Lucifer Comet (2464 CE) Page 21

  There indeed it was, filling a very large space of sky: the down-tumbling mizdorf, his head burning orange-red; and above him balefully glowered blue-white Hatsya the Star of God.

  Methuen murmured, “The backside of Lucifer.”

  Reverently she returned, “Tomorrow I will be cruising up there, out there. But tonight, here on the ground—oh, fellas, just look!”

  27

  Day Twenty-Seven

  The wedding trip began in high style. The entire city, with the leaders forming the inner circle, gathered around Narfar and his bride in the central square before the palace: he naked as usual, she dressed in the togs she’d arrived here in (she’d found them and pond-washed them), a costuming which on Erth would be sturdy-utilitarian but which the Dorians regarded as goddess-festive.

  Narfar and Dorita stood there in circle-center holding hands and slowly wheeling to bid au revoir to this quarter and that; flower petals rained upon them amid enthusiastic screaming; quite a few women fainted, and there were a number of male and female orgasms-without-contact. From the free hand of Narfar dangled two harnesses: one carried the two gadzyook pelts for Dorita, the other bore a large bag of coarse-woven vines containing relatively nonperishable rations. (“No sweat about sugar,” he had advised her. “In ice country we eat plenty nael blubber.”) Still another harness tightly clasped his pectorals, leaving free play for arms and wings; from this harness dangled a short rein.

  When flight-moment came, Narfar raised a hand high, hushing the crowd. He went down on all fours and hung the harnesses about his neck. Dorita, who’d had some practice with this, straddled the high of his rump and bent forward to grip his shoulder-harness under his arms, hooking her feet around his thighs near the knees. Narfar stood; her hooking feet slid down to his upper calves. Narfar waved at the crowd with both arms, bawled, “We come back!” and took off into the sky.

  Would they come back?

  Sensitive to the limitations of his bride, Narfar selected an altitude which would give him optimum wing efficiency while not chilling his back-passenger too much. This turned out to be five hundred meters aloft, and with her clothes on she tolerated it quite well here in tropical warmth. At first she clung tightly along his back, until she began to notice that he was no longer accelerating: he had settled down to a steady wingbeat which drove them northward at a speed something like five hundred kilometers per hour. Cautiously she raised her head a little, then ducked as the headwind caught it. Speaking or even screaming to Narfar and being heard was out of the question; she mind-urged, Can you slow way down so I can get control of this?

  Cupping wings forward, he braked too suddenly for her safety. How this?

  Slower, please—but don’t throw me.

  He eased off to something like a hundred. How this?

  Hold it there, let me try— She raised her head: not bad; about like stunt-flying an archaic open-cockpit airplane (she’d done that, too). Gradually, gripping the rein, she semi-erected herself, then fell back; she didn’t dare release foot-grip on his knees; she should have designed in stirrups… . Narfar, can you pull in your legs, like kneeling? He did so, and it drew her up to a full sitting position; she dared lean back on the rein, breasting the wind. That very good, she told him.

  He responded testily: This too slow. You have to stop for sleep some time. Take us many days, we run out of food.

  All right. Try speeding it up, very slowly.

  How speed slow? Speed quick!

  I mean, like flying a little quicker, then a little quicker, then— That enough; I got. You tell when too quick. You maybe fall off, you mind-shout, I zip down and catch.

  He accelerated gradually until she felt that she had reached her speed of maximum tolerance. That it, Narfar! Stay there!

  That better, he mind-sighed, relieved. Now we go almost as quick as before. We get there in three days now, if you not tired.

  By degrees, she grew accustomed to the steady headwind; he was not accelerating, but winging at an invariant speed a bit over three hundred. Calculation told her his plan: ten flying hours per day for three days, giving her plenty of resting time. This would allow them to make stops; and they would be needed, if only because of leg-and-foot cramps.

  Could she ease the progress of that cramping? With care, she tried a few ploys: released one foot, let it hang (it was blown backward); reclaimed his leg with that foot, released the other; clung with both feet and released a hand, letting it swing; switched to the other hand. All went well: this was beginning to be high fun! Recalling his promise to catch her if she fell, she mind-shouted: Look, Narfar! no hands! and released the rein entirely, clinging with feet only, swaying like a bareback horsewoman at gallop.

  You getting good, he told her laconically. But watch out. Might not hear mind-scream.

  She was more prudent after that; nevertheless she found many ways of resting herself in flight. Perhaps tomorrow she would urge him into some aerobatics.

  The new ease allowed her to take interest in the swift-passing below-scenery. They had been a couple of hours en route, and still the terrain was generally flat and bejungled. Weird carnivores and herbivores burst out of jungle and vanished behind them, often the one chasing the other. It was positively criminal for them to move so rapidly when instead they could be exploring; but when she tested Narfar’s mind on this, responded: We come back slower, but right now we have place to go. Wedding trip, remember? Her husband’s mind might not be diversified, but it was strong all right: it locked onto whatever occupied it at the moment, and for that time there was nothing else for him.

  And just now, that was a good thing for Dorita. The route was beguiling—but the biggest thing in her life was that goal.

  Actually it was five hours before she had to call for a rest stop. Her muscles might have held out longer; her bladder could not. Her steed spied a good place and spiraled downward; fifty meters above grass, he came to a dead halt in midair and helicoptered them to the ground, landing on hands and knees for her convenience. She dismounted. He commanded: “Wait there!” and went over to the bushes and vanished therein. He returned almost immediately: “That okay for your private place, no snakes.”

  She queried: “How about—” She wanted to ask “—spiders?” but it came over her that she had never heard the word in his tongue—nor, for that matter, had she seen a spider on Dora. Her urgency was too great for playing with this idea: she retired into the copse. Narfar had always respected her wish for privacy with nature’s urgings; and she had found that this custom was general among Dorians, except for her at first when her companions had taken her to the midden because of her weakness. She hadn’t learned whether it was a matter of nicety or a question of magic. For primitives, an enemy who found your leavings could use them to work magical injury upon you.

  When she returned to the clearing, Narfar was returning also, from another copse, both hands loaded with bananas. He queried: “We eat now?”

  Over lunch, he reminded her: “Where we stop tonight, a lot cooler, maybe no food; we save food we brought for that. Next night, cold; I catch birds, we eat while they still warm. Next night, very cold, deep ice country; I catch nael, we eat blubber while it still warm. Dorita, you warm while we fly? You want one gadzyook pelt now?”

  Having munched and swallowed a juicy mouthful of banana, she told him that if she should grow too cold, they could stop while she got out a fur from the pouch. Then she mind-said, quite casually: Lots of snakes and bugs on Dora. No spiders on Dora?

  It did something quite terrible to Narfar. He quivered all over, dropped his banana, leaped to his feet with face contorted in the fury of hatred, taut-stretched both arms and wings, menaced her with clawed hands. She crouched away from him. His menace eased off, he stood trembling, he commanded in a mind-quaver: Dorita you not say that word again you not say that word— Quickly she said, “Be easy, Narfar, I not say that word.”

  The transition from tropical to temperate was rather abrupt; and the effect on Dorita
, high-speed-flying at five hundred meters, was swift-chilling. Need fur, she mind-gasped. Narfar landed as quickly as he could without endangering her, and tenderly wrapped her in one of the gadzyook pelts; the legs remained on the pelts, and the paws had been adapted as hand and foot mittens. Then they lofted and went back at it. The pelt’s warmth was almost absolute, She discovered that in this latitude it was too much, so she freed hands and feet from the mittens; thanks to a couple of clever little bone safety pins, she was able to wear the fur as a flamboyant flying cloak, with her arms and legs bare of it (although she wore long trousers), and yet with comfort across her chest and over her shoulders.

  By late afternoon, the rolling landscape below so much resembled the forests and meadows of her homeland that it almost made her homesick. They landed beside a tree-and-meadow-bordered lakelet with no sign of habitation anywhere. Narfar took off into sky after food, while Dorita discarded the fur and went to work weaving a bower for rain-shelter (the sky threatened) or anyhow against dew. Narfar returned with five wild ducks, their necks already wrung; she assumed that he had asked them and they had given adoring permission.

  Selecting one for herself, she began plucking it (not easy when raw and unsinged), while Narfar tore into his unplucked four and devoured them spitting-out feathers. Even Dorita didn’t pluck thoroughly, there was no time, the birds would be no good eaten cold; she too had some feathers to spit, but she ate well, having grown used to raw meat. Narfar offered her what was left of his last duck, and she accepted and finished it while he cracked and sucked bones. Watching each other eat raw meat aroused them sexually; and soon they were at it, grease and all.

  A couple of hours later, with the sun already set, they skinny-dipped in the shallow cold pond and dried each other with her fur coat. “You wear tomorrow morning,” he suggested. “It get dry in sky real quick.”

  They lay in their bower, he cradling her head on his chest. He had ripped up two rich turfs for pillows (luckily they contained no ants); and they pillow-talked with their minds, for it didn’t seem a time to make noises.

  After a while he brought the talking around to spiders. She could tell that he had resolved the matter in his mind, he had simply conquered it, and now he wanted to talk about it—but not too much.

  He told her: When I first come to Erth, I make good world for all beasts. All but spiders. I not like spiders, they got eight legs and eight eyes, that bad number, I like two and four and six better. They always hurting nice beasts, especially bugs. I like all bugs, they nice and funny, but spiders make web traps for bugs and suck out juices, it not fair.

  Some spiders worse, kill mice, hide in bananas, bite monkeys and people. Besides, spiders not do what I tell them, they not like me. I decide I better get rid of all spiders.

  But Quarfar stop me, he a big nuisance, he say spiders as good as bugs, keep spiders but just make people stronger. I let him have his way because he smarter. So he go get fire and bring it to people, and everything go wrong after that.

  Then I leave Erth and come to Dora. I find two evils here: spiders and funny children. I decide I have to make Dora good for people and beasts too, not just for beasts. But I keep out fire, because Quarfar ruin Erth with fire. I keep out metal, because Quarfar ruin Erth with metal. And I get rid of the two evils—spiders and funny children. So no spiders here. And when a funny child show up, I get rid of that one too.

  She did not have to ask what he meant by funny children: he meant people like herself, before he had fixed her. Instead she queried, feeling that she was close to the major secret of Dora: How you get rid of spiders and funny children?

  She could feel his mind stiffen. He told her peremptorily: You keep away from that question.

  But then, feeling guilty, he took the edge off his sharpness with body-love—and during lulls she reflected that she didn’t really need his answer, she thought she knew what it was. But the now-suspected coupling of funny children with spiders in that box introduced a new hazard into her grand adventure.

  28

  Day Twenty-Seven and Twenty-Eight

  The equatorial site, despite the humid heat, was as good as any for most of the task force. Stratogeologist Peranza was making test borings and sonar seismic analyses; Zoologist Hoek, Botanist Farouki and Microbiologist Manumuko prowled, with guards, the nearby jungle; Linguist Alexandrovna grumped and theorized.

  For Archaeologist Seal, Anthropologist Chu and Psychobiologist Ombasa, it was the best of all possible sites. They knew from Dorita’s reporting of Quarfar that Narfaris culture had been sited in this tropical belt; and right at this fortuitous place, already they had found Narfar’s throne and were (with crew-aid and Seal’s archaeo-sensitive rekamatic equipment) cautiously extending the scope of the dig.

  Those who found the site unfruitful could rove as they might in high-speed vehicles. Astrophysicist Sari was provided with an aerospace scouter in which she could take microsensors above the atmosphere. Glaciologist Green had an aero-scouter and was off reconnoitering southern ice.

  Methuen and Zorbin had little to do; and that was particularly bad for Methuen, as Zorbin understood. The exec could almost read his captain’s thoughts: Right here is where Nar-far would have brought her … She wouldn’t have moved spatially from this area, she’d have moved temporally only … How far back? Obviously as far back as the origin of Comet Gladys … Narfar is reassuming rule of his people, perhaps he is festively marrying Dorita (acute jealousy twinge, quickly fought down because it was selfish) . . , Right here! but not here-now, rather here-then .. . Inaccessible, with all the modernities of advanced science: intangible, untouchable, but right here somewhen,… Just as galling as his ultimately frustrated Dorita-urge was his inability to really comprehend the time-cause of his frustration, despite Ombasa’s theorizing; and the human coup de laideur was the impossibility of doing anything about it.

  Compounding the irony: if Dorita had been here, she could have helped him—but if she had been here, he would not have been needing her help.

  Abandoning that line of thought, he turned to present practicalities—and hazards, acutely remembering his conversation with Ombasa.

  After outdoor camp-supper, those who were on hand met for conference aboard ship. (They weren’t sleeping outdoors in the tents they’d brought, because of problems with insects and snakes.) Absent were star-scouting Sari and glacier-scouting Green. Of the eight present, all were enthusiastic about beginning progress, with the exception of Olga who was morose because she had found nothing resembling language to work on.

  Seal bubbled about more discoveries in chemical analysis of the throne. Then she sprang her surprise bomb. The extended excavations had already uncovered three post-holes in a beginning arc which might indicate the walls of a palace; the dirt in one of these post-holes contained molecules which, judging by their species distribution, had once been wood; while another hole—this was the grisly part of her bomb— contained a few bones which definitely had to be those of a small humanoid infant. On this revelation, she passed the ball to the anthropologist.

  Chu responded with studious graveness; and he specified that his comments were inductive hypotheses, not deductive theorems. First, the combination of a throne and post-holes did in his opinion suggest a palace, especially since the theoretically extended circle of the already-discovered arc would be quite large, say thirty meters in diameter, and the throne would constitute roughly circle-center. It was impossible yet to infer the construction of the palace in a positive way, but a preliminary guess might be that the walls were woven withes and the roof, if any, was thatch. Here Seal interposed that the sizes of the post-holes indicated tall heavy posts, which seemed to mean outer walls and not room-dividers. Chu agreed, but added that because of the sophisticated throne and the size of the outer walls, there probably had been rooms for one or another purpose of privacy or storage or other convenience, with the throne centered in the largest room. He-pointed out that even in Achaean times on Erth, the central hall
of a king’s palace had not often exceeded two hundred square meters, and there would be plenty of room for such a hall in a palace whose area would have exceeded seven hundred square meters.

  Chu now commented on the evidence of infant burial beneath a post. “The practice of sacrificing an infant to the god or gods by placing him dead or alive beneath a temple post is well known on Erth, an instance being on primitive Tahiti. But one does not normally find thrones in temples. One has to judge, in a preliminary way, that this structure was both a palace and a temple, and that the god was the king. This king presided over a culture which was full of anomalies from our point of view, being primitive enough to build even its temple-palace of forest materials, yet sophisticated enough to design a stone throne of considerable artistry, yet primitive enough to carve the throne with hard stone tools and not with metal, yet sophisticated enough to carve so intricate a throne with stone tools.

  “And my colleague from Eskimoland has pointed out to me a remarkable absence which she did not mention; she will forgive me for introducing it. So far in the dig, we have discovered no evidence of fire! Now this is a total anomaly, in terms of what we know not only from Erth but also from other planets. It is almost perfectly safe to say, that if there is a palace, then there is a hearth; or if there is a temple, then there is a ceremonial hearth; or, for that matter, if there is a once-inhabited paleolithic cave, there are fire-chars—even in the tropics, at least for cooking purposes, with any creature much later than Australopithecus. But we have excavated this palace from the throne to the outer wall in an area equal to a radian, roughly sixteen percent of the total palace area; and we have found no ashes, no chars. Mabel Seal assures me that even wood ashes have an enormous life, that they have been discovered from eras far older than this one. So then— unless further excavation proves us wrong—we are talking about an anomalous pre-civilization which had, not only no metal, but also no fire}