Ruins (Pathfinder Trilogy) (23 page)

The man rolled his eyes. “We said it, didn’t we?”

“What’s
your
name?” Param asked him.

“Mouse-Breeder, Old-Song-Singer, Lived-in-the-Ruins, Mates-for-Life.”

“What should
we
call you?” asked Param.

“Is your memory so bad you can’t hold on to such simplified versions of our names?” asked Swims-in-the-Air.

“How did you get the air-swimming part of your name?” Rigg asked her.

“I went through a phase where I jumped out of flyers and off cliffs. With wings I designed myself.”

“Can we see you do that?” asked Olivenko.

“Oh, I gave that up five hundred years ago,” she said, laughing. “A pleasure for children. I’m a grownup now.”

“How old
are
you?” asked Umbo.

“We’re going to tell you everything in due time,” said Mouse-Breeder. “We can even show you vids of her flights, if you want. And you can meet some of my mice.”

“Those were the short names,” said Loaf, “and yet you know the long names of every one of the ten thousand people in the wallfold?”

“Ten thousand is easy. I don’t think that even
we
could have known the names of all the people who lived here before we learned about the end of the world. There were three billion people then.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Three
billion
?” asked Umbo. “Where could they fit?”

“We didn’t live in trees then,” said Swims-in-the-Air. “But come, let’s walk through the ruins, and we’ll tell you a few important things.”

“About why Loaf thought of you as yahoos?” asked Umbo.

“Well, that’s part of it, though when we wear clothing, we think of ourselves as Odinfolders. Mostly we need to tell you about
you
.”

“What do you know about us, that we don’t already know?” asked Param.

“Why you were born,” said Mouse-Breeder.

“Why you have the abilities you have,” said Swims-in-the-Air.

“And what you have to do in order to save the world,” said Mouse-Breeder.

The two Odinfolders led them over another rise, and there before them lay the ruins of a great city.

CHAPTER 12

Ruined Cities

Param’s idea of a city was a fantasy born of literature, with little experience to change things. She had never strayed from whatever house they imprisoned her mother in, so the only cities she saw were illustrations in books or art on the walls. When she fled Flacommo’s house with Rigg, she saw only a few streets of Aressa Sessamo, and then she was in fear every moment.

Besides, Aressa Sessamo was so flat and low that unless you climbed one of the few high towers, it was impossible to get any idea of the size of it. From Umbo and Rigg she had learned something of O, which, according to them, was a real city.

And then there was the empty city in Vadeshfold. But, once again, they had ventured only into the outskirts, had never climbed a tower, had plunged underground almost at once.

So she was not prepared for what she saw when they crested
the second rise beyond the Wall. Since the Odinfolders lived in trees, there had been nothing that looked like a house or a shack or a shed or even a tent. But now they stood on the brow of a hill looking down into the valley of a swift-flowing river.

On the hither side of the river, there were only a few hundred hummocks with occasional walls, posts, and roofs rising out of them. Dust blowing primarily out of the east had drifted and turned everything into mounds of earth, covered in grass. Yet enough of the artifacts of human habitation still stood that it would have been an impressive, if bleak, sight.

But on the other side of the river, rising up to a flat mesa, the lower walls gave way to high towers. Most of them were skeletons now, with beams that marked the structure like bones, but many of them rose quite high, and because they had lost their façades, Param could see through each to the building behind, and the one behind that, and on and on up the slope.

On the flat of the butte, the great towers made way for somewhat lower, narrower buildings; but these, perhaps because they had sheltered each other from wind, still had much of their facing. They were ornately decorated and many still showed faded traces of once-bright colors. And the windows: a thousand eyes peered from every building.

Param was above two hundred when she gave up counting the towers.

“Ten thousand people must have lived here,” she said.

“Oh, no,” said Swims-in-the-Air. “This was a town of a million or so. And just down the river, you can see a city almost as big.”

It was true—though distance and bends in the valley made it
so that nearby trees somewhat blocked the view, it was plain that about as many skeleton towers rose just as high, though starting on lower ground. The only thing missing was the patch of buildings with walls still in place.

“A million,” breathed Param. She knew the number as a theory, but had no idea what it would mean in practice. Aressa Sessamo was famous for having two hundred thousand inhabitants. Here, that would have been nothing. “How did they eat?”

“Food was easy,” said Mouse-Breeder. “We know how to make soil yield hundreds of times more than the primitive farms in Ramfold. It was energy and sewage that were a constant problem.”

“A million people would make it a pretty fecal city,” said Rigg. Umbo laughed.

Boys could be so crude. Param wondered how long it would be before they finally stopped finding ways to use “fecal” in every sentence. Olivenko didn’t think references to poo and pee were an inexhaustible source of mirth, the way Rigg and Umbo did.

“Where did they all go?” asked Param.

“Well, they died, of course,” said Swims-in-the-Air.

“Plague? War?” asked Param. “If food was easy, it wasn’t famine.” She had read enough history to know these were the ways that cities turned to ruins.

“No, not at all,” said Mouse-Breeder. “We weren’t so long-lived then. Only a hundred years, on average—once you’d seen your century, you expected your body’s functions to decay enough that living wasn’t a pleasure anymore. You lost interest. Or so I’m told.”

“We just hadn’t solved the problems of aging yet,” said Swims-in-the-Air.

“A hundred years is very, very old in Ramfold,” said Rigg.

“Yes, we’re so sorry, dear,” said Swims-in-the-Air.

“But that doesn’t explain anything,” said Param, a little impatient. “Just because people lived ‘only’ a hundred years doesn’t explain why the city emptied out like this.”

“The first time through our history,” said Mouse-Breeder, “our population reached six billion by the time the humans came.”

“You say that as if we weren’t human ourselves,” said Olivenko.

Swims-in-the-Air only smiled. “We do, don’t we,” she said.

“Again,” said Param, “I don’t see why the cities—”

“This one likes quick answers,” said Mouse-Breeder.

“Or easy ones,” said Swims-in-the-Air. “So here’s the quick and easy answer. We got a letter from the future, telling us how the world ends. So we set about trying to make it end differently. Each attempt meant cutting our population more sharply, until you see us as we are today, about ten thousand people in the entire wallfold, and most of us clustered within walking distance of the Wall.”

“Cutting your population?” asked Param. “How?”

“Having fewer babies, of course. Most of us having none at all. That’s why my two children became part of my name.”

“She’s such an optimist,” said Mouse-Breeder.

“Incurable,” said Swims-in-the-Air. But she sounded wistful and sad when she said it.

“People just stopped wanting children?” asked Loaf.

Param thought it was odd for him to sound so incredulous, considering that he and his wife Leaky had no children, or none that she had heard of.

“It’s not about wanting,” said Mouse-Breeder. “The body still has its primate roots. The body wants to breed. But we owed a duty to the whole world of Garden.”

“You see, the first time the humans came, they visited only Odinfold, because only our civilization was visible from space.”

“From space,” said Umbo, “why would the high towers make a difference?”

“Not the towers,” said Swims-in-the-Air. “The light. Every street had lamps on it. Every building had lights in the windows. There were lights everywhere at night, lights that could be seen from a million kilometers away. Our wallfold was the only patch of light on the whole planet, so they came to us. They thought we kept the rest of Garden as a nature preserve; they thought the name of the world confirmed that idea.”

“But then they learned what this world really was,” said Mouse-Breeder.

“And what is it?” asked Rigg, a little defiant-sounding.
“Really?”

“Give just the tiniest thought to the question,” said Mouse-Breeder. “I know you know the answer.”

“A place where the human race could develop in nineteen completely different ways,” said Param.

“And in Ramfold, we turned out to be time shapers,” said Umbo.

“The three of
you
are,” said Olivenko.

“But most people in Ramfold can’t do anything with time,” Umbo added.

“You know that’s not true,” said Mouse-Breeder. “And it isn’t really time per se that you manipulate. You create fields with your minds, fields in which time can be altered because of the way you connect yourselves to the planet’s past.”

“What do
you
do?” asked Umbo.

“They move objects in time and space,” said Param. “They already told us.”

“No, Param, we didn’t tell you that that’s what we do,” said Mouse-Breeder. “It’s merely one manifestation of what we do. You see, we were the only wallfold where the learning of the Earth we came from wasn’t sealed to us. We could study it all. We also knew that the hope of Ram Odin, when he commanded the expendables and the ships to divide the world into folds, was that the human species would find nineteen different ways to evolve and change, either physically or culturally.”

“All of human history on Earth was scarcely twelve thousand years,” said Swims-in-the-Air, “and that’s with a most generous interpretation of the word ‘history.’ That’s how long it had been since the last ice age, as they called them—times when the Earth’s climate grew colder and much of the ocean’s water was locked up in ice caps.”

“Real history—written records and all that—was about five thousand years,” said Mouse-Breeder. “And the biggest leaps in science and technology had taken place in only the last thousand years or so, with the most dramatic transformations in the last two centuries.”

“The expendables were not even regarded as particularly remarkable when Ram Odin’s colony ship set out,” said Swims-in-the-Air. “Indestructible materials, highly advanced language modules, things like that were only fifty years old. But the humans of Earth thought of fifty years as a long time, because they were used to such a fast rate of progress.”

“It hadn’t been two hundred years since humans first went into space, you see,” said Mouse-Breeder. “So the colonists in Odinfold expected to be able to continue making progress at the same pace, though they recognized that with a much smaller population and the need to deal with subsistence issues, there would be a slowdown for a few generations.”

“Oh, we had babies then!” said Swims-in-the-Air. “Babies and babies and babies, because we needed our population to reach a point where we could specialize, where the smartest of us could live the life of the mind.”

“But let’s go down to the river and cross into the city,” said Mouse-Breeder. “The vista from here is only interesting for a while, and then you want to go inside to get a sense of scale, don’t you think?”

They thought so, too, so they walked together down the slope toward the river, while the Odinfolders continued their story.

It wasn’t enough to have lots of babies, they explained. Wasn’t one of the goals of Garden to promote the isolated evolution of new human species? And since Odinfold retained its memory of the science of genetics, they could keep conscious control of the human species.

“Not just selective breeding,” said Mouse-Breeder. “The
way I do with mice, where I select for traits I want and allow only those mice that have such traits to reproduce. No, we went into the genes themselves, the seeds within the human body that decide what each new generation will look like.”

They found long-lost traits that they wanted to restore, rare ones they wanted to make common, and then nearly everybody gave birth only to babies that had been enhanced in some way. Improving the species directly.

“What traits?” asked Rigg.

“Short legs,” said Umbo.

“Oh, no,” said Mouse-Breeder. “The short legs came later, when we were tailoring ourselves to look like yahoos.”

“We made ourselves tall and slender at first,” said Swims-in-the-Air. “We metabolized food very efficiently, so we required less of it per person.”

“And we rebuilt ourselves to concentrate on the brain,” said Mouse-Breeder. “Each increase in brain size required more blood for the brain, less for the rest of the body. So the leaner we were, the better. Any organs we could eliminate or shrink saved blood.”

“Larger brains?” asked Param. Their heads were disproportionately large for their small bodies, but not larger than normal adults’ heads.

“The human brain folds quite elaborately, increasing the surface area,” said Mouse-Breeder. “Ours fold more. Also, our skulls are much thinner. Less bone here, more brain inside. It makes us fragile, but we don’t face the same sorts of enemies that our ancestors had to deal with. And when we’re doing something risky, we wear helmets.”

“Throwing dung at Loaf is risky,” said Umbo.

“But thrown dung is not going to break skulls,” said Swims-in-the-Air. “As weapons go, it’s more annoying than damaging.”

The Odinfolders also tried, in the early days, to bring out what they called “savant” abilities—perfect visual and auditory memory, the ability to count and solve equations with astonishing rapidity, vast expansion of available vocabulary. “We never quite succeeded. It seems that for true savant capability, you have to pay the savant price—a loss of social function, the inability to do the fuzzy thinking that leads to creativity. Once we realized that the price was too high, we worked to strike a balance. Creativity
and
better memory, better ability to notice things, better abstract and spatial reasoning.”