to reactivate one of the Coffins to keep her alive).
Tod would come and sit with him sometimes, and as long as there was no talk the older man seemed to gain something from the visits. But he preferred to be alone, living as much as he could with memories for which not even a new world could afford a substitute.
Tod said to Carl, “Teague is going to wither up and blow away if we can’t interest him in something.”
“He’s interested enough to spend a lot of time with whatever he’s thinking about,” Carl said bluntly.
“But I’d like it better if he was interested in something here, now. I wish we could … I wish—” But he could think of nothing, and it was a constant trouble to him.
Little Titan was killed, crushed under a great clumsy
Parametrodon
which slid down a bank on him while the child was grubbing for the scarlet cap of the strange red mushroom they had glimpsed from time to time. It was in pursuit of one of these that Moira had been bitten by the
Crotalidus
. One of Carl’s children was drowned—just how, no one knew. Aside from these tragedies, life was easy and interesting. The compound began to look more like a
kraal
as they acclimated, for although the adults never adapted as well as the children, they did become far less sensitive to insect bites and the poison weeds which first troubled them.
It was Teague’s son Nod who found what was needed to bring Teague’s interest back, at least for a while. The child came back to the compound one day, trailed by two slinking
Felodons
who did not catch him because they kept pausing and pausing to lap up gouts of blood which marked his path. Nod’s ear was torn and he had a green-stick break in his left ulna, and a dislocated wrist. He came weeping, weeping tears of joy. He shouted as he wept, great proud noises. Once in the compound, he collapsed, but he would not lose consciousness, nor his grip on his prize, until Teague came. Then he handed Teague the mushroom and fainted.
The mushroom was and was not like anything on Earth. Earth has a fungus called
schizophyllum
, not uncommon but most strange. Though not properly a fungus, the red “mushroom” of Viridis had many of the functions of
schizophyllum
.
Schizophyllum
produces spores of four distinct types, each of which grows into a genetically distinct, completely dissimilar plant. Three of these are sterile. The fourth produces
schizophyllum
.
The red mushroom of Viridis also produced four distinct heterokaryons or genetically different types, and the spores of one of these produced the mushroom.
Teague spent an engrossing earth-year in investigating the other three.
VI
Sweating and miserable in his integument of flexskin, Tod hunched in the crotch of a finger-tree. His knees were drawn up and his head was down; his arms clasped his shins and he rocked slightly backand forth. He knew he would be safe here for some time—the fleshy fingers of the tree were clumped at the slender, swaying ends of the branches and never turned back toward the trunk. He wondered what it would be like to be dead. Perhaps he would be dead soon, and then he’d know. He might as well be.
The names he’d chosen were perfect and all of a family: Sol, Mercury, Venus, Terra, Mars, Jupiter … eleven of them. And he could think of a twelfth if he had to.
For what?
He let himself sink down again into the blackness wherein nothing lived but the oily turning of
what’s it like to be dead?
Quiet, he thought.
No one would laugh
.
Something pale moved on the jungle floor below him. He thought instantly of April, and angrily put the thought out of his mind. April would be sleeping now, having completed the trifling task it had taken her so long to start. Down there, that would be Blynken, or maybe Rhea. They were very alike.
It didn’t matter, anyway.
He closed his eyes and stopped rocking. He couldn’t see anyone, no one could see him. That was the best way. So he sat, and let time pass, and when a hand
Tod would come and sit with him sometimes, and as long as there was no talk the older man seemed to gain something from the visits. But he preferred to be alone, living as much as he could with memories for which not even a new world could afford a substitute.
Tod said to Carl, “Teague is going to wither up and blow away if we can’t interest him in something.”
“He’s interested enough to spend a lot of time with whatever he’s thinking about,” Carl said bluntly.
“But I’d like it better if he was interested in something here, now. I wish we could … I wish—” But he could think of nothing, and it was a constant trouble to him.
Little Titan was killed, crushed under a great clumsy
Parametrodon
which slid down a bank on him while the child was grubbing for the scarlet cap of the strange red mushroom they had glimpsed from time to time. It was in pursuit of one of these that Moira had been bitten by the
Crotalidus
. One of Carl’s children was drowned—just how, no one knew. Aside from these tragedies, life was easy and interesting. The compound began to look more like a
kraal
as they acclimated, for although the adults never adapted as well as the children, they did become far less sensitive to insect bites and the poison weeds which first troubled them.
It was Teague’s son Nod who found what was needed to bring Teague’s interest back, at least for a while. The child came back to the compound one day, trailed by two slinking
Felodons
who did not catch him because they kept pausing and pausing to lap up gouts of blood which marked his path. Nod’s ear was torn and he had a green-stick break in his left ulna, and a dislocated wrist. He came weeping, weeping tears of joy. He shouted as he wept, great proud noises. Once in the compound, he collapsed, but he would not lose consciousness, nor his grip on his prize, until Teague came. Then he handed Teague the mushroom and fainted.
The mushroom was and was not like anything on Earth. Earth has a fungus called
schizophyllum
, not uncommon but most strange. Though not properly a fungus, the red “mushroom” of Viridis had many of the functions of
schizophyllum
.
Schizophyllum
produces spores of four distinct types, each of which grows into a genetically distinct, completely dissimilar plant. Three of these are sterile. The fourth produces
schizophyllum
.
The red mushroom of Viridis also produced four distinct heterokaryons or genetically different types, and the spores of one of these produced the mushroom.
Teague spent an engrossing earth-year in investigating the other three.
VI
Sweating and miserable in his integument of flexskin, Tod hunched in the crotch of a finger-tree. His knees were drawn up and his head was down; his arms clasped his shins and he rocked slightly backand forth. He knew he would be safe here for some time—the fleshy fingers of the tree were clumped at the slender, swaying ends of the branches and never turned back toward the trunk. He wondered what it would be like to be dead. Perhaps he would be dead soon, and then he’d know. He might as well be.
The names he’d chosen were perfect and all of a family: Sol, Mercury, Venus, Terra, Mars, Jupiter … eleven of them. And he could think of a twelfth if he had to.
For what?
He let himself sink down again into the blackness wherein nothing lived but the oily turning of
what’s it like to be dead?
Quiet, he thought.
No one would laugh
.
Something pale moved on the jungle floor below him. He thought instantly of April, and angrily put the thought out of his mind. April would be sleeping now, having completed the trifling task it had taken her so long to start. Down there, that would be Blynken, or maybe Rhea. They were very alike.
It didn’t matter, anyway.
He closed his eyes and stopped rocking. He couldn’t see anyone, no one could see him. That was the best way. So he sat, and let time pass, and when a hand
Similar Books
