David Galouye - Dark Universe

“Well, my boy,” Anselm said, backing off, “you take it easy for the rest of your stay — until you’re ready to return home for Withdrawal and Contemplation Against Unwise Unification.”

The curtains swished as he and the Adviser left.

“I’ll hear about that food,” Della said, and followed them out.

Jared lay back on the ledge, exploring the soreness beneath the bandage. Still fresh in memory was his encounter with the monster — or monsters. In their presence, he had experienced the identical sensation he had felt in the Original World. For a moment, as he recalled the impression of uncanny pressure on his face, it seemed as though his eyes had received most of the force. But why? And he was still puzzled that Owen hadn’t experienced the peculiar feeling. Could his friend’s closed-eyes preference possibly have had anything to do with his not having sensed the psychic pressure?

Della returned and he heard that she was carrying a shell filled with — he listened to the consistency of the liquid and sniffed its faint aroma — manna tuber broth. But he sensed more than that. There was something he couldn’t identify in her other hand.

“Feel well enough for some of this?” She extended the bowl.

Her words had been feather-edged with concern and he was at a loss to explain her sudden change of heart.

Something warm dripped on his hand. “The broth,” he cautioned, “you’re spilling it.”

“Oh.” She leveled the bowl. “I’m sorry.”

But he listened sharply at the girl. She hadn’t even heard the liquid running down the outside of the shell. It was as though she were practically deaf!

Improvising a test, he whispered almost subvocally, “What kind of broth is this?”

There was no response. She had no fine hearing at all! Yet, after the formal dinner, she had heard well enough to use as a target the swirling fluidity of a pool so small and so silent that he hadn’t even been aware of its presence.

She put the bowl on a nearby shelf and extended the object in her other hand. “What do you think of this, Jared?”

He inspected the thing. Clinging to it was the scent of the monster. It was tubular, like a manna stalk, but cut off on both ends. The smooth face of the larger end, however, was shattered. He ran a finger into the break and felt a hard, round object within. Withdrawing his finger, he cut it against something sharp.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I found it at the entrance. I’m sure one of the monsters dropped it.”

Again he felt the round thing behind the broken surface. It reminded him of — something.

“The big end was — warm when I picked it up,” she disclosed.

He cast his ears warily on the girl. Why had she hesitated before the word “warm”? Did she know it was heat that Zivvers zivved? Was she furtively bringing up the subject so she could hear his reaction — perhaps even trying to test the Adviser’s insinuation that he might be a Zivver? If that was her intention, it was well hidden.

Then he jolted erect. Now he remembered what the round object in the broken end of the tube reminded him of! It was a miniature version of the Holy Bulb used during religious services!

And he shook his head in bewilderment. What sense did that fool paradox make? Wasn’t the Holy Bulb associated with Light — with goodness and virtue — rather than with hideous, evil monsters?

His remaining periods in the Upper Level were uneventful to the point of monotony. He found the people not at all friendly. Their experience with the monsters had left them apprehensive and distant. More than once his words had gone unheard while quickened heartbeats reflected lingering fear.

If it hadn’t been for Della’s presence, he might have returned home before his scheduled departure. As it was, though, the girl was a challenging enigma.

She stuck close by all the while. And the friendship she extended was so profuse that he often felt her hand slipping into his as she took him about the world acquainting him with the people.

On one occasion Della added to the mystery when she paused and whispered, “Jared, are you hiding something?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m a pretty good marksman myself, don’t you think?”

“With rocks — yes.” He decided to nudge her on.

“And I’m the one who found that thing the monsters left behind.”

“So?”

Her face was turned eagerly toward his and be studied her in the sound of the central caster. When he said nothing more, he heard her breathing become heavy with exasperation.

She turned to walk away but be caught her arm. “What do you think I’m biding, Della?”

But her mood had changed. “Whether or not you’ve decided to Declare Unification Intentions.”

That she was lying had been obvious.

Yet, throughout the final two periods she seemed to hang onto everything he said, as though his next words might be the very ones she wanted to hear. Even up to the moment of his departure her disposition was one of restrained expectancy.

They were standing by the manna orchard, with his escort party waiting at the entrance, when she said reproachfully:

“Jared, it isn’t fair to hold anything back.”

“Like what?”

“Like why you can — hear so well.”

“The Prime Survivor spent all his time training me to—”

“You’ve told me all about that,” she reminded impatiently. “Jared, if we’re of the same mind after Withdrawal and Contemplation, we’ll be Unified. It wouldn’t be right to keep secrets then.”

Just when he was at the point of demanding to know what she was driving at, Lorenz walked up with a bow slung over his shoulder.

“Before you leave,” he said, “I thought you might give me a few pointers on archery.”

Jared accepted the bow and quiver, wondering why Lorenz should suddenly want to improve his marksmanship. “Very well, I don’t hear anybody over on the range.”

“Oh, but the children will be playing there in a few beats,” the Adviser dissented. “Listen at the orchard. Can you hear that tall manna plant right in front of you, about forty paces off?”

“I hear it.”

“There’s a fruit shell on the highest stalk. It ought to make a good enough target.”

Backing well away from the vapors of the nearest boiling pit, Jared rattled a pair of clickstones. “With a stationary target,” he explained, “you first have to sound it out clearly. The central caster doesn’t give a precise impression.”

He strung an arrow. “Then it’s important not to move your feet, since you’re oriented only in your original position.”

Releasing the bowstring, he listened to the arrow pass more than two arm lengths above the shell.

Surprised that he should miss by that much, he sounded the stones again. But from the corner of his hearing he caught Lorenz’s reaction. The Adviser’s expression was one of nearly irrepressible excitement. Della, too, wore an almost ecstatic tone on her face.

Why should they be overjoyed because he had failed to hit the shell? Bewildered, he strung another arrow and let it fly.

It went astray by the same distance.

Now the Adviser and the girl sounded even more jubilant. But Lorenz exuded triumph, whereas Della seemed intenseiy gratified.

He missed with two more shots before he wearied of their incomprehensible game. Annoyed, he dropped the bow and quiver and headed for the exit where the escort party awaited. After he had gone several paces he realized why his aim had been off. Standard bowstring tension here was greater than in his world! It was that simple. He even remembered now that the string had felt stiffer.

Then he stopped short. Abruptly he heard everything clearly. He knew why Lorenz had reacted as he had when the arrows missed — even why the archery exhibition had been arranged in the first place.