Strange Ports of Call Page 2

  “Come!” he cried. “We must save him!”

  But overlapping his words, came a cry from Nesro.

  “No, comrades! It is better one should end than many—” His voice was feeble. “Open the refuge. I shall try to make it without my carrier.”

  We screamed in unison then, “No, Nesro—no! You can’t possibly make it! The pelting death—”

  But our pleas were vain. Desperately Nesro scurried from the rain-glistening cover of his carrier, flashed toward us, flaming like a pillar of crimson in the darkness. For an instant it seemed his madness might be crowned with success—but only for an instant. The raw and dreadful poison of the rain seeped through his feeble shield, a high, thin scream of pain rent our nerves to trembling tatters, and where Nesro had been, briefly there blossomed in the night a white incandescence unbearable to look at. Then—nothing.

  So ended Nesro. I was sad; but my grief was as naught compared to that of my friend the learned Yawa Eloem. He moaned, and there in our tiny refuge cursed aloud, speaking Names which I dare not repeat.

  “Now, woe and despair,” he cried horribly, “upon the mocking gods who made us the weaklings we are! For we are at once masters of a world and cringing servants to that world’s every element. What matter that our intellect has built for us an empire, or that with wit and wisdom we have plumbed the secrets of a universe? Our minds are living glories, but we hobble about our kingdoms like cripples, poorest of all we hold in fee. Even those wild, breathing beasts who grub for worms beneath the stones dare face the forces which strike us low. Even such miserable clods as that—”

  And he pointed a shaking hand toward the rain-soaked carrier abandoned by Nesro. It lay face down in a wind-lashed rivulet, motionless, reddening, ruined beyond repair. As we watched, there scampered from the woods a small air-breather. The furry creature sniffed hopefully about the carrier, then, scenting nothing wherewith to sate its revolting appetite, shuffled off, rain dripping from its pelt.

  I shuddered and said reasonably, “But surely, Yawa, you would not barter your soul for the brute body of such a beast? True, the gods have ordained that we must pay a price for our mastery. We lack the physical stamina of those lower animals. But is not our superior intellect compensation enough?

  “And as for form and substance, we have made great progress. Our forefathers knew not how to build themselves tangible bodies. Today we encase ourselves in cleverly wrought metal carriers which perform all physical functions for us.”

  “Bah!” spat Eloem savagely. “Carriers which but accentuate our impotence. We garb ourselves in shells of forged metal and fancy we have gained mobility. But is this true? No! We have succeeded only in making ourselves slaves to the bodies we have wrought—” He laughed hollowly, mocking the chatter of the Clinic specialists—“Grease here—grease there—a drop of oil in the knee-joint. Replace lens—replace digits—repair rusted plate in frontal lobe—”

  “Still,” I protested, “our metal bodies do enable us to get about more easily, perform tasks otherwise impossible—”

  “And under what handicap?” he thundered. “In cold weather we shiver and tremble in our metal homes. In hot, our yielding rivets warp and melt. In dry weather our joints lock with grating sand. In wet—” he paused and stared bitterly at the rusting carrier of Nesro—“we perish.”

  I said resignedly, “What you say is true, Yawa. But there is nothing to be done about it. I, for one, am content—”

  “But I am not! There must be some way of living other than huddling pitifully caged in a metal carcass. There must be some other form of servant—”

  He stopped abruptly, and I stared at him curiously.

  “Yes, Yawa?”

  “Servant,” he repeated. “Yes, that’s it! Another kind of servant. One which does not melt in the heat and freeze in the cold, shrivel in the drouth and rot in the rain. A servant by Nature adapted to combat Nature’s terrors. That is what our race needs—what we must have—will have!”

  “What? But where will you find such a servant?”

  Eloem pointed a creaking arm to the mist-shrouded forests. “Out there, my brother.”

  “In the forest? You mean—”

  “Yes! The creatures of flesh. The air-breathers.”

  I laughed. Despite my pain and misery, I laughed. It was just too ridiculous, the concept of training those tiny furry beasts to perform for us our manual tasks.

  “Oh, come now, Yawa, you can’t be serious! Those miserable, dwarfed weaklings?”

  “Bear within them,” he said slowly, shrewdly, “the seed of animate life. That is all that matters, my friend. The germ of life. Their size, their form—such things are unimportant. These I will change to meet our own requirements. I will raise them from all fours, remold their small beast brains to give them intellect. Yea, even this I, Yawa Eloem, shall do. And I so pledge unto the gods.”

  A strange uneasiness filled me, I knew not quite why, and I said thoughtfully, “Have a care, O Yawa, lest these same gods take offense at your intentions. I am no metaphysician, but it seems to me there are certain limits beyond which one may not go without presuming too greatly. The altering of form, the giving of wisdom, these are feats which only the gods may accomplish with impunity. It is not for ones like thee and me—”

  But I fear the Yawa did not hear my words. Too intent was he on the vision which had come to him. There in the wet and the darkness beside me he stirred, and his voice was harsh with grandeur.

  “Yes, this shall I do,” he proclaimed. “I shall build a new race, a race of servants obedient to us, their masters.”

  Many time-periods passed ere next I saw the Yawa Eloem. We of Kios are a recluse race, separate by nature and individual in our working habits. And I was busy with duties of my own. The Grand Council had commissioned me to perfect a form of spacecraft wherein our colonists might hurtle the darkness of space to the as yet unconquered planets of our double sun. With this tremendous labor was I occupied.

  So the moons waxed and waned. Thrice changed the seasons, warm and cold, wet and dry and wet again. And in the privacy of his own Dome laboratory the Yawa Eloem pursued his secret labors in solitude.

  And then one double twilight, when the crimson rays of the smaller sun, sinking in the north, merged weird shadows with the pale green luminescence of the greater sun’s southern setting, there came to me in my workshop the Yawa Eloem.

  Excitement was strong within him, and he cried without word of formal greeting, “My friend, would you behold a marvel to strike awe into the boldest heart?”

  “Why, who would not?” I laughed.

  “Then cornel” cried the Yawa excitedly. “Then come with me and wonder and behold!”

  And he led the way to his own Dome . . .

  Let me say that never dwelt a scientist amidst such great refinement as that with which Eloem had surrounded himself. For his Dome comprised not a single chamber, as is the case with most of us. His was a mighty structure subdivided into numerous rooms and niches, each dedicated to its own purpose.

  Once we passed through a chemical laboratory, its shelf-lined walls aglisten with innumerable rows of vials and beakers; again we crossed a library whose musty tomes spanned the whole range of living knowledge; elsewhere sprawled chambers filled with electrical apparatus, surgical equipment and curious machines of which I could not even guess the purpose. I yet recall traversing a steaming room wherein was sunk a hydroponic tank whence emanated an oddly noisome scent. I cannot speak with surety of what this tank contained, but I do recall that as we passed, from its oily depths there flopped a strange, amorphous something which scrabbled with nailless paws at the walls of its prison, and bubbled piteous plaints in a voice of tongueless horror.

  But past all these chambers of experiment the Yawa led me swiftly until we came at last to the furthermost door. Before this he paused for an instant dramatically. And then:

  “Here,” he proclaimed, “is my final testing chamber. Here the fulfillment of my g
reat invention.”

  He flung open the door and bade me enter

  Well might he glory in what he here had wrought. For frankly do I confess that my eyes, following the motion of his hand, widened in astonishment at what they beheld.

  This was no mere room. It was a vast Dome-covered acreage, formed to the semblance of a veritable living forest. Nay, more than forest—say, rather, a garden spot, a paradise. For its growth was as various as any wrought by Nature, yet with such thought had the Yawa Eloem conceived and carried out its purpose that here he had brought into being a landscape more beautiful than ever was sown by Nature’s heedless hand.

  Here a high grove cast towering, green spires upward. There, through mossy banks bedecked with fragrant flowers, purled a tiny crystal brooklet. Elsewhere, rimmed by lush meadows, sprawled lazy hills and flatlands ripe with grain. Small beasts stirred in the forests, their restless murmurings a balm to weary spirits; fish flashed and rippled in the eddies of the stream, and from some distant grove came the trilling cadence of birdsong raised in joy.

  I stared at Eloem, stunned with wonderment. “It is,” I cried aloud, “—it is indeed a miracle you have created here, wise Yawa! What beauty and what taste! The Grand Council will be astonished.”

  “You think so?” he asked, pleased at my praise. “You really think so?”

  “How could they be otherwise? By the gods, Eloem, would that the whole of our planet were as delightful as this small niche you have created beneath your laboratory Dome. What joy would be ours, what wonderful existence, if all Kios were such a garden spot as this! A shielded wonderland wherein we might dwell without fear of the natural terrors which beset us—heat and cold, drought and murderous rainfall.

  “You said you would awe me, my friend. You have succeeded beyond your wildest imaginings. I humble myself before a master artist who has created perfection.”

  “But,” said Eloem, “you have not yet seen all.”

  “There is more to see?”

  “Much more. Not yet have you seen the greatest of my accomplishments. Come.”

  And he led the way down a tiny path curving through the wilderness. As we neared a grove, deep-nestled in the rolling hills, he called in gentle tones, “My son! My son! Where art thou, child of my making?”

  And before I could question this strange salutation, a movement broke the silence of the glade. Branches parted, and from a leafy bower stepped a vision which stunned and left me speechless.

  It was a living creature, an animal of flesh and blood, an air-breather walking upright on its two hind limbs! Truly had Eloem boasted he would mold a creation in his own image. So closely did its shape resemble that of the carriers which we of Kios build for our own usage that for an instant I believed it a gigantic hoax; I thought Eloem had, to amuse me, coated the carrier of a friend or assistant with pigment.

  Then I saw this monster’s body was not forged of sturdy metals like our own, but was soft, pulsating, and resilient. The curious dark growth of fur which covered its head, its breast and its arms and legs grew naturally, so it seemed, from its very flesh. It breathed with great gulping motions of the chest, and its wide, natural optics were not sensitive visors such as those through which we see, but the natural eyes of animals!

  These now shifted from one to the other of us in mute appraisal as the sensate beast asked, “Yes, my lord? You called me?” Eloem asked, his voice warm with benevolent paternalism, “Where hast thou been, my son?”

  The creature replied quietly, “I wandered through the fields, my nostrils savoring the fragrance of the flowers. I walked amongst the trees and touched them, marveling at their strong, rough firmness. Beside, the brook I knelt, and drank of its waters. I tasted the berries of the vines and the fruit of the trees, and gave thanks unto thee, O my lord, who brought these things into being, and myself unto this paradise.”

  “And art thou happy, my son?”

  “Happy?” The beast’s blank stare questioned the very meaning of the word.

  “Lack you anything for which your heart hungers?”

  “Nay, nothing, lord. Save perhaps—”

  The Yawa’s creation faltered. His voice stopped, his eyes fell, as if he were abashed at his own temerity in questioning the perfection of this garden.

  Eloem demanded, “Then there is something, my child?”

  “There is—one small thing, my lord. It is scarce worth mentioning, but—” The creature shuffled in embarrassment. “I am lonely, O Yawa. I walk at evening in the cool of the garden, seeing about me the bright colored birds, the rustling insects, and the beasts of the fields; and lo! for each of these there is one to be companion. Only I, of all the creatures who inhabit this paradise, am mateless.”

  “But—” frowned Eloem.

  “I question not thy bounty, O great Yawa,” said the creature hastily. “In thy infinite wisdom thou knowest best what shall be given thy servant. Still—”

  He faltered to silence, head bowed servilely before the pondering Yawa. But I could not help noticing that his glance darted swiftly up from beneath shyly lowered lashes.

  I said, with a touch of pique I am afraid, “This is a strange being you have created, Eloem. Though he lives in paradise, still he dares question the perfection thereof.”

  But Eloem said gently, slowly, “Nevertheless, there is wisdom in what he suggests. It was much effort to create this being, my friend. It were folly to attempt creation of scores, hundreds, thousands, of others like this one, in my laboratory. Perhaps in his innocent demanding, he has offered the proper solution to this problem. A mate? But yes, of course! I need but create for him a mate and then—in the fullness of time—he and she shall produce for Kios the race of servants for which they were conceived . . .

  “Very well, my son.” He turned again to the waiting creature. “It shall be as you ask. On the morrow come to the room where first thou wakened. There, out of thy substance and my wisdom, shall I create a second like thyself, but of another sex. And now . . . farewell.”

  So left I Eloem’s garden. But this time I did not allow so long to pass before returning. My curiosity was stirred, not only as to how the Yawa’s magnificent experiment would turn out, but also as to what form of creature he would create to be his beast’s companion. Moreover, when it was bruited about that I alone of all Kios had been invited to visit Eloem’s laboratory, great interest was aroused, and I was summoned before the Grand Council, there to report on that which I had seen.

  I told them in glowing terms of the wonders he had wrought, and greatly did they marvel. Great Kron, who heads our Council, said wonderingly, “Intelligent life in fleshly form? But yes! That is the answer to our problem! The Yawa Eloem is a sage spirit, and mighty is this thing he seeks to accomplish.”

  Another cried rapturously, “Now dawns the long-dreamed-of liberation of our race! When this new herd of servants has been bred, then will we of Kios be free to rid ourselves once and for all of the metal carriers in which we house ourselves. Secure beneath the great Domes, we may rest ourselves in easeful pursuit of pleasure and knowledge, while our servants, not sensitive as we to climatic conditions, can carry out our instructions.”

  But still another, older than the rest, spoke dubiously.

  “I do not know,” he said. “This is, in truth, a mighty thing the Yawa has attempted. Perhaps it is too mighty. The gods in their omnipotence frown upon our seeking to delve too deeply into certain mysteries. And methinks already Eloem has tampered with a secret and occult lore—the creation of living souls.”

  “Souls?” laughed one of our younger councilors. “But how can there be souls in bestial bodies?”

  “Where life alone exists, perhaps the soul is absent. But our brother has told us that this creature of Eloem’s not only moves and obeys, but voices his own thoughts. That bespeaks intelligence. And where exists intelligence may also be a soul. If this be true—”

  The speaker shook his head gravely. But the rest of us just laughed. As we all knew
, old Saddryn was ever a pessimist and a crier-of-woe.

  But Kron in his infinite wisdom took heed of even this gloomy warning, and bade me continue my visits to Eloem’s that I might keep the Council informed as to the progress of the experiment.

  Thus it was that but a short time later, once again I strode with the Yawa through his delightful garden.

  As we neared the glade wherein it was the creature’s custom to lurk, I sensed a subtle change. What it was I could not at first detect, whether of sight or sound or simply atmosphere. Then suddenly, and with a sense of resharpened curiosity, I realized what it was. When first I had strode this pathway, a part of its beauty had been its fresh, untrammeled wildness of growth—the helter-skelter confusion of vines and trees and bushes, the lavish abundance with which bright flowers sprang from unexpected places, the haphazard delight of natural beauties seen amidst natural surroundings.

  But now all that was changed. The pathway over which we approached no longer twisted aimlessly beneath arboreal bowers. It had been carefully scraped and straightened; the rank brush flanking it had been trimmed to a semblance of order; the low and overhanging boughs had been cut back to allow the wanderer headroom. Beauty was still present, but no longer was it the clean, unspoiled improvisation of Nature; it was a neat and regimented orthodoxy, pleasing to the eye, but somehow strangely stifling to the senses.

  I commented on this to Eloem and he smiled quietly.

  “That,” he said, “is the doing of the she—an orderly creature, that one!” And he shook his head with almost reluctant admiration.

  “Her doing? Then you have finished her?”

  “Oh, yes. As a matter of fact, I finished two of them. The first one dwelt here with him for a while, but I had to—” he sighed—“remove her. She was too much like the he. Carefree, adventurous, enamored of gay wanderings and pleasant sloth, rather than pleasantly intent upon her duties. Together they were more companions than mates. They laughed and played together through the live-long day, and accomplished nothing. So I was forced to make another she, one with instincts and desires unlike his own.”