The Secret of Spring

by Piers Anthony

  “You don’t understand. It wouldn’t harm me, but Lily isn’t me. She’s part plant. Extreme cold doesn’t preserve plant life in the same way it does with flesh. She’ll wither. It’s like frost falling on a fragile blossom.”

  “She’s right, Herb,” Cling Ling spoke up. “If she isn’t put at the proper setting, she could die.”

  “But, they think Lily is you, a human!” Herb cried. “We have to stop them!”

  “The ship port,” Cling Ling said. “They may not have gotten clearance to take off yet. We must get there immediately, or—”

  He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Herb knew they had to get to the nearest transport trolley leaving for the ship port, but that was blocks away. By the time they reached it and the trolley shuttled them the few miles to the port, the ship could be light years away.

  Herb had always liked the natural pace of life on P#23, free from the combustible engine transports of other planets whose residents choked on the fumes from their filthy exhausts. Now, he cursed the environmentalists who controlled the number of vehicles a city could support. Certainly neither Herb nor Cling Ling owned a private transport. Spring looked at Herb in despair, knowing what they both were thinking. It was absolutely hopeless.

  17

  Fast Friends

  Cling Ling had rushed them out the door and across the street where they stood by watching as he spoke to a shady looking Treeple. He accepted some merrygolds from the Vinese and motioned them to an old warehouse. The Treeple raised up the wide door and pointed inside.

  Spring gasped in surprise. “A Turbocar. I didn’t think any of those still existed!” She hurriedly explained to Herb that they were an outlawed conveyance used on hers and some other planets until recently. They were practically indestructible. It was their passengers that met early demise. A quirk of construction that enabled their great speed also crushed the inhabitants on impact since there was no safety device in the universe able to protect them in a crash at that speed.

  They had all been recalled, but only speed reduction would correct the problem. Unfortunately, that was what had made the Turbos popular in the first place. Special destruction plants had been set up for the demolition. Evidently not all had met that fate.

  “You are familiar with the operation of this machine?” Herb asked.

  “Well, yes, but—” She hesitated. She did not like to drive a recalled vehicle. She looked around but saw the Treeple had already disappeared with his merrygolds.

  “I think it wise to depart now, Miss Moon,” Cling Ling said. “You see,” he confessed, “this vehicle is not the property of the seller.”

  “A hot car,” exclaimed Spring. That made sense because no one could legally own a Turbo.

  “I arranged for transportation before we arrived. I felt we might require a fast means of escape with Lily. I did not know the nature of the vehicle, but it was all our friend could do on short notice. You are an offworlder. I thought you would be able to operate it.” He climbed inside.

  Herb had already taken the back seat. It was a four seater, one directly behind the other for the sleek line the fast Turbo was known for. It resembled a small rocket in more ways than one, as Spring demonstrated by turning the car about and shooting out onto the road toward the ship port.

  The ship port was next door to the commercial lightport, so she needed only minimal directions. They careened down the narrow byways at breakneck velocity. She had succeeded in reaching the outskirts of the community when they heard a high pitched hum coming from a bright green vehicle she passed.

  “That’s the Patrol,” cried Herb. “Slow down.”

  “This is no time to worry about speeding tickets. Hang on,” Spring said, accelerating and pulling back all the way on the throttle. “I’m taking her out of second.”

  Herb shut his eyes. He had never ridden in anything so fast. The small vehicle seemed to almost glide on air. He opened his eyes cautiously and decided to peek back to see if the Patrol car was still there. It was. About thirty feet below them. And they were still climbing.

  “Spring,” Herb gasped. “We’re flying.”

  Spring pressed a little harder on the pedal and suppressed a smile. “Didn’t you know, Herb? Second gear is for ground travel, first is for flight.” She looked below to spot the Patrol car swerving wildly, barely missing a tree in the center of the road. Obviously, they didn’t expect their speeder to take to the sky. The tree was shaking his branches angrily as the official car screeched to a stop. It would take some explaining. The Patrol was supposed to protect pedestrians, not run over them.

  “That should keep them busy for a while,” Spring laughed, looking back to Herb. He was sitting very still, and had turned an unhealthy shade. Spring sympathized. Flying must be unnerving on a species bred for rooting in the earth. “Cheer up, Herb,” she encouraged him, “I think that’s the ship port just below us.”

  Making a wide circle, she brought the car down for a landing. Sparks flew as she switched gears and drove into the port on firm ground again. The Vinese rolled out of the car and into the terminal like a ball of green lightning, and returned a short while later.

  “Too late,” he reported. “There was only one Freezer in port today, and it left just minutes before we arrived.”

  “Oh no!” Herb groaned. “Lily.”

  “I have taken the liberty to inquire about private transport, Herb, and I should have my answer in a moment,” said Cling Ling, dashing back toward the terminal.

  “Then we still have hope, Herb,” Spring said. “It will be cutting it close, but with a fast ship—we could still revive her. I assisted my father in his practice and I know a lot about plant life. I’m certain I can help.”

  “Then I will not give up,” Herb said gratefully.

  Cling Ling was motioning for them from the entrance. They abandoned the Turbo where it stood and ran toward the terminal where Cling Ling hurried them through the big dome toward a dilapidated Txnghc ship.

  Spring’s eyes widened. “Uh, Cling.”

  “I know, Mistress Moon, but it was the only ship available, and they are very fast, once launched. They have light propulsion and limited timewarp. We could do worse.”

  That was hard to believe on the face of it, but what choice did they have? The Txnghc pilot looked like a giant larva; clear goo oozed from his upside down eyelids, his six hands waved frantically in the air as he spoke gruffly with the Vinese. Neither Herb nor Spring spoke Txnghcian, but it sounded none too friendly.

  “What’s he saying?” Spring whispered.

  “He has another passenger,” Cling Ling said, “that must be delivered first. I could not convince him that we require priority delivery.”

  “But we’ll be too late again,” despaired Herb.

  “Perhaps not. He thinks we can make the time window for entry to Kamalot. The Freezer had a head start, but this ship is faster, and it is, after all, all we have.”

  The Txnghc spoke harshly again.

  “He says we must leave now or stay behind,” Cling Ling said. He looked questioningly at the other two.

  Herb surveyed the pile of strange pipes and knobs with dismay. The thought of going up into space in that curled his tendrils.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, fighting the cowardly urge to scream “No!”

  “Yes. Tell him yes,” Spring said, looking over Herb’s shoulder into the terminal behind them. “We’ll go now.” She shoved Herb ahead of her and up the boarding ramp, never pausing until they had slipped down into the hatch with Cling Ling close behind.

  “Hey. Wait,” Herb protested as he was propelled forward. He looked up as the heavy hatch door slammed shut like the lid of a coffin. “Spring!”

  “We have no choice, Herb,” she said breathlessly. “I saw the Patrol coming, and you get one guess who they’re looking for. Maybe we should have hidden the Turbo. If we get tied up with them, we’ll never reach Lily in time.”

  Herb sighed with resignation. She was ri
ght, of course. They had to go. Two days ago he had been a simple workaday Veganoid, dating a normal girl, heading for a normal future. Now he was in a garbage can with a grub worm at the controls, preparing to hurl his body into outer space to the castle of some mad magician to try saving his fiancée who would probably freeze to death if they didn’t find her in time. Under the circumstances, it seemed appropriate that the Patrol should be after him as well.

  Herb seemed to step outside himself. Now he could really see who he was—a pervert. “Yes, you can’t deny it, Herb Moss. All of this happened because you wanted to write a couple of innocent letters? Don’t give me that, Moss. They weren’t all that innocent. A nice girl wasn’t good enough for you. No, you had to go looking around for some exotic little blossom with a foreign fragrance to spice up your ho-hum life.

  “Well, congratulations. It’s spicy now, old man. Lily may die, killers are after you, you have one girl too many, and your face will probably end up on the wall of the Paradise Post Office. There goes your promotion. So what if you feel guilty about kissing Spring? You liked it. You liked it a lot.”

  Spring shook him. “Are you all right? Snap out of it, Herb. We’re outside the hanger and ready for blast off. We have to strap in.”

  Herb stepped back into his body. His sleazy, pervert body. Ah well, it was the only one he had and he would have to learn to live with it, he thought, as Spring’s touch sent tingles down his thighs. Pervert.

  Cling Ling translated the take-off procedures, which involved lying down and inserting themselves into long sacks like cocoons. This seemed a trifle extreme at first, but when the ship suddenly lurched upward and began its jerky roll and thrust into the atmosphere, accelerating as it twisted like a snake in a cactus patch, they reconsidered. Perhaps, just perhaps, the precautions were warranted. They slunk deeply into their sacks, glad they could not see what their stomachs were feeling.

  Herb had thought nothing could be worse than the Turbocar ride, but quickly retracted that premature assumption. He felt like a tossed salad. No wonder Paradise natives had chosen not to be space travellers. If he lived to plant his feet on solid earth, he would dig in roots and never dream of such adventure again. He wondered how his companions were faring, and dared to crack open one eye.

  The Vinese seemed to be taking it in his usual leafy stride, eyes closed in peaceful vegetation. But then, Cling Ling had taken many journeys in Vision Plays. Perhaps this was not that different? Herb envied such composure. He took comfort from the thought that at least poor Lily did not have to endure such a harrowing trip. Freezers did not use such energetic contortions to propel themselves. The Txnghc engineers must be mad. He shut his eyes tight and tried not thinking at all until jolted awake with the tremendous sound of crushing metal, and another body slamming into his.

  Spring lay squashed against Herb with Cling Ling’s sack pressing her from the other side. She wiggled up and out of the bag. “I think we’ve landed,” she said.

  Herb and Cling Ling extricated themselves from their own sacks. Herb leaned against the still rocking walls, trying to steady himself. He had not yet acquired his space legs.

  The Vinese stretched out his long vines tautly, a lengthy process. Herb’s eyes popped as Spring reached her arms above her head to stretch, causing her top portion to lift and expand. He ripped his attention from that view and shifted it to the porthole where all he saw was lots of red, sandy dirt. It was a considerable letdown.

  “I don’t think this is Kamalot,” he said.

  “Of course not. The pilot had to deliver his other passenger first, remember?” Spring said.

  “Oh. Yes, now I do,” Herb groaned inwardly. That meant they would have to go through another mad take-off and landing.

  The inner hatch to their compartment popped open. “Everybody out,” came the voice from the cockpit.

  “Well, why not? Let’s go outside and stretch our limbs,” Herb said, standing aside for Spring to climb up first. Maybe she would do that interesting gesture again.

  “Wait,” Cling Ling said. “He was speaking Unispeech, not Txnghcian.”

  “That’s right,” Spring said, puzzled. “Why didn’t he use it before so we could understand him instead of having to translate through you?”

  “Because I think that is not our pilot,” Cling Ling said.

  “Then, where is our pilot?” Herb said.

  The Txnghc’s head poked through the hatch door and was followed swiftly by the long body. He plopped face first to the floor below and lay there, very still, looking very dead. Spring screamed.

  18

  Ant We Got Fun

  Herb listened to Spring’s scream, wanting to join her but knowing it would hardly be the manly thing to do. Plantly, either. Cling Ling wasn’t falling apart. He was putting his vine against the alien’s midsection. Was he listening for a heartbeat or pulse? Did a Txnghc have either? Cling Ling withdrew his tendrils and stood vegetating in silence.

  The voice boomed again. “Passengers will vacate this ship at once.” This time there was heavy emphasis on the “will” and “at once.” Whoever it was, was short of patience.

  “I think we should obey for the present,” Cling Ling said, mounting the ladder.

  Spring looked around anxiously to Herb, who offered her his arm and guided her up and out onto the outer hull. He was climbing out behind her when a small voice called from inside the cockpit.

  “Hey. Wait for me.”

  “Is that a child?” Spring said in astonishment. “The other passenger!”

  “I’ll get him,” Herb said, backing down into the ship again. He emerged a moment later holding a small boy of perhaps six years, and lowered him down to Cling Ling. Then Herb slid down to join the others.

  “Halt,” came the command. It was the same voice they’d heard earlier. It came from a huge red creature at the back of their ship. It looked like a giant ant. The ant stood upright; it wore a helmet and carried a pipe-like weapon slung about its upper section. It stood wiggling its antennae and moving its mandibles.

  Herb gave an involuntary shudder. There were no harmful insects on P#23 but he knew something of the species. Most of them ate plants. Of course, so did Herb, but he doubted creatures of that size worried about a little thing like sapience and nonsapience. He also noted that Cling Ling appeared nervous for the first time. That was not comforting.

  Spring had taken charge of the child and held him by the hand as she advanced on the big bug with a bravery born of the maternal instinct.

  “Just what is the meaning of this outrage?” she exploded. “What have you done to our pilot? How dare you terrorize women and children.”

  The ant was momentarily cowed by her verbal bombardment, but quickly recovered. “We know nothing of your pilot. As for terrorist action, it is you who have invaded our territory,” he counter attacked.

  Snapping out orders to the others of his kind in his own chirping language, they came forward to escort them from the ship across the soft, shifting red dirt. It was a strange landscape, with the same reddish covering as far as they could see.

  “What is this place? Where are you taking us?” Herb demanded despite his fear.

  “To the Commander. It is he who shall decide your fate, Invaders,” the head ant answered.

  “We aren’t invaders,” Spring protested. “Let us go and we will gladly depart this planet.”

  “Quiet, spy!” barked the ant, clicking his mandibles loudly. “March.”

  They marched. Eventually, they came to a small opening in the dirt and were pushed through the entrance down long, winding tunnels to a small cell of a room.

  It was dark and cool like a cave. The only light came through a ceiling opening where thin rays of sun beamed through. They were alone except for one guard at the doorway. The other had left, to report to this Commander, no doubt. Army ants. Where in the universe were they?

  “Intolerable,” the young boy said. “It will not bode well for them when word of this reaches
the High Council, you can bank on that, my friends.”

  They all stared at him.

  “Oh. Allow me to introduce myself. I am High Commissioner Pat Tikakes of the planet Tetrahedron, at your service.” He clicked his little heels together and kissed the hand that had been holding his for so long.

  “Patty Cakes?” Herb asked, astonished at the small child’s manner.

  The smile faded from his little face. “That’s Pat Tikakes. And may I inquire of the rest of you?”

  “Oh. Uh, we are your fellow passengers, on our way to Kamalot on a mission of mercy,” Spring said, coming out of her trance. “Do you mean to imply by what you said earlier, that you know where we are?” she asked.

  “I do so imply, for I know only too well. This is Formicidae, a primitive planet under military law. The whole planet is one giant anthill. They are presently engaged in warfare with the Cracks, another species of mutant ants inhabiting this dreary world. They have been in conflict for eons over racial superiority. The Cracks are more Beetle than Ant, and the Army ants more so than Beetle. Both have a slight touch of Arachnoid—notice the mouth?—but both tend to ignore that. They have obviously mistaken us for spies of their enemy.”

  “But we don’t look anything like ants,” Herb said.

  “Ah, but they’d be expecting that, wouldn’t they? In any case, I hope to dissuade them from this regrettable misapprehension.”

  “You know a lot for such a young man,” Spring remarked, smiling.

  “I am a duly appointed diplomat,” he sniffed. “I am returning home from an important mission. It would be unfortunate if I did not know my job, young lady.”

  “Children can be diplomats?” Herb exclaimed in disbelief.

  “Naturally not. I was a grown man then,” he returned impatiently. “No doubt you are from one of those backward planets where time moves forward. Try to comprehend. We of Tetrahedron live our physical lives in the opposite direction from most of the universe. It does make travel difficult, but such is the price of an advanced culture.”