The Plurality of Worlds. Brian Stableford
be catastrophic.”
Thomas wanted to demand further clarification of this remarkable statement, but he did not have time. They had just arrived in a much larger cavern: a vast and crowded amphitheatre, with terraces arranged in multitudinous circles about a central core.
“I told you so,” Drake shouted. It took Thomas several seconds to realize that his friend was referring to his assertion that an insect queen could never be as pretty as his darling Jane. Thomas had to agree, as he looked upon a vast individual, which was surely the queen of a hive, although her resemblance to an ant or bee was no greater than its resemblance to a moth or a centipede. Her ugliness in human eyes was spectacular in its extremity. She was laying eggs at the rate of one every ninety seconds, which acolytes carried away into tunnel-mouths dotting the rim of the central arena.
It was not the queen to whom the two prisoners were taken, though—it was to a group of individuals twenty-five or thirty strong, situated no closer to her head than her nether end, who were in conference in one of the inner ranks of the array of terraces. The majority were more moth-like than any other species Thomas had yet seen, conspicuously furry, with multifaceted eyes each larger than a human head; the minority were very varied indeed.
“Now,” said Thomas’ uninvited guest, “you must let me speak. The future of your nation, and perhaps your world, may depend on it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Thomas pulled himself together once he had been released, and tried to look one of the moth-like creatures squarely in the eyes, although the wide spacing of the compound aggregations made it difficult. Whether it was he or his passenger who had identified the significant member of the group Thomas could not tell. Drake was standing close beside him, but said nothing: his eyes were on Thomas, his captain.
“Very well, Sir Lumen,” Thomas said, silently, since his guest seemed to be waiting for explicit permission to proceed. “Speak—but tell me, I beg you, what you are saying and what replies you receive.”
His hands immediately became active, as did the multiple forelimbs of the lepidopteran monster.
“I am delighted to have the privilege of communicating with one who has come so far through the universal web,” the voice within him said, evidently translating what the hands it was guiding were attempting to convey in a very different language. “May I address you as Aristocles?”
Then the internal voice changed its timbre entirely, to signify that it was translating a different gestural sequence. “You may,” the monster replied. “I suppose that it is a privilege of sorts for us, also, to converse with an ethereal in such a strange guise. We had not thought that such as you could have an interest in a being of this sort.”
Thomas, who still had control of some of his motor functions, tried to keep his eyes on the monster’s frightful face, although a certain instinctive repulsion added to the temptation to glance sideways to see what other creatures were passing along the terraces and to hazard guesses at what multifarious kinds of business they might be transacting.
“We are interested in all beings, whether they are ethereal, vaporous, liquid or solid,” Lumen stated. “Nor do we discriminate between endoskeletal and exoskeletal formations. We are as intrigued by anomaly as you are.”
“We stand corrected,” Aristocles replied. “Your kind does not often descend to planetary surfaces, though—do you not find the thick and turbulent atmosphere of this world’s neighbor as inhospitable as we do?”
“We can move in air as in ether,” Lumen said. “It is uncomfortable, but it does no lasting damage if we do not linger long.”
“And the same is true of these bizarre creatures, I assume,” Aristocles replied. “It will do you no lasting damage to dwell within the bonebag, provided that you do not linger long—but they cannot be as welcoming, in their capacity as hosts, as we soft-centered creatures are.”
The ether-creature made no reply to that teasing statement. Instead, it said: “May I introduce Thomas Digges, esquire, in the service of Her Majesty Queen Jane of England? His companion is Sir Francis Drake. May I also ask what has become of the other three humans who were captured with them?”
“You may,” the moth-like creature replied, its politeness wholly feigned if the suggestive timbre of its mimic cold be trusted. “Thomas Digges’ companions are unharmed, although one of them is direly fearful. He appears to believe that we and the Selenites are incarnations of pure evil.”
“I am glad that you understand these creatures well enough to be able to deduce that,” Lumen said—sarcastically, presuming the tone of the translation to be accurate “John Field has a narrow opinion of what it means to be made in God’s image. He does not understand there are innumerable worlds scattered throughout the cosmos which exact different adaptations on their surface-dwellers and burrowers alike, and he thinks of images in purely formal terms.”
Thomas blinked as some drifting miasma stung his eyes, and he felt his sinuses grow itchily moist in response to some peculiar scent. He sniffed, as surreptitiously as he could—although it was obvious, on the basis of the merest glance about that astonishing arena, that few of the individuals gathered here could have any objection at all to the extrusion of surplus mucus.
“There are those even in the bosom of the True Civilization who have narrow opinions as to the will and whims of God,” Aristocles admitted. “If there is disagreement even within the ultimate harmony, what can we expect without? A race such as this must have a very peculiar notion indeed of the image in which they have been forged. With your permission, of course, we should like to take these specimens to the Center, so that they may be savored by a mature Fleshcore.”
“Their flesh has been more than adequately sampled, thanks to the assiduousness of your gatherers,” Lumen replied. “As to their consciousness, I know it more intimately than you can, given the limited means you can apply to the task. Were you to return the five humans to the surface of their world—or let them make their own way home in their ethership, I would be willing to go with you to the Center, to enlighten the community of Great Fleshcores to the limit of their desire.”
“We thank you for your consideration,” said his adversary—Thomas was very certain that there was a powerful adversarial component to this exchange—“but ethereals cannot fully comprehend the transactions of more palpable beings. There is no substitute for tangible evidence. We must insist on taking the humans to the Center—but we are, of course, perfectly willing to bring them back again afterwards, by means of the ninth-dimensional transmitter. There would be no inconvenience to those concerned.”
“Bargain with him,” Thomas said, hoping that the interruption would not break his guest’s concentration. “I’ll go, if my four companions are set free.”
“I take your point about their being no substitute for tangible evidence,” Lumen said, immediately. “To take all five humans on such a difficult journey would, however, be superfluous. One would be sufficient. The others are of no use, this one being the only one that can communicate with you effectively. Perhaps the others could wait here, until this one returns, and then they could all be returned safely to the surface of their world.”
“We disagree,” Aristocles said. “Your presence certainly adds to this one’s versatility in communication, but much has been learned by palpation of all five and comparison of the results. If our poor feelers can detect interesting differences, think what a mature Fleshcore might discover. As we have said, we are prepared to bring the five creatures back here when we are done with them. If it is their desire to risk a return trip in their ridiculous vessel, we shall not hinder them, even though we would not be optimistic about their prospects of success.”
“Have you noticed, Thomas, that we are the cynosure of all eyes in this exotic court?” Drake put in, evidently feeling that the time had come to intervene in the orgy of palpation.
Thomas spared a momentary glance for a mixed group of bug-like creatures some thirty feet away, who did indeed seem to be using their own intercourse merely as a pretext for studying