“What happened? Are you all right?”
Her expression is indrawn, she does not answer for awhile. Then she brushes her forehead in a very human gesture. “I—we—heard a death-scream. Very small, very close; something dying, freezing or burning up. I’m not sure, but I think I took in an alien astronaut. You can find out.”
When Dann turns his attention outside, he finds the others are already aware of what has happened.
“Something came barreling in here screaming blue murder,” Waxman tells him. “Heagran’s friends have gone out to see what they can do. Holy smokes!” The young voice is full of wonder. “Imagine, a real alien! I’m going to see it unless somebody gives me a good picture soon.”
Dann is too bemused to reply. “A real alien”—this from a disembodied double being dwelling in the interior of some leviathan of the starways, dealing in mind-speech with the creatures of another world. But he knows what Waxman means. Not for the first time, Dann reflects on the curious compatibility of these human and Tyrenni minds. They’re healthier, and less individuated than we, he thinks; and they lack our predatory aggressiveness. Our particular group of humans are rather deficient in that way too. Is it possible that empathic intelligence is the same the Galaxy over, that the knowledge of the reality of others’ feelings breeds a certain gentle cast of mind, whether one is in a human body or a great manta-ray of the winds? Or is it something deeper in their contactless, food-rich way of life?
The advent of the alien has generated a flurry of activity. It is decided to let him stay where he first lodged until more is known of him.
“Val’s gone over to try to learn its language,” Waxman reports. “She’s got a gift that way. They think it’s a combined being, a what-you-call hemaphrodite. Sastro sent me a good memory. Even Ted has heard of it.”
“Margaret didn’t do that on her own,” Dann tells him. “I mean, she did it, but it was her plus something. The being, whatever we’re in, seems to have a compulsion to respond to life in distress.”
“We’re in a life-boat,” puts in the dreamy voice Dann recognizes as Ted Yost.
“That’s right,” Waxman agrees. “We all feel something, some kind of urge like that underneath. It’s beautiful.”
Beautiful? Yes. But suddenly it occurs to Dann, what if they involuntarily take on a load of sapient predators? A space-going armada like Ghengis Khan’s hordes, with whom even a Tyrenni Father couldn’t cope? Or a distressed planetful of highly evolved scorpions? What would the gentle souls here do then?
He puts the question to Margaret when she next appears.
“Margaret, you know the people here, we who ride with you, are pretty peaceful types. Empathic, rational. And there’s not many of us. What if you take in some really ferocious characters? Fighters, killers, slavers? We might all be massacred or destroyed in some way.”
The figure in the shadows seems to stir slightly, and the “human” Margaret shakes her head, smiling gently.
“No. You will never be in danger. We—I have learned the value of life. I have you all in my circuits. If there should be hostility provision will be made. We are equipped for that, you know.”
He doesn’t know and he can’t imagine anything beyond, say, bulkheads. But he’s willing to trust it to her.
Oddly, it is the coming of the alien that is reponsible for Dann’s most human contact and the most touching one.
For some time his outward sensors have been aware of a presence nearby, close-held but emanating a hesistant intent and what he recognizes unhappily as pain. Dann puzzles. Can it be Ted, or Chris?
No; Waxman says that Ted has been induced to meet the Tyrenni, and Chris has formed a strong relationship with Giadoc in their curiosities about the unliving energies of this world. Moreover Chris is getting over his shyness about having his mind read. “They’re helping him a lot,” Waxman says. “He may let old Sastro fix his head a touch, so he doesn’t feel so, so, you know. From being like he was on Earth.”
Dann recollects his own slight experience of “having his head fixed.” To have ones fears and inadequacies put to rest—good for Chris. But who is this then nearby? Almost he asks Waxman, but the being’s shyness is so clear. Rather like a private patient waiting to see him again.
Finally comes a tentative mind-touch on his own. “Doc?”
The mystery is solved—it’s Frodo. If he had thought of her at all, he’d imagined her somewhere off happily exploring with Val.
“I’m glad you came by, Frodo. As maybe you can see, I’m stuck here.”
“I never thanked you for helping me back there. What you did, when we were on Tyree.”
Whatever she has come for, this isn’t it. He transmits a genial acknowledgment, while the thing in him that cannot rest in the presence of pain gropes toward her.
“Doc, you always understood—” It’s coming: with wrenching intensity her mind opens to him like a child, and she blurts, “Val doesn’t need me anymore.”
In dim immateriality she grips something that might be his hand; he can feel her struggle, her shame at showing pain. He remembers a long-ago small boy, brought in with a dreadfully smashed kneecap. For a moment he simply hangs on, trying to absorb and master the hurtful transmission, and sends the first thing that comes to his head.
“I don’t believe she doesn’t need you, Frodo. She loves you. Did she say so?”
“NO!—but she keeps doing things with Tivonel and the others, and she’s so busy with that alien. Oh, Doc, it’s horrible. I’m horrible.”
“Why are you horrible, Frodo?”
“Because—because—” The impression of a wailing little figure throwing itself on his bosom is overpowering. “Because she’s happy now! It’s horrible that I can’t take her being happy. She doesn’t need me at all!”
Dann holds her strongly, sharing the sharp grief, waiting for the storm to spend. Trying to understand, he recalls his glimpse of Val’s mind. The secret, sacred enclave of We Two. Now all that has been changed. The hostile world around has vanished and Val has been freed; she is enjoying her freedom in this weird place, like his little friend Tivonel. But this other inhabitant of that private world cannot fly free so easily. She misses horribly the exclusive love and sharing that gave life meaning— How well he knows it.
The sad mind in his nonexistent arms is murmuring. “Sometimes I think I’ll just start moving on till I come to the edge of this thing and go on out into space.”
“No. Would it be fair to Val to lay that guilt on her? Listen. When that idea comes to you I want you to come to me first. Will you promise me that?”
Finally she agrees. The intensity is drained for the moment. But the mournful message comes, “No one needs me here. Hell, I was just a dumb law student. We’ve passed beyond Middle Earth now, haven’t we? Who needs a law student in the Western Isles?”
“I was just a dumb medical doctor, Frodo. We all have to reconvert ourselves somehow.”
Frodo gives the ghost of her old scornful laugh. “You have her.”