The Caterpillars Question - txt

by Farmer, Phillip Jose

  Despair had been covering her face like a transparent mask. It did not change.

  The plain eased into hills which soon arched their backs, like a meow of alarmed cats, to become mini-mountains. Colossal trees seemed to stride over these, trees the lowest branches of which curved downward into the ground, forming enormous Gothic arches.

  After an estimated forty miles, the plane put the hills and the great trees behind it. Ahead was another vast plain. Five miles from the edge of the forest was a broad shallow valley. In its center was a very strange phenomenon.

  "There's a dark and roughly circular cloud about a half mile across," he told the girl. "Every seven seconds, something in its center glows. Must be very bright to get through that cloud. Can't make its outlines out. Wait a minute! Let me count... ah! The glow lasts seven seconds. And there's a camp, a big one, circling the cloud. Tents, huts. Lots of people scattered around. Vehicles parked past the camp, some planes parked beyond them."

  He swung the plane back and straightened it out parallel to the edge of the forest.

  "We'll land along here someplace and then hide the plane, if we can. I don't want to get any closer. If they're Gaol... hope they didn't see us."

  As he turned the craft, he had seen men behind some big instruments aimed at the cloud. A small party was entering the cloud. The flash silhouetted the men when they were first enveloped, but, a few seconds later, they were no longer visible.

  Tappy's finger touched the side of his face. When he turned his head, he saw her smiling. The despair was gone. She leaned forward, traced a fingertip along the instrument panel, and stopped it at the compass. Her gestures after that, plus her evident joy, told him that they were close to their destination.

  He was concentrating on landing, but he said, "Those people there. Are they Gaol?"

  He glanced at her. She was drawing the edge of her right hand across her throat. Then she nodded.

  "We have to get down and hide the plane," he said. "I hope the camp doesn't have radar equipment. If they do, they'll have spotted us by now. Everybody's attention seemed concentrated on the cloud."

  He was also worried that their three pursuers might suddenly appear and see them.

  He lowered the window, leaned out, and checked the wheel wells, what would be called fenders if this were a car. The wheels were still within the wells. Okay. If he had to land it on its belly, he would. He asked Tappy about the wheel-lowering control. She did not know where it was.

  He took the craft down parallel to the edge of the forest. Except for some bushes here and there, the plain made an excellent landing field. It was not as smooth as a concrete strip, of course, but it would do. He flattened out the angle of descent about ten feet above the ground and slowly eased it down. Then he leaned out through the window again. The wheels fore and aft on the left side were halfway out of the wells. Must be some radar in the plane that automatically activated the wheel-lowering mechanism when it came within a certain distance of the ground.

  The front wheels touched a second before the back wheels, which came down with a bang.

  "How do I stop this plane?" he said. "Where are the brakes?"

  He had released his grip on the inflatable wheel rim, but the vehicle was still going at about five miles an hour. He had to steer around several bushes blocking their path.

  Tappy groped along the panel until she touched a slight protuberance, a purple panel glowing with a faint light. She pushed in on it. The panel lost its glow, and the plane slowed down, then stopped. He pressed the panel again and turned the plane into the forest. Somewhere on that panel or maybe on the wheel was a control that would permit him to lessen or increase the speed below five mph. At the moment, he would have to do without it, improvise.

  "Can the wings be folded?" he said.

  She shrugged.

  "Don't know, right?"

  The plane taxied between the arches of two trees, its wingtips almost scraping the bark. Then he swung sharply right and went under an arch. When the craft was behind the trunk, unseeable from the forest edge, he pressed the purple panel. The plane rolled about ten more feet before stopping. It was still behind the tree, which had a trunk ten times thicker than that of a California sequoia.

  The seat belts hardened and slid back into their recesses.

  "Know how to back this thing up?"

  Tappy shook her head.

  As he got out of the plane, Jack realized how tight and tense he was. His body ached, and his neck muscles were as stiff as a hardcover book. After he got Tappy to knead his neck, he could bend his head without the neck vertebrae cracking. He did the same for her. Then they explored the area, though making sure not to go too far. It would be easy to get lost in this vast shadowy place where the longest line of sight ended at sixty feet.

  They drank deeply from a brook, decided not to eat some big juicy-looking red berries on a bush, listened to the screeching pandemonium of the numerous birds above them, and then returned to the plane. They ate from a jar in the storage compartment, a thick pudding colored chocolate brown and tasting like beef mixed with chestnuts.

  Tappy then pulled on his arm with one hand as she gestured toward the north with the other.

  "I know you want to push on now," he said. "But we can't cross the plain in the daylight. Now... you want to get into that cloud, right?"

  She nodded vigorously.

  "We'd better get some sleep first and fill our bellies, too, before we venture out."

  First, though, he put some containers of food and water in a plastic sack he found in a box. He looked for and found a flashlight. He removed most of the stuff in the storage space so that she could curl up on its floor. He would try to rest on the seat she had occupied, his feet on the pilot's seat. But a minute after he had settled into the least uncomfortable position he could find, his eyes opened.

  "I just thought of something," he said. "The cabin lights. They come on automatically when it gets dark. The light'll be a beacon for the Gaol. You know how to override the automatic turn-on for them?"

  She did not. But, as he reviewed the flight, he remembered a panel light that had been illuminated when the cabin lights had come on as the plane entered the storm. He pressed the inset under the light, and the cabin lights sprang into photonic being. Another pressure, and the lights died.

  "That's done," he said. "We can both sleep now."

  But, a minute later, he sat up, eyes open.

  "Does Malva... the Gaol... know where you were heading? I mean, do they know the cloud, that flashing light, is where you want to go?"

  She had her eyes closed. She sat up, too, and spread out her hands and lifted her shoulders.

  She was uncertain about what they knew.

  He lay back down.

  "Go to sleep, Tappy. I promise not to say anything more until we've had a good long snooze."

  It was some time before he drifted off. He could not keep from worrying about Malva setting up a trap for them in the camp. However, he and Tappy would not know about it until they went into the camp. So, let the Fates decide.

  That was not a thought to ease his anxiety. Anxiety. A psychological jargon-word for fear.

  Finally, he slept. And he dreamed that he was painting one of those gigantic figures that marched along the inner wall of the crater. When he awoke, his neck stiff again, his back aching, he remembered the dream. He thought. That's what I should be doing now. Painting. Not be running scared through a world I never made and never would make. But Earth was also a world I never made and would considerably alter if I'd had anything to do with the Creation.

  Take things as they are— you can't do anything about changing its basic structure— and deal with them as best you can.

  He got up without disturbing Tappy. As he crawled out, though, he heard her muttering in her sleep.

  "Reality is a dream."

  Sometimes it's a nightmare, he thought. Once more, he wondered why she could speak English while asleep yet could not do so w
hile awake.

  Tappy woke up four hours later. She looked refreshed, though the hard floor must have been uncomfortable. By then, clouds had covered the night sky, and thunder and lightning were playing rough games in the west. A wind had come down hard like a swatter against a fly. Even in the comparatively sheltered forest, it whistled and streamed Tappy's long hair out. All that cheered up Jack. The visibility on the plain would be limited, and the Gaol would be snug in their tents and huts. He hoped. If it would only rain, he and Tappy would not care if they were soaked. That would be one more thing to help them.

  He did wish, however, that Tappy could tell him why they were going to that cloud and what awaited them.

  They set out across the plain. He carried the radiator in one hand. After walking two miles, leaning a little sideways into the wind, they were in a savage downpour. The cold water made them even more miserable, but it did make them step up their pace.

  After what seemed a long while but was not, they were at the rim of the shallow valley. The light from the center of the cloud was still coming on every seven seconds. The cloud itself, otherwise invisible in this darkness, was outlined when the light flashed.

  There were lights on in the shelters and strung along paths which led to huts that Jack assumed were latrines. Not a human being was in sight. That did not mean that no sentries were posted. It could be that he just could not see them. But what did the Gaol have to fear? Besides, this camp looked to him more like a scientific expedition than a military base.

  On the other hand, what did he know?

  The lightning arrived at the camp at the same time he and Tappy got there. The white streaks helped illuminate the camp for them. But it would also help any guards to see the intruders. He waited awhile, crouched on the rim, and surveyed the scene for sentinels. If there were any, they were well hidden.

  Finally, he said, "Let's go, Tappy."

  They scrambled down the muddy and rock-strewn slope, slipping now and then. He held the radiator high to keep it from getting dirty. However, the rain cleaned their clothes in a short time. Shivering from more than the cold water and wind, they walked across a fairly even ground to the outer rim of the camp. Crouching, they passed between two wind-flapped tents. He held the radiator ready, the pencil in the other hand. Loud voices came from the tents. Lights shone from the little windows. They left these behind, passing, after a quarter mile of sticky mud, several of the huge machines Jack had seen. These stood on towering tripods the ends of which were stuck in the ground. Cables also ran from them to big metal pegs driven at an angle into the earth. Other cables led from them into the darkness toward the camp. Jack assumed that these were power conductors. The machines on top of the tripods resembled giant cameras, but he doubted that they were for photographic purposes.

  While lightning screwed through the sky, exploding at a so-far-safe distance from them, and thunder banged maniacally, they crossed about a half mile of plastic covering. That kept them from sinking in the mud.

  Then they were dazzled by the light in the center of the cloud, Now closer to the whiteness, they could see more clearly. Its source seemed to be a titanic building. It was, perhaps, not more than five stories high, but its length was at least two thousand feet. They could not be sure about that nor about the roundness of the structure. But Jack got the impression of a Brobdingnagian cylinder. Whether or not one of its ends was pointed, he could not determine.

  Jack halted. The light disappeared, though the afterimage of the building lingered for a second or two. He did not wish to go into that cloud, which, now that he was near it, roiled like the storm in the sky and extended pseudopodia and shrank them back into itself.

  The light blazed again.

  This time, he saw the center thing more clearly. The end on his right was pointed. The main body was rounded.

  Tappy had been holding his hand. She moved ahead, pulling him after her. If she was courageous enough to plunge into the cloud, he could not hang back. And she should know what she was doing. Would she penetrate the cloud if she thought they were in danger?

  Yes, she would if it held something she desired or thought was worth the risk.

  The cloud closed around them. Instantly, the wind ceased. He felt no rain pouring on him. Somehow, the cloud repelled or evaporated it before it got to the ground. But the stuff that enveloped him was oily and sticky. Moreover, after a few steps, be seemed to slow down, to have to push against the cloud. It was as if its essence was a very thin jelly. That must be a delusion, he thought. If the cloud really was thickening, it should make it harder for him to breathe. That did not seem to be happening.

  Then he smelled a sickening odor. As he drove on against the ever-thickening element, he was permeated with the stink. It reminded him of rotting beef. If it got worse, he was going to vomit.

  Tappy was pulling harder on him as if she were getting impatient with his lagging.

  Then she fell, her hand sliding out of his. He could not see until the bright light came back. For seven seconds, he had a good look at her. She had fallen over something. Just before the light went away, leaving him in the greasy darkness, he realized that she had stumbled over a body. It was in the uniform of a Gaol, and it was lying facedown, but its neck and body and arms and legs were swollen.

  The source of the stench was the dead man.

  He thought, Up in the airplane, I saw men going into the cloud. But I did not see any coming out.

  Tappy got up, though he did not know it until her groping hand touched his chest. He reached out and pulled her close. She was trembling.

  "What's going on?" he said, holding her close.

  She could not answer him, of course. She released herself from his arms, felt along his arm, and gripped his hand again. Then she was leading him into the cloud.

  The stink of death was left behind after only a few paces. That cloud must be heavy and keep the molecules of the decaying body from going far. Certainly, the stuff sheathing him was getting denser. He had to push even more against it. His growing nausea, however, was now receding.

  I'll bet no Gaol has reached the building or whatever it is, he thought. Why does Tappy think she can succeed? Even if she does have some ability the others lack, she'll have to leave me behind.

  And why did that man die? If he could not go ahead, why did he not turn around and come back out of the cloud? What killed him?

  Finally, he could not struggle any more. He was winded, and each breath was heavy with oiliness. The stuff seemed to soak into his mouth and nose, his throat, his lungs. He was trapped like a fly in molasses. Panicky, he yanked back on Tappy's hand, but she did not move. Her hand came loose from his. He struggled to take a step backward and found that he could not move his hind foot more than several inches.

  If I die, he thought, will my corpse sag slowly, sinking by inches until I finally lie on the ground? Will my body begin decomposing halfway through my slow-motion fall?

  Then something touched his chin.

  The light, brighter than lightning, returned, and he saw Tappy. She was turned around, had gotten closer to him, and had reached out with a questing finger.

  She could move, though her briefly seen face was twisted with effort.

  "Go on, Tappy!" he shouted. "You can't help me! Go on!"

  He could hear his voice, but it seemed to be inside his head. He doubted that his words got very far from his lips before they were absorbed.

  Chapter 5

  But her touches did not stop. Her hands were on his shoulder, trying to lift him, trying to make him resume walking. She didn't want to go on without him.

  He tried again, this time with reason rather than muscle. "Tappy, you have something important to do. You have a destiny. You are the Imago! You must get to where you're going, and you can do it, because you are what you are. But I am only mortal. I can't reach the source of that light. I will die just as that Gaol soldier did. That's how it's meant to be: only you can get through."

  He paus
ed, gasping with the effort of shouting through the cloying fog. But he had to convince her. "My job is done. I had to get you safely to this place. Now you must go on. Don't let this effort be in vain! Go and be the Imago! Go! Go!"

  But she refused. He knew why: she might be the Imago, but she was also Tappy, the blind, mute girl. She had a crush on him. He, fool that he was, had taken advantage of it, and that had done nothing to abate her love. She had refused to leave him before, and she was refusing now. Reason was no good against adolescent passion.

  Which meant that if he gave up, so would she, and it would be for nothing. He had to do something. But what?

  Then he thought of the radiator. It had gotten them out of more than one scrape already; could it do so again? But this seemed so farfetched that he couldn't quite say it outright. "The— can it— here?"