But he spoke of the future, not the past.
He spoke of the growing civilizations of mankind, the Consumer Wars of the Fifty-Fifth Millennium, the building of the first Pleasure Domes, the Great Ice Age when the Domes saved mankind, the Age of Resurgence and the reconquest of space. He spoke in pictures so that Nyneve could see it all; and she watched with her mind, entranced by the glory that was to come.
He spoke of mankind’s meeting with those space-going genetic engineers, the kikihuahuas—that pivotal meeting that was thought by humans to be the first encounter of the two species—yet was not the first. He spoke of the long line of Specialist humans arising from the early work of Mordecai N. Whirst: of Raccoona Three and Captain Spring, of Melisande, Karina, and Brutus the gorilla-man.
He spoke of the neotenites trapped in the Dome, of the creation of the Triad, and the long line of Dedos from Old South America. He spoke of the later years and the Dying Years, when the sole remaining repository of knowledge was the giant computer, the Rainbow—which was slowly running down. He told Nyneve how the odd-looking survivors of the human race would gather around a Rainbow terminal they called Alan-Blue-Cloud and listen to stories of long ago.
And he told Nyneve that he would die. He, the almighty Starquin, would die eons before Earth did, unless she helped him.
Nyneve, it is said, asked one question.
“Must I change?”
Starquin told her to be herself always, because that was why she’d been chosen. Her course was already plotted out. Then, to reinforce his instructions, he told her how he would die.
She cried, because it was so sad. And Avalona, watching her, nodded to herself in satisfaction.
Merlin was sitting before the fire when they arrived back at the cottage. He glanced up as they entered. “You’ve been long enough,” he observed querulously.
“I told you to guard the Rock,” said Avalona.
“It was windy up there. I was frozen. Do you want me to die of pneumonia?” He used this word from the future with weak belligerence. Something of a hypochondriac, he was given to morbid explorations of the ifalong, seeking out rare and deadly diseases and invariably detecting their symptoms in himself.
“You have disobeyed the Code.”
“Bugger the Code. It’s your Code, not mine, anyway. I’m only a Paragon, remember?”
Avalona said, “You are also the cause of all the trouble on Earth, both past and future.”
“That’s hardly fair. I haven’t caused any trouble yet.”
“Your kind has. And you will cause trouble in the ifalong. I foretold it.”
He glared at her in senile fury, trembling. “You foretold it? You foretold it? So how in hell can I help that? According to you, my future is all mapped out. So it can’t be my fault, can it? I can’t alter it.”
“You could, but you won’t. Not on enough happentracks to have much effect. You are simply that kind of person, Merlin—the kind of person who leaves the Rock unguarded, for instance—and it’s unalterable. It’s a typical Paragon weakness, and it dates right back to Siang and the Thing-he-Did.”
“Siang and the Thing-he-Did!” mimicked Merlin furiously. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it!”
“Almost everything on Earth comes back to that,” said Avalona. …
Starquin arrived in the solar system in the Paragonic Year One, and found that the third planet from the sun supported primitive life. Being a tenuous creature of pure intelligence, he had little to occupy himself except travel, and thinking. So he looked at the planet that would become Earth and allowed himself to become curious. Time meant nothing to him. He foretold an ifalong and metaphorically sat back to see if it all worked out.
He created physical extensions of himself to observe; they took the appearance of a future dominant life-form so that they would not appear out of place in the millennia to come. They were capable of asexual reproduction, which made them relatively independent. They became known as Dedos, or Fingers of Starquin, to later humans. They bore daughters through the ages.
They were fashioned from Earth material, however—and Earth animals reproduced sexually; so dictated the genes. So a Dedo occasionally gave birth to a different creature: a throwback to primitive Earth stock; a male. These males were useless to Starquin’s purpose—yet legend tells that he took an interest in them because of the part they played in Earth’s development. They were called Paragons by later humans because they were reputed—incorrectly, as we shall see—to be totally good.
One such Paragon was Merlin. Another much earlier Paragon was Siang. He became the most famous of all. …
Siang and his mother, a beautiful Dedo called Isahi, lived in a continent that was later to receive the name “Africa.” Siang spent his days roaming the jungles of his homeland, in communion with the animals. The primates interested him particularly, because they were physically similar to himself. He guessed they would evolve into the dominant species in millennia to come, because Isahi had explained why she and he were made the way they were.
The African primates consisted of the gorilla, the chimpanzee and the chaiga. Siang watched them, played with them and learned their language. Of the three species, the chaiga was the most intelligent and its language the most complex. It was clear, however, that the chaiga was not destined to become Earth’s dominant life-form because it was already dying out. Siang asked his mother about this.
“The running apes?” This was her name for the chaiga. “They evolved into their present form long ago, during millennia of drought when the land was covered by scrub. They came down out of the trees and roamed the plains, preying on small animals that they ate raw. At the time they were successful; they could run fast, and they stood tall and could see danger a long way off.”
“But then the jungle came back,” guessed Siang.
“Yes. And the small ground animals disappeared, and with them the evolutionary advantages of the chaiga. Now they huddle in little families in the jungle, eating fruit in competition with the chimpanzees and the monkeys, who climb much better, and preyed upon by leopards. The running apes are doomed.”
“And the chimpanzees will inherit the Earth?”
“Probably. I would need to make a detailed study of the ifalong to be sure. Do you want me to do that, Siang?”
He regarded her thoughtfully. She was young for a Dedo; no more than thirty thousand years old, and she was tall and slim, with glossy black hair. Humans of later ages would have said she was a very lovely woman, probably because she and her fellow Dedos set the original standards for human beauty. But her loveliness did not reach her eyes, which were like stones seen in a cold mountain stream, and terrifying to Siang.
Siang was a gentle man and compassionate. Probably that is why he hated his mother.
Isahi did not hate him back. In fact, she was probably unaware of his feelings. She accepted him for what he was, an inferior who had been born by an unfortunate accident.
“Don’t bother about the ifalong,” he said, and the familiar feeling of futility grew in him. What was the use of learning and wondering and speculating about the future of life when his mother could foretell the whole passage of history right up to the death of Earth? What was the use of anything? It was best to go back to his jungle home where there were no reminders of his terrible mother. His home was simple: a platform ten feet from the ground, roofed over, which held his bed and a few simple tools—and Ap-Ap, a chaiga less timid than most.
He’d adopted Ap-Ap some years ago, when her mother had been killed by a leopard. The tiny, naked baby had grown into a hairy adult who shared Siang’s food and shelter, giving him an odd kind of companionship in return for protection against predators. They were able to converse in her simple language of grunts and squeaks, and Siang had made some attempts to teach Ap-Ap more abstract concepts.
Ap-Ap had tried to teach Siang, too.
She would make a short run across the jungle floor, glancing over her shoulder. Her face w
ould express fear. Then she would stop and turn to face what Siang took to be an imaginary pursuer. Then she would grin, exposing long canines. Unlike the grin of a chimpanzee, this expression was not intended to be a threat.
“Pakapata,” she would say.
“But what does it mean?”
“Pakapata” She would take his hand and pump it up and down impatiently.
One day, deep in the jungle, they encountered a small tribe of chaiga. The creatures regarded Ap-Ap with interest and exchanged grunts and clicks. This went on for some time while Siang watched tolerantly; after all, he had nothing better to do for the next few thousand years. Then Ap-Ap, as though remembering his presence, took his hand and pointed at each of the six chaiga in turn.
“Ku,” she said. “Ku, ku, pakapata, ku, pakapata.”
And the four kus lay down with closed eyes, while the two pakapatas jumped up and down, grinning and slapping their thighs.
They re-encountered the tribe the following spring, to find two of the kus missing. With complicated grunting and miming, Ap-Ap gave Siang to understand that had been killed by leopards.
“You don’t suppose they can read the ifalong and foretell their own deaths?” he suggested to Isahi, later.
“Impossible.”
“It’s the second time this has happened. They seem to know which of their number will survive, and their word for it is pakapata.”
Legend tells that Isahi thought about this for a year. She had recently taken a quick glance into the ifalong and foreseen her own death, so she had made certain adjustments within her body and started a parthenogenic baby to take her place as guardian of the nearby Rock. During her examination of the ifalong she had noticed the appearance of a new mammal: another primate, similar to the chaiga but infinitely more intelligent.
Clearly this was the species that would dominate Earth.
Yet it had evolved so quickly, and was already widespread a thousand years into the ifalong. There was something strange about this. Isahi sighed. She must delve into the ifalong again. It would be tiring, and she needed all her strength to sustain her baby through the four-year gestation period.
She closed her eyes and visualized happentracks. It was easier work than in later years, when the proliferation of intelligent life caused an infinite number of happentracks to branch off every microsecond, and the Dedos had to foretell by trends and averages. In Isahi’s neighborhood there were only two creatures with the ability to make branchworthy decisions: she and Siang. Even so, it took Isahi two days of continuous projecting, considering, rejecting or accepting alternatives before she had her answer.
Exhausted and hungry, she stood. She walked to the doorway and uttered a high, wavering whistle. After a moment, a large reptilian creature scuttled into the clearing, moving on six strong, clawed legs, vestigial wings rustling at its flanks. It paused, awaiting a word.
Isahi was Siang’s mother, but it was not within her to feel emotion.
So in a level voice she instructed her monster to kill her son.
Ap-Ap loped across the forest glade with her favorite creature, the big bald ape, beside her. She was hungry and she was going to show him where some ripe fruit was—fruit the chimps hadn’t found yet. They had been headed off by a chaiga with pakapata. There had been more babies born with pakapata recently. It was heartening. True, there had been some mating with the chimps—and here Ap-Ap, at the base of a tree, gave a shudder of disgust so that Siang looked at her curiously—but no babies would come of it. It was a small price to pay for the wonder of pakapata.
Ap-Ap climbed and greeted a chaiga sitter. (The concept of “guard” was a little too abstract for the running apes.) Ap-Ap and the sitter grasped hands briefly. Happy, she climbed on. There were sitters all around this area, and so far this season they had diverted all chimp and monkey forays with pakapata. She reached the crown of the tree and gathered an armful of ripe, pink fruit. Then she swung down carefully to where the big bald ape stood.
“Ta uk,” Siang said. He was thanking her.
She chattered with pride, happy to have served this clever creature. Together they began to eat the fruit. Ap-Ap became so engrossed that she failed to notice the rustling in the bush that might have meant leopard.
But a second later she heard the squeal from the sitter.
“Leopard! Chaiga run!”
Instinctively she leaped for the trunk and began to swing herself up. She was ten feet from the ground before she remembered the big bald ape.
“Leopard!” she screamed down at him.
He was looking around, not understanding, seemingly puzzled at her abrupt departure.
“Leopard!”
The creature came bounding out of the bush and threw itself at the big bald ape, clawing and snapping. It was not a leopard. It was far worse than any leopard Ap-Ap had ever seen. It was bigger and it had too many legs, and it was clawing her friend to pieces. It was an unnatural demon down there, totally terrifying.
Which made Ap-Ap’s deed all the braver.
She dropped to the ground and faced the monster. It looked at her with blazing eyes. For a moment it forgot its victim in its astonishment at her temerity. It coughed, and she saw its jaws were crimson with the blood of the big bald ape. It took a step toward her.
Pakapata, she thought.
Siang awakened. He was lying on a soft bed of dried moss, safe on the floor of his tree house. Sunlight filtered through the woven fronds of the roof, and the hum of insects was familiar and reassuring. He’d had a terrible dream. He’d dreamed his own mother, Isahi, had set her monster on him. No wonder he felt weak.
He tried to sit up.
A hand pushed him back, gently. He raised his own hand in protest, and saw the blood on it. It was dried, and the wounds seemed to be healing.
Now the owner of the restraining hand came into view. It was a stranger, naked and oddly beautiful, quite unlike the apes to which he’d become accustomed. It was, he realized, a female—of some species very similar in appearance to himself.
It was the future dominant form!
Siang stared at the girl, wondering where she had come from. He spoke to her, but she didn’t reply. She seemed nervous but gentle, and she brought him fruit and bathed his wounds with damp moss. When she came close he reached but and touched her, wondering at the softness of her skin and the inexplicable emotions she aroused in him. As-the spears of sunlight traversed the room and finally faded out, he hoped she would stay with him. She said nothing as the light grew dim, but sat on the floor nearby and watched him gravely.
She was still there in the morning, and the next day, too. He wondered where the rest of her tribe were, and where they had been hiding all these years while Isahi and he had speculated about the emergence of a dominant species. And she belonged to that species; there was no doubt about it. She was—what was the word going to be?—human.
And she affected him emotionally.
On the third night the fever took him and he thrashed and cried and dreamed, and in his lucid moments she was there, restraining him from hurting himself, bathing his brow with cool wetness, murmuring wordlessly. Then, toward dawn, something else occurred; something so strange and wonderful that centuries later he could remember it as though it were yesterday—without being able to say, exactly, this is what happened.
It was something to do with the female, and soft arms and legs and breasts, and skin against skin, and a slow-growing sensation of happiness that seemed to burst open like a flower. The female was lying beside him when he came to his senses, the room cool and bright, his fever broken.
Then she left him, and he never saw her again.
Siang confronted his mother.
“Your creature tried to kill me!”
“Yes. I told him to.”
“He failed.” He smiled grimly. Once he’d finished with Isahi he would go away, across the continent. Maybe he would find the female human somewhere. She was all that mattered, now.
“
He failed on this happentrack. On a billion others he succeeded. There are now countless happentracks on which you, Siang, do not exist. I have done the best I can.”
“But why?”
“There were happentracks on which you would commit an ultimate sin, and interfere irrevocably with the development of life on this planet. I could not allow that. It is against the will of Starquin and the Code by which he acts.”
“I observe life. I don’t interfere.”
“You would merge your genes with those of the running ape. And since your genes are compatible with any Earth life-form, this would mean the emergence of a new species. A species that Starquin does not intend should arise for millions of years.”
Siang stared at her. “You’re saying I would mate with a chaiga, like a sexual animal? That’s ridiculous!”
Isahi said, “You would be deceived into the act.”
“How?”
“I scanned the ifalong and saw it. You would allow yourself to become dependent on a female running ape for food and drink, and she would develop an attachment to you.”
“I don’t see anything wrong in that. We both use the local species, one way or another.”
Isahi spoke slowly, as though to one of little intelligence. “The running ape has a new talent. It can plant a hypnotic image into the mind of other life-forms—an image of whatever that life-form most wishes to see. So to an aggressive male chimp the running ape may appear as a female chimp. A female leopard may see a male leopard. It is an excellent survival characteristic. They call it pakapata, in their primitive language.”
There was a long silence, then: “Oh, Starquin, forgive me,” he whispered.
She stared into his eyes. “It’s already happened, hasn’t it?”
Siang said nothing, thinking of the gentle creature who had looked after him; of her beauty and kindness, and of that last night when, yes, possibly he had merged genes with her. But how could he have known what that ecstatic sensation meant? It had never happened before.
Fang, the Gnome (Song of Earth) Page 15