The Singers of Time

21

Twenty-four hours into the homeward flight, almost caught up on his sleep, Francis Krake made a discovery. The discovery was that there was something new and strange in the air inside the waveship Golden Hind.

The discovery puzzled Francis Krake. It kept nagging at him as he tried to identify just what it was—as he listened to smiling Sue-ling Quong rapturously reporting on the progress of her patient; as he saw the contentment on the face of Moon Bunderan, patting and cosseting her beloved (and wonderful!) pet Taur; as he watched the ecstatic Litlun tagging after the nymph while she delightedly explored all the parts and businesses of the spaceship; as he heard grinning Marco Ramos and happy Daisy Fay McQueen boast about the wonderful stories they would have to tell to the Earthbound humans when they got back. Everybody seemed so different ... so, well, happy.

When Krake saw that he sat up straight, blinking in surprise. Why, of course! How could he not have seen it before?

There was certainly something new and different all around them now, and the name of that new feeling that pervaded the waveship was simply joy.

What startled him most of all was that he was beginning to feel that same unfamiliar emotion himself.

It was not surprising that he didn't recognize joy when it struck him. There had been very little of anything joyous in Krake's life for a very long time. Not much in the South Pacific, even less as he was being interrogated by the Turtles, very little in those years when he did the Turtles' work as pilot of their wavecraft. There had been one interlude, yes. . . . But that sweet, swift, joyous moment with Sue-ling Quong had ended almost as soon as it had begun.

Krake accepted the truth about that. It was a wonderful memory, but it was gone. He knew that where Sue-ling gave her love was for no one but Sue-ling to decide. He was even able really to rejoice with her when finally Sork/Kiri (or Kiri/ Sork) at last opened his eyes for her. That was only for a moment; and it was true that those eyes were crossed, and he barely seemed to recognize Sue-ling's anxious face as it hung over him. The event delighted her beyond measure nevertheless, and she promised all who would listen that he would be up and walking in a week—well, no more than a month at the outside.

And in much less than a month—just a few days, really— they would be back on Earth. There every facility of any hospital would be at Quintero's service. There a whole new life would open ahead for them all, and it would all be very soon. After The Golden Hind's mind-shaking voyages of billions of years, through far-off universes, the trip of a few thousand years to the "present" they had left behind seemed like nothing. A breeze, Krake thought, like everyone else on The Golden Hind abandoning himself to contentment and to pleasurable anticipations. . . .

Until second thoughts began to set in.

He was at the control board, finishing a meal, when Marco and Daisy Fay came purposefully into the room. He hadn't heard them coming, because he'd been idly listening to the distant, interminable squawks and raucous yowls that came from Litlun and his precious nymph as they roamed around the Hind.

Krake chuckled. "Listen to them," he said, grinning. "I guess that's what Turtle courtship sounds like. Are you hungry? Thrayl will get you something if you like, though God knows what it will be." He smiled at them as he said it, because it was amusing that the only foods left on the Hind were the bores and oddities that no one had particularly wanted to eat before—principally dried redfruit and a few obscure desserts. They would not starve before they got back to Earth, but they would surely get tired of their diet.

From the other board Moon Bunderan murmured, "I don't think they're hungry, Francis."

Then Krake looked more closely at the two. The expressions of the faces on their belly plates were unexpectedly solemn.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Marco spoke first. "We've been thinking," he said, in a tone which said that what they had been thinking had not given them pleasure.

"About those aiodoi and the Sh'shrane," Daisy Fay added, equally grave.

"Ah, yes," Krake said, nodding, thinking he understood. "They were certainly pretty weird, but they're nothing to get upset about. We don't have to worry about the Sh'shrane any more. The aiodoi promised that they won't ever be let out again. As far as the aiodoi themselves are concerned—" His voice trailed off as he shook his head. Not in worry—he hadn't begun worrying yet—but simply at the unexpected marvel of those timeless and eternal beings.

"Thrayl says we won't see the aiodoi again," Moon put in. "They won't interfere in anything people like us do; the only reason one of them got involved at all was that what was happening was their own fault."

"No," said Krake, pursuing the discussion, "but we'll always know they're there, won't we?" He thought for a moment of the implications of that, chewing his leathery dried redfruit. "It's going to be hard for some people to take," he went on, meditating. "Knowing that there's something up there that's always there, knows everything, can do anything—"

He tugged at his beard, suddenly silent. He was frowning as he tried to capture some fleeting understanding that was hovering just on the verge of making itself clear to him when he saw the look of impatience on Marco's image. "That isn't what we've been thinking about," Marco said, interrupting. "It's the Sh'shrane."

"And the aiodoi, too," said Daisy Fay. "We mean, the way they got to be the way they are. They started as the same race, and they changed so terribly."

"And, most of all," Marco finished, "what weVe been thinking about is whether such a thing could ever happen to us."

That really startled Krake. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. "We're all one race, aren't we? I mean, not counting the Turtles and the Taurs."

"I'm not talking about the Turtles and the Taurs."

"Well, then what? What happened with the aiodoi and the Sh'shrane was that some of them began supplementing their bodies with machine parts, and after a while— Oh," he said, staring at his machine-crew, with their machine-tentacles waving around their bright machine-bodies and their machine-made images on the belly plates patiendy waiting for him to comprehend. "Oh, my God."

"That's right, Francis," Daisy Fay said, sternly sympathetic. "What we're afraid of is ourselves. What are we, Francis? Do you think it's possible that people like us could be just the beginnings?"

That was a notion that Francis Krake had never wanted to have. It lingered with him all through the day. Sh'shrane and aiodoi. . . . Why, he remembered, there had been an old story, an old human story, about something like that. He dredged it out of his memory: The Time Machine, by the Englishman H. G. Wells. The human race growing and evolving and, ultimately, splitting from two classes into two separate races, the sweet, mindless Eloi with their sunlit flowers and songs, while below ground there lurked the terrible, equally mindless Morlocks, who crept by night to the surface to feast on their distant cousins.

Krake shuddered.

Of course, he told himself, the aiodoi were nothing like those empty-headed flower children of Wells's invention. On the contrary. They were not merely intelligent, they were all but godlike in their powers. . . .

That was when the thought that had been escaping him finally made itself clear. Godlike! Of course! The aiodoi were as close as anything could ever come to the churchly notion of an all-wise, all-seeing, all-powerful—but always mysterious, and never clearly seen—Jehovah or Allah or Whoever.

That thought was a relief. The human race had managed to live with the notion of a God for most of its history without being destroyed by it—surely they could do as well with the knowledge that there were aiodoi. And as to the Sh'shrane, and the division that had brought them about, perhaps hinted at by the presence of his two half-machine friends—

Standing in the makeshift surgery, he told Sue-ling Quong grimly, "We'll just have to be careful. We know what can happen. We'll remember. We won't let the same thing happen to us."

She looked up at him wonderingly over the body of her patient, and he realized the woman had hardly been listening to him. "Of course, Francis," she said vaguely. "But don't you think he's looking much better?"

Krake looked down at the patient on the table. Better than what? he wondered, but was too sensible to ask. Most of Sork/Kiri's—of Quintero\—bandages were off, and the eyes, if not really open, were sometimes at half mast. "I've been telling him what's happened," Sue-ling went on. "I think he's been understanding me—well, part of it anyway. It's really hard to be sure when he's asleep and when he's awake."

Krake was willing enough to agree to that. Still, just at that moment at least one of the barely focused eyes seemed to be directed at him, and the lips were twisting as though he were trying to speak. Nothing but a sort of staccato groan came up, and Sue-ling bent swiftly over him. "What is it, dear?" she asked. And then as the trembling lips ceased their motion again, she was reassuring. "Don't worry if it doesn't come this time," she said. "You'll be able to talk soon enough —and everything else, too. I promise!"

She quickly checked the readouts and the various tubes and wires that were sticking out of Quintero at all angles, then fondly eased his turbaned head on the pillow. When she was satisfied that her patient was benignly asleep again she stood up, yawning. She cocked an ear to the approaching, but distant, squawks of the two Turtles. "What do you suppose they're doing, Francis?" she asked.

"Getting to know each other, I guess. It's got to be a pretty stressful time for both of them."

She nodded. "I think—" he noticed that she didn't use a name, only gestured toward the patient—"he wanted to say something to them a little while ago, when they looked in. But I wouldn't let them stay, because he was getting too excited, and I didn't really understand him."

"I didn't know he could actually talk!"

"Of course! Well, not very well yet, of course. But soon."

Krake grunted. "And you don't know what he was trying to tell them?"

"I don't even know if that was what it was, Francis. Still, it was definitely something about the Turtles, I think. I only really caught two words. One was 'Lidun.' And I'm pretty sure the other was 'promise.'"

Krake repeated the words, "Litlun. Promise." He was no more than mildly interested . . . until the meaning of them sunk in.

Then he shouted aloud. "Of course!" he cried, causing Sue-ling to make reproachful shushing noises at him. "But he's right," he said, a little more softly, no less excited. "We've got to make sure of that before it's too late—Litlun's promise!"

It took hours to do, and he talked every item of it over with everyone else on The Golden Hind except the Turtles to make sure he had left nothing out. But when he was through Francis Krake had taken the forty or fifty items anyone had suggested and reduced them to a list of five items. He read it over twice. Then he crossed his fingers before he sent Marco Ramos scuttling off to find the Turtles and bring them to the control room.

Then he read the list over one more time to make sure while he was waiting. Five items—and every one a document comparable to the Bill of Rights or the Magna Carta:

"The Brotherhood, in consideration of the great services rendered to them by the human race—"

(They had squabbled more over the wording of that than over any of the actual clauses, but that was the way it had come out at last.)

"—agrees to make the following changes in its policy, effective at once:

"1. The Brotherhood will never again attempt to interfere with human science, education or other activities in any way.

"2. The Brotherhood will provide the human race with examples of every instrument, machine and design requested, and will assist human scientists in duplicating them; this specifically includes wave-drive spacecraft.

"3. The Brotherhood will provide the human race with means to decipher the contents of the "memo disks" so that they can be learned by humans without the loss of such memories when the chips are removed.

"4. The Brotherhood will at once stop the practice of enslaving or otherwise trafficking in Taurs for any purpose, in particular the practice of using them as foodstuffs; and will allow Taur males to develop normally; and will free all Taurs now in its possession."

And then, the catch-all paragraph to take care of anything they might have overlooked:

"5. Finally, the Brotherhood will, on request, assist both the human race and the Taurs in any other way necessary to establish their sovereignty over their own territories and their equal status with the Brotherhood."

Krake looked up from it and saw Moon Bunderan's eyes watching him from the other board. He grinned ruefully. "I'm not used to high-level diplomatic negotiations," he confessed.

She looked around as she heard someone approaching. She had just time to say, "You're doing just fine, Francis," before Marco and the two Turtles came in.

Rust-red Litlun looked like the tiny pet of the vast silvery nymph, but he was almost whistling with excitement. "Facilitator," Krake said at once, "I want to remind you—"

But Litlun interrupted. "It is not proper to address this one as 'Facilitator' any more," he squawked, and even through the transposer his voice sounded elated. "She Who Is to Be the Mother has agreed, and now one is to be called He Who Is to Be the Consort."

"Right," said Krake, trying to get on with it. He held up the list. "Now, what you and the Proctor promised—"

But he couldn't finish that either. "Marco Ramos has spoken of this," Litlun squawked. "One has accordingly spoken to She Who Is to Be the Mother, and she has accepted the agreement. Is that your list? Give it to me!"

And he took it in one clawed hand and passed it to the nymph, cackling and cawing to her with the transposer off. She did not hesitate. She scratched at the bottom of the list with one sharp claw and handed it back.

Krake stared down at the sheet of paper, surgically sliced where the nymph had slashed it. "Is that it?" he asked. "Isn't there something else we should do?"

"There is nothing," Litlun stated positively, "except to get us back to our proper time safely, Captain Krake. We must start our nuptial nest very quickly!" He hesitated, glancing at the nymph, who was showing signs of boredom with this conversation in another language. "One has a question, however. Since the Mother planet is destroyed one will need a new nesting place for the brood that is to be. What would you think of your planet Mercury? It is of no value to you. It is true that the temperature is gready elevated, but there is ample radiation to feed the hatchlings—"

He broke off as he saw the expression on Krake's face. "What is it, Captain Krake?" the Turde demanded. "Is there some reason the planet Mercury would not be appropriate?" Krake shook his head, dismayedly contemplating the possibility of a world of Turtles as near neighbors. "Not that I know of," he said reluctantly.

But Litlun was hardly listening. "Yes, yes," he said, one roving eye following the nymph as she waddled around the room. "One need not think of these details now. A suitable planet can certainly be found once we have returned to our proper time—which, of course, must be after the disappearance of the old Mother, as you will understand."

"Of course," Krake agreed, and then scowled suddenly. "No, I don't understand," he said. "Why does it have to be after?"

The Turtle squawked in amusement. "Because there cannot be two fertile Mothers at once, to be sure! The idea is preposterous!"

"But if we stopped just short of the disappearance, perhaps we could prevent it from happening in the first place!"

The Turtle hissed in sudden shock. "That must not be!" he rasped. "What good would it do to stop short? We could not succeed! One cannot stop the Sh'shrane from stealing the Mother planet! The aiodoi will not interfere again; one would be helpless against their terrible weapons. One would surely perish—and, what is far worse, at the same time endanger the life of the Mother to be!"

"One could damn well try," Krake snapped, tugging angrily at his beard.

"One must not! Think, Captain Krake," Litlun went on persuasively. "Suppose, in spite of everything, one should somehow succeed, and preserve the old Mother from the Sh'shrane. In that case, what would be the value of this paper you treasure so much? It would be worthless, Krake! It could not bind the old Mother. It would mean nothing; your people would be in the same status as ever." He hesitated, turning both eyes proudly on the nymph, who had begun to drift toward the doorway. Litlun moved to follow her. "And, even worse," he finished as he waddled away, "this one would not be He Who Is to Be the Consort."

"So you see," Moon Bunderan told her captain with satisfaction, "everything's all right."

"You think it's all settled then?" Krake asked. He considered for a moment, then surrendered to success. He said, "I guess it is. I never heard of a Turtle telling a lie." Then he chuckled. "Well, almost everything. I think we'll have to make sure we talk Litlun out of the idea of locating his new Mother planet in our solar system. My opinion is that they'll be better neighbors when they're farther away."

"I suppose," she said thoughtfully, studying his face. Then she said, "There's one other unsettled thing, Francis. I hope you won't think I'm too forward."

He blinked at her as she left the other control board and walked over to him. He started to protest at her abandonment of her post of duty, then swallowed it—after all, if the state-of-thc-ship instruments revealed that anything went most improbably wrong they would hear it at once and could act.

"Francis," she said, taking him by the hand, "this is the thing. I know you think I'm a child. Well, I am—almost. But I'm less of a child than I was. And, Francis, please remember that I won't be a child for long."