“Jared! Jared!”
He listened to Della running forward to overtake him.
She caught his arm. “You don’t have to tell me now. I know. Oh, Jared, Jared! I never dreamed anything like this would happen!”
She drew his head down and kissed him.
“You know — what?” he asked, drawing her out.
She went on effusively, “Don’t you hear I suspected it all along — from the moment you threw the spears? And when I brought you that tube the monster dropped I all but said I had found it by its heat. I couldn’t make the first move, though — not until I was certain you were a Zivver too.”
From the depths of his astonishment, he managed to ask, “Too?”
“Yes, Jared. I’m a Zivver — just like you.”
The Captain of the Official Escort came over from the entrance. “We’re ready whenever you are.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Rigid self-discipline was customary in Withdrawal and Contemplation. So crucial a decision called for searching introspection. For Unification automatically meant full Survivorship — a double measure of responsibility. Then too, one so dedicated also had to concern himself with the demanding obligations of Procreating and Familiarization of Progeny.
These considerations were far from Jared’s mind over the next few periods, however, as he meditated in the silence of his heavily curtained grotto. He thought of Della — yes. But certainly not in the sound of normal Unification. Rather, his speculation centered on the significance of her being a Zivver. How had she managed to conceal that fact? And what were her intentions?
At that, though, the situation was not without humor. There was Lorenz — on a Zivver hunt. And all the while he had one right beside his ear! As far as Jared was concerned, the girl would be conveniently available for counteraccusation should the Adviser ever decide to accuse him of being a Zivver.
If he so chose, he could expose her any time he wanted. But what would he gain? Anyway, the fact that she thought he was a Zivver made for an interesting situation and he was anxious to hear what would come of it.
This line of thought invariably led to conjecture on the nature of zivving. What magical power was it that permitted one to know where things were in total silence and in the absence of odors? Or, like his imaginary Little Listener, did Zivvers hear some sort of soundless noise made by all things, animate and inanimate alike? Then he remembered it wasn’t sound at all, but heat that they zivved.
Each time his attention wandered to these irrelevant matters, he knew he was not rendering full service to the spirit of Withdrawal and Contemplation. Yet, he supposed all of these subjects deserved exploration under the special conditions of his Unification.
He spared himself one possible distraction, though, in not telling the Prime Survivor about the monsters’ invasion of the Upper Level. That would only have revived condemnation of his trip to the Original World.
On the fourth period of retreat he was jolted from meditation by a commotion in the world outside. At first he thought the monsters had reached the Lower Level. But there was not so much consternation as dismay in the voices of those streaming toward the orchard.
They had all abandoned the residential area by the time he decided on interrupting Withdrawal. He started after them. But halfway across the world, the central caster fetched impressions of the Prime Survivor and Elder Haverty coming in his direction.
“How long did you expect to keep it a secret?” Haverty was asking.
“Until I could decide what to do about it, at least,” the Prime Survivor answered glumly.
“Eh? What? I mean, what can you do about something like that?”
But the other had detected Jared. “So you broke Withdrawal,” he observed. “I suppose it’s just as well.”
Haverty excused himself, explaining that he was going to hear if Elder Maxwell had any ideas on how to cope with the situation.
“What happened?” Jared asked after the other had gone.
“We’ve just had nine hot springs go dry.” The Prime Survivor led the way toward their grotto.
Jared was relieved. “Oh. I thought it might be soubats, or maybe Zivvers.”
“I wish to Light that’s all it was.”
In the curtain-shielded privacy of their recess, the Prime Survivor paced aimlessly. “This is a critical situation, Jared!”
“Maybe the springs will start flowing again.”
“The other three that dried up haven’t started again. I’m afraid they’re out for good.”
Jared shrugged. “So we’ll have to do without them.”
“Don’t you hear the seriousness of this thing? We have a tight, delicate balance here. What’s happened might well mean some of us won’t be able to survive!”
Jared started to offer further encouragement. But suddenly he was preoccupied with self-concern. Was this part of the pattern of punishment he had brought on by provoking the Original World monster? Hot springs going dry in both the Upper and Lower Level, evil beings pushing past the Barrier — were they all actually strokes of vengeance by an offended Light Almighty?
“What do you mean — ‘some of us won’t be able to survive’?”
“Figure it out yourself. Each hot spring feeds the tendrils of a hundred and twenty-five manna plants at the most. Nine dead boiling pits means almost twelve hundred fewer plants.”
“But that’s just a fraction—”
“Any fraction that reduces the survival potential is a critical factor. If we apply the formula, we hear that with mne less hot springs we can support only thirty-four head of cattle instead of forty. All the other livestock will have to be reduced proportionately. In the long run it will mean seventeen less people can exist here!”
“We’ll make up the difference with more game.”
“There’ll be less game — with more soubats than ever flying the passageways.”
The Prime Survivor stopped pacing and stood there breathing heavily. Clickstone echoes weren’t needed to tell that he was crestfallen, that the creases in his face were etched even more deeply.
Jared couldn’t escape a sense of helplessness as he thought of man’s absolute dependence on the manna plants. Actually, they stood between the Survivors and death, providing as they did food for humans and livestock alike; rich juices; fibers for the women to twist into cloths, ropes and fishing nets; shells that could be split in half and used as containers; stalks that could be dried out sufficiently for sharpening into a spear or arrow.
Now, almost bitterly, he could recall his father’s voice finding new depths of respect and thoughtfulness gestations ago in reciting one of the legends:
“Our manna trees are a copy of the magnificent plants created by Light in Paradise — but a poor copy indeed. Light’s creation was topped by thousands of gracious, lacy things that swayed in the breeze and made whispering noises while they enjoyed constant communion with the Almighty. They drank of His energy and used it in such a manner as to mix the water they drank with bits of soil and with the air that men and animals breathed out. And they transformed these things into food and pure air for man and animal alike.
“But Light’s plant wasn’t good enough. It seems we had to fashion a tree without the graceful, whispering things at the top — one which has, instead, great masses of awkward feelers that grow deep into the boiling pits. There they draw energy from the water’s heat and use it to transform the foul air of the worlds and passageways and the elements from compost into fibers and tubers, fruit and fresh air.”
That was the manna plant.
“What are we going to do about the hot-springs situation?” Jared asked finally.
“How are you coming along with Contemplation?’