I liked him not at all. The words of forgotten crimes came into my mind: assassination, murder, abduction, insanity, rape, robbery . . .
We had known none of these things and yet I felt them all.
He spoke evenly to me. We had both been careful to guard our minds against being read telepathically, so that our only means of communication were empathy and French.
“It’s your idea,” he said, most untruthfully, “or at least your lady’s…”
“Has lying already come into the world,” said I, “so that we walk into the clouds for no reason at all?”
“There is a reason,” said Macht.
I pushed Virginia gently aside and capped my mind so tightly that the anti-telepathy felt like a headache.
“Macht,” said I, and I myself could hear the snarl of an animal in my own voice, “tell me why you have brought us here or I will kill you.”
He did not retreat. He faced me, ready for a fight. He said, “Kill? You mean, to make me dead?” but his words did not carry conviction. Neither one of us knew how to fight, but he readied for defense and I for attack.
Underneath my thought shield an animal thought crept in: good man good man take him by the neck no-air he-aaah no-air he-aaah like broken egg– I took the advice without worrying where it came from. It was simple. I walked over to Macht, reached my hands around his throat, and squeezed. He tried to push my hands away. Then he tried to kick me. All I did was hang on to his throat. If I had been a Lord or a Go-captain, I might have known about fighting. But I did not, and neither did he.
It ended when a sudden weight dragged at my hands.
Out of surprise, I let go.
Macht had become unconscious. Was that dead?
It could not have been, because he sat up. Virginia ran to him. He rubbed his throat and said with a rough voice: “You should not have done that.”
This gave me courage.
“Tell me,” I spat at him, “tell me why you wanted us to come, or I will do it again.”
Macht grinned weakly. He leaned his head against Virginia’s arm.
“It’s fear,” he said.
“Fear.”
“Fear?” I knew the word peur but not the meaning. Was it some kind of disquiet or animal alarm?
I had been thinking with my mind open; he thought back yes.
“But why do you like it?” I asked.
It is delicious, he thought. It makes me sick and thrilly and alive. It is like strong medicine, almost as good as stroon. I went there before. High up, I had much fear. It was wonderful and bad and good, all at the same time. I lived a thousand years in a single hour. I wanted more of it, but I thought it would be even more exciting with other people.
“Now I will kill you,” said I in French.
“You are very very …” I had to look for the word.
“You are very evil.”
“No,” said Virginia, “let him talk.”
He thought at me, not bothering with words. This is what the Lords of the Instrumentality never let us have. Fear. Reality. We were born in a stupor and we died in a dream. Even the under people the animals, had more life than we did. The machines did not have fear. That’s what we were. Machines who thought they were men. And now we are free.
He saw the edge of raw, red anger in my mind, and he changed the subject. I did not lie to you. This is the way to the Abba-dingo. I have been there. It works. On this side, it always works.
“It works,” cried Virginia.
“You see he says so. It works! He is telling the truth. Oh, Paul, do let’s go on!”
“All right,” said I, “we’ll go.”
I helped him rise. He looked embarrassed, like a man who has shown something of which he is ashamed.
We walked onto the surface of the indestructible boulevard.
It was comfortable to the feet.
At the bottom of my mind the little unseen bird or animal babbled its thoughts at me: goodman goodman make him dead take water take water… I paid no attention as I walked forward with her and him, Virginia between us. I paid no attention.
I wish I had.
We walked for a long time.
The process was new to us. There was something exhilarating in knowing that no one guarded us, that the air was free air, moving without benefit of weather machines. We saw many birds, and when I thought at them I found their minds startled and opaque; they were natural birds, the like of of Man which I had never seen before. Virginia asked me their names, and I outrageously applied all the bird-names which we had learned in French without knowing whether they were historically right or not.
Maximilien Macht cheered up, too, and he even sang us a song, rather off key, to the effect that we would take the high road and he the low one, but that he would be in Scotland before us. It did not make sense, but the lilt was pleasant. Whenever he got a certain distance ahead of Virginia and me, I made up variations on
“Macouba” and sang-whispered the phrases into her pretty ear: She wasn ‘t the woman I went to seek. I met her by the merest chance.
She did not speak the French of France, But the surded French of Martinique.
We were happy in adventure and freedom, until we became hungry. Then our troubles began.
Virginia stepped up to a lamp-post, struck it lightly with her fist, and said, “Feed me.” The post should either have opened, serving us a dinner, or else told us where, within the next few hundred yards, food was to be had. It did neither. It did nothing.
It must have been broken.
With that, we began to make a game of hitting every single post.
Alpha Ralpha Boulevard had risen about half a kilometer above the surrounding countryside. The wild birds wheeled below us. There was less dust on the pavement, and fewer patches of weeds. The immense road, with no pylons below it, curved like an unsupported ribbon into the clouds.
We wearied of beating posts and there was neither food nor water.
Virginia became fretful: “It won’t do any good to go back now.
Food is even farther the other way. I do wish you’d brought something.”
How should I have thought to carry food? Who ever carries food? Why would they carry it, when it is everywhere? My darling was unreasonable, but she was my darling and I loved her all the more for the sweet imperfections of her temper.
Macht kept tapping pillars, partly to keep out of our fight, and obtained an unexpected result.
At one moment I saw him leaning over to give the pillar of a large lamp the usual hearty but guarded whop in the next instant he yelped like a dog and was sliding uphill at a high rate of speed.
I heard him shout something, but could not make out the words, before he disappeared into the clouds ahead.
Virginia looked at me.
“Do you want to go back now? Macht is gone. We can say that I got tired.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course, darling.”
I laughed, a little angrily. She had insisted that we come, and now she was ready to turn around and give it up, just to please me.
“Never mind,” said I. “It can’t be far now. Let’s go on.”
“Paul . . .” She stood close to me. Her brown eyes were troubled, as though she were trying to see all the way into my mind through my eyes. I thought to her, Do you want to talk this way?
“No,” said she, in French.
“I want to say things one at a time.
Paul, I do want to go to the Abba-dingo. I need to go. It’s the biggest need in my life. But at the same time, I don’t want to go.
There is something wrong up there. I would rather have you on the wrong terms than not have you at all. Something could happen.”
Edgily, I demanded, “Are you getting this ‘fear’ that Macht was talking about?”
“Oh, no, Paul, not at all. This feeling isn’t exciting. It feels like something broken in a machine ” “Listen!” I interrupted her.
From far ahead, from with
in the clouds, there came a sound like an animal wailing. There were words in it. It must have been Macht. I thought I heard “take care.” When I sought him with my mind, the distance made circles and I got dizzy.
“Let’s follow, darling,” said I. “Yes, Paul,” said she, and in her voice there was an unfathomable mixture of happiness, resignation, and despair . . .
Before we moved on, I looked carefully at her. She was my girl. The sky had turned yellow and the lights were not yet on. In the yellow rich sky her brown curls were tinted with gold, her brown eyes approached the black in their irises, her young and fate-haunted face seemed more meaningful than any other human face I had ever seen.
“You are mine,” I said.
“Yes, Paul,” she answered me and then smiled brightly.
“You said it! That is doubly nice.”
A bird on the railing looked sharply at us and then left.
Perhaps he did not approve of human nonsense, so flung himself downward into dark air. I saw him catch himself, far below, and ride lazily on his wings.
“We’re not as free as birds, darling,” I told Virginia, “but we are freer than people have been for a hundred centuries.”
For answer she hugged my arm and smiled at me.
“And now,” I added, “to follow Macht. Put your arms around me and hold me tight. I’ll try hitting that post. If we don’t get dinner we may get a ride.”
of Man I felt her take hold tightly and then I struck the post.
Which post? An instant later the posts were sailing by us in a blur. The ground beneath our feet seemed steady, but we were moving at a fast rate. Even in the service underground I had never seen a roadway as fast as this. Virginia’s dress was blowing so hard that it made snapping sounds like the snap of fingers. In no time at all we were in the cloud and out of it again.
A new world surrounded us. The clouds lay below and above.
Here and there blue sky shone through. We were steady. The ancient engineers must have devised the walkway cleverly. We rode up, up, up without getting dizzy.
Another cloud.
Then things happened so fast that the telling of them takes longer than the event.
Something dark rushed at me from up ahead. A violent blow hit me in the chest. Only much later did I realize that this was Macht’s arm trying to grab me before we went over the edge. Then we went into another cloud. Before I could even speak to Virginia a second blow struck me. The pain was terrible. I had never felt anything like that in all my life. For some reason, Virginia had fallen over me and beyond me. She was pulling at my hands.
I tried to tell her to stop pulling me, because it hurt, but I had no breath. Rather than argue, I tried to do what she wanted. I struggled toward her. Only then did I realize that there was nothing below my feet no bridge, no jetway nothing.
I was on the edge of the boulevard, the broken edge of the upper side. There was nothing below me except for some looped cables, and, far underneath them, a tiny ribbon which was either a river or a road.
We had jumped blindly across the great gap and I had fallen just far enough to catch the upper edge of the roadway on my chest.
It did not matter, the pain.
In a moment the doctor-robot would be there to repair me.
A look at Virginia’s face reminded me there was no doctor robot no world, no Instrumentality, nothing but wind and pain.
She was crying. It took a moment for me to hear what she was saying.
“I did it, I did it, darling, are you dead?”
Neither one of us was sure what “dead” meant, because people always went away at their appointed time, but we knew that it meant a cessation of life. I tried to tell her that I was living, but she fluttered over me and kept dragging me farther from the edge of the drop.
I used my hands to push myself into a sitting position.
She knelt beside me and covered my face with kisses.
At last I was able to gasp, “Where’s Macht?”
She looked back.
“I don’t see him.”
I tried to look too. Rather than have me struggle, she said, “You stay quiet. I’ll look again.”
Bravely she walked to the edge of the sheared-off boulevard.
She looked over toward the lower side of the gap, peering through the clouds which drifted past us as rapidly as smoke sucked by a ventilator. Then she cried out: “I see him. He looks so funny. Like an insect in the museum.
He is crawling across on the cables.”
Struggling to my hands and knees, I neared her and looked too. There he was, a dot moving along a thread, with the birds soaring by beneath him. It looked very unsafe. Perhaps he was getting all the “fear” that he needed to keep himself happy. I did not want that “fear,” whatever it was. I wanted food, water, and a doctor-robot.
None of these were here.
I struggled to my feet. Virginia tried to help me but I was standing before she could do more than touch my sleeve.
“Let’s go on.”
“On?” she said.
“On to the Abba-dingo. There may be friendly machines up there. Here there is nothing but cold and wind, and the lights have not yet gone on.”
She frowned.
“But Macht. .. ?”
“It will be hours before he gets here. We can come back.”
She obeyed.
Once again we went to the left of the boulevard. I told her to squeeze my waist while I struck the pillars, one by one. Surely there must have been a reactivating device for the passengers on the road.
The fourth time, it worked.
Once again the wind whipped our clothing as we raced upward on Alpha Ralpha Boulevard.
We almost fell as the road veered to the left. I caught my balance, only to have it veer the other way.
And then we stopped.
This was the Abba-dingo.
A walkway littered with white objects knobs and rods and imperfectly formed balls about the size of my head.
Virginia stood beside me, silent.
About the size of my head? I kicked one of the objects aside and then knew, knew for sure, what it was. It was people. The inside parts. I had never seen such things before. And that, that on the ground, must once have been a hand. There were hundreds of such things along the wall.
“Come, Virginia,” said I, keeping my voice even, and my thoughts hidden.
She followed without saying a word. She was curious about the things on the ground, but she did not seem to recognize them.
For my part. I was watching the wall.
At last I found them the little doors of Abba-dingo.
One said meteorological. It was not Old Common Tongue, nor was it French, but it was so close that I knew it had something to do with the behavior of air. I put my hand against the panel of the door. The panel became translucent and ancient writing showed through. There were numbers which meant nothing, words which meant nothing, and then: Typhoon coming.
My French had not taught me what a “coming” was, but “typhoon” was plainly typhon, a major air disturbance. Thought I, let the weather machines take care of the matter. It had nothing to do with us.
“That’s no help,” said I. “What does it mean?” she said.
“The air will be disturbed.”
“Oh,” said she.
“That couldn’t matter to us, could it?”
“Of course not.”
I tried the next panel, which said food. When my hand touched the little door, there was an aching creak inside the wall, as though the whole tower retched. The door opened a little bit and a horrible odor came out of it. Then the door closed again.
The third door said help and when I touched it nothing happened. Perhaps it was some kind of tax-collecting device from the ancient days. It yielded nothing to my touch. The fourth door was larger and already partly open at the bottom. At the top, the name of the door was predictions. Plain enough, that one was, to anyone who knew Old French. The name at
the bottom was more mysterious: put paper here it said, and I could not guess what it meant.
I tried telepathy. Nothing happened. The wind whistled past us. Some of the calcium balls and knobs rolled on the pavement.
I tried again, trying my utmost for the imprint of long-departed thoughts. A scream entered my mind, a thin long scream which did not sound much like people. That was all.
Perhaps it did upset me. I did not feel “fear,” but I was worried about Virginia.
She was staring at the ground.
“Paul,” she said, “isn’t that a man’s coat on the ground among those funny things?”
Once I had seen an ancient X-ray in the museum, so I knew that the coat still surrounded the material which had provided the inner structure of the man. There was no ball there, so that I was quite sure he was dead.
How could that have happened in the old days? Why did the Instrumentality let it happen? But then, the Instrumentality had always forbidden this side of the tower. Perhaps the violators had met their own punishment in some way I could not fathom.
“Look, Paul,” said Virginia.
“I can put my hand in.”
Before I could stop her, she had thrust her hand into the flat open slot which said put paper here.
She screamed.
Her hand was caught.
I tried to pull at her arm, but it did not move. She began gasping with pain. Suddenly her hand came free.
Clear words were cut into the living skin. I tore my cloak off and wrapped her hand.
As she sobbed beside me I unbandaged her hand. As I did so she saw the words on her skin.
The words said, in clear French: You will love Paul all your life.
Virginia let me bandage her hand with my cloak and then she lifted her face to be kissed.
“It was worth it,” she said; “it was worth all the trouble, Paul. Let’s see if we can get down. Now I know.”
I kissed her again and said, reassuringly, “You do know, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she smiled through her tears.
“The Instrumentality could not have contrived this. What a clever old machine! Is it a god or a devil, Paul?”
I had not studied those words at that time, so I patted her instead of answering. We turned to leave.
The Rediscovery of Man Page 30