The Loafers of Refuge (18 page)

Doreen sat in frozen silence for a long moment, and her voice was low and tightly controlled when she finally asked, “Why, Timmy? Why are you leaving less than a week before our wedding?”

Timmy turned and looked her full in the face. The smaller and faster of Refuge’s two moons appeared over the edge of the forest-clad mountains to the East, casting a pale light on to her brown, freckled, features, outlining the large eyes, the troubled expression on the thin-lipped mouth. “It is a hard thing to explain, yet I must try, for I would not have you unhappy. I fear for my people! Each day that passes I see more and more of the old ways falling into disuse, more of the old and good customs flouted by the young. Our children go
to Earthly schools, and learn much, and this is good. But when they come home again they are not willing to learn the Loafer ways, scoff at the wisdom of their forefathers, show no interest in the secrets of nature. This is not a common thing, but it happens more and more often. And in my own mind I am not certain if this is bad or good. You are a great people, you Hairless Ones, and your works are mighty. But we are so close to reaching those goals towards which we have worked for so many years, so very close—” he stopped, biting his lip, and Doreen nodded in mute acknowledgement. The integration of the Loafer people into the more populous Earth communities was proceeding smoothly and swiftly, all schools on Refuge now being bi-racial, and the incidents of violence which had plagued the programme at first were now rare. She and Timmy would be the first inter-racial marriage of which they knew, but it was bound to happen more and more often as the races mixed freely.

And it was equally true that the Loafers had at last seemed to be on the verge of solving their age-old problem, the control of physical objects through mental power. Three years had passed since Micka broke through the barrier, and her younger brother Sanda had followed her last year. But the two children had been unable to lead any others along the path they had found, remaining unique in the abilities they possessed.

“What do you hope to learn, Timmy?”

The rangy Loafer rose and paced the porch, his hair covered soles silent on the seasoned boards. “I want to know how contact with Earthpeople is affecting other communities. I want to know if it is possible to live near you without being swallowed by you. I want to know if we can continue developing our own hard-earned abilities, or if our way of life must disappear.”

“And would it be a bad thing if it did disappear, if in its place you received a life such as ours?” asked Doreen searchingly.

Timmy walked to the edge of the porch and stood staring into the early night. “Who can answer that question? Is it better to Control the world you live in, or change it to suit
your own needs? We started down different paths, your people and mine, and after many years of travel those paths have met on this planet. You change nature wherever you go, moulding and shaping the land about you, and the creatures on that land, to suit your own purposes. We live on the land without change, compelling it, and the creatures on it, to furnish us our needs. You work with physical tools, we with mental. And you seem to have grown faster than we, for you are a mighty people to whom we axe as but a handful of sand lying on a deserted shore. It may be we have followed the wrong path, taken a long journey down a way to nothingness. And yet …”

“Little Micka,” said Doreen softly.

“Micka, later Sanda. We still do not know all they can do. Only time and growth will bring their full powers.”

“That’s a long time to wait, Timmy. Even a year is a long time. I can’t promise I’ll be here when you return.” There was a ragged edge in her voice, with tears lurking close behind.

“I would not bind you to me for so long a time. Our engagement is ended. If you are still unwed when I return … then we shall see.”

She rose and flew across the porch and into his arms, the tears spilling over and running down the thin face, while racking sobs shook her body. The crying spell lasted only a moment; she regained her self-control, stiffened her shoulders, lifted her face to be kissed. Timmy obliged her, but it was a brief and tasteless caress; then he was gone.

She stumbled to the swing and sat down again. The front door opened and Marge came hurrying to the swing and took her sister-in-law in her arms. Doreen buried her head against the full bosom and let the deep bitterness of grief wash out of her eyes.

Timmy heard her weeping as he passed through the gate, steeled himself, forced his suddenly leaden feet to move; and they carried him down the path and into the night.

When Antares rose majestically over the Whitecap Range next morning Timmy was already on his way. He carried
nothing but his cloak and a small pack strapped on his shoulders. Even the food in the pack was for emergencies. Under normal conditions he would live off the land. He moved at a steady, mile-eating trot, the pack swinging slightly on his shoulders, enjoying the feel of his own young strength, the play and movement of muscles under the hairy skin. There were joys in being a “primitive” which the soft Earthpeople would never know.

The sun cleared the tops of the mountains and shed its purple light on the trees around him. He was passing through a long arm of the forest that clothed the slopes of the White-caps, this particular arm running all the way to Loafertown at the edge of the sea. A half-hour’s run brought him out of the thick woods and on to the rich grass covering most of this fertile seaside plain. Timmy was heading north-northeast, towards the Valley of the Sweetwater. On his left lay fifteen miles of plain, watered by an offshoot of the Sweetwater River, and then the grey and stormy sea. On his right the forest gradually faded back towards the mountains, becoming at last a thin line of trees marching upward into the valley.

It was thirty miles to the Loafer village, and noon found Timmy passing the farm of Sam Harper, northernmost in the valley. Sam’s first book,
Farming on Refuge
, was now issued to every new colonist, along with several less advanced textbooks. His second,
Principles of Natural Plant Growth
, a more general study of agricultural basics, was a run-away best seller on other colonial worlds, despite its unorthodox approach to extensive cultivation.

He saw Sam working in the fields and waved, but did not go by the house. Cassie was a new mother, and again it had been a daughter. Sam had informed all of Refuge which cared to listen that they were going to continue having children until Cassie gave birth to a boy, and it was a local joke that they would have a girl for every fencepost in his front-yard before a boy came along. There were twenty-two such fenceposts.

A few minutes later Timmy entered the narrow upper neck
of the valley. He headed straight for the house of Brixta, and met him in front of his door.

“I give greetings to Timmy, friend of the People of the Trees,” murmured Brixta, crossing his arms above his chest in the traditional friendly greeting.

“Hail, Brixta,” returned Timmy, with equal formality. “I come as a man on havasid, homeless, friendless, wifeless, childless. I ask food and shelter for the news I bring.”

Brixta’s dark eyes opened wide, but he took the news that a neighbour only a half-day’s run away was visiting him on havasid in good stride. “The doors of my house are open. All that is within is yours, I speak for all my people. And now let me summon them, that you may tell us,” his face broke into a broad smile, “all the news you have gathered in your long travels.”

Timmy did not respond in kind. “Yes, I bring news,” he said gravely, and let it go at that. Brixta’s face sobered, and he called to his wife to prepare food for their visitor.

The meal was totally vegetarian in nature, as was to be expected, and delicious. After he had eaten and rested a bit Timmy talked quietly with Brixta while the tribe gathered outside. When at last he stepped through the door to confront his first audience his thoughts had clarified and he was ready to speak.

There was a large cleared area in the approximate centre of the huge grove where no trees had been allowed to grow, and the tribe of the Tree People had gathered there in all their numbers. A soft breeze whispered through the giant evergreens around them, murmuring over the thousands of food-plants growing in clusters and groups over every limb of the huge trees, climbing the great trunks in sinuous ripples, branching out from tree to tree in aerial highways of primitive and disturbing beauty. Scattered among the trees were many small patches of various plants which formed underground tubers, and these too were cared for and harvested, but they ran a poor second to the plants which produced year after year without having to be replanted. The Loafers did not like destructive methods of farming, and lowered themselves
to caring for seasonal plants only because the plants must die when their seed was made anyway.

Timmy walked forward, on to a slight rise at the edge of the clearing Which formed a natural podium, and stood waiting. Brixta walked in front of him and held up his hand for silence. When the folk had quieted Brixta said, “People of the Trees! Our friend Timmy, of the Tribe of Lindorn, is off on a great havasid, the first among his people to venture forth for many seasons, and we are his first contact. I ask that we tell him all he does not know which might help the other peoples of our world, and in turn listen to the words of wisdom he has to speak.”

Loafers never applauded, nor did these people acknowledge the introduction in any other way. Timmy moved forward as Brixta stepped back, and stared out at a hundred adult Loafers and numerous progeny quietly waiting to hear his words. He was suddenly and terribly afflicted with stage-fright, and wished for nothing more than to retreat to the edge of the little rise and make his way through the heavy growth to the open grassland; let his flying feet take him far away from here. But it was impossible. He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. The words must be said.

“People of the Trees! I bring you no news, no knowledge, and my head is filled with questions, not answers. My heart is fearful, my sleep broken and poor. Dreams come, and they are evil dreams, tormenting me without rest. I see my people divided and torn asunder, father against son, brother against sister. This has not come to pass, but I fear the future! My People of the Seashore are adopting the ways of the Hairless Ones. They seek the great knowledge of these people and neglect the cultivation of their own. In my tribe are two children, my niece and nephew, with the greatest powers known to any Loafer, yet their playmates ignore them and would seek to run with the Hairless Ones instead. I like not the path our young are taking, but have no power to deny it to them, nor certainty that I should try. The Hairless Ones are a people as uncountable as the drops of water in the ocean, and their powers are strange but mighty. We would do well to learn from them. And yet … we, too, have been
learning, and slow and torturous though it has been we have progressed, we have increased, we have controlled the forces of nature and forced them to serve our needs. We create without destroying, a method of living the Hairless Ones neither know nor understand. I stand before you now, and I ask: ‘Is your contact with the Hairless Ones wholly good?’”

There was swift and angry reaction among the seated Loafers, and several men rose to speak. Each glanced about him, and finally all but the oldest man sat down again. These people, at least, had not lost their manners.

The patriarch who stood must have been at least two hundred years old, though his strong voice and youthful manner belied the grey in his body hair. “I give you greeting, young havasid traveller,” he began courteously. “It is long since we have looked upon your face, and it is welcome here. But I do not understand your errand, nor do I believe in it. Our friendship with the Hairless Ones, particularly Sam Harper and Carey Sheldon, has brought us nothing but prosperity and profit. You were here when we confronted our Hairless neighbours in anger, and you know well the happy ending. And now our charge, the breshwahr trees, grow strong and tall in the sunlight, and daily their wisdom, and ours, increases. None of this would have come to pass were it not for the aid of the Hairless Ones. Sam Harper’s farm is the showplace of this planet, and his tales-you-look-at are heard by all his fellow farmers. Nor are our neighbouring tribesmen neglected, for we send the knowledge we acquire from the breshwahr freely to all peoples, and each day we learn more on how to grow and care for plants. Nothing troublesome has happened in our village, our youngsters obey their elders, and the Hairless Ones faithfully supply that wonderful food called borax which the breshwahr must have. We see no need for your mission.”

He sat down again, and Timmy rose to give a brief answer. “I thank the wise elder for his words, and I am glad the People of the Trees are happy and prosperous. I am proud to have had a part, however small, in bringing this about. But you are only one tribe, and there are many more. Your contact
with Hairless Ones has been limited to a few people, and I fear that as time goes on, and more and more Earth-people move into your pleasant valley and the beautiful plain below us, your relationship with them will change. And now I leave you, to continue my quest for knowledge.”

He saluted the people, and walked away. When he reached the edge of the trees he began to trot, and by the time he passed the last of the beautiful arbours he had settled down to the steady pace that would cover many miles each day. The journey would be long.

T
IMMY TURNED NORTH-EAST
as he left the inhabited area, aiming for the only pass through the Whitecaps in this vicinity. As he emerged into the open, not a mile from the steep scarp which formed the sudden end of the Sweetwater Valley on the North, he felt a presence near him and turned. A young girl emerged from the trees behind him, running a trifle faster than he, and was soon beside him. She was obviously a pre-initiate, for though her features were very pretty and her rangy body gave promise of beauty lurking in the future, she was now a scrawny adolescent. Her only distinguishing feature was a series of odd golden markings scattered through an unusually thick coating of brown hair. These were neither bright nor prominent, but were so rare among the Loafers they were something of an anomaly.