King of the Scepter'd Isle (Song of Earth)

by Coney, Michael G.

  Down on the beach, the Great Grasshopper was puffing itself up. Its structure was loosening. Molecules were receding from one another like miniature galaxies so that the Grasshopper appeared to be swelling, although it was no heavier than before, and its feet sank no farther into the sand.

  “We gave you to Elaine because we didn’t want anything to spoil your childhood,” Fang had told Galahad. “You see, being part gnome makes you rather defenseless, and giantish children can be cruel and elemental. Nyneve told us Elaine would look after you, and that Lancelot would look after her, so you were quite safe. But now you’re adult, and you can’t rely on them anymore. Just stay out of trouble, and the giants will come to appreciate you for being a good man. Go to Nyneve if things get too bad.”

  The Great Grasshopper was huge now, towering above the cliff so that Galahad was looking at its underside. There, suspended in an insubstantial pouch, lay the gnomes, Pan, and the Sharan. They, too, grew insubstantial as the Grasshopper’s aura began to affect them. He saw a tiny arm wave and heard a faint cry of “Away, Thunderer!” He waved back.

  Nyneve was walking toward him. She was crying.

  The Great Grasshopper was hovering clear of the sand. Its hind legs were far out to sea. Galahad was beginning to have difficulty in discerning where it began and ended. Then suddenly the wall of its foreleg rushed toward him, through him, and past him, leaving a faint ozone smell. The Grasshopper and its passengers were gone.

  Lighter than air, they would be rising through the Earth’s atmosphere, expanding until their constituent atoms were as far apart as the atoms between the planets, and the Grasshopper itself was larger than the spacebat with its thousand-kilometer wingspan. Then, engulfing the spacebat, the Grasshopper would shrink, passing through the bat’s very cells and finally coming to rest in one of the bat’s mighty chambers. It would deposit its passengers, normal-sized again, on the fleshy floor. It would then suck batmilk and hibernate until its next assignment.

  That was the way the kikihuahuas had defeated the Tin Mothers and escaped from their Home Planet. Without the use of machinery, how else could it have been done?

  Galahad looked at the sky and thought of the Princess, whom he’d only known for a few hours yet whose genes patterned a part of his being.

  “Good-bye, little mother,” he said.

  Nyneve stood before him. Her face was wet with tears. “It’s just not worth it, being part human,” she said. “The pain is too bloody much.”

  Galahad put a strong arm around her shoulders and they stood close for a while, two very different creatures but both with human emotions.

  18

  RETURN TO EARTH

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” ASKED FANG. “THERE’S absolutely no way I’m sucking batmilk until I die of old age. And what about all the other gnomes? I’m responsible for them.”

  “You will not die for many millennia,” Afah assured him. “Batmilk slows the metabolism almost to a standstill. You will die quietly and naturally, long in the distant future, and your tissues will be absorbed by the bat. That is the honorable way. Thus will the temporary race of gnomes cease to exist. You have done your work and we are thankful for it, even though it was in vain.”

  “What do you mean, in vain? We’ve brought back lobesful of data!”

  “Your data reveals many factors that render Earth unsuitable for colonization. The joining of happentracks brought another intelligent race into your world. Kikihuahuas cannot coexist with other intelligent races. Conflict is inevitable, and we are not equipped to deal with conflict. If we had known the happentracks were going to merge, we never would have sent you down to Earth in the first place. It was a rare and unfortunate event that has invalidated the whole project.”

  “Send us back!” cried Fang. “We’ll take our chances. It’s better than sleeping to death! I have young children. My wife, the Princess, is preg—I mean, pregnant.” Fang tried appealing to the kikihuahua’s sentimental instincts. “How can you deny my children the chance of a full gnomish life?”

  “Such is the fate of the obsolete life-form.”

  “Well, anyway, there’s no way we’re putting those tits in our mouths.”

  “You have no alternative.” Afah was puzzled and a little disgusted by this lack of acceptance of fate. He’d always mistrusted the gnomes. Their genes contained some nasty traits. Necessary for survival on Earth, but nasty. He sighed, eyeing the squat, aggressive little creature. The main problem was sex. It warped the mind. Why should Fang be so concerned about a dormant fetus in his sleeping partner’s womb? Why should he be concerned about anything at all? He’d performed splendidly, and because of his warning, gnomes had been retrieved from all other regions of Earth. And even though their data were superfluous, their tissue was invaluable. Now was the time for them all to go into an honorable retirement. “I can’t understand your attitude,” he said worriedly.

  “You’ll understand quickly enough if the gnomes are forced to take over the bat. We’re experienced in coups, Afah.”

  “You can’t take over the bat! By the Sword of Agni, you’d tear it apart within one generation! You’d kill us all!”

  “We’re going to die, anyway.”

  “But we’re not. Where’s your pride in your species, Fang?”

  “Perhaps you should listen to our proposal,” said Fang more calmly.

  So Afah listened, and when he understood the proposal, he discussed it with Phu and Ou-Ou; then finally they awakened a host of kikihuahuas and put it to them in a general meeting. And with some misgivings they agreed.

  “After all,” Afah said as their emotions of guarded consent colored his mind, “what difference do a few millennia make? We will sleep for a while, and then, when the time is ripe, we will act.”

  “If the time is ever ripe,” said Phu gloomily.

  “We will give them thirty Earth millennia, as they requested.”

  “I always said those gnomes would be nothing but trouble.”

  A short while after the decision had been made, Fang came to Afah’s chamber. The kikihuahua leader was Memorizing recent events before composing himself for a period of hibernation.

  “Wake up, Afah!” said Fang cheerfully.

  “It is you, Fang. What can I do for you?”

  “I have a little problem with my gnomes.”

  “That hardly surprises me.”

  “They’re not happy about all going to sleep and leaving you kikihuahuas in charge of this bat.”

  Afah blinked. “We’ve always been in charge of this bat. And you are a kikihuahua just as much as I. Why this divisive attitude, Fang, my friend? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  “The gnomes don’t trust you, Afah. They think you might allow us to oversleep, if you get my meaning.”

  A great sadness filled Afah. Trust was implicit in the kikihuahua philosophy. They were mutual emotes, so it was almost impossible for one kikihuahua to conceal anything from another; almost impossible to lie. What kind of monsters had they created? “I am truly sorry,” he murmured.

  Fang was abashed. Afah’s sincerity was obvious. “I’m sorry, too, Afah,” he said. “But the gnomes have led a rough life down there on Earth, and it’s made us careful. All we’re saying is this: We want a joint watch to be kept for the next thirty thousand years, so that at any given time there are both kikihuahuas and gnomes awake in the bat.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Thank you. Please don’t take it badly, Afah.”

  Afah regarded him. “I won’t take it any way, Fang. You see, you gnomes are more powerful than we are. You are aggressive and resourceful. So long as you are aboard this bat, you will be a problem for us—even more so than the hordes of Yub, presently asleep in a remote chamber. We can only hope your vigil will be successful, and the time will come when you can return to Earth. You are not suited to life in the bat.”

  Fang said sadly, “You can’t imagine how wonderful it was, living on Earth. Every morni
ng you’d see the sun, or else the rain. And you’d look out and sniff the air and wonder what the day would bring. You’d get dressed and put your cap on, and mount your rabbit. Then you’d go visiting. You’d see the Miggot, who’d be grumbling about something. Then around noon you’d drop in on Clubfoot at the Disgusting and have a beer and a chat with people. The trees would be high above you and the animals would be all around, so that sometimes you’d have to be careful. Maybe in the afternoon you’d go to sleep. And in the evenings there’d be singing and dancing and eating and drinking. … And all those times there’d be the Princess, and the children. …”

  “You love Earth very much.”

  “It’s so hard here, not being able to go outside.” Fang regarded the walls of the chamber with distaste. “And you don’t realize how this bat stinks, like a giant’s battlefield. And it’s so dark, with just that blue glow. We’ve been used to sunlight all our lives. I realize,” Fang said hastily, “that you feel at home in the bat, and I really don’t mean any offense, but …”

  “I understand. After all, we created you in order that you would feel at home on Earth. It seems we succeeded.”

  “I just hope we can go back. The sooner the better. Nyneve was always talking about thirty thousand years. It seems a long time.”

  “You said the giants are a violent and bloodthirsty race.” Afah made the kikihuahua equivalent of a smile. “Their civilization may run its course quickly. Fast-growing societies often don’t last long.”

  The years passed, and the centuries, and the millennia. The watches went by, kikihuahua and gnome observing Earth through the spacebat’s telescopic eyes. They saw Mankind’s first timid paddle in space, and they watched a few probes skitter by, heading into the greataway. Then there was a pause and some signs of minor conflict, which the kikihuahuas later found were caused by the Consumer Wars of the Fifty-fourth Millennium. The first giant domes were built. The kikihuahuas traced the spread of the Great Ice Age and the start of the Age of Regression. For a while Earth seemed to sleep.

  “Are they all dead?” a gnome asked eagerly. “Is it time?”

  “No,” replied a kikihuahua. “We still see a ship occasionally. The giants are probably in those domes. It’s a well-known part of the civilization cycle; a society gets scared and careful and lazy, goes indoors, lies down, and becomes almost totally dependent on machines for food and entertainment. It’s happened to many races we’ve visited. It happened to us.”

  “What can be so good, inside a dome?” asked the gnome.

  “Often the people live a communal dream, with adventures and killing and love, all without danger to themselves. But there are always a few who don’t want to live that way, and sooner or later they persuade the dreamers to wake up and go outside. No, the situation is deceptive on Earth right now. They are sleeping but they could awaken. We’ve seen it all before. So long as an occasional ship comes and goes, intelligent life is there. …”

  Fang awakened a few thousand years later. In the dim luminescence he recognized Afah bending over him. He shook his head, trying to clear the effects of the milk. Then he drank from the gourd Afah offered him.

  “It’s our watch again, is it?” he asked. Somehow the idea of another year spent wandering around the bat’s fleshy tunnels, killing time, didn’t appeal. Millennia of batmilk had sapped his initiative. Afah’s next words snapped him into full wakefulness, however.

  “It’s been many centuries since the last ship was observed. There’s a good chance the human race has run its course.”

  As they made their way toward the observer’s chamber Fang said, “They weren’t all bad, you know. There was a very nice giant called Nyneve, who was even quite pretty. And we created a giant ourselves, to look after our interests when things got tough. In the end we hardly had time to use him. He was kind and good and one hell of a bore, but you’d have liked him, Afah. We called him Galahad.”

  “I’m sure he was a masterpiece,” said Afah dryly. The tunnels had narrowed, and some time later they were crawling through passages where the bat’s gravity had diminished, and Fang had to be careful not to bump his head on bony overhangs. “We are now inside the bat’s skull,” explained Afah. He squeezed through a narrow opening and Fang followed with difficulty. Now they were in a small chamber occupied by another kikihuahua, or something that looked very much like one. “Hello, Elahi,” said Afah.

  Fang shivered as the observer turned their way. Elahi’s eyes were pale and empty, devoid of expression, apparently blind. Emerging from each temple, a glistening strand dangled between Elahi and the wall of the chamber. In some unpleasant way Elahi was plugged into the bat. He’d heard Fang and Afah, but he couldn’t see them. His brain was receiving images of the solar system. The strands were the bat’s optic nerves. “By the Sword of Agni!” Fang muttered in horror.

  Elahi reached up and pulled the strands free, leaving small pink orifices in his temples. Simultaneously life returned to his eyes, and he focused on his visitors. Except for his bare temples, he now looked like a normal kikihuahua.

  “Afah,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  “Nothing is happening on Earth?”

  “Nothing has happened for a long time.”

  “No ships have come or gone?”

  “Nothing at all. The planet seems to be dead.”

  “There were no destructive wars of any kind? Earth is still inhabitable, so far as you can tell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s saddle up the Great Grasshopper!” cried Fang in delight.

  “You are still willing to take your chances down there, Fang? I believe that a large proportion of gnomes are now happy where they are. Some of them become quite resentful when awakened to stand their watch. Some have refused.”

  “You always get some rotten apples.”

  “Kikihuahuas don’t get rotten apples.”

  “I can believe it. We’ll take the gnomes who want to come. The rest can stay here, if that’s all right with you. First we must send down an exploration party. Just a handful of us, to scout out the situation. The Miggot, perhaps; and myself; and the Princess, of course. …”

  “And I,” said Afah.

  “You?”

  “It is my duty. What we are proposing amounts to a colonization of Earth by the kikihuahua race, and I am the leader on this bat. I will go to Earth with you, and return to the bat when I’m satisfied everything is in order, and that the main body can be sent down.”

  “That sounds fine to me.” Fang was already halfway out of the optic chamber. “I’ll go and wake the others.” Bouncing in the low gravity, singing a gnomish song of joy, he hurried to the hibernation pouch.

  Sally was building a simple trap. She’d found the ideal spot the previous day when she’d been strolling the cliff path watching the gulls. She’d come across a recent rockfall where the cliff had crumbled, taking a bite out of the path so that she had to detour inland for a few meters. The pebbles still rattled down.

  Bushes stood nearby, carved into cowering shapes by the wind. She broke off the longest sticks and laid them across the narrow gully. Then she gathered twigs and placed them crosswise. Finally, by late afternoon, she’d patted moss into place and scattered leaves over the hole until the deception was perfect.

  Finished, she straightened up, watched the soaring gulls for a few moments, then did a curious thing.

  She unbuttoned her long-sleeved dress and pushed it off her shoulders so that it dropped and hung in folds around her waist. Her breasts were small and perfect, but there was nothing unusual in that, for a girl of her type. What was unusual were her arms. She stretched them out horizontally as though embracing the sea.

  She had only four fingers on each hand.

  The fifth, the thumb, was bent back and elongated as far as the shoulder. It held a pale bundle against her arm. At first glance this made her arms look unnaturally thick.

  Sally shrugged her shoulders, her breasts rose, the thumbs sprang away
from her arms, and her wings unfurled—large, white, the membrane covered with down, the larger feathers down-curved into an aerofoil. They were big and beautiful wings of which a swan might have been proud; but they were not big enough to carry Sally into the air.

  She flapped them nevertheless; great, slow sweeps as she watched the gulls circling an incoming fishing boat. Then she held them extended and motionless. She felt the wind lift some of the weight from her feet, making her feel lighter but not light enough.

  “I wish …” she sighed. “Oh, God how I wish that …” And she did not put her wish into words but allowed the tears to trickle down her cheeks as she watched the gulls in their effortless soaring. She dipped and curved her wings in imitation of the birds, her mind out there over the water, her eyes seeing the surface far below. …

  “Sally!”

  She stepped quickly back from the edge. She felt the wind on her breasts and looked down at herself. The human in her reasserted itself as she furled her wings and pulled her dress up, glancing around guiltily.

  Marc was running along the path toward her, red-faced and excited. “Come and look at what I’ve found!” he shouted before he reached her.

  Whatever it was, he obviously thought it was more interesting than her bare chest and bird envy. She followed him down toward the beach.

  He was taller than she, a year older, and quite different in build. His shoulders were broad and his arms long and extremely muscular, which had the effect of making his legs appear stumpy. He was dark-haired and handsome in a Cornish way. Sally found him attractive, which caused her parents some concern.

  “He’s just an ape-boy,” her mother had said on more than one occasion. “Why can’t you hang around with boys of your own kind?”

  Sally had tried, and failed, to explain that it was not the body of Marc that attracted her, powerful though it was. It was something about the way his mind worked. He always seemed to be in tune with her own thoughts. They both felt there were some questions somebody ought to be answering. Questions about the world beyond Mara Zion …