Rei was laughing uncontrollably. He sat down weakly and looked at her.
"I fail to see the reason for mirth," she said, frowning.
That night he dreamed of her.
And that night, she had a severe attack of the ripeness.
And on the following evening, they blended.
There was no religious taboo against it. There were religious taboos against many things, but not against blending during a period of false ripeness. It wasn’t that it was taboo, it was just that it wasn’t done. The Artonuee female wasn’t constructed that way. True, there was great joy in
the act of fertilization, but it was not for the joy that the act was performed. And there was little data on mergings which happened during false ripeness, for the unfertilized removal of eggs was a medical rarity. There was a certain sterility about the act. There was no possibility of fertilization, so the act was useless, a waste of time. However, she told herself, it was an experiment in racial compatibility, and as such, worthwhile.
The muscles in Miaree’s lower abdomen were long, smooth muscles which, in addition to encasing the digestive tract, formed a circle of very articulate tissue centering on her reproductive canal. In ripeness, the lower muscles were extremely active. Made lubricious by glandular secretions, the muscles moved when stimulated by contact with the male genitalia, simulating the rolling of continuous bands of softness which, during fertilization, moved the male organ ever deeper into the cavity. To Rei, who was not unaccustomed to sexual acts, the effect was miraculous. And the flexibility of the ripe, distended, rounded, lovely bottom of the Artonuee female allowed for approach from both front and rear. In the frontal position, lips pressed on lips, the female’s soft, erotically muscled rear twisted forward between her slim legs. From the rear, the softness pressed upward, engulfing all of Rei’s sexual apparatus.
But how had it happened?
It began with a discussion of poetry. "Poetry is beauty, and thus you are poetry," Rei said.
"There is a certain impreciseness of meaning in your language," Miaree said, watching the Fires in the dome, sipping jenk, fighting the ripe, full feeling, trying to drown, in jenk, the urge to run into the Great Bloom to find her chosen.
"You are poetry and can be translated," he said. "Would you like a demonstration?"
"By all means," she said.
"This is you," he said, lifting from his set of notes a duppaper sheet, hand-inscribed.
Your lips are caramel, my dear
Full, mellow, sweet, deep gossamer A myriad thing A plural one A juplee ripening in the sun.
Your eyes are innocent and low As arc burned briefly holds its glow And lashes sing And brows two plus Make triad tongue, gratuitous. You are, my dear, a lovely theme Artonuee music, endless dream Of light and sound And blended reeds And ripened scent of pleele seeds.
Part of a whole, yet idioblast Descended from a wholesome past Of strength to hope And sense to fear The march of doom across our sphere. But smiles, my dear? You have a few Each look distinct, vermillion hue They bridge the gap
And draw us close
And that is when I love you most.
"It has a certain rhythm," Miaree said.
"When a lady has a poem written about her, the poet expects more than cold analysis." Rei smiled.
"The lady is appreciative," Miaree said. Her eyes were light blue. Her smile was genuine. But had he noted the aroma of pleele about her? Had she told the alien that such an aroma had a significance? She couldn’t remember. Yet it was strange that he would speak of the scent of pleele.
She had been remiss in her duty. A simple order. A dosage of a prescribed drug. She had been warned. One out of five experienced the false ripeness, and ripeness, the most emotional experience an Artonuee female could have, deadened the brain, left it floating in the soft sea of desire.
"Would you walk?" she asked. He arose. As they descended the stairs he put his hand on her arm. Her soft fur was sweet to his touch, and his touch sent cascades of fire leaping through her veins. "Please," she said, pushing his hand away.
For the touch was an important part of the ritual, the ritual she’d missed, the pleasure of which she’d been robbed by duty.
And the Great Bloom was fragrant in her nose, soft under her bare feet. Her gown flowed. Her wings strained to be free, to show the glowing colors of ripeness. Well, she thought, why not? The alien did not know the symbolic meaning of freed wings. It was dark. The domestic staff was in quarters. No one would see. She loosed her gown, let the wings flow, flexing them.
"Lovely," Rei said. "Why do you ever cover them?"
"Tradition," she said.
"A foolish tradition, to hide such beauty."
She walked ahead, realizing, as she did, that her wings were forming
the curl of invitation at their lower extremities. But again, it would have no meaning for the alien. Only an Artonuee male would know, and there were no males about.
Head up, eyes measuring the evil gleam of the Fires, she ran lightly ahead, wanting to be alone. Her foot, as she ran, sought the earth, found only a slight drop as she ran over a depression, went down, down. She tumbled into the flowers and lay there, momentarily breathless. She felt strong arm’s lift her, heard his voice.
"Are you all right?"
His hands were heated as she sensed them through her sheer gown. His arms were powerful. His body and his breath warmed her. A vast, all-devouring weakness surged through her, and she opened her lips, keened a love song. It was eerily beautiful. It silenced him. He knew it wasn’t pain she sang, but he did not know the full meaning, save that it sent a wave of emotion through him.
"You’re not hurt?" he asked.
"No, no," she breathed, her lips parting, extending.
"What is it? What’s wrong?"
In answer she lifted her head, cradled as she was in his arms. Her long, sensitive lips touched. She keened through them, the beautiful love sound. And as he kissed her, her wings fluttered wildly, wildly, and her hand touched him, ran under his robe to press against his warm skin.
He carried her to the dwelling. Her lips continued to seek his, her mind overpowered, her body in command. Ripeness sent its sweet smell into the warm, night air.
"Thus, and thus," she instructed him, in the darkness of her room. His hand following her hints, caressing, feeling the smoothness of her fur.
"And thus," she whispered as, naked, she knew the joy of merge.
Chapter Fourteen
And so, my young friends, we have been introduced, through the conversations of Rei and Miaree, to the Delanian society. Discussion, please. Alaxender?
All the data is not in, sir. However, I see the Delanian society as being much like ours. It is based on trade and commerce among scattered worlds. The colonialization of distant star systems has been made possible through the development of a faster-than-light drive of some sort, although the Delanian star ships seem to be more severely limited in their range. I would suspect that the use of a fusion engine indicates that the Delanians did not possess anything similar to the blink drive. If they were using anything similar to the blink principle, such vast amounts of power would not be necessary. I would guess that the Delanians approached the problem by the application of brute force. There is a formula—
Yes, Alaxender, we know your Trojan genius for mathematics.
Brifley, sir, although small multiples of light speed are possible through the application of force, if one considers the Auguste Loophole, the results tend to diminish to the point of no return when the speed nears three parsecs per year. Giving the Delanians, then, a speed of light times ten, that would place the Delanian systems about thirty light years away from the Artonuee. If I am right in assuming that the translation equates all time and all figures and measurements to our standards, it took Rei three years to reach the Artonuee system. The fleet was about a year behind Rei's scout ship. I would assume the Artonuee galaxy to be roughly the same size as our own, about eighty thousan
d light years in diameter, so that places both of the civilized systems in one small sector of the galaxy, likely in one spiral arm.
Yes. Your point, Alaxender?
Sorry, sir; I was rambling, wasn't I? I was merely trying, in my mind, to get the picture. We know now that there is a more imminent danger than expected by Artonuee scientists, that the collisions are expected to become more intense and to produce some sort of a multiplying effect. However, the explosion of a super nova moves through space at less than light speed. I fail to see how the Artonuee system is endangered, at least immediately. Rei speaks of two giant globular clusters in collision. Incidentally, this is quite a thought. We
know the power of a super nova. It is difficult to imagine the simultaneous explosion of a million suns, but it happened, as witness the time-lapse film which we have all seen. But sir, assuming that this collision, which we have recorded, is the one which caused Rei to fear the destruction of all the inhabited areas of his galaxy, how long would it take the explosion to reach the Artonuee system? If the exploding material expanded at light speed, it would be thirty plus years. Since such material travels at considerably less than light speed, there was no need for panic, because the Artonuee worlds would have been safe for a hundred, perhaps even two hundred years.
Comment, Elizabeth?
I think Alaxender is forgetting that the Artonuee are a very old race, with a different sense of time. They have a written history which goes back further than our own. To them, with their over-all sense of history and destiny, two hundred years would seem but a moment.
Well taken, Elizabeth. Yes, Julius?
The Delanian system is much nearer the point of collision, and their sense of doom must be much more acute than that of even the Artonuee. I am surprised at Rei's patience during the long talk session with Miaree. If I had been in his place, I would have been screaming and yelling. I'd have said, "Look, you dumb bitch"—pardon me—"you dumb female, my people are going to die."
Yes, Alaxender?
Sir, I have calculated the total energy necessary to be a threat to the Artonuee worlds from the given distance. It is in the order of 3 X 6 to the 8th solar masses of hydrogen.
Ah,
My point, sir. I think Rei, for some reason, is lying.
Ah?
Oh, no.
Leslie.
He wasn't lying. Perhaps he was unduly alarmed. But he was so very, very sincere in his relationship with Miaree. I think it's just beautiful the way they fell in love.
You are not the first, Leslie. Stella?
I think Rei's seduction of Miaree was a superb example of chauvinism and I agree with Alaxender. Rei is up to something.
3 x 10 to the 6th solar masses of hydrogen, sir, is about equal to a small galaxy.
Alaxender, perhaps you would like to propose this problem to your astrophysics class. Let us confine ourselves to the analysis of Delanian society and the implications of the facts brought forth in the preceding section of the fable, John?
It wasn't a bad poem, sir. And I was astounded by the very pleasing naivete displayed by Miaree. She reminds me of a sweet, innocent child.
I think it is rather touching that these two, one far from home, his friends dead, the other a victim of a personal tragedy of deep meaning to her, should find pleasure in each other.
Elana?
I think the seduction scene reveals something of Rei's character. Miaree is merely a victim of her biological urge. But Rei has real freedom of choice, and he chooses to seduce her. Put my vote with Alaxender and Stella's. Rei is up to something. I have the impression that Rei's society swings free and easy where sex is concerned. While we know that Artonuee youngsters are placed with what they call a Chosen Mother, thus getting some form of family liie, we have no clue so far as to the disposition of the Delanians' carefully programmed children. It has been demonstrated throughout our history that the family unit is beneficial. I suspect any society which ignores the family-unit concept.
Do we condemn Miaree for her actions? Martha?
Negative, sir. Although she finds it necessary, probably after the fact, to rationalize her actions, she is, as Elana said, a victim of her biology. Further, there are no taboos against sex for the sake of mere pleasure in the Artonuee society, so she is treading new ground. Although she did
not have complete freedom of choice in the first instance, in later instances—
Let us not get ahead of our reading. Clear Thought?
For good or ill, Rei has, I think, convinced Miaree of the good intentions of the Delanians.
Excuse me. LaConius. Sleep does not come easy to you in the comfort of your bed?
Sorry, sir. Just resting my eyes. You were asking?
Just for a comment, LaConius. If you can keep your eyes open that long.
Sir, you mentioned it yourself. The wormfly of Omaha III.
I did, some twenty-four hours past.
Let's consider the wormfly, sir. It was beautiful. It was deadly. It was prolific. To irradiate an entire planet was impossible. Insecticides also destroyed the beneficial insects imported to pollinate the crops. To control the wormfly, the farmers of Omaha III bred a huge number of sterile male wormflies and released them.
Since the female wormfiy mated only once before death, a mating with a sterile male prevented a hatch of wormfly larvae. The fly was exterminated within a few years.
Ah. Have you been reading ahead, then, LaConius?
Ah, no sir. I haven't. I'm doing a term paper for astrophysics on the Q.S.S. phenomenon, and there is so much intriguing material that I haven’t had time to do more than read the assigned material for this class, sir. Incidentally, I'd like to thank you for putting me onto the subject of my paper with your mention of the Q.S.S.'s.
My pleasure. But if you have not read ahead, LaConius, you are very perceptive. Has the thought occurred to anyone else that the mating of Rei and Miaree could have more than personal consequence? Ah, Martha, you have read the entire legend? Good. Tomorrow, you may
begin our class reading, since you are so familiar with the material.
Chapter Fifteen
The eggs were the color of dead flesh.
Paying tribute to age-old feelings, she had fashioned a nest of silken bed coverings. The process was painless and somewhat erotic.
But there was no joy.
A living egg was, to all females, a thing of beauty. Glowing, a living egg seemed to pulse with life, emanating that most odd and lovely ruby radiance, the ancient, all-sacred color.
Although she had known what to expect—she was not the first—she could not control the tears which flowed from her disturbed deep purple, faceted eyes. The color of dead flesh. Inert. Lifeless.
She left them in the silken nest as she cleansed herself. Aside from a pulsing weakness in her lower rear, she was normal. She stood, wings furled, beside the bed. She had known what to expect. She lidded her eyes, pushing away the tears, bent, scooped the dead eggs into her hands, and walked slowly to the disposer. Then within seconds it was over.
Outside, a world was in the process of change. As she listened to the hum of the disposer, she could hear, above the soft, final sound, the ramble of industry, the movement of vehicles, the low roar of an engine under test.
She told herself that she was very young, that there would be time.
Her eyes changed, became intense blue. A look of determination firmed her lips. She donned gown and cloak. In the style of the new female, her wings were freed, gleaming with the ever-present colors of happiness. Outside, the weather of the narrow equatorial temperate zone was at its best, the sun, although distant, warm and cheerful. There was a briskness in the moderate temperature, the hint of cold from the frozen poles. The
horizon was near, surprisingly near. It was a small world. And it was throbbing with vitality.
Chapter Sixteen
Bertt, designer and builder of the finest flyers, was an unhappy man. Not content with changing his world—a world which
he had chosen for its remoteness, for its limitless spaces—they were now changing his life and, indeed, his very way of thinking. Although Bertt was not an introspective man—male (he corrected his use of the alien term)—this was perhaps the most disturbing thing of all; to have the thought patterns of a lifetime shattered so casually.
Surely, he thought, God would move. Surely, even a God who had in the recent past shown little interest in the Artonuee, leaving them to the doom signaled by the Fires, would be too proud to see her daughters flaunting themselves, wings unfurled and displayed outside their cloaks, simpering and fawning over and being pawed by the muscular Delanians. Had the entire race gone mad? Did thousands of years of tradition and common sense have so little value?
But it was not only the shamelessness of the new breed of Artonuee females which upset Bertt. He had not been able to get away from his shop, to go roving, solitary and in communication with his God, for months. And the last time he had ventured up into the Big Cold he had been forced to detour away from one of his favorite routes, bumping and sliding over unexplored ice fields, because of the presence of one of the several industrial plants which were springing up from the wild regions of his world like noxious metal growths.
It was his clean air which was being spoiled by the refuse of the huge, clanking plants, by the exhausts of the heavy traffic in drivers. And the temperate zone was becoming impossible. Hastily erected dwellings in multiple units were taking all available land areas, denuding the virgin growth of stunted trees. They were even building into the shallow waters of the equatorial sea, hiding its blue waters beneath metal platforms, defiling even the depths in their efforts to gather more raw materials for the building of still more plants and still more dwellings and
administration buildings. Now there was talk of melting the northern ice cap to uncover more usable land.
As a member of the Council of Five, Bertt had protested mightily. Melting the ice cap, he said, would submerge the tiny amount of temperate land at the equator. No, they told him—the Lady Miaree speaking for the slick-faced aliens—the surplus water would be evaporated and pumped into space. The ladies in Nirrar, he was to discover, while exposing their wings in invitations to the aliens, had decided that this world, his Five, was expendable. His planet, his chosen home, that once empty, beautiful, inhospitable but glorious world, was to be gutted.
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