The Loafers of Refuge (15 page)

Doreen nodded that she understood, and moved aside to avoid stepping on a small sprout in their path. “Yes, the breshwahr are putting out many seeds again,” said Harenta,
noting her movement, and she realized with surprise that the slim plant was a young breshwahr.

She stopped to examine it more closely, then looked about her with interest. The park-like appearance of the grove was even more pronounced than when she had last been here; almost all underbrush and smaller plants were gone. The new sprout was in an area formerly occupied by a large brushpile. When the breshwahr grew it would have plenty of room in which to reach its full height. All the more mature of the intelligent trees around here had the same advantages of situation.

Harenta sensed something of her puzzlement. “No, the trees did not kill and remove the brush themselves, though they could have done so. We did it at their request. This past summer over a hundred seedlings were planted, whereas before we were happy to get five.”

“Do the individual trees have names?” Doreen asked, kneeling in front of the small plant. It was a beautiful tree, very slick in its new bark and without the squat roundness of its elders.

“Not as we use them, but they have identities assigned by the elders.” The old man closed his eyes a moment, then opened them and said, “As near as the tongue can shape it, this small creature is called Phazz.”

“Phazz. That’s a lovely name.” She lightly caressed the tender little leaves. “You and I are going to be great friends, Phazz. Great friends.”

“The elders sense your approval,” said Harenta, and stopped. In a lower voice he went on, “And they say they understand what you wish to do, and that they comprehend
timelessness-emptiness
. You have their permission to send Phazz through it.” The old man looked puzzled, and rather alarmed.

Doreen had felt nothing, had known of no alien fingers picking at her brain, yet the trees had certainly read her intentions. “Oh, let me try!” she begged Harenta. “I want to talk with them direct, explain what I hope to accomplish.”

The old man shrugged bony shoulders, and she felt a slight withdrawal of his former effusive friendliness. Plainly he felt that things; were getting out of hand.

Since distance did not greatly matter she lay down by young Phazz and blanked her mind as much as possible. The trees, unlike the Loafers, did not communicate in sensory impressions. An animal’s senses differed from theirs in so many ways the two could establish few points of reference. For the convenience of humans the trees formed their messages into words, but this was a slow and difficult process. While it was going on the human in contact tended to be overwhelmed by the tremendous force of the massed minds he felt all around him, and yet had to wait patiently, holding hard to his own identity, while slow word after word formed in has mind. Practice made this easier, but it was not at all uncommon for a Controller in contact to loose his hold on reality and have his mind swept away, completely out of control. When this happened the trees ceased communicating and withdrew, and no harm was done. But it was a disconcerting experience, and very frightening to those who had experienced it.

I … greet … Doreen …
said a massive voice to her mind, and there were a thousand subtle questions and shades of meaning in the single slow phrase. Resolutely she refused to acknowledge or accept anything but the words themselves. One of the many small impressions she received immediately was that of approval. She sensed that it came from an individual other than the one speaking to her.
We … are …
a timeless pause …
happy … you … are … here … we … cannot … tell … you … what … you … wish … to … know … as …
a faint confusion …
fact …
a pause of somewhat longer duration …
we … think … it … will … work … take … train … teach … young … Phazz …
but there was no more. The wise old minds had gone.

Doreen opened her eyes, and found she was as tired as if she had worked hard all day. Harenta received a message as she sat up, and took it standing. He opened his eyes in a few seconds. “They say tell you they knew of your last attempt to contact them and did not dare respond.” There was a faintly accusing tone in the old man’s polite voice. “To have
spoken to you before you gained your full powers might have done harm to your mind.”

“Yes, now that I
have
talked with them I can well believe it,” said Doreen soberly. Then her irrepressible good humour came bubbling to the surface, and she smiled mischievously at her mentor. “Tell you what, Harenta, man-of-much-wisdom. You forgive me for trying to talk with the trees before I became a Controller and I’ll tell you about my plan, of which they’ve just approved.”

“As I said yesterday, I desire to learn as well as teach,” said Harenta in a grave voice. But there was a twinkle in his old eyes.

On the long ride home that evening Doreen told Carey of her initial success, and how she had adopted a tree. “Mother endured it when I brought home a polypat, a ground squirrel and a small flying cat,” she finished with a giggle. “I wonder what she’ll say when I bring home a tree.”

“Bring it home? You’re not going to transplant Phazz?” Carey asked in amazement.

“Not really. At least, only temporarily. While he is young he can gain sufficient nourishment from a tub of earth, if he’s fed properly. I’m going to dig him up in a few more months and bring him home with us occasionally, but he’ll still spend most of his time in the ground at his regular spot. And incidentally, I have to mix some special plantfood for him in school this week and take it out there. Harenta is going to see that he gets very special treatment, and all the older trees have concurred with this.”

“You accomplished quite a bit in one day, little sister,” said Carey thoughtfully, and fell silent. Doreen still had not told him the ultimate aim of these elaborate preparations. He had a disquieting feeling he might regret having helped her before it was over.

Doreen’s ultimate aim was not clear, but her immediate plans kept her in a whirl of activity. She had to complete another year in school after the present term. She was responsible for a constant amount of work around the farm. Carey relieved her of some of this, but a lot remained. As a new Controller she was expected in Loafertown at least once
a week to practise with the older Controllers. And there was Phazz, and the Sweetwater Loafers. Phazz …

She brought Phazz to the Sheldon home in the late spring, when he was about one Refuge year old. Already almost two feet in height, he had started to assume something of the squat roundness of form that characterized the adult trees. In order to break no more root hairs than necessary Doreen had excavated all the earth near his trunk, and he went with it into the large tub that became his portable home. Once he was settled in the sun in the Sheldon front yard he professed himself quite comfortable.

The special plant food which Doreen fed Phazz in carefully calculated quantities influenced his growth fully as much as the borax. The boron salts were needed consistently in minute amounts, both for growth and intelligence, but more could not be used. Phazz, fully able to control his intake, absorbed precisely the right amount. Where the plant food was concerned he sometimes became almost gluttonous, reminding Doreen that he was, after all, a child. Curious over his large appetite she asked the older trees, on one of her regular visits, if eating was a pleasure to them. They stated it was not. When queried about their child’s appetite and growth they conferred among themselves for some time, then finally came back with the answer that Phazz was deliberately growing at maximum possible speed. They also informed her they would check on the quality of the body Phazz was building with this forced growth and would correct him if he was overdoing it. Somewhat reassured, Doreen returned to the farm and her work.

During the next winter vacation she sent Phazz through the matter-transmitter for the first time.

He was now a year-and-a-half old, and over four feet tall. His tub had had to be changed to a larger size, and some of the longer roots curled in a circle against the metal. He weighed well over a hundred pounds, counting the tub and earth, and Carey and Uncle Harvey had to load him into the wagon for her. She created something of a minor
sensation when she took him into the transmitter building.

The operator, Old Hamrick—he was the oldest man on the planet and had borne the sobriquet so long it had become a part of his name—pushed back from the control console and came out of his little booth to speak to her. For some reason she did not understand the old man had always been especially nice to her, and they were good friends.

“What in the world is it, Doreen?” he asked quizzically, scratching his white head. He would be retiring next year, but carried his hundred-odd years with easy vigour. He had been operator for the town of Refuge since it started twenty years ago.

“This is a breshwahr tree, and they are very unusual plants. I want to send it to a pen-pal on Earth, who is going to take it into their botany class for some tests I can’t perform here.”

“It’ll take a heap of paper,” said Old Hamrick with a tolerant smile. There was no charge for transmission, since C.G. alone acted as shipping agent, but a definite authorization was required for personal goods.

“I’ve got a heap,” said Doreen with a grin, and presented them to him. The private property transmittal authorization, signed by Hamrick’s supervisor, the station manager, rested prominently on top. Beneath it was a certificate from Communicable Diseases Section of the C.G. Public Health Department—this consisted of one tired old doctor and his nurse, who had not appreciated being bothered—stating that Phazz was apparently free of dangerous germs, both internally and externally, and constituted no health hazard to Earth. There were copies of the letters exchanged between Mrs Marble and the station manager relative to this project. There were miscellaneous items, including a sheet of instructions on the care and feeding of breshwahr which was to accompany Phazz through his travels. Hamrick ignored all the package except the authorization and the health certificate, which he took for his records, and the care instructions, which he attached to Phazz’s tub.

The technicians who worked under Hamrick’s direction were starting to load the platform again. Refuge transmitted
in the morning and received in the afternoon, and the day’s transmitting work was almost over. Phazz joined the last load.

Doreen, who had got much better with practice, transmitted without closing her eyes:
Good luck, little friend.

Have … no … fear …
came the slow answer back.
I … can … do … this … thing …

Several homilies about the errors of over-confidence came crowding into Doreen’s head, but she dismissed them without transmitting. Phazz would not understand them, to begin with, and she had confidence in the judgement of the older trees who had said this thing was possible. She was more worried over the possibility Phazz might encounter a sensitive person on Earth and attempt communication. He had been vigorously warned against this, was fully aware that the pen-pal receiving him was not a Controller and unaware of the breshwahr’s sentience. Still, Phazz was only a child, and he would be completely alone in a strange land.

The technicians stepped clear of the platform, the warning lights went on, Old Hamrick adjusted two controls slightly and pressed the red button. The articles on the platform blurred, wavered, and were gone.

Doreen left the building and drove the tractor home with a troubled heart. In a week she would know the answer.

It was only two days before she heard some disheartening news on the radio. The manager cut into a recorded musical programme to announce that another tragedy had occurred. “The body of an elderly man was discovered when a box containing commercial goods was opened in the G.G. warehouse,” the droning voice went on. “Attached to the body was a note stating that Earth Central Government had repeatedly denied him permission to transmit himself and the only method left by which he could prove his ability to travel unharmed was to hide in this fashion. A lengthy procedure, consisting primarily of instructions on how to concentrate the ‘lifeforces’ of the body, followed. Listeners will recall that about three Eryears back an unprecedented number of dead fanatics arrived on Refuge, all of whom claimed to have discovered the secret of live transmission. Many other colonial worlds were similarly plagued by these misguided people, who
paid with their lives for the privilege of proving themselves wrong.”

The radio returned to music and Doreen to her thoughts. If this effort failed and she killed Phazz she would never forgive herself. And did she have the right to risk her own life, when her death would bring so much grief to those she loved?

Phazz was due back on the day before she returned to school. She did her work that morning in such an absent-minded fashion Maud had to speak sharply to her twice, and when their signal- came in on the radio she was the first to jump for the microphone. She answered two such calls in vain, and on the third one the friendly voice of Old Hamrick informed her she had a “personal property” package at the Transmitter Building.

“I’ll be right down, Mr Hamrick,” she said eagerly, and flew for the outside. Unfortunately, Carey and Uncle Harvey had the tractor in use and insisted on finishing their job before they would release it, and it was almost two hours before she was bouncing her way towards Refuge in the tractor’s bucket seat.

She saw Phazz as she entered the building, sitting conveniently near the door. Between one step and the next she transmitted a query:
Health-happiness-success-joy?
and received in reply two slow and laboured words:
Partial … success.

Old Hamrick, not busy at the moment, waved to her and brought over two younger men to carry Phazz to the trailer He had a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Here’s your report from your friend. I glanced over it, since it wasn’t sealed, and apparently their major finding was that trees like this can’t exit … and don’t! Also I need your signature on this receipt.”