The Heaven Makers Part 41

But he remembered the ravens. No blandishment of logic could erase the fact that the ravens had seen these . . . things too. Again, he asked himself: What is a Chem?

"You don't believe me," Kelexel said. "You don't want to believe me." He could feel relaxation seep through his body like a warm drink. Ahh, this was amusing. He saw the fascination Fraffin's people must have known once intimidating these creatures. The anger and jealousy he had directed against Thurlow began to dissipate.

Thurlow swallowed. His reason directed him into outrageous channels of thought. "If I believed you," he said, "I'd have to infer you were . . . well, some kind of . . ."

"Someone from another world?"

"Yes."

Kelexel laughed. "The things I could do! I could frighten you into a stupor like that!" He snapped his fingers.

It was a solidly human gesture from this inhuman looking person. Thurlow saw it and took a deep breath. He gave a closer examination to his caller's clothes: the cape, the leotards. He looked at the oddly high-positioned ears. The cape could've come from a theatrical outfitter, he thought. He looks like a dwarf Bela Lugosi. Can't be over four feet tall.

A near panic fear of his visitor shot through Thurlow then. "Why're you here?" he demanded.

Why am I here? For a moment no logical reason came to Kelexel's mind. He thought of Ruth unconscious on the tagalong in the other room. This Thurlow might've been her mate. A pang of jealousy gripped Kelexel.

"Perhaps I came to put you in your place," he said. "Perhaps I'll take you to my s.h.i.+p far above your silly planet and show you what an unimportant speck it is."

I must humor him, Thurlow thought. He said: "Let's grant this isn't a joke in bad taste and you're . . ."

"You don't tell a Chem he has bad taste," Kelexel said.

Thurlow heard the violence in Kelexel's voice. By an effort of conscious will, he paced his breathing to an even rhythm, stared at the intruder. Could this be the reason Ruth is gone? he wondered. Is this one of the creatures who took her, who've been spying on me, who watched poor Joe Murphey die, who . . .

"I've broken the most important laws of my society to come here," Kelexel said. "It astonishes me what I've done."

Thurlow took off his gla.s.ses, found a handkerchief on his dresser, polished the lenses, returned them to his nose. I must keep him talking, he thought. As long as he continues to talk, he's venting his violence.

"What is a Chem?" Thurlow asked.

"Good," Kelexel said. "You have normal curiosity." He began to explain the Chem in broad outline, their power, their immortality, their storys.h.i.+ps.

Still no mention of Ruth. Thurlow wondered if he dared ask about her.

"Why have you come to me?" he asked. "What if I told about you?"

"Perhaps you'll not be able to tell about us," Kelexel said. "And who'd believe you if you did?"

Thurlow focused on the threat. Granting that this Kelexel was who he said he was, then here was profound danger. Who could stand against such a creature? Thurlow suddenly saw himself as a Sandwich Islander facing iron cannon.

"Why're you here?" he repeated.

Annoying question! Kelexel thought. A momentary confusion overcame him. Why was the witchdoctor so persistent? But he was a witchdoctor, a primitive, and perhaps knowledgeable in mysterious ways. "You may know things helpful to me," he said.

"Helpful? If you come from such an advanced civilization that you . . ."

"I will question you and dispute with you," Kelexel said. "Perhaps something will emerge."

Why is he here? Thurlow asked himself. If he's what he says he is . . . why? Bits of Kelexel's phrases sorted themselves through Thurlow's awareness. Immortal. Storys.h.i.+ps. Search for amus.e.m.e.nt. Nemesis boredom. Immortal. Immortal. Immortal . . . Boredom!

Thurlow's stare began to rasp on Kelexel. "You doubt your sanity, eh?" Kelexel asked.

"Is that why you're here?" Thurlow asked. "Because you doubt your sanity?" It was the wrong thing to say and Thurlow knew it the moment the words were out of his mouth.

"How dare you?" Kelexel demanded. "My civilization monitors the sanity of all its members. The orderliness of our neural content is insured by the original setting to Tiggywaugh's web when the infant receives the gift of immortality."

"Tiggy . . . Tiggywaugh's web?" Thurlow asked. "A . . . a mechanical device?"

"Mechanical? Well . . . yes."

Great heavens! Thurlow thought. Is he here to promote some wild psychoa.n.a.lytic machine? Is this just a promotion scheme?

"The web links all Chem," Kelexel said. "We're the daoine-sithe, you understand? The many who are one. This gives us insights you couldn't imagine, poor creature. It makes the storys.h.i.+ps possible. You have nothing like it and you're blind."

Thurlow suppressed a feeling of outrage. A mechanical device! Didn't the poor fool realize he was talking to a psychologist? Thurlow put aside anger, knowing he couldn't afford it, said: "Am I blind? Perhaps. But not so blind I'm unable to see that any mechanical psychoa.n.a.lytic device is a useless crutch."

"Oh?" Kelexel found this an astonis.h.i.+ng statement. A useless crutch? The web? "You understand people without such things, eh?" he asked.

"I've had a fair amount of success at it," Thurlow said.

Kelexel took a step into the room, another. He peered up at Thurlow. On the evidence, the native did understand his own kind. Perhaps this wasn't an idle boast. But could he also see into the Chem, understand them? "What do you see in me?" he asked.

Thurlow studied the oddly squared-off, sensitive face. There'd been pathos, a pleading in that question. The answer must be gentle. "Perhaps," he said, "you've played a part so long that you've almost become that part."

Played a part? Kelexel wondered. He searched for other meaning in the words. Nothing came to him. He said: "My mechanical device has no human failures."

"How safe that must make the future," Thurlow said. "How full of certainty. Then why are you here?"

Why am I here? Kelexel wondered. He could see now that the reasons he'd given himself were mere rationalizations. He began to regret this confrontation, felt a sense of naked exposure before Thurlow. "An immortal Chem doesn't have to give reasons," he said.

"Are you truly immortal?"

"Yes!"

Suddenly, Thurlow believed him without reservation. There was something about this intruder, some outrageous quality of person that belied pretense and sham. As abruptly, Thurlow realized why Kelexel had come here. Knowing this, he wondered how he could tell the creature.

"Immortal," Thurlow said. "I know why you're here. You're drunk on too much living. You're like a person climbing a sheer cliff. The higher you climb, the farther it is to fall -- but oh how attractive the depths seem. You came here because you fear an accident."

Kelexel focused on the one word: Accident!

"There's no such thing as an accident for a Chem," he sneered. "The Chem is human and intelligent. Original intelligence may've been an accident, but nothing after that is an accident. Everything that happens to a Chem from the day he's taken from his vat is what he sets out to accomplish."

"How orderly," Thurlow said.

"Of course!"

"Such an ultimate neatness," Thurlow said. "When you do that to a garment, you take the life out of it. Neatness! Do that to a person and he'll live a life like an epigram . . . that's proved wrong after his death."