David Galouye: Dark Universe

The Adviser’s sullen attitude puzzled him for a moment — until he realized unification between the Upper and Lower Level would certainly affect Lorenz’s established status.

The well-worn path had straightened and was now taking them along the right wall. Residential recesses cast back muffled gaps in the reflected sound pattern. And Jared sensed rather than clearly heard the knots of inquisitive people who were listening to him pass.

Presently the Adviser caught his shoulders and spun him to the right. “This is the Wheel’s grotto.”

Jared hesitated, getting his bearings. The recess was a deep one with many storage shelves. In the space before the entrance there was a large slab with adequate leg room carved in its sides. From its surface came the symmetric sounds of empty manna shell bowls, giving the over-all impression of an orderly arrangement for a meal that would accommodate many persons.

“Welcome to the Upper Level! I’m Noris Anselm, the Wheel.”

Jared listened to his more than amply proportioned host advance around the slab with arm extended. That the hand found his on first thrust spoke well for the Wheel’s perceptive ability.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, my boy!” He pumped Jared’s arm. “Ten Touches?”

“Of course.” Jared submitted to exploring fingers that swept methodically across his face and chest and along his arms.

“Well,” said Anselm approvingly. “Clean-cut features — erect posture — agility — strength. I don’t guess the Prime Survivor exaggerated too much. Feel away.”

Jared’s hands Familiarized themselves with a stout but not flaccid physique. Absence of a chest cloth, clipped hair and beard, suggested resistance to the aging process. And lids that ificked their protest to his touch signified abiding rejection of closed eyes.

Anselm laughed. “So you’ve come with Declaration of Unification Intentions in mind?” He led Jared to a bench beside the slab.

“Yes. The Prime Survivor says-“

“An — Prime Survivor Fenton. Haven’t heard him in some time.”

“He sends-“

“Good old Evan!” the Wheel declared expansively. “He’s got a likely idea — wanting the two Levels closer. What do you think?”

“At first I—”

“Of course you do. It doesn’t take much imagination to hear the advantages, does it?”

Abandoning hope of completing a sentence, Jared accepted the question as rhetorical while he concentrated on faint impressions coming from the mouth of the grotto behind him. Someone had moved out into the entrance and was silently listening on. Reflected clacks fetched the outline of a youthful, feminine form.

“I said,” Anselm repeated, “it doesn’t take much imagination to hear the benefits of uniting the Levels.”

Jared drew attentively erect. “Not at all. The Prime Survivor says there’s a lot to be gained. He—”

“About this Unification. Figure you’re ready for it?”

At least Jared had managed to finish one answer. But there was no point in pushing his success, so he simply said, “Yes.”

“Good boy! Della’s going to make a fine Survivoress. A little headstrong, perhaps. But you take my own Unification…”

The Wheel embarked on a lengthy dissertation while Jared’s attention went back to the furtive girl. At least he knew who she was. At the mention of the name “Della,” her breathing had faltered and he had heard a subjective quickening of her pulse.

The brisk, clear tones of the Wheel’s voice produced sharpsounding echoes. And Jared took note of the girl’s precise, smooth profile. High cheekbones accentuated the self-confident tilt of her chin. Her eyes were wide open and her hair was arranged in a style he hadn’t heard before. Swept tightly away from her face, it was banded in the back and went streaming bushily down her spine. His imagination provided him with a pleasing echo composite of Della racing down a windy passageway, long tress fluttering behind.

“…But Lydia and I never had a son.” His garrulous host had gone on to another subject by now. “Still, I think it would be best if the Wheelship remained in the Anselm line, don’t you?”

“To be sure.” Jared had lost track of the conversation.

“And the only way that can come about without complications is through Unification between you and my niece.”

This, Jared reasoned, should be the cue for the girl to step from concealment. But she didn’t budge.

The Upper Level had recovered from his arrival and now he listened to the sounds of a normal world — children shouting at play, women grotto-cleaning, men busy at their chores, a game of clatterball in progress on the field beyond the livestock pens.

The Wheel gripped his arm and said, “Well, we’ll get better acquainted later on. There’ll be a formal dinner this period where you’ll Familiarize yourself with Della. But, first, I’ve had a recess prepared for your convenience.”

Jared was led off along the row of residential grottoes. But they hadn’t gone far when he was drawn to a halt.

“The Prime Survivor says you have a remarkable pair of ears, my boy. Let’s hear how good they are.”

Somewhat embarrassed, Jared turned his attention to the things about him. After a moment his ears were drawn to the ridge running along the far wall.

“I hear something on that ledge,” he said. “There’s a boy lying up there listening out over the world.”

Anselm drew in a surprised breath. Then he shouted, “Myra, your child up on that shelf again?”

A woman nearby called out, “Timmy! Timmy, where are you?”

And a slight, remote voice answered, “Up here, Mother.”

“Incredible!” exclaimed the Wheel. “Utterly incredible!”

As the formal dinner neared its end, Anselm thudded his drinking shell down on the slab and assured the other guests, “It was quite remarkable! There was the lad, all the way across the world . But Jared heard him anyway. How’d you do it, my boy?”

Jared would have let the matter drop. He’d had his fill of uneasiness, each guest having taken the full Ten Touches.

“There’s a smooth dome behind the ledge,” he explained wearily. “It magnifies the tones from the central caster.”

“Nonsense, my boy! It was an amazing feat!”

The slab came alive with murmurs of respect.

Adviser Lorenz laughed. “Listening to the Wheel tell about it, I’d almost suspect our visitor might be a Zivver.”

An uncomfortable hush followed. Jared could hear the Adviser’s complacent smile. “It was remarkable,” Anselm insisted.

There was a lull in the conversation and Jared steered the talk away from himself. “I enjoyed the crayfish, but the salamander was especially good. I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”

“Indeed you haven’t,” Anselm boasted. “And we have Survivoress Bates to thank. Tell our guest how you manage it, Survivoress.”

A stout woman across the slab said, “I had an idea meat would taste better if we could get away from soaking it directly in boiling water. So we tried putting the cuts in watertight shells and sinking them in the hot springs. This way the meat’s dry cooked.”

On the edge of his hearing, Jared sensed that Della was listening to his slight movements.

“The Survivoress used to prepare salamander even better,” offered Lorenz.

“When we still had the big boiling pit,” the woman said.

“When you still had it?” Jared asked, interested.

“It dried up a while back, along with a couple others,” Anselm explained. “But I suppose we’ll be able to do without them.”

The other guests had begun drifting off toward their grottoes — all except Della. But still she ignored Jared.