The Classic Sci-Fi Collection

by Ayn Rand

  I mentioned this, and Kendricks looked doubtfully at Kyla. “Can she climb?”

  “Can she stay here?” I countered. But I went and sat beside her anyhow.

  “How badly are you hurt? Do you think you can travel?”

  She said fiercely, “Of course I can climb! I tell you, I’m no weak girl, I’m a free Amazon!” She flung off the blanket somebody had tucked around her legs. Her lips looked a little pinched, but the long stride was steady as she walked to the fire and demanded more soup.

  We struck the camp in minutes. The trailmen band of raiding females had snatched up almost everything portable, and there was no sense in striking and caching the tent; they’d return and hunt it out. If we came back with a trailmen escort, we wouldn’t need it anyway. I ordered them to leave everything but the lightest gear, and examined each remaining rucksack. Rations for the night we would spend in the pass, our few remaining blankets, ropes, sunglasses. Everything else I ruthlessly ordered left behind.

  It was harder going now. For one thing, the sun was lowering, and the evening wind was icy. Nearly everyone of us had some hurt, slight in itself, which hindered us in climbing. Kyla was white and rigid, but did not spare herself; Kendricks was suffering severely from mountain sickness at this altitude, and I gave him all the help I could, but with my stiffening slashed hand I wasn’t having too easy a time myself.

  There was one expanse that was sheer rock-climbing, flattened like bugs against a wall, scrabbling for hand-holds and footholds. I felt it a point of pride to lead, and I led; but by the time we had climbed the thirty-foot wall, and scrambled along a ledge to where we could pick up the trail again, I was ready to give over. Crowding together on the ledge, I changed places with the veteran Lerrys, who was better than most professional climbers.

  He muttered, “I thought you said this was a trail!”

  I stretched my mouth in what was supposed to be a grin and didn’t quite make it. “For the trailmen, this is a superhighway. And no one else ever comes this way.”

  Now we climbed slowly over snow; once or twice we had to flounder through drifts, and once a brief bitter snowstorm blotted out sight for twenty minutes, while we hugged each other on the ledge, clinging wildly against wind and icy sleet.

  * * *

  We bivouacked that night in a crevasse blown almost clean of snow, well above the tree-line, where only scrubby unkillable thornbushes clustered. We tore down some of them and piled them up as a windbreak, and bedded beneath it; but we all thought with aching regret of the comfort of the camp gear we’d abandoned. The going had gotten good and rough.

  That night remains in my mind as one of the most miserable in memory. Except for the slight ringing in my ears, the height alone did not bother me, but the others did not fare so well. Most of the men had blinding headaches, Kyla’s slashed side must have given her considerable pain, and Kendricks had succumbed to mountain-sickness in its most agonizing form: severe cramps and vomiting. I was desperately uneasy about all of them, but there was nothing I could do; the only cure for mountain-sickness is oxygen or a lower altitude, neither of which was practical.

  In the windbreak we doubled up, sharing blankets and body warmth: I took a last look around the close space before crawling in beside Kendricks, and saw the girl bedding down slightly apart from the others. I started to say something, but Kendricks spoke, first. Voicing my thoughts.

  “Better crawl in with us, girl.” He added, coldly but not unkindly, “you needn’t worry about any funny stuff.”

  Kyla gave me just the flicker of a grin, and I realized she was including me on the Darkovan side of a joke against this big man who was so unaware of Darkovan etiquette. But her voice was cool and curt as she said, “I’m not worrying,” and loosened her heavy coat slightly before creeping into the nest of blankets between us.

  It was painfully cramped, and chilly in spite of the self-heating blankets; we crowded close together and Kyla’s head rested on my shoulder. I felt her snuggle closely to me, half asleep, hunting for a warm place; and I found myself very much aware of her closeness, curiously grateful to her. An ordinary woman would have protested, if only as a matter of form, sharing blankets with two strange men. I realized that if Kyla had refused to crawl in with us, she would have called attention to her sex muchmore than she did by matter-of-factly behaving as if she were, in fact, male.

  She shivered convulsively, and I whispered, “Side hurting? Are you cold?”

  “A little. It’s been a long time since I’ve been at these altitudes, too. What it really is—I can’t get those women out of my head.”

  Kendricks coughed, moving uncomfortably. “I don’t understand—those creatures who attacked us—all women—?”

  I explained briefly. “Among the people of the Sky, as everywhere, more females are born than males. But the trailmen’s lives are so balanced that they have no room for extra females within the Nests—the cities. So when a girl child of the Sky People reaches womanhood, the other women drive her out of the city with kicks and blows, and she has to wander in the forest until some male comes after her and claims her and brings her back as his own. Then she can never be driven forth again, although if she bears no children she can be forced to be a servant to his other wives.”

  Kendricks made a little sound of disgust.

  “You think it cruel,” Kyla said with sudden passion, “but in the forest they can live and find their own food; they will not starve or die. Many of them prefer the forest life to living in the Nests, and they will fight away any male who comes near them. We who call ourselves human often make less provision for our spare women.”

  She was silent, sighing as if with pain. Kendricks made no reply except a non-committal grunt. I held myself back by main force from touching Kyla, remembering what she was, and finally said, “We’d better quit talking. The others want to sleep, if we don’t.”

  * * *

  After a time I heard Kendricks snoring, and Kyla’s quiet even breaths. I wondered drowsily how Jay would have felt about this situation—he who hated Darkover and avoided contact with every other human being, crowded between a Darkovan free-Amazon and half a dozen assorted roughnecks. I turned the thought off, fearing it might somehow re-arouse him in his brain.

  But I had to think of something, anything to turn aside this consciousness of the woman’s head against my chest, her warm breath coming and going against my bare neck. Only by the severest possible act of will did I keep myself from slipping my hand over her breasts, warm and palpable through the thin sweater, I wondered why Forth had called me undisciplined. I couldn’t risk my leadership by making advances to our contracted guide—woman, Amazon or whatever!

  Somehow the girl seemed to be the pivot point of all my thoughts. She was not part of the Terran HQ, she was not part of any world Jay Allison might have known. She belonged wholly to Jason, to my world. Between sleep and waking, I lost myself in a dream of skimming flight-wise along the tree roads, chasing the distant form of a girl driven from the Nest that day with blows and curses. Somewhere in the leaves I would find her ... and we would return to the city, her head garlanded with the red leaves of a chosen-one, and the same women who had stoned her forth would crowd about and welcome her when she returned. The fleeing woman looked over her shoulder with Kyla’s eyes; and then the woman’s form muted and Dr. Forth was standing between us in the tree-road, with the caduceus emblem on his coat stretched like a red staff between us. Kendricks in his Spaceforce uniform was threatening us with a blaster, and Regis Hastur was suddenly wearing Space Service uniform too and saying, “Jay Allison, Jay Allison,” as the tree-road splintered and cracked beneath our feet and we were tumbling down the waterfall and down and down and down....

  “Wake up!” Kyla whispered, and dug an elbow into my side. I opened my eyes on crowded blackness, grasping at the vanishing nightmare. “What’s the matter?”

  “You were moaning. Touch of altitude sickness?”

  I grunted, realized my arm
was around her shoulder, and pulled it quickly away. After awhile I slept again, fitfully.

  * * *

  Before light we crawled wearily out of the bivouac, cramped and stiff and not rested, but ready to get out of this and go on. The snow was hard, in the dim light, and the trail not difficult here. After all the trouble on the lower slopes, I think even the amateurs had lost their desire for adventurous climbing; we were all just as well pleased that the actual crossing of Dammerung should be an anticlimax and uneventful.

  The sun was just rising when we reached the pass, and we stood for a moment, gathered close together, in the narrow defile between the great summits to either side.

  Hjalmar gave the peaks a wistful look.

  “Wish we could climb them.”

  Regis grinned at him companionably. “Sometime—and you have the word of a Hastur, you’ll be along on that expedition.” The big fellows’ eyes glowed. Regis turned to me, and said warmly, “What about it, Jason? A bargain? Shall we all climb it together, next year?”

  I started to grin back and then some bleak black devil surged up in me, raging. When this was over, I’d suddenly realized, I wouldn’t be there. I wouldn’t be anywhere. I was a surrogate, a substitute, a splinter of Jay Allison, and when it was over, Forth and his tactics would put me back into what they considered my rightful place—which was nowhere. I’d never climb a mountain except now, when we were racing against time and necessity. I set my mouth in an unaccustomed narrow line and said, “We’ll talk about that when we get back—if we ever do. Now I suggest we get going. Some of us would like to get down to lower altitudes.”

  The trail down from Dammerung inside the ridge, unlike the outside trail, was clear and well-marked, and we wound down the slope, walking in easy single file. As the mist thinned and we left the snow-line behind, we saw what looked like a great green carpet, interspersed with shining colors which were mere flickers below us. I pointed them out.

  “The treetops of the North Forest—and the colors you see are in the streets of the Trailcity.”

  An hour’s walking brought us to the edge of the forest. We travelled swiftly now, forgetting our weariness, eager to reach the city before nightfall. It was quiet in the forest, almost ominously still. Over our head somewhere, in the thick branches which in places shut out the sunlight completely, I knew that the tree-roads ran crisscross, and now and again I heard some rustle, a fragment of sound, a voice, a snatch of song.

  “It’s so dark down here,” Rafe muttered, “anyone living in this forest would have to live in the treetops, or go totally blind!”

  Kendricks whispered to me, “Are we being followed? Are they going to jump us?”

  “I don’t think so. What you hear are just the inhabitants of the city—going about their daily business up there.”

  “Queer business it must be,” Regis said curiously, and as we walked along the mossy, needly forest floor, I told him something of the trailmen’s lives. I had lost my fear. If anyone came at us now, I could speak their language, I could identify myself, tell my business, name my foster-parents. Some of my confidence evidently spread to the others.

  But as we came into more and more familiar territory, I stopped abruptly and struck my hand against my forehead.

  “I knew we had forgotten something!” I said roughly, “I’ve been away from here too long, that’s all. Kyla.”

  “What about Kyla?”

  The girl explained it herself, in her expressionless monotone. “I am an unattached female. Such women are not permitted in the Nests.”

  “That’s easy, then,” Lerrys said. “She must belong to one of us.” He didn’t add a syllable. No one could have expected it; Darkovan aristocrats don’t bring their women on trips like this, and their women are not like Kyla.

  The three brothers broke into a spate of volunteering, and Rafe made an obscene suggestion. Kyla scowled obstinately, her mouth tight with what could have been embarrassment or rage. “If you believe I need your protection—!”

  “Kyla,” I said tersely, “is under my protection. She will be introduced as my woman—and treated as such.”

  Rafe twisted his mouth in an un-funny smile. “I see the leader keeps all the best for himself?”

  My face must have done something I didn’t know about, for Rafe backed slowly away. I forced myself to speak slowly: “Kyla is a guide, and indispensable. If anything happens to me, she is the only one who can lead you back. Therefore her safety is my personal affair. Understand?”

  * * *

  As we went along the trail, the vague green light disappeared. “We’re right below the Trailcity,” I whispered, and pointed upward. All around us the Hundred Trees rose, branchless pillars so immense that four men, hands joined, could not have encircled one with their arms. They stretched upward for some three hundred feet, before stretching out their interweaving branches; above that, nothing was visible but blackness.

  Yet the grove was not dark, but lighted with the startlingly brilliant phosphorescence of the fungi growing on the trunks, and trimmed into bizarre ornamental shapes. In cages of transparent fibre, glowing insects as large as a hand hummed softly and continuously.

  As I watched, a trailman—quite naked except for an ornate hat and a narrow binding around the loins—descended the trunk. He went from cage to cage, feeding the glow-worms with bits of shining fungus from a basket on his arm.

  I called to him in his own language, and he dropped the basket, with an exclamation, his spidery thin body braced to flee or to raise an alarm.

  “But I belong to the Nest,” I called to him, and gave him the names of my foster-parents. He came toward me, gripping my forearm with warm long fingers in a gesture of greeting.

  “Jason? Yes, I hear them speak of you,” he said in his gentle twittering voice, “you are at home. But those others—?” He gestured nervously at the strange faces.

  “My friends,” I assured him, “and we come to beg the Old One for an audience. For tonight I seek shelter with my parents, if they will receive us.”

  He raised his head and called softly, and a slim child bounded down the trunk and took the basket. The trailman said, “I am Carrho. Perhaps it would be better if I guided you to your foster-parents, so you will not be challenged.”

  I breathed more freely. I did not personally recognize Carrho, but he looked pleasantly familiar. Guided by him, we climbed one by one up the dark stairway inside the trunk, and emerged into the bright square, shaded by the topmost leaves into a delicate green twilight. I felt weary and successful.

  Kendricks stepped gingerly on the swaying, jiggling floor of the square. It gave slightly at every step, and Kendricks swore morosely in a language that fortunately only Rafe and I understood. Curious trailmen flocked to the street and twittered welcome and surprise.

  * * *

  Rafe and Kendricks betrayed considerable contempt when I greeted my foster-parents affectionately. They were already old, and I was saddened to see it; their fur graying, their prehensile toes and fingers crooked with a rheumatic complaint of some sort, their reddish eyes bleared and rheumy. They welcomed me, and made arrangements for the others in my party to be housed in an abandoned house nearby ... they had insisted that I, of course, must return to their roof, and Kyla, of course, had to stay with me.

  “Couldn’t we camp on the ground instead?” Kendricks asked, eying the flimsy shelter with distaste.

  “It would offend our hosts,” I said firmly. I saw nothing wrong with it. Roofed with woven bark, carpeted with moss which was planted on the floor, the place was abandoned, somewhat a bit musty, but weathertight and seemed comfortable to me.

  The first thing to be done was to despatch a messenger to the Old One, begging the favor of an audience with him. That done, (by one of my foster-brothers), we settled down to a meal of buds, honey, insects and birds eggs! It tasted good to me, with the familiarity of food eaten in childhood, but among the others, only Kyla ate with appetite and Regis Hastur with interest
ed curiosity.

  * * *

  After the demands of hospitality had been satisfied, my foster-parents asked the names of my party, and I introduced them one by one. When I named Regis Hastur, it reduced them to brief silence, and then to an outcry; gently but firmly, they insisted that their home was unworthy to shelter the son of a Hastur, and that he must be fittingly entertained at the Royal Nest of the Old One.

  There was no gracious way for Regis to protest, and when the messenger returned, he prepared to accompany him. But before leaving, he drew me aside:

  “I don’t much like leaving the rest of you—”

  “You’ll be safe enough.”

  “It’s not that I’m worried about, Dr. Allison.”

  “Call me Jason,” I corrected angrily. Regis said, with a little tightening of his mouth, “That’s it. You’ll have to be Dr. Allison tomorrow when you tell the Old One about your mission. But you have to be the Jason he knows, too.”

  “So—?”

  “I wish I needn’t leave here. I wish you were—going to stay with the men who know you only as Jason, instead of being alone—or only with Kyla.”

  There was something odd in his face, and I wondered at it. Could he—a Hastur—be jealous of Kyla? Jealous of me? It had never occurred to me that he might be somehow attracted to Kyla. I tried to pass it off lightly:

  “Kyla might divert me.”

  Regis said without emphasis, “Yet she brought Dr. Allison back once before.” Then, surprisingly, he laughed. “Or maybe you’re right. Maybe Kyla will—scare away Dr. Allison if he shows up.”

  * * *

  The coals of the dying fire laid strange tints of color on Kyla’s face and shoulders and the wispy waves of her dark hair. Now that we were alone, I felt constrained.

  “Can’t you sleep, Jason?”

  I shook my head. “Better sleep while you can.” I felt that this night of all nights I dared not close my eyes or when I woke I would have vanished into the Jay Allison I hated. For a moment I saw the room with his eyes; to him it would not seem cosy and clean, but—habituated to white sterile tile, Terran rooms and corridors—dirty and unsanitary as any beast’s den.