by Zach Hughes
neglect the possibility of creating a new unit of life.» He let slip his foolish hopes and Rack grinned inwardly as he saw pictures of speculation. It would indeed be ironic if a disgraced Healer should be the sire of the New One. «I am not speaking merely of my condition,» Rack said. He slowly produced the object, holding it on the palm of his hand. He stood directly in front of Red Earth. The bare dome of Red Earth's head did not move, but Rack could feel the push and probe of the Far Seer's senses. He was gratified when Red Earth expressed interest and surprise. He extended the object, and Red Earth took it in his hand. For long moments the Far Seer examined the object, then with an explosion of emotion, threw it from him. It hit the soft, yielding wall and fell to the floor. «From the subsurface!» Red Earth flared. «True,» Rack admitted. A blast of anger and shock poured into his mind, but he stood his ground. «You dug,» Red Earth accused. «Not true,» Rack answered. «I sensed the taint of soft earth, the deadliness of the earth.» Waves of anger, fear, and sorrow emanated from the Far Seer. . Rack began to be seriously concerned. He was well aware of the law against digging. It was a law so absolute that even in the mind of the oldest Keeper there was no record of its having been broken. «If you will listen—» he said. «Not I.» Red Earth sent sadly. «No, I will not listen. There will be a council. Then we will listen.» «That will take time,» Rack said desperately, remembering the flowering of the delicate scales on Beautiful Wings' chest bulges. He sent a powerful picture of his need, his love for Beautiful Wings, the pull of nature, the necessity of proper timing. His russet tint would deepen to flame red. The flowering of Beautiful Wings' chest bulges would become involuntary and expose the soft flesh underneath her scales. And there would be other changes, changes the mere thought of which left him weak. His plea was rejected coldly. Red Earth's mind was tightly closed. In the whole of civilization there were only a small picture of unbreakable laws and Rack had broken the most severely enforced one. It was unthinkable. Yet it had happened. In the face of that fact, nothing mattered, not even the chance for new life, the most desired event in the life of man. «Please, you must listen. I myself did not dig.» «I will keep the evidence of your folly,» Red Earth said sternly. «You will not be given the opportunity to cleanse it further, although you have, obviously, already tried to erase the traces of the subsurface from it. You will return to your establishment. There you will stay until a council can be arranged.» A picture of time, extending past the time of storms into the new beginning. By then Rack's tint would have long since faded. The moment would have passed. «You will not listen?» he asked. «I am but one. The serious nature of this crime demands a council.» «And my readiness?» Rack asked. «Wasted.» And over Red Earth's anger and shock and fear hung a shroud of sadness. «Go.» Rack picked his way back to his establishment, paving no heed to the waste of his energies and forces. Once inside, he fell into his rack. He felt unjustly used. He had not dug. The water had dug, not he. His innocence was proved by the fact that he had suffered no ill effects from his experiment, but had instead discovered an amazing object. To his astonishment, the object had not even aroused Red Earth's deepest curiosity. Even a Power Giver—Beautiful Wings, oh, Beautiful Wings—had been impressed. Any Healer would have been beside himself with excitement. But to a cold-blooded Far Seer the suspected breaking of an ancient law was the issue, not the mind-boggling presence of the obviously crafted object. The situation was completely without logic. Rack's world was an orderly one. It ran on age-old principles that had been proven with time. In his world such a misunderstanding was not possible. It was unbelievable to him that he was to be robbed of his chance to contribute to the scant life force of the planet. Who indeed was breaking the law? Not he. The law-breaker was clearly Red Earth, who was trying to negate one of nature's most elemental forces. Beautiful Wings. Ah… He opened his mind and sent. The distance was far too great. But in his state of openness he intercepted Red Earth's message, directed over Rack's establishment to a northern Far Seer—the call for council. The urgency in Red Earth's thoughts made a cold chill run down Rack's spine. Hearing Red Earth's charges, he began to realize the seriousness of his predicament. In a world that revered life he did not fear death as a punishment, but in outlining the crime Red Earth touched on possible punishments that chilled Rack's mind. Banishment. To the far southland with its burning earth that dealt a slow, lonely death amid choking gases belched up from the earth's bowels. Or to a lonely station where the frost sheet never melted. He closed and considered. In all fairness he was due to be questioned, for his actions in the small, pure valley had been out of the ordinary. His use of running water to cut through the shallow layer of soft earth was, at best, a daring innovation, and Far Seers were affected strongly by any hint of innovation. Life's balance was so precarious that experimentation was to be carefully considered before being undertaken. But he had done no harm in the valley. His only crime was greed; he had stayed too long, and had had to use some of the life force of Beautiful Wings to extricate himself from his self-created crisis. For that error he would gladly accept a punishment tour in the far north, provided the tour began after his joining. Such a sentence was not the wishful thinking of a guilty individual—such punishments had been meted out in the past. He would not, could not, accept the punishment being suggested in advance by Red Earth, for banishment was worse than death. Not only would he himself die a slow, lingering death, but his offspring would remain unconceived. Thus, the planet would be deprived of two life units. Could not the Far Seers understand that? If he had indeed dug in the earth, then he would have expected the most severe punishment. Or would he? Guilt was a matter of degree. If he had willingly dug in the soft earth with his hands—a dark thought—he would have deserved punishment. Or… An entirely new line of thought occurred to him. Even if he had dug in the valley by hand he would have, according to his measurements, suffered no bodily damage. So where was the crime? Red Earth would have been shocked to find a Healer seriously questioning the laws. It didn't happen. All forms of life were involved in the struggle for existence and it was imperative that all forms obey the proven laws. But here was a Healer with serious questions. Here was a Healer who had seen the layer of soft earth being cut, washed away by running water. Here was a Healer who had thrust his hands into the disturbed mud, not digging, but feeling the subsurface material. Here was a Healer who had broken the spirit of the law, if not the letter of the law, and here was a Healer who had survived and had proven to his own satisfaction that at least one of the laws had no basis. Rack had no doubt that to dig in most sinkholes would mean death. He could feel the deadly hard projectiles on his scales when he merely walked close by a sinkhole. But if the law was not in total error, it was at least subject to exceptions, for in that wonderful, pure-aired valley, he had seen and felt the subsurface and had found there a piece of material that brought to mind other serious questions about the wisdom of his civilization. Rack prowled his establishment, breathing carelessly. He slept little, and awoke to find his russet loins turning a pinker, brighter shade. He pictured Beautiful Wings the Power Giver and the image was unbearably sweet. He remembered her response when he suggested that he would return, and he contemplated the loss of his only readiness, for to have more than one change in life was rare. He was young. He felt that he was in the right. «If I am a law-breaker,» he told himself, «then I am lost. But the sins of the father should not be extended to cover his seed.» With his loins pink and bright, such thoughts seemed natural. Nature moved in him, making chemical changes in his body, sending delicate urges into his brain. By the midpoint of the day, he had made his decision. Red Earth, in his intercepted thoughts, had indicated that he would contact every Far Seer east of the river. Such an endeavor would take time and energy and would, Rack estimated, cover the period of this day, another day and possibly still another. The establishment of Beautiful Wings the Power Giver was a quick jog away. If he were a criminal, then he was not responsible for his actions. Moreover, he could be punished only
once. And once implanted in Beautiful Wings' body, his seed would be life, and thus sacred. He stored a maximum quantity of air, packed his winter's supply of broth and a sealed container of closely crowded Breathers to add to Beautiful Wings' colonies. He marched swiftly, heavily burdened, not able to breathe in the fierce storms that had now reached their peak of deadliness. She was waiting, sensing his coming from afar, meeting his mind and discussing the situation as he jogged through the atmosphere-darkened emptiness. At first she was shocked and reluctant to grant him entrance, but his emotion-filled thoughts found an echo in her own feelings. The emotions of a Power Giver at joining time were nature's strongest force, and she had witnessed Rack's beginning tint, had felt the strength and power of his personality, and had seen the beauty of his body. She stood inside the establishment, unable to control the flowering of her chest scales as he entered. They opened out delicately, flaring in a curling sheet, forming a ring around delicate pinkness of the flesh of motherhood, the flesh from which the offspring would feed. The first sight of her sent a blast of fierce heat through Rack's loins and he felt his own scales stir. He sent beauty, beauty, love. And she answered with a sweetness that made his knees weak. Quickly he joined his container of Breathers with her colonies, making the colony sufficient for two. Then, his gills having been vented in the lock, he loosed stored air from his huge body and felt his storage cells give gladly to share with his love. In a sweet, rich plenty of air they stood gazing at each other, inner lids wide. Rack's vibrant blue eyes sparkled with his energies. He could see far into Beautiful Wings' soul, and it was open to him, sending potent, beautiful thoughts of submission and love. «You, too, may be punished,» he told her. «No punishment could take away the memory of this,» she answered. «We have"—he sent a picture of the time remaining before Red Earth could complete his contact with the eastern Far Seers. «Then he will notice that I am not in my establishment.» «When I first saw you, when I was a child, I dreamed of this day,» she said. «Our time could be shortened if he discovers me here. You would, thus, be robbed of your heritage.» «But we will have created life.» she said. Life cannot be destroyed. The picture of incredible passion she sent made him gasp. The beauty of her tender, exposed chest buds sent a rich, red glow moving up from his loins. He felt his scales spread wide. «Before I throw aside my covering,» he said, «be sure, Beautiful Wings.» «I will be content with one night, if that is all fate will allow. My only fear, my only regret, is for you. For as you know, the mind of a Far Seer is powerful.» «In all of history there has been no record of a Far Seer destroying life.» «But he is agitated. In all of recorded history no one has dug.» She sent the last picture regretfully. «I think not of myself,» he sent. «But of you.» «For me the mere throwing aside of your covering will open a world of delight,» she said. Slowly he drew aside the opaque covering. His maleness was fiery red, his scales folded back on themselves to reveal the never-before exposed beauty. She made an audible purr of pleasure and drew aside the belt of fashioned Material to show that she, too, was at the height of her readiness. He knew then the full picture of her name, derived from an age-old picture of wing-like organs, fragile, brightly colored, delicate. He had never seen such loveliness and his entire being vibrated as she moved languidly toward him. «They tremble and hunger for your touch,» she sent in softness. His eyes caressed the pink, exposed breast buds, his fingers trembled as they touched them and slid down her soft body. The red tint of his sex grew and sent scales folding back as his maleness fully emerged. She, in trembling wonder, touched it with her hand. «Now we will join,» he whispered, leading her to the rack. She sat down, legs crossed and he duplicated the position, looking deep into her brown eyes, letting himself swim there, fall, merge. He knew the fullness of her mind, let his mind lose its individuality as she came into his and locked. He knew her most basic thoughts as she knew his and a rapture lifted them out of time and space. Their limbs, bent under their bodies, felt the strain but did not register discomfort as the night fell and the planet spun on its axis and swam toward the new beginning. They required neither food nor air. They fed on themselves and on each other. Throughout the long, dreamy night, as the storm raged and the survival factor reached its lowest point in the sun circle, they caressed minds, and when at last the sun glowed through the poisons of the outside they reached a state of pure ecstasy and not even the force of Red Earth's anger could have broken their locked emotions. She came to him with the sinking sun. Her swollen chest buds were a delight under his fingers. Her exposed, ruby red femininity drew him, and the union began, sweet and true and of such a totality that the Breathers, half-life that they were, stirred uneasily in their colonies. He breathed pure air into her open mouth and merged with her. Softness met softness—his penetration joined them and their two locked minds heard her purring audibly as the day passed without notice. Another night found them poised on the brink of the ultimate experience, and as it happened she cried out, her expelled breath sweet. VI In rare cases, when love was strong, the joining urge was not satisfied with one experience. Thus it was with Rack and Beautiful Wings. So perfect had been the preliminary union of their minds, so sweet was the seed planting, so devastating the pleasure, that his tint become only more fiery and her ruby femininity did not fade. True, her chest buds were covered, and her scales folded, as were his, but their powerful emotions continued to rage. Had they not been in the grip of nature's most powerful force neither of them would have considered the desperate measure suggested, at the height of their joining, by their combined minds. It was a suggestion so desperate that both, the total unit of them, knew that it was unthinkable. And yet that unit, that combined thing, had also predicted that their urges would not be cooled with one experience. That rare miracle had happened and they were to be given another experience. But time, they knew, minds separated now, was running out. Both were still aware of the suggestion. Both rejected it. Yet both knew that time would be required for the scales to open again, for her to flower. Time they did not have, for Red Earth's powerful mind would soon find Rack. They had no idea what would happen then. They knew only that they would be separated and the thought was intolerable. Outside, the survival factor was fearfully low. To take the desperate measure—to escape, if only briefly, the surveillance of the Far Seers— would mean going out into that hell of poison. A brief exposure would not seriously harm Rack, but even a short time outside, with the atmosphere giving off potent projectiles, was folly for a Power Giver. The time spent outside would be subtracted from her life, in expanded pictures of the unit spent outside. But she was feminine, in love, in change, and filled with the glory of having, perhaps, a new life in her. «I will not be robbed,» she sent. He protested, but he too, was in love. He, too, felt the potent biological, chemical, and emotional stresses. Outside he could breathe for her, giving her air from his lungs, but he could not, short of wrapping his more thickly scaled body as tightly around hers as possible, shield her from the deadly projectiles. «It is my life, love, and I will gladly spend part of it,» she sent. «I cannot allow it.» «I will not live long if you are sent to the south.» He could feel the power behind the statement and he believed her, for in rare cases the union produced a lifetime of love, an ability to blend minds even when nature forbade the joining of bodies. «I would hate myself, I would die myself, if your life were shortened,» he argued. «Then we die together.» Together they packed the broth, a supply sufficient to last both through the winter. Together they loaded the Breathers into travel containers of the Material. He winced as he measured the load she would have to carry. But they were now committed, for a tentative probe from Red Earth's mind had located him, then drew back. Red Earth was mustering the powerful force of his mind to act. Rack knew not what the shocked Far Seer would do. Immobilization was the least he could expect. He quickly depleted the establishment, storing its last remaining air in his huge lungs, and numerous cells. As Beautiful Wings lifted he wept, for he could feel the drain, the using up of her force. And she, not
blessed with his healing powers, could not repair the damage. He held her tightly in his arms, giving her air from his mouth, protecting all of her that he could with his superior armor. The ascent took its toll and when they were finally above the high clouds she breathed furiously of his stored air, trying to regain some of the loss. The soaring was not as strenuous, but the descent through the roiling clouds, as she fought the pull of the earth, caused waves of pain to sweep through her. He shared them in his mind, if not in his body, and his entire being cried out at the injustice of it. It should have been he who was sacrificing for their love. On the thin film of icy frost of the far north he held her and gave her a lungful of his good air. Then he entered the closed establishment of Northern Ice the Healer, her late father, set the Breathers working, and emptied his store to replenish the barren establishment. She lay weakly on the rack, breathing with difficulty. He wept openly. Once again he had been criminally foolish, and this time his actions harmed not himself, but the one he loved. Both had underestimated the weight of her load, the distance, and the height of the clouds and now she was paying for it. Her very substance had been used. She looked thin, drawn-out. But she smiled at him and directed his attention to her breasts, which were being exposed slowly as she flowered. The ruby tint spread and her lower scales opened and those delicate, soft buds swelled with nature's bounty. «Poor Rack,» she sent. «Don't suffer more than I, for I gave myself gladly and would do it again.» Twice blessed by nature, they were alone in the far north, beyond the full strength of Red Earth's punitive measures. No Far Seer was near enough to intrude upon their privacy. The hardworking Breathers expelled good air and made the long vacant establishment comfortable. The unaccustomed chill served merely to invite body closeness. The fiery tint of love added richness to the body tones of each of them, and the delicate flowering of the chest bulges of Beautiful Wings belied her weakened condition. Even as her ravaged body felt pain, the powerful joining forces overcame all but a slight discomfort that, when her mind sought Rack's, brought a wail of sorrow from him. He held her, standing, her chest hard against his, his arms supporting her, saving her remaining strength. More than anything in his world he wanted to lift the suffering from her, to take it into his body, where it rightfully belonged, for the entire situation was of his making. The soft tendrils of her mind pressed at his shame points, caressed his pain and sorrow. «I will live to give birth,» she told him, inside him. Her body anticipated and Rack felt the wonder of growth, the swelling of life. He knew the movements of labor and the emergence of a new life. He could not help but exult. They moved into oneness and a fierce pride of achievement sent strong radiations reverberating around the domed establishment. Their new ecstasy mounted until, facing each other, seated cross-legged on the rack, the beauty of their union was all. There was total communication and the joy of deep emotion, emotion that would be as strong in memory as the actual physical sensations. Rack experienced a bewilderingly powerful sadness mixed with the most complete happiness he had ever known, for he was loved to the point of the exclusion of the most basic value of all, the regard for life. To be so loved changes an individual, and it changed Rack, brought out in him a humbleness, a desire to please. Beautiful Wings, though seriously weakened, received the compensation of knowing the total love of a Healer. It washed through her, easing the pain and making the warning signals being sent to her brain from every part of her body things of little consequence. She would live to give birth. The joining began. Linked, flesh within flesh, Rack became even more a part of her and she a part of him and the long, lovely process extended into time without end, time without thought of the future, except for the deep awareness of creation. And, yet in Rack's mind, in that joined mind, there was also the despair, the pain, the sadness. Joinings were routinely monitored by Far Seers and though the nearest Far Seer was not near enough to be able to break into the concentration of the two lovers, he was awed by the force, the closeness, and the duration of this joining. A Healer knows the flesh of a Power Giver once, perhaps, in lucky cases, twice in a lifetime. Rack, the fortunate one, knew more. He knew flesh and total love and this made his despair deeper, for even in total union he was aware of her condition, and knew that he and he alone was responsible for it. Neither of them would think that the very uniqueness and desperation of their union were adding to the depth of their emotions, but that obvious conclusion was made by the observing Far Seer before he withdrew, tinglingly envious, to seek his sterile consolation with his Keeper. Rack knew only that he would forsake all if his actions resulted in the death of Beautiful Wings. She was very weak. When the seed planting began and joy convulsed them, she was overwhelmed by the strength of her joy. Rack's mind filled with panic, even as his entire being lived the glory of nature's finest moment. As her mind withdrew, going blank, he roared a hoarse animal sound, an expression of his outrage that she should pass into unawareness at such a moment. He sent his body out to her, tried to possess her, to will her to be strong as he was strong. His mind weeping, his healing cells screamed out to her to fight, not to give in to the specter that had thrust itself into their moment of joy. Love was the force. His message was not a mere hope or a plea, it was a command: Be well. And it was repeated by every fiber of his being; his body thundered the order, and he wished desperately to be able to send into her body the gift of his healing. Yet still she sank. He felt the darkness of her mind, a foreboding of the darkness of death which he, who loved her, had inflicted upon her. The burden was to great for him to bear. His mind threatened to join hers in blankness, but in that last, wildly emotional moment, he felt another change, a great and astonishing change, roar through him. At the point of their union an unheard-of thing began to happen—it was as if their very flesh melted and joined. At first he was not directing it; it was an event of nature, his flesh becoming her flesh. Cell bonded to cell and where there had been lubricous nonfriction there was a bond and movement ceased. He felt a strange swelling and a sensation that he could not identify until he felt, in his body, the beat of her feeble heart. The flow of her blood joined his, passing through the bonded flesh as they literally became one, connected in all the soft areas of their union. He sensed the damaged cells of her blood and then he was aware of her entity as well as his own. He sent his powerful Healer's forces out to battle the darkness, cell by cell. His substance was her substance and he was strong, freshly filled with broth and air, equal to the task of mending her frail body. With an awed joy, he felt life spring up in her, and saw her eyes open in wonder and look into his. He was too busy to pause to analyze what was happening. His Healer's blood flowed in her veins, his cells were her cells and his healing ability worked for both of them. He used up his stored substance with abandon, voiding poisons through his gills not at all concerned by this breach of politeness. «Rack, Rack,» she sent. The extent of her weakness frightened him, but he was equal to the task. It cost him, but he was giving joyously, praising nature for this chance to redeem himself, to give of himself as she had given of herself for him. As he healed he flowed in her, was part of her, knew the intimate processes of her body, and found the inherent weakness of the Power Givers in organs that could not reject the deadly things in the environment. He knew his Power Giver as no Healer had ever known his love, and he made her young and whole again. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the process ceased. The flesh parted and they were lying together, both aware of his seed in her. Rack told her what he knew, for he had been able to see that she was in the process of conceiving. He could no longer watch, but they talked of the mechanics of the process, timed it, and tried to pinpoint the exact moment. They laughed joyously and clung to each other and, in a total love that made them both giddy, found the union of mind that transported them once again. Later she fed him. Her being radiated health. He felt his strength returning as he consumed broth and filled his storage cells with air. The last tints of russet left Rack's pelvic region. On Beautiful Wings' chest bulges the scales folded into place and covered the soft flesh.
The sun, only a puny force in the far north, stayed below the horizon and in the cool dark they found it beautiful to sink into the mind-blend union. They did not miss the physical union, for that was nature's way and the physical aspects were purely concerned with the creation of life. Pictures of days became pictures of satellite changes and they were not aware of the swift passage of time, lost in the beauty of mind-blend, eating only when necessary, using air sparingly. They had achieved that rare union which lasts past the creation of life, and were drawn closer by the miracle that had occurred. Once, for a time, Rack's blood had flowed in her veins; he had known her down to the minutest cell level; and he had felt and seen what she could never feel or see, the beginnings of new life within her body. After many satellite changes of pure happiness, responsibility intruded in the form of the mind of a Far Seer. «Rack the Healer, will you voluntarily attend the meeting of the council of Far Seers, Healers, and Power Givers?» «I will inform you,» Rack sent, sinking to depths of sadness. «Now you have other crimes to answer to,» Beautiful Wings told him. «They will cite your disobedience.» «And the crime of endangering the life of a Power Giver in unlawful flight,» Rack agreed. «I will lose you.» «Negative, negative,» he sent angrily. If she lost him he would lose her and he could envision no worse fate. «I will go with you to the death lands of the far south,» she promised. «Negative, negative,» he sent, thinking furiously «Perhaps, by some miracle of nature, you can heal me even in the death lands.» «There I cannot even heal myself,» he said. «Then we die together.» «Much as I revere my own life—and life in the abstract—I revere yours more.» He caressed her. «To think of you dead is the most terrible pain.» «Then let us flee again. We will go to the lands across the eastern sea.» «Negative,» he sent, adding pictures of the distance, the load she would carry, the drain on her system. She was in perfect health, but even the most healthy Power Giver was seriously drained by such a trip. The passage across the eastern sea had been made only a few times in recorded history and only in times of dire emergency. «But you forget,» she chided. «You can heal me. You can join your power to mine.» Hope sprang up in him. Then he negated. «In the heat of the union I felt your flesh and healed you. I have no feel for it now. I don't think I could do it again, not without the emotional stimulus of the joining.» «We could try.» The problem was that without the flowering of scales that accompanied the physical union there were no flesh areas to bring into contact. Armored hand on armored hand gave a heady and pleasant sensation, but produced not even one spark of that strange power Rack had felt during the union. Rack considered. Every portion of Beautiful Wings' body was protected by her small, decorative scales, save for the inside of her small mouth and the inner lids of her eyes. He examined her small, protected lips. With a finger he opened them and looked into the pink, toothless maw. Her vestigial tongue was very small. His own tongue would barely extend past his armored lips. Yet, this was the only area of exposed flesh that could possibly be joined. «We can only try,» he agreed. He placed his lips on hers, thrusting his tongue into the fleshy interior of her mouth. «A sensation not to be despised,» she giggled. «Quiet, I am thinking.» Flesh on flesh, remembering. The glory of union, the softness of entering her body, the feel of her cells, were implanted in his mind. It was, he found, surprisingly simple. He had only to will it and his tongue welded flesh to flesh, melted into her, knew her. Through that small contact of united flesh he sensed the processes of her body and made minor healings. He closed off the contact, knowing a wild elation. He would never have to be without her; his healing abilities would make her as long-lived as he. Only the ruin of his system would bring death to both of them and that would be many, many sun circles away. He knew the feeling of complete victory, and then it was tinged with regret. «I know,» she said, «responsibility is a heavy thing.» She touched him, sending a warm glow through the scales of his arm. «But we have something to contribute"—a picture of their unborn offspring. «The people to the east, it is said, are much like us,» she consoled. «But they are not our people,» he sent, regretting already the loss of their own land and friends. There was, however, no choice. Had he not loved her, he would have gone to the council and would have used the forum to try to convince the Far Seers of the importance of that strange object he found in the valley of the hot waters. But having known perfect love and knowing that his own banishment would condemn Beautiful Wings and his child to an early death, he chose to flee to the eastern lands. Amid much hilarity they practiced soaring. The mouth-to-mouth position made for some difficulty. Beautiful Wings drew not only on Rack's substance, but utilized as well his power of mind to reinforce her own push against the magnetic field of the planet. At first she could not see, but an adjustment of their heads conquered that difficulty and practice sent them flying effortlessly, without cost to her substance, into the clean air of the world above the clouds. Having become proficient in joint flight, Rack guided them to a position over Red Earth's establishment. «I am Rack the Healer, bringer of new and startling things,» he sent. «You are Rack the Healer, madman,» Red Earth sent angrily, adding astonishment and shock that Rack was once again recklessly using the life substance of a Power Giver for illegal soaring. «I ask only a hearing,» Rack sent, «a fair and impartial forum composed of equal numbers of Far Seers, Power Givers, and Healers.» «The law,» Red Earth sent, «is the law. Your new and startling thing has been adjudged, after careful study, to be the result of unexplained forces in the depths of space.» «The Far Seers err and dream dreams of the unimaginative mind,» Rack sent, himself becoming a bit angry, «for the object is clearly crafted and must, therefore, be the work of the Old Ones. As such, it not only should receive the attentions of the scholars among the Far Seers, but should be subjected to the speculations of the scientific Healers, as well.» «It is the will of nature that the Far Seers hand down the law,» Red Earth said. «Tell me, Healer, your justification for continued defiance.» «In the interest of the race,» Rack said. «In that interest I have traveled far. In that interest I risked death and disgrace, and in return I am scorned and judged without a hearing.» «Your absence from the hearing was your own doing,» Red Earth said pointedly, referring to Rack's flight from justice. «If the Old Ones were capable of crafting so unique a material,» Rack went on stubbornly, «what else might they have been capable of? I demand a renewed effort to rethink our position.» «You seek to dig in the earth and release death,» Red Earth said sadly, seeing behind Rack's words a picture of the valley of hot waters. «This we will not allow. I have been empowered, to my sorrow, to—» But Rack was prepared. As the Far Seer gathered his energies, Beautiful Wings sent them soaring high into the purpling sky, into the regions of nonair, into the coldness of the upper reaches. The bolt from Red Earth's mind dulled Rack's senses momentarily. Shocked, he realized that it had been meant to be a killing blow. Had he not anticipated it and removed himself from Red Earth's range, he would have been a lifeless form clinging inside Beautiful Wings' field of power, draining her, leaving her without his healing protection. «So be it,» he said. Flesh to flesh, they accelerated, leaving the zone of the sun for the darkness to the east. They sensed the rolling sea beneath them as they sought the land of the east, fleeing those who would kill. VII I, Rack the Healer, sing of my joy with the brilliant satellite in opposition to the sun, rising there in the cold, airless heights, dark valleys forming shadows on its face. I can reach out and touch its face, not with my mind, as the Far Seers do, but with my imagination, as dreamers do. I dream and my dreams are turning true; welded to my flesh is Beautiful Wings, whose body, even in flight, nourishes that which we have made together. I share with her the elation of freedom from the pull of the planet. Through her mind I see the delicate design of the magnetic field, and with my own force coupled with hers, for we are one, I push against it. We use its power with our own, directing the force to send the union of our bodies flying. The bright gleaming satellite comes swimming through space to meet us; the clouds roil darkly beneath us;
the planet turns in its circle around the sun. I feel myself giving, my surplus of substance being used for the first time in Power Giver soaring. I wonder at it. I speak with her, telling her of the satisfaction I have known in my wanderings and she shares with me that curiosity which, to my knowledge, has in the past been limited to those of my kind. We are not dismayed by the length of the passage; we are occupied in spying out the far, bright spots the Far Seers tell us are other suns like ours. Although their senses are too dim to affirm it, the basic laws of nature must work even there. Planets swim in their orbit and nature peoples the planets with life, for life is the be all end all. I hail you, all you far-flung Power Givers and Healers and all your loves. May your unions produce a balance. May all of you who live where the far suns glitter dimly find your tints to be brilliant and your blendings all-powerful. For I know the goodness of life and share your joy as I invite you to share mine. My mind makes flamboyant pictures of hope. I see the survival factor rising and the Breathers reproducing themselves in numbers as difficult for my small mind to hold as is the picture of the distance between us and that bright circle of light that rises overhead. The sun is shrinking but still gives our world above the clouds a softness of light that illuminates the lightly-filmed eyes of my beloved. Her lips work in a smile under mine and our flesh tugs at itself where it is blended together. I see understanding. I see love. I see the race rising to overcome the hardships of our ancient home, replenishing the air, stilling the storms, banishing the toxicity to the sink holes, leaving the earth to us. I see the need for our self-protective isolation in establishments overcome, and even the fragile Keepers basking in the kind sun. I see the Far Seers free to make more than an occasional brief foray into our unchallenged outside and using their analytical minds to conquer our problems. For too long have we allowed the planet and its deadly poisons to dominate us. Are we at the mercy of the planet? No. If we merely took what was offered, we would die gasping in the clouds of death. The learned thinkers tell us that we are beloved of nature, and yet she does her best, in every way, at every moment of the sun circle, to kill us. Nature is the sacred force and is, therefore, not to be questioned. Tampering not allowed. Witness my own problems involving an ancient law that says thou shalt not dig in the softness or the hardness of the earth lest the poisons of death overtake you. But I, Rack the Healer, have wetted my hands in the products of the soft earth, pushing my fingers into the muck of a new stream bed with impunity. You, out there, circling the far suns, are you bound by tradition? Are your Far Seers blind to new knowledge? We could, with our strength, soar to meet that bright, dark-shadowed planet, our satellite, and speak to the men there. I see it and think, ah, how clear, how bright. How clean the air. Is it not as old, not as wasted, not as soiled as our world? I think not, for otherwise it would glow with the poisonous yellows and purples rather than with the clarity of the hot water that gushes from the rocks in the valley I found beyond the river. Yes, we are strong, full of substance. Yet as we soar I feel the cold seep through my scales and slow my blood. My love shivers against me and we drop to the clouds to warm ourselves with the heat of the sun captured under that thick blanket. Here is the reality that binds us within our scales and within our minds. There I doubt, for we live on my stored air, our gills expelling the gases without allowing a breath to pass. Here our outer lids close and we are in darkness, for the tender membranes of our inner lids are scalded by the harshness of the atmosphere. Here, the bright sky hidden, we soar on instinct alone, guided by the Healer's sense of direction and by the Power Giver's ability to measure distances. Farther down, on the surface, skimming slowly, we find pockets of breathable air and I replenish my stores, but the storms that are abating in our homeland behind us rage still on the sea and the heavy waters heave up, wetting our feet. Here nature is cruel—a blasphemous thought, but true. Outside the protective community of my birth, I, Rack the Healer, outlaw, think such thoughts and have to hide them, for my love is not as cynical as I. The water of the sea is warm and I remember the feel of it on my scales when I would dive for the slime source. Rocks at my waist, for without weight I would float, I sink to the bottom and feel the slick, pulpy plants in my fingers as I gather the food source. It is said that the people of the eastern lands eat the flesh of the small, armored animals that crawl in the beds of the slime source. The Far Seers have said they are poisonous. Does this not speak of the fallibility of the law-givers? I have not seen it, but it is recorded. The same sea washes both the shores of my homeland and the eastern lands; would the small, armored animals who live in it be poison for some and food for others? I know only that there is much to learn and I, Rack the Healer, intend to stretch my mind until I feel it strain within its scales. For I have known the joy of union. Unique among Healers, I have known the joy of joining my body totally with a Power Giver, her blood my blood, her organs open to my healing powers. True, I may be suffering from excess pride, but can such a one as I think seriously about resigning himself to tradition, when such small innovations open such broad vistas of possibility? We hunger. We suck the good broth from my pack and it refreshes us. My cells engorge themselves and I feel my strength flowing through my welded tongue into her body. To please me, she allows us to drop from fearful heights, like stones dropped from the escarpment, falling, falling, until, with a long, sweeping rise, we soar again. We laugh and sweep through the dawning sky as the rising sun brightens the low clouds and sends its glow to greet us. There is a world around us. We are not totally free, for we are dependent on the broth. For the broth, we are dependent on the Far Seers who have tamed the many-legged Webber, who have bred the deadly Juicers and who combine the sticky material exuded by the Webbers with the fiery fluid of the Juicers to form vats of the Material to hold the broth. We are not independent, for nature has decreed that it takes the three mobile forms to provide food and shelter for the race— Far Seers, Healers, and Power Givers, working together. The particular mental talents of the Far Seers mold the Material and start the process of breakdown in the pulpy slime-source plants gathered by the Healers. That results, with the addition of power from the Power Givers, in our food. Thus, we are all dependent on each other. My love and I must become a part of a community in the eastern lands which, the senses of Beautiful Wings tell us, are lying ahead where the clouds billow high. But we will have free times. Then we will fly, our packs with us, to see the unseen lands, to explore the vast, empty spaces, to walk the barren rocks of the earth. For we have the freedom of unlimited flight. We have now traveled far and I am scarcely hurt; my resources are almost totally intact. With my metabolism and her ability to climb the lines of force radiated from the planet we could truly soar off this dying planet and seek our brothers on the far worlds. Ah, you see, I am Rack the Healer, dreamer. VIII Weathered Mountain the Far Seer, making a routine check of his area, noted the soaring Power Giver carrying a healthy young Healer with an almost empty pack with resignation. He was old. Named for his area, that ancient, eroded range against which the sea rolled on the west, he had lived too many sun circles to be amazed by this willful waste of the Power Giver's substance. The line of flight traced back to the sea indicating that this was a joy flight, for no one on a purposeful mission would be traveling that route in his place. Weathered Mountain was more concerned with the fact that the new beginning was not bringing the expected rise in the survival factor. He was engaged in measuring the output of the food and Material establishment in his area and was becoming convinced that short rations were in the offing, since the outside conditions did not allow the Healers a full day's work in the sea. This conclusion made him grumpy, for he, of course, would be on as short rations as anyone, and at his age such minor discomforts displeased him. He paid no more attention to the soaring Power Giver and her burden until his senses, swinging out automatically, noted that they were lowering into his area. He checked identity idly. The answer he received caused him to arise quickly, moving with a spring in his legs that he had thought was long since gone.
What he had seen pushed survival factors and food production problems into the back of his old mind and filled him with a youthful excitement. «Welcome, welcome, welcome,» he sent. «Welcome to my area and welcome to my air and my broth and my meat.» Rack sent thanks and said privately, «This place is as good as any.» Beautiful Wings agreed, although she was a bit awed by the high-piled rocky bones of the ancient mountain range. The life forms, they found, were the same their world over. Weathered Mountain the Far Seer was no different from his counterparts in their homeland. And the establishment, with one noticeable difference, was much the same. The difference—a display of gleaming nuggets of hard material in a case of the Material—caught Rack's eye and interest. «We do, indeed, come from across the sea,» he answered to Weathered Mountain's query. «Then your Power Giver must have rest,» the Far Seer said solicitously, knowing the terrible drain of substance involved in the long journey. «There is a vacant chamber, my prime Keeper having unfortunately died during the winter.» «Beautiful Wings is young and strong,» Rack said, «and relatively unharmed. She prefers to stay with me.» «As you wish,» Weathered Mountain said, seating himself. The excitement he felt had begun to make his old limbs tremble. «Have you then developed new techniques for soaring?» Rack pondered the question. In this strange land, where people were said to eat the flesh of sea animals, he was at a disadvantage. He was not yet ready to reveal the amazing thing that had happened between him and Beautiful Wings. «Only a long period of rest and heavy feeding and breathing in advance,» he said. «And, as I said, she is unusually strong for a Power Giver.» Weathered Mountain was not content with the answer, but there were larger questions. In his lifetime no one had crossed the sea. The last crossing, made in the time of his grandfather, had been undertaken in order to compare survival factors and air readings on either side of the sea. This comparison had indicated that conditions were much the same on both sides of the wide waters and that the same deadly air moved over all lands. «The purpose of your trip, then,» he sent politely, «if you are prepared to discuss it with such a one?» «We are honored, indeed, to be greeted by one of such accumulated wisdom,» Rack said, «for I detect the presence of a double picture of the mind of a Keeper.» «It is true that I pride myself on my interest in learning,» said Weathered Mountain, «but you flatter me.» He smiled. «The new Keeper is young and has been newly filled with the knowledge formerly kept in the mind of the old one who died. I did note, however during the process of transferral, that we have the complete records of the last visit from across the sea, if you are interested.» «In time, perhaps,» Rack said, raising the Far Seer's curiosity to a feverish level. «But we did not come to gather observations of survival factors and air readings. We came to confront you with a new piece of information—at least, information that is new to our land. It is our wish to see if any information of a comparable nature is available in the lands of the east.» Beautiful Wings cast a look at him, for he had not discussed his plans with her. She, with the noninventive mind of a Power Giver, had envisioned Rack applying for a position in the area of the Far Seer for both of them. «Ah,» sent Weathered Mountain in expectancy. «Perhaps it would be best for you to enter—» Rack said, as he opened a specific area of his mind. «If you permit.» «Gladly.» Rack felt the mind tendrils of the Far Seer. The memory of the feel, the weight, the texture, and the taint of wet, soft earth, was there as the Far Seer examined Rack's stored impressions of the odd material from the valley of the hot waters. Rack waited, slightly nervous. A bit of his fear must have leaked, for the old Far Seer sent amusement. «Your law-givers still abide by that hoary old taboo?» Rack felt relief. «I am pleased to find that the wise Far Seers of the east value knowledge above tradition.» «You see them,» Weathered Mountain said, indicating his collection of hard-material nuggets. «I think there is a connection between the hard materials and the Old Ones,» Rack said. «Do you find that foolish?» The Far Seer shrugged. «One does not fully understand. I would that you had brought the new thing,» he added. «Its value, of course, prevented that.» «Yes.» Then the Far Seer closed his mind for contemplation. When he sent again he asked questions. Rack, freed of the fear of punishment, answered, telling of the methods used to unearth the object. «It is said by some that the Old Ones built with stone,» Weathered Mountain said. A wave of excitement sent Rack's mind speculating. «There is evidence?» «Suspicion. Guessing. Curious formations.» «But in your lands no object, of the curious material has been discovered?» «None. Although we do, of course, find hard-material nuggets, which we value for their beauty, if not for their usefulness. There is a certain competition for their possession.» «And do they come from the subsurface?» Rack asked. «No Healer can withstand the lure of the low areas,» Weathered Mountain said. «But are there areas such as the valley of the hot waters where digging is possible?» «So it is said.» Amusement. «When I am offered a hard-material nugget in exchange for a certain favor, such as a change of duty time or an extra ration of the Material, I do not question the Healer too closely.» «And your knowledge of the Old Ones?» «It is not one of my interest areas, but there are some who are as fascinated with the Old Ones as you. I can put you in contact with them. Is this, then, this pursuit of the old myths, your sole reason for journeying across the sea?» «Is not knowledge worthy of pursuit?» Rack asked. Weathered Mountain, vaguely disappointed, but still stimulated by the contact, said, «My area of interest is that common to all Far Seers—life and the maintenance thereof. If you knew that the object you found was the work of the Old Ones would it help those who have left their establishments in the lowlands of the interior for lack of air?» «It might have some significance,» Rack said. «I am interested in knowing if life has always been at the mercy of the whims of nature or—and this is not meant to be blasphemy—» «Blasphemy is an outdated concept,» Weathered Mountain sent, «at least to one as old as I.» «Could the Old Ones have known more than we credit them with? Did they in any way control the forces of nature?» Weathered Mountain was silent. After a long pause he spoke. «I find that I am not, after all, past the ability to be shocked. It is, indeed, a startling concept. Nature, my young Healer, is nature. How would you control her? By stilling the movements of the air? As long as the planet spins, there will be movements of the air. Moreover, the calculations of Wide River the Far Seer prove that if the air were stilled and allowed to settle, only the peaks of the highest mountains would extend above the heavy gases.» «I think in smaller pictures,» Rack said. «If the Old Ones did use the hard materials, what did they use them for? Would the answer to this question be of more than passing interest to us? Was the object I found in the valley of the hot waters made by the Old Ones? Or did it, as the Far Seers in our land think, fall from the vastness of the space outside? And even so, is it still not amazing? For if it came from one of the worlds out there, could it not have been crafted by men like us? I see no conflict in either theory, for both contain much that should interest our minds. Life exists, according to our best minds, on all worlds. Why would nature provide a world if not to support life?» «Had I not seen the death of a Keeper just days ago I could be more in sympathy with your theory,» Weathered Mountain said. «And since you seem to be of an inquiring mind, I will tell you something that has not been revealed to any mind other than that of a Far Seer. It is the prediction of our combined minds, after a vast picture of measurements and agonizing analysis, that life on this planet will cease to exist, save for the inert plants of the poisonous sink holes, in a frighteningly short period of sun circles, a picture well within the range of the mind of a Healer. Does this shock you?» Rack felt weak. He seized Beautiful Wings' hand and felt her tremble. Such a thought, the extinction of all life, was unbearable. «As do the Far Seers in your land,» Weathered Mountain said, «we measure the growth of the Breathers in the southern seas. We read the air and the poisons therein. What we read discourages us. There is a steady decline in the quantity of good air. Survival factors are lower and lower. We measure the emanations of the
sun and the movements of the air. We find little to indicate hope.» «Should this be true,» Rack said, «then there is ever more reason for inquiry.» He was tempted to tell the Far Seer that something new had come to him, the ability to blend with Beautiful Wings' flesh and to heal, but he restrained himself. «For who knows where inquiry might lead?» Weathered Mountain was tired. He longed for the comfort of his rack with the new Keeper beside him. At first he had hoped that the unusual journey across the sea had brought new information, perhaps a good survival factor reading to indicate that somehow, against all logic, the planet was starting a new cycle of replenishing itself. Instead, he had been subjected to the wild speculations of the mind of a Healer and had been given only one piece of new information of doubtful use. The knowledge of a strange, unexplained object was not in any way going to put clean air over the abandoned lowlands of the interior. The existence of the object would not, he determined, save one life. «I rest,» he sent. «You are welcome to use my air and drink of my broth. You are free to use the stored knowledge in the minds of my Keepers.» At the doorway to his chamber he paused. «In spite of the superb condition of your Power Giver the journey back to your homeland will, of course, be impossible. You must therefore choose your community. You will be welcome in mine. We can always use a strong Healer and a young Power Giver. I note your attachment and will assign your periods of free time so that you may be together. Take your pick of the unused establishments in my place and be part of us if you choose.» Rack sent gratitude, but he, too, knew disappointment. He was not sure what he was seeking, but the Far Seer of the mountains had added little to his store of knowledge beyond one doubtful picture of the Old Ones building with stone. That would bear investigation during his first free period. Meanwhile, there was other food for thought—the pessimistic prediction of death for all. It was of little consolation he would be allowed his full lifespan, as would Beautiful Wings and their offspring. What lay ahead for his grandchild, should Beautiful Wings give birth to a Healer or a Power Giver? Death? The end of life on the entire planet? That he would not accept. Soaring low, they examined the unused establishments in Weathered Mountain's area and selected a spot on the side of a craggy, bone-bare mountain where updrafts brought occasional breaths of good air. There they rested, blended minds, and installed the new colony of Breathers from the scant reserves of Weathered Mountain's place. To repay the generosity shown them, they worked, Beautiful Wings powering a vat of brewing broth, and Rack diving into the murky, heavy sea to pluck slime source. Conditions improved slightly, seemingly giving the lie to Weathered Mountain's dire prophecy of doom. Life was good. Rack came to know his fellow workers with whom he compared knowledge. He was told, to his mounting excitement, of the methods used by eastern Healers to collect the hard material. In safe spots, which were, of course, scattered and always rare, they actually used tools fashioned of the Material to turn the soil and find the telltale streaks of waste that indicated the possible presence of a nugget. He was astounded to find that the hard materials, once the surface of the earth was scratched, seemed to be relatively plentiful. Although his former pride in the ownership of three nuggets, of which was one mounted on Beautiful Wings' breast, was damaged, dashed, his ambition was stimulated, for, while visiting the establishment of another Healer, he saw a nugget of amazing size and shape. One flat, gleaming side reflected his image. It was a treasure, but its value as an object was secondary to its interest to his own particular inquiry, for, like the object from the valley of hot water, this nugget seemed to him, at least, to have obviously been crafted. More convinced than ever that the Old Ones had been more than a shiftless race of savages living on the fat of a young planet, he approached his first free period with excited anticipation. IX Beautiful Wings' belly began to stretch with the life inside it. New scales sprang up to cover the expanded area of flesh. They would molt and fall after the birth returned her belly to normal size. After working through the new beginning and into the summer, they were allowed a free period in a time of stable, warm air. Using their combined technique for soaring they went exploring finding, as in their homeland, vast, uninhabited emptiness. Everywhere the land was stripped bare. Low spots stank with the same rank growth. Broad, thick-watered rivers crisscrossed the land. Digging without fear beside them, Rack found discoloration that indicated the past existence of much hard material. When their supplies were gone, they soared back to the establishment, enriched with three tiny nuggets of the hard material. There, they refreshed, breathed, ate. Under Rack's hand, the life in Beautiful Wings' belly moved—an occurrence that never ceased to fill Rack with a proud joy. Rack went to Weathered Mountain's establishment to consult the minds of his Keepers. At the end of summer storms Beautiful Wings was confined to the establishment, as the time of birth was nearing. Of the most interest was the store of knowledge in the older Keeper, for the new Keeper's mind was stocked with technical data, while the other held more miscellaneous material. And while the mind of the younger one was orderly and arranged, the mind of the older, kept as a luxury by an old Far Seer, was chaotically misfiled. Ancestral records were mixed with fragments of ancient picture poetry, planet movements with speculation on the thoughts of the early Far Seers, broth inventories with the familiar Book of Rose the Healer. The older Keeper was pleasant-minded, childishly delighted with Rack's company, expressing herself in uncoordinated movements and audible sounds of pleasure. Her fleshy white body was no longer firm, and consequently she was neglected by the aging Far Seer, who sought his pleasure in the arms of his new Keeper. Rack, his mind engaged, did a kindness with his hand, was rewarded with a flow of pleasure. But he was, as always, contemptuous of such things; his time of readiness was long past, and his Healer's nature was not able to comprehend unpurposeful sex. Keepers, he felt, were to be pitied. The portion of their minds that was their own never matured, and, remaining at the level of a baby, could comprehend only sensation. But in the huge storage areas a wealth of information lay waiting to be mined. Rack sorted through the records, musing over the scant, beautiful pictures of poetic Healers, skipping the dry, technical records of the Far Seers, seeking any clue that might feed his curiosity. It was not true, he discovered, that the people of the east were unresponsive to duty. Once, long ago, Red Earth—or was it one of his teachers?— had indicated that the eastern civilization was based on the bartering of hard-material nuggets in exchange for services. Rack now found that this was not true. The easterners valued the hard-material nuggets mostly as objects of wonder and beauty, although, as Weathered Mountain had indicated, it was not unknown to exchange a nugget for favors. In the mind of the Keeper there was an exact record of each exchange made by Weathered Mountain. In addition there was an analysis of different types of hard material. This interested Rack, for he had seen only a limited picture of types. Apart from this information, he gained nothing new, and as the birth time neared, he abandoned his visits to the Keeper to tend Beautiful Wings. As the awareness of the inner movements came to Beautiful Wings, she felt no pain. Rack watched in awe as nature did her work. Soon, very soon, he would know. Was their child to be a Healer? Far Seer? Keeper? Power Giver? He hoped for the latter, a daughter with the beauty of his love, to be named Many Pleasures in honor of the union in the far north. Beautiful Wings asked nature, in a shy picture, for a Healer. She writhed now, feeling as the movements became more powerful. Rack, his hands on her belly, saw the miracle of birth flowering, the red, beautiful tint reminding him of the joining. Scales flowered and molted. «Come, Many Pleasures,» Rack sent to the unresponsive, tiny mind inside the Power Giver's body. «It is a pleasant world and it will be yours.» Beautiful Wings' body did the work for which it was designed, creating new life. Her lower portions, mottled ruby red, spread to reveal a large, soft fleshy area. With a new day dawning, the birth began. Interior muscles contracted and pushed until, miraculously, painlessly, a tiny head emerged, encased in a fleshy sack, followed by a soft, scaleless body which wiggled with life and reeked with the produc
ts of birth. Rack, trying to hide his disappointment, cleaned his Keeper daughter and presented her to her mother to suckle at the flowering chest bulges. Nature's balance was maintained. Ungovernable forces decreed the type of the child that was born, and obviously, another Keeper was needed. And their life would not be filled with a growing Power Giver or a curious, wild, young Healer, Rack thought sadly. «We will have ourselves,» Beautiful Wings sent. Rack berated himself for letting Beautiful Wings see his sorrow. He tried to take pleasure in watching the infant suckle the rich juices of her mother's body, but he could not help but think of the fate of their child, to be kept by a Far Seer, used for his pleasure. Ah, but she, in turn, would have pleasure. Protected inside an impregnable establishment, she would live a long, happy life. And she would make her contribution, for what is civilization but an accumulation of knowledge and experience? Without Keepers, civilization, dependent on the frail memory of other types, would decline. «We will have each other,» Rack agreed. He sent pictures of soaring, traveling. The ice of the far north, the fire of the south lands, the fields of the Breathers in the southern sea—they would see all. «And—» She sent a devastatingly strong picture, full of sadness and nostalgia, of the establishment where they had known their initial bliss, and then of the one in the far north and the repetition. «Do you miss it so?» he asked. «I shouldn't. It isn't logical.» She smiled as the infant had its fill and slept. «I will take you home,» he said. She sent alarm. «Surely they will listen to reason,» he said. «Here in the east we dig, and the death that was promised does not come. Moreover, they should be apprised of the predictions of the eastern Far Seers, the dire warnings of all-encompassing death.» «I fear for you,» she said. «We have unlimited soaring ability. We could fly to the satellite itself, given enough broth and air to carry us through cold space.» «Silly,» she giggled. «We could, at any rate, fly away again if they are not responsive.» He, too, longed for his homeland. He would take her to the valley of the hot waters. There they would dig and hopefully unearth other odd things, perhaps something that would pull together his confused thoughts. When their infant Keeper was able to take broth, she was delivered to the establishment of a youthful Far Seer who had not as yet been provided with a Keeper. The Far Seer assured them that she would be given the best of treatment, and his tender handling of the baby comforted them. Rack tried not to think of her future, but thought instead of the Book of Rack the Healer, the work he had planted in the scarcely formed storage space of her brain. Some day, a curious Healer would find it, read the pictures, and know him. In his daughter's mind he had left all his thoughts, all his questions, all his discoveries. They felt no regret when they soared, pack in place on Rack's back, into the clean, thin air above the early winter clouds. Nature provided and nature made a balance. Behind them was the product of their miraculously beautiful union—a baby without a name, a baby that had ceased to be theirs when she took her first meal of broth. Ahead was home. X People were dying in Rack's world. It was the first thing he sensed after an uneventful soar across the sea. In a land where the barren rocks were broken only occasionally by the gleaming, transparent domes of establishments there were new blank spaces. The location of scattered life in Red Earth's area of responsibility, home to Rack and Beautiful Wings, was engraved on their minds—a map with each life in its place. And as they soared past the coastal sands they noted a blank. Growing Tree the Far Seer, coresponsor of Red Earth, was gone. It was as if, on a large board strewn with lights, a light had gone out. And, as they continued toward the interior, other establishments void of life cast a pall of gloom over the feeling of peace that had flooded them at the first sight of the western lands. The end-of-circle storms had started moving earlier than ever before and were more severe. It was fortunate, Rack thought, that soaring on his power was less debilitating than moving on the surface. When at last they were hovering over Red Earth's establishment, he sent his mind down, encountering the heat of pleasure below. Red Earth was with his Keeper. Mouth to mouth with Beautiful Wings, Rack waited. After a time he sent, «I am Rack the Healer.» He was pleased to receive a quick flush of pleasure from Red Earth, but the pleasure was soon damped by surprise, questioning, and a heavy sense of duty. Rack answered, «No, I am not dead. Nor is Beautiful Wings.» «You have come back, then, to submit to the judgment of the law-givers?» Rack sent the strongest anger and contempt he could muster. «Growing Tree the Far Seer is dead before his time. Gone are Strong Swimmer the Healer, Quick Soar the Power Giver, and others in the eastern marches of the area. The storms are early and the Breathers labor in the establishments. At such a time will you be bound by your petty traditions?» «It is all heavy on my mind,» Red Earth admitted. «What is your reason for returning, then?» «I bring a message of gloom from the Far Seers of the east,» Rack said. «Would you hear in peace?» «Welcome in peace.» Red Earth had not changed, but an aura of sadness hung over Red Earth's establishment. The air was pure and good and Rack used it sparingly. Beautiful Wings was allowed more freedom of breath, since Red Earth was observing the rules of privacy and had not scanned their minds to discover the secret of her good condition after a long soar. «I have many questions,» Red Earth said. «But first, what is the message?» He received the news of impending doom with no show of emotion. After a long time he sighed, expelling his air. «We have read the same. But I would like to confirm the conditions in the breeding grounds of the Breathers.» He sighed again. «I hesitate, however, to consume the substance of a Power Giver and I must admit, I cringe at the thought of going into the outside under such adverse conditions as now exist.» «There is a way,» Rack said. He was not sure that it would work, but the situation was serious enough to warrant any experiment. Red Earth was nonplussed. The mind of a Far Seer would be required to measure the huge, but decreasing picture of Breathers in their broad field of surface slime in the southern sea. Rack said, «I ask your indulgence to break one of the rules of privacy.» «In what cause?» Red Earth asked. «Life,» he said simply. «A potent argument. You may act.» Rack walked across the room and stood behind the Far Seer. Overcoming his own distaste at what he was about to do, he bent quickly and pressed his small tongue to the bare flesh of the Far Seer's domed head. The act proceeded with surprising simplicity. There was not the pleasure involved in merging with Beautiful Wings, but it was not, he found, distasteful. His flesh melted into the flesh of the Far Seer. Red Earth's mind registered high surprise, but also a quickness of understanding that awed Rack. «Now I understand,» Red Earth sent excitedly. But there was something in the Far Seer's mind that made Rack feel uncomfortable, even as he continued to merge and began to make repairs on the body of Red Earth. There was a thought below the readable level; it grew stronger and stronger until it burst out as it became obvious that the Healer's powers were being extended into the Far Seer's body. «Hail, New One. Hail, New One.» «No,» Rack said, feeling a flush of embarrassment. «I am Rack the Healer.» The process continued, cell by cell, fiber by fiber, organ by organ. A sense of excitement spread from the agitated Far Seer into Rack's mind and into the mind of Beautiful Wings. Red Earth, in his dreams, had been expecting a completely new form, as different from present life forms as the first Healer was different from the Old Ones. Nature, always guileful, had duped them, sending the New One in a common form, but Red Earth was capable of understanding the import. Beautiful Wings thought only that Rack's new ability would undoubtedly save him from being punished for past crimes. She took a small, selfish pleasure in basking in the glow of Red Earth's near-adoration of Rack, who, when he had finished, had left the Far Seer in better health than he had enjoyed since his youth. She could not feel seriously threatened by the predictions of the Far Seers. Her world was good. She had Rack and a rare, lasting love. Their position was secure. They were home. Red Earth's mind, stimulated by the realization of a dream, blessed the infallibility of all-knowing nature and speculated wildly about the future. He was brought up short when it was revealed that Rack's union with Beautiful Wings
had produced a child. «A Keeper,» Rack told him. «She was left in the care of a young Far Seer of the east.» «No, no, that cannot be,» Red Earth said, forgetting himself and searching the mind of Beautiful Wings for confirmation. Nature would not deliver a New One and then let him be wasted in death without having passed on his abilities. «Perhaps,» he mused, «the Keeper is also different.» «She seemed as all Keepers,» Rack said, remembering his disappointment. «You will breed again, then,» Red Earth said. «Perhaps,» Rack agreed. «The experience was a repeated one.» «Yes, you will breed again,» Red Earth continued, excited once more. «When you tint we will select the most suitable mate.» He felt the flare of jealousy from Beautiful Wings, sent soothing things, and said, «Perhaps it will be you, since your attachment is strong.» It was truly a time for great things. To demonstrate his ability, Rack, after eating hungrily and breathing deeply to rebuild himself, merged with Red Earth's Keeper, planting the technique in her storage banks as he felt her blood, her body, her organs. Then Rack and Beautiful Wings, with Red Earth feeding the data to his Keeper, told of their flight to the east, sending detailed pictures of all their activities there. Thus was history served, for it was the duty of all to record knowledge. In return Rack was briefed on conditions at home and they were discouraging. The discussion returned to Rack's statement that something could be done to allow Red Earth to measure the Breathers in their home waters. At first Red Earth was skeptical, but after a demonstration during which Beautiful Wings merged with Rack, encompassed both Rack and Red Earth in her field of power, and lifted them from the floor, he was convinced. It was a strange grouping that emerged a short time later from the roiling clouds into the thin, upper air. Face to face, merged, were Rack and Beautiful Wings. Back to back with Rack, Red Earth was making a rare soar, his mind seeing all, feeling the far suns, contacting the face of the satellite, measuring the scant spray of air particles in the vast heights. He let his pleasure flow and it was joined to the never-old pleasure of Beautiful Wings and Rack, who had soared higher and longer than any Healer and Power Giver in history. Rack laughed, seeing the bright satellite in the sky, and playfully repeated his boast that with his vitality and the power of Beautiful Wings, he could send them all soaring there. But he was sobered when Red Earth, using the distance around the planet as a base, sent a picture of the distance and a calculation of the energies involved. Then the southern sea was below. They lowered through the dense clouds and found only minimum conditions at the surface. Red Earth directed the flight of the Power Giver, crossing the area again and again, his mind storing pictures so vast that they would not stick in Rack's mind. Since the air was scarce and the hard projectiles plentiful, it was necessary for Rack to break his merge with Beautiful Wings, and to merge with Red Earth and heal him. When he was finished, he turned back to Beautiful Wings and was shocked to see how quickly the heavy burden had sapped her. He felt himself flow out, giving gladly and feeling a tenderness that made Red Earth squirm with embarrassment. «You are never to soar without me,» Rack said sternly. He was unable to bear the thought of her using her own substance, being weakened. «Yes,» she said gladly. «Yes.» After a time of mutual healing back in Red Earth's establishment, the Far Seer went into rapport with his Keeper. For a long period, he compared his pictures, drawing occasionally on the minds of his fellow Far Seers and the storage banks of their Keepers. Rack and Beautiful Wings drew fresh Breathers from the Eastern Establishment and replenished his old establishment, emptied during his absence. Their home was a dome of transparency, for Rack liked to see the outside. The inside was filled with good air and happiness. Beautiful Wings slept peacefully as Rack watched. He saw that Red Earth had valued his hard-material nuggets so little that they had been left in his establishment. Outside, the survival factor was negative in his immediate area and the severity of the toxicity dampened his emotions. The readings of Red Earth confirmed the predictions of the Far Seers of the east. He announced his findings, making individual contacts with far-flung Far Seers, but added that all hope was not lost. He called for a council in the Eastern Establishment. He did not reveal the source of his hope as it was now only a wild dream. But already one of his dreams had come true with Rack's discovery of his new power. Selected Power Givers transported Healers and Far Seers to the council. There was a drain on all, for the storms were peaking. Rack, feeling the damage, wanted to heal them all, but he knew, by some instinctive measuring, that it would be impossible, that it would result only in his own depletion. The gathering, although it was representative of the entire area of Red Earth, was small. The council began with a dry, long-winded recital of the observations of the Far Seers, confirming once again the great threat to life on the planet. The corroborating observations of the eastern Far Seers were presented. New deaths were reported in sad pictures. Predictions of more deaths left the gathering silent. No one could
