Clarke, Arthur C - Fall of Night 02 (28 page)

 
          
 
Cley followed his movement and said severely,
"I guessed you had to defend your own, but couldn't you have,
have
. . ."

 
          
 
Her voice trailed away when she saw the pained
twinge that constricted his face as her words struck home. Then his mouth thinned
again and he nodded. "They attacked new work and old alike. We could not
divine what they were about, and when we did, it was too late."

 
          
 
Her anger, stilled for a moment by his
vulnerability, returned like an acrid burn in the back of her throat. "We had
nothing to defend ourselves!"

 
          
 
"Did you think we had weapons?"

 
          
 
"Supras have everything!"

 
          
 
He sighed. "We protect through our
laboring machines, through the genius of our past."

 
          
 
"There was fighting in the past. I have
heard—"

 
          
 
''The far past.
Well
before your time. We—"

 
          
 
"But they knew how. Why didn't you?"

 
          
 
His expression changed again several times
with a speed she found baffling. Then a grave sourness shaped his mouth with a
sardonic twist. "Tell me who they were and perhaps I can answer you."

 
          
 
"They?"
She
felt sudden doubt. "I thought you would know. They . . .
well,
they looked more like us . . ."

 
          
 
"Than like me?"

 
          
 
She studied him for a long moment. He was
twice her size, with an enormous head. Yet his ears were small and his nose was
stubby, like an afterthought. "Yes, they were more our size. Their heads
were human and—"

 
          
 
"Ur-human," the man corrected
absently, as though he was distracted.

 
          
 
"What?"

 
          
 
"Oh, I am sorry. We term your kind Ur-human,
since you are the earliest form available."

 
          
 
Her mouth whitened. "And what do you call
yourselves?"

 
          
 
"Ah, humans," he said uncomfortably.

 
          
 
"Well," she said pointedly,
"those who burned your city and killed us, they were Ur-human, too."

 
          
 
"Did they have earlobes?"

 
          
 
"I, I can't remember. Things happened
fast and—"

 
          
 
"Were their teeth widely spaced, like
yours? That was an early modification of the even earlier hominid forms, I
gather from my studies with the Keeper of the Records."

 
          
 
"Look, I—"

 
          
 
"Large spacings prevent food from
accumulating and decaying. We use that design, as you can see, but also regrow
a set every century to compensate for wear. If—"

 
          
 
"You think I had time to think of that?''

 
          
 
The man's raptly studious expression vanished
as he blinked. "I merely hoped to enlist your aid."

 
          
 
"You people run the world, not us."

 
          
 
Soberly he said, "No longer."

 
          
 
She dammed up the bitter torrent within her
and said quietly, "Who were they?"

 
          
 
"I don't know. They looked human."

 
          
 
"They weren't like my people."

 
          
 
"Of course not.
You possess only those skills appropriate to tending the forests. These people
had mastered warring technology that is ancient beyond measure."

 
          
 
He gazed apprehensively at the sky, rubbing
his shoulder as though he was stiff. She noticed that his light, loose-fitting
jump suit was stained and torn.

 
          
 
"You fought them?"

 
          
 
"As we could.
We
were surprised and saw only flame, no people."

 
          
 
Seeker spoke from beside them. "The
lightning returned here, later, to burn the dead humans."

 
          
 
Both humans were startled. Blinking, the man
said, "You are remarkably silent."

 
          
 
Seeker said, "A craft of ours. You found
no humans unburned?"

 
          
 
The man frowned. "Not yet."

 
          
 
"I doubt you will," Seeker said.
"They are thorough."

 
          
 
Cley asked, "What did they do to your
cities?"

 
          
 
"Come." He gave the order without
taking his eyes from the sky. His mouth echoed a quick flurry of emotion and he
held a palm up to Seeker. "Fine ally, we gather now."

 
          
 
This seemed enough for Seeker. The
brass-bright craft tilted momentarily as the creature boarded. Cley went
through the wide hatchway and into a simple, comfortable control cabin. The
Supra sat down and the ship lifted with scarcely a murmur.

 
          
 
"I am Alvin," he said, as though
anyone would know who he was. His casual confidence told her more than the
name, and she responded to his questions about the last few days with short,
precise answers. She had rarely even seen a Supra and this one was not winning
her over.

 
          
 
But as they rose with smooth acceleration Cley
gaped, not attempting to hide her surprise. Within moments she saw the lands
where she had lived and labored reduced to a mere spot in a vastly larger
canvas. She watched the mountains she had admired as a girl reduced to foot
soldiers in an army that marched around the curve of the world. Her tribe had
known well the green complexity of the forests, but she had not truly
comprehended the extent of the Su-pras' works. Many thin brown rivers flowed
through narrow canyons, giving the mountain range the look of a knobby spine
from which many nerves trailed into the tan deserts beyond. Brilliant snowcaps
crowned the tallest peaks, but these were not, she saw, the source of the
countless rivers. Each muddy nerve began abruptly high in a canyon and was
busily digging itself in deeper.

 
          
 
Cley pointed and before she could ask Alvin
said, "We feed them from tunnels. The great Millennium Lakes lie far
underground here."

 
          
 
This landsculpting was only a few centuries
old, but already the moist wealth had reclaimed much of the planet's dry
midcontinent.

 
          
 
Alvin sat back, indolent as his ship performed
a long turn to show her the expanses. She caught a brilliant spark of polished
metal far away on the very curve of the planet.

 
          
 
"Diaspar," Alvin said.

 
          
 
"The legend," she whispered.

 
          
 
"It is quite real," he said, running
his eyes over the display screens that studied the space around them.

 
          
 
"Did they go there, too?"

 
          
 
"The attackers?
No. I have no idea why not."

 
          
 
"Does Diaspar's name come from
'despair'?"

 
          
 
"What?" He sat bolt upright.
"No, of course not.
Who said it did?"

 
          
 
"It was a joke we made," she said to
unknit his eyebrows. "That you Supras had been walled up in there so
long—"

 
          
 
"Nonsense!
We
saved humanity, holding on while the desert encroached. We—"

 
          
 
"And that green spot?
Right
beside Diaspar?"

 
          
 
"That's Lys."

 
          
 
"Lies?
Someone
telling lies?"

 
          
 
"No! Look, I do not know what you
Ur-humans do for amusement, but I do not find—"

 
          
 
"I was merely recalling some primeval
humor."

 
          
 
Alvin shook his head. His eyes never left the
screens and she realized he was looking for a sign that the attackers might
return again. How they could vanish so readily and elude the Supras she could
not fathom. But then, the Earth was large, and in these sprawling lands there
were many places to hide.

 
          
 
"When?"

 
          
 
"More years ago than
you could count if you did nothing else throughout your life."

 
          
 
She stared. The display showed wispy lattices
of streets beneath the shifting sands, the shadows of cities whose very names
were lost. "So many . . ."

 
          
 
"There were vast alternatives to Diaspar
then. We did not seize them."

 
          
 
"And now?"

 
          
 
Alvin laughed. "Uncountable!
Infinitude!"

 
          
 
To her surprise Seeker spoke, reedy and
melodious. "There are more breeds of infinitude than of finiteness."

 
          
 
Alvin raised his eyebrows, startled. "You
know of transfinites?"

 
          
 
"You speak of mere mathematics. I refer
to your species."

 
          
 
Seeker had not spoken to Alvin since they
entered the ship. She saw that the beast was not awed by this sleek, swift artifact.
It sat perfectly at ease and nothing escaped its quick, bright eyes.

 
          
 
Alvin pursed his lips.
"Just
so, sage.
Did you know that your kind evolved to keep humans
intellectually honest?"

 
          
 
Cley could not read Seeker's expression as it
said with a rippling intonation, "So humans think."

 
          
 
Alvin
looked disconcerted. "I ... I suppose
we, too, have illusions."