by Zach Hughes
Seed of the Gods
Zach Hughes
Scanned by Highroller. Proofed by the best elf proofer. Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet. The Book of Rack the Healer Zach Hughes I For the pleasure of Deepsoft the Keeper, the arching dome of her chamber was drawn to a thinness that admitted the dayglow. Through the membranous shell filtered yellowish purple light reflected from the clouds of noxious gases that, at the end of the sun circle, lifted from dank, dark valleys and thickened the atmosphere. The shifting light attracted Deepsoft's wide, pink eyes. Her heavy head lifted, nodded, jerked. Her long-fingered hands plucked at her coverlet. Her legs moved awkwardly with a lack of coordination. She made a sound of pleasure as winds high above swirled the thick atmosphere, and the dome glowed russet for a long time. The coverlet, made of the same material as the dome, the sleep-rack on which Deepsoft lay, and the one chair that completed the furnishings of her chamber, bunched up and exposed the lower segment of her nude body. Her feet kicked aimlessly, brushing the warm, soft wall. Her brain registered the sensations—shifting light, smoothness on the soles of her feet, warmth, comfort, the flex of the coverlet under her fingers. She lifted her head and made the pleasure sounds. Time was meaningless. As her movements jostled her full stomach she burped wetly. A trickle ran from her full lips down her white chin. Overhead the cooling masses of polar air caused condensed moisture to fall in huge, fat drops on the dome. She clucked in delight. One long arm lifted, reached up as if to touch the splat, splat sounds. The light turned purple again, changing the shadows on her face. Her mood changed with the light, her face twisting. Her lips made an explosive, complaining sound; her brain was now registering discomfort. She needed. Her entire consciousness sent out the need and it was urgent. Red Earth the Far Seer left his contemplation in the adjoining chamber to tend her. She was momentarily distracted in an amusing effort to stand, supported by Red Earth. Her legs were rubbery in spite of their firm tone. He held her and communicated soothing things as he positioned her and listened as she completed the basic function. Although his smooth knob of a head had no ears or eyes, he sensed all in great detail. Deepsoft tried to thrust one of her long-fingered, graceful hands between her spread legs to feel the results. «Negative, negative,» he sent, slapping her hand lightly. He gave no pain for it would have taught no lesson, would have registered as a meaningless hurt having no connection with her innocent desire to thrust her hand into warmth. He cleaned her, feeling pleasure in her rounded, full form. Deepsoft. She was aptly named. Night was near. He put her into the sleeprack and raised the protective siding, the siding which was made of the Material. Her hands felt along the smooth surface of it. His own hands also partook of pleasure as they caressed her face. Deepsoft made little pleasure sounds and reached for his hand. Her body moved. In contrast to the awkwardness of her limbs her body was a sultry entity. Her mid-section lifted in an inviting rhythm. Red Earth, who had been roused from deep contemplation by her need, had been about to depart. But now he stood undecided, and then examined her. His bulky, tough-skinned, bare knob did not move, since there were no eyes to follow her length, no ears to hear her sounds. But his hands knew her long, white legs. His hands caressed the firm roundness of her chest bulges. His senses traced her and measured her and she relaxed and lay still as his hand teased, pressed. Her pink eyes followed the shifting light patterns above, but her body was attuned to the sensations of his fingers pleasing her. Then the momentary diversion was over and he was gone. Her eyes widened to gather the fading light. Movements of great cloud masses in the storms that accompanied the end of the sun circle isolated Red Earth's establishment. The stagnant gases made the dim distances seem vaster as visibility was reduced. Light-sensing organs could not penetrate even as far to the north as the beginnings of the plains of glass. Only the senses of one such as Red Earth could see the great river and the high escarpment to the west. Only Red Earth, in his establishment, could read the density of concentrated gases in the rift valley to the south and could penetrate the toxic gases to see the motionless, misshapen vegetation on the valley floor. He saw all. He saw the shift of frequency in the atmosphere where Deepsoft's inferior light-sensing organs saw only the shift of color. In his sanctuary, Red Earth idly noted the condition of the surrounding environment. The survival factor was low, as usual at the end of the sun circle. He mourned, the build-up of stagnant poisons and the decline of breathable air. He could feel the rise in temperature when a particularly dense cloud passed and the far sun sent its dying rays through the eternal haze. He shivered internally as he sensed the polar masses moving south and east. But even as he registered these impressions, he searched his area of responsibility. Everything seemed normal. In far-scattered establishments his people were shut away from the toxic storms, comfortable with their carefully nurtured hoards of air-making Breathers. During his rounds, he passed a casual greeting with his coresponsor Growing Tree, who used only a small amount of energy to answer as he tended a colony of Juicers at the Eastern Group Establishment. It was a moment of peace, if one could ignore the storm and the consequent lessening purity of the atmosphere. But it was always thus and those who cried disaster when the storms blew had cried disaster before. A Power Giver soared high above the roiling clouds. Red Earth did not bother to establish contact or to ascertain identity. Power Givers were notoriously capricious. The flight, of course, was a shameful waste, but it was her own energies and substance the Power Giver was consuming. If one fulfilled one's responsibilities, one's actions were one's own—a principle that held even for Power Givers. Yet, the waste vaguely disturbed Red Earth and he sought to distract himself by watching two young Healers, at the mid-point of their learning. They were moving outside, using stored life for long periods. As they were unable to utilize the outside air with its high toxic content, their lungs held pure air and their gills pumped out poisons. A Webber had escaped an establishment adjacent to the Eastern Group Establishment. Red Earth watched anxiously until the two youngsters, moving slowly, not wasting life or force, herded the weakening Webber back to her kind in the enclosure. She would survive. Near the sea, the process of food-making continued with pleasing steadiness. And, more exciting, a rare joining was in process. Without prying openly, Red Earth took satisfaction in the beautiful act. He lifted his feelings to the toxic sky and, although there was no movement of his bare knob of a head, the effect was a nod of blessing and pleasure. A new life was being created. That he himself would never know the true beauty of the act was unimportant. He felt no jealousy for the Healer engaged in joining with a Power Giver, creating life. It was the nature of things. In return, Healers and Power Givers held no envy for his ability to achieve the pleasure of the act repeatedly, even though that mysterious force which governed life allowed the Healers and the Power Givers only one or two unions. Nature gave the Far Seers pleasure to compensate for their inability to create life, and, always logical, limited the fertile ones. A dying planet was capable of supporting just so many. Red Earth carried many burdens, but the burdens were not without their rewards. And Far Seers were accustomed to the burdens, having long since become resigned to responsibility. Deepsoft. Power Givers could squander their precious substance in meaningless soarings above the toxic clouds for the simple joys of vision unobscured by clouds of dense gases and of breathing the thin wisps of pure air. Healers could ramble aimlessly. Each had his duty and if it were performed the Far Seers would see to their survival. The storms would pass. The noxious, heavy gases would settle back into the valleys. Then even one so fragile as Deepsoft could bask outside in the glow of the filtered sun. Life would go on under the high clouds of summer. The new joining on the eastern sea would produce—what? Hopefully, a Far Seer. Or, perhaps, just perhaps, the long awaited Ne
w One. That wish, Red Earth knew, was pure indulgence. Nature and nature alone could anticipate the need for a New One. He, in his limited wisdom, could not dare to imagine the needs dictated by the planet. Still he allowed himself to wonder about the New One. Would he be able to eat the poisonous leafy things? Breathe the toxic vapors? Be warmed rather than damaged by the projectiles shot down through the perpetual haze by the sun? Only nature would know. But when the New One came, as he inevitably would, then the Far Seers, the Keepers, the Power Givers, and the Healers and all the rest would be the Old Ones and life would continue despite the giant flares of the sun that tried their worst to return the planet to primordial emptiness. It was a comfort to believe. Red Earth turned back to his tasks. He recorded the rise of the planet's satellite to the east, his sense bouncing there and back with a noticeable lag. He felt the solidity there and tested the depth of the craters. He searched, unsuccessfully of course, for breathable air, life-giving water, and symbiotic Breathers on the satellite. Then he turned to the sister worlds circling the sun, other planets unseen by any save the Far Seers, sensing, measuring, recording. For his records, Red Earth sent the information he had gleaned into the vast storehouse of Deepsoft's brain—the rise of the satellite, the noted moment of the joining, the positions of the sister worlds, the flare activity of the sun. It was recorded and read back. Deepsoft lay very, very still. He was pleased. His measurements and the movement of air masses from the south confirmed the end of a sun circle. Now was a time of beginning, a time of renewed hope. He had seen beginnings. He never failed to anticipate each new one. Moreover, he never lost hope even when his measurements, and the readings of other Far Seers, were discouraging. He had traveled on the force of a Power Giver to the vast waters of the south. Hovering high above he had seen the sea of slime, the natural breeding ground of the Breathers. Once, he had actually measured an increase in the number of Breathers
—the record of it was stored in his Keeper's brain. But the green slime of the next sun circle was dense, causing their numbers to decline abruptly. In all the vast, murky seas there was only a tiny area in the south where currents, winds, or some other unknown factor allowed a frighteningly small colony of Breathers to survive. But nature would not allow defeat. A world was solidity, reality, and to comprehend the solidity and the reality life, a thinking brain, was required. To envision a world without life was to negate the basic purpose of all creation. No, the Breathers would adapt; they would learn to live atop the thick, heavy water. Life would go on. And someday the New One would be born and the last remaining resources of this depleted planet would produce dynamic life springing exuberantly upward. The thoughts of Red Earth the Far Seer ran on as he lay slumped into his rack, huge chest moving only occasionally, red gills lying idle, since the air of the establishment was pure. All around him, in enclosures lining the walls, were the Breathers, eating, growing, breeding, using their small, half plant, half insect bodies to return to the air the life-giving particles that, in turn, found their way into Red Earth's system. In the night no star shone. The satellite, unseen by light-sensing organs, moved only in Red Earth's senses. He did not stir until it was at the zenith. Then he rose and advanced to Deepsoft's chamber on thin, short legs that extended from small hips below a flat belly and the huge, bulbous mass of his chest. His hide was thick, and deep gray in color. His shoulders tapered upward into the cone-shaped knob of his head in which there were two orifices: the small, round feeding mouth and the hairy maw of his breather. On the side of his head just above his shoulders, were his gill slits, which now exhaled his body poisons, cleansing his lungs for an extended period of nonbreathing. Deepsoft fed on the broth of life, the universal energy concentrate distilled at the Eastern Group Establishment from the green slime source of the sea. After she was fed, she seized one of Red Earth's fingers. She smiled, holding it tightly. He lowered the protective railing and joined her. She made sounds of pleasure and Red Earth blanked his thoughts, yielding to pleasure as she cooed in response to his givings of sensation. II As chance would have it, Rack the Healer was given his free time as the storms moved down from the cool north at the end of sun circle. Growing Tree the Far Seer assigned a Power Giver who was also finished with her duty to transport Rack to his home area. In preparation Rack breathed deeply, voided his gill sacks of rejected vapors, and closed off. He used stored air until the perpetual clouds were a blanket of color below them and the Power Giver thoughtfully sent a picture letting Rack know that the air here was nontoxic. Rack's huge chest heaved as his lungs breathed the thin but delicious mixture. His pleasure communicated to the Power Giver and she laughed. Above them the sun was a deadly furnace, taking its toll. Rack's large scales made an audible clattering noise as they rose to form small deflection areas. He knew that the hide of the Power Giver was being penetrated and he was momentarily saddened. Yet it was the nature of things. He would be the last to suggest to the freedom-loving Power Giver that she confine her flight to lower levels, where the thick atmosphere would shield her relatively fragile body from the deadly projectiles. Had he been born a Power Giver, he knew he too would seek the exultation of being able to soar above the heavy gases to see and, to smell the thin, pure air. It was, he suspected, ample compensation. All life eventually ended, and the price of pleasure was death. Still in his rare transports inside the power field of one of these fragile, beautiful beings, it always sobered him to feel her depleting her very substance to obtain the energy needed to lock into the planet's magnetic field and thereby negate the pull of the earth in soaring flight far above the curve of the planet. When she landed him near his establishment in the area of Red Earth the Far Seer he bowed gratefully. She was away with a joyous leap, fading quickly into the purpling air. She would need to find rest and protection soon, for the yellow haze was thickening. His establishment was precisely as he had left it at the beginning of the summer when he had gone to fulfill his duty as a gatherer of the slime source, the pulpy plants growing on the floor of the shallow, inshore seas. He vented the accumulated poisons from his gills and breathed the clean, rich air. In his absence the Breathers had literally overloaded the dome with good air and it was sheer luxury to fall heavily into his rack and feel life being pumped into all his storage cells as he worked his huge chest like a bellows, breathing with sheer extravagance. He slept long and peacefully and awoke to take his fill of the broth. He stretched his long, agile legs, took in huge lungfuls of his rich air, and made an audible sound of pleasure. His Breathers were healthy and producing happily. In his absence, of course, they had been regularly monitored by Red Earth, but Rack double-checked their enclosures. He found that the feeding channels to the outside were slightly corroded and he cleaned them carefully. After cleaning the entry port and lock he discovered his housekeeping tasks were finished. Already bored he wandered about his establishment aimlessly. Healers were, in general, a restless lot and Rack was no exception. As a youth, he had caused considerable concern among his teachers by exhibiting a startling lack of direction or ambition. His name derived from a picture assigned to him by his mother because he had seemed content to spend all his time in the sleeprack, his mind in contact with any available Keeper, probing into the accumulated lore of the race with an idle curiosity. If he had been interested in knowledge for the sake of learning rather than for its entertainment value, his teachers had argued, his constant Keeper contact would have been justified. But Rack had not been interested in dry facts such as the positions of the sister worlds, survival factors, and the state of the native Breather population in the southern seas. Instead he had delved deeply into the mind banks of the oldest Keepers, wanting to hear the ancient lore regarding the origin of the race, asking stupid questions about the Old Ones. Once he had incurred the wrath of a Far Seer when he tied up the minds of three Keepers at once with questions regarding reported findings of hard-material nuggets. Red Earth discovered that he was unable to record observations because Rack was monopolizing his personal Keeper. Monitoring the contac
t, he was chagrined to discover that the young Healer was seriously interested in trying to gather enough information to make it possible for him to amass a personal hoard of hard-material nuggets. To Red Earth, hard-material nuggets were interesting and had often led to speculative discussions regarding the talents and abilities of the Old Ones, but they were totally useless. It was true that in the lands across the eastern sea hard-material nuggets were used as a reward for services rendered by duty-driven citizens, but there were many strange things about those who inhabited the land beyond the sea. Red Earth did not want to see his area become involved in the useless accumulation of valueless objects. He had reprimanded Rack the Healer severely, had recommended an educational tour of gathering fresh slime-source plants from the chill waters of the far north, and had been pleased to find that Rack had matured when he returned. On only one other occasion had Rack displeased the Far Seers. In his first tour out of the Eastern Group Establishment, his work output had been seriously low on certain days. Red Earth discovered that once again Rack was probing the storage mind of Growing Tree's Keeper about the Old Ones and in particular about the sunken city of Nar. Where Rack had found that particular bit of folk legend was a puzzle for Red Earth, for all such pseudoinformation had long before been erased from the mind banks. Perhaps Rack had discovered it hidden in some Keeper's mind where it had been filed out of context and he had searched for the nonexistent sunken city to the detriment of his slime-source quota. During a long session with Rack, Red Earth had tried to impress on him the importance of responsibility, duty to the race, and the need to bend every effort toward survival. Too long had the Far Seers been alone in the knowledge that life on the planet was precarious at best. And at first Red Earth had thought that Rack's inquiring mind was receptive. He listened carefully to Red Earth's summary of conditions, agreed that one should not waste one's energies in chasing the ghosts of the Old Ones but should, instead, search for ways, however small, of improving conditions. «We are the results of evolution,» Red Earth told him. Rack received a picture of a period of sun circles so vast and so protracted, the images of sun circles extending back and back, that his mind was not capable of seeing the whole. «All of us—Far Seers, Healers, Keepers, Power Givers