James Tiptree Jr. - Up the Walls of the World

“Our business here cannot wait,” Heagran announces. “We will commence as soon as I have, ah, completed this.”

“Come and watch with me, Marockee,” Tivonel suggests. “We have much to exchange.”

Marockee assents with a mock-erotic snap of polarization, and they jet into a plant-filled eddy Tivonel has already selected as her viewing site.

“It’s hard to show real ahura out here.”

Marockee assents; with these eddies coming every which way, it would be easy for a female to get into an upwind position, thereby indicating blatant flirtatiousness. Or, even sillier, to usurp the downwind position proper for males.

As they settle into the edge of the lattice-plant, Tivonel notices that the Paradomin are brazenly hovering downwind of the group in a small current. Well, really! Then she sees something more amazing. One of them has a small double field!

“What’s she doing, Marockee? She can’t—be carrying a child?”

“That’s Avanil,” Marockee’s mantle lights with giggles. “Only she’s shortened it to Avan, like a male. She’s practicing Fathering with a young plenya. She wants to prove that females can care for children too.”

“Great winds.” Tivonel scans hard. Yes—Avanil’s small extra nucleus is not that of a real infant, but one of the semi-intelligent pet animals that were becoming popular in Deep. Of course many female children mimic their brothers by “playing Father” with a baby animal until their Fathers put a stop to it. But here is a grown female openly carrying an imitation infant in her rudimentary pouch. Crazy!

“She says it strengthens your field. She says if females did Fathering our fields would grow just as big too.”

“Wild.” Tivonel idly blows away in inquisitive plant-root. A lot seems to have been going on in Deep while she’d been away.

“I don’t know,” Marockee pumps air reflectively, “her field does look different now. And listen, she says the Fathers should exercise more, too. She believes we should all share each other’s work.”

“I can just imagine Kinto on a hunt.” Tivonel laughs. “Marockee, I’ve had a real idea. Suppose we set up a barter relay station to exchange food from the Wild with some of the new plant-stuffs they’re bringing up from above the Abyss, and the things the kids make in Deep.”

“What’s no new about that?”

“Wait. My idea is, instead of always exchanging the stuff itself, we could have a system of counters. Small things we could carry in our pouches. The stations would give you so many counters for each kind of thing. Then you wouldn’t have to lug the stuff around looking for someone to swap with, or you could save up and get something else later, or whatever.”

“Hey,” says Marockee, and they fall to typical female small-talk.

Presently the commotion outside quiets.

“Sssh. It’s starting.”

Heagran and the Deepers are ceremoniously deployed facing Lomax and the group of Hearers. Among them Giadoc’s mind-field seems to stand out in beauty to Tivonel’s scan.

“We offer our memory,” Lomax signs ritually. Orva, the Recorder of the Hearers, moves toward Memory-Keeper Kinto.

“Thank you, Chief Hearer,” Heagran’s deep violet tones reply. “We too have brought grave news, which you may consult at your convenience. However, we are many and time is short. Let our two good Recorders share in fullness while we confer in speech. First, what have you learned since your last message?”

Orva and Kinto jet away to a polite distance, and the life-bands momentarily resonate as they merge.

“More worlds have died in our area of the skies,” Lomax replies gravely. “A lone Destroyer is active out beyond us too. Perhaps the last death touched you?”

“Yes, we felt it as we traveled. Tragic.” Heagran’s mantle pales ritually. “But you should be aware that at Near Pole these death-cries are now so frequent and intense that some are felt even in Deep. The Hearers there tell us that there are now only four living worlds between Tyree and what they call the Zone of Death. The time-eddies too are increasing. People are frightened.” He pauses, his mantle murmurous with deep-hued thought. “As you know, I did not formerly believe that these reports meant any danger to Tyree. I have changed my mind. But there are many still in Deep who do not believe this peril is real. Have you had any success in mind-touch with this lone Destroyer of yours?”

“None whatever,” Lomax signs. “The attempt has been a complete failure and injured those who tried. It is utterly alien. There seems no hope of influencing it or even understanding it.”

“What else have you learned of value?”

At these words Tivonel notices a peculiar stir among the Deepers, as though the question has some unspoken significance. A very large old male whom she recognizes as Father Scomber has drifted closer to Heagran, his mantle courteously dark.

“For pure knowledge, much,” signs Lomax. His field too has taken on an odd tension. “For example, we are now sure that other worlds have each their own Sound or energy-source. And we have just now confirmed something we have suspected from common observation here on Tyree. Have we not all noticed that when a person is at a great distance, a signal he transmits on the life-bands appears to come instantaneously, while the audible flash of his words lags behind?”

Heagran signs assent. Around him the other Elders stir impatiently.

“Well, it appears that life-signals even from very distant worlds are indeed instantaneous while the physical energy, that is, the audible light, travels quite slowly, taking sometimes years. We have just heard the silencing of two Sounds identified with worlds whose death-cries were received years ago. And we now believe we understand the manner of their deaths; one was a slow, agonizing transmission suggesting burning and explosion. In each case, the energies of their Sounds were observed to rise violently just before extinction.”

The Deepers have been flickering restlessly during Lomax’ speech. Heagran signs, “If I understand your somewhat prolix point, Chief Hearer, you mean that the attack, if it comes, will not be on Tyree but on our Sound?”

“We believe so. Apparently the Destroyer can cause it to explode, throwing off terrible blasts of all-band energy which will kill all life on our world, as people are killed who venture into the ultrahigh Wild today.”

“But surely, Lomax, in the deeps of those worlds, even in their abyssal layers, some life survives?”

“No.” Lomax’ voice is deep azure with grief. “We have monitored continually and found nothing. The energy is so fierce that it will penetrate even to the Abyss. The very fabric of Tyree itself may be shattered.”

Silence follows his words, broken only by the faint chiming of the Companions of Day. Is it possible, Tivonel wonders, could these beautiful little Sounds be the devourers of their worlds? Could Tyree’s own Sound explode and destroy her? A memory of the dead food-plants flicks through her mind.

Father Scomber is signing formally to Heagran.

“Eldest Heagran, now we know the nature of the doom which may be nearing our world. But as you know, I and many others would like to inquire further on other matters these Hearers may have learned.”

To Tivonel’s surprise, Heagran’s mantle darkens and his field contracts in a mode approaching disdain. But he only signs neutrally, “Very well, Elder Scomber. Proceed.”

“Hearer Lomax,” Scomber flashes, “will you tell us more about these strange life-forms you have touched on other worlds? What are they like? Is there any possibility of help there?”

Lomax seems to hesitate, and again Tivonel is aware of tension in the massed fields of the crowd.