The City of the Sun. Brian Stableford
I said. “But you could pack a lot of people into it if you had a mind to. It’s built with quite a fair elevation.”
As I mentioned people I resumed my scan, picking out individuals in the fields. They were too far away for us to know whether they had seen us. Most of them appeared to be getting on with their work without so much as glancing in our direction.
But we had been seen in the city, at least. Through an arched gate facing us came a group of riders mounted on the “oxen” which seemed to serve every working purpose in the colony. They seemed slightly absurd—almost comical—but in all probability they would have found a horse equally strange, let alone a camel. The steeds did, in fact, cover the ground remarkably quickly. They were deer in the legs and shaggy yak mostly around the back. The males had horns that might have been borrowed from goats or sheep—coiled and ridged.
We continued on our way down the hill despite the fact that the welcoming committee was on its way. We reached the edge of the cultivated land and selected a pathway between the fields. By this time the approaching riders were much closer, and we could see them in more detail. What I saw didn’t exactly fill me with enthusiasm. The leader was dark-skinned, and wore a tunic that glittered somewhat in the sun—obviously not made from the same kind of material as the tunics worn by the other people in the fields. His companions seemed to me to be naked, though there was a peculiar black-striped effect visible around the upper parts of their bodies which put me in mind of war paint. This association was considerably helped by the fact that they were all—except the leader—carrying bows, with quivers of arrows slung across their backs.
“Looks like the prince and the palace guard,” I murmured. I had slowed down while observing this, and Nathan had to glance back to acknowledge it. By unspoken mutual consent we came to a halt, waiting.
The weird steeds continued their approach, and the black pattern that decorated the naked archers began to stand out even more clearly as a curious network, branching profusely from a center that was gathered about the neck and upper torso. Some of the branches extended out along the limbs to the hands and feet. It looked rather as if someone had drawn a map of the arterial circulatory system on the outside of each man’s skin. When they were closer still, I realized that the leader was similarly decorated, although the greater part of the decoration was, of course, concealed by his silvery tunic. His skin was very dark, but its apparent blackness was enhanced by the elaboration of the network around his head and over his skull. I realized that all the men were bald, and that the black pate which each of them boasted was in every case the contribution of the dendritic patina.
Briefly, I looked back over the fields, and even at the pedestrians on the city walls. They were too far away to make me certain, but I felt pretty sure that they, too, owed their dark heads to the same cause.
“I don’t think that’s paint,” said Nathan.
I didn’t, either.
Something was growing on their skins—something complex and ordered. The patterns were neatly drawn, the lines were precise. When they came even closer I could see the black stuff—where it was thickest—standing out from the skin in shallow ridges.
There were seven riders in all—six archers and the leader. The six reined in about fifty feet away, jostling for position slightly in the narrow lane. There was only room for two abreast, and they didn’t spread out to trample the green corn in the fields to either side. The leader came on alone, the whites of his eyes seeming strangely prominent in the black-capped, brown-skinned face. Two branches extended from the skullcap down between his eyes to run from either side of his prominent nose out into the cheeks, where they subdivided into tiny ramified webs. Thicker lines ran along his brow ridges, substituting for eyebrows. He seemed to have no bodily hair at all. When I glanced at the naked archers to seek confirmation of this impression I couldn’t see the slightest trace of pubic hair. But the distance was considerable, and I didn’t come to any immediate conclusion.
The dark man’s stare seemed distinctly hostile. I let my hands move away from my sides, and I held the palms open to emphasize their emptiness. Nathan did the same, rather more obtrusively.
As the dark man reined in his mount, he asked: “Do you understand me?” His English was slightly accented but otherwise quite clear. What surprised me, though, was the note of his voice. It was very high-pitched. I thought for one moment that I had jumped too soon to the conclusion that he was male.
There was nothing positive, now I came to look more closely, to identify either sex.
“I understand you,” said Nathan, in reply to his/her question.
“You are from Earth.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Yes, we are,” said Nathan, slightly surprised.
“A bright meteor passed across the sky yesterday,” stated the high-pitched voice. “Visible even in daylight. It was your starship.”
“Yes,” said Nathan.
The man/woman kept the conversational initiative with consummate ease—Nathan never got a chance to develop his sophisticated and much-practiced opening patter. “You must not come to the city today,” he/she said. “The Self must be made aware of your coming. You must wait. How far away is your ship?”
“A few miles,” said Nathan, “but....”
Buts, however, were not to be allowed. The high-pitched voice cut in quickly: “You must return. If you do not, you will be killed.”
That seemed to me to be pretty straight talking. There wasn’t a lot of room for negotiation in the statement.
“We must tell you why we have come,” said Nathan, quickly. He copied the other’s mode of speech easily. When in Rome....
It seemed that Arcadians didn’t go in a lot for small talk.
“Tell me now,” commanded the man/woman on the beast.
“We have come to help you,” said Nathan, compressing his message somewhat. “We set out from Earth three years ago to visit a series of colonies, to find out about their problems and their progress. Yours is the fourth we have visited. Our expertise and the resources of our ship are at your disposal, and any assistance we can offer in overcoming any difficulties you have encountered will be willingly given. My name is Nathan Parrick, and this is Alexis Alexander, our chief biologist. He is a specialist in ecological management. Do you understand all this?”
The other leaned forward slightly as his/her mount dropped its cumbersome head. As the mane parted slightly around the creature’s neck I saw traces of black beneath the russet fur. Another black web...just like the one that our interrogator wore. If “wore” was the right word.
Nathan’s diplomatic routine suddenly struck me as being slightly stupid. A pleasant, polite rigmarole full of happy assurances and formal greetings. The one question he was really burning to ask he put firmly to one side in the name of protocol.
Excuse me, sir or madam, but why have you got that funny black stuff growing all over you?
To which the obvious answer had to be: Strange you should ask...I’m desperately curious as to why you haven’t.
In the meantime, he or she had signaled his or her perfect comprehension of what Nathan was saying.
Nathan went on: “We have also come here to study the colony and its way of life. We have a great deal to learn concerning the prospects of colonies on alien worlds. This is information which Earth needs desperately, in order that the risks taken by future colonists may be minimized. We need to know a great deal about the possible pitfalls and dangers....”
The melodious voice cut in again: “That is enough. You will return to your ship now. A Servant will come to you if you are to be allowed to enter the city. If the Ego permits, then you may put your case to him.”
With that, the rider jerked the rein and the beast began to turn away.
“Wait!” said Nathan, quickly. He might as well have been King Canute talking