We'll eat and start walking — Tedesco.
Without sleep? — Kiera.
If we pause to sleep, our food may run out before we get out of these arctic climes and into regions where game flourishes, Tedesco 'pathed.
Over a cold supper of beef jerky, Tedesco explained the markings on his third map.
At least, Kiera 'pathed, we know where the Presence is. We have only to get there.
Let's not build false hopes, Melopina 'pathed. Perhaps none of these three locations is inhabited by the Presence.
They all looked at the bruin.
He tore off a chunk of meat from a stick of jerky and shrugged. Melopina may be right.
If she is, Chaney 'pathed, what do we do then?
No one had an answer for that.
Coda: Deathpit and Beyond
31
IN the first two weeks of her term as the Preakness Bay General Merka Shanly drafted a complex set of rationing laws and initiated a governmental committee to research the science of agriculture and the many sciences of manufacturing with a mind toward making the enclave self-sufficient within the decade. In the fourth week the rationing laws were put into force, and the research committee delivered its initial report, listing possible research material sources “and manpower requests for the main body of the task. Merka personally supervised the punishment of ration-law violators and issued decrees for the conscription of men and women to work under the direction of the research committee. The historical tradition of, and the ages-old respect for, the office of General was such that — although they muttered disconsolately among themselves — none of the population took public exception to the new order of things.
In the fifth week of her reign Merka Shanly was moved back into the Military Suite, where the quarantine had been lifted after careful sterilization of every room. She put her clothes in the closets, disposed of the garments of the dead man. At night she expected to be plagued by his ghost or, at the very least, by nightmares in which the old General played the leading role, but neither came to pass. Perhaps that was because she had no time to wallow in guilt. She had time only to make changes in the enclave's life — and to wait fearfully for someone to discover that she was an esper, a tainted creature worthy only of death.
Throughout the sixth, seventh, and eighth weeks she administered the affairs of Preakness Bay with a single-mindedness that prompted Ober Iswan to comment, in private, that never had the Committee on Leadership exhibited such foresight as in the selection of Merka Shanly. When the holy Iswan made this observation to other members of the committee, they only smiled and nodded polite agreement. Iswan took their taciturn reactions to imply that they were more modest men than he had once thought. He never seemed to notice that his comrades had received special governmental considerations ever since the election of the new General — almost as if they were being repaid for some special service to the enclave.
In her ninth week, having read preliminary reports from the research committee, Merka Shanly instituted the first working farm within the boundaries of the enclave. Soil tenders were conscripted, crops were planted, and experiments in self-reliance were begun.
In her tenth week, when she should have been glorious beneath her wreath of accomplishments, Merka Shanly was in the lowest emotional ebb of her entire life. Two things conspired to bring about this gloom: her own developing esp power, which labeled her as an outcast but which she could not accept, being so dedicated to Lady Nature and so certain that her plans would benefit her kind; and her need for a man. The first she had learned to accept, and she had become adept at concealing her telepathic radiations. But the second was a greater problem. She was one of those people who needed physical contact, sexual experience, as much as water and food. Her self-denial, generated by her fear that a lover would learn of her extrasensory perception, had led to a frustration she could not much longer bear.
In the middle of her eleventh week in the august post of commander in chief of Preakness Bay she convened the Committee on Fruitfulness, of which she was chairwoman. The last meeting had been two months earlier, and much business had accumulated. At the end of the session, as the committee members were rising to leave, she ordered them seated and presented her own petition for a mate. She had one man in mind, Kolpei Zenentha, by whom she had once borne a child and who was the best lover she had ever had. He was currently engaged in attempted offspring generation with a woman named Kyla Daggeron, and the preemption of an already established sexual relationship was unheard of. Merka Shanly suggested that this was another rule that must be changed.
It was.
At the end of the eleventh week Kolpei Zenentha, a tall, slim, dark-haired man in his early thirties, moved into the Military Suite.
That first night Merka Shanly wore him out, then issued him a hypodermic of a virility drug and wore him out again. He slept all through the next day, like a child who had played too hard.
In her twelfth week of office Merka Shanly created another research committee and assigned it the task of establishing a large library of prewar books and tapes. By radio the committee could learn what titles other enclaves possessed and arrange for the copying of what volumes Preakness Bay lacked. The transportation of these books from one enclave to the other would entail arduous journeys for conscripted soldiers, but the establishment of a good reference library was essential to the rebuilding of a human Golden Age.
In the thirteenth week she rested.
In the fourteenth week as she was caught up in orgasmic delight, playing rider to Kolpei Zenentha's mouth, she forgot herself, and let her mind reach out for his. She touched him telepathically, transmitted her joy to him without words…
And was found out.
32
The five espers stood at the top of the hill, with the cold wind in their faces, and they watched the horses grazing and gamboling below. A good hundred of the dark brown, shaggy beasts stood on the flat plain at the base of the icy hills, as yet not cognizant of the espers. If the wind changed they would know danger was near, and they would run. That was the last thing any of the five on the hill wanted. They had obtained food within the last few days, but this success was offset by the gradual realization— obtained through a close study of Tedesco's third map and a comparison of that paper with the previous maps — of how far they had to travel until they reached the landmark known as Deathpit. This journey was to be three times longer than that from the glass craters to the Glacier of Light; without mounts they could expect to spend six months walking.
Melopina huddled against Jask's side, her arm around him. Do you think I could really ride one of those?
You could learn.
They look enormous.
Three meters from ground to shoulder, I make them, Tedesco 'pathed.
And wild — Kiera reminded them. She was sitting in front of the group, on her supple haunches, her hands out on the snow, like a real wolf might sit.
Any suggestions for corraling a few? Jask asked.
The whinny of the beasts rose to them, like distant laughter.
We could employ our extrasensory perception to pacify them, Jask suggested.
How? — Kiera.
Jask considered the exact nature of the problem for a moment, and when he had figured it out, he was somewhat surprised that he should be able to conceive of such a thing and propose it with moral impunity. At one time, not so many months ago, he would have considered his idea perverted, wicked, generated by the Ruiner. Now, because it seemed the easiest way to achieve their ends, he said, Each of us could reach out for a different horse's mind, find it, touch it, mesh with it, pacify the horse and learn its nature intimately. In minutes we should be able to establish a rapport with our mounts that most riders require months to gain.
I thought Tedesco said we must avoid meshing with any but the minds of other human beings.
That would be safest, the bruin 'pathed. He shifted from one heavy foot to the other as he watched the horses, but he
made no telltale sound.
No, Jask explained, what the living city taught us was never to mesh our consciousness deeply with an intelligent creature of another race. These horses are by no means intelligent, merely dumb animals.
The others hesitated.
Melopina? Jask asked.
I don't know, she 'pathed. I think we ought to take the living city's message more to heart. I don't think we should risk this.
There'd be no risk.
You can't say for sure — Kiera.
Jask wiped irritably at his eyes, which the biting wind had made slightly teary. His hands were red and chapped, though this was the first day he had not worn gloves since they had entered the highlands. He 'pathed, How else do you suggest we get hold of those tough little beasts — and keep hold of them?
Chaney spat in the thin skiff of snow, through which green-brown grass poked like the hair of a corpse, and he 'pathed, Expediency should not be the only consideration in a situation like this.
Like what? — Jask.
We must be careful — Kiera.
Tedesco nodded.
Melopina remained quiet.
Jask looked at them, perplexed by their attitude, then opened his esp powers and more vigorously sought their thoughts. He was suddenly surprised by what twisted motivations lay behind their reluctance to act.
He 'pathed, You frauds!
Tedesco looked sheepishly at the snow before him, kicked it away from the grass as if he were going to bend over and take a bite.
Making moral judgments again, Chaney said.
Oh boy! Jask roared. When I was reluctant to share telepathic conversation, afraid to use my powers, you labeled me a snob, bigot, idiot and other choice things.
We were hardly that crude, Kiera said, looking over her shoulder but not rising from the cold earth.
You were worse!
But there was a difference, Tedesco said.
Which was?
The bruin sighed, scratched behind his right ear, picked off some ice from his beard and finally explained: You may have considered the rest of us your inferiors, back then, but we were human beings, too. That was different from this. These horses are clearly not our equals. They are inferior to us. We have a right to exercise some prejudice when it comes to meshing minds with mere beasts.
How you rationalize — Jask.
Not rationalization. Common sense, Chaney 'pathed.
What you are suggesting, Jask 'pathed, is that a man becomes — well, tainted by whatever he touches. He shook his head against the wind, hair whipping about his face. Does that mean that a man who collects trash is nothing but trash himself? Does that mean that a man who cures the ill is bound to become ill in a like manner?
You're generalizing — Tedesco. He was still embarrassed for himself and the other three reluctant espers, and he must have already realized that his prejudice was silly. Yet he argued. It was not like the bruin to give up too soon, without at least minimal defense of his position.
According to this new philosophy of yours, Jask goaded them, does a man become a beast because he passes through the Wildlands? If so, we're all beasts already. Do you mean to imply that we are all insane because we meshed with the psychic force that was the living city? Do you further mean for me to believe that Chaney and Kiera are primitives because they hunted our meat with their teeth and claws, like mindless animals?
The wolf-man growled his disapproval of that last remark, and he unthinkingly popped his shiny claws from their protective sheaths, hunched his head forward so that his jaw was more prominent.
I'm not saying that you are an animal, Jask 'pathed to the wolf-man. In fact, I don't think so at all. I'm merely applying the philosophy that you've spouted to me in the last few minutes.
Chaney looked away from him, retracted his wicked claws, spat in the snow and tried to find something to look at besides his four companions and the hundred horses below. He finally settled on lifting his head back and staring at the sky, which was dotted with swiftly moving clouds and stained with late-afternoon sunshine.
Well? Jask asked them again.
No one responded.
Melopina?
I'm afraid, Jask.
He looked at the horses again.
They still grazed peacefully, unaware of the discussion on the hilltop, their long hair shifting this way and that in the wind.
Well, he 'pathed to the other four, I don't intend to walk. If you want to wear your feet to the knees and arrive at the pit four months later than I do, you're welcome to that idiosyncrasy.
He stepped forward, past Kiera.
The horses paid no attention.
He picked out a large, dark mount, sought the shell of its mind with esp fingers, found it, touched it. It was nearly featureless, a smooth shell filled more with general impressions than with details, with emotions rather than intellect, with hazy memories in place of the clarity of a four-dimensional, intellectual understanding of the nature of time. All this was easily grasped— even more easily controlled,
Jask stood for five minutes, motionless, learning the horse, seeking its fears and allaying them, locating its pleasures and promising those.
The horse turned, looked up the hill at him, but did not panic.
Come here.
It snorted, bent, took a mouthful of grass, and, trotting at a brisk pace but not so fast as to frighten the other beasts, it climbed the hill and came up to Jask.
Jask patted its black nose.
The horse snuffled and nuzzled his head. Its tail swished back and forth, evidence of its trust in him.
He walked around its side, grabbed a handful of the thick mane along its spine, and swung himself to the center of its back.
Well? he 'pathed to the others.
Melopina walked forward, surveyed the animals below, chose one, and in minutes was mounted beside Jask.
We've acted somewhat like fools, Tedesco 'pathed.
Somewhat! Jask 'pathed.
You had your turn at bullheadedness, the bruin said. Have grace enough to permit us ours.
In ten minutes they were all seated atop the wild horses, though none of the horses was wild any longer.
As they rode down the hillside and sent the other horses galloping in a herd before them, Tedesco 'pathed to Jask, You're not the same Pure lad I led out of the Highlands of Caul.
I know, Jack said. But you are the same Tedesco — and I'm damned glad of that!
They grinned at each other for a moment, before the bruin suddenly became self-conscious.
Let's make some time now that we're off our feet! Tedesco roared.
He leaned over his enormous mount's sleek neck, clinging to the copious blanket of hair that lay over its back, kicked its sides lightly, and galloped swiftly away.
They rode during the day, stopping every two hours to walk their horses, water them, and stretch their own legs. They did not press the well-muscled beasts to achieve too great a distance in any single day, though they suspected the horses' endurance was greater than theirs; they all got blistered rumps in short order. Two things kept them from abusing the horses: First, they knew that they would need them for many weeks, and they did not want to wear them out and be left with hundreds of kilometers to cover on foot; second, since they had meshed with the beasts, they felt a certain sympathy, a tenderness, an obligation to be good masters.
From January Slash they passed into the sparsely populated buffer nation of McCall's Hold, a narrow strip of country, beyond which lay another pocket of the ubiquitous Wildlands, Iron Man's Trust. In the week they took to cross this small territory, they saw thousands of robots piled in rusting heaps in the streets of crumbling villages, which — judging from the scarcity of human skeletons — had been built for machines instead of for citizens of flesh and blood. They passed hundreds of robots that still performed tasks they had been programmed for, tasks now meaningless but carried out with an admirable diligence nonetheless. Still other metal men clanked mindlessl
y from building to building, sometimes turning baleful yellow sight receptors on the five espers as they passed through, more often ignoring them altogether. A few guardbots stopped them and demanded their business, threatened them with stubby guns built into metal chests and foreheads, but always let them pass when they said they were humans and had a right to go where they wished.
I feel so sorry for them — Melopina 'pathed.
Sorry? — Chaney.
They've got just enough intelligence to know things are not right and to want to set things straight, but they've not got the ability to cope with anything but an ordered world. From now until they all fall apart and rust, this world offers them no hope.
Machines can't feel — Chaney.
Not as we can, at least. But somehow, deep down within, I suspect they have a trace of a soul.
Romanticist, Chaney 'pathed.
Cynic.
In the center of Iron Man's Trust they came across a huge, coppery building which had withstood the centuries quite well but did not seem to be inhabited by anyone, man or machine. Inspecting it while their horses rested and grazed, the espers found ten thousand more robots, none of which had ever been activated or seen any use at all. They lay in airtight storage drawers that slid from the walls. Chaney used the butt of his power rifle to smash in the plasti-glass over one of these drawers to see, he said with a straight face, if the metal-man within could crumble into dust.
It did not.
They left Iron Man's Trust and ventured into the far western nation of Caloria Sunshine, struck south and, in twelve more days, reached the ruins of Velvet Bay. This city had been called by other names in the centuries man had lived in it, but all of these names were now forgotten. Nature had come back to claim the land, and from Nature came the crumbling city's name, for it was constructed on the hills surrounding a gorgeous, wide-mouth inlet of the great West Sea.
It was here, in Velvet Bay, that Deathpit waited.
The map Tedesco had did not pinpoint the location of the pit. For three days they quartered the ancient city, looking for something that might deserve such a sinister name — and in the late afternoon of their third search period, they discovered it. In the midst of dust and worm-eaten mortar, mold-laced plastics and shattered glass, the approach to Deathpit stood out like a beautiful woman in a group of crones…
Nightmare Journey Page 17