r. His mind threatened to join hers in blankness, but in that last, wildly emotional moment, he felt another change, a great and astonishing change, roar through him. At the point of their union an unheard-of thing began to happen—it was as if their very flesh melted and joined. At first he was not directing it; it was an event of nature, his flesh becoming her flesh. Cell bonded to cell and where there had been lubricous nonfriction there was a bond and movement ceased. He felt a strange swelling and a sensation that he could not identify until he felt, in his body, the beat of her feeble heart. The flow of her blood joined his, passing through the bonded flesh as they literally became one, connected in all the soft areas of their union. He sensed the damaged cells of her blood and then he was aware of her entity as well as his own. He sent his powerful Healer's forces out to battle the darkness, cell by cell. His substance was her substance and he was strong, freshly filled with broth and air, equal to the task of mending her frail body. With an awed joy, he felt life spring up in her, and saw her eyes open in wonder and look into his. He was too busy to pause to analyze what was happening. His Healer's blood flowed in her veins, his cells were her cells and his healing ability worked for both of them. He used up his stored substance with abandon, voiding poisons through his gills not at all concerned by this breach of politeness. «Rack, Rack,» she sent. The extent of her weakness frightened him, but he was equal to the task. It cost him, but he was giving joyously, praising nature for this chance to redeem himself, to give of himself as she had given of herself for him. As he healed he flowed in her, was part of her, knew the intimate processes of her body, and found the inherent weakness of the Power Givers in organs that could not reject the deadly things in the environment. He knew his Power Giver as no Healer had ever known his love, and he made her young and whole again. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the process ceased. The flesh parted and they were lying together, both aware of his seed in her. Rack told her what he knew, for he had been able to see that she was in the process of conceiving. He could no longer watch, but they talked of the mechanics of the process, timed it, and tried to pinpoint the exact moment. They laughed joyously and clung to each other and, in a total love that made them both giddy, found the union of mind that transported them once again. Later she fed him. Her being radiated health. He felt his strength returning as he consumed broth and filled his storage cells with air. The last tints of russet left Rack's pelvic region. On Beautiful Wings' chest bulges the scales folded into place and covered the soft flesh. The sun, only a puny force in the far north, stayed below the horizon and in the cool dark they found it beautiful to sink into the mind-blend union. They did not miss the physical union, for that was nature's way and the physical aspects were purely concerned with the creation of life. Pictures of days became pictures of satellite changes and they were not aware of the swift passage of time, lost in the beauty of mind-blend, eating only when necessary, using air sparingly. They had achieved that rare union which lasts past the creation of life, and were drawn closer by the miracle that had occurred. Once, for a time, Rack's blood had flowed in her veins; he had known her down to the minutest cell level; and he had felt and seen what she could never feel or see, the beginnings of new life within her body. After many satellite changes of pure happiness, responsibility intruded in the form of the mind of a Far Seer. «Rack the Healer, will you voluntarily attend the meeting of the council of Far Seers, Healers, and Power Givers?» «I will inform you,» Rack sent, sinking to depths of sadness. «Now you have other crimes to answer to,» Beautiful Wings told him. «They will cite your disobedience.» «And the crime of endangering the life of a Power Giver in unlawful flight,» Rack agreed. «I will lose you.» «Negative, negative,» he sent angrily. If she lost him he would lose her and he could envision no worse fate. «I will go with you to the death lands of the far south,» she promised. «Negative, negative,» he sent, thinking furiously «Perhaps, by some miracle of nature, you can heal me even in the death lands.» «There I cannot even heal myself,» he said. «Then we die together.» «Much as I revere my own life—and life in the abstract—I revere yours more.» He caressed her. «To think of you dead is the most terrible pain.» «Then let us flee again. We will go to the lands across the eastern sea.» «Negative,» he sent, adding pictures of the distance, the load she would carry, the drain on her system. She was in perfect health, but even the most healthy Power Giver was seriously drained by such a trip. The passage across the eastern sea had been made only a few times in recorded history and only in times of dire emergency. «But you forget,» she chided. «You can heal me. You can join your power to mine.» Hope sprang up in him. Then he negated. «In the heat of the union I felt your flesh and healed you. I have no feel for it now. I don't think I could do it again, not without the emotional stimulus of the joining.» «We could try.» The problem was that without the flowering of scales that accompanied the physical union there were no flesh areas to bring into contact. Armored hand on armored hand gave a heady and pleasant sensation, but produced not even one spark of that strange power Rack had felt during the union. Rack considered. Every portion of Beautiful Wings' body was protected by her small, decorative scales, save for the inside of her small mouth and the inner lids of her eyes. He examined her small, protected lips. With a finger he opened them and looked into the pink, toothless maw. Her vestigial tongue was very small. His own tongue would barely extend past his armored lips. Yet, this was the only area of exposed flesh that could possibly be joined. «We can only try,» he agreed. He placed his lips on hers, thrusting his tongue into the fleshy interior of her mouth. «A sensation not to be despised,» she giggled. «Quiet, I am thinking.» Flesh on flesh, remembering. The glory of union, the softness of entering her body, the feel of her cells, were implanted in his mind. It was, he found, surprisingly simple. He had only to will it and his tongue welded flesh to flesh, melted into her, knew her. Through that small contact of united flesh he sensed the processes of her body and made minor healings. He closed off the contact, knowing a wild elation. He would never have to be without her; his healing abilities would make her as long-lived as he. Only the ruin of his system would bring death to both of them and that would be many, many sun circles away. He knew the feeling of complete victory, and then it was tinged with regret. «I know,» she said, «responsibility is a heavy thing.» She touched him, sending a warm glow through the scales of his arm. «But we have something to contribute"—a picture of their unborn offspring. «The people to the east, it is said, are much like us,» she consoled. «But they are not our people,» he sent, regretting already the loss of their own land and friends. There was, however, no choice. Had he not loved her, he would have gone to the council and would have used the forum to try to convince the Far Seers of the importance of that strange object he found in the valley of the hot waters. But having known perfect love and knowing that his own banishment would condemn Beautiful Wings and his child to an early death, he chose to flee to the eastern lands. Amid much hilarity they practiced soaring. The mouth-to-mouth position made for some difficulty. Beautiful Wings drew not only on Rack's substance, but utilized as well his power of mind to reinforce her own push against the magnetic field of the planet. At first she could not see, but an adjustment of their heads conquered that difficulty and practice sent them flying effortlessly, without cost to her substance, into the clean air of the world above the clouds. Having become proficient in joint flight, Rack guided them to a position over Red Earth's establishment. «I am Rack the Healer, bringer of new and startling things,» he sent. «You are Rack the Healer, madman,» Red Earth sent angrily, adding astonishment and shock that Rack was once again recklessly using the life substance of a Power Giver for illegal soaring. «I ask only a hearing,» Rack sent, «a fair and impartial forum composed of equal numbers of Far Seers, Power Givers, and Healers.» «The law,» Red Earth sent, «is the law. Your new and startling thing has been adjudged, after careful study, to be the result of unexplained forces in the depths of space.» «The Far Seers err and dream dreams of the unimaginative mind,» Rack sent, himself becoming a bit angry, «for the object is clearly crafted and must, therefore, be the work of the Old Ones. As such, it not only should receive the attentions of the scholars among the Far Seers, but should be subjected to the speculations of the scientific Healers, as well.» «It is the will of nature that the Far Seers hand down the law,» Red Earth said. «Tell me, Healer, your justification for continued defiance.» «In the interest of the race,» Rack said. «In that interest I have traveled far. In that interest I risked death and disgrace, and in return I am scorned and judged without a hearing.» «Your absence from the hearing was your own doing,» Red Earth said pointedly, referring to Rack's flight from justice. «If the Old Ones were capable of crafting so unique a material,» Rack went on stubbornly, «what else might they have been capable of? I demand a renewed effort to rethink our position.» «You seek to dig in the earth and release death,» Red Earth said sadly, seeing behind Rack's words a picture of the valley of hot waters. «This we will not allow. I have been empowered, to my sorrow, to—» But Rack was prepared. As the Far Seer gathered his energies, Beautiful Wings sent them soaring high into the purpling sky, into the regions of nonair, into the coldness of the upper reaches. The bolt from Red Earth's mind dulled Rack's senses momentarily. Shocked, he realized that it had been meant to be a killing blow. Had he not anticipated it and removed himself from Red Earth's range, he would have been a lifeless form clinging inside Beautiful Wings' field of power, draining her, leaving her without his healing protection. «So be it,» he said. Flesh to flesh, they accelerated, leaving the zone of the sun for the darkness to the east. They sensed the rolling sea beneath them as they sought the land of the east, fleeing those who would kill. VII I, Rack the Healer, sing of my joy with the brilliant satellite in opposition to the sun, rising there in the cold, airless heights, dark valleys forming shadows on its face. I can reach out and touch its face, not with my mind, as the Far Seers do, but with my imagination, as dreamers do. I dream and my dreams are turning true; welded to my flesh is Beautiful Wings, whose body, even in flight, nourishes that which we have made together. I share with her the elation of freedom from the pull of the planet. Through her mind I see the delicate design of the magnetic field, and with my own force coupled with hers, for we are one, I push against it. We use its power with our own, directing the force to send the union of our bodies flying. The bright gleaming satellite comes swimming through space to meet us; the clouds roil darkly beneath us; the planet turns in its circle around the sun. I feel myself giving, my surplus of substance being used for the first time in Power Giver soaring. I wonder at it. I speak with her, telling her of the satisfaction I have known in my wanderings and she shares with me that curiosity which, to my knowledge, has in the past been limited to those of my kind. We are not dismayed by the length of the passage; we are occupied in spying out the far, bright spots the Far Seers tell us are other suns like ours. Although their senses are too dim to affirm it, the basic laws of nature must work even there. Planets swim in their orbit and nature peoples the planets with life, for life is the be all end all. I hail you, all you far-flung Power Givers and Healers and all your loves. May your unions produce a balance. May all of you who live where the far suns glitter dimly find your tints to be brilliant and your blendings all-powerful. For I know the goodness of life and share your joy as I invite you to share mine. My mind makes flamboyant pictures of hope. I see the survival factor rising and the Breathers reproducing themselves in numbers as difficult for my small mind to hold as is the picture of the distance between us and that bright circle of light that rises overhead. The sun is shrinking but still gives our world above the clouds a softness of light that illuminates the lightly-filmed eyes of my beloved. Her lips work in a smile under mine and our flesh tugs at itself where it is blended together. I see understanding. I see love. I see the race rising to overcome the hardships of our ancient home, replenishing the air, stilling the storms, banishing the toxicity to the sink holes, leaving the earth to us. I see the need for our self-protective isolation in establishments overcome, and even the fragile Keepers basking in the kind sun. I see the Far Seers free to make more than an occasional brief foray into our unchallenged outside and using their analytical minds to conquer our problems. For too long have we allowed the planet and its deadly poisons to dominate us. Are we at the mercy of the planet? No. If we merely took what was offered, we would die gasping in the clouds of death. The learned thinkers tell us that we are beloved of nature, and yet she does her best, in every way, at every moment of the sun circle, to kill us. Nature is the sacred force and is, therefore, not to be questioned. Tampering not allowed. Witness my own problems involving an ancient law that says thou shalt not dig in the softness or the hardness of the earth lest the poisons of death overtake you. But I, Rack the Healer, have wetted my hands in the products of the soft earth, pushing my fingers into the muck of a new stream bed with impunity. You, out there, circling the far suns, are you bound by tradition? Are your Far Seers blind to new knowledge? We could, with our strength, soar to meet that bright, dark-shadowed planet, our satellite, and speak to the men there. I see it and think, ah, how clear, how bright. How clean the air. Is it not as old, not as wasted, not as soiled as our world? I think not, for otherwise it would glow with the poisonous yellows and purples rather than with the clarity of the hot water that gushes from the rocks in the valley I found beyond the river. Yes, we are strong, full of substance. Yet as we soar I feel the cold seep through my scales and slow my blood. My love shivers against me and we drop to the clouds to warm ourselves with the heat of the sun captured under that thick blanket. Here is the reality that binds us within our scales and within our minds. There I doubt, for we live on my stored air, our gills expelling the gases without allowing a breath to pass. Here our outer lids close and we are in darkness, for the tender membranes of our inner lids are scalded by the harshness of the atmosphere. Here, the bright sky hidden, we soar on instinct alone, guided by the Healer's sense of direction and by the Power Giver's ability to measure distances. Farther down, on the surface, skimming slowly, we find pockets of breathable air and I replenish my stores, but the storms that are abating in our homeland behind us rage still on the sea and the heavy waters heave up, wetting our feet. Here nature is cruel—a blasphemous thought, but true. Outside the protective community of my birth, I, Rack the Healer, outlaw, think such thoughts and have to hide them, for my love is not as cynical as I. The water of the sea is warm and I remember the feel of it on my scales when I would dive for the slime source. Rocks at my waist, for without weight I would float, I sink to the bottom and feel the slick, pulpy plants in my fingers as I gather the food source. It is said that the people of the eastern lands eat the flesh of the small, armored animals that crawl in the beds of the slime source. The Far Seers have said they are poisonous. Does this not speak of the fallibility of the law-givers? I have not seen it, but it is recorded. The same sea washes both the shores of my homeland and the eastern lands; woul