Читать книгу The Plurality of Worlds - Brian Stableford - Страница 7

CHAPTER FOUR

Thomas pulled himself together once he had been released, and tried to look one of the moth-like creatures squarely in the eyes, although the wide spacing of the compound aggregations made it difficult. Whether it was he or his passenger who had identified the significant member of the group Thomas could not tell. Drake was standing close beside him, but said nothing: his eyes were on Thomas, his captain.

“Very well, Sir Lumen,” Thomas said, silently, since his guest seemed to be waiting for explicit permission to proceed. “Speak—but tell me, I beg you, what you are saying and what replies you receive.”

His hands immediately became active, as did the multiple forelimbs of the lepidopteran monster.

“I am delighted to have the privilege of communicating with one who has come so far through the universal web,” the voice within him said, evidently translating what the hands it was guiding were attempting to convey in a very different language. “May I address you as Aristocles?”

Then the internal voice changed its timbre entirely, to signify that it was translating a different gestural sequence. “You may,” the monster replied. “I suppose that it is a privilege of sorts for us, also, to converse with an ethereal in such a strange guise. We had not thought that such as you could have an interest in a being of this sort.”

Thomas, who still had control of some of his motor functions, tried to keep his eyes on the monster’s frightful face, although a certain instinctive repulsion added to the temptation to glance sideways to see what other creatures were passing along the terraces and to hazard guesses at what multifarious kinds of business they might be transacting.

“We are interested in all beings, whether they are ethereal, vaporous, liquid or solid,” Lumen stated. “Nor do we discriminate between endoskeletal and exoskeletal formations. We are as intrigued by anomaly as you are.”

“We stand corrected,” Aristocles replied. “Your kind does not often descend to planetary surfaces, though—do you not find the thick and turbulent atmosphere of this world’s neighbor as inhospitable as we do?”

“We can move in air as in ether,” Lumen said. “It is uncomfortable, but it does no lasting damage if we do not linger long.”

“And the same is true of these bizarre creatures, I assume,” Aristocles replied. “It will do you no lasting damage to dwell within the bonebag, provided that you do not linger long—but they cannot be as welcoming, in their capacity as hosts, as we soft-centered creatures are.”

The ether-creature made no reply to that teasing statement. Instead, it said: “May I introduce Thomas Digges, esquire, in the service of Her Majesty Queen Jane of England? His companion is Sir Francis Drake. May I also ask what has become of the other three humans who were captured with them?”

“You may,” the moth-like creature replied, its politeness wholly feigned if the suggestive timbre of its mimic cold be trusted. “Thomas Digges’ companions are unharmed, although one of them is direly fearful. He appears to believe that we and the Selenites are incarnations of pure evil.”

“I am glad that you understand these creatures well enough to be able to deduce that,” Lumen said—sarcastically, presuming the tone of the translation to be accurate “John Field has a narrow opinion of what it means to be made in God’s image. He does not understand there are innumerable worlds scattered throughout the cosmos which exact different adaptations on their surface-dwellers and burrowers alike, and he thinks of images in purely formal terms.”

Thomas blinked as some drifting miasma stung his eyes, and he felt his sinuses grow itchily moist in response to some peculiar scent. He sniffed, as surreptitiously as he could—although it was obvious, on the basis of the merest glance about that astonishing arena, that few of the individuals gathered here could have any objection at all to the extrusion of surplus mucus.

“There are those even in the bosom of the True Civilization who have narrow opinions as to the will and whims of God,” Aristocles admitted. “If there is disagreement even within the ultimate harmony, what can we expect without? A race such as this must have a very peculiar notion indeed of the image in which they have been forged. With your permission, of course, we should like to take these specimens to the Center, so that they may be savored by a mature Fleshcore.”

“Their flesh has been more than adequately sampled, thanks to the assiduousness of your gatherers,” Lumen replied. “As to their consciousness, I know it more intimately than you can, given the limited means you can apply to the task. Were you to return the five humans to the surface of their world—or let them make their own way home in their ethership, I would be willing to go with you to the Center, to enlighten the community of Great Fleshcores to the limit of their desire.”

“We thank you for your consideration,” said his adversary—Thomas was very certain that there was a powerful adversarial component to this exchange—“but ethereals cannot fully comprehend the transactions of more palpable beings. There is no substitute for tangible evidence. We must insist on taking the humans to the Center—but we are, of course, perfectly willing to bring them back again afterwards, by means of the ninth-dimensional transmitter. There would be no inconvenience to those concerned.”

“Bargain with him,” Thomas said, hoping that the interruption would not break his guest’s concentration. “I’ll go, if my four companions are set free.”

“I take your point about their being no substitute for tangible evidence,” Lumen said, immediately. “To take all five humans on such a difficult journey would, however, be superfluous. One would be sufficient. The others are of no use, this one being the only one that can communicate with you effectively. Perhaps the others could wait here, until this one returns, and then they could all be returned safely to the surface of their world.”

“We disagree,” Aristocles said. “Your presence certainly adds to this one’s versatility in communication, but much has been learned by palpation of all five and comparison of the results. If our poor feelers can detect interesting differences, think what a mature Fleshcore might discover. As we have said, we are prepared to bring the five creatures back here when we are done with them. If it is their desire to risk a return trip in their ridiculous vessel, we shall not hinder them, even though we would not be optimistic about their prospects of success.”

“Have you noticed, Thomas, that we are the cynosure of all eyes in this exotic court?” Drake put in, evidently feeling that the time had come to intervene in the orgy of palpation.

Thomas spared a momentary glance for a mixed group of bug-like creatures some thirty feet away, who did indeed seem to be using their own intercourse merely as a pretext for studying the two humans, their eyes somehow suggestive of a fervent desire to supplement their curiosity through the medium of touch. If they were embarrassed by his sudden attention, they gave no sign that human senses could detect.

How they must envy this Aristocles! Thomas thought.

The moth-like creature’s compound eyes did not need to move sideways to look at Drake or the bugs, but Thomas observed that one of them had altered its attitude slightly. The creature seemed watchful, almost as if it expected that some danger might present itself any moment within the surrounding crowd.

“You know far more about the population of the inner galaxy than I do,” Lumen was saying, in the meantime, to the creature it called Aristocles. “Are these so extraordinary that you must take all five on such a long journey?”

“Very extraordinary indeed,” the monstrous insect replied. “To ethereals like yourself, all solid creatures must seem very much alike, as your various kinds seem to us, but we are very sensitive to differences of bodily structure and its spiritual concomitants.”

“I know that there are more than a hundred million worlds in the True Civilization,” Lumen said, its translation giving the impression now that it was debating for Thomas’ benefit, so that he might learn from the exchange of information, “and I know that there are a thousand million more that have not yet produced intelligent life. Thomas Digges’ world is by no means the only one to have produced endoskeletal species.”

“It is the only one on which endoskeletal life-forms have so obviously violated the normal course of evolution to the extent of producing intelligence,” Aristocles retorted. “If your host Thomas Digges did not exist, he would undoubtedly be considered impossible by the vast majority of our scholars.”

“What does the insect mean by the normal course of evolution?” Thomas could not stop himself asking, silently.

“Listen!” Lumen said, before switching back to translation. “I beg your pardon, my friend,” it went on, “but I am attempting to translate our conversation for the benefit of my host, and am inevitably forced to improvise within his language in order to express ideas that no Earthly philosopher has yet formulated. May I make a brief statement for his benefit?”

“If you think there is any profit in attempting to explain matters far beyond his comprehension,” the moth-like monster replied—very disdainfully, if the translation hit the right note.

“My host’s peers have not yet arrived at a true appreciation of the age of the Earth,” Lumen said, “and are caught up by the false supposition that God must have created every species independently. They do not know that the Divine Plan requires vast reaches of time to unfold, just as it requires vast reaches of space in which to extend. They do not know that life begins simply on every world it reaches, with creatures tinier than their primitive microscopes can yet reveal, becoming increasingly elaborate over time as species divide and become more complex.”

“This is neither the time nor the place to make a scrupulous examination of their foolishness,” Aristocles said.

“I beg your pardon,” Lumen said, “but it would be best for my host if he could learn some of this directly from you—who are, of course, much more knowledgeable on the subject than any mere ethereal, by virtue of your far greater interest. May I offer my own understanding of the situation, so that you might correct it as required?”

“Very well,” said Aristocles, “but be brief.”

“In the ordinary pattern,” Lumen went on, “which presumably reflects the proper working of the Divine Plan, exoskeletal forms always become dominant within any biosphere, a complex association evolving between the patterns associated with the fundamental groups of arthropods, crustaceans and mollusks.”

“A complex harmony,” Aristocles interrupted. “We doubt that you can translate the concept of symbiosis, but if you are to explain, you must make it clear that True Civilization—and the true intelligence that sustains it—is a multifaceted whole. There is no known instance of True Civilization accommodating an exoskeletal species, let alone any instance—other than the planet this satellite orbits—of a world in which a single exoskeletal species has become dominant of all others, incapable of harmony even within its own ranks.”

Thomas could not help turning to look at Drake in frank consternation, although Drake could not possibly understand the cause of his anxiety.

“No wonder Field is fearful,” Thomas muttered, unable to voice the thought to himself without also voicing it to his invader. “If I am obliged to tell him that he is not made in God’s image at all, but constitutes instead some kind of aberration within Creation....” He ceased subvocalizing, in response to Lumen’s urgent command, but at some level he wondered vaguely whether Archbishop Foxe might take a different inference from the discovery that his own species was unique in a universe teeming with life.

“And now they have penetrated the envelope of their atmosphere,” Lumen said to Aristocles. “They have reached the ether, and have been taken captive in a lowly and tiny outpost of the True Civilization, whose indigenous inhabitants might be disposed to be anxious about that fact, were it not that they have the wise guidance of the Great Fleshcores of the inner galaxy. You and I need to demonstrate clearly that no member of the True Civilization has anything at all to fear from creatures of this sort, do we not?”

At last, Thomas began to see what his guest was driving at.

“Fear?” said Aristocles. “Who mentioned fear? We are seekers after knowledge, who desire to know all things as intimately as we may. If there is a place for endoskeletal species within the harmony of the True Civilization, it must be identified.”

The fact that neither the moth-like monster nor the creature in his head took the trouble to add “And if not....” spoke volumes.

Thomas did not think for a moment that his party of five, or England, or even the entire human race could possibly constitute a threat to a community of species crowding a hundred million worlds. He did think, however, that if John Foxe were ever told that there were no other beings in the universe similar to humankind—even though the star-worlds were teeming with life—the Archbishop would be more than content to cite Genesis to the effect that all other creatures everywhere had been made for the use of man. How long pride of that kind might survive in confrontation with the awareness that it was the arthropodan and crustacean intelligences which could travel between the star-worlds—uniting them into an empire vaster than anything Alexander, Augustus or Jesus Christ could ever have imagined—Thomas did not know. He already had some notion, though, of what response the opinion might evoke in the Selenites, by comparison with whom even Aristocles might pass for enlightened.

“Thomas and his four companions will be pleased to go with you to the Center,” Lumen said, striving to make a virtue out of necessity, “since you have generously guaranteed that they will be allowed to return home thereafter. May they have time to feed and wash themselves?”

“Provided that they do not linger too long,” Aristocles said. “We civilized creatures live more rapidly than you ethereals—though not as briefly as your host’s ephemeral kind, thank God—and we have a horror of wasting time. The etheric transmitter will be ready in six hours.”

“Thank you,” said Lumen. “That will be time enough.”