mating you can wait until the season comes around and take your chances with the other females,’ she snapped huffily.
‘No! No!’ I was bewildered. ‘Don’t take that attitude, please. I really do like walking the vats – or did.’
‘Really?’ Her hand touched my shoulder in the darkness. ‘What else was it like?’
‘It was like soaring to the sky,’ I replied. ‘It was as if my life, having been hammered flat by misfortune, had beenreshaped into something mysteriously meaningful – a multi-faceted shape constructed from light and dark, and pulsing with power. It was …’
‘You don’t need to convince me further,’ she replied, ‘but tell me, why do you like the vat walks? I’ve heard of them but never seen them. Do they really cover a quarter of Brytan?’
I thought for a bit then replied, ‘I suppose they must do. An awful waste I suppose when you consider …’
‘Consider what?’
‘Well, the number of Soal that use them.’
We talked like this for many hours until the light of day was thrown through the translucent walls by that fuzzy ball that rolls around its sky. It sparkled on the crystal needle towers we could see from the segment, colours dancing in the mud. The tidal change was due in two or three hours so there was no point in moving. Fridjt would probably lay his traps and catch us a few fish for breakfast. At least I hoped he would. Fridjt was very proud of his traps – they were intricately made and finely balanced mechanisms, constructed of rustless metal. They never failed to attract the fish into their mirrored passages. When expanded and set they covered a full cubic metre of ocean, finding the depth of the shoals automatically, but they folded down to a mere twenty centimetres in length and two in radius, for carrying purposes, and were light and easy to handle. A true work of Soal craftsmanship.
This generous aspect of the Soal was somewhat difficult to understand now that I was a mudwalker. While I had been the companion and servant of Lintar I never questioned such enigmatic behaviour. It seemed natural then that our benevolent masters should find pleasure in occasionally distributing aid to the pathetic humans on the mud, but now I was on the receiving end such acts seemed strangely at variance with the Soal policy of killing humans whenever a legitimate reason showed itself.
For instance we had the needle towers, provisioned with a unit that converted seawater into fresh water, at the same time introducing human vitamin needs into the supply. This at least ensured that our basic requirements, beyond food, were met. In the slim crystal towers we had comparativewarmth during the chilling night exhalations, safety from drowning and solar units for heating food.
If the Soal wanted to destroy us all, they need only have removed the towers.
My deductions produced a line of thought.
The towers and handouts were established at a time when the Soal had no need to be cautious. The policy of genocide was the result of a change in these circumstances.
The towers were self-maintaining and required nothing more than supervision by the Soal, to ensure that humans were not gathering in groups of two or more.
Destruction of the towers was an action to be avoided for the present, one to be saved until absolutely necessary. Until that time, open slaughter was a crudeness unworthy of a master race.
The whittling down of the human population by apparent legitimate policing was an interim measure and should the situation worsen (whatever that situation was), more drastic moves would have to be taken.
I voiced my opinions to Stella, whose own opinion of me was very low as a result.
‘Why didn’t you find out the answers to these questions yourself, when you were with the Soal?’ she demanded.
‘Because they didn’t concern me then – and don’t forget the Soal do not speak Terran to each other. I had no idea what passed between them in the council chambers. I can’t hear
‘No! No!’ I was bewildered. ‘Don’t take that attitude, please. I really do like walking the vats – or did.’
‘Really?’ Her hand touched my shoulder in the darkness. ‘What else was it like?’
‘It was like soaring to the sky,’ I replied. ‘It was as if my life, having been hammered flat by misfortune, had beenreshaped into something mysteriously meaningful – a multi-faceted shape constructed from light and dark, and pulsing with power. It was …’
‘You don’t need to convince me further,’ she replied, ‘but tell me, why do you like the vat walks? I’ve heard of them but never seen them. Do they really cover a quarter of Brytan?’
I thought for a bit then replied, ‘I suppose they must do. An awful waste I suppose when you consider …’
‘Consider what?’
‘Well, the number of Soal that use them.’
We talked like this for many hours until the light of day was thrown through the translucent walls by that fuzzy ball that rolls around its sky. It sparkled on the crystal needle towers we could see from the segment, colours dancing in the mud. The tidal change was due in two or three hours so there was no point in moving. Fridjt would probably lay his traps and catch us a few fish for breakfast. At least I hoped he would. Fridjt was very proud of his traps – they were intricately made and finely balanced mechanisms, constructed of rustless metal. They never failed to attract the fish into their mirrored passages. When expanded and set they covered a full cubic metre of ocean, finding the depth of the shoals automatically, but they folded down to a mere twenty centimetres in length and two in radius, for carrying purposes, and were light and easy to handle. A true work of Soal craftsmanship.
This generous aspect of the Soal was somewhat difficult to understand now that I was a mudwalker. While I had been the companion and servant of Lintar I never questioned such enigmatic behaviour. It seemed natural then that our benevolent masters should find pleasure in occasionally distributing aid to the pathetic humans on the mud, but now I was on the receiving end such acts seemed strangely at variance with the Soal policy of killing humans whenever a legitimate reason showed itself.
For instance we had the needle towers, provisioned with a unit that converted seawater into fresh water, at the same time introducing human vitamin needs into the supply. This at least ensured that our basic requirements, beyond food, were met. In the slim crystal towers we had comparativewarmth during the chilling night exhalations, safety from drowning and solar units for heating food.
If the Soal wanted to destroy us all, they need only have removed the towers.
My deductions produced a line of thought.
The towers and handouts were established at a time when the Soal had no need to be cautious. The policy of genocide was the result of a change in these circumstances.
The towers were self-maintaining and required nothing more than supervision by the Soal, to ensure that humans were not gathering in groups of two or more.
Destruction of the towers was an action to be avoided for the present, one to be saved until absolutely necessary. Until that time, open slaughter was a crudeness unworthy of a master race.
The whittling down of the human population by apparent legitimate policing was an interim measure and should the situation worsen (whatever that situation was), more drastic moves would have to be taken.
I voiced my opinions to Stella, whose own opinion of me was very low as a result.
‘Why didn’t you find out the answers to these questions yourself, when you were with the Soal?’ she demanded.
‘Because they didn’t concern me then – and don’t forget the Soal do not speak Terran to each other. I had no idea what passed between them in the council chambers. I can’t hear
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