James Tiptree Jr. - Up the Walls of the World

He energizes Doctordan’s limbs, intending to bring it upright like the others. It’s hard work, with no wind. He must hold the strange muscles rigid.

“Take it easy, Dann, wait—” Doctoraris protests audibly, his colors weirdly unchanging. “Do you feel all right?”

Giadoc allows the other to guide him into a chair.

“I am all right,” he pronounces, probing hard through Doctoraris’ mind for some plausible explanation of his collapse, while at the same time he works to deflect and drain the other’s concern with him. It’s all so alien. But finally he comes across an engram having to do with an organ in the upper part of his body.

“A minor heart problem,” he echoes Fearing’s words. All this time one of his upper limbs has been involuntarily groping in the recesses of the dead plant-stuff around his alien body. He encounters a small object and has a sudden vivid body-image of bringing it into his mouth. He does so.

“Forgot your medication, eh, Dann?” Doctoraris’ thoughts resolve and relax; the mind-turning worked. “Smith, get some water.”

“How about a coke, Doctor?” The other Healer asks.

“Okay.”

Giadoc manages to grope through the embarrassing ritual of public intake. Fearing is still watchfully lashing out at him from a distance, like a wild corlu in ambush.

“I still think we should take you in, Dann.”

“No, no need,” Giadoc protests. “I am all right now.”

To Giadoc’s surprise, Fearing comes to his aid. “I believe we can take Doctor Dann’s word for it, Harris. In fact I’d prefer him to remain here. Kirk, bring him some lunch and stay with him. Harris, since Dann says he’s all right, I think we’ll leave now.”

“Very well.”

Giadoc has been noticing a small but energetic field approaching from outside the “room.” As the others prepare to depart, the newcomer bounces in, saying, “Good God, Major, what’s going on here? Where’s Margaret? Dann, what’s wrong with you? The subjects were becoming extremely upset, I sent them to lunch.”

Giadoc ignores the rest of the conversation while he studies this new mind. It is another small-field male—are there no Fathers here? He sees himself in charge of the alien experiment in life-signals: “Project Polymer.” His name is “Noah” something and, surprisingly, there are areas of considerable order in his mind.

Good; Giadoc has just realized that he may be here some while. The Beam has not even withdrawn yet in this world’s time. Perhaps the time-scales are different. He should behave appropriately to leave the body in good shape for the real Doctordan, and this “Noah” is clearly the best mind by which to guide himself.

“How are you, Dann?” Noah is demanding with more empathy than Giadoc has seen on this world.

“I am all right, Noah. I forgot my medication, that is all.”

“Oh. Well, my goodness! Take care. I’m off to the hospital to check on Margaret. The next test is at three sharp, you know.”

Regretfully, Giadoc watches him leave with the others. Too bad. But he can use the time alone to gain skill with his body.

As he rises unsteadily to his feet he feels the power of the Beam drain away and cease. On far Tyree the Hearers have broken link. Will his life continue?

He stands gazing around the windless alien enclosure, wrestling with rebellious memories. Tyree’s plight—Tivonel— Tiavan’s wicked intent. No—No time for that now. What’s wrong with him? Resolutely he orders his mind. The minutes pass. He lives.

He feels nothing more than a slightly unpleasant lowering of his vitality. As he had suspected, it is possible to live on here without the Beam.

Very well. His task now is to maintain Doctordan’s role until the Beam returns and he can go home. He moves about, gaining clearer and firmer contact with the body’s autonomous skills, using his upper limbs to examine himself and his coverings, touching things. These manipulators are so large and strong and naked! It’s like being a child again, before his mantle grew. Obviously these beings continue to manipulate matter all their adult lives.

On impulse he presses at the “console” of the cryptic semisentience. It does not respond. Presently he wanders to the access-opening of this place and stands looking out at the extraordinary world of the Abyss. The sheer quantity of static stuffs, the hard wind-bottom with its silent coloration of fear and shame, the ugly verticals and horizontals everywhere, the mute unchanging light. Unsettling, profoundly alien to the blessed blowing world of hime. But how exhilarating, to have all this time in an alien world! If this is to be his last adventure, it’s a worthy one.

Experimentally, he pushes aside the access-cover and steps out. A weak flare of hostility greets him. Who did that?

Ah; he makes out a kind of pod resting in the middle distance. An alien mind-field is inside. At this range Giadoc can read only vague resentments connected with food and the vigilant intention to prevent Doctordan’s body from proceeding farther. He steps back inside.

Extraordinary how much hostility the amiable Doctordan seems to be surrounded by. What a ferocious world! Well, not his concern.

Another pod is noisily arriving. Giadoc watches the “Kirk” alien get out, followed by what is clearly a pet animal. He is carrying objects which he intends to eat—with Giadoc. Oh, winds! Well, so be it.

“Up and around, Doc?”

No empathy here, quite the reverse. But the pet animal is projecting contact-welcome. Giadoc lets his hand move toward it and stops just in time at the flash of jealousy shooting from Kirk’s mind-field. What wild people! He follows Kirk to the corner and watches him open the food, probing for his expectations of Doctordan’s behavior. Ah; he seats himself.

Fortunately, no speech seems to be expected. By closely following Kirk’s mind-pictures, at the same time copying his own actions, Giadoc manages to grapple with what seems to be called a “chicken sandwich” and some “milk.” His body’s automatic eating actions begin to unroll. Giadoc is delighted; it’s like the child’s game of following his Father’s mental images of mat-weaving. But now he must sort deeper through the other mind for clues to what Doctordan’s next actions will be. It’s hard to believe these people are so unconscious.

As Giadoc’s thought-tendrils snake into the other mind, he comes upon a pocket of emotion so repellent that he drops the “sandwich.”

“Had enough, Doc?”

“A, a weakness,” Giadoc stammers. Why, this creature before him is guilty of physical harm, thinks he has perhaps caused the death of a female. Yes, that dead alien he had glimpsed. And it excites him. Why, these people are savages!

“Terrible about Margaret,” Kirk says, his thought wildly at variance with his words. “I guess I didn’t take you seriously.”

“Yes.” Picking up the sandwich, Giadoc pushes aside a flare of repulsive malice toward Doctordan, and concentrates on what there is of Kirk’s rational memory-field. “Project Polymer”—ah, here it is. He finds a pyramidal structure with Kirk himself at the top beside a small figure of Noah. Six subjects—the tests—a mind at a distance will attempt to transmit again, etc. etc. All quite simple and childish. But—Wind save us—Kirk’s memory of what he, as Doctordan, will be expected to do, arrangments of complex matter on the test-persons, “electrodes,” “pressure cuffs,” “biomonitors”—it’s appalling. And much too vague. He could never guide himself by this mind. And the next test is quite soon!

If the Beam does not return in time, what can he do?

Well, of course he can always feign illness as he had before. But the spirit of the game has him; he will play out his last adventure as far as he can. An idea comes to him, watching Kirk feed the last of his food to his “dog.” Perhaps by double-probing the test persons and the old male “Noah” simultaneously he can get by? That would be a feat!