Seahorse in the Sky

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THAT EVENING, RUSSELL called a general meeting in the hotel dining room. He told his companions all that had happened, omitting only the pleasant little interlude with Anna shortly before journey’s end.

Everyone was amused and intrigued by their experiences; and before any serious discussion began there was a barrage of ribald comments and questions. When it eventually died down, John Howard raised the conversation to a more constructive level.

“I take it you think we ought to consider our situation in the light of recent events,” he said.

Russell nodded. “We still know very little, and not enough to make much sense; but I think we ought to put our heads together and see if we can’t come up with a few reasonable deductions. After all, it begins to look as if we may be here one hell of a long time; and our survival—or otherwise—may depend on how we react to the information we have acquired so far.”

Marion Redman said: “You think these people really are human beings, Russell?”

Russell shrugged. “How does one define human beings, Marion? Are they creatures who live only on Earth—I should say our Earth? If so, then Absu mes Marur and company are not human beings. But their appearance and my instinct tell me that they are definitely human. Non-terrestrial human, certainly.

But still human. Which, of course, evades the question.”

“Perhaps Anna will be able to enlighten us in nine months,” suggested Mohan das Gupta solemnly.

“Point taken.” Russell winked at Anna. “But what if the baby looks like a British left-wing politician?”

Simone Michel suddenly threw in a novel thought. “Suppose they don’t exist?” she said. “Suppose we are having a mass hallucination, or something like that?”

“Suppose, also, that we are all still on the plane from Stockholm to London,” observed John Howard drily. “We are all taking part in a cosy communal dream, but presently we shall be passing through the Customs at Heathrow… No, once we start this line of thought, we can admit all kinds of extravagant notions.”

“It is possible,” persisted Simone, tossing her long dark hair. “I know it is crazy. But then everything that has happened to us is crazy. Therefore it is possible.”

“Simone has a thought,” said Paul Redman.

“Driven home with some wonderfully refutable Gallic logic,” added John. “No. I think that with so many imponderables we must apply the principle that the simplest explanation is most probably the correct one. So… We were physically removed from the jet, the surroundings in which we find ourselves are real, the things that have happened to us are real—and let us not forget that Gunnar and Marina are dead—and the people we have met are real. From that base we can begin to draw conclusions.”

“Let’s not forget the People of the River,” said Robert Hyman.

“Or the metal spiders,” added Selene Bergere, shivering.

“Or Paul’s fairies,” said Tore Norstedt. “Who, please, has taken my bottle of whisky?”

“Order, ladies and gents all,” said Russell. “This discussion is in danger of disappearing in a singular fashion… John, you have the look of somebody who has something to say. So how about giving us your interpretation of events?”

John smiled. “It won’t take as long as you think, because really I am just as baffled as everyone else. But we do have some facts and a few interesting theories, so perhaps the time for speculation is ripe.

Until something better comes along, the zoo theory is the best we have. So let’s accept it for the time being.

Now, who runs the zoo? We don’t know. We know that robots are involved because we have evidence. I cannot believe that these robots are anything more than comparatively simple servants of the people or creatures who put us here. Maybe these spider robots are controlled by more complex machines, and it’s even possible that the whole exercise is computer-controlled with a degree of sophistication that we can’t begin to imagine. But, again, I prefer the simpler explanation that the project is the work of a biological species and not, as it were, an electromechanical species.”

“I think my fairies are our overlords,” said Paul Redman seriously.

His suggestion was greeted by a burst of laughter. Nervous laughter.

“I’ll come to that in a minute,” said John. “And I, personally, don’t think the idea is as crazy as most of you do. But bear with me for a few more minutes… We know that we are being watched, but we have no contact with the watchers. This could mean that they are naturally secretive, that direct contact with us might invalidate their experiment or operation, that they are afraid of being seen, or that they think we may be afraid of them. You pays your penny and you takes your choice. I incline to the view that they think contact would affect the operation. The only thing we can be certain of is that they are interested in our welfare because they have taken a great deal of trouble to provide us with a comfortable environment and the kind of food to which we are accustomed.”

“There is also the possibility,” put in Robert Hyman drily, “that the entire project may be a variation on the theme of fattening the geese for Christmas.”

“Cannibalism?” exploded Selene, her wide eyes rolling.

“Not, perhaps, in the literal sense,” said John obscurely. “Yes, Robert, there is certainly the possibility that we may be experimental rabbits—but not, I think, in the sense of being used for vivisection or tested to destruction… What do we really know, so far? We know that there are at least two alien social groups—alien to this planet, that is—ours and the Gren Li people. And where the Gren Li contingent came from, we have not the faintest clue, because they still think they are on their own world—I suppose it is still remotely possible for that to be the case—which they believe to be flat and at the centre of the cosmos.

We know that they, like us, have been subjected to some quite astounding operation that enables us all to communicate with each other, regardless of language. We also know—or think we know— that they are human… And, though we have not yet established direct contact with the People of the River, I am convinced that they, too, have shared this common experience of abduction and that they, too, will be apparently able to speak English, Swedish or the Gren Li language as the occasion demands.”

“They also seem to be pretty handy with deep pits and sharp stakes,” observed Andrew Payne grimly.

“Certainly. Hunting is probably their most important pursuit. It seems fairly certain that the pits are meant primarily for animals and not humans… Now, granted this hypothesis about the People of the River, we have three radically different social groups from entirely different worlds, able to communicate with each other, and enclosed in the same area. I believe, as Absu mes Marur’s bright pathfinder suspected, that the mist wall extends most likely for a complete circle and represents, in fact, the bars of our very large cage… Within this cage, we have samples of a Stone Age culture, a medieval culture and a technological culture. Perhaps somebody just wants to see what happens… Which brings me back to Paul’s fairies or, if you like, the pathfinder’s winged demons.”

“John,” said Mohan das Gupta, “you are a good chap, but you have fallen off your trolley. Why invoke these bloody fairies or demons or whatever?”

“Because,” said John Howard impressively, “they are the only creatures so far encountered that can obviously pass over the wall.”