Clarke, Arthur C - Fall of Night 02 (32 page)

 
          
 
They ate grains and vegetables of primordial
origin, many dating back to the dawn of humanity. These had already been spread
through the emerging biosphere, and this meal was the boon of an ample harvest,
brought here from crops throughout the globe. Cley savored the rich sauces and
heady aromas but kept her wits about her in conversation with her hosts.

 
          
 
Often their talk went straight by her,
arabesques of talent-meaning sliding among percussive verbal punctuations. The
Supras of Lys tapered their rapid-fire signals to make them comprehensible to
Cley. Those of Diaspar used only the subset of their language which she could
follow. They tried to keep the din of layered cross-references simple in
deference to her, but gusts of enthusiasm would sweep their ornate
conversations into realms of mystifying complexity.

 
          
 
She felt their remorse and anger underlying a
stern resolve to recover what they could. Yet
Alvin
made jokes, even quoting some ancient motto
of a scholarly society from the dawn of science. ''Nullius in verba,
" he
said dryly, "or 'don't take anyone's word for
it.' Makes libraries seem pointless, wouldn't you say?"

 
          
 
Cley shrugged. "I am no student."

 
          
 
"Exactly!
Time to stop studying our history.
We should reinvent
it."
Alvin
took a long drink from a chalice.

 
          
 
"I'd like to just live my life,
thanks," Cley said quietly.

 
          
 
"Ah," he said, "but the true
trick is to treasure what we were and have done—without letting it smother
us."

 
          
 
Alvin
smiled with a dashing exuberance she had
not seen among the other Supras. He waved happily as what appeared to be a
flock of giant scaly birds flew through the hall, wheeled beautifully, and flew
straight through the ceiling without leaving a mark.

 
          
 
Seranis was distracted by a flurry of
talent-talk but displayed her skill by simultaneously saying to Cley, "He
means that here at the end of a long corridor of time, we should ignore the
echoes."

 
          
 
Cley frowned, wishing Seeker had come to this
bewildering banquet, but the quiet beast had elected to rest. She was
concerned. She could not in all honesty see why Seeker stayed with her when the
Supras would probably have let it go. Its laconic replies had antagonized
Seranis and that could be dangerous. While Supras had never harmed Ur-humans,
she was not sure any such convention governed their relations with distant
species. In any case, caution outweighed theory, as mice knew about elephants.

 
          
 
To not seem a complete dunce, she tried to get
back into conversation.
Alvin
was the center of attention, but he looked quickly back at her when she
asked, "How can you shrug off history?"

 
          
 
He eyed her closely, as if trying to read
something inscrutable.
"By studied neglect."
He leaned forward, eyes intent and sharp with mirth. The day of dancing seemed
to have released him from some burden she could not guess. "History is
such detail! Emperors are like the dinosaurs. Their names and antics are
unimportant. Only the dates of their appearance and passing can matter."

 
          
 
Someone called from down the table, "The
Keeper of Records will scold you!"

 
          
 
Alvin
answered, "No, he will not. He knows
we hold aloft time's dread weight only by keeping a sense of balance. Otherwise
it would crush us."

 
          
 
"We dance on time!" another voice
called. ''It's under us.'"

 
          
 
Alvin
chuckled.
"True, in
a way.
The roll call of empires is dust beneath our feet . . . yet we
cling to our old habits. Those last."

 
          
 
"We need some human continuity,"
Cley said reasonably. "My tribe—"

 
          
 
"Yes, a singular invention. When we
recalled you all, it was apparent we could not let you resurrect the old
imperial habits."

 
          
 
Cley frowned. "Imperial . . . ?"

 
          
 
"Of course," Seranis said. "You
do not know." She inhaled a passing spice cloud and while her lungs
savored it she sent. We took your genotype from the Age of Empire, when
humanity plundered the solar system and nearly extinguished itself.

 
          
 
The talent-voice of Seranis carried both a
sting of rebuke and the balm of forgiveness. This only irritated Cley, who
struggled to hide it.

 
          
 
"My tribe made no . . . war." She
had to pause and let her deep-based vocabulary call up the word, for she had
never used it before. Comprehending the definition and import of the word took
a long moment. With foreboding she permanently tagged it for ready future use.

 
          
 
"That was how we wanted it."
Alvin
smiled as though he were discussing the
weather. "We reasoned that at most you might eventually expand for
territory, rather than for pohtical gains and taxes, as in the imperial
model."

 
          
 
"We did not realize we were so . . .
planned." Cley gritted her teeth, hoping that this would not leak out
through her talent. The nakedness of her thoughts was proving to be a nuisance.

 
          
 
"We did not interfere with your basic
design, believe me," Ser-anis said kindly. She offered Cley a tart fruit
but seemed unbothered at its refusal. "Your group loyalty is your species'
most important way to find an identity. It fosters social warmth. Such patterns
persist, from a children's playhouse to a transworld alliance."

 
          
 
"And how do you work together?"

 
          
 
Alvin
said, "We do not struggle against each
other, for such traits have been very nearly edited out of us. But most
important, we have the blessing of a higher goal."

 
          
 
"What?" Cley demanded.

 
          
 
"Perhaps enemy is a better term than
goal. Until now I would have said that history was our true foe, dragging at
our heels as we attempted to escape from it. But now we have met an active
enemy from out of history itself, and I must say I find myself filled with
eagerness."

 
          
 
Alvin
was clearly the youngest of these Supras,
though Cley could not reliably read the age of any of these bland, perfect
faces.
"Enemies?
Other
Supras?"

 
          
 
"No no. You are recalling those people
who supposedly fired at you, who killed your tribefellows, who destroyed the
Library of Life?"

 
          
 
"Yes." Cley's mouth narrowed with
the effort of concealing her hate. Primitive emotions would not go well here.

 
          
 
"They were illusions."

 
          
 
"I saw them!"

 
          
 
"They appeared here, too. I closely
examined our records and"— he snapped his fingers—"there they were.
Just as you had seen.
We were too busy to notice, and so we
owe you a vote of thanks."

 
          
 
"They were real!"

 
          
 
"Extensive
study of
their spectral images show
them to be artful refractions of heated
air."

 
          
 
Cley looked blank. The sensation of being
robbed of a clear enemy was like stepping off a stair in darkness and finding
no next step. "Then . . . what . . ."

 
          
 
Alvin
leaned back and cupped his hands behind his
neck, elbows high. He gazed up at the clear night, seeming to take great joy in
the broad sweep of stars. Many comets unfurled their filmy tails, so many they
seemed like a flock of arrows aimed at the unseen sun, which had sheltered
behind the curve of Earth.

 
          
 
Alvin
said slowly, "What heats air?
Lightning.
But to do it so craftily?"

 
          
 
Seranis looked surprised. Cley saw that
Alvin
had told none of this to the others, for
throughout the great hall the long tables fell silent.

 
          
 
Seranis said, "
Electrical
currents—
that's all lightning is. But to make realistic images ..."

 
          
 
Cley asked, "All to trick us?"

 
          
 
Alvin
clapped his hands together loudly with
childlike glee, startling his hushed audience.
"Exactly!
Such ability!"

 
          
 
Seranis asked quietly, "Already?"

 
          
 
Alvin
nodded.
"The Mad
Mind.
It has returned."

 
          
 
A blizzard of talent-talk struck Cley like a
blow. The Supras were on their feet, buzzing with speculation. Inside her head
percussive waves seemed to amplify the torrent.

 
          
 
Again she felt the labyrinth of their minds,
the kinesthetic thrust of ideas streaming past, features blurred beyond
comprehension.

 
          
 
Whirlwinds.

 
          
 
A black sun roaring against ruby stars.

 
          
 
Purple geysers on an
infinite plain.

 
          
 
The plain shrinking until it was a disk, the
black sun at its center.

 
          
 
Stars shredded into phosphorescent tapestries.

 
          
 
For instants the black sun swam at the rim of
the beeswarm gossamer galaxy. Next, it buzzed ominously at the very focus of
the spiral arms.

 
          
 
She dropped away from darkening thunderheads,
fleeing this storm. Tucked
herself
away.
Waited.

 
          
 
Panting with the mental exertion, she wondered
what the people of
Lys
were like when they were alone.
Or if they ever were.

 
          
 
Supras, Ur-humans,
Seeker—all from different eras in the eon-long explorations of evolution.
This desert plain was like a baked-dry display table covered with historical
curiosities. What vexed currents worked, when different ages sought to
conspire! And she was pinned here, firmly spiked by the bland, all-powerful,
condescending reasonableness of the Supras.