The Legend of Miaree

Chapter Twelve

She stood with her delicate feet slightly apart, left foot advanced. Her feet were bare. One toe curled nervously. The purple silk gown moved lightly in the onshore wind, caressing her articulated ankles. The gown clung to narrow shoulders, bulged gracefully over folded wings, and the color showed through the thin material, iridescent blues, muted yellows. A pulse beat in her long, slender neck. The gossamer fur of her upper torso, exposed by the cut of the gown, was a lovely mixture of colors. And her eyes. Her eyes were the stars of the night, captured in individual facets in

deep blue. Her face, ovate, delicate, showed that formal little smile. He answered it with a broad grin, showing white teeth.

"Those," he said, pointing to graceful antennae which sprouted from her forehead above the inner readies of each eye, "are they sense organs?"

"They measure waves of the length of."

He shook his head. Her speech reminded him of the music of home. But her attempts at the technical words left something to be desired.

"Forgive me," he said. "I am Rei, Captain of the Fleet. Native of." To her, there was a gap, the strange sound losing itself on her ears. "I come in peace and friendship. I bring best greetings from the Council of Worlds and our Joint Leaders. We come from—"

"We call it the constellation Delan."

"I like the sound."

"I extend the apologies of our worlds for having left you alone so long. It was felt—"

"That the alien knew more about healing himself than you?"

She lidded her eyes, paying compliment to his understanding. The soft velvet of her lids was an extension of her beauty. She was, to Rei, a lovely thing out of a fairy tale. A creature of sugar and delicate silken threads.

"You are female," he said.

"Yes," she said, in Artonuee.

"Yes," he repeated. "A beautiful language."

"The sound is made thus," she said, repeating it for him. "High in the mouth."

"There is a thickness to my tongue," He said.

"There is time for learning," she said. "Now, we must go. A place has been prepared for us."

She led the way. He followed down the crude, carved steps. In the small floater, he had to sit close to her.

"My companions were killed," he said, as the floater pushed against the wind with silent force.

"It is sad."

"The fleet," he said. "Have they contacted you?"

She glanced at him, her eyes turning a deeper shade of blue. Was it the light? He was to learn, later, that her eyes were reflections of her emotions.

"They send messages. The messages disturb us."

"I can understand," he said. He was beginning to realize that some of the sounds were unheard when she spoke. Interesting. Yet he understood. "We come as uninvited guests. But you must know from what we flee."

"Yes. We call them God’s Fires."

"You understand our plight, then."

"Are there not other worlds?"

"You are in space," he replied.

She was silent. To reveal the lack of star flight in her technology would be to admit a weakness.

"At the moment." he said, when he was sure that she was not going to volunteer any information, "we are limited in our choices. The worlds between here and— how do you say it? Delan? Are limited. And, perhaps, we are afraid. Perhaps we seek the advice and the support of the only other intelligent race we have encountered. Although some of our systems are now unsuited for life, we, the Artonuee and Men, face the same threat. Should we not compare notes? Should we not work together?"

"You give us little choice," Miaree said. "The fleet signals."

"Please understand," he said, looking into her eyes. "Our people are dying. Radiations are sweeping many of our worlds. On the rims of the galaxies two great globular clusters are already exchanging sheets of solar

flame among their outer members. When the critical moment is reached, and our science is not capable of producing an exact prediction, the worlds of Men will flame and smoke and die."

"It is God’s will," Miaree said, for lack of anything else.

"It is an accident of the universe," Rei said, with some force.

The floater was some distance from the rocks. One crag protruded from the water, an offshore upthrusting. Miaree spoke quietly to the younger male crewman. He produced a small, hand-held weapon. There was a flash and the rocky crag glowed, fused, melted with hissing steam into the water.

Rei controlled his impulse to start. He looked thoughtfully back at the steaming water. Then he looked at Miaree, his face grave.

"The decision is made?" he asked.

"We Artonuee are a carefully molded society. We have learned from the ages of our existence that order, peace, planned progress are necessary. Our life form is delicately balanced by the forces of natural evolution. As it is, it is stable, but we know from past disasters of our fragility, of the tenuous hold we have on life."

"You have five planets." Rei said.

"To each a purpose." Miaree said. "Each carefully balanced and a part of the whole."

Rei was silent. The floater, the hum of the drive sucked behind them by the wind, seemed to move on nothingness, rocked slightly by the running waves which sent spray from the prow. He was impressed by the beautiful female’s poise, as he had been impressed by the demonstration of the hand weapon. The weapon, he reasoned, was light, a tight beam. The principle was not unfamiliar to him. Each of the approaching star ships, with its precious cargo, was armed with weapons based on the same physical principle. Each skip was capable of destroying anything in its path. Had there been time, for example, he could have burned his way through the asteroid belt which killed his own ship.

When the distant shore was close enough for him to see with his naked

eye the forms of other Artonuee waiting at the dock, he spoke again. "Has the decision been made?"

She was not ready to answer, but his directness demanded it. She looked back at the high cliffs and sighed. "We have made no decisions."

"You have five worlds," Rei said. "Each is thinly populated."

"Please," Miaree said. "Not here."

He glanced at the two male crewmen. Sullen faces returned his look.

The male eyes were smaller, but of the same general construction. Only the outer circle of facets were missing.

Forbidden to talk, he observed. The female sat with a straight back, her face in profile to him. The air was cool and pleasant on his face. He contented himself with watching the activity on the shore, seeing adult females herd scampering young ahead of them as if to prevent contact with the alien. When the floater drew abreast of the dock there were only two females and a contingent of males on the structure.

Miaree stood, motioned him to precede her. He climbed out of the floater and extended both his hands toward the assembled group. The males stared at him dourly. The tallest of the two females smiled and imitated his motion, both delicate hands extended.

Miaree did not speak. She indicated the passage leading from the dock into a gleaming structure. The doors leading off the passageway were closed. Behind them he heard the musical voices of the young. From the front, as he boarded a ground vehicle, he could see the vast extent of the complex of buildings on the shore of the inland sea. He seated himself in the rear next to Miaree.

The roller moved smoothly over the terrain. There were no roads. However, the ground showed indications of former passage of vehicles and, rounding a hill, he saw something which sent a shock of disbelief through him. It was a primitive rocket. Flared tubes indicated that it was chemical. It was an anachronistic monster in gleaming metals, totally out of keeping with his preconceived ideas about a race which sent messages to the stars. He said nothing, however, since his escort seemed disinclined to talk. He climbed the series of steps to the entrance port, entered, saw the passenger compartment and was taken back in time. Vehicles such as this were rare at home, to be seen only in the best museums which housed the antiquities of his race.

He was alone with the female. He heard the rumble of the engines, felt the lift. He felt a bit like biting his fingernails, but forced himself to be calm until the bellowing of the engines had reached a peak and they had muted themselves. It took long minutes. Afloat in space, he asked, "Chemical fuels?"

She looked at him. Her lips were closed in a tight line.

"Our engines are powered by fusion." he said.

"Yes," she said, in his language.

He spoke in technical terms. He was no atomic expert, but he had passed a basic course before joining the fleet.

"Your faster-than-light ships operate on the same principle, I assume?" he asked.

"Of course," she said.

He did not smile, although he’d thrown into his discourse on engines some hopelessly muddled gobble de gook. Obviously, the female had either been ordered not to share knowledge, or—as it seemed likely from the primitive rocket, which was now approaching an artificial satellite—these lovely Artonuee knew nothing about atomics, were not in deep space, but were limited to chemical travel between their rather closely situated worlds.

He turned his attentions to the docking and was pleased with its smoothness. At least they knew what they were doing with the old fire-burners.

The satellite itself was well-built, had, surprisingly, artificial gravity. This was inconsistent. If they could produce a gravity, why couldn’t they find a more efficient means of lifting from a planet?

"Come, please," Miaree said, leading the way from the rocket.

Curious bystanders, mostly males, watched them as she led the way

past shops and quarters buildings to the flyer docks. There, on the satellite of The World, the flyer facilities were few, largely emergency repair facilities. There was no regular traffic to The World-gate, but if a lady were in trouble she could come in for first aid to a reluctant converter. There was only one flyer at the dock. Rim Star.

"We could have gone by driver," Miaree said, as she opened the entrance hatch and motioned Rei in. "But drivers are slow and I abhor them."

His interest soared. He noted that the second seat within the small ship seemed to be jury-rigged, set back at an angle behind the pilot’s seat. He took his place and Miaree sat in front of him. He looked past her shoulder. The instruments were unfamiliar to him. The ship was too small for atomics. He guessed that the dials measured some electromagnetic force. He watched and listened with great interest as she moved her hands, activating machinery within the hull, sending a crawl of some force over his skin to leave chill bumps there. She spoke into an instrument with her musical, birdlike voice, was answered. The check-out was businesslike.

The girl knew what she was about. And then, with clankings and jerkings, they were lifted, pushed, expelled. The full force of the sun came into the front viewer and he yelled in pain, his eyes unprotected. With impressive speed, she closed the viewer, hooding it to expel rays which were harmful to his eyes.

"Sorry." she said.

"You can take that stuff?" he asked. He’d closed his eyes before damage was done, but there were sun-ghosts dancing there.

He’d missed the unfolding of the wings. They billowed out in an impressive array, thin, almost invisible through the darkened viewer. Looking back, the satellite was already lost in the distance. This thing, he thought, really moves.

She was busy for a few moments, then, with a nod of her graceful head, she turned to him, loosing her belts. "It will not be a long flight," she said. "But perhaps we can use the time to some advantage." Her lips were held in, her eyes darkening in her intensity of manner. "You asked if there had been a decision. I said there had not been. That was only partially true. Whatever decision is made will, in the main, be dependent on what I can learn from you."

"We come in peace," he said.

"But you come."

"The fleet carries only a few," he said.

"May I ask how many is a few?"

"Ten thousand," he said, waiting for her reaction. "They are mainly technicians, but they have brought their families. It was felt that if, working together, we"—he used her term for it—"Delanians and you Artonuee could not find some solution to our problem, then our race could at least survive here among you."

Her yellow hair framed her eyes, which had gone deep purple.

"And in a hundred years," she asked, "how many will your ten thousand be then?" She turned, checked instruments. Flying down the solar wind, the Rim Star had reached maximum speed.

"Surely you can share a world with us," he said. "In the name of common humanity."

"And if we say no?"

"I can only hope that you won’t," he said.

"But?" She was looking at him, her eyes dark.

"We must survive," he said.

And Miaree shuddered inwardly. His race knew the power source of a sun. The application of such force for purposes of destruction was not an impossible concept. Had not the Artonuee exterminated a life form on The World to protect their eggs? That very subject had been discussed in her last meeting with Mother Aglee. The Artonuee had not used force against any life form in the past few thousand years.

"But," asked Lady Jonea, "if we were faced with a choice between extermination of our own life form and the destruction of another, would we hesitate?"

"We have no weapons," Miaree said.

"We have tools," Mother Aglee said. "Consider the destructive force of the mining torch applied to a life form."

And so it was that Miaree had taken to The World with her a hand-held mining torch. So it was that she had ordered a crewman to demonstrate the tool’s capabilities. But in all of the Artonuee worlds there were only a few such tools. And fewer men who knew how to operate them. What weapons had this alien at his disposal?

It had been decided that she should run a strong bluff. As she watched the disc of New World expand, she looked to it. "Should we so choose." she said carefully, "we could destroy your fleet in space, before it reaches the orbit of Five."

Actually, the mining torch had no such capability. It was a tool, not a weapon. It was designed for close-up work on the rocks of the asteroid belt and in the tunnels which bored into the earth.

Rei’s estimate of the technological abilities of the Artonuee was confused. First a chemical rocket, then a vehicle which flew, apparently, on the solar wind, a vehicle which hummed with a power unknown to him. It was just possible that they had such weapons. He would, he decided, withhold his threats. He would walk softly and learn.

"We do not," Miaree said, "wish to do so, of course, but we are faced with a difficult decision. As I have told you, our worlds are a part of a whole. Each has its place in the scheme of things. You saw vast, empty space on The World. Yet that space is not a luxury, but a necessity. Our ifflings require huge amounts of food, and they eat only the juplee leaf.

You may think, perhaps, that a colony of Delanians on The World would be acceptable? Not so. There is delicate balance. And, such an event would strike straight to the heart of our beliefs, for it is a religious experience when an Artonuee goes home."

"I am not familiar with your terms," Rei said.

Miaree sighed. "I’m sorry. You must understand, then, why we have decided that a long and private series of talks is desirable before we discuss the disposal of your people? Before we can talk rationally, we must know each other. We must know our mutual problems. For example, we Artonuee have long since conquered disease, but suppose your people bring in new strains from Delan? Suppose you yourself have contaminated

The World, the heart of our life?"

"I agree that we must talk," Rei said. "That was the purpose of sending our ship ahead of the fleet. We were to make known our peaceful intentions, trade technical knowledge. It was our hope that your own space explorations had discovered habitable planets toward the far rim. If not, we had hoped that we could combine our resources in such a search. For, as you must know, the worlds of the Artonuee will be bathed in deadly radiations when the giant globular clusters reach a critical mass."

She looked at him swiftly, swirls of red in the deep purple of her eyes.

"You don’t know?" he asked.

"The Fires of God are still distant," she said.

"Miaree, I must tell you. We, being closer, having observed the collision for a millennium, know the forces involved. To date, the collisions have been minor, and yet you can see them in the night sky. In each of the globular clusters there are a million stars, huge, hot, young, fully fueled stars. It is not a matter, when stars collide, of simple one-plus-one equals-two. The increase is geometric. Our astrophysicists estimate that the final explosion will make two thirds of the galaxy uninhabitable."

"Our scientists see no such immediate danger." Miaree said, hiding her shock, her doubt.

"Then you must take me to them," he said. "I can understand, now, your reluctance to welcome us. Your scientists must know that the end will come, but they are figuring the approach of the fires at a constant speed, right? They have no conception of the multiplication of effect?"

"For that," she said pointedly, "we have only your word. And you have something to gain."

"But I can prove it, with data, with the results of our observations. My god, haven’t you sent ships toward the collisions to measure?"

She turned away. He knew, then.

"You don’t have star travel," he said.

She looked at him. "Now do you see why we must talk first?"

He shrugged. "So we are further advanced in one field than you. You have your own advances. This ship, for example. It operates on a principle which is unknown to me. But our weapons are similar. That is, the weapon which you so pointedly demonstrated to me is similar to the weapons of our own fleet. Yet we work for the same thing, for survival of our races. Can’t you see that we have that, at least, in common?"

"We have that in common," she agreed. "We will talk of it."

"I am willing to talk," he said. "I will be eager to meet your scientists, to compare notes. I will be more than pleased to send the greeting of our people to your Interplanetary Council, to your leaders. I will open my heart to convince them of our good intentions."

"First," Miaree said, "you must convince me."

He touched her hand. She withdrew it quickly, but the touch, to him, was pleasant. He had been wanting to touch her, to see if she were as soft as she looked. Her fine fur was a tactile pleasure on his fingers.

"Miaree, am I to understand that you are not taking me to the seat of your government?"

"We are going," she said, "to Outworld, where we will have guarded privacy for our talks."

He accepted it. He smiled. "I could not ask for a more beautiful companion. And I pray that there is time."