Hal Clement - Cycle of Fire

“How about Dar?”

“As I said, he may say what he wishes while he lives. He has no knowledge that I object to his people’s sharing.”

“He heard me discuss electricity with you.”

“I remember.”

“All right, I will say nothing without giving you fair warning, but I assure you that you have some heavy convincing to do.” Something very like a sigh of relief came through the speaker.

“I much prefer it that way,” was the answer. “Believe it or not, I would like to be on the same terms with you that Dar Lang Ahn seems to be.”

After those engineered accidents that will take some doing — and some believing.”

“Your words make me begin to wonder whether your race can possibly be one that never makes mistakes. Mine is not. However, I had better get to my job of explanation.

“In the first place, your idea that we simply use Dar Lang Ahn’s race for labor is quite wrong. It would be practically impossible for us to do that, since we cannot live under the same conditions they do. Their death, in a few years now, will mark the time when we can live normally on this world.”

“You mean you live during the time they die, and…”

“And most of us die during the time they live. That is correct.”

“Then that city between the volcanoes was built by your people!”

“It was. It is maintained, during our death time, by a few people of whom I am one.”

“So that’s why the electricity was on in that building.”

“When? Just now?”

“Yes, when we were in the city just before coming here.” A succession of sounds quite beyond the power of human vocal cords to imitate spluttered from the speaker, and was followed by a brief silence. Then the invisible creature spoke again.

“Thank you. I had to turn on the power some time ago to handle a steam valve — I have you to thank for that, I suspect — and forgot to turn it off again. My own life is well past its prime, I fear.”

“You mean that thing in the crater across the city — you were handling that?”

“Not at first; it is automatic. The steam comes from the same underground heat source that maintains the geysers. The heat is virtually inexhaustible, but the water is not. I had to shut the valve manually because the loss of steam was threatening most of our other machinery. Am I correct in suspecting that you are the cause of the inconvenience?”

“I’m afraid so.” Kruger told the story, his good humor returning as he did so.

“I understand,” the other said at the end. “I trust you will take the time to remove those stones before you go back to the ice cap. I could get my people here to do it, I suppose, but there are reasons why I do not want them there yet.”

“I’m willing as long as your manual valve stays off,” replied Kruger.

“We seem to be trusting each other,” was the answer. “However, let us get back to the subject. As I said, we are different from your friends; we live under different conditions, use different tools, different buildings, different foods. In short, we do not compete with them — we might almost as well be living on a different planet.”

“Then what is your objection to their living on a different planet — or at least being able to do so?”

“That is as much in their interest as ours, as any of their Teachers will tell you. If they left this planet how likely would they be to find another just like it?”

“I don’t know; there must be quite a number of them. There are vast numbers of planets in the galaxy.”

“But very few, if any, which would kill them at the proper time. I have gathered that you do not know when you are to die, and like it that way. Did you ever try to find out how your friend Dar would feel under such circumstances?” Kruger was silent; he had gathered already that Dar rather pitied the human state of eternal uncertainty. Then he remembered one of his numerous pet theories.

“I admit that Dar has been educated all his life to the idea that dying at a certain particular time is natural and inevitable, but it seems to be just a matter of education — some of his race seem to face quite happily the prospect of living longer.”

“They did not tell you that at the Ice Ramparts.” Kruger chose to interpret this answer as an admission that he was right.

“They didn’t have to; I’m not blind. All Dar Lang Ahn’s people, even your branch of them here, are the same size — and the same age. Their Teachers are also of a size, but much larger than Dar. It didn’t take a genius to see the story: either these people grow throughout their lives, or else this dying time you talk about comes before they reach their full growth. Some live through that time, and keep on growing. They are the Teachers.”

“You are quite right in the main facts, but I think your remark about the attitude of the Teachers toward their prolonged lives must have been guesswork. Did you actually talk to any of the people at the Ice Ramparts who will be the Teachers for the next time of living?”

“What do you mean? I talked to a lot of their Teachers.”

“But surely you do not think that the present group of Teachers will live through this time of dying! The fact that they are all of a size, as you said, should show you that. The next group will come from among the people who started to live at the same time Dar Lang Ahn did.”

“But how were they chosen? Why cannot Dar here join them?”

“He could, but I am sure he does not wish to. The Ice Ramparts are the only place on Abyormen where his kind can live during the time my people hold the planet. They simply cannot accommodate the whole race; some selection must be made. Since long training is needed they are selected early in life.”

“You suggested that those chosen are not too happy about it. I find that hard to believe.”

“A chosen Teacher accepts from a sense of duty. Living beyond the natural time exacts a penalty; you saw that the Teachers at the Ice Ramparts moved slowly when they moved at all. You did not see them all; three out of four, by this time, are virtually cripples. Their size increases, but their strength does not keep up with it. Their joints become stiff, their digestion untrustworthy. Physical ills develop which make life far more of a burden than a pleasure. They accept this lot because if they did not each new group of their people would have to start from the beginning, and this world, during their time of living, would be inhabited by nothing but wild animals.”

“Is the same true for the Teachers of your race?”

“It is. However, I am not as near the end of my duty as are those at the ice cap; I must last through, or nearly through, my people’s next time of living. Life is not too bad for me, so far.”

“But just what are the differences between your races? And what change in conditions kills off one and starts the other growing? Does it affect any other life forms on the planet?”

“The first question is difficult to answer unless we can work out some means of your seeing me, and I don’t know how that would be possible. My environment would have to be separated from yours to permit us both to live, and I know of no barrier through which we could see.” Kruger started to suggest glass or quartz and discovered he did not know the word for either substance. Before he could invent a sentence to describe them the voice went on, “The change in conditions is pretty thorough, but the most important factor is temperature. It gets much hotter (Kruger whistled gently) and the air changes.”

“Do you breathe air, or water, or both?” asked the boy. “Your city extends into the ocean.”

“Only at the moment. During our living time the oceans disappear almost completely. We suppose that they travel as vapor to that portion of Abyormen on which neither sun shines and are there precipitated in either liquid or solid state. We have not been able to explore such regions, for fairly obvious reasons, but knowledge of the conditions at the Ice Ramparts lends support to this theory.”