The Totems of Abydos (75 page)

“Go on,” said Brenner.

“They spoke of a feast of gathering eggs,” she said.

“Reproductive cells were removed from your body,” said Brenner.

“I gather so,” she said, shuddering. “But if Pons are sterile, as I was informed, I thought in my dreams, to what purpose could be their seizure of these cells?”

“It is your understanding, is it not,” asked Brenner, “whether from a recollection from your dreams, or whatever, that this feast has been celebrated?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Go on,” said Brenner.

“I awakened one morning,” she said, “in the beast’s cage, but it was gone, and I was the beast. I thought that I had gone insane, but I gradually realized what must have occurred.”

“Did you have beast memories?” asked Brenner.

“Yes,” she said, “of fishing in fast-flowing streams, and such, but they were strangely mingled with my own.”

“What was in the cage?” asked Brenner.

“I was in the cage,” she said.

“What were you,” asked Brenner, “you, or a beast?”

“I was I,” she said, “as a beast.”

“How long were you kept in the cage?” asked Brenner.

“Three days,” she said.

“Long enough for you to understand your helplessness,” said Brenner.

“Yes,” she said.

“Continue,” said Brenner.

“Then, in the darkness, I awakened to a tiny sound. The gate to the cage was open. I fled away, into the forest. There, in a short time, apprised by, startled by, sensations quite new to me, but familiar from my memories, I discovered I was treading in lands that belonged to another. I became frightened, and apprehensive. There was another meaning, too, of course, beyond those of claimancy and territoriality, that of maleness. Something in my new body, or old memories, found this disturbing. And I, as imprisoned in the beast, was terrified. But I could not help myself. I felt strange heats coming upon me. I knew then I would seek out this beast.”

“Did you know it was I?” asked Brenner.

“No,” she said. “I assumed it was only a male beast, of the species of which I now was, to be sure, one apparently strong enough and vigorous enough, and terrible enough, to maintain a territory. You can imagine my terror, my misery. I was frightened of this thing. And yet my body, in spite of myself, would have me run panting to it. The rest you know.”

“Your feelings must have been frighteningly ambivalent,” said Brenner.

“I tried to resist, in my fear, my resentment. Even the beast in me, it seemed, tried to resist for a moment, if only to test the strength and will of the male. But that was a mistake. She was cuffed. She was twice bitten. He did permit her a moment to escape, if she wished, but she did not do so. She remained. He then, this matter clear, drove her to the cliffs, and pulled her to the platform. No longer was there escape for me. I was seized, and I became his mate.”

“You realized these things were in accord with the intentions of the Pons?”

“Yes, but I did not understand these intentions. It all seemed madness to me. Perhaps it was some mad joke of Pons, perhaps they found it amusing, to take me, to treat me as they did, to do these things to me, and then, most amusing, to give me over as a mate to a wild beast.”

“You understood very little of what was ensuing,” said Brenner.

“No,” she said. “Indeed, I thought that that was all there was to it, that, for whatever reason, I had merely been given to a beast.”

“You were,” said Brenner.

“And I bear my fate in joy,” she said.

“Would you not have preferred brief silk, and a collar, on a distant world?”

“Had I not met you,” she said. “But, you see, I love you.”

“Perhaps I might have owned you on such a world.”

“I would have striven to be a good slave to you,” she said.

“Or to any master,” he said.

“Of course,” she said.

“We have been put to the purposes of Pons,” said Brenner.

“I do not object, as long as I am with you,” she said.

“Nor do I,” said Brenner, “now that we have one another.”

“I do not understand the Pons,” she said.

“They are struggling to survive,” said Brenner. “Their males are sterile, as you have been informed. Some of their females, apparently, can conceive. They are of our species, or what it could become. We are crossfertile with them. Seed was taken from me, to be implanted in certain females, that the next generation be produced.”

“But what of the eggs removed from me?” she asked.

“It seems likely that they will have been fertilized by this time,” said Brenner.

“How so?” she asked.

“Doubtless not all my seed was required for the usual purposes of the Pons,” he said.

“We could have children,” she asked.

“Quite possibly,” said Brenner. “Embryos might be raised
in vitro
, as I once was. Pons are aware of such techniques, and, possibly, their technology makes them available to them. More simply, host mothers might be used.”

“But why would they do such things?” she asked.

“It might be a kindness toward me, or you, or us,” said Brenner. “It might be an experiment. It might be a desperate venture to invigorate their gene pool. It might be all three. It might be something else. Who knows?”

“I am then twice your mate,” she said.

“Yes,” said Brenner.

“Are you content?” she asked.

“I would not have it otherwise,” he said.

“Put your face to my belly,” she said.

Puzzled, Brenner did so, placing his snout down to her belly, and then, softly, putting his cheek against that soft, rounded sweetness.

Brenner suddenly sprang back. “It cannot be!” he said.

“Is it so hard to understand?” she asked. “You see, I am indeed twice your mate.”

“No!” said Brenner.

“I am the mother,” she purred.

“They must be killed,” he said. He had felt, against his cheek, stirring, the movement of living creatures, hidden within her.

“Why?” she asked.

“Surely it is clear!” he exclaimed. “They will not be of us. They are of these other bodies. Whatever they are, they are not ours. They are lions. Lions, I tell you. Wild, terrible beasts. Their genes are not ours. They will be alien to us. They are bred for the hunt, the kill.”

“They are ours now,” she said. “Is the seed within us not ours now, as the memories, the bodies, the limbs, the tongue, and claws?”

“They are not ours!” said Brenner.

“They are from our seed, yours and mine, as we are now,” she said. “Thus, they are ours. Or, if you prefer to think of the matter in this manner, we will merely keep them and love them, in memory of those majestic, innocent, lost beasts whose bodies we now occupy. We will care then for our children, or for their children, if you wish, or, perhaps better, simply for the children, who are both ours and theirs.”

“They must be killed,” said Brenner.

“You will not harm them,” she said. “I will defend them with my very life.”

“Why?” said Brenner.

“I am the mother,” she said.

“It means the end of the Pons, the death of the other children, mine, and ours,” said Brenner.

“Not at all,” she said.

“It means the end of the pact,” said Brenner.

“It means,” she said, “a new pact.”

Brenner walked away, and turned, and came back.

“You could not kill them,” she informed him.

Brenner considered the matter, in confusion, in turmoil. Then he said, “No, I could not kill them.”

“We will teach them to speak,” she said, confidently.

“They will not have the intelligence for that,” he said.

“You have beast memories,” she said. “Do they seem those of a stupid animal?”

“No,” admitted Brenner.

“They probably just never thought about speaking,” she said. “That is really a very unusual sort of thing, not the sort of thing that a beast would be likely to think about. Suppose a baby was raised in the woods. Do you think it would be likely, apart from others doing such things, to think about speaking?”

“I assume not,” said Brenner.

“If they cannot form suitable sounds,” she said, “we will teach them another way to speak, by use of the head, or paws, or by making marks on the ground, such things.”

“We could drive them away, when they come of age,” said Brenner.

“Or inform them that they must leave,” she said.

“Yes,” said Brenner.

“They might come back,” she said.

“Woe to the Pons,” he said.

“Not necessarily,” she said.

“You seem very optimistic,” Brenner observed.

“I am a mother,” she said.

“I do not understand how this could come about,” said Brenner, suddenly.

“Why not?” she asked, puzzled.

“The Pons are not stupid,” he said. “They must have understood such a thing could happen.”

“I see,” she said.

“Of course,” said Brenner.

“You were not neutered,” she pointed out.

“That would not have made sense, given the intent of the pact,” said Brenner. “It would have rendered me more passive, less aggressive, less capable of maintaining, and defending, the territory.”

“You are puzzled that I was not spayed?” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“But do you not think that might have made me a less heatable, less excitable, mate for you?” she asked.

Brenner licked his chops. There was no doubt that she was an eager, hot female. To be sure, she had also been such a one before, and extremely so, in her former form, at Company Station. Indeed, so hot had she been that she would have undoubtedly brought an excellent price in a market. Yes, so hot she had been that he had regarded her as fit, even, for the collar.

“Doubtless,” he said. “But we are looking at this from the point of view of the Pons.

“In any event,” she said, “obviously it was not done.”

Brenner considered the matter. The beast at least once had to have been completely at the Pons’ mercy. And surely the Pons must have realized that its fertility might jeopardize the stewardship, the guardianship, the pact! Even if they did not expect her to prey upon Pons, they surely could not guarantee that of the fruit of her body. Surely the Pons, as calculating and efficient as they were, would have protected themselves against such perilous eventualities! Doubtless, he would have supposed, that that lovely, fierce, sinuous, feline body, having fallen into the hands of Pons, would be incapable of its own replication, that that would have been surgically assured. But obviously, it had not been.

“No,” said Brenner. “Obviously it was not done.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Brenner. “Why?”

“Do you think the Pons are stupid?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I do not think that they are stupid.”

“I am hungry,” she said.

“I will hunt,” he said. “Do you wish to accompany me?”

“Certainly,” she said.

“You could remain here,” he said. “I could bring something back.”

“I will come with you,” she said.

“You are hungry?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“I see,” he said.

“You must remember,” she said, nuzzling him, pushing playfully against him, “I am now eating for several.”

In a few minutes they were in the forest. They stopped near the village, but stayed back, concealed by the trees.

“Why do you think the Pons have done what they have done?” she asked.

“That they are putting themselves at risk?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I think,” said Brenner, “that they are willing to try. I think that they want to begin again.”

Their hunt was successful. On the way back to their lair they stopped again, their jaws bloody, near the village. They listened closely.

“Do you hear it?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

Within the village, tiny, and as though far off, they could hear the sounds of new life.

Chapter 42

And so, from time to time, Pons, and others, came to gather at the platform, to gaze upward at a shaggy beast who, at times, was silent, letting its presence be its message, and, at other times, when so moved, would speak to them. Beside this beast, usually recumbent, was another. And, here and there, upon occasion, there were other beasts about, too, sometimes on the platform, sometimes playing behind it. Some of these beasts would accompany the Pons, and the others, back to the village. The string remained where it was but, after a time, the Pons, and the others, did not pay so much attention to it. With their small weapons, made by themselves, the string, and even the guardianship, and the pact, was not so important. Indeed, sometimes, some of them, over the years, left the string altogether, and went away, to various places in the woods, to make their own villages. Often these were accompanied by a beast or two. These sorts of things were little noted at Company Station, where the lighters continued to lift off from, and later return to, their launching pads, servicing the freighters, and, later, sometimes, the liners, paused above the station, so high as to be invisible. A thousand years later an expedition to the Pons was disappointed to learn that they were no longer totemistic, but had rather, it seemed, moved to a different cultural level, perhaps that of gods and heroes. One of these gods, or heroes, as the case might be, had the unlikely name ‘Rodriguez’. To be sure, the Pons were an interesting life form in various ways. For one thing they appeared to have become involved in an interesting symbiotic development, an unusual relationship with beasts. This was not investigated in any detail because of the dangers of doing so. It was mostly remarked upon from a distance. As it was said, the children of the Pons walked with beasts, and had become, in some ways, like unto their brothers, the lions. In another thousand years some of these unusual groupings, those of Pons and beasts, departed from Abydos, to settle upon and, some said, even to claim, far-flung worlds.