind her. Then she passed her hands over her face and twisted her features. She was trying to look like somebody. But she was blind.

  "You mean," he said slowly, "you're giving me the impression of a face from the voice of that person?"

  She nodded, and she pointed behind her again.

  Her expression was haughty and arrogant.

  "Oh! You mean Malva?"

  She nodded and smiled happily.

  "But knowing that, how's that going to help me?"

  She opened her mouth wide, stuck the sheet of paper close to t, and moved her mouth and jaw as if she were chewing. Then she pointed at him.

  He started to ask her what she meant when she reached over, felt along his face until she found his mouth, and jammed the piece of paper between his lips.

  Before he could protest, he found the paper stuffed into his mouth. She was still making the chewing motions.

  "Grrbgrrbgrrbgrrb!

  Which meant, "You want me to chew this and swallow it?"

  Evidently, she did. So he did.

  Tappy threw up her hands to indicate that all was well.

  He was not so sure. Only one way to find out.

  He activated the radio again and said, "Malva, you slimy evil slut! What do you think about your control of me now?"

  He winced at the hatred and viciousness of her not all of which was in English.

  Then Malva, after her hard breathing had ceased, shouted, "You will obey me! You will obey me! Come back as commanded!

  Come back as commanded!"

  Jack did not have the slightest urge to turn the wheel. He pressed the green-glowing panel again and grinned at Tappy.

  "Now we can get back to business."

  But the roughness of the air had become a savagery. He and Tappy had been bouncing up and down and swaying hard from side to side. Now they might soon be lifted from their seats.

  He said, "Tappy! We need belts to hold us down!"

  Tappy frowned again. Her mouth drew up at one corner. Then she smiled. Her fingers brushed along the center area of the panel and stopped over a button. The plaque above it bore a character different from any other on the panel. Below it was a flashing orange light.

  She pressed her back against the back of the seat. She gestured that he should do the same. As soon as he had obeyed, she pushed the button. Immediately after, she sat upright against the seat back.

  He heard a click. From the panels behind the seats slid two long bands. These began curving, went over his and Tappy's chest, and stopped after they entered two extensions which had risen from beside the seats.

  Safety belts.

  Then he felt something curving around his waist. Another metal band was enclosing him. Both belts seemed to move, settling in, feeling the shape of his body, fitting themselves with maximum efficiency.

  that was not so surprising. But he was amazed when the metal of the
belts suddenly became much softer. In fact, they felt like stiff cloths.

  The orange light went out. The recessed bulb beside it was now glowing a steady green.

  Jack said, "You just remembered where the belt button was."

  She nodded.

  Again, he wondered who or what had inhibited her against speaking English. Whatever it was, it had not kept her from talking to that honker. If only he had time to learn from her how to communicate in honkerese, he could bypass that inhibition.

  There he went again ... if ... if, painting pictures in his mind.

  Suddenly, the savage bumps and drops and rises of the plane increased in frequency and intensity. If it had not been for the belts, he and Tappy would be ricochetin around in the narrow cockpit. Or should it be called a cabin? What was the difference?

  Being bruis-,(I and having bones broken did not depend upoll word definitions.

  Then the light dimmed, and the I'ghts inside the plane came on. Automatically. Tappy had pushed no buttons.

  Straight ahead and very near was the evil-looking black roll of the storm edge. He gripped the wheel so hard that the plane surged ahead. Though he had thought that he had been squeezing with all his strength, he had fooled himself. Just before the plane plunged into the clouds, he remembered reading something long ago: that entering a violent storm in an aircraft was like slamming it into a concrete wall.

  That had certainly been exaggerated-somewhat-since the impact did not flatten the plane out. It kept going, though it had shuddered and the altitude indicator showed an alarming loss of height. Rain and darkness enclosed the craft. But, almost immediately, the rain on the windshield evaporated. Yet the downpour was still almost solid 'a few inches from the shield.

  This machine had no visible windshield wipers. Something was keeping the rain from hitting the windshield.

  The headlights of the craft were on, but he could not see more than a few feet beyond its nose.

  He was still squeezing hard on the wheel and had it pulled far back. Though he was not losing any more altitude, he had not regained that lost when entering the storm.

  The mountain peaks! How far below the plane were they?

  Lightning exploded nearby. Thunder boomed. Tappy reached over and felt his neck, then lowered her hand to grab his shoulder.