James Tiptree Jr. - Up the Walls of the World

They stop discreetly side-wind of the three big males. Dann stares curiously; from two of them the life-energy is radiating upward in a focussed, almost menacing way. Like high voltage.

“What are Hearers?” he asks.

“Oh, they listen to the Companions and the life beyond the sky. That’s how they do the Beam, you came here on it.” She goes on, something about “life-bands” which Dann finds unintelligible. He sees now that these energies are merged with shafts of others from far out around the Wall. Something to do with their weird psionic technology. They brought me here… What about time, he wonders idly, not really caring. If I went back, would it be centuries ahead? No matter; he is delighted with this new mystery. Astronomers, that’s what they are. Astro-engineers of the mind. This Lomax is something like Mission Control, perhaps.

Avan, or Avanil, has gone to get Ron’s body, and now comes struggling back to them, looking absurdly like a sparrow-hawk trying to tow a goose. When she has him positioned satisfactorily on the wind she turns to Dann, exuding determination.

“Tanel, if you’re a male, you don’t seem to know much about Fathering. How old are you? Haven’t you raised a child yet?”

“Oh Avan, for Wind’s sake,” Tivonel protests.

“It’s all right, I don’t mind,” Dann says. Pain flicks him, but it’s far off; he has died since then. “I’m quite old as a matter of fact. I did have a child.” To his embarrassment his words have changed color.

“Now see what you’ve done, Avan,” Tivonel scolds. “These are people, you don’t know what could be wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Avan says stubbornly. “But I can’t understand how you could be a Father and be so helpless with that one.”

Dann hesitates, puzzled. Some extra meaning is trying to come through here. Father? “Well, I’m not sure, but you have to understand we don’t have this kind of mind-contact on our world. And our females do most of the child-raising. In fact we call it—” he tries to say mother but only garble comes out. “It really isn’t done by many males at all.”

Before his eyes Avan has lighted up with delighted astoundment.

“The females do the Fathering! Tivonel, did you hear? It had to be, that’s the world we want! Oh, great winds!”

Both females are pulsing excitedly, Dann sees, attention locked on him. But Avan is by far the more excited.

“Why? Is that so strange here?”

“Calm down, Avan,” Tivonel says. “Yes, Tanel, it’s pretty strange. I’ll explain if I get time. But look, they’re starting the Beam now. Giadoc will be back any minute and you’ll be home.”

“The females do the Fathering,” Avan repeats obliviously. “Think what that means. So they’re bigger and stronger, right?”

“Well, no, as a matter of fact—

“Listen, Avan, what does it matter? You better calm down before you lose field.”

But Avan only flashes, “I’ll be back!” and has suddenly whirled away and down. Dann looks after her. From here he can see or sense the crowd quite clearly, hundred of aliens scattered or clustered thickly in the wall of wind, among what seem to be plants. Big ones, little ones—but he sees them now quite differently. People are there, old, young, all sorts—even kids, jetting excitedly from group to group. An emanation comes from them, a tension. Under the excitement, fear.

“More Deepers all the time,” Tivonel comments. “Look at those young Fathers heading up here. That’s Giadoc’s son, Tiavan, that big one. Never mind, watch Lomax. See, the beam is starting up. Giadoc will be here soon and you’ll be far away. Goodbye, Tanel,” she adds warmly.

“You mean I have no choice? I’ll just go snap, like that?”

“Yes. Don’t you want to?”

“I don’t know,” he says unhappily. “I want—I want to understand more about you before I go. At least can’t you explain more, give me a bigger memory like you did before? Yes! Give me a memory! For instance, about Fathering. And what are Deepers, what’s life-crime? What do the Hearers learn?”

“Whew, that’s complicated. I’d have to form it, there isn’t much time.” She scans about nervously.

He sees that the energies above Lomax and his Colleague are thickening, building up and out, towering toward the zenith in a slow, effortful way.

“Please, Tivonel. From your world to mine. You should.”

“Well, I guess they have a long job to get it up and balanced right. And they’re tired. But it would be awful if we got caught in the middle.”

“Please. Look, I’ll stay as limp as Ron over there. Watch.”

Eagerly he tries to collapse all awareness, focussing on the dim sense of air moving in his internal organs. It’s difficult. Suddenly he is distracted by a giggle.

“Excuse me Tanel. That’s very good but you don’t have to do it all over, you’re in what we call Total-Receptive. Never mind. Just don’t jump when you feel me.”

Concentrate, think about nothing. But the thought of being sent back to Earth intrudes chillingly. Is it really true? Don’t think of it, all a dream. He is trying so hard that he scarcely notices the mind-push, reacts late.

“Tanel! You’re terrible.” She is floating nearby, laughing.

“Did I do something awful again?”

“No, you missed me. I think you’re learning. Did you get it? I don’t know where I put it, you were as mushy as a plenya. Think, what’s life-crime?”

“Life-crime…” Suddenly, the words convey a kind of remote abomination to him. Of course, stealing another’s body. “Yes,” he says. “But you know, I don’t quite feel it—it’s so far from our abilities.”

“You better,” she says, suddenly sober. “Look down there, that Father Scomber coming up. And Heagran behind him. Did you get it all about that?”

He looks, and marveling, knows them. The huge energic oncoming form is Father Scomber, leader of the move to flee by life-crime. And the even larger shape behind him, veiled and crusted with majestic age: Father Heagran, the Conscience of Tyree. Incredible! Enlightenment, understanding opens in him like a true dream—the wonders of Deep City, the proud civilization of the air; joys, duties, deeds innumerable, the wild life of the upper High—a world, Tyree, is living in his mind!

Through his preoccupation he notices that several more are struggling up toward him, apparently finding the ascent difficult. And they’re oddly formed.

“Those two, there—wait, Fathers—what’s wrong with their, their fields?” He asks her.

“Oh, winds, did I forget to give you that! Can’t you see their double fields? They’re Fathers with children. In their, well, their pouches. It’s not polite to say that.” She giggles. “You have one, Tanel.”

Her voice has flickered through the lavendar tones he understands as reverence.

“Amazing.” Yes, he can see now the small life-nuclei nestled in their great auroras. Fathering?

“Here comes Avan back with her pal Palarin to hear you. And there goes old Janskelen, she hasn’t forgotten how to ride wind. Some of those Deepers are a mess, they wouldn’t be as scared on your world as I was. Don’t worry, though. They aren’t going. Oh—feel the signal? The Beam is up! Goodbye again, Tanel.”

A shudder has raced through the world.

“Must I go, Tivonel?”

“Yes. But I’ll remember you Tanel. Goodbye, fair winds.”

“Fair winds.” He can barely speak. This wonderful doomed world, the brightness of her spirit. Briefly he as lived in a dream more real than all his miserable life. “I’ll always remember you, Tivonel. I hope, I hope—”

He cannot say it, can only pray that she will not be incinerated under that dreadful sun. The hideous background drone is rising and he thinks he hears, or sees, grey whines of sickness from the vegetation above. All too likely these wonderful bodies have already taken a lethal dose. Don’t think of it. He feels a charming touch of warmth upon his mind, and sees that she has let a thought-tendril eddy gently to him. Just in time he forces his reaction to be still.