Zach Hughes - The Legend of Miaree

Well taken, Elizabeth. Yes, Julius?

The Delanian system is much nearer the point of collision, and their sense of doom must be much more acute than that of even the Artonuee. I am surprised at Rei's patience during the long talk session with Miaree. If I had been in his place, I would have been screaming and yelling. I'd have said, "Look, you dumb bitch"—pardon me—"you dumb female, my people are going to die."

Yes, Alaxender?

Sir, I have calculated the total energy necessary to be a threat to the Artonuee worlds from the given distance. It is in the order of 3 X 6 to the 8th solar masses of hydrogen.

Ah,

My point, sir. I think Rei, for some reason, is lying.

Ah?

Oh, no.

Leslie.

He wasn't lying. Perhaps he was unduly alarmed. But he was so very, very sincere in his relationship with Miaree. I think it's just beautiful the way they fell in love.

You are not the first, Leslie. Stella?

I think Rei's seduction of Miaree was a superb example of chauvinism and I agree with Alaxender. Rei is up to something.

3 x 10 to the 6th solar masses of hydrogen, sir, is about equal to a small galaxy.

Alaxender, perhaps you would like to propose this problem to your astrophysics class. Let us confine ourselves to the analysis of Delanian society and the implications of the facts brought forth in the preceding section of the fable, John?

It wasn't a bad poem, sir. And I was astounded by the very pleasing naivete displayed by Miaree. She reminds me of a sweet, innocent child.

I think it is rather touching that these two, one far from home, his friends dead, the other a victim of a personal tragedy of deep meaning to her, should find pleasure in each other.

Elana?

I think the seduction scene reveals something of Rei's character. Miaree is merely a victim of her biological urge. But Rei has real freedom of choice, and he chooses to seduce her. Put my vote with Alaxender and Stella's. Rei is up to something. I have the impression that Rei's society swings free and easy where sex is concerned. While we know that Artonuee youngsters are placed with what they call a Chosen Mother, thus getting some form of family liie, we have no clue so far as to the disposition of the Delanians' carefully programmed children. It has been demonstrated throughout our history that the family unit is beneficial. I suspect any society which ignores the family-unit concept.

Do we condemn Miaree for her actions? Martha?

Negative, sir. Although she finds it necessary, probably after the fact, to rationalize her actions, she is, as Elana said, a victim of her biology. Further, there are no taboos against sex for the sake of mere pleasure in the Artonuee society, so she is treading new ground. Although she did

not have complete freedom of choice in the first instance, in later instances—

Let us not get ahead of our reading. Clear Thought?

For good or ill, Rei has, I think, convinced Miaree of the good intentions of the Delanians.

Excuse me. LaConius. Sleep does not come easy to you in the comfort of your bed?

Sorry, sir. Just resting my eyes. You were asking?

Just for a comment, LaConius. If you can keep your eyes open that long.

Sir, you mentioned it yourself. The wormfly of Omaha III.

I did, some twenty-four hours past.

Let's consider the wormfly, sir. It was beautiful. It was deadly. It was prolific. To irradiate an entire planet was impossible. Insecticides also destroyed the beneficial insects imported to pollinate the crops. To control the wormfly, the farmers of Omaha III bred a huge number of sterile male wormflies and released them.

Since the female wormfiy mated only once before death, a mating with a sterile male prevented a hatch of wormfly larvae. The fly was exterminated within a few years.

Ah. Have you been reading ahead, then, LaConius?

Ah, no sir. I haven't. I'm doing a term paper for astrophysics on the Q.S.S. phenomenon, and there is so much intriguing material that I haven’t had time to do more than read the assigned material for this class, sir. Incidentally, I'd like to thank you for putting me onto the subject of my paper with your mention of the Q.S.S.'s.

My pleasure. But if you have not read ahead, LaConius, you are very perceptive. Has the thought occurred to anyone else that the mating of Rei and Miaree could have more than personal consequence? Ah, Martha, you have read the entire legend? Good. Tomorrow, you may

begin our class reading, since you are so familiar with the material.

The eggs were the color of dead flesh.

Paying tribute to age-old feelings, she had fashioned a nest of silken bed coverings. The process was painless and somewhat erotic.

But there was no joy.

A living egg was, to all females, a thing of beauty. Glowing, a living egg seemed to pulse with life, emanating that most odd and lovely ruby radiance, the ancient, all-sacred color.

Although she had known what to expect—she was not the first—she could not control the tears which flowed from her disturbed deep purple, faceted eyes. The color of dead flesh. Inert. Lifeless.

She left them in the silken nest as she cleansed herself. Aside from a pulsing weakness in her lower rear, she was normal. She stood, wings furled, beside the bed. She had known what to expect. She lidded her eyes, pushing away the tears, bent, scooped the dead eggs into her hands, and walked slowly to the disposer. Then within seconds it was over.

Outside, a world was in the process of change. As she listened to the hum of the disposer, she could hear, above the soft, final sound, the ramble of industry, the movement of vehicles, the low roar of an engine under test.

She told herself that she was very young, that there would be time.

Her eyes changed, became intense blue. A look of determination firmed her lips. She donned gown and cloak. In the style of the new female, her wings were freed, gleaming with the ever-present colors of happiness. Outside, the weather of the narrow equatorial temperate zone was at its best, the sun, although distant, warm and cheerful. There was a briskness in the moderate temperature, the hint of cold from the frozen poles. The

horizon was near, surprisingly near. It was a small world. And it was throbbing with vitality.

Bertt, designer and builder of the finest flyers, was an unhappy man. Not content with changing his world—a world which he had chosen for its remoteness, for its limitless spaces—they were now changing his life and, indeed, his very way of thinking. Although Bertt was not an introspective man—male (he corrected his use of the alien term)—this was perhaps the most disturbing thing of all; to have the thought patterns of a lifetime shattered so casually.

Surely, he thought, God would move. Surely, even a God who had in the recent past shown little interest in the Artonuee, leaving them to the doom signaled by the Fires, would be too proud to see her daughters flaunting themselves, wings unfurled and displayed outside their cloaks, simpering and fawning over and being pawed by the muscular Delanians. Had the entire race gone mad? Did thousands of years of tradition and common sense have so little value?

But it was not only the shamelessness of the new breed of Artonuee females which upset Bertt. He had not been able to get away from his shop, to go roving, solitary and in communication with his God, for months. And the last time he had ventured up into the Big Cold he had been forced to detour away from one of his favorite routes, bumping and sliding over unexplored ice fields, because of the presence of one of the several industrial plants which were springing up from the wild regions of his world like noxious metal growths.