The Fall of the Families

by Phillip Mann

  “Come on. Let’s ride to the spit,” called Red. “We can light a fire and you can dry out.” To prevent any argument she urged the black stallion on and it began to canter over the shiny wet shingle, sending up a spray of sand and water.

  The driftwood burned blue and white, and the hot air made the distant cliffs shimmer. The two women huddled together to share the warmth and avoid the wind that blew steadily from the sea.

  “How’s the leg?” asked Red. “Is it stiffening?”

  “No. It feels better. The sea water helped, I think.” She looked at the cliffs which towered, sheer, a few hundred yards from them. “Where’s the house from here?”

  Red pointed to a set of pines that stood high on the cliffs about a mile from them. “Beyond them, I guess. I think that is the edge of the gardens. We haven’t come far north.”

  They shared the food. Some meat they had brought they held in the fire on sticks and then tore from the skewers with their teeth. Red opened a bottle of dark red wine and they drank from the bottle, laughing because they had forgotten to bring cups. They ate bread and fruit while the horses nosed among the thick-leaved shrubs which grew on the spit.

  “And what do you want to do … hope to do?” asked Laurel finally. She had been mulling the question for several minutes and was immediately sorry that it came out so abruptly.

  “When?”

  “Anytime. Get more horses? Have a farm of your own? Get married?”

  Red laughed. “Oh, I’ll get married sometime, I suppose. I’ve a lot of giving inside me, I can feel it. But I’ll still keep my horses. I haven’t met a man yet can match the horses for affection or strength.” She laughed again.

  “Perhaps you’d be better staying alone,” said Laurel.

  “Perhaps I would, at that But I don’t like the loneliness in the evenings. And it won’t get any better. And I like making love as much as the next woman. I suppose I’m not satisfied. I do want more out of life. Horses aren’t enough … nor are men. I don’t know. I want … I want … more. That’s all. One day I’ll know, and when that day comes I hope I’ll have the courage to go for what I want, even if I have to walk over hot coals. What about you? Are you happy?”

  “I’m one of those women whose life became suddenly simpler … when I fell in love with Pawl … I can remember it so clearly … it was as if everything had changed colour. I’d always laughed at romantic women, and then I became romantic. I’d thought I never wanted children, and suddenly I wanted his children. It was like a craving. I’d always been independent and suddenly I didn’t want to be independent. And I wanted to make him happy. I want to make him happy. Only I don’t know what to do. The reality of living with someone is so different from the casual pleasure. Pawl says just to be with me is enough … but that means I do nothing. I can’t accept that. I’m not an ornament. I don’t want him to admire me … love me, yes … but not set me apart. That is a cruelty he does not understand.”

  “Have you talked to him about it?”

  “Not properly.”

  “Well then.”

  “You see, I know he loves me … but I’m not sure I know what it is in me he loves. I know what it is I love in him.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I love his gentleness. And I love his anger, because it is real. It is him, simple, unclear, muddled, but him. And I love him because he is vulnerable….” Laurel broke off, realizing that she was saying more than she meant to or wanted to. But she was not ashamed. “How can a woman explain why she loves a man … because he’s there. Chemistry. Sometimes I want to crush him. I want him to crush me. I want to make him angry … Is all that silly?”

  “I think you are a lucky woman,” said Red.

  “Well, maybe. But I don’t know what to do. And my love has already cost me a father and a world I loved. Is there no end to paying? Where does it end? Where can you be happy with confidence?”

  Red thought and stirred the fire with her boot. “I don’t think happiness lies in other people,” she said finally. “I think it belongs somewhere else. I think it is in us. In what we do to things.”

  Both women stared into the fire, which flared blue and white and pale scarlet as the wind blew. “There was a boy in my village,” said Red, “whom we all used to laugh at. He was a bit touched in the head. A bit simple. He used to moon about and no girl in her right mind would look at him twice. The boys used to give him hell, tying him to a little wagon and then dragging him through the dust and mud, and he used to laugh. Thought he was being one of the lads, I suppose. Well anyway, he used to collect stones. He’d scratch for hours in the dirt, digging up pebbles. He’d keep some for a day or two and then he’d throw them out. Others he wouldn’t part with. Those he wanted to keep he used to lick so they were all shiny, and then he’d keep them in a jar filled with water.

  “One day, one of the boys got the jar and smashed it. All the stones fell out. And he just stood there, the simple one, he just stood there staring as if he couldn’t understand what had happened. He didn’t protest or fight or anything; he just knelt down and started gathering the pebbles again and put them in his hanky.

  “And he never let anyone see them again. And we none of us knew why they were precious to him.” She stopped and poked a stick into the red heart of the fire. “See, that’s what we do to one another, isn’t it? We never know the hurt we cause. We never know the love we disregard.” She lapsed into silence again.

  “And?” prompted Laurel.

  “That’s all. A kid with his pebbles. I don’t know what made me think of it. I know he loved those pebbles, though.” The stick she had been poking the fire with finally burst into flame. “We’re funny creatures, aren’t we? Cruel and kind and full of doubt. But we must always protect that which we love.”

  “Yes,” said Laurel and shivered.

  “Come on,” said Red. “Let’s get back. Get you warmed through. I haven’t talked so much for years.”

  “Nor me,” said Laurel, standing up. “Nor me.”

  16

  ON VERITAS

  Pawl sat back in Songteller’s chair, his arms resting on the sides, and felt the power that it gave him. Like an ancient throne, it was raised higher than any other chair and was positioned at the precise focus of the wide fan of seats that made up the assembly chamber. It was from this chair that Songteller had conducted the affairs of the Paxwax.

  Sitting there, facing the empty, attendant seats, Pawl came to understand Songteller’s defection. In front of him glowed a gigantic vivante image of the Paxwax Empire. At the touch of a switch he could change the image and summon up any other empire. Or he could dive into the bright cloud of stars and bring any one of them into precise focus.

  Pawl could imagine Songteller, sitting alone, and swirling empires like wine in a glass.

  Methodically Pawl closed down Veritas. He saw the old banks of computers burned and trashed. All their contents and more were now held on his Homeworld. He saw the great defensive satellites speared out of the sky. His plan was to turn the entire world into a game park. Pensions were granted to all the former workers and they were given the option of continuing to live on the world or departing.

  Standing on the shore of an inland sea close by one of the resort villages, Pawl spoke with his former chief of security. He looked round the neat houses, each appointed with every luxury. Above them the sky was a dark blue, almost purple, where the force field held the clouds at bay and allowed sunshine to filter through.

  “You lacked for nothing did you?” said Pawl. The security man, neat in his dress uniform, did not reply. “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t know that anything was amiss? Couldn’t you smell something on the wind? That was your job.”

  “There was nothing,” the man said finally. “Nothing specific. Just a … casualness.”

  About a hundred yards from shore a head broke surface and a cluster of eyes observed the two men. The Mellow Peddlar pawed its way into shallow water. Men meant trade, someti
mes a free feed, sometimes a stone. It took its chance. In its wattles it carried shaped stones and bits of carved bones. It crawled up on to the bank a few yards from the men and there disgorged its wares. Without thinking, the security man picked up a stone and threw it. The Peddlar pulled back into its carapace and scuttled back into the sea, abandoning its treasure.

  “Why did you do that?” asked Pawl, and then with a sudden rush of anger, he punched the security man hard in the face. “That is for letting my world become casual.”

  17

  ON BENNET

  Laurel awoke with the distinct knowledge that she had been spoken to. A bright child’s voice had sounded in her sleep. She lay in bed wondering, and knew that Odin was near. He was forcing his attention on her. With reluctance she spoke into the darkness. “Odin. Where are you?”

  Immediately the child’s voice sprang in her mind. “We should meet. Now would be time. There is not long.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not long’?”

  Silence. Odin did not reply; and then, when he did speak again, it was a question. “Can I come up? The door is sealed. We must meet. Our separateness causes Pawl sorrow.”

  Laurel knew this was true. And she had to admit to herself that now that Odin was speaking in her mind, he did not seem so alien. It was as though just by being there he had achieved something of humanity. Perhaps now was the time to meet the small alien; now, while Pawl was away and the pressure of his silent communication with Odin was lifted. But she did not trust the child’s voice. There was something calculated about that. But she made her decision.

  “Yes. Come up.” Laurel touched the release switches and the lower doors which gave access to the Tower opened. Then she dressed quickly.

  “Wynn, watch closely. You know more of the creature than I do. Stand guard for me.” Laurel spoke to the ceiling, where fernlike bio-crystalline filaments had begun to glow.

  The room seemed to speak. “I am on guard, Laurel. Rest assured. Conduct your business. I wondered who you were talking to. Little Odin. A delicate mind. I cannot probe it. I would be happier if I could. I will remain silent but watchful.”

  This last phrase faded into the silence as a light above the entrance door blinked on and the door slid open to reveal the small black shape of Odin. He glided forward and thin red tendrils snaked from below his gown. His enigmatic white mask nodded, as though suggesting humility and concord. Laurel controlled her revulsion.

  “I am not confident,” spoke the clear child’s voice. “I too am nervous. I do not find it easy to speak with humans. Pawl frightens me, though I have learned to live with his moods and can protect myself. You are wholly different. All I can draw from you is thin suspicion. Tell me why.”

  “I have not had any dealings with aliens,” said Laurel. “Pawl is more worldly than me. Besides, on my Homeworld we regarded the Inner Circle with suspicion, not as friends. I have always found your garb and your masks rather frightening.”

  “Are you afraid of me? There is nothing to fear. Would you be more comfortable if I were to drop my mask for you as I do for Pawl?”

  There was a dreadful intimacy in this thought which affronted Laurel. It was as though she had been asked to lift her skirts above her knees, or worse, witness the forced exhibition of another. And yet there was honesty there, a willingness to strip away taboos and face differences for what they were.

  “I will remove my mask. Please look on me without fear.”

  With sudden dread Laurel saw red tendrils wriggle through the eye holes and then Odin’s cowl fell forward and she could see no more.

  The mask clattered to the floor. Odin’s body convulsed and the black hood fell back.

  Laurel saw the dome of red worms and in the same moment the smell of Odin hit her. She stared at Odin, and then she screamed.

  And in that moment a curious thing happened. The mind of Laurel and the mind of Odin met in pain. Laurel’s scream was torn from some instinctive depth of her being. It was a primeval cry of revulsion and Odin received that cry in all its rawness. Acid in the face, a fish-hook lodged in the jaw and pulled, tap-root cut by spade, barbed wire jerked through ungloved hands: it was all this and more. The small creature had no defence. The scream struck him and he toppled.

  Laurel watched Odin fall, there on the fine tiles a mere four feet in front of her. She saw the small figure slump. The black gown which normally was so neat fell open, revealing its shiny interior and the soft red fibres of Odin’s trunk. She saw, as in slow motion, the large basal sucker which held Odin in place lift from the floor and curl its lip as the creature fell.

  Then Odin’s pain swamped Laurel and obliterated her fear.

  She was moving. She crossed the short space and seized the fabric of Odin’s black gown. It was light and strong like metal mesh. Through the fabric she could feel Odin’s body. It was mush and jelly. Without realizing it she sent love through her hands, begging the small creature to live, live, live.

  How long she knelt cradling the small creature she did not know. She held it like a baby and crooned to it. Finally something moved in her arms. The upper tendrils, which had turned grey and lay like the leaves of a plant left unwatered for many days, stirred and a rosiness began to spread through them. The great yellow sucker closed on itself and then opened again, as though searching for purchase. Laurel helped. She eased the small creature upright and was glad when she felt a solidity return to it.

  Secretions began to flood down the trunk from the many flukes and tendrils. Laurel tucked the gown round Odin and was pleased to see it adhere. She had heard Pawl say more than once that the gown of the Inner Circle was a survival suit tailored to Odin’s needs.

  She stared into Odin’s “face” and it was a flower.

  Why had she not seen it at first?

  Many minutes later the tendrils swirled, like hair in water, and a drowsy thought opened in Laurel’s mind. “Your women are stronger than your men.”

  “Are you feeling stronger?”

  “Stronger.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I want to feel the earth.”

  “Shall I carry you down? Would you like to stand in the grass?”

  “Yes.”

  Laurel picked up the mask of the Inner Circle, which lay on its back near Odin, staring vacantly up at the ceiling.

  “Here, you can wear this silly thing if it makes you feel better.” She held the mask in front of the hole in Odin’s cowl and watched as delicate suckers no bigger than her little finger wriggled out and attached themselves to the back of the mask and drew it into place.

  “I hate this thing,” came a grumpy voice that sounded so like a human child that Laurel laughed. “But it has its purpose.”

  “Why did you join the Inner Circle if you don’t like its regalia?” asked Laurel.

  “I didn’t join the Inner Circle. I was selected. Is not that the way you humans see fate?”

  Laurel shrugged. “I don’t know much about fate. I just want to live for the present. Settle down here. Don’t start dwelling on fate. We have both had a shake-up and that’s quite enough for one night. Come here, let me pick you up.”

  Odin seemed heavier and beneath the gown Laurel could feel the hardness of muscle. She carried him to the door which led to the shaft down to the ground. “Remember I am with you,” whispered the voice of Wynn the computer. “Do not be too trusting.”

  Laurel ignored it and stepped through the door.

  “What does my voice sound like to you?” asked Odin as they dropped to the ground.

  “Like a boy’s.”

  “Tell me if I ever sound different.”

  “I will.” Laurel stepped from the Tower and walked round it until she came to a small grassy courtyard. There she set Odin down. The small creature worked its way in a circle as though selecting its exact spot.

  “What do you hope for?” The thought was sudden and strange and Laurel did not know what to reply at first. Then she said, “Why, to be
happy, I suppose. Isn’t that what everyone hopes for? Isn’t that what you hope for?”

  The only reply was an echoing silence, like the silence inside a large building. “Why don’t you answer me?”

  “Because I cannot. I hope for nothing.”

  “That is sad.”

  “Yes. Goodnight now. I am drinking.”

  Laurel returned to the Tower. Before she entered she glanced back at Odin. He was hunkered down. He looked like a stunted black tree trunk.

  Well, thought Laurel, as she rose up the Tower, that wasn’t too bad. Perhaps things will be easier now.

  18

  THE CALL FROM SANCTUM

  And that same night, while Odin drank in strength from the soil, a long, sinewy hand of thought reached out from Sanctum and took him and squeezed him. It was the Tree. It was thunder in the blue sky. It was love and hate and neither in a glittering ball. Roughly translated it said, OH, ODIN. YOU ARE A GREAT LOVER, HOW HUMAN YOU ARE. LOVE IS THE GREAT SEDUCTION, BETTER THE STILL MIND THAT LIKE A DEEP POOL TURNS ON ITSELF, AND IS CLEAR AND UNCLEAR, AND CAN RECEIVE GREATNESS AND RETURN AN UNTROUBLED SURFACE.

  YOUR TIME IS NEAR, ODIN. ACT WITH CARE, FOR THE END OF THE HUMAN RULE IS CLOSE. YOU ARE THE HINGE. TURN SMOOTHLY. KILL THAT ALL MAY BE FREE. YOU WILL BE THE SAVIOUR.

  A bellows blew on Odin and inflamed him.

  LISTEN TO THE VOICE OF SANCTUM.

  There came to Odin a rich cacophony of sounds and impressions. It was a great choir, but he could distinguish individual voices. He could hear his fellow Gerbes. He could hear the high song of the Lamphusae, the angry drum of the Hammer, the flute of the Parasol, the quick rattle of the Spideret, the cooing of the Link Worm, the sighing of the Sponge Rock which lived through a million gold threads, the tinkle of the Lyre Beast, the calling of humans, the snuffling of the Pullah, the harsh gulping of the lone Mellow Peddlar who lived on Sanctum and whose only claim to civilization was that he could rub rocks. There were many thousands more. Each sounding distinct. The great choir of the alien, held under domination.