Odeen - Tri -

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Odeen came. He had been flowing faster than ever he had flowed before. He had been following Tritt's sharp new-baby sense perception, but now he was close enough for his own blunter senses to detect her nearness. He could on his own account feel the flickering and fading consciousness of Dua, and he raced forward while Tritt did his best to clump along, gasping and calling, "Faster - faster - "

Odeen found her in a state of collapse, scarcely alive, smaller than he had ever seen an adult Emotional.

"Tritt," he said, "bring the battery here. No - no - don't try to carry her. She's too thin to carry. Hurry. If she sinks into the floor - "

The Hard Ones began to gather. They were late, of course, with their inability to sense other life-forms at a distance. If it had depended only on them, it would have been too late to save her. She would not have passed on; she would truly have been destroyed - and - and more than she knew would have been destroyed with her.

Now, as she was slowly gathering life out of the energy supply, the Hard Ones stood silently near them.

Odeen rose; a new Odeen who knew what was happening exactly. Imperiously, he ordered them away with an angry gesture - and they left. Silently. Without objection.

Dua stirred.

Tritt said, "Is she all right, Odeen?"

"Quiet, Tritt," said Odeen. "Dua?"

"Odeen?" She stirred, spoke in a whisper. "I thought I had passed on."

"Not yet, Dua. Not yet. But first you must eat and rest."

"Is Tritt here, too?"

"Here I am, Dua," said Tritt.

"Don't try to bring me back," said Dua. "It's over, I've done what I wanted to do. The Positron Pump will - will stop soon, I'm sure. The Hard Ones will continue to need Soft Ones and they will take care of you two, or at least the children."

Odeen didn't say anything. He kept Tritt from saying anything, either. He let the radiation pour slowly into Dua, very slowly. He stopped at times to let her rest a bit, then he started again.

She began to mutter, "Enough. Enough." Her substance was writhing more strongly.

Still he fed her.

Finally, he spoke. He said, "Dua, you were wrong. We are not machines. I know exactly what we are,. I would have come to you sooner, if I had found out earlier, but I didn't know till Losten begged me to think. And I did; very hard; and even so it is almost premature."

Dua moaned and Odeen stopped for a while.

He said, "Listen, Dua. There is a single species of life. The Hard Ones are the only living things in the world. You gathered that, and so far you were right. But that doesn't mean the Soft Ones aren't alive; it merely means we are part of the same single species. The Soft Ones are the immature forms of the Hard Ones. We are first children as Soft Ones, then adults as Soft Ones, then Hard Ones. Do you understand?"

Tritt said, in soft confusion, "What? What?"

Odeen said, "Not now, Tritt. Not now. You'll understand, too, but this is for Dua." He kept watching Dua, who was gaining opalescence.

He said, "Listen, Dua, whenever we melt, whenever the triad melts, we become a Hard One. The Hard One is three-in-one, which is why he is hard. During the time of unconsciousness in melting we are a Hard One. But it is only temporary, and we can never remember the period afterward. We can never stay a Hard One long; we must come back. But all through our life we keep developing, with certain key stages marking it off. Each baby born marks a key stage. With the birth of the third, the Emotional, there comes the possibility of the final stage, where the Rational's mind by itself, without the other two, can remember those flashes of Hard One existence. Then, and only then, he can guide a perfect melt that will form the Hard One forever, so that the triad can live a new and unified life of learning and intellect. I told you that passing on was like being born again. I was groping then for something I did not quite understand, but now I know."

Dua was looking at him, trying to smile. She said, "How can you pretend to believe that, Odeen? If that were so, wouldn't the Hard Ones have told you long ago; told all of us?"

"They couldn't, Dua. There was a time, long ages ago, when melting was just a putting together of the atoms of bodies. But evolution slowly developed minds. Listen to me, Dua; melting is a putting together of the minds, too, and that's much harder, much more delicate. To put it together properly and permanently, just so, the Rational must reach a certain pitch in development. That pitch is reached when he finds out, for himself, what it's all about: when his mind is finally keen enough to remember what has happened in all those temporary unions during melting. If the Rational were told, that development would be aborted and the time of the perfect melt could not be determined. The Hard One would form imperfectly. When Losten pleaded with me to think, he was taking a great chance. Even that may have been - I hope not -

"For it's especially true in our case, Dua. For many generations, the Hard Ones have been combining triads with great care to form particularly advanced Hard Ones and our triad was the best they'd ever obtained. Especially you, Dua. Especially you. Losten was once the triad whose baby-mid you were. Part of him was your Parental. He knew you. He brought you to Tritt and me."

Dua sat up. Her voice was almost normal. "Odeen! Are you making all this up to soothe me?"

Tritt broke in. "No, Dua. I feel it, too. I feel it, too. I don't know what exactly, but I feel it."

"He does, Dua," said Odeen. "You will, too. Aren't you beginning to recall being a Hard One during our melt? Don't you want to melt now? One last time? One last time?"

He lifted her. There was a feverishness about her, and though she struggled a bit, she was thinning.

"If what you say is true, Odeen," she gasped. "If we are to be a Hard One; then it seems to me you are saying we'll be an important one. Is that so?"

"The most important. The best who was ever formed. I mean that . . . Tritt, over there. It's not good-by, Tritt. We'll be together, as we always wanted to be. Dua, too. You, too, Dua."

Dua said, "Then we can make Estwald understand the Pump can't continue. We'll force - "

The melting was beginning. One by one, the Hard Ones were entering again at the crucial moment. Odeen saw them imperfectly, for he was beginning to melt into Dua.

It was not like the other times; no sharp ecstasy; just a smooth, cool, utterly peaceful movement. He could feel himself become partly Dua, and all the world seemed pouring into his/her sharpening senses. The Positron Pumps were still going - he/she could tell - why were they still going?

He was Tritt, too, and a keen sharp sense of bitter loss filled his/her/his mind. Oh, my babies -

And he cried out, one last cry under the consciousness of Odeen, except that somehow it was the cry of Dua. "No, we can't stop Estwald. We are Estwald. We - "

The cry that was Dua's and yet not Dua's stopped and there was no longer any Dua; nor would there ever be Dua again. Nor Odeen. Nor Tritt.

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Estwald stepped forth and said sadly to the waiting Hard Ones, by way of vibrating air waves, "I am permanently with you now, and there is much to do - "

3

. . . contend in vain?

1

Selene Lindstrom smiled brightly and walked with the light springy touch that was startling when first seen by the tourists, but was soon recognized as having a grace of its own.

"It's time for lunch," she said, cheerfully. "All home-grown, ladies and gentlemen. You may not be used to the taste, but it's all nourishing. . . . Right here, sir. You won't mind sitting with the ladies, I know . . . One moment. There will be seats for all. . . . Sorry, there will be a choice on the beverage, but not on the main course. That will be veal. . . . No, no. Artificial flavor and texture, but it's really quite good."

Then she sat down herself, with a slight sigh and an even slighter wavering of her pleasant expression.

One of the group sat down across from her,

"Do you mind?" he asked.

She looked at him, quickly, penetrating. She had the faculty of making quick judgments, of course, and he did not seem troublesome. She said, "Not at all. But aren't you with someone in this group?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm alone. Even if that were not the case, Earthies are no great thrill to me."

She looked at him again. He was fiftyish and there was' a weary look about him which only his bright, inquisitive eyes seemed to belie. He had the unmistakable look of the Earthman, laden down with gravity. She said, " 'Earthie' is a Moon-expression, and not a very nice one."

"I'm from Earth," he said, "so I can use it without offense, I hope. Unless you object."

Selene shrugged as though to say: Please yourself.

She had the faintly oriental look about the eyes so many of the Moon-girls had, but her hair was the color of honey and her nose was prominent. She was undeniably attractive without being in any way classically beautiful.

The Earthman was staring at the nameplate she wore on the blouse covering the upper slope of her high, not-too-large left breast. She decided it was really the name-plate he was looking at, not the breast, though the blouse was semi-transparent when it caught the light at a particular angle and there was no garment beneath it.

He said, "Are there many Selenes here?"

"Oh, yes. Hundreds, I think. Also Cynthias, Dianas, and Artemises. Selene is a little tiresome. Half the Selenes I know are called 'Silly' and the other half 'Lena.' "

"Which are you?"

"Neither. I am Selene, all three syllables. SELL-uh-nee," she said, coming down heavily on the first syllable, "to those who use my first name at all."

There was a small smile on the Earthman's face that sat there as though he weren't quite used to it. He said, "And what if anyone asks you if you sell any, Selene?"

"They never ask me that again!" she said, firmly.

"But do they ask you?"

"There are fools always."

A waitress had reached their table and had placed the dishes before them with quick, smooth motions.

The Earthman was visibly impressed. He said to the waitress, "You make them seem to float down."

The waitress smiled and moved on.

Selene said, "Don't you try to do the same. She's used to the gravity and can handle it."

"And if I try, I'll drop everything? Isthat it?"

"You'll make a gorgeous mess," she said,

"Well, I won't try."

"There's a good chance someone will before long, and the plate will flow down to the floor and they'll grab for it and miss, and ten to one knock themselves out of their chair. I'd warn them, but it never helps and they're just all the more embarrassed. Everyone else will laugh - the tourists, that is, because the rest of us have seen it too often to find it funny and because it's just a cleanup job."

The Earthman was lifting his fork carefully. "I see what you mean. Even the simplest motions seem queer."

"Actually, you get used to it quickly enough. At least to little things like eating. Walking is harder. I never saw an Earthman run efficiently out here. Not really efficiently."

For a while they ate in silence. Then he said, "What does the L. stand for?" He was looking at her nameplate again. It said, "Selene Lindstrom L."

"It just means Luna," she said, rather indifferently, "to distinguish me from the immigrants. I was born here."

"Really?"

'That's nothing to be surprised about. We've had a working society here for over half a century. Don't you think babies are born here? We have people here who were born here and are grandparents."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-two," she said.

He looked startled, then mumbled, "Of course."

Selene raised her eyebrows. "You mean you understand? Most Earthmen have to have it explained."

The Earthman said, "I know enough to know that most of the visible signs of aging are the result of the inexorable victory of gravity over tissue - the sagging of cheek and the drooping of breast. With the Moon's gravity one-sixth that of Earth, it isn't really hard to understand that people will stay young-looking."

Selene said, "Only young-looking. It doesn't mean we have immortality here. The life-span is about that of Earth, but most of us are more comfortable in old age."

"That's not to be dismissed. . . . Of course, there are penalties, I suppose." He had just taken his first sip of his coffee. "You have to drink this - " He paused for a word and must have discarded it, for he used none.

"We could import food and beverages from Earth," she said, amused, "but only enough to feed a fraction of us a fraction of the time. There'd be no point to that when we can use the space for more vital items. Besides, we're used to this crud. . . . Or were you going to use a still stronger word?"

"Not for the coffee," he said. "I was going to save that for the food. But crud will do . . . Tell me,' Miss Lindstrom. I didn't see any mention on the tour itinerary of the proton synchrotron."

"The proton synchrotron?" She was finishing her coffee and her eyes were beginning to slide round the room, as though estimating the moment for getting them all to their feet again. "That's Terrestrial property and it's not open to tourists."

"You mean that it's off-limits to Lunarites."

"Oh, no. Nothing of the sort. Most of its staff are Lunarites. It's just that it's the Terrestrial government that sets the rules. No tourists."

"I'd love to see it," he said.

She said, "I'm sure you would . . . You've brought me luck; not one item of food, not one blessed man or woman has hit the floor."

She got to her feet and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be leaving in about ten minutes. Please leave the plates where they are. There are rest rooms for those who wish to use them and then we will visit the food-processing plants where meals such as you have just eaten are made possible."

2

Selene's quarters were small, of course, and compact; but they were intricate. The windows were panoramic; star scenes that changed slowly and very randomly, never having any relationship to any real constellation. Each of the three windows could be made to undergo telescopic magnification, when Selene so desired.

Barren Neville hated that part of it. He would tend to turn it off rather savagely and say, "How can you stand it? You're the only one I know who has the bad taste to do such a thing. It's not as though these nebulae and star clusters exist, even."

And Selene would shrug, coolly, and say, "What's existence? How do you know the ones out there exist? Besides it gives me a sensation of freedom and motion. May I have that in my own quarters if I choose?"

Then Neville would mumble something and make a halfhearted attempt to restore the controls to where he had found them and Selene would say, "Let it go!"

The furniture was in smooth curves, and the walls were abstractly decorated in low-key, unobtrusive colors. Nowhere was there any representation of anything that might be considered a living thing.

"Living things are Earth," Selene would say, "not the Moon."

Now, when she entered, she found, as so often, Neville there; Barron Neville, resting on the flimsy couch with one sandal on. The other lay beside him where it had dropped, and there Was a line of red marks on his abdomen, just over his umbilicus, where he had been meditatively scratching.

She said, "Get us some coffee, won't you, Barron?" and slipped out of her own clothes in a long, graceful wiggle accompanied by a sigh of relief, letting them drop to the ground and then kicking them into the corner with one toe.

"What a relief to get out of them," she said. "It's the worst part of the job, having to dress like an Earthie."

Neville was in the kitchen corner. He paid no attention; he had heard it before. He said, "What's wrong with your water supply? It's way down."

"Is it?" she asked. "Well, I've been overusing, I suppose. Just be patient."

"Any trouble, today?"

Selene shrugged. "No. Very run of the mill. Just the usual bit about watching them teetering along and pretending they don't hate the food, and knowing they're wondering if they'll be asked to take off their clothes, I shouldn't be surprised. . . . Disgusting possibility."

"Are you taking up prudery?" He brought the two small cups of coffee to the table.

"In this case prudery is required. They're wrinkled, sagging, paunchy, and full of germs. I don't care what the quarantine regulations are like; they're full of germs . . . What's new on your side?"

Barron shook his head. He was heavily-built for a Lunarite, and there was an almost-sullen narrowing of his eyes that had become a built-in feature. Except for that his features were even, and remarkably handsome, Selene thought.

He said, "Nothing startling. We're still waiting out the change in Commissioner. We'll have to see what this Gottstein is like."

"Can he make difficulties?"

"None more than are being made. After all, what can they do? They can't infiltrate. You can't disguise an Earthie as a Lunarite." But he looked uneasy just the same.

Selene sipped at her coffee and looked at him shrewdly. "Some Lunarites might be Earthies inside."

"Yes, and I'd like to know which. Sometimes I don't think I can trust -  Oh, well. I'm wasting incredible amounts of time with my synchrotron project and getting nowhere. I'm having no luck with priorities."

"They probably don't trust you, and I don't blame them. If only you didn't slink around so conspiratorially."

"I do no such thing. It would give me great pleasure to walk out of the synchrotron room and never return, but then they  - would become suspicious. . . . If you've been raising hell with your water supply, Selene, I suppose we can't have a second cup."

"No, we can't. But if it conies to that, you've been helping me waste water. You've had two showers here in the last week."

"I'll give you a water credit. I didn't know you were counting."

"I'm not counting - my water level is."

She finished her own cup of coffee and stared at its emptiness thoughtfully. She said, "They always make faces over it. The tourists do. And I can never figure out why, either. It tastes fine to me. Did you ever taste Earth-coffee, Barron?"

"No," he said, briefly.

"I did. Once. Some tourist had smuggled in packets' of what he called instant coffee. He offered me some in exchange for you-know-what. Seemed to think it was an even trade."

"And you had some?"

"I was curious. It was bitter and metallic. I hated it. Then I told him that miscegenation was against Lunarite custom and he turned rather bitter and metallic himself."

"You never told me this. He didn't try anything, did he?"

"It's not particularly your business, is it? And, no, he didn't try anything. If he had tried, at the wrong gravity for him, I'd have bounced him from here to corridor 1."

Then she went on. "Oh, yes. I picked up another Earthie today. Insisted on sitting with me."

"And what did he offer you in exchange for the screwing you so delicately call you-know-what?"

"Just sat there."

"And stared at your breasts?"

"They're there to be stared at, but actually he didn't He stared at my nameplate . . . Besides, what's it to you what he fantasied? Fantasies are free and I don't have to fulfill them. What do you think I'm fantasying? Bed with an Earthman? With all the action you would expect of someone trying to handle a gravitational field he isn't used to? I wouldn't say it hasn't been done, but not by me, and not that I've ever heard any good of it. Is that settled? Can I get back to the Earthie? Who's nearly fifty? And who obviously wasn't terrifically handsome even when he was twenty? . . . Interesting appearance, though; I'll grant him that."

"All right. I can do without a thumbnail sketch. What about him?"

"He asked about the proton synchrotron!"

Neville rose to his feet, swaying a little as was almost inevitable after quick movement at low gravity. "What did he ask about the synchrotron?"

"Nothing. Why are you so excited? You asked me to tell you anything that was out of the way with any tourist at any time and this seemed out of the way. No one ever asked me about the synchrotron before."

"All right" He paused a little, then in a normal voice, said, "Why was he interested in the synchrotron?"

Selene said, "I haven't the faintest idea. He just asked if he could see it. It could be that he's a tourist with an interest in science. For all I know, it was just a ploy to get me interested in him."

"And I suppose you are. What's his name?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask him."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not interested in him. Which way do you want it to be? Besides, his asking shows he's a tourist. If he were a physicist, he wouldn't have to ask. He's be there."

"My dear Selene," said Neville. "Let me spell it out. Under the present circumstances, anyone who asks to see the proton synchrotron is a peculiar fellow we want to know about. And why should he ask you?" He walked hastily to the other end of the room and back as though wearing off a little energy. Then he said, "You're the expert at that nonsense. Do you find him of interest?"

"Sexually?"

"You know what I mean. Don't play games, Selene."

Selene said with clear reluctance. "He's interesting, even disturbing. But I don't know why. He said nothing. He did nothing."

"Interesting and disturbing, is he? Then you will see him again."

"And do what?"

"How do I know? That's your bit. Find out his name. Find out anything else you can. You've got some brains, so use them on a little practical nosiness for a change."

"Oh, well," she said, "orders from on high. All right."

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