Into the New Millennium: Trailblazing Tales From Analog Science Fiction and Fact, 2000 - 2010 (8 page)

"Down into the ice. Yes."

"They never came back," said Harshket with raised front legs. "Never!

K'chir chuckled and Jerik marveled at his friend's courage—or foolishness.

"So is that what the grinding sound is?" said K'chir. "The Ice God coming to visit?"

"In a manner of speaking, it is," said Harshket. "It can only be the Antigod trying to break through because of the immorality and evil in the land."

"Well, I think," said K'chir, swirling the water with a leg, "that there's another world beneath the ice."

"Ridiculous," Harshket uttered a disdainful chirp. "You'll understand when you reach Sixth school."

"I'll never understand. I believe it is another world."

"If you are so contemptuous of philosophy, then tell me: How, other than going through a fissure, could the dead from this . . . this other world reach heaven?"

"It could be," said Jerik, attempting to gain points with both his friend and the priest, "that we're chosen by God to be the guardians of heaven."

K'chir as well as Harshket returned a dismissive chirp.

"Or," said K'chir, "maybe there is no heaven and no god."

Jerik suppressed a gasp.

"Sacrilege!" Harshket roiled the water and then paused until the currents grew calm. "I must deliberate on this," he said in a voice of cold anger. "At first tide, come to me. I believe you must be corrected for your crimes against God. Both of you come."

Without another word, Harshket turned and scuttled away.

K'chir, with an audible scowl, glided away and Jerik glided after him.

"What will he do to us?" asked Jerik.

"He'll beat us, of course." K'chir chirped toward the Rippled Wall and the two glided in that direction. "Me for sacrilege and you for hanging out with me." After a few seconds, K'chir added, "He'll beat me more than you." Jerik sensed the currents as K'chir shuddered. "
Much
more than you." He sped up.

"Where are we going?" Jerik struggled to keep pace.

"I'm not going to stick around and let myself be beaten in front of all the people."

"You're not going to run away to another people," Jerik called from behind, "are you? It won't really do any good. It'll be just the same." Jerik shook in the turbulence of K'chir's wake.

"No," said K'chir without slowing down. "I'm going to prove philosophy is garbage and Experimentation is truth."

"What are you talking about?"

"I will prove that this god stuff is nothing but myth," said K'chir, breathlessly. "I am going to climb to the so-called heaven and look around."

"What!" Jerik grabbed his friend and the two spun around on the ice as if they were dancing. "You're joking."

"I'm serious."

Jerik dug the rough sides of his legs against the ice and their spinning slowed to a stop. He addressed his friend mandible to mandible. "They'll
kill
you for this."

"If God actually exists," said K'chir in an annoyingly logical voice, "then when I go down to the ice again, yes, they might kill me. But then I'd just float back up to God. He'll punish me, perhaps. But he's supposed to be good and kind. So, I expect his punishment will probably not be too bad. And anyway, I really want to know if there actually is a god."

"Have you been sipping sulfur-bubbles?"

K'chir chirped a weak smile and went on. "But then if, as I believe, there is no god—well, Harshket can tell if people are lying. He'll know I'm telling the truth, so there'll be nothing he can beat me for." K'chir clicked his mandibles, smugly.

"But climbing to heaven?" Jerik threw an exasperated ping upward. "That's impossible!"

"Why?" K'chir pinged in the approximate direction of the Rippling Wall, but they were too far away for an echo. "In bad times, the people had to climb ever higher for the edible growths on the rocks. That was long before you were born—before I was born either. That was before the people had learned to stabilize our population by rationing life-bubbles." He started gliding again toward the wall. "So I'll go to a wall and climb higher—to heaven . . . to see what's there."

"What's there?" Again Jerik strove to keep up. "It's friggin' heaven! Are you so eager to die?"

K'chir sighed. "I'm bored to death already."

"Well . . . well maybe the grinding in the ice will turn out to be something interesting. Maybe it's the thing Harshket saw."

"And maybe it isn't. I don't want to wait anymore. I'm climbing."

"I'm coming with you," said Jerik, firmly.

"What?" K'chir braked to a stop. "No. Finish school. Maybe Sixth School
will
have answers—at least for you."

Jerik stiffened his legs, drawing himself to his full height. "I'm coming with you!"

"This is very, very dangerous," said K'chir. "I'd rather you didn't do it."

"Don't make me say it again," said Jerik.

After a few seconds of exploratory chirps, K'chir crossed his forward legs in acceptance. "Fine. Then come." He started away but then turned. "And thanks. I appreciate your company."

K'chir leading, they headed toward the Rippling Wall, guided first by magnetic fields, then by chirp echoes, and finally by the smell of the stone.

With ping and claw, they explored the base of the wall, looking for a cleft, a place with good leg holds.

"How about this one?" said Jerik.

K'chir scuttled over. "It is good, very good."

Jerik began to climb.

"No, wait," K'chir called. "Let's rub down our legs and bodies first. To strip the life-bubbles from our fur."

"Why?" Jerik wasn't crazy about the idea. Life-bubbles were precious.

"To make ourselves lighter," said K'chir with a chuckle. "Not so light so we'd rise. We'd have to be dead for that." K'chir began wiping away the bubbles. "But if we fall, we'll hopefully drift slowly down to the surface and not hurt ourselves on the ice."

"Hopefully!" Jerik also pressed down his fur, leaving a small lake of air on the ice. "But we'll roll around in the bubbles when we get back. Right?"

"Of course!" K'chir began climbing.

Jerik followed after. "I guess," he said as he pinged the rock face, "if God didn't want us to climb to heaven, he wouldn't have provided footholds."

"Unless," said K'chir, "he was testing our faith." By voice alone, Jerik could tell K'chir's mandible was extended in amusement.

Using the cracks in the rock and the purchase afforded by the thick growths of edible molds clinging to the walls, K'chir and Jerik made quick progress. "At least we won't starve," said Jerik. He grabbed a snack from the wall. "But, boy, heaven is high!"

"Don't call it heaven."

"What should I call it, then?" said Jerik, breathing heavily.

After a few more vertical feet, K'chir answered. "There doesn't seem to be another word. But when you say it, try to keep the reverence out of your voice."

"Yeah. Sure. Fine."

"Is it getting warmer?" K'chir asked. "Or is it just the exertion."

"I think it
is
getting warmer. Heaven is supposed to be warm." Jerik moved a leg out into the current. "Yeah, it's warmer, but the current seems stronger too."

As they climbed, the growths grew sparser. "Well, there goes lunch," said K'chir.

The wall became smoother. "I wonder if the molds made the footholds," said K'chir. "Maybe the molds eat the rock."

"I'd really like some of those faith-testing cracks right now," said Jerik, breathlessly, trying with all his strength to cling to the wall.

The climbing became very hard and slow, and the wall had begun to slant inward.

Jerik cried out.

"Don't ping down!" K'chir commanded.

But Jerik had so pinged and now felt a queasy vertigo. And then came a sharp current, a tide. One part of his mind knew it was the first tide, the one at whose occurrence Harshket had demanded their presence. Partially distracted as he was, Jerik released a leg and rubbed it thoughtfully across his torso. His body shifted, and with a shriek, he began to fall.

K'chir reached a leg down. "Grab hold!" he shouted.

Jerik pinged, then leapt for the proffered limb and grabbed it with his two forward legs.

K'chir grunted in exertion. Then Jerik felt himself falling again, while he still had hold of K'chir's leg.

"Hey!" K'chir exclaimed in a cheerful voice. "This is great! Wiping off our life-bubbles worked."

After a short, panicked pause, Jerik said, "Yeah, it did!" His dread had turned to elation as he felt himself not falling, but drifting softly down to the ice. Now, without fear, he ping-chirped down. "Uh-oh!"

"What's the matter?" said K'chir.

"On the ice," said Jerik. "Three, maybe four sixes of people."

"And it is first tide, isn't it?" said K'chir, in obvious worry.

"I'm afraid so."

Jerik ping-chirped. "And there he is," he said with an anxious sigh, "the High Priest himself."

"Then this is it," said K'chir. He began ping-chirping an alert in all directions.

"What are you doing?"

K'chir paused his chirping to say, "Bringing out the people, at least the young people—I hope."

Jerik and K'chir floated down while drifting laterally in the current. Those below arrayed themselves in a circle and moved to keep the floaters directly above its center. The High Priest, Harshket, positioned himself at the center of the circle.

Jerik and K'chir hit the surface, bounced a few times, and then settled onto the ice. Jerik felt light, ungrounded, and insubstantial. He wished he'd had time to roll in his life-bubbles as was K'chir's plan.

The circle collapsed in on them.

As Jerik and K'chir found their footing, Harshket came up to them.

"Um . . ." said Jerik. "Well . . . as you requested sir, we're here."

"You!" said Harshket, pointing at the Third Schooler. "You have been cast down from heaven."

"No, sir. We just fell off the wall," said Jerik. He heard a soft moan from K'chir.

"Just as I suspected," said Harshket. "You have attempted to violate the sanctity of God's domain."

Jerik hung his head. It was impossible to lie successfully to Harshket, or to any priest, trained as they were in the pursuit of truth. In the ensuing silence, Jerik heard the distant soft buzz of massive chirping; apparently K'chir had been successful in turning out the people.

"You must realize, Jerik," said Harshket in a deceptively soft voice, "how serious an offence this is against God. You must be punished for your horrid deed."

Jerik didn't answer, but K'chir did. "If he offended God, then why not leave it to God to punish him?" Jerik knew K'chir was merely trying to help, but he wished his friend had kept his silence.

"As you were not the instigator, Jerik," said Harshket, ignoring K'chir, "you will simply be beaten—and forgiven."

"Thank you, sir." Jerik hated himself for giving the required response. He felt the ripple of current as the priest turned to K'chir.

"But for you, K'chir, there is no earthly redemption."

Jerik sensed his friend go as motionless as a rock. A few of the people chirp-mapped, but mostly the water was silent—save for the constant grinding from beneath the ice.

"For the crime of sacrilege," Harshket intoned, "your life-bubbles will be beaten from your body and your body will rise to heaven. Far better that than cede your immortal soul to the Antigod."

"No!" came a voice from the people. It sounded like a student in the Fourth School.

"Life-bubbles are a gift from God!" Harshket raised his voice over the cries. "You are not worthy of them. But for your redemption, your precious life-bubbles will be your contribution to your people—allowing another of our people to be born. I and the people thank you for your sacrifice."

Angry shouts of "No" came from many youths in the crowd.

"This is an important lesson for the people," Harshket shouted over the protests. "In fact—in fact so important that the punishment and sacrifice will be administered in the presence of the Antigod himself." He paused as if for effect. "To show our contempt for him."

Like a tide, an expectant hush washed over the people, broken only by the sounds from under the ice.

"Where the hellish noise in the ice is the loudest," shouted the priest, "there, we will go to confront the God of Evil." He paused. "We are not afraid!" he intoned as a chant. He hesitated as if expecting the people to pick up the chant, but the people only ping-chirped. Then in a quiet voice Harshket said to those around him, "Attend that the malefactors do not flee."

Jerik felt himself grabbed by many limbs and propelled toward the grinding sounds. He could tell by the smells that his captors were old people. The trip to the center of the noise was a delay of his punishment, and Jerik was grateful for that. He wanted to say something comforting to K'chir but couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound banal.

At a point where vibrations shook the ice and the din had grown to a muffled roar, Harshket called for a halt. "Here," he shouted over the subsurface rumbling, "we will display our contempt for the God of Evil." He turned to Jerik. "We'll start with you." He chirped a superior smile. "Be thankful that in your case, it will just be a beating." Clearing his voice with a grunt, he turned to K'chir. "And then we can attend to the more serious matter." Again, he addressed the people as a whole. "Let this be a lesson to our young people."

Harshket gave the order and six of the people stretched Jerik out on the ice. The ice, quivering and groaning, seemed to be foretelling Jerik's fate, and he winced in anticipation. Suddenly, he had a renegade notion: he wasn't going to just lie there and take it. He'd taken enough. He'd fight, struggle, try to break free.

But just as he began kicking, he heard a great crash. Then a turbulence in the water pulsed across his body. His legs easily broke free, or maybe were released. He scrambled to his six feet, then ping-chirped—one voice in a sea of pings—and found that something had broken through the ice. Repeatedly then, he chirp-mapped, sacrificing spatial resolution for temporal, and detected an object rising from a tumble of ice fragments. The object appeared similar to the four-footed thing that Harshket had maintained was a demon from the Ice God. Jerik shivered.
Could The High Priest have been right?