The Gods Themselves (19 page)

"Oh, but she
can
reach it." Losten hesitated, then said, "She remains infused in the rock of the world where she is safe from us."

It took awhile for Odeen to grasp the clear meaning of the words. He said, "No grown Emotional would— Dua would never—
n

"She would. She does. Don't waste time arguing the point. . . . She can penetrate anywhere in the caverns. Nothing is hidden from her. She has studied those communications we have received from the other Universe. We don't know that of certain knowledge, but there is no other way of explaining what is happening."

"Oh, oh, oh." Odeen rocked back and forth, his surface opaque with shame and grief. "Does Estwald know of all this?"

Losten said, grimly, "Not yet; though he must know someday."

"But what will she do with those communications?"

"She is using them to work out a method for sending some of her own in the other direction."

"But she cannot know how to translate or transmit."

"She is learning both. She knows more about those communications than Estwald himself. She is a frightening phenomenon, an Emotional who can reason and who is out of control."

Odeen shivered. Out of control? How machine-like a reference!

He said, "It can't be that bad."

"It can. She has communicated already and I fear she is advising the other creatures to stop their half of the Positron Pump. If they do that before their Sun explodes, we will be helpless at this end."

"But then—"

"She must be stopped, Odeen."

"B—But, how? Are you going to blast—" His voice failed. Dimly, he knew that the Hard One had devices for digging caverns out of the world's rock; devices scarcely used since the world's population had begun declining ages ago. Would they locate Dua in the rock and blast it and her?

"No," said Losten, forcefully. "We cannot harm Dua."

"Estwald might—"

"Estwald cannot harm her, either."

"Then what's to be done?"

"It's you, Odeen. Only you. We're helpless, so we must depend on you."

"No
me?
But what can I do?"

"Think about it," said Losten, urgently.
” Think
about it."

"Think about
what?"

"I can't say more than that," said Losten, in apparent agony. "Think! There is so little time."

He turned and left, moving rapidly for a Hard One, moving as though he did not trust himself to stay and perhaps say too much.

And Odeen could 'only look after him, dismayed, confused—lost.

5c

There was a great deal for Tritt to do. Babies required much care, but even two young-lefts and two young-rights together did not make up the sum of a single baby-mid— particularly not a mid as perfect as Derola. She had to be exercised and soothed, protected from percolating into whatever she touched, cajoled into condensing and resting.

It was a long time before he saw Odeen again and, actually, he didn't care. Derola took up all his time. But then he came across Odeen in the corner of his own alcove, iridescent with thought.

Tritt remembered, suddenly. He said, "Was Losten angry about Dua?"

Odeen came to himself with a start. "Losten?—Yes, he was angry. Dua is doing great harm."

"She should come home, shouldn't she?"

Odeen was staring at Tritt. "Tritt," he said, "we're going to have ,to persuade Dua to come home. We must find her first. You can do it. With a new baby, your Parental sensitivity is very high. You can use it to find Dua."

"No," said Tritt, shocked. "It's used for Derola. It would be wrong to use it for Dua. Besides, if she wants to stay away so long when a baby-mid is longing for her— and she was once a baby-mid herself—maybe we might just learn to do without her."

"But, Tritt, don't you ever want to melt again?"

"Well, the triad is now complete."

"That's not all there is to melting." Tritt said, "But where do we have to go to find her? Little Derola needs me. She's a tiny baby. I don't want to leave her."

"The Hard Ones will arrange to have Derola taken care of. You and I will go to the Hard-caverns and find Dua."

Tritt thought about that. He didn't care about Dua. He didn't even care about Odeen, somehow. There was only Derola. He said, "Someday. Someday, when Derola is older. Not till then."

"Tritt," said Odeen, urgently, "we must find Dua. Otherwise—otherwise the babies will be taken away from us."

"By whom?" said Tritt.

"By the Hard Ones."

Tritt was silent. There was nothing he could say. He had never heard of such a thing. He could not conceive of such a thing.

Odeen said, "Tritt, we must pass on. I know why, now. I've been thinking about it ever since Losten— But never mind that. Dua and you must pass on, too. Now that I know why, you will feel you must and I hope—I think— Dua will feel she must, too. And we must pass on
soon,
for Dua is destroying the world."

Tritt was backing away. "Don't look at me like that, Odeen.... You're making me.... You're making me."

"I'm not making you, Tritt," said Odeen, sadly. "It's just that I know now and so you must. . . . But we must find Dua."

"No, no." Tritt was in agony, trying to resist. There was something terribly new about Odeen, and existence was approaching an end inexorably. There would be no Tritt and no baby-mid. Where every other Parental had his baby-mid for a long time, Tritt would have lost his almost at once.

It wasn't fair. Oh, it wasn't fair.

Tritt panted. "It's Dua's fault. Let
her
pass on first." Odeen said, with deadening calm, "There's no other

way but for all of us—"

And Tritt knew that was so—that was so—that was

so—

6a

Dua felt thin and cold, wispy. Her attempts to rest in the open and absorb Sunlight had ended after Odeen had found her that time. Her feeding at the Hard Ones' batteries was erratic. She dared not remain too long outside the safety of rock, so she ate in quick gulps, and she never got enough.

She was conscious of hunger, continuously, all the more so since it seemed to tire her to remain in the rock. It was as though she were being punished for all that long time in which she haunted the Sunset and ate so skimpily.

If it were not for the work she was doing, she could not bear the weariness and hunger. Sometimes she hoped that the Hard Ones would destroy her—but only after she was finished.

The Hard Ones were helpless as long as she was in the rock. Sometimes she sensed them outside the rock in the open. They were afraid. Sometimes she thought the fear was
for
her, but that couldn't be. How could they be afraid for her; afraid that she would pass on out of sheer lack of food, out of sheer exhaustion. It must be that they, were afraid
of
her; afraid of a machine that did not work as they had designed it to work; appalled at so great a prodigy; struck helpless with the terror of it

Carefully, she avoided them. She always knew where they were, so they could not catch her nor stop her.

They could not watch all places always. She thought she could even blank what little perception they had. She swirled out of the rock and studied the recorded duplicates of the communications they had received from the other Universe. They did not know that was what she was after. If they hid them, she would find them in whatever new place. If they destroyed them, it didn't matter. Dua could remember them.

She did not understand them, at first, but with her stay in the rocks, her senses grew steadily sharper, and she seemed to understand without understanding. Without knowing what the symbols meant, they inspired feelings within her.

She picked out markings and placed them where they would be sent to the other Universe. The markings were F-E-E-R. What that could possibly mean she had no idea, but its shape inspired her with a feeling of fear and she did her best to impress that feeling of fear upon the markings. Perhaps the other creatures, studying the markings, would also feel fear.

When the answers came, Dua could sense excitement in them. She did not always get the answers that were sent Sometimes the Hard Ones found them first. Surely, they must know what she was doing. Still, they couldn't read the messages, couldn't even sense the emotions that went along with them.

So she didn't care. She would not be stopped, till she was done—whatever the Hard Ones found out.

She waited for a message that would carry the feeling she wanted. It came: P-U-M-P B-A-D.

It carried the fear and hatred she wanted. She sent it back in extended form—more fear—more hatred— Now the other people would understand. Now they would stop the Pump. The Hard Ones would have to find some other way, some other source of energy; they must not obtain it through the death of all those thousands of other Universe creatures.

She was resting too much, declining into a kind of stupor, within the rock. Desperately she craved food and waited so that she could crawl out. Even more desperately than she wanted the food in the storage battery, she wanted the storage battery to be dead. She wanted to suck the last bit of food out of it and know that no more would come and that her task was done.

She emerged at last and remained recklessly long, sucking in the contents of one of the batteries. She wanted to withdraw its last, empty it, see that no more was entering —but it was an endless source—endless—endless.

She stirred and drew away from the battery in disgust The Positron Pumps were still going then. Had her messages not persuaded the other Universe creatures to stop the Pumps? Had they not received them? Had they not sensed their meaning?

She had to try again. She had to make it plain beyond plain. She would include every combination of signals that to her seemed to carry the feeling of danger; every combination that would get across the plea to stop.

Desperately she began to fuse the symbols into metal; drawing without reserve on the energy she had just sucked out of the battery; drawing on it till it was all gone and she was more weary than ever: PUMP NOT STOP NOT STOP WE NOT STOP PUMP WE NOT HEAR DANGER NOT HEAR NOT HEAR YOU STOP PLEASE STOP YOU STOP SO WE STOP PLEASE YOU STOP DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER STOP STOP YOU STOP PUMP.

It was all she could. There was nothing left in her but a racking pain. She placed the message where it could be transferred and she did not wait for the Hard Ones to send the message unwittingly. Through an agonizing haze, she manipulated the controls as she had seen them do, finding the energy for it somehow.

The message disappeared and so did the cavern in a purple shimmer of vertigo. She was—passing on—out of sheer—exhaustion.

Odeen—Tri—

6b

Odeen came. He had been flowing faster than ever he had flowed before. He had been following Tritt's sharp new-baby sense perception, but now he was close enough for his own blunter senses to detect her nearness. He could on his own account feel the flickering and fading consciousness of Dua, and he raced forward while Tritt did his best to clump along, gasping and calling, "Faster—faster—"

Odeen found her in a state of collapse, scarcely alive, smaller than he had ever seen an adult Emotional.

"Tritt," he said, "bring the battery here. No—no— don't try to carry her. She's too thin to carry. Hurry. If she sinks into the floor—"

The Hard Ones began to gather. They were late, of course, with their inability to sense other life-forms at a distance. If it had depended only on them, it would have been too late to save her. She would not have passed on; she would truly have been destroyed—and—and more than she knew would have been destroyed with her.

Now, as she was slowly gathering life out of the energy supply, the Hard Ones stood silently near them.

Odeen rose; a new Odeen who knew what was happening exactly. Imperiously, he ordered them away with an angry gesture—and they left. Silently. Without objection.

Dua stirred.

Tritt said, "Is she all right, Odeen?"

"Quiet, Tritt," said Odeen. "Dua?"

"Odeen?" She stirred, spoke in a whisper. "I thought I had passed on."

"Not yet, Dua. Not yet. But first you must eat and rest."

"Is Tritt here, too?"

"Here I am, Dua," said Tritt.

"Don't try to bring me back," said Dua. "It's over, I’ve done what I wanted to do. The Positron Pump will—will stop soon, I'm sure. The Hard Ones will continue to need Soft Ones and they will take care of you two, or at least the children."

Odeen didn't say anything. He kept Tritt from saying anything, either. He let the radiation pour slowly into Dua, very slowly. He stopped at times to let her rest a bit, then he started again.

She began to mutter, "Enough. Enough." Her substance was writhing more strongly.

Still he fed her.

Finally, he spoke. He said, "Dua, you were wrong. We are not machines. I know exactly what we are,. I would have come to you sooner, if I had found out earlier, but I didn't know till Losten begged me to think. And I did; very hard; and even so it is almost premature."

Dua moaned and Odeen stopped for a while.

He said, "Listen, Dua. There
is
a single species of life. The Hard Ones
are
the only living things in the world. You gathered that, and so far you were right. But that doesn't mean the Soft Ones aren't alive; it merely means we are part of the same single species.
The Soft Ones are the immature forms of the Hard Ones.
We are first children as Soft Ones, then adults as Soft Ones, then Hard Ones. Do you understand?"

Tritt said, in soft confusion, "What? What?"

Odeen said, "Not now, Tritt. Not now. You'll understand, too, but this is for Dua." He kept watching Dua, who was gaining opalescence.

He said, "Listen, Dua, whenever we melt, whenever the triad melts, we become a Hard One. The Hard One is three-in-one, which is why he is hard. During the time of unconsciousness in melting we are a Hard One. But it is only temporary, and we can never remember the period afterward. We can never stay a Hard One long; we must come back. But all through our life we keep developing, with certain key stages marking it off. Each baby born marks a key stage. With the birth of the third, the Emotional, there comes the possibility of the final stage, where the Rational's mind by itself, without the other two, can remember those flashes of Hard One existence. Then, and only then, he can guide a perfect melt that will form the Hard One forever, so that the triad can live a new and unified life of learning and intellect. I told you that passing on was like being born again. I was groping then for something I did not quite understand, but now I know."

Dua was looking at him, trying to smile. She said, "How can you pretend to believe that, Odeen? If that were so, wouldn't the Hard Ones have told you long ago; told all of us?"

"They couldn't, Dua. There was a time, long ages ago, when melting was just a putting together of the atoms of bodies. But evolution slowly developed minds. Listen to me, Dua; melting is a putting together of the minds, too, and that's much harder, much more delicate. To put it together properly and permanently, just so, the Rational must reach a certain pitch in development. That pitch is reached when he finds out,
for himself,
what it's all about: when his mind is finally keen enough to remember what has happened in all those temporary unions during melting. If the Rational were told, that development would be aborted and the time of the perfect melt could not be determined. The Hard One would form imperfectly. When Losten pleaded with me to think, he was taking a great chance. Even that may have been— I hope not—

"For it's especially true in our case, Dua. For many generations, the Hard Ones have been combining triads with great care to form particularly advanced Hard Ones and our triad was the best they'd ever obtained. Especially you, Dua. Especially you. Losten was once the triad whose baby-mid you were. Part of him was your Parental. He knew you. He brought you to Tritt and me."

Dua sat up. Her voice was almost normal. "Odeen! Are you making all this up to soothe me?"

Tritt broke in. "No, Dua. I feel it, too. I feel it, too. I don't know what exactly, but I feel it."

"He does, Dua," said Odeen. "You will, too. Aren't you beginning to recall being a Hard One during our melt? Don't you want to melt now? One last time? One last time?"

He lifted her. There was a feverishness about her, and though she struggled a bit, she was thinning.

"If what you say is true, Odeen," she gasped. "If we are to be a Hard One; then it seems to me you are saying we'll be an
important
one. Is that so?"

"The most important. The best who was ever formed. I mean that . . . Tritt, over there. It's not good-by, Tritt. We'll be together, as we always wanted to be. Dua, too. You, too, Dua."

Dua said, "Then we can make Estwald understand the Pump can't continue. We'll force—"

The melting was beginning. One by one, the Hard Ones were entering again at the crucial moment. Odeen saw them imperfectly, for he was beginning to melt into Dua.

It was not like the other times; no sharp ecstasy; just a smooth, cool, utterly peaceful movement. He could feel himself become partly Dua, and all the world seemed pouring into his/her sharpening senses. The Positron Pumps were still going—he/she could tell—why were they still going?

He was Tritt, too, and a keen sharp sense of bitter loss filled his/her/his mind. Oh, my babies—

And he cried out, one last cry under the consciousness of Odeen, except that somehow it was the cry of Dua. "No, we can't stop Estwald.
We
are Estwald.
We—
"

The cry that was Dua's and yet not Dua's stopped and there was no longer any Dua; nor would there ever be Dua again. Nor Odeen. Nor Tritt.

7abc

Estwald stepped forth and said sadly to the waiting Hard Ones, by way of vibrating air waves, "I am permanently with you now, and there is much to do—"

3

. . .  contend in vain?

1

Selene Lindstrom smiled brightly and walked with the light springy touch that was startling when first seen by the tourists, but was soon recognized as having a grace of its own.

"It's time for lunch," she said, cheerfully. "All home-grown, ladies and gentlemen. You may not be used to the taste, but it's all nourishing.. . . Right here, sir. You won't mind sitting with the ladies, I know. . . . One moment. There will be seats for all.... Sorry, there will be a choice on the beverage, but not on the main course. That will be veal. .., No, no. Artificial flavor and texture, but it's really quite good."

Then she sat down herself, with a slight sigh and an even slighter wavering of her pleasant expression.

One of the group sat down across from her,

"Do you mind?" he asked.

She looked at him, quickly, penetrating. She had the faculty of making quick judgments, of course, and he did not seem troublesome. She said, "Not at all. But aren't you with someone in this group?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm alone. Even if that were not the case, Earthies are no great thrill to me."

She looked at him again. He was fiftyish and there was' a weary look about him which only his bright, inquisitive eyes seemed to belie. He had the unmistakable look of the Earthman, laden down with gravity. She said, " 'Earthie' is a Moon-expression, and not a very nice one."

"I'm from Earth," he said, "so I can use it without offense, I hope. Unless you object."

Selene shrugged as though to say: Please yourself.

She had the faintly oriental look about the eyes so many of the Moon-girls had, but her hair was the color of honey and her nose was prominent. She was undeniably attractive without being in any way classically beautiful.

The Earthman was staring at the nameplate she wore on the blouse covering the upper slope of her high, not-too-large left breast. She decided it was really the name-plate he was looking at, not the breast, though the blouse was semi-transparent when it caught the light at a particular angle and there was no garment beneath it.

He said, "Are there many Selenes here?"

"Oh, yes. Hundreds, I think. Also Cynthias, Dianas, and Artemises. Selene is a little tiresome. Half the Selenes
I
know are called 'Silly' and the other half 'Lena.' "

"Which are you?"

"Neither. I am Selene, all three syllables. SELL-uh-nee," she said, coming down heavily on the first syllable, "to those who use my first name at all."

There was a small smile on the Earthman's face that sat there as though he weren't quite used to it. He said, "And what if anyone asks you if you sell any, Selene?"

"They never ask me that again!" she said, firmly.

"But do they ask you?"

"There are fools always."

A waitress had reached their table and had placed the dishes before them with quick, smooth motions.

The Earthman was visibly impressed. He said to the waitress, "You make them seem to float down."

The waitress smiled and moved on.

Selene said, "Don't you try to do the same. She's used to the gravity and can handle it."

"And if I try, I'll drop everything? Is that it?"

"You'll make a gorgeous mess," she said,

"Well, I won't try."

"There's a good chance someone will before long, and the plate will flow down to the floor and they'll grab for it and miss, and ten to one knock themselves out of their chair. I'd warn them, but it never helps and they're just all the more embarrassed. Everyone else will laugh—the tourists, that is, because the rest of us have seen it too often to find it funny and because it's just a cleanup job."

The Earthman was lifting his fork carefully. "I see what you mean. Even the simplest motions seem queer."

"Actually, you get used to it quickly enough. At least to little things like eating. Walking is harder. I never saw an Earthman run efficiently out here. Not really efficiently."

For a while they ate in silence. Then he said, "What does the L. stand for?" He was looking at her nameplate again. It said, "Selene Lindstrom L."