So old Salo holed up on Titan and he sent home to Tralfamadore word of his plight. He sent the message home with the speed of light, which meant that it would take one hundred and fifty thousand Earthling years to get to Tralfamadore.
He developed several hobbies that helped him to pass the time. Chief among these were sculpture, the breeding of Titanic daisies, and watching the various activities on Earth. He could watch the activities on Earth by means of a viewer on the dash panel of his ship. The viewer was sufficiently powerful to let Salo follow the activities of Earthling ants, if he so wished.
It was through this viewer that he got his first reply from Tralfamadore. The reply was written on Earth in huge stones on a plain in what is now England. The ruins of the reply still stand, and are known as Stonehenge. The meaning of Stonehenge in Tralfamadorian, when viewed from above, is: "Replacement part being rushed with all possible speed."
Stonehenge wasn't the only message old Salo had received.
There had been four others, all of them written on Earth.
The Great Wall of China means in Tralfamadorian, when viewed from above: "Be patient. We haven't forgotten about you."
The Golden House of the Roman Emperor Nero meant: "We are doing the best we can."
The meaning of the Moscow Kremlin when it was first walled was: "You will be on your way before you know it."
The meaning of the Palace of the League of Nations in Geneva, Switzerland, is: "Pack up your things and be ready to leave on short notice."
Simple arithmetic will reveal that these messages all arrived with speeds considerably in excess of the speed of light. Salo had sent his message of distress home with the speed of light, and it had taken one hundred and fifty thousand years to reach Tralfamadore. He had received a reply from Tralfamadore in less than fifty thousand years.
It is grotesque for anyone as primitive as an Earthling to explain how these swift communications were effected. Suffice it to say, in such primitive company, that the Tralfamadorians were able to make certain impulses from the Universal Will to Become echo through the vaulted architecture of the Universe with about three times the speed of light. And they were able to focus and modulate these impulses so as to influence creatures far, far away, and inspire them to serve Tralfamadorian ends.
It was a marvelous way to get things done in places far, far away from Tralfamadore. it was easily the fastest way.
But it wasn't cheap.
Old Salo was not equipped himself to communicate and get things done in this way, even over short distances. The apparatus and the quantities of Universal Will to Become used in the process were colossal, and they demanded the services of thousands of technicians.
And even the heavily-powered, heavily-manned, heavily-built apparatus of Tralfamadore was not particularly accurate. Old Salo had watched many communications failures on Earth. Civilizations would start to bloom on Earth, and the participants would start to build tremendous structures that were obviously to be messages in Tralfamadorian - and then the civilizations would poop out without having finished the messages.
Old Salo had seen this happen hundreds of times. Old Salo had told his friend Rumfoord a lot of interesting things about the civilization of Tralfamadore, but he had never told Rumfoord about the messages and the techniques of their delivery.
All that he had told Rumfoord was that he had sent home a distress message, and that he expected a replacement part to come any day now. Old Salo's mind was so different from Rumfoord's that Rumfoord couldn't read Salo's mind.
Salo was grateful for that barrier between their thoughts, because he was mortally afraid of what Rumfoord might say if he found out that Salo's people had so much to do with gumming up the history of Earth. Even though Rumfoord was chrono-synclastic infundibulated, and might be expected to take a larger view of things, Salo had found Rumfoord to be, still, a' surprisingly parochial Earthling at heart.
Old Salo didn't want Rumfoord to find out what the Tralfamadorians were doing to Earth, because he was sure that Rumfoord would be offended - that Rumfoord would turn against Salo and all Tralfamadorians. Salo didn't think he could stand that, because he loved Winston Niles Rumfoord.
There was nothing offensive in this love. That is to say, it wasn't homosexual. It couldn't be, since Salo had no sex.
He was a machine, like all Tralfamadorians.
He was held together by cotter pins, hose clamps, nuts, bolts, and magnets. Salo's tangerine-colored skin, which was so expressive when he was emotionally disturbed, could be put on or taken off like an Earthling wind-breaker. A magnetic zipper held it shut.
The Tralfamadorians, according to Salo, manufactured each other. No one knew for certain how the first machine had come into being.
The legend was this:
Once upon a time on Tralfamadore there were creatures who weren't anything like machines. They weren't dependable. They weren't efficient. They weren't predictable. They weren't durable. And these poor creatures were obsessed by the idea that everything that existed had to have a purpose, and that some purposes were higher than others.
These creatures spent most of their time trying to find out what their purpose was. And every time they found out what seemed to be a purpose of themselves, the purpose seemed so low that the creatures were filled with disgust and shame.
And, rather than serve such a low purpose, the creatures would make a machine to serve it. This left the creatures free to serve higher purposes. But whenever they found a higher purpose, the purpose still wasn't high enough.
So machines were made to serve higher purposes, too.
And the machines did everything so expertly that they were finally given the job of finding out what the highest purpose of the creatures could be.
The machines reported in all honesty that the creatures couldn't really be said to have any purpose at all.
The creatures thereupon began slaying each other, because they hated purposeless things above all else. And they discovered that they weren't even very good at slaying. So they turned that job over to the machines, too. And the machines finished up the job in less time than it takes to say, "Tralfamadore."
Using the viewer on the dash panel of his space ship, Old Salo now watched the approach to Titan of the space ship carrying Malachi Constant, Beatrice Rumfoord, and their son Chrono. Their ship was set to land automatically on the shore of the Winston Sea.
It was set to land amid two million life-sized statues of human beings. Salo had made the statues at the rate of about ten an Earthling year.
The statues were concentrated in the region of the Winston Sea because the statues were made of Titanic peat. Titanic peat abounds by the Winston Sea, only two feet under the surface soil.
Titanic peat is a curious substance - and, for the facile and sincere sculptor, an attractive one.
When first dug, Titanic peat has the consistency of Earthling putty.
After one hour's exposure to Titan's light and air, the peat has the strength and hardness of plaster of Paris.
After two hours' exposure, it is as durable as granite, and must be worked with a cold chisel.
After three hours' exposure, nothing but a diamond will scratch Titanic peat.
Salo was inspired to make so many statues by the showy ways in which Earthlings behaved. It wasn't so much what the Earthlings did as the way they did it that inspired Salo.
The Earthlings behaved at all times as though there were a big eye in the sky - as though that big eye were ravenous for entertainment.
The big eye was a glutton for great theater. The big eye was indifferent as to whether the Earthling shows were comedy, tragedy, farce, satire, athletics, or vaudeville. Its demand, which Earthings apparently found as irresistible as gravity, was that the shows be great.
The demand was so powerful that Earthlings did almost nothing but perform for it, night and day - and even in their dreams.
The big eye was the only audience that Earthlings really cared about. The
fanciest performances that Salo had seen bad been put on by Earthlings who were terribly alone. The imagined big eye was their only audience.
Salo, with his diamond-hard statues, had tried to preserve some of the mental states of those Earthlings who had put on the most interesting shows for the imagined big eye.
Hardly less surprising than the statues were the Titanic daisies that abounded by the Winston Sea. When Salo arrived on Titan in 203,117 B.C, the blooms of Titanic daisies were tiny, star-like, yellow flowers barely a quarter of an inch across.
Then Salo began to breed them selectively.
When Malachi Constant, Beatrice Rumfoord, and their son Chrono arrived on Titan, the typical Titanic daisy had a stalk four feet in diameter, and a lavender bloom shot with pink and having a mass in excess of a ton.
Salo, having watched the approaching space ship of Malachi Constant, Beatrice Rumfoord, and their son Chrono, inflated his feet to the size of German batballs. He stepped onto the emerald clear waters of the Winston Sea, crossed the waters to Winston Niles Rumfoord's Taj Mahal.
He entered the walled yard of the palace, let the air out of his feet. The air hissed. The hiss echoed from the walls.
Winston Niles Rumfoord's lavender contour chair by the pool was empty.
"Skip?" called Salo. He used this most intimate of all possible names for Rumfoord, Rumfoord's childhood name, in spite of Rumfoord's resentment of his use of it. He didn't use the name in order to tease Rumfoord. He used it in order to assert the friendship he felt for Rumfoord - to test the friendship a little, and to watch it endure the test handsomely.
There was a reason for Salo's putting friendship to such a sophomoric test. He had never seen, never even heard of friendship before he hit the Solar System. It was a fascinating novelty to him. He had to play with it.
"Skip?" Salo called again.
There was an unusual tang in the air. Salo identified it tentatively as ozone. He was unable to account for it.
A cigarette still burned in the ash tray by Rumfoord's contour chair, so Rumfoord hadn't been out of his chair long.
"Skip? Kazak?" called Salo. It was unusual for Rumfoord not to be snoozing in his chair, for Kazak not to be snoozing beside it. Man and dog spent most of their time by the pooi, monitoring signals from their other selves through space and time. Rumfoord was usually motionless in his chair, the fingers of one languid, dangling hand buried in Kazak's coat. Kazak was usually whimpering and twitching dreamingly.
Salo looked down into the water of the rectangular pool. In the bottom of the pooi, in eight feet of water, were the three sirens of Titan, the three beautiful human females who had been offered to the lecherous Malachi Constant so long ago.
They were statues made by Salo of Titanic peat. Of the millions of statues made by Salo, only these three were painted with lifelike colors. It had been necessary to paint them in order to give them importance in the sumptuous, oriental scheme of things in Rumfoord's palace.
"Skip?" Salo called again.
Kazak, the hound of space, answered the call. Kazak came from the domed and minareted building that was reflected in the pool. Kazak came stiffly from the lacy shadows of the great octagonal chamber within.
Kazak looked poisoned.
Kazak shivered, and stared fixedly at a point to one side of Salo. There was nothing there.
Kazak stopped, and seemed to be preparing himself for a terrible pain that another step would cost him.
And then Kazak blazed and crackled with Saint Elmo's fire.
Saint Elmo's fire is a luminous electrical discharge, and any creature afflicted by it is subject to discomfort no worse than the discomfort of being tickled by a feather. All the same, the creature appears to be on fire, and can be forgiven for being dismayed.
The luminous discharge from Kazak was horrifying to watch. And it renewed the stench of ozone.
Kazak did not move. His capacity for surprise at the amazing display had long since been exhausted. He tolerated the blaze with tired rue.
The blaze died.
Rumfoord appeared in the archway. He, too, looked frowzy and palsied. A band of dematerialization, a band of nothingness about a foot wide, passed over Rumfoord from foot to head. This was followed by two narrow bands an inch apart.
Rumfoord held his hands high, and his fingers were spread. Streaks of pink, violet, and pale green Saint Elmo's fire streamed from his fingertips. Short streaks of pale gold fizzed in his hair, conspiring to give him a tinsel halo.
"Peace," said Rumfoord wanly.
Rumfoord's Saint Elmo's fire died.
Salo was aghast. "Skip - " he said. "What's - what's the matter, Skip?"
"Sunspots," said Rumfoord. He shuffled to his lavender contour chair, lay his-great frame on it, covered his eyes with a hand as limp and white as a damp handkerchief.
Kazak lay down beside him. Kazak was shivering.
"I - I've never seen you like this before," said Salo. "There's never been a storm on the Sun like this before," said Rumfoord.
Salo was not surprised to learn that sunspots affected his chrono-syndastic infundibulated friends. He had seen Rumfoord and Kazak sick with sunspots many times before - but the most severe symptom had been fleeting nausea. The sparks and the bands of dematerialization were new.
As Salo watched Rumfoord and Kazak now, they became momentarily two-dimensional, like figures painted on rippling banners.
They steadied, became rounded again.
"Is there anything I can do, Skip?" said Salo.
Rumfoord groaned. "Will people never stop asking that dreadful question?" he said.
"Sorry," said Salo. His feet were so completely deflated now that they were concave, were suction cups. His feet made sucking sounds on the polished pavement.
"Do you have to make those noises?" said Rumfoord peevishly.
Old Salo wanted to die. It was the first time his friend Winston Niles Rumfoord had spoken a harsh word to him. Salo couldn't stand it.
Old Salo closed two of his three eyes. The third scanned the sky. The eye was caught by two streaking blue dots in the sky. The dots were soaring Titanic bluebirds.
The pair had found an updraft.
Neither great bird flapped a wing.
No movement of so much as a pinfeather was inharmonious. Life was but a soaring dream.
"Graw," said one Titanic bluebird sociably.
"Graw," the other agreed.
The birds closed their wings simultaneously, fell from the heights like stones.
They seemed to plummet to certain death outside Rumfoord's walls. But up they soared again, to begin another long and easy climb.
This time they climbed a sky that was streaked by the vapor trail of the space ship carrying Malachi Constant, Beatrice Rumfoord, and their son Chrono. The ship was about to land.
"Skip - ?" said Salo.
"Do you have to call me that?" said Rumfoord.
"No," said Salo.
"Then don't," said Rumfoord. "I'm not fond of the name - unless somebody I've grown up with happens to use it."
"I thought - as a friend of yours - " said Salo, "I might be entitled - "
"Shall we just drop this guise of friendship?" said Rumfoord curtly.
Salo dosed his third eye. The skin of his torso tightened. "Guise?" he said.
"Your feet are making that noise again!" said Rumfoord.
"Skip!" cried Salo. He corrected this insufferable familiarity. "Winston - it's like a nightmare, your talking to me this way. I thought we were friends."
"Let's say we've managed to be of some use to each other, and let it go at that," said Rumfoord.
Salo's head rocked gently in its gimbals. "I thought there'd been a little more to it than that," he said at last.
"Let's say," said Rumfoord acidly, "that we discovered in each other a means to our separate ends."
"I - I was glad to help you - and I hope I really was a help to you," said Salo. He opened his eyes. He had to see Rumfoord's reaction.
Surely Rumfoord would become friendly again, for Salo really had helped him unselfishly.
"Didn't I give you half my UWTB?" said Salo. "Didn't I let you copy my ship for Mars? Didn't I fly the first few recruiting missions? Didn't I help you figure out how to control the Martians, so they wouldn't make trouble? Didn't I spend day after day helping you to design the new religion?"
"Yes," said Rumfoord. "But what have you done for me lately?"
"What?" said Salo.
"Never mind," said Rumfoord curtly. "It's the tag. line on an old Earthling joke, and not a very funny one, under the circumstances."
"Oh," said Salo. He knew a lot of Earthling jokes, but he didn't know that one.
"Your feet!" cried Rumfoord.
"I'm sorry!" cried Salo. "If I could weep like an Earthling, I would!" His grieving feet were out of his control. They went on making the sounds Rumfoord suddenly hated so. "I'm sorry for everything! All I know is, I've tried every way I know how to be a true friend, and I never asked for anything in return."
"You didn't have to!" said Rumfoord. "You didn't have to ask for a thing. All you had to do was sit back and wait for it to be dropped in your lap."
"What was it I wanted dropped in my lap?" said Salo incredulously.
"The replacement part for your space ship," said Rumfoord. "It's almost here. It's arriving, sire. Constant's boy has it - calls it his good-luck piece - as though you didn't know."
Rumfoord sat up, turned green, motioned for silence. "Excuse me," he said. "I'm going to be sick again."
Winston Niles Rumfoord and his dog Kazak were sick again - more violently sick than before. It seemed to poor old Salo that this time they would surely sizzle to nothing or explode.
Kazak howled in a ball of Saint Elmo's fire.
Rumfoord stood bolt upright, his eyes popping, a fiery column.
This attack passed, too.
"Excuse me," said Rumfoord with scathing decency. "You were saying - ?"
"What?" said Salo bleakly.
"You were saying something - or about to say something," said Rumfoord. Only the sweat at his temples betrayed the fact that he had just been through something harrowing. He put a cigarette in a long, bone cigarette holder, lighted it. He thrust out his jaw. The cigarette holder pointed straight up. "We won't be interrupted again for three minutes," he said. "You were saying?"
The Sirens of Titan Page 21
