The Legend of Miaree

Chapter Thirteen

She had visited Outworld as a student. She was familiar with Outworld Gate, a clean, modern facility which was the pride of Artonuee technology. Outgate differed from the satellites of the other planets to an astounding degree. Outgate was sheer luxury. Nothing had been spared in its building, for through Outgate passed the most meaningful beings in

Artonuee society, the egg-carrying females bound for their tryst with nature, and a chosen male. Leaving Outgate were the products of a planet devoted to beauty. Outworld diamond sculptors, for example, sent their creations through Outgate to grace the dwellings of the scientists and workers on New World, to lighten the darkness and chill of Five.

Outgate had been seeded with the profuse botanical wonders of the four worlds. It bloomed. It sent a fragrance of flowers into the nostrils of the visitor when the hatch opened and gave vivid promise of the beauty lying below on the garden planet.

The commercial docks of Outgate were lighted around the clock and heavy, utilitarian drivers had right of way approaching the satellite. Monitoring the traffic, Miaree heard departure instructions for a driver of the Fashion Guild, a ship laden with the soft, clinging cloaks and the other garments which were so beloved of the Artonuee female; she heard the arrival of a cargo driver from the belt, its cargo jewels destined for the workshops of the stone craftsmen.

Rei was much impressed by the density of the traffic and admired Miaree’s skill in holding the flyer off Outgate until, after a lengthy wait, she was given permission to approach. Ahead of them and behind them flyers drifted, guidance jets being activated to leave a mist in space for a moment before the vacuum ate it.

The flyer docks were crowded, bustling with arrivals and departures. Females with the exciting aroma of pleele passed them as Miaree and Rei stood, watching the dock boys secure Rim Star in her berth, and Miaree’s heart sank, for the smell, the joyous, expectant look on the faces of her sisters, reminded her of her loss.

Four members of the guard converged on them, voicing their greetings to Miaree, bowing respectfully. Their drop to planetside interrupted the busy schedule of Outgate, for no other passengers were allowed. They had an entire shuttle to themselves, with only the four guardsmen for company.

And so, Miaree came back to Outworld. Leaving the terminal, they passed a driver being loaded with light paintings, visible in their transparent crates. Rei, astounded, paused. The guardsmen shuffled uncertainly. Miaree, lost in her misery, stood impatiently as the alien examined the glowing, ever-changing works of art. The air of Outworld was sweet to her. There was the buzz of insects and the song of the small, flying creatures and the feeling of peace. She had sacrificed all of it for what? For him? For the alien who stood, eyes wide, watching the workmen load the light paintings?

She moved a few paces ahead, looked out beyond the bounds of the terminal to the countryside. She must stop thinking thus, she told herself. It was past. Her time would come again, when all this was settled. And then out of her would flow life, the glowing, ruby globes of life in the form of fertilized eggs. Out of her they would flow and they would be carefully tested and the accepted ones would be crated lovingly and flown to the old home planet, there to hatch and join the billions of ifflings as they waited for a homecoming. She would then have made her contribution to the continuity of life. Small copies of her consciousness would be crawling the limbs of the huge trees, eating endlessly of the juicy leaves, waiting, waiting, waiting.

She remembered old Beafly, the mechanic, and wondered if his desire had been fulfilled. Had his iffling been female, producing a wingling, as he’d wished? And what would be the fate of her ifflings? Would they produce dull males or flashing beauty in the form of winglings?

As she dreamed, she felt a familiar stirring. "Ah, no," she said aloud. "No, no, no."

They had warned her. "There is always the possibility, my dear," said the doctor who had taken her eggs unripened from her body, "that certain side effects will be manifest. False readiness occurs in about one out of five such cases. It usually is triggered by an emotional experience, simulates the real thing to an amazing degree. Should this happen, there are drugs. Of course, there is a very real desire to mate. But such a mating is a sterile, joyless event. It is to be avoided." Drugs. Yes. She would seek a doctor. But the twinge of almost joyful pain in her was gone and the alien was walking toward her, his mouth moving in the barbaric sounds of the Delanians. She put her fear, her doubt, behind her, smiled formally, and motioned the alien toward the waiting roller. The driver had his instructions. He was silent, glancing with interest at the purple-clad lady and the strange creature who was so like him and yet so different. His instructions did not include an explanation His was not to question.

The route led them through dense forests, past secluded Jove nests and artistically designed dwellings, shops, studios. Flowers perfumed the way.

Once Miaree saw a lady and her chosen walking hand in hand along a by-path, and there was once again a twinge of sadness in her.

She diverted her mind by explaining Outworld to the alien. She pointed out the juplee trees from the World; the pleele, native to Outworld; the strange, mosslike growths from Five. She talked of the flying creatures and the insects and explained that all of Outworld was a storage house for the life forms, bird, insect and plant, from the entire system. She explained the technique of light painting and talked of jewel sculpture and, as they passed a settlement of musicians, tried to explain the twenty-tone scale used in Artonuee music. He was baffled as she illustrated by singing the scale, for the upper reaches of the scale were beyond his range of hearing.

He in turn hummed a Delanian air which, to her ears, was strange and rather beautiful, in spite of its simplicity.

They crossed a great river, the roller floating on its huge wheels. Plains of flowers stretched before them, and there, on a hilltop in the midst of the Great Bloom, was the dwelling assigned to them.

The roller stopped before the entrance and the guardsmen, who had followed in a larger vehicle, took their posts as Miaree led the alien into the dwelling.

She greeted the male domestic staff and had one of the males show the alien to his room. In her own room, she freshened herself, changed from the official purple to a sheer gown which let the colors of her body show through, accepted a tray from a domestic, and ate lightly, forcing herself to take nourishment, for she was not hungry. Finished, she inspected the conference room, large, airy. From the front viewer she could look over the Great Bloom. Far away, almost swallowed by distance, a couple ran through the flowers, halted, merged into one, then parted. She felt a joyous leaping in her lower abdomen, smiled, then frowned. The feeling was short-lived. She started to summon a domestic, to send him for the drugs, but the feeling was gone and, hopefully, would not come back. She promised herself to control her emotions. That was all it was, just the emotional experience of coming to Outworld so soon after.

She busied herself in preparation for the first conference. When the instruments, carefully concealed, were ready, she called a domestic. "You may escort the—" She almost said alien. "You may escort our guest to join me."

Seated opposite her, looking at her across the large, lovingly polished table, Rei saw the change in her eyes. They went from blue to dark as he looked and her face was serious.

"We will begin," she said, "with your telling me, in as much detail as you can, the history of your people, the life style, the philosophies, the dreams, the achievements, anything which comes into your mind."

His first words chilled her. "There are thirty billion of us," he said. "We live on twelve planets of seven closely grouped stars."

Thirty billion. Why, they must breed like the insect of the flower fields.

"We trace our history back over a millennium," he continued. "We have been in deep space for a hundred thousand years. It was made possible by the invention of the hydrogen engine. Star travel was long in coming to us, and it came when the race was overflowing the planets of our original system. Our planners were not as wise as yours, apparently, for we had no system of birth control, and it was a race to determine whether or not we reached the stars or bred ourselves into extinction. Fortunately, the drive was perfected and we spread to the near stars, relieving our population problems. We knew, of course, of the dangers of the collisions. We viewed them, then, as a future problem. Then a multiple collision near our parent system showed us the effect of star union. We lost over two million dead. We had been searching the near stars for habitable planets. It seemed, as we looked, sending ships out into the emptiness, that some benevolent god had created us in the midst of plenty, for our systems were the only habitable systems in a radius of many light years. And, try as we might, we could not improve the drive, which has limitations, to the point of making it possible to explore the entire galaxy, much less leave the galaxy for a universe where the collisions would be left far behind. We had new hope when we received the messages from your people. We were not alone. Perhaps you had answers. But when it was determined that your messages were sent at mere light speed, we questioned the value of them and came to your system only as a last resort."

His words were recorded. His face was captured on film. He talked easily, changing his position in the chair only occasionally, his eyes sincere, looking mostly into Miaree’s colorful orbs. And from generalities, he moved into specifics, talking about the Delanian way of life. Miaree got a picture of a network of worlds connected by the faster-than-light drivers, busy worlds, thickly populated worlds devoted to commerce and industry

and expansion. The Delanians, she felt, made the Artonuee seem dilettante. Artonuee history, it was true, did not go back a million years, but in a hundred thousand years the Delanians had colonized the planets of seven stars. She felt weak and helpless before him. Her people could not possibly stand before a determined onslaught of even one minor extension of such a power, the approaching fleet of Delanian ships.

She slept fitfully, woke with a curious taste in her mouth. The sweetness of pleele. Dawn was red outside. She stood before an open viewer and stretched her wings. When they folded, they formed the love circle around her shapely rear. Alarm spread through her as her body sent waves of yearning. She shook her head and walked, straight-backed, into the shower, cooling her body with the perfumed water. Fur wet, she stood before a mirror and looked at herself. There was a look about her. A look which she knew.

As the first full day of talks continued, she began to form a picture of the Delanians. It was a portrait in mixed shock and admiration. The Delanian society was full of contrasts.

"We have our poor," Rei said. And she had to search, then ask, for a meaning for the word. It was inconceivable to her to think of people going hungry in the midst of plenty. On the Artonuee worlds, all peoples shared in the bounty of the good planets. Idleness was unknown to the Artonuee. There was no such thing as an unproductive Artonuee. Even severely handicapped persons found a niche in life, gave their share toward the well-ordered continuity of Artonuee society.

Then, while reviewing more Delanian history, Rei talked of the Great War. Again, Miaree had to search out meaning. And there was a wave of sickness in her when she grasped the concept of war. At that moment, she was almost ready to call a halt to the talks, to message the Mother to start the research people to working around the clock to improve the mining torch, to produce weapons capable of blasting the Delanian fleet out of existence before such animals could enter the peaceful Artonuee system. And as she choked back her dismay, Rei continued. The war had devastated three planets, leaving the Delanian society in shock, setting back space exploration for decades.

"We decided then," Rei concluded, "that man would never kill man again. And in fifty thousand years there has been no war."

In present times, the entire Delanian industrial system was working full scale to construct star ships. Before the end came, a percentage, a disastrously low percentage, of the population would be in space.

The idea of vast workshops clanking, pressing, erecting the impressive Delanian drivers took Miaree’s mind off the horror of the war and caused a flicker of admiration. She listened. She questioned. She ended the day with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she deplored the Delanians. But she had to be impressed with their racial drive. They were, after all, a race which had sought the far stars. Now, in all their billions, they faced extinction. The concept was too vast to grasp.

Alone in her room, she sought relaxation with jenk. She was feeling the exhilarating lift of the liquor when she joined Rei for the evening meal. They ate in courteous silence, then sat on the outside deck, watching the Great Bloom fade in twilight, silent as the Fires of God rose and gleamed and towered in the sky.

"We have talked little of you, and your people," Rei said.

She talked. Relaxed, sipping jenk, her guest also partaking of the liquor, she spoke mostly of Outworld, her voice low and musical. She told of the great poets who had lived on Outworld spoke samples of their works. At her orders, the domestics played music tapes. She mentioned that Outworld was the planet of love, and Rei asked for explanation. That led to an extended conversation regarding the life cycle of the Artonuee, from egg to adult.

Rei talked of his experience with the two ifflings. Miaree listened with great interest, for that was an experience which she would face, in time. And no Artonuee had been able to talk with personal knowledge of the feelings one has when an iffling is celebrating its chance at sentient life. She was much impressed to learn that Rei had seemed to receive some form of thought from the ifflings.

"It is strange," Rei said. "You feel such a tenderness for them, while I feel only dread and revulsion. I can still see those terrible maws, so powerful that they cut through the material of my space suit to clamp onto my flesh."

"When two races meet, there is much strangeness," Miaree said, rather defensively. "We find it difficult to accept your method of bearing young.

Only our extinct animals bore live young on The World."

But both spoke of the distasteful things with great respect, with a measure of acceptance. A brief session of technical talk, during the day, had impressed Rei with Miaree’s power of understanding. She displayed quick comprehension of atomic theory, exchanged some information on electromagnetic wave theory which explained, in part, the motive power of the flyer which had brought them to Outworld. The talks had done one thing. They had convinced each participant that the other was to be respected. Rei had wanted to delve further into the technology of the converters which powered the flyers. But Miaree cut the technical talk short, to get back to gathering information about Delanian society.

Now it was evening. A soft breeze cooled them. Jenk liquor relaxed them. The scent of the ever-blooming flowers drifted on the wind. The night sky was a thing of awesome beauty. Miaree fell silent, thinking, as she looked at the alien, about his explanation of the breeding process of the Delanians. It seemed to be a cold, sterile relationship. Mates were chosen by vast computers which looked down to the lowest level of the reproductive system to match genes, to refine the race, as Rei put it, to promote racial excellence. The selected breeding pair produced an allowed number of offspring, usually two. The relationship for breeding was often brief, lasting just long enough to fertilize the female. However, in some cases a permanent relationship was formed.

She was favorably impressed when Rei explained that the two sexes were equal in all ways. The idea of male dominance was a false one, she was told. In fact, the crew of the ill-fated star ship on which Rei had come to the Artonuee system had been integrated. Pleasure relationships were permitted.

This concept shocked her, too. Couples did not merge for pleasure, although there was joy in the fertilization process. But for simple self-gratification? Unthinkable. Artonuee females ripened on a cycle which varied, but which usually produced eggs once every five years. Then, and only then, did an Artonuee female seek a male.

Thinking in a spirit of scientific inquiry only, she decided to question Rei further. "You mentioned the female Juanna. Was she your pleasure companion aboard the driver?"

"We were very close," Rei said.

"And did you produce offspring?"

"No. My children were not yet allotted," Rei said.

"I don’t understand the pleasure relationship," Miaree said.

"I can see why. Your methods are so much more efficient." He chuckled. "If we were constructed as you are, we would be in the far galaxies by now."

"Explain?"

"A joke," he said. "Our wise men often say that we are too involved in, ah, pleasure. They say we spend too much time enjoying our, shall I say, biological differences. They say if we’d applied the same amount of energy to research, our advances would have been much greater."

"This pleasure relationship," Miaree asked. "How does it differ from the actual mating?"

"In results only," Rei answered. "The male is chemically treated so that there is no fertilization of the female."

She looked at him wonderingly. "The process is the same?"

"Exactly."

"Could you explain, in detail, how the merging is accomplished?"

He laughed. "The male genitalia hardens and is inserted into the female genitalia."

"So. It is thus in our race." She mused. "In fact, as I studied pictures of you without clothing I noted that your male genitalia is very similar to the organs of our males, although differently placed."

"I would be interested in knowing something of your reproductive process," Rei said.

"It is quite different," she said. "First there is the ritual of courtship. The male fondles the female to excite her."

"I left out that detail," Rei said. "It is thus with us."

"Is there attraction, then, between a Delanian female and her mate?"

"We call it love," Rei said.

"An interesting word."

"An interesting process," Rei said.

"And the physical merging," Miaree went on. "How is it accomplished? I mean, where are the female genitalia located in your females?"

"In the vee between the legs," Rei said.

"Strange." Miaree rose. Without speaking, she slipped out of her gown, stood before Rei naked, wings unfolding. She turned. Her rear was exposed by the unfolding of her wings. Her body, graceful, slim, was a rainbow display of colors as she said, "The Artonuee female’s reproductive organs are located with an opening at the lower rear. Do you see?"

"Yes," Rei said. He swallowed. And an entertaining thought came to him. Astoundingly, the opening to Miaree’s lower body was strikingly similar to the sex organ of the females of his race. He did not know about depth, but in size he knew that their organs would be compatible.

"You are very beautiful, you know," he said.

"Thank you." She shrugged into her gown, covering her wings.

"In size and shape I think that we could blend."

"There would be no fertilization," she said matter-of-factly. "Although in the future I’m sure that we will experiment with artificial fertilization. There is certain evidence, from your encounter with the ifflings, that the life force is similar in our races. It would be most interesting to see what would happen should an Artonuee egg be exposed to the seed of a Delanian male."

"Most interesting," Rei mused.

And so the differences and the similarities were discovered, expounded upon, and digested. For three more days they talked. And the evenings were quiet, relaxed.

In her daily progress reports, Miaree became more and more optimistic. She left nothing out, reporting the Great War as an indication of the danger, but moderating the fact with information regarding the great vitality of the Delanians. She reported in full on their anatomy discussion and received a request from a medical doctor in Government Quad for more information regarding the physical make-up of the alien.

At the start of their morning conference she said, "I have a request for physical measurements. Would you please remove your clothing?"

He grinned, rose, and dropped the loose-fitting Artonuee robe with which he had been provided. Miaree, tape measure in hand, measured chest, head, neck, stomach, biceps, thighs. She lifted his limp sexual organ and measured it. He watched musingly.

"It hardens?" she asked.

"Yes."

"What stimulus would be required?" She was smiling up at him. "The medical people specifically requested the hardened measurements."

Rei laughed. Her hand was cupping the organ. "Just a bit more of that," he said.

She looked at him quizzically. "Only this?"

The organ grew. Dutifully, she measured it. "Ah," she said. "Only slightly larger than the average male organ of our people."

Rei was laughing uncontrollably. He sat down weakly and looked at her.

"I fail to see the reason for mirth," she said, frowning.

That night he dreamed of her.

And that night, she had a severe attack of the ripeness.

And on the following evening, they blended.

There was no religious taboo against it. There were religious taboos against many things, but not against blending during a period of false ripeness. It wasn’t that it was taboo, it was just that it wasn’t done. The Artonuee female wasn’t constructed that way. True, there was great joy in

the act of fertilization, but it was not for the joy that the act was performed. And there was little data on mergings which happened during false ripeness, for the unfertilized removal of eggs was a medical rarity. There was a certain sterility about the act. There was no possibility of fertilization, so the act was useless, a waste of time. However, she told herself, it was an experiment in racial compatibility, and as such, worthwhile.

The muscles in Miaree’s lower abdomen were long, smooth muscles which, in addition to encasing the digestive tract, formed a circle of very articulate tissue centering on her reproductive canal. In ripeness, the lower muscles were extremely active. Made lubricious by glandular secretions, the muscles moved when stimulated by contact with the male genitalia, simulating the rolling of continuous bands of softness which, during fertilization, moved the male organ ever deeper into the cavity. To Rei, who was not unaccustomed to sexual acts, the effect was miraculous. And the flexibility of the ripe, distended, rounded, lovely bottom of the Artonuee female allowed for approach from both front and rear. In the frontal position, lips pressed on lips, the female’s soft, erotically muscled rear twisted forward between her slim legs. From the rear, the softness pressed upward, engulfing all of Rei’s sexual apparatus.

But how had it happened?

It began with a discussion of poetry. "Poetry is beauty, and thus you are poetry," Rei said.

"There is a certain impreciseness of meaning in your language," Miaree said, watching the Fires in the dome, sipping jenk, fighting the ripe, full feeling, trying to drown, in jenk, the urge to run into the Great Bloom to find her chosen.

"You are poetry and can be translated," he said. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"By all means," she said.

"This is you," he said, lifting from his set of notes a duppaper sheet, hand-inscribed.

Your lips are caramel, my dear

Full, mellow, sweet, deep gossamer A myriad thing A plural one A juplee ripening in the sun.

Your eyes are innocent and low As arc burned briefly holds its glow And lashes sing And brows two plus Make triad tongue, gratuitous. You are, my dear, a lovely theme Artonuee music, endless dream Of light and sound And blended reeds And ripened scent of pleele seeds.

Part of a whole, yet idioblast Descended from a wholesome past Of strength to hope And sense to fear The march of doom across our sphere. But smiles, my dear? You have a few Each look distinct, vermillion hue They bridge the gap

And draw us close

And that is when I love you most.

"It has a certain rhythm," Miaree said.

"When a lady has a poem written about her, the poet expects more than cold analysis." Rei smiled.

"The lady is appreciative," Miaree said. Her eyes were light blue. Her smile was genuine. But had he noted the aroma of pleele about her? Had she told the alien that such an aroma had a significance? She couldn’t remember. Yet it was strange that he would speak of the scent of pleele.

She had been remiss in her duty. A simple order. A dosage of a prescribed drug. She had been warned. One out of five experienced the false ripeness, and ripeness, the most emotional experience an Artonuee female could have, deadened the brain, left it floating in the soft sea of desire.

"Would you walk?" she asked. He arose. As they descended the stairs he put his hand on her arm. Her soft fur was sweet to his touch, and his touch sent cascades of fire leaping through her veins. "Please," she said, pushing his hand away.

For the touch was an important part of the ritual, the ritual she’d missed, the pleasure of which she’d been robbed by duty.

And the Great Bloom was fragrant in her nose, soft under her bare feet. Her gown flowed. Her wings strained to be free, to show the glowing colors of ripeness. Well, she thought, why not? The alien did not know the symbolic meaning of freed wings. It was dark. The domestic staff was in quarters. No one would see. She loosed her gown, let the wings flow, flexing them.

"Lovely," Rei said. "Why do you ever cover them?"

"Tradition," she said.

"A foolish tradition, to hide such beauty."

She walked ahead, realizing, as she did, that her wings were forming

the curl of invitation at their lower extremities. But again, it would have no meaning for the alien. Only an Artonuee male would know, and there were no males about.

Head up, eyes measuring the evil gleam of the Fires, she ran lightly ahead, wanting to be alone. Her foot, as she ran, sought the earth, found only a slight drop as she ran over a depression, went down, down. She tumbled into the flowers and lay there, momentarily breathless. She felt strong arm’s lift her, heard his voice.

"Are you all right?"

His hands were heated as she sensed them through her sheer gown. His arms were powerful. His body and his breath warmed her. A vast, all-devouring weakness surged through her, and she opened her lips, keened a love song. It was eerily beautiful. It silenced him. He knew it wasn’t pain she sang, but he did not know the full meaning, save that it sent a wave of emotion through him.

"You’re not hurt?" he asked.

"No, no," she breathed, her lips parting, extending.

"What is it? What’s wrong?"

In answer she lifted her head, cradled as she was in his arms. Her long, sensitive lips touched. She keened through them, the beautiful love sound. And as he kissed her, her wings fluttered wildly, wildly, and her hand touched him, ran under his robe to press against his warm skin.

He carried her to the dwelling. Her lips continued to seek his, her mind overpowered, her body in command. Ripeness sent its sweet smell into the warm, night air.

"Thus, and thus," she instructed him, in the darkness of her room. His hand following her hints, caressing, feeling the smoothness of her fur.

"And thus," she whispered as, naked, she knew the joy of merge.