Earthsmith

by Rory Magill

off,experienced and novice. I'll take you as a partner if you'd like,Smith."

  "You bet I'd like it!" He felt genuinely cheerful again, quite suddenly.Geria was the one bright spot at the school, and at least he had that.And yet there was something he could not remember, something pushingagainst the fringes of consciousness, and it concerned Geria. Whatactually had happened yesterday on the crags? He could remember,remember--but he couldn't at all, not really, and somehow he knew thatthe most important item of all remained tantalizingly close, yet justbeyond his immediate reach.

  He said, "Just what is this dream empathy?"

  "Now you _are_ joking."

  "No. I don't know a thing about it."

  "What do you people of Earth do for entertainment?"

  "Well, we talk, or we dance, or we play games, ride horses, take walksin the country, see a show--anything anyone else does, I guess."

  "No one else does any of that, because d.e.'s a lot better. You knowanything about dreams, Smith?"

  "A little. Very little. They've always been something of a mystery onEarth."

  "Well, do you read or watch the telios on Earth?"

  "Of course. But it's strictly local stuff on Earth. That's why I'mhere."

  "Well, if it's fiction, why do you read?"

  "Excitement I guess. Interest, suspense. I watch the hero, I strugglewith him, succeed when he does if the book's a good one--"

  "Exactly. You go into empathy with him. Smith--how would you like to dothat--with me?"

  "Hunh?"

  "Take a dream. I dream it, not you. It's a good one, under control. Avivid dream, more real than life itself in a lot of ways, emotionshighlighted, maintained, increased--and exactly what I want to dreambecause I know we'll both like it.

  "I dream it, not you. But you feel it with me. You grow tired of yourown thoughts, so you switch in on someone else's. Control there.Gorgeous dreams, fantastic dreams, even horrible ones, if both wouldlike it. Complete empathy--in a dream world.

  "Then later, when you're experienced, you dream and I emp. How does itsound, Smith?"

  He smiled. "Not much privacy. But I'd be a liar if I said I wouldn'twant to take a peek at your dreams, Geria. It sounds fine."

  Geria laughed softly, a lilting feminine sound. "It's a little moreprivate than that, provided I know what I'm doing. There's a control. Ican dream what I want, and can restrict it. You'll see."

  Smith very much wanted to see. Almost, he forgot about Jorak and thepsi-power. But briefly in his mind he saw the black uniformed giant fromWortan, felt again the flailing Kard raised high overhead, sawaccusation in the woman of Nugat's eyes....

  * * * * *

  They lay on two adjacent couches, Smith and the woman of Bortinot. Abare cubicle of a room with just the two couches in it. A door, nowclosed, led into a room in which they had received their instructions.But Smith hardly had listened. Geria knew the game well enough, and he'dlet it go at that. The rasping voice of the female instructor hadannoyed him, anyway, but he noticed that she was a woman of Bortinot,not beautiful like Geria, but of her planet nonetheless.

  "Psi-powers again," Geria told him. "Hypnotism and telepathy mostly.You'll see...."

  Something which looked like a candle-flame seen through a long dark tubeflickered from the ceiling. It came closer, steadied, flickered no more.Smith couldn't draw his eyes away from it.

  "You're asleep," Geria told him, matter-of-factly.

  He was. Not really, because in sleep there was a lack of awareness. Buthe could not move and everything was dark and he could only think.

  He felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. A mind without a body, in completedarkness. The tingle of awareness which you hardly regard as suchbecause it always is with you was gone. Nothing.

  And then it returned. He felt his heart beating again. His ear itchedand he scratched it. He shifted his left arm which had fallen asleep.

  Oddly, the ceiling light had moved. It had been just to the right ofcenter--now it was just to the left, flickering again, retreating. Itwas gone.

  He turned over on his left side, sleepily, contentedly--on the brink ofreal sleep. Geria knew what she was doing. He'd rest. He looked--at hisown sleeping figure!

  Madness toyed with the edges of his mind, gained inroads, made him lookagain. The silent figure to his left--himself. He raised his hands, feltthe hair, long, flowing, billowing about his head--looked down, couldsee the gentle rounded rise of breast.

  A voice nibbled at consciousness, repeated itself, became clearer,laughing: "_We will go to sleep now, Smith. How does it feel to be herewith me? Let's dream. Dream--_"

  The voice reassured, and Smith-Geria relaxed, slept.

  * * * * *

  _He, Geria of Bortinot--really she, then--stood on a hill. A weatheredhill and aged, on a frigid world where winds of winter raged and howledand battered mountains into submissive mounds. Fearful place, grim andalmost dead it was--and yet he liked it. Smiling, he stood atop the hilland bade the tempest strike. The winds hurled him headlong and hestumbled, but he felt elated, wild and free, part of the elements thatdid battle there in that country of the weathered hills. And there wereothers and they were men. They came up the hill and they tried to takehim in their arms, strong men and fair, but he ran laughing with thewind. His identity faded in that wind, was torn to tatters by it--leftonly was Geria of Bortinot, her feelings, her thoughts, but hisawareness.

  She stumbled, fell, turned over and over, much too slowly. Winds stillhowled, but above her here at hill's bottom. Wraiths of fog swirled ineddying gusts, came closer and faded, appeared again and swept away.

  She cried a name because the fog brought her an image and the name andthe image were one._ "Smith of Earth, of Earth, of Earth...." _And hecame to her, this image, on a charger, an animal much too thick throughthe shoulders to be a horse, with three pairs of legs. Low out of saddlehe leaned, graceful, handsome bald head pink with excitement. Heclutched at her, lifted her through the mists, above them. Thesix-legged horse soared high, above the hills, above the winds, carriedher higher and higher. Smith stroked her yellow hair, kissed her. Shetingled...._

  * * * * *

  "Wake up Smith! Up, come on now, the class is over for today."

  He stirred. The dream--Gods of Earth, what a dream!

  "Well, how'd you like it? See what I mean about dream empathy, Smith?Beats everything, doesn't it?"

  Smith hardly heard her. They say dreams fulfill wishes, they say--andwhat was it Geria had dreamed? Suddenly, it was very important to Smith,terribly important, more important than anything, because he remembered,without knowing how or why, what had happened yesterday on the crags.

  "Geria," he said. He tried to make his voice soft, but it boomed loudly,almost startled her.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing. Why nothing is the matter. You remember yesterday on the crag,Geria?"

  She nodded.

  "And your dream--Geria?"

  Again, the casual nod.

  "Geria, I--I love you. I think I want to marry you. I think--"

  He stopped. She looked at him for what seemed a long time but really wasonly a few seconds, and then she grinned. There was nothing maliciousabout it, Smith knew, just a grin. It spread, and the woman of Bortinotbegan to laugh. Softly at first, but soon she was laughing very hard andSmith felt foolish. He wanted very much to be out of there, any placebut in that room, but he did not know for sure that he knew how tooperate the door.

  "Oh, Smith, Smith," she said, "if you could see yourself now. But Isuppose I deserve it. I planted the suggestion, you fought it, nowyou're pretending. All right, I admit defeat. But stop now; you shouldsee your face."

  Serious. She was serious. She thought he was joking. Post-suggestivelyyou tried to get someone to do something--anything, and it was very veryfunny if they did. Funnier yet if they didn't, because then they beatyou at your own game, made fun of you, laughed at you
, but eventuallywith you. Of course it was like that, let her think it was like that.

  He smiled. "All right, I'll--stop."

  And together, laughing, they walked out of the room. Smith was surprisedto find he had no trouble at all with the door.

  * * * * *

  Jorak had a friendly smile for Smith when he entered their room."There's a card for you in the box, Smith. Read it." Jorak, it seemed,had stopped playing with his name.

  Smith took the card, read it. "_Smith of Earth, report to Registrar atonce._"

  "You know why, don't you?" Jorak asked him. But the smile was no longerfriendly.

  "How should I know?"

  "Trouble, that's what. But you asked for it. Psi and Wortan don't mix,barbarian."

  Smith was glad when he hardly felt any impulse to strike the purple man.But he said, mocking Jorak's own tones, "Don't provoke me," and Jorakcowered in a corner.

  * * * * *

  Smith looked into the banks of the Registrar's lights, spoke into thespeaker. "Smith of Earth," he said. This time his voice didn't boom withloudness. And it didn't seem to matter much anymore.

  And this time, the Registrar's voice wasn't so femininely petulant. Itsounded masculine, authoritative.

  "Smith of Earth. Item. Garnot of Jlob feels you are an inferior historystudent, recommends withdrawal from the school.

  "Item: Sog-chafka of Wortan announces your wanton use of psi-powers inWortan fighting, recommends clemency because you are a barbarian.

  "Item: Kard of Shilon wants to meet you in Wortan again. Promises tokill you.

  "Item: both Jorak of Gyra and Geria of Bortinot have questioned yourmentality, want you tested."

  Vaguely Smith listened. He felt removed, resigned. But then certainwords struck hard....

  "_ ... Geria of Bortinot questions your mentality...._

  "Smith of Earth. Are you listening?"

  "I'm listening," Smith said.

  "I feel you have two choices," the Registrar said. "We can request yourwithdrawal from the school, or we can keep you here under observationand give you an exhaustive battery of tests. The decision is in yourhands."

  "_ ... Geria of Bortinot questions your mentality...._"

  "_ ... the decision is in your hands._"

  Jorak moved, slipped along the wall. His face was sneering and fearfultoo. The purple mask of his face seemed to swim before Smith's eyes likesomething seen through watered glass. Smith was pacing. He felt theemotions beginning to work yeastily and he longed to take that face andtwist it off its snaky neck.

  "You had better go back to Earth, Smith," Jorak said. "Wherever it is."

  Abruptly, Smith felt the tendons writhing between his hands. He lifted.He held the squirming figure off the floor, held it there and lookedinto it curiously.

  "You'd better use some of your psi-power, my little green friend," Smithsaid, "While you can."

  The green face was turning purple. Words choked off somewhere down inthe tubular length of the neck. Smith could feel it now! He could feelit! And he knew. The desperate tendrils of psi-power flailing out. AndSmith began to smile.

  "I could tell you some things, Jorak. You have some psi-power, but thatand anything else you've got, including some very bad features, you gotthem all from Earth. You got the germs for it all a long time back. Andwhat you have left is just something that's a kind of left-over after afew thousand years. The Earth has forgotten more psi-power, friend, thanyou'll ever have."

  Jorak's eyes popped. Veins were coloring thickly through them.

  "You're here to learn something, Jorak. Listen. We developed psi-poweron Earth so long ago we don't bother remembering when it was."

  Smith felt the power all right. Latent psi-power, dormant and unused andunneeded and uninteresting for aeons.

  He threw Jorak into the corner. Jorak curled up there, sucking in airand rubbing his bruised neck.

  "We had it. We threw it away," Smith said. "We had a defense against ittoo. But we don't use psi, or the defense anymore. We outgrew it. It hadits day and then we forgot about it, Jorak. Why? We lost interest.Individual sanctity was better. Privacy of the human mind was somethinga lot more to be desired than being able to pry into someone else'sbrain, or vice versa. But you take a lot of pride, Jorak, in having alittle residue floating around."

  Smith grinned more widely. It was funny in a way, and sad too. And hedidn't particularly care about pushing it any further.

  "_ ... the decision is in your hands._"

  * * * * *

  He wished his thoughts would organize, fuse somehow with the stirring,rebelling emotions. Integration right now was vital. You lose, or you'renot equal to something. And a really top-notch defense-mechanism willturn the whole thing around and say IT is not equal to YOU. That's adanger. And of that he was afraid.

  Could he, should he, pass judgment? On a culture that had left Earthwallowing in the cosmic back-waters? Twice, thrice, he had tried to passthat judgment, but he could not. He should be judged, theoretically, notthe school.

  So what if their concept of history was primitive, basking in its ownimportance, ignoring the philosophical precepts upon which the socialsciences are based? Surely they had reason, and he shouldn'tquestion....

  And if they valued Wortan fighting above all else ... if it made theirwomen look like eager animals waiting to see the blood spill ... howcould he question? Why should he dare assume that the whole culture wasdepraved, simply because he regarded it that way by Earth standards?

  And their dream empathy was enjoyable, he had to admit that--but it wastoo enjoyable. No wonder Earth had dropped that sort of thing long ago.It was a good gimmick to divert attention from important things. It wasalso regressive, a kind of sick introversion. It was decadence, aninvasion of privacy, an offense against the dignity of human privacy ofthe mind--the individual's last precarious citadel.

  He jumped a little when the Registrar barked: "Your decision, Smith ofEarth."

  He smiled at the bank of lights. He had broad duties. He had a duty toEarth. And an indirect duty to the Galaxy. He should report all this.And Earth should try to do something to bring many worlds out of sloth,decadence, regression and inverted self-importance.

  But first of all, a man had a duty to himself, his own psychic health.Maybe the two weren't inseparable either. Maybe Earth would share thehumiliation if he, Smith, suffered its scars to remain on him.

  He wanted to consider himself as more than a mere projection of Earth,more than a mere symbol. He was of Earth, sure. But first of all he wasSmith. Just plain Smith. A guy with a human spirit, with dignity thatcould be affronted and had been here.

  He thought of Geria, of what that dream empathy had suggested. He felther lips again, the softly curving line of her hips under the silvertunic to her knees, the yellow hair falling free to shoulders....

  "Your decision, Smith of Earth," the Registrar's voice was louder.

  "I'm not going back to Earth," said Smith softly. "Yet."

  He watched Jorak slipping up the side of the wall, then rushing out theexit.

  Smith went to the exit too, then into the hall. He started walking downit, and the smile clung to his lips like an old memory.

  * * * * *

  From the monochromatic light harmonies playing softly from the walls,from the abstract gentleness of music that never stopped filteringthrough the gardens and over the mists of fountains, from theever-coruscating and subdued twilight that surrounded the school--fromthese things, Smith extracted the tone of decadence, the static,hidebound turning of a wheel upon itself.

  The women from Bortinot stared oddly at him as his bulk, high and broadpassed near. He heard their whispers ... "barbarian ... savage...."

  His smile broadened. The cycle closed. Strange, how the old becamedecadent, and the young revolted and itself became sophisticated andsick, and the old became young again and the old val
ues turned fresh andclear like a tree blooming out of winter's snow.

  The sounds of voices died abruptly as Smith went in. Faces turned ...Brandog of Hulpin with the albino skin like alabaster; Luog the young,green-skinned Pandenian ... varieties of form and color ... the white,pink, orange and green brows. But there was the sameness of inversionand static culture.

  Mouths gaped as Smith strode up to the front of the class room intranstellar history and looked curiously at the little man with theround gold face and green eyes that still blinked too much, and who,even now, smiled too much, too vacantly, as if he had been practicing along time and had forgotten what it meant.

  But Garnot of Jlob's smile was slightly strained now and his face had apale look, under its sheath of gold.

  "What a boorish intrusion," the instructor said. His voice got higher."The entire school knows of course, Earth of Smith...."

  "Smith of Earth," Smith said softly.

  "Whatever it is, the entire school knows that already you have disgracedyourself and your planet--which was to be expected. And that I haverecommended your withdrawal from the school as an inferior student."

  "And so," Smith said.

  "Therefore, it should be obvious that you are not particularly welcomeas a member of this class. Surely you have not chosen to remain, andeven if you have, it should be obvious that you will not be part of anyclass of mine until you have successfully passed certain tests, and havebeen kept under observation.