It was, Hal knew, a religious sign which the wogs used in many different situations. Now, Fobo seemed to be using it to relieve his tension. Suddenly, he smiled the ghastly V-in-V smile of a wogglebug. And he was in good spirits. Though supersensitive, his nervous system was hit and run. Charge and discharge came easily.
Fobo stopped before them and said, 'A clash of personalities, gentlemen? A disagreement, an argument, a dispute?'
'No,' replied Hal. 'We were just a little shaken up. Tell me, how far will we have to walk to get to the humanoid ruins? Your car's wrecked. Tell Zugu I'm sorry.'
'Do not bother your skulls... heads. Zugu was ready to build a new and better vehicle. As for the walk, it will be pleasant and stimulating. It is only a... kilometer? Or thereabouts.'
Hal threw his mask and goggles into the car, where the Ozagenians had put theirs. He picked up his suitcase from the floor in the compartment back of the rear seat. He left the gapt's on the floor. Not without a slight pang of guilt, however, for he knew that as Pornsen's ward, he should have offered to carry it.
'To H with him,' he muttered.
He said to Fobo, 'Aren't you afraid the driving clothes will be stolen?'
'Pardon?' said Fobo, eager to learn a new word. 'Stolen means what?'
'To take an article of property from someone by stealth, without their permission, and keep it for yourself. It is a crime, punishable by law.'
'A crime?'
Hal gave up and began walking swiftly up the road. Behind him the gapt, angry because he had been rejected and because his ward was breaking etiquette by forcing him to carry his own case, shouted, 'Don't presume too far, you – you joat!'
Hal didn't turn back but plunged on ahead. The angry retort he had been phrasing beneath his breath fizzed away. Out of the corner of his eye, he had glimpsed white skin in the green foliage.
It was only a flash, gone as quickly as it had come. And he could not be sure that it was not a bird's white wing opening. Yes, he could be. There were no birds on Ozagen.
7
'Soo Yarrow. Soo Yarrow. Wuhfvayfvoo, soo Yarrow.'
Hal woke up. For a moment, he had trouble placing himself. Then, as he became wider awake, he recalled that he was sleeping in one of the marble rooms of the ruins. The moonlight, brighter than Earth's, poured in through the doorway. It shone on a small shape clinging upside down to the arch of the doorway. It glittered briefly on a flying insect that passed below the shape. Something long and thin flickered down and caught the flier and pulled it into a suddenly gaping mouth.
The lizard loaned by the ruins custodians was doing a fine job of keeping out pests.
Hal turned his head to look at the open window a foot above him. The bugcatcher there was also busily ton-guing the area clean of mosquitoes.
The voice had seemed to come from beyond that moonwashed and narrow rectangle. He strained his ears as if he could force the silence to yield the voice again. But there was only more silence. Then, he jumped and whirled around as a snuffling and rattling came from behind him. A thing the size of a raccoon stood in the doorway. It was one of the quasi-insects, the so-called lungbugs, that prowled the forest at night. It represented a development of arthropod not found on Earth. Unlike its Terran cousins, it did not depend solely on tracheae or breathing tubes for oxygen. A pair of distensible sacs, like a frog's, swelled out and fell in behind its mouth. It was these that had made the snuffling sound.
Though the lungbug was shaped like the sinister praying mantis, Hal didn't worry. Fobo had told him it was not dangerous to a man.
A shrill sound like that of an alarm clock suddenly filled the room. Pornsen sat up on the cot against the wall. Seeing the insect, he yelled. It scurried off. The noise, which had come from the mechanism on Pornsen's wrist, stopped.
Pornsen lay back. He groaned, 'That makes the sixth time those sib bugs have woke me up.'
'Turn off the wristbox,' said Hal.
'So you can sneak out of the room and spill your seed on the ground,' replied Pornsen.
'You have no right to accuse me of such unreal conduct,' said Hal. He spoke mechanically, without deep anger. He was thinking of the voice.
The Forerunner himself said no one was beyond reproach,' muttered Pornsen. He sighed and mumbled as he fell asleep, 'Wonder if the rumor is true... Forerunner himself may be on this planet... watching us... he predicted... aah...'
Hal sat on his cot and watched Pornsen until he began snoring. Hal's own lids felt heavy. Surely, he must have dreamed of that soft, low voice speaking in a tongue neither Terran nor Ozagenian. He must have, because it had been human, and he and the gapt were the only specimens of Homo sapiens for two hundred miles in any direction.
It had been a woman's voice. Forerunner! To hear a woman again! Not Mary. He never wanted to hear her voice again or even hear of her. She was the only woman he had ever – dare he say it to himself? – had. That had been a sorry, disgusting, and humiliating ordeal. But it had not taken from him the wish – he was glad that the Forerunner was not there to read his mind – to meet another woman who might give him that ecstasy of he knew nothing except from spilling his seed – Forerunner help him! – and which was, he was sure, only a paleness and a hollowness compared to that which waited . . .
'Soo Yarrow. Wuhfvayfvoo. Sa mfa, zh'net Tastinak. R'gateh wa f'net.'
Slowly, Hal rose from the cot. His neck was cased in ice. The whisper was coming from the window. He looked at it. The outline of a woman's head tilted into the solid box of moonlight that was window. The solid box became a cascade. Moonwash flowed over white shoulders. The white of a finger crossed the black of a mouth.
'Poo wamoo tu baw choo. E'ooteh. Seelahs. Fvooneh. Fvit, seelfvoopleh.'
Numbed, but obeying as if shot full of hypno-lipno, he began walking toward the doorway. He was not so shocked, however, that he did not look at Pornsen to make sure he was still sleeping.
For a second, his reflexes almost overcame him and forced him to wake up the gapt. But he withdrew the hand reaching for Pornsen. He must take a chance. The urgency and fear in the woman's voice told him that she was desperate and needed him. And it was evident that she did not want him to arouse Pornsen.
What would Pornsen say, do, if he knew there was a woman outside this very room?
Woman? How could a woman be here?
Her words had clicked something familiar. He had had the strange and fleeting notion that he should know the language. But he did not.
He stopped. What was he thinking of? If Pornsen woke and looked over at the cot to make sure his ward was still in it... He went back to the cot and shoved his suitcase under the sheet which the custodian had provided for him. He rolled up his jacket and packed it next to the case. One end of it stuck out of the sheet and lay on the pillow. Perhaps, if Pornsen was very sleepy, he might mistake the dark lump on the pillow and the bulk under the sheet for Hal.
Softly, on bare feet, he walked again toward the doorway. An object about eight decimeters high stood on guard in it. A statuette of the archangel Gabriel, pale, wings half-extended, a sword in its right hand held above its head.
If any object with a mass larger than a mouse's came within two feet of the field radiating from the statuette, it would cause a signal to be transmitted to the small case mounted on the silver bracelet around Pornsen's wrist. The case would shrill – as it had at the appearance of the lungbug – and up would come Pornsen from the bottom of his sleep.
The statuette's purpose was not only to insure against trespassers. It was also there to make certain that Hal would not leave the room without his gapt's knowledge. As the ruins had no working plumbing, Hal's only excuse to step outside would be to relieve himself. The gapt would go along to see that he did not try to do something else.
Hal picked up a fly swatter. It had a three-foot-long handle made of some flexible wood. Its mass would not be enough to touch off the field. Hand trembling, he very gently pushed the statuette to one side with the end of the
handle. He had to be careful not to upset it, for tilting triggered its alarm. Fortunately, the stone floor was one of those which had had the debris, piled on by centuries, cleaned out. The stone beneath was smooth, polished by generations of feet.
Once outside, Hal reached back in and slid the object back to its former spot. Then, with his heart pounding under the double strain of tampering with the statuette and of meeting a strange woman, he walked around the corner.
The woman had moved from the window into the shadow of a statue of a kneeling goddess about forty yards away. He began walking toward her, then he saw why she was hiding. Fobo was strolling toward him. Hal walked faster. He wanted to intercept the wog before he noticed the girl and also before Fobo was so close that their voices might waken Pornsen.
'Shalom, aloha, good dreaming, Sigmen love you,' said Fobo. 'You seem nervous. Is it that incident of the forenoon?'
'No. I am just restless. And I wanted to admire these ruins by moonlight.'
'Grand, beautiful, weird, and a little sad,' said Fobo. 'I think of these people, of the many generations that lived here, how they were born, played, laughed, wept, suffered, gave birth, and died. And all, all, every one dead and turned to dust. Ah, Hal, it brings tears to my eyes and a premonition of my own doom.'
Fobo pulled a handkerchief from the pouch on his belt and blew his nose.
Hal looked at Fobo. How human – in some respects – was this monster, this native of Ozagen. Ozagen. A strange name with a story. What was the story? That the discoverer of this planet, upon first seeing the natives, had exclaimed, 'Oz again!'
It was only natural. The aborigines resembled Frank Baum's Professor Wogglebug. Their bodies were rather round, and their limbs were skinny in proportion. Their mouths were shaped like two broad and shallow V's, one set inside the other. The lips were thick and lobular. Actually, a wogglebug had four lips, each leg of the two V's being separated by a deep seam at the connection. Once, far back on the evolutionary path, those lips had been modified arms. Now they were rudimentary limbs, so disguised as true labial parts and so functional that no one could have guessed their origin. When the wide V-in-V mouths opened in a laugh, they startled the Terrans. They had no teeth but serrated ridges of jawbone. A fold of skin hung from the roof of the mouth. Once the epipharynx, it was now a vestigial upper tongue. It was this organ which gave the underlying trill to so many Ozagen sounds and gave the human beings so much trouble reproducing them.
Their skins were as lightly pigmented as Hal's, and he was a redhead. But where his was pink, theirs was a very faint green. Copper, not iron, carried oxygen in their blood cells. Or so they said. So far they had refused to allow the Haijac to take blood samples. But they had promised that they might give permission within the next four or five weeks. Their reluctance, so they had stated, was caused by certain religious taboos. If, however, they couid be assured that the Earthmen would not be drinking the blood, they might let them have it.
Macneff thought they were lying, but he had no good reasons for this. It was impossible for the Ozagenians to know just why their blood was wanted.
That their blood cells used copper instead of iron should have made the Ozagenians considerably less strong and less enduring in physical exertion than the Terrans. Their corpuscles would not transport oxygen as efficiently. But Nature had made certain compensations. Fobo had two hearts, which beat faster than Hal's and drove blood through arteries and veins larger than Hal's.
Nevertheless, the fastest sprinter or marathon runner of this planet would be left behind by his Terrestrial counterpart.
Hal had borrowed a book on evolution. But, since he could read very little of it, he had so far had to content himself with looking at the many illustrations. The wog, however, had explained what they represented.
Hal had refused to believe Fobo.
'You say that mammalian life originated from a primeval sea worm! That has to be wrong! We know that the first land lifeform was an amphibian. Its fins developed into legs; it lost its ability to get oxygen from sea water. It evolved into a reptile, then a primitive mammal, then an insectivorous creature, then a pre-simian, then a simian, and eventually into the sapient bipedal stage, and then into modern man!'
'Is that so?' Fobo had said calmly. 'I don't doubt that things went just as you said. On Earth. But here evolution took a different course. Here there were three ancestral se"ba'takufu, that is, motherworms. One had hemoglobin-bearing blood cells; one, copper-bearing; one, vanadium-bearing. The first had a natural advantage over the other two, but for some reason it dominated this continent but not the other. We have some evidence that the first also split early into two lines, both of which were notochords but one of which wasn't mammalian.
'Anyway, all the motherworms did have fins, and these evolved into limbs. And–'
'But,' Hal had said, 'evolution can't work that way! Your scientists have made a serious, a grievous, error. After all, your paleontology is just beginning; it's only about a hundred years old.'
'Ah!' Fobo had said. 'You're too terrocentric. Hidebound. You have an anemic imagination. Your thought arteries are hardened. Consider the possibility that there might be billions of habitable planets in this universe and that on each evolution may have taken slightly, or even vastly, different paths. The Great Goddess is an experimenter. She'd get bored reproducing the same thing over and over. Wouldn't you?'
Hal was sure that the wogs were mistaken. Unfortunately, they weren't going to live long enough to be illuminated by the superior and much older science of the Haijac.
Now Fobo had removed his skullcap with its two imitation antennae, the symbols of the Grasshopper clan. But, even though this removal lessened his resemblance to Professor Wogglebug, his bald forepate and the stiff blond corkscrew fuzz on his backpate reasserted it. And the bridgeless, comically long nose shooting straight out from his face doubly strengthened it. Concealed in its cartilaginous length were two antennae, his organs of smell.
The Terran who first saw the Ozagenians would have been justified in his remark, if he had made it. But it was doubtful if he had. In the first place, the local tongue used the word Ozagen for Mother Earth. In the second place, even if the man on the first expedition had thought this, he would not have uttered it. The Oz books were forbidden in the Haijac Union; he could not have read the term unless he had taken a chance on buying it from a booklegger. It was possible he had. In fact, that was the only explanation. Otherwise, how could the spaceman who told Hal the story have come by the word? The originator of the story may not have cared if the authorities found out he was reading condemned books. Spacemen were famous, or infamous, for their disregard of danger and lax conduct in following the precepts of the Sturch when not on Earth.
Hal became aware that Fobo was talking to him.
'. . . this joat that Monsieur Pornsen called you when he was so angry and furious. What does that mean?'
'It means,' he said, 'a person who is not a specialist in any of the sciences but who knows much about all of them. Actually, I am a liaison officer between various scientists and government officials. It is my business to summarize and integrate current scientific reports and then present them to the hierarchy.'
He glanced at the statue.
The woman was not in sight.
'Science,' he continued, 'has become so specialized that intelligible communication even among scientists in the same field is very difficult. Each scientist has a deep vertical knowledge of his own little area but not much horizontal knowledge. The more he knows about his own subject, the less aware he is of what others in allied subjects are doing. He just does not have the time to read even a fraction of the overwhelming mass of articles. It is so bad that of two doctors who specialize in nose dysfunctions, one will treat the left nostril and the other will treat the right.'
Fobo threw up his hands in horror.
'But science would come to a standstill! Surely you exaggerate!'
'About doctors, yes,' said Hal,
managing to grin a little. 'But I do not exaggerate much. And it is true that science is not advancing in geometric progression as it once did. There is a lack of time for the scientist and too little communication. He cannot be aided in his own research by a discovery in another field because he just will not hear of it.'
Hal saw a head stick out from the base of the statue and then withdraw. He began to sweat.
Fobo questioned Hal about the religion of the Forerunner. Hal was as taciturn as possible and completely ignored some questions, though he felt embarrassed by doing so. The wog was nothing if not logical, and logic was a light that Hal had never turned upon what he had been taught by the Urielites.
Finally, he said, 'All I can say to you is that it is absolutely true that most men can travel subjectively in time but that the Forerunner, his evil disciple, the Backrunner, and the Backrunner's wife are the only people who can travel objectively in time. I know it is true because the Forerunner predicted what would happen in the future, and his every prediction was fulfilled. And–'
'Every prediction?'
'Well, all but one. But that turned out to be an unreal forecast, a pseudofuture somehow inserted by the Backrunner into The Western Talmud.'
'How do you know those predictions which haven't been fulfilled aren't also false insertions?'
'Well... we don't. The only way to tell is to wait until the time for them to happen arrives. Then...'
Fobo smiled and said, 'Then you know that that particular prediction was written and inserted by the Backrunner.'
'Of course. But the Urielites have been working for some years now on a method which they say will prove, by internal evidence, whether the future events are real futures or false. When we left Earth, we expected to hear at any time that an infallible method had been discovered. Now, of course, we won't know until we return to Earth.'
The Lovers Page 7