"The constellation of Delan!" Miaree said. "Figure of the mythical beast."
"Yes."
"But we have not been able to see it since—"
"Since the collision in Delan," Lady Jonea said. "Over two thousand years ago."
"Then they are dead," Miaree said.
"The last image," Mother Aglee said.
From the planet, a blunt arrow. Behind the arrow, a glare of light. A driver. Beside it more figures.
"As nearly as we can guess," Lady Jonea said, "this figure represents a multiple of God’s Constant."
"Yes," Miaree said. "It would have to be. But—"
"Two years ago we started receiving these," Mother Aglee said, thrusting another packet onto Miaree. Miaree opened, looked.
"A course in language?" Miaree asked.
"For children," Lady Jonea said. "Basic numerology. The next one advances to the periodic table, a universal language."
"I don’t understand," Miaree said. "No one knew. I mean, there was no word."
"We thought it best," Mother Aglee said.
"But everyone could hear. These are strong."
"How often do you monitor the electromagnetic bands above thirty thousand megacycles?"
"Not since University," Miaree admitted. "Not since we studied the attempts at interstellar communications." She fidgeted. "But I still don’t understand. Why would you keep such a great event a secret?"
"Look at the first picture," Mother Aglee said. "The first one in the second packet."
It was past the language lessons. There was, once again, that obviously male figure, hand extended. On one side of the figure was the planet in Delan. On the other, an unmistakable representation of the Artonuee system. Miaree recognized the drawing of her system. It was a copy of the elementary messages sent during the abortive attempt at interstellar communications.
"It is a friendly gesture," she said, indicating the man’s outstretched hand.
"Perhaps." Mother Aglee admitted. "Other observations?"
"An opporunity to learn their secrets. The power of the sun in some sort of driver engine. Speeds which would free us—"
"More basic observations, please," Mother Aglee said.
"I don’t understand."
"He is quite obviously male," Lady Jonea said.
"I see," Miaree said, nodding. "And in the group picture, he is represented first. A male-dominated society?"
"With the scientific knowledge to negate God’s Constant," Mother Aglee said. "And you yourself made an astute observation when you first looked at the selection of messages which were obviously sent from a driver in flight between stars. You said, as I recall, that it was a language for children."
"No," Miaree said. "It was Lady Jonea who said it was a lesson for children. I merely looked on it as being basic."
"Nevertheless," said Mother Aglee, "we must, in contacting such a race, behave with extreme caution. Observe the configuration of the alien male. Long, powerful arms, rounded. Like our males and yet unlike them, more powerful by far, it would seem. We must consider this apparent advantage. As we must consider others. Obviously, their technology is advanced. If they can best God’s Constant, what else can they do?"
"Perhaps." Miaree said, "they have not been shackled in their research by hysterical males who scream sacrilege each time someone suggests that a new idea is not a repetition of the cardinal sin."
"Be that as it may," Mother Aglee said, "we are faced with a problem."
"It would seem to me, Mother, that our problem now is reduced to floating atomic particles on the surface of the sun," Miaree said.
"It is?" The older female sighed. "The planet of the aliens, in Delan, is very near the impact point of the stars. I feel that an advanced society, capable of star flight, will not be content with sending one driver to dive into the sun. That we must accept as very possible fact. I feel, daughters, that we will yet have our opportunity to meet these males from Delan face to face. We must be prepared. It is fortunate that it was you, Miaree, who saw the alien driver, for I have been considering, with much mental anguish, the necessity of sharing our secret with someone, someone capable of taking the alien messages and absorbing this language lesson for children. It was to be someone in the Research Quad, of course, but until today, I must confess that you had not occurred to me. Since you know, and are qualified, the choice is now made."
"There is one possible complication, Mother," Miaree said.
"Yes," Mother Aglee said, "under the aroma of charge I did detect it. Congratulations, daughter. Your ifflings will be a welcome addition to the stores of Artonuee life. I think, however, that you will find time for both."
"I will try," Miaree said, bowing her head.
Chapter Six
Thank you, LaConius, you read well, even if your Tigian accent is a bit much at times. You must work on that, you know. Provincialism is the bane of our growing family of worlds. Unarrested, it could lead to dire results. Examples of provincialism, Alaxender?
Sir, the War of Zede II would be an example.
A good one. Thank you, Alaxender. Provincialism leads to nationalism. On the isolated planet of Zede II it was allowed to grow. Until, as one would cut out a cancerous growth, we eliminated it. But we are diverted. Impressions and summation, if you please, in the time remaining to us today. Cecile?
I like her. I like her very much.
Not the most astute of comments, Cecile. Why do you like her?
I don't know, really. She's young and beautiful and intelligent. Everything a woman should be.
But is she a woman?
Obviously. Different, but still beautiful.
Describe Miaree. Julius?
Idonno—
Don't know.
I don't know, sir. I see sort of a—well, she's sorta weird.
Sort of. Yes, Stella.
Not weird at all. Not like us, naturally, having evolved on a totally different planet, under totally different evolutionary conditions. I see her as being light and almost elfin.
The term elfin is not definite, but is merely a word out of mythology. Continue, Stella.
Well, sir, she's almost birdlike.
No.
Yes, LaConius?
Sir, like a Tigian butterfly.
Ah!
Even to the life cycle. She has wings. And the— what are they? The winglings. They fly. And I see the i&ings as caterpillars, crawling around the woods eating leaves.
Yes, but if you had finished your assignment, LaConius, you would have seen, although there is a certain correlativity, that ifflings are not caterpillars.
Well, sir, maybe not in the same shape. But the cycle is the same. Butterflies begin as eggs and then go through the larval stage, then into chrysalis, and finally emerge as winged creatures, fully adult.
But the writer speaks of a third change in the Artonuee.
Sir.
Elizabeth.
Since the Artonuee are much more complicated beings, perhaps the third change is necessary. In fact, in chapter—
Good, Elizabeth. Since you have obviously read ahead, describe Miaree.
I agree with LaConius, that she is like a butterfly. She has a sort of light fur. It could be like the minute scales on a butterfly. It's soft and not at all unbeautiful. And she has those long lips. She drank from a flower. Yet it was a thing she did only under cover of darkness and in privacy, indicating to me that it is only the young of the species, the winglings, who live on flower nectar. I think Miaree must be biped, for she is so described. And she apparently has only two arms. There is a hint toward her general shape in the mention of her—ah—rear. Apparently, the rear is, perhaps, more developed than in our races. And apparently, sexual connotations were present, since Miaree is aware of something, the eggs
in her.
Very good. Any additions?
She has beautiful eyes, quite like the eyes of an insect, I think, large and blue and pretty.
Yes, Leslie. John?
/> We have butterflies on Selbelle III. I think they were imported from LaConius' home world, because our native life forms are rather like lizards. I thought of them when I drew Miaiee. Would you like to see?
With pleasure.
Ah, you will be an artist, John?
Sir, I am an artist. I am from Selbelle III.
My mistake, sir. Yes, I agree. Class?
I think the head should be larger.
The rear should be more pronounced, like the body of a butterfly.
She should have a large head. And I think she should be slimmer, more graceful.
I think John has done a wonderful job with her. She's just as I see her. I could love her, I think.
Ah, Alfred, I see that you, too, have completed the assignment.
Already thinking ahead? Romantically inclined. We have not heard from Clear Thought.
Sir, one thing we've not mentioned. She has at least rudimentarily developed telepathic abilities. She sent a message, while on the shuttle driver, to a novice flyer.
Good point, my young Healer.
Sir, I think her voice would be of great interest. The word keening is used at least once. As a musician, I think she would sing her speech much
like the birds of the old worlds. A musical, high tone. Perhaps, as Clear Thought suggests, partially mixed with telepathy.
Very good, Elana. Now, from Miaree let us turn to the Artonuee society. Tomax?
A matriarchy, sir. With no real equality between the sexes. The males, I gather, are lesser creatures, unable to do some of the skilled things done by the females. The males are slower of reflex and exhibit some of the weaknesses usually associated with women.
Weaknesses? Ha!
Please don't interrupt, Cecile. Go on, Tomax.
The males are involved in the religion to a greater extent than the females; in fact, they seem to have put brakes on the development of Artonuee technology by imposing a set of taboos. I get the impression that since the Artonuee are acutely aware of a very slow process of destruction of their galaxy, they are an old race. We know, for example, that the city of Nirrar is almost two thousand years old, and the Artonuee went out to the planets from their home world at least two thousand years before the time of the story. So, their technology, although spectacular in some areas—notably the development of the convertors which reduce the mass and inertial forces of the flyers—must have developed slowly. I would guess that the beauty-loving females, although curious, showed little interest in technology prior to the invention of the flyer. The slow and dependable drivers are, I'd think, the products of the male mind. Yet, the males, in the hold of their superstitions, refuse to think in terms of overcoming the limitation of the speed of light, or, as they call it, God's Constant. There is evidence, in the reading so far, that the females, somewhat less inhibited by the burden of their God, are thinking in terms of advancements; but they, too, being products of their own civilization with its built-in limitations, find it difficult to accept, even in their irreverence, the possibility of God's being proven wrong in something so basic as the Constant. I think they're in for one hell of a cultural shock when the word gets out beyond government circles that someone, the men from Delan, has bested God's Constant.
Anything to add to that, Alaxender?
The females seem to be happy, sir, in their little flyers, loafing around the system like Sunday sailors on a lake. In a very feminine way, I think, they actually rather enjoy the drama of being doomed and aren't too eager to change the status quo.
Yes, Elizabeth.
I don't want to make this a battle of the sexes, but it is the females who are advancing the civilization. Not the males. They, pardon the expression, man the Research Quad and the government and they have the sense of adventure. The males plod and pray.
Who do you think wrote about Miaree? Yes, Martha.
A female, obviously. Otherwise, the flying segment could not have been so vividly described. A male who had never flown in a flyer could not have done it.
And the purpose of the book? Leslie.
It has the ring of truth. And it was obviously left purposely. One structure on a planet and one object inside. I think the Artonuee left behind the book as a history of their race. As a message to anyone who might come after they were gone.
Only the Artonuee?
Sir, since the structure housing the book withstood some considerable heat for a long period of time, since it was unlike anything described in the Artonuee culture, I think that leaving the book was a joint effort by the Artonuee and the Delanians.
Perhaps. But I see that our time is up. Tomorrow, we will study the next segment. Please reread it, keeping in mind our discussion of today. As you have already noted, no doubt, there is a change in viewpoint; before our discussion period begins, I will want you to consider why this was desirable. And give some thought, please, since this is a literature class, to the artistic integrity of the abrupt change of view. And one more request. Please remember my age, my young friends, and do not trample me on the way to the dining hall.
Chapter Seven
There was no sense of urgency. It was dreamlike, unreal; but no problem to Rei, for man conquers. Daily man vanquishes all the ills to which he is heir. He had that sort of confidence here. Where? Brown atmosphere. Sand. Water somewhere.
He was there and his friend was there. Who? There was a warm feeling of comradeship. They had to get the hell out of there, but they could do it.
There was a tunnel arrowing into blackness. It was lined with light. He went, confident, flying. The tunnel closed and filled. Huge forces shook him. His friend was gone, swallowed up by blackness. There was no face, only an awareness, a knowledge that his friend had surrendered.
Outside the tunnel the world was brown. There was water somewhere. The sky was there, but unseen.
He knew immediately that they were mother and daughter. The younger one was attractively slim with a multicolored soft fur for skin. The older one was woman with a trace of the hardness which sometimes comes with maturity, but still woman, convincing, alluring. They didn’t speak. It was a long time before he heard them, but they were telling him.
"Come, come."
He was not ready.
With no sense of urgency he was in a long room. Ahead of him stretched stainless steel cases, boxes, all on legs to raise them to face- and chest-level. He understood that he was to progress from station to station. He stood before the first case, the line of steel enclosures perspecting away to the far end of the room where a man in a white lab coat puttered, clipboard in hand.
An automated hypodermic needle swung out from the steel and jabbed at him. He sensed, feared evil. He pushed. There was no sound as the case fell. He pushed, pushed, fighting now, for he knew that it was urgent. He knew this place. Case after case fell with no sound, crashing noiselessly, surprisingly fragile, dominoing case after case until, near the end of the
long room, he stood in the shambles as the white-smocked man advanced, a long needle menacingly ready.
He ran. A door opened into a cul-de-sac, a molding, musty, cement-walled room of damp threat with corpses, and they were there, the two women, one young and full-lipped and beautiful, although strange, the other only slightly less beautiful but possessed of that warning hint of mastery.
They clung to him. He knew the woman-warmth was hypocrisy, far removed from reality, a force holding him through the engendered male response to femininity. The long, shining needle pierced his arm, going deep; no, his thigh. On each side. He was walking, one of them on either side, clinging, immobilizing his arms, leaving them to hang weakly as they moved timelessly across the brown with water somewhere and the sky not seen and they were thinking, feeling.
"Come, come."
There was the aura of cruelty about the mother, a beautiful and mature being. Her daughter, young, fresh, gave him something approaching empathy. She cared. She didn’t like what she was doing, but it was the nature of things. There was someth
ing between them, him and the daughter, something indefinable. Her grasp was less possessive, less limpet-like.
He had to get away.
He could fly. By pumping his legs he built something, compressions, something, underneath. He went up. Three trees stood apart from the forest. The younger one seized on. He tried to dislodge her before the cruel one came.
"Come. Come."
She was almost gentle, but there was the older one, clamping onto his bare thigh, making herself one huge mouth which sucked, buried itself leech-like in the thin pad of flesh over his hip joint. Pain. Not blood being sucked but something more vital. They were bearing him down, weighting him, ending the flying. Almost reluctantly the young one ceased being a woman and became that leech-mouth feeding on something vital, digging hurtingly into the flesh over the opposite hip joint, and he was going, hearing them more clearly, although there were no words.
"Come. Come."
Brownness. Brown sand and water somewhere, and they were sapping him, the sucking maws obscene, evil, limpets clinging as if to wet rock, impossible to displace although his fingers dug and dug into his own skin and got a nailhold under the soft one, the young one who exuded that feeling of near empathy.
He did not want to go. He had things to do. She, the younger one, was also reluctant, not liking what she was doing to him. She was the weaker of the two, weaker than the sucking, strong, cruel mother-thing which made the brown come near with her enervating bite. He screamed in pain. His fingers dug until, with a sucking sound, the younger one let go and was in his hand, a thing, unidentifiable but alive and sinister, pulsing, red maw underneath.
No. He would not go. Man conquers. Man, all men, materialized in him, reminding him of his mission. With a final, wrenching effort, he displaced the other thing which had existed, once, in the guise of woman. The two things in his hands fought. He knew his time was short, measured in seconds, although all was timeless as he forced the two sucking things maw to maw and felt them shudder as mutual force destroyed them. He had won.
He could fly again.
Lift under him, tired, not able to fly as he once could fly, he saw the water underneath. The things were melting, but still living. He could see their gory hearts hanging like melting ice. The water was the place for them, far out. But he could not make it. The calm water was close. The younger one was thinking, feeling. Her being alive terrified him.
The Legend of Miaree Page 4
