No wonder they don’t talk! he thought wildly. They don’t need to talk!
The woman looked at him in surprise. Talk? What is ‘talk’? It came clearly, a direct question. All three City-people were looking at him in puzzlement.
Talk. Making sounds that mean what you are thinking— They snatched the answer before it came from his lips, and they looked at each other, still puzzled, and then laughed. They didn’t really understand what he meant at all.
The woman pointed a finger at him. Who are you?
An Earthman. I’m called Heldrigsson. Lars Heldrigsson.
Again the puzzlement and confusion. Earthman? Heldrigsson? Lars? Many thoughts in your mind, all mean you—
I’m like him. Lars pointed to Peter.
They understood that, and it seemed to fill them with sudden eagerness and excitement. The men’s impassive faces broke into smiles as they nodded to each other, and Lars caught the stream of thought as it passed between them: —we were Tight, the two are indeed the same, then! It is good, good! Just as the Masters promised, sometime—
Lars blinked. “The Masters” had not been a word, but a thought, a mental picture of greatness and inaccessibility and reverence. It was almost as though the City-people had hushed their thought-voices as they mentioned the name, and bowed their heads gently. Yes, it is just as the Masters promised.
And then the woman was looking at him sharply. Like the others, she was dressed in a formless gray cloak of feathery soft material, and her hair seemed to shimmer in the light from the walls. She was very beautiful, her face childlike and yet gentle, her eyes gray and wide spaced. Then you come like all the others, from— She seemed to grapple for a picture that was beyond her capabilities.
From another star, Lars thought. From a planet called Earth, third from the sun—
Sun?
Our star. We call it Sol. Far away—
Away? What is that?
From another land, not this world at all.
But you must be weary, coming so far.
Lars stared. She was picturing him walking. We came in a Star Ship, the Ganymede.
Confusion again. Why did you do that?
To find another Star Ship that was lost here.
But why do you use these—Star Ships?
Now it was Lars’ turn to be puzzled. He turned to Peter.
“I think I’m missing something somehow.”
Peter nodded. “I’ve been on the same treadmill for days. They just can’t conceive of any other world but this planet. They don’t know what you mean about ‘another world’ and ‘across space’ and things like that. They can’t seem to grasp what a Star Ship is used for, or why anyone would need to use one.”
Once again Lars tried to convey the idea of crossing depths of space enclosed and propelled and protected by a shell of metal and plastic, but it was useless. He was so weary he could hardly keep his own thoughts straight, and this incredible means of conversation was quickly wearing away his last vestige of control “Look, can’t they get me something to eat, or let me wash up and get some sleep or something?” he burst out to Peter.
“Go ahead and ask them,” said Peter. “Give them a good sharp mental picture of what you want, and how lousy you feel, and what you’d like right now.”
Lars tried it. He conjured up an image of weariness and hunger that would have torn the heart out of a statue, and visualized a steaming hot shower and a clean warm bed. To his amazement the three City-people caught the images perfectly. A rush of sympathy and apology poured from their minds. We are tiring you and you need rest. Come, we will make you comfortable. Later we will—talk.
“But what about the others?” Lars said aloud. “They have no food. Kennedy and Marstom are sick. And there are two more down on the other side of the mountain.”
“They’re here,” Petter said quickly. “The others will be brought in, don’t worry. Just come along now.”
Lars needed no further urging. He followed the strange people into the city.
It was not until then that Lars got a good look at the city. Tired as he was, he watched the jumbled panorama spread before him with eyes wide with amazement. It was like a city built with brightly colored children’s blocks of every imaginable size and shape. There were gaudy arches and glistening spires. Sweeping walkways moved between the buildings that hung individually in the air, some high, some low, some large and square, some low and discoid, some round and transparent as bubbles, spinning slowly through the air. There seemed to be no planning of the city; it hung there willy-nilly, yet in its very disorganization there was a wild incredible sort of beauty. Nothing here was ugly. There was no dirt, no grayness. The City-people were everywhere, thronging the walkways and arches, moving up over the sweeping curves of bridges, and everywhere the buzz of activity and life washed over Lars like a wave. There were ancient City-people with long beards and white hair; many were young with the same peculiar young-old appearance that the woman who was leading them had shown. An occasional woman passed with a pink baby in her arms, and a string of youngsters fell in behind them, watching with great curiosity as they moved through the city.
Their method of travel was also confusing. They started off walking, or so it seemed to Lars, yet they seemed to move great distances with very little effort, and in very little time. One instant they were moving up on an arching bridge; the next moment the bridge was behind them. Lars shook his head sharply and looked at Peter in confusion.
“You’ll get used to it,” Peter said. “They’re only ‘walking’ in deference to us.”
“How do they usually get around?”
“I’m not sure what you’d call it. You know the tricks some of the teleps back home use—putting a ball in a box, and then making it pop through without opening the box? It seems to be pretty much the same. They want to go somewhere, and zip there they are! They took me out that way once, and I was sick all over everything. Since then they’ve slowed down to a fast run for me.”
They had been moving toward a long, low building of pale blue color, floating high above the majority of the buildings. This one had a crystal spire that rose a hundred feet in the air and sparkled like an icicle in the sunlight. Now, even as Lars watched, they were suddenly inside the building in a long sloping corridor. It seemed to be a library or lounge. Along one side curving sheets of plastic material stood near the wall, with a bank of control buttons at the side. A closer,look revealed them to be viewing plates, for one of them was glowing a dull blue, but there was no image, that Lars could see, on the screen. Quite abruptly the blue screen flickered and blinked out, becoming dull gray like the rest.
“Our ‘study’,” Peter said softly. “We have living quarters at the end there.”
They approched the end of the corridor, where a tall thin door-like slab lay against the pale green wall. Its fluted edges were visible, clinging to the wall, and there was no knob. The three City-people stopped, looking around at Lars. Once again he felt the feathery flutter of their thought-fingers in his mind. For you. Your quarters. You will find food and sleeping clothes inside.