Stress Pattern

by Barrett, Jr. , Neal

  What a frugal world this was. As far as I knew, one plant for food, water, and timber. A thought struck me, and I decided the odds were good that this was also the source of the fiber that was woven into mats, ropes, and straw hats.

  The welcome patch of green disappeared after another half hour's ride. I was reluctant to leave it behind.

  I passed two more of these oases in the next three days. One quite small—the beginning of green shoots above the ground. The second larger, and stretching as far as the eye could see. I was a full day getting through it. No hurry, though. And the Bhano relished these places as much as I did. His potbelly was full to bursting.

  This second "forest" was a real delight. The plants were thick and hardy—tight, pale clusters everywhere, like green explosions. Some of these specimens were well over a meter tall.

  One disadvantage: Paradoxically, where the bulbs matured and produced beauty, a man could dry up and starve. I stored ample bulbs for myself and the Bhano before we started through an extensive green area.

  With no need to mark the days, a man loses track of the time. Now, I measured time and space at once. What was the time/distance between me and the far wall of the valley? I could see it, now—a dark line above the horizon. Was it a week away? Two weeks? Hard to say. Harder still to say why it mattered. Except that I was a man, not a dun-colored catatonic. And a man goes somewhere.

  A peculiar incident that broke the sameness of the days. Six, eight, or ten nights after I had passed the thickest grove, I woke up suddenly just before the dawn. It was still too dark to see more than a few meters. The Bhano was a gray smudge, asleep on its feet.

  I sat up and looked about, and listened. Then lay back and turned over. And was up again in minutes. I could feel something, more than hear it. As if something had turned over far beneath me—a faint tremble of thunder in the earth. I walked quietly away from camp, stopping now and then to listen. Nothing. But I could still feel that deep, rumbling trace of thunder. And when I kneeled to the ground and lay my head against the cool earth it was even stronger.

  I was still awake when the sun blazed over the rim. The earth still rumbled, and there was something else. Far to the west, a long ribbon of dust lay against the ground. It paralleled my route and stretched as far ahead and behind as I could see.

  I held my course, but kept a wary eye in that direction. The dusty ribbon was still with me that evening, and the next morning. No closer, no farther away. And there was still thunder in the ground.

  That afternoon I forgot about clouds of dust and noises in the earth.

  The sun caught a brilliant stretch of green against the landscape. I stretched over the Bhano's neck and squinted into the glare. Then I spurred the beast forward, and he seemed to sense what was about. He snorted noisily and took off at a fair pace beneath me. Even at a distance I knew this was no ordinary grove ahead. I had good perception, now, and was seldom fooled by what appeared to be far and wasn't, and vice versa. This grove was still far away, but its pale clusters told me all I needed to know. This was a place that was cool, thick, and green—with growth nearly as high as a forest on Earth.

  I gave a yell that startled the Bhano. He threw back his round head, pranced to one side, then trotted on his way.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was everything I expected. And more.

  So thick with plants a man could disappear in green shadow. The tall, pseudo-bamboo was more than six meters high, and appeared to be still growing rapidly. It was similar to bamboo, but not the same. The boles were lighter, almost a waxy gray-green; the leaves broader and fleshier. More like the petals that covered the immature bulbs.

  I guessed the forest stretched ten or fifteen kilometers in every direction. It was hard to tell. I spent the next morning making a cautious survey on foot, leaving the Bhano tied just inside the grove. Nothing unusual. No sign that any creatures or animals had been here before.

  My goal had been the far rim of the valley. That hadn't changed. I wasn't going to settle down forever in a bulb forest. But I had already made up my mind not to leave too soon, either. Later, I could see what lay over the rim. When I was ready. For now, the grove was enough. And I had no pressing appointments.

  During the next week I fell into an easy routine. And since there was nothing really to do, I made jobs for myself. First I snapped off some of the relatively small shoots and made a lean-to, using my supply of fiber rope to weave the poles together. One of my mats went for a floor, the other for a roof. Then, stripping large piles of leaves from other plants, I carried them to the edge of the grove and let them dry in the sun. These became a mattress in the shallow trench I scooped out in my hut. It was not the softest bed imaginable, but it was quite a luxury after weeks on hard ground.

  I did all the other things castaways do to pass the time. Washing clothing in bulb water—and wishing for soap and a flat rock. And of course, flat rocks were at a premium on this world—or any other rocks, for that matter. I had seen two—that more-than-subtle station-marker where I had first been introduced to the Dhoolh.

  The absence of rock had struck me as peculiar. And still did. But I had no ready answer for it. I missed them. If there had been small round stones handy, I could have built useless patterns around my hut, and outlined a path that led from my front door to nowhere.

  There was plenty of bamboo on hand. But after building the hut, I could think of no other use for it. Too bad McAllister wasn't here. He would think of something to do that would require the resources of the entire grove.

  I considered building the Bhano a stable, but I was sure the Bhano had never had a stable, and didn't want one. He was happy wandering about loose—eating leaves, digging up bulbs to drink, and watching the peculiar things his master did with his time.

  There were a number of things I realized I could do without.

  There were also several items I wished I had. A razor. Or at least a knife or a pair of scissors. I didn't like having a beard. It was scratchy and bothersome. I thought often of toothpaste and toilet paper. Most of all, I think, I longed for something to write with. I tried to scribble things on my mat with my belt buckle, but that was hopeless. If I died, there would be no use searching for early Gavin pictographs and funny sayings.

  Every morning I rode the Bhano around the outside of the grove for several kilometers. There was nothing to see, but both of us looked forward to this routine.

  In the back of my mind was the thought that if I didn't like the fun and excitement of the grove, I could always get on my Bhano and go. True. But not yet, I told myself each morning. Not yet.

  The bamboo grew at an amazing rate. Even in the few weeks I had been there, many of the plants had nearly doubled in size. Not that they had gone from six meters to twelve. There was some growth in height, but for the most part the plants were solidifying their positions, so to speak. More branches, thicker leaf clusters. And most obviously, an expansion in the girth of the waxy trunks. I could not get my hands around many of them, now.

  Another project to pass the time, then.

  I measured the girth of a random group of "test" trees with a length of rope, and promised myself I would follow their progress. The next morning, with rope in hand, I set out for my test grove. I was a scientist, now, not a castaway. I had responsibilities.

  After I had measured the first tree I looked up and saw the creature watching me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I didn't move.

  It was perhaps five meters away, and we exchanged stares for no more than a few seconds before whatever it was disappeared. I didn't even get a good look at it.

  I didn't quite know what to do. I was a little alarmed, but angrier still. Goddamnit, it was my grove! No one had a right to be there.

  The rest of the day I felt sure I was being watched. Maybe I wasn't, but the feeling was there. I looked over my shoulder a dozen times an hour. I checked the Bhano to see that he hadn't been disturbed.

  No one had bothered m
e by late evening. Which didn't mean they wouldn't, I decided. After dinner I checked the Bhano again and sat for a while before my hut. There were two things I could do: Run. Take the Bhano and leave the grove. Don't wait to see what the thing has in mind. Or stay. Hold my ground and wait. Find out what it wants.

  It was no choice, really. I firmly intended to stay. I would not be driven from my home. So with the day fading, I took four of the strongest dried poles Sterzet had given me and bound them tightly together with fiber rope. When I hefted this weapon in my hand, it had a nice, solid feel to it. I could do some damage if I had to.

  I lay down on my mat, but I didn't sleep. One eye was on the darkness outside, and my weapon was close at hand. For more than an hour I waited and listened. Then I took my weapon and bellied out of the hut and crawled twenty meters or so into the thickest part of the grove. I could still make out the front of my hut, even in the darkness. I stayed awake for another hour, and then fell into sleep—hoping whatever it was out there had no better night vision than mine.

  It was waiting for me in the morning. Squatting in front of my hut. I almost laughed out loud. All my preparations seemed a little ludicrous. Maybe, I reminded myself. Maybe not. Don't toss the weapon away just yet.

  I stopped short of him—it was definitely a he—and we looked each other over. He was taller than the dun creatures. Thinner. His features were more fully developed, but they were anything but complete. A soft layer of hair, or fine down, covered his gray skin, and there was the spark of intelligence in his eyes.

  He stood up, handed me freshly picked bulbs. And sat down again.

  A nice opening, I thought. I thanked him and squatted down across from him and peeled one of the bulbs.

  He let the amenities go and got right to the point. "Are you a crazy?" he wanted to know.

  "No," I told him, "I'm not. I know the ones you are talking about. I'm different from them, and different from you—though not as much, I think."

  He looked down and scratched his thin leg thoughtfully. "I didn't think you were. Some places take crazies. And let them live nearby. We don't do that. They came to give us one once. We refused. They were not happy about this, but there was nothing they could do. Another time a crazy found us and wanted to stay. We wouldn't let him."

  "Do you think I should not be here," I asked him, "because I am not the same as you?"

  His dark eyes looked into mine for a moment. "No. It is all right." He stood up and walked way, then stopped and looked at me again. "Our place is not far: Your hut is here. It is in a good spot."

  Then he turned and the green branches closed behind him.

  A budding diplomat, then. This is your place and that's ours. Period. All right. I could live with that. I had no great desire for neighbors, and would be pleased to live by the rules.

  He was at my door the next morning.

  Surprised, I stuck my head out of the hut and he said, "Why have you this?"

  "Why have I what?"

  He pointed to the thing hanging on the side of the hut. I had forgotten it was there. It was the souvenir or amulet or whatever that the female had given me when I was run out of town: the vaguely lemon-shaped something wrapped in matting and looped to a piece of rope. I had slung it over my shoulder and carried it with me and finally hung it outside the hut when it was finished.

  I explained to this creature where I had gotten it. He was interested, and I told him about Thraxil, my quick departure from the settlement, how I had been taken by the caravan and what happened to it.

  I left out the part about the capsule. He was fairly convinced I wasn't a crazy—no need to give him doubts.

  When I was finished, he said, "You did not lie with this person?"

  "No. That was what she had in mind, but I didn't."

  He nodded. "And the other one did."

  "Yes. Phretci."

  Nodding. And scratching of the leg.

  "Look," I said. "As I explained, I come from far away from here. I don't pretend to understand a lot of things. What is this?" I gestured at my hanging souvenir. "What am I supposed to do with it, if anything?"

  For the first time, he seemed genuinely, surprised. "You do not know." It was a statement, not a question. He looked me over carefully, assuring himself I was honestly ignorant. Then he got up and left.

  When he came back he had an armload of bulbs. He sat the bulbs down and stalked to the rear of my hut and began digging with his hands. I watched him curiously. He dug a shallow trench, no deeper than a hand's width. About a meter wide and a little longer than that in length. He used the dirt to build a very neat little wall around the hole, and he patted the soil in place. Then he took my souvenir and laid it in the exact center of all this. He walked around to the front of the hut again, paying no attention to me, and gathered up his bulbs, and took them to the hole. He peeled a dozen or so, poured the water over my whatever-it-was, and covered it with bulb petals, pressing each moist leaf carefully in place. Then he stripped bamboo branches from the surrounding trees and covered the whole thing.

  I was certain he had gone out of his mind. He stood back, wiped his hands on his naked thighs, and carefully checked his work.

  "You must do this every five days now. Water and fresh petals."

  I looked at him. "Huh? Why? What is it?"

  "Every five days." He held up a hand in case I didn't understand numbers.

  "Look," I said. "I'd like to know—"

  "You should do this," he said flatly.

  "OK. But what for?"

  He turned and stalked away, through the bamboo and back to wherever his "place" was. Everyone on this goddamn world had one maddening trait in common: they all walked away in the middle of a question.

  I looked at the trench. What did I have here? A household god to watch over my hut? Did you feed and water gods once a week? Was that what it was, an offering?

  I shrugged and decided to take the Bhano for a long ride. Whatever it was all about, it was clearly outside the field of economics. No doubt, if I was supposed to know, I would be told in good time.

  My visitor didn't return for more than a week.

  I dutifully fed and watered my garden. I couldn't think of it as anything else. I rode my Bhano, and carried on my project of studying the growth patterns of bulb bamboo. It was not growing as fast as I'd thought—or maybe it had gone through a quick spasm of growth and was settling down to business.

  One gets used to doing without a lot of things. Teeth fuzz can be removed with split bamboo twigs. Leaves can substitute for toilet paper if absolutely necessary. And I had given up my search for a corner barbershop or speciality food store. But I didn't think I would ever adjust to the loss of writing materials.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I came to look forward to my new friend's visits.

  By now, I truly thought of him as a friend. When he was ready, he told me his name, which was Rhamik. He was fascinated by the fact that I had two names, and for a while he delighted in repeating them to himself: "Andrewgavin . . . Andrewgavin." Eventually, he tired of this and I became simply Andrew.

  There was a vague pattern to his visits, as if he might be deliberately spacing them out. Probably, though, he simply had other things to do besides pass the morning with me.

  He could see, though, that I had nothing of importance to do. If he wondered about this, or even thought of it, I never knew. When he didn't come, however—and I expected him—I was disappointed.

  Rhamik was an enigma because he happily violated all of my preconceived notions about beings on this world. He had a definite, though subdued, personality of his own. Certainly, he was far from outgoing or aggressive. By Earthly standards he was a near recluse a great deal of the time. But to me, a slight smile or the questioning arch of a brow said volumes. He was probably neither as warm nor as human as I imagined, but he came off well against the competition.

  He was still a creature of this world, though. He wandered off at odd moments, blandly ignored q
uestions, and sometimes simply stared at nothing. After a particularly trying conversation, he could see I wasn't pleased with him.

  "Andrew. There are questions you must answer for me, too."

  I must have given him a pained expression. "Rhamik, I have always been more than willing to tell you anything you wanted to know!"

  "Yes. This is so."

  "Then go ahead. Ask anything you like."

  "No. There will be better times for questions, Andrew.

  And that, of course, would be that. Until next time.

  I had a hundred choice questions waiting in the wings and sometimes I would toss one into the silence just to see what would happen. Usually, I got it bounced back into my lap. Sometimes a quick, concise answer was forthcoming—to something I really didn't give a damn about in the first place.

  "How high will the bamboo get, Rhamik?"

  "Not much higher, Andrew."

  "Do you have names for the stars?"

  "The stars are not beings. Why should they have names?" Then, once he's off guard, toss in a ringer: "Why are you so different from Phretci's people?"

  Silence.

  I had a two-part dream.

  The first part was predictable. After all, I was a castaway male without a female. Melisa Mills was the subject, and the activity was fantasy at its best. Delightfully unlikely antics. Melisa seemed to be popping up regularly. Not too surprising. There have been a number of women in my life, and for the most part we have gotten along well. Some of them have been quite lovely women—many of them have been very desirable and very good in bed. I didn't dream about any of these, of course. I dreamed about Melisa, whom I had never even touched, much less taken to bed. That's the way it is with fantasies. The grass is always greener, etcetera.

  The second part of the dream was nothing like the first. But it was not unlike a dream I had had before on this world. Falling through space. Cold stars flashing by. Then loneliness. Loneliness so intense, unbearable, that the mind shrank from it. I woke up covered in a cold sweat and didn't sleep the rest of the night. I was awake, but I couldn't shake the horrible feeling of isolation. The dream wouldn't let me go.