The City of the Sun

by Stableford, Brian

  “I don’t intend to do much swimming,” he assured me.

  “Of course,” I added, “there are packs of wolves in the hills. Nobody’s entitled to a free and easy life, even here.”

  We toiled up the vast slope of the hill that stood between the ship and the city. It was very shallow, but we’d been on the ship for three weeks this time—quite long enough to have the edge taken off our fitness. You don’t put on fat on ship’s food, but it’s still easy for your muscles to get lazy. I felt the walk, in my legs and in my breathing. So did Nathan. The top of the hill seemed to retire discreetly into the distance as we approached it.

  “Where are the famed colonial algae?” asked Nathan, indicating with an airy sweep of his hand that he couldn’t see any close by.

  “In the sea, mostly,” I told him. “The ones that have come out onto the land are far enough away from the more primitive form not to be describable as algae any more. Even the ones in the sea are called algae only because the colonial mode of organization is limited to the algae back on Earth.”

  The colonial algae, on Earth, are a kind of evolutionary backwater. A dead end. Why have an assortment of independently viable cells living in association with little more than the beginnings of a division of functional labor, when you can have a multi-celled organism in which genuine specialization of function can be achieved? The colonial forms, which had persisted here on Arcadia, retained a considerable degree of versatility—especially important among parasitic forms—but didn’t have a lot to recommend them in terms of complexity or efficiency. They were just a freak of nature that natural selection hadn’t gotten around to weeding out. It wasn’t that Arcadia was a young world, compared to Earth—in fact, it was somewhat older—but as on virtually all the colony worlds, the tempo of evolution had been different because of the absence of significant tides. Really, it’s Earth that’s the freak, for being part of a binary system.

  “Actually,” I told Nathan, “we can see a few of the colonial protozoans. They’re just not very obvious. There are tufts that look like little pincushions in the grass here and there.”

  I directed his attention to the growths in question—no bigger than a fingertip, although each one consisted of millions of individuals.

  “I see,” he said. Without enthusiasm.

  “And the things that look like brown spider webs around the flowering heads here?” I said, this time pointing to the nearest clump of the yellow flowers.

  “I thought they were spider webs,” he said, this time looking a little more closely. “And this one has a spider sitting in the corner.”

  “Ah,” I said. “That one is a spider web. But not this one, see? A nice copy, but a different texture and a lighter color. A fly that gets trapped here is eaten by the web, not by the spider.”

  “How very economical,” said Nathan. “I always thought that spiders could be made redundant, if only nature tried a little harder.”

  With Nathan, that sort of thing passed for a joke.

  “If everything on Arcadia vanished except for the colonial protozoans,” I pontificated, “you’d still be able to see everything in ghostly outline. On Earth, the same is supposed to be true of the nematode worms, though no one’s actually tried the experiment. Here, parasitic protozoans have a much greater role to play, thanks to the advantages of colonialism. Do you think there’s a moral there somewhere?”

  “Could be,” he said. “If we ever have to fight nematode worms for possession of the galaxy.”

  “The colonial protozoans are very adaptable,” I said. “They don’t go in for specialization much. They just crash right on and infect practically anything. They don’t worry too much about survey reports and international finance and political priorities.”

  “I believe you,” he said.

  Meanwhile, we came at last to the top of the hill, and looked out upon the human world of Arcadia.

  The fields were laid out neatly, following the contours of the hillsides. There were few fences but a number of hedgerows had been left as windbreaks. The greater number of the planted areas were green with new crops that were yet a long way from fruition. On an exposed southern face of one of the hills there was a series of groves of fruit trees. There were very few animals visible—no grazing herds, just the occasional pair of creatures that looked, at a distance, something like a cross between a yak and a reindeer. It would be difficult to label them by kind, but as they were undoubtedly used for both riding and plowing it seemed logical to dub them oxen. They suited that name far better than they suited the name ‘horse,’ anyhow.

  There were people in the fields, too—several areas were still being planted and others were being combed for weeds. The people were all distant, and mostly seemed to be dressed in simple tunics either white or yellow in color.

  But my eye took all that in only for a few seconds. I scanned the scene from horizon to horizon, but the search for detail was cursory as my gaze was dragged back to the one impressive sight—the city.

  It was built on a single hill, but like the one we had just climbed it was a large, rounded, shallow hill. It was, I think, too round. No natural hill grew with such geometrical precision. They had sculptured the landscape, moved the earth to create symmetry. Pure showmanship. They had obviously taken their flamboyant architectural gesture seriously. The outer wall seemed quite vast, curving away on either side and then back again, to disappear behind the main, upraised bulk of the city. It was white, and the chalky rock seemed to have been scrubbed clean very recently. It was forty feet high, and thick enough to carry a thoroughfare on its rim. We could see pedestrians, and even riders, making their way around the great perimeter.

  We could see almost nothing of what went on behind the walls, but we could see each of the circles rising within one another, telescoped together like a set of cork borers.

  Automatically, I counted.

  There were seven.

  The inmost and highest of all the circles may not have been a wall at all, but we could not see even from our position on top of the hill whether it was roofed over or not. It was too tall—we had to look up to it. It must have been the highest point for many miles. Protruding from somewhere within—or perhaps mounted on top of it—was a thin pylon. I assumed that it must be a lightning conductor.

  “It’s not as big as Karen claimed,” commented Nathan.

  “True,” I agreed. “She always did tend to overestimate the size of her thumbnail.”

  “Five miles across,” he guessed.

  “Maybe less by a few meters,” I said. “But you could pack a lot of people into it if you had a mind to. It’s built with quite a fair elevation.”

  As I mentioned people I resumed my scan, picking out individuals in the fields. They were too far away for us to know whether they had seen us. Most of them appeared to be getting on with their work without so much as glancing in our direction.

  But we had been seen in the city, at least. Through an arched gate facing us came a group of riders mounted on the “oxen” which seemed to serve every working purpose in the colony. They seemed slightly absurd—almost comical—but in all probability they would have found a horse equally strange, let alone a camel. The steeds did, in fact, cover the ground remarkably quickly. They were deer in the legs and shaggy yak mostly around the back. The males had horns that might have been borrowed from goats or sheep—coiled and ridged.

  We continued on our way down the hill despite the fact that the welcoming committee was on its way. We reached the edge of the cultivated land and selected a pathway between the fields. By this time the approaching riders were much closer, and we could see them in more detail. What I saw didn’t exactly fill me with enthusiasm. The leader was dark-skinned, and wore a tunic that glittered somewhat in the sun—obviously not made from the same kind of material as the tunics worn by the other people in the fields. His companions seemed to me to be naked, though there was a peculiar black-striped effect visible around the upper parts of their bodi
es which put me in mind of war paint. This association was considerably helped by the fact that they were all—except the leader—carrying bows, with quivers of arrows slung across their backs.

  “Looks like the prince and the palace guard,” I murmured. I had slowed down while observing this, and Nathan had to glance back to acknowledge it. By unspoken mutual consent we came to a halt, waiting.

  The weird steeds continued their approach, and the black pattern that decorated the naked archers began to stand out even more clearly as a curious network, branching profusely from a center that was gathered about the neck and upper torso. Some of the branches extended out along the limbs to the hands and feet. It looked rather as if someone had drawn a map of the arterial circulatory system on the outside of each man’s skin. When they were closer still, I realized that the leader was similarly decorated, although the greater part of the decoration was, of course, concealed by his silvery tunic. His skin was very dark, but its apparent blackness was enhanced by the elaboration of the network around his head and over his skull. I realized that all the men were bald, and that the black pate which each of them boasted was in every case the contribution of the dendritic patina.

  Briefly, I looked back over the fields, and even at the pedestrians on the city walls. They were too far away to make me certain, but I felt pretty sure that they, too, owed their dark heads to the same cause.

  “I don’t think that’s paint,” said Nathan.

  I didn’t, either.

  Something was growing on their skins—something complex and ordered. The patterns were neatly drawn, the lines were precise. When they came even closer I could see the black stuff—where it was thickest—standing out from the skin in shallow ridges.

  There were seven riders in all—six archers and the leader. The six reined in about fifty feet away, jostling for position slightly in the narrow lane. There was only room for two abreast, and they didn’t spread out to trample the green corn in the fields to either side. The leader came on alone, the whites of his eyes seeming strangely prominent in the black-capped, brown-skinned face. Two branches extended from the skullcap down between his eyes to run from either side of his prominent nose out into the cheeks, where they subdivided into tiny ramified webs. Thicker lines ran along his brow ridges, substituting for eyebrows. He seemed to have no bodily hair at all. When I glanced at the naked archers to seek confirmation of this impression I couldn’t see the slightest trace of pubic hair. But the distance was considerable, and I didn’t come to any immediate conclusion.

  The dark man’s stare seemed distinctly hostile. I let my hands move away from my sides, and I held the palms open to emphasize their emptiness. Nathan did the same, rather more obtrusively.

  As the dark man reined in his mount, he asked: “Do you understand me?” His English was slightly accented but otherwise quite clear. What surprised me, though, was the note of his voice. It was very high-pitched. I thought for one moment that I had jumped too soon to the conclusion that he was male.

  There was nothing positive, now I came to look more closely, to identify either sex.

  “I understand you,” said Nathan, in reply to his/her question.

  “You are from Earth.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Yes, we are,” said Nathan, slightly surprised.

  “A bright meteor passed across the sky yesterday,” stated the high-pitched voice. “Visible even in daylight. It was your starship.”

  “Yes,” said Nathan.

  The man/woman kept the conversational initiative with consummate ease—Nathan never got a chance to develop his sophisticated and much-practiced opening patter. “You must not come to the city today,” he/she said. “The Self must be made aware of your coming. You must wait. How far away is your ship?”

  “A few miles,” said Nathan, “but....”

  Buts, however, were not to be allowed. The high-pitched voice cut in quickly: “You must return. If you do not, you will be killed.”

  That seemed to me to be pretty straight talking. There wasn’t a lot of room for negotiation in the statement.

  “We must tell you why we have come,” said Nathan, quickly. He copied the other’s mode of speech easily. When in Rome....

  It seemed that Arcadians didn’t go in a lot for small talk.

  “Tell me now,” commanded the man/woman on the beast.

  “We have come to help you,” said Nathan, compressing his message somewhat. “We set out from Earth three years ago to visit a series of colonies, to find out about their problems and their progress. Yours is the fourth we have visited. Our expertise and the resources of our ship are at your disposal, and any assistance we can offer in overcoming any difficulties you have encountered will be willingly given. My name is Nathan Parrick, and this is Alexis Alexander, our chief biologist. He is a specialist in ecological management. Do you understand all this?”

  The other leaned forward slightly as his/her mount dropped its cumbersome head. As the mane parted slightly around the creature’s neck I saw traces of black beneath the russet fur. Another black web...just like the one that our interrogator wore. If “wore” was the right word.

  Nathan’s diplomatic routine suddenly struck me as being slightly stupid. A pleasant, polite rigmarole full of happy assurances and formal greetings. The one question he was really burning to ask he put firmly to one side in the name of protocol.

  Excuse me, sir or madam, but why have you got that funny black stuff growing all over you?

  To which the obvious answer had to be: Strange you should ask...I’m desperately curious as to why you haven’t.

  In the meantime, he or she had signaled his or her perfect comprehension of what Nathan was saying.

  Nathan went on: “We have also come here to study the colony and its way of life. We have a great deal to learn concerning the prospects of colonies on alien worlds. This is information which Earth needs desperately, in order that the risks taken by future colonists may be minimized. We need to know a great deal about the possible pitfalls and dangers....”

  The melodious voice cut in again: “That is enough. You will return to your ship now. A Servant will come to you if you are to be allowed to enter the city. If the Ego permits, then you may put your case to him.”

  With that, the rider jerked the rein and the beast began to turn away.

  “Wait!” said Nathan, quickly. He might as well have been King Canute talking to the tide. The man/woman in the silvery tunic rode back to the archers, who parted to let their leader through, and then turned their own mounts. Not one of them glanced back. They were apparently confident of our compliance.

  Nathan stared after them for fully half a minute, and then turned to me. “What...?” he began.

  Since everyone else was interrupting him, I thought I might as well get in on the act. “I don’t know,” I said, quickly. “But we’d better do as he says. Quickly. And no one comes out again without protective clothing. We’ll suit up in the lock so that we don’t risk carrying anything inside. Isolation. I don’t want that stuff growing on me, and if I’ve already picked up a spore of some kind I don’t want to infect everyone else aboard the Daedalus. This could be serious.”

  I was moving even as I spoke. I wasn’t particularly worried—I’d been infected with parasites of all shapes, sizes and colors in my time. I’d even picked up alien parasites occasionally during the last three years—ectoparasites aren’t so fussy about what kind of flesh they chew their way into. Alien worms and fungi itch just the same as our parasitic brethren on Earth. However, there was a certain niggling anxiety in my mind. This was one hell of a parasite, if appearances could be trusted. And it had no real right to be infecting humans so easily and so copiously as this. The survey team hadn’t promised a bug-free world—there are always a few local pests that are adaptable enough to bother people—but on the other hand, the survey team hadn’t dropped the slightest hint about anything like this.

  Nathan had to walk pretty quickly
to catch up with me.

  “You think we might have picked it up already?” be said. “From the air?”

  “I’d rather not take chances,” I told him. “Black isn’t my color. But once we’ve been through decontamination and suited up, we’re as safe as we can be. Let’s do that first, and then we’ll be free to worry about everything else.”

  I caught his eye as we marched back up the slope, and I could see in his face that he thought—as I did—that there would still be a lot that warranted worrying about.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nathan told the rest what had happened. He told it neatly and economically—but there really wasn’t all that much to tell. When he asked me if I had anything to add all I could say was: “It wasn’t exactly the greatest first contact in history.”

  “You were in on it,” he pointed out. “I didn’t notice your telling contribution.”

  I smiled, sweetly.

  “This parasite...,” said Conrad.

  “Ah,” I said, turning to him. “The matter in hand.”

  It really wasn’t an appropriate time for levity, but I felt the need of a little levity to lighten my mood. I hadn’t seen much of Arcadia so far, but what little I had seen I hadn’t liked.

  “It’s obviously not debilitating,” said Conrad. “The man who spoke to you seemed perfectly fit and healthy.”

  “Well,” I said—and now I abandoned the levity—“if it was a man, I’d have to be cautious about guaranteeing certain aspects of his health. But if it was a woman, she was probably okay. A flat chest doesn’t count as a debility.”