THE CATERPILLARS QUESTION

by Piers Anthony

  While lightning screwed through the sky, exploding at a sofar-safe distance from them, and thunder banged maniacally, they crossed about a half mile of plastic covering. That kept them from sinking in the mud.

  Then they were dazzled by the light in the center of the cloud, Now closer to the whiteness, they could see more clearly. Its ?source seemed to be a titanic building. It ,vas, perhaps, not more than five stories high, but its length was at least two thousand feet. They could not be sure about that nor about the roundness of the structure. But Jack got the impression of a Brobdingnagian cylinder. Whether or not one of its ends was pointed, he could not determine.

  Jack halted. The light disappeared, though the afterimage of the building lingered for a second or two. He did not wish to go into that cloud, which, now that he was near it, roiled like the storm in the sky and extended pseudopodia and shrank them back into itself.

  The light blazed again.

  This time, he saw the center thing more clearly. The end on his right was pointed. The main body was rounded.

  Tappy had been holding his hand. She moved ahead, pulling him after her. If she was courageous enough to plunge into the cloud, he could not hang back. And she should know what she was doing. Would she penetrate the cloud if she thought they were in danger?

  Yes, she would if it held something she desired or thought was worth the risk.

  The cloud closed around them. Instantly, the wind ceased. He felt no rain pouring on him. Somehow, the cloud repelled or evaporated it before it got to the ground. But the stuff that enveloped him was oily and sticky. Moreover, after a few steps, he seemed to slow down, to have to push against the cloud. It was as if its essence was a very thin jelly. That must be a delusion, he thought. If the cloud really was thickening, it should make it harder for him to breathe. That did not seem to be happening.

  Then he smelled a sickening odor. As he drove on against the ever-thickening element, he was permeated with the stink.

  It reminded him of rotting beef. If it got worse, he was going to vomit.

  Tappy was pulling harder on him as if she were getting impatient with his lagging.

  Then she fell, her hand sliding out of his. He could not see until the bright light came back. For seven seconds, he had a good look at her. She had fallen over something. Just before the light went away, leaving him in the greasy darkness, he realized that she had stumbled over a body. It was in the uniform of a Gaol, and it was lying facedown, but its neck and body and arms and legs were swollen.

  The source of the stench was the dead fall.

  He thought, Up in the airplane, I saw men going into the cloud.

  ]But I did not see any coming out.

  Tappy got up, though he did not know it until her groping hand touched his chest. He reached out and pulled her close. She was trembling.

  "What's going on?" he said, holding her close.

  She could not answer him, of course. She released herself from his arms, felt along his arm, and gripped his hand again. Then she was leading him into the cloud.

  The stink of death was left behind after only a few paces. That cloud must be heavy and keep the molecules of the decaying body from going far. Certainly, the stuff sheathing him was getting denser. He had to push even more against it. His growing nausea, however, was now receding.

  I'll bet no Gaol has reached the building or whatever it is, he thought. Why does Tappy think she can succeed'? Even if she does have some ability the others lack, she'll have to leave me behind.

  And why did that man die? If he could not go ahead, why did he not turn around and come back out of the cloud? What killed him?

  Finally, he could not struggle any more. He was winded, and each breath was heavy with oiliness. The stuff seemed to soak into his mouth and nose, his throat, his lungs. He was trapped like a fly in molasses. Panicky, he yanked back on Tappy's hand, but she did not move. Her hand came loose from his. He struggled to take a step backward and found that he could not move his hind foot more than several inches.

  If I die, he thought, will my corpse sag slowly, sinking by inches until I finally lie on the ground? Will my body begin decomposing halfway through my slow-motion fall?

  Then something touched his chin.

  The light, brighter than lightning, returned, and he saw Tappy.

  She was turned around, had gotten closer to him, and had reached out with a questing finger.

  She could move, though her briefly seen face was twisted with effort.

  "Go on, Tappy!" he shouted. "You can't help me! Go on!"

  He could hear his voice, but it seemed to be inside his head.

  He doubted that his words got very far from his lips before they were absorbed.

  BUT her touches did not stop. Her hands were on his shoulder, trying to lift him, trying to make him resume walking. She didn't want to go on without him.

  He tried again, this time with reason rather than muscle. "Tappy, you have something important to do. You have a destiny. You are the Imago! You must get to where you're going, and you can do it, because you are what you are. But I am only mortal. I can't reach the source of that light. I will die just as that Gaol soldier did. That's how it's meant to be: only you can get through."

  He paused, gasping with the effort of shouting through the cloying fog. But he had to convince her. "My job is done. I had to get you safely to this place. Now you must go on. Don't let this effort be in vain! Go and be the Imago! Go! Go!"

  But she refused. He knew why: she might be the Imago, but she was also Tappy, the blind, mute girl. She had a crush on him. He, fool that he was, had taken advantage of it, and that had done nothing to abate her love. She had refused to leave him before, and she was refusing now. Reason was no good against adolescent passion.

  Which meant that if he gave up, so would she, and it would be for nothing. He had to do something. But what?

  Then he thought of the radiator. It had gotten them out of more than one scrape already; could it do so again? But this seemed so farfetched that he couldn't quite say it outright. "The-can ithere?"

  But she understood him immediately. She passed her hands along his body until she found the radiator. She brought it up and found a button. He didn't even know which one, only that she put one of his fingers on it.

  It was worth a try. He aimed the device away from her, turned it on, and pressed that button.

  This time a visible beam came from it. Rather, an invisible beam with a visible effect: it dissipated the fog. In its path the fog just seemed to shrivel or melt, giving out a noisome odor, leaving a tunnel of clear air.

  could he go into that tunnel? If it was the fog that held him, then maybe he could. He hauled one leg forward, toward the clear region ahead. The fog resisted, seeming unwilling to give up the Ib, but the fog had been weakened, and the leg was able to break through. Then the other leg. The tunnel was narrow here, but broad ahead, in a slowly thickening cone. His feet remained mired, but his legs were now clear, and he was able to duck his head to clear it, too. What a relief, to breathe free again!

  He worked his way farther into the tunnel. It was like stepping out of quicksand; now his body was free. The tunnel remained where it had been carved, enabling him to move through it. He looked back, and saw it slowly squeezing together behind him.

  But that didn't matter. In fact, it might be good, because he didn't want to leave a passage for the Gaol forces to enter.

  He aimed the radiator toward the intermittently flashing light.

  It sliced through the fog, leaving a closing offshoot like'the cutoff elbow of a meandering river. When he held the beam in place, the new tunnel broadened and clarified. He wiggled it around enough to enlarge the tunnel at the near end, then turned it off. He didn't want to waste the radiator's power, not knowing how much of a charge it had.

  He glanced at Tappy, who was standing beside him. "It's working," he said, his confidence resurging. "On to the light?"

  She nodded. "Then follow me." He mar
ched ahead. He did not want that beam touching her!

  Soon there was a whiteness that did not dissipate. It was the hard surface of the structure inside the cloud. It glowed blindingly.

  By its light he saw pseudopodia of cloud extending inward from the round rim of the tunnel, like so many cilia eager to move him along this intestinal tract. He was not comfortable with the image.

  Then, abruptly, it was gone. He blinked, trying to adapt his sight to the relative gloom. Now there seemed to be nothing where the building had been!

  In seven seconds it was back, blindingly bright again.

  "Tappy, there's something strange here."

  She merely urged him on, pushing him from behind.

  "There's a glowing wall or something, the side of the building, if that's what it is, for seven seconds; that's what makes the light through the cloud. Then it's gone, and I think it's just an empty hole that the thick fog can't fill in, in only seven seconds. But it can't just vanish! It doesn't sink into the ground; it's just here, and then it's gone, and then it's here again." He was watching it do this while he spoke, shielding his eyes from the brightness so that he could see better in the darkness. "It's as if it just ceases to exist, but there's no implosion of air or anything. Tappy, that thing may be dangerous"'

  But she kept on pushing. She was not alarmed; rather, she was excited.

  "Tappy, do you understand what I'm saying? This thing ' is big, maybe a third of a mile on a side, and maybe some kind of super-science can make it phase in and out of reality, but I don't want to be standing on its turf when it phases in! We'd both be crushed flat!"

  She came up beside him. She pointed ahead, and nodded her head positively and vigorously. She urged him on yet again.

  "Okay, Tappy," he said dubiously. "I'll warn you when we're at the edge, because-"

  But now she was hurrying ahead by herself, and he had to lumber after her. "Wait! You're going to run right into it! Wait for it to cycle back!"

  Too late. Tappy ran across the section where the wall had been.

  Then the wall returned, and he crashed into it. The surface was diamond-hard, as befitted its brilliance.

  Stunned more by the realization of Tappy's fate than by the physical shock, Jack leaned against the wall. Why had she done it? He had warned her!

  As the horror deepened, he struck at the brilliant wall, as if to punish it for crushing that innocent child. Yet he condemned himself, too, for not catching her in time. She had misunderstood, she had not heard, she had The wall disappeared. He fell into the vacant space, automatically lifting the radiator clear, taking the fall on his shoulder and side. Pain lanced through him; he knew he had suffered an injury.

  But what did it matter? In a moment he, too, would be squished so flat that nothing showed. For there was no sign at all of Tappy, 4lot even a bloodstain. She had been totally obliterated.

  Jack lay flat on his back and waited for the return of the bright building. Somehow this termination seemed fitting.

  Then there was light, but this time gentle, in shifting pastel colors. He blinked, trying to align this with his notion of death. Hands were touching him, caressing him; then a face was kissing him.

  It was Tappy. She was whole and warm despite her wet nightie and sodden jacket. She was every bit as glad to find him here as he was to find her.

  "But-the building!" he protested, holding her close. Again there were two levels of reaction: the sheer relief and wonder of her wholeness, and the mystery of what had happened. His body was- eacting emotionally, while his (I was floundering intellectually.

  "If I may," a man's voice said.

  Jack jumped, looking around. He had somehow assumed that they were alone in the afterlife, or whatever this was. Now he saw a nondescript young man wearing ordinary shirt and slacks, neither of which seemed to fit perfectly. It was as if the manufacturer had had another body style in mind. "Who?" he asked, at a loss.

  "I am an agent of the Imago," the man said. "I and my companions exist to foster the well-being and success of this entity.

  Because the Imago has assumed human form and has brought a human companion and is conversant with your language, we are assuming this form and mode of communication. Because the Imago desires your welfare, we shall treat you responsively."

  Jack looked at Tappy, who nodded, feeling his motion. He made as if to stand, and immediately the man and another came to help him up. Two young women appeared, helping Tappy similarly. The women wore blouses and skirts which seemed to have been crafted by the same misguided tailor who had done the men. Their figures seemed good, but their clothing was making a valiant effort to demonstrate otherwise. The colors were all over the place, nothing matching or complementing well.

  This simple action did not reassure Jack. The men looked ordinary, but there was a machinelike strength in their bodies, and their flesh was like plastic. He could see that the women, too, were inhumanly powerful, despite their appealing forms.

  Jack found himself feeling light-headed. as if he were running without a warm-up and his system was out of whack, hands cold and pulse racing. He had thought Tappy was dead, then thought he would die, too, and suddenly everything seemed all right. He just didn't trust it!

  He had a tendency to react when caught out of sorts. He did his best to control it. It wasn't just himself involved here; it was Tappy. When he had undertaken to deliver her to the clinic, he had assumed a commitment to get her there safely. As it had turned out, they had gone on a spectacularly strange journey.

  Maybe this was the true clinic. But maybe it wasn't. He owed it to her to find out.

  "Uh, Tappy-these are your friends?" he asked.

  She nodded and smiled.

  "Is it okay if I find out more about them?"

  Tappy nodded again.

  Jack turned to the first man. "Are you human?"

  "No. I am what you would call an android or machine. We all are."

  "An android, as I see it, is an artificial living man. A robot is a machine in humanoid form with a computer for a brain. Which are you?"

  "We conform physically more closely to the latter description.

  But we are sentient in the manner of the former."

  "You mean you are conscious? Free-willed? You're not just a program?"

  "That is correct."

  Certainly it seemed possible, considering what Jack had already seen, a monstrous spaceship that healed itself, and a building that flashed in and out of existence without crushing what was under it. That cycling seemed to have stopped; once the building had taken them in, it remained firm. "Maybe we had better introduce ourselves. I am Jack. This is Tappy, whom you call the Imago.

  What are your names?"

  "We have none, but will answer to whatever you choose to call us, if the Imago agrees."

  "Call her Tappy."

  The man glanced at Tappy. "Imago?"

  Tappy nodded.

  "Jack. Tappy. And our names are?"

  The urge to be flippant increased. Jack had to yield to it a little, or risk going wrong in some worse manner. Maybe he could get a smile from Tappy, and tide through. It hardly mattered whether these were friends or enemies: it was better for him to hold his cool until he knew for sure.

  He decided to do it the simple way: alphabetically. "You are Abraham, Abe for short. He is Bartholomew, Bart for short. Are there any more of you?"

  "There are six of us presently animated," Abe said. "Three of each apparent gender."

  That meant that they weren't really male and female.

  "Then the third male is Coleman, or Cole." Jack turned to the women. "And you are Abigail, or Abbie, and Bridget, Br'e, and the one I don't see is Candace, or Candy."

  "Thank you," the two females said together.

  "You sound just alike," Jack said. "Can you make your voices different, so we can tell you apart by sound as well as sight?"

  "Yes," the two said, in different voices.

  "Yes," the two men said, similarly.<
br />
  Tappy smiled.

  This was almost too easy; Jack hardly trusted it. "Look, maybe we'd better get changed, and then we can talk. I guess you folk don't have to eat-you have power cells, right?-but you know we do. So-"

  .Certainly," Abe said. "Come with us, Jack."

  Jack knew he would have no choice if Is will opposed theirs.

  "We'll change, and then Tappy and I will eat together," he said They hesitated. Then Tappy nodded, and Abe spoke immediately. "As you wish, Jack."

  They took him to a smaller chamber, where he stripped, winging as he flexed his bruised shoulder. "You are in physical distress, Jack?" Abe inquired.

  ." bashed my shoulder coming in. It will heal."

  "There is no need to wait." Abe placed both his hands on the shoulder, one on each side. Jack felt a current, and his pain faded.

  The man might be a robot, but he had a healing talent! Maybe it was just some kind of electrical anesthetic, but it made life easier for the moment.

  Then Jack stepped into what looked like a shower. Suddenly he felt warm and clean. He had had the equivalent of a full shower in half a second, painlessly. He was still marveling as they presented him with clothing similar to their own. He could tell by the feel that it was of alien material, but it felt good and fit him well. In fact, it seemed to adjust itself to his body of its own volition. So why didn't it fit these alien men and women better' ' I

  "Uh, before we go back," Jack said. "Is there a-a bathroom?

  I mean, a place where I can-?"

  "Step into the purifier again," Abe said.

  Jack stepped in, but didn't see any toilet. Then, suddenly, he had no need for it. Somehow the wastes in his body had been removed. He decided not to protest.

  "Urn, Abe-you serve Tappy, right?"

  "The present form of the Imago, yes."

  "And me you help only because she wants it?"

  "Yes. It is not ordinary, but her will is our law, literally."

  "And you went to the trouble of learningmy language and customs, because of her? You really don't care about me otherwise?"

  "This is the situation."

  "And if she told you to kill me, you would do it?"

  "If she were serious."