Daniels watched in horrified fascination.
Was he witnessing, he wondered, some wonderfully speeded-up geological process? He tried to pinpoint exactly what kind of process it might be. He knew of one that seemed to fit. The mound kept on heaving upward, splintering outward from its center. A great flood of loose debris was now pouring down the slope, leaving a path of brown in the whiteness of the fallen snow. The clump of birch tipped over and went skidding down the slope and out of the place where it had stood a shape emerged.
Not a solid shape, but a hazy one that looked as if someone had scraped some stardust from the sky and molded it into a ragged, shifting form that did not set into any definite pattern, that kept shifting and changing, although it did not entirely lose all resemblance to the shape in which it might originally have been molded. It looked as a loose conglomeration of atoms might look if atoms could be seen. It sparkled softly in the grayness of the day and despite its seeming insubstantiality it apparently had some strength — for it continued to push itself from the shattered mound until finally it stood free of it.
Having freed itself, it drifted up toward the ledge.
Strangely, Daniels felt no fear, only a vast curiosity. He tried to make out what the drifting shape was but he could not be sure.
As it reached the ledge and moved slightly above it he drew back to crouch within the cave. The shape drifted in a couple of feet or so and perched on the ledge — either perched upon it or floated just above it.
You spoke, the sparkling shape said to Daniels.
It was not a question, nor a statement either, really, and it was not really speaking. It sounded exactly like the talk Daniels had heard when he'd listened to the stars.
You spoke to it, said the shape, as if you were a friend (although the word was not friend but something else entirely, something warm and friendly). You offered help to it. Is there help that you can give?
That question at least was clear enough.
'I don't know,' said Daniels. 'Not right now, there isn't. But in a hundred years from now, perhaps — are you hearing me? Do you know what I am saying?'
You say there can be help, the creature said, but only after time. Please, what is that time?
'A hundred years,' said Daniels. 'When the planet goes around the star one hundred times.'
One hundred? asked the creature.
Daniels held up the fingers of both hands. 'Can you see my fingers? The appendages on the tips of my arms?'
See? the creature asked.
'Sense them. Count them.'
Yes, I can count them.
'They number ten,' said Daniels. 'Ten times that many of them would be a hundred.'
It is no great span of time, the creature said. What kind of help by then?
'You know genetics? How a creature comes into being, how it knows what kind of thing it is to become, how it grows, how it knows how to grow and what to become. The amino acids that make up the ribonucleic acids and provide the key to the kind of cells it grows and what their functions are.'
I do not know your terms, the creature said, but I understand. So you know of this? You are not, then, a brute wild creature, like the other life that simply stands and the others that burrow in the ground and climb the standing life forms and run along the ground.
It did not come out like this, of course. The words were there — or meanings that had the feel of words — but there were pictures as well of trees, of burrowing mice, of squirrels, of rabbits, of the lurching woodchuck and the running fox.
'Not I,' said Daniels, 'but others of my kind. I know but little of it. There are others who spend all their time in the study of it.'
The other perched on the ledge and said nothing more. Beyond it the trees whipped in the wind and the snow came whirling down, Daniels huddled back from the ledge, shivered in the cold and wondered if this thing upon the ledge could be hallucination.
But as he thought it, the thing began to talk again, although this time it did not seem to be talking to him. It talked, rather, as the creature in the stone had talked, remembering. It communicated, perhaps, something he was not meant to know, but Daniels had no way of keeping from knowing. Sentience flowed from the creature and impacted on his mind, filling all his mind, barring all else, so that it seemed as if it were he and not this other who was remembering.
5
First there was space — endless, limitless space, so far from everything, so brutal, so frigid, so uncaring that it numbed the mind, not so much from fear or loneliness as from the realization that in this eternity of space the thing that was himself was dwarfed to an insignificance no yardstick could measure. So far from home, so lost, so directionless — and yet not entirely directionless, for there was a trace, a scent, a spoor, a knowing that could not be expressed or understood or even guessed at in the framework of humanity; a trace, a scent, a spoor that showed the way, no matter how dimly or how hopelessly, that something else had taken at some other time. And a mindless determination, an unflagging devotion, a primal urgency that drove him on that faint, dim trail, to follow where it might lead, even to the end of time or space, or the both of them together, never to fail or quit or falter until the trail had finally reached an end or had been wiped out by whatever winds might blow through empty space.
There was something here. Daniels told himself, that, for all its alienness, still was familiar, a factor that should lend itself to translation into human terms and thus establish some sort of link between this remembering alien mind and his human mind.
The emptiness and the silence, the cold uncaring went on and on and on and there seemed no end to it. But he came to understand there had to be an end to it and that the end was here, in these tangled hills above the ancient river. And after the almost endless time of darkness and uncaring, another almost endless time of waiting, of having reached the end, of having gone as far as one might go and then settling down to wait with an ageless patience that never would grow weary.
You spoke of help, the creature said to him. Why help? You do not know this other. Why should you want to help?
'It is alive,' said Daniels. 'It's alive and I'm alive and is that not enough?'
I do not know, the creature said.
'I think it is,' said Daniels.
And how could you help?
'I've told you about this business of genetics. I don't know if I can explain — '
I have the terms from your mind, the creature said. The genetic code.
'Would this other one, the one beneath the stone, the one you guard — '
Not guard, the creature said. The one I wait for.
'You will wait for long.'
I am equipped for waiting. I have waited long. I can wait much longer.
'Someday,' Daniels said, 'the stone will erode away. But you need not wait that long. Does this other creature know its genetic code?'