FANTASTIC PLANET v2.0 (7 page)

'Ant?
What does
...'

'
An alarm call
, as I was saying. The reason it is interesting
is because it indicated their traditional enemy was getting near: a giant
insect organized in a similar way and also living in rough-and-ready cities. I
will pass over the details... have you heard of Spraw's theory?'

'Well, no!'

'Spraw was a
scholar from the last lustrum. He claimed the Oms once enjoyed a brilliant
degree of civilization similar to ours, but that its perfection was the very
reason of a gradual sclerosis. Strictly imprisoned within their rules and
regulations, the Oms did not have the need to think. Spraw thought instinct
took over their intelligence. Why think when one leads a perfect life where
everyone knows in advance what they must do? The Oms' intelligence, how can I
say, wasted away gradually, like a useless organ. Their lifestyle regressed and
stagnated. Their civilization's progress thus stopped.'

The First
Councillor opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped, waving on to
his guest to continue.

it
was only a theory', said the Master. 'For a few days now we know that
Spraw was right. An archaeological mission has discovered an Om city on Earth.
Not a primitive city made of burrows, you understand. A real city! Thousands of
clues lead us to believe the city was the work of civilized Oms! It was found
miraculously beneath an ocean's coastal mud. The results of the digs amaze us
more every day. It is a major event.'

The First
Councillor rubbed vigorously his eardrums with his clenched fists.

'I see what
you are getting at', he guessed. 'You fear the stray Oms will recreate their
ancient civilization, with all the dangers this would present for ours. This
seems to me...'

'Excessive?'
interrupted the scholar. 'Listen, dear First Councillor. We all know the Om to
be an intelligent animal. What is worrying is that it is becoming more and more
so. Some Oms speak. Not just a few words! They are making sentences! The
performing Om has become a common attraction; to the point the public has
become disinterested. It is now an act devoid of all originality. Whereas in
the last lustrum, when I was a child, such acts did not even exist! I have here...'

He searched
his documents.

'I brought
with me some statistics. In the city of Torm alone, owners have notified the
police...'

He read:

in
the month of Leo 713: one hundred and three Om losses. In the month of
Bird: one hundred and forty five losses. Month of Fish: two hundred and ten.
Then from month to month we have in succession: two hundred and twenty seven,
three hundred and two, seven hundred and one; an incredible leap! Which takes
us to last month (hold on tight) with one thousand two hundred and thirty six
declarations of loss. One should say abscond. In each case, the Om in question
was particularly intelligent. Voluntary absconding is proved in a third of the
cases.'

He carried
on speaking for a long time, gave more figures, based himself on facts and
concluded:

'This is
what we have caused! We have... given back their individuality to the Oms. They
did lose three quarters of their tyrannical social instincts, but not their
sociable instinct. And as well as their intelligence they have regained their
taste for freedom, and perhaps tomorrow their instinct for conquest. We took
them out of a rut to place them back on the road to progress.'

The First
Councillor stood up.

'You have
convinced me, Master Singh', he said, i will intervene at the Great Council.
But calm down a little, he added smiling, the Oms' conquest of the Traags will
not happen in a hurry!'

'Do not
laugh, First Councillor, we just do not know!"

'We must not
exaggerate.'

'Really?
What about the Klud incident?'

The First
Councillor raised his arms towards the ceiling:

'That old story!
It has not even been proved
the two Traags were attacked by Oms. Personally I find it hard to believe!'

The Master
searched his gown's pocket: 'I have proofs', he said. 'Look at what one of my
colleagues from the South Continent gave me.'

He held out
a photoframe to the First Councillor and commented:

'The place
was out of the way. We only found the bodies six days later in an advanced
state of decomposition. It was impossible to get anything from the first
corpse, the one in the ditch. But two stadia away the Traag found collapsed on
the road had suffered less. Look at this!' it is?'

'The right
side, at the twenty third rib. Nice Om bite, is it not?'

On Continent
A's coastline, a small port abandoned long ago by the Traags harboured a
strange underground city.

Inside a
network of drains and old sewers a hidden city had taken hold, with its
streets, housing units and public buildings. An Om city, of three million Oms!

Feverish
activity reigned. Small commando units continually appeared at its gates,
bringing back from the Traags a great number of assorted packages: tins of
food, scrap metal, tools and info headsets. All was put down in a jumble and as
each unit commander reported his losses other Oms sorted the spoils, rolling
tins down corridors and carefully carrying headsets to the study rooms.

In the city
centre, a disused main sewer had been partitioned into work chambers for
official departments. In one of the chambers a tall Om with a blond beard was
looking gravely at the graphs adorning the walls. He pointed at one.

'The food
stocks are still rising', he said.
'Twenty thousand weights!
I've already made clear my decision to stop stocking. It's time and energy
wasted. We've already got enough to last for a year after the exodus!'

'Calm down
Terr', said a middle-aged black Om seated in front of him. 'Your orders haven't
had time to reach everywhere. The units are not all equipped with teleboxes.'

i
did say...'

i
know, Valiant is doing his best, but the factory in question is located
one hundred and fifty stadia from here. To get there, one needs to cross two
stadia of open ground, and as there are no moving bridges in the area it's
really hard getting source material. I've posted half the telebox fitters to
Workshop E to keep them busy.'

Terr jotted
down something in a notebook. He then turned a few pages, frowning.

'Not too
many losses yesterday?'

'Average.
Still no news from the Klud operation?'

'Let's hope
they succeed! Without these parts we'll never be able to leave. The three
machines would only be worthless scrap heaps.'

'Have faith
in Valiant. He put his best Oms on the job.'

A light on
top of a box flickered. Terr pressed a switch:

'Yes?'

'Vail here',
a voice said.

Terr and
Charcoal smiled.

'Well?' said
Terr

'The parts
are coming, Terr. I'm touching one as I'm speaking. The other two are on their
way, somewhere near Path 4. We've practically got them.'

'Well done',
cheered Terr. 'Bring the first one to the workshops as fast as you can!'

'Thanks to
the travelling line it'll be there in a few minutes.'

in
one piece, I hope.'

'My men are
padding it. Don't worry.'

Terr hit
Charcoal triumphantly in the ribs. He put away his notebook in his gown pocket
and said:

'First test in the docks in three days, my old Char!

Char put his
hand on his shoulder.

'Beware,
son. You're pushing yourself too hard. You hardly sleep; you eat in a great
rush and...'

'Fve never
felt better.'

A commotion
filtered from next door. Someone knocked.

'Yes!'

An Om with a
parched face appeared.

'Terr', he
said, 'the Old Lady isn't feeling well. She's asking for you.'

Terr and
Char exchanged meaningful looks. They left the room without a word and headed
for a circulating corridor. Terr pressed a priority button and waited a minute
as red lights lit up at every junction. He then sat down astride the cart's
saddle. Char sat behind him.

They rolled
down the slope faster and faster. At the ninth milistadia Terr slammed on the
brakes, jamming the cart on the ascending cogs before rushing into an adjacent
corridor. Having saluted on his way some of the city's renowned faces he
entered the Old Lady's home.

She was
lying down on a comfort mattress.Her legs were hidden beneath a blanket. She
made a weak sign with her hand.

'Leave me...
alone with him', she whispered.

Char put a
finger to his lips and gently led the two doctors outside.

Terr knelt
at the old black Om's bedside. He took her hands and found them freezing cold.
The smell of medicine was floating around her.

'Young one',
she said, 'I'll not see the Exodus'.

'Don't
speak', whispered Terr, 'you're tiring yourself'.

She gave a
small broken laugh. A cough shook her thin shoulders beneath her gown. She
pointed at a flask on a table. Terr made her drink a few drops and lifted her
head a little. She soon calmed down.

'Listen... I
wanted to see you before... I went. Yes... yes! I'm not scared, you know! I
wanted to tell you that... I really like you, young one. Don't make such a
face. Look at me, I'm laughing... We all go. One day it'll be your turn, in a
long time, I hope.'

She wagged
her head.

it's
not very clever, what I'm saying. I'm nothing
but an old fool. You others, thanks... to the Traags' headsets, you're much
more clever than me. Even the little ones... little Oms can now read all the
Traag words. It's thanks to you. As far as intelligence goes, you've got some.
But... at the beginning, when you were still little, all we achieved was thanks
to me. Because I was... energetic, wasn't that so?'

Terr nodded
in approval. She was clenching her old nervy fist on the blanket.

'Me, energy,
you... (She slowly tapped his forehead with her finger)... the head. So, I
wanted to tell you... with your head, and if I give you my energy, you will
succeed with the Exodus. The two are needed. I know you've already got lots of
energy, but I'm also giving you mine. I won't be here later on. It's you who's
going to command everything... In fact you've already been commanding lately.
The others listen to you, don't they?'

She panted
for a while not saying anything, and then her hands gripped Terr's like claws.

'Can you
feel it? Can you feel it, young one?
The energy flowing from
my arms?
It's going through yours. I'm giving it to you. It's leaving
me. Can you feel it? You...'

Her head
felt heavier on the fabric. Her crimson lips remained frozen in a smile.

'Old Lady?'
said Terr.

He gently
freed his warm hands from the dead lady's cold fingers. He shut her eyes and
stayed hunched over her for a while. He then walked slowly towards the door.

Everyone in
the adjacent room was standing. Terr waved to them that it was all over.
Without looking behind him he went out, followed by Char whose hps where
quivering with emotion.

In the large
corridor a crowd had gathered, having heard vague rumours. All were looking at
Terr as he appeared at the top of the stairs.

'The Old
Lady has died', he announced in a voice lacking in resonance.

The crowd
froze, stunned. The Old Lady had always been the symbol of their unity, their
hopes and their destiny. As Terr appeared to stand down, a female

Om voice
cried out:

'Long live
the Aedile!'

This
triggered off and explosion of cheering.

'Terr!
Our Aedile! Long live the Oms' chief! Three
cheers for the Exodus!'

Terr raised
his hand to hold back the commotion, with little success at first. A nervous
tic made his chin tremble beneath his blond beard.

Someone came
out of the Old Lady's quarters, elbowed their way to be near the new Aedile and
present him a telebox. Seeing the small machine the crowd quietened down
gradually.

'Free Oms',
said Terr, 'the Old Lady died pressing me for a successful Exodus. She's been
fighting for us for days and days. And then, she fought against death...'

More than
just the crowd that was there, he could feel his voice addressing thousands of
Oms leant over their receptors throughout the city, and further away to
sentries in advanced posts lining the tracks. Further still, his speech was
going to stir pillage units at work in Traag cities.