A Maze of Stars

by John Brunner

  “You mean he actually—?”

  “Yes! He, or rather, his family because they all take part— they’ve been experimenting with the controlled use of wood as fuel not only for cooking but also for heating on the grounds that the forest provides an inexhaustible supply. It has drawbacks, naturally. In particular the combustion compounds are unpredictable, and some of them may prove to be carcinogens we’re not armored against.”

  Sohay uttered a silent whistle.

  “Don’t worry! Even without being armored, so brief an exposure won’t cause noticeable harm, and I have a program running back at the mansion which monitors possible ill effects. Oddly, though, last time I checked this kind of smoke against my contract with my lungs, I had a positive override from forebrain level. Seems as though there’s a pleasure element involved.”

  Sohay’s interest was fully engaged now. “Tracing back to when our ancestors first found out they could transform inedible food by heating it?”

  “Hmm!” Ezar sounded put out but rallied swiftly. “Yes, that’s the likeliest explanation we have so far hit on.”

  “Very interesting! I remember running across a similar idea during my tour at our mission on Shreng—you know, the university world?”

  “I do keep up with the news,” Ezar sighed.

  “I apologize. Well, someone there had compiled a thesis about artificial lighting and come to the conclusion that the best form of it—not necessarily the one that provided the brightest uniform illumination but the one most appealing to an average person—was one shining upward on a higher surface, and preferably an irregular and not too reflective one. She then went on to argue that this was because in protohuman days when we lived among forests—like this one—and had already discovered fire, the sight of light shining upward from the ground and reflected on the leaves of trees like these could imply only one thing: the presence of other human beings. So it was comforting and reassuring.”

  “For my part,” Ezar murmured, “I’d have been inclined to ask where she got the idea that all our ancestors were always glad to see each other. Is it not more likely that they’d have fought for possession of whatever they regarded as valuable— food, shelter, sexual privileges? Not all of that has vanished from our makeup, you know.”

  Sohay shuddered as a dry-leafed branch chanced to brush the top of his head like an inanimate caress.

  “You’re right, of course,” he answered. “I’ve seen enough examples of that process during the course of my career. Still—”

  “Still what?”

  “Still, there might be truth in both points of view. A solitary traveler, cut off from sight of high ground, even of the local sun or moon, might have welcomed the light of a fire, and those who built it, isolated among trackless forest, might have welcomed the news, the stimulation, that a wanderer could bring them. After all, have we not developed a civilization in which the ultimate currency is pure information?”

  “And are we not dependents of those who provide us with the means of gathering it?” retorted Ezar.

  That remark struck Sohay as so out of character, for a moment he was unable to conjure up a reply. And before he did so, Ezar was urging his horse onward.

  “Hesker’s home is just around the next bend. Come on!” His baska being reliable but slow, Sohay followed at a more leisurely pace, pondering what he had just learned. Now and then he glanced up at Scout, as though the dutiful machine might have drifted away from its charges.

  Could it be, he wondered, that during the years they had been apart his brother had in fact learned to resent the consequences of his decision to stay at home and devote his life to spreading useful plants? Could it be that no matter how satisfied he professed himself to be with his achievements—and they were spectacular!—he was actually donning a mask to hide resentment? If so, then it behooved Sohay from his new eminence as a full-blown ambassador to ensure that strings were pulled, secret doors thrust ajar, so that in recognition of his contribution to Sumbala his brother might make a short tour in space, say to two or three of the most hospitable and interesting worlds with which there was regular contact. Ezar would never, of course, travel as a tourist, though he must be among the few thousand Sumbalans who could easily afford it. Without being told so in as many words, Sohay knew he must look down on those in their sanitary artificial cities who grew “rich” by trading goods to one another while others toiled, invented, revised, improved, and genuinely produced what they then labeled with imaginary value.

  So, if not for quite the same reasons, did he.

  Yes—his resolve hardened—if nothing else, he would invite his brother and his family, as many as his funds would stretch to, on a trip next year. Stopovers on two planets should be easy to arrange, though he must check the schedules … Almost he started to whisper to his wristlet. But there was no time right now.

  For just ahead, as his baska rounded the final bend of the trail, he could see the most extraordinary dwelling he had run across on any world.

  AT FIRST, IN FACT, HIS MIND REFUSED TO RECOGNIZE IT AS A house at all. It looked more like a machine—an automatic surveying station, say, of the kind one might land on a phase-locked inmost planet to monitor the solar corona in a situation where if it were simply left in orbit, it would constantly be drifting and precessing and wasting energy on course correction. Except that among the communication links spiking its roof there were items that would have been useless on a world without air: scores of observation floaters, like Scout but more specialized, interspersed with fully powered skimmers, highly intelligent and capable of butting their way home even against such a gale as there had been last night.

  With a sudden start Sohay realized he wasn’t in fact looking at the house itself but only—so to speak—the business end of it. The rest, gaudily draped in creepers whose leaves were as brilliantly variegated as the forest itself, stretched away among disguising trees, and the source of the smoke that had scented the air all morning appeared to he at its farther end. However, he had no chance to absorb more details, for there was a shout of greeting, and he glanced around to find a boy and girl in their late teens, tall, slim, wearing coveralls and shoes—but, he noted, no wristlets—advancing from the direction of what, to judge by fugitive reflections from its roof, seemed to be a conservatory or hydroponics shed.

  “Hello!” Ezar called back, dismounting and detaching his horse’s reins to act as a hobble. No matter how many millennia might have passed, no one had improved on the tried and ancient way of controlling a live steed. “This is my brother, who as I told your father has come home to find out how things have changed. He’s been away since he was not much older than you … Sohay, meet Coth and Dya.”

  The youngsters muttered a formal response, but their wide eyes were fixed on the baska. Approaching it with fascination, they looked it over keenly before Coth said, “From Ekatila?”

  “That’s right,” Sohay answered, taking a pace or two to loosen joints that had stiffened during his ride. A baska might be more comfortable than a horse, but the need to avoid giving it false commands through inadvertence did oblige its rider to move as little as possible. He added, “Was that a guess or did you recognize it?”

  “A bit of both,” the boy answered with an engaging grin. “When we were told what a distinguished guest we might expect, we studied up on all the worlds you’ve visited, and there’s only one that invents weird new animals to carry people about, isn’t there?”

  “Correct. And very profitable they’re finding it. So are we, to be frank. Tourists love this kind of thing. It might seem ridiculous actually to transport baska and suchlike animals and gadgets over interstellar distances, but—well, if you’ve been studying up, I don’t need to tell you that there are some backward worlds where it makes sound sense to possess your own reliable short-range conveyance. As a matter of fact… Excuse me: Dya, did you want to say something?”

  The girl hesitated, glancing at her brother. Receiving a nod of encouragement, sh
e spoke out.

  “I can’t help wondering what the Shipwrights think.”

  “About their ships being used to carry tourists and their toys?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “I’ll ask the same question as before: Is that a guess?”

  Dya laughed. “Not really. Just because we live in the middle of nowhere doesn’t mean we’re out of touch.”

  “Of course not!”—in some surprise. “Who is, on any civilized planet? But it’s a very acute remark. In fact it’s something I’ve got to go and sort out in a few weeks’ time.”

  “Yes, you’ve been appointed ambassador to the Shipwrights, haven’t you?” Coth said, looking and sounding impressed. “It sounds like a tough assignment.”

  Sohay’s face darkened, but before he could say anything more, Ezar called on him to come and meet Hesker and his wife, Adeen, who had just emerged from the house—and also wore no wristlets. Their children took after their father rather than their mother, who was short and plump with a broad smile and a fussy manner. Wasting no time on formality, she insisted that after their ride the visitors must be hungry, and besides, the wind was getting up again, so they shouldn’t be standing around out here. She urged them indoors and promised food within a few minutes.

  Leaving Ceeyo-efbar to graze and the baska to slurp up fallen leaves, they complied.

  The living area of the house was plain but comfortable, decorated mainly with natural objects—a display of especially gorgeous foliage, twisted branches, colored or sparkling pebbles. As the youngsters brought mugs of clear green liquid, tart and refreshing, Ezar addressed Hesker.

  “Any problems following the storm?”

  The forester shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. It was blowing pretty hard when it passed over, but there was no rain to speak of. The machines logged half a dozen lightning strikes, but all a long way off.”

  “What attracts lightning in a forest like yours?” Sohay inquired. “Forgive my asking what may sound like a naive question, but—well, it wasn’t here when I left home.”

  “I guess it can’t have been, at that.” Hesker rubbed his chin. “Well, naturally a tree’s a pretty good conductor because it contains a lot of water, but I take it you mean: What attracts it to one spot rather than another?”

  “Yes, exactly. This drink’s delicious, by the way.”

  “Glad you like it. Well, it can just be that one tree is a meter or two taller than its neighbors, or it can be that it’s tapped subterranean water. In that case, naturally, when the ground charge builds up enough, the strike takes the line of least resistance.”

  “The effect can be pretty spectacular,” Coth offered. “Sometimes the whole trunk bursts apart.”

  “Does the tree recover?”

  Hesker shrugged. “If it just loses its crown or a couple of branches, yes, and amazingly quickly. But not if it’s split right down. Matter of fact, we get a lot of our firewood that way. If you hadn’t been coming, we’d have gone out with a floatravoise, checked the damage, and brought in anything beyond hope.”

  Sohay nodded. “Ezar was telling me about your experiments with wood. Is it really efficient as a fuel?”

  “Not for power generation—for that we depend on solar and ground heat, same as everybody. But an open fire is comforting in cold weather, and as to using it for cooking, here’s your chance to find out for yourselves.” He rose as Adeen bustled in, trailing a laden ground-effecter, and indicated they should gather around a table made from varnished planks.

  The food consisted of thin yellow flexible disks rolled into tubes around savory-smelling albeit evil-looking fungi of at least a dozen different kinds, bathed in richly flavored sauces and all far more delicious than Sohay would have imagined. Delighted, Adeen kept producing more and more until at last he had to wave away further offers.

  “Amazing!” he said. “Quite amazing! And are these really plants our ancestors ate on the birthworld?”

  “As nearly as we can tell, they’re identical,” Ezar confirmed. “Apart from necessary adaptation, obviously. I gather you enjoyed them?”

  “It’s as good a meal as I’ve eaten in years. Thank you, Adeen, for a unique experience.”

  The plump woman beamed and preened.

  “Well, I’m afraid we must be on our way,” Ezar said, rising with real or feigned reluctance—and somewhat to Sohay’s annoyance, for he had hoped to broach the subject of their host’s unconventional beliefs, and there had been no way of turning the conversation in that direction. Still, Ezar did have sound reasons, for he continued: “I promised we’d be home before sundown, and that wind is turning into a gale.”

  Indeed, it was now singing loudly in the nearby branches. Through the windows they could be seen swaying and lashing.

  “What a shame!” Adeen exclaimed. “Are you sure? Coth and Dya were hoping to show you the fungi actually growing, which no doubt you’d find—”

  Rrrrrrr!

  The shrill scream of an alarm cut her words short, and Hesker jumped to his feet in annoyance.

  “I thought I’d fixed that!” he muttered. “Sorry—it’s one of my pollution detectors picking up the smoke from the kitchen chimney again. I’ve shielded it, or I thought I had, but obviously I didn’t do a very good job.”

  “Can’t you just program it not to react to smoke from whatever wood you’re burning?” Sohay suggested. “I take it you mainly use the kinds that give off the most heat.”

  Hesker glanced at him as though surprised to find that an august interstellar diplomat knew about such primitive matters. After a moment he shrugged.

  “Tried it. Trouble is, combustion generates an awful mix of compounds even from a single type of wood, and the detectors are so infuriatingly sensitive … Coth? Dya? Is something wrong?”

  The youngsters had both moved toward the nearest window and were staring out. Coth said, “I don’t think that’s from the chimney, you know.”

  “Where else, then?” Adeen demanded, but she was ignored. Hesker rushed across the room toward the “business end” of the building, and the others followed at a run.

  Except Sohay. Raising his wristlet to his mouth, he spent several seconds interrogating Scout and only then hastened after the rest.

  Hesker, Adeen, and the children had taken station each before a bank of deepscreens with voice-activated controls and manual backups, an array that would have seemed more appropriate to a long-range submersible or an interplanetary tug. They were exchanging crisp reports in jargon as incomprehensible as a private code. Ezar was standing just inside the doorway. As his brother joined him, he murmured, “I told you a forester’s job is a demanding one.”

  Sohay disregarded the remark. He was sweating; there was a terrible tightness in his belly, and when he spoke, his voice shook.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” he exclaimed. “Now!” They all stared at him. Hesker rasped, “Don’t interrupt, for goodness’ sake! Distractions we can do without.”

  “You’d rather stay and be roasted alive?”

  That penetrated. Adeen uttered a little whimper, as if envisaging them trapped in her wood-burning oven.

  “Wildfire!” Sohay rasped. “Being blown this way! It hasn’t crowned yet, but with this wind—!”

  Hesker seemed about to reply, but Coth cried out. “He’s right! Southwest of here! The infrared confirms, though the visuals are blurred—”

  “What would you expect?” Sohay blasted. “Your scanners are flying through smoke!”

  Licking his lips, Hesker demanded, “How come you claim to know more than we do?”

  “Scout!” Sohay snapped, jerking a thumb toward the roof. Beside him, Ezar muttered what sounded like an oath of annoyance at his own oversight.

  Dya ventured, “You said it hasn’t done what?”

  “Crowned.” Sohay wiped his forehead. He looked and sounded a little calmer now. “That’s to say the flames aren’t leaping directly from treetop to treetop. They’re still mainly spreading
at ground level,”

  “Nonsense!” Hesker rasped. “A forest can’t possibly burn! There’s more water in a living tree than the weight of the actual wood—I’ve done the calculations! Adeen has to let her firewood dry for a month or more before it’s ready for use! Anyway, what can have started it?”

  “Yesterday’s lightning—what else?” Sohay answered curtly. “We have to evacuate this place!”

  But the forester had donned a stubborn expression, as if to imply: This stranger, half a foreigner, who’s spent most of his life on other worlds, has no right to march in here and give me orders concerning my own job!

  “You can run away if you like,” he snapped. “I simply don’t believe that living trees full of water can burn well enough to pose a threat. Leaves, okay. But never trees.”

  Coth repressed an exclamation. Dya, who had turned back to her screens, said, “But Sohay is right. It is smoke baffling the scanners. And the temperature—”

  From outside came a shrill whinny redolent of pure terror, more blood-chilling than any mechanical alarm.

  “That’s my horse,” Ezar said grimly. “Contradicting you. But you won’t listen to your instincts, will you? Don’t want to learn what our organs have to tell us!”

  He took a pace toward the forester, clenching his fists in an ancient, in an archetypal manner.

  “Come on, man! What’s the command for emergency evacuation? Scout can only lift one of us at a time, so we’ll have to use your fliers linked by twos or threes. I can get away on my horse, though the baska—”

  Sohay had moved to lean over Dya’s shoulder. One of her screens was extrapolating the danger’s rate of spread. He cut in.

  “We’ll have to abandon the animals. Your horse needs oxygen! Even if he could outstrip the fire, he’d suffocate, and so will we if we don’t escape at once! Hesker! Your evacuation code!”

  The forester turned away, pale and trembling. He said in a muffled voice, “There isn’t one.”

  Abruptly a screen in Dya’s display showed a clear image. The glorious colors of the autumn leaves bloomed forth—and so did others, brighter, livelier: the red, the orange, the eye-searing yellow of a raging fire.