Hal Clement - Cycle of Fire

“Yes, though not well. He has words of his own, which are different from ours, and has not learned all ours yet.”

“Do you know any of his?”

“Some, yes.”

“Then perhaps it would be best if we brought you along, too. It will save time and there is not too much more of that.”

“I am not sure, but I get the impression that he does not die at the proper time; he expects to live longer. There may be no need of haste.”

One of the frequent interruptions to regain altitude allowed this information to sink into the pilot’s mind. When he swung past again:

“In any case remain with him. I will report all you have told me and someone will return to give you the decision of the Teachers. If you could improvise a catapult capable of launching a four-man glider it might expedite matters, since the portable ones are probably dismantled by now.” He passed on and began to circle in determined fashion for altitude, while Dar turned to Kruger to answer his questions about the numerous parts of the conversation the boy had either not heard or not understood.

“I had suspected, but found it hard to believe,” Kruger said at the end.

“What?”

“That this ‘time’ you have mentioned so often means the end of your life. How can it be that you know when you are going to die?”

“I have known it all my life; it is part of the knowledge in the books. Life starts, and continues for a measured time, and ends. That is why the books must go to the Ice Ramparts, so that the Teachers may use them to help instruct the people who come after.”

“You mean everyone dies at the same time?”

“Of course. Practically all lives started at the same time — except the few who have had accidents and had to start over.”

“How do you die?”

“We do not know, though the Teachers may. They have always told us the time but never the manner.”

“What sort of people are these Teachers?”

“Why, they are not people. They are — they are Teachers. That is, they look like people but are much bigger — bigger even than you.”

“Do they look more like your people than I do, or are there other differences like those between you and me?”

“They are exactly like me except for size — and the fact that they know so much, of course.”

“And they live on from one generation to the next — that is, through the time of one group of people and into that of the next — while all ordinary people die when the time comes?”

“So they, and the books, say.”

“How long is the time that you normally live?”

“Eight hundred and thirty years. We are now in the eight hundred and sixteenth.” Kruger thought this over and did a little mental arithmetic, and tried to imagine how he would feel knowing that he had just under nine months to live. He knew it would bother him; Dar Lang Ahn seemed to take it as a matter of course. Kruger could not help wondering whether his little friend had any secret washes concerned with a longer life span. He did not quite dare ask; it seemed to have the possibility of being a very touchy subject. He allowed the conversation to drift in the direction Dar was leading it. The little pilot seemed actually to pity him, Kruger finally realized, for not knowing when his own life was due to end; while he did not have the precise words to express his feelings, and they were a little too abstract to explain clearly, the boy got a definite impression that Dar considered the suspense of such a situation to be something he would not care to face.

“But enough of that.” Dar, too, seemed to feel that he was verging on what might prove an uncomfortable subject for his companion. “The pilot suggested that we try to set up a catapult so that they can take you off. We should at least be able to get it started before they come back. All we really need is the stakes; they will certainly bring the cables when they come.”

“How does the catapult work?”

Dar gave an explanation. Apparently it was simply an overgrown slingshot. The complication in its construction lay first in the need for placing it so that it could hurl the glider into a reasonably dependable updraft, and second in making sure that the supporting structure to which the cable was hooked could stand the strain — a flimsily assembled mass of timber suddenly coming loose and snapping back toward the glider could be decidedly embarrassing. The first requirement was not difficult to satisfy on the seashore; the second was a matter of experience. The work was actually easier than the raft building had been, since the pieces of wood used were much thinner. Kruger cut most of them with his knife to Dar’s specifications; the little native placed them and propped them with speed and skill.

Arren, circling lazily above the horizon, marked the passage of time, but neither workman noticed it particularly. They stopped to hunt and eat or for necessary rest, but Kruger never knew just how long it took the glider they had seen to complete its journey to the ice I cap, and for the relief expedition to be organized and make the return. It was certainly less than a year — they never saw Theer at all between the two events — but when the first of the gliders skimmed in from over the sea the catapult was ready.

The machine settled reasonably close to the catapult. Two others followed it within the next half hour, and a single pilot climbed from each. Dar performed the introductions; all three were acquaintances of his. Neither then nor later was Kruger able to tell them apart, and he was embarrassed to find that he could not distinguish Dar from the others except by familiar stains, nicks, and scratches on his friend’s leather harness and the iron buckles he had used for signaling. The others had bits of metal about them, but not serving the same functions; their harness buckles appeared to be of something like horn.

Their names were Dar En Vay, Ree San Soh, and Dar Too Ken. Kruger was bothered by the multiplicity of Dars, realizing that he could no longer indulge his habit of shortening his friend’s name for convenience. He wondered if the names connoted any sort of family connection — though from what Dar Lang Ahn had been telling him that seemed unlikely.

One of the gliders was considerably larger than the other two; Kruger supposed it was the “four-man” machine the other pilot had mentioned. Dar Lang Ahn called him over to it and the whole party went into consultation as to the best way of accommodating the relatively huge human body. The control seat, of course, had to be left in place for the pilot; if the three others were simply removed it left nothing to support Kruger except the frail envelope of the fuselage. No one of the seats was large enough to hold him, of course, though they were quite reasonably shaped from the human point of view. The final solution was an improvised support of slender branches, more like a mattress than a seat, which appeared to be strong enough to keep Kruger from going through to the fabric and light enough to meet the rather exacting balance requirements of the glider — requirements which were already being strained a trifle by the boy’s physical characteristics.

Kruger gathered that some time elapsed between the dying off of one race and the appearance of the next, but when he put the question to the group no one was able to answer him. The three newcomers were startled at the question and from then on seemed to regard him as more of a freak than even his admittedly strange appearance warranted. The pilot of the large glider made no objection when it was suggested that Dar Lang Ahn fly it as long as Kruger was aboard.

With this arrangement completed Dar asked where the rest of the fleet might be, or whether a group this size was expected to raid the village where his books were held. Ree San Soh answered him.