The Moon Moth and Other Stories (11 page)

“The blue! The blue sky of old times!”

A terribly bright light burnt down, seared their eyes. The rays warmed their naked backs.

“The sun,” they said in awed voices. “The sun has come back to Earth.”

The shrouded sky was gone; the sun rode proud and bright in a sea of blue. The ground below churned, cracked, heaved, solidified. They felt the obsidian harden under their feet; its color shifted to glossy black. The Earth, the sun, the galaxy, had departed the region of freedom; the other time with its restrictions and logic was once more with them.

“This is Old Earth,” cried Finn. “We are Men of Old Earth! The land is once again ours!”

“And what of the Organisms?”

“If this is the Earth of old, then let the Organisms beware!”

The Organisms stood on a low rise of ground beside a runnel of water that was rapidly becoming a river flowing out onto the plain.

Alpha cried, “Here is my intuition! It is exactly as I knew. The freedom is gone; the tightness, the constriction are back!”

“How will we defeat it?” asked another Organism.

“Easily,” said a third. “Each must fight a part of the battle. I plan to hurl myself at the sun, and blot it from existence.” And he crouched, threw himself into the air. He fell on his back and broke his neck.

“The fault,” said Alpha, “is in the air; because the air surrounds all things.”

Six Organisms ran off in search of air, and stumbling into the river, drowned.

“In any event,” said Alpha, “I am hungry.” He looked around for suitable food. He seized an insect which stung him. He dropped it. “My hunger remains.”

He spied Finn and the two women descending from the crag. “I will eat one of the Relicts,” he said. “Come, let us all eat.”

Three of them started off—as usual in random directions. By chance Alpha came face to face with Finn. He prepared to eat, but Finn picked up a rock. The rock remained a rock: hard, sharp, heavy. Finn swung it down, taking joy in the inertia. Alpha died with a crushed skull. One of the other Organisms attempted to step across a crevasse twenty feet wide and was engulfed; the other sat down, swallowed rocks to assuage his hunger, and presently went into convulsions.

Finn pointed here and there around the fresh new land. “In that quarter, the new city, like that of the legends. Over here the farms, the cattle.”

“We have none of these,” protested Gisa.

“No,” said Finn. “Not now. But once more the sun rises and sets, once more rock has weight and air has none. Once more water falls as rain and flows to the sea.” He stepped forward over the fallen Organism. “Let us make plans.”

Ullward’s Retreat

Bruham Ullward had invited three friends to lunch at his ranch: Ted and Ravelin Seehoe, and their adolescent daughter Iugenae. After an eye-bulging feast, Ullward offered around a tray of the digestive pastilles which had won him his wealth.

“A wonderful meal,” said Ted Seehoe reverently. “Too much, really. I’ll need one of these. The algae was absolutely marvelous.”

Ullward made a smiling, easy gesture. “It’s the genuine stuff.”

Ravelin Seehoe, a fresh-faced, rather positive young woman of eighty or ninety, reached for a pastille. “A shame there’s not more of it. The synthetic we get is hardly recognizable as algae.”

“It’s a problem,” Ullward admitted. “I clubbed up with some friends; we bought a little mat in the Ross Sea and grow all our own.”

“Think of that,” exclaimed Ravelin. “Isn’t it frightfully expensive?”

Ullward pursed his lips whimsically. “The good things in life come high. Luckily, I’m able to afford a bit extra.”

“What I keep telling Ted—” began Ravelin, then stopped as Ted turned her a keen warning glance.

Ullward bridged the rift. “Money isn’t everything. I have a flat of algae, my ranch; you have your daughter—and I’m sure you wouldn’t trade.”

Ravelin regarded Iugenae critically. “I’m not so sure.”

Ted patted Iugenae’s hand. “When do you have your own child, Lamster Ullward?” (
Lamster: contraction of Landmaster—the polite form of address in current use
.)

“Still some time yet. I’m thirty-seven billion down the list.”

“A pity,” said Ravelin Seehoe brightly, “when you could give a child so many advantages.”

“Some day, some day, before I’m too old.”

“A shame,” said Ravelin, “but it has to be. Another fifty billion people and we’d have no privacy whatever!” She looked admiringly around the room, which was used for the sole purpose of preparing food and dining.

Ullward put his hands on the arms of his chair, hitched forward a little. “Perhaps you’d like to look around the ranch?” He spoke in a casual voice, glancing from one to the other.

Iugenae clapped her hands; Ravelin beamed. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble!”

“Oh, we’d love to, Lamster Ullward!” cried Iugenae.

“I’ve always wanted to see your ranch,” said Ted. “I’ve heard so much about it.”

“It’s an opportunity for Iugenae I wouldn’t want her to miss,” said Ravelin. She shook her finger at Iugenae. “Remember, Miss Puss, notice everything very carefully—and don’t touch!”

“May I take pictures, Mother?”

“You’ll have to ask Lamster Ullward.”

“Of course, of course,” said Ullward. “Why in the world not?” He rose to his feet—a man of more than middle stature, more than middle pudginess, with straight sandy hair, round blue eyes, a prominent beak of a nose. Almost three hundred years old, he guarded his health with great zeal, and looked little more than two hundred.

He stepped to the door, checked the time, touched a dial on the wall. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, we’re quite ready,” said Ravelin.

Ullward snapped back the wall, to reveal a view over a sylvan glade. A fine oak tree shaded a pond growing with rushes. A path led through a field toward a wooded valley a mile in the distance.

“Magnificent,” said Ted. “Simply magnificent!”

They stepped outdoors into the sunlight. Iugenae flung her arms out, twirled, danced in a circle. “Look! I’m all alone! I’m out here all by myself!”

“Iugenae!” called Ravelin sharply. “Be careful! Stay on the path! That’s real grass and you mustn’t damage it.”

Iugenae ran ahead to the pond. “Mother!” she called back. “Look at these funny little jumpy things! And look at the flowers!”

“The animals are frogs,” said Ullward. “They have a very interesting life-history. You see the little fishlike things in the water?”

“Aren’t they funny! Mother, do come here!”

“Those are called tadpoles and they will presently become frogs, indistinguishable from the ones you see.”

Ravelin and Ted advanced with more dignity, but were as interested as Iugenae in the frogs.

“Smell the fresh air,” Ted told Ravelin. “You’d think you were back in the early times.”

“It’s absolutely exquisite,” said Ravelin. She looked around her. “One has the feeling of being able to wander on and on and on.”

“Come around over here,” called Ullward from beyond the pool. “This is the rock garden.”

In awe, the guests stared at the ledge of rock, stained with red and yellow lichen, tufted with green moss. Ferns grew from a crevice; there were several fragile clusters of white flowers.

“Smell the flowers, if you wish,” Ullward told Iugenae. “But please don’t touch them; they stain rather easily.”

Iugenae sniffed. “Mmmm!”

“Are they real?” asked Ted.

“The moss, yes. That clump of ferns and these little succulents are real. The flowers were designed for me by a horticulturist and are exact replicas of certain ancient species. We’ve actually improved on the odor.”

“Wonderful, wonderful,” said Ted.

“Now come this way—no, don’t look back; I want you to get the total effect…” An expression of vexation crossed his face.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Ted.

“It’s a damned nuisance,” said Ullward. “Hear that sound?”

Ted became aware of a faint rolling rumble, deep and almost unheard. “Yes. Sounds like some sort of factory.”

“It is. On the floor below. A rug-works. One of the looms creates this terrible row. I’ve complained, but they pay no attention…Oh, well, ignore it. Now stand over here—and look around!”

His friends gasped in rapture. The view from this angle was of a rustic bungalow in an Alpine valley, the door being the opening into Ullward’s dining room.

“What an illusion of distance!” exclaimed Ravelin. “A person would almost think he was alone.”

“A beautiful piece of work,” said Ted. “I’d swear I was looking into ten miles—at least five miles—of distance.”

“I’ve got a lot of space here,” said Ullward proudly. “Almost three-quarters of an acre. Would you like to see it by moonlight?”

“Oh, could we?”

Ullward went to a concealed switch-panel; the sun seemed to race across the sky. A fervent glow of sunset lit the valley; the sky burned peacock blue, gold, green, then came twilight—and the rising full moon came up behind the hill.

“This is absolutely marvelous,” said Ravelin softly. “How can you bring yourself to leave it?”

“It’s hard,” admitted Ullward. “But I’ve got to look after business too. More money, more space.”

He turned a knob; the moon floated across the sky, sank. Stars appeared, forming the age-old patterns. Ullward pointed out the constellations and the first-magnitude stars by name, using a pencil-torch for a pointer. Then the sky flushed with lavender and lemon yellow and the sun appeared once more. Unseen ducts sent a current of cool air through the glade.

“Right now I’m negotiating for an area behind this wall here.” He tapped at the depicted mountainside, an illusion given reality and three-dimensionality by laminations inside the pane. “It’s quite a large area—over a hundred square feet. The owner wants a fortune, naturally.”

“I’m surprised he wants to sell,” said Ted. “A hundred square feet means real privacy.”

“There’s been a death in the family,” explained Ullward. “The owner’s four-great-grandfather passed on and the space is temporarily surplus.”

Ted nodded. “I hope you’re able to get it.”

“I hope so too. I’ve got rather flamboyant ambitions—eventually I hope to own the entire quarterblock—but it takes time. People don’t like to sell their space and everyone is anxious to buy.”

“Not we,” said Ravelin cheerfully. “We have our little home. We’re snug and cozy and we’re putting money aside for investment.”

“Wise,” agreed Ullward. “A great many people are space-poor. Then when a chance to make real money comes up, they’re undercapitalized. Until I scored with the digestive pastilles, I lived in a single rented locker. I was cramped—but I don’t regret it today.”

They returned through the glade toward Ullward’s house, stopping at the oak tree. “This is my special pride,” said Ullward. “A genuine oak tree!”

“Genuine?” asked Ted in astonishment. “I assumed it was simulation.”

“So many people do,” said Ullward. “No, it’s genuine.”

“Take a picture of the tree, Iugenae, please. But don’t touch it. You might damage the bark.”

“Perfectly all right to touch the bark,” assured Ullward. He looked up into the branches, then scanned the ground. He stooped, picked up a fallen leaf. “This grew on the tree,” he said. “Now, Iugenae, I want you to come with me.” He went to the rock garden, pulled a simulated rock aside, to reveal a cabinet with washbasin. “Watch carefully.” He showed her the leaf. “Notice? It’s dry and brittle and brown.”

“Yes, Lamster Ullward.” Iugenae craned her neck.

“First I dip it in this solution.” He took a beaker full of dark liquid from a shelf. “So. That restores the green color. We wash off the excess, then dry it. Now we rub this next fluid carefully into the surface. Notice, it’s flexible and strong now. One more solution—a plastic coating—and there we are, a true oak leaf, perfectly genuine. It’s yours.”

“Oh, Lamster Ullward! Thank you ever so much!” She ran off to show her father and mother, who were standing by the pool, luxuriating in the feeling of space, watching the frogs. “See what Lamster Ullward gave me!”

“You be very careful with it,” said Ravelin. “When we get home, we’ll find a nice little frame and you can hang it in your locker.”

The simulated sun hung in the western sky. Ullward led the group to a sundial. “An antique, countless years old. Pure marble, carved by hand. It works too—entirely functional. Notice. Three-fifteen by the shadow on the dial…” He peered at his beltwatch, squinted at the sun. “Excuse me one moment.” He ran to the control board, made an adjustment. The sun lurched ten degrees across the sky. Ullward returned, checked the sundial. “That’s better. Notice. Three-fifty by the sundial, three-fifty by my watch. Isn’t that something now?”

“It’s wonderful,” said Ravelin earnestly.

“It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” chirped Iugenae.

Ravelin looked around the ranch, sighed wistfully. “We hate to leave, but I think we must be returning home.”

“It’s been a wonderful day, Lamster Ullward,” said Ted. “A wonderful lunch, and we enjoyed seeing your ranch.”

“You’ll have to come out again,” invited Ullward. “I always enjoy company.”

He led them into the dining room, through the living room-bedroom to the door. The Seehoe family took a last look across the spacious interior, pulled on their mantles, stepped into their run-shoes, made their farewells. Ullward slid back the door. The Seehoes looked out, waited till a gap appeared in the traffic. They waved good-bye, pulled the hoods over their heads, stepped out into the corridor.

The run-shoes spun them toward their home, selecting the appropriate turnings, sliding automatically into the correct lift- and drop-pits. Deflection fields twisted them through the throngs. Like the Seehoes, everyone wore mantle and hood of filmy reflective stuff to safeguard privacy. The illusion-pane along the ceiling of the corridor presented a view of towers dwindling up into a cheerful blue sky, as if the pedestrian were moving along one of the windy upper passages.

The Seehoes approached their home. Two hundred yards away, they angled over to the wall. If the flow of traffic carried them past, they would be forced to circle the block and make another attempt to enter. Their door slid open as they spun near; they ducked into the opening, swinging around on a metal grab-bar.