Mattu was given special transfusions that made his pituitary halt its normal processes and lie dormant in preparation for regeneration. He looked as if he were dying. His body shrank to a fraction of its former size, his eyes turned rheumy, he became senile and foolish. His body servants stuffed him into an egg sac, poked a feeding tube down his throat, laced the opening securely and transported the egg out over the ocean, where it was dropped. The tube in Mattu’s throat fed him a solution that placed him in suspended animation. At the end of ten thousand years, the call of the wild reached his ears. His pituitary flickered to life and so did all of him.
The next generation of Valenians was pleased with Mattu. He was a good lover to the new Valene. However, being mortal, he needed to die at the end of his normal life span, which had been considerably shortened by the treatment. The alteration of such an essential part of his existence made him extremely argumentative and he turned out to be a far more earnest griper than his ancestor.
* * * *
In this dispensation of time, the President of the United States was the first human to be killed by a Valenian. It wasn’t part of any plan of Valene’s to have such an important person killed first. To her he didn’t even exist. It simply happened that way. She wasn’t responsible for the places where the children of her predecessor chose to surface after their long sleep.
The President was walking his dog on the White House grounds, and the dog attacked something in a clump of shrubbery. The something was a Valenian, still groggy, sore from having crawled upward through a mile or so of clay, and hungry. The thing ate the dog, the President and a bodyguard who rushed across the yard when he heard their cries.
Most of the Valenians surfaced on the North American continent. They always would as long as the queen-egg was secreted in Old Faithful. The heat didn’t bother it, and it had sunk too deeply into the mud bottom to be belched out.
Ten thousand years ago, the world’s medicine men were called upon to get rid of the Valenians with magic. This time, in the twentieth century, scientists were handed the task. They did as well or as poorly as their counterparts of old.
Many people provided meals for the furry giants, but so did a large number of cows, horses, sheep, et cetera. In the meantime, the armies of the world plotted. How could they kill an enemy who was in every city?
The egg in which the nest resided finally hatched in Rockefeller Center, and the world thought victory was at last in sight. They believed the Valenians were like bees and that the nest was necessary for the bugs’ survival.
While the governments planned their strategy for dropping an atom bomb on the nest, Queen Valene was making love to Mattu and growing more pregnant hourly.
Man was too slow in making up his mind. Time ran out. Valene prepared to lay her eggs. The first was carefully dropped into Old Faithful, and it was the largest of all. In ten millennia it would produce the new Valene.
From the geyser, Valene flew to a heavily populated area, which happened to be New York City. Her eggs flowed from her in a deluge. No more would the Valenians eat human flesh. Only the eggs would grow fat on such nourishment. From now on, the Valenians would be strict vegetarians.
* * * *
Dalia was the second-born of the old Valene, a sweet-natured specimen who never let me out of her sight, except when I was sleeping. She had a deep concavity in her skull where it connected with her backbone, and every day after Blacky and I went through our acrobatic act for the queen’s entertainment, I climbed up Dalia’s side and seated myself in the depression in her head.
She crawled from the nest, spread her wings and flew over the countryside of NYC. I beat her with my fists whenever I wanted her to do something.
We were on the hunt for survivors, and this time we intended to go a far distance. Dalia was always hungry, like me, so whenever she spied an orchard or a garden, she grounded and we had a snack.
It took us twenty hours to get to Africa, and we made two stops to eat. At last we parked on a mountain ridge above a campsite of jungle bunnies and slept until morning.
The natives were restless at sunup. For a thousand years Whitey had been after them to join civilization. They weren’t supposed to hunt with spears or live like savages. Of course, what happened as a result of this was that the niggers didn’t really live at all but were spectators to Whitey’s life. In the meantime, they lost their spears and ate what Whitey tossed them.
At any rate, this morning, civilization was gone. Valene and her slaves had demolished the status quo. This bunch of niggers that Dalia and I watched were restless because their stomachs hurt.
They had the oldest member of the tribe for breakfast, after which they griped because he had made tough chewing. These were educated niggers, spoke English and had up-to-date catalogs in their outhouses. During the gab session, some old buck suggested that a virgin be on the menu from then on. He put up a good argument, concluded by pointing out that a virgin was like a tasty dessert, you could have it and eat it too. This served as a reminder to all that they hadn’t had any dessert after breakfast, so every girl in the group started running. The last Dalia and I saw of the tribe, they were hauling down on some young critter.
My people were doing the same thing in NYC. On top of buildings, in alleys, in offices. With no fire, more times than not. They ate a lot of black meat. I saw them eating rats, too, but they didn’t care what color they were.
I saw a crippled man walking down the street. So did a fellow on top of a building. He slid down a rope and, knife in hand, approached the crippled man. From the buildings poured a horde of hungries. They took the fellow’s knife from him and used it to parcel him out.
I saw a child walking down the street. It was the same story. This time three men tried to jump her. The meal was three times more substantial.
Didn’t anybody eat vegetables? Well, where in NYC were any? A human didn’t dare go in a food store, for there was likely to be a Valenian dining in it.
I saw a horse running down the street, a pack of human savages chasing it with a net. I gave Dalia a whack on the head to gain her attention, squeezed her neck with my legs and guided her to a spot over the savages.
“Let ‘em have it,” I told her, and she did.
Her belly sent an avalanche of spears to the ground. By and by the horse came back and ate half of somebody. Pretty soon he got sick and died. I had Dalia let go with a circle of spears around his body. No one bothered that horse, not that day or any other.
* * * *
I was no longer afraid of the Valenians or the nest or anything else. Blacky and I didn’t sleep in the shack; now we slept in a hole in the nest. The Council Chamber held no terror for us. It was simply a room in the nest, a big hollow area where Valene and her Council rested most of the time.
Mattu was a gorgeous creature. An orator by nature, he could spout for hours, and after I learned the language, I argued with him.
“Our life span is so short and we have killed so many.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “You aren’t abstract enough.”
“Should I try to pretend that it hasn’t happened?” he said, a bitter light in his eyes.
“That isn’t a bad idea.”
The rulers in the Chamber stirred, stood on their short legs.
“Come before me,” said Valene.
I hopped onto my hands and she had fun licking me all over.
“Mama, don’t do too much. Leave some of her for me.” This was Dalia speaking.
“You love her?” said Foster-mama Valene.
“Very much.”
“You would take my pleasure?” said Monarch Valene.
“Never.”
“Very well, you can have a lick.”
While this went on, Blacky crouched in a corner and whimpered.
“Get the hell over here,” I said. “You think I can take this much goosing all the time?”
“Don’t kid me,” she sniveled, “you love it.”
“What
’s wrong with being a hedonist? There’s no God. If there’s no best, there’s no worst.”
“You been getting Dalia to kill people. How many do you think are left?”
“What does it matter?”
“Nothing, except that you’re human.”
“Pooh-pooh. I’m here, they’re there. Where’s the resemblance?”
“You lousy atheist.”
I laughed. “With those words you explained reality. I can’t see why there was ever a fuss made about it. No good, no bad, no great, no small, nothing, no nothing other than what I do, do, do, do, do—”
“Shut up!”
* * * *
“Mattu, why do you want to die?” I said.
“It isn’t a matter of desire. From the beginning, it was the pattern.”
“Do you think you have a circle built into your brain?”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, you haven’t. Your brain is like mine. It is a thing. It doesn’t travel the same course as your father’s. He didn’t see or want what you do. In other words, you were a tabula rasa at birth.”
“Prove it.”
“Dang bug.”
‘‘Sticks and stones.”
“Remember you love me.”
“I remember. As did my father.”
“Whom I never met,” I said with scorn.
“In myself are all magumas.”
“You’re more Valenian than maguma.”
Said Mattu, “Valenian, maguma, human, horse or mosquito, we are all one.”
“The universal id?”
“Soul,” he said. “In the beginning, it existed, and like the amoeba, it began to divide. Fly to the terminal and see the myriad faces of the One. Tell them they are individuals, hear them agree, see them support or turn against each other. What they do or claim changes nothing. You and I wish to be distinct, but we are part of the One.”
“My God, what’s the use of living, if that’s the case?”
Mattu’s eyes held amusement. “Haven’t I been asking that all along?”
“Tell me something. Just what the hell are you?”
“The Devil’s Adversary.”
“What you need is an opponent. I wish I could be it.”
Ha, ha, ha! All the rulers laughed with pleasure.
* * * *
“Don’t you care that you’re killing people?” This was what Blacky said to me. We were in the nest, and I was wishing Dalia was there so I could share my comfort with her.
“You have it backwards, as usual,” I said. “I don’t kill anyone. Dalia does it.”
“At your urging.”
“The Council doesn’t object, so why should I worry? Besides, why should they care about people?”
“You sound like you’re talking about ants or something. What do you call me? Am I a person?”
“You’re a visual effect,” I said, and she took a fit, started yelling and kicking the wall of the nest. “At least you could show some gratitude,” I said, loud enough to be heard above the din. “When they look at you they get a terrific kick where it counts, and you ought to be glad since that’s the only reason you’re alive.”
There are four castes in Valenian society. First there is Valene. Nobody dictates to her. She is the boss and the rest are underlings. Insulted I suppose she can be by someone, but it’s probably nicer if she doesn’t feel insulted. The second caste is the Ruling Council. They discuss regulations and curiosities. In the Council are the five first-born, after the queen. Dalia is top dog in this group. In a class all by himself is the Devil’s Adversary, Mattu, but since he never challenges the higher echelons, it isn’t clear to me how much power he has. The fourth group encompasses every other Valenian, and they are happy slaves. Actually, there may be a fifth class, the honeycomb or nest, though I’m not certain about this, as I can’t absolutely claim the nest is alive and breathing. That is, it’s surely alive, but it may not have a soul. I ask myself if it has a brain. It seems to have. Every morning it wakes Blacky and me, as I said before. That makes it sound like a clock. It coaxes us to crawl through our sleeping tunnel, which seems to indicate that it possesses motive. It doesn’t hurt us, even appears to enjoy tasting us, and doesn’t this mean it obtains satisfaction? The Valenians feed it—at least I think this is what they’re doing when they fill the holes at each end with hay and grass and occasionally a bundle of bugs. That the nest eats these offerings is obvious. Blacky and I listen to it chomping away at night. So there are either four or five castes in Valenian society.
Yes, the nest is definitely a class by itself. Dalia told me so. When the life cycle draws to a close, the nest experiences the same alterations as the Devil’s Adversary. It atrophies, is sewn into an egg sac, is buried in a safe spot, et cetera.
The ancient Valene found the nest. Symbiote is its generic name. It was the only one of its kind that she located. Give it something, it will give you something. Think loving thoughts while you’re in it and it will love you and kiss you and lick you and put strange juices into your skin. It will provide you with intraporous feeding if you can’t find anything to eat, provide you with heat, softness, euphoria. In fact, lying in the nest is such a pleasant pastime that Valene has to make it off limits to her people, except when they are suffering from depression.
* * * *
I saw a man agitate in the street. He stood on a box, and having drawn a sizable crowd around him, he yelled that humanity would not survive unless the nest was destroyed. He didn’t understand the nature of the nest. But the mob invaded a missile site outside NYC and fired off a couple of rockets. I don’t know where the rockets went. No one in the crowd knew a guidance system from a street sign.
Hitting the nest ought to have been easy. As big as a mountain, it sits in Rockefeller Center, a sweet-smelling pink box-thing which we all love with a fierce heat. From the air it resembles a soft slug. Its surface undulates, as do its sides. No openings are visible. Dalia flies toward it and suddenly there is a large tunnel with its mouth agape, always a different one, and this is how we go into the nest and say hello after our daily sojourns into the countryside.
* * * *
Devil’s Adversary: “Mattu is my name. Beloved Friends is your name. Together we reason. Then why don’t we? Tell me, one of you, why the Valenians should continue.”
“To do what?” said I, standing on my hands and walking around the center of the circle which Valene and the Council created with their white, sleek, crouching bodies.
“To live,” said Mattu. “To come again. To experience another season when the ten thousand years are ended.”
“Why do you usually begin a sentence with why?” said I.
“Shut your mouth, Wasp,” said Blacky. She didn’t walk around the circle, merely stood still on flat palms. Her head was tilted upward and the sheen of sweat on her face glittered.
I ignored her and spoke to Mattu. “Some truths are self-evident. A living organism continues because it wants to.”
“Not so,” said Mattu.
He doesn’t look exactly like a Valenian. He is white and beautiful, aye, but his tail is long, slender, curled at the tip. His legs are furry pipes, his head is shaped like a horse’s. He has no wings. Poor Mattu can’t chase the wind. I think he speaks in ignorance.
He went on. “The Valenians do not wish to continue, nor do they wish to discontinue. Since theirs is a state of noncommitment, I repeat the question. Why do we maintain the status quo?”
“I fail to understand why you ask it in the first place.” I said this at the top of my lungs.
“Because of external circumstances.”
“Such as?”
“I am an abstract thinker, a philosopher if you will, which is why I have been preserved since the beginning. The Valenians are and have always been wishy-washy. This was why they wanted me to accompany them to the terminal, which is the end of eternity. As each new life span springs into existence, the Valenians forget a bit of the past. Mattu never forgets.
I am the Reminder.”
“You’re the Devil’s Adversary,” I said.
“One and the same, speaking in the abstract. The Devil is a symbol of illogic. I am his enemy. Since the Valenians are wishy-washy and can’t decide whether or not they desire to experience the next life span, and since they can’t leave the decision to the eggs who aren’t alive yet, the decision must be my responsibility.”
“Which is where I come in, by golly,” I said. The floor of the nest beneath my hands kissed me. “Not now,” I whispered. It subsided, touched me ever so delicately with a hundred tiny mouths but never once tickled.
Orbit 16 - [Anthology] Page 13
