Zach Hughes - Seed of the Gods

City. A group of establishments. Yet though there was nothing in all the continent to keep the picture in the language, it persisted. The word, the picture, city was Old One language. It had meaning. The name of the lost city on the huge river had no meaning, gave no image. It was an abstract thing, difficult to grasp. Was the name another Old One word—a word whose meaning had been lost? In his learning, the teachers had brushed past the Old Ones. Ancient man was primitive, living on the fat of the young planet. He was ignorant of the process of combining the products of the Juicers and the Webbers to form the Material, thus uncivilized. Ancient man had no recorded history, for there were no Keepers. Ancient man lacked the mobility of the Power Givers and was thus confined to distances he could cover on his feet. In short, ancient man was a weak link in the evolutionary chain and his achievements could not have been great. Ancient man, said the teachers, was probably less intelligent than a Webber, but perhaps more intelligent than the front mind of a Keeper, who was unable to experience anything save basic sensations. To think that ancient man had built was folly. To attribute the origin of the hard materials to ancient man was incredible, for without tools of the Material, how could ancient man work the hard materials into any form? No. The hard materials, used by some mystics in the Healer ranks to form a mystery about ancient man, were of natural origin. Perhaps, since they were of such scarcity, they had fallen from the sky, for Far Seer probes indicated the presence of small bodies of solid material in the space system other than the satellite, the sun and the sister planets, and the far suns that even to the most sensitive Far Seer appeared as tiny motes in a vast area. «Be content,» said the teachers, «with the wisdom of the race, for we are old. Be proud of our achievements, for we have conquered a hostile world with only the weapons given us by nature, our minds. Contemplate the wonder of the invention of the Material by Dawn Eye the Far Seer. For is it not astounding that he could envision the domestication of the vicious Webber? Is it not wonderful that he could milk the fiery Juicer and, working at the risk of death, pain, and disfigurement, combine the liquid fire of the Juicer with the film of the Webber to create a substance that protects us from the hostile elements? Wonder at the course of evolution, that produced four distinct human forms who live in peace together and work mind in mind to ensure the survival of life. None could live alone. Be proud of your ability to heal, to spend extended periods in the vapors and the corrosive sea. Without them, without your ability to gather the slime source, what would be our nourishment? Be thankful for the Keepers, who store our knowledge and make us civilized. Praise the Power Givers who turn the vats that brew the broth, separating the deadly substances from the life-giving ones.» Modestly the teachers did not praise themselves, the Far Seers, the accumulators of knowledge, the overseers of society, the backbone of reason. The Far Seers, who were sterile, watched over the lower life forms, measured the Breathers, milked the deadly Juicers, and tamed the fierce Webbers. Truly, it was an arrangement to give wonder. The wisdom of nature was proved by the infallibility of her scheme to sustain life in an atmosphere that could eat a nugget of hard material in less than a sun circle. And Rack was not really discontent. After he gained maturity he took pride in his ability to gather more slime source than any other young Healer. He gloried in his strength, his huge, billowing lungs that could store enough air to outlast the most severe storm, his wonderful healing cells that replaced themselves when damaged by hard projectiles or acid gases. But there was much in his world to arouse his curiosity and he made his contributions to the knowledge of the race by feeding his observations into the blank mind of a Keeper after the exploration trips he took in his free time. He was recognized as an authority on the vast, uninhabited area of responsibility of Red Earth and was often consulted. He had come a long way from being the feckless young rack-lover who had engendered frowns of concern from his parents and teachers. In the prime of his physical strength he was tall and had a chest thickness equal to half his height. His scales were healthy, showing no damage from all his wanderings. When he retracted his protective eyefilms in the safety of his establishment his pupils glowed with a bright blue light and glittered with a love of life that was contagious. He was considerate, never venting his gills in the vicinity of an establishment, much less when in view of another being. He was generous with his time, always willing to use his strength to venture out for an extended period in the service of anyone who needed help. He asked for nothing except, at times, a period of conversation. Lying on his rack, breathing his sweet, Breather-produced air, he would compare knowledge with a Far Seer, gossip with a fellow Healer, or carry on a respectful exchange with a friendly Power Giver. At such times he projected a completely relaxed and totally likable personality. There were those among the young Power Givers who contacted him regularly, trying to detect a hint that Rack was being readied by nature for a joining. But they were continually disappointed; Power Giver after Power Giver, feeling the approach of her own time, had to search elsewhere, for the gray scale covering on Rack's lower abdomen remained rigid, showing no tint of the tell-tale red of readiness. III «You are, I see, preparing,» said Red Earth from his sanctuary, his mind engaged with Rack's. «Affirmative.» «A group of Breathers overworking,» Red Earth sent. «I have seen and am content with what I have stored,» Rack said. He had spent some time storing life. His body weight was up. His chest was expanded to bursting. All his cells were alive, fattened with precious air. «They will have ample time to recover in my absence.» «Is it polite to inquire?» «When were you concerned about being polite?» Rack queried laughingly. Red Earth was an old friend and teacher. «West,» he sent. «To the river and the rift.» «In search of hard-material nuggets?» Rack gave a mental shrug. «In search.» He sensed a regret on Red Earth's part and knew that the Far Seer begrudged him the waste of his energies in his own pursuits. He sent a hint of reproach, accompanied by a vivid picture of Red Earth with his Keeper, and got a chuckle in return. «Beautiful Wings the Power Giver will be alert to your needs.» «I thank you.» He liked the picture Red Earth sent, but was not familiar with the individual. «She is newly mature, assigned to the west of the area.» «Daughter of old Northern Ice the Healer? I knew her when she was a child.» «The same. She is no longer a child.» Red Earth paused. «And speaking of maturity, I note that your tint will soon be the same.» Rack did not like speaking of such matters. He closed his mind. «Could a joining be arranged it would be a propitious event,» Red Earth added. Joining was a matter of nature's design and of personal choice. Rack told Red Earth so and was acknowledged, but the hurt in the Far Seer's mind softened Rack and he sent soothing pictures, along with the rational conclusion that if Beautiful Wings were indeed newly mature his readiness would not match hers. Red Earth agreed with a sigh and ended the contact. Rack entered into the end-of-circle storms, freshly charged, walking with a distance-eating gait over the bare bones of the planet. His horny feet were impervious to the hard rock underfoot. His scales tingled as projectiles from the low spots bounced off them. Heavy clouds passed, and his gills vented poison, lungs taking only the scattered particles of life from the noxious mixture.Читать дальше