memories, but something held him back. One barrier was that he knew he would nevermore see Thrintun the homeworld, nor Kzathit where he was born, nor Racarliwun, the world he had found and named. He would never look at the world through his own eye; he would see himself only from outside, if ever. This was his own body, his fleshly tomb, now and forever.
There was another barrier, a seemingly trivial matter. Several times Kzanol/Greenberg had closed his eyes and deliberately tried to visualize the happy past; and always what came to mind were whitefoods.
He believed Garner, believed him implicitly. Those films could not have been faked. Copying an ancient tnuctip inscription would not have been enough to perpetrate such a fraud. Garner would have had to *compose* in tnuctip!
Then the bandersnatchi were intelligent; and the bandersnatchi were undeniably whitefoods. Whitefoods were intelligent, and always had been.
It was as if some basic belief had been shattered. The whitefoods were in all his memories. Whitefoods drifting like sixty-ton white clouds over the estates of Kzathit Stage Logs, and over the green-and-silver fields of other estates when little Kzanol was taken visiting. Whitefood meat in a dozen different forms, on the family table and in every restaurant waiter's memorized menu. A whitefood skeleton over every landowner's guest gate, a great archway of clean polished white bone. Why, the thrint hadn't been born who didn't dream of his own whitefood herd! The whitefood gate meant "landowner" as surely as the sunflower border.
Kzanol/Greenberg cocked his head; his lips pursed slightly, and the skin puckered between his eyebrows. Judy would have recognized the gesture. He had suddenly realized what made the intelligent whitefood so terrible.
A thiint was master over every intelligent beast. This was the Powergiver's primal decree, made before he made the stars. So said all of the twelve thrintun religions, though they fought insanely over other matters. But if the whitefood was intelligent, then it was immune to the Power. The tnuctipun had done what the Power-giver had forbade!
If the tnuctipun were stronger than the Powergiver, and the thrintun were stronger than the tnuctipun, and the Powergiver were stronger than the thrintun--
Then all priests were charlatans, and the Powergiver
was a folk myth.
A sentient whitefood was blasphemy.
It was also very damned peculiar.
Why would the tnuctipun have made an intelligent food animal? The phrase had an innocuous sound, like "overkill" or "euthanasia," but if you thought about it--
Thrintun were not a squeamish race. Power, no! But--
An intelligent food animal! Hitler would have fled, retching.
The tnuctipun had never been squeamish, either. The lovely simplicity of their mutated racing virprin was typical of the way they worked. Already the natural animal had been the fastest alive; there was little the tnuctipun could do in the way of redesigning. They had narrowed the animal's head and brought the nose to a point, leaving the nostril like a single jet nacelle, and they had made the skin almost microscopically smooth against wind resistance, but this had not satisfied them. So they had removed several pounds of excess weight and replaced it with extra muscle and extra lung tissue. The weight removed had been all of the digestive organs. A mutated racing viprin had a streamlined sucker of a mouth which opened directly into the bloodstream to admit predigested pap.
The tnuctipun were always efficient, but never cruel.
Why make the whitefood intelligent? To increase the size of the brain, as ordered? But why make it immune to the Power?
And he had eaten whitefood meat.
Kzanol/Greenberg shook his head hard. Masney needed attention, and he had planning to do. Didn't he?
Planning, or mere worrying?
Would the amplifier work on a human brain? Could he find the suit in time?
***
"'Find him,'" Garner quoted. "That could fit. He's looking for something he
There was another barrier, a seemingly trivial matter. Several times Kzanol/Greenberg had closed his eyes and deliberately tried to visualize the happy past; and always what came to mind were whitefoods.
He believed Garner, believed him implicitly. Those films could not have been faked. Copying an ancient tnuctip inscription would not have been enough to perpetrate such a fraud. Garner would have had to *compose* in tnuctip!
Then the bandersnatchi were intelligent; and the bandersnatchi were undeniably whitefoods. Whitefoods were intelligent, and always had been.
It was as if some basic belief had been shattered. The whitefoods were in all his memories. Whitefoods drifting like sixty-ton white clouds over the estates of Kzathit Stage Logs, and over the green-and-silver fields of other estates when little Kzanol was taken visiting. Whitefood meat in a dozen different forms, on the family table and in every restaurant waiter's memorized menu. A whitefood skeleton over every landowner's guest gate, a great archway of clean polished white bone. Why, the thrint hadn't been born who didn't dream of his own whitefood herd! The whitefood gate meant "landowner" as surely as the sunflower border.
Kzanol/Greenberg cocked his head; his lips pursed slightly, and the skin puckered between his eyebrows. Judy would have recognized the gesture. He had suddenly realized what made the intelligent whitefood so terrible.
A thiint was master over every intelligent beast. This was the Powergiver's primal decree, made before he made the stars. So said all of the twelve thrintun religions, though they fought insanely over other matters. But if the whitefood was intelligent, then it was immune to the Power. The tnuctipun had done what the Power-giver had forbade!
If the tnuctipun were stronger than the Powergiver, and the thrintun were stronger than the tnuctipun, and the Powergiver were stronger than the thrintun--
Then all priests were charlatans, and the Powergiver
was a folk myth.
A sentient whitefood was blasphemy.
It was also very damned peculiar.
Why would the tnuctipun have made an intelligent food animal? The phrase had an innocuous sound, like "overkill" or "euthanasia," but if you thought about it--
Thrintun were not a squeamish race. Power, no! But--
An intelligent food animal! Hitler would have fled, retching.
The tnuctipun had never been squeamish, either. The lovely simplicity of their mutated racing virprin was typical of the way they worked. Already the natural animal had been the fastest alive; there was little the tnuctipun could do in the way of redesigning. They had narrowed the animal's head and brought the nose to a point, leaving the nostril like a single jet nacelle, and they had made the skin almost microscopically smooth against wind resistance, but this had not satisfied them. So they had removed several pounds of excess weight and replaced it with extra muscle and extra lung tissue. The weight removed had been all of the digestive organs. A mutated racing viprin had a streamlined sucker of a mouth which opened directly into the bloodstream to admit predigested pap.
The tnuctipun were always efficient, but never cruel.
Why make the whitefood intelligent? To increase the size of the brain, as ordered? But why make it immune to the Power?
And he had eaten whitefood meat.
Kzanol/Greenberg shook his head hard. Masney needed attention, and he had planning to do. Didn't he?
Planning, or mere worrying?
Would the amplifier work on a human brain? Could he find the suit in time?
***
"'Find him,'" Garner quoted. "That could fit. He's looking for something he
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