by Payne, Lee
"Ah." Leahn nodded sagely. "Shocking."
"As usual, our leader has stated the case a bit less than precisely," Erol said as he fiddled with the device. "To refer to the possibility of world awareness as a 'nutty theory' is not altogether accurate."
"I do want to be fair," the Commodore said. "How about interstellar hogwash? Is that closer to the mark?"
Ohan and Leahn settled in around the camp fire, ready for another evening of fascinating—if often incomprehensible—conversation.
"Those who study the myth and magic of primitive societies have long noted a curious fact," Elor explained. "Traditions abound all across the galaxy in connection with the ancient monuments of primitive man, the huge monoliths that seem far too large and heavy for him to move. The legends about them are remarkably similar. Early man called on the power of the worlds themselves to aid in raising these monuments. These myths are dismissed by many scientists."
"One needn't be a scientist to recognize simple-minded bilge," the Commodore snorted.
Elor amended his statement. "These myths are dismissed by scientist and layman alike. These same scientists spend a great deal of time trying to figure out how primitive man moved these great stones using only rudimentary technology. To observe the most advanced scientists of our age attempting to master stone-age skills can be amusing."
"And you don't agree with that approach?" Leahn asked.
"We can chip an obsidian arrowhead with the best of them and we have no doubt that stone-age engineers were fully capable of raising the structures we see around us in this forest, without the aid of giants or supernatural intervention. Yet there remain, here and there in the galaxy, primitive structures that cannot be so easily explained. But even these do not trouble some scientists as much as does the persistence of early man's belief in magic.
"We see it in the cave drawings of hunter-gatherers. They use magic to aid them in the hunt. They attempt to magically capture the essence of their quarry in their paintings. The very fact that primitive man has so often survived on so many hostile worlds shows that he was no fool. So the question arises, would he have continued to invoke this hunting magic if it wasn't effective?"
"At the mission school they told us we call things magic simply because we don't understand how they really work," Ohan said.
"Precisely the point," Elor said. "Only it's not the primitive man who called it magic because he didn't understand it. He may have understood it perfectly. It is modern science that doesn't understand it. And it is modern science that calls it magic.
"Further questions are raised by those who point out that most surviving religions are old. They were born in the earliest days on their own worlds. It is not that modern technological religions haven't been tried. They just haven't flourished. Why should this be? Is there a connection between the alleged magic used by primitive man when he was still close to nature, and his ability to create lasting faith? Was he, in fact, closer to his true essence back in those early days? Was he closer to the power of God?"
The Commodore could contain himself no longer. "The idea that just because some bozo lives naked in a tree and hunts bears with a stick, that this somehow makes him more spiritual than the rest of us is . . . is . . . "
While he was hunting for the proper word, Elor continued. "Some scientists have begun to wonder if planets are not similar to immensely powerful machines. An ordinary volcano dwarfs all but the largest fusion engines yet a volcano is merely a vent letting off a bit of the pressure inside a living world. If conditions are right, this immense power can generate a mantle of life—living forests and seas in a web of life so complex, so intertwined, so subtle that we cannot begin to comprehend it. Does this suggest an analogy to you?"
Ohan blinked. Was Elor asking him? He had to shake his head. He didn't even know what 'analogy' meant.
Apparently Elor didn't require an answer. He went on. "Some see a living planet as a vast power source overlaid with the unbelievable complexity of life—life bubbling up from power—feeding on it in interrelationships that cannot even be guessed at, then sinking back into it again. An immense engine, if you will, an immense replica of the human cortex overlying and powered by man's soul."
"What?" Ohan and Leahn cried together.
"There, you see?" the Commodore said triumphantly. "Even they won't buy it."
"What would be the purpose of such a . . . a machine?" Leahn asked incredulously.
Elor paused. "It's purpose is to create intelligence."
"What intelligence?" Leahn demanded.
"Yours and mine. Man and reptile. We do not stand apart from the web of life, we are elements of it. It created us."
"Well yes, in that sense, I suppose it did," Leahn admitted. "But to say that the world set out to create us would mean that the earth itself was intelligent, consciously intelligent."
Elor nodded. "That is the inescapable conclusion to which some have been led, the conclusion that has earned them the ridicule of their fellows."
"And richly deserved it is, if you ask me," the Commodore muttered.
"We know that when our brains crossed a certain point in size and in the sophistication of their connections, creative thought rather than instinct and reaction began to occur. And where do we find greater size and sophistication than in the web of life that envelops a living world? The question then becomes, can a world possess a single core where all the data from those connections can be gathered and processed—a single soul or spirit?"
"What nonsense," the Commodore growled. "Mankind has been rummaging around inside his own skull for ages searching for his soul. He hasn't found it yet."
"If we cannot recognize it within ourselves," Elor said, "how can we deny its existence elsewhere?"
"I can deny any damn thing I choose to deny."
"The trouble with being too chauvinistic and denying intelligence in others is that we may someday meet entities who deny intelligence in us. Some believe that planetary intelligence can be measured, that it should emanate more strongly from a primitive planet than from one that has long been settled and industrialized. Indeed, as we develop, we may begin to poison the very wellsprings from which that power emerges until, on a long-settled and industrialized planet, that power may be altogether dead. The final irony may be that by the time we become scientifically and philosophically advanced enough to recognize the existence of this primitive power, we have killed it in our own world."
There was a moment of silence around the little fire, broken only by its crackling and the distant sounds of the night.
"And that's the measuring device there?" Leahn indicated the machine Erol was holding.
"One more piece of junk these two have hornswoggled me into dragging around the universe," the Commodore grumbled.
"It is an ingenious variation on the gravity wave detectors first developed for interstellar navigation," Elor said. "The subtle emanations are superficially similar. With this device, we compare those of the various planets we visit with their level of development. So far, the correlation has been precise and predictable. The more primitive the planet, the more energy it seems to radiate. Your world is the exception."
"I'm afraid I don't . . . " Ohan began.
"Don't listen to them, lad," the Commodore cried. "It'll only make your head hurt. They think that just because your planet is shining like a lighthouse on their infernal dials, that you can't possible be as advanced as they think you are.
"Advanced indeed! Just look at yourself, lad. All you lack is a tail to be perfectly at home swinging through the trees. And Leahn here, lugging that rusty old sword around when a modern blaster is a twentieth the weight and a hundred times as efficient.
"No offense, children. It's just that the twins won't admit that their stupid machine is busted. That would be the simple explanation so naturally it won't do. It has to be some weird anachronism that exists only here, some bizarre throwback to your primitive past that we have to go tramping through the underbrush
to discover, all the while excusing ourselves for stomping so heavily on the world, lest it take offense and swallow us."
He laughed. "You don't stroll about the countryside chattering to the dirt beneath your feet, do you, lad?"
Ohan laughed too. Put that way, it did sound a little silly. He had watched the world's dreams many times but he hardly ever talked to dirt.
Erol gathered up his machine protectively and packed it away. "I hardly think it is 'busted', he said testily. "Not when it shows the precise increase in emissions that would be expected here among the trees over that which was registered out where they had all been cut down."
"Monitoring world awareness is merely one mission among several we pursue here," Elor said calmly. "Another is the search for the origin of the spaceship that has been parked in orbit over your seacoast for the past five centuries."
"What?" Ohan and Leahn said again.
Elor smiled. "We thought you might retain some racial memory of it among your people's myths. We were right. You called it the Star of Evil, once as bright as the sun, now a point of light seen briefly just after sunset. You said the other stars do not allow it to join them in the night sky."
"That's just a kids' story," Ohan protested. "No one ever said anything about a spaceship. It was one of the stories my mother used to tell me when I was little. They discourage those stories at school. They say our myths and legends are superstitious nonsense."
"They are wrong," Elor said. "Your people's stories are precisely what we have come all this way to hear." He took out a little crystal recorder and laid it on the ground in front of Ohan. "Would you tell us one?"
Ohan stared at the machine as if it were about to attack him. "Oh, I don't . . . I couldn't . . . I mean I'm not a storyteller. It's an art among my people, one handed down and practiced for years. All I know are children's tales."
"That should be just the thing," the Commodore said as he shifted his bedroll into a more comfortable position. "Tell us a bedtime story. If yours doesn't work, I'll tell one of mine. That always puts the twins away."
"Go on, sport," Leahn urged. "Nobody's told me a bedtime story in years, not the kind you would want to repeat in polite society, anyway."
Elor switched on the recorder.
"Well, all right," Ohan said reluctantly. "But don't blame me if it's too childish."
"Traditional children's stories are seldom childish," Elor assured him.
***
One day a large powerful horse was trotting along a forest path when he happened to meet the King of the Cats. Now horses do not usually deign to notice creatures as small as a cat and cats do not often come down near the forest floor, so these two creatures had not previously met.
On this particular occasion, however, the King of the Cats happened to be sitting on the aerial root of a water tree at about eye level when the horse came along.
This horse was a sly one and when he saw who it was, he said to the King of the Cats, "My dear King, I've heard so much about you and now we meet at last, face to face. This is indeed a pleasure. There is something I have always wondered about. Perhaps you can help me."
The King of the Cats smiled and said, "If there is any way in which a poor little forest creature such as myself can assist a mighty horse, I should be honored to do so."
The horse smiled to himself as he said, "I've always admired the way you cats are able to slip through the forest so quietly. Surely there must be some kind of secret way you have of doing this which I would be most grateful if you would teach me."
"Oh, goodness," said the King of the Cats. "Is that all? That's not much of a secret but I will gladly share it with you."
Now the horse could hardly keep from laughing out loud at the foolish cat, for he had been trying and trying to sneak up on the cats in order to stomp them beneath his great hoofs. This, as you know, is the kind of thing that horses enjoy doing, but the cats always hear him coming and run away. Now here was the silly King of the Cats about to tell him the cats' own secret way of travelling silently through the forest. It was all he could do to suppress his laughter and keep a serious look on his face.
"The solution is obvious," said the King of the Cats. "You horses all walk down on the ground and make noise while we cats walk up on the branches and are silent."
The horse looked puzzled. "I don't understand," he said.
"It's really quite simple," said the King of the Cats. "The earth is hollow, just like old trees become when they fall to the ground. When they lay on the ground the hollowness of the earth creeps into them and they too, become hollow, and if you beat on them with a stick, they make a great loud noise. But if you beat on a standing tree, it makes hardly any sound at all. When you, with your mighty hoofs, walk upon the hollow ground, you make a great noise just like beating a dead tree with a stick. When we cats walk upon the living trees, we naturally make no sound at all, for the living trees are not hollow."
The horse was not convinced. "You mean if I were to walk on the branches, I would make no sound?"
"You don't have to take my word for it," said the King of the Cats. "Try it yourself and see."
So the horse reared up on his hind legs and brought his front hoofs down with a mighty crash on the high root right next to where the King of the Cats was sitting. The tree shook and the forest rang with the force of the blow. The King of the Cats was so frightened he almost leaped out of his skin. But he quickly composed himself and said, There, you see? That made hardly any noise at all."
"What!" cried the surprised horse. "That was an even louder noise than I make when I walk upon the ground."
"Well of course it sounded loud to you," said the King of the Cats, "just as the grinding of your own teeth sounds loud to you when you are chewing grass. But no one else can hear it."
The horse ground his teeth together and listened to the sound inside his head. Then he pounded his hoof down on the high root again. The King of the Cats was bounced half an inch into the air by the force of the blow. "There, you see?" he said. "Not a sound. If you don't believe me, ask anyone."
The horse looked around. Their conversation had attracted the attention of a number of forest creatures. There was a big tusker, some rats, a night flyer and several others.
The horse reared up and came crashing down on the root once more. He turned and glared at the assembled creatures. "Did any of you hear that?" he asked.
The animals looked at the horse. Then they looked at the King of the Cats who was trying to appear nonchalant. Then they looked at the horse again and all shook their heads. "I thought I heard something like the sighing of the breeze in the topmost branches of the trees," said a little bird, "but I'm not sure."
The horse was amazed. "But this is of little use to me," he said to the King of the Cats, "for I am too big and heavy to walk about on tree branches."
"Nonsense," smiled the King of the Cats. "They're much stronger than they look. All it takes is a little practice. You'll soon get used to it and then you'll be able to gallop through the forest as quickly and silently as I do."
Then a look of concern crossed the face of the King of the Cats. "Why," he said nervously, "since you are so big and strong, you may even be able to run faster through the treetops than I."
The horse smiled reassuringly. "Oh, I doubt that I should ever become as quick and as good at it as you. Where do I start?"
"Well," said the King of the Cats, "if you really insist on doing this, I suppose you might go over to where this high root enters the ground and walk up toward me."
The horse walked around to where the wide arched root entered the ground and stepped up onto it. He stomped on it with his hoof and looked around. All the forest creatures tried to look as if they hadn't heard anything. The horse took a few more steps. The root was wide and flat where it entered the ground though it became narrower as it approached the tree, it was still more than strong enough to support his weight. He continued carefully on, higher and higher.
T
he King of the Cats backed up along the high root as the horse advanced toward him until he was right up against the trunk of the tree.
"That was easy enough," said the horse. "Now what do I do?"
The King of the Cats turned and looked up at the tree trunk. "The branches are too high on this tree. Why don't you back down and we will find one where they are easier to get to?"
The horse looked around him, at the nearest branches high above and at the ground far below. "Horses do not like to back up," he said.
"Well, you could try to turn around," said the King of the Cats, "though it is rather narrow."
The horse tried to turn around and found it rather narrow. He tried to back down and discovered he didn't like that either. He tried to turn around again, lost his balance and fell off, landing with a very loud crash on the ground where he broke his armored neck and died.
Everyone for miles around heard the mighty crash. It was just as if you struck a great hollow tree with the biggest stick you could find.
***
The Commodore poked at the campfire, sending a burst of sparks swirling up into the darkness. "Nicely told, lad," he said, "though exactly what kind of socio-political nonsense the twins will be able to root out of it, I'm sure I can't imagine. And it seems to have failed in its primary mission, in that it hasn't put anyone to sleep. Now if it's tales you want, let me tell you about the time I encountered a god."
The twins shifted uneasily. "Oh, have you fellows heard this before?" the Commodore asked innocently. "Surely you won't mind if I tell it just once more for the edification of the two new members of our little troop? It was one of those rare and strange encounters which will someday enable philosophers to illuminate the theological structure of the universe. I call it Odin at the Bar."
Erol reached out and switched off the recorder, then clapped a hand on each side of his head where most humans had ears and burrowed down into his bedroll. The Commodore ignored him.
"The far Antares are a seedy bunch of dim stars out beyond the edge of nowhere," he began. "Compared to them, this forsaken dustbin is the center of the Milky Way.